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Tight #1

Written by WhitePaw :: [Wednesday, 04 January 2006 14:29] Last updated by :: [Sunday, 23 December 2012 17:18]

Tight #1


by Whitepaw







"Frankenmullet's a little over of your weight class, don'tcha think?"


"Actually I was going to ask you to stay back."


"I don't think the ninja brat type's got anything on him."


"And what are you supposed to be? Kittychick?"



Tight #1



"Power Girl!" Armageddon Al about bit off the microphone like an apple. "Come awn baby, you got to come back to old Al." He paced the ring, stomping over the broken bodies of the night's venue and security staff alike.



A story by White Paw



The arena was half full but the crowd wasn't screaming. They sat nervously in their seats. The exits billowed smoke, and the smashed tour bus in repose across section 18 fared little better.


"Can we get some network news down here?" All poked a nearby cameraman. "Come on baby, you know nobody does you better."



Written for's Writer's Workshop #2.4: "A romantic evening"



The two figures in the rafters circled each other without moving.


"I have a name you know." She was an eyecandy sundae, built like a candlestick and obviously lethal in a dark conservatory. She wore a velvet cat suit – complete with tiger stripes – like skin under that blue crayon-logo spaghetti-strapped short-cropped cammi hung off her like a superman banner off a balcony. She'd dressed cherry-on-the-bottom: a bright red g-string gripped her like bailing wire.


"Can I get your number?" His smirk showed through his black scarf as his lead pipe rose hungry for a library-wide pounding under his loose black pants. The loose black sleeves he wore had everything but nothing up them.


"69." She slipped with a wink through the girders to the vast hazy glare of the house lights.



Bottled at the source:



The night started casual enough; Eric's feet barely touched the ground. He'd brought the hottest freak chick in the arena, and only he seemed to know it. She'd hidden her ears beneath that black-streaked mane and the hood of her grey, high cut sweatshirt, otherwise stuffed to bursting. The clawed-off jean shorts she wore hid nothing, the strings of her red g-string hanging out as much as her furry tail did. As usual she was just too exotic for anybody to risk a second thought of. Among crowds she enjoyed a certain wooden cripple-like stealth.


The spectacle of the Ruckus Raunchy 'Restling show seemed to amuse her to fits of giggling and crunching down peanuts, shells and all. She'd seen Al coming from blocks away and had excused herself to the powder room as he was smashing his entrance in to hijack the event.


"Ticket please." She struck a cheesy pose and tapped Al on the waist.


She could hear Eric's jaw dropping from the stands behind her. He'd white-knuckle hoped to explore what undies she'd worn tonight, but –


Al turned and gave her the once over from twice her height. "Cute kitty, but you're not half Big Al's type." He turned back to the cameras. "Come on, Power Girl, before I gotta start messing people up down here."


"No ticket, no show." Ninja boy hissed from the third rope. A buffet of bolos, fire, ice, shuriken, and tazers flew from his sleeves across Al like a bucket of so much water.


"Hey pajama boy." Al palmed him by the chest before he could yelp. "I just got all prettied up." He brushed off his soiled wife beater with his free hand. "Now you're gonna – "


Al's eyes bugged out of his expression as he snapped ass-first through the opposite ropes to crash like a locomotive into the already crumpled tour bus. "I asked you to stay out of this." Raja held ninja boy by the lapel in one hand, her other open palm curling as the cannon retort of her hit echoed from the balconies.


"Holee cr-!!! … I had him."


"He's mine … " Raja licked her fangs. "Then you."


"Alright girlie." Al climbed out of the crater like getting out of bed. "Kitty wanna play rough?"


"Can't you read?" She pulled her cammi taut so they could all see the diamond "S" logo and snapped it back.


"Nope." He flung the announcer's table at her like an axe. It splintered in two off her breasts and lodged soda-can crushed into the stands, narrowly missing –


She stood unmoved, pumped her left pec, cocking her marble-hard breast like a shotgun. "Apparently not."


And the other barrel.


She got a single catcall from the audience. "Thanks cutie." She looked right at him over three sections. "You're next."


"GET SOOOOMMEEEE!" She turned back in the instant of falling fist as Al's huge form dropped on her like a meteor, imploding through the mat and bringing down the whole stage on them. Al did a double take up as she'd somehow pinned him to the fractured concrete floor in the wreckage.


"This power girlfriend … " He couldn't budge, her slender form pinned him like one of the very few mountains he couldn't otherwise move. She clawed his pants open like meathooks through burlap. "… Ever go down on you … " His center of beef unfurled to his full anvil girth like a party favor at one lick of her wide, sandy tongue. "… In the theatre?"


"MY KIND OF WO – ohgawd."


The crowd closed in for a look, curious-then fled at the building-rattling thuds that started piledriving out of the rubble.


Fangs. She seemed to have them down there too. She enveloped the monstrous freak of a man whole like a lollypop, biting down hard as his giant body jolted and twitched. She slithered over him, a white tarantula on a struggling rat, her slender arms, legs and tail expertly rolling him over, contorting him against his every will. The slab concrete floor splintered and popped-until his bones did.


Her roar burst every eardrum left in the main house, fractured skulls and ribs, and splintered every visible hard surface. Silence filled the stadium like fog as dust and debris settled.


"I miss anything?"


Eric jumped. He'd trembled among the crowd against the jolting walls of the causeway.


She adjusted her sweatshirt and winked at him. "Let's go. I'm in a snuggling mood."


"What?" She shrugged off his stuttering, pale stare. "There was a line."

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