+Notable Author: [Chameleon] STORIES~collected

[Chameleon]

 

I'm a new poster on this board. Let me know what you think, I'd appreciate any feedback you guys care to offer.

The stories in this collection:

The Bounty and the Blacksmith

The Power-Walker

Mugged on a Blind Date

School Brawl


The Bounty and the Blacksmith - A western.
by Chameleon

adult content: sex and violence

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Pax all but crawled into town. His horse had finally succumbed to the desert miles back and he’d left it to the carrion-eaters and raptors. He was still carrying the saddle, a Worsfort custom job that had been worth as much as the horse and it had been a fine horse.

He made it to the water-pump in the town square and collapsed before it. Nothing in his life so far could have hoped to feel as good as that first taste – a sharp tang of clear, cold water. Relief, redemption, reprieve. He soaked himself.

Curious townsfolk watched him, they had newcomers and strangers from time to time, but never in quite so dire straits. Children, also curious but perhaps less inhibited, came closer. At his direction they worked the pump so he could lay beneath and wash the desert from him.

Afterwards he tossed them a coin and squeezed the sodden excess from his shirt. In this heat it would be practically dry by the time he made it across the street. He gathered his gear and made for the tavern.

It was doing good business despite the early hour. The resident whores exchanged looks with each other before one approached him.

Pax paid her no mind, sitting at the bar and waiting for the barkeep to make his meandering way over. He ordered a beer, ordered food, asked about a room.

“You look hard travelled,” the woman said. “I can help you relax.”

“No, thank you ma’am,” he told her without even looking. She was dressed for business, her bosom trussed into an inviting balcony of plump flesh. Still he hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. It was this more than anything else that convinced her there was no business to be had.

She retreated, exchanging a wry look with her fellow doxies. Another woman tried her luck, as comely as her fellow, if not quite as relentlessly buxom. Her come-on was as gentle, as assured. And also rejected.

“Perhaps later,” he said, voice rising slightly, but not aggressively so, just enough in order to carry to all those soliciting business. “But not now. Not today.”

He ate then ordered a whiskey, sipped at it. Other drinkers came and went. Other customers for the whores. The barkeep informed him that his room was ready, that the bath had been prepared for him. He thanked him but halted, distracted by the next customer who came strolling in.

It was a woman, though you’d have to take a second look to be sure you weren’t mistaken. No, it was definitely a woman, though her body was bigger than any man’s he’d ever seen. She had to turn her broad shoulders in order to fit the doorway. As tall as any man in town it was nonetheless her stocky build that was so extraordinary. Muscles like something from a myth – a super-human from a bygone age of Earthbound goddesses. There was something unnatural about that physique, certainly nothing human could explain it.

“Our local blacksmith,” the barkeep explained, as if this was a rational reason. Pax had seen blacksmiths before, squat and sturdy fellers to a man, but none looked as robust as this strapping woman. He had seen a woman as corpulent once, in a carnival side-show attraction, but her body had been of fat, the bulbous excess hanging from her frame like butter. But this woman’s size was the dense and tight condition of pure brawn.

The soot and grime of her profession spelt its signature across her appearance. A leather toolbelt hung from her wide, womanly hips though was currently unadorned. A tough hide apron was tied to her body, beneath which was a sleeveless shirt and a gingham skirt.

She strode right up to the bar and took the beer that the barkeep had poured her without prompting. She raised it up and emptied the tankard in one long and grateful draft.

As she did this Pax saw the arm – far thicker than any man’s, as he’d already noticed, but more than this. The motion of her arm flexed had caused the biceps muscle to stand up as though independent. It was the size of a cannonball and looked to be about as hard as one too. There was apparently a very good reason the blacksmith wore a shirt without sleeves – arms like that simply would not fit in such a garment.

The woman placed the tankard down and nodded to the barkeep who refilled it.

Only then did she turn to Pax and acknowledge his presence.

“So you are this mysterious stranger?”

“Pax, ma’am,” he told her. “And you’re a blacksmith?”

“I am.”

“Pardon my surprise. I’ve met all manner of blacksmith before. But never met a pretty one. Not till now.”

She smiled, accepting the complement in good grace. “My name is Annika,” she told him. “It means ‘gracious’.”

Her accent had a whiff of the Scandinavian about it. It was fair and sweet, as feminine as her features, and only seemed to complement her hearty and vigorous constitution.

“That’s a Worsfort saddle,” she told him.

“It is,” he agreed.

“Quite a piece of kit you’re hauling.”

“I guess.”

“Not the standard for a cowboy,” she said. “So who are you?”

“Just a travelling man.” And he waved the question off.

She shrugged. “That’s fine. You can stay the mystery man. Keep your secrets.”

Pax caught the barman’s attention again. Got another whiskey, which he sipped while Annika sipped at her second beer.

“I saw a circus strongman once,” he told her. “His arms were big, his chest as round as a barrel. He could heft iron-weights like they were light as hay. He held the reigns of two stallions while they tried to bolt in opposite directions but he kept them fast in place just by gripping onto the straps. He passed a hefty iron bar around the crowd and challenged the folk there to bend it. None of them could. But he folded it in half just as neat as if it had been softened in your furnace.”

“Sounds like quite a man,” she remarked.

“And yet, the size of him, impressive though it was, still falls short. Your limbs would eclipse his and I’d wager your strength would too, woman or no. How does anyone of either sex get to such a state? Blacksmiths are hardy fellers, I’ve seen that. But not like you. No one’s like you.”

“How?” she asked. It was coy, almost a giggle. “Why Mr Pax, a lady has to have her secrets too.”

They finished their drinks and Pax’s bath still awaited him. He looked at his new companion – the dirt and grime that still coated her. But it couldn’t sully her beauty. Nothing could. And the fascination of her remarkable body was more seductive to him than anything the whores sat around the tavern could offer. Surely she had a bath of her own to attend to her needs. But still.

“I need to clean the desert from my body,” he told her. “The bath’s ready and waiting. I’m sure there’s water enough for a blacksmith’s needs too.”

“Why Mr Pax,” she said, flirtatious despite her blushing, “that’s so gentlemanly. How could I refuse?” And she offered him her hand in the most ladylike manner imaginable.

As they retreated up the stairs they heard the giggling of the prostitutes in the bar. It wasn’t mean-spirited however and when they caught each other’s glances, they joined in the amusement.

Annika stripped away her work-soiled clothes and Pax did likewise to his own. The tin tub was small but by negotiating their legs around each other they both found room within it. Using the cloth and the soapy water they tenderly explored each other’s physiques.

He couldn’t help but be fascinated by the manner in which her extraordinary strength was mapped within a determinedly feminine form. It was undeniably a woman’s body yet the distinctive lines and features were complemented by the increased size and development of muscles near beast-like in their potency and power.

She demonstrated how she could raise her biceps muscle like a mountain, flexing it hard until it had swollen as large as his head. At her bidding he stroked it, feeling her enormous strength lying contained within that curved mound. Smooth and wet with the soapy bath. Playfully she closed her arm tighter, trapping his flat hand in the crook of her elbow, the rock-like boulder threatening to crush his fingers. She made him cry out in pain before releasing him and she descended into giggles.

Her breasts had a womanly heft, sitting high but heavy on her broad chest. Their consistency was as soft and substantial as any woman’s, unlike the compact unyielding of her muscles. He soaked them and explored them thoroughly, enlightening the nipples into excited attention and making her gasp with his manipulation.

Then further and more intimate, exploring that secret region between her thickly striated thighs. The legs themselves were powerful and, when she obligingly flexed the muscles there, could harden to impenetrable slopes. She claimed the capacity to crack coconuts with her thighs alone and he saw no reason to doubt her.

He felt into the matted fur of her most private place. This too, as wholly and undeniably womanly as any feminine body to grace his chamber. But still too, enlivened by the strength that had reconditioned her entire form. He felt the wet grip there around his fingers – more potent and eager than any woman who’d ever delivered her prized gift to him.

Staying inside the tub they eased themselves together, Pax discovering that her athletic capacity was immensely practical in compromising a position within such awkward quarters. In addition to which she maintained a strength that was utterly sturdy and reliable to work himself upon, delivering a degree of satisfaction he’d never dreamed possible.

That grip again as he was set loose inside her – a beautiful tight and lusty kiss upon him – as fervid and enraptured as his own captivated desires.

There was something remarkable about the manner in which so strong and powerful a woman submitted to pleasure. Despite the rigour of her control and physical command, once the joy and glory of gratification began to overwhelm her, she became helpless to its potent demands. Eyes scrunched shut, lithe body bucking upon him, muscles rolling in convulsive frenzy, she surrendered to the moment. Her voice, an angelic beauty with a devil’s wantonness exalted her rapture, every quivering breath vocalised an extolment of triumph.

Pax could no more contain himself with such a woman than a bullet could hold itself at bay when fired from a gun. He gasped as he lost control and collapsed backwards, her arms were all that stopped him falling from the tub.

She laughed joyously, holding him tight against her body until both their helpless spasms began, eventually, to subside. The euphoria enveloped them and they sank, still in each other’s arms.

She lifted him out, dried him down, carried him over the bed and laid him upon it. Then, hungrily she climbed on top of him, clearly ready to go again.

“I can’t,” he protested. “Not so soon.”

“Let me prove you wrong,” she insisted. And proceeded to do just that.

Annika reinvigorated his lusts, grasping his fallow member and motivating it with her gentle but remorseless strength.

Given his exhaustion she was more than willing to take on the lion’s share of exertion – her robust form more than suitable for ceaseless stamina.

It took longer, naturally, the urgency of their initial coupling now spent. It was replaced instead by a slow-building fire, gradually but unflinchingly stoked up by her indefatigability body and her insatiable craving. Pax almost had no option but to lie there and endure her wanton attention as she eagerly subjected him to her carnality.

Again, once reached, the peaks of physical joy were unlike anything he’d known in the arms of any other woman. Pleasure had never before been so acute or so shattering. And he was helpless to do anything but lie back and experience it as she mercilessly ravished him for a seemingly endless ordeal.

“Your body is incredible,” Pax said, as if she needed to be told this.

He was lying back on the bed, so drained of energy he could barely even move. She lay beside him, limbs lazily entangled with his.

“Thank you,” Annika said. “I work hard to make it so.”

“By being a blacksmith?”

“That helps,” she admitted. “But it’s more than that. Since a young girl I have performed the motions my mother taught me as a child – exercises that push you to improve and to grow. She too had a body as big as this – as powerful as this. She showed me what was necessary to develop it and to maintain it.”

“That’s all it is? Exercises?”

“That’s all. But lots of them. A lifetime’s worth. My mother met a man, a blacksmith, and he was so enamoured of her unusual physique that he fell in love. That man was my father. Throughout his life he was as strong as an ox – the strongest man in town. But he never came close to matching my mother. They were very happy their whole lives.

“When I was born they were delighted I was a girl and my mother determined that I be bought up in the tradition of her family, that I be shown and encouraged to develop a body that eclipsed even the mightiest of men.

“Needless to say, the result is the body you’ve just experienced. My father was happy and glad that he could pass on his trade to someone so capable.”

“That’s your secret?”

“It’s not much of a secret,” she admitted. “I tell it to anyone who shows an interest. And anyone who sees me cannot help but be curious.”

“You made it a secret to me.”

“That’s because you were being so secretive. So now, I’ve shared my secret with you – and so much more – won’t you tell me yours? How does a cowboy get stranded in the desert so that he finds himself crawling to town.”

Pax sat up in bed, lit himself a cigarette and told her. “I’ve been sanctioned by the Pinkerton Agency to track down and retrieve a felon. He fled before trial. I was sent to find him and bring him back. Alive if possible but otherwise dead.”

“You’re a detective?”

His momentary hesitancy made her smile, darkly impressed. “No,” she corrected herself. “You’re a bounty-hunter.” And this time it wasn’t a question.

“You’re hardly surprised,” he observed.

“No. It was what fit. How did you end up stranded?”

“I caught up to him. Or very nearly I did. He was hiding up in the town when I arrived. Before I could find him and bring him in he fled again. Only before he left he snuck into the stable where my horse was housed. He hamstringed it. He did so sly and careful a job that the injury didn’t show, didn’t cause an issue even until I was hot on his tracks out in the desert.

“It was an evil thing to do to a poor working creature and it was nearly the death of me too. When I catch up to the man I tell you he’ll be lucky if I take him in alive.”

He went to his saddle bag, took a document from it. He unfolded a picture, a close likeness of the man he sought.

Annika’s face told him she recognised it before he could even ask.

“You’ve seen this man, he’s in town?”

“He was,” she told him. Her regret was palpable. “You’re too late.”

“He’s already left?”

“He’s already dead. He’s lying on the undertaker’s table. We didn’t know he had a price on him.”

Pax looked at her, surprised. “What happened?”

“He tried to rape Johanna,” Annika told him. “She’s the one of the prostitutes downstairs. I heard a scream ran to the alley and there she was, her face bloody. And there he was, his face full of cruelty and hate.”

“That sounds like him,” Pax said.

“I stepped in to help her. Things got nasty. He got dead.”

“So it was self-defence?”

She nodded.

He could see she was uncomfortable – he didn’t push her. “Well, take comfort from the fact he was an unpleasant man. This world is better for his departing it.” And then he added, carefully. “And we’re both the richer for it too.”

She was momentarily confused. “What, you mean the bounty?”

“He’s worth as much as a corpse as he was alive. And he’s a damn sight easier to transport. As the licensed tracker, I have the necessary papers to make the claim but under the circumstances I’ll pay you a provision.”

Annika’s expression was still awkward. Pax didn’t like the thought that a transaction would come between them, but even so, he’d spend a significant period tracking the man down and suffered all manner of hardships in the process. He wasn’t about to give up his fairly earned bounty just because another had happened to lay the killing stroke. And he had the legal jurisdiction here.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not quite that simple.”

“The law makes it very simple,” he told her, his voice growing sterner.

“I’m not trying to appropriate your claim,” she assured him. “I’m just concerned whether you’ll still be able to make your claim. Whether they’ll be willing to pay out on the body.”

“There’s a problem recognising him?” he asked. “You shot him in the face?”

“I didn’t shoot him at all, Mr Pax. I had no weapon to hand.”

“What did happen?”

“When I saw what he’d done to Johanna, and what he was trying to do to her, I intervened. He tried to scare me off, tried to impose his brutish manner and intimidate me. So I struck him as hard as I could, slamming him in the belly with my fist. He collapsed to the ground, gasping and groaning. I turned to Johanna but then she screamed. I turned back and he was up on his knees and reaching for his gun. I didn’t know what to do...”

He let the pause hang but then prompted her, gently. “What did you do?” he insisted.

“I stepped forward,” she said. “I put my legs either side of his head.” She paused again, then continued, hesitantly. “I told you I can break a coconut between my thighs. It’s not the only thing I’m capable of breaking. I started squeezing. I didn’t stop until I heard the crack.

“His head caved in. It was only when my knees slammed together that I realised just how badly I’d damaged him. His body collapsed and rolled aside into the gutter before I even parted my thighs again. If you require his face to be intact to claim your reward then I’m afraid you’ll be left wanting.”

Pax held up the drawing. “He’s no longer recognisable?”

“He no longer has a head to recognise.”

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Great start! Well, written!

  Thank you. Will be putting more stuff up soon...

[Chameleon]

Just discovered this. Damn, your writing is fantastic. Your fanfic is good; your originals are GREAT. I hope to read a whole lot more.

Do you post anywhere else?

I would like to read more of this story.

Thanks guys. When I wrote this is was only supposed to be a one shot, but I have been thinking a little about following up. (Was distracted for a while on another project, the revising of the Wonder Woman novelization recentally posted here.)

Is there more?

I think there's more to explore here. Don't normally write in the western genre but this was kinda fun. So, yeah, there will be more to come...

meanwhile, a very brief interlude to keep things going

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“That’s a feller!” the husband insisted.

“It’s a lady,” the wife countered. “Just look at the way she carries herself.”

They were both peering into the dusty distance, the low sun making a silhouette of the approaching pair.

“If it’s a woman then it’s the biggest woman I’ve ever seen.”

One rider was a man, there was certainly no doubt about that, but the other looked feminine despite the apparent brawn. She was as tall as a man, but so broad as to resemble more a mythic warrior from a fantastical bygone age than a human being, whether man or woman.

“Then you’ll take a bet on it,” the wife suggested.

He looked at her and she looked back saucily. They didn’t bet money between themselves, having a far more intimate currency to exchange when such playful bets were placed.

“I will!” he agreed. Though neither one much minded losing such bets.

The pair of riders were heading towards them along the dusty trail – they’d soon see who was correct. And as they watched, it did indeed become apparent.

The wife slapped her husband affectionately on the butt, gripping it lustily. “Told you!”

It was true. As they approached it became clear that the other rider, the widely built one, was a woman. Albeit a quite extraordinary one.

“Mamma,” one of the kids called from inside the broken wagon, “are they still coming?”

“Stay in there,” their father yelled harshly. Then, gentler, “just keep down and keep quiet till I’ve had a chance to speak to them.”

The pair approached, pulled their horses to a halt close by. They dismounted, approached.

“Well,” his wife whispered, “they look more amiable than the last lot. Here’s hoping they can help.”

“Truth be told,” her husband replied, “I’m glad that lot didn’t stop off. Was glad to see them depart. I did not like the look of those fellers.”

The newcomers were both dressed like cowboys, rugged shirts, denim jeans, broad hats against the sun. The woman removed hers and long golden locks spilled down around her shoulders. She was so fair, so remarkably beautiful, it was a wonder there could have been any doubt as to her gender. There was nothing masculine about her at all. It was just so unusual to see a woman of such immense brawn. More than unusual – it was almost unthinkable. If the couple hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, neither one would have believed such a thing possible.

They also both noted that the woman’s sleeves were cut. A long slit had been drawn along the inside length of the upper arms, allowing for the additional give those bulky limbs clearly required. What sort of an unreal woman was this?

But she hung back, demure despite her robust build and her self-assured stance. Her companion stepped forward. He was a genial looking feller, strong features, dark eyes, but with compassion and warmth showing on his face, even despite his stoical expression.

They were both unarmed but the husband and wife didn’t doubt their saddlebags held weapons – who didn’t carry on this road? And a long rifle was holstered and strapped to the man’s horse. Not for easy grabbing, but then, should it be required, it wouldn’t take all that long to draw it out.

The cowboy nodded to the husband and wife in silent greeting before regarding their broken wagon. The question as to whether or not this unusual pair of travellers were willing to help seemed already answered.

“Not a bad break,” he concluded, unenthused.

“We tried to rig it,” the husband told him. “It held for a few miles, but that’s all.”

The woman stepped forward too, ducked herself down to look at the damage beneath the caravan. She nodded knowledgably, peering up at the underneath from a low crouch.

“I can secure that,” she said, as though to all and none – whoever happened to hear. “It don’t need replacing – not if you get a proper brace to hold it together.”

She straightened, headed back to her horse.

“Thank you, kindly,” the wife said, clearly grateful and very much relieved.

Their conversation was sparse but pleasant. The husband offered coffee which his wife immediately set about making. Then he noticed that the cowboy was suddenly staring off, smiling oddly. He guessed, turning, and saw his kids peering out at the newcomers. Four sets of curious eyes regarded the scene.

The husband introduced his sons and daughters to the cowboy, and then to the cowgirl too as she returned. Not a cowgirl though, a blacksmith. She was wearing a leather apron and a belt laden down with professional tools.

“It’s what she does,” the cowboy assured them. Then, to his companion, “you want me to do anything?”

“I’ve got it,” she said. She had left her hat on her saddle was now tying back her long hair with a short length of hide twine.

The children all stared agog and the husband turned to see why. And was himself struck, just as astounded as they were. The motion had made the woman’s arms stand out like there were boulders beneath her skin. The purpose of the slits in her sleeves was now very much apparent as they were stretched wide – without that extra space they would surely have burst at the seams. He’d never seen muscles like that in his life on anybody, man or woman.

The blacksmith didn’t need any help, the cowboy assured them. Though whether she wanted them or not she would apparently have four eager young helpers watching her work. She was happy enough with the attention and they were all naturally enough utterly fascinated by this extraordinary woman. They plagued her with questions which she readily answered.

First she needed raise the wagon off its axle – off the damaged area. Rigging a stand was easy enough but the manner of jacking it up was her own inimitable trick. She simply straightened her back, squared her shoulders and took a hold of the strongest part of the structure. To the stunned amazement of her audience, she then heaved the whole wagon a few inches up into the air. She eased it across a little and then rested it into place on the stand.

One of the kids swore loudly at the act, breaking the shocked silence. Then all four heads quickly turned around to see what sort of reprimand this would earn – three eager expressions and one deeply apprehensive. But their father was just as astounded as his children. Under the circumstances, such blasphemies were acceptable – maybe even applicable.

The wife returned then with the coffee. She looked at the progress already made, clearly taken aback. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “how did you hoist the wagon so quickly?”

The cowboy smiled, clearly amused by all their various reactions. He was used to astonishment and consternation this woman caused, clearly, but nonetheless, was still amused.

The blacksmith meanwhile got busy at her trade. The split wood could be held together and with the right bracing, would be stronger than before it broke. She took a length of metal that would fit flush, once shaped. But she didn’t need her brazier she assured her curious questioners.

She took a large iron plate – flat, square and heavy. In lieu of an anvil, this would serve her needs. Upon being asked, she admitted that, yes, she was indeed strong enough to lift up an anvil. She let the children test the weight of the iron plate – the eldest two were each strong enough to hold it up, the youngest two couldn’t, not even together.

She smiled and took it back off them. Though its weight was clearly nothing to her, the exertion was still enough to make her big arm swell up as though itself a living being. She placed the narrow length of metal against the plate and braced it with a hefty lump hammer.

Using her strong fingers she bent the metal with expert precision, not hammering it into shape but just using her strength to force it to her will. She did this by eye, shaping it just so, so that when she took the piece and placed it against the underside of the wagon, it fit perfectly. The children all clapped, impressed.

While she worked, the cowboy took the opportunity to ask the husband about their journey, about who they might have encountered en route. It was pleasant conversation, though economical. Even so, even careless as his delivery and questioning was, there was a deliberate directness to his discourse. The excited babble of the children – truly awed, as well they would be – served as background noise to their ostensibly idle chatting and in an unfeasibly short time, the blacksmith announced that that should hold it.

“It’s done?” the husband asked, not quite believing that was all there was to it.

“It’ll hold,” the blacksmith assured him with the air of one to be trusted.

They had already refused payment for their assistance. “But you’ll stay for supper,” the wife insisted. “It’s too late to travel on tonight at any rate, you’ll make camp with us?”

“No,” the cowboy told her. “We’ll be making tracks.”

The woman was bracing herself again against the wagon. With a heaving flex of her extraordinary muscles she had lifted it as though it was no more than a mere barrow. She gently lowered it again, back onto its wheels. The repair held as she knew it would.

And with little further fanfare the strangers bade their farewells and were off, heading into the rapidly lowering dusk.

They ate their supper around the campfire with lighter hearts.

“I wonder who they were,” the wife said.

“They were bounty-hunters,” the husband told her.

“Did they say that?”

“Didn’t need to.”

“No?”

“I gathered well enough. They were after some fellers, pretty sure it’s those men who passed by.”

“You told them about them?”

“I told them,” he confirmed.

“And told them what they said, about what they asked us, about the rodeo?”

“I told them,” he said.

They had spent in total a mere few minutes with the dark strangers, the ones who’d passed through without stopping to help. And they were grateful they hadn’t stopped, not liking their countenance one little bit.

He looked out at his kids. They were making odd shapes with their bodies, some weird balancing act as they appeared to be attempting to hold themselves like twisted statues. Unusual rhythmic motions of the whole body and strenuous meditation poses.

“What in hell are they doing?”

The wife giggled. “Oh, they’re just trying those exercises the blacksmith showed them.”

He looked confused.

“She told them she’d gotten so strong through a lifetime’s adherence to regular strengthening manoeuvres of the body, and she showed them how to perform them. Showed me too as it happens.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I have to tell you, they are surprisingly difficult to do – unbelievably taxing on your limbs and your trunk. I can well believe they strengthen the physique in all manner of dramatic ways.”

Their eldest had managed to maintain a balancing strength exercise, legs in the air, arms supporting the entire body. Their other three children watched, agog, actually applauding their sibling. Such mutual familial support was almost unheard of between them. But they seemed to have a common interest here, having as they did a joint figure of inspiration to muse and reminisce upon. He could well imagine them talking of the beautiful blacksmith for a long time to come, describing to each other the amazing feats of which she was capable.

“You tried the exercises yourself then?” he asked.

She glanced slyly at him. “That I did!” and she raised an eyebrow. “Why would you be keen to have a wife of such proportions?”

“I didn’t say that,” he told her. “And I’ve nothing to complain of, of course...”

“But I’d wager you’d not complain too harshly if I did happen to strengthen my limbs a little,” she added for him. “Well, rest easy, I’m quite keen myself. I’ll not get to resemble a force of nature such as her, I’m sure, but I’m eager enough to gain a little more power. It’s a harsh world ahead, given the life we’ve chosen. I’d rather a strong body than a pretty one. And given the toil of working the land, I don’t think there’s any option.”

The husband thought back to the blacksmith, the raw animal potency of her physique – so functional, yet so much more. “It’s not like you have to sacrifice beauty to gain brawn,” he sighed. “Not by a long shot.”

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One of my favorites! I'm thrilled to see Annika is back and can't wait to read more of her exploits.

[Chameleon]

Author’s note:

OK, it took me slightly longer getting on this than I intended. But after a few false starts I think it's finally beginning to take shape. Pax and Annika are back in the saddle! I do hope to continue the tale.

btw, hate to beg, whine and complain but what Karma I had seems to have been impounded. Not saying that I'm feeling underappreciated here but... well, your generosity is welcomed. If you like my stories it doesn't take much to say so with a single click. I might not produce as many posts as other contributors but do bear in mind that everything I post is original content produced by mine own hand and is unavailable anywhere else the world over. If you do like what I do, even a little bit, you know how to express that sentiment.

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They’d barely arrived in town when the sheriff rode up to confront them.

“Carrying of firearms is Strictly Prohibited,” he told them. “You’re gonna have to leave your rifle and revolver and any other weapons at the police headquarters down the way there and get a check.”

“I’m under license by the Pinkertons,” Pax told him. “That makes me a registered law enforcement agent as per the US Supreme Court.”

“I know the law, Son,” the Sheriff assured him. “And no one carries a gun in my town lessing I say so.”

“Does it matter any that we’re not staying?” Annika asked. “We’re heading straight through. Once the horses are watered.”

The sheriff inclined his head. “Well, that would make a difference,” he allowed. “No sense in handing them over if I’m just handing them straight back. I know we’re nothing but a wide spot in the road here.”

If either of the travellers noticed the Sheriff’s manner lighten a little the moment Annika spoke to him, they didn’t make a point of it. She smiled brightly, her straw coloured hair seeming to almost luminesce in the late afternoon sun.

“Nothing against your enchanting little town, you understand,” she told him, a musical lilt to her voice.

“Aye,” Pax agreed with his companion. “Just, we’ve got business elsewhere. Hear there’s a Wild West show set up yonder.”

Sheriff nodded. “There is,” he agreed. “Follow the main road on and you can’t miss where they’re pitched up. ’Bout halfway between here and Stonewater.”

Pax nodded a thanks. They made to head onwards but the sheriff had one last piece of advice.

“For what it’s worth, its ’cause of companies like that that townships like ours invoke such prohibitions.”

They thanked him for his wisdom, nodded a formal farewell, and headed on out of town, on to the final leg of their journey.

“Does he work on trust, I wonder,” Pax said as they trotted past the town boundary.

“What’s that?” Annika asked, reading his thought process just by his tone.

“Well, does he search every man? And woman?” He glanced across at his fair companion. “A garment such as that, the generous folds and ruffles, could conceal all manner of thing. A sheriff would be cautious to check what you were hiding under there.”

“And get himself quite a shock in the process, no doubt,” she agreed.

That morning, he’d looked upon her outfit, genuinely startled.

“I told you so!” she had giggled at his shocked expression. “Why, I could almost pass for normal!”

“I didn’t that it was possible,” he’d gasped, against her claim. He reached out to touch her shoulders, her chest, her arms – almost just to reassure himself that her mighty muscles were indeed still under there, so well concealed by the careful hang and tailoring of her top.

She responded by placing her palm on the top of her head and squeezing her bicep tight, making the enormous mountain swell within the loose give of her garment. Suddenly the sleeve was not nearly so roomy – the impressive, bulbous shape of a hillock stretched the fabric taut.

He swore and she giggled at the awe and lust expressed so nakedly on his face.

“Keep that up and you’ll have to undress again real quick!” he said.

She relaxed the enormous bicep and smoothed out her top so the illusion was once again performed: a woman, tall and perhaps sturdy of build, but nothing to indicate she was the astronomical powerhouse that would be so conspicuous.

“You could never look ‘normal’, clever clothing doesn’t hide that beautiful face. Especially when your body isn’t stealing everybody’s attention from it.”

“Why, Mr Pax, keep that up and you’ll have to undress again real quick yourself!”

As they left the tiny township of Desert Creek, musing upon the Sheriff’s requirement of search and seizure, Annika smiled teasingly, “you know, beneath the swell and bluster he was quite an appealing feller.”

“What’s that?”

“Mm, just wondering,” she said idly, giving him a sly sideways glance. “Wondering, if he did try and search me close, whether or not I’d actually object.”

“God help the poor man, if you did.”

* * *

It was getting dark by the time they found the carnival, where the Sheriff had told them they would. It was perhaps halfway between Desert Creek, the town they’d left behind them and the larger railway town of Stonewater.

“We’re shutting down for the day,” a cowboy in clown face-paint told them grumpily. “Come back tomorrow.”

“We’re not here for the show,” Pax told him. “We’re looking for work.”

He eyed them both with open hostility before wandering over to a fellow. The other also eyed them suspiciously before nodding and wandering off. The clown returned.

“Wait here,” he told them, then went back to his business, paying them no further curiosity or attention.

“Is this a Rodeo or a Medicine Show?” Annika wondered as they waited, looking around at the set up.

“A little of both,” Pax surmised, “these smaller companies tend to be.”

They could see a series of sideshow attractions set out, the bills and promotions hawking their various spectacles. Musicians and raconteurs, magicians, dancers, acrobats, a flea circus and a freak-show. Doubtless fortune tellers and miracle elixirs weren’t far away.

In the roped off arena area, the centre stage so to speak, there would doubtless be battle re-enactments, bronco riding, trick-roping and sharp-shooting.

The man who approached them had the air, not to mention the suit, of a snake-oil salesman.

He looked them both up and down, assessing Pax quickly and efficiently, taking a little longer with Annika. He introduced himself as Abraham Murdock.

“Were you hoping for work while we’re pitched or looking to join our merry band?” he asked. And, more significantly, “What is it you can offer us?”

Pax gestured to Annika as though he were her agent. “Well my good lady here is a blacksmith by trade, a skill invaluable to you I don’t doubt, but she’s also an extraordinary talent above and beyond her practical hand. I’m willing to wager you don’t have an act on the bill that comes close.”

Abraham looked her up and down again, just as salaciously, but deliberately unimpressed by Pax’s declaration.

“I’ve seen all manner of acts, takes quite an extraordinary one to actually impress me any.”

“A blacksmith, as I say,” Pax rattled along, unperturbed, “A skill owned only by the sturdiest of individuals, I’m sure you’ll agree. You wield a hammer and bend iron at will, it’s going to leave an impression upon your physiology – an impressive one at that. And it’s this that gave her her particular talent...”

“We’ve already got a strongman act,” he sniffed.

Annika smiled, pleasantly. “I assure you,” she told him, her voice seductive, “a strongwoman act is another thing altogether.”

A tug of a thread and her garment fell open. A roll of her impressive shoulders and she shucked it off altogether. Beneath the top she was wearing what looked like a bathing outfit, but with the spangles and glamorous trim of a circus artist or even the exotic apparel of a corseted madam. She cast off her skirt to reveal her legs, all but naked save for the briefest of legging, all the better for displaying impossibly thick thighs.

Here, finally, the show-master’s expression registered surprise. But no one presented with such a sight could fail to be astounded by it.

Annika flexed her mighty biceps, her arms swelling with muscle until it looked as though they’d each sprouted a camel’s hump.

“Tell me,” Pax said, “have you even seen brawn and grace blended in so fetching a manner?”

“I have not,” Abraham admitted. He really was unable to take his eyes off of her now.

“She uses kettlebells,” Pax said. “She gets three volunteers – three sturdy men from the audience to bring them to her. They struggle under the weight of them, if they can even heft them at all. And she takes them, all three, and juggles with them.”

Annika glanced around as though seeking... her eyes lit upon a pile of irons bars, stakes which would be plunged into the ground for ropes to be tied around. She did this as if only just now noticing them, as though she hadn’t already picked out the objects as potential props and assessed them thoroughly with her expert eye.

“Better I demonstrate this one directly,” she said, helping herself to one of the short poles. She held it up for him to see. “May I steal one of these?” she asked, coquettishly.

Abraham nodded, mutely.

She took up the bar, holding it at either end, her knuckles turning white as she took the strain. All the muscles in her arms and chest and shoulder seemed to swell and harden. It looked as though the poor garment wrapped about her torso might burst apart at the seams. But the bodice was strong. As indeed was the woman within it.

As though softened in her forge, the bar gave in the centre, yielding to her incredible strength. With brute brawn she bent it until her knuckles met. But even then, still not content, she continued to flex her muscles. She took her newly formed U-shaped bar, crossed her arms and tugged at the two ends, drawing the U into a loop. But even this wasn’t sufficient to adequately display her dominance over the metal. She took one end and forced it through the loop she had just imposed upon it. Taking both ends she drew them apart, wrenching with all her might until they were all but straight and the twisted tangle in the centre was tight.

Abraham just stared in shock. An iron stake which a normal man could not have hoped to bend without aid of a mallet, and this fair woman had tied it into a knot!

Annika tossed the bar down at his feet. She flexed one arm again, that enormous biceps muscle bulging like a cannonball. The other arm she rested jauntily on her hip. It was a pretty pose indeed.

Abraham stared from the ruined bar at his feet to the woman who’d just destroyed it so.

“That position she’s adopting right now,” Pax said. “She can maintain it still with the weight of a fully grown woman sitting upon her upper arm as though it were a porch swing.

“All these demonstrations of strength will have people standing in queue for hours just to have a touch of that mountain peak. Have smelling salts to hand though. Any woman to faint at doing so would by no means be the first.”

“And what is it that you do?” Abraham asked, finally turning his attention to Pax.

“Why, I’m a quick-draw and a trick-shooter. I can...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Abraham dismissed, “that’s fine.” He turned his attention back to the lovely Annika. “She wrestle?”

The bounty-hunters exchanged a look.

“Yes, Mr Murdock, I wrestle.”

“A muscle lady side-show wrestler. Now that’s something folk will queue for, whether they think they can pin you or not.”

They exchanged another look, both fairly certain they’d got the job.

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Incredible story writing . Cannot wait for the next instalment !   

Another fantastic episode. Annika bending the stake was amazing! Can't wait to see what else she has in store.

Wow! Amazing story!    Can't wait to see Annika's strongwoman show    K+

Thank you guys. I aim to be posting the next episode soon, which should finish this story.

[Chameleon]

This is one of the best stories here I've seen in a while.

If the next episode is indeed the end of the line for these two, I'll be sad to see them ride off into the sunset. Thanks for some more great writing either way! I hope to read more in the future.

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OK guys, thanks for your patience, here's the final episode of this story, though I hope Annika and Pax will be back sometime for further adventures.

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“I am wrestling no one!” Annika assured Pax as they rode away from where the Wild West show had camped, retracing their steps back to Desert Creek. “I’ve no moral objection to a woman turning to whoring, should that be her best option and her choice – but it’s not something I’d take to myself.”

“Well, that’s hardly...” Pax began, but a single look from her silenced him again.

“There’s many a man who’s turned his head my way in curiosity about a lady of my rather unique proportions.”

“This is certainly true,” Pax agreed quickly, trying to be conciliatory but interrupting her rhetoric in the process. And his meeting her had after all involved his shock and fascination at a woman whose arms eclipsed his own to such a degree that he didn’t wonder if a length of cord circling her flexed bicep might well fit twice around his. Fortunately for him – and he’d never reason how he ever got so lucky – she had been as taken with him in return.

“To actually let such a man indulge his lusts for exotic fare in so degrading a manner...?” she was saying. “Selling gratification is a step too far. I don’t care if you couch it as carny competition, no man will make a doxy of me.”

“I know,” he agreed.

It had been an act. Neither had the slightest desire to join a travelling show. And Abraham Murdock, the manager, had questioned why those with a respectable profession would seek so unsteady and rambunctious an existence.

“Some might see a company such as this as a means of seeking public attention,” Pax had told him. “Adoration and notoriety. Others however, might recognise that actually, there’s anonymity to be enjoyed. A man stayed put grows roots whether he wants to or not, and such a man can be found by those who want to do so.

“If I keep on the move, and in the presence of a hundred other transients, then my name will be lost in the wind. And that’s how I like to keep it.”

Abraham had nodded. “You’re not the first around here who values his privacy and anonymity,” he assured him. “A past weighs upon a man – there’s no call to wear it about your neck like an albatross. You’re in good company.” If he’d questioned the likelihood of a woman such as Annika enjoying an inconspicuous existence he chose not to express the doubt.

Their idle questioning of Abraham and others in the community did not raise any suspicions either, even when they happened to express interest in a party of four specific travellers who may also have joined the troupe very recently. Whether they might be about...?

Of all those who answered their casual, entirely innocent questions, the ones who did so most dubiously were those who knew most. They had approached the three bronco riders tentatively as they were tending their stock. They found them shooting the breeze, passing around a two bit bottle of whiskey.

“And what’s your interest?”

“A mutual friend,” Pax told him. “And how we came to join this company in the first place,” he added, hoping to engender a sense of camaraderie.

The men were torn between feigning indifference and showing a real, and unapologetically salacious interest in Annika.

“It true you’re a strongwoman?” one asked, scouring her form with his eye. She was dressed up full and proper once more, the excesses of her physique concealed from the obvious eye.

“Aye,” she agreed.

“Saw a strongwoman act once,” he said. “She wrapped an iron poker round and around her fist. Then slammed it through a plank of wood, splitting it like she’d used an axe. Can you do that?”

She shrugged modestly.

“Quite a grip she must’ve had. To think, what uses a fist like that could be put to around here...” There was sniggering between them. The cowboy feigned innocence. “Could you hold a bronco?” he asked her.

“Some of the men I’ve seen manage the feat...” she said, “can’t imagine it being so hard a thing.”

There was laughter, the bottle still passing between them, one to another. Their guests were not offered a swig.

“Hear they’d gotten friendly with you fellers,” Pax persisted. “We’d be mighty grateful to reacquaint ourselves...”

The cowboy dismissed his probing with a casual wave, still regarding only Annika. “You think you could tame an unbroken mount in full frenzy? Think you could even stay put more than a few seconds?”

“Do you doubt me because I’m a woman?”

The three men exchanged a look. “How about we see for ourselves what it is you’re really made of?”

“And why is it I would comply to such a thing?”

“Because you want to know something that we know.”

“A wager?” she asked. She exchanged a look with Pax. They had already gleaned from casual gossip what these men were like. This possibility had been considered between them beforehand. It was nice to know some things – and people – were so readily foreseeable. “And what is it that you would want to gain?”

“Just curious to see how well you do, is all.”

What they wanted to get out of it was clearly what they expected to get out of it – to witness her thrown and her over-inflated ego brought to heel.

The cowboy turned to his fellow. “Get Sioux ready.”

The man nodded, headed to a shanty-rigged stable. He turned back briefly, grinning broadly. “Wanna know where the name comes from?” They could guess of course, but they chose not to step on his punch-line. “It’s coz he’s a crazy horse!” And he cackled away as he went to retrieve the beast in question.

It was indeed a crazy horse. The man led it out, his friend ran to help him. It was a lunatic animal, struggling to be free and it was only the familiarity and skill of the cowboys, plus their combined strength, that kept it from bolting.

“You sure you’re up for this, little lady? That’s no animal to bear a side-saddle.”

“Think your friends there are strong enough to hold it at bay long enough for me to stroll over and mount the feller?”

He laughed but didn’t answer. Given the manic bucking of the animal, it wouldn’t have surprised any of them should it break free and run amok.

Annika approached without fear. It wasn’t side-saddled, it wasn’t saddled at all. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d ridden bareback, not by a long shot. She’d been around horses all her life and dealt with them directly all her professional life. She had on occasion had to calm a panicked steed but this was different. This was a horse chosen and doubtless provoked for its unfettered frenzy. This was not a beast in need of soothing – she would have to dominate it, and do so quickly.

Using an adjacent fence for mounting she threw her leg across, landing herself in place on the bucking back. And immediately the two cowboys holding it released and threw themselves backwards, out of the mad horse’s range. A single kick could instantly kill a man, or render him an idiot for life.

The horse leaped and bucked like it was in a fit – like it had been poisoned and was raving in the moonlight. Madness had never looked so palpable or perilous.

Annika held on with her legs – there were no reigns – and the grip she could produce with her thighs alone was substantial. Immediately the beast’s frenzy renewed, the spasmodic bucking increasing rather than diminishing. But still she held tight in place, thrown about enough to make even an onlooker queasy. She stayed stuck to the horse as though glued.

The bucking also seemed directed now, rather than the random ravings of lunacy. The vice clamped to this beast’s back was closing and it was clearly unwelcome. The horse struggled to free itself of this hostile burden. But no matter how hard it bucked and kicked, no matter the fury of its protests, the woman stayed in place and, further, continued to assault it with her muscle-bound thighs.

It was clearly too much for the animal, her attack sapping it of its strength. The kind of pressure its flank must be suffering was unimaginable. Were a man to be subjected to such an assault his body would have simply broken and been crushed to pulp.

The horse ceased its attempts to dislodge the intruder, was reeling like a drunkard now. It staggered back and forth, the fury spent though its desperation was still present. It was behaving like a bare-knuckle fighter after a losing bout, battered senseless.

Weakened, defeated, conquered. The horse collapsed.

Annika’s feet landed as the creature between her legs dropped. She stepped off of it. The horse whinnied plaintively, and she gently stroked its mane. It lay its head down upon the grass, its side heaving with pained breaths.

Annika turned on her shocked audience of three. She straightened the line of her skirt and smoothed it, a careless throwaway gesture to understate the enormity of her accomplishment. Finally she addressed them.

“So, are you going to tell me what I want to know?” she asked. Then her voice raised itself a little as she added “or do I even still need your help anymore?”

The two men closest to her turned about but they were too late. As was the third man, the one closest to the makeshift stable. Pax had snuck into that stable to investigate as soon as they were all distracted by Annika’s taming of the bucking bronco. He exited it now, leading a man in dark clothing before him.

As the third cowboy turned, Pax was already striking. He brought the butt of his gun down hard and precise, knocking the cowboy clean out. He refocused his unwavering pistol at his prisoner before the man got any ideas.

The other two cowboys acted on instinct, reaching for their own guns. But also forgetting the strongwoman, turning their backs on her. She neatly grasped a man in each hand, clutching the sides of their heads. She slammed them together, their heads connecting with an almost hollow donk. Both collapsed to the ground, as unconscious as their fellow.

She strode over to Pax and their quarry.

“Well, one out of four ain’t a bad start,” she said. “He give up his compadres?”

“Causing trouble in Desert Creek,” he told her.

“So what now?” their bounty demanded. “You’re what? Gonna kill me? You’re gonna tie me up and leave me here? Take me along with you?”

“Well, I was gonna shoot you. Poster says ‘dead or alive’ and the one’s an awful lot easier to transport than the other.”

“You ain’t gonna shoot me – not here,” the man insisted. “I’ve got more friends than these sorry saps. Plus I’m willing to bet the whole company ain’t gonna be too happy about trespass into their haven, not once they realise who you are. Fire that thing and folks will come running. You’d be lucky not to get lynched.”

Pax shrugged; the man was not wrong.

Annika punched him, a blow that was at least equal to the kick of a bucking bronco.

Pax strolled over to, and knelt down besides, where the man had landed, some small distance away. He checked him over carefully.

“Gotta be careful doing that,” he scolded, though his voice was wry rather than berating. “You could render a man’s features beyond recognition you’re not careful. Wouldn’t be the first time you ruined a bounty by your... well, heavy-handedness.”

Annika just brushed her fist carelessly. “I know when to hold back a little,” she assured him. “But even so, when I strike a man I like to be sure he won’t be getting up again. I’m an unarmed woman!”

“Last word I’d use to describe you is unarmed.”

He felt the man’s pulse. He had none. His face was damaged but not so severely it would complicate their claim. “Christ, woman, you are truly terrible!”

She shrugged. “What can I say, his countenance displeased me. And as you say, dead men are far easier to transport than living prisoners.”

* * *

And so they headed back to Desert Creek. They’d left the encampment via an indirect route, wishing to avoid other people as far as they possibly could.

Apparently many of the show’s players and workers enjoyed carousing of a night, naturally enough, but a select few were currently avoiding the larger town of Stonewater. The peacekeepers, not to mention various residents themselves, seemed to have taken against the itinerants in their town. Or a specific group of them at least.

“You know,” Pax mused, “Almost a shame it was just an act. An act that you have an act.”

“What’s that?” Annika asked.

“Bet you’d put on one hell of a performance!”

“Do you now, Mr Pax? Are you saying you want to go into show-business?”

“Well, way you sold it to him... sounds like quite an act, is all.”

“Not content with making a bounty-hunter of me, you’d haul me into a circus tent?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like you ain’t eminently qualified.”

She raised a wry eyebrow. “Well if you must know I have tripped across a vaudeville stage. Or at least a small town’s excuse for one. A young woman with muscles makes for a curiosity people want to see, it seems. I used to have a kind of makeshift act I’d dust off for talent shows and the like.”

“I’d sorely like to see it.”

“Who knows what the future might bring us,” she said. “Tonight however, I think we have more pressing matters.”

This time it was a deputy who stopped them at the border of town. A tall man on a fine horse, a long-barrelled rifle held across his lap.

Pax tipped his hat politely and assured the man they knew the restriction, assured him they respected it.

“Along yonder,” the deputy instructed, directing them where to go. He added a formal warning before they trotted on. “It’s a line of sight from here to there,” he said, gesturing to the distance. “Do not get distracted from your path. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings about your intentions.”

He made no mention of the extra baggage Pax’s horse bore – a blanket doing little to disguise the burden beneath.

And it was the sheriff himself they met inside the police station.

“Back again already?”

He was wary, they could tell. But why wouldn’t he be. He was a fool if he didn’t know what they were in town for and what that might mean. It didn’t bode well for a man hell bent on peace.

Pax handed over his rifle, his two gun-belts with holstered colt revolvers. And a third pistol, a compact derringer, highly suitable for concealment.

The sheriff glanced at Annika. She gave him her most winning, most innocent smile. “Never had cause for one,” she admitted. “Only times I’ve ever wished to be carrying a firearm, I’ve always managed to wheedle my way out of trouble by other means.”

He wrote out the receipt and as he handed it over, the door to his room was flung open and his deputy came bursting in. “Rosie’s!” was all he exclaimed, meaningfully.

The sheriff nodded. He bustled Pax and Annika out, mounted his horse and was away, his deputy following, before they could even question him on it, or for him to warn them off.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re all headed the same way?” Pax sighed. They mounted their own horses.

Sure enough, the tavern had the Sheriff’s and deputy’s horses both tied up out front, amongst the other various palominos, appaloosas and buckskins. They added their own horses to the line, exchanged a nod, and headed on in.

It was indeed a boisterous place. Deceptively large inside. Almost immediately they saw the clown-faced cowboy they’d met earlier that day, now devoid of make-up. He looked utterly despondent, sitting alone, a glass of whiskey on the table before him. If he recognised them in return he certainly made no effort to acknowledge them.

But beyond him, there was much rowdy celebration happening. It was the kind of turbulent uproar edged not with gaiety but with belligerence. There was a loutish flavour to the atmosphere rather than a jovial one. They wondered how many of these folks were local, and how many visitors. Surely the town wasn’t so large.

And there was no sign of the sheriff and his deputy.

A slightly distraught looking woman behind the bar was arguing with a man besides her. When they approached she regarded the both of them, seemed to be marginally mollified by the fact they were a couple.

They ordered beers, overpaid, and, at her suspicious response, asked her specific questions about her clientele. She gave them both a hard, assessing look, before answering with a gesture. There were backrooms to the tavern – private banqueting rooms and the suchlike. Pax and Annika headed the way indicated. They ignored the table at which an unconscious man was slumped over, his head bloody. Everyone else in the place was ignoring him too.

They left the bustling bar behind – left their drinks barely touched – and headed into the back of the building.

Despite knowing he was unarmed, Pax’s hand twitched in anticipation of his gun the moment his eyes lit upon the group of men. There were four of them, three the men they sought and the fourth no less dastardly looking than his new cronies.

The closest to them was surely the meanest of the bunch they were hunting – his bounty was the highest and for good reason, his charges were a shopping list of offences. He stood to confront them, his hand also reaching for where a gun would be.

Pax already had a short-blade hunting knife, ready to draw, the hilt of which had a sturdy pommel that could be brought down neatly upon a man’s head for a clean knockout blow.

But when the man drew out his bowie knife, Annika beat her companion to the punch. Her blow shattered his arm, sending the knife flying across the room and her returning backhand slammed him in the head, breaking his neck and sending his whole body flying across the room.

The next man was also spurred into action, choosing a chair as his weapon, wielding it as might a lion tamer in a circus act. She smashed it in a single kick and then grabbed him by the throat, lifting and squeezing until the bones gave with a gruesome crunch.

She faced the remaining men, her huge shoulders now somehow seeming even wider, her arms even thicker, after the sight of two such brutal murders.

“Which of you is next?” she demanded.

“You’re making me look redundant,” Pax complained, idly.

But their remaining prey looked not at the bounty-hunters but to the rear of the room – a doorway small enough that it could almost be a window. And the look of relief on their face as another man entered told a tale.

This new man was bigger than the doorway – would have been, even had it been standard sized. Hell, would have been even if this was a barn. He was so large it was a wonder he fit through at all, having to duck his head and turn himself side on. He was bear-like in appearance – the sheer brute magnitude of him, the thick bush of hair on his head and face – a bristling woodsman. His body was massive with brawn, surely as close as the real world came to a giant outside of myths and campfire yarns.

To add to his fearsome countenance, his hands were already soiled with fresh blood and his demeanour was of one who’d already been in the midst of violence, even before Annika had set about bounty-hunting with such zeal.

He looked at his two fallen fellows and the impossibility of his expression becoming even more hateful was realised. He turned on Pax, of course, but it was Annika who put herself forward, who faced him down, who braced herself ready for battle.

No man had ever dwarfed her in such a way before. Not only was this monster taller than her, but he was broader too. The size of him was a wonder of modern science and, at once, a throwback to something more primitive. Childish tales of monsters in the woods, of ape- or bear-like beings.

Then suddenly these two behemoths were in battle. With a blurry speed that belied their bulk, the titans launched, chests slamming hard together like rutting stags. Arms like giant serpents sprung around each other’s torso, wrestling for optimum position, trying to outdo their opponent.

Like a Japanese sumo contest, they each tried to utilise their mighty brawn to unbalance the other, getting low, maintaining a firm base with their powerful legs.

The strongman and strongwoman seemed to move as a single being, joined despite the writhing and battling grasping of their bulging arms. Momentum shifted them one way then another, knocking a table flying then shattering a window as they tussled, turning, oblivious of everything save their opponent.

Annika briefly secured the upper hand, so to speak, wrangling her arms into a suitable position for assault and immediately squeezed for all she was worth. She was rewarded by the crackle of ribs, her bearhug so savage that were an ordinary man within her grip, this alone would instantly finish him off. But her opponent was too mighty to be felled so simply – though savagely wounded, he struck back. Partly sheer desperation, he managed to break her hold and stagger momentarily out of her range.

Almost as breathless as her injured adversary, she maintained her offensive, swinging a devastating punch that alone could kill an ordinary man. Again, this giant was hardier than that and the punch, though mighty, failed to end him. He shook it off and retaliated with a punch of his own, possibly even as powerful as hers.

Annika had never in her life known a blow like it. She’d been punched in the face before on the very rare occasion (and to the immediate regret of the assailants involved) but never had she felt such devastating power submitted against her body. She was momentarily stunned by the impact, her senses actually shaken. Furthermore it fuelled her wrath and her following blow was even more destructive.

She felt his nose flatten to mush beneath her knuckles, felt his teeth shatter. The satisfaction was great indeed. Then she slammed him in the gut, with force enough to lift even this hulking buffalo up off his feet a moment. And when he came down again – came down hard – she followed up with her elbow down upon the back of his head, just to help him on his way to the floor.

Incredibly, the massive man was still conscious – incredible that he was still alive. But the fight had finally been knocked out of him. He was on his knees, staring blankly forward, momentarily senseless. Annika stood herself behind him and wrapped one mighty arm around his neck. She secured this arm with the other, grasping her own giant bicep as her elbow locked the strangling arm into place. Then she squeezed. Her muscles turned to iron and a bicep like a cannonball jammed hard into his throat. When he finally passed out she eased off again.

Annika looked at the wrecked room. Some of the damage had been caused by her battle with the bear-like strongman lying unconscious at her feet, but not all of it. The arterial spray of blood had been the final end of their final bounty, his throat cut in a savage and surprisingly desperate swipe. But then, the dead man had his own knife in hand and so did his companion, who was now unconscious – Pax’s knife had a sturdy pommel that could be brought down neatly upon a man’s head for a clean knockout blow.

Pax was wiping the blood from his blade. He sheathed it. They checked outside, the small doorway through which their giant adversary had emerged. They were not surprised to find outside, the sheriff and his deputy, also unconscious, heads bloody. But still alive.

* * *

The sheriff came around to an extraordinary sight, his deputy was arm-wrestling a woman. Except he was using two arms where the woman was using only one. She was playing with him, mocking him by feigning a yawn and picking at the nails of her free hand, idly glancing around the room and pretending to be barely aware of the man struggling to best her – with little hope of doing so.

Her exceptional strength was evidenced not only by this impressive feat – the deputy was far from being a weak man – but clear to see anyway in her enormous muscles, which sprouted up from her arm like a mountain. It was the same woman he’d met twice earlier – the bounty-hunter. Never in a dozen life-times would he have guessed that the woman, heftily built though she was, was boasting a physique of such robust and phenomenal strength. In fact, nor would he ever suppose such a woman could even exist outside of fevered fancy.

His other deputy – the one who’d accompanied him to the tavern – was lying on a makeshift bed of blankets. He was as comfortable as they could make him, his head bandaged.

There were a pile of bodies in one of the cells, four dead men in dark clothing, almost like they were trying to look like outlaws. In the other cell there were two unconscious men, including the giant who’d assaulted him.

He walked over, regarded the prisoners. Pax had been sitting at a table, sipping a glass of whiskey. He joined the sheriff by the cells over at the far end.

Finally, the sheriff spoke. “You got a bounty on him?” he demanded, pointing to the giant.

“Nope,” Pax told him.

“Good!”

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Dude. D-U-D-E. Wonderful end to this story. I definitely hope to see more adventures from Pax and (especially) Annika and just more from you in general.

Thank you for this story. I hope for more of this style.

Superb tale

Thanks guys!

[Chameleon]

The Power-Walker
by Chameleon

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Hi Guys, also thought I’d post this one, it’s only very short – barely even a proper story (whatever that is) and also quite similar to the one I just posted. But that said, I do quite like the idea and figured it worked well as a piece of flash-fiction. Enjoy.

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She was out power-walking when he tried to mug her. She restrained him effortlessly. Of course she did, she was a lot stronger than he was. Loose jogging leggings and a tracksuit top hid a physique of Olympic proportions. Pinning him to the ground by sitting on him, one of his arms twisted up behind his back, she tried calling the police but got no reception. The thought of womanhandling him out the alleyway, of keeping him restrained while dragging him along, all seemed too much hassle. But it wasn’t like she carried any rope or handcuffs around with her. Then she had an idea.

She met the police shortly afterwards, at the head of the alley, and led them down into darkness to where the would-be mugger still lay prostrate and helpless, arms and legs pinned. To keep him flat on the ground she had simply removed her wrist and ankle weights and strapped them to him.

During the arrest the policewoman tried one curiously. She could barely lift it. “Jesus, you’re strong!” she said and passed it to her male colleague. He fared no better than his fellow.

“Ever thought about signing up for community policing?” he asked.

She just shrugged modestly. The motion of her heaved shoulders was positively seismic. She took back the wrist-weight and strapped it on, keeping her arm natural as she did so, as though the tremendous burden was nothing. Her biceps flared, so large that it stretched the loose sleeve taut, impressing its huge round bulge through the fabric.

Neither police officer asked her how she was able to overpower the mugger. The answer was quite clear to see.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Short, but very nice. Good job

A total tease, but fantastic nonetheless. What do those things weigh? I'd love to see a sequel - or anything else of yours you haven't yet posted.

[Chameleon]

Mugged on a Blind Date
by Chameleon
A romantic evening is interrupted. But only briefly.

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Feedback invited and karma begged. Please do let me know what you think.

Note, as you might expect from a tale with 'mugged' in the title, there is some violence, though nothing excessive.

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He launched his attack without warning but she responded instantly and with much showy flair. Spinning herself around like Wonder Woman she fluidly dodged the blade and caught the thrusting arm.

Once the blur of motion froze, I saw that she had pinned his arm lengthwise behind her back. The outside of his elbow was braced across her spine by her iron grip on his wrist.

Her other arm had shot out and snaked about his neck, wrapping tight. I’d already noticed in the restaurant that her arms were seriously toned but seeing her execute this chokehold, I realised for the first time that they were actually very muscular. Her bicep was bulging like a cannonball as it jammed into his throat.

Keeping him held helpless, she inclined her head towards him to hiss, “Drop the blade.”

I heard the crack before it was drowned out by his screaming. His arm folded backwards, his elbow neatly snapped. The knife clattered to the floor. Then his screams were strangled off as she tightened her hold around his neck.

With his remaining hand he was trying to pry the powerful arm away from his throat but she just squeezed even harder. His protests became increasingly feeble, a token flapping as she brought her other arm around to secure the hold and lever on additional pressure. Both her arms were tensed and rippling with muscle, looking sinewy and solid.

Her victim went limp, finally passing out. She released him and he slumped face down onto the pavement.

Only then did she look up to meet my shocked gaze.

“You OK?” she asked. Her voice was as mild and gentle as it had been all evening.

“Yeah,” I managed. The initial shock of it all still had me pretty locked up.

“I did tell you I was formidable,” she reminded me. And she was right, she had said just that. Over dinner, I’d pushed her to tell me about her position in the firm. She’d been almost reluctant to admit just how far up the hierarchy she was. And it wasn’t just in the boardroom that she was formidable, as she’d just ably demonstrated.

“What do we do now? Call the police? An ambulance?”

She shrugged. “We probably should but I can’t say I’m particularly inclined to. Mr mugger here has learnt a valuable lesson. One hopes. I have no real desire to spend the rest of tonight in a police station and maybe even face assault charges.”

“What? But he attacked us.”

“The law is an ass,” she assured me. “Let’s just head back to your place. You said it was close and I believe you promised me a glass of twenty-year-old Laphroaig.”

“I did,” I agreed. I offered my arm and she took it. We walked away from the unconscious mugger and didn’t look back.

Presently she said, “Can I ask, when Sally set you up with me, what did she say? How did she sell you on me?”

“She said you were a high-flying businesswoman. She said you were accomplished and impressive in everything you did. She said I would be awed.” I waited a beat before adding. “She was not wrong.”

She laughed.

“What about you?” I asked. “If we’re playing that game, what did she tell you about me – what sort of guy were you looking for?”

“Well, she said she had a guy in mind already, said that she thought we’d get on. I just said, fine, yeah, I’ll go with that. Just so long as he’s not intimidated by strong women.”

We were there. “This is it,” I told her, and showed her in.

I poured the whisky and she savoured it with the relish of a connoisseur. I enjoyed watching her enjoy it. She saw me watching her and smiled.

“I don’t normally drink,” she admitted. “Training.”

“Training?”

“Bodybuilding.” She glanced down to her strong arms, almost embarrassed. “Don’t know if you noticed but I’m into bodybuilding.” Her dress was sleeveless. I’d noticed alright.

“Yeah, I noticed the muscles,” I told her. “I noticed when you were using them to beat up the mugger. Christ, he didn’t stand a chance against you, did he.”

“I take self-defence as well.”

“It shows.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” she asked.

“Bother me? You’re kidding. I love it.”

“You’re not intimidated by a strong woman?” And this time she drew her arms up, flexing the biceps and making them bulge. I’d never seen anything so sensual and erotic in my life.

“Just so long as it doesn’t bother you that I don’t match up. Not that there’s many who could match up to you!”

“You know, I should thank that mugger.”

“Why’s that?”

She smiled seductively. “I was in two minds whether I was going to sleep with you or not. Tonight. First dates and all that. And a blind date no less.”

“And now...?”

“It’d be a waste not to have sex. That adrenaline dump into the body fires you up. It’s chemical, it breaks down into the system like dopamine, acts like an aphrodisiac. It’s why we’re both feeling so het up right now.”

I ran my eyes up and down her beautiful physique in a demonstrative way. “Trust me, it’s not the only reason I’m feeling het up right now.”

She raised a playful eyebrow. “Having sex after a fight like that – or even just witnessing your date in a fight like that... it’s going to be totally mind-blowing.”

“Really? In that case I should thank that mugger too.”

“You really should. You are in for a wild night.” Then she flexed her biceps again, looking from the bulging peaks to my awed and excited expression. “Have you ever had sex with a bodybuilder before?”

Numbly I shook my head. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her arms. I was speechless with lust and anticipation. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me – couldn’t work out how I got so lucky. I realised I owed Susan pretty big too.

She laughed, joyful and salacious. “You haven’t!? Oh my God, you’re really in for the night of your life then.” Still she flexed those arms, evidently fully aware of what they were doing to me. “I would reassure you and promise to be gentle with you. But why lie? I’m not going to be remotely gentle.”

Breathlessly, I led her to the bedroom.

[Chameleon]

Reserved for Mod use

[Chameleon]

Reserved for Mod use

[Chameleon]

Reserved for Mod use

[Chameleon]

School Brawl
by Chameleon

Hi Guys, just an idle short to pass the time. As ever, feedback always welcomed and karma always appreciated.

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An idle, “Jesus, look at that heifer!” passing her in the corridor, and he suddenly found himself in the shit. She heard him, as he intended she would, his friends giggling. But she didn’t quite have the victim mentality he was expecting. She turned on him, called him out in front of everyone, and demanded he meet her after school at the back of the playing fields, the traditional time and place for grudge-match smack-downs. There was nothing he could do – the fight was on.

She was beefy, hence his comment, and she was also utterly fearless, which was worse. She had just challenged him to a fight and didn’t appear to be the slightest bit scared of him. He was a pretty handy fighter but she promised she would pound the shit out of him, and said it in a way that suggested she fully expected to do just that.

He accepted the fight – had no choice but to – but was immediately wracked with doubt and regret. Getting beaten up was bad enough, but beaten up by a girl?

Even his friend said, “shouldn’t have done that. You do know that she does karate?”

He’d called her a heifer because she was big, in that stocky, hefty kind of way. But what if it wasn’t fat? A rugby played might boast a similar build and he wasn’t about to call one of them fat...

“Karate?” If she had that build due to being some kind of karate wunderkind then he was well and truly fucked.

Throughout the day the fear got worse, the certainty that he’d challenged some kind of cross between the female Arnie and the female Bruce Lee, growing stronger and stronger. The idea that she might just be a normal pudgy schoolgirl taking up a combat sport to control her weight and bolster her self-esteem didn’t even occur to him.

Until, just before the end of school, a friend gave him some perspective on the matter. Asking him why he was freaking out about – “Seriously, a fight with a girl? What you worried about?”

“Didn’t you hear? She does karate!”

He gave him some sage advice and some useful insight to ground his fears a little. “She does karate? Yeah? So? She’s been doing it like a term, tops. She’s a yellow belt – orange, maybe. But that’s it. That’s all. She’s a novice.”

“Really?”

“She’s just a girl and you’re a fucking streetfighter. What the fuck are you worried about?”

And so he approached the fight with his normal thuggish confidence restored. Even when he saw her waiting there, wearing her karate suit. It was just to psyche him out, he knew, and it wouldn’t work. He also noticed that she wasn’t a belt. And he knew now that that was because she didn’t want to admit to a significant little nugget on knowledge, did she, not when she was trying so hard to impress.

There was a reasonable sized crowd, cheering and jeering, looking forward to the action. Despite a day worrying, he was looking forward to it too. Looking forward to making her pay.

She smiled when he approached, shook her limbs loose, warming up as though for a sporting event. He dumped his bag, pulled off his blazer and shirt, down to a plain white T-shirt.

And then she stripped off the karate gi. Beneath she had on a sports style bra-top, the kind female boxers wear, plus shorts. Her body wasn’t fat. At all. She had the kind of broad, dense musculature – lean and ripping even despite its powerful bulk – that rugby players could only dream of.

She initiated the fight with an elegant and acrobatically elaborate spinning kick. It was for show, not contacting him, just demonstrating that she could end him in an instant should she choose to. If that kick had have connected, it would have taken his head off.

She performed an elaborate sequence of punches and sweeps around her body, displaying a fluid grace and control that only came with mastery of the art. She concluded by drawing her arms up into a fighting prep stance, fists clenched, the bulging muscles rigid with coiled strength. With her biceps flexed like that, their circumference was actually bigger than his thighs.

He tried to back away but she came forward and struck. A blur of punches, she assaulted his flanks cracking ribs with lightening strikes.

Gasping, he staggered backwards, clutching his busted sides and coughing up a mist of blood.

She stepped forward and gave him a single slam, right in the belly. He doubled over and would have collapsed but for her grabbing him. She took a fistful of his shirt and held him like that, effortlessly supporting his weight.

“Say goodnight, fucker!” she told him and then she punched him squarely in the face.

* * *

When he woke up again he was in hospital, his broken nose having already been attended to while he was unconscious. The x-rays were still being scrutinised.

One of his friends was beside the bed; his parents were en route.

“Thought she was only just into karate. Yellow belt you said.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, slightly abashed. “I was asking her mates about her while she was... well, you know. She is only a yellow belt in karate, but apparently, she’s learning karate because she’s massively into MMA. She just wants to add it to her repertoire. See she’s already mastered judo and taekwondo. She’s currently learning jujutsu too. Not to mention she doesn’t exactly hold back when it comes to the free weights. Talk about your wunderkind!

“There is a plus side though,” he added.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I got her phone number. Apparently she likes action movies so we’re going to the cinema this weekend. Hope you don’t mind but I lied to her about being your friend. Just until we see how it goes. Don’t worry, I don’t think she’s one for holding grudges.”

He tentatively touched his broken face. “That’s nice to know,” he said bitterly. It came out inaudible. He didn’t bother to repeat himself.