Drop the soap...and then drop them.

They surround you in seconds, you can feel their breath on your slender neck. It's hurried, harried, they're just as scared as you are...isn't that what they say about bears? But when it comes down to it, the only thing that matters is who ends up in whose belly...

You drop the soap...and you can feel the hot hatred of their smiles. They step closer, and you find the soap with the base of your foot and swirl it in swift spirals. "Whatsamatta, bitch, why ain't you pickin' up that soap? You'd rather pick up your teeth?" You turn and offer a sparkling smile. You can almost feel his muscles relax as he steps closer to claim his prize. You smile, knowing he's yours...he takes a step, the wrong one. You kick the soap and it lands under his next footfall, and he falls hard to the cement floor.

His friends are close behind, but so are you, dropping to the floor and sliding on your belly to grab their slender ankles and twist them painfully. Their heads hit the hard tile wall, and both crack with a sick sound that echoes through the showers. Their reputations and their conciousness crumple seconds before their limp bodies crash on the hard ground. You turn to the collected crowd and your shouts echo throughout the showers with more volume and base than even you imagined.

"My name is Barbie, and I'm not locked up with you...you're locked up with me. If you have a good cock and know how to use it, we might be friends. If not...well look at these fail fags...and imagine worse...because I can. You think you know hard...imagine growing up with my ass. And ask yourself, do I want to make him my friend?" You step on the closest neck to you and push just far down enough to hear a hoarse whisper, but not a snap, "Or an enemy?" You kick his rough, **** face letting his teeth cut his cheek open. The gathered, gawking gangs gathered begin to spread and shuffle away. You smile and lick your luscious lips...

It's good to be the queen...