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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
(C) 1993 WIG, LTD
Ursula Parkheart:
The Flexing Detective
The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon
Chapter Five:
Raye-Raye's Diagnosis: Mouth on Muscle
The townhouse was the last one in a long plain row of identical
homes. Identical except for the fact that one housed a pretty
blonde with wholesome farmgirl looks and enough muscles to bring
down a Roman temple, like a female Samson.
The place was three stories tall but didn't seem very high; the
ceilings had to be low inside. I pictured Raye-Anne crouching as
she walked around in her own home; ducking as she passed the
overhangs; an Amazon forced to live in a world of undersized
dimension; hungry for the wealth that could let her build her own
world, fit for the full-size hunk of woman that she was...
I had the foresight to buy her flowers; and I brought along a
bottle of moderately-priced domestic champagne. I rang the bell.
It chimed in four notes; it was one of those bells that you buy
in specialty stores as a novelty; it was playing a pop tune, but
it wasn't until a month later on a sleepless night as I played
the radio that I recognized it.
It was Diana Ross' "I Want Muscle."
The door opened as I had just finished ringing the bell again,
and the tune issued forth once more, from somewhere inside, as
she stepped into view and announced the appearance of the blonde
lady bodybuilder like a scene from a movie.
Raye-Anne Hallison stood over me looking hard and dominant; huge,
tough and gorgeous. The muscle-packed arms rested on either side
of the doorframe, filling up the space with her commanding size.
There was no touch of the hospitable hostess welcoming a guest;
she looked at me as though I were a traveling salesman
interrupting a fancy state occasion.
"Oh, you're here..."
There was a note of exasperation in her voice; as though she
hadn't really meant for me to show up; that I'd taken her
invitation literally when she had really only been interested in
getting rid of me earlier that afternoon; like someone who takes
your "let's have lunch" salutation to heart and shows up on your
doorstep the next day at noon sharp...
She hadn't dressed fancy; a midrift-baring sweatshirt,
sleeveless; and so baring the thick slabs of her chiseled-tough
brown arms; and a faded pair of skintight jeans over white pumps;
the old soft denim hugged her contours like a car winding on a
mountain road; hanging on for dear life lest it fall...
Which was just what I was doing as I looked at her. Falling big.
Falling hard. And landing on a hard and unforgiving plain of
female muscle called Raye-Raye Hallison.
A laugh seemed to be welling up in her; she made a visible show
of trying to restrain it; as though to accentuate her point,
before breaking out in a low and lusty laugh. When it had wound
down, she pointed at me as though I was something humorously
memorable; a clown or a child that had done something pricelessly
cute...
"Flowers?!," the Amazon asked.
I was still on the doorstep; anxious to get out of the line of
vision of her neighbors, but she wasn't letting me in yet. She
clasped both hands in front of her, folding them together as
though in prayer. The astounding muscles of her arms came to
life, huge and throbbing.
"Aawww," she derided, "isn't he cute? Bringing some nice red
roses to his big hot heartthrob."
She grabbed them out of my hands, and as she lowered her head to
sniff them, reached with her other hand and yanked me by the
wrist over the threshold and into her home. My body jerked like
a marionette whose strings had been yanked abruptly; and I landed
with a thud at her feet, on a plush white carpet. I heard the
door slam.
She was looking down at me as I lay there. The bottle of
champagne had escaped destruction during my fall; I held it
securely in my hand, the bottle damp with condensation as I lay
on the deep-pile rug in my swimsuit.
"There's a picture for my calendar," she said in a friendly tone
of voice. I looked up to her, and saw her head precipitously
close to the low ceiling.
She walked over to a vase that sat in the window; she dumped the
flowers into it carelessly.
"Funny story about giving a girl flowers," she said, walking back
to me, so as to tower over me as I lay discombobulated on the
rug. I started to get up; but the spike of her shoe went down on
my hip; ordering me back down...
"Two women are sitting together on a Friday night," she began,
slowly circling me as she did. The spike-heels made little
craters in the deep carpet.
"The first one says `Damn! My boyfriend brought me a dozen roses
when he got home from work. Now I'll have to spent the whole
weekend with my legs up in the air...
The other woman thinks for a second and asks, `Why? Don't you
have a vase?"
She found this hysterical and burst out laughing again; I was too
nervous to see any humor in anything; not wishing to offend, I
chuckled and smiled. It was cold in here, I noted with a shiver,
as goosebumps raised on the skin bared by my trim trunks.
If she noticed it, she chose to ignore it...
"Pretty good, huh?," she asked, huge body still heaving with
laughter. I was glad she had a sense of humor, at least...
She was walking around me, checking me out as I lay sprawled.
Suddenly a hand went to my head, and I felt myself being pulled
up roughly, by the roots of my hair. She literally hauled me to
my feet; my scalp stung, and the pain ran all the way down my
spine. For just a second, my feet left the floor entirely--such
was the power she could command.
Before I could even find my balance, she put her arms around me,
encircling me like thick and hungry hot pythons.
"So you see," she said, as I was surrounded by the stunning
Amazon's flesh, squeezing harder than she needed, "That's why I
always keep a vase around. If I didn't, I'd have to drop my
panties and let you shove those roses up my cunt," she said,
almost spitting the word at me as she nearly crushed my body.
The big breasts were thrust into my face. I could smell their
perfume, and I half-recognized it, but I didn't know what it
was...
"That wouldn't be much fun, would it? Thorns and everything,"
she said, wrinkling her nose just before descending upon me with
an open voracious mouth, tongue at the ready.
I was stunned; but not too stunned to meet her mouth with my own
eagerly; I wanted her. I stood on tiptoe to meet the sweet warm
breath with my own, and her tongue went deep into my mouth; it
seemed to be as powerful as it's owner; yet the pressure she
exerted on my lips was soft; almost as though she were merely
testing me now; gauging how much force she could exert on me and
still find a willing and excited partner. Her skin smelled of
the sun; it gave off the heat it had absorbed earlier that day in
the harsh scouring light of midday, at a nearly-deserted
poolside. As the kiss continued, I dared to raise my hand to her
thick threatening bicep, and felt the proud hard boulder under
her soft skin...
I would've kept kissing her indefinitely; her lips were moist and
soft and my other hand had just found it's way to the hard
exposed abdomen, and was about to start venturing north under the
grey sweattop; but after a another minute of this lingual
wrestling match she had decided she'd had enough for now; and she
released me just as abruptly as she had grabbed me. I stumbled as
the soles of my feet landed on the floor.
I was breathing hard; as though I really had been wrestling. But
not a hair was out of place on Raye-Anne, as she stood over me,
enjoying my dazed look of sexual frenzy she had put on my face.
"Come on," she said, turning her broad back and leading me by the
hand like a child down the narrow hallway into a comfortably-
sized television room.
There was a white leather sofa against the far wall; inside a
black lacquered wall unit was a large-screen television. Raye-
Anne plunked her bulk down on the sofa; she pointed at the place
next to her with her head, the blonde mane coming to life with
the casual movement, before grabbing the remote; it looked tiny
in her thick limb. She flicked on the set; it was the only light
in the room, as night gathered outside.
We watched a strange and compelling exhibition. It was a video,
independently made; it told the tale of a blonde muscle-hewn girl
in a bikini who returns to wreak revenge on the fellow who had
taunted her. She broke him like a pretzel over a mug of beer.
I watched the woman in the video with fascination; she was big;
but not as big as the astounding, if mean-tempered musclegirl I
was seated next to. She took my hand, and without taking her
eyes away from the screen, tucked it inside her huge bicep again.
Without words, she explained with this motion just which of us
was the dominant half of this couple, and who was expected to
demurely follow orders...
She folded her legs up on the sofa, and so did I. I was enjoying
the feel of her skin, her muscle; feeling her pulse beating
through the thick sinew. My hand grew warm and moist, locked in
a safe little haven in Raye-Anne's beefy bicep.
The little fellow on the screen had been vanquished; the bikini-
clad blonde exalted herself in victory, and the poor fellow was
humiliated. When last we see him, he is oiling her vast and
pumped body as she stands, hard and cool and unsympathetic,
flexing over him. The screen faded, blackened, then went static;
bathing the room in the harsh white-silver light...
"That's entertainment, huh?," she asked, her voice low and
throaty in my ear. I looked at her.
"You'd probably like to be treated like that, wouldn't you?," she
asked. "Put in your place by some great big hunk of throbbing
female muscle. Wouldn't you?"
She was expecting an answer.
I put my other hand on the bicep, too, and tried to buy some
time...
I swallowed hard as I looked longingly, tremblingly, at the thick
muscle.
"Uh-huh," I acknowledged. "With you, Raye-Anne, in a second..."
She nodded as if I had confirmed a suspicion.
"That's what I figured," she said, looking me up and down with
contempt. "You think you can strut in here and bat your eyes and
act all cute and get roughed up just a little bit, then get all
worshipful and adoring and I'll let you off the hook, like that
guy on the tape, huh?" she asked, pointing at the now-blank
screen.
I didn't know what to say.
"Well, let me tell you something, my skinny little man, it don't
work like that. You want a piece of Raye-Raye; you gotta earn
it...," she stated firmly, making the bowling ball jump on the
thick arm...
The doorbell rang.
"Now who the hell could that be?," she asked me, as if I should
know. She got up and walked across the room, and then turned to
me.
"Stay there and don't move," she threatened, "or I'll come back
here and spank your cute little behind black and blue. Get me?,"
she asked, pulling the sleeve high on the slab of an arm and
bringing the meaty bicep to life again in a heart-stoppingly huge
flex.
I swallowed hard with awe and desire.
"Uh-huh," I breathed.
There was just the trace of a smile on her face as she turned and
disappeared down the hall.
Within seconds of hearing the door open on rusty hinges, Raye-
Anne's voice was raised.
"Encyclopedias, huh?..."
The salesman raised his voice, too, just a bit, anxious to make a
sale. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but they were the
soothing strains of a salesman alright, trying to lure her in...
"Here's what I think of your fuckin' encyclopedias!," she boomed.
I knew I had been told to stay in my place, but I had to see...
I got to the door of the den just in time to see Raye-Anne down
the hall, standing in the front room over a smallish salesman.
She had taken the heavy, foot-thick sample from the guy.
I wondered how he carried something so heavy from door-to-door...
"Watch this, pal," she said to him. She grunted, and opened the
book until her hands each held an equal half of the heavy tome.
And she began tearing it in half.
The salesmen tried to stop her, but got a swift kick in the groin
for his attempt, and he hit the floor in a heap, where he would
watch the conclusion of this amazing muscle demonstration
quietly, hoping he would escape with his life.
The book began to tear; pages falling loose as the binder began
to crumble and shatter, pulled apart with incremental little tugs
at first, until it's back was broken, so to speak. I could see
the veins in her tree-trunk-arms come to life in a frightening
network, like raging rivers. As she would change her grip, I saw
a new muscle group come into play, giving the arms a slightly
different but equally huge look. Now the biceps were doing most
of the work, then the triceps would shoot into life in vivid
detail, the cut of her delts focusing now, showing their vast
wicked thickness, until...
RRRIIIPPP!!!
She tore the ten-pound, leather-bound book in two, the spine
giving way and making a cracking sound; it sounded like a human
spine that was being broken, and the beautiful tome that might
have graced someone's bookshelves for generations, taken down
delicately to enrich young minds, was now junk in the hands of an
angry heaving she-hulk.
She breathed a bit heavily, for just a second, as she held the
broken volume up. It was as though she was daring the conquered
salesmen to object to her work. Then she dropped the two halves
upon the figure as he lay doubled-up with pain, courtesy of Raye-
Anne's swift kick. He hid his face from the falling wreckage.
"That's what I think of your book, shrimp," she said, hands on
her hips. She gave a little rim-shot with one, as though she had
not made her point clearly enough...
She picked him up in one hand, holding him suspended by his own
belt, and opened the front door. She was about to throw out the
garbage, or so it looked...
Seconds later, he was deposited rather violently out her door,
followed quickly by the destroyed literature he had tried to
sell. I heard a painful grunt issue from him as the door closed.
I hustled back to the sofa, where she returned to find me
sitting,
obediently, several moments later.
As she stood in the doorway, filling up the entrance with untold
raw muscle and hard-natured, womanly cruelty, I swallowed hard
and knew I was lucky that she hadn't caught me snooping at her
dominant demonstration.
And I reminded myself not to ask her to buy any Girl Scout
Cookies!
Next thing I knew, I was cooking dinner.
The small kitchen was well-furnished; lots of pots and pans and
shining scoured steel; well-stocked cabinets full of dry goods
and a refrigerator jammed to the top with, ironically enough,
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