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with the title heading "WOWEFA Story Submission"
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. Support WOWEFA.com by joining CelebrityPass.com for only $4.95 
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