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Disclaimer: This story is very, very nasty, especially by my standards. It
contains piss, puke, blood, snot, girl-on-girl violence, guy-on-girl violence
and pretty much everything that falls in between. You have been warned.



Who's The Boss? Part 1
by DVDynamo

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this John Hennigan?"

"Sure, this is he."

"Hi, John, this is Stephanie McMahon here. I'm sure you're aware of some of
the....news items....that have been appearing on the internet these past few
weeks...."

"....sure...."

"....Well, there's no easy way to say this, John. You're fired."

"....fired?....why?"

"....Well....we just don't think you're right for the present direction of
the company. In that...you kinda suck."

"What?! How can you--"

"You're pathetic, really. You've shown no improvement in the ring or out,
you've got no charisma, why should we waste any more of OUR money on you?"

"....please, there must some other way of solving this...."

".....beg me."

"What?"

"You heard. BEG me. Plead with me. Tell me how much you want this job...."

"....Please....please Ms. McMahon..."

"Call me mistress."

".....please....mistress.....don't fire me....don't...."

"What would you do to keep this job?"

"Huh?"

"Would you fuck me?"

"....."

"Well? Would you put that big cock of your into my nice, juicy, hairy pussy?
I bet you'd like that, huh, porking my fat, sweaty ass...."

".....oh yes, mistress, I would love to fuck you, love you to ride my cock
with your fat ass...."

"You think I'm FAT?! You fucking asshole."

"What? No, I don't, I don't--"

"I should have my husband break your legs, you loser. My ass is FAR too good
for you."

"No, please, I--"

"Sorry John, you blew your chance. Go rot on the indy circuit, faggot."

"No--"

Click.

Stephanie sighed as she replaced the receiver, the cruel smile still twisting
her pretty features as she felt the buzz of power run through her body. It
had been quite the two months. When her father-her dear, sweet father-had
come to her and put her in charge of thinning out the roster she had scarcely
believed it. All those jobs..those careers...those lives in her hands, just
waiting for her to juggle with them, toy with them until she decided to crush
whichever she chose. God, what fun she had, picking and choosing. The women
were her prime target, of course, particularly those on the road with Hunter.
There were a few untouchables on Raw-Victoria, Trish, that daddy-fucking slut
Lita-and there was Molly, who was fat and ugly anyways. But the rest...they
had to go. Hunter loves big tits-look what she'd done to herself to please
him, after all-so Nidia had to go. It was fun listening to her grovel for
her job, forcing her to describe how much she adored sucking dog cock before
canning her. Then there was Jazz - stubborn bitch wouldn't talk about licking
Steph's asshole, even though it was obvious she was a dyke - and Gail Kim.
Gail had been a hottie. Steph had finger-fucked herself for a good two hours
as the Korean whore spelt out every filthy, depraved thing she wanted to do
to her. But all good things had to come to an end, and she joined the rest of
the skanks sucking promoter's dicks for a two-night gig. Steph shrugged as
she recalled Gail's tears - the dirty little lesbian had it coming, no-one
should be that perverted.

Her study was in darkness, she realised; she shivered a little, her skin
still tingling from the sacking she'd just dished out. She rose from her
plush leather chair, admired her opulent surroundings: mahogany furniture,
thick velvet drapes lying across he expansive bay windows, plush, soft
carpeting underfoot. And opposite her desk, standing next to the doorway,
a gold-edged full-length mirror, perfect for admiring herself in. She
stepped in front of it, smoothing out her bright white business shirt.

Okay, so maybe she had put on a little weight since she and Hunter had
married. Her ass was what you might generously describe as "bulky", sticking
out on either side of her body like a cushion strapped to her back. Her face
had returned to the chubbiness of her early on-screen career, and then some,
giving her the look of a slightly overweight schoolgirl, all rosy cheeks and
a shade of a double chin. Luckily her tits, already grotesquely bloated by
her wholly unnecessary boob jobs, had kept up with the poundage gain,
gathering up excess fat and resembling a pair of over-inflated volleyballs,
stretching the fabric of her otherwise loose-fitting top almost to breaking
point.

She shrugged to herself then grinned, attempting a few sexy poses but failing
miserably. Why should she care? She'd landed herself a big strong man, she
was the heiress to a multimillion-dollar company, and she had a ready supply
of skinny little women to humiliate as an ego-booster. Why did she need to
stay in shape?

*ding dong*

Ugh, the doorbell. It was eight in the evening, who would possibly be
calling at the house at this time? The housekeeper had gone home an hour or
so before. Eh, whoever it was could wait. If they were that desperate they'd
come back tomorrow morning. She sat back down behind her desk, curling her
lank brown hair behind one ear as she began rifling through some more
contracts.

There it was again, three times in a row now. She growled to herself,
scowling. Guess she'd have to go get it. Probably one of her dad's business
associates, looking to finish off some underhanded deal with him. The hallway
was cold and dark, the marble floor chilly under her bare feet. The bell
rang twice more as she approached the big oak double doors. She grunted
indignantly and swung the door open.

"Okay! Okay! Jesus, what is your--"

WHAM!

A black gloved fist caught her square on the nose, sending her sprawling back
into the hall on her back. She spluttered a little hands flying to her face;
her nose was swollen already, blood trickling from one nostril. She whimpered
a little, turning up face the large shadow looming in the doorway.

"Please-what are you..." She pulled herself to her feet, eyes wide with fear.
"I'm not--I don't--"

The figure stepped aside, and to her horror she saw an even bigger figure
lurking behind it. With a guttural bellow the shape charged forward, clubbing
Steph on the point of her jaw with a clothesline. She slammed back into the
wood-panelled wall, sliding down it as the world slipped away from her. The
last thing she remembered was the two giants standing over her, laughing...

* * *

Jesus, her head hurt....

"Oh my God, I had the worst dream, honey..."

Steph squinted against the bright light shining in her eyes. Must be morning.
God, did Hunter pop her on the nose by accident the night before? It felt so
misshapen....

"It wasn't no dream, bitch."

A deep bass voice, female nonetheless. Steph felt her sphincter tighten
with fear as the events of before (How long ago had it been? Minutes?
Hours? Days?) came back to her. Her vision began to come into focus; she
was suddenly, horribly aware that she was in an upright position. She
tried to move her arms, stretched out above her head; they were held in
place, just like her legs. And God, was she cold. The cool air from what
could only be an open window played across her nipples, causing them to
engorge with blood.

Her nipples? Oh my God, she was naked. No, not naked-her granny panties
remained in place around her flabby ass and cunt. She could feel the fabric
against her bush, and uncomfortably wedged up into her butt crack, pressing
onto her asshole. God, that light was bright....

"Who-who are you? Oh Jesus, what are going to do to me?" She called out,
still blinded by the lamp being shone in her face.

"Awww, don't you recognise my voice, princess? Was appearing on your TV show,
week in and week out, that invisible to you? I'm your worst nightmare you fat
fucking slut, and you're about to get a taste of my rage."

The lamp clicked off, replaced almost immediately by soft lighting dotted
around the edge of the room. The room....she was in her study. She looked up
as best she could, saw that she was in handcuffs, hooked onto the chandelier
fixture. Her legs were lashed with a leather rope, tied to a heavy weight.
She beg panting, hyperventilating.

"Look at me, bitch. Look into the eyes of your new owner."

She hardly dare look up, but feared the consequences if she didn't. Her
eyes swept up slowly, taking in strong, black calfs and thighs, clad in
hooker-style knee-high stilettos. The girl was naked, or close to it, her
hairless pussy uncovered. She continued on her visual journey; there were
tits, massive and sweaty, sitting on broad, muscular frame. Her heart sank.
She knew whose face she was out to look into. A single tear rolled down
her cheek, coming to rest against her broken nose.

Shaniqua threw her head back and cackled with glee, her braided hair whipping
around her shoulders, then fixed her former boss in a look of unbridled
malice. Steph tried to shrink away from her, was unable to move. She felt her
asshole loosen with fright.

"Oh God....you...what do you want, I'll give you your job back..."

"Grovelling already? C'mon now honey, show a little backbone. We haven't even
begun yet."

"....Begun?"

That glint in Shaniqua's eyes again. She nudged a large black bag next to her
foot. Steph whimpered a little-there could be nothing good in there.

"You're going to wish you'd never been born, baby."

"Oh no, please..."

Nothing. Shaniqua just stared her down again, never breaking her gaze as she
bent down and pulled out - what was that - some wiring? Steph began crying
softly. They were already attached to something within the bag, she was
certain. Her captor trailed them across the floor toward her, and the
billion-dollar princess strained backward, desperately trying to escape. A
fist to the gut stopped that. She gasped for air, trying to double over but
failing, spittle hanging down from her lips as her mouth moved soundlessly.
Shaniqua just carried on with her work; she clutched four sets of wiring, two
headed by electro pads, two attached to thick metal tubes, each about six
inches long and two inches thick. Steph was too busy trying to breath as the
Amazon stuck each pad over her fat, overstretched nips, each wide plastic
circle not even covering them. She sure had some big teats, something
Shaniqua loved in a victim. She knelt down, looking up at her wheezing
captive and smiling maliciously. She wanted Steph to be fully aware for this
next part. She slapped her hard on her panties-clad pussy and Steph yelped
with shock and pain, looking sharply downward. Shaniqua's grin widened; she
pulled Steph's white cotton undergarment to one side, exposing her box. In
spite of Steph's fear it had begun to weep pussy-juice; her thick, untrimmed
pubic hair glistened with it.

Shaniqua blew gently onto Steph's hair-covered labia, felt Steph shiver
uncontrollably at the sensation.

"You like that, huh?" Steph didn't answer, looking away, ashamed. A stupid
move to make: Shaniqua shoved one of the rods violently into her cunt,
pushing it in right up to the wiring. Steph screamed, fresh tears spilling
down her face. She had no time to contemplate her violation as Shaniqua spun
her like a top, yanking her underwear out of her ass and ramming the second
rod into her puckered anus. Another scream; this time Steph was sobbing
loudly, her back passage torn open, destroyed. Her body shook with each
rasping breath.

Shaniqua crossed back over to her bag of tricks, appraising her handiwork,
feeling her box slicken at the sight of such a flabby, sweaty skank being
toyed with. Steph's pants bulged around the wiring poking inside them,
making her look even more gross. Her make-up streaked face made her look
like some perverse clown.

"Having fun, whore?" Steph just carried on crying. Shaniqua's features
twisted into a nasty sneer. "Well things are about to get funner." She bent
down, slipping her hand inside the bag. Steph glanced at her out of the
corner of her eye, her stare being met by her negress torturer. Shaniqua
winked, and Steph felt her stomach turn over. Steph's eyes widened as she
realised what was coming.

"No, don't--"

Shaniqua's hand turned slightly inside the confines of the bag. Steph's body
whiplashed violently as hundreds of volts surged through her near-naked
body; she spasmed, foaming at the mouth, her back arching, her tits bouncing
crazily, her hair flying to and fro. Her attacker watched her dance and
jiggle amusedly, cranked up the voltage a little, sliding a finger
absentmindedly into her own drooling cunt as Steph began howling in agony.
After a few more seconds of enjoyment the cocoa-skinned goddess flicked the
power off, and Steph hung limp and broken in her restraints. Her tits were
covered in her own spit and drool, and her hair stuck up crazily. Her legs
were slick and wet, and her pants soaked through; she had pissed herself at
least twice. A slight steam rose from her skin, her sweat evaporating from
the electricity surging through her frame.

Shaniqua stood, arms folded, tapping her fingers nonchalantly on her biceps.
Steph's head was still bowed, her huge floppy tits heaving quickly as her
lungs worked overtime.

"Stephanie?" The rich bitch's head rose slowly at the sound of her name,
tongue lolling out of her mouth, eyes glazed. The shock treatment had
obviously taken it out of her. She stared blankly forward, spittle hanging
from her lips. Shaniqua's cruel sneer returned, and she bent down to fish
some more gear from her bag. Steph watched lazily, her mind trying to come
back into focus but numbed by the excruciating pain of what she had just
experienced. Surely it couldn't get any worse....

Oh, but it could. As the statuesque mistress rose back to her full height
the bound fucktoy got a good look at what was clutched in her hand: what
looked like some leather straps, two circles linked by a pull-cord; and
what she recognised as a cat o'nine-tails, nine miniature whips connected
to one handle, each tipped off by a small metal ball. She let out a dull
moan, trying to work her mouth, to form a protestation as Shaniqua
approached her. But her brain was still fried, unable to connect to her
body.

Shaniqua stood, legs splayed, and bent forward, running her tongue
seductively up her captive's cheek, tasting her tears. "Having fun, baby?"
She pressed her taut, muscular body up against the stretched out Steph's,
grabbed a handful of meaty ass cheek, forcing her tongue into her mouth,
deep-kissing her, grinding their pussies together as she did so. Steph
tried to resist, pulling away weakly, but her tormentor's grip was so
strong.

After what seemed like an eternity Shaniqua broke away, licking her full,
painted lips. "You taste cooked, honey. Don't worry, I'm done with the
generator, at least for now."

"....fuck you....*pant*...you fucking dyke...."

The Amazon's brow furrowed with rage; she lunged forward, cracking Steph
between the eyes with a head butt. Stars exploded in the poor girl‘s vision.

"Shut your ugly fucking mouth, slut!" Shaniqua sniffed the air, sucking in
the acrid stench of steaming piss. "You pissed your pants, you know that?"

A smile crept across her whorish face, her bright white teeth gleaming,
framed against her ebony skin. She let her toys drop to the floor, forgotten
for the time being. Quick as a flash she had yanked her plaything from her
perch. She released Steph from her grip as soon as her cuffed wrists had
swung free from their hook. The hefty heifer hit the ground hard, her fat,
dimpled ass making a dull wet smacking sound. Shaniqua towered over her,
looking dwn at her bloodied, hideous features. Time for the fun to
continue...

"God, you stink. You're fucking disgusting. You make me wanna puke, you know
that?" She clutched at her stomach in mock-pain, eyes rolling in exaggerated
lurches. Steph squinted up as her torturer turned away, bent double. What
was she doing....?

Shaniqua whirled, mouth unhinged, spraying chunky, acidic vomit all over
Steph's face and torso. The billion-dollar princess squealed piggishly and
tried pathetically to scramble away, but her new mistress seized her by the
hair, yanking her forward as she unleashed a fresh batch of puke over her
face. Steph felt the disgusting mixture flood into her nostrils, stick in
her hair. She dry-heaved, lurching forward; Shaniqua brought her booted foot
down hard on her cuffed hands, breaking three fingers. Steph threw her head
back and wailed in guttural agony, her hair still entwined in her bully's
grip. Fresh tears tracked their way through the blood, snot and puke
plastered to her cheeks, but she didn't have time to breathe. She was pulled
roughly forward, her shattered septum wedged between Shaniqua's stinky,
unwashed labia. The S&M expert began humping her victim's face, driving
herself wild. Her eyes rolled back involuntarily as she damn near sanded
Steph's features off with her rough cunt, but even in her near-orgasmic state
she could sense something mighty tasty coming. She grinned dreamily as she
felt her bladder give way, sluicing her sick from Steph's face. Steph was
wailing again, a bad move. The golden stream pumping from her mistress' cunt
shot down her throat, and she desparately tried to squirm away.

No such luck. Shaniqua's pussy was now closed to her once again, the Amazon's
face stony and stoic as she grabebd Steph under the armpits and hoisted her
back up onto her hook.Another screech of pain, this time somewhat justified;
Steph's right shoulder had ripped free from its socket. Shaniqua leant
forward and popped it nonchalantly back into its place. The crying did not
stop; the Amazon turned her eyes downards. Suddenly those disgusting panties
had purpose.

She bent down, tearing the garment from Steph's hips with ease. "You pathetic
little whore, you filled up you panties with piss. Well here's what happens
now, you're gonna shut your fucking mouth." She balled the soaking panties up
and shoved them into Steph's mouth, seizing her by the throat, choking her
until her lips parted. Steph was retching, she could see, but that was the
price for insolence. Shaniqua darted back to her bag and retrieved some
masking tape, winding it around Steph's face before she could spit out her
odious gag. Fresh tears sprung to the overweight temptress' eyes; they had
taken on a pleading, begging quality that was causing Shaniqua's sex to
twitch involuntarily.

She yanked the electrodes free from Steph's sweaty carcass forcefully,
causing a muffled yelp of shock from the now-gagged plaything. Next she gave
each oversized breast a hard squeeze, tugging on the reddened, sore nips for
good measure. The time for talking had stopped, at least momentarily. She
locked onto Steph's eyes with a cold-as-ice glare as she went to work,
slipping each circular strip of leather over a tit, the adjoining cord
hanging down between them. Steph's eyes told the story: they were almost
pinned open, filled with abject terror. After brief pause to allow the moment
to sink in, Shaniqua twisted the cord around her fist. With one last stabbing
look of hatred, she pulled with all her might.

Steph's back arched once more, this time from the sheer force being exerted
on her battered torso, the two leather straps pulling insanely tight around
her fun bags. Her choked cries were so loud they could easily be heard
through her stinking mouth-block; her flabby titties were already turning an
ugly shade of purple, her nipples swollen to a good two-and-a-half inches in
diameter, their teats like nickels. The hurt was unbearable, even more so
because she could feel the extreme sensory experience thrumming in her cunt.
She began bucking back and forth, fruitlessly trying to escape her bonds,
ashamed of how her body was gearing up to betray her. Shaniqua just watched,
savouring her misery, slapping her whips half-heartedly over one palm. Time
to go to work.

She lashed out without warning, the nine strands cracking over Steph's giant
purple melons, eliciting an ungodly shriek from behind her gag. Another, and
another, and another. Large welts rose on the surface of the abused organs,
a little too quickly. Sighing, the dungeon-mistress began flicking the
nine-tails downward, the metal ends thwapping off of Steph's mound and
thighs, reddening them immediately. She reaching forward and spun her like a
top, cracking her chunky, saggy buttocks, drawing blood on one. Onto the
back, more criss-crossing lines of pain. Steph's crying had ceased; a low,
gurgling groan of constant agony. Shaniqua had snapped, gone over the edge,
face twisted with malice as she delivered blow after blow to Steph's back,
shoulders, legs, arms, tenderising her entire body.

The doorbell rang.

Shaniqua's arm froze in mid-swing. Steph, still buried under layer upon
layer of torture, barely heard it. But something registered; her head lifted
hopefully, bleary, bloodshot eyes looking to her study door. Please let it be
help....

Her naked bully stalked cautiously, hesitantly out of the room, and Steph's
whole body relaxed, aching insanely from the beating she'd endured. She felt
all her emotions rush out, shaking uncontrollably she burst into tears,
sobbing and mewling. For the love of god, be someone friendly...

"HAHAHAHA....I knew you'd come back..." Her heart sank. That was Shaniqua,
cackling triumphantly. Not a good sign.

"Yeah, she's through here. I've fucked her up pretty bad, but there's plenty
left for you to play with." She breezed back into the room, eyeballing Steph,
turning to address her.

"You think you've had it tough, sweetie? Well look who's come round for his
piece of the pie. I think you know him, he was on that list of names from a
few weeks back...."

And through the door, looming like a monster, came the worst sight of Steph's
life. She suddenly remembered her initial attack, the second person to hit
her. It must have been him.....it must have been...

A-Train's hideous features split open in a macabre grin, clad in nothing but
his wrestling trunks, his tattooing and piercing case at his side.

"I've been wanting to do this for six long years....."

* * *

She hung in her restraints, limp like a dishrag. Her wrists were twisted
painfully above her head. Her hair, straightened in a $400 salon session not
two days previously, sat crazily about her head, frizzy and unkempt, framing
the wreck of her face perfectly. Her face....both eyes were puffed and
swollen from crying, but the left was near-shut. A nasty purple welt was
quickly surfacing beneath it. Her prominent McMahon nose was smashed in the
centre, her nostrils caked with blood. Make-up streaked her cheeks, with
fresh tear tracks running through it. Her jaw looked close to dislocation,
forced open by the disgusting mass of piss-soaked panties and their duct-tape
binding.

Onto the torso. Those magnificent implants, ridiculously enhanced, were now
an ugly maroon due the blood constriction. The nipples, fat and bloated and
absurdly big, stood out like bullets. Red criss-crosses, the lacerations
left by Shaniqua's beating, covered them, stretched out and down across her
paunchy stomach. And beneath that, the thick, matted mess of her untrimmed
bush, split open to reveal the tantalising pinkness within. Steam rose from
Steph's gash, the remnants of its encounter with several hundred volts.

A-Train lifted his head and sniffed the air. The satisfying scent of
free-flowing pussy juice greeted him. He smiled, his cock rock-hard in his
trunks, stiffening that extra little bit as he cast one last glance over his
toy for the night.

"You like what I've done with the place?" Shaniqua sidled up to him, resting
a hand on his ass, her features near-rabid with sexual evil. He turned to her
and grinned.

"Love it."

He stalked across the room, suitcase still slapping against his gargantuan
thigh. One mammoth paw brushed aside the tangled web of hair that obscured
Steph's left ear; dimly, buried deep in her pain, the McMahon heiress heard
the behemoth's voice.

"Get ready, bitch."

She felt her stomach heave horribly as he seized her roughly under the
armpits, yanking her from her hook. Twenty minutes earlier and she would have
fought; now she lolled in his grasp, head rolling to and fro. He stood there
for a few seconds, relishing the power she felt. Shaniqua lingered by the
door, now drooling, lost to her animal lust. She was content to watch. For
now.

With a guttural yell Train launched his beaten burden across the room. Steph
landed flat on her back, sprawled across her writing desk; the sharp crack of
two of her ribs splintering caused her eyes to fly open, and she screamed
deliriously from behind her gag. Train approached slowly, peeling his shorts
down as he did. His thick ten-inch dick sprung free, heavy balls slapping
against his legs as he walked. He stopped before the table, watching his
victim writhe fruitlessly, her hands still bound together. Her fat calves
hung down over the edge of the desk, her legs spread in an ungainly,
unwittingly inviting mode.

He reached down, running his hands up the length of her sweaty legs and
to her waist, pulling her towards him as he pushed forward, bumping his
throbbing cockhead against her moistened slit. She was ready, but he needed
one more thing. He reached up, gripping her distended jaw with one hand and
jerking her face around to look at him. Those eyes, one comically obscured
by her injuries, met his. He sneered, and thrust.

Her back arched involuntarily once again, hands scrabbling above her head,
eyes rolled back into her skull. Her legs had been bent back, beneath the
desk, pinned there by Train's weight; he had sunk his full length deep into
her punished pussy. He held it there, and moved his hands down to round her
throat, choking her. Then he began pumping. Slowly at first, sliding only
one or two inches back out of her torn-open hole. But then quicker, faster,
harder: within a minute he had withdrawn completely, Steph was breathing
rapidly beneath him, her bloody boobs rising and falling, tears streaming
from her eyes. He let her stew on it for a second, his slick member
hesitating just outside her cunt. He slapped her hard across the face,
focussing her attention back on him.

"Can you hear me now?"

And he slammed into her once more, this time not stopping, pulling out and
stabbing in, crushing her thighs with his. He was dimly aware of Shaniqua
appearing behind the desk, mashing Steph's face into her sodden groin,
humping her gagged mouth.

"That's it baby, smother her, fuckin' smother her with your dirty cunt...."
He looked up, locking eyes with his co-conspirator. They grinned.

"You gonna blow inside her, huh baby?" Shaniqua asked throatily, her eyes
darting down to Train's shaft burrowing in and out of Steph's hairy snatch.
They seemed oblivious to the twitching mass of flesh beneath them; Steph's
cuffed hands thrashed from side to side, her tits bleeding freely. Train
grinned, and his pace slowed.

"No. No, not yet. Get off her." He pulled free from her with a dull sucking
sound. Girl-goo flowed out behind him, spattering off of the floor. Shaniqua
pushed forward one last time, jamming Steph's broken nose between her labia
with a grunt, then backed off, her breath catching in her throat. The bloated
bitch had rolled over onto her side, shaking from her ordeal, crying openly.
Her grizzled sobs could faintly be heard; her eyes were squeezed shut, as if
willing her torturers to disappear.

Train stood next to his ebony partner, looking down at their piece of meat.
His prick bounced up and down; Shaniqua instinctively seized it in one hand,
rubbing it gently to keep it ready. A few more seconds quiet, then Train
turned to her.

"Get her gag off. Now."

Shaniqua nodded, sinking to her knees. Steph hadn't heard Train's order, or
if she had she gave no sign. She soon realised, though: Shaniqua tore blindly
at the tape wound around her head, wrenching her bruised, contused neck from
side to side. It came free easily, the adhesive dissolved by sweat and blood.
The Amazon dug three fingers into Steph's stuffed maw, digging the stinking
silk from within her cheeks. It fell to the floor. Steph rolled onto her
front, puking hard, spraying stomach acid and her lunch over Shaniqua's feet.
Train barely waited for the flow to stop before grabbing a handful of hair;
his other hand took ahold of her chin, forcing her head up. With one quick
forward motion his length was lodged down her gullet. He felt her vomit
rushing around his man-meat, dribbling out of her stretched mouth, but he
wouldn't relent. Hell, that was half the fun. Without being asked to,
Shaniqua bounded up onto the table, straddling Steph, grinding her naked poon
into the small of her back. In one hand she held something she'd fetched from
her bag of goodies: a dildo, impossibly long, about eighteen inches and thick
as a soda can. She swivelled in position, her full weight forcing a scream of
abject torture from Steph as the poor girl's broken ribs mashed into her
organs. Shaniqua parted Steph's flabby, saggy ass cheeks with one hand,
lowering her toy to the entrance of her asshole. The one neglected part of
her form. She looked over her shoulder, and nodded to Train. He nodded back.

"Three...."

"....two...."

"....one...."

"NOW!"

Their simultaneous thrusts skewered Steph; ten inches of bone-dry plastic
bore into her anus, ruthlessly rending muscle apart; she screeched and bucked
forward, impaling her throat on Train's smelly cock. She hurled again,
expelling it from her nose when it couldn't force its way from her lips. With
perfect synchronicity the two torturers began their pounding, wringing fresh
wails from their prey with each one. Mercifully, it didn't take long for the
Train to arrive. On his eighth surge into her she felt his nuts tighten
against her chin; Shaniqua froze, looking up at her man, her faux wang sunk
sixteen inches deep into Steph's bloodied butthole.

"Here it comes...." Train threw his head back and roared as he shot his first
fetid load of semen deep into Steph's stomach, holding her head in place. She
wretched one more time, but there was nothing left to bring up; spunk oozed
from her shattered nose and mouth as rope after rope burst from Train's rod.
Finally, sensing his supplies running low, he pulled free savagely, emptying
a mug load over her battered features. When his balls ran dry he dropped her
head carelessly, letting it bounce off the table surface. A handful of brown
hair remained in his clenched fist.

Shaniqua pulled the dildo from Steph's ass slowly, watching the dim light
play off of its shit-smeared surface. Train helped her down from the table
and they watched as Steph struggled onto her back, air rushing into her
lungs. She hadn't the energy or the lung capacity to scream any more. But
things were far from done. Train had to make his finishing touches.

"Hold her in place." He shot a glance at Shaniqua, who nodded meekly and
clamped her strong hands onto Steph's shoulders. It was a pointless
gesture - any fight the billion-dollar princess had possessed had long
since deserted her - but it made Train feel better. He knelt down and
unclasped his case, removing with clinical care four items. Their metallic
surfaces shone dully in the half-light.

Steph opened her eyes slowly-well, as far as she could, at least. Every inch
of her ached. She could feel air whistling up her ravaged asshole. Her pussy
was hanging open listlessly. Vomit and cum clung to her face. Was it over?
No! A blinding p shot through abdomen, more excruciating than she'd ever
experience.

Train leered insanely as his thick piercing needle jabbed through Steph's
engorged nipple. Blood spurted fitfully from the wound as he yanked the tool
free; he let it flow a little, then shoved a bar through it. Onto titty
number two, second verse, same as the first. Steph was gabbling incoherently,
spittle running lines down her stained chin. He stepped back, admiring his
handiwork. A two-inch bar through each nipple. The piercing was done. Onto
phase two. He held his hand out to Shaniqua, who clutched his second
tradesman's tool.

"Gun."

The tattooist's gun felt heavy in his hand; he was more tired than he had
realised. He ignored Steph's grunts and rants of madness as he worked, he
even turned a blind eye to Shaniqua's idle masturbation beside him. It was
amazing willpower.

Within forty minutes, his canvas was painted. Stretched across the slut's
belly were the words "RAPE WHORE" in thick black lettering. Scrawled above
her weeping cunt, accompanied by a helpful arrow pointed downward, was the
word ROTTEN. He allowed himself a half-grin. One more thing. He turned to
his comrade.

"Clippers."

Shaniqua smiled elatedly, looking perversely innocent in her excitement. She
handed him the barber's clippers, and stood back to watch her lover at work.
Within minutes the daughter of the most powerful man in sports entertainment
was bald, or as close to it as she needed to be. Tufts of hair stuck out here
and there, but for the most part her shorn scalp stood out painfully red from
the beneath a thin lyer of stubble. She had done nothing to stop it from
happening. All of her will was gone, trampled beneath the unstoppable assault
against her person.

There was nothing left to do. After snapping a few Polaroids - for memories,
obviously - the twisted twosome departed, leaving their bloodied, beaten husk
of a target curled into a ball on the floor.

After an hour or two, after her hysteria had left her, Steph opened her eyes.
She tried standing, failed miserably. Instead she dragged herself along the
floor with the last of her strength. The mirror was close by.

She saw her demolished visage. She saw her red-raw skull. She saw her
brutally pierced tits. She saw her new tag, screaming out from her belly and
crotch. And she began to weep.

Questions? Thoughts? Suggestions? Flames? Email me at:
wassupwidat@hotmail.com.


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