Annabelle the Dominant Model

Annabelle smiled as the lights focused on her. The sexy model went into her well-practiced series of poses as the photoshoot began. Her outfit consisted of low-cut, tight white pants, a brown leather belt, black leather boots, and a white sports bra. Being half Filipina and half European, she had inherited the best of both worlds, with beautiful, darkly tanned brown skin and a nice height of 5’8″. At 128 pounds, she had a slender but muscular body. Her hard six-pack abs were visible in the gap between pants and sports bra, and her tanned, toned, well-developed arms were accented by the studded black leather bracelets she wore on each of her strong wrists. Her breasts were small, firm, round 34B’s.

She turned her head, flipping her long silky black hair, and struck another pose. “Perfect, Annabelle,” said the photographer. “You really know how to work it.” The hot model gave a smile in response that was the perfect balance between confidence and gratitude.

“We’re going for the athletic look here, so I’d like to finish with a couple of action shots,” said the photographer. “Can you do a cartwheel?”

Annabelle winked. “I can do better than that.” With that, she suddenly executed a perfect cheerleader-style standing back handspring.

The entire film crew stared, then applauded. “Whoa,” said the photographer. “When I’m ready.”

Annabelle gave a charming laugh. When he gave the signal, she went into action again, this time doing three standing back handsprings in a row, then performing a one-arm cartwheel, a front handspring, and a roundoff back handspring. The crew applauded again.

“Well, I guess that’s a wrap,” said the photographer. “I look forward to working with you again, Miss Annabelle.”

As the crewmen began packing up their equipment, Annabelle chatted with them in the flirtatious but classy manner she was so skilled at pulling off. Suddenly, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Peeking out from behind a barrier was a homely male face, staring directly at her with a look of sexual interest. It reminded her of that episode of Survivor 23 where Brandon was peeping on Mikayla from the bushes. When the peeper realized she was looking back at him, his face quickly retreated behind the wall.

Angered by his creepy behavior, she decided to teach him a lesson. She said her goodbyes to the crew, then picked up her things and started towards the exit. As soon as she was out of everyone’s sight, she doubled back, heading directly for the spot the pervert had been occupying. Hearing footsteps retreating in the distance, she followed them. Rounding a corner, she saw him just entering the men’s bathroom. Anger rose inside her. The little shit was probably going to jerk off to her.

She hurried down the hall and silently entered the restroom. Once inside, Annabelle quickly checked all the stalls to make sure no one else was there. There was only a single pair of feet in the far stall. She grinned wickedly. Perfect. She hung a conveniently located CLOSED – OUT OF ORDER sign on the bathroom door, then locked it from the inside.

She began advancing towards the far stall. At that point, a low moaning started up. “Oh, Annabelle, baby,” said the male voice. “Oh, Annabelle.”

She let out a growl, then kicked down the stall door with her big black boot. “Did you want me, honey?” she sneered at the man inside.

The pervert was seated on the toilet, his pants and underwear down around his ankles and his rock-hard cock in his hand. Caught with his pants down, literally, he stared in shock as the object of his degenerate lust appeared right before his eyes. “Miss Annabelle! What…How…”

She smirked. “I saw you peeping on me from behind that wall. So I decided to follow you. When I saw you go in here I figured you were going to wank off your nasty little pecker. Looks like I was right.” She crossed her brown arms, which were surprisingly big for a slim woman, in front of her. The leather bracelets covering the thinnest parts of her wrists and forearms had the effect of making her arms look even bigger. He trembled in fear and humiliation. “Well, go on and finish,” she challenged him.

“What?! But I…”

“What’s the matter? Not man enough? Maybe you want some help.” With that, Annabelle grabbed his boner with her right hand and began giving him a rough hand job, squeezing hard.

“Aaaaaahhhhhh,” he moaned, first in pleasure, then in pain, as she increased the strength of her grip. “You’re so strong… hurting me…”

She laughed. “I’m a girl, and I’m stronger than you. I thought you were supposed to be a man.” She held out her free arm and compared it to his. She knew her wrist measurement – it was a little over six and a half inches, which was big for a woman, especially a slender woman like her, but still smaller than the average man’s. But the pervert was not average, and Annabelle’s muscular, heavily developed, dark brown forearm with prominent veins was clearly thicker than his pale, thin, weak one. “Your arms are too weak and girly to ever squeeze your cock the way I’m doing.” She backhanded him across the face several times with her left hand.

Despite the blows, or perhaps because of them, he suddenly came violently, shooting a massive load of white semen right onto her deeply tanned forearm. She looked down at the mess in disgust. “You little fucker. You’re one of those loser schmoe males who’s turned on by stronger women, aren’t you. Well, do something useful for once and lick it off.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Lick your faggoty cum off my forearm, before I beat you into doing it.”

“Fuck that shit, bitch,” he growled, suddenly turning angry and aggressive. “I ain’t no fag, and I ain’t doing that shit.”

Annabelle suddenly smashed her left fist into his nose, breaking it. She smiled coldly as he cried out in pain and the blood began bubbling. “Like hell you aren’t.” She rolled her dark brown eyes. “You’re probably so far in the closet, you’re in fucking Narnia.”

The pervert spat in fury. Standing up, he swung his fist at her elegant, high-cheekboned face, but she dodged it easily. He then tried a lower punch aimed at her stomach. Seeing it coming, she tensed her abs. He let out a howl as the completely ineffective attack bounced off her steel-hard dark brown wall of abdominal muscle. She laughed in his face. “Here’s how to do an ab attack.” As she spoke, her knee shot up, ramming hard into his gut. He doubled over in agony, clutching his stomach as he tried to breathe.

“Are you ready to clean up the mess you made, cocksucker?” she demanded.

He glared up at her, then began looking from side to side wildly. Annabelle laughed. “Are you going to cry for help?” she taunted her male victim. “Do you need someone to protect you from a girl? Like, seriously, what are you going to say? That you were jerking off to a female model, who then beat you up?” The perv hung his head in shame.

“You do not want to fuck with a mean bitch like me. Ever,” Annabelle continued. She punched him in the eye, turning it black. Then, in a display of cruel feminine dominance, she kicked him in the jaw with her big black boot, breaking it and knocking loose two of his teeth. She followed that up by smashing her knee into his groin.

“Okay, Mistress Annabelle!” he cried when he finally recovered from her devastating strikes. “I’ll lick my cum off your arm!”

She held out her thick, dark brown forearm. “Then get to licking, bitch. And make sure to swallow it all. I’m sure you’re used to swallowing, just like I bet you’re used to being the catcher.”

Sobbing in shame and total humiliation, the wanker began licking up his own cum, tears flowing down his ugly face as he choked it down. Annabelle laughed mockingly throughout the whole process, enjoying the total dominance she had over him, as well as a feeling of revenge on all the men who had treated her as a sex object. When he was finished, she ordered, “Take off your clothes.”

He hesitated. She made a fist. That was all the motivation he needed and he quickly stripped naked. She gathered up his clothes and tossed them behind her. “Sit back down on the toilet.”

He obeyed immediately. Annabelle crossed her muscular arms in front of her. “I’m taking your clothes and leaving you here nude as punishment for you thinking I was just a piece of meat without feelings for you to lust over. I never want to see you again. On the remote chance you aren’t fired for being naked at work, you’d better quit as soon as you get out of here, because if you’re still here when I come back for my next photoshoot, I will use you to redefine the words pain and humiliation. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress Annabelle.” He hung his head submissively, a broken shell of a man.

“And one more thing. Will you admit you’re a closeted fag?”

He hesitated only a second before replying, “Yes, Mistress Annabelle, I’m a closeted fag.”

Her full, pouty lips curled upward in triumph. She really didn’t care if he was one or not, she just wanted the satisfaction of knowing she could make him say it. “Good. And also, good night.” With that, she suddenly kneed him in the face with all her strength, knocking him out.

She wiped the blood off of the top of her knee-high black leather boot, then took one last look at the scene of destruction she had created. She nodded in satisfaction, picked up the pervert’s clothes, removed the sign from the bathroom door, and stole away quietly, making sure no one saw her.

Out in the parking lot, Annabelle climbed behind the wheel of her black BMW. She fixed her hair in the rearview mirror and put on her sunglasses before driving off. A few more years of modeling and she would have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life. She thought of the poor suckers slaving away week in and week out at their nine-to-five jobs and smirked. She would be able to retire before she turned thirty. The only bad part about modeling was putting up with the perverts who ogled and harassed her. But even that shouldn’t be a problem, she thought. She had beaten and destroyed one perv. She could do the same to others.

She smiled.

THE END

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