The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom, etc.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:45:46 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 1 - Little Sandi
~Lines: 156
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 1 - Little Sandi
I was just a kid of seven when my father left me and my mother to fend
for ourselves. I remember Mommy used to cry a lot in those days, and I
hated him for leaving us. Then she met Chuck, and married him. I guess
she thought it would be better than trying to cope on her own, but she
soon learned different. Chuck was into beating up on women, and she was
constantly battered and bruised. She tried to hide her pain from me, but
I knew about it at first hand - Chuck also liked beating up little
girls. He would hold my hand in his, while he smacked my head back and
forward with his other hand. He also used to thrash me with his belt,
especially when he came home drunk. When he was out, I used to creep up
to Mommy and ask her why she didn't throw him out, but she'd cuddle me
and hush me and tell me that one day everything would be all right. And
she'd tell me stories from when she and Daddy were courting, and the
world was young and fresh and lovely.
I was abnormal even as a kid. I simply couldn't swim - I sank like the
stone I'm named for, because I have large, heavy bones, and unusually
dense muscles. When I was a kid, this made me look quite awful - I was
the proverbial ugly duckling. And I think that fed my step-father's
hatred of me; he used to tell me I was too ugly for words, that boys
would never be interested in my wide, thick body. Of course, I believed
him, because when you're a kid, you believe authority figures. But my
Mommy used to kiss me and call me her "Little Sandi" and tell me stories
about handsome princes and beautiful fairies, and what happened when the
lovely princess kissed the ugly frog, and then my step-father would come
home and beat her up again.
One evening, I was huddled in my bed, listening once again to the sound
of my mother crying and screaming, then the horrible silence. I pulled
my pillow over my head to shut out the awful world, but I couldn't stand
it, and I crept down to their bedroom, and listened at the door. He was
telling Mommy how he'd beat me up if she didn't do exactly what he said,
and she was begging him to give her a chance, she'd do anything, only
don't hurt Little Sandi, she's only ten, just a little kid, please don't
hurt Little Sandi. I didn't know what it was all about, but I soon found
out.
Over the next few days, Mommy left the house early in the evening
wearing loads of makeup, a tight sweater and a short skirt, and didn't
get back till the early hours. I was in my room, scared, because I
didn't know where she was or what was going on. Mommy told me she was
out earning a living, but it wasn't like the other kids mommies or
daddies. I hated it, because I hardly ever saw her - she was too tired
in the morning to get me off to school, and she left for work soon after
I got home. One good thing, Chuck used to beat her up less now - I
hardly ever saw blood on her face like I used to. But now the bad news -
he made up for it by hitting me more, and he used to do it in front on
Mommy, which made her cry even more than if he was hitting her.
One day, after he'd used his belt on me, I ran to Mommy to cry in her
arms. She told him he was a rotten bastard for hurting her Little Sandi,
and he called her a filthy whore. She went white, and burst into tears,
and suddenly I understood. That evening, she put me to bed, and I cried
some more, asking her why she did what she did. She said, because she
had to, and I knew that it was because Chuck was threatening to hurt me.
I wished I wasn't there, because then Mommy could get free of Chuck. I
wished I was dead.
Chuck came into my room that night, like he often did, and I hid under
the bedclothes, hoping he wouldn't notice me, or something. He stripped
the blankets off me and flopped down on top of me. I could smell the
awful, sour smell of the beer on his breath, and I tried to curl up
tighter, waiting for the beating. But he grabbed my wrists and pulled
them up over my head, and he got on top of me. I was terrified - I knew
what was coming, and I hated it when he did this. I'd rather have the
beating. I bucked and struggled, trying to throw him off, and I must
have had some effect, because he called me a bitch, and backhanded me
across the mouth. I tasted my own blood, and screamed as loud as I
could, but Mommy was out working, and no-one came. There was only me, me
and this big bad man. He laughed at my fear, and I wriggled free and
jumped out of bed. He grinned as he came towards me, showing his yellow
teeth, and I backed away, sobbing. He cornered me, and spread his arms
wide to stop me escaping. I lowered my head, pushed with my legs against
the wall, and drove forward as hard as I could, sinking my fist into his
big, soft stomach.
I guess he wasn't expecting that, and the pain from the blow, plus the
huge amount of beer sloshing around inside him, made his stomach react
by emptying itself all over the rug. He crouched on his hands and knees,
vomiting again and again, and I started to wonder what would happen when
he recovered. His face was a mask of fear, shock and pain as his
retching continued, and I knew I had to do something quickly, while he
was still weak from being sick. I made a fist out of my right hand,
clenching it as tightly as I could, and then I swung my arm in a big
circle, meeting his temple with the side of my hand.
He went out like a light, falling into the puddle of vomit. I ran out of
the room, and locked him in, and waited in Mommy's bed with the covers
pulled over me until she got back that night. When she got back, I ran
into her arms, and sobbed out my story. She was even more terrified than
I was, probably because she had a better imagination of what might
happen next. We huddled together in that room all night and through the
next day, shivering with fear and anticipation of what Chuck might do to
us. Mommy tried to reassure me, putting her big arms round me and
calling me her "Little Sandi", and telling me she'd look after me, but I
could see how scared she was, and that made me really panicky. Because I
knew, I knew that she couldn't protect me from the dreadful male brute
that lived with us. No-one could.
The day went by with nothing happening, and by the next evening, we were
forced out of the room by thirst. We crept round the house, fearful that
Chuck might be lurking round the next corner, but he'd gone completely.
We never saw him again. But I thought of him often in the following
years, screaming awake in the night in a cold sweat, terrified, fighting
against the blankets as if they were trying to strangle me. And I often
used to ask Mommy, "He won't come back will he? Promise me he won't come
back, he's such a big evil man." And Mommy would hold me in her arms and
rock me, and soothe me, and say "Shh, Little Sandi, don't fret, don't
cry, Mommy's here, Mommy will take care of you."
Mommy stopped whoring, and got herself a job in a supermarket. The pay
wasn't too good, but she got to take breakages home, so at least we ate.
And we had each other, and most importantly, there was no man to knock
us about. Mommy promised me that she'd never, ever get involved with a
man again, and I promised her I'd never, ever forget what had happened.
And I promised her that I'd always be her Little Sandi, and that I loved
her for ever.
For the next few years, nothing much happened in my life, and I was very
glad of it. I was a withdrawn girl at school, not speaking much, not
playing with the other children. I was scared of the teachers, because
they were mostly men, and men scared me, all men, but especially big
men. I knew I was different, because when we changed for gym, everyone
could see how broad and stocky my body was. I hated gym, because all the
kids jeered at my big clumsy body, and I did as little as I could get
away with. My breasts were bigger than the other girls, and children are
very cruel to anyone different. They teased me unmercifully, calling me
Little Sandi like they'd heard Mommy call me. All I wanted was to finish
school so I could get a job in a supermarket, like Mom, and maybe earn
enough to keep a kitten. Meanwhile, I kept myself to myself, hurrying
home each day after school. Sometimes I'd visit the supermarket where
Mom worked, just to say Hi, Mommy, and she'd say "Hi, Little Sandi".
I still had nightmares about my stepfather, and I still used to think a
lot about what happened that night, and all those other nights. Now I
was older, I realised that it was called rape. What kind of disgusting
pervert rapes a ten-year-old girl? The kind that gets put in prison for
a long, long time, that's what. I guess that not a single day went by
without me remembering that night; the scar on my mind was deep. And
sometimes, as I remembered, I had weeping fits, which I tried not to let
Mommy know about, she had enough troubles. All this changed when I was
14, but it changed for the worse.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:46:24 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 2 - The Bullies
~Lines: 214
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 2 - The Bullies
I was walking home one wintry day in the dusky gloom, alone as usual, my
head down against the wind and rain. Suddenly, there were boys round me
"Hey lookee here, it's Little Sandi. Give us a feel." "Go away, go
away", I sobbed. But they crowded round me, pushing my books onto the
wet ground, and jostling me. "Leave me alone, I just want to go home".
But one of them pushed me towards another one, who pushed me back, and
they continued this game until I tripped over my books and stumbled to
the ground. Then they laughed and ran away, leaving me to pick myself up
and get myself sorted out.
When Mom got home, she asked me what the matter was, but I figured she
had enough problems, so I told her I tripped on the way home. She washed
the blood off my grazed hands, and put a bandage on, made me hot soup,
and told me that everything would be all right. But I knew it wasn't.
They were waiting for me next night, and the night after that. Life
became a misery - I was afraid to walk home alone, but I had no friends.
I tried to tag along with a grown-up when I could, but that only worked
part of the way, and they still ambushed me some nights and pushed me
around. When I could, I ran away, and in my desperation I could
sometimes outdistance them. But not always, and when they did catch me,
I was exhausted from running, and easy meat. And they weren't just
bullying me, they were also trying to get their hands on my breasts,
which were bigger than the other girls. I thought of telling Mom, but I
knew that wouldn't help, it would just get her worried, and me into more
trouble.
I started staying late at school, hoping that the boys would have gotten
fed up waiting for me, and that worked sometimes. I told Mom I was doing
extra studying, which was a plausible excuse, since I was bottom of the
class at just about everything, because nothing seemed worth the
trouble. Actually I was just sitting at a desk, crying, wishing I didn't
have to live this way, wishing there was some way to make those horrid
boys stop torturing me, wishing I could get my own back on them. And
thinking about my step-father. I thought about him a lot, as it got
darker outside.
They generally turned the lights out at seven in the evening, but one
evening, I noticed the lights were on in the school gym, and since light
is nicer than dark, I walked in to sit there instead. But it wasn't
empty; Marisia, the girls gym teacher was there, huffing and puffing
away at some weights. I turned to go - I hated gym because of the way
the kids teased me, so I didn't have any time for Marisia. But she saw
me, and called me to come in. She asked me what I was doing there at
that time of night, and I realised that I couldn't get away with the
story about extra studying, so I thought fast, and told her I was
worried about my figure, and wondered if she could advise me on how to
get slim like the other girls.
She put down the weight she was lifting, and looked at me, frowning. I
started to think that she hadn't bought my story, when she said "Let's
have a good look at you, Sandi. Strip down to your bra and panties." I
could hardly refuse, given the story I'd just told her, so I reluctantly
bared my ugly duckling body. "Put your hands over your head", she said,
so I had to stop trying to cover myself up, and stretched out. She
walked up to me, and pressed my belly, felt my thighs and arms. "You're
not really fat, Sandi. Maybe a little puppy-fat, but mostly you're just
built big for your height. What would do you good, would be to tone up
those muscles, maybe lose a few pounds." I explained that I really
couldn't do that sort of thing in front of the others, because of the
way they laughed at me. "Yes, children are very cruel, aren't they.
Look, tomorrow, you come by here after classes are over, fetch your gym
kit, and I'll show you how to get started."
Well, what did I have to lose, apart from several pounds of fat? Going
home that evening, I was pounced on and jostled again, and they left me
lying in the mud, with my bra round my ankles. Boys ought to be
strangled at birth, I think. Next day, I brought my gym things, and
Marisia started showing me how to work out. We started with the two-arm
curl. She put 25 pounds on the bar, but I did ten of those with no
effort. She kept increasing it - apparently, you have to find the level
where you can just about do ten repetitions, or reps. When we got to 50,
she started looking surprised, and we found that I could just about
manage 70 pounds. She told me that she could only just manage that
herself, and she was a full-grown woman who had been training for years.
Apparently, if you keep lifting a weight, it gradually gets easier, and
you have to add more to the bar to maintain the feeling of resistance.
Then we tried the bench, and I could handle 110. At the military press,
I could just manage 90, but my one-arm curls were a pathetic 25 pounds
each.
Marisia told me that this was a remarkable set of numbers for an
untrained 14-year-old girl, and that I should be proud of myself. Since
I wasn't any good at anything else, I felt a warm glow inside. Apart
from Mom, this was the first time anyone had told me I was any good at
anything. Well, if that's what I'm going to be good at, let's see how
good I can be.
Over the next few months, I worked hard. Not at classes, but every
evening after class, I pumped iron. Marisia showed me how to maintain
form, spotted for me, and encouraged me to the extra reps. And I spotted
for her - we became training partners. By the time spring came, I felt
stronger and more confident, and I mostly avoided the gang of boys that
was making my life such a misery. But one day, they changed tactics, and
ambushed me on the way to school in the morning. When I got in, I was
muddy and dishevelled, and decided to go to the gym for a quick shower
before I started classes. Marisia was there, saw me, and asked what had
happened. I sank down into a crumpled heap on the floor and started
crying. She got down next to me, put an arm round me, and gave me a hug.
I think she was the first person to do that, apart from Mom. So, between
sobs, I told her what had happened, and explained that I had thought I
was safe in the morning, but if they were hitting on me then as well, I
really didn't know how I was going to deal with it.
"Sandi, who are the boys?". I kept silent, I knew that if I told on
them, they'd make my life even more miserable in retaliation. "Sandi,
how old are they, how many of them". They were the same age as me, and
the number varied from three to six. "Sandi, you don't have to put up
with this, you know." Marisia explained that, since I was now curling 85
pounds for ten reps, and squatting 200, I was a lot stronger than any
14-year-old boy could possibly be. Boys don't get their puberty growth
spurt until long after girls do, and when you added my intrinsic muscle
density and hardness, plus the months I'd spent training, it really
shouldn't be possible for a boy to push me around unless I let them. I
stopped crying, and listened to her - what she was saying made sense. I
knew, from watching the boys on the equipment, that they couldn't lift
nearly as much as me, but I hadn't put that into the context of my
tormentor's bullying. "But girls don't fight", I protested, and I have
to say, it sounded like a pretty feeble excuse even as I said it. Why on
earth not?
Marisia got some boxing gloves on me, and I practiced punching a bag. At
first, I hit it like most girls would hit, flailing overarm, but Marisia
coached me, and got me to drop my inhibitions against punching as hard
as I could. Soon, I was hitting the punch bag like my life depended on
it, and I began to think about Chuck as I punched away until my arms
turned to rubber.
Each evening, Marisia had me lifting weights; curl, lat extension,
triceps curl, bench press, leg press. And when I'd exhausted myself on
the iron, she had me hammer away at the punch bag until I couldn't punch
any more. After a while, we discarded the boxing gloves - I wouldn't be
wearing them in the real world. Instead, I wore a pair of soft leather
gloves, which I could wear every day. I noticed that my hands were
hardening up; the palms and fingers getting callused from working the
iron, and my knuckles and fists were getting really hard from all the
punching.
One fine evening, I was walking home admiring the sunset, and I realised
that three boys were blocking my path. I thought of running, which had
worked in the past, but then I clenched my fists, and thought "No, I'm
stronger than they are, and I know how to punch. No more running. Here
I stand, here I fight." So I walked on towards them, trying not to show
my fear. They spread out as I approached, one in front of me, and one to
either side. I knew this tactic; the one in front would grab my blouse
while the other two pushed me back and forth between them. So I stopped
walking just before I reached them, dropped my books, and stood with my
hands on my hips, legs apart. "Okay, limpdicks, here I am." They looked
a bit confused at first, and I thought that maybe this show of bravery
would make them back down. But no; maybe if I'd been a boy they would
have thought twice about it, but I was only a girl, nothing to be
worried about.
The boy in front of me put his hand on my blouse, as expected. But
instead of trying to protect my breasts, as he expected, I stepped
forward, swinging my arm up from the waist and plunged my gloved fist
into his belly. He immediately collapsed down onto his knees, then
doubled up in pain. I took a couple of steps back, and turned to my
left, bringing my right arm round in a long hook that ended on the boy's
cheek. He also went down right away, spitting blood from his cut mouth
where I'd bashed his cheek against his teeth. By that time, the third
boy had his arms round me from behind, but I stamped down on his foot,
and he released me. I turned towards him, stepped back to give myself
some space, and drove my left fist as hard into his gut as I could. I
could hear the air leaving his lungs, and he folded himself up into a
small ball of pain.
I couldn't believe it. Three punches was all it took! These bullies had
been tormenting me for months, and now they'd got their just desserts.
And it wasn't even a proper fight - I'd seen boys fighting before, and
they traded insults and punches for ages before one of them gave up.
These boys had just turned to mush with one punch, it was like I'd
pricked a balloon. I scooped up my books, and almost skipped home. Mom
asked me what I was so pleased about, and I told her I'd just passed an
important physical exam.
Next day, I couldn't wait to tell Marisia about it, but when I did, she
threw cold water over me immediately. "It isn't finished", she warned
me. "Boys can't stand having their egos bruised. They'll convince
themselves that they must have slipped or something, and they'll come at
you again, and this time they'll want blood." I didn't care. I knew I
could handle any boy my age, and make them give up with just a single
punch. But all the same, I increased the time I was spending on lifting
weights, and I started doing sit-ups, to strengthen my abdomen. I didn't
want a belly that would squish as soon as someone punched it, like those
boys. I also practiced punching with the fast-ball, as well as long
periods on the punch-bag, to make my punching power greater.
Sure enough, they left me alone after that. I saw them around sometimes,
but they avoided my eyes, and I laughed at them. I was also less shy at
gym class now, because I knew that my body was one to be proud of, not
ashamed of. If a boy made fun of my big arms, I would take his hand in
mine and squeeze until the pain made the tears come to his eyes. I liked
the sight of a boy crying, especially when I knew it was my greater
strength that caused it. And when Jimmy Riverside was rude about my
legs, saying that they looked like tree trunks, I pushed him to the
ground, and wrapped my legs round his waist, and squeezed as hard as I
could. When I stood up, he didn't, he just lay there trying to get his
breath back, his eyes wet with tears. No-one made fun of my big thick
legs after that.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:47:38 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 3 - The Rape
~Lines: 155
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 3 - The Rape
One evening, in late summer, I was walking home with Sarah Courtney as
the sun was setting. I was explaining to her that she didn't have to do
what boys wanted; if she made herself strong like me, she could call the
shots. But as we walked, I saw that a reception committee was waiting
for us. I told Sarah to run back the way we'd come, and to go home - I'd
handle these boys. I was actually a bit worried about whether I could
deal with six, but the other three had gone down so easily, I couldn't
believe that six would be that much harder.
I was wrong. I'd had the advantage of surprise last time, and this time
they were wary of me. Also, as I discovered, 6 to 1 odds is a *lot*
worse than 3 to 1. If you take one out immediately, 3-1 comes down to 2-
1, but 6-1 only comes down to 5-1. Just before I reached them, I put
down my books, stood with my back to a wall so they couldn't get behind
me, and waited. While I waited, I tried psyching them out a bit. "Hey,
limpdick, last time you tackled a girl you got hurt - want some more?" A
couple of them looked a bit nervous, so I pushed up my sleeves and
showed them my big muscles; my arms were 13 inches of power, and you
could see my biceps bulging. They were encouraging each other, egging
themselves on "Come on, she's just a girl". So I encouraged them a bit
more. "First one to get near me, finds out what it's like to be hit with
a sledgehammer." They made a semi-circle round me, each one reluctant to
be the first to get within range of my fists. I pulled up my skirt and
showed them my big thick thighs. "Remember what happened to Jimmy
Riverside? Who wants to be the first between my legs? Come on, Heroes,
surely you all want to get between a girl's legs."
Billy Downs came a bit too close, not close enough to punch, but Marisia
had also showed me a bit of kick-boxing, and my foot flew up and out,
impacting on his head like a hammer on a watermelon. He went down like a
sack of flour. Scratch one. "Who's next?", I said brightly. "Plenty more
where that came from." After that, they backed off a few feet, and I
wondered how this was going to end. And then Spencer Clive, damn him,
said "All together, and anyone holds back is a soft sissy coward." I got
one of them with another good kick, and I felt a nose squish under my
right fist, but then they were all over me, and they dragged me down to
the ground, one holding each arm, one on each leg, and Spencer punching
my belly until even my hardened abdominals couldn't take it any more.
"Please, no", I begged, as the pain ripped through my body. They held me
spread-eagled, punching and kicking me, even Billy Downs got his revenge
on me. After they'd battered me until there was no fight left in me,
they ripped off my clothes, and raped me.
Rape isn't a sexual act, it's an act of torture and humiliation. They
weren't trying to get their pleasure, they were trying to hurt and
subjugate me. I closed my eyes, wishing I were dead, as the various
parts of my body were ripped and torn, twisted and punched. After an
eternity, I lost consciousness.
I woke up, alone, and flat on my back. Everything hurt, especially from
my belly on down. It hurt to move my arms, it hurt to move my legs. I
just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But then I thought of my step-
father, and I wasn't going to give in, not yet. It took a major effort
to get onto my hands and knees, and then with the aid of the wall, I
managed to stand up. Nothing was broken, or I wouldn't have been able to
hobble slowly home.
Mom took one look at me, and screamed. She wanted to know what had
happened, and I was too broken to make up some story, so I told her the
truth. "Mom, I was raped by six boys." She held me very gently, and
cuddled me, and called me her "Little Sandi" and rocked me in her arms.
Then she helped me have a hot bath, and put me to bed. I slept for a
long time, and when I woke up, a lady cop was waiting by my bed. She
asked me how I felt. "Terrible", but I managed a grin. The doctor had
confirmed that nothing was broken, but confined me to bed for a week.
The lady cop wanted to know if I'd recognized any of my attackers. I'd
thought about this. If I accused them of rape, it would be my word
against the six of them. I'd get accused of leading them on, and of
dressing provocatively (well, what sort of dress would you wear in late
summer?), and the whole thing would be an ordeal that I could well do
without. Plus, I had a few ideas of my own for justice. So, I said I
hadn't a clue who they might be, and anyway it was dark, plus they'd
bushwhacked me from behind. The cops didn't take much convincing - I
think they were under the impression that when a boy rapes a girl, it's
just an expression of high spirits.
Marisia came and visited me, and told me I'd heal fine. Sarah Courtney
didn't visit, well to hell with her. After a week in bed, and a week
wandering around the house, I felt a lot better. I still had some bad
bruises, but they were healing fast. And when Mom asked me what I wanted
for my fifteenth birthday, I knew exactly what to ask for. Down at the
sports shop, there was a set of weights made of plastic, which you were
supposed to fill with water. They were real cheap, but seemed sturdy
enough, and I got Mom to buy me $50 worth of cheap, shoddy, hollow
plastic weights. If you filled them with water, you'd get a total of 50
pounds, which might be enough for some beginner weakdick man, but not
for me. I filled them with heavy sand, and then poured water in to
maximize the mass. I used Mom's kitchen scales to get the weights right,
and using this combination, I got myself a set of weights that went all
the way up to 200 pounds.
I cleaned out the basement of our house, and put it all down there. I
also scrounged an old fake leather sofa, and by ripping off the cover,
and sewing it into a long bag filled with sand, I made myself a punchbag
to hang from the ceiling. I cut out a picture of a man's face from a
magazine, and glued it to the punchbag. Extra incentive.
Now I could work out any time I liked. I spent a couple of hours each
evening at the school gym, and the rest of the evening in my home-made
gym. I spent most of the weekend chinning, pumping iron, doing crunches,
and punching, punching, punching. Punching is the key, I was convinced.
After my initial success in downing those three boys with my fists, I
wanted to have a punch like a sledgehammer. I wanted to be able to down
a man with one punch. In fact, I wanted to be able to punch so hard that
I'd have to pull my punches to make a fight last longer. I had more in
mind for Spencer than a one-punch fight.
I concentrated mostly on my upper body strength. I didn't neglect my
legs, but since a girls legs are naturally stronger than her arms, I
aimed at developing my biceps, triceps and deltoids. Mom used to come
and watch me lift sometimes, and she used to tell me, "Well, you won't
have to worry about men beating you up, will you." Indeed not, but I
wanted more. I wanted to be able to use my big, hard muscles to hurt
them, to make up for all the universe of pain that Mom and I had
suffered.
I knew what I wanted. When I could curl 110 pounds, I decided I was
ready; my bench lift was up to 180, and I could squat 250. Very few of
the boys in my year could bench 100, and although I wore the regulation
school uniform, I made sure that I left my arms and shoulders bare
whenever I could. I also made no secret of my weightlifting ability. At
the Christmas party that year, one of the senior boys challenged me to
an arm-wrestling contest, with the prize being that the loser had to
remove an article of clothing. Even though he was seventeen and one of
the jocks, I accepted his challenge. We sat down, facing each other,
clasping hands, and someone said go.
He pushed real hard, but I held him in place. I let him push for a
while, so he could see that he wasn't going anywhere, and then I clamped
down on his hand, gradually increasing my grip. I didn't push, I just
squeezed, and crushed, and the strength left his arm as the pain
mounted. I enjoyed the sensation of my muscles causing him so much pain
that his hand felt as limp as a wet fish, and then I ground his soft
hand in mine. I could feel the little bones in his hand sliding under by
grip, and I twisted slightly to increase the pain. He screamed, stood
up, and tried to pull away. I let him go, and smiled up at him.
"Underpants", I said, softly. And as he took them off, I casually
reached out and gave his erect genitals a firm, hard squeeze. He spurted
immediately, and I learned that some men find being dominated by a big
strong girl, immensely erotic.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:49:07 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 4 - Rib Crusher
~Lines: 171
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 4 - Rib Crusher
At the prom, no-one asked me to dance. Well, I didn't mind, I had plans.
I asked Spencer Clive, the boy who'd led the rape, and he was too
surprised to refuse. He led me out onto the dance floor, and I whirled
into his arms. He put his arms round my shoulders, and I put my arms
under his, and round his waist. I linked my hands behind him, and as he
started to move to the music, I squeezed, hard. He looked surprised; my
big breasts squashed against his chest, and I moved my grip to cinch his
waist harder. I tucked my right wrist behind my left forearm, and then
flexed my left elbow, using the leverage of my left arm to tighten the
circle of my arms around his waist. Marisia taught me this one, and it's
a killer. The leverage is tremendous, far greater than you could get
with just a bear-hug. My arms round his waist stopped him from breathing
in, and each time he tried to get some slack by breathing out, I took it
up by pulling my left arm towards me, which tightened the grip even
more. It's just like a nut-cracker.
The result was inevitable. Without air, he soon stopped struggling, and
his body relaxed in my grasp. He was semi-conscious, and at my mercy.
Mercy? What mercy? The same mercy he showed a 14-year-old girl when he
and five friends raped her. I loosened my grip a little and turned him
to face away from me, so his soft belly was under my powerful arms. He
sagged down towards the floor, and his lowest pair of ribs slid under my
arms. I tucked my right wrist under my left elbow, and used my left arm
like the lever of a nutcracker, except that it was his ribs that were
being cracked, not his nuts. I levered my arm until I felt the rib
crack.
No-one at the dance could see what was happening. As far as they were
concerned, we were dancing, my front to his back. I moved him about a
bit, to maintain appearances, and let him slide down a few inches, until
I could feel the next pair of ribs. I slackened off to get my nutcracker
over them, and while I did, I could feel him stirring in my arms - he
was regaining consciousness. Excellent; I realized it would be much
better if he knew what was going on. When he was aware of his
surroundings a bit, I levered my left arm again, and the agony shot
through his body, as his ribs came under intense pressure. I kept the
pressure up, slacking it off a bit if his head sagged too much, and
levering my rib-cracker when he showed signs of too much life. After
several minutes, I must have exerted too much tension, because I felt
that pair of ribs bend, and then give under my arms.
Never mind, I thought. There's lots more yet, and I let him slide down a
few more inches. Then the dance ended, and everyone was looking at us,
so I turned him round to face me, and kissed him. Why would I want to
kiss this shit? Because it was me kissing him, not the other way round.
My arms round his body caused so much pain to his broken ribs that he
was in no condition to resist my dominating kiss. He had no choice in
the matter, and my arms were causing him such a lot of distress that I
got a lot of pleasure out of that kiss.
Soon, the music started up again, and I was able to turn him round
again, and slowly, in time to the music, we swayed back and forth. His
head was slumped forward, his eyes were closed. Agony looks just like
bliss; even the mouth-set is the same. And, as we swayed, I slowly
tightened my rib-cracker again.
We spent an hour of pure delight. Well, I was having fun, he was in the
most horrible pain of his life. He couldn't even breathe unless I let
him. I don't think I broke all his ribs, but I broke enough of them to
make me happy. Then the last dance started, you know? A slow waltz. I
turned him to face me again, and I kissed him gently as I ground his
broken ribs against my body. I gradually moved us towards the door, and
as we got there, I put my arm round his waist, and walked him out into
the bright, romantic moonlight. I sat him down against a tree, and knelt
next to him, like a courting couple. He tried to fall over, but I
propped him up. There were a couple more things I needed to do.
What I needed to do now, was to make sure that he wouldn't try for a re-
match. I wanted him permanently out of the action, and I knew how to do
it. Boys fight with their arms, and what I needed to do, was to
permanently weaken his arms. I'd read this up in the anatomy books, and
I pretty much knew what to do. With so many broken ribs, he was in no
state to resist me, as I rolled him over on his front, and sat on his
back. From a distance, we must have looked like several other courting
couples on the grass. I didn't want him making too much noise, so I
stuffed my panties in his mouth. He was making choking, coughing noises
as I sat on his back, and reached down to his right arm. I rotated it so
that his elbow pointed upwards, and put my left hand on his elbow to
stop it from bending and gripped his wrist with my right. Holding his
arm like that, I raised it, with the arm held straight, directly
upwards. After several inches, I could feel the tension of his shoulder
tendons reaching their limits. Now the hard work started. I used the
leverage of his long arm to pull against the increasing resistance of
his shoulder tendons. As I raised his arm, it got harder and harder to
lift, but I could curl 110 pounds with these arms of mine. I gripped his
wrist in both my hands, and pulled harder and harder, gradually raising
the arms against the shoulder tendons. Suddenly, it became a lot easier,
and I was able to pull his arm right up, so it was standing vertical.
When I let go of it, it flapped loosely down, and next time I raised it,
there was almost no resistance. Dislocations are easy to fix, broken
bones can heal, but once ligaments and tendons have been torn out of
their attachments, repair is difficult or impossible.
I rolled Spencer onto his back again, and explained what I'd done. I lay
next to him on the soft grass, and whispered to him, telling him that
all I'd used were my strong arms, and I'd torn up his soft, weak body so
easily. He stared at me, terrified, my panties still in his mouth. His
right arm was useless, and if he tried to move his left, all his broken
ribs shrieked with agony. But I didn't want any future trouble from him,
so it was time to make him totally submissive. I pushed one of my legs
under his helpless body, and rested the other one on his waist. Then I
helped him sit up so that he could see what was going on. He understood
immediately. If my arms could turn his body to mush, what could my legs
do? I told him that if I ever had any trouble from him, any problems
whatsoever, he'd find out what my big, hard thighs could do to his
fragile, delicate body. He nodded that he understood. I retrieved my
panties from his mouth, and asked him to confirm that he understood. He
was crying, weeping like a baby. "Please, Sandi, don't hurt me any more,
I can't take any more." I remembered a 14-year-old girl saying much the
same thing to him, and was tempted to give him the same reply she'd been
given. But instead, I rolled on top of him, and gave him a full-mouth
kiss. I held the kiss until he passed out again, from the combination of
pain and lack of air, and rolled off him. I was disgusted to see the wet
patch on the front of his trousers.
It was the best Christmas present I could have had. I began to
understand what I wanted out of life. I loved the feeling of total
dominance as I broke up the rapist's body using just my powerful
muscles, and I wanted more. I loved it when he begged me not to hurt him
any more, I wanted to hear that again and again. I loved seeing his
blood, and listening to him cry. I thought about the other five boys who
had raped me, and about all the other boys who were mean to the girls at
school. I wanted more strength, more muscle so I could handle bigger
boys, even men. I wanted a punch that could break ribs, arms to crush
with, and legs to terrify them into sobbing submission.
Spencer wasn't at school when term started. There were various theories
about what had happened to him; a lot of people knew the truth, but
pretended they didn't. The most widespread rumor was that he'd been
beaten up by a gang from another school, but certainly everyone in my
class knew that his dance with me had been his last dance. Marisia once
asked me if that wasn't one of the boys who had raped me, but I
innocently replied "What rape?", and she dropped the subject.
Meanwhile, I was blossoming - the Ugly Duckling was turning into a
Beautiful Swan. Well, maybe not beautiful, but at least I could convince
myself that I was quite pretty. By the time I was 15, I reached 5-6, and
weighed 140 pounds. I still couldn't swim; my bones were too big, my
muscles too dense and there wasn't much fat on me any more. I'd lost all
the puppy-fat, converted it to hard muscle. I let my blonde hair grow
long, and wore it in a ponytail, kept together with a bright blue scarf.
I wore cut-off tops that revealed my taut midriff, with short sleeves to
show off my bare arms. Mostly, I wore jeans on my legs, but occasionally
I'd wear a short skirt, so that people could see how my legs were
developing. But I hardly ever got asked out for dates; I suppose no-one
felt like dancing with me, after what happened to Spencer. Still, that
didn't bother me. I didn't much care for boys anyway.
To me, sex was just something that men and boys used to hurt girls with.
I didn't understand why the other girls flirted and sucked up to the
boys the way they did, and why they'd giggle about it afterwards. They
spent large amounts of time and money on clothes; I spent my time
lifting and punching, I had no money. Marisia showed me how to attach
elastic straps to my wrists to increase the resistance, and I spent
hours practicing on my punchbag with 25 pound weights on each wrist. I
also went out running to increase my endurance; I was trying to become
the perfect man-smasher.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:50:23 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 5 - The Domination of Simon Carter
~Lines: 96
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 5 - The Domination of Simon Carter
One day, while I was out running, I came across a couple in the long
grass. Simon Carter was on top of Kelly Jones, and she was yelling and
screaming. Simon was one of the boys who had raped me all those months
ago, so I didn't have to think very hard about what to do next. I walked
over to them, and punched him hard in the back, low down, where the
kidneys are. He screamed, arched his back, and bucked into the air.
Kelly was shouting and screaming at me as she stood up, but I told her
not to worry, and to go home. Simon tried to get up, so I hit him again,
on the face. Kelly screamed "No" again, and tried to grab hold of me,
but I told her she was safe now, and told her to get off home. She
grabbed her clothes and ran off crying, leaving me alone with Simon.
Simon was lying on his back, blood streaming from his nose, staring at
me. I smiled down at him, and took off my jogging suit - this was going
to be fun, and I wanted him to see the pretty girl that was about to
make a mess of his body. He stared up at me as I did my hair; I took off
the scarf, shook it out, gathered it back together and retied it more
neatly. "Stand up", I said, frowning. He lay there, and I wondered what
to do next. If he wouldn't stand up, how could I use him as a punch bag?
I put my hands on my hips, and glared down at him. Well, if he wouldn't
get up, I was going to have to get down.
As I bent down towards the supine boy, I noticed that his prick was
stiff. That made me even more furious - why should he have any fun? I
sat on his chest, gripped his dick in my right hand and squeezed as hard
as I could. He screamed with the pain, and I grinned in delight. Then I
let go, and his come spurted into the air, getting into my hair. That
made me really mad, and I turned round and tried to wipe my hair on his
face. It was still wet and horrible, and I would have to wash it later.
All that moving around on his soft body was making my lower regions feel
good, kind of warm. I bounced up and down on him a bit; he didn't seem
to be putting up any resistance. I rubbed myself up and down his chest,
but that didn't seem to be quite right. Then I moved up towards his
face, and rubbed that against my crutch, and that felt really nice. But
then he started struggling, and I had to do something to subdue him. So
I punched him over the heart, and he went "Urghhh..." and stopped
fighting back.
I stood up and took my shorts off. I stood over Simon, spread my legs
apart and told him to bury his head in my snatch and start licking.
Whenever he slowed down, I grabbed his head in my hands, and ground his
face against my crutch. The blood from his nose and the tears from his
eyes helped to lubricate my groin, and I started to feel better and
better. Some sort of excitement was bubbling up inside of me, growing
stronger and stronger, until his tongue alone wasn't enough for me, and
I wrapped my thighs round his head, clutched his face into my groin, and
rubbed as hard as I could.
Something exploded inside of me - it was the most wonderful feeling I'd
ever had. All my muscles flexed and spasmed, and I shrieked with joy as
my body shook and shuddered with release. After a long time, I stopped
shaking, and dropped the bloody-headed boy to the ground, where he lay
still. I sank down to sit on his body. He was sobbing and wailing, I
don't think he'd enjoyed it at all. But that made it even more wonderful
for me.
So, at the age of 15, I discovered that sex wasn't just something that
men did to hurt girls. Girls could also use sex to hurt and humiliate
boys, while at the same time inducing delightful feelings in themselves.
I began to use a few of the boys regularly for my pleasure. Simon became
a standard item on my menu, and I would often lead him somewhere quiet
so that we wouldn't be interrupted, and make him lick and rub me to
orgasm. I couldn't do this too often, though, because he needed time
to recover from the damage that my body did to him.
I would take Simon's hand in mine, and give him my sexy smile. He'd
usually beg me not to be so rough with him, and I'd squeeze his hand in
mine a bit, to remind him how much I could hurt him if I really wanted
to. Then I'd take him in to the woods, and stand over him while he
licked and rubbed my genitals. If he showed any reluctance, I'd wrap my
strong arms round his body and squeeze gently, or I'd reach down to his
genitals and grip and twist. He didn't have to be persuaded very often,
especially because by the end of each session, he'd be hurt sufficiently
to make sure that he didn't cause me any problems.
It wasn't entirely satisfying. I felt that something was missing. I had
a bit of money to spend now - Simon and my other boys used to help with
that - so I used to look at the other girls, and tried to dress up like
they did. By the time summer came along, I had long silky hair which I
usually wore in a ponytail, I'd started to wear lipstick sometimes, and
I tried to make myself look more feminine in other ways.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:51:51 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 6 - Karen Fielding
~Lines: 199
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 6 - Karen Fielding
I got Karen Fielding to help me go shopping. Karen was the head
cheerleader, a beautiful girl with a terrific figure. All the girls
wished they looked like Karen. But she'd been having problems with her
boyfriend; he was dating an older woman occasionally, and Karen was
really upset about that. I helped by taking him aside one day; I gripped
his head under one of my arms, and ground his face against my side. This
got his attention, and I explained to him that he was being really dumb
by jeopardizing his relationship with Karen for the sake of a fling with
this old biddy. Then I hit him in the belly a couple of times, and told
him what a wimp he was, and to stay away from Karen from now on.
Karen became my best friend, in fact my only friend. The boys were all
frightened of me, having heard various rumors about what had happened to
Spencer at the dance, and the girls just thought I was a freak because I
didn't like boys. But Karen used to have lots of problems with boys. She
was so pretty and feminine, they used to grope her in the halls and
sneak up behind her to fondle her breasts. She'd get asked out on dates,
and she told me they'd turn into the date from hell as soon as they got
her alone. She liked the idea of having a relationship, but the boys all
seemed to just want to get their hands into her bra and pants. She told
me that sometimes she wished she were plain, and I told her not to be so
silly.
After we became friends, she had hardly any problems with boys. At
least, not after I had a few words with a few of the more aggressive
ones. I saw one boy put his hand up her skirt, and I took that hand in
mine, and squeezed it until he started crying. I made him get down on
his knees and apologize to Karen, and after a couple more like that, she
didn't have any more boy problems.
Karen also advised me about Ken Ashford. I'd better explain about Ken.
Ken was one of the boys in my class. He was small, thin and wore
glasses. The other boys used to make fun of him and bully him, and I
felt really sorry for him. They called him "The Weed" and "Nerd", and
they'd bump him accidentally on purpose, and make him drop his books,
then knock him over when he tried to pick them up. You know what kids
are like. Nothing serious, just enough to make his life an utter misery.
I used to look at Ken and think about how my step-father used to treat
me. I felt sorry for him, and I just wanted to protect him.
Ken retreated into his books. He used to get really good grades, which
made things worse for him, of course. He didn't suck up to the teachers,
but because he knew all the answers, all the boys thought he was a
creep. The girls did too, so when I asked Karen about him, she thought I
was insane. "He's just a weed, Sandi. You could get Tod if you wanted
to." Tod was a real macho-type jock, football, baseball, running, you
name it. He was a big hit with the girls - all of them competed to get
him to date them. I used to see him in the gym sometimes, training. By
then, I could curl 125 pounds, and he was the strongest boy there, able
to handle 90. He used to watch me out of the corner of his eye, and I
wasn't sure whether he fancied me or not. It didn't really matter; he
wasn't really my type. I tried to explain this to Karen - I don't like
big strong men the way the other girls did. If anything, I liked my boys
small and weak, and if they weren't, I'd rough them up until they were,
like I did Simon. But I felt that I was missing something with Simon,
something I thought maybe I could get from Ken. But Ken was way too shy
to talk to me, and I thought if I approached him, he'd be scared just
like all the other boys. So I asked Karen to help me.
Ken used to look at Karen longingly - all the boys did. Karen was a real
beauty, terrific figure, long curly blonde hair, great legs. So when she
walked up to him after class and asked him to come on a double date, he
didn't think too hard, in fact he could barely stammer out a "Y-y-yes!".
Karen didn't tell him at that point, but I was going to be the other
girl on the date, and poor, bruised Simon was the other guy. Simon, of
course, did whatever I told him. Once he argued with me when I told him
to lick my anus, so I punched him a few times, not very hard, but enough
for him to realize that arguing with me wasn't an sensible option.
Karen and I went out shopping for clothes for me. Up till now, I hadn't
bothered much about what I wore, as long as it kept me warm in winter
and cool in summer. But Karen explained to me that clothes are primarily
to enhance sexual display, and helped me to get something nice for the
date. I really wanted to impress Ken and make him like me, so I went
along with the idea. Karen told me that I should dress to emphasize my
best features, and when I asked her what she thought those were, she was
quite definite about it - my thighs. I thought that boys would find them
too large at 24 inches, and maybe my breasts should be my main points.
Karen was emphatic. She said I should certainly draw attention to my
breasts, but only to draw the eyes down to my thighs. Well, she was the
expert, so I did what she suggested.
Her first suggestion was that I wear the lightest bra possible, because
I had large, firm breasts with big nipples. I should try to let my
nipples be as prominent as possible, so on top of the bra, I would wear
a silk blouse, tucked well in at the waist. The stress lines in the
blouse would naturally lead the eye downwards to my waist, and from
there, to my thighs. Karen said that trousers and shorts were a no-no
with my legs. She told me I had to wear a short, full skirt, made of
very light cotton, so it would cling to my legs as I walked. She also
tried to put me into high heels, but after nearly falling over a couple
of times, I said no. We bought me a pair, though, so I could practice
walking on them.
When we met for the date, Simon's eyes nearly popped out. He was used to
seeing me in a track suit or jeans, looking very tomboy. The new feminine
Sandi made him forget his place, and he put his hand on my bottom. I
whirled to face him, put my arms round him, and squeezed the air out of
him. Just as he was about to pass out, I released him, and whispered
into his ear "Simon, don't forget this, you don't touch me without my
permission". Then I crushed him in my arms again, squeezing the air out
of his soft body. As soon as his head began to droop, I relaxed my grip
and ask him what I'd just told him. He repeated it back, so I squashed
him against my hard body a third time until he lost consciousness, and
then I let go of him and let him fall to the ground. I didn't want to
hurt him too badly just now - we had a date to go on. I smoothed my
clothes out - dealing with Simon had made me a bit rumpled, and brushed
my hair while I waited for him to recover. By the time he staggered to
his feet, I was ready, and we set off to meet Karen and Ken. As we went,
I explained to him what he had to do, and that he'd better not try to
take any liberties with Karen, or what he'd just felt would be like
nothing. He looked at me fearfully, gulped and nodded.
When we met Ken and Karen, my heart sank. Karen looked simply gorgeous,
and Ken was gazing at Karen adoringly, and I don't think he even noticed
me. The trouble was, Karen was just too good looking, and no-one could
hope to compete with her, especially me. I looked at her legs, then down
at my own, about twice the size of hers. I began to regret wearing such
a short skirt. Simon was just as bad; he spent the whole evening staring
at Karen. Karen and I visited the powder room, and talked about this,
but neither of us could figure out what to do. In the end, I told her to
just enjoy herself as much as she could under the circumstances, and
we'd try to work out what to do later.
At the end of the evening, Ken took Karen home, and I took Simon. Karen
told me later that he hadn't even managed to work up enough courage to
try to kiss her, and my heart went out to the poor little guy. She said
he'd obviously wanted to give her a kiss, but he didn't even try to, and
when he said goodbye, he shook her hand. I ask you! Poor little fellow,
I just wanted to take him in my arms and tell him not to worry about
anything.
I had a lot more luck with Simon, of course. We went round to the
graveyard behind the church, and I found out a very big advantage that
skirts have over trousers. Simon spent about an hour licking and rubbing
with his face and nose, and I didn't even have to undress. I wasn't sure
how I'd get his blood off the cotton, but I guessed Karen would know. I
left him crying on the ground and went home alone, wondering what to do
about Ken.
Simon seemed to spend a lot of time crying, but I rather liked that. I
found that a boy in tears was a tremendous turn-on. Either they were in
tears because of something I'd done to hurt them, which made me feel all
hot and squirmy between my legs, or else they were in tears because of
something someone else had done, which made me feel all warm, maternal
and protective.
Karen and I met the next day, and she was very apologetic. I told her
that it wasn't her fault that she was so pretty, and gave her a hug to
show her I wasn't upset with her. But I still had the problem of what to
do about Ken. Karen suggested the direct approach; it isn't subtle, and
girls aren't supposed to use it, but it usually works, she said. Boys
understand it a lot better than subtlety. When in doubt, hit him with a
brick, she said.
I found Ken in the library, and sat down next to him. "Hi", I said,
smiling at him. He looked startled, and seemed to be too out of breath
to say anything. "I enjoyed our date yesterday," I lied. He nodded, and
still seemed to be having trouble breathing. "Did you enjoy yourself?" I
asked - this conversation was a bit one sided. He grinned nervously,
knocked his books onto the floor, and scuttled down after them. I
wondered if I should help him pick them up, but by the time I'd thought
about it, he was standing up. Then the bell went for the next class, and
he was walking out, waving goodbye.
I was furious. I wanted to rush after him and smash my fist into his
little body, again and again until the pain overwhelmed his brain. How
dare he snub me like this. By the time I got outside, he was nowhere to
be seen, so I went to my own class. Fortunately, Peter (one of my usual
boys) was in the same class - unfortunately for Peter. I almost dragged
him out into the girls toilets, and gave myself a quickie on his face
(wearing a skirt really is very convenient, I don't think I ever want to
go back to jeans). I got back into class just in time. Peter didn't, of
course, needing to recover from my orgasm.
Afterwards, I had lunch with Karen, and she explained to me what she
thought had happened with Ken. "Boys get like that when they're
nervous", she said. "I bet he's just scared of you." I hadn't thought of
that. A lot of the boys were scared of me, and Ken was smaller and
weaker than any of them. He didn't know that I wouldn't dream of hurting
anyone as small and weak as he was, so naturally he was scared of me. I
was very glad I hadn't lost my temper with him. "Is it always as
difficult as this?" I asked Karen. She grinned, and told me that usually
it was even worse. The course of true love never does run smooth, she
said. Tell me about it!
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:52:53 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 7 - Ken Gets Rescued
~Lines: 212
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 7 - Ken Gets Rescued
But the next day I had a major stroke of luck. Ken used to suffer
terribly from being bullied by the bigger boys, who picked on him all
the time. It was between classes, and I was just getting some books out
of my locker, when I heard a commotion and turned round. Boys play this
stupid trick, where one kneels down behind the victim, and another
pushes him so that he falls over. No-one really gets hurt, unless the
victim lands badly, but it's humiliating, especially if they do it a
lot. Ken was sprawled on the floor, books all over the place, his
glasses had fallen off, and three boys were laughing at him and calling
him a weed. Ken was crying - either he was really hurt, or else the
bullying was too much for him. I just wanted to cuddle him in my arms
and make him better.
I walked over, and punched one of the boys in the kidneys, from behind,
hard but not as hard as I could. He went down, arching his back and
howling, and stayed down. Strike one bully. The other two turned to face
me, so I punched one of them three times quickly, like Marisia had
taught me, once in the belly, once in the heart as he doubled up, and
once in the kidneys as he fell. He went down without a sound, and lay
very still. Strike two. The third one realized who I was and what was
about to happen next, and made the mistake of turning to run. I wrapped
my arms round him from behind, and squeezed his gut until he was in
agony. Then I let him slip down a few inches until my hands were
positioned over his ribs, and crushed in really hard. I could feel the
bones creak and bend, so I let him go, and helped him down to the ground
with a kick on the bottom.
It takes longer to describe the fight than it took to do it; it was all
over in a few seconds. Then I bent over Ken, took him in my arms, and
gently helped him stand up. I kept my arms round him protectively as he
stood, holding him while he cried hysterically into my shoulder. I
stroked his hair, and said "There, there", and cuddled him till he
stopped crying. Then I led him into the cafeteria, and bought him a
glass of milk, and kept my arm round him while he drank it. He leaned
into my shoulder, still weeping slightly. I felt like I'd just won a
lottery - I knew that after this, getting off with Ken would be a
doddle.
He told me that he couldn't take the bullying any more, he was planning
to leave school and get some kind of menial job. I told him he was much
too bright for that, and he should stay in school and go on to college.
But, he said, the way the boys picked on him was too much for him, he
simply couldn't go on.
I put both my arms round him and held him close, feeling his soft body
trembling against my breasts. We were sitting down, so he didn't feel as
short as he usually did. I dried his eyes with a tissue serviette, and
gave him a little kiss on the lips. He didn't respond, but neither did
he shrink away, so I kissed him again. I called him "Little Kenny", I
told him not to worry so much about those dumb boys, that I'd take care
of him, and I stroked his hair and made reassuring noises. Gradually, he
stopped sobbing.
"It's all right for you, Sandi. You're so big and strong, everyone's
scared of you. They wouldn't bully me if I were strong like you, but I'm
just a little weed, so they push me around." Ken was just over five feet
tall, wearing shoes, and he weighed well under a hundred pounds. As I
held him, I felt his arms, and they were like pipe cleaners. There was
no muscle at all, and hardly any flab. Just bones, covered with skin. I
just wanted to protect him from the cruel world. "Oh, Sandi, you're so
powerful. I've seen your muscles; if I had half your strength I'd be
happy."
I moved my big strong hands over his small, helpless body, gently
massaging his chest with my hands. He winced a bit when I rubbed his
body, and I tried to be even more gentle with him. I pulled his head
down to my breasts, and let him feel how soft I was there. He turned his
head sideways and closed his eyes. I held his head to my bosom, and
stroked his hair, and I felt him gradually relax as the terror of the
fight drained out of him.
We must have sat there for an hour. I was missing my regular work-out,
but I didn't care. Little Kenny needed me to cuddle and soothe him, and
that was what I wanted to do. Eventually it was time to go home.
That evening, I called Karen and told her what had happened. She sounded
very dubious about it. "Sandi, you could do so much better than Ken." I
explained to her once again, I don't go for big muscle-bound jocks. Ken
was just what I've always wanted, and what I wanted now, was some advice
about how to turn this situation into a long-term relationship. I told
Karen that I thought I should simply take charge, and not expect Ken to
take the initiative in anything. She told me that boys don't usually
like this, and that girls have to be submissive and feminine. I told her
I couldn't see any reason why I couldn't be dominant and feminine, and
she was very doubtful about that. "Still, Sandi, you might as well try.
You seem to have got off to a good start, and you're certainly the
dominant one so far, so maybe it'll work."
Next day, I wore my best silk blouse and short skirt, and put a belt
round my waist to emphasize my thighs. And as soon as I saw Little
Kenny, I simply walked up to him, put my arms round him, and kissed him.
There was only one problem. He was almost six inches shorter than me, so
I had to lift his head up to kiss him properly, and although I really
tried to do it gently, I could feel him wincing again as my arms held
him. I released him after a few seconds, and he nuzzled his face into my
breasts for a few seconds, so I knew that everything was fine. During
class, I kept looking over to him and giving him encouraging smiles.
During lunch break, I took his hand in mine, and led him to the
cafeteria, and made him sit next to me. Karen was there too, looking as
ravishing as usual, but Little Kenny was spending more time looking at
me than at her. Afterwards, I remarked on this to her, and she told me
that I'd obviously made a major impression on him. I grinned. I planned
to make an even bigger impression.
After school, I walked him home, and kissed him goodbye at his door.
Then, I returned to the school for my workout, and for a couple of other
reasons. Tod was also in the gym, and I walked over to him. He was lying
on the bench, working his arms, and I took the weight from him, racked
it, and sat down on his belly, straddling his body with my thighs.
"Hello, Tod", I began. "Hello, Sandi." "Tod, you know how strong I am.
Could you imagine what would happen if I put my legs round your body", I
continued, as I put my legs round his body, "and squeezed" and I
squeezed, very, very gently.
Then I took the weight from the rack, the weight that he'd been benching
with so much difficulty, and started curling it, slowly. As I reached
the top of each curl, I pressed my thighs together, and as I lowered the
weight, I relaxed them. Tod watched me, fascinated to see a girl with
her hair in a ponytail curling a weight he could hardly bench. My thighs
squeezed him rhythmically as my arms went up and down, gradually pumping
up to their full size. After a several minutes, Tod tensed his body,
groaned deeply, then relaxed. I looked behind me, and there was the wet
patch on his shorts. I smiled my sexy smile. "Why, Tod, look. You've wet
yourself. Did you do that because of me? That's naughty of you, Tod,
very naughty. Big boys aren't supposed to wet themselves. I think you
need to be punished. Do you think you need to be punished, Tod?" He
closed his eyes. "Yes, Sandi. Punish me, I've been bad".
I was rather surprised. He actually wanted to be punished? He must have
known what my big hard muscles were capable of doing to him, and he
wanted the pain? This was interesting, and I promised myself I'd look
into this later. But now, I had other fish to fry.
He lay on the bench, wondering what was going to happen. "I've got good
legs, haven't I, Tod?" "Yes, Sandi, you've got fantastic legs." "Put
your hands on my thighs, Tod." Tod put his hands on my legs, and I
tightened them round his waist. "Feel how hard they get when I flex,
Tod." I linked my ankles together, and tried to straighten my legs,
Tod's body was between them, but that didn't provide much resistance.
"Imagine what would happen if I tried really hard, Tod." "Please, Sandi.
Everyone knows how strong you are, you don't have to prove it." "Yes, I
do, Tod. I like proving it. I like injuring big strong men like you,
Tod." I crushed his body between my powerful thighs. "Urrgh, ugh, please
Sandi, I give up, please stop, you're hurting me." "Tod, I thought you
wanted to be punished. So I'm punishing you." "Unghh, urgh, Sandi", he
groaned. "You're amazing, Sandi, you're so strong, hurt me, punish me."
I relaxed my iron grip. "Tod, I've got a boyfriend, did you know that?"
"Yes, Sandi, everyone knows about you and Simon." "No, Tod, I don't
actually like Simon, I just use him for sex. I've got a proper boyfriend
now." "Congratulations", he said, sarcastically, so I linked my ankles
again and stretched my legs, threatening to cut his body in half.
"Unngggh, Sandi" was all he could say, so I relaxed again. "Ken's my
boyfriend. You know Ken?" Tod's eyes went wide with amazement. "The
little weed?" Oh dear. Bad move, Tod. I got off the bench, and helped
Tod to sit up; his stomach was hurting badly from the punishment my
thighs had inflicted on him. I stood on the bench and put my thighs
round his head, and tried to crush his skull, while at the same time
folding him in half so he couldn't breathe. He lasted about half a
minute, and I could feel his struggles grower weaker and then stop. I
let him go, and pumped his weights while he recovered.
"Ken's my boyfriend. You know Ken?" I tried again. "Yes, I know Ken."
"OK, Tod, here's the deal. If you see Ken being bullied, you intervene.
If you don't, you'll have to explain to me why not. The explanation
might be painful. For you. Understand?" "Yes, Sandi, I'll do that."
"Good. And the other guys will do the same, or I'll take it out on your
hide." "But that's unfair, how can I do that ..." I put my hand on his
tenderized belly, and jiggled it up and down. "Life is often unfair,
Tod. You'll find a way."
Next day, I almost skipped to school. I wore a bright blue silk scarf
in my hair, a white skinny-knit sweater and a short skirt. Little Kenny
was nowhere to be seen, so I sought out Karen - she didn't know where he
was either. After school, I went round to his house, and there he was.
Little Kenny was in his bedroom - he'd refused to get up that morning.
His parents showed me in, and my heart went out to the little guy,
huddled up in his bed, looking so weak and defenseless. I sat on the
side of his bed, and asked him what the problem was. He burst into
tears, so I gathered him into my arms and rocked him while he cried.
"What's the matter, baby", I whispered, "Tell me the problem." "You
wouldn't understand", he said. "Try me, Little Kenny."
He was scared. He was scared of being bullied by the boys, he was scared
of girls, and now he had a new fear - he was scared of me. "Oh, Sandi,
you're so big and strong, and I'm so small and weak, and I'm scared you
might get angry with me about something and hurt me." "Baby, baby - I
wouldn't hurt you. I promise I won't ever hurt you." I held him in my
arms and cuddled his head to my breasts. I kissed him and promised him
he wouldn't be bullied in future. "Baby, we'll tell everyone we're going
steady, and no-one will dare to bully you." He looked up at me,
hopefully, and I kissed him and cuddled him close to my body. "Oh,
Sandi, are you sure?" "Shhh, baby, no-one would dare to do anything bad
to my baby." I dried his eyes and tickled him under his arms. He
wriggled in my arms, and I kissed him again, and promised to meet him in
the morning on the way to school.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:54:20 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 8 - Protecting Little Kenny
~Lines: 198
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 8 - Protecting Little Kenny
Next morning, I knocked on his door, and we walked hand in hand to
school. As we walked in to the hall, I saw Little Kenny looking
fearfully at one of the boys who had been bullying him, and I decided
that he needed a bit of cheering up. "Wait there a minute, baby", I said
to Ken, and grabbed the bully by the shoulder, spinning him round. As he
came towards me, I threw my big hard fist into his belly, and as he
folded up, I brought my knee up into his face. His nose went splat, and
crimson blood flew all over the place, splattering my jumper and skirt.
The force of the blow threw him onto his back, and as he lay on the
floor, I knelt down with Little Kenny, and showed him how helpless he
now was, how easy it had been for me to wipe him out. But Ken really
didn't want to know, so I finished him off myself by picking him up off
the floor, holding him over my head, and slamming him down. He landed
badly, and his arms and legs jerked spasmodically as he lay there, so I
picked him up and gave him a bear hug, crushing the air out of him until
he passed out. Then I pulled Little Kenny into my arms and gave him a
kiss and a big cuddle, and I explained to him that I'd be happy to
inflict lots of pain on anyone else who so much as looked sideways at
him.
Karen joined us for lunch, and I had a great time telling her about how
Little Kenny and I were now going steady, and she said that in that
case, I had to have a ring. We looked at Ken, and he didn't seem to know
anything about it, so I asked Karen if she'd help us choose one.
That Saturday, Karen, Ken and I went down to the mall and chose a pair
of eternity rings in white gold. I put Ken's onto his finger, and told
him that he must promise never to take it off. I pulled him into my
arms, and he whispered his promise into my bosom, and I gave him a long
kiss. Too long, I think, because he started struggling towards the end
of it. And that afternoon, I took him down to the lake, where the three
of us had a picnic by the water, and Little Kenny and I wrestled in the
long grass. Maybe wrestled is the wrong word, because I certainly wasn't
trying to hurt my baby, but I couldn't help controlling his delicate
body with my powerful muscles. We rolled around by the lake, mostly with
Little Kenny on top, as I didn't want my weight to squash him. Karen
watched us playing, and I wished she had a date to make her happy.
On the Sunday, I called for Ken again, this time without Karen, and took
him down to the scrub woods. We found a nice secluded place in the
undergrowth, and I held him in my arms and we kissed and cuddled. After
a while, he tried to wriggle away from me, but I wouldn't let him. He
struggled and strained, but I wouldn't let go of him, and I kept kissing
his face and neck. But then my baby burst into tears again, so I let go
of him, and he stood up and ran away.
I was really surprised, and he ran quite a long way before I followed.
By the time I caught up with him, he'd tripped over and crashed into the
ground, and was lying there dazed and crying. I sat down next to him,
and hugged my knees. "What's the matter, baby?" He just lay there
crying, and when I reached toward him, he shrank away from me. "Little
Kenny, baby, what's the matter?" I gripped his shoulders and pulled him
toward me - he resisted, but he couldn't really put up much of a fight
against me, and as I pulled him into my bosom, he suddenly went limp,
and I cuddled him in my arms and rocked him to and fro. "Sandi, oh
Sandi.", he said. "I'm so scared of you, so frightened." "Why?", I
asked. He turned sideways in my arms, and started stroking my biceps.
"Sandi, you probably don't realize it, but when you hold me I'm so
completely helpless. And I've seen the way you can crush those big
strong men in your arms, and I'm so scared of your arms." He had both
his hands round my upper arm, and was stroking it up and down, and it
felt really great. I flexed my right arm, and held him in my left, with
my arm round his small body and my hand on his chest. "Oh god, Sandi,
it's so big, so hard." He pressed down on my arm as hard as he could, it
felt like a gentle squeeze, not even denting my muscle. I rotated my
wrist, making my right bicep stand out proudly. "Oh Sandi, you're a
goddess", he said, and started kissing my arm.
"Baby, are you really frightened of me?" I asked. "Yes", he said, "I'm
afraid of what these big hard muscles can do to an ordinary man, let
alone to me. I've seen you pound boys into hamburger without raising a
sweat, I've seen you break ribs with only your amazing arm strength, and
everyone knows that your thighs could kill anyone who got trapped
between them. Sandi, everyone's so scared of you, and I'm a lot weaker
than most people." He went back to kissing and stroking my arm.
"Little Kenny, baby, baby. I promise you, I'll never hurt you. Yes, I
love causing lots of pain and damage to boys with my body, but not to
you, never to you." "Sandi, I've heard that you like hurting men, that
you get sadistic pleasure out of inflicting pain and humiliation on
people." "Yes, baby, that's true, but not on you, never on you." "I've
heard that you enjoy hurting your lovers more than anyone." That really
shocked me - first of all, I've never had a lover before, so where did
this rumor come from? I asked Little Kenny. "Simon told me what you do
to him, and how he's so scared of you, he just lets you do whatever you
like, because if he doesn't, you just hurt him until he can't resist you
any more. He showed me some of his injuries and bruises."
Ah. So that's what this was all about. I was going to have a few words
with Simon after this was sorted out. "Baby, Simon isn't my lover, never
was, never will be. I don't love him at all, and he certainly doesn't
love me." "Yes he does, he adores you, he told me", said Ken. I was
shocked. Simon? In love with someone who hurt and degraded him, who used
his tongue just to get sexual relief, his face as a convenient soft
rubbing knob? I would certainly have to have a little talk with him.
Meanwhile, I needed to reassure Little Kenny. "Baby, no matter what
Simon says about how he feels, I certainly never had any feelings for
him. Did you know he raped me once?" Ken looked shocked. "Raped you,
Sandi? I can't believe any man could rape you. it isn't possible." So I
explained the scenario, that there had been six of them, that I'd been
younger, that it had been before I took up weightlifting. And that Simon
had been one of the six, not the ringleader, but an enthusiastic
participant. I told Ken what had happened to Spencer, and I told him
what went on between me and Simon. "I don't love him, it's just a way of
getting sexual relief, that's all."
Gradually I reassured my Little Kenny, and he calmed down a lot. He
carried on kissing, stroking and caressing my arm, until I thought I'd
better show him something even more scary. If he found my arms
frightening, what would he make of my legs? Better to get this over with
once and for all. I sat facing him, and he sat facing me. I spread my
legs and moved closer to him, so that my thighs were on either side of
him, and told him to feel my inner legs. When he realized how big, thick
and hard my thighs were, he started trembling again. "Oh, god, Sandi,
you could kill a man with these. Please don't wrap them round me." I
ignored him - he had to see that I could be gentle with him, and I moved
forward, putting my legs round his small waist, but just squeezing him
very very gently, just lightly enveloping him. And then I reached for
his soft body, and wrapped my arms round him, until I had him imprisoned
in a hard wall of muscle. But I held him gently, so he could see that he
was in no danger, and I rubbed his yielding body against my firm
breasts, so that he could see I had soft parts too. He moaned as my
breasts dug into his chest and my thighs gently surrounded his waist,
and I should have noticed the symptoms and done something, but I didn't,
and suddenly he squealed and a large wet patch appeared on his trousers.
I held him as he jerked and spasmed, until he slowly calmed down; then I
held him cradled in my bosom until he fell asleep.
Over the next few weeks, Little Kenny and I talked a lot. We often went
down to the lake, and under cover of the long grass, I would take
control of his little body, and force him to have an orgasm, sometimes
twice. Then I would hold him in my arms and rock him to sleep. I loved
this petite boy, and he loved me. There was nothing I wouldn't do for
him, he was so helpless and ineffectual, and he needed me so much. And
he felt the same about me, I knew. He was still scared of me, but he
managed to control it most of the time, and only occasionally did I have
to cope with a weeping fit. But I've already said what the sight of a
boy weeping does to me, and although I would never make Little Kenny cry
on purpose, seeing his tears did turn me on, made me feel all maternal
and protective.
Karen was dating Simon. She asked me if she could, and although I
couldn't imagine why she'd want to, I had no objection. I asked her
afterwards, and she told me that she liked the way I'd trained Simon to
be docile and submissive. Simon was so completely cowed by what I'd been
doing to him, that he just did anything she told him to. One day, I took
Simon into the woods and told him to do to me what he did to Karen - I
wanted to find out what Karen had been teaching him, and I didn't want
to show my ignorance to either of them. What he did next was delicious.
He knelt down in front of my, put his head and one hand up my skirt, and
used his nose and tongue on my vagina and clitoris, his hand on my
labia, and his other hand slid under my blouse to massage my nipples. I
threw my head back, closed my eyes, and tried to stand upright as the
incredible sensations washed over me.
Afterwards, I felt so good that I actually apologized to Simon for
crushing his head with my thighs, and helped him stand up and clean
himself. Between us, Karen and I had done a wonderful job on him. I had
broken his stupid male ego, and made him submissive and trainable, and
Karen has shown him how to get the most out of a girl. I thought about
Little Kenny, but then I thought that his ego was fragile enough as it
was, and I certainly didn't want to bruise it. Simon would have to be
enough. And Simon, broken by me and trained by Karen, was all a girl
could want. Well, all a girl would want for sex, anyway.
I told Karen my thoughts on this, and she looked pensive, and then she
turned those huge blue eyes on me and said "Sandi, why stop at Simon? If
you broke in a few more boys, I could train them, too." She seemed quite
excited at the thought of having a whole string of docile, biddable
boys, freed by me from their macho egos, and trained by her in how to
please a girl. I was happy enough with my Little Kenny.
Sometimes we went on double dates, and that was fun too. We'd go to a
movie, pick up a hamburger, and then go down to the graveyard by the
church. We had a special way to pet together. I would stand, legs
akimbo, holding Little Kenny, and kissing and cuddling him. Simon, of
course, wuold be down on his knees, face up to service me. Meanwhile,
Karen would help me with Ken, putting her hands in places that I
couldn't reach. For the first few of these sessions, I had to
practically carry Little Kenny home, because he was so worn out from the
sessions. Sometimes, he was so exhausted, that instead of half-carrying
him, I'd just pick him up in my arms, put him over my hip, pull his head
into my breasts, and carried him home properly. He weighed rather less
than 100 pounds, so it really wasn't at all difficult.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:54:37 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 9 - Sandi fucks up Steve
~Lines: 212
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 9 - Sandi fucks up Steve
On the day that Ken turned 16, I decided to give him a birthday present.
Up till then, we'd petted, often very heavily, and usually resulting in
an orgasm for him, but he'd never tried to penetrate me, and I'd not
encouraged him to even think about it. But I'd learned by now that sex
wasn't just about hurting and humiliating people, and I was ready for
the next step. From the way that he regularly wet his trousers during
our petting sessions, I guessed he was, too.
First, I consulted Karen. She was the best expert I knew in these
matters, and she explained to me that the first and most important thing
is to make sure that I don't get pregnant. She explained some of the
ways of avoiding pregnancy, and I decided that the pill was the least
fuss. I asked her about Aids, but she said that if it was Ken's first
time, I didn't have to worry, and if it wasn't, I should use a sheath.
The doctor tested my blood pressure, then asked me to undress. When I
came back from behind the screen, he just goggled at me; I'd forgotten
the effect I could have on someone who isn't prepared.
He measured my height (5 feet 6 inches) and weighed me (150 pounds). He
told me that I was a bit heavier than my height would call for, but not
to worry. Then he measured me. My arms were 15 inches, my thighs 21. My
waist was 26, bust 36, hips 35. He told me that I was abnormally
muscular for a girl, and I told him I'd always been that way, and that I
was getting more so because of my weight lifting. I asked him if he
thought that could be a problem, and he said "Only to your boyfriends".
I explained that I found I was a lot stronger than any of the boys at
school, and that although some of them had a problem with that, a lot of
the boys admired my body. The only problem was, they admired me from a
distance, being too scared to ask me out. He suggested that I take the
initiative, and I explained that I had with my current boyfriend, and
that things were going well between us, which was why I wanted to go on
the pill.
He took my blood pressure, and told me that it was rather high. I
already knew that - I've always had high blood pressure, and I think
that's connected with the density of my muscles and the generally high
metabolic rate that my body works at. I told the doctor as much, and he
agreed that I was a most unusual physical specimen, and he asked if I
would come in so he could see me regularly, and monitor my progress.
You have to take it for a while to be safe, so I waited impatiently for
Ken's birthday. He was going to get a wonderful surprise, but I expected
to have a good time, too. I asked Karen about what it would feel like,
and she was surprised that I hadn't already had sex with anyone. I
blushed, and admitted that it would be my first time, too. Karen shook
her head. "Bad idea, Sandi. If neither of you know what you're doing, it
could be a real disappointment. Get some practice in first." "But Karen,
I want Little Kenny to be my first real lover, I want it to be special
for both of us. "Sandi, it will be special, I promise. You love him,
don't you?" "Oh yes, he's such a sweet little guy, so helpless and
appealing." "Well," Karen said, "Then that will make it special for you,
and it's up to you to make it special for him. Boys don't know how to
have sex, you have to show them. They don't know where things are, they
don't know what to do, they don't know how to behave afterwards. Girls
have to teach them, and if you're completely inexperienced, it won't be
good." I thought about this, and it made sense. Little Kenny was
completely submissive in our relationship, and he was still very
frightened of me. I could imagine him on top of me, trying to work out
what to do, and I could imagine him breaking down into tears when he
failed, and I could imagine severe ego problems afterwards. No, the
first time *had* to be a success, and it was down to me to make it so.
I thought about practicing with Simon, and I realized it wouldn't work.
Simon was just too broken-in. Simon's idea of sex was to manipulate me
to orgasm, and I wanted to practice proper penetrative sex. I asked
Karen; she offered to fix me up with someone who hadn't heard of my
reputation as a boy-beater. Karen seemed to have lots and lots of
boyfriends; she seemed to be going out with someone new every week. She
said that she could get one of her old boyfriends to go to bed with me,
and that sounded like a low-hassle solution, so I said yes. "Sandi,
you've got to try to be submissive with him. Boys aren't used to girls
who take control." "I'll try, Karen, but you know how difficult that is
for me."
Karen turned up trumps. She introduced me to Steve, who was one of the
jocks at the local college - mostly football (and his conversation
seemed to revolve around the game). I wore my shortest skirt, with my
best silk blouse on top, three buttons open to show the tops of my
breasts (Karen's advice). I wore a bright blue satin scarf in my hair,
and the high-heeled shoes that I could barely totter along on, but Karen
assured me that they made my legs look really sexy; the tension it put
on my calves made them flex and bunch. I had big calves in the first
place, because of all the iron I was pumping, but in heels, I couldn't
believe how big I looked. And, I have to admit, that as I looked in the
mirror, I liked what I saw. Mom wasn't so sure. "Isn't that skirt a bit
too short, Sandi?" was her main comment, but I told her not to be so
sad. "All the girls wear bumfreezers, Mom, it's the fashion." She still
looked dubious, and told me to be careful.
Steve took me to a movie. I didn't like it much, it was very violent,
with blood, smashed cars and dead bodies everywhere. I suppose it must
sound odd that I don't like violence, but it's true. It's different
somehow when you're watching someone else doing it. While we watched the
movie, Steve put his hand on my thigh and started groping me. I thought
about what I should do about this - my instinct was to smash my fist
into his face, but I realized that if I wanted to practice sex on him,
that wouldn't be the right thing to do. So I moaned softly and
encouragingly, and said "Ooh, Steve", and he explored upwards.
After the movie, we went out for a hamburger. I think Steve was
surprised at the amount I ate, but I burn up a lot of calories every day
one way or another, and I have a high metabolic rate in the first place.
We both ate fast; we were both keen to get onto the main purpose of the
date.
Steve invited me back to his house for a night-cap. I knew what that
meant, and pretended to blush, ducking my head and looking submissive.
His parents were out, so we went straight to his room, and he pulled me
down onto the bed. My natural inclination was to resist, but I told
myself not to be so silly, and I let him pull me down on top of him. He
put his arms round me and we started kissing, but then he put his hand
on my blouse and squeezed my breasts. I put my hands under his shirt,
and squeezed him back, and we rolled around on the bed, wrestling. I was
very careful to hold back and let him dominate me with his body, and
when he started taking off my blouse, I didn't try to stop him, I just
squealed and protested just enough, but not so much that he'd stop.
He had trouble getting my bra off, and I had to help him a lot, but he
soon had me stripped to the waist. Then he stopped, and took his own
shirt and trousers off. While he was doing this, I lay down on the bed
in the position that Karen had recommended. I lay on my back, with my
hands behind my head, my legs spread wide, and with an inviting smile. I
still had my skirt on - Karen had been very emphatic about that. She
said that boys like to pull your skirt up to get access. Also on Karen's
advice, I was wearing nothing under my skirt, because she said that boys
had trouble coping with the complexities of panties when in the heat of
passion.
Steve got his trousers off while still standing up (I was surprised that
he didn't fall over while getting them off), and turned toward me,
sporting an erection that seemed to be satisfactorily large and stiff.
Then he took a good look at me, almost naked on the bed. He looked at my
thighs, and then he looked at my arms, and his eyes stayed on my arms.
His eyes grew big, while his cock got small and soft. "Jesus, Sandi,
you've got a body like a man."
Wrong comment. Bad comment. Not a good thing to say to a girl whose
pussy is sopping wet in anticipation of a good fucking. Especially not a
good thing to say to a girl who didn't really want to do this in the
first place. Particularly not a good thing to say to a girl with a short
temper, a strong right arm and a hard, rough fist.
However, I was determined to go through with this. I thought of my
darling Little Kenny, and how great it would be for him if I learned how
to fuck. It was my arms, flexed behind my head that he was staring at,
so I straightened them out and relaxed the muscles, so I looked soft and
smooth. I reached out my hands towards him, longingly, and said "Steve,
honey, I'm really hot for you. You look so strong, so manly. Come and
show me what a big strong man like you does to a little girlie like me."
I've often heard Karen say things like this, and I couldn't believe that
he'd fall for it, but he did. His erection started to stiffen again, and
I smiled, and brought my knees up, spreading my thighs wider.
Steve stopped looking at my arms, and started looking at my legs,
especially at my thighs. I don't think he'd realized before just how big
they were, and he looked apprehensive about getting between them. So I
sat up, and put my arms round him, and started kissing him. Then, as I
fell back to the bed, I pulled him down on top of me. His penis was too
soft for penetration, so I squeezed it gently in my hand. That didn't
work, so I rolled over on my side and tried using both hands, one on his
prick and the other on his balls. That didn't work either, and by this
time, I was getting worried; I was also getting increasingly horny. I
tried stroking his legs, and then I got down to his groin and tried
using my long silky hair to arouse him. Nothing worked. I remembered
Karen telling me that if all else failed, taking his cock in my mouth
would be fool-proof, but I didn't fancy that at all. So I got back up to
the head end of things - this needed some serious discussion.
"Steve, unless you have an erection, this isn't going to work." Steve
said nothing, and he wouldn't look me in the eye. "Steve, what do I do
to fix your problem?" He kept his mouth shut. "Steve, I can't help if I
don't know what the problem is." Finally he spoke. "Sandi, I'm sorry.
You're a very pretty girl, and it isn't your fault." Well, I knew that!
I was sexually aroused, I was plenty aroused. I was soaking wet between
my legs, and it was even getting on to my skirt. "OK, but what's the
problem?" "Sandi, your arms are bigger than mine, your thighs are like
tree trunks, your body is as hard as oak, and I'm just not able to
handle all this." "OK, so I'm stronger than you. So what? We're not here
to compete in an athletic contest. I want you to fuck me. Steve, dammit,
at least look at me!"
I tried rubbing my groin on his. All that did, was make me feel even
hornier, without doing anything to make him harder. "Sandi, it's no
good, I just can't get it up." He tried to push me off him, but I wasn't
ready to give up yet. It was time to try Karen's fool proof method, so I
buried my head in his crutch (and he put his head in mine), took his
small, soft cock in my mouth, and started sucking. Karen told me that
this would give an instant erection, and the main danger was premature
ejaculation. But Karen was wrong. I sucked and licked, and he was still
soft and limp. Eventually, I could see that there was no way anything
useful would happen, so I turned over onto my hands and knees, forced my
vagina onto his face, and rubbed myself to a satisfying orgasm.
Just like Simon, his face was covered in blood and tears by the time I'd
finished, and as I stood up, he was curled up in a ball on the bed,
crying his heart out. I suppose I'd hurt and humiliated him, physically
and sexually, and left him in very bad shape. But it was hardly my fault
that he'd been unable to have an erection. So I got dressed and left.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:56:20 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 10 - Sandi fucks up Nigel
~Lines: 290
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 10 - Sandi fucks up Nigel
Next day, I told Karen what had happened. She scolded me. "Sandi, you
silly sheep, you shouldn't have let him see your big muscles. Obviously
that would scare a guy off. They have very delicate egos, and their egos
are connected to their pricks." "But how," I asked, "can I get naked
without him seeing my body?" Karen looked at me like I'd asked a stupid
question, and started counting off on her fingers. "Do it in the dark,
or get into bed before he sees you, or wear a sexy nightie, or don't let
him see you with your arms or legs flexed. Or tell him to close his
eyes." Hmm. There was obviously more to this than I'd realized. I was
very glad that my first encounter hadn't been with my Little Kenny. I
asked Karen if she could fix me up with another guy, and she said she
would. "But this time, Sandi, don't fuck the guy up too badly. Steve
isn't going to be any use to any girl for months, now. He's going to be
scared of anything in a skirt. I'm going to have to give him some
special treatment." Karen looked off into the distance, thinking about
the special treatment, and I saw her smile in anticipation. Maybe I
hadn't fucked him up too badly, after all.
Meanwhile, I was still having a lot of fun with Little Kenny. He loved
it when I tickled him until he curled up into a ball, and then I'd kiss
him and promise not to tickle him any more, and I'd uncurl him until he
was all spread out, and then I'd accidentally brush my breasts against
his body. I used my breasts on him a lot, because my breasts are the
softest part of my body, and I knew he liked that. So then he'd squeal
and I'd kiss him to keep him from shouting, and then start tickling
again. What I really wanted to do, is screw the daylights out of him,
but I had to control myself until I'd gotten the hang of fucking.
Karen set me up with another guy, called Nigel. Karen knew so many boys,
I couldn't believe it. She told me that Nigel was the biggest stud she
knew, he could fuck for hours non-stop, he could be ready for another
round just a few minutes after he'd come. According to Karen, Nigel was
just what every girl dreamed of. I asked how come, if this was the case,
she wasn't screwing him herself. "But I am", she said. Apparently,
they'd get together a couple of times each month for a marathon session,
and Karen said that she wasn't really up to more than that with Nigel.
"He's hung like a horse", she said. I've never really looked underneath
a horse, but I knew the expression. "He's got manners to match, too. No
consideration for a girl, none whatsoever."
We met at the coffee bar in the mall. I was determined that nothing
would go wrong this time. I wore a long sleeved skinny-knit sweater that
hid my arms, but showed off my breasts rather well, and no bra, because
I remembered how much trouble Steve had had getting it off. Well, who
needs a bra anyway, if your pectoral muscles are big and strong - no bra
means prominent nipples, and Karen says she wishes she had nipples like
mine. I wore a long calf-length skirt to hide my big thighs and calves,
but it was a big floppy skirt, easy to raise. Under the skirt, no
panties of course. I had a belt round my waist to help show off my
figure. Karen had let me use some of her perfume - I'd put it on my neck
and in my cleavage, as she'd advised. I had my hair well washed and
brushed until it shone and wore a bright blue silk scarf in my hair. I
wore some lipstick, not too much, and just a trace of blue on my
eyelids. In my shoulderbag, I was carrying a few necessaries. Mom said I
looked great "My Little Sandi, all grown up", she said. Right on - I was
determined that tonight was the night her little girl became a woman.
Nigel didn't waste any time. He took one look at me, and his erection
bulged in his pants. Then I got close enough for him to smell my
perfume, and his trousers looked like they were about to burst. Seeing
his reaction got me excited, too, and I felt a warm, wet feeling between
my legs. He grabbed me and pulled me close, and I did my best to soften
my body and melt against him. I looked up into his face, and he kissed
me hard. I put my arms round him, and slipped my hands under his shirt,
stroking his body and getting him even more excited. I rubbed my breasts
against his chest and moaned, and this made him wild. His hands roamed
over my body, touching and stroking, and it felt so good! I put a hand
inside his trousers, I wanted to touch the monster erection I could
feel. It felt very hot, and very, very hard. It was like an iron bar,
and it was so thick I couldn't get my hand round it. I moved my hand
down the shaft, trying to find the end, but it was such a long way down
to the end, it seemed to go on and on for ever. And when I got down to
the large knob on the end, it simply exploded. Nigel groaned and crushed
me in his arms, and a thick, hard jet of semen erupted from his prick.
It felt like it went on for ever, and it certainly soaked my hand. I
gripped his prick as it ejaculated, feeling like an uncontrolled fire
hose at first, until eventually it came in little spurts, and finally it
stopped. Then Nigel's big hard penis was not quite so big and soft, and
I pulled my hand out of his trousers and wiped it on his belly.
"Jesus, Sandi. Wow!" he said. I was quite pleased about the effect I'd
had, and nestled softly and submissively against his chest. I smiled up
at him, and said "Gosh, Nigel, you're incredible. That's the biggest,
hardest prick in the world, and any girl would give anything to be
allowed to touch it." Karen told me that you couldn't lay it on too
thick when you talked to a boy about his prick. "Ooh, Nigel, I bet it
would feel good inside me. It would stretch my vagina, and the knob
would bump against my G-spot. With that thing inside me, I would
probably pass out with the ecstasy. Oh, Nigel, fuck me, fuck me now."
Lay it on with a trowel, Karen said. Don't mess about, tell him what you
want, tell him quickly and tell him several times. Be explicit. He
pulled away from our embrace and took my hand in his. "C'mon, Sandi,
back to my place." I smiled, and let him drag me off. At last!
I had trouble keeping up with him in my high heels. Heels really are a
stupid idea. Why are girls supposed to wear them, and not boys? I nearly
fell over a couple of times, but Nigel helped me keep my balance. We got
to his car - a boy with his own car! and he drove us to the apartment he
shared with a couple of other guys. We whirled through the living room -
he didn't bother to introduce me to the other boys - on the way to the
bedroom, and at that point, I had a problem. I didn't want him to see me
naked, not because I was modest, but because I didn't want him to be put
off by my big muscles. So I pretended that I was modest and shy, and
while he was getting undressed, I told him to turn his back while I got
ready for bed. Actually, I didn't have much to do. I whipped off my
sweater and skirt, and pulled on the sexy, silky, long-sleeved nightie
that Karen had helped me choose.
"Okay, you can look now," I said. I stood there looking submissively
down at my toes. I put my hands behind my back, which hid my arms and
made my breasts stand out against my nightie. I was hoping that Nigel
would notice my breasts through the nearly transparent material, and not
focus on my arms or legs. It worked a treat. He charged at me, knocking
me down onto the bed, and getting on top of me. I could see now why
Karen had said he was hung like a horse with manners to match. His penis
must have been over ten inches long, it was as long and as thick as a
wine bottle, and I ached to have it inside of me. But I forced myself to
relax and let Nigel make all the moves.
Karen had explained to me about foreplay a long time ago, and how it was
necessary to get the two sexual partners aroused, as well as being very
enjoyable. She showed me how to kiss, and how to French-kiss. She told
me about tickling and stroking, about erotic wrestling, about foot-play,
hugging and licking. Karen knew more about sex than anyone in the world,
I thought, and I listened carefully to what she told me, and sometimes I
tried some of it out on a rather surprised and definitely fearful Simon.
So, I expected that what would come next would be lots of petting and
getting ready for the main event. Imagine my surprise when Nigel simply
raised himself up, and rammed that huge penis inside me.
It was a fantastic feeling. I'd been a bit nervous about whether I could
actually take a thing that size, but I needn't have worried. I guess I
expanded to make room. Nigel didn't seem to think there was any problem,
and he started pulling out and thrusting it in like there was no
tomorrow. Meanwhile I was in seventh heaven. I'd never had a sensation
half as good as this; it made Simon's face and nose feel like a pale
shadow of the real thing. Nigel was working really hard, and I was
encouraging him with moans and groans and screams of "Yes, yes" as he
pumped into me. Oh god, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before,
and I wanted it to go on for ever. But then Nigel started pumping faster
and faster, building up to a crescendo, and turning my insides to mush.
I could feel a volcanic eruption building up deep inside of me, until
with a massive rush of pleasure, I orgasmed. My vagina clenched and
spasmed, and in doing so, triggered Nigel. A hot, thick jet of semen
shot into my body like a bullet from a gun, and the intense sexual
feeling permeated every part of my body.
I think I must have fainted at that point. Because I regained
consciousness to find Nigel collapsed on top of me. He must also have
passed out, because he was still completely out of this world. I shook
him, gently, and he slowly stirred, then opened his eyes. "Wow", he
said, "Sandi, you're something else." I smiled and stretched. "So are
you, lover." I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and I went to the
bathroom to get cleaned up a bit. I had to go through the living room to
get to the bathroom; Nigel's roommates were sitting playing cards round
the table. I was aware of their eyes on my almost transparent night-
dress as I swept through the room, and when I reached the bathroom, I
could see the large wet patch on my nightie, a dead give-away for what
had just happened. Although if they hadn't heard the sound effects, they
must be deaf. As I returned, one of them called out to me "How about one
for me, sweetie?" and made a crude gesture. I smiled sweetly, and lifted
my hands into the air, letting the sleeves fall away from my arms, so
that they could see the size of my biceps. "Do you think you could
handle these?", I asked. They looked at me, stunned. "No, I thought
not", and I went back to rejoin Nigel.
Nigel was looking beatific, completely blissed out. He told me that my
orgasm had been so strong that it had triggered his, and that as his
penis pumped his semen into me, my vagina had been clenching
spasmodically, like a milking machine. I brushed my hair out of my eyes,
sat down on the bed, and said "Nigel, you've got the best cock in the
world, and what happened just now was purely because you're such a
fantastic lover. I bet you've got a queue of girls a mile long waiting
for that lovely great thick hard prick of yours." Never be subtle with
boys, Karen said. Always lay it on with a trowel. "Nigel I can't wait,
let's do it again," and I reached down to take his cock in my hand. It
immediately grew, getting too long and thick for me to hold, so I put
both hands round it and told him that he had the longest, strongest,
biggest dick in the world, and he ought to get a job making porno
movies. Trowel, trowel. When I'd stroked it enough so that it was really
hard, I rolled over onto my back and looked up at Nigel as submissively
as I could. "Please, Nigel, let me feel that wonderful thing inside me
again."
He mounted me again, and started bouncing up and down on me. I could see
what Karen meant by no consideration. His 200 pound body would have been
painful for any ordinary girl, although it didn't affect my hard body at
all. He slammed his body into me repeatedly, but I loved the feel of it,
loved it when his chest collided with my breasts, and I adored the
sensation of his big, thick, hard cock in my vagina. This time, he came
well before I was ready, and I lay there disappointed as he prematurely
ejaculated into me. Never mind, I thought to myself. Next time. But I
still told him how wonderful he was, what a fantastic lover, and so on,
and how extraordinary it was that he could do it twice in such a short
time. There's no such thing as too much flattery for a man's ego, Karen
always said.
I gave him a few minutes to recover, then I started trying to arouse him
again. Karen said this guy could fuck all night, and that's pretty much
what I had in mind. But he excused himself to take a leak, he said, and
left the room. I got bored waiting for him after a while, and wandered
out to the living room, where the card game was still going on.
Remember, all I was wearing was a silky, nearly transparent nightie,
with a large wet patch at the front, and I reeked of sex. They stopped
playing their card game to watch me stroll sexily towards them, and when
I said "OK, who's next", one of them dropped his drink all over his
trousers. But at that moment, Nigel came out of the bathroom, so they
didn't find out whether I was joking or not, because I ran across the
room, grabbed his hand, and dragged him back into the bedroom.
I gave him some more stuff about how wonderful he was (the exact words
don't matter, I'm sure you've got the idea by now) and rubbed my breasts
against his face. "Sandi, you're the sexiest girl I've ever met", he
said, and I think he might have meant it, but it's hard to be sure with
boys. Karen says that they'll say anything to get you into bed, but I
was already in bed with Nigel, ready and willing, so he didn't have to
say that. Which made me think he meant it, and I warmed towards him. I
got him pretty warm, too, what with rubbing my breasts on his body and
gently manipulating his genitals in my hand. He started to get larger
again, maybe not wine-bottle size, but certainly a respectable cucumber.
Karen says that cucumbers are her favorite vegetable, and one day in the
scrub-woods, she showed me why. "Cucumbers never have to apologize for
not being stiff", she said. So I pointed out that cucumbers never buy
you flowers. "Boys don't either, unless they want something, and you can
always carry a cucumber in your shoulder-bag".
Anyway, Nigel and I played hide-the-cucumber for a long while, and he
was just getting me really excited when he pegged out. Damn! I was
beginning to get frustrated now, and all Nigel wanted to do was roll
over and fall asleep. So much for Karen's idea that he could go on all
night. "Nigel, I want it again, and this time, could you hold back until
I have an orgasm, please?" He rolled over and looked at me. "Sandi,
you're a real peach, but you've worn me out. We've been fucking for the
last four hours, and I don't think I've got anything left." I looked at
the clock - he was right. Doesn't time fly when you're having fun? But I
was still feeling badly unfulfilled, so I got on top of him, stroked and
licked his prick until it was semi-hard, which was the best he could
manage, and then I lowered myself onto him. I figured that if I was in
control of the proceedings, I could make him last long enough for me to
come.
With me on top, I felt more in control. When his groans seemed to be
approaching one long continuous shout, I would slow down or even pause
for a while, until he got his head together, and then I would resume the
rhythmic coupling of our bodies. By taking charge like this, I managed
to keep him going for another hour, and he came a few more times, and I
managed to get off again, but I still felt extremely horny. I rolled off
him to talk to him about what we could do about it. "Sandi, please, it's
nearly five on the morning. I just want to sleep." I looked at the
clock, and he was right. We'd been screwing for seven hours solid, but
that didn't alter how I felt. "Nigel, honey, I've still got this
terrible need between my legs, like an itch only deeper. Please help
me."
I was answered by a snore. Karen was right, boys only cared about their
own pleasures, and had no consideration for their sexual partners. Well,
I wasn't going to let this creep get away with it. If he wouldn't fuck
me, I knew another way to get my orgasm, a way that Simon knew only too
well. Of course, Nigel wasn't trained and broken-in like Simon, and he
was a lot bigger and stronger. I wondered if I'd be able to use him the
same way, and then I thought that there's only one way to find out. So I
knelt over his head, facing his prick, and pulled his nose into my
vagina and started rubbing.
He woke up right away and started struggling, which felt good. The more
he struggled, the more he stimulated my genitals, and it only took about
ten minutes before the first orgasm hit me. It hit him harder, of
course, since his head was between my thighs. Plus, when I climaxed, I
flopped down onto his body and put my arms round his waist and hugged,
really hard.
After that, it was easier. Nigel struggled less, which was a pity, but I
rubbed his nose into several shattering orgasms over the next hour or
so, and after a few more hours, I'd sated the terrible feeling of need
inside of me. I looked up, and it was daylight. So I kissed Nigel
goodbye, got dressed and went home.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:58:30 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 11 - Sandi fucks up Derek
~Lines: 190
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 11 - Sandi fucks up Derek
When I told Karen about what had happened, she was furious. "You've
ruined a perfectly good fuck!" she said. She seemed to think that after
my treatment of Nigel, he wouldn't be any use in bed any more. "I didn't
hurt him much", I protested. "Was there much blood?" asked Karen.
"Some", I admitted. That's one of the problems of rubbing a man's soft
face against your crutch - my groin hairs are rather coarse, so after a
while, it's like rubbing their face with wire wool, like they use for
scouring pots and pans. "And did he cry?" she asked. "Yes, he did. He
cried in between me rubbing myself off on him, and he might have been
crying while I muffled his face, I can't tell. And from time to time, he
was begging me to stop. Although that's funny, you know, when I got
dressed, he asked if he could see me again, so I can't have done that
much damage." Karen grimaced. "Oh Sandi, you've got no idea, you really
are naive."
Karen explained to me that it wasn't the physical damage that mattered.
His nose would soon heal up, and the horrible red and purple color of
his genitals would quickly get better. The problem was the psychological
damage that I'd probably done to him. She said that his asking me to see
him again was a very bad sign. "Sandi, he's always dominated girls,
physically and sexually. And now you've dominated him, and he wants
more. You might have changed his personality. I'll have to go and see
what you've done. I expect you're broken him, and I'll have to see what
I can salvage." I hung my head and apologized. "I'm sorry, Karen, all I
wanted was a good fuck." Karen put her arms round me and kissed me.
"It's not your fault, Sandi. He just wasn't up to your needs. Don't
worry about it, there's plenty more boys around. And I'm sure I'll be
able to train him to be useful for something", she smiled.
Karen went to visit Nigel the next day, and when she came back, she
looked a bit glum. "He wanted me to sit on his face," she reported. And
when she asked him to fuck her, he wouldn't, he didn't think he would be
able to get it up. "And he kept talking about you, Sandi, about how
strong and dominating you are." "I'm sorry, Karen, I tried to be
submissive like you said, but after the first few hours, I had to do
something, he just wanted to go to sleep." Karen explained to me that
the usual practice in that situation, was either to accept that the boy
was all used up, or else to go down on him with your mouth and get him
interested again that way. "You aren't supposed to rape him, which is
what you did, Sandi". "It wasn't rape," I protested, "I was just giving
him a good screwing, and he'd been perfectly willing earlier." Karen
explained to me that it might technically not have been rape, and I was
unlikely to ever get charged in a court of law (especially as she didn't
think a boy would ever be likely to accuse a girl of raping him, it's
the male ego thing again). But from Nigel's point of view, it had
started to be rape from the moment I took control of his body. "Sandi, I
keep telling you how fragile the male ego is, how you have to carefully
feed and nurture it with flattery and admiration, and how careful you
have to be not to bruise it. Well, you didn't just bruise Nigel's ego.
You shattered it into a million pieces, and then flushed them down the
toilet. Sandi, you didn't just hurt him a bit. You humiliated him
totally, and that's far worse. Never mind, Sandi, I spent a few hours
with him today, teaching him how to behave to girls, and I think he's
going to come out of this experience a much nicer person."
That cheered me up a bit. I listened carefully to what she was saying.
Karen was an expert on boys, having started at the age of about ten. I
was a complete newbie, and I didn't want to hurt my precious baby Ken,
so it was important to me to learn what to do, and what not to do. I
hadn't realized that humiliating a boy was worse than physically hurting
him, but I could see she was right. Physical damage heals, but emotional
damage lasts a long time. Little Kenny still flinched whenever one of
the bigger boys who used to bully him ran past, even though he was with
me, and therefore perfectly safe.
I felt I needed more practice, and I told Karen so. "OK, but this time
you can find your own date", she said. Karen didn't want me ruining any
more of her good fucks. The problem was, I didn't really know very many
boys, and I said so to Karen. "Don't be silly, Sandi, everyone knows
you, and most of the boys secretly fancy you plenty. There's a story
going round that your powerful muscles make you the greatest fuck in the
world, provided you don't smash the boy up like you did to Spencer."
"But Karen, they're scared stiff of me. None of them would go out on a
date with me, much less fuck me." Karen laughed. "You really don't know
boys, do you Sandi? A lot of them would go out with you *because* you're
so scary; it's like showing how brave they are. And then afterwards
they'll boast about how they fucked you into submission, and what a
great lay you were. Sandi, just pick one, ask him out, get him somewhere
quiet and do what I showed you."
I thought about this. I really didn't understand boys, they were like a
whole different species. But Karen was an expert, and she certainly had
lots of success. She told me that this wasn't just because she was
pretty, it was mostly a personality thing. If you're sexy and happy and
you dress for boys, then they're flattered and they think you're great.
If you know how to take a male ego in your hand, you can lead him
anywhere. Hmm. OK, I'll try that then.
Karen and I went shopping again to get me a seduction-outfit, and this
time, Karen said "No more subtlety - you'll hit them like a 50-ton
locomotive." We bought a thin silk blouse that especially emphasized my
large breasts. And a short cotton pleated skirt, that ended so far up my
thighs I could hardly see the point of wearing it. And with a royal blue
scarf in my hair, I approached Derek, the college dreamboat. He was
about nineteen, but fifteen-year-old girls are very mature, and
fifteen-year-old boys are not. No point in messing about, is there?
My approach was simple and straightforward; Karen says that boys have
trouble with subtlety. I walked up to him, and said "Let's fuck." Then I
looked down at the ground, so as to appear modest and shy - Karen says
boys like that. He looked me up and down, and his eyes homed in on my
breasts like telescopic lenses; I looked down at them, and saw that
leaving off my bra had been a good idea, as my nipples were pushing
through the thin material, leaving stress creases all the way down to my
waist. I pushed my shoulders back to help the effect. Derek said "Where
and when?", and I said "Your place, at seven." Thus the date was made.
No muss, no fuss, no beating around the bush. But wow, was Derek in for
a surprise.
I arrived at the flat he shared wearing a short skirt and a cotton T-
shirt. I knew how this was going to be - simple and direct, a straight
act of sex. I walked up to Derek, and without any warning, punched him
in the stomach, not as hard as I could, because I wanted some life in
him, but hard enough for him to know I meant business. He didn't look
very hard, and he felt as soft as butter. He folded in half, and stayed
that way as he sank towards the floor. I got behind him, and put him in
a full nelson, using my weight to fold him up double so that he'd have
trouble breathing, as well as trouble from the pain of my hold. He
struggled, but he wasn't hard to hold - my punch had weakened him
beautifully. I felt his struggles growing weaker, and before he gave up
altogether, I released him from the hold, took one of his wrists, and
twisted his arm back and behind him. Now he was on the floor on his
face, my foot on his shoulder, both of my hands pulling his twisted arm
up and back. I could feel the ligaments stretching and pulling, and now
that he could breathe, he could make satisfying moans of agony.
As the agony struck through his shoulder, he stopped struggling, as it
only made the pain worse. So I grabbed his other arm, and twisted and
pulled on that instead. After a few minutes of this, I decided I'd
weakened him enough, and I pushed my legs round his body, so that my
thighs could crush his waist. Boys hardly ever realize how powerful a
girl's thighs are, but Derek learned very quickly that my thighs could
exert enough force to stop him breathing, while supplying him with
enough pain to drain his strength to nothing. I held his head in my
arms, twisting on his neck to weaken it, and to get him ready for the
next stage.
With his arms still on fire from my hammerlocks, and while his body was
still severely weakened from my scissors, I lifted him up over my head.
At first, I was surprised at how easy it was, but then I guessed that he
was lighter than the 200 that I was regularly using for bench presses.
As soon as I had him overhead, I slammed him to the ground. His arms
were out of action, so he was completely unable to break his fall, and
he even bounced after the struck the ground. He lay there, moaning, so I
repeated the body slam. After the second time, he just lay there silent,
his breathing shallow, his eyes closed. And the third time it didn't
seem to have any effects - he looked just the same.
He wasn't about to give me any more resistance, his will was broken. So
I picked him up, and carried him into the bedroom, and pulled his
clothes off. And then I started to have problems. His little pecker was
completely flaccid, and no matter what I did, it stayed that way. I
tried rubbing it with my hand, I tried both hands, I tried rubbing my
breasts on him, and I even tried taking it in my mouth, which Karen said
was a sure-fire way to get a boy roused. Nothing. How am I supposed to
fuck four inches of limp string? I sat there, wondering what to do. He
opened his eyes, and looked at me, terrified. He looked so funny, I
laughed, and he looked up at me and said "Please Sandi, don't hurt me
any more, I can't take it, I'll do anything." I told him that unless he
made himself hard, I was going to take it out on his soft body, and he
tried wanking himself, but nothing happened. I waited while he tried it
with one hand, then with both, still nothing. Then I suggested that he
use his mouth on his prick. "I can't reach it", he said. "Yes you can,
Derek, you're just not trying hard enough." He whimpered and really
tried to reach his cock with his tongue, but finally gave up, and lay on
the bed, panting. So I got him in the full nelson again, and folded his
unresisting body in half until I was able to stuff his cock into his
mouth. There was only one problem - in that position, he couldn't
breathe, so he soon passed out.
"Oh well," I thought to myself. Nose job. He learned quite rapidly how
to use his tongue and nose on my crutch, and brought me to a very
satisfying orgasm, which unfortunately damaged his head rather, as I had
it between my thighs, and lost control of my muscles at the moment of
orgasm. I got dressed, and left him unconscious. But it didn't really
help my main objective, to learn how to fuck a boys prick.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 10:59:55 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 12 - The Double Triangle of Domination
~Lines: 166
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 12 - The Double Triangle of Domination
Meanwhile, I was neglecting my studies to such an extent that I was
probably bottom of the class (I say probably, I didn't care enough to
find out). And inevitably, I failed to get into high school. I wasn't
too bothered, but Little Kenny was. He came to me, and cried into my
breasts, as he often did; his propensity to cry was probably one of his
most endearing features. "Sandi, I'm scared." So what's new? Ken was
constantly scared, and I was constantly having to cuddle him and
reassure him that I'd look after him, another of his more endearing
features. Ken was scared that he would be at high school and I wouldn't,
so who would look after him. "Please, Sandi, I can't face it without you
there to protect me." Little Kenny attracted bullies the way a flame
attracts moths, and before I'd taken him under my wing, his life had
been a misery. So I could understand his fear. The problem was, I
couldn't see what I could do about it. "Ken, I'll make sure that
everyone knows you're my baby, so no-one will dare bully you," but he
only sobbed harder. "Oh, Sandi, I need to be able to run to you for
protection, and to cuddle up to you when I'm down."
I stroked his hair and thought about it. Now I had two problems. I still
wanted to have proper sex with Little Kenny, but I didn't dare until I'd
worked out how to have sex with a boy without damaging him. And now Ken
was terrified at being on his own at the new school. I couldn't see any
answer.
I spoke to Mom, told her that the boy I was in love with would be going
to a different school from me, but when she asked at my school, she was
told that nothing could be done, as my academic results were too poor. I
spoke to Karen about it, and all she could suggest was for Ken and I to
get married "And I'll be your chief bridesmaid", she offered. But when I
spoke to Marisia, she knew exactly what to do. "You have to take control
of your destiny, Sandi. Instead of other people telling you where you
must go and what you must do, you must make the decisions." "Marisia, I
want to go to the same school as Ken, but I can't, they won't let me."
"Sandi, who's this "they"? I think you'll find that if you work it out,
it comes down to a man somewhere, trying to control your life." "What do
you mean, Marisia?" Marisia explained. Most women are controlled by men;
often by one man, but sometimes by more than one. If you want to be
free, then what you have to do is control the man who wants to control
you. Marisia explained that feminists believed that they should be free
from the control of men, but that she went further; she believed that
the only stable situations came about when women controlled men. I
thought about this, and realized that the head teacher at the school was
the man who was controlling my life; it was him that made the decision
about whether I would be going on to high school or not. I told Marisia.
"Yes, I think you're right, Sandi. So now, all you have to do is control
Mr Carter. Just one thing - never refer to them as men. Either they are
boys, or else use some humiliating term like limpdick." Mr Carter. Henry
Carter. He was like God in our school, his word was law. If you got
reported to him, it was like your life was over. How could a girl of
fifteen control a powerful man - I mean, limpdick - like that? "Sandi,
let me explain the theory, then I'll tell you how to put it in practice,
then you can try it out, then you can do it." "OK," I said.
Marisia explained that the first step was to get physically strong.
"You've already done that, Sandi. But you can never be too strong, you
can always use more muscle, more power. Don't ever stop building up your
body, making your muscles harder and stronger." Then she explained the
Double Triangle of Domination.
The first triangle is pain, fear and humiliation. You use your muscles
to give the limpdick pain, more pain than he would have thought existed,
more pain than he could have imagined could come from a pretty young
girl. The pain weakens his body, which makes it easier to inflict more
pain. The more pain he suffers, the weaker he gets, and the easier it is
to inflict higher levels of pain on him. When he gets used to each level
of pain, you show him that there's another level. When he thinks that
his body can't hurt any more than it already does, you show him that it
can. So, for example, when you twist his arm into a hammerlock, you
don't twist it as hard as you can. You twist it up to a certain point,
and hold him there until he gets used to the pain, and starts to feel
that it isn't so bad, and he can take it. Then you twist it some more,
and double the pain. Then, after a few more minutes, when his body has
started to accept the new level of pain, you double it again. And so on.
Fear is the next step. Don't keep him in pain all the time. Let his body
recover, let the pain fade. But make sure he knows that there is plenty
more pain on the way. Show him the big hard muscles that are causing the
pain, show him how much more pain he's going to get, and tell him about
what is happening to him. The objective is to keep him in permanent
fear, so that the fear only abates when the pain is so great that there
isn't room for fear. But when the pain fades, the fear returns, fear of
more pain. For each step, tell him what you're going to do to him, give
it time to sink in, so that he understands how much it's going to hurt,
and then inflict even more pain than he was expecting. The fear should
be both short term and long term. Short term, he should be terrified of
what you're about to do during the current session, and long term, every
time he sees you he should think about the terrible things you're going
to do to him next time you feel like it.
The third side of the triangle is humiliation. Use the pain to build the
fear, use the fear to make him humiliate himself. Make him beg you to
stop hurting him, but make sure that he knows that begging is useless.
But make him beg anyway, make him cry, then taunt him about what a cry-
baby he is. Make sure he understands that a pretty young girl is causing
his pain and fear, and that soon everyone is going to know about how
she hurt and humiliated him. Make him do things like taking his socks
in his mouth, like licking inside your ass, things that he'll remember
later with terrible shame. Make him lick your toes, make him plead for
mercy.
I told Marisia that I was already doing most of that, and enjoying it a
lot. Marisia explained "That's only the first triangle. Now, I'll
explain the second triangle, which is the opposite of the first. The
first triangle makes him terrified of you, makes him subservient and
submissive to you. But the second triangle makes him yours, gives you
complete control over his mind, so that all he wants to do is please
you."
The second triangle is pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment. It's the
opposite of the first triangle. Pleasure instead of pain, anticipation
instead of fear, fulfilment instead of humiliation. Marisia explained
that the limpdick must learn that the same woman that causes
terrible debilitating pain, can also deliver mind-blowing pleasure. "You
stimulate the areas of his body that are most directly linked to the
pleasure-centers of his brain." "I think I know what that is," I said,
"his cock." "Correct", she said. But don't use your vagina for this, it
doesn't give you enough control, and there's the danger that you might
have an orgasm, which would then blow him away. Use your mouth, your
tongue and your fingers. The fingers are easiest, and the most
sensitive, and give you the most control."
"Next, anticipation. This works in two ways, short term and long term.
"Let me guess", I said. "Short term during the current session, and long
term when he sees me and thinks about what I'll be doing to him next
time." "Right, laughed Marisia. "In the short term, you don't let him
come. You make him want to come, you build up a tremendous pressure to
come, but you don't allow him to. That's easy to do, but there are two
ways. You can use pain to stop his orgasm in its tracks - that has good
results in the long term, as he's never certain whether you're about to
make him feel good, or whether you're about to hurt him. The other way
is to simply squeeze his cock in your hand, especially if you press a
finger against his urethra at the base of his penis." Marisia explained
how the anticipation could be built up over a long period, and how long-
term anticipation could be used to cause an erection at long distance
any time I felt like it. Marisia explained "I simply make a circle out
of my thumb and finger, and the boy goes stiff, he can't help it. Once
I've got him trained, his body is mine."
And finally fulfilment. "You might not want to let him have an orgasm,
but if you do let him come eventually, that will help to destroy any
resistance to your will in future. Certainly, you should defer his
orgasm as long as you have patience. But eventually, letting him climax
will mean that his mind and body will belong to you."
It sounded marvellous, and I could barely wait to try it out. Pain, fear
and humiliation I already knew, but I hadn't realized that if you added
pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment, you could have such a great
effect. Mr Henry Carter was the limpdick standing between me and high
school. It was now time for Mr Henry Carter to meet the Double Triangle
of Domination.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:40:23 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 13 - The Domination of Henry Carter
~Lines: 250
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 13 - The Domination of Henry Carter
I needed a couple of hours, and I needed this time to be uninterrupted.
So I waited till school was finished, then I went to his office. I
didn't knock on his door like you are supposed to, I just barged
straight in. And he reacted just as I'd hoped and expected, by standing
up and shouting at me. So I marched up to him, and without any warning,
jammed my tough right fist into his stomach, with the force of my
body and arm behind it; not full force, because I had lots more for him
to experience. He sort of collapsed around my fist, and as he bent, I
threw my left fist into his chest, right about where the heart is. As he
fell, I hit him a third time in his kidneys. He dropped to the floor,
jerking spasmodically; I'd really hurt him badly. I took a deep breath
and told myself to hold off - he mustn't be hurt too badly to appreciate
what was to come. He lay on the floor, choking and trying to breathe,
his body sending messages of pain like fire to his brain. Excellent. I
watched him for a while, letting the pain fade so that he would be able
to understand the next stage. "What's the matter, can't you stand up to
a fifteen year old girl? Big strong man like you, and you can't even
take a couple of punches from a little girl? Call yourself a man - more
like a limpdick. If you can't take those little taps, you're in real
serious trouble. That was nothing compared to what I'm going to do to
you. First of all, I'm going to hurt you so much that you can't fight
back. Then I'm going to screw you up so badly that you'll never be the
same again." I doubt if he could actually appreciate what I was about to
do to him, it was so far outside his experience.
The pain in his body had weakened him a lot, so it wasn't too hard for
me to lift him over my head and slam him down on the floor. After doing
this a couple of times, he just lay there, twitching slightly. While I
waited for him to recover, I had a look over his desk. In one of the
drawers, I found a magazine with pictures of what looked like
schoolgirls, although such things are often made with girls over 18, who
just look younger. But it meant that he was a bit kinky, which would
reinforce what I was about to do. "Like little school girls, do you?" I
showed him his secret magazine. "I'm a little school girl - what would
you like to do to me?" I hoisted him up in the air again, and slammed
him to the ground once more. "Would you like my soft little hands on
you?" "Please, no, I can't take any more. I give up. You're too much for
me, Sandi, please don't hurt me any more," he begged. "Beg me some more,
beg me on your knees, plead with me not to hurt you any more."
Meanwhile, he had stopped twitching, and was starting to try to roll
over onto his face, and he got onto his knees and started to whine
"Sandi, I hurt all over, you've done enough, I don't know what you want,
but whatever it is, you can have it". "What I want is a soft helpless
limpdick begging me to stop hurting him. And I've already got one of
those. Right now, what I want is for you to put your hands behind your
back and close your eyes." When he'd done that, I took one of his wrists
in my hands, and twisted it up behind his back. I planted one foot
between his shoulders, and hauled on his wrist, putting so much stress
on his shoulder joint that I could hear it creaking and popping, and he
started to howl with the pain. I held him like that, pulling and
twisting on his arm occasionally to get the best effect. His voice told
me what the best positions were. He couldn't help groaning and shouting
with pain. After a while, I guess his arm must have gone numb with pain,
so I let go of it, and started on the other one. He immediately gave a
very satisfying scream, and I worked his arm round and back for several
minutes.
When I let go, his arms dangled uselessly by his sides. I came round and
knelt in front of him, putting my arms gently on his shoulders, and
rubbing my breasts against his chest. "What's the matter? Has big mean
Sandi hurt poor little Mr Carter? Can I call you Henry?" He moaned. I
shook him. "Can I call you Henry?" "Yes, call me anything you like, only
please stop hurting me, I can't take the pain." "I haven't finished with
you, Henry. We're going to play a game, and every time you lose, I'm
going to hurt you some more." "No, please Sandi, I can't, I just can't."
I smiled prettily at him. "Yes you can. Let's start with the first
question. Henry, what's the Latin word for chair?" "I don't know, I
don't know, please, I can't do this." "Sorry, Henry, wrong answer. Time
to pay a forfeit." I took his left hand in mine and squeezed. I have a
powerful grip, and I could feel the small soft bones in his hand bend
and slide in my grasp. He screamed, a shrill, high-pitched scream, and I
relaxed slightly, keeping my hold on his hand. "Now Henry, you'd better
get the next question right. Are you concentrating?" "Sandi, please ..."
"What's the French word for computer?" I squeezed his damaged hand as I
asked; he moaned as the pain travelled up his arm. "Time's up. Forfeit
again. Do you want to pay the forfeit with your left hand or your
right?" He didn't answer. "OK, no answer means both hands", and I
crushed both his hands in mine, loving the way they softly yielded to
the pressure of my grip. "Want to play again?" I asked. "Or do you want
to beg me to stop?"
The pain had destroyed his ability to resist, and the fear of my big
hard muscles was now sapping his will, emptying his mind of everything
except the girl who was tormenting him. He didn't even want to think
about his situation. He was kneeling, and I sat in front of him, my legs
on either side of his body, his hands crushed in mine. I gently wrapped
my legs round his waist, and then put his hands on the inside of my
thighs. "Feel those guys", I said. "If you thought my arms were too much
for you, imagine what those guys will do to your soft helpless body." I
could see his realization of his position, and he was imagining what my
thighs would do to him. I locked my ankles together, and gradually
straightened my legs, his waist trapped between my thighs. Slowly, the
distance between my thighs got less. His body was compressed by my
thighs on either side of him; the pain was excruciating. After a while,
he looked to be on the brink of passing out, so I relaxed my python-like
squeeze, and slapped his face to get his attention. "If you turn
sideways, that'll take some of the pressure off your waist." When he'd
done that, I squeezed harder than ever, and this time the pressure on
his diaphragm cut off his breathing. I held the scissors until he was
almost out again, and then released him. Now he understood the power of
my legs. I stood up, and put his head between my thighs.
"No, please, Sandi, don't do that, you'll kill me, you'll burst my
skull." "Lick my thighs" Eagerly, he licked and slobbered over my legs.
"Take your clothes off". His head was still between my thighs, so when
he hesitated, I simply applied a burst of power to his skull. He
screamed, and started stripping. When he was naked, I squeezed him hard
between my legs, not hard enough to do any real damage, but hard enough
for him to realize who was in control.
Now I had him totally humiliated, I'd completed the first of the Double
Triangles of Domination - pain, fear and humiliation. It was time for
the next phase. I picked him up and slammed him down on his own desk, on
his back. He bounced slightly, and wailed in agony. I pulled him towards
the edge, so that his head was in mid-air, face up. I straddled his
face, my thighs compressing his ears. I wasn't squeezing enough to hurt,
just enough to keep him in place. His arms were still limp and useless
from my hammerlocks. I reached up and untied the silk scarf from my
hair; Karen had given me this, with instructions for its use. I leaned
forward, and took his tiny little dick in one hand, wrapping the silk
scarf round its length. Then I gently stroked it, up and down. His
erection came immediately. "No, Sandi, please, it's wrong, you mustn't"
he wailed.
"Henry, I'm going to give you more pleasure now than you've ever had in
your entire life." I could hear him mumbling something from his position
between my thighs - it didn't really matter what. I held his dick gently
in my hand, wrapped up in the silk scarf. As Karen had told me, he found
it immensely erotic, and started trying to buck and shy away from my
hand. I opened my legs a little to hear what he was trying to say
"Please Sandi, you're only fifteen, this is wrong." "Wrong?" I said.
"How is it wrong?" I held the base of his penis in one hand while I
stroked the length with the scarf. "Urggh, aargh", he said, and I could
feel him about to come. So I dug my finger into the base of his penis,
squeezing his urethra like Marisia had explained, stopping him from
having his orgasm. I held him like this and continued to manipulate his
cock with my other hand. He started to struggle, so I gave him a burst
of power with my legs, crushing his skull between my thighs. "Henry, if
you fight me, I'll have to subdue you." He stopped struggling, and I got
on with wanking him. "Henry, when I do let you come, it'll be like an
explosion in your brain, it'll make anything else that ever happened to
you like pale pink." "Urghh, arrgh" was his inarticulate reply.
The first two parts of the Second Triangle of Domination were working
nicely. He was experiencing pleasure vastly greater than anything he'd
ever felt before, and the anticipation was building like a head of
steam. Let's start building up the long term anticipation. "Henry, this
is fun. After we've finished here today, that won't be the end of it.
I'll come back and do this to you again and again. Would you like that?"
"Urghh, arrgh", he repeated. I didn't know what it meant, but it didn't
really matter. "Would you like me to bring you to orgasm now? "Urghh,
arrgh". "Sorry, I can't hear you?" "Please Sandi, let me come, I feel
like I'm bursting, don't stop me any more."
After about half an hour of building his orgasm, but not allowing him
any release, I let go of the base of his penis, unblocking his urethra.
At the same time, I stepped back, releasing his head from between my
thighs, and pulling the silk scarf off his genitals. His penis almost
exploded. A great jet of semen rose towards the ceiling, curved back,
and splattered on to his body. Another jet followed, and another, and
another, and his body jerked and bucked in spasms as his orgasm took
over. I watched curiously, wondering how long fulfilment would take.
After a few minutes, it was all over; he lay on his back on his desk,
groaning, totally spent. I smiled, and walked out, closing the door
quietly behind me.
I visited him twice more that week. The first time, he was fearful,
scared that I might be about to hurt him, but even more scared that I
might be about to give him the same sort of pleasures that I had before.
I reached up to my hair, allowing my biceps to bulge in the spectacular
way that they do. He cowered away, and I smiled sexily at him as I
untied the silk scarf from round my hair. "Remember this?" I asked. He
gulped and nodded, his erection obvious in his pants. "Get onto the
desk, and pull your trousers down." He scrambled onto the desk, and got
himself ready for me. I put his head between my thighs again, holding
him helpless, and wrapped the silk scarf round his penis.
Half an hour later, I allowed him fulfilment once more. The Double
Triangle of Domination was now complete; he'd experienced pain, fear and
humiliation, followed by pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment. I left
him to clean himself up again, and sought out Simon, for my own
fulfilment.
On the third visit, without being told, he immediately pulled down his
trousers and got onto the desk. I leaned over him, lifted him up, and
slammed him to the ground. I twisted his head further than it should
have gone, I almost ripped his arms off by pulling them behind him, and
then I stood over him with his head crushed between my legs until he
lost consciousness. Then I lifted him up onto my shoulders, and with his
back against mine, I pulled down on his neck and thighs. The backbreaker
is one of my favorite holds; you can inflict unimaginable amounts of
pain, and the helpless limpdick can't even struggle, as that makes it
hurt even more. When you've finished, his back will hurt for weeks, and
there's always the possibility of doing some permanent damage to his
vertebrae.
After his cries got weaker and finally stopped, I dropped him onto the
desk and finished him off with my scarf. His final orgasm made him buck
and rear as usual, but my backbreaker had damaged him so much that he
was in terrible pain the whole time. Perfect. Pain and pleasure
together. As I stimulated his cock, I told him how great it would be
when I finally let him come, and at the same time how much it would hurt
because of his damaged back. Fear and anticipation together. And when I
finally did let him come, the humiliating agony mingled with the
ecstatic fulfilment, and his mind was mine for ever.
I told him what I wanted. "Henry - make it so I have good grades, and go
to high school, the same one as Ken." "Yes, Sandi, whatever you want,
you're a goddess, I love you." I didn't want to hear his stupid
declarations of adoration, so I left him burbling on his desk. I wanted
to tell Little Kenny the good news.
I found him all alone in the library, studying as usual. I came up
behind him, picked him up, and threw him in the air, being very careful
to catch him on the way down. That isn't as difficult as it sounds, as
Little Kenny weighs only about 90 pounds. He screamed as he fell, and it
took me ages to soothe him down. "Sandi, I wish you wouldn't do that",
he said, but I knew he secretly loved being tossed around, and I was
ever so careful not to hurt him. "Baby, great news. I'm going to the
same high school as you are."
"But you can't, what about your grades?" "All fixed, Ken baby, don't
worry about it. I had a few words with Mr Carter, and he's being ever so
nice to me, and he's making sure I get into the same school as you." I
didn't want to frighten Little Kenny by explaining about the Double
Triangle of Domination. "So you don't have to worry about being bullied
at high school, I can protect you there." Ken squealed with pleasure,
and flung his arms round me and kissed me simply everywhere. He really
can be a little darling.
"Baby, just one more thing. Happy birthday." I took off my silk scarf,
held both his skinny legs between mine, held both of his tiny wrists in
one of my hands, stretched him out, and for the next couple of hours,
all you could hear was his screams of pleasure, anticipation and
fulfilment.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:44:31 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 14 - Bad News for Ken
~Lines: 209
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 14 - Bad News for Ken
School's out! Those must be the two most wonderful words in the world.
School is a complete pain anyway; and the only thing that made it
bearable was being with my baby, my little 90 pound, five-foot-nothing
Little Kenny. My best friend Karen had made some great plans for the
holidays, and I think the only one who wasn't looking forward to the
holidays was Simon, who was expecting to have his nose rubbed off
against my crotch. I was planning to do some serious weight training,
and I still needed to learn how to fuck properly. The Double Triangle of
Domination had worked so brilliantly on the head teacher (I finished up
with a good B average, although I really deserved an F) that I was keen
to try it out on a few other limpdick men, and, oh!, so many
opportunities, so much to do, so little time to do it in.
I made a list. All Karen wanted to do was spend the next seven weeks
fucking; she planned to fuck her way through high school - she didn't
seem to think of anything else these days. I had more diverse ambitions
for the holidays, and I made a list.
1. Learn how to fuck. So far, every attempt I'd made had ended in
disaster. Steve was struck impotent on seeing my big muscular body. With
Nigel, I'd just been far too demanding, and when he couldn't deliver,
I'd raped him. And I hadn't really given Derek a chance; it was straight
date-rape. But I still wanted to learn how to do it like Karen, like all
the other girls. Properly.
2. Demonstrate my new skills to Little Kenny, often. Very often. Pretty
much continuously, in fact, for a very long time. I wanted Ken to be the
happiest boy in the world, and I knew that I could make that happen.
3. Get bigger and harder. I didn't expect to grow any taller than my
current five foot six, but I felt sure that I could get over 150 pounds,
and I didn't plan on any of it being flab. My target was 16 inch biceps,
and thighs (currently 21 inches) bigger than my waist (currently 26). I
wouldn't object to a bit more on my bust, either - 36B was cool, but 38C
would be cooler. And I wanted long curly blonde hair, like Karen. Long
would just be a matter of time, blonde I already had, and I knew I could
get Karen to help me with the curly bit.
4. Finally, I'd had so much fun doing the Double Triangle of Domination,
that I wanted to try it out on more limpdick men. Lots more.
But first, I had problems with Little Kenny.
Ken had found out about the other boys I'd fucked - well, fucked isn't
the right word, because I still didn't know how to do it properly, but
you know what I mean. And Ken was upset about it. And Ken thought he had
some sort of ownership of me. Boys get silly ideas like that.
He stormed up to me while Karen and I were in the coffee bar. "Sandi,
you've been cheating on me", he said. I pulled him onto my lap - he
struggled but not for very long. "What do you mean, Ken?" "I know about
Simon."
"Ken, Simon's just for rubbing against; I haven't done anything
important with him." I used Simon's face and nose against my genitals,
to get relief - I didn't fancy him at all. And Simon usually got damaged
in the process - blood and tears, my favorite. And Ken knew that
perfectly well. So then he produced his trump card. "And I know about
Steve, Nigel and Derek. You've betrayed me, you're just like all the
others!" I was furious. How had he found out? And then he slapped my
face!
I sat there, stunned, while Ken stormed out. And then the tears came.
I'd only done it for him, why couldn't he understand that? And how had
he found out, anyway? I couldn't believe that any of the boys had told
him. I put my face in my hands and cried. I'd loved that little guy, and
now he treated me like this. He'd even slapped my face, and I wouldn't
take that from anyone else.
Karen stroked my hair. "There, there", she said, "Boys are all the same.
Don't ever trust a boy, they only want one thing, and when they've had
it, they're on to the next girl." I looked up at Karen, tearfully. "But
I haven't even fucked him yet - I was so looking forward to learning how
and showing Ken what I could do." I sobbed. Karen put her arms round me
and hugged me. It's so good to have a friend like Karen. "Honestly,
Sandi, it's silly to get so worked up about one boy; there are so many
of them, all ready, willing and able." "But Karen, Little Kenny was so
small and helpless, such a lovely little thing, I absolutely adored him.
I can't stand those big he-men types you snuggle up to." "Sandi, one of
the great things about sex is that no matter what your preferences,
there's always plenty of boys how you want them. Anyway, I've gone off
he-men; I'm into docile submissive types now."
I looked across to Karen. She was so beautiful, so perfect, not a hair
out of place. Her bones were so fine, her nose so small, her figure so
elegant. I felt so big and clumsy compared with her. It was all right
for her to talk about the infinite supply of boys, but I wasn't so sure
that it applied to me.
I took it out on Simon, poor lamb. We went down by the river, and we lay
in the long grass. My moans of pleasure mixed with his moans of pain as
my thighs squeezed his head into my genitals until I orgasmed.
Afterwards, I pulled his head up to my breasts and cuddled him, thinking
of my Little Kenny, and wondering if there was any way I could make it
up with him. Simon stopped crying, and I looked down at him, and talked
to him. "Simon?" He looked up at me adoringly. I've never understood
this about Simon - I treat him like dirt, and he doesn't seem to mind.
Well, I guess he minds at the time, otherwise he wouldn't shout with
pain so much, but he doesn't seem to mind afterwards. Boys are a
complete mystery to me. "Simon, what do you think I should do about
Ken?"
Simon rubbed his face gently against my breasts. I suppose that made a
pleasant change from being abraded against my genital hair. "I love you,
Sandi", he said, "You can do anything you want." Well, that didn't help
me much, and I told him so. "You're an idiot, Simon", and I let him
nuzzle against my nipples, a very pleasant feeling. "But what should I
do about Ken?" "Whatever you want, Sandi. You should do whatever you
want with Ken", and he got inside my blouse and started licking me,
which pretty much ended the conversation.
A few days later, I saw Ken sitting in the coffee shop. I went in,
hoping that maybe I could cuddle him to my breasts, which he loved so
much and explain that I hadn't been unfaithful to him, not really, that
I'd done it all for him, in fact. He looked up and saw me, stood up, and
tried to run out. I caught him as he tried to get past me, wrapped my
arms round him, and lifted him off the ground, pushing his face into my
breasts. In that position, he should have been completely helpless, but
he wriggled and fought so much, I thought I'd have to squeeze him really
hard to keep him still, and I was afraid that any really hard squeeze
would hurt him, so I let go, and he ran off. "Oh, Karen, what should I
do", I cried. Karen's only suggestion was that there were plenty more
fish in the sea, and I should find another boy. But the only one I
wanted was my Little Kenny.
Have you ever cried yourself to sleep in your pillow? I went home and
did exactly that. If only I could get Ken to listen, I knew he'd
understand my explanation that I'd only fucked those other boys as
practice so I would be good for Ken. I had to get him to listen, I just
had to.
Next day, I waited outside Ken's house. When his parents had left, I
climbed in through an open window, and ran up to his bedroom. Ken was
just getting dressed. "You're going to listen to me, like it or not", I
said, and grabbed him, throwing him down on the bed, and pinning him
there with my weight. He cursed, wriggled and bucked, so I grabbed his
arms, and pulled them high over his head, making him helpless. But he
was still trying to get away, so I had to sit on his face and bounce up
and down a few times to calm him down. He went limp, and I got worried
about whether I was smothering him, so I leaned forward to let him
breathe. I rubbed my breasts on his body - he always loved that, but
that didn't get any reaction, so I took off my silk scarf, pulled down
his trousers, and wrapped it round his penis. That certainly got a
reaction; he was immediately at attention.
I stroked his prick up and down, and he started making noises like a
washing machine. Pretty soon, I could tell he was on the verge of
coming, so I leaned further over, and gripped the base of his cock with
my other hand, with my index finger compressing the urethra, so that his
orgasm would be prevented. Holding him like this, I continued to
stimulate his cock and balls, using the silkiness of the scarf as a kind
of lubricant. I wanted Ken; I wanted him to understand how silly he was
being about my fucking other guys. I knew that all I had to do was get
him in a good mood and explain. And there's no better way to get a guy
in a good mood, than to give him a really explosive orgasm.
Half an hour later, I felt that I had built up enough pressure, and Ken
was ready for his explosion; he'd been begging and pleading with me to
let him come for long enough. I released the base of his cock,
unblocking the passage inside, but continued to pump hard with my other
hand. Sure enough, he came like a fire hose, semen spurting out of this
cock and arcing gracefully through the air to the floor. He screamed as
he ejaculated, and screamed again as I continued to milk him. Again his
orgasm ripped through his body, but now his screams faded as he fainted.
Wow. I didn't know you could do that to a boy! I'll have to experiment a
bit, and see exactly how it works. I thought, wait till Karen hears
about this! At last, something about boys that I know and she doesn't.
Ken was breathing raggedly, and I could see his heart pounding. I
covered him up with a blanket, and waited for him to return to the land
of the living. While I waited, I lay down on the bed next to him, put my
arms round him, and closed my eyes for a few minutes.
The next think I knew, something was tickling my toes. I sat up, and
there was my Little Kenny, crouched down at the end of the bed, licking
my toes and looking rather fearfully up at me. "Hi, Ken", I smiled
brightly. I'd gotten my baby Ken back! He went back to licking my toes,
more vigorously.
That wasn't like Ken - he'd never done that before, although he'd seen
Simon do it. Simon used to lick my toes when I was angry with him, or
when he thought I was, on the grounds that it's impossible to stay angry
with someone licking your toes. So I took his hands in mine. "What's the
matter, baby?"
Ken made a few grunts, looked up at me fearfully, and licked harder and
deeper. So I grabbed his upper arms, and dragged him onto the bed next
to me. Ken immediately curled up into a ball, with his hands over his
head, like he was terrified. The more I tried to uncurl him, the more he
whimpered and shivered with fear. What was up? I tried to cuddle him out
of it, like I had so many times before, but he wouldn't uncurl. I could
have forced him, of course, but I knew that would only make things
worse. There was obviously no talking to him in this mood, so I stood up
and left him to recover himself. And I went to see Karen to explain to
her about boys fainting.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:45:11 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 15 - A Scarf for Ken
~Lines: 113
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 15 - A Scarf for Ken
Karen was in the coffee bar, as usual, with a boy on either side of her,
and a couple more across the table. I sat down amongst them, rolled up
one of my sleeves, and showed them what a 15-inch bicep looked like.
"Get lost", I said to them, "I want to have a private conversation
here." One of them said "What gives you the right ..." but his friends
shut him up and pulled him away "Are you crazy? That's Sandi Stone! Do
you know what she did ..."
Karen said "So what happened?" I told her how my talk with Ken had gone,
including his loss of consciousness. "Yes", said Karen, "I always knew
it was possible, but I've never been able to do it. You have to get
things so that every time they try to breathe in, you make them scream.
Then you're supposed to give them such a big, long orgasm that they
can't breathe in for a long time, and the lack of air makes them pass
out." I wasn't so sure about this being right - I wonder if she was
making it up as she went along? She always seemed to knowledgeable about
boys. Ken had been breathing just fine - I wouldn't do anything to
interfere with his air! He'd just passed out at the height of his
orgasm. But I didn't argue with Karen. I wanted to know if she had any
ideas on the way he behaved afterwards.
Karen looked at me like I was an idiot. "Sandi, you sat on his face and
rubbed him up to a shattering orgasm?" "More than one, I think", I
replied. "Don't you know what you've just done?" she continued.
And then I realized. I'd physically dominated him, probably hurt him
more than a bit in stretching him out, and then humiliated him by
sitting on his face. And then I'd delivered more pleasure, anticipation
and fulfilment than he'd ever experienced before. I'd done the Double
Triangle of Domination on him, without even meaning to. "Oh, no! Oh,
Karen, I didn't realize you could do a DTD without even meaning to." "I
can't, you can, Sandi. I doubt if I could even do the DTD on purpose. I
haven't got your physical strength."
I practically ran out of the coffee shop to Marisia's house, and banged
on the door. She let me in, and immediately said "Sandi, what's wrong?"
"Oh, Marisia, it's awful. Ken found out about the other boys I was
fucking, so I wanted to explain to him that it was all for his sake, but
he wouldn't listen, so I pinned him down and sat on his head and made
him come to get him in the right mood, and now I think I've done the
Double Triangle of Domination on him, and how can I take it off him,
because I don't want him to be a zombie, and ..." At that point, Marisia
pulled me down onto the sofa and put her arms round me, because I was
crying.
"Sandi, You can't undo the Double Triangle of Domination. It's like
unscrambling an egg. Once a man has been DTD'd, that's it. If you don't
like how he is now, all you can do is walk away from him, let some other
woman have him. He'll stay like that for ever, it's a permanent change
to the personality. But it's his own fault for not letting you explain
things to him." "So there's nothing I can do?" "No, Sandi, nothing. You
have to understand what DTD does. Men have this "macho" thing, it's all
tied up with their egos and the sexual capabilities. Some have quite a
small one, some have a very big one, and some men have so much macho
that they're unbearable. It's when the macho gets too big, that's what
makes them so unpleasant. DTD simply removes the whole macho, slices it
out, gets rid of it completely. Then they become much nicer, more
docile. They might have a few problems immediately after it's gone,
because they aren't used to functioning without it. But don't worry
about it, Ken will adjust to his new personality, find a suitable girl,
and be happy with her." "But I wanted Ken to be happy with me!", I
wailed. Marisia held my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "Sandi, Ken
never was suitable for you. He was too small, too helpless and just too
much of a wimp." But I liked him that way, I thought. "Sandi, you'll be
at High School soon. It's a whole new life, you'll make a whole new set
of friends. You should be looking forward to it!" "But the only reason I
was going to High School was to protect Ken", I explained. Marisia
explained how I could still protect him.
"Sandi, I've noticed that you always wear a royal blue silk scarf in
your hair." "Yes", I said, "I think it makes me look more feminine."
"Which it does, Sandi. But what you should do, is give a scarf just like
it to Ken, and that way, everyone will know that he's yours, under your
protection, so he won't be bullied."
I realized that she was right. If I couldn't give Ken back his macho, at
least I could make life a bit easier for him. I went down to the mall
and bought the prettiest royal blue silk scarf I could find, and it cost
me a bomb, but I thought Ken was worth it. I walked round to his house,
and when his mother answered the door, I ran up to his bedroom. He was
laying on his bed, crying into his pillow when I came in. He saw me, and
tried to hide under the bed covers, obviously terrified that I'd come to
give him another dose of DTD. I pulled the blankets off him, sat on the
bed, and gathered him into my arms. And then I explained the deal to
him.
"Ken, you see this silk scarf?" He nodded, fearfully. "It's one of mine.
You wear it round your neck, like this", and I tied it in a loose knot
round his throat, a bit like a tie, only more attractive. He actually
looked rather fetching. "Ken, from now on, you wear that every day, all
the time. You understand?" He nodded again. He did look such a darling.
I just couldn't resist saying good bye to him. I whipped off my own
scarf, wrapped it round his genitals, and went to work. It was very easy
to get him hard, and just as easy to get him to climax. Five minutes
later, he was trying to scream, but I'd muffled his head between my
thighs, so as not to upset his parents. Fifteen minutes later he stopped
trying to scream, so I thought I'd better get off him and let him
recover. I stayed around long enough to make sure that he was all right,
and then went to meet Karen at the coffee bar.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:46:19 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 16 - Sandi fucks up Donald
~Lines: 130
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 16 - Sandi fucks up Donald
On the 18th of August, I turned sixteen, and Karen gave me a wonderful
birthday present. She gave me Donald, and instructions on what to do.
Donald was another college jock - Karen's taste seemed to run in that
direction. She'd given Donald a big build up about me, told him I was
the second best fuck in five counties (Karen being the first, I
suppose). And to make absolutely sure that nothing went wrong this time,
Karen accompanied us on the date.
I thought it would be a disaster - a date is a bit crowded with three in
it. But not the date that Karen had in mind. None of this movie-and-a-
hamburger stuff. No romantic-dinner-for-two garbage. Karen's idea was
simple. One man, two women and the biggest cucumber I'd ever seen. Karen
has a thing about cucumbers - she says that they never care what time of
month it is, you don't have to keep telling them how wonderful they are,
and they stay hard for weeks. I asked her what exactly she was planning,
but she wouldn't tell me. "It's a surprise", she said.
I spent the next few days in a frenzy of anticipation. I felt like there
was a gaping void inside me that ached to be filled. My thoughts were
full of cucumbers, wine bottles and salami. Several times each day, I
felt my nipples grow stiff and my vagina become moist with erotic
thoughts. Karen and I met in an old, disused factory. In one corner,
there was a whole bunch of stuff; pillows, carpets, sheepskin rugs.
"Just do what I tell you, Sandi", she said. I was looking forward to
this!
Don arrived soon after, and Karen told him to get undressed. He looked
at us a bit apprehensively, especially at me, and I wondered why. I lay
naked on a sheepskin rug, the fur doing unspeakably nice things to my
skin. I was careful to keep my muscles relaxed, so as not to scare Don.
I spread my legs apart, and he knelt down submissively between them.
"Hold his body between your legs, Sandi, and take his hands." I did as
Karen asked; losing the support of his hands, he fell forward onto my
breasts. I wrapped my legs round his waist and gripped him gently.
Karen was doing something with her cucumber, I couldn't see what.
Suddenly, Don's back arched, and something long and hard started sliding
into me. Very long, and very, very hard. Not hard like iron, but hard
like, well, like a cucumber, I suppose. But it felt warm, even hot, and
it kept on sliding into me, sliding and sliding like there was no end to
it. My vagina spasmed slightly from the sensation, my thighs tensed, and
Don cried out and tried to pull back, so Karen said "Hold him tight,
Sandi". I gripped his waist hard between my thighs, and held onto his
hands, trying not to crush and bend the soft little bones inside. But I
must have been holding him harder than I thought, because he started to
cry out in pain. "No, no", he shouted. "Hold him tight", said Karen,
"really tight". I squeezed my thighs together harder, to stop him
withdrawing, and let go his delicate hands. I put my hands under his
armpits, pulling him towards me. I could feel the roughness of his prick
inside me, and the heat of his body on mine drove me wild. He was
wriggling now, bucking against my body, and his body rubbing against my
breasts sent fire into my brain. I gripped him hard with my hands,
holding onto the slab of muscle just in front of the armpit, and used
this to pull him up and down on me. He was screaming now, and I could
hear Karen's voice in the background, egging us on.
Then my own orgasm struck me with all the impact of a 100 ton
locomotive. The next several minutes were just like someone had exploded
a stick of dynamite inside me, and the shock waves were travelling round
my body. I was shaking and shuddering uncontrollably, my body spasming
and convulsing with the sensuality of my first real orgasm. After a
while, it went from one long continuous orgasm, to a series of major
explosions. These slowly diminished in intensity and frequency until I
was just getting small bursts of pleasure. I slowly relaxed my grip in
Don's armpits, and unwound my legs from round his body. He collapsed on
top of me, groaning, and I got out from under him.
By this time, Karen was nowhere to be seen. I felt so good - I felt like
someone had swept my chimney, cleaned out my oven, scoured my saucepans.
I wanted to share this feeling with Karen, wonderful Karen who at last
had gotten me properly fucked. I looked down at Don - he didn't look too
good. Two big bruises were appearing on his hips, where my thighs had
asserted themselves, and a large, green cucumber was sticking out of his
backside. I laughed - it looked so ridiculous. Then I stopped laughing
and looked down at myself; another, even larger cucumber peeped a few
inches out of my pussy, the end broken off. The end of the cucumber,
that is. Carefully, I pulled the cucumber out from inside me - I didn't
want a vegetable stuck inside me. I gasped a few times as it came out; I
could understand Karen's fascination with them. The rough, nubbly rind
of the vegetable rubbed against my genitals in a way that sent waves of
excitement surging through my body. It looked badly damaged - crushed,
like someone had gripped it in a vice. I filed this thought away for
future experimentation. Now I knew what had given me that extraordinary
orgasm.
I wondered if I should do something about Don; he looked in pretty bad
shape. And then I thought he'd be perfectly capable of getting his own
cucumber out, and I didn't want to risk there being something nasty
under pressure behind it. Besides, he seemed to be in some distress, and
I wasn't in the mood for comforting some limpdick. I wanted to tell the
world about my new status - I was a woman at last. So I gathered up my
clothes, got dressed, and left. Before I went, I knotted my blue silk
scarf round his neck, so he'd have something to remember me by.
And then I had a thought about Ken - sometimes I surprise myself. I
could ask just Ken who had told him about me and those other guys. Since
I'd DTD'd him, he would be unable to resist my request. I saw him in the
coffee bar a couple of weeks later, Karen sitting next to him. He looked
so small and pathetic sitting there; even compared to Karen he looked
small. I sat down, trapping him between my body and Karen, and I came
straight to the point. "Ken, who told you I fucked Steve, Nigel and
Derek?" He looked down at the floor. "Karen did." Karen left abruptly,
while I sat there, stunned.
Suddenly, everything became clear. Karen, my best friend, had betrayed
me! I'd loaned Simon to her, and that had given her a taste for soft,
docile boys who were willing to be used as sex toys. Ken was pretty
compliant to start with, and Karen had wanted to get him from me, and
this was her way of doing it! And for that, I'd ruined Ken's soft,
malleable personality, turned him into the ultimate submissive.
I felt sick inside. Karen, who I trusted. I'd helped her screw up Don
with her cucumbers, she must have hated him for some reason. And some of
those other boys, Karen must have *wanted* me to trash them for reasons
of her own. Karen, who had used me cynically to soften up boys to the
way she wanted them. I'd never trust a cheating girl again, never let a
deceitful girl be my best friend, never rely on anything in a skirt.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:47:29 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 17 - Salt Mountain High
~Lines: 189
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 17 - Salt Mountain High
I was terrified at the thought of high school. I'm only four foot
eleven, 85 pounds sopping wet, and my friends call me Bunny, because my
parents were Mr and Mrs Rabbit. What a terrible name to inflict on a
child. But there's more. My first name was Robert. Yes. Robert Rabbit.
Do you have parents? So what do I call myself - Bob Rabbit? Bobby
Rabbit? Robby Rabbit? or even (ugh) Robert Rabbit? I'd made up my mind
to change my name as soon as I could, so I didn't pass the affliction
on. Mom and Dad call me Robert, my friends call me Bunny, and everyone
else (and there's a lot in this category) call me Bunnikins. I was
fifteen, and looked about twelve. I wore glasses, otherwise I couldn't
see the blackboard, and I still had a brace on my right leg, because my
knee wasn't strong enough to take my weight. You can probably imagine
how the other kids treated me. No, you probably can't. It's hard to
believe how cruel kids can be - it wasn't enough that I had to suffer
from my own disabilities, I also had to suffer from the taunting and the
bullying. I tried to pretend I didn't care, because if you show them
that it hurts, they do it twice as bad.
I'd worked out a couple of strategies. No-one knew me here, so the first
thing to do was to make sure that no-one found out about my leg-brace;
long trousers, and no swimming. If anyone asked about my limp, I'd tell
them it was a sports injury. You don't think twice about lying when so
much is at stake. The next idea I'd had, was to hook up with some big
dumb jock - I'd help him with his homework, and he'd be my insurance
against bullying. And the third thing I planned, was to leave my glasses
off, unless I actually needed them to see something. That meant that the
world would be a little fuzzy, but unless I needed to read street signs
or something, that wouldn't matter. And no, definitely no, repeat no
more BUNNY. Let alone Bunnikins.
There were about a hundred kids in grade 10 with me, and they divided us
into four classes. I was in Mr Devonshire's class, with two dozen other
kids. I couldn't see their faces properly because I'd left my glasses
off, and I wondered if that was such a wide move. They sat us down in
alphabetical order, and I started feeling better already. There's
nothing like a bit of order to improve the quality of life. I was next
to this big chunky blond jock, and I gave him a big grin, to let him
know that I was a regular guy. They started explaining about how the
syllabus worked - English, English Lit, Math and Science, History,
Geography, plus some optional subjects. Physical education (ugh) was
compulsory, well, I suppose I'd really expected that, but I had hoped it
wouldn't be. I could probably duck out of it for a while, though.
Then they showed us our lockers, also in alphabetical order - I really
liked this, as it appealed to my sense of how things ought to be. As I
put my things away, I told my neighbor, the chunky blond jock, I was
really looking forward to this school, and asked him his name. "Sandi.
Sandi Stone." Unhhh. Unhhh. A girl. Oh no! A girl. I don't know how to
deal with girls, I've never had any practice. Unhhh. Well, first things
first; I better put my glasses on. And maybe I better not leave them off
in future or I could get into more trouble.
I turned to her and gave her my best smile. Then I looked up at her face
- she was really tall. Well, compared to me, she was. My eyes were about
level with her breasts; she must have been eight inches taller than me.
Breasts - I tried not to think about them, but my hands got sweaty and I
couldn't get my brain into gear. All I could think of was "Hi, my name's
Rabbit. My friends call me Bunny."
Oh no! I can't believe I just said that. Five minutes and I've already
got myself in trouble. Now everyone will call me Bunny. What an idiot.
For heaven's sake, don't even think the word "Bunnikins". Sandi looked
at me; she was wearing a loose blouse, which left me considerably
uncertain about what was under it, and a long skirt, which totally hid
her legs. She had fairly long blonde hair, and she wore a blue scarf
knotted into it. She was almost pretty, even if she was rather heavily
built. "Hi, Bunny", she said, and do you know, I didn't mind at all.
"Looks like we're neighbors. Are you any good at math?" she said.
Am I any good at math? I'm only the worlds lightweight calculus
champion, that's all. I'm completely hypotenused up on trigonometry, and
I eat algebra with my Shreddies. "Sure," I said, casually. I've watched
Easy Rider, I've watched the Fonz, I know how to be cool. "Math is
cool." "Great", she said, "I'm hopeless at it. I can do algebra, but
calculus is impossible" Yow - calculus is the coolest thing I've ever
seen! "So what subjects do you like?", I asked. "Uh", she said, and then
the bell went.
I've reported this conversation word for word. It's significant - it's
the first time I've had a conversation with a girl that didn't mostly
consist of me stammering and her giggling at me. I know it wasn't world-
shaking, in the larger scheme of things, but I can tell you, when you're
fifteen, and you've just managed to talk to a girl for the first time
without making a complete plonker of yourself, it's a red-letter day.
And not just any girl - Sandi was almost pretty, and her hair was very
nice, fairly long and very silky, with the bright blue scarf knotted
into it.
When I got home that afternoon, I went up to my room, and started
messing around with the computer. Phoebe came and joined me; she pushed
her nose up between my legs and jumped up onto my lap. I couldn't get
Sandi out of my mind, so after a while, I just sat there and thought
about her. She was tall, about five-six, and I couldn't remember what
color her eyes were; I made a note to check next time I saw her. And the
way she walked - you know how most girls sort of flounce along? A sort
of up-and-down action, moving in every direction except the one they're
going? Their arms going in all directions, and things jiggling and
wiggling? Sandi didn't move that way at all - she moved very
purposefully, very confidently, like she knew where she was going and
how to get there. She didn't bounce, she didn't jiggle and she didn't
wiggle. She just moved. She reminded me of Phoebe. You know how cats
patrol? When they leave the house on some feline errand, some cat-
critical important mission? Cats don't run, unless they're sprinting
after prey, and they only trot when they're in a hurry. Otherwise, they
adopt a gait called the "patrol". And that's how Sandi walked.
Phoebe purred, as I stroked her fur. I wondered how it would feel to
stroke Sandi's hair. I wondered what it would be like to make Sandi
purr. I stroked Phoebe at the base of her tail, and then under the chin,
where I knew she especially liked to be tickled. Then I moved my hand
under her belly - a cat has to know you really well before she'll allow
your hand there, but Phoebe and I are old friends, and she trusts me. As
I stroked her belly and chest, I wondered what it would be like to
stroke Sandi's belly and chest. I shut my eyes and pretended to myself
that the soft furry female in my lap was Sandi, and my fingers were
giving her the most pleasure she'd ever had in her life. In my mind, I
supplied the dialogue for Sandi "Oh Bunny, yes, that's lovely, don't
stop". And I imagined my reply "Oh, Sandi, you're so beautiful" Phoebe
stretched voluptuously, arching her back and extending her claws, as if
to say "Look how exquisite and dangerous I am, look what a magnificent
animal I am". And I imagined Sandi stretching her body and arching her
back, making her breasts stand out even more, and I thought "Sandi,
you've got such an incredible body, you make me feel so turned on." I
tried to imagine what her breasts would be like; big and firm and soft,
I thought, harder at the tips. I squeezed Pheobe in my hand, imagining I
was squeezing Sandi's breast. "Oh, Bunny, stop it, stop it." A sharp
needle made me open my eyes. Phoebe didn't like being squeezed, and was
telling me so. "No! Bunny, not there. Take your hand away!" I went back
to stroking her fur, and her claws retracted, her eyes closed and she
started purring again. "Bunny, I love you so much" "I love you too,
Sandi" Then Phoebe started doing the kneading thing with her paws that
cats do when they're especially happy and I had to push her (the cat,
that is) off my lap before a terrible accident happened.
I needed help. I needed advice. This was the most important thing that
had ever happened to me, and I needed to talk to someone. I went to see
my dad.
"Dad, there's this girl at High School ..." He looked up from his
papers. "And I think she's, er, rather nice, er, ..." He grinned at me.
"How do I ... how do I. I mean, I want to. I mean. You know." "Robert,
you've only just met her. I guess you're asking me about pickup lines."
"I guess" "It's easy, son. You just talk to her about anything you're
interested in." "But my tongue freezes up, I don't know what to say."
Dad had an answer for that, too. "Just pretend you're not scared,
pretend you've done this dozens of times. Imagine you're Bond, James
Bond. On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Licensed to Kill and all that.
Think what 007 would have said, and say that. She'll be just as nervous
as you are, she's not used to boys either." "But Dad, I'm only four-
eleven, and she's at least six inches taller than me." "Bobby, don't
worry about your height. There's plenty of girls your size or shorter.
Anyway, in this life, is isn't brawn that counts, it's brains." I didn't
want some weedy girl even shorter than me - I only had eyes for Sandi. I
gulped, nodded, and went away to compose some cool dialogue.
Next day, I cycled to Salt Mountain High, determined to be the suave
debonair man-about-town, determined not to let my lack of height ruin my
life. It started going wrong at once. I was just getting my books out of
my locker, when a couple of guys, horsing around in the hall, decided
that I would make a good victim. That's the trouble with being short and
slight. I was watching them carefully, but that didn't help me.
Suddenly, one of them shoved the other one, who cannoned into me,
sending me flying. I couldn't move out of the way fast enough, because
of my gammy knee. And, to my horror, I found they'd shoved me into
Sandi. And they ran away, laughing.
I was afraid that I'd knock her down, but luckily my weight wasn't
enough to make her lose her balance. I bounced off her, and fell over;
she helped me get up off the floor. "Do you know those boys?" she said.
I grimaced. "No. You know they did that on purpose? They wanted me to
make you fall over." "Yes, I know", she said, looking thoughtful. "There
were boys who played that game at my last school." "Come on, Sandi,
we'll be late for class."
Her eyes were grey. And she was beautiful.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:47:41 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 18 - Bunny and Sandi
~Lines: 109
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 18 - Bunny and Sandi
At lunch break, I took my courage in both hands, as it were. I told
myself that she was just as scared as I was, and I turned to her, and
said "Sandi, let's go eat in the cafeteria." She closed her books and
nodded, and off we went.
I tried not to think about what we must look like. My head just about
came up to her chin, and if I looked horizontally forward, my eyes were
at the same height as her nipples. I tried not to stare at them too
obviously. It was better when we sat down, the difference wasn't so
obvious. She ate like a horse; I thought girls were supposed to be
dainty? I couldn't possibly get through all the food they gave me, and
when I saw Sandi looking hungrily at my fries, I offered them to her.
She grinned, and scooped them all onto her plate, and finished them in
no time. "Thanks, Bunny. I have a fast metabolism, I eat as much as I
can, and I don't get fat. I hardly ever get enough to eat; normal meals
are just not enough." She might not be fat, but she certainly filled up
her clothes rather well. "I have the opposite problem; they put such
mountains of food on my plate, I can never eat it all." Sandi looked at
me, up and down. "You're too thin, Bunny. You should eat more." "You
sound like my mother, she keeps saying that, too. I eat as much as I
can, I really can't eat any more." Sandi laughed. "I'm not your Mommy.
Hey, let's go sit outside, enjoy the sunshine."
We found a patch of grass that wasn't too grungy. Sandi knelt down, her
feet pointing out behind her, and settled back, sitting on her calves. I
sat cross-legged in front of her; I still had to look way up to see her
eyes, but at least that was more because of our sitting positions. "You
know, I've never understood how girls sit like that. If I try that, I
get terrible cramp in my ankles and calves." Sandi laughed. "If I sat
like you are, I'd be showing everything I've got!" I blushed. "I didn't
mean, I mean, I mean I didn't mean ..." "No, it's OK Bunny. Have you got
a sister?" "No, just a cat, Phoebe. She's a bit like you, actually." And
then I thought about yesterday, and I blushed deeper. "Like me? How?"
"Well, she walks a bit like you, sort of graceful and feline, you know?"
I could hardly tell her the rest of it, could I? "What about you, Sandi?
Any siblings?" "No", she said. "Not even a cat. I love cats. I'd love to
meet yours. I've always wanted a little kitten of my own." "Sure, you
can meet Phoebe. But don't expect too much. Cats take a long time to
warm up to people; she'll be very stand-offish for a long time." And
then the bell went for the afternoon session.
That afternoon was math. Calculus. I love calculus - it's so cool, so
elegant. Sandi spent most of the afternoon looking bored, and staring
out of the window. I spent quite a lot of time staring at Sandi, and
trying not to look as if I was. When you saw her from the side, she was,
well, I don't know how to describe it. Deep. Her body was sort of thick,
and you could see that only part of it was the way her breasts pushed
her blouse forward. Although that was quite a lot of it. I compared her
with the other girls. She was a lot deeper. And when you looked at her
from the front, she was very wide. Wide in the shoulders, wide in the
hips, and even wide in the waist. I knew she wasn't fat, because when
I'd been pushed against her, she hadn't felt flabby and soft. She'd felt
quite firm - hard, even. I'd bounced off her like a billiard ball off a
side cushion. At the end of the afternoon, I had a peek at her exercise
book. She hadn't done a thing, not a single example! I asked her about
it.
"It's all completely Greek. All these dx's and dy's and stuff, it just
doesn't make sense. I just can't do this stuff, it's too hard. How can
something be infinitely small - that's just stupid. And what's the use
of it, anyway?" "Sandi, if you flunk this course, they could drop you
from high school, or at least make you take it again." "Oh, I won't
fail. Don't worry about that," and she smiled. "Sandi, if you can't do
calculus, you won't be able to do lots of the things that follow on, and
you'll turn in blank papers, and you'll fail. You will! And it isn't
infinitely small, its infinitesimally small." "Bunny, don't worry about
it, I know what I'm doing. I got an A grade at school for math. Come on,
you can walk me home." I thought about my bicycle, and I thought the
hell with that. I'm walking a girl home. Hey! Me, walking a girl home -
I hope everyone notices.
On the way home, I kept up the pressure. I didn't want Sandi to get
thrown out for flunking math, especially as I thought I could help her.
"Sandi, calculus isn't so difficult." "Everyone says it is. And they're
a lot better at math than I am." "But how did you get an A grade at
school, if you can't do math?" Sandi smiled. "Yes, a lot of people
wondered about that. But here I am!" I stopped walking. "Sandi, did you
cheat?" "I didn't copy anyone else's work, if that's what you mean. I
just persuaded the teacher to give me a good grade."
I usually strap my books to my bicycle carrier when I ride home. But
walking with Sandi, I had to hold them by the strap, and when you weigh
85 pounds in your socks, ten pounds of books is a lot. The strap was
cutting into my hand, and my right arm felt as if it was longer than my
left. And my bad knee didn't make things any easier. "Hang on a minute,
Sandi." I put the books down, and put my hands on my hips, taking deep
breaths. "What's the matter, Bunny? Are you all right?" "I'll be all
right in a minute. I usually cycle, I'm not used to carrying all these
books." "Here, let me", she said, and before I could stop her, she'd
scooped up my books, and I found myself being walked home by a girl who
was carrying my books for me. She didn't seem to have any trouble with
them, and it made my life easier, so I decided that I was being silly
about this. If Sandi doesn't mind carrying my books, then that was fine
my me. Hey - at least I was walking a girl home, even if she was
carrying my books.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:48:50 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 19 - Infinitesimals
~Lines: 121
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 19 - Infinitesimals
When we got to her house, I was shocked. It was an awful hovel, a dump,
really run down. I guess they weren't very well off. She invited me in
for a glass of lemonade. I met her mother, a small woman who looked at
me nervously, like maybe I was an axe murderer come to kill her
daughter. We sat outside on the lawn, and I turned to Sandi, and said
"Sandi, let me explain to you about calculus." What an immortal pick-up
line. James Bond would have been proud of me. "I won't understand a word
of it," she warned me.
"Calculus is about the way things change, the way things move. You can
use it for so many things, it's the Goddess of Mathematics." "Like what,
for instance," said Sandi. I tried to think of something that would
appeal to a girl. "Well, suppose you have twenty feet of fencing, and
four corner posts, so you have to make a rectangle. What's the greatest
amount of grass you can enclose, and what shape is the best?" Sandi
frowned. "I wouldn't even know how to start working that out", she said.
"What's the answer?" "You can work it out with calculus, and the answer
is a square, five by five. Twenty five square feet of grass. Now, that's
a useful thing, isn't it?" "I suppose so, especially if you're a
Rabbit," she laughed. I looked up at her frowning, but she wasn't making
fun of me, she was laughing with me, not at me, if you know what I mean.
"OK, Bunny, maybe it's useful, but it's still too difficult." "No it
isn't, Sandi. Trust me. It's just that people explain it in a difficult
way. Let's start with gradients."
"You know how different hills have different steepnesses? Some might
have a 1-in-6 grade, others might be 1-in-12. If you measure how much
you rise for ten yards horizontal motion, then that's the gradient. So,
if you rise one yard for ten yards of horizontal, that's a gradient of
1/10. If you rise two yards for ten yards of horizontal, that's a
gradient of 1/5."
"Well, of course. I knew that already", said Sandi. I continued. "OK,
you see - it isn't as difficult as they pretend. Call the vertical
height Y and the horizontal X. Then the gradient is the change in Y
divided by the change in X." Sandi thought about this for a second.
"Yes, of course. That's saying the same thing." "Right. So now, instead
of saying "the change in", let's say delta." "Why?" asked Sandi.
"Because it's shorter to say." "Fair enough." "Right then - the gradient
is delta Y over delta X." Sandi nodded. "And if we use ten inches
instead of ten yards, we get the same gradient, 0.1. You see that?"
Sandi nodded again. "Great", I said "now you understand about gradients,
and about delta. Now we'll do infinitesimals." Sandi shook her head,
"This is where I get lost." "No, Sandi, honestly, none of it is
difficult. Stay with it. Think of a hill with a gradient of 0.1 at
first, then it slowly gets steeper, until it's 0.3. A hill that curves -
lots of hills do that." "OK", she said, her eyes closed and her head
thrown back, "I've got that." Sandi with her head thrown back was quite
a sight. She had hills that curve, with some very interesting gradients.
I was feeling less and less infinitesimal all the time.
"If we measure the rise for 100 yards of horizontal, and then do the
same for ten inches, we'll get a bigger gradient with the 100 yards."
"Yes", said Sandi, "because the hill is curving upwards." "So which one
is right?", I asked. "What's the real gradient?" "Well, Buns, the
measurement with ten inches is more realistic, because the one with 100
yards is really measuring the gradient further along." Buns? I decided
to let the "Buns" stand for now, we were getting close. "Right! But ten
inches has the same problem. We want one inch". Sandi looked thoughtful.
"Well, really one inch could have the same problem couldn't it?" "Yes" I
was getting excited now, and waving my arms about a lot, like I do. We
were nearly there. "But as we make the delta X less and less, the
gradient doesn't change very much, because the delta Y gets less also.
And by the time we've got the delta X really, really small, the gradient
has pretty much stabilized. So even when delta x is almost zero, we can
get an accurate estimate of the gradient. And that's infinitesimals."
"Hang on, what's infinitesimals? Where did they come in?" "When delta X
is really really small, it's infinitesimal." "Is that all it means?
Really really small?" "Well, even smaller than that. Really really
really small. But not quite zero." Sandi stood up. I decided that I'd
rather stay seated and look up to her, than stand up and look up to her.
"So what's the big deal? Why don't they just say 'really really really
small. But not quite zero'?" "Because maths is full of shorthand
expressions. Infinitesimal is just easier to say. Just like delta X."
Sandi looked at her watch. "Bunny, I've got to go now, I'll see you
tomorrow at school." I stood up. I wanted to kiss her goodbye, but I
asked James Bond what he'd do, and he said it wasn't cool, so I didn't.
I picked up my books, and walked back to school. Well, I wasn't going to
leave my bike there to get vandalized, was I?
By the end of the week, Sandi had really understood infinitesimals, and
I'd introduced her to the idea of limits, by explaining that as you
shrunk down delta X and delta Y, the gradient approached a fixed number.
What really surprised me was the results of the Friday afternoon test.
Sandi very smugly showed me that she had an A grade. Now, not even I
believe that I'm that good a teacher, so I asked her outright - "Sandi,
did you cheat?" I really couldn't see any other way she could have
gotten an A. Understanding infinitesimals and limits doesn't give you
mastery over the Goddess of Mathematics. I knew I could get her up to
speed, but it would take time. In answer, she shook her head and pointed
at Mr Devonshire. I looked at him. "What?" "Round his neck, Bunny,
look!" I looked. He was wearing a blue scarf round his neck. I turned to
look at Sandi, and yes, it was exactly the same as hers. I looked
puzzled. "I don't understand. Why is he wearing a scarf like yours?" "It
isn't a scarf like mine, it *is* mine. Or rather it was. I gave it to
him. And he gives me good grades."
I couldn't understand. Maybe I was thick, but I just couldn't see the
connection. "Why would he give you good grades just because you gave him
a scarf? And why is he wearing your scarf round his neck? I don't get
it." Sandi regarded me, grinning. "Because I told him to. Bunny, you're
red hot on calculus, but there's more to life than infinitesimals."
Well, she obviously wasn't going to tell me, so I gave up. Girls like to
be all strange and mysterious sometimes, I've noticed. Dad says it's
something to do with the Mother Goddess. He gets pretty strange too, at
times.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:53:30 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 20 - Sandi Meets Phoebe
~Lines: 190
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 20 - Sandi Meets Phoebe
That weekend, I invited her round to my house, to meet Phoebe. I kind of
hoped that just maybe more would happen, but I liked being around Sandi
anyway, so even if nothing happened, that was cool. She was so
confident, so sure of herself, so like Phoebe. I worried about things
all the time - my height, spots, sex. Getting to school on time. Making
sure that no-one saw my leg-brace. Getting bullied. Getting laid (would
I ever? could I?). Sandi radiated serenity and certainty. She always
knew where she was going, and she never seemed to have any doubts, just
like Phoebe. I felt good just being near her.
Phoebe is a Persian long-hair. She's staggeringly beautiful, and she
knows it. Her coat is a smoky grey, and she looks like a sexy expensive
fur coat on four legs. She's also graceful and athletic, and she doesn't
mind boasting about that, either. I've seen her walking briskly along
the half-inch-wide top of our wooden fence, leap up three feet to the
roof of the shed, and ignoring the 1.0 gradient of the roof disappear
over the top. But she has weapons, and knows how to use them. I once saw
her face off a dog that had made the mistake of trying to sniff her rear
end; one swipe of her flick-knives into his nose, and the dog moved
faster than a scared rabbit. You don't invade Phoebe's personal space
without her permission, especially if you're a dog. She was a deadly
hunter, too, and brought me trophies to prove her prowess. Mice mostly,
some birds and even a few squirrels. Sometimes they were dead, but more
often they were still alive, and she'd play with them cruelly, torturing
the poor things to death. I tried to stop her once, but she bit my
finger as if to say "Keep off", and took her victim out into the garden
to savor its death struggles. Phoebe had a vicious, sadistic nature; she
was very bad news to anything that she regarded as prey. If you don't
like it, don't keep a cat.
But Phoebe was also a playful companion. When she was in the mood, she
and I could keep each other amused for hours with nothing more than a
piece of string. And sometimes we would wrestle; Phoebe holding back the
sharp daggers she could stick into my hand, unless I went too far.
I explained all this to Sandi. "She looks like a sweet little thing, but
don't ever forget she's a carnivorous animal with teeth and claws." "I
know what you mean", she said, smiling sweetly at me, "I'm the same."
Well, I suppose people are carnivorous, although our teeth aren't much
use except against hamburgers, and I don't think my claws are any use at
all. I introduced them. Phoebe jumped onto my lap, and wanted to be
stroked. I showed Sandi how to do it; never stroke her the wrong way,
and don't take liberties underneath until she lets you. All the while
Sandi was doing it, I was wondering what it would feel like if the cat
wasn't there, if Sandi was stroking what was directly underneath. After
a few minutes, I felt tightly uncomfortable, and wriggled a bit to
loosen the constriction of my trousers. Phoebe jumped off my lap, and
Sandi saw what was underneath. I went scarlet. "Unhh, uh", I said. What
would James Bond have said? "Uh, unhh," I repeated, incoherently. Sandi
grinned at me, "What's the matter, Bunny? Cat got your tongue? Or did
the cat get something else?" So I said what James Bond would have said
in that situation. "Unhh, uh, urgh".
Sandi went across the room and picked Phoebe up. "NO!" I shouted, but it
was too late. You should *never* pick up an adult cat by the scruff of
the neck. That's the way cats carry kittens, and it's a total affront to
the cat's dignity. Phoebe did something too fast for me to see what it
was, and Sandi's arm started bleeding all over her white blouse. She
dropped the cat, and stared at the red patch spreading over her sleeve.
"Come on, Sandi, let's see to that." "She scratched me! That bitch
scratched me!" "Sandi, she's not a bitch, she's a cat, and any cat would
scratch you for doing what you just did." I pulled her into the kitchen
to wash the scratch. You shouldn't ignore a thing like that, because a
cat's claws are unhygenic; the last thing that Phoebe used them on might
have been a dead mouse or worse.
Sandi rolled up her sleeve, and we stared at the blood welling from her
forearm. Then I stared at her forearm; I'll come back to that in a
minute. The scratch wasn't too bad, really, maybe it stung a little. I
let the cold tap run on it for a little while, and then dabbed Tincture
of Iodine on it, which stings even more, but it's a great disinfectant.
I put some gauze along the scratch, and then a bandage, to keep it in
place. Sandi looked like she'd been in the wars, and I asked her how she
was. "Naw, it's just a scratch, I'll probably live" she said, doing a
John Wayne impression, and we both laughed.
"That's a very big forearm you've got there, Sandi", I said. She stopped
laughing and looked down at it. We both looked at it. I thought about my
own pipe-cleaner arms, and wished I had a hunk of meat like that. "I'm a
big girl, Bunny. A very big girl, with very big arms. Look, I'll show
you." And she rolled her other sleeve right up, and flexed her arm.
I nearly wet myself, there and then. I had never, ever seen anything
like it. I stood there with my mouth open and my cock hard, looking at
an upper arm that was probably bigger than my thigh. No, make that
definitely. There were lumps, bumps and bulges, there were veins and
arteries supplying blood to all that power - muscles I couldn't even
name, in great thick layers upon layers. You could see the blue veins
inside; I thought blood was supposed to be red? And running down the
front of her forearm up to her hand, a great thick cable. Sometimes,
late at night, I would dream about having arms like that, arms that
could frighten off the bullies, and then I'd wake up with my skinny,
scrawny pipe-cleaners, you could see the bones through the skin. And
here was Sandi, just a girl - no, you couldn't call her just a girl -
with muscles bigger than I'd ever fantasized about for myself. I thought
about how strong those arms must be; I imagined how her hands would be
able to open all the jars I couldn't manage. I bet she could crack nuts
without a nutcracker. I felt that I ought to say something, but all that
I could manage was "Unhh, uh". I wanted to touch it, to feel that hard
muscle, but I didn't dare - what if she got upset? Before I could work
myself up to ask her she put her incredible arm away. Just as well,
otherwise I might have had an accident. Then she said "Come on, Bunny,
explain to me about dy/dx again."
We sat down in the lounge, and I explained to her about cats; that was
more important. "You've got to realize, Sandi, that a cat is an
individual, with dignity and gravitas. When they play with you it's
because they want to. You wouldn't pick a grown man up by the scruff of
the neck - you mustn't pick a grown cat up that way." Sandi regarded me
steadily through those smoky grey eyes - her eyes were the same color as
Phoebe's coat. "I've never picked up a man by the scruff of the neck",
she said. The way she said it, made me wonder. If the rest of her body
was in proportion to her arms, she probably could pick up a man by his
neck. I shivered, just thinking about it. "So how should you pick up a
cat?"
"First of all, you shouldn't. Being lifted up is humiliating." "Yes, I
know", said Sandi, smiling gently, as of one who knows that being lifted
up is humiliating. I continued - "You should wait until the cat jumps up
onto you. But if you're really on good terms with a cat, or if it's a
real emergency, you would put your hands under her fore legs, and pick
her up that way. And you should put her down again as soon as you can,
or at least put her on a flat surface as soon as possible." Sandi turned
to me and put her hands under my armpits. "Like from here?" she said. I
couldn't control my tremble, and I couldn't use my tongue, so I just
nodded. She squeezed me gently, said "OK, I understand now." and let me
go. Phoebe jumped up and said "Mrrrp?", and stalked onto Sandi's lap.
"She's forgiven you, Sandi." "She's forgiven me? I'm the one who got
wounded!"
That evening, I lay in bed and thought about Sandi. I replayed the sight
of her arm in my mind, and thought about how wonderful it must be to
have all that strength, never to be afraid of bullies. I wondered what
the rest of her was like, whether her body was as big as it looked. I
imagined gazing deep into her soft grey eyes and telling her how
terrific she was. And I wondered if I could work up the nerve to ask her
for a date. I thought of James Bond and tried to be cool, casual and
collected. And I knew it wasn't going to work; Bond was at least six
feet tall, and it's easy to be self-assured when you're a sensible size.
Then I thought of Phoebe; she was only small, but she had dignity,
authority and a really cool attitude to life. I was going to be like
Phoebe.
Next week at school, the same two louts, George Salmon and a guy I
didn't know, played the same trick on me, one pushing the other into me.
Only this time, Sandi wasn't the girl I cannoned into. It was Diana
Tasker, and she went flying to the floor, with me on top of her. I
apologized, of course, but she was convinced it was all my fault and
called me a clumsy ox. If only. I felt awful about it, even though I
knew it wasn't my fault.
At break, I went and found Sandi, talking to Sally Armitage. This
particular 85 pound weakling had had sand kicked in his face once too
often. I didn't beat about the bush - I came straight to the point.
"Sandi, I'm fed up with being bullied." Sally giggled, yeah, thanks a
lot, just what I needed. But Sandi took me more seriously. She looked
down at me (I wonder if there's any way I can put on, oh, about 12
inches?) and frowned. "I don't see how you can stop them." Thank you,
Sandi. Let's try being less subtle. I described how I'd just been pushed
into Diana Tasker, and I said "What I really need is a big brother."
"But Bunny, you don't have a brother." Well, I wasn't going to ask her
straight out to be my protection, not in front of Sally. In fact, I
couldn't see myself asking her straight out at all. But I couldn't just
let this ride - if I knuckled under, then every knucklehead would see me
as a victim, and I'd be back where I was at my last school.
As I cycled home that evening, I asked myself, what would Phoebe have
done? I thought about it. She's have slid gracefully out of the way of
George, slashed him with a needle-like claw as he went past, and he'd
never have tried that trick on her again. It must be nice to be a cat.
But maybe there was a lesson here - Phoebe made up for being small by
having a rather vicious set of weapons. Could I do the same? All I
needed to do was make sure that people saw me as a predator, not a
victim. Phoebe carried a flick-knife, or rather a whole set of them. But
I knew I could get into really serious trouble if I took a flick-knife
into school, or any other kind of knife, come to that.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:52:45 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 21 - Bunny Hits Back
~Lines: 163
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 21 - Bunny Hits Back
Next day, I took my baseball bat into school; six pounds of hard wood. I
can't move very fast with my bad knee, so I simply came up behind George
Salmon, swung my bat as hard as I could, and cracked him on the head. He
went straight down, and stayed down, out cold. I put my bat in my
locker, and waited to see what the consequences would be. They were not
good.
Everyone had seen what I'd done - that was the whole point. I wanted to
establish that you don't mess with Robert Rabbit (and you don't ever,
ever call me Bunny, snarl snarl, Jimmy Cagney voice). But then The
Powers That Be stepped in - apparently, it's OK for two big jocks to
bully a little guy, but it isn't OK for him to hit back. I was called up
in front of the Principal, Mr Dixon, who explained that my sin wasn't
that I'd hit back, but that I'd done so unfairly, using a baseball bat,
and hitting from behind. I suppose he thought I should have challenged
the two of them to a fist fight? Anyway, he was suspending me from
school pending a decision about whether to expel me; apparently my
excellent academic record would be taken into account, as well as the
fact that I'd never been in a fight before. I thought of telling him
that I had, although rather one-sided, but wisdom kept my mouth shut.
"Rabbit, this is serious stuff; assault with a weapon." I thought of
explaining that there wouldn't be any point in me committing assault
without a weapon. A bit like eating fries, without the potatoes. "I hope
we don't have to get the police involved." Yeah, me too. Somehow, I
couldn't see the police being interested in a fight between two school
kids. "We really can't have this kind of thing in a good school like
Salt Mountain High."
As I left his office, I noticed that he was wearing a blue scarf round
his neck, just like Mr Devonshire, the math teacher, which reminded me
of Sandi, so I went to tell her about my troubles.
"Oh, Bunny, Bunny, how could you? That's so stupid, of course you'd get
caught." "But Sandi, if I just let them bully me, I become a victim, and
it just keeps getting worse and worse." We were sitting down by the
river bank, throwing stones into the water. "Bunny, believe me, violence
doesn't solve anything." "It's all right for you, Sandi. You don't get
bullied like I do. And it isn't just that I'm only five feet tall."
"Four eleven", she said. "OK, four eleven. And it isn't just that I'm so
skinny, either." "But you are skinny, you know, you're the littlest boy
at Salt Mountain High." Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in, Sandi. She
picked up a stone that I reckoned I would barely be able to lift, and
sent it flying down the river. "Look, Sandi, if I show you something,
will you swear to keep it a secret?" She turned to me and raised her
eyebrows, smiling at me. "Cross my heart." I pulled up my trouser leg
and showed her my brace. "Sandi, I just can't move very fast because of
this." "So why do you wear it?" "Because otherwise, my knee just can't
support my weight. I had polio when I was a kid ... " "I thought they'd
wiped out polio", Sandi interrupted. "Not quite. Almost, but not quite.
I've recovered quite well, really, but it's left me, well, skinny and
underdeveloped. Too short and too scrawny. I suppose I'm lucky to have
as much as I do have. And my right knee isn't strong enough. And I can't
throw a ball, because of my shoulders."
Sandi rolled over to her side, facing me. She put her hand on the
ground, and straightened her arm, lifting herself up with just that one
powerful arm. "Oh, Jesus, Sandi, I can't even do that with my good leg.
You see, Sandi, if the other kids find out about my brace, I'm as good
as dead." Sandi nodded. She knew how cruel kids were, especially to
anyone different. "Bunny, don't worry, I won't tell anyone. We're
friends, right? And don't worry about getting expelled; I can fix that
too."
What? No way! Mr Dixon was going to can me, after pretending to think
about it for appearances sake, and I told Sandi so. "Don't worry, Bunny,
I can fix it. Didn't you notice he was wearing one of my blue scarves
round his neck?" Yes, now she pointed it out, I did notice that, and
wondered about it at the time. It was exactly the same as the one she
wore in her hair, knotted round her ponytail. Men don't usually wear
silk scarves round their neck (apart from the Red Baron, of course), and
there seemed to be a few people dressed that way at school. So I asked
Sandi what was it with the scarves, and she looked at me without
speaking for a long time. I looked back at her, almost hypnotized by her
calm grey eyes. I had the feeling that she could see deep into my soul;
I felt small and foolish. Some women acquire the knack of making us men
feel like little boys, and Sandi had it already.
Then she shook her head briskly, dispersing the spell, and said "I'll
explain it one day. Trust me." Which sounded just like my parents "When
you're older, Robert". And I wondered if I'd ever be able to ask her out
for a date. And then I thought of her arms again. Oh god, and one thing
leads to another, and it was just as well that she turned and started
throwing stones again.
She was right, though. When Mr Dixon called me back into his office for
the verdict, he said "It's been decided to let you stay. But there must
be no repetition of this disgraceful conduct." "No, Mr Dixon." "From now
on, I want to see a model student - you're on probation." "Yes, Mr
Dixon." I waited to hear what my punishment was going to be. Detention
from now till eternity? Ten thousand lines? "You're banned from school
sports all this year." I could hardly believe my ears. This was supposed
to be a punishment? Then I thought, I suppose for some guys it would be.
So I kept a straight face, hung my head like a condemned criminal, and
whispered "Yes, Mr Dixon." "What's that, I can't hear you?" So I said it
loud and clear, trying to sound real disappointed, "Yes, Mr Dixon."
When I told Sandi about the lucky break with the sports, she didn't seem
be at all surprised. "Yes, that's great, Bunny, it means your leg brace
secret won't get out." "Yeah!" I almost danced with glee, except you
don't dance when you can hardly walk properly. I put out my hands, Sandi
slapped down on top of them, I did the same for her, and I thought about
the Luck of the Rabbits.
Did you know that Rabbits are lucky? You probably already know about
rabbits feet, but Dad always tells me that Rabbits are lucky, too. "And
you know what, son? The harder we work, the luckier we get." Dad had
this theory that everyone gets lucky sometimes, but most people were too
dumb to notice, and just let it slide by. He demonstrated this in the
street, quite often, by spotting a nickel or dime that someone else had
dropped, that no-one else had noticed. And then, get this, he wouldn't
pick it up! He'd leave it for the next guy; he called it a Random Act of
Senseless Kindness. This was a pet theory of my parents. If people
occasionally performed random acts of senseless kindness, the world
would be a better place. So they'd leave a quarter in public phone
boxes, gave a dollar to beggars, stuff like that, making the world a
better place.
I'd made sure that I wouldn't be such a victim by demonstrating that I
could hit back. And, somehow, Sandi had helped me get away with it. I
figured I was lucky having her for a friend, and I asked Mom what I
should do for someone who has just done me a good turn, how to say thank
you? Mom said what I expected. "Do a Random Act of Senseless Kindness."
Mom's full of crap like that. Something to do with the sixties, I guess,
because she was one of the Flower Children, she told me. I thought about
it, but not for very long, because gratitude delayed is gratitude
denied. Then I asked Phoebe what I should do, and she yawned, showing
the sharp teeth that terrorized mice for several blocks. And I realized
what Phoebe would want, and I knew what to get for Sandi.
I asked her to meet me at our usual place, down by the river. I put a
blanket down, to make her feel more comfortable, and I was sitting on it
waiting for her when she arrived. She looked a bit surprised about the
blanket, and maybe got the wrong idea, but not nearly as surprised as
she looked when I pulled out of my bag, the biggest bar of chocolate in
the world. Phoebe loves chocolate, and I figured Sandi would too. It was
two pounds in weight, and cost me fifteen dollars. I opened it, broke
off a chunk, and handed it to Sandi. She looked at it, smelt it, and
tasted it. "Sandi, you're acting like you've never had chocolate
before." "I haven't". Sandi's Mom worked in a supermarket, and they
didn't pay her very much. I suppose there wasn't much spare cash for
little luxuries like chocolate. She nibbled at it, and swallowed. A
blissful look came over her face. "Hey, it's great!" She bit off a
chunk, and chewed. I watched, as the taste sensation spread through her.
She closed her eyes, threw back her head, arched her back and almost
purred, and at that moment, I thought "Phoebe", and I wanted to rub her
belly and other things. She ate the whole thing, except a tiny piece
that I had to keep her company. "Bunny", she said, "you're my friend."
And inside, I glowed.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:54:39 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 22 - dy/dx
~Lines: 282
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 22 - dy/dx
Late summer turned into fall, and the leaves turned interesting shades
of red, yellow and brown. Sandi and I used to go for hikes in the
country - not very long ones, because of my knee, but it sure was good
knowing that if I got into walking difficulties, Sandi would be there to
help me out.
And I was there to help her out - that's what buddies were for. Today, I
was going to introduce her to the glories of dy/dx, something that I
thought demonstrated the essential beauty of mathematics in general, and
calculus in particular. We went down into the forest, walking along the
pathways. Sandi carried some food and a couple of bottles of wine (which
made us feel really grown-up); also a couple of books, a blanket and a
few other necessaries. I didn't carry anything. This might seem a bit
ungentlemanly, but if you saw Sandi and me side by side, you'd
understand. It was practical, is all.
When we went walking, we'd start off dressed normally. But after we got
away from human eyes, Sandi would take off her skirt, and walk in
shorts. And I'd take off my brace. My parents said I wasn't supposed to
do that, but Sandi explained to me that unless I exercised it, it would
never get stronger. I'd spoken very seriously to my doctor about this -
I didn't want to make things worse. He said that as long as it didn't
hurt, I could leave it off, but as soon as I felt pain, I had to either
sit down and rest, or put the brace back on.
I remember the first time Sandi took off her skirt. First of all, I
wasn't sure what was about to happen here - we were miles from anywhere,
and this lovely hefty girl was taking off her skirt. Was I about to get
lucky? No, Sandi saw me as a friend, nothing more. Although I wanted
more, I would settle for that. My quality of life had improved a lot
since I'd met her, and at least some of it was her doing. Anyway, I was
explaining about Sandi taking off her skirt. Or rather, I've been trying
to avoid explaining, because it's difficult for me to explain.
You remember I explained about the first time I saw her biceps? Later
on, she let me measure them, and they were sixteen inches around, fully
expanded. Don't bother measuring your own arm, try putting a tape
measure around your calf. Chances are, if you're a regular guy, you'll
measure sixteen inches. Now have a good look at your calf - that's how
big Sandi's upper arms were. Take a good look. That's a girl, remember,
and that's her arms. She let me squeeze them when I measured them, and
all I can say is, they didn't squeeze, not with the force I was able to
exert. Hard as mahogany. Try that on your calves - they'll give like
foam rubber. Sandi wasn't just big, she was hard, rock hard. And by the
way, I was right about Sandi not needing a nut cracker. I'd half
expected that she'd be able to crack walnuts in her hand, but I couldn't
believe it when she showed me she could do brazil nuts too. And I love
brazil nuts. Walnuts too. And hazelnuts.
OK, OK, skirt, skirt. I'm getting there. This isn't easy. Unhh. You know
how a cat can make a stage entrance and wait for applause, as it were?
Phoebe does it - she stalks into the room, tail held high. Then she
stops and waits, and you just know she's waiting for the ovation.
We were in the forest, and Sandi fell behind me a bit, and then called
out to me "Wait up, Bunny". So naturally I turned to see what the matter
was. And then Sandi started stripping. First, she took off her walking
sweater. You know when a girl takes off a sweater, pulling it over her
head? There's a point where she's got it half off, over her head, arms
stretched high and back. Sandi's large breasts stood out in convincing
protrusion; my eyes stood out nearly as far as my cock. Then, having
gotten me interested, she proceeded to the main course.
She took off her belt, and ran it through her fingers. Oooh! Then, she
twisted to one side, giving me a profile view of her great breasts, and
undid her knee-length skirt, which she then unwrapped like a sculptor
unveils a statue. Underneath, she was wearing shorts, and as she stood
there like Phoebe waiting for an ovation, I saw her legs for the first
time.
They were big. To say that Sandi's legs were big, is like saying that
the sky is high. She stood with her feet twenty inches apart, her hands
on her hips. Her calves were big - her thighs were outrageous. I didn't
know which to look at; after looking up and down for a while, I decided
that her thighs were the biggest killer. After a while, I realized that
I was standing there with my mouth open. I was sure that Sandi knew the
effect she was having, because she just stood there, grinning at me.
I knew I was supposed to say something. I tried to think of something
casual, like James Bond would say, like "Nice weather", or "Pass the
mustard", but I couldn't think of anything appropriate. How about "Fuck-
a-duck!"? Eventually, I found something suitable, "Jesus, Sandi! Thighs
to die for!" She smiled, and looked pleased and a bit relieved.
Relieved? Did she think I would disapprove? She stuffed her clothes into
the backpack, and that was the first time I saw Sandi's legs.
After that, whenever we went walking, the point where Sandi took her
skirt off was one of the high spots of the day. She always made a bit of
a show of it for me, and I always gave her some suitable acclaim.
Anyway, back to today. Today, I had two objectives. One was to explain
to Sandi about dy/dx, and the other was to measure those killer thighs.
She had to be twenty inches, easy. Maybe more. Must be more. I had a
tape measure, just in case she let me use it. We spread the blanket in a
small clearing in the forest, and I had my usual fantasy about leaping
on top of her and raping her while we were out of earshot of
civilization. Don't worry, I'm not really the rapist sort. And anyway,
*me* rape *Sandi*? I doubt if a team of three jocks could do it. Still,
the fantasy was nice.
We got the picnic out of her backpack. I screwed the corkscrew into the
cork, Sandi pulled the cork out. It's called division of labor - each
one does what he does best. Screwing - my department. Muscle stuff -
Sandi. We lay there and talked while we ate and drank wine, talked about
our classmates, about the teachers, about my science project, about her
latest achievements on the weights. Sandi cracked nuts for us both, and
she didn't use a nutcracker. We didn't bother to bring one - I wasn't
strong enough to use one, and Sandi didn't need one.
Did I mention that Sandi lifted weights? Maybe I forgot, or maybe I
thought it was obvious. Sandi lifted weights. And she was good at it -
there was talk of letting her compete in the State High School
weightlifting that summer. There wasn't a girls division, which was just
as well, because Sandi wouldn't have wanted to enter it. All she wanted
was to humiliate the other male competitors by showing them how a girl
could lift a poundage that they could only think about. But they had
these rules, and depending on how you read them, girls either were
allowed to compete, or they weren't. Sandi had a firm opinion, of
course. "They'll let me compete, Bunny. I know the guy that makes the
decision, and I'm sure he'll rule the way I want him to." Sandi was
usually right about such predictions, so I was looking forward to
cheering her on. I wonder if they allow cheerleaders at such events?
Anyway, she spent a couple of hours in the gym each day, on the various
machines, as well as lifting her home-made free weights. I used to come
by and watch her sometimes, and I wasn't the only one. Even though she
wore a full track suit, she attracted a fan club whenever she used the
gym. I noticed that a few of them had Sandi's blue silk scarves round
their necks. Was she selling them or something?
After we'd eaten, I started explaining about dy/dx. "Imagine we've
worked out delta_y divided by delta_x, and we let the size of them both
get infinitesimally small. Then the ratio delta_y/delta_x is called
dy/dx, for shorthand." "It's all just shorthand, isn't it", observed
Sandi. "Yes, language is very powerful. When you give something an easy
name, it's easier to think about it." I replied. "Now let's look at how
you work out dy/dx." I wrote down an equation, y = x-squared. "Now let's
work out dy/dx. Consider two points, one at x inches along the x-axis,
the other at x + delta_x. Then the first point must be x-squared inches
above the ground ..." "Why?" "Because remember, we said that y = x-
squared; since it is y inches above the ground, that must work out at x-
squared". Sandi frowned. "OK. But so what?" "Now let's look at the
second point, x + delta_x inches along; that must be (x + delta_x)-
squared inches high, for the same reason." Sandi grinned, cracked
another brazil nut in her fingers, and passed the kernel to me.
How did she do that? How? I picked up a brazil and squeezed it. Nothing
happened. So I tried bashing it with a piece of wood - all that happened
was a dent in the wood. I gave the nut to Sandi, and she put it between
the pad of her thumb and the side of her index finger, I saw the end of
her thumb go white, and then I heard the CRACK! that meant another
brazil had given up the unequal struggle. She handed it to me, with a
smile, but instead of taking the nut, I took her hand and moved closer,
for a good look.
I spread her fingers out. Her hands were larger than mine. Her fingers
were long, but the nails were bitten down, far worse than mine. She
didn't wear nail varnish, or any kind of jewellery on her fingers. When
I had examined the back of her hand, I turned it over, and looked at her
palm. It was thick and heavy, and the ball of her thumb was very large.
I touched it with my fingertips, and it felt hard; not hard like her
muscles, but callused hard like the skin underneath your feet. I pulled
her hand toward me, so I could look at her forearm, but as I did that,
her fingers closed on my hand. She held me quite gently, but I thought
of the force that could crack nuts with no apparent effort, and I
stopped pulling. "Sandi, your hands are so hard, so strong" "All the
better for cracking your nuts. So what about dy/dx", she asked.
I pulled my hand away, and told my cock to ignore that last remark. "So,
let's work out the gradient, dy/dx. The difference in height must be (x
+ delta_x)-squared minus x-squared. Sandi, do you remember how to
expand that first term, the height of the second point?" Sandi took the
pencil from me, and lay down on her tummy, her head on one hand. I
looked at the backs of her thighs; she saw me looking, and bent her
knees, making her calf muscles bulge hugely. I tried to look away, but
my eyes were drawn to the great ball of muscle I could see in the middle
of her calf, as large as a grapefruit. On the paper, she wrote (x-squared
+ 2.x.delta_x + delta_x-squared). "Right. so now we subtract the x-
squared to get the difference in height." Sandi said "That's easy, we
just take off the x-squared!" and she wrote on the paper 2.x.delta_x +
delta_x-squared. "Great", I said. "Now the horizontal distance between
the two points x and x + delta_x, must be just delta_x. So, to work out
dy/dx, the gradient, we divide what you just wrote by delta_x. Sandi
wrote down "2x + delta_x". Now the really clever bit. "Sandi, what will
happen to that, as delta_x goes infinitesimal?" "You get rid of the
delta_x, it's so tiny it doesn't matter any more, and you're left with
2x!" "Sandi, you've just differentiated x-squared!"
Sandi looked triumphant, then dubious. "That's an awful lot of work
every time you want to differentiate something, isn't it?" She swung
herself round and sat up, every movement elegant and powerful. Her great
dominant legs stretched in front of her, commanding my attention and
respect. Every time this girl moved, she aroused me. And she moved with
power and grace, like Phoebe, only on a much larger scale, like a big
blonde lion instead of a cat. Well, a lioness, I suppose, but lionesses
don't have a big golden mane, and Sandi did. So, she looked like a lion.
"Well, yes, but once you've done it, you don't ever have to do it again.
From now on, when someone asks you the derivative of x-squared, you can
just say 2x, and if you need to, you can prove it!" Sandi raised her
arms to untie and retie the bright blue scarf she always wore in her
hair. I thought of the sixteen inch biceps that I couldn't see, but
which I knew were bulging inside the sleeves of her blouse. Then I
looked down at the even more impressive sight of Sandi's breasts, raised
and expanded against the taut cotton of her blouse. I couldn't swear to
it, but I think she did things like that on purpose. "But what if they
ask me something else?" "Well, the derivative of x-cubed is 3.x-squared,
and the derivative of x-fourth is 4.x-cubed, and so on. And the
derivative of the sum of two things, is the sum of the derivatives."
Sandi put her pencil down, and lay on her belly with her head in both
hands. I looked at her. Well, I pretended to look at her face, but
actually, the more interesting view was a bit below, where her breasts
were pushing out her blouse in a very filling manner. She knew what she
was doing to me, I was sure. She was doing a lot of it on purpose, part
of me thought, and the other part of me just thought "Unhhh".
I got Sandi to try a few for herself, and by the time an hour had gone
by, she'd mastered the art of differentiating polynomials, since they
are just sums of powers of x. And now it was time she did something for
me. I took out my tape measure, and said casually to her, "Sandi, how
big are your thighs." and I swear my voice only broke once as I said it.
She looked up from doing her calculus problem, and said "You know, this
stuff isn't nearly as hard as I thought." I thought about her body,
which was much harder than anyone would have thought, and I repeated my
question about her thighs. She looked at my tape measure, smiled, and
said "Well, since you just happen have brought a tape measure, why don't
you find out for yourself?"
I knelt down beside her - she was still scribbling away. I tried to get
the tape under her thigh, but I had no chance, it was too heavy for me
to move. "Sandi", I said. She looked over her shoulder at me, saw what
the problem was, and raised her leg enough for me to slip the tape under
it. I pulled the tape tight, and read what it said. Twenty five inches.
You know the expression, your imagination boggles? Well, I did some
fervent boggling right there and then. My waist was about that size! And
hard, so hard. It felt like a log of wood. There were heavy cables
running up and down inside, and the veins on her thigh were even bigger
than the ones on her arms. I could see several muscles, running up and
down her thigh, and powering her knees. I didn't realize that the human
body had so many different muscles. I know I didn't have all those, not
that I could see, anyway. I thought about the pressure that she'd be
able to exert with those killer thighs; I thought about them wrapped
round my waist, squeezing, crushing, and I knew that this girl could
probably kill me without breaking into a sweat. I closed my eyes and
stroked the back of her thighs gently, up and down, like I would stroke
Phoebe. I wanted to lick them with my tongue, but didn't dare. I traced
the lines of the muscles, and the great cords that ran along her legs.
After a few minutes, Sandi realized what was going on, and she sat up
and faced me. "Well, what measurement did you get?" "Twenty five
inches", I replied.
Sandi smiled. "Not bad, eh? Now measure my waist." I crawled up closer
to her, and put my arms round her waist while she leaned back on her
arms. I had to get real close to get my arms round her, and my face
nuzzled against one of her breasts. I savored the feeling for a moment,
then got on with what Sandi had asked for, measuring her waist. "Twenty
five inches again", I said. Golly. Boggle. Sandi's thighs were as big as
her waist. What a girl - correction, what a woman. "I'll measure your
bust while I'm here", I said. "No you won't", she said, pushing me away.
She stood up, and brushed crumbs, twigs and leaves from herself. I
looked up at her, disappointedly, putting on my best unhappy-spaniel
look. "Oh, come on then," she said, smiling. I stood in front of her,
and brought the tape up to surround her chest at just the place where
her nipples bulged through her bra. "Thirty-eight." Wow. "Sandi, you're
an Amazon!" She smiled at me, and said "Now I'm an Amazon that can do
calculus. Here.", and she took off her scarf, and tied it round my neck,
and my heart nearly burst. "Bunny, you're my very best friend in all the
world. Thank you. Wear this every day, where everyone can see it, and
you'll get all sorts of good luck." And YES! she kissed me. But on the
cheek. Bummer.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:58:18 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 23 - The Lion in Midwinter.
~Lines: 177
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 23 - The Lion in Midwinter.
Fall gave way to winter, and I was still a virgin. That might not be
important to you, but it was very important to a four-eleven sixteen-
year-old bundle of hormones with major worries about ever getting laid.
As winter spread its white blanket over Salt Mountain, life's
possibilities narrowed down, and everyone started thinking about
Christmas. Sandi and I had to stop going for walks - it was just too
cold for me. I have a tendency to chilblains, because of my poor
circulation, and I get cold easily, because I don't have enough mass
(one thing I'd learned, was the difference between weight and mass). So,
no longer could I enjoy the rapture of gazing at Sandi's thighs, the
bliss of watching her breasts move under her shirt. Instead, I had to
stay indoors, where it was impossible to get Sandi alone.
Sandi didn't seem to mind - she just spent more time on the weights.
We'd go down to the school gym, and she'd work on the machines, shifting
such colossal amounts of iron that I'd stopped calculating exactly what
tiny fraction of the weight I could manage. I tried one evening. She'd
been pushing a weight up and down from her shoulders, and when she
finished with that, and went onto another machine, I stood up and went
over to where she'd been working. I got hold of the bar and pushed as
hard as I could, but it didn't budge. I looked over at Sandi, and she
was watching me. I tried again, but it still wouldn't move. Sandi came
over, and said "Bunny, what on earth do you think you're doing?" "I
wanted to see how strong I was, compared to you." "Bunny, that's silly.
Your strength is between your ears." "I just wondered. What weight is
this?"
She looked at the ends of the bar, and at the bar itself. "It's 310
pounds. No way, Bunny. You'll just hurt yourself trying." "OK, I just
wanted to feel it. What do you think I would be able to handle?" Sandi
looked at me with her warm grey eyes, and I felt as if she could see
everything I had, even the lustful thoughts I had for her. She took most
of the disks off the bar, and told me to try that, it was only 50
pounds. "What do you think a normal guy could handle?" I asked. Sandi
reckoned a hundred pounds, maybe a hundred and fifty if he was really
strong. I thought about Sandi lifting 310; she was saying that she was
three times as strong as a normal man. I got under the weight, and
managed to get the bar off the supports, but I couldn't get my arms
straight. Then, I was horrified to realize that I wouldn't be able to
get it back on the supports, and I was about to drop it, which would
probably break some of my bones. My arms collapsed under the strain, and
I got ready for the impact on my body, but it never came. I opened my
eyes; Sandi was holding the weight in both hands, at arms length.
She brought her hands together, then held the bar with just one hand.
She lowered it to the full extent of her arm, then brought it up again,
and put it on the supports. "Bunny, I'll do the lifting, you do the
thinking. OK?" That sounded like a good idea. A simple division revealed
that Sandi was more than six times as strong as I was; of course with a
weakling like me, that wasn't saying much. But it said a lot to me. In
bed at night, sometimes, I would fantasize about what it would be like
to be as strong as Sandi. Not as strong as some jock football player.
Sandi. Who thought of me as a friend.
Christmas came and Christmas went. You know what Christmas is like, so I
won't bother explaining it to you. I bought Sandi the biggest box of
chocolates I could afford, and when I unwrapped Sandi's present, it
contained a blue scarf, except where the one she'd given me in the
forest was just polyester, this one was real silk. But the biggest
present I got that Christmas, was when I managed to trap Sandi under the
mistletoe, and I finally got a real kiss from her. She had to help me
stay upright afterwards.
After Christmas, I found Sandi at the school gym, as usual. I loved to
sit and watch her there. When there was no-one else around, she'd strip
off her track suit and work out wearing just a T-shirt and shorts, and I
could watch her huge biceps and colossal thighs at work. I would sit,
hugging my knees, watching my Amazon, admiring her power, and wishing I
had a fifth of her strength. And I used to daydream - usually erotic
daydreams, with Sandi as the principal character, and me as the boy in
distress. Or I would calculate the weight she was lifting, and wonder
what she'd be able to do with that much force in her muscles. And the
smell of a woman sweating - it isn't the same as a man, and with only
Sandi exercising, I could smell her more distinctly now. It was such a
turn-on for me, I used to dream about that smell sometimes. And then
after she'd finished, after even her big heavy muscles couldn't take any
more, she'd go and shower, and I'd hear the water running, and I'd
imagine Sandi naked, the water running down her firm, breasts, dripping
off her hard nipples, Sandi soaping her body then rinsing it off. And
she'd come out smelling sweetly of soap, drying her hair on the towel,
and she'd let me brush it for her, and I'd tie her blue scarf back in.
And then one evening, while school was still out, after a heavy session
on the weights, and after I'd finished brushing and tying her hair, she
just sat there, and I crawled round to face her, and I saw that she was
crying.
Sandi, crying? No way - nothing could make my Golden Amazon cry? Or if
there was, I'd kill the bastard. "Sandi, what's the matter?" She shook
her head, and looked away from me. "Sandi, what is it?" Her head hung
down, and a tear crawled slowly down her cheek towards the corner of her
mouth. I didn't think about what to do - maybe if I had thought, I would
have been to scared to do it - I just reached forward and took her head
in my arms and pulled her towards me, and I stroked her head and rocked
her back and forth. "Oh, Sandi, don't cry, please don't cry." I couldn't
bear it. Sandi was my rock, the foundation of my faith in the future. If
even Sandi could cry like this, what hope was there for the rest of us?
"What's the matter? Is it something I've done, or said?" I pulled the
silk scarf from around my neck, and dabbed at her eyes. "It's not you,
Bunny." She took the scarf from me and blew her nose on it. Well, I
could get it cleaned. "I have to leave school."
A feeling of shock sent a shudder through my body. Sandi leaving school?
Does that mean I'll never see her again? And who will I eat lunch with?
And who'll walk me home? And why was she leaving school - she wasn't
doing that bad, was she? "Why, Sandi? Why?"
"Mom's not well. She's been poorly for a few weeks now. She's been
dragging herself into the supermarket, because otherwise they'll fire
her, and then we don't have any money to live on, and ..." I knew how
Sandi and her mother lived about ten cents away from poverty. "But she's
killing herself, unless she stays at home, and rests, and keeps warm,
she won't get better." "What does the doctor say, Sandi?". Sandi turned
her soft grey eyes on me. "Doctor?" Oh. Of course. You get used to some
things, take them for granted. Mrs Stone probably couldn't afford decent
medical care. Unless she was near death's door, no doctor for Mrs Stone,
maybe not even then. I nodded, understanding. "So the only answer is,
I've got to leave school, and go out to work. I'm old enough, I'm
sixteen. And I'm strong enough." I put my hands on her shoulders. Sandi
was certainly strong enough. "What job are you planning to get?"
"Supermarket checkout, like my Mom."
It felt like a knife in my stomach. Sandi, my Amazon, my Golden Amazon,
a supermarket checkout girl? It felt like the ultimate disillusionment,
the end of all dreams, the final nightmare. I moved closer to her.
"Sandi!" I pulled her towards me, and put my arms round her, something I
wouldn't normally have thought of doing, and those big strong arms held
me against a body as hard as a tree trunk. "I'm sorry, Bunny. I can't
help it. I have no choice, no alternative. I have to look after Mom.
You'll still be my friend, won't you?" I hugged her as hard as I could.
Of course I would. "Oh, Sandi, I'm sorry." She sat on the ground, I
knelt in front of her, our arms round each other, my head on her
shoulder. My face was being tickled by her hair, her long, soft hair,
the only thing soft about her. But after a few minutes, my brain became
unparalyzed, and I started thinking again. If you don't like a solution,
don't accept what someone presents to you as *the* solution - always
think it out for yourself - maybe there's a better way. Always ferret
out what the *real* problem is. Maybe Sandi didn't need to leave school.
"Sandi, maybe you don't need to leave school." She turned her head and
looked at me, and her big grey eyes filled my universe. "There's other
ways to make money. If people work their way through college, why not
high school?" "But checkout is a full time job." "But Sandi, you don't
have to be a checkout girl." "It's the only thing I know how to do.
Bunny, you know my grades are all fake." That was the first time I'd
heard her admit it. I knew she couldn't possibly get grades as good as
the ones she was getting, I just couldn't figure out how she persuaded
the teachers to give her such good marks. "Sandi, I want to think about
it a bit. When do you have to start?" "As soon as possible - my Mom's
got this cough, and it sounds so bad, I don't like her going out in the
cold wet snow until she's better. I've got to start as soon as I can."
"Sandi, just wait one day, wait till tomorrow?" She regarded me
seriously with her soft grey eyes, and I could see the moisture in the
corners. "Please, Sandi?" She nodded.
I spent the rest of the evening trying to comfort her, and I told her
I'd be her friend till the end of the world, and she said she'd be my
friend for always, and we said things to each other that I'm not going
to tell you about, because they aren't the sorts of things that friends
usually say to each other, but Sandi was such a special friend. I spent
the whole of that night thinking, and making lists, and crossing them
out again, and plotting, and planning, and devising one money-making
scheme after another, until I came down to three that I thought stood a
chance of working, and which we could try simultaneously.
The following story is a bio of an amazon beginning at about age seven
and contains violence, rape by a stepfather and femdom.
It was originaly posted on 27 Jan 1996.
If this is not to your taste or you are not of legal age in your country,
state, location to read such stories, Do Not Read It.
I did not write this story I'm just reposting it.
Legion
~From: an413801@anon.penet.fi (Samuel Rabbit)
~Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
~Date: Mon, 29 Jan 1996 07:58:43 UTC
~Subject: The Teenage Sandi Stone, Chapter 24 - Sandi Making Money
~Lines: 175
The Teenage Sandi Stone
Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996
Chapter 24 - Sandi Making Money
The next morning, as soon as it was light, I rushed round to Sandi's
house, with some chicken soup that I'd badgered my mother into making.
As I heated it up, I explained to Sandi that this was what had gotten me
through my polio - well, that was Mom's story, anyway. Mrs Stone was in
bed, looking dreadful. I don't know what it was she had, but I do know
that chicken soup ought to cure it. Afterwards, she smiled at me "Bobby,
you're a good boy." I grinned, and I felt the warmth of Sandi's body
sitting on the bed next to me. Then we went to the living room, sat on
the sofa, and I dug out my bits of paper, and started explaining my
schemes to Sandi.
"I've got three money making ideas, and we can do them all at once. Even
if only one of them works, then you've got enough to live on, and you
can still stay at school." Sandi looked at me, her big grey eyes wide
and expectant. I thought, she trusts me to come up with the goods - this
had better work.
"OK, scheme one. We find a bar in town that needs a shot in the arm." We
were both too young to go into a bar, but hey - Sandi looks old enough,
no-one's going to ask her for identity. If necessary, I could be her kid
brother. "And we offer them an evening entertainment that'll pull
customers in from miles around." Sandi kept listening. "And what's that,
Bunny? I'm not going to be a stripper." Hmm. I hadn't thought of that.
Sandi would be a fantastic stripper, with her strong, hard body and big
firm breasts. "No, Sandi, not a stripper. A strong woman act."
"What's that?" she asked. Well, I hadn't gotten as far as the details.
"You know, you do strong-woman things that ordinary people can't do.
Crack nuts in your hand. Lift heavy weights. We can figure out the
details later - you're three times as strong as a normal guy, we should
be able to work out some really impressive routines." Sandi laughed.
"OK, that doesn't sound too bad."
I wasn't so sure about how she'd receive the second idea. "Prize-
fighting. You fight someone, winner takes the prize." Sandi frowned. "I
wouldn't want to fight another girl. Could I fight some guy?" I looked
at her; I thought any guy that got into a ring with her would likely
regret it. "Yes, that's the idea, Sandi." "And people would pay for
this?" I thought about the immense sums that professional boxers got.
"For sure they would. All we have to do is find someone to organize the
fights." "Like who?" I'd done some research. There wasn't anything in
our town, but up in St Josephs city, there was a place where they held
boxing matches all the time. We'd go visit there, and hook up with
someone who could promote a match. One look at Sandi would tell him that
she'd be a devastating man-beater. "Just one thing, Bunny. I don't
really know how to box. I can fight all right, have done a few times.
But not proper boxing." Um, I hadn't thought of that. Isn't boxing just
two people hitting each other until one of them falls down? No, I
suppose there's a lot more to it than that. But Sandi had the pre-
requisite, big muscles and a hard body. Surely she could learn the rest?
Still, all we had to do was visit the boxing gym and find out whether it
was a possibility. If it was, one fight might keep Sandi and her mother
for months.
"What's the third idea, Bunny?" Now this one was definitely flaky, but
if it worked, it would be a doozy. "The Sandi Stone fan club!" Sandi
laughed. "Don't be silly." "No, Sandi, listen. I know what the guys say
about you. It might work." "Oh? What do they say about me?" Oh shit. I
shouldn't have opened that can of worms. When will I ever learn to think
before I speak? I shook my head. "Bunny!" she said, in the tone of voice
that meant "Don't argue with me, just do what I demand." Phoebe has a
tone of voice exactly the same, except she always says "Meow", the
meaning is conveyed entirely in the tone. The same as Sandi just did.
And when Sandi uses The Voice on me, I go all quivery inside, and
disobedience is simply not an option.
"All the boys say you're a great lay. Great in bed, great in the sack.
Comes like a steam train." "And do you believe that?" "Yes and no,
Sandi. Yes, I believe it, and No, I don't think there's any way that any
of them could possibly know." Sandi relaxed slightly; I hadn't realized
it, but there had been a large and dangerous bulge in an arm very close
to me. "And then they ask me about you. Ask me what it's like fucking a
girl twice my size." I felt the big, menacing bulge return. "And what do
you tell then, Bunny?" she asked in a soft voice that sounded like
Phoebe talking to a mouse. So do I lie to her? Sandi's my best friend -
of course I don't. But I'd better explain a bit first.
"Sandi, boys always boast about the girls they've fucked. Everyone knows
that 99% of it is lies, fishing stories. You have to, it's the done
thing, the culture. So I make up a lot of nonsense about you to tell
them. It doesn't mean anything, honest. No-one believes a word of it
anyway." I was relieved to see her break into a smile. "So tell me a
fishing story." "Well, I tell them that the first hour is great. The
second hour is pretty good too. The third hour, I'm really too exhausted
to appreciate, the fourth hour I just wish you'd go to sleep, the fifth
hour is killing me, and when you do a sixth hour, I just want to curl up
and die. Good story?" Sandi laughed. "I once spent eight hours fucking a
guy. I didn't kill him." She was joking. Wasn't she? "What else do they
say about me?"
I thought of what the boys said about her. "One thing the guys do a lot
- one of them says "Sandi Stone" and everyone says "Unnhhh", very
quietly." "What's that meant to mean?" "Er, um, it means they think
you're sexy." Sandi smiled like a cat - she is sexy, though. "And then
someone says "Sandi's arms" and everyone groans a bit louder. And then
someone says "Sandi's thighs" and everyone groans louder. And then
someone else says "Sandi's breasts" and everyone groans really loud."
Sandi laughed, "That's like a kind of ritual?" "Yes." "What else do they
say about me?" I thought about it. "I've heard a few guys say, "When I
die, I want to go crushed between Sandi's thighs". She smiled
thoughtfully, "That could be arranged. Remind me to show you some time
what I can do with a can of beans." I filed that thought away for
possible future use in Sandi's strong-woman act. "One guy once said that
he thought you were all fake, so the other guys egged him on until he
said he was willing to arm-wrestle you." "I've never arm-wrestled in my
life", said Sandi, "I don't see the point." "No, well, we fixed a date
and time." "No, Bunny, this didn't happen, it's all a lie." "Right, he
didn't turn up. Turned up the next day with a bandage on his arm. Said
he had a sprained wrist." "But I didn't even know about this contest."
"No, we knew he'd chicken out, so we didn't even ask you!" Sandi
laughed.
She's lovely when she laughs. She's got a low voice to start with, and
her laugh is a chuckle, like a cello playing Beethoven. Hearing Sandi
laugh makes me feel warm inside, which is why I try to make her laugh so
often. "So how about it, Sandi? You don't have to leave school, do you?"
She thought about it. "At least one of your insane schemes has to work,
doesn't it?" "Sandi, there's no reason why they can't all work!" "All
right then. Just one thing. We go 50-50, partners." I hadn't thought
about that. I was thinking in terms of getting Sandi some way to earn
some bread without having to leave school. I told her that. "Sandi,
you'll be earning the money, and you need it; you keep it." "No, Bunny,
you'll be working too. I'll need someone to be my agent, arrange strong-
woman props, promote fights, run the fan club. Friends and partners." Oh
hell and damnation. This was getting worse. First all she sees me as
just a friend, and then I'm just a business partner. That's not what I
really really want, and I'm not going to let her get away with it.
"Sandi, I'm doing this because ..." And then I thought "I love you". But
I couldn't say it. She didn't want that, she wanted a friend, not a
lover. And I'd rather be Sandi's friend than be fucking even Sally
Armitage (and there wasn't a boy in the whole school who didn't think
about Sally at least once per day). So I said "... I like you." Pretty
lame, huh?
Sandi wouldn't hear of it, and she used The Voice. "Bunny, I'm not
arguing about this; you get half, we're partners, and that's that."
Well, you don't argue with Sandi; you don't even disagree with her when
she uses The Voice. OK, Sandi, whatever you say. And she smiled, and
said "That's settled then", and we started to work out what a strong
woman act would consist of.
That evening, I asked Dad about the bars in town. "Aren't you a bit
young for bars?", he said. So I explained that a friend and I were
preparing an entertainment act, and we wanted to approach a bar that
needed an attraction to bring in business. He looked a bit doubtful, but
I said told him it was all good clean fun, and he suggested a few
places. Mom joined us, and suggested "Robert, why don't you get that
nice girl Sandi to join in?" Great idea, Mom. Yes, I suppose I had been
seeing Sandi rather a lot, and I suppose Mom and Dad had gotten the
wrong idea. If only they were right!
The next day, Sandi and I went shopping. We went to the supermarket for
cans of beans and various fruit and vegetables, we visited a clothes
shop to get the right sort of gear, we visited a hardware store and got
some useful stuff, and we finished off with a visit to a garage where we
bought an empty 40 gallon oil drum. That afternoon, Sandi did some
practicing, while I painted the oil drum. I made it a fluorescent
yellow, and using a stencil, I painted the word "SANDI" in big red
letters running down the side, in four places. Around the drum, I
painted "The strongest woman in the world" - well, I didn't know that
she was, but I doubted if anyone would pop up to prove me wrong.