The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (4 page)

Satisfied, Venus relaxed, and—excited by the
spectacle of her piranha friends pigging-out on an angelfish—moved
her hand through the slit in her gown.

Mercury looked heartened. He knew that Venus
loved commando style. "Please goddess," he said, "let me give you a
hand with that."

She shot him a withering look. "For
centuries, planet earth was my favorite playground, and toying with
the destiny of mortals my favorite recreation—such a pleasant
diversion from the tedium of..."

"Me, I prefer Charades."

The runt is a good example of why we need
birth control on Olympus, she thought. "You would, she said."

"Less travel time required."

She pounded the padded Corinthian leather arm
of her throne. "To Hades with Zeus and his decree! He's ruined my
fun!" She flashed her evil smile as she recalled how, in the
beginning, she had sweet-talked Pandora into opening Zeus's box,
and her jubilation when all of those miseries: famine, greed, war,
pestilence, and bubonic plague were loosed upon the earth. The grim
and gory years that followed, had been a dream come true.

"Zeus let you get away with murder in the
beginning, and still you couldn't resist destroying the Grecian and
Roman empires—could you?"

What is this, an inquisition? "I was bored,
nothing fun was happening."

"But you shouldn't have been surprised when
Zeus finally pulled your plug after you destroyed the Roman
Empire."

"The pompous jerk!" Her hand trembled beneath
her gown.

"I don't know why you're upset. You got your
kicks. Zeus should have only banned you from messing with the
mortals."

"Zeus'—no involvement with mortals decree—is
asinine! Nothing changed. The mortals simply dreamt up their own
gods, and then proceeded to foul up the earth with a creativity
that even I was forced to admire."

"'Lord what fools [those] mortals be.'"

"You've got that right."

"Be careful, goddess. You lucked out in 1773
when our exalted leader discovered it was you who started the
American Revolution. If I were Zeus, you'd have been placed over my
knee, spanked, and shipped off to Hades quicker than you can say
sayonara goddess." He loosed a crooked smirk.

"You'd have enjoyed that, wouldn't you?"

"Fortunately for you, it was the British
Empire you started to unravel back then. You were only spared a
sabbatical in Hades because Zeus likes the Yanks, but can't
tolerate the British aristocracy."

"Why does he hate the Brits?"

"That's what I asked him."

Venus raised her hand, palm up. "And?"

"Zeus said, and I quote, 'The Brits are
pathetic. Too many polo ponies, and too few happy foxes.'"

"What an ass-wipe."

"But there was another reason for Zeus's
clemency."

"You mean grumpy foxes weren't reason
enough?"

"From time to time he's inclined to intervene
with the mortals himself, and he knows that the Yanks will be
facing a merciless foe when Emperor Kahn arrives. His American
friends will need all the help he can give them, when they have
Kahn to deal with."

Her anger turned to fury, and she hammered
her throne once more. "How does Zeus have the gall to threaten me
with banishment to Hades, when he's meddling with the mortals
himself?"

"Don't anger him Venus! Banishment to Hades
would mean eons of suffering and dreariness, the kind of monotony
that could drive an insane goddess crazy."

Mercury's attempt at humor riled her even
more. "Hades or no Hades, vengeance will be mine!" she screamed.
"Psyche will rue the day she took my son from me, and Paris will
suffer for squealing to Zeus about how I rigged the beauty contest.
That pair will never cross me again when they see what happens to
their descendants! Princess Betty-Jo and Raiden will pay for their
folly.

"What is it with you? You're like an elephant
that never forgets an injustice. Get over what Psyche and Paris did
to you. Let sleeping cows stand."

"Not when I'm in a cow tipping mood."

"Saving Emperor Kahn's butt is a better
reason for offing Princess Betty-Jo than revenge for a couple of
two-thousand-year-old grudges. And why do I suspect that your
obsession with slaying The Princess may have something to do with
the Golden Apple?"

"Maybe you've been blessed with the Wisdom of
Solomon."

"If I'd been blessed with his wisdom,"
Mercury said, "I wouldn't be captive to your beauty." Then he
thought, I'd be the fourth wise monkey. I'd see no evil, hear no
evil, and speak no evil'. And I'd also fear no evil, because I'd
refuse to fornicate evil goddesses—beautiful or otherwise!

Venus was well aware that nothing could rival
her beauty. Even the many portraits and statues of her—the
prevalent decor in her opulent temple—didn't adequately depict her
real-life splendor. "Am I more beautiful than the American
Princess?" she said, as she parted her gown to give the messenger
god a glimpse of her breasts—two good reasons for him to lick his
lips.

"Of cor...of course you are, in an evil sort
of way."

Caught in the booby trap, she thought, as she
basked in his praise. It's so easy when men keep having fits over
tits.

"But remember," he continued, "'beauty is in
the eye of the beholder.' A rattlesnake will tell you that beauty
is a long slithery female, with two beady eyes and a sexy
rattle."

"Snog your rattler! Nobody cares what a snake
thinks. But Princess Betty-Jo's beauty is another matter. She has
real beauty—beauty that came to her through the ages from Helen of
Troy."

Mercury looked thoughtful. "So Helen is where
Princess Betty-Jo's beauty comes from."

"But not to worry. The Trojan slut's beauty
will vanish forever, with Princess Betty-Jo's lamentable early
demise. Then, the Golden Apple—symbol to all of my incomparable
beauty—will again be mine. But this time, it will be mine for
eternity."

"Only if Princess Betty-Jo is slumbering with
the worms before the millennium. She's favored to win the
All-Universe beauty contest, and there's a rumor that Zeus is going
to immortalize the winner, like he immortalized Psyche."

Venus' fury bubbled over again. "He wouldn't
dare!"

"You'd better pray you're right, because if
Princess Betty-Jo wins the All-Universe, and Zeus immortalizes her,
the Golden Apple will be hers for a thousand years—maybe for
eons."

"Damn Zeus! Damn him! He shouldn't allow the
mortals to enter the All-Universe. There's no precedent! He's doing
everything he can to deny me the adulation that's rightfully
mine.

"Zeus does what he wants. You know that. And
besides, Princess Betty-Jo is his granddaughter—albeit many times
removed."

"Well I also do what I want! My only
competition in the All-Universe is Princess Betty-Jo, but by 2000
the wench will be six feet under, and so maggot-infested that even
the bowsers will look like ravishing beauties by comparison."

Mercury stood up. "Gotta leave for Toronto.
It may take a while to talk Raiden into taking his spring break at
Myrtle Beach. Too bad he can't be possessed; it would make my job a
whole lot easier."

"I don't want excuses! I want Princess
Betty-Jo and Raiden dead! Dead as doornails!"

"What's a doornail?"

"Damned if I can remember. But in the earth's
fourteenth-century, if you were dead as a doornail, you were
seriously dead!"

"Easy, goddess. She'll be dispatched on
schedule, and Raiden will be leaving to spend time with the fishes
shortly thereafter. Just make sure you honor your end of our
agreement. I expect to find you open and friendly when I
return."

The diminutive twit is perma-horny. "Anything
else?"

"Yeah—wide open and very friendly. I'm taking
a hell of a risk for you!"

Oh, oh. I'm losing him. "You are, but you
know that your reward will make it all worthwhile. When you return
from Myrtle Beach, we'll fornicate. Just don't try to put that
thing of yours in the wrong hole." As an added incentive, Venus
took Mercury's hand and moved it through the slit in her gown.

The messenger god took a deep breath, and
reveled in the intoxicating aphrodisiac that was Venus' aroma. Then
he closed his eyes, and drooled like a Basset hound. "The way you
moan—such a basic, earthy sound. Please, goddess, I must have
you."

Venus was not about to give in to Mercury's
pleading—not even as the waves of pleasure washed over her. "Take
care of The Princess and Raiden first," she said, as she drew her
legs under her. "It will be a character builder for you."

"Damn you Venus! Damn what you do to me!"
Mercury savored Venus' aroma one last time, and then swaggered out
of her temple.

Venus laughed at his swagger. "What a dud.
Foreplay with that guy is like a close encounter with the turd
kind." She tossed Old Hairball an angelfish, and considered her
foes' progeny, the earth mortals Betty-Jo Chance and Brad Raiden.
"It's payback time. Soon I'll be shut of those cretins, and ruling
the earth with Emperor Kahn."

A flea infested Old Hairball looked as if he
could care less.

"None other than Nostradamus has foretold the
coming of Kahn, the King of Terror, and Nostradamus has never been
wrong. He predicted the French revolution, the rise to power of
Napoleon, the conquests of my buddy, Adolph, and the death of two
of the Kennedy brothers."

Old Hairball scratched beneath his right
ear.

"Now, on the eve of the millennium, Emperor
Kahn's arrival is at hand. Nostradamus has written:

In the year 1999 and seven months,

A King of Terror from the sky will come.

He will resurrect the great King of the Mongols.

Soon after Emperor Kahn's arrival, and his
resurrection of Genghis Kahn, the Mongol hoards will again be
swarming over the earth like locusts. And this time they'll be
brandishing chemical weapons, biological weapons, and nukes." She
sighed as she pictured the devastation. "I can hardly wait! If the
Americans thought they had a difficult time competing against a few
Chinese swimmers on steroids, wait 'til they see the supermen and
women that eugenics and genetic engineering produce. And Emperor
Kahn will have a nasty surprise for those sissy Americans—he'll use
the new drug-testing technology to sterilize their elite athletes.
The best part is they won't even know they've been neutered."

The love goddess again slid her hand up her
inner thigh, excited by the thought of America's finest athletes
copulating like crazy in a futile attempt to procreate. "It's true,
you obnoxious pussy," she said as she peaked once more, "'Sex is
best with someone you love.'" When she finished winding down, she
grabbed Old Hairball's tail, and forced him to listen to her plans
for the conquest of America. "Every American man, woman, and child
will be enslaved by Emperor Kahn. The men and children will be made
to toil in the fields and factories, but that will be a blessing
compared to the horror that's awaits their women." She quivered in
anticipation, and gave Hairball's tail a yank to make certain he
was listening.

"Rrrow!" he cried.

"There's only one problem. Nostradamus'
prophesy reveals that the son of The American Princess could save
America. But you needn't be concerned, you ugly puss, because I've
ensured that he'll never be born." Her voice was shrill, her eyes
savage. "Princess Betty-Jo's death will remove the American hero's
threat to me and to Emperor Kahn. Dead women don't have sons who
grow up to be heroes."

In celebration of Princess Betty-Jo's
anticipated demise, Venus kicked Old Hairball with her red,
pointy-toed, stiletto-heeled shoe.

"Rrrow!" Old Hairball cried, even louder than
before. Then his claws went after her leg and ran her nylon. That
was a mistake, because, holding his tail with both hands she swung
him around like the hammer in a hammer throw, and released him in
the direction of the piranha pool.

Old Hairball landed on all fours, but
following his successful splashdown he found himself surrounded by
a bunch of repulsive, razor-toothed piranha. The sorry puss gave a
plaintive cry before he realized that it was his lucky day. The
piranha, having just eaten their fill of gold and angelfish,
weren't interested in a pussycat—not even one that looked like
dessert.

She hauled him out of the pool by the scruff
of the neck, and shook the bejesus out of him. Despite the run in
her nylon, her mood was improving.

"With Mercury willing to do whatever it takes
to have me, and Zeus busy shagging his strumpet, Europa, it'll soon
be bye-bye American Princess and bye-bye Mr. Raiden."

A
Loveable Lover

It was two-thirty on a March '94 Sunday at
Horry Courts in Myrtle Beach. Betty-Jo Chance was playing in the
South Carolina indoor tennis championship, and she was kicking
butt. For the nineteen-year-old tennis sensation, heaven was only a
game and a lovable lover away. The game she knew she was going to
win, but the loveable lover?

Although she was plump, she captivated men
when she played. Quite unintentionally, she had added an arousing
dimension to a tennis game. When she pounded the ball cross-court,
her breasts swelled upward in a delight soon followed by their
equally captivating descent. They appeared to be jockeying for
position as the eighth and ninth wonders of the modern world. And
while her breasts did nothing to advance her dream to play
professional tennis, she did have a big weapon—Betty-Jo was
ambidextrous. Her switch-hitting ability enabled her to hammer
forehands, and hit deceptive serves from both her left and right
sides. Her opponents suffered—confused and overpowered.

* * *