Island Madness

A woman in full possession of her powers can even do it with her arms. It is a specific test she uses to assess the reaches and limits of her strength. Those full, chubby arms, when displayed openly with confidence, are every bit as engaging as her legs and ass, bespeaking the ample implacability, the formidable solidity of her beautiful, powerful body, and the control inherent in its miraculous presence. The island provides the perfect showcase for a comprehensive demonstration of Vixen’s complete package of power. All around her, men are unraveling. Many are in conflict with girlfriends or wives over becoming entranced, mesmerized by her dark, hypnotic brown eyes, The Devil’s eyes, eyes that possess souls. She wields deep stares and casual glances alike, with the virtuosity of a warrior princess wielding her broadsword. Hers is the face that has launched a thousand divorces.

Hidden in equatorial dreams, among forests of coded signposts is a longing that no man can suppress. It is the longing for transcendence, and it is Vixen’s province. Her movements cause atmospheric disturbance, changing the very nature of her surroundings at the quantum level. Esoteric forces become activated, highly charged, and spring into action with dynamic, nuclear intensity. The tropical paradise is no longer simply dominated by her presence. She creates it. Her desires are expressed in reality and by reality all around her, brought to life through her very incarnation, the perfection of her powerful flesh, and her indomitable will. Her chubby ass wreaks havoc, bringing tears, sorrow, insanity, and even death to the scores of men who stumble upon its grandeur unaware. Her plump, powerful legs, bedecked in mango thong and adorned with rainbows of flowers and green grass skirt also spell the demise of an entire army of women. Insecure and wifely, their lives are destroyed, their minds crippled by Vixen’s sublime, fat thighs, thighs with infinite potential for prolonged, crushing, merciless death; the death of their men, the death of their dreams, the death of their own ideas about control and power. A death, it must be noted, that constitutes a man’s only true life.

Vixen is a ravishing, glorious monster, accomplishing her rampant destruction with an ease and flourish that is almost comical. Her will is unchallenged. A man may plant his nose deep between her ass cheeks. The frightening caress of divine flesh from each side, and the scent of her royal egesta results in collapse, the fatal cracking and breakage of a fragile mind. Ruled now only by Vixen’s whim, his individual being vanishes from existence. But in so vanishing, he is translated into hyper-dimensions where Absolute Being and ultimate purpose are revealed to him. Thus christened with truth for the first time, he brushes nose, lips, and cheeks against the upper expanse of golden thigh-flesh, which Vixen forces him to worship in myriad fashion; a sniff, a sweeping touch with tip of nose, a lick, rub of cheek, a deeper sniff, a savory bite, a longer, deeper sniff, all culminating in the snap-shut, Venus Fly Trap, loaded and locked crush of Vixen’s legs, head devoured in her plush, torturous, power-press of death.

The tropical sunset sheds its radiant orange glow down upon a tranquil indigo bay. Memories dance mournfully among the wreckage of spirits on the barren beach, ethereal tears feebly masking the heady aroma of death that permeates these ruins; ghostly remnants of a vanquished paradise. Along the undulating, amnesic coastline an eerie silence washes the echoes of broken love eternally out to sea on receding waves of Vixen’s laughter.