Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.
Writers: Anon / Augmented by Regis
Subject: WAR GODDESSES CHAPTER 5
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
War Goddesses 5
CHAPTER 5 — HAWAIIAN FIGHTING GODDESSES
A crash of loudspeaker amplified cymbals plunged the Kat Fight Klub into jet blackness and a pulse-accelerating drumroll.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Dapper Jack Gotta and Tong Associates are privileged to welcome you to the World Famous Kat Fight Club, and we hope this afternoon’s brunch show will be the highlight of your stay at the equally World Famous Coliseum 2000 Luxury Resort and Entertainment Empire here in sunny Sol City, Baja California!”
Cheers filled the darkness as a brilliant ceiling spot dropped onto the Stage where suddenly tiki torches erupted into orange flames, carried around the perimeter of the fight area by local Mexican girls and youths, all naked, oiled to shining, and wearing flower print waistbands and leis around their necks.
I guess we were to understand they were Hawaiian youths, preparing to make a sacrifice to Pele, the Goddess of the Volcano or something. I could see my much-hated (because he was much hateful), and equally oily control agent, Blank Frank, sit ringside at a well-waited table, being served champagne, scampi and Cuban cigars all the time ostentatiously ignoring the noisy floor show that was taking place practically in his lap.
The achingly all-American girl (and busty body idol), Jennifer sat admiring his every tacky move, as if he were a game show host and she were some mobile home park mom with a “lady’s only” beer-bar bouncer build. I noted with some satisfaction that she, too, noticed his head flinch, and eyes dart sideways, when a nude child turned and he could get a snapshot of one of the boy’s, what he would call: “thing-a-ma-jigs”.
“And just for today’s performance, we have a very special guest to perform a medley of his greatest hits, ladies and gentlemen, give a great big welcome from the heart to the Hawaiian Orpheus, Mister Don Ho!”
A follow spot picked up a pudgy little white-haired guy of about ninety walking down the center aisle to the stage, his cummerbund barely restraining his barrel belly, his piggy little eyes almost lost in a storm of deep wrinkles in rawhide-like suntan.
He threw back his head and, in a surprisingly smooth tenor voice, sang: “Tiny Bubbles, from the Sea …” As an unseen and unsuspected violin section kicked in, I noticed Frank was smirking through the darkness in my direction. The guy I now called Mister Neon shifted in his blue foil leisure suit and, knowing he couldn’t be heard, even by a rifle mike.
“Why does that guy hate you so?” He whispered.
“I dared to give people a communication encoding program that could protect their communications from his Masters. And then I gave it away for free. I think he sees me as some kind of anti-matter in his universe. Then I got busted for distributing my Program as Freeware over the Internet.
“The fucking US Supreme Court ruled all Encryption Schemes the National Security Agency couldn’t crack to be a National Security Matter ‘by nature’, whatever the fuck that means. He must have swallowed pricks big time to get to be the one to hold my fucking leash.”
Suddenly, there was a blackout in which something massive could be heard being dragged onto the stage. And with a deafening roar, pyrotechnic flames rushed up from the jagged peak of a thirty-foot-high stage-set volcano, with smoke billowing from side vents and back-lit “lightning” flashed, accompanied by thunder provided by the lounge combo’s leering pompadour sporting lesbian drummer.
Yma Sumac’s yowling chestnut “Sacrifice of the Fire Maidens” romped atop all this noise as a truly heart-stooping figure of a feather-festooned naked super woman made a stately ascent up the side of the peak, arms outstretched with swords draped in feather-covered lame. At the summit, a spot picked her out.
Salma (Neon’s main squeeze and lead fighting girl in his stable), her massive, proud breasts thrust wonderfully out, ripe as young melons, with thumb-sized jutting nipples, appeared. Her Cleopatra painted eyes swept the room left and right, as if daring some woman to challenge her right to be Queen Bitch.
A convenient ten-foot “ledge” sat halfway up the side of the noisy papier-mache lump for Salma, Chief Priestess of Pele, the Volcano Goddess, to meet her Rival for a Deathfight! I couldn’t help but wonder if the serious business of Death ever got so silly in the arenas of Rome.
A cheer went up from the back of the Kat Fight Klub as a spot picked up the advancing stride of an Amazon that must have stood six-foot-three tall (to Salma’s more mortal five-foot-seven), wearing only black leather panties and a half dozen leis some Stage Hand must have thrown over her head.
As she passed, she sneered with a high cheek-boned, aquiline countenance that had indeed gotten very adept at sneering down at folks. With incredibly long show-girl’s legs and 44D bosoms, only a rib-cage like hers could carry as if they were the taut tits of a sixteen-year-old, she marched up the stage steps and up the side of the “volcano” without breaking stride.
“It’s six-foot Julie. Your shit better work!” Mr Neon muttered.
He smiled sickly as if he had half suspected this would be the woman his girl would have to fight a fight to the death with. I liked Salma’s style. She had the easy acceptance of things the way they were.
She did so without bitterness that I both envied and wished dearly I could emulate. I was worried for the second time that night about someone other than my own sorry self. I was just glad it wasn’t that poor little butt-kicked blond Drew who was trying to defend that mountain from all comers!
Salma flicked her fingers outwards, sending the swords and feathers out into the suddenly still audience. Like the woman advancing from below, she pulled off her leis and cast them away. Julie unsnapped her panties and threw them to the crowd, so now both magnificent female beasts closed the remaining distance between them entirely naked.
These were as naked as girl gladiators slashing and stabbing with swords, driven to fury by the screams of the crowds in the blood-caked dust of the Roman Coliseum! They were as naked as two bitch tyrannosaurs fastening their jaws into each other’s necks while doing naked battle in the heat of some prehistoric desert ravine!
Naked, arms were outstretched like those of wrestlers, their claws extended like knives, their teeth bared, fury burning like furnaces in their eyes. Naked, these young girls burst together when they were but a body’s length apart, screaming at each other at the top of their lungs!
Salma leapt into the air, flying downward at Julie’s huge bosom with her knees and the full flying weight of her body. Roaring, Julie swung a backhand slap around, catching Salma on the hip, literally swatting her aside! Salma rolled downhill, twisted, and leapt to her feet in a split second.
That proved to be enough time for the big bitch to do a one hundred and eighty and make a field goal drop-kick, with her heel driving at Salma’s beautiful head as the football. Salma pitched out from the force of the blow, sprawled head down hill, legs apart, wet, lush vulva open and exposed.
Julie couldn’t refuse this damp, swollen target, stamping down with all her might to shatter the pubic bone to slivers. But Salma bucked her hips up, Julie’s foot driving instead deep into the papier-mache slope, then sprang from her shoulders to her feet, driving the palms of her left hand up under Julie’s jutting jaw.
This surprise blow snapped the raven-haired Amazon’s head up so Salma could slam her right fist like a hammer into the center of Julie’s throat, as if trying to hammer an Adam’s apple back through the spine! Choking on a curse, Julie slammed her fists together on both of Salma’s temples.
This concussed the Mexican girl’s brain, then she butted her broad head downward into the center of Salma’s face, trying to drive the nose cartilage up into Salma’s brain, killing her. The angle was wrong. Salma’s face exploded into frightening crimson blood, with blood squirting from both nostrils of her broken nose.
Salma staggered back downhill, almost to the bottom, shaking her mane wildly, trying to clear her vision. Holding her own throat with her left hand, Julie loped downhill and, twisting sideways, drove a bare left foot deep into Salma’s wet belly. Salma folded over her tormentor’s leg and weakly tried to pull upward.
She did this in an attempt to pitch Julie onto her back, but Julie just brought both hands together over her head and brought them down on Salma’s right shoulder, hoping to snap the collar-bone! I shot a glance at Frank, who was doing very well at looking bored. Jennifer’s child-woman face was inscrutable as she observed the violence, the freckles on her nose and cheeks exposed by the bright spotlights.
A chill went through me as she turned her head and seemed to look directly at me, although Neon and I were sitting in a booth, entirely in darkness. Her pupils seemed to fill her irises, and a Mona Lisa quarter-smile played about her lips, setting my heart hammering in my chest. Could she see me? What was she thinking?
I was jerked rudely back to reality when Neon grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip, his furious bald head inches from my face.
“What the fuck’s going on, Man? My Woman’s getting killed up there!”
I could just shake my head in denial. What was going on? Was Salma supposed to die? Convincing the opposition that the fight drug was a failure? Was this all an exercise in disinformation?
Back up the mountain, Salma had literally fled between the murderess’s shapely gams and crawled at a run on her belly onto the flat area halfway up the volcano. There she weaved upward, tottering on her feet as methodically as a tank, Julie plodded back up the hill to her, smirking, blood, Salma’s blood, drooling from the knuckles of her fists.
You could see the recognition of imminent Death arise in Salma’s great, sad eyes as she made a heroic effort to raise her fists in front of her in a defensive stance. But it was too much for her. Her forearms were shaking like an old woman’s. It looked like she was losing it.
Suddenly, as if this realization of imminent death was a biochemical trigger to secrets locked deep in the cells of her body, a visible shudder passed through her lovely frame, color flooding olive flesh that had gone grey-green from blood loss. She seemed astounded by her own recovery, but just for a moment.
She realized the drug she had taken was fine-tuned to require the body’s imminent collapse to trigger its reaction! Even Julie frowned when she looked up to see the new Salma grinning wolfishly down at her! This time, when Salma leapt up, it was a feint! She dropped to her ass, lashing up with both feet under Julie’s swat, driving her heels deep into the Amazon’s liver.
Julie bellowed in rage and threw herself down on top of Salma, and the two furiously thrashing women rolled over and over to the bottom of the hill. Being bigger by nearly twenty per cent, Julie landed on top, forcing Salma’s wrists down on either side of the Mexican girl’s head.
Then she wiggled her hips down over Salma’s belly and over her thrusting pubic bush onto her thighs, all the time lowering her torso onto Salma’s. Finally, her pair of 44D honeydew melons was covered and smashed flat, and Salma’s 40D cantaloupes.
The two women struggle mightily, wet buxom torsos wiping a slime of blood, saliva and sweat back and forth. But Julie remained in control. A smile of pure malice on her face, Julie bared her teeth and sank her ruthless bite deep into the soft flesh of the throat just below Salma’s left ear!
The Amazon’s powerful jaws worked, dentally sharpened teeth slicing through tender flesh, closing in on the pulse of Salma’s jugular vein! Salma’s eyes bugged out in rage and fear and agony as she felt Julie’s teeth close on the pressure-filled throbbing river of her life’s blood.
With a desperate heave, she rolled Julie off and scrambled on top. To Julie’s incredulous reaction, she mustered the strength to force Julie’s wrist down on either side of her head! Julie bellowed like a gored bull and bucked. Salma stayed on, her big bulging bosom bouncing.
Ride ’em, Cowgirl! Suddenly, Salma scrambled off, sprinting to the flame-belching peak of the volcano. Shaking her head, Julie lumbered to her feet and then, pumping her arms, sprinted up after her. Both women fiercely fought each other with their fists on the rim of the volcano.
Unforgiving fists punched into pillow-like bosoms and soft flat abdomens; heads snapped back and forth from the force of the blows coming in from the left and the right, and again from the left and the right! Blood poured from Julie’s mouth, her face a mask of hate, as she wrapped her strong fingers around Salma’s throat and began shaking the smaller girl like a terrier shaking a goose held in its jaws by the neck!
Salma grasped Julie’s wrists and, by sheer brute force, dragged the hands from her neck, Julie’s claws leaving deep bloody furrows from the back of her neck by the spine, down the nape and over the tops of her plump breasts. Still holding those dangerous hands out from her, she dropped to her ass, pitching the Amazon over her head.
Then both women, on their knees, faced each other and wrapped their arms around each other’s heads and necks. What followed was a violent series of wrenches as each woman in turn tried again and again to snap the other woman’s spine! They literally leapt into the air from their knees each time one twisted the other’s head, and the other tried to stop the rotation mid-twist.
Again and again, the two naked, sweat-and-blood-covered women wrenched and rocked back and forth. Suddenly, a loud crack like the breaking of a two-inch-thick sapling echoed in the now silent darkness surrounding the flood-lit peak. Salma just let go, and six-foot Julie’s body rolled like a log down the slope to the floor, limbs slapping like broken branches as she rolled.
Salma struggled to her feet and raised her arms over her head in the timeless celebration of the Victor! It was over.
“Oh, man!” Neon was chanting over and over.
Frank was grinning at me as the room lights rose. Jennifer was gone, her chair empty. I had to piss, to get my head together. To just think.
So I made my way to the men’s room and made a random choice from the battery of empty stalls running the length of one wall. Staring down at my reflection in the yellow water in the toilet bowl, my anus tightened. Someone was standing outside my stall!
I shuddered in the headache-inducing fluorescent lighting in the bathroom. Holding my breath, I turned around and opened the stall door. A five-foot-four, buxom Japanese girl in a thigh-length black dress with a scoop neck line stood there with a handkerchief in her right hand. Her jet black ass length hair was tied back in a pony-tail, and her heavy chest melons were white as cream, and smelled softly of jasmine.
“Hello, Sir, my name is Madoka,” she said, “I have a very well-educated warm mouth and tongue, which I use as a genital cleaner. Would you like me to clean your penis and testicles?”
I just had time to blink.
”Pardon me?”
That’s when she slapped the cloth over my nose and mouth. I tasted candy, and from that point on, all was darkness …
THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE