He had become a part of her life, though they had never met. She watched his talk show every day and came to feel that she knew him. All the larger did he loom in her life because there were few other men for him to contend with for her consideration. Television was her main contact with the outside world, and she did not even watch much television. She did keep it on, though, while she went through the indoor part of her workout, the weightlifting, the sit-ups with the weights behind her head, the rowing, the stationary bicycling with the machine set at its highest tension, and her karate katas, in short, all the time-consuming, slightly boring exercises that went just a little bit easier if she had something else with which to occupy her mind. Jimmy Snarco did just fine. She planned her workout to coincide with his show, because he was so much better than the other talk show hosts. He did not ask sappy questions of people she had no reason to care about, but instead went constantly for humor, which he was remarkably adept at, which he knew. more [q=quit] He was always in control, always fawned over by the guests, treated like an institution. Very bright, he would conduct the show at one level of intelligence below his own, thus leaving himself leeway to step in at any time and assert himself. No one would dare match wits with him, for defeat was certain. But wit was not his only asset. In sketches he could play a remarkable variety of characters, his dialect skills being formidable. He was a good magician, a fair dancer and even an amateur musician. A natty dresser with an athletic physique that belied his middle years, he was America's very symbol of success and self-confidence. Jimmy did have one tendency that infuriated Babe: He would go away for long periods, take what seemed to her to be incredibly long and incredibly frequent vacations. His absences just made her all the more aware of how dependent she was on him for amusement. She wanted him seven days a week, every week, not three or four days some weeks and none at all in many others. His apparent indifference to the important role he played in the lives of so many people -- his nonchalance about providing a service they craved --- made Babe feel as though Jimmy was thumbing his more [q=quit] nose at her, perhaps even making fun of her. On her island there off the coast of California, Babe was used to having her own way. There were no petty hassles, no inconveniences, no authorities to bow to, no inconsiderate people making noise when she wanted silence. That was why she was there, to have things her own way, to be unaffected by the actions of others. But now Jimmy Snarco had entered her life and disrupted it. Now she hated him and loved him simultaneously. Yet still, he was impervious to it all. That humiliated Babe: that he should play such a major role in her life -- in her thoughts -- yet not even know that she existed. He found out that she existed when he saw her standing there. It had not been hard to discover where he lived, not hard -- for the athletic Babe -- to scale the various walls that usually provided him the privacy he craved. Now she stood near his pool contemplating the man lounging in his robe and reading the Times. He was smaller in person, maybe 5-8, 155. There was a frailness about him she had never noticed before. Maybe it more [q=quit] was just that in person there was greater awareness of his mortality. Mostly, he looked very ordinary. She did not. When he first glanced up and saw her standing there with her arms akimbo staring at him, she looked at first -- to a man of his show-business background -- like something out of an old pirate movie: Bare feet planted widely apart; spectacular long legs bared to her hips, which were covered by what seemed to be a makeshift rag, complete with jagged edges, some cutting well above the top of the legs; her closed fists planted at the narrows of her waist; her midriff tanned and bared; the upper bulges of her, er, uh -- the phrase came to him as it would have on TV --- her upper bulges thrust out forward beyond the lower half of those bulges, constrained as the lower halves were by another flimsy rag. Her shoulders were bare except for the cascading red hair that hung wherever it wanted to. But then he noticed something else. So riveted had his attention been on her that he had lost awareness of her surroundings. When that awareness returned and he was more [q=quit] able to put her appearance in its context, he realized something else about her: She was big, one of the biggest women he had ever seen in his life, maybe 6-2, oh, say, 210 or 220. Her shoulders flaring from her tiny waist were as wide as any man's, and she seemed all the wider because her waist was so narrow. And her arms were not the thin reeds of an actress, but were obviously powerful. He forearms bulged like those of a lumberjack and -- even akimbo like that -- her biceps and triceps made themselves abundantly apparent. And those legs! My God! But he interrupted his own observances. Like most celebrities, Snarco was afraid of "the nuts": terrorists, kidnapers, extortionists, whatever. He reached under his chaise lounge for the button to summon his security people. But he never made it. With two or three lightning strides, Babe reached the lounge, put her foot under the end of it closest to her -- the end at which were his feet -- and lifted . more [q=quit] The lounge did a complete backflip, and Snarco went with it and was lying flat on his face on the ground. When the lounge came down and conked him on the head, his hands went to his noggin, and he instinctively rolled over onto his back, at which point he found the big lady's naked foot planted squarely on his chest, flattening him. She said nothing as his head cleared. Those legs, he thought! My God! "I don't suppose you're a critic?" he said, bombing. "No, huh? Ferdy Goldman sent you to say I've been canceled? I got it: They want to renegotiate, right? Hey, listen, I'm flexible, ya know? We can work this out." "You're coming with me," she said. "Where to?" "My place." "You've got a helluva way to get dates, babe, but I'm booked for today. Ouch!! Hey! All right!! All right! Ease off, willya. That hurts!" She had moved her foot up to his head and pressed his face hard into the concrete. She let him up, now, more [q=quit] "You will be much more than my date," she said. "You will be my court jester, my butler, my maid and my sex object." He looked at her like she was crazy. He backed away from her slowly, his arm outstretched as if warding her off. "Now, look, lady," he said, "Just ... just let's everybody stay calm here. No ... Nobody's gonna hurt you ...." She laughed. "You think you can hurt me?" she asked. She seized him by the lapels with one quick step forward, even as he was contemplating turning and running for his life. "Try," she said. He tried to pry her hands off his robe, but he could not. He brought the edge of one hand down on the crook of her elbow as hard as he could. Nothing. "Now, look," he said ironically, "I don't like to hit a woman, but ..." She laughed again. "But? But what? Mr. Snarco, I am as strong as you are funny. And I am as skilled at the martial arts as you are at television comedy. I have more [q=quit] dedicated my life to the perfection of my body and my skills. The result is what you are experiencing. Your efforts against me are as nothing. I want you, and I'm taking you. Period. Do you understand?" He gulped and nodded. "Good. We are going that way." She pointed toward the fence over which she had come, and she let him go. "Go," she said. He looked at her in mystification. "Ok, ok. Just keep Cool," he said, backing away again, trying to lull her into putting her guard down. Suddenly he broke and ran, not toward the fence, but in the other direction, toward the house. She ran after him and caught up with him so easily that, instead of tackling or grabbing him, she ran around him and stood between him and the house. He started to try to run around her, but she glided sideways, and he saw he could not make it. He tried to run around her the other way, but again she was in front of him. He feinted left and ran right, but she did a complete 360 degree turn and brought her foot into his bread basket. He collapsed, holding his gut. "Your tennis training is fine, Mr. Snarco," she said. "It helps keep you trim and attractive. And I understand more [q=quit] you even lift some weights. Good! But it hardly makes you a match for me. Now, if you do not comply with my wishes, I shall be forced to overcome you physically. There is no escape. And I will not be gentle." He got slowly to his feet, eying her warily. She adopted a karate pose. "Shall we contest at my game, Mr. Snarco," she asked. To Jimmy Snarco the world that lay beyond that wall somehow seemed as frightening as life itself. He felt all would be lost once off these grounds. The wall might as well have had a sign on it: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. But he was a practical man. Hard as it was to admit, even to himself, he knew he was no match for the amazon before him in a fair fight. He stalled as his eyes cast about the yard in search of a weapon. He picked up a lawn chair and held it in front of him, its legs pointing at the lady he feared. He said, "I really don't want to hurt anybody ..." "You had best hope that you don't hurt me, Mr. Snarco, for I would retaliate with great effect." She moved toward him slowly, and he backed away. Suddenly she grabbed a bottom rung of the chair. She more [q=quit] pulled the chair forward but stepped beside it. With her right hand on the chair and her body facing the side of the chair, she reached her left arm around Snarco's body. He held on to the chair with both hands, and she pulled the chair one way and his body the other. Slowly, inexorably, the chair came free of his grip. Now she held it up in the air, out of his grasp as he reached for it like a child reaching for a toy held by a teasing adult. Still she held him with one arm. She tossed the chair away. "Your situation is hopeless, Mr. Snarco. No weapon you can find will allow you to contest with me on equal ground. The task is too great for so small a man as you facing so great a woman as I. We go now." She forced him over to the wall. "Up," she said. Now he clearly had no choice. He began to climb. He could not have made it over without the woman's hand placed under his rump projecting him upward. Once at the top, he decided to run again, thinking she would not see where he was going. But she got to the top of the wall faster than he could have imagined. When she caught him -- after a race through high more [q=quit] brush that slowed the shorter man down far more than Babe, who was in her element--she was, as promised, not gentle. As-she came up behind the running man, she raised her foot and slammed it into his back, pushing him headfirst into the weeds and rocks. As he lay there, she roughly stripped his robe off his back, leaving him lying there in only his swim trunks. In the process of half stripping him, she turned him over onto his back. She bent over and grabbed his hair and forced him to sit halfway up. Straddling him, she slapped his face hard back and forth three times. She still held his hair, and, looking into his eyes, she said simply, "Accept your fate." But deep down she hoped he would not. Not yet, anyway. "It is not so terrible," she said. And, to demonstrate, she put her other hand under his chin, pulled the man to his feet by his head and wrapped her arms around his head and pulled his face into her bosom. She was in no hurry. She held him there, allowing him just barely enough air. He tried to push away from her, more [q=quit] but she simply overpowered him. His hands roamed up and down her sides looking for something, though he didn't really know what. He knew that he did not want to do anything that might anger her further if he could help it. So he would not punch her in the breast or kick her in the crotch, say. No sir, not him. He didn't consider himself stupid, not Jimmy Snarco. Besides, she was not exactly hurting him now. He could think of worse things than having his face smothered in big, round boobs. Felt pretty good, actually. Better and better. She rolled his head around over her mounds. Before long, the stings of her slaps that had shaken his entire body were not even a memory. And the roaming of his hands over the body that was mauling him was no longer in pursuit of an escape. His hands were discovering and enjoying Babe's abundant femininity as much as his face and lips. Babe thought she recognized a subtle change in the nature of Jimmy's activity, and she smiled. She put her hands on his shoulders, pushed him away to arm's length and looked down at his crotch and confirmed her suspicions of his arousal. Now she was more enthusiastic more [q=quit] than ever about her little adventure. She would have been very disappointed if Jimmy Snarco turned out to be beyond his sexual years. But Jimmy was anything but that. Now Jimmy stood in front of Babe frustrated by the sudden, premature discontinuation of their sexual activity. He wanted desperately to move back in on the big, beautiful tease in front of him. She was standing there with her hands on her hips smiling or, was it, sneering at him. He was afraid of what she might do if he tried something. He stood there opening and closing his fists in involuntary releases of energy that accompanied his frustration and indecision. He leaned toward her and started to move in several times. But each start was false. His instinct for survival would assert itself, and he would stop. Babe relaxed in front of him, clearly feeling very superior, clearly aware that she had aroused the ardor of the great Jimmy Snarco, clearly enjoying her ability to shut him off at her whim. Finally his horniness and his male pride overcame his good sense, and he made his move, lunging at Babe with more [q=quit] open arms. She reached under one of those arms, grabbed his shoulder and threw him over her big hip. He flew through the air and landed on his back and bounced. She stood over him now with her foot on his neck. "You wouldn't try to take advantage of me, would you, Mr. Snarco?" she asked. "I must discourage that." She pulled him to his feet by one arm. "I won't! I won't, honest!" he said. But it was too late. She was swinging him in a wide circle by that arm. When she let go, he went whirling, and he slammed into a tree backwards. He sank to his knees, and his head hung down. He saw her feet -- powerfully crushing what lay under them, clearly impervious even to jagged stones and glass. Then he felt her hand in his hair again. She pulled his head until he was looking up into her eyes, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His chin was brushing against the bottom of her crotch. Babe said, "All sexual activity will be initiated by me. Is that understood, Mr. Snarco?" He tried to nod, but it came out more like a gulp. "Good," she said. "And more [q=quit] it will be ended by me and interrupted by me, entirely at my whim, sort of the way your television program is scheduled by you. Is that understood?" He gulped. "Good." She put her hands under his armpits and lifted him to his feet. Her hand went inside his swimming trunk as they stood there facing each other, and she manipulated him, and he made no move...neither to stop her nor to respond in kind. He just stood there, as he knew she wanted him to. With light strokes, she aroused to him another bout of fist opening and closing. Then she hurt him then aroused him again, all as they stood there in the woods facing each other, absolutely alone together. She removed her hand from his crotch, passed her finger under his nose and patted him on the cheek, acknowledging his good behavior, his concession to her. Then she bent over and picked him up by the waist and hoisted him onto her right shoulder. Her right hand resting on his rearend like that, she carried him the rest of the way to her boat, over another wall -- her burden hardly slowing her --- through more thick brush, to a beach. She dumped him into the boat -- lying flat on his more [q=quit] back on the floorboards -- and took a seat herself on one of the rower benches. Her feet draped over him as she began rowing. He lay there. He looked up at her creamy, monumental legs, saw where they met her rump, ran his eyes back down to calves which were discordantly delicate at points. Her thighs, chest and biceps would expand to frightening dimensions on every stroke much, he imagined, like the waves, which were no match for her power. He lay there, feeling that his cowardice rendered him safe. He admired his view as her feet at times played absently with his body. And he thought, they'll never believe this .... Part II The legs mesmerized him. Was it really possible that they were as strong as they looked. No, he thought, nothing is invulnerable -- nothing human. But they sure as hell looked invulnerable. Certainly they were to any human attack. What could you possibly do against them? He looked at his own arms and legs, examined them as more [q=quit] potential weapons, and he laughed. As levers they would be useless against these portable trees. How about as hammers! Suppose he got all of his strength into a punch, no, a kick into one of her most vulnerable spots, say her ankle or the back of a knee? What effect would he have? He wasn't sure. And his questions became muddled in his own mind when his eyes focused on the knee underside he was contemplating. It was smooth and inviting. Altogether feminine. Sexy even. He longed to stroke it. Or the thigh or calf it led to. Or ... His head bounced against the floor as the boat came to a stop. "We're home, tiger," she said. Home? "Get your pretty ass out of there." His humor was reflexive, if not, in this case, particularly adept. "I only show it in the second show," he said. As he sat up in the boat, Babe, who by then was standing in the water next to it, reached into it and wrapped her two large hands around his ankles. She pulled toward her and his torso fell back against the floor, then bounced painfully against the railing, then hung in air upside down, suspended only by the lady's grasp on his more [q=quit] ankles. "I'll decide where you show it," Babe said. And she released one of his ankles now and held him as if he were a fish she had caught and was showing off. At first he thrashed, mainly out of fear of falling on his head. When he realized her grip was secure, though, he calmed down, and she reached her hand under the top of his boxer-like shorts and began denuding him. He began thrashing again and -- weakened by her laughter at his protests physical and verbal -- Babe was forced to lower him to the ground, where she sat on his back and -- having never let go of one ankle -- bent him backwards as she pulled his shorts off. Now she sat there examining his rearend, running her fingers lightly along it and commenting. "Hmmm," she murmured non-committally. "Not bad, I guess. For an old guy. Not bad." He lay face downward into the sand, strumming the ringers of one hand in frustration over the multiple indignities done to his person and ego, propping his face up with the other hand, his elbow providing the support. He felt -- the word came to him -- asinine. Against her superior weight and strength, there was nothing more [q=quit] he could do but wait patiently. Her bare feet weren't all that far from his head, and he thought about tickling her soles, but discretion prevailed, even though she now -- having scooted so far back she was almost sitting on his head -- was running her hands along his back and ribs in a way that wasn't far removed from a tickle, though it really was more like the earlier exploration of his ass. "Not too bad," she said, the emphasis on the middle word. He just waited. But as he did so -- her buttocks surrounding his neck and brushing against the back of his head, her hands running up and down his body -- his thoughts focused on sex, and his crotch began to bulge. This gal -- however big, however rough -- was sure as hell a beauty, and he was, as she had already discovered, still a man. She stood up then, and he wondered what she wanted him to do. To stand would have been to reveal his arousal. "Get up," she said. He did, hoping, though, that his lack of speed gave his penis time to recede. He stood with his hands covering his crotch. "Don't be silly," she said as she stepped into him, grabbed his wrists and spread them out. "I want to see you." She more [q=quit] did. He was now completely revealed to her. The show business term flashed through his mind. So this is what full frontal nudity feels like, he thought as her eyes went up and down his body. Standing a step back, still holding his wrists, head tilted reflectively to one side, her eyes focused on his crotch, she shrugged. He was acceptable. She dropped his hands, and they went again to his crotch. He couldn't help it. Not the way she was staring. "So you still want my body, huh, Mr. Snarco? I can see that. And I don't blame you. Not one bit. It is an extraordinary body, no?" He nodded dumbly. Her hand went to the rag around her chest; she pulled on it quickly, and it came off, and her magnificent breasts were free, and he gulped. They were round and huge and upright and tan, with small, pointed, red nipples. Her other hand went to her waist, and it jerked, and now she was completely nude. Unlike Jimmy, she did not crouch and try to hide herself. She stood proudly erect with her hands on her hips, and she let him feast his eyes, to discover that the redness of her hair was natural. Her muscularity and her nudity, the more [q=quit] femininity of her curves -- from her bulging hips and narrow waist up to her breasts and down to her calves -- and the brazenness of her stance and action fogged his mind. She stepped forward and placed her palms on his nipples, and she caressed him there on his upper chest possessively. "I want you too, Mr. Snarco. You must know that by now," she said. "But I must give you one last chance to re-think the implications of your lust." He was aroused now to an extraordinary degree, a degree that brought back memories; but he just stood there. She put her hands on his neck; both her large palms wrapped him snugly there. With her thumbs pressing, upward gently into the area below his chin and long fingers pushing inward on the back of his neck, she could -- and did -- manipulate his head forward and backward like a ventriloquists dummy. In fear, his hands came up to her wrists. But they did nothing there, just rested, albeit poised. "You must also know by now that I am an unusual woman, Mr. Snarco, not in physique and combat skills alone." She followed his eyes as his head bobbed, and he more [q=quit] stared at hers. When his tongue lolled out of his mouth in pursuit of the barely sufficient amount of air she allowed him, so did hers. Was it mimicry or lust, he wondered. "I take my pleasures in strange ways," she said in an increasingly husky voice. "For example, I have always wondered about the pleasure of the queen bee in killing her mate at the moment of copulation." Her fingers tightened. Snarco thought about the early 7O"s R-rated movie "Girls for Rent," in which a crazed female gangster shoots an inexperienced young lover in the head just at that moment, and for the same motivation as Babe apparently had in mind. And he was frightened. She dropped her hands and stepped back. He breathed a sigh of relief. "You have been warned," she said. "Now I will allow you to run. I will turn my back and give you a five-minute head start, but you may not use the boat. "If you choose to accept this offer, you subject yourself to possible punishment later. If you do not, you are mine now, and we begin." His mind reeled, but he found words. "Begin more [q=quit] what?" "Whatever I want." "I see .... Uh, I don't suppose I could have my shorts back?" "You have five minutes to try whatever you want to try once I turn my back." She stood between the nude television star and his only clothing. "I see," he said, though he wasn't sure he knew what she meant. He was sure he didn't want to test her. "Well, I guess I'll be going." He smiled and backed away from her, waving good-bye. She turned her back on him, folding her arms under her massive chest and presenting him with his first full dorsal nudity view. Her firmly planted, widely-spread legs led his eyes up to buttocks even more firm, upright and beckoning that her breasts. "Fantastic," he thought. "Utterly fantastic. What a fucking waste. I bet I could get this broad some good jobs." Shaking himself back to his predicament, he wondered about attacking her from behind. "Yeah, right, Snarco. Right. STAR FOUND DECAPITATED ON BEACH. Maybe with a weapon, though. What? I don't see any bombs more [q=quit] around." There was the oar of the boat, but that was on the other side of the nude lady, and if she wasn't going to let him have his shorts, well .... But he knew he had to accept the opportunity she presented him to run. For all he knew, it might be his last chance for freedom. Or even for life. And so the rich, famous, naked, middle-aged man ran. He ran for his life, his balls flapping painfully against his legs, his penis flapping about randomly. Now I know why they got jock straps, he thought. He ran hard and long, but it was hopeless. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and his female hunter knew the island too well. When she first spotted him, an hour later -- an hour during which he had seen but been able to avoid jungle cats and snakes of unknown species --- she was way above him on a cliff. She let him know she was there. "You're mine now, Jimmy Snarco," she called. "You belong to Babe." Her voice echoed. Then, like a gazelle, like an animal in its natural habitat, she glided down the hillside, her naked body invigorated, not harmed, by the more [q=quit] bushes and rocks and other obstacles. The naked national idol below ran away from her as she loped at an angle downward, her face lit and made rosy by the chase. Every time he looked back he was amazed by how much she had gained on him. By now he could see her smile. He ran harder, looking for something, anything. Then, suddenly, she was in front of him, not behind. She stood there, her mighty chest heaving, sweat dripping from her brow and down her rippling belly into her crotch. He turned frantically to run another way, through bushes, hoping against hope to lose her. He seemed to be making progress. He couldn't hear her behind him. Then she was in front of him again. He stood now bent over, his hands on his knees supporting his body, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He had given up. She walked up to him and reached into his groin and held him even as he remained bent over before her. "Your ardor seems to have diminished, Mr. Snarco," she said. "Mine has multiplied. Perhaps I can equalize us again." She once more put both her hands on his breasts and, using her fingers in his armpits for leverage, she lifted him up more [q=quit] off the ground, straight above her, still vertical. She walked over to a tree and pushed the man's back against it. Then, lightly, she began to slowly brush his belly and lower abdomen with her lips. Meanwhile, she was raising and lowering him, his crotch brushing against and between her breasts. It wasn't long; before he was hard, though his back was being rubbed raw. She eased him down to his feet. They stood looking at each other. "Now I will show you the kind of punishment you risk when you try to run from me." Instinctively, he started to bolt. But she caught him with her left hand on his right upper arm and turned sideways, so that her right shoulder faced him. Then she pulled violently on his arm toward her. His chest and face came into contact with her shoulder, which she stiffened at just the correct instant. He was jolted back against a tree, breathless. As he started to slide downward, she did the same thing to him again. Then she simply grabbed the overmatched man in headlock. She brought his head down until it was facing directly into more [q=quit] her crotch. He saw the red hair there and his forehead might even have touched it. She held him there, squeezing. When his head was so low in her grasp it was practically between her legs, she brought up the leg on the opposite side of her body from Jimmy's body and placed the soft under part of her upper thigh down on his head. Then she lowered her leg to the ground and let go of her headlock and allowed her leg to twist Jimmy's head until. it was facing up. Now his body was almost horizontal in front of her, his head hidden from view between her upper thighs. She leaned back until her hands touched the ground in back of her head. Her body arched. This caused Jimmy pain, bending his back to a degree than was not normal. She knew that, because she could hear him trying to scream down there between her legs, his sounds muffled by her crotch, into which his face was thrust. She raised one foot and put it in the small of his back and pushed upwards, increasing the angle of his distortion and the intensity of his muffled screams. She kicked him in the more [q=quit] back there a few times, although not too violently. She didn't want to break his back. But they both knew one really swift kick could have. Mainly she just pressed higher and higher until his body was arched more than he had ever thought it could be. Finally she pushed herself up out of her arch and spread her legs enough for his head to fall loose. He hit the ground with a moan and began to toss from side to side in agony, but he was hampered by the fact that his head was still between her feet. She stood and thought about what path to take to her house as he tried to pry himself loose. Then she scooped him up in her arms and carried him away. He was conscious, but gasping for breath and fidgeting, and -- although his head lolled comfortably against her breasts -- he was, she was interested to notice, flaccid again. "Apparently I can turn you on and off at my whim, Mr. Snarco," she said. "I like that about you. We should get along well." They reached the steep side of a hill which rose above them. She had strung a rope down it, via which she regularly descended and ascended. She had never done it more [q=quit] this way before, but she had always been curious to try. She set him down against the hill, directly behind the rope. "You're going for a ride, funny man," she said. He couldn't imagine what she meant. Was she going to try to climb the rope while carrying him on her shoulders or something. Perhaps he could have thought more clearly if his face wasn't almost level with her auburn crotch. "Stand up!", she said, and he complied. Using only her hands, she lifted herself off the ground so that she was hanging from the rope. Then she wrapped her two pythonesque legs around Jimmy's body. "Wait a minute. Now, hold on here," he was saying. "Don't be rash, now." But instantaneously he found himself completely off the around. He was hanging between the lady's legs as -- hand over hand, surely and confidently --- she climbed the rope. She had no need for her legs. Her long biceps bulging more and more, higher and higher they went. And scareder and scareder the man became. If she dropped him -- accidentally or an purpose -- what with the jagged edges and rocks of the hill, not to mention the more [q=quit] height they were reaching, he would at least break his back, probably die. His hands flittered pointlessly about her body, looking at first for freedom, then for a good hold. Up her huge thighs and hips they flitted, to her slim waist and knotted, muscular stomach, and back down her mighty buttocks. "Having a good time, Mr. Snarco?" Babe asked, the effort of the climb showing in her voice. Still, though, she was in complete control. No problem. Higher and higher they went, veins now showing clearly in her biceps. But now his eyes came to rest on the red thatch before him. Slightly open because of the position of her thighs, it was to him -- even in this frightening, painful and preposterous position -- most enticing. After a while -- now more secure in her grip -- he couldn't take his eyes off it. What would she do if he touched it? He wasn't about to find out, But she didn't seem to mind him looking. He continued to, even as the ride became more painful on his ribs and chest and already tortured back. By the end more [q=quit] he was having trouble breathing, but still he looked. Babe reached the top and hauled herself over it with her hands on the ground and the man trailing down below there after her ass. She stood up, and he lay flat on his back, as if he had done all the work. She straddled his chest and stretched her magnificent body to the skies in relaxation. "I feel magnificent," she said, more to those skies than to the man at her feet. She looked down at Snarco. She squatted, and her red mound was now open wider before his eyes than ever before. "I'm going to have you now, little man," she said. "I'm going to ravage you. You have never experienced anything like what I'm going to do you. And, for all you know, you won't live to tell about it. You may fight me if you like. It does not matter. You cannot hurt me enough to anger me." Then, right there, at the edge of that cliff, on Babe's earth, the woman lowered herself to the supine male and manipulated his lusts still more. He could no more resist her attractions then he could her strength. Even as she manipulated his mind and his body, he fought for more [q=quit] all he was worth, still picturing that movie and still hearing Babe's pondering about queen bees. He thrashed and hit and kicked, and she felt more and more magnificent. At the end she did not kill him. Resting on his heaving chest afterwards, she patted his face and said, "Maybe next time we'll join the bees." She stood and turned her back on him and stretched luxuriously and looked around and admired her world. She knew what scenery the prostrate man's eyes were on, and that made her feel all the better. Then, without turning around, she bent over -- revealing her meridian red thatch to him from the rear -- and grabbed one of Jimmy Snarco's ankles and began walking away. She dragged him along the bumpy terrain as he lay defeated, mesmerized, watching her magnificent buttocks bounce. Part III By the time they reached Babe's house, Jimmy was no longer being dragged by his ankle along the ground more [q=quit] behind her. Concluding that the naked man had taken about as much as could be expected for a while, Babe had lifted Jimmy into her arms and carried him most of the way through the brush in a honeymooners' over-the-threshold position. He was not resisting. It beat being dragged, Jimmy thought. There was no pain, and it sure was easy. So he decided to take advantage of the woman's strength. Why fight it, he thought, as he relaxed in her arms, his body sometimes bouncing against her upright breasts, which seemed impervious to his presence. The only problem he had was figuring out where to put his arms. Seeing him fuss about in the Stan Laurel impersonation that came almost reflexively to Jimmy Snarco, she said, "Around my neck, dumbo. It's the only way you"ll feel comfortable." And so they went, the man feeling comfortable only in the physical sense. The wooden house that suddenly appeared to them in a clearing was not huge, but it was a lot larger that any one person living alone would be likely to need, Jimmy thought. Babe effortlessly climbed the short flight of stairs to the porch, then kicked open the front door. more [q=quit] They stood inside the door, and Babe let Jimmy look around. "I hope you like it, pal," she said. Then she carried him into her exercise room, where there were wall pulleys, free weights, a universal gym machine, a rope hanging from the ceiling, mirrors, mats, boxing gloves. She put the man down, adjusting him until his back was against a padded wall. She placed one hand above each of his shoulders and rested her palm against the wall behind him, saying nothing for several moments as his eyes darted back and forth between her placid face and the proud breasts in front of his eyes. He began to become erect there facing the nude woman. Without moving her hands, Babe lowered her lips to Jimmy's, gently kissing him, her tongue entering his mouth at her will, the man letting her lead. She stopped. "You're mine now, Jimmy Snarco," she said. "That's all you are, Babe's man. Everything else you ever were in your life, that doesn't matter any more. Now you are only whatever I want you to be, and I want you to be my maid and handy man. I like a clean house, but have little time for that sort of thing myself. And I more [q=quit] want you to be my court jester; it gets lonely out here, and I know you can make me laugh. And I want you to be my sex object, we have already established your suitability for that." She kissed him again, and he just stood there. "Maybe you can even help me with my workouts." She put one hand on his face and flung him across the room. He stumbled into a matted wall. "Defend yourself," said the naked woman, stalking him. He tried. Foolish and helpless as he felt, he tried. He put up an arm to ward off the approaching mountain of femininity. She grabbed his forearm and held it in one hand as he tried to jerk it and twist it free, Failing that, he brought his other hand into play and tried to pry her fingers off his arm, which was now beginning to throb with the pain of her grip. He grinned foolishly and awkwardly as their eyes met while he was prying. She watched him for a while, then -- still using only her single arm -- she flung the man across the workout room yet again. The jar was greater this time. The naked woman approached again and, without taking her more [q=quit] eyes off his, bent her knees to where she could wrap one of her large hands around the back of one of his thighs. She lifted and his foot came off the floor, and his thigh now rested on her strong palm. With her other hand, she examined the inside of his thigh, jiggling his flesh around as if it were jello. "Flab is particularly unbecoming on an otherwise thin person, don't you agree, Mr. Snarco?" she said, then looked at his face for a reply. He swallowed and nodded. "I thought you might," she said. Then, still examining and jiggling his thigh flesh: "Yes, indeed, we will have to do something about this. I simply will not tolerate slothfulness." As she spoke and examined, the back of her hand would brush against Jimmy's penis, which had not been exactly flaccid in the first place but was now coming to full attention. She said, "Do you like being abused and threatened by a strong woman? Mr, Snarco? Or is it my beauty alone which pleases you?" "Why..." he squeaked and cleared his throat. "Why do you ask?" She laughed and patted his cheek. "Very good," she more [q=quit] said, slightly distracted. "I like that." Still holding his leg off the ground, she brought her free hand down to his penis and ran her long, red-tipped forefinger gently along its shaft. She felt the man shiver. She cupped his testicles and saw his hands open and then close again, tightly. Her hand moved up lightly and slowly along his shaft until her forefinger teased its tip. Jimmy closed his eyes and shuddered and squirmed impotently (so to speak), afraid to wrap his arms around his female dominator as he so desperately wanted to do. Babe watched him with amusement, then felt a tiny dampness on her forefinger. "Well, that ought to provide you a little relief anyway, tiger," she said. Jimmy opened his eyes to see Babe putting her finger in her mouth and licking it as if she had just been to the Colonel's. She winked at him. "However, I think the best thing for you now is to get your mind off sex. A little exercise ought to help." She let his leg drop to the floor and she put a mighty arm around the shoulders of the now passive man and began to show him her prized exercise room. The first thing he noticed was a huge full-length mirror that now displayed more [q=quit] both his and his large companion's bodies in their entirety. He had two thoughts: One, there was a fat chance of him getting his mind off sex if she was going to be parading around like that! And, two, his body certainly looked ridiculous compared to hers in this stark way. "I understand," the possessive lady interrupted his thoughts, "from watching your show that you have your own exercise equipment, Mr. Snarco. Pity you haven't made better use of it. At any rate, I'm sure you know how all of this works. I want you to avail yourself of it in every spare moment. Don't worry too much about precisely which exercises to do and in what amount. Every part of your body needs a great deal of work, so you can't go wrong. I'm going to make a new man out of you, Jimmy Snarco!" She slapped him on his back, then caught him before he could fall. Holding him around the shoulders again, she said, "There is, I suppose, a small possibility that I will one day tire of you and send you back. If that happens, your friends will see a new you, a strapping, healthy, vibrant, muscular man in his prime, rather than the wimp you see before you." She pointed to the mirror. more [q=quit] "If this improvement does not take place, then I simply will not, under any circumstances, allow you to return. I do have certain standards to maintain. If I should tire of you before I deem you fit to return, well, let's not even think about that right now. Now, get to work. I'm going to go watch "The Best Of Jimmy.' When I look in, I want to see you pumping." Then she was gone, and Jimmy, no dummy, was pumping. Within the first half hour, though, Babe was back and toting the TV with her. She set it down, assumed a comfortable position and alternately watched her two Jimmy's as she sipped a lemonade. That night, after Babe had Jimmy apply red polish to her toenails as she sat on the edge of her bed dressed in an incongruous shorty nightie (she liked to play with his head this way, to explore various avenues to arousal for him), Babe and Jimmy slept in the same bed, the lady's long, powerful arm draped over the man's back. Jimmy had thought he would be unable to sleep, given the extraordinary events of the day; but, as it turned out, all the exercise had worn him out and -- even as he lay there contemplating some avenue of escape from this more [q=quit] strange broad and her island --- he fell fast asleep. He slept, in fact, better than he had in months, he was surprised to realize the next morning, when it took him almost a minute of growing consciousness to realize where he was. His first clues were the aches at various parts of his body from the workout and other activities of the day before. He looked around for some clothes and saw none, then wondered if he dared look in Babe's closet and take something from there, say a robe. He decided against it, settling instead for a towel from the washroom. Gingerly, he stepped out into the living room. "Into the gym, sleeping beauty," Babe called when she saw him from the kitchen, where she was eating. "One hour on the weights before breakfast. I've already done that and run 10 miles." "I can hardly move as it is," he moaned. "Not in as good shape as you thought you were, huh? Better make it two hours," Babe said between mouthsful. Jimmy saw little future in protest. He turned and trudged toward the gym. "And take off the silly looking towel. You don't have anything I haven't seen." more [q=quit] Jimmy was not surprised by the command. The towel was on the floor before his bare ass disappeared from Babe's view into the gym. He got to work, fearing what would happen if she came in and saw him loafing. Twenty minutes later she did come in, dressed only in cut-off jeans and a halter, her hair flowing freely behind her in a red cascade. Her feet were bare. She was breathtaking. "I'm going to be hunting most of the day," she said, munching on a banana. ~I've got three things I want you to do. One, clean the house. You'll find the necessary implements in the kitchen. Two, prepare an act. You're providing the entertainment this evening. And it better be good! Three, build some muscles. You see this little gadget here? It counts the number of times this pulley is pulled. I want to see 500 pulls registered by this evening. I don't care if you use your arms or your feet or your nose or whatever. As I say, you need work everyplace. Just do 500." Then she was gone. more [q=quit] PART IV Babe left Jimmy alone in her house all day, unconcerned about the possibility of him escaping. She hoped that her would try. The chase aroused her. Just about anything aroused her. Now, after all these months of loneliness, to have a man on the island -- a man who, however much she made fun of his relatively slight build, had an attractive body; a man who she had in one day reduced from the lofts of national acclaim and great power to fear of her and her mighty body: but mainly just to have a horny man on the island -- that really excited-- her. As for Jimmy, he turned his efforts toward cleaning up the house -- just as she had ordered him to -- immediately upon her departure. It was 20 minutes before he realized that there was nothing chaining him to the house, that the possibility of escape existed. Is she baiting me, he wondered. No matter. He must try. He must not allow himself to think of her as some sort of goddess, more [q=quit] someone who made no mistakes, who was omniscient as to his moves, who could give him any headstart, any advantage and still beat him at any game. She was just a person, he told himself. (He did not think "just a woman".) An avenue of escape seemed to exist, and it would be foolish not to go for it. But when he looked out the door and saw the jungle around him, he began to have second thoughts. He seemed to be surrounded -- physically surrounded -- by uncertainty. What the hell was out there? He had no idea. Would he be forced to live outside for days while seeking escape? If he did find a shore, would he know what to do? Would he be able to see the mainland? What animals were out there! What would she do to him if she caught him? At least back here I know something about what I've got. She wants to fuck a lot; not the worst duty a guy ever had. That body! So inviting, so warm, however powerful. A lot of guys would give their eye teeth to get in the sack with this broad. And without guilt about their wives. After all, I've got no choice. And I'd be warm, and I'd have food. Not such a bad life for awhile, maybe. Maybe she won't get off on beating the bell out of me all the time more [q=quit] if I don't bug her. Maybe ... No! He snapped himself out of it. What the hell are you, Snarco, a prince or a mouse. Get your ass out of here. He left. But he did not run. He had learned already how exhausting it was to try to run in the heavy growth of this island. She was going to be gone all day. What was the point of running? He walked. And walked. And walked. He had no real idea where he was going. The longer he walked the more confused he was about his whereabouts. And hers. Was he getting farther away from her? Or closer? Was she chasing him by now? He tried to think about what he would do or say if she caught him. And about what she would do. He was not terribly worried about what she would say. He kept imagining that she was around each bend. Or behind him. The tension was tiring him more than the exercise, though his body was stiff from the previous day's events. He'd see a shadow and think it was Babe. Before he'd realize it was only a tree trunk, he'd imagine her standing there in front of him with her hands on her hips. What would she look like! A superior smile on her face? A good possibility. Maybe more [q=quit] the best he could hope for. Maybe she'd take it in stride, not be bothered by his escape attempt. Maybe she'd just be turned on. Again. Maybe she'd walk up to him, put her big soft paw on his face and stroke him and say, "So, Mr. Snarco. You want to leave me. And after all we've meant to each other. Now I am a woman scorned." Whoops, thought Snarco, what the hell is happening to this fantasy? It started out much better. Now she just stood in front of him, stroking his face looking into his eyes, looking as if she was hurt. Angry, too. Not knowing what she was going to do was driving him crazy. She turned and began walking, bringing Snarco along by simply resting her hand on the back of his head. They walked along, silently, like a mother with a son whose behavior has disappointed her. She had a sort of this-is-going-to-hurt-me-more-than-you attitude. Snarco pictured the large woman suddenly turning and burying her fist in his stomach. He imagined himself doubling over, his eyes sliding down her bare midriff, over the cut-offs in which he had last seen her, down her massive thighs to her rather strangely delicate ankles and her bare feet. more [q=quit] Then he thought, no, that is not what she would do, not if she was reacting as she first seemed to be. What would she do? Unable to imagine her next step, Jimmy pictured them just continuing to walk. Finally, they came to a pond. "This is the way to safety from me, Mr. Snarco," she said. "If you hate the prospect of life with me so much, you can simply cross it. However, fond of you as I am, I must warn you: There are animals in that pond which you do not know about. That is all I will tell you about them. Now you can enter the pond and take your chances, or you can walk back toward me and accept your punishment for hurting my feelings and come back to my house." She positioned Jimmy between her and the pond, ten feet from each. What the hell was in there? She wouldn't allow him to actually die, would she? Because she feels rejected? Or be maimed? What would she do if he walked toward her! There were no other directions to walk, or run. Impenetrable bushes stood on Jimmy's left and right. He stared first at the pond, then at the magnificent woman, standing there in her insubstantial halter -- a rag really, with a loose end hanging down her side where it more [q=quit] was tied -- and her blue denim cut-offs. And nothing else. My God, what a great, great animal, he thought. He could picture her standing there staring down a horse or a lion, ready to do battle with either. He would bet on her. And he would like to see the action. "I'm waiting, Mr. Snarco." she said. He imagined himself walking toward her and being met with one of those feet whose toenails she had required him to paint red last night. Right in the face probably, before he could move a muscle, probably, for he knew from experience that she was as fast and versatile as she was big and strong. He would fall back on his ass and look up at her, and she would be inscrutable, and he would know that she was not going to make his attempt to come back to her easy. But then she would insist that whatever he was going to do, he better do it fast. And he would get up and walk toward her again. He would walk slowly, on his guard, as if that would do him any good. She would stand there impassively, letting him get closer and closer, giving no clue as to her next response. She would shift on her feet and he would flinch, uncovering his eyes only to find that she more [q=quit] had never attacked him. Sheepishly, he would unwind himself and come toward her again. He would stop a foot in front of her. She would just continue to stare at him. Then she'd knee him in the balls. No. Not her. Not this chick. She'd put her hands on his shirt front and rip it off him. Then he'd be standing there nude from the waist up. Of course, she'd be horny as hell after chasing him down. She put her hands on his pants at the top, her fingers inside the band, and she'd pull him toward her and kiss him full on the mouth. Then she'd back him against a tree and continue kissing him, but now she'd also be burying her fist relentlessly into his belly, because, after all, she knew that just fucking him would not exactly be punishment. She would have her way with him without letting him enjoy it. And he would have lost all reason for being here. Or, maybe, after pushing him into the tree, she'd tie him to it. And leave him there all night. Naked from the waist down, too. Or she'd pick up this big, thick stick and stand there slapping it in the palm of her hand like a cop with a nightstick, And she'd say, "Take your clothes off, Mr. Snarco." And he'd obey, more [q=quit] of course, though it would humiliate the man to strip completely in front of her watchful eye. Then she'd say, "Turn around." And, in shock, his eyes would freeze on that goddamn stick. And she'd snap it even harder into her hand and repeat the command. "I, uh, don't see any orchestra around here," he'd joke lamely, knowing that she sometimes seemed to like his jokes. "Now!" she'd say. And he would turn, trying to keep his eye on the stick at all times. And she'd run the end of the stick lightly up and down the backs of his thighs and buttocks. He might even feel himself becoming slightly erect at that. He might. Good Lord!! What if she noticed that and interpreted it as meaning he would like her to continue on this course!! Maybe she wouldn't notice. Maybe -- maybe -- then she'd raise the stick to his shoulder and rub it suggestively against his neck. "You see, Mr. Snarco,~ she'd say, "maybe, life with me could be a great deal worse than it is." Then she'd flip the stick away and turn him around roughly and say, "You do see that, don't you?" And he'd nod, and then she would hit him with a backhand slap that would send him two-thirds of the way back toward the more [q=quit] pond. When he'd look up, she'd be lying on her back, propped up on her elbows, facing him. She'd say, "But I'm sure you'd also agree that you must suffer some punishment for your insulting behavior. I am much too sensitive to let this pass. Now come lie down between my legs." He'd be shocked by those words. He had been between those legs. It was no safe place for man or beast. She'd let him stand there and look down at her legs, opened for him so invitingly. She'd even flex them for him, one at a time, so that one would be smooth and alluring -- a normally attractive woman's leg, if a bit larger up top than most, proportionally -- and the other would be this pillar, this pile driver, this mountain range of peaks and valleys sharp enough in their relief, to deter any sane explorer. Then, flirtatiously, she would relax that one and exert the other. Then she'd relax both and say, "Of course you may still choose the pond, if you'd prefer. Or you may run; if you think that because I am flat on my back you can get past me. Frankly, Mr. Snarco, I doubt that you could. But if you did, you'd better be sure to run someplace where there are no sticks." Now she was more [q=quit] speaking metaphorically, he knew, for it really didn't much matter. Wherever he might run, she'd catch him and do whatever she wanted. He'd had enough trouble approaching her when he didn't know what was in store for him when he got there. Now that he knew, he was all the more frightened. But it was getting a little bit dark now, and the pond seemed, like the lady, more frightening than ever. So he approached the beautiful woman who lay on her back awaiting him, her long hair falling unimpaired to the ground from her head, raised less than a foot off it. Now he was standing above her, standing actually between her legs. She raised one of her legs off the ground -- slowly, so as not to frighten the chastened man --- gently rubbing her foot suggestively up his thigh, nudging his hands away from his crotch with her toenails, red courtesy of the king of talk shows. He dropped his hands, as he knew she wanted him to, and allowed her to gaze with that superior smile at his crotch as it swelled under the attention of her imperious foot. She lightly slid her foot up his body, up his belly, over the now exuberant penis, lightly playing with his chest hairs, up all the more [q=quit] way to his face, demonstrating agility as yet another of her physical characteristics. At his face, her foot stopped. It rested there, his cheek fitting snugly into her sole. "Maybe this is your chance to attack me, Mr. Snarco," she said, as her other foot started playing up the other side of his body. "You could get that stick you were so afraid of and render me unconscious or lame, then make good your escape." He didn't know what to say. She said, "Try it." "Oh, no really, I don't think I could hit a woman," he said. She smiled. "I would miss you, Mr. Snarco," she said. Then she said, "Try it!" It was a command. He turned to retrieve the stick. He walked back toward the lady on her back. Before he could get close enough to her to strike out, she kicked the stick from his hand. It went flying farther away than it had been when he had retrieved it. And his hand tingled as though it were asleep. "Try again," the recumbent lady commanded. Reminding himself of a dog, the man went to retrieve the stick. ("Man Retrieves Stick!" the comedian mused.) "Perhaps you should attack me from the side, Mr. Snarco," Babe said, as she looked at the rearend of the man as he more [q=quit] fetched. "I promise I will use only my legs to defend. And attack," she said. He came at her from the side slowly. But he said, "Look, I can't really ..." Without pivoting, she had slapped him in the face with her foot as he talked. Now she continued to slap him back and forth. Before long he was doing precisely what he was just about to say he could not do, swinging at her hard with the stick. Now the battle was on, and Babe was in her glory. She slapped his arm away with one foot and brought her other foot -- again, without pivoting on her ass -- around in back of the man's knee. He was rendered off balance. Now, with the foot that had kicked his hand, Babe gave Jimmy a shot in the kidney. He crumpled to his knees next to the woman, the stick still in his hand. His pain and frustration caused in him an anger that made him raise the stick high over his head, intent on bringing it down anywhere he could find an undefended spot on the lady's body. But the lady, watching the man with amusement as she battered him, intercepted his blow with the same foot that had attacked his kidney. His hand went limp, and he almost dropped the stick. Instinctively, he started more [q=quit] nursing his hand with his other hand. She watched him from her back, confident that he could do her no harm. She rested her ankle on his nearest shoulder, so that he was now more or less between her legs again. She waited for him to recover. Then she said, "Another choice for you, Mr. Snarco: Either attack from your position of advantage or hand me the stick." She put out her hand, palm up. And, like a child handing over something that did not belong to him, Jimmy put the stick in her hand. She rubbed the stick lightly against his neck, smiling just as lightly. She said, "That's a good boy. Now remove my shorts." Jimmy could get behind that. As she lay propped up on her elbows, watching him, his hands went to her waist. He hated the fact that his hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly function. His knuckles brushed involuntarily against her rippled abdomen. "Heh, heh," he chuckled badly, "kind of cold out here," he said, as he mopped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. The lady smiled. (Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, Jimmy thought.) As her belly danced with chuckles, he clumsily unzipped the front more [q=quit] of the lady's shorts, finding, as he expected, no clothing underneath, only an invitingly smooth abdomen under the rippling belly and the now familiar thatch of red, red hair. His shivering did not diminish. He scooted backwards to facilitate leverage on the bottom of the lady's shorts, and he began to pull. The lady at first did not raise her buttocks off the ground, preferring to watch Jimmy struggle. He didn't know just how hard he was supposed to pull. But he was concluding that his current level of exertion would not suffice when she obliged him with a brief raising of her ass. He missed his chance, though, and he sat there waiting for another one, like someone who had rung a bell at an apartment house and had failed to open the door upon receiving the return ring. She laughed and lifted again, and he pulled quickly, determined not to fail again, and as he pulled, the lady raised her foot and put it in his chest and pushed. The man fell back on his ass between her legs. She laughed. He got up and began pulling again, knowing he was supposed to. Still, Babe was not going to make it easy for him. She kept her legs wide enough apart that the man had to more [q=quit] struggle for every inch of downward progress. When he had completed his task, the lady said, "Service me". Well, he thought, if this is all she had in mind when she told me to get between her legs, all right! He set about the prescribed task gradually and skillfully. She smiled down at the back of his head, stroking it affectionately with her hand. "I'd not stop under any circumstance, Jimmy, if I may call you that," she said. The words scared him, but he continued. He worried about what was coming next. He felt her slowly wrap her legs around his chest. Nothing so unusual about that, he told himself. She wrapped him more snugly, causing him more worry, but no real pain. "Under any circumstances," she said. Then she snapped. Jimmy felt a crushing pressure on his chest, worse than anything he had ever felt along those lines before, but not as bad as he had expected, not nearly as bad as he knew was possible. But slowly it got worse and worse and worse. He wondered if the more excited he got her, the more danger he was in. What a way to go, he thought. Babe, still propped up on her elbows, looked down with satisfaction at her thighs as they bulged around the man's more [q=quit] body, which seemed to be growing smaller and smaller. Jimmy did not stop. He knew what would happen if he did. Talk about a woman scorned, he thought. Babe, fascinated by the sight of the diminishing man, his naked ass, his tiny waist, his involuntarily bowed head paying her homage, reached a level of arousal she had never known before, contrasting his diminution with her own ongoing physical growth. She wanted to increase and increase that growth and diminish and diminish Jimmy. If he had not been servicing her through this, she would have been doing it herself. To have it all brought her to a violent climax of unparalleled proportions, marred only by the restraint she had to exercise so that the event might someday be repeated, a restraint that was responsible for the survival of Jimmy Snarco. She pushed him away with a barefoot and lay panting, flat on her back. Then she stood up and stretched. It was dark now. She said, "Follow me if you like. If you don't, get off-my island tonight. If you do, bring my shorts with you." He did, trailing after that mighty ass, afraid to let it get out of his sight, fearing this lady might be his only hope for more [q=quit] surviving even this night. And knowing that he had been lucky, that it could have been worse. Then he knew it might be. He heard the approach of a horse in the distance behind him. And he knew he was alone. The End FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 714.840.1145 [RET] 15245-15380, Q)uit: