Scene 1
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
Chrissy confronts Jerry in his hotel after brutally crushing his wife.

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Jerry closed the hotel room door behind them. Chrissy shrugged off her
jacket, revealing a tight tank top that barely contained her broad back.
She tossed the jacket onto the floor.

"Christ, Jerry, it's like you've been fucking avoiding me," she said,
not angrily, but not happily, turning to Jerry, crossing those huge
unreal arms across her chest.

"We, I mean, Jesus, Chrissy," Jerry spluttered.

Chrissy spread her arms and pumped her fists, filling her arms with
blood. Veins rose on thin skin, revealing the rocky uneven contours of
extreme muscularity. "Shut up, Jerry," she said offhandedly. "Get me a
Coke."

Jerry joined Chrissy on the room's balcony. Her brawny hands grasped the
iron railing, twisting around it, flaring immense forearms pulsating
with blood and strength. Jerry had never experienced the full
devastating strength of her grasp and hoped he never did. He handed her
a Coke can. She accepted without comment.

Suddenly she slammed the can down on the balcony table and wrapped one
immense arm around Jerry. She roughly crushed him to her and sucked his
lips into her mouth, roughly biting him. She kept up the dominant kiss
until she felt his cock throbbing through his pants.

She let him go and he stumbled back. "Goddamn, it's been too fucking
long," Chrissy said. She rested one hand on an iron chair and looked out
into the evening. "She was pretty, alright," she said.

"What?" Jerry asked, still a mixture of confusion.

"Your wife, Jerry, Christ, your wife was a goddamn babe," Chrissy said,
lips twisted in a sneering smile. "But so fucking skinny. Scrawny little
bitch." She clenched her fist tight, her bicep swelling to giant angry
proportions. "I mean fuck, Jerry, such a scrawny little shit, and you
were going to pick her over me. Weren't you? Weren't you!" she demanded.
Before he could answer she continued more softly, "I couldn't let you do
that, Jerry. Not her. Not over me!" Insane jealousy narrowed her eyes as
she glared at Jerry.

"I, I," he said, feeling weak and light-headed, feeling, as he had for
the last few weeks, that this wasn't real, none of this was real.

Chrissy sat down and opened her Coke, swirling it idly, looking across
the table with narrowed eyes and a twisted grin. "She was easy," she
finally said teasingly.

"What?" Jerry snapped his eyes from her beefy arms to her face, barely
able to face that taunting insane smile.

"She knew who I was when she opened the door. Kids were in another room.
I was just gonna fuck her up a bit, scare her, but with nobody to see
me, Christ, opportunity was just fucking there."

Jerry's heart beat faster. He didn't want to know this, didn't want to
imagine this, but he couldn't stop this, this fatal attraction monster.
Chrissy wasn't looking at him anymore. She licked her lips slowly as she
continued.

"She was so cold, so fucking cold. Asked me what I wanted. I couldn't
waste the bitch right in the doorway, so I told her I wanted to talk.
Sort shit out. Prissy little bitch got all uptight when I said shit."
Chrissy giggled at the memory. "Said sure, led me into your kitchen.
Nice kitchen, Jerry. Nice white fucking tiles."

Jerry was breathing harder. He wanted to tell her to stop, don't tell
him what happened, but he wanted to know. Civilized Jerry crumbled
quickly in the face of this raw creature, the beast who murdered his
wife, and he listened in horrified, fascinated silence, his own cock
betraying him by throbbing as he looked at the incredible sweep of
Chrissy's bulging muscles.

"She turned away from me Jerry, the bitch turned her back on me. So I
grabbed her, squeezed her skinny little throat. I wanted to just snap
the little chicken neck, just feel your favorite fucking break. But she
was pretty, Jerry, real pretty." Chrissy focused her vision on Jerry
again. "Real soft skin," she hissed. "So I bit her. She tasted good,
salty, afraid. Afraid of me. I couldn't help myself, Jerry. I had to
have her. I reached under that stupid little housewife dress and just
grabbed her little cunt. Finger-fucked the little bitch while I choked
her. Bitch couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, but shit could she
wriggle. Fucking hell, Jerry, felt so good against my nipples."
Chrissy's fat nipples pushed out her tight tank top now as she told her
story. She took a break to finish the rest of her Coke.

Jerry waited for her to continue, mouth dry, confused, afraid of her,
afraid of his reaction to her. She was talking about killing his wife,
for Christ sake! Dead, she was dead, and this behemoth killed her!

The behemoth continued. "Like I was saying, felt good Jerry, fucking
good. I clenched my fist," she demonstrated now, "so she'd struggle
more. Felt her soft little breasts against my arm," Chrissy nuzzled her
right arm with her nose, glaring at Jerry with a fierce smile as she
appreciated her own muscle. She clenched her fist and flexed her arm,
flaring it, the mountainous bicep growing a cap of pure muscle, rivery
little veins throbbing an angry blue. "Christ her flopping, I mean I
controlled her Jerry, I fucking owned her skinny cunt. She knew it too,
got all fucking wet, moaning. God she was weak, so easy. I wanted the
bitch to hurt Jerry, like you hurt me, just wanted to feel her break. I
jerked my wrist," eyes closed, acting it out, giggling occasionally,
"and heard something crunch. Little bitch bit my hand. Drew blood. Not
as much as she bled, though. I just kept going, Christ it felt good,
feeling her tear. Feeling her break. I humped against her, her hips
against the counter, I ground her, I fucking pureed her skinny ass,
tight little ass against my abs, oh God," Chrissy brought her clenched
hand to her crotch, pressing it tight against herself. Jerry's eyes
drank in her huge flared muscles, her clenched toes, her thick thighs
and rock-hard calves flexing as Chrissy re-enacted her
grunt-fuck-break-humping of his wife, as she described how the bitch
broke against the counter, bones snapping, hips grinding, her hand
reached out and crushed the Coke can "just fucking snapped her jaw
Christ it felt good, the way she broke" the aluminum crumpling and
shearing an edge catching Chrissy's skin "her bones were so frail,
Jerry, so fucking frail it's a wonder even you didn't break her."

Chrissy opened her eyes and glared predatorily at Jerry, sneering at
him. He couldn't believe her muscles, pumped up more than he'd ever
seen, blood flowing to pump her up to gorilla size, peaks catching the
failing sun, valleys hidden in twilight shadow. Chrissy's thin lips
pulled back over white teeth, glaring at him, forcing him to watch her
as she grew, sadism and inhuman cruelty pumping her up to gigantic
proportions, throwing him in the shadow of her terrifying psyche.

She released the Coke can and brought her bleeding hand to her lips,
sucking the blood out, drinking it, her lips moving on to her thick
wrists and finally sucking at her vascular forearms. She pumped her
fist, forcing the ball of her bicep into her mouth as she sucked up her
arm. "So weak," she hissed. "So easy.

"She tried to whimper or beg or something after I dropped her, the bitch
crumpled to the floor. 'Shh,' I told her, 'or I'll have to do your kids,
too.'" Jerry's eyes widened and he nearly interrupted her but she
stopped him, "Fuck your kids, Jerry, nothing comes between us," she
snarled.

She truly was a monster, he thought, more terrifying than Dracula or
werewolves because this one was real, this one killed his wife and
threatened his children, this one flared up with inhuman muscle, except
they were oh too human, they were hers, not a makeup artist's, not
confined to the screen or paper.

"Anyway," Chrissy continued almost breezily, noticing the terrified,
horrified look on Jerry's face and reveling in it, "she was making too
much noise, so I stomped her. I was right, her neck broke just like a
chicken's." Chrissy slammed her foot down on the balcony floor,
expanding those huge neck-breaker calves. "That's it, Jerry, that's how
your bitch died. What do you say to that, huh, you fuck? You fucking
Judas, what do you say to that?"

Jerry started, suddenly brought back to her face, away from her rocky
thighs, stony abs, and killer arms, away from the broad shoulders and
brawny wrists and hands that crushed his wife.

"Chrissy," he said helplessly.

"Shut up, you fuck," she growled instantly. "I'm not fucking done. You
know what I did then? I kicked her. You should have seen her pretty head
flopping around on that skinny broken neck when I booted her. I kicked
her hard, Jerry, hard as I could. I wanted ribs to snap for me. They
did. Snap crackle fucking pop, Jerry, skinny bag of bones just fucking
wanted to break for me. So I lifted her up. So pretty, Jerry, she was
pretty. I had to kiss her. I hugged her, I kissed her, I squeezed."
Chrissy hands grabbed the edge of the table, her swollen arms pulsated
angrily. "She tasted so sweet. There was some blood in her mouth. I
loved it. Oh God Jerry, she was so fucking easy. I wanted to punish her
for being so easy. I jerked my arms until I felt her ribs crunch, but I
needed more. I needed to break her Jerry, break her fucking back. I tore
her spine with that hug, and I tell you I've never cum that hard.
Never." The smile was back, the dreamy look on her face as she described
toying with the dead body, raping it, crushing it, kissing it, the it
that was her, was his wife. Humping the already broken hips from the
front, crushing her skinny ass into the counter.

"But she was still pretty, Jerry, still so fucking pretty," her voice
whining, a husky erotic whine, but a whine nonetheless. "Still your
pretty fucking wife. I needed to take that away from you, to show you
that she's not your life, not the one you should pick, she's just a toy
for me to break. As long as she had that pretty face I could never be
good enough. I pushed her to the floor and kicked her, Jerry. Kicked her
in that pretty face. It bounced off the cabinet" Jerry remembered the
blood sprayed across the bottom cabinets, dripping and coagulating on
the white tile floor, a dry brown by the time he got back "back onto my
foot, so I kicked her again and again. Her head made squishy breaking
sounds, not quite snapping sounds, funny noises," Chrissy giggled, "wet
noises. Her head was a bloody lump. So I let it fall to the floor.
Then," she brought her foot up, "I stomped that, too," the foot dropped,
smacking the concrete balcony with a heavy thud, "and it squished."
Jerry remembered that, too, his wife's skull pummeled flat. He'd
wondered how she did that, wondered when he was too in shock to deal
with her death.

Chrissy blew a whisp of blonde hair out of her face and smiled at Jerry.
He stared back. She brought her hands up over her head and stretched,
pecs thrusting against the tank top, then bringing her arms down in a
massive bicep flex before putting her hands behind her head and leaning
casually back, satisfied.

* * * * *

End of Scene 1