A Sample Story

PAYBACK 
by Legion   

    He closed the refrigerator with a happy tune on his lips and a cold Heineken in his hand. The house was spacious, even more spacious with the wife and girl out of it. With the sun down, wide seas of shadow filled the spaces between the walls and a few oases of light.

       Beyond the wide panes of floor to ceiling glass that backed the split level family room, reflected spotlight rippled across the surface of the Olympic sized swimming pool.

       He wandered through the darkened family room, shivering against a draft. He paused, the unopened beer in his hand; this house was the best five point seven million dollars could buy, nothing like the run down “fixer upper” his parents had buried their lives in, one that never got “fixered”, and which was never any kind of “upper.”

       But this house was less than five years old and in perfect condition. There shouldn’t have been any draft in this house. He shrugged; it was late and he was in the mood to relax, not to track down a draft in a house where there shouldn’t be one. He finished the long trek to the pool of warm light that surrounded his large black leather recliner and a round, glass topped end table.

       He cracked the Heineken open and took a long, deep pull from it, enjoying the cold, potent beer. He paused again; had he heard something just at the moment he popped the beer open? The pop-and-hiss of the seal being broken seemed to have an odd bass accompaniment.

       He slipped into the recliner and took up the remote, powering on the 56” Sony, searching out a ballgame with little -- make that no -- success. Three varieties of ESPN, but all that meant to the 33 year old investment genius Rick Cannell was ice hockey -- well, that went all right with the beer, but didn’t do much for his eyes; NASCAR -- when did ESPN feature NASCAR? he wondered. Wasn’t that for the Hick Channel, where it could be followed up by The Dukes Of Hazzard reruns? And lastly, a female bodybuilding competition.

         Cannell stared at this last channel. He’d been hoping for baseball, but since that wasn’t to be had, he just might settle for this. Cannell loved muscular women; Mrs. Rick Cannell herself had been an amateur bodybuilder when they had met in college, and he’d often wondered at his luck. In his experience, female bodybuilders went one of two directions when it came to boyfriends -- either musclehead dicks with juice-shriveled equipment and tempers to show for it, or female muscleheads who had similarly hit the needle until they had what he called, “man-face” and clits so disgustingly enlarged they could almost engage in penetrative coitus.

         On the other hand, there were the ones who really disappointed Cannell with just how ordinary looking they were. The mid-to-late 1990s had featured many, many of the former, but the way Cannell saw it, things had now swung in the other direction, with female ‘bodybuilders’ who looked like they’d been drafted out of mall food courts and doused in spray-on tan. Rick Cannell was, to put it mildly, the finicky kind. And with a net worth of one and three quarters of a billion dollars, he was aware of and comfortable with that flaw in himself. After all, if anyone could afford to be picky, he could.

         He lifted the remote again, losing interest in the television. Maybe he’d finish his beer out beside the pool and doze off in one of the deck chairs, let the sun wake him. He fumbled the remote for a moment, then righted it in his hand and found the “Power” button with his thumb.

         “Leave it on.” a woman’s voice spoke up low.

         He jumped, the remote slipping from his hand completely and bouncing from the arm of the chair onto the rug-covered oak floor with a thump. He leaned the chair forward carefully so as not to disturb his beer, which fortunately sat snug and secure in the cup-holder built into the arm of the thousand dollar recliner.

         That bass thump he’d heard earlier came again more clearly, and another, moving closer. He realized with a start that the sounds were huge, heavy footsteps. He abandoned his search for the remote and turned, getting fully up and out of the chair, his eyes panning across the dimly lit room.

         What he saw nearly frightened him to death. A shadowy shape loomed over him in the dark, impossibly large and in his own house. The shape was so at odds with the breathless feminine voice that his mind dissociated the two and he continued for a moment to look for the woman who had spoken, until she spoke again and confirmed that, indeed, he was facing a very, very large woman.

         “I warned her to leave my pet alone.”

         He began to tremble as adrenaline coursed through his limbs. “What?” he tried to make sense of this. “What the hell are you doing in my house? How did you get in here?”

         “Doesn’t matter.” her voice was hushed; she stepped forward into the pool of light from the floor lamp next to the chair, and his blood froze. She was astonishingly, gloriously nude except for a pair of black latex gloves stretched dangerously thin over her gigantic hands. “You’re never getting out.”

         He’d made a game of guessing the measurements of female bodybuilders through the course of watching dozens of competitions both televised and in person, as well as hundreds of visits to gyms with the wife and daughter. The dimensions of this woman before him now were almost incomprehensible to him.

         She was barefoot, as was he, and his slim five foot seven inch, one hundred thirty five pound frame was insignificant compared to her. She stood, barefoot, at least seven feet tall even, perhaps a few inches more. He could only estimate her weight, from her build and from the way each of her careful footsteps still reverberated through the heavy, solid oak flooring, to be in the neighborhood of three hundred fifty to three hundred seventy pounds.

         Her face was exquisitely beautiful -- wide set emerald eyes set in a perfect ivory complexion gazed down at him; full red lips curved in a small, triumphant smile. Her face was framed by a long, thick mane of lazy red curls.

         Her breasts were round and perky despite their awe-inspiring size. Her shoulders were broad and powerful, yet slim in proportion with the rest of her physique. Her arms must have measured a solid twenty two inches around, slightly thicker than Rick Cannell’s athletic but slim thighs.

         Her abdominal muscles were a six pack of huge, hard bricks that flexed softly as she breathed. Her hips were monstrously wide, the outside of each hip lined with a cord of muscle as thick as his forearm. He could see, even in the dim lighting and from the slight off angle she was facing him, that her buttocks were insanely huge and hard as stone.

         But it was her thighs more than any other single part of her anatomy that defied belief. Every muscle group was ripped, standing out in shocking landscapes of highlight and shadow, and the overall bulk of each thigh was so extreme that he was dizzy just looking at the soft, carefully trimmed stripe of red hair at their juncture. Had he been made to guess, he would have said that each of her thighs measured at least 38” around and very likely closer to 42”. His own narrow chest measured only 34”.

         Then she stepped closer again, placing one hand to his back and forcing his face into those brick-like abdominal muscles -- not enough to cause pain, but with such ease and overwhelming force that the message was clear: there would be no escape.

         “You’re all alone here tonight, Mr. Cannell.” she breathed softly. “Your wife and that little monster you call your daughter went to Las Vegas for a couple of weeks.”

         “How do you know that?” he whispered, trying to pull away -- although because of her strength, his efforts to pull back, as strong as he was, were visible as nothing more than his muscles straining.

         “Doesn’t matter.” she said again. “I also know why they went to Vegas for a week. To get Sheri out of the public eye... to let tempers cool and suspicions die down... but did you notice, Mr. Cannell,” she asked with a fringe of dangerous ice edging into her voice, “that I’m a redhead? Here--”

         She raised her hand to the back of his neck, and with her thumb on one side and her fingers on the other, applied irresistible downward pressure until his face was level with her neatly trimmed strip of curly red pubic hair, then pressed his face forcefully into it. “--get a closer look...”

         He whimpered as the scent and taste of her entered his mouth and nose against his will. He felt the powerful muscle surrounding her pubic area erupt in reflex as she sighed with pleasure.

         “You know, I can see why your daughter does this to men,” she observed, pressing his face harder against her mound as he groaned with mounting pain and humiliation. “But I warned her not to do it to my man. Now I have to wait to play with him... so instead, I’m going to play with you.”

         She released her hold on his neck, allowing him to fall to his back on the floor before the young giantess. He looked up at her, saw the deadly intent mixed with fiery lust in her eyes, and screamed.

         “Help!” he crab-walked backward across the hardwood floor, his hands slipping from under him as his arms trembled uncontrollably. “Somebody help me!” He had finally realized why she was wearing the gloves -- no fingerprints. He knew that meant she intended to hurt him -- or worse, kill him. He understood that with as much certainty as he understood that there was nothing at all he could do to stop her or even make it difficult for her.

         Her breathing deepened as her prey tried to back away, begged for help that would never come. “You know what, Mr. Cannell?” she took one swift step forward, planting her foot between his legs just a few inches shy of his manhood with a step so heavy it shook the floor underneath him; she reached down, wrapping fingers like iron bars around his windpipe to haul him easily off the floor until their faces were less than an inch apart, “I love to hear you scream. Thank you for introducing me to a new pleasure... Let’s find out what else you can do to please me.” With a low, wicked giggle, she reached out her long pink tongue and traced it over his lips, along his jaw, and up his cheek.

         His eyes bugged and his tongue protruded from his mouth as her grip on his windpipe tightened further. She exhaled hot breath over his skin as it deepened from red toward a sickly purple -- he felt as if his head were about to explode from the blood pressure like an over-filled tick.

         She hoisted him higher, his arms and legs pinwheeling uselessly in midair at the end of her outstretched arm, the cords of muscle in her forearm standing out against her smooth white skin like braided cable. She walked with him held this way, her steps effortless, before she dropped the coughing, twitching man into his large black recliner.

         Crouching slightly, she swung one leg over and straddled the chair, easily swallowing its entire width in her thighs, then unfolding her long, long legs to cross her ankles behind the chair’s back, scissoring the entire recliner between her huge, hard thighs and pinning Cannell helpless.

         “Do you know what your daughter did to my pet, Mr. Cannell?” she asked softly. “I think you do. Do you know I could do that to you right now, even with you sitting in this chair? I could crush the whole thing in around you... I think I could destroy the chair just by putting my full weight on it.” she lifted and settled very, very gently, causing the skeleton of the chair to creak loudly in protest.”

         “I weigh almost four hundred pounds, Mr. Cannell, but I can generate a couple thousand pounds of pressure with these legs... and you’re so tiny...” She leaned forward, her breasts dwarfing and then enveloping Cannell’s entire head as she draped her hands over the back of the groaning recliner.

         He struggled for breath for a moment before the warm embrace of skin immobilized his skull; even in that moment, there was no air for him to take in. His entire existence was swallowed up in warm, soundless darkness.

         He felt the moan of pleasure reverberate through her body, then felt the deafening snaps of the arms of the chair breaking free of their brass rivets. She lifted her breasts from his face, leaned back slightly to stare down at the trembling, crying man beneath her.

         “I’m going to break you, Mr. Cannell,” she whispered, then licked her lips. “I have a whole week to spend breaking you if I want.” She laid a hand gently on the side of his face; it covered the entire side of his skull, from his jaw to the scalp. “I’m going to hurt you so badly that you’ll beg me to kill you.” She flexed her thighs, just a light pulse of the muscle that crushed the arms of the chair in on his trapped body hard enough to push the air from his lungs. “If you please me enough, I just might have mercy and do it.”

         “Please...” he whispered, utterly terrified. If he’d had more than a sip of beer to drink, his bladder would absolutely have released it into his jeans by now.

         “Shhhhh...” she placed a finger to her ruby lips. “Your little bitches need to be taught a lesson. She hurt someone I wanted -- I’m going to hurt someone they care about. And your lesson, Mr. Cannell, is much simpler...” she placed the other hand on the other side of his head. He saw the muscle in her chest jump to life as she began to squeeze. “Your money won’t buy you safety from everyone.”

         He screamed as the pressure mounted, screamed like an animal caught between the plates of a hydraulic press. His vision began to blur and fade into blackness around the edges. He could see her breasts beginning to heave as her breathing deepened and quickened, but the knowledge that it wasn’t from exertion only pushed him to the brink of panic.

         He beat at her arms with all he had, pounded on the thick cords of steel hard muscle in those forearms with all the strength he could muster -- and despite his slightly shorter-than-average, slim build, what he could muster wasn’t inconsiderable. But nothing fazed her; he stopped only when he realized as if from down a long tunnel of tortured thought that his struggles were probably only arousing her further.

         The world dimmed and blurred -- when it re-formed, the pressure on his skull was gone, but now he found himself in hot water. Literally. He was chest-deep in his outdoor hot tub and completely nude. He blinked to clear his vision, looking left and right. He saw no sign of his tormentress.

         But he could feel her -- behind him. Before he could fight his way up and out of the water, her legs slipped past and around him. He struggled hard, even knowing that it was useless -- mostly on reflex, of course. Her hands found his shoulders and held him inescapably in place, then pushed downward until the warm water lapped over his chin and her gargantuan thighs pressed firmly against his sides, cradling his torso from his shoulders to his waist and trapping his arms at his sides.

         “I have to be home at dawn, Mr. Cannell. I’m going to spend the time between now and then breaking you into pieces.” she rested a hand on his forehead and pulled his head back until it was nestled between her large, firm breasts, then crossed her arms until her breasts closed over his head, blocking out everything but his view directly ahead.

         “Please don’t!” he wept like a small child as he felt her thighs begin to tighten around his body. “Please!”

         “I wonder how many innocent people have begged like that when they came up against your wife or your daughter, Mr. Cannell.” she continued to tighten her grip on his body, slowly, ounce by ounce. “I did a little detective work; I know everything Sheri’s done here in Stanton’s Fork. And I know why you brought your wife and daughter here. I know about the man your wife crushed to death in Chicago. Even your money couldn’t buy all the right people there, so you came here instead...”

         By the time he felt her thighs’ pressure begin to affect the amount of air he could draw in, his arms were already pressed painfully into his sides and there was no chance of moving them. He hung suspended between the gigantic walls of hard flesh, his lower body thrashing in the warm water

         “Your brat seems to like to do the same thing, she’s even gotten her little friends in on it at least once that I know about.” That was something he hadn’t known; he knew Sheri to have fits of violence, but unlike her mother’s, to his knowledge they’d never been sensual in nature or fatal in outcome.

         “I’m going to send them a message, Mr. Cannell. One only they will recognize. Despite all your money, this town will do just fine without you.” The pressure continued to increase, slowly, until he was wheezing in each breath, his arms and ribs aching.

         “Your body is so tiny,” her voice was growing husky, her own breaths deep, “I can feel you trying to breathe, and it’s making me so wet... you won’t be able to breathe anymore, soon, and when I know you can’t scream, I’m going to lean back and really squeeze you...”

         He heard this more through the vibration of her breastbone because his ears were firmly encased in the flesh of her tits, but he felt her legs lift slightly as she extended her lower legs to rest her crossed ankles on the dry deck on the other side of the hot tub. He felt her moan the same way, a low vibration through his skull as her thighs closed another inch.

         His arms, slippery with his brief immersion in the hot tub, slipped from his sides and in front of him; there was still enough room there for him to lift them, and he did, pounding awkwardly and with no leverage on the sea of hard muscle surrounding his trapped torso.

         She released her crossed arms and seized his hands, gathering them one at a time into the long, viselike fingers of just her right hand and lifting them over his head. Her thighs closed in tighter, his entire torso swallowed whole in the inhuman grip.

         “You’re being naughty, Mr. Cannell,” she said softly, “I think I just might be mean and force you to live...”

         He had no air left with which to answer. Then he felt the hot confines of her breasts pulling back from him and his bladder finally did let go into the hot water of the tub as she re-crossed her ankles and began to arch her back.

         She wasn’t really flexing her inner thighs yet -- the muscle surrounding him was hard, and yet he knew from the size of the muscle groups that, when she flexed them, they would get larger and harder still. And yet, he already felt as if he were an insect in the grasp of a goddess.

         And then, at last, she began to flex them. Slowly, at first, as the last of his air was crushed out of his lungs with an anguished groan. But the walls of hard feminine muscle surrounding his puny body simply kept expanding. He felt his eyes bulging as the pressure increased, cutting off blood flow and forcing blood to places it didn’t want to be anymore.

         He heard a series of pops -- his back being popped. Nothing harmful, just a sound, but it set her off -- he could feel the tremor of excitement rush through her. He felt like he’d be sick. Panic was fully branded into his bones now -- not just from the pain, which was surpassing excruciating and nearing the realm of indescribable -- but from claustrophobia as well. So massive were the limbs that encased and crushed his body, it was more like being trapped in a shrinking room than between a woman’s thighs.

         The pressure continued to mount, as did the urgency of the girl’s breaths, which soon caught her voice and became moans of ecstasy -- he realized with a final horror that, although his ribs were bending painfully, dangerously, in her monstrous grip, they weren’t going to break. Not by ones and twos, anyway...

         His torso tried to conform to the new, flat shape her stony 38” thighs were forcing it into... but the human skeleton was never meant to withstand such forces. He could feel fire racing up his sides even as his spine howled up into his brain stem in protest against the torture it was enduring.

         The fire racing up his sides had a sound -- a sickening, moist ripping sound. He couldn’t have identified the source of such a sound from within his own body even had he not been on the verge of losing control of his higher thought processes and motor functions.

         Rick Cannell was already dying, and the gorgeous amazonian redhead didn’t even realize that she was killing him so early on. But at this point, she wouldn’t have cared. Just as agony had obliterated his capacity for reason, so ecstasy was now doing to her.

         She began to rock back and forth, perhaps dimly aware that he was departing too quickly, after all, alternating between increasing the pressure and relaxing it, forcing his rib cage flatter with each squeeze, letting it expand again slightly, knowing that both actions were equal torment to the man dangling, limp now, in her murderous vise.

         As she squeezed in harder, his rib cage flexed, bending his spine just enough that his vertebrae rubbed against her already stimulated clit... that was what sealed his fate. She had only intended to break him -- albeit very, very badly -- but she hadn’t realized two things.

         First, hurting a man this way made her feel powerful in a way she had never before permitted herself to experience. Second... she hadn’t expected his body to withstand the pressure this long without something giving way. Her thighs so completely encased his rib cage that the pressure was more akin to a train crushing a penny than a pair of scissors cutting a string.

         Which was to say, she had realized that, when the final squeeze came, it wouldn’t be a matter of ribs breaking... it would be a matter of... the thought of it, combined with the direct stimulation of her already electrified clit, the knowledge of the unbearable agony of her victim, the confidence she had that it was not only the satisfying thing to do but the right thing to do, to pay this man back for the suffering he’d brought to this town and to her family personally, pushed her over the edge and into a bright, swirling storm of raw carnal bliss.

         She leaned back, her moans rising to breathless, guttural screams of joy as her back and ass joined her thighs in one long, shuddering, titanic squeeze. The gigantic muscle groups in her thighs flexed hard, turning to slabs beneath her soft skin. Her long red hair draped down, spilling across the textured tile as her eyelids fluttered in a haze of endorphins and adrenaline that amplified her already terrifying physical strength to superhuman levels.

         With a terrible slowness at first, she felt his rib cage bend further than it had yet -- she felt his heart hammering through his bones as they all, as one, creaked, cracked, splintered and then shattered in unison. With the sudden and complete absence of resistance, her thighs powered in on his defenseless lungs, heart and other internal organs, bursting them  as his chest wall collapsed entirely and forcing a geyser of blood to jet from his gaping mouth in a bluish black stream that arced out to spatter into the hot water and across her calves, which now pressed together hard as the violence of her orgasm shook the dying body like a rat in the jaws of a bulldog.

         She came so hard that her hot woman-cream flowed up from between her slit and his back, then pooled around his flattened torso to flow thickly over the ends of several ribs and a few vertebrae where they’d been crushed so hard they’d been forced out through his skin. She continued to climax, cumming hard, for fifteen solid minutes.

         By the time she unlaced her ankles and allowed the destroyed body to fall into the hot tub, her arms and legs alike were trembling uncontrollably with excitement. She had never allowed herself to hurt anyone that way before. But now there was a fear in the back of her mind, as she dove into the swimming pool to shake some of his blood from her body.

         The fear wasn’t that she’d be caught. The latex gloves guaranteed there would be no prints. Any DNA they found would be meaningless -- she wasn’t in any DNA database, and what she’d ejaculated had gone into a tub of hot water -- it would be undetectable, or at the very least, unidentifiable, by the time anyone thought to check -- and who would think to check for that with a body in the condition she’d left his in?

         No, her fear was simply this: that, given another chance, she might... no, would... do it again.