A Half Hour to Kill by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com) She's bored and needs someone to break. Brutal and gory. ***** Author's Note ***** This is one of the most brutal stories I've written since The Facility. It's not sci-fi or fantasy, just the story of a cold killer. Well, you've been warned. For those of you waiting for the next Earth Encounter or In Search of a Goddess, I apologize for not having written about Alyssa in quite a while. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned her. It's hard to find the time; with so many ideas to write I just want to spew out all of them at once, but I can't. * * * * * Cassie stepped onto the elevator, dripping with sweat from her long, gruelling workout. It was an hour before competition prep, which left her a half hour to shower and get ready and a half hour to do whatever she felt like. She reached down and rubbed her hard, well- muscled crotch. She knew what she wanted to do. She just needed to find the right man. At the hotel's second ground floor one man entered, middle-aged, balding, slightly portly, several inches shorter than her five-ten, and a little pale. He looked like he hadn't exercised since college. He couldn't keep his eyes off Cassie's chiseled, superbly muscled physique, her broad, powerful shoulders, her towering height, her arrogant, hard face, her unsmiling thin lips, her cold, uncaring, predatory eyes. He was probably here for the competition. He had on a wedding ring. Perfect. He would be missed. When she broke him, it would cause misery and hardship to others. Cassie's pussy tingled in anticipation. He hesitantly reached out to press the button for his floor when Cassie caught his hand. Her powerful grip squeezed hard enough to let him know that she was hardly squeezing at all, and could grind any part of his body into paste with just her steely fingers. She licked her lips at the tears welling up in his eyes. "You're mine," she hissed at him, eyelids lowered, eyes burning deep into his brain. She did not ask, she took. Her strong fingers took his wedding ring right off. Her smoldering glare left no room or time for protest. He could only gaze helplessly back into her hard, predatory eyes, his mind a weak-willed jumble of incoherent, lust-ridden thought fragments. She stalked closer to him, cornering him against the wall, pressing her bulging muscles into his weak, soft body as the elevator slowly climbed floor after floor. She felt his pants press into her rock-hard thigh. She smiled and reached down, cupping his crotch in her left hand. Then she wrapped her long fingers around his trousers, feeling out his genitalia through the pants and underwear, and squeezed brutally hard. He tried to double over but her huge muscular body was in the way. His hot tears flowed onto Cassie's shoulder, lighting a trail of fire directly to her moist pussy. "Oh yeah, oh fuck yeah," she whispered. "Tell me about your fucking wife," she hissed, thrusting her hips forward, each hard, powerful, slow undulation rubbing her crotch against his pants, pushing him harder into the wall. "M-my wife?" the man babbled, nearly in tears. "Wh-what about her? Is she what this is--" His questions were cut off by another surge of power through Cassie's forearms that clamped her steely talons even tighter around his genitals. He moaned in pain while Cassie smiled in pleasure. "Answer my questions or I crush your pathetic manhood in my hand," she said. Her hand slid down her sweatpants, rubbing her hot wet crotch. She loved this. Most of the women who entered these competitions were sweet, generally decent people who simply enjoyed showing off their years of hard work. Not Cassie. She entered these competitions and won them. She demolished her competitors. On the outside, in secret, she demolished people. She was after power, the absolute power of control, the rush of controlling an inferior fuck like him, a plaything for her to destroy, aching with the desire to do it, to hurt it, to break it, to fucking demolish it, brutally, nastily, for fun. "Now," she whispered erotically in his ear, easing her fingers' crushing grip momentarily, "tell me about your wife. What does she look like?" Tears streamed down his face, humiliating him more. She nearly came right there just from the rush of dominating this pathetic little fucker. "P-please, my name is Samu--" She squeezed so hard two of her fingers nearly touched. She continued squeezing while he howled in pain, twisting her hand around, laughing softly to herself. Her tongue quested out and licked his salty tears from around his eyes. She moaned and pressed her lips against his skull, rubbing her hard sexy body against him. Slowly she relaxed her grip again. "I don't care who you are, dumb shit. You are my dog, my slave, my toy. Fuck that, my vibrator is stronger and means more to me than you, and I break my vibrators a lot. Answer my fucking question. Is she fat like you? Is she a pathetic little middle-aged fat-ass Oprah-watching motherfucking housewife?" She grunted as she ground her wet crotch harder, drawing out gasps of pain from him. She smiled and ground harder, thrusting, grinding, pressing. "Nah," she hissed. "I bet she's a skinny little cunt. A skinny, weak little cunt. So frail and so fucking weak I'd break her without trying." Cassie's fluttered her eyelids as she thrust against him, her steely, sexual body driving him crazy, keeping him hard for her in spite of her crushing grip. "I'd just slip one hand in," she whispered, her voice low, soft, and dangerous. "One hand and twist and the little cunt would break. Oh fuck yes, she'd break, I'd make your little cunt bleed and twitch, and I'd let you watch." She smiled, her lips soft and moist against his receding hairline. She was breaking him emotionally as well as physically. Her will dominated him, her taunting crushed his spirit, her body outmatched his in every way. "I bet her skinny little neck would just fucking snap, like a fucking pencil," she whispered. She kissed his forehead, his eyes, sucking the salty liquid. She moved her lips around to his ear and whispered directly into it, her hot breath driving him wild with lust, but her crushing hand kept him in his place. "She's nothing compared to me, a real woman, right? Fat or skinny, my muscles could crush the fucking cunt instantly. Right? Right? Answer me fuckhead!" She crushed his genitals until he nodded wildly. The man was definitely terrified, no matter how hot she made him. His eyes darted wildly, looking for escape, but there was nowhere to go. He watched the numbers go up slowly, so slowly. She followed his gaze and watched the numbers with him, all the while whispering seductively in his ear. "I wish she were here to watch. I wish your whole family were here to watch while I break you, while I make you beg me to kill you." His eyes expanded with terror. She laughed. "Yes, while I fucking destroy you. And then I would let you watch with your dying eyes while I broke your wife, and your kids, and your fucking dog. Maybe I'll find them after you're gone and do it anyway, but it won't be the same without you watching." Her fingers deftly removed his wallet and slipped it into her gym bag. He whimpered and cringed against her, but her crushingly powerful other hand kept him in place. The elevator finally drew to a stop. The man took a deep breath in preparation. No matter how scared he was of this psycho-bitch crushing his nuts, he was more scared she would actually kill him. He felt her rock-solid body pulsing against him, her sexual and physical power overwhelming what was left of his mind, and knew he had to escape. He had to call for help. Just as he was about to scream, Cassie thrust her lips onto his and probed his mouth with her strong tongue. His impending scream was lost in her passionate kiss. He tried to bite her tongue, but she quickly withdrew it and, still kissing him, tightened her already painful grip on his crotch. She withdrew her lips. "Oooh, you naughty boy," she moaned. He could do no more than gasp with pain, crying onto her shoulder, too weak to stand on his own. Her right hand rubbed so slowly and enticingly over her crotch. She smiled, her eyes closed, totally absorbed in her own pleasure, one long powerful finger extending past her pussy lips and sinking deep into her hot soft flesh. Her left hand clutched harder and harder, uncaring about what damage she did to his crotch, feeling his balls compress until they were ready to implode, bending his hard-on, hers to do with what she pleased. The elevator doors started closing again. Reluctantly she removed her dripping hand from her wet squishy crotch and picked up her gym bag. "Time to go," she hissed. She kept her claws latched onto his privates and walked out the door, simply dragging him. He would have screamed if he could have drawn a breath. Her crotch tingled in anticipation as she neared her room. Her pumped muscles felt good as she simply dragged the chubby, weak little fucker into her room. An image of a cruel spider and a helpless fly entered her mind and she grinned. The outcome was always the same for both parties. She would feed on his terror and pain. She flung her gym bag onto the bed next to her travelling bags. She turned to face her victim. The look of misery and fear on his face sent a jolt of pleasure straight into her pussy. She slowly undulated her hips, writhing her large body in front of him, every movement screaming sex. "God yes I am so fucking hot!" she whispered, staring down into his frightened eyes. She relaxed her grip a little and felt his hardness. She leaned toward him. "Mmmm," she moaned, licking his sweat. She let go of his crotch. He gasped in air, his confused and terrified mind working itself up to screaming. She quickly tore off his clothes, leaving him standing in only his socks. He cried while he gasped, trying pathetically to cover up his bruised manhood. "Watch me," she hissed. He looked up at her. She smiled arrogantly down at him, her cold hard eyes burning into him, seducing him, destroying his will to escape. Her stare tore down his will, her raw sexuality forcing his own mind to betray him. He winced in pain as his purplish dick engorged with blood. She slowly pulled off her sweatpants, flexing every bulging pair of muscles on the way down. Her thighs seemed perfectly shaped to envelop his head, pulling it into her crotch, crushing him, destroying him in the throes of orgasm. Next came the panties, revealing a smooth, shaved crotch, large pinkish-red lips dripping in eager anticipation. She bent over to strip off her socks, her dark black hair inches from his throbbing cock. He stroked himself as he watched her. She stood back up, smiling down at him, not a pleasant smile, a cruel, arrogant smile. "Lots of women have strong legs," she whispered, running her hands up and down the huge bulging expanse of thigh muscle, "and even a great ass," she slowly swayed from side to side, rotating, revealing her sculpted butt in profile, "but this," she grasped her sweatshirt, "is something else." She pulled her sweatshirt up, revealing an absolutely gigantic upper body. Her thick bull neck disappeared into broad powerful shoulders. She had no tits to speak of, instead she had thick bands of pectoral muscle. Her nipples were two large bullets thrusting out of layer upon layer of muscle. Her abdomen rippled with ridges of muscle. But all that hard, dense muscle on her torso paled when compared with her arms. Her broad shoulders just got broader, turning into two pillars of steel. Her upper arms were bands of invincible, unstoppable muscle, curving and sweeping down into her elbow, then flaring out again into equally impressive forearms. She closed her eyes and pumped her hands a few times, flexing those incredible arms, making the muscles writhe and play. Pumping veins jumped into relief, tracing lines across her arms and chest, her vascularity awesome and riveting, bringing life-giving oxygen to her life-taking muscles. She moaned softly to herself. "Yes," she murmured. "Something else." She was lost in contemplation of her own musculature, imagining her effect on him, knowing what it was without having to open her eyes. She felt every muscle, every movement. Some final shred of his self-preservation instinct kicked in. He nearly had his breath back now, struggling to breathe normally in the face of this sexual creature. She was everything to him, everything he wanted, but so dangerous and frightening. He knew he meant nothing to her, that he was in great danger. His wild, frightened, aroused and confused mind had no control, but that one instinct drove him to inhale, steady himself, and prepare to scream, "He--" His world exploded in pain again, more intense even than before. His breath, the breath that he hoped would save his life, exploded out not in a scream but in a gasp of pain beyond agony. Her fingers mauled his tender genitals more easily now that they were exposed. She felt his hot skin yielding to her steel grip as she rolled his balls around in her long fingers. She squeezed harder now, not holding back as she had done before. She moaned softly to herself, hearing him gasp, feeling him try to struggle against her overwhelming strength. He pawed weakly at her vascular forearms, his pasty-white skin in contrast to her dark toned hue. She moaned in pleasure, savoring his weak useless struggling. Her fingers closed tighter and tighter, mangling, destroying; she was beyond caring, beyond him, beyond herself, simply squeezing, head thrown back, licking her salty lips, dripping her hot cum oozing down her broad thighs squeezing harder knowing his pain feeding on him squeezing so fucking all-fucking powerful he was hers to take to crush... One ball imploded, followed quickly by the other. She felt the sacs squash in her grip, flooding their bloody nutrients and sperm up his vas into his body. She squeezed and squeezed, mashing them, deflating them, poisoning his blood stream with his own reproductive system. She listened, eyes closed, to his hissing breath, hearing it reach a high keening sound, too weak to leave the room, so soft the sound was for her ears only, a final release of pain before he passed out. She let go of the reddish, bruised mess that used to be his genitalia and let him fall to the floor. Peering down her nose through half-lidded eyes, she watched the blotch of internal bleeding spread in the skin under his pubic hair. Cassie blinked and slowly opened her eyes. Breath came in and out in long, ragged gasps. She had reached orgasm. She drew one finger up her inner thigh, scooping up the thick white cream, different from male cum, tastier. She brought it up to her mouth, her long tongue snaking out to taste it. She savored it, this product of her incredible sexy body. She knew everything about her body was perfect. She had tasted other women's cum, and their cream was nowhere near as sweet and intoxicating as her own. She knelt next to her unconscious victim and smeared her thick cum over his mouth, her long fingers engulfing his face and marking her territory with her thick musky-smelling cum. She licked her fingers clean. She leaned down and licked at his face, then sucked at it, jealous that it could keep any of her divine cum. Her powerful questing lips bruised his face, sucking at his nose and eyes, biting his lips. Time to prepare. She removed a large plastic sheet from one of her bags and lay it on the floor in front of the room's full-length mirror. She stopped to admire herself, flexing and strutting, her eyes drinking in the sight. She rubbed her hands over her thick hard nipples, tweaking them, then down over her hard rippled stomach and wide hips, resting them on her stone-hard thighs. She smiled and watched her mirror image smile back at her. She sauntered up to the mirror and kissed her reflection, pushing her tongue against it, imagining that she had a twin and was kissing her, fondling the imaginary other woman's body instead of her own. She rubbed her smooth moist crotch into the mirror, grinding it, the pressure sending waves of pleasure into her. The man woke in a pain he never knew was possible. He panicked, suddenly remembering where he was. He was afraid to look down there, afraid of what he would see, the awful aching pain flooding his slowly awakening nervous system. Powerful hands gripped his neck and jaw, lifting him from the floor. Every movement sent searing pain through his crotch. Cassie casually carried him over to the mirror, standing on the plastic sheet. She thrust his neck into the crook of her left arm, resting his Adam's apple and windpipe on her thickly corded forearm, snuggling her massive biceps into the back of his neck. She used her right hand to position his head, moving it until she was satisfied. She watched him in the mirror the whole time, smiling, playing with him, manipulating his helpless body. "I love my arms," she said. "I love how big and thick and powerful they are. I especially love what happens when I flex." His eyes widened. She laughed. "Please," he gasped out. "What?" she asked, pretending not to hear. She loosened her arm very slightly. "Please," he repeated. She smiled. "Please what?" she asked innocently. She increased the pressure ever so slightly. His tears flowed freely. "Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt my family. Please," he choked out in a sob. Her right hand gripped her left. She started slowly pumping her left arm, working it, flexing it. The forearm bulged and expanded. She rotated it to grind it into his neck while her huge bicep thickened and peaked, pushing into his neck vertebrae, bending them, displacing them. Her forearm shoved violently into his neck, crushing him, collapsing his windpipe, digging further into his throat. She watched his eyes as they rolled back in his head, his weak struggling serving only to further amuse her. Her eyes gleamed as she excitedly ground his neck to mush. "Oh," she moaned, "but I want to. I'm gonna hurt you bad, you weak little shit, and then I'm gonna do things to your family that will make your death look pleasant. Your fucking cunt will beg me to fuck her, then to kill her. I'll do it slowly, fucker, sooo slowly." She let the words sink in, licking her lips as she watched the helpless anger and understanding in his pained face. She released her left hand and let the power of one arm alone continue to suffocate and mangle him. He was helpless to escape, his struggles weakening from lack of air. Her right hand slid down to her smooth shaven crotch. She played with her clit and labia, teasing herself, slowly stroking her sex. Her eyes rolled back as his did, except with pleasure at the pain she caused him. She pumped her arm hard into his neck, smiling and moaning, once again swaying her wide muscular hips side to side. His eyes closed and his face was slack. He was nearly unconscious again. His tongue lolled out, drooling on his red puffy cheeks. She moved her arm, and thus his body, around to her side to provide her with greater leverage and so his body was no longer blocking her view of her own. She held him at her side, crushing him harder, bulging her thick unstoppable muscles into his frail neck, watching his body jerk involuntarily, her forearm flattened against his neck, forcing in the Adam's apple, her knuckles grazing his temple as his jaw compressed in the relentless motions of her arm, grinding his neck while she examined the hypnotic undulations of her arms, her neck, her pecs, and her sexily thrusting hips. She couldn't hold herself any longer, she had to have herself. She thrust her hand up into her aroused dripping pussy. Fingers that were capable of roughly gouging out eyeballs and snapping necks, those long fingers which had destroyed pussies softer and more vulnerable than her own, dug powerfully into her muscular pussy, squeezing and mangling it with a force that would crunch bones. She grunted, throwing her head back in sheer wanton pleasure, the dying man still gurgling in the crook of her arm forgotten. Like others forgotten. Like the woman in Houston who noticed her and approached her. It was another contest, another hotel, another victim captivated by her look. The woman sat in her room and watched Cassie undress, mesmerized. The phone rang. Cassie watched as the woman took the call, watched as the woman smiled at the sound of her husband's voice. Cassie walked to the woman's rear and reached down, pulling the woman from her chair by the neck and letting her hang there, her feet kicking, just off the ground. Cassie held the receiver next to the woman's head so her hubby could hear it happen. Her clutch on the woman's neck was overwhelming and swift. The soft, scrawny businesswoman made some sounds, but Cassie's thick muscles muffled the screams into grunts. After a few moments, it was only shouts, the desperate shouts of the husband on the phone. Cassie watched the woman's face turn the darkest of purples as the skinny legs stopped kicking and the arms fell loose and rubbery to the hanging body's side. No other person, man or woman, their fingers or tongue or nose, no part of them, could satisfy her like she satisfied herself. She needed her strength to get off, her power, her fast thrusting rhythm no-one else could match. She broke many men before trying women, figuring maybe they could keep up with her steadily increasing sexual demands. But she had discovered that she was the only one who could please her. She rode her hand, thrusting and pulling herself. On one jerk her massively flexed left arm spasmed and the fragile neck held in her grip simply snapped. The sound of crunching bone, followed by wet squishing noises as her powerful arm dug itself deep into his unprotected soft neck, quickly brought her to another shuddering soaking orgasm. She continued playing with her drenched pussy, hearing and feeling her fingers slide easily in and out, stroking herself, remembering the middle-aged Asian woman in Chicago, short and frail, not quite five feet tall, straggly grey hair neatly done up in a bun. Cassie remembered it, all those years ago, the seduction, drawing the innocent young musclegirl into her room. Cassie had played it up, "Oooh what are you doing, oh my..." Pretended not to know what the woman wanted, let herself be seduced, teased the old bag, finally slipped her hand into the brown woman's cunt, worked it in, strong fingers digging deeper, she started struggling, resisting, crying, finally screaming until Cassie's fingers found her bony neck and clamped down, holding the woman in the air, so light, so frail. Blood streaming down her hand, streaming from the woman's pussy, her strong fingers tearing it wider, fitting her large fist in, drawing it roughly in and out, orgasmic from the woman's pain, fingers inadvertantly crushing her neck...Cassie worked hard to bring herself to the present, moaning with pleasure at the memory. What fun that had been. She slowly brought her eyes down to look at her current victim, his broken jaw and bloody mouth. She laughed, shaking her arm, watching his trapped head shake with it. She worked his neck with her bulging arm, flexing various muscles and feeling how they destroyed more vertebrae and made his head tilt at funny angles. His cheeks were red and puffy. He could no longer breathe. He was very close to losing consciousness again. She reluctantly pulled her fingers out of her pussy so she could use both hands to play with his fragile broken body. She let his body fall out from between her forearm and bicep, catching him by the shoulder with her right hand. She propped him up with both hands on his shoulders, but his head fell backwards. She used one hand to prop it up again. She let go. It fell back. Again, prop it up. Again, it fell, this time forwards. She bit her lip in mock-frustration. She gripped him by the hair and twisted his head around, tearing up his neck a little more, ripping through the puny resistance offered by what remained of his neck. She pushed his head back and stared with interest at the blood flowing down his chin. She reached out and grabbed hold of his chubby neck, her strong fingers sinking deep into the boneless flesh as she dangled his body in front of her. She sucked her fingers while staring at his nearly lifeless eyes. They were dull, unfocused; he was no longer able to make a facial expression, no longer able to feel below his neck, permanently crippled. She held him up by his head, her hands on either cheek, letting his useless body flop around. She smiled at him. Both hands clutched his head, holding him, semi-dangling, his skull just above her abdomen, her hands bending his head back and forcing his almost lifeless gaze to angle up into her downward stare."Oh fuck yes," she moaned. She slowly moved her thumbs up his cheeks. His eyes, the last part of him that showed he was still alive, widened slightly in terror. Her pussy tingled at what she was about to do, knowing that he could still feel terror, and pain. Her thumbs dug into his eyes, slowly at first, then she thrust them in farther and harder. She rolled her thumbs in his sockets, squishing his eyes, watching the yellow goo seep out and down his cheeks. "Mmm that feels nice," she said, digging in farther. She moved her face in close, relying on her touch alone to know what she was doing, and pressed her lips against his ears. She felt his jaw trying to work, knowing he couldn't even gasp in pain. "Oh yess," she hissed softly and sexily. Her thumbs played in his eye sockets, squishing around until she felt the bony cage in the back, and she knew that just beyond her thumbs his soft vulnerable brain slowly died. She left her thumbs in for a while, feeling the warmth of his eye sockets, occasionally sloshing her fingers around to hear and feel the wet slurping noises. She clamped her thighs around his middle, humping her creamy pussy close into his side. She rode him while he died, thrusting her pussy hard into him, pressuring her, pleasing her, while she straightened her unimaginably strong legs, the steel pillars digging into his ribs and destroying his middle. She listened to the snapping of his bones while gouging out his eyes, imagining his thoughts coming slower and slower as he died, all of them pain, pain caused by her, and she came again, squashing his middle in her vast thighs, creaming his side, humping and pushing, destroying. She released him, opening her thighs and hands at the same time, letting him drop to the plastic. She crouched down next to him. "Not yours," she whispered, putting her lips to his bruised and broken side, sucking up her cream. "Mine." She stood and shook out her tense, aching muscles. Oops! She had spent a little too long with him. She had to hurry and shower or she'd be late for prep. She wrapped up his broken body, probably dead already, folded it, and shoved it into an extra-large duffel bag. She would dump it later. She opened up his wallet. "Hmmm," she contemplated. A wife and a teenage son. Perfect. She developed a sudden urge to visit, where was it? Boise. She laughed, flipped his wallet back into her bag, and went to take a shower. Twenty minutes to prep.