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September 3, 2006

Wanna Bet?

[full story is 1,393 words]

As she walked into the store I could tell she was in great shape. She wore a halter top and shorts of a bright orange color, which really set off her fantastic tan. As she approached me I watched as her thighs would constrict and relax, constrict and relax with each step. I guess I gawked because she smiled at me and the look in her eyes was a taunting one.

“Where do you keep the blank cassettes?”

“Right this way.”

As I started to show her where they were she said, “oh, stay there I’ll find them myself.”

As she walked away I had the feeling she wanted me to watch her from the rear. What a sight! The ripple of muscle in her buttocks was fantastic; but, the bunching of her calves, which were accented by her high heels, was truly awesome. She got her tapes, came up to the counter and looked around to see if anyone else was in the store. We were alone.

“Are you a betting man?” she asked coyly.

“Well, sometimes, why?” I replied.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll bet I can beat you in and even make you beg me to take these tapes for free. Wanna bet?” (click to read entire story…)


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August 30, 2006

The Aftermath

Author’s Note: This was written for a girlfriend of mine many years ago. She chose the motif for me to write about. All flames should be directed towards her. Alas, I know not where she is.

Her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the monitor’s lights, she awoke. Every inch of her skin was cold, but that was to be expected after ten years in thermo freeze. The room was not as she remembered it. Once shiny metal cabinets were now covered with dust; debris littered the floor. She glanced over at the three other thermo tanks in the room, there lights were out. This meant that her companions had already evacuated or more likely that they were dead.

Slowly, she lifted herself off the bed on which she lay, ducking her head to avoid the glass cover which had protected her for the last ten years. She walked stiffly over to the next tank. Commander Barton’s body was still inside, while her pulse and respiratory indicators showed her to be dead. The other two tanks, which were reserved for the two men of the crew, also contained bodies with no detectable respiration or heartbeat. She was the only surviving member of her squad.

There were nearly a hundred squads of four in isolated control rooms like this. They were separated by several hundred miles. The rational behind this was that when the bombs started to fall at least one-third of the control rooms were expected to survive. After the nuclear winter had eliminated all human life the chosen ones would emerge from suspended animation and start over; at least those who survived would.

Her name was Jessica Martin, an architect, art historian, construction engineer and most important a fertile female. By her acceptance into the Savior’s program, she had agreed to become the mate of one of the members of her squad. He was a loathsome man with a genius level I.Q. This requirement had almost made Jessica reject the program’s offer, but she had wanted to survive the holocaust. It was almost a relief that his life support system had failed. Unfortunately, the only two other members of the Saviors program who could help her were also dead.

(click to read entire story…)


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August 27, 2006

Bonnie’s Battered Boyfriend

I first met Bonnie two years ago in a health club to which we both belonged, and I was immediately struck by her strength, beauty and femininity. An inch taller than my own 5′9″ and with a powerful, muscular, yet shapely body that outweighed my own by a good ten pounds, I was fascinated at the way she could outlift most of the men at the club and struck up a conversation with her. When she invited me to come home with her I accepted eagerly.

However, I soon discovered what she had in mind for me. Quickly changing into sensuous black tights that revealed every muscle and curve of her fantastic body, she challenged me to a friendly wrestling match. Almost drooling at the prospect of physical contact with this gorgeous Amazon, I readily agreed, and before I realized it she had me downstairs on a wrestling mat in her gameroom. We closed, locking hands, and I held my own for a moment or two while she tested my strength, but after that I never had a chance. She was stronger and faster than I and knew every trick in the book. She put me through a dozen holds in as many minutes, maintaining each hold just long enough to ensure that I couldn’t escape and then moving into the next one. She finished me off by getting behind me, wrapping her powerful arms around my chest, pinning my arms to my sides and lifting me completely off the mat in a crushing bear hug that I thought would cave in my ribs until I was completely limp with exhaustion. Then she put me across her shoulders and gave me an airplane spin that left my mind reeling. She finally ended the contest–if you could call it that–by gripping my neck and buttocks and heaving me up over her head, her arms fully extended, to hold me there, seemingly ten feet in the air, my nose inches from the ceiling, while I struggled feebly to escape her grip, and then tossing me on my back, straddling my chest and pinning my shoulders to the mat with her knees.

(click to read entire story…)


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