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  #11  
Old 14-Sep-16, 05:51
artvandaley artvandaley is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Amazing stuff. Your writing accomplishes two pretty impressive feats that are super critical in fighting stories, yet rare to find -
1. It's flowing and captivating enough to keep the reader hooked instead of wanting to skip to the action scenes.
2. The nuanced language and attention to details makes the characters believable, so even when the action is exaggerated the suspension of disbelief remains, making everything much more enjoyable.

Thanks for posting. And it's great to know there's more stories on DTV. I've got more reading to do now

AV
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  #12  
Old 14-Sep-16, 07:59
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Quote:
Originally Posted by artvandaley [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Amazing stuff. Your writing accomplishes two pretty impressive feats that are super critical in fighting stories, yet rare to find -
1. It's flowing and captivating enough to keep the reader hooked instead of wanting to skip to the action scenes.
2. The nuanced language and attention to details makes the characters believable, so even when the action is exaggerated the suspension of disbelief remains, making everything much more enjoyable.

Thanks for posting. And it's great to know there's more stories on DTV. I've got more reading to do now

AV

Thanks very much for that. I do appreciate it.

I shout note that some of my stories on DTV were custom-written. So they've are not exactly in this vein.
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  #13  
Old 20-Sep-16, 08:00
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

MIXED VEGAS

By BOS (the poster)

(This is the same story posted here a few weeks ago. I just wanted to fix my ending. All the significant changes are in the last five paragraphs. Other stories coming.)


Rogers Norton Smith Jr. said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Samantha eyed him up and down, then said, “Move along, junior. You're out of your league.”

“Aww,” he said. “Now why would you say that?”

She let him wait for her response as she nursed her drink. “For one thing,” she said, “you're so horny for me I could probably pop your cork by just turning like this.” On her barstool, she slowly turned toward him, with her upper thighs not quite touching each other and that fact being visible to him. She was right: that just about did the younger male in. Even sitting in a more ladylike manner, she was breathtakingly hot. Her shoulders and back were bare. Her ample bosom was exposed enough to rivet attention from across the room. Her red dress seemed to be painted on her dramatic curves. And it was slit almost all the way up her fabulous right leg. When, on top of all that, she spread her legs, Rogers' mind was blown. And his body was out of control.

The spreading was not wide enough for anyone else to see. Nevertheless, it was something he was not ready for.

Now her black-gloved left hand was on his right hand on the bar, and she was saying, “If I move this to where you're looking, you're done for,” she said. But she let go of his hand and turned back toward the bar, her legs closed again.

He knew she was right. But he said, with an absurd combination of unsteadiness and bravado, “I think I can control myself.”

“Uh uh,” said Samantha, not looking at him directly, but seeing him in the reflection in the mirror behind the bartender lane. “Not around me. I'm in complete control of you.”

He gulped, and he was sweating, but he couldn't give up now.

He said, “You're really something, that's for sure.”

“I'm easily the hottest babe in the room,” she said. “Why would I settle for you?”

He wasn't bad looking. Maybe a little above average in height. Not much taller than her in the killer heels she had on tonight. He had spent some time in the gym, obviously, developing a physique that wasn’t bad at all. Pleasant, prep-school face. But she was used to more imposing, impressive men, guys who stood above their competition just as she stood above hers. Or at least guys who were monumentally rich. Short of that, she was insulted that a guy like him could think he could get lucky with a girl like her.

The room was the high-rollers lounge in a casino complex in Las Vegas. It was filled with beautiful babes. But, yes, Samantha was the eye-catcher. It wasn't just her physical beauty and her over-the-top wardrobe. It was her style, her confidence. There was something about her. And she knew it.

“Maybe I should introduce myself,” he said. When he did, Samantha recognized his family name and more. Son of a famous billionaire. Mediocre race car driver. Lady's man. Scrapes with the law. Classic spoiled brat. Beyond that, though, there were, as she recalled, also scrapes with the ladies. She was under the impression those were settled out of court. Very suspicious. Samantha was happy to meet him.

“You better be rolling very high, Junior.” she said.

The young man showed her a roll of chips. When she moved her gloved hand toward it, she did it slowly and elegantly enough that he didn't withdraw it. But suddenly she had the roll in her hand. Then it was in her bosom. Gone.

It was worth $250,000.

He said, “Uh, I'm going to need that back.” Dad controlled the money too tightly for Rogers to able to lose this amount without facing the loss of a lot more.

Said Samantha, looking toward the mirror and sipping her drink elegantly, “I don't see that happening, Junior.”

Rogers Norton Smith Jr.: “No, really, I, uh....” He had his hand raised as if he was going to reach toward her bosom, though she knew he wouldn't. He couldn't afford another lady scrape in public. She put her hand on his and twisted, making him grimace. He tried to pull his hand away, but it didn't go.

“Like I say, Junior,” she said. “Wrong league.”

She let go. As he nursed his hand as discretely as possible, she nursed her drink. Not looking at him, she said, “Go away now. I'm not really looking for a guy whose ass I can kick quite so easily.”

He didn't want her to think he took that dig too seriously. But it was a dig, and he had to deal with it. He couldn't just shrug it off as if he was now somehow admitting he was in over his head. He said, “I really think I could do a little better if we were alone.” He meant that to sound like understatement, like it was obvious that if he wasn’t worried about being discreet, he could easily dominate her physically.

Samantha was loving this. It was turning her on, which wasn't difficult. And her expectations were turning her on even more. This was the sort of thing she came to Vegas for. She didn’t have the anonymity back in New York that proved useful here. And her girlfriends back in New York didn’t need to know about it. It was hers.

She said, “So you're saying you want to get me alone and beat the crap out of me? You've got quite a way with ladies, don't you, Junior?”

Before he could answer, she said, “OK, tough guy, I'll tell you what. I'm going to walk away now, taking your money. And you're going to watch me. If you survive that experience without popping your cork, you're welcome to follow me. But I'm advising you not to do that.” She patted his cheek with her elegantly gloved hand. “Cut your losses.”

With that she let his hand go. She slid slowly and elegantly off the barstool, and she straightened and smoothed her dress and checked her appearance in the mirror, raising a bare arm to pat her hair into place. It didn't need that. She wasn't so much fixing her appearance as complimenting herself on it, and letting it drill its way into the young man's psyche. Then she turned and walked away slowly, being sure to make her hips sway dramatically. To Rogers, it seemed like she was pointing her fabulous, tightly-covered ass right at him.

As she walked, she saw a gorgeous hunk of a man standing near a corner. He was avoiding looking at her. That was weird behavior for a man. She suspected immediately – having been around – that he was with Junior. And if he was with Junior, it was obviously in the role of bodyguard and muscle, the guy who did whatever had to be done and didn't ask any questions. She also knew from experience with his type that he had a record a mile long. She wanted to mess with him. She was already fantasizing about that.

She waited at a bank of elevators, knowing the man she called Junior would follow. When he arrived, smiling sheepishly, she smiled back at him and strung her arm through his in a ladylike manner and said quietly, “We're going to your suite. But first we're picking up your friend.” She led him toward the hunk, who just stood there awkwardly as they approached. She wrapped her free arm through one of his, so that she had a man on each side. She said, “You're beautiful, sweetheart, but you're about as subtle as your boss here, with his long rolls everywhere.”

“Take us to your suite,” she ordered Rogers North Smith Jr., and he, still trying to avoid a scene, did.

It was an entire complex of rooms, of course, most of an entire floor of the sprawling building. When they got there, Samantha told the heir to wait for her while she conducted some business with the bodyguard. She pulled the bigger man into a room off the main room, then into another behind it. He could hardly resist. When there were two doors separating them from the young heir, she said, “Guard your own body, sweetheart, because I'm going to take you out of the game now.” He started to indicate amusement, but she shot a pulled, fake punch toward his gut. When he flinched, he was embarrassed. But he decided he couldn’t lose anything by taking her threat literally. That was the way he was wired.

Samantha didn't want to take too long with him. She didn't want to leave Rogers alone long enough for the thought of hiding his money occurred to him. She knew he was right now mainly confused about what was going on behind the closed doors, and she wanted him to stay focused on that.

The bodyguard meanwhile was focused on her fists, knees and feet as attack weapons. But her elbow slammed into the big man's solar plexus as she seemed to walk passed him. And her one bare knee – the one on the slit side – came up into his gut hard. Her movement and his brought her behind him, and her arm came up hard into his balls from behind. She was in a hurry, after all. As he leaned toward the floor, the elegant beauty reached her other arm between his legs from the front and locked her hands together and brought her arms up hard into his crotch. This forced him to the floor on his side, and the lady's bare knee came into his gut again, hard. And again. Focused mainly in the pain in his crotch, he had failed to tighten his stomach against assault. That made all the difference. He was now curled like a fetus beneath her, gasping for breath and moaning, with his hands at his balls.

Needing him briefly unconscious, she put her hand gently on his head and said, “Nighty-night, beautiful.” With that, she jabbed his head against the floor. The first time didn't put him away. The second did. She tied him to the legs of a bed, using pillowcases and a sheet. She tied his hands out of play, and she stuffed a pillowcase into his mouth and tied it around the back of his head.

She stood to admire her work, and she wondered what kind of story he would try to come up with to explain what had happened to him.

For her, this was all sexual. Part of her wanted to stay there and master the man sexually as completely as she had physically. But, no. He was just a toy, a prop. He wasn't the one she wanted most to rearrange and to control. She had to return to Junior, hornier than ever.

She straightened her clothes as she had after getting off the barstool, needing little more adjustment this time. As she reentered the main room, patting her hair in that self-congratulatory way she had, the younger man said, “What's going on?”

She said, “Let's just say he won't be interrupting us.” She guided Rogers Norton Smith Jr. away from the door behind her and said, “Now, where were we?” The young man had little time to wonder whether the middle-aged babe had seduced or bribed or blackmailed the muscle into staying out of the way for a while, Or what.

He said, “Well, I still really need that money back.”

She laughed. “Are you really not getting this?” she asked rhetorically. She took a seat in a big easy chair and folded her bare leg over the other dramatically. Though he waited for it, she did not open her legs.

“You know, Junior, I was insulted downstairs when you thought you had a shot at all this. But now I think I'm even more insulted. I mean, are you really thinking more about the money than about this? I don't think I can let that stand. It would be bad for my ego.” Her hand came up to pat the back of her head again.

“As for the money, obviously I'm going to take it all: Not only what I've already taken, but any more you may have on you or in the suite.” If she knew his type, he might have a cool million around, just to show off and feel like a bigshot among all the high rollers. “You're best off to just forget about the money. It's mine now. There's not a thing in the world you can do about that.” Another couple of pats to the back of her hair. “Let's go back to the sex.”

With that, she did, indeed, spread her legs, so that her thighs were no longer touching. She did it slowly, to the man’s complete attention. The effect was electric. Worried as he was on what his father would say and do about the money if he lost it, he had, nevertheless, never stopped being transfixed by the allure of this incredible woman. He couldn't imagine any way that he could get any more excited without actually getting in bed. But she had just found a way. That forbidden area between her succulent thighs drew his eyes as if by force, and held them.

You know,” she said, “I saw a Japanese movie once where these teen-age girls would spread their legs at boys as a way of making a statement. And the statement was that they held the fighting ability of the guys in contempt. The idea was that the custom of girls being modest about these things stemmed from bygone days when girls had to worry about what would happen if guys got too revved up. Here were the girls revving the guys up out of their minds and not worrying even a little bit. Actually, keeping the boys revved up and frustrated was part of their fun, and they could do it because they could beat the crap out of them. In fact, they could beat them up easily, and they loved doing it.”

Samantha let all that seep in. The man and woman sat across from each other silently as her words hung in the air, as her posture played with his head and bespoke the contempt for him as a threat that she had announced.

When she finally did start to rise, he suddenly shrank back hard, as if he was under attack. She laughed.

“Don't worry, Junior,” she said. “I don't do surprise attacks. Don't need 'em.” She reached behind herself to lower a zipper. That's all it took for that incredible dress to fall off her.

He was transfixed. Her dark nylons were held to her panties by little straps. The upper halves of her milky thighs were bare. Her bra was black and increasingly diaphanous near the top, out of which her boobs virtually blasted. The $250,000 was now visible. Her panties were, in front, no more than a black triangle. She still wore her high high heels. She stood there patting her hair into place, aided by the mirror behind him. She was utterly fabulous. A cliché, a type, but a classic one that he, like other men, could never get enough of.

His eyes gave him away. She said, “Like what you see, Junior? Well, here's a view to haunt your dreams.” She turned her back on him and flaunted her round, high and insistent booty, the sight that had clinched the deal in his decision to follow her out of the lounge downstairs, and that had never quite left his thoughts since. Only this time the dress wasn’t there. It was like a dream coming true. Sort of.

His eyes lingered. His mind wandered a little. Was she insulting him by turning her delectable ass at him? Wasn’t she still on “No”? He lunged at her. He rationalized attacking a smaller woman while her back was turned by telling himself that he had not waited until she turned her back on him to make his move; he was responding to the insult of a turned back.

The attack did not exactly come as a surprise to Samantha. She had invited it. She had wanted to always know that not only had he started the fight, but that he did it with what was intended as a surprise attack. And she thought she could entice him to oblige.

She let him wrap his arms around her. He saw her smile in the mirror in front of them. She said, “You lose, Junior. Since want to fight me with by back turned, I’m going to beat you up without even turning to face you.” She snapped her head backwards into his nose, hurting him, to the point of tears. She grabbed fingers on both of his hands and bent them back, bringing him to his knees. He was looking now straight at her ass, but his vision was obstructed by his tears. She brought a heel up into his gut and felt his face jerk into contact with her ass. She brought up another heel, and, as she let go of his hands, he slid face-first into the floor. She didn’t move except to pat the bottom of her hair as she looked into the mirror.

She said, “I do have to say you have excellent taste in women, Junior.” She turned her back on the mirror and turned her head to admire her ass in it. She didn’t bother to look at him. “Yes, sir: Excellent. But I also have to say that if you have to wait until a girl turns her back to make your move, something is wrong. And if waiting until her back is turned doesn’t even work, something is REALLY wrong.” Without even look at him, she kicked him in the side, though not nearly as aggressively as she easily might have. Rather than take advantage of his discomfiture, she attended to her lipstick and make-up.

Finally, he was up on his feet. She sort of pointed a finger at him and curled it back toward herself. She pursed her lips toward him in the form of a kiss, and she bent at the waist to show him cleavage. “Or do you need me to do this?” she asked as she turned her back on him and wiggled her ass at him. He couldn’t let himself be treated like that. He came at her warily, watching for her to kick backwards at him. But she didn’t. As he came close her, she bent over father forward, confusing him, and then took a couple of steps backwards, that is, toward him. She ducked under his right arm and came up behind him. She pushed him into a wall and followed him. As he started to push off it, she rammed into him harder, and he banged against it. Then she did that again. The assaults left him breathless. He lacked all strength, and he was hurting in more places than he could count. One was his head, which had hit the wall three times. But she thrust her hip into his back once more for good measure, and he was squashed into the wall again. She wrapped her arms around his torso, and slammed her crotch into his ass. “How’s this position work for you, Junior.” She did it again, and again. She kept banging into the helpless man like that, sometimes so hard as to thrust his head into the wall again. Finally she stopped and said, “I hope that was as good for you as it was for me.” She patted his head and, lest his head be too fuzzy now for him to get the point, said, “Consider yourself raped, Junior.” Once more, for good measure, her hips slammed into him, this time sideways, and he slid down the wall. She patted the back of her hair as he lay crumbled at her feet.

Turning her back on him – something she was beginning to enjoy – she said, “Take your time and make a full recovery, Junior, because next time it’s all about the money.”

She seated herself on a couch looking directly at him, and she spread her legs wider than last time, making the unmistakable point. She spread her arms along the top of the couch, showing her bare underarms, and she waited for him to recover.

But he was not fast. Almost to tease him about that, she stretched out lengthwise on the couch. She thought about turning her back on him and confronting him with that ass again, but she decided discretion was the better part. Who know what kind of weapon he might go for. So, by way of flaunting her sexuality, she settled for bending the leg nearest him like a model, so that her foot rested on the couch. He was confronted with an image of extraordinary allure. It seemed inconceivable to him that this breathtakingly enticing creature -- with the her long hair streaming down behind the pillow she rested her beautiful head on, the breasts that seemed to reach ambitiously for the ceiling, the flat, bare midriff that he wanted to bury his face in, the dramatically narrow waste he wondered if he could put his hands around, the creamy thighs, the queenly elegant leg, the delicately curved ankle and tiny foot in the perfectly sculpted little shoe that seemed to be made for her alone, with the dramatic heel that was so her – was beating the crap out of him. Even in his battered condition, he wanted her bad. And, boy, was he ever ok with doing whatever it took.

“You’re mine, Junior,” she said, still resting, with her hands cupped behind her head in a position that bespeaks – and was designed to bespeak – utter confidence. “I own you. I’m in complete control of everything about you. I can put you in much pain as I want or make you as horny for me as I want. I can make you feel worse than you’ve ever felt in your life or better than you’ve ever felt or ever will again. And, of course, your money is mine any time I want it. And” – here she raised her eye-demanding legs to the ceiling, then swung her lovely, pampered feet to the rug, sat up, crossed her legs flamboyantly and grabbed his gaze, determining exactly where he would look – “it’s all easy for me.” She stood. “Candy from a baby.”

They were both standing. She approached him. “You should just give me all your money and run away, Junior,” she said. She was certainly making him angrier than he’d ever been in his life. OK, he thought. Go time. He raised his fists in a fighting stance. It wasn’t the usual way he would fight a girl, but she was asking for it.

“Oh, dear,” the deadly temptress said, raising her hand to her mouth in mock horror. “You’re not going to hit me, are you, Mr. Man. Oh dear, oh dear. And me being so fragile.” Then her voice changed as she kept advancing. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Junior. No, as a matter of fact, you are not going to hit me, not hard enough for it to matter. You going to try with those big closed fists, while I leave my hands open and only use little, ladylike slaps. And I’ll beat you up like you’re not fighting at all.”

Now her delicate, teasing, captivating hotter-than-hot face was close enough for him to hit. But her hands were at her sides and open, while his were raised and closed. “Go for it, Junior,” she said. “There’s certainly no other way you’re going to get this.”

Trying to maintain his cool, he snapped a left at her. She leaned back and smiled at him. He threw a right. She leaned back again and it missed and she pushed it past her face with her left hand. As he was thinking about his next attack, she threw a right slap at him and connected hard. She smiled again.

“Like I say, Junior,” she said, “you are all mine.” She shot two fingers at his neck, connecting. He back up. She came at him with another right slap, this time to his ear, followed by a successful left to his other ear. She was stalking him now, with an evil smile. As he backed up, he stumbled into a chair. As he started to lose his balance, she slapped him with both hands on his chest, and he ended up seated, not on the chair, but in front of it, leaning back against it, with his legs folded awkwardly under him.

The temptress suddenly attacked. She propelled herself to sit violently on his stomach, hard enough to keep him from catching his breath and hard enough to hurt his legs. She had his arms captured under her legs. She felt in utter command of him, like one of those mixed martial arts fighters in a ground-and-pound position. Instead of slugging him, though, she continued her more ladylike slapping of him, with both hands. It felt more right to her, more natural, more Samantha. And she wanted him to be conscious when she started mocking him. She would cock at fist at threateningly, then deliver a slap. And she’d laugh.

“Come on, tough guy,” she said. “Show me what you got. I know you've got some experience in lady scrapes. Or do you just like it when the lady's back is turned?” She punched him in the throat with her fingers, grabbed his nose and twisted it, and put her fingers in his eyes as if she was going to try to blind him, but contented herself with scaring him.

“Come on, Junior,” she said. “I know you're the used to being in my position, because I know a bully when I see one. Didn't you like to make the other kids cry? I wonder if I could do that to you. Are you gonna cry for me?” He was desperately afraid. She was blocking his vision even when she wasn't sticking her fingers in his eyes. And he found himself frequently closing his eyes in fear. The possibility of tears occurred to him.

She said, “I'm going to take the rest of your money now, Junior. There's nothing you can do about this.”

She began rifling through his clothes, starting at the obvious place: the internal pockets of his sport coat. He tried desperately to get is arms into play, exhausting himself. When he got one arm free, but it was no match for her.

She found another roll. “Aha,” she said. “I knew it. It's like a penis for you, isn't it? Makes you feel like a man.” She waved it in front of his face and even rolled it on his face. She stuck it in one of his eyes. She jabbed it into his throat. “You don't really mind if I take this for all the pleasure I’m giving you, do you, Junior?” she asked with a little pout. “I mean, I did warn you that you were out of your league. But you went ahead, anyway, and tried to snag me, without so much as a single quarter-million dollar payment. I think you know that was wrong, and you want to make amends now. You want me to take this one, too, don’t you? Go ahead: ask me to. I’d be more comfortable that way.” There was silence. “Ask me to take it, Shithead,” she said, mashing one end of it into his throat. “That's how this ends.”

He thought he was going to die. He couldn't breath, and he couldn't generate any leverage to fight her off.

He gurgled something. She let up on the pressure and said, “What?”

He said, “Take it.” She slapped him on the face with it and said, “Be polite.” “Please take it,” he said. “That's better,” she said. Then she removed the roll from his neck, unlocked his arm from under her leg, sat back and put her hands behind her head.

“Now say it again,” she said. He did.

She patted his face and said. “I don't think I've ever seen anybody transform from an aggressor to a sniveling victim quite so fast, Junior. But I knew you had it in you.”

She stood up, straddling him. She straightened her stockings and other clothing and patted hair again, primping in a mirror as he awaited her next move, her body so cloth he could touch it if he had the nerve.

Samantha then took a seat across from him, giving him a particularly spectacular view of her legs, from the floor, though she crossed them in a ladylike manner. She put the second roll in her bosom, too. And she rested her hands behind her head and said nothing.

At first the man took the opportunity to slump to the floor, flat. Then he very slowly gathered himself. Little involuntary squeals of pain escaped his lips as he merely sat up, resting against the chair, then got into the chair.

Samantha loved this: With a lull in the action, and with her sitting right in front of him in all her feminine glory, Rogers North Smith had to come to terms with the situation. She thought she'd help a little.

“I guess getting me alone didn't turn out to be the solution to your problem, did it, Junior? Neither did attacking me from behind. So you got any more ideas?”

It hurt Rogers to even think about talking. And he didn't see what he could say.

Samantha relished his wordlessness. She was content to watch his eyes watch her legs. Wow, did she ever have him, she thought. He's in a world of hurt, a world of embarrassment, fear and confusion, what with the money issue on top of everything else. Still, he's looking for the cheap thrill of a tiny opening between my legs.

Finally, she said, “The next thing that happens here is I put you about against that wall.” She had been fantasizing about doing that. She loved have a man up against a wall against his will. And telling him exactly what she was going to do just heightened the thrill. “And I'm going to denude you of the remaining two rolls on your body.” She had felt them. “Then I'm going to force you tell me where the safe is, because I know you. And I'm going to force you to open it, just because you're afraid of what my hot little bod will do to yours if you disobey me. I know you'll still desperately resist me for a while, because of the whole Daddy thing. But once I hang you over that balcony rail out there, and show you that I can do it any time I want to, I'm thinking we'll be on the same page.”

“But don't worry, stud,” she continued. “It won't be all bad. I'm going to keep you so horny that I'll still be haunting your dreams – your fantasy dreams, not just your nightmares – when I'm gone. I'm a girl who wants it ALL, sweetheart. And achieving the balance of your simultaneous mental and physical agony, on the one hand, your ecstasy, on the other, is the only challenge left to me here. I'm mean, just beating the shit out of you is WAY too easy.”

She rested, content to let him recuperate and plan his strategy. She even made a couple of phone calls, letting him admire the view and stew in his fear. Then she started to rise, and he rose to meet her. She pointed to the wall behind him as their appointed rendezvous point.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Let's do this your way.” With that, she turned her back on him and waited.


+ + + + +


When Samantha was done with Rogers, she went to retrieve the muscle. He was lying there, tied-up, just as she had left him, just as she knew he would be. With one pull, she untied him enough that he could do the rest himself. She stood back and watched him, leaning against a counter.

He rubbed himself to restore his circulation where needy. He rose to his feet. What he did not do was attack her. Or even say anything.

“Well, well, well,” Samantha thought as she smiled at him. “What have we here?”

She said, “Shouldn’t you be trying to help your little buddy,” she said, indicating the other room.

“I will,” he said. And that was all.

Samantha realized what was at work here: The big muscle man was afraid of her. The thought thrilled her, aroused her. So knew enough to be skeptical of it – as first. But she realized that the man had, after all, had plenty of time to think. He must have pondered how easily and confidently she disposed of him. He must have known she was doing the same to Rogers. He could hear enough. And he knew what it would mean if she came to retrieve him alone. She knew that at first Muscle would have thought her easy victory over him was some sort of fluke. Guys thought like that. But as he lay there so helpless, so utterly defeated and controlled so easily, he had come to realize, no. She could not undertaking this whole project she positively KNEW she would prevail. And if she knew it, there must be some good reason.

“You’re not as stupid as you look, are you, Muscle?” she said. She walked toward him slowly, with a smirk. Her sexuality dominated the room as much as her dominance. Fighting was not the only thing Muscle had been thinking about in his bondage, and she knew it. He lusted after her something fierce. Gently but firmly she pushed him up against a wall. She loved doing that. He didn’t resist. She followed him, her body melting into his, even as he dwarfed her. She just stood there, letting getting a whiff of her perfume, letting her hair brush against him lightly. Finally she brought her hands into play, feeling him up. When he started to put his hands into play, she pushed them back down to his sides, making the statement that she was the boss her. He accepted that. She wrapped her arms around the small of his waist, turning him face sideways, and she pulled her hands toward her, not violently but hard. She knew she was hurting him. And she knew he was afraid to fight back. He was just hoping for the best. She fondled his ass and crotch.

Then she put her hands sensuously into his pockets. He let her. She came up with his wallet. She rifled through it as she stood standing against him, revving him up with a lust he could do nothing about until she was ready. She found that he actually lived in Vegas. She was certain there was more cash there. She knew these guys.

“We’re taking a ride,” she said, not commenting on the possible double meaning. “Go get your little buddy.” She kept Muscle’s wallet and point him through the door, and she followed him. As she put her dress back on, Muscle untied Rogers from the window ledge Samantha had hung him over.

They left the hotel with Samantha walking between the men, each of her arms wrapped through one of theirs. They got to Rogers superhot sports car. She took the wheel, put Rogers in the back. She decided that the one she wanted staring at the muscles and other features of her revealed driving leg as she maneuvered the car confidently through town was Muscle. Let him eat his heart out and pray for the best, she thought.

When they got to Muscle’s impressive bachelor hideaway, Samantha put both the unresisting men up against a wall. It was the first time she had ever done THAT – two men -- and it gave her a special thrill. And she said, “OK, my boys, here’s the deal: Give me the money. Give me ALL the money. Give it to me NOW. Or…” here she stood back and put her arms on her hips and spread her legs so that one showed in its entirety, “Or,” she said, “else.”

The men looked at each other. Muscle took the lead and started walking. Samantha took Rogers arm and followed him. Muscle went to safe, withdrew everything it and, still on his knees, handed it up to her. That, too, gave Samantha a very special thrill. She was certain that that was all of it.

She put it all in her purse as the men watched her. Then, getting hotter all the time, she took their arms and went upstairs. She found a big bedroom with a big bed. She sat them on the edge of it and took a seat between them.

“You do like it rough, don’t you, boys?” she said.

When she was done with them and dressed and on the way out, she said, “Oh, by the way, I’ll be taking the Maserati, too. That is unless there are any objections.” She paused, then said, “Hearing none,” and she turned and left them with a long parting shot of her ass receding slowly from their sight. At that moment, that receding was what hurt them most, and she knew it.
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Old 25-Sep-16, 03:25
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

LIGHT SWITCH I: THE LITTLE DIVA

By BOS


“Oh my, look at you,” said Terri. “All tiny and tight. I’m going to have LOTS of fun having my way with you, Mighty Mite.”

He really wasn’t any smaller that her. If she hadn’t been wearing heels, he’d have been taller. And he had a good 30 pounds on her. And it was all muscle – endlessly and painfully honed over years -- whereas she was all girly-girl, though with a fitness-girl bicep or two. But Terri knew he was self-conscious about his size. They were both on the edges of professional wrestling. She had started as eye candy more than as wrestler, but she had picked up some things and had stretched her role. He, meanwhile, had been trying to get the biggest federation to take him seriously despite his size and he, too, had made some progress, though not as much as he would have liked.

But at hand tonight wasn’t professional wrestling. This was real competition, though of a new and experimental kind. It was the first live, streamed showing of Light Switch, the new battle-of-the-sexes competition which overtly combined eroticism and combat. The name derived from the fact that the woman was supposed to try to turn the guy on in a way that was visibly obvious, only to then turn him off by the application of pain. If she could do this 10 times – manipulate him like a light switch -- she would win. The idea of such combat – which not long earlier would have been unthinkable – gained traction as a result of social media, wherein woman spoke of such contests with boyfriends and others, and men fantasized. Urban folklore began to hold that such fights really happened. Some people were skeptical. Before long, matches started showing up on youtube. Still, people didn’t know quite what to make of them, even when there were a few witnesses. Eventually, the events became public. With women becoming bolder and bolder in their physical prowess as a result of various conditioning programs and sports, and what with regular depictions of ass-kicking heroines in pop culture, people were becoming more willing to believe.

Various reasons to compete arose. There were many possible motivations for the guy, including money and publicity, not to mention sexual motivation.
Under the rules, the guy could win in any conventional way: knockout, pin to a 10 count, submission or – less conventionally but in line with the erotic motif – by rape – via any orifice. And the faster he won, the more money he would win. Under that rule, the female won a little moral victory just by lengthening the match. The woman had no motivation to hurry.

For either fighter, stripping the opponent was entirely legal.

If the woman completed the 10 switches, she would have the option of trying to rape the guy. If she tried and failed, however, she would forfeit her win.

Terri was present because she was eager to show what she could do. Ernie was here for a payday and to get a wrestling reputation as a “heel” whom people would pay to see.

The match was just officially underway when Terri made her comment about having her way with the Ernie. She was fondling his impressive bicep, which he was only too eager to show off. But when she moved her other hand toward his crotch and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got down here,” he jumped back, and she laughed.

Now they squared off. She beckoned him toward her, know that he was the one with something to gain by forcing the action, and that he would be embarrassed not to engage her quickly. He wouldn’t want to give the impression he was worried about her.

She was dressed in a tiny black bikini that was chosen to show off a body she was extremely proud of. Fortyish in age and pushing that in bosom size, she was still firm everyplace and pointing in the right directions. She also wore black high heels and had make-up fit for a night on the town, with bright red lipstick that matched the red on her fingernails and toenails. Her hair was coiffed for a night out, not hanging simply. She had earrings, blue eyeshadow and some color in her cheeks.

He had on, besides wrestler’s sneakers, only the small black brief that was approved by the authorities because it was designed to make sure everybody could see the level of his arousal.
He came at her with an eye toward a headlock. She darted two fingers into his neck before he got to her, and he backed off, choking. Then she took the headlock he was going for, walking the little man around the ring in a show-offy way. Before he could plan a strategy for dealing with that, the lady flipped the male wrestler over her shapely hip. When he landed on his butt, she was still holding his head from behind. She shifted her lock slightly and pushed his face, so that it was pressed into her armpit. This humiliation could not be accepted, and he twisted and bucked like a bronco. But Terri hung on, smiling widely for the crowd. Indeed, far from succeeding in getting away, the muscular little man found himself pretty much flat on his back, his mouth and nose covered by her flesh.

He was shocked and embarrassed. Before the match, he had assumed he would be paired with some huge amazon. And he was expecting to handle her as if she were a child. Instead, the busty, curvy little lady was the one doing the handling, the showing off.

Suddenly she twirled around on him so that she was straddling him. Having released his head from her armpit, she gyrated on his body sensuously while struggling for control of his arms. Within seconds it was obvious to her that she had flicked his switch successfully.

Surprising him, she let him go. She rolled off him, allowing his new elongation to be seen by the crowd. The woman bowed flamboyantly and femininely in several directions, soliciting applause for her first point scored.

The rules held that four judges would be around the ring, and that three would have to certify that a guy was hard and, when the time came, soft. They now signaled that Ernie was hard.

The embarrassed man looked around in bewilderment. But Terri knew that she had not yet completed the light-switch idea. She had to make him soft. Nobody was shocked to see a beautiful woman turn a man on. Entertained, maybe. Amused. But obviously not shocked. The test was whether she could turn him off.

Now, while she was bowing to the crowd with her ass toward her opponent, Terri’s left leg came up backwards hard into his gut. Then, before he could mount a defense, she turned and kicked him two more times. He curled up, whether to ease his pain or hide his crotch, or both. The woman knelt beside him, slipped an arm under one of his arms and pushed it off his crotch to the mat on the side of his body away from her. In the process, she flattened herself on the man in a sort of T position, with him back on the mat. Now everybody could see everything about his anatomy. The judges certified the obvious that he was soft.

The audience applauded, especially the women, and Terri socked the man in the solar plexus then stood and took her flamboyant bows again. She gave the discombobulated man time to catch his breath and get his head together.
The little beauty was having a great time, finally getting to show off what she could do in a real fight in front of an appreciative audience. She could hardly believe this was happening. It was a dream come true. A fantasy, and it was turning her on. She did not take this little guy seriously as an opponent, seeing him instead as just as a prop to toy with to entertain herself and others.

He, on the other hand, was enveloped in a murderous rage. This was serious business for him. She was messing with his career, not to mention is male ego and his bruised body.

He tried to virtually bound to his feet. He was premature, not yet having really gotten control of himself. The moment he was vertical, Terri slid into him, like a baseball player, upending him hard before he really had his balance. He fell on his face. He would have fallen on top of the luscious female if she hadn't anticipated that and positioned herself out of the way. Immediately, she rolled on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a sleeper and rolling onto her back, so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and go to work on his crotch. As he struggled against the choke hold, knowing that, done right, it could put his lights out in seconds, she brought her thin high heels into delicate contact with his crotch. She leaned her mouth into his ear, touching him slightly with her lips and whispering, "Why struggle so hard, Mighty Mite? You know you love this."

The effect was almost immediate. The crowd could see it, and the judges made it official.

Terri then simply scissored Ernie, and he grunted, all erotic thoughts having been thrust from his mind, and replaced with sheer pain. After a couple more squeezes, the judges declared him to have been switched off.

Under the rules of Light Switch, she could only get credit for five switches in any one position. She went for the five. She was having a great time. And she loved showing that she could hold Ernie in this position all night and turn him on and off at will, just as if he were, indeed, a light switch.

In the process, she whispered in Ernie’s ear. "Your mine, babe. Get used to it. I own you flat out. I can make you feel as good as it is possible for a guy to feel, and I can make you hurt so much you want to run home to mommy. It's all up to me. And I’m doing it all while the whole world is watching, and a video is being made that will last forever."

At the appropriate point in every on-off cycle, she would crunch her legs together around his slim waist in a way that amazed him. Could such lovely, such little, such smooth and enticing legs really be causing a muscular guy like him this pain that felt like he was being cut in half?

After softening him one final time, Terri planted a dominating big kiss on his cheek – leaving a lipstick mark that was there for the rest of the match. Then she effortlessly rolled him back onto his face and, in the process of standing up, rucked his briefs down to his knees.

He grabbed quickly for the briefs, but she lifted both of his ankles off the mat and locked them under her armpits. Now he was reduced to trying to cover his package with his hands. Terri laughed at him and played at his crotch with one high-heeled foot. As he thrashed ineffectively, she also ran that sexy foot sensuously along the inside of one of his thighs, up and down, near its most sensitive area. She was soon able to switch him on for all too see. She laughed and dropped him and let him pull his briefs up and get to his feet.

She walked around the ring clapping her hands and bringing the crowd along.
She took hold of a microphone hanging from the ceiling and said, “Now I’m going to do that to you again, Mighty Mite. I’ve going to pull your little panties down and make you hard for me for all the world to see, and there’s not a thing in the world you can do to stop me, even though I’ve just told you exactly what I’m gonna do.”

She let the mike go, and she circled around the discomfited man menacingly, bending over in front him so that he and the crowd got a great shot of her bosom. He was clearly on the defensive. But he had no response when she somersaulted before him and, as she completed the circle, grabbed his briefs and pulled them to his feet even as she continued rolling into him in a second somersault. She knocked him down and rolled all the way over his body, putting him flat on his back, in the process showing the whole world that he was still hard. She had his briefs.

He turned over on his knees to face her. But he was reluctant to get up. He crouched in a way designed to maintain as much of his privacy as possible. She waved the cloth in front of his face, and he grabbed and missed twice. The crowd laughed at his pathetic effort.

“OK, Mighty Mite,” she said. “You want your little panties so much, here. I’ll take pity on you. What the hell: I can take them away from you any time I want, anyway.” She flipped them in his face, and he put them on, while awkwardly attempting some modesty. He was still hard. She loved that.
She waited patiently for him to dress.

“You ready, Mighty Mite?” she said. “I’m going to sexually molest you some more now, and I wouldn’t want to do it if you weren’t ready.”
That made him come at her, but he had lost all confidence in his game, and he was off it, and she simply butted her right shoulder into his chest as he came at her, stopping the man in his tracks, sending him stumbling backwards. She loved that. Showing him her own power. With a big smile on her face, she kicked him in his solar plexus, and he dropped to his knees.
She loved having him look up at her. Now, referring back to what she had said about having her way with his little body, she said, “Don’t get me wrong, Might Mite: I like messing with the big dudes, too. But with them I can’t do something like this.” She lifted him to his feet with her hands under his armpits. That was easy enough, because he was trying to rise anyway. Then, as if in one movement, she slipped one arm between his legs and lifted him to her shoulders. He was shocked at the move, as was the crowd. He struggled in vain. She held him in place with one hand firmly over his neck, pushing his head down on her right side, and her other arm controlling his top leg on her other side. She paraded around the ring, showing off her strength and her easy dominance of the man.

Then, to the further shock of everybody, she pressed her male package all the way overhead, with one hand on his throat and the other near his crotch. She paraded some more, smiling broadly. The crowd could clearly see that the man was still hard. Then, suddenly, Terri brought both her arms down fast and slammed the man to the mat.

Still he was hard. Earlier in the match, she had been a little careful not to hurt him TOO much, because her main goal was to turn him on sexually. She was afraid that if he was in too much pain, that would be harder, so to speak. Now, however, having aroused him multiple times, she was confident that she could beat him up to her heart’s content and still turn him on at will. As he started to rise to his feet, she jumped in the air, did a somersault and came down with all her weight on his body. That flattened him. And softened him. The judges made that official.

Slowly, casually, showily, she walked around the downed male fighter. Her hand patted her hair into place in a self-congratulatory manner. Terri wanted the crowd to know beyond any possible doubt that she considered the man to be hers now, that she had no concerns about a comeback, that she was just toying with him. It was over. To put her against a guy his size was just simply a mismatch.

Finally, standing above her victim and in front of him, she cupped one of her hands around the bottom of his chin and lifted him to his feet gently. When was standing, she kissed him full on the mouth and she wrapped her arms around his back, then fell to her back and threw him over her halfway across the ring over her. Slowly again she positioned herself at his head and, as he turned to get up, she lifted under the man’s chin. This time he tried to swat her hands away. With him halfway up, she threw her one of her arms under one of his armpits and threw her hip into his body and twisted away from him so that he was thrown over her, ass over heels. He found himself sitting facing away from her. She grabbed him under the chin again, this time from behind, and thrust her own body backwards, bringing his head into the mat hard.

Terri was giving Ernie a wrestling lesson, demonstrating to him and everybody else that she didn’t need to rely on her sexual allures to dominate him. Now that she felt that that was fully established, she got back to the work at hand. As the man struggled slowly to get off his back, she put him back on it with a foot on his chest. He didn’t have the strength to resist much. She demonstrated this by standing there brushing her hair into place with her hand, the man beneath her little foot. Then she lay down beside him and simply pulled his face into her bosom. He struggled ineffectively, weakly. She made a face as if to say, “Oh, please!” about the possibility him successfully resisting her. When she had him in place, she stroked his face with a dainty, manicured finger. Her femininity had him surrounded. It didn’t talk long before the judges ruled that she had flicked his switch again. Then, without changing her position or his much, she simply put more pressure on his head, forcing his face into her bosom harder. His and arms were now flailing frantically, in the way of a man who can’t breathe. Terry worried that if she put him out completely, he would not lose his erection. So she didn’t use all her strength, preferring to have him suffer and fret long enough for his blood to flow away from his dick sufficiently. However, when the judges certified his softness, she simply and easily put him to sleep.

She got to her feet, walked to a corner and let him come to at his own pace. A mirror and a hairbrush materialized, and she checked herself out and tended to her appearance at her leisure.

He came to, sat up and looked around in confusion. She ignored him for a while, then methodically put per stuff away and turned to him. She strutted casually toward the now kneeling man. Facing him, she wrapped her hands behind his head and brought his face into contact with her crotch. She held it there as she moved toward him and slowly pushed him over onto his back. Her legs locked around his chest as she lay on top of him and kept his face where she wanted it. And she rubbed her body against him sensuously. The result on his anatomy was again obvious for all too see.

To turn him off, Terri put her arms under his armpits and stretched the top of his torso upwards as she wrapped her legs around his stomach and put pressure downward. He thought she was going to stretch him to a breaking point, and he lost all concentration on her sexual allures. To make sure the whole audience saw what this did to his anatomy, Terri rolled to her back and raised the man up off her by pushing on his shoulders with her hands and his knees with her feet.

He was now suspended above her, helpless, exposed and in great pain because of the resulting sag in his back. Those spectators who were not looking at the enticing view Terri provided of her legs and ass could see that the man was flaccid. They knew that his mind was on his pain, his fear and his humiliation, not on the enticements of the woman who seemed to be within his grasp but who was tormenting and dominating him as she almost seemed to be resting on her back.

She then lowered the man to her, holding him possessively to her with her arms around his chest. With her feet, she lowered his briefs enough to expose him fully. Soon enough he was once again obviously under the control of her sexual allure. His feminine conqueror again elevated him so that the audience could see exactly the difference between what he looked like in that helpless position when she wanted him hard and what he looked like when she wanted him soft. The crowd watched as he shrank before their eyes, because of the pain in his back under the hot little woman’s utter, easy dominance.

Terri had lost count of Ernie’s erections. She just knew that nobody was stopping her.

She lowered him again, slipped out from under him and had him on his stomach as she rested atop him. She easily stifled his pathetic attempts to mount some effort to escape. She swept his knees out from under him with her legs. She wrapped each of her arms over and around one of his so that he could hardly use them. All the while, the little woman mugged for the crowd, as if the man’s very thoughts of escape were absurd. She made clear to everybody that she could hold him indefinitely and effortlessly.
Then she began to demonstrate that she could do a lot more than just hold him. She moved her mid-section in a circular motion against his butt. Then she raised her mid-section away from him and slammed it back down on him. She did that again. And again. It dawned on the crowd that she was simulating a rape. And that the man had no defense.

She pounded him. She rubbed him. She remained in total control, looking for all the world as if she was finding sexual satisfaction at his expense. After demonstrating that he was hers completely, in every sense, she stopped and reached back and put one of her arms between his legs, then wrapped it partly around one of his thighs and lifted that thigh up so that the judges could see the crucial part of his anatomy. They saw that Terri was not the only one who saw her activities atop the man as sexual. He was hard as a rock.

On that symbolic note, the judges declared the fight over.
The victorious beauty rose and stood above the beaten man, holding one of his ankles. She put a foot on his face.

The two warriors were joined in the ring by Carly, one of the announcers. She said, “That was quite a display there lady. What are you plans now? Are you going to rape Ernie?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Terri. “I think I’ve made my point about that. I’m not mad at him or anything. I think I’ll leave rape for the rematch, if he wants one.”

Said Carly, “Well, if he does want one, that would be a little hard to understand. I have to say that this was hardly a match at all. You looked like you didn’t even taken him seriously as an opponent.”

“No, I can’t say I did. Ernie is adorable, but he’s obviously not ready for all this,” said Terri as she patted her hair into place and checked her appearance on the screens in the arena.

The interviewer said, “Let me see if I can get a word with the loser.” She knelt and put the mike in Ernie’s face and said, “Tell us, Ernie, how did it feel to get your ass handed to you by a gorgeous little lady in front of the whole world? I mean, here you are, this macho, buff guy who wants to make a living wrestling big men, and you couldn’t even…” Here Ernie said, “Get that think outta my face, bitch.”

Said Terri, “Oh, now, Ernie, baby, is that any way to talk to the nice lady just because I turned your whole world upside once and for all?” She knelt down beside him and put one hand on his crotch and one on his throat, holding him securely in place with her weight. “You know, Mighty Mite, I didn’t go after your crotch at all, except in the nicest of ways. But I think we both know it’s mine any time I want it, don’t we? So I suggest you talk nice to the nice lady.”

In truth, Ernie was by now a mess not only physically, but mentally and psychologically. Besides his body being in a – to him – unprecedented, unnerving combination of pain, exhaustion and horniness, he was, by now, not simply afraid of little Terri but in awe of her: her sexual allure and her uncanny instinct for using it to best effect; her all-knowing control of his libido; her masterful wrestling ability; her strength, so unsuspected, so well disguised by her alluring curves; her devastating, invulnerable beauty; her uncanny ability to always look as though she had just stepped out of a photo shoot; her grace – her ineffable grace; and then there was her utter self-confidence, her certainty that she was in full control at all times, a certainty that he felt growing within him – about her. He felt less like an opponent than a prop. If they had been alone, he would have conceded defeat. He might even have been willing to beg for mercy if she proved nasty enough. With everybody watching, he could not bring himself to such humiliation. But even with everybody watching, he could not see a way to fight anymore. He knew in his gut that that would just encourage her to entertain the crowd more and longer – at his hyper-painful expense. THEN he would be forced to beg for mercy in public. He wanted to avoid that.

She took her hand off his neck. But with the hand that was still on his crotch, the sexy little lady let that muscular little man know that she meant business. So, indeed, he answered the announcer’s questions passively.
Terri then stood above the once-proud little warrior and pulled him to his feet and loaded him on one of her soft, alluring shoulders. One rope of the ring having been removed, she carried him down some steps and through the crowd with her hand resting possessively on his tight ass. She was thinking about how much the audience might want to see what was to follow once she had the little guy alone.

In the locker room, when she set him down on his fight, he was still passive. She stood right in front of him, enjoying that moment, directing the action.
She said, “You just got humiliated within an inch of disintegrating right there, in front of everybody. You just got your life torn limb from limb. And you got beaten within an inch of your life. And still what’s really on your mind is the body of mine.” She pushed him gently back against a wall, and he let her.

Her hands wandered all over his body, front and back, as she demonstrated his acceptance of her dominance. She continued, “Well, I’m not going to tell you everything. But, make no mistake: You’re mine now. I own you: mind, body and, shall we say, spirit.” She locked in a standing body stretch. One of her bare legs wrapped sensuously around one of his, locking him in place. His torso was bent painfully to one side, under an armpit of hers. He yelped in pain. Her hand went to his crotch. He got hard fast, as she eased up on the stretching. And she said, “Like I said, sweetheart, I’m not mad at you. But let’s just say this whole ‘light switch’ doesn’t need an audience to work for me.”
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Old 01-Nov-16, 05:38
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Default Re: BOS stories

LIGHT SWITCH II – THE SUPERSTARS, Part I

By BOS

This story is set in the context of Light Switch, a combat sport featuring battles of the sexes with an erotic motif. (See Light Switch I: The Little Diva, on this thread.) The matches are done before an audience and streamed on the Internet. The name derives from this rule: The goal of the woman is to repeatedly turn the man on and off, like a light switch. If he experiences 10 erections and deflations, she wins. The male has to wear revealing briefs. Three of four ringside judges must rule that he has turned hard or soft. No more than five of the switch-ons can come in any one position. Meanwhile, the male can win in any way: pin, submission, knockout, even rape. Each contestant is permitted to try to strip the other. The woman may attempt to rape the man if she gets the 10 erections first.


Everybody in the world knew that Dexter had cheated on Tay. Their affairs – so to speak -- were entirely public. Tay had, in her hugely popular music videos, made clear that she was furious at Dexter. Among other things, she was embarrassed. She saw herself as a role model for girls and young women, and she encouraged them to stand up for their own interests. So how would it look if she were to accept Dexter’s cheating? There had to repercussions. Actually, Dexter understood that. He felt bad about the spot he had put her in. One reason was that, after all, he benefitted from her success, too.

But Dexter was not happy when Tay hinted publicly that he had paid a price privately for his transgressions. She had said it in a way that some interpreted as meaning that she had actually beaten him up. How was he supposed to live with that? Talk about embarrassment! Sure, she was a physically substantial, physically accomplished woman with big hips and thighs (and a fabulous ass). But he was taller than her and heavier and, after all, the man. And he came out of a macho culture; his male fans were watching him.

The promoters of Light Switch saw an opportunity. They offered the couple a chance to settle their public dispute in a public ring. Tay – to her husband’s astonishment – accepted the idea at once. Moreover, she wouldn’t privately discuss with him what would happen when they found themselves in the ring. He thought that they should at least work out some plan in advance. But she gave him the cold shoulder on this subject, as on all others lately.

Yet he knew he had to show up. For one thing, the payday was just too big to ignore. For another, he was afraid she would leave him if he didn’t, and he definitely couldn’t afford that. And he was afraid his friends would leave him. He decided there had to be a way to accept the invitation now and figure out a strategy later.

As if there wasn’t enough sexual tension connected with the event, somebody on the Internet reported that Tay had said she was going take Dexter’s briefs off him at the very start of the match, and his shirt soon after. Dexter had trouble believing she had actually said that. But it was out there.

The night arrived. The notoriously beautiful woman wore a golden leotard not much different from the color of her skin. It showed much of her bosom, and it came up high on her ass and hips. Her legs were bare, and she wore high heels. Her hair hung down all the way to her ass and was braided in one long strand. She also wore a concert singer’s cordless microphone.

He had the brief required by the rules, a tight shirt that came down almost to the brief, and sneakers.

Tay’s music came over the speakers, and she almost danced out of her corner. But she didn’t smile. She was so bold as to turn her back on her husband, shaking her booty at him. She turned back to him and pointed to his crotch. Even over the roar of the crowd, everybody could tell what she said, “I’m taking those now.” People looked at each other for confirmation. Had she really said THAT?? Was this really happening?

Dancing near him – nearer than he thought, actually -- she thrust one of those famous hips at him and hit him hard with it. She had always felt there was a lot of power in those thrusts. Now she knew it. Her move took some of the man’s breath away very quickly. (He was not the only one.) He was disconcerted enough that she was able to slam into him again, sideways, this time throwing much of her body at him. He stumbled back into ringpost. She met him there, thrusting her hip into his chest. With no room to back up, he was hurt more by this attack than the others. He was now virtually breathless against the post.

She strung her right arm under his left and back up to his shoulder, turned that destructive hip into him again and threw him over it onto the mat. He hit the mat hard and the crowd gasped – not expecting anything like that. He gasped, too. Before he could put together any kind of response, she pulled the startled man to his feet with the same arm she had used to throw him, which had hardly lost contact with Dexter’s arm. She thrust her hip into him again, and threw her husband again. It was obviously easy for her. Then she pulled him to his feet and did it again.

This time she let Dexter bounce and settle. For a second he sat dazed, wondering if he had broken something. And he wondered if there was any possible recovery from this embarrassment. As he wondered – always knowing that his wife could attack again -- he turned to stand up. When he was halfway up, his wife ripped his briefs down to his knees from behind him.

There came a shocked gasp from the audience, along with much laughter and applause. Women put their hands to their mouths. Men stared, transfixed.
But Tay was not completely successful yet. Her hubby made a grab for his briefs before they were entirely off and before he was entirely up. When he did that, his beautiful wife took the opportunity to grab his ankles. When she pulled his ankles and his knees out from under him, the man’s face hit the mat --hard. That was the moment when crowd – now fully aware that this was a real fight, not some sort of fight-like event – knew that it could get very rough, indeed.

Tay then grabbed at the man’s briefs – which hubby was trying to hold up. The woman won the tug of war, an event which sent the crowd into tizzies. People were on their feet, especially the girls and women.

Their heroine took the briefs all the way off her man, denuding him just that quickly of his most crucial covering, just as she had promised.

Rubbing salt in the wound, Tay waved her husband’s briefs in the air for all too see. The crowd went even wilder.

The man grabbed for his wife’s famous legs as a way to progress toward his briefs, but the queenly woman kicked him away insolently, as if he was being a pest.

Then she more insolently turned her back on the humiliated man and ostentatiously draped the briefs over a ringpost and stood between the post and the man.

He threw modesty to the winds, but also hoped that his shirt and the fast action would prevent people from seeing very much of him. He had the sinking feeling that half actions – guarded actions – were not going to suffice against his determined wife. He got up furiously and came at her.

But, to his amazement and confusion, she turned her back on him and jumped up on the bottom rope – one foot on each side of a ringpost -- and pushed off from it. She slammed him in the face with her famous ass.
Wow, did the crowd love that! Well, the women loved it. Again, many feminine hands went to many mouths. But they did not stifle screams of delight. The men were mixed. Some seemed to be hoping for a better performance by their fellow dude.

Now that dude staggered back. But he was reluctant to admit that the insulting attack had hurt him. He came at his woman again and was hit again the same way. As he had started at her, she had again jumped up on the ropes, then sprang back. His hands weren’t even up at his face to protect his head, where they should have been, perhaps because he knew that position would raise his shirt and display more than he wanted to display. He did, in other words, exactly what he knew he couldn’t afford to do: let his modesty hobble him, let it interfere.

He hadn’t quite realized – in his discombobulated state – exactly what was going on: There were big screens around the arena that showed all the action big and close up. They enabled Tay to know what her man was doing without looking at him.

To him, it seemed that she was being successful even with blind attacks. That messed with his head.

At any rate, the second time she butt punched him, he dropped to his knees dazed, his head pretty much useless for the moment.

He did see those majestic legs approaching him. But before he acted, his now casually dominant wife had one hand under his chin and lifted his face to look at hers. Then she slapped him across the face three times – forehand, backhand, forehand. Then she said to the crowd -- “I could have punched his lights out right there, but I’m too much of a lady. A few good lady slaps are fine for now.”

She got the laugh she wanted, turned her back on her downed man, looked up at a screen, put her feet on the lowest ropes near the closest ringpost and sprang back again into her husband’s face. He fell to the mat.

She danced elegantly around him, taunting him, flaunting both her sexuality and her dominance. She showed an utter lack of fear of the bigger, supposedly strong macho man. She pantomimed taking a shirt off over her head. That was to remind everybody what her next attack would be aimed at. The man – now more or less seated (being, for some reason, more comfortable that way) – leaned forward and swiped at her legs. He pretty much missed. While he was extended, his wife dropped her torso down on his back, which had the effect of pushing his face toward the mat under her. Then she reached for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up toward his shoulders. She didn’t denude the man completely, though. Instead, when she had the shirt off his torso, but it was still covering his upper arms and head, she deftly tied it in a knot above his head.

Then the female idol stood back, gestured at her pathetic husband in his absurd struggle with his shirt and took a big bow.

When he finally got free, he moved his shirt to his crotch to cover himself.
The lady looked out to the crowd and spoke into her mic. “I’m going to take that from him now. In a few seconds it’ll be mine, and you all know it, don’t you?”

Actually, the crowd hardly knew what to make of that. Then the superdiva sang the words, “Candy from a baby,” from an old pop song. She turned her back on her man. Then, to the surprise of all – she bent over backwards until her hands were on the mat in front of him and her upside down face was looking at his. She was held up by her hands and feet only, her body in an arch. Then she continued propelling her body in the circle she had begun describing when she first bent backwards. Her feet came off the mat and passed over her torso and head until she landed on her husband’s naked back with her arms around his torso. There she simply ripped the shirt from him, discarding it behind her. As he turned to see where it was, she flipped her mic up, so that it wasn’t in front of her mouth, grabbed his face with both hands and planted a hard kiss on his lips. He was in an awkward position, his neck being twisted. She was in complete control. Still holding the kiss, she flattened him onto his back. His first emotion was relief that he had survived the twisting of his neck and that he was now in a more natural position. And she was kissing him. He tried to resist her, but not for long. Soon his erection brought this move to an end for the lady. When the judges signaled that the man was erect, his wife slammed his head on the mat and thrust her thumbs into his neck hard. She continued pushing, and his hands came to her hands but he was unable to move them. He thrashed and lost all interest in sex and became flaccid, which the judges also made official.

The female superstar rose to her feet and resumed her connection with the background music. She took some time and let both the crowd and her opponent see if they could piece together the dazzling events that had just happened, almost too fast for anybody to keep track. She knew one thing: Everybody could now see that Dexter was no match for her, even if had had all his clothes and even if his head were still clear. She was dominating him, showing her ownership. He had no defense against all that she had.

She was in love with this moment. She loved that even as she was beating up her husband, he was lusting after her. She knew he was watching her every movement for one those cheap male thrills, where an ass cheek becomes a little more exposed than usual, or something. She loved the emotional agonies she was putting him through – the suffering of the only part of a man that’s easier to hurt than his balls: his ego. She loved all that more than she loved inflicting the pain. The pain was just a way of keeping score. And she absolutely, passionately loved the fact that the whole world was watching her do her thing, and that a record of it would exist forever.

She picked up his shirt, showily shook it out straight and hung it on the ringpost atop his briefs. She turned back to man. Into her mic, which was back in position, she said, “They’re there for you, Sweetheart, any time you can get through me.”

He didn’t know what to do. Attacking her legs hadn’t worked. But he didn’t want to stand.

Tay faked a move at him, and he lurched back. That not only embarrassed him. It made him feel vulnerable in his down position. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet. He had to pretend he was fine with his enforced nudity, though, and he raised his arms dramatically over his head, as if to say to everybody, “Here! You want to look, look.”

Challenging him to keep his arms up, Tay put hers up, inviting him to lock hands with her. She knew that a part of him would want a test of strength. Nothing else was working for him. And she knew he still wanted to think he was stronger than her. But she suspected he would refuse the challenge, because his balls would be too exposed to attack. She let his dilemma torment him. And embarrass him. His dithering looked bad. She danced with her arms up, even turning her back on her somehow shrinking opponent.

That implicit challenge he did accept. One reason was that putting her body in front of him would hide him, at least partially. He came at her to wrap his arms around her. His mind having been so successfully messed with, he forget again that she could see him without looking at him. She bent at the waist and thrust herself backwards, and her butt slammed into the man’s mid-section hard. He staggered back. Using the video screens to her advantage, she practically chased him – backwards -- with her famous ass, hitting him again and knocking him into the ropes. She got surprising height to her jump, and surprising distance. Her butt hit his face. He bounced off the ropes and staggered, and she caught him again, the same way. Three of her butt blasts were enough to bring him to his knees, folded over.

His wife stood at his side, her hand on his hanging head, her elegant fingers gently stroking his face. She said, “First you messed with me. Then you underestimated me, which might have been even worse. Now you pay.”

She knelt next to him and waited for him to recover his breath. She cupped his chin, pointed it at her and brought his head to hers. She was tempted to head-butt him, but, in keeping with the format, it was time for some sex. She wanted to switch him on again, not only to score that point in the match, but to make the point that her control was all-encompassing. She kissed him on the mouth. With both of them on their knees, he started to lean into her, trying to push her to her back. But she wouldn’t go.

She knew instantly that he thought he had his test of strength now, and that he was excited. But his assertion of male strength didn’t bring quick progress. As they knelt face to face, the crowd saw them as being in a struggle for the top position in sex. People could see the man’s arousal on the big screens, especially.

Tay was not as eager to put Dexter down as he was to put her down. She wanted to establish control in this kneeling position, and to dramatize that she had it.

She knew that he was having trouble keeping his mind off sex. Actually everybody knew that much. But Tay was keeping her mind on the fight and on her need to switch him on and off. As he tried to bull her down, and as she resisted that by positioning her knees correctly, and by just fighting him off, she also focused on his left arm, his weaker one. The pressure he thought was an effort to push him onto his back was really an effort to get his arm behind his back, where she intended to hold it in a hammerlock from the front, with her left arm. That way she might be able to turn him on and off at will, by changing the amount of pressure she put on his arm as the two combatants rubbed against each other sensuously, him nude and her not covered by much.

They leaned against each other, each playing a different game. The building came to a hush as the two contestants strained, their torsos in pitched, sexual battle. Sometimes it seemed as if the man and woman were at a standoff. The spectators were impressed with Tay, impressed that she was standing up to the man’s strength. But they would have been more impressed to know the woman was actually making headway. Slowly, yet before he really knew it, because his mind was on other efforts, she had his weaker arm near his side and close to being pushed behind him by her right arm, her stronger one. The man’s left hand was now closed in a fist, pressing into the softer part of his own side, below his chest and above his hip. But it was being moved backwards. Gradually, the man realized the danger.

It was too late. His wife got his arm to the point where he didn’t have as much leverage and strength to push forward as she had to push it backwards. Then it was behind him.

Tay held it there with her right hand, and before the man quite knew what the game was, she had her left hand behind his back, too. She was hugging him hard, yes, but was also pulling his left wrist up and to his right with her left arm and pushing it that way with her right. Finally he was in pain. The audience could see it in his face.

He was not having an erotic experience, no matter how hard his chest was pressed into his wife’s remarkable bosom. He was clearly on the defensive. The woman would squeeze and pull and relax and squeeze again, just generally working him. She could feel him weakening. His one free arm was unable to grab anything useful. It was all Tay now.

The man went flaccid in his pain. When his wife saw the judges signify that, she eased up a bit, but still held the man securely. She buried her face in his neck and gave him a hickey. She moved her lower torso sensuously, if not a lot. She turned her souped up bearhug into a hug, an embrace. To the degree possible, she tried to melt into him. She succeeded in elongating him again, for all to see, including the judges. Then she clenched and then clenched again, and soon she had him soft again and in pain. He was worried more about his ribs and his arm than her charms. The judges made that official.

She could not resist doing that again. Dominating him like this -- when he thought he was going to be all caveman and just bowl her over onto the femininity of his conqueror by just the slightest adjustments of her arm pressure and whatnot, changing her combat control to sexual control in an instant, then back. She could put his thoughts wherever she wanted them to be. She made hard him again, and then soft again. He was hers to do with as she pleased and she wanted to make sure that everybody got that.

Finally, Tay simply let the man ago and pushed gently on his chest. That was enough to cause him to fall on his back, exhausted. This time she saw something special in his eyes and face and body language as he lay on his back: utter devastation and resignation.

She realized with a flash that he had given this last confrontation everything. He had felt this one was his, his big chance. He sensed -- even assumed -- quick victory. And he went for it with everything -- everything. But he found himself being publicly and alternately tortured and sexually toyed with by his dominant wife.

Now, to Tay, everything about him – his posture, his face, his eyes (which avoided hers) -- said it was over. He was amazed. But he was done.

Tay hadn’t expected it to end so quickly. The way it ended thrilled her. She raised her arms over her head and invited the applause of the crowd, which she won in growing waves of volume, as the crowd realized, too, what had just happened. Some in the crowd were almost as tired as she was, just from the tension of the clash of the male and female torsos.

Tay wanted to symbolize her victory in some way. Looking at her husband on his back, now held there by her knee on his stomach, she thought of something she had once heard about how dogs sometimes assume a dominant position after a fight. She flipped the mic up to near her forehead. And she bent over – her legendary ass purposely left in the air – and put her mouth on her unresisting husband’s throat. She took his Adam’s apple and everything around it between her lips. He felt like she had his whole throat. She frightened him with her proximity to his carotid artery. But he didn’t fight her. She simply held him there, one hand on his forehead. He just waited for her to finish. Then she gave him one hellacious hickey.

But she wasn’t finished marking him. There would be a hickey on one side of his neck from earlier in the fight. And there would now be one in the center. So she turned his head to the side and added her third marking on his previously unmarked side. He let her do that, too.

The thought occurred to him that he might be ashamed of his acquiescence one day. But “one day” does not understand today.

The audience noticed he was hard before she did. When it came to her attention, she laughed at him and slugged him in the solar plexus and, as his head sort of bounced up from that blow, she put her hand on his forehead and slammed his head into the mat, not once, but twice. Then she dug her knuckles into his solar plexus. He squirmed and thrashed weakly. Soon he was soft again. Through it all, she was smiling and playing to the crowd.
She had zero interest in letting up on Dexter just because he was whipped. He hadn’t paid a big enough price. And she hadn’t shown the audience all she wanted to show.

She stood to admire her work and to dramatize the situation. She flipped her one long braid of hair back over her shoulders, putting her hands on her hips, accepting the victory, the submission and the adulation.

But she had another inspiration now, a thought of a maneuver that had never occurred to her before but seemed called for now as an exclamation point on her work.

She bent over – knowing the thrill the site of her backside would give to some of the spectators who might not be relishing her victory – and put her hands under her husband’s armpits and raised him to his feet. She wondered if this is how a mother feels when raising a child out of bed. When he got to his feet, Tay – without rushing, for she knew he was defenseless – put one arm between his legs and one around the back of his neck and matter-of-factly lifted him into a body slam position. His legs were up over her head, and his head was near her crotch.
.
The crowd gasped. But the lovely, curvaceous, smoothly powerful woman was not content to simply slam her man. First she walked him around the ring like that, showing people all around the arena her utter control. THEN she slammed him. He landed with a satisfying, momentous thud. And again he bounced.

Then he just lay there, twisting from side to side. At first, Tay just looked at him. Then, after more than a few seconds, she again raised her arms over her head and walked around the ring, accepting the unstinting adulation of a stunned crowd. How’s THAT for a symbol of who wins, she thought.

Tay decided it was a good time for an intermission in the show. Maybe some rest for her husband and some further humiliation could stir him to sort of resistance again. The crowd would surely like that.

As her husband lay on the mat, she didn’t leave the ring, but she fixed her make-up and clothes, taking advantage of the big screens. She signed autographs and posed for pictures. She even took the mic and sang a song. That stirred hubby to anger. He didn’t know why she couldn’t just accept her victory. But he still couldn’t stir much, and when he did, she put one foot on his chest and sang in that position. She couldn’t dance, but she could shake her booty, and she did.

She took her bows, with her back to her husband. Then she took a call. Her phone was handed up to her. As she talked, she put her foot back on her husband, without so much as looking at him. She raised her free arm to adjust the image of her hair she saw on screen. She was multi-tasking.

As a start for the second act, Tay took off her shoes.
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  #16  
Old 03-Nov-16, 23:22
godoggo2012 godoggo2012 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

great as always!
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Old 18-Nov-16, 09:10
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

I'm wondering if there's much interest in seeing part II of the latest story (above).
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Old 18-Nov-16, 12:35
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Default Re: BOS stories

Quote:
Originally Posted by cashley216 [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
I'm wondering if there's much interest in seeing part II of the latest story (above).
Yes, please.
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Old 18-Nov-16, 22:46
godoggo2012 godoggo2012 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Quote:
Originally Posted by cashley216 [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
I'm wondering if there's much interest in seeing part II of the latest story (above).
yes!
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  #20  
Old 20-Nov-16, 02:20
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Hmmm. Not doing well in the popular vote.

Is there an Electoral College around here?
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