Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/B/B&J.TXT

Text File | 1993-12-17 | 67.2 KB | 1,209 lines

     He had become a part of her life, though they had
never met.  She watched his talk show every day and came
to feel that she knew him.  All the larger did he loom in
her life because there were few other men for him to
contend with for her consideration.
     Television was her main contact with the outside world,
and she did not even watch much television. She did
keep it on, though, while she went through the indoor part
of her workout, the weightlifting, the sit-ups with the
weights behind her head, the rowing, the stationary bicycling
with the machine set at its highest tension, and her karate
katas, in short, all the time-consuming, slightly boring
exercises that went just a little bit easier if she had
something else with which to occupy her mind.  Jimmy
Snarco did just fine.
     She planned her workout to coincide with his show,
because he was so much better than the other talk show hosts.
He did not ask sappy questions of people she had no reason to
care about, but instead went constantly for humor, which he
was remarkably adept at, which he knew.
 more [q=quit]                     He was always in control, always fawned over by the
guests, treated like an institution. Very bright, he would
conduct the show  at one level of intelligence below his own,
thus leaving himself leeway to step in at any time and assert
himself.  No one would dare match wits with him, for defeat
was certain.  But wit was not his only asset.  In sketches
he could play a remarkable variety of characters, his dialect
skills being formidable.  He was a good magician, a fair
dancer and even an amateur musician.  A natty dresser with
an athletic physique that belied his middle years, he was
America's very symbol of success and self-confidence.
     Jimmy did have one tendency that infuriated Babe:  He
would go away for long periods, take what seemed to her to
be incredibly long and incredibly frequent vacations.  His
absences just made her all the more aware of how dependent
she was on him for amusement.  She wanted him seven days a
week, every week, not three or four days some weeks and
none at all in many others.  His apparent indifference to
the important role he played in the lives of so many
people -- his nonchalance about providing a service they
craved --- made Babe feel as though Jimmy was thumbing his
 more [q=quit]                nose at her, perhaps even making fun of her.
     On her island there off the coast of California, Babe
was used to having her own way.  There were no petty
hassles, no inconveniences, no authorities to bow to, no
inconsiderate people making noise when she wanted silence.
That was why she was there,  to have things her own way,
to be unaffected by the actions of others.  But now Jimmy
Snarco had entered her life and disrupted it.
     Now she hated him and loved him simultaneously.  Yet
still, he was impervious to it all.  That humiliated Babe:
that he should play such a major role in her life -- in
her thoughts -- yet not even know that she existed.

     He found out that she existed when he saw her
standing there.  It had not been hard to discover where he
lived, not hard -- for the athletic Babe -- to scale the
various walls that usually provided him the privacy he
craved. Now she stood near his pool contemplating the man
lounging in his robe and reading the Times.
     He was smaller in person, maybe 5-8, 155.  There was a
frailness about him she had never noticed before.  Maybe it
 more [q=quit]                was just that in person there was greater awareness of his
mortality. Mostly, he looked very ordinary.
     She did not.  When he first glanced up and saw her
standing there with her arms akimbo staring at him, she
looked at first -- to a man of his show-business
background -- like something out of an old pirate movie:
Bare feet planted widely apart; spectacular long legs
bared to her hips, which were covered by what seemed to be
a makeshift rag, complete with jagged edges, some cutting
well above the top of the legs; her closed fists planted
at the narrows of her waist; her midriff tanned and
bared; the upper bulges of her, er, uh -- the phrase came
to him as it would have on TV --- her upper bulges thrust
out forward beyond the lower half of those bulges,
constrained as the lower halves were by another
flimsy rag.
     Her shoulders were bare except for the
cascading red hair that hung wherever it wanted to.
     But then he noticed something else.  So riveted had
his attention been on her  that he had lost awareness of
her surroundings.  When that awareness returned and he was
 more [q=quit]                able to put her appearance in its context, he realized
something else about her:
     She was big, one of the biggest women he had ever
seen in his life, maybe 6-2, oh, say, 210 or 220.  Her
shoulders flaring from her tiny waist were as wide as any
man's, and she seemed all the wider because her waist was
so narrow.
     And her arms were not the thin reeds of an actress,
but were obviously powerful. He forearms bulged like those
of a lumberjack and -- even akimbo like that -- her biceps
and triceps made themselves abundantly apparent.
     And those legs!  My God!
     But he interrupted his own observances. Like most
celebrities, Snarco was afraid of "the nuts": terrorists,
kidnapers, extortionists, whatever.  He reached under his
chaise lounge for the button to summon his security
people.
     But he never made it.
     With two or three lightning strides, Babe reached
the lounge, put her foot under the end of it closest to
her -- the end at which were his feet -- and lifted .
 more [q=quit]                The lounge did a complete backflip, and Snarco went with
it and was lying flat on his face on the ground.  When the
lounge came down and conked him on the head, his hands
went to his noggin, and he instinctively rolled over onto
his back, at which point he found the big lady's naked foot
planted squarely on his chest, flattening him.
     She said nothing as his head
cleared. Those legs, he thought!  My God!
     "I don't suppose you're a critic?" he said, bombing.
"No, huh?  Ferdy Goldman sent you to say I've been
canceled?  I got it: They want to renegotiate, right?
Hey, listen, I'm flexible, ya know?  We can work this
out."
      "You're coming with me," she said.
      "Where to?"
      "My place."
      "You've got a helluva way to get dates, babe, but
I'm booked for today. Ouch!!  Hey!  All right!! All right!
Ease off, willya.  That hurts!"  She had moved her foot up
to his head and pressed his face hard into the concrete.
She let him up, now,
 more [q=quit]                      "You will be much more than my date," she said.
"You will be my court jester, my butler, my maid and my
sex object."
      He looked at her like she was crazy. He backed away
from her slowly, his arm outstretched as if warding her
off.
      "Now, look, lady," he said, "Just ... just let's
everybody stay calm here.  No ... Nobody's gonna hurt you
...."
      She laughed. "You think you can hurt me?" she asked.
She seized him by the lapels with one quick step forward,
even as he was contemplating turning and running for his
life.  "Try," she said.  He tried to pry her hands off
his robe, but he could not.  He brought the edge of one
hand down on the crook of her elbow as hard as he could.
Nothing.
      "Now, look," he said ironically, "I don't like to
hit a woman, but ..."
      She laughed again.  "But?  But what?  Mr. Snarco, I
am as strong as you are funny.  And I am as skilled at the
martial arts as you are at television comedy.  I have
 more [q=quit]                dedicated my life to the perfection of my body and my
skills.  The result is what you are experiencing. Your
efforts against me are as nothing.  I want you, and I'm
taking you.  Period.  Do you understand?"  He gulped and
nodded.  "Good.  We are going that way."  She pointed
toward the fence over which she had come, and she let him
go.  "Go," she said.  He looked at her in mystification.
      "Ok, ok.  Just keep Cool," he said, backing away
again, trying to lull her into putting her guard down.
Suddenly he broke and ran, not toward the fence, but in
the other direction, toward the house.  She ran after him
and caught up with him so easily that, instead of tackling
or grabbing him, she ran around him and stood between him
and the house.  He started to try to run around her, but
she glided sideways, and he saw  he could not make it.
He tried to run around her the other way, but again she
was in front of him.  He feinted left and ran right, but
she did a complete 360 degree turn and brought her foot
into his bread basket.  He collapsed, holding his gut.
     "Your tennis training is fine, Mr. Snarco," she said.
"It helps keep you trim and attractive.  And I understand
 more [q=quit]                you even lift some weights. Good!  But it hardly makes you
a match for me.  Now, if you do not comply with my wishes,
I shall be forced to overcome you physically.  There is no
escape.  And I will not be gentle."  He got slowly to his
feet, eying her warily.  She adopted a karate pose.
"Shall we contest at my game, Mr. Snarco," she asked.
     To Jimmy Snarco the world that lay beyond that wall
somehow seemed as frightening as life itself.  He felt all
would be lost once off these grounds.  The wall might as
well have had a sign on it: Abandon all hope, ye who
enter here.  But he was a practical man.  Hard as it was
to admit, even to himself, he knew he was no match for the
amazon before him in a fair fight. He stalled as his eyes
cast about the yard in search of a weapon.  He picked up a
lawn chair and held it in front of him, its legs pointing
at the lady he feared.
     He said, "I really don't want to hurt anybody ..."
     "You had best hope that you don't hurt me, Mr.
Snarco, for I would retaliate with great effect."
     She moved toward him slowly, and he backed away.
Suddenly she grabbed a bottom rung of the chair.  She
 more [q=quit]                pulled the chair forward but stepped beside it.  With
her right hand on the chair and her body facing the side
of the chair, she reached her left arm around Snarco's body.
     He held on to the chair with both hands, and she
pulled the chair one way and his body the other.
     Slowly, inexorably, the chair came free of his grip.
     Now she held it up in the air, out of his grasp as he
reached for it like a child reaching for a toy held by a
teasing adult.  Still she held him with one arm.
     She tossed the chair away.  "Your situation is
hopeless, Mr. Snarco. No weapon you can find will allow
you to contest with me on equal ground. The task is too
great for so small a man as you facing so great a woman as
I.  We go now."  She forced him over to the wall.  "Up,"
she said.  Now he clearly had no choice.  He began to
climb.  He could not have made it over without the
woman's hand placed under his rump projecting him upward.
Once at the top, he decided to run again, thinking she
would not see where he was going.  But she got to the top
of the wall faster than he could have imagined.
      When she caught him -- after a race through high
 more [q=quit]                brush that slowed the shorter man down far more than Babe,
who was in her element--she was, as promised, not  gentle.
     As-she came up behind the running man, she raised her
foot and slammed it into his back, pushing him headfirst
into the weeds and rocks.  As he lay there, she roughly
stripped his robe off his back, leaving him lying there
in only his swim trunks. In the process of half stripping
him, she turned him over onto his back.  She bent over
and grabbed his hair and forced him to sit halfway up.
     Straddling him, she slapped his face hard
back and forth three times.  She still held his hair, and,
looking into his eyes, she said simply, "Accept your
fate."
     But deep down she hoped he would not.  Not yet,
anyway.
     "It is not so terrible," she said. And, to demonstrate,
she put her other hand under his chin, pulled the man to
his feet by his head and wrapped her arms around his head
and pulled his face into her bosom.
     She was in no hurry. She held him there, allowing him
just barely enough air. He tried to push away from her,
 more [q=quit]                but she simply overpowered him.  His hands roamed up and
down her sides looking for something, though he didn't really
know what.
     He knew that he did not want to do anything that might
anger her further if he could help it.  So he would not punch
her in the breast or kick her in the crotch, say. No sir, not
him.  He didn't consider himself stupid, not Jimmy Snarco.
Besides, she was not exactly hurting him now.  He could
think of worse things than having his face smothered in
big, round boobs.  Felt pretty good, actually.  Better and
better.  She rolled his head around over her mounds.
     Before long, the stings of her slaps that had shaken his
entire body were not even a memory.  And the roaming of
his hands over the body that was mauling him was no longer
in pursuit of an escape.  His hands were discovering
and enjoying Babe's abundant femininity as much as his
face and lips. Babe thought she recognized a subtle change
in the nature of Jimmy's activity, and she smiled.  She
put her hands on his shoulders, pushed him away to arm's
length and looked down at his crotch and confirmed her
suspicions of his arousal.  Now she was more enthusiastic
 more [q=quit]                than ever about her little adventure.  She would have been
very disappointed if Jimmy Snarco turned out to be beyond
his sexual years.  But Jimmy was anything but that.
     Now Jimmy stood in front of Babe frustrated by the
sudden, premature discontinuation of their sexual
activity.  He wanted desperately to move back in on the
big, beautiful tease in front of him. She was standing there
with her hands on her hips smiling or, was it, sneering at
him. He was afraid of what she might do if he tried something.
     He stood there opening and closing his fists in
involuntary releases of energy that accompanied his
frustration and indecision.  He leaned toward her and
started to move in several times.  But each start was
false.  His instinct for survival would assert  itself,
and he would stop.
     Babe relaxed in front of him, clearly
feeling very superior, clearly aware that she had aroused
the ardor of the great Jimmy Snarco, clearly enjoying her
ability to shut him off at her whim.
     Finally his horniness and his male pride overcame
his good sense, and he made his move, lunging at Babe with
 more [q=quit]                open arms.  She reached under one of those arms, grabbed
his shoulder and threw him over her big hip.  He flew through
the air and landed on his back and bounced.
     She stood over him now with her foot on his neck.
     "You wouldn't try to take advantage of me, would you,
Mr. Snarco?" she asked. "I must discourage that."  She pulled
him to his feet by one arm.
    "I won't!  I won't, honest!" he said.   But it was too
late.  She was swinging him in a wide circle by that arm.
When she let go, he went whirling, and he slammed into a
tree backwards.   He sank to his knees, and his head hung
down.
     He saw her feet -- powerfully crushing what lay
under them, clearly impervious even to jagged stones and
glass. Then he felt her hand in his hair again.  She pulled
his head until he was looking up into her eyes, tears
forming at the corners of his eyes.  His chin was brushing
against the bottom of her crotch.
     Babe said, "All sexual activity will be initiated by
me.  Is that understood, Mr. Snarco?"  He tried to nod,
but it came out more like a gulp. "Good," she said.  "And
 more [q=quit]                it will be ended by me and interrupted by me, entirely at
my whim, sort of the way your television program is
scheduled by you.  Is that understood?"  He gulped.
"Good."  She put her hands under his armpits and lifted
him to his feet.  Her hand went inside his swimming
trunk as they stood there facing each other, and she
manipulated him, and he made no move...neither to stop her
nor to respond in kind.  He just stood there, as he knew
she wanted him to.  With light strokes, she aroused to him
another bout of fist opening and closing. Then she hurt him
then aroused him again, all as they stood there in the
woods facing each other, absolutely alone together.  She
removed her hand from his crotch, passed her finger under
his nose and patted him on the cheek, acknowledging his
good behavior, his concession to her.
     Then she bent over and picked him up by the waist and
hoisted him onto her right shoulder.  Her right hand
resting on his rearend like that, she carried him the rest
of the way to her boat, over another wall -- her burden
hardly slowing her --- through more thick brush, to a
beach.  She dumped him into the boat -- lying flat on his
 more [q=quit]                back on the floorboards -- and took a seat herself on one
of the rower benches.  Her feet draped over him as she
began rowing.
     He lay there.  He looked up at her creamy,
monumental legs, saw where they met her rump, ran his eyes
back down to calves which were discordantly delicate at
points.  Her thighs, chest and biceps would expand to
frightening dimensions on every stroke much, he imagined,
like the waves, which were no match for her power.  He lay
there, feeling that his cowardice rendered him safe.  He
admired his view as her feet at times played absently with
his body. And he thought, they'll never believe this ....

                         Part II

     The legs mesmerized him.  Was it really possible that
they were as strong as they looked.  No, he thought,
nothing is invulnerable -- nothing human. But they sure
as hell looked invulnerable.  Certainly they were to any
human attack.  What could you possibly do against them?
He looked at his own arms and legs, examined them as
 more [q=quit]                potential weapons, and he laughed.  As levers they would
be useless against these portable trees.  How about as
hammers!  Suppose he got all of his strength into a punch,
no, a kick into one of her most vulnerable spots, say her
ankle or the back of a knee?  What effect would he have?
He wasn't sure.  And his questions became muddled in his
own mind when his eyes focused on the knee underside he
was contemplating.  It was smooth and inviting.
Altogether feminine.  Sexy even.  He longed to stroke it.
Or the thigh or calf it led to.  Or ...
     His head bounced against the floor as the boat came
to a stop.  "We're home, tiger," she said.  Home?  "Get
your pretty ass out of there."
     His humor was reflexive, if not, in this case,
particularly adept.  "I only show it in the second show,"
he said.  As he sat up in the boat, Babe, who by then was
standing in the water next to it, reached into it and
wrapped her two large hands around his ankles.  She pulled
toward her and his torso fell back against the floor, then
bounced painfully against the railing, then hung in air
upside down, suspended only by the lady's grasp on his
 more [q=quit]                ankles.
     "I'll decide where you show it," Babe said.  And she
released one of his ankles now and held him as if he were
a fish she had caught and was showing off.  At first he
thrashed, mainly out of fear of falling on his head.  When
he realized her grip was secure, though, he calmed down,
and she reached her hand under the top of his boxer-like
shorts and began denuding him.  He began thrashing again
and -- weakened by her laughter at his protests physical
and verbal -- Babe was forced to lower him to the ground,
where she sat on his back and -- having never let go of
one ankle -- bent him backwards as she pulled his shorts
off.  Now she sat there examining his rearend, running her
fingers lightly along it and commenting. "Hmmm," she
murmured non-committally.  "Not bad, I guess.  For  an old
guy.  Not bad."  He lay face downward into the sand,
strumming the ringers of one hand in frustration over the
multiple indignities done to his person and ego, propping
his face up with the other hand, his elbow providing the
support.  He felt -- the word came to him -- asinine.
Against her superior weight and strength, there was nothing
 more [q=quit]                he could do but wait patiently.  Her bare feet weren't all
that far from his head, and he thought about tickling her
soles, but discretion prevailed, even though she now --
having scooted so far back she was almost sitting on his
head -- was running her hands along his back and ribs in a
way that wasn't far removed from a tickle, though  it
really was more like the earlier exploration of his ass.
"Not too bad," she said, the emphasis on the middle word.
He just waited. But as he did so -- her buttocks
surrounding his neck and brushing against the back of his
head, her hands running up and down his body -- his
thoughts focused on sex, and his crotch began to bulge.
This gal  -- however big, however rough -- was sure as
hell a beauty, and he was, as she had already discovered,
still a man.  She stood up then, and he wondered what she
wanted him to do. To stand would have been to reveal his
arousal.  "Get up," she said.  He did, hoping, though,
that his lack of speed gave his penis time to recede.  He
stood with his hands covering his crotch.  "Don't be
silly," she said as she stepped into him, grabbed his
wrists and spread them out.  "I want to see you."  She
 more [q=quit]                did.  He was now completely revealed to her.  The show
business term flashed through his mind.  So this is what
full frontal nudity feels like, he thought as her eyes
went up and down his body.  Standing a step back, still
holding his wrists, head  tilted reflectively to one side,
her eyes focused on his crotch, she shrugged.  He was
acceptable.
     She dropped his hands, and they went again to his
crotch.  He couldn't help it.  Not the way she was
staring.  "So you still want my body, huh, Mr. Snarco?  I
can see that.  And I don't blame you.  Not one bit.  It is
an extraordinary body, no?"  He nodded dumbly.  Her hand
went to the rag around her chest; she pulled on it quickly,
and it came off, and her magnificent breasts were free, and
he gulped.  They were round and huge and upright and tan,
with small, pointed, red nipples.  Her other hand went to
her waist, and it jerked, and now she was completely nude.
     Unlike Jimmy, she did not crouch and try to hide herself.
She stood proudly erect with her hands on her hips, and she
let him feast his eyes, to discover that the redness of
her hair was natural.  Her muscularity and her nudity, the
 more [q=quit]                femininity of her curves -- from her bulging hips and
narrow waist up to her breasts and down to her calves --
and the brazenness of her stance and action fogged his
mind.  She stepped forward and placed her palms on his
nipples, and she caressed him there on his upper chest
possessively.  "I want you too, Mr. Snarco.  You must know
that by now," she said.  "But I must give you one last
chance to  re-think the implications of your lust."  He
was aroused now to an extraordinary degree, a degree that
brought back memories; but he just stood there.  She put
her hands on his neck; both her large palms wrapped him
snugly there.  With her thumbs pressing, upward gently
into the area below his chin and long fingers pushing
inward on the back of his neck, she could -- and did --
manipulate his head forward and backward  like a
ventriloquists dummy.  In fear, his hands came up to her
wrists.  But they did nothing there, just rested, albeit
poised.
     "You must also know by now that I am an unusual
woman, Mr. Snarco, not in physique and combat skills
alone."  She followed his eyes as his head bobbed, and he
 more [q=quit]                stared at hers.  When his  tongue lolled out of his mouth
in pursuit of the barely sufficient amount of air she
allowed him, so did hers.  Was it mimicry or lust, he
wondered.  "I take my pleasures in strange ways," she said
in an increasingly husky voice.  "For example, I have
always wondered about the pleasure of the queen bee in
killing her mate at the moment of  copulation." Her
fingers tightened.  Snarco thought about the early 7O"s
R-rated movie "Girls for Rent," in which a crazed female
gangster shoots an inexperienced young lover in the
head just at that moment, and for the same motivation as
Babe apparently had in mind.  And he was frightened.
    She dropped her hands and stepped back.  He
breathed a sigh of relief. "You have been warned," she
said.  "Now I will allow you to run.  I will turn my back
and give you a five-minute head start, but you may not use
the boat.
    "If you choose to accept this offer, you subject
yourself to  possible punishment later. If you do not,
you are mine now, and we begin."
     His mind reeled, but he found words.  "Begin
 more [q=quit]                what?"
     "Whatever I want."
     "I see .... Uh, I don't suppose I could have my
shorts back?"
     "You have five minutes to try whatever you want
to try once I turn my back."  She stood between the nude
television star and his only clothing.
      "I see,"  he said, though he wasn't sure he knew
what she meant.  He was sure he didn't want to test her.
"Well, I guess I'll be going."  He smiled  and backed away
from her, waving good-bye.  She turned her back on him,
folding her arms under her massive chest and presenting
him with his first full dorsal nudity view.  Her firmly
planted, widely-spread legs led his eyes up to buttocks
even more firm, upright and beckoning that her breasts.
"Fantastic," he thought.  "Utterly fantastic.  What a
fucking waste.  I bet I could get this broad some good
jobs."  Shaking himself back to his predicament, he
wondered about attacking her from behind.  "Yeah, right,
Snarco.  Right.  STAR FOUND DECAPITATED ON BEACH.  Maybe
with a weapon, though.  What? I don't see any bombs
 more [q=quit]                around."  There was the oar of the boat, but that was on
the other side of the nude lady, and if she wasn't going
to let him have his shorts, well ....  But he knew he had
to accept the opportunity she presented him to run.  For
all he knew, it might be his last chance for freedom.  Or
even for life.
     And so the rich, famous, naked, middle-aged man
ran.  He ran for his life, his balls flapping painfully
against his legs, his penis flapping about randomly.  Now
I know why they got jock straps, he thought.  He ran hard
and long, but it was hopeless.  He wasn't as young as he
used to be, and his female hunter knew the island too
well.
     When she first spotted him, an hour later -- an hour
during which he had seen but been able to avoid jungle
cats and snakes of unknown species --- she was way
above him on a cliff.  She let him know she was there.
"You're mine now, Jimmy Snarco,"  she called.  "You belong
to Babe." Her voice echoed.  Then, like a gazelle, like an
animal in its natural habitat, she glided down the
hillside, her naked body invigorated, not harmed, by the
 more [q=quit]                bushes and rocks and other obstacles.  The naked national
idol below ran away from her as she loped at an angle
downward, her face lit and made rosy by the chase.  Every
time he looked back he was amazed by how much she had
gained on him.  By now he could see her smile.  He ran
harder, looking for something, anything.  Then, suddenly,
she was in front of him, not behind.  She stood there, her
mighty chest heaving, sweat dripping from her brow and
down her rippling belly into her crotch.  He turned
frantically to run another way, through bushes, hoping
against hope to lose her. He seemed to be making progress.
He couldn't hear her behind him.  Then she was in front of
him again.  He stood now bent over, his hands on his knees
supporting his body, his chest heaving with exhaustion.
He had given up.
     She walked up to him and reached into his groin and
held him even as he remained bent over before her.  "Your
ardor seems to have diminished, Mr. Snarco," she said.
"Mine has multiplied.  Perhaps I can equalize us again."
She once more put both her hands on his breasts and, using
her fingers in his armpits for leverage, she lifted him up
 more [q=quit]                off the ground, straight above her, still vertical.  She
walked over to a tree and pushed the man's back against
it.
     Then, lightly, she began to slowly brush his belly and
lower abdomen with her lips.  Meanwhile, she was raising
and lowering him, his crotch brushing against and between
her breasts.  It wasn't long; before he was hard, though
his back was being rubbed raw.  She eased him down to his
feet.  They stood looking at each other.  "Now I will show
you the kind of punishment you risk when you try to run
from me."
     Instinctively, he started to bolt.  But she
caught him with her left hand on his right upper arm and
turned sideways, so that her right shoulder faced him.
Then she pulled violently on his arm toward her.  His
chest and face came into contact with her shoulder, which
she stiffened at just the correct instant.  He was jolted
back against a tree, breathless.  As he started to slide
downward, she did the same thing to him again.  Then she
simply grabbed the overmatched man in headlock.  She
brought his head down until it was facing directly into
 more [q=quit]                her crotch.  He saw the red hair there and his forehead
might even have touched it.  She held him there,
squeezing.
     When his head was so low in her grasp it was
practically between her legs, she brought up the leg on
the opposite side of her body from Jimmy's body and placed
the soft under part of her upper thigh down on his head.
Then she lowered her leg to the ground and let go of her
headlock and allowed her leg to twist Jimmy's head until.
it was facing up.  Now his body was almost horizontal in
front of her, his head hidden from view between her upper
thighs.  She leaned back until her hands touched the
ground in back of her head. Her body arched.  This caused
Jimmy pain, bending his back to a degree than was not
normal.
     She knew that, because she could hear him trying
to scream down there between her legs, his sounds muffled
by her crotch, into which his face was thrust. She raised
one foot and put it in the small of his back and pushed
upwards, increasing the angle of his distortion and the
intensity of his muffled screams.  She kicked him in the
 more [q=quit]                back there a few times, although not too violently.  She
didn't want to break his back.  But they both knew one
really swift kick could have.  Mainly she just pressed
higher and higher until his body was arched more than he
had ever thought it could be.  Finally she pushed herself
up out of her arch and spread her legs enough for his head
to fall loose.
     He hit the ground with a moan and began to
toss from side to side in agony, but he was hampered by
the fact that his head was still between her feet.  She
stood and thought about what path to take to her house as
he tried to pry himself loose.  Then she scooped him up in
her arms and carried him away.  He was conscious, but
gasping for breath and fidgeting, and -- although his head
lolled comfortably against her breasts -- he was, she was
interested to notice, flaccid again.  "Apparently I can
turn you on and off at my whim, Mr. Snarco," she said.  "I
like that about you.  We should get along well."
     They reached the steep side of a hill which rose
above them.  She had strung a rope down it, via which she
regularly descended and ascended.  She had never done it
 more [q=quit]                this way before, but she had always been curious to try.
She set him down against the hill, directly behind the rope.
     "You're going for a ride, funny man," she said.
     He couldn't imagine what she meant.  Was
she going to try to climb the rope while carrying him on
her shoulders or something.  Perhaps he could have thought
more clearly if his face wasn't almost level with her
auburn crotch.
     "Stand up!", she said, and he complied.
Using only her hands, she lifted herself off the ground so
that she was hanging from the rope.  Then she wrapped her
two pythonesque legs around Jimmy's body.
     "Wait a minute.  Now, hold on here," he was saying.
"Don't be rash, now." But instantaneously he found himself
completely off the around.  He was hanging between the
lady's legs as -- hand over hand, surely and confidently
--- she climbed the rope.  She had no need for her legs.
Her long biceps bulging more and more, higher and higher
they went.  And scareder and scareder the man became.  If
she dropped him -- accidentally or an purpose -- what with
the jagged edges and rocks of the hill, not to mention the
 more [q=quit]                height they were reaching, he would at least break his
back, probably die.  His hands flittered pointlessly
about her body, looking at first for freedom, then for a
good hold.  Up her huge thighs and hips they flitted, to
her slim waist and knotted, muscular stomach, and back
down her mighty buttocks.
     "Having a good time, Mr. Snarco?" Babe asked, the
effort of the climb showing in her voice.  Still, though,
she was in complete control.  No problem. Higher and
higher they went, veins now showing clearly in her biceps.
But now his eyes came to rest on the red thatch before
him.
     Slightly open because of the position of her thighs,
it was to him -- even in this frightening, painful and
preposterous position -- most enticing.  After a while --
now more secure in her grip -- he couldn't take his eyes off
it.
     What would she do if he touched it?  He wasn't about
to find out,  But she didn't seem to mind him looking.
He continued to, even as the ride became more painful on
his ribs and chest and already tortured back.  By the end
 more [q=quit]                he was having trouble breathing, but still he looked.
     Babe reached the top and hauled herself over it with
her hands on the ground and the man trailing down below
there after her ass.  She stood up, and he lay flat on his
back, as if he had done all the work.  She straddled his
chest and stretched her magnificent body to the skies in
relaxation.  "I feel magnificent," she said, more to those
skies than to the man at her feet. She looked down at
Snarco.
     She squatted, and her red mound was now open wider
before his eyes than ever before.  "I'm going to have you
now, little man," she said.  "I'm going to ravage you.
You have never experienced anything like what I'm going to
do you.  And, for all you know, you won't live to tell
about it.  You may fight me if you like.  It does not
matter.  You cannot hurt me enough to anger me."
     Then, right there, at the edge of that cliff, on
Babe's earth, the woman lowered herself to the supine male
and manipulated his lusts still more.  He could no more
resist her attractions then he could her strength.  Even
as she manipulated his mind  and his body, he fought for
 more [q=quit]                all he was worth, still picturing that movie and still
hearing Babe's pondering about queen bees.  He thrashed
and hit and kicked, and she felt more and more
magnificent.
     At the end she did not kill him.  Resting on his
heaving chest afterwards, she patted his face and said,
"Maybe next time we'll join the bees."  She stood and
turned her back on him and stretched luxuriously and
looked around and admired her world.  She knew what
scenery the prostrate man's eyes were on, and that made
her feel all the better.  Then, without turning around,
she bent over -- revealing her meridian red thatch to him
from the rear -- and grabbed one of Jimmy Snarco's ankles
and began walking away.  She dragged him along the bumpy
terrain as he lay defeated, mesmerized, watching her
magnificent buttocks bounce.

                        Part III

        By the time they reached Babe's house, Jimmy was
no longer being dragged by his ankle along the ground
 more [q=quit]                behind her.  Concluding that the naked man had taken
about as much as could be expected for a while, Babe had
lifted Jimmy into her arms and carried him most of the way
through the brush in a honeymooners' over-the-threshold
position.  He was not resisting.  It beat being dragged,
Jimmy thought.  There was no pain, and it sure was easy.
So he decided to take advantage of the woman's strength.
Why fight it, he thought, as he relaxed in her arms, his
body sometimes bouncing against her upright breasts, which
seemed impervious to his presence.  The only problem he
had was figuring out where to put his arms.  Seeing him
fuss about in the Stan Laurel impersonation that came
almost reflexively to Jimmy Snarco, she said, "Around my
neck, dumbo.  It's the only way you"ll feel comfortable."
And so they went, the man feeling comfortable only in the
physical sense.
     The wooden house that suddenly appeared to them in
a clearing was not huge, but it was a lot larger that any
one person living alone would be likely to need, Jimmy
thought.  Babe effortlessly climbed the short flight of
stairs to the porch, then kicked open the front door.
 more [q=quit]                They stood inside the door, and Babe let Jimmy look around.
"I hope you like it, pal," she said.  Then she carried him
into her exercise room, where there were wall pulleys,
free weights, a universal gym machine, a rope hanging from
the ceiling, mirrors, mats, boxing gloves.  She put the
man down, adjusting him until his back was against a
padded wall.  She placed one hand above each of his
shoulders and rested her palm against the wall behind him,
saying nothing for several moments as his eyes darted back
and forth between her placid face and the proud breasts in
front of his eyes.  He began to become erect there facing
the nude woman.  Without moving her hands, Babe lowered
her lips to Jimmy's, gently kissing him, her tongue
entering his mouth at her will, the man letting her lead.
She stopped.
     "You're mine now, Jimmy Snarco," she said.
"That's all you are,  Babe's man.  Everything else you
ever were in your life, that doesn't matter any more.
Now you are only whatever I want you to be, and I want you
to be my maid and handy man. I like a clean house, but
have little time for that sort of thing myself.  And I
 more [q=quit]                want you to be my court jester; it gets lonely out here,
and I know you can make me laugh.  And I want you to be my
sex object, we have already established your suitability
for that."
     She kissed him again, and he just stood there.
"Maybe you can even help me with my workouts."  She put
one hand on his face and flung him across the room.  He
stumbled into a matted wall.  "Defend yourself," said the
naked woman, stalking him.
     He tried.  Foolish and helpless as he felt, he
tried.  He put up an arm to ward off the approaching
mountain of femininity. She grabbed his forearm and held
it in one hand as he tried to jerk it and twist it free,
Failing that, he brought his other hand into play and
tried to pry her fingers off his arm, which was now
beginning to throb with the pain of her grip.  He grinned
foolishly and awkwardly as their eyes met while he was
prying.  She watched him for a while, then -- still using
only her single arm -- she flung the man across the
workout room yet again.  The jar was greater this time.
The naked woman approached again and, without taking her
 more [q=quit]                eyes off his, bent her knees to where she could wrap one
of her large hands around the back of one of his thighs.
She lifted and his foot came off the floor, and his thigh
now rested on her strong palm.  With her other hand, she
examined the inside of his thigh, jiggling his flesh
around as if it were jello.  "Flab is particularly
unbecoming on an otherwise thin person, don't you agree,
Mr. Snarco?"  she said, then looked at his face for a
reply.  He swallowed and nodded.  "I thought you might,"
she said. Then, still examining and jiggling his thigh
flesh: "Yes, indeed, we will have to do something about
this.  I simply will not tolerate slothfulness."  As she
spoke and examined, the back of her hand would brush
against Jimmy's penis, which had not been exactly flaccid
in the first place but was now coming to full attention.
She said, "Do you like being abused and threatened by a
strong woman? Mr, Snarco?  Or is it my beauty alone which
pleases you?"
     "Why..." he squeaked and cleared his throat.  "Why
do you ask?"
     She laughed and patted his cheek.  "Very good," she
 more [q=quit]                said, slightly distracted.  "I like that."  Still holding
his leg off the ground, she brought her free hand down to
his penis and ran her long, red-tipped forefinger gently
along its shaft.  She felt the man shiver.  She cupped
his testicles and saw his hands open and then close again,
tightly.  Her hand moved up lightly and slowly along his
shaft until her forefinger teased its tip.  Jimmy closed
his eyes and shuddered and squirmed impotently (so to
speak), afraid to wrap his arms around his female
dominator as he so desperately wanted to do.  Babe watched
him with amusement, then felt a tiny dampness on her
forefinger.  "Well, that ought to provide you a little
relief anyway, tiger," she said.  Jimmy opened his eyes
to see Babe putting her finger in her mouth and licking it
as if she had just been to the Colonel's.  She winked at
him.  "However, I think the best thing for you now is to
get your mind off sex.  A little exercise ought to help."
     She let his leg drop to the floor and she put a mighty
arm around the shoulders of the now passive man and began to
show him her prized exercise room.  The first thing he
noticed was a huge full-length mirror that now displayed
 more [q=quit]                both his and his large companion's bodies in their
entirety.  He had two thoughts: One, there was a fat
chance of him getting his mind off sex if she was going to
be parading around like that! And, two, his body certainly
looked ridiculous compared to hers in this stark way.
     "I understand," the possessive lady interrupted his
thoughts, "from watching your show that you have your own
exercise equipment, Mr. Snarco.  Pity you haven't made better
use of it.  At any rate, I'm sure you know how all of this
works.  I want you to avail yourself of it in every spare
moment.  Don't worry too much about precisely which
exercises to do and in what amount.  Every part of your
body needs a great deal of work, so you can't go wrong.
I'm going to make a new man out of you, Jimmy Snarco!"
She slapped him on his back, then caught him before he
could fall.  Holding him around the shoulders again, she
said, "There is, I suppose, a small possibility that I
will one day tire of you and send you back.  If that
happens, your friends will see a new you, a strapping,
healthy, vibrant, muscular man in his prime, rather than
the wimp you see before you."  She pointed to the mirror.
 more [q=quit]                "If this improvement does not take place, then I simply
will not, under any circumstances, allow you to return.  I
do have certain standards to maintain. If I should tire of
you before I deem you fit to return, well, let's not even
think about that right now.  Now, get to work.  I'm going
to go watch "The Best Of Jimmy.'  When I look in, I want
to see you pumping."  Then she was gone, and Jimmy, no
dummy, was pumping.  Within the first half hour, though,
Babe was back and toting the TV with her.  She set it
down, assumed a comfortable position and alternately
watched her two Jimmy's as she sipped a lemonade.
     That night, after Babe had Jimmy apply red polish to
her toenails as she sat on the edge of her bed dressed in
an incongruous shorty nightie (she liked to play with his
head this way, to explore various avenues to arousal for
him), Babe and Jimmy slept in the same bed, the lady's
long, powerful arm draped over the man's back.  Jimmy had
thought he would be unable to sleep, given the
extraordinary events of the day; but, as it turned out,
all the exercise had worn him out and -- even as he lay
there contemplating some avenue of escape from this
 more [q=quit]                strange broad and her island --- he fell fast asleep.  He
slept, in fact, better than he had in months, he was
surprised to realize the next morning, when it took him
almost a minute of growing consciousness to realize where
he was. His first clues were the aches at various parts of
his body from the workout and other activities of the day
before.  He looked around for some clothes and saw none,
then wondered if he dared look in Babe's closet and take
something from there, say a robe.  He decided against it,
settling instead for a towel from the washroom.  Gingerly,
he stepped out into the living room.
     "Into the gym, sleeping beauty," Babe called when she
saw him from the kitchen, where she was eating.  "One hour
on the weights before breakfast.  I've already done that
and run 10 miles."
     "I can hardly move as it is," he moaned.
     "Not in as good shape as you thought you were, huh?
Better make it two hours," Babe said between mouthsful.
     Jimmy saw little future in protest.  He turned and
trudged toward the gym. "And take off the silly looking towel.
You don't have anything I haven't seen."
 more [q=quit]                     Jimmy was not surprised by the command. The towel was on
the floor before his bare ass disappeared from Babe's view
into the gym.  He got to work, fearing what would happen if
she came in and saw him loafing.  Twenty minutes later she
did come in, dressed only in cut-off jeans and a halter, her
hair flowing freely behind her in a red cascade. Her feet were
bare.
     She was breathtaking.
     "I'm going to be hunting most of the day," she said,
munching on a banana.  ~I've got three things I want you to do.
One, clean the house.  You'll find the necessary implements in
the kitchen.  Two, prepare an act.  You're providing the
entertainment this evening.  And it better be good! Three,
build some muscles.  You see this little gadget here?  It
counts the number of times this pulley is pulled.  I want to
see 500 pulls registered by this evening.  I don't care if you
use your arms or your feet or your nose or whatever.  As I
say, you need work everyplace.  Just do 500."
     Then she was gone.


 more [q=quit]                                            PART IV


     Babe left Jimmy alone in her house all day,
unconcerned about the possibility of him escaping.  She
hoped that her would try.  The chase aroused her. Just
about anything aroused her.  Now, after all these months
of loneliness, to have a man on the island -- a man who,
however much she made fun of his relatively slight build,
had an attractive body; a man who she had in one day
reduced from the lofts of national acclaim and great power
to fear of her and her mighty body: but mainly just to
have a horny man on the island -- that really excited--
her.
     As for Jimmy, he turned his efforts toward cleaning
up the house -- just as she had ordered him to --
immediately upon her departure.  It was 20 minutes before
he realized that there was nothing chaining him to the
house, that the possibility of escape existed.  Is she
baiting me, he wondered.  No matter. He must try.  He must
not allow himself to think of her as some sort of goddess,
 more [q=quit]                someone who made no mistakes, who was omniscient as to his
moves, who could give him any headstart, any advantage and
still beat him at any game. She was just a person, he told
himself.  (He did not think "just a woman".) An avenue of
escape seemed to exist, and it would be foolish not to go
for it.  But when he looked out the door and saw the
jungle around him, he began to have second thoughts.  He
seemed to be surrounded -- physically surrounded -- by
uncertainty. What the hell was out there?  He had no idea.
Would he be forced to live outside for days while seeking
escape?  If he did find a shore, would he know what to do?
Would he be able to see the mainland?  What animals were
out there! What would she do to him if she caught him?  At
least back here I know something about what I've got.  She
wants to fuck a lot; not the worst duty a guy ever had.
That body!  So inviting, so warm, however powerful.  A lot of
guys would give their eye teeth to get in the sack with
this broad.  And without guilt about their wives.  After
all, I've got no choice.  And I'd be warm, and I'd have
food.  Not such a bad life for awhile, maybe.  Maybe she
won't get off on beating the bell out of me all the time
 more [q=quit]                if I don't bug her.  Maybe ...  No! He snapped himself out
of it.  What the hell are you, Snarco, a prince or a
mouse. Get your ass out of here.
     He left.  But he did not run.  He had learned already
how exhausting it was to try to run in the heavy growth of
this island. She was going to be gone all day.  What was
the point of running?  He walked.  And walked.  And
walked.  He had no real idea where he was going.  The
longer he walked the more confused he was about his
whereabouts.  And hers.  Was he getting farther away
from her?  Or closer?  Was she chasing him by now?  He
tried to think about what he would do or say if she caught
him.  And about what she would do.  He was not terribly
worried about what she would say.  He kept imagining that
she was around each bend.  Or behind him.  The tension was
tiring him more than the exercise, though his body was
stiff from the previous day's events.  He'd see a shadow
and think it was Babe.  Before he'd realize it was only a
tree trunk, he'd imagine her standing there in front of
him with her hands on her hips. What would she look like!
A superior smile on her face?  A good possibility. Maybe
 more [q=quit]                the best he could hope for.  Maybe she'd take it in
stride, not be bothered by his escape attempt.  Maybe
she'd just be turned on.  Again.  Maybe she'd walk up to
him, put her big soft paw on his face and stroke him and
say, "So, Mr. Snarco.  You want to leave me.  And after
all we've meant to each other.  Now I am a woman scorned."
Whoops, thought Snarco, what the hell is happening to
this fantasy?  It started out much better.  Now she just
stood in front of him, stroking his face looking into his
eyes, looking as if she was hurt.  Angry, too.  Not
knowing what she was going to do was driving him crazy.
     She turned and began walking, bringing Snarco along by
simply resting her hand on the back of his head.  They
walked along, silently, like a mother with a son whose
behavior has disappointed her.  She had a sort of
this-is-going-to-hurt-me-more-than-you attitude.  Snarco
pictured the large woman suddenly turning and burying her
fist in his stomach.  He imagined himself doubling over,
his eyes sliding down her bare midriff, over the cut-offs
in which he had last seen her, down her massive thighs to
her rather strangely delicate ankles and her bare feet.
 more [q=quit]                Then he thought, no, that is not what she would do, not if
she was reacting as she first seemed to be.  What would
she do?  Unable to imagine her next step, Jimmy pictured
them just continuing to walk.  Finally, they came to a pond.
     "This is the way to safety from me, Mr. Snarco," she said.
"If you hate the prospect of life with me so much, you can
simply cross it. However, fond of you as I am, I must warn
you:  There are animals in that pond which you do not know
about.  That is all I will tell you about them.  Now you
can enter the pond and take your chances, or you can walk
back toward me and accept your punishment for hurting my
feelings and come back to my house." She positioned Jimmy
between her and the pond, ten feet from each.  What the
hell was in there?  She wouldn't allow him to actually
die, would she?  Because she feels rejected?  Or be
maimed?  What would she do if he walked toward her!
There were no other directions to walk, or run.
Impenetrable bushes stood on Jimmy's left and right.  He
stared first at the pond, then at the magnificent woman,
standing there in her insubstantial halter -- a rag
really, with a loose end hanging down her side where it
 more [q=quit]                was tied -- and her blue denim cut-offs. And nothing else.
My God, what a great, great animal, he thought.  He could
picture her standing there staring down a horse or a lion,
ready to do battle with either.  He would bet on her.  And
he would like to see the action.  "I'm waiting, Mr.
Snarco." she said.  He imagined himself walking toward her
and being met with one of those feet whose toenails she
had required him to paint red last night.  Right in the
face probably, before he could move a muscle, probably,
for he knew from experience that she was as fast and
versatile as she was big and strong.  He would fall back
on his ass and look up at her, and she would be
inscrutable, and he would know that she was not going to
make his attempt to come back to her easy.  But then she
would insist that whatever he was going to do, he better
do it fast.  And he would get up and walk toward her
again.  He would walk slowly, on his guard, as if that
would do him any good. She would stand there impassively,
letting him get closer and closer, giving no clue as to
her next response.  She would shift on her feet and he
would flinch, uncovering his eyes only to find that she
 more [q=quit]                had never attacked him.  Sheepishly, he would unwind
himself and come toward her again.  He would stop a foot
in front of her.  She would just continue to stare at him.
Then she'd knee him in the balls.  No.  Not her.  Not this
chick.  She'd put her hands on his shirt front and rip it
off him.  Then he'd be standing there nude from the waist
up. Of course, she'd be horny as hell after chasing him
down.  She put her hands on his pants at the top, her
fingers inside the band, and she'd pull him toward her and
kiss him full on the mouth.  Then she'd back him against a
tree and continue kissing him, but now she'd also be
burying her fist relentlessly into his belly, because,
after all, she knew that just fucking him would not
exactly be punishment. She would have her way with him
without letting him enjoy it. And he would have lost all
reason for being here.  Or, maybe, after pushing him into
the tree, she'd tie him to it.  And leave him there all
night.  Naked from the waist down, too.  Or she'd pick up
this big, thick stick and stand there slapping it in the
palm of her hand like a cop with a nightstick,  And she'd
say,  "Take your clothes off, Mr. Snarco."  And he'd obey,
 more [q=quit]                of course, though it would humiliate the man to strip
completely in front of her watchful eye. Then she'd say,
"Turn around."  And, in shock, his eyes would freeze on
that goddamn stick.  And she'd snap it even harder into
her hand and repeat the command.  "I, uh, don't see any
orchestra around here," he'd joke lamely, knowing that she
sometimes seemed to like his jokes.  "Now!" she'd say.
And he would turn, trying to keep his eye on the stick at
all times.  And she'd run the end of the stick lightly up
and down the backs of his thighs and buttocks. He might
even feel himself becoming slightly erect at that.  He
might.  Good Lord!!  What if she noticed that and
interpreted it as meaning he would like her to continue on
this course!!  Maybe she wouldn't notice.  Maybe -- maybe
-- then she'd raise the stick to his shoulder and rub it
suggestively against his neck.  "You see, Mr. Snarco,~
she'd say, "maybe, life with me could be a great deal worse
than it is."  Then she'd flip the stick away and turn him
around roughly and say, "You do see that, don't you?"  And
he'd nod, and then she would hit him with a backhand  slap
that would send him two-thirds of the way back toward the
 more [q=quit]                pond.  When he'd look up, she'd be lying on her back,
propped up on her elbows, facing him.  She'd say, "But
I'm sure you'd also agree that you must suffer some punishment
for your insulting behavior.  I am much too sensitive to let
this pass.  Now come lie down between my legs." He'd be shocked
by those words.  He had been between those legs.  It was
no safe place for man or beast.  She'd let him stand there
and look down at her legs, opened for him so invitingly.
She'd even flex them for him, one at a time, so that one
would be smooth and alluring -- a normally attractive
woman's leg, if a bit larger up top than most,
proportionally -- and the other would be this
pillar, this pile driver, this mountain range of peaks and
valleys sharp enough in their relief, to deter any sane
explorer.  Then, flirtatiously, she would relax that one
and exert the other.  Then she'd relax both and say,  "Of
course you may still choose the pond, if you'd prefer.  Or
you may run; if you think that because I am flat on my
back you can get past me. Frankly, Mr. Snarco, I doubt
that you could.  But if you did, you'd better be sure to
run someplace where there are no sticks."  Now she was
 more [q=quit]                speaking metaphorically, he knew, for it really didn't
much matter. Wherever he might run, she'd catch him and do
whatever she wanted.  He'd had enough trouble approaching
her when he didn't know what was in store for him when he
got there.  Now that he knew, he was all the more
frightened.  But it was getting a little bit dark now, and
the pond seemed, like the lady, more frightening than
ever.  So he approached the beautiful woman who lay on her
back awaiting him, her long hair falling unimpaired to the
ground from her head, raised less than a foot off it.  Now
he was standing above her, standing actually between her
legs.  She raised one of her legs off the ground --
slowly, so as not to frighten the chastened man --- gently
rubbing her foot suggestively up his thigh, nudging his
hands away from his crotch with her toenails, red courtesy
of the king of talk shows.  He dropped his hands, as he
knew she wanted him to, and allowed her to gaze with that
superior smile at his crotch as it swelled under the
attention of her imperious foot.  She lightly slid her
foot up his body, up his belly, over the now exuberant
penis, lightly playing with his chest hairs, up all the
 more [q=quit]                way to his face, demonstrating agility as yet another of
her physical characteristics.  At his face, her foot
stopped.  It rested there, his cheek fitting snugly into
her sole.  "Maybe this is your chance to attack me, Mr.
Snarco," she said, as her other foot started playing up
the other side of his body.  "You could get that stick you
were so afraid of and render me unconscious or lame, then
make good your escape."  He didn't know what to say.  She
said, "Try it." "Oh, no really, I don't think I could hit
a woman," he said. She smiled.  "I would miss you, Mr.
Snarco,"  she said.  Then she said, "Try it!"  It was a
command.  He turned to retrieve the stick.  He walked back
toward the lady on her back.  Before he could get close
enough to her to strike out, she kicked the stick from his
hand.  It went flying farther away than it had been when
he had retrieved it.  And his hand tingled as though it
were asleep.  "Try again," the recumbent lady commanded.
Reminding himself of a dog, the man went to retrieve the
stick.  ("Man Retrieves Stick!" the comedian mused.)
"Perhaps you should attack me from the side, Mr. Snarco,"
Babe said, as she looked at the rearend of the man as he
 more [q=quit]                fetched.  "I promise I will use only my legs to defend.
And attack," she said. He came at her from the side
slowly.  But he said, "Look, I can't really ..."  Without
pivoting, she had slapped him in the face with her foot as
he talked.  Now she continued to slap him back and forth.
Before long he was doing precisely what he was just about
to say he could not do, swinging at her hard with the
stick.  Now the battle was on, and Babe was in her glory.
She slapped his arm away with one foot and brought her
other foot -- again, without pivoting on her ass -- around
in back of the man's knee.  He was rendered off balance.
Now, with the foot that had kicked his hand, Babe gave
Jimmy a shot in the kidney.  He crumpled to his knees next
to the woman, the stick still in his hand.  His pain and
frustration caused in him an anger that made him raise the
stick high over his head, intent on bringing it down
anywhere he could find an undefended spot on the lady's
body.  But the lady, watching the man with amusement as
she battered him, intercepted his blow with the same foot
that had attacked his kidney. His hand went limp, and he
almost dropped the stick.  Instinctively, he started
 more [q=quit]                nursing his hand with his other hand.  She watched him
from her back, confident that he could do her no harm.
     She rested her ankle on his nearest shoulder, so that
he was now more or less between her legs again.
     She waited for him to recover. Then she said,
"Another choice for you, Mr. Snarco:  Either
attack from your position of advantage or hand me the
stick."  She put out her hand, palm up.  And, like a child
handing over something that did not belong to him, Jimmy
put the stick in her hand.  She rubbed the stick lightly
against his neck, smiling just as lightly.  She said,
"That's a good boy.  Now remove my shorts." Jimmy could
get behind that.  As she lay propped up on her elbows,
watching him, his hands went to her waist.  He hated the
fact that his hands were shaking so badly that he could
hardly function.  His knuckles brushed involuntarily
against her rippled abdomen.  "Heh, heh," he chuckled
badly, "kind of cold out here," he said, as he mopped the
sweat from his brow with his forearm.  The lady smiled.
(Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, Jimmy thought.)  As her
belly danced with chuckles, he clumsily unzipped the front
 more [q=quit]                of the lady's shorts, finding, as he expected, no clothing
underneath, only an invitingly smooth abdomen under the
rippling belly and the now familiar thatch of red, red
hair.  His shivering did not diminish.  He scooted
backwards to facilitate leverage on the bottom of the
lady's shorts, and he began to pull.  The lady at first
did not raise her buttocks off the ground, preferring to
watch Jimmy struggle.  He didn't know just how hard he was
supposed to pull.  But he was concluding that his current
level of exertion would not suffice when she obliged him
with a brief raising of her ass.  He missed his chance,
though, and he sat there waiting for another one, like
someone who had rung a bell at an apartment house and had
failed to open the door upon receiving the return ring.
She laughed and lifted again, and he pulled quickly,
determined not to fail again, and as he pulled, the lady
raised her foot and put it in his chest and pushed.  The
man fell back on his ass between her legs.  She laughed.
He got up and began pulling again, knowing he was supposed
to.  Still, Babe was not going to make it easy for him.
She kept her legs wide enough apart that the man had to
 more [q=quit]                struggle for every inch of downward progress.  When he had
completed his task, the lady said, "Service me".  Well, he
thought, if this is all she had in mind when she told me
to get between her legs, all right!  He set about the
prescribed task gradually and skillfully.  She smiled down
at the back of his head, stroking it affectionately with
her hand.  "I'd not stop under any circumstance, Jimmy, if
I may call you that," she said.  The words scared him, but
he continued.  He worried about what was coming next.  He
felt her slowly wrap her legs around his chest.  Nothing
so unusual about that, he told himself.  She wrapped him
more snugly, causing him more worry, but no real pain.
"Under any circumstances," she said.  Then she snapped.
Jimmy felt a crushing pressure on his chest, worse than
anything he had ever felt along those lines before, but
not as bad as he had expected, not nearly as bad as he
knew was possible.  But slowly it got worse and worse and
worse.   He wondered if the more excited he got her, the
more danger he was in.  What a way to go, he thought.
Babe, still propped up on her elbows, looked down with
satisfaction at her thighs as they bulged around the man's
 more [q=quit]                body, which seemed to be growing smaller and smaller.
Jimmy did not stop.  He knew what would happen if he did.
Talk about a woman scorned, he thought.  Babe, fascinated
by the sight of the diminishing man, his naked ass, his
tiny waist, his involuntarily bowed head paying her
homage, reached a level of arousal she had never known
before, contrasting his diminution with her own ongoing
physical growth.  She wanted to increase and increase that
growth and diminish and diminish Jimmy.  If he had not
been servicing her through this, she would have been doing
it herself.  To have it all brought her to a violent
climax of unparalleled proportions, marred only by the
restraint she had to exercise so that the event might
someday be repeated, a restraint that was responsible for
the survival of Jimmy Snarco.  She pushed him away with a
barefoot and lay panting, flat on her back.  Then she
stood up and stretched.  It was dark now.  She said,
"Follow me if you like.  If you don't, get off-my island
tonight.  If you do, bring my shorts with you."  He did,
trailing after that mighty ass, afraid to let it get out
of his sight, fearing this lady might be his only hope for
 more [q=quit]                surviving even this night.  And knowing that he had been
lucky, that it could have been worse.
     Then he knew it might be.  He heard the approach of a
horse in the distance behind him.   And he knew he was
alone.

The End


     FROM           THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS          714.840.1145

[RET] 15245-15380, Q)uit: