“How long you on your own for?” Rachel lived just four doors down on their long country lane. She had a phone, she could call whoever she wanted to come pick her up. Boys with Beemers. Hero-athletes and artists and actors. Even college guys. The list was long. Tib was right there, though, he always was, since they were kids. 

“Dunno. Granpa’s in a Seven Star Suite in Vegas, whatever that is. He told me to keep out of the barn, so I’m going to break the lock with a crowbar later today,” said Tib. His mom and dad were in jail, or so everyone said.

“Awesome. Before you do that, want to come play video games? Daddy got me a new PlayBox - well, it’s for him, but he said I can get any game online,” she said, “And he won’t be home until Saturday.” 

It was Tuesday.

Tib would actually come over to play video games with her, and that drove her insane. Any guy, any guy she knew in her life - guys with sports cars, guys with credit cards, ready and erect for her call. Yet Tib here wanted to let her win at video games, and chat about science. The frustration kept her at him. Also, she liked science and winning video games and guys who thought of her as a person and not a trophy. That she let him think he let her win that was part of the odd heat.

“Oh, heck yes! I’ll bring the Mountain Dew…”

“Daddy won’t miss a few bottles from his wine cellar, got whiskey down there, too,” she said, in what she thought was a kinky way.

“Yeah, but it will taste like ass,” said Tib. Any guy, any guy at all, all on direct dial… and yeah. It would taste like ass.

Tib let Rachel win at Super Donkey Brothers and Bandicoot, which is to say she let him lose, because it felt kind of sexy, and they got all revved up on caffeine, and discussed many-worlds theory with all the math, and she fell asleep with her head on his lap, his long, thick fingers running through her fine, soft hair.

Tib was short for Tiberius, his dad liked Star Trek. Everyone called him Bear now that they were no longer little kids, though moving from Tib to Bear involved him doing something dire to a popular student-athlete who deserved it. Tib had inherited his height and build and effortless strength from absent parents, and he was suddenly dangerous to other boys their age, and he was right there, four long doors down the country lane, all summer long.

It was two days after she felt his fingers through her hair she wandered back down that way, a little angry. She had a phone full of numbers of boys calling and texting every day. The filthy things they would do to her, if she wanted… none of them could trash current thinking on string theory with a snarling sneer and a casual equation sketched out with his toe on her driveway gravel. None of them could shove a top jock, a big college scholarship prospect, upside down in his own locker after taking the jock’s fist to his face with a dire smile. She wasn’t there when it happened, but she liked to imagine how it went. Often.

“Tib! What the hell!” she shouted as she strode down his clamshell driveway. The victorian farmhouse to her right, the immense barn straight ahead, huge double-doors cracked open, the lock busted and on the ground. 

“Rach! Hey!” he called out from within, hurrying to the barn door, poking his head out.

“The fucking road works both ways, you know? You can actually come up to my house on your own,” she said angrily, “Phones work both ways, too. And ChapSnat. And AppsWhat. What. The. Hell?”

“I know, I’m sorry, come in and look at this!” he said. God. What other boy would actually say sorry?

“I’m so pissed off at you… huh, it smells like a shoe store in here, almost,” she said as she went into the barn.

“Leather. My mom and dad did the summer fair circuit. County fairs, biker gatherings, Ren Faires. They were selling pot and shrooms, but the leather shop was the cover, and to be honest, made more money,” he said, waving her past stacks and stacks of boxes. 

“Oh, Tib, I’m sorry…” she began.

“Naw, it’s OK, I never really knew them. They were vegetarians, never wore any of the stuff they sold. I’m more concerned about Granpa, he’s the one who raised me,” said Tib, “I know he’s OK, and he trusts me here on my own. To be honest, he deserves his Seven Star Vegas comp room. Guy worked hard as a scientist.”

Tib was SO SWEET! Also… she paused at one stack of boxes, “You’re a size 32 waist?”

“Umm, I’m wearing size 34 jeans at the moment,” said Tib.

“Size 32, right here! Five pocket stretch leather jeans,” Rachel tossed a white box at him.

“I don’t think my boxers will fit in there with me,” said Tib catching the box awkwardly.

“Oh, good, you’ll just have to go commando,” said Rachel tossing another box his way. It bonked off his forehead and landed on the other box, “That’s a belt. Let me know if it’s too tight, I’ll find you a size smaller.”

“Rach? What the hey?” he asked as she found a whole section labeled “BOOTS: MEN”

“Shut up, Tib. You owe me. Shoe size? No, nevermind. You’ll just lie. I read the tag on your sneaks one time, I know it’s actually two sizes smaller. Don’t look at me like that, shoe size doesn’t correlate to any other body part. Combat, no, cowboy, no, biker - hot, so maybe - what’s the difference between engineer and harness boots? Let me lift the lids and look. Huh. Harness, all the way, then… aha! What’s this? Pirate! Yes! Pirate harness boots! These, too!” she hurled a third box at him, which he caught with his chest.

"Rachel, I really want to show you…” he began.

“The gloves!” she crowed, “They make them this long for guys? Show me your hand. Got it. Oooh, your folks have these inventoried in half-sizes! This size. Catch.”

“No, next room over…” he began as he took another box to the face.

“You go one room over and get dressed. I’ll stay here and get stuff for me,” said Rachel shoving him through a door, boxes and all, and closing it behind him.

“Rachel, I really don’t think….” he began.

“If you ever want to play another video game with me, you’ll get dressed in that, and then knock to be let back in here,” said Rachel as she rubbed her hands together in front of the stacks of boxes labeled “WOMENS.”

Knock knock.

“I know you’re not dressed yet. Wow! Your folks have genuine Converse One Stars in XXX-hi!”

“Rach…” said Tib helplessly.

“Get. Dressed. Then you can show me,” she said lacing up the thigh-high leather sneakers. She could show him, too. A natural D-cup, well, it was more complicated, but she was thinking in Guy Think abiut her boobs, here, with hips to match, a classic hourglass form, one of the reasons she was ignoring so many texts on her phone… micro-bra, frilly skirt, micro-thong, all in leather. Be! Aggressive! B-E-aggressive! Hey, opera gloves! And a thick, spiked collar…

Knock knock.

“Are you dressed?” she demanded.

“The boot-tops touch my balls,” he complained.

“Turn them down, Tib, so they’re mid-thigh” she said with an exasperated sigh, adjusting her collar, wishing she had a chain leash she could hand him.

Knock knock.

She threw open the door, and posed against the jam, displaying her leather-clad body for Tib’s inspection. Tib wasn’t interested in her, and with the gleaming, glowing mechanism all but filling the next room, she couldn’t even blame him.

“Tib, what is that?” she asked, awed.

“Granpa’s life work. Universe Traverse Unit,” said Tib quietly. Rachel noted the two-sizes-too-small stretch-leather jeans had the desired effect on Tib’s own unit, before she noted he was holding out a decadently long-gloved hand to usher her into the device. She grabbed on, and then they were both Elsewhere. 

A city, tiny and perfect. Inhabited by tiny and perfect people, who were screaming in terror and dismay as Tib picked them up in his tightly gloved hands, to place them into the box his boots came in.

“Tib, where are we?” she asked in bewildered wonder.

“An alternate universe,” he replied, “Granpa’s life’s work. You want a certain universe to exist, and it does, in the machine. He wanted a universe full of gold nuggets all over the ground.”

“What’s this place, then? Why are you filling that box?” she asked as he dumped another handful in, and closed the lid after.

“To mess with them. Cray fun, yo,” he said sheepishly.

“Let’s go back, I want to hang with you,” she said, sorry she said it almost immediately. She liked watching him lord over a tiny world, in the outfit she selected for him. But she wanted him to lord over her, or at least pay some attention.

“OK, let’s go inside,” he said referring to the huge house beside the barn. She was less sorry following him back from tiny-world and into the barn, watching his ass through tight leather pants, and his powerful thighs and thick calves through the boot leather. He paused by the door of the machine, and raised his foot almost to his waist, and smiled and sneered and dropped it on a three-story brownstone. 

She gasped, “There could be people in there!”

“I hope so,” he said quietly. Oh. God. Yes.

  Back in his house, down in the basement, He dropped the box full of tiny people on the table beside the door, and all but flowed into the couch… she sat beside him, primly, arranging her scanty leather cheerleader outfit with humiliated, blushing, cheeks.

“Bored, huh?” asked the leather-god she had created.

“Kinda,” she admitted, “Long summer.”

“I’m going to kiss you,” He said with an expression she associated with him working out a particularly thorny physics topic. The leather, and the math, and o mi gawd.

“Do it,” she said skeptically, defiantly. his hand found her breast as his lips met hers. Skepticism melted away, his kiss was firm and masculine, tender yet brusque. She parted her lips, and let his tongue in, and traced his bare torso with her gloved fingertips. So powerful and strong, she couldn’t resist testing him, and dug a finger up into Tib’s armpit. 

The reaction was instantaneous and intense, her new god wrestled her to the plush oriental carpet easily, his gloved fingers intertwined with her own, his knees at her shoulders. She gazed up helplessly at his chiseled, toned torso - she never suspected he was so fit, Tib’s sweet and severe face high above her, eyes glittering cruelly as HE knew she was completely within his power. Rachel’s face was nestled in the leather she had chosen, and she knew what she must do, pursing her lips to kiss the masculine bulge before her, entreating his mercy. 

To Rachel’s delight, he was merciless, “You like my pants? Lick twice for yes.”

She obeyed instantly, never imagining leather to taste so sweet. He growled and moaned, grinding his package against her accommodating mouth.

Panting, he sat up a bit, and she begged, “Tib!”

“Rach?” he replied.

“The tiny people, please, Tib, Tiberius could you mess with them? Cray fun?” Any universe he wanted, and he wanted… yes, yes, yes!

“Oh! Yeah,“ he said with a wicked smile she could look at forever. He stood and she gasped as he loomed even larger, effortlessly, and she stuck out a tongue to lick at his lugged bootsole as it swung over her face as he went to get the box full of people, “The pool table, Rach. Rack ‘em up.”

“Games? Now?” she asked hotly. He looked at her with those dark, glittering eyes, and she popped up, and rushed to get the triangle and pool balls, “Yes, Tib, I obey.”

At that last phrase, he paused a moment, and looked at her the way she had always wanted him to.

Rachel arranged the balls in the triangle, and centered it, and then placed the cue-ball. He dumped a half-dozen people on the table, they were confused and gabbling up at them in a strange language.

“Pick one,” he demanded. She sneered down at them, and pointed at a tall and beautiful blonde woman. What man wouldn’t want her? Rachel hoped he might do something awful to her.

“This one, Tib. Her first,” she said evilly. Tib picked her up, and forced her into a gap in the center of the racked balls. She gibbered in her little language, and tried to push the celluloid spheres away. They were far too heavy, so she resorted to crying, lifting her arms, pleading to be picked up.

Tib went and got a leather case, long and slender - so much leather, Rachel was in heaven, she didn’t even know until today how much she was into leather - and he unlatched and opened it casually. He took out two parts of a custom cue, and screwed the two halves together, his dark eyes glittering down at the tiny woman. Some of the tiny men on the table were trying to push the balls away from her, and failing.

“Each ball weighs more than a truck to them,” he said idly as he positioned himself behind the cue ball, and Rachel felt herself getting wet as the wood slid over his leather glove as he took aim.

A sharp tap, and the cue ball hurtled toward the racked balls. When it hit, the woman screamed and was smashed into a red splatter, and her rescuers were blasted back, some of them run over by the balls, injured to where they unable to regain their feet. Rachel laughed and clapped, shocked and amazed. None of the balls found the pockets.

Tib looked covetously at his custom cue, the rod clearly of expensive quality, beautiful in its finish. He chalked it, and, reluctantly, handed it to her.

“Thank you, Sir!” she gasped, “Tib. I mean… Tib?” Rachel slid it through her gloved hands, and took casual note at his interest in this. “Twerp by the corner pocket? See her, Tib?”

“I do, Rach. She’s beautiful,” he said with a teasing sneer.

“She’s dead. I get the girls,” Rachel tapped the cue ball, and it sent the 11 ball over the screaming little woman, who was flattened in an instant. Rachel then strode over to aim the cue-ball at the 3 ball, which was sheltering a trembling little woman with a mahogany complexion and unreasonably high heels. It smashed her satisfyingly, before bouncing off the side of the table. She was dead and mangled and it made Rachel laugh. “Oops! You get the guys? Please?”

Tib took to cue from her, flipped it with a flourish, and took careful aim, “See the buff guy in the suit? I kill him and sink the shot, you kiss my boot.”

“Deal,” she said, “Make him beg, first! Umm, please, Tib?”

“You heard her, bug. Beg me not to roll you over. I might well defy her to show who’s boss,” said Tib. The tiny man began gibbering in their language. 

“Not good enough, bug. KNEEL!” barked Tib. The tiny man fell to his knees and clasped his hands before him. Tib laughed. The cue-ball hit the 3-ball, and blasted the man into red ruin before rolling into the corner pocket. Rachel cackled, like a wicked witch she cackled, so, so turned on. 

Tib coughed pointedly.

“OK, but don’t take the next shot until I’m done, please Lord Tib? I mean Tiberius? I mean…” she fell to all fours and crawled to his foot. He laughed, and gestured magnanimously down. Harness pirate boot. Sot hot. She took a moment to take in the aroma of fresh leather, and then let her tongue trace his foot, tasting the leather and feeling the foot beneath shift as he stood so he could watch her. She withdrew her tongue, and slowly, lovingly pressed her full lips to his boot, the one she selected for him. He would dominate and kill lesser men if she did this… the kiss was long, lingering, passionate.

“Sir, kill them, for me!” she growled. 

Tib stalked around the pool table, pretending to take a shot or another. He paused, and idly chalked the tip of his beautiful cue stick. He lined up one shot, and laughed as the tiny man fled. Rach peeked lustfully over the rail as another tiny man ran about, screaming bloody murder.

“I didn’t even know what universe I wanted, I didn’t even know I could want a universe before The Machine,” admitted Tib. Bang. The cue-ball hit the 5 ball, which ran over a screaming, squealing little man.

“I walked in on a perfect little world, happy and content. The very first thing… I… did…” said Tib lining up another shot.

“Was pick up a beautiful, voluptuous woman, and I looked her in the eye as I squeezed her… four ball, side pocket…” Tib killed for Rachel’s pleasure, a smartly dressed little man, ran over by the four ball on its way to the side pocket.

“She passed out, fainted! I squeezed the breath out of her. I was concerned at first, but then I saw she was still breathing… five ball, corner pocket,” said Tib. Rachel laughed as tiny men fed the five-ball, Tib sent it careening off the side to run over two of them, leaving them twitching and screaming.

“So, I decided to wake her up. I flicked her right in the face. Smashed her pretty mug up, made her ugly and bloody and screaming. It was hilarious, I laughed as I crushed her. No gentle squeeze, I sent her guts out her busted mouth, and that shut her up. That’s when I knew, this was My universe. Dare me to get the rest of the guys, and leave the girls alone for you?”

“Yes, Sir, I obey. I dare you to…”

“Oh, I know, watch!” the cue slid along his gloved hand, and with a subtle tap… four healthy men were reduced to twitching ruin for her pleasure as a ball ricocheted off the rails and over the fleeing men. Superb skill.

“As promised, the girls…” he handed her his cue before he slid into the couch in as seductive a pose as she could imagine, made all the more intense as she knew he was doing this naturally, without affectation or intention, “…are yours.”

Rachel dropped the cue as soon as it hit her glove, as if it were red-hot. She smirked at his dismay as its hand-applied finish was marred by the rough floor of the basement game-room. She made immediate amends by snatching up a weeping, terrified woman from the felt of the pool table, and squeezed her. Rachel smiled as the little bitch screamed and squirmed in her gloved fist. She stopped an eyelash shy of cracking a rib or making her pass out.

“Girlfriend, you do what I say, when I say, it will work out all right. Defy me even an inch…” Rach tightened her grip again with a toothy snarl, “I’ll bite off your head and spit it at your momma before I step on her, aaaiight?”

“All right! All right! Please, please, please, I’ll do whatever you say!” squeaked the tiny girl. Good. Rach flopped onto the couch right by the astonished Tib, and reached down to grab his unit, so clearly defined through his soft, stretch-leather jeans. There it was, a rod, mightier than she had anticipated, making its presence known through the leather alongside his fly. She carefully laid her captive atop it, and stroked her softly, like a little pet mouse. 

“Baby, this is your only purpose in life, to get this great, big giant off. You’re gonna need to be clever, creative, athletic and determined…” Rach abruptly pressed the tiny woman’s head under her thumb, mashing her to Tib’s erection, “….or you will die here and now, slow and screaming. Lick and stroke if you understand.”

Tib hissed and squirmed.

“Good girl! Now, give us a show,” demanded Rach, lifting her thumb. The woman was fit, endowed and wealthy, a trophy wife of some rich dude in Tib’s Universe. Or maybe all the women were inhumanly attractive and able to afford designer brands over there, as Tib desired. A glance at the other three women bore this out, unless he managed to luck into a Hot Actress Meeting in his universe while gathering people. This little plaything was in over-the-knee boots and wet-look tights and an untucked, crisp white blouse unbuttoned to show off her cleavage. Rachel smirked. Tib’s perfect universe wasn’t up to matching Rach’s own in-this-universe bust. Or perhaps he just considered Rachel’s body unachievable in its perfection? She smiled at this as she watched the little whore lick and gyrate on the giant’s cock.

Tib was feeling every gyration and lick and boob-press, as the outline managed to throb even larger against the leather. He reached down and paused as Rachel smacked his hand, “No! Bad giant. The girls are mine to kill, we agreed.”

Tiberius was too in thrall to the moment to argue, though his eyes promised something dire. Hawt.

“I know what you’re thinking. Tiny slave-whore, worshipping your leather. How can it get any better than this?” said Rachel, hooking her thumbs through the elastic waistband of her scant cheerleader skirt, and wriggling out of it with a motion that involved her breasts swaying side-to-side as Tib looked down into her cleavage. She slithered over his powerfully muscled thighs, hands finding his well muscled shoulders as she brought her bust to eye level, and paused a moment to let him take in the view.

Rachel slowly lowered her leather-thonged sex to his naked cock, and trapped the little, pretty, perfect whore between them, looking up into his eyes as she moaned, the tiny woman struggled so mightily against her clit. It took all of Rach’s will power not to simply sit down to crush her. 

Rachel understood now that she had a taste for blood, for misery, pain and death. Some women used guns, others poison or fire. Rachel had a much better weapon. His hips left the couch to meet hers, and she squirmed and gryrated, and slowly killed the tiny woman against Tib’s cock with her own sex, laughing at the murderous glee in her weapon’s eye. She kissed him, and shuddered as his powerful hand took her breast as if he owned it, returning the kiss savagely… they both heard her scream as she was slowly crushed between them in an unholy lap-dance. Rachel came, and it was made all the sweeter as Tib’e entire body stiffened, his breath catching, his cock throbbing as their victim was smeared to paste in their passion.

They both collapsed, and she nuzzled his thick neck as his broad hands caressed her back and sides, the leather of his gauntlets warm and smooth, ill disguising the firm, strong hands beneath. Her own gloved finger, long and slender and deft, traced the definition of his chest. 

They both fell asleep on the couch after the last of the women was smeared upon his abs by her gloved palm.  

Rachel awoke to the smell of onions and bacon in the skillet, abruptly smothered by eggs. Apparently, in addition to murdering people for her pleasure, Tib could cook, too. The bra had long since gone, but the thong was, surprisingly, in place. She stood and remedied that with a wriggle of her hips.

“You know, Tib,” she said, stretching naked save for her boots and gloves, “We’re both still virgins.”

“I came, like, eight times last night. I don’t think so,” said Tib.

“Exactly nine. One for each of the tiny bitches, and once just for me,” said Rach, licking her lips. This omelet smelled epic, “I came twice for each one of yours. I think. You made it hard to keep track. Still!”

He slid the omelet onto her plate with slivers of mango and melon to the side. He was tall, tall enough where his balls were just above the marble countertop, and she noted with keen interest he was now in the leather man-shorts she had selected for him and left by the bed, and it was not doing a good job at all of hiding his newly growing interest in her. 

“Did ‘Tab A’ go into ’Slot B’? No, I’d have known. I’ve still got my hymen,” she said, sliding a gloved fuck-you finger into her labia under her underwear as her other hand picked up a fork.

“I could take you now,” he said with a basso-profondo growl she entirely approved of. His voice was as big as his dick. She was unsure of how much she’d like a dick like that inside, but entirely sure of how much she liked the sound of him.

“Mmmmmmm, this! Is! Good! Tib, you surprise!” she said teasingly. She could read him so well. So much about Tiberius was new and exciting and unexpected and world-changing. But she knew him, for a long time, just down the lane, even better than he knew himself. He was about to leap over the counter to rape her, and she approved, but…

“You know, I’d like my first time to be special. Really, really special. You could do that for me,” she said, taking in another forkfull. Boy could cook!

“Come with me to the city,” he commanded.

“Yes, Tib, I obey!” she said dropping the fork. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. She pretended not to notice. No, she was NOT mocking him, and she was trembling for him to notice this.

By the time they had left the house, and navigated through the barn to where the Machine was, the magic had gone. She was uncomfortable in her nakedness, and Tib’s erection had faded. They couldn’t go into the city like this. Rachel stalled, eyes alighting upon something shiny and sleek and intimidating.

“Is that a raygun?” she asked picking it up. It was heavier than it appeared. 

“No, that’s just the Acclimatizer. Zap someone with it, and they’re a match for the universe in the machine. Granpa made me zap him with it when he went into his universe made out of gold nuggets. The atmosphere was mostly chlorine, and he almost died breathing oxygen before he went into the Machine, after zapping him with that. Be careful.

Rachel grinned. Tib was the most intelligent person she knew, and in this moment, she knew she was smarter. 

“New plan. Back to the stacks. You and I are getting dressed, as we are going to the mall,” she said.

“Wait, what? No sex?” he said hotly.

“Yes, sex. You’ll get dressed in the leather I give you. I kind of need it, after yesterday,” said Rach running about the boxes labeled “MENS” cackling.

“I kind of need tiny people dying with my name on their lips while…” he began hotly.

Rachel whirled about, and looked at him with firey eyes as she stalked toward him. He was having none of it, anger growing on his handsome face. Two paces away, she fell to her thoghbooted knees, and groveled the rest of the way, breasts ploughing furrows through the sawdust on the barn floor as her lips strove for his boots. She kissed and licked.

“Yes, Sir, Lord Tiberius, your slave will provide. Do you trust her?” she asked between bouts of lavishing with her tongue.

“Well, since you put it that way… attire me as a God, slave,” commanded Tib, shocked and amazed.

“Yes, Sir, I obey,” she said, knowing just the right outfits.

“We’re going to the mall?” asked Tib, dubiously, “They have security cameras there, Rach.”

“I have this mask, Tib, see?” said Rach. It went from the base of her throat to the bridge of her nose, with an inverted traingle of small perforations permitting her breath as the garment clung to her face and neck tightly, “And you have the bandana about your face, and thoooose omigawd, those steampunk goggles. And the hoodie built into that leather blazer, why does anyone make a leather hoodie-blazer? No matter, they did, and now it’s yours.”

Tib had, as it turned out, a pressed and starched linen dress shirt. French cuffs, with onyx and platinum cufflinks just above where the crimson driving gloves she had liberated from the stacks disappeared beneath them. Overtop the shirt was a silk and linen dress vest, a size too small, to show off his hard, lean physique and his brutally broad and studded belt. The belt adorned too-tight gloveleather pants that tucked into over-the-knee conquistador boots. The hoodie shadowed his face, the lower half obscured by a black bandana, his eyes behind thick, nickel-plated steampunk goggles.

Rachel was wearing wet-look jeggings beneath wedge-heeled thighscraper boots, a soft leather bustier mirroring Tib’s vest, to-the-pits oxblood leather opera gloves with pearl bracelets and ruby and garnet rings lifted from his Mom’s jewelry box. Tib approved, as they were probably appropriated from grandmothers on both sides before mom went up the river. It was weird, but Rach liked weird, and also jewelry. She wore her half-mask and an oxblood velvet hood, divorced of any other garment: cloak or cape or jacket. The hood by itself was liquid sex.

Since Tib’s grandpa was passed out drunk and rich in Vegas somewhere, without permission they drove to the mall in his resto-modded ’68 Mustang Shelby GT 500KR droptop. The name was alphabet soup to her, but it was a beautiful, fast car. She softly stroked the Acclimatizer the whole way over as Tib broke all kinds of traffic laws.

“Great costumes, very sexy, they’re going to totally know it’s us,” warned Tib as they entered the automatic doors. 

The jocks at the fountain by the food court hooted “Nerds! Dressed up as… nerds!” proving his point.

“Well, I guess they’ll just have to learn how to live in Lord Tiberius’ World,” she said with a triumphant sneer as she pulled the trigger on the Acclimatizer, and played the beam it emitted over them. They shrank instantly. Tib caught on quick, of course he would. Rachel all but bounced in her boots as they approached the little pack of mouse-sized jerks. They shouted angrily up at them.

“Turn us back, geekoids, or I swear to god…” warned Colin Mack, current top jock in their town.

Rachel stood over him, eyes glittering and cruel. She raised her foot, and hovered it over him, “You will not take God Tiberius’ name in vain, insect.”

“What the fuck, Big-Tits? Turn me back now before I fuck the stupid out of you,” snarled Colin. 

“How about no?” she stepped on him, driving him to the polished granite tile. Not hard enough to kill, just enough to trap him underboot, “Is ‘no’ good for you?”

The other jocks, his linemen, rushed to save him, all of them heaving at her boot-sole, confident in their natural strength, sure they’d be able to shove off the nerd-girl, easy.

“He said he wants to rape me to make me smarter, Sir! Should we let him?” said Rachel as she stepped down, Colin screaming in agony, his teammates helpless to help him.

“Pet! You know I don’t have a leather boot fetish like yours,” admonished Tib. 

“Yes, Sir,” she said sadly, lifting up her crushing pressure.

“I expect you to develop it in me by destroying my enemies,” said Tib severely.

“Oh! Yes, Tiberius, I obey!” said Rachel, clapping her gloved hands delightedly. 

“No! Bear, you overgrown nerd fuckstick, you won’t deck me like you…” began Colin.

“No, unlike the last time I completely owned you, this isn’t me. This is her. Fuck her into compliance, shitstain. I defy you,” said Bear, as the lesser men knew him, “Lady Rachel? Remove him from my world.”

“Oh, yes Sir! I obey!” crowed Rachel, following Tib’s hungry gaze to her own boot. She stepped down, slowly. The jock began by cursing and threatening rape. He quickly transitioned to promising her his BMW, if she’d just lift her foot. Nope.

“You’ll give me your BMW M3? Just like that?” she teased, breaking a few of his ribs. He nodded and coughed up blood.

“I rode here in a ’68 Shelby Super Snake. Will you give that to me, Lord Tiberious?” asked Rachel.

“Sure. It’s yours. I’ve got Granpa’s Dusenberg to ride around in, if I want to impress people with cars,” he said with a sneer. 

“Well! Do you have a fancier car than a Dusenberg?” demanded Rachel. Colin opened his mouth, Rachel stepped down and sent his guts out his own lying mouth. His best friends all went running.

“Oh, I am so hobbled by these boots,” she began to lie as they scurried. “Liar. Scrape him off your sole, and watch this!” Tib commanded. She obeyed, and Colin’s best bro James was a mere unpleasant memory, screaming like a little, filthy animal as he was crushed and smeared into a thin paste under Tib’s massive boot. Neither of them long remembered James. Tib and Rach were far more interested in the act than the victim.

Tiberius pointed to a tightly huddled throng of cheerleaders, hugging and cowering and wishing they were anywhere else, and Rachel was eager to obey. She dropped to all fours to watch as he lowered his foot upon a solid half-dozen of the bottle-blonde bitches, laughing as their solidarity was suddenly broken, every girl for herself as they tried to scratch and claw at the smooth stone floor to drag themselves free. They all squirmed and writhed, shrieking and crying out. Not good enough.

“BEG! Beg, you worms. Beg him to spare you!” she barked at them. Most of them began to cry, and some of those choked out heartfelt pleas. She wasn’t in the mood, and she wasn’t alone.

“Are all of them begging?” demanded Tib.

“Not even most of them, Sir!” she said, shocked by the scandal! How dare they disobey her Tib? He stepped down, smashing and smooshing them all under his cruel boot. Rachel looked them in the eye as her Man mashed them from beautiful ideals into red ruin. He took his time doing it, too, making them scream and writhe and struggle even more mightily to pull themselves out from underfoot. It was in cruel vain, as he simply slaughtered them all. 

Oh, she wanted more of this. She stood and played the beam over everyone she could see, and giggled as Tib obliged her by running them all down with casual easy strides. Insects smashed upon the marble tile by her Man-God’s tread. 

She crushed a few of them, too. Well, more than a few, but fewer than Tib, he was into this, and, now, Rach realized she was, too.

They could both vote, but they were still virgins, even though they had orgasmed at the mall endlessly. He had killed people against his cock, but had never stuck it in. Rach had developed a trick where she’d trap a man on the back of a bench, or a food-court railing, and roll her pudenda onto him until he coughed up his guts on her clit, but that didn’t count.

 Rachel had an idea for her First Time. She was visualizing her Ideal Universe, perfect in every way…

“Tib, Sir? We should go home, now. I would like to use the machine for my Universe, and I would like you to come with me,” she said kneeling before him, and then bowing before his boots.

“Mmm. The cops are onto us. I can take care of them, but it would be tedious. Time to start over in another universe… don’t worry. The Machine will self-destruct, and another Machine will be there waiting for us, in whatever universe you imagine,” said Tib, implying he knew full damn well what universe she would imagine. She liked a smart man, intelligence was power.

Rachel paused a moment. Had he done this before? Was she a product of one of his ideal universes? Was he? How did a nerd get that kind of body? How did a nerd get her kind of body? The notion was kind of turning her on. Power, and the will to wield it. Awesome.

“Yes, Sir! Let me zap cars on the way home so you can run over them?” asked Rach.

“Only if you suck me until I’m hard, before and after,” demanded Tib.

“Yes, Sir!” Rach gleefully acquiesced.