Go Back   Male vs Female | The Mixed Wrestling Forum > Mixed Wrestling & Fighting > Wrestling & Fighting Stories



Check out the latest release by Fight Pulse: Bianca vs Andreas.
Preview photos are available in this topic. Get this video at: Fight Pulse - MX-251.




Reply
 
Thread Tools Display Modes
  #1  
Old 05-Jul-18, 19:10
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
Member
Points: 20,043, Level: 61 Points: 20,043, Level: 61 Points: 20,043, Level: 61
Activity: 23.8% Activity: 23.8% Activity: 23.8%
Last Achievements
 
Join Date: Nov 2013
Posts: 255
Thanks: 124
Thanked 930 Times in 168 Posts
Default Samantha for NY

Samantha for NY

by BOS

Samantha knew that Muscle (see Mixed Vegas and Mixed York stories) was well connected in New York’s underworld. She told him to get more connected and to report back to her about various bad guys she might enjoy messing with.

From his list, she selected Arturo “Artman” Stremser. She liked the fact that he was among the worst of the worst. She liked that he resorted to violence often and effectively, often in the form of hand-to-hand combat, that he was well built and proud of it, that he thought he was God’s gift to women and that he wanted the whole world to know about his numerous sexual conquests. Everybody did know about his world-class collection of pornographic ceramics, statues and statuettes, many of which showed men having their way with women in unusual positions.

Muscle told her where Stremser hung out. She knew he would make a move on her if she showed up, no matter how many other babes might be around. Now she stood at the bar. Her tight skirt outlined a provocative ass that seemed to pose an unspoken challenge to every man in the bar. Her skirt came only halfway down her thighs, revealing legs covered in pantyhose. They posed a mighty challenge to her ass for male attention. Her top was as tight as her skirt, revealing cleavage that might have been drawn by an artist charged with the task of detracting attention from her legs and ass. One of her shoulders was bare, as was much of her back. Her blonde hair came down to her shoulders. Her red high heels and matching bright red lipstick would have been enough to complete the effect if it weren’t for her eyes. They were the real stars of the Samantha show. The term “bedroom eyes” might as well have been invented for her. Her half-lidded expression, combined with her knowing, enticing, horny little smirk communicated that, as far as she was concerned, every conversation that wasn’t about sex was just prelude, that she knew that every guy in her presence wanted her right now, and that she could provide him with the best experience of his life.

Within minutes of her arrival, Arturo was standing next to her. “Can I buy you a drink, Babe,” he asked.

Without looking at him, she said, “I want to see the collection.” He was taken aback. He didn’t mind that she knew about the collection. It was that she seemed to know he would approach her, and that she knew who he was without looking at him. Startled as he was, he found her behavior hotter than hell. Combined with her looks and her clothing, it made her hotter than any babe he had ever come across.

He said, “So you know who I am?”

She said, “Now. No foreplay.” Arturo kind of liked the sound of that. She put some money down to pay her bill, turned her bare back and impudent ass to him and walked toward the door, knowing he would follow.

Catching up to her, he said, “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

She said, “When I dress to kill, there are no survivors, least of all a horndog like you.” Wow, he thought. He wasn’t sure if she was dissing him in some way he should object to. But he decided to take it in good humor. After all, they were walking toward his place, and there was no way in hell he was going to rock that boat.

The collection was in a room of its own – locked and large. Indeed, it was behind a serious security door. Each of the four walls in the room was lined with shelves, all of them nearly full of the pornographic items. At any give height, there’d be a four-foot long shelf, then an empty space on the wall, perhaps with a painting, then another shelf. The room was luxuriously carpeted in the middle, but not along the edges at the shelves. Samantha strolled around, looking at the items, holding them, stroking them, as Arturo watched her. She picked up one in which a lady was obviously not enjoying herself. She snapped it in two.

“Whoa,” said Arturo, “What the fuck?”

She said, “Sorry, Babe. Disapproved.” She picked up another, dropped it and stepped on it.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he said, and grabbed her by an arm and pulled her away from the shelf. She moved farther than he expected, came near another shelf and swept a bunch of the pieces off to the floor. Some hit the hard floor, some the rug; some broke, some did not.

Now he was focused on just getting her out of the room. After that, he would take care of her. He crowded her with the goal of pushing her out the door with his greater bulk. “Let’s go,” he said. But she ducked under one of his arms, came out next to him and pushed him into one of the walls, thus bringing more of his collection to the floor, with some fatalities.

She was cool as a cucumber. She said, “We’re going to destroy your collection, Artman. Not that it’s all so awful. Some of these I actually kind of like. I’ll keep some. But the rest are in serious trouble, just because I want to mess with you.” She smiled at him.

To his frustration, Arturo found himself stepping on his prized pieces as he tried to regain his balance. Laughing, she pushed him on his chest with her open palms, and he destroyed some more. Then she didn’t press her advantage, but let him get his footing and come at her. When he moved on her, she actually seemed to be looking at some pieces, not at him, so he was surprised when one of her high-heeled shoes caught him in the gut as he approached. Again, she didn’t press her advantage. After catching his breath, he realized that she had a piece in each hand. With speed that belied her persistent calm, she hit him on the sides of his head with each hand, drawing blood and breaking the pieces, which she then dropped.

Now he was down on one knee feeling his head for blood. She said, “I would have thought a guy like you would know something about fighting, Artman. But you’re really incredibly bad at it. Helpless, really.” She knew that hit him where he lived.

She still looked perfect. He was a mess. Disheveled. Bleeding. Breathing hard. And she was in his head. They both knew it.
“I’ll show you who’s helpless, Bitch,” he said. “You’re dead! But first I’m going to rape you in every hole you’ve got.” He approached her carefully, with his arms up to attack and defend. She paid him no mind, but continued to look at some of the pieces, seeming to ignore him.

Not looking at him, she said, “Back off and strip, Artman. You’re no match for me.” Arturo Stresner thought he was more than a match for ANYBODY, not mention an average-sized babe.

He pounced. She confused him by turning her back completely. She mule-kicked him in his gut. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

She said, “OK. You want to do this? Let’s do it.” She stepped out of her skirt, leaving her wearing pantyhose with no panties inside or outside them. She got down on the floor in front of him on her back, propped up on her elbows. She spread her legs wide and stroked them and said, “See anything you like, Artman. I think I’d make a pretty good piece of art, myself, don’t you.” It was like she was in his head. He was thinking exactly that about her. He was staring, almost mesmerized. God, how he loved this view. To have this indescribably sizzling babe present it to him was amazing. The pantyhose perfected the whole thing, making her legs look, indeed, like high-class erotic art, inaccessibly beautiful. And yet here she was. She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him toward her. She said, “C’mon, babe. You know you can’t resist this.” There was a little sneer in her voice and on her face.

He dove on her. She didn’t seem to resist. She didn’t knee him. She didn’t scissors him. She just smiled as he grabbed her wrists and forced them to the floor over her head. But then he felt something in his legs. She had spread his legs with hers after wrapping her ankles around his ankles. She had him stretched out farther than he could stretch. And she seemed to be doing it effortlessly, her facing showing no sign of struggle. His hands went to his thighs in pain, and he shouted frantically. She laughed.

She relaxed her hold, and he collapsed on her in relief. But then she opened him up again. He screamed, and she laughed.

“Is this you raping me, Artman?” she asked. “I have to admit I do kind of like it.” She rested as he struggled. Her hands were clasped under her head. Unable to break her hold with his legs, he decided to slug her beautiful, smiling, taunting face. But he couldn’t get anything into his punches, and she grabbed both his wrists, still laughing at him. As she eased up just a little, he tried to find a reasonably comfortable position.

She said, “Squirm, Artman. There’s nothing else you could do that could turn me on so much. But you can’t rape me even when I let you lie on top of me and I spread my legs, can you?” He said nothing. She jerked him wider open as she repeated, “Can you?”

“No, no,” he squealed.

She said, “Beg me not to lie here under you with my legs spread. Tell me you just can’t stand being on top of me like this.” He didn’t. She jerked his legs apart again.

“Please don’t lie there with your legs spread,” he said.

“Well,” she laughed, “that has got to be the most pathetic thing any man has ever said to any babe, ever. I was wrong about squirming being the hottest thing you could do. That was.”

She pushed him off her. He lay nursing his wounds as she turned her back on him, stood and began perusing his collection again, letting him watch her legs, ass and bare back. Hurting though he was, he was again mesmerized by the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her back view in the pantyhose before. It was spectacular. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Her ass seemed to give off that same come-hither look as her face. Was that possible? Taut, even erect; veiled but not veiled, it seemed to be taunting him. He wanted to grab it. Oh, how he wanted to grab it.

He couldn’t believe that this devastatingly beautiful babe had just devastated him with her body in combat, rather than sex. His mind was swimming as his body was experiencing too many feelings to handle.

Now she turned back to him and squatted in front of him, watching him try not to look directly at her crotch. She put several pieces down next to her. She said, “Let’s see how many of these I have to break before your testosterone makes you stupid enough to try me again.” She held a piece before him and said, “I’m guessing you particularly like this one, Artman. That’s why I’m doing this.” She snapped it half.

He said, “I’m going to kill you, Bitch,” and he swiped for her, having just barely gotten to his knees.

She said, “Uh oh. Testosterone alert.” She leaned out of his reach. He tottered. She held another piece in front of him. Off balance, he dove at her. She thrust the piece at his chest, crushing it and tipping him to his side.

She said, “You’re obviously no threat to me.” Realizing fully the effect her attire had on him, she said, “Now I’m going to lie down and examine some of these pieces closely. When you see what I look like in that position, you’re going to make a very foolish decision.”

She lay on the floor on her stomach, her head pointing away from him, the objects in front of her. Her ass, she knew, was utterly impossible for him to resist. He got down on her roughly -- lengthwise -- and reached for one of the items in front of her. She smiled. “Told ya,” she said.

Because he was reaching in front of her, she was able to reach back and wrap an arm around his head in a headlock. She held him like that as he struggled, though he was on top. Then she pulled in on her headlock and raised her body in a way that made him sort of fall off her to his side. She locked his face into her armpit and now had him on his back. He struggled and thrashed, but she only smiled at his efforts. One of his arms was locked between her body and his. With his other hand, he tried pulling her hair and pushing her face away, but he got nowhere.

Then she threw her nearest leg over his body and let go of his head. She was straddling him. He was on his back. She wrapped her ankles around his and spread his legs. And she held his arms down over his head with her hands. She said, “I don’t know why you couldn’t hold me in this position, Artman. It’s easy for me to hold you in it. The one on top has all the advantages.” He continued to thrash. Leaning in close to him, she said, “So you don’t like the girl-on-top position, huh, Artman? Too bad for you, because looking at all your lovely art has gotten me all revved up.”

She said, “Now I’m going to make you naked. I want to check out that body you’re so proud of, the body you think makes you such a he-man. Fight me real hard, Lover. I like that. Don’t let yourself be taken advantage by a big, bad bully like me.” The word “big” was just a shot at him. He was obviously bigger than her; taller and heavier, though not be a great deal. Not much taller when she was in heels.

She tore at his shirt, one hand on each side of the row of buttons. He tried to pull her hands of him. He tried to turn away. She laughed and loved it. When he turned away, she tore his shirt off his back. She said, “Like taking candy from a babe. Now the good part.” With the muscular man facing away from her on the floor, she decided not to undo his pants, but to simply yank. It took a few hard yanks, but they did slide down from his waist. His shoes were a problem in getting his pants all the way off. She let go of his pants and grabbed one of his ankles like an old-fashioned professional wrestler doing an ankle lock. Holding the ankle up off the floor with one arm, she ripped his shoe of with her other hand. She laughed at the man’s struggles, enjoying the denuding. There was something symbolic about it. With him still unable to get off his front, she performed the same operation on his other shoe, then stood with her hand on his pants and, though he was trying to hold them on, yanked them away from him.

She stomped on the small of his back, flattening him below her foot. “Like unwrapping a Christmas present,” she said. She left his briefs on him. She was going to treat his muscles, not his dick, as the symbol of his masculinity. Any wuss can have a dick, after all. This was about the supposedly fragile babe dramatizing the uselessness of his male muscles against her.

In the process of getting back down on him, she flipped him over onto his back, which he didn’t resist. There she took to kissing him on the cheek and feeling his torso with her hands. He kept moving his head to avoid her kisses. She laughed and said, “That’s it, Muscleman, fight me like you’re honor as a man is at stake. It is.”

Now, as she kissed him, she also was thrusting her mid-section into his crotch almost as if she were raping him. She said in his ear, “The more you struggle against me so pathetically, the more I like it. It turns me on.”

Eventually, she rolled off him onto her back. She lay there and pantomimed smoking a cigarette, as if they had just had sex. She said, “Was it good for you, Artman? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

Humiliated, exhausted and furious as he was, he also found her posture, clothing and behavior totally irresistible. Everything about her was perfect and was calling out to be touched. Her legs – one of them angled at the knee just so, because her foot was flat on the floor, for the perfect, model-like effect – her torso, her boobs. Flat on her back like that: It was his favorite position. Yet he resisted his impulse to dive on her.

She knew perfectly well the effect her body was having on him – the sexual effect, that is. She laughed at him, knowing how desperate he was to reassert his masculinity. “Not afraid of all this girly-girl softness, are you, Artman?” She stroked herself. “I mean, really, if you can’t plank me now, you’re not a man at all anymore, are you?” She almost pouted in his behalf.

That had the predictable and desired effect. He dove on her mindlessly, pinning all his hope on his weight advantage and his muscularity. But she simply wrapped an arm around his head and twisted to her side, so that his head was below her. She twisted it so that his face was pointing directly into her bare, soft, smooth, engulfing armpit, which she closed over his nose and mouth. It took seconds, and she did it with the nonchalance of swatting a fly. He couldn’t be threatening to her; just irritating.

He struggled hard, twisting, pulling at her arm and trying to push her away. She immobilized the only arm that might have done him much good. Again, he got nowhere. With his face in her pit, she kissed him and said “I could kill you right here, Artman. I could end it all. Beg me not to kill you.” He said nothing. She clamped down harder, cutting off all his air, covering his mouth and nose more tightly with her female flesh. He twisted and kicked harmlessly and uselessly. She said, “I’m going to give you just enough air to croak a plea for your life.”

She did, and he said, “Please don’t kill me.”

She laughed at him and said, “I love it. The great, all-powerful Artman begging for mercy from a chick. Wow. You’ve come a long way, Baby.”

She let go of his face and positioned herself lengthwise on him. He had turned to his side, gasping for breath. Holding him in that position, she put her chest on his shoulder, held his top arm behind him with her arm and pushed his arm backward painfully, to its limit. She said, “Beg me not to break your shoulder.” He said nothing. She exerted more pressure. He grunted in pain and said, “Please don’t break my shoulder.”

She laughed. She scooted a little farther down him. With him still on his side, she soon had one of her arms snaking through his legs at the crotch from in front, and the other from in back. She clasped her arms together and exerted upward pressure toward his head.

She said, “Beg me not to ruin you right now.” He tried to get her off him, but she held on. She applied pressure. He jerked and squirmed as she smiled. He didn’t beg at first, but soon did. “Please don’t ruin me,” he said.

She released him and patted him on ass. She said, “So THAT’s how you get your way with the ladies, huh, Artman? Begging them? I gotta say you’re pretty good at it; like it comes naturally.”

When she got off him and stood, he reached under the rug and came up with a knife. She smiled and said, “Oh, yes!” she said. “Now, Artman, are you trying to turn me on? You’re doing a great job of it. I like my dudes to desperately horny FOR me and desperately afraid OF me. We know we’ve got the first part. And nothing says fear like going for a weapon. Now let’s see if I can fight when I’m this aroused. I’m thinking, yes.”

Rising to his feet, he menaced her with the knife. She beckoned him toward her with both her hands. She was leaning a little forward, and her cleavage was emphasized. He tried several swipes, but was conservative about getting too close to her, and kept missing. She said, “Oh, yes, Artman. Just like that. I love it. You’re the one with the knife, but you’re afraid to get close enough to me to use it. Is that hot, or what!? Can’t say I blame you, though. When we get close, the knife is mine. And I think deep down you know that.”

She slapped him in the face with her right hand. He backed off. They circled. She hit him five more times with various interspersed slaps, even while he held the knife. It was becoming clear that she could hit him at will. Then, blocking his knifed arm with one of her arms, she stepped into him, pulled his head toward her with her other arm on the back of his head, and kissed him on the lips. Then she pushed him away and slapped his face. Then she said, “Now I’m going to do the exact same thing to you again, Artman. And there’s not a thing in the world you can do to stop me.” She beckoned him toward her, slapped his face, pushed him away, slapped his face again, pulled him toward her, kissed him on the lips while blocking his knifed arm, pushed him away and slapped him again.

She said, “This is fun! Now I take the knife, Loserman. I own it, just like I own you.” She grabbed the wrist of his knife-holding hand first with one hand, then with both. Then she ducked under it, turned in a circle – flashing he attention-getting ass at him -- and, still holding his wrist with both hands, brought the knife to the point where it was pointing at his stomach.

She said, “The pretty lady could kill you now, Artman. Maybe you should drop the knife.” He did. She let go of his arm and stepped back from him. She said, “I love emasculating you. Pick it up.” He did and prepared to attack. She kicked his hand with her pantyhose clad leg, and he dropped it. She said, “Again.” He picked it up and stepped back from her. She said, “Backing away from big, bad old me again, even when you’ve got the knife and even when I’ve called you on your fear of an unarmed babe who’s smaller than you. God, I love this.”

Feeling no real choice, he came at her. She grabbed his arm and whipped him into a shelf, back first. Piece of his art went flying. The pain in his back caused him to want to fall to floor. She wouldn’t let him. She plastered her body against his. He was still holding the knife. The woman held his armed arm down with one hand. She put her cheek on his and said in his ear, “I could knee you so hard right now you could never mess with another woman in your life.”

She continued, “But I think what I want to do right now is stick your knife in your mouth. See if you can stop me.” Grabbing his knife arm with both her hands, she swept a leg at his ankles and upended him. When was on his back, he found the knife at his mouth. “Open up,” she said. He did, and she inserted the knife. Then she withdrew it. She patted his cheek and said, “So much for you using a knife on me.”

She stood above him and tossed the knife aside. She wasn’t surprised, but she was amused to how he was looking at her, especially her legs. It was clear that, despite everything, his thoughts were turning back to sex. Or maybe he just couldn’t believe that the person who had just demonstrated she could kill him easily was the person with those mesmerizingly female legs. Whatever. She loved it. Loved that she had the power over a guy – and not just any guy, but this notoriously tough guy – to beat the hell out of him without him forgetting for a minute how desperately he lusted after her. She was dominating him mentally, physically AND sexually, and she thought she was as happy as it’s possible for a person to be.

She said, “Like what you see, Artman, even though you know I could kill you with them? Can’t get your mind off sex even when you’re getting your ass kicked, can you? Well, that’s pretty much the way all the guys are with me. Enjoy your cheap thrills while you can. By the time we’re done here, I’m going to make you regret you ever HEARD of sex.”

But what she did next was turn her back on him and go to a shelf full of his art. He was not really done watching her erotically displayed ass when she said, “Do you have a problem with me doing this?” She swept a row of pieces onto the floor hard. He did nothing. She smiled and said, “Nothing, huh?” And she did another swipe. He came at her hard. Her foot shot into his stomach. He collapsed to his knees. She pulled him to his feet and thrust him against a wall where there was no shelf. She plastered herself against him, wanting him to experience her all-girl softness and curves and scent. She made the moment overwhelmingly sexual, slinking into him.

She said in his ear, “Now I’m going to throw your body onto your treasures, Treasure. There’s not a thing in the world you can do to stop me. Is that hot, or what?” She didn’t quite have him in the right position. She wanted him to know exactly what her goal was first, even as they maneuvered. Soon though, she had the right grip on both his wrists. She threw a foot up into his gut, fell to her back and threw the larger man over her. He landed on a pile of his art, even as the force of his fall brought another pile down on him. Every time he moved, he felt something else break. She was on her feet almost instantly; he was not. She said, “Come on, Pal. You’re going on another flight. Different route.” With his back to her, she got her hands under his shoulders to urge him upward, not minding what she or he broke in the process. She found herself wrapping her arms around his stomach from the back. So she decided to go with that. She fell to her back, propelling the man over her in an involuntary backwards somersault, a move for which he was not the least bit ready. Again, he found himself mangling his cherished art and bringing still more to the floor. He was furious about that. He started scrambling to his feet unsteadily. She came at him, careless about what she stepped on. She pushed him into a wall face first and held him there. She melted against him again, this time from behind. She wanted him to feel every curve. She said in his ear, “I know you’re enjoying my body while it dominates you, Babe. Right now, I’m doin’ you again. It’s crunch time. Nothing you can do. Best just to think about sex.” She wrapped her arms around his torso and threw herself back. Crunch, indeed. Lots of crunching. This time, though, instead of letting him go when he flew over her, she did a backwards somersault herself and came up still holding him. In his ear, she said, “Again.” She threw him again, the same way, and came up holding him again, and then threw him again. The damage to the collection was colossal, not to mention to the man.

She let him go, and they got up separately. The man was wobbly and slow.

She said, “I make you go all weak in the knees, don’t I, Artboy? I’m guessing that, beaten to a pulp as you are, I can still get a rise out of you.” She pushed him to a wall again, almost gently, so complete was her control. Then she slapped him across the face three times with one hand, back and forth and back. Leaning into him, she said, “This is where I make you sorry you ever heard of sex. Every time you get hard, I’m going to make you regret it. Here comes the hard.” She put her cheek against his. She ran her hand through his hair. She writhed her body against his. He tried to resist, but he was weakening, and his motivations were mixed. After a few seconds she felt him and said, “Well, THAT didn’t take long. Now here comes the regret.” She punched him in the stomach, banged his head against the wall and slammed her palms into his chest. He wanted to crumble to the floor. She wouldn’t let him. “You’re not going anyplace I don’t want you to go, Buddy Boy. Besides, this isn’t all bad for you. Here comes the hard again.” She kissed him on the lips and writhed against him and let her hands roam over him. When she learned he was hard. She smiled and said, “And here comes the regret.” She pulled on his neck until he was bent over, and she brought a knee up to his chest hard twice. She put her hand under his chin and straightened him up, felt him and said, “Look out: Here’s comes the hard again.” She turned him to face the wall, and her hands went to his crotch and caressed it. After a few seconds, she said, “There we go. And here comes the regret.” Without turning him around, she brought both her hands into his two sides with simultaneous karate chops, then slammed her body into his, bringing his into hard contact with wall. She turned him to face her and said, “I can still make you hard – against your will -- with a mere flick or two of the wrist. That’s how completely I control your mind and body.” She put one of her forearms under his chin and pushed, holding him against the wall as his arms tried to fight her off, pathetically. With her other hand, she stroked his crotch. After a short time, she said, “I thought so. So here comes the regret, with another flick.” She squeezed his crotch. This time she let him fall to the floor on his knees.

Standing above him, his head at her crotch, so close he could touch it if he dared, she said, “I think you get the message, Harvey. If I want you hard, you’re hard. If I want you soft, you’re soft. I can drive you out of your mind with pleasure OR pain, all at my whim.”

She turned her back on him, but she did not move away from him. She let him stare directly at her pantyhose covered ass. He did. His lust and his fear vied with each other, as she knew they would. He made no move. She could feel him coming apart inside.

Something caught her eye. One of the pieces a shelf was, unlike the others, encased. The tiny container was transparent. “Hmmm,” she said. “What do we have here,” and she approached it, to the disappointment of the man.

She picked up the container and held it in her palm.

The man had risen to his feet when her captivating ass was no longer in front of his face. He said, “Give me that,” and he approached her.

“Oh, ho,” she said. “Signs of life! This must be VERY valuable.”

She let him come at her. When he reached for the container, she pulled it away, and he missed. That happened two more times.

The fourth time he reached, she not only pulled it out of his reach, but also slapped his face with her other hand. She beckoned him toward her again, seeming to offer the piece. When he came, she quickly kicked him in the shin. That stopped him for a second, but then he came at her again. She smacked an open palm into his chest three times, quickly. He dropped to his knees holding his chest.

She said, “I’m going easy on you, Artboy. I could have hurt you SO much more.”

She held the little object in front of him, and when he moved for it, she pulled it away from him, and she kneed him in the chest twice. He fell to his back.

Straddling him, looking down at him, knowing what this view up her pantyhose was doing to him, knowing that her brazenness in showing it to him tormented his male ego, cut into his very identity, minimizing him, she said, “I knew you’d be easy, Artboy,” having now demoted him. “But I didn’t know you’d be THIS easy.”

She turned her back on him and brought one of her heels back into his gut, kicking him without looking at him. That symbolism, too, cut him to the quick. And he clutched his stomach.

She stayed there, not looking at him, letting him look at the ass that was in charge of his imagination, and letting him gather himself. As he did, she spoke, her hands resting on her hips. She said matter-of-factly, “By the time we’re done here, you’re going to be handing me that piece, Artboy, because you’ll be so afraid of me. It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. It will be like handing me your balls. But you WILL do it.”

Getting to his feet, he threw both of his arms around her, encircling her waist, but not her arms. She smiled. She put one hand on his wrists, holding them in place while also still holding the container in one hand. She kicked backwards, catching him in a shin. Then she suddenly jerked her head backwards and hit his face with it. Then she kicked backwards at his other shin. He was still holding her, but now he was helpless, and she knew it. Smiling, she backed him into a wall. There she rubbed her butt suggestively over his crotch. He let her, of course. If felt good. Until she wanted it to hurt. Then she butted him in his mid-section with her butt four times. At the end of that sequence, he was sliding toward the floor breathless and in pain. She loved how she had caused him pleasure and pain with the same body part, at her will. That turned her on. Still holding his hands so that he couldn’t ward her off, she now banged her spectacular, much-desired butt into his face several times, knocking it into the wall and leaving him dazed. She thought about whether he would still lust after her ass after what it had done to him. But, of course, she knew he would. That made her smile.

She stepped away from him, after giving him some time to recover, held out the piece to him. He swiped at it and missed, then missed again. And again. She backed up a few feet, bent over showing cleavage and held the object out again. She said, “Here Artboy, Artboy, Artboy,” like she was saying “kitty, kitty, kitty.” She said, “Come and get it.” He glared at her and got to his feet slowly.

She said, “Tell you what, Artboy: I’m going to give you the piece.” She handed it to him, and he took it cautiously. She continued, “Because I know I can always take it back any time – easily, as if you’re nothing.”

With a speed he couldn’t deal with, she slapped his face with each hand, then again smacked him in the chest with both hands. He fell back a step or two, trying to catch his breath. As he was distracted, she moved in on him, almost as if she was going to kiss him. Knowing that’s where his mind went, knowing he was distracted by his sexual thoughts, she reached down and swept the bag out of his hand easily.

She said, “That was fun. Let’s do that again.” She handed him the bag. He took it. She faked a slap at his face. He moved to block it. She laughed and said, “You’re adorable, Artboy, in your own pathetic way.” She moved in and grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him full on the lips, and she came away with the container. She held it up with one hand and slapped his face with the other. Then she switched the container from one hand to her other and slapped him with her newly freed hand.

She said, “I think you’re approaching world records for pathetic, Artboy.” She smiled. “I’d be too much for you if I NEVER used sex or if I ONLY used sex. You name the rules: I win.”

He lunged at her. Casually, she leaned back and kicked him in the shin. That stopped him briefly, but he came at her again. Both her palms smacked him in the chest, though one of her hands held the art object. This time he fell to his knees. She knelt behind him, holding his ankles in place with her body. She pushed him flat on the floor and reached between his thighs, saying, “Don’t worry, Artboy, I’m not coming for your balls. Too easy.” Instead, she grabbed one of his thighs at its very top, encircling it with her hands. She continued matter-of-factly, “I’m going to put this leg out of commission, just for the fun of it.” She squeezed for some seconds. He tried to fight off her hands, but he couldn’t get any leverage. He screamed in pain.

When she stood up, he also tried to stand. But he fell. She laughed. He tried again and fell again. She said, “OK, Dude, let me come to your rescue.” She knelt behind him again and put her hands in the same position for a few seconds, eliciting more shouts of pain, then stood again. He tried to stand and this time succeeded, but slowly, painfully and precariously. She watched him struggle upwards as she tended to her hair and make-up. She said, “Beating you up in your current condition would also be a little too easy to be respectable, like just going for your balls.”

She turned away from him and looked at a mirror to apply the finishing touches to herself as he tried to apply the finishing touches to standing up. She said, “You’re totally defenseless against me, Artboy. Totally at my mercy. But there’s no reason I shouldn’t look like a lady when I’m taking over your life, right? Somehow that makes it all the hotter, don’t you think? But you should be very careful now. Turning my back on you is a trap.”

He watched her for a while, taking the opportunity to gather himself. The breathtaking babe in pantyhose had decided to let the notorious tough guy make the first move, unconcerned about what it might be, but having a pretty good idea. Finally, he approached and grabbed her from behind. Suddenly, though, her ankle came up backwards into his balls. Then she broke his grip, turned toward him, dropped low and rammed a shoulder into his gut, pushing him to his back on the floor. His head hit hard and he was shaken up.

She climbed up his body slowly and seductively, knowing there was no need for speed. She eventually grabbed his head with both her hands. She kissed him on the lips and banged his head against the floor again, but not nearly as hard as she could have.

She said, “I didn’t say it was a very sophisticated trap. But that isn’t necessary with you, is it, Lover?” She patted him on his face and stood. When he got to his feet, she let him gather himself. When he was ready to go, she again acted with a level of speed that the man was helpless against. She met him with a bare shoulder to his chest and pushed him to a wall, with his head banging into it. She grabbed him by the hair and banged his head him against the wall lightly twice more. She moved in right against his body. They were cheek to cheek. Her lips sometimes touched his face as she spoke.

“I own you now, Artboy,” she said in his ear. “You are all mine now. I’m taking over your life. It’s easy for me. And there’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.”

She continued, “Feel my body against yours.” She squirmed against him. “Think about how desperate you are to have me and about how hopeless that dream is. Think about how this enticing, soft, smooth, curvy and caressable little body is dominating all your male muscles as if they’re nothing.”

She stepped back. Now she somehow had the little container in her hand and raised it in front of him. He grabbed for it. She dropped her hand out of his reach and slapped his face with her other hand.

She said, “What do you want more, Artboy: The piece of art or the piece of ass? Tough question, huh? Well, you’ve got no hope of either. Unless, that is, you’re into armpits.”

She put the container on the floor between them, and straightened up and put both her hands behind her head and locked them there.

She said, “I’m going to stuff your face into my armpit again, until you can’t breathe. I know that’s about the only part of my body you haven’t been lusting after. That’s what will make it so fun for me.”

He lunged for the container, but she kicked it out of his reach. He went for it again, but she beat him there and kicked it away again. Now she stood between him and it. He lunged at her throat with both hands. With a dismissive sweep of her arms, she knocked both his hands to her right. Now he was off balance. She brought her knee up into his gut twice. He bent over in pain, breathless, slumping to his knees.

Standing imperiously over his bowed body, she wrapped one hand under his chin and pointed his face up at hers and said, “Here comes the pit, Muscles. Nothing in the world you can do about it.” She lifted his head until he was standing up almost straight, and she put a headlock on him, but it was from the front, not the side as usual. When she twisted, he went to his back on the floor, his face securely in her armpit.

As she held him as he thrashed, brushing her hair out of her face with a free hand, she said, “Try to enjoy it, Artboy. You’re not getting what you really want.”

Still holding him, she reached for her purse to get her cellphone. As she did that, she said, almost as an aside, “I don’t know if you like this, Artboy, and I don’t care. But you should know that I love it.” She snapped a selfie of them. “So you better get used to it, because I can do this to you any time I want. From here on, anytime your face and my armpit are in the same room, if you’re still awake, it’s only because I’ve decided to let you be awake.” She snapped a selfie with another pose.

She put her phone down and said, “Now I’m going to show you my absolute favorite sexual position.” With her arm that wasn’t enveloping his head, she reached back for his crotch. “Is this cool, or what!” she said. “I control everything about you. I decide if you can breathe. I decide if you’re excited.” She stroked his crotch. “And I decide if you’re in agony.” She grabbed his crotch. “It’s all me. That makes me so hot. I think a girl would have to be pretty greedy to want any more control over a guy than this.”

She said, “Now I’m going to put you to sleep. I want you to get a rest and start fresh so that I can kick your ass again. I think you probably already get the message that I can kick your ass 100 times out of a 100, and do it like your nothing, without so much as mussing my make-up. But I want to make sure you never forget it, never manage to convince yourself it isn’t true.” Then she kissed him on the forehead and put him to sleep, just by wrapping his face a little tighter in smooth femininity of her armpit.

When his head started to clear, he didn’t see her. He went into the adjacent room, and she was there sitting on the couch, still in her pantyhose and in the tight, revealing top she had worn from the beginning, with its ample cleavage, bare shoulder and bare back. She faced him, but one leg didn’t. It was propped up on the couch – her foot flat on the couch – and was pointing to her right, dramatically exposing her crotch and focusing his attention on it. Her other leg was in front of her, resting normally on the floor.

She held the piece of art in one hand and she beckoned the man to her with the other. He paused.

She said, “Your desperate need for this tells you to come at me. Your dick certainly tells you come at me. And yet you hesitate. Wow. What an incredible wimp I’ve made you into, Artboy.”

He approached her, but slowly.

She said, “My goodness, you’re careful. You know, if you’re that scared, maybe you shouldn’t do it all. I think I would recommend that you just run away. I know it’s your place. But still. That’s your only hope. You should just let me have the place and the art and run.”

Suddenly, violently the desperate man climbed on her, between her legs. He grabbed her wrists and put them up over her head.

She laughed at him and said, “Between my legs? Really? That’s what you want to do?” She said, “OK,” in the tone of “It’s your funeral,” which she didn’t say. She suddenly brought her legs together hard in a waist scissors, and he suddenly let go of her wrists and tried to bring his hands back to her ankles in agony.

She said, “Oh? You want to get out from between my legs already? But we’re not done, are we? I hardly got started. Men!” She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him to her bosom, easing up a bit on the scissors. Now her embrace was more sexual than combative. She said, “You know, sometimes guys don’t think that being between my legs is such a terrible fate.” She reached down with one hand. “Oh, yes, I can feel you getting into it now. More like a guy. Thataboy.

“But,” she said with a laugh, “This is where the dream turns to a nightmare.”

She suddenly reapplied full force to his waist, and he suddenly pulled back in agony, his hands going toward her ankles again. She said, “Oh, stopping already? Now is that a nice thing to do to a lady? You know, premature withdrawal is not a girl’s favorite thing. I should punish you for that.” She squeezed again, and he reacted in pain again, the same way.

“OK,” she said. “Maybe that’s all the punishment you can take for a while. Here, let me make nice.” She pulled his face back into her bosom and eased the pain for him. “There. That’s better, isn’t it. Yeah.”

She continued in a conversational tone, “See, here’s the thing, Artboy: Even when I let you make the first move, I can beat you every time, easily. Small as I am; girly and soft and curvy as I am, I can always cause you way more pain than you can handle. And, of course, I can always cause you so much pleasure as to make you even stupider than usual. Your pain and pleasure are entirely up to me, aren’t they?” No response. “Aren’t they?” she demanded as she applied the pain again, and he reacted helplessly again and groaned. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

“OK,” she said. “Now I’m going to let you go. I know what a nightmare it is for a guy like you to be between a girl’s thighs.” She kicked him off her to the floor.

He just wanted to lie there. And she knew it. She put the container on his chest. “Tag. You’re it,” she said.

She stepped on him on her way to pick up her purse. She came back and sat on his chest while she fixed her hair and make-up with a handheld mirror. “I’m going to allow you some rest again, Artboy, just to see if I can get more fight out of you.” She patted his face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m doing it for me.”

She said, “I could plank you right here. But I want more. So here’s the deal: I’m going to make you give me the precious little piece. The thought of what that will do to your insides just makes me squishy all over. It’s like you’ll be handing me your balls.” His grip on the container tightened.

She got off him. She said, “You just gonna lie there?” He stood, holding the piece of art. She slapped him across one cheek. She smacked him on his chest with the palms of both hands. So fast. His hands came up to do the same to her, to push her away, but her hands came up between his arms and swatted his arms away, pushing one to each side. From there, she slapped him with both her palms at the same time, one to each cheek. Without bringing her hands down, she did it again: slapped both his cheeks. He brought his arms up to defend his head. She smacked him in the chest with both hands, snapping his head back against the wall. Then, as he was dazed, she wrapped a hand behind his neck and pulled him forward and down, where she planted a knee in his chest. Then she forced him upright again, against the wall.

He was stopped. She got in his face again, so close her cheek touched his. She said quietly, “Notice I did all that without closing my fists, Artboy. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your adorable helplessness.”

He pushed her away and lashed at her with a kick. He missed, and she laughed at him. She said, “Oh, you want to match legs, because you’re so helpless against my hands? Bad idea, Artboy, but OK, let’s match legs.” She shot a kick at his stomach and connected. She could have put him down and out right then, but she let him recover, just walking around him as he did so. Then she kicked him in a shin. He started to raise that leg to ease the pain, and she kicked his other shin. She kicked at him a couple more times, alternating legs. She had him practically dancing in pain. She laughed at him. Then she kicked him in the ass, and he fell to all fours.

She said, “I always like to get a little ass-kicking into an ass kicking.”

She stood over him, his eyes in contact with her feet and ankles. She was kind of fluffing up her hair as she said, “I can’t believe you thought you could match legs with me, Artboy.” Here she turned him on to his back by putting a foot under his chest and lifting. She straddled him. Standing above him, she stroked her legs sensuously. “With these babies I could kick you to Jersey, Sweetheart, and never break a sweat. All your muscles couldn’t accomplish so much as a run in my nylons.”

She put one of her feet below his crotch and nudged him. He scooted backwards, away from her foot. She followed him, using the same impetus – her foot under his crotch – until he was back against a wall, sitting up. Her foot was again under his crotch, but there was no farther he could go. Her leg went up along his body. His face practically touched her thigh.

“Now I want you to just sit there and think about how much you want to feel up my leg and how afraid you are to try anything. Think about how much the pantyhose turn you on, about how you’re going to remember this moment the rest of your life. Just sit there and wallow in your frustration and your lust, your fear, your humiliation, your defeat and your weakness.”

He didn’t move. She couldn’t resist the urge to rub it in more. “Wow,” she said. “I’ve got you so steamed up you can hardly keep your hands off yourself, much less me. And yet you’re afraid to so much as touch me when I’m putting myself in your face.”

She put her hands in her own hair and looked up. “God, I love this.” She writhed sensuously. She looked back down. “You really know how to turn a girl on, Artboy.”

She moved her foot out from under his crotch and posed for him invitingly, putting her legs in their most elegant, graceful positions and stroking them. She also gave him a rear view.

“See anything you like, Artboy?” She sneered at him as he did nothing.

She said, “Well, let’s try this.” She sat down in front of him and spread her legs wide and stroked herself. “See anything here that gets you going? No? Gee, you climbed between my legs before. I wonder what’s different now. You’re starting to hurt my feelings. I mean, a lady who puts it all out there like this does NOT like to be rejected.”

She sat there. And he sat there.

“Let me try one more move,” she said. She knelt in front of him on all fours, her bosom on full display. She said, “For the rest of your life, you’re going to remember passing up this opportunity, and you’re going to be deeply, deeply ashamed.”

Then she said, “OK, this is where we take it all the way.” She sat up, directly in front of him. “What I want you to do now is take your precious piece of art and put it right there.” She held out her hand, dainty, apparently fragile, with the polished red nails. “Go ahead. You don’t have the balls to disobey me, and you know it.”

Hesitantly, he did as ordered.

She said, “Wow.”

Saying no more, she got up and walked over to the couch and sat, crossing her legs in a way that she knew he found devastating. She spread her arms along the top of the couch, exposing the armpits that had been tormenting him. She saw his eyes darting to and away from her armpits, and she loved it.

After a couple of minutes of silence, savoring her utter mastery of this man who thought himself so tough, she said, “Where’s your passport?” He looked at her blankly. She said, “I’m kicking you out of New York, Artboy. That’s what I’m here for. It’s a contribution I’m making to the city I love.” She rose. “I’m going to look for the passport. You’re going to stare at my ass.” She found the passport in the second place she looked. She said, “Now I’m going to go get dressed. But first I’m going give you one last look.” She turned her back to him and stood immediately in front of him. His head was at the level of her ass. At first, she put her hands on her hips and just stood there. Then she leaned forward and thrust her ass backwards at the man. Then she did circles with it, little grinds, coming closer to him, then farther away. He did nothing. She turned to him, put her hand under his chin, raised it to look at her face and said, “You are now officially a pathetic, self-loathing coward. You’re so horny for me you’re about to burst, and yet your so, so scared of touching me. You must be dying inside.”

She walked off into the art room to get her skirt. Returning, she threw his clothes at him and told him to get dressed “unless you want to go some more.” He wanted to get dressed anyway.

She said, “Let’s go. We’re going to take a little ride, totally against your will. I hope you fight me about it.”

She pulled him to his feet and wrapped her arm through his, as if she was his date. She started walking them to the front door. He pulled his arm away from her violently. She said, “Oh, good,” and turned and shot a punch into his gut. As he bent in pain, she followed with a knee to his chest. She pushed him off his feet and then kicked him in the stomach. The muscular man curled into a fetal position on the floor beneath the unruffled beauty.

Looking down at him, she said, “I hope you make a move like that when I’ve got you out in public, Artboy. I’d put you down and humiliate you with a very special, sexy flare, and somebody would post the video online. Wouldn’t THAT be cool? Pretty soon, somebody would identify you. You’d go viral. The media would love it.”

She pulled him to his feet. She said, “Give me an excuse. Make my day.”

At the door, he again tried to pull away. He again got gut punched. This time, though, she pushed him up against a wall, held him there with her body, shot another punch into his gut, robbing him of the strength he would have needed to fight her off. She said “Tell me when you’re ready,” as she hit him again. He was silent until he got hit two more times.

“Okay,” he said.

She said, “Say, ‘I’m ready.’”

He did.

She put her lips to face. “There’s nothing you can do about me, Sweetheart. You’re completely overwhelmed. Beaten into weakness by a babe of your dreams in pantyhose. You can’t resist me sexually. You can’t resist me physically. And I’m in your head forever and ever and ever. Deal with it.”

Once outside, she put him in the back seat of a large car with darkened windows in the back. She got in the back seat with him. A barrier kept him from seeing the driver. He didn’t know where they were going.

At first, she sat at the opposite window from him, content to let him ogle her flamboyantly crossed legs and deal with his combination of lust for and fear of her.

But she weakened. She scooted over next to him, snuggled up and said, “I’ve decided to put you on your face, so that your crotch is totally exposed and you have to worry all the way about what I’m going to do it.” She had his right arm immobilized between their two bodies, and she had his body pressed against the door. Her far arm – her right – went to his crotch, but was doing no damage. But she reached under his crotch, grabbed his belt at his back, pulled up on him, twisted him and pushed with her torso, so that in short order his face and the front of his body were pressing into the door. From there she strung her right arm threw his legs from behind, lifted and pulled him away from the door, so that he was, indeed, face down on seat. She put a knee on the small of his back, holding him in place, and her right hand played around at his crotch. Then she simply took a seat his back. She rode the rest of the way looking forward, as he looked into the seat. He could not find a way to push up out of his position. He could not believe this beautiful little woman had done this to him. And so easily! She would slap his ass periodically and fondle and tweak his crotch. She got out a mirror and fixed her make-up and hair.

When they arrived at the airport, she was pulling him out of the car when she shot two discreet punches into his gut, and said in his ear, “You want to put on a show Artboy? There are cameras and phones everywhere.” She kissed his cheek, wrapped her arm in his and walked him in. The beaten, frightened bad guy behaved himself.

She got him a one-way ticket to Yemen, because a flight would be leaving for there soon. She bought herself a ticket on another flight, so that she could go through security with him. Near the gate, Samantha, who knew her way around airports, found a private spot. She put Arturo up against a wall – again – immobilized him with a gut punch, and searched him for his wallet and found it. He struggled, but she put a hand on his forehead and banged it into the wall. She stood in front of him – within easy grabbing distance for him – and took his money, credit cards and identification out of his wallet. She put the wallet back in his pocket, but took his phone. She melted into him again. She said, “Now here’s the thing, Lover. If you ever do manage to get out of Yemen, do not come back to New York. Do not. If you come back, I will know about it. I will be very, very mad. And you’ve never seen me when I’m mad.”

She continued, “I don’t care where you go. But I’ll tell you this: If I ever run into you anyplace else, I’ll kick you out of there, too, just for the fun of it. So be very, very afraid.” She kissed him. “Of me.” She kissed him again. “Forever.” She all but raped him right there, kissing him lasciviously on the mouth, rubbing his crotch with her hand, rubbing her body along his, pushing his face down into her bosom. When he was totally wrapped up in all that and about to pop, she suddenly stopped. She punched him in the gut. “Now,” she said, and slapped him three times across the face, “have a nice flight.” She wrapped her arm in his and put him in the proper line. Then she took a seat in the waiting area, flashing plenty of thigh, and waited until the plane left the ground before she left the airport.

Boy, was she horny. She felt like a good fight.
Reply With Quote
The Following 15 Users Say Thank You to cashley216 For This Useful Post:
  #2  
Old 05-Jul-18, 23:07
simplyred simplyred is offline
Member
Points: 6,417, Level: 34 Points: 6,417, Level: 34 Points: 6,417, Level: 34
Activity: 2.1% Activity: 2.1% Activity: 2.1%
Last Achievements
 
Join Date: Mar 2013
Gender: Male
Posts: 236
Thanks: 1,025
Thanked 541 Times in 146 Posts
Default Re: Samantha for NY

I've just clicked 'thanks' and now I'm going to read this. Wow, this one is really really long. I'll give some 'edit' soon...

Edit: she's a goddess. Thank you for everything, master. I'm very glad the story was written.

Last edited by simplyred; 06-Jul-18 at 12:07.
Reply With Quote
The Following 2 Users Say Thank You to simplyred For This Useful Post:
  #3  
Old 14-Jul-18, 18:54
godoggo2012 godoggo2012 is offline
Junior Member
Points: 2,983, Level: 22 Points: 2,983, Level: 22 Points: 2,983, Level: 22
Activity: 0% Activity: 0% Activity: 0%
Last Achievements
 
Join Date: Mar 2016
Posts: 5
Thanks: 50
Thanked 1 Time in 1 Post
Default Re: Samantha for NY

Quote:
Originally Posted by simplyred [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
I've just clicked 'thanks' and now I'm going to read this. Wow, this one is really really long. I'll give some 'edit' soon...

Edit: she's a goddess. Thank you for everything, master. I'm very glad the story was written.
Great as always

Great as always

Quote:
Originally Posted by cashley216 [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Samantha for NY

by BOS

Samantha knew that Muscle (see Mixed Vegas and Mixed York stories) was well connected in New York’s underworld. She told him to get more connected and to report back to her about various bad guys she might enjoy messing with.

From his list, she selected Arturo “Artman” Stremser. She liked the fact that he was among the worst of the worst. She liked that he resorted to violence often and effectively, often in the form of hand-to-hand combat, that he was well built and proud of it, that he thought he was God’s gift to women and that he wanted the whole world to know about his numerous sexual conquests. Everybody did know about his world-class collection of pornographic ceramics, statues and statuettes, many of which showed men having their way with women in unusual positions.

Muscle told her where Stremser hung out. She knew he would make a move on her if she showed up, no matter how many other babes might be around. Now she stood at the bar. Her tight skirt outlined a provocative ass that seemed to pose an unspoken challenge to every man in the bar. Her skirt came only halfway down her thighs, revealing legs covered in pantyhose. They posed a mighty challenge to her ass for male attention. Her top was as tight as her skirt, revealing cleavage that might have been drawn by an artist charged with the task of detracting attention from her legs and ass. One of her shoulders was bare, as was much of her back. Her blonde hair came down to her shoulders. Her red high heels and matching bright red lipstick would have been enough to complete the effect if it weren’t for her eyes. They were the real stars of the Samantha show. The term “bedroom eyes” might as well have been invented for her. Her half-lidded expression, combined with her knowing, enticing, horny little smirk communicated that, as far as she was concerned, every conversation that wasn’t about sex was just prelude, that she knew that every guy in her presence wanted her right now, and that she could provide him with the best experience of his life.

Within minutes of her arrival, Arturo was standing next to her. “Can I buy you a drink, Babe,” he asked.

Without looking at him, she said, “I want to see the collection.” He was taken aback. He didn’t mind that she knew about the collection. It was that she seemed to know he would approach her, and that she knew who he was without looking at him. Startled as he was, he found her behavior hotter than hell. Combined with her looks and her clothing, it made her hotter than any babe he had ever come across.

He said, “So you know who I am?”

She said, “Now. No foreplay.” Arturo kind of liked the sound of that. She put some money down to pay her bill, turned her bare back and impudent ass to him and walked toward the door, knowing he would follow.

Catching up to her, he said, “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

She said, “When I dress to kill, there are no survivors, least of all a horndog like you.” Wow, he thought. He wasn’t sure if she was dissing him in some way he should object to. But he decided to take it in good humor. After all, they were walking toward his place, and there was no way in hell he was going to rock that boat.

The collection was in a room of its own – locked and large. Indeed, it was behind a serious security door. Each of the four walls in the room was lined with shelves, all of them nearly full of the pornographic items. At any give height, there’d be a four-foot long shelf, then an empty space on the wall, perhaps with a painting, then another shelf. The room was luxuriously carpeted in the middle, but not along the edges at the shelves. Samantha strolled around, looking at the items, holding them, stroking them, as Arturo watched her. She picked up one in which a lady was obviously not enjoying herself. She snapped it in two.

“Whoa,” said Arturo, “What the fuck?”

She said, “Sorry, Babe. Disapproved.” She picked up another, dropped it and stepped on it.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he said, and grabbed her by an arm and pulled her away from the shelf. She moved farther than he expected, came near another shelf and swept a bunch of the pieces off to the floor. Some hit the hard floor, some the rug; some broke, some did not.

Now he was focused on just getting her out of the room. After that, he would take care of her. He crowded her with the goal of pushing her out the door with his greater bulk. “Let’s go,” he said. But she ducked under one of his arms, came out next to him and pushed him into one of the walls, thus bringing more of his collection to the floor, with some fatalities.

She was cool as a cucumber. She said, “We’re going to destroy your collection, Artman. Not that it’s all so awful. Some of these I actually kind of like. I’ll keep some. But the rest are in serious trouble, just because I want to mess with you.” She smiled at him.

To his frustration, Arturo found himself stepping on his prized pieces as he tried to regain his balance. Laughing, she pushed him on his chest with her open palms, and he destroyed some more. Then she didn’t press her advantage, but let him get his footing and come at her. When he moved on her, she actually seemed to be looking at some pieces, not at him, so he was surprised when one of her high-heeled shoes caught him in the gut as he approached. Again, she didn’t press her advantage. After catching his breath, he realized that she had a piece in each hand. With speed that belied her persistent calm, she hit him on the sides of his head with each hand, drawing blood and breaking the pieces, which she then dropped.

Now he was down on one knee feeling his head for blood. She said, “I would have thought a guy like you would know something about fighting, Artman. But you’re really incredibly bad at it. Helpless, really.” She knew that hit him where he lived.

She still looked perfect. He was a mess. Disheveled. Bleeding. Breathing hard. And she was in his head. They both knew it.
“I’ll show you who’s helpless, Bitch,” he said. “You’re dead! But first I’m going to rape you in every hole you’ve got.” He approached her carefully, with his arms up to attack and defend. She paid him no mind, but continued to look at some of the pieces, seeming to ignore him.

Not looking at him, she said, “Back off and strip, Artman. You’re no match for me.” Arturo Stresner thought he was more than a match for ANYBODY, not mention an average-sized babe.

He pounced. She confused him by turning her back completely. She mule-kicked him in his gut. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

She said, “OK. You want to do this? Let’s do it.” She stepped out of her skirt, leaving her wearing pantyhose with no panties inside or outside them. She got down on the floor in front of him on her back, propped up on her elbows. She spread her legs wide and stroked them and said, “See anything you like, Artman. I think I’d make a pretty good piece of art, myself, don’t you.” It was like she was in his head. He was thinking exactly that about her. He was staring, almost mesmerized. God, how he loved this view. To have this indescribably sizzling babe present it to him was amazing. The pantyhose perfected the whole thing, making her legs look, indeed, like high-class erotic art, inaccessibly beautiful. And yet here she was. She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him toward her. She said, “C’mon, babe. You know you can’t resist this.” There was a little sneer in her voice and on her face.

He dove on her. She didn’t seem to resist. She didn’t knee him. She didn’t scissors him. She just smiled as he grabbed her wrists and forced them to the floor over her head. But then he felt something in his legs. She had spread his legs with hers after wrapping her ankles around his ankles. She had him stretched out farther than he could stretch. And she seemed to be doing it effortlessly, her facing showing no sign of struggle. His hands went to his thighs in pain, and he shouted frantically. She laughed.

She relaxed her hold, and he collapsed on her in relief. But then she opened him up again. He screamed, and she laughed.

“Is this you raping me, Artman?” she asked. “I have to admit I do kind of like it.” She rested as he struggled. Her hands were clasped under her head. Unable to break her hold with his legs, he decided to slug her beautiful, smiling, taunting face. But he couldn’t get anything into his punches, and she grabbed both his wrists, still laughing at him. As she eased up just a little, he tried to find a reasonably comfortable position.

She said, “Squirm, Artman. There’s nothing else you could do that could turn me on so much. But you can’t rape me even when I let you lie on top of me and I spread my legs, can you?” He said nothing. She jerked him wider open as she repeated, “Can you?”

“No, no,” he squealed.

She said, “Beg me not to lie here under you with my legs spread. Tell me you just can’t stand being on top of me like this.” He didn’t. She jerked his legs apart again.

“Please don’t lie there with your legs spread,” he said.

“Well,” she laughed, “that has got to be the most pathetic thing any man has ever said to any babe, ever. I was wrong about squirming being the hottest thing you could do. That was.”

She pushed him off her. He lay nursing his wounds as she turned her back on him, stood and began perusing his collection again, letting him watch her legs, ass and bare back. Hurting though he was, he was again mesmerized by the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her back view in the pantyhose before. It was spectacular. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Her ass seemed to give off that same come-hither look as her face. Was that possible? Taut, even erect; veiled but not veiled, it seemed to be taunting him. He wanted to grab it. Oh, how he wanted to grab it.

He couldn’t believe that this devastatingly beautiful babe had just devastated him with her body in combat, rather than sex. His mind was swimming as his body was experiencing too many feelings to handle.

Now she turned back to him and squatted in front of him, watching him try not to look directly at her crotch. She put several pieces down next to her. She said, “Let’s see how many of these I have to break before your testosterone makes you stupid enough to try me again.” She held a piece before him and said, “I’m guessing you particularly like this one, Artman. That’s why I’m doing this.” She snapped it half.

He said, “I’m going to kill you, Bitch,” and he swiped for her, having just barely gotten to his knees.

She said, “Uh oh. Testosterone alert.” She leaned out of his reach. He tottered. She held another piece in front of him. Off balance, he dove at her. She thrust the piece at his chest, crushing it and tipping him to his side.

She said, “You’re obviously no threat to me.” Realizing fully the effect her attire had on him, she said, “Now I’m going to lie down and examine some of these pieces closely. When you see what I look like in that position, you’re going to make a very foolish decision.”

She lay on the floor on her stomach, her head pointing away from him, the objects in front of her. Her ass, she knew, was utterly impossible for him to resist. He got down on her roughly -- lengthwise -- and reached for one of the items in front of her. She smiled. “Told ya,” she said.

Because he was reaching in front of her, she was able to reach back and wrap an arm around his head in a headlock. She held him like that as he struggled, though he was on top. Then she pulled in on her headlock and raised her body in a way that made him sort of fall off her to his side. She locked his face into her armpit and now had him on his back. He struggled and thrashed, but she only smiled at his efforts. One of his arms was locked between her body and his. With his other hand, he tried pulling her hair and pushing her face away, but he got nowhere.

Then she threw her nearest leg over his body and let go of his head. She was straddling him. He was on his back. She wrapped her ankles around his and spread his legs. And she held his arms down over his head with her hands. She said, “I don’t know why you couldn’t hold me in this position, Artman. It’s easy for me to hold you in it. The one on top has all the advantages.” He continued to thrash. Leaning in close to him, she said, “So you don’t like the girl-on-top position, huh, Artman? Too bad for you, because looking at all your lovely art has gotten me all revved up.”

She said, “Now I’m going to make you naked. I want to check out that body you’re so proud of, the body you think makes you such a he-man. Fight me real hard, Lover. I like that. Don’t let yourself be taken advantage by a big, bad bully like me.” The word “big” was just a shot at him. He was obviously bigger than her; taller and heavier, though not be a great deal. Not much taller when she was in heels.

She tore at his shirt, one hand on each side of the row of buttons. He tried to pull her hands of him. He tried to turn away. She laughed and loved it. When he turned away, she tore his shirt off his back. She said, “Like taking candy from a babe. Now the good part.” With the muscular man facing away from her on the floor, she decided not to undo his pants, but to simply yank. It took a few hard yanks, but they did slide down from his waist. His shoes were a problem in getting his pants all the way off. She let go of his pants and grabbed one of his ankles like an old-fashioned professional wrestler doing an ankle lock. Holding the ankle up off the floor with one arm, she ripped his shoe of with her other hand. She laughed at the man’s struggles, enjoying the denuding. There was something symbolic about it. With him still unable to get off his front, she performed the same operation on his other shoe, then stood with her hand on his pants and, though he was trying to hold them on, yanked them away from him.

She stomped on the small of his back, flattening him below her foot. “Like unwrapping a Christmas present,” she said. She left his briefs on him. She was going to treat his muscles, not his dick, as the symbol of his masculinity. Any wuss can have a dick, after all. This was about the supposedly fragile babe dramatizing the uselessness of his male muscles against her.

In the process of getting back down on him, she flipped him over onto his back, which he didn’t resist. There she took to kissing him on the cheek and feeling his torso with her hands. He kept moving his head to avoid her kisses. She laughed and said, “That’s it, Muscleman, fight me like you’re honor as a man is at stake. It is.”

Now, as she kissed him, she also was thrusting her mid-section into his crotch almost as if she were raping him. She said in his ear, “The more you struggle against me so pathetically, the more I like it. It turns me on.”

Eventually, she rolled off him onto her back. She lay there and pantomimed smoking a cigarette, as if they had just had sex. She said, “Was it good for you, Artman? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

Humiliated, exhausted and furious as he was, he also found her posture, clothing and behavior totally irresistible. Everything about her was perfect and was calling out to be touched. Her legs – one of them angled at the knee just so, because her foot was flat on the floor, for the perfect, model-like effect – her torso, her boobs. Flat on her back like that: It was his favorite position. Yet he resisted his impulse to dive on her.

She knew perfectly well the effect her body was having on him – the sexual effect, that is. She laughed at him, knowing how desperate he was to reassert his masculinity. “Not afraid of all this girly-girl softness, are you, Artman?” She stroked herself. “I mean, really, if you can’t plank me now, you’re not a man at all anymore, are you?” She almost pouted in his behalf.

That had the predictable and desired effect. He dove on her mindlessly, pinning all his hope on his weight advantage and his muscularity. But she simply wrapped an arm around his head and twisted to her side, so that his head was below her. She twisted it so that his face was pointing directly into her bare, soft, smooth, engulfing armpit, which she closed over his nose and mouth. It took seconds, and she did it with the nonchalance of swatting a fly. He couldn’t be threatening to her; just irritating.

He struggled hard, twisting, pulling at her arm and trying to push her away. She immobilized the only arm that might have done him much good. Again, he got nowhere. With his face in her pit, she kissed him and said “I could kill you right here, Artman. I could end it all. Beg me not to kill you.” He said nothing. She clamped down harder, cutting off all his air, covering his mouth and nose more tightly with her female flesh. He twisted and kicked harmlessly and uselessly. She said, “I’m going to give you just enough air to croak a plea for your life.”

She did, and he said, “Please don’t kill me.”

She laughed at him and said, “I love it. The great, all-powerful Artman begging for mercy from a chick. Wow. You’ve come a long way, Baby.”

She let go of his face and positioned herself lengthwise on him. He had turned to his side, gasping for breath. Holding him in that position, she put her chest on his shoulder, held his top arm behind him with her arm and pushed his arm backward painfully, to its limit. She said, “Beg me not to break your shoulder.” He said nothing. She exerted more pressure. He grunted in pain and said, “Please don’t break my shoulder.”

She laughed. She scooted a little farther down him. With him still on his side, she soon had one of her arms snaking through his legs at the crotch from in front, and the other from in back. She clasped her arms together and exerted upward pressure toward his head.

She said, “Beg me not to ruin you right now.” He tried to get her off him, but she held on. She applied pressure. He jerked and squirmed as she smiled. He didn’t beg at first, but soon did. “Please don’t ruin me,” he said.

She released him and patted him on ass. She said, “So THAT’s how you get your way with the ladies, huh, Artman? Begging them? I gotta say you’re pretty good at it; like it comes naturally.”

When she got off him and stood, he reached under the rug and came up with a knife. She smiled and said, “Oh, yes!” she said. “Now, Artman, are you trying to turn me on? You’re doing a great job of it. I like my dudes to desperately horny FOR me and desperately afraid OF me. We know we’ve got the first part. And nothing says fear like going for a weapon. Now let’s see if I can fight when I’m this aroused. I’m thinking, yes.”

Rising to his feet, he menaced her with the knife. She beckoned him toward her with both her hands. She was leaning a little forward, and her cleavage was emphasized. He tried several swipes, but was conservative about getting too close to her, and kept missing. She said, “Oh, yes, Artman. Just like that. I love it. You’re the one with the knife, but you’re afraid to get close enough to me to use it. Is that hot, or what!? Can’t say I blame you, though. When we get close, the knife is mine. And I think deep down you know that.”

She slapped him in the face with her right hand. He backed off. They circled. She hit him five more times with various interspersed slaps, even while he held the knife. It was becoming clear that she could hit him at will. Then, blocking his knifed arm with one of her arms, she stepped into him, pulled his head toward her with her other arm on the back of his head, and kissed him on the lips. Then she pushed him away and slapped his face. Then she said, “Now I’m going to do the exact same thing to you again, Artman. And there’s not a thing in the world you can do to stop me.” She beckoned him toward her, slapped his face, pushed him away, slapped his face again, pulled him toward her, kissed him on the lips while blocking his knifed arm, pushed him away and slapped him again.

She said, “This is fun! Now I take the knife, Loserman. I own it, just like I own you.” She grabbed the wrist of his knife-holding hand first with one hand, then with both. Then she ducked under it, turned in a circle – flashing he attention-getting ass at him -- and, still holding his wrist with both hands, brought the knife to the point where it was pointing at his stomach.

She said, “The pretty lady could kill you now, Artman. Maybe you should drop the knife.” He did. She let go of his arm and stepped back from him. She said, “I love emasculating you. Pick it up.” He did and prepared to attack. She kicked his hand with her pantyhose clad leg, and he dropped it. She said, “Again.” He picked it up and stepped back from her. She said, “Backing away from big, bad old me again, even when you’ve got the knife and even when I’ve called you on your fear of an unarmed babe who’s smaller than you. God, I love this.”

Feeling no real choice, he came at her. She grabbed his arm and whipped him into a shelf, back first. Piece of his art went flying. The pain in his back caused him to want to fall to floor. She wouldn’t let him. She plastered her body against his. He was still holding the knife. The woman held his armed arm down with one hand. She put her cheek on his and said in his ear, “I could knee you so hard right now you could never mess with another woman in your life.”

She continued, “But I think what I want to do right now is stick your knife in your mouth. See if you can stop me.” Grabbing his knife arm with both her hands, she swept a leg at his ankles and upended him. When was on his back, he found the knife at his mouth. “Open up,” she said. He did, and she inserted the knife. Then she withdrew it. She patted his cheek and said, “So much for you using a knife on me.”

She stood above him and tossed the knife aside. She wasn’t surprised, but she was amused to how he was looking at her, especially her legs. It was clear that, despite everything, his thoughts were turning back to sex. Or maybe he just couldn’t believe that the person who had just demonstrated she could kill him easily was the person with those mesmerizingly female legs. Whatever. She loved it. Loved that she had the power over a guy – and not just any guy, but this notoriously tough guy – to beat the hell out of him without him forgetting for a minute how desperately he lusted after her. She was dominating him mentally, physically AND sexually, and she thought she was as happy as it’s possible for a person to be.

She said, “Like what you see, Artman, even though you know I could kill you with them? Can’t get your mind off sex even when you’re getting your ass kicked, can you? Well, that’s pretty much the way all the guys are with me. Enjoy your cheap thrills while you can. By the time we’re done here, I’m going to make you regret you ever HEARD of sex.”

But what she did next was turn her back on him and go to a shelf full of his art. He was not really done watching her erotically displayed ass when she said, “Do you have a problem with me doing this?” She swept a row of pieces onto the floor hard. He did nothing. She smiled and said, “Nothing, huh?” And she did another swipe. He came at her hard. Her foot shot into his stomach. He collapsed to his knees. She pulled him to his feet and thrust him against a wall where there was no shelf. She plastered herself against him, wanting him to experience her all-girl softness and curves and scent. She made the moment overwhelmingly sexual, slinking into him.

She said in his ear, “Now I’m going to throw your body onto your treasures, Treasure. There’s not a thing in the world you can do to stop me. Is that hot, or what?” She didn’t quite have him in the right position. She wanted him to know exactly what her goal was first, even as they maneuvered. Soon though, she had the right grip on both his wrists. She threw a foot up into his gut, fell to her back and threw the larger man over her. He landed on a pile of his art, even as the force of his fall brought another pile down on him. Every time he moved, he felt something else break. She was on her feet almost instantly; he was not. She said, “Come on, Pal. You’re going on another flight. Different route.” With his back to her, she got her hands under his shoulders to urge him upward, not minding what she or he broke in the process. She found herself wrapping her arms around his stomach from the back. So she decided to go with that. She fell to her back, propelling the man over her in an involuntary backwards somersault, a move for which he was not the least bit ready. Again, he found himself mangling his cherished art and bringing still more to the floor. He was furious about that. He started scrambling to his feet unsteadily. She came at him, careless about what she stepped on. She pushed him into a wall face first and held him there. She melted against him again, this time from behind. She wanted him to feel every curve. She said in his ear, “I know you’re enjoying my body while it dominates you, Babe. Right now, I’m doin’ you again. It’s crunch time. Nothing you can do. Best just to think about sex.” She wrapped her arms around his torso and threw herself back. Crunch, indeed. Lots of crunching. This time, though, instead of letting him go when he flew over her, she did a backwards somersault herself and came up still holding him. In his ear, she said, “Again.” She threw him again, the same way, and came up holding him again, and then threw him again. The damage to the collection was colossal, not to mention to the man.

She let him go, and they got up separately. The man was wobbly and slow.

She said, “I make you go all weak in the knees, don’t I, Artboy? I’m guessing that, beaten to a pulp as you are, I can still get a rise out of you.” She pushed him to a wall again, almost gently, so complete was her control. Then she slapped him across the face three times with one hand, back and forth and back. Leaning into him, she said, “This is where I make you sorry you ever heard of sex. Every time you get hard, I’m going to make you regret it. Here comes the hard.” She put her cheek against his. She ran her hand through his hair. She writhed her body against his. He tried to resist, but he was weakening, and his motivations were mixed. After a few seconds she felt him and said, “Well, THAT didn’t take long. Now here comes the regret.” She punched him in the stomach, banged his head against the wall and slammed her palms into his chest. He wanted to crumble to the floor. She wouldn’t let him. “You’re not going anyplace I don’t want you to go, Buddy Boy. Besides, this isn’t all bad for you. Here comes the hard again.” She kissed him on the lips and writhed against him and let her hands roam over him. When she learned he was hard. She smiled and said, “And here comes the regret.” She pulled on his neck until he was bent over, and she brought a knee up to his chest hard twice. She put her hand under his chin and straightened him up, felt him and said, “Look out: Here’s comes the hard again.” She turned him to face the wall, and her hands went to his crotch and caressed it. After a few seconds, she said, “There we go. And here comes the regret.” Without turning him around, she brought both her hands into his two sides with simultaneous karate chops, then slammed her body into his, bringing his into hard contact with wall. She turned him to face her and said, “I can still make you hard – against your will -- with a mere flick or two of the wrist. That’s how completely I control your mind and body.” She put one of her forearms under his chin and pushed, holding him against the wall as his arms tried to fight her off, pathetically. With her other hand, she stroked his crotch. After a short time, she said, “I thought so. So here comes the regret, with another flick.” She squeezed his crotch. This time she let him fall to the floor on his knees.

Standing above him, his head at her crotch, so close he could touch it if he dared, she said, “I think you get the message, Harvey. If I want you hard, you’re hard. If I want you soft, you’re soft. I can drive you out of your mind with pleasure OR pain, all at my whim.”

She turned her back on him, but she did not move away from him. She let him stare directly at her pantyhose covered ass. He did. His lust and his fear vied with each other, as she knew they would. He made no move. She could feel him coming apart inside.

Something caught her eye. One of the pieces a shelf was, unlike the others, encased. The tiny container was transparent. “Hmmm,” she said. “What do we have here,” and she approached it, to the disappointment of the man.

She picked up the container and held it in her palm.

The man had risen to his feet when her captivating ass was no longer in front of his face. He said, “Give me that,” and he approached her.

“Oh, ho,” she said. “Signs of life! This must be VERY valuable.”

She let him come at her. When he reached for the container, she pulled it away, and he missed. That happened two more times.

The fourth time he reached, she not only pulled it out of his reach, but also slapped his face with her other hand. She beckoned him toward her again, seeming to offer the piece. When he came, she quickly kicked him in the shin. That stopped him for a second, but then he came at her again. She smacked an open palm into his chest three times, quickly. He dropped to his knees holding his chest.

She said, “I’m going easy on you, Artboy. I could have hurt you SO much more.”

She held the little object in front of him, and when he moved for it, she pulled it away from him, and she kneed him in the chest twice. He fell to his back.

Straddling him, looking down at him, knowing what this view up her pantyhose was doing to him, knowing that her brazenness in showing it to him tormented his male ego, cut into his very identity, minimizing him, she said, “I knew you’d be easy, Artboy,” having now demoted him. “But I didn’t know you’d be THIS easy.”

She turned her back on him and brought one of her heels back into his gut, kicking him without looking at him. That symbolism, too, cut him to the quick. And he clutched his stomach.

She stayed there, not looking at him, letting him look at the ass that was in charge of his imagination, and letting him gather himself. As he did, she spoke, her hands resting on her hips. She said matter-of-factly, “By the time we’re done here, you’re going to be handing me that piece, Artboy, because you’ll be so afraid of me. It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. It will be like handing me your balls. But you WILL do it.”

Getting to his feet, he threw both of his arms around her, encircling her waist, but not her arms. She smiled. She put one hand on his wrists, holding them in place while also still holding the container in one hand. She kicked backwards, catching him in a shin. Then she suddenly jerked her head backwards and hit his face with it. Then she kicked backwards at his other shin. He was still holding her, but now he was helpless, and she knew it. Smiling, she backed him into a wall. There she rubbed her butt suggestively over his crotch. He let her, of course. If felt good. Until she wanted it to hurt. Then she butted him in his mid-section with her butt four times. At the end of that sequence, he was sliding toward the floor breathless and in pain. She loved how she had caused him pleasure and pain with the same body part, at her will. That turned her on. Still holding his hands so that he couldn’t ward her off, she now banged her spectacular, much-desired butt into his face several times, knocking it into the wall and leaving him dazed. She thought about whether he would still lust after her ass after what it had done to him. But, of course, she knew he would. That made her smile.

She stepped away from him, after giving him some time to recover, held out the piece to him. He swiped at it and missed, then missed again. And again. She backed up a few feet, bent over showing cleavage and held the object out again. She said, “Here Artboy, Artboy, Artboy,” like she was saying “kitty, kitty, kitty.” She said, “Come and get it.” He glared at her and got to his feet slowly.

She said, “Tell you what, Artboy: I’m going to give you the piece.” She handed it to him, and he took it cautiously. She continued, “Because I know I can always take it back any time – easily, as if you’re nothing.”

With a speed he couldn’t deal with, she slapped his face with each hand, then again smacked him in the chest with both hands. He fell back a step or two, trying to catch his breath. As he was distracted, she moved in on him, almost as if she was going to kiss him. Knowing that’s where his mind went, knowing he was distracted by his sexual thoughts, she reached down and swept the bag out of his hand easily.

She said, “That was fun. Let’s do that again.” She handed him the bag. He took it. She faked a slap at his face. He moved to block it. She laughed and said, “You’re adorable, Artboy, in your own pathetic way.” She moved in and grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him full on the lips, and she came away with the container. She held it up with one hand and slapped his face with the other. Then she switched the container from one hand to her other and slapped him with her newly freed hand.

She said, “I think you’re approaching world records for pathetic, Artboy.” She smiled. “I’d be too much for you if I NEVER used sex or if I ONLY used sex. You name the rules: I win.”

He lunged at her. Casually, she leaned back and kicked him in the shin. That stopped him briefly, but he came at her again. Both her palms smacked him in the chest, though one of her hands held the art object. This time he fell to his knees. She knelt behind him, holding his ankles in place with her body. She pushed him flat on the floor and reached between his thighs, saying, “Don’t worry, Artboy, I’m not coming for your balls. Too easy.” Instead, she grabbed one of his thighs at its very top, encircling it with her hands. She continued matter-of-factly, “I’m going to put this leg out of commission, just for the fun of it.” She squeezed for some seconds. He tried to fight off her hands, but he couldn’t get any leverage. He screamed in pain.

When she stood up, he also tried to stand. But he fell. She laughed. He tried again and fell again. She said, “OK, Dude, let me come to your rescue.” She knelt behind him again and put her hands in the same position for a few seconds, eliciting more shouts of pain, then stood again. He tried to stand and this time succeeded, but slowly, painfully and precariously. She watched him struggle upwards as she tended to her hair and make-up. She said, “Beating you up in your current condition would also be a little too easy to be respectable, like just going for your balls.”

She turned away from him and looked at a mirror to apply the finishing touches to herself as he tried to apply the finishing touches to standing up. She said, “You’re totally defenseless against me, Artboy. Totally at my mercy. But there’s no reason I shouldn’t look like a lady when I’m taking over your life, right? Somehow that makes it all the hotter, don’t you think? But you should be very careful now. Turning my back on you is a trap.”

He watched her for a while, taking the opportunity to gather himself. The breathtaking babe in pantyhose had decided to let the notorious tough guy make the first move, unconcerned about what it might be, but having a pretty good idea. Finally, he approached and grabbed her from behind. Suddenly, though, her ankle came up backwards into his balls. Then she broke his grip, turned toward him, dropped low and rammed a shoulder into his gut, pushing him to his back on the floor. His head hit hard and he was shaken up.

She climbed up his body slowly and seductively, knowing there was no need for speed. She eventually grabbed his head with both her hands. She kissed him on the lips and banged his head against the floor again, but not nearly as hard as she could have.

She said, “I didn’t say it was a very sophisticated trap. But that isn’t necessary with you, is it, Lover?” She patted him on his face and stood. When he got to his feet, she let him gather himself. When he was ready to go, she again acted with a level of speed that the man was helpless against. She met him with a bare shoulder to his chest and pushed him to a wall, with his head banging into it. She grabbed him by the hair and banged his head him against the wall lightly twice more. She moved in right against his body. They were cheek to cheek. Her lips sometimes touched his face as she spoke.

“I own you now, Artboy,” she said in his ear. “You are all mine now. I’m taking over your life. It’s easy for me. And there’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.”

She continued, “Feel my body against yours.” She squirmed against him. “Think about how desperate you are to have me and about how hopeless that dream is. Think about how this enticing, soft, smooth, curvy and caressable little body is dominating all your male muscles as if they’re nothing.”

She stepped back. Now she somehow had the little container in her hand and raised it in front of him. He grabbed for it. She dropped her hand out of his reach and slapped his face with her other hand.

She said, “What do you want more, Artboy: The piece of art or the piece of ass? Tough question, huh? Well, you’ve got no hope of either. Unless, that is, you’re into armpits.”

She put the container on the floor between them, and straightened up and put both her hands behind her head and locked them there.

She said, “I’m going to stuff your face into my armpit again, until you can’t breathe. I know that’s about the only part of my body you haven’t been lusting after. That’s what will make it so fun for me.”

He lunged for the container, but she kicked it out of his reach. He went for it again, but she beat him there and kicked it away again. Now she stood between him and it. He lunged at her throat with both hands. With a dismissive sweep of her arms, she knocked both his hands to her right. Now he was off balance. She brought her knee up into his gut twice. He bent over in pain, breathless, slumping to his knees.

Standing imperiously over his bowed body, she wrapped one hand under his chin and pointed his face up at hers and said, “Here comes the pit, Muscles. Nothing in the world you can do about it.” She lifted his head until he was standing up almost straight, and she put a headlock on him, but it was from the front, not the side as usual. When she twisted, he went to his back on the floor, his face securely in her armpit.

As she held him as he thrashed, brushing her hair out of her face with a free hand, she said, “Try to enjoy it, Artboy. You’re not getting what you really want.”

Still holding him, she reached for her purse to get her cellphone. As she did that, she said, almost as an aside, “I don’t know if you like this, Artboy, and I don’t care. But you should know that I love it.” She snapped a selfie of them. “So you better get used to it, because I can do this to you any time I want. From here on, anytime your face and my armpit are in the same room, if you’re still awake, it’s only because I’ve decided to let you be awake.” She snapped a selfie with another pose.

She put her phone down and said, “Now I’m going to show you my absolute favorite sexual position.” With her arm that wasn’t enveloping his head, she reached back for his crotch. “Is this cool, or what!” she said. “I control everything about you. I decide if you can breathe. I decide if you’re excited.” She stroked his crotch. “And I decide if you’re in agony.” She grabbed his crotch. “It’s all me. That makes me so hot. I think a girl would have to be pretty greedy to want any more control over a guy than this.”

She said, “Now I’m going to put you to sleep. I want you to get a rest and start fresh so that I can kick your ass again. I think you probably already get the message that I can kick your ass 100 times out of a 100, and do it like your nothing, without so much as mussing my make-up. But I want to make sure you never forget it, never manage to convince yourself it isn’t true.” Then she kissed him on the forehead and put him to sleep, just by wrapping his face a little tighter in smooth femininity of her armpit.

When his head started to clear, he didn’t see her. He went into the adjacent room, and she was there sitting on the couch, still in her pantyhose and in the tight, revealing top she had worn from the beginning, with its ample cleavage, bare shoulder and bare back. She faced him, but one leg didn’t. It was propped up on the couch – her foot flat on the couch – and was pointing to her right, dramatically exposing her crotch and focusing his attention on it. Her other leg was in front of her, resting normally on the floor.

She held the piece of art in one hand and she beckoned the man to her with the other. He paused.

She said, “Your desperate need for this tells you to come at me. Your dick certainly tells you come at me. And yet you hesitate. Wow. What an incredible wimp I’ve made you into, Artboy.”

He approached her, but slowly.

She said, “My goodness, you’re careful. You know, if you’re that scared, maybe you shouldn’t do it all. I think I would recommend that you just run away. I know it’s your place. But still. That’s your only hope. You should just let me have the place and the art and run.”

Suddenly, violently the desperate man climbed on her, between her legs. He grabbed her wrists and put them up over her head.

She laughed at him and said, “Between my legs? Really? That’s what you want to do?” She said, “OK,” in the tone of “It’s your funeral,” which she didn’t say. She suddenly brought her legs together hard in a waist scissors, and he suddenly let go of her wrists and tried to bring his hands back to her ankles in agony.

She said, “Oh? You want to get out from between my legs already? But we’re not done, are we? I hardly got started. Men!” She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him to her bosom, easing up a bit on the scissors. Now her embrace was more sexual than combative. She said, “You know, sometimes guys don’t think that being between my legs is such a terrible fate.” She reached down with one hand. “Oh, yes, I can feel you getting into it now. More like a guy. Thataboy.

“But,” she said with a laugh, “This is where the dream turns to a nightmare.”

She suddenly reapplied full force to his waist, and he suddenly pulled back in agony, his hands going toward her ankles again. She said, “Oh, stopping already? Now is that a nice thing to do to a lady? You know, premature withdrawal is not a girl’s favorite thing. I should punish you for that.” She squeezed again, and he reacted in pain again, the same way.

“OK,” she said. “Maybe that’s all the punishment you can take for a while. Here, let me make nice.” She pulled his face back into her bosom and eased the pain for him. “There. That’s better, isn’t it. Yeah.”

She continued in a conversational tone, “See, here’s the thing, Artboy: Even when I let you make the first move, I can beat you every time, easily. Small as I am; girly and soft and curvy as I am, I can always cause you way more pain than you can handle. And, of course, I can always cause you so much pleasure as to make you even stupider than usual. Your pain and pleasure are entirely up to me, aren’t they?” No response. “Aren’t they?” she demanded as she applied the pain again, and he reacted helplessly again and groaned. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

“OK,” she said. “Now I’m going to let you go. I know what a nightmare it is for a guy like you to be between a girl’s thighs.” She kicked him off her to the floor.

He just wanted to lie there. And she knew it. She put the container on his chest. “Tag. You’re it,” she said.

She stepped on him on her way to pick up her purse. She came back and sat on his chest while she fixed her hair and make-up with a handheld mirror. “I’m going to allow you some rest again, Artboy, just to see if I can get more fight out of you.” She patted his face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m doing it for me.”

She said, “I could plank you right here. But I want more. So here’s the deal: I’m going to make you give me the precious little piece. The thought of what that will do to your insides just makes me squishy all over. It’s like you’ll be handing me your balls.” His grip on the container tightened.

She got off him. She said, “You just gonna lie there?” He stood, holding the piece of art. She slapped him across one cheek. She smacked him on his chest with the palms of both hands. So fast. His hands came up to do the same to her, to push her away, but her hands came up between his arms and swatted his arms away, pushing one to each side. From there, she slapped him with both her palms at the same time, one to each cheek. Without bringing her hands down, she did it again: slapped both his cheeks. He brought his arms up to defend his head. She smacked him in the chest with both hands, snapping his head back against the wall. Then, as he was dazed, she wrapped a hand behind his neck and pulled him forward and down, where she planted a knee in his chest. Then she forced him upright again, against the wall.

He was stopped. She got in his face again, so close her cheek touched his. She said quietly, “Notice I did all that without closing my fists, Artboy. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your adorable helplessness.”

He pushed her away and lashed at her with a kick. He missed, and she laughed at him. She said, “Oh, you want to match legs, because you’re so helpless against my hands? Bad idea, Artboy, but OK, let’s match legs.” She shot a kick at his stomach and connected. She could have put him down and out right then, but she let him recover, just walking around him as he did so. Then she kicked him in a shin. He started to raise that leg to ease the pain, and she kicked his other shin. She kicked at him a couple more times, alternating legs. She had him practically dancing in pain. She laughed at him. Then she kicked him in the ass, and he fell to all fours.

She said, “I always like to get a little ass-kicking into an ass kicking.”

She stood over him, his eyes in contact with her feet and ankles. She was kind of fluffing up her hair as she said, “I can’t believe you thought you could match legs with me, Artboy.” Here she turned him on to his back by putting a foot under his chest and lifting. She straddled him. Standing above him, she stroked her legs sensuously. “With these babies I could kick you to Jersey, Sweetheart, and never break a sweat. All your muscles couldn’t accomplish so much as a run in my nylons.”

She put one of her feet below his crotch and nudged him. He scooted backwards, away from her foot. She followed him, using the same impetus – her foot under his crotch – until he was back against a wall, sitting up. Her foot was again under his crotch, but there was no farther he could go. Her leg went up along his body. His face practically touched her thigh.

“Now I want you to just sit there and think about how much you want to feel up my leg and how afraid you are to try anything. Think about how much the pantyhose turn you on, about how you’re going to remember this moment the rest of your life. Just sit there and wallow in your frustration and your lust, your fear, your humiliation, your defeat and your weakness.”

He didn’t move. She couldn’t resist the urge to rub it in more. “Wow,” she said. “I’ve got you so steamed up you can hardly keep your hands off yourself, much less me. And yet you’re afraid to so much as touch me when I’m putting myself in your face.”

She put her hands in her own hair and looked up. “God, I love this.” She writhed sensuously. She looked back down. “You really know how to turn a girl on, Artboy.”

She moved her foot out from under his crotch and posed for him invitingly, putting her legs in their most elegant, graceful positions and stroking them. She also gave him a rear view.

“See anything you like, Artboy?” She sneered at him as he did nothing.

She said, “Well, let’s try this.” She sat down in front of him and spread her legs wide and stroked herself. “See anything here that gets you going? No? Gee, you climbed between my legs before. I wonder what’s different now. You’re starting to hurt my feelings. I mean, a lady who puts it all out there like this does NOT like to be rejected.”

She sat there. And he sat there.

“Let me try one more move,” she said. She knelt in front of him on all fours, her bosom on full display. She said, “For the rest of your life, you’re going to remember passing up this opportunity, and you’re going to be deeply, deeply ashamed.”

Then she said, “OK, this is where we take it all the way.” She sat up, directly in front of him. “What I want you to do now is take your precious piece of art and put it right there.” She held out her hand, dainty, apparently fragile, with the polished red nails. “Go ahead. You don’t have the balls to disobey me, and you know it.”

Hesitantly, he did as ordered.

She said, “Wow.”

Saying no more, she got up and walked over to the couch and sat, crossing her legs in a way that she knew he found devastating. She spread her arms along the top of the couch, exposing the armpits that had been tormenting him. She saw his eyes darting to and away from her armpits, and she loved it.

After a couple of minutes of silence, savoring her utter mastery of this man who thought himself so tough, she said, “Where’s your passport?” He looked at her blankly. She said, “I’m kicking you out of New York, Artboy. That’s what I’m here for. It’s a contribution I’m making to the city I love.” She rose. “I’m going to look for the passport. You’re going to stare at my ass.” She found the passport in the second place she looked. She said, “Now I’m going to go get dressed. But first I’m going give you one last look.” She turned her back to him and stood immediately in front of him. His head was at the level of her ass. At first, she put her hands on her hips and just stood there. Then she leaned forward and thrust her ass backwards at the man. Then she did circles with it, little grinds, coming closer to him, then farther away. He did nothing. She turned to him, put her hand under his chin, raised it to look at her face and said, “You are now officially a pathetic, self-loathing coward. You’re so horny for me you’re about to burst, and yet your so, so scared of touching me. You must be dying inside.”

She walked off into the art room to get her skirt. Returning, she threw his clothes at him and told him to get dressed “unless you want to go some more.” He wanted to get dressed anyway.

She said, “Let’s go. We’re going to take a little ride, totally against your will. I hope you fight me about it.”

She pulled him to his feet and wrapped her arm through his, as if she was his date. She started walking them to the front door. He pulled his arm away from her violently. She said, “Oh, good,” and turned and shot a punch into his gut. As he bent in pain, she followed with a knee to his chest. She pushed him off his feet and then kicked him in the stomach. The muscular man curled into a fetal position on the floor beneath the unruffled beauty.

Looking down at him, she said, “I hope you make a move like that when I’ve got you out in public, Artboy. I’d put you down and humiliate you with a very special, sexy flare, and somebody would post the video online. Wouldn’t THAT be cool? Pretty soon, somebody would identify you. You’d go viral. The media would love it.”

She pulled him to his feet. She said, “Give me an excuse. Make my day.”

At the door, he again tried to pull away. He again got gut punched. This time, though, she pushed him up against a wall, held him there with her body, shot another punch into his gut, robbing him of the strength he would have needed to fight her off. She said “Tell me when you’re ready,” as she hit him again. He was silent until he got hit two more times.

“Okay,” he said.

She said, “Say, ‘I’m ready.’”

He did.

She put her lips to face. “There’s nothing you can do about me, Sweetheart. You’re completely overwhelmed. Beaten into weakness by a babe of your dreams in pantyhose. You can’t resist me sexually. You can’t resist me physically. And I’m in your head forever and ever and ever. Deal with it.”

Once outside, she put him in the back seat of a large car with darkened windows in the back. She got in the back seat with him. A barrier kept him from seeing the driver. He didn’t know where they were going.

At first, she sat at the opposite window from him, content to let him ogle her flamboyantly crossed legs and deal with his combination of lust for and fear of her.

But she weakened. She scooted over next to him, snuggled up and said, “I’ve decided to put you on your face, so that your crotch is totally exposed and you have to worry all the way about what I’m going to do it.” She had his right arm immobilized between their two bodies, and she had his body pressed against the door. Her far arm – her right – went to his crotch, but was doing no damage. But she reached under his crotch, grabbed his belt at his back, pulled up on him, twisted him and pushed with her torso, so that in short order his face and the front of his body were pressing into the door. From there she strung her right arm threw his legs from behind, lifted and pulled him away from the door, so that he was, indeed, face down on seat. She put a knee on the small of his back, holding him in place, and her right hand played around at his crotch. Then she simply took a seat his back. She rode the rest of the way looking forward, as he looked into the seat. He could not find a way to push up out of his position. He could not believe this beautiful little woman had done this to him. And so easily! She would slap his ass periodically and fondle and tweak his crotch. She got out a mirror and fixed her make-up and hair.

When they arrived at the airport, she was pulling him out of the car when she shot two discreet punches into his gut, and said in his ear, “You want to put on a show Artboy? There are cameras and phones everywhere.” She kissed his cheek, wrapped her arm in his and walked him in. The beaten, frightened bad guy behaved himself.

She got him a one-way ticket to Yemen, because a flight would be leaving for there soon. She bought herself a ticket on another flight, so that she could go through security with him. Near the gate, Samantha, who knew her way around airports, found a private spot. She put Arturo up against a wall – again – immobilized him with a gut punch, and searched him for his wallet and found it. He struggled, but she put a hand on his forehead and banged it into the wall. She stood in front of him – within easy grabbing distance for him – and took his money, credit cards and identification out of his wallet. She put the wallet back in his pocket, but took his phone. She melted into him again. She said, “Now here’s the thing, Lover. If you ever do manage to get out of Yemen, do not come back to New York. Do not. If you come back, I will know about it. I will be very, very mad. And you’ve never seen me when I’m mad.”

She continued, “I don’t care where you go. But I’ll tell you this: If I ever run into you anyplace else, I’ll kick you out of there, too, just for the fun of it. So be very, very afraid.” She kissed him. “Of me.” She kissed him again. “Forever.” She all but raped him right there, kissing him lasciviously on the mouth, rubbing his crotch with her hand, rubbing her body along his, pushing his face down into her bosom. When he was totally wrapped up in all that and about to pop, she suddenly stopped. She punched him in the gut. “Now,” she said, and slapped him three times across the face, “have a nice flight.” She wrapped her arm in his and put him in the proper line. Then she took a seat in the waiting area, flashing plenty of thigh, and waited until the plane left the ground before she left the airport.

Boy, was she horny. She felt like a good fight.
Reply With Quote
The Following User Says Thank You to godoggo2012 For This Useful Post:
  #4  
Old 18-Jul-18, 00:50
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
Member
Points: 20,043, Level: 61 Points: 20,043, Level: 61 Points: 20,043, Level: 61
Activity: 23.8% Activity: 23.8% Activity: 23.8%
Last Achievements
 
Join Date: Nov 2013
Posts: 255
Thanks: 124
Thanked 930 Times in 168 Posts
Default Re: Samantha for NY

Thanks for the "thank yous".

I know the story was long. And I know that, as a reader of the forum, I kind of rush through the posts myself. So I appreciate anybody who took the time to read my piece.

I thought that making the confrontation long -- with lots of aspects to it -- would make the ending more credible.

Actually, when I first started writing stories in the late '60s, length was the whole idea. I was writing for my own amusement. In those days, it seemed like everything one could access relevant to the fetish -- 50-foot films, 4-page Stanton-type stories, 10-second fights on TV and in movies -- was so darn SHORT. I wanted something that would take a while to get through.

But I know times have changed. And I'm actually good with that.
Reply With Quote
The Following 2 Users Say Thank You to cashley216 For This Useful Post:
  #5  
Old 27-Sep-18, 13:52
simplyred simplyred is offline
Member
Points: 6,417, Level: 34 Points: 6,417, Level: 34 Points: 6,417, Level: 34
Activity: 2.1% Activity: 2.1% Activity: 2.1%
Last Achievements
 
Join Date: Mar 2013
Gender: Male
Posts: 236
Thanks: 1,025
Thanked 541 Times in 146 Posts
Default Re: Samantha for NY

Where is she now? Did she retire from beating men? : D
Reply With Quote
Reply

Thread Tools
Display Modes


Similar Threads
Thread Thread Starter Forum Replies Last Post
Goddess Samantha (Samantha Muscle) reviews chris7201 Session Reviews 4 02-Sep-18 12:22
Samantha at DangerousLegs squozen Wrestling & Fighting Discussion 0 21-Apr-15 13:44
session with Samantha Muscle (Goddess Samantha) chris7201 Wrestling & Fighting Discussion 3 31-Mar-15 11:07
Anyone sessioned with Samantha from Atlanta? sarge0068 Wrestling & Fighting Discussion 8 03-Jul-14 01:56
Session with Samantha (from Atlanta) 2/20/14 luchalibre Wrestling & Fighting Discussion 0 12-Apr-14 19:24


All times are GMT. The time now is 06:54.


Powered by vBulletin® - Copyright ©2000 - 2024, vBulletin Solutions, Inc.