Mar 092009

In 1992, Felisa Jimenez became briefly famous for the healing powers of her ass. The 19 year old girl was already a curvy beauty but the ability of her ass to cure chronic and fatal illnesses made her bottom a popular commodity.

According to an interview on the Phil Donahue Show, Felisa claims that she discovered the healing properties of her bottom due to a boyfriend. The man suffered from life long diabetes but shortly after he slipped his hand down her jeans on their second date, he found that his glucose levels stayed normal. He told Felisa about his recovery and tried to leverage the mystery of her ass into finding out what healing powers her sex possessed. She broke up with the boyfriend and decided to try her own experiments.

At the time of her interview, Felisa claimed to have healed 240 people with her beautiful ass. According to her research, her ass could cure cancer, Alzheimer, near sightedness, impotence, arthritis and the flu but strangely not the common cold. Her ass lacked the ability to cure wounds or injuries but Felisa claimed that her bottom cupping one of her buttocks could reduce pain and induce a feeling of euphoria.

When asked if a simple touch would invoke the healing effect, Felisa laughed. As she explained it in her own words,

“It has to be my bare bottom. Jeans or panties stop the healing. You have to put your hand right on my butt and let it rest there. If you give it a little squeeze or rub it a little, the healing magic works faster.”

Unfortunately for Felisa, the FDA charged her with practicing medicine without a license. They refused to investigate her claims and an anonymous source within the FDA was quoted to say “No ass, no matter how beautiful and perfect, can cure shit.”

Felisa’s case wasn’t helped when her mother took the stand. Mrs. Jimenez pleaded mercy for her daughter on grounds that Felisa was an attention seeking harlot who like to have strange men touch her bottom. She claimed that her child was always wild no matter how much Mrs. Jimenez tried to tame her. She told stories of Felisa flashing boys in high school and how she knows Felisa masturbates every night no matter how many times Mrs. Jimenez bangs on her bedroom door.

The judge took pity and decided Felisa did not require jail time. He barred Felisa from allowing her ass to be used as an instrument of healing. he also scolded her and told Felisa to listen to her mother.

Felisa Jimenez’s current location and status is unknown. After her court case, she left her mother’s home and didn’t leave a forwarding address. There are rumors of a beautiful Hispanic woman with an amazing ass that visits hospitals pretending to be a nurse. The stories tell of how this sexy nurse seduces sick patients into sliding their hands over her bare bottom. The FDA currently denies this is happening and attributes any outbursts of miraculous recoveries in hospitals to the increase of HMO coverages.

Apocafuck scholars beleive that the appearance of a healing ass is further proof that the lines between sexuality and miracles are coming closer. They beleive that soon we may see a cock that can purify water and a breast that can cure ignorance.

Feb 022009

Ernie Kopper was born in 1942 in the Appalachian mountains of Tennessee. His mother was a preacher’s daughter and his father was a trapper. Raised with no formal education, Ernie took it upon himself to learn how to play the family’s fiddle. No one knew how to play the thing anymore but Ernie figured it out by his tenth birthday.

For years Ernie made a living playing his fiddle and traveling the most forsaken parts of the Appalachia. The country is harsh with little natural resources and often no infrastructure but Ernie loved that land and more importantly, he loved the stories and songs of the people that lived there.

In 1975, linguistic researchers from Duke University were in the area making recordings of the local dialect. The researchers discovered Ernie and tried to talk him into recording his songs. Erie was reluctant of having is talent taken away from the mountains but they finally found the right bribe. He recorded a massive 14 hour session for them in exchange for 3 gallons of the local moonshine and a copy of 1975 March issue of Playboy.

Among his recordings were several songs that may be related to the Apocafuck. Ernie claims all of his songs were gathered from the local people although some of his songs were obviously from other sources. For example, he had a rockabilly version of the Beatles, ‘She Loves You,Ya, ya, ya’ that clearly wasn’t composed by mountain recluses. Some of the songs discuss events happening in Europe while other songs seem related to current events.

When pressed about where these songs came from, Ernie told a fanciful tall tale. He said that he had a fiddle contest with a powerful with who called herself ‘The Singer’. He said they had a singing contest where the brids were the judges. If he lost, his cock would fall off. If he won, she would give him all the songs of the world and she would fuck him to boot.

Ernie claims she fucked his brains out so the new songs would have room to come in.

As a musician, Ernie was inspired. As a songwriter, he relies on questionable rhyming conventions and an even more questionable meter. Somehow he makes it all work through willpower, country charisma and some bad ass fiddle playing.

Presented here is one of his songs, ‘Slut of End Times’.

“Oh the Slut of the End Times is just raring to go,
She’s just waiting for the horn to come on down low,
She got a little dance for us, her body to show,
Show her tits, show her ass, Mmmm that show,
The show that makes men grow.

And the Slut of the End Times oh she’s got the biggest tits,
Bouncing like the salmon giving the men folk fi-its
The valley of her tits is just asking for your cock,
And if you spill your seed, the Slut of the End Times,
will lick up every bit.

And the Slut of the End Times, she’ll call you to the dance,
Which, running to her boy will be your only cha-ance,
She will dance with your grandpa, she will dance with your ma
She’ll dance with you under falling stars
till the last hurrah.

And the Slut of the End Times she will even love your wife,
She’ll hold you two close for the rest of your li-fe,
She never gets jealous oh you happy three,
The Slut of the End Times, she is the slut for me!

She never gets jealous oh you happy three,
The Slut of the End Times, she is the slut for me!”

Ernie Kopper still travels and is still playing his fiddle. At 67, he is supported mostly by his extended family of bastards that he has fathered. He says he has to keep practicing in case the Singer ever wants a rematch.

Jan 232008

Helen Ramada stretched her legs out in back of the limousine. Expensive shoes dangled on tiny feet while Helen slowly dragged her skirt up. She took her time, knowing that her chauffeur was watching every inch by the rear view mirror.

“Ms. Ramada,” Max said. “You are the heir to a billion dollar fortune. Your family has rubbed shoulders with politicians and royalty. You have done so little but enjoy so much of your family’s wealth and power. Please tell me that you are wearing underwear and that you will not be giving those paparazzi jackals yet another look at your spoiled rich girl cunt?”

“And what if I do give them a look?” Helen said. She looked at him through short cut blonde hair expertly designed to look wild and stylish at the same time.

“If you flash your cunt one more time,” Max said. “Then tonight when I drive you back to your apartment, I will whip your bottom with my belt personally.”

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Helen shuddered. Her chauffer wasn’t handsome or in fantastic shape. He was in his 40’s which made him almost incomprehensibly old to the young woman. His black hair was streaked with gray and he barely wore any cologne. Her friends said he was an absolute failure as a fashion accessory and they were right; he was a walking embarrassment wherever they went. But Helen kept him on the payroll for one reason and one reason only: He knew exactly how to treat her.

“The belt is too hard,” she whined. “I couldn’t wear a bikini for a week the last time you used it.” It was the same whine she used to convince her father to let her have her own apartment when she was sixteen.

“The belt is what you will get,” Max said. He had no pity for her whines. He cared nothing for her pleas. He listed her punishment with a certainty that made no sense for a man who depended on her for his wage. He would hurt her for shaming her family and that made Helen so very hot between her thighs.

The limousine pulled up to the club. Helen had forgotten the name of the place. It was famous for something or another that happened before she was born so what did it really matter? Right now it was the place to be for people like Helen to be seen. Helen didn’t know who decided what places were cool one week and lame the next but she didn’t care. She just knew she had to be where the hot people were or else you might as well be a nobody.

Helen waited for Max to come around to open her door. Before the door was even open, the lights were flashing. The photographers and their stupid cameras were chipping away at her, trying to dig out a nugget worth selling to the papers so they could pay their bills. Helen used to pity them, then she grew to hate them but now it is different. Now she saw them as sex toys to get Max worked up.

She had her routine down to a science. First she wore dark sunglasses so no one could see how alert and intelligent she was. She flailed her hand out in a perfect imitation of drunken clumsiness. As soon as Max grabbed her hand, Helen spun her leg around in a wide arc, flashing the entire crowd. A hundred light bulbs flashed and it took all of Helen’s focus to not smile in glee. She stood up and pretended to almost fall. Max grabbed her arm and supported her as she stumbled toward the club.

“You little whore,” Max swore.

Critics who saw her few television cameos said she couldn’t act but that was not true. Helen just needed the right kind of motivation.

“That’s Ms. Whore to you,” she said. Helen dropped the drunken act as soon as they stepped inside the club. There might be an agent or an advertising executive looking for talent. Max reluctantly released her arm and assumed his proper place a foot behind her.

“Helen!” a voice screamed inside the club. “Come sit with us!”

Helen squinted in the darkness to see if the calling voice belonged to someone worthy. She sighed when she saw a busty brunette and her boy toy of the night. It was Mackenzie Moen, a cokehead slut actress who Hollywood kept putting in movies because of her willingness to fuck any producer on the first date. Helen thought the girl was a waste of Gucci shoes, but the girl was famous.

“Mackenzie!” Helen yelled back. “You’re out of rehab!” She hugged the actress and winked at the blonde boy toy who was staring at her.

“Yeah, I got out this week,” Mackenzie said. “Those shit heads told everyone I had been cured. I love doctors; they are so easy to suck off. Oh, you still carry Max with you? Helen, you got to let me fix you up with some real bodyguards; the kind who watch your ass and then go down on you.”

Helen sat down at the table and laughed. “Max does watch my ass, don’t you?”

Max didn’t answer her. He stood to the side and folded his hands in front of him. He did amuse himself by glaring at the boy toy sitting beside Helen.

As for Helen, she amused herself by slipping her hand under the table and grabbing the crotch of the boy toy. The boy was smart for an underwear model, he just stayed perfectly still while Helen unzipped his pants and toyed with his cock.

“So Mackenzie, tell me about the latest actor you’ve blown,” Helen said.

The actress launched into a long drawn out lie about newest stud in Hollywood. Mackenzie did too many drugs to realize that she told the same three stories every time with just the names changed, but Helen didn’t mind. The important thing when you are a celebrity is that you have to be seen with the rich and famous so that you stay in style. Helen had spent the last year trying to get an endorsement deal with a lingerie company and her lawyers told her that they were very close to sealing the deal. In order to get that deal, Helen needed to keep appearing in gossip magazines and in magazine covers so that the lingerie company will get an erection at the thought of signing someone so important. As far as Helen was concerned, listening to a drunken actress make up shit was Helen’s job.

As for jacking the cock of Mackenzie’s stud while Max gave her dirty looks? That was just hot. The boy toy was groaning now but that was alright. Mackenzie was too into her story and herself to even notice. Helen kept stroking the guy’s cock, taking extra care to run her fingernail right over the tip with every thrust. She was pumping it so hard, her breasts were jiggling. They were threatening to fall out of her custom made dress. Helen almost wished they would just to see if Mackenzie would notice.

The pretty boy reached his hand under the table and tried to grab Helen’s thigh. Despite the loudness of the bar, Helen imagined she could hear Max’s growl. Helen squeezed the boy’s cock as hard as she could and the boy whimpered in pain. He pulled his hand back like her thigh was on fire and very wisely kept his hand above the table. Helen rewarded him with a much gentler grip and resumed stroking him. The boy muttered an apology while Mackenzie continued on obliviously with her story. Helen knew the boy toy had no idea how close he came to having his head ripped off by Max.

The boy toy climaxed and Helen kept pumping. Semen flew underneath the table while Mackenzie’s story segued into a discussion about her last photo shoot for a soft core magazine. The underwear model cried out but Mackenzie just took his exclamation in reference to her story.

Helen wiped the semen off her hand on the boy’s trousers. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

“If you find any good drugs, bring me back some!” Mackenzie shouted.

Max followed Helen to the bathroom. “I saw that,” he growled.

Helen smiled. “And what shall you do to me?”

“I’m going to tie you up like the delinquent you are,” Max said. He said it with an almost sadness in his voice, as if the punishment wasn’t appealing to him personally as much as it was just something that had to be done.

Helen shuddered. Her pussy flushed with heat. “Please don’t. I’ll be good now, I promise.”

Max didn’t answer.

Helen walked into the ladies’ room leaving Max behind. There were three nobodies at the sinks, trying to fix up their makeup so they could look like a Wal-Mart version of Helen. The girls all looked at Helen when Helen started washing her hand. They wanted to say something cool and funny enough that would encourage Helen to invite them into her life. Sometimes the fame hungry girls were more annoying than the pussy hungry boys.

“I’m just washing jizz off my hand,” Helen said. “So no talking to me, okay?”

There, she just made their day. Now they had a story about what a whore Helen Ramada was. Helen got to wash her hands in peace and three wannabes had something to text their friends about.

Helen looked at herself in the mirror. A glamorous rich girl looked back at her. She saw a force of marketing nature. She saw a person who could end careers and lives with a carefully placed tantrum. She saw a woman who improved circulation and television ratings every time she did something bad. The woman in the mirror could literally do no wrong that couldn’t be turned into a positive for her career and lifestyle.

There were other things she saw too. She saw the nose job she had when she was 15. She saw the diamond earrings her mother gave her instead of being in the country for Helen’s birthday. She saw a very thin body that was the result of too many damn hours in the gym and a completely boring diet. She saw somebody who never had a boyfriend that wasn’t someone that could help her fame.

“Christ,” Helen said. The nobodies jumped in fear. “I need to stop thinking like Max.”

She dried her hands off and walked back onto the dance floor. Max followed behind her but she ignored him. The sound in the club was overwhelming. Everyone was dancing, drinking or getting high. This was her life, a bunch of fucked up somebodies trying to stay ahead of the nobodies.

“Are you all right?” Max asked her. His usual mean tone was gone. Helen realized she must look as upset as she felt. Fuck, you don’t get reality show deals for having a soul searching moment in a club.

‘I’m fine,” she snapped. Helen saw what she needed. There was a table filled with executives that were obviously here to gawk at people prettier than themselves. Helen strutted right over to their table, used a chair to boost herself up, and then climbed onto the table itself. She pulled her skirt up with her hands and gave them a good look at million dollar pussy.

“Mind if I dance here?” she yelled. The men cheered.

Helen danced on the table. She wasn’t very good. She knew half a dozen moves from watching strippers and she cycled through them. It didn’t matter to the club. They cheered and screamed her name. Cell phone cameras clicked away as she flashed her legs, her ass and her pussy. It wasn’t her body or her dancing that everyone wanted to see, it was her fame. Helen knew they were cheering for her glamour, and every single one of them would sell their mothers for a chance to be apart of it.

Except for Max. He waited till the song was over and then he got her down from the table. His manner was gentle and most people assumed he was helping a very drunk Helen. They walked right past Mackenzie’s table and the starlet flashed Helen a dirty look for being the center of attention. Max dragged Helen out of the club and back into her limousine. A hundred flashbulb salute was her send-off as the limousine drove off.

In the limousine, Helen masturbated furiously all the way home to her apartment.

Helen groaned when Max helped out of the car, the iron grip of his hand locked around her arm.

Helen could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She had danced before a crowd of strangers without a second thought but now she knew fear. Something bad was going to happen there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“Please,” she begged Max. “I’ll buy you any car you want. Just pick one.”

Max ignored her as he dragged her to her apartment. He unlocked the door and shoved her in.

“Please, she begged again. “Just forget everything that happened tonight and I’ll buy you your own apartment anywhere you like.”

Max said nothing as he pulled his belt loose and snapped it in his hand.

“Don’t you dare come near me, mother fucker!” she yelled.

Max leaped at her. He grabbed her and pushed right over the arm of her imported French sofa. Helen screamed as Max grabbed flipped her skirt over and exposed her bare ass.

“Just think,” Max said. “If you were wearing panties, this might hurt less.”

The belt landed on her ass and Helen knew that no flimsy underwear could have protected her. It wasn’t the playful sting she might get from a fetish model during a photo shoot, or the gentle half hearted slap she got from an underwear model. This was a whipping. It was the kind of whipping you give a bad child, or a dog or a bitch.

Max whipped Helen. He pinned her down to the arm of the couch and he didn’t care if he was smashing her face into the textured cushions. All he cared about was blistering her bottom with his belt. She kicked and screamed but nothing would stop his whipping.

Helen’s petite ass turned bright red instantly and cruel welts formed seconds later. Helen screamed till she was hoarse. The whipping was relentless. Her ass hurt so much, that she forgot all about the club, she forgot about Mackenzie and she forgot all about what people thought or cared about her. To Helen, nothing in the world existed except her whipped ass.

The whipping stopped. Max let go of Helen and the heiress sobbed in relief. She slid down the arm of the chair onto the floor. That was too much. It wasn’t enough. Her ass was on fire with pain but her pussy had left an ugly wet spot on the arm of the sofa. Helen was aroused. Helen was sore. Most importantly, Helen felt real.

“You danced on a table like a damn ten dollar stripper,” Max said. Helen shuddered as he made his accusation. The punishment was coming.

“Lay a finger on me and I’ll have my father’s lawyers sue you for everything you’ll never own,” she said. Helen had to threaten him. It was what rich bitches like her did.

Max pushed her facedown onto the carpet. He planted his foot on her back like he was stepping on a pest. Helen struggled to get up but he pulled her arms behind her back. He used his belt to cinch her arms and then tied it off. He tore a strip of her dress off Helen screamed at the outrage. He treated her designer clothes with the same lack of respect he treated her. The strip of cloth was used to bind her ankles together. He tore off more strips so he could do the same to her thighs and to her wrists.

“If you’re going to act like trash, you might as well get treated like trash,” Max said.

He took his foot off of her and Helen flailed about in rage. She hated being restricted. To a girl who had never been told ‘no’, the loss of freedom was inconceivable. It was also very exhilarating. Helen flounced around on the floor, trying to get up without much success. The belt and the cloth bit into her skin, rubbing her raw while she struggled. The pain was just one more thing she couldn’t whine away.

“Please let me go!” Helen said. “I’ll be good! I will do everything you say, I promise. Just let me go, please, pretty please.” All she had left was the begging and empty promises that always worked on her family.

She heard Max unzip his pants. “No,” she moaned.

He picked her up by the hair and got her to her knees. She blinked back tears just in time to see his cock right in front of her. Helen opened her mouth, expecting him to fuck her face.

Max pressed her face against his balls. His cock pressed against her cheek. He wasn’t even giving her the pleasure of tasting his cock. With one hand he stroked his cock. He looked down at her with a mixture of disgust and regret. Despite the hardness of his cock, there was no arousal on his face. It was like she wasn’t even attractive to him. This was just a punishment.

Helen wished she could stroke herself. She wished she could plunge her fingers into her pussy and get herself off. It would only take five strokes, no only three, no just one damn stroke, she was sure of it. That is all she needed and she knew Max would never give it to her.

“Lick,” Max growled. He pumped his cock fast and hard, just like Helen wished he would pump into her.

Helen licked. His balls were hairy and tasted of sweat but she licked. Max was not the kind of guy to do any sort of trimming down there, so Helen was licking mostly hair. None of the actors, models and agents she usually sucked had an inch of hair on their genitals. It was ridiculous. It was degrading. Helen Ramada was licking some old guy’s hairy balls and she didn’t dare complain about it.

Max pumped his cock. Helen kept licking. She switched from one ball to the other. It never occurred to her to bite, or do anything bad to Max’s balls. Helen knew the punishment would be far worse than what was happening now. There was another reason Helen kept licking. Even at the depth of her degradation, she found a comfort in doing what she was supposed to. Licking his balls was something she choose to do. No amount of money, family connections or fitness trainers could do it for her.

His groan was her only warning. She closed her eyes as she felt the first splash of hot semen on her fast. Max kept pumping his cock and Helen kept licking his balls. A splash landed in her hair and Helen knew it was going to be a bitch to wash out. Another splash landed on the other side of her face and Helen shut her eyes tight. Some of his seed dripped down to his balls and Helen licked it off dutifully.

Max walked away, leaving Helen alone on the apartment floor. She felt all her pent up energy just leave her. If she wasn’t still bound by the belt and cloth, Helen was sure she would have collapsed and fallen right asleep. Helen was exhausted. She also felt redeemed. In this brief moment, she didn’t feel like a spoiled bitch. Helen felt like a real woman who had paid her due for her fucked up life. She felt alive.

She felt a towel touch her face. Max was wiping his seed off of her. Helen almost protested. With each wipe, she felt a little bit more like the pampered child that she was. She wanted to hold onto the punished slut that she wanted to be. She wanted to be the woman that understood consequences and what it felt to be real.

“Thank you,” Helen said, and she meant it.

“You’re going to have get the jizz out your hair yourself,” Max sad.

“I’m not thanking you for the towel,” Helen said.

“I know,” Max said.

Helen’s cell phone rang. It was the ring tone she designated for her agent. She pushed Max’s hand away and got to her. All of the exhaustion was gone as Helen found new inspiration from the news her agent might have. Did she get the lingerie deal? Was it a new magazine cover? She had to know.

She answered the phone and plunged back into the fake world she knew best.

The end.

Dec 072007

Matthew checked the woman’s ass. It was like touching a hot plate. The hour of flogging, spanking and whipping has made the woman’s ass a crimson delight of heat, welts and tenderness. The woman squirmed when he touched her but the spanking bench’s restraints held her tight. The gag in her mouth stopped any protests but that was okay, she consented to everything in advance which is just how Matthew liked it.

He tried to remember the woman’s name and failed. It was just too damn hard to keep track of all these names. He felt like it started with a hard ‘K’ sound. Karen? Kathy?

“Is she ready?” Jason asked.

Matthew looked at his older brother. “I’d say so.” Matthew tried to act cool as he gripped the woman’s plump ass. Was her name Kelly?

Jason was acting just as nonchalant. He toyed with the paddle he had just used on the woman. “So, which end do you want to fuck?”

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Matthew looked at his paddle as if the choice didn’t matter to him either. “I was thinking about fucking her ass.” He was also thinking the name might be Kitty?

The bound woman moaned in delight or apprehension. They couldn’t tell which. They really didn’t care.

Jason shook his head. “Brother of mine, I think I’m going to have to call you out on that.”

Matthew kept looking at his paddle. “You sure? She has a pretty mouth. I’ll take the ass and you can fuck those plump red lips.” Katherine?

Jason laughed. “You’ve been reading too much porn. Plump red lips?”

Matthew laughed. “Okay, you’re right. That was a bit too much. But you know, I didn’t spend an hour whooping her ass just to fuck her mouth.”

Jason nodded. “That’s how I feel too.”

This conversation was one they have had a hundred times. It started back with their high school crush, Tina Stratford, and continued through college, and into their adult lives when they started going to BDSM clubs. The brothers don’t mind fucking a woman at the same time, but they have very strong opinions about which end they prefer and they just hate sloppy seconds.

“Dragon tails?” Matthew asked.

Jason nodded. “I’ll get the stickers.”

Five minutes later, the bound woman had twelve colorful stickers on her ass. They were bright yellow and green letters arranged in a circle on her bottom. B-B-O-O-T-T-T-T-O-O-M-M.

Fifteen feet away, Jason and Matthew uncoiled their dragon tails. The whips were made of rough leather and had a strange cut that resulted in the fabric forming a spiral when at rest. They looked neat but were a bitch to actually aim. This made it perfect for their purposes.

Jason snapped his first, striking the bound woman’s exposed ass but missing the letter, ‘B’.

“Fucker, we hadn’t decided who goes first,” Matthew said.

“I just did,” Jason said. Only brothers could get away with being this unfair when a woman’s ass is on the line.

“Fucker,” Matthew said again. He snapped his dragon tail and hit his letter perfectly. The sticker was obliterated by the speeding leather.

“You small dick asshole,” Jason sad.

Matthew smiled and snapped again. This time he was off by a few inches as his dragon tail landed on the woman’s bare ass. Even through the woman’s gag they could hear her scream.

Jason snapped his dragon tail while the woman was still squirming. He struck his letter this time perfectly.

“Show off,” Matthew said.

“Yep,” Jason said as he snapped again. The leather uncoiled and whipped off the ‘O’.

This time the woman arched up as much as her restraints would allow and Jason waited. She stayed like that for a minute before she collapsed back into the bench. That’s when Jason tried again and missed.

“I had to make sure your bench would hold,” Jason said. It was an old insult.

“Dog humper,” Matthew said without much conviction. “I don’t go bitching about the quality of your leatherwork,” he lied. “If you think you can do a better job building benches, then you build the next one.”

Jason said nothing. The fact that Matthew missed was all he cared about.

Around the woman’s ass they went. Crack after crack of leather landed on her bottom and there were more hits than misses. The brothers had good aim, the kind you only get from years of practice and an asshole to compete against. They never lacked for targets in the clubs and jealous doms were convinced that they weren’t even really brothers. They could have any woman’s ass, but they didn’t do it for the pussy. What really mattered was which brother was better. Something like that makes it personal.

It came down to the last letter.

Jason missed.

Matthew missed.

The woman shook as she realized how soon she was about to be fucked at both ends.

Jason missed.

Matthew hit.

The woman screamed and climaxed at the same time.

“”Fuckstain,” Jason said. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even that disappointed because the woman did have pretty lips. These things came in cycles. Today he lost, tomorrow he might win. If the contest hadn’t been close, then there would have been an issue.

“ Christine!” Matthew said. “That’s the woman’s name! That was driving me up the wall!”

Jason shook his head and tossed Matthew a condom. “Brother, you worry about the dumbest things.”

Matthew took the condom. The woman’s ass was decorated in multiple welts. Jason was right. What did names matter when there was a victory ass fucking to be had?

The end.

Aug 102007

Teresa smashed the guy’s face. As his head snapped back, she kicked him in the balls. Twice. It took real skill to kick a man’s junk twice. You have to really want to hurt someone. Teresa’s grandmother would have called it dedication.

The guy fell to the ground with a painful moan. The moan made Teresa think of Nick. She thought his name was Nick but she wasn’t completely sure. It was the same kind of moan that Nick had made when he sank his cock right into her cunt. Teresa’s cunt clenched as she savored the memory. They had just fucked fours hour ago. They had just met five hours ago. Don’t think that made Teresa a slut. It was just the way her grandmother had raised her.

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The moaning guy’s friend decided to do something. He reached for his knife. His mouth might have begun to say something about Teresa’s affinity with prostitutes but he never got a chance to share his wit. Teresa had buried both fists in his stomach and then brought them up against his chin. Broken teeth make it hard to say much of anything.

“Madre de Dios, I am so horny,” Teresa said and it was true. Fighting made her hot. The crunch of bodies, the movements of arms and the sweet connection of flesh on flesh was better than porn. Her nipples were hard, her cheeks were flushed and by Christ the Savior, she would have killed to have Nick’s cock in her right now. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to masturbate. She wanted to hump a door. She just wanted to get off.

Instead, she kept fighting.

She kicked down the door to the tenement building and charged in. Her black hair flew around her face. It obscured her vision but men were always such suckers for her long Latina hair. Just like they were suckers for her black sports bra that barely held in her breasts or the very short shorts that did nothing to cover her thighs. The only thing remotely sensible she wore was a pair of shiny black boots that laced up her calves. She wore minimal clothing so they could appreciate every toned inch of her body. Those few seconds they spent fantasizing about her was more than enough time for Teresa to do some permanent damage.

There were five guys in front of her. They were the typical thugs she had fought so many times before. These particular losers were part of a drug gang and Teresa had been paid by the local community to clean these vermin out. Teresa would have done it for free because her grandmother raised her to be a good girl, but a woman has to eat. Well, eat and get fucked. Nick’s cock for an hour of sex was part of her payment too. Five hundred dollars and eight inches of cock was Teresa’s standard fee.

They laughed because they couldn’t believe this pretty girl had kicked down their door. One made a comment about what she could do with her mouth. Another joked about how many times they could pass her around. They stopped laughing when she kicked the nearest one so hard his body spun twice in the air. She punched another in the throat before they started moving though. Boys were always so slow.

The three guys came at Teresa and for one moment, she thought about letting go. They were big guys. Two had knives and one picked up a steel bat. Three on one was dangerous enough to merit letting go. But no, she held it.

Kick of the Dancer took down the first guy.

Cat’s Claw took down the second.

For the third she almost used Kick of the Dancer again, but she could hear her grandmother’s sigh of disappointment in her the back of her head. It was lazy and sloppy to use what always worked. Only whores and white women used the same trick over and over. Teresa’s grandmother did not teach her only granddaughter the secret martial arts of their people just to have let her take the easy way out. This is why only women were taught and not men: women had more pride.

Teresa disarmed the last guy with Coyote’s Bite. She then took his steel bat and hit him upside the head. She rarely used weapons, which was all the more reason to do it now. Grandmother would have approved.

The guys were all defeated and Teresa was still horny. She ran up the stairs, casually slamming her elbow into some punk’s face as he came down the stairs. Teresa took the stairs two at a time. She could almost imagine Nick’s come from earlier sliding down her legs.

The dirty thought made her run faster.

Two more punks were at the top of the stairs. They were staring down at her bouncing cleavage. Neither of them saw her fists as they connected with their jean wrapped cock bulges. Tears blinded both of them as Teresa’s uppercuts sent them into unconsciousness.

Teresa stood at the top of the stairs and caught her breath. Her body was vibrating with adrenaline and sex. Her fists and feet were ready to smash into anyone stupid enough to face her. Her cunt was ready to be fucked.

A knife flew at her. Teresa laughed; a sexy giggle that belonged in a bedroom not a dirty gang home. She caught the knife in the air and was ready to throw it right back at the sweaty punk who was now running from her. At the last moment she changed her aim and threw the knife at his leg. He fell to the ground screaming until Teresa crushed her boot down onto his skull.

“Fuck yeah!” Teresa yelled. The fighting lust was upon her. The old men of her village often whispered how the battle lust of women made even soccer fans look tame. The young boys never believed it until it was too late. The married men however, they always believed.

Doors opened all around her. Men came pouring out like hard cocks out of tight underwear. Some carried knives, some carried chains and the rest carried any nasty object they could find. It was the whole damn gang and Teresa was in a tight hallway.

Now would have been a perfect time to let go. Her body coiled within itself, ready to release but Teresa stopped it with all her will. These fools were not worth it.

She shrugged off her sports bra. The idiots hesitated and leered at her perky brown tits. While they stared, she launched herself at them. The tight hallway should have been bad for her but she used it to her advantage. She used Mother’s Slap to knock the sense out of the biggest of them and used his crying body as a roadblock. She aimed for knees and ankles, snapping bones till the hallway was littered with the wailing. Only so many of the fuckers could get to her when they had to climb over their fallen friends’ bodies.

Teresa’s body did what it did best. Muscular arms drove fists into soft places. Tight thighs held her steady as she kicked male flesh. Hard nipples caught the dim light long enough to distract the stupid. Cold eyes saw the next man to take down while smiling lips mocked the fallen. Lastly, Teresa’s wet sensitive pussy kept clenching in anticipation.

It didn’t take five minutes to reduce the terror of the streets into a crying mess of machismo. Men who raped girls were now weeping. Men who sold drugs to children begged for mercy. Men who were disgraces to their families mourned the loss of feeling in their limbs. Teresa stepped over their twitching bodies. If she didn’t love cock so much, she would have sworn men off forever.

Locked doors shattered under punishing kicks. This was the worse time. The final targets were within reach, her body was sweaty and you could almost taste the climax of the job. Teresa started to tremble and she had to vividly recall her grandmother’s face to keep from masturbating.

The boss was hiding in his bedroom. A gang of whores surrounded him but they were too afraid to be much of a problem. Teresa had eyes only for their owner. He was a big fucker who pumped iron to look good instead of being tough. Asshole was still big enough to be dangerous though. He must have seen one too many Tarantino movies because instead carrying a gun like a smart man, he was carrying a fucking sword. It was ridiculous but as big as he was, he could send a butter knife through a truck. A damn sword made him dangerous.

The sword wielding nut screamed at her. He came charging, trampling one of his sluts like she was discarded underwear not worth stepping over. Veins popped all over his body as he lifted the sword up high. The asshole wasn’t just going to kill Teresa, he was going to fucking cleave her.

“Yes,” Teresa moaned. She could finally let go. Here was a jerk worthy of what she had been holding all night. This is the kind of stupid male evil that Teresa’s female ancestors had hated years ago. This was why they trained, fucked and fought. This was an evil that was around before cocaine, before there were white men and before the Aztecs came for their hearts.

She placed one hand on the crotch of her shorts and pushed against the soaking wet mess that was her cunt. The barest touch along with the permission inherent was all she needed.

Teresa finally climaxed from the sex she had with Nick earlier.

The orgasm exploded and then froze. The world turned purple. Time slowed down like a morning dry hump. Teresa felt bliss radiate through her body as the sexual energies flooded her body. Accompanying the bliss was an amazing feeling of power. This is why she fucked. This is why she fought. This was the point of sex: to use the power to make things right.

The guy was still charging at her but now he seemed ridiculously slow. Teresa casually dodged the swinging sword, the razor edge coming so close to her dark nipple but moving so slow that she was in no danger at all. She stepped to the side as he swung again, this time lifting her thigh a fraction of an inch to avoid the blade’s touch. The only sign that Teresa was exerting herself at all was the rapid breathing that escaped her lips; it was the gasp of a woman caught in a minute long orgasm.

She struck out. She didn’t bother to disarm him. Teresa landed a kiss on his lips with the full force of her fist. His entire body shook with the impact and the sword wobbled in his hands like spent cock. Surprise blossomed on his face. Theirs eyes locked on one another with an intimacy greater than lovers.

Teresa struck him in the chest. She hit him with so much force that his body shivered in spasms. He fell back moaning in pain and Teresa followed him moaning in triumph. The sword fell between them and Teresa kicked it away without even thinking. He took a step back and she shattered a rib. He stumbled and she drove her knee right into crotch. She couldn’t help but notice how hard his cock felt against her knee. Her mouth opened sensually as she broke a second rib and then a third. When he fell to the ground, Teresa landed on top of him. She straddled his groaning body as she continued to shower his body with loving blows from her fist.

The lust was upon her. Her eyes were half closed with pleasure as she pummeled the man. She had to touch him, had to feel his skin on her body and she had to feel him tremble between her thighs as she made every inch of his body hurt. Her pussy clenched with every punch. Her breasts bounced with every swing of her arm. Her thighs clenched with every groan she heard. She broke him down with the care that only a woman could give.

In short, she fucked him up.

Like all orgasms, this one couldn’t last forever. Slowly the world shifted from purple back to normal. Time returned to normal and Teresa’s arms became heavy with exhaustion. The heat of her cunt faded into the smolder of spent sex. The sweat that covered her body no longer felt sexy. Now it just made her feel sticky.

She stood up on shaky legs. The gang leader was unconscious but still alive. His whores whimpered in terror. Teresa shook her head. The job that she had been paid to do was done, but now came the really important part.

“You,” she said to the still cowering women. “Tell your pimps, your molesting fathers and your bastard children about this. Tell them to quit peddling drugs. Tell them to go to church and respect their mothers. Tell them to act like they were born with some damn sense.”

The women looked at her. Teresa could see their confusion. Here was this topless woman telling them to stand up to their men. She was beautiful and yet she was not a victim. That was hard to understand. Teresa remembered the words of her grandmother who said it better.

“Tell them that if they don’t behave, a woman will come and kick their ass.”