A Businesswoman’s calves & the mighty arms of a cleaner brutally destroy men
SPOILER:Jim gets a job as an IT Manager at St.Agatha’s Domestic Service College and encounters Gill Butcher, the cold director of training and recruitment. She demonstrates her sexy Salsa dancing skills to two young thieves with her legs taking them out. A series of brutal demonstrations follow shows their boss the fearsome bone breaking power of her calves. One boy flees and gets a savage beating from the mighty arms of Maria, the cleaning lady. Sir Anthony gets an unexpected surprise.
Gill and Maria are based on women at work. I saw Gill recently and her calves still look amazing.
The following story contains descriptions of sex and violence. If this offends you or if you are under the legal age of consent in your country do not read on. Any likeness to anyone dead or alive is purely coincidental.
(c) JIM P 2010
My name is Jim Priest and I’m a Private Detective. Sounds cool doesn’t it? Unfortunately getting roughed up by a Kitchen Maid who had stolen a decryption device that could have solved a hundred year old mystery wasn’t cool [JIMP#19]. It also wasn’t cool to discover that her accomplice, John, had been present when I found the cryptographic key. Trying to trace them soon revealed that they had used false surnames. Their friends and colleagues at work were none the wiser. I tried to contact St.Agatha’s Domestic Service College in London who had supplied staff to Bristlingdown Manor for over 100 years. However, they refused to speak me about their graduates. Visiting the college in person was a waste of time as the security men on the door refused me entry unless I had an appointment. Trying to get an appointment was fruitless.
Just when things looked bleak, I received a letter sealed with the impression of a multi-limbed Asian goddess. Curious to be receiving something from the mysterious Amazon organisation I only knew as The Sisterhood, I opened the envelope. Inside was a job advert for the post of IT manager at St.Agatha’s and a reference from The Salvation Army on headed notepaper from Major Anne [JIMP#15,16]. I also noted a small stylistic representation of an angel at the bottom.
A few weeks after submitting my CV and application form, I received an invitation for an interview with Gill Butcher, the director of training and recruitment. Wearing my only suit, black shoes, white shirt & a tie, I arrived at the college. St.Agatha’s is a large spectacular neo-classical building in the heart of London dating back to the late 18th Century. Signing in at the security desk, the uniformed guard told me “Somebody will be down in a few minutes to collect you, Mister Priest. Please take a seat”. I waited anxiously for several minutes occasionally glancing down the long high-ceilinged corridor that I can see on the other side of the glass panelled security door.
Finally, I see a petite woman approaching wearing a smart white satin jacket and trousers over a high necked black top and wearing very high heels. At first glance I thought that she was oriental but as she neared the security door, I realised I was mistaken. Her jet-black hair was cut in a shoulder length bob with a full fringe that completely covered her ears. Standing barely over 5′ in her high heels, the woman was slim with a small bust. Mature, she had a small elfin face with slim dark eyebrows framing small slender eyes. The eyelids were lightly enhanced with a pale blue eye shadow. Her nose was long and sleek with daintily swept back nostrils. A pleasant thin-lipped medium-sized mouth glossed with a pale pink lipstick sat above a small firm chin and jaw. The overall effect was of a pleasantly attractive mature professional woman. Opening the door she looked at me and said “Mister Priest, please come this way”. Her voice was slightly low with a cold detached tone. Her smile highlighted prominent cheeks and pearly white teeth. A fair number of faint wrinkles on her face and neck together with faint liver spots on her hands suggested to me that perhaps she was in her late fifties.
Gill led the way down the long corridor with a small attempt at chitchat about the weather and the state of public transport. Rooms led off from the corridor, the decor making little concession to modern living. “St.Agatha’s is a grade II listed building which means we have to make every effort to maintain its historical character whilst delivering education to modern standard” she told me. Turning off through an open double doorway, we came to a landing for a very grand, very wide staircase that spiralled in rectilinear lines from below then climbed to levels above. “Very impressive” I commented, looking at an extremely long chandelier suspended down the central stairwell and a large atrium above. “St.Agatha’s has two basement levels and three levels above ground” Gill explained as we climbed to the highest floor. After walking along yet another corridor and stopping at a drinks machine to collect coffees we reached Gill’s office.
The room was large with a desk at the far end, several seats and various cupboards and units with office equipment around the sides. The main central area was empty. “Please sit down” she said indicating a chair then sat on the opposite side of the desk. Sipping her coffee, the woman read through my CV. From the expression on her face, she didn’t seem impressed. Without looking up she said “Jim Priest. Any relation to the private detective who keeps sticking his nose into other people’s business?”. Without waiting for an answer she continued scanning the page. “No management experience. No experience in the education sector. Not very promising”. Her expression changed however when she read the letter of reference, her eyes opening wide with astonishment. She had clearly seen something there that I hadn’t spotted. Her whole attitude changed from outright dismissal to one of reluctant acceptance. “Well Mister I’m-not-a-private-eye Priest. I don’t understand why and I don’t like it but it seems that you’ve got the job”.
She started to rise, signalling that the interview was at an end. “Confirmation of your engagement will be posted to you by the end of week” she said extending her hand. I suspected that she worked for The Sisterhood. Taking her small hand in mine, I looked into her small brown eyes and asked “are you able to tell me the whereabouts of the Bristlingdown decoder?”. Slipping her hand away she snapped “I have no idea of what you are talking about, Mister Priest”. I started to explain about the device but she wasn’t interested and cut me off. “I may be obliged to give you this post but do not look to me for assistance. That will be all. Goodbye Mister Priest”. She headed towards the door, I was clearly dismissed. As I got to the door Gill moved close and looked up with her hard brown eyes. “I expect a high standard of staff discipline. You keep your nose out of my business or I will break you”. Opening the door, she smiled and said loudly “Goodbye Mister Priest. I look forward to you joining us”.
I started work a few weeks later. The daily commute into London by train was a killer until I established a pattern of starting work mid-morning to miss the worst of the rush hour and working late to miss the return crush. Luckily the job gave me a good excuse to snoop around as I performed an ‘audit’ of the existing network. This also gave me an excuse for hanging around after most people had left for home so that my audit would avoid impacting lessons and administrative duties. Gill also seemed to be a late worker, although I had the suspicion that it might have been to keep an eye on me. Although we acknowledged each other, her cold demeanour made it clear that she didn’t want to be friendly. That all changed one night several weeks later.
Harry Carter prided himself as being the best safe cracker in London. When he was approached about this job, he accepted without reservation. They had paid handsomely for his services many times before. He got a couple of lads young enough to tailgate students without alerting the guards to scout the layout over a period of time.
Friday evening was when most people had left early for the weekend. Harry and his boys entered the college using a little used basement side door that the young men had earlier propped ajar and disabled the alarms. Stealthily they made their way to the principal’s office on the top floor. Easily unlocking the door, Harry entered and spotted the large floor standing safe in the corner. “Make sure I’m not disturbed” he told the boys then closed the door behind him. Harry prided himself as a master of his craft and spent several minutes observing the safe before even touching it, gaining the measure of his adversary.
Outside, the boys spot a man with black curly hair wearing a suit, walking down the corridor. He reminds them a bit of Tom Hanks, although he was about 5’8″, medium built and slightly podgy. The middle-aged man kept glancing nervously at them then entered an office a few doors down. “He clocked us. I’ll take him out” said Weasel, a tall lanky youth with a long thin pointed face and small beady eyes. Like his companion, he wore a black hoodie and jeans. Approaching the office Weasel can hear voices, a man speaking with a woman. Signalling to the other boy, Skunk, he raised two fingers. Skunk, a short messy thuggish boy gave him the V in return. Shaking his head he mouthed ‘two people’. Seeing that Skunk was joining him, he drew a crowbar from the back pocket of his jeans and entered.
With the man is a small mature woman wearing a white blouse, brown jacket with a knee length brown leather skirt, black fishnets and high heels. He slams the crowbar against the top of a side unit making them jump. Pointing with it to the man he told him “You, over here in front of me”. He was going to take out the threat by coshing the bastard. The leather skirt and fishnets on the old bird were quite hot and he fancied getting his dick in there. The woman spoke in a firm authoritive voice “What is the meaning of this? where’s your pass?”. “Shut up and start getting your knickers off. You, over here mate, I won’t tell you again”. Just then Skunk arrived. “Don’t chat with them, just bash them and go” he said.
Gill stepped forwards. “Who are you and why are you here? Answer me now” she demanded. Skunk sneered “Phoar nice skirt luv. You’re going catch my dick in those fishnets in a minute”. The youths gave a dirty laugh. Gill replied, “How dare you! You two are well out of your depth. I have you know that I’m a champion in Ballroom and Salsa”. The youths laugh outrageously, “Oooh what? You’re going to dance us to death”. They laughed again.
Suddenly the woman starts to move as if dancing to some silent Latin rhythm. Her elfin face smiling, her hips swayed as she sashayed across the room, stepping forward and back, extending a very shapely calve as she placed a foot out to one side then the other. All the time her upper body is kept straight seemingly unaffected by the movements of her hips and legs. The way the petite woman moves is quite sensuous, calling upon primitive emotions, the leather skirt and fishnets adding to the allure. The youths and the man look on in appreciation. Well into her dance, she throws in an occasional low kick to one side then the other. Moving onto one toe, she swiftly brings her knee up very high level with her chest, her skirt riding up high to reveal shapely legs in all their glory. “Phroarwow” moans the curly haired man. The youths couldn’t agree more.
The bright fluorescent lights overhead reflects off the sexy leather skirt as it and the fishnet covered shins dance, mesmerising the three males with their sensual movement. Smiling, the petite bob haired woman slinks up to Skunk. Going onto one toe, she repeats the high knee move. Three pairs of eyes watch the leather skirt ride high up her thigh. One feels a knee hammered forcefully between his legs lifting him to his toes. The groins of the other men contract in sympathy. “Arggg!”. With tears in his eyes and his groin ablaze with pain, Skunk has to hold onto the sexy firm thigh for balance as the dancer keeps her knee held high for several agonising moments. “Now are you feeling more talkative young man?” the ball buster asks.
It takes several seconds for Weasel to snap out of his astonishment. “You bitch” he cries raising his crowbar and stepping forward to hit her. Gill lowers her knee and turns to face her attacker. With an expression halfway between relief and agony, Skunk crumples cupping his balls. In a movement of pure elegance, the mature woman steps forward raising herself onto one toe while her other leg swings up in a beautifully delivered dancers high kick. Weasel feels the sole of her shoe slam into his jaw driving it forcefully into the upper jaw with a teeth-crunching thud. His head is snapped back fast by the powerful kick, scrambling his senses. He feels the back of his skull hit the floor heavily.
Skunk is shocked at how easily the small mature broad had dropped Weasel. Stooped, cupping his balls, he shuffles towards the door, but the deadly Salsa expert blocks him. Before he can react, he feels small hands grab the sides of his head and pull it down. At the same time he sees a fishnet-covered knee hurtling towards his face. Without time to scream, Skunk feels the knee jackhammer solidly against his jaw in an explosion of pain before the shockwave hits his brain.
Picking himself off the floor and feeling his aching jaw, Weasel sees the woman in the leather skirt shove Skunk’s head into the side of a photocopier then slam the lid on it. Skunk’s limp arm accidentally activates the machine, which starts to take copies of his unconscious face in noisy blinding flashes. “Stay where you are” the dark haired man told him. With a sneer Weasel turned to face the soft looking middle-aged man. “I’m going to smash your wimpy face to a bloody pulp mate then it’s her turn” he sneered. The man swings Weasel’s crowbar in front of him. Weasel watches warily as the man drives him back swinging the crowbar, looking for an opening. A hard bump against his backside and he finds himself backed against the photocopier. “Come on then, you wimp” he shouts to the man with the crowbar. In his peripheral vision he sees fishnet-covered calves stretch out either side of his head in a wide V from behind his head. He realises that the old Salsa bitch is sitting on the photocopier lid behind him, Skunk’s head squashed beneath. Before he can turn to face this new threat he sees a rapid blur of motion and what feels like two sharp rocks hammering into the carotid nerves either side of his neck.
Harry opened the safe with a smile of smug satisfaction then stared in wonder at the contents. There was more in here than what he was asked for. Oh well, perks of the job. He was going to need to boys to carry off this amount of swag. Opening the office door he looks into corridor surprised to see it empty. “Where are they ?” he mutters to himself then hears a commotion from an office a few doors down. Annoyed Harry walked up the corridor and looked in. He was amazed to see Weasel on the floor and Skunk stuck in the photocopier, both out cold. Harry spotted a dark haired man in a suit and a mature elfin-faced woman in a blouse and leather skirt. The bloke didn’t look tough but he’d obviously taken out the boys. “Excuse me? Who are you and why are you in my building this late?” the woman demanded in a strict no-nonsense voice. “Sorry love. My name’s Harry. I was called by Principal Newman to fix his safe which was sticking” replied Harry. Harry watched as the woman walked towards him, smiling. “My name is Gill. It’s a name you should fear, unless you tell me the truth. What’s your surname Harry?” she asks. “Hawkins. Harry Hawkins” he lied. “I don’t think so” said the black haired man. “Why did you send these boys to attack us?” the woman asked. “I’ve never seen them before in my life, luv” he replied.
Harry is astonished to feel the woman place her hands on his shoulders then press her chest against him. Looking down into the woman’s eyes, it is an almost affectionate embrace as Gill presses her body into him. “Time’s almost up” she says softly. “What the…” Harry gasps in surprise as he feels a calve wrap itself behind his lower legs and pull them very tight against her other leg. “Arr” he grunted as a clamp-like grip locked his calves so hard that his feet were forced together. Try as he might, Harry couldn’t move his feet, it felt like they were encased in a steel trap. “If you were to fall with your legs caught like this, you would break them” she purrs looking up at him. Her hands leave his shoulders momentarily and give him a hard shove. “No!” Harry cries in alarm as he falls backwards, his shins still locked in her steely grip. Just as he feels the tension build in his shins Gill releases her grip but its too late. “Owwwww! No no Oh god you broke my legs. Oww it hurts. Oh god get me an ambulance. Oww quick!”. “Typical man. You sprain your ankles and you think you’ve broken your legs” the woman says “Tell me the truth or I really will break things”. Harry winced as he tried to move his feet, the ankles really felt broken.
“Jim will you fetch me that water melon in my shopping bag please?”. Harry was baffled as the woman took the large ball of fruit and held it towards him.”Harry. Imagine this is your skull. Watch carefully” she told him. Turning her back to him, Harry stared in amazement at the sight before him. Rising from her high heels, the woman’s very slim ankles tapered gently at first with a thick vertical ridge of, tendon he guessed it was, alongside. The calve muscles themselves made Harry gape, they weren’t slender and lady-like, nor where they big and muscled like an athlete. Instead the calve heads jutted out widely on either side resembling two flesh covered balls of muscle each slightly bigger than a baseball with a deep cleft in between.
In fascination he watched as Gill made several awkward attempts to position the fruit between her calves. Then standing straight, she slowly raised herself to her toes. Harry saw the sensual movement of the muscles under her skin as they slid, the balls of muscle becoming larger and more defined. The jutting calves were so solid that they seemed to be digging into the watermelon. For a while nothing seemed to be happening, then Gill lowered her heels. Impossible Harry thought, and then she was raising herself on her toes once more, the muscles sliding sensually like continental plates under her skin. This time the calves seemed sharper and harder than before. It started with a small red horizontal gash appearing on one side near the middle then it spread into a substantial gaping tear and then the watermelon collapsed as it lost all integrity. Harry had to swallow, breathing heavily and experiencing a strange tingling in his groin. He noticed with disgust the black haired man’s excitement as he wiped down Gill’s calves with a towel then started feeling and kissing them.
“Time for that later Jim” Gill scolds. “So Harry. Are you ready to tell me the truth or shall I do to your skull what I did to that innocent piece of fruit?”. Harry wasn’t buying that; it was just a piece of fruit. A clever party piece but she couldn’t really hurt a man like that. “Help me first. Call me an ambulance and I’ll tell” he pleaded.
Gill’s stern face and tone of voice made him like a naughty schoolboy. “Very well. You leave me no choice”. Harry frowned as the woman knelt on Skunk’s chest, her leather skirt riding up sexily around her thighs. He also appreciated the sexy fishnets. SLAP! SLAP! The sound of the woman’s hard open palmed slaps resounding on the boy’s face reverberated in the large room. Harry was about to complain when he saw Skunk come round, rubbing his cheek. “Ow!” Skunk exclaimed feeling his jaw. “Was my salsa too much for you too handle young man?” Gill mocked, as she stood up over his face with her hands on her hips. I bet he’ll enjoy that view, he thought. “Harry would rather sacrifice you then tell me the truth so you only have him to blame for this” she told the boy.
Looking around, Skunk spotted him. “Harry, what’s going on?”. “Well he knows you Harry, even though you say you don’t know him. Maybe this will force you to remember him” she said coldly. Swiftly Gill turned so that she now faced the boy’s feet. The movement made Skunk look up at the fishnet nylon clad legs towering above him. Smart black high-heeled shoes closed in around his neck. Bending forward, Gill grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled with both hands drawing Skunk’s neck into a standing calve scissors. Skunk gasped as it felt like his neck was trapped between two rocks that were being slowly driven into him. Out the corner of his eye, he is shocked at how far the woman’s calve heads stick out from her legs. Instinctively he grabs them to prise them apart but is stunned to find that they are solid and unmovable. “Argh please they’re digging into my neck” he cries. “Stupid boy! I haven’t even started yet” Gill replied. Slowly she raised herself on her toes, lifting Skunk’s neck so that his head was now angled towards the floor allowing Harry to see the pained expression on his face as her calves flared against his neck. “Argg No argh please it really hurts!”.
Harry again watched the sexy way the woman’s muscles moved to form tight rugged balls. There was an unmistakable air of raw power that emanated from those tight toned muscled balls that was strangely feminine and alluring. For some reason the sight of the young man totally helpless between the small hard rounded calves of a petite mature woman was incredibly sexy in a way that disturbed Harry. He wasn’t a pervert; he didn’t go in for weird fetishes, yet the sight before him was turning him on. “Arggh please it hurts so much. No more please, they’re crushing into my neck”. Skunk was actually in tears. He felt the outer calve heads grow harder and sharper as they expanded under his hands. His face was a mask of misery as the inner calves bulged just as much in opposition, digging deeply into his neck. His face was sheer agony, his hands held on her calves as if they were wing mirrors. Skunk was reduced to a quietly sobbing mess. “My calves have cut the blood from his brain” the woman said coldly. Lowering herself momentarily, Skunk’s face showed little sign of relief. The woman in the leather skirt raised herself again, the calves seemingly solidifying into even harder, much sharper balls. The cleft between the calves looked deeper, more defined and formidable. Harry was aghast to see Skunk’s eyes glaze over, his face relax and his hands slip limply to the floor. Still scissoring the boy hard, Gill informs him in a detached tone “He is out cold. If I keep cutting the blood off he’ll get brain damage and I could eventually kill him. Which is it to be Harry?”.
Chills run down Harry’s spine at the ruthless coldness of this woman. Yet at the same time, he was turned on that those sexy fearsome calves had totally knocked out a man, completely overpowering him with little struggle. “Please he’s only a boy, let him go” he pleads. The woman lowers herself momentarily then raises herself again, the muscular balls of destruction quivering slightly as she snaps on the pressure. Harry was disturbed to find his groin quivering in appreciation at the horrific scene. Skunk’s face is turning an unhealthy colour. “Oh god, you’re killing him. Carter…Harry Carter. Please let him go”. Gill opens her calves and the boy’s head falls to floor.
“It’s your turn now, unless Harry tells us why he is here” the woman says. For a second Harry is confused until he notices that Weasel has come around with an expression of horror from watching how she dispatched Skunk. Gill had only taken a single step, when he was up on his feet and running out the door. Harry had never seen anyone move so fast with fright.
Weasel heard footsteps in the corridor behind him as he ran. Oh my god, visions of Skunk’s unconscious face between the scary woman’s legs pursued him. He didn’t want to end up like that! the fact that it was a small mature woman made it even worse.
Missing the doors for the main staircase, he fled down a narrow set of stairs a bit further along. At the next floor, his adrenaline fuelled flight started to slow as he ran down the corridor.
He now felt embarrassed that he had run instead of putting up a fight. She was only a woman, a small old one at that, he could have taken her. He could have avoided her legs and punched her to a pulp. Feelings of impotent anger welled up inside him. He had a good mind to go back and beat the crap out of that bitch. Yes, he damn well will. Running through the doors of the main stairwell, his flight was abruptly halted as he collided with a cleaning trolley. Bottles, brushes and bags of rubbish spilled out across the landing as Weasel tripped and fell.
“Urgkk” Harry croaked as hard muscle grew into his throat, compressing his larynx, chocking off his air. Gill was sitting by his shoulder with one shin under the back of his neck and the other calve on top of his throat. Locking her ankles tight, she had bent her legs at the knees and slid forward forcing Harry’s head away from her at an angle. “Urgkk!” it felt like an oversized pair of blunt scissors was trying to cut off his head. With the back of her calve against his throat; he could feel the irresistible power of both calve heads easily swell into his neck. Lack of air was causing him to feel faint and black spots danced before his eyes.
A man’s voice, seeming distant “He got away. I’ll let security know and get them to pick up these two”. The scissoring bitch said “No, not these two. Not until Harry here gives me some answers”. “He can’t do that if you choke him out”. Harry gulps in large mouthfuls of air as the pressure is released from his throat. “I do this my way, Jim. He needs to understand clearly what I will do to him if he doesn’t tell the truth”. Harry feels his head being lowered to the floor, but before it makes contact he sees the shin before his face turn. At the bottom of his vision a very solid looking ball of muscle rose as it rotated in place against his throat. “No-arkk”.
Now on her side, Gill relocked her calves and tensed. Harry felt an almighty point of pressure crush hard on his throat and dig into the back of his neck. His soft throat offered no resistance to the sharp hard calve head pushing against his trachea. It felt like a powerful hydraulic ram was forcing a small rock into his throat. Right in front of his face, Harry could see the massive solid orb of muscle flex. It crushed irresistibly into his throat. ‘Kkkk kkkk”, the rocky protuberances closed his airways. Their bulging bulk pressed into his jaw forcing it hard against his upper jaw. It felt like his teeth would break under the pressure and his jaw will explode.
Harry instinctively brought his hand to the limb across his neck. In his oxygen deprived state he was shocked to encounter very hard, very sharp flesh and for a moment wondered why his hand seems so far away. Frantically he tried to prise the leg away but was unable to make an impression, the calve felt like a jutting ball of steel covered with a thin layer of flesh and fishnets. Harry could feel its counterpart crushing his larynx, closing his airways. Uncontrollably his body went into spasms, thrashing about through the body’s lack of oxygen. However his neck remained solidly trapped.
“Gill, stop it, you’re killing him” a man’s voice. “Keep your nose out of it Priest or you’re next” the owner of the awesome calves. His detached mind thinks that’s a strange thing to call the man, he didn’t look like a member of the clergy. Harry is horrified by the disturbing rattling coming from his mouth; sounding like his voice box has collapsed. His detached mind comments on how he didn’t want to die like this, just as everything fades to black.
“Oi! Watcha playing at?” a woman with a rough Cockney accent shouted. Weasel looked around and saw a cleaner walking towards him. “Piss off!” Weasel said untangling himself from the contents of the trolley. The cleaner reminded him in some ways of that Salsa bitch, she was around 4’8″ with a similar shoulder length black bob complete with full fringe. The similarity ended there but it was enough to make Weasel angry. “Stupid place to put a trolley” he snarled as he got to his feet. “Don’tcha know anything about health and safety” he added. “Stupid boy for running into it” she replied. “Ugly cow” Weasel spat. The cleaner had a small face dominated by a large beakish nose. Her mouth was small as were her soft brown eyes that were framed by thick eyelashes. Weasel thought the eyebrows were too thick, she had dark bags beneath her eyes and her dimpled chin was too shallow. She also had a bit of a double chin. Her complexion was tanned, rather like a gypsy. Short and dumpy toad he thought. She was quite heavily built, probably fat he thought.
Her arms were visible under a short-sleeved blue T-shirt, very thick and soft looking. A dark blue sleeveless pinafore was worn on top with a light blue panel on the right. Below this she wore black trousers with flat black trainers.”You better apologise quick mate then put that trolley right” she told him coming face to face. “Git lost. Maria” he spat, reading her name from her pass. “Oh Ms.Butcher, I didn’t see you there” the cleaner said chirpily. Turning around, Weasel frowned. “There’s no-one Urkk Orrrr”. A thick arm wrapped itself around his neck and a hard punch landed in his kidneys. The small woman then bulldogged him to the floor from behind.
Finding himself easily forced on his knees, Weasel is shocked by the power flowing through the woman’s thick arm crushing his neck and jaw in a brutally strong headlock. He struggled in vain to break free, horrified to find that he couldn’t. Although the cleaner’s arms are thick and soft, Weasel can feel that they are very solid beneath the skin. “Orrgh” thick strong arms held his head in an inescapable clamp. His fingers dug into the softness of her skin but made no impression on the rock hard muscle beneath. Everywhere he felt was soft skin that gave slightly then solid hard muscle. Large thick planes of solid muscle that threatened to rip his head off. He couldn’t believe his luck being beaten up by two small women in one night. “Aorrrgkkkk” Weasel struggled in vain as the demon cleaner stood astride him working the hold twisting his head from side to side. Finally she jerked his face to look at the overturned trolley. “Put that right before I twist off your head” Maria ordered. “Arghh” a fist hammered his kidneys. “Come on, I haven’t got all night”. With his head clamped tightly, Weasel reluctantly reached forward and managed to right the trolley.
“Orrg” another hard kidney punch. “Now pick up all that stuff and put them back on the trolley”. The mighty armed cleaner bulldogged him around the floor with such brutal twists of his head that he cried out in pain fearing she would break his neck. At the same time, he was also shocked to find the small woman physically moving him around the floor with ease.
Harry awoke, momentarily confused as to where he was. Argh his ankles, He remembered. The cold bitch with the ball-like calves was standing with her back to him, a pair of man’s hands rubbing up and down those muscular orbs. At first he couldn’t make out what is going on. The black haired man is on his knees in front of her with his hands reaching around the back to fondle her calves. With sickening realisation, he knows that the pervert has his face up inside the front of her leather skirt making the calve monster moan in pleasure.
Finishing her exertions, Gill turns to Harry. “Well Harry Carter. Do you want to worship my calves as well?” she says with a smile that sends shivers down his neck. Harry tries to speak but ends up coughing. “Tell me why you are really here” she says stepping towards him. “Mend safe” he replies hoarsely, his throat raw after its abuse by her calves. “You haven’t learnt your lesson yet, have you Harry?” she said. Harry tried to move away as the calve monster knelt by his head but he couldn’t get far with his sprained ankles. He felt her hands slide under his armpits then a failed attempt to lift him. “Jim. Give me a hand. He’s too heavy for me”. The middle-aged man came over and together they raised his upper torso. In alarm, Harry felt a leg slide under his body. “Ok, let him go” she said. He felt himself lowered. A calve appeared on top of his chest positioning itself so that one ball of flaring muscle was against his sternum. “You’ll probably better go, Jim. I don’t think you’ll want to watch this” she said. “What. What are going to do?” Harry whispered in alarm. “Teach you a very painful lesson” Gill replied. He noticed that the other man hadn’t left.
Harry felt a tightening pressure on his chest as the petite woman managed to lock her ankles together on the other side of his body. It like a tight constricting belt around the middle of his chest. “Please I’ll tell you everything please stop” he begged hoarsely as the pressure slowly built up. “Torture first, questions after” her voice replied coldly. “Remember that water melon Harry?” the leather skirted minx asked. “Unnggh” the tightness around his chest increased dramatically. Harry could feel the sharp ball of steel pushing his sternum into his chest as he saw the counterpart calve head bulging skywards in front of his face. “Pleeeease” he gasped as the inward pressure on his lungs made it difficult to breathe. Harry placed his hands on the mighty calves compressing his chest and tried to push them away with all his might but to no avail. The fearsome calves would not budge; their terrifying grip was rock fast. In desperation, he moved his hands to her ankles to try to prise them apart but also to no avail. He noticed the shiny muscle tone of her legs but was too distracted to appreciate it. No please I give in, he wanted to plead but the ferocious compression on his ribcage made it impossible to speak. Temporarily the pressure eased off then was snapped on again with terrifying strength. To Harry’s horror, it looked like her inner calve head was buried deep in the middle of his ribcage painfully bending the ribs in towards the centre. He was very dizzy not being able to breathe with his lungs constrained. His vision blurred and darkened. SNAP! Harry heard and felt a gruesome crack as his sternum broke taking several ribs with it. The shock and pain was too much.
“Now those last bits there. Come on faster” Maria urged. Weasel had enough, he wasn’t having a good day and being physically humiliated by another short woman was too much to bear. Twisting and turning his body with his head locked tight by her sturdy arm, he managed to create an opening between their bodies. His elbow swung back hard and fast into the cleaner’s soft gut. “Orpph”. The headlock didn’t loosen, so Weasel slammed his elbow again and again into her mid-riff. Her grunts of pain were music to his ears and he was able to break free as her grip weakened.
Spinning around, Weasel was pleased with the pained expression on the woman’s face and her slumped pose as she caressed her stomach. “You look even more ugly now, you ugly little gnome” he snarled. All the anger at the evening’ humiliation blazed red in his brain and before he knew it his fists were pounding the woman’s face over and over. She tried to raise her hands to protect her face and Weasel drove a series of hard punches into her gut. Weasel couldn’t stop laughing as his fists buried themselves again and again in her soft belly. “That will teach you to mess with me you ugly old bitch” he laughed. Hunched over with her small mouth wide open like an old trout, Weasel couldn’t resist the easy target now on offer. He pounded her face blackening her eye and breaking her nose. “Sorry you messed with me you ugly old trout?”. Leaving his battered victim, Weasel walked over to the trolley to see what else he could use on her.
Harry comes around to the sound of sex. The petite rib crusher with the elvin face and black hair is standing a short way ahead with her back to him. “Oh Jim. You bad man” she moaned passionately. She seemed to be doing a series of short quick calve raises with something he couldn’t quite make out trapped between those balls of steel. Feeling those dangerous calves is a pair of hands reaching from in front of her. The black haired pervert is kneeling before her once more with his face up her skirt servicing her again. He moans with pleasure as she constantly flexes her steely calve heads. Suddenly he lets out a long loud moan and a squirt of white liquid shoots from between her calves followed by a series of weaker spurts. Oh my god, the sick bastard. She’s given him a calve-job. Harry looks away in disgust, her moans of pleasure reaching a crescendo as the pervert licks her to a long noisy orgasm.
Breathing heavily, Gill turns and smiles at Harry. Small cold brown eyes peer at him from atop a slim pointed nose. “With us again Harry?” she says picking up a thick box file from her desk. “Then it’s time for some more calve exercises” she tells him as she walks towards him. “Urgh” Harry tries to move back but the pain in his chest and his sprained ankles is too much. “Please no more, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just leave me alone” he whispers. Smiling down at him, she turns with her mighty calves over his face. “Please no” he cries in terror of those fearsome but feminine tools of destruction.
“I came to break into the safe. Please no” but it was too late. The woman lifts his head and places the box file underneath. Before he can move, her calves close in. “Arggh please no”. Sharp rocks are drilling into his temples as the calves grip and lift his head; at least that is what is felt with. “Please please” he cries with the intense pain. “Did you know that the temples are the thinnest part of the cranium?” the woman’s cold voice told him. “PLEASE!” he shrieks. Harry wets himself with fear.
“What were you looking for?” says the man’s voice. “Object, PLEASE, ancient Indian symbol disc PLEASE”. The sharp rounded calve heads of steel are exerting a horrendous pressure concentrated on his temples. “I bet you would like to pass out and escape the pain?” the cold-hearted woman said. “Yes, yes please” he cried. “Too bad. Who sent you?” the woman said without mercy. “PLEASE Bank. BANK” he wailed the sharp calves pushing in so hard, he was in tears. “Which bank?” she asked. “Dark Bank” he wails. “Never heard of them” says the dark haired man. “True, PLEASE, very elite very secret PLEASE” he cries, the pain is intense; it feels like his skull is going to break. “Who is your contact?” she asks. “SIR HUMPHREY” he wails. “Jones?” the man says. “YES YES PLEASE” he cries. Harry sensed his head lowering and knew what that meant; he’d seen and felt it enough times that evening. “PLEASE DEAR GOD NO” he cries but it was too late. His head was rising again, the fearsome calves drilling event harder into his temples within renewed strength. He screamed loudly as he felt his skull crack.
CLANG! The lights went out as something metallic slammed over Weasel’s head. A waste paper bin, he guessed. As he raised his hands to try and pull it off, he felt himself spun around. The motion trapped in the darkness of the bin disorientated his sense of balance. “Orpph” a sledgehammer exploded in his gut, his sharp outburst of air reverberating metallically in the confined space. He slumped around his middle then felt another sledgehammer slam into his deflated middle. “Mmnnnn”. Weasel sank to his knees, clutching his ruined gut unable to breathe.
He heard the cleaner’s voice. “Here let me help you with that. You bastard”. Something gripped the metal bin, her arm he guessed. He could hear the thin metal crunching and bending around his head, as her bulky arm compressed it out of shape. In a moment of blinding pain, the bin was yanked off his head roughly, burning his nose, lips and ears. “Arghh”. He sees the cleaner throws the badly misshapen bin to the ground. “You’ve ruined that with your big head, you bastard” she said angrily. Suddenly a big rough fist is speeding towards his face. The fist explodes, busting his nose in a spray of blood and bruising his upper lip against his teeth.
As he clutches his bloodied face, he sees her hard brown eyes penetrate him like radar. The small mouth set in a grimace of contempt. “I was brought up in East End, mate” she snarled, “I know how to treat a punk like you”. Weasel throws a punch at her face, but she raises an arm and blocks it. The vibrations travel up his arm, it’s like banging your arm against a metal pole. Stepping swiftly towards him, Weasel feels her grab him by the shoulders then sees her leg kick between his legs. “Orrrr” he cries, as his googlies feel like they’ve been hit with a hammer. “You started it mate, I’ll finish it” she tells him with a sneer.
WHUMP! There’s no let up as a strong fist buries itself deep in his middle. “Phhhhh” Weasel is shocked at the strength of the woman’s punches. He is so badly winded that he is completely incapacitated and can only watch with horror as a large hard fist hurtles towards his face. BAM! In breathless agony, Weasel feels the brutal contact of her fist with his left eye. The power of her punch snaps his head back sharply bringing bright flashes of lights to his eyes and shocking his balance. Feeling the swelling around his eye, he would have fallen but he feels the cleaning woman grab the front of his hoodie. Weasel feels himself pulled forward to meet an onrushing fist like a freight train on a collision course with his face. WHAM! a mighty impact hammers his mouth, splits his lip, loosens his front teeth and sends him to his knees.
“I’ve just cleaned that floor! If you get blood all over it, I’ll use your balls as a mop” Maria says standing before him with her hands on her hips. “Now get up and fight like a real man, you big pussy” she taunts. “Bitch” he spits then launches himself at her. Fending off his blows, they tangle. The petite cleaning woman manages to trap his right arm by wrapping a thick arm around it and drives a haymaker deep into his unprotected stomach. “Booooooffff”. As his breath leaves him explosively, he has no time to bend as another mighty punch slams into his other eye shutting it. This is followed by a punch to his cheek so hard he was scared it would break. Punch after punch rains on his face. The woman’s blows are relentless, powerful and fast. A punch to his mouth loosens his teeth, another shuts his other eye, one cuts his brow, the bones in his bust nose are smashed some more and his jaw is hammered so hard it hurts to move his mouth. Weasel totally unable to defend himself as his body jerked and spasmed under each awesome blow.
Before he knew it, he was on the floor, on his hands and knees, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. “I warned you about that, you prick” he heard her tell him. “Now get up” she ordered. Weasel didn’t want to do anything, he was finished, his face and gut ached all over and he just wanted to go home. Ashamed to say it, but he sobbed like a child.
In horror, he feels her thick arms reach down and drag him effortlessly to his feet by the front of his hoodie. Oh god she is too strong for me. As she held him up with her strong arms, Weasel was ashamed to feel his dick harden in response to the power of this small woman as she exerted her superiority over him. An almighty punch to his gut hammers his diaphragm so hard that he nearly spews his dinner and shuts it down. Gasping uselessly for air, a terrifying punch slams into the side his jaw, jerking it so hard to one side that it breaks as the whiplash addles his brain. This is closely followed by a brutal uppercut that snaps his teeth together so hard, they crunch, several breaking. Weasel’s body crashes limply to the floor.
Calmly Maria drizzled some water over the blood on the floor. Bending down, she quietly unbuckles the boy’s trousers and pulls them down. She picks up his legs then straightens with one tucked under each mighty arm. Pressing his balls against the floor with one foot, she manhandles the unconscious boy’s body with ease mopping up the mess.
With Gill watching, I opened the unlocked safe. Inside we were surprised to find it full of small antique pieces and expensive looking jewellery. There was no sign of the encoding device though. “Principal Newman, what have you been up to?” Gill murmurs.
Sir Anthony Jones carefully opens the large packaged box that has just been delivered to his stately home, with anticipation. Peering inside, his face turns red. “Is this some kind of joke?” he yells. From inside the box he removes a badly misshapen sporting trophy cup. The cup was badly dented in the middle from opposite sides as though some kind of vice had crushed it, although he couldn’t work out why anybody would want to do that and send it to him. Just as he was about to discard the box, he notices a piece of white card at the bottom. Picking it up, he sees that it is blank apart from a red wax imprint of the goddess Anahita. His face goes white.