"Damn, woman, when they said you had a dungeon," Debra Jo Fondren shouted, her Texas drawl spiced with equal parts of awe, surprise and envy. "They wasn't lying! Who was your consultant, Satan himself?" The saucy blonde, her trademark thigh length blonde hair braided into a spectacular pony tail, punctuated her remark with a playful and admiring grope of the Mask's extraordinary ass.

"Hands off Hayseed!" the Mask snapped, slapping Debra Jo's hand away. "Never forget who's footing the bill for this little affair."

"Sorry boss, no offense," Debra Jo replied sheepishly, hoping to get off with a verbal reprimand. She quickly, and wisely changed the subject....

"So," she remarked, admiring a state of the art stainless steel stretching rack. "This's where dear Ms. McDougal will be screaming her last, pathetic screams, eh? Awesome..."

"Yes, that's right Aikka, and I'll tighten the controls until she's torn limb from limb, right before the horrified gaze of that worm Irish," the Evil One sneered, a evil smile curling her lips to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. "By the way, is everything prepared on the beach?" the Mask asked of her wedding director. "I want everything to be perfect.."

"Don't worry, the cake just arrived and we've placed it in the center of the gazebo," Debra Jo reported confidently.

"And the champagne?" the Mask demanded.

"In five foot tall pyramids on either side of the aisle, as you ordered...." Debra Jo cooed with pride.

"Excellent, Fondren. You may now fondle my ass for a few seconds if it pleases you...," the Mask chirped haughtily, pleased with herself and her magnificent Dungeon of Death.
********
While the conspirators finished their preparations at the Mask's Malibu Beach mansion, Karen McDougal sorted through her clothes, searching for the outfit she knew would please Irish the most on this, his 'wedding' day. She selected a simple cotton print dress that fell below her knees and a jaunty straw hat he'd bought her on their last holiday together in Cancun.

"And I'll go barefoot," she told herself in the mirror. "All the better to kick Aikka's flabby old ass.."

Karen grabbed a suitable purse, studied the invitation and her Mapquest map. Confident she knew the way to her long-anticipated showdown, she stoked her confidence by recalling images from her previous eleven labors; rising up from her coffin to outwit and manhandle Kelly Gallagher; applying electrified nipple clips to the loathsome Irina Voronina; destroying Alicia Rickter with her hands still tied behind her back and taking the zombie Shannon Stewart out with a single punch down in Napoleonville.

"Aikka, baby, you are soooooooo fucked," Karen giggled as she merged into freeway traffic and floored it.

While Karen sped north to meet her fate, Aikka the Pervert fussed over her appearance in a full length mirror. Her wedding gown was as elegant as it was daring; the short diagonally cut white silk skirt drew attention to her long and superbly toned and tanned legs, encased provocatively in shimmering white spider web design pantyhose. A white lace halter top surrounded, but did not encase, her breathtaking breasts and a white pasty tassel adorned each nipple. Her long, flowing hair was glistening with baby's breath, and a sheer veil hid her face from direct view while her white elbow-length opera gloves accented her firmly toned arms.

She was every inch the personification of excellence in its female form. The old adage that a bride never looks better than on her wedding day certainly applied in this case. But as Aikka sneered at the mirror arrogantly, she simultaneously revealed the blackness of her heart that negated all the purity of her dress. She had prepared for this moment from the day Karen had met and destroyed Victoria Silvstedt so long ago. Finally, she laced up her calf hugging strapped gladiatrix high heels with shimmering clear Plexiglas heels, then reached into a drawer of her dresser and removed the Official Playboy © Karen McDougal Action Figure with Poseable Limbs she always kept close at hand.

"Today, bitch..." she sneered, addressing the doll. "...is the day I take you down." As the final syllable escaped her quivering lips, she threw the doll violently to the floor; cackling gleefully when the head cracked open and rolled away from the body. Aikka felt her self-confidence swelling.

Meanwhile, 'Debra's Diaper Battalion' - as the four blonde Playmates from 2003 were now known - surrounded and supervised the movements of Irish the groom, and his best man, Blizzard. Risking the jealous wrath of both the Mask and Aikka, the girls flirted brazenly and while Charis Boyle and Laurie Jo Fetter kept Blizzard busy, Divini Rae and Marketa Janska took liberties with Irish that were scandalous coming as they were so close to his 'wedding' ceremony. Still, the poor guys had no choice but to play along and, as Blizzard discovered, when you play with Charis you're playing with fire. Irish proceeded with caution - and no small amount of fear - as the big, buff Divini looked more and more like a blonde version of his nightmare date, 'The Castrater Queen'f, Tiffany Taylor!.

Outside, perched on a canyon vista with a clear view of the Mask's Secret Redoubt, Lillian Muller and Lisa Matthews kept watch thru binoculars while pacing nervously behind them, Playmates Dalene Kurtis, Brande Roderick and Jenny McCarthy were spoiling for a fight.

"Just give us the word boss," Brande said solemnly, resting her hand on Lillian's shoulder. "We're ready to kick major ass!"

"Patience dear," Lillian whispered with a smile. "Let the sluts overplay their hand. I've been through a dozen times or more; those cunts never learn..." Just as she completed the sentence, Lisa’s eagle-eye spotted Karen's convertible rounding the final curve before the straight-away that led to the Mask's mansion....
********
It would be an exaggeration to say that Karen felt no 'butterflies' as she approached the hornet's nest alone, but the thought of once again setting eyes on her beloved Irish prevailed over the hostility and anticipation of combat in her mind. The night before, she had had a quiet dinner with Kimberley Conrad Hefner and Lillian Muller. The highlight of Karen's evening was to be introduced to a special fan of hers whom Kimberley had managed, after months of investigative work to locate. Jermaine was quite the story teller, and Karen could sense the romantic impulses emanating from the very available former Mrs. Hefner toward the very welcome visiting wordsmith. Kimberley insisted that Jermaine stay the night, and he was easily persuaded to accept her generous offer. Meanwhile, Karen slipped into her comfortable bed down the hall to complete the remarkably speedy rehabilitation that would leave her fit and feisty for the fireworks to follow (props to RR3!)

Now, our heroine was pulling into the driveway of fate. Casually, she brought the car to a stop, walked nonchalantly toward the entrance and prepared to ring The Mask's bell - she hoped for the first of many times. Inside, Debra Jo had completed preparations. The Mask was poised at the 'altar', with the tuxedo clad Irish and Blizzard standing below to her left. On the right, Debra Jo took her place, dressed in a revealing dominatrix outfit of chrome chains and leather strips in strategic locations. Her majestic four foot long braided pony tail was a thing of beauty as it wafted over the small of her back. Directly behind her, the four blonde playmates assembled, in matching metallic blue silk gowns, each looking more lovely than the next.

Above them all, the Mask had outdone herself; her shimmering brown hair a wild cascade of curls that only the finest Hollywood stylist could keep from being hopelessly chaotic. Probably not ten women on Earth could pull the look off, but she was definitely one of that elite group. Her eggplant purple leather outfit rivaled Debra Jo's in it's audacity and intimidation quotient. Everything about her look, from the wild hair to the steel tipped stilettos shouted...."Fear and worship ME, Lesser Women!!"
********
"OK Ladies!" Lillian commanded. "Time to move." Each of the invading PMOY's carried rappelling ropes, knives and a determined scowls on their faces. By God, if K Mac had the balls to show up at Aikka's wedding alone, they were ready to back her up to the hilt. As Karen's finger pushed the doorbell, literally 60 seconds before Aikka planned to promenade down the aisle, Lillian and her PMOY's set foot on The Mask's roof, knives drawn and rappelling gear secured. The ringing doorbell surprised everybody - except The Woman in the Mask.

"Get the door Fondren," she demanded calmly. “And escort our special guest in. The wedding is just about to start, and the fun is just beginning...."

Debra Jo complied and swung the door wide open. Without hesitation, smiling broadly, straw hat in hand, and barefoot, Karen stepped into the room, the very definition of cool, collected confidence. "Why, Debra," she observed. "I've never seen you look quite so...dominating! It's a good look and I can only hope I age as graciously as you..."

"Shut up, BEECH, and SEET down," Marketa Janska growled in her best Euro-slut accent. "The bride ees ready to apeer!" She thrust Karen rudely into a chair nearby, none too gently. Marketa's hand pushed down firmly on K Mac's left shoulder. Divini Rae quickly moved into position on the right.

With Karen accounted for, Debra Jo smiled wickedly at The Mask and pushed a button. The strains of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ jolted the state of the art sound system alive, and all eyes turned toward the door from which the bride would be emerging. All eyes, that is, except Irish's and Karen's. As the two mistreated lovers locked into a gaze, each felt the impact of 500 volts of lost love course through his body. The moment of truth had finally come and the door hinges creaked as the first open-toed white high heel shoe signaled the end of the mystery of Aikka....

While every other set of eyes in the room focused on the vision of the emerging bride, Blizzard (poster boy for ADD) was taking a survey of the magnificent room they all occupied. The Mask's Mansion was worth eight figures, easy - and the first number was NOT a "1", perched on a serene bluff overlooking the blue Pacific. The architectural 'signature' of the room was a gently flowing parabolic curve of two story tall glass panels that extended more than 100 feet and which afforded an uninterrupted view of the magnificent ocean and the pristine, sandy beach beneath. If for some reason K Mac blew a piston on the twelfth lap, and he was compelled to being The Mask's private love slave for a while, Blizzard figured he could get used to this place in a hurry...

For K Mac, the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The brides open toed heel became a toned, tanned calf, then a thigh to respect and fear. Finally the entire woman emerged, her face still obscured by the lace veil she wore. K Mac gulped hard at the moment of recognition. Even before the face came into view, she recognized her rival. She, and all the other PMOY's had been dead wrong. There was simply no mistaking those tits -- the most famous and fabulous in the entire realm of Hefnerdom. Aikka the Pervert was PETRA VERKIAK!

One of Karen's greatest survival techniques was the ability to keep a clear and active mind in the face of shock and danger. Her cognitive powers came to the fore, and as the villainess in white lace strode closer, she finally broke the code which had been hiding in plain site for a year....rearrange A-I-K-K-A P-E-R-V-E-R-T and you get... P-E-T-R-A V-E-R-K-I-A-K.

As the 'bride' slithered next to her, Karen's jaw dropped. Petra lifted her veil and stared an incomparable stare of intimidation down onto K Mac. Verkiak's eyes were positively reptilian in their sinister coldness.

Divini and Marketa continued to restrain Karen as Petra bent over her and casually cupped her tasseled breasts, forcing them to within an inch of Karen's wide, blue eyes. "Do the world a favor, bitch...give it up and worship your conqueror. I'll take it easy on you. Why go to your coffin beat to a pulp when you have a chance to be such a lovely, rosy-cheeked little corpse?"

Petra ended her remark with a none too gently pinch on the cheek just as Debra Jo reached around from behind Petra and gratuitously yanked Karen's earlobe for a cheap sadistic thrill!

Suddenly, without warning, the room exploded with the sound of shattered glass. From five points along the glass wall, pairs of combat boots smashed through the glass. Within seconds, the figures of Brande Roderick, Lisa Matthews, Dalene Kurtis, Jenny McCarthy and Lillian Muller stood - hands on hips, lips curled in a determined snarl, blonde hair blowing in the sea breeze that was wafting through the openings in the wall, and knees bent athletically, poised for attack.

K Mac suddenly felt the burden removed from her shoulder as Divini and Markets withdrew to face the new challenge. Our heroine responded to the changing environment more quickly than Petra did. Karen thrust her leg out and whipped it expertly behind the arch-villainess' knees. The THUD heard round the room was Petra's awesome ass hitting the cold, tile floor. Karen had concentrated on the drive up to the Mansion on internalizing all the techniques and attitudes that Lennox Lewis had taught her in London so many months before. But, for some reason, in this moment of crisis and opportunity, it was Muhammad Ali, not Lewis, who she was channeling.

As she rose from her chair and stood before the fallen bride, she returned her fallen rival's stare with an impish glance, and waxed poetic...

"Eyes like a Lizard,
Tits like a Cow:
Getting your ass kicked,
Starting right…NOW!"

Meanwhile, all around the room, members of Lillian's PMOY Invasion force were pairing off against Debra Jo's Diaper Brigade. For the leaders, Lillian and Fondren, it was but the latest skirmish in a war that had spanned four decades. Lillian held a strong lifetime advantage over the tramp from Texas, but their last battle, at Glamourcon 28, had ended in Debra Jo's favor, thanks in part to timely and treacherous interference from Lindsey Vuolo and Debra Jo's favorite comrade in arms, Devin deVasquez. Lillian was looking for a little payback, and Debra Jo balled up her fists and laughed dismissively at her rival, boosted by the memory of her most recent triumph.

With two of the most gorgeous faces of the 21st century in the same room, it was only right that Brande and Marketa sought each other out for battle. And brash and cocky Jenny, no stranger to uphill battles, called out the buff Amazon Divini Rae for a little one on one. Although giving away a few inches and a few pounds, Dalene's stunning blue eyes flashed in anticipation of teaching bully girl Laurie Jo Fetter a lesson in defeat and humiliation. And finally, in what promised to be a battle for the ages, athletic ageless wonder Lisa Matthews set her sights on the resident rattlesnake, a catfighter wholly unfamiliar with defeat, Blizzard's nemesis, Charis Boyle! Bliz caught the glances those two were exchanging, and in that moment he would have gladly surrendered his right arm for a digital camcorder.
Karen rose from the chair, spoiling for a fight with the despised ‘Aikka’! Petra, scrambling backwards like a sand crab, also found her feet and glared sullenly at the on-charging Karen. With a banshee shriek, Karen lowered her head and bull-rushed Petra into The Mask's 'marriage altar'; sending The Mask, Irish and Blizzard all scrambling for cover. From her hands and knees, the Woman in the Mask reached into her purse and removed a small silver derringer; quickly took aim at Karen's head, having decided that the chaos raging around her needed to be rapidly - and cowardly - concluded! But as she rose to her knees and took aim at the back of Karen's skull with a two handed, white-knuckle grip, Blizzard leapt into action....

"KMac, get DOWN!!!" Bliz shouted as he reached over to wrestle the gun away from The Mask.

The arch-villainess succeeded in squeezing off one shot, but Blizzard's heroic effort sent the bullet harmlessly into the ceiling. Instinctively, the startled McDougal spun around and struck, landing the spin kick of her life directly to The Mask's jutting chin. The wild-haired brunette's head moved 180 degrees in a nano-second, and her brain went 'TILT' on impact. She hit the floor dazed and confused while Karen, her white teeth flashing, took advantage of The Mask's vulnerable ass and unloaded; kicking her arch-enemy's shapely behind halfway to Nevada.

"Irish!" she shouted! “Get this fuckin' bitch out of here. You and Bliz escort her ass back to that famous dungeon of hers. You've got a full years' worth of payback coming, boyfriend. Get busy...and HAVE FUN! But, one thing...leave that mask on 'til I get back. I want the privilege of exposing this cunt myself."

"10-4, Boss,” Irish chuckled, rudely lifting the woozy villainess from the floor with a hearty hair-haul, then folding the Superslut's lush, limp body over his shoulder in a classic firefighter's carry while the heroic Blizzard brought up the rear, licking his lips in anticipation.

‘Now where were we?’ Karen asked herself, turning her attention back to Petra who, taking advantage of the Mask brouhaha, had taken flight! Karen's eyes quickly surveyed the room and caught a fleeting glimpse of the bridal train disappearing through the door that led down to the beach. "Run all you want, Chicken-shit!" Karen laughed. "I'll chase your fat ass down eventually..."

While Karen sprinted off in pursuit of her evil prey, the battle between Debra Jo and Lillian was turning bitter for The Texas Tramp! Lillian worked Debra Jo's belly with a series of brutal sledgehammer fists that almost disappeared completely as they sank deep into Fondren's navel as her ab muscles weakened. A crisp uppercut followed, dumping Debra Jo on her shapely ass. Lillian took a firm grip on Debra Jo's long ponytail and jerked her up onto wobbly legs. With a huge, grunt-assisted tug, Lillian spun her adversary in a circle, lifting Debra Jo off her feet. Lillian spun and spun, sending the hapless villainess into orbit around her.

Debra Jo's long strange trip ended when Lillian released her hold and sent the Texan flying head long into the large pyramid of champagne glasses, sending the 'bubbly' flying everywhere (which included the face of Laurie Jo Fetter, who was living large, having just secured a stifling schoolgirl pin on poor Dalene Kurtis!) As the sadistic Fetter prepared to land the first (of many, she assumed) backhand bitch-slaps on the trapped Dalene, a tsunami of cold champagne washed over her face and blinded her eyes. She screamed and instinctively raised her hands to her face. The hold broken, Dalene seized the moment and bucked her hips, sending Fetter flying sideways. Dalene righted herself onto hands and knees, then cocked her right leg back and released a textbook perfect mule kick that landed her heel right to the bridge of Fetter's nose. The youthful villainess toppled over backward; out cold!

Debra Jo’s repeated attempts (and failure) to find her footing on the slippery, champagne-drenched floor ended when Muller came up behind her and rudely jerked her up by the hair. Little did Debra Jo understand that her 'bad hair day' was just beginning! Lillian had but one goal in mind - total, decisive, humiliating victory and a climax so devastating that she could declare a triumphant end to her ongoing twenty-five year dispute with the Texas blonde. Muller's detective work during the week had told her that the Mask's ride of choice was a vintage silver Jaguar convertible and that it was parked in the garage right outside the kitchen.

Taking firm control of Fondren via an arm twist, Muller directed her rival toward the garage. A week before, Muller had shared a fine Pinot Grigio with K Mac and Kimberley Conrad, and had heard K Mac's famous showdown with Layla Roberts, which had concluded on the hood of a Jaguar, with the car's famous hood ornament shoved deep into Layla's pink pussy. Would history repeat itself? Damn straight, Lillian chuckled, as she dragged the sobbing Fondren behind her. A couple of withering bitchslaps removed any lingering doubt as to who would be the top dog in this latest installment of the longest standing feud in Hefnerdom.

Lillian administered a final left hook to the chin, then stripped the woozy and pliant Debra of her remaining garments and undergarments. Securing another excruciating arm twist, Muller pinned Fonfren face down on the hood of the car, then kicked her legs apart. Lillian took a firm grip of Debra's ass and maneuvered her wide open womanhood onto the cold cast steel head of the hood ornament. Once the initial contact was confirmed, Muller thrust the Texan's ass downward and forced the entire hood ornament deep inside her. Fondren shrieked - motivated in equal parts by ecstasy and agony. Lillian forced Fondren's ass up, down and all around to be sure that the experience would be unforgettable for the hapless villainess.

But things were just about to get worse for the moaning Texas slut. Lillian took a healthy handful of Fondren's mile long hair and wove a section carefully around both windshield wipers.

"Don't go anywhere, Hon," Lillian purred. "I'll be right back!"

She raced back inside, opened a drawer in the kitchen and located the ignition key. She eagerly returned to the place she had left Fondren impaled and opened the driver's side door. She started the Jag up and turned the wipers on. Immediately, the motion of the blades jerked Debra's head up suddenly, and just as suddenly, the return motion slammed her harshly back into the hood face down. Repeat. Repeat. Lillian leapt out of the car and opened the garage door to make sure that carbon monoxide didn't bring Fondren's agony to a short and fatal end. No, with the hood beginning to heat up ( all the better to bake her tits!) and the inexorable motion of the wipers, Lillian had her despised rival right where she wanted her. But, dammit, she just couldn't resist...a brand new fan belt was dangling from a hook on the wall, beckoning Lillian. She took one glimpse at Fondren's alabaster white ass cheeks and said, "Oh hell, why not!!"

A baker's dozen of hard rubber spanks left Debra's ass streaked with angry crimson welts. Satisfied that she had made her point, Lillian returned to the house, basking in personal triumph and eager to see how her PMOY posse was faring against Fondren's 2003 Playmate heels.

Across the way, Irish and Blizzard had successfully escorted the discombobulated Black Mask to her own state of the art dungeon. The Mask had plunked down a cool million to make the dungeon the showcase for the anticipated end of Karen McDougal, but her plans had gone very much awry! Irish took a visual inventory of the chains, clamps, winches, etc., at his disposal and then paused to take a mental inventory of the abuses visited upon him by masked brunette over the past year - repeated crotch kicks, testicle tourniquets, ass spankings with studded lashes, leather gloved slaps and on and on!

His pecker quickly petrified as the concept of PAYBACK danced in his head. Blizzard quickly proved his proficiency with ropes and wrenched the Mask's wrist behind her, just above the ass crack. A master of time management, while Irish had been daydreaming Blizzard had rudely stripped the Mask down to...well, to just her Mask!

"Pretty impressive in your birthday suit, I must say," Irish bellowed as he surveyed the curvaceous uber-bitch from all angles. Blizzard prepared some stainless steel chains, ceiling mounted and jacked the villainess up with loops of chain around each elbow and ankle. Soon, the Mask was floating in air, horizontally, six feet above the floor, legs spread to the max.

"Let me DOWN!!" she barked angrily. "I'll have you bastards castrated....I swear!"

"Fat chance, Fuckface," Irish laughed, surprising himself with his self-assurance. It really was astonishing, seeing the Big Kahuna of Evil dangling helplessly before him. "You know, Black Mask, I really want to take this chance to express my deepest feelings toward you, but sadly, words fail me," he remarked, unbuckling his pants.

Blizzard responded to the visual signal from Irish by lowering the elbow chains and raising the ankle ones, leaving the Mask in a very uncomfortable downward sloping position with her head about four feet from the floor. Irish had dropped his trousers and underwear as well, and he bent down slightly to shove his bare, hairy ass an inch from the Mask's nose. Suddenly, the heroic firefighter released a noxious, and I daresay toxic, fart which exploded upon release, directly in the face of his long time assailant. Blizzard raced for safety down the hall, his nose pinched to thwart the stench. He arrived in the living room just in time to witness Brande Roderick's perfect over the shoulder toss of the very bruised and battered Marketa Janska. After the Czech playmate came to rest on the cold floor, delirious and utterly defeated. Brande triumphantly ground her left heel between the loser's battered boobs, and offered a victorious high-five to Blizzard who had just arrived on the scene.

"Looks like Czech-mate to me!" Blizz quipped, drawing a hearty chuckle from Brande.

"There, now, my Big Bad Bitch," Irish laughed; taunting the thoroughly flabbergasted Mask. "That's just a taste of my true feelings for you.” Then he thought. "Just wait for K Mac to come back with Aikka's scalp and we can unmask this mega-cunt once and for all!"

Down on the beach, K Mac was in hot pursuit of the fleeing Petra Verkiak....and gaining with every long-legged stride. The sand beneath her feet felt warm and gritty as Karen accelerated down the beach, in hot pursuit of the fleeing coward, Perta Verkiak (aka Aikka the Pervert). Running barefoot on the beach had long been a part of Karen's fitness training. And although Petra had a considerable head start, K Mac knew full well she was the more athletic, and ( how shall I put this...?) more aerodynamic runner on this particular afternoon. And sure enough, with each passing second her enemy's bootyliscious ass was coming into clearer focus.

Ahead, as she surveyed the lay of the land, Karen noticed three features of the landscape. To the left, near the water was a beach volleyball net, where, presumably, the blonde slut firm of Fetter, Boyle, Janska and Ray had been amusing themselves earlier. To the right stood a large octagonal gazebo, elaborately decorated in anticipation of Aikka and Irish's wedding reception. Inside, Karen caught a first glimpse of a huge pink and white wedding cake at the center of the gazebo.

"That's one cake I'm gonna take a big slice out of,” she promised herself, as she continued to close the gap on Petra. But Karen was shocked to see that, further down the beach, a JetSki was docked. She grew more than a little pissed as she put two and two together....after all this time and trouble, was Aikka planning to run away like a little wussy? "No friggin' way!" Karen swore and kicked her stride into overdrive.

Karen was feeling the burn, all right, but, Petra was almost in reach. Then, to Karen's surprise, Verkiak suddenly turned away from the JetSki, and right into the gazebo. K Mac followed right behind in hot pursuit. As she applied the brakes, she suddenly faced her wild-eyed archenemy, who was clutching a ten foot length of cast iron anchor chain, coated with rust, that had been left conveniently in a chest inside the gazebo. There was no fear evident on Petra's face, only rage. Escape had never been her plans; in fact, her plan was to lure Karen to the gazebo where her stash of weapons was hidden. By the time K Mac had figured out that the hunter (her) had become the hunted, the impact of a sharply swung metal chain was being felt in her right ear.

Shed’ never felt a blow so stinging and strong, and her knees buckled immediately. She reached out instinctively to support herself on one of the gazebo beams, only to feel the sharp crack of the chain spanking her across the shoulder blades. The pain was accompanied by a taunting, maniacal laughter from the woman who had tormented her from afar for more than a year. At last, the confrontation was up-close and personal, but decidedly not to Karen's advantage. Wielding the chain with her left hand, Petra skillfully reached down into her chest and pulled out a rusty long handled grappling hook, the kind used to bring marlins and tuna aboard fishing boats.

Karen tried to clear her head and assess the new menace that the hook represented, just as Petra expertly positioned it behind her victim's neck and yanked Karen's head forward. With the chain wrapped tightly over her fist, the villainess swung mightily and connected with a brutally effective straight left jab to Karen’s incoming kisser! Karen gagged and spit four bloody teeth onto the sand, while Petra gleefully lifted her right knee into our heroine's all too vulnerable womanhood.

"You suck, McDougal!” Petra taunted, as she took a moment to catch her breath. "For the life of me, I'll never understand what Irish saw in you. Lucky for him, he'll be marrying a real woman in a few minutes...after I turn your pathetic ass into shark chum!"

Fortunately, back at the beach house, the forces of virtue were enjoying greater success. Poor, slow-witted Divini Rae was suffering a fearful beating at the hands of the incomparable mind gamer, Jenny McCarthy. Jen had taunted Divini into a blue rage, then picked the bigger, stronger woman apart with a masterful combination of verbal, and decidedly, non-verbal jabs. Rae's tear streaked face was a collection of bruises and bumps, and her mammoth breasts were swollen and drooping lifelessly after a patented J Mac non-stop assault. The trash-talking pseudo-actress put her victim out of her misery with an emphatic uppercut that sent Divini stumbling backwards down the staircase to the beach. Once Rae's limp body had come to a complete stop at the foot of the stairs, Jenny casually walked down, whistling cheerfully, and hair hauled her enemy upright, then dragged her, cavewoman style, up the staircase again, making sure that each and every step made painful contact with Divini's already well-spanked rump. Jenny then helped herself to a length of curtain pulls and trussed poor Divini up like a stuffed Christmas goose, whistling all the while.

Meanwhile, back in the garage, Debra Jo Fondren's head continued to be jerked back and forth by the windshield wipers wrapped around her long, flowing hair. Not to mention the huge hunk of metal--a Jaguar hood ornament-- thrust deep up her pussy. There was no relief in sight for the vintage playmate who was fifty-something going on ninety to judge by the looks of her.

And what of the fearsome Woman in the Black Mask? Well, her masked face was doubtless twenty different shades of raging red, but she was helplessly chained and at the mercy of Irish and Blizzard, who were only too willing to indulge their naughtiest juvenile impulses at her expense.

But down at the beach gazebo Karen’s situation remained grim. Petra had long since abandoned her rusty weapons, as her fists and feet were all she needed to pummel the groggy McDougal. A spectacular series of body shots and jaw-breakingly strong head shots had reduced K Mac to near meat puppet status. Verkiak's reptilian eyes glowed with justifiable pride as she put McDougal flat on her back with a huge overhead right.

"Since you won't be joining us for the reception, I suppose it's only right that you get a little taste of the wedding cake now.....that is before I tit smother you into the great beyond,” Petra cackled. She drew out a long slicing knife and carefully cut a large piece of the sugary cake, heavily laden with pink frosting. Verkiak forced Karen's bleeding mouth open wide and shoved the entire fistful of cake down her throat. McDougal choked and gagged, while Petra repositioned her hulking body and prepared to execute a gleefully anticipated crotch claw. McDougal was powerless to resist.

On a hillside nearly a half mile away, a pair of dazzling green eyes stared through a pair of powerful binoculars. "I'll be damned. She’s DOING it! Finally somebody really is kicking McDougal's ass...but good,” AnneMarie Goddard chuckled, handing the glasses to her frowning accomplice. A penetrating set of brown eyes surveyed the same scene, and offered a different perspective, through clenched teeth.

"First of all, Anne dear, somebody’s ALREADY kicked McDougal's ass, ME!" There was something sinister in Tiffany Taylor's voice that discouraged any further debate. "And you watch!" she continued. "Petra's just dumb enough to fuck this up yet..."

"No way! McDougal is toast!" the chorus of three argued defiantly. The McDougal-hating trio consisted of two old-school sluts: Echo Johnson and Morena Corwin, plus a very promising, very intimidating newcomer; Miss February 2004 Aliya Wolf! Although this meeting of five Playmate heels was certainly not coincidental, their purposes were entirely mysterious.

The Goddardesque interpretation of the situation below looked even more persuasive once Petra applied a crotch claw with gusto to the gasping, wheezing shell of what had once been the mighty Karen McDougal! With three fingers thrust deep into McDougal's moist womanhood, the self-styled ‘Aikka the Pervert’ basked in the glory of the moment. She never doubted that she would prevail, but she never expected it to be SO EASY! Petra smiled diabolically as she admired the huge cauliflower ear growing from K Mac's skull, and broadened the smile as she glimpsed at the wedding cake, pink and gaudy, protruding through the gap where K Mac's front teeth had been. Confident her sharp nails had shredded Karen's tender pinkness to perfection, Petra gazed at her still covered breasts and in a nanosecond, she'd shredded the cloth and got her clutches on McDougal's defenseless puppies.

"Time to make the pizza,” she cackled as she treated K Mac's natural wonders like two piles of dough needing kneading. Karen's protesting groans were muffled by the still uneaten cake thrust into her mouth.

Minutes of pure agony passed as Petra used every dirty trick in the book on K Mac's rack, including rubbing the anchor chain lengths rapidly back and forth while pressing down with all her might. Petra's body was glistening with a light coat of sweat as her exertion in the hot sun continued to its (presumably) fatal climax.

"Well, bitch, this really has been a lot of fun, but I do have a wedding and a honeymoon awaiting me, and I've already tested Irish's patience, I'm afraid. And I'm sure by now my bridesmaids have polished off that goon squad of has-beens that came to save you. And, above all, I mustn't disappoint The Mask. After all, without her very generous contribution, the twelve labors would have gone Chapter 11 months ago. Now let's share the tit smother of a 'lifetime', shall we?” Petra droned on in the altered voice she had assumed in her alter-ego Aikka.

Petra positioned herself in a schoolgirl pin position above the prostrate Karen. She wrapped her fists tightly around the chain and drew it tightly over Karen's throat. Then slowly, but ever so surely, she lowered her legendary breasts onto McDougal's flustered face. Tit flesh flowed like magma across the entire surface, cutting off the air supply instantly. The huge wedge of wedding cake remained lodged in Karen's mouth and throat. Petra pressed the full weight of her massive mammaries onto our heroine, her lizard-like eyes focusing on the horizon ahead and her evil mind grasping the emerging reality of a world without McDougal.

Karen was summoning every reserve of strength and stamina she could locate. Hers was a world of total, stifling darkness as Verkiak's awesome assets did their deadly work. Karen raged with anger at herself to have completed eleven taxing labors, having taken the measure of brutes like Elke Jeinsen, Victoria Silvstedt, Linn Thomas, Crista Nicole and Brooke Richards, and now, having finally caught a glimpse of her beloved Irish, she’d folded up like a cheap bridge table in the final confrontation with Aikka the Pervert!

Perhaps it was the thought of that humiliation itself that kept her going - her angry pride simply had not yet finished spanking her ego enough. Suddenly, and without warning, the darkness turned to day as K Mac opened her eyes and took by far the deepest breath of her life. But the chain remained tight across her throat. But having floated on the very edge of death for very minutes, the oxygen was amazingly stimulating. The concept of 'rebirth' was something she now instinctively understood. As Karen’s eyes struggled to focus, Petra's monstrous mounds hovered just above her, and beyond them, the villainess' hateful smirking face lurked.

"Call me an old softy,” Aikka chuckled. "But I can't send you to Hades without telling you who's behind that Black Mask. You DO want to know, don't you, Loser? I'll just whisper her name into your one good ear, and you can die a thoroughly tormented woman..."

Petra leaned forward and whispered the despised name in K Mac's left ear. The very syllables, delivered by Aikka's slithering tongue, jolted Karen like 1000 volts of electrical current. Her eyes flashed with a brightness that wiped the smirk off Petra's face instantly. And as the life force surged miraculously through her, Karen used the strength that 100,000 sit ups provided her. She lifted her legs straight up and with a mighty grunt, bucked her hips. Petra fell backward awkwardly and, as luck would have it, her head came to rest right between Karen's knees. A blast of adrenaline powered McDougal's legs together and they clamped down on Verkiak's skull like a hydraulic vice-grip. As suddenly and as swiftly as they had risen, Karen's legs return forcefully to the ground. Petra's skull slammed into the sand with a force that caused the needles in a nearby earthquake tracking station to jump.
********
Back in the house, the last remaining villainess bridesmaid, Charis Boyle, was bravely resisting the downward spiral in the bad girl's fortune. She was locked in what was truly a ‘catfight for the ages’ with the supremely athletic, but aging, Lisa Matthews. But a great catfighter can cheat Father Time only so long, and Lisa, whose exploits were the stuff of legend, was up against a foe of fearsome capabilities. The fight was taking place behind locked doors in The Mask's cavernous master bedroom, free from any and all outside interference. Both woman bore the marks of a furious battle; Charis' two black eyes were matched by Lisa's pair; both woman’s breasts were so criss-crossed with claw marks they resembled roadmaps of a major urban center! The match had featured nearly an hour of non-stop hair pulling, nipple pinching, pussy kicking, throat choking, leg twisting combat with no verdict in sight…until a savage stomach kick by Charis sent Lisa into the wall, and after impact, to her knees. Charis exploited the opening, positioning Lisa's torso inside her thighs and clamping down. She locked her exceptionally long legs together at the ankles, and trapped Lisa's already wounded breasts inside the vice. Charis grabbed a fistful of Lisa's hair and jerked her head from side to side as she tightened her leg lock.

"It's over, Grandma,” Charis taunted. "I'm gonna squeeze you shitless. And you nipples? Refer to them in the past tense, Sugar, 'cause your tits are a thing of the past...just a fading memory."

Lisa gritted her teeth angrily and left the snotty remarks unchallenged. Charis continued to toy with her like a bobble head doll. Finally Lisa summoned the strength and dexterity to move one arm slightly. Charis intensified her squeezing as she felt the movement, but Lisa had achieved her short term goal. She formed a claw with one hand and began to carve five bloody streaks in Charis' upper thigh.

"BITCH!!!!!" screamed Charis in a voice colored with equal parts rage and anguish.

But Lisa continued to dig into the alabaster flesh, leaving a patchwork of sickly red streaks in her wake. Lisa then collected what little strength she had left and rocked to and fro until she unlocked Charis' ankles and rolled away free. Lisa scrambled to her feet an instant before her taller rival could. It would be Charis' fate never to be stand again. With her enemy beneath her, Lisa unleashed a savage barrage of kicks and knee thrusts that reduced the defenseless Charis to a flesh puddle in a matter of seconds. The normally mild mannered Matthews surprised even herself with the ferocity and precision of her attack. But nothing less would have carried the day against so gifted an opponent.

Like an old gunslinger from countless 1950's westerns, who had barely managed to fight off the challenge of a younger, quicker outlaw, Lisa took a deep breath, reached down and grabbed a fistful of Charis' hair, dragging her limp body into the living room where the previous beaten Divini Rae, Laurie Fetter and Marketa Janska dangled forlornly in front of the panoramic window. Tied at the wrists and ankles, the three blonde bridesmaids looked for all the world like the sexiest sides of beef ever seen. And soon where there were three, a fourth was strung up to complete the cycle of a job well done. But an exhausted Lisa Matthews had gladly conceded the rope work to Lillian Muller, who understood full well her valiant warriors fatigue and distress.

"Next time,” Lisa whispered to herself. "I might not be so lucky...."

Then leaning back in a comfortable chair, she closed her eyes and prayed that there would never be a 'next time'. As her heart rate slowed and she surrendered to a state of utter relaxation, a pair of experienced hands began to gently massage her aching neck.

Blizzard had suffered mightily under Charis’ tyrannical thumb, now he owed the woman who had conquered and neutralized her a particular debt of gratitude. There was something vital and life changing in the intrepid Northwoodsman's gentle touch and it registered in the cool, quite core deep within Lisa Matthews' spirit. In the midst of recovery from a painful divorce, Lisa understood instinctively and instantly that she would be demanding more of his 'special touch' in the future. He was but vaguely aware of the lucky turn his life was taking, but for the moment, he was spellbound by the pleasing sight of that Charis witch twisting in agony before him.

Down on the beach, as surely as the sun was setting and the tide was crashing onto shore, the menace of Aikka the Pervert was also crashing - down, and quickly fading away! Petra had fallen from the edge of complete, final and fatal victory to within a millimeter of unconsciousness after her skull had been slammed to the ground. While her archenemy tried to clear an acre's worth of cobwebs from her head, Karen struggled to lift her badly damaged body from the sand. She was a mess - with the toothless smile of a career minor league hockey player; the right side of her head swollen up like a misshapen carnival balloon; her pussy lips were indescribably sore and her breasts were battered to a pulp. But her tormentor swayed groggily beneath her, and the prospect of a payback so pure and so complete forced a smile onto her puffy, bleeding lips. And, dammit, first things first, she spit out what remained of the hideous wedding cake from her mouth and rubbed it into Petra's sweaty navel.

"On you feet, asshole,” Karen demanded, jerking Petra onto wobbly legs by the hair. She secured a trusty armbar, then spun Petra in circles, finally releasing her to stumble helplessly into one of the sturdy upright pole supporting the gazebo. Verkiak took the impact face first, and dropped instantly to her knees, her trembling hands covering a badly broken nose. "Know what we call that?” Karen asked, pointing her finger at Petra's wrecked nose. "'Round here, we call it....a good start! Fasten your seat belt, mother fucker."

In the annals of payback, a new standard was about to be set. Karen's iron will demanded everything of her damaged, fatigued body. Aikka the Pervert would have been much safer trapped in a soon to be repossessed double-wide in a flat Kansas cornfield with a tornado bearing down. Karen nearly broke her knuckles re-arranging Verkiak's reptilian facial features and punching huge sinkholes into her belly. K Mac's knee blasted into Petra's unprotected womanhood like a white hot piston on an old trustworthy Peterbilt. Finally, even a body as voluptuous as Petra's can take no more, and as the sun continued its descent, she finally collapsed face down in the sand, beaten to a pulp.

"Just gettin' warmed up, Aikka!” Karen sneered. "Don't fade on me now..." She rolled the villainess over on her back, and pinched her nipples fiendishly to revive the fading loser. Karen glanced over to her left and took note of the volleyball court close by. "A-hah!" her greatly revived brain sang to itself.

Soon, Karen was helping herself to the ropes and anchoring spikes that held the net in place. Lickety-split, she put them to good use. Securing Petra's ankles and wrists separately, she fashioned the villainess' body into an "X" shape, stretching the limbs to their full limit before securing the spikes into the ground. Karen chuckled at the sight of Petra's moist pink pussy lips spread wide open before her. Our heroine took a moment to stroll through the gazebo, and found among the wedding paraphernalia several implements of bitch torture. Atop the tall cake, she spied a miniature plastic groom in tuxedo, just the perfect size and shape for her purposes. She grasped it firmly in her right hand, then plopped down on the sand, directly in front of Petra's open-for-business womanhood.

"Since it's pretty obvious that I've screwed up your honeymoon plans, Dear Aikka. I think it's only fair that I give you a little taste of what the groom might have had in store for you...."

With that, she rudely plunged the plastic groom figurine head first deep into Petra's slippery passage. The villainess bellowed in both agony and delight as Karen plunged the object in and out of her rapidly and repeatedly. It came as no surprise to K Mac that the sensation caused the super sexed Verkiak to climax prodigiously.

With a wry smile, Karen left her moaning and panting enemy to savor the afterglow and returned with a chilled bottle of champagne. She targeted Petra's broken nose with the cork, scoring a direct hit! Then she cooled down the villainesses hot pussy, thrusting the neck of cold glass straight up into it and letting the bubbles burst forth to flow deep inside her!

"Cold! Omigod, it's so cooooooooooold!!” Petra shrieked while Karen busted a gut laughing. And, finally, the time had come to enjoy the reality of a moment she had been dreaming about literally every night for a year. Karen couldn't count the times she had awakened from her sleep imaging the triumphant moment when she would mount Aikka's ugly face and ride her like a rented mule.

From the viewing prospect above, Tiffany Taylor handed Anne Marie Goddard the binoculars with a smug grin. "I told you she'd fuck it up,” Tiffany said with contempt dripping from her lips. "Now you owe ME dinner, Ms. Euroslut." She pinched AnneMarie's awesome ass for emphasis. Just as the five spying heels prepared to leave the scene of Aikka's demise, they noticed a familiar vehicle snaking up the road to the beach house.

"It's her!" Morena gasped, recognizing a car that had stopped in the driveway. The driver emerged and revealed that Morena's "her" was Kimberley Conrad Hefner!

"Gimme those damn binoculars,” Echo Johnson demanded. As she focused on the opening passenger side door, Echo seethed, "....and son of a bitch, it's HIM, too."

She handed the binoculars to a demanding and skeptical Tiffany Taylor. "You're right....why that little limp dick,” she whispered dismissively before handing the binoculars to Aliya Wolf.

"Sonny Boy,” Wolf laughed, "You are soooooooooooooooo fucked."

The wicked women then piled into AnneMarie's tinted Escalante and made their escape.
********
"Move your ass, Jermaine,” Kimberley scolded. "No telling what's happened in there."

Jermaine was the first to see the ongoing torment of Debra Jo in the garage. Mercifully, he slipped into the driver's seat on the Jag and turned off the infernal wipers. Then as Kimberley looked on with a shit eating grin, Jermaine untangled Debra Jo’s tresses, and vainly tried to remove the hood ornament from her pussy.

"Jermaine, don't you know that's a job for two, not one?,” Kimberley teased.

"I do now!" Jermaine replied as, with a loud 'POP' Debra Jo enjoyed a moment of freedom from the Jag until Kimberley secured a painful armband behind her back and marched her inside where Ms. Hefner slung 'Debra the Dishrag' rudely to kitchen floor, then stepped over her on her way to greet Lillian Muller. Kimberley chuckled approvingly at the four dangling bridesmaids as she hugged each of their conquerors.

"Where is that oh-so-scary Woman in the Black Mask?,” Kimberley asked Lillian.

Blizzard chimed in with an opinion.

"Believe me, if you go back there, you've got a lot more to fear from Irish and that taco special he had last night than you do from The Mask."

"So you're saying she's no problem?,” Kimberley asked him.

"Harmless as a new born fawn,” Blizzard replied.

"Young Man, I like your style,” Kimberley smiled.

"Whoa. Hands off my man,” Lisa Matthews chuckled, shooting a mock aggressive glance at her friend Kimberley.

"Well, then my next question is.....where is Karen, and where o where is the mysterious Aikka???"

The question went through Irish like a lightening bolt!

Everybody had been so focused on the chaos inside the house that he -- and everybody else, had completely forgotten about K Mac and Aikka!

"I'll go with you,” Jermaine volunteered, and he and Irish dashed down the beach, on the path that Irish had seen Karen take more than an hour before.
********
On the beach, Karen was taking her time destroying her great rival. First, she skimmed off handfuls of sugary, slimy frosting from the wedding cake and smeared it all over Petra, leaving an extra thick layer on her face, and leaving a big glob on each nipple. Then right on top of the frosting, she shoveled handfuls of sand, coating the villainess from head to toe.

“Please,” Petra whimpered weakly, "you win. Aikka is finished."

"That's not exactly front page news, Dumb-ass!" Karen spat. "And, no, I am not EVEN close to finished with you. You steal my man; send damn near twenty paid assassins after me; ship my ass clear around the world; beat me to a pulp with a rusty chain....and now you whine 'PLEEEEEEASE'? I DON'T THINK SO!! It's time to shut your crybaby mouth, Aikka the Asshole! You remember you were talking about your 'honeymoon' when you were in charge? Well, 'Honey'," Karen guffawed as she applied a liberal quantity of pink cake frosting to each of her butt cheeks. "....this is the only 'moon' you're gonna get today; so enjoy it.....LOSER!"

Karen stood astride her victim's head and slowly dropped her amazing, muscular ass on to Petra's decimated face. Karen got nice and comfortable and began her victory ride, feeling like all the world like a jockey heading for the winner's circle at Churchill Downs, on a calm, cool May afternoon. She felt the satisfying gritty grind of the sand working into Verkiak's complexion. Ah....payback.

As she swayed gently she positioned her knees and thighs to act like restraining walls to support Petra's huge, flowing breasts. The culmination of her payback dream had arrived-- open season on her tormentor's titties. But suddenly, Karen's sunny mood turned dark. It is truly a mystery how the mind assigns meaning to symbols. Just as Karen prepared to enjoy herself with a casual, carefree mauling of Petra's puppies, the two huge nipples brought to mind an important "2" that she’d promised herself never to forget. Two dead. Two innocent people caught in the web of Aikka's perverse schemes. Two souls that must at last be avenged.

Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered Jurgen, the kindly German housekeeper who had died at the hands of Elke Jeinsen when she discovered he had betrayed her to save Karen. And the memory of the courageous Kwa, marked for murder by the evil Linn Thomas at Pia's Palace of Bloodsport, caused Karen McDougal to release a flood of tears like she had never cried, along with an angry primal scream and a fist thrown skyward in anger. No, she would not be having 'fun' with Aikka the Pervert's breasts tonight. She would destroy them forever, to avenge the innocent. There was renewed anger in her hip thrusts as she literally sandblasted Petra's mangled mug and her fingernails ripped into Verkiak's tit flesh with the fury associated with a pack of jackals.

Fortunately, she had just begun the onslaught when Irish and Jermaine found her. Sensing that she was literally lost in her rage, they intervened quickly and literally pulled her off Petra. Irish, ever the firefighter quickly checked for a pulse, while Jermaine attempted to calm Karen down. Luckily for all, the boys arrived just in time, and saved Petra from certain death and K Mac from a murder rap. Jermaine saw no harm in indulging Karen one last swift kick to Petra's pussy after he removed the empty champagne bottle.

Karen fell into Irish's arms and released a year's worth of frustration, agony and joy in a matter of seconds. Nobody who has not been totally sold out to a relationship of pure love would have any concept of how either one felt. I hope that some, if not all, of you, dear readers, have at least some clue how they felt....The emotional release cleansed Karen and in the twinkling of an eye, her practical side re-emerged with a vengeance. She came to terms with how horribly ugly she must appear, and was more than a little embarrassed to be that way in front of a relative stranger like Jermaine.

As usual, calm, collected Jermaine had a solution, "Karen, I just found this nice sturdy anchor chain. I'm gonna untie this poor train wreck and loop the chain around her neck and under her arms. Please give me the privilege of dragging this steaming sack of shit all the way back to the beach house, face down, tits down, and wrapped up in chains. Then you and Irish can follow behind, hold hands and enjoy the view. It's time to celebrate....Aikka is KAPUT!"

"Amen to that,” Karen replied with a big, toothless grin.

"Now YOU…” she said, staring at Irish and jabbing a finger into his chest. "...tell me the bitch still has her mask on!"

"Yes indeed,” Irish chuckled, his penis turning into granite. “And patiently awaiting your arrivall..."

"Patiently?” Karen chuckled. "I doubt that!"

As the trio - plus Petra - headed back, the sun was setting quickly. Jermaine had permitted himself to fantasize about a sunset stroll on the beach, all right, but he’d imagined it as a romantic encounter with Kimberley Conrad, not dragging the dead weight of Petra Verkiak.

Finally, the triumphant arrived to a hearty hurrah from the assembled playmates and Blizzard. Jermaine entered first, whistling a sarcastic version of "Here Comes the Bride" as he dragged Petra up the staircase, making sure her swollen breasts made thumping, painful contact with each and every step. At the top, he flung her inert body down like a sack of potatoes while the gathered revelers gasped in disbelief at the thoroughness of K Mac's handiwork. A moment later, Karen and Irish entered, stepped over the puddle of female flesh and savored victory. The celebration, from Karen's perspective, lasted about 5 seconds.

"Where’s the Masked Cunt?" she demanded. "Take me to her...NOW!" Blizzard quickly complied, leading Karen to the bondage dungeon, where the very pissed off Woman in the Black Mask dangled helplessly. "Luckily for me,” Karen explained circling the Mask like a predator stakling prey, "These two (pointing to Irish and Jeramine) pulled me off Aikka before I wasted all my energy on HER worthless ass. You see, Ms. Black Mask," Karen continued. “Now I've got my second wind." Karen paused dramatically, then rubbed her index finger ominously from the top of the Mask's left thigh slowly down to the little toe. “And, yes, I DO believe I have the energy to fuck you up nice and proper!” Karen chuckled as the entire room erupted in applause. “Lord knows I have the motivation. So, shall we see what evil lurks beneath the mask??” Karen asked, teasing her friends shamelessly.

"YES!" was the response in unison.

Karen positioned her face right in front of the growling Mask's nose.

"You've had your fun. Go ahead, take it off, already,” the Mask spat back, angrily. "Who cares anymore...."

"I CARE, MOLEFACE!!!!” Karen responded gruffly, unbuckling the mask to bare the cover girl face of Cindy Crawford!

Karen allowed a moment for the shock to settle in on her very surprised posse.

"K Mac,” Jermaine blurted out, "H...how’d you know?"

"Aikka the Pervert told me when she was certain she had me tit-smothered. Stupid bitch woke up the dead when she did that."

Karen took a quick survey of the room. Cindy had spend untold thousands of dollars outfitting her dungeon with every device imaginable. Karen opened a drawer full of fresh ball gags and laughed.

"Irish?"

"Your wish is my command, my love,” Irish replied, taking the cherry red ball gag and placing over Cindy's expletive spewing mouth.

"And, my, my, don't we have a NICE collection of whips, Cindy?” Karen smiled." Cat o' nine tails with a mother of pearl inlaid handle. Tres chic, Ms. Mask....TRES CHIC!"

Karen test drove the whip on the supermodel's creamy white ass and found the experience very pleasurable. Once the flesh had assumed a rich red splotchy tone, it was time for the next phase. Another trip to Cindy's toy box yielded a remarkable collection of mint condition dildos of every shape, color and size. Karen was of a mind that, yes, size DOES matter, and she found a huge purple strap on that suited her needs perfectly.

"Ever fantasize about taking it up the ass from Wilt Chamberlain, Cindy?” Karen asked impishly. Her reply was a muffled, angry obscenity. "I'll take that as a YES!” Karen laughed as she strapped on the huge hunk of plastic and moved into position behind the still defiant supermodel. "Blizzard?” Karen signaled. The northwoodsman turned a crank which tightened the chains around Cindy's thighs and ankles to maximize her leg spread. "Perfect!” Karen purred approvingly as Cindy’s million dollar legs spread wider and wider until they formed a valley big enough for Moses and the Israelites to march through.

Karen flipped the switch on the dildo to "ON", then positioned herself between Cindy's wide-spread legs; bent her knees slightly and grabbed a pinch of both of Cindy's dangling breasts. Then very rythmically, slowly at first but increasing in speed with each thrust, Karen drove the dildo deep into Cindy’s legendary ass.

"When I'm…*ugh*…done with…*unnh*…you, bitch…*uhh*…” Karen grunted. “Irish will be…*uh*…able to drive…*UNNH*…his fire apparatus…*unnggh*…right up this…*ugh*…gaping hole in your ass!” she hissed ominously into the villainesses ear.

And, gentle readers, if you have learned nothing else about K Mac during this long saga, remember this -- she is a woman of her word. If she promises to fuck a bitch up, by God, that's what she'll do.... Cindy's face grew red with panic as Karen's dildo thrusts increased in intensity and frequency. Both woman were sweating profusely as K Mac, lost in rage, pounded her enemy without mercy. Not to mention Cindy's poor, twisted nipples which suffered along with her glowing ass. Cindy’s eyes grew as big as salad plates, and Karen just continued to thrust away.

Finally, even Irish, who had suffered cruelly under Cindy's thumb for the past year, decided enough was enough. "Forget this whore,” he said to Karen, wiping the sweat from her brow. "She's learned her lesson, I'm pretty sure."

"Maybe,” Karen complained, despite sensing that her man was right. She pulled out, leaving the devastated supervillainess a screaming, hysterical mess. Karen couldn't resist a really nasty hair pull as a final reminder to Cindy Crawford that she was a pathetic nobody compared to K Mac. "Bitch couldn't handle the number I did on her at Staples Center ( see the Supermodels vs. Playmates tournament)so she spent 5 million bucks to have me killed. Look what she got for her investment. Anybody wanna tell me to my face that supermodels are NOT the friggin' dumbest subset of humanity - EVER!!??"
********
THIS ‘FINISH’ IS PURE FANTASY (unlike the previous part which is based on ‘facts’):

"Irish and Karen,” Jermaine shouted, "In case you didn't know, I am an ordained minister"

"You! Very funny, little man. What church?” Karen shot back.

"Not important, but trust me, I've got the credentials,” he insisted. A momentary fumbling about for his wallet produced the necessary proof. Jermaine, like K Mac, was a man of his word!

"Karen,what Jermaine's hinting at...." Irish cooed, looking his gap-toothed beloved in her swollen eyes.

"I know exactly what he's hinting at, you big lug!” she laughed. “And yes, by God, I'll marry you - right here; right now - in Cindy's own living room!"

"Well, let's see..." Jermaine took a quick accounting. "We've got a Maid of Honor (Lillian), a Best Man (Blizzard), plenty of bridesmaids...and I happen to have found a couple of wedding rings in Debra Jo's purse! All the State demands beyond that is the signature of three witnesses."

"Girls...?” Lillian Muller spoke, and the PMOYs moved immediately into action. In less than a minute, Petra, Cindy and Debra Jo were all lined up in a row, pens thrust into unvolunteering but frightened hands, and legally binding signatures secured from the supervillainesses who were forced to silently and tearfully witness their worst nighmare and total negation of their evil scheme.

Jermaine's performance as minister was flawless, the happy couple kissed, despite Karen's pain. And the rest, as they say, is history. Heaccepted Kimberley Conrad's generous offer and moved in with her, right next to the Hefner Mansion.

When last heard from, Blizzard was preparing to leave Vermont for a new life in sunny California where he will be assuming full time responsibility for the happiness of Ms. Lisa Matthews. Such are the burdens that an uncertain existence thrusts upon us all!!