Popeye and Olive – the Remake

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Бренд: Young and cruel

Уникальный код: F-911

Mixed fighting freestyle, 240 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.

In this strange age that we find ourselves a part of, “creative” types seem to love to “interpret” much-loved classics and spend a colossal amount of money staging or filming them. So we get an actress playing the part of Richard III, a black actress playing Anne Boleyn, and black soldiers fighting at the Battle of Hastings. Snow White, oddly enough, looks rather like the original Disney one; but the actress did her best to wreck the new film by denigrating the hugely popular 1937 one.

It was high time someone remade (or ruined) Popeye the sailor man. We all know the familiar cartoons and films of Popeye and his sweet girlfriend Olive Oyl. Some cartoon villain does terrible things to try to win Olive’s affection, Popeye eats a can of spinach, which makes him strong, and beats up the much larger man called Bluto.

But in this “cutting edge” and “edgy” modern interpretation, Popeye isn’t a sailor, but a part time astronaut, who travels around in an odd-looking space buggy. Olive is no longer the simpering, submissive, likeable woman, but a feminist, skilled in engineering and martial arts.

In this new version, they have recently married, but the relationship has hit the rocks already. After Olive throws Popeye’s pipe out of the window, saying how it stinks the place out, Popeye says he will sue for divorce.

“I’ve got a better idea,” states Olive. “Let’s fight. You’re always boasting about what a wonderful boxer you are, and I’m proficient in mixed martial arts, so let’s settle things that way. We’ll hire the arena.”

“You can’t fight me,” protests Popeye, reverting to type, “I’ll, I’ll …”

“Save it for the arena,” Olive interrupts him.

So the arena is booked. Popeye goes by the name of “The Butcher”, while Olive chooses “Miss Cruelty”. But however much the producers wish the new names to stick, audiences stubbornly persist in calling them Popeye and Olive.

Popeye retains his muscles, but loses his pipe (it broke when Olive threw it out of the window). It has put him out of sorts that he has to be naked. Olive swaps her striking black hair for blonde, with a bun. Strangely enough, she appears shorter than the original, who occasionally seems to stand taller than Popeye. Instead of her black skirt and red top, she now wears a camouflage bodysuit, which moulds itself around her beautiful figure, especially her delightfully large breasts.

Popeye starts off boorishly, telling Olive that if she strips, kneels down and gives him a BJ, he won’t hit her. She responds furiously, telling him to kiss her boots to apologise. With no chance of compromise, Popeye launches a body shot that Olive stylishly avoids, seeming to ignore it as it flashes out of sight just under her armpit. Skipping out of the way, viewers can appreciate the muscles of her well-toned legs.

One thing “Miss Cruelty’s” brief bio doesn’t mention is that she is a skilled dancer. “Gymnastics” is the closest concession to it. Perhaps dancing doesn’t meet her idea of a modern feminist. But you can see it in the way she escapes a left cross from “The Butcher”. There is grace and poise in every inch of her body. Ironically, because she is so strong, it looks effortless too.

In fact, the opening stages of the fight resemble a dance routine – at least when looking at Olive. Smiling as she would on a dance floor, she nimbly turns away from Popeye’s lumbering effort of a punch, balances on her left foot, and reverse kicks with her right, catching the astonished Popeye on the jaw. There is nothing choreographed about his reaction: instead of a dramatic series of chords to accompany the scene, the astronaut yells in pain as he staggers, trying to stay on his feet.

Succeeding, he tries another left cross, aiming down to compensate for his considerable superiority in height. But his elusive wife leans to one side, and glances it away with her right arm. His follow through presents her with the wide-open target of his barrel chest, and she hammers her right elbow into it.

Olive’s smile has gone now. She looks determined, as if she is fighting for a cause. And Popeye? He hasn’t smiled since he mentioned a BJ (there’s nothing that makes a man smile so much as the prospect of such a thing). His head goes up, and he utters another cry of pain – so very un-Popeye, as you remember him.

Hitherto, Olive’s strikes have been reactive. She has seemingly been content to wait for her husband’s attacks, to rely on excellent defensive skills, and then to capitalise on any openings resulting from his failed strikes. Now, she takes the initiative, judging him to be tired enough after so much wasted energy. Giving herself room, she kicks him on the inside of his right knee, making his leg go “dead” so he has to rely on the other one just to stay upright.

He only just manages to do that, blundering to his side. He stumbles so low that his massive upper body is horizontal to the ground. Olive can’t believe her luck. It puts him nicely in range of her knees, and she punishes his neck and throat accordingly with her right one.

Popeye gasps and struggles to breathe. He “takes his eye off the ball”, giving Olive time to line up her next attack. Once again, she uses her background in dancing to stand on tiptoe on her left foot and smash her right one into Popeye’s jaw. For devotees of martial arts, and leaving aside the severe pain it must cause, her high kick is a thing of beauty. Using perfect balance to put the maximum force into its delivery, she sends Popeye with it for a number of steps, roaring and cursing in pain, humiliation and frustration.

Adding insult to injury, by showing him up on his particular skill, Olive punches him on the opposite jaw. She has to aim upwards because of their big difference in height and, as with her previous kick, every ounce of her weight goes into that left cross. It is especially wounding for him, psychologically. How often has he boasted to her about his boxing skills? Yet she has just landed a good firm fist on him, when all he has done so far is miss.

But she takes his mind of this blow to his pride with a kick to the balls. She smiles again, as if to say, “I’ve always wanted to do this!” while he collapses to the ground. Showing him no mercy, she continues to “put the boot in” while he is lying there, groaning and clutching his manhood. She steps on his neck, and pushes down with her foot, loving the feeling of dominance.

Then comes the gloating little speech, which is probably the starkest change of all from the original Olive. Sarcastically call him “tough guy”, she asks if her “slender, girlish legs [have given him] a few surprises?” She tells him if he kisses them, she’ll be “merciful to the loser”.

“Bitch!” moans Popeye (which, again, you could never imagine the original Popeye saying, so enamoured was he of Olive).

With a mixture of taunts, Olive goads him into getting up. Standing with her hands on her hips, she wears a self-satisfied look, guaranteed to infuriate him, as he at last stands up, mortified by his humiliation. She says nothing. But her look tells him, “Come on then – if you dare!”

Popeye charges head down at his wife. But, showing the agility acquired from her long experience of gymnastics, she springs over him and coils her right leg around his neck in a single leg head scissor. Well, when a woman’s legs are so strong, who needs two of them for a fearsome scissor? With both her feet off the ground, she uses his stumbling form to (sort of) stay upright. For she performs marvels with her leg around his neck, forcing him to follow her one way then the other.

Years of hard training from an early age now pay dividends, as she stands on her hands and snaps both her legs shut around his neck, bending him backwards. Not one muscle in her body seems to be wasted, while his muscles – which border on caricature as they always did – stand useless, superfluous. She “walks” on her hands, forcing him to take backward steps, before pulling him down to the ground on his front.

Olive reinforces the scissor, free now to concentrate just on that. She looks back, gratified to see suffering, confusion and panic etched in her husband’s face. Next, using the scissor, she pulls him first onto his side, then onto his back. Supporting herself on one hand, she now lies across him, imprisoning his left arm as well as his neck in the scissor. The contrast between her relaxed, amused demeanour, and the intensity of the effort of her legs is stark. Again, it reflected years of hard training.

The cause of her amusement isn’t just Popeye’s discomfort. However much he might be enduring (or perhaps because of it) she notices he has a huge erection. Well, who would have thought it? The self-confident, positive, macho man getting aroused because his wife is dominating him!

Olive indulges in a face-sit, straddling his face and pushing the back of his head to “encourage” him to greater effort. She switches to a reverse one, so she can go to work on that erection. With her left hand on his cock, she raises her right, then slaps his balls hard enough to make him jump. She cups his balls, teasing him by crossing then recrossing the boundary between pleasure and pain. Then, letting go, she reverts to the scissor, squeezing so hard with her thighs that it knocks him out.

Sitting upright on his face, she makes a decision. Then, standing thoughtfully, with one finger pressed girlishly to her face, she takes a moment to relish the thought of what she is going to do to him. Off she strides to the space buggy, where she secretly secreted something while Popeye was “getting changed”.

He is still unconscious, and she is able to place some curious band around his penis at her leisure. She takes an odd-looking box with buttons on it in her hand. She presses one of the buttons, which sends an electric charge to the band, and a shock to the penis. Popeye spasms to consciousness as his manhood is “zapped”. So that is what she has been so secretive about when she goes to the laboratory every evening! She has been building this diabolical device! So run his thoughts once the spasms cease.

He sits up and groans. True, she’s clever, he thinks, but cleverness used the wrong way is worse than ignorance. Now she’s goading him to fight some more. Very well, if that’s what she wants … Popeye runs towards her, fists raised, then – ZAP. He falls down as unnatural shocks tunnel through his loins.

Olive’s behaviour has crossed the boundary into sadism. She is amused at his extreme discomfort, like a child with a novelty. Let’s play it again, just one more time! As he hunches on the ground, shivering with the aftermath of the currents wracking his body, she now deigns to talk to him.

“Pathetic worm,” she sneers down at him, demanding to discover whether he now knows who is stronger, men or women. He is destroyed by both her strength and her ingenuity, and he concedes girls’ superiority. (How the original Popeye would have been scratching his head, puffing furiously on his pipe and pulling contorted faces at such thoughts!)

Olive makes him kiss her foot, and tells him to beg her to kick him in the balls. He tries a filibuster, going off at a tangent about how she is stronger and admitting her superiority. But she’s not having any! She warns him she can castrate him “with the push of a button”. She won’t tolerate disobedience. After some elaborate grovelling, he does ask her to kick him in the balls.

Popeye gulps as she orders him to stand up with his legs apart. She prolongs his dread of what’s about to happen by listing her powers and how she’s going to demonstrate them. “Are you ready?” she demands. He tells her yes. She takes half a step back, then delivers an almighty kick. Popeye’s shouts of pain reverberate around the arena. After everything else that has been inflicted on his penis in that short time, he orgasms.

He lies, broken, in the foetal position, while she lectures him some more, reminding him that he likes “rough sex”. Well, he got that all right! She poses, flexing over him, then leaves abruptly and flies off on his space buggy. He can make his own way home.