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Ursula Parkheart, P.I. : The Flexing Detective in
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 714-840-1145
© WIG, LTD 1993 All rights reserved
Ursula Parkheart, P.I.:
The Flexing Detective
in
"The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon"
Chapter Four:
Report to the MuscleBossLady
"Great work, JT," Ursula said, her hugely-muscled arms folded
across her lush chest, biceps peaked and rock-hard, huge...
She nodded with approval as she swiveled back and forth slowly in
her leather chair, smiling slightly with satisfaction; I sat on
the edge of her desk and basked in the glow of my Muscular
BossLady's compliments. I had filled her in on my encounter with
the jumbo-sized blonde on the way over; and we were making plans
for tonight's cloak and dagger operation. I had beamed all the
way back to the office, even after Angela and Sally had chided me
on the oversize lady escort on whose arm they had seen me exit
the pool area.
I was glad that I had pleased my BossLady. But...
"JT?....Hello, JT?" Ursula leaned into my field of view, but I
was far away...
I didn't hear her at first. My attention was wandering; the
events of the last two hours had been too overwhelming and
compelling. I had my date, alright. I had asked the gorgeous
Raye-Anne out for the evening; six-foot- six inches of tough-
minded muscle and abundant cleavage packed hard and tight in the
body of a Pet of the Month, beneath the face of a midwestern
cheerleader...
"....out with you? No," the blonde giantess denied me, with a
shake of her head and a look of disgust, as she continued to
twirl the sunglasses.
"I won't go out with you. Raye-Anne doesn't date runts. But
don't cry, little man. You're welcome to come over tonight at
seven for some dinner and a little TV. If you behave yourself,
maybe I'll even let you watch me hoist some iron around in my
gym. How's that?"
I nodded enthusiastically, not sure whether I was acting...
"That's what I thought", she sneered. "Somehow, I didn't think
your social schedule had any major events on for this evening,
huh? And don't you dare come to my doorstep in your cute little
I-wanna-get-laid Sunday best. I want to see you at my door in
that hot little speedo, boy. And nothin' else. Get me?..."
And I would've been happy to leave it at that, but my blonde
musclegirl wasn't going to. As soon as we had finalized our
plans she had told me to take her arm and walk out of the pool
area with her.
I told her that I could walk just fine by myself, but she wasn't
having it; reaching down for me with her powerful limbs she took
my hand and tucked it up under her huge, thickly muscled right
arm; my hand folded around it, the fingertips wrapped around the
rocklike peak of her bicep...
"Walk me home, speedo-boy", she had commanded.
We walked out like that, like lopsided lovers; and as we passed
the mother as she sat under an umbrella at the far end of the
pool, I saw her shoot me a strange, quizzical look; seven-foot-
tall-in-heels Amazons whose huge physiques burst with muscle was
one thing, she must have figured. But what was the deal with the
guy who was on her thick and massive arm, like a schoolgirl with
a crush on a lifeguard; with an erection pulsing in his tight
bikini swimsuit?
"You got a problem, lady?", Raye-Anne asked the smugly smiling
mom, stopping to tower threateningly over the small woman. Raye-
Anne had shaken me off and ordered me to stay put by the
poolgate--"while I tend to this `Little prissy asshole'", she had
said through clenched teeth...
"Uh, young lady, tend to your business", the woman huffed,
sliding her reading glasses down onto her nose and waving towards
me with the paperback book she held in her hands and had been
pretending to read. It was a suggestion that was to go ignored.
"This is my business", Raye-Anne announced, putting both hands on
her hips and flexing thundering thick muscle that towered over
the skinny figure. The woman swallowed hard and began to lose
her matronly cool, her face reddening; she was getting flustered.
Heck, she was getting scared...
"Listen, you old rag, who I pick up is my own goddamn business",
Raye-Anne growled. "Just because you can't get laid anymore
doesn't mean I shouldn't. After all, I've got the stuff guys
want, don't I?", she pouted at the matron, flexing a gigantic arm
thick with years of pushing heavy iron; and lorded it over the
lightweight female below her, who was all knobby knees and elbows
and sagging bosom in a two-piece suit.
Strange how I recalled that the woman had actually made an
impression on me as I had first entered the pool area; she had
even seemed attractive and youthful back then.
...a hundred years ago...
The woman's child was sleeping on the next lounge; oblivious.
"Well!", the woman harumphed. "Such language was never used when
I was a young girl... And your outfit and that of your gigolo is
downright disgusting," she informed us, voice wavering.
And she turned back to the dimestore novel she was reading. Her
hands were shaking with fear...
Raye-Anne wasn't moving. She had a point to make.
"Get up", the muscular volcano of a woman ordered as she towered
from on high. She absently readjusted the tiny bikini top that
merely decorated her huge round breasts, rather than contain them
or give support they did not need. Her icy gaze never left the
figure below her.
The woman raised the book up to her face, and wished that Raye-
Anne would just go away...
"When I tell you to do something", Raye-Anne Hallison announced
as though reciting a law, "you better shake your flat little ass
and do what I say!"
The air became more than tense, as thickly chiseled layers of
ladymuscle tensed and prepared to correct a disobedient stranger;
readying an attack.
There wasn't a breath of air, and the water lay flat and mirror-
like, reflecting the washed-denim sky.
The woman would not look up, probably thinking that this bad
dream would just go away if she kept reading her Danielle Steel.
She saw the blonde-haired giantess spring for her, but could
offer little defense other than a weak wave at the thick and
veined forearm as it reached down for her, knocking her umbrella
off it's holder; it teetered and tumbled to the ground. The
paperback book fell to the concrete, finding a puddle; it soaked
in the sun-heated splash and was instantly ruined...
Raye-Anne's seven feet of dominant muscle made short work of the
woman, as she first lifted and then held her suspended over the
ground by her dyed hair; and made her dance and dangle like a
puppet on a string. The massive muscle of her arm flexed this
way and that, triceps pulsing with each little jerk of the
frightened woman; who sought relief from the iron vise of a grip
by grabbing the lushly muscled arm, small hands wrapping
themselves desperately around the thick limb, as she kicked at
the air futilely.
Raye-Anne never stopped smiling.
The woman winced hard and let out small yelps of pain, refusing
to let a loud cry disturb her young sleeping son, and disclose
his mommy's humiliation at the hands of a she-hulk.
Raye-Anne walked with the woman, still suspended in the air, as
though she was anxious to dispose of a disgusting bug; and
brought her over to the edge of the pool, where she held her
suspended over the blue icewater...
"Listen, drycunt", she said, with a nonchalant tone in her voice.
"The next time you see me I expect to be addressed with the
respect I'm due, you get me...?", she asked, almost in a yawn.
The woman did not answer; her reading glasses slipped off her
face and fell into the watery icebox below...
Raye-Anne did not lose her temper as I might have expected.
Instead she flashed a razor sharp fingernail; it looked sharp
enough to cut a steak. She caught the front of the woman's
flowery faded two-piece swimsuit and proceeded to slice it down
the front. The woman's pale naked flab slid out and fell
exposed, long past it's expiration date for displaying at
poolside; stretch marks predominant across her the white of her
lower belly.
The out-of-date outfit fell away through the woman's frantic
clutching hands and into the cold blue beneath her, where it
floated limply, in pieces.
The nude woman stifled a sob and Raye-Anne let loose a laugh at
the woman's humiliation.
I stood in shock and awe at the avalanche of muscle and cruelty
that was pouring from the big bad blonde.
"Say you're sorry, little naked lady. Say that you're real,
real, sorry you made me mad, and that you don't want to go into
the cold water. Beg me, darlin'..." Raye-Anne demanded, her
voice smooth and low, her thick muscle rigid and untroubled by
the woman's bodyweight as she held her with one tree-trunk of an
arm.
The little naked woman tried to kick herself free one more time,
but it was pointless; and Raye-Anne smacked the small white
bottom with a flashing palm. The woman yelped with pain as the
crack of flesh on flesh filled the air...
"I...I'm sorry, miss. I-I didn't m-mean to make you mad", she
struggled with words she didn't want to say.
"You offended my little guy, too. Really, lady, you have no
manners, do you?"
"Yes, I m-mean no", came words from a head that would have been
shaking with fear, except that Raye-Anne was holding it by the
hair, forcing the scrawny shoulders to do the squirming. The
dyed hair was suffering for her insolence, and some of it was
coming out, giving way in Raye-Anne's grasp; the gray roots
betraying the black hairdye and fluttering down into the water
beneath her.
"Silly lady. You just can't make up your little mind, can you?
You know what I do when I can't think clearly, lady? I take a
cold bath. Maybe you should, too..."
She slapped her lightly, with contempt, the handprint forming in
red on the woman's cheek. She began crying softly.
"Now, now, little lady. No crying", she admonished her, waving
the index finger of her free hand in her face. "Like they said
in the movie---"There's no crying in swimming!", my big blonde
taunted with a laugh...
The woman tried to dissuade her, begging; but the only word she
spoke came just as she disappeared under the sheet of freezing
blue with a small splash, and the word was drowned in a frigid
little wave of white water.
The word, I think, had been a plaintive, sobbing, "please".
Raye-Anne brushed her hands together in congratulations to
herself, satisfied she had made her point. She leaned over and
peered into the pool for a second, her broad muscle-packed back
lowering. Perfect bare iron-trained buttocks stared me down...
The woman shot to the surface with a loud gasp, her hair
plastered down on her skull; her child stirred.
Raye-Anne was done with her, and she bounded over to me with
renewed energy, her blue eyes dancing with the pleasure of
domination, showgirl hips swinging with the sexy rhythm of her
confident stride.
She towered over me, merciless muscle and big breast dwarfing me;
I felt much like a child myself as I looked up at the impossibly
huge and perfect woman.
She placed my arm inside hers again; fingers wrapping around it
as though from memory. I rubbed the onerous bicep, thick and
commanding, with my free hand, as though to soothe it after the
strain of putting smart-mouthed old ladies in their place.
As the gate slammed behind us, I heard the older woman kick water
and drag herself out of the pool, coughing and spluttering much
as I had done.
Minutes later, I was in the back seat of Ursula's car; every time
I closed my eyes some moment of the last half-hour replayed
itself in my mind...
We had let Angela out of the car in front of our building; she
sashayed over to her Supra and, gears grinding and screaming as
she stripped them, drove off, the shiny sports car jerking and
sputtering. Ursula made a comment to the effect that that girl
didn't know what she was doing in that car as we slid easily into
the parking spot the little rich girl had vacated. Already I was
distracted; and no sooner had we parked and I began to climb out
than the lightweight pants, really nothing more than thin
hospital issue pajamas I always used for the beach, caught the
metal projection on the doorframe of the big car; and the old
fabric, weakened from years of use, tore apart completely, the
pants all but falling off my body.
Ursula found it mildly amusing. Her assistant was standing on a
city street in the small swimsuit. Fortunately, there was nobody
around; this was one of the quieter sections of town, and the
heat of the day had encouraged people to stay inside, air
conditioners on full...
Still, I wasn't going to press my luck, and I told the giggling
musclewoman that I would meet her inside. I hustled around back,
to steal my way into my bosslady's office on the freight
elevator...
I was less likely to run into anybody that way. Who needed to be
standing in the lobby in my state; trying to explain why I was
dressed in a Chippendale's outfit?
The door wasn't supposed to open from the outside; it was for
emergency use in the case of a fire, but I had my methods. I
kept a long sharp stick beneath the adjacent dumpster, and I had
pulled it out and was inching the door open when a hand went to
my shoulder and...
"Well, well, well!", came a familiar voice from behind me.
I turned and saw Officer Maria, standing close behind me in
shadow, and dressed in a summer-issue policewoman's outfit. She
wore it tight; tailored and tapered to flatter her wide frame;
the cloth stretched to bursting across the big boobs. The skirt
did her more than justice; tightly hugging the curvy hips that
extended from the wasp-waist. She reached automatically for the
waistband of the dark blue skirt and pulled it higher; another
three inches of her showgirl legs crept out from under the hem.
And, under the short sleeves, were those biceps beginning to
swell on her arms?
"Well, well, well,", she said again. "I think I'm in love!", she
purred, leaning into me with warm vanilla on her breath and lust
in her bursting bosom. She was a tall woman; six feet of purring
blonde law enforcement taking a delight in my bare-skinned
condition.
"You know, JT, you look so good you're almost illegal", she
purred, leaning in to me and reaching around brazenly for a
nearly-bare buttock; she cupped it as though she owned it and
juggled it in her palm.
"Maybe I should take you in to the station", she teased, all
raging hormones. This swimsuit was bringing out the beast in
these queen-sized ladies...
"The other girls on the job would love to see you in those
briefs...", she added, leaning even closer and letting the big
boobs rub against me.
---
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