PUPPET

     The island was like a fortress.  Ten miles off the California 
coast, beyond the reach of U.S. authority, its sheer cliffs
rose on all sides from the ocean like black curtains to form a
plateau several hundred feet above the surface of the water.  All
its sixteen square miles except the few acres reserved for Billy
Ray's estate were covered by dense, jungle foliage.  The estate
itself was surrounded by a twenty foot stone wall with no gates
to the outside, topped with another six feet of electrified
barbed wire fencing, that was constantly patrolled by armed
guards.  State of the art radar swept the surrounding space for
miles, and was capable of detecting any aircraft and all but the
smallest boats.
     Billy Ray Sanders liked his privacy, and for good reason. 
He had plenty of enemies, people who would have liked to see him
dead.  He had come up the hard way in the music business, but he
was on top, now, and the ruthlessness that had gotten him there
continued unabated.  He reveled in the power his success had
brought him and trusted no one.  Those who had helped him on his
way up had been ruined or simply discarded as he had rapidly
built the business and financial empire that maintained his
public image, hid his many indiscretions and ensured his contin-
ued success.  He controlled his empire with an iron hand and
what, to him, was the perfect formula for ensuring the loyalty of
those who worked for him: the golden chains of excessive compen-
sation, well above what was available elsewhere, and an abject
fear of incurring his wrath.  And he took whatever he wanted--
money, property, women--secure in the knowledge that his island
fortress, accessible only by helicopter, was impenetrable to
those who hated him.
     But it was not impenetrable to Tamara.
     For Billy Ray Sanders had taken one woman too many.  Jasmine
Mercer, an aspiring singer and Tamara's closest friend whom she
had known since childhood.  He had made her pregnant, forced her
to abort the child, and the secretly arranged to have the abortion 
made public, ruining her career.  The effect on Jasmine had
been devastating.  Her depression deepened to the point that
Tamara, at her own expense, had finally placed her in a mental
institution for her own protection.
     But she knew what had happened, and she had resolved that
Billy Ray Sanders would pay, and pay dearly, for what he had
done.  And Tamara MacFarland was not a woman anyone, not even
Billy Ray Sanders, would want to have as an enemy.
     Descended from an ancient race of giant Scottish warriors,
she towered an even 6'8" and weighed a fraction over 280 lbs. 
Now 30, since her early teens she had dedicated herself to the
development of the physical abilities required by her heritage
and giant frame.  Massively and solidly muscular, with a deep,
56" chest, 24" biceps, a 30" waist, 40" thighs and 29" calves,
she had the strength of five ordinary men and the martial skills
of a master ninja.  Her bone structure, half again the size of a
normal human, had been strengthened and hardened since childhood
through careful diet and supplements until it was nearly as
strong as steel.  She was, in a word, almost superhuman, easily
the most powerful and deadly human in the world.  And she was one
of the most beautiful women the world had ever seen, desired by
many men despite her size and strength.  Yet, though she had
taken some of them as lovers for a time--only the biggest and
strongest of them, for only they could survive her lovemaking--
none of them could ever hope to claim her.  She was far too much
woman for any one man...
     Financially secure with an estate left to her by her parents, 
she had used her contacts in the entertainment industry to
learn what she could about Billy Ray.  She had developed a
detailed map of the island and his compound and up-to-date
information about its complement of guards and servants, and had
found several flaws in its security.  And then she had known that
Billy Ray would be hers for the taking.
     She came at night, in a small speedboat, under the island's
radar, when the sea was calm, to the sheer cliffs on the opposite
side of the island from the compound.  Looking up, she could see
the outlines of huge trees against the moonlit sky, overhanging
the cliffs three hundred feet above the water.  She loaded a
grappling hook, to which five hundred feet of line had been
attached, into a harpoon gun, and, standing fifty feet out from
the cliffs, fired the hook up into the trees.  The muffled report
of the gun reverberated through the night air, but she knew it
would not have been heard in the compound and that the guards did
not patrol the surrounding jungle.
     The first flaw in Billy Ray's security.
     The hook caught on something and held.  She pulled hard on
the line several times to make sure it was secure, then used it
to pull the boat alongside the cliff.  She drove two steel stakes
into the rock and moored the boat to them.  Then she draped a
large sack over her shoulders and began to climb, the massive
muscles of her mighty arms pulling her easily and quickly up the
side of the cliff.
     Within minutes she reached the top.  The hook had caught on
a large, exposed root.  She freed it, wrapped it several times
around the base of a huge tree and tied it in place.  Then she
covered the hook and line with brush, concealing it from view and
ensuring an avenue of escape in the unlikely event it was needed,
and only for her.  Even if her quarry escaped her long enough--
and was lucky enough--to find the line, it would do him no good;
she had the keys to the boat and had taken the extra precaution
of ensuring that its engine could not be started without them.
     She checked her compass, and then moved swiftly and silently
through the dense foliage toward the compound, all but invisible
in the hooded, black, spandex body suit that covered her from
head to foot and seemed almost molded to her powerful frame; only
her eyes showed through a narrow slit in the hood.  She carried
no weapons.  Her body was her weapon, the only one she needed,
and she knew it, together with a few implements she carried in
her sack, would be more than enough to achieve her purpose.
     She reached the edge of the jungle and saw the wall, about
thirty feet from the tree line.  The cleared ground around the
wall was clearly visible in the moonlight for at least a hundred
yards in either direction.  As expected, it was deserted; the
guards patrolled only the interior of the compound.
     The second flaw in Billy Ray's security.
     There would be ten of them, in pairs of two, armed with
automatic weapons, covering assigned sections of the wall.  There
would be intervals when each pair would be out of sight of the
others.
     The third flaw in Billy Ray's security, for that is when she
would strike.
     She moved silently on padded feet to the wall and paused,
listening.  Her keen ears picked up faint sounds of footsteps on
the other side and an occasional, murmured comment, moving to her
left.  She turned right, running lightly along the wall until the
sounds were out of earshot, then stopped, listening again. 
Silence.  She removed a second line of rubber coated plastic from
her sack, coiled it into a lasso, and stepped away from the wall.
     The barbed wire fencing atop the wall was secured by steel
posts which extended above the top strand of wire by about six
inches.
     The fourth flaw in Billy Ray's security, which she would use
to gain access to the compound.
     She whirled the lasso above her head and hurled it up over a
post, smiling with satisfaction as she watched the loop settle
over the top of the post, and then pulled it taut.  The rubber
coating on the plastic rope and in the palms of her gloves
protected her from the electric current coursing through the
wire.  Quickly she pulled herself up the side of the wall until
her eyes were level with the top.
     Glistening reflections in the moonlight along the top of the
wall caught her eye.
     Broken glass.
     She hadn't known about that, but it was not unexpected, and
her padded soles would protect her feet.  Nevertheless, she
carefully cleared an area large enough for her to stand and then
climbed a bit further, just high enough to see the grounds on the
other side.  No guards were in sight.  She pulled herself to
stand on the top of the wall, then, placing one hand on the top
of the post, drew up the rope, tossed it over the fence and then
vaulted over it to drop soundlessly to the ground beneath, rol-
ling to dissipate the impact of her fall.
     The grounds of the compound were meticulously manicured,
dotted with groves of tall trees and shrubbery, many of which
were within fifteen or twenty feet of the wall.
     The fifth flaw in Billy Ray's security.  They would provide
the cover she needed to neutralize the guards.
     The side of the wall was in shadow.  She arranged the rope
so that it was almost invisible against the wall and then moved
behind a clump of bushes to await the return of the guards.  She
did not have to wait long.  They were walking slowly, almost
nonchalantly along the wall.  She waited until they had passed
her, then emerged from the bushes to cover the distance between
them in less than a dozen long, silent strides.  They never had a
chance.  Powerful arms encircled their heads and huge, gloved
hands clapped over their mouths, stifling their gasps of sur-
prise.  With two quick wrenches, she twisted their necks, just
enough to render them unconscious, but not enough to kill them. 
She could have killed them easily, but she was no murderer, and
these men were merely hirelings, doing a job.
     Now she had to move more quickly, for the pair patrolling
the adjacent section of the wall would expect to meet these two
within the next ten or fifteen minutes.  Tucking each of their
limp bodies under each arm, she carried them effortlessly back to
the bushes and stripped them.  A neck pinch ensured they would be
out for several hours.  Opening her sack, she removed two heavy,
mesh bags with long cords through the top of each.  Each bag
contained a hood of heavy fabric with a leather, cone shaped gag
and two sets of smaller hoods with metal straps at the open ends. 
Each strap had small, but heavy, locking devices at each end for
which she had the only key, and which she could slip over the
guards' hands and feet and lock them together.  After hooding and
gagging both men, she slipped one of the smaller hoods over one
man's hands and tied them together in front of him.  With the
other hood, she did the same with his feet.  Then, bending his
knees up to his chest and tucking his bound feet up against his
buttocks, she forced his arms around and down his legs and
strapped his bound hands and feet together, effectively rolling
him up into a ball.  Gripping him by his ankles with a single
hand, she lifted him off the ground, lowered him into the mesh
bag and pulled it closed with the cord through the top.  Then she
heaved the cord over a low branch of a nearby tree and, lifting
the mesh bag off the ground, tied the cord to the top of the bag.
     Within six minutes, both men were bagged and hanging help-
lessly, three feet off the ground, from opposite branches of the
same tree.
     Two down.
     Gathering their clothes and wrapping them around their
weapons, she heaved them over the wall.  She would attend to them
later.  She retrieved her sack and moved, a silent, black shadow
slipping from grove to grove, to intercept the next pair of
guards.  She took cover just as they came into view and, as
before, waited until they had passed her.
     "Hey," she heard one man mumble, "where the hell's Jake and
Jimmy?  They should be meetin' us about here."
     "Probably screwin' off somewhere," the other grunted, and
then, as Tamara suddenly loomed behind them, "Hey, what--!"
     That was the last either one of them knew until they woke up
the next day, bound, gagged, bagged and hanging from a tree.
     Four down.
     Less than a half hour later all ten were down.
     Now she could move more openly.  Twenty more guards and
three sergeants-at-arms were sleeping or relaxing in a large
building that was located a hundred yards from the main house. 
The building had two rooms, she knew, barracks-like sleeping
quarters and a recreation room, separated by a soundproof wall,
and an adjacent office for the sergeant-at-arms on duty.  They
worked six hours on and twelve off, so most of them would 
probably be sleeping.
     She checked the office first, through a closed window.  The
sergeant-at-arms was sitting with his back to the outside door
behind a small desk with his feet on a credenza watching tele-
vision.  The outside door was closed, and would probably make a
noise when it was opened.  A portable CB was lying on the desk,
similar to the ones the guards on duty carried, but it was
obvious that it was rarely used.
     The sixth flaw in Billy Ray's security.
     She smiled to herself.  A sloppy job all around.  Billy Ray
should get his money back from whomever had set up his security.
     She moved around the building to check the recreation room. 
Through another, closed window she saw four off-duty guards
shooting pool.  The door to the office was closed.  The remaining
men would be asleep, but she checked to make sure.  Yes, she
could clearly make out that eighteen of the thirty-three bunks
were occupied: sixteen guards and two off-duty sergeants-at-arms.
     She decided to take out the sergeant-at-arms in the office
first.
     She checked him again.  He had not moved.  She moved around
to the closed door and took a small ball of solid, hard rubber
from her sack.  She would have to take him quickly and silently,
for the wall between the office and recreation room was not
soundproof.  Slowly, carefully, she turned the doorknob with her
left hand, holding the ball in her right and ready to spring into
action at the first sound.  Fortunately, it was not locked. 
Cautiously she pushed the door open an inch, then another.  Then,
the telltale creak, loud enough to be heard over the television. 
Instantly she had it all the way open and, with a single, back-
handed swing, was hurling the ball with unerring accuracy at the
man's head just as he was starting to turn.  It caught him hard
on the temple and bounced to one side.  The glancing blow dazed
him, and, as his eyes glazed, she was across the room to catch
the ball in midair, swiftly and silently, before it could land
and administer the neck pinch to put him out for good.
     And there had been no sound.
     Now for the four in the next room.
     She moved to the closed door to the recreation room.  The
pool table was close enough to the door that she could be upon
the four men before they knew what was happening.  She wanted to
take them as quickly and quietly as possible, although there was
no need, now, for complete silence.  Returning the ball to the
sack, she laid it carefully on the floor, grasped the doorknob,
and slowly turned it as far as it would go.  Then she threw open
the door.
     Two of the men were standing with their backs to her, the
other two facing her at the opposite end of the pool table.  In
less than a second she had dropped the first two with neck twists
and was vaulting across the table to the second pair, who were
gaping, open mouthed, at the giant, black clad figure hurtling
toward them.  The knuckles of her open hand smashed into one
man's face in a backhanded blow that spun him around and sent him
reeling to the floor even as her other hand closed about his
companion's throat, choking off his cry and lifting him bodily
off the floor.  A quick neck pinch put him out, and she let him
drop in a crumpled heap at her feet.  The man she had knocked
down was on his side, moaning softly and spitting blood.  Another
neck pinch ended his misery, and two more ensured that the first
two men would likewise be unconscious for several hours.
     She returned to the office and retrieved her sack.  From it
she took four, battery powered bombs of sleeping gas, a trigger-
ing device and a gas mask for herself.  Stealth again would be
required, for she had to enter the barracks and properly place
the bombs to ensure all eighteen men would be overcome quickly
and completely without awakening.  If even one of them was awake,
or awoke before she was ready, and gave the alarm, she would have
to flee, and her quest would have failed.  Even her mighty
muscles and martial skills would be no match for eighteen strong
men.  A dozen, perhaps, but not eighteen.
     She was in luck.  All were sound asleep, and she was able to
place the bombs and trigger them without disturbing them.  She
watched in amusement, a faint smile behind her mask, as the
barracks filled with gas.  It awakened a few of the guards, but
they quickly and silently succumbed.
     An hour later all thirty guards and their sergeants-at-arms
were denuded, bound, gagged, bagged and hanging from trees.
     She moved silently to the main house.  She knew there were
six servants sleeping in separate rooms in the servants' quar-
ters, a butler, a cook, two maids and two gardeners who tended
the grounds.  And, in small bedrooms on the second floor, near
Billy Ray's master bedroom, two hulking, armed bodyguards, almost
as big as she, who accompanied Billy Ray wherever he went. 
Except for relieving them of their weapons, she wasn't worried
about the bodyguards; she would handle them in the morning, in
front of Billy Ray, so he could see how helpless he was against
her strength and skills.  She also knew that Billy Ray kept a
pistol in a stand next to his bed.  She wasn't worried about
that, either.  She would let him use it to try to shoot her, and
then take it away from him.  And he would know that no weapon, no
power on earth, could protect him from her vengeance...  She
would make him suffer as never before, and in the process right,
to the extent he could, the wrong done her friend--and possibly
others as well.
     The servants, however, should be neutralized; there were too
many for her to control all at once, and they might be able to
free the guards, despite the locks with which they were bound.
     One by one, room by room, each of the servants was easily
and silently overpowered, bound and gagged, bagged, and hung from
a rafter that spanned the ceiling of each bedroom.
     Then she made her way into the bedrooms of the bodyguards. 
They were deep in slumber, snoring loudly.  Their pistols,
sheathed in shoulder holsters, were hanging over the headboards
of their beds, in plain sight.  She retrieved them and carried
them back to the barracks, where, after shutting off all electric
power and disabling the communications hardware, she collected
the guards' remaining clothes and weapons stored there, wrapped
them into tight packages and, in several trips, carried them to
the wall and heaved them over, as she had done with the clothes
and weapons of each of the on-duty guards she had overpowered. 
Returning to the point at which she had entered the compound, she
climbed the wall and, carrying the rope with her, vaulted over
the fence, then moved along the wall to pick up the packages and
throw them over the edge of the cliffs to the sea below.  When
she had disposed of them all, she went back inside the compound.
     Her watch showed 3:00 a.m.  The entire process had taken
less than four hours, and she was satisfied that the compound was
under her control, completely cut off from contact with the
mainland.  She knew that a complement of ten guards had been
helicoptered off the island the previous morning for five days
R&R, after which they would return for another thirty days of
duty, and ten more would be relieved.  That left her four days to
complete her plan, unless someone from the mainland tried to
contact the island and, unable to do so, became suspicious.  That
was a definite possibility for which she would have to be prepared.
     She returned to the office, retrieved her sack, and removed
the black body suit, hood and boots.  She stood for a moment, a
naked giantess, inhaling deeply and letting her entire body
breathe in the fresh air.  She disliked the constraint of the
body suit, but it had served its purpose this night.  Now she
would dress for another purpose, to display her magnificently
muscled body in all its overpowering, seductive glory.  That body
would instill both fear and desire in Billy Ray Sanders.  In her
mighty hands, which could inflict excruciating pain or elicit
indescribable ecstasy with equal ease, his fear would become
abject terror, and his desire an insatiable lust that would never
be satisfied.  In a day, perhaps two, he would be hers to control, 
a puppet to be manipulated at her whim.  Then she would
make him pay.
     She donned a brief halter, gym shorts, and tennis shoes. 
Then she went into the kitchen of the main house, poured herself
a large glass of orange juice, and sat down on the patio to wait
for morning--and Billy Ray Sanders.

                            * * * * *

     She was tall, well over six feet, dressed entirely in shiny,
black leather that was a perfect complement to her glistening,
shoulder length, black hair.  He couldn't see her face, only the
silhouette of her powerful, shapely frame against the dimly
lighted dance floor and the small combo on the stage behind it. 
She was undulating erotically to the slow rhythm of the music. 
He didn't get up, but remained seated at his table, twisting his
drink in his hands and looking up at her apprehensively.
     "Dance with me."  It was not a request.  It was a command. 
Her voice was deep and rich.
     "I--I don't know..." he mumbled.
     "I do.  You're dancing with me."  She reached down, took his
wrist in a crushing grip and yanked him to his feet.  Her free
arm encircled his waist and pulled him against her big, solid
body with a force that took his breath away, lifting him to his
toes and bending him backward as she moved him out onto the dance
floor with slow, sensuous steps in time to the music.  He gasped
and tried to pull away, but she held him easily, barely noticing
his efforts, and he had no choice but to try to follow her lead. 
The top of his head barely reached above her shoulder, and he
craned his neck to look up at her, but her features were masked
in shadow.
     The music stopped, but she continued to hold him tightly. 
"You're soft," he heard her murmur.  "I like my men small and
soft, like you.  I'm going to take you upstairs and have some fun
with your little body."
     "No!" he whispered fiercely.  "I--I'm not going anywhere
with you!"
     Her laugh was low.  "That's what you think, baby."  Before
he could react, she had released his waist, and her left hand,
which still held his wrist, was twisting it painfully as she spun
him around and pulled him back against her.  Suddenly both his
arms were bound to his sides in the curve of her left arm, his
wrist still imprisoned in her powerful grip, and she was stooping
to wrap her other arm around his legs, pin them together and
sweep him up off his feet.
     He gave a cry of pain and tried to struggle against her, but
he was helpless.  She laughed again.  "Relax, baby," she whispered.  
"You're no match for me.  I'm a lot bigger than you and
more than twice as strong, and I know all the tricks.  I can do
whatever I want with you, and there's nothing you or anyone else
can do to stop me."
     He gave an agonized look around, but received only amused
glances from the others on the dance floor, and he knew that
there was no one to help him here.  In this place of Amazonian
women, men were fair game.
     Sheer terror all but overwhelmed him as the realization of
how small and defenseless he was in the arms of this giant,
powerful woman.  What was he doing here?  Why had he come here? 
Then he felt something else.  Vague stirrings of desire, all but
submerged in his fear--or, perhaps, stimulated by it?
     And, suddenly, he knew why he was here...
     She carried him easily across the floor and up a narrow
flight to stairs to a long, dark hall lined with doors.  One was
partially ajar.  She pushed it open to reveal a dimly lighted
bedroom.  Kicking the door shut with her heel, she carried him to
the bed and tossed him onto it.
     Then, as if by magic, he was naked, staring up in abject
terror at the naked, female colossus descending to cover him. 
Her cruel mouth devoured his, and he felt powerful hands explor-
ing his body, kneading and fondling him intimately, bringing his
desire to full bloom.  Then she was taking him, working him,
forcing him to orgasm...
     The room was suddenly bright with sunlight, and Billy Ray
Sanders was awake, his small body bathed in cold sweat.  And
trembling with a throbbing erection.
     He screamed in rage and frustration.  That goddam dream
again!  Why?  He was one of the most powerful men in show 
business!  Women were mere things to him, existing only for his use
and pleasure!  What damnable perversion was it, hidden from his
consciousness, that had brought this faceless Amazon into his
dreams these last few weeks to rape and ravage him?
     He shook his head savagely as his erection subsided and the
erotic sensations flooding his loins ebbed.  This had to stop! 
Time to call in his shrink--or, perhaps, a couple of his women
from the mainland...
     He kicked off the covers and swung his feet to the floor. 
He checked the digital clock on his night stand.  Its face was
blank.  Damn!  How could the electricity be off?  The primary and
backup generators couldn't both have failed!  He grabbed the bell
cord to summon his butler and pulled it hard.  Nothing.  Grimac-
ing in disgust, he took his Rolex from the night stand.  The
watch said it was three minutes after nine.  Where the hell was
his butler?  Had he overslept, too?  For Christ's sake, had
EVERYBODY overslept?  If they had, there'd be hell to pay when he
got downstairs...
     He went into the bathroom, pausing momentarily to admire
himself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door.  At five-
four and one hundred thirty five pounds, with fine, almost pretty
features framed in blonde, curly hair and a soft, melodious voice
so suited to his slender frame, it was easy to understand why he
was the darling of the teeny-boppers.  They loved him.  Yet, he
was also a realist.  He knew it wouldn't last.  Fans, particularly 
the teenage crowd, were fickle.  Sooner or later someone
new would come along, and it would be over.  He had planned for
that.  In less than four years he had made over two hundred
million after taxes and invested it wisely.  When his time came,
he would live the good life.  No more concert tours or fighting
off the crowds.  He would go where he wanted, do what he wanted,
take whom he wanted.  There would be nothing--no one--to stop
him.
     By God, he was going to fire every one of that damned,
incompetent staff of his!  Ridiculous to let him oversleep like
this, power or no power!
     But first he would have to get cleaned up.  Billy Ray
Sanders was nothing if not fastidious...
     He brushed his teeth and turned on the shower.  The water
was barely warm enough, so he showered quickly and ran an electric 
razor over his face, grimacing as he did so.  His beard was
soft, almost like peach fuzz.  Twenty-eight years old, and he
still didn't have a decent beard!
     He had to hunt for his clothes; normally his butler would
have laid them out for him.  He finally found a polo shirt,
shorts and sandals, put them on, got his Rolex and went downstairs.  
It was deserted.  Jesus Christ!  Where was everyone? 
Goddam it, was he going to have to get his own breakfast, too?
     He went back to the second floor and pushed open the door to
the anteroom leading to his bodyguards' bedrooms.  Both bedroom
doors were open, and Jake and Crusher were both still sound
asleep, snoring loudly.  He went into Jake's room and shook him
awake.
     "God damn it, Jake!" he snapped.  "Get your ass out of bed
and down to the servants' quarters!  The power's out, and I think
everybody's sleeping in!"
     Jake rubbed his eyes sleepily.  "Yeah, sure, Boss," he
mumbled.  "Right away..."
     Then Billy Ray Sanders saw that the shoulder holster hanging
on the bed was empty.
     "Jake!  Where the hell's your gun?"
     Jake stared stupidly at the empty holster.  "Jeez, I dunno,
Boss.  It was there last night."
     Billy Ray Sanders' stomach was suddenly cold.  Something was
wrong.  He ran back into the anteroom and looked through the door
into Crusher's bedroom.  The shoulder holster hanging from his
bed, too, was empty.
     "Jake!" he barked.  "Crusher's gun's gone, too!  Get him up,
get dressed and both of you get your asses downstairs!  I got a
funny feeling about this..."
     He went into his bedroom and checked the drawer in his
nightstand.  His gun was still there, a Smith & Wesson Ladysmith
that was perfect for his small hands.  Eight 9mm Black Talons in
the magazine and one in the chamber.  He grabbed the gun, pushed
up the safety and went to the window overlooking the grounds in
front of the house.  There should have been guards patrolling the
grounds, but they were deserted.  He shook his head, bewildered,
and was starting to turn away when he noticed something else. 
Something different.  Mesh bags hanging, motionless, from trees. 
He counted six of them.  He couldn't be sure, but it looked like
there were bodies in those bags...
     What the hell was going on?
     He ran downstairs, through the main hall to the breakfast
room and threw open the glass doors to the patio.
     Then he saw her.
     She was sitting at the large table, sipping orange juice. 
As he came onto the patio, she pushed back her chair and stood
up.
     Jesus, she was huge!  A giantess, nearly seven feet tall--or
so it seemed in comparison to his diminutive frame.  Shoulders as
broad as a doorway, with traps that bulged halfway up her long,
thick neck, clearly visible under the mane of dark blonde hair
that tumbled down her back.  A massive "V" of a chest, barely
covered by a brief halter; wide lats tapering sharply to a narrow
waist that was a washboard of deeply ridged muscularity and
flared hips under tight shorts.  Legs that were immense, oaken
trunks of powerful, yet shapely, muscles that rippled in a
sensuous dance as she moved from behind the table to stand before
him with her hands on her hips, smiling down at him.  And her
arms!  My God, her arms seemed as big as his slender waist with
softball size biceps and deeply corded forearms.  While he knew
that muscle size was not always an accurate gauge of physical
strength, somehow he knew that this woman had to be as strong as
an ox, perhaps stronger than any man alive!
     Suddenly the faceless Amazon of Billy Ray Sanders' dreams
had a face.  A startlingly, unbelievably beautiful face, that
could have graced the cover of any fashion magazine. 
     She was a miracle.  A miraculous combination of massive,
curvaceous muscularity and gorgeous, sensuous, desirable femininity.  
And Billy Ray Sanders' knees were suddenly weak and his
hands shaking...
     Nevertheless, she was a trespasser in a fortress that was
supposed to be impenetrable to trespassers.  With a supreme
effort, he controlled himself, raised the Ladysmith in both hands
and pulled the trigger back far enough to bring the flush hammer
to half cock, then used his thumb to cock the hammer fully.
     "Who the fuck are you, lady?" he snarled, in a false show of
bravado.  "And how the fuck did you get in here?"
     Her mouth curled in a grimace of distaste.  "You have a
filthy mouth, Billy Ray," she told him evenly.  "That's just one
of the many things I intend to correct in you.  As for who I am,
you'll know that soon enough, and will live to rue that knowledge.  
I will tell you this much: your security is full of holes. 
Getting in here was easy, so easy that you should get your money
back from whoever designed it."
     "Where are my guards?"
     She laughed shortly.  "Oh, they're still hanging around,"
she replied, and her huge hand swept the grounds behind her. 
"From various trees, actually."
     He looked incredulous.  "All of 'em?"
     "All of them.  Your servants, too.  Their weapons and
ammunition are at the bottom of the ocean, along with those of
your two bodyguards, and your generators and communications
equipment disabled.  As of now, Billy Ray, you and this island
belong to me."
     "Oh, yeah?"  His pretty face contorted into a snarl.  "Well,
I got news for you, lady.  You fucked up.  You shoulda taken my
gun, too.  I'm gonna hold you until Jake and Crusher get down
here.  They're gonna kick your ass all over this island, and then
I'm gonna blow you away!"
     She smiled condescendingly.  "I think not, Billy Ray," she
replied calmly.  "By the time they arrive I will have relieved
you of your pistol and thrown it, too, into the ocean.  I permit-
ted you to keep your weapon, little man, as well as your two
bodyguards, to show you that no weapon--and no human being--on
this earth can protect you from me."  Then, slowly, deliberately,
she began to move toward him.
     "Fuck you, lady!"  He lowered the Ladysmith, aiming at the
center of her muscled abdomen, and squeezed off a shot.
     But, somehow, he missed!  At the instant he had fired, like
a cat she had pivoted to one side, out of the bullet's path.  He
fired again, with the same effect.  He couldn't believe it--she
was dodging the bullets!  Cursing, he pulled off three more quick
shots, spreading the bullets, but her body became a blur, and
they whizzed by her harmlessly.  Then, suddenly, she was in front
of him, looming almost a foot and a half above him, with both his
wrists encased in the bonecrushing grip of her single, huge hand. 
The pistol dropped from his lifeless fingers into her other hand.
     "You see, little one?" she murmured, as if speaking to a
small child.  "No matter what kind of weapon I permit you to
have, you are helpless against my strength and ninja skills."
     Jake and Crusher burst onto the patio.  "Boss!  We heard
shots!" Crusher yelled.  Then they both stopped, gaping at
amazement at the massively muscled giantess holding their small
employer prisoner in a single hand.
     "Watch it, you assholes!"  Billy Ray Sanders screamed. 
"She's got my gun!"
     A backward sweep of the hand holding the Ladysmith sent it
flying high through the air across the grounds and over the wall
and the cliff beyond.  Then she released Billy Ray Sanders'
wrists, and he sank to the patio, moaning softly and pressing his
numbed hands to his stomach.  She turned to face the two body-
guards, her hands on her hips, then glanced back at the small man
crouching behind her.
     "I need no pistol to deal with these two," she told him,
smiling.
     Jake and Crusher looked at each other and nodded in silent
agreement.  Jake circled around behind Tamara, keeping a respect-
ful distance, his bulky, 6'4", 240 lb. frame appearing almost
small in comparison to her massive, towering figure.  Crusher, 2"
taller and 20 lbs. heavier, moved to stand in front of her, just
out of reach.  Tamara remained motionless, only turning her head
just enough to watch Jake out of the corner of her eye while
keeping Crusher in view.
     Then, as one, both men moved.  Jake came up behind her,
wrapped his big arms around her bigger ones at the elbows and
tried to force her arms behind her back, as Crusher lunged
forward and drove a hamlike fist into her midriff, just below the
narrow belt of her shorts.
     But Tamara's arms remained motionless, her hands on her
hips, and, as Jake cursed and strained to pull back her elbows,
Crusher's fist bounced harmlessly off the rock hard washboard of
her abdomen.  Her only response was an amused smile.  If Crusher
were surprised, he didn't show it; his fist was already whipping
upward toward Tamara's jaw, his entire weight under and behind
the punch.  Tamara's reaction was equally swift.  Yanking her
right arm free of Jake's grip, she caught his fist in her open
hand an inch from its target, stopping it short with a suddenness
that jarred him.
     "If this is the best you boys can do," she told them softly,
"Billy Ray needs new bodyguards."
     Her fingers clamped down over Crusher's fist, and he gasped
and doubled over from the sudden pain.  Simultaneously, she
twisted her other arm out of Jake's hold and shot out a hand to
grip him firmly by the throat, lift him bodily off his feet and
hold him effortlessly at arm's length, his feet thrashing about
helplessly almost a foot above the stone patio.  Jake choked,
tore futilely at the mighty fingers encasing his throat and then
slammed the side of his big hand against her massive forearm,
with no effect.  Ignoring him, she transferred her grip from
Crusher's fist to his throat and lifted him, too, into the air. 
Then, holding both huge, choking, struggling men at arm's length,
she turned to face Billy Ray.
     "You see, little one?" she murmured.  "Even these two hulk-
ing brutes are no match for my strength and speed.  I did not
even have to use my ninja skills to overpower them.  I may, how-
ever, permit you to keep them for a while, since they are big
enough to provide me with some mild entertainment and sport. 
Now, watch this and learn how defenseless you are against me!"
     As Billy Ray Sanders gaped up at her in mingled amazement
and terror, she calmly heaved the two bodyguards upward to slam
their heads together with a sickening thud high above her head. 
Then, dropping their dazed, barely conscious bodies in a heap at
her feet, she put them completely out with two, quick neck
pinches.
     "Now, little one," she said to Billy Ray Sanders, "I must
disable you temporarily while I hang these two up with your other
guards.  You needn't worry, though.  I intend to do you no
permanent damage, at least not yet."
     Billy Ray Sanders, his former bravado now eclipsed by abject
terror, crawled backward to cower against a small table.  "My
God!" he croaked.  "Please!  Please don't touch me!  I'll do
anything, give you anything, pay you anything you want!  Just let
me alone, please!"
     She stood over him for a moment, looking down at his shaking
body with amused contempt.  Then she reached down and gripped his
jaw in the palm of a single, huge hand.  With her long, powerful
fingers extending almost to his ears and threatening to crush his
cheekbones, she lifted him to his toes and held him there, tower-
ing above him and forcing him to look up at her.  "You puny, in-
significant excuse for a man!" she laughed harshly.  "Do you
think you have anything that I could not take from you by force
if I chose?  As of this moment, I own you, Billy Ray Sanders! 
Everything you have, everything you are, all your possessions,
your manhood, your very life, all are mine to take and do with as
I wish!  And I tell you this: before this day is over, you will
be groveling at my feet and begging to please me any way you
can!"
     His only response was a muffled squeal against the pressure
of her fingers as, with her free hand, she reached around him to
press a nerve at the base of his neck.  Instantly his body went
numb from the neck down.  Cradling his small body in her arms
like a baby, she carried him to a lounge chair, laid him down on
it. and straightened his lifeless limbs.  As he looked up at her
helplessly he struggled to speak; he was able to mouth words of
protest, but no sound came.
     "The numbness will pass," she told him, "but, as it does,
you will experience a period of some discomfort, the first of
many that I shall inflict on you today.  However, it will be a
good ten minutes before you're able to move, and by then your
bodyguards will be bound, gagged and hung up with the rest of
your guards."
     She left him, then, to return to the office and retrieve her
sack.  Two more mesh bags with hoods and gags were produced, and
within a few minutes she had doubled the two, unconscious body-
guards over, secured their hands and feet together and had hooded
and gagged them.  As Billy Ray Sanders watched in amazement, she
casually lifted each bodyguard by his feet with a single hand and
lowered him into an open bag, then tossed a bag over each shoul-
der, carried them to a nearby tree and hung them from a low lying
limb.  Despite his predicament, he could not help but again
marvel at this giant Amazon's unbelievable strength; the two
bodyguards together weighed well over 500 lbs., yet she handled
their combined weight with no more effort than if they were
children!
     His sense of awe was quickly submerged as the numbness in
his body began to wear off.  It began with minute, prickly sensa-
tions, but within minutes his entire body felt as though it were
being pierced with thousands of sharp, tiny needles.  He closed
his eyes and tried to scream, but managed only a feeble croak. 
When he opened them again, it was to see Tamara looming over him
with a faint smile of satisfaction decorating her strong, lovely
features.
     "The numbness is wearing off, I see," she murmured.  "Good! 
But the pain you're feeling now is only a sample of what I can
inflict on your tiny, weak body if I choose."
     He barely heard her through the agony that engulfed his body
and his mind as he writhed helplessly on the lounge chair.  Time
seemed to stop; he knew only pain.  Yet, little by little, he was
aware of feeling gradually returning to his limbs; and with
feeling, the torture, subsiding ever so slowly, until, at last,
limp and bathed in perspiration, he found that he again had the
luxury of movement.  And speech.
     "W-what--" he quavered hoarsely, staring up at her, "--what
are you going to do to me?"
     She looked down at him, her eyes almost invisibly cold and
hard behind her small smile.  "I'm going make you mine, Billy
Ray," she replied slowly.  "I'm going to teach you humility.  And
obedience.  Until today you have been the master, with all your
puppets jumping to cater to your every wish.  But before this day
is over you will be MY puppet, humble and adoring, instantly
obedient to MY every wish.  You will do only what I want you to
do, think only what I want you to think, feel only what I want
you to feel and desire only what I want you to desire.  And Billy
Ray, you will know desire!  Oh, how you will know desire!  Desire
beyond anything you have ever known, desire so intense it will
inflame your entire consciousness and leave you begging to be
fulfilled!"
     He gaped up at her in horror, his stomach wrenching in the
realization that, with the giant Amazon of his nightmares tower-
ing before him, he was suddenly living something that was worse
than any of them.  "W-why?" he choked at last.  "Why are you
doing this to me?  What the fuck did I ever do to you?  Christ,
I've never seen you before in my life!"  Then a thought struck
him.  "Shit," he whispered.  "You--you're not some kind of kinky
fan, are you?
     She threw back her head and laughed at that.  "Hardly, lit-
tle man!  But I have been watching you, and I've seen the harm
you've caused, the lives you've ruined."
     She hesitated, briefly tempted to reveal her relationship
with Jasmine and then quickly rejecting the thought.  For him to
know that vengeance was her goal would be counterproductive at
this point.  Better to wait.  Now only his body was in her power. 
But later, when she had his mind and emotions under her control,
when he was her willing and adoring slave, wanting nothing more
than to be hers, that would be the time.  It would be his final
defeat, his ultimate degradation, for he would know then that the
lust and desire for her that would soon consume his entire being
could never be fulfilled.
     But, until then, she would hold out the glimmer of hope...
     "No," she went on, "I'm no fan of yours, Billy Ray.  At
least, not yet.  You're a bad man, Billy Ray, but I'm going to
change that.  You are going to right all the wrongs you have
done.  Then we shall see."
     His eyes brightened, and he licked his lips, as though
suddenly seeing a way out.  "What--what do you want me to do?" he
babbled.  "Just tell me, please!  I'll do anything you say!  Just
don't hurt me any more, please!"
     She smiled down at him as he cowered before her on the
lounge chair.  "Of course you will, Billy Ray," she replied
softly, "because you're afraid of me, of what I can do to you. 
But that's not good enough, little one, for you could easily undo
everything I made you do the moment I left.  No, my little
puppet, the things you will do I'm going to make you want to do,
because you will know that they please me.  And that will be your
only desire, to please me!"
     He shook his head.  "Lady," he whispered, "this is crazy! 
You can't..."
     "Oh, but I can, Billy Ray!" She cut him off.  "I can do
anything with you I choose.  And your lessons are about to begin,
starting right now!"
     Before he could react, she reached down and slid a single,
huge hand behind his back, under his shirt and just above the
belt of his shorts, her long powerful fingers extending more than
halfway around his slender waist.  He gasped as her fingers
clamped into his soft flesh, expelling the air from his lungs. 
Then, as he struggled to breathe, she lifted him effortlessly off
the lounge chair and held his helpless, squirming body, face up,
almost horizontally in front of her.  Unable to speak, he mouthed
silent screams of protest as his small hands tore with desperate,
frantic futility at her iron fingers encircling his body.
     "You see again how defenseless you are against me, little
puppet," she murmured, "how easily I can handle and control you. 
I could crush the life from your soft, puny body with just the
strength of this one hand if I chose.  And with no effort at
all!"  To emphasize her point, she intensified the pressure of
her fingers very slightly and only momentarily, smiling faintly
down at Billy Ray Sanders' handsome features, now contorted in
agony and terror.  Then she relaxed her grip, and he was able to
breathe again.  "But I have other plans for you," she continued,
holding up her free hand in front of his face.  "You see this
hand, Billy Ray Sanders?  With this one hand I can inflict excru-
ciating pain or intense desire on your little body at my whim.  I
can make you scream and cry, laugh or sigh at will.  You will
both want me and fear me at the same time!"
     "T--that's impossible!" he gasped.
     "Watch!"
     As he writhed helplessly in her grip, with her free hand she
deftly and quickly removed his sandals, then unbuckled his belt
and slid his shorts and undershorts down over his legs and off. 
Next, she forced his polo shirt up over his arms and head,
leaving his helpless body stark naked, still captive in the palm
of her single hand.
     As he gaped up at her in horror and humiliation, she turned
him from side to side and up and down, exploring and fondling his
naked body at will with her free hand and pursing her lips in
approval at the size of his genitals, somewhat larger than would
have been expected in such a small, weak man.  But then she began
to explore his neck, chest and sides, probing for nerve centers. 
He grabbed her wrist with both his small hands, straining against
her strength, but could not so much as slow the progress of her
hand along his body.  Almost immediately she found a spot and
pressed down hard with her forefinger, and a scream erupted from
Billy Ray Sanders as his entire consciousness was suddenly
flooded with agonizing pain.  The pressure lasted only a moment,
but it was enough to leave him limp and trembling in her grasp. 
His respite was, however, brief.  Another pressure point, and
another gentle squeeze, and his body was again bathed in agony,
his arms and legs thrashing about uncontrollably as he moaned in
protest.
     Then, without warning, the pressure was released, and her
fingertips were lightly probing his armpits, sides and stomach,
seeking his ticklish areas.  She found them, and, even as the
pain was subsiding, his mind exploded in paroxysms of helpless,
screaming laughter as his body thrashed about helplessly in her
grasp.  Tears streamed down his face, and his mouth formed sound-
less, incoherent pleas to end the oddly delicious torture she was
inflicting on his body.  But she ignored him until, as it seemed
his mind was about to crack, she moved her hand down to force his
thighs apart and firmly cup his entire crotch in her huge palm.
     "Now, little one," she murmured, "watch how easily I control
your body, how I give you both pain and pleasure, fear and
desire!"
     Momentarily her hand tightened around his testicles, and he
gasped in terror as the pressure send a brief ache through his
loins.  Then, just as quickly, she was fondling him intimately,
stroking his inner thighs, his buttocks, then his testicles, and
then his penis, and the ache was gone, replaced with pangs of
ecstasy that coursed through his lower body.  "No!" he moaned,
but against his will his penis was erect, throbbing with desire
and threatening to erupt.  Within moments she had brought him to
the brink of orgasm, but there would be no relief for him, for,
just a quickly, her hand again encased his testicles with that
terrible pressure, sending terror and agony through him, and yet,
somehow, not quelling his desire.  And, as the pressure continued, 
strong enough to maintain the pain without damaging him
permanently, he felt himself being raised, the fingers imprisoning 
his waist sliding down to encompass his buttocks.  Suddenly
he was cradled in the curve of a single, massive arm, his head
trapped between her bicep and breast, and, even as the unrelenting 
pressure on his testicles continued, her open mouth was
descending to firmly capture his.
     Floating on a sea of mingled pleasure and pain, terror and
desire, for the first time he realized the full extent of her
control over him, and he knew he was hers.  The giant Amazon of
his dreams was not only reality, she was far beyond any of his
dreams, far worse--or was it better?  He didn't know.  His mind
was a blur, as much her captive as was his body.  All he knew was
that, somehow, he wanted her to take his helpless body and, at
the same time, was terrified at the prospect that she might do
exactly that.  Somehow, some way, he had to escape her.  But how? 
And was he sure he really wanted to?
     She released his open mouth.  He felt himself lowered to the
ground, held now only by the huge hand encompassing his crotch. 
Then even that support was gone, and, trembling, his legs unable
to hold his weight, he collapsed onto his knees, lifting leaden
arms to wrap them around a single, huge, steel-hard thigh.  The
feel of the massive, powerful muscles under her smooth skin was
electric, sending a wave of desire through him.  He resisted an
impulse to press his stiff and throbbing penis against her calf,
raised his head to look up at her, looming high above him like a
towering, female colossus, and his eyes were a mask of agony and
lust.
     "Do you understand, now, little puppet?"
     Her voice seemed to come from the clouds, miles away, and he
could only nod dumbly in silence.
     She smiled.  "And now that you know," she said softly, "you
are thinking of how you can escape."
     My God!  Was she reading his mind, too?
     She reached down, slid her hands under his armpits and
effortlessly lifted him off his knees to hold him at arm's length
in front of her, his feet dangling over a foot above the patio
stone, his penis still stiff and throbbing.  "That will be your
second lesson, little puppet," she continued, "You will learn
that escape from me is impossible.  There is no place on this
island where you could run that I could not find you and bring
you back.  And to prove that to you, I'm going to give you your
chance to escape."
     As he stared at her uncomprehendingly, she cradled his naked
body in a single, massive arm and carried him into the house and
up the stairs to his bedroom.  Limp and exhausted from his ordeal
and cuddled against her wide chest, he felt like a child, his
tiny body almost completely enveloped by her powerfully muscled
arm; somehow, that sensation intensified his desire.  And,
despite the sadistic agony and humiliation she had inflicted on
him, he found himself almost enjoying being carried by her.  When
she dropped him unceremoniously on the bed and stepped back,
looking down at his throbbing erection with unconcealed amusement, 
both disappointment and apprehension showed clearly in his
eyes.
     "What--what are you going to do?" he whispered.
     "What I said I would, little one," she replied.  "I'm going
to give you a chance to escape.  For that you will need clothes
and proper footwear--a long sleeve shirt, long pants and tennis
shoes would be most appropriate, I should think, since I will be
taking you into the jungle outside the compound.  Get them and
put them on."
     "I--I don't understand..."
     Her face showed annoyance.  "You will.  Do it!" she snapped. 
"Now!"
     His erection wilted as the desire in his loins dissipated at
her tone, and he hastened to obey, securing fresh underwear and
socks from his dresser and a light khaki shirt, trousers and
tennis shoes from his closet, which he hurriedly put on.  Then,
as he looked up at her expectantly, she turned on her heel and
strode from the room.
     "Come with me."
     Reluctantly, knowing he had no choice, but half wishing she
would carry him again, he followed her back downstairs, out of
the house and across the lawn to the wall where her rope was
still dangling.  He said nothing as she scooped him up under one
massive arm and effortlessly pulled both of them up the rope with
her free hand.  When she reached the top, she stood, removed the
loop from the steel post and, after setting him on his feet next
to her, slipped it over his shoulders and under his armpits. 
Holding the rope in one and and sliding her other hand under his
buttocks, she lifted him easily over the six foot fence and
lowered him to the ground outside the compound.  Then, still
holding the rope end, she vaulted over the fence and dropped the
twenty-six feet to the ground, landing lightly on her feet and
rolling to dissipate the impact of her fall.
     He had neither moved nor spoken, and, coming to her feet,
she removed the rope from his body and coiled it over her shoulder.  
"All right, little one," she murmured, reaching out to take
his left wrist and examine his Rolex, "your second lesson is
about to begin.  You will learn that no matter where you go, no
matter where you try to hide on this island, you cannot escape
me, that I can find you and recapture you at will.  To prove that
to you, I'm giving you a chance to get away.  Your watch says
10:15, as does mine.  I'll give you a 15 minute head start.  If I
don't recapture you by 11:00, you will be free; I'll take you
back inside your compound and leave, and you'll never see me
again."
     He stared up at her, amazed at her proposal.  Did she really
mean it?  Was it possible that she would permit him to end her
domination merely by hiding from her for less than an hour?  Or
was she really that confident she could find him so quickly?  And
did he really want to escape from her?  His fear and the memory
of the pain and desire she had inflicted on him left his mind in
a quandry...
     He hesitated, looking around nervously.  "I--I've never been
out here alone before..."
     She laughed shortly.  "The jungle is safe enough," she as-
sured him.  "You had what little animal life there was here all
but eliminated before you built your compound.  There may be a
few, small specimens about, but nothing that could harm you."
     "But--still, if we could go back inside my compound..."
     She snorted.  "Of course!  So you could try to reactivate
your communications system and call for help?  Don't you realize
that I would know what you were doing, that I would catch you and
stop you, and your last chance for freedom would be lost?  Is
that what you want?"
     His confusion showed clearly on his face.  Amazingly, he
hadn't even thought of doing that!  Watching him, a faint smile
flitted across her impassive features.
     "Perhaps that IS what you want, after all, little puppet,"
she mused.  "If so, I would be surprised that you could be tamed
so quickly and easily..."  Abruptly her mood changed.  Her body
tensed, and every massive muscle of her powerful body bulged out
in bold relief as, hands on hips, she glowered down at him. 
"Now, go!" she snapped.  "Your 15 minutes has begun.  And if you
make it too easy for me to catch you, I will give you pain that
will make the pain you felt before seem like pleasure by compari-
son!"
     A pleading look up at her menacing, unrelenting expression
told him he had no choice but to obey.  His mind still in tur-
moil, he turned and plunged blindly into the jungle.

                              Part 2

     He ran, not knowing or caring where he was going, and in
moments was lost in the dense undergrowth.  Still he ran, shield-
ing his face from the slashing foliage, with stamina beyond his
capability borne of fear, until at last, exhausted, his small
muscles numb from his exertions, he collapsed sobbing on the damp
ground.
     His eyes blurred and teary, he tried to make out the time on
his watch.  Ten thirty.  She would be coming for him, now.  How
far had he fled?  He had no idea.  All he knew was that he had no
hope of outrunning the incredibly long, massively powerful legs,
or matching the endurance, of this superhuman giantess of his
dreams.  Stealth was his only hope.  He would have to find a
place to hide and hope that she would pass him by...
     But did he really want to escape her?  True, she had 
inflicted pain, excruciating pain, on his tiny body.  But beyond
that pain, she had also kindled feelings and desires unlike
anything he had ever known.  For some reason beyond his compre-
hension, he wanted her--no, he wanted HER to take HIM, to cradle
him in her mighty arms and make him part of the magnificent
muscularity and power that was her body.  It was crazy!  Here he
was, Billy Ray Sanders, undisputed king of an empire built by his
own talent and drive, despoiler of women, taker of whatever and
whomever he wanted, yet now lusting to himself be taken by a
woman twice his size and perhaps ten times his strength, easily
capable of crushing the life from his puny body in a single hand!
     Then it came to him.  Maybe--just maybe, if he could elude
her for the allotted time, he could convince her not to leave,
but to stay...on HIS terms...
     But where to hide?  He looked around, then up.  There were
many tall trees around him, forming a canopy of heavy foliage
that would conceal him from below, but their trunks were smooth
near the ground, impossible to climb.  The underbrush, however,
was heavy enough, if he could find the right spot...
     He found it, a huge grove of thick bushes, perhaps six feet
in height, surrounded by huge trees.  Carefully he pushed his way
through the branches to the center of the grove and dropped to
his knees, his chest heaving.  But it was perfect.  He could not
even see beyond the dense undergrowth of his hiding place.  There
was no way he could be seen from the outside.  He was safe.
     Minutes passed.  There was no sound, other than the rustling
of light breezes through the trees.
     And then a huge hand came down behind him, out of nowhere,
gripped him by the back of his neck.  Long, powerful fingers
completely encircled his throat, yanked him high into the air
with neck wrenching force and held him there, above the foliage,
and then threw him.  He sailed through the air, landing hard on
his shoulder and hip on clear ground, momentum carrying him over
on his back and then on his stomach.  He lay for a moment,
stunned, uncomprehending, only vaguely aware of legs the size of
tree trunks straddling his prostrate body.  When he finally was
able to turn and look upward to see Tamara MacFarland's
gargantuan frame looming over him, her beautiful face dark with
contempt, his heart sank.
     "Stupid, little man!" she growled.  "You left a trail I
could have followed with my eyes closed!  I warned you what would
happen if you made it too easy for me!  I gave you fifteen
minutes head start and found you in less than ten!"
     "No!  Please!" he babbled, "Give me another chance, please!"
     "Then run, you insignificant bug!"
     He scurried out from between her legs, scrambled to his feet
and ran, desperation and terror imparting strength to his 
exhausted body even as he knew that flight from her was hopeless,
that she could catch him at will.  Still he ran, blindly as
before, through the trees, shielding his eyes from the underbrush
and pivoting often to glance back to see if she was pursuing him. 
She was nowhere to be seen.  And still he ran, until, looking
backward, he collided with what had to be a tree and went 
sprawling on his back on the ground.
     But it was no tree.  It was Tamara, standing over him, legs
spread, hands on hips, looking down at him contemptuously.  She
had circled around him, unseen, and had still outrun him easily.
     With a choking cry he scuttled away and ran again, but
within minutes she was there again, blocking his path.  And he
collapsed, sobbing, at her feet.
     "It is five minutes to eleven," she told him coldly, "and,
little man, your time has just run out."
     "Oh. God!" he blubbered.  "Oh, my God!  Please don't hurt me
any more!  Please!"
     She bent down, pushed him on his back, then grasped both his
ankles, forced them together and captured them in her huge, right
hand.  She lifted him high, effortlessly holding him upside down
for a long moment, his arms dangling almost a foot off the
ground, then whirled his body up in a wide arc and slammed him
down across one massive shoulder, driving the air from his lungs. 
As he gasped for breath, she reached back to take his right wrist
in her free hand and guided it around and under her armpit,
stretching his arm until she was able to secure his wrist in the
grip of the same, huge hand that held both his ankles together. 
Then, holding her helpless, sobbing captive taut over her 
shoulder, she set off in a brisk trot through the jungle.
     For Billy Ray Sanders, it was a bumpy ride, but, as he
finally fought back his tears, he remained silent, knowing there
was nothing he could say that would change whatever further
tortures she had in mind for him.
     Reaching the wall of the compound, she stopped and, still
holding her helpless captive securely over one shoulder, uncoiled
the rope from other with her free hand, then heaved the looped
end up the wall to settle over a steel post at the top.  Without
display of effort and using only her free hand, she pulled
herself and her captive up the wall and, drawing the rope up
behind her, dropped it on the other side.  Only then did she lift
Billy Ray Sanders from her shoulder and tuck him securely under
one arm.
     "Wrap your arms around your head, little one," she warned
him, "unless you want to risk breaking your neck."
     "W--w--why?"
     "Do it!" she snapped, and he did.  Then, to his horror, she
used her other hand to vault easily over the fence to land on the
ground below.
     Billy Ray Sanders screamed, sure he would be crushed by the
impact, but she rolled both of them to dissipate the force of
their fall and came, catlike, to her feet.  And, despite his
fear, he could only marvel at the superhuman strength and agility
of his giant, Amazonian captor.
     Lifting him from under her arm, she slung him back over her
shoulder, securing his legs and right wrist as she had before,
then set off again, trotting briskly along the wall.
     "W--where are you taking me?" he whispered, his voice jolted
with every long stride.
     "Checking your guards and servants to make sure they're
where I left them," she replied tersely.  "Then, my little
puppet, I am going to finish what I started with you."
     "F--f--finish?  F-finish what?"
     "You shall see.  Now, stop your babbling and be quiet!"
     Again he lapsed into silence as she quickly made her rounds,
checking and counting each of the sacks hanging from the trees on
the grounds and in the servants quarters.  All were as she had
left them, and all the guards and servants still unconscious. 
Satisfied, she carried him back to the veranda.  There, she
lifted him off her shoulder and, holding him securely around the
waist in the palm of one hand, she stripped him of his clothes. 
Then, holding him almost horizontally in front of her, she smiled
grimly down at him.
     "Pleasure and pain, Billy Ray Sanders," she murmured.  "Do
you remember?  Is the memory of what I did to you less than two
hours ago, of what you felt as I toyed with your helpless body,
still fresh in your mind?  Well, prepare yourself, little puppet. 
What you felt then is nothing compared to what you are going to
feel now."
     Momentary panic stiffened his body, but a pleading look up
at her stern, impassive features told him there was no hope, that
the giant Amazon of his nightmares was now a reality.  Always he
had awakened before she had taken him, and always with a raging
erection, but never knowing fully what she would have done to him
in the end.  Would she have killed him after she had taken her
pleasure from him?  Perhaps now he would know...
     But would he ever know why?  She had given him a clue
before; she had said he was a bad man, a man who had ruined
countless lives, and that she was going to make him right the
countless wrongs he had done.  But why?  Had he hurt her in some
way, or someone she loved?  Staring up at the beautiful, incred-
ibly powerful figure holding his puny body so easily in a single
hand, he could not imagine doing her harm of any kind!  This was
not the kind of woman a man could harm, this was a woman to be
worshipped and served, a woman who could take what she wanted
from any man and leave him begging for more!
     Then he knew.  For the first time he realized that behind
everything he had been, everything he had done, the bullying, the
cruelty, the women he had taken, behind all of that had lain this
secret desire, buried in his subconscious, manifested only in the
Amazon of his dreams, but now revealed in all its terrible
reality.
     She was going to punish him.  And he WANTED to be punished!
     And suddenly he was almost relieved...
     He closed his eyes and relaxed, waiting for whatever was to
come.
     His reaction surprised her.  She looked down at him curiously 
as he lay, powerless, in the palm of her single, huge hand. 
Could it be that this insignificant, little bug was going to take
his punishment like a man?
     Her thought had slipped into words before she realized it. 
He opened his eyes briefly to look up at her, then lowered them. 
"I--I don't know why you're doing this to me," he whispered in
reply.  "I don't even know who you are.  All I know is that I
can't stop you from doing whatever you're going to do to me, and
that, if I've done something to you in the past to make you want
to torture me like this, I--I'm sorry, and--and I'm ready to--
A-a-ag-g-gh-h-h!"
     Sudden anger had flared up in her, tightening the grip of
her fingers around his slender body and driving the air from his
lungs.  This was not what she had planned!  Everything she had
learned about this corrupt, scurrilous creature had told her he
should be sobbing and begging for mercy, cringing at her feet in
mingled terror and desire.  Instead, he was showing genuine
remorse!
     She could not, would not believe him.  She had seen the real
Billy Ray Sanders this morning: coarse, vulgar, ready to kill her
without a second thought.  She would have her revenge.  And she
WOULD have him cringing at her feet, begging her for mercy and to
be taken...
     She relaxed her grip on his body and, as he was gasping for
breach, carried him to a chair, sat down on it and set him on his
bare feet, facing her, between her massive, spread thighs, his
eyes barely level with her own.
     "That was a nice try, Billy Ray Sanders," she told him
grimly, "but I don't believe you!"
     And then she began to play his body.
     Her training in martial arts had made her an expert in human
anatomy.  She knew every pain center, every erogenous spot, every
potentially ticklish area on the male physique.  She could play a
man's body like a musical instrument, evoking whatever response
she wished: screams of agony, abject depression or tearful
pathos, uncontrolled laughter or raging desire, all with a touch
of her powerful hands.  Several times she had been challenged by
strong men who had boasted that they had never been ticklish, yet
she had found parts of their bodies they had never known existed
and, holding them helpless in her hands, had reduced them in
minutes to shrieking hulks of convulsive glee begging for release.  
And Billy Ray Sanders was a weakling even among normal
men.  In her hands, he was like a rag doll, responding her to
every touch exactly as she wished.
     Her long, powerful fingers held him prisoner even as they
wandered at will over him, probing, tickling, fondling, pressing,
while he alternately screamed in pain, then laughter, then moaned
in ecstasy, his penis now stiff with desire, then wilting as his
consciousness was enveloped in spasms of unbearable agony.  He
writhed helplessly in her grasp, trying vainly to twist away from
her, then snatching at those torturing fingers with his tiny
hands, but unable to so much as slow their progress over his
body.  Within minutes he was unable to stand, his muscles drained
of what little strength they had, held erect only by the pressure
of her fingers, his mind unaware of anything except the gauntlet
of emotions she was producing in him.  He was floating, semi-
conscious, on an ever changing sea of wild sensations, until at
last, when it seemed that consciousness would desert him com-
pletely, he felt himself being lifted and cradled like a small
child in a single, massive arm.
     Dimly he was aware of the fingers of her free hand, playing
over his body, touching, fondling, and by some miracle, even
through the fog of pain and exhaustion that consumed his senses,
arousing him.  A feeble sob escaped his lips as pangs of desire
flooded his body, stiffening him, bringing him to the brink of
orgasm, and then, somehow, denying him release.  Instinctively he
tried to reach up to her, to embrace her and pull himself closer
to her, but both his arms were pinioned to his sides by her
single, massive arm which held him tight against her chest. 
Again and again she carried him to the edge and then denied him,
until, at last, the pangs of desire were submerged in the terrible 
ache of frustration that flooded his loins and then enveloped
his entire lower body.
     He was sobbing openly, now, his mind and body racked with
the intense agony of denial.  Hell, he thought, could be no worse
than this!  Somehow, he had to find relief...
     He felt her move, carry him across the patio, then bend to
retrieve something from sack still lying where she had left it. 
He couldn't see what it was; he could barely see at all.  Only
when he was lifted, and something hard, metallic and cold was
fastened around his waist, hips and thighs, did he know.
     It was the last thing she would need to complete his 
degradation, the instrument of ultimate denial, ensuring that there
would be no solace for him, no release, no end to his suffering.
     It was too much for his mind to comprehend or bear.  He
fainted.

                          *     *     *

     He awoke in his bed.  He was still naked except for the
metal chastity belt clamped around his lower body, and was lying,
uncovered, on top of the bedspread.  There was sunlight streaming
through the huge, bay windows of his bedroom.  He ached all over,
but at least the pain in his loins was more bearable, now. 
Tentatively he moved one arm, then the other, wincing at the
discomfort, but was relieved to discover that, at least, both
worked.  He tried to move his legs to get out of bed, but the
metal edges of the belt chafed his inner thighs, and he quickly
gave up the idea.
     He looked around and realized suddenly that he was alone;
his giant, female captor was nowhere to be seen.  Had she left
the island, he wondered?  What was it she had said before? 
Something about making him right all the wrongs he had done... 
No, there would be more to come; she wasn't finished with him
yet.
     And again he felt almost relieved...
     The bedroom door opened, and she was there, still wearing
her brief, revealing outfit, her massive frame filling the
doorway.
     "Awake, I see," she growled.
     He smiled wanly.  "How--how long was I asleep?"
     "Only about an hour."
     He closed his eyes.  "I--I was afraid for a minute that--
that you'd gone," he whispered finally.
     "Afraid?!?"  She glared at him.  Christ!  Did this contemptible, 
little pervert LIKE what she was doing to him?  She crossed
to the bed and stood over him, looming above him like a giant,
avenging, female colossus, her face a mask of anger and frustra-
tion.  "What do you mean, afraid?" she snapped.
     He quailed before her obvious rage.  "I--I didn't want you
to leave," he whispered.  "I--I know you don't believe that, but
it's true."
     She shook her head, fighting back an urge to reach down and
throttle the life from this miserable creature with a single
hand.  "Then you must enjoy pain, Billy Ray Sanders," she grated,
"for that is all you will get from me.  Pain and desire, desire
that will never be fulfilled."
     "I know."  He closed his eyes again.  "I know why you're
here," he whispered finally, "and I'm afraid, I can't deny that. 
I'm terrified of you, of what I know you're going to do to me.  I
almost wish you'd kill me and get it over with, but I know you
won't."  He looked up at her, his face mirroring the agony he
felt, tears welling up in his eyes.  "You see," he choked, "I--
I've known that you would come for me.  I didn't realize it until
today, but I--I've been waiting for you to come."
     "Waiting for me?  You've never seen me before!  You don't
even know who I am!"
     "I've seen you before," he whispered.  "Almost every night. 
In my dreams."
     She stared down at him, searching for any sign of duplicity,
but there was none.  To all appearances, he was telling the
truth, and, for the first time, she began to wonder...
     "Tell me about your dreams, Billy Ray Sanders," she said
quietly.
     Sobbing, he told her, described the giant, faceless Amazon
in that dark, foreboding place, the dimly lighted dance floor and
slow, sensuous music, the crushing pressure of her mighty arms
around his body as she swept him around the dance floor in time
to the music, then up into her arms to carry him away as he
struggled helplessly to escape, only to be thrown, naked, into
bed, a toy to be used for her pleasure, and then to awake, stiff
and throbbing with desire...
     "You wanted her to rape you, didn't you?" she asked.
     "I--I don't know," he whispered.  "I--I think so."
     And then, suddenly, she began to understand.
     Could it be that he was not be the Billy Ray Sanders she had
thought he was, the cruel, selfish taker, the ruiner of lives,
the ravager of women?  There was no question that he had done all
those terrible things, but why?  Was it possible that behind all
these misdeeds lay a yearning for a woman like herself to take
him in hand, to punish and dominate him, rape and ravage him and
bend him to her will?  Was this what the king of rock and roll,
this darling of the teeny-boppers, really craved?  The dream he
had described clearly suggested as much, and, if so, that desire
could be used to her advantage, could be the tool she needed to
make him set things right.
     And, perhaps, more.  For Tamara McFarland was beginning to
see this small man in a somewhat different light...
     But she had to be sure.  She had to test him.
     She took a key from the pocket of her shorts, reached down
and unlocked the chastity belt, letting it fall away from his
naked body.
     "What--what are you going to do?" he quavered.
     She didn't answer him.  Instead, she bent down, slid her
powerful arms under his slender, naked body, pinning his arms to
his sides, and lifted him off the bed to cradle him gently, like
a small child, against her massive chest.  He looked up at her
impassive features in surprise at her gentleness, but unsure of
what to expect next.  Her face still expressionless, she rolled
his body up slightly and pursed her lips, as though she were
about to kiss him.  His small body shuddered as a thrill of
desire and anticipation coursed through him, and he felt his
penis snap erect against her breastbone.  But she merely continued 
to look down at him with those pursed lips, and finally he
gave a little moan and went limp in her arms.
     "You want me, don't you, little man?" she growled.
     He shuddered again, buried his face between her neck and
shoulder, and she felt the wetness of tears on her skin.  "Y--
yes," he whispered, his voice muffled against her hard flesh, 
"I--I think so, but--you're so big and so strong, I--I'm terrified
of you!  Oh, God, I don't know what I want any more!  I--I only
know that--I--I don't want you to leave me!"
     She smiled faintly.  "Are you sure of that?" she asked him. 
"You've been a bad man, Billy Ray Sanders, a very naughty, little
man for many, many years.  You know what I do to naughty, little
men, don't you, Billy Ray Sanders?"
     He looked up at her with tear streaked, agonized eyes, and
she saw both fear and longing in them.  "W--what?" he whispered.
"Are--are you going to hurt me again?"
     She ignored his question.  "I'm going to punish you, Billy
Ray," she said.
     "But--I thought--what you did to me before..."
     "What I did to you before was done in anger," she cut him
off, "to make you suffer the way you've made others suffer.  But
now I think what you need is to be punished, and then be made to
atone for what you've done.  And I think, deep down, that's
really what you really want from me, isn't it, Billy Ray?"
     He shivered in her arms, closed his eyes momentarily, then
looked up at her again with that same expression of fear and
longing.  "What--what are you going to do to me?" he quavered. 
"Will--will it hurt much?"
     She pursed her lips again.  "I'm going to spank you, Billy
Ray," she told him slowly, "I'm going to give you the spanking of
your life.  And yes, it will hurt.  It will hurt a lot, but not
as much as what I did to you before.  And, when it's over, you'll
be free of your guilt, because you will know I will have made you
pay for the bad things you've done.  Then I'm going to make you
set all those things right."  She stopped, looking down at him,
her eyes boring into his as she slowly repeated her earlier
question.  "That's really what you want from me, isn't it, Billy
Ray?"
     He shivered a second time, said nothing, but she felt his
penis stiffen again against her, hard and throbbing, and smiled.
     "Yes, little man," she murmured, "I think a good, sound
spanking is exactly what you need..."
     Before he could respond, she pivoted around, sat down on the
bed, turned him over and laid him face down over a single,
massive thigh, holding him there with a huge hand that all but
covered his narrow back, then forced both his legs down so she
could lock him in place with her other thigh and press the tip of
his erect and pulsating member hard into the deep ridge between
the Adductor and Gracilis muscles of her inner thigh.  But his
moan of pleasure was short lived as she began to spank him with
her open hand.
     She used only a small fraction of her strength, but, to
Billy Ray Sanders, the blows seemed like pile drivers raining
down on his bare, upturned buttocks, sending sharp, searing stabs
of agony through his slender body.  Within seconds his buttocks
felt like they were on fire!  He screamed in anguish, writhing
helplessly in the vice like grip of her mighty thighs and flailing 
about with his arms, but was unable to so much as slow the
steady onslaught by her open hand on his now beet red, unprotected 
rear.  Finally, exhausted by his struggles and racked with
pain, he collapsed into a limp rag, sobbing hysterically as she
calmly continued his spanking.
     Yet, despite his misery, his penis remained stiff and hard
against her inner thigh.
     It was exactly the reaction she had expected and wanted. 
Now she knew for sure.
     She stopped spanking him and spread her legs, releasing him
from his iron prison, then put both hands around his waist,
lifted him off her lap, and rolled his small, quaking body easily
up to again cradle him in her massive arms, press his hard penis
against her stomach and tuck his head against her shoulder as he
continued to sob violently and uncontrollably.  She rose to her
feet and began to rock him gently in her arms.
     "You feel better, now, don't you, little one?" she murmured
softly into his ear.  "Now that I've punished you for all the bad
things you've done.  Look up at me and tell me that you feel
better, now."
     He lifted moisture laden eyes to hers and, his body still
shaking as he tried to choke back his tears, nodded submissively.
     "And you feel so small and safe and secure in my arms, don't
you, my poor, little man?"
     "Y--Yes."
     "And you want nothing more than to please me, to do whatever
I tell you, so that I will never leave you, but will hold you and
protect you forever, isn't that right?"
     "Y--yes.  Oh, yes!"  He buried his face in her neck, sliding
a slender arm around her massive chest to cling to her desperately.  
"Don't ever leave me, please!" he begged her between choking sobs.
     "You know what you must do if you want me to stay with you,
don't you, little one?"
     It was more of a statement than a question.  He raised his
eyes to hers again and looked up into her solemn face question-
ingly, tears still running down his cheeks.  "N--no..." he
whispered.  "W--what?"
     Her features hardened.  With a flick of her massive arms,
she tossed him back on the bed.  "You dare to question me?" she
snapped.  "You say you want to do anything to please me and then
want to know what it is before agreeing to do it?"  Hands on her
hips, she glared down at his prostrate form.  "Know this, little
man!  There will be no questions, no conditions, if you wish to
stay with me!  There will be nothing for you but immediate,
unquestioning obedience to my every wish!  Do you understand
that?"
     He cowered before her on the bed.  "N--no!" he quavered. 
"I--I mean, yes!  Oh, God, I didn't mean--!"  Summoning what
little courage he had, he scrambled off the bed and fell to his
knees in front of her.  His face was a mask of agonized confusion
as he looked pleadingly up at her stern features.  He reached up
to her with both his tiny hands as though to caress her massive
thighs, yet seemingly not daring to touch her.  "Please, I didn't
mean to question you!" he whined.  "You--you asked me if I knew
what I had to do, and--and I just meant that I didn't know!  I'll
do anything, anything!  I promise!  Please, just tell me what to
do, and I'll do it!"
     She continued to regard him impassively.  It was hard not to
feel contempt for this miserable wreck of a man groveling at her
feet, but there was much for him to do before she would be
finished with him.  And, for that, she needed his wealth.  
     Still, he was not the monster she had first thought him to
be, for she was now certain that his past misdeeds had flowed,
not from a personality that was intrinsically evil, but from a
complex desire to be punished and then taken in hand by a tall,.
powerful, dominant woman.  And he was, after all, a beautiful,
little thing...
     And she was, she knew, the woman of his dreams...
     She reached down, slid her huge hands under his armpits, her
long fingers almost completely encircling his narrow chest, and
lifted him off the floor to hold him effortlessly out at arm's
length.  "We shall see, little one," she murmured.  Then she
tucked him securely under one arm and carried him out of the
bedroom.
     "Where--where are you taking me?" he quavered between
sniffles.
     "Downstairs," she retorted.  "We have much to do today.  But
it's almost lunchtime, and I'm getting hungry.  You're going to
fix my lunch."
     "But--but the servants do that!  I--I don't know how--or
where anything is--"
     Her arm tightened imperceptibly, but ominously, around his
waist.  "Questioning me again?"
     "No!  No!  Please!  I--I'll do it...somehow!"
     "Wise decision, little one," she murmured.  "You're learning, 
but you still have a way to go."
     She carried him into the huge kitchen and set him on his
feet, but continued to hold him prisoner with a single, huge hand
covering a narrow shoulder as she searched for and finally found
a large apron to cover his nakedness, but left his back and
buttocks bare.  Then, seating herself at the servants' table, she
ordered him into a huge food locker at the other end of the
kitchen to call out its contents.  She smiled faintly as he
hurried to obey, then grimaced with distaste as, shivering from
the cold, he described each of the shanks of red meat hanging
there.
     "No wonder you all are such pitiful physical specimens," she
told him laconically, "stuffing yourselves with that garbage. 
Check the refrigerator to see if there's something there that's
fit to eat."
     He did so and found a large, frozen, boned trout and a
package of frozen broccoli, which, after finally locating the
cooking pans and dishes, he prepared plain under her direction
and brought to the table, looking up at her anxiously as if
seeking her approval.
     She gave it to him with a nod and said, "Get a small plate
for yourself if you're hungry."  But when he returned to the
table with a plate and utensils, she cut small portions of fish
and broccoli from her own serving, transferred them to his plate
and then bent down to place the plate and utensils on the floor
between her feet.  "You eat from the floor," she growled.  "Hop
to it!"
     He winced, but said nothing, and passively crawled under the
table, positioned himself on his knees in front of her massive
legs and began to eat as she leaned back to watch him with
amusement.
     "When you're finished," she told him sternly, "I want to
feel your nose right up in here!" and pointed to her crotch,
barely covered by her brief shorts between her bare, powerfully
muscled thighs.  "I like to have a little pleasure with my
lunch!"
     He looked up at her quickly, then warily at the appointed
target for his nose--but did she see a glimmer of desire in his
eyes?  Nevertheless, he remained silent, finished his plate
quickly, then lifted his face and inserted it firmly between her
spread thighs as she had directed.  Instantly she wrapped her
legs around his back and pulled him in harder, then forced his
head down with one hand so that his nose was jammed tightly
against the thin fabric covering her vulva and tightened her
thighs around his head, locking him in place.  "Mmmmmm..." she
murmured as he struggled to breathe, "better..." and proceeded to
leisurely enjoy both her lunch and the subtle sensations his
futile wriggling were sending through her titanic frame.
     Surprisingly, she was even beginning to feel a budding
impulse to take his tiny, helpless body...  But she immediately
rejected the notion.  Even the biggest, strongest men could
barely survive her lovemaking.  This puny specimen, compared to
her more like a child than a man, would be crushed to a pulp. 
Unless...
     She finished her lunch, abruptly released him and stood up,
looking down at him with amusement as he collapsed, gasping for
breath, on the floor.  "On your feet, little man!" she commanded
brusquely.  "You're going to clean up this mess!"
     Still gulping precious air into his lungs, he quickly
retrieved his plate and utensils from the floor, crawled out from
under the table and staggered to his feet.  He collected hers and
hurried to the kitchen sink and filled it with soapy water.  With
a silent chuckle, she noted that he was ignoring the built in
dishwasher next to the sink; probably didn't even know what it
was!  Still, he did look awfully cute, with his soft, slender
body and those adorable, little, bare buns, still red from his
spanking, as he stood there at the sink washing and drying their
dishes like a submissive, male housemaid...
     She moved across the floor to tower behind him, his head
almost sandwiched between her full, firm breasts, barely covered
by her brief halter.  As he was draining the sink she slid her
huge hands gently around his narrow chest under the apron.  He
gasped, and she felt his body stiffen, then relax, and he leaned
back against her, resting his head between her breasts.  She
could see that his eyes were closed, an expression of ecstasy on
his pretty face.
     "You like the feel of my hands on your body, don't you,
Billy Ray Sanders?" she murmured.
     "O-o-o-h, ye-e-e-s!" he breathed, then twisted his head to
look up at her still impassive features looming above him, and he
was suddenly apprehensive.  "Are--are you going to hurt me
again?" he whispered.
     She smiled, turned him to face her.  "No," she replied
softly, "not unless you disobey me.  Instead, I think I'll do
this!"  She slid one hand down his back, cupped both his buttocks
and lifted him effortlessly off the floor until his face was just
below her own and pressed his body to hers.  Then, covering the
back of his head with her other hand, she lowered her open mouth
to firmly capture his.  He gave a little, muffled moan, and she
felt his penis snap erect against her hard stomach, and then his
slender arms slid up over her shoulders and around her neck in
passive surrender to her embrace.
     When at last she released him and lowered him to the floor,
he clung to her desperately.  "Oh, God!" he wailed.  "I--I love
you!  I don't even know your name, but I love you!"
     "Yet you're also afraid of me, aren't you?"
     He nodded miserably.  "Yes!  Yes!  I'm terrified of you, of
what you can do to me!  But I don't care!  I don't care how much
you hurt me, as long as I can stay with you, be with you, feel
your arms around me, holding me!"
     "I warned you that's what would happen."
     "I--I know."  He lowered his head, as though not daring to
look up into her eyes.  "You were right."  He hesitated for a
long moment, then blurted, "I--I know you despise me, and that
you'll never make love to me, but--but I don't care!  I can't
help myself!  I love you!"
     She reached down, placed a single hand on top of his head
and tilted it back, forcing him to look up at her and capturing
his eyes with hers.  "I don't despise you, little one," she said
simply.
     "You--you don't?"  His face was suddenly aglow with hope. 
"But--but I thought--"
     "I did at first," she admitted.  "But I've seen something in
you I didn't know was there, something that, perhaps, even you
may not know is there.  And I'm beginning to think you may not be
beyond redemption, after all."
     His eyes closed, a look of ecstasy flooded his soft features, 
and he all but collapsed against her.  "Oh, God!" he
whispered.  "If there's any chance...any chance at all that you
could...  Oh, God, if there was anything I could do!  I'd do
anything for that!"
     She smiled faintly.  "There is," she said, "and you will. 
Starting right now."
     She spun him around so that his back was to her, stripped
the apron from him, then bent down and slid a single hand under
his buttocks and between his thighs to firmly, yet gently, cup
his entire crotch in her huge palm.  Straightening, she lifted
him off the floor to hold him effortlessly in front of her and,
with her other hand holding his shoulder for balance, carried him
out of the kitchen and through the house.
     "Where--where are you taking me?" he asked tremulously.
     "To your study, little one.  You have work to do."
     "What--what kind of work?"
     "You'll see."
     She reached the study, pushed open the doors with her
shoulder and carried him inside, over to his desk and sat him
down in his oversized chair.  She stepped around to the other
side of the desk, leaned down on it with her hands and looked at
him intently.  "Does the name Jasmine Mercer mean anything to
you?" she asked quietly.
     His face was blank.  His eyes darted about, as if searching
for her meaning.  "I--I don't think so.  Why?"
     "She's my closest friend.  We grew up together."
     He shook his head, genuinely puzzled.  "I don't understand. 
What--what does that have to do with me?"
     "She was a singer.  Just starting out."
     "Was?"
     "Was.  You met her, brought her out here and got her pregnant.  
Then you forced her to abort the baby."
     His face went white, and he seemed to crumple down into the
big chair.  She watched him closely, looking for signs of fright,
or that he might try to run, but he merely closed his eyes and
nodded.  His voice, when he spoke, was a barely audible whisper. 
"I--I remember her, now.  Is--is she all right?"
     "Physically, yes.  But the abortion did something to her
mentally.  She was suicidal for a while, so I had to have her
institutionalized.  Now she's catatonic.  Doesn't even recognize
me."
     He winced, covered his face with his hands.  "Oh, my God!"
he whispered.  "No wonder you hate me!"
     "I told you before, I don't hate you, Billy Ray," she
replied quietly.  "I did, and I probably still should, but I
think I understand you, now, and I don't hate you."
     "What--what can I do?"
     She pursed her lips.  "I'm financially very well off, and
I've been able to handle the expense of keeping her institution-
alized, but I can't afford the kind of treatments the doctors say
she needs if she's to have any real hope of recovery.  You can,
and you owe her that much.  And a lot more."
     He grabbed a pencil and pad.  "Tell me where she is, please! 
I'll make sure she gets the best of everything!  Everything she
needs to get well!  Every treatment that will give her any chance
at all of getting well!  I promise!"
     Smiling faintly, Tamara gave him the information, the name
of the sanitarium and the doctors involved.  He wrote it all down
diligently, then looked up at her expectantly.
     "There's more," she said.
     "Tell me, please!" he begged.
     She paused, looking at him intently.  "How many lives have
you ruined, Billy Ray?" she asked finally.  "People who helped
you during your career, and who you turned on and destroyed. 
And, except for Jasmine, I'm not talking about the women you
bedded; unlike her, they were starlets; they knew what they were
getting into and got nothing from you, which was about what they
deserved.  I mean the good people in the industry, who worked
with you, made you what you are, and then were cast aside, even
blackballed and ruined."
     A pained look crossed his face.  "I know," he whispered.  "A
lot."
     "Do you remember who they are?"
     "I--I think so.  Most of them.  Maybe all of them, I--I
don't know."
     "Write them down."
     He thought for a moment, then began writing names in a
column down the left side of the pad, stopping only when he was a
few lines from the bottom.  "There--there's one--I can't remember
his last name...Jack something..."
     "Hartkinson," she said.
     He looked up at her in surprise.  "You know?"
     "I know.  I've been investigating you for several months.  I
have my own list, Billy Ray."  She took the pad from him, removed
a crumpled sheet of paper from a side pocket of her shorts and
compared the two.  After a few seconds, she nodded approvingly
and handed the pad back to him.  "You have a good memory, Billy
Ray," she told him.  "You have every name I have and even a few I
didn't know about.  And that tells me something else about you, I
think."
     "You--you want me to make it right with them."  It was a
statement, not a question.
     "All of them," she replied, "to the extent you can.  No
matter what it takes or how much it costs."
     He lowered his eyes.  "I will," he whispered, and then he
straightened in his chair, as though a great burden had suddenly
been lifted from his shoulders.  "I will!" he repeated fervently.
"I promise!"
     She regarded him for a moment, thinking, then made her
decision.  "All right, Billy Ray," she said at last.  "I'm going
to trust you, up to a point.  Go back to your bedroom and get
dressed.  I'll meet you on the veranda."
     "What--what are we going to do?"
     "We're going out to the generator room behind the barracks. 
I'm going to turn your power back on and restore your communications.  
There's a telephone there you can use to call the mainland."

                          *     *     *

     Julian Horowicz was in a terrible mood.  His secretary had
been trying to reach Billy Ray Sanders all morning and during his
entire lunch hour, but had been unable to raise anyone on the
island.  Now he was worried.  Not that Sanders could be in any
danger; that damned island of his was impregnable!  But when your
biggest client has a threatened multimillion dollar lawsuit
against him, his lawyer had better be able to reach him damned
fast.  Billy Ray Sanders was not one to tolerate excuses...
     His intercom buzzed, and he hit the button.  It was his
secretary.  She sounded strange.
     "I have Mr. Sanders on the phone."
     "Billy Ray?  Jesus!  Thank God!  Put him through!"
     "Mr. Horowicz?"
     "Yes?"
     "He asked if you were available.  He's never done that
before."  There was a moment of silence, then she added, "When I
told him you were, he asked if he could 'please' talk to you.  He
actually said, 'please' to me!"
     Horowicz frowned.  "Christ!" he muttered.  "I hope he's not
on something!  Put him through."
     His primary line lighted, and the phone buzzed.  He grabbed
it.  "Billy Ray?  Jesus Christ!  What the hell's happening out
there?  I've been trying to reach you all day!"
     "It's okay.  Communications were down for a while.  They're
back up, now."  It was Sanders' voice, all right, but he sounded
oddly subdued.  "Look, Julian, do you have a few minutes for me? 
I--I really need to talk to you."
     Horowicz almost dropped the phone.  "Talk to me?  Christ,
Billy Ray, I've got to talk to you!  You're going to get sued!
For twenty million bucks!  Remember Colin Buckley, the guy you
fired and blackballed last year?  He committed suicide in Seattle
last month!  His wife's lawyer called me this morning, claims
you're responsible!  How fast can you get me out there?"
     There were several moments of silence.  Then, barely audibly, 
"Oh, my God...  Colin Buckley's--dead?"
     "Dead and buried.  Look, Billy Ray, I have to see you right
away!  If this thing hits the papers, you could have a real
problem with your image, and they know that!  I need some authority 
to get rid of this thing.  I hate to tell you this, but you
may as well face it, it's going to cost you something!"
     "Julian, no, you--you can't come out here.  There are some
things I need you to do.  Today, if you can."
     Horowicz shook his head in bewilderment.  "Billy Ray, you
don't understand.  The Buckley woman's lawyer has given me forty-
eight hours to propose an acceptable settlement, says he has the
suit papers ready to file if I don't.  I'm really sorry, but we
can't afford to screw around with this!"
     Again, silence.  Then, "All right.  Call the lawyer this
afternoon.  Tell him I accept full responsibility for what
happened, that we're setting up an independent trust that will
provide his family with the same income Colin would have had if
he'd continued working for me, including back pay, and do whatever 
else is necessary to take care of them, and that we'll pay
his fee if it's halfway reasonable.  Okay?"
     For one of the few times in his career, Horowicz was speech-
less.  "Are--are you sure?" he stammered finally.
     "Positive.  Will you do that for me, Julian?  Please?"
     Horowicz blinked several times and shook his head again. 
"If you say so--you're the boss."  He hesitated, then blurted,
"Billy Ray, I have to ask you this, are you sure you're all
right?"
     He could almost hear the wan smile at the other end of the
line.  "I'm fine, Julian," Billy Ray Sanders replied.  "Until you
told me about Colin, I would have said I've never been better in
my life..."
     "Is something going on out there I should know about?"
     "Nothing you need concern yourself with, Julian.  Now,
please, listen to me.  There are some other things I need you to
do today.  But first, will you take down these names?"
     For the next several minutes Horowicz scribbled the list of
names Billy Ray Sanders rattled off to him.  Except for Jasmine
Mercer, the name of the sanitarium and her doctors, he knew all
of them.  "What--what do you want me to do with these?"
     "First, see if you can get an appointment with Jasmine
Mercer's doctors, today if possible.  Have one of your associates
meet with them and arrange for whatever treatments they think
might help her, at my expense.  Then check your files to see if
there are any other people I've hurt that aren't on that list
and, if there are, add them.  Get an agency on it to find them or
their families and see what they need.  We'll put them all into
the trust you're going to set up for Colin."
     Horowicz' jaw dropped.  "Jesus Christ!" he exploded.  "This
is going to cost a fortune!"
     "I know.  Sell whatever assets you need to cover the cost. 
And one other thing, Julian.  None of these people should know
this is coming from me.  Can you manage that?"
     "Y--Yes, of course, but--"
     "Please, Julian, there's a lot you have to do today and not
much time left.  I want you to have someone call Security, have
them send helicopters out here as soon as possible this afternoon
to bring back the guards and servants.  And open up the Beverly
Hills House.  I'll come back with them."
     "But--but why--?"
     "I want to put the island up for sale, Julian.  I won't be
using it any more."

                          *     *     *

     Billy Ray Sanders hung up, but he kept his eyes downcast,
not looking at Tamara.  Had he done so, he would have seen the
approval in her eyes.  She had not prompted him in any way; the
ideas of using an independent trust to finance these projects and
keeping his involvement in them secret and the decision to close
and sell the island stronghold had been his alone.  She was
pleased.  Only when she laid a huge hand gently on his shoulder
did he finally look up into her smiling face.
     "That was good, Billy Ray," she said quietly.  "I couldn't
have asked more of you had I written your script myself."
     He shook his head and averted his eyes.  "In a way, you did,
by making me see what I am," he whispered.  "I--I've got a lot to
make up for.  I only hope the doctors can help your friend and
that some of this will do some good.  And--that--"  He hesitated,
not daring to look up at her.  "And--that--maybe--some of this
might--might make you change the--the way you feel about me..."
     She thought for a second, then abruptly made her decision. 
She reached down, took his chin between her thumb and forefinger
and tilted his head back, forcing him to look up at her.  "It
already has, Billy Ray," she said softly.
     Then, before he realized what had happened, she had swept
him up in her arms, her long, powerful arms almost completely
enveloping his tiny body, and was cradling him tightly against
her chest, the back of his head in the curve between mighty bicep
and massive forearm as she raised his open mouth to capture it
with hers.  He moaned and quivered in her arms, and his penis
snapped erect, bulging his shorts, as he strained upward to meet
her kiss, only to have his head forced back into the crook of her
arm by the strength of her embrace.  When, finally, she released
his mouth, he looked up at her worshipfully and whispered, "Oh,
God!  I love you!"
     "How long before the helicopters arrive?" she asked.
     "I--I'm not sure.  At least an hour, maybe--maybe two."
     She smiled down at him.  "That's time enough," she murmured,
and, after switching off the generator, carried him out of the
barracks and back toward the house.
     His eyes were riveted on her as she climbed the stairs to
his second floor bedroom, his face a mask of joyful hope and
fearful apprehension.  And she understood and shared his concern. 
Never before had she taken such a small, fragile man; only the
strongest had been able to survive, let alone cope, with her
lovemaking, and even they, to a man, had been reduced to submissive 
receptacles for her overpowering caresses.  Yet it had to be
done, for it was the surest way, perhaps the only way, to ensure
that he would not stray from the path she had set for him.
     Moreover, she was beginning to find his soft, tiny body
oddly desirable.  And that, she knew, posed the greatest danger
to him, for unless she carefully restrained her budding lust for
this small, pretty man she could unwittingly crush the life from
his helpless body with her lovemaking, and all she had gained
would be lost.  If necessary, she would have to forego her own
pleasure to ensure that he obtained his in the fullest measure,
ecstasy that only she could give him and that would bond him to
her for life.
     She suppressed a smile as it struck her how completely her
plans for this man had changed.  She had taken his island in
hate, for the purpose of making him suffer, to instill in him
both abject terror of her vengeance and the hell of unquenchable
desire for her body that he knew could never be satisfied.  And
now she was about to give him ecstasy beyond his wildest dreams! 
And she might even enjoy it herself!
     Gently she slid her hands under his back and around his
thighs, then held him away from her and laid him on his bed. 
Carefully, she removed his shirt and shorts, shoes and socks and
then his underclothes, letting her fingers play lightly over his
tender flesh as she did.  He was writhing and moaning with
desire, his penis an erect and pulsating flagpole, as his slender
arms reached out to her longingly.  Still, she moved slowly and
deliberately, undoing her halter and dropping her shorts to
reveal her own, giant, naked body in all its magnificently
muscled glory.  She mounted the bed and knelt over his prostrate
form, keeping her massive, 280 lb. frame well above him as she
bent down to carefully and deliberately explore every inch of his
trembling torso with her hands and mouth, lightly probing,
tickling, stroking, sucking and biting his soft flesh until he
could stand no more and was begging her to take him.
     She did then, settling down on him and taking him inside
her, surprised, then marveling, at how tightly he filled her
channel, then quickly rolling over on her back, carrying him on
top of her to avoid crushing his fragile body.  One huge hand
gripped both his buttocks firmly, yet gently, and locked him
inside her while the other covered the back of his head and
pressed his face firmly between her full, solid breasts.  Her
massive legs, spread to receive him, now entwined sensuously
around his, pinning them together, as the single hand holding his
buttocks pumped his passive lower body up and down, sending such
powerful sensations of ecstasy through her titanic frame as she
reached one plateau of pleasure and then another that she had to
fight the temptation to squeeze him against her.  As it was, she
could sense that he was struggling to breathe from the pressure
of her hands on his diminutive body.
     Finally, with a tiny, muffled whine against her chest, he
erupted within her.  Moments later she climaxed herself, and her
massive body went rigid as an explosion of ecstasy carried her to
heights she had not felt in many, many months.  When it finally
subsided, she held him on top of her, letting her hands travel
freely over him and marveling again at the pleasure she had been
able to extract from this small, helpless man.
     Then, taking him by his waist, she gently lifted him off her
and laid him next to her, with his head nestled against her
shoulder, his body cuddled against her in the curve of her arm. 
He looked up at her, a dreamy, worshipful expression on his face.
     "Did--did you have much pleasure?" he asked anxiously.
     She smiled.  "Surprisingly," she murmured, "considering the
size of you, it was, as they say, as good as any and better than
most.  You may have possibilities, after all, Billy Ray..."
     He closed his eyes.  "I'm glad," he whispered.
     "And you?"
     "It was heaven.  I never realized it could be this wonderful..."
     She chuckled.  "I could have told you that up front," she
said.  Abruptly, then, she slid her arm out from under him and
stood up.
"But, now, I must leave you for a while."
     He stared up at her, a stricken look in his eyes.  "But--but
why?  I thought--"
     Her eyes locked onto his.  "I made you no promises, Billy
Ray," she reminded him quietly, "and you should have realized
that I cannot be here when the helicopters arrive."
     "But--but where will you go?  What will you do?"
     "I'll be in the jungle.  If your men try to search for me,
they won't find me.  After you've all gone, I'll leave the same
way I came."
     She dressed quickly as she spoke and turned to go.
     "Take me with you?" he begged.
     "No.  You must stay here, and leave with your people."
     "But--but, won't I ever see you again?  I--I couldn't bear
that!"
     She paused to look back at him.  "I'll be watching you,
Billy Ray," she told him quietly, "to make sure you do everything
you've committed to do.  If you do, in time I may come to you
again.  In the meantime, if you or anyone else tries to find me,
be sure that you will never see me again!  Of your guards, only
your two bodyguards know that I am a woman and what I look like. 
You must swear them to silence, make sure that they never reveal
that information to anyone.  Can you do that?"
     "I will!" he whispered fiercely.  "I swear it!"
     She smiled.  Then she was gone.
     An hour later, Billy Ray Sanders, fully dressed, watched the
first of five helicopters land on the pad.  The general manager
of his security company emerged and ran toward him.  He saw the
bags still hanging from the trees and scratched his head in
wonderment.  "Mr. Sanders!" he exclaimed.  "Are you okay?  What
the hell happened here?"
     Billy Ray Sanders smiled wanly.  "I'm fine," he replied. 
"And nothing happened here that you need to concern yourself
about.  Cut your men down and take them back to the mainland.  My
servants, too.  They're in the servants' quarters.  I'll go out
with you on the last ship."
     "Christ!  It looks like an army hit this place!"
     Billy Ray Sanders bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. 
"Yes," he said, "an army of one."
     "One?  One man did all this?  Took out my entire force?"
     "One," Billy Ray Sanders repeated.  "Now, you'd better get
your men down.  Some of them may still be unconscious, and they
may need help.  I'll be in the house.  Let me know when the last
ship is ready to leave."
     "Where is he?  Is he still on the island?  If he is we can
get him--"
     "No."  Billy Ray Sanders shook his head.  "Let it be.  Do as
I ask, please."  He went into the house.
     Later, as the last helicopter was rising over the jungle,
past the cliffs and out to sea, the general manager pressed Billy
Ray Sanders again.  "Are you sure you don't want to tell me what
happened here, Mr. Sanders?  After all, I was responsible for
your security...I'd hate to think we let you down!"
     "It's all right.  Your people did everything they could.  If
it'll help, I'll double your last month's fee, if you make sure
the extra money goes to your men.  I think they earned it, being
cooped up in those bags most of the day."
     The general manager pursed his lips in frustration, looked
out the window, then stiffened.  "Hey, wait a minute!  There's a
boat down there!  See?  Right at the base of the cliffs!"
     Billy Ray Sanders followed his pointed finger and saw
Tamara's boat.  He smiled faintly.
     "That bastard's still on the island, Mr. Sanders!  We can
still get him!"
     "No," he said softly, "you can't.  Keep going."

                          *     *     *

     Billy Ray Sanders stood in his pajamas and robe at the big
bay window overlooking the grounds of his Beverly Hills estate. 
It was after midnight, but he couldn't sleep.  He was thinking,
as he did every night since that fateful day on the island four
months ago, of Tamara.
     He had done everything she had wanted.  Jasmine Mercer had
been transferred to one of the country's top clinics and was
responding well to treatments.  The trust had been established,
and most of his liquid assets transferred to it, leaving barely
enough to pay his continuing expenses and this year's income
taxes.  But it had been worth it.  For the first time in many
years he felt free.  And clean.
     There had, of course, been difficulties at first.  The
guards had been furious at being so easily overpowered by a
single intruder; even the bonuses he had arranged for them hadn't
helped.  The police had been contacted without his knowledge, and
there had been questions.  Fortunately, he had been able to
assure Jake's and Crusher's silence--they were stupid, but loyal,
and an assurance of continued employment at higher pay had been
enough--and eventually the affair had been dropped.  He had toyed
briefly with, then rejected, the idea of trying to find Tamara;
although he still didn't know her name, it would not have been
difficult to find a woman of her size and power, but he had
remembered her warning and couldn't bear the thought of never
being with her again.
     And so he waited.  Where was she?  Why had she not come to
him as she had suggested she might?  True, there had been no
promise...had she been merely leading him on, giving him hope to
ensure his compliance with her demands, with no intention of ever
seeing him again?  Was this to be her final vengeance for the
terrible wrong he had done to her friend?
     He dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands. 
"Oh, God!" he whispered to himself, "I'd give my life, everything
I own, to see you again!"
     "That won't be necessary, Billy Ray."
     It was her voice, but, for a second, he wasn't sure it was
real.  He scrambled around, peering back into the darkness of the
room, searching for its origin.  Only when the giant figure,
clothed from head to foot in a hooded, black spandex body suit,
emerged from the shadows to loom above him, did he know it was
really her.
     He struggled to his feet, looking up at her, mesmerized, as
she slowly removed her hood, and then the rest of the suit,
letting it fall to the floor behind her, and stood before him, a
towering, magnificently powerful, naked Goddess of muscle and
beauty.
     "How--how did you get in here?" he gasped.
     She smiled.  "Easily.  Have you forgotten so soon, little
man, that I can go where I please?"
     "Have--have you come to stay?"
     "Perhaps.  That depends on you."
     His eyes never leaving her face, he undid his robe, then his
pajamas, and dropped them to the floor.  He stood there, passively 
naked before her, waiting and yearning for her to take him.
     And when, at last, she swept him up in her mighty arms and
carried him upstairs to his bedroom, he knew he was hers forever.


                          *     *     *

  (Excerpt from the Rich Joiner's Column in the Entertainment
                Section of Las Vegas Chronicle)

              FABULOUS NEW VOCALIST DEBUTS AT SAHARA

          A marvelous, new singer, Jasmine Mercer, made
          her debut at the Sahara last night as a lead
          in to Billy Ray Sanders' new show and prompt-
          ly enthralled the crowd.  Tall, strikingly
          lovely, with an amazingly wide and pure vocal
          range, she was introduced by Sanders himself
          in an uncharacteristically generous gesture
          for which he's not been known in the past and
          was kept on stage for several duets with him. 
          They sounded great together, would have made
          a great looking couple if Billy Ray were six
          inches taller, and would have gotten the
          rumor mills up and running had Billy Ray's
          last several love songs not been so obviously
          directed toward a towering, seven foot beauty
          seated at ringside with his two, ever present
          bodyguards.  Something you're not telling us,
          Billy Ray?

                              --30--