Note: This piece goes back five years or so. I wrote it for some illustrations by EN Cuire at his request, stringing them together into a series if not a plot. It exists in the Cuire/Stanton/Blunder Broad world. FAIR WARNING: it’s pretty strong stuff. Read it at your own risk. What? Finished already?
THE VINYL SOLUTION
—1—
"You shouldn't go there," Arlene said for the umpteenth time as she helped me pull on the shiny black thigh-high boots. "You know they’re waiting for you."
I smiled down at her and tugged the cuff to within an inch of my crotch. Kneeling, she concentrated on fitting my foot into the boot’s shoe, using the 6-inch heel as a handle to work it about till it was snug and comfy.
"Darling," I murmured, sheathing my left arm in the shoulder-length vinyl glove (also black, of course). "If I avoided all the places I shouldn't go, I’d never go anywhere at all. What fun would that be?"
"Fun!" Arlene snorted. "Here, let me do that."
As a consolation prize (because there was no way she was going to talk me out of this) I let her dress me the rest of the way. She enjoyed the smell and feel of the gleaming black plastic almost as much as I did. So much so that getting me dressed for action sometimes ended up having to repeat the process.
With her usual crisp efficiency my assistant (and a little more) pulled up the other arm-sheath, then went about snapping snaps and zipping zippers while I flexed my hands in the snug cool gloves. Each snap and zip tightened the ebon vinyl catsuit a bit more about my body, till it fit me like a second skin, especially tight over my boobs. When you have breasts the size of bowling balls like mine, and 16-pounders at that, everything is tight. That’s the way I like it.
"Mmmmmm." I couldn’t help the moan as she sloowly (the minx) zipped the last zipper, the front-to-back one over the bulging mound of my cunt, between my legs and up amidst the big round globes of my ass. My plastic-snugged pussy softened a bit. Skintight vinyl does that to me, that’s why I call myself Vinyl Vixen. My enemies, now, they call me Plastic Puss—but not to my face. To my ass, to my snatch, to my gigantic tits, whatever part of me they happen to be binding and/or abusing at the moment, but not to my face. I try not to enjoy it, I really do, and I even succeed—sometimes. That’s what Arlene was snorting about.
"And as for them waiting for me, I wouldn’t be going if they weren’t." I kissed her.
Arlene wasn’t swallowing my blithe carefree act. "She might be too tough for even you — if she shows."
My rather absurdly overdeveloped body can take a lot of torture, and frequently has to, but this was the first time I was counting on it.
"She’ll show. She’s wanted my ass for a long time."
"As much as I understand how she feels, I do wish you weren’t delivering it to her on a silver platter."
Which called for a long consoling kiss, which called for another one, which called for ….
—2—
So that’s how and why policewoman Petra Veronica Carlson (c’est moi) found herself at the entrance to the darkest and most notorious stretch of dark alley in Vegas—and that covers a lot of dark alleys, despite the city’s reputation for lights. The word was out that Big Bad Mama and Her All-Girl Gang needed a tall gorgeous blonde for sale into prostitution and training for various kinds of Kinky Sex, and I wanted to be the one.
I wasn’t surprised that my informant hadn’t shown. I’d selected and cultivated her because I knew she would set me up at the first chance.
Mind you, that’s not to say I was alone as I walked slowly into De Sade Alley’s darkness. The only question left was whether BBM herself would take me on, or if I’d have to go through a few of her pet bitches first.
That question was answered before I got more than 50 feet into the narrow squalid passage. A jet of freezing water slammed into my back like a cannonball and sent me staggering forward to crash into a bunch of garbage cans. I went down, they went about.
Dazed, I got a quick glimpse of Ardra, Big Bad Mama’s main squeeze, manning a firehose like a stalwart of Engine Company 69. For the next few minutes I was too busy getting half-drowned and battered around by that pounding stream to wonder when BBM had gotten into water sports. Over the roar of the hose and my own cries I could hear Ardra’s merry giggle as she smashed me this way and that around the alleyway, finally pinning me to a wall like a bug.
Then the battering water-hammer was gone. The sudden silence echoed, broken only by the squeak of my catsuit as I sank to my knees and kept on sinking. Water sluiced out of my thighboots across the pavement and I joined it, face down.
I probably would have stayed there longer if a huge gloved fist hadn’t taken me by a fistful of my sodden blonde mane and hoisted me up again. All I could see were stars but I knew who it was.
"Hello, Mama," I managed to groan.
Fingers like leatherclad hooks took me by the back of the neck, lifted me off the ground, and slammed me face first against the cold brick.
Big Bad Mama proceeded to pound my kidneys to kidney pie. It felt like she was trying to punch right through me into the wall. My immense rigidly-confined boobs, crushed vastly between a wall and a soft place, were doing their best to collapse my ribcage into my lungs.
So far, the plan was going perfectly.
—3—
"Are we having fun yet, Puss?" Mama bellowed.
Somehow I managed to gasp out, "As (unh!) long as (oooh!) I d-don’t have to (aggh!) look at your (unfh!) ugly m-mug ...."
She reacted as painfully expected: turned me to her and held me by the throat while she smashed my by-now-less-than-gorgeous face this way and that till I must have looked like I was watching a tennis match.
"Take her with us." Ardra made the suggestion I’d been waiting too painfully long to hear. "Finish her at the place."
To encourage Mama, I hawked and spat blood into her eyes.
She smiled, big and ugly and happy. "Plas," she murmured, "I’ve finally found something even more impressive than your tits: your nerve. I’m gonna mangle both."
I was sort of hoping she’d go after my mammoth boobs — they make easy targets since they take up most of the space in front of me. And they can absorb a lot of punishment, as they constantly have to prove.
But she hung me from a fire escape and I became her vinyl-clad Amazonian boxing bag. Here my jaw and lips discovered the knuckles of her gloves were steel-reinforced. They made loud crunches as they smashed my face till the tears waterfalled down my cheeks and diluted the blood splattering my chin.
I put on a good show for her, sobbing my torment, begging her to stop, which only enflamed her sadistic nature even more, as I figured. Not that I was totally insincere — I meant every groan and gurgle and cry.
But it was now time for Plan B — if I had enough strength left.
"I’m tired, Vixen, think I’ll sit this one out."
So Mama did — on me. But the song remained the same, and I sang it loudly for her: a wailing grunting aria of agony. A normal woman’s jaw would’ve been splintered by now, her face an unrecognizable mass of bruises, probably her neck broken. I felt much worse than I looked, which was bad enough. I was strong enough to remain conscious during the entire nightmare, just not strong enough to do anything about it.
—4—
Finally, when she got bored with redecorating my face in black and blue, Mama and Ardra carried limp moaning me to a dumpster and draped me over the edge like so much bloody laundry—fitting, since the dumpster was behind a Chinese restaurant.
My face was only an inch or so from the garbage and it stank in there, of fish heads and rotting cabbage. I’ve never liked Chinese and this did nothing to change my mind. I grunted when she slammed the lid down on my back, then quickly forgot the foul stench when what felt like a baseball bat smashed into my outthrust asscheeks.
And proceeded to spank the living bejesus out of me.
"You’ve been a very bad girl, Puss," came Mama’s voice into the foul darkness, barely audible over my own cries and howls of humiliated suffering. Each butt-busting whack of the club made my slack body jerk and thrash wildly but I was too weak to do more than hang there and bawl.
Half conscious from the pain, I don’t know how long that went on but my throbbing battered ass felt swollen to twice its size when the lid was lifted and I was flopped bodily into the dumpster and its nauseating contents. I swallowed a bellyful of disgusting waste before floating to the surface again, too numb and beaten even to throw up.
The bitches gloated down at me. Ardra confirmed a growing suspicion: "Yeah, not only bad but stupid, Plastic Puss! This whole thing was set up just so Mama could give you the lumps you deserve!"
"We couldn’t get a dime for you on the open market, Vinyl," Mama sneered. "You look like shit."
BANG! Down came the lid. I was left in wretched fetid darkness—and, when their laughter faded away, silence. Inside and out. Thankful at least for the bouyancy provided by my enormous breasts that kept my head above the surface of the awful offal.
—5—
But if I thought the ordeal was over (I don’t remember what I thought, if anything), I was wrong. Suddenly there was a roar outside and the dumpster was hoisted up, its contents (and me) sloshing about wildly. I didn’t think I could swallow more of it. All that kept me from drowning in waste was being dumped into the belly of a garbage truck ....
Which then proceeded to try to grind me up! Again, I was strong enough to remain conscious for the torture as my body was mashed and crushed and chewed like a mouthful of food. But that was all ....
Till finally I was disgorged at the landfill with the other refuse. I found myself in pitch darkness, planted to my gloved elbows and booted knees in a quagmire of filth, and too weak to extricate myself.
Much too weak and spent to let out more than a long wailing squeal when the huge roller that compacts the trash rumbled over me! I felt myself squeeezed in my vinyl catsuit like toothpaste and pushed down into the garbage till it all but covered me. Even as resilient as I am, if the refuse hadn’t been so soft (and foul-tasting), I would have been left a human pancake.
The moon was up by the time I was able to push myself out of the putrid morass, coughing up about a gallon of it before I managed to stand. My feet sank to within inches of the cuffs of my hip-high boots. I literally waded out of the bog, the sludge filling my gloves and boots till every step squelched. Covered in stinking filth from matted blonde mane to spikeheels, I smelled like —
"Shit," Arlene gagged as she hosed me off (keeping carefully upwind). "Did you have to go swimming in it?"
"Well, you know how it is. The party gets a little wild and first thing you know, everyone’s in the pool."
I’d given her a very edited version of the night’s festivities while she clad herself in apron and rubber. She could tell I was on the mend because I was angry and getting angrier.
"So, what’re you gonna do about it?" She tossed me a sponge.
"Cream their cellulite-laden asses, that’s what! Don’t forget Plan B. But first, a looong hot bath with serious bubbles."
She wrinkled her pretty nose. "What makes you think I’d take a bath with you like this?"
"What makes you think I’d ask?" I pulled her to me.
The next day I was back to 100% as expected, but this time I donned a lightly armored bodysuit complete with cowl. Plan B was even more dangerous than Plan A.
Arlene did what she could to dissaude me, fondled my enormous boobs in their skintight vinyl. "Shouldn't the cops do this?"
"I am the cops!" I pointed out.
Her gentle fingers felt sooo good, and so did she. "But not the only cop."
"The only one for Big Bad Mama."
Plan B involved a micro-tracer I had planted on BBM while she straddled me and used me as a huge-busted punching bag. She’d been too involved in her sadistic fun to notice, which was what I’d wanted.
I followed the signal to a huge supposedly abandoned estate on the outskirts of Vegas. It was, as I expected, well guarded, but there’s always a way in if you look hard enough. And "hard" was the way to describe this one: a big sewage outlet pipe under the back wall. It was still in use, and smelled so bad they probably figured no one would ever use it.
As badly as I wanted Big Bad Mama, they were almost right.
I was getting tired of wading through filth, and crawling through it on all fours was even worse. I wanted to get out of that disgusting pipe ASAP, but I couldn’t crawl too quickly or the vile sewage would swash up into my thighboots and armgloves.
Even with nose filters
the stench was awful. To keep my last meal down I had to breathe as shallowly as possible and occupied myself with worrying about whether it would give me away once I was inside. Even so, my mind swam as I crawled and sloshed through the reeking darkness. After 50 yards or so, with the light from the far end still just a dot, I even fantasized I heard distant girlish giggles.I was right—they were waiting for me. My head swimming in nausea from the crawl through the sewer and arms and legs weighted down by the icy sludge that froze to my boots and gloves, I put up about as much of a struggle as Arlene would’ve.
"You should be honored, Vinyl," BBM chuckled as she tried to pound my right mega-breast back through my ribs.
"Yeah," Devina chimed in, giving my cowled head a blackjack rolfing. "Mama doesn’t greet everyone personally."
"Especially when their personal hygiene is as wretched as yours." Mama held her nose and kicked me squarely on the pussy. My clit went from an outie to an innie and I made a sound like the bulb horn on an old Model T. "You smell even worse than yesterday!"
"Don’t you ever bathe?" Devina asked, pounding me the rest of the way from my vinyl-booted knees to the floor.
Sooo, they took me to the bathroom to wash me down.
Their way.
First Devina bound and gagged me and pounded a huge dildo into my swollen gaping twat, worked it around till it was slimed with my juices. Then she and Ardra and several others lined up. Two at a time (one to each boot) the bitches pissed into my thigh-highs till they overflowed with foul yellow urine. I couldn’t help moaning into my gag.
Devina, ever the obliging hostess, went last. "I’ve always admired your porcelain complexion, Plas," she cooed as she unzipped the crotch of her leather suit. "You make a perfect toilet."
Ardra, of course, said that Blunder Broad had made a better bathroom fixture and Devina replied my tits were way bigger but Ardra didn’t think that was relevant, so they made a bet. While Ardra guzzled a six-pack of beer (Foster’s in the BIG cans), the blonde bitch—well, you can see what they did to me. Let’s just say I was made extra-specially uncomfortable, and that was before Devina knelt down and ate me to a couple of humiliating climaxes, then spat a mouthful of my own cum into my face!
They dropped the lid and Ardra plumped her fat ass down a few inches overhead. "I know you like Foster’s, Vixen," she giggled. "Hope you don’t mind that it’s recycled."
And while she gave my face the promised shower (a golden one) and I gagged and retched and drank enough of her piss to confirm that it really was Foster’s, the redheaded bitch worked her bootheel into my bulging pink cleft.
My mouth tasting like the fixture I was encased in, I was less than turned on.
—7—
Then, after a soccer match in which I was the football, came what Devina called "tenderizing time."
"We designed these stocks especially for you," she smiled as they locked me in and I bit back a whimper. I could tell. They fit all of me perfectly: gloved wrists, vinyl-sheathed thighs—and monstrous boobs. The huge dildo they impaled my ass on, though, was about six sizes too large. "We used watermelon as the template—the biggest juiciest we could find."
Then came the tenderizing—with both hands. A dozen or so enthusiastic whacks with Devina’s rod swelled my mammoth milkbags up till they ballooned out all around the stocks’ holes. I’ll say this for Devina: she throws herself into her work.
I figured next they would hang me from my humongous hooters. I was almost right. Ardra—it was her turn with me—made me eat her out for awhile, then when my tongue was coated with her cum, she gagged me with a mouthful of her piss-soaked panties and jammed my poor raw pussy down onto a massive dildo.
While I squirmed and groaned (and worked my way further onto it), she tied my gloved wrists to my spikeheeled ankles, then jabbed a long thin needle through my titanic tits, clamped razor-sharp rings to my stiffly protruding nipples
and hung me from a springy wire. I dangled there, the spring amplifying my every struggle till I bounced up and down like a dashboard ornament and fucked myself on that mammoth dork.
Then they suspended me from my monstrous melons. Cocooned with rope, my spikeheels swaying a foot from the floor, gigantic bags of tight-bound titfat stretched up into my masked face and their stiff swollen teats pierced with nails, it was hard to give Devina an "is this the worst you can do?" look, especially since I knew it was far from the worst.
But I managed.
Phase II of the tenderizing involved rope. Lots of rope. Most of it wrapped so tightly around my immense boobs that they were squeeezed out almost three feet, till they looked like dumbbells with a taut crimson sphere at each end. Couldn’t escape the feeling that I was the only real dumbbell here. Hating myself for doing it, I started to moan, so they rammed a fat dildo-gag into my mouth and tied it to my distended nipples. Ardra liked the effect so much she gave my poor palpitating pussy the same treatment. Both lip-stretching appliances were very quickly soaked, as was my face.
"She’s a fucking fountain!" Ardra cried.
"I wanna hear her yowl," Devina grumped.
"I have a special bra that’ll do the trick."
It did.
"She still too ugly," Big Ebony kept insisting as she slapped the tears from my masked face (replacing it with blood from my lips and nose). "Lemme give her one of my custom beauty treatments."
Ebony’s treatment involved ramming me down onto a spring-loaded steel rod and clamping my thighbooted legs securely thereto, then battering me about with her bludgeoning fists, till I rocked and rolled like one of those rubber knockabout toys with sand at the bottom. But she got tired of waiting for me to stop bobbing wildly about, so she steadied me with a fist clenched deep into a titanic boob.
Between cheers and applause, they made bets on how far she could stretch that doughy dirigible. Devina, who had bound my massive mamms many times before, took "over 3 feet" and she won.
Finally I found out why they wanted my poor ponderous pontoons softened up, after Big Ebony unclamped my legs and hit me so hard I flew off the steel rod (with an embarrassing squelch). They kicked me over onto my stomach (after a little more Vinyl Vixen soccer)
and BBM herself brought the hammer and nails.
They nailed my stiff aching nipples down first and I almost tore them free with my howling struggles. The other nails Ardra and Devina pounded through my colossal milkbags kept that from happening.
"No owl-eyes," BBM commented (ever the perfectionist) as Ardra finished driving the last nail and I was securely fastened to the floor. "Very good."
When I still wouldn’t scream (but did a fair amount of sobbing), they ballgagged me. Then all lined up wearing their favorite strap-on (the smallest the size of a salami) and took turns tenderizing my pussy and anus (doing a great deal of enlarging in the process).
I tried not to cum, I really did. Which was no more effective than trying not to squish, or squeal, or bleed.
Then things got really rough. Bianca, Big Bad Mama’s resident mad doctor (M.D., F.A.C.S., PhD, C.U.N.T.), had a new contraption she wanted to try out on me, something she’d ordered from the Stantoony Corp (their motto: "Nothing good ever came from us"). They clamped me into it (quite a long process in and of itself) and next thing I knew I was being pulled in 5 directions at once and fucked from the 6th, in both raw netherholes together by a peerless pair of pounding pistons. By now I didn’t have much cum left but a lot of blood. I barely noticed that my newly softened and elongated milkblimps has been stretched to a record 4 feet.
"I’ll make the bitch scream!" Devina cried.
Like it wasn’t bad enough being hung upside-down smothered by my own massive mammaries, with stirrups piercing my nipples and a huge steel dildo screwed down into my asshole that would’ve given even my pussy trouble. The blonde slut socketed the business end of her favorite Louisville Slugger (she’s a Mets fan, what more can I say?) so far into me I thought it would bump heads with the dildo
then climbed on board and started stirring it around my snatch like a huge joystick.
Slosh—slurp—squish!
"These things aren’t soft enough yet," I heard her complain (my masked face filled with burgeoning boob blubber), "I’m only sinking in a couple of inches."
Finally, I found out what the stirrups were for. They led me to a muddy bridal path, clamped a bit into my drooling mouth, and BBM herself climbed on board. She fit her spikeheeled feet into the stirrups and gave her legs a good strrettching. I whinnied.
"Giddyap!" she yelled, and gave my ass a crack with her quirt. I hated the yelp I made even more than the taste of the bit in my mouth.
And talk about cheap! She charged her own minions 50 bucks each for a pony ride—once around the track. And made over a thousand dollars. By the time I galloped past the $500 mark (I could tell it was Ardra on my back from the length of the spike heels in my tit-stirrups), I was wondering if even my resilient monsterboobs would ever hang above my knees again.
At last, maybe a thousand years later, it came time for the Payoff. The reason I had endured all this torment—and, all right, enjoyed some of it. They’d called it tenderizing and that was exactly what I wanted. Because of the reason I’d come here in the first place.
I just hoped none of them were familiar with a pair of old folk characters named Br’er Rabbit and John Henry.
"I don’t (uuunhh!) c-care what yoooooo! d-do to me," I panted into BBM’s pussy as I ate her out for the 4th or 5th time and Devina plowed my asshole with a forearm-sized studded strap-on. "As long as you keep me (aaaaah!) away from the Lust Machine."
They almost had a fight over who would introduce us. It was a delicate matter of protocol and seniority. Finally they compromised: Ardra got to pierce my enormous mounds with the spiked bra while Bianca attached the tongue-mask to my face, and BBM herself inserted the double vibrato-sucking dildo (with special clit clip) between my thighbooted legs.
Devina got to turn it (and me) on.
The Lust Machine was everything I’d heard. And way more.
I have been fucked, sucked, vibrated, jolted, kissed and tit-tortured in my life, but never all at once, or nearly as powerfully. The tongue rammed down my throat and the vibra-dildos pumped up into me (all the while sucking at my tender insides with an undulating vacuum) and the breast-needles shocked my massive melons with electricity till they felt about to explode.
It wasn’t long before all of me felt like exploding. I swelled up inside my vinyl catsuit till it was drum-tight on my writhing sweating captive body, then I finally started to cum. But that gave no relief because of the feedback sensor clipped to my passion pearl. It told the machine I could take more, so the machine poured it on. And in. Pretty soon the machine was screaming and chugging and shaking as much as I was.
Plan B worked better than I’d hoped. All I really wanted to do was try to destroy the horrible device. It was the only one of its kind (its designer having drowned in a bottle not long before) and Big Bad Mama had used it to ruin several girls already. And put both Blunder Broad and Galaxeena in the hospital when they tried this. I knew if there was anyone who could outfuck the Lust Machine and (hopefully) survive, it was me.
I don’t know why it blew up. Maybe the waterfall of cum shorted it out, maybe it just overloaded. But I was glad BBM and the rest were around to watch when it did.
Things are a bit hazy after the explosion. I do remember a fire truck wailing past me as I trudged away from the flaming ruins of Mama’s compound pulling things off me and out of me. For some reason it swerved violently and almost ran into a tree. Cops were right behind, and two of their cars collided right in back of me.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly orthodox police procedure, all in all. But then I’m not exactly an orthodox policeman.