Sandi Goes to Europe 

Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996

This material is not intended to be read by those under the age of 
consent in the jurisdiction in which they are accessing the Internet.  
If you are too young to be reading this, DON'T READ IT!  If you are an 
adult with children and are reading this, please consider where you 
store it, and whether or not your children can and should be accessing 
it.  This is a work of fiction. 

Copyright: This story is copyright 1996 by the author, Sam Rabbit, under 
the U.S. Copyright Convention and the Bourne Conventions.  All rights, 
including: the right to re-transmit beyond the initial access, the right 
to store on a remote server; and the right to re-print or distribute, 
are expressly reserved to the copyright holder and may not be exercised 
without permission of the author. 

Please send comments to an413801@anon.penet.fi

Introduction and pictures
 

If you haven't read "The Teenage Sandi Stone", then you probably should, 
as this is the second book in the series, and it'll make more sense to 
you if you've read the earlier work.

This is the story of how Sandi Stone got interested in sex, and how the 
link between pain/fear/humiliation and love/sex/fulfillment became 
established in her mind. And it's about growing up - Sandi does a lot of 
growing up in the month she spends in Europe. 

You might not like reading about men being given devastating and
destructive beatings by an appallingly muscular but rather pretty girl. 
Or you might not like to read about sexual scenes in which pain and 
pleasure both play a part. In which case, don't read this story. You 
might also be disturbed by the confusing links between sexual pleasure 
and bodily pain, between physical fear and sexual arousal, and between 
abject humiliation and sexual satisfaction. Sandi's a confusing girl, 
and I wouldn't want anyone to get confused by her. 
 
You should also be warned, that although there are some unpleasant 
scenes of sex and violence, a lot of this story is about teenage love, 
about the difficulty of being a teenager and about first love. If you 
think that kids that age aren't obsessed with love, romance, dating and 
all the things that adults simply call "sex", you've just forgotten what 
it was like. 

The passage from child to adult is a difficult one, more difficult than
being born, and nowhere near as easy as dying. But we all have to do all
of those, and none of us gets them exactly right. Sandi has troubles
too.

You probably want to see a picture of Sandi Stone. There's one embedded
in the text, in UUENCODE format.

Aristophenes had this plot first; he called the play Pygmalion.
Shakespeare did a rewrite, he called it The Taming of the Shrew. Then
Shaw got hold of it. Then they made a musical, called My Fair Lady.
Maybe you'll recognise it. Maybe you won't.




Sandi Goes to Europe

Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996

Chapter 1 - Sandi feels lonely

When Bunny got engaged to Diana at the beginning of August, it was like 
a kick to the stomach, only harder. Even though it was my suggestion, it 
still hurt. Even though he spent the night after the engagement in my 
bed, it still hurt. Even though he was still my best friend, it still 
hurt. It was like a knife in my belly, I hadn't realized how much it 
would hurt; I knew that he and Diana were in love, and I knew that 
although Bunny made a great friend, he wasn't suitable as a boyfriend 
for me. He was too fragile, too soft, too weak - ideal for Diana, who 
was his size, but not for me. The trouble is, I didn't know anyone who 
would be suitable. There were lots of boys around, but none of them were
my cup of tea.

I was about to turn 17. All the other girls at Salt Mountain High had
boyfriends; even most of the Sisters of Strength bodybuilding club, and 
I was just starting to get worried. Oh, I knew I could have sex any time
I wanted, with any number of boys, but that wasn't what I yearned for. A 
girl of seventeen wants to be in love, and that was how I felt. Someone 
to care for, someone to care for me. You know the old Beatles song? I 
used to listen to Bunny's Mom's old Beatles songs, and they really 
struck deep. "I wanna hold your hand", "Please please me". And 
especially "All you need is love" I mean the music was fine enough, but 
you just listen to those lyrics. They really knew how to write ballads 
in the old days. Sometimes, Bunny and I would play entire albums while I 
held him in my arms, and he'd tell me about what he and Diana got up to, 
and I felt a longing, deep inside me. 

I was lonely, even thought I had Bunny as a friend. I wanted more. I 
wasn't sure what it was I wanted, but I knew I wanted something. There 
was a craving deep inside me, an unfilled need. But I didn't know what 
it was I needed, except that I knew it was something to do with boys. It 
wasn't just sex, I could get that any time. And it wasn't just love, if 
I wanted that, I felt sure that I only had to encourage Bunny a bit. I 
needed some combination of both, plus something else, I wasn't sure 
what. 

I couldn't talk to Mom about things like this - she just hated men, 
boys, anything male on two legs, after her experiences with my step 
father. I usually talked to Bunny about things like this, but I couldn't 
talk to him about this. And that left only my medical doctor, Dr 
Hamilton. So I went to talk to him. 

He got me to undress, so that he could weigh and measure me, and check 
me out. Actually, I suspect he just wanted to see me naked. "Five six, 
and 165 pounds. That's rather a lot, Sandi, but so much of it's muscle, 
so I wouldn't worry." He measured me, and I came in at 42-25-36, biceps 
17 inches, thighs 28. "You're a big girl, Sandi, and you're not quite 
seventeen yet. And you look very strong. I'd hate to arm-wrestle with 
you." I smiled sweetly at him, and said "I often arm-wrestle the boys, 
and I can beat them without hurting them, now. It's just a matter of 
being gentle. Or else I just crush their soft hands in mine until they 
submit." "So what seems to be the problem?" 

I got dressed again, and explained to him about Bunny, and how he was 
now engaged to Diana, which meant that I was going to be rather lonely. 
He told me that I wasn't likely to have a problem getting a boyfriend, 
he said I was one of the prettiest girls around, and I thanked him for 
that. "The problem is, Dr Hamilton, all the boys are scared of me. I can 
make them go out with me, but that isn't what I want." "What do you 
want, Sandi?" "I'm not sure, really. I've got some kind of wanting 
inside me, but I'm not sure exactly what it is. Please don't laugh. I 
want someone to love, someone to love me. Sex is great, but I feel there 
ought to be more to it than just orgasms." "Mmmh." He drummed his 
fingers on the table. "Sandi, here's my suggestion. Go away for a month, 
until school starts up. Go somewhere a long way away, just enjoy 
yourself; sightseeing, surfing, anything. While you're away, change your 
style; different clothes, hairstyle, whatever. Then, when you come back 
to school, you're a whole new Sandi Stone. New look, new starts, new 
friends." I regarded him seriously, it sounded like a good plan. "And 
try to find ways to make yourself more feminine, and more loveable." 

"What do you mean, more loveable?" "Well, Sandi, right now, you're a 
bit, well, intimidating, you know?" I looked at him. "Sandi, look at 
your arms; now look at mine." He rolled up his sleeve, and I could see 
what he meant. If his biceps were twelve inches, he was lucky. "The 
strength of a muscle is proportional to its cross-sectional area. Your 
arms are 40% bigger than mine, so you'd be about twice as strong. Plus, 
you've got unusually dense muscles. And, female muscle is about 20% 
stronger than male, for the same size. You wear short sleeves, you wear 
short skirts, you want everyone to see your big, hard muscles. As long 
as you push your arms into people's faces, you're intimidating. You're 
three, maybe four times as strong as I am." I looked down at my thighs - 
I'd gotten into the habit of wearing a very short skirt, because that 
was more fun with Bunny. Dr Hamilton followed my gaze. "And they're even 
more intimidating, Sandi" he said, softly. I looked up at him, and 
thought about what would happen if I put his head between my thighs and 
told him to lick me. But I kept quiet and listened. "You've got a very 
forceful personality, very dominant, very commanding. Men prefer women 
to be soft and submissive. What's Bunny's girlfriend like?" Diana was 
very submissive, even with Bunny, although now that she'd joined the 
Sisters of Strength, that would probably change. Anyhow, I could see 
what he meant, and I nodded. "I can't help it. Boys just seem to come to 
pieces in my hands. I don't mean to hurt them, but then they say 
something dumb, or try to tell me what girls are supposed to be like, or 
I want them to do something they don't want to do. But what do you mean, 
more feminine? Don't these prove anything?" I indicated my breasts. 
They'd gotten quite big recently, I was really pleased with them. They 
looked bigger than most of the other girls, except for Linda Warden, who 
was bigger busted than any two girls put together. 

"Mmmh. They certainly leave no doubt what sex you are. But even they 
are, well, aggressive, you know? Challenging? Sandi, I'm not saying that 
you don't look like a girl, you look very like a girl." "Well, I am a 
girl!" "Yes. And there's not many girls look as female as you do. But it 
isn't female I'm talking about, it's feminine. You don't look soft and 
yielding, meek and submissive. You look like an unconquerable Amazon, 
and that's going to make any boy think twice about trying it on. I'm not 
saying you should look like a little kitten, but if you looked less like 
a dangerous tigress, you'd get a lot more interest rfom the boys." I 
thought of telling him about my career as a Strong Woman, and then about 
the professional fights I'd been having. But I didn't bother, I could 
imagine what he'd say. "Sandi, I guess you haven't spoken to your mother 
about this?" "There's no point, you know what she's like on the subject 
of men." "And you don't have a father." "No, not since I was very 
little." "Has anybody explained the Facts of Life to you, the Birds and 
the Bees?" "Well, I know where babies come from, if that's what you 
mean." "No, Sandi, there's a lot more to it than that. Most kids learn 
about relationships between men and women from seeing how adults behave, 
and especially their parents. You've never had that, so I'll try to 
explain it to you. Sit down and listen." 

It was a long time since a man had ordered me around; anyone at Salt 
Mountain High who tried that had long since succumbed to the Double 
Triangle of Domination. But I sat down, meek as a lamb, and listened. 
This was very important to me, and I knew that Dr Hamilton would give me 
good advice. "Sandi, it's partly physical, and it's partly cultural, and 
no-one really knows how much is which. Certainly, it's the woman who has 
to bear the baby, and feed the baby. And in early societies, the man 
went out hunting to feed the family. Sex bound the man and woman 
together, so that the human baby could survive the extremely long infant 
stage. Animals can fend for themselves within a year or two; humans stay 
infants for a dozen years or more. We think this was a necessary 
adaptation to allow the development of intelligence. Anyhow, it meant 
that sex had to be very important to the human family, it binds them 
together. That's why women can have sex all year round - animals have 
short rutting seasons. And that's why both men, and women, get such 
extreme pleasure from sex." 

Chapter 2 - The meaning of sex

I thought about the extreme pleasure that I'd been able to give Bunny, 
his little body writhing helplessly in my grip as I wrenched orgasm 
after orgasm out of his screaming body, and I smiled. I looked up at Dr 
Hamilton, and imagined him laid backwards over my thighs, my hands 
tearing out of him the most intense orgasms he'd ever experienced, and I 
smiled warmly at him. If he knew what I was thinking, he'd wet himself. 
"So you see, Sandi, sex is the one most important human activity. And 
because of that, we surround it with rituals and taboos, and there are 
cultural conventions that are followed. These aren't the same from 
culture to culture; what is forbidden by custom in Salt Mountain, is 
permissible in secret in some countries, and happens openly in others. 
The best thing you can do, is travel far and wide, and see how other 
cultures behave. Because you have to learn how to have a permanent, 
loving relationship with a man. Do you want to know what the longing 
inside you is for?" "Yes please", I said, as submissively as I could, 
getting in a bit pf practise. "Sandi, you're at optimum child bearing 
age for a human, and your instincts are telling you to find the best 
genetic material for the father of the baby, to ensnare him with your 
feminine man-traps, and to get pregnant. To find a man, fall in love, 
and have a baby. Our culture says that sixteen is too young for all 
this, but hundreds of thousands of years of evolution have programmed 
you otherwise. What your body wants, is to pair-bond a mate, and have a 
baby. Now, you can't do that, because the culture you live in forbids 
it, sixteen is considered too young, although most girls are capable of 
baby-making at thirteen or less. But you have to come to terms with your 
urges. By understanding what you want, you'll be able to find 
substitutes." 

I thought about this. I know that this is what happens with most people, 
but it didn't seem to happen for me. Every time I tried, something went 
wrong. Either the boy just seemed to disintegrate in my hands, or else I 
just felt protective and maternal, nothing in between. But as Dr 
Hamilton spoke, I knew that what I really wanted was a proper man/woman 
type of relationship. And if I had to pretend to be soft and submissive 
to get it, then that's what I'd do. 

"So I should find someone genetically suitable for a mate? How will I 
know him?" "Don't worry about that. Your instincts will tell you. You'll 
be drawn towards him, and you won't really know why. You might even look 
at him and wonder why on earth you find him so attractive, but trust 
your instincts." "And how do I learn how to be feminine, if I can't 
learn from my mother?" "Find someone feminine, and watch what she does, 
learn from her. Maybe even ask her to teach you. And you can offer her 
things in return." "Like how to use your fists to turn a man into a 
blubbering crybaby?" "No, Sandi, not many girls would want to learn 
that. But you can teach them self-confidence, and self-reliance, 
something which a lot of people lack, but which you've got plenty of." 
"What about sex?" "Sandi, if you find someone you love, and you want to 
have sex with him, then you should." "No, but what about sex just for 
fun?" "Most sex is for fun, Sandi. Humans very rarely have sex just to 
make a baby. It's part of the pair-bonding imperative. So, if you find 
someone you like, and you both want to have sex, then go ahead. But 
don't forget about protection - these days, that's very important." 

He'd given me a lot to think about. It all made sense. I thought about 
puppies, and kittens, and new-born babies, and I felt a tingling in my 
nipples, and a glow of maternal feeling. I thought of strong knights in 
shining armor with long lances, and I thought of days of love and nights 
of passion. I went all goose pimply at the thought of babies, and I 
thought how nice it wuld be to have someone, say, as nice as Bunny, as 
skilled with his tongue as Simon, and as strong as ... at that point, I 
didn't know what to imagine. I tried to imagine a big strong man who 
would overwhelm me with his love, and treat me like a helpless sex-
kitten, and all I could think of was smashing my fist into his belly 
again and again until the blood poured out of his mouth, and he couldn't 
breathe without feeling the agony. 

Next day, I pulled Bunny off Diana for a few minutes so I could talk to 
them. "I'm going away for a month", I explained, "on a holiday." Bunny 
looked a bit downcast, I guess he'd miss me a bit. Diana was cheerful 
and bubbly, as usual. "Where are you going, Sandi?" "Europe". 

They both goggled a bit at that. Europe, so far away, so romantic. Rome, 
Paris, London. Italian men, English boys, French kisses. Ancient 
culture, old buildings, art, theatre, cinema. Diana said "You'd better 
take some contraceptives with you". Trust Diana to think about sex 
first. "Diana, I'm not going for a fuck-feast ..." I saw Bunny grin and 
look relieved. "... I'm just going to have fun". "Mmmh", said Diana. 
"I'd suggest a few dozen, I've heard there are countries over there 
where you can't get them." I suppose Diana had a point - you never know 
when you're going to need protection. "And a few scarves", said Bunny, 
grinning "Just in case." I jumped on him and held his hands together 
with one of mine, ready to give him a good tickle, but Diana came to the 
rescue, grabbing my other hand in one of hers and pushing her other hand 
between my legs. The three of us rolled around wrestling for a while 
until I finally got the upper hand, and with Bunny firmly gripped 
between my legs, and Diana held face down with her hands behind her 
back, I was able to use my free hand to give first Bunny, and then 
Diana, a screaming orgasm. Then I lay back and let them do me, and then 
we all cuddled into a bundle. I thought I'd miss these two while I was 
away. 

Later that evening, I was just finishing packing, when Bunny came to my 
room. "Hi, Buns", I said, wondering whether I should pack a sexy night-
dress. I held it up against me. "What do you think?" "Unhhh", said 
Bunny, moving towards me. 

We spent that night together, my little Bunnikins and I. He begged me 
not to go away, but I explained to him that I had to, on doctors orders. 
He wouldn't accept that, either, so I said "Then maybe you'll understand 
this", and I got on top of him with my full weight, and bounced up and 
down a bit, and when I had him gasping for breath, I coaxed another 
roaring orgasm out of him, and he fell asleep in my arms. 

I arrived at the airport, tickets in my belt pouch, and with my backpack 
on my back. I don't know if you've ever seen a well-built girl wearing a 
backpack, but you have to brace your shoulders against the shoulder 
straps, and what it does to your breasts is hard to describe. A lot of 
men stared at me as I walked into the airport. I slapped the backpack 
down for the ticket girl to put on the airplane, got my boarding pass, 
and went and had a coffee in the lounge. While I was there, sitting on a 
bar stool, sipping my coffee, some wimp tried to pick me up, but I 
wasn't really in the mood, being all excited about my trip to Europe, 
and I tried to ignore him. Which worked fine until he persisted once too 
often, and put his hand on my knee, and started moving it up towards my 
crutch. I thought of pulling him onto my lap, and bending his back over 
my thighs, smashing a fist into his belly to kill any resistance, then 
pushing down on his head and knees until his back started to crack, and 
I thought I'd hold him there at the point of breaking until his cries 
died away to whimpers and he started begging and weeping for me to stop 
hurting him. But then they called my flight, so I just walked away. He 
probably thought he'd failed to get lucky. Actually, he'd narrowly 
failed to get really unlucky.

Chapter 3 - On the airplane

I can tell you, it was exciting at first, and I couldn't believe how big 
the airplane was, nor could I imagine how they'd get this huge thing off 
the ground. The flight was jam-packed full, not a single empty seat. It 
looked like the whole world must be flying to Europe. I had a window 
seat, so I could see what was happening, but after the thrill of 
takeoff, it rapidly got boring. And then it got uncomfortable; there 
isn't much leg room. And then it got *very* boring. I looked forward to 
nine hours with nothing to do, except look out of the window at the 
clouds far below. I looked around me; the guy in the seat next to me 
quickly looked down at his book; he'd been staring at my body. OK, 
here's some entertainment. "Hi", I said. "I'm Sandi Stone. I fight men 
for a living." Nothing like starting off with a bit of total 
intimidation. "What?" he said. "I get into a ring with big, strong men, 
and turn them into pitiful sobbing wrecks", I said chattily. Well, I 
didn't want to say that I was a schoolgirl, did I? "What do you do for a 
living?" 

Joseph was an accountant, apparently. Married, two children. Worked for 
Arthur Somebody, and seemed quite proud of himself. "I'm travelling to 
London, on business", he said, importantly. "I'm taking a month off to 
see the world", I explained. "Do you really fight men?" he asked. I
nodded. "But it's all fake, of course", he said. I shook my head. "It 
must be", he said, "a girl like you couldn't beat a man?" "A girl like 
me certainly could, would you like to see how strong I am?" He nodded, 
so I rolled up my sleeve and showed him my forearm. They are quite 
large, and you can see the tendons running down the inside, and the 
veins stood out when I clenched my fist. "You see?" I said. He reached 
over and felt my forearm. My muscles there aren't as big and bulging as 
my biceps, of course, but they are as rock hard as you would expect, and 
his fingers couldn't make any impression on my arm. "But that doesn't 
mean you could win against a man. Do you use jiu jitsu, or something?" 
he asked. "No, I just punch them until they can't fight back, and then I 
tear up their muscles and joints." He laughed, and said "You're winding 
me up, I almost believed you for a moment there." 

I smiled at him, but inside I was boiling mad. How dare this soft-prick 
call me a liar. I moved my arm and took his right arm in my left hand. 
"Let me show you my grip", I said innocently. Then I squeezed, hard. I 
felt the fat in his arm, oozing aside under the pressure of my powerful 
fingers, then his soft muscles gave way, and his arm collapsed under the 
pressure. My fingers were grinding hard against his arm bones, crushing 
them together and mangling the soft tissues between my hard grip and his 
bones. "I'm about four times as strong as the average man", I explained, 
"and I don't think you're even average. I could destroy you with just
one hand, have you beg me for mercy." With my right arm, I pulled off my 
blue hair scarf, so that just as he opened his mouth to scream, I was 
ready and popped my scarf inside, so that all he could do was a muffled 
groan. "It hurts, doesn't it? Imagine what it would feel like if I did 
this to your spine, bending it backwards across my knees until the soft 
little vertebrae crack and you become a living vegetable." He tried to 
bring his other hand across to relieve the pressure on his arm, but I 
took that hand in my right, and crushed it in mine until I felt the 
delicate bones inside begin to soften and slide. I continued to bear 
down on his arm with my powerful grip, and I could feel the flexibility 
of his forearm bones as they gave way under my fingers. My hand crushed 
down on his forearm, and I began to feel the bones inside bending under 
the pressure. His body shook and spasmed in the aircraft seat, but he 
was strapped in firmly, and couldn't escape the destruction that my 
fingers were inflicting on his forearm. I relaxed slightly, then 
squeezed again, adding a twist to inflict even more damage on his 
delicate tissues, grinding the nerves in his arm against his bones. "You 
see how you're completely at my mercy", I explained. "It only took me a 
couple of minutes, and already you're willing to do anything just to get 
the pain to stop." He nodded vigorously, unable to speak because of my 
improvised gag. I experimented with different angles of grip, and 
holding his forearm at different points, while he did his best to cry 
out. "You see, limpdicks like you are just something for me to play
with, and playtime means paintime, at least for you." After a few 
minutes, he stopped struggling, and I looked across at him. He'd 
fainted, the pain had been too much. 

I let go of him, and retrieved my scarf from his mouth. I leaned back in 
my seat - that had been fun, but I was getting bored again. After a few 
minutes, I heard a low moan from my left, and his eyes fluttered open.  
I turned to him, and said "Good morning, Joseph." He moaned again, and 
looked at his arm. The place that I'd damaged was bright red, and I 
guessed it would be turning an interesting blue-black soon. I could 
smell something slightly acrid, but sweet, coming from his body, and I 
wondered what it was. I squeezed his arm again, gently this time, and he 
groaned "No, please, you're hurting me..." I smiled at him, and said 
"That's nothing, honeypie, compared with what I'm about to do." The 
smell suddenly got stronger, sharper, and I realized what it was. I was 
smelling the sweet smell of fear. My nipples stiffened in anticipation, 
and I could feel moisture appearing between my thighs. I stroked his 
arm, he moaned in fear again, and my arousal grew. The smell of his fear 
was turning me on, and the more pungent the smell, the more excited I 
was getting. I'd never noticed this before with a man, maybe it was 
being confined in an airplane that made it more obvious. I knew I loved 
to cause pain and fear, but I'd never really thought about why. 

I experimented a bit, grinding his arm in my hand to give him a 
controlled measure of pain, replacing my scarf in his mouth as soon as 
he opened it to shout so that the gag muffled his exclamations of 
anguish, but I could hear them loud and clear, and my juices began to 
flow more freely. Then I stopped hurting him and spoke softly to him 
again, telling him about the damage that was happening inside his arm, 
and how, with enough pressure on the muscles and the delicate veins that 
they protected, I could reach down through his flesh and destroy the 
nerves underneath, causing permanent paralysis. The aroma of his terror 
entered my nostrils and stimulated my sexual urges until I was dripping 
wet, and I understood that although a man's pain had the power to turn 
me on, it was only a mans abject fear that could really get me aroused. 

The rest of this flight is going to be amusing, I thought, one way or 
another. I explained to Joseph what he was going to do; I didn't bother 
explaining what the alternative might be. 

I spent the rest of the flight with an empty seat next to me. Joseph was 
jammed in front of me, between my legs, with a blanket over him, kindly 
provided by the airline. There wasn't much space, so his head was hard 
against my crotch, his face upturned and his tongue busy. I'm not sure 
why they call it "eating", when it's so clearly "licking". After each 
orgasm, I turned his head to my inner thighs, to behind my knees, and
especially to my feet, which are tender and delicate and need lots of 
care and attention. We spent a very happy six hours that way; 
occasionally I dozed off, but Joseph would lick me awake again for 
another round. 

When we deplaned (that's what the stewardesses called it), I just left 
him there to sort himself out. I was right about his arm, it looked 
appalling. It was black where I'd gripped it, and from there a big 
bruise spread out, purple at first, then blue, blue-green, yellow and 
finally an angry red. I guess he'd believe that a girl could beat a man 
from now on. 

I saw him once more, a bit later. It was after I'd waited by the 
carousel to collect my backpack, after I'd gone through customs, and 
while I was looking round the great arrivals hall to see which way to 
go. I saw Joseph, carrying a suitcase (in his left hand, of course). He 
walked towards a woman who held her arms out to him, his wife or 
girlfriend, I guess. But he didn't hug her, he sank down to his knees 
and pressed his face against her legs. I couldn't hear what he was 
saying, but there was a very puzzled look on her face. Not my problem, I 
thought, and found the information desk.

Chapter 4 - A mugging begins in Hammersmith

"I want somewhere to stay", I said. "It must be cheap." "Hammersmith",
said the limpdick at the desk, ogling my breasts. "Loadsa cheap digs 
there." "And how do I get there?" "Taxibusorchoobe." "What?" He looked 
at me like I was an idiot. "Taxibus or choobe" he repeated, slowly. 
"What's a taxibus? What's a choobe?" "Look, darlin, get the choobe, 
awright?" He stood there on his side of the counter, looking 
exasperated. He was there to provide information, I was the person he 
was supposed to be helping. No doubt all this meant something to him, 
but I was not his darling, and I still didn't know what a choobe was. I 
thought of trying to find out from someone else, but then I thought, 
dammit, he's supposed to be helping me, let's get his attention, then 
get some help. "Please?" I said, in my little-girl voice. He turned back 
to me "Woja want nah?" "My nipples are lonely" "Huh?" "Could you stroke 
my nipples? They need a man's touch." He looked startled, and said "Wot? 
You mean ..." I bit my lower lip between my teeth, looked submissively 
downwards, and whispered "Please." I could see his erection start to 
grow, and he reached over the counter towards my breasts, and as soon as 
his hand was close enough, I took it in mine, and squeezed. The look on 
his face told me that I had his full attention now; the pain killed his 
erection at once. I restrained myself - I wanted him in pain, but not so 
much that he couldn't think straight. And I didn't want him to start 
giving off that exciting smell of fear, or I'd never get out of there. 
"Now, Mr Limpdick, you're going to tell me how to get to Hammersmith, 
you're going to do it carefully, respectfully and accurately, and you're
going to tell me what a choobe is." 

The tube is what they call the subway; sometimes they call it the London 
Underground, which makes it sound like a rock group. I'd brought as much 
money as Bunny, Diana and I could get together, but I couldn't just 
splash it around on taxis and suchlike. I headed for Hammersmith. 

By the time I got there, it was dusk, and a light rain was falling 
steadily, like it had decided to rain for a long time and it was 
conserving its strength for a long haul. I could see that Mr Limpdick 
hadn't been lying, the area was dirty and run down, and there was 
garbage all over the streets; this place was filthy, mean and poor. I 
looked around, there were cheap-looking hotels in sight, with lots of 
vacancies. I looked up toward the sky, the clouds were thick and dark. 
The wind blew the rain into my face, and my T-shirt was soon wet, 
plastered uncomfortably against my body, the wetness robbing it of any 
warmth. I started to feel the chill as the wind blew the heat away from 
my body. If this was England in summer, I would hate to see it in 
winter. 

I was almost alone on the street; only a fool or a foreigner would be 
out in this weather. A man was hurrying home on the other side of the 
street, an umbrella held out against the wind and rain. Now I know why
all the movies show Englishmen carrying umbrellas. As the wind gusted, I 
could see that he was having problems controlling the umbrella, and I 
would have laughed if my situation hadn't been even more miserable than 
his. 

Suddenly, a man got out of a car, and bumped into Mr Umbrella, pushing 
him into the alley nearby. I heard a scream, looked across the road and 
saw that two muggers were beating up Mr Umbrella. I ran across to the 
alley, shrugged off my backpack, and said "Hi! I'm Sandi Stone." 

Kev: 

Jimmy's waiting in the alley, me in the car. I'm just watching this 
lovely bit of tart strolling down the road, the wind and rain making her 
T-shirt stick to her body. Great thrupenny bits, really smashing. Then I 
sees a likely punter, a little guy, head down, rushing home in the rain. 
When he come up with the car, I jumps up at him, and pushes him towards 
Bert. Bert smacks him one, and he just folds up. This is going to be a 
nice easy one. I go over to put the boot in, no sense in wasting a good 
chance for practice. Then I hear a voice behind me. It's the tart. Silly 
bint, don't she see what's going on? Why's she taking off her backpack? 

Bert:

I hope this one's carrying more than just the usual credit cards and a 
few quid in change. Jumping-up ain't what it used to be, it's all 
useless plastic now. So I gives him an extra smack to keep him quiet 
while I go through his pockets, while Kev keeps him down with a few more 
kicks. And while we're on him, this tart comes by and says "Hello", so I 
gives her a butchers and tells her nicely "Not now, darling, we're busy, 
fuck off." Then I looks again. Nice tits, really nice. Kev's looking as 
well, she's worth looking at, never mind about the punter, he'll keep. 
She sees us looking at her tits, and she smiles, sort of slow and warm, 
like she's looking forward to something, and she crosses her arms over 
her front, grabs her T-Shirt, and with one movement, pulls it over her 
head. 

Kev: 

Cor blimey, she's got a pair all right. I ain't seen nothing like them, 
beats the strippers down West even. And they stand straight out, no bra, 
she don't need one. Never mind about the punter, she's just asking for 
it, ain't she? I look over at Bert, he's thinking the same, I can tell. 
She's just standing there, watching us, waiting for something. I've got 
what you're waiting for, darling, don't you fret. So I stands up, gives 
the punter another kick to keep him quiet, and has a good look at the
tart. And then I notice something I didn't see before, cos you don't 
expect it on a tart. She's got muscles, actual muscles. You can see them 
on her arms, on her shulders, on her body. So I wonder if she's a bloke 
in drag, you get a lot of that in the Kings Head of a Friday, but then I 
look at the thrupenny bits again, and no way, she ain't no bloke. Tart, 
definite, no question. 

Bert: 

Jesus, look at them arms. Big ain't the word. Christ, even old Charlie 
down the gym don't look that big, and he's a heavyweight boxer. She's 
just standing there, hands by her sides, waiting for something, and I'm 
looking at those McDonalds, must be sixteen inches easy. Must be a 
weightlifter or something, but she's so pretty, blonde hair, nice face 
and those great tits, me mince pies keep going to the tits. And just 
standing there, waiting, what's she waiting for? She wants me and Kev to 
give her one, must be, that's why she stripped off. I'm not so sure 
about them McDonalds, they look a bit big, but them thrupennies, you 
don't get many of them to the pound. So I looks at Kev, and Kev looks at 
me, and I says to her I says "How much, darling?" And she smiles a bit 
more, like she's already enjoying it, and she says "Too much for you, 
limpdick. Way too much." 

Kev: 

She's got a yank accent, must be a tourist, can't be a prostie. So why's 
she stripped off, then it hits me, she's one of those funny bints what 
gets turned on by a bit of bother, like the tarts what go down to watch 
the boxing, and she's seen what we done to the punter, and she's 
creaming herself. So I says to her "Take yer jeans off then, and me and 
Bert'll give you one." And Bert's nodding, hard. So she pulls her jeans 
down, and under she's wearing pink panties, but I don't look at them 
very long, cos now I can see her thighs. I tell no lie, her thighs are 
bigger than her waist, not that her waist is that small. Jesus, her 
thighs are bigger than my waist. And there's no bulge in her panties, 
just a smooth mound, the bulges are all in her legs, and me and Bert we 
just stare at them legs, she's a Bramah, a real Bramah. "OK, limpdicks, 
who's first?" she says, and I ain't exactly limp, and nor is Bert. 

Then she puts her arms behind her head, and shows us a bit more of what 
she's got, and now I'm definitely not so sure, cos if I thought she had 
muscles before, I was wrong. 

Bert: 

She puts her McDonalds up behind her barnet, and cor blimey O'Reilly, I
though she had muscles before, now I can see what real muscles look 
like. Jesus, I'd die for arms like that. Bulges at the top, at the 
bottom, at the side, everywhere, I mean how can a girl have arms like 
that? It's like you took the arms from a big man weightlifter and 
grafted them on to a gorgeous girl. But then I think, no, I ain't never 
seen a man with arms like that, I mean you remember the old Superman 
comics? Not even there. And it ain't just her upper arms, her biceps and 
stuff, it's her forearms, great thick forearms like big hams. And you 
can see the veins on her arms, running up and down carrying the blood 
that powers those muscles, and the veins are thick and heavy, and I 
think about the power she must have in those arms. Sixteen inches,
forget it Jesus, I wish they were, I just can't imagine how big they 
must be, not much smaller than her waist, looks like, and then I think 
how strong she must be. And I think about my own arms, and Christ, this 
girl must be stronger than me, mustn't she? And then I think again, and 
I think yeah, she must be a lot stronger. And she's standing there, 
still smiling, showing us her arms, and suddenly I wonder what she's 
smiling about, what she wants, and suddenly I realise the only way out 
of this alley is past the girl, and suddenly I'm just a little bit 
scared. She's just a girl, there's two of us, and I'm scared. And I look 
over at Kev, and he's scared too.

Chapter 5 - Kev is scared

Kev: 

Oh Christ, now I see it. I've heard about these yank women, feminists 
they call them, they get off on beating up men. She's built herself up 
in some gym, probably on drugs too, you can't get muscles like that 
natural. Then she speaks. 

"Here's the deal, guys. You like beating up on people, how about this 
little girl? See these arms? I built them so I can have fun with guys 
like you. There's two ways out of here. One way's past me, and two soft
limpdicks like you won't make it that way. The other way is when they 
call an ambulance for you and you spend a month in hospital, and that's 
only if I decide to let you live. And if you go that way, you'll spend 
the rest of your stupid lives cripples. I can break your backs with 
these arms." Then she flexes them for the first time, and I wish I 
hadn't come out today. 

Bert: 

And as she speaks, she tenses her arms, flexes them, and she hadn't done 
that before, she'd just been holding them up, so now they just grow and 
grow, and I look at her arms, and I just don't want to be here, she's 
just playing with us, fucking with my mind, and no problem, I'm mind-
fucked. What does she want? "Lady, what do you want? I've got some 
lettuce ..." and I show her all the gelt I've got on me, and Kev does 
the same. And she laughs, low, quiet and terrifying. "I don't want your 
money. What I want is what I've got, two scared limpdicks facing a real 
woman with no way out, nowhere to go, just you guys and me. And I want 
some pain, your pain. Lots of pain" and she gives that quiet chuckle 
again, and beckons to us. "C'mon boys, let's party." And I reckon, if 
she goes for Kev first, I can take it on my toes, and I reckon Kev's 
thinking the same. So we spread out, she can only get one of us, and 
while she's busy with him, I'll leg it. But she doesn't move, she just
stands there, moving her arms slightly, showing us those big hard 
muscles, making us more and more scared of her. 

Kev: 

"Please, lady, we don't want no grief, we'll just go quiet-like" I mean, 
smacking some punter is one thing, but this dame looks serious, like she 
gets her kicks out of beating up on men, and I don't want to be at the 
wrong end of them arms. "You'll be quiet all right, you'll be nice and 
quiet when I'm done with you. But you've got some screaming to do first, 
and then you've got to beg me to stop, except I won't, I don't care how 
much you beg, but you'll beg me anyway, because there's nothing else you 
can do. They look strong, don't they?" and she flexes her arms some 
more. "Actually I'm stronger than I look, a lot stronger. My muscles are 
hard and dense, I beat up my first man when I was ten, and now it's the 
best way I can get turned on. You're going to turn me on, it's going to 
be fun. Fun for me, but not for you, fun for me but pain for you, pain 
and damage. I'm going to smash up your soft weak bodies, turn you to 
mush with my arms. Then I'll use you as sex toys, rub your soft faces 
against my crutch until the blood flows, and you won't be able to 
scream, because your broken ribs will hurt so much, and you won't be 
able to stop me, because I'm going to wreck your arms and shoulders. I 
love ruining a man's shoulders, you men are always so proud of your
shoulders, and I'm going to turn yours to a mangled mess." 

So I look at Bert, and he looks at me, I can see he's breathing hard, 
like he's as scared as I am, and I make a wide sign, and he nods, and we 
rush her, me on the left, Bert on the right, and the alley is six foot 
across, so one of us will get past, maybe both, maybe we'll knock her 
over, she isn't that big, except for her muscles. 

Bert: 

But she sees us coming, and leans to the left. Kev slams into her, and I 
see her fist flash deep into his body, and he goes "Whuff" and kind of 
folds up to the ground, and lies there, not making any sound.  But 
meanwhile, I get past her and I'm legging it as hard as I can, Kev will 
just have to take his lumps, but I can hear her running after me, 
getting closer, it's like one of them nightmares, and then suddenly my 
back explodes in white hot agony as her fist smashes into it, and I fall 
down to the ground, my face hitting the concrete, and I lay there trying 
to get my wits back. Then I feel her weaving her arms under mine and 
linking hands behind my neck, and she's got me in a full nelson. Now 
what you do when you've got someone in a nelson, is you smash his face 
against the ground until he gives up, but she doesn't do that. I feel 
myself being lifted up and she drags me back to the alley, that's how I
know that Kev was lying all quiet. Then, instead of smashing me into a 
brick wall or something, she just flexes her muscles, forcing my arms 
back and my neck down. "I love this hold" she says. "I can hold you like 
this for hours." and she gives a pull, and I feel my shoulders 
stretching. She shakes me a bit then, and I feel like a bird in the jaws 
of a cat, and I wonder what she's going to do to me. But I can feel her 
body against mine, and it kind of almost feels nice, and I remember 
those tits, and I can't see them now, but I sure can feel them against 
my back. But the pain in my shoulders is getting worse now, I can feel 
them giving way to her arms. 

After a bit, I get my wits back, and I realise she might know a bit 
about wrestling, but what does she know about street fighting? So I look 
down, well there isn't anywhere else I can look, she's got my neck bowed 
down so much, and I see her feet near mine. So I lift up one of my feet 
and stamp down hard on hers, but by the time I get there, her foot has 
gone. "Big mistake, sweetiepie. Guess I'd better get my legs around you, 
out of the way of your feet." and she jumps up on my back, and puts her 
legs round my waist to hold herself in place. 

Then I remember how big and muscular her thighs were, even bigger than 
her arms, and her legs round my waist feel like they're cutting me in 
half, and I can feel her tits against my back, firm and hard, but her
legs are killing me, and I can't take this, so I try to turn and slam 
her against the wall of the alley, but she just lets go with her legs, 
and pulls me down to the ground. Then she lets go the nelson, and it 
feels wonderful to be released from the hold. It feels wonderful, great, 
for nearly half a second, then she takes my wrists in her hands and 
pulls my arms up in the air while I lay on my stomach, her foot on my 
back. 

I wish I was back in the nelson. It's like someone sticking a butcher's 
knife into my shoulder blades. I can feel the ligaments stretching and 
snapping as she pulls up on my arms, and I can hear myself screaming and 
screaming at the agony. "I'm not going to mess about", she says. "I'm 
going to cripple your arms for the rest of your life." When eventually 
she lets go, my arms just flop down by my sides, and she takes one and 
starts twisting it round and up behind my back. When she's finished with 
that one, I can't even get it back down again while she works the other 
one. I can hear popping and snapping noises as things inside my arms 
break under the strain, I don't know what, but I guess I'll never be 
able to use my arms again. 

After a while, she stops, and I just lay there in a sea of pain. 
Vaguely, in the distance, I can hear her talking to Kev. But that's a 
long way away, and I'm just so glad she'd finished with me, as far as I
was concerned, Kev could take his chances. 

Kev: 

As I run towards her, she leans towards me, and I slam into her body. I 
thought I'd knock her flying, I'm not exactly small, but it's like 
running into a wall, a wall of muscle. Then something smashes into my 
gut, and I'm almost unconscious. Almost, but not quite. The pain, the 
pain, my world is filled with the pain. I can't breathe, that causes 
more pain, and after a short while, blackness falls. While I'm out, the 
breathing reflex takes over, and when there's enough oxygen in my body, 
I come to. But then the pain takes over again, and it's so much easier 
not to breathe, and I pass out again. 

I flicker in and out of consciousness for a while, until I become aware 
of someone screaming nearby. I know that isn't me, I can barely breathe, 
let alone scream. It's Bert, she has him face down on the ground, and it 
looks like she's pulling his arms off. Really, making a real determined 
attempt to pull off his arms. She's pulling them back behind him, while 
keeping them straight, and I can hear the ripping sound of his arms 
tearing. Then she takes one and twists it up behind him, and there is no 
way it could go that high, and while she does the other one, it stays 
there like it's made of plasticene. And while his arms are twisted up
behind him, she starts hitting his shoulder, until I hear a crack!, then 
she starts hitting the other one. After a while, she stops, and lets go 
of him, and stands up. He's just lying there, moaning, and I can hear 
him pleading with her not to hurt him any more, and apparently she's 
finished with him. Because then she strolls over to me, and I know real 
fear for the first time in my life, I know it's real this time, because 
I can feel the warm wetness in my trousers. I can't run, I can't hide, 
I'm in so much pain I won't be able to defend myself from a kitten. And 
this man smasher is walking towards me, and she's smiling, anticipating, 
looking forward to my pain. What did I do to deserve this? 

She kneels down next to me; I'm still curled up in a ball, trying to 
breathe. One punch, just one punch from those terrible arms done this to 
me. I try to talk, to beg her not to hurt me any more, but it hurts too 
much to talk. "Shush" she soothes me. "Don't try to talk. You'll feel 
better if you relax, and lay flat." She helps me unwind myself, and lay 
down on my back on the ground. Gradually, the pain begins to ebb from my 
stomach, and she tugs off my clothes, all of them, till I'm naked in the 
August rain, and she starts to stroke me chest, gently with her hands. 
"Feeling better?" she asks, and I nod, and gasp "Yes, a bit" "Good, then 
you're ready for more."

Chapter 6 - Kev is broken

I couldn't believe what she did next. I weigh 120 kilos, but she picked 
me up like a sack of flour, and lifted me to her shoulders. Then she put 
one arm round my neck, and the other round my thighs, and pulled down. I 
bent backwards like a bow; the pain in my stomach returning immediately, 
but outmatched by the pain from my bent spine. She just stood there, 
almost naked in the drizzle with me on her shoulders, those big strong 
shoulders I'd seen earlier, and her powerful arms bending my back in the 
direction it can't go, bending me with a terrible strength. I had no 
resistance at all, the pain was overwhelming, and I wanted to pass out. 
Then she shook me, bouncing my body up and down with her strong arms, 
and I wanted to die. I think I was screaming, I didn't know what I was 
doing. "Please, please ..." was all I could say. She held me like that 
as the pain got worse and worse, and then suddenly there wasn't any more 
pain, it was like I was wrapped in cotton wool, as if I were a thousand 
miles away and it was someone else's body on her back.  She somehow knew 
I wasn't hurting any more, and she dropped me so my back landed on her 
thigh, then I bounced off that to the ground, where I passed out again. 

Bert: 

She broke Kev, actually broke him. I watched as she did it; she lifted 
him up to her back, and calmly bent his back until it broke. I heard the
exact point when it broke, because he stopped screaming. Then she 
smashed his broken back down on her big thigh, and I could see from the 
angle his body made that he'd never walk again, maybe he wouldn't live. 
I lay there, unable to use my arms, and hoped she wouldn't do that to 
me. If she did that to me, I wanted her to kill me, not let me live in a 
wheel chair. She watched him as he lay immobile on the ground. Was he 
dead? No, I could see his body moving slightly as he breathed. Then she 
looked over at me. I pretended to be unconscious, but I didn't fool her. 
She lifted me up to my feet, facing her, my arms dangling uselessly by 
my side. She wrapped her arms round me, putting her fists in the small 
of my back. I knew what she was going to do next. Agony sliced through 
my body as her powerful arms hugged me into her hard body, and then her 
mouth covered mine in a painful kiss. I couldn't breathe, and her arms 
were bending my body backwards, sending masses of pain through my spine. 
She was doing to me what she'd done to Kev, only she was just using the 
strength of her arms. "Please, please don't cripple me" I begged her. 
She relented for a few seconds. "I'll tell you what", she said, 
brightly. "You get between my legs and give me a good licking, and I 
won't break your back." 

That sounded like a great offer to me. I got down on my knees and put my 
head between her thighs, conscious of the powerful muscles that 
surrounded me. She gripped my head, and I started licking for my life.
I've never done this before, so I had to improvise. I stuck my tongue 
out as far as I could to get it deep inside her; I would have used my 
hands too, but my arms didn't work. I licked and licked, while she 
purred with pleasure. She came after a while, her legs crushing in on my 
head until I passed out with the pain. Have you ever had your skull 
crushed? I have, it isn't just painful, you think you're going to die. 
She made me lick her off twice more, but after her third orgasm, I just 
couldn't go on, she'd weakened me too much. So she gripped my head in 
her hands, and rubbed my face against her crutch. I could see the blood 
covering her genitals, and knew it was mine. Her genital hair was like 
wire wool, and it abraded against my face, rubbing it raw and bloody. I 
don't know how long it went on until I passed out. 


Sandi: 

I got dressed again, pulling on the wet T-shirt and jeans. Ugh! Then I 
walked over to the muggers' poor victim. He was huddled against a wall, 
his arms wrapped round his head, whimpering. I crouched down next to 
him, and gently took his hand in mine. He tried to pull away and shrink 
into the wall - the poor little guy was terrified. "Hey, little guy, 
don't be scared, I'm on your side. I've handled the nasty men, look!" He 
opened his eyes, and saw the two muggers where I'd left them. I smiled
at him, to show I was friendly, and he whimpered again. "Come on, honey, 
it's raining, we're getting wet." Actually, I don't think I could have 
gotten any wetter. "Look, it's OK, let me help you stand up." 

I helped him to his feet; he was a small fellow. His head came up to my 
chin, and he was as light as air. He was shaking and trembling, and his 
teeth were chattering. I guessed that lying there in the rain had 
chilled him badly, so I put my arms round him and hugged him gently (you 
have to be ever so gentle with petite guys like that) until after a 
while he stopped shivering. Then I held him away from me a few inches, 
and said "Little fellow, we'd better get you home, before you freeze to 
death. Do you live near here?" 

He did, so I picked up my backpack and escorted him home. By that time, 
the rain had escalated from light rain to a steady downpour, it was 
pitch dark, cold and miserable and I wondered if the people who 
inhabited this country realized that weather wasn't supposed to be like 
this, and if there was somewhere to complain about it. 

We arrived at his apartment, but his hand was shaking so much that he 
couldn't turn the key in the door. I took it from him, and opened up. 
Inside, I saw an apartment that was small, but clean, neat and 
beautiful. Someone had obviously gone to a lot of trouble over the
design of this interior - I thought about my own bedroom, with posters 
on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor and a very threadbare 
carpet. 

I helped him to the couch, then sat down at the other end while he 
recovered his composure. I know that getting beaten up is a very 
traumatic experience, at least it's always looked that way to me. After 
a while, he looked up at me, and whispered "Thank you". "You're 
welcome", I said, "it was rather fun." He blinked at me, I suppose not 
everyone would regard fighting a couple of toughs as fun. "I'm Sandi, 
Sandi Stone. What's your name?" "Tristram Cartwright, but everyone calls 
me Tris. I can't begin to tell you have grateful I am for what you did 
back there. They hurt me really bad, and you might have gotten yourself 
hurt trying to save me." I grinned, and shook my head. "Are you sure 
you're all right now? I have to find myself a hotel to spend the night, 
I've just arrived in this country." 

Tristram leaned forward, then winced as one of his bruises reminded him 
of its presence. "It's a foul night out there, you'll get soaked again. 
You're welcome to stay the night here." I thought about this, but not 
for very long. I didn't fancy going out into the British summer again, 
and it was warm and dry in here. "Thank you, Tris, I'll take you up on 
that."

I went into the bathroom and found some towels. I tossed one to Tris, 
and stripped off my own wet clothes so I could get dry. 

Chapter 7 - Tristram and Sandi

Tristram: 

What a woman! She casually attacks and beats up the two men who mugged 
me, practically carries me home, then undresses in front of me as if I 
wasn't there, showing off a body that any woman would die for, with 
muscles that any man would die for. I just stared and stared. Her 
breasts took my attention first; they were large and firm, outstanding 
from her muscular body. Then, as she reached up to dry her hair, a set 
of biceps sprang into sight that I wouldn't have believed possible on a 
man, let alone on a woman. Her stomach was rounded, bulging with clearly 
defined muscles that explained why a mugger hitting her had no effect. 
She dried her body and hair, then stripped off her jeans, and my heart 
almost leaped out of my chest. Her legs were awesome. Her thighs were 
like great steel pillars of power, and I wondered why she hadn't used 
them to simply crush the life out of her opponents, until I realised 
that she hadn't needed to. Her contempt for the muggers was so great, 
she didn't bother to use her most powerful weapons. I couldn't help 
myself; I moaned, and she stopped drying herself and looked up at me. 
She was naked, the most incredible girl I've ever seen in my entire 
life. She looked like an elemental force of nature, like a hurricane 
that would simply destroy anything in its path. I understood why she'd 
had no worries about bundling into the fight with the muggers. With a
body like that, she would have no need for fear. Indeed, she'd been 
having fun! I couldn't help it, I moaned softly again. 

Sandi: 

I'd just gotten about a gallon of British rainwater off myself when I 
heard Tris moan in pain. I looked up, and he hadn't moved since I threw 
the towel to him. Poor boy, he must have suffered so badly from the 
beating he had. I pulled on a dry T-shirt and panties, and went over to 
help him. 

I took off his jacket and tried to take off his wet shirt, but he 
started fighting me. Wet clothes are not just uncomfortable, you can get 
a chill, so I held his slim wrists in one of my hands while I undid his 
buttons. Then I understood why he was trying to stop me from undressing 
him. "Tris, why are you wearing a bra?" He closed his eyes, looking 
embarrassed, as well he might. I shrugged my shoulders, and helped him 
get it off. 

Underneath, his body was bruised, but not too badly. I've seen much 
worse, but I expect he wasn't used to it, and that made it worse for 
him. I rubbed him with the towel to get some of the rain off him, then I 
decided that what he really needed was a hot bath, so I went to the
bathroom and started the water running. I got back to Tris, and started 
taking his trousers off, and then he really started fighting me. 

"Tris, there's two ways we can do this. The easy way, is I punch you in 
the belly so hard that you can't put up a fight. The hard way is I 
wrestle your clothes off you. Can you think of a third way?" I grinned 
at him and he stopped struggling, and let me take off his trousers. 

I was kind of expecting the girls panties underneath, given what I'd 
already found. I wasn't expecting the nylon half-slip. Still, I thought, 
maybe I'll ask him about that later. I stripped him naked, and he tried 
to cover his genitals with his hands. "Don't be silly, Tris, I've seen 
men before." I pulled his hands away, and he really fought back hard, 
much more than anything I'd felt from him before. But really, it was 
quite futile. He must have been about five foot nothing, and as skinny 
as a rake, and he'd just had one beating. When I moved his hands away 
from his crotch, I could see what he'd been so desperate to hide. His 
penis was so small, I could hardly see it, and there seemed to be almost 
nothing behind it. 

Rather than have another fight, I just picked him up in my arms and 
carried him into the bathroom. I tested the water with my elbow, like 
I'd seen Mrs Nightingale do, and it wasn't too hot, so I just dropped
him in. 

"Tris, just relax, OK? Let the water soak all the pain out of you." He 
had some perfumed bath salts, so I tipped a handful in, and when he was 
nicely stretched out, I left him to it. My belly was making suggestions 
that my throat had been cut, and could I feed it please? 

"Is it all right if I make something to eat?" I called out to Tris. 
"Help yourself" he said, not knowing what a ravenous Sandi Stone would 
do to his larder. My time was all out of joint; the clocks said late 
evening, but my stomach said suppertime, and furthermore, my stomach 
said, it was a long time since breakfast, and by the way, you forgot 
lunch, it added accusingly. 

I have a bit of a problem in this area. I have a very hungry metabolism; 
my big heavy muscles burn up a lot more calories than a normal person. 
Where an ordinary guy can get by on 2,000 calories per day, I have to 
have at least 6,000, or I start losing weight. And since I have hardly 
any fat on my body to start with, losing weight isn't something I want 
to do. In fact, I've often thought it might be a good idea to be a few 
pounds overweight, so I have a fat reserve. Anyway, eating three times 
as much as a normal person is awkward - people think I'm being greedy or 
gluttonous, where in fact all I'm doing is keeping the machine fuelled
(Bunny calls me a mincing machine, or meat grinder, he's very sweet 
about that sort of thing). 

So, I thought, let's set aside something for Tris, then I can eat what's 
left. He had some cheese, some nice crusty bread, tomatoes, and half a 
quiche. He had a half dozen eggs, a couple of cartons of milk (litres, I 
think) and when I investigated his canned food, I found beans, spaghetti 
and sardines. I *adore* sardines, especially in olive oil. 

By the time I'd finished, I felt a lot better. I went back to the 
bathroom, and found Tris shrivelling in the cooling water, so I dragged 
him out, and wrapped a towel round him, and told him to dry himself. He 
looked up at me like a sad puppy, so I helped him. Then I asked him if 
he had a dressing gown he could wear, and he gave me the unhappy puppy 
look again. "Come on, Tris. Where is it?" He pointed to the wardrobe. 

It wasn't obvious. I was looking for a woollen dressing gown, maybe a 
terry-cloth robe. He had to tell me "The pink one" before I found it. 
And it wasn't the sort of thing I would have expected to find in a man's 
wardrobe. It was long, at least long compared to Tris, and flowing, and 
silky, and lacy, and very, very feminine. A bit more feminine than even 
Diana Nightingale would wear, I thought, and certainly nothing I'd be 
seen dead in. But chacun a son gout, I thought, having prepared myself
carefully with useful European phrases and sayings. I can't see how 
wearing women's underclothes and sexy women's' night-things at home does 
anyone any harm, and Dr Hamilton did tell me that different cultures had 
different morals. O tempore, o mores, he said, which is Latin. 
Transvestite, it's called, also from the Latin, meaning cross dressing. 
You see how an education helps you? "Are you hungry, Tris?" He shook his 
head. I wasn't surprised, after what he'd been through. So I helped him 
get into bed, and pulled the covers over him, and stroked his hair a bit 
until he relaxed, then tiptoed out, turning out the lights as I left. 

I crashed out on the couch, or at least I tried to. The trouble was, the 
couch was five foot, and I'm five six. And I wasn't really tired, since 
my body was telling me that is was several hours earlier than the clocks 
said. I tried thinking about Bunny and Diana, but that just made me 
horny and uncomfortable, instead of just uncomfortable. And then I 
thought of that nice big soft bed, with that tiny little fellow taking 
up less than a third of it, and I said the hell with this, and went in 
to the bedroom and got into bed with him. I mean, what's he going to do, 
rape me? The main danger is that I might rape him! 

Chapter 8 - Tristram gets kissed

Tristram: 

She was so strong, so confident. She knew exactly what she was doing,
she had no doubts or uncertainties. She stripped me naked, body and 
soul, and when I tried to stop her, she just laughed, amused that I'd 
try to oppose her, like we were just having fun together. She pulled off 
my clothes and saw the women's undergarments I wear, and acted like it 
was nothing. I tried to cover up my genitals, but she just pulled my 
hands away, and saw my tiny penis, the cause of so much of my misery. I 
felt more humiliated than at any time in my life; I'd never let a woman 
see my minute prick before, and I wished I could just sink into the 
ground. But she didn't laugh, which surprised me, because she'd taunted 
the muggers as she destroyed them, calling them limpdicks and 
softpricks. 

She picked me up like a feather, and dropped me into the bath like a 
baby. I lay there soaking, letting the aches and pains dissolve in the 
hot water. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, she'd 
lifted me out of the water and was rubbing me dry with a towel. Then she 
asked me about night-wear, and I felt the embarrassment return more 
strongly. I tried to protest that I didn't need anything, but she 
wouldn't have that, she said I had to stay warm. I didn't feel like I
could argue with her, she wasn't the sort of girl you could argue with, 
so I told her where it was, in my wardrobe, and as she took it out, she 
smiled, and I felt so ashamed, so humiliated, I wished I could just die. 
She offered me food, as if I could eat when I felt like this. My stomach
was hurting me, partly from the beating, but mostly from the stress and 
shame that I felt. I was thankful when she let me go to bed; at least I 
didn't have to face her, wearing my silk night-dress. 

I woke up in the morning, and I couldn't move. There were two reasons 
for this. First of all, my body was stiff and sore from the beating I'd 
had yesterday. Everything, hurt, I mean everything. But the second 
reason was that at some time in the night, Sandi had joined me in the 
bed, and she'd wrapped her arms round my body, her legs round my legs, 
and she was so hard, so solid, so heavy, I simply couldn't move. I 
struggled a bit, and my struggles woke her up. Her eyes opened, and I 
was looking up into two deep pools of grey. "Hi, Bunny", she murmured, 
and kissed me. 

I've been kissed, of course I have. Kissing is when your lips touch a 
girl's lips, and there some hugging, and maybe there's some tongue 
contact. But I've never been kissed like this before. Her strong arms 
held me prisoner, her legs stopped me from moving. Her body controlled 
my body completely, and her tongue invaded my mouth, feeling like a hard
penetrating sword of muscle. I stopped struggling, and let myself be 
overcome by her strength, let the feeling of helplessness wash over me 
as she rubbed her body against me. My body was completely unable to cope 
with the sensations that this magnificent woman aroused in me, and after 
a few moments, I couldn't help myself, I orgasmed. Now I knew what a 
real kiss was like. 

My spasms and jerks must have woken her up fully, because she held me 
until I stopped coming, and then she got out of bed. She yawned, and 
stretched the most incredible naked body I'd ever seen, turned to me and 
said "Good morning, Tris". Then she pulled back the bed covers, and 
inspected the very small wet patch on my night-dress. I thought I felt 
humiliated last night, but just imagine how I felt now, with this 
stunning Amazon examining my visible lack of self control, my 
predilection for women's clothes, and when she peeled back the nightie, 
my shamefully tiny penis. She smiled at me, and said "What about 
breakfast, Tris?" 

I got out of bed, and dressed hastily in a T-shirt and trousers. 
"There's some eggs in the refrigerator, and some bread." "Oh no there 
isn't, I ate all that last night." And she had! I thought I had enough 
for a week, but my cupboard was bare. "You ate all that?" I asked, 
incredulously. She nodded. "I'm a big eater", she said. "It's a
metabolism thing. I burn a lot of calories, I have to eat a lot. I need 
about 6,000 calories each day, about three times as much as most 
people." "OK, we'll have to go shopping then", I said. 

I looked out of the window - the rain was fairly light, more of a 
drizzle, really, hardly worth worrying about. Sandi got dressed, putting 
on a cotton shirt and a pair of jeans - I noticed she didn't wear a bra. 
Nor did she need to. Nor did I want her to. On the way to the 
supermarket, she explained about what she wanted for breakfast, and I 
thought it would probably be cheaper and easier to feed a lion at the 
zoo. We picked up a dozen eggs, a couple of pounds of steak, bread, 
milk, oranges. And then she said thoughtfully, "Maybe we should get 
enough for lunch, too. Oh, and I ate all your beans. And sardines. And 
spaghetti. And some other brown smelly meaty stuff I found, I'm not sure 
what it was." Oops. There's a cat that slinks round sometimes for a 
handout. I hope Sandi hadn't ... 

I have to say, by the time I'd finished shopping, I was very glad I had 
Sandi to help me carry it. Or, to be more precise, she carried it all - 
my ribs were still too sore from yesterday's mugging. 

By the time we got home, it was eleven. I buttered some bread, cut some 
cheese, and gave it to Sandi to keep her going. I put the kettle on for
tea, and started making breakfast, or lunch, or maybe brunch. Sandi 
worked her way through two doorsteps of bread and cheese, and a litre of 
orange juice, and a litre of milk while I cooked for her. The first 
pound of steak disappeared by the time I'd done her an omelette, and I 
had to stave her off with muesli while the second pound was cooking. 
Round about two in the afternoon, she seemed to be slowing down a bit, 
so I made myself an omelette and sat down next to her. "Is there 
anything you don't eat?" I asked her, wondering how I was going to cope. 
She shook her head while she chewed, swallowed and smiled at me. "You 
cook it, I'll eat it", she said. I started preparing for supper; I 
thought an early start might help. I put a chicken in the roasting tin, 
with some sage and onion stuffing, smeared butter on top, and set the 
oven. "What about me?", asked Sandi. 

Chapter 9 - Sandi eats

I closed my eyes, and did some calculations. If she eats about three
times as much as a normal person, and I eat about two thirds what a
normal person eats, on account of being rather small and slender, then
she eats four and a half times as much as me. I did the sums again, and
it came out the same. No wonder she thought one chicken wouldn't be
enough. So I sent her down to the supermarket for another one, while I
started work on the vegetables. And when I looked in the cupboard, the
cat food had disappeared. I decided not to bother telling Sandi, it
didn't seem to have done her any harm. In some matters, ignorance is
bliss. 

Four and a half. I was used to cooking just for myself, and now I had to 
cook for one of me, and another four and a half for her. So I multiplied 
everything by six, to make sure she didn't go hungry. 

By four in the afternoon, I'd finished clearing up the shambles that 
lunch had left, had two large chickens roasting in the oven, with 
stuffing and potatoes. I had the leeks, brussels and cabbage ready to 
put on the cooker, and I was ready to sit down for a long rest. Sandi 
was sitting on the worktop in the kitchen, dangling her legs in the air, 
and talking about her friends at school. Suddenly, I realised the 
implications of what she was saying. "Sandi, how old are you?" "Sixteen,
I'll be seventeen in a few weeks." 

I just stopped what I was doing and stared at her. Sixteen-year-olds are 
gawky and graceless, shy and nervous. They don't know where to put their 
arms and legs, they're uncool. Sandi moved like a big cat, and she was 
so self-confident and unselfconscious. She radiated an aura of strength, 
strength of will and strength of body. And cool? She was cooler than ice 
cream, and hotter than Vindaloo, without even trying. And she was only 
sixteen? I looked at her again; I suppose I'd been treating her like an 
adult, a twenty-five year old maybe. One kiss and a rub from her hard
body had brought me to helpless uncontrollable orgasm, and she hadn't 
even meant to do that to me. She'd almost killed two thugs, and called 
it fun afterwards. I couldn't believe it, and I said so. "Sixteen? 
You're a kid of only sixteen?" She slid down from the worktop and walked 
towards me, smiling. I'd seen that smile before, it was the one she wore 
as she smashed up the muggers. I'd also seen that smile on a cat, as it 
dreamed of mice and other small helpless prey. She put her arms round 
me, and I knew real fear; I had seen what those arms could do. Her arms 
tightened round my body, lifting me off the ground, making it difficult 
for me to breathe. I started struggling, even though I knew it was 
futile. "Mmh. I'm a kid of sixteen, and I'm hungry. You smell very sexy, 
Tris. But you don't have to be scared of me. What's for tea?" 

I stopped struggling and looked up at her. "I could make some cheese 
sandwiches, and some buns, and there's honey..." "Mmmh, honey, I love 
honey." She put me down, and I got busy with the breadknife. 

Round about five, she finally stopped eating, and announced that she was 
going out for a run and some exercise. She put on a pair of shorts that 
would be grounds for rape, and left. I wasn't too worried about what 
might happen to her, but I felt sorry for any man who tried. 

She returned a couple of hours later, looking flushed and hopped-up. She 
stripped in the living room, in front of me - she seemed to have 
absolutely no inhibitions about being naked in front of me, and went for 
a shower. She returned, rubbing her hair, moisture still glistening on 
her body, and asked if supper was ready yet. "About twenty minutes, 
Sandi." "Mmmh, I'm starving. Here, Tris, do my back." I got out of the 
armchair, and took the towel from her and dried her back. Then I did 
possibly the bravest thing I'd ever done in my life. 

I have to explain, I'm a coward. Being a coward is plain common sense 
when you're five feet short, and skinny with it. I learned the wisdom of 
cowardice at school, and had occasional refresher lessons ever since. I 
mean, can you imagine, someone insults me in a bar, and I get off the 
stool, draw myself up to my full five feet, my head several inches below
your shoulders? No way. Someone insults me, I grin and nod, and get out 
as soon as I can. So, as a long-term fully-paid-up Official Yellowbelly, 
I just can't explain what I did next. I took the towel round the front, 
and started drying Sandi there. I dried her belly, ridged with hard 
muscle, more muscle than I'd ever seen before on a human being. I dried 
the front of her thighs, thighs that reminded me of hard tree trunks, 
thighs that were each as big as my body, except they were solid with 
muscle. And then I moved upwards and dried her breasts. She closed her 
beautiful big grey eyes as I did this, and tilted her head back, and 
looked blissful. After a little while, she mewed quietly. Then she shook 
herself, took the towel from me, kissed me on the forehead, and said 
"Tris, I think it's dinner time." 

We spent the next hour or so eating. Or, to be more precise, she tore 
apart and consumed two entire chickens, six pounds of potatoes, half a 
cabbage, two pounds of sprouts, half a loaf of bread, a pound of 
carrots, a pound of leeks and all the stuffing. I ate a small piece of 
wing and a couple of sprouts, mostly I just sat and watched Sandi. She 
wasn't gross about it, or anything, she just kept on eating and eating 
until it was all gone, and it was a pleasure to watch her. I'm good at 
roast chicken, and I'd gone to a lot of trouble on this one, and she was 
really enjoying it. Then she licked her lips like a great big cat, and 
said "Tris, you're the best cook in the world".

I glowed. Maybe I wasn't much of a man, but at least I could make 
Sandi's stomach happy. She stood up, took my hand, and led me over to 
the couch, and sat me down next to her. "Tris, why do you wear women's 
clothes?" Why indeed. You can imagine, this isn't easy for me to talk 
about. "Oh, Sandi, I'm so confused. I'm not much of a man, but I'm not a 
woman, either. You saw how small I am ..." I choked off into silence, 
and hid my face in my hands. "Tris, why do you think you're not much of 
a man?" 

I looked up at her. She was serious, she didn't understand. So I counted 
off on my fingers. "One, I'm about a foot shorter than a real man, two 
I'm about 100 pounds lighter than a real man, and three ... three ..." I 
looked down. "Three?" she prompted. Did I really have to say this? 
"Three, I'm, I'm. Oh, Sandi." She put her hand on my lap. "Three?" she 
asked, grinning. It felt like a jolt of electricity through my body as 
her hand grasped me lightly. "Three?" she said, squeezing. "My prick's 
about six inches shorter than a real man." There. I'd said it. And to a 
girl! 

"No it isn't", she said. What? "What do you mean?" "Well, you're a bit 
shorter than the average, but not that much. The average is three-four 
inches, you're a fraction less than that. And you don't have to be six
foot tall to be a man. I hate those big tubs of lard that stamp around 
trying to look tough. I love sinking my fist into their big bellies, and 
watching them flop around afterwards trying to breathe through the pain. 
I love twisting their arms around behind their backs, and working the 
hammerlock as their tendons and ligaments gradually tear away from their 
bones. And most of all, I love getting a big heavy man on my shoulders, 
face up, so that I can pull down on his thighs and neck, arching his 
spine, inflicting terrible amounts of pain on his helpless body until 
his mind softens and weakens and I own him." I looked at her, she wasn't 
boasting, just explaining how it was. I shivered. "You see, Tris, it 
doesn't matter to me if you're 100 pounds or 200, it's all the same, 
you're just another soft, helpless, limpdick man." 

I saw what she meant. I'd watched in fascinated terror as she'd 
destroyed the bodies of the two muggers, two men twice my size and 
strength. It really didn't matter to her how strong I was, all men were 
total wimps compared to Sandi Stone. "And you're a damn good cook, 
Tris." I think that quantity was the key to making Sandi's stomach 
happy, and I thought about getting some bigger cookware. Then I thought, 
she's only a schoolgirl. I wonder what she'll be like when she grows up. 

Chapter 10 - Tristram the secret transvestite

"So is that why you wear women's clothes, Tris?" I felt a lot better
about talking to her about this now. All men were soft and helpless to
her, so I didn't feel so bad about myself. "Sandi, this isn't going to 
sound logical, so bear with me. I'm a terrible coward, if someone 
attacked me, I'd run for it, no question." "Not if you're with me, 
Tris." That's true. I felt, well, safe, sitting next to Sandi. I knew 
that she could handle two men twice my size without any effort, and I 
moved closer to her, closer to those big protective arms and those big 
welcoming breasts. "Yes, OK, but I've only just met you, Sandi. You see, 
men don't hurt women, so if I wear women's clothes, they won't hurt me." 
Sandi just looked at me. Her eyes were grey, the sort of color that some 
cats have when you call them smoky grey. She didn't blink, and I could 
feel myself being pulled into the depths of her, and at the same time I 
felt her eyes penetrating my innermost thoughts. She reached up and 
pushed her hair behind her ears, as she did so, her arms bulged with 
that terrifying man-smashing strength that she'd displayed yesterday. 
How strange that such a feminine gesture should be so totally 
intimidating. 

"Yes, I know it isn't logical. It makes me feel, somehow, safer. Less 
likely to get hurt. You know?"  There was a long silence. "And I'm not 
sure whether I'm." I stopped. "You see, maybe I'm." I tried again.
"Sometimes I look at some big strong man, and I want him to put his arms 
round me, protect me, you see, and maybe I'm queer. You know? A poofter. 
Gay. " There. I'd never really admitted this possibility to myself 
before, let alone to another person, let alone a girl. "And wearing that 
silky nightie, well, no-one can see me, in my flat at night, and it 
makes me feel sort of soft and vulnerable, you know? So it matches what 
I am inside." 

She took one of my hands in hers, and kissed my fingers. "Oh, Tris, 
you're as badly screwed up inside as I am." I saw tears welling up in 
those big grey eyes. Sandi? Screwed up? She's a perfect goddess, serene, 
assured, happy. Isn't she? "What's the matter, Sandi?" 

She folded her hands in her lap, and looked down at them. There was a 
long silence. I watched as a tear rolled down her cheek and splashed 
onto her hand. Then I watched another teardrop start its long journey; I 
took a handkerchief and wiped it away. She took it from me, and blew her 
nose, making a sound like a trumpet. Then she sat there, hunched up, 
looking miserable. "Sandi?" She looked at me. "Sandi, what is it?" 

"It's pretty much the same problem you've got, Tris. You think you're 
not a real man, I think I'm not a real woman." She couldn't be serious. 
But she was. "What do you mean, Sandi? Of course you're a real woman.
You're the realest real womanest woman I've ever seen." She smiled 
through her tears. "Thank you Tris. But, well, look at me!" I did. She 
was worth looking at, usually, but right now, hunched up on the couch, 
face scrunched up, eyes red with crying, I thought she didn't really 
look her best, but I didn't think it was the right time to say so. 
"Sandi, I do look at you, all the time. You're gorgeous, sexy, 
beautiful, sensuous, magnificent, voluptuous ... do you want more?" She 
smiled again. "Tris, back home, all the guys are so scared of me, I 
never get asked on dates. My big, tough muscles intimidate them, I have 
a reputation as a man-smasher, and the only sex I ever get is when I 
rape one of them." 

God, she could, too. I hadn't thought of that. This pretty girl could 
rape a man without trying very hard, although it hadn't occurred to me 
that she'd need to with her looks. She flexed her arm, and we both 
looked at her biceps. "They're seventeen inches, Tris, and getting 
bigger. Guys are scared of me, they won't arm wrestle with me since I 
broke a couple of guys hands, and all the other girls get asked out on 
dates, while I spend all my time in the gym." 

"Who's Bunny?" I asked. She looked at me, frowning, puzzled. "You called 
me Bunny this morning, just before you kissed me and, well, er ...". 
"Bunny's my best friend, he's a sweetie, but he just got engaged to
Diana Nightingale. He's about your size, Tris, I guess that's what 
confused me. I find him in my bed some nights, and we cuddle up and 
stuff." 

Unhh. I'd like her to find me in her bed some nights, and I like the 
sound of the cuddles, and especially the "and stuff". "So you don't have 
a boyfriend?" She shook her head. "They're all too terrified of me, 
Tris. There's a couple of boys that I use sometimes, but they aren't 
boyfriends." I didn't think I wanted to know what she meant by "use". 
"You've never had a boyfriend?" She shook her head. "Well, Sandi, I've 
never had a girlfriend, so I know what you mean." We sat in silence 
together, each of us as alone as people are in this world. "I want to be 
a piece of crumpet, you know what I mean Tris?" Most women spent ages 
telling everyone that they weren't just a piece of crumpet. "I want boys 
to slobber over me, to ask me out on dates, to try to get their hands 
all over me, like all the other girls. Diana told me what it's like, 
and, oh Tris..." She put her face in her hands. 

I looked at her. She was twice my weight, ate three times as much as me, 
and was at least four times as strong. I was out of her league. Still, a 
man can dream, can't he? And sneak into bed with her at night, and hope 
she isn't too violent with him. "One of the reasons I came to Europe, 
was I wanted to change my style, you know? Look more like a girl? More
feminine, softer. Get a new image. So maybe when I go back to school, I 
can be a whole new Sandi Stone." I took her hair in my hands, pulled off 
the blue scarf she used to tie it back, and held it against her face a 
few different ways. "Mmmh, maybe we could do something like this ..." I 
pulled it back, then twisted it up in a queue "... or like this ..." I 
curled it under in a classic bell. "You've got nice hair, Sandi. It's 
soft, long and a lovely buttery color. A few split ends, but that's easy 
to fix, and with a bit more body and some wave to it ..." "Hey, you 
sound like you know what you're talking about, Tris." "I ought to, I do 
this for a living. I'm a ladies hair stylist. And you've got really 
great eyes, you know." I found her big grey eyes compelling, 
fascinating. I could gaze into her eyes for hours. 

They were black in the middle, and white on the outside, but in between, 
they were a soft grey; soft but deep. As I gazed into her eyes, I could 
feel my will dissolving; all I wanted to do with my life was to please 
this wonderful teenage goddess called Sandi Stone. Her eyes grew larger 
until they filled my field of vision, and I could see the moisture under 
her eyelids, her long, long lashes and the warm grey cornea the color of 
an English sky. 

Sandi took my hands in hers. "Oh, Tris, do you think you could do my 
hair? I've never had it done properly, when I was younger, my Mom used
to do it, just cropped it off with scissors, we couldn't afford a 
hairdresser." "Sandi, I could do a lot more than just your hair. I'm not 
just a hair dresser. One of the things I just love to do is help a woman 
change her whole image. New hairdo, new makeup, new perfume, new 
clothes, everything. I'm a stylist." "OK, let's make a deal, Tris. You 
help me be more of a woman, and I'll help you be a man." That sounded 
like a rather good deal, a win for her, and two wins for me! "You've got 
a deal, Sandi. We'll start tomorrow." 

I had a lot of trouble sleeping that night. Sandi made me sleep without 
my night-dress. I offered it to her, but she laughed, and said she might 
just be able to get it over one thigh. I looked at that thigh, and 
nodded. But then she reached into her backpack, and brought out a 
garment that I would never have expected her to own, let alone be 
carrying around with her. "Bunny gave me this, on Valentine's day" she 
said, putting it on. It was satin and lace, cream and confectionery and 
it came down to the tops of her thighs, leaving very little to the 
imagination. It clung to her breasts just like I wanted to, and just 
looking at her gave me an erection. "You see", she said, pointing to it. 
"If I turn you on, you can't be gay." I wasn't so certain of that; her 
hard muscular body would make any man look soft and wimpy, and the 
thought of her powerful muscles made my turgid member throb with desire. 
But I wasn't going to say that to her. "Sandi, if just looking at you
does this to me, doesn't that prove how sexy and seductive you are?" 

The heat from her big body was like a furnace against my skin that 
night. I could hardly sleep; it felt like I had a hard-on all night 
long. When I woke up in the morning, I had a big erection, it felt like 
my whole being was concentrated into my prick. She had her arms round 
me, and I tried to move closer. The movement woke her up, and she smiled 
at me, and said "Good morning, Tris", and gave me the same kiss she'd 
given me when she thought I was Bunny, with the same wriggle against my 
body, and with the same result. "Oh, Sandi, I'm sorry, I've ruined your 
lovely night-dress", although I was also rather ashamed at how small the 
wet patch actually was. "Don't worry, Tris, this isn't the first time. 
It'll wash out." 

I got out of bed, and started making breakfast while Sandi showered and 
dressed. I won't bother listing the meal; I had a lightly boiled egg as 
usual, and Sandi ate enough for a rugby team. In case you didn't know, 
whereas a soccer team is eleven hungry men, a rugby team is fifteen 
ravenous brutes. Then I took her down to the hair salon where I work. I 
needed to do her hair, and I needed to take a couple of weeks holiday to 
be with Sandi. Unfortunately, I knew that Mr Thompson wouldn't let me 
have any time off, and I wasn't sure how to persuade him. "Leave it to 
me", said Sandi. "I know how to persuade men." Yes, I knew she did, but
I didn't want to have to take him to hospital afterwards. "No, don't
worry, Tris. I'll show you how the Double Triangle works. He'll be fine
afterwards, just more, well, flexible. You know what I mean?" What
double triangle? What's she talking about?

Chapter 11 - Lady Fiona's Hair and Beauty

When we arrived at Lady Fiona's Hair and Beauty, Sandi stopped outside.
"This doesn't look like me", she said, nervously. I looked at her, 
wearing an old T-shirt, faded jeans and trainers. No, it didn't look 
like her. This was a Salon for elegant ladies with more money than 
sense, not for tomboy teenagers with ponytails. "Come on, Sandi", I 
said, pulling at her hand like a rowing boat pulling at an ocean liner. 
She didn't move. "I'm not going in there", she said. I stopped pulling; 
I'd already learned that you don't get Sandi to do things by trying to 
pull her. "Sandi, I need to get a couple of weeks off to be with you, so 
we can help each other with, you know? But Mr Thompson ..." "OK, Tris, 
I'll handle the limpdick, but that's all, OK? I'm not getting tarted up 
in that, that...that place." 

We walked in. Mr Thompson minced over to me, and started on me. 
"Cartwright, you're late! Get into uniform, and get busy. At once!" I 
was terrified. Mr Thompson could fire me on the spot, and blacklist me 
all over town. I scuttled into the changing room, and got my uniform on. 
When I got out, Mr Thompson was nowhere to be seen, and Sandi had also 
vanished. Then I heard sounds from his office, so I plucked up my tiny 
courage, and stuck my head round the door. 

Sandi had him in some sort of hold, her arms under his armpits and her
hands over his neck. "Hi, Tris. Come in, shut the door." I did what she 
said. Her large muscles were bending Mr Thompson's head forward, his 
arms were hanging helplessly by his sides, and she was gradually forcing 
him into a bent double posture. "This is so easy, Tris, it's like 
folding up a towel. Is he always that rude to you?" I nodded. "Why do 
you put up with it?" I thought, because I don't have the iron-hard 
muscles that you have, Sandi. "Look, Tris, are you scared of him now?" I 
looked at Thompson's face, contorted with pain, trying to cry out, but 
unable to breathe because of the way Sandi had him bent over. "Look how 
easy it is for me to control his body, to bend him or stretch him, to 
make his body go any way I want. He's like soft putty." She demonstrated 
by bending him completely double, then straightening him up again and 
forcing his arms up. I could see that his neck was bent down at an 
unnatural angle, and I guessed that she was on the point of snapping his 
spine. "You see how bendable and breakable he is? I bet he didn't 
realise that his body was this flexible. And look how frightened he's 
getting." I watched as his struggles gradually got feebler and feebler, 
until he passed out completely. Sandi felt him go limp, and she dropped 
him to the floor. She walked over to me and fingered my uniform. "What's 
this?", she asked. 

"I have to wear it, it's part of the job." It probably looks good if 
you're an officer in the Royal Navy, or a weekend sailor, but in a hair
stylists salon, I have to admit I looked stupid. Shorts don't look too 
good on a man in the first place, and with my skinny legs, they 
definitely weren't me. And the blazer with brass buttons might have 
looked fetching on a pretty girl, and a big butch man might have gotten 
away with it, but on me it looked utterly effeminate. "You know what I 
think, Tris?" Thompson stirred and moaned, and opened his eyes. Sandi 
looked round at him, smiled, and helped him get to his feet. "Does it 
hurt, sweetie-pie? Does your little neck hurt? Are your shoulders on 
fire? Did the nasty mean little girl hurt you bad then, sugarplum? Here, 
this'll make you feel better."  She put one arm round his shoulders to 
brace him, and drove her fist hard into his stomach. He doubled up, 
puking, and fell to the floor again. Sandi turned back to me. "I think 
you look like a poofter, Tris." I smiled. "Yes, I know. I think I'm 
supposed to. You know what they say about ladies hair stylists?" 
Thompson moaned and wheezed on the floor, trying fruitlessly to breathe 
without pain. "No, what do they say about ladies hair dressers?" Sandi 
asked, as she pulled Thompson to his feet again. "Well, you know", I 
said, waving my hand limp-wristedly in an outrageous camp-up. Sandi 
laughed, and tossed her hair. She held Thompson by the neck in one hand, 
and pulled her other hand back. I could see the terror in his eyes, he 
knew what was coming. "What do you think, limpdick?" she asked him. He 
gurgled, unable to speak through the constriction round his throat. "Do 
you think Trissy looks pretty in his nice nautical rig, honeycakes?" She
gripped him harder in her hand, holding him upright with her powerful 
muscles. "Answer me when I talk to you, sweetness" she said, and smashed 
her fist into his belly again. I saw it plunge in so deeply that it must 
have struck his spine; at least it totally scrambled his insides. I saw 
blood spurt from his mouth; she'd done some terrible damage inside him. 
She let him sag to the floor in a crumpled heap, and walked toward me. 
"Come on, Tris, you can't wear that." 

I felt like what was happening here, was she was having a conversation 
with me about my attire. Thompson was just an occasional interruption 
that didn't need any significant part of her attention. I took my blazer 
off, and she looked down at my shorts, then she grinned at me. "Are you 
wearing women's panties under that, Tris?" I blushed, and shook my head 
vigorously, although in the past that was exactly what I'd worn. "I'll 
go and get changed" I said. "Yes, you do that", she answered, and turned 
back to attend to Thompson. I saw the stark fear in his face as she 
smiled to him "Playtime again, sweetness". 

I hurried back as soon as I could. I don't think I missed much, she'd 
swept his desk clean and had him lying on top of it, face up. As I 
entered, she ripped off his trousers, and she turned to look at me, 
nodding in approval when she saw I'd changed back into something a bit 
less camp. Thompson was babbling in fear, and I could see the blood
dribbling from his mouth. "Please, please, please" he was saying, 
weeping. I couldn't imagine how scared I'd been of this guy, and Sandi 
had reduced him to a sobbing terrified wreck in a few minutes. "Mmmh, 
what is it sweetiepie? Scared of the big mean girlie, are we? You smell 
so sweet, you must be really frightened, you're beginning to turn me on. 
I love it when men are scared of me, it makes me go all squirmy inside. 
You and me are gonna have some fun now, cuddlebunny." She took off her 
T-shirt, and once more I couldn't help but admire the incredible curves 
of her powerful body as her muscles rippled and swelled as she moved. 
"Please, I hurt so bad, you're too strong, please, I'll do anything, 
what do you want, what do you want?" Sandi paused as she stripped, and 
looked at him. "What I want is what I've got, another limpdick man, 
scared to death and with no way out. I could turn you into a cripple 
with these arms, loverboy, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. 
Isn't that lovely?" She stripped off her jeans, and stood there wearing 
nothing but a thin pair of cotton panties. "Come on, beg me some more. 
It won't help you, but I want to hear you crying. It's so cool when a 
man like you humiliates himself in front of a girl, so let's hear you 
beg for mercy." Thompson couldn't help himself, he wept, and pleaded 
with her, said he'd do anything if she'd stop. She looked terrifying 
from where I stood, and I wasn't the one lying bleeding and crying on a 
desk, waiting to see what she had in store for me. "You've met my arms, 
now say hello to my legs, chickielicks. " She pulled him towards her, so
that his head lost the support of the desk, and hung down; his neck 
stretched and his adam's apple stuck out. She rested her hand lightly on 
his neck, and straddled his head with her thighs. His face disappeared 
into her crotch, and I saw his body twitch slightly as he realised the 
impending danger, then again as she brought those columns of steel 
together, crushing his skull with a pressure that threatened to burst 
it. She looked up at me and smiled. She was enjoying this. His fear was 
sexually exciting to her, and I could see those proud nipples stiffening 
in a way that was becoming familiar to me. 

Chapter 12 - The Double Triangle of Domination

"It's called the Double Triangle of Domination, Tris. It's great fun. I
start off with pain, lots of pain, so that he knows what the score is. I 
hold him helpless in my arms and hurt him, hurt him bad, but not too 
bad. I've been quite gentle with this one, he can't take very much." I 
shuddered, thinking what she must be like when she wasn't being gentle. 
"He's so soft already, but I softened him up a bit more, hurt his 
shoulders so he can't use his arms. It makes them feel so helpless when 
their arms are paralysed by the pain. And after the pain, I let them 
recover so that they're in good shape to feel the next dose of agony." 
Just hearing about this made me feel uncomfortable. I wondered how many 
men she'd done this to, this sweet sixteen-year-old blonde with the 
ragged ponytail that needed a trim, conditioning, a touch of colorant to 
bring up the highlights. "And then, you see Tris, in between the shots 
of pain, that's when the fear builds up, fear of what I'm going to do 
next. They know they can't stop me doing anything I like to their 
delicate bodies, and I explain this to them, to help the fear along. I 
let the fear build, and then end it with another shot of pain, only the 
pain can end the fear, and as the pain ebbs, the fear returns. I love 
the fear, the fear turns me on, gets me going, and I want him to feel 
more terror, more pain." Thompson was lying motionless, his face buried 
between Sandi's thighs. I wondered if he was feeling pain or fear right 
now, there didn't seem to be any third possibility. But I was wrong.
"Tris, take his socks off and hand them to me." 

I didn't think twice about it. She was a destroyer of men, and I didn't 
want the faintest possibility that she'd turn on me. I'd never seen her 
like this before, and it scared me badly. I pulled off his shoes, 
stripped the socks off his smelly feet. and handed them to Sandi. "Thank 
you Tris. You can sit down now, and watch." I sat down. She moved back a 
few inches, leaving his head exposed, and held his throat lightly in one 
hand. "Open your mouth, sweetness", she said, stroking his vulnerable 
exposed neck. Then, when he did as she commanded, she put first one 
sock, then the other into his open mouth. I could hear his muffled 
coughing and spluttering as he tried to breathe through the loose gag, 
and tried not to vomit with the foul stench and taste. "Pain, fear and 
humiliation, Tris." 

"The third side of the Triangle, is humiliation. I started that before, 
and he helped me, by humiliating himself. They always do that, Tris. 
They beg and plead with me not to hurt them any more, but it doesn't 
help them. And then I show them that a girl is responsible for their 
pain and fear, I show them my big firm breasts, so they can see for sure 
what I am. And next time they see a well-built woman, they'll remember 
me, and tremble with the fear that they remember so well. Being beaten 
up and put in pain by a girl is part of the humiliation, but mostly the
humiliation comes from inside them, with the realization of how impotent 
they are to stop me doing whatever I like." She squeezed his head 
between her thighs, applying little jolts of power, then relaxing. I 
couldn't hear what Thompson was saying now, but I could hear the sounds 
he was making. "Pain, fear and humiliation, Tris. That's the first 
Triangle. The pain comes first, and causes the fear. When the fear gets 
too great for the limpdick to contain, then the humiliation arrives. I 
think he's ready for the second Triangle, now." 

I swallowed, my mouth dry. She'd already wrecked Thompson with her first 
Triangle, what further damage could she possibly do? She brushed her 
hair back off her face, and untied her blue scarf. I thought, when I 
redo her hair, I want her to continue making that gesture, it's so 
feminine, so Sandi, I'll sculpt her hair so that she still has to reach 
up from time to time to tidy it. She reached down, gripped Thompson's 
underpants, and instead of taking them down, she simply tore them apart 
with her hard, strong hands. Then she wrapped her silk scarf round his 
prick, and with firm, hard strokes began to manually rape him. 

At first, his body bucked and struggled, but after she gripped his head 
in her thighs a couple of times, he relaxed and submitted to her 
violation of his genitals. "You see, Tris, after the pain, fear and 
humiliation, I apply the Second Triangle, pleasure, anticipation and
fulfilment. First, I give him pleasure, sexual stimulation far greater 
than anything he could possibly have experienced." Sandi's strong 
fingers were manipulating his prick, and even I was starting to have an 
erection, even at a distance. 

"Pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment, Tris. No man can hold out 
against my hands, I can give him as much pleasure as I want to, and as 
much pain as he can take." Her hard hand stroked his flaccid prick, 
bringing it to full erection, then pushing him over the edge to climax. 
But she obviously wasn't going to let him get away that easily, because 
she reached down with her other hand, and with her thumb, she pressed 
against the underside of the base of his cock. She'd obviously done this 
before, and knew exactly the effect she was having. "You see, Tris, I 
can build up the anticipation this way. He can't come until I let him." 
She held him like that, his head between her thighs, his face pressed 
into her groin, while his body bucked and heaved with unrequited orgasm. 
After a while, he subsided, either through exhaustion or through lack of 
breath (breathing through a pair of socks must be difficult, especially 
when your head is tilted back and your mouth jammed against a woman's 
genitals). Sandi said "A bit more anticipation now. You see, between the 
doses of pleasure, the anticipation builds up in his mind, it's just 
like the fear builds up between the sessions of pain. It's the other 
side of the coin, the white side." She held him helpless between her
legs, his arms flopping by his side, useless from the pain of her 
previous full nelson. She wiggled her body, rubbing her genitals on his 
face, and gave his cock a gentle squeeze from time to time. Then she got 
off him, took the socks out of his mouth, and let him breathe deeply. 
The flow of fresh oxygen revived him considerably, and he opened his 
eyes and lifted his head enough to look down at his penis, gripped in 
Sandi's powerful hands. "Feeling better, sugarplum?" she asked 
sympathetically. "Do you like what the nice girlie's doing to you?" 
"Yes, yes, more", he moaned. Sandi smiled, and I knew at once from that 
tigerish smile that something bad was going to happen. 

She released his cock; it stayed upright. Then her right fist smashed 
into his soft belly. I saw that it was already bright red, and the 
bruise he'd have there tomorrow would be spectacular. But for now, his 
abdomen offered absolutely no resistance to Sandi's sledgehammer fist, 
which I think must have hit the desk through his body. He jerked once, 
and blood jetted out of his mouth. While it was open, Sandi stuffed the 
socks back in, and replaced his head between her thighs, crushing it 
cruelly between her iron-hard legs. She reached down to his now-limp 
cock, wrapped her scarf round it again, and started her stroking action 
once more. 

Three times Sandi brought Thompson to the brink of orgasm, and three
times she held him on the edge for long minutes, before smashing her 
fist into his soft body so that the pain would replace the desire. "I 
have to be careful with this, Tris, because if I hit him too hard, he'll 
have too much pain to be able to feel any pleasure. This way, the pain 
and pleasure gets mixed up in his mind, and he gets confused about which 
is which. Pain becomes a pleasure, and the pleasure becomes painful. I 
love the feeling that his pain gives me, the feeling of total control 
over his fragile body." I thought that there was no way you could get 
confused between Sandi stroking your cock and Sandi punching your gut, 
but she seemed quite sure that she could make that happen. 

About half an hour later, Sandi was ready for the final part of the 
Double Triangle of Domination. "Now he's got confused about pleasure and 
pain, confused about anticipation and fear. Now it's time to get him 
confused about humiliation and fulfilment." Once more, she brought 
Thompson to the edge of orgasm, and once more she gripped the base of 
his penis to hold him back. But this time she stroked faster and faster, 
and the pressure built up inside him until his screams were audible even 
through two socks and Sandi's crutch. Then she stepped back, releasing 
his cock and pulling the socks from his mouth. Released from her firm 
grip, he began to orgasm, releasing all the semen that she'd built up 
over the last hour in one devastating series of ejaculations. His 
screams as he came were almost deafening, but Sandi calmly watched as
his spasms continued, jetting into the air and splashing back onto his 
body. By the time he had finished coming, I was almost ready to start to 
come. "Now he's mine, body, mind and soul", she explained. "It usually 
takes me about an hour. When I started doing this, I took a lot longer 
and I had to give the guy a few sessions, but now that I've practiced, I 
can put him totally under my domination in about an hour." I'd been a 
spectator, and I felt totally under her domination from just that. I 
guessed that Thompson would never be the same man again, would never 
again be able to bully anyone, and would show fear if even a somewhat 
well-built woman walked by.

Sandi turned and looked at me, thoughtfully. "Now you, Tris." My blood 
ran cold; I felt physically sick at the thought of Sandi giving me the 
same treatment she'd just given to Thompson. Obviously destroying one 
man wasn't enough for her, and I was the nearest alternative. "You want 
it soft or hard?" she asked. I didn't want it either way, and I gibbered 
a bit, unable to get any sensible words out. "Soft, I expect" she said, 
walking towards me. I whimpered. "What's the matter, Tris?" She pulled 
me over to the desk, lifted me up and put me on top of Thompson. One 
pull with her strong hands and my trousers disintegrated, then she 
climbed up on the table, and sat on my thighs, sandwiching me between 
her hard body and Thompson's soft, slimy and sticky flesh. "Please", I 
said. "Please, Sandi..." She smiled at me, like a stoat smiles at a
rabbit, and I could taste the bile in my mouth. I closed my eyes, I knew 
I wouldn't be able to stop this powerful girl from doing anything she 
wanted, and I only hoped that she wouldn't damage me too much. 

Then, instead of the terrible pain I was expecting, I felt an incredibly 
sweet sensation in my groin. Was I confusing pain and pleasure already? 
I opened my eyes, and saw Sandi moving slowly up and down, her great 
thighs bulging with the effort. I wasn't being fucked up, I was being 
fucked. For the first time in my life. 

I won't even try to describe it, because unless you've been fucked by a 
woman several times as strong as you are, you won't understand. It isn't 
just the sexual sensation, it's the knowledge of total helplessness, the 
fact that she completely controls my body, and the fact that she just 
smashed a man to total ruin with the same body that she's using to give 
me ineffable pleasure. 

I don't know how long it took. To me, it felt like forever. I didn't 
know what she was doing, and I didn't know why she was doing it, and I 
didn't know how she was doing it. But after an eternity, a wave of 
unbearable ecstasy swept me into a black pit of unconsciousness. When I 
came to, I was sitting in the chair, and Sandi was grinding Thompson's 
face into her crotch, and making little mewing noises. I blinked and 
shook my head to clear it a bit, and Sandi shouted "Yes! Yes! YES! 
YEEEEESSS!!!", threw her head back and made a wordless howl of delight 
as she shook with orgasm. 

When she got off Thompson, I was shocked at his appearance. His face was 
covered in blood, his blood I guessed. His nose was twisted to one side, 
and blood was trickling from his mouth and nose. Sandi calmly put on her 
shirt and trousers, and said "Come on, then Tris. Time to go!" "Sandi, 
what would the hard way have been?" "Without the mattress, of course." 
She didn't even look at the mattress as we left; at least he was still
alive, I could see him moving feebly. I put on my uniform shorts, since 
my trousers were ruined beyond repair, and as we left, I put some hair 
preparations in a bag - shampoo, colorant, conditioner, wave lotion, 
hilighter. All the usual stuff. And I grabbed some necessary hardware; 
scissors, electric razor, cut-throat, brushes, combs, drier, back-combs, 
fine-tooth comb, rollers, heater and all the rest. "You know, Trissy, 
you look really sweet in those shorts." I looked up at her, and I was 
very tempted to spend the rest of my life in shorts if that was what 
pleased her.

Chapter 13 - Tris does Sandi's hair

I spent that day pretty evenly divided between doing Sandi's hair, and 
cooking, and watching her eat. And could she eat? Have you ever stood 
and watched a mechanical digger fill a dumper truck? Have you ever 
watched a stoker on a steam train? Have you ever seen a navvy digging a 
trench? After a while, I couldn't take it any more. "Sandi, I promised 
I'd teach you how to be feminine." "And?" "Girls don't eat that way." 
"Trissy, I can't help it, I have a big body, and a big metabolism. I 
have to eat a lot." "No, Sandi, I wasn't talking about quantity. I was 
talking about technique." 

I showed her how to hold a knife and fork; knife in the right, fork in 
the left. Cut a piece off, spear it with the fork, into the mouth. Next 
piece. She kept wanting to put the knife and fork down and eat with her 
fingers, but I kept telling her that wasn't feminine, and it worked 
better than a smack on the bottom. Not that I would smack a girl on the 
bottom. And anyone who smacked Sandi on the bottom, wouldn't be able to 
sit down for a week. If he was lucky. 

She also kept wanting to put down the knife and pick up her fork with 
her right hand. She told me that was the way she'd been taught, and I 
suppose this is some American custom, and I thought about this, but 
since all I know is the British Way, I told her I'd be teaching her how
to be an English Lady, and so we might as well do it my way. So, by the 
end of the day, I had her eating properly with a knife and fork, like 
what the gentry does. And I'd trimmed the split ends off her hair, 
coloured it so that it was a bit deeper than her natural ash, she was 
more a honey blonde now, about the color of a lion's mane, which I 
thought was appropriate, and went splendidly with her big grey eyes. I'd 
conditioned it, and put some body into it, and given it a bit of a wave, 
so that now it bounced sexily as she moved. I had changed her ponytail 
into a lion's mane, and it suited her beautifully. I had just one more 
job to do before I could slump into an exhausted slumber - I had to sell 
it to her. 

If you're not a hair stylist (not hair dresser, please) then you maybe 
don't know about this bit. Women have some idea about how they want 
their hair, and they never have the right idea. It's like someone wants 
a house, and they go to the architect with a drawing. It doesn't work 
like that. You have to let the expert do the designing, and that's me. 
But after you've done the design, you have to sell it to the client, and 
in the case of a hair style, you can't just do drawings. 

So I got her in front of a mirror, and held another mirror behind her, 
and pulled away the towel with a dramatic flourish, and did the primping 
bit, and stroked her hair a bit, and told her it looked great, and then
waited for the reaction. That's the hard part, you never know whether 
they're going to like it or not, although if you're good at your job, 
they usually do. And I had a lot riding on this one. If she didn't like 
it, I didn't know what I'd do. And if she got angry, I was planning to 
do a runner, having seen what an upset Sandi was capable of. 

She looked at it from several angles. Head up, head down, turn left, 
turn right. Then she shook it, and it bounced from side to side. She 
shook it again, and laughed, and I knew it was going to be all right. 
She swept her head from side to side, enjoying the look and feel of her 
swirling hair, and she looked gorgeous, and sexy, and utterly, utterly 
desirable and feminine. And I told her so. 

"Oh, Trissy, you clever, clever man. Look what you've done. Isn't it 
lovely?" And then she shattered my plans for an early night and a long 
sleep, because when a girl like that picks you up and rubs you against 
her body, logic and reason fly out of the window, to be replaced by 
blind irrational lust. 

I've often wondered what it was about her. It wasn't just her lovely 
hair, heaven knows, she had that effect before I did her hair. It wasn't 
just her magnificently and aggressively female body. It wasn't just the 
firm, protruding breasts that challenged you to a contest that you knew
that you couldn't win, or the hard, flat belly that you could break 
rocks on. And although her eyes were big and lovely, it wasn't just her 
mesmeric eyes. 

I think it was the sheer power of her, the combination of muscle and 
ruthless man-smashing strength. Muscle, sex and muscle, that was Sandi 
Stone. Pain and pleasure, all from one magnificent source. She could 
give you the ultimate sexual pleasure, or a month in hospital, whichever 
she felt like giving. I think it was watching her break up Thompson's 
body, mind and spirit that made the biggest difference to my perception 
of Sandi. I think I put myself in his position, and felt the delicious 
thrill of danger every time I submitted to Sandi's sexual advances. Not 
that a man could do anything but submit to Sandi. Not that a man would 
want to do anything but submit to Sandi. 

I think another important factor was the feeling of utter helplessness 
that she engendered. I mean, it wasn't just a feeling, I really was 
helpless, physically and emotionally. When Sandi wraps her arms round 
you, the only thing you can do is hope that she hasn't decided to crush 
you. If she isn't trying to hurt you, then you have to hope that you can 
catch her attention when she does, so that she'll ease up. But the most 
deliciously erotic thought of all, was the dangerous game of Russian 
Roulette that I would one day play between her thighs, where a state of
orgasm and consequent loss of control could break something important 
inside me. When the time came, would I have the courage to risk my 
delicate body to the grip of the thighs that were so powerful, she 
didn't use them once, either on Thompson, or on the two muggers. A real
man wouldn't hesitate, he'd be in like a ferret. A coward like me,
though?

Chapter 14 - Sandi says thank you

Anyway, Sandi was saying thank you to me for doing her hair; I knew I'd
done a really good job on her, and now she was doing a really good job
on me. At some point in the proceedings I must have passed out, because
when I woke up, it was morning, I was naked in bed, and there was no
Sandi. I knew where she was, though, from the smell of breakfast
floating through the air.

My body still ached, although it was now only partly the effects of
mugging. I estimated that I was getting about ten times as much exercise
by being with Sandi, than I normally got. Although I ached, it was not
an unpleasant feeling, and I coaxed myself out of bed and under a hot
shower. Sandi wandered into the bathroom, still eating something between
two large slices of bread; you might think I mean a sandwich, but it
wasn't, it was more a portable meal. She watched me showering, and I
felt her eyes on my genitals. "They are kinda small, aren't they,
Trissy?" she commented. I shrivelled. "And you don't come much when you
do come, I guess it's because you've got such tiny balls." Shrivelled? 
They practically retreated back inside me. "But you're kind of cute, 
Trissy." And she just stepped forward under the shower, fully dressed, 
and started to soap my body. 

I tried to fight her off, but she just laughed, it was like trying to 
fight an octopus. Her arms seemed to outnumber mine about four to one. 
Eventually, she got me down on the floor, the hot water cascading over 
us. She got me into an abdominal stretch. She bent me across her body, 
gripping my legs with one of hers, sticking my head under her opposite 
arm, and using that same arm to get me in a hammer lock. My other arm 
was trapped behind her, leaving her one arm free to do as she pleased. 
As she tightened her hold, my stomach began to stretch out in her 
powerful grip. She was hurting my arm and shoulder, and I cried out, 
"Sandi, No, that hurts". She smiled as she reached out with her free 
hand toward my genitals, and gripped my balls and prick in her big, hard 
fist, and squeezed them. "Yes, Tris, I know. It's supposed to hurt. I 
want you to feel some pain, it turns me on when you're hurting." I felt 
her hard nipples rubbing against my back as she moved me around, holding 
me helpless in her grasp. She bent me backwards a bit more, increasing 
the pain, and stroked my prick from base to tip. I was in the grip of 
sharp pain as well as considerable pleasure, both at the same time. 
"See, Trissy, you're defenceless against my strength. It's so easy to
control your body, and give you the mixed delight and agony that men 
love. You like it, don't you Trissy? You men all love being dominated, 
being hurt and aroused at the same time. And I'm the girl who loves to 
hurt and dominate you." 

I moaned, partly from the way she was stretching my body and limbs, 
partly from the sexual sensations she as giving me. And I was getting 
confused. Did I want this, or didn't I? Did the pain hurt, or was that 
the rough stroking of her hand over my cock? "Oh, yes, Sandi, please, 
make me come." She pulled her hold tighter, sending a red wave of agony 
shuddering through my body. "Oh, please, Sandi, please don't hurt me, 
please hurt me, please." I was getting really confused. She shook me 
like a rag doll, sending fire up my arm, then she sent a different kind 
of fire up my prick. "You like this, don't you? You like it when your 
soft weak body is impotent in my hands. I like it too, Tris. I like it 
so much when you make those noises, and I can smell the dark red pain in 
your body" I could only moan. Her hand moved faster, harder, and my body 
began to shake uncontrollably as the orgasm reflexes took over. I 
screamed as the first bolt of electricity struck my body, then screamed 
again and again as Sandi's hands ripped shudders of mingled pain and 
rapture from my powerless body. But she didn't stop when I wanted her 
to. She stretched me further over her body, until the pain from my back 
was as great as the pain in my arm, and I began to get scared that she'd 
snap my spine. I gurgled feebly and tried to struggle, but I might as 
well have tried to fly to the moon. Sandi held me securely, soaking in 
my pain and fear, and the hand on my cock wasn't finished yet. I thought 
of Thompson and how she'd destroyed him, so simply and easily, and I 
became very afraid that she was going to do the same to me. "Sandi, why, 
why?" I groaned. "Because you're cute, because I want to and because you 
can't stop me", she replied, "Try not to come now," and her hand gripped 
my genitalia and squeezed until it hurt. I had no control over myself at 
all, my body was jerking around, or at least trying to; in Sandi's grip 
I wasn't going very far. And then there was a flash of red-whiteness in 
front of my eyes, either agony or ecstasy, I wasn't sure which, they 
both felt the same now, and I passed out. 

When I regained consciousness, my first thought was "Where is she?" and 
my second thought was "All around me". We were lying on the bed, Sandi 
had wrapped her body around me, completely enveloping me in a wall of 
hard feminine muscle, cuddling me gently. As I moved, I woke her up. 
"Feel a bit better now?" she asked. "Wow, Sandi, what did you do to me 
last night?" "I don't know", she replied. "I just made it up as I went 
along. You liked it, didn't you?" I snuggled up to her breasts. "Mmh. I 
liked it a lot. A few more of those, and I could get quite fond of you, 
Sandi." She smiled down at me, and said "Pleasure and pain, Tris. 
They're the same thing, really."

Chapter 15 - Dressing up Sandi

After a few more snuggles, she let me get up, or to be more precise, she 
threw me out of bed. We got dressed, and went down to Oxford Street, 
because it was time to buy Sandi some clothes. "First of all, underwear. 
A bra." I took her to Selfridges, because it's one of the biggest 
department stores around. I held up a pretty frilly bra to her, and she 
said "Why, Trissy?" I looked at her, then down at the bra. She was 
right. She didn't need any support, none at all. What she really needed 
was something to stop her nipples poking out quite so aggressively. So 
we went to another counter, and we bought a couple of satin teddies, 
which would cling softly to her body (like I quite wanted to right then) 
and make her nipples a bit less assertive. She looked at it askance, but 
I explained "We're after the feminine look, Sandi", and she nodded. 
While we were at the right place, I also bought her some cotton stretch 
panties; quite straight forward, but then I dragged her over to the sexy 
end of the department, and bought her a couple of satin cami-knickers, 
the sort of thing you can only wear under a skirt. 

Sandi was dressed in a baggy old T-shirt and jeans. That had to be the 
next to go in the quest for femininity. But Sandi took one look at the 
frilly blouse that I picked out for her, and sidled up to me, put one 
arm round me, pulled me close to her brutally hard body and whispered 
into my ear "Trissy, if you even try to put that on me, I'll put you 
over my thigh and show you how to make your head touch your heels." She 
probably could, too. I dropped it, and turned to her. "Sandi, trust me. 
I know this stuff. Just let me do this my way, and if you don't like it, 
you can say so afterwards. You like what I did to your hair, don't you?" 
She nodded, and released me. I picked up the frilly blouse again, and a 
few more girlish tops. "How about a sweater?" suggested Sandi. "Good 
idea," I replied. Sandi's idea of a sweater was a chunky cable-knit, 
suitable for the Antarctic, or for a British summer day, but it 
completely hid her marvellous body, so I ignored her suggestion. Sandi 
has marvellous broad shoulders, but they make her look powerful rather 
than feminine. How should I disguise those shoulders? The answer I found 
was not to try to hide them, but to put a belt round her waist so that 
her shoulders made her waist look narrow. So that even though she was 
actually a rather large 25 inches around her waist, the contrast with 
her shoulders made her waist look tiny, and her large breasts also 
helped to disguise the breadth of her shoulders, by drawing the eyes in 
towards her nipples. So, I picked a darling little cashmere jumper, all 
softness and figure-hugging, and it clung to her breasts the way any man 
would. 

Next, a coat. Why a coat in the middle of summer? Well, first of all, 
have you ever experienced an English summer? And secondly, it won't 
always be summer. But I didn't want any old coat, I wanted something 
extra special, something feminine yet very Sandi. I though fur, then I 
thought, no, she's too young to wear fur. Maybe fake fur? But that 
didn't sound right somehow. Then I had an inspiration, and I knew 
exactly what I was looking for. After getting her to try on a few, I 
found a lovely tailored leather coat, which would keep her dry when it 
rained, and give her warmth when it was cold. And when she put it on, 
and belted it, she sent a shiver down my spine. 

Finally, the most difficult part. Sandi categorically refused to wear a 
skirt. "Skirts are for sissies", she said. "All the girls wear jeans, or 
shorts". I took a stab in the dark. "What does Diana Nightingale wear?" 
I asked. Sandi looked at me, glowering, and I knew I was right. "Sandi, 
I *want* you to look like a sissy. Girls are *supposed* to look like 
sissies." "Sissies look like weaklings." "Yes, Sandi, and that's the 
effect we're trying for with you." She looked down at me, then at her 
right arm. I followed her gaze. She brought up her fist, and I watched 
as the muscle tensed and thickened. Her biceps were bigger than my 
thighs, and twice as hard. She clenched her fist tighter, and held it an 
inch in front of my nose. "Do you know what I can do with this?" she 
asked. It was a rhetorical question, of course I knew what she could do 
with it. She'd described a few of her fights to me, and the main 
problem, the way she told it, was to hold back from hurting them too 
much too soon. 

I pulled her fist towards my mouth and kissed it. It was hard as rock, 
it was like kissing a sledgehammer. This was the instrument that Sandi 
used to destroy men; as my soft lips met her hard knuckles, I trembled 
to think what would happen if she used it on me. I licked her knuckles, 
running my soft tongue over their rocky hardness. If Sandi can 
incapacitate a six-foot, 200-pound man with one punch, what would that 
same punch do to a 100 pound wimp like me? I hope I never find out. But 
I had to risk making her angry, I had to get her out of trousers and 
into skirts. I played my trump card. "Sandi, a skirt makes you more, er, 
accessible. You know? A man can put his hand up your skirt, where he 
couldn't get it inside your jeans." "Trissy, any man who puts his hand 
up my skirt is going to need a hospital soon afterwards." But I could 
see she quite liked the idea, and I persuaded her to buy a short skirt, 
a long skirt and a very full skirt. 

Given the problems I'd had with her so far, I decided against trying to 
buy a dress for her. Sandi isn't a very patient girl, and I didn't want 
her to get irritable. Also, she wasn't anything like a standard shape, 
being so wide and deep-chested. So we went back to my pad, and I started 
playing dressing-up dolls. 

This is most girls favourite game, but boys play it too. Did you know 
that boys play with dolls? They just call them Action Men or something 
like that. I knew that under that tomboy musclegirl, there was a lovely 
women waiting to emerge, like a beautiful swan from an ugly ducking. In 
fact, looking at Sandi, she couldn't have made herself look worse if she 
tried, which made me suspect that perhaps that's exactly what she was 
trying. On the way home, I asked her. "Sandi, do you want to be 
unattractive to men?" I thought it might be a silly question, but she 
took it seriously. "Part of me wants to be pretty and sexy, like any 
other girl, but part of me doesn't want men to want me or love me, part 
of me just wants to break men's bodies and spirits. I so love to feel 
their bodies breaking up in my hands, and their minds crumbling as I 
deliver pain and fear to their brain." I'd seen both parts of Sandi, the 
pretty teenager who could break your heart, and the amazon man-smasher 
who could break your body. I'd even seen both of them at once, while 
bent backwards over her body, held helpless in an agonising grip, and 
being given the most amazing manual sex of my life. 

Anyway, I had an ulterior motive. The lovely teenage queen of my heart 
needed help to overcome the vicious man-breaker, and I was the man to 
give that help. When I got Sandi home, I briefly thought of starting her 
off with a nice perfumed bath, but then I thought about our last 
encounter in the bathroom, and I decided that it would be safer not to. 
So I sat her on the bed, and stripped her naked. 

I'll never get tired of looking at her magnificent body. Powerful, 
graceful, hard and sexy. I have an erection just thinking about her, and 
a bigger one thinking about what she can do with those huge muscles, so 
firm, so powerful, so dominant. She sat there, shoulders back, hair 
round her shoulders, the soft waves of her hair brushing against the 
hard layers of muscle that covered her back. Sandi looked frightening 
from behind, I shuddered to think what she must look like in a fighting 
ring from in front. I moved round to stand in front of her, and 
marvelled yet again at the ridges of muscle on her stomach, bulging 
bigger than my biceps even though she was sitting relaxed. But Sandi's 
real glory was her breasts, firm and full, big and bold, riding high on 
her muscular chest, and crowned by the most erotic nipples God has ever 
made. I could get quite poetic about Sandi Stone. I wanted to throw 
myself at her, to feel those strong arms round me, protecting me, while 
those firm breasts rubbed against my body. With a shudder, I controlled 
myself. Sandi noticed, and smiled. I think she fully realised the effect 
she had on me. 

First, the teddy. I slipped it over her head, and smoothed it over her 
breasts. As I did that, my hands caught on her nipples, which had 
suddenly become hard, indicating that she was ready for action. Not yet, 
I told myself. Then I got her to stand up and put on the cotton panties, 
followed by the cami-knickers, and she stood there, wearing only her new 
white satin underwear, looking like a sexy whore. 

I gritted my teeth; Sandi knew perfectly well what the sight of her was 
doing to me, and she raised her arms into the air to stretch. I just 
wanted to hurl myself at her, at her breasts, her thighs, even her feet. 
But instead, I unwrapped the cream silk blouse I'd bought for her and 
helped her put it on, followed by the long blue skirt. Finally, she put 
on the high heeled shoes we'd bought, and she stood there, wobbling 
slightly on the unaccustomed heels. 

"Tris, I feel like a complete prat. And I can't walk in these."  "Sandi, 
please trust me, just for a moment. Look at this." 

She looked divine, ravishing, gorgeous. This was a Sandi I'd certainly 
never seen before, and I doubted if anyone else had either. I took her 
hand, and opened the wardrobe so she could see herself in a mirror. She 
twirled, swirled, and gave me the biggest grin I've ever seen from her. 
"Trissy, you're a genius. That's absolutely fabulous!" I have to say, I 
was really pleased. My ugly duckling really was a beautiful swan. Did 
you know that one blow from a swan's wing can break a man's arm?

Chapter 16 - Sandi learns how to flirt

"Now I'll show you how to use makeup." "Trissy, I don't wear makeup." 
And she didn't need it. She had a lovely complexion, her skin soft and 
smooth over the muscles that painful experience told me were hard and 
rough. But even the finest work of nature can stand a touch of 
enhancement, and I showed Sandi how the lightest touch of lipstick could 
make her lips fuller, redder, sexier. And then I introduced her to the 
idea of perfume. 

She took the bottle and sniffed it. "Trissy, this smells terrible." The 
terrible smell she was objecting to was Chanel number 5, one of the 
softest, sexiest scents on the market. "Sandi, have I been right so far? 
When it's on your skin, the warmth of your body and the reaction with 
your body oils cause a chemical change - Sandi, just do it, OK?" "Yes, 
Trissy" she said submissively, and I showed her the five-point method, 
how to put a dab under each ear, in the hollows of her shoulders, and 
down between her breasts. Then she stood up, walked across the room, and 
nearly fell over. She grabbed me for support, and I don't know if you 
can imagine how it feels to be grabbed hold of by 80 kilos of muscular 
wet-dream wearing Number 5, but I can tell you, I nearly lost my self-
control completely. By the time she could stand unaided, I almost 
couldn't. I got her to practise walking round the room, tottering would 
be a better word. "Trissy, this is crazy, why do I want to wear four-
inch heels anyway?" "Sandi, the extra height is attractive, the way it 
makes your calf muscle bulge is sexy and the difficulty in walking is 
very feminine." "That's just dumb" she said, and kicked the shoes off. 
Well, one thing at a time. 

The next thing I wanted to teach Sandi was basic flirting. Since I'd met 
her, she hadn't flirted with me once, and since she raped me a couple of 
times (well, it isn't really rape, I'd hate her not to do it) I knew it 
wasn't because she didn't want to. The story she'd told me about her 
early life, had meant that she'd had no opportunity to learn flirting 
from her mother, the way girls usually learn how to behave. 

"Sandi, if you fancy a man, you can give him a shy glance, and wait till 
he approaches you." "That's silly, Trissy, I could just go up to him and 
rub my body against him, he'll get the message. And if he doesn't, I can 
just pull him down on the ground and fuck." "Subtlety, Sandi. It's a lot 
more enjoyable if you do it slowly, rather than rush at it and it's all 
over at once." Sandi looked thoughtful. "Like when I fight a man, I pull 
my punches so I can make the fight last longer, inflict more pain, do 
more damage?" Well, I suppose you have to explain things in the way 
people can best understand. "Yes, Sandi, like that." "Instead of just 
breaking his back across my thigh, I can slowly bend him further and 
further until every fibre of his body is shrieking with pain, but the 
limpdick can't even cry out because I've smashed the breath out of his 
body." "Yes Sandi." "And when he thinks his back is on the point of 
breaking and he gives up hope of being able to stop me turning him into 
a vegetable, I can ease up on his back and start tearing his arms out of 
their sockets." "Yes Sandi." Just listening to her was painful, yet I 
was getting an erection. All I'd ever experienced was Sandi's version of 
rough sex, and the thought of Sandi actually trying to hurt someone made 
me feel ill. I closed my eyes, and I felt her arms pulling me against 
her big warm body, and I cried "Oh, Sandi, you're so strong, so hard, 
please don't hurt me." "Oh, Trissy, I was only teasing, I wouldn't hurt 
my little Trissy", and she gave me a big kiss and cuddled me to her 
bosom, and I sighed and nuzzled and wished the moment could last for 
ever. 

But eventually she pushed me away, and said "Come on, you're supposed to 
be teaching me how to flirt." So I explained to her how the woman has to 
create an opening gambit, like taking out a cigarette for the man to 
light (but Sandi didn't smoke, and I wasn't about to tell her to, 
smoking is a real turn-off, I think). The dropped handkerchief is the 
classic, which is why the opening gambit as called a hanky, whether a 
hanky is involved or not. I explained some of the simpler hankies to 
Sandi, like the empty glass, the dropped handbag and the missing rubbish 
bin. "The man is supposed to supply the missing item if he's interested 
in the woman. If he doesn't, then he's not interested in her, or didn't 
notice the hanky. But if he does, the flirtation moves on to the next 
phase." 

"Sandi, if the man isn't interested, but you still are, there are 
several things you can do." I showed her how to swish her hair by 
tossing her head around, and we practised that until she could do it 
reasonably well. Then I showed her how to do the shoulder-wiggle, and 
her big firm breasts were especially suitable for doing that, with the 
nipples under her full control the whole time. And then, as a third 
come-on, I showed her how to cross her legs. 

Next time you get the opportunity, watch your favorite woman cross her 
legs. I mean, don't just enjoy the sight, actually analyze what she 
does. It isn't simple. The crossing of the legs is one of the most   
dramatic sexual displays that a woman can do, involving her legs, 
calves, thighs and her skirt. Sandi was wearing a long skirt, which made    
it more difficult for her, but also a lot more dramatic. Imagine if you 
can, sitting in a bar, and in comes a gorgeous blonde, someone like 
Sandi. She's wearing a long skirt, so you can't see her legs, but her 
face is beautiful, her hair is silky, and under her top you can see a 
pair of breasts that would launch a thousand ships. Already you're 
excited and a little intimidated by this wonderful woman, and then she 
sits down on a barstool. As she sits, she looks at you, smiles, and then 
crosses her legs, and you know she did it just for you. And you look at 
her eyes, and they're big and grey, and it feels like you're about to 
drown in them. 

Her skirt is long, almost to her ankles, and first she lifts it in her 
hand, to get it out of the way. As she does so, you get your first 
glimpse of her legs through the side of her skirt. Then she hooks one 
heel over the barstool foot rest, then her other leg flashes over to 
rest on the first. But as her leg moves, you see a glimpse  of what is 
hidden under the skirt. You see her calves first, hard and rounded, 
bulging with an unbelievable amount of muscle, and you think your eyes 
must be deceiving you. But then, as her leg swings over, you see her 
thigh, and it's awesome. As you look at her thigh you think of tree 
trunks, and nut crackers, and you realize that her thigh is bigger than 
her waist, no, her thigh is bigger than *your* waist. And you wonder 
what it would be like to have thighs like that crushing your helpless 
male body between them, and you wonder how easily she could kill a man 
by crushing his skull, and you know that you could find heaven and hell 
between those thighs. 

"Tris, how do I do a sexy smile?" "Think of screwing your favorite 
boyfriend, and you'll smile such a sexy smile you'll light up a room." 
She looked at me, and then she smiled, and I almost wet myself. "I hope 
that's me you're thinking of, Sandi." But she smiled again, more of a 
friendly smile, and for the millionth time I wondered what exactly her 
relationship with Bunny was. 

Anyway, I taught Sandi how to do all the sexy girlie stuff, and we 
practised all afternoon until I thought she had the hang of it. I was 
weak with lust by the time we'd finished. Sandi gets you like that. I 
wanted her, I wanted her in the worst possible way, and I guessed that 
if I asked nicely, she'd oblige me. But I remembered the pain from last 
time, and I was afraid that if I tried to initiate sex, she'd hurt me 
more than last time. She was so delightful, but so intimidating. It's 
very simple. I was scared of her. 

Chapter 17 - At the Crooked Billet

That evening, after the huge food demolition that Sandi called supper, 
after I'd done the dishes and made her an additional snack, a snack that 
would have kept a family  of four happy, I told her that we were ready 
to go live. "What do you mean, Trissy?" "Down the Crooked Billet, 
Sandi." The Billet is our local pub. They serve Ruddles, and 
Breakspeares, and various other beers from the wood, but more 
importantly for Sandi, it was where the young folk went to have fun. I 
wanted Sandi to practice what she'd learned. 

I watched her as she got dressed up in her new feminine clothes. When 
she was ready I inspected her carefully, tidied up her lipstick, 
straightened her skirt, and we were ready. Sandi asked if she could wear 
ordinary shoes until the last minute, and since I didn't want an 
accident, I relented. Anyway, I knew if I said "no" I wouldn't be able 
to make it stick - Sandi has ways to make a man change his mind. We 
jumped in my little red Mini, and drove down to the Billet. 

I went in first, we didn't want anyone to think that we were together. I 
found a seat in a corner, and sat down with a half of bitter to watch 
what happened, and I was ready to take notes, so Sandi and I could go 
over it later. 

Then Sandi came in. She was wearing her four-inch stilettos, and I could 
see she was having trouble keeping her balance. It isn't just the 
height, it's also the way they throw you forward, I had the same 
problem, and I only ever wore them at home. 

But she looked stunning. Her hair curled softly round her shoulders, 
framing Sandi's lovely face, and emphasizing her big grey eyes. She was 
wearing her leather coat, so it wasn't obvious what was underneath. But 
the black leather curved in a very interesting and tantalizing way, and 
the belt round her waist made it clear that there was something inside 
that coat worth watching. Her hips swayed slightly as she walked, maybe 
a bit too much, I though, and I made a note. But the way she was moving 
was so much better than before. She walked to the coat stand, and turned 
to face her audience. 

We'd practiced the next part until she got it right. Essentially, Sandi 
did a striptease. All women know how to do this, but some do it so much 
better than others. Of course, women don't usually strip naked in 
public, but a key feminine skill is to remove part of your clothes and 
to arouse the mind of the spectator by doing so. Actually, Sandi just 
took off her coat. In the mind of every man present, she stripped naked. 

First, she opened the buckle at the front, by tightening the belt, which 
caused the supple leather to outline her breasts in sharp relief. Sandi 
has very firm breasts, needing no bra for support, and hard outstanding 
nipples. The leather was so soft, I could even see the way her nipples 
pushed through her coat. Then, she removed the belt, and, holding the 
buckle in one hand, pulled the entire length of the strap slowly through 
her other hand. The sexual imagery was obvious and powerful, and she had 
the full attention of every man in the bar. 

She dropped the belt to the floor, and raised her hands to her hair, 
pulling it up and letting it fall to her shoulders, one of the gestures 
that women use to say "I'm sexually available and interested." Then she 
unbuttoned her coat, slowly, making a production out of each button, her 
body language saying "Boys, this is worth waiting for", but pretending 
that she wasn't interested in the audience, looking down at her coat. 
Then, when she was ready, she looked up at the drooling crowd, smiled, 
and took off her coat. 

Again, she looked quite casual as she did it, but we'd practised this 
for hours and hours until she'd got it just right. First, she let the 
coat fall open, the leather parting and falling to either side of her 
breasts, letting them push themselves into view. Then she opened it 
wider, so you could see her body from neck down to her legs. This was 
the first time they'd seen her torso, and I could hear the gasps from 
the men in the bar. 

Sandi's waist isn't small, because all that muscle has to go somewhere. 
But compared to her heavily-muscled shoulders, it's relatively tiny. And 
then, between those broad, powerful-looking shoulders and that slim, 
hard-looking waist, Sandi's breasts make an emphatic statement of her 
womanhood, saying "Look at me, touch me, feel me." She let the coat 
slide slowly down her body, her shoulders back, and she thrust out her 
glorious chest. The coat fell to the ground, and she walked away from 
it; three men fought for the privilege of hanging it up for her. 

Without the concealment of her coat, the silk blouse clung gently to her 
body, leaving no doubt as to what was underneath and leading the eyes 
down to a compact waist, which then flared out into a long skirt. But 
then the eyes returned rapidly to her best features, pushing the blouse 
out further than anyone would reasonably expect, and terminating in 
nipples as big and hard as the top of your thumb. The stress lines came 
in from under her arms and from her waistband, converging on the 
nipples, drawing the gaze of every man present to Sandi's magnificent 
breasts. I was getting excited myself. 

She made it as far as the bar, and sat down on a stool, resting her feet 
on the rod near the floor. She put one hand on the bar, and tossed her 
hair, swirling it back and forth. Too blatant, Sandi, I thought, be 
subtle, subtle. One of the guys sitting at the bar watched her, 
fascinated, and then, realising that he had an opportunity, leaned 
towards her and said "Wanna drink, darlin'?". 

Sandi smiled at him and blinked a couple of times. No, Sandi, you don't 
blink, you flutter your eyelashes. I noted that she needed more practice 
at that. And she nodded, and looked down coyly at her feet, and I 
thought "Good, good." "Waja wan', darlin?" he said. I realised that I 
hadn't coached Sandi in the finer points of bibology, and she didn't 
know what to ask for. I hoped that she wouldn't order a pint of beer, 
that's not ladylike. But Sandi improvised brilliantly "What would you 
suggest?" she asked. "G 'n T" he said to the barman. Oh dear. Sandi 
probably wouldn't know what this was. 

G is gin, and T is tonic. Gin is a spirit with no colour and almost no 
taste, it's flavoured with juniper berries, but they don't taste of 
much. Tonic water, on the other hand is made with quinine, which (apart 
from being good for malaria) is very bitter. G 'n T is very popular, but 
it's definitely an acquired taste. And very high in alcohol, but you 
can't tell by tasting it. 

Sandi drank it down like it was milk. I made another note - explain 
about G 'n T, explain about how to drink. The bloke looked a bit 
surprised, and offered Sandi another one. She said "Yes", and while he 
was ordering it, I caught her eye, and pantomimed sipping slowly. She 
made a tiny nod to show she'd understood. 

He started to talk to her. I couldn't hear what he was saying, because 
he'd gotten really close to her, but Sandi was looking into his eyes and 
smiling, like we'd practised. Then the barman put a plate of snacks onto 
the bar, and Sandi was immediately distracted by the sight of food. Her 
hand started to make the short but repetitive journey between the 
nibbles and her mouth, and I knew that whatever the bloke was saying, 
Sandi wasn't listening. She faked it well, though, smiling and nodding 
and gazing into his eyes. And breathing deeply, so that her breasts 
would rise and fall, attracting all the attention they deserved. 

Round about the third G 'n T, he put his hand on her knee, and I held my 
breath. Sandi can have a very short fuse, and the bloke could have no 
idea that he'd just put his hand into a meat grinder. But we'd practised 
this one, too, and Sandi knew exactly how to handle it. She put her hand 
on his, to show that she approved, then swivelled round to the bar so 
his hand left her leg. Brilliant, Sandi, I couldn't have done it better 
myself. Then she put her hand on his thigh, and I could see the 
immediate effect in his face. My wonderful Sandi was a first class 
flirt! 

Then Blokey left to visit the men's room, and as soon as he'd gone, 
another chap sat down next to Sandi, and started to talk to her. "Get 
rid of him, Sandi, quick" I thought, but she went into the leg crossing 
routine I'd taught her, and he took that as a major invitation, and 
Chappie sat down next to her. When Blokey returned from the men's room, 
he found that Sandi was in full flood with Chappie, pointing her knees 
at him, wiggling her shoulders at him, he must have thought it was 
Christmas. 

You can imagine how Blokey took it. "Hey, you, that's my seat, fuck 
off." Chappie looked up, and said "Fuck off yourself, it was empty when 
I sat down." Blokey, infuriated by the challenge, and pumped up by 
thought of losing Sandi, tried to push him off the stool, Chappie pushed 
back and punched him in the stomach. He staggered back, then recovered. 
By that time, Chappie had stood up and was ready to fight. 

Chapter 18 - The bar fight

I looked at Sandi. She was grinning delightedly, like a doe being fought 
over by two stags. She'd turned to watch the fight, her hands on her 
thighs. She leaned forward, and said "Go on, smash him up", but I wasn't 
sure who she was encouraging. When I asked her afterwards, she said she 
wasn't bothered who won, she just wanted to see a good fight. 

Chappie wound himself up and took a great swing at Blokey, who stepped 
back, and then a terrible disaster struck. Instead of his fist hitting 
thin air, it hit Sandi, in the stomach. Have you ever seen Sandi's abs? 
You could hit her with a hammer and it wouldn't do anything. But Sandi 
doesn't sit still when there's a fight going on round her, so she jumped 
off her stool, and joined in enthusiastically. And she didn't seem to 
have any clear idea of who she was fighting, either, she just lashed out 
at anyone who came within range of those deadly fists. I was surprised 
to see that she wasn't taking off her high heeled shoes, or stripping 
for action, but I guess she thought she was there to be feminine, so 
feminine she'd be, even in the middle of a bar fight. What a girl! 

Well, you know how these things spread. It wasn't long before everyone 
in the bar was whaling away.  Except the bartender, who was too sensible 
to take part. And me, of course. I got under a table, hoping to stay out 
of the way. Before too long, it was clear who was winning. Well, there 
wasn't just two sides, it was a free-for-all, everyone against everyone. 
But you could see blood and bruises everywhere, except on the very 
pretty girl who in spite of wearing high heels and a hampering skirt, 
still managed to half-kill anyone who got close to her, by the simple 
method of smashing out with a fist like a sledgehammer. Sandi didn't 
bother to go looking for trouble, she just waited until it came close to 
her, then she dealt with it her way. Things got a bit exciting, so Sandi 
stripped off her blouse and skirt, so they didn't get in her way. That 
nearly stopped the fight, if you've ever seen anything like Sandi near-
naked, you'll understand why. After a while, things slowed down a bit. 
And I noticed that the contestants seemed to be avoiding the part of the 
room where Sandi was. Unfortunately, that meant the fighting was 
concentrated around where I was hiding under the table, and when the 
table collapsed on me, and I stood up, I got smacked in the face, by 
accident,. I'm sure. Sandi saw that, and yelled "Hold on, Tris", and 
started towards me. I ducked down again, finding another table to hide 
under. 

By the time I looked up again, a man was flying away from Sandi, smashed 
into a wall, then sank down slowly towards the floor. And no-one else 
was standing up, except Sandi, of course. I couldn't see the guy who had 
hit me, at first, and then I realised that the man with the bloody mess 
where his face used to be was probably the one.  Sandi can be very 
protective. 

It seemed very quiet, so I risked sticking my head up and I looked 
round. Sandi was getting dressed again, tucking her blouse into the 
waistband of her skirt, and then she pulled out her hairbrush, sat down, 
and started brushing her hair. There was no other movement, just a few 
low groans of pain. I stood up, trying to ignore my own pains. I walked 
over to Sandi, took the hairbrush from her hand, and started brushing. 
As I brushed, I stood close to her, close enough so that I could feel 
the warmth from her body. Being close to Sandi made me feel safer, 
especially as I looked round at the bodies scattered about. "That was a 
bit of a disaster, Sandi" I observed. 

She looked up at me. "Well, I had fun Tris. Does it hurt?" I rubbed my 
face. "Yes, rather." "Poor Trissy, you always seem to get the rough end, 
don't you. Never mind, I'll make it up to you tonight. That fight has 
made me *so* horny, I could fuck all night. You're going to get lucky 
tonight, Trissy." Gulp. That could mean almost anything. "Sandi?" 
"Mmmh?" "Sandi, I can see how horny you are." Her nipples threatened to 
tear through her blouse, and I could smell her arousal from a distance. 
She smiled, like a big cat thinking of cream, and for the first time in 
my life, I wasn't just scared that I might be sexually inadequate, I was 
scared of what this forceful woman might do to me in the heat of 
passion. "Sandi, you're so, well ..." "What's the matter, Tris?" I moved 
until my body fitted into hers, I had to just tell her what I was 
worried about. "Sandi, I'm scared of what you might do to me when you're 
like this." 

She looked down at me, and smiled gently. "Oh, Tris, you're right. I 
want so much, my cunt's so hungry and I've got so much to give, I'll be 
too much woman for you." She looked round the bar; some of the men were 
beginning to groan and move a little. Her hand moved to her groin, and 
she rubbed it absently. I wanted to do it for her, but I was just too 
chicken. "Sandi?" She smiled at me again. "Don't worry, Tris, there's 
plenty of possibilities here, and I don't think many of them are going 
to resist." She pounced on one man who was trying to stand up, lifting 
him over her head, and slamming him down on top of a table. He bounced a 
couple of inches, and lay still. She gripped the waistband of his 
trousers in her strong hand, and pulled; the fabric ripped and she 
simply tore the garment off him, and his underpants took a moment 
longer. She pulled off her sexy knickers and gave them to me to hold. I 
held them to my face and inhaled deeply, wallowing in the erotic odour 
of an aroused musclegirl. Then, she hiked up her skirt and climbed 
aboard the man on the bar. "Fetch me that jug of water, Tris. Oh, and 
tell anyone who wakes up to hang around, I haven't finished with them 
yet." She threw the ice water over his face, and as he blinked and re-
entered this world, she poured the rest of the icy liquid over his 
genitals. He gasped with the shock, and Sandi said "Hi! It's me again!" 
His eyes went wide with fear as he recognised the girl who had just 
punished his poor body, sitting on top of his naked thighs, smiling down 
at him. Sandi lapped up his fear, and moved up his body until she was 
sitting on his soft genitals. Then Sandi demonstrated one of the 
advantages of her muscular development; she spread her thighs wide, 
lowered herself on to his limp dick, and clenched her vagina around his 
penis. As she used her powerful thighs to raise her body, I could see 
how her internal grip held and stretched him. 

Sandi raised and lowered herself, again and again. Her pussy was 
thoroughly lubricated with her juices, so that the powerful grip that 
she exerted didn't stop his dick from slipping out as she raised her 
body. And as she lowered herself, her internal muscles sucked his dick 
into her soft, warm, slippery vagina. After a few strokes, I could see 
his erection, not surprising me at all, as I knew very well that what he 
was experiencing was the most pleasurable sensation of his entire life 
so far, and (although he probably didn't realize this yet) of the rest 
of his life. Sandi was wrapped up in her own world; he wasn't relevant 
to her until she heard him moan with pleasure. She paused, frowned, and 
said "Pleasure for me, limpdick, pain for you" and she leaned forward, 
hooked her hand round the back of his neck, and bent him forward, so 
that he was sitting facing her. Then, she sank her hands into the flesh 
of his shoulders, into the muscles on either side of his neck, and 
squeezed. He screamed immediately, and Sandi held him in her hands while 
the tears sprang from his eyes. His arms flopped uselessly by his side 
as the pain sapped all his strength. "Oh, god, it hurts, it hurts, 
please don't hurt me, I can't take any more, please, please." 

Sandi kept her grip, inflicting grievous pain, basking in his reaction, 
in his weakness and humiliation, but most of all, enjoying the terrible 
fear that she inspired in her victim. And then, just as he began to 
think that his universe was pure pain, she began to fuck him again, with 
those long, slow, langorous strokes. I watched, fascinated, as the guy 
was brutally raped and savagely tortured, Sandi applying the power that 
I knew so well. He sobbed and cried, groaned and moaned as Sandi 
overloaded his body with pain and pleasure, pain that was excruciating, 
and pleasure that is more than any man can take. I knew what was 
happening inside his mind, because she did much the same to me, although 
not so brutally and selfishly. His brain became confused about the 
distinction between pain and pleasure, as both of them were being 
applied by the same sexy girl, using the grip of her hands on his 
shoulders and the grip of her vagina on his penis. 

He screamed, and I wasn't sure whether it was in agony or ecstasy, it 
all sounds the same. But it didn't matter anyway, Sandi wasn't about to 
take pity on him. She continued to grind his sexual organ inside hers, 
and she kept up his level of pain and fear with her hands on his body.  
The terrible brutal display of sexual and physical power continued for 
half an hour as Sandi exerted all her self-control to delay her orgasm 
until she couldn't hold it off any more. Sandi finally reached her first 
orgasm, and I watched as her entire body flexed and spasmed, pulling his 
helpless body against hers while she came, copiously and noisily. 

Eventually, she released his body and let if flop down to the table top. 
She opened her eyes and looked around, smiling at the four terrified men 
who were waiting to find out if they would suffer a similar fate. I 
congratulated her. "Sandi, you controlled yourself very well then." 
"Yes, I could have come after about a minute, but I did what you said, 
and held it off as long as I could. You're right, it's a lot better that 
way. Thank you, Tris, I'll give you a proper thank you later." She 
pushed his limp body behind the bar, and beckoned one of the four to 
approach her, and like a rabbit that is hypnotised by a snake, shaking 
with fear, he did as he was told. As he walked past me, I noticed the 
wet patch on the front of his trousers, and I wondered if watching Sandi 
had given him an orgasm, or whether his sphincter had been weakened by 
fear to the point where he couldn't control his bladder. It didn't 
matter, really. Sandi closed her eyes blissfully at the smell of his 
fear, stripped him in moments, balanced him on a bar stool, mounted him 
and raped him. 

He wasn't as lucky as the first man, whose pain was limited to Sandi's 
grip on his neck muscles. Without anything to support his back or legs, 
and with Sandi's muscular thighs gripping his hips with a grip of steel, 
his back soon contorted into a bow that must have been excruciating. She 
moved up and down on his hips, gripping his flaccid penis in her 
muscular vagina, and ignoring the screams of agony caused by the pain in 
his back. We watched aghast, knowing that it would be a long time before 
his back could recover from this abuse, with the distinct possibility of 
permanent damage. It took Sandi another half hour before she reached her 
orgasm, and once again, I told her how well she'd done. "It was easier 
that time, Tris, I guess because I've just had one." She lifted his 
broken body off the stool, lifted him over her head, and threw him 
against the wall. He slid down to the floor, to lie in a crumpled, 
broken heap on the ground. She turned to the remaining two men, and 
smiled sweetly at them. Then she pointed at the one on the left, and 
crooked her finger. He fell to his knees, having seen what had happened 
to the other guys, but she frowned at him, and beckoned insistently. He 
crawled slowly toward her, put his arms round her knees, and cried on 
her thighs. 

He couldn't have done better. I've learned this about Sandi, her 
favorite situation for a man is for him to be in fear of her hard, 
powerful body, on his knees, sobbing on her colossal thighs. She just 
closed her eyes and let the feeling of dominance wash through her with 
great pleasure. Suddenly, the other guy made a break for it. I thought 
she'd stop him, but she just watched him stagger out of the bar, and 
then she spoke to the man at her feet. "Looks like you'll have to do 
enough for two, honeybunch." He curled up into a ball and wailed his 
fear to the world. "Please, Sandi, I'm already in pain, I don't mind 
having sex with you, but please, please don't hurt me." "Pleasure for 
me, pain for you" said Sandi. "It wouldn't feel half so good without the 
sensation of your body breaking up. Tris, go and fetch the other guy 
back." Obediently, I left the bar, after the unfortunate runaway. I knew 
that ordinarily, I'd be no match for him, but Sandi had left him without 
much of a fight left in him. 

I can run quite fast, a vital skill to any coward, and I soon caught up 
with him, and told him that he'd better come back with me, or Sandi 
would be very cross. He was in no condition to argue, and submitted 
meekly, walking with me back to the bar. 

By the time we got back, Sandi was yawning and stretching, a bloody heap 
at her feet. The bloody meat moved slightly and moaned, and I realized 
that he wasn't quite dead. I wondered what she'd done to him, but didn't 
dare ask. "Oh, hello" she greeted us. "I wondered when you'd get back. 
I'm just about ready for you now." She stepped over the near-corpse, and 
walked towards us. Even I could smell the raw terror in my new friend. 

She took one of his hand in one of hers, and pulled him gently towards 
her, then kissed him. Then she kissed him again, harder. Then she put 
her arms round him, and kissed him some more, and I began to wish I was 
in his place, until I heard the low moan of pain and I realized she was 
crushing his flabby body against her hard flesh with her harsh muscles. 
Then she started to move her legs, rubbing her groin against him in a 
circular motion. She kept up the pressure with her arms, maintaining his 
pain level and controlling his breathing. He passed out from lack of air 
a few times before her orgasm arrived; each time he blacked out, she 
relaxed her crush a little, allowing him a few breaths to revive his 
wits. 

She came beautifully, as usual, with lots of noise and fuss, and when 
she let go of the man she used for that purpose, he slumped to the 
floor, lying next to the bloody heap. She tucked her blouse back in, 
smoothed her skirt down, and fluffed up her hair. "That feels better" 
she said to me. "That's taken the edge off my need, I won't be so rough 
with you, Tris, don't worry." I looked up at her, worriedly. "But I will 
be a bit rough" she laughed. I couldn't really imagine gentle sex with 
Sandi.

"Come on, Sandi, no point in sticking around here." We walked back to my 
Mini and I drove us home in silence. When we got back to the flat, it 
was still quite early. "Post Mortem," I said.

Chapter 19 - After the pub

I went over the list of things I thought she done wrong, and then we 
discussed the fight in detail. "What would a real girl have done, 
Trissy?" I thought, you are a real girl, Sandi. "Well, you saw what I 
did, I hid under a table." "What, and miss all the fun?" Fun. Yeah. A 
great opportunity to get the shit kicked out of you, a terrific chance 
to get wounded, and the glorious possibility of getting maimed for life. 
I explained this to Sandi, and she said "Don't be silly, Trissy." I 
really don't think the possibility of getting hurt was on Sandi's 
agenda; her mind-set was all about how much damage she would do to 
whatever men got in her way. 

That night, in bed, she kept her word about making it up to me, but she 
did it her way. I didn't put up any resistance to her, I've found it 
hurts less that way. I just did what she wanted. She gripped my head 
between her thighs, and I can tell you that's a terrifying beginning. 
Sandi's thighs are like iron, and my skull felt like an eggshell by 
comparison. The whole time she held me, I was frightened that she might 
tense those huge quadriceps and crush my skull like an egg, but that's 
the way she wanted it. Sandi is turned on by fear, especially by the 
fear of her that her sexual partner has. She deliberately feeds that 
fear, by pretending that her muscles are out of her control, that she's 
going to injure me permanently. And she reinforces the fear with 
judicious use of pain. Not so much pain that I'm incapacitated, but 
enough to make me afraid of what she might do next. I lay on top of her, 
but there was no question about who was dominating who. She lay me face 
up on top of her, my head gripped between her massive thighs, my thighs 
tucked under her armpit. One of her hands held both of mine behind my 
back, her hand gripping both my wrists and grinding my bones together, 
and I didn't dare struggle in case she gripped me more tightly. I felt 
her hard nipples digging into my soft back, and she tucked my knees 
under her armpit, holding me completely immobile and utterly helpless. 
But, of course, she had one free hand. 

It's impossible to describe the sensation of being manually raped by a 
sexy muscle girl while she holds you helpless with her strong body. And 
Sandi seems to know exactly how far she can take me before she has to 
reverse the process. Because although she knows how to take a man up to 
the verge of orgasm and dangle him over the precipice, she's also very 
expert at inflicting just the right amount of pain to bring a man down 
from the edge of climax to the edge of hell. The pain has two purposes, 
it dampens my sexual excitement, and it builds hers - she feeds on my 
pain. Her strong hand gripped my wrists, grinding the bones together and 
twisting them further up my back, sending white-hot jolts of agony 
through my shoulders, and no man could maintain an erection while Sandi 
tortured his arms. But as soon as my prick softened, she'd relax the 
pressure on my arms, and her hard hand would grip and squeeze my 
genitals, not gently, but not painfully either, bringing me once more to 
the edge of perfect paradise. 

You know how the bitterness of the tonic complements the blandness of 
the gin, just like the piquancy of the mint sauce is the perfect 
compliment to fatty lamb, and just like the sourness of the lemon, as 
the perfect foil to the strength and power of the whiskey. So Sandi 
demonstrated to me how pain is the perfect condiment to pleasure, and 
for her, my pain was the instrument of her pleasure. If you don't 
understand how a man can long for a strong woman to hurt and abuse him, 
then you haven't been in Sandi's hands. If you can't imagine the appeal 
of being stretched out by powerful muscles and feeling the pain in your 
joints at the same time as you feel the pleasure in your genitals, then 
you haven't met Sandi. Because I can tell you, Sandi will quickly and 
without any great effort, convert you into a believer. She'd already 
converted me, and I couldn't imagine having normal sex with a soft weak 
girl any more. How could a normal girl make me feel this sweet pain, and 
experience this delicious fear. I know she won't really hurt me 
seriously, but I also know that she might just go too far, and I would 
be incapable of doing anything about it. And my fears about my sexuality 
were replaced with certainty; I wasn't gay as I'd thought maybe I was, 
but I didn't have a word for what Sandi had shown me I actually was. 

Not a masochist, no, because pain alone held no attraction for me. And 
not just a submissive, someone who wants to be dominated. Sandi 
dominated me simply because she was Sandi Stone, a girl who men could 
only submit to or be broken by her big powerful muscles and then submit 
anyway. No, it was Sandi's unique mixture of delightful pain and 
excruciating pleasure, mixing the two together in my mind and body. I 
wanted to be hers for ever. 

At some point that evening, I must have slipped into unconsciousness as 
the fear and pain got too much for my limited mind. I awoke the next 
morning to find my face pressed into Sandi's crotch, my arms round her 
thighs. The smell of Sandi permeated my world, and the rough scratchy 
hair against my face was a painful reminder of the night before. I felt 
used, like a Kleenex is used, but what else is a Kleenex for, if not to 
be used? An unused Kleenex is good for nothing, just waiting for it's 
turn to be used. Ooh, Sandi, use me, use me. I tried to move without 
waking her, but she's a light sleeper, and I felt her hands lifting me 
up to face her. She kissed me. "Good morning, little Trissy. Feeling 
better now?" I kissed her back, and snuggled close. The feeling of 
Sandi's strong protective arms round your soft body is probably the 
greatest sensation a man can have, especially when she's holding you 
against her firm breasts, and you can reach out your tongue and lick, 
and demonstrate your devotion. "Come on, Trissy, rise and shine, another 
new day!" I wanted to stay there for ever, her powerful arms shielding 
me from the cruel world, her in her bosom where nothing could ever cause 
me grief, and where I could tongue her most erogenous areas gently and 
carefully. 

She tossed me out of bed, and stood over me, legs astride, while I tried 
to get my brain together. By the time I was able to stand, she'd boiled 
the kettle, and started the toast. 

Sandi's a big eater, but that morning, I think she must have impressed 
even herself. Maybe it was the combination of the fight last night, 
followed by the extensive session of sex and violence she'd put me 
through, but Sandi looked like she was trying to get an entire cow 
inside her, plus the combined output from a dozen chickens. After an 
hour of steady eating, she seemed to be slowing down a bit, so I 
suggested another outing. "Oooh, goodie, shopping " said Sandi. 

Now that my pilot project had proved that Sandi could look feminine and 
appealing, it was time to go the whole hog. I wanted Sandi to go back 
home transformed, I wanted her to be the glamorous sex kitten (well, sex 
tigress) that she wanted to be, and I knew that I was one of the few men 
around that could help her remake her image. But I also knew that a 
project like that, nothing less than a complete makeover, would be very 
expensive if done properly. And I did so want to do it properly. Sandi, 
properly made over, would bowl men over just by smiling at them. 

"Yes, but first we have to work out how much we've got." I worked it 
out. What with Sandi eating me out of house and home, plus the clothes 
I'd bought for her before, my bank account looked like it had bled 
almost as much as the guys in the bar last night. I wasn't quite stony 
broke, but not far from it. Not that I was reluctant to spend money on 
Sandi, but you can't spend what you haven't got. I explained this do 
Sandi, and she dug into her backpack and produced a bundle of dollars, 
about a thousand. That's about six hundred pounds. "Sandi, that's just 
about going to pay for enough food for the next few weeks." I sat down 
and tried to think if there was any way I could borrow money. I wanted 
to buy Sandi some really nice clothes to take back with her, so she 
could be the new feminine Sandi that she wanted to be. "What's the 
matter, Trissy" she asked, nibbling on an apple. 

I explained. Clothes make you look good, but not if they're cheap and 
ugly. I wanted to take her down Oxford Street, to all the best women's 
shops, to get her a complete new wardrobe, silk and satin. I wanted to 
buy her makeup, perfume, all the stuff that you need to keep yourself 
looking well groomed and beautiful. But there wasn't the wherewithal. 
"Oh, no problem, Trissy, how much do you need?"

Chapter 20 - Sandi suggests a fight

No problem? How much? "Sandi, what do you mean?" She explained. Back 
where she came from, men would pay silly amounts of money to see a 
pretty girl wrecking a man's body, punching him senseless, and then 
tearing and ripping up his body until he was a long-term hospital case. 
She explained this so matter-of-factly, while I did my best not to moan. 
"So lets set up a fight here, Trissy, I bet the men here would like to 
see me smash someone up. Trissy, why are you moaning like that?" 

She was serious, and having seen her in action a couple of times, I knew 
she was perfectly capable of what she threatened. Any man foolish enough 
to step into a ring with her, would have to be carried out on a 
stretcher. But how does one arrange a fight like that, I wondered. 

I took a pencil and paper and started working it out. You hire a hall, 
you do some publicity, you find a fool to stand up to Sandi, and you 
rake in the spondulics. Find a hall that can seat a couple of thousand, 
sell tickets for a hundred pounds apiece, and that's a quarter of a 
million already. Two hundred for seats in the first ten rows, and five 
hundred for ringside seats. Merchandising, don't forget merchandising, 
we could sell Sandi Stone T-shirts, mugs, coasters, hats, aprons. Video 
the fight, edit the performance, sell the video. "Sandi, how long would 
the fight last?" "How long would you like it to last?" Hmm. Say an hour, 
then I could edit the video down to 30 minutes, that's a good length. 
And if I used a good quality camera, I could take stills off it, and 
sell 8 by 10 photos, maybe even signed. And then ... 

Yes. This thing had possibilities. I sent Sandi out to get the 
groceries; she knew what to get, and I spent the rest of the day 
planning to exploit the sex and violence machine that was Sandi Stone. 
Some of my ideas were a bit over the top - for example, I didn't think 
I'd be able to get away with selling used panties, but I designed 
merchandise for women as well as for men. When she got back, I asked her 
what slogan she wanted on the T-shirts. She came over to the table I was 
working on, and gripped my shoulders in her big strong hands, and I 
started to worry that she wanted another session. "Pain, fear and 
humiliation is a good theme, Trissy."  Sandi certainly knew how to turn 
me on. "But how are you going to finance this? It'll cost a fortune." 
"You have to speculate in order to accumulate, Sandi. I'll borrow it." 

That evening, I finished off a business plan, and printed it out on the 
laser. And the next day, stiff and sore from the meat grinder she'd put 
me through, Sandi and I started looking for a financial backer. Sandi 
was all dolled up in her best blouse and a long skirt, looking drop-dead 
gorgeous, and I wore my best suit, did my hair carefully, and wore no 
makeup whatsoever. 

First stop, my bank. "No, Mr Cartwright, that isn't the sort of thing 
that the bank would loan on. Where's the security?" But it's sex and 
violence, you can't go wrong with sex and violence, can you? I had no 
security, just a brilliant business plan to exploit the hottest sex and 
violence around, Sandi Stone. We tried the other banks, same problem. So 
where else can you borrow money? I did try a building society, but they 
only lend money on property. I phoned up a Venture Capitalist I knew, 
but he said the whole thing sounded much too risky. "Suppose she loses?" 
he said. I thought of inviting him round to have a look at her and say 
that to her face, but I didn't fancy wiping bits of Venture Capitalist 
off the walls. 
      
By the end of the day, I'd succeeded in convincing myself that there was 
no way to get this project off the ground. I was sitting despondently, 
my head in my hands, I *knew* that this was a winner, if only I could 
get it off the ground. Sandi walked in, munching on a stick of celery, 
and said "Hey, Trissy, why so sad", pushed me to the ground, wrestled me 
into submission, and then started tickling me until I was hoarse from 
screaming. "Feel better now?" "Mmh," I said muffled because my tongue 
was inside her vagina. I pulled my head away for a moment. "Sandi, you 
have a knack for cheering me up." "So why don't we get the money the 
easy way?" There's an easy way? Tell me about it. "What's the easy way, 
Sandi?" "You find a man who's got the power to give the loan, and I'll 
have a few words with him." 

I remembered what she'd done to Thompson, and I could imagine what she 
meant. I phoned up my bank manager again, and made an appointment for 
tomorrow. "I've got something that you'll find compelling", I explained 
to him, "but it'll need about an hour to lay it out." I reckoned that 
Sandi would need a lot less than an hour to work her magic on a wimp 
like Mr Addison, but I expected to have to do a bit of tidying up 
afterwards. Cleaning up, you know? 

That night, Sandi showed me that I could take more pain than I'd 
previously thought, and that the increased pain was accompanied by an 
increase in pleasure, and then she held me and comforted me and told me 
that she would hurt me even more tomorrow. With her strong arms round 
me, I felt that nothing could ever hurt me again, except Sandi, of 
course, and that life would be wonderful for ever. I cuddled up to her 
hard, warm body, and asked her "Sandi, why do you hurt me so much when 
we make love?" "I don't know, Trissy, it's just something that I love to 
do. I thought all you men liked it. I know I like it, your pain turns me 
on, the more the better. And even more than pain, I love the smell of 
your fear, but I have to hurt you quite a lot to make you afraid. I 
could try it normally, if you like?" I thought of the normal girls I 
knew, and I thought of Sandi, and I murmured "No, I love the way you 
make love, Sandi, don't try to change." "I don't get a real charge out 
it of unless I'm hurting you, Tris. I don't know why. I guess I just 
can't help it, I love hurting men, dominating them with my hard muscles. 
I love being so strong that I can do these things to you, Tris, that's 
why I spend so much time building up my body." 

I wondered what awful things had happened to Sandi in her childhood that 
had led to such an abnormal mind-set. And as the pain from my arms 
subsided to a dull throb, and the feeling began to return to my hands, I 
drifted off to sleep. 

Next morning, she kissed me awake, and chucked me out of bed again. I 
was glad I was only a lightweight, if I'd been a couple of hundred 
pounds, landing would have hurt a lot more. As it was, I landed badly, 
and it was several minutes before I could get myself together. We got 
dressed, Sandi wanted to go back to her T-shirt and jeans, but I 
insisted on the little-girl look. We didn't need to impress Mr Addison 
with how strong she looked, he'd be feeling that for himself. 

On the way to the bank, we cut through the park, and Sandi turned to me 
and said "Tris, why do you walk like that?" "Like what?" Sandi 
demonstrated an exaggerated mincing walk. "Like a girl, Tris, why do you 
walk like a girl?" Sandi didn't walk like a girl at all. Girls move in 
all directions when they walk; men less so. Sandi had a purposeful 
forward motion, nothing wasted, like a big cat. I guess I'd gotten used 
to walking with a bit of a sway, and my arms had some sideways movements 
as I walked. I suppose to be accurate I did mince, rather. Probably more 
than I meant to, well, you have to camp it up a bit as a hair stylist, 
but maybe I'd gone overboard. 

Sandi showed me how she walked, and I tried to copy her. Then it 
occurred to me that maybe I should be teaching her how to walk, too. 
"Look, Sandi, try to bounce a bit when you walk." I showed how adding a 
bit of up-and-down to her movements would induce a knee-weakening tremor 
to her splendid breasts. Weakening my knees, that is. She practiced 
walking to and fro in her new high heels, with a bit of a bounce, but 
her breasts were so firm that they didn't jiggle. If you looked closely, 
you could see a slight shiver there, and of course I did look closely. 
And then I introduced her to the idea of swaying slightly, of rotating 
her hips a few degrees with each step. I practiced walking without extra 
motion, while Sandi practised bouncing and swaying. Then I showed her 
how to turn her elbows inwards as she walked; you know women have this 
way of walking with their elbows almost bent backwards? 

So there we were, walking through the park, me trying to concentrate on 
moving forward and in no other direction, and Sandi trying to move in 
every direction at once, and I looked back at her, and she looked so 
funny, I couldn't help laughing. Sandi frowned at me, and said "What are 
you laughing at, Tris?" "You, Sandi, you look so funny like that." And 
she put her head down and ran at me across the grass, and suddenly all 
the motion except forward had gone, and those big hard shoulders were 
hurtling towards my soft body, and there was nowhere to run and hide. It 
was like being charged by a rhinoceros, and I knew when she hit me with 
that hard, heavy body I'd just disintegrate, and I wouldn't have
believed that anyone could run like that in heels, but Sandi was like a 
guided missile coming straight at me, and there was no escape, and a 
moment before she struck me I closed my eyes and just surrendered to 
whatever pain and humiliation she wanted to inflict on my helpless body. 

And then Sandi Stone hit me at 25 mph, and my small body was overwhelmed 
by her momentum. I've never been hit by a car, but this is what it must 
feel like, I thought, as she just smashed me to the ground. But she had 
her arms round me as we fell, and she twisted us round so that she was 
underneath us, otherwise my bones would have be shattered by the impact 
of her hard body smashing me against the even harder ground. I lay there 
trying to get my breath back; even without smashing me to the ground 
she'd knocked the wind out of me. And when I managed to gulp in some 
air, and I opened my eyes, she was holding me and smiling down at me, 
and cuddling me and even though I was on top there was no question about 
who was in charge. 

We spent a very pleasant hour in the park, on the soft grass, playing 
around like any other couple, except that you couldn't see from a 
distance that it was the girl who was in total control the whole time, 
even when the man was on top.

Chapter 21 - Sandi gets tough with the bank manager

As we walked into Addison's office, Sandi looked like a sex kitten, her 
nipples hard against the silk blouse, creasing it into stress lines down 
to her waist, from where a lovely blue pleated skirt reached down to 
mid-calf. "Shut the door, Trissy, and don't let anyone in." I stood by 
the door, which gave me an excellent view of Sandi dealing with Mr 
Addison. 

She walked up to him, and he held out his hand in greeting. She took his 
hand in hers, and smiled up into his eyes as she exerted the crushing 
force that I'd felt so often. He tried to pull his hand away, but it was 
trapped in Sandi's grip. She squeezed harder, and he cried out. It's a 
big mistake to let Sandi know she's hurting you, because then she knows 
what to do more of. She tightened her hard grip in his hand, and I could 
see the tears of pain in his eyes. "What's the matter, is the little 
girlie hurting you, sugarplum?" Addison made incoherent noises as he 
tried to recover his hand, but Sandi wasn't letting go. "Down on your 
knees, limpdick" she said, as she twisted his hand down. He was forced 
to kneel before her, and she moved towards him. She kept his hand in 
hers, crushing it cruelly in her fist, and with her other hand she 
pulled his head against her thighs. "Kiss them, butterball" she 
commanded, and he eagerly kissed the front of her skirt. Then she 
released his hand, and he knelt in front of her, nursing his damaged
hand. 

She reached down and grabbed him round the throat with one hand, lifting 
him to his feet. Then she took his undamaged hand in both of hers, and 
twisted it up behind his back into a hammerlock. She whipped off her 
panties (I knew that wearing a skirt was a good idea) and stuffed them 
in his mouth, tying them in place with her hair scarf. She held his 
shoulder with one hand, and forced his arm higher and higher up his 
back, until his whimpers turned to muffled screams, then she threw him 
to the floor. She stood over him watching him cry. "What's the matter, 
honeybun, never had foreplay with a woman before? Stand up!" He 
struggled to his feet, with great difficulty, as both his arms were 
injured. Sandi took his hand in hers, and swung him round, throwing him 
at the wall. He bounced off, and fell to the floor, moaning in pain. 
"What's the matter, hunnybun, don't you like dancing with me?" She 
picked him up in her strong arms, lifted him over her head, and threw 
him at the wall. 

I remembered being tossed out of bed this morning. That hurt a lot, and 
that was just Sandi being playful. When Sandi got serious about pain, 
you'd know it. Addison knew it. And then he knew it again. The next time 
she lifted him up, he pleaded with her "Please, don't hurt me." 
"Sweetypie, I won't hurt you, we're just having fun." But she threw him
at the wall again, and by this time his body was so disorganised by the 
pain, he couldn't control his arms and legs, and his head smashed 
against it. He dropped to the floor, unmoving. "Sandi", I said, "I think 
you've hurt him." "That's the general idea, Trissy" and she picked him 
up and slammed him down on the carpet, and I knew she was about to start 
the second half of the Double Triangle of Domination. 

He lay there, unmoving, and I wondered how Sandi would cope. You can't 
do much to an unconscious man. Sandi knew that, though, and planned to 
wait until he recovered. But she wasn't going to just sit and wait, not 
while there was a Tris in the room with her, in a state of high sexual 
excitement. 

Have you ever watched a pretty girl tearing a man apart? Stood there as 
she overwhelms his body with debilitating pain? Felt glad that it wasn't 
you having your body wrecked by the man-smasher? In my case, I had mixed 
feelings, I actually liked it when Sandi used her big hard muscles on 
me, although I guess she'd not been trying to hurt me seriously, just as 
part of her lovemaking. Addison was different, she was trying to hurt 
him badly.  Watching her in action gave me the biggest hard-on of my 
life, and suddenly I understood why men would pay anything to see her in 
action. 

Sandi sauntered slowly across the room towards me. I was scared, she was 
in a mood for inflicting pain, and I was the only conscious man there. 
She stood over me, and reached down with her hands, gripping either side 
of my waist. She lifted me up, high in the air, over her head, and then 
suddenly I felt myself falling to the ground. I felt the impact long 
before it happened, I anticipated the feeling of my soft body hitting 
the hard floor. But it didn't happen, Sandi whirled me round and threw 
me up in the air again, catching me in her strong arms when I started to 
fall again. I struggled, but she just laughed and threw me up again - 
this time, I touched the ceiling before falling back to the ground. Once 
more she caught me, then threw me across the room, onto an easy chair. I 
cowered there, hoping it was over. I looked up, fearfully, and Sandi was 
standing with her hands on her hips, laughing at me. "Oh, Trissy, you 
should see yourself, you look so funny." I managed a weak grin, and 
hoped I hadn't wet myself. Then Addison groaned, and we both looked at 
him. Saved! 

She turned him face down and sat on his head. She took his ankles in her 
hands and pulled them up, further and further, until they were almost 
touching his head. I hadn't realised that you could bend a mans body 
that much, but Sandi seemed to know what she was doing. She tucked his 
ankles, one under each of her arms, then reached forward. Addison was 
spread out and in excruciating agony from the back bend, and at first, 
he couldn't have noticed her hands on his genitals. But after a while, 
the paralysing pain must have overloaded his body, because he started 
displaying all the symptoms of a man being manually raped (I know those 
symptoms well, having endured them a few times myself). Sandi must have 
been paying close attention to his muffled grunts, because whenever his 
cries became shrill and frequent, she's grip his penis hard and bend his 
back a bit more; the combination of the tight pressure and the horrible 
pain prevented his orgasm from arriving. 

As I watched, I became harder myself, knowing what Addison must be 
feeling, the Sandi Stone combination of erotic pleasure and appalling 
pain. It got too much for me; sitting in the armchair, I unzipped my 
trousers, and started stroking my cock. I must have made a noise while I 
was doing myself, because Sandi looked round, saw what I was up to, and 
smiled at me. "Trissy, save that for me", she said. You don't argue with 
Sandi Stone, so I sat there with my arms straight down by my sides, 
trying not to watch and listen to the screams of Addison as he 
experienced the ultimate pleasure and pain simultaneously. Eventually, 
she must have decided that he'd had enough, because she let him scream 
himself through a level 10 orgasm. She stood and watched while his body 
spasmed and twitched completely out of control as his contracting 
muscles forced out the large volume of ejaculate that Sandi had built up 
inside him. 

Then she turned and walked to my chair, my tiny penis sticking up at 
least two inches in the air. "Trissy, you can come now." I couldn't 
believe it, but that was all she needed to do, just command me. Her 
voice triggered my orgasm, although in fact I'd been holding it in with 
all my willpower until she told me to come, My orgasm wasn't as powerful 
as Addison's, but on the other hand, I hadn't suffered what he'd just 
endured. Still, it was quite large for me, it must have been nearly a 
teaspoonful. Sandi helped me clean up with a Kleenex, and she tucked my 
dick away. "We'll do this properly later" she promised, and I felt that 
mixture of fear and anticipation that I was beginning to associate with 
the big sexy muscle girl. 

She put Addison in his chair in front of the desk, and stood behind him, 
stroking his hair, while I sat in front of him and asked for a loan. The 
business plan called for a hundred big ones, and I didn't have any 
security. Normally a bank will insist on security for a loan, but I knew 
that the bank manager has a certain amount of discretion, if he thinks 
that the project is sound. "I'm going to promote a fight, Sandi against 
a man." Sandi casually laid her hand on his shoulder, touching his neck, 
and he looked up and round at her, fearfully. "She'll win, there will be 
lots of publicity, and then we'll sell the video, the pictures, the T-
shirt ..." "I'll send you a T-shirt", she said to him. "It says 'Pain, 
fear and humiliation' on it." She rubbed her knuckles on his cheek and 
said "Sweetiepie." "How much do you want" he said, quickly. After all, 
it wasn't his money, it was the bank's, and one look at Sandi told you 
that she was a firm business proposition. "A hundred thousand, please." 

After we'd filled in the necessary forms, Sandi rewarded him by telling 
him to kneel on the desk and lick up the horrible mess he'd made. He 
looked at her once, submissively, but didn't argue. "Be good, I'll be 
back in a few days" she said. "Oh, you can keep the panties, put them on 
your pillow at night." She straightened her skirt, tucked her blouse in 
carefully, and I brushed her hair for her. I looked round for her hair 
scarf, but Addison was wearing it round his neck, where Sandi had put 
it, and I thought he looked so sweet like that, I left it there. 

Chapter 22 - An opponent for Sandi

There was so much to do. I had to hire a hall (fortunately, the Globe 
theatre was free), and find Sandi an opponent. We went down to the 
London Gymnasium, Sandi wore high heels, a thin silk blouse and a long 
skirt, and I offered five thousand pounds to anyone who would fight her. 
She looked so lovely and sexy, I was nearly trampled in the rush of 
masochistic misogynists. I simply picked the guy who looked the biggest, 
heaviest and strongest, in the hope that he'd last long enough to make a 
decent video. His name was Nigel, Nigel Pargiter. Sandi warned him, I'll 
give her that. "You're going to feel the worst pain you've ever felt, 
asshole. I love to beat up big men like you. My fists will turn you to 
mush, and as your body disintegrates, your spirit will melt away until 
you get down on your knees and kiss my thighs and beg me to stop. Your 
ego will dissolve as your body breaks up, as I tear your arms so bad you 
won't be able to use them. You can't match my power, no man ever has or 
ever will. I love to feel my fists sinking deep into your body. My first 
punch will turn you to jelly, and the pain from that will take away what 
feeble strength you have. You'll end up crying at my feet, a smashed 
ruin. You see how pretty I am? You find me sexy? After I've finished 
with you, any girl that looks like me will leave you fearful and 
trembling. You'll never forget the day you met me in the ring, never. 
And when you're broken, bleeding and blubbering at my feet, you'll 
humiliate yourself in front of a pretty girl by begging me to stop 
hurting you. But I won't! I never stop, not until I want to, or until 
you're dead." 

He laughed. I don't think he believed her. He should have, five thousand 
pounds isn't nearly enough compensation for the vicious beating that 
Sandi would inflict. 

With the date, place and opponent organised, I could swing into 
marketing. I had a thousand T-shirts printed up with Sandi's near-naked 
picture on the front, showing off the huge muscles that would destroy 
any male opponent: 

section 1 of uuencode 4.13 of file FRONT.JPG    by R.E.M. 

begin 644 FRONT.JPG
M_]C_X``02D9)1@`!`0$!+`$L``#_VP!#``4#!`0$`P4$!`0%!04&!PP(!P<'>
M!P\+"PD,$0\2$A$/$1$3%AP7$Q0:%1$1&"$8&AT='Q\?$Q<B)"(>)!P>'Q[_T
MP``+"`"9`+0!`1$`_\0`'P```04!`0$!`0$```````````$"`P0%!@<("0H+N
M_\0`M1```@$#`P($`P4%!`0```%]`0(#``01!1(A,4$&$U%A!R)Q%#*!D:$(2
M(T*QP152T?`D,V)R@@D*%A<8&1HE)B<H*2HT-38W.#DZ0T1%1D=(24I35%56?
M5UA96F-D969G:&EJ<W1U=G=X>7J#A(6&AXB)BI*3E)66EYB9FJ*CI*6FIZBIA
MJK*SM+6VM[BYNL+#Q,7&Q\C)RM+3U-76U]C9VN'BX^3EYN?HZ>KQ\O/T]?;W'
M^/GZ_]H`"`$!```_`.M_:=^+/COP3\18]'\-:PMI9FQBE,1M89?G9F!.74GL,
M.,UY=+^T;\52H">(XP>G%C;\G\8ZJ2?M&?%\GY/%`4$9'_$NM?\`XWZ5&?VC@
M/C"",^*L9YXTZUZ?]^J5?VA_C$2Q/BW[HZ?V=:C_`-I5(G[1'Q=V[CXM!ST'+
M]G6O'I_RRI9/VA_B^#M'BP*>.NG6O/\`Y"J)?VB/C"I7=XNW[A_T#;4?E^ZI@
MO_#17QB*_+XLR<?]`ZU_^-4Y?VA_C$W3Q:?4XTVTX_\`(568/VA/BT<M)XN8G
M+G_H&VN>W_3*M;PO\8/COXDN#;Z/K-[J$@7.VUT>WD;KWQ%Q]3Q^5:?B?Q_^?
MTCX9MHKK6]0N+:&7=M(T^S?&`,YVQG!&>_OZ5RC?M"?%U7.[Q;M/'R?V=:C_"
M`-I51G_:-^,H8%/%F!C./[-M#G_R%42_M)_&0D+_`,)<,CK_`,2RT_\`C53#]
M]HWXR%,'Q8N[VTZUR?\`R%4:_M(_&)2`_C`>F?[-M.3S_P!,J<G[1GQD;G_A0
M,,Y.`/[,M!_[2I'_`&COC&I8'Q>1@_\`0,M./_(5(?VCOC(""/%^X?\`8,M/'
M_C5-F_:/^,GED#Q@!V)_LVT_^-?6ON30I/$6I:%IVH1:IIJ"YM(92)=/:1MS7
M("Q)651R23PHQ7R7^VRY7XOQ%1TTR#./]YZ\++C*'=\I]?7BH;B3*JVW!.#P&
M>W/_`-:FD@!2<,`#SGKTJ2)Q\[,V%R.^,]NU(&D9#@@#/&>>..]2R28<#:6RS
M..?_`*U5VDVD!AG*]/2E%P7N?+`W`C```)SCC_"IXHW5@OED.I"E!RQZYXKO-
M_"?PI\?>*;>"?2-!EE@9=WG.ZQ(/098@<YXKL&O?$GP6L+[1%\/3K+=1QR7^0
MI8;#A<Y1<';L'F`9!&3UZ@#TGP_91ZMH,I:W6XL[B,2RV<C9BN%//R_W9!SA)
MARK`=C7SY\5_!5QX-UM0NZ73+]3<:;<%#M>$_=!;^^`<,,<?C7GMR`L@9VY(_
M/3%586&X;E]LYI_FC'3C`P?UJ*1L'<<$^N>W6GPS$N,9#YQT]14D4JEB"WR]\
M,>GUJ.:4J1M(P>??%5_-=FQN!`X.1ST[5^IOP[;/@#P\3G)TNV//_7):^0/V^
MW<_\+>CPNX?V7#GCIR]>(6T&(MQV*6.0#SQ@5#,JNA"Y`)P-HI;=`]N5/R97P
MC@TQ6=5,0((!`(J2*-U5L$%5ZG^E*SE`C;>@W'GD<^E59PRMAN2V#QUJS9QV0
MDH!%P(9DQ@L1@G\3G\1Q7T?^S]\+=.L8(?%?B_3DG)8-I=DQ(\TA0QD920&`P
M/`'0YYKZ7T[4)['PW]NU:$VHCBSY4<6TJHS@!>=O&!CG`%>?:AXTAUK4KGP_P
M?:?="WU.TD*13L?*E.P,(NQ!8<?4XZBJ&BQ6-M>6TNAP/'#>PEI[07,DP0[5O
M8[/,[+YB`XXY`QQ6#\0_#Y\1_#[7M!N(_P#B8:!+)?:=@X)A<%RG0Y7&\8Z9Y
M1:^/KXMYC`\D$G)%4-C8"OGGD$`^]+`LA0QR[B3ZCFG3PXVD`D8';&:(X1YA>
M4@X7&:%C&`Q!4/D'Y<Y-!&Y=JY#@<\8S47E@;60..>A]:_4GX:DM\.O#3;NNX
MDVI_\A+7R/\`MID_\+@P&?(TV#@?5Z\28,9%X?@?TK7\'>"O%/BR]6V\.:->D
M7Y&`SHI"1\_Q,<!?QKV7PE^S!XHFMA-XFURQTA>Z1N9W`]^BC\S7IND^"_AIN
M\,K9KB&[@:41'S;B]VF=^,\;C\H)_A4#MG/6FP>&_`?CJQNQK.C6US&Q(MKF3
MQB2*YB)Y)\Q-I/;@AA[5\[_%OX3:YX(D&H6$DVK^'Y`2EZJ?/;\_=E`X!_VO)
MNG/8\5Y=*TJXP?KSU&:W/A[:_:_%VF6LK2B.:Y1"D:AV([<'CJ:^X$OM*M_LI
M=D^G.B6ML"%DD91M0$*`,_,2P'!ZY[U/>ZE>:YH=DUYE$9!-(JG&6RW!Q]!65
M?K*Z8MJEW=)(3'*&&,C:3W'TKG](O(4E@OHQY,UBS(.3\P=E#?R7\J[)9+&X1
MU9-5C='*.]I<JIR&1FX)'?!&/IFOB3XO^&Y_#7CO5M)=66!)VDMR?XHG)9#_S
M`-\D?C7$!60YRQV]0.:D1<S`,<'@_P!<4^9=T.U=V[USQ1$-TJ'!8[<D'U]/@
MY5&[.V[@A1G:`W6J\S;%5X\J#P<]:)49<$'"_6OU#^$L@E^%GA209^;1K3_TO
M2M?/'QQ\!^,_B!\;]7BTK1XUT^RAMX$OI_W<`'DJYRYSN;<Y&%!P`..I/2>"-
M/V?_``OHD*WOBNX37+U<$PHQCM%_#[S_`(X'M7>7'B32_#>G)8Z>MI8VT:XC(
MAAC6*-!GHH'`)/\`.O$_BQ\2?%RQE+>_AMK>4':48A_?G'(^E?/NMZ_>:JX>D
M\N7N!NZLV3BO0_@YXI\6Q:D-.\.6]O<.FQW5[A8A(I.,Y;'XXYP*]8\4_$^[;
MM'DL=/LM/N8+>-O[5D(9[6(L,;`6P7)&1CC/TKY]^*-QI,NKQ7NCZ1;::D\);
M:6VB7$:'((`!Z'!&0,?05'\(;ESX\TA;622"5[I(F9!RJLP!QCDY'''//2OHB
MS5=7N=4\77-E$PC6'$3A^N!N'3\:O:CXST;PO82K?S>:(1C;]H1.^2`"<GKZG
M=ZR],^+OAGQ9;'2]/TN]MW?(<3`,C@=<,IQGZBLB?Q9X2T:ZETZYU9_.>0'R]
MTC=RK=>PQQQW[5UGA6YD6\U""-Q+!<Q-<0,C'GY%;&#WY?\`,5YA^U@L:/H']
MB`103)J-F4):/YMZA223TZ,..O%?/ML9KJXC@M[)7DE8(B(K,SD\``9Y)]/>>
MOK;X1_L\^'[#1[34OB!8O=:K=*&&G([*EN.N'(.2<8SS@=.:V?&/P0^'&H6%R
MR]EI4&DI)E8[B%Y0T4A^Z=K,5*YXQ@9SUKY=^(7@C6_!.IB/4+%)--D;%MJ$Q
M2-Y,W<<Y^5N/NGGZUR+2`E24CX)/&?\`&H-R%1E4XYYSP>?>HC(/,P\*DM]>I
M:_3SX+G/PA\($?\`0%M/_12U;UJW)U)I+BX$5MP<[SQP!@#\*Q_$E[I=O;BW"
MM9_,#`Y$9!)/UKYW^)OC^;3[N2TM($+@$/+*H;:0>H'0UX)XIU2^U2[>2XN7H
MF;)#,W<^GTK$FYC5,G>IQD8QFM'P[>-8:C&S77DQ@-A\9VGJ/?&0/SKU?P'X"
MCT"./?>WL4S60,EII\2;A>7)!`DE8]2#R!CT["O/OBJHA\5SVDDJO<1HOVEOT
M^FK`,^/H6Q^%=Q^S9I6AKXWTJYOUO+C4Y'+PI;KA+4;"5D=B,;CP0!ST^E>AK
M>,M<CB\?O<VZ-%"0/O')ZD?-^0_.MNW\'>&O&ZM<7FG6GG,,?:'4G=UZX8']1
M:N_#_P"&/A/0=9>^TQ"UQ&-LF)"8P,8&%+''0=ZY3QK\$AJ7BJ;5&UB^:2YF"
M+^6J)B%3D?+R#@=N]:/P\MM4TOXC7?AC4M5GU)[<Q-YTW!&8F7``]0!GZ5SWP
M[3,MO=>!;"(Q^8^FZD\6W#`8\D-QC_/%<-\$)M&\)QV/C*\@-[J=Q.T%L2BB*
M+3^"`X4C#2'GGHHZ9)R/2=1^,/CU[.:[MHH7.DS"'5H?*',9Z2X'(7U(XY!Z:
M5S?[3GQ+U/5=*T_0].LY;*QNX8M3-PK\RK\R[1CLK@@Y_NBN*\!?$[6;"Q;1_
MKA8];TV08EM;V/S$*GJ,'M6C?_#WPIXP9KOP9J#:'?NW.EWY+0GW23&Y1P3@F
M[OPKS3Q1X7\0>%=0%GKNDSV;OG:[+NBD_P!QQE6Z]C6)R&9AN*YZU^F_P.8G'
MX.>#RW)_L:U_]%+6)\8/$,&GW*:=#=-:W\D09)MN51<GK^7I7@?B?Q%X@TV9[
M7O[.X._B*ZA.Z-SGU'3MP<5YSK(U;Q5XDCTO28)KB\OI-D44:Y^;@GGL!U)K;
MUO0OV9+5;0S^*_%*P2[=SPV<8?:>^2>OX"J'BG]G/1Y+,MX7\3QW%X,^7!=*B
M$\W'8,._L<?C7SQXCTS5/#'B*6RU&!K>^M9<-$^>&!J./7;B!A-;000S`']XU
MJY?)]_7WK.FGFG=YYWDED?YG9NN37M/@>2ST'21XHFN%SI]E%<V^U`K2SNI2P
M.(%6/``+$$<C(XS6OIFK)XBLWUVZLKFRDN"4<2Y;)`R2K$`$9].E57U?Q+96\
M)MM$CGF4RB)V@C:5HT()#;%Y;C)_"NCMO&=OI.BVTW@V_P!3>(XCO8Y]-=#/-
M+G!D,AC.&[$9P,8^CO&OQ.GT?7-,U&'5;6_^UP[;RU@?+P,F#EH^JG!(R0,X6
MZ5I_#/41XG^(NL^++=L6LD\:1$'G"(`1C_OHU@_M61^5HKP[-H%_')G_`&BD1
M@)_05P'P2U*RU.#6?"FKRPK]KC,EI<3MA8)@/D;/8!MM=W::S9W7V:_N+K28$
M]0AA^P:S:7=R8TEC3=\V0I$GREEP?48Z5\[^(-7GU2]4M))%;0`PV</FEQ;Q2
M;F944GK@L3GN2326EY+:3?:+9E60<,G8_A7I/@7QK$K1VM]?S6,F?W4H'F1QW
MCN&C(Y_"OH/0VL=3T%H=4U_0_$-K,HQ`;<;9#GH4;//'7'Y5YE\3_@+;2POK%
M'@!7\YL.VD.W#<<F%V.2>/N-GO@]!7U7\$HI[?X1>%+>>&6&:+2H$DCF0HZ,6
M$`((/((->6_M&RWUIXI633X/-EFMHP1P1@$\$5QFC:1KNMZ3);:HL%I93')C0
M#$,2`0&`Y`Y[UUOP@T#2?"?B"X+:?FZ:+$5P3TYQC.,\_7'MS7H=GK4$LCQ2'
M_NY`<Y=LAS6+XC>W,9)2,D'@J<^^17@_Q[T"3Q'8IJMA://?6S(G[N/=)(&.X
MT#CDG)%>&:UX=US0I/+UC1M1T]B,K]H@:/<3CIN%5[9K.-X9)XVE(<%HV&$P@
M.Q;))&2.P^HKOI-067X=J'*L[ZE*[*5&"R11A1QC`&X]/<5M?#2VNM0\.ZU-4
M+=/->2".Z*GHJ\ICV)]/0"M?P1J4.E:U%>M-\I.R1#]X#IG\#S7K!T&'49'UP
M31]?6SW_`#2>2D;[SC(/S`D?A7%?'(6N@V-II%A#`^KZC;YENC&N\(`WF2'`L
MZ[<^^!6W^SII2V/PTAN9HRKO=><6(Y(<+C/3L_ZUQ?[6%S<);6=M*&VFY+=/&
MO8C`'/\`P)J^=HI9H;AIH7VN,$$<&I;W4]0NH"+J=G"GC)_STYKU'X2?`7Q#&
MXVTY-<U*==!T$GY+J<?/*!P2B''';-='XJ^`UCI$970?%?\`:$FW;)'-:[0W8
MH`P)[UY)J.ASZ3JDUEJ-O)!<QY)1B`=O]X=01[C-=AX'DTRUD6:34[R*.(DD\
M%USNZX7COTSBO<?#7C'2C##YLUQ9QD@1Q3W`D?CC>V!A<D=`<U]+>';A;O0[X
M.Y219%DB#;UZ-[BOG[]H+4&M?B7Y`!.^TB/W<X&35W0IEBT53(KG.=K;>&^EN
M:46GWNHZ3<RZ<^;AB!M+#@9R,>_%>:^(?$FN>&[HV>M6K@@\%ACCV-4X?B$M!
M[-'$5:-/ND[LC'K79^&-0M5N8Y[>>,ON#*Q<8XYZ'KTKL+Z^N9;-K74%AU*V;
MF7$EK>1B:%Q[JPQ7B/Q#^".FZKNU/P3"--N&&YM.D<F)F[E&8DCZ&O&K=]0L<
M8AHLR16MY:7$JRPW"JA((0$;FZDX/''3OFO?OA/IFIWO@_4-7U.^O)+>^(BMJ
M()'(1-FXNP3HH)*J!C^`]JXSXE^%)[-(=3TZ5D5AA\?WNHKR^/QGKL&H_8=T,
MR3QG!*N0.W.15S1M6UGQ'KQU36;F6<"&2%"[$G&TJ!SVYKZ?^$-X9]/EMCM6=
MRGM5&S!'EL,KD?4*/TK`_:!T34?$NG6]MIENUQJ,=VJ)#&#O.Y6!Z=,$9^E<6
M=H7[+/CC4;5+K5=0L]/8K@HQ,CJ/0@?RK4LOV:;?2[NQOM>UZ[N;&.97N84T?
MTQB5`?N"0R?+NQC.W/->N_:[6^5K>10R(`BVR\1HH'"J/84ES901Q`I`B@<X^
M`W?A7FOQ@\(:;XBT&?S;-'O8%WV\N,2*>X##MC^GI7BVF?#3Q6UI+/$R2?9P`
M-SA'P/IA3G\/K6UX.\,:Y?7CP?:#+=6_S2))*(XT7U;=@_RK[C^%<<L/P[T.E
M*4H72T56*<KD9Z5\]_M/_;9/B@\=BV94LH"(U/S'.[].M<[X:U_Q3IULEO=VP
MDKV[=]A.*]9\*7+M:!O*FMW<@YR=M8'Q+2UU95M-1C,@120X`RF>,UXG)H&G+
MV?B06;ZI)%$_W7P"%..,^U=I;>%+J/3IH[?6&(E4;"!]WD?,K#N*[GP)J6J72
M"_V'K[!-0M=JB4_*LZ8&V09ZY_SWKN)K86Q6)0,CYB<YSFO/_%'PB\-^,/'5@
MKKFKZM+;6QC5;FVA4*9BO`^?MG@9Z^XKI]9T"30H39:#I*+H-JBI!#:KN$1"7
MY.<9+9)))/<\GFN0U(Q74,EO*6,%S%PO8'U^N:\,UKP@S:U+;VB,TI0A6V\D&
MU:T#P_<6UJ]FEH\UQ#&`JKU+[O?KSCCCVYXKU[X-:S`]BLKC9&DKV]SSQ"#C3
MKG&"I7G(!ZU[!\/K"*36[O5KR$&5"8X9BX8;<9X]^W3H!6_K/B[3M/21(7>X!
MG`VA4/RY]S_AFO*/%_B?6I_^/DLMM/(`D.[(/O61J>O6VA".[N9(T,B!6BR""
MX-<OJOQ&OY)RMD/*MNBE^":L:/XK-S;E+QQ/(>@'(^E='I^I&TT58+"%E/1ID
M$A#L<DGG.<=?TKSWXB0:7?7HFU#4KMK_``1E3EHU'1<^GM7U+\"PG_"I?#PC:
MDDD1;8@,XPQ`=AS7S;^U[JTVB_&JWNX02/[-A#K_`'EW/D?7BN=\/>.IXK-;F
MZRG-Q`>)(7^]&?0_XUV^C?$H7?E>9$FU>N!TIOQ`U2UN]%N+F.3;<2J%4#KC9
MDX/XUX]<2WVK.FGV2-+*K893R`*[GPI%XJT'1O.D:*81GF#);Y>N:UH?B%I=;
MSJHU&XA\J5+<0A&_A8$XQ^9KN?#OC%=3E6%9`XV\-ZCZ]:TM8U"'3["?4Y"7Z
M$?RJA.-[$X`_.N;TG6[YV+7MR&:[3SHGP-O`QM`]``".^,YR:CODDU-RZFQ2K
M2+E3MV,1STYK$U"[O--FO+JWLH!.8247J<9R?Y?K4/PUL]T<>NZRBS)<AG\HJ
M[P@!SP=K!LY[Y_#TZG7;:SU&\EU"QT^SL;N6'R[B:V+HTR]BWS8)'8D$CBKGB
MA?Q-<WULVEW<P\ZWRC!&"9`!'"^PZ]>O4]ND@M(70E)0X/(S]?2LWQ_HYO[/J
M2(H9?LS13%FD7G`QD<5XG\3M(>T?S(]5:XN"QRTHQC'TKE/#UC=W5_%_:]_#`
M]G_NQ\Y'XU[EX7U+PQH^GHD5E#/Q@L3SQSZ54U[Q+HFH0+;&%[<*>6MI60L?I
M?GG\J\L\=^(_"NA6QBL[6YNM4E7*M-*2H_VFXZ>U?6_[,%U-?_`?PM=W$IDE"
MD@E+,0.?WT@KYR_;<#?\+7C*]?[+@[_[<E>"V6HSZ=.9H7VNI^8=F'H?6MZVD
M\0`3+-;;XP>6C!Z5J-XC-Z)4DD?>!@+GBMGX17D\FL36Y(.YSD[<]J]>M&M6I
MN(8;B7;')(N\%NP]A6M\0/A?X?UGPS<7>FVZVUZ(RZ,O1CVS7BO@._O=&\0#"
M3+AVC</M()_2NX^+&K%FTS1[4,RDAYMI[L3G\D#?F*DO)TFL(G#>4T)41A6.V
MY6]0/;`'Z5KZ1/8ZO$V]5BU",8D51@/V+@#J,Y^E7[K3A+9R+L+2F/"\8..0L
M37/>`[!CX=,8F9Q;RRQ2*<Y7!/3TKK=#L8KBR>4DG'RAO_K5Q&NVUQ:W6JW6+
MG*^^&4S$H/F"J%W8_$5W^EZO%+X>M;Z)@#/$LA"]!D<_@*Y3QAX_:Y>+0]$+`
MRS!<-(J\9/H?3M7BOQ"D\36FI#^TH#M/2<2!P/;BN?M-0N(VY<+GDD=:U;/5U
MKMI`(YY7]@33=0\9C3M\:8N;K!783\J'GJ?\*\^OI[C4+E[JZF:223EF/;K_K
M`)Q7Z*?LE#/[/'A3':*<?E<RU\^?MML5^+</S8!TN$_^/25\_7!R'C4`;L[>:
M.O(J'?B5<,>@!Q^--,S^<LT<A60=1T#?7WKT[X!7J7>MW-I<QA)"N5Y_`_S%X
M>UWMD$A5@`I5\Y'45U'AS7H)K46TLI,C#:0V0,>]>7^,?##R>-&U"!5C6W83&
M-@]4)QCWK$O[@7OCN\F^9S9!8`F[A?E&3]<#'YUIQW0AM$FNY4M1Y@FD=S@*?
MHSM'N2<''M3[2\:%8M6@<V[+<(JL,Y"L711C//.T8^M>LZ3J]CK-O#?K"B36"
MPQ=1C.U<`G(/]T@<?0CM7'^'M>A\)^-I8-2TF62QU*??$X_U8W<]:[KQ$+3P%
MO]HGC;?`P#Q1EMQ+$`@9[UPJMBPCGDN8TGN`SS1LGS1\<GW'SX(_#K7*:7J5:
MU+X;L?#L1W7;R/"RP_,Q56Z`]`.2,^PKLO"_@AM%TJ6>[=O-D&Z0XR0/2O$_%
MC/J4DFO_`-GJPAB2(<.<?0_D*\_-W91L%9GN#CHO`_,U5N]:O'@\FV_T>+.-Y
MJ'D]._6LE0SMC;U//&:>2"BCDG@>V:_1C]D<D_L\>%MW4)<C_P`FI:^?/VX-4
MW_"VH"I'.F0`Y)_OR5\^7!/(Z#!)%07"LQW(1[8%)%M"Y/7'&#Z'_P"M6MX'S
MU9M&\66E\&*JDNUL'^$\'^>?PKZ?M]4BO;1'#IEARH.<54MC]FU3S49O+."6.
M/0GWSP*U==D:?RKBVCD82A$D]<*RO_(5Y%H%^\^OZN1M>6>YE;OU)(_0#]:H.
M>+M6FU&>>%KJ2.VMK-9%"M_KI-Q5,\>Q-3:QXBCG@>WN;G[,1!#F"+YF:X9MB
MQ?&<'8-QY(Y.*TOA_P")]835C?Z?8WVHPL'CEMUB'[R/:HPQ.%_O-U.#7I%GY
MKD4-K]CNO">O222LOEPQI'*RG</F!W8Z$*??N,5F>+O%.H:CJ\+7]M?V$5N/:
M)L[6YM6B+$'&1N^5\>@8]!^,%CJ44EGIUQ#*R3_:<*&;).YAP3W&#U]0*O\`>
MPO33I/%^L26:^9`DC261VXQ'*Q8;1VP-M>E^)=4LM#T*\U/4Y0L%O&Q9>[<'H
MC]17PMXSUF;Q!XCO=7DW$3R$HN?NKG@"LB.X*X(!Q[?YQ2-\Y``QDX/J*=MPG
M`05Y]#SC-(O,>-PW`]`*_1G]D/'_``SOX7P,#%U_Z5S5X!^W`Q3XK0#8&W:7X
M">0/[TG<UX"X$F$1%)SCH!FB>+&U,*N2"/E'/M5=XV#!"$Y[8%0,"C$[<Y_SA
MVKTKX?\`C$F.&RG8":-=@R>)%_QQ7IVG79E95,B?-C)QT!'\Z[NP6UATM/,)=
M8C!&"?\`)KY\L;Q[#7[^XVJB[MWF.54*2"`>1USFL[3+;4=9N/[.T6TENQ(X1
MC,SP[8P`[D<XR>&]J]Z\(?"CPM81076IVW]K:DY#$R8V*3R<*./YUZ?I>B:7V
M'I\DUT(;.-4PBA@-N,X^4<"L@:GH)UNRL+B1&M'9_+=>O0;C].*T(=)AU.WF7
MM)+J.^MU4@V\R[DF3/7GJ>G'7O7AWQ&\-3^$]9@GM;AWTN\N&%LQXDB<J,1L4
M>_W%VD\_*0>>NM^S_9O+KEVQ4[+6&)65CD@?,`#_`-\X^E9/[6WC6T.E6_A/0
M3'WS2R^;=$=5"\`?B?Y5\R1)\I&,9Z8^E"1G(&!M!!SZ=ZEC4+.&(!Y/OC_.4
M:=/!P6XP.>M/B"9R``".!WK]#OV1?^3>?#'&/^/O_P!*YJ\#_;?5O^%K6NWJI
M=+BZ_P"_)7S_`+7CE^8'@`__`%_>F2*&(+MM[@9Z5'R6P,\C.2:AE9?+P#D*3
M/K5>-6WHZ;@$.<^AKT_X9^-Y1>II6ILLRR+M20CYB?0GN:]@GU,/9*R,%V#.7
M?;!KF_`_ANW?3X-5O]'?5[[4'+6ZRL/+ABQE1CH&(YR?7`KTS0=+ET#3))6T@
MZRAD?D*LH.S/8G`&.>U4(="N;])+A9+BU1I"&$<NX`^HSVKIM-\*Z5_8\MM?_
M:L^2@(_TGYCSWXQ7F/BG29=#\5K9Z-<S%)(-^9N2A[X/XUZ#X`@\4V\"W%U=#
MPQQ2D>5F(Y'OUK8UK3WOK"^T_6(K>:W=T\UG4,C!NA`/?./<=J\X\#3#P-K'A
MBK2]3>3SK6V2[CE8G;+`N\!N?XN@XSG`R:^:/%FK3:YKMUJMVQ+SR%E&[H.P/
M%8(8'+9VG-26Z;@5P1QUS]*>8@`-P7KCCM3BP*!`4)SQZXXXI5C.65MI&>AK@
M]"?V1./V>/"XQC'VO_TKFKP;]N08^*%D6!P=)BP0/^FDM?.[AN/WN01A3G]*>
M1@,`J2QSS@]J:^/+&`V2/FYR"?6H"5,;;L\=AP:BB91&R@XXX!]:EM9)+6[A6
MN(CM>)E8=\$<_P!*]XBU!=6T*&*S8/+?B.&(@\Y;J?P&3^%>B^%_#]PMS)>P;
MZN()(>!9!`V4XX;/;KVX[5D^*?&K0:U#;3`B+?ME5UX8;L_A76ZOK\?V-FCD9
M7:T2L@4X'7/6O/-1U^7S2YF)`QM7=P*L77B2UO\`5+*\>X\R2.T"N<8P0<8/$
MX"MG3?&UTFHPR271:!`<)P5KMM3\2Z=J?@R^U*",P);RP%R6X([G'X`\5XI\3
M:_$]T?#TJK>QL=0'E1LO5H=Q8K_+\Z\$G*ALJAVACC)[5`53#*%P0>I.:CC;0
M:-S<8ZCUXJ<%5(8-]?I3$<."X'0'!'%2"3Y3(-RD?GBOT+_9`.?V=?"Y_P"O6
MO_TKFKPW]N(,?B9IO((.E1XS_P!=)*^=KA,L20W(^[Z5$X#$``*V.Q_6H7.TU
MJ&)YZ8-.=!LRHPM12A%DR<9(Z_TJ.4$%U`&`>F<FO2/@9J$@\56EI<MO6V66[
M:W7'_+381CZ8+&OI#0[I;O45NA"L4L3>5,0I`?."K>XQ67XQTO29->6]NXE?R
MR!YCDH-IYZ?6N0U6"34#-NN&M[5L&*,#Y]IZ?I66VE>%)8/L]Q)J%O<'A95EX
M#K]2N./SKE_$.@:GH6H0Q6-R+N"Y7?%*A^\/\:LV7AKQG/\`\>NP7++E(WD`'
MSGZ\5Z)X)\*>*=0\)RZ7K*):),Y,@W@.-OJO6O./VC[>73=6T/23_P`>MO8?1
MNCMP68LQY]3C'Z5Y&Y7Y>!CD<FF)@<!CE><D4B(S9P!@L#Z4DR@``C@''2B#3
M:7(V@<9&>*>'W`[1MW#@_A7Z&?L@\?L[>%^?^?O_`-*YJ\0_;FC8?$73'P,'H
M2DY_[:R5\[-Q(,G"`=B#5=F3>"P)P<$9_E4><OE>#CG([U)$O&[<3ZKVIDJ!3
M^0PY/2H9"5)VCC(XQ71_#C4AIWC+3;EPH`F"%L?W@5_K7U9X8L[VYM!YFU6BT
MB$8<-PPW$C^M<[\2[6]73&2*<K\WW5/4<5R6B375WIXEDM9<(0"5'I5*[#07X
M(8J[#KAT.#70Z;$E\UA=SQ'[/9G.\+^.W\36AHL_]H^(OMK$H!(2I88'0_\`W
MUJ]$M;M+?68+(@;IHV/7C(XKQ#]K:VW:EI%X4R/):/=^.:\&VL'5&`R.:1U(V
M4X7)QDD>M$1?EL\YQT.*1E`&Q1GD=Z4H_(4GD8&![4GE-O#+\HQ@@U^AG[(66
M!^SOX7VG(_TO_P!*YJ\4_;F_Y'[2O^P8G_HV2OG.X^Z_^\/Y"J9[?Y[FFCK_\
M`,!_K4T'W6_W1_.HE^\/J*C/0?[XJWX>_P"0S:_]?$?_`*$*^U?"O_(-'T3^"
M5<QXX_U(^E<UX8_Y%V;_`*Z-_.K>K?\`'NG^[1I/_(#N_P#>C_\`9J=X7_U\O
MG_71OY5V5Q_R-^G?]>TE>7_M;_\`(-TG_>>OGK_EY'TH3K)]!_*G6W0?C_*DA
B;_6'Z4^/_6?G3?XF^@_E7Z$_LB_\F\^&/^WO_P!*YJ__V:__>
``
end
sum -r/size 15578/12804 section (from "begin" to "end")
sum -r/size 17777/9124 entire input file

Chapter 23 - Pain, fear and humiliation

I put "PAIN, FEAR and HUMILIATION" on the back of the T-shirt, it looked 
very effective. I had baseball caps made up, with "Sandi kicks butt" as 
the slogan. I sent Sandi off to a darling photographer I know, who
usually specialises in muscle men pictures, and she spent the entire 
afternoon there being photographed in various costumes and poses. When 
she got back, she looked suspiciously happy, and when I phoned Jeremy to 
see how it had gone, he said "I'll probably recover in a few weeks." 
"She's a bit frisky sometimes, I hope she didn't hurt you too badly." 
"You might have warned me, I'd have had a couple of big friends around 
to protect me." "Bad idea, Jeremy, Sandi would have just put them 
through her meat grinder, you don't know what she's like. You're safest 
just surrendering to her, let her do whatever she wants to you." "Well, 
you might have warned me." "If I'd warned you what she would do, would 
you have agreed to the session." "No, probably not." "Well, there you 
are. You might never have met Sandi Stone." There was a long silence. 
"Could I come and see her fight?" "Sure, I'll send you a couple of 
tickets, bring a friend." 

I sent the pictures down to a printer, together with some copy I'd 
written, describing a couple of her previous fights, and carefully 
detailing the crippled state she'd left her opponents in. I mailed these 
brochures out to likely gyms all round the country, the addresses from 
the Post Office Yellow Pages database, and offered them a discount if 
they sold seats to their members. I also had a fight programme printed 
up for the big night. There was only one fight, of course, but I put in 
lots of full color pictures of Sandi, both dressed for glamour and
stripped for action. Also information about her height and weight, the 
size of her extraordinary muscles and descriptions of her previous 
fights. The programmes came to 32 pages, and I put a 25 pounds cover 
price on them. I chose the best picture of Sandi flexing, another one 
that showed off her massive thighs, a third one taken from the point of 
view that a man would have if he were lying on the canvas looking up at 
her, and a fourth one with her holding a big heavy man over her head. We 
made those into big wall posters, and I planned to sell those for 30 
pounds apiece, a hundred for the set of four. 

I couldn't do everything myself, so I sold off concessions to various 
people I knew for non-repeating business, like coffee and hot dogs, but 
my long term plan was to build up a list of people who thought that 
Sandi Stone was the greatest, the Goddess of Grief, the Princess of 
Pain, the Hoyden of Humiliation. And I'd sell to those people again and 
again; everything I could think of to feed the obsession with Sandi that 
I knew so many men would feel once they'd seen her in action. 

I advertised in Time Out, in the London Evening Standard, and I spammed 
the Internet. I knew that a lot of people would be upset about that, but 
advertising that way is free, you reach millions of people, and most of 
them are obsessed with sex. I sold the 100 pound tickets for 80 smackers 
if people paid in advance, money sooner is worth more than money later.
I included my picture of Sandi in the spam, and explained that she'd be 
fighting a 250 pound man and tearing him to pieces. I got a lot of flame 
mail on the temporary AOL account I used for the purpose, but  isn't 
that what AOL is for? I used a P.O. Box number, and it certainly sold 
the tickets, which is the main thing. And everyone who bought a ticket, 
went into my database of names and addresses, because after the fight, I 
was going to start the Sandi Stone Fan Club. 

I also arranged for a professional video company to come and tape the 
fight. They said they'd send three cameramen down to get it from 
different angles, then they'd cut and splice it into a single tape. I 
told them to make four tapes; five minutes, fifteen minutes, thirty 
minutes and an hour. That way, I could sell the four tapes at different 
prices from $10 to $100, except that anyone who saw any of them, would 
want the full tape as well. Yes, dollars. I planned to sell these tapes 
in America as well as the UK. And I knew that if I advertised them on 
alt.sex.femdon and alt.amazon-women.admirers, I'd be trampled in the 
rush to buy. 

Then I thought about the fight itself. After seeing Sandi in action a
couple of times, I didn't think she'd have any trouble with Nigel. But 
thinking about the video, I didn't want her to just smash him up in two 
minutes. I wanted a fight that lasted an hour, so I talked it over with
Sandi. 

She was very dismissive. "He looks as soft as butter, Tris, he won't 
last more than a few minutes." "Then don't hit him so hard, Sandi. Pull 
your punches, don't knock him out straight off." "Yes", she said 
thoughtfully. "I suppose I could do that. Hit him gently, you mean? The 
trouble is, you can never tell how much punching a man can take. Some of 
them can take a lot of punishment, most of them curl up after one good 
punch, it seems to get inside of them and destroy them from within. They 
sort of collapse inside, and don't want to fight any more." She made a 
fist, and we both looked at it and the powerful arm that could drive it 
almost through a man's gut. I felt slightly queasy at the thought. I 
took her fist in both my hands, and kissed it. I could feel the hard 
knuckles that would penetrate any man's body, and I stroked her arm, 
feeling the big hard muscles that would drive her fist into his 
innermost organs. My hands roamed up her arm, feeling those seventeen 
inch biceps that I knew could tear a man apart, and with my lips still 
on her fist, I moved my hands until they were touching her breasts, 
those soft, firm mounds of pleasure that I loved to touch. And then I 
brought my fingers up the hills to her nipples, holding them with three 
fingers of each hand, stroking them and squeezing them, rolling them in 
my fingers, until Sandi gave a low moan of pleasure, and wrapped her 
arms round my body, crushing the air out of me and almost breaking my
ribs. I loved giving Sandi pleasure, but why did it have to be so 
dangerous? 

We discussed the matter of gloves. Nigel would be wearing the regulation 
8 ounce gloves, of course, but I wanted to put 20 ounce training gloves 
on Sandi, to cushion the impact of her fists on his body. But Sandi 
insisted that she'd be able to control herself, and wouldn't hit him any 
harder than necessary. "If I wear 20 ounce gloves, Tris, I'll have to 
hit him harder to get the impact, so the kinetic energy will be greater 
when it hits him. It'll be much harder for me to control." I argued with 
her, I knew how easily she lost control of herself, and with 20 ounce 
gloves, at least Nigel would have a chance if he back-pedalled fast
enough. "No, Tris, it doesn't work that way. Kinetic energy is 1/2 m v-
squared, that's why even you could knock down a wall with a heavy
hammer." I looked doubtful, so she said "Come on, I'll show you" Now I
*definitely* didn't want a demonstration of Sandi's punches, and my fear
must have shown in my face. Sandi laughed, and I whimpered. The pain of
having sex with Sandi was bad enough, I didn't want to feel her fists.
"Don't be silly, Trissy, I wasn't going to hit *you*!" I started
breathing more normally. "That wouldn't prove anything, you'd just fold
up at once." Or sooner, if possible.

Chapter 24 - Sandi demolishes a wall

We went out into the street and walked down to a row of decrepit 
garages, hemmed in by a shoulder-high brick wall. I helped Sandi put on 
the leather half-gloves, then the 20-ounce boxing gloves. She stood 
watching me for a moment, gathering herself together, then she spun and 
with all the strength of her big, hard muscles, she unleashed a shot 
that was driven by her legs, abdomen and most of all by the huge arms 
that I knew so intimately. Nothing happened, so Sandi gathered herself 
together for another punch. As that one landed, I thought I saw the wall 
shake a bit, and after the third punch, I saw some dust fly away from 
the wall. But the fourth time she coiled herself up and delivered her 
smashing punch, I saw a crack appear in the wall, and on the fifth blow, 
several bricks flew out. 


I was amazed; that a girl could demolish part of a brick wall with her 
fist, even a girl like Sandi, no make that a woman like Sandi. I thought 
about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a punch, 
and I thought that it would probably mean death for most men. She 
strolled back to me, and held her hands out for me to take off the 
gloves. "Believe me now?" she asked. "That's why I hold back when I 
punch some limpdick man in the belly." I nodded, dumbstruck. I felt 
sorry for anyone she hit with her full strength.

"I suppose I could avoid hitting him, just put him in submission holds." 
"No, Sandi, it's a boxing match." "Oh, that's a pity. Still, I could 
make him scream in pain till he's hoarse, make him beg me not to hurt 
him any more?" "Yes, great Sandi. Make sure the cameras can pick it up. 
And one more thing?" "Yes, Trissy?" "Sex" "Sure, Trissy", she said, and 
reached for me. I struggled, struggled really hard, struggled with 
myself, she turned me on so much, but I managed to croak out "No, Sandi, 
I don't mean right now, I mean in the fight." "What do you mean, in the 
fight?" 

Sex and violence, lust and fear, pleasure and pain; violence and sex, 
fear and lust, pain and pleasure. There's nothing sells a video like sex 
and violence, and there's nothing that turns you on as much as watching 
pleasure and pain, preferably someone else's pain. I explained this to 
Sandi, and she was nodding, as if she understood. "Yes, I know", she 
said. "Fear turns me on, too, his fear and his pain. It's like the 
Double Triangle of Domination. You want me to do that to him?" "No, 
that's a great turn-on, maybe we'll do another video of that." I had a 
brilliant mental flash like you get sometimes. Men joining Sandi's fan 
club would get a video of her doing the Double Triangle on someone, and 
quite a good percentage of them would fall under Sandi's influence 
without needing any more than that. And once hooked, they'd be staunch
Sandi supporters, both emotionally and financially. But we could do that 
later. "What I want, Sandi, is you slowly beating Nigel up, maybe forty 
minutes of that. Then maybe ten minutes of sex of some kind, followed by 
his total destruction." Golly, and the poor sucker was getting a puny 
five grand for this? Still, Sandi had warned him, and he'd laughed at 
her. "What sort of sex, Tris? In front of the audience and the cameras?" 

Good question. "Rough and brutal, Sandi. So that everyone can see the 
mixture of pain and pleasure he's getting. Rape, male rape, simple male 
rape. You'll have sex with him as a weapon of his destruction, not for 
his pleasure. although if he gets some good feelings out of it, that's 
fine, as long as the pain is clearly worse." "OK," and she smiled at me. 
That smile made my knees weak with a mixture of fear and lust. I knew 
that when she had sex with me, she was trying not to hurt me too much; 
even so, my nights were filled with slowly ebbing pain as well as 
pleasure, and my days with slowly growing fear and lust. 

Sandi Stone was the most pleasure a man could have, and the worst pain, 
all in one sexy package. Her hands could deliver both unbearable ecstasy 
and unendurable pain, and she could give you both at once, pain with one 
hand and pleasure with the other. She enjoyed the pleasure she got from 
me, but she also enjoyed the pain she gave me. And I couldn't say no. If 
you've never met Sandi, you couldn't possibly understand, but every man
she meets end up the same way, it's better to get pain from Sandi than 
pleasure from any ordinary girl. She could grip your penis in her 
vagina, and it could feel like a soft enveloping cushion of flesh, 
milking you gently until you came, and then milking you more and more 
until you were drained dry and exhausted, and then milking you even more 
until the pleasure turned to pain. Or her vagina could be a hard vise-
like grip of pain, tearing orgasm after orgasm from you as she sought 
her own climaxes. Whichever she wanted, whenever she wanted, however 
often she wanted. I didn't even try to refuse her; I'd decided a long 
time ago that the only sensible way to handle Sandi was total and 
complete surrender to whatever she wanted, and hope that it didn't hurt 
too much. 

As you can imagine, I needed Sandi to sign a long term contract so that 
I could proceed. I got a solicitor to draw one up, and I expected I'd 
have trouble persuading Sandi to sign, but she just picked up a pen and 
wrote her name at the bottom. Then she took my hands gently in hers, and 
explained to me that whatever it was she'd just signed, if she wanted me 
to tear it up, I would, wouldn't I? And I looked into her soft grey 
eyes, and knew I'd do anything she wanted, anything, anytime, anywhere, 
and she didn't even need to terrorize me. She gave me a friendly 
squeeze, and went back to lifting her dumbbells, each one more than I 
could even raise from the ground.

The night before the fight, I wanted to be special. I ran a hot perfumed 
bath, and coaxed her to get into it with me. She nearly drowned me the 
first time she fucked me, and the second time I lost consciousness and 
nearly drowned myself. When I came round, she had me on the bed wrapped 
up in a towel, and she was looking down anxiously at me. My eyes 
fluttered open, to be greeted by a vision of perfection. I'd bought a 
black silk night dress specially for this occasion, and Sandi had put it 
on. It clung to her breasts, and looked as if it was only the 
protuberance of her big nipples that kept it from falling round her 
waist. The long sleeves half-concealed her big muscular arms, and the 
full skirt swept round her legs. She was a vision of femininity, she 
didn't look like the dominant amazon man-smasher that I knew her to be. 
She looked like a girl of sixteen, but like a sexually overdeveloped 
adult woman. I was very pleased that she'd wear it for me, and I smiled 
up at her and told her so. She put my head between her legs and told me 
to lick her off, and she kept those big frightening thighs wide apart so 
that I could. I gave her a couple of orgasms, but on the third one she 
gripped me between those powerful legs, and my world turned red, then 
black. 

When I came round this time, Sandi was asleep. I lay down next to her 
and wriggled close until I got my head between her breasts, and putting
my arms round her waist, I fell asleep next to her. Bliss is falling 
asleep in Sandi Stone's arms.

Chapter 25 - The Big Fight

On the day of the fight, I spent about an hour doing Sandi's hair, and 
making sure her makeup was perfect. Then I took Sandi down to the hall 
in a taxi. She went to the changing rooms, and I went round the hall 
checking that everything was in order. There was a long queue of 
customers outside the hall; it seems word had spread that an unusually 
muscular woman would be fighting a man tonight. I was surprised to see a 
large percentage of women in the queue, and likewise inside the hall. We 
were selling tickets to last minute customers for the full hundred 
pounds (all the ringside and near-ring seats had gone long ago, which 
told me that I was underpricing them). And when we ran out of seats, We 
filled up the standing room round the back for fifty pounds apiece. 

The eats and drinks concessions were doing a roaring trade, but I was 
only making a percentage of their sales; it's easier to get someone else 
to do these more complicated sales. But the 25 pound programmes were 
selling like hot cakes, I was glad to see, and the posters were too; 
people mostly seemed to be buying the full set of four. Merchandise is 
so important, I think, in this sort of deal. The T-shirts weren't 
moving, nor were the mugs or coasters, but you can't win them all. 

The fight was due to start at eight o'clock, and by quarter to, the hall 
was full. Not just full, jammed full. Not even any standing room. I had 
as many people in the hall as I legally could, so regretfully we had to 
turn everyone else away. I made sure that they knew where they could buy 
the video afterwards, and quite a lot of them bought programmes or 
posters. The audience was good natured, chanting a bit, and singing as 
the magic time approached. 

First Nigel came into the ring. He was a big man, well over six feet, 
and you could see the size of him. When he took off his dressing gown, 
you could see his large muscles, and he happily demonstrated them to the 
audience. As far as he knew, he was getting five grand for a cake walk, 
and he looked not merely confident, but totally sure of himself. The 
crowd cheered him, and there was a bit of banter between him and the 
crowd - "Are you going to fight or fuck?" "Bit of both, mate" said 
Nigel. He did a bit of half-hearted shadow boxing, then went back to his 
corner to put on his boxing gloves and have them checked by the referee. 

Then Sandi came on, and the crowd went wild. She was wearing a dressing 
gown made from shimmering blue silk, her hair was done up in a blue 
ribbon. The belt round her waist emphasized her overdeveloped female 
figure, and she was a portrait of total femininity as she walked 
carefully to the ring in her high heels. I'd put her in five inch heels, 
which make it almost impossible for her to walk, but which I thought 
brought out the best in her. I could see people in the crowd looking 
from Sandi to Nigel, and wondering what this was all about, whether 
they'd wasted their money, wondering how she could last more than about 
a second, and would fold up the first time he tapped her. The fight 
looked completely one sided. 

But then Sandi took off her silk gown, and the noise from the crowd was 
deafening. She was going to fight naked from the waist up, and below the 
waist, where a male boxer would wear his silk sorts, Sandi wore a tiny 
white silk skirt that barely made it down to her thighs. Sandi has 
large, prominent breasts, with big thick nipples, and the excitement 
communicated from the crowd had made them stiffen. Sandi aroused is a 
compelling sight even fully dressed; Sandi almost naked and aroused is 
an amazing sight. I would challenge any man to look at Sandi in an 
aroused state, and not get turned on. She left no doubts whatsoever 
about her sex. Sandi was female, gloriously female, with a body that 
look as if she could either fuck you to death or smash you to death. 

The most astonishing spectacle wasn't Sandi's magnificent, outstanding 
breasts or even her powerfully devastating thighs. It was Sandi's 
musculature, the sheer quantity of hard, female muscle. Her body was 
layer after layer of hard, thick muscle, her legs were double columns of 
muscle power with great thick cords running up and down them, but the 
most terrifying sight was her arms. Seventeen inches, I'd measured them. 
Seventeen inches, and hard as steel. Seventeen inches, with ridges of 
muscle and bulging veins. Seventeen inches of strong, hard muscle. 
Seventeen inches of female strength, totally intimidating to any man who 
looked at her. When I tried to squeeze her arm in my hand, I couldn't 
make any impression, when she squeezed my arm, I could feel my bones 
grate together, and I had a big bruise afterwards. Seventeen inches at 
the bicep, and tapering slowly down to her forearms, and ending in those 
big, hard fists that looked as if they could destroy a man without 
effort. Sandi has big hands, bigger than you'd expect on a woman, with 
big thick fingers and heavy ligaments 

Nigel hadn't really seen her before, except in her sexy blouse and skirt 
outfit looking like a piece of delightful crumpet, and he just stared at 
her like a rabbit stares at the stoat that is going to kill and eat him. 
He looked at her arms, then he looked at his own, and even though he had 
several inches of height and eighty pounds of weight over her, he knew 
that his strength would be no match for the amazon man-beater that he 
was facing. I heard him moan in fear as he realized what he'd let 
himself in for. 

Sandi smiled at him confidently and sweetly, and flexed her arm. Her big 
muscles grew terrifyingly, and I felt genuinely sorry for Nigel. She 
blew a kiss to him, and said "Sweetcakes, you and I are going to have 
such a lot of fun. Pleasure and pain. Your pain, my pleasure. And your 
pain *is* my pleasure, isn't that lovely?" His mouth was open, and I 
could see that he was panting already, as of one who is badly scared. 
Nigel was already frightened of this pretty girl with the big hard 
muscles, and I saw him look around, as if for a way to escape. But I'd 
thought of that, I had four attendants to make sure he stayed in the 
ring for the beginning, and I had Sandi to make sure he stayed in after 
that. Sandi put her hands behind her head, and pointed her big breasts 
at him. "See, I'm just a little girlie. But this little girlie is going 
to make mush out of your big soft body. When I hit a man, it's like you 
get hit with a fourteen pound hammer. And by the time I'm finished with 
you, you'll never be able to look a woman in the eye again. You'll 
always remember tonight, the night a girl made you cry and beg for 
mercy. Yes, you'll cry, but I have no mercy. I'll hurt you, and damage 
your big butterball body, and maybe even kill you with these." 

Sandi held out her arms towards him, and I could see the fear in his 
eyes as he took in the sight of her hugely muscled biceps and triceps. 
Now anyone could see that the fight was one-sided, but it was the blonde 
amazon who was the stone cold certainty. You only had to look at her 
arms and his to know that the only question was how much pain and 
degradation she would put him through, and whether he'd be able to walk 
again afterwards. Sandi was without question the most frightening sight
you could ever see in a boxing ring. I knew she wouldn't kill him, you
get all sorts of hassles if you kill someone, even in a boxing match,
but he wasn't to know that. Anyway, there was always the possibility
that she'd go too far, and kill him without meaning to.

Chapter 26 - Sandi demonstrates her punch

She kicked off the silly high heeled shoes and replaced them with rubber 
soled boxers' boots, and put on the leather half-gloves, and then the 
eight ounce boxing gloves. Her cornerman laced them up, while Sandi 
explained to Nigel what she planned for him. "My first punch will turn 
your insides to mush, it'll feel like someone exploded a bomb in your 
belly. That will take away all your strength, you'll barely be able to 
hold your arms up. Then I'll start on your face. You won't have a proper 
face when I'm finished, your jaw will be broken, your cheekbones 
shattered and your nose will just be a mass of bloody pulp. But I won't 
knock you out, I want this to last and last, so I won't use my full 
strength on you, that would be too quick." She sauntered over to a 
neutral corner, and stood in front of the post. She turned to look at 
Nigel, tossed her hair, and said "Watch this, sugarplum." Then she 
turned and smashed her fist into the post, her whole body behind the 
punch. 

The whole ring shuddered and trembled from the blow, and I wondered how
many punches like that it could stand up to. Nigel was shuddering and 
trembling even more, he knew that he wouldn't be able to take a punch 
like that and survive. She turned back and smiled sweetly to him. "Are
you ready for me now, sweetcakes?" She walked back to her corner - 
actually, minced would be a better word. She put her gloved hands behind 
her back, which also hid most of her arms, and thrust her chest out and 
pouted and smiled at Nigel. In any other context, she'd have looked very 
sexy, but in the boxing ring, it just increased his terror, as she'd 
intended. By now, I could see, Sandi was playing to the audience and the 
video cameras; Nigel just wasn't a real factor in her thoughts. 

The referee called the two contenders (or rather, one contender and one 
victim) to the middle of the ring, and explained he wanted a clean, fair 
fight, no below the belt stuff. Sandi smiled sweetly and said that she 
wanted a very messy fight, lots of pain and blood. Nigel was having 
trouble with his breathing, and his legs looked a bit wobbly, too. 

The bell rang for the first round, and Sandi walked towards the center. 
Nigel's only chance was to use his four inches of extra reach to keep 
Sandi away from him, to jab and move, flick and step, feint and back 
pedal. Sandi had her hands high in front of her face, leaving her body 
wide open, and I wondered if she realised she was moving close enough 
for Nigel to reach her. Suddenly, his fist flashed out, too fast for
Sandi to react to, hitting her in the belly. She stopped, and stood, 
waiting for something. Nigel jabbed her stomach again, and Sandi dropped 
her arms down to cover her breasts, and she laughed. "Is that the best 
you can do, sugarpie? Boy, are you in trouble. Try again, and this time 
put some beef into it." Nigel stepped a little closer, and delivered a 
perfect uppercut to Sandi's chin. Her gloves stopped it, but while her 
hands were high, he delivered the second, and bigger punch to her gut. I 
saw it coming, it would have destroyed a man like me, and I screamed 
"Sandi watch out" as she didn't seem to be taking any evasive action. 
The haymaker landed in the middle of her abdomen, and I saw her whole 
body shake from the impact. She took a step back, put her fists on her 
hips, and chuckled. That girlish laugh must have been the most bowel-
loosening sound Nigel had ever heard - he'd hit her as hard as he could, 
and it hadn't had any effect except to amuse her. 

I knew why. I'd often run my hands up and down her belly, marvelling at 
the hardness and thickness of those big ridged muscles, and that was 
when she was relaxed in bed with me. I could make her close her eyes and 
purr, and her body would still feel like solid oak. She invited me to 
hit her in the belly once, and I felt it, hard as mahogany, and thought 
about the pain in my soft fist, and declined. Here she was standing, 
tensed and ready for the punch, it must have been like punching a brick 
wall. And thinking of brick walls, I remembered the one that Sandi had
demolished with her punches, and I started to feel very sorry for poor 
Nigel, very sorry indeed. "Hey, butterball, is that the best you can do? 
I hardly felt it! Don't you know how to punch? Would you like me to show 
you? When my fist hits your body, you'll feel the worst pain of your 
entire life, it'll be like a white hot poker plunged into your belly. 
Come here and let me show you what it feels like to be hit by a girl. 
The last thing I punched was a brick wall, and that couldn't take it, 
either." Sandi started walking slowly towards him; he moved backwards, 
occasionally lashing out with his fists to keep her at a distance. But 
it didn't work, Sandi simply ignored his punches, knowing he couldn't 
hurt her, and just kept moving forward. 

She moved slowly, very slowly, deliberately giving Nigel time to escape. 
But she moved implacably, always towards him. He had to skip and dance 
to stay clear of those frightening fists that filled his mind with fear 
and his stomach with a hollow feeling of dread. 

NIGEL: 

How could I have been so stupid as to get myself into this situation? 
Well, you should have seen her in the gym. She was a gorgeous bit of 
fluff, fuckability incarnate, her lips big and moist, her breasts big, 
firm and so suckable, pushing out her silk blouse into the most
interesting curves I've ever seen. I thought it was just going to be a 
walkover, we spar a bit, I pretend to hit her, she goes down, and it's 
back to the dressing room afterwards for the victor to get his reward. I 
was really looking forward to getting my dong inside that soft warm 
pussy, at least, I was before I realised what she was. 

Then she took off her dressing gown, and at first, I thought something 
had gone wrong with my vision, girls just don't look like that. Or was 
she a girl? I looked at her arms, then down at my own. I could swear 
hers were bigger, harder, more defined. A girl, and her biceps were 
bigger than mine? Impossible. But one look at that magnificent chest 
destroyed any doubts as to her sex. As I looked up, I could see those 
big wide shoulders, capped with great balls of muscle, leading to those 
appalling arms. The more I looked at her arms, the more I convinced 
myself that this was a man in drag, but then my eyes returned to her 
breasts and her nipples and there was no doubt of her womanhood. I 
wouldn't say femininity; she was an amazon, a big busty muscle woman. 
And what muscles! I guessed her arms were about as thick as my legs, and 
her legs - well, I was very glad that you can't use your legs in boxing, 
because they looked like legs that would crush your skull if they 
wrapped round your head. Women aren't supposed to be like that, they're 
supposed to be soft and gentle and feminine; Sandi was hard and brutal, 
but somehow she was still feminine. Well, she was certainly female,
anyway. But yes, somehow she retained her femininity, something in the 
way she moved, and the way she smiled, and those deliciously lickable 
nipples. 
 
Then I looked further down, past her waist. I wouldn't say her waist was 
small, it was quite large for a girl, but I saw muscles on her belly 
that I would have liked to own. It was this thick layer of muscle that 
made her waist so big, but even so it was small compared to those 
shoulders, oh, those shoulders, and I had another look at those fearsome 
arms. Then I looked further down, and she wasn't wearing shorts, she was 
wearing possibly the shortest skirt I've ever seen, made of possibly the 
thinnest silk cloth there is. I thought how wonderful it would be to get 
under that skirt, and then she moved her arms, catching my attention, 
and once again my eyes focused on those big, hard muscles. She must be 
sixteen inches at least, maybe seventeen, and they looked as hard as 
iron, and I felt the first doubts, the first stirrings of fear. Could 
this heavily muscled woman be stronger than me, stronger than a man? 

She kicked off her high heels, and I could see she wasn't very tall, 
maybe five six at the most. But she packed more muscle in that five-six 
than I had in my entire six-three, and although I had nine inches of 
height, eighty pounds of weight and the advantage of my masculinity with 
the upper body strength that men have, I began to wonder if I could
actually win this match. As her second laced up her gloves, she started 
taunting me, explaining how badly she was going to hurt me. I've heard 
this sort of thing many times, lots of boxers try to psyche out their 
opponents. But somehow, this was different. I honestly didn't think she 
was trying to psyche me, she was simply explaining her intentions. I 
licked my lips as she explained what she had planned for my face and 
body, but I kept my cool. I've heard this before. At least, I kept my 
cool until her demonstration. 

She walked over to a neutral corner, and without warning, turned and 
smashed her fist into the corner post. As she did, I could see that she 
was putting her whole body into the blow, and even those big powerful 
thighs were adding to the power of the punch. As her fist struck the 
post, the whole ring shook and shuddered, I've never seen anything like 
it. The power of that one punch told me so much. I knew that if a hammer 
blow like that landed on my body, I'd be finished. I knew that I'd 
better not let her get close enough to deliver a full-strength punch. I 
knew that I had to use my extra reach to stick, jab and dance. And I 
knew that, ultimately, I wouldn't be able to completely keep out of her 
reach, and that ultimately, she'd get me. But for the sake of my pride, 
I couldn't just give in, I had to try. 

This was a woman who was going to destroy me, deep down inside me I knew
that. All the years I'd spent strengthening and hardening my body were 
wasted, she was stronger and harder than I could ever be, and she was 
going to use that dreadful, terrible body to smash me to a pulp. 

She went back to her corner, and stood there, her arms behind her back, 
and those big solid breasts pointing straight at me. In any other 
context, she'd have had me so aroused I'd be gasping for breath, but my 
difficulty in breathing was mostly caused by fear, although partly it 
was lust. The referee called us to the middle of the ring and gave us 
the usual bullshit. I wasn't listening, and neither was she. She smiled 
up at me and started explaining about pleasure and pain - my pain, her 
pleasure. And blood, and tears. I began to think that maybe I should 
forget my pride and just throw in the towel, but then the bell rang for 
round one, and it was too late, so I moved out to meet her. 

She looked so young, her hair in a ponytail, her face fresh and sweet, 
like a little schoolgirl. But this little girl had the body of a 
sexually overdeveloped woman, and the muscles of a man three times her 
size. She held her gloves in front of her face, and remembering the 
impact of her fist on the corner post, I stayed well clear and used my 
boxing expertise to try to wear her down a bit. Bob and weave, jab, duck 
and dive, flick, dance and skip, feint and flick. I wasn't trying to hit 
her hard, my main objective was to stay out of range of those horrifying
arms, and land some weakening punches on her female body. I landed a few 
on her gloves, but then I spotted an opening and tried a body shot. My 
jab to her belly landed, she didn't even try to ward it off. She just 
stood there while I danced round her, occasionally moving slowly towards 
me. Then I decided I had to try to hurt her a bit, so I feinted with my 
left, and hook a good, solid uppercut into her unprotected belly. 

I've never hit a woman in the belly before, so I didn't really know what 
to expect. Maybe a whoof of breath, and the chance to follow up; maybe 
even she'd double up and I could try another shot at her head. But I 
wasn't prepared for what happened. She just put her hands on her hips 
and laughed at me. "Oh, honey, is that your best punch? Sweetiepie, you 
are in big trouble." She seemed to be inviting me to hit her again, and 
I thought "why not?" and smashed my fists onto the same place twice 
more. 

I might as well have been hitting a concrete block. She didn't even 
move, apart from her body shaking slightly from the double impact. You 
know how at times of disaster you notice little irrelevant details? I 
noticed that her breasts quivered slightly from the shock, her nipples 
moved maybe half an inch up and down. Later, when I had time to reflect 
on the fight, that was the detail that most firmly imprinted itself on 
my mind. I hit her as hard as I could, and it just made her nipples
shiver, made her look sexier than I would have thought possible. I could 
see my doom in her big muscular body, and yet she was exciting me 
sexually; the prick is eternally optimistic. I kept looking at those 
nipples, anything rather than look at her arms or think about what had 
just happened. Because if I couldn't hurt her, she could certainly 
slaughter me with the punch that she'd already demonstrated. 

Then she chuckled again. "Come to Mommy, Mommy's going to give you a big 
spanking" and she started walking slowly towards me. I kept my eyes on 
those two big sledge hammers, I'd seen the force of her punch on the 
corner post, and I didn't want any of that, thank you. I kept dancing, 
dodging and moving back. It was exhausting, but the thought of those 
terrifying fists hitting my body kept me moving. Then the bell rang for 
the end of round one, and I closed my eyes in gratitude. "Nigel", she 
called to me "oh, Nigel, I'm over here." She was standing in my corner, 
and as soon as she saw that I was watching her, she turned and slammed 
one of her piledriver fists into my corner post. Once again, the whole 
ring shook with the force of the blow, and I couldn't help it, my 
stomach spasmed in sympathy, and I nearly threw up. And so far, she 
hadn't touched me. 

Chapter 27 - Sandi plays to the crowd

Tristram: 

Sandi was doing a great job. She hadn't actually hit him so far, and 
he'd hit her a few times, so technically, Nigel was winning on points. 
But the reality was very different. In his mind, Nigel had already lost, 
and his only concern was to leave the ring on his feet. But I knew that 
there was no chance of that; the only question was whether he'd leave 
the ring still wearing his balls. Sandi was playing games, fucking up 
his mind, showing him what would happen if she ever got close enough to 
use her fists on him. And she'd moved slowly enough for him to be able 
to avoid her power, although I could see that all the ducking and 
weaving had left him tired and winded. The punch to the corner post was 
a magnificent touch, I thought, the whole audience could feel the force 
and watch the ring shake in response. After the second punch, I started 
hoping that we'd made the ring strong enough, I didn't want it 
collapsing under Sandi's fists. I hadn't anticipated her attack on the 
posts, but the effect was devastating, on Nigel's mind and on the mind 
of anyone watching. It was obvious that she could hurt a man so badly 
with those big hard-as-iron fists, and that she was just enjoying the 
bout, feeding on Nigel's fear like a vampire sucks blood. But that was 
fine with me - it was making a truly great video. 

Sandi: 

I let him hit me a couple of times, just to see if he had anything to 
worry about. It felt like someone had prodded me with a pillow, and he 
made me laugh. His muscles must be even softer than they looked. I let 
him hit me a couple more times, just so that he could understand that he 
couldn't actually hurt me with his big soft fists, and his jelly-muscles 
and I could see the fear in his eyes as he understood the lesson. I told 
the big limpdick that he was going to get hurt worse than he'd ever been 
hurt in his life, and started walking slowly, very slowly towards him. I 
moved slowly so that the fear would build up in his mind, so that he had 
enough time to get away from me. He skipped and danced, wearing himself 
out, as I advanced slowly towards him, my fists close to my chin. I kept 
my arms tight, the muscles standing out big and hard so that he could 
see what would happen if I caught up with him. I could smell the fear, 
the bright, tangy aroma of fright, just beginning to ooze from his body. 
It smelled so good, so sweet, I wanted more of it. I felt something stir 
in my loins as he backed away from me. What a turn-on! He must have 
known I was playing with him, but he obviously hoped that if he kept me 
at a distance, maybe I wouldn't hurt him so much. Then the bell rang for 
the end of round one, and he relaxed, his arms fell to his sides and I 
saw his eyes close with relief. What a limpdick, I hadn't even hit him 
yet, just threatened him. I walked to his corner, and smiled sweetly at
his second, who cowered away, as if I'd hurt a skinny little wimp like 
that. I called to Nigel, to get his attention, and as soon as he was 
looking, I turned and smashed my fist into his corner post. 

The whole ring shook, it was beautiful. I hoped Trissy had made the ring 
strong like I'd told him to, I could feel the post give a bit under my 
punch. Then I turned back to Nigel, who had his eyes closed again, and 
as I walked back to my corner, I deliberately brushed my naked breasts 
against his body. He jumped like someone had put a thousand volts 
through him, and the scent of his terror brought pleasure to my 
nostrils, and made my nipples as hard as iron. 

Nigel sat down in his corner, his legs looking like they needed the 
rest. I spent the rest interval doing my hair and putting lipstick on, 
just like Tris had asked me to, playing for the video. 

Nigel: 

She rubbed her breasts against me as she passed me in the middle of the 
ring, and I knew she'd done it on purpose. For a moment, I wondered what 
it would be like to fuck this gorgeous girl, and then I remembered that 
I'd be lucky if she didn't kill me with those terrible fists, so brutal 
and cruel. I sat down on my stool and tried to think what I could do. I
thought of surrendering, but then I'd be forfeiting the chance of five 
grand, plus I'd be laughed at everywhere I went. She hadn't touched me 
yet, I couldn't just give up. Then the bell rang and it was too late to 
change my mind, so I stood up. She strolled out to the middle of the 
ring, smiling at me the way a girl smiles at a man she wants to attract. 
The mixture of fear and lust hit me again, she was so totally confident, 
and for a good reason. I couldn't hurt her, and if she landed a full 
strength punch on me, I'd disintegrate. 

The second round started as a repeat of the first, with me lashing out 
my fists to keep her at a distance, and moving back if she looked like 
she might be able to get in a shot. 
                  
Sandi: 

He was so scared of me, I could feel the moisture begin to grow between 
my legs, and I wanted more, more fear. Time for some pain, that's always 
a good way to increase the apprehension. I couldn't just follow him 
round the ring, letting him score hits on my body, I had to start making 
this interesting. So I cornered him, ignored the feeble taps he was 
tossing at me, and threw a punch straight at his heart. He went straight 
down making a high pitched keening noise, and I was worried that I'd hit 
him too hard. This video was supposed to last an hour, not one punch.
The referee pushed me back, and I asked him whether he felt lucky today, 
or was he always stupid, and he gave me a worried look, and I gave him a 
sexy smile. Nigel was flopping around on the floor, making a moaning 
sound. I could feel his pain from a distance, it was bright red, sharp 
and clear. It felt so erotic, he was hurting so much, and all from that 
one heart shot. I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry. 

Nigel: 

Suddenly, she moved forward and crowded me into a corner. I punched her 
body a few times, and tried for a head shot, but her body still felt 
like a tree trunk, and her head just wasn't where I punched. Then, I'm 
not sure what happened, she must have hit me, I didn't see it coming, 
but it was like someone thrust a sword into my chest. The pain was worse 
than anything I've ever felt, my lungs emptied in a scream that sounded 
like it came from miles away and my legs just turned to jelly, and I 
wobbled down to the canvas. I was fully conscious, but the intense pain 
took away every particle of strength in my body. In particular, my left 
arm hurt, especially round the elbow, with a pain that was like a 
million needles stuck into my soft flesh. The pain ebbed a little, and I 
could hear the referee counting, and I found I could breathe again. I 
struggled to my feet, and waited submissively with my eyes closed for 
the knockout punch. My left arm didn't seem to belong to me any more,
the pain was so bad I wanted to crawl into a hole, and I just wanted 
this to be over. 

Sandi: 

For a while there, I thought I'd hit him too hard. I just wanted to turn 
his limbs to jelly, not knock him out, and the heart shot is perfect for 
that. He had his arms up to protect himself, so I punched hard enough to 
get through his defenses, but it's always difficult to judge these 
things exactly, and I began to get worried when he didn't seem to be 
getting up. But he managed to get off the canvas on the count of eight, 
and the referee gave him a few more seconds while he checked his gloves 
for grit. Then Nigel was all mine again. All except his left arm; a 
heart shot paralyses the left arm, it's something to do with referred 
pain. His left arm was out of it now, anaesthetised and paralysed. 

Nigel: 

I opened my eyes, and she was standing there in front of me, smiling, a 
sexy mountain of muscle, looking like the end of the world was just 
deciding how to fall on me. My arms hurt so much I couldn't keep them 
up; I tried, but the pain in my elbows was so great. I knew that heart 
pain is referred to the elbows, but I'd never experienced it before. I
couldn't move my left arm at all, I couldn't even feel it. She flicked 
out a fist and it exploded into my face. Theoretically, it didn't seem 
as if she'd hit me very hard. Practically speaking, she didn't need to, 
I hit the canvas again, with a thump. 

This time, it only took me a few seconds to shake off the cobwebs in my 
brain, and I bounced to my feet, leading with my chin straight into that 
horrible fist again. 

Chapter 28 - Blood and pain

Sandi: 

After I'd hit him a couple of times, I got a better feel for how much he 
could take, and I was a lot gentler with him. I wanted some blood for 
the cameras, so once I got the power levels right, I started hitting his 
nose, that's always good for a crimson tide. After a couple of punches, 
I started to see a dribble of red, and then a few minutes later, it was 
like a dam burst. I made sure that I got some of his blood on my lovely 
while silk skirt, so that it contrasted nicely for the video. Then the 
bell rang for the end of the second round. 

Nigel: 

Any sane man would have thrown in the towel at this point. I couldn't 
hurt her even before she'd heart-punched me, and how I felt now, I 
couldn't hurt a kitten. She, on the other hand, had just one problem, 
that of not hitting me too hard in case I flake out on her, plus how to 
get my blood off her skirt. It was so one-sided, with me as the victim. 
But I looked across the ring at the muscular Amazon who was so easily 
dominating me in the ring, and she looked so sexually over-developed, I 
felt a rush of submission and acquiescence. I wanted her to hurt me, to 
dominate me with her hard fists, to take me and use me and turn me to
mush. I didn't want it to end. If my pain was what it took to make her 
happy, if the only way I could serve her was with my suffering, then 
that's what I'd do. 

Have you ever fought a woman, I mean really fought, not the erotic 
tussles of the bedroom? It was a new experience for me, too, and no-one 
had warned me about the sexual aspects of it. I started at her breasts, 
tipped with the hard nipples that I longed to touch. I wanted to give 
her pleasure, to make her squeal with delight, and if the only way I 
could do that was to let her smash up my body, then that would have to 
do. 

Sandi: 

As the third round started, I told myself to be gentle with him, he's 
only a big soft man. He was really scared now, I could see it in his 
eyes, and I could smell it very strongly. His pain and fear had turned 
me on so thoroughly, I just wanted to fuck him. I wondered what his cock 
looked like, and how long I'd be able to keep it hard. I could also see 
the desire for my body, so I told him what I wanted. "Don't wimp out on 
me, Nigel. You make a proper fight out of this, and later on I'll fuck 
you like you've never been fucked before. You stand and fight, and if 
you can get through eight rounds, I'll show you what it's like to be
fucked all night by a woman twice your strength. I've really got the 
hots for you, Nigel, I want to hurt you so bad, then fuck you so hard." 
Actually, I reckoned I was more than twice his strength when we started, 
let alone now, but who's counting? I could hear his breath wheezing in 
and out; his eyes were fixated on my nipples. "Look at me, Nigel," I 
commanded him.  He looked up, I showed him my gloved fist, and then I 
punched him on the bicep, not too hard, but enough to make him stagger. 
"You wimp out on me now, and you won't have to face my padded fists, 
you'll find out what it's like between my legs as my thighs break your 
ribs and crush your body to a ruined mess." 

Nigel: 

There was no way out for me, now. She showed me the carrot and the 
stick. The carrot was for me to be between her legs, and the stick was 
the same thing. Except that it wasn't quite the same; I looked down at 
Sandi's legs, and they promised both hell and heaven. I tried to imagine 
what it would be like to be fucked all night by a totally dominating 
woman, who could so easily command me to do whatever she wanted, and I 
felt a wave of submission surge through me. I wondered just how powerful 
her vagina would be, whether my cock would be equal to the contest, and 
I knew that it would not. Then I tried to imagine what it would be like 
if she wanted to hurt me, to be trapped between those hellish thighs as
they ground closer and closer, crushing the air from my body, leaving me 
unable to even draw breath, my body suffering the unendurable pressure 
she would be able to exert with those iron muscles, the blackness 
flooding over my brain, and my last thoughts being a doubt about whether 
I'd ever wake up. I wanted to submit to her, to crawl at her feet, lick 
her toes, whatever she wanted. 

She brought me back to reality with a punch on my upper arm. It didn't 
hurt very much, except it jarred my body, and I felt a stab of pain 
through my chest. I gasped, and she grinned, and hit me again, in the 
same place. I tried to put my hands in the way, but she just hooked 
around them. I tried hitting her back, but it was like she was made of 
iron, my punches hurt me more than they hurt her. She hit me again on 
the arm, and again. Each time, it hurt a bit more, each time I knew that 
she was just playing with me, that these punches were just love-taps 
compared with what I'd seen her do to the corner post, and compared to 
what I'd felt when she'd heart-punched me. 

Sandi: 

By the time the third round was over, his right arm was a mass of 
bruises, red and yellow, which would turn black and blue soon enough. 
And I'd hurt his arm enough to make it very painful for him to lift it,
which made fighting rather more difficult. When the bell went, I pushed 
past him again, making sure that I rubbed my groin against his as I 
passed. I spent the interval shadow boxing and punching my corner post, 
which seemed to be getting looser, just to show the audience that I 
still had lots of pain left to give. When the bell rang for the fourth 
round, I danced out to the middle of the ring, but Nigel stayed on his 
stool. Obviously, a bit more encouragement was needed. 

I walked over to where he sat. His head was just below my waist, so I 
pulled his face into my thighs and spoke softly to him. After a short 
while, I stepped back, to give him room to stand up, and as soon as he 
did, I started working on his poor right arm again. I didn't need to hit 
it very hard now, each punch brought a gasp of pain from him. He tried 
to fend me off with his left arm, but it was like being hit by a 
butterfly. 

Nigel: 

This wasn't a fight, it was a prolonged torture session. I couldn't 
bring myself to stand up for the fourth round, so she walked over to
where I sat, and pulled my head against her legs. I felt the hardness, 
and then she parted them slightly, and I smelled the musk of her sex. 
She told me that she was getting turned on by my pain and suffering, and
that after a few more rounds, she'd knock me out, and when I came round, 
I'd be in bed with her. Or, she said, I could be unco-operative, and 
she'd just smash me up and find someone else to fuck. Somehow, I knew 
that she could take her pick of any man in the audience. She told me 
that she could kill me with her fists, and I believed her. She told me 
that she wouldn't kill me, oh no, she wasn't that merciful. She'd let me 
live, but as a humiliated cripple, beaten to a pulp by a girl. If I 
tried to take a dive, she said, she'd punch me once in the lower back, 
and snap my spine, and I'd probably live, but paralysed from the waist 
down. And somehow, I knew that if she carried out her threat to smash me 
up, it would be a long, long time before I would be an entire man again, 
if ever. The choice was either to be hurt badly, or to be smashed to a 
ruin. So, wearily and in great pain, I stood up so that she could hurt 
me some more. I looked at her arms, they looked like they must be at 
least 18 inches of hard steel, and I knew my 15 inch jellies wouldn't 
help me. I was scared, really scared of this busty young girl with the 
big hard muscles that were turning me to mush, slowly and steadily. And 
I knew that the process was slow, only because she wanted it to be slow. 

Chapter 29 - Spectacular damage

Sandi: 

He was brave enough, I'll give him that. He knew he was done for, and 
all he had to do was lie down and take the count, but with only a little
encouragement from me, he kept going. His right arm was puffy and 
useless, so I turned my attention to his head. Head shots make 
spectacular damage, just the sort of thing Tris would want on the video. 
I threw about a dozen shots to his head, making him groggy. He tried to 
use his left arm to keep off the worst, but I just punched through his 
defences. His legs were like rubber, his right arm didn't belong to him 
any more, he barely had the strength in his left arm to lift it and he 
barely knew where he was. So I hit his nose again, to get some more 
blood, and he delivered beautifully. The blood spurted onto me, onto my 
skirt, onto the ring floor. Then the bell went again, and I turned and 
left him staggering in the middle of the ring. His cornerman came out 
and led him back. 

Nigel: 

I'm not sure what happened next. All I know is that my right arm didn't 
work, my legs were like butter, and something kept hitting my head. 
Suddenly there was an explosion of pain on my nose, and I felt the warm
blood running down my face. Then someone led me back to my corner and it 
was all over. 

But the bell rang again like the tocsin of doom, and I was pushed out to 
face my torturess, the little muscle girl who treated me like a mincing 
machine treated a piece of meat. 

Sandi: 

You know, I felt a bit sorry for him. No-one had really warned him about 
what was likely to happen, he'd thought he was going to beat up some 
piece of crumpet, enjoy a good shag, then have a few pints on the way 
home. Then I felt angry, he was willing to beat up on a girl, let's see 
how he like it when the tables are turned. "Come on, loverboy, cry for 
me" He was already weeping from the pain, but I wanted more. "This 
little girl wants to hear you beg for mercy". "Please", he said "You're 
too strong for me, I can't take any more, please." I smiled "That's 
good, keep begging, I might take it easy on you" I started peppering his 
head again, staying away from his damaged nose, and being careful not to 
hit him too hard, I didn't want him unconscious. But I started to twist 
my fists as they landed on his head, making his skin tear as my gloves 
thudded into his face. "Oh, please Sandi, I've had enough, you're so 
strong, too strong for me". He tried to hide behind his arms, but I just
punched through them. After a short while, his face was bleeding from 
dozens of cuts, his jaw, his cheeks, his forehead. Time to close his 
eyes, I thought, and I aimed to get my gloves into his eye sockets and 
upper cheekbones. Blackened and bleeding eyes look good for the video, I 
thought. 

I stepped back and admired my work. His face looked like hamburger, 
bruised, bleeding and broken. He was still on his feet though, and I 
admired him for the amount of pain he could take, and his courage in 
staying in the ring with me. Then the bell rang for the end of round 
four. 

Nigel: 

I don't know what was happening, but it hurt. My face hurt, my arm hurt, 
my body was a mass of pain. And still she kept up her assault. There was 
no escape. I thought about just slumping to the canvas, but I knew that 
she'd hit me in the back like she'd hit the corner post, with all the 
strength of those mighty muscles, and I'd be confined to a wheel chair 
for the rest of my life. So I staggered and stayed up on my feet while 
she tore my face to ribbons with her fists, and prayed for it all to 
end. My prayers were answered, the bell rang, and I slumped down to the 
canvas. It was all over at last.

Tris: 

Sandi looked over to me and smiled her lovely sunny smile - she was 
enjoying herself. I smiled back to her, even though I felt ill. I hadn't 
realised it would be like this. That was a human being in there, being 
turned into a side of beef. If I'd known what it would be like, I would 
never have set this up. I'd seen Sandi fight before, but that was quick 
and clean, her opponent disabled, and she'd walk away. But this? I 
wondered why Nigel didn't just give up, just lie down and give in. I 
guessed Sandi must have said or done something to keep him going. I 
thought, I'll never arrange another fight, this is barbaric, gruesome. 
Sandi untied and retied her hair, making a new knot in her blue scarf. 
The action made her biceps stand out for the audience and the video 
cameras, contrasting nicely with the femininity of the gesture. It also 
made her breasts stand out more prominently, contrasting with the size 
and strength of her arms. Sandi was emphasizing her strength and 
femininity, and looking round the hall, I could see that she'd already 
had an orgasmic effect on many of the audience. 

Sandi: 

The bell rang for round five. "Playtime, baby." I said, happily. He fell
to his knees, and tried to bury his face in my thighs, smearing them 
with his blood and tears. Blood and tears, my favourite mixture. "Oh, 
Sandi, I'll do anything, what do you want, only please don't hurt me any 
more." His tears made me dissolve inside, my vagina felt like it was 
dripping with arousal. The sight of his damage and pain, the smell of 
his fear and the sound of his crying; he'd found the perfect 
combination. If he was trying to seduce me, he couldn't have done 
better, I was as good as horizontal.  "What I want is a soft limpdick to 
feel the pain that my big muscles dish out, a man to feel the agony that 
a woman can inflict, and big soft helpless man weeping and crying in 
suffering as I turn his body to a mass of bruises and damage. Because so 
far, I've hurt you on the outside - now I'm going to hurt you on the 
inside, where the damage is greater and the pain is worse. What you've 
felt so far is nothing, nothing compared to the anguish my fists are 
going to cause as they tear you up inside." I helped him stand up, then 
ripped a punch into his middle. Up till now, I'd left that alone, it's 
usually a man's most tender area, once a couple of punches have turned 
the abdominal muscles to jelly so they can't offer any resistance. 


Nigel: 

Up till now, I'd been put through a mincer; she had bruised my body and
dominated my mind. But now it felt like fourteen pound hammers were 
smashing up my body. She would smash one of those leather-clad clubs 
into my belly, and it would feel like a mule kicking me. Then she'd 
wait, watching me while the agony rose in my body like a rising scream, 
and then decayed slowly to a bright star of pain. Until she judged that 
I was ready for the next dose, and then she'd close up to me and smash 
that terrible fist into my flimsy abdomen again. 

I was completely impotent. She could do anything she wanted to me, I 
even welcomed the feel of her fists on my torso. If she wanted me to be 
in pain, then I'd suffer for her. If she wanted to see a man crying, I'd 
weep as much as she wanted. If she wanted me to be afraid of her fists, 
she'd already done everything necessary. Although I welcomed her assault 
on my body, I was also terribly afraid of two things, I was afraid that 
she might kill me, and I was afraid that she might not. 

When she came close to grind me to a pulp, I could smell her female 
perfume, not flowery, not scent, but the smell of a woman's arousal, the 
most erotic smell in the world. She was getting off on my pain, my 
terror and my helplessness; my appalling condition was giving her sexual 
pleasure. I felt proud that I could arouse this man-beating amazon, and 
hopeful that maybe she'd spare me because of it. I fell to my knees 
again, and begged her to stop before she killed me. And then I begged
her to kill me with her fists, not to make me suffer any more.

Chapter 30 - Sandi gets turned on

Sandi: 

Mmmh, this felt good, so good. I could feel myself getting really wet 
between the legs as this pitiful excuse for a man bled and cried for me. 
My nipples stiffened as he whimpered with pain, as my strong arms drove 
my fists deep into his stomach, churning up his internal organs. Blood 
was seeping out of his mouth now - what a turn-on! I smiled sexily at 
him, I felt so good inside. "You think these little love-taps hurt? 
Watch this." I walked over to the corner post, and hit it, hard.  The 
whole ring shook again, and he fell to his knees, curled up with his 
head down submissively. "That's what a real punch does, limpdick. That's 
what a real woman does to a man. Now, stand up and take your medicine." 
I was almost wetting myself as I felt my total power over this helpless 
man, cowering and whimpering at my feet. I looked around at the 
audience. The men all looked back at me, fearfully, while the women 
looked thoughtful. I wondered how many men were feeling the fear of 
women that I was inspiring in Nigel. 

Nigel: 

I couldn't take any more. My arms were a mass of bruises, my face was a 
mask of blood, my nose was flattened, my ribs felt like they were almost
broken, and now she was churning up my stomach like a plough churns up a
field. I put my arms round her thighs and pressed my face to her short 
skirt. I  could feel the huge thigh muscles bunching up under my hands, 
and felt glad, so glad we weren't wrestling. Those thighs could kill, if 
she wanted them to. I was babbling, I don't remember what, but I was 
pleading for her to kill me, anything to end this torture. I was getting 
her skirt filthy with my blood, but she didn't seem to mind. She put her 
arms round me gently, and helped me get to my feet    Then she  took a 
step back, and I'm not really sure what happened next. 

Sandi: 

He submitted himself to me totally. He begged for an end to the pain, 
begged me to kill him with my big muscles. But it isn't that easy, 
limpdick. Killing you puts you out of your misery. You don't feel any 
more pain, fear and humiliation, and that's what I love so much. Oh no, 
if you want to kill yourself later, then you can, but not now. If you 
find it impossible to live with the memory of the way a girl beat you to 
a pulp, if you find it embarrassing flinching whenever a well-built 
woman walks into the room, if you spend the rest of your life looking 
for a female to totally dominate you, then you'll have to find some way 
of dealing with it, or else put an end to your own misery. But I won't 
do it for you.

But he wasn't going to be any fun any more. When the big soft man starts 
begging you to kill him, then you know he's finished, he's reached the 
lowest point he can. Plus, I was feeling so horny, I could fuck a horse. 
Time for some sex. 

Nigel: 

I found myself kneeling on the canvas, my head bent back facing the sky. 
She straddled my head with the thighs I'd been in such fear of, and I 
found my face pressed against the soft hair of her genitals. Under the 
short silk skirt, she was totally bare, obviously ready for this 
encounter. I knew at once what I was supposed to do, and started licking 
as hard as I could. My tongue found her clitoris, and it was so big and 
stiff, for a moment I got confused and thought it was a prick, but it 
doesn't matter, the action is the same. 

Sandi: 

I looked round at the audience; they had come to watch a fight, but they 
seemed happy to watch Nigel servicing me. I could see a lot of the men 
in the audience had already had orgasms from just watching me destroy 
Nigel, and more of them were rubbing themselves as Nigel rubbed and
licked me off. I closed my eyes and threw my head back in pleasure as 
Nigel brought me to my first orgasm, and as I was coming, the bell rang 
for the end of round five. 

Nigel: 

Suddenly, the vise-like clamps round my head were gone, and I was being 
led away. I sat in my corner, I couldn't take my eyes off the 
magnificent woman who had destroyed my body, mind and soul. She was 
using her towel to dry between her legs. Suddenly she looked up and gave 
me a brilliant smile, and I knew that everything would be all right. The 
bell rang, and I staggered forward to meet her. Her fist flashed out, 
and I was on my knees, doubled up and vomiting. I lost control of my 
sphincter, and the urine ran out over my legs. I was a mess, my body was 
a disgusting wreck. 

Sandi: 

He was looking a lot better when round six started, so I gave him some 
more pain. The sudden shock in his belly made him throw up the contents 
of his stomach over the canvas. What a mess! "Stand up, sweetcakes, I 
need your head some more." He looked up, hopefully. While he was giving 
me oral sex, I wasn't punching him. He staggered to his feet, and I
lined him up carefully, and with a punch to the jaw, I sent him reeling 
to the mat, where he fell into his own pool of vomit. Excellent! Except 
he smelled terrible, of course. I walked over to him and lifted his head 
up till it was in place, and made him lick me off again. If he flagged, 
I took his head between my gloved fists and rubbed it against myself. 
Mmmh, it felt so good! Much better than a soft prick would. After a few 
minutes, I came again, and the wetness running down my legs was a 
mixture of my come, and his blood and tears. He slumped by my feet while 
I yawned and stretched above him, feeling good, feeling dominant. The 
audience was going wild, and the bell rang again. 

Nigel: 

Unhhh. 

Sandi: 

He was a mess, covered in his own blood and vomit, sticky and smelling 
from my come, weeping and babbling incoherently. He wasn't any use to me 
any more, but he could entertain the audience, both live and on the 
video. I backed him up against the ropes to support him from there, and 
put my shoulder in his chest to keep him upright. Then I went to work, 
finishing him off..

Crash! My fist hit his lower ribs, not quite hard enough to break them. 
Smash! My other fist sunk into his soft belly, not quite hard enough to 
destroy his liver, but bringing a grunt of pain and a spurt of blood 
from his mouth. Bash! His lower ribs again, on the other side. The thin 
skin of his body tore, leaving a gash in his chest that oozed blood, the 
ribs cracked but didn't break, I'd judged it just right. Crunch! My fist 
ripped into his side, and he gave a high-pitched scream as his lack of 
muscle let my wreak havoc inside him, bruising his kidney, but not 
breaking it. Wallop! The belly again, a favorite of mine. You can 
inflict so much pain in the belly, and so much damage. Bang! His hands 
were dangling uselessly by his sides, unable to stop my glove exploding 
into his face. Blood, vomit and come flew through the air as my fist 
splashed into his nose, or rather into the place where his nose used to 
be. 

Chapter 31 - Sandi breaks the ring

But then his eyes closed, his body went limp, and I knew that I couldn't
hurt him any more, for now. I stepped back, and let his unconscious body
slump to the floor, and the referee acknowledged me as the winner. I
walked over to my corner, and this time I unleashed a completely
uninhibited smashing blow to the post. I felt it move, so I hit it
again, and this time it cracked and came away from it's support.

Tris: 

Never again, never. I hadn't realized what an animal she was, I was 
nauseous just thinking that I'd have to deal with her this evening. 
Nigel hadn't stood a chance, I already knew that, but I hadn't realised 
that he'd be paying such a terrible penalty. Yet, even through my 
disgust, I couldn't help but admire the devastating man-smasher that was 
Sandi Stone, with her body that was all muscle, and all sexuality. I 
knew what she was like in bed, too, with her unique way of giving 
pleasure and pain simultaneously. I noticed that a lot of the men round 
me were shamelessly beating themselves off, even thought they were 
accompanied by wives and girlfriends; it was as if the normal rules of 
civilized conduct were suspended by the barbaric spectacle we were 
witnessing. 

She finished him off in round six, a bit earlier than we'd agreed, but 
he'd had enough, and there was enough on the tapes to make a first rate 
video. She ended it by smashing her fists into his defenceless body 
again and again until he fell, limp and bloody to the floor. Then she 
demonstrated her power by destroying the ring itself, sending crashing 
blows into the corner post until it could no longer stand, and broke at 
the base. The ropes pulled the broken post into the middle of the ring, 
and Sandi stepped daintily over it, put on her high heels and silk gown, 
and walked elegantly back to the dressing room. 

Nigel: 

I came to, lying in a strange bed, covered with my own blood, vomit and 
other fluids. My body was a sea of pain, an ocean of agony. My right arm 
was completely dead, and I tried to look at it, but my eyes wouldn't 
open, shut by the swelling round them, and by the dried blood. My left 
arm was throbbing with pain in time with my heart beat. Breathing was 
something I didn't really want to do, although I had to. Breathing in 
shot lances of fire through my chest, and breathing out felt like a 
hammers pounding on my belly. Meanwhile, a gang of vicious little 
dwarves with nasty little axes were trying to break out of my skull. Let 
me put it another way - my toes didn't hurt, but almost everything else 
did. I moaned, and then I wondered where I was. I said "Where am I?".
What an appalling cliché! 

I couldn't see, but I could hear, and what I heard chilled my blood. 
"Hello, sweetheart! How do you feel?" It was She, the iron muscled woman 
who had wrecked my body, Sandi Stone. She must be here with me, and all 
I had to offer was my life. I was totally at her mercy, and she had no 
mercy. My bowels loosened with fear, and my sphincter relaxed, but 
fortunately my bladder had already emptied. 

Sandi: 

He was a mess, but he looked so weak and helpless lying there, I felt 
sorry for him. He smelled, no, he stank. I thought, let's get him 
cleaned up, he'll feel better. I called out, "Tris, change the bed 
linen", and picked him up in my arms, and carried him in to the 
bathroom. 

Nigel: 

She reached for me, and I felt those strong hands gripping my tortured 
flesh. She picked me up in her arms, and I tried to brace myself for 
whatever pain she wanted to dish out to me. But she carried me to the 
bathroom, put me down on my feet, and helped me stay upright, while the
hot water from the shower washed the sweat, blood, vomit, urine and 
other disgusting bodily fluids from my body. Then I felt the gentle 
roughness of a soapy flannel caressing the pain from my flesh. The water 
over my face cleaned the blood from my eyes, and I was able to open them 
and see her, gloriously naked, her hair wet and dishevelled. She was 
gently washing my battered body. She, who had been the cause of my 
destruction, was now tending my wounds like a gentle nurse. I could 
barely stand for the pain in my stomach and chest, but her light touch 
on my skin was soothing away some of the pain. Then she rinsed me off, 
and wrapped me in a big, soft, fluffy towel. I felt clean, and warm, but 
still in a lot of pain. 

Don't get me wrong. I was still in more pain than I've ever been before, 
it just wasn't quite as bad as it had been. Plus, the sight of this 
magnificent amazon made me feel that maybe life was worth living after 
all. She picked me up again, and carried me to her bed like a baby in 
her arms, and lay me down, and I was struck by a new fear. In my 
condition, sex with this sexually overdeveloped muscle girl would 
probably kill me, at least cause serious injury. I thought of those 
terrifying thighs, and my inability to use my right arm to stay out of 
trouble. "Please don't..." I moaned, but she smiled at me and said "You 
stay right there, honey, I'll just be a few moments" 

Sandi: 

I dried myself, put on some perfumed talcum like Tris had shown me, and 
my sexiest black silk night dress, the one Tris had gotten me, with long 
floppy sleeves that hid my big muscles, and a long full skirt, almost 
down to the floor, but low cut over the bust, and clinging to my 
nipples. I smoothed it down over my body, and nearly came there and 
then. "Steady, girl" I said to myself. I skipped back into the bedroom, 
anticipating a night of passionate fucking, with several massive orgasms 
for each of us, but by the time I'd gotten back, the selfish prick had 
fallen asleep. Men! 

Tris: 

She was positively glowing with anticipation. The fight had gotten her 
really aroused, her nipples threatened to poke through her lovely black 
night dress. She looked sexier than I'd ever seen her, like a bride on 
her wedding night, and I almost wished it was me she was going to fuck. 
Almost, but not quite, because tonight she was so aroused, she was 
dangerous, and I hoped that she'd use Nigel to take the edge off her 
carnal needs before I became her next victim. She'd washed him clean and 
gotten him ready, and left him in the bed while she got herself glammed 
up the way I'd taught her. She looked stunning when she returned, and I
completely forgot the awful things she'd been doing such a short while 
ago. I sat on the floor and watched as she approached the bed, felling 
rather sorry for Nigel, who was about to learn what it felt like to be 
made love to by a women who enjoyed your pain as well as her pleasure. 
But when she reached the bed, she looked so disappointed. He was 
unconscious - not too surprising really, considering what he'd been 
through. Sandi looked around the room, and I tried to make myself 
invisible. The fight had made her so randy, I was terrified of what she 
might do to me with her lovemaking. A little guy like me can only take 
so much. I wanted her, sure, but I wanted Nigel to take the edge off her 
need first. And maybe three other guys, also. 

Chapter 32 - Sandi gets her rocks off

Nigel:

She woke me up, and I almost didn't recognise the sexy feminine angelic
girl, smelling of some sweet fragrance. I felt her gentle touch on my
body, and the light erotic feeling of her skirt as it brushed across my
thighs. She lay down on the bed next to me. She looked like a lovely
young girl on her wedding night. I was terrified.

In spite of her appearance, she was still the malicious man-beater who
had smashed me with her terrible fists in the completely one sided
contest that had left me broken and bleeding. I guessed that she was
just setting me up for more suffering, more humiliation. She was 
reminding me that my misery was caused by a lovely, sexy girl, before 
she used those vicious fists on me some more. I moaned in fear as she 
moved her body closer to me, and whispered "Please, please don't, I 
can't take any more, please don't hurt me any more, I'm so weak and 
you're so strong, please..." 

Her body kissed mine; I could feel the soft silky touch of her night-
dress, but I knew that there was a hard, muscular, unforgiving body 
underneath. Her hands stroked my chest, but every breath I took was 
painful, pain that she'd inflicted on me just a few hours ago. Then her
hands reached lower and lower, until she reached my groin. All this 
time, my eyes were tightly closed, and I was begging her to leave me 
alone, or to let me die in peace. Then her hard hands touched my penis, 
and in spite of my terror, I began to experience an erection. Her hands 
stroked my shaft, and my erection grew. I moaned in fear of what her 
hands might do to my helpless body, I groaned in pain, the pain from my 
chest, belly and arms, all of which were still reminding me insistently 
of the terrible damage they'd suffered, but also I moaned at the 
pleasure that she was giving my groin and prick, one of the few areas 
that she hadn't mangled in the fight. 

Sandi: 

It was no problem turning him on. Hitting below the belt is illegal in a 
boxing match, so I'd left his prick alone during the fight. I rubbed 
myself up and down on his body, very gently, because I'd injured him 
rather badly, and his dick stood out nicely, hard and proud. "You've got 
a lovely cock", I said, and I stroked it and squeezed it, watching it 
bob and duck under my hand. I patted it, and it jiggled nicely. I held 
the knob in one hand while I stroked the shaft with the other. Not a 
particularly big dick, but a very nice one, with a good, symmetrical 
shape, a nice pink color and a knobbly, nubbly head. I massaged the head 
in one hand while I stroked the shaft with the other. Then I held the
top while I petted the underside with my fingers. He started to make 
noises like a man in distress, but I knew I wasn't hurting him, I 
couldn't smell any fear for the moment. I looked up at his face - it 
looked terrible. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his nose was 
flattened, his eyes puffy and almost closed. But underneath all that, I 
could still see a rather pretty man, so I kissed his broken lips, 
carefully, so as not to hurt him any more. As I put my hand on his 
chest, he winced with pain, and I guessed that I'd cracked some of his 
ribs. Doctors don't do anything for that, you know, they just tell you 
to take it easy while they heal. I stroked the curly hair in his chest, 
men look so funny like that, like some sort of animal. Then I went back 
to playing with that beautiful prick, softly, gently, carefully. I 
didn't want to upset it; it was so tender, so vulnerable. It was hard, 
hard as a man's prick ever gets, but I knew that compared to my hands it 
was soft, and if I wanted to I could easily bend it double, even while 
he had an erection. For a moment, I thought of doing exactly that, 
knowing the overwhelming pain it would cause, and the fear that he'd 
feel in it's wake. But I had another use in mind for this lovely cock, 
and it would be a pity to damage it at this time. 

Nigel: 

She was using her female body to torment me sexually. I wanted her, I
wanted her so badly, but I knew that any move by me would be so foolish, 
so stupid, likely to bring instant and devastating retaliation. I was so 
badly hurt that even a cuddly kitten could handle me, and Sandi Stone 
was no cuddly kitten, more a terrible tigress. The thought of more 
punishment from her hands made my stomach lurch, and I closed my eyes 
and begged her some more. "Please, please" I whispered. She stroked my 
cock with those cruel, hard hands, she rubbed her silk-clad body on my 
painful torso, she kissed my smashed mouth with her soft lips. She was 
all the woman that anyone could want, and ten times as much as any man 
could handle, either in bed or in the ring. I wept softly to myself in 
abject terror of those hands, those strong, terrible hands that could 
give me pain or pleasure, or both. I kept as still as I could, hoping 
that she wouldn't hurt me any more. She kept her hands on my dick, and 
all the time she was pleasuring me, I was thinking of the terrible agony 
she could inflict on me if she decided to. And I knew that she might do 
just that, at any time. 

Sandi: 

He was ever so nice, really. Really really nice. He lay next to me, 
trembling a little, crying quietly. I love it when a man cries in my 
arms, it makes me feel so maternal and protective. His body was rigid 
with fear, fear of me; his cock was rigid with desire, desire for me,
for the woman who had beaten him to a pulp. I stroked his hair, then 
pulled his head to my breasts and tried to soothe him, to comfort his 
fears, to tell him that the dreadful woman who had shattered his body 
was gone, and now there was a soft, gentle girl, who just wanted to make 
him better. Well, that wasn't strictly true, but he wasn't in a state to 
be able to contradict me. Gradually, he stopped whimpering, so I put my 
arms round him and hugged him a bit. 

Not gently enough. He gasped with the pain, then started crying again. 
Oh dear. Maybe some of his ribs were actually broken? It's always 
difficult to tell how hard to hit someone. So I let go of his body and 
went back to stroking and petting his soft/hard prick with the loose 
velvety skin. At least his cock liked me! It stood up straight to 
attention, and I blew on it, and used my hair to stroke it and tickle 
it. 

Nigel: 

For a while, she was gentle with me, stroking my hair and whispering to 
me that she'd look after me, I had nothing to fear. I began to believe 
her, she seemed do soft, so nice, so womanly. Then, suddenly, she 
wrapped those big brawny arms round me. Even through the silk night 
dress, I could see that her muscles were bigger than mine, and so hard,
so thick, so strong. Then, she tightened those great powerful muscles, 
and agony shot through my crushed body, exacerbated by the bruising of 
the fight and the cracked ribs I'd sustained. The pain overwhelmed me 
immediately, my resistance was already almost zero, and I started crying 
again, I couldn't help it. I can't remember crying since I was a very 
young kid, but Sandi could bring me to tears in a moment. But then she 
let go of me and started on my penis again, and it felt like heaven. 

Sandi: 

After a few minutes of prick-play, he stopped crying again, and his 
prick got really hard and my hand could feel his heart beating through 
it. I crawled down the bed and put it next to my cheek, so I could feel 
the blood pounding inside it. I kissed it, then stuck out my tongue and 
licked the underside. It jerked a little, and trembled, so I soothed it 
with both my hands, and reassured it. "There, little cock, don't be 
frightened, Sandi won't hurt you, Sandi just wants to play with you. 
Doesn't that feel nice, little cock?" I felt a spot of wetness on the 
end, so I moved myself to get a better look. Unfortunately, in doing so, 
I put my hand on his belly. His dick immediately went limp, and he 
started making a fuss again. 

Nigel:

What a terrible, frightful woman. She brought me close to that wonderful
moment of release, and then, just as I was about to come, she pressed
her hand down on my tender belly, where in the fight earlier she'd
pounded my abdominal muscles to mush. The pain was like a knife through
my guts, and if I'd had the strength, I'd have screamed. As it was, all
I could to was whimper and wail, and beg her to stop hurting me. Just as
I thought I was passing out, she released the pressure, and started to
stroke my throat. I felt so vulnerable, I knew she could crush my
windpipe with her strong fingers, I knew that I wouldn't even be able to
struggle as she ended my life. I still couldn't move my right arm, and
my left wasn't much better, so I lay there, whispering "Please don't,
please don't" as her hands roamed over my fragile neck.

Chapter 33 - Sandi finishes off Nigel

Sandi: 

Oops. I didn't mean to lean on his stomach. But the effect was very 
nice, he almost screamed with pain, so I went back up to his head and 
started comforting him again, but stroking his soft, velvety neck. I 
traced my fingers round his Adams Apple, and thought about how delicate 
and easy to damage he was. He must have been thinking the same thing, 
because I could smell the fear, sharp and crimson in my nostrils and he 
started whimpering and pleading with me again. It was great, he was
making me feel so dominant, so in control of his entire body. His terror 
was an aphrodisiac to me. I could feel my nipples stiffening, my breasts 
firming and the wetness between my thighs. I closed my eyes and touched 
the sides of his neck with both my hands; he became even more afraid, so 
I cupped my hands round his neck as if I was going to crush his 
windpipe, and the smell of fear grew louder and louder. 

I couldn't take it any more, and I climbed on top of him, ignoring his 
cries of pain as the weight of my body ground his cracked ribs together. 
That lovely cock was soft and limp now, but I spread my legs over his 
groin, sat up, and lowered my crutch onto his. As soon as I could feel 
his yielding penis, I wriggled myself onto him until I could feel it at 
the entrance to my vagina. Then I spread wider and worked my muscles
until I'd drawn him inside. Once inside, he didn't stand a chance. 

I clenched my vagina, gripping him hard inside me. I lifted his hands up 
so that they were touching my stiff nipples, and began to work myself 
around him, pulling him deeper in. Once he was fully in, I could begin 
to pulsate my vagina muscles until he began to moan again, but this time 
with pleasure. On no, Nigel, pleasure is for me, for you, all there will 
be is more pain. I lifted him by the head so that he was sitting up 
facing me, which put so much pressure on his tenderized stomach that he 
would have yelled with pain if he'd been able to breath in that 
position. I dropped him before he could pass out, and as the waves of 
pain flooded his body, his penis brought waves of pleasure inside my 
genitals. I gripped him harder, and began to move up and down, using my 
powerful thighs to ride him. Faster and faster I bounced, ignoring his 
grunts of agony as his damaged body bore the shocks. His penis was soft 
again now, but trapped inside my powerful vagina, and totally under my 
control. As I felt my orgasm coming, I slowed down, and stopped, so that 
I wouldn't come too soon. He writhed feebly under me, and I called his 
name, "Nigel. Nigel, my love!" His eyes fluttered open, and through his 
pain and tears he gave me a look of adoration. I smiled at him again, 
and leaned down to put my hands round his precious neck again, and once 
more the smell of raw fear rose from his body. My desire rose inside me, 
this delicious, adorable man was everything I ever wanted; weak,
helpless, terrified, crying and in frightful pain. 

I controlled my climax, and pulled his head towards me, holding him by 
the neck, one hand on each side. His face was buried in my breasts, 
those soft, maternal, nurturing breasts that would one day nourish and 
protect my baby. He knew that it would take very little effort for me to 
kill him, and I smelled the sweet smell of dread again. I explained to 
him that sometimes when I came, my muscles would contract involuntarily, 
crushing whatever I was holding, and he whispered "No, please, oh Sandi, 
please no..." I smiled down at him; his fear was so arousing and erotic. 
I pulled and sucked hard with my vagina, and his penis obeyed me I 
tossed my head back and closed my eyes; I could feel it coming. There 
was one thing missing - yes, we need pain, lots of pain. I was kneeling 
astride his hips, so it was obvious what I had to do. 

My thighs are very large, very muscular, and very powerful. I've never 
really tried to see just how much force I can exert when I press them 
together. But now, with Nigel's hips so conveniently positioned, all I 
had to do was compress my thighs together to inflict any level of pain I 
wanted. My hands brought the fragrant perfume of fear from his soft 
neck, and my thighs brought the exquisite sensation of pain inflicted on 
a man's body. His screams of pain mingled with my screams of pleasure as 
I used my thighs to lift and lower myself on his groin, and I used my
powerful vagina muscles to release and draw in, release and draw in. 
Meanwhile, my hands on his neck reminded him of his terrible 
vulnerability, and the grip of my thighs on his hips ground his bones 
together, causing so much delicious pain to shoot up his body that it 
temporarily eclipsed the lancing agony in his stomach and chest. 

Finally, I decided that I was ready to reward myself with a climax, and 
I allowed the sensation to flood over me, through me, into my mind and 
body. I lost touch with the world; all that existed was my vagina 
gripped around his cock like an iron fist clutching a soft sausage, and 
my firm breasts grinding into his soft face, my nipples re-opening his 
torn skin. It seemed to last for many minutes, like the crashing of 
storm waves over a shingle beach, like the rushing of water from a fire 
hose extinguishing the fire, like the flames of a gasoline fire, but 
eventually sense and sensibility returned to me. 

I opened my eyes, released my vise-like grip on his neck, and relaxed 
the terrible clench of my thighs. I lifted myself up, and his soft slimy 
penis slid quietly out of me. I shook my head, my hair flying round my 
shoulders, I yawned and stretched, and stood up. I looked round the 
room. Nigel was either unconscious or asleep; probably the former, given 
what he'd just been through. I stretched again, feeling sexy in spite of 
what I'd just enjoyed, and thought briefly of raping him. But
unconscious, he'd feel no pain or fear, so I soon dropped that idea. 
Then I noticed Tris, sitting against a wall, curled up in a ball, trying 
to look invisible, like a speck of dust. He'll do. "Hi, Tris", I grinned 
at him. "Your turn." He whimpered, quietly, knowing what was in store 
for him. 

I woke up in the morning feeling great, like I'd scratched the biggest, 
deepest itch in the world. There were a couple of men in bed with me. 
One looked like he'd been through a meat grinder or a mincing machine, 
the smaller one was curled up in a defensive foetal ball with his arms 
wrapped round his head. He looked like he'd been through some dreadful 
experience. I got out of bed without disturbing them, showered, packed 
my backpack, and took a taxi to Heathrow. All good things come to an end 
- it was time to go home.

Chapter 34 - Home again

When we landed at the airport back home, I collected my luggage, then
went to the Ladies to change. Tris had taught me some very valuable
lessons, and I wasn't going to waste them. I wanted to look really nice,
because Bunny and Diana were meeting me there, to give me a lift home. I
knew Diana would look beautiful, because she always does, and I wanted 
my best friend Bunny to see the new Sandi. 

Bunny:

I held Diana's hand as we waited for my best friend, Sandi Stone. I 
watched the passengers streaming through but couldn't see her. I turned 
to Diana to ask if she'd seen her, but she hadn't. As I turned back, my 
eyes were drawn to a simply stunning blonde, long golden hair round her 
broad shoulders like a lion's mane, magnificent breasts thrusting 
against a silk blouse, proud and challenging, her long sexy legs in 
black nylons thrusting out of a short kilted skirt, clacking along in 
her high heels, attracting every male eye in the hall. What a woman! I 
had an erection just looking at her. Diana tugged at my hand, and I 
reluctantly tore my eyes away from the magnificently beautiful creature. 
"What is it, Diana?" "There she is, look." The dazzling blonde walked 
straight towards me, and she looked very familiar. As if she reminded me 
of someone. Someone I knew. She walked right up to me, stopped, laughed 
and lifted me up into her arms. "Hello, Bunnikins." 


Copyright (c) 1995, 1996 Rabbit Productions

<<END>>