Part 2
MishRocks (5/11/2016 8:43:18 PM): Leaning against you, fingers pressing into your skin on either side of the shoulder strap of your tank top. Part of me just wants to drop to the gross floor and curl up so I can get my breath back...but part refuses to yield, needing to stay upright, to show the viewers---to show YOU---that I can take whatever you can dish out (ok, lame, but I AM oxygen-deprived). "Get your slutty hands off me," you growl, as your arms curl around my smaller body, your chest pressing into mine, my cheek brushing against yours. Fighting for breaths, I turn my head as you press into me, my lips lightly caressing your ear, and wheezily toss out, "you fucking love me touching you, slut..." but I have no idea mtc
whether my raspy words landed, because your knee roars up from below and SLAMS into my stomach, once again blowing any semblance of air out of my body, doubling me over even more. My fingers clutch your shoulder straps out of a combination of pain and desperation, and as strange noises squeak from my mouth in attempts to reduce the vacuum in my lungs, I try and scrunch up the straps in both hands and drop my weight, pulling your tank top back, the U-scoop rising, heading for your throat---SO wanting to pull down from the back a little more and choke the shit out of you...mtc
but my little fantasy dies mid-pull, as your knee rockets up once again---this time wedged between my legs, assisted by the remnants of EVOO, and although I try to tighten my thighs and lock my ankles, your knee jams into me. At the moment of impact, all I can mutter is a guttural groan, and my knees liquefy, the only thing holding me up is your inked arms. Yt
Purple Vixen (5/11/2016 8:52:48 PM): I flush an alarming brick red, almost as if you DID get me wrapped up in that imaginary choke, but it's in unwilling response to your soft lips at my ear and your husky whisper, curling my bared toes on the shining floor. I respond as I so often do, with brutal and unnecessary violence ("The Most Brutal and Unnecessarily Violent New Chef in Portland," - The Portland Mercury) even as my belly tightens and I feel my panties flush with heat under my clinging shorts. Fuck you for being so fucking sexy! Why the hell aren't you a fat shrill bitch? You yank my tank up after I drive my knee up into that sore tummy, and I feel the oily ribbed cotton slide up to bare my belly button piercing and tight sun-shy abs --
And my breasts are tight in the strained fabric as you draw it up before I manage my dirty shot, wriggling my knee in after it strikes home - to, uh, cause more hurt and humiliation, NOT because the feel of your soft sex through your sweaty thong is achingly erotic. That first thing instead, yes - against your tightened thighs. I feel you saaaag down into me, melting like sugar into a caramel, and I can't resist a throaty purr of satisfaction, although I try to fade it up into a growl on the end. "Awww, think the judges are gonna call me out on flattening your soufflé?" I grin in your ear, and add a teasing swipe from my pierced tongue that I realize too late is exactly the kind of thing I SHOULDN'T be doing on TV to someone I'm fighting, FUCK, too late now, make the best of it –
I have my arms around you and you're already pretty limp from those shots. Maybe I could … yeah. Moving quick like someone making an appetizer from Fruity Pebbles, venison, oat soda and okra, I slide my linked arms closer together at your back, trying to lock my fists around my opposing inner elbows, planting both feet again even if it means withdrawing from your squozen thighs and soft warmth and flexing my aching knee as I grunt through locked teeth and try to LIFT you to your toes, SQUEEZING with my arms around the center of your back and ribs, trying to CRUSH your smaller form against me in a blatant show of power that COINCIDENTALLY grinds you against me in what could be construed as an erotic way. Yt
MishRocks (5/11/2016 9:07:03 PM): Fuck you---just let me drop! I think as my body oozes into yours, hanging limply, fire blazing between my legs and shooting shards of pain throughout the lower half of my body. I manage to raise an eyebrow as I feel your warm, soft tongue dart in and about my ear, and with body on a break but mind still active, I file that tidbit of info away for future processing. I feel your arms snake fully around me now, your hands joining in the center of my back. Your knee stops grinding into me---no moans slipping from my lips as I continue to fight to breathe--- and as I see you plant your feet firmly, widening your stance just a bit, your arms tightening around me. My breasts flattened against your body, mtc
your pierced nipples frictioning against mine as your chest rises and falls with your steady breathing. Your biceps flex, the compression around my ribs begins to hurt, making it even more difficult to regain my breath, and------uuuuuuungh.....a long, raspy moan slips from my lips as you lift me, squeezing my body tightly and against yours, my toes barely brushing against the floor, arms swinging slightly at my sides. "Stick a fork in her," quips the Sandwich King, "'cuz’ she is DONE!" yt
Purple Vixen (5/11/2016 9:15:02 PM): I grin at you with my teeth gleaming, my body racked with sweat and oil so it gleams. My muscles are outlined, lithe kitchen muscles from hoisting huge trays from ovens and shoving big racks of food almost all by myself in my mini-gastropub, tattoos shifting and dancing on my shining skin. I FEEL that moan against my lips and fuck me if it doesn't get me genuinely wet, but I don't care, and no one can tell anyway with my shorts all shiny oil and sweaty as it is. The pain in my bruised knee throbs as I hoist you to your toes, so I flex my legs, trying to press you down and lift up, down and up, down and UP, each time squeeeezing with my arms on the upstroke. Moving on pure carnal motivation along with a childhood full of TV pro wrestling (Woo, Portland Organic Wrestling!) –
And the desire to rub your groaning form against my warm and achingly aroused breasts, my pierced nipples grinding you with each iteration of the crude kitchen bear-hug. "Where's that big talk now, bitch?" I coo at you as you moan. "Where's that trash, huh? You worried about your fucking custard now? Gonna’ bitch about the blast freezer some more?" I snarl a little as my leg throbs, setting you down lower but trying to shake you side to side as if to bullyrag air from you - and to give the camera nice bouncy shots of your ass in that thong. I'm nothing if not a gracious contestant. I pant, sweat running down my face from the crushing intimate heat. "Say something NOW, Meeeeee-sheellllll," I drawl your name out into your face with a sneer. Yt
MishRocks (5/11/2016 9:24:11 PM): Hanging limply in your muscled arms, my own swinging loosely, bumping into my own body as you out-muscle and dominate me, I feel rage mix with embarrassment as the Sandwich King pronounces me "done." His mocking seems to energize you, as you literally bounce me up and down at whim, our bodies rubbing together, my breasts and nipples having a little party as the rest of the corpus suffers. "Little sluts" I think, hating that any part of you is making any part of me feel good. As you squeeze tighter, my groan of agony seems to re-activate your trash-talk program, as the taunting escalates, and you effortlessly start to whip my body from side to side---arms and legs swinging wildly, my exposed butt cheeks shimmying. Mtc
Eyes half-open, I see the sweat running down your face as you maintain your hold, shaking me from side to side, taunting me, prodding me to respond. I can see your smug lips curling into a smirk, confidence and imminent victory coursing through your body as you play for the crowd now, lapping up the attention, slurping up my submissiveness. Another whip to the side, my arms akimbo----and I lift them, quickly cupping my hands, desperate to end this agony, as you squeeze even harder, your arms trembling, tiny coughs and gurgles all I can muster as air incrementally enters my lungs, I lift my arms to the side and swing them in, hands cupped, mustering whatever strength I have left, hoping to slap them against your ears and, oh, I don’t know, make your head implode!? Yt
Purple Vixen (5/11/2016 9:38:24 PM): I have literally never felt anything this good. Squeezing you in my arms like this, rag-dolling you, fucking DISPLAYING you on camera. Why don't I do this for a living? I could fight sexy bitches for a living. It'd be easier than cooking. I'd get less grease burns and no garlic under my nails. The feeling of your firm little tits being ground against my bigger chest and my pierced nipples raking yours is almost too good to be believed, powering my hungry and dominating squeezes of your smaller form as muscle traces in light crystal sheen. I LIFT you up off your toes, intending to wring out your last breaths and maybe steal a kiss - a taunting one - from your slack lips. Yeah. One of those taunting kisses boxers and MMA guys do all the time. —
But before I can proceed with my statutory smooch, you manage to swing those ragdoll arms up and CLAP your hands on either side of my head, and it doesn't make me happy, and I know it, and my face SURELY shows it when you clap your hands because it makes LIGHTS burst behind my eyes and a huge white NOISE explode in my head! "NNNAAGGGGGGGGGH!" I howl, tendons standing out from the force of my pained cry as I drop you as roughly and quickly as a date who tries to take me to church, hands coming up to clasp my own ears as I stagger back with no clear horizon to balance on, walking like a drunken sailor. —
"Oh, come on, is that legal?" Mauro asks, since he was enjoying watching your ass bouncing. "Jeff, they're fighting in the kitchen and the tattooed one kneed the little one in the crotch. I don't think this is Marquis of Queensbury," Andrew adds with his usual eerie calm and jollity, watching with an interest that's avid. Giada growls, downing a shot of limoncello. "I'd knee 'em BOTH in the crotch. It's how we do it Italian style," she grumbles, glaring at the cameras not on her. Yt
MishRocks (5/11/2016 9:50:27 PM): The moment my hands slam onto your ears, it truly feels as if circuits became instantly overloaded. Your arms loosen and I drop to the floor, the tightening belt of muscle and skin around my ribs gone. My knees wobbly, but I manage to remain on my feet as you stagger back, your hands clutching your ears, your face scrunched up in pain. My breath still not steady, but enough to keep me moving, I know I have to take advantage of this immediately. Keeping you in range as you stumble back, I step into you quickly, raising a wobbly leg, and fire a side-kick into your chest, propelling you backwards, your back and head slamming into the wall. Energized by what I think might be actually my first mtc
successful offense against you, I move in quickly, lowering my shoulder, your hands still holding your ears, and plow ahead, ramming my shoulder into your tight abs, feeling you fold over, your chest on my back, hands now hanging down on each side of me. Digging my bare feet into this clean area of the floor, I continue to push against you, digging my shoulder deeper into your abdomen as my fingers curl over the waist of your cut-offs, fingertips tracing lightly against your smooth skin, thumbs sliding to the middle of the waistband mtc
pressing against the brass buttons, one by one, gently forcing them through their corresponding holes, and as each button passes through, I jerk my body forward, a little grunt synchronized to the passing of the button through its hole. Mtc
pushing my bony shoulder into your body harder---deeper, as your shorts become loose. As the last button passes through, I push with vigor, energized by your own moan of pain. Sliding my hands from the front of your body slowly around your silky thighs, I press my fingers into the backs of your thighs, and, mustering whatever I have in reserve, quickly try to stand, lifting your bigger body on my back as I do, and unceremoniously dumping you over my shoulder to the floor, watching the monitor as you land on your back, your shorts pooled around your knees, your breasts jiggling casually under your tank top. yt
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 6:28:17 PM): *Fuck. FUCK. FUCKING DUCK FUCKING FUCKERS FUCKED WITH FUCKING FUCK SAUCE!*
These and other cogent thoughts race through my head as it rings like a fucking gong after your ear clap turns my equilibrium into fluffy scrambled eggs. I clutch at my ears, staggering back, and you nicely recover your feet after your near-crushinating and rush me, tackling into my belly, bared a little with my arms up to plant my hands on my aching, ringing ears. "PFFUHHHH!" I grunt, driven backwards until you manage to PLANT my ass against a wall, rattling some of the set and sending hanging pots to swaying. —
You drive in deep, and air blasts past my lips. I've got good abs for a chef - the trade tends to create more Stay-Puft bodies than hard-bodies - but they're not up for stopping a little brunette battering ram from putting me between a shoulder and a hard place. I fold over your back, my tank rucked up and scrunching Jellica, the little pigtailed girl-skull who serves as the mascot for my gastropub as my breasts mash firmly into your back. My pierced nipples were all perked and attentive and hot from the earlier bearhug, and now they're mooshed into you, barbells pressed into you. And then you start to drive in, deliberately –
Pounding me, spilling air from my body with each little thrust, robbing me of strength. "UNNH. UHGH. UNhh … hunhh …" I groan, with each drive of your shoulder. I feel your hands on me, then, and there's a twinge that shimmies my hips against your sly little fingers. "Nnnooo ya d-UNNH!" I grunt again, and my arms swing down at your sides as I rest my cheek on your back, breathless. "Oh, she's WELL done now," crows that traitor Jeff Mauro as my ass juts against the wall, hanging, panting on your back as you unsnap my cut-offs and slide them down my tattooed thighs, baring my pretty striped panties in Beetlejuice black and white --
My shorts bunched at my knees as I'm HAULED up by your shoulder and your grip behind my legs, and my head slides down your back, my purple hair hanging in a curtain over your adorable thong which my face briefly caresses as I slide over your back, humiliatingly hauled up into the air by the smaller girl and DUMPED onto my ass, my back smacking the floor! "UNHHHHHH …" I groan, arching my back briefly and then flopping back into a sprawl, one hand resting on my battering-rammed belly and the other draped over my head, my chocked in my bunched shorts and my jiggling tits, pierced tented nipples, and crumpled warm panties making a whole visual FEAST for the camera crew as I pant for breath. Yt
MishRocks (5/14/2016 6:44:41 PM): Watching the monitors above, I fight, but can't control, the rapidly spreading grin on my face as I watch you sprawled on the set floor, half-clothed, wheezing and raspy (that great new asthmatic singing duo releasing their first hit---Breathless!), as the crew closes in on you, lenses whirring on different portions of your sexy, inked body. Riding the wave, I try not to hesitate, weaving my way through the boom and camera jungle to get back at your prone body before you scramble to hands and feet. Wending my way between two massive cameras, I stand briefly over you, barely straddling your head, and then drop to a seated position on the floor, my bare legs framing your head, my smooth thighs brushing against your cheeks. Mtc
Reaching forward, I join my hands, lacing my fingers together, and try to slide them under your chin, while I place my bare feet on your shoulders, ready to PULL back while pressing my feet into your shoulders, pulling your head back and pushing your body forward, possibly giving you that long, slender neck you may have been wanting. Yt
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 6:58:06 PM): I'm laying there with my eyes closed enjoying not having to look at anything even as the stage lights burn my view into shades of orange and red. The lights are dying down from my ringing ears as my battered eardrums settle back down to just the occasional tormented wail like a ghost in a cave. Your shadow falls over me and blocks out the whir of cameras and the soft chuckles around us as I manage a breathless snarl up at you with the effect of a dog snarling at the end of a leash - scary, sure, but, y'know, there's a leash. —
My breasts rise and fall, glossed in sweat as my crumpled tank-top clings to me, and I start to work my legs. While I'd like to get my shorts UP that'd be a lot harder, and this way my legs will be free to KICK YOUR STUPID ASS. Once I get my breath back. And get off the floor. Of course, then you JOIN me on the floor, giving me a heartstopping view of your descending thonged ass - which isn't cute or smackable at ALL, so I don't know why you'd even bring THAT up - before you settle above my purple head, your warm thighs framing my face, turning my snarl into a puckered growly smooch at the air. "Mnrrrrhhh …" I growl, glaring up at the lights as I start to shift before you plant your tootsies in my shoulder and lock your fingers under my chin –
And then my growl is brought up dramatically in volume like the THX sound test as you POUR pressure on, STRETCHING my neck and digging your feet into my shoulders, hauling my chin up so I can glare hatefully at you upside down, because you're even worse to look at this way - and I don't even LIKE the way your warm soft fragrantly sweaty mound in your skimpy thong feels against my head, what a STUPID thing to say - and tendons stand out on my neck as I growl "NNNNGRRRRRGHHHH …" and grit my teeth. My legs kick and fish-tail as I try to snap them free of my tangled shorts, tattooed feet flexing, and thrashing, and my hands curl up, my shoulders braced but my hands free to clutch at your legs, intent on raking my kitchen-short chipped black nails over the curves of your calves! Yt
MishRocks (5/14/2016 7:11:04 PM): The gurgles and grunts oozing from your lips and throat are simply melodious, and I can feel 'em---yep, here they come----the dimples forming as I enjoy streeeeeeeetching you out, thinking briefly of Mike TeeVee, and how Mr. Wonka tried to stretch him back from being a tiny speck of a thing to a kind-of boy-size thing. But no---this---this is just a bit to the side of that---as I see your face deepen from red to dark red, I think in my Wonka-est wiki reference---“Violet, you're turning violet, Violet!!" My toes curl into your shoulders, my back arches as I wrench your neck back, my arms taut and trembling. I can see your legs flailing wildly, and at this point, I'm thankful for the still helpful sheen of EVOO on the floors, making it impossible
for you to get any traction. The judges have moved from their table and line the periphery our our food infused ring, standing side by side with the camera guys, a salacious grin on Jeff's face, a furrowed brow dominating Giada, and a look of pleasured curiosity from Andrew, as if he had just tasted a new caramel infused South American cockroach and found it palatable. As I take in the surroundings and try to calculate how long it might take for you to throw in the dishtowel (God, is there no end to our kitchen punnery??!!) my musings are burst as your nails tear into the creamy flesh my calves, slowly burrowing in, leaving growing red trails of torn skin and rivulets of blood. Mtc
"Bitch!" I sneer, trying to bend my knees and move my legs farther away from your talons, but I can't---not if I want to keep pushing against your shoulders. Your gouging continues, small ribbons of my flesh curling under your short, stubby nails, and try as I might, the burning pain becomes too much. Releasing your chin I lean back on my hands pull my feet from your shoulders, and then give one mighty kick down, SLAMMING my soles into those shoulders one final time before withdrawing my legs to a safe distance from your claws as I try to scramble to my feet. Yt
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 7:24:04 PM): I was intending to just rake you, figuring you'd let go when the pain sizzled across your skin. But no, NO, not YOU, not perfect little Miss Michelle who has to just MAKE HER POINT by stretching my neck like fucking taffy. So I dig my fingers in tighter as I grit my teeth together so hard they grate like improperly stacked china in a dishwasher, the pain of the brutal improvised hold racking my lithe body. I manage to twist my legs enough to kick my fucking oily shorts off, leaving me in just panties and as much of a crumpled sweaty low-scoop tank top as can be considered to be actually covering my jiggling tits. My cheeks are flared a deep red as I'm strained in the hold, feeling the ache in my neck and my shoulders –
I dig in deeper, twisting my fingers, and start to rake skin from you like a pair of forks pulling roasted pork, although I'm pretty sure if I make a sandwich out of what I'm raking I'm gonna’ get hit with some health code violations. I manage to break your stubborn grip after enough clawing to leave my forearms aching from the tension of my clawed hands, and you drive your bare feet into my shoulders as a parting gift! "NGGAGH!" I groan, rolling over as you scoot backwards from me. You're at no risk from my claws at the moment as I lie on my side, one hand cradling the back of my aching neck and my other arm flexing to work my bruised shoulder as I try to ease the terrible strain you put on me —
I lay on my side making sure I can see you, your blood staining my fingertips like cherry juice after a summer day making jubilee, and I glower at you, panting as I lay down and recover as much as I can, kneading my neck with firm warm fingers, flexing my shoulder, working my back in little nagini stretches to soothe my yoga-toned frame as I watch you and just wait for now. Because I'm being strategic, not because I can barely move. Yeah. Yt
MishRocks (5/14/2016 7:35:51 PM): Rolling to a safe distance, I start to get to my feet, but I wince as I straighten up, and instead crouch down, noting the parallel Adidas-like clawmarks running from right below my knee almost to my ankle. While there's no gushing blood, it does continue to trickle down the burrows, and both calves sting like hell---whatever vile, vomit-inducing vermin the violet vamp has under her nails is probably infecting my blood at this very moment. Gingerly rubbing legs, I slowly get to my feet, noting that you are still down, stretching and flexing. This gives me time to check out the surroundings---we've moved far away from our own cook stations at this point, and are closer to the pantry. Mtc
I quickly survey the shelves of food and spices and herbs and small gadgets and appliances, and then make a move back to you, hoping to keep pounding on your larger body (oh, I note that you are now also shortless---no wonder Jeff has studiously kept a clipboard in hand in front of his pelvis). But as I move, the side door the set bursts open! "What the BEEP is BEEPing going on in here? I'm trying to BEEPing tape next door and all I BEEPing hear is...." Ramsay stops suddenly, surveying the kitchen---GrapeHead on the floor, mostly nude, me standing---mostly nude, bleeding, both of us wearing remnants of EVOO and Oreos. His eyes dart around to the stations, the counters, "PIGS! BEEEEPing Pigs!! Mtc
And---what the BEEP! How did someone's ass print get in the BEEPing flan!?" With that, he storms through the set and blasts through the far door, leaving me star-struck for a moment, but only a moment, as I head over to you to maybe finish you off. Yt
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 7:47:06 PM): I take slow breaths, easing myself. I do this all the time, I think. A rough night in a kitchen, especially as small as Jellica's PDX Gastropub, can beat the fuck out of you. I've taken hot baking sheets to the side of the head, seared my hand on cast irons left on the burner by inattentive souses, had an oven door opened into my knees as I was growling an answer back to waitstaff by a pastry chef who went on to have her head driven through the back door as I bodily threw her out of my fucking kitchen. It's bad. I mean, no one's ever actually tried to TEAR MY HEAD OFF MY NECK or flattened my shoulders with their feet to try to ruin me for strapless season or beaten my belly into custard, but fuck, one beating is just like another, as my mom used to say. She was a bitter lady –
I work my neck, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, taking prana breaths that smell and taste of key lime and olive oil and Oreos and sweat, a not altogether unpleasant little cocktail. I roll my aching shoulder, narrowing my eyes as you survey the shelves, no doubt getting all sorts of horrible id-
The door bursts open.
And Gordon FUCKING Ramsay comes bulling in.
An aside:
Years before I begged, borrowed, stole, slept with skeezes for, cajoled, blackmailed and stole sufficient lunch money to open my gastropub, I was a sous at a place in Portland over near the Avalon Theater. Salvador Molly's, the hipster pirate restaurant. Great joint for what it was - we drew couples and jokey kids taking selfies in the over the top decor and tourists - but with a huge overhead for the size of the place and the vastness of the menu. I KNEW how to cook all 61 dishes we ran each night, God damn it, and Kitchen Nightmares had NO FUCKING BUSINESS telling me otherwise. I KNOW the fiery crispy cheese balls I served him were good. I'd made them six thousand times —
But his fucking PRODUCTION STAFF takes them and fusses with them, surrounding the plate so I can't see it, and I hear a spray bottle, and then the waitress gets them, and then Gordon is bustling back with his mealy-mouthed fucking Scots "Oh dear oh dear oh dear" telling me they're fucking COLD AND SOGGY, and GOD DAMN IT, I FUCKING HATE REALITY TV. FUCK YOU, GORDON FUCKING RAMSAY. –
Fortunately, it doesn't take him long to rampage through at full volume, and even more fortunately, he's drawn YOUR big innocent eyes with his wind-blown fucking mess of blonde hair and his face like a wrinkly leather sack. And then you're coming at me, your plans to get a weapon forgotten, and I play it up, working my way slowly to my knees and rolling my shoulder, lolling my head to soothe my neck, glowering at you as I glisten and sweat and … crumb. I'm intently aware that we're both in our panties now. And intensely aware of how little my tank-top does to stop me from being topless. And intensely aware of how you want to kick my ass. –
And like the Buddha, I focus my awareness, and lunge off my knees at you, grabbing for your shoulder with my left hand as my right swings in a short brutal mallet shot right for the waistline of your skimpy thong, trying to batter your body even as my bruised abs ache complainingly about me moving so fucking much, snarling at you in my throaty bruised voice.
"GET YOUR HEAD IN THE FUCKING GAME, CUPCAKE!" yt
MishRocks (5/14/2016 8:05:28 PM): Half-swooning as Ramsay exits, I am greeted by your resurrected form, springing from your knees, your fist burying itself at my bikini line, your left hand grabbing my shoulder. Your quickness and my brains up my ass give me no time to prepare, even to tighten my abs, and your fist plows into me deeply, air jettisoned through my lips, followed by a guttural groan as I fold over your fist. My hands grope forward, grabbing your tank top, almost using the crumpled garment to hold me up as I try to suck in whatever air I can. Yt
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 8:14:19 PM): I drive my fist low into your belly, almost feeling the silky rise of your mound under my knuckles in those skimpy sweaty panties, and you groan and fold over me like I was folded over you just moments ago. We must be making quite a show for these fucking pervs … which gives me an evil fucking idea that's only enhanced as you clutch at my sagging tank, almost baring my creamy tits as you haul the scoop down low. I grab for your brunette hair with my left hand, trying to yank your head back —
Moving forward with you, trying to muscle you back and aiming to just SLAM your lovely back up against the blast chiller - and if you look dazed for that crucial moment, I drop both hands, clutching at your wrists to try to rip your slender arms out wide and slam your hands against the freezer doors - wanting just a moment to grab for the hem of your little blue tank-top, to give you a flash of a Cheshire Cat grin - and to YANK up, trying to haul the sweaty oily crumby slutty tank-top up and OVER your face, and dragging it up and yanking it back behind your head - and trying to leave you muffled in it with your tits bare - and my fists curling, ready to lash into your bared body –
My tongue curling over my lips as adrenaline and arousal and pain hormones all flood through me and make me into a very irrational and cruel creature indeed. Yt
MishRocks (5/14/2016 8:26:47 PM): Simply draped over your fist, trying to will my knees not to buckle, I feel you walk me backwards, your fist still in my gut, pushing, preventing me from catching my breath, until UUUNGH! you SLAM my body into the door of the chiller, the back of my head making a unique cracking sound as it hits the metal door. "Ooooh...." chants the chorus of washed-up chefs and grips and best boys, and although I try to slide down onto my butt, you keep me on my feet, holding me up first with your embedded fist, but then withdrawing it, grabbing both of my wrists, and then slamming THEM into the freezer door, the bones in my wrist shooting our shards of pain as they hit the cold metal. Mtc
Catching a groggy glimpse of you through squinty eyes, it's impossible not to notice your grin, and then the feel of your fingers curling under the hem of my tank-top, your fingertips briefly tracing my firm but now bruised abs, and then you JERK my top up, covering my face, leaving it half-tangled on my arms. My bare back feels the cold of the blast freezer door, and as I struggle to free myself from the shirt, I can feel my exposed nipples harden as gooseflesh spreads over my body. Flailing my arms wildly, trying to escape this Houdini-like trap (OK, it's just a tank top---dial down the drama, Mishy), I panic at my current vulnerability, knowing your fondness for pummeling my body with your fists. Mtc
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 8:32:41 PM): (MARVEL as Houdini DARES the inescapable horror of the Sweaty Tank Top of Mystery!)
MishRocks (5/14/2016 8:33:36 PM): As I yank and pull and twist trying to extricate my head, I lean against the door and try to shoot my leg out at you---blinded, so I have no idea if my aim is true, but hoping I can smash my dirty sole into your spleen or some other important internal organ. Yt
Purple Vixen (5/14/2016 8:34:39 PM): I really, really intended to just punch the stuffing right out of your perky little tits and battered belly. Fists curled, knuckles clenched, boxer's stance like I'm on the heavy bag at the YWCA, everything was all ready to go.
But then I got a look at your bare breasts bouncing as you struggled, and your nipples perking up so hard and hot, and those little bumps running along your smooth skin from the chill … but I mean, excitement makes goosebumps, too … and just for that one moment I look a little too close, and my eyes gleam, and my pierced tongue curls over my lips, which the camera doesn't miss at all, at least one of them since there's five getting angles on your bouncing bare breasts.
And that costs me dearly, as in that one moment before I can punch you to fucking custard you jam your bare foot up and out, catching me roughly in my battered belly! "HUNNHHHHHH!" I groan, staggering back with my hand clasping my left side, my own tits barely contained in my stressed top as I stumble back panting, purple hair clinging to my cheeks and neck and my creamy ass in my skimpy striped panties swaying alluringly enough to draw its own camera.
"These two are both REALLY determined," Andrew observes, his fingers steepled as he takes us in like a rare kind of primitive barbeque pit.
"These two are sluts," Giada grumbles, "And I could take 'em." She's slurring a bit now, a half-empty bottle of Limoncello -or as she says it "Ah-LEI-mon-CHAY-llloooh" - in one fist.
The Sandwich King is just giggling and bent over to watch us closer, and because a clipboard won't serve to protect what passes for his modesty any more. Yt
MishRocks (5/14/2016 8:45:42 PM): I feel the bottom of my bare foot collide with your tummy---feeling the subtle ridges of those abs yield to the force of my kick, stretching them into your body deeper, your groan of pain an indicator of my blind-luck. As you stagger back, I finally free myself of the tank-top, peeling the food and sweat-drenched garment off my body and dropping it to the floor, causing all of the cameras to leave your suffering form and zoom in on my 5'2" 100 lb tanned, toned, tight little body---with subtle hints of muscle definition on my arms, calves and tummy, there, in all its glory, save for a floss-like thong. With visual acuity returned, I growl---mostly for myself, and pounce---mtc
grabbing for your tank top as you clutch your side, curling my fingers around the shoulder straps, and then trying to whip your body to the side---but I don't let go, hanging on, trying to spin you around with me as the focal point, dragging you in a circle around me, timing, planning, and then---as we hit what I think is maximum speed, releasing one hand but yanking with the other, pulling the top off your bigger body and sending you hurling, topless into Giada. "Order of purple slut---to go!" I announce, my cutesey-pie voice returning, an impish grin playing to the cameras. Yt
End of Part 2! Stay tuned for the Final Scene after these messages...