Diana, part 1

[swoleadonis]

This is NOT my work, but I feel it needed to be preserved both for how well it is written and because of the content (which is subtle, but really nails it).

Diana Part 1

Last week I went with Diana, my wife, to a party hosted by an old friend of mine. An extremely attractive woman of 33 (I am 44), Diana was looking especially splendid that night. She wore a black leather dress I had gotten her for Christmas. It was sleeveless and very soft; the leather clung to her body emphasizing her beautiful figure, recently made even more luscious by her regular workouts in the gym. She had been using an exercise bicycle for years, but in the last six months or so she had added free weights, saying she was afraid of losing her muscle tone. I was very pleased because muscular women are a particular turn on for me. Unfortunately Diana’s schedule at the gym was mutually exclusive of mine, so I never had a chance to see her lifting weights. Nevertheless, her workouts seemed to be progressing nicely. While we were dressing for the party she had asked me to hand her a fairly heavy bag and I couldn’t help noticing the new solidity and definition in her extended arm. Walking to the party I gently stroked and caressed the inside of her arm with my fingers. It felt silky and cool in the warm June air, also delightfully firm. Twice she bent her arm for some reason and the fullness of the bicep that pushed against my palm surprised me.

An hour or so into the party I was talking with a group of my friends. We had gotten to discussing how we were combating the aging process as we sank deeper into middle age. I found myself talking enthusiastically, even perhaps a bit boastfully about my workouts, about how I recently had increased my bench press to 50% more than my body weight and how I felt stronger than ever. At some point I looked up and saw Diana leaning against the wall, looking at me with a strange expression on her face, somewhat bemused, somewhat... almost scornful. I couldn’t understand it, but didn’t think much about it since a couple of the guys were asking me for more details about my workouts. When I looked up a few minutes later Diana had left the room.

I was vaguely concerned by the look she had given me and I realized that I hadn’t really paid all that much attention to her since we had arrived. I excused myself from my friends and set out to find her. My friend Bob’s townhouse is fairly large and I couldn’t find Diana anywhere on the first two floors. As I climbed to the third I thought I heard someone going up the stairs to the top floor and turned the corner just in time to see what looked like Diana’s very shapely calf disappear up the stairs. I called her name but got no response. I couldn’t imagine what was going on, so I went on up.

The top floor had three rooms: Bob’s study, a bathroom, and the master bedroom. I tried the first two; both were dark and when I turned on the lights no one was there. From the hallway I could see a bit of light under the bedroom door. I knocked twice.

“Who’s there?”

I recognized Diana’s voice and asked if I could come in.

“Sure.”

I entered and found her leaning against the wall again with that odd expression on her face. “What’s up babe?” I asked, “What are you doing up here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, ‘babe,’ just getting away to think a bit,” she said. Her arms were crossed and she seemed tense. The way she had said “babe” was hardly affectionate.

“Diana, what’s the matter? You look... mad.”

She laughed. “Do I? I’m not mad, just amused at you and your ridiculous discussions with the other old guys about staying in shape.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean that even though you’re not in bad shape for your age, you’re certainly not the one in our family in the best shape.”

“OK, I admit it sweetheart, I’ve got a bit of a gut and you don’t have a drop of fat... except where you should.” With that I moved closer and reached for her.

“James.” She used the tone of voice that meant “don’t touch.”

“Diana?”

“I’m talking about real fitness, strength, muscle tone.”

“I don’t get it kiddo. Do you mean I’m not strong, stronger than you?”

She walked towards me with a funny smile. I was standing near the bed. “Yes,” she said, “that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Oh god you’re not serious.” As I said this I found several different reactions tugging at me. I was incredulous that my 120 pound wife was suggesting that she was anywhere near as strong as me, 180 pounds and able to bench press nearly 300 pounds. I also felt excited; this kind of tough talk from Diana was new and quite thrilling to me.

She came right up to me and put her hands on my chest. “Oh no?” She waited a few seconds. I couldn’t figure out how to react. Then she laughed. “Here we go,” she said. She pushed me back a bit closer to the bed, then she pushed much harder and I fell backwards.

“Come on Diana,” I said looking up at my beautiful wife.

“Try to get up.”

I sat upright and started to stand, but another push sent me back down on the bed. This time I landed harder.

“Diana!” I quickly started to rise but again she pushed me backwards. Then she jumped right on top of me taking my wind and leaving me really startled. What had gotten into her?

I had no time to think. She began pummeling me and slapping me. Her blows didn’t hurt all that much, but I couldn’t stop her. She was much quicker than me and each time I managed to grab a hand she wrenched it free.

“What’s the matter? Can’t the big strong man stop his little wife from beating him up?”

She certainly wasn’t beating me up, but her blows were becoming annoying and, truth to tell, were starting to sting.

“Oh good grief, what do you want me to do? Fight back?”

She stopped and smiled with a bright look in her eyes. “Ah huh!”

Then I began really to struggle, turning my body and trying to throw her off. It was more difficult than I thought, but gradually I started to over balance her. Bit by bit I got on top. I was breathing very heavily and starting to sweat as I pushed her hands down, almost to the bed. As I pushed I couldn’t help but see the shapes forming on her biceps. Balls of hard muscle began to appear and I found my progress slowing to a halt.

“You can’t pin me,” she said in a very even tone. She seemed hardly to be working at all.

And I couldn’t! Try as I might, her arms got no nearer the bedspread. In fact, as I started to tire even more, she began to push my arms up. Then she moved very quickly. She wrenched both hands free and rolled me partly off her. One arm snaked around my neck and I felt real pain as she squeezed. She then rolled back so that I was again on top of her, this time with my back against her. She moved her hands and feet at the same time: her hands went under my arms and met behind my head; her legs sought out mine and her feet hooked inside my knees. Then she started to force my legs apart. Her short dress had hiked way up and I could see the hard muscles of her gorgeous legs beginning to push against mine. Diana was very flexible and could fall into a split without even trying. I may be in good shape in some respects, but I’ve always hated stretching and I’m not at all flexible. The pain quickly became intense.

“Diana! Stop!” I almost screamed.

“What’s the matter honey? Does this hurt? I told you to stretch after your workouts.”

“Please, Diana. Stop. It hurts!”

“First you have to say it.”

“Say WHAT?”

“Say that I’m stronger.”

“Diana, don’t be ridiculous, don’t... YAA!” She had given a bit of an outward push and my legs felt like I would split down the middle. I was completely powerless to resist. Her legs, quite simply, WERE stronger than mine and the full nelson left me with no way to fight back.

“OK, OK, you’re stronger, you’re stronger.”

To my vast relief, the outward pressure on my legs stopped. I panted and waited for her to let me go.

She had other ideas. “Oh honey, I just don’t think you really believe it. You think I won just because of my flexibility. I’m gonna have to beat you without using my legs.”

“Diana, please, this is silly, let’s stop.”

She uncoiled her legs from mine. I heard her sigh. “Are you ready for me beat you with just my arms?” she purred.

“This is ridiculous Diana, I...”

Before I could finish--I don’t know how she did this so fast--she managed to roll us over so that now my face was pushed into the bed and she was on top of me, maintaining her full nelson.

“You what, honey?” she asked in her sweetest voice.

“Diana, I OUCH!”

She started giggling. Where had she found the strength to tighten her hold so mercilessly? I soon got my answer.

“James, I think you need to see this.” She unhooked her left arm but somehow kept up the pressure. Any movement from me resulted in an instant crushing tightening of her arm--ONE arm! What was she going to show me?

“Look.”

Very awkwardly I turned my head a far as I could. She was holding her left arm out straight, angled so I could see it. “Pay attention honey.”

As I watched she slowly bent her arm. The ball of hard muscle I had noted before rose even further in this true flex. She straightened her arm and repeated the process over and over. The effect of her pump was amazing: from a gracefully thin arm the first flex had produced a pronounced, defined bicep that must have peaked to at least a full inch beyond the surrounding upper arm; as I watched, the peak grew to a rocky mass that towered a good two inches above the rest of her arm. The measurement around the entire bicep wouldn’t have been impressive for a real body builder--only about twelve inches--but I swear, I don’t think I’d ever seen so pronounced a peak.

What can I say? As her muscle grew so did the part of me that always responds to displays of female strength. Despite the pain I was becoming terribly excited. (OK, from the moment she first pushed me on the bed I was excited. But not like this!)

A groan of longing must have escaped my lips, because Diana brought her arm very close to my face and giggled again. “Oooh, now you’re happy. Want to kiss it?” She squeezed me harder with her other hand.

“Ow!... Yes, please,” I whispered.

“Louder, honey.”

“Yes!”

She didn’t bring her slab of muscle any closer. “Hmm. I think you need to be punished more first.”

“Oh Diana, I...OUCH!”

She had brought her left hand back into position behind my head and now was squeezing me so powerfully I could barely speak.

“C’mon honey, who’s stronger?”

She started to rock against me, pushing down with her pelvis against my butt.

“Please Diana!”

She pushed harder, more rhythmically. “Who’s stronger James? Say it.”

The rocking motion was pushing my member back and forth within my slacks. I felt more turned on than any time I could remember. My wife was dominating me seemingly without effort. Oh god, she WAS stronger than me. I felt horrible but also wonderful.

“Oh Diana... yes... you’re stronger.”

She rocked even harder. “Who’s muscles are harder and more defined?”

“Ohhh, yours.... yours.”

“Good boy. I think that in another six months my muscles will be bigger than yours. What do you think?”

Considering how far she had come in less than a year I was terrified but had to agree. “Bigger... yes.”

“And you’ll like that yes?”

She said this loudly and really started to bang against me. I couldn’t stop myself. I came in great surging waves that seemed to go on for 30 seconds. “Yes, yes,” I moaned over and over, ever more weakly.

“Won’t THAT be fun,” she said with a laugh. “Best not to brag to your friends about how strong you are. Next time I might have to beat you up in front of them.”

With that she put one hand on the back of my head and crushed my face hard into the bed. She got up, lit a cigarette, and walked out.

[swoleadonis]

Diana Part 2

In the weeks after Bob’s party I found my humiliation at Diana’s treatment of me subsiding. She didn’t mention what had happened, but there was a subtle change in our sex life; now it was generally she who initiated love-making, and she did it by cuddling on top of me and lightly flexing her biceps and letting me kiss them. One thing would lead to another and we often climaxed together--easy enough to achieve since all I had to do to produce instant release was to stroke her upper arms and press her hard, splendidly arching peaks as she held me tightly.

Still, despite the thrill of Diana’s arms, I was now motivated to hit the gym as never before. I began to work my own arms more intensely than before, but I trained my legs and chest especially hard; they grew surprisingly fast, and over the course of a few months I increased my squats by over 50% and could feel how hard my pecs were becoming.

In September, about three months after Diana’s muscles had so thoroughly dominated me at Bob’s party, I thought I might try to challenge her again, this time on my terms. We had a very romantic evening; I had seen to it that she had a bit more wine than usual and she clearly was affected by it. She was very sleepy and asked me to help undress her. As I pulled her dress over her head and then stroked her arms before helping her off with her bra, I was struck anew by their fullness and solidity. Standing behind her, I traced her unflexed right bicep with my fingers. She giggled and did a quick flex. The pop of her peaked muscle was shocking and thrilling.

She laughed as she tumbled into the bed. “I think they’re still growing, don’t you James?  And by the looks of things it appears you've been hitting the weights as well.  I see some solid definition in your chest.”

She reached up, felt how firm my chest felt, and pulled me down on top of her. This was just as I had hoped. After a few delightful minutes of increasingly passionate kisses, and her playing with my nipples which drives me crazy, I decided to make my move.  I maneuvered my legs around her left leg and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Hmm,” she sighed with pleasure, “squeeze me again.”

That was all the cue I needed. Slowly increasing the pressure, I brought nearly the full strength of my two legs to bear on her leg.

“Oh James, that’s so nice. Can you do it harder?”

This was disconcerting and, to tell the truth, it made me angry: she should be in pain by now! I didn’t *want* to hurt her, but I did want her to acknowledge the power of my legs. With a strained grunt I squeezed with all my might and waited for her to submit.

But something strange happened. She moved her other leg so that now her two legs encircled my left leg. I realized that she was starting to squeeze back! I redoubled my efforts and found new strength, but... oh... what was that? The pressure building up around *my* leg was growing, growing, growing to the point that it was becoming intolerable!

Somehow I could stand it. But it seemed as though despite my months of effort, I had built my legs up only to be even with Diana’s in strength.

As though she could read my thoughts, Diana said, “James, I’ve noticed recently that your quads have really grown! You must be working out like crazy! I love your strong legs.”

“Geez Diana, I don’t know. I thought they’d be way stronger than yours by now, but we seem to be pretty evenly matched.”

“Do you think so James?”

Something about her voice made me a bit uneasy.

The next moment brought the most astonishing pain imaginable. Her legs tightened immeasurably. “Vise-like” scarcely begins to describe the feeling. I must have screamed--the pain was too intense, too shocking to bear--but I know I blacked out.

I awoke to find Diana gently stroking my face and looking very concerned.

“Oh James, James, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”

I groaned and examined my leg. “I guess so. My god, what did you do to me?”

“I just squeezed you harder,” she replied, “I wanted you to know that I wasn’t squeezing full strength.”

“How can you be so strong?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been working on my legs too.”

Dear reader, please don’t get the idea that I had been ignoring my wife’s legs for the previous three months. On the contrary: throughout the summer I was dazzled by the beautiful, athletic shapes she displayed at every opportunity. But Diana’s physique is, er, unusual. Just as her unflexed arms are gracefully slim, just a bit fuller and more defined that most athletic women, her legs seem no more overtly muscular than a sprinter’s--certainly nothing resembling, say, a bodybuilder like Maria Calo. But as I’ve indicated in my previous story, when pumped and flexed, the peaks of Diana’s biceps leap from the surrounding arm and form unbelievably hard balls of muscle. Now I was to learn that the effect of a pump was not limited to her arms.

“C’mere babe,” she said, edging off the bed.

“What do you want me to do, Diana?”

“Stand on the bed, over here, near the edge, turned the other way.”

I did as she asked. She bent towards me, put her head between my legs and stood up. (Luckily we have high ceilings!) Then she began to do deep squats. I lost count in the high 50s. I couldn’t believe the strength of my wife as she powered one solid repetition after another.

Eventually she stopped and put me back on the bed.

“Now look” she said getting in next to me.

I looked down at her legs and could hardly believe what I saw. Diana’s beautifully proportioned legs--the envy of all her friends--had become transformed. Deep striations had appeared all over and the girth of her quads had grown by at least half. I was looking at the legs of a professional body builder!

I gulped. “May I... feel them?”

“Good grief James, you’re my husband, of course you can feel them, and I hope you will. Pumping them like that makes me horny.”

I slid down towards the bottom of the bed to get closer. The bands of muscle were dazzling in their intricate, ropy patterns. I began gingerly to stroke them, fearful of their obvious power.

“James, please, stroke more... kiss me...”

Against my lips Diana’s skin was as soft as ever, but the iron underneath did not yield. As I kissed her, her excitement grew and she moved one leg so that I was now surrounded by her magnificent thighs. I kissed gently, them more passionately, rubbing my mouth and cheeks over the muscled surface. Then Diana sat up slightly and grabbed me gently by the hair, guiding me to the warm moistness between her legs. I reached up with my hands and tried to squeeze her rock-hard quads and traced their sinew up to her abs.  As I sought her eagerly with my tongue I felt her legs rise up onto my shoulders and could sense the locking of her ankles behind my back. The thought of the awesome power she could exert on my helpless head was almost too much: my excitement translated into more fervent action of my tongue. As Diana’s climax built her legs began to squeeze tighter. My hands scrambled back to her quads, madly trying to wrench them apart--with, of course, no success. As the pressure on my head intensified so did my own excitement. I came just when Diana did and we rode wave after wave of pleasure together, with me locked between her magnificent thighs. Then, all went dark.

Again I awoke to Diana’s concerned cries. When she saw I was awake, she reached down and pulled me up to the head of the bed and turned me onto my back.

“Poor baby,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind, James, but I love being so strong.”

With that, she moved one thigh over me and almost instantly feel asleep.

[phil123]

And after Diana Part 2 I hope for Part 3. +K

[addie40ff]

Is there more?  I certainly hope so.

[jhunter]

Interesting story, thanks for sharing it. Feel it could use a bit more detail though.