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Old 31-Aug-20, 03:52
EricRRobert EricRRobert is offline
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Chun Li Project Goretti

Contains: Light sci-fi, sex, snuff


“All right, everyone, I have had some bad news,” said Dinesh from the head of the conference table. “Project Goretti is a total loss, and we’re moving to burn protocols. By the end of this day, we need to eliminate every shred of evidence it ever existed.”

“But that’s a total waste of resources!” objected Marissa. “Project Goretti has been our highest priority with the greatest chance for future profitability! Plus, its social implications could serve as important PR –“

“Marissa!” exclaimed Dinesh. “I know these things! I’m the one who told them to you! All right, everyone, we’ve got a lot to do, so I’m keeping this short. Burn protocols. End-of-day. Any questions?”

Marissa could tell by the way Dinesh moved his eyes upward and increased the volume of his voice that he was annoyed with her. She didn’t know why he was annoyed with her, but that was okay: she rarely knew why anyone was annoyed with her. She’d been diagnosed with autism at age twelve; it was the reason she couldn’t do what her psychologists referred to as “reading social cues.”

Being autistic didn’t mean she didn’t have feelings, and she was bitterly disappointed by the loss of Project Goretti. It had been her entire life for two years – the sole reason she hadn’t enrolled in a Master’s program. Still, at age 23, with only a Bachelor’s under her belt, she was already informally one of the most important scientists at Fairview Laboratories.

Fairview had been bidding on a government contract for nonlethal weapons. That’s how Project Goretti had started – screening for an aerosol that could interfere with muscle tissue, temporarily making people as weak as children.

After four months of screening, they finally found a chemical compound that had a small effect on muscle cells in vitro. It was so small that Dinesh wanted to disregard it, but Marissa had a hunch that its molecular structure appeared congruous with her expectations. After weeks of trying to convinced Dinesh – her persistence seemed to really infuriate him – he gave her permission to continue studying it as long as it didn’t interfere with her screening.

And so, over the next eight months, she made two fascinating discoveries:

1. Goretti only affected the muscles of men;
2. Goretti barely affected them at all – until they entered a state of sexual arousal, at which point it synergized with dihydrotestosterone in a way that strongly affected the muscles of men.

It was clearly useless as a nonlethal weapon, since crowds of horny rioters were... uncommon. But its application as an anti-rape prophylactic were obvious. A few drops in a perfume, and a man might literally lose the ability to stand before he could get a victim’s clothes off.

Marissa was proud to have been given the honor of naming it – Goretti, after Maria Goretti, the patron saint of rape victims. And now, out of nowhere, Dinesh was going to burn it??

She followed him out into the hall. “Dinesh, I’d like some time to present a formal objection as a twenty-minute PowerPoint presentation. I can prove that Goretti –“

“Two people are dead, Marissa!!” he hissed. “Just do your fucking job and start the burn protocols!”

“How did two people die?” she asked without missing a beat.

“Jesus, Marissa, most people would at least pretend to be shocked.”

“But it would be unreasonable to be shocked given that clinical trials carry a clear risk of danger. It’s in the disclaimers we have them sign, so they’ve been informed –”

“Stop! Talking!” Dinesh shouted, shutting down conversations throughout the whole hallway. Then he took a deep breath. “Sorry. That was unprofessional. But I need you to listen, okay? Some of the men in the trial went home and watched porn.”

“We told them not to do that!”

“Yeah, well, they’ve probably been told not to watch porn since they were twelve years old and they did it then, too. Anyway, two of them got so weak we think their diaphragms failed and their lungs wouldn’t inflate.”

“That’s fascinating. So maybe the concentration –”

“No, Marissa. No tweaking the concentration. This cannot get out. We’re creating a cover story for the families. Our lawyers are setting up a compensation package. We are done with this one.”


Back at her apartment, Marissa stared at a glass of whiskey. She had been told that when you were depressed after suffering a loss, you should drink whiskey. But she didn’t enjoy the effects of alcohol, and good judgment was important during times of crisis. So she poured it down the sink. She didn’t even really know why she’d poured a glass in the first place.

What she did know was the chemical compounds for Goretti. Forward and backwards. She flipped open her laptop and typed them down, in case she ever forgot, which she wouldn’t. Then she started thinking.

If a woman were inclined to kill a man, Goretti would be the perfect delivery mechanism for that murder. The police would simply find a man with an erection who had stopped breathing. There wouldn’t be any trace of a drug or poison, just slightly elevated levels of dihydrotestosterone.

It was therefore fortunate that she was not a murderer. She considered herself to have a developed moral code. She had marched in support of the rights of women and again to emphasize the truism that black lives matter.

However, killing was ethically justified when it was necessary in the defense of oneself or others. This was one of the primary justifications for the death penalty: a murderer cannot re-offend when she or he is dead. Did she know anyone who was likely to kill others?

Well - of course she did. Rachel’s ex-boyfriend Michael. Michael drank alcohol to excess and he had broken Rachel’s arm in the course of a fight. Nearly 80% of intimate partner homicides begin with physical abuse, and the recidivism rate was 2 in 3. Therefore, there was a, um - a 53.6% chance that Michael would one day commit femicide, which meant that from a Utilitarian standpoint, the most ethical course of action was to kill him, thus trading one life for 1.07 lives. All she needed to do were two things: recreate a supply of Goretti at home, which she knew she could do, and arouse him sufficiently. Could she do that one?

She took off her clothes and stood in front of the mirror.

“Curly red hair is culturally associated with promiscuity,” she said, twisting her fingers through her thick mane. She moved down to her nipples and pinched them. “I know large, firm breasts with upturned nipples are desirable. If nothing else, I have that working for me.” She ran her fingers through her auburn bush. “This might be too much pubic hair. I could remove some.” She felt her hard thighs. “I suppose I could substitute leg extensions for squats, to emphasize my gluteal muscles. Are thighs supposed to feel hard or soft?” She squinted at herself. “65 inches is one inch above the median woman’s height,” she thought. “Am I pretty?” She turned her head like a curious dog.

Maybe Reddit would have the answer. Reddit had a lot of answers to social conundrums she couldn’t figure out. People were violently rude to her there, but it didn’t matter, because that was the nature of Reddit.

She posted a dozen nudes to Reddit. Her account was banned from several subreddits before she found the right ones. She was delighted to find that the reaction to her naked body was overwhelmingly positive; her inbox was soon flooded with compliments, demands for “moar,” and, curiously enough, an odd number of requests for close-ups of non-sexual body parts such as her feet and armpits.

She ignored those. She ignored most of the messages. But one young man, named edgelordylordy69, had a tendency to answer questions directly, bluntly, and honestly, just as she needed. And it was with him that she formulated the rest of her plan.


One week later, Marissa walked into work at the Bounce House Gentleman’s Club. She had resigned from her position at Fairview Laboratories; she had no interest in their other projects, and she’d be beginning work on her Master’s Degree in a few months, regardless. Right now, she needed to learn the most efficient means of bringing men to orgasm.

Her stage dances were stiff and awkward at first. She sought out coaching from every girl who would help her, and as the months went by she became much better at moving fluidly, “like a cat” as one kept advising, “like she was riding a horse” as another suggested. She picked up pole tricks easily; she was strong and led a healthy lifestyle. Within six weeks, men lined up at the rail to place dollar bills between her breasts at about 150% the rate they lined up for the other girls; she started to suspect she had even nicer breasts than she had realized.

It was the lap dances where she really excelled. Unlike every girl, whose job was to tease men until their wallets were empty, Marissa made a sport of seeing how fast she could separate a man from his semen. She learned to clench her increasingly-hard glutes around a penis right through thick denim jeans and thrust her hips forcefully but smoothly at 119 BPM – the same tempo as Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen, which she was usually playing in her head to keep rhythm as she felt the satisfying shudder and spurt from inside his pants.

She started offering “extras,” too, experimenting with the fastest ways to bring men to orgasm. Though she didn’t want to have vaginal or anal sex with strangers, everything else was on the table. She collected data and methodically found that her hand jobs were less effective than lap dances; her blow jobs somewhat more effective. Foot jobs were erratic, with some men orgasming almost immediately and others not at all. But the real champion was breast jobs. The average man lasted less than a minute between her soft breasts; many didn’t even make it to the chorus of Call Me Maybe at 28 seconds.

Her manager kept dropping hints that she was being far too straightforward with the extras. He liked the surge of extra business – some nights two dozen of her regulars would be lined up at opening – but he was getting nervous about how she didn’t even seem able to maintain plausible deniability. Every hint he dropped seemed to go right over her head, like she was retarded or something. Finally, after a credible tip that an undercover cop was about to investigate the club, he had no choice but to give her the axe.

That was okay with Marissa. She had learned what she had come to learn. She had replicated a supply of Goretti. She was ready.


She knocked on Michael’s door at 10:45 p.m., the time she had calculated he would likely be most receptive to sex. She had paid Spencer, the makeup artist at the Bounce House, a little extra money to do her hair, makeup, and body makeup this evening. She didn’t really understand how, but he could transform her from mousy to absolute knockout in the space of twenty minutes.

Michael opened the door with a confused look on his face. He was masculine and tan, with a five-o-clock shadow and strong arms visible in his NRA tank top. “Oh!” he said. “It’s… Larissa, right?”

Marissa had learned that men respond to extremely aggressive sexual gestures. She wordlessly unzipped her top, let her generous, pert breasts free, and tossed the top past him into his house. She could see his eyes dilate.

“Um, come in,” he said, and she followed him into his living room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

He aggressively tried to kiss her, but she ducked under his kiss. She didn’t want to leave any epithelial cells at the crime scene. Instead, she started nuzzling his cock through his pants. She could feel it stiffening, knew he was looking down at her swaying breasts as she peppered his cock with little dry kisses.

“Ohh fuck, yeah, bitch,” he gasped.

“Pick me up and take me to your bed,” Marissa moaned in the sexy way that Janelle had taught her.

He reached down, put a hand on her ass, and – barely pressed up into it. A look of confusion came over his face. “I – you’re too heavy,” he protested.

Marissa smiled. She placed one of his hands on her breast and looked into his eyes. “No,” she said. “My body makes you weak.”

“What?” he asked.

She took his hand and bent it backwards sharply. He yelped in pain, went to his knees. She seemed to have the strength of a superhero.

“Remember when you broke Rachel’s arm?” she said accusatorily. “This is what it feels like to be outmuscled, asshole.”

“You’re crazy!” he cried out. He tried to push back against her arm, but he was weak as a kitten. But then suddenly he started gaining strength, pushing back against her. Within seconds he had become nearly as strong as her again and she was trembling to hold him down. Oh, shit – of course pain and fear weren’t sexy to him. She had to change things up immediately.

“I’m just kidding,” she said, putting on her big stripper smile again, unhooking her skirt with her free hand and letting it flutter to the floor, leaving her in just a neon orange thong. She turned, released his hand, and wiggled her butt in his face.

“…just kidding?” he asked, as his brain tried hard to do the impossibly wishful thinking that this was going to end well for him. Because that was one really sexy ass…

“I like big strong men like you,” she purred. She pulled his hand forward and placed it between her legs against her pussy, gently gyrating her ass in his face.

He let her for a moment, enjoyed the feeling that so many men had come to blow their paychecks on over the last few months. But then: “This is – no – get out of my house,” he protested. Marissa put a hand on his shoulder behind her and kept him on his knees. Try as he might, he couldn’t stand up or budge her hand. She seemed to have the strength of ten men, keeping his face pressed an inch from her smooth, soft, toned ass.

“You really like my body,” she giggled, turning around, bending down, and letting her nipples sway in his face.

“I don’t like crazy bitches. Get out!!” he exclaimed. He tried to stand – and almost did. Fuck. He was getting stronger again. She was going to have to take him down for good, but in a way that didn’t turn him off.

Thinking quickly, she took off her thong, spread her legs, pulled his face forward into her pussy. Then she sat down hard, knocking him onto his back as she straddled him on the floor. She quickly spun around to her stomach on top of him, assuming a 69 position, clamping her thighs down around his ears. And she yanked his pants to his knees. His cock sprang up, still erect, in front of her. It was surprisingly small for such an athletic man.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you…” he snarled, pushing up on her thighs. He was so strong now she had to lock her legs tight around his ears to keep him from throwing her off. She took his cock and started stroking it – panicked, she started stroking too fast at first. But she caught herself and established a rhythm. Hey, I just met you – and this is crazy – but here’s my number –

He was quickly weakening. She knew men loved having their faces between her legs like this. “The smell of my pussy is an aphrodisiac. You like it, don’t you?”

Silence for a moment, then “…yes.”

“They say I give the best tit fucks on the planet,” she said with a smile. She pressed her breasts together and slid his cock between them. He moaned audibly.

She started her familiar rhythm, the one that had destroyed the willpower of every man in the club, even the ones who were married, the ones who said “I can’t.” Those were the ones she had been most interested in, after all.

“Oh my God,” he gasped. Precum was pooling at the tip of his dick. He was starting to tremble beneath her.

Marissa couldn’t help herself. She wanted a bit of a challenge; she was feeling playful. “You should try to keep me from making you orgasm as long as you can,” she said softly. “When you cum, your lungs are going to fail and you’ll die.”


“Just remember that I warned you.”

She wasn’t sure how seriously he took her warning. What she did know is his cock didn’t soften at all between her big soft breasts as she fucked him in time with Carly Rae. And all the other boys – try to chaaaase me – but here’s my number – so call

Semen spurted up all over her cleavage in four powerful spasms. She smiled. She stood up and looked down. Michael’s eyes were wide, his mouth open, but he wasn’t moving at all. All his muscles had failed, right down to his eyes. He would be dead in minutes.

She scooped up his semen from her cleavage with two fingers and put them in her mouth, sucking them clean with a smile. She really loved the taste of cum. “Wow, I really should have prepared some words to be the last you’ll ever hear,” she said as she got re-dressed in her sexy stripper outfit. “Um… you have a surprisingly small penis.”

That would have to do. Marissa left quickly without touching anything. She knew the police could never possibly solve this one – not in a million years. And she had saved 1.07 lives. She was satisfied with that. But maybe next time she could do better.

Last edited by EricRRobert; 01-Sep-20 at 17:39.
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Old 31-Aug-20, 15:02
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mixfightor mixfightor is offline
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Default Re: Project Goretti

Originally Posted by EricRRobert [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
That would have to do. Marissa left quickly without touching anything. She knew the police could never possibly solve this one – not in a million years. And she had saved 1.07 lives. She was satisfied with that. But maybe next time she could do better.
Practice makes perfect, Marissa.

That story was great, Eric. I always like reading stories that are told from the female's perspective, and this one was fascinating with the way she looked at the world around her. Marissa does need to practice her seduction techniques, and find a way to keep a man aroused while physically dominating him. Perhaps she should learn session wrestling, rather than stripping.

I hope you continue this story. Thank you for writing it for us.
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Old 31-Aug-20, 16:32
EricRRobert EricRRobert is offline
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Default Re: Project Goretti

Originally Posted by mixfightor [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Marissa does need to practice her seduction techniques, and find a way to keep a man aroused while physically dominating him. Perhaps she should learn session wrestling, rather than stripping.

I hope you continue this story. Thank you for writing it for us.
Goddamn, that is a really good idea that was right in front of me. Thanks for that!!

There's definitely a lot that can be done with this story...
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Old 01-Sep-20, 13:35
Sicod79 Sicod79 is offline
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Default Re: Project Goretti

Originally Posted by EricRRobert [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Goddamn, that is a really good idea that was right in front of me. Thanks for that!!

There's definitely a lot that can be done with this story...
Yes, a lot of variety on her approaches. Literally different strokes for different folks!

Awesome concept.
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Old 01-Sep-20, 23:03
EricRRobert EricRRobert is offline
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Default Re: Project Goretti

Okay, I think this chapter is really good. Many thanks to mixfightor.


Marissa got out of her car in stripper clothes – the skirt so short that it only hid her thong if she stood up completely straight, and the top with the zipper down the front so that her perky breasts were just a quick tug away from spilling free. She stood in six inch plastic heels on the dirty asphalt and wrinkled her nose in disgust. This was not a good part of town – several blocks were littered with broken glass and the air was dirty with the faint but perpetual smell of stale hobo vomit.

She’d also sprayed so much Goretti in her cleavage and armpits that she could faintly smell that. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell – a little bit like peppermint mixed with clay. It was a scary part of town, but she had her aerosol to keep her safe. And this is where men tended to live who satisfied her Utilitarian criterion: men whose continued lives would probably end or ruin multiple other lives.

She hadn’t needed anything but a search engine to track Dallas to this weekly motel. He’d been arrested last week on charges of “pandering,” which apparently was the state’s code for “pimping.” He had a list of priors for domestic violence and drug possession. He was exactly the kind of recidivist whose life was a threat to everyone else’s, and therefore killing him would qualify as defending the lives of others.

She knocked on the door and he opened it. She hadn’t seen a picture of him before. Her first thought was that she had no idea what his ethnicity was – there was some white in there, and some black, and some Asian, and maybe some other stuff. He was dressed in a sports jersey, which really threw her. Weren’t pimps supposed to wear velvet suits?

“Yeah?” he asked.

Marissa unzipped her top and let her breasts pop free. She gave him a big seductive smile. “I want to be one of your girls,” she purred.

“Bitch, this is entrapment,” said Dallas. “You know this is fucking entrapment. And it’s pathetic, bitch, and I ain’t finna –“

“I’m not law enforcement,” said Marissa, trying to maintain her smile. Why hadn’t that worked? “Will you let me try out?”

She kicked the motel door shut behind her. She’d been walking forward and he’d been stepping back. Why was he stepping back instead of coming in to play with her? She was sexy, wasn’t she?

Dallas looked skeptical and confused. “This ain’t how it works,” he said. “No bitch –“

He didn’t get to finish his thought.

“GET YOUR SKANK TITS OUT MY MAN’S FACE!!” a woman screamed, and Marissa turned her head just in time to take a punch in the nose from a furious black woman. Her eyes immediately watered up. She couldn’t see. She didn’t even get a clear look at her attacker.

There were fingers in her hair. Fingers attached to strong hands. She choked as a knee slammed up under her bare breasts. She couldn’t breathe. The woman was screaming as she clawed, kicked, punched at Marissa's helpless body. Marissa didn’t have any defense that she could find – she couldn’t see the other woman, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. She could only make out a few scattered phrases. “Comin’ all up in here…” “thinkin’ she all…” “White bitch.” Lots of “white bitch."

She suddenly felt a draft against her pussy. Her clothes had been torn completely free. Her aggressor had stripped her naked. There was a harsh slap against her bare ass. A knee was pressed into her stomach and she was bent over it. Another slap She realized this cruel woman was spanking her bare ass like she was a little girl. It was beyond humiliating. She heard Dallas laugh. Her eyes teared up and her body started to shake with little sobs.

Then she was thrown violently to her back. She tried to roll over to get to her feet, but almost immediately, there was a heavy weight enveloping her face, smashing her nose – oh my God, this woman had sat on her face. Her face was between another woman’s fat buttcheeks.

“no!” she tried to scream, but it just came out “NN!” She could hear talking, laughing, from above, but she couldn’t make sense of any of it out. Even her ears were full of ass. She couldn’t breathe and she was panicking. Her legs were kicking furiously.

And then suddenly it was over. She was free. She stood up, panicked and in pain, and ran for the door. No one grabbed her. She looked behind her and saw Dallas collapsed on the ground. The black woman was bent over him, crying out “Babe! Babe, are you okay?”

Marissa ran awkwardly, completely naked except for the six-inch stripper heels that had miraculously stayed strapped to her feet. She heard a shout of “BITCH, YOU BETTER RUN!” from behind her. She ignored a handful of catcalls from men a block away and made it to her car, turned the key and drove home crying, taking side streets to avoid as many people as possible seeing her clearly indecent exposure.


She couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Why hadn’t Dallas become aroused when she took off her top? Who had that woman been? Do pimps have girlfriends? Was she a “hoe”? If she was a hoe and he was exploiting her, why hadn’t she used the opportunity to free herself? Why had Dallas become aroused at watching that woman almost smother her to death, but not at the sight of her bare breasts?

Marissa realized that if she was going to be a vigilante, she clearly needed to learn how to fight. But she also needed to learn how to fight in a way that wouldn’t turn men off and thereby restore them to being able to overpower her. Was that possible??

She logged onto Reddit. Reddit always knew.

SuccubusInTraining > Are men aroused or turned off by violence?

edgelordylordy69 > nice to see you too, SIT, how are you?

SuccubusInTraining > Bad. Please answer my question?

edgelordylordy69 > depends on the guy, depends on the violence

SuccubusInTraining > But that doesn’t help me. How can I know whether an act of violence will turn a man on or off?

edgelordylordy69 > well, most guys can get off on watching women fight each other

That explained a few things.

SuccubusInTraining > So they like watching violence, but they’re turned off by participating in violence?

edgelordylordy69 > like I said, depends on the violence. most guys get turned off by a kick in the dick, but a lot of dudes find it really sexy to wrestle with a woman

SuccubusInTraining > Wrestling, rather than grappling or traditional martial arts?

edgelordylordy69 > um

edgelordylordy69 > honestly this is a bit of a specialty question

edgelordylordy69 > I bet you could find what you seek at r/pleasureofpain or r/mixedwrestling


And so it was through the subreddit r/mixedwrestling, and then a site called SessionGirls.com, and then a bunch of e-mails, that Marissa found herself at the studio of one "Kara the Terrah." She’d picked Kara because she was about the same size as her and she seemed pretty enough to know something about seductive combat. Also, there had only actually been six women withing driving distance.

In the end, she’d had to pay Kara double her usual rate. This single lesson was costing her $800. Kara had said that everything about this thing was weird and she thought Marissa might be a cop, but that even if she was, she'd soon see that Kara wasn’t doing anything illegal.

Why did everyone think she was a cop?! She was a scientist and a stripper. How did those two professions add up to “law enforcement”? It was fortunate that Marissa still had a large amount of money saved up from her time at the Bounce House; on her Fairview salary, an $800 price tag would have been inconvenient.

She knocked on the door and Kara soon answered. Kara was dressed, as Marissa had requested, in the same exact stripper outfit Marissa was wearing: microskirt, orange blacklight-reactive thong, flimsy zip-away top. Marissa had ordered it and sent it to her in advance of the lesson, which Kara kept insisting on calling the “session.”

Actually, the two women looked remarkably alike – 5’5”, somewhere in the neighborhood of 130 pounds, fit and healthy. The most striking difference was Kara’s sharp brunette bob haircut, contrasting with Marissa’s mane of curly red hair. And, of course, Marissa had at least an extra cup size up top.

Kara smiled. “I have to admit, part of me was expecting a SWAT team.”

“No, I’m here with eight hundred dollars for a one hour lesson.”

“Okay. Follow me to the mats.” They walked together into a fairly spacious room with a blue wrestling mat padding the floor.

“I have to admit,” said Kara, “I’ve had a hundred sessions with men, but I’ve never been asked to do a – what did you call it? ‘A lesson on how to fight in a way that will maximize sexual arousal and lead to orgasm in men?’”

“That’s right,” said Marissa.

“…okay.” said Kara. “Well, drop into a crouch like this, and watch what I do.” She dropped into a wrestling crouch and kept her eyes fixed on Marissa’s, smirking in a way that was playful, flirtatious, and confident-bordering-on-arrogant.

Marissa tried to memorize the facial expression, because it was making her feel, well, distracted. As though Kara saw her as a piece of prey, and was going to enjoy eating her alive. A shiver ran up her spine.

“Now, when I’m hurting you more than you want, or you can’t breathe, and you need to give up, just say "tap" or tap the mat twice, okay?”


Kara lunged. Marissa yelped. Her leg was torn out from under her and she fell to her butt. Kara tackled her, driving her shoulders to the mats. She fought to keep her wrists from being controlled, and then noticed her legs were being spread apart. She tried to focus on pulling her legs back together, and then Kara got her wrists under control. She was fighting on two fronts and she had lost both.

Kara looked down and smiled at her. “This is called a grapevine. There isn’t much you can do now, is there?”

Marissa squirmed helplessly.

“And then I can do this, and put pressure on your knees…”

“Ow! Ow, it hurts –“ cried Marissa as her legs were spread further and further apart, her thong being pulled up so tightly it ended up parting her lips. But then Kara stopped applying pressure.

“And here’s a particularly sexy way to make them submit.”

Kara let go of one of Marissa’s wrists and unzipped her own stripper top, letting her breasts hang over Marissa’s face. Marissa grabbed for her elbow, thinking maybe she could throw her off, but before she knew it her face was pulled between Kara’s breasts and she couldn’t see or breathe.

“MMM! MMM!” protested Marissa.

“Remember, tap the mat twice.”

Marissa pounded the mat twice and Kara got off of her.

“Wow,” said Marissa from her back. “I was insanely helpless.”

“That’s the idea,” Kara said with a smile, helping her to her feet. Marissa picked the thong out from between her labia.

“I don’t think I could smother a man between my breasts like that unless he was already very weak, though,” said Marissa.


“I, um, I mean if he was a very weak man.”

Kara nodded. “When it comes to sexy moves, the breast smother isn’t usually the one you’re going to win with right off the bat. Even though I just did it to you.”

Marissa blushed.

“For a more competitive match, your best bet is the scissors.”

“The scissors?”


Marissa nodded.

Kara grabbed Marissa by the back of the neck, leapt forward, and threw her legs up, wrapping them around Marissa's sides. She twisted and threw her weight sideways, and Marissa’s legs were ripped out from under her. She hit the mats hard, trapped between Kara's thighs. Then Kara started tightening her grip, and it was incredibly painful – Marissa couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, felt like her organs were being crushed inside her. She slapped the mat hard, twice, and was relieved when the pressure instantly abated.

“Oh my God. That could kill someone.”

“Don’t worry,” teased Kara, giving her a little peck on the forehead. “I promise not to kill you.”

The two women continued to spar – if you could call it that. Marissa couldn’t believe how helpless she felt. Everything she tried, Kara seemed to know she was going to try. Everything Kara did, Marissa didn’t see coming and had no answer for. She felt as though she were being bullied around the mats like a child playing with an arrogant older brother - even though the two women were the same size.

After forty-five minutes, Marissa had learned a few things, but her wrestling wasn't improving. That was because she was soaked in sweat and her lungs felt like they were on fire, whereas Kara had only worked up a light perspiration and seemed nearly as fresh as the moment they met.

“This is why a lot of guys go with the half hour. I think you’re almost done here,” Kara teased, straddling her just below her breasts. She gave her cheek a little pinch.

“I think you’re right,” answered a red-faced Marissa.

“I haven’t even shown you one of the sexiest moves yet, though,” said Kara. “The facesit.”

“Oh no no no, please don’t sit on my face,” Marissa said in a panicked tone, flashing back to her near-death experience in the black woman’s fat ass.

Kara looked down curiously at her. “Did you have a bad experience with a facesit when you were a girl?”

Close enough. Marissa nodded.

“I think mine will feel different. Do you trust me?”

“I… guess so.”

Kara scooted up and put her shins on Marissa’s forearms. Her soft but firm posterior pressed Marissa’s head to the mats as Kara enveloped her face in her glutes. It wasn’t the cruel, full-weight sit the other woman had given her. It was almost like being caressed by her cheeks.

Plus, she smelled better. She smelled – wow, she smelled sexy. And Marissa could breathe a bit. Only a bit, but it wasn’t the death smother she’d been subjected to before.

Kara wiggled her butt playfully. “Try to get out.”

Marissa twisted left, twisted right, but she wasn’t going anywhere. “nnn can’t,” she said, muffled in Kara’s butt.

Kara giggled. “That tickles.”

She kept slowly gyrating her hips above Marissa’s face, depriving her of most but not all air, and Marissa began to feel things. She started to feel weak, dizzy, and warm from the oxygen deprivation. She also felt about an inch tall – this woman had wrestled her all over the mats and was now just sitting on her, putting her under her butt like Marissa was nothing. A piece of furniture. Reminding her of her complete and total conquest.

It was the most humiliating thing she could imagine. It was also – Marissa realized with shock – making her soaking wet. Her nipples were stiff. Her pussy was so swollen and engorged it almost hurt. She had never been so horny in her life.

“Ohhhhhhhh” she moaned into her conqueress’s ass.

“Therrrre you go,” said Kara with a big smile. She stood up and helped the beaten redhead off the ground.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Marissa was unsteady on her feet. “Like… I… want to kiss you… and give you all my money…”

Kara giggled. “Wow, it’s so cute when I do it to another woman,”


“Watch this. Get on your knees and kiss my foot.”


“Because I want you to, and you want to do what I want.”

Marissa nodded. She was right. She got down on her knees and started kissing the top of Kara’s foot. Kara laughed and put her other foot on the back of Marissa’s neck.

Marissa realized she couldn’t stop kissing. And she wanted to touch herself so badly. She reached between her legs.

“No, no, none of that,” said Kara. Marissa looked up and saw that the pretty brunette was striking a double-biceps pose over her. That sight pushed her to the brink of a touchless orgasm, all over again. She moaned loudly.

Kara helped her up a second time.

“Please have sex with me,” whined Marissa.

Kara laughed. “Go home, girl. Take a shower, masturbate, and sleep it off. E-mail me for another session when you’re back in your right mind. Okay?”

Marissa nodded helplessly. Kara gave her a tender peck on the lips and showed her to the door.

That night, Marissa showered twice and masturbated at least twenty times. She lost count after five or six. At first she couldn’t even remember why she had done the lesson – all she could think was that she had just met a goddess and nothing would ever be the same.

By two in the morning, she was thinking a little more clearly. That fighting style was incredibly effective. Kara was so good could probably kill a man without the drug. She was sure she could kill any heterosexual man if she had it. Maybe some of the gay ones, too - if Marissa had been a man, and Kara had been wearing Goretti, she’d have died fifty times over on those mats.

For some reason that thought sent her hand flying between her legs one last time, plunging into her pussy, fingering herself to a final hard orgasm before she passed out naked on top of her sheets with the lights still on.
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Old 02-Sep-20, 13:40
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Default Re: Project Goretti

That was incredible, mate. I made a simple little suggestion and you completely smacked it out of the park. The idea of Marissa being able to use her body as a weapon to subdue and arouse guys, leaving them utterly vulnerable to Goretti... That works perfectly. As for the emphasis put on the facesit as a means of subduing and arousing an opponent, I am totally on board with that. It is literally my favourite hold for the conclusion of a wrestling match.

Marissa is going to be a lot more dangerous now. I am looking forward to reading about her using some of her new techniques, with that almost dispassionate and analytical introspection that she has.

Thank you so much for creating such a brilliant scenario, introducing us to an utterly fascinating and beautiful girl and then incorporating some of my favourite fantasy moves at the same time. I love it, mate.
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Old 08-Sep-20, 13:14
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Default Re: Project Goretti

I'm looking forward to her another session with Kara
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