Forum Saradas
Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction => Muscular Women Fiction => Topic started by: elgat on May 16, 2008, 10:13:29 am
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Stories in this collection:
TOO TIGHT
TIME FOR A CHILD
BAR JOCK MEETS HIS FOIL
The Leg Man, the Breast Man, and the Ass Man
HUSTLER IN HIGH HEELS
Emancipation of the Old Gym
The Lady Blacksmith
RECOMPENSE FOR RAPISTS
THE RECKONING
Swordswoman!
THE GLOVE MAN
For those who don't know Jack Straw (not the British minister) I can say that he was one of the first and best (and one of my favorites, too) authors on DtV library. Unfortunately all his works have been removed from the site. Here I'll post, in time, some stories by him that I discovered on an old archive of mine.
All the credits should go to this very talented and missed (I don't know what happened to him but he stopped writing several years ago) author but I won't mind a bit of K+ for the effort of searching and posting his work. ;D Enjoy!
The story about him is that he asked Diana to withdraw all his stories because he started to dislike the violence in some of his stories. I know this because I used to have a website where I had a few of his stories and he asked me for the same.
TOO TIGHT
by Jack Straw
inspired by a Barbarian Queen film scene
She was spread-eagled in naked splendor against the cold stone wall. Chains
bound each wrist and ankle. A big brute of a man, larger and heavier than
she, was pawing at her bountiful curves, marvelling at the smoothness of her
skin and the incredible firmness of her flesh. She was so lovely and with
muscles that, even relaxed, rivalled his when flexed. And the trim, supple
waist expanding to a deep, deep chest from which her large breasts billowed
outward against his own thick, hard, and hairy torso. He felt her rock hard
buttocks and felt his loins roil with lust. The combination of her dazzling
beauty and awesome physique was so different from the lumpy, submissive women
he was used to. He ripped off the loose covering over his stiffly erect
penis. A little forceful sex would soften up this haughty bitch for the
questioning to follow.
She roused slowly from unconsciousness, wincing from the throbbing pain at the
back of her head. It felt wet and tender; they must have hit her with a club
the size of a tree. Remembering what had happened, she cursed her
carelessness and thought anxiously about her people. She focused her eyes
and recoiled from the sight of an ugly brute stripping off the last vestiges
of clothing and exposing an erect member sprouting from a tangle of dirty,
smelly pubic hair. Seeing that she was awake, he taunted her by swinging his
male tool back and forth as if it were a sword or club. This show was
intended to scare her, but she almost laughed out loud at his male delusions.
“Some of them think they are gods,” she thought derisively.
She had always believed herself physically superior to males and proved it
from an early age. She had always been forced to beat more than one boy at a
time to prove herself capable of performing at “men’s” games. It thrilled her
to be the victor and as time went on, no matter how big, the male opponent was
humiliated. As she grew up, tall and strong and very comely, she came to
protect males who showed her respect but still revelled in demolishing those
who didn’t.
The unkemp brute facing her ran his hands admiringly along her stupendously
endowed body. Amazed at the fullness and firmness of her breasts, he nuzzled
his bristly face in the deep cleft between them, breathing in the arousing
scent and marvelling at the luxurious caress of her soft skin against his
leathery cheeks. Nearly at the point of ejaculation just at being this close
to her, he was caught offguard as she tensed and twisted her torso so that one
of her breasts pressed more forcefully against one of his cheeks while the
other one twisted away. And then rapidly she rammed this large, heavy, firm
mammary with tremendous force against the whiskered jaw that she had set up by
this maneuver. The big man was knocked to the floor, momentarily stunned.
Groggily, he clambered to his knees, shook his head to clear his blurred
vision, and wiped the tears that had welled up from the force of her blow.
Sniffling slightly as a result of these tears, he frowned at her contemptuous
sneer and stared bemusedly at those delectable orbs that thrust out so
arousingly from her huge chest.
“You’ll just get hurt playing with me—I’ve got too much for a little boy like
you to handle!” she taunted, twisting her deep, powerful pectorals so as to
cause her outthrust melons to swing firmly back and forth.
He glowered briefly and then laughed at her audacity and gripped her viciously
once again. But she noted triumphantly that he kept his head bent backwards
away from her prodigious bosom. Pawing at her body once again brought his
penis to bobbing erection. He rubbed it menacingly along her smooth skin,
gripped her behind her thick, taut thighs, and thrust his member against her
exposed loins.
In disgust she clenched her nether region as he thrusted to enter her.
Despite her predicament, she smiled exultantly as he jammed his prong at her
luxurious bush in perplexed, animated exertion but could not penetrate her
portal of entry. In fact, his stiff member bent at first like a thick willow
branch and then softened as he became frustrated.
From years of taunting inferior males, she could not resist, “What’s the
matter? Is my gate too strong for your little ram?”
“Loosen up, bitch!” he raged and punched her in the stomach. But his angry
punch merely bounced off.
“Is that the best you can do?” she taunted. “I thought you Randorians were
supposed to be tough. I guess you must be one of the runts.”
Exploding with anger, he put all his strength and body weight behind a second
vicious punch in the same place and then groaned involuntarily in pain as his
wrist crumpled against an impenetrable wall of granite-like muscle. He stared
at her muscular midsection as if trying to figure out a puzzle. How could it
be that hard?
“You really aren’t much of a man, are you? Not man enough to handle a real
woman,” she taunted and abruptly flexed her torso so that it swelled and
rippled into amazing ridges of muscle and imposing breasts. She laughed as
his eyes bulged in amazement, completely erasing the imperious bearing with
which he had approached her at first. She suspected that the wrist he cradled
gingerly was severely sprained. “Why don’t you go out and bully some little
boy,” she continued scornfully and then repeated her earlier taunt. “You’re
just going to hurt yourself playing with me.”
Again he exploded in anger. The fist on his good hand smashed into one of her
big breasts. To his satisfaction this time his fist did sink a bit into her
flesh, although surprisingly little, and he looked in vain for a sign of pain
in her face. She had been helped by her arousal at humiliating him so far in
a situation in which he held all the advantages he could possibly want. It
thrilled her sexually and had stiffened her breasts. Still, despite her stoic
sneer, it had sent searing pain down to her spine. She decided to change
tactics.
“Look,” she said soothingly, “instead of tiring yourself out like this, why
not try to enter me again. Surely you can’t pass up a chance like this.
Admit it, you’ve never even dreamed of having a woman like me.”
He roared with laughter. “I don’t dream, woman, I ACT.” She was right; he
could not pass up the opportunity to be the first Randorian to have this
haughty female. He approached her, once again swaggering cockily, drinking in
the magnificent womanflesh splayed out before him. The rank odor of his
unwashed body repulsed her, but she hid her revulsion.
“It’s just that I’m so tense, knowing that we’re being watched.” She nodded
toward the heavy door behind him.
He strode over and yanked the door open. Two of the guards tumbled over each
other onto the dank stone floor. The one on top scrambled to his feet and
smiled nervously. “Kind of a tough one, isn’t she,” he joked. “Did you
perhaps want some help? Maybe we could push you into her.”
Growling with rage, the brutish torturer lifted up the trembling man with his
good arm and, setting him down, cold-cocked him with a thunderous thrust of
the huge fist on his uninjured arm. The guard fell senseless and unmoving
onto the floor. The other guard examined his friend and in shocked tones,
said, “You’ve killed him!”
“Oh, I doubt it. Get him out of here and be gone yourself before I send you
both to Hades!” the brute roared.
“My, aren’t we the beast,” the regal woman said, licking her lips lustfully,
as the huge, muscular man strode back toward her. He grabbed her and
positioned his swelling penis against the thick bush of hair between her
spread legs.
“Wait,” she said calmly, “this isn’t going to work unless we get ourselves a
little moister. Rinse yourself with that water,” she said pointing to a crock
of rainwater that was used to clean up the blood occasionally spattered on the
torturers. She could not bear the thought of his encrusted member entering
her without at least some cleansing.
Growling slightly, he considered, and then did as she said. Perhaps it would
help, he thought, remembering his earlier difficulty.
“Go slower, this time,” she demanded softly. “Stroke my body, up and down, so
that I become ready. Otherwise, that little poker will never make it inside.”
“I’ll do as I please, wench,” he roared drawing back his arm to strike her,
but realizing with a pained start that it was the arm with his damaged wrist
and how it had been damaged, he withdrew it. Nuzzling his erect member once
again outside her tight slit, he began to do as she said.
She became more and more demanding as he fondled her. He began to pant with
arousal at exploring the glorious perfection that was her body. She commanded
where to touch her and how. “Yes, that’s it. There—higher—harder.” He was
squirming in aching, bobbing erection, nearing explosion without having
entered her. He launched himself to enter her. “No, wait, I’m not ready,
yet; you’ll just hurt yourself. Get me more moist. Run your member along my
leg. You must get harder.”
Harder?! He’d never been harder in his life, but he did rub his turgid rod
along her leg and it felt sublime—so smooth, so hard, so deliciously curved
with heavy muscle was that female superlimb. He lost track of time and space.
He did not realize that he had long since ceded control of the situation to
her and that she was dominating him, despite being bound to the wall. She was
now aroused at his abasement and by the exacting fondling he was carrying out.
His guided ministrations eventually pushed her over the edge and she came.
“Suck my juices!” she commanded and he did, bringing her to another orgasm.
“Suck it dry!” she directed and he tried but, of course, one cannot dry a
vagina with a salivating mouth. His member, now dried of the wash water by
the erotic tracing along her skin, was oozing precum.
“Now!” she commanded, “Enter me now!”
Without thinking, he slavishly complied. “Deeper!” she demanded huskily. He
pushed as hard as he could, mashing his testicles in the process. It
prevented the ejaculation that had welled up inside him. Suddenly, his
throbbing prong was seized with a grip so tight he thought he must have missed
his target and that, instead, a hand of immense strength was wrenching it in a
pulverizing grip. He looked down to see what had grabbed him, but he was
clearly in her slit. She smiled at his confusion. Without knowing it, he had
sealed his fate by doing the very thing that had become the most important
objective in his miserable life to this point. He was now hers! She flexed
all of her muscles to the fullest in order to break herself free from her
shackles. Her vaginal muscles flexed in synchrony with the rest.
“T-T-Too tight; too TIGHT! You’re squeezing too tight!” the big man wailed.
She exulted in her total supremacy over this disgusting male, having overcome
him by what he would have considered the weakest part of her superanatomy. It
was symbolic: the essence of maleness being ground to a pulp by the seat of
femininity that was its destiny to seek. He tried to pull out his trapped
member, to no avail. “This is not happening,” he thought. Resting
momentarily to redouble his efforts to extricate himself, he allowed his head
to sink into the cleft between her stupendous breasts and deep pectorals. But
instead of bludgeoning his head with one of her mighty mammaries, she tensed
her pectorals so that her breasts squeezed together against his head. He was
now enveloped in a fleshy vise that threatened to smother him. There was
enough slack in the chains that she could press her elbows against her massive
breasts, trapping him more tightly. The muscles of his thick neck could not
immediately pull his head out. This was amazing! A strong male was being
defeated merely by the sexual organs of the woman he had sought to rape. He
began to realize how utterly physically superior she was.
In panic and pain, he beat his hands and feet against her steely flesh, merely
hurting his joints in the process. Hearing her laughter at his impotent
efforts, he finally admitted to himself, “This woman is too much for me; she
is too much for two of me. What have I done to myself?” Forcing his hands
between her breasts, with bulging exertion of his huge biceps he managed to
separate her breasts sufficiently to lift his head weakly from this trap.
Only the perspiration of their bodies had saved him; in this preposterous
contest the woman’s softest organs had overmatched the male’s arm, shoulder,
and neck muscles so that he was limp with exhaustion and drenched with
perspiration. Hence, he was only dimly aware of the squeaking of the chains
that had bound her, as she inexorably pulled the thick metal apart. Looking
up, he saw the monstrous bulging of her vein-filled, ultra-striated biceps as
they triumphantly overcame the manmade links of heavy metal. Glancing down,
he saw her even more monstrously flexed thighs impelling her legs upward
toward his midsection, having ripped her ankles from the shackles that were
flying in pieces across the room.
Now a blubbering wreck, the bullying brute trembled and tears of terror
streamed down his face. With her limbs free, he knew his life was at an end.
Too late, he was able to extricate his limp, deformed penis from her womb and
wet himself in his utter fright.
Clamping his jaws in a pulverizing grip to prevent his screams from warning
her other captors, she placed her other hand between his legs. “I’ll not give
you the death you now crave, WORM,” she hissed. “You will be a miserable
example of the inferiority of your sex. An example of what happens when you
try to force yourself on a woman instead of begging to please her!” Flexing
mightily, she bent the big man backwards over her knee until he was folded in
half. Sounds of his splintered ribs and broken back filled the room. She
knew from having done this once before unintentionally that he had lost
feeling below the waist, and was in shock at the lost sensation. If he lived,
in the coming days he would find out that his male appendage was irreparably
out of commision; he had been neutered by a woman.
He wanted to scream but no sound came out and then he gagged as she stuffed
his putrid loin cloth into his mouth and bound it in place. Smugly, with her
hands on her hips, she flaunted her gloriously naked body, swelling her
magnificent chest as she flexed her awesome biceps. Expecting her to rend his
once-proud body in half and knowing she could, he stared with panic-stricken
eyes so wide and bulged out that it seemed they wanted to take flight and pull
the rest of his body along with them. Slowly she raised one arm and tensed it
so that the already terrifying girth expanded and rippled in feminine ridges
of almighty muscle. His face seemed to burst in terror and he swooned dead
away.
Stifling the triumphant laugh that welled up inside her, she silently strode
from the room without bothering to cover herself. After all, what better
weapon against the weaker sex than her nude physique? Whether the
confrontation was sexual or physical, the men would be mush.
The End
More shall follow soon.
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Here another one, split in two parts.
TIME FOR A CHILD by Jack Straw first part
She looked out on what had been her domain for the past six moons. Soon it
would be time for the reunion that renewed their clan loyalty and signalled
their final passage toward womanhood. For she was among the young women
selected to find mates outside the clan. Every year a number of girls having
attained their eighteenth cycle of seasons were chosen. They were the
strongest, had the best survival skills, and, of course, they had to desire
men and be attractive to them.
Before embarking on the quest, however, they had to live by themselves for
three moons. Partly this first phase was to select those who the ancients
thought had the right mettle; partly it was to engage in the meditation that
solitude forced upon them. Many could not withstand the solitude, the
insecurity of being alone. They returned and served the clan in other ways
but without the honored status in the clan that had been reserved for them.
The others were not to return to the clan for good until they had mated
successfully. They could bring their mates or not, as they chose. Many did
not and the mates of others often left soon after arriving, never to return.
Thus, the male sex at all ages was in the minority. Why they were in the
minority among the children it had not occurred to her to question for a long
time, and when she knew the answer, she puzzled over it for a long time
without resolving it. Why the leaders were all women was obvious; though the
brothers did their best, there were always females who were better at
everything.
Yes, she was one of the chosen. But not just because she was the strongest,
the fastest, the least vincible. It must be said that this rite also allowed
the clan to rid itself of the most rebellious at that most rebellious of ages.
Some returned; some never did. She had left intending to leave civilization
and its restrictions forever. She had not returned for the first reunion, and
the civilization of the One True Way daily receded further from her thoughts,
despite a visit from her dearest mentor. They had sat in silent communion for
several days and then the elder friend returned to the clan. She no longer
felt the anger of her former days, the impatience with the strictures of her
people. But by no means was she ready to return.
She loved this life: to test her body daily, to be part of and yet master of
nature, to vanquish the fiercest of predators for food when she needed it.
She could even outrun most of the animals, and those that were faster in short
distances she beat with her stamina. Every day she got faster, stronger.
Yes, she had enjoyed her life alone, but she was becoming restless. Something
was missing. Not the society of her clan; she still despised that. But
something. And she thought she knew what it was. It was an aching in the
night, sometimes almost a feverish need.
From her unseen perch she could see the herd and the poaching men who stalked
it. It was a herd she managed in order that the animal predators she preyed
on had sufficient food. She managed well; the men managed poorly. That was
why they poached.
Should she drive out these men like she had the others? Perhaps she would
keep one of them a while. She wanted to couple with a man, perhaps to have
that child, although she knew her elders would be displeased if they knew.
She had not had the Instructions yet; they had not shown her the sacred map,
her destination, the rules of her quest. Her soul had not been Purified. No,
if she had a child, it would be hers to nurture alone, for she would not have
done things in the One True Way.
These men were young and tall; they looked vigorous, compared with others she
had seen here. They must be from a different clan; they were taller,
stronger, and -- more handsome! Of course they were also a little dirty,
unkempt, and smelly, but she could change that. One of them might father her
child. She stepped out into the small clearing where they crouched, hidden
from the herd.
The men were startled. She was one of the Witch Women! From the stories of
these women, they would have expected anything from a hag resembling the
gnarled trunk of an old cedar tree to a virago in the guise of a mad
rhinoceros. What they beheld was gleaming perfection! Such a magnificent
creature -- she had cast off the loose fur garment from her torso in
anticipation of the coming battle, and now, clad only in sun-bronzed perfect
skin and a loin cloth made of soft colorful animal skin, she was a vision of
primeval beauty, graceful in bearing and powerful in constitution. The
perfection of her skin was marred in some places by the scars left by fights
with lions and wolves, but it only enhanced the vitality of her physique. In
her presence the men felt clumsy and sexually aroused.
Men never ventured alone into this region because of the stories about such
women. Even pairs of men sometimes didn't return. They had expected a
creature seven feet tall, but she was no taller than they. Still she looked
formidable, a hunter, and, if need be, a warrior like they. Strong,
obviously, and so alluring: cleaner, brighter, healthier, and more voluptuous
than their women. They fought their male impulses; these women were sirens --
they could kill with desire, as well as spears, so the legends went. But the
stories also said that they always hunted alone. Hence, emboldened by
numbers, they followed the incitement of their hormones and made up their
minds to have her, to take her back with them -- a trophy that would seal
their place in legends of the future. They were not so bold as to attack
singly, but stalked her as they would a lioness, attempting to outflank her,
spears held high.
She was probably the one that men from the neighboring clan had begun telling
about in recent suns. She would chase them down, no matter the distance or
their numbers, seize them, and crush them, and deposit their broken bodies far
away. But, though the man might never recover completely, she never killed.
For a few moments she let them draw closer, calmly, contemptuously
unconcerned. But they had never seen the speed of the trained female and
within the blink of an eye, she attacked. Spears and males went flying. They
had been too confident, too unprepared, too sexually aroused, their pricks
practically hanging out of their loose clothes. She too had been aroused.
Why, she wondered: lust or battle lust? Her ample areolae were puffy and
nipples steely-hard with desire, but if lust, it only seemed to give her even
more energy. Within seconds one male was suffocating, with his face in the
vice of her clamped legs, while the other two were thrashing against each
other, their heads mashed in the cloying space between each magnificent breast
and moist underarm, surprisingly unable to escape the iron-hard grip that
painfully constricted their heads. When the first fellow went limp between
her legs, she agilely brought her legs up to trap one of the other combatants
and shifted his face from moist underarm to warm cleft between her legs. The
other one found his face now trapped between her ample, solid breasts as she
hugged his head tightly with her suddenly bulging biceps. Though they
struggled and grappled, sometimes breaking free of a hold, they never quite
escaped her grasp. She was heartened by their spirit; they did not give up.
But, after a protracted struggle, in the end three once proud males lay limp
in the afternoon sun.
She could not decide which to take back. She would take them all. They would
be the first men with whom she had coupled, although unknown to her elders she
had sampled some of the boys her same age in the clan.
One of them revived to find himself being bathed in a pool of warm water by
the mighty woman. The warm touch of her and the feel of her firm, supple,
ample curves excited him to a throbbing erection. She deposited him on a
nearby skin and had her way with him. At first fearful, he fought, but soon
gave up--it seemed fruitless and, besides, she had him dizzy with arousal.
Sex with this creature was like no other pleasure he had known, let her kill
him with desire!
The other two men found themselves in a deep pit inside a cave. They could
hear the sounds of lust above them, and one was boosted up by the other to see
his friend, alternately moaning with pain and desire, being ravaged by this
strange, alluring woman. Looking for a means to escape or sneak up on the
woman from behind, the man peering from the edge of the pit tried to pull
himself up, but the rock was extremely slippery and he fell in a heap onto his
comrade at the bottom.
The mighty young woman had seen and heard this and chuckled as she reached
climax, draining the man's seed and squeezing his spasming prick in a vice-
like vaginal grip that caused him to moan loudly as she continued to squeeze
and then stretch his member, in frustration that its now limp flesh afforded
her no further pleasure. Soon his abused member was puffy and, alas, of no
use to her. She had been wise to bring them all, she thought. She wanted
another. This first one soon found himself sliding down the sides of the pit.
One of the other men instinctively stood up and was startled to find himself
being lifted up by the unsatiated virago. She merely had braced her legs
around a stone pillar near the edge, bent down over the slick sides of the
pit, and in a prodigious display of abdominal and arm strength, launched him
up with one arm as she snapped her torso upward.
As he stumbled to his feet from where he had landed, he massaged the wrist
that he feared she had crushed and crouched in a wrestling stance to defend
himself. She mimicked his movements and her eyes lit in merriment. This
would be fun! She loved to wrestle. But it was not much of a match, though
out of fear and anger, he gave it furious effort. He simply didn't have the
skill or strength of her sisters. She laughed when he rushed headlong into
her gut and bounced off as if he had bumped a tree, jamming his neck against
her rock-hard muscles. Then he threw a punch in the same place and that
resulted in his second sprained wrist. He was being pulverized, and she still
hadn't moved! Out of frustration he launched a kick in the same area, which
she still absorbed impassively, puzzled at his strange tactics. Limping
badly, he backed away. Only then did she begin to stalk him. After lifting
him high over head and slamming him over her knee a couple of times, she found
him very docile. Disappointed that the fight was over so soon, she proceeded
to bathe him in the pool, and let their sexual libidos take over.
Her enthusiasm about the sex act was infectious; it was a welcome change from
the dull submission of the women of his tribe. But she was too enthusiastic;
she overwhelmed him with her vitality. He found her touch soft, gentle, and
sexually thrilling. But once he was aroused, she became wild with lust. It
was rougher than the wrestling match. He was flung to and fro like a rag
doll, crushed and bruised. Still, the unmatched thrill of contact with her
lush, firm, perfectly formed body and the furnace heat of her passion kept him
constantly on the edge of eruption as she extracted her own pleasure and flung
him about. When he did come though, it was a tumult that almost seemed to rip
him in two; he had never been wound so tight with passion. But the moment was
soon lost as she clamped his face between her dewy breasts in the frenzy of
prolonging her lust. It felt as if his vitality, so puny compared with hers,
was being sucked out completely with his seed, as she wrung him dry and
massaged her tingling breasts with his face. The violence of her passion
terrorized the simple man; he was certain that she was a demon, a witch, the
stuff of nightmares and legend. Another limp male was returned to the pit.
Still not satiated, she leaped into the pit herself and lifted out the
startled third man, who was only too happy to escape. Though he had a long
head start while she managed to climb out of the pit, she soon caught him.
After he caught his breath while she carried him back to the cave, he amused
her by trying to squeeze her in a bear hug. She demoralized him by expanding
her chest so that his hands slipped apart and then let him try again. As he
clamped her again she merely lifted him in the air and deposited him on the
ground, where, unaffected by his best efforts, she teased him by tickling and
suckling, gently massaging him to turgid erection. Just as he succumbed to
passion, however, he was tossed into the pool. His angry struggles only
served to amuse her and once again inflame her flagging desires. Not so
urgent this time, she prolonged the tryst long into the evening, but in the
end another spent male joined the heap.
After first bout of sex with her, they had each collapsed in exhaustion,
completely spent sexually and physically, not to mention, bruised and sore.
Disappointed that they could not serve her further, but sufficiently satiated,
she decided to let them recuperate with a good night's sleep.
She knew about sex, but nobody had prepared her for how fragile men were. She
had supposed that the weakness of the men she had been with before was an
aberration, but now she saw that she would have to be more gentle. They wore
out so easily and their organs became so squishy. Still, they could be cute,
once the grime was removed. She just wished they were a little tougher and
more full of spark.
Night had fallen and she built a fire. She lifted the men out of the pit and
fed them. It was delicious and they were famished. The mixture of meat and
herbs cooked in her strange way over the fire was far better than what they
were used to. Perhaps it would make them as strong as she! The men were
humiliated that she showed no fear, no concern that they would escape or
attack.
As the half moon rose, she easily shoved a huge boulder across the mouth of
cave, leaped six feet in the air to grasp a ledge, and pulled herself up
effortlessly to her bed of furs. She lay down to sleep. [continue...]
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"TIME FOR A CHILD" by Jack Straw, last part
[... continued]
In dim light from the embers of the fire and from moonlight penetrating softly
through cracks somewhere, the men find that they are trapped. There were
sheer walls all around and the boulder across the mouth of the cave.
There was only room for one to get the proper angle to budge the boulder. The
largest and strongest of the three tried to move it. He seemed to have it
started when...sweating profusely and groaning in mighty effort, his foot
slipped. The boulder careened back toward him and, in his frenzy to stop it,
he overextended his muscles, tearing his hamstring, dislocating his knee, and
ripping his groin muscles. He slumped in agony from the searing pain.
She had been watching and rose from the bed, laughed loudly in musical mocking
tones that echoed throughout the cave, flexed her arms and mighty chest in
silent statement of her superior strength. Then she rubbed her loins with one
hand while flexing the other arm to signify the superior strength in her
nether region as well, as she gestured merrily at the pathetic man clutching
his groin and writhing on the hard ground. Compassion was a virtue she still
had not mastered, especially where men were concerned.
She leaped to the ground and sauntering past the scampering comrades of the
fallen champion, she squatted in front of boulder and before their
disbelieving gazes, slowly lifted it waist high. Muscles all over her body
exploded into mountainous relief. Then triumphantly, she set it back down.
She faced them, her imposing chest heaving and perspiring slightly, all her
muscles bulging, beautifully, yet intimidatingly.
She loved to lift things. It was a daily exercise for her. She had found
that every quarter moon she could lift larger and larger boulders, more and
more times. It was fun to lift, some with one hand toward her expanding
chest, others overhead repeatedly until she was perspiring and breathing
heavily. And always more and more, and heavier and heavier. She marvelled
that the more she did, the stronger she got. She would gaze at herself in
pools and flex her naked muscles. It was fun to make her large, firm breasts
dance. During these narcissistic reveries she would begin massaging herself
and feel the delicious heat in her loins. She had to be careful though, it
made her dizzy and weak for a while. Her sisters among the people of the One
True Way had always marvelled at her strength and prowess in the games. She
always won. She shared her secrets but still the others could not match her.
Exulting in her strength in front of these men, she strode to a somewhat
smaller boulder and slowly lifted it over her head, staring smugly at the
stupefied expressions on the men's faces. After gently lowering it, she ran
her hands over her feminine curves and pumped-up muscles, emphasizing her
perfection and the men's inferiority. The men involuntarily became erect at
the beauty and power of this spectacle. She laughed and sprang back to her
bed.
Worried about what morning may bring, the two healthy men devised a plan.
When they heard her slumberous breathing, one seized her spear and the other
boosted him onto his shoulders. Still it was not high enough. Together they
managed, with groans of effort, heavy breathing, and several stops, to carry
over the boulder she had hefted easily over her head. After waiting again for
the sounds of her sleeping, they attempted to scale her tower again, and now
the top one could just see over the ledge, wobbling with the effort of holding
the heavy spear.
Meanwhile, she had heard their ragged breathing and scraping movements. (They
were too stupid, she decided; she must massage herself tomorrow with the
special root to make sure no child came from the couplings.) As the man
reached back to plunge the spear into the mighty woman, he realized she was
not there and heard her powerful laughter at his left side. Through a
sidelong glance he saw her mighty profile, arms akimbo, unconcerned lovely
face filled with mirth. And as she raised her arm to stifle laughter, the
flexing of muscle so startled him that he slipped backward slightly. Quick as
a panther, she saved him from serious injury by latching onto his outstretched
hand. With that single arm she lifted him into the air and then gently
planted him on the soft bed. Realizing that it might be a long while until
the next man, she decided to have him serve her anew.
It was pleasurable and then not pleasurable once again to the overmatched man.
Though he came once, he was forced to try again and forcefully his face was
used to massage her delicious body, stem to stern and back again; her
wrenching orgasms overwhelmed him, bruising him and robbing him of breath.
Frantically the healthy man below searched for escape and weapons, but found
only the spear his partner had dropped. When he heard her scream in ecstacy
and the muffled groan of his friend, he shivered in panic. Turning at a soft
thud beside him, he found her grinning in his face. As he struck with the
spear she grasped it in the middle with one hand and toyed delightedly with
him. Still holding the spear in one hand she forced him against the wall of
cave and, flexing mightily, forced the spear crosswise toward his throat.
Both his hands trembled with effort as he unsuccessfully struggled to stop the
steady progress of the spear as she calmly continued pressing with only the
single arm, which was now bulging into horrifying ridges of rock-hard man-
taming muscles.
He slipped down so that he could push up on the spear with his feet and,
though it stretched his frail ball-sacks, managed to slip his feet under the
spear. This he could do because she flaunted her strength by raising him and
the spear into the air, instead of following him to the ground, causing the
peaks of arm, shoulder, and pectoral muscles to ripple and expand even
further. She pressed him back against the wall and leaned toward him, still
grasping with only one hand. He now was wadded up and suspended above the
ground, his strong back braced against the wall, and both his arms and legs
swelling with supreme effort against the mighty arm of his captor.
She relished this challenge, the first time she had been able to devise a
near-equal contest with these pathetically inferior men. Her arm trembled
with effort, veins filling with blood and etching the smooth surface of her
femininely supple skin now stretched with exploding ridges of muscle. Sweat
bathed her underarms and large heaving breasts, outthrust by ever-expanding
pectoral muscles, and dripped off her nipples, erect from battle-lust. The
semen and her own come-juices from her sexual conquests coursed in rivulets
down the glistening surfaces of her smooth and magnificently muscled legs.
Alas, even this was not an equal contest; the spear pressed onto his Adam's
apple. Gurgling in frantic effort to breathe and sensing his impending death,
he sobbed and urinated in terror. Saddened and almost nauseated by this
pathetic spectacle, she lowered him gently to the ground as he lost
consciousness.
Morning came and the men find themselves naked, nestled in a warm thicket far
from the cave. Having found them unworthy, she harmed them no further, and
her feminine instincts of kindness and pity took over.
She knew that she could not wait for the right man to wander into her lair.
She would have to venture out into the unknown world. She was more convinced
than ever that, though she loved the life she led, something was missing. But
after her trysts of the day and night before, she was much less certain for
what she searched. She suspected only that it would not be easy to find. And
so her quest began as she drew her best bearskin around her and strode off
toward the early morning sun. [The End]
-
Another one here, enjoy :).
BAR JOCK MEETS HIS FOIL by Jack Straw
Rob scanned the dimly lit bar in what he considered a most
masterful manner. He always felt on display, sure that his good
looks and big athletic body attracted attention. At 6'2" and 250
lbs of solid muscle, he was hard to miss. At the end of the bar
sat what he decided would be his conquest for the night. She was
very well-built, with huge tits and cleavage prominently exposed.
Her arms and (very?!) broad shoulders were hidden by a loose-
fitting open jacket, but her long, muscular legs, which ended in
white sexy spike-heeled sandals, were deliciously revealed below
her short skirt. As he approached, he noted the deep tan that
set off those beautiful legs and her imposing bust.
He settled into the empty seat next to her and struck up a
conversation. He was pleased that she seemed so taken by him. As
usual, he took the lead; most of the conversation was about him.
He learned only her name, Karen, and that she was new in town.
She seemed impressed with him and his physique. They talked about
his athletic prowess: he had been a well-known linebacker in
college and still kept in shape. Sometimes she steered the
conversation into intellectual areas that were beyond his ken,
but he brought things back to his life, his work, and athletics.
Once she asked him about his view of women in sports. At first
he was evasive, hoping not to offend, but she gradually drew out
his true opinion, that he was all for women keeping fit (as Karen
obviously was) but the woman athlete was hopelessly behind the
male athlete. Women just didn't have the genes, the muscle mass.
Instead of being offended, she seemed to draw closer,
surreptitiously feeling his biceps and rubbing her legs against
his all the way up to his crotch. Her eyes glowed (worshipfully,
he thought) and almost seemed to undress him in appreciative
appraisal of his body. He was anxious to leave and move things
along.
She invited him to her place, and as they got up to leave,
he was surprised to find her eyes a little above the level of
his. In her high, high heels she seemed a little taller than he.
It was a little unsettling; he always enjoyed being able to look
downward at women. It was a symbolic thing for him. He forgot
about this "defect" as he followed her out the door, though.
What a body! And did she ever know how to move it in the right
ways. Trailing her in his car, as she drove to her place, he
congratulated himself on such a find. This would be a night
remember!
At her place she seemed even more animated, which at first
made her even more desirable in his eyes. Fairly devouring him
with her eyes, she asked huskily how he kept in such good shape.
"Well, I've always been active and strong. And I've been
pumping a lot of weight for a few years now."
Seated next to him on the couch, she started to unbutton his
shirt, and kissed him lightly on the neck. He was a little
miffed that she was being the aggressor but the smoldering look
of unabashed lust on her face melted his resistance. Soon his
muscular arms, shoulders, and hairy torso were bare and she was
caressing, admiring, and hotly kissing his naked skin. Close to
writhing in suppressed arousal, he sought to return her kisses
and get on top of her. But somehow she remained on top and bent
his head so that his kisses brushed against the exposed tops of
her prodigious boobs. His male ego demanded that he not let her
control this foreplay so completely, but as he exerted himself
further, they tumbled off the couch with her still on top. She
giggled at his surprised, frustrated look. He was flat on his
back with her astride his midsection.
"Are you one of those guys that just have to be on top?
Well, I'm one of those gals that won't let you. I love your
muscles, Rob, but you're not nearly as strong as I am. If I feel
like being on top, there's nothing you can do about it," Karen
taunted, tweaking his nose playfully.
"What!" he sputtered, and then he grinned. "Oh, I get it.
You're the type who gets turned on by a little tussle. Is that
it? Well, look out!" And with that he strained to unseat her and
rise from the floor.
But instead she grasped his hands and slowly pressed them to
the floor behind his head as she slid upward toward his face.
She twined her legs around his midsection and squeezed. Not only
could he not unseat her, the grip of her hands and legs was
becoming painful! A few minutes more of intense effort to muscle
her off only succeeded in making him hot, sweaty, and exhausted.
Managing a sheepish grin, he admitted, "All right, you've
got me. You win this round. Let me up."
"Not so fast! I'm enjoying this." She moved upward so that
her knees bore into his biceps and removed the jacket that had
covered her arms and shoulders. He was stunned. This lady had
muscles! Big ones! She flexed them tauntingly. Huge muscles!
They were an affront to his ego, his narrow concept of the sexes,
and hence a source of anxiety. But somehow on her they seemed
erotic, as beautiful as the rest of her. She smiled knowingly at
the mixture of emotions clearly painted on his face. He was
challenged and turned on at the same time! It was going to be
fun tussling with this creature and subduing her.
"Admit it. WOMEN ARE STRONGER! I'm still on top. My
muscles are bigger and harder than yours. Feel!" she commanded
and lifted one of his hands to one of her flexed biceps. It was
big! Even his large hands didn't begin to capture its girth.
And hard! He couldn't dent the iron-like solidity and, as he
tried, she flexed harder and ridges of muscle rose up even
higher.
"I'm stronger and my muscles are bigger and I haven't been
lifting weights nearly as long as you. Women must be stronger!"
"Look, lady," he said as he suddenly twisted his body and
unseated her, "you haven't proven that you're stronger than I am
yet. That was just a warm up."
"How much proof do you need? Look at your soft, little arms
and then look at mine. Look at my legs and then think about
yours. But leg-wrestling would be no contest. Okay, you think
you're stronger, let's arm wrestle. You won't last a minute."
What had started out as a nice bit of foreplay was turning
into a battle of the sexes and Rob was getting more and more
irritated. But just the same he wanted to put her in her place.
She had been on top in that little love tussle or whatever it
was. He HAD to redeem his pride and belief in male superiority.
So, feeling a little silly, he squared off across a table
from her. They each put up their arms, and even with his
egocentric myopia he had to admit that hers looked almost as big
as his. He also couldn't help staring at her huge bust proudly
protruding toward him across the table. She yelled, "Go!" and he
grimaced in effort, expecting to feel her arm giving way. But it
didn't. He rose slightly in his seat. Still her arm didn't
budge.
"Is that your best, wimp?" he heard her taunt and opening
his eyes, which he had closed in his struggle, he saw that she
was not straining at all. "Now compare your little MALE arm with
mine as I put you away." With that he felt his hand crunch in
her vicelike grip, and he gaped as her biceps swelled up much
larger and harder than his. He groaned with futile exertion as
she forced his arm inexorably to the table.
After defeating him more quickly with the other arm, she
rose, hands on hips, "Now do you admit that WOMEN ARE SUPERIOR to
men. You must at least admit that I am stronger than you!"
"Well, okay, you're better at arm wrestling, but that's only
one kind of strength."
"You're pathetic, but you'll learn. You'll learn," she said
ominously as she disappeared into her bedroom.
As he was massaging his strained arm muscles, she returned
in a sexy white bikini and high heels. What a turn on! The
stretch bikini was so minuscule as to almost not exist. With
each breath the flare of her torso, as it expanded outward from
her iron-hard waist, threatened to burst the straining bikini
top. From the lovely crown of her head to her high-heeled shoes
she was a supreme specimen of femininity, smoothly voluptuous but
powerful, granite-like muscles layered on top of muscles!
"Okay, how about a contest to see who gets to be on top in
there," she pointed toward the bedroom. Now they were back on
the right track, he thought. "The first one to strip the others'
clothes off will be on top. Not that it matters, since the
stronger one, I, would do what I want anyway. Am I giving you
enough handicap, or should I strip off this top too?"
"No, lady, I'll do that," he hooted as he dove for her. He
was still clothed in tight-fitting sturdy pants, while both the
top and bottom of her sexy bikini were tied with delicate
bowknots that could be loosened with one hand. And no matter how
strong she looked, he was sure he outweighed her by 50 to 100
pounds.
Yet as it turned out, he never got close to touching either
enticing knot on her bikini. It was a one-sided humiliating
onslaught as she ripped off his pants. Once he was down to his
underwear, she evened the odds by removing her top: She merely
took a deep breath and the expansion of her immense chest
exploded the delicate garment apart and exposed her enticing, but
imposing globes in all their glory.
He lost the ensuing brief struggle and suffered the
indignity of being forcefully denuded as she shredded his briefs.
Still he refused to admit the inferiority of his sex, as he
confidently noted the way she licked her lips and eyed his ample
male appendage. He knew that it was extraordinarily large, and
felt that now at last he had an advantage in this duel that so
far had been a complete victory for her and her sex. "I admit
that I have not represented my sex well so far, but in making
love, the cock rules the roost."
She laughed uproariously. "So you think the cock always
conquers?" "Sure it invades."
"Well, with me, it is surrounded and then gives up. Always.
The cock is inferior; the balls are even more pathetic. Ready for
proof?"
She hugged him closely, melding their hot naked bodies
together. He was rigid (and in his mind HUGE) with desire.
Just as he thought that other women worshipped him for the
immensity of his member, he was sure that she must be fascinated
and fearful at its size. She would be begging for mercy soon.
Yet she seemed unconcerned as, still standing, she ceremoniously
loosened her bikini bottom and, as the sexy fabric fluttered to
the floor, she fed his member to the very hilt into her warm,
moist love channel. Waves of delicious massaging ministrations
washed over his cock and he felt it engorge further. In his mind
it was a montrous hot poker whose steely immensity must be
painful to her; soon she would have to yield control he thought,
frustrated that he was not yet controlling the action. She had
him in a tight embrace that trapped his arms as she gripped each
of his buttocks and thrust him against her so forcefully that his
balls were being mashed. Still it felt so wonderful that he was
near explosion. Through half-closed lust-laden eyes he was
surprised to find her lovely eyes open, scrutinizing his state
with mocking amusement.
"Still feel that the true role of the cock is to invade? Or
is it to be enveloped in the female love lock? Have you ever
felt so aroused? You're not even pumping; I'm doing it all,
lover, and you love it. This is how it can be for the man who
admits his true place under a woman. Another few seconds and I
could force you to cum. But let me show you just how inferior
you are."
Suddenly, he felt her cunt muscles contract with amazing,
PAINFUL force. She had him backed against the wall or he would
have collapsed from the sudden weakness in his knees. It felt
like his member was being pulverized. He was trapped by his
lustful state and the almighty strength of her love muscles. She
withdrew her hands and arms and placed them on her hips. Now the
only grip she had on him was with her cunt, although her
abdominal, hip, and thigh muscles were clenched in cabled relief.
He tried to extricate his swollen prick first by merely backing
up and then by pushing with all his might against her nether
region. Yet his efforts only seemed to be tearing his member
from his body. In his anxiety he began to lose the erection and
the now rubbery appendage began to stretch as it deflated
further. Still, the head remained trapped in her obviously very
muscular orifice, and despite pulling hard enough that his cock
stretched further and further, he could not remove it. And the
grip was agonizing.
"Please, please let out. I think you're ruining me," he
begged.
"Admit that your male twig is weaker than the superior
female organ. Come on, SAY IT!"
"I admit it, I admit it! The cunt is stronger than the
cock! Let me go!"
She relaxed and the rubbery male organ slipped out with a
loud snap. He fell in terror and looked at his deformed member,
limp as spaghetti and stretched sickeningly. "What have you done
to me? I'm ruined!"
"Oh, poor baby! Did the big, bad woman hurt the big man's
itty bitty dingus?" she mocked him. "You big baby! It's not
ruined. It will still work well enough to please me if I let
you."
She hugged him roughly to her body and kissed him roughly, a
long cloying kiss. She ran her hands over his body and gently
stroked his cock and balls. His stretched, limp member engorged
with blood. Struggling to catch his breath when she released
him, he realized that he had a full-blown erection once again.
"See," she giggled, running her finger lightly up his member,
"you're not ruined, just overmatched." Placing her hands tightly
at his waist, she lifted him so that his feet barely touched the
floor and ran his turgid member across her iron-hard belly. The
organ that he always thought of being so hard seemed soft when
forced against her steely female body. Flexing her arm,
shoulder, and chest muscles awesomely, she lifted him further
until his cock touched her delightfully firm breasts and her
erect nipples. She pressed him into her so that her breasts bore
into his lower abdomen and enveloped his cock. Looking down, he
was surprised to see that what he considered to be a monstrous
cock was completely hidden by her prodigious mammaries. It was
dimly seeping into the dull recesses of his brain that he was
puny in every way except for height compared to this magnificent
creature who was holding him so effortlessly. For the first time
he objectively viewed her feminine musculature. In fascination
he felt the mountainous ridges of her biceps and the steely
density terrorized but also aroused him further. She felt his
response and smiled exultantly. Although his abdomen felt
crushed by the suddenly not so delightful breasts that were much
harder than he expected and so large that his internal organs
were being rearranged, the pressure of her immense chest on his
member was arousing him further. The surfaces of her breasts
were just soft enough and moist enough from her perspiration and
hot enough that it felt wonderful. She began to stroke his member
in her voluptuous cleft by lifting him bodily up and down. Her
mountainous arm muscles bulged out even further. Nearing
eruption, he felt her change her grip and swing her breasts from
side to side upon his sensitive organ. Each blow ripped at the
roots of his cock; yet still the cum welled up inside until the
balls contracted and the cock began to bob in ejaculation. At
that moment the mighty woman placed one hand under his balls and
the other hand pulled down on his head. As he screamed from the
pain on his flattened testicles, he spurted into his face.
She released him and laughed at his pathetic condition, as
he slid limply down along the wall. "See, it still works. But
just like the rest of you it's too weak to do it right without my
help." "But I promised to abuse your testicles with my anatomy,
too, didn't I?"
In panic he tried to squirm away but she gripped his legs at
the thighs just above the knees and lifted them easily high over
her head. Despite his violent struggling she maintained him
upside down and thrust one of her gigantic boobs against his
balls. As she took a deep breath the hard breasts thrust out
even further, squashing his soft testicles against the wall. She
burrowed into him in this way with first one boob and then the
other. Now completely unmanned, he blubbered mindlessly this
time when she demanded that he admit his utter inferiority in
EVERY respect. She had proven without doubt that his body was no
match for her strength, his mind was hopelessly inferior, and
that his fragile male organs were equally outclassed by her
voluptuous, desirable, but all-powerful breasts and cunt. He
passed out from the pain and permanently wounded pride.
The rest of the night whenever he was conscious she used his
outclassed body for her enjoyment, burning into his psyche the
inferiority of his sex and the utter superiority of hers.
You liked that? Well, the merit is all of the author (J Straw) but comments are welcomed; anyway more shall follow.
-
Well, on Paul0415 link you can find most of the stories by Jack Straw but not all: here I post one which is a re-edied version of his best story (at least for me).
The Leg Man, the Breast Man, and the Ass Man, by Jack Straw
PART 1
The beautiful, very well-endowed woman shook her head as she pulled the aromatic hors d’oeuvres from the oven. “Why am I wasting my time on this?” she sighed to herself. But, as images of the remainder of the afternoon flashed into the crystal ball of her mind, she smiled sardonically.
”Patience, girl,” she murmured softly, “There’ll be plenty of fun later.” She had so much pent up energy that she was close to exploding, but she still wanted to watch the second half of the game. So, why not fatten the pigs before the slaughter? She smiled as she lifted the tray of hors d’oeuvres.
She had invited an athletically handsome man named Wayne about her age over to her cottage to watch the big game on television. They had met at a party and found they shared a fanaticism for the local team. When he later asked over the phone if two other guys and their girl friends could come along, she nearly called it off. So conventional of him, she had thought ruefully; he was turning out to be a bore. But it was too late to make other plans, so she agreed to it. She had decided that she could always boot them out the door if things got dull, or have fun shocking him and his friends with the side of her personality that he had not seen yet.
However, on the day of the game, the men showed up at her secluded bungalow without the “girl friends” and bearing a case of beer. Instead of the anger they expected, she almost laughed out loud. This was better than she could have imagined! Her only disappointment was that Wayne’s companions were quite a bit older and so ugly. They could never have had any self-respecting female companions. She was unable to suppress a giggle as they launched into a story to explain what had happened to the “girl friends.” She wondered if they had played this charade before. Well, she would make them regret it; they didn’t know what they were getting into. And when it came, it would be delicious; they so deserved it.
The part that didn’t fit was Wayne. Why was he hooked up with these older farts? Under that smug exterior, he was a bigger loser than she had expected. Maybe he needed to be the hero for someone, or maybe it was something more sinister. As she headed for the television room, she paused to eavesdrop on their crude “man-talk” whispered between gulps of beer.
“Man, you were right, Wayne, she is SOME dish! I’m a leg man from way back and Whoooeee!” exclaimed the pockmarked, red-faced middle-aged man named George. “I love a fit-looking babe and she definitely must work out those legs of hers.”
”Hey, and how about the size of her tits! What a pair!” from the stout round-faced man of similar age named Fred.
“Well, I like her ass and I plan to get me some of that tail,” Wayne whispered.
”I don’t know—she’s a big one. I think there’s too much there for you boy. You just might need some help.” She WAS a big girl; in her sexy high heels she was as tall as Wayne, and taller than the other two, who made up for it in girth; they were very heavy-set and solid-looking. And red-faced, already with a few beers in their rotund guts.
“Well, there’s enough there for all of us, if you know what I mean.” All said with much winking, nodding, and self-satisfied snickering.
She heard it all. She couldn’t believe that there were men who still talked like that. Far from unsettling her, it fit her plans perfectly; she could handle anything three mere men might do and she could be just as crude if she wanted to be. And when the time came to strike, it would be that much sweeter to bring down curs with such attitudes. But for now she wanted to watch the game, and pretended not to have heard.
In the same room with them, though, her self-discipline had its limits; men could be so deluded! Soon she found herself correcting a stupid comment by Fred, the “Breast Man,” who was constantly sharing his “insight” into the game of football.
“Hey, what do you know about football, honey—I played it in school while you were in the pep squad. Why don’t you just get us some more beer?” he replied sarcastically. Of course, she would have had to have been on the kindergarten squad when he was in high school, she thought, and retorted aloud:
“Well, you sure didn’t learn much. And for your information, I could throw a football farther than any of the guys in our conference, but they wouldn’t let me play. And I was the best runner, shot putter, and basketball player in the school as well. And - the best wrestler!,” she ended pointedly, fixing him with a challenging look.
The man laughingly shook his head demeaningly and muttered, “Yeah, right!” as she expostulated on her prowess. Smirking at each other, the men turned back to the game. Inwardly, she seethed. They would regret their behavior, she vowed silently, but bided her time, letting them build a more and more damning case against themselves so that when she served justice she could suspend compassion entirely.
Eventually, tired of their moronic and lewd comments, particularly during suggestive commercials, and bored with the game, now that the home team was well ahead, she decided it was time to begin her fun. She was an old hand at putting men in their place, and it was time to begin. They were talking about cars, when she stood up and stretched her lissome body.
“Come on, guys! I didn’t invite you over to talk about cars—let’s have some action!” As they gaped in surprise, she calmly stepped out of her daring miniskirt. Her spectacular legs were now completely revealed below the sexy thong panties that were deliciously stretched by her enticingly feminine hips. Clad otherwise only in her short silk blouse and red high heels, she licked her lips and swayed her broad, athletically sculpted hips in exaggerated fashion as she approached the mesmerized “Leg Man.” She planted her right foot, encased in the sexy spike-heel shoe, between his splayed legs, where the crotch of his pants were noticeably thickening.
“Do you like my legs? They’re really strong, you know. Just think what it would be like to have them twined around your waist or scissoring your crotch. Would you like that, big boy?” she murmured throatily as she bent forward and caressed the bulges of feminine muscle. She put his hand on them and he trembled with arousal he could not control.
“I heard you declare that you were a ‘leg man,’ big guy,” she breathed sexily, looking directly into the alcohol-hazed wide-open eyes that now were threatening to burst from his flushed face. “Do I measure up?” she asked throatily as she traced her finger along the perfect contours of her lightly flexed legs. The smooth skin rippled sexily. Bulging in all the right places, her ever-so-slightly tensed muscles screamed femininity and ultra-fit vitality.
The poor man was nearly rigid in catatonic shock. As she stroked her hand slowly up the length of one bulging calf and sleek, athletic thigh, he moaned audibly and trembled in electrified arousal. She noted smugly that his penis was clearly outlined beneath his tented pants and a wet spot was forming.
“My, you DO like my legs!” she tittered liltingly. “Now let’s see if YOU measure up!” To all three men’s surprise, she roughly unzipped his pants and pulled his cock into view. “Such a small dick for such a big guy!” she chided.
She flexed her calf above the arched foot so that the smooth muscles bulged imposingly. Running his rough hands along the huge ball of muscle, she breathed, “Feel the power, little man! Enough to squeeze you to a pulp. Would you like that, my big muscular legs squeezing your big belly like a tube of toothpaste? Don’t believe it? Just try to move my leg, muscle man, before I ruin what little manhood you have!”
Devilishly, she pressed her toe against his rigid cock and ran both her hands suggestively up her leg. Completely enthralled, the portly man involuntarily closed his eyes and could not marshal the energy to push her foot off his trapped member, which both he and she could feel become rock hard at the point of explosion. Oblivious to the sweat that suddenly soaked his face and body and rasping with loud, ragged breathing, he felt his member lurch in full-fledged ejaculation as the beautiful woman pressed her foot down viciously, giving him a jolt of searing pain at the very moment of sexual bliss. His moan of pleasure gave way to a shriek of pain as he doubled over limply on the couch.
His friends had witnessed this spectacle with dry throats and flushed faces. As their friend groaned and tried to catch his breath, adjusting his position to hide his shrunken penis and the dark area of his pants where he had ignominiously loosed his dank-smelling fluids, concern and anger replaced shock on the faces of the other two men.
Starting to get up, Fred the “Breast Man,” sputtered, “Now, wait a minute. What the ...”
”Oh, don’t worry about him. He’ll be all right I hope. I have LOTS more in store for you guys. I just hope he’s not a one-shot guy, if you know what I mean. A little quick on the trigger, he is.”
As she was saying this and before they could respond further, the woman directed her sexual barrage at the sputtering “Breast Man.” Unbuttoning her blouse sufficiently to expose her awesome breasts, she thrust her huge bust into the face of the now hypnotized man at the other end of the couch.
“And you are the ‘Breast Man,’ right big guy?” she smiled haughtily, cupping her twin assets suggestively, tracing the large nipples that protruded through the thin fabric of her overloaded bra. “Well, do they measure up, stud?” Flustered and intimidated, the man swallowed dryly.
”Ahhh ...” he gasped involuntarily, and then sheepishly realized he had closed his eyes and opened them to be confronted with her knowing, mocking smile. He jerked in his seat as she lightly grazed the tented crotch of his loose pants. Her eyes gleamed merrily, as she murmured throatily, “Yes, I guess they do! You fellows are so good for a little girl’s ego.”
“Want a closer look?” she asked wryly, reaching back to unhook her overburdened lacy brassiere. She grabbed the thick man’s tousled head and pressed his open, drooling lips against one turgid nipple. “Ooo, that’s it! More than a little breast man can handle.”
He reflexively pressed his lips worshipfully against the embodiment of his deepest fantasies and tried to reach up to touch her wondrous globes but found he could not, as she grabbed each of his wrists and pressed him forcefully into the back cushions of the couch. At the same time she pressed her breasts against his face so that it was enveloped in springy mounds of sweet-smelling breast flesh. She quickly reached down with one hand to release his now rigid cock.
At first he moaned in pleasure, lost in the fulfillment of his fantasies. His entire world became the twin orbs he considered the essence of feminine allure. They pressed against his face on all sides in a fleshy prison. He could see nothing but damp breast flesh and didn’t care. He felt his cock twitch on the verge of explosion.
That his friends could see his imminent disgrace and her second conquest meant nothing to him at that moment. However, too late he realized he couldn’t breath in the tumid confinement of her awesome cleavage. Dizzy and light-headed, he bucked and frantically pushed against her with his arms. Letting him try to free himself in a test of the strength of his thick male arms, she hugged him more tightly against her chest, his head pressing more deeply within the chasm between her mammaries against what felt like thick slabs of hard meat.
She pressed her thigh in against his prick. Even as he swooned limply in her arms from lack of air, his rigid member spasmed in a seeping fountain of impotent semen that she adroitly avoided as she deftly leaped back from the unconcious man ridiculously soiling his sweaty shirt with yellow spunk.
Wayne leapt to his feet. “Just what is your game, you cock-teasing bitch?”
“Are you jealous, Wayney? Don’t worry, you’ll have your chance. Maybe you’ll have more self-control than these poor little wimps you brought along, but I doubt it,” she taunted, pushing out her breasts and tousling her hair sexily. She turned her back to him, wiggled her ass suggestively, and let him seeth in anger. This was going in a direction he never anticipated and didn’t like at all. Unconcerned by the angry look on his face, she shifted her demeaning smile to the other two men, who sat with faces flushed, unable to look their friends in the eye.
“COME ON, guys, no need to be shy!” she beckoned with her hands. “I know you want me—your cream is already on your pants.” No question; they were excited, pulses racing, but, for all their loud bravado, they remained motionless, unsure what to do. She was inviting them into her panties, CHALLENGING them in fact. Women were supposed to shrink from them, make them feel tough, and then surrender soft, yielding bodies—at least that’s how they dreamed about it. This was intimidating, downright degrading so far! They had to bring this bitch down a peg or two, but still they made no move, merely glared with a mixture of lust, anger, and (she could see it) FEAR!
This was great! she thought triumphantly. She had them on the defensive; she was psychologically emasculating them. These three men who had been so cocky were now immobilized by one nearly undressed woman. Her honey pot was filling with her juices and her nipples hardened in arousal at having dominated these blowhards just by partially exposing her magnificent body. It was almost too easy. She had to rouse them into action, so that the real fun could begin! Wiggling her ass exaggeratedly for the benefit of a glowering Wayne, she sauntered over to the front door and locked the door with a key she deposited in her panties. Turning around, she planted her feet wide apart and put her hands on her hips.
“HOW ABOUT A LITTLE BATTLE OF THE SEXES? LET’S SEE IF YOU GUYS CAN DO SOMETHING MORE THAN COME ON YOUR PANTS,” she challenged, thrusting out her huge bust provocatively.
-
The Leg Man, the Breast Man, and the Ass Man, by Jack Straw
PART 2
”Shall we start with a little wrestling tournament? Which of you hotshots is man enough to handle little ole me? Take me down and show me how macho you are,” she entreated cupping her body suggestively. They were leaning to rise out of their seats, despite their confusion. They were drawn like moths to a beacon by that perfect body and the lovely face with its luscious lips and vivacious, teasing eyes. She was asking for it!
“But I don’t think you WIMPS can take me, even if you all pile on at the same time. I’ve just got too much MUSCLE for you,” she exclaimed tauntingly, as she removed the loose blouse, fully revealing her arms, shoulders, and back muscles. What a sight! She was intimidating and arousing all at once. Her musculature was obvious, but still in repose, it was sleek and downright arousing, exotically augmenting the allure of her ample showgirl curves. They flushed in confusion.
“I told you guys that I was an athlete, and now you’ll believe me. I could beat you up in so many ways. But I prefer to use just plain old brute strength, because it’s such a turn on to show a bunch of blowhards like you guys that a woman can be stronger, much stronger. I have more strength in one arm than you do in your whole body and I’ll prove it by beating all three of you to a pulp, all at the same time.” She stood before them, hands on hips, her big feminine body gleaming. Slowly she flexed all of her muscles at once and giggled as their eyes widened in surprise. She was fit, very fit. And big. In all the places they wanted a girl to be, but with muscles to match—big muscles. She laughed at their hesitation.
“Well, come on! Afraid of ONE LITTLE GIRL? Well, maybe not so little, but I AM just a girl,” she said cupping her imposing, voluptuous breasts again. “So I couldn’t possibly stand a chance against real athletes like you.” Still they made no movement. “You guys are all talk and no action. The only action you ever get is playing with your puny things in the bathroom!”
As she switched from flexing to a challenging hands-on-hips stance, the men recovered some of their macho demeanor. Leaning back in the couch, they laughed uneasily and leered at her. What could she do to all three at once? The “breast man” tried to smile deprecatingly but managed only what looked like a nervous grimace. Stuttering shakily, he rasped, “W-we know you want it, b-baby, but be patient, the game’s still on. We’ll take care of you, won’t we guys?”
Moving her imposing, sexy body in front of the TV, where the game had become very dull because the score was so one-sided, she placed her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you guys. Let’s get it on! I’m sure three experienced men of the world like you,” she intoned sarcastically, “must have a lot to teach little ole me.”
They smiled uncomfortably, noticeably perspiring. She gloated at having put them off guard after their earlier macho posturing. Their faces transparently asked what she was going to do next.
”Actually, what’s going to happen is that I’m going to beat the malarkey out of all three of you blowhards, and then I’ll use my female parts on you for MY pleasure not yours, IF I can stand to touch your repugnant hides!” she declared.
Again it was the “Breast Man” who spoke. “You are one crazy bitch. This is not a good situation for you! You may think you have big muscles, but there’s three of us and only one of you. Unless you start apologizing, things could get out of hand here. What you need is an old-fashioned spanking, lady. And then you can use those ‘female parts’ all you want. What do you say, Wayne? She’s just asking for it.”
Before Wayne could respond, the fiery amazon challenged again. “Well, don’t just sit there; prove what he-men you are.” Still they sat, smirking at her.
“What a bunch of wimps you guys are,” she cried in exasperation. “No wonder you have no girl friends. You have no respect for the superior sex, your dicks are puny, you have no control over them, and you’re so scared to death of one little girl, you can’t move a muscle.”
“Well, I guess if you’re so shy, I’ll just have to help you out.” She pounced like a panther on the “breast man”, lifted the startled man high over her head, and carried him across the room. “How about I give YOU a SPANKING, big fella?” she exclaimed as she reached the threshold, the strident clicking of her heels muffled by the carpet, the awesome muscles of her legs alternately receding and bulging in granite-hard relief, mesmerizing the “leg man”, and her other muscles bunched in peaks and slabs of emasculating power. Her lacy panties had pulled apart in several places with the swelling of her magnificent hips, exciting Wayne, the “ass man,” despite his irritation.
But even as lust gripped them in a delirious spell, they were intimidated by this breathtaking display of brute female strength. The man she held aloft was a load, well over 200 pounds, and she had launched him into the air as if he were a beach ball! A WOMAN had done that!
Pivoting gracefully on her high heels, she grinned smugly at the two startled men who remained rooted to their seats, and she lowered the mortified “Breast Man” to her shoulder. Despite his panicked flailing of arms and legs, she held him securely so that his back was draped over her broad right shoulder and his head hung downward, nuzzling her large right breast. She reached over with her left hand and mashed his face against the firm, weighty mammary. It thrust forcefully against his nose as she expanded her large chest to impressive dimensions by taking a deep breath. “How does my breast look to you now, Mr. Breast Man?” she laughed. She rubbed his nose roughly back and forth for a few seconds to let him know that even the softest part of her anatomy was powerful enough to cause him pain.
But this playful display of her powerful female physique had not yet provoked his reticent friends to join the fray. She decided it was time for the big man to experience serious pain. The muscles in both her arms bulged as she simultaneously clamped viciously with her right arm against his large waist and with her left arm pushed his head away from her breast downward toward the floor. The “Breast Man” shrieked in pain, as he felt his waist being severed and his back and neck stretching to the breaking point.
She faced the other two and fixed them with a sexy, challenging pout. “Come on big guys; rescue your friend before I break him in two. You’re not AFRAID, are you? After all, ‘women just ain’t as strong as men.’ Just ask your big, tough friend.” She was toying with a man who must outweigh her and whose big arm muscles now stretched out the sleeves of his loose T shirt. But despite his efforts to dislodge her arms, she powered the hold more savagely until a sharp cracking sound and his shrieks of pain caused his friends to leap to his rescue.
She had been slowly backing toward the open doorway of another room that opened into the hallway, and, as the two men rushed in to break the hold on their friend, she backed completely into this room. It was her exercise room, a room where they could tussle without breaking any furniture. As they were about to pounce on her in the middle of the room, she lifted the screaming Breast Man high over her head and thrust him crossways onto the two surprised rescuers with sufficient force that all three males fell into a heap on the hard floor. The collision with over 200 pounds of flying simpleton had its toll on his intended rescuers. Each banged his head on the floor and was momentarily dazed. Moreover, they were pinned for the time being by the groaning mass of their rotund friend.
The powerful woman walked confidently over to the door and locked it. Then, she turned around, insolently put her hands on her hips, and laughed uproariously.
“Is this the best you can do, guys? I haven’t even broken a sweat and you’re all three on the ground. Looks like the worst that might happen to a girl from you MACHO men is that she might break a fingernail slapping you around. Where’s that big talk about spanking and having some tail? You guys are nothing but big, bloated wimps!” As she ridiculed their manhood, she flaunted herself sexily, jiggling her breasts and wiggling her hips.
Being on top, the “Breast Man” was the first to gain his feet. Growling in anger, he lowered his head to butt her in the abdomen. The mighty vixen merely braced her feet, tensed her powerful legs, and flexed the corded muscles in her lusciously trim midriff. As Breast Man’s head crashed into her abdomen, a loud thud and a soft crackling sound echoed in the room. Sure enough, the red-haired hoyden slid backward on her high heels but she remained standing, seemingly unhurt, whereas the heavy man rebounded and lay stunned on the floor. The source of the crackling sound became apparent as he groaned in pain rubbing his injured neck.
Again, the big girl giggled merrily and drummed her fists on her corded midriff. “Pretty solid, huh? That’s what happens when you spend time in the gym instead of swilling down beers, big guy. Maybe you want to try again? A little harder this time so that I might feel it?” she taunted.
In her taunting, she was almost caught unprepared as his two friends rose together from the floor to tackle her. They managed to dump her on the floor but could not control her. She was too quick, too strong, and clearly knew much more about wrestling than they did. As she forced one man down on top of the other in a savage full nelson, the recovered “Breast Man” joined the fray hoping to control her legs. But to his dismay, she managed to wrap her magnificent gams around one of his arms and his thick chest, and she began to crush him with the horrible vise-like strength of her legs. In control of all three of them, she exulted, “Pathetic! Three big guys against one woman and this is the best you can do! Pretty soon the beatings will begin, guys. You’ll have none of that false pride in those pitiful male bodies of yours.”
Humiliated and exasperated, Wayne yelled at his friends, “Come on guys. She’s asking for it! No more holding back!” And he managed to squirt out from underneath the pile and encircle her chest with his arms from behind, trying to squeeze her with a reverse bear hug.
Being molded tightly against her amazing body, he instantly became fully erect. The mighty woman felt his hard member pressing into the cleft between her solid, sexy ass and moaned softly, becoming aroused herself. Laughing huskily, she ground one of her jutting, meaty hips against his erection and felt it pulsate. Wayne gasped as the delicious sensations in his groin turned his brain to mush, his battle lust giving way to the sensation of impending orgasm. He was only dimly aware as she tensed her powerful legs, pushed her hips more forcefully against Wayne, and launched him backward against a wall, dragging his heavy friends along with her.
She released her full nelson on one of his friends, reached behind her derriere, unzipped Wayne’s pants, and ripped open his underwear to release his rigid, leaking member. Once again pressing a puissant, sexy hip against his cock, she reached up with both hands to grab Wayne’s wrists. The painful grip on his wrists made Wayne open his hands so that she could use his hands to massage her engorged areolae and nipples. Though he tried to resist through the fog of his pre-orgasmic state, she easily overpowered his muscular arms, running his hands over her abdomen down to the sculpted globes of her perfect ass. She leaned her head backward against his face, caressing it with her silky hair. With his ragged, lust-propelled breathing, he smelled her exotic perfume. In short, she had reduced him from an angry attacker to a harmless wreck completely enthralled by her lusty charms. She throatily chuckled triumphantly as she felt his pulsating cock swelling against the rock-hard muscle of her large right hip.
Wayne moaned loudly in arousal, oblivious to everything else, as he felt the jutting and rippling of her fantastic derriere grinding his erect member against his abdomen with one of those magnificently meaty hips. Only when he began soaking his shirt with a copious stream of the seed from his lurching member, did he realize that she had worked her magic on him just as she had on his friends earlier.
She erupted in triumphant husky laughter and then ridiculed him disdainful intonations. “Did you like being tamed by my ASS, Waynie? You and your friends are nothing but weak little boys with no control over your little weanies. Looks like I’ll have to take the initiative if I’m to have any satisfaction from you wimps! You’re pathetic!”
She rammed her powerful hip viciously against his softening member. The pain amplified his humiliation. More than ever he wanted to take her down and humiliate her the way she was humiliating them, but he was unable to push her away. The thrusting of her powerful hips and muscular legs had him so thoroughly pinned against the wall that she contemptuously released his hands to show him that even engaging both his legs and arms in furious effort, he could not move her. Arms crossed over her breasts, in silent insult to his male strength, she was crushing him with just the power of her hips and mighty legs.
“What do you think of my ASS, now Wayne? How much of my ASS can you take, male wimp?” she taunted. Wayne clawed furiously at her iron-hard hips, ripping her tightly stretched panties, but her crushing pressure only increased.
“Come on guys! What are you waiting for?” he shrieked at his friends, his voice laced with pain and short of breath. “Now’s your chance. Take her!”
“Yes, take me guys. I’m dying to have you show me what real men you are. So far all you’ve done is make messes with your little hoses. Not much to excite a real woman. Maybe you’ll have more luck if I put one hand behind my back,” she taunted, still crushing Wayne to the wall as she ground his groin area with her perfect rock-hard ass cheeks.
“Grab her legs and pull her forward,” Wayne cried, no longer able to hide his desperation and pain.
George, the leg man, leaped forward, only too happy to grapple (and fondle!) her magnificent legs. The hoyden smiled and beckoned with her finger. “Yes, Leg Man, give it your best shot. I’m getting hot just imagining your hands on me,” she teased, running her hands up slowly along each of her perfectly formed thighs and licking her lips in half-feigned, half-real sexual arousal. [continue...]
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The Leg Man, the Breast Man, and the Ass Man, by Jack Straw
PART 3
Like a moth to the flame, George dove forward, encircling each muscular thigh with one of his chunky arms. Quick as a snake, the amazon attacked. Her flexed thighs parted wider, exploding her torn panties into tatters, and exposing the red thatch of her pussy to the greedy eyes of the Leg Man. Simultaneously, she grasped his head with her strong hands and pushed his head roughly to the cleft between her thighs. Immediately, she clamped those mighty thighs around his head, forcing his face into her sopping pussy. “Oh, yes, Leg Man, that feels greeaat! Oooo!!” she moaned, pleasuring herself and degrading Wayne’s intended rescuer at the same time.
Before Wayne could test whether this distraction had made his trap looser, Fred, the Breast Man joined the fray. Rather than think logically about the best tactic, in his fury to avenge earlier humiliations, he rammed forward in a full frontal assault over the kneeling Leg Man, who was struggling to extricate his head from the smothering vice in which he found himself. Thus the Breast Man found himself chest to chest with the voluptuous amazon. “Oh, goody, you’ve come to rub my big strong bosom with your chubby, feeble breasts,” she exclaimed. Quick as lightning, she ripped his shirt open to reveal his barrel chest. As he instictively raised his hands to stop her, she trapped his arms against his sides and encircled his large girth in a bear hug. Stiffened by her arousal, her solid breasts bore into his chest, imploding it and riveting her steely nipples into his skin. The stout man gasped in pain from the crushing vise on his ribs, the surprising pressure her chest exerted on his chest, and the boring of her engorged nipples into his yielding flesh. Meanwhile, Wayne found that he was trapped more tightly than ever.
Three big men had piled on one girl, but she was in control. That by itself gave her a sexual charge that had caused her pussy to fill with female juices and engorged her aerolae, nipples, and clitoris. Not only was she in control, but she was using their bodies to gain sexual release. She had maneuvered them so that every movement they made to escape her holds stimulated an erogenous zone on her sexy body. The Leg Man’s panicked movements to free his face from her suffocating vise particularly stimulated her. Even Wayne’s clawing and groping along her muscular hips, legs, and lower back merely aroused her more.
“Ooooo! You guys are so accommodating. Oh, yes!” she cried, rubbing her jutting breasts energetically against his hairy skin and squeezing the Leg Man’s face ever harder against her seeping thatch. “Oooo, yes, oh, yes, oooo yeeessss!!” She came like a volcano, tensing her body in rigid contraction everywhere. A crescendo of sounds echoed through the bungalow. Loud cracks signalled damage to overmatched male bones being constricted by female muscles. As the puissant amazon shrieked in ecstacy, the men screamed even louder in pain, wasting the precious little breath they had. Slowly, she descended from the delerious high of this orgasmic display of female superiority, relaxed her holds on the men and stepped adroitly away from them. They dropped in a heap at her feet.
Fingering her erect nipples and her seeping honey pot with a contented sigh, she exulted, “Was that as good for you as it was for me, guys? You are such fun play-toys; I could do this all day!”
She haughtily placed her high-heeled foot on the limp man on top and flexed her biceps in the traditional victory stance. The men merely groaned.
“Well, guys, I’d say the female clearly won that round,” she crowed. “I guess three against one is not enough advantage for you big HE-MEN when confronted by a healthy female. And in the orgasm department, while I was generous enough to let you each have one—with your individual favorite parts of my anatomy, I might add—I can’t help thinking that you don’t feel as satisfied with yours as I am with mine. Four orgasms, four forced by the female, zero controlled by the males. That’s domination fellas, complete domination of the male weaklings by the superior female. Isn’t it your belief that the male human dominates the female? Maybe it’s just that you’re not real men. Is that the problem? Or just not men enough,” she chortled.
She kicked the men onto their backs so that they had to look up at her. Stepping away and putting her hands on her big, sexy, powerful hips, she continued. “If you can’t put up a better accounting for your sex, this is going to turn from a rout to utter destruction. This is only the first lesson. Punishment makes the biggest impact when it takes the longest to heal. You have a lot to answer for and I’ve only just started,” she finished ominously. “Besides,” she added with a smirk, fingering her wet pussy, “I’m not nearly satisfied yet, and without my help, you don’t have the strength or the equipment to give a girl adequate pleasure.”
Wayne clutched his flattened genitals, grimacing in pain and severely wounded pride. The Breast Man ran his hand gingerly along the bruises in his neck and ribs. The Leg Man was still woozy from passing out in the tumid vise between her legs. All three were utterly embarrassed. The humiliation was now mingled with fright by these threats they did not understand, and, clearly, their ordeal was far from over. And all from a woman! The subdued men looked at each other, collecting their breaths and feigning worse injury than they actually had. Just as she seemed ready to pounce on them again, they simultaneously sprang up at her, tackling her to the floor with triumphant cries of “We’ll see about that, Miss High and Mighty,” and “Let’s see how much you laugh with a few cracked ribs of your own, bitch!”
The fight was on again, to the delight of their female tormentor. The longer they clung to false hopes and male pride, the more fun for her. Oh, that male ego, such an entertaining defect!
The angry men redoubled their efforts, but soon all three men were struggling and losing. She taunted and teased, and flaunted her body. She rubbed her perspiring, erogenous flesh against theirs, devilishly arousing them as well as herself to a feverish state. Inflamed with lust, as well as battle anger, they had long since lost all reticence to grappling with her. But though they fought furiously, they found themselves underneath each other more than on top of her.
To add to their fury, she was often in such control of all three of them that she managed to systematically denude them as they struggled with her. Soon they were gasping and wheezing from the debilitating exertions, whereas she amazingly never seemed out of breath. If anything, she gained energy as they lost theirs. Just the powerful breathing of this nude female colossus was scary, as each deep inhalation thrust out her immense bare chest, emphasizing the muscular crevasse between her large breasts, and clinching her abdomen in chiseled granite-hard relief, contrasting its trim dimensions with the awesome breadth of her upper torso.
Only the sheen of perspiration indicated that her body had expended any energy at all. The glistening sweat emphasized what an achingly desirable physical specimen she was, but the men were unable to fully appreciate it as she put their weakened bodies into viselike bear hugs, scissors, and sleeper holds. Through it all, she had not removed her high heels, a physical handicap that further testified to her superiority and a turn-on that heightened their sexual frenzy.
Fred, the “Breast Man,” unwittingly became the first to be squeezed unconscious. While grappling with the other two, she maneuvered over to where Fred was slowly rising to his knees from one her many debilitating tosses of his bruised body. She backed up with her legs spread apart so that when Fred rose higher, his neck lodged in the cleft between her granite thighs. She immediately clamped them together in a vicious standing scissors. Fred gurgled and weakly clawed at her legs, trying futilely to separate them. Soon he went limp and, when she opened her muscle-packed thighs, he slid ignominiously along the sexy curves of her powerful legs to floor, unconscious.
With the other two men kneeling near exhaustion on each side of her, she encircled each head with one of her mighty arms, wrapping the men in double headlocks. Drawing from her limitless reserves of energy, she powered the holds so brutally that the men cried out in pain and fear of having their heads crushed. Fed by the adrenaline borne of panic, each man frenetically pulled with both arms against the bulging female arm that was constricting his skull. But two male arms had no effect against the power of one of her puissant female arms. In desperation they began punching her everywhere they could reach, but their punches thudded uselessly. Eventually, they lost all power and drooped in complete exhaustion. It was a simple matter for the powerful amazon to squeeze them until they lay too unconscious.
With these two temporarily incapacitated and unconscious, she turned her attention to the third, the poor “Breast Man,” who had been her favorite target because of his earlier brazen conduct. Having partially regained his senses, he shakily backed away from her.
“Please, I’ve—we’ve had enough. You’ve proved your point. We’ve got to be going,” he pleaded.
”My, my, how the proud slob has fallen. Don’t you want these big tits that you were crowing about earlier? I’m all yours for the moment—you don’t even have to share with your friends,” she declared, striding ominously toward him. Despite his panic, he could not take his eyes off her magnificent naked breasts and they were to be his final undoing.
She hugged the tired male so that his arms were trapped uselessly between their perspiring bodies, maneuvered him across the room to where she had closed the door, and forced his back against the door so that the other two when they revived would not escape. With one mighty arm on top of his head she pushed downward so that his face was wedged within her awesomely deep cleavage. Then she placed her arms against the top of the door above his head and thrust out her sizeable chest against the closed door.
“Yes, MR. BREAST MAN. You’ve been staring at my breasts all night. Here, have your fill. See if you can budge them before they smother you. That’s all I’m using to hold you down, just that chest that seems to thrill you so.”
It first excited him and then terrified him as he realized he really could not move or breathe. She had his slightly bent legs braced between her thighs so that he couldn’t slide to the floor or move to the side. Otherwise, the only thing that impeded his movement was her incredible boobs. They were so large that they enveloped his head completely and so firm that try as he might to thrust upward—with his flexed legs, tensed neck and back muscles, and his freed arms—they did not budge. Her impressively developed pectoral muscles more than countered his desperate struggles so that he could not move the giant globes in any direction. His thick body was overmatched in a contest of all his inferior male muscles against a single portion of her super anatomy, in this case the anatomy that most inflamed his impotent lust. His stiff member bobbed freely between them.
Unable to breathe in this tumid confinement, he struggled violently but to no avail. His struggling was beginning to arouse her sexually when he swooned from lack of air. She rubbed his open mouth and its wet, flaccid tongue over her erect nipples, then let him slide impotently down her slick body until she poked his nose into her tingling vagina and rubbed it over her hard, swollen clit.
As her hormones impelled her to massage her tingling breasts, she cork-screwed him around so that his nose was still imbedded against her clit but his legs were in the air. She pressed one mammoth, firm boob into his soft testicles and semihard cock, and, inhaling deeply, squashed his balls flat and riveted the hard nipple through the soft flesh. The frantic thrashing of his screaming face against her clit and slit brought her over the brink of ecstasy. She climaxed violently, mashing him tightly against her crotch.
After savoring the afterglow of her second orgasm, she set the nearly unconscious wretch on his wobbly legs and kept him from falling by holding him at the waist. “Let me go, bitch. What’s your damn problem?” he muttered deliriously.
“Do you have a death wish, chubby? No, you don’t want to go yet. You wanted my breasts and you shall have them!” she hissed. In view of his fetish, she had decided on using her breasts to wreak still further humiliating punishment. She swung the firm, heavy, mammoth globes like bags of sand from side to side, snapping his unprotected face back and forth, harder and harder until his previously injured neck hung at an unnatural and very painful angle.
Still, to her amazement, it seemed that he lusted after these erotic instruments of torture, for he was fully erect. She ground the bullet-hard nipples around his eyes until reddish incipient bruises appeared. Still he was erect. She ran his hands and face over her incredible bust, but when his throbbing penis began to bob in rigid agitation near eruption, she lifted him over her head and slammed his back downward over her thigh. Pain overruled lust and his ejaculation sputtered feebly in mid-eruption. As she easily bent his stocky body in a direction it was not meant to bend, he was stretched to the breaking point. The muscles in her arms, shoulders, and chest bulged in huge, chiseled relief. As a fitting climax for his demise, she bent her torso downward so that her formidable breasts enveloped his head. His last image before things went black was of her immense, firm breasts powerfully thrust out by her robust chest muscles, melding in him the ultimate image of feminine sexual supremacy and the omnipotent strength that was breaking him in two. A horrendously loud crack signalled the splintering of vertebrae, and he passed out. She let him slide limply to the floor. “There now, I don’t think YOU’LL be going anywhere!”
Still positioned near the door she faced the other two men, who had been slowly gathering their wits and inadequate male strength. In their vacillation while they witnessed her appalling destruction of their stocky friend, they had lost the element of surprise. Belatedly trying to steel their resolve and enraged at what they had seen, they charged at her. With only two of them, it was an unequal struggle that she prolonged for her amusment. Her capacity for teasing males was insatiable, like a cat toying with two mice. She put them in hold after hold, letting them know that they could not break the holds and then letting them go. They became frantic in their frustration and utter humiliation. While she had one tied up in an unbreakable standing scissor hold, she invited the other one (Wayne) to punch her rugged unprotected gut, which he did desperately, unsuccessfully trying to find a vulnerable spot but instead cracking his wrist, damaging his hand, and rupturing arm and shoulder muscles as his blows were abruptly arrested as if he had hit a brick wall. She smiled impassively, not the least affected by his best punch, and maneuvered him into a sleeper hold, which soon had him out cold, even as she maintained the other male in the constricting scissor hold. [continue...]
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The Leg Man, the Breast Man, and the Ass Man, by Jack Straw
PART 4 (final)
She now devoted her attention to the weakened man between her legs. “You’re the “LEG MAN,” right?” He gurgled weakly, as if in reply.
“How do they feel?” she said as she wrapped his hair in her fingers and stroked the cheeks of his stubbly face along her pumped-up steely legs. Laying him on the floor, she rubbed the smooth expanse of her bulging legs along his erect prick. She guided his hand along them and also trailed her own fingers along them right up to the V of her crotch. Soon he was moaning in the throes of impending orgasm, but once again she curtailed a male’s pleasure as she built her own. She slammed his face between her legs at the V of the crotch and squeezed on his jaw until she felt it compress. The animated thrashing of his head to free itself of this fleshy vise stimulated her to another crescendo of sexual bliss. The gushing of her come on his face revived him to feeble consciousness.
Discovering again that his little tool was erect, she hissed, “You love this, don’t you sissy boy—being beaten by a big, sexy girl with the long, STRONG, SEXY legs.” It never ceased to amaze her, this dysfunction of the male psyche that allowed their bodies to become aroused even as they were agonizingly abused by the superior FEMALE. But it certainly made it an interesting world for her.
She put the wheezing man into a waist scissors. She watched in fascination as his eyes opened wider and wider, and then bulged out in true terror as her legs hardened into steel girders that expanded in size right in front of his incredulous face until they seemed larger than his thick waist had been before she began to slice it in two as if it were butter. He was sure that organs were being squashed into melded pancakes and whatever muscles he had there were ruptured.
”Aren’t they amazing, these legs of mine? I can’t believe them myself. Quite a treat for a leg man, huh?” She ran his hands along their smooth, corded expanse, but noticing his terrified gasping for air, she said, “Oh, poor dear, you can’t breath. Here I’ll put them up higher. Let’s see how strong your ribs are.” With that, she relaxed her grip enough to let him draw an urgent breath, and then clamped her man-crushing thighs over his lower ribs. Again his eyes seemed almost to pop out of their sockets as something snapped loudly. “Oh, dear, they weren’t very strong at all, were they?”
“Well, let’s try something else.” She maneuvered the limp, moaning, sobbing man into position for a grapevine hold. “This must be simply DIVINE for a LEG MAN like you. Feel those sleek gams and calves,” she demanded grabbing his wrists and forcing his hands to massage the legs that were tearing him apart. True to his nature, the perspiration-lubricated stroking of those perfect stems took his mind off the pain. Again, to her amazement he erected; it was a monument to her sexual power. And then her physical power took over; she bent her legs upward, bending HIS legs backward at the knees in the direction they weren’t meant to go. In the pain his erection was lost.
“This is what a real WOMAN’s legs can do to a MERE MAN’s, including those big athletes on TV that you idolize, let alone a wimp like you. Go on fight it; give it all you’ve got. I’m going to snap you like a twig!” Terror shot adrenalin into his bloodstream giving him energy he didn’t know he had, but it was useless. His chunky legs might as well have been matchsticks as they cracked loudly at the knee. Simultaneously, she crushed his upper ribs with a mighty jolt of her hugely muscled arms and shoulders, which had encircled his upper torso in a bear hug, and he passed out finally from the unbearable pain and shortage of air. “Too bad a leg man like you missed seeing how my legs bulged out when you went out,” she mused as she rose from the heavy man’s crushed body.
Now it was Wayne’s turn. Having revived and seen the crumpled lumps that once were his friends, he crawled backward into a corner of the room trembling in fright, begging for pity. She laughed coldly, shaking her head.
”You guys had to be taught a lesson, Wayne, and I believe in being thorough. I’m the most disappointed in you, so how can I spare you? That would only spoil you,” she giggled girlishly. “Let’s see, now: I think I heard that you are the ‘ass man’. Well, how about a nice solid goose up your hind end, ASS MAN?” she sneered, rolling him over and delivering a thunderous punch between his hips that seemed to shatter his pelvis. “Now, you’ve got something to cry about CRYBABY!” she yelled as he sobbed in pain.
“Or perhaps this is what you wanted,” she taunted as she straddled him, facing his legs, and planted her delectable rear end squarely on his face. She grabbed each of his legs, spread them apart and back until the pain became excruciating. Effortlessly, she kept them immobile, while she gyrated her tush on his face. He beat his hands frantically along her steely body, but she merely laughed at his inability to hurt her.
“Is this what you had in mind? How do you like my ASS now, wimp?” she goaded the humiliated would-be stud. She released his aching legs and grasped his wrists so tightly that his hands opened limply. Then she ran these open hands gently, caressingly over her steely, feminine, swelling buttocks. As she forced him to massage her ever more sensuously and continued her lively bucking of her aroused clit over his nose and mouth, she noticed that he was erecting in turgid, veined urgency and giggled triumphantly. With all these erogenous signals she suddenly went rigid in pleasure, clinching her mighty buttocks violently around his smothered face, breaking his trapped nose, unconsciously squeezing his trapped wrists in a bone-shattering, ligament-rending grip, and releasing onto his face a copious flow OF that female nectar that she seemed to have in limitless supply.
“Gee, I believe you do like my ass!” she chuckled, pointing to his hugely erect cock that she was tickling teasingly as he regained consciousness.
“Now, I think I heard something about getting some ‘tail’, too. What a quaint old expression. You’ve been hanging around these old farts too long, little Waynie, and it’s really got you in trouble this time,” she stated in a mock-serious tone, noting with glee the expression of helpless apprehension on his abject face, still wet and reeking from her abundant secretions.
”Well, okay, show me what you can do with that pretty-boy body of yours. Let’s get it on!” she entreated. A little suspicious but hoping that this could somehow be the ticket to free himself of this nightmare, even to establish some control over her, he allowed her to roll him onto his back as she nuzzled, caressed, kissed, sucked and simply drove him wild with desire. His large member stood at attention ready for duty, as she wound a sturdy nonlubricated condom over it, and engulfed it with her juicy, furnace-like love channel.
“This is the first and last time you enter me with your pitiful weenie, Waynie boy!” she hissed ominously. “You see, a “tail”, as you call it, on a REAL WOMAN can be just too much for weak little dingus like yours to handle.” His look of perplexity changed to one of wide-eyed pain as she grunted in concentrated effort, flexing the muscles of her nether region viciously and wringing his yielding stiff member with her wet muscular vagina. He gasped in terror; it felt like his member was going to burst from the pressure.
To demonstrate her undeniable superiority in this contest of sex organs, she brought her feet up alongside where her vagina was still wringing his cock. Straightening her superstrong legs, now flexed to immense proportions in front of his contorting face, she stood up, ripping him up by his dong. His pitifully vulnerable and oh so feeble male groin muscles protested against the abrupt force applied by this movement and he howled in pain. “Oops, sorry! Groin pull, right?” she giggled at the double entendre.
In his pain and terror, he went limp, allowing his abused organ to slide out of her mighty slit and the slickened condom, and he thudded weakly onto the floor. But she caressed him to erection again, despite his pain, applied another dry condom, and again mounted him. This time her contractions on his member were more gentle and she smiled down at him. He again was willing to believe that she was infatuated with his body.
She whirled their coupled bodies over so that he was now on top. The condition of his groin made it painful, but he gave it his best effort. Yet...
“Come on, put some force into it, weakling! I can’t even feel you!” she ridiculed him. Now much less confident, he redoubled his efforts, whose pleasurable effects she hid in a mask of disdain.
”Oh, criminy, it looks like I’ll have to help you. What a wimp!” The pride of the big man, taller and heavier than she, was further wounded as she grasped his rump in her strong hands and yanked him in and out, much harder and faster than he had. At the same time she again flexed her awesome vaginal muscles against his sensitive member. With each upstroke his member was ripped painfully away from his body, further damaging the fragile groin muscles so typical of the pathetic male gender, only to be rammed home anew into her clinging furnace.
She stopped aiding him on the upstroke, wanting him to recognize even more fully his utter inferiority by letting the gasping man exhaust himself with the exertion of simply trying to remove his organ from the groin-rending grip of her mighty love channel, but, before he could extract it completely to sooth its burning pain and catch his breath, she would violently thrust him back in, mashing his flattened balls each time in the process. As she neared a volcanic orgasm, the sweat-soaked, red-faced, wheezing pathetic male slumped in fogged agony and utter, limp exhaustion.
”What a wimp! How did you ever presume to make love to a real woman?” Her contemptuous taunts degraded him further as she forced him back under her vastly superior body and finished the one-sided love-bout. Violently, she pistoned up and down. She ground his cock and balls as she slammed down with irresistible force, and then, on the upswing, lifted the middle of his limp body off the floor with just the terrible grip of her almighty vagina yanking up his overmatched penis. Her engorged clit although smaller than his prick was much harder. It was another reminder of her superiority, as its hardness gouged a furrow in his weaker male organ.
The sensations of sexual climax gripped her and she clamped even harder with her vagina, pulverizing his now very sensitive organ. She was extremely aroused—breasts swollen and ultrafirm, nipples thrust out in ecstasy, swollen clit awash in tingling sensations. He shrieked in pain as he felt her flex her entire omnipotent body around him, crunching ribs, pelvis, and sternum, and bursting his spongy male appendage into a pulp inside the condom as she reached her ultimate climax. His face buried in her bosom, he was utterly finished! In a fogged stupor Wayne awaited the end and spiraled down into an uneasy unconsciousness.
“I told you, you weren’t up to it,” she hissed, catching her breath on the way down from ecstasy.
She sighed in euphoric contentment. She had made good on all her earlier pronouncements. Three former evangelists for male supremacy lay utterly demolished, physically and sexually, by a single female.
***********
She carried the badly disfigured male carcasses, more dead than alive, out to their car, parked near an telephone pole on the deserted cul-de-sac where her cottage was the only residence. Their limp bodies reeked from the beers she had forced down their throats as an afterthought.
Woozily, they drifted in and out of agonized consciousness, languid witnesses as she sealed the nights’ activities with a final mind-branding demonstration of female power and strength. Using her martial arts training, she kicked in a car door with a ferocious, compact blow, then heaved back mightily on the door until the overmatched thick steel hinges gave way.
Finding two rags inside the car, she used them to protect her hands for a final demonstration of raw amazon power. Concentrating all her energy into her dense, enormous muscles, she took a deep breath and lifted one side of the car off the ground higher and higher, rejoicing in the strength that coursed through her being. Her naked body gleamed in the soft moonlight. Muscles already pumped up from the unequal contest with these males, suddenly exploded under her elastic skin into Himalayas of granite flesh. Even in their dimly conscious, immobile states, this prodigious display burned a permanent image into the men’s brains of the outrageously pumped-up female animal, primeval and goddess-like in her splendor, a gleaming naked FEMALE ATLAS lifting, launching, and shattering the world of puny mere men. This was it, then, Wayne, dimly thought; she was going to send the car and then them into the ravine.
*******
Wayne awoke with a start, the lights of an ambulance flashing in his face. His friends were groaning in pain and slowly gaining consciousness as well. They were all naked, but in their agony they didn’t care. As the ambulance attendants carried him from the car, he realized that they were not in the cul de sac at all, but had been parked along a road a mile or so away. So he must have dreamed about what she had done to the car, he thought, and then he noticed the deeply dented car door through which he had been extracted and then two places along the bottom of the side panel that were markedly free of dust, as if cleaned away by a rag.
*******
The next day she visited them, one after the other, at the hospital. They trembled uncontrollably at the very sight of her. Her dazzling beauty filled the room as she inclined her face sensuously inches from each man’s face, in turn, and smugly asked, “What do you remember from last night? Think about it; I’m sure it’ll come back to you—ALL of it! But you’ll never tell anybody because they wouldn’t believe you, and, besides, you’re scared mindlessly of me, aren’t you? You’re tinkling in your bedpan right now!”
Still, she could not help but humiliate them further; it was her nature. “I’d love to hear the stories you guys have made up to explain how you came to be in a parked car, buck naked and beaten to a pulp. Wouldn’t it be fun for me to sit here and listen to you tell it to the nurses, and ask little embarassing questions about the inconsistencies? What if the TRUTH were to get out to your friends, if you have any? Beaten by a LADY, all three at the same time!”
“You thought you were cute to trick me into letting you come over to my house so that you could drool over my body and eat my party food. Then you had the gall to make lewd comments that I could hear. And you thought yourselves even cuter when you ridiculed women’s athletic abilities and refused to admit that I was obviously stronger than any MAN you’ve ever seen. Well, what do you think now? Considering the inherent weakness of your sex, I think you’d better clean up your acts, wimps. The next woman you insult might not be so kind!”
They had complained among themselves that they hadn’t deserved this, and had random thoughts of how to avenge the terrible assault they’d suffered. But seeing her made them face the truth: they could never hope to wreak revenge on this goddess; she was invincible: Assaulting her would only bring them more pain. They readily blurted out that she was superior; they begged forgiveness; they said whatever she demanded: that they were sissy wimps who couldn’t control their own disgusting bodies, that they hadn’t deserved the mercy she had shown them, that they were GRATEFUL just to be in her presence. In truth, they were as hopelessly enthralled by her overpowering beauty as they were cowed by her unassailable strength. Stretching her tight, revealing outfit with each movement of her incredibly endowed body, she delighted in flaunting the objects of their desires, her delicious Amazon LEGS, BREASTS, and ASS, and laughed as they squirmed in painful erections. Wayne’s erection was especially painful, given the delicate, bloodclot-encrusted state of the cock he had formerly manifested with such pride.
“From now on whenever you see a well-built lady, you’ll wonder what would happen if she rolled up her sleeves and turned on you.” With that, she rolled up her sleeves and flexed her beautiful female arms until massive rocks of muscle welled up under each man’s nose. As the last man fainted away, she laughed exultantly, called for a nurse, and strode triumphantly away.
As always she revelled in the lustful glances of “virile” men, some furtive and longing, others openly leering, as she swept by them in frilly, revealing clothes along the maze of the hospital hallways. Men that were hers to tame, should she favor them by doing so. Oh, so many men to educate and toy with, so little time! [THE END]
Feel free to comment and give K.
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I also really liked his stuff. Thanks a lot for the revival from your archives.
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Does he still write for that site or has he been AWOL forever?
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Unfortunately, Jack Straw stories disappeared from DtV library some years ago (but not from webarchive) and also from a couple other sites where they were stored. Also, He has not written anithing new from the late nineties for what I know, but I may be wrong (sometimes I wonder if he's still alive).
I have another re-edited story to post (and I'll do that soon) than just the stories you may find in the webarchive link.
Jack Straw was a very talented author, I miss him.
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The other story I promised, enjoy:
Hustler in High Heels, by Jack Straw
part 1
She aroused them with her body, beat them at their game, burst their ball, broke their bodies with her superior physique and then used them for her pleasure
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Author's note: I originally gave this story the title "White Gals Can Jump," which only has meaning to those who know about the movie, "White Guys Can't Jump."
The day was fading in the west and guys were heading home, but three remained, lazily shooting buckets. They were the hustlers, the winners. It had been a good day, the most money they'd ever won. They joked and taunted each other in ritual fashion, not ready to quit just yet. Behind them, they heard the clicking of her shoes and, glancing around, immediately fastened on the bright colors of her revealing outfit.
She was quite a sight, jauntily walking along the deserted walkway on her high-heeled shoes, her firm, jutting hips swaying side to side in a tightly stretched miniskirt, and her huge breasts majestically expanding the thin fabric of her elastic halter top. Her swinging arms were covered by a loose-fitting shirt that was tied across her midriff. Her muscular, sleek legs bunched and stretched sexily with each step. Her light brown hair was tied off in a ponytail that bounced with her gait.
They gaped, startled to witness such a vision in that locale, especially at that time of day. This was a deadend walkway that ended at the isolated basketball court. The only people who came here were basketball players and maybe their girlfriends. She was lost or asking for trouble. And her trouble would be their fun!
"Hey baby!" they hooted. "What's happening mama?" Expecting her to realize her mistake and try to escape, they moved to surround her. Up close they were struck by the exotic beauty of her face, emphasized by her carefully applied makeup. This chick was looking for sex! "Looking for some action, beautiful? How about a little basket-BALLING?"
She smiled indulgently, and, deliberating misunderstanding the last idiocy, she whisked the ball from the grasp of the one nearest her. "Sure, how about a game? It looks like you need another player."
They laughed uproariously. "You're not dressed for it, honey. Besides a girl just wouldn't be in our league. We really had something else in mind."
The one from whom she had taken the ball lunged to take it back, but suddenly she wasn't there. Smiling mischievously, she had darted between them and raced toward the court, high heels flashing behind her and miniskirt riding up above her pistoning hips to reveal her lacy, white panties.
"So, she wants to play games! Fine! Oh, BABY, this chick is going to be fun!" Hot, silent thoughts ran through their minds. She had them panting with lust, and, drawn to her like moths to a flame, they raced off in hot pursuit. But none of them could get close enough to get the ball back. They couldn't even corner her as she feinted and dribbled the ball through them from one end of the court to the other. Soon, they were gasping for breath. "Okay, the bitch can dribble! and run. still in high heels (?!)," they admitted. As if to answer the next question, she slowed down and shot a long, arching shot that dropped through the basket touching nothing but net, with a nice, ripping sound. Bent down, catching their breaths, the men blinked at each other: Which planet had they been beamed to?
With the expression of the cat with the canary, she twirled the ball as she strode toward them. One of the men, looking up, couldn't help confessing his admiration: "Where'd you learn to play like that?"
"Oh, here and there, you know. The things I like best are loving and basketball. Nothing gets me hotter than a man who can beat me at B-ball! How about it guys, any takers?"
They couldn't wait for the chance. This was one, hot babe! A fantasy come to life. The fabric of her halter was stretched by her giant boobs to the point that threads were unraveling and her erect nipples protruded through the perspiration soaked fabric like erotic bullets. The bottom of her thin, elastic miniskirt had been forced up by the taut muscles of her thighs so that her crotch peeked at them through her delicate panties. And her legs! Oh, the chance to get between those long, sexy (and muscular!) stems! Just to stroke them almost would be enough! And her skin so flawlessly smooth and tanned evenly wherever it was revealed. She had them so hot they couldn't think straight. They jumped forward together, each clamoring to be first.
Inwardly, she exulted in their babbling. "Here, we'll decide it by the guy who makes it first from here. I'll go first." They were over thirty feet from the basket. She turned and effortlessly let the ball fly, without dribbling, without jumping; merely a slight bending of her knees, bunching out her calves deliciously, and a flick of her wrist. SWISH. Again they blinked.
The first two guys missed, sheepishly annoyed as the third one managed to have it drop through after it banged around the rim a couple of times.
She and this guy shot to decide who would get the ball first. Her shot missed but his sank.
"WAIT! Before we start, I've got to get rid of this." She dipped into her deep cleavage and held up a big wad of money. She unfolded and separated it enough that they saw that it is all very large bills. A girl shouldn't be carrying such money alone, especially not around here. They glanced at each other. A glimmering of nervous suspicion seeped through their sex-fogged brains. Were they being set up by someone who wanted them to stay there?
She swiftly darted to a nearby boulder and placed her money under it. (It looked like she lifted it! with one hand! but the movement was so fast that they were sure it had been an illusion or maybe it was balanced funny.)
"Okay, big guy, let's go! First one to get five buckets wins," she challenged, rocking back and forth lightly on her high-heeled shoes. Like the other two men, he was well over 6 feet tall, fast, and strong. She was tall for a woman but even in her four-inch heels, her eyes were not quite at his eye-level.
"What about your shoes, mama? You're going to wear those?"
"It'll be my handicap."
To his chagrin, he lost, and then each of his buddies lost when their turn came, even though each took out the ball first. And it only took about ten minutes altogether. After "losing" the shoot-off to decide who went first, she never missed. Mostly she took outside shots, but they couldn't block them. In the high heels she appeared clumsy at times, but amazingly quick when they swept over to take advantage. She was just not there where they thought she'd be. On defense she didn't try to block shots, but managed to steal the ball several times. It was as she had four hands. They each managed to score a couple of times in the beginning but, once she stole the ball, they never got it back. It happened so fast, and she was so mesmerizingly sexy and fun to watch, that their heads were spinning. In typical macho style they pretended that they hadn't been trying. (Secretly, each was glad that the others lost; they could still swagger and jive.)
Knowing that they wanted to believe and really DID believe that they hadn't been trying and knowing their instincts as hustlers, she now upped the ante. A couple of old men on an evening walk had stopped to watch. Talking loud enough for the old men to hear her, she challenged the hustlers to a game of 3 on 1. When they hesitated, she taunted them: "Are you guys afraid? You three, big guys against LITTLE ME, to ten baskets, for all the money under that rock." Suddenly, they were rapt in attention. MONEY! She darted to the boulder and withdrew the money. Standing close enough for them to see it, she counted it out. This was more money than they'd made in all their hustling days combined! "You do have the money to match that, right?"
They looked at each other and nodded, amusedly. What difference did that make? Even if they lost, they could take her money anyway. And, besides, how could they lose. Once they took the ball away from her, they'd win. There was no way she could get it back, defending against three guys. She wouldn't be able to rebound if they missed. They were still suspicious that someone was setting them up, but if they worked fast they could make off with the money and the chick before anyone showed up. Why not play along? Their addiction to gambling won out; they agreed.
"Okay, no need to show your money. I'll collect later." Damn, she was asking for it. Not only were they going to teach her a lesson on the court; there would be some more lessons later.
Again she deposited the money under the large boulder and again they had the impression that she had actually lifted it (rather high? with one hand?), but her back was to them, and they were distracted by watching her bend and stretch that incredibly sexy body.
A game to ten. They feel a little guilty, but she had insulted them with people looking on, and she obviously thought they had been trying in those meaningless games. It was her mistake, not theirs. Just get it over fast and see what else is in store or maybe get the hell out of there. This had to be a setup.
Shadows lengthened as day was ending. They gave her the ball first. She asked if they were ready.
At their signal, she began. She sped through them and DUNKED the ball!
"one zip." They had been caught off guard, not taking her seriously and certainly not expecting her to be that fast. They looked to be sure she still had her high heels on. yep. sexy-looking but sturdy; still, she must worry that they'd break or she'd slip. Looking up from her shoes, their eyes could not help but stray to those lovely, sleek (but muscular!) legs revealed all the way to her crotch. This couldn't be a guy in drag.
"Come on, guys, give me some competition."
Now they were ready, but still not serious enough to coordinate their efforts. Again she left them flat-footed as she darted for the hoop.
"Two zip. Really, guys, this is boring. Still sure girls can't play?"
This time they bunched together preventing a drive to the basket, but she foiled them by feinting a drive, pulling up and nailing a jump shot.
Soon the score was 5-zip and they hadn't touched the ball yet. Angered and frustrated, they ganged up and charged against her as she started to move, but instead of falling she landed on her feet still dribbling the ball, spread them out and zipped through them. She was making them look like clumsy fools.
"Six-zip. I thought you guys said you could play. Look, why don't we play full court. At least you'll touch the ball."
She gave them the ball out of bounds and retreated with her sexiest gait to the other half of the court. They seethed in anger. Put down by a sexy number like that! No chick was going to get the best of them! She was really asking for it now; they were going to knock that cocky tomboy grin right down her throat!
One of the men brought the ball up the court and, rejecting the chance to pass off to one of his open teammates, launched himself toward the basket for a power slam dunk "in her face". But like a cat she had been poised near the basket to strike. She leaped higher than he (both of heir hands high above the rim) and ripped the basketball from his tight grasp, without touching him. His teammates gasped. Without skipping a beat she retrieved the ball, sprinted through her startled opponents and, high heels clicking lightly but rapidly behind her, she rammed down her own resounding slam dunk. And racing back up court she was in position before they even pick up the ball! The old men who had been watching, shook their heads in disbelief, and moved on their way. Now she was alone with them.
"SEVEN-zip. Really, guys, I think I ought to start playing one-handed." The three macho hustlers were dazed. How did she do that? First of all, how could she jump that high? For the first time they noticed how thickly muscled her legs were. (IS this a guy? No, the legs were too supple, smooth, just plain sexy, but strong! A lot of women's legs looked strong but they had never seen proof like this.) And still in high heels that emphasized the awesome ridges of her calves and thighs as the muscles alternately bulged and receded as she trotted into position. The heels also forced her broad hips to jut out deliciously under the miniskirt, which was riding higher and higher above those big thighs. Surely that was a woman's crotch that had been revealed on some of her higher leaps. And then of course there were her colossal boobs. The way they expanded the fabric of her top was so delectable. And the cleavage! So big, yet they jounced ever so slightly as she gracefully made her moves on the court. The large erect nipples now were even more clearly revealed through her now sweat-dampened top. Despite their exertion and humiliation, the men were perpetually semierect, and became more aroused when they rubbed against her in their so-far futile attempts to guard her. The sexual stimulation was almost painful.
Angered by their humiliation in front of the onlookers, the men began to play rough. They attempted hard screens, but as they charged toward her blind side aiming to send her onto her sexy derriere, she deftly leaped out of the way and THEY ended up falling flat on THEIR butts. They expected to be able to outmuscle her under the boards, but found themselves giving ground. Abandoning the idea of inside shots that she always blocked, they shot from outside. The first one fell and they are buoyed. But when the next missed, she emerged with the rebound with two men hanging onto each arm. Shrugging them off as if they were flies, she again launched herself down the court, leaving the third man on his face as he fouled her in an attempt to get the ball.
EIGHT to one. As she went up for the next rebound, they grabbed her halter top and ripped it off. Still she continued, amid their astonished gaping. What a pair! Her shirt had come untied as well and they could see the muscle-ridged wall of her abdomen. The contrast between the narrow waist and the expanded chest when she breathed was mesmerizing! Smugly acknowledging their stares, she thrust out her chest toward them as she lofted a long hook shot with her back to the basket. NINE one.
The game was now secondary to the men. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, they were completely outclassed by a WOMAN, who so snubbed their ability that she played in clothes that were meant for a discotheque not a basketball court. And it was no contest! A total rout. Their only thought was to somehow regain the upper hand in what was becoming a humiliating battle of the sexes. The hell with basketball, they were going to ravish this chick! Two guys grabbed and ripped off her miniskirt as she stole the ball. Leaving them on the ground in her wake, she raced down court, feinted around the remaining defender, and, flexing those incredible leg muscles awesomely, she leaped, lifting the ball well above the rim and then slammed it home two handed.
The game was over! Not even breathing hard she turned to face them, one hand twirling the ball and the other hand pressed challengingly on a delectably curved hip. Despite their consternation, their juices were flowing. She was clad only in the loose, open shirt, her sexy heels, and a torn pair of panties that bared her unmistakably female sex. The delicate, white fabric of the panties contrasted with the beautifully tanned skin tautly expanded over her delicious but undeniably ultramuscular hips, legs, and midriff. [continue...]
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Hustler in High Heels, part 2
[continued] "Okay, guys. I won fair and square. I believe you owe me some cash, not to mention $100 extra for some new clothes."
"Look, lady, you're in a bad position. Nobody's out here but us. You hardly have a stitch of clothing on. You may be hot shit in basketball, but your game's over. You don't know who you're dealing with. Nobody messes with us and comes out on top. Your only chance is to start running."
Calmly, she removed her shirt and they simultaneously sucked in their breaths, stupefied. She had been hiding the most muscular torso they had ever seen. They had not appreciated how broad the shoulders were; now they were revealed as huge, corded deltoids. And the arms! Huge bombs of biceps, triceps, and forearms welled up before their eyes. Blinking, they gaped as she compared the sizes of first her breasts, thrust out on deep pectorals, to the basketball she held. They compared quite favorably in size, the men assented silently, their tongues hanging out. They longed to put her down and play with those globes of pleasure, but what she did next made them hesitate. She held up the basketball next to one of her arms as she raised and flexed it. The arm suddenly exploded in mountainous ridges that also began to rival the basketball in size. Despite not being as tall as they, she suddenly looked immense.
Grinning at their confusion, she started to squeeze the basketball between outstretched hands held chest high. All of the muscles of her torso flexed awesomely; veins, flooded with hot blood, and muscular ridges exploded into relief through her velvety skin. The ball suddenly seemed small in the presence of her immense bulges of muscles and outthrust mammaries. It became distorted, began to flatten, and with a loud pop, the valve core burst and air whooshed out. Smirking at their shocked faces, she flipped the ball meaningfully at their feet, where it plopped lifelessly, and she shook her pumped up muscles to loosen them. They stared at the rapidly deflating ball and, when they lifted their gazes, she was advancing on them slowly, confidently, indeed, menacingly.
Completely discombobulated, they didn't know whether to run or attack. Suddenly, one of them dashed over to the rock where she had placed the money. Realizing what he had in mind, the others followed. Two men were struggling to lift the rock, as she tackled the third. She punched him viciously in the ribs, breaking a couple in the process, and then raised him in a reverse bear hug that crunched more ribs. She then grabbed a leg and broke it at the knee over her knee. He twitched and screamed in agony as she stalked over to the other two men. Groaning with hernia-inducing effort, they had managed to lift the rock a few inches off the ground but hadn't figured out how to keep it lifted while they reached under to retrieve the tantalizing money that they could see in the dark recesses underneath, all of their arms, shoulders, and straining legs were required just to hold the prodigious weight rock where they had it. Suddenly they noticed that the nearly nude amazon was silently watching, exulting in their inferiority, a huge, contemptuous smile on their face. It flashed through their minds they she HAD lifted or at tipped the large boulder sufficiently with ONE hand that the other hand could deposit the money underneath. She towered ominously, legs spread, the arching of her high-heeled feet enhancing the bulges in her calves and frighteningly huge thighs, hands on flaring hips, huge chest magnificently blotting out the rising moon, her muscles intimidating even in half-flexed state, and tattered panties seeming to mock their impotent male physiques.
"Run!" was their simultaneous thought. They dropped the rock and started in opposite directions. She leaped to grab one almost before he started and dragged him with one crushing hand while she raced after the other. The one being dragged was gouging a swath of uprooted grass and dirt, but slowed her not in the least. Rapidly she gained on the other and caught him in a one-arm tackle. The men were too frantic to recognize the outrageous strength and athleticism required in being able to do this. They were too busy grappling with her as she squeezed one to unconsciousness with arms while she crushed the other with her legs. First she applied her bear hug and scissors across their ribs and, with a mighty flex of all her muscles at once, cut through their torsos like they were butter. Their eyes bulged out in terror as they felt her granite-hard muscles expand. With their arms trapped in the holds, they could only flail their legs uselessly, as the air exploded from their constricted diaphragms and ribs snapped like dry twigs. She shifted her holds so that one man was suffocated in the deep, fleshy cleft between her breasts and the other was smothered against her moist, hairy crotch.
She hefted the limp males onto her shoulders and deposited them in a heap, hidden from view in a dense grove of trees. After retrieving the third guy, who had been crawling painfully like a crippled bug in a futile effort to escape, she went through their equipment bags: "How nice of them to bring their wallets and keys."
"You know, guys, there's not nearly enough in here." They had regained consciousness to find themselves completely denuded and stacked on each other like fallen dominoes. She was astride the neck of the first one, her thighs hugged the torso of the one below, and her feet were planted firmly on the most unfortunate wretch on the bottom, who was splayed out at a right angle to the others. They all wheezed in agony from the combined weights atop their broken ribs.
She was showing them that she had rifled through their wallets. "I know where you live, now, so I'll be able to make you come across with the rest." Silently daring them to attack, she amused herself by effortlessly bending their keys with large-veined muscular thumb and middle finger over an equally formidable forefinger until the keys were folded over like paper matches. She held her forearms close to their faces so that they could see the steel-like bands of sinew ripple as she folded each key in half. She loved to do things like this in front of men; it really got their attention! The men were genuinely terrorized. What had seemed like a fantasy come true at first was now a nightmare. They wanted to ask why she was doing this, but found their mouths spasming soundlessly.
"I found this in one of your bags." She held up a box of condoms. "So you believe in safe sex?" She laughed almost evilly. "It gives me an idea of how to get my first payment of what you owe. You guys are going to please me. I hope you fight it because that would make it more fun, but, whether you fight or not, you're going to give me pleasure. I warn you--sex with me, is NOT safe. I have a big appetite, and I don't think you're quite up to it. But we'll see."
She bent down and kissed the one on top and ran her hands along the hairy torsos of the guys below. She was almost disappointed that they put up no resistance, but what chance had they? Anyway, why resist the chance to have sex with a creature as desirable as she? Despite their pain, they found her ministrations arousing. The kiss was incredible; her voluptuous lips pressed warmly on the trembling male lips, her tongue probing deeply, aggressively; the gentle suction was literally taking his breath away. His member engorged with blood and started to rise. Soon, however, he was fighting for air and trying to disengage his mouth from hers, but she gripped his head in one of her hands, immobilizing it. He beat against her with his hands but it was like beating an iron sculpture; it hurt him but had no effect on the virago who was dominating him. Her lung capacity was immense, but his alas was no match. He swooned limply and she rolled him off the others with a plop to the ground.
"Gee guys, your friend sure isn't much of a kisser. Just when I was getting into it too!" The other two rolled their eyes anxiously. What was happening, here? They had to get away form this crazy bitch! Despite their painful ribs they struggled to escape, but it merely seemed to get them in worse trouble. She maneuvered one so that his head was wedged high up between her legs. Panicked, he moved his head to and fro. "Ooh, yes! fight it! struggle!" She bit her lip from the pleasurable sensations.
The other conscious one found his head trapped against her breasts, held in place by one of her hands and superstrong arms. She was rubbing him against her turgid breasts, the nipples rigid with arousal. Twice he poked his sweat-streaked eyes against their bullet-like solidity. Nearly blind and fighting for breath, he too was stimulating her against his will. Finally he bit her but that only meant more pain for him as she squeezed with both hands against his neck. His mouth flew open and she plunged it down on one of her nipples. "Suck or I'll snap your neck." She increased the pressure and he sucked. "Lick" He licked. She went rigid with her first orgasm and clasping the men too tightly in their embraces, she smothered them unconscious as she spasmed in ecstasy.
Patiently, she waited for them to stir.
"Now a contest to see who will get to enter me! The winner is the longest to hold out without ejaculating. Who will be my stud?" She had them caress, stroke, massage her incredible curves. Lightly she touched them, excited them by rubbing her breasts lightly over faces, torsos, rigid cocks. She rubbed her thighs, calves, and hips teasingly close to their palpitating cocks. One was forced to suck her nether region while the others sucked her voluptuous breasts, licked her abdomen, arms, shoulders, legs. They were servicing her simultaneously as she reclined regally against a hillock in the grove. At first she had held them physically in place as they struggled to escape (this madwoman!), but as they were forced to please her they found themselves becoming excited as well and fell under a sexual spell that bound them to her in slavish devotion. Their only thought was to have more contact, more pleasure. They each wanted to be the privileged stud. The four of them were racked with ragged breathing, building to a crescendo. Without her ever having touched their members or allowing them to do so either, they soon climaxed in gushing fountains of hot semen one after another, and then found themselves riding a raging mare as she climaxed volcanically, crunching their overmatched bodies in painful embraces. She exulted in knowing that they could control themselves no longer than a few minutes and had erupted without touching their members. They were utterly within her power!
She anointed the winner by threading on a condom and commanded him to plunge into her to the hilt. The other two were forced to lick up the profuse semen that had spurted onto her body. Their slavish tongues provided her immense pleasure as she forced them to cover every inch of her voluptuous body. She recalled the arrogant jocks that they had been earlier in the evening. How the falsely crowned had fallen!
The one who had been allowed to enter her began to doubt his prowess as she demanded "harder, deeper!" and found his member being pulverized by the squeezing of her love muscles. The constriction of first legs and then just her hot, moist, powerful cunt caused him to strain his utmost to move at all. He was covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Soon he slumped in exhaustion. "Some he-man. And I thought you basketball jocks were supposed to have such stamina!"
"Come on, one of you others! I've got to have it! Replace this dud!" But the same happened to each of them in turn. It was one of her favorite tricks. A man humbled in this way could not doubt that her rightful place was on top, as if they ever had a choice! So she mounted the last one, still hugely erect as he sagged limply on top of the others heaped below. She pumped viciously, crushing his balls. In panic he felt his penis ripped to and fro. She came and, despite the abuse of his member, he did too. And still she continued to pump. It was so painful that he feared she had done permanent damage to this member. And still she pumped. He babbled like a baby and finally passed out. The others were treated the same.
Finally satiated, she put on her long shirt, and rose to leave. She felt invigorated; they were flaccid in complete exhaustion. They reminded her of the deflated basketball she had ruined on the court: worthless, empty carcasses. She revelled in her superiority; it was the kick that kept her building a more and more perfect physique--to vanquish men at any activity. Alas, it was almost too easy anymore. Even these THREE "tough" males were no match at all.
Suddenly, she smiled mischievously; she would give them one last demonstration to remember her by. Emerging from the bushes that have hidden them, she strode toward the large boulder where her money lay. After stashing the money in her shirt, she hefted the boulder aloft and carried it to the fallen men. Lowering it to the ground and removing her shirt once again, she faced the men, who watched her with apprehensive, leaden eyes. Now what? She hefted the boulder to chest level and, then for their benefit, slowly pressed it skyward. Every muscle was etched in the golden silhouette created by the moonlight, and as she continued to pump the weight up and down, the muscles expanded even further to terrifying dimensions. Had she still been wearing her halter top, it would have ripped apart from the expansion of her chest.
"Remember how TWO of you wimps could barely budge this little rock? What do you think about girls now? A little too much muscle for ya, huh?" Gloriously nude and glistening with perspiration, she was a picture of raw animal power, and at the same time, her feet arched in the delicate shoes bespoke of raw sexual attraction. Sure enough, the men were sporting erections, pathetically feeble and rubbery after the abuse they had suffered. Menacingly, she advanced on them; they impotently screamed and attempted to crawl out of her way.
She lowered the weight to the ground and laughed uproariously at their final humiliation. They knew that she could end their lives without the slightest exertion. They were as helpless as worms, and, due to her overpowering vitality, they were at that moment as limp as worms. Gone was any trace of their former macho swaggering.
She shredded their clothes as they watched, timorously pressed against tree trunks. She removed their money and drivers' licenses. "Now, I expect that money and I'll be COLLECTING!" She threw their folded keys in a heap and dropped the boulder roughly over them. In her mind's eye, she could picture their pathetic struggles to lift it or even roll it. Naked and tortured with the pain of their broken bones, they might never manage it. She doubted they would even make it out of the park before the sun rose and they were forced to explain their humiliating condition.
Wrapping her shirt loosely around her, she sauntered majestically away, the image of sexual perfection, matchless grace, and ultrapowerful physique. She was a modern amazon, invincible to mere men. Man's only role was to serve her--if she deigned to allow him the privilege--and to amuse her with his fervent, but oh so pathetic, efforts to best her at ANY endeavor and then grovel in her wake as she left in triumph.
(1993) [The End]
That's all, nothing "new" anymore, nor different from that you can find on the DtV webarchive page.
I may post all the other Jack Straw's stories I have saved but I prefer to know if someone is interested or not.
Last but not least: thanks JS for his great work but feel also free to give Karma and comments.
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OK, provided that this topic had more than 1200 views I'll post more of Jack Straw stories, formerly on DtV library.
First some of the most significant ones:
Emancipation of the Old Gym by Jack Straw, part 1
They strode confidently into the dilapidated old gym, where the local
gang held sway. No one else in the neighborhood dared walk in; what
went on there was a dark mystery to the rest of the terrified community.
It was reputedly a vicious gang. Initiation seemed to be open only to
young, brawny men in their late teens or older. They extorted from
merchants in the community, but they were never identified. Police
hauled some of them in for questioning but never got anywhere. The gym
was their lair. Women were excluded; even girl friends of the gang
leaders never entered.
Hence, all eyes immediately fixed on these two as they swept into the
cavernous room. They looked like streetwalkers, but the men had never
seen them before. One wore a miniskirt that showed off beautifully
formed, deeply tanned, smooth legs, and a light blouse that only
partially covered her large bust. The other's legs were wrapped in a
long, slit skirt that offered teasing glimpses of equally sexy gams,
while her flaring torso was clad in a loose sweater that revealed
immense, high-riding breasts separated by a breathtakingly deep
cleavage. Their beautiful faces were enhanced by meticulously applied
makeup and each swayed gracefully on delicate high-heeled shoes. So
obviously attired to arouse the macho in the male, yet their regal
bearing momentarily held the men speechless -- but only momentarily.
Smilingly acknowledging the wolf whistles, the slightly shorter of the
two women, the one in the miniskirt, sauntered her ultrasexy bod
purposefully over to the tallest guy in the room, who was noisily
curling a barbell with both arms and breathing heavily from the
exertion. Perspiration covered his naked torso and enhanced the
sculpted ridges of his muscular body. "Hey, Jim, who's your girl
friend? Can we ALL share?" He stared but could not remember having
seen her before. As he lowered the heavy weight and raised up, he was
suddenly face to face with the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Honey blond hair, lovely tanned face, and eyes that burned with healthy
vitality. Even in her heels, she had to look up to view his face, as
she appraised him challengingly. He suddenly felt weak-kneed with
desire, dazed with the privilege of being near her.
She placed her muscular, bare, oh-so-delectable leg on the barbell and
thrust her face alluringly close to his. His head was swimming from
being this close to such a creature. Her face was his entire world.
"Why don't we put some real weight on this thing?" she said throatily.
"It's much too light for a good workout." He was charged with sexual
arousal; she could have said anything and he would have done it.
Dreamily, he watched as she crouched down and snatched up the barbell
with one hand and, with a look of pure animal sexuality, curled it with
the same one arm. "Don't you think?" He gawked, blinked, and jerked
his head. What was going on? She grasped his hand and placed it on her
bicep, still hidden by the sleeves of her blouse. It felt huge! She
moved the hand to her breasts popping out with the curling motion of her
arm. They were huge, firm, and the nipples were rock hard. His face
flushed, his breathing became ragged, and his heart raced. His rigid
cock had escaped his jock strap and, leaking pre-cum, it was threatening
to peek through the bottom of the short shorts he liked to wear. She
saw the signs of his arousal in his face and a wet spot on his tented
shorts, and pulled his head with her free hand so that their lips
touched. Instinctively he tried to resist but could not, even though she
still held the barbell with her other hand. As she literally sucked the
breath out of him, she folded her voluptuous contours against him,
rubbed her bare thigh along his upper leg, and trapped his raging member
against his hairy skin. The tip of his cock grazed her hot velvety skin
and rock hard thigh muscles. And suddenly, he spasmed out of control,
soaking the inside of his shorts. She patted him on the head like an
inept child or a pet. "Today is your lucky day, kiddo," she whispered.
"I'm going to spare you if you let me. Go on home now, before the sparks
start to fly."
Distracted by witnessing the spell that this powerful, sexy witch had
spun on the tall youth, the men had not noticed that the other lovely
woman had gathered together as much weight as she could on a sturdy
barbell. But, as she started to heft it to her chest, still clad in the
clothes she had worn into the gym, the largest and strongest of the men,
the acknowledged enforcer of the gang, suddenly boomed out, "Hey, don,t
hurt yourself baby, let me show you how its done!"
This girl obviously was looking for a champion to rescue her; she
couldn't be serious -- she hadn't even taken off those flimsy shoes.
And even he wouldn't risk lifting that much weight without a spotter!
As he swaggered over, though, he was astonished to see that she HAD
lifted it to her awesome chest, riveting his gaze on its now even more
immense dimensions as it rippled with the movement of her arms. Without
seeming difficulty, she was holding what appeared to be an enormous
amount of weight. But it couldn't be that much: she was so gorgeous and
so delectably FEMALE! The corded ridges on her exposed forearms belied
her obvious muscularity if he wanted to notice, but he was conditioned
not to notice. He was sure she was playing some sort of illusionary
trick.
As he stopped in front of her, the puzzled behemoth reached for the
barbell. He was clearly heavier and taller than the large woman, and
the muscles on his large arms, shoulders, and chest rippled under his
tight T-shirt as he moved. Amused at his vapid macho demeanor, she
spoke for the first time, in a low, musical, come-hither voice, "Sure,
big guy, show little ol' me how its done. I want to see those big
muscles of yours."
She handed the barbell to him slowly. He didn't notice the tenting of
the large sleeves of her sweater as her arm muscles bulged in the
process, but he did notice and appreciate the expansion of her awesomely
out-thrust mammaries. Then as he gripped it firmly with both hands, she
let go completely. He felt as if his hands had been ripped from his
arms as the weight plunged to the floor, carrying his shoulders, head
and torso with it. The weight clanged as it hit the mat. He crumpled
in pain from his wounded groin, and his nose banged into the mat as he
landed on the fallen weight. The girl giggled musically, "So that's how
it's done!"
A circle of normally macho street toughs surrounded the taunting vixen
and their monstrous enforcer, now sprawled ignominiously on the floor,
but instead of threatening her, they gazed in frozen stupefaction as,
with two deft motions, she dropped her skirt and shrugged off her
sweater. Involuntarily, the assembled men gasped in unison as the
rippling musculature of her body startled and intimidated them even as
it aroused them with its feminine allure, now clad only in sexy, satiny,
lacy underwear. The red, delicate fabric emphasized her flawless deep
tan, the amazing dimensions of her voluptuous curves, and bespoke of
volcanic sensuality. They had never seen such a muscular physique, nor
such exaggerated sexual contours. Some were lustfully riveted by the
sexual perfection erotically displayed in this way, while others blinked
in shock at musculature that made them feel puny and emasculated.
She positioned her arched feet on either side of the groggy behemoth
limply splayed out face down on the mat with his crotch resting on the
bar of the barbell. "Poor, baby, let me help you up," the nearly nude
amazon mocked the injured gang leader. Cabled muscles in her sexily
trim steely abdomen bunched in unison under taut skin and thigh muscles
exploded into awesome relief as she bent down, grasped the huge weight,
and slowly straightened her broad rippling back and powerful legs. The
monstrous gang leader draped across the bar felt himself sweep into the
air along with the massive weight. The bulging of her stupendous
thighs and flexed hip muscles strained her bewitching panties until they
ripped at the sides. She merely smiled coyly and batted her eyes at the
sexy image she was projecting, as her iron-hard buns exploded through
the shards of the delicate, red panties that now revealed the bushy
fount of her sex.
The startled gang leader suddenly found it difficult to breath. He
looked like a bulky garment folded over a huge hanger. She had
straightened her back and legs completely and, to the amazement of her
mesmerized audience, began to curl the huge weight with large bouncer
draped across it. A loud grunt escaped the bouncer's lips as his weight
shifted entirely to the hinge between his torso and legs and his
remaining breath was expelled. Despite his violent kicking and
twisting, she continued lifting. Her face darkened with the exertion
and the overburdened lacy cups of her brassiere disintegrated in tatters
and then the straining straps snapped as bulging pectoral muscles thrust
the firm torpedo-like breasts through the ripped fabric. The assembled
men glimpsed the seat of her sex briefly before their champion's head
came to rest in the cleft between her tan, cabled legs. Unfortunately
for him, he had twisted his head upward in his angry struggles so that
when she clamped her mighty legs together, his face was wedged upward in
her steamy crotch and his neck was wound at an excruciating angle. He
yelped in agony as she squeezed her legs together so that the already
terrifying girth expanded further and each band of muscle threatened to
explode through her skin. Simultaneously, she lifted the weight and the
rest of his body up against her immense chest. The astounding display
of raw brute strength and incredible balance dazed the incredulous males
encircling her. The gang leader felt his back arch backwards and his
neck stretch to the breaking point and, strain as he might to stop her
from bending further, he was powerless to stop it. Wedged between her
legs, he was enveloped in darkness, adding to his panic. The muscles in
his arms bulged into relief as he alternately beat on her steely thighs
and tried to pry them apart. His back muscles rippled with his
desperate efforts. But his once-proud muscles had no effect on her; they
now seemed puny compared with those of his mighty female captor. His
back was saved from breaking only because the thrust of her bosom was so
preposterously immense. Slowly, calmly, she lowered him and repeated
the curling motion. The granite-hard ridges of her arm muscles exploded
in terrifyingly huge, engorged peaks as she reached the apex of each
lift. She smiled mockingly at the stupefied men around her and goaded
the agonizing monster she was toying with.
"I think THIS is how its done little BOY. You shouldn't play with
things that are too BIG for you." As she continued to curl the barbell
and its impotent male cargo, she relaxed her hold on his head
sufficiently that he could breathe and twist his head slightly. He
babbled and screamed at the pain and humiliation, and, finally, pleaded
to be released. The movement of his face pressed against her mount of
pleasure was stimulating her sexually. "Ooh, baby, that feels so good!
You certainly have a talented nose!" she goaded. The whole situation
gave her an erogenous thrill, as it always did to bring down a silly
male braggart and confront him with her superiority, mentally,
physically, or sexually. "Show me what a good little boy you can be and
I'll let you go. Press that big mouth of yours up as high as you can
and give me a big kiss."
Mad with his predicament and her taunting, he struggled with all his
might, but she clamped down even harder than before and lifted the
barbell up over her chest. His neck and back cracked audibly. When she
relaxed again and he wailed in agony, she said, "Now are you ready to
behave? Ooh, that's it -- kiss me there and put that tongue to work,
too. Ooh, yeah, with a little practice you might be of some use to a
lady after all." The assembled men were befuddled, sharing sheepishly
in their leader's humiliation. To have helped him before would have
caused him to lose face. Now it was too late. He was hopelessly
degraded, brought down by a WOMAN; their chauvinism still wanted to deny
what was happening. But she was not finished with him: "Now, admit to
your pals, here, that you are a weakling. That WOMEN ARE THE SUPERIOR
SEX AND MEN ARE THE WEAKER SEX. Say it!" Blubbering with pain and
humiliation, his nose and mouth inundated with her copious intoxicating
secretions, he weakly uttered muffled sounds. "That's not good enough!"
she said menacingly as she gave him a jolt of her squeezing power.
This time he bellowed out, "Women are superior. Men are the weaker
sex," as loudly as his weakened condition would allow.
Cruelly, she clamped down on him again and slowly curled the weight a
few more times. Soon he passed out from the strain and lack of air.
Readjusting her grip on the bar, she pressed the weight and the
exhausted, wet-faced male high above her head. The last shreds of her
panties and bra split away to reveal the huge breasts and etched muscles
exploded in mountainous ridges. The remains of her panties were like an
exotically minuscule loin cloth or G string, which gave her the
appearance of the primeval, all-powerful, goddess of strippers. The
beautiful long legs swelled in delicious ridges of feminine contours
that were exotically enhanced by the sleek fragile lines of her high-
heeled shoes and the awesome bulging of her calves as they sustained the
arching of her feet. Her pumped-up muscles dwarfed those of their
former champion limply draped over the barbell. As she slowly lowered
and then pressed upward the weight and male, her undeniable superiority
over any male was clear to all, not to mention her overpowering sexual
attraction. [continue...]
-
Emancipation of the Old Gym by Jack Straw, part 2
[...continued]
Having made her point, she dropped the barbell and its load to the mat.
Putting her hands on her hips, she flexed her awesome physique in an
unspoken statement of calm invincibility. She fixed each pair of
incredulous male eyes with a look that dared them to challenge her.
Each male in turn palpably backed away and looked down, an unspoken
admission that their macho facade had been punctured. "There are going
to be some changes around here. We're giving this gym back to the
neighborhood you stole it from," she announced calmly. When one of them
frowned, she stared challengingly at him until he looked away. "You
will not be welcome here unless you change your behavior. Your gang is
DEAD; THEY are witness to that." She pointed toward the door of the
gym. Some of the girls and young women of the neighborhood had entered.
The gang members clenched their jaws; this was too much. "This is a new
era, guys. Macho swaggering doesn't get it. You don't impress anybody
any more with these silly boy games of bluff and counter bluff. It's
got to be real, and you have to work at it, like THIS," she said
pointing at her huge right biceps as she flexed it into terrifying
ridges. "Not like those puny little male lumps of jelly you call muscles
or those little muscles between your legs." The girls from the
neighborhood tittered merrily. Suddenly the gang members realized that
they were being lectured by a naked woman who was surrounded by ten
young, healthy males, some with weapons in their pockets, males who were
used to assaulting any woman who talked back to them or flaunted her
body. They were not going to let their girlfriends and former
girlfriends see them bested by a chick who had not a stitch of clothing
on her sexy body, no matter how powerful that body might be. This was
THEIR turf, THEY had the numbers, THEY had the weapons -- that's the way
it worked around here. She was going to be one sorry lady when this was
over. "Come on guys, lets get this bitch!"
As they rushed her, she became a blur of motion. The first to reach her
was jerked off his feet and swung at the others like a club. Others
were incapacitated by single devastating punches to ribs, guts, or
heads. Ribs were crunched in mighty squeezes of her arms and legs.
Male limbs and joints broke in unequal hand-to-hand combat. As fewer
combatants rose to challenge her, she amused herself by allowing them to
sprain their wrists, injure their hands, or crack their ankles by
furious punches and kicks at her steely body. It was always a thrill to
see the shock on the face of a mere male when his best efforts destroyed
him but affected her not at all. It was especially thrilling, indeed a
sexual kick, when the males considered themselves invincible tough guys,
like these pathetic morons. The other amazon, the one in the sexy
miniskirt, who had been largely forgotten, was content to hurl back into
the fray those who tried to escape and to disarm any who reached for
weapons. Soon it was over. Tangled bodies of defeated males lay heaped
together. The two victorious amazons systematically went from one to
the other of the downed males, ripped off their clothes and ground the
inferior male bodies to pulps in vice-like embraces of their mighty
female bodies, or lifted them high in the air and then cracked their
vertebrae by dropping them over thighs of female steel. They were so
superior that they could do what they wanted with these pathetic
wretches, could rip off their limbs and easily kill if they wanted.
Still, the beatings were clinical, professional: none of the overmatched
males would end up as paraplegics but it would be a long time before any
would be physically capable of their former macho swaggering and,
mentally, they would never recover. As they approached the last three
goons, moaning and twisting in pain, the big nude amazon waved off her
partner. These were among the older and brawnier gang members. She had
noticed their lustful stares earlier and decided to amuse herself with
them.
Dragging them by the hair, she arranged them like the spokes of wheel:
heads together -- feet pointed outward. "Spread your arms and legs out
and keep your eyes on me. Move a limb and I'll rip it off," she
commanded. Drawing herself up to full, imperious height, she proceeded
to step over the torso of each trembling male, deliberately flexing her
chiseled legs and clicking her heels loudly, as she paced in a slow
circle among them. Instinctively, they flinched with each stride she
took and fought the urge to cover their limp penises and curl in fetal
balls. From their lowly positions, she towered above them, a pillar of
invincible, deadly strength. She revelled in their fear; it was always
like this when macho pride was punctured by the reality of female
superiority.
Now for the second show. For their benefit, she rubbed the slick
perspiration over the voluptuous contours of her powerful, sexy body.
She glistened with animal vitality. She thrust out her massive,
perfectly shaped breasts, simultaneously constricting her corded
midriff, giving her torso a sculpted, fantastically exaggerated hour
glass shape. They were hypnotized by the bobbing and weaving of her
darkly tanned globes as she roughed up her thick auburn hair with her
fingers, her huge biceps seeming to dance in sync with the large-nippled
areolas. Her body was astounding, imposing, intimidating, unassailable,
and oh so delectable! There was just so much of it in all the right
places! She noted with satisfaction as their puny sex prongs stirred,
engorged, and then bobbed in rigid agitation, as their brains became
jumbled with competing signals of fear and lust.
She exulted in their disappointed looks, as she stepped away, wrapped
her skirt around her, pulled on her stretchy cardigan sweater, and
buttoned it at the bottom. Twirling their underwear on her finger, she
forced them to confront the humiliating condition in which she had
placed them: they had been denuded by a female so sexy that she had
them almost creaming on themselves, but so powerful that TEN of them
could not bring her down. Their erections drooped pathetically. She
laughed throatily, "Oh, you guys are so much fun! I'm going to make you
a proposition. Just imagine what it would be like to have sex with me:
your faces buried in these breasts," she cupped their imposing girth
suggestively through her open sweater, "or between these legs," she
thrust a muscular, sexy leg through the slit in her skirt and coursed up
its arousing length with both hands, "or up here," she traced one finger
up to the naked bush. The mens' penises were once again raging and they
were breathing raggedly in arousal. "Just imagine plunging your puny
little dicks into my love pot. Just imagine it squeezing and squeezing,
all hot and juicy, milking all you've got and then grinding it to a
pulp." She smiled as the last image went home and noted that their
arousal continued unabated. "So here's the deal. Show me that you can
keep it up and hard for a long, long time. My men have to last: if you
can keep from spurting your jism all over your wimpy bodies, I'll let
you go free or maybe take you home and let you please me. But somehow I
don't think you can. I think you're all little sissy boys looking for a
big mamma to beat you up and rape you. So what are you; MEN that can
please a woman or LITTLE SISSY BOYS who mess on themselves?"
She had seated herself on the turgid member of one of the
discombobulated gang members, arranging her skirt so that his erection
was trapped between the moist, hot, bare skin of one of her large iron-
hard buns and his convulsing diaphragm. She massaged it by gyrating her
hips and smiled gloatingly as his face shifted between terror and
ecstasy. He was being degraded in front of girls from the neighborhood
who knew him, but was powerless to stop it. She lifted his head so that
he could see them gawking at his humbling ordeal. She turned to look
also. One of the girls looked disgusted; she suspected that it was his
girl friend. This was the type of woman who measured her value by
serving as a trophy for the man who won her by terrorizing other men.
The amazon riding her former champion despised such women. She
viciously bent his neck and pulled the face of the now pathetic wimp
into the cleft between her breasts, all the while looking contemptuously
at the woman. It was as if the face of this woman was being rubbed in
the spineless jelly that her man was revealed to be. She noted some
other jealous looks, but most were amused; some gaped in open adoration
of this all-conquering heroine. Suddenly, the man became rigid in the
throes of impending orgasm. The colossal woman rose gracefully and,
hands on hips, victoriously placed the sole of one shoe on his bobbing
member and pressed down. The man came in violent spurts along his chest
and stomach. He wanted to hide himself away from the tittering
amusement of the female audience, but, even in his mortal shame, did not
move, such was his fear of the powerful woman who had brought him to
this shameful condition. The girls were shocked to see tears coursing
down the face of this vicious thug that they had so feared. Remembering
her proposition, he tensed his body for an impending attack. But his
beautiful, powerful tormentor stepped over him and moved to the next
victim.
She flopped her crotch squarely down on the second man's face. "Your
friend didn't fare so well, did he? I guess he really is a little sissy
boy. How about you? Are you man enough to take me on, push me down,
force yourself on me? Or would you rather kiss me right there and serve
me?" she taunted, rubbing her tush on his face. She slowly traced the
fingers of one hand backwards along his chest toward his half-hard
penis. Then she ran her hands seductively through her flowing auburn
locks and ran them down her chest, cupping her breasts in his face, and
continuing the journey of her hands down her perfect body to her smooth,
bulging thighs and calves. Now as she reached back, his member was
rigid as she lightly ran her fingers along its veined contours. "Well, I
guess you can't help yourself, can you? You want some of this!"
Violently, she humped against him and squeezed his head viciously with
her legs. "Now suck, boy, lick; be of SOME USE in this world." Caught
in her constricting vice, he did as he was told. She grabbed his hands
and ran them over her huge, firm breasts and erect nipples. He did so
worshipfully, but as he began to delight in the opportunity, she put his
hands back on the floor. Despite being used in this degrading manner,
he neared orgasm, realizing that she was becoming aroused herself and
feeling pride in being of service to a creature as perfect and masterful
as she. He who had never thought of a woman's pleasure before was now
reduced to measuring HIS value in how well he served her, even as she
brutalized his nose and mouth and tongue by violently mashing him
against her. It was not that he was doing her; rather she was using him
and the sensations and his abject subjugation were driving her over the
edge. He desperately wanted not to come, to have a chance to be
swallowed again and again by her incredibly arousing body; he dug his
fingers into his palms, using the pain to fight his arousal.
The third man saw that she had closed her eyes in pleasure and jumped to
his feet to escape, but before had taken a step he found his arm in the
crushing grip of one of her powerful hands. With one curling arm she
brought him back to where she stood astride the young man whose slavish
ministrations had been interrupted. "My, now, that was a mistake,
wasn't it?" she cooed to the would-be escapee. She wrapped the now
terrified, sobbing man in a crushing embrace. "Now you're going to miss
out on all this." She released him with one arm and shrugged off her
sweater and skirt. Seductively, she caressed his trembling body and
then ran his hands along her powerful, voluptuous contours. Along
bulging biceps, deep pectorals, huge springy mammaries, down perfect
legs, she guided him. Despite his trembling, he erected. She clasped
him once again in a tight embrace, trapping his erection against the
smooth granite of her midriff. She could feel it palpitate there and
smugly grinned at him. Simultaneously, she ran one of her feet lightly
along the erect penis of the obediently supine man who had been serving
her, now spellbound by this second complete unveiling of her perfect
body. She placed her hands under the buttocks of the third man and
lifted him slowly up and down, massaging his raging hard-on against her
rock-hard abdomen. He erupted in spurt after spurt as she stopped her
massaging motion and slowly constricted her steely arms. She turned to
face the other two men. Her immense, expanding chest forced his upper
torso backward, placing shattering pressure on his yielding back, as her
hard, erect nipples burrowed painfully into his imploding chest. Her
arms bulged as ribs cracked sickeningly and the man screamed in agony.
She folded him in half backwards over her bent leg, causing more
cracking and bellowing. Viciously she broke each knee by bending his
legs the way nature never intended. As he twitched in agony, she lifted
him high over her head and simply dropped him to the floor where he
flopped unconscious. The first humiliated man had lain rooted to the
spot in absolute horror, but to her merriment, the second was spurting
come all over himself in uncontrollable spasms that shook his entire
body. This extreme display of raw, brutal power had somehow aroused him
so much that, despite his zeal to prevent it, he had come without being
touched.
She lifted the two conscious men by the backs of their necks and
commanded them to lap up the semen that the third man had deposited on
her. Their thorough attention to detail was so arousing that she
obtained a measure of sexual release. But she was becoming bored.
These guys were no longer of any challenge. Her exhibitionist
tendencies had been satiated. She had demonstrated her strength and the
pumped-up nude glory of her body in lifting more weight than any three
or four men in the room, defeated the whole lot of them in bare-handed
combat, and converted three of them into her personal sexual fountains.
One had even started to love it. And then, of course, the original
mission was a complete success. Maybe she had even convinced a few of
the assembled girls to take control of their lives, and shown that they
could rule men with something other than sexual favors, in fact they
could demand favors of their own if they dedicated themselves to
building their bodies to their true potential. Yes, this was becoming a
bore. These feebs hadn't even been tough enough to prod her into a
crushing, dismembering, full-fledged rape of one or another that she
often used to prove the ultimate frailty of the male and her absolute
superiority. They must have been overrated, or ... maybe she really was
that good. It was time to move on.
"You know, you guys are just too obedient." Shifting her grip on them
so that each of her arms encircled one of their torsos and pressed their
faces into her colossal boobs, she flexed mightily. Despite their
frantic struggles as she crushed another two sets of ribs, they could
not free their faces sufficiently to breathe and soon became limp. She
opened her arms and let them slide unconscious down her legs.
She looked around to see her partner emerge from the seedy locker room,
where she could see a tall youth sprawled on the floor exhausted and
holding his worn-out genitals. Once she had seen that the war was over
and her partner was cleaning up in her normal manner, the miniskirted
one had spied the handsome youth she had teased earlier still leaning
against a wall, impassively viewing the destruction of men he despised.
She had sauntered slowly over to him and saw that he still was in her
spell, still aroused, ripe for the taking. Crouching slightly, she had
grasped him gently but masterfully and tossed him over one of her broad
shoulders and carried him into the locker room, thinking that maybe this
would be a good night after all. As she approached her partner, who was
once again donning her long skirt and sweater and stuffing the tattered
remains of her underwear in a pocket, she hummed softly and walked a
little bowlegged. "You, know, Kate, one of these times you're going to
get shot."
"Not as long as you're watching my back. Sometimes I sense you're not
doing that, though," she said looking in the direction of the locker
room. "Besides, bullets just might bounce off me. Well, I think I'll
grab a steak and pick up a couple of football players to ravage. I'm
hungry!"
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723/8982/9897
More shall soon follow, I hope you enjoyed what you may read so far.
-
Now I have some good news, I manged to find something else that is not--well, was not--In the DtV library.
The Lady Blacksmith, by Jack Straw part 1
She proved to be much more than either of two cowboys could handle
Apel swore and heaved an angry sigh. Their good-for-nothing cook
had driven the chuckwagon over a rock and broken one of its rusty, worn-
out wheels. Fortunately, the cattle drive was over, and they were still
in town. But the rugged trail boss hated this town; he wanted to be on
his way. He had sent the inebriated cook to get some of his other men
to help out but he knew he'd not see them for the rest of the day.
"Damn drunkards!" he thought, and the cook was the worst of the lot.
Before they headed their separate ways, they would have spent most of
their earnings on women, whiskey and gambling.
He set off for the livery stable and noticed a comely young woman
sitting in a chair outside the blacksmith shop. Her legs crossed under
a long leather skirt, slit so that he could enjoy seeing more than a
proper woman was supposed to show, she eyed him appraisingly. Not one
to stare or to look away, he appraised her in kind and tipped his hat.
He liked the way she filled out her cinched-in blouse. He noted the
perspiration on her brow and her thrust back posture. She seemed to be
relaxing after a period of exertion. He saw a blacksmith apron beside
her and wondered where the smith was.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. or miss? Where's the smith? I've got a
problem."
Ignoring the first two questions, she responded, "What seems to be
the problem?"
Pondering a moment whether it was worth the effort, he decided to
venture further. "I've got a broken wheel there," he gestured with a
sidelong glance toward the grounded chuckwagon.
"Well, sir," she began respectfully, "you've come to the right
place." She walked over to a long, sturdy post that was leaning against
the building and hefted it easily onto her shoulder. Then she whistled
for her horse, a spirited plow horse that came bounding out from behind
the building. Guiding the horse with gentle pats of her young (but
sinewy!) hands, she ambled off in the direction of the broken-down
wagon. Apel stood in bemused silence, staring appreciatively at the
swaying of her magnificently endowed body as she walked.
"Well?" she turned around and arched an eyebrow on her young,
beautiful face.
"Excuse me, ma'am, er miss?" Apel responded, uncomprehending.
"I thought you wanted your wheel fixed. Aren't you going to help
me get it off?"
"Aren't you rushing things a bit? It's going to take more than
you and me. You got someone else in mind?" He remained rooted to the
same spot, not seeing any point in following yet.
"Oh, we've got all we need," she declared quietly, her lovely
unbound hair bouncing off her broad shoulders as she alternately tossed
her head toward the huge post on one shoulder and the horse on her other
side. "But I'll need your help once I get the wagon lifted off the
ground. I suppose you've got a tool in the wagon to loosen the wheel?"
He nodded and then, shrugging, followed her against his best
judgement. This was silly. He felt like he was the butt of a joke he
didn't understand, but she was very nice to look at, so why complain?
When she reached the wagon, Apel was still a distance behind, not
having tried to match her energetic pace. She dropped the long, heavy
post near the wagon, oblivious to the resounding thud and the thick
cloud of dust as it hit the ground. Scanning the side of the street,
she spied a large boulder that was meant to block wagon traffic between
two buildings. Without saying anything or waiting for Apel's help, she
began rolling it toward the wagon until she had it in position to use as
a fulcrum to lift the wagon.
Normally one to make the plans and give the orders, Apel watched
at first uncomprehendingly and then in catatonic amazement. "Well?" she
queried in her laconic manner. "Aren't you going to loosen the wheel so
that we can slide it off?"
"What?" Apel mumbled absently. He had been thinking how nice her
hair smelled as she turned to face him. She was tall for a woman and
the top of her head was just above the nostrils of the lanky trail boss.
"Pull off the wheel while the wagon's leaning on it?" he finally managed
to respond in a confused tone, still not believing that the two of them
were going to accomplish this Herculean task. His tone now conveyed
some respect as well, though. He was beginning to feel that this young
woman was not to be trifled with. Maybe it might be possible if he had
not pulled the cook aside before he could get drunk and bullied him into
getting provisions for the homeward journey, not to mention certain
things the infernal drunkard used to make money by selling to ranchers
along the way back. He was not looking forward to unloading the damn
thing.
"Loosen the wheel," she repeated quietly, "while I get another
rock," she went on slowly, as if speaking to a child.
The trail boss, who was used to staring down bands of volatile,
hardened men until he got his way, found himself obeying her order
despite the obvious absurdity of it all. Something about her manner, so
confident, so -- well, commanding!
He rooted among the cook's disorganized pile of utensils and found
the rusty wrench. He had to beat it on the side of the wagon to remove
enough caked rust so that it would fit on the bolt that held the wheel
to the axle. Not feeling the need to rush this fool's errand, he
glanced casually around to see what she was up to now. What he saw made
him stare, first in amazement and then in veritable awe.
She was bending down to pick up a second boulder, smaller than the
first but much larger than he would tackle, even with another man to
help. Yet, with the barest of grunts, she straightened her legs and
hefted it to her trim waist and walked steadily to where the trail boss
was kneeling weakly next to the broken wheel, limply holding the wrench
that had slipped off the bolt while he blinked in open-mouthed wonder.
He felt suddenly faint with a mixture of threatened masculinity and --
he gradually realized to his surprise -- sexual arousal.
He noted how the veins stood out through the soft skin over her
sleekly muscular neck. Her prominent breasts were thrust out against
her blouse, now soaked with exertion-induced perspiration that made it
transparent and molded it so tightly that her nipples stood out in bold
relief. Although the blouse had been loose enough at the top to give
him a generous view of her cleavage on their first meeting, her bust now
strained against buttons that threatened at any moment to pop off like
tiny cannon shots. Well-defined arms and shoulders were becoming
evident under what had been loose sleeves. The fleeting image of her
shapely legs bulging through the slits of her skirt as she had raised
the boulder from the ground kept flashing through his mind. No, this
was not a woman to trifle with.
He couldn't help think about whether he could have lifted that
boulder. It must not be as heavy as it looked, he decided. Yeah, he
could have done it, he thought, but without conviction. Anyway, he
wouldn't -- why risk his back? Only a woman or child would be so
reckless.
Coming out of his revery with a start, he realized she was
impatiently waiting for him to loosen the wheel. He gave the wrench a
vigorous yank, but, to his chagrin, nothing happened except that
something gave way in his shoulder. He grimaced and put his entire body
into it. Still nothing. On his third effort, the wrench slipped off
and he thudded ass-first into the thick dust of the street.
Suppressing a laugh, but unable to hide the merriment in her eyes,
she delicately stepped over him. "Let me help. Maybe together we can
get it," she said politely. But, before he could manage to get to his
feet, she had locked the wrench on the rusty nut and, with a loud
screeching sound, was loosening it. "There! You must have loosened
it," she murmured generously.
"Now, when I lift the wagon, you slide that rock under the axle
and remove the wheel," she commanded softly in a matter-of-fact tone as
she wedged the post between the large boulder and the wagon bed.
"Huh?" He was slapping some of the dust off his pants. "Look,
you're going to need more weight to --" But before he could finish his
lesson in common sense, she had vaulted astride the horse and pulled
down on the post, inexorably levering the wagon upward. Her legs were
gripped tightly around the big horse, bowing its flanks inward, and he
swore the horse's hooves almost left the ground as the wagon went up.
He hurriedly removed the wheel. He couldn't help noticing how the
muscles in her exposed forearms bulged and rippled. When she let go of
the post, her exertion showed in the deep color in her face, the
suddenly prominent veins in her neck, and the gentle heaving of her
imposing bosom. But her voice was calm as she directed them back to the
smithy.
THAT I could not have done, he thought. It was more than just a
matter of leverage. She had used her body like a powerful spring to
pull the post and horse together. Well, maybe it was leverage; it WAS a
very long post. But he thought about how he had strained to ROLL the
big rock she had LIFTED. He shook his head, and returned his gaze to
the seductive swaying of her hips and the swelling of her torso inside
the straining blouse and the lustrous hair reflecting the afternoon sun.
[continue...]
-
The Lady Blacksmith, by Jack Straw part 2
[...continued]
Back at the shop, she closed the big double door and bolted it.
She opened some windows high above the floor with the long post and
offered Apel some whiskey and a glass. He glanced around; impressive
decor for a blacksmithy, he mused.
He turned to see her stripping out of skirt and blouse in a
corner. With almost brazen aplomb, she pulled the heavy leather apron
over her naked torso and over a brief undergarment around her crotch.
Apel had never seen such muscles. Her shoulders, arms, back, and legs
were densely muscled, but with an alluring feminine sleekness. With her
side turned toward him so that he had a clear view through the gap in
the apron, he marveled at the way her chest thrust out her large
breasts. Her body was almost completely revealed in breathtaking
profile, powerful and sexy! Her large, striated muscles merely
highlighted the sleek curvature of her hour-glass figure, exquisitely
exaggerated on top and trimly corded in the middle. A vision, a fantasy.
His member was so hard it ached. She saw him staring and smiled.
For the next thirty minutes she calmly worked at the forge,
handling the huge hammer as if it were a drum stick. He tried to be
nonchalant, unsuccessfully willing his member to behave and his heart to
slow down. This young woman made him feel like a child, inadequate and
worshipful. His voice cracked adolescently as he asked about the
previous owner. "A huge bear of a man. What happened to him?"
"Managed to get his back broken, not to mention most of the other
bones in his body, and died."
"Oh, what happened?"
Again she ignored his question, but went on with her own train of
thought. "He was my father."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He lived a full life by his standards."
"Your mother?"
"Dead, too. Some say of a broken heart.
"What's your name -- I apologize, I just realized I never
introduced myself."
"Oh, no need. Everyone knows that you're Buck Apel, but a friend
of yours told me your real name is Adam," she said, her eyes
unconsciously drifted to the outcropping of his larynx that was so
prominent on his muscular neck. She liked his rugged features. Perhaps
a little too old for her, she thought, but he'd only be here one day and
night anyhow. She lifted her lustrous eyes seductively to his. "I'm
Sally."
"Call me Buck," he said quietly, emphasizing the last word. In
countless scraps as he was growing up, he had earned the right to the
nickname he'd chosen. Adam Ijpel, his Dutch parents had named their
first born in America, unaware of the jokes it would bring from teasing
children in their new home. He somehow didn't hate his real name
anymore, but only one other person knew it, or so he thought. It seemed
strange to hear it after so long. He wondered what had happened to that
saloon girl. He had nearly proposed to her on a steamy night a few
years ago. Apel looked away and sighed.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "If the name's a secret, it's safe
with me. Betsy left this god forsaken place a good while ago. She just
had too much of -- of everything for these -- " She paused and went on.
"She'll be in San Francisco or New York or London by now. I think I was
the only one who understood her at all. She liked you a lot, if it
matters to you." She looked up at him searchingly.
"Why don't you pour yourself another drink, Mr. Apel?"
"Uh, thanks, but no. How much longer will the wheel take?"
"Quite a while. I have to let this part cool, then I'll be fusing
this other section back. Look," she raised her head to him as if she'd
just had a thought, "why don't I pour you some water for a bath. More
private than the hotel and hotter water, too!"
"Well, I don't think --" he started to reply, but she had danced
off with a huge steaming kettle from near the fire and disappeared
behind a curtain. He heard what sounded like the kettle and then a
large bucket of water being emptied into a tub. She pulled the curtain
open to reveal a lightly steaming elegant tub, more elegant certainly
than any the trail boss had ever rubbed against his skin. "It's on the
house. Don't tell me you wouldn't like one. I know you cowboys fight
over those tepid things they offer at the hotel."
"Well, if you insist," he replied with a smile. It seemed rude to
refuse now.
He stepped inside the curtain and stripped off his clothes. He
noted the white color of his legs against the nut-brown leathery skin of
his hands. He eased down into the hot water, letting his body adjust to
its heat bit by bit. Settling finally with a sigh of comfort, he looked
around for soap, not that he really cared for any. What he really
wanted was a smoke.
"Looking for this?" she asked throatily.
He blinked his eyes upward toward the parting curtain. She was
holding a bar of soap in one hand and a whiskey in another, and she
didn't have on a stitch of clothing! The rugged trail boss swallowed
loudly. Her glorious body glistened with a sheen of light perspiration
from working near the forge. Bursting with vitality and so utterly
beautiful, she approached him with a seductive, knowing smile. Apel
could only gape. His aroused member made a small sound as it erected in
the water.
"Well, uh -- this is definitely better service than the hotel,
ma'am" he finally managed to squeak out. She bowed and chuckled, as
much at his confusion as at his wit.
"You can call me Sally, Mr. Apel," she smiled enticingly.
"Buck," he rejoined laconically, captivated by her lovely face.
As she leaned down toward the flustered trail boss, the spell was
broken by a tremendous racket at the back of the smithy. The large
plowhorse had started bucking in his stall. Until now, Apel had not
noticed that a door at the back of the smithy opened into the stall, so
that the horse could actually enter the premises. Apel was startled,
but, before he knew it, the nude amazon had scaled a stanchion and
leaped astride her bucking horse.
"Now, Dragon, calm down! Don't be naughty! You have no call to
be so jealous! Do I have to show you who's boss?" She clamped her
naked legs around the steed. Apel became weak in the knees as he
watched her thighs and calves expand immensely into steely ridges that
cut incredibly into the flanks of the sturdy horse. The horse neighed
in a pitiful cry of pain and slowly collapsed onto the straw-covered
floor.
Sally gave the horse a couple of vicious flexes and then
triumphantly rose from the whimpering stallion. She told it to get up,
swatted it, and sent it through a door behind his stall. She closed,
bolted, and locked the door.
Apel had seen enough. It didn't matter that this sexy virago set
his body on fire like no other female ever had, and she still hadn't
even touched him! She was just too strange. And dangerous!
Not finding a towel, he started to grab for his pants as he
dripped water on the floor. But they were whisked out of his hands
before he had a good grasp.
"Now, wait until I tell people how the great Apel tried to run
away from me!" she laughed merrily. Batting her long eyelashes
bewitchingly, she drew his wet body against her impressive breasts and
murmured, "There's really no reason to leave. Where are you going to
go? It's not good manners to just jump up and run off." He tried to
move his arms and legs, but she had them trapped with her more powerful
limbs and seemed not to notice his efforts. Molded skin to skin against
her powerful, sleek, perfectly formed body and captivated by her
smoldering eyes, he lost the urge to resist. His hardening member would
have erected in full iron-hard glory except that its upward thrust was
arrested by slapping against her hot, moist pubic mound, its bending of
his penis completing her conquest of his body. She raised up on tiptoes
and opened her thighs to capture his engorged prong between them. Her
sinewy thighs sawed up and down on it, sending waves of hot pleasure
crashing against his brain, which in turn sent one insistent signal
throughout his body. The horse, the wheel, this lousy town -- all was
forgotten. He sunk into the tub as she pressed him downward, his body
on fire.
Once again a loud noise interrupted them. Someone was banging on
the immense front door of the smithy. "Open up, Sally," bellowed a loud
male voice on the other side of the door. "Sally! Open up! I know
you're in there and I'm not goin' away!"
She sighed and muttered under her breath, "You'll pay for this
Sam. You'll really pay this time."
She drew the long curtain to hide the naked trail boss, who sunk
obligingly down into the big tub. She put on a long, loose shirt over
her naked torso, the long tails of which hung below the bottom of the
short, frilly undergarment with which she covered her wet pubic mound.
The shirt hid her arms, but she left the top buttons undone so that the
tops of her large breasts and the deep cleavage between them were
prominently bared. Her beautifully muscled legs were naked down to the
high-heeled boots. [continue...]
-
The Lady Blacksmith, by Jack Straw part 3
[...continued]
She jerked open the door.
"Get rid of that cowpoke, Sally, or I'll beat him to a pulp,"
yelled a red-faced giant of a man. "I know he's in here. You're my
girl, Sally. You keep forgetting that."
"Sam, I've made it very plain that I want nothing to do with you.
Never have, never will. And if you don't leave this instant, you'll
regret it for the rest of your miserable life -- which could be a very
short one, if you ever bother me again!"
"Damn, Sal, I love it when you're riled. You've just got it all
over any other gal," he chuckled, touching her hair.
She batted his hand away furiously. "I'm serious, you bastard.
Leave. Now. While you still can."
"Still the tomboy," he chuckled again. "I love your fire, gal.
I'm the only one who ain't afraid of you. You know they're all afraid
to come courtin' ya," he smirked as if congratulating himself at telling
a good joke.
"You mean they're tired of being attacked by you and your no-
account cousins. You've caused me nothing but grief lately. Give me
one good reason I shouldn't break every bone in your body with my bare
hands," she spat out through clenched teeth.
"One reason," he repeated and paused. "Well, for starters because
you couldn't." He grinned smugly. "You're strong for a woman and I
like that, but you're no match for a real man like me. Just ask Jasper
or Joe," he smirked again reaching to draw her into a hug.
She pushed him away before he could embrace her. "A real man, you
say? You don't think I couldn't beat you to a pulp? Believe me, I've
done it to better than you." She paused and then continued in an
exasperated tone, "You think just because you're a man, you must be
stronger? You don't think smithy work requires more muscle than
whatever it is you do? Well, how about a little contest of strength,
Sammy? Prove what a man you are," she challenged, looking him in the
eye.
"What, against you? That's silly. I didn't come here to fight
against you. I'm after that yellow-bellied cowpoke who's in here
somewhere afraid to show himself."
"If there's someone else in here, it's none of your business.
Forget about it. Besides, you're the one who's yellow. You're afraid
to match muscles with a girl. You're the one who's afraid of me!" she
taunted. When he merely smirked at her, she realized her taunting was
having no effect. Her first thought was to slap him, slap him until he
tried to retaliate or overpower her. Then she glanced at her anvil and
it gave her an idea. "But look," she continued in a different tone,
"I'll make it easy for you to prove yourself. I need someone with a
little muscle to help me move something. If you're up to it, maybe I've
underestimated you after all."
"Help, huh? Just like a woman. First you're talkin' about
fightin' and then you want my help. Sure, what can I do for ya?"
"Oh, I haven't changed my mind. It's just that I want to use your
muscles before I crush them to mush," she leaned in close to him and
wrapped herself sensuously around him. "Perhaps we are meant for each
other. You're a bad boy and I'm a bad girl who loves to put bad boys in
their place."
Behind the curtain, Apel was pondering his situation. He had
never intended to hang around this long. He could hear most of what was
being said and he was surprised at her childish bantering. If she
really wanted to get rid of this loudmouth, she was going about it all
wrong. Should he depart or stay? A fleeting image of Sally entering
the bathtub stirred his still erect cock and decided the issue for him
momentarily. What else did he have to do today? This was his day of
recreation before heading back. He reached for the whiskey and sunk
down into the warm water of the bathtub with a muted sigh. Out in the
smithy, hearing the clink of glass and the muted gurgling of the bath
water, Sam turned his head toward the sound. But Sally sprang to
action, giving him an all-out fusillade with the sexual weapons of her
arsenal, and his brain, never one of his strong points, ceased conscious
functioning.
"My, Sam, such big muscles you've got. I've been looking for the
man's who's strong enough to make me behave. No one's been able to yet,
but I keep looking. Are you the one, big cowboy?" she breathed in his
ear, molding and rubbing her perfect feminine physique against him.
She unbuttoned the top of his shirt and stroked the hairs on his
immense chest. The open front of her shirt drew his eyes to a generous
view of her spectacular cleavage. She rubbed her large breasts and hard
nipples against him. Placing one hand behind his head, she brought his
lips roughly down to hers in a hot, moist kiss. Simultaneously, she
placed her other hand behind his butt and rubbed his bulging crotch with
her bared and sensuously muscled leg. In a reversal of the stereotypic
interplay of the sexes, he appeared to struggle against her as she drew
the breath from his body with her kiss and continued her forceful
ministrations of his obviously aroused crotch area.
Men are so easy, she thought to herself. I could bring this hulk
to his knees without a single punch or wrestling hold, but it's so much
fun to do it both ways. Puff em up and then rip em apart. So easy! she
mused as she teased his insistent erection through his tented pants with
her naked thigh. Sam was so dizzy with lust and lack of air that he
would have fallen were it not for her muscular legs easily supporting
them both.
Finally, Sam's arms went limp and she released her full, moist
lips from his. Sam's head fell limply toward her bared bosom and then
bounced upward when those strong globes heaved upward as she took a deep
breath. She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips and grimaced as
if trying to remove a bad taste.
His eyes fluttered open. "My, Sal, you want it bad, girl," he
croaked.
"First, though, I need to use your big muscles, Sam, honey," she
said throatily. "I want to move my anvil over there," she said nodding
toward her large anvil and then pointing toward a spot on the opposite
side of the fire area.
Sam looked doubtful. "That's a big hunk of metal and you've got
it attached to a bigger hunk of wood," he said indicating the sawed-off
trunk of a great oak to which the anvil had been nailed with huge iron
spikes. "I'll go get some men to help me -- after we do some more
smoochin'."
"Oh, Sam, don't go weak on me now. You're always braggin' about
your big muscles. How about puttin' 'em to some use?" she said pushing
away from him. She strode over to the anvil, giving Sam a good view of
her breathtaking femininity, more revealed than covered by her loose
shirt. Then, she bent her legs slightly, grabbed the pointed end of the
anvil, and lifted one end of the anvil and its sturdy oaken base off the
ground. "See, it's not so heavy," breathing easily, she said to the
surprised giant. "The two of us can do it."
"Well, okay, maybe that side's not," he said in a puzzled voice.
"But that's the light end and almost all the weight's still on the
ground," he finished confidently as if he were an engineer explaining a
physics problem. "Besides Sal, you're apt to hurt yourself doing things
like that. I know you're real strong for a girl, but you need a big man
like me to do the heavy lifting around here."
"Oh, bah! This is nothing for me. But it sounds like it's too
much for you. I'm not surprised; men really are the weaker sex. Never
seen one yet that could keep up with me. A few minutes ago, though, I
thought you were the man for me. Now I'm having second thoughts. I
thought you could help me but I guess you're not man enough."
"Who's not man enough? Name one man who's stronger than me and
I'll beat the manure out of him without breaking a sweat," he roared.
"All right, if anyone can do it, I can. But be careful you don't hurt
yourself," he brayed as he swaggered over and removed his shirt. "This
is what you wanted to see, wasn't it?" he snickered as he proudly flexed
his bared chest and thick arms.
Bending his legs and back, he placed his large hands under the
other end of the anvil, grunted with effort, and managed to raise his
end a couple of inches off the ground. Within seconds he was drenched
in sweat, his face and vein-swollen neck were red as the sunset, and his
grunting belied exertion to the point of pain. Still holding the other
end higher than his, she started backing away with it.
"Whoa!" he croaked shakily as his end slipped from his grasp and
thudded loudly on the ground of the smithy.
As he panted noisily, she said brightly, "We were doing it. Now,
if you get your end up higher, we can make short work of this and do
something more interesting!"
Still panting, he was clearly dumfounded that she seemed hardly to
be exerting herself. "Look, that end is a lot lighter, and you were
holding it so that almost all the weight was on me."
"Oh," she giggled, "THAT was the problem. I thought maybe the big
man wasn't as strong as the little woman. Okay, you lift your end first
and get it high enough so that more weight's on me. Let's try that, big
guy. I don't want your heart to give out before we tumble in the hay."
"Does this thing have to go over there?" he asked in a petulant
tone.
"Look, are you man enough to help me or not? Give little ole me
more of the weight this time," she taunted. "Don't ever do any smithy
work. You don't have the muscle for it."
Her taunting had the desired effect. With fire in his eyes, he
roared, "Okay, you asked for it." And with the energy of his anger to
aid him, he slowly hefted his end a few inches off the ground. "Now
lift your end if you can, girly," he wheezed challengingly, clearly not
expecting that she could, now that the weight would have shifted toward
her.
"Okay," she said gaily and lifted her end immediately upward and
started retreating with it toward the other end of the large fire area.
Trying to match her gait, he moved also. But as he took another
step, he stumbled and let the big anvil and its base thud to the ground
once again. "Damn, Sally, I think you've given me a hitch in my back,"
he complained, holding his side and lower back as he settled awkwardly
on one knee. "Let's forget about moving this thing, for now. I'll
round up a couple of other guys after you and me make up for lost time
in the hay back there."
"I can't believe what a weakling you are," she taunted
disgustedly. "Why would I want to waste any more time on a nothing like
you?"
"Thanks a lot for your concern, lady. And as for weak -- again, I
say name one man who's stronger."
"Well, there's at least one WOMAN who is," she said coyly, pulling
off her loose shirt. Now almost nude before the stupefied giant at her
feet, she flexed and stretched the awesome physique that he had never
before been privy to view. The womanly curves robbed a man's breath.
Her incredible musculature made him feel small at the same time her
beauty and audacious curves made a part of him get much bigger.
"I guess this calls for a little gal power. The big man wasn't up
to it," she teased. Grinning at his slack-jawed shock from viewing her
nude physique, "What's the matter? Not so proud of your manly muscles
anymore?" she sneered at him.
"Maybe you weren't doing it properly," she murmured. "Remember,
you lift mostly with your legs." So saying, she planted her feet wide
apart, bent her legs 90 degrees at the knees, grasped her hands under
each side of the huge anvil, and with a jerk straightened her legs as
she flexed her mighty arms. Muscles exploded into jagged relief all
over her body, exaggerating her womanly curves, even as they put to
shame any male physique Sam had ever seen. Higher and higher she hefted
the anvil until it slapped up against her large, heavy breasts, thrust
out on the thick pectoral muscles of her deep, deep chest. Pivoting
around and walking steadily under this prodigious weight, she managed to
talk without panting or wheezing, though her face and upper body
darkened from the exertion and beads of perspiration broke out over her
beautiful skin. "This is what a woman can do, you big LITTLE man, if
she works her body day after day at something that requires a little
muscle. Maybe if you worked more and blew wind less, Sam, you might get
some decent muscle, too. But for now, you ain't nothin' but a fly speck
to me. I can do anything I want to you, and there's nothing that
bullying body of yours can do to stop it."
She let the anvil down gently to ground and turned her attention
to the man who was awkwardly clambering to his feet. She caught the top
of his pants with one hand as he tried to escape and reeled him to her
with the flexing of that one mighty arm. "And there's plenty I mean to
do to you, you no-good bully. I don't know where you got the idea that
I was YOUR gal, but you're sadly mistaken. And I'm going to pay you
back for what you done to Jasper and Jason. You ain't NEVER gonna hurt
none of my friends again." [continue...]
-
The Lady Blacksmith, by Jack Straw part 4
[...continued]
The big man's face took on a frantic look, and he visibly
trembled. Completely stripped of his normal swagger, in his panic he
punched her in her rock-solid belly and yelped as it hurt his wrist.
"Come on," she taunted, moving between him and the door, and
putting her arms across her gravity-defying melon-sized breasts, "you
can do better than that. You're always brayin' to the guys about what a
terrific punch you have, but I think you're nuthin but a creampuff. Go
on. Hit me a good one. Show the little woman what a big man can do!"
She stood exposing her midriff, taunting him to hit her. Her trim waist
flexed into a corded washboard of muscular flesh as she dared the big
man to prove himself.
"Okay, girlie," he said grimly, "remember you asked for this. You
won't be the first woman who needed a little slapping around to put her
head back on straight. Maybe I should give you a little spankin' too.
Your snoot's always been a little too high for your own good," he
finished fiercely.
Narrowing his eyes as she continued smirking at him despite his
threats, he decided to give her a hard thump to wipe that smile off her
face. Her taunting was setting off his volatile temper. But his first
punch did not even make her flinch and her smile broadened. Growling
with anger, he gave it all he had, beating his huge fists onto the soft
skin that cloaked her oaken abs, hips, sides, shoulders and back, until
he tired enough that he gave up. When he swung for her face she blocked
him and covered her breasts against punches there, but otherwise she let
him vent his rage and run out of steam, smirking at him contemptuously.
As he dropped his arms to catch his breath, she grabbed both of
his hands and raised them upward for a traditional test of strength.
"Come on, big guy, let me show you why I could lift that little hunk of
metal and you couldn't." Despite his height and leverage advantage, it
was no contest. She forced him moaning in pain to his knees and
continued pressing his wrists backward toward the ground and grinding
his hands with hers. "Where's that great strength you're so proud of?
Fight back, you spineless sidewinder, you big sissy! Can't even save
yourself from a girl!" He tried, sobbing with pain and effort, but to
no avail. "Kiss the ground, you weak excuse for a man. Kiss it and I
might let you up!" she snarled.
"Oh, Sal, please, let me go. My wrists hurt bad. I think you
done broke one. Please!" he sobbed, dutifully pressing his lips to the
grimy floor and then spitting dirt out pitifully. Still she did not
relent, grinding one of his hands to pulpy, purplish mess with the
awesome strength of one of her work-trained hands, unmoved by his high-
pitched screams and ineffectual kicking and squirming to free himself.
"No more bullying of the boys who want to see me!" she commanded
sternly, contemptuously resting her other hand on her delectably thrust
out hip. Still holding his damaged hand with one of hers, despite his
frantic efforts to free it with his other hand, she yanked the hand
easily away from his other hand and whirled him around. Holding him
upright with her free arm, she jammed his crushed hand high up his back
until his shoulder was put under tremendous strain.
"Oh, god. Oh, god! Stop, Sally, stop! My shoulder!" he screamed
as she pushed brutally upward.
"YOU stop ME, big guy! Can't do it can you? I've only used one
hand against you and you can't stop it, you big soft baby. A woman is
doing this to you," she hissed throatily, running her free hand
seductively over his naked chest and shoulders and kissing him hotly on
the neck. "A woman you'd love to be slammin' in the hay but ain't man
enough," she breathed, rubbing her big firm breasts and thickly engorged
nipples into his naked back and moving her hand inside his pants to the
bulge in his crotch. "A woman that's got you so hot you can't think of
anything else." The big man gasped with arousal, forgetting the pain in
his hand and shoulder momentarily as she arrested her pressure at the
breaking point. Whirling him around suddenly and then letting go of the
arm she had been torturing, she stepped backward and put her hands on
her hips. "You know you want me. Go ahead, try to take me. Show the
little lady that you're man enough to put me down," she taunted.
When the blinking man hesitated, she pushed him down and tugged
off his boots as she sat on his legs. Jumping up, she grabbed the
bottoms of his pants and ripped them off as he flailed his legs
unsuccessfully. She giggled as his dirty, floppy, button-down drawers
were revealed, and then she ripped them off as well.
With a bellow of rage, he struggled to his feet. She backed away
toward the door, smiling and beckoning with her fingers, challenging him
to attack her. Hands on flaring hips, she drew a deep breath and held
it with an imperious smile of utter invincibility. About to make his
charge, Sam was momentarily frozen in place by this vision. Her torso
had exploded into a voluptuous, powerful sculpture of iron-hard feminine
pulchitrude. Her lightly bronzed skin, exposed by disrobing and
glistening with perspiration, added to her extremely erotic allure. It
was so different than the white, creamy appearance of other girls when
they disrobed and contrasted exotically with the white of her tight,
lacy bloomers. Sam pictured her working by the forge in the nude,
working those arousing muscles and thrusting her imposing breasts, and
his penis sprang to attention.
Seeing his condition, she giggled. "Like what you see, cowboy?"
And she danced in front of him, making his erection engorge and harden
further. Spittle formed at the side of his mouth and his breathing
quickened in the obvious throes of lust. She giggled again. Men were
so easy! "Well, come and get it if you can. Are you man enough to take
me down and stick that little twig in me like you want so badly? Or
will I take you? This the only way out of here, so you'll have to do
something. Kick me, bite me, pull my hair, do all those sissy-bully
things. It won't matter, you weak cowpoke, because I can rip you apart
with one hand tied behind my back." Again she invited him with taunting
finger, a big smug smirk on her face.
With another bellow, he charged, slamming her into the door with
his charge. He grabbed one of her wrists with both of his hands and
whirled her around so that he now had her arm behind her back.
"There, how do YOU like it, girlie?" he yelled as he pushed
upward. He was protecting his damaged hand and wrist by pushing upward
with the forearm while he gripped her wrist as hard as he could with the
other hand.
She merely laughed at his onslaught and tickled his exposed ribs
with her free hand. "Got a good hold have you, little boy? Go ahead
push upward with both your arms against my one arm. It's only fair to
give the weaker sex an advantage, your two against my one. Pa was
always rumbling about how much stronger men were than women, that I
couldn't do this and I couldn't do that because females were weaker.
Well, he found out which was the weaker sex in the end. You're just
like him, never asking a woman, always telling her, bullying everyone
who's smaller. You're a yellow-bellied coward, Sam, but you've made a
big mistake this time. I am going to rip you apart and I won't even
work up a sweat. Go ahead, try to hurt me with those big muscles of
yours. We've already seen how weak you really are."
He had bent her arm behind her back, but despite his best efforts,
he could not bend it further. All the while that she had been deriding
him with her chatter about being weaker and belonging to the weaker sex,
he had been grunting with effort. His muscles bulged monstrously, but
the woman's muscles swelled too, until they rivalled in size those of
her large attacker and far surpassed his in definition. Her shoulder,
triceps, and biceps thickened and separated into awesomely striated
ridges. The man's arms began to tremble and give way. He whimpered
like a wounded animal as he felt himself being overcome. He the man,
the supposedly stronger sex, with all the advantages of leverage and
weight, not only could not hold her arm in this vulnerable position, but
his two arms were being inexorably forced downward and outward by her
one awesomely flexed arm. In this contest of brute strength, the woman
was proving far stronger, as she had ever since he had dared to enter
her shop. Apel, peeking out through a small gap in the curtain could
not believe what he was seeing, a big man bulging with muscles most men
would envy, giving way after holding the single arm of this beautiful
young woman in the most vulnerable position imaginable with both of his
thick arms.
True to her word, she now had managed to force his trembling arms
outward until her arm was no longer trapped behind her back. The big
brute looked exhausted. Not only was the woman stronger, but she had
far more endurance. Sweat poured down his red face and he was breathing
in gasps. The fierce pounding he had tried to give her with his fists
and now these drawn-out tests of strength had sapped all his energy.
She whirled around to face him, twisting her arm inside his now slippery
grip. With her powerful legs spread apart solidly holding her ground
and her other hand held contemptuously on her hip, she continued pushing
backward on both of the exhausted giant's arms. She smiled smugly as
fear registered on his face. How could she be so strong and I so weak,
he wondered, the question, the shock, written clearly on his
transparent, contorted features.
"How humiliatin', huh, Sam? Your big cowpoke muscles can't stop
me, two of yours against one of the sexy lady's, and your little poker
wiltin' against my tummy like your soft muscles, and you cain't do
nuthin' bout it." Looking smugly into his eyes, she reached her free
hand around to his big rear end and pulled him tightly toward her. She
wriggled the soft skin of her rippling abdomen against his trapped penis
and felt it begin to swell again. She giggled in rapturous delight. He
groaned in pain and lust. Tears of frustration welled up at not being
able to arrest her strength, at the humiliation of knowing the girl he
lusted for was laughing at him.
"Come on, Sam, I don't think you're trying anymore," she taunted.
"That's going to cost you an arm, I'm afraid." She yanked her wrist
from his grasp and grabbed his damaged wrist, simultaneously pushing so
that now one of HIS arms was behind HIS back. It was now out of reach
for his other hand, so he used that hand to punch at one of her big,
firm breasts, but in such close quarters it merely made her giggle at
his inability to hurt her. "Oh, Sam, don't tickle me like that. You're
gonna make me laugh." She quickly withdrew her free hand from his butt
and grabbed his free arm at the wrist as well. She yanked both his arms
brutally out to his sides. Pressing her big breasts seductively against
his yielding chest and her abdomen tightly against his now turgid prick,
she throatily challenged him again. "Are you up for one more test of
strength, big guy. You push against me, I push against you. The
loser -- well, I intend to tear up your shoulders this time, Sammy boy!
I could have done it before but that would have been too soon. Not
enough fun for me, not enough pain for you. That's it push! You kinda
jumped the gun, but that's okay."
Sensing that it was his last chance to prevail or escape, Sam put
all his considerable weight and remaining energy into it. Ignoring the
searing pain in his wrist, he first pushed with all his might and then
suddenly pulled in an attempt to pull her off balance and get her on the
floor. But her thickly muscled legs were immovable. Slowly,
inexorably, she pushed the big bully toward the door, his planted feet
plowing grooves in the gravel floor. As she pushed, she rubbed her big
breasts against his chest and when his midsection touched hers, she
rubbed against his turgid erection, keeping him on the edge sexually as
well as near exhaustion physically. Slowly, effortlessly it seemed, she
pushed upward and backward on the exhausted man's arms, raising them
behind his back. When she had them nearly meeting behind him and part
way upward she shifted her grips upward to the elbows so that she could
continue yanking them upward. Even so his girth forced her to burrow
her breasts into his chest to be able to reach that far. She noted with
satisfaction that the thrusting of her own immense chest was crushing
inward on his and he gasped every time she took a deep breath. She
almost laughed as she toyed with him in this way, forcing him to gulp in
air whenever she would let him. The pressure on his shoulders was
becoming painful as she yanked ever upward despite his furious efforts
to resist. And more and more she insinuated her flexing midriff against
his erect member.
She had him backed against the wall now, with his naked butt
pressed forcefully against the rough wood. The wall and his girth
impeded her pulling his arms up further behind him, but she solved the
problem by kicking savagely with her booted heels at the back of his
ankles, each in rapid succession. His butt slid down the rough wood,
picking up painful splinters, and his head sunk forward into the deep
chasm between her large, firm breasts. Maintaining her grip on his
elbows and her terrible upward pressure, she brought his arms upward
until his shoulder ligaments crackled with the strain and mashed his
face brutally into the hard, deep muscles between her intimidating
breasts. Knowing that she could break him at her leisure now and with
her arms now encircling his neck rather than being restricted by
reaching around his immense chest, she released her right hand quickly
from his left elbow, thrust it against his right elbow, grasping it in a
vise-like grip, as she released her left hand to cause mischief wherever
she chose.
She grabbed his hair so that he had to look into her eyes as she
hissed, "I'm going to break you now, you he-man. Just as I crushed the
bones in your hand, I'm going to rip apart both of your shoulders. And
I'm going to use just ONE arm to do it. That's all I need. Still think
you're stronger because you're a man? Bah! Men are nothing! Nothing
but playthings for me!" she laughed throatily, betraying her own
arousal.
She turned his head roughly and pushed it slowly across the
contour of her prodigious and firm right breast, forcing him to
acknowledge its arousing and intimidating perfection. Playfully, she
ground one of her steely nipples into his right eye until the injury
caused tears to stream out of it and he was sniffling like a baby from
the flooding of his sinuses. She exulted in his complete inability to
arrest this erotic torture. Tiring of that, she turned his head further
so that his nose was resting on her bicep.
"Here, have a good look at what's gonna rip you apart, bully boy!"
His frantic eyes widened as her bicep bunched into a jagged rock of
muscle.
She flexed her corded abdomen against his penis at the same time
and traced her finger along the contours of his excited member. "Gee,
that little feller gets bigger and harder as my muscles get bigger and
harder. That's got to be embarassin', huh, big guy?"
He was losing the test of strength, her one arm against both his,
even though his adrenaline surged in his terror at intense pain and the
prospect of losing both shoulders. At the same time, he was powerless
to prevent the teasing that had him near sexual explosion. When he had
such a powerful urge to spurt his seed, the woman should be on the
bottom begging him to be gentle as he rammed it home to satisfy his
need. Not like this. Not like this! And then it happened. Both
things he wanted to stop, were happening at once. He spurted in great
impotent glops that were whipped to an erogenous foam by the rubbing of
her delicious torso against his, even as loud tearing sounds and instant
pain signalled the demise of his shoulders. He sobbed and gasped from
the twin insults.
"Wh -- why are doing this to me, Sal? If you ain't my gal, ya
just had to say so. I ain't done nuthin to you, nuthin to deserve
this," he sobbed pitifully. His legs no longer supported him as he
slumped weakly against her powerful chest and shoulders, their combined
weights easily supported by her muscular legs.
"I have told you over and over I ain't your gal, you bullyin' rock
head. You're just pretending now that you didn't understand. You
didn't pay attention before, because you felt you could do anything you
want and the hell with anybody else. Why am I doing it? Because you
deserve it, you bastard!" She brutally yanked back on his ruined
shoulders bringing more sickening crackling sounds and high-pitched
shrieks of pain from the sobbing man. "That's for the jaw you broke of
Joe's. THIS is for the ribs you busted on Jasper." She yanked again
and again with her mighty arm, amid more shrieks, and finally let go of
both his arms. They dangled limply, lifelessly, hanging seemingly only
by his skin, which was taking on a terrible purplish hue, especially
dark in color at the joints.
"Why?" she continued. "Because you deserve it for being the kind
of man I hate," she spat out and grabbed his head so that he had to look
at her. "And because it's FUN bringing down a boy like you," she said
throatily, stroking his face like a child. The abject, defeated look on
this formerly swaggering bully made her crotch and nipples tingle with
lust. She threw him down on the ground and ground her boot on his
shrinking penis, coated with the spunk he had loosed on himself and her.
It delighted her further to see that he had ejaculated even as she
ripped him apart. It was a testament to her overpowering sexual allure
and to the obvious superiority of women over men, a law of nature that
she never tired of proving.
Sexily stepping out of her frilly underwear, she descended upon
him to rub her tingling pussy and nipples roughly along his white skin,
revelling in the superiority of her physique. Despite his pain and
utter degradation, the rubbing of his bare skin against her delectable
body with its soft velvety skin once again brought him to a large
achingly hard erection. She noticed and chuckled softly, almost shocked
at how easy men were to play with. This was another erogenous
stimulation for her, sending her into a state that had to be satisfied.
"Oh, you are making me hot, Sam, sticking your little twig against
my superior legs. You'd like to put it in me but you're not strong
enough. Not nearly strong enough. No man is! I'm tearing you apart,
mashing you to a pulp, and still you can't keep from worshippin' little
ole me. Oh, I think I'm gonna come! Have you ever been raped, Sam?"
she gasped, mashing his face deeply into her sopping crotch and grinding
roughly with her eyes closed until the powerful spasms in her nether
regions subsided.
[continue...]
-
The Lady Blacksmith, by Jack Straw part 5
[...continued]
"My, that was so good, Sam! Did you enjoy it as much as me?" she
taunted the nearly unconscious and pitifully sobbing giant, now bleeding
from a broken nose.
It was too much for the volatile bully. "You're gonna regret
this, you bastard bitch. No one does this to my family or me. You're
as good as dead!" he managed to gasp out between sobs of pain.
"My, my, Sam. Threatening me? You ain't in a very good position
for threats. And such language! I guess you ain't learned your lesson
yet. Good!" she smiled down at him, feeling another tingle in her pussy
at the prospect of beating him further. "There's just so much to punish
you for, considerin' all the evil you've done in your short span on this
earth! And so many lessons to teach such a disgustin' member of the
weaker sex."
"How about a little demonstration of the strength of a woman's
leg? Pa was amazed that last time at how I could pulverize him with
just my glorious legs. The legs I built up by riding Dragon bareback
and racing him in the meadow and pushing against heavy rocks with them."
She now laced one of her legs over Sam's and drew it up so that his
thick thigh rubbed against her deliciously firm derriere.
The man sobbed in fear of what was to come next. "Now don't cry,
my big baby. I'm going to give you a big advantage and if you can stop
me from doing what I want, I'll let you up to go free. If you lose, you
deserve to lose, for pretending to be strong when you're just a big soft
crybaby. I'm going to slowly straighten out that big leg of yourn and
then I'm going to start bending it backwards the way nature don't
intend. Did you hear how Pa's knees was both broke when he died? But
I'm giving you a big advantage. You can wrap your other leg around it
to stop me. Yeah, you're already doing it -- you catch on quick
sometimes, too bad you're such a log head otherwise. Now there's no way
a girlie like me, a girlie who makes you all hot and bothered, there's
no way I can push out against those two big legs of yourn, especially
after I told you what I'm going to do -- one girlie leg against two
tough cowpoke ones? So just stop you're crying, you big baby."
Emerging from the now cool water of the tub, Apel was curious to
see what was happening. He watched through the crack in the curtain
stupefied and, despite his horror at her brutality, his penis lurched
into a painfully hard state as her delicious leg muscles, one of many
lust-inducing women parts he rarely saw, bunched, expanded, and
separated into smooth individual cords of seemingly immense power. Sam
grunted with effort, terrified to feel both of his legs being moved by
her single one. He put all his energy and huge musculature into
stopping this movement and seemed to succeed when his leg had moved from
the sharp angle of the beginning of this "contest" to a little beyond 90
degrees.
"Are you giving it all you've got, Sammy?" she asked in a voice
that betrayed effort but was controlled in comparison to his gasping
grunts. She grinned ominously down into his eyes and gloated at the
evidence of his effort in the sweat-bathed brow, indeed his entire body
between them was wetter and hotter from his effort to prevent further
pain and humiliation at the hands of this woman he had wanted so badly.
"Yes, I believe you are, but it isn't enough, Sammy, not nearly enough,"
she smiled into his bewildered eyes as she hissed with the effort of
putting more pressure against the combined pressure of his two big,
burly legs. Apel was astounded by the increased expansion of her legs,
lethal and erotic at the same time.
Looking superciliously into Sam's agonized face, she raised an
eyebrow in mock surprise, "My, it seems my little leg IS stronger than
both of yours. It's -- no -- contest!" She cried exultantly,
orgasmically, as she powered the three legs outward so that Sam's
entwined leg was now completely straight and his other leg was mainly
useless at that angle. She pressed her big breasts dominantly into his
imploding chest, her hard nipples burrowing into his skin as she powered
her rock hard, bulging leg bending backward toward her the mighty globes
of her sensuous derriere. Though she was doing so against the thick
legs of her adversary, one of which was bending at the knee in the
direction nature never intended, she seemed to be expending no more
effort than a school girl lying on a bed reading a book and bending her
legs in absent joy. Sam had never lost his second erection completely
and in her effort Sally found her thatch grinding down on this dominated
male shaft and felt it respond. As she snapped his leg with a vicious
contraction of her thick leg muscles, she had her second orgasm,
squeezing her clit tightly against Sam's hard penis and mashing it into
his soft bowels. Shrieking in abject pain, the broken bully felt
utterly degraded, not even realizing that his dominated member had
spurted weakly once again.
"My Sam, you weren't any challenge at all! I had no idea how much
stronger my sexy female legs were. Feeling my muscles get bigger and
bigger and besting a big blowhard like you is givin' me the love fever
again. I feel hot all over. Sometimes I just can't get enough!" She
bent his head toward the sculpted basin that was her powerful, trim
abdomen and forced him to lick up the goo he had deposited on its
corded, velvety surface. Then, moaning in arousal, she pushed him
backward and plopped her snatch roughly onto his face and forced him to
suck out her juices.
"Oh, Sam, wouldn't it be great if I was doing this to you? If you
were man enough to make me suck on this little poker of yourn," she
taunted, amid her lustful moaning, batting his limp, abraded member
roughly back and forth. Then, mashing her slit brutally down on his
nose and mouth, she rode him like the broncos she loved to tame. "Yes,
oh, YEEESSS!" In her lustful frenzy she laced her ankles together and
squeezed her bulging thighs around his skull, bringing her sex more and
more tightly against her face. Grinding it, grinding it, until Apel was
sure his nose would be gone if she ever let up. Slowly her orgasm wound
down and she opened her thighs. Sam's head plopped limp and unconscious
against the floor, his face bloodied at the nose and mouth.
She straddled him imperiously and bent down over the spent male.
Slapping him to revive him, she cooed, "Don't pass out on me yet, Sam.
You still have one limb that's not broken. And you still have a lot of
joints I could break. How about seeing if you can use your good leg and
your bad one to keep me from breaking your ribs in a scissors hold? You
could put your back into it as well. Surely, I can't hurt you in a hold
like that. And if not -- you get to leave. You can crawl right out of
here. "
Apel, from his voyeuristic perch, was stunned at how aroused he
was at the wanton display of female power and raw sex that he was
witnessing. He could not feel sorry for the big bully; he suspected he
deserved what he was getting. But Sally did not let up. He was shocked
by the dark sides of her personality. The same girl who seemed to be
almost tender with him had been vicious in subduing her (jealous?) horse
and now this. Apel had known men who became drunk on battle lust, and
Sally seemed almost orgasmically intent on ripping the big man apart
until he was dead. And he had heard enough of her comments about her
father to guess that this wouldn't be the first man she had crushed to
death. Apel felt he had to intervene. He spied his gun in a corner of
the room and, wrapping a towel around his dripping body, he went out to
confront the mighty virago.
Sally had Sam in an accordion hold with her legs. Sam's body was
bent in a V, resting on his big rear end, with his legs in the air as
one side of the V and his back nearly upright as the other side. Sally
meanwhile was resting on her elbows and jutting derriere at right angles
to the wadded up man, using her powerful thighs to close the V to an I.
Sam was furiously straining to prevent her from slamming him together.
He only knew that if she succeeded, it would somehow mean more pain and
broken bones for him.
"He's had enough, Sally. Let him go before you kill him or
permanently cripple him. You don't want that on your conscience," Apel
said quietly looking down on them.
"I'm afraid you're too late, Sir Galahad. He's crippled already,
but perhaps you're right," she said in a measured tone, looking up
calmly behind her at the gun in the trail boss's hand. The pointed look
on her face made him think about the reason he was holding a gun. That
was the equalizer in this situation. In a physical struggle or a battle
of wills, she would demolish him. He was admitting as much. He felt
foolish holding a gun on someone who wasn't threatening him, even more
so that it was a woman, in age still almost a girl. But what a girl!
He felt his crotch meat swell anew and relaxed his guard.
She struck so quickly that Apel was caught off guard. He had been
standing behind her as she had Sam in a the scissors hold slowly
squeezing the two halves of Sam together with her awesomely swollen
thigh and calf muscles. In a blur of movement, she pushed both Apel's
ankles away from her with mighty thrusts of each hand, so that Apel fell
forward right into her arms. The gun flew out of his hand, landing well
out of his reach. She cuddled the trail boss securely, speaking to him
softly in seductive tones, kissing his lips and neck. Embarrassed to
have been controlled so easily, he struggled to break free, but she
hardly seemed to notice.
"He's had enough when I say so. You don't live in these parts;
you don't know this varmint like I do. He's got the thickest skull in
creation. This is the only way. I won't kill him, though it'd be easy
and nobody'd miss him. And he'll recover, but he'll never be the same
in either his head or his body. I'm doing it because I CAN do it, and
if it gives me pleasure, well -- that's my business. I answer to no
man," she whispered throatily.
She kissed Apel deeply and, ripping away the tented towel over his
fully erect member, gently stroked him nearly to the point of release.
"You've been enjoying this. Don't deny it," she whispered sensuously.
As she continued to draw all the air from his lungs with her powerful
kiss, panic mixed with arousal for him. He desperately pushed at her
with all his ebbing strength, but, caught in her own arousal, she seemed
not to notice. Moaning softly, she closed the V of Sam's body and
proceeded to splinter first the backs of his ribs and then amazingly the
fronts as her iron-hard leg muscles cut through Sam's fatigued muscles
like a knife through butter. She tensed her muscles as delicious waves
of pleasure washed over her. Two proud specimens of the male sex,
accustomed to having their orders obeyed without question, were so
overmatched physically by this virago that their struggles merely
stimulated her to greater heights of sexual bliss. "Mmmm," she gasped,
releasing Apel's lips just as the overwhelmed trail boss had sunk into a
feverish swoon. Swimming back to the surface of consciousness, he
shakily gulped in needed air. She plied him with soft kisses over his
neck and bared chest. Devilishly running her fingers over his turgid
member and sensitive testicles, she reduced him to a limpid, dizzy
puddle of male flesh, incapable of any brain activity other than urgent
sexual desire.
"Get yourself another whiskey, Buck Apel, and wait for me. I
won't be long, and you won't regret it. I can please you in ways you
never dreamed." He struggled for as much dignity as he could muster as
he retrieved the towel to cover his seeping, bobbing member, and walked
away.
Stretching lasciviously, the mighty woman released Sam from the
vise of her legs. He plopped limply on the floor like a big lump of
jelly. "Well, Sam, you're just a puddle of flesh, now. How about
giving me that spankin' you said I needed? Oh, I guess not -- you can't
even raise your arms. Even if I draped myself over you, you couldn't
support me. But I could spank YOU, couldn't I?" she taunted ominously.
"Your butt is the only thing I haven't abused yet. I believe in giving
all parts of the body equal attention. That's what I've done in working
my body and it seems to have paid off," she said in a mock innocent
tone, and examined her body in mock seriousness as she flexed all of her
muscles in an terrifying display of feminine physique and, at the same
time, an arousing display of frank pulchitrude.
She pulled up a sturdy chair and draped Sam's limp form over one
magnificent thigh. Sam's limp penis was squashed flat against the iron
muscles of her thigh as she tenderized and bruised his butt mercilessly.
As she brutalized the big man, she eyed Apel in undisguised amusement
through the parted curtain as he sat uncomfortably trying to hide his
full-blown erection and looking around for the whiskey bottle. But
tiring of Sam's piteous whining and the lack of challenge, she pushed
what remained of the former bully onto the floor.
Laughing at the poor man's weak protests, she said reflectively,
"You're right. This isn't fair. Since you have only one limb that
isn't broken, you can't defend yourself. Of course, that's because MY
limbs were so superior that they demolished yours, but, to even things
up a bit, how about a chest fight? Your flat male slabs against my big
female bosom. You probably think I'm too soft up there and you're too
hard. Right?"
She snickered as Sam instinctively tried to crawl away from her.
She couldn't stop humiliating him, grinding him until nothing was left,
because at the back of her mind she remembered what a simpering bully he
had been, so cock sure of his invincibility -- now revealed to be so
utterly inferior to her, a woman he lusted after and sought to abuse
like he had everyone else. But how inferior, how low could she bring
him? It aroused her deliciously, intensely, almost unbearably, to think
of ever more ways to degrade him further.
"But first, we must eliminate that last limb to do this properly."
She kissed Sam delightedly as his eyes widened at the threat of more
pain. "Is your leg stronger than my arm?" She draped one leg across
his thighs on the gravel floor and gripped the ankle of his good leg
with one hand. Though Sam squirmed frantically, she controlled it
easily, straightened it, and began to curl her arm upward. Her biceps
popped out in awesome ridges of rock hard female muscles and with a loud
crack another knee was broken.
She lifted the sobbing man against the wall and held him aloft as
she thrust her large breasts forcefully against his. She put her hands
on her hips and spread her legs so that he was securely trapped in place
with just the power of her mighty chest. With his mindless squirming,
he resembled a large bug mounted in a museum, the pins that held him in
place being her large but firm breasts riveted against his imploding
chest with her thick bullet-like nipples. The sexual charge she derived
from demonstrating female superiority in this way stiffened her breasts
even further. Indeed, it even surprised her that her big female breasts
and powerful underlying chest muscles could prove so superior. The man
began to whimper from this new, completely unexpected source of pain.
"Gee, Sam, not only am I much bigger up there but much stronger too."
She began to take deep, powerful breaths that made the overmatched male
expel his lungs in a loud HUWHOOP sound. As she expelled her breath
slowly and easily, smirking at the deep lines of pain etched on his
face, he managed to croak, "Please! I can't breath. You're suffocating
me! My ribs hurt bad. Please!"
"More and more proof of the stronger sex, huh, Sam? Suffocatin'
ya just by breathing in and out. You are nothin'!" She took a
prodigiously deep breath and was rewarded with another cracking sound,
this time from his chest. His chest contracted in sobs of pain but no
sound emerged from his starved lungs. Having wrested another
humiliating defeat from him, she let him slide ignominiously to the
floor.
"Ya know, Sam, I believe I could beat you to death just with my
big hooters." And she proceeded to pummel the long-since defeated and
openly sobbing male by twisting her torso fiercely from side to side.
Her large breasts slammed into first one side and then the other of his
face. They landed so hard that his head was rocketed against one
shoulder and then another. He stiffened his neck and raised his head to
protest but immediately regretted it, as she landed a particularly
powerful blow, and his neck cracked from the impact. After her return
blow rocked him to the other side, she realized that his head was now
wobbly and heeded his screeching cries. "Oh, God, Sal, my neck. You're
killing me! I think it's broken," he cried piteously.
"Oh, you baby, I doubt that but you might be right. Is there any
part of your body that is a match for me? How about your pride and joy,
that dribbling cock of yours? Could it stand up to a good squeezin'
inside my joy box?"
"Leave me alone, please," he sobbed abjectly, but she merely
laughed.
Fatigued by having come twice, his cock could manage only a
rubbery but fully inflated erection as she kneaded it roughly and fed it
into her hot slit. She gently and teasingly ran her hands over his body
and slowly brought herself up and down on his member. The contorted
look of pain on his face melded with a vacant look of pleasure.
"Is that as big as it gets?" she taunted in mock disappointment.
"Well, no matter," she murmured enigmatically as she brought her lips
down toward his. "Shall I stop, Sam, or are you enjoying yourself
finally?" she whispered as she continued her slow rhythmic pumping.
"Shall I stop?" she repeated.
"No," he gasped hopefully. "Please don't stop. It feels so
good!"
"That's how it can be for someone I respect. But I don't respect
you. Sure you don't want me to stop? Remember how much woman I am and
how little man you are. If I go on, I'll surely pulverize your little
thing. Crush it to a pulp with my love muscles. Sure you want me to
continue?" she teased as his ragged breathing indicated he was near
explosion. [continue...]
-
The Lady Blacksmith, by Jack Straw part 6 (final)
[...continued]
Sweating with the exquisite pleasure that crowded out all else
from his mind -- the pain, his broken body, the humiliation of being so
utterly inferior -- he nearly screamed in abject lust, "Yes! Yes!"
"Well, I warned you, but I guess you don't believe me. Don't
believe how inferior the male organ is to the female one," she hissed
and grunted with effort as she concentrated her energy on contracting
the muscles of her mighty vagina.
"Oh, God, stop! Stop!" he screamed and tried to rise up. "You're
gonna BUST it! Please, stop."
"Stop?" she taunted. "Isn't this what you wanted? To feed your
little thing inside me? And now you find that you're not up to the task
of merely pleasuring me with it, because it's so puny and weak!" She
twisted her hips as she contracted her vaginal muscles viciously on his
member. Gathering her feet under the point of coitus she suddenly
flexed her legs awesomely and stood up, ripping the heavy man up solely
by the grip she had on his penis with her mighty vagina. His head and
feet drooped toward the ground as his middle connected by his spongy
member in her powerful slit, was held aloft between her long legs.
Blood seeped from ruptures in his once proud member caused by the vise-
like grip of her much stronger sex organ.
Sam's loud screams echoed throughout the smithy. Apel wanted not
to watch, now terrified at this crazy woman, but found himself even
closer to sexual explosion at this primal demonstration of the power of
the female.
Sam screamed and lost his erection but she did not release him
from her love muscle. His member stretched pitifully as she yanked him
up and then bounced him on the floor, her only grip on him being the
mighty clenching of his member with her snapping pussy. "Gee, Sam, why
are men so proud of these puny things? If this is the seat of your
power, no wonder men are so weak. My sex organ can hold up that fat
body of yours with no problem but your organ doesn't seem to be able to
handle it."
Having made her point, she released him and let him fall heavily
onto his back, his broken ribs sending intense waves of pain to match
that of his wounded groin. He wanted to massage his ruptured penis but
couldn't lift his arms to reach it. He sobbed in complete degradation.
She regarded him triumphantly, utterly without sympathy. After
letting him rest briefly on his back, she straddled him and devilishly
massaged him with the knowing touch of a woman that invariably arouses a
man. His member, though purplish and seeping blood, began to swell.
She giggled mischievously. "Gee, Sam, that little guy don't know when
to quit. Maybe he wants another ride," she teased, exulting in the
abject look of terror in the formerly arrogant bully.
"No! No, NO -- please," he gasped.
She smiled impishly down at him. "Your mouth says no, but your
little man says yes," she laughed. She thrust his pliant member into
her sopping thatch and swallowed him up. With her boundless female
vigor, she pounded him so viciously that his balls were smashed
completely flat. Amid his high-pitched terror-laden screams she
contorted her face and clenched the muscles of her nether region so
tightly that his screams reached a feminine soprano pitch. "You broke
it!" he screamed. "You broke me, you --" but he caught himself before
uttering the epithet and sobbed in utter humiliation at the realization
that he was so terrified of her he dared not say it.
"How does it feel to be raped, Sam? Not much fun on the other
side of things is it?" she spat at him. There was one more thing to do.
She had been putting it off, waiting until death would be a relief to
him. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pressed her bicep against
his throat. "Answer, me, Sam, and tell the truth," she demanded. "Were
you one of the men who attacked Betsy that night?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"You know very well. Answer me or I'll crush your throat and you
know I can." She flexed her bicep until he gurgled.
"I wasn't there, Sal, I swear. It was my cousins, not me.
Believe me," he cried pleadingly, piteously, feebly.
"I believe you. It's the only thing she would tell me. She was
afraid I'd get hurt avenging her I guess. Well, your cousins are next
on my agenda. Too bad you won't be able to warn them first. How can
you live with yourself, running around with them, knowing they did that?
You disgust me!" She squeezed until he gurgled again. "Just remember,
I could have killed you but I didn't."
Disgusted that he still whimpered and screamed as she moved on top
of him, she muttered, "Oh shut up!" Dropping her large, pliant cleavage
over his face, she smothered his cries with her bounteous breasts.
Suddenly robbed of air, the utterly demolished male thought he was being
smothered to death and struggled feebly with his crushed body against
her. Toying with him to the end, she giggled, "I thought you liked my
big breasts! That's all I'm using to hold you down." True enough, her
hands were on her hips and she was straddling him so as not to touch him
except with her cleavage and the magnificent globes that gripped his
face in a tight seal. When she felt him stop struggling, she lifted her
lethal bosom off his unconscious but weakly breathing visage.
She stretched her magnificent, nude, beautiful physique in triumph
and noted that Apel was frozen in an open-mouthed stupor on the other
side of the curtain. Bending down in most feminine and arousing fashion
for Apel's benefit, she hefted the unconsciousness pile of flesh that
had once been a swaggering bully up onto her powerful shoulders and
easily carried him toward the door to her horse's stall. She opened the
door and draped Sam's body over her horse. "Dragon, I've got a job for
you." After whispering in the horse's ear, she slapped him on the rear,
and the horse sauntered off slowly in the direction of the town doctor's
office.
Apel had seen it all, mesmerized, half in lust, half in fear of
this virago. As his wet body cooled and he began to shiver, his pride
forced him to a decision. Quietly he dried himself and put on his
clothes. He studied his options for escape, but saw only the front door
as an exit. As she was busy loading the beaten pulp onto her horse, he
walked quickly toward the door, thinking that once outside he would be
the man he always was, in command of himself and secure in his world.
It was difficult drawing the heavy bolts for the door, but even
after he had them drawn, he couldn't move the door. He looked up to see
her leaning on the door and smiling at him. "I prefer it this way,
Apel. I prefer it that you will end up serving me and my needs against
your will. You will not be able to help yourself. It will not be rape,
because you will beg for it. But it will be because in the beginning I
wish it, not you. Yes, I prefer it this way; it excites me no end," she
ended in a whisper, kissing him deeply on the lips even as she captured
the rest of his body. Controlling him with one hand, she undressed him
with the other. Insinuating her naked, hot, moist body against his
naked body, she felt his resistance weakening and his prong poke into
her bush. She laughed throatily, aroused by her imminent conquest and
the demands she would make of him. She would break him like her horse
and he would beg. Beg for release, wound up so tightly he could think
of nothing else, his pride strangled in the grip of her sexual power,
just as his muscles were now caving in to her vastly superior physique.
Another male, another conquest.
______________________________________
Back on the trail, Apel groaned in pain astride his trotting
horse. Reaching for his tobacco, he felt something else and pulled out
a bent horseshoe. He breathed shakily as he remembered the flexing of
her naked arms and torso as she had done it for him -- a souvenir. It
was bent in the shape of the first letter of her name and not the way a
male blacksmith would do it, with heat and hammer -- just plain brute
strength on cold hard metal. He gripped it and pulled at it as hard as
he could, to no avail. It had been no simple feat, but he knew that
already. He thought of her naked body and its perfection and its warmth
as she rode him mercilessly in her overstuffed feather bed. His revery
was interrupted as his sore cock erected and pressed painfully against
the pommel of the saddle.
He sighed. It took all his willpower not to go back and risk
another look, another ride with her, but he kept on going. Let her be
the death of someone else she liked; let her toy with someone else. He
had men to command. The man among men was he. He smiled ruefully.
After being put in place by the lady blacksmith, being a man among men
didn't mean much anymore.
Oh, well, it could be worse. He thought about his hungover cook
suffering on the bumpy trail as the wagon bounced heavily on its iron
wheels, one of them brighter than the others from its recent repair.
Each bump would jar his aching head and make him swear to never drink
again, as it always did. Apel smiled.
Or it could be much, much worse. He stared off in the distance, a
troubled expression on his face. He was thinking of Sam. Then he
thought of the Roen boys, Sam's cousins, and shivered. Why did it
bother him so much? They were nothing to him, whereas Betsy had been
very special. Still, there was a line beyond which even frontier
justice usually didn't stray. He had answered the Sheriff's questions
about Sam in a way that was truthful but revealed nothing, and said
nothing at all about the cousins. She had left him during the night
while he slept soundly, dead from exhaustion. That much he knew. He
was still miffed that she had given him no chance to intervene. Betsy
had meant something to him, too. When he awoke toward morning, he could
have tried to track her. It would have been easy, considering the size
of her horse, but he knew it was too late. He hung around town long
enough to see her return, completed his business amidst the excited
gossip that followed, and left.
He rolled a cigarette, lit it, took a long puff, and kept his
horse headed away from the town he hated. Each mile he put between them
made it easier not to go back. At least he hoped so. It had been
damned hard so far. Why hadn't he stayed longer? Why had he stayed at
all? He stuffed the bent horseshoe deep into his saddle bag and kept
going.
Back in town a beautiful woman with an extraordinary physique was
packing her most prized possessions into a large trunk. Finally, she
could leave this town she hated. Quite unexpectedly, in the space of 24
hours she had freed herself of a burden that she hadn't even realized
she was carrying. She paused as she laid into the trunk two faded
photographs, one of her mother and the other of her now distant best
friend. Her eyes misted as she gazed at her mother's long-suffering
face. The daughter knew that her mother would not have approved of what
she had done to avenge them, but she didn't care. She would never be
the victim her mother had been. No, quite the reverse. If a man
deserved it, she would dish it out -- and enjoy it. That's the way it
should be and that's the way it would be in her world. [THE END]
Ok, this has been a long one but I hope you may have enjoyed it, personally I consider it one of my favourite by Jack Straw.
I'll continue to post what I have but you feel free to applaud ;D
-
or Jack Straw, whoever this.
-
Dear jjwalker, thanks Jack Straw, not me; he is/was the author, I'm just posting here some stories he wrote and I saved on my HD before they had been removed from where they were hosted (mainly Diana the Valkyrie's Library), unfortunately he is missing from several years.
It would be great to see some of these stories illustrated, even if I don't know how I/we can manage to find someone willing to (and just for fun/free), maybe we can find a way to coordinate some effort on this directon? Actually a couple of Jack's stories have been illustrated years ago on a now defunct site; I managed to post one here on Saradas while the other (the better one?) is lost forever.
On the meantime I'll post another story.
-
RECOMPENSE FOR RAPISTS, by Jack Straw (part 1)
She had seen them out of the corners of her eyes as she hefted the huge
barbell. Their shadows flitted in the dimly lit hallway beyond the open
door as they crept in hiding. Unconcerned, she concentrated on her
exercise. The steel bar of the barbell bowed slightly and seemed to
groan in protest under the stress of too much weight. As she began each
repetition, her arm, shoulder, and chest muscles exploded into bulging
relief, the oversize T-shirt suddenly stretched beyond its limits and
tearing at the seams.
After calmly finishing the routine, she broke off her exercises early.
Nonchalantly, she walked to the showers, using a towel to wipe the
profuse sweat from her brow. As she pulled the sweatband from her hair,
the long, curly mane spilled out over her broad shoulders. Sweat soaked
her T-shirt and emphasized her awesome, voluptuous physique.
In the shower room she peeled off her clothes and listened for the
sounds of approaching footsteps. As she showered, she heard the locker
room door softly creak, but let the water continue its forceful massage
of her beautiful, powerful body. She turned off the water, reached for
the towel, dried her lovely face, thrust her hair back to dry it as
well, and turned to face the door to the shower area. There they were,
insolently leering at her nude body revealed in all its stunning
athletic and sexual perfection. She recognized them, and was not
surprised. Three large, strong men, they were the coach she had
replaced at the school, a burly construction worker, and a former
student who had been the state heavyweight wrestling champion two years
before. They were about her height and weight, perhaps even a little
larger. She was a large woman, but, despite the impression gained from
stories about her strength, she was not a giant. The men facing her
were proud of their physiques; their stretched sleeveless shirts
revealed rippling muscles and deep, hairy chests.
She suspected what they had in mind but showed no sign of concern. She
coolly continued toweling off. Her large breasts undulated ever so
slightly as she thrust them out to dry off her back. Capped with huge
nipples erect from the evaporation of water, the lift of these out-sized
mammaries was mesmerizing, intimidating. They seemed to defy gravity
unless you looked closely at the thick underlying pectoral muscles. The
men in their transfixed fascination noted only that the out-thrust bust
had the amazing, alluring dimensions and perfect shapes heretofore only
envisioned in their fantasies. Her love channel winked at them beneath
its luxurious bush as she dried each leg on a bench, thigh and calf
muscles bulging and bunching with each movement. Her aplomb
momentarily put them off guard. Despite its rippling musculature, the
ultrafeminine allure of her body had them panting with sexual arousal
and yet she did nothing to hide her charms.
She spoke first and broke the spell. "Okay boys, the show is over. Now
I suggest you leave. And don't ever even think of coming in here
again." Only the glow of her lovely green eyes betrayed her inner anger.
The coach, fairly drooling with lust and swaggering with the security of
numbers, managed an evil grin. "You're not in a position to tell us
what to do. We know you're alone. Beg us to leave, miss Smarty Pants."
Calmly, evenly, she repeated: "Leave. Leave now and none of you will
get hurt."
"What a relief! And just how would we get hurt?" the coach responded
sarcastically.
"Oh, isn't she feisty. I love taming these liberated bitches. This is
going to be fun," hooted the construction worker.
The former coach's two companions each grabbed one of her arms. As she
pushed the two assailants backward toward the wall with a mighty thrust
of her planted legs and powerful torso, the coach rushed in to help.
Braced against his cohorts, who were now forced against the wall and
struggling to bend her arms behind her, she launched a devastating kick
into the coach's gut. Air exploded from his wounded diaphragm as he
dropped to the ground and gasped for breath. Meanwhile, his surprised
companions found themselves being propelled to the floor over the
incredible woman's bent thighs. She had managed to get an arm behind
each of their backs and, flexing awesomely, heaved them forward in a
double hip roll. They clambered angrily to their feet and attacked her
again. The first one dove into her granite-hard midsection, jamming his
neck in the process; the other grabbed her shoulders and pushed down.
Together, they managed to wrestle her to the floor. The first one (the
construction worker) regretted it immediately, for he found himself
between her legs as she clamped his considerable girth in a waist
scissors. She flexed her leg muscles and grimaced with effort as the
muscles bulged and grew rigid with vise-like power. An audible crunch
signalled the demise of some ribs and the poor man groaned in agony as
she opened her legs to grapple with the former high school heavyweight
champ, whom she had maneuvered into a crunching bear hug and then into a
headlock. His nose and mouth were wedged into one of her armpits, and,
threatened by suffocation and feeling his skull painfully constricted
from the rigid bulges of her arm muscles, he was struggling violently to
extricate himself. Despite his efforts, the mighty woman easily clung
to the debilitating hold as she rose to one knee. But, before she could
put him out completely, the coach piled on from behind. Releasing the
young heavyweight, she reached behind her and pitched the coach over her
shoulder onto the hard floor.
She rose to her feet and waited coolly for them to recover. One gulped
in needed air as the other shook the cobwebs from his brain.
Simultaneously, they charged at her. She allowed them to back her
against the wall where she had support to push against them. They each
grabbed an arm with both hands and tried to pin her arms against the
wall. Instead, incredibly, they found their arms being forced backward.
Maddened by the triumphant smile on her face, they redoubled their
efforts, panting with exertion, but to no avail. Her biceps, shoulders,
forearms, and chest muscles expanded to frightening dimensions, each
bicep bunched in awesome peaks on top of peaks and exploded in size to
the point that one would think the taut skin would rip open. Each
overmatched male had one of his arms pinned against his throat, nearly
choking him as his other arm was forced outward. Adding to their
predicament was that to provide leverage in their efforts they had
thrust their legs back and leaned forward. As she kicked at their
ankles to unbalance them, they pitched forward, face-first into her huge
firm breasts, which hardly sagged despite supporting their weights.
Indeed, as she took a deep breath for her next move, they were propelled
upward by these turgid, sexy globes. Rapidly, she shrugged her arms
from their loosened grips and grasped each of their heads. Grimacing
with effort, she banged their heads together and then pushed down hard.
They plunged unceremoniously down the sweat-slicked colossus that was
her body into a confused heap on the floor. This time she followed,
clamping the one on top in a head scissors, while forcing the other's
arm back in an excruciating arm bar as she sat comfortably on his back,
working the two holds mercilessly. Befuddled, the men refused to
believe that she was somehow in charge of a situation in which she had
been pitted against three burly men, each having successfully vanquished
countless men (and defenseless women) in their violent lives. Yet,
their best efforts were futile; they succeeded only in exhausting
themselves.
"Is this the best you guys can do? You all should join a health club
and get in shape," she taunted them, laughing and breathing easily while
they wheezed noisily. The young heavyweight succumbed to the suffocating
scissors in which the moist bush between her legs covered his mouth and
nose. His hands and strong arms struggled to pry her legs apart but
without effect, and he soon swooned. As she allowed him to plop limply
from her parted gams, she proceeded to lift and then toss the startled
former wrestling coach against the wall. While the coach shook the
stars from his muddled brain, she bound up his young protege by ripping
off his shirt and tieing his hands together behind his back, hiking down
his pants below his knees, and using the belt to bind hands and feet
together. She did the same to the construction worker who had been
incapacitated early on when she squeezed too hard with her legs and
crunched some ribs. Breathing and any other movement was so painful
that he put up no resistance.
Hands on hips, she waited for the coach to regain his feet. As he gazed
at her imposing figure, he was a mixture of emotions. He still lusted
after this woman, the desire to possess such an embodiment of voluptuous
ripeness had him in a state of near insanity. At the same time, he
hated her for the many humiliations he had suffered since she entered
his life. First there had been that party just after she joined the
school's faculty. Somehow--he couldn't remember how it started--he
half-jestingly had challenged a couple of men to arm wrestle to prove
that he was as strong as he contended. When he easily beat one of them
and a crowd gathered, he challenged the other, who conceded without a
contest. But to his amazement, the newly-hired girl's gym teacher
nonchalantly stepped forward and took up the challenge. From the moment
they had first met, this woman had him stupefied with lust. Just
looking at her put him in a state of erection; and at this party she was
doing little to hide her bounteous bosom, trim waist, and curvaceous
legs, which were breathtakingly revealed by her miniskirt and emphasized
by her high-heeled sandals. Filling her glass with a beer, she sat down
and planted her elbow on the table. She had removed a loose half-open
sweater that had covered her arms. Audible gasps and murmurs greeted
the upper body now revealed. Merely crooking her elbow had caused huge
muscles to bunch in her bicep and forearm. Her bare midriff clenched in
washboard relief as her huge breasts threatened spill out of the
straining halter top that barely covered their lower halves. Her
voluptuous lips formed a taunting smile and the scent of her perfumed
breasts wafted to him. He felt challenged sexually as well as
physically. Laughing shakily, he put up his arm and they began. Soon,
despite his pretence of not taking it seriously, he began to struggle.
Without any seeming effort she had forced his arm slowly toward the
table and then stopped. Drinking her beer and carrying on a
conversation about her upcoming semester, she was implicitly demeaning
and taunting him. He had to put her in her place. But he couldn't. He
forced her arm upward slightly and then it stopped. It was like a brick
wall. As if she were doing nothing more than stretching her limbs, she
casually asked for another beer. He began to sweat profusely and his
face darkened with the effort. She toyed with him in this way until it
was obvious to everyone that he was exhausted whereas she had hardly
expended any effort, and then she drained the second beer and slammed
his arm to the table. [continue...]
-
RECOMPENSE FOR RAPISTS, by Jack Straw (part 2)
[...continued]
Then there had been the charity race at which she easily beat him and
various picnics at which she bested him at whichever sport he entered.
Eventually, he stopped going to these outings to avoid the humiliation.
And finally, she had won the job as strength coach for all the varsity
sports, a job that he had wanted. But, even the newspaper had touted
her superior credentials and career as a bodybuilder. It had been his
burning mission to best her at something and to satiate his secret lust
for her body, but he had never come close to either. Although she had
spurned his advances, he was certain that if he could but once show her
his cocksmanship, she would be his. When she had led a successful
campaign to allow girls on the wrestling team, he had resigned in
protest and she had been appointed interim wrestling coach, to the
discomfiture of the boys. She had been circumspect, though: she
demonstrated holds and moves only with the girls. Despite the best
wrestler, the state-champion heavyweight (now slumped against the wall),
having quit immediately, the team prospered and eventually won the state
tournament with boys and girls. When she won the job permanently and
later her team soundly whipped the team at the school where the former
coach had finally found a job, he had vowed to humiliate her someday.
Hence, the desperate act that he and the others had come to carry out
that night. His mistake, as usual, was in underestimating her.
He now realized that neither he nor the others could match her strength,
but still he retained a defiant confidence. He had never been beaten in
street fight even against larger, stronger foes; always he found a way
(often devious) to win. If only he could find a weapon, and release his
young friend, they could still have this woman. As if reading his mind,
she backed away slightly, daring him to make a move. He jumped for the
doorway of the shower room, but she was much faster. Now in her
clutches, he began to panic, realizing that he was now alone against
her. Reversing the cliche of girl against boy, he began to kick and
bite. Laughingly, she held him in such a way that the kicks impotently
missed their marks. When he proceeded to punch furiously at her
abdominal area, she merely clenched the muscles into iron-like ridges,
ever ready to block a punch into her genitalia. The man's forceful
blows were arrested completely by the woman's unyielding thick muscles,
and the shock of the arrested motion sprained his wrists and sent
needles of pain through his thick arms. He sensed by her mocking smile
that he was hurting himself more than her, and that she was toying with
him. Enraged, he managed a punch into one of her firm breasts that sent
her into enraged action as well. She gripped his throat in both hands,
forced him against the wall and squeezed. Immediately his hands flew up
to claw at this constricting vise. Again he kicked, but she enveloped
his lower body in a python-like hold with her legs. Seeing his panic,
she was amused once again, and removed one hand. As the other hand
remained in a lethal grip on his throat, he now pulled with both hands
on the arm that was squeezing his neck. Mockingly, she was challenging
him to a test of strength, both his arms against one of hers. He
focused all his energy into his arms, muscles straining and bulging,
veins popping into view, chest expanded, his face purple with effort.
And yet... with each increase in his efforts, he saw the muscles of her
bent arm bulge out further to terrifying proportions beyond his belief,
the pectoral muscles beneath her torpedo-like right breast bunched and
flexed and causing the breast to ripple and pop out further. Now dizzy
with the effort and loss of air, he could not believe this was
happening. How could a woman be so strong? Even the adrenalin surging
to prevent his death was not enough. That this was a woman could not be
more apparent either, in all her nude glory. Her mammoth breasts
pressed against his chest and her naked loins trapped his impotent male
organs, which were confined by his clothes and the grip of her thighs.
As consciousness receded, he was dimly aware of being sexually aroused
by contact with this superwoman.
Mercifully, she released her grip at that moment and he sank to his
knees, massaging his throat and weakly sucking in air, barely aware that
she was ripping off his clothes. She had no intention of killing these
guys, only of teaching them a lesson, and it seemed inappropriate that
she was naked but he was not. In addition, another type of lesson had
occurred to her as she felt him erect as he began to pass out. And his
friends were both awake to see this. She always kept a wary eye on their
state and made sure that she was positioned to prevent any escape. This
might be interesting!
She waited until the coach regained his breath. Looking around for his
clothes, all he saw was his briefs. She was twirling them on one
finger, again with that mocking smile on her face. It was a symbolic
gesture of triumph. Three burly men had attacked a naked woman. Not
only had she repelled their attack, but denuded them as well. Clearly,
she held the upper hand. Fearing more physical pain and humiliation, he
tried to back out of the situation.
"Look, you win. Give me my clothes and we'll leave. We'll never bother
you again."
She leaned against the doorway and even in repose, her musculature was
immense; she seemed to fill up the room. But how achingly beautiful she
was! And her alluring femininity was brazenly displayed for all to see.
She smiled merrily as he tried to hide his engorging prick.
"No, I don't think so," she said finally. "I don't think I can let you
go just yet. You came to rape me. Well, there is no clothing to
prevent it now, so give it your best shot. Or maybe I'll rape you.
That would make a nice story, don't you think? Woman defiles rapist."
She fondled her breasts suggestively.
"Oh, come on, this is nonsense. You can't rape me. A woman can't rape
a man." Still, the thought of some sort of sexual combat with this
amazon fueled his erection further and made it impossible to hide.
"Oh, I think she can if she's strong enough and the man is .... Well,
unless you're getting excited about the exposed butt of your young
friend, I think you find me attractive," she said eyeing his erection
with amusement. "However, I don't see how you expected to rape anyone
with such a dinky little tool between your legs." At this, his rising
erection drooped, simultaneously confirming her words and causing the
blood to rise in his face.
Enraged and humiliated, he rushed her. He was used to being the bully;
he could not stand this. Hoping that he might somehow poke her in the
eye, get her to bump her head or something, he tackled her as she
laughed and let him drag her down. They rolled around and she clamped
his arms to his sides in a sensuous bear hug. She rubbed her body
sinuously against him, felt him erect, and teasingly fondled him with
her thighs and crotch. She lifted them to standing positions and
continued her arousing, gentle ministrations with hands, lips, and feet.
Such was her superior strength that she managed to fondle him at will,
all the while keeping his limbs immobile and preventing any sort of
sexual advance on his part. He felt like a baby, completely in her
control, try as he might to free his trapped arms and legs. Soon,
oblivious to the incredulous stares of his friends, he fell into a
sexual spell. His breathing became ragged and his rigid cock begin to
twitch. Caught in the grip of impending orgasm, his limp, sweat-soaked
body slid down her voluptuous, mighty curves as she released him and put
her hands on her hips. He tried to turn away from his friends, but she
rolled him contemptuously with her feet so that his turgid cock sprang
into full view. From his prone position on the floor through half-open
eyes stung with sweat, she looked immense, all-powerful, and so
feminine, the curve of her hips receding toward the sculpted waist and
the outthrust breasts seeming to fill the room and blocking out the
light. With a mocking smile she pressed an arched foot onto his bobbing
member. He came so violently that spunk spurted onto his face and then
dribbled pathetically over his abdomen. Now that the spell was broken,
he was keenly aware of his ridiculous state in front of his friends.
"That's another problem you have, premature ejaculation. Some rapist,"
she mocked him derisively. Anger and embarrassment flared in his face,
but as he reflexively kicked at her, she caught him by the ankle and
lifted. As he hung impotently upside down, despite his violent kicking,
she managed to hold him off the floor with one immensely muscled arm,
amusing herself by using her free hand to grasp one of his hands and
smear it with the goo from his ejaculation. Bending down and folding
his body in half, she then proceeded to rub this slimy hand over his
face. Then she released him and backed away. Hands on hips, she dared
him to attack her. Somehow he had to salvage his pride and turn the
tide in favor of the males; rage blinded him to his impotence against
this virago. "I'm going to whip your ass, bitch," he cried, as he
tackled her.
The powerful amazon had released the humiliated, furious wrestling coach
and backed away. Triumphantly taking a slow, deep breath that swelled
her body in all its nude, voluptuous, awesomely muscular glory, she
imperiously scanned the room to survey the carnage of formerly proud,
brutal males. Two were bound in the remnants of their own clothes after
having been suffocated or crushed in her powerful embraces. The third,
the coach, was springing to his feet, his mind gripped with fury at the
abuse he had suffered at the hands of a WOMAN. Hands on hips, she dared
him to attack her. Somehow he had to salvage his pride and turn the
tide in favor of the males; rage blinded him to his impotence against
this virago. Unwilling to believe the depths of his inferiority, he
ignored the awesome strength she had already demonstrated. He was
taller than she was and by god he was going to teach her a thing or two
about serious fighting. "I'm going to whip your ass, bitch," he cried,
as he tackled her. Convulsed with laughter at his rage, she allowed him
to take her down. But as he clambered on top of her and readied himself
to deliver brutal punches to kidneys, breasts, and crotch, she suddenly
straightened up, lifting the startled man onto her shoulder as she
stood. Oblivious to savage punches and kicks that he was sure would
incapacitate her, she carried the frantic man to a bench along one wall.
Seating herself heavily on the bench, she folded his violently
struggling form down across her left knee and lifted her right leg over
his flailing legs. She pulled his arms behind his back and trapped
them with one mighty arm.
"Well, well. Let's see who whips whom!" And she proceeded to deliver
crackling spanks to his exposed rear end. The searing pain of
blistering slaps and bruises on top of bruises delivered by that oh-so-
powerful arm had him bellowing like a wounded animal. When his will to
fight was drained by exhaustion and pain, she pulled him to his feet and
forced him to caress, kiss, and suck her voluptuous flesh. Crushing a
hand caused his mouth to open as it was pressed upon a strategic site,
such as the nipple of one of her turgid breasts. This lascivious
activity had the inevitable effect on his male appendage and soon he was
on the verge of orgasm again. But this time she denied him this
release, amusing herself by bringing him to the edge of eruption and
then holding him motionless while his member bobbed pathetically and the
wave subsided. His friends began to despise him; they could not abide
their fallen hero suffering such indignity: he had spurted semen
impotently on himself, been spanked by a woman until he lost all self-
control, and now he was serving as a toy for her amusement, oblivious to
his debasement. Still, they could not help being stunned that a WOMAN
had done this to a male as hale and hearty as any they knew.
Scooping him up like a baby, she carried him to the shower. Under a
punishing stream of cold water she revived him, and soaped him, first
harshly, and then giggling with mischief more gently, then erotically,
until he found himself erect again. She carried him out of the shower
into full view of his friends again. So far, she had found no release
for her rising sexual stirrings, but now she intended to use him for her
pleasure.
Challenging him to perform like the stud he pretended to be, she pulled
him down on top of her and entreated him to enter her. Buoyed with
opportunity to show her his prowess, he envisioned taking charge of the
situation and making her crave his cocksmanship. He plunged his rigid
member to the hilt inside her steamy love channel. Once inside, though,
he felt his swollen prong being pulverized by the grip of her cunt
muscles and her steely legs trapped him so that he could not move.
Ripples of contractions massaged his sensitive cock; it was painful, yet
he could feel himself build toward orgasm and could do nothing to
prevent it. She could see shock and then the panic in his eyes, the
frustration of once again not being in control.
She brushed her lips lightly near his ear and said softly, "Yes, I could
milk you dry mister, and there's nothing you could do about it. We
already know that you have no self control. But this time I want you to
last." And with that she flexed her leg and cunt muscles with a sudden
jolt of power whose painful effect was to curtail his impending orgasm.
Then, with a feigned look of desire, she released her legs. "Come on
big guy, give it to me. I want to feel it."
Again feeling that she couldn't help but want his marvelous tool, he
pumped in and out. At first it felt glorious in that hot, clinging
chamber, but slowly it began to cling more tightly despite the
lubricating moisture. And she became more vociferous and demanding:
"Harder! Pump harder and faster! All the way in. You must not be
hard; I can't feel it." But he was in all the way and he had never felt
bigger. He redoubled his efforts. Never had lovemaking been so
strenuous for him. Though she seemed to his friends to be physically
relaxed, her arms at her side and her legs splayed open, the grip of her
cunt became more and more constricting. He had never considered the
possibility, but he was losing another contest of strength, a veritable
sexual combat. Never at any sport had he strained so much. He was
bathed in his own perspiration; his breath came in rasping gasps;
although it was indescribably exciting to be in contact with this
goddess beneath him, the pleasure was tempered by the exertion and the
frustration of being bested in the most inconceivable way. It was
amazing; she would seem to have been as vulnerable as possible. She was
offering no outward resistance, but she was such a specimen of vitality
that he could not even carry out the act he had come to perform. He
slumped in complete exhaustion and defeat as she ridiculed him in front
of his friends.
More surprises were in store for him. Still supine, she folded her arms
around him in a crushing embrace. She was fully aroused sexually and
her large nipples were as hard as diamonds; they bored painfully into
his skin. Her cunt continued its merciless squeezing of his overmatched
member, and as she pulled outward and down on his arms, she expanded her
massive chest to incredible dimensions merely by taking a deep breath
caused by her arousal, stretching his back to dangerous limits. She was
punishing him with her sexuality. The sexual anatomy that inflamed his
lust--her awesome bust, capped with its prominent nipples, the cunt that
he had longed to enter--was now his undoing. Not only could he not
compete with the muscles of the rest of her incredible physique, his
male anatomy could not cope with her female genitalia.
With a swift thrust and twist of her body she whirled him to the floor
with her on top, never once releasing his trapped member from her
constricting love tunnel. Reflexively, he pushed up to unseat her, but
his arms seemed like putty as she slammed them to the floor and
enveloped him, rubbing erogenous flesh against flesh. She was ready to
ride this broken horse and ride she did. She straddled him and pumped
exuberantly. She rode down painfully on his balls, preventing premature
eruption on his part, but kept him aroused by forcing him to suck her
incredible breasts and to caress her breasts, legs, etc., and by running
her own hands strategically over his body. Soon she came, nearly
smothering and crunching him from the force of her orgasms. She forced
him to suck her to further euphoria, and her strangling orgasm drove him
near unconsciousness. She slowly kneaded him with her powerful cunt
until he too came in painful spasm after spasm. Then forced his head to
her cunt to lap up the semen. These ministrations brought her to an
orgasm that this time did strangle him to unconsciousness. Still she
kneaded his now very sensitive and abused organ. As he regained
consciousness, she aroused him in spite of himself. She dropped over
him, forcing him back inside her and pumped him to orgasm, but it turned
into nightmare for him: as his feeble spurts subsided she continued to
pump harder and harder and to grip viciously just with her love muscles.
He began to babble and pleaded with her to stop. She ridiculed him for
begging her to stop doing what he had come to do to her. [continue...]
-
RECOMPENSE FOR RAPISTS, by Jack Straw (part 3)
[...continued]
At this point the young heavyweight managed finally to tear away from
his bonds. Quietly, he moved over to the small bench that she had been
drying herself on when they first confronted her. He picked it up and
intended to hit her with it, but as he brought it down toward her, she
twisted around, crushing the coach's swollen, rubbery member as she
tensed her legs for leverage. She used both hands to block the muscular
youth from crashing the bench against her head. Still gripping it, he
pushed harder. She released one hand to once again test one of her arms
against two of a male's. He had the advantage of leverage, but, as he
strained harder, his muscular arms began to tremble with the effort.
Her arm, bent and bulging once again in mountainous ridges, slowly won
the contest. He gave a final lunge, but his feet slipped and his chin
banged on the bench as she propelled it with a prodigious thrust. He
slumped unconscious. "A glass jaw, as well," she mused.
She rose from the semiconscious coach, who limply curled into a fetal
position on the floor. His spent body was of no further interest to
her. She strode purposefully over to the construction worker, ripped
off his bonds, and carried him to the doorway to the shower room.
Gently dropping him to the floor, she slid down next to him, placing her
right leg behind him to prop up his torso. She noticed in amusement
that this former he-man was trembling uncontrollably. Drawing him
close, she spoke in a low sultry voice.
"I just couldn't let you miss out on all the fun, since you were so
looking forward to it." She lifted her left leg, so sexy, so
beautifully proportioned, so muscular, and commanded him to feel it, to
caress it, from the arched foot, across the mountainous calves, down
terrifying but voluptuous thigh muscles, to the V of her crotch. Then
she had him feel his own lumpy inferior legs. She had him repeat this
arousing inspection with the rest of her body and then compare this
perfection with his own inferior body, the body with which he had always
been so proud. Finally, the closeness of her body, the stimulating feel
of her curves and velvety skin, and the gentle pressure of her left
thigh against his crotch were too much, and he spent copiously in his
underwear.
"You guys really have no self-control. Is this how you please your lady
friends, the ones who feel sorry enough for you to let you be with them?
Is this your idea of a fun: soiling your underwear?" she taunted him.
"Gee, you still haven't seen me flex. Here, let me show you."
Rising up from the floor, she bent down toward the frightened man, and
gathering the front of his sopping underwear in a firm grasp with one
hand, she lifted him off the floor with that hand and slowly curled her
arm, using him as a limp dumbbell. Her bicep peaked in awesome ridges.
The pathetic man screamed from the pain in his ribs, as his back arched
downward from his raised crotch, and from the terrible constriction of
his genitals inside the confining underwear. Realizing that he could
not see the glory of her pumped-up biceps, she lifted his head with her
other hand until his forehead banged against her meaty shoulder. She
discovered that she could force his head against her bicep, bending his
torso painfully in the process, and then by rotating her arm make her
bicep pop up further and snap his head upward. She amused herself in
this way until he had a bloody nose and cracked lip merely from causing
her bicep to pop up at the moment his face plopped down on it. Then she
bounced his head from jutting bicep to flexed bounteous boob and back.
Her fun was curtailed only when his underwear finally ripped from the
strain and he slipped to the floor.
She rubbed his face and hairy chest to remove the smelly gel that had
stuck to her hand from grasping his underwear. Then, grabbing his face
with both hands, she looked directly into his painridden eyes: "This is
what a 'liberated bitch' can do to you, buddy boy. With an inferior
body like yours, and especially with such a puny useless thing between
your legs, you'd better learn how pay proper respect. I want you to do
something you've probably never done before." And standing with her
legs parted, she thrust his face up into her nether region. "Now, get
busy!" Unable to resist, he serviced her as directed, despite knowing
what he was tasting. For him it was the ultimate humiliation.
Standing imperiously with her hands on her hips in the doorway, with the
construction worker's head locked and busily engaged at her crotch and
his body dangling limply onto the floor, she gazed challengingly at the
other two men, now revived and puzzling over what to do. "In case
you're wondering, the only way you're getting out of here is over my
shoulder when I carry your trashy hides to the dumpster. And the only
way out is through this door," she said meaningfully. Then, as the
construction worker's clumsy efforts aroused her more strongly, she
exclaimed, "Ooooh, yeah!" and closed her eyes. As she violently humped
against the poor man's crushed face in the throes of orgasm, the other
two men saw their chance and charged toward the door, hoping to at least
knock her down and escape. But even as the powerful sensations and
spasms rocked her and the man suspended between her legs, she moved to
brace herself against one side of the doorway. As they tried to plow
through her, the mighty woman caught each charging man in a one-arm bear
hug and tensed her legs so that, despite their combined weight and
momentum, she stayed upright. Stopped so abruptly, the men had the
breath knocked out of them. And as soon as it started, their charge and
their advantage was gone. Try as they might, they could not topple her,
and worse, the crush of her enormous arms was preventing breathing and
threatening their ribs. They struggled violently, but the mighty woman
held on. With her colossal strength, she twisted them so that their
wild kicks landed painfully on each other rather than her and caused
them to curse at each other. Attempts at punching her were futile
because their arms were restricted by the bear hugs and, even when
landed on her steely body, had no effect. Although it was amusing to
toy with three such arrogant buffoons, she felt it was time to end the
evening's activities. Fearing that he was nearing suffocation, she
parted her legs sufficiently to allow the construction worker to lift
his head free and then clamped her legs across his upper body.
Grimacing with effort, she then flexed her entire body. The coach and
the young wrestler felt their torsos implode as her firm mammoth
breasts, rigid nipples, and exploding biceps bored through their
inferior flesh. Snapped ribs audibly crunched amid agonizing screams.
The men begged for release. Readjusting her arms, she pressed the heads
of the two standing men down against her breasts. The pain in their
bent necks and cracked ribs caused their mouths to open and
involuntarily suck on her erect nipples. To her surprise, she found
herself once again becoming sexually excited. She parted her legs
slightly so that the construction worker's struggles could stimulate her
nether regions as well. It felt delicious, especially since these
musclebound morons were stimulating her against their will. And all
three at once! As she was sending them to their final defeat, three
once proud males were so impotent against this one female that they
could not even escape and their combined assault was merely massaging
her erogenous zones. She climaxed violently, strangling one pathetic
male between her spasming legs, smothering another in the deep valley
between her breasts and his companion between a breast and an armpit as
her body went rigid with orgasmic ecstasy.
As she emerged from her blissful state, she found that all three males
had swooned from pain and lack of air. As each revived groggily, she
had them grovel at her feet and beg for their pitiful lives, promising
vocal public support of women's athletics. With her hands on her hips
and her legs spread she demanded that they kiss her feet and her flexed
muscles. Thoroughly cowed and truly in awe of her, they complied
readily. The young wrestler, not having received any sexual release,
was so aroused by his worshipful contact with her incomparable body that
his rigid member burst through his underwear. His final punishment was
to be denied release as she applied a sleeper hold. The other two
dreamily submitted to this hold without struggle. Anything to end this
nightmare!
They awoke sometime later, groaning in the worst pain of their lives,
completely naked in a heap in a pile of smelly garbage in the dumpster
outside the gym. It was still dark outside. Painfully, they managed to
get out of the trash bin and made their way to the car. The doors were
locked but inside they could see a note saying that their keys and
clothes were in the car's trunk. Two policewomen surprised the men as
they were trying unsuccessfully to pry open the car's trunk with a
broken tree branch. They were further humiliated as the women ordered
them to freeze while they shone their flashlights over their naked
bodies, pausing playfully when each crotch was illuminated.
"Well, we can see that you are truly unarmed," they giggled. "Perhaps
you can explain what you're doing?" they mirthfully entreated. They
could not contain their amusement as the men launched into an outrageous
story and chuckled aloud when their questions met with conflicting
simultaneous answers from the flustered men. It was all the more droll,
considering the fearsome reputations of these muscular males, to see
them in such a ridiculous state and clearly unwilling to admit how it
happened. The policewomen forced them into the back of the squad car.
It was so amusing to see these bullies sitting side by side, mortified
to be discovered in this way and trying to cover their naked crotches
from the merry scrutiny of these two women. The men felt emasculated;
their false bravado had been peeled away with their clothes.
Reveling in the men's discomfiture, the women shocked them by saying,
"We know what you were doing tonight. There was a witness." Puzzled,
incredulous, the men glanced at each other: a witness ...to that? "We
know what you intended to do, slimeballs, but we can't charge you
because all you managed to do was get thoroughly trounced by your
intended victim. We're going to take your worthless carcasses home, but
I think you'd better follow through on those promises you made. Judging
by your condition, I don't think you want her mad at you! It might be
worse next time." The men groaned; they were to be laughingstocks and
marked men.
At home in bed, their intended victim languidly stretched her
voluptuous, incredibly powerful body and drifted easily into sleep,
still enveloped in the afterglow of the pleasure the men had
inadvertently given her. For the first time in her life, she felt
sexually sated. Out of consideration for her sexual partners, she had
never unleased her full passion and awesome vitality. Ironically, these
hapless males, who had started the evening seeking pleasure from her
humiliation, had instead provided the opportunity for the greatest
sexual release of her life. With them she could abandon her normal
inhibitions; they deserved no consideration, and it was such a kick to
triumph against such cowards, cocksure that their numbers and the
physiques they proudly flaunted would overwhelm her easily. As it
turned out, the male conceit had burst almost immediately: they had been
no challenge at all. She had been superior in every way: mentally,
physically, athletically, and sexually. It had always given her
pleasure in the past to defeat men whenever the opportunity arose, but
this had been so gratifying that now she saw a new mission in life. She
would seek out the biggest, most powerful, most chauvinistic of men and
vanquish them, physically and, if she chose, sexually as well. Their
myth of male superiority would be shattered and replaced by fear and
worship of the true AMAZON.
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723/8982/9897
[THE END]
-
Reckoning
by Jack Straw (part 1)
A self-absorbed college football star has a day of reckoning
It was going to be a scorcher. Already in the hazy morning sun it was
so hot and muggy that sweat was drenching his shirt just from the
simple exertion of walking up the long driveway. This was the type of
day that sapped your strength and your willpower and sometimes your
reason.
He'd better start mowing the yard before it became unbearable, Kevin
thought, wincing as he rubbed his hand across his brow. He had been
silly to volunteer to do this; the proper place to be on this Saturday
morning was in bed catching up on his sleep. He was at the house of
an old widow, winning some badly needed points with his mother.
In actuality he had only suggested doing it as a way to meet the girl
who lived next door to the widow. When he had helped his mother drop
off some stuff for the community charity headed by the old bag, he had
seen her bodacious neighbor. What a vision, she was! His heart raced
just thinking about her.
She had been off to somewhere in a hurry, dashing off in shorts and
halter top, really showing off her wares. To say that she filled out
her top nicely was an understatement and her trim, sculpted waist
flared out into a delectably packed rear end, above the best developed
legs he'd seen, nicely emphasized in high heels. He practically
creamed in his pants just looking at her. But with a sexy smile that
still lingered in his mind, she was gone before he had a chance to
talk. He had found out from the widow that she had gone to the same
high school as he, having graduated three years after he had gone off
to the State U, but he had never known her.
It had been a dry first couple of weeks of the summer in the sexual
arena. All the girls he knew at home seemed to hold silly grudges
about things that had happened long ago. He couldn't wait for the
summer to be over anyway, and for football season to start. This was
going to be his season. He was the fastest and nearly the biggest
back in the conference. His coach said all he needed was a little
more conditioning -- he was always harping on that. Why? Kevin felt
he was already stronger than other backs his size and he had the
stamina to carry the ball more -- just give it to him and he'd do the
rest. He flexed his right arm and felt the biceps swell into a
satisfying mass of rock-hard muscle. He narcissistically ran his
other hand over the warm engorged flesh. It had developed to the
point that he could no longer encompass even half its girth. He
studied the way the individual layers stood out in hard etched relief.
He thought back to that little cheerleader he had been with his last
night at the university this year. She'd been impressed! Man, had he
ever slammed it home for her, he thought, a self-satisfied smile on
his face.
His thoughts drifted back to the matter at hand. Where was the mower
the old lady had told him about before she drove off?
When he saw it, he groaned. It had to be twenty years old and didn't
look like it had been used in a long while. Well, he wasn't going to
waste all day on getting it started. It either started now, or he was
going home. He got the old mower out, checked the oil, and filled it
with gasoline from the old can. Then he proceeded to try to start it
with the old-fashioned rope tow. Ten tugs -- nothing! He fiddled
with the choke, and tried ten times more. He felt the rivulets of
sweat drain down the small of his back as he straightened up to push
the old heap of junk back in the garage. He could honestly say he'd
tried. Perhaps he'd come back later with his parents' mower.
"Hi!"
She was finishing a graceful vault over the wooden fence between the
two yards. His heart stopped. It was SHE, the luscious girl next
door! She was dressed in a long tear-away jersey that ended just
below her curvaceous hips and drew his gaping eyes downward along a
breathtaking expanse of bared legs ending in two sexy high heels.
What a crotch-riveting sight, striding over on those tanned, smooth,
muscular, long legs that rippled sexily with each stride. His leering
gaze followed up past the hour-glass waist to the jut of her bust,
with the prominent nipples making audacious little peaks inside the
tightly stretched jersey.
"Linda," she gripped his hand with a firm handshake and gave him a
dazzling smile. In her high heels she stood eye to eye with the big
fullback.
"K-Kevin" he stuttered.
"Yes, Kevin Landis. I remember you from high school. I think you've
got it flooded now." She nodded toward the mower. "There was
probably moisture on the plug. This thing hasn't been used yet this
year. I'm the only one who ever starts it, but I've been using our
mower to cut her grass. Let's take off the plug."
"Huh," he mouthed stupidly, still fixated on her body. "Uh -- I didn't
bring a wrench." He looked around for one in the widow's garage and
saw none.
"Oh, I never use a wrench any more," she said matter-of-factly.
Snatching up a mildewed scrap of old clothing along the garage wall,
she offered it to him. "Here's a rag. Just unscrew it by hand."
He looked at her condescendingly. "If you put it on without a wrench,
no wonder it won't start." He gripped the plug through the rag and
tried to turn it but it wouldn't budge.
She smiled, "See, it's not so loose. Put some muscle into it and
it'll come off."
Against his better judgement, he tried again, gripping with both hands
and rocking the mower in his effort, but as he surmised, it didn't
give at all. "If it's been on there all winter, we're not getting it
off without a wrench."
"Here, let me try," she said gently but firmly nudging him aside. Had
he not been leering at the thrusting of her breasts, he might have
noticed the veins on her beautiful hands and the rippling of her
forearms as she gripped the plug through the rag. A loud squeaking
sound of two fused pieces of metal grinding against each other met his
ears, and, she had the thing loose.
Red-faced, he looked at it. "Might as well throw it away and get a
new one; that thing is hopeless." His nose curled at the smell of
gasoline roiling off the greasy black plug.
"Just like a guy," she said good-naturedly. "Always getting something
new rather than fixing the old one. Trust me, it'll work as soon as
we clean it up." Sure enough, after she had wiped off the gasoline
and filed off the carbon with a piece of rock, put it back on with a
slight grimace of effort, it fired up on her first pull. Kevin was
mesmerized watching the sinuous movements of her body, the riding up
of her thin jersey to reveal perfect, smooth, rippling hips clad in a
bikini thong. He hoped she hadn't noticed his burgeoning hardon.
"See you later. I don't think you'll have any more trouble." Again
that dazzling, good-natured smile. She turned and was soon over the
fence with a deft, easy vault. Kevin's cock was so hard it hurt in
the confinement of his sturdy shorts.
Later, when he had to put in more gas, out of curiosity he tried to
unscrew the plug she had put on but it wouldn't budge. He merely
ended up burning his hand as it slipped through the rag on the hot
engine.
As he ruefully sucked on his knuckles to cool them off, he thought he
heard a clanking noise across the wall. He sauntered over to
investigate. Mowing sucked anyway; the reason he was here was to ogle
that babe next door.
She was stretching out on a lounge chair with bare legs extended and
seeming to be resting from exertion. Her long sweat-streaked jersey
clung to those spectacular upper curves and beautifully sculpted hips.
Poking his head over fence, he called to her. She looked up and
smiled. He then vaulted over the fence, not quite clearing it as she
had and nearly falling as he landed clumsily on the other side.
"Would you like some lemonade, Kevin?" When he eagerly assented, she
disappeared into the house.
He sat down heavily and looked around. He spied two barbells nearby,
each seeming to carry a colossal amount of weight. Casually, he tried
to pick up the lighter of the two but let it go with a grunt after
lifting it a short way off the ground. Wow! he thought to himself.
Someone around here is really into lifting weights. He was not sure
he wanted to meet the father or brother who could lift such weights,
particularly with the lecherous thoughts he had toward this girl.
She emerged from the house with two glasses of lemonade, now wearing a
skimpy bikini top over which she had a loose open blouse that exposed
her breasts most delightfully. He could smell perfume and knew he
hadn't earlier. He smiled to himself at the implication. This could
be a day to remember! He commented on the two very heavy barbells
that lay nearby -- "Do you have a brother or father into pumping
iron?"
"Well, Daddy does lift some, but those are mine." She smiled at his
disbelief.
His curiosity piqued, he cautiously lifted the smaller of the two huge
barbells again. To his consternation, he was forced to struggle to
get it past his waist and hoped that he seemed nonchalant in letting
it back down before he hurt something. Gripping it to put his whole
body into it, he snatched it up to his chest and then with a grunt
lifted it shakily over his head. He felt lightheaded as he carefully
let it back down. That was a lot of weight!
"I use that for curls, but I was going to increase it today," she said
brightly. "Are you into weightlifting too?"
"Well, yeah, our coach forces us to spend at least an hour a day at
it. I do okay I guess, the best at my weight and third best on the
team. You're joking, though, right? Are these really yours? And did
you say curls? If you lift weights, you know that you can't do leg
curls with a barbell like that," he said. Never having had much
practice, he wasn't a master of tact.
Her eyes glinted, but she merely replied in a quiet, forceful tone, "I
didn't say LEG curls -- if there is such a thing. I use them for ARM
curls, of course."
As he continued telegraphing his skepticism much like a smug master
regarding a novice, she added, more heatedly and now tauntingly, "So
what you're saying is YOU couldn't curl it. You don't believe a GIRL
could be stronger than a big guy like you -- even after I unscrewed
that plug on that old mower and you couldn't." Again she smiled
disarmingly. "How about trying me at arm wrestling?"
Coyly, she pulled off her loose top to reveal an upper body of amazing
muscularity and arousing femininity. Her large breasts bobbed ever so
slightly in her straining bikini top as she sat down across from him
at a patio table.
Blinking at her aggressive self-confidence and the implied sexual
invitation, he hesitated, scratching his head. In the back of his
mind was the anxious thought that she might be stronger and he really
didn't want to know that, but he wasn't clever enough to think of a
way of slipping out of her challenge without looking like a wimp and
losing any chance of making her as interested in him as he was in her.
She was in complete psychological command, and he was not used to
being on the defensive with a woman, at least not in this way. "Oh,
come on," he chided himself silently. "This is just a girl and three
years younger than me. Plug, shmug -- no girl goes through the kind
of training and has the body of a Division I football player."
"Come on, just for fun," she said good-naturedly. "I promise I won't
crumble in your big hand."
He locked hands with her, still with a vague misgiving at this turn of
events, but anxious to put her in her place so that he could dominate
the scene as he usually did.
"Wait, take off your shirt, too," she said. "I just love big muscles
on a guy."
"Nice!" she said as he complied, only too happy to show off his body.
He flexed his biceps for her in a mock pose to let her know that he
was not taking this seriously and then held it to let his physique
speak for himself, as it always did. She had to notice that his
flexed muscles were hard as rocks, at least as big as hers -- and they
were the muscles of a virile MALE, the sex that called the shots.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, practically drowning in
testosterone.
"It'll be a hoot," she smiled derisively.
He winced a little from her grip as they locked up again and she
huskily said, "Go!"
Trying to maintain his air of nonchalance at the start, he was
inwardly dismayed to find his arm moving slowly toward the table.
With each increase in his exertion, he found her counterforce
increasing to match it. Finally, as his arm neared the table, he
summoned all his energy and flexed his arm muscles to the maximum.
Amazed that she was making him go all out, he was at least gratified
that he was able to slowly push her arm back to halfway. He smiled at
her in silent confidence, and found that same smile looking back at
him. She wasn't even breathing hard yet, he noticed, whereas he,
despite trying to pretend that he was not trying, was breathing in
muted gasps to cover his exertion and beginning to sweat heavily. His
arm was shaking somewhat with the struggle, but hers wasn't wavering
at all. Once again, he was assailed with the fear that he might
actually lose this stupid contest. His ego was already looking for a
diversion to put a stop to it.
"Well, I guess I've got your attention, now," she smiled. "Perhaps
now you'll make me strain a little. I'm sure a big star like you can
do better than this."
To his consternation, his arm began to go down again and he grunted
audibly, no longer pretending not to try. Without seeming to strain
in the least, she began to pour on even more power than before. And
to add insult, she was talking to him in a normal unstrained voice, as
calmly as if they were sipping drinks together. In fact she did take
a casual sip of her lemonade.
"Have you ever heard the story of Atalanta?" she asked mysteriously.
"Atlanta? Atlanta, Georgia?" he gasped out, not wanting to waste his
breath on talking.
"No, AT-A-LANTA, the female athlete of Greek mythology."
He knitted his eyebrows in puzzlement and shook his head. He'd never
heard of her. "No. So what?" he rasped out and involuntarily grunted
as he felt his arm head downward again.
"She loved to compete with men -- the strongest, the most skilled --
she beat them all. She was the best hunter, the best wrestler. In a
famous set of contests at the funeral of a king, she beat the male
champion at wrestling -- in the nude. And her greatest fame was that
she was the swiftest runner." He glanced up and found her eyes
studying him as she continued. "I'm that way. I love to compete,
especially against guys, whatever the sport, whatever the contest.
But it's getting more and more boring. You guys are supposed to have
muscles, but it's really no challenge. Perhaps some time we could
race; I've heard you're fast. I beat your school records in track,
but maybe you're faster than you were in high school." Again, he was
skeptical; he was proud of those records. Surely he would have heard
something, even though he never bothered to find out what was
happening at the high school; it was beneath him now. Had he heard
something? He was jolted from a fuzzy scan of his memory by another
increment in the descent of his aching, trembling arm. He grimaced
with another surge of energy.
"Atalanta's father wanted her to marry but she didn't want to, so she
posed a challenge to appease her father. Any man who could beat her
in a race could wed her." While she prattled on, seeming not to be
exerting herself at all, he gasped in exertion and sweat was flooding
from every pore. He could hardly see through the rivulets pouring
across his eyes. "Do you know what she did to the males who
challenged her and lost? She killed them. In their stories the
Greeks probably had her do it with a spear, but I'll bet that in their
minds those outwardly chauvinistic males secretly fantasized that she
did it with her bare hands. It's a fear that most of you men have,
that, if you really tangled with a strong woman, she'd win. And yet -
- secretly, you want, you need, a woman who's stronger, just as long
as she doesn't prove it to you. I know all about you guys -- every
guy in high school was afraid of me, but always trying to get a good
peek at me when they thought I wasn't looking. Silly male psyche --
can't stand to lose to a woman even if she's better, can't stay
interested unless she IS stronger."
He had fallen off her train of thought, whatever it was. "Is there
going -- to be a -- quiz -- later?" he managed to grunt out. Why all
this talk? It only added to his frustration and befuddlement. He
didn't understand what was happening and he wanted it to stop NOW. It
infuriated him further that his best effort had no effect on her. How
did she have the energy to talk when he didn't? How could he be
losing at all; was there some trick to armwrestling that he didn't
know about? That must be it. He was just glad that nobody else was
around to see this. On the other hand, he had wanted above all else
that day to impress this fabulously beautiful girl and she was making
a fool of him. [continue...]
-
Reckoning,
by Jack Straw (part 2)
[...continued]
She smiled and fixed him with a penetrating look that made him feel
mentally naked. He averted his eyes and strained harder. He felt her
eyes burning his skin as she continued in that sexy, careless voice.
"Those manly, manly Greeks probably fantasized that Atalanta first
made the losing suitors pleasure her or maybe the killing and the
pleasure came at the same time. A woman like Atalanta -- or me --
could kill a man just with the strength of her body during sex, you
know," she said, her eyes shining with the look of a predator who had
cornered her prey. He wanted to laugh at her words -- such silliness
-- but the grip she had on his hand, that arrogant self-confidence,
and now that look. It was threatening and sexually arousing at the
same time. A sudden twinge of ... of outright fear radiated from the
base of his spine to the pit of his stomach. The novelty of it
startled him; it was a feeling he had never had in the presence of a
woman before. Even the nervousness of his first date was far
different than this. He struggled mentally to shake it off, even as he
felt his arm descend a few more degrees toward the table.
His eyes met hers. The predatory glow in those beautiful green eyes
was joined with a glint of amusement; she seemed to read his thoughts
or, more precisely, his emotions. Angered, he found another reserve
of energy and arrested the descent of his arm, but, try as he might,
could not gain any ground. He was very close to losing!
"Girls can be kinda strong, can't they?" she taunted, giggling. He
suddenly felt pain as she gripped his hand more tightly. His eyes
widened and he moaned softly, despite himself.
"Does it turn you on to be outmuscled by a girl, Kevin?" She leaned
forward, seductively bringing her moist full lips close to his. He
was again aware of her perfume. At the same time she puffed out her
chest, stretching the bikini top to the point of bursting.
This sexual assault by itself would have reduced him to jelly, even
had he not been nearing exhaustion and the rupture of his biceps. As
it was, he momentarily gave up all resistance, but rather than
providing him the relief of ending this one-sided humiliating contest,
she drew his hand upward from its position of imminent defeat and over
against the engorged nipple of one jutting breast, boring through the
stretched fabric of her top. Twisting his hand so that the back of it
pressed against her breast, she began to rub it slowly against her
steely nipple. She ran her tongue provocatively across her parted
lips, arousing and taunting him at the same time. Because her grip
threatened to crush his overmatched hand, Kevin reflexively tried to
resist her movements--but to no avail. His efforts were like those of
a child against her power. The twisting and squeezing of her hand had
made the muscles of her forearms and biceps bunch and bulge to
intimidating girth.
He felt strangely aroused by this display of overwhelming strength and
the obvious sexual implication of how she was using it, but at the
same time he was maddened by being so plainly bested and toyed with.
With a smile she ran her free hand lightly over his crotch and
chuckled as she felt his penis lurch, obviously tenting his pants in
arousal despite his exertions. His labored breathing quickened
despite his efforts at self-control. She batted her eyes in
coquettish triumph.
"My! That little guy is excited!" she teased.
"She's nothing but a cock teaser!" he thought angrily. "I've got to
put her in her place." He tried to jerk his hand away from her
breast, but it hardly moved as he saw her forearm and biceps bulge out
further. Otherwise, there was no evidence that she even noticed his
efforts.
Still tracing her other hand over his tented crotch, she asked, "Isn't
it painful to have it bent like that. Too bad it doesn't have a
little more muscle behind it. It might do something like THIS."
She drew a deep breath and expanded her now massive chest, flexing the
pectorals and forcing her large, firm breasts outward. And with a
loud ripping noise, they broke through the overwrought material of the
bikini top like the prow of a ship crashing through a rotten dock.
"This was last year's. Too small for me now; I just keep growing and
growing up there!" Kevin couldn't help but stare at her amazing
bosom, large, sexy, and powerful. Bared proudly and brazenly, it
seemed to fill up his entire field of vision.
Conditioned by the experience that breasts were bared only in the
dimmest of light, he furtively glanced around. "Oh, don't worry, no
one's home," she said coyly. "My Mom and Mrs. O'Malley, whose grass
you're supposed to be cutting, went to an auction. They'll be gone
all day."
"And your father?" he managed to gasp out.
"Oh, don't worry about Daddy. He's gone too, but he knows better than
to interfere. I think poor Daddy is afraid of me -- not that I'd ever
hurt him now that he knows his place, but embarrassment in public is
such a good preventive medicine," she laughed. "Don't worry about
anybody. This is such a deserted street, almost in the country --
we're quite alone. I'm at your mercy, big boy," she murmured
ironically.
"All you have to do is outmuscle me and I'm all yours, Mr. Football
Hero," she said cupping one meaty tit with her free hand. "One part
of you is getting hard at least. Now if your muscles could grow like
that ...." She had kicked off one of her high heels and insinuated
her bare foot into the opening of one leg of his shorts and was
massaging his trapped penis. As it engorged, its confinement within
his underwear was painful, yet the massaging was so pleasurable and
she was so exciting, so arousing. His breathing became more and more
labored and his heart raced ever faster. He was amazed to have a
full-blown erection at the same time he was putting all his energy
into his arm and shoulder muscles. It was an old trick with him to
deflate an errant erection by physical exertion like this, but this
exciting, maddening creature seemed to override the normal laws of his
body. And she just wouldn't SHUT UP. Word after maddening word
tumbled tauntingly out of her mouth.
"You want me but you can't have me unless I want it. I'm in control,
not you. Ooh and it's so hard! But unlike my fun parts, it's not
strong enough to bare itself. Here let me help you." She hooked her
foot within the crotch of the sturdy shorts and pulled. Despite his
weight bearing down on the seat, a sudden flexing of her mighty leg
whisked the shorts down to his knees. She extracted her foot from the
shorts and rested it lightly on his thin briefs. Sensuously she
rubbed the hairy back of his tightly gripped hand over her engorged
nipple, caressed with her toes the trapped penis that tented his
briefs, and fixed his eyes with a smoldering gaze of predatory lust.
It was simultaneously seductive, challenging, and--even he could not
miss it--mocking. Silently, but not at not all subtly, she was
triumphantly reminding him that she was so easily winning their test
of strength that she could toy with him in other ways, and so far he
was powerless to stop her teasing. He couldn't believe a girl could
be this strong. Again his only solace was that nobody was there to
witness his humiliation. Captivated by her strength and her lusty
charms, one insistent part of him wanted just to collapse on those
delectable breasts and let her play with him. But his pride, his male
pride, and his competitive nature could not allow this female to
overcome him so easily. And despite his arousal, he was angry. She
was nothing but a lousy cock teaser! He sensed that she would never
give him the kind of sexual release she was building up in him, unless
she did it in some humiliating way. He would not, he could not,
submit. He would somehow wipe that arrogant smile off her face.
He bent his head down and grimaced with effort, trying at least to
grip as tightly and painfully as she and to wrest his abused hand away
from the humiliating use she was making of it, as if it were a fleshy
implement to masturbate herself. He smiled hopefully as his burst of
effort lifted his hand just free of her nipple. His muscles rippled
and burned and trembled with the effort, but--yes!--his hand had
moved, almost imperceptibly but it was a start.
"Yes! That's it, give it all you've got little boy! Give me some
competition," she cried almost orgasmically. His hand moved back
onto her hot flesh! It was again grazing that perfect, powerful orb
and the steely knob that stood out on it. He was simultaneously aware
of the perfection of her breast and the increased pressure on his
abused hand. He gasped with effort and pain, but it pressed ever more
forcefully against her jutting breast. He was losing ground again.
Head down, he almost whimpered, but still did not give up.
She rubbed the back of his hand ever harder against her large breasts,
which in her sexual arousal transformed from firm to ultrafirm. "Ooh,
this is making me hot! Don't you wish you were man enough to do this
yourself?" Her arms rippled in overpowering ridges of living granite,
as she moved his hand at will, despite his best effort to resist. Bit
by bit, she had transformed this encounter from an innocent meeting
between two strangers to a blatant, one-sided sexual battle of the
sexes. She was a cock teaser and there was nothing he could do about
it. He couldn't even end this game without her allowing it.
"Oh, this is such a turn on!" With her free hand she grabbed the back
of his head and pushed his lips toward her other mountainous breast.
Instinctively, he resisted, and reached up his free arm to pry her
hand away from the back of his head. But neither his flexing neck
muscles, nor the arm muscles he once thought so powerful, arrested the
inexorable dip of his face until she had his lips positioned on her
other nipple.
"Suck!" she demanded regally. "Lick!" And as he mutely refused, she
crushed down more forcefully on the hand he had been so futilely
armwrestling with her. The crush was unbearable, unbelievable.
Through the haze of pain, for the first time he whimpered out loud.
"Get that tongue working, or I'll break your weak little hand," she
hissed.
He moaned in resignation. He pressed his lips against her delicious
flesh and licked and sucked, at first tentatively, but, with the
onrush of feverish responses in his own body, soon slavishly. The arm
he had been using to wrestle went limp. He had given up.
"Yes, that feels good. With a little practice you might get good at
this." she murmured. "Hey," her voice took on a hard edge, "I didn't
say our contest was over. You can't give up until I say so. Try to
pull your arm down, try to pull your head out, or I WILL break your
weak male paw." She crushed down once again.
"Oooow!" he wailed. "What's the point?" he gasped out through the
pain.
"The point? Have you no pride? Are you defeated so easily, big
football star? I want to feel your manly strength against me. Is
this the best you've got?" she demanded.
He was completely confused -- and angry once again. With a second
wind he growled with animal rage and flexed all the muscles of his
body to their maximum. For an instant, even a few seconds he
extricated his face and hand from her breasts. In that brief time he
glanced at her arm muscles and saw them bulge to far larger
proportions than his decidedly inferior muscles, despite being pumped-
up from his exertions. With prodigious force she restored his face
and his hand to their previous perches. "You're not sucking!" she
said in a warning tone and crushed down on his poor, swollen fingers
once again.
In desperation, he applied his lips and tongue to do her bidding. But
to appease her earlier command, he maintained the exertions of his
muscles. Now exhausted, he was completely and utterly defeated, but
could not even give up. Yet -- as he endeavored to please her, he was
more and more aware of her ultra-arousing contours, so extremely
female in velvety skin texture, scent, and voluptuous shape, so
powerful in musculature. Her physique overwhelmed all his senses and
filled his mind. His member, which had receded limply during the
renewed physical struggle and his angry reaction to her taunts,
erected anew, painfully confined within his underwear. She noticed it
lurch again against her bare foot.
She chuckled triumphantly. "How strong is that little guy? Can he
break through a little cloth like my breasts?" She stroked him
through the cloth until he thought he might erupt. Then she stopped.
"No I guess not. I'll have to help you." With her powerful foot and
toes she peeled the waistband of the briefs downward. His penis was
bent painfully and then sprang free. SPLAT; it slapped loudly against
his belly in most undignified fashion. She giggled girlishly at this
indignity. She had his upper body effectively tied up, impotently
being used to massage her breasts. Now she added to the humiliation
by toying with his exposed member, pressing it against his solid,
hairy belly, massaging it sensuously. She worked it until it bobbed
on the verge of ejaculation and then she stopped. Then she toyed some
more. This treatment fatigued him more.
"Should I make you mess yourself? Would you like that?" she giggled.
"No, I don't think so. I should be served first. But first we have
to finish this silly little contest. You really are not much
challenge. Maybe if you put both your arms against my one, it might
be a contest." She crushed down on his hand again and released his
head. "Now the only way you'll get this hand back is to remove it or
force my hand to the table. Let's see if both your arms can beat just
one arm of little ole me."
To rescue this aching hand, he grabbed it with the other.
"Yes, that's it. Push!"
"Finally, I'm getting some resistance to push against," she cried
excitedly. Her breasts and nipples seemed to stand out even more, and
her muscles bunched and swelled to a size that he would have thought
impossible at the beginning of their little bout. As her excitement
and battle lust increased, his strength ebbed and he finally
collapsed, exhausted, humiliated as she drove both hands to the table
with a loud bang.
Not wanting to look at her triumphant visage, he kept his face down on
his aching arms. He felt certain that he had ruptured his right bicep
and his hand was swelling from possible fractures. The prolonged
struggle had robbed him of every millicalorie of energy and muscular
tension. He was as limp and wet as a dish rag. [continue...]
-
Reckoning,
by Jack Straw (part 3)
[...continued]
"Woo! Woo!" she whooped triumphantly, raising her mighty arms. "To
the victor goes the spoils. Atalanta has won again. And now ...."
Remembering her strange comments about killing (with sex!), he
leadenly rose up to get away but tripped ignominiously on the shorts
and briefs still pulled down around his knees and ankles. She giggled
and placed her sexy high-heeled foot imperiously on his crotch.
"Oh, you big LITTLE boy! You're so cute and weak!" She tore off his
shorts and briefs and caressed him to a squirming erection.
Effortlessly, she lifted him and folded his body against hers.
Although he was taller and heavier, she was firmly in control.
Instinctively, he struggled against her, without moving her one iota.
"I could rape you, you know," she whispered hotly in his ear and then
pressed her scorching lips on his sweat-drenched neck. Kevin was
dizzy from arousal, the heat of the day, and his exertions. He had no
thoughts and no will. "But if you don't want it, Kevie, I won't force
you." She planted her mouth sweetly over his in a long breath-robbing
kiss. "Say the word and back you go to mowing. No hard feelings."
Her kisses proceeded down his neck to his salty chest. He breathed in
excited gasps and said nothing.
She roughly tossed him down on the grass and mounted him. She ground
her bikini panties up and down along the length of his rigid shaft as
it rested impotently against his muscular abdomen, painfully squashing
his balls at the end of each frenzied stoke. For a while it was like
a nude wrestling match, very much a one-sided one, as he struggled to
resist her dominant mastery over his body. He wanted her, no question
about that. He had never wanted anything more passionately than to
ejaculate astride her body. He needed to COME and she wasn't letting
him. He felt like a bow that was being wound too tight and soon would
burst from the pressure. The more he struggled to control her, the
more excited and forceful she seemed to become. It was hopeless, he
was no match; his stamina wasn't up to a prolonged bout and soon he
was docile again.
She gripped his wrists and guided the hands to caress her breasts.
Then she grabbed his head and thrust her mighty orbs against his
mouth. No longer startled by her aggression, he gave in to it. Let
her use him; at least he was in contact with her supremely exciting
body. The masterful cocksman allowed her to rub his member in this
belittling manner, never letting him insert it and giving no promise
of release. Soon she began screaming and spasming. He was crushed as
she hugged him to her and his head was smothered in the prodigious
cleft between her breasts. Her legs clamped around his ribs and his
trapped diaphragm was unable to draw in air. He sank into a burning
abyss of unconsciousness ....
Slowly his senses rose from the pit of blackness. He hadn't died
after all, not that he any longer doubted that she could squeeze the
life out of him if she chose to do so. On the other hand, he didn't
feel very much alive either.
Limply, he opened his eyes to see her facing him, slowly curling that
huge weight that he had trouble lifting at all. Still topless, she
smiled smugly at him with a come-hither look, as her arms and torso
bulged hugely with each lift, breasts jiggling slightly on the
awesomely inflated chest as the bar contacted them at the apex of each
repetition. Despite his humiliating condition, he found his cock
engorging to stiff erection, for the umpteenth time, still without
release.
"So, there is some life in you, after all," she giggled nodding at the
stiff mast rising from his splayed, limp body. "It's too bad that
you're not strong enough to use that thing properly. By the way, note
that I am using proper CURLING form."
Now with both her heels back on, she walked sexily over to where he
lay, a wet noodle of a male completely flaccid except for a rigid
phallic rod bobbing spastically. Curling the weight nonchalantly to
her naked breasts, on that awesomely expanded chest, which flared out
above the cinched-in corded layers of her rock hard abdomen, her
shoulder and arm muscles exploded in jagged relief. His member
engorged to the bursting point and arched upward. Balancing on one
marvelously sculpted leg, she pressed the sole of the dainty shoe on
her other foot down haughtily on his rigid member, trapping it
insolently against the sweaty hairs of his belly. He came in a great
squirt against his chin and chest and then like a gurgling fountain in
impotent spasms on his belly.
"Looks like I'm late for the party!" It was a vaguely familiar voice
calling out behind them as the back screen door banged closed. In
panic, Kevin broke out of his languid torpor and tried to twist his
body over to screen his humiliating condition out of sight, or at
least the most embarrassing part of it. But Linda's imperious foot
and the mighty leg pressing down on his rapidly deflating fountainhead
pinned him in place.
"My, my, my! What have we here? Kevin Landis, superstar! You're
really showing off your talents today." Her rich voice biting with
sarcasm, another stunning female, rivalling the goddess standing over
him, approached threateningly.
"M-Mary?" Kevin stammered, mortified by his state and the
implications that were unfolding. A tiny light in the recesses of his
brain flickered up, and later he would discover it again and, with its
dim glow, probe the idea that he had been set up. Who had suggested
that he mow that damned lawn? Had it been his idea? If he traced
back to how the subject came up .... The widow? His mother!?
"So, you remember me? Hard to believe you're still alive -- no
letters, not even a phone call in three years. Not even the courage
to let me vent my anger. Nothing. That's what you are -- a big fat
nothing!"
Kevin wiped a glob of semen off his chin. He could imagine how silly
he looked with his sticky fluids all over his hairy abdomen,
completely naked, and limply splayed out like a complete dork. But
the worst part was that SHE, Mary, was seeing him like this and loving
it he was sure.
With his worst sense of foreboding yet, he silently cursed his luck.
How had he gotten in this predicament? Girls being how they were, he
could see that perhaps Mary might hold a little grudge. His last
summer before college, he and she had been going at it hot and heavy
for a month or so. A lovely dimpled face she had, but she was too
big, a little clumsy, shy, and looked chubby, although in the back
seat of his car in the night or at home in bed when nobody else was
around, that body had seemed pretty solid and those boobs ...! She
had been a good lay, a fun time on the side for him. Nobody else
knew. She had been a neighbor then, and it just happened. He was
doing her a favor as he saw it. She wasn't in his league socially,
chubby and two years his junior -- his friends would have ribbed him
unmercifully if they had known. She was beginning to be a pain toward
the end of the summer, complaining that they never went anywhere and
that he never let her stay around his friends when they came by. She
just didn't get it! When she pulled him away from his going-away
party and gave him that silly present the day before he left for
college, he was embarrassed and short with her, but when she started
to cry, in desperation he said he'd write and see her as soon as he
could. And that was the last he'd seen her.
Well, she was chubby no more! Dressed in a delightful tan that was
covered in strategic places by a skimpy stretched out halter top and
tight shorts, she had the muscular curves he found so exciting in the
feminine colossus who was astride him and even larger breasts. As
Linda shifted her foot to free his cock, it began to thicken in
renewed arousal.
"Well, the poor little thing likes what he sees, Mary," Linda giggled
as she poked at the lengthening phallus and it rose worshipfully. "I
believe I'm jealous!" she tittered.
Dry of mouth, Kevin could say nothing, and weakly gulped as Mary
majestically approached. He didn't even try to hide his pubic salute
when Linda stepped away from him to let Mary take over.
"Is that right, Kevie? Would you like to make it with me? Just like
old times, only better?" She stood astride him, looking a mile tall,
with arms folded across that amazing bosom. "Too bad. I just don't
think you're man enough!"
Before Kevin had time to react, she had lifted his head with one foot
sexily clad in spike heels, pressed his neck against the bulging calf
of the other exciting leg, swiftly removed the first foot from below
his head, and crossed her ankles so that his neck was trapped between
the iron wrecking balls that were her calves. As she flexed and
straightened her legs, the terrifying girth of her calves increased
and, impossibly, they hardened further. In danger of having his neck
cut in two even before he asphyxiated from the blockage of air,
Kevin's limp form suddenly exploded in violet action. He tried to pry
apart her lower legs and then panicked further as she pressed her
muscle-laden legs together such that now his hands were trapped in a
mangling vice that popped his overmatched joints. Desperately, he
kicked his legs in violet jerks, trying to unbalance her, but, hands
on delectably sculpted hips, she didn't waver an iota. Next, with
consciousness rapidly fading, he kicked backward, beating on her
awesome quadriceps, but she merely laughed as his shoes connected
repeatedly. It was like kicking iron, those Amazonian thighs flexed
in corded relief, and the shock waves of his feet meeting the
impenetrable surface was the only thing stimulating his nervous system
to stave off unconsciousness. But even that faded and he slumped
toward Nirvana ....
Abruptly, she released him and he gulped air into his burning throat,
but it was a few moments before his eyes could focus through the rays
of blinding sunlight at her smirking visage. She was now kneeling
with her knees planted across his splayed out arms, painfully pressing
on his limp biceps. "Remember how we used to wrestle, Kevin? You
loved being the masterful victor, but I think you were surprised at
how much energy it took you. Did you ever consider that I might be
LETTING you win? Well, I don't think you'd be ANY challenge for me
now, WEAKLING. I read the story in the paper this morning. your coach
is right; you need conditioning. Your stamina and strength are
pathetic, but then all you guys are pushovers now. Too bad, because
I'd like a little male challenge now and then. It's a drag on your
sex life when guys are so fragile. Unless you look elsewhere ..." she
trailed off smiling at Linda.
"Let me show you just how pathetic you are," she continued, smiling
malevolently. Shifting position again suddenly, she ended up sitting
on his belly with her ankles trapping his neck. As he reached up with
his hands to relieve the pressure on his neck, she lay on her back
between his legs, which he had lifted slightly as his hands flew to
her ankles. She grasped each of his ankles with her hands, and rose
up as if doing a situp. Kevin, although confused by this move, sensed
that he should resist to prevent whatever she had in mind. It was a
revealing sight. The football hero, his thick weight-trained muscles
flexed to the maximum and his body clearly outweighing this big girl,
was being inexorably folded by the sexy Amazon. It was basically her
abdominal muscles against both his abdomen and muscular legs. Her abs
cinched in awesome arrays of brick-hard strands. Her arms likewise
exploded in ridges of muscular peaks. Kevin could neither kick his
legs free from her powerful grip, nor could he overcome her arm
muscles with his thick muscular legs. She easily prevented him from
closing his legs against her neck in the same way she had him. With a
final snapping sound coming from his now stretched back, she bent
forward until her massive chest pressed down on her sexy shins, and
her arms drew forward to press his shoes into the grass behind his
head.
Kevin wailed in pain. "Oow! Please, my neck, my back, you're breaking
.... Let me go! You win. I'm pathetic! I'm a jerk! I'm whatever
you say -- just let me up." He let out a half sob and tears trailed
down his cheek from the pain.
She eased up a little and tossed her lustrous hair. "And some people
actually believe you're a powerhouse of strength. They should see you
now. Kevin Landis -- macho wimp, half as strong as a girl who's
younger. But, Kevie, the demonstration isn't over yet. This hold
shows that my arms are stronger than your legs, but I think my arms
and shoulders and -- chest -- are stronger than all the muscles in
your wimpy body."
Mary looked up at Linda, who had been leaning on her curling barbell
held vertically and enjoying the one-sided onslaught of her protegee.
"Bring me the other barbell." [continue...]
-
Reckoning,
by Jack Straw (part 4)
[...continued]
Linda reached down and, with a mighty heave, snatched the huge weight
to her chest and carried it effortlessly over to Mary and the trussed-
up Kevin. As she arrived, Mary swiftly and gracefully changed her
position again. In a trice the still doubled-over Kevin found her
standing, her mighty arms on her powerful hips, with each of his
ankles at the narrowest point stamped into the ground beneath the arch
of her high heel shoes. Such was her balance and strength, that try
to flail his legs as he might, he could not budge her. She reached
out her hands to take the prodigious barbell from Linda. Kevin feared
the worst. That was a tremendous amount of weight. He doubted that
there was a man in town who could lift it, and here were two girls
still in their late teens handling it with ease. His view on genders
and physique were being starkly revised, but that was not uppermost in
his mind at this point. He didn't like being in a vulnerable position
below so much weight. And he didn't care much for the indignity of
having his naked ass waving in the air, either. With his now freed
hands he alternately pummeled Mary's legs and pushed with all his
strength to bring her down, but he might as well have been trying to
lift a house for all the effect he was having. The only debilitation
she suffered was shaking slightly from laughter at how puny his utter
inferiority made him seem.
"Careful, silly," she laughed. "You don't want this coming down on
your head, do you?" With that she pressed the weight over her head.
The steel bar drooped on either side from the weight it carried. From
the tops of her wrists to her arched feet Mary was a picture of flexed
strength. Every muscle group was etched in anatomical splendor, all
expanded well beyond the size of his muscles, of which he had been so
proud just a couple of hours ago. The expansion of her chest snapped
one of the straps of her top and uncovered one mighty breast in all
its meaty glory. Her glutes jutted out the stretchy material of her
shorts and he could see the fount of her sex imprinted through the
stretched front. And her legs emphasized by the arching of her feet
within the high-heeled sandals were ultra sexy and ultra powerful at
the same time. A light sheen of perspiration burst out all over her
body and enhanced the lustrous bronze of her velvety skin. In his
mesmerized stupor he was dimly aware of his cock poking aside pubic
hairs as it erected anew and his balls tightening in a tingling
arousal.
She lowered the weight to her chest and, between deep breaths,
informed him in a superior manner, "Linda and I have been using this
for bench presses when we exercise outside, but I think we will have
to add a little more weight to give us a challenge. Still, I think it
will be enough to keep you pinned in place." And again, catching him
by surprise, she lowered the weight so that it rested in the crock of
his knees and lay across his upper chest below his neck. He was still
trussed up with his rump indignantly raised up higher than the rest of
him, but now only the barbell held him in place.
"You see how you can bring your whole body into play," she said,
giggling at the ridiculous spectacle he made in this position. "You
have your legs, arms, shoulders, and abs all in position to lift this
little bench-press weight off of you. And if you do, I'll let you go.
Or you can stay and play some more if you wish. Come on, big boy,
show us that a male is at least half as strong as a female. If you
can't, I'll be glad later to show that a girl can do it without
breaking a sweat."
Kevin strained and flexed, grunted, strained and flexed some more. He
concentrated all his effort in moving that damned mass of disks and
metal bar. Finally, drawing a deep breath, he pushed furiously with
all his might and muscle groups. The girls regaled him with laughter
and mock cheers, "Go! Go! Go!" He heard a click as he continued
grunting in effort. The barbell seemed to move upward some and he
strained mightily but then simply gave out. He was utterly exhausted
and gave in to defeat. Through eyes streaked with sweat and now
tears, he saw that Linda had taken his picture. Their laughter made
tears of frustration well up in his eyes, but he fought to hold them
back.
"Well, that was a good show, Kevin, but a pretty weak effort. You're
probably just tired. We'll let you rest for a while perhaps and then
you can try again," Mary said. Kevin noticed that Mary had done most
of the talking since she arrived. In fact, Linda was leaning back in
a chair nearby with her feet propped up, sunning her still bare,
awesome torso. She looked almost bored with the proceedings, clearly
choosing to allow Mary the stage, like a mentor allowing a student to
show what she could do. Again that flicker of light in a narrow
recess of his brain.
"Maybe a little corporal punishment might give you incentive. How
about I give you one whack on your butt for each month you didn't call
or write?" Mary said, stooping down in a menacing pose.
"But no, I prefer to have a man on my lap when I spank him, struggling
to escape without any bonds to prevent it but unable to get away as I
whale away. Does that sound like fun, being naked on Mommy's naked
lap, unable to keep her from doing whatever she wants?" she said
huskily tracing her hand along Kevin's side, across his chest, down to
his phallus, once again thickening in erection. "Yes, I think that
appeals to you, you naughty weak little boy," she exhaled sexily with
a half laugh. She drew one of his hands on top of her exposed breast,
and he felt the large, thick nipple harden. She reached a hand back
to his penis and tickled its now rigid expanse. He began to breath in
gasps.
She drew away and laughed at him. "You know, I think you made a big
mistake, never keeping in touch, Kevin. We might have had some fun,
while I grew up. Maybe I could have made a man out of you, but now
I'm afraid you just couldn't hold up to a real love bout. You'd break
in two. But come to think of it that could still be fun for me --
once."
Erotically, she drew off her shorts and halter top, posing for him
completely nude, save for her white high-heeled shoes. Kevin said
nothing, but his bobbing cock and his labored breathing spoke for him.
She imperiously stood astride him and squatted down to remove the
barbell. He was treated anew to the bulging of each muscle group and
an open view of her pubis as she snatched up the weight and, pivoting
over him, dropped it gracefully alongside him. He moaned as he
stiffly brought his legs down to rest on the grass. She then lay down
on his supine body and spread her substantial, ultrasexy body over his
in a grapevine hold. Lifting his mouth to her breasts, she
simultaneously grabbed his member and thrust down to engulf it in her
wet, hot vagina.
"Put that mouth to work, little man," she hissed. He did, licking and
sucking as the nipples bobbed up and down as she violently plunged up
and down on his member, each downstroke crushing his balls and each
upstroke of her mighty vagina threatening to pull his cock out by the
roots. She cackled forcefully as he at first grimaced in pain, and
then babbled for her to ease up, to slow down. He tried to arrest her
movements by grabbing her shoulders and pulling down with all his
might, but what he had always considered a strength that could
overpower any damsel and most men was like putty to her; it only made
her laugh and pump harder. There was no need for her to warn him not
to come; the pain and pressure ensured against that. But there was no
flagging of his erection either as she pulled his hands down and
forced them to caress her colossal breasts, her prodigious lats, and
unbelievable abs. She reached her first orgasm and then another, and
finally she buried his head in her bosom and hugged his upper chest
with such force it bowed out on either side of her stupendous arms and
at the same time her thighs crunched down on his lower ribs. With the
crackling of his bones resounding in his ears, he swirled into
unconsciousness thinking that they had made good on their claims. He
had died in the throes of their sexual climax.
"Is this a private party or can anyone take off his clothes and join?"
Kevin revived with a start at hearing this booming familiar voice. He
turned his head to the source, and through a prismatic haze saw the
gigantic curly-haired lineman lean over the fence leering at what
seemed to be an orgy at intermission.
Kevin groaned woozily. This was a nightmare; this place was busier
than Grand Central Station. He supposed his mother had told Lance
where he was; the guy was always hanging around.
Linda vaulted over the fence to smile at the newcomer in the widow's
yard. "Well, Lance Murphy, what an honor!"
"Lance," Mary called out, "you're just in time to see Kevin get
punished for his sins of commission -- or omission. Right Kevin?"
But Kevin had taken advantage of their attention to Lance, to grab his
clothes and make a dash for the other end of the yard. Alas, he had
not enough head start. Mary's back was turned, but Linda saw and
vaulted back over the fence and raced after him in hot pursuit. As he
sped away, feeling ridiculous in his nudity, with his still glistening
half-hard prong and exposed balls swinging painfully, he heard Linda
gaining ground on him. She had not bothered even to kick off her sexy
shoes and was a glorious sight, her large breasts jouncing with damped
motion on her deep muscular chest. Soon her powerful strides brought
her close enough that a flying tackle brought the big fullback banging
down hard on the grass, completely knocking the wind out of him. He
clutched the tender ribs that Mary had severely strained but
mercifully not broken, and which now had been assaulted again. He
would have screamed in pain but his injured diaphragm denied him the
air to do it. His only sounds were panicky "Hu--" sounds as he
struggled for breath.
Her robust chest heaving deliciously with the thrill of triumphant
chase, Linda smiled down at the gasping male trying to draw a breath
but not yet succeeding. "Well, I guess we can cross foot races off
our list of contests," she said teasingly, "Or maybe I should take on
the same handicap as Atalanta. The suitors raced nude in typical
Greek fashion, like you, while some authors said she wore heavy armor.
Say, you know, I think I'll add football to my resume -- tackling is
fun! It doesn't seem very much challenge though. But if there were
enough guys against Mary and me ...."
She scooped down and lifted him on her shoulders. Departing
momentarily from her teasing, she whispered in an almost tender tone,
"I would let you go now, Kevin. You weren't the challenge I expected
and you're clearly spent now. But there's a price to pay for the past
and sometimes it's best to get it over with. I think I'm doing you a
favor, pretty boy."
She headed back toward Mary and Lance, carrying the 200-plus pounds of
male athlete like a tow sack. Kevin, for his part, was silent and
still; might as well save his energy, he thought. Linda's
compassionate words splashed off him like water off plastic; she was a
cipher to him.
Lance was confused and nervous. For all his male bravado, he was very
insecure to be in the intimate presence of two beautiful babes
essentially nude in the broad daylight and voluptuous in the extreme.
His cock was fully awake and leaking already inside his underwear.
When he had first arrived, his hormone-driven mind registered two
girls undressed and a lucky Kevin exposed as well and apparently
winding down from such an intense sexual frolic that he seemed
exhausted. His respect for Kevin, already his idol, had risen even
higher. "Kevin, you the Man!" he blurted out softly. And then that
supreme babe had vaulted the fence and seemed to come on to him. He
had almost blasted his wad without being touched, and his knees felt
weak.
Then Kevin had done such a strange thing by running away, looking
ridiculous and pathetic. And worse, a girl in high heels was able to
catch him, tackle him in incapacitating fashion, and carry him back.
It was like a reversal of a caveman capturing his woman. He noticed
for the first time how muscular these girls were. Bodybuilders and,
lord, what bodies! The one leaning her chest against the fence toward
him -- what a cleavage! Her large-nippled breasts were pressing
against the fence, and, far from flattening those outsized melons, the
damn fence was giving way! She was saying something. Reluctantly, he
drew his eyes upward. "Huh?" he managed stupidly.
"I said, I'm glad you dropped by big guy," she repeated. "The more --
and the BIGGER -- the merrier, I always say! Don't go away. Kevin
and I have some unfinished business to take care of, but we have all
day and I bet you really know how to party, right Lance?" [continue...]
-
Reckoning,
by Jack Straw (part 5)
[... continued]
She turned and caught the big fullback as Linda half tossed him to
her. For Lance's benefit she lifted Kevin over her head. Her breasts
stood out, huge and taut, occupying all of Lance's gray matter for the
time being. He barely noticed that all her muscles bulged out in a
fashion he'd never seen on a girl before, and on few guys, for that
matter. But muscles didn't scare Lance. He was the strongest guy on
Kevin's team; having huge muscles himself, musculature on other guys -
- and now these girls! -- didn't impress him. They looked good
though! "A very nice package, VERY nice," he thought to himself and
was conscious of his underwear becoming wetter and stickier. "God, he
had to have some of that," he said to himself. A little three-way
action as soon as she did Kevin -- they seemed to be begging for it
and Lance was the man to provide it. He was used to taking first and
asking later. Still, something about this scene wasn't right. What
was it?
As Mary lowered the squirming and cursing Kevin slowly to her
shoulders and then lifted him as high as she could again, her powerful
physique and feminine pulchitrude danced erotically. Lance's tongue
literally hung out of his open mouth. Mary winked at him as Linda
vaulted the fence once again to join him on the other side.
Linda stood just behind the giant and molded her moist naked torso
against his back and rubbed one perfect leg along his inner thigh.
"Do you like strong girls, big fella?" Linda whispered in his ear and
rubbed his tush seductively. "Well, I see that you do!" she giggled,
rubbing and kneading his butt flesh harder. He looked down where her
eyes were merrily fixed and saw that his loose shorts were tented and
a small dark stain had appeared on the khaki surface. Not one to be
sheepish, he smiled cockily back.
"Are you man enough to control that equipment and handle a couple of
girls like us, stud?" she breathed throatily. Lord, they were
exciting! Where had Kevin been hiding these gals?
"Both at once, baby, or one at a time. I'm your man!" he replied
grandly.
"Oh, I think one at a time should keep you busy enough, Mr. Bigstuff.
But first let's watch the show."
Mary had seated herself regally on a sturdy bench and womanhandled the
violently squirming fullback until she had his belly across one
magnificently flexed thigh. Her other powerful thigh was draped over
both his legs, immobilizing them. One of her mighty arms had one of
his arms in a painful hammerlock and pressed down on his back with
such force his face was hanging down near the ground.
"Let's see now. One whack for each thoughtless month since we last saw
each other. That would be 34, right? Can you take it like a man,
without crying?" Mary asked in mocking tones.
Lance was beginning to sense what was happening but he still thought
this was part of a game. It did seem that Kevin was fighting it but
maybe that was part of the game -- a weird game. He didn't know that
his friend was into this sort of thing, but you never knew for sure
about anyone. Who was he to judge?
"What happened to Kevin? He looks really tired," Lance said, puzzled
by his friend's dragged out appearance. "Too much of the old in-out?"
Linda chuckled. "Oh, you naughty boy. Such conventional thoughts you
have. Yeah, it's been a long morning for Kevie. But I think he's
learning a lot."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the fence, Mary had proceeded to
thrash away at Kevin's exposed derriere. "ONE, TWO, THREE,...!" Each
blow with her open hand resounded like a shotgun blast. Kevin,
despite his intention not to show that her spanking had any effect,
yelped in surprise at the unexpected pain. Lance was startled by the
violence of the sound, and the large twitch of his friend's butt every
time a blow struck.
Linda rubbed against him in ever more arousing style, and whispered
throatily, "Would you like a spanking, big boy? Have you been bad?"
She reached her hand inside his shorts and caressed the big leaking
boner. "Ooo, you ARE bad!"
Lance's pulse raced and his breathing became ragged, but he managed to
gasp out, "Uh, no, no thanks, uh -- That's not my scene, baby, but I
can give you what you need, girl. Trust me." Linda giggled throatily
at his cockiness.
Kevin tried to kick and punch violently but was tied up so securely
that his movements and Mary's flogging only ground his cock against
her ultrafirm, ultrasexy leg. In spite of himself and the pain and
the humiliation, he began to sprout a full-blown erection. Mary could
feel it and did her best to abrade it toward ejaculation. "You love
this, don't you, you big pervert? You love being handled by a big
girl. It's your secret fantasy. Kevin Landis, sissy. Don't forget,
Lance is watching, Kevie, and I don't think he approves." Kevin
strained to prevent ejaculation. "Just a few more," he thought
hopefully. "God they hurt! But I will NOT disgrace myself further!"
But, devilishly, Mary lightly massaged Kevin's tightening testicles
and flexed her leg in deliciously massaging waves of hot flesh along
Kevin's rigid prong before her next swat. "That's not fair," he
muttered. "Thirty one! ..." she announced with a hard smack and then
demonstrated her amazing strength by kneading her hand into his butt
and rotating it so that his cock was massaged to the edge of no
return. After the next swat, she could feel his cock contract in
imminent explosion and parted her legs for Linda and, especially, the
nonplussed Lance to see, as Kevin spurted in impotent globs along her
thigh.
"Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, you naughty boy," she taunted. "This is just
not acceptable behavior. I'm afraid that deserves another ten smacks
at least." And she continued, but Kevin realized she had been holding
back, for now the bruising and tenderizing was unbearable. Blood
vessels were being broken, muscles torn and bruised. What had been
hard, muscular glutes became a flaming mass of gelatin. The pain and
humiliation were too much. She was never going to stop until he
broke. He began to sob.
She stopped and rolled him onto the ground.
"You know, Kevin, I tasted your spunk those many months ago, but I
wonder if you've ever partaken. It's your chance to find out what
you've been missing. Lap it up like a good dog, now, and I'll let you
go."
She stood astride him and pulled his head up to where his semen
coursed down her leg in viscous trails. With no further prodding, he
licked. He gagged at first at the mere thought of something so
repugnant, but he did it and the taste wasn't that bad. The
humiliation, well, what did it matter anymore? He was broken. In
fact, as he licked, he unconsciously caressed her perfect skin,
running his hand over the perfect bulges of her calves and thighs, the
slender crock of her knees in between. She WAS perfect! He had been
a fool. Looking up at her colossal form as she stood imperiously
above him, he worshipped her. His resilient member amazingly rose up
from its limp coil to salute her once again, as he kneeled
respectfully in front of her. He could not believe it; he'd never
recovered so fast from ejaculation, check that, two orgasms!
"Ooo, Kevin!" she breathed heavily, seeing his arousal, and becoming
charged herself from his strategic licking and ministrations.
"Perhaps there is some use for you after all."
Winking at the nonplussed Lance and her smirking protegee, Mary bent
down and lifted the big fullback into her arms. She carried him over
her shoulder into the house with Kevin looking at Lance and Linda, a
sheepish smile on his boyish face.
"Lance," Linda said, "Looks like it's just you and me, now. Before we
play many games, though, one of us has to finish mowing this yard.
How about a little contest? You win and I mow the yard -- in the nude
if you wish -- and after that -- well, I'd be at your disposal so to
speak."
She pulled his head down and planted a long, breath-robbing kiss on
his willing lips. By the time he managed to pull away, he was dizzy
with lust and lack of air.
"Now, about that contest -- it has to be something you're good at.
You look like a big fella. How about WEIGHTLIFTING? You any good at
that?" she intoned huskily, massaging his palpitating cock. "But
first, the rule of the day around here is no clothes, except for your
shoes."
An hour later, while Kevin dozed in utter exhaustion, Mary peeked
through the window to see a very nude, very large, muscular male
mowing the yard next door.
"Nice tush," she giggled. [THE END]
Stay tuned for more (but not many) stories by Jack Straw (btw posting is way less demanding than writing but Karma is always welcomed).
-
It's always good to see someone else according to your opinion; Jack Straw is/was for me a very good author.
Another story (on eof the last) shall follow very soon.
-
Swordswoman!
by Jack Straw (part 1)
Leaning against a mossy rock on a cliff high above the stream of
his youth, Count Phillipe Beaufleur reflected back to the times
that they had played and fought in the meadow below. One day in
particular had replayed itself over and over in his memory. They
had been fencing--practicing, but as always it was more a
competition, a competition in which he was daily humbled.
Marie had put him on his backside with one of her thrusts and was
continuing to chatter about the benefits of working with the
peasants, whom she never referred to as such and treated with
much more respect than the nobles of the district. For over a
year she had spent a few hours every day in hard labor, such as
chopping wood, loading heavy barrels of apples or grapes, or
threshing grain. The young count had often headed his afternoon
rides in that direction to watch her and had marvelled not only
that she more than kept up with even the biggest and strongest of
the men, but that they seemed to accept her as one who belonged.
It was especially surprising since no amount of grime, sweat, and
sturdy clothes could hide her extraordinary beauty and curvaceous
body. He had tried to persuade his alluring cousin that she was
tempting fate, that one day a peasant would be so inflamed by her
presence that he would force himself on her. But she had
laughed: "Oh, cousin, one or two have tested my honor, but I
assure you I handled them quite easily. And then the poor devils
had to contend with the others who rushed to defend me--quite
needlessly, but most gallantly. Really, you misjudge them."
The young count had been dubious, but knew any argument with this
fiery girl was useless. A few times he had even joined her in
the fields but was embarrassed by how clumsy he was. He was
mortified by the sly, contemptuous glances of the peasants, and
their stiff behavior. He was obviously out of place and
unwelcome. Why was she not, as well? He had resolved not to do
it again and was annoyed that she continued to talk about it; it
only added to his current irritation at being bested at fencing,
a sport he loved and in which he had always triumphed against
others his age until Marie and her mother had come for this long
visit. Both cousins were in their late teens and very
competitive.
"You should try it," she was saying. "It's why I'm so much
stronger than you."
"What do you mean, so much stronger?" he disputed as he sprang
to his feet. "I'll admit that you're better than I am at fencing
today, but who says you're stronger?"
She giggled and thrust out her ample chest, straining the thin
fabric of her low-cut blouse and exposing the top halves of her
delectable breasts. "Not only am I quicker and more skillful,
cousin, but it's obvious that I'm stronger."
As he started to protest, she said, "Look, it's easy to prove, so
that even you can't deny it. Here, cross your sword with mine
and push."
He pushed energetically against her, trying to pin her sword
against her chest. Instead, he found his arm giving way,
trembling with the effort of trying to prevent the cold steel
from pressing against his neck.
She giggled, first at his shocked expression and then at his
frantic effort.
He put both hands on his sword, but smiling triumphantly she
continued to force him backward, still using only one arm. But
what an arm! The forearm bulged out in veined ridges against her
soft, flawless, tanned skin and the biceps and triceps swelled so
much that they split her sleeve, exposing even more of the
awesome musculature. She had always been athletic; in the rough-
and-tumble games of childhood she had been usually the victor.
But this was a revelation. He was confident that few young
noblemen his age could compete with his strength, and he was a
good four inches taller than his comely adversary. Nevertheless,
she was winning and winning decisively!
His feet slid backward until he was backed against a tree.
Though he grimaced and grunted with effort, she pressed his sword
against his taut skin.
"Admit it cousin! I'm stronger! One of my arms is stronger than
BOTH of yours! Admit it! Admit it!" she exclaimed in rasping
phrases between grunts of effort. Though she was overcoming him
as if he were a child, at least he was forcing her to show some
exertion. But still she kept one of her hands stiffly behind her
back.
One of her breasts burst through her blouse as the flexing caused
it to pop out of confinement. Her broad shoulder had swelled in
corded ridges as well and the ripped and stretched blouse
revealed the deep pectoral muscles that thrust out her heavy,
young breasts. Far from being embarrassed at having her body
exposed, she teased her cousin with her eyes, drawing his eyes
downward to see what effect it would have on him. He stared
appreciatively but was too engaged in trying to fend off her
sword to show any other reaction.
Panting in humiliation, he gasped out, "All right! I guess that
today you might be stronger! Let go! Please," he begged.
"No, Phillipe, that's not good enough! I'm MUCH stronger and not
just today, my weak little Phillipe. Admit it while you still
can speak." She was savoring this moment of truth, unable to
resist some vixenish teasing. He cursed and tried to surprise
her with a burst of effort, but to no avail. She smiled
gloatingly.
Phillipe gurgled and she relented a little. "I admit it! You
are stronger!" he rasped out.
"MUCH stronger," she demanded.
"You--are--MUCH--stronger," he whispered. She let him go, and
her demeanor suddenly serious and tender, asked softly "Are you
all right, Phillipe?"
As he nodded sheepishly, she smiled and goaded him jokingly,
"It's your own fault for being so stubborn."
Seeing that he was not angry, she became bolder and fixed him
with a tender look that he had seen before. It confused him and
excited him. He was deeply infatuated with his beautiful cousin;
he endured her teasing and incessantly combative nature just to
be near her, in hopes of moments like this.
"Feel my muscles, cousin," she demanded softly, running his hands
over her biceps, deltoids, and pectorals. She pressed her strong
thighs against him and then devilishly guided his hands over her
large, firm exposed breasts and the moist deep cleft between
them. He felt his erect member lurch painfully against his tight
pants, and she began to breathe in rapid bursts.
"Have you seen how strong my legs are?" She let go and he
stumbled as she peeled off her lower garments. "Feel them, my
dear Phillipe, feel them." Their youthful passion wrapped them
in a spell and they forgot about time and place. In a frenzy
they disrobed, caressed, and locked together. In his youthful
excitement he ejaculated almost at once, but, hardly noticing,
she clamped him on top of her as she pulsated violently. Her
bountiful, firm, muscular curves tossed him about as if he were a
frond riding the turbulent waves of molten lava from a volcanic
eruption. Days afterward he winced from the pain of back muscles
injuriously stretched out by being molded over the outthrust
peaks of her chest, as she simultaneously kissed his willing lips
and massaged his reinflated member inside her scalding body. At
the time though he felt only intense, hot, wet ecstacy.
After the glow of their coupling wore off, the count was seized
with guilt. "We are cousins--what are we to do?"
"Don't worry, Phillipe," she soothed him as she caressed his
face. "We are not true cousins. Your uncle was not my father."
"You are sure of that? How do you know?"
"It was subtle things about how he treated me. He was very kind,
but... A couple of times my mother has started to tell me, I
think, but stopped."
He lay back, willing to believe--and content.
But, without warning, her mother had decided to leave the next
day, and, with tearful pledges of fealty and love, he and Marie
had departed. As the years had passed and her letters had
stopped coming, he gave up the resolve to seek her out. Although
he spent some time in Paris, he had returned to the estate during
the last days of his father's life, and now it was his. It was a
responsibility he assumed reluctantly. He loved the beauty of
the countryside but he chafed at the air of complacency he
observed in the provincial nobility and the tedium of running the
estate. He longed to immerse himself in the discourse of free-
thinkers in the capital. He had spent much of his youth absorbed
in books that imparted knowledge that meant little in the
countryside. In truth he did not know how to run the estate;
most nobles did not, and his father's steward still administered
the daily routine. However, one goal was forming in his mind,
and until he accomplished it, he had decided not to leave.
He fretted over the injustice of the life of the peasant.
Perhaps it was homage to the memory of his dear Marie and perhaps
it was alarm at the portents of upheaval in his land. But more
than that, it was incompatible with his notions of an ideal
society, gleaned from the writings of the Philosophes and their
precursors, that he had embraced privately since childhood.
Whereas he, belonging to the First Estate, paid no taxes, the
peasants were saddled with all sorts of levies. By law, they
were compelled to spend several days each year in labor to aid
the state and the nobility, such as repairing the road that led
to his chateau; he was required to do nothing. He was devising a
scheme to use estate profits to pay the taxes of peasants who
worked his land and give them a chance to own more land so that,
with reasonable initiative, they could improve their lots in
life. Now that his father was dead he could talk openly about
his ideas, but everywhere he met only scorn and ridicule.
"Charity is the business of the Church, my lad," one noble said
primly. Other gentry pointed out that some peasants owned as
much land as many nobles and were relatively wealthy. All it
took was hard work, they said. But Phillipe saw that as a
convenient oversimplification; most of the peasants worked very
hard and barely scraped by, whereas these supercilious nobles
avoided the very idea of work as being unseemly to their class.
With this new interest in his estate, he even found himself
easing into provincial social life. Gradually, memories of Marie
faded and he paid more attention to the women whom society
foisted upon him. Many of them were but girls. As was the
custom, they stayed in their bedrooms until noon, occupied with
their morning toilette and gossip. Marie had despised the
physical passiveness, plump constitutions, and pale white skin of
such debutantes. And Phillipe was generally of the same opinion.
Indeed, part of his cousin's allure had been her exotic sun-
bronzed skin and vigorous constitution. Nevertheless, a girl
named Claudine had caught his attention. She eschewed the gossip
of her friends and, like Marie, she provided intelligent
companionship. Her frail beauty could not make his pulse race
like Marie had, but he respected her kindness and decency. They
began to spend much time together.
Thus preoccupied, Phillipe had begun to accept the tranquility of
provincial life. Perhaps he could make his mark in the world
from here. The emptiness he often felt, he ignored, indeed, did
not understand until without warning Marie swept back into his
life. Preceded by a hastily written note received in the
morning, she and her ailing mother arrived in the afternoon of a
warm summer's day.
Sensations washed over him as if they had never left. Marie was
now a mature woman, more robust than ever, full of figure, tall,
broad-shouldered, graceful, and beautiful. No longer the
giggling girl, but still high-spirited. The lapse of time was
forgotten; he was as infatuated as ever. And--intimidated; he
measured himself against her and felt inadequate.
She had been to America; that partly explained why the letters
had stopped. She had even FOUGHT in the war there. He was not
surprised--whatever she wanted, no man could refuse, no man could
stop her. The last two years she had been with the British in
New York as a spy for Washington.
"Phillipe, dear Phillipe," she grasped his hand. "Sometime I
will tell you about it. I could not even write to my poor
mother. I fear that I am the cause of her ill health."
As the days went by, they had long conversations about the past,
about the intervening years, and about their troubled country.
She contrasted it with America. "There the farmers and merchants
have joined with the aristocrats who opposed the British. I
wonder how long it will last. I saw terrible suffering among
those farmers--I hope they benefit."
She had been to Paris also and she knew about the discontent
among the bourgeoisie. She was more sympathetic than Phillipe to
their cause; they wanted a political voice commensurate with
their importance to the state. Phillipe saw them as profiteers
as bad as or worse than the nobles and the church, for they also
managed to pay hardly any taxes and benefitted greatly from the
foreign adventures that had bankrupt the government. All his
sympathies were with the peasants, who, to his chagrin, despised
him. Marie remembered her bond with the workers in the field,
but when he told her of his plans to help them out, she frowned.
"Phillipe, the poorest among them pay almost no taxes; it will be
of small consequence to pay their taxes. They can scarcely pay
anything for more land; you would have to give it to them. The
way to make things more just is to change the charter so that the
nobles pay their share of the taxes."
"Ah, Marie, the revolutionary! The nobles are almost in revolt
against the king as it is."
"Who said anything about a king? We have no need of a king; the
man is incompetent anyway."
"You are right about that, but making us pay our taxes, which I
want to do, will not necessarily help the poor peasant."
"But it will make you feel less guilty about being a noble, and
it will make everyone who is not a noble less contemptuous of
them." But, seeing his severe disappointment that she did not
immediately agree with his ideas, she tried to amend her
arguments. "You're right,too. At least your schemes can do them
some good, especially some of the luckier ones. Perhaps I can
help you present it to them."
Strangely, though they held hands and had passionate
conversations, they had not ventured yet into the physical
intimacy that they had shared just before their parting as
teenagers. Marie was preoccupied with her mother's health and
both were aware of Claudine's despair at Marie's return.
Phillipe was especially confused, not wanting to hurt the gentle
Claudine but deliriously happy at the return of his first,
indeed, his only love. [continue...]
-
Swordswoman!
by Jack Straw (part 2)
[...continued]
Phillipe was musing about this sudden complication of his life as
he relaxed in the warmth radiating from the rock. He had
accompanied Marie as she visited fields, vineyards, and orchards
where she once had worked. Most of the peasants still remembered
her and greeted her warmly, so much so that it seemed to extend
to Phillipe as well. On the way back, instead of tarrying in the
woods they used to sport in, Marie insisted that they return to
check on her mother's condition, but, as she left him at the
stable, Phillipe decided to walk out to this place that he had
avoided in Marie's long absence. He needed to think.
The young count was roused from his revery by voices from the
lonely trail in the woods below.
"So, out for a ride, your ladyship?"
Phillipe saw that it was Marie, indeed, out for a ride. Her path
was blocked by the captain of the local small army garrison.
Although younger than his father, the captain and his father had
been friends. Phillipe despised him. Clearly, the captain
thought the young count incapable of managing the estate and
treated him with a disrespectful, patronizing manner. Without
being asked, he had rebuked the young count's idealistic schemes
for the peasants, which he had learned of through gossip. "Might
makes right, my young friend! Things are the way they are; you
cannot change them, nor should you. The peasants deserve their
lot, they are capable of nothing more. Besides, they are happy,
carefree in their poverty. They simply don't have the
intelligence to take care of themselves. They need us!"
Phillipe knew that the captain dealt ruthlessly with the tenant
farmers and it was rumored that he took advantage of their
daughters.
Down on the trail the captain continued, "Your ladyship is a long
way from safe quarters. I think you'd be much safer up here with
me. There have been a lot of poachers around here lately."
Phillipe was shocked at the openness of his manner. The path was
not that lonely; there was a chance he might be observed by a
passerby. Did he think everyone feared him, that he could do
whatever he wanted, to anyone? He started to call down to them
but, knowing that Marie could put any man in his place, he waited
to see what would happen.
"Thank you, captain, but I am quite capable of riding alone," she
said icily.
"Am I not good enough for the haughty maid who pretends to be a
noble?" he said, taking offense at her aloof demeanor.
"I pretend nothing, captain. I dare say I may have less noble
blood than you," she responded. From his surreptitious perch,
Phillipe chuckled, knowing that the captain was very sensitive
about being the bastard of a noble. Reflecting on what Marie
implied about herself, he remembered what she had said after they
made love those few years ago.
"So that explains why you are a peasant-lover," the captain said
contemptuously.
"I prefer the farmers to your company at any rate," she replied
evenly.
"At least today you are not dressed like the man you wish to be,"
he taunted. Phillipe noted that she had changed her clothes
since he had left her and was dressed in a most enticing way. It
was a thin, lacy, low-cut frock that exposed her captivating
bosom and every other voluptuous curve of her robust physique.
Typical of her manner, she had allowed the hem of her dress to
ride up so that a long creamy expanse of perfectly formed leg was
exposed; nor did she bother to cover it from the leering gaze of
the captain. This was not at all her normal riding apparel.
Phillipe felt a familiar tingle in his groin. Had she ridden out
to find and seduce him?
"I am myself, sir. I pretend nothing and I do what I choose.
And at the moment I choose to put you out of my sight." She
tugged gently at the reins of her horse to go around the captain.
But catching her off guard, he grabbed her arm. In her surprise,
she lost her balance and felt herself wrenched from the saddle.
Gracefully, she landed on the ground. As he laughed and held out
his hand, she grasped it firmly and pulled him face first out of
his saddle.
"Now we are even, captain. Please, let me pass and I will speak
to no one about this," she said firmly.
But the captain, finding himself at her feet in the dust of the
trail, was beside himself in rage. He growled in fury and lunged
to tackle her but she leaped agilely out of his way, and he wound
up tasting dust once again.
Pulling a sword from a scabbard hanging from the horn of her
saddle, she again spoke without raising her voice: "Captain, you
may know that I am an expert with the sword. Do not make me
injure you. Please let me pass."
The captain laughingly drew his own sword. "I will not let you
injure me, nor will I injure you. I will merely disarm you and
spank your impudent behind."
Phillipe knew the captain considered himself invincible, but
Phillipe stayed in hiding because he knew what the captain did
not. He knew Marie's skill and strength. Perhaps he would not
have to deal with the captain after all.
For the first time, Marie showed irritation. She sighed, raised
her sword and attacked. The captain abruptly found himself on
the defensive. It was as if he were at the center of a
whirlwind. Her thrusts came from all sides. She cut him and
ripped his clothes at will. He became more and more maddened
with rage as she humiliated him with her superior skill.
As she forced him deeper into the meadow from the trail, he
fixated on the rage to wound her, yet was impotent against her
skill and strength. Phillipe noted that once the captain's
intentions became not just dishonorable, but openly violent as
well, Marie became openly belligerent also. In the beginning he
had the impression that she wanted merely to be on her way, but
now she seemed determined to teach him a lesson. She taunted him
relentlessly, with gestures and demeaning riposte, until the man
was gripped with a blind frenzy to make her pay for her lack of
respect. He slashed furiously with his sword, grunting and
practically crying out with each blow, only to find her parry his
thrusts with ease and laugh out loud at his angry impotence.
Summoning the trick she had used long ago to make Phillipe
submit, she tied up his sword with hers and with only one hand on
her sword pressed his sword against his neck or chest. Only by
placing both his hands on his sword and exerting all his strength
could he arrest her sword. She on the other hand, used only one
hand and seemed hardly to exert herself at all. It was wondrous
to the mesmerized Phillipe to see how her arm would explode in
bulges and ridges of muscle as the captain brought both his arms
into play. And even with both his arms against her one, he would
at first give way, though she still seemed to expend hardly any
effort, while he grunted and gasped for breath, red-faced with
grim effort and sweating in streams. And the worst injury to his
pride was the triumphant, supercilious smile on her face as she
pressed him down further, fixing his eyes with hers as if to
extract his silent admission, "I'm nothing; you're stronger with
one arm than I am with two! And you're still not breathing
hard!" Then, magically, as he feared the blade would pierce his
skin, she gave way; he obviously wanted to believe that he had
forced her off with a last surge of strength, but had he? He was
now fighting to salvage his pride.
Many times she ripped the sword from his hands and allowed him to
retrieve it. She laughed and taunted, whereas he was grimly
serious. She now behaved as if it were a game, as if she were a
cat playing with a mouse. More and more, she tied up his sword
and though he pushed with both hands against but one of hers, he
always found himself overpowered, pushed backward at will and
finally dumped on his rear. Always she allowed him to get up and
resume. She toyed with him relentlessly. The buttons of his
shirt and then his pants were stripped off. Thereafter in the
clenches, when he was forced to use both hands against the single
arm of his opponent, his pants would fall. The first time it
happened, she roared with laughter, and for the only time in this
unequal contest, he was able to push her off his sword. Slowly,
all of his clothes were shredded by her sword. His sinewy body
was more uncovered than covered. Still, such was her skill that
he had not been seriously wounded, despite the violence to his
clothes.
The next time she dumped him on his derriere, she stepped on his
sword and smiled down triumphantly, "Really, captain, this is
becoming boring. Admit that I am far better and stronger than
you, apologize meekly, and let's be on our separate ways."
Keeping her foot on his sword, she reached down her empty hand to
help him up.
Glowering, he said nothing as he grasped her hand and gathered
his feet under him. But his pent up fury suddenly exploded in a
flying tackle, his head and shoulder crashing into her relaxed
diaphragm. Phillipe was astonished anew at the complete lack of
honor in someone who was supposed to have pledged his life to it.
Caught off-guard, she dropped her sword and tumbled backward with
the captain landing heavily on top of her in the grassy meadow.
As she struggled to catch her breath, he straddled her and ripped
open the bodice of her lacy frock to fully expose her massive
breasts, which, now released from confinement, burst firmly
upward through his hands impelled by the deep muscles of her
chest.
Drooling at her voluptuous torso, he growled, "It looks like the
tables are turned, Swordswoman; perhaps it's time to put a new
sword in your sheath." He ground his tattered pants against her
waist so that she could feel his sex appendage growing with
arousal. He ripped away the remaining shards of his trousers.
Phillipe almost sprang up from hiding to intervene, but even at a
distance he could see the angry fire in Marie's eyes; he waited
for her counterattack.
Marie had regained her breath and calmly, almost gleefully,
smiled up at the man. "You are such a foolish cur, captain. You
haven't been paying attention; you're too weak to take me. Your
male body is mush compared with my superior female physique."
Phillipe settled back in excited anticipation; she had now
explicitly made it a battle of the sexes.
She pushed the captain's hands aside, but he gripped her wrists
with his leathery hands and started to press them down to her
sides. However, to his manifest surprise, he couldn't get them
all the way down. Her arms, shoulders, and chest abruptly
swelled into jagged mountains of muscle that ripped her frock
further at the sleeves and sides of the bodice. He pressed
harder and harder, grimacing with effort, but found his arms
inexorably being forced upward, despite his advantage of weight
and leverage. With hardly any sign of exertion other than a
reddening of her face, she smiled smugly directly up into his
eyes, revelling in the shock of another haughty male suddenly
humbled when her musculature had been fully revealed. His own
corded physique, now flexed to its maximum, which he had always
been so proud of, now seemed puny compared with hers. The
deflation of his ego was matched by the deflation of his
softening prick.
Phillipe, on the other hand, was flushed with arousal. Since her
torso had been revealed in naked splendor, he had almost ceased
breathing. And the flexing of that Amazonian torso into
magnificent peaks of muscular flesh had cast a spell over his
body. Only his throbbing loins still seemed capable of movement,
and a sticky goo began to form in his trousers. Later he would
feel guilty about this voyeuristic inaction, but for now he was
rooted to the spot.
"Big, aren't they? Much too big for you to handle, little man,"
she taunted at the captain. Phillipe wasn't sure whether she
meant her biceps or her jutting, heavy breasts that were even
further expanded than before. Either set of bulges were enough
to discombobulate any man. The feminine quality of her bosom was
beyond question, but the exploding peaks of rock-hard muscle that
had appeared all over her broad torso had a feminine, beautiful
quality as well.
As the big man almost stood in an effort to put all his weight
behind his arms and still gave way to her awesome power, he
didn't notice her legs quietly rising behind him. With a swift
movement she brought her high-heeled riding shoes past his head
and clamped her calves around his neck. With a vicious jerk of
her magnificently strong legs, she brought his head to the ground
and raised her torso off the ground. Fearing strangulation, he
reached up to pull her legs apart, and, as he did so, she opened
her legs and shifted them downward so that both his arms were
trapped between her thighs against his ribs. This maneuvering
had hiked up the hem of her dress so that her spectacularly
muscled legs were revealed all the way up to her broad, sculpted
hips. Almost under his nose, the terrorized man saw another set
of muscles, her rock-hard thighs, suddenly expand into
spectacular relief. The terrible constricting pressure pushed
all the air out of his lungs, making him grunt with a sickening,
"Huuugh!"
"What did you say?" she mocked. "Were you admiring how sleek and
big these can get? Too bad you can't touch them; you might
really enjoy your lecherous little self." She stroked her hands
lovingly along the surfaces of her flexed upper legs. From his
perch Phillipe mentally stroked them too and found them most
entrancing. "Where was this leading?" he wondered.
As she eased up on the pressure to let her adversary breathe, he
whimpered, "Please let me go!"
"Why shouldn't I just crush you to death, you devious bastard? I
offered to let you go once and look what happened. You attacked
me and ripped my favorite dress. So why should I take pity?"
She looked at his agonized face and shook her head, "Well, you do
look pitiful. Such a weak little captain, not strong enough to
play with a real woman, I guess."
Pity or contempt apparently won out, for she loosened her legs
and sprang to her feet. Smoothing her dress, she noticed a grass
stain on the back of it. In her consternation, she immodestly
took it completely off to get a better look. "You know, captain,
not only do you owe me and all womankind an abject apology for
being the miserable cur you are, but you owe me a new dress." [continue...]
-
Swordswoman!
by Jack Straw (part 3)
[...continued]
"To begin a proper apology, why don't you kiss my big rear end?
That rear end that I believe you said you'd spank when you were
feeling so manly earlier. But you really aren't much of a man
after all, are you little captain?" she taunted. "Come on, now,
a big fat kiss on the tush!" And she thrust out her delectable
derriere toward the captain's face as he was coming slowly to his
feet.
Phillipe was amused with her taunting, but he noted that the
captain seemed to be gathering energy for another charge. It
occurred to Phillipe that Marie had not tried to injure or
exhaust the man. He was still capable of much mischief.
Phillipe felt like crying out to warn her. Sure enough, he saw
the captain clench his fist.
Marie's adversary put all of his body into one mighty punch into
her midsection as she twisted to watch his response to her taunt.
Forewarned, she tensed her legs and clenched her abdomen but did
not try to block his fist. The captain, probably expecting to
sink his fist deep into her exposed belly, instead yelped in pain
as his fist hit her soft skin and then stopped abruptly as if it
had hit a granite boulder.
Marie turned contemptuously toward him. As the incredulous man
grabbed his sprained wrist and then gingerly massaged his injured
arm, she stood, hands on hips, and taunted, "Come on, try again,
muscle man. This time hit me hard!"
He looked at her in openmouthed amazement, clearly wondering what
had happened. And then, for the first time, he looked below her
awesome bosom at her trim but densely-muscled waist. She relaxed
it and then clenched it for his benefit so that he could watch
the individual slabs of muscle settle into iron-hard ridges. She
tapped it so that he could hear the deep thuds.
"What's the matter? Has your lechery made you weak, little
captain? Hit me again and injure your other weak arm. A woman
can be rather strong, don't you think? A lot stronger than a man
if she works at it and I've worked at it." Clad only in her
fashionable shoes and a thin garment stretched over her flaring
hips and her mount de Venus, she flexed all of her big, beautiful
muscles at once. They exploded in such violence that one would
think the soft skin might burst. And she made her bounteous
flesh dance for him, in peaks of rock-hard mountain ranges, from
one side to the other. The high heels of her shoes and her near-
nudity enhanced the exotic femininity of her anatomy, a
combination of awesome power and pulchitrude. The captain was
now trembling, his swagger completely reversed, openly admitting
his impotence and her utter superiority.
Slowly, menacingly, she advanced on the captain, her calf and
thigh muscles bulging with each step, "You see, I like men. I
like them as companions, but never as masters. And when a man
likes to abuse women, I say why not rape him, degrade him,
utterly crush him? Because captain, I can do that and you can't
stop it. Not now. I was civil, you were not. I asked for
passage, you attacked. Now I'll enforce the penalty."
Phillipe, who had experienced another--more copious--discharge in
his pants during Marie's flexing, wondered if things were going
too far. What did she mean by rape and penalty? Was she losing
control?
In confusion and terror the captain raced for his horse, but alas
for him the athletic Amazon easily caught up to him and tackled
him. She stripped off his garments completely as he vainly
struggled to escape. Placing one hand at his crotch and another
on one of his shoulders, she lifted him high in the air.
(Phillipe's member throbbed anew as her muscles and bosom
bulged.)
"I wonder, Captain, can I do this with one hand?" and, sure
enough, placing one hand in his midsection and removing the
other, she twirled around, holding him up by only one hand. And
then she lowered him to her shoulder and with trembling, grunting
effort lifted the big man, who greatly outweighed her, with that
one hand. Phillipe, spellbound by this incredible display of
Amazon strength, spent some more in his now very sticky pants.
The captain, fearing that she might drop him or, worse, fling him
to the ground, ended this awesome exhibition by grabbing onto her
neck with both hands. She ripped his hands away and carried him
back into the meadow toward a big fallen tree.
Seating herself on the tree trunk, she clamped the naked captain
across her lap and began to spank his bare behind with powerful,
bruising slaps. "I believe you said something about spanking me,
dear captain. Believe me, it's fun! Too bad you weren't up to
it."
Soon his derriere was blistered and turning purple from bruises,
but despite the pain, the rubbing of his penis along the soft
skin between her smooth, muscular legs was causing it to engorge.
Marie chuckled merrily and momentarily stopped her spanking to
stroke it with her hand. Devilishly, she rubbed his face along
the arousing contours of her upper legs and hips and waist, and
"accidently" caused his hands to brush her voluptuous breasts.
When the formerly stoic captain had broken down sufficiently in
bellows, curses, and sobs, she stopped pounding his rear, pushed
him off her, and lightly rubbed the toe of one arched boot
alongside his raging erection. There was a large drop of precum
that she flicked toward the captain's face.
She laughed deprecatingly. "So, it arouses the big army man to
be bested and punished by a woman! But does it not get bigger
than this? Such a little tool for such a lecherous man!" In his
perch Phillipe subconsciously compared the size of his penis to
that of the captain's and found it wanting.
Marie seemed to consider for a moment and then, reaching into her
undergarment, she retrieved a condom, made of the best animal-
skin material of the times. "La capote anglais," mused Phillipe.
Why had she been carrying that? Had it been meant for him? She
wasn't going to allow the captain to enter her?
The captain, obviously thinking that she did indeed crave his
staff, grasped at this opportunity to restore some semblance of
self-worth. "Oh, my lady, that cursed invention is not big
enough! Besides, you will not get the true feeling."
"The true feeling of what? A little finger?" she chuckled. "I
have to give you credit. Despite knowing I could crush the life
out of you and tear you limb from limb, you are crude and deluded
to the end." He attempted to rise but she held him in place as
she threaded the skin easily over his drooping appendage.
"There, now! I would not let your puny thing loose its worthless
discharge on me, you diseased cur! You will please me, you will
serve me, you will worship me, and it will be on my terms, not
yours! And in the end, you will know your true inferiority, my
little man!" His member drooped still further at the contempt,
the controlled violence in her words and voice. Once again, he
was overcome with fear of her; this was not to be pleasurable,
after all.
"Let me up, let me go! Do you not see you have spoiled your
chance at pleasure now. A man can rape a woman, but a woman
cannot rape a man."
"Yes, rape, now that is a subject of which you are an expert I am
sure. But you've met your match," she hissed. "You are wrong,
swine. There are many ways a woman can find pleasure on top of a
mere man, and I will extract them all. Fight if you can, but I
will have my conquest and you will hate it and yet love it at the
same time. You have already exposed your weakness."
He struggled to escape, but it was futile. Leaving in place the
layer of white linen that simultaneously covered and exposed her
delectable love channel, she held him firmly and mounted his
face. His frantic movements evidently only served to stimulate
her further. She clamped his face tightly with her thighs,
strong as a huge iron vice, and forced her sopping cleft against
his mouth, commanding, "Lap it with your tongue, like the dog you
are. Lap or I'll crush your nose with it." Still, she would not
expose her seeping orifice even to his oral fluids. The cloth
became drenched with her orgasmic secretions and his drooling
saliva as he abjectly complied with each command and let his open
mouth be ground against her engorged clitoris and spasming
vagina.
"That was good," she sighed. "See, even with a limp appendage,
you can still be of some use to a woman."
He glowered in frustration and humiliation. "Oh, poor, baby.
Have I been too rough for the soft man?" She caressed his cheek
and chest and ran his hands along the arousing contours of her
voluptuous torso. Only a stone could not have been aroused by
her perfect body, her seductive manner, the warmth and soft
pressure of her body. And the captain was no stone; lust was
his biggest weakness. He erected to full flower, stretching the
condom impressively.
She straddled his large prong, grasped it gently, and plunged
down. ("No, Marie!" Phillipe wanted to cry out.) The captain's
prick disappeared completely in her slit. Despite being sheathed
in the condom he had spurned, he gasped in pleasure. He searched
her face for the shock of pain or pleasure of being impaled by
such a prodigious organ, but instead she merely smiled haughtily.
She read in his face the frustration at being trapped impotently
beneath her. "So this is what you're so proud of. THIS is what
is supposed to conquer a woman? I'm trying to feel it, but it
seems too small. Maybe if I push harder!" She came down so
forcefully that she flattened his balls. "Ooo!" she said as his
eyes opened wide at the painful shock. "I guess you must like
that, eh?"
Slowly, she plunged up and down. Despite whatever pleasure he
may have felt, the captain was kept from reaching orgasm by the
more and more forceful plunges on his groin. Gradually, her
breathing became ragged, whereas the captain winced at the
obviously painful pumping on his abused member. Suddenly, she
went berserk on top of him, wrenching his prick in vicelike
spasms and threw his body to and fro. Phillipe, unable to avert
his eyes from this scene, was amazed anew at her strength, for,
though the man she had tamed was taller and heavier than she, she
cast him about like a leaf in the wind.
She grabbed the captain's head roughly with one hand and thrust
his mouth against the stiff nipple on one of her large, firm
breasts. "Suck it!" she commanded. He sucked, first on one and
then the other, impelled by the overpowering strength of that one
arm. He struggled against the painful stretching of his neck and
back, trying with both of his hands to push against her one arm.
The iron-hard bulging of the hugely exploded biceps panicked him
but strangely caused his softening prick to become rigid again.
In her frenzy to stimulate her tingling, orgasm-stiffened
breasts, she swung them back and forth against his face. The
weight and firmness of those awesome globes blasted his cheeks
and dazed him with the force of the blows. Was there no end to
this woman's power? He was being pummeled into unconsciousness
just by the force of her lovemaking. As a final wave of
sensations hit her, she appeared to focus her energy on the
muscles of her vagina, grinding down on his stiff member. The
wrenching pressure caused him to gurgle in pain and try futilely
to extract his trapped penis. She buried his head between her
breasts and rubbed them together with her strong arms. Trapped
in this smothering hold, he jerked frantically, stimulating her
to still more violent spasms and flexing of her arms and vagina.
Robbed of air and grimacing from the crushing power of her
lovemaking, he passed out momentarily.
Phillipe was simultaneously distraught and fascinated by what had
transpired. He wished he had not witnessed it, but still could
not bring himself to leave. He was disgusted and yet awestruck
by her libido.
As he revived, the captain peered woozily at her leaning back
with her arms behind her, catching her breath. He was still
trapped beneath her, with his still erect penis inside her. She
grinned down at him. "There now, did I not say that you would
serve me, whether you wanted to or not? How many women have done
the same for you? You didn't care about their feelings did you
my little CAPTIVE captain? Now you know what it's like. Feel
degraded, unfulfilled? Remember that." She rose abruptly off of
him. His erect penis encased in the animal skin slapped against
his lower abdomen and reminded him of his unfulfilled lust as she
turned to look for her clothes.
Spying his sword nearby, he grasped it and quickly thrust its
point against her naked back. "Now, bitch, you will give me my
pleasure!" he roared. "On your back!" he ordered, bringing the
tip of the blade against her neck, and calmly she complied.
"Yes, give it to me," she murmured and stroked his flagging
member to its former state of arousal as he straddled her. He
had intended to remove the condom but was caught off guard as she
grasped his buttocks and thrust him roughly inside her. Her
lusty response gratified and stimulated him.
"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" he gasped breathlessly.
But, without warning, she sprang into action. Quicker than a
striking snake, one of her muscular hands was clamped around the
wrist of his sword hand, immobilizing it and then crushing it
viciously, so that bone and sinew were mangled together and the
sword dropped harmlessly, its gentle clanking drowned out by the
bellowing of the injured man. Still on the ground, she clamped
her smooth, granite-hard, muscular legs around him and squeezed.
"I could have disarmed you right away, you coward, but I thought
this might make a bigger impression on your feeble male brain. A
man who gets between a real woman's legs better be INVITED!" she
said coldly, sending a crushing jolt through his midsection with
the last word. "Otherwise, he just might find himself cut in
TWO!" she hissed, increasing the pressure to match her words.
He ran his hands desperately along the corded expanse of her
gams, clearly terrified at the steely density he felt, and
screamed as she crushed down. Satisfied that he understood that
his health and life were at her mercy, she relaxed the awesome
pressure of her legs and concentrated her energy on the vaginal
muscles that entrapped his shrinking penis. Her abdominal and
chest muscles flexed awesomely as she wrung his pulpy maleness
with her mighty love tunnel and laughed as he blubbered
incoherently and tried to extricate himself.
"If only you could see yourself, dear captain. You have me on my
backside where you wanted me, and your little piece of male flesh
is there inside of me but you don't seem to enjoy it at all!"
Relaxing her vaginal lock, she lifted him out with her legs. His
limp, woefully stretched penis slipped out of the condom.
Clamped at the midsection between her lower thighs, he drooped
down on either side. He was completely limp, utterly humiliated,
but she wasn't finished. Neatly depositing him onto the ground
beside her, she rose and straddled him.
"Let me show you how superior the female is for love and combat."
Oblivious to his desperate squirming beneath her, she forced one
large breast upon the now fully exposed limp penis and tender
balls. She pressed her torso downward, and, with her strong
hands sinking into the flesh of his buttocks, lifted his crotch
upward. At first she rubbed him slowly with her large, heavy
breasts. As his prick began to stiffen, her breasts stiffened as
well, the nipples becoming rigid and the areolae puffy. To her
surprise (and Phillipe's incredulous stupefaction) the novelty of
these ministrations were arousing her sexually once again. The
pressure of her massaging breasts became more and more forceful.
Her nipples gouged into the sensitive head of the captain's semi-
erect penis and the rest of the breast, stiff with arousal,
bulged downward into his vulnerable testicles. He thrashed to
escape the pain, but she restrained him by gripping his head
between her smooth vice-like thighs. As the wave of surging
sensations took hold of her, she took a deep, deep breath and
flexed her immense chest. The extreme force of her thrusting,
ultrafirm globes ground his genitalia to a flattened pulp. He
sobbed and screamed but this time she ignored him as another
orgasm wracked her.
"So, dear captain, what happened to that mighty organ of yours?
Pathetic, isn't it? Is there ANY part of your body that can
match mine?" She compared her huge hard biceps with his clearly
inferior one. Her mighty, beautiful, flexed thigh with his much
thinner, white, hairy, ugly one. Then she thrust out her
magnificent, large breasted chest. "Clearly no contest there."
"And we've just seen that that little useless thing between your
legs is clearly no match for what's between mine!" she
continued.
"Well, you are taller and heavier, but doubled up like this, it
hardly matters." She pressed him upward by lifting upward on his
belly. "Feel those FEMALE muscles my little man. Just think of
what I can do to you if I want. And I haven't forgotten what you
had in mind. You've picked the wrong woman this time, CAPTAIN."
She amused herself by dropping him and letting him grovel at her
feet.
"So, captain, should I rip you apart with my bare hands for the
abominable way you have behaved all your miserable life,
including today? You know I could do it, do you not? I could
snap your limbs as easily as I can break this tree limb," she
said picking up a large tree limb that had fallen during a recent
storm. She held it between her outstretched hands and, suddenly,
the muscles of her arms, shoulders, and torso bunched into
terrifying mountains of granite flesh. The tree limb
disintegrated with a loud crack that caused the cowering man to
jump in sheer terror. Phillipe was astounded at her strength; he
doubted any man twice her size could have accomplished such a
feat.
"I didn't intend you any harm, I truly did not!" the captain
blubbered out, trembling uncontrollably, completely unmanned in
his abject fear of this colossus of a woman.
"Well, perhaps not at first. You merely wanted to intimidate me,
like you bully everyone else. But when I stood up to you, you
did want to hurt me; you wanted to rape me. And I'll not let you
forget it. Repeat after me: 'I am little cowardly piece of male
jelly, not worthy to kiss the toes of your superior female
feet.'" [continue...]
-
Swordswoman!
by Jack Straw (part 3b)
[...continued]
He did so, curled up in a trembling, limp ball, to protect
himself against what he expected to be a final onslaught from the
mighty woman. And he almost fainted, simply from fright, when
she swooped down and pulled him against her vastly superior body.
"Now, tell me why I shouldn't crush you to a pulp, one bone at a
time!" she demanded menacingly, constricting her arms in a bear
hug. From his perch, Phillipe saw her astoundingly broad back
explode into ridges of muscle and the captain's eyes go white in
terror and sudden pain. Concerned, Phillipe wondered whether he
would finally have to show himself to keep Marie from doing what
he would have thought previously would have been impossible,
squeezing the life from a man as big and strong as the captain,
and doing so effortlessly. In this awesome display of utter
superiority over a large, vigorous male, she was the ultimate
embodiment of womanhood--supremely independent, brilliantly
intelligent, indomitable, voluptuous beyond belief, and, clearly,
much stronger than any man he had ever known. It was terrifying
and exhilarating at the same time!
"No!" shrieked the man, desperately beating on her body in a
futile effort to get her to loosen her grip. "Please don't kill
me. I won't bother you again; I won't bother anyone again.
Please!" he debased himself.
Shifting her hold, she pressed his face between the awesome
mounds of her bosom until he was nearly suffocated. As his body
slumped on the verge of fainting, she withdrew his face and asked
softly, "If I spare you, can you truly repent?"
Like a sorrowful child, he nodded weakly and she continued, "You
must suspend your will and focus all your thoughts on what I
say." Phillipe marvelled that she had reduced this gruff and
vicious thug to such a state.
"Focus your eyes on my breasts and biceps at the same time.
Watch them flex and bulge and dance," she said rhythmically and
then repeated, in a sort of chant.
Phillipe, relieved but puzzled, crouched back down. "Now what?"
he wondered and then thought he understood as he noticed that the
captain seemed to be falling into a trance. Marie had mentioned
that while in America she had learned a technique of mind control
from a British major who had lived in Egypt for a while. Little
did he know, she had said, that she had used this technique
against the major's comrades later on.
"You must find a strong woman and serve her."
In rhythmic tones she chanted softly, "Man is weak. Woman is
strong. Woman guides pathetic man. Man is helpmate of woman."
Somnambulantly, he repeated the words.
She forced him to kiss her body slavishly from the top of her
neck to her feet. "Feel my body, feel its strength, its
hardness," she said placing his fingers on the smooth, soft skin
of her biceps. "Try to dent it, with all your male strength,"
she commanded and flexed her arms into giant rocks of flesh. He
tried but could not. His cock, having engorged during this
carnal worship, leaped in rigid arousal.
"Kneel," she commanded. He knelt, his arousal bobbing
agitatedly, but otherwise, he was calm, submissive, mechanical.
"Feel the might of woman." She flexed each muscle group and
voluptuous curve of her body as she guided his hands over her
awesome flesh. "Your place is at the feet of your woman. Your
greatest pleasure is to feel her strength. Repeat and remember."
He repeated all she had said and continued to pay slavish homage
with his mouth and hands to her perfect form and awesome
strength. In his spellbound state, he was still passive but his
breathing was becoming ragged and his cock was now monstrously
bloated and ridged with veins. Flexing her mountainous biceps
and thrusting out her massive breasts against his face and hands,
she pressed her arched shoe against his rigid member, trapping it
against his hairy abdomen. He toppled backwards, with her foot
still pressed against his cock, and spent in spurt after spurt,
splattering his face and coating his torso. She moved away as if
to avoid being soiled by his discharge.
He sought to grab her leg in worshipful supplication, but she
drew back imperiously. "No, I am not the woman you seek. You
seek another--and only by feeling her strength can you again find
pleasure, the great pleasure you have just experienced. And only
by serving all women can you find satisfaction. Your place is to
serve." He repeated this, mechanically, for her.
"Now, kiss the grass and bare your rear end to me." He did so.
Retrieving her sword, she said, "You will feel no pain now, only
later. And when this heals into scars, it will remind you of
your pledge." She proceeded to carve something with her sword
into the cheeks of his bruised rear end. Almost absent-mindedly,
she said, "This one is the symbol for Womanhood," patting one
cheek, "and that's her sword. They will remind you of your
inferiority, and the superiority of those you serve." She
wrapped his bloodied derriere in the tattered remains of his
trousers.
Pulling his face into the deep chasm between her breasts, she
said, "You will sleep now for a short while, and when you awake,
you must begin your quest." As he passed out from lack of air,
she dumped his limp form on the grass, and looked searchingly in
every direction. Phillipe was thankful that only he had
witnessed this bizarre altercation; many simple folk would have
thought her a witch. Looking at first relieved and then almost
somber, Marie donned her clothes and strode to her horse.
Mounting it agilely, she gazed fixedly not at the pathetic form
of the captain but at another spot nearer the river, a spot that
had great meaning for Phillipe as well. Smiling sadly, she
turned the horse and cantered away.
A while after she rode away, the captain stirred, groaning in
pain. Phillipe had walked down to trail and approached the
pathetic man. Despite his contempt for him, Phillipe helped him
up. "Captain, I think you should leave our district as soon as
possible. There was a witness to what you did today and what was
done to you. Soon your life would be miserable here."
"Hmm?" responded the man vacantly. "Yes, I must leave. I must
serve," he murmured.
Still skeptical, Phillipe frowned and said nothing. He put the
poor man across the captain's horse and slowly rode back to the
chateau, lost in thought. [continue...]
-
Swordswoman!
by Jack Straw (part 4)
[...continued]
"Phillipe," Marie called out to him, spying him in the garden.
"I must talk to you. I have a confession to make."
"About this afternoon?" he blurted out. Until that moment he had
not decided whether to admit that he had been there, but now he
plunged on. "I saw what happened."
"You were there? By the river? And did nothing?"
"Would you have wanted me to? It didn't look like it."
"Perhaps you could have saved me from myself." she looked down
and then into his face. "You saw everything?"
He looked down without speaking.
"Not very gallant of you, Phillipe," she murmured sadly. "I
suppose you think I'm a monster and harlot."
"You were magnificent," he said earnestly, and then hesitated.
"But .... ? Yes, I suppose you think I went too far. Well, I'll
not defend myself. As I told the captain, I answer to no one but
myself. I've learned to accept my passions. Sometimes I seek
out men like him. Today it just happened, but I enjoy bringing
down arrogant men, whom other men can't seem to control and can't
stop them from bullying other men and women. And it inflames my
passion to defeat them, to master them in every way, EVERY way."
She stopped and looked up at his face, reading his conflicting
emotions, seeing the wounds from his knowing that she had sported
sexually with many men and, as he had seen, not having needed him
to derive intense pleasure. It was only natural, but still it
hurt. Gazing at him tenderly, she continued. "What I feel for
you is different, Phillipe; it's love--honest love." The lusty
fire in her eyes caused his pulse to race and his loins to stir.
"I want you so much. I've never stopped loving you. I rode out
there to find you, to see if you wanted to... if you would have
me. But now..." She looked down and then away for a moment
before finishing. "It's for the best," she murmured cryptically.
She waited for him to speak and after a moment continued.
"That's what I came to confess. Phillipe, my mother is dying,
and she told me this afternoon, after our ride, that she wanted
to talk to both of us together. And I'm sure I know why. I've
now figured out who my father was; it wasn't very difficult. But
I wanted to pretend I didn't know -- for just a while longer.
That's why I was out at our meadow today looking for you."
Her eyes were full of tears. "Oh, Phillipe, I love you and my
mother so. I didn't realize how much until these past few months
with her and then the past few days with you, and, now, I'm going
to lose you both." He hugged her almost reflexively and felt her
wet tears streaming onto his neck and shoulder. It was
unbelievable; such a magnificently capable, independent,
incredibly strong young woman crying on his shoulder, leaning on
him for support. He was deeply touched -- and, it must be
admitted, he was aroused sexually. Had the moment been right, he
would have gladly carried her to his bed or allowed her to carry
him -- for her strength had always excited him. But this was not
the moment and there never would be such a moment. He also had
been struck by a flash of revelation. But what did she mean,
that she would lose him? They could still be together, couldn't
they, just in a different way.
She broke away and dried her eyes. "That's my confession and now
we have to talk to Mother. She's awake and waiting for us."
Phillipe followed her in a daze. His world was turning upside
down, so soon after he had begun to feel truly alive.
He was shocked to see the condition of her mother. She had
always been such a robust well-formed woman; the heredity of
Marie's awesome constitution had been obvious -- or at least half
of her heredity.
Her words were few. Only five were needed really to confirm what
Marie and Phillipe had already guessed. The rest of what she had
to say did not require words and she soon stopped. Phillipe
quietly left Marie as she stayed at her mother's side.
__________________
A week later they laid her to rest next to the grave of her
husband, Phillipe's uncle. It had been her wish; there had never
been any doubt about his devotion to her. Marie and Phillipe
returned to his estate, and she prepared to leave for Paris. He
thought they could still live together, but she knew it would
never work. At their parting she molded herself against him and
pressed a long, breathtaking, heated kiss on his mouth. The
prodigious thrust of her buoyant bosom pressed his overmatched
chest inward. He could feel her other bountiful, perfect curves
firmly pressed against him, especially at his throbbing loins.
In her passion, she unintentionally almost crushed his ribs with
the awesome strength of her embrace. He melted against her,
almost swooning. But then gently she pushed him away.
"Goodbye, Phillipe. Enjoy your life, wherever it takes you. And
take care of yourself with the women here," she smiled, dropping
a sleek capote anglais into his hands.
She climbed into the carriage, waved as it turned onto the
entrance to the road, and was gone.
For a while Phillipe was lost; it seemed pointless to stay at the
estate but he did. Gradually, he began to implement some of his
plans. Some were accepted by the farmers, although with hardly
any of the gratitude he expected. Others he came to realize were
foolish and naive.
Phillipe chased away all other women, allowing only Claudine to
get close. Almost out of pity he married her; she was so devoted
to him. He had begun to appreciate her beauty; she was more
slender than most of the other girls, except for the swell of her
pleasing bosom. Graceful and not at all plain. She could hold
her own in conversation. But most of all she was so good-
hearted, especially toward him. He was unswervingly faithful to
her. And though he wished for a more aggressive lover, he did
his best to please her in bed. She learned the pleasures of
orgasm and he dutifully guided their lovemaking so that she had
them; indeed sometimes she became so animated that Phillipe found
some measure of the lusty amazon he secretly craved. But it was
only the shadow of what he desired; most of his lust was stoked
with fantasy--fantasies not about her. In that way, he realized,
he was unfaithful.
They had children. Claudine ran the household with a firmness
and vigor that surprised him. Phillipe began to think more
practically about the estate. His youthful, idealistic plans to
parcel it out to deserving tenant farmers were largely canceled;
he felt a responsibility to provide for his children.
Occasionally, he visited Marie in the city. She consorted with
the avant garde of society, a lioness for change, and she
continued her unbroken string of conquests, some sublime, many
violent. More than once she had goaded a humiliated rake into
challenging her to a duel and of course triumphed each time,
never killing but, nevertheless, seriously wounding her foe. It
got her into social trouble, but slowed her down not in the
least. When Phillipe visited, though, they never spoke of these
amazonian conquests, of dominant love or martial art. Instead,
it was of the exciting winds of change in the capital, leading to
the first years of the revolution, which they championed, giddy
with the expectation of a just new society. Their passion for
each other never abated, but they honored their parents and did
not couple. Their love remained youthful by having reached
consummation only that one time so long ago. Through all the
changes of the times and their lives, it seemed strangely
unchanged.
And then came the Terror. Even Marie could not withstand mob
insanity. She died not on the guillotine, but from musket shots
as she tried to help a friend escape arrest. Not even her
natural armor was proof to blasts of lead and then the merciless
thrusts from a dozen blades on her fallen body. Summoned from
the country, Phillipe numbly retrieved her cold, putrid corpse
from the hell of Paris. He buried her next to her mother's
grave.
Like most other provincial nobles, Phillipe weathered the storm
of these times on his estate. The peasants protected these
nobles and their land; they feared change as much as the nobles
did.
Finally it was over and the country convulsively embraced a
social order that to Phillipe's way of thinking was not much
different than before, except that the nobles and the Church had
less power. Instead of a king, they now had a consul, who ruled
as a dictator and every day seemed closer to crowning himself as
king--or perhaps as Caesar, like the one who once ruled Gaul.
And it seemed that France was at war with everyone.
Phillipe stayed at home. With the changes in laws, some of his
local reforms were no longer needed. He pushed and helped, as
much as he felt he could, to build a small hospital and a school.
He tried to induce his farmers to try new methods of farming of
which he had learned by reading. They did not trust reading and
frustrated him. He loved his children and his wife, and, more
and more, devoted his attention to them.
But late at night after Claudine was in bed, he would see Marie
in his thoughts. And in his thoughts she was forever brilliant,
invincible, supremely powerful--and insatiably lusty. The chaste
Marie that he knew in Paris was somehow forgotten at this time of
day; at other times he honored that Marie as well. In bed, often
when he drifted off to sleep, he had versions of the same dream.
_________________________
They were alone in his bedroom. She drew off her cloak and
stepped toward him, completely revealing her naked, magnificently
powerful and sexually alluring body, omnipotent muscles bunching
and relaxing, legs bulging with each stride, trim corded waist
contrasting with incredibly broad shoulders and awesomely out-
thrust chest, her beautiful face challenging him imperiously,
seductively. He was raging in arousal just at seeing her fully
revealed and watching her move each delectable, intimidating part
of her anatomy--and also excited by the, as yet unspoken,
challenge to his manhood, which served him well in contests with
his own sex, but was so obviously inferior to her awesome
womanhood.
Raising the sword at her side, she challenged, "Have you ever
fenced in the nude, cousin? It looks like you have raised your
sword before mine, not very gallant," she laughed nodding toward
his midsection.
And he noticed for the first time that he too was nude and
bursting with arousal, his engorged "sword" bobbing in
anticipation. In his hand he found a real sword of cold steel
and raised it, mutely accepting the challenge. He drew himself
up to his full height, so that he looked down slightly on his
comely foe.
"Two swords against one," she mocked amiably. "It won't help."
And she engaged him and they struggled around the room. Her
bewitching anatomy and the smell of her sex in the clinches kept
him bobbing, indeed dripping, in unrelenting arousal. She bested
him at each thrust and parry, forced him ever backward until,
having pressed him against the bed, she ripped the sword from his
hand and cast her own aside as well.
"Now for some hand to hand combat." She lifted and threw him
onto the bed and pressed her heavy, perfectly formed body on top
of his. To please her, he struggled with his utmost strength,
but could not unseat her. The rubbing of their flesh aroused him
unbearably and he erupted in gout after gout onto their tightly
meshed torsos. She laughed throatily, triumphantly.
She forced his mouth against her breasts and below her breasts,
demanding that he lick off his semen. Knowing that resistance
was futile, he did so first in revulsion and then, as she became
more and more aroused, he did it with passion, gnawing on each
turgid nipple, licking the puffy areolae, feeling around the
endless, smooth landscape of each firm, bountiful breast.
Heeding her cries of ecstasy he ventured lower in his suckling
worship. Finally, she forced her thatch against his face and
spent wildly in volcanic orgasm after orgasm, heedless of the
intense pressure of her mighty thighs on his captive jaws and
temples. Her animal intensity caused him to swoon, but she
revived him with wet delicious kisses from head to toe. He was
now raging with urgent erection again.
"I bet you'd like to get on top and put that in me, wouldn't
you," she taunted. And he struggled fiercely to show her he
could, but alas he could not. Still, not needing to expend much
of her limitless energy in fending off a mere male, she had
amused herself by fondling him during this unequal struggle to
such an extent that despite his grimacing and trembling exertion,
he was flushed with arousal and hugely erect, aching to be
satisfied. She teased him by rubbing the seat of her sex around
his member but preventing its penetration by his impotent
thrusts.
Finally, she relented and plunged down. Hot flesh was enveloped
by hotter flesh. And she held him there, and, giving him a taste
of the muscular prowess of her sheath, sent wave after wave of
constricting massage through his swollen prong. He wondered if
she were going to bring to eruption in this manner, without any
pumping of their bodies, but just as he started to spasm into her
heated chamber, she shocked him by clenching the muscles that
trapped him in a crushing vice. He cried in pain and utter
amazement at her power.
"That's just to remind you who's in charge, my lover," she
whispered smugly. Having thus prevented his release, she rose
slightly and plunged down on his still erect member. As she
pumped more and more, she exulted as his member expanded further
and became even harder. He could feel its veins and head bulge
out, and then he became acutely aware of her clitoris, engorging
to surpass his prick, not in size, but in hardness. As she
plunged up and down, this steely female dagger gouged a painful
valley into his weaker male member. She became more animated and
began to plunge down so fast and hard that his swollen testicles
were pummeled and squashed. But he approached climax even as she
did and spent in spasm after spasm, combining with her own
copious flow into her voluptuous sheath.
Lost in her orgasmic flight, she clutched him suffocatingly to
her breasts and squeezed his prick in painful vice-like
contractions that wrung all the substance from his member. Their
fluids seeped out of her vagina to course between them in sticky
rivulets and flooded the room with a the musky odor of orgasm.
Her mighty vagina continued to wrestle with his now woefully
overcome member. Now receding in retreat to be wrung
ignominiously to a painful pulp of useless flesh, it had not been
up to the challenge of resisting her strength as long as she
wished. But--it was only male; and he had given her some
pleasure. Imperiously, she allowed his puny, limp member to drop
out of her powerful slit. Surveying his spent form triumphantly,
she moved to his side.
And then -- her manner softened. She lovingly pressed warm, wet
kisses on his face and neck and shoulder and heaving chest. She
moved over him and locked him in gentle embrace. Despite her
violence to his body and his utter exhaustion, he felt vibrant,
at last fulfilled. "It was beautiful!" he turned to say but she
was gone.
__________________
The banging of the shutter in the cold wind of the winter's night
roused him slowly. His sheets were drenched with a cold, gooey
deposit. He turned to the slumberous breathing of his bedmate,
not the naked, gloriously nude Marie, but his gentle Claudine,
chastely covered in the thick nightclothes of winter.
Did Marie really visit him from another realm during his dreams
or was it, as he supposed, all within him? If she witnessed
these fantasies but was not their cause, he hoped she didn't
mind. At least, then, she shared his secret -- if nothing else.
John Stephens, 1995
[THE END]
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723/8982/9897
It's useles to add that comments are very welcomed.
-
First of a three part story by Jack Straw
Glove Man
by Jack Straw
Part 1, Manbeater: the only female at a party wreaks havoc
Part 1 -- Manbeater
It was supposed to be a swimming party, but I was one of only
three guests to show up, and the only water on our bodies was
sweat from all the beer we were consuming. The host was a
bachelor named Stan who was house-sitting for a wealthy couple
touring South America for a month. Why they entrusted the place
to Stan is beyond me. It had a large swimming pool and the four
of us were wearing loose sports shorts that could have been used
for swimming, but I'm sure the others had as little intention as
I to get wet. We had come to ogle the babes Stan had promised
would show up, or at least I presumed that's why the others were
there.
This "party" had been one of my last options that day; at least
that's what I would have told anybody else. My wife was on a
rare business trip. I wanted to do something with the kids but
they begged off when friends called. They were old enough that
we hardly saw them during the day on weekends. They used to beg
me to do this or that with them, but now -- well, I wasn't going
to beg, at least not yet.
Rationalizing that it wasn't my fault but my family's by
abandoning me, I was in the mood to peek at the life of a
bachelor. Stan was always bragging about this or that conquest,
although I knew it was mostly hot air. The possibility, remote
as I thought it might be, that there would be some scantily clad
females was enough to lure me away from the other option -- the
always delightful afternoon of cleaning the gutters free of
putrefying debris from the trees that surrounded our house.
From the moment I arrived, though, I felt as out of place as one
of Monty Python's chartered accountants at a biker convention.
In fact, these guys fit the stereotype of the traditional biker
right down to the tatoos emblazoning each beefy shoulder and the
beer bellies swelling the lower halves of their tank tops. But,
to have departed right away would have made me even more of a
wimp in their eyes than I already was. So I stayed to have a
beer and then another. Soon the bullshit started to flow, the
stories got richer and richer, time passed, empty beer bottles
mounted up, sobriety departed and I stayed. It didn't even
matter much that I hardly spoke. For some reason, I never
remember jokes and, even the ones I remember I can't deliver in
the laconic style these guys had long ago perfected. Not that
most of their jokes were at all humorous -- crudity was the key,
any humor was superfluous.
One of the running gags was that Stan in all seriousness
continued to maintain that several "babes" -- and he "had a
stable of them" -- were still going to show. That part was
mildly funny, because Stan didn't seem to realize how ridiculous
he was. Looking back on the way things played out, however, I
wonder if maybe the joke was mainly on me. If so, dame fortune
let me have the last laugh.
So how did I know these guys? I'm the shortstop on their slow-
pitch softball team -- at least this year. Except for softball,
I would not know these guys. This spring I was looking for a
slow-pitch team, since I had decided my fast-pitch days were over
and baseball was a dim memory of the past. A casual acquaintance
knew about these guys and, because they were supposed to be good,
I decided to try them. They tried me and I stuck. Personality-
wise, I felt isolated but I tried not to judge or be judged. The
game's the thing. The shortstop is chosen for defensive
purposes. My job is to stop every grounder it is humanly
possible to reach between second base and our cement-legged,
portly third baseman, and to snag short pop flies. It takes good
reflexes and some foot speed, both of which I was losing, but I
was still among the best in their league. The other guys on the
team felt their missions were to hit the ball as far as humanly
possible, and these three, especially, were good at putting their
considerable weight behind their swings and lofting home runs.
Remembering that all three of them worked at the same place, a
department store warehouse, I vaguely recalled that the third
baseman worked there, too, and asked about him.
"Well, get used to playing the rest of the season without him,"
grumbled our catcher. "He just managed to rupture himself badly
at work this week."
"What -- a hernia?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's all the fault of that witch they hired for the
summer," joined in the other beer-swilling guest, our slow-
footed, but heavy-hitting right fielder.
"A witch? They hired a woman to work with you guys?" I cut in,
suppressing a grin. I knew these macho he-men wanted everyone to
believe their jobs were too heavy for a woman. "Is she the only
woman there?"
"Yeah, in the warehouse she is. They never should have hired
her. A woman's not right for that job, and talk about an
attitude -- always pushing to show us up. Everyone knows we can
work faster than we do sometimes, but the idea is to pace
yourself for the long haul, like we do." The right fielder,
having put together three sentences without wetting his throat
was overcome at this point and had to take a long drink, allowing
the catcher to pinch hit, so to speak:
"That's why Phil is hurt. She goaded him into lifting some heavy
appliance boxes. God knows why. He started screaming and we
knew he must be hurt bad. We got there before the foreman and
covered up the truth. If the company had found out that he was
lifting that shit instead of using the forklift, he'd have gotten
no workman's comp. They're still suspicious about that and we
had a 'lecture' the next day about safety and all that crap. All
because of that fuckin' bitch. If Phil hadn't been involved, it
would have been worth it to snitch on her and get her ass fired,"
bellowed the catcher, now thoroughly out of breath and beet red
from anger. The beer fairly sizzled as he quaffed a long one.
It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. I had to meet
this gal sometime. She must be quite a character to have
provoked such venom. Perhaps I could drop by the warehouse some
day on some pretense about the softball team, I thought.
Stan's demeanor was different than his beefy friends. He had
become almost introspective as soon as the subject of this woman
came up. "Getting her fired isn't the only way to deal with a
bitch like her, you know," Stan said cryptically. I had been
about to say something to egg them on, but Stan's manner and his
words made me want to change the subject. Before I could think
of something, though, they piqued my interest in this woman even
more.
"She's not going to show, Stan. Forget it. That business about
armwrestling was just to get your goat," the catcher muttered
between sips on a fresh bottle.
"Armwrestling?" I asked. Stan had seemed to imply something much
more ominous.
"Yeah, Stan told her after Phil got hurt that a girl had no
business doing man's work. Well, PMS or something set in," the
catcher chuckled. "She started flappin' around, shooting her
mouth off. Claimed she was stronger than he was -- stronger than
any two of us. Challenged him to an armwrestling match. Now
that's a good one!" the catcher said with a loud guffaw. But, I
was only half listening. For me, a new dimension had emerged,
one of age difference. Up to this point I had assumed for some
reason that we were talking about a woman, who like us, was
middle-aged -- not a "girl."
Meanwhile, as if to rebut the claim by a girl that she was
stronger than he, Stan had walked across the patio to a weight
bench next to which a barbell with an impressive amount of iron
was resting. I added up the weights and realized that it was
about twice what I ever managed to lift with my little set at
home. Stan hefted it to his chest and shakily pressed it over
his head five times. He was breathing heavily as he let it down,
but I was silently impressed. His biceps, triceps and deltoids
were huge after this brief pumping. He may have had a big gut on
him, but his chest was even bigger; it and every other part of
his body looked solid. I was more intrigued about this "girl"
than ever. I had to meet the woman who even in a heated moment
might challenge a behemoth like Stan to arm wrestle.
"So, what happened in the armwrestling match?" I asked in an
offhand way, trying not to show how fascinating I found all this.
"Oh -- well, Stan laughed at her but said if she was serious, to
come to the party today and be prepared to put her money where
her mouth was, but obviously, she's not showing, and I never
thought she would," the catcher said dismissively.
"Never thought WHO would WHAT, Curly?" a melodious voice boomed
out behind us at the bald-headed catcher. "And I thought *I* was
late. Where is everybody, Stan?"
My heart skipped a beat. Now I was delighted I had stayed. I
judged her to be about 25 years old -- tall, broad-shouldered
with an exaggerated hour-glass figure, clearly athletic, with a
face perhaps not lovely but nicely sculpted and dominated by her
intensely bright and penetrating eyes, and, as I was to find out,
possessed of a totally uninhibited personality.
She looked from one to another of us sardonically -- I was caught
in her spotlight before I could wipe the drool off my chin -- and
continued, "Where are the other women, Stan?"
"Linda, great to see ya! Oh, the others are still coming. I
expect them to get here any time now," Stan said earnestly, while
she could read on our faces that the rest of us were on the verge
of bursting out laughing. In my case, though, a sobering
possibility had occurred to me. I had assumed up to now that the
ridiculous lack of guests was a testament to the fact that nobody
really liked Stan; after all, he was a bully and a braggart, and
those were his good points. However, the sense of unease I had
earlier at Stan's words was returning. Still, I couldn't believe
these guys would risk anything illegal, especially in front of
me.
"Have a beer," Stan offered, popping the top off a bottle plucked
from his still mountainous supply, nicely frosted in tubs of ice.
"Hmmm, okay. Sure, might as well. It doesn't look like you'll
miss just one," she replied.
Even in my inebriated state, I saw that she had sized up the
situation and was completely unconcerned, even quietly defiant.
I could sense even then that being the only woman with four
strong men, drunk enough to do things we wouldn't normally do,
was appealing to her. In retrospect I feel that she knew exactly
what visions our hormone-driven minds were conjuring up, and she
revelled in it; it would make the day more fun for her. I see
now that she had come expecting a dull party with an obnoxious
host, but this more intimate situation suggested a quite
different prospect, one that would have alarmed almost any other
female, but which she welcomed. This powerful aplomb, as much as
her athletic hourglass curves, made my heart race and I was aware
that I was not too drunk to prevent a phallic salute in her
honor.
"Hi, I'm Linda," she thrust out a smoothly muscled hand attached
to a thickly muscled wrist and forearm. As I rose and tried not
to flinch from her exuberant grip, Stan, the suddenly solicitous
host, introduced me as the shortstop on his softball team.
"So, you're a glove man," she said with what appeared to be a
modicum of respect. "Slow pitch is a game for couch potatoes and
beer bellies," she turned to drink in the sudden red that flashed
onto the faces of our stout company, "except for the shortstop
and the left fielder," she finished, turning back to me.
I grinned to let her know I was on her side in this opinion but
let it rest without a word in response. I was fascinated with
her fearless goading of these guys. Was she really as superior
as she seemed to think?
"How's Phil, guys?" she asked in what seemed a very sincere tone.
Still, inwardly, I winced. She was like a matador inciting three
bulls.
"As if you care. He's going to be out for at least three weeks."
"Look, I told him not to lift those cartons. I knew they were
too heavy for him. I told him I'd take care of it myself. No
need to get the forklift for just two lousy items. But after I
put the biggest one up on the stack, he had to try one himself.
You guys just refuse to admit how much stronger a woman can be.
If I hadn't grabbed it away from him as soon as he started to
collapse, he'd be in much worse shape, believe me." She turned
to me, "I suppose they've been telling you all about lethal Linda
and how she breaks rules and puts good men in the hospital." Her
story and the gleam in her eye had my member bone hard and poking
through the old jock I'd worn.
"Right, that's a good one, Linda. You lifted one of those
cartons on top of a stack. I suppose you pressed it way over
your head first, huh," the right fielder said in a tone as
sarcastic as he could manage.
"Look, I'm very sorry about Phil, but if he had listened to me,
he'd be here to rag on me along with rest of you. I'm tired of
this silly macho delusion you guys have. And there's only one
way to put an end to it," she said spiritedly. "Stan, it's time
to put up your hand and prepare yourself for a bruising of the
old ego. I had hoped for a bigger audience to witness your loss
but -- how about a little monetary prize? I've got about fifty
dollars in my purse. Are you willing to match it, winner take
all?"
"Can anyone else get in on the action?" asked the catcher.
"Sure, Curly, you're the next victim after Stan, if you like,"
she smiled sweetly.
"You really are full of it, aren't you lady. No, I meant I'd
like to place a bet that Stan beats you in less than a minute.
And I'll give you whatever odds you like. I've never seen Stan
lose at armwrestling in the bar we go to."
"You guys should spend more time at the gym and less at the bar.
Your muscles are all in your head," Linda snorted.
I cut in, "I'll take that side bet, Frank, but first I want Linda
to know that Stan just lifted that barbell over there five
times." I needed to know whether she had real confidence, based
on real data, or whether it was bluster. "Curly" -- Frank --
blinked and just stared at me in shock.
She stared at the barbell and then asked, "Pressed it or curled
it?"
"Pressed it with some difficulty," I answered looking steadily at
her and ignoring the glares of the males who disgustedly
considered me a traitor to their sex.
"Let me make you some money, Glove Man," she grinned at me.
[continue...]
-
Glove Man
by Jack Straw
Part 1B - Manbeater: the only female at a party wreaks havoc -
[...continued]
"Okay, Curly -- " whoops, she had me saying it now, "Frank--" I
corrected myself, "fifty dollars." Shaking his head at my
treason and what he thought was stupidity, or perhaps flirtation,
on my part, he shook my hand to seal the bet.
"Okay, clear us some room, guys," she said, settling her sexy bod
with feminine grace at the middle of one side of the big table we
had been sitting at and placing her elbow in traditional
armwrestling position.
"Oh, all right," Stan growled testily, "but I'm not going to go
easy on you. I want you to agree that, if you get hurt because
of this, it was not my fault. This was your idea."
"Oh, I'll not forget that. Even now, you'd back out of it if you
could. But you can't now. I'm assuming that you'll hold ME
blameless for any injuries YOU suffer?" she taunted back.
He merely grumbled, "Let's get this over with."
They locked hands and, without seeming to exert herself much at
all, she was able to get him to really strain. And within a few
seconds his hand hit the table with a resounding thump. She'd
won!
I thought "Curly" was going to faint. Both of Stan's friends sat
in open-mouthed shock. Stan was red-faced and looked like he
might bolt into the house at any moment. "That wasn't fair," he
said, trying to laugh as if he hadn't been trying. "I never got
a proper grip and you started before I did. But if you want to
say you're better, go ahead. I'm not interested in this."
She let go of his right hand with a smug look on her face, and
then, with a magnanimous air, announced to us, "Okay, you deserve
another chance. Best two out of three."
"Hey, don't I get any say in this? What about my bet?" I was
trying to take the heat off Stan, because, although I despised
him, I was conditioned to be embarrassed whenever a female
triumphed over a male. It was a perverse denial of the one thing
that infused my private fantasies. Why was that?
However, she ignored me and grabbed his right hand again with
hers. Stan reflexively tried to extricate his hand but, to his
obvious surprise, wasn't able to. In fact he grimaced as she
grasped more tightly.
"Look, okay, but this is not a proper grip," he grunted.
Grinning superciliously, she let him arrange their hands as he
wanted, and let him push down first. Stan forced her arm down
quickly almost all the way, but not quite. It was obvious that
he was trying now. His face was a beet red grimace and veins
stood out on his neck. When he could not get her arm to move
down further, he rose in his chair to put more weight on his arm.
Linda began to chuckle at his effort and then to laugh outright
as she forced his arm slowly back. Finally, she slammed it to
the table once again.
Stan's friends gasped; this was not at all what they had
expected. They had been counting on her comeuppance. Instead,
they were witness to as humiliating a thing a cocky jock could
suffer, being beaten convincingly by a girl -- a young WOMAN --
at least fifteen years younger. Even I couldn't help being
embarrassed for Stan and our sex, but I of course was excited as
well. My mouth was dry.
"I think this settles once and for all who's stronger Stan," she
tauntingly announced.
Linda kept taunting and belittling him; it was obvious that she
was goading him into further confrontation. Stan's face was
getting darker and darker. He had to find a way to get even.
"One more crack and I'm throwing you in the pool," he growled.
She giggled, "You and what army, wimp?"
"That does it!" he yelled, and he charged at her to lift her on
his shoulders but went stumbling behind her as she side-stepped
and pushed him.
Tauntingly, she turned her back on him and began to peel off her
clothes. She had arrived in a loose half-sleeved swimming
jacket, a long, wrap-around skirt, and high-heeled sandals. As
she removed the jacket to reveal a bikini top, I became aware of
two things. One, it was obvious now how she could triumph at arm
wrestling, and two, for a heavily-muscled woman, she had very
large breasts. She was obviously into bodybuilding and had been
for a long time. And what a body she had built! I was now hard
as a rock and sat spellbound hardly able to breathe, anxiously
awaiting the unveiling of the lower half of her awesome physique.
As she reached down to loosen her skirt, Stan tackled from behind
with a triumphant shout and they went rolling in the grass.
Linda managed to slip away and remove her skirt from luscious
long muscular legs. Stan attacked again and the fight became
serious.
It became clear that Stan was overmatched. She seemed to know at
least as much about wrestling holds and was faster and stronger,
and she was a big girl in every way except for her sinewy waist.
As her muscles flexed and bulged, although I guessed that Stan
was taller by at least four inches and heavier by as much as a
hundred pounds, she seemed to dwarf him.
Her strategy, if she had one, seemed to be to wear him down.
She'd let him get her in a hold and then slowly reverse it. Then
she'd put him in a strength-sapping hold such as a full-nelson
and ease up just enough so that he fought furiously to escape.
At one point, out of breath and trembling with exertion, he
yanked off her top, perhaps hoping that she would run for cover
and that would end it before he collapsed. But it didn't faze
her in the least. Now completely bared, her large, jutting
breasts undulated with her movements. My cock, which had been in
a wrestling match of its own with my old, torn jockstrap, became
rigid and poked wetly against my light swim suit. It dawned on
me that her meaty globes were as beautifully tanned as the rest
of her.
In retaliation she bent one of his arms behind him, forced him to
the ground, and with her other arm slowly removed his swimming
trunks and then his jock as he flailed away with his legs. The
she turned him over and began to rub her breasts in his face
while rubbing one sleek, muscular leg along his stout, hairy
legs. Soon he was sporting a full-blown erection.
She giggled delightedly, "You like this, Stanley! You really are
a wimp. Is this what you guys had in mind?"
She insinuated her voluptuous, perspiring, body sensuously
against him, trapping him with those awesomely muscled limbs.
She alternately smothered him in the deep chasm between her
breasts and trailed those firm globes and their turgid nipples
down his torso as she clamped his arms to his sides with her
obviously stronger arms. These ministrations had Stan writhing
in sexual frustration, his prick bobbing excitedly near eruption.
Though almost exhausted, Stan began to thrash around to escape
his humiliating predicament. His face was as red as a ripe
tomato.
I looked furtively at the other men. Their faces were as flushed
as mine undoubtedly was and, like me, they were swallowing
loudly. I vaguely felt that someone should intervene to stop
this sex show with which Linda seemed intent on entertaining us
and humiliating Stan. But it wasn't going to be me -- they were
his friends and yet they did nothing but leer. Fully in control,
Linda turned nonchalantly, and, noting our lust-laden paralyzed
states, she smiled exultantly.
She clamped a scissors across his lower torso so that his bloated
cock was trapped under the velvety skin of one bulging thigh and
continued to hold his arms in a steely grip, eventually weakening
him to the point that she held both his wrists in one hand. She
traced her other hand lightly over his torso. Stan, now
exhausted, could only curse and did so loudly and vilely. But
very soon he gave in to the inevitable. We, his guests, still
sat spellbound without intervening to save him.
The end came as Linda folded him against her in a bear hug that
lifted the huge man off his feet as if he were a toddler. It was
a fitting statement of her total physical victory and, yet it
became a tool to send the overmatched male over the edge, as she
pressed his chest against hers and rubbed his cock between their
sweaty bellies, her trim corrugated muscle and his bloated beer
belly. Stan in his exhausted, sexually dominated state, moaned
almost blissfully. Apparently feeling Stan's prong contract,
Linda lifted him triumphantly overhead -- a prodigious display of
brute strength in itself -- and at that very moment in a stunning
proclamation of her dominance, he spurted in a milky eruption
onto his face, his chest, and then like a feeble fountain merely
dribbled out over the head of his spasming member. No words, no
concession of defeat could have stated more aptly his utter rout
and her complete mastery, physically and sexually.
Laughing at how ridiculous he looked, she marched triumphantly to
the edge of the pool, still wearing the sexy high heels that
emphasized her spectacularly muscled but smoothly feminine legs,
showing off her outrageously heavily muscled upper body, massive
chest, meaty boobs, as she held him high over her head. Then she
tossed him high into the air out over the middle of the water,
where he landed with a thunderous splash that sent spray almost
to where we sat twenty feet away. Alas for Stan, the humiliation
continued. He apparently swallowed water as he went in and
swallowed more as he was unable to keep his head above water as
he weakly flailed in panic. Quickly tearing off her sandals,
Linda dove in to bring him to the edge of the pool, where she
hauled him up with one prodigious arm onto the grass. He lay
there more dead than alive, wheezing and coughing, and trying to
draw a breath.
Her conquest of Stan emphatically complete, she switched her
attention to the rest of us, three hale and hardy males, slightly
drunk, red-faced, open-mouthed, dry of throat, and speechless.
She put her hands on her granite-hard broad hips, thrust out her
breasts intimidatingly, and tossed her head in silent challenge.
"What's next?" she queried, totally in command of the situation,
despite being almost naked.
One of Stan's beefy friends managed to croak out to his cohort,
"Come on, Frank, let's cool her off! She's begging for it." And
off they charged, grinning, while Linda giggled and tensed her
body to ward them off.
Even as they grabbed her, she peered between their broad backs,
unconcerned, and taunted me, "Afraid to touch a girl, Glove Man?
They'll never get me in without your help."
Sure enough she managed to hold them to a standoff close to the
edge and soon maneuvered them so that they were both closer to
the pool than she. If she could manage to disentangle their arms
from her, a strategic push from her and they would be in the pool
instead of her. At this point I intervened. Thinking it would
be funny to send them all in, I sneaked up and pushed one guy as
hard as I could. He fell toward the pool, pulling on her, and
she pulled on the other guy. Perfect! They all fell in with a
giant splash that just missed drenching me as I danced out of the
way.
Once she surfaced, she proceeded to dunk the big guys one after
another under the water as they floundered clumsily each time
they surfaced. Soon they were gasping for breath, spitting
water, and close to drowning. It was hilarious and magnificent
at the same time; they were defenseless against this amazon. I
laughed convulsively; after all, I was dry and safe, and they
were getting their just desserts. But at the same time, I was
tremendously aroused. Her awesome boobs were jouncing on
display, and her beautiful muscles flexed and bunched, her
animated face breathtaking in its beauty, and somehow the wet mop
of thick hair added to her allure. The dryness in my throat and
the racing of my heart made the pitch of my laughter sound like a
teenage boy entering puberty. And I felt like a teenager in
other ways as well. I was conscious of the huge boner springing
out the side of my torn jockstrap, and I hoped the tenting of my
loose pants would recede before anyone noticed me. No such luck!
"Hey, mister Glove Man! You got me wet, and now you're going to
pay," she yelled playfully. Leaving her two victims to try to
recover from her horseplay, she dove for the side of the pool, as
I raced away. To my surprise, she caught me even before I had
time to run out of breath and slow down. She tackled me gently,
turned me over, and stretched out her ultrastrong, heavy body
prone on top of me. Face to face with this young goddess and
with her large firm breasts pinning me, I was close to
ejaculating in my shorts. And she felt it. Playfully, she
ground her crotch against mine and pinned my arms above my head.
In my younger days, I would have spurted right then. As it was,
I was leaking pre-cum juices freely and making the inside sticky
where the outside was getting wet from her wet bikini bottoms.
Giggling impishly, she lifted me in the air, purposely grabbing
my crotch so that she could feel my joystick through the shorts.
-
Glove Man
by Jack Straw
Part 1C - Manbeater: the only female at a party wreaks havoc -
[...continued]
"MISTER Glove Man!" she exclaimed in mock disgust, "You are a
dirty, dirty old man. Such behavior must be dealt with. I
believe a good old fashioned dunking is in order." She literally
threw me, much farther than I thought possible. I flew into the
water and far under the surface in graceless fashion. When I
surfaced, she was waiting for me and dunked me under before I
could breathe. She then proceeded to assault the other two, who
had been clinging to the side of the pool gasping and spluttering
and coughing. Soon it was a dunk fest, with her on top and us
underneath. She would push two down at once using the other of
us as an underground horse.
Finally, three utterly bedraggled, bleary-eyed middle-aged men,
coughing and sputtering in unison, beheld her taunting us from
the edge of the pool, where she stood, hands on hips laughing at
us, and jiggling her tits back and forth at us in a triumph of
one sex over the other.
The other two guys struggled clumsily out of the water, one after
the other, and were effortlessly thrown back in. Finally she let
them gang up on her, while I watched safely out of range. They
tried to pull her back in, but, despite the huge advantage of
their combined weights, she pulled them in the opposite direction
toward the grass. The bulging, the definition, the sheer
explosion of massive muscles all over her body and the way her
breasts shot outward with the expansion of her chest was
breathtaking. I was so hard it hurt and the intensity of sexual
arousal had me perspiring despite being half-immersed in water.
I was jealous of these two guys grappling with her lusty
perfection completely bared except for a minuscule bikini bottom.
They were trying to salvage male pride by pinning her beneath
their considerable masses, which to me was hardly a victory if it
took both of them to do it. I was lifting myself out of the pool
to intervene when I realized to my delight that she was also
winning this contest of strength -- handily. One beef jerky was
being crushed between her thighs, her huge muscles etched in
granite ridges, while the other beer jock was trapped on the
ground face-down in a vicious bear hug. She was so much in
command that she smiled at me as if to goad me into joining the
fray.
Things came to an abrupt halt, though, with a gruesome crunching
sound. Seemingly without meaning to, she had applied too much
pressure to her scissors and our catcher screamed in agony. She
broke off her holds immediately. The catcher clutched his ribs
in agony and gasped that he had to leave. The right fielder and
I followed him out to his car, but he was in no condition to
drive.
"Look, maybe I ought to go to the clinic," he wheezed to his
friend, giving him the keys to his car, and off they drove with a
spraying of loose gravel as the tires spun out.
After assuring herself that he probably wasn't hurt as bad as he
thought and shrugging her shoulders, Linda had gone back to the
side of the house where the pool was. I gazed at her swaying
hips until they swept out of sight, musing that now she had
eliminated a second guy from our team, most likely for at least
for a couple of weeks.
I headed for an upstairs bathroom to relieve myself before I
headed home myself. The bathroom had a window that looked down
on the pool area, and, as I performed nature's ritual, I heard
Stan and Linda arguing. Apparently, Stan was sufficiently
recovered that he wanted to wipe some of the luster off Linda's
absolute triumph over him and his friends to this point. As I
washed my hands, I could see them and hear them distinctly
through the open window.
"What you need is a good hard fuck, slut," he said grabbing his
exposed privates.
She laughed and put down the towel she had been using to dry her
hair. "THANK you, old man," she said sarcastically. "And I
suppose you are willing to do me this favor?"
Stepping toward him, she rubbed her body sensuously against his
and gently caressed his crotch area. Viewing the spectacular
sweep of her torso from the corded valley of her abdomen to the
Himalayas across her deep chest, I was struck by how perfectly
she would fit against the huge beer belly of our right fielder.
Stan was in much better shape than his friends, and the gap
created by her mountain and valley physique allowed Stan's
immediately erecting member to fly up unimpeded against his own
thick solid belly as she pressed her magnificent tits against
him, kissed the startled man on the neck, and held him closely
against her.
"Are you the man I've been looking for, Stan? I need it bad."
she breathed hotly.
Breaking away from him, she took off her bikini bottoms and lay
down on the grass, beckoning him with crooked finger. As Stan,
panting with lust, plunged down to mount her, she suddenly
pressed her legs together, covering the furry landing zone he was
aiming for. She grinned up at him as his ample midsection
slammed into her bent-up knees. Lying with her torso flat on the
ground, her hands laced together behind her on the grass and her
head resting on them, she grinned up at the surprised would-be
stud, angrily grunting to catch the breath that had been knocked
out of him.
"The prize is down there, stud," she teased, nodding her head
toward the pussy clamped from view between her iron-thewed gams.
"All you have to do is open the gates and I'm yours he-man. But
I don't think you can do it. I've got more muscle in my legs
than you do in your entire body, including the muscles in your
head, fat boy."
"You need to be taught a lesson, smartass," he snarled.
Stan was not fat and the muscles on his nude monstrous physique
bulged impressively as he furiously pried at the cleft between
her legs first just with arms, and then, becoming more and more
violently incensed, he pried with both arms and legs -- to no
avail. With her upper torso completely relaxed, she seemed to be
expending no effort at all in repelling his savage advances and
insulted him further by laughing almost uncontrollably at his
frustration. Finally, he began to pound his fists and feet on
her body, the vicious punches thudding against her steely body.
He rained them first on her legs and, when the only effect seemed
to be pain in his wrists and ankles, he pounded her tensed
abdomen, again with the only effect being that she laughed even
louder and taunted him to hit harder. As he proceeded further up
her body in a maddened rage, she merely folded her arms to
protect her breasts from punches that he delivered with grunts of
energy, but which still had no effect on her impenetrable
physique.
Nearly collapsing with exhaustion, the almost sobbing man threw a
final punch at her face, but she caught his wrist as it flew
toward her laughing visage. Grabbing his other wrist, she beat
his fists together -- as if he were a child -- so forcefully that
he bellowed in pain and crumpled down beside her on the ground.
"Naughty, naughty. Are you the kind of male who tries to cover
up his weakness by beating up on defenseless women? Shame,
shame," she chided.
She clambered atop him, pressing his arms down and outward in the
classic pin, and overpowering his legs with hers in a grapevine.
She lowered her prodigious chest over his face, smothering him in
the deep chasm between her large globes. From my surreptitious
perch, I was hard as a rock and dripping with arousal.
"I could smother you. I could break your legs in half. I've
done that to a man in this hold. I could do anything I want with
you, old man. You're completely at my mercy. Not what you had
in mind when you invited me here, is it, you devious bastard --
the only woman with four men. But you couldn't rape me, Stan,
not even all three of you. You're not strong enough. You're not
men enough," she spat out.
"As a FEMALE I am so superior, I can punch out your lights
without using my fists or feet. You like to punch a woman's
breasts. How about my boobs returning the favor?" She twisted
her powerful torso from side to side, slamming her heavy
ultrafirm breasts into his jaw. "I once dislocated a big
fellow's neck this way," she remarked. Stan's head rocketed from
side to side, pounding into the ground on first one side and then
the other. I believe with a few more blows she would have
knocked him out, such was the force of her blows, but she stopped
and gazed down imperiously at the woozy man.
"Are you ready to be a good boy?" she asked. He nodded. What
else could he do?
"Then stick out your tongue, Stanley boy," she demanded. He did
and she lowered her breasts to run the nipples over his moist
tongue. Even from my vantage point, I could see the nipples
swelling and the breasts hardening in arousal.
"That's good. Now suck them gently." Soon she shifted positions
so that Stan could apply the same ministrations to her snatch.
She plopped it down forcefully on the cowed behemoth's mouth and
nose. "Yes! Yes! You are good for something after all. Keep
it up! Yes!" Her head thrown back, she lifted and rubbed the
protesting man's face against her wet honey pot. Oblivious to
the man's muffled screams, she squeezed her legs tightly in the
throes of a violent orgasm. As she slowly wound down, Stan's
head fell limply against the ground between her parted legs.
Seeing that he had passed out, she slapped him to revive him.
"You can't quit on me now big fella; you've really got me hot!"
she grinned down at him. Still woozy, Stan blinked at her
stupidly and then, as sentience returned, quizzically.
She twirled her naked body onto the grass and pulled the
befuddled male on top of her. She parted her legs in the ages-
old open invitation of a woman to a man. "Come on stud, get it
up for me. Show me your stuff, big man."
Her aggressive challenge obviously had Stan on the defensive, not
to mention the confusion of whether to trust her, but, shaking
the cobwebs from his lust-laden brain, he tried to retake the
initiative. "This is what you've been wanting all along, isn't
it?" he said, no doubt hoping to sound masterful, but in his
underlying anxiety at being forced to prove himself, the words
came out shakily.
"Well, COME ON," she taunted. "Is this what you call a HARD
fuck, old man? SOFT is what I'd call it so far," she giggled
reaching for his limp member. Like almost any man in this
situation, Stan was finding that things were moving too fast.
"Hold on babe, you're rushing it. Let's relax a little and start
again," Stan said, desperately struggling to gain some control.
But he had jumped into the barrel and now he was approaching the
waterfall whether he knew it or not. He was stretched out on top
of her, braced on one arm, with the other hand reaching to
worship one of her firm hard-nippled melons, his limp member
nestled near her pubis. As he reached to caress her breasts, she
raised her legs so that the thighs were snug against his middle
and her toes trailed sensuously along the backs of his stocky
hairy legs until they flicked against his ball sacks. "Yes," he
sighed, "I can feel it getting hard." He rubbed it back and
forth across her furry snatch.
"You want something HARD?" she hissed contemptuously. "Feel
THIS."
Resting her head on her arms in languid fashion, she clamped her
thighs roughly around Stan's bloated torso. I marveled at the
instant ridges that swelled up in those thickly muscled legs, so
alluring in feminine strength but once again being used as
instruments of torture.
"Ach --" Stan gasped and then wailed, "No! What -- are -- you --
doing? Stop, please," he wheezed in barely audible grunts.
"Stan, you are such a wimp. I'm not even trying hard. Imagine
what it would be like if I squeezed as hard as I can? Here, I'll
give you a taste -- three quarter power," she taunted gritting
her teeth and raising her torso in the effort. Her legs swelled
even further and straightened out in layers of ridged feminine
steel. They sliced deeply inward on Stan's middle, causing
purplish male flesh to fold over her vise-like thighs.
Stan screamed and then lost all capability of making a sound
until she relented moments later and relaxed her grip. But as he
dropped his arms inside her legs to push them aside and escape,
she clamped her legs back together, trapping his arms against his
tender sides and even managing to entangle his legs so that he
was completely immobile. In obvious pain he tried to get all his
thick muscles into play to force her legs apart, but once again
it is no contest. She merely blew on her fingers as if nothing
were happening. "How do you like our HARD fuck so far, Stan?"
Relenting once again, she pushed him away from her and stood up,
hands on powerful hips. Stan grabbed his abused abdomen and
groaned softly. She straddled him so that he had an unimpeded
view of all her parts.
"Stan, how could you presume to make love to me? You apparently
don't have enough testosterone to keep it up long enough to put
it where it'll do some good, and you can't even take a little
squeeze. If we continue, I'm afraid I'll kill you or put you in
the hospital without meaning to," Linda derided him.
Sick with pain and humiliation, Stan unwisely began to hurl
insults at her. "You're just a musclebound bitch who wants to be
a man. No man could want you anyway, bitch. Only a miserable
lesbian looking for a dyke could want you."
Linda merely laughed, "That's good, Stan. I'm glad you still
have some spirit but you'll have to try harder. I don't insult
that easily. I know you want me. You probably wank off at night
thinking about me. You've already shown your colors, remember?
But how about another contest? I think I can get you so hot
you'll beg me for it. I'll even make you fuck yourself, you'll
want it so bad."
And with that as her goal, she was all over the poor man. Once
again she was rubbing her awesome naked flesh on his. And as
night follows day, he was soon hard and beside himself in
delirious lust. He did beg her to give him relief, but her
response was to make him lick and kiss her special parts.
Finally, he was at the point of no return.
At that moment she did something so awe-inspiring that later it
would play itself over and over in the bijou of my mind. She
swept the surprised but lust-enveloped man off his feet and
cradled him like a baby. Placing one mighty arm under his white
tush and the other behind his shoulders, she flexed mightily,
folding his thick torso so that his cock pointed at his face.
Despite the pain and surprise, his orgasm continued unimpeded and
he spurted ridiculously on his face.
"See, you did fuck yourself, fat boy," she giggled, bouncing him
up and down.
But she didn't stop with that. As if testing the limits of her
strength, she continued folding him. The explosion of muscles
was like nothing I've ever seen, even on her previously that
afternoon. It was an outrageous display of sheer brute strength.
It should have been enough that she was completely supporting a
250+ pound man in her outstretched arms, but in addition, she was
folding him like a closing suitcase against the resistance of his
leg, arm, ab and back muscles, not to mention the thickness of
his beer belly. Stan was bellowing, first in embarrassment and
then in sheer pain, and struggling violently to get out of her
grasp or at least to counteract the ignominious constriction of
his thick body.
The expansion of her bare chest was eye-popping. Mountainous
ridges of muscles stood out all over her body in this Herculean
display. How many such exercises must she have done to get to
this point? What dedication, I thought. I was leaking copious
sticky fluid onto my shorts and I could hardly breath.
"Fight it, old man. Give it all you've got. Is this the best
you can do? I could break your back, wimp, and you're too weak
to prevent it," she hissed.
She was now clearly exerting herself, perspiring profusely, but
she was compacting him still further. Audible cracks reached my
ears amid Stan's screaming. [continue...]
-
Glove Man
by Jack Straw
Part 1D - Manbeater: the only female at a party wreaks havoc -
[...continued]
"Now do as I say: NO more ABUSE at work. I WILL break you in
half if ANYBODY does ANYTHING. Now eat that spunk that you have
so disgustedly loosed on yourself."
She used his own hand to wipe the comical globs from his face,
forced it into his mouth, and commanded him to lick it off. He
did so, gagging and almost whimpering. "This is too much, you
crazy bitch," he whined.
I shook my head in disbelief. Did he have a death wish?
"Stan, Stan. After all this, you would call me a bitch? And as
for being too much, consider what you guys had in mind for me."
"You've got it all wrong. You're just the only woman who showed
up --"
She cut in before he could go on, "I'd like to believe that, but
there is still the matter of your language. All day I've been
sparing you, but now some bones must be broken. Choose what you
want broken, Stan." He kicked out of her grasp and leaped to
escape. But before he had taken a step she caught him with one
arm and threw him roughly to the ground with it.
"Okay, I'll choose. I'm going to break your nose with these two
fingers. But to make it sporting, I'll give you a chance. I
think that my FEMALE right arm is stronger than both your MALE
arms and legs combined. I'm going to hold your head with one arm
and press down against both your arms and legs with just my other
arm until I grab your nose and twist it at the bridge. If you
can keep me away for a minute, you escape. Begin!"
As the day had proceeded, she had revealed more and more of her
prodigious strength. Were there ANY males this strong? Once
again I was spellbound as her nude chest, arms and shoulders
exploded in bombs of sensuous muscle. Inexorably he gave way to
her flexing colossus, despite grunts of effort and panic at
suffering yet more pain. His muscles stood out as well, but,
whereas when they had first faced off, his had seemed equal to
hers, they now seemed puny -- the beautiful female muscles
overwhelmingly superior to the homely male ones.
She soon had him so wadded up that she tweaked his nose
teasingly. "Okay, here goes the nose!" she rhymed.
Stan lost it completely. "No, no! Stop, please. I've had
enough. Enough. I'm sorry, I'm SORRY!" This last shriek escaped
his lips as she began to twist and I thought I heard a little
crack. At that point, the effect of Stan's beers and his
complete unmanning at this last insult resulted in a stream of
urine that Linda adroitly managed to avoid.
"That's pathetic, Stan. Too bad your friends missed that! You'd
be a legend for sure," she derided him. "Geez, it was just a
nose. What if I'd chosen your jaw or your impotent little
balls?"
"I've broken my nose before. And it hurt!" he whimpered. "I had
to have an operation."
"It hurt! It hurt!" she mocked the big man. "What a baby!"
She threw the thoroughly cowed and humiliated former bully toward
the house. "Get out of my sight and don't come back out until I
leave, you blubbering wimp."
She looked up at the very spot I had occupied during their long
confrontation, squinting her eyes against the sun. Then, wiping
her brow and rubbing the perspiration from her sexy intimidating
prow, she decided to leap back into the pool.
I slipped out through the front door, avoiding Stan, who I had
heard collapse inside the back door. I then crept around the
house and, while Linda was swimming away from me, walked
rapidly toward my keys and wallet, and retrieved them from
where I had left them on a table. But before I had taken two
steps away, I heard the sound one makes when emerging from the
edge of a pool.
"Enjoy the show, Mister Glove Man? or should I say Mr. Voyeur? I
knew you were watching."
I turned around to face her. I didn't ask how she knew; goddesses
are omniscient.
Before I could think of a response, she burst out, "My, my, what
are you hiding in there? You like muscles on a girl -- or is it
something else?" She smiled knowingly, expanding her chest and
then flexing her arms."
As I have stated, she was not a beauty in the conventional,
societal use of the term, but to me she was a goddess. And that
body was completely exposed, gleaming in the late afternoon sun,
with droplets and little streams of water causing her breasts and
nipples to stand at attention. I was about to loose more juice,
and glancing down I noticed to my chagrin that my shorts had
dried sufficiently that the wet goo recently deposited was
showing through. It was all the more embarrassing because of the
difference in our ages.
"Tsk, tsk. I must punish you for being a naughty voyeur, Glove
Man. Are you in the mood for a little punishment?"
"I- I'm married," I croaked, thinking it might be relevant.
"So conventional of you. Well, your wife surely understands that
a man must be punished for his sins. Besides she's not here."
She leaped at me and in almost a single motion had my shorts off.
Now I was naked and my arousal could not be more apparent.
"A little sticky, aren't we? Is this one of those old-age
control problems?" she observed sardonically.
"It's really your fault. I think it may have something to do
with the way you're dressed," I croaked out, clearing my throat.
She chuckled, "There's something about you I like."
"Well, don't forget I bet on you," I reminded her. Despite what
I had seen her do and despite my normal anxiety in the presence
of desirable women and despite her touching me with all her body
exposed, I was almost calm, except for rampant sexual excitement.
"Oh, I haven't. Otherwise, you might be crippled too. But you
should be thanking me; I made money for YOU. Why were you here
today anyway? -- Oh, never mind; it doesn't matter," she broke
off, signalling that our conversation was at end and my
"punishment" was at hand.
Deftly, she dumped me on the grass nearby and got behind me,
pulling the back of my head between her legs. My hair was
resting on her hot, wet snatch, and her legs had my shoulders and
torso pinned. My lack of resistance didn't seem to bother or
stop her. I knew or thought I knew that a word of protest from
me would put a stop to whatever she had in mind, but I said
nothing, letting a girl barely half my age dominate me
completely.
She then bent over me, dangling her delectable chest over me, to
reach my legs with her hands. And then she pulled my legs up
until my rear was up in the breeze and my feet hovered near my
shoulders. I felt like a turkey ready to be carved.
"This is not very dignified, you know," I protested.
"Punishment is not supposed to be dignified. You know you
shouldn't have been watching," she replied, "although I confess I
did prolong things a little for your benefit," she breathed hotly
in my ear.
Her hot and cold treatment of me continued, as she first amused
herself by reefing me back in excruciating pain, perhaps just to
reinforce her credentials as the manbreaker of the day. Next I
became aware of her large, luscious, firm, and steaming tits
hanging over my head. I fantasized about sucking on them. Then
I became more aware of her sopping slit, burning with heat behind
my ears. I felt smooth, bulging leg muscles rubbing my chest and
inner legs. Simultaneously, I discovered I had a painfully
aching, slimy erection that was being massaged by femininely
smooth calf muscles as they rippled with tension and relaxation.
Despite my embarrassment and not a little guilt, I was in heaven.
"I'm fascinated by your lack of self-control, Glove Man. And
flattered," she murmured. As if any man could have comported
himself differently, I thought but said nothing. "I wonder if I
can deflate you as easily," she continued airily. I didn't like
the sound of that but could do nothing as she pulled and parted
my legs with her mighty arms so that I almost fainted in pain. I
was no longer so erect.
"Isn't this fun?" she exclaimed brightly.
"Are you asking my opinion?" I grunted sourly and she chuckled,
easing up her pressure.
Once again she made me aware of her physical charms and again I
became urgently erect. I could see the element of youth in this.
Sex and the sexes were still far from tiresome to her. The utter
power of a female to control that silly-looking but fascinating
male organ can be an aphrodisiac. Demeaning a worshipful older
man was no doubt exciting as well. She crooked one awesome leg
so that she could lift and lightly massage my prick with her
toes. She would stop and feel me palpitate with sexual
anticipation, often tittering softly with delight. She was
playing me like a video game or a cat with a small prey, getting
off on the thrill of total sexual domination.
With her legs across my upper arms and her mighty arms still
immobilizing my trussed up legs, I was completely powerless, even
had I wanted to escape. But I had no desire to escape.
I was going crazy with the sexual tension, and I could feel the
heat building behind my scorched ears. Finally, she stroked me
over the hump and I spent, the goo dribbling along the my chest
and some squirting onto my chin. That seemed to be a specialty
with her.
Then she also came, violently, almost strangling me in the
process. As she subsided, she released her hold and let me
recover. I stared admiringly, as she partially covered her
unbelievable body in the clothes she had on when I first saw her.
Stooping to kiss my cheek, she ruffled my hair, now matted and
scented with her juices, and giggled, "Nice head of hair for an
old man. I've always wondered what that would feel like. Try it
with your wife sometime."
Putting on her sunglasses, she sauntered off, both of us unaware
that we would meet again. And the second meeting was to have
much more unsettling consequences for me.
(to be continued)
Soon to follow: Part 2 The game
-
Here I post the second part of the Glove Man story
Glove Man, part 2
by Jack Straw
The game: Some guys never learn ....
[Author's note: I realize that if you've never played baseball
or softball, parts of this story will not have any meaning, but
so what?]
Part 2 -- The Game
After that I didn't hear anything about Linda for a while. Our
catcher, "Curly," was out longer than I expected, almost a month.
Phil never returned at all. Stan and the other leviathan who had
been at the party moved gingerly for couple of weeks, but they
played. Otherwise, we'd have been really shorthanded. At the
games they refused to come near me, which was fine with me. As
long as I got to play shortstop, that's all I wanted from them.
And with the men on our team dropping like flies -- merely from
the efforts of one female -- there was no danger I would be
replaced.
But after a month or so, when our season was winding down, it
emerged that Stan had challenged Linda and her women's team to a
softball game to disprove her disparaging views regarding slow-
pitch "athletes." Clearly, she had gotten under his macho skin.
It was to be six innings at a very isolated field, first three
innings fast pitch and then three slow pitch. In order to get
our guys to do it, Stan had brought a small keg of beer, but only
for our "victory celebration." If the girls lost, Linda had to
pay for it. In order to get the girls to show up, the
stipulation was that, if the girls won, Stan had to agree to pay
the entrance fee for a tournament they wanted to enter.
Stan didn't bother to ask any of us to contribute, knowing that,
except for the catcher and right fielder, the guys on our team
had no great interest in being there, other than the expectation
of some young bodies that would be easy to look at. Of course, I
gladly would have shared in the stakes just for the chance to see
Linda in action again -- or just see her, period. Stan was so
confident that, in addition to what was already a considerable
wager, he had made a side bet with Linda. It must be nice to be
a bachelor, I thought.
The ball field was way out in the sticks, a place that Linda had
suggested, according to Stan. I had trouble finding it but still
showed up at my normal time before the game, time enough for
warming up and some extended ogling but not so soon that my
eagerness was too obvious.
Both teams were dressed in casual shorts, the girls shorts being
much tighter and the cloth thinner, stretched by some very sexy
hips and baring most of the expanse of their shapely (and
muscular) legs. The men wore T-shirts, or after a while no
shirt, most of them seemingly eager to expose their bellies.
Some girls had on their normal loose game tops, rather
disappointing to the men in not revealing much on top, but
others, including Linda, had on stretchy halter tops, deliciously
revealing enticing cleavages and trim, flat abdomens (or corded
ones like Linda's).
The difference in ages was surreal and embarrassing. It was
definitely the dirty old men versus the young babes. For the
most part, they were high-spirited, good-looking, and physically
fit young females. We could feast our eyes on these delectable
examples of young womanhood without the watchful eyes of society
(our wives) to scold us; not a soul was there to root for (or
inhibit the wandering eyes of) our team. The girls seemed to
enjoy and even laugh at the attention. The times, they have a
changed: In my youth it would have been unthinkable to have this
unnatural meeting of the sexes (and generations), with its
possibility of regretful consequences, especially given the
coquettish air of these girls. However, some of the girls had
brought their boyfriends or a girlfriend. Besides Linda by
herself had handled the three biggest guys on the team. Why
worry?
For my part, I had eyes only for Linda, and she occasionally
would glance my way and smile, as if at a private joke. Our new
third baseman noticed where my gaze was fixed and said, "What a
set of muscles! Do you know her?"
"Just saw her at a party once," I replied in vague
understatement.
There was a coin toss to decide who batted last, and the girls
lost; they would bat first. Linda had devised an elaborate
system of umpiring that used players from both teams, and, to my
surprise, it worked. There were no prolonged arguments about the
umpiring.
Stan had found a ringer to pitch the first three innings for us.
Linda had suspected as much and asked him wryly, "Where did you
find the ringer, Stan? It won't help; you'll still lose."
The first girl struck out, but the second one beat out a bunt.
Then Linda stepped up, a mountain of strength, although a speck
shorter than the average man. Her forearms and biceps bulged.
Her legs bunched in colossal ridges covered with ultrafeminine
smooth bronze skin. Her abs resembled the corrugated bed of a
pickup truck, bunching in different groups as she swung the bat
in lazy practice swings. And her halter-clad breasts jutted out
and swung ever so slightly as she pivoted back and forth. I was
in lust -- a ridiculously infatuated old man!
"Hey, man!" our new third baseman broke me out of my mesmerized
stupor. "Move back a little, she looks like she can hit." I
almost chuckled at the understatement; she looked like she could
single-handedly mow us all down with a sweep of one mighty arm.
For the umpteenth time since I had started stealing looks at her
that day, I had a painfully constrained erection straining at my
jockstrap. (This time I'd worn a new heavy-duty one.) Oh, for
youth, and a second chance in life, I daydreamed.
After starting her off with a pitch off the plate and then just
missing with one high and tight, our ringer felt like he had to
throw a strike. A foolish move, but one I was anxiously
awaiting. I desperately wanted to see what she could do with the
bat, and show us she did! CRACK! It was a line drive that hit
in front of the left and center fielders and skidded like a shot
between them. By the time the left fielder caught up to it, she
was rounding third and coasting home. I didn't bother throwing
home with the relay when he finally got the ball to me. The
girls were delirious and already congratulating their heroine.
2-0, the men were down, and there was only one out in the game so
far! But we managed to get out of the inning without further
scoring.
Linda was the pitcher for the girls, much as I had suspected. It
became clear that if the game had been only fast-pitch, the men's
team would have been sunk for sure. We could do nothing against
her. Most of the guys struck out, disgustedly kicking up the
dirt as they headed back to the bench, muttering with the
reasonable excuse that it wasn't fair -- WE never practiced
against fast pitching -- forgetting momentarily that Stan had
arranged for us to do that just that a week earlier. However,
practice was one thing and facing Linda's pitching was another.
I had faced many a good pitcher in my younger days, and she was
as good as any I'd ever seen. She was knocking the macho out of
these macho men. Stan, especially, had a hard time dealing with
the arrogant way she blew three straight pitches by him, putting
them right down the middle and challenging him to catch up to
their speed. After the weeks of macho posturing about the game,
it was too much for him to swallow. I almost felt sorry for him,
but, to her credit, Linda merely smiled triumphantly, as he
brooded darkly all the way back to the bench after missing the
third strike.
I DID feel sorry for the girls' catcher, or maybe impressed is a
better word. Batting against Linda's supersonic missiles was
merely humiliating; catching them, especially after fruitless
wild swings by our team, was risking serious injury. But she was
gritty, the catcher was, and solid. She managed to hold onto
almost every third strike and easily threw out the batters the
couple of times when she didn't. Linda wasn't the only amazon on
the field.
I had the only hit off Linda. As the ninth batter, I came up
after two outs (both strike outs) had been made in the third
inning. I so wanted not to be embarrassed, my knees were wobbly
and my hands shook. There was a look on her face that I couldn't
interpret or perhaps wanted not to -- amusement? compassion?,
passion? lust? or just plain battle lust? I felt like the next
victim for the hangman, but, unlike my teammates, fast-pitch had
always been my passion. Experience gave me an advantage. I
swung late on her first pitch and fouled it weakly wide of first
base.
Linda looked at me with what I think was a bit of respect. After
all, it was the first time any of us had batted one of her
pitches forward. As she was milling her arm with the next pitch,
I noticed her smile and I hit the deck as her pitch sailed inside
and nearly took my head off. Her smile was even broader, but now
I too was smiling -- grimly. Her brushback did me a favor; my
bout of nerves was gone and I was all concentration. Perhaps, if
she hadn't knocked me on my keister, her next pitch would have
fooled me. It was a change-up that, if I had been as nervous as
at first, I would have swung at too early and looked foolish --
probably her intention. But instead I timed it perfectly and
with my pent-up rage, I hit it cleanly and as hard as I have ever
hit a ball. Their shortstop hardly had time to start her glove
upward to reflexively protect her face before the ball whizzed by
her left ear.
Hands on hips, Linda grinned over at me when the ball came back
in from left field and I was standing on first base. "Hey, Glove
Man, take it easy on our infielders," she laughed, clearly not
rattled in the least. The guy coaching first base for us was
clapping and whooping it up, foolishly thinking that the tide was
turning in our favor, but I knew I'd been lucky that Linda fed me
a change-up rather than her heat. To add to my glory, I managed
to steal second base on the next pitch and proceeded on to third
base as the throw from the catcher sailed into center field. I
felt really cocky, but my hamstring grabbed a little as I neared
third base and I knew I'd have to take it easy the rest of the
game. The next batter struck out and that was the end of the
only threat we made while Linda was pitching.
Clearly, our hope was to hang on during the fast-pitch innings
and then put them away during the slow pitch. "Just wait," was
the word on our bench. It was a tacit realization that these
girls were better at their game than we were, but we had no doubt
that the tide would change once slow pitch started. Being better
at slow pitch meant a lot more scoring than being better at fast
pitch; the advantages were all on our side. Secretly, I wanted
the girls to prove better, but I didn't give them much chance.
In their half of the third inning, the girls had added to their
score with more bunts that our roly-poly third baseman couldn't
handle, a couple of walks, an error, and a booming triple from
Linda that our center fielder managed to catch up to because he
was playing so deep. After Linda struck out the side in our half
of the third, sandwiched around my hit, it was 7-zip in favor of
the women. Now it was the men's turn -- "beer belly" slow pitch.
At that point fate intervened. The wind kicked up and started
gusting crazily in different directions. Our normally dependable
pitcher (no longer our ringer, but our regular slow pitch
specialist) could not find the plate. And the girls took
advantage. Walk after walk ensued. Soon he had walked in one
run and the bases were loaded. At this point the wind died down
and the next girl popped out. One down, not much damage yet, and
up to bat was Linda again. She had been hitting ball-pulverizing
line drives during the fast-pitch part of the game, but slow
pitch is another matter. Our guys still weren't concerned;
assuming that she never played slow pitch, they thought she'd
probably overswing and either miss the ball or pop up like the
batter before. "Just make sure you pitch strikes," Stan directed
the pitcher. "We don't want any more walks."
Linda was swinging a new bat this time -- the biggest, longest
softball bat I had ever seen. Our catcher grumbled because he
had to back up for fear of getting hit in the head when Linda
swung. I was wondering just how heavy that thing must be and
thinking I wanted to check it out after the game, when the
pitcher lofted his pitch. As Stan had directed, it was a strike,
with a nice high arc, the type of pitch that is often popped up
or beaten in the ground. But this pitch had a much different
fate. When Linda hit it, it exploded off her bat. I never moved
except to turn and watch its flight in amazement. The left
fielder also merely turned. It soared way over his head and
eventually landed on the fly in the grove of trees far behind
him. It was easily the longest hit I had ever seen in softball.
In turning around, I had moved close enough to second base that
Linda pinched my butt as she rounded the base.
[continue...]
-
Glove Man, by Jack Straw
Pert 2B The game: Some guys never learn ....
[...continued]
"Having fun, Glove Man?" she called out, grinning seductively.
"Uh-huh. The time of my life," I choked out, grinning back at
her. She looked back again as she was rounding third. Our eyes
locked. There was definitely a bond between us. It worried me.
I thought about my teenage daughter; except for the awesome
physical differences, Linda could be her older sister. I was
definitely old enough to be her father. I looked down and then
out to left field where the outfielders had finally decided to go
retrieve the ball. They never found it. The game was held up
for ten minutes while they looked, but then one of the girls on
Linda's team threw out one of their new balls. The girls were
still jabbering and hooting. I don't think even they had thought
they would dominate the game like this.
It was embarrassing to say the least. My team stood stock still
in complete shock. Even if we ended the inning now, it was 12-0.
Even assuming we could revive our spirits somehow, it was going
to be no cake walk.
"Come on guys, let's get this inning over with," Stan bawled out
darkly. I looked at his face; it said someone was going to pay
for this. I hoped things wouldn't get ugly. I didn't worry
about Linda getting hurt but someone might.
We managed to get out of the inning, without further damage. In
fact, it was probably my crowning moment of the day that ended
it. I dove flat out to reach a short flare just behind second
base and flipped the ball to the second baseman to complete a
double play. He was so surprised, he almost bobbled it too long
before tagging the base. Again I was aware of Linda's eyes
devouring me as she trotted out and I trotted in. I kept my eyes
down.
In our half of the inning, guys were clapping and yelling and
trying to regain some of their lost morale. "This is our game
now. Come on, let's get it going!"
It seemed to work for a while. The first two guys up got on
base, but then their gal at third knocked down a hot smash and
almost made a double play out of it. That seemed to give the
girls back their confidence, and the shortstop made a nice stab
of a line drive. Two down and still no runs! But the next
batter managed a squibber that spun crazily back and forth on the
ground and he beat out the late throw after it first squirted out
of the catcher's hands as she tried to pounce on it. Well, not
too masterful, but the bases were loaded and Stan, our best home-
run hitter was up.
Linda was now playing left field, a good strategic move I
thought, but she was playing too far in for someone as strong as
Stan. The other guys on the bench whispered the same thing,
hoping that the girls wouldn't notice until Stan got hold of one.
Stan glanced out that way and smiled, probably for two reasons,
one that it should be easy to get it well over her head and the
foolish fielder was Linda, his nemesis. Now he had a chance for
some pay back. I secretly hoped he got too excited and muffed
it. Little did I realize she was hustling him; she wanted to
make sure he hit her way.
Far from muffing it, Stan patiently waited for his pitch and then
crushed it. The guys were on their feet, whooping it up, seeing
the imminent prospect of four quick runs and momentum shifting to
our side. What they hadn't seen, but I had, was Linda sprinting
backward even before Stan connected. At the crack of the bat,
she was already sprinting with her back to the infield. As we
followed the long arc of Stan's drive, it was an amazing sight to
see her long powerful legs speeding her faster than the flight of
the ball. In baseball parlance she "outran" it and then slowed
down to catch it over her shoulder gracefully, almost
nonchalantly, with her back to the infield.
I doffed my cap to her as she trotted back to the bench, her
teammates waiting to cheer and congratulate her. "Glove Man
salutes Glove Woman -- make that Superwoman," I exclaimed with a
short bow.
She actually blushed.
Inwardly I gloated at Stan's humiliation, but outwardly I gave no
indication other than to glance in his direction. He struggled
to compose his face, but he could not hide an involuntary tremor
of his upper lip nor quell the glint in the eyes of one who feels
betrayed by the fates.
The rout continued as the girls batted in the top of the fifth.
More walks ensued as our normally dependable pitcher lost his
composure and a couple of solid line drive hits brought them
three more runs. Linda wasn't their only good player; we were
definitely being outclassed. Stan took over the pitching and
managed to get the first girl he faced to pop up. Still, the
bases were loaded and the next batter was Linda.
The infielders huddled with Stan at the mound and debated whether
to walk her, even though it would put us one more run behind.
The consensus was to try to make her chase a really bad pitch and
if she didn't, well, a walk was only one more run, not four. I
could tell though that Stan didn't like it. It was tacitly
admitting that she was too good for us. I said nothing, because
I wanted to see her launch another satellite; I just loved
watching the supple interplay of her muscles and breathtaking
feminine curves when she swung the bat. But while we talked she
came up with a taunting surprise for us. It made the score and
the game secondary.
She swayed up to the plate wearing a bright, tight miniskirt and
sexy pumps -- red high heels on a ball field! Whatever faults
she might have, shyness was not one of them. All of us,
including her teammates, did a double take. Our second baseman
swallowed his gum and had a coughing fit. Guys and girls were
rolling their eyes at her audacity, once the eyes had popped back
into place. She noticed what I'm sure was a mixed expression on
my face of incredulity at her sophomoric behavior and
ineffectually suppressed fascination with her overpowering female
sexuality, and she winked at me.
She had foreseen this type of strategy on our part well before
the game even started. Once we found out that she was a one-
woman wrecking crew, we would just walk her to prevent home runs.
Her counter-strategy was to challenge our egos, especially the
mountain of testosterone now holding the ball. By walking her,
he would emasculate himself, admitting that a woman in clothes
meant for a cocktail party could still outperform a big macho
stud like him.
"Don't let her get to you, Stan," our catcher said, soothingly.
"Stick to the plan." But he was wasting his breath. Stan had
been irritated that we had huddled in the first place; he didn't
want any acknowledgement of Linda's superiority. Now that she
was emphatically mocking us, he was beyond reason. Clearly, she
must have had this in the back of her mind well before the game.
Otherwise, why would she have even brought these clothes? And
what was so fascinating that I had missed seeing her put them on?
As she salaciously wiggled her hips at him, Stan was so enraged
(and I'm sure sexually aroused) that he could barely breath.
When his first pitch went way outside, she taunted him, "Are you
admitting that you can't get me out, fat man? You notice that we
don't bother to walk you guys. We're not worried about YOUR
little swats, pantywaist."
She knew how to push his buttons and the next pitch, to my
surprise, was a classic slow pitch strike -- I didn't know Stan
had it in him -- steeply it rose and then dropped straight down
like a hawk toward a mouse. Linda tottered clumsily on her high
heels and appeared almost to lose her balance as she started to
wade into the pitch, but at the last moment pulled her bat back
and almost fell down. It was all part of her act, but I was
nearly as taken in as everyone else, her teammates included.
They couldn't conceive of hitting a ball wearing high heels
either and clearly disapproved of her showboating.
The guys had not had much to cheer about so far, so Stan's
perfect pitch and Linda's clumsiness seemed like the comeuppance
she so richly deserved. An inordinate round of "attaboy"s rang
out from my teammates, and the catcher, whose ribs were nearly
healed from the Linda's crunching at the party the month before,
yelled out, "Pretty, very pretty, Stan! One more like that one,
Stan the Man!" Linda's strategy seemed to have backfired -- her
opponents spirits were rising. But she looked utterly
unconcerned and then -- well, I've already emphasized that she
had absolutely no shyness about exposing her assets. A bump-and-
grind stripper couldn't have captured the moment any more
brazenly than what she did next.
Calling time, she sauntered sexily over to the bench, slowly
peeled off her top to reveal the skimpiest string bikini
imaginable, then slowly dropped her skirt, stepped out of it,
revealing a thong bikini bottom stretched to the bursting point,
and bent over sexily as she placed her cocktail skirt on the
bench and smoothed it out in girlish fashion. This motion caused
her delicious glutes to swell out against the stretchy thong and
I swore I saw pubic hairs winking at me through her parted legs.
It also swelled her hamstrings into mountainous ridges of
feminine steel, matching the awesomely bulbous calf muscles that
were flexed by the arching of her feet in her high heels. I
moaned involuntarily and thought I heard other moans. I was as
hard as a rock and seeping into my painfully constricting
jockstrap.
Then she turned around and my knees gave out completely. It was
a couple of minutes before I realized my parched mouth was wide
open. We had seen most of her body all day, but, now nearly
naked, it was still more incredible. I had seen this body
completely revealed before but the memory didn't match the
reality, and I have to believe that she had actually added some
weight and dimension since I had last seen her. Her breasts
stood out easily half a foot from her chest, which already was
deep and thick itself, laced with the striated pectoral muscles
of the consummate bodybuilder that she was. The shelf they made
over her slender, corded abdomen was impossibly spectacular.
I marveled anew at the breadth of her shoulders and the jagged
boulders of her powerful deltoid muscles. Having captured the
moment and all onlookers in an utterly unassailable spell, she
swaggered sexily back to the batter's box, her breasts jouncing
ever so slightly with each step. She lifted the long, heavy bat
and ground it exaggeratedly with her strong hands, making her
jagged triceps jut out in intimidating dimensions that rivalled
her breasts. As she stepped toward the box, she paused, looked
at me and winked. I was conscious of a trail of drool at the
side of my mouth, which I wiped dreamily.
She threw back her shoulders, which thrust out her fantastically
imposing bust, and swung the bat for a couple of practice swings.
Each swing caused her biceps to bulge outrageously and her chest
and breasts to swell against the flimsy bikini top. It had to be
emasculating to Stan and the other big guys to see a woman with
such exaggerated hourglass curves but with muscles that were
bigger, much better defined, and obviously far harder than
theirs. In short, someone who looked like she could take them
all on and clean their clocks without working up a sweat, but at
the same time had the curves of the sexiest stripper imaginable.
She had a way of turning any encounter with males into sexual
contest in which she utterly pulverized the male sex, all the
while keeping it aroused at a fever pitch.
My jockstrap was a sticky mess and I knew that soon a wet stain
would appear on my shorts. A furtive look around showed that I
was not alone by any means. Our poor second baseman kept moving
his mouth spastically gulping to get some moisture back into it.
Stan was clearly aroused as well, despite his anger.
I was glad that none of our wives were present. I glanced at the
girls' bench. Some were hooting in giggly, high-pitched tones
and encouraging Linda on, but some were decidedly not doing so,
probably annoyed at Linda's showing off, and rightfully so I
thought. She was not only showing up the men but also the other
women. Even the girls who were cheering her were obviously
embarrassed.
"Ready to go, SLUT, or are you going to make us wait all day?"
Stan asked sarcastically.
Linda wiggled her jutting ass sexily and grinned, "What did you
have in mind, fat man? I know you can't see it over your big
belly, old man, but you're making a spectacle of yourself," she
taunted laughingly.
Stan's face went beet red, with embarrassment and anger, and he
bellowed, "It's going to be fun watching you fall on your ass
when you swing at this one, slut." [continue...]
-
Glove Man, by Jack Straw
Part 2C The game: Some guys never learn ....
[...continued]
Linda again wiggled her ass and then swung her prodigious upper
assets as well. I knew that Stan was being hustled, but he fell
for it hook, line, and sinker. He knew that he had one pitch to
waste and that she couldn't take another called strike. He
figured she wouldn't take a chance if it was anywhere close to
the plate. He lofted another perfect pitch, perfect in the sense
that it had terrific arc and looked close to being a strike, but
was really short and outside, so that she would have to reach for
it if she swung. And swing she did.
With any other hitter, Stan's strategy would have worked; it
either would have been grounded harmlessly if hit at all, or, if
the batter stretched and hit in the air, a harmless lazy fly
ball. Stan underestimated her strength and forgot what a long
bat she had.
This time her swing was almost completely with the upper body.
Because of her high heels, she could not put as much pressure as
normal on her legs, but mainly bent them (such a sexy sight!) to
help level her swing. Yes, her power would have to come from the
upper body, but what an upper body! This time, with the ball in
front of the plate and falling outside, she chose right field.
With all the coordination of her awesome physique, she timed the
swing perfectly and I watched the second longest flight of a
softball that I had ever seen. The right fielder was caught
completely by surprise, never expecting such a blow from a right-
handed hitter. It didn't matter -- even Linda could never have
caught up to it from where he was standing. It fell far behind
him as he emerged from his shock and waddled after it. After
several long bounces, the ball disappeared into another grove of
trees. Another ball was lost.
Linda took her time rounding the bases, and I never took my eyes
off her. It was breathtaking watching those mighty breasts swing
and jounce within her overstrained top, their motion damped by
the supple firmness of her youth and conditioning. This time she
grabbed lightly at my tented crotch as she went by and giggled as
I leaped backward.
"Still having fun, Glove Man?" she jived.
"Isn't it obvious?" I replied dreamily and grinned
appreciatively.
"Well, now that you mention it ..." she laughed, fixing her gaze
at my crotch area and twisting her head to keep me in view as she
approached third base.
As she jumped on home plate she pirouetted so that she faced a
dark-faced Stan. "You know, Stan, girls -- SLUTS -- probably
have an advantage at hitting because of extra weight up here."
She cupped her heavy breasts. "Now if you could just shift that
big gut upwards, you'd be awesome." She was barely able to get
out the words through her laughter and puffed out her bust in all
its superior glory. I thought I saw a strand of her top giving
way. She turned and lifted two of her congratulating teammates
in the air -- way up in the air -- one on each prodigiously
bulging arm. I was sure now that her top had burst because one
boob and its large nipple was completely bared.
As the right fielder tramped around in the woods searching for
the ball, one of the guys softly suggested that we quit -- just
call it a day. "It's getting late, man. I have better things to
do." ("Is he gay?" I wondered.)
Stan would not hear of it. He knew that Linda would never let
him forget this day; it would make two crushing days of utter
defeat for him and complete triumph for her in this battle of the
sexes and generations between them. I could see that if he
didn't have some satisfaction on the diamond, he was going to do
something else, and that might be disastrous. Besides, we had
completed only one of the three innings in the slow-pitch part of
the game, where he had been convinced that we would triumph.
Linda and her cohorts had put that premise into serious doubt but
Stan was adamant.
I proposed a compromise. "Look, they are 19 runs ahead. In our
league a game is called if the other team is 15 runs ahead at the
end of an inning. They have two more outs coming, but if they
are willing we'll bat now. If we score more than four runs, then
they get their last five outs and we finish the game. If we
can't score that many, the game is over." The others thought
that was okay if the girls agreed. Stan was unhappy; he wanted
to beat them without any concessions or anything irregular, but
he went along.
I proposed it to the girls and they assented. They were so
ecstatic about playing this much better than a bunch of
experienced older males, that, the sooner they got to
celebrating, the better.
"Can't take it any more, Glove Man?" Linda teased softly, gazing
up at me from where she lounged casually on the bench with her
jagged shoulders and arms splayed out on top of the backrest,
still all but naked.
My tongue caught in my throat as I gaped at her. Being this
close to her turned me to mush. "I wouldn't mind going on
forever," I croaked out, my honesty surprising me.
"Oh, games can't last forever. Neither does life -- you've got
to seize the day," she said, stringing together enigmatic
cliches.
As I returned to our bench and told the guys that the girls
agreed to my idea, some of the girls were giggling and
whispering, and saying, "Okay, let's do it!" I turned around
because I thought it had already been decided, but realized they
were talking about another "it," not my idea. A few of them were
shedding their halter tops and shorts to reveal bikinis almost as
skimpy as the one Linda was almost wearing at the moment.
"Hot damn! I don't believe this!" our third baseman exclaimed.
Neither did I, but, really, it was not much more enticing than
the skin bared by the clothes they had shed. No, it was stark
psychological warfare. They were ridiculing us. Flaunting
themselves in this way was psychologically akin to grinding our
cocks under their collective heels. Our lust was tinged with the
anger of being so lightly regarded.
Linda was still the only one audacious enough to play in high
heels (or presumably to have brought them at all). She
continued to wear them as she trotted out to left field like a
supremely developed exotic dancer. I noticed that she seemed to
have made a temporary repair of the bikini strap that had broken,
but the way it strained under the pressure of her normal
breathing I did not see how it could long stay intact.
Our last inning started out well. The first two hitters got on
and I brought one in with a solid line drive single to left
field. It was fun watching Linda gracefully move that delectable
bare bod over to cut off the ball and throw the ball on a frozen
rope to third base, despite the awkwardness of running and
throwing in the high heels she so arrogantly had decided to keep
on. I could have watched that symphony of muscle groups and
female curves all day.
I had driven in our first run. Against all conventions of our
normal play, I was the hitting star for our team, two hits and an
RBI. Some quick mental math told me that I was only twelve
behind Linda's RBI output for the day and I smiled to myself.
Whether it was anger at being mocked by the way Linda and some of
her teammates were attired, or just the inevitable tide of a ball
game, our team continued getting hits. We were, after all,
playing a game that was second nature to us. The runner ahead of
me scored on another line-drive single, and I scored when the
girls' center fielder dropped a high pop up. We had three runs
in and nobody out. But then their amazon at third base made
another great stop on a hard grounder and stepped on third for a
force out. Another single brought in our fourth run, but then
their short stop kicked a grounder toward second base and stepped
on the bag for a force out. Two outs, but all we needed was one
more run to prolong the game. Stan was whooping it up and even
some of my other teammates were half-heartedly cheering. Our
next batter worked a walk out of their pitcher, and up to the
plate strode Stan, grimly set on getting some revenge and
restoring lost pride.
With all the possibilities in a baseball or softball game, it
amazes me that games so often hinge on one or two individuals,
with their strengths and weaknesses exposed for all to see. As
in a Greek tragedy, the protagonists can't help themselves; they
are doomed to follow the script that their flaws have written.
Dwarfing their catcher, Stan swung his bat in intimidating
fashion a couple of times before stepping to the plate. As he
swung, he peeked out to left field. Linda stood nonchalantly
with her weight on one elegantly arched foot, seemingly bored
with the proceedings. I wondered if she was hoping for the
chance to bat again. She was a bit deeper than the last time
Stan had batted but still not nearly deep enough to catch one of
his normal power blasts. All we needed was a little hit from
Stan, or a walk, and the game continued, with momentum perhaps
switching to us. But Stan was after a larger prize and Linda was
inviting it. I could hear him think and so could she: "She's
baiting me again but this time there's no way she'll catch it,
dressed as she is." I could almost hear that Greek chorus.
With all the effort he could muster, Stan waded into the first
pitch and sent it flying deep to left once again. In his
eagerness he had gotten under it a little too much, causing it to
loft higher than his last one but it also was deeper. Again,
Linda had retreated with the pitch, but instead of kicking off
her sexy shoes as I expected, she was running choppily at top
speed with those pumps making a bright red blur behind her. The
athleticism required to run that fast in that way was astounding.
Again, I was seeping in my pants. But I also knew that her head
had to be bobbing from the choppiness of her stride, due to the
shoes. And with the extraordinary height of the ball's flight,
while it helped her get under it, it must have looked like twenty
blurred balls appearing and disappearing in different locations.
Yes, I heard the chorus, but of whose doom did it narrate? As
Stan approached first base exultantly and his other teammates
cheered, I watched somberly. I hate hot dogs, and usually, I'm
ecstatic about a hot dog falling on his or her face. But I was
infatuated with this one, and I was disgusted that she was
inviting her teammates' contempt in this way.
And then it occurred to me. She was doing this because otherwise
the game was too easy. Merely beating a man at his own game was
old news to her. She was so much better than the rest of us,
that she needed a handicap to make it interesting. As the ball
finished its long arc downward, she leaped gracefully to her left
and speared it. The stretching of her phenomenal body exploded
her overwrought bikini top at the peak of her leap, so that, as
the ball stuck in her glove, her top descended toward the ground.
She teetered as she landed, jouncing large-nippled taut breasts
that were bared for all to admire.
Simultaneously pumping one mighty arm in the air and using the
other to retrieve her torn bikini top, she high-stepped back to
toward the infield, a magnificent sight no matter what your
perspective. Meanwhile, her teammates congratulated each other
with giggles, hugs, and high fives.
19-4! Youth and the female sex had won in a rout.
End of part 2
Part 3 Aftermath will follow, I hope you may enjoy what posted 'till now.
-
If this was Jack Straw's wish I think that, maybe, his stories should not even be publicly displayed here. So, what shall I do? I came up with the following solutions but I'm now asking you what one should I implement.
A) Delete this thread, removing all the stories.
B) Post the last two stories and then delete the thread after a few days (so that those interested can be able to see Jack's complete works)
C) Post the last two stories and let this thread stay here, ignoring the crisis of consience that took Jack Straw.
Maybe I'll add a proper poll to this thread but in the meantime pleas tell me what your opinion is.
-
I think that deleting wouldn´t be good. Please don´t do it.
Only if he came here and asked for that...
-
OK I'll keep the thread on and post the last I have.
Glove man, part 3, by Jack Straw
Aftermath: Life is good -- perhaps too full sometimes
Part 3A -- Aftermath
Linda had demanded before the game that Stan and she put the
stakes for the bet in a small bag. The tallest of the girls then
fastened it at the top of the backstop in acrobatic fashion by
keeping her body perfectly rigid as Linda lifted her at her
ankles as high as Linda could reach. It was the first of many
times that day that Linda's clothing was in danger of exploding
apart from the swelling of her outrageous chest and jutting
glutes. Barring a pet monkey who might climb the backstop, the
bag was clearly safe from filching. After the game these same
athletes retrieved it in the same fashion and counted out $150
for the entrance fee for the girls next tournament, amid
boisterous female cheering.
In lieu of her side bet, Linda accepted the keg from Stan that he
had brought in anticipation of finally having a victory to
celebrate over this mighty hoyden. Linda, to her credit, did not
gloat, but clearly revelled in Stan's despondent demeanor. His
surprising humility made any further humiliation superfluous. He
was utterly defeated.
"Curly" helped Stan unload the heavy keg from his pickup and both
grunted with the effort. As they backed away, breathing heavily,
Linda picked it up by herself and carried it away on one
shoulder, a parting demonstration of her utter superiority over
the strongest specimens our team had to offer. Stan and his
friend looked at each other with resigned half-smiles and shook
their heads before getting into Stan's car and driving away.
Half of the men's team left at the same time, but the others,
including me, stayed to share the beer with the winners.
Returning to the victors' bench from Stan's car, Linda hoisted
the keg over her head and proceeded to hold it aloft with one
hand in a gesture of triumph and mountainous female strength.
Her teammates cheered, but onlooking males stared dumbly,
intimidated as much by the way her powerful outthrust breasts
broadcast her sex as by the fearsome bulging of the muscles that
rippled over every inch of her nearly nude body.
Linda spilled beer on herself as she took the first chug. From a
distant vantage point, I smiled as she wiped beer from her chin
and the tops of her meaty breasts. She could look foolish after
all.
As her teammates crowded around the keg, Linda sauntered
carelessly in my direction. But as she approached, she was
distracted by a loud male voice on the edge of the parking lot.
"What a bunch of wimps! Getting beat by girls!" a lothario was
loudly proclaiming to one of the girls. He appeared to be
steering the girl toward a new, gleaming sports utility vehicle -
- status symbol of the suburban set -- to leave. He was bare
chested, showing off his tanned, youthful, monstrously muscled
torso. Obviously a jock or bodybuilder, he was very proud of his
physique. I hadn't seen him during the game, but, then, I really
hadn't looked at anybody other than Linda most of the time.
Uh-oh, I thought, as Linda walked purposefully over to the
couple. The girl was a typical cheerleader type, hour-glass
figure kept trim by dieting as much as by exercise, her
meticulous makeup still intact and her fashionably sexy hair
still neatly in place. She was their right fielder and had been
a weak link that we hadn't exploited. She was hanging onto the
substantial arm of this young Hercules, obviously proud to be his
girl and clearly defining her womanhood by having interested him
in her.
She was the type of girl that is perennially elected cheerleader
by other girls because she had the lightweight curves women
generally want. It's a myth that guys are responsible for this
mentality. It's women. Just as dressing up for formal dances
and the other ritual promenades in high school is to impress
other girls, not the guys.
"Yeah, they weren't much," she agreed deprecatingly. "They could
have used some of your home runs, like the ones you hit your last
game."
"Uh-huh, I was in a zone, wasn't I? But it would have been
embarrassing to be on the same field with these wimps you chicks
played. What did you say the score was?"
"I'm not sure, 20 to 3, or something like that. We didn't even
need to finish our last two innings!" she exulted proudly, and,
then glancing at his face, she looked down in embarrassment, as
if she were a Japanese geisha caught walking ahead of her man.
"Are any of their team still here? You said they were older --
were these guys from a nursing home? They had to be wimps and
wusses. I can't believe it; your team looks more like
cheerleaders than ball players."
"Well, I wouldn't --" Sharon started to say.
"Sharon, please introduce your friend," Linda called out from
behind them.
Turning around, Sharon frowned at Linda's almost completely bared
breasts and her escort's stupefied gaze at Linda's awesome chest.
Linda kept trying to repair her bikini, but mere cloth was no
match for the expanse of her bosom. The big jock grinned
boorishly as he reluctantly lifted his eyes to her face.
Nonsexual thoughts just were not possible that close to Linda,
dressed (undressed) as she was.
"Tim, Linda," Sharon muttered in irritation. "I'm sorry but we
were just leaving," she continued as she yanked on big guy's left
bicep to keep him moving toward the car.
Linda fixed her eyes on his, which because of her high heels were
only a couple of inches above hers, and said calmly, "Glad to
meet you, Tim," and stuck out her hand. As Tim instinctively
clasped it, Linda squeezed and Tim's eyes bulged as if his hand
were in a wringer. His movement toward the car was instantly
halted and Sharon nearly fell down, as her feet kept moving but
her arm lodged in the crook of her escort's beefy arm stretched
her out as if she were a flag in a stiff breeze. The rippled
(sexy!) flexing of Linda's planted legs and the bulging of her
right arm muscles indicated what had stopped the couple, but
otherwise, with one hand on her bare iron-sculpted hip, she
seemed utterly relaxed and clearly amused.
"Tim, what's the hurry? Stay and have a beer. The party's just
getting started," letting her eyes fix with obvious intent on his
massive pectorals and tight shorts.
"Uh, well -- " he faltered, once again distracted by Linda's
spectacular, near naked torso, the unmistakable body language,
and the look in her eyes.
"Come on, Tim, you said you wanted to leave," Sharon said
anxiously.
"Well, I -- we probably have time for -- a -- a little fun before
we go," Tim replied, groping for words, his own eyes nearly
popping from their sockets as they roamed up and down Linda's
breathtaking flesh and settled on her majestic bosom. "Did I see
you at a bachelor party not too long ago?" he queried
transparently.
Sharon glowered. Attention to any other woman was rude and
demeaning, but for Tim to favor Linda was a special affront to
Sharon and to her view of the world. The face of this amazonian
rival was hardly beautiful in the way Sharon judged beauty, and,
whereas Sharon assiduously worked on keeping herself slender,
Linda's style had been to allow physical activity to build up
curvaceous muscular flesh into a monument of female power and
sexuality.
Ignoring Sharon's irritation and Tim's inane question, Linda
continued in a seductive tone, "Were you here during the game,
Tim? Surely I would have noticed." She grazed her bare thigh
against his obviously tented shorts.
"Uh, no. I missed it completely I guess. But I -- we're here,
um, now -- for the, uh, party," he murmured vacantly, speaking to
the breast that poked through the taut string of her bikini and
almost moaning as Linda surreptitiously stroked his crotch with
her thigh, just out of Sharon's view.
"For the last time, let's go, Tim!" Sharon nearly shrieked and
once again pulled on his arm. But Tim paid no attention.
"In fact, you've never seen us play, have you, Tim?" Linda
continued, also ignoring Sharon, whom she clearly despised. "Yet
you think the other team must be wimps because a bunch of girls
beat the stuffing out of them, huh, Tim?"
"Well," Tim began to reply doubtfully, suddenly remembering his
reddening hand and trying unsuccessfully to extract it from her
crunching grip. I thought I heard little grinding noises.
"I can see that you're a jock, Tim. Do you think a girl could be
a better athlete or even stronger than you?" Linda asked
breathily.
"Feeling your oats are you, big girl? Beating a bunch of old
wimps makes you think you could take on the real thing?" he
chuckled deprecatingly as she seemed to have relaxed her grip.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, instead of letting me make hamburger out of your hand, how
about squeezing my hand before I crush yours, stud. Or if you
can't, try to remove that big manly hand from my little womanly
grip," she said tauntingly. Although her words were fierce, they
were spoken seductively in a breathy tone that would have aroused
a dead man, and the impressive bulge that tented Tim's shorts
against her muscle-ribbed inner thigh gave proof that he was
highly alive.
"Here, I'll let up so that you can adjust your grip however you
like, and we'll see who the big wimp is. Show me that manly
strength, Tim!" she challenged, licking her lips and thrusting
out her breasts, such that the hugely engorged nipples pressed
into his pecs through the thin cloth of her almost nonexistent
bikini top.
Tim was so aroused that he had forgotten Sharon completely.
Apparently he saw this situation as one of imminent conquest over
this sexy amazon. His lust for self-indulgence and pride in his
macho physique, and pure unadulterated sexual lust, had overcome
all inhibitions and awareness of his surroundings. He seemed
mesmerized by the seductive curve of her lips and her bounteous
mammaries, riding impossibly high on her deep chest, as he
energetically gripped Linda's hand. "You really think you're
something don't you, honey?" He flexed his big left arm and the
biceps exploded into a monstrous alp of striated flesh. "Hate to
burst your bubble, muscle girl, but that's what a real muscle
looks like." In its unflexed state, her left biceps seemed no
match, but Linda merely smiled and licked her lips even more
lustily.
Sharon saw a chance to grab her beau's attention and wrapped her
hands possessively around his big biceps. "Tim's a starting
linebacker at Tucker State and he wrestles on the varsity, too,"
she said proudly.
Tim acknowledged Sharon's adulation smugly, but could not remove
his eyes from Linda's spectacular form and seductive gaze.
"Look, I don't know what your game is here, but I'm not in the
business of pushing girls around. There's no need to get
yourself hurt. You've got a strong grip for a girl, but babes
like you just don't realize what it's like to lift the weights
that guys have to lift every day for the football and wrestling
teams."
"A linebacker, huh? Good, then, it won't destroy your career to
get your hand broken. Come on, Tim, are you man or wimp? You're
not afraid, are you?" Again Linda's fierce words contrasted with
her seductive tone.
"Oh, give it a rest, Linda. Quit messing around, Tim, we have to
go," Sharon whined.
But Tim's blood was up. Sharon was forgotten; Linda's words had
impugned his manhood, her tone had challenged his sexual
virility, and the big jock was incapable of ignoring it. "So the
tomboy's dying to feel a real man's strength. Okay, I'll give
you a thrill, and then maybe we'll stay, as long as you girls
promise to stay dressed like that," he said pressing his tented
crotch against Linda's and licking his lips, replying in body
language to what he felt her true motivations were for this
"party game."
"Tim, what ARE you doing? This is silly. Come on!" Sharon
shrieked as she tugged fiercely on his still flexed left arm once
again -- to no avail.
"Let me know when it starts to hurt," Tim said patronizingly as
he applied pressure to his grip. Clearly Tim had not seen any of
the game or Linda's stupefying hoisting of the beer keg. If he
had, even a musclehead like he would have acted more cautiously.
I marveled at Linda's unerring ability to pick out types like Tim
and then provoke them into these humiliating contests.
Linda merely smiled cryptically, but the sudden rippling of her
forearm and the renewed surprise and bulging of Tim's eyes
revealed that she had renewed what I knew must be a crushing vise
on his overmatched hand. I was sure I heard crackling sounds and
Tim's knees buckled from the pressure and pain. Ripping out of
Sharon's petulant hold on his left elbow, he brought his left
hand over in an attempt to try to pry his right hand out from
Linda's bone-mashing grip, but, despite grunting effort, he could
not. "Dammit, let go!" the young Hercules croaked out in a pained
whisper followed by a desperate snarl, "Let go, or you'll be
sorry!"
"Ooo, so masterful. No wonder Sharon hangs on your arm," Linda
said with mock concern. "But I like to live on the edge, big
guy. Do your worst -- make me sorry," she said ratcheting her
grip up another notch, amid louder crunching sounds accompanied
by a whimpering moan from the overmatched male.
Now on one knee, Tim responded with a vicious punch to her solar
plexus. There was no effect except that she laughed. He wound
up to deliver the best punch to her corded abdomen that he could,
confined as he was by her grip, but I noticed her tense her
muscles in granite-like relief as his fist approached its target.
The angry punch landed with a loud thud, but Linda merely laughed
more loudly, whereas new yelps of pain from Tim indicated that
now his left hand or wrist was as injured as the right one, from
being propelled so forcefully into the brick wall that was her
abdomen. As he jerked this hand and his body upward reflexively
from the sharp pain, he accidentally ripped her tattered bikini
top the rest of the way off.
"My, he's a feisty puppy -- isn't he? No wonder you like him,
Sharon," Linda giggled teasingly.
"Come on, Tim, now you're HITTING her? I can't believe you.
Let's go, now, or I'm getting a ride with someone else," Sharon
declared angrily, focusing her disgust on her fallen hero. He
had been unfaithful and now was disgracing her.
But Tim was maddened beyond reason at Linda's taunts and
laughter. Linda had instinctively released his hand when her top
came off, and Tim exploded from his kneeling position, probably
intending to grab her with both hands. Unfortunately for him,
Linda was quicker. Grabbing each of his wrists as they flew
toward her, she gripped so tightly that his fists opened almost
limply. Then she rubbed his open hands over her voluptuous
torso, including a vigorous kneading of her breasts.
[continue...]
-
Glove man, part 3, by Jack Straw
Aftermath: Life is good -- perhaps too full sometimes
Part B
[...continued]
"My, Tim," she gasped in mock astonishment, "you have no couth at
all. Can't keep your hands off me, can you? Is this what you
meant by making me sorry?"
Sharon slapped at him from behind and reached out to pry Tim's
nearest arm away from what she supposed was his unseemly groping.
"That's it! Let her go and get out of here. I'm leaving with
someone else."
"But I'm not --" Tim rasped out. The rest of his sentence was
lost in the jolt of Linda's next move.
Linda had been pushing the overmatched muscleman backward toward
the side of the big jeep that had been Sharon's and Tim's
original destination. Unfortunately for Sharon, she had decided
too late to pull away from Tim and leave. Her hand was trapped
against Tim's body as Linda pulled his arms behind her and
crashed all three of them roughly against the side of the jeep.
"Wow, Tim, is this your way of proving that you're stronger than
little ole me?" Linda taunted. Sharon, meanwhile, slid down the
contour of one door, dazed by slamming unexpectedly against the
vehicle and with her hand still trapped between them.
As Tim was rammed backward against his 4 x 4, he dipped slightly
so that his face plunged into Linda's cavernous cleavage and her
breasts sealed themselves tightly around his face. Linda hands
clamped his wrists so that his hands massaged her perfectly
formed iron-hard glutes, swelled out deliciously by the awesome
flexing of her legs that easily held the big muscleman immobile
against the car.
"Ooo, Tim, you simply have no self control at all, putting your
hands down there and your head up here! But aren't you afraid
you'll smother in there, you eager beaver?" Linda huskily
intoned.
Tim's frantic rantings were muffled by her breasts. "Ooo, my
that feels good! You're some kind of expert at this! And what is
that poking into me down there?" Linda moved his hands so that
she forced them to pull his shorts down enough that his erect
member poked excitedly above the waistband and against the smooth
skin of her brawny thigh.
Linda swiftly clamped her thighs against Tim's crotch, front and
back, and flexed them so that her velvety flesh rippled against
him in a sensuous massaging vise. At the same time her legs had
his tied up and her arms so overmatched his that, despite
strenuous flexing of his large muscles he was nearly immobile.
Her prodigious breasts were pressed firmly against the window of
one car door, hiding his face completely from view. Sensing I
suppose that his strength was fading, she soon let go of his
hands and placed her own hands on her delectable hips, a mute
statement of how superior she was. He pushed weakly at her
boobs, trying without success to push them away from his face.
Her only action was to take a deep breath, cinching in her
spectacular abdomen further and inflating the even more
stupendous chest that jutted out in frightening dimensions above
it. "Such lung capacity she must have!" I thought irrelevantly.
"Gee, Tim, I guess you took on more than you could handle. All
I'm using is my little boobies to keep big, masterful you
completely pinned. Come on! Can't you even move the softest
part of my body with those big muscles of yours? But golly,
you're still so excited!" she rubbed her thighs sensuously
against his erection. "Is it the lack of air, big guy, that
turns you on? Or maybe you like the feel of a strong woman's
body, one who makes you look like a little boy?"
Try as he might, Tim could not move Linda, though she continued
merely contemptuously resting her hands on her hips. But the
kneading of his flesh with her rippling thighs led to the
inevitable. Robbed of air in the steamy confines of her wet
cleavage and simultaneously getting the most unique sexual
massage of his life, Tim neared explosion below even as his brain
drifted into a hot blackness above. I felt near orgasm myself as
I watched this amazing demonstration of female physical
superiority. As Tim's legs jerked spasmodically, Linda suddenly
stepped away and let him drop unconscious just as a geyser of
thick semen spurted disgracefully over the hairs of his twitching
abdomen and thick, manly chest. Another doubting male had been
utterly debased.
The jeep window on which they had been pressing showed two large
wet circles where her steamy breasts had been, on either side of
a smaller greasy smudge left by the back of his head. Sharon,
having regained her moorings slapped Tim, partially reviving him.
"You worthless, jerk! How disgusting!" She snarled at the mess
on his shorts and belly button, and stomped on it, before
stepping away in disgust. Linda leaned down near Tim's face and
laughed. "I'm afraid that wasn't nearly as good for me as it was
for you. Quite a performance, though, Tim."
"You ugly cow!" Sharon steamed at Linda.
"Well, if that's the way you see it, better keep your big stud
away from the cow barn, Sharon. By the looks of things I think
he likes me, or maybe he likes a woman who takes charge. Does he
lose control like that with you? Must be kind of frustrating."
"Don't think I don't know this was your fault," Sharon shot back.
"You don't want to believe that, Sharon. That would mean that
your hero is weaker than a girl, and that he loves it. Loves a
dominant, strong woman; in fact can't control himself he's so
turned on."
As Sharon turned away, Linda continued in a softer tone, "It
means that all that dieting is for nothing. Pretending to be
stupid and putting up with offensive comments -- all for nothing.
Pretending to be weak -- for nothing. He's not worth it, Sharon.
No man bought at that price is worth it."
"Oh, stuff it!" Sharon yelled as she marched away.
Linda looked up and flinched in surprise to see that a small
group of her teammates had been looking on. This scene had been
hidden by the large jeep from the view of the main group
boisterously celebrating around the keg. Perhaps Linda thought
that I was the only one who might be watching.
"Was that really necessary?" one of the girls asked.
"Yes, give it a rest, Linda. Haven't you shown off enough?"
another chimed in.
"Oh, I didn't break anything except his delusions about male
superiority. Macho jerks like that just don't get it. Why
couldn't he congratulate us instead of putting down the guys we
beat? And why did Sharon have to go along with his tripe?" But
she walked away without waiting for a reply.
Linda was as much a victim of her nature as Tim was, after her
years of squelching male braggarts and proving her physical
superiority. Some would say she had some growing up to do. And,
yes, she was far from perfect. I glanced at the male jock,
gasping in pain and, still fuzzy-headed, shakily pull up his
shorts with one hand, while gingerly cradling the hand she had
crushed, and then I raised my eyes toward a scarlet-faced Sharon
muttering to a couple of teammates beside another car in the
parking lot. Yes, even I, perhaps, could have wished not to have
witnessed this latest altercation. But the aching, leaking bulge
in my shorts was proof that I enjoyed it none the less. Linda
wasn't perfect, I guess, but she was still magnificent. I
glanced at the few girls who had witnessed this scene, and, amid
the mainly disapproving or ambivalent looks, I noticed for the
first time a shy worshipper, her eyes shining with admiration --
and lust. Ah, I thought, another unabashed admirer.
Humbled for the first time in the short time I had known her, not
by men -- clearly the inferior male sex was not up to THAT task -
- but by the disapproval of her teammates, Linda walked over to
her large gym bag. Somberly, she fastened her straining halter
top in place and pulled her skimpy shorts up over her sexy high
heels. Quietly, she walked over to draw a beer and sat down
alone at the bench nearby. I was still lounging against a post
some distance away, considering what I should do. She looked
over at me with a questioning mien that spoke of many
possibilities, when a consoling teammate clasped her on the back
and began to congratulate her on her game. She smiled wanly but
clearly wasn't paying full attention, her mind engaged elsewhere.
Feeling out of place, I slipped away.
The rest of my teammates were now leaving also. The animated
celebration of the main group around the keg, with most of the
girls and their guests, was still in full swing.
I wandered out to the grove of trees beyond left field, where her
longest home run had landed. Looking back at home plate, I tried
to reconstruct the trajectory. Then, I looked through the trees
to the side opposite the softball diamond. There, a hundred or
so feet beyond the trees I saw the ball in a patch of broad
dandelion shoots that had long since flowered and scattered their
abundant seed. I estimated the total distance and shook my head.
It would have been a legendary drive with a baseball or even a
golf ball, let alone a softball. I walked out to retrieve it,
and, as I picked it up, I couldn't help chuckling at how
misshapen it was. The force of her bat had flattened one side of
the abused ball, and one of the seams had ripped open.
As I turned back toward the diamond, my heart skipped a beat.
There she was, leaning on the trunk of one of the old oaks in the
grove.
She spoke first as I approached her. "Are you the team
treasurer, Glove Man? Can't afford any new balls?"
I grinned faintly but said nothing until we were face to face.
"A souvenir for you," I said handing it to her. "A trophy to
mark another conquest of the weaker sex."
Her eyes glinted and regarded me steadily. "Are you complaining,
Glove Man?"
"No, you know I've enjoyed today very much. You're quite an
athlete, not to mention some other prominent qualities I can't
keep my eyes off of." She blushed. Again, I surprised myself
with my candor; I was playing with fire and I knew it.
"Then I'd like for you to keep it please." As she handed back it
to me, she pressed one of her breasts against my chest and
lightly pressed her other hand onto the crotch of my loose shorts
and felt the bulge from my erection. My knees almost gave out.
Being this close to this physical fulfillment of my every sexual
fantasy, was sending my physiological equilibrium into a state of
chaos. I could not breath.
"I -- I have a wife and two kids," I gasped.
"They're not here and I'll never bother them. Or you -- after
today."
I was struggling. "I have to go," I said unconvincingly. I
really didn't, for my family was gone for the day, visiting my
father-in-law.
She looked at me searchingly and I flinched. Slowly and
deliberately, she pulled my car keys from my pocket. "Don't
leave just yet. Give me a chance to see that someone takes care
of the keg and meet me in the parking lot by your car." She was
not going to save me. Most women at this point would waver and
force you to pursue them. Hence, the indecisive male, the man
with a conscience, even a weak conscience, is let off the hook.
This strategy, this social convention inevitably drives
nonaggressive women into the hands of rogues. Most women never
want any doubt about who is the culpable aggressor, whether they
may have led you on or not. But not Linda; she needed no
reassurance. Insecurity was not in her psyche.
I knew she would give the keys back to me if I demanded them, but
I didn't. I looked toward the beer keg. The last of the men
from my team had left and most of the girls and their friends
were leaving or picking up. We were hidden in the trees. I'm
sure that many eyes had followed Linda wherever she moved, but I
was probably already hidden before she had followed me.
I rationalized that I had not yet done anything I would regret,
but an objective observer would have seen that I was already
lost. "I'm leaving in ten minutes," I said, not attempting to
retrieve the keys from her hand.
I walked back the long way to the parking lot, weaving through
trees and prairie. I couldn't believe that at this point in my
life I had interested a girl, any girl really, but especially the
embodiment of my fantasies (at least most of them anyway). Did
she want me to take her somewhere? Why? How far would I take
this? I was on dangerous ground. I don't believe Janet, my
wife, had ever broken our vows, and I had been completely
faithful to her -- in the conventional societal sense -- if one
omitted that semi-rape about a month earlier by this same Linda.
I realized I had left my gear behind and went to retrieve it. As
I approached my car, I saw her and once again my mental faculties
disintegrated in a surge of adolescent lust. She was holding up
a mountain bicycle by straddling it, her legs exotically
emphasized by the arching of her feet in her bright high heels.
She dropped my keys in my hand and then gently turned my face
directly towards her and fixed me with a look that melted me into
a puddle of lost willpower. "My place is not far from here. I'd
like to finish this afternoon with you; that's the only thing
that could make it better." The words sounded rehearsed, a
little artificial, but the look was real and the tone was honest,
matter of fact. [continue...]
-
Glove man, part 3, by Jack Straw
Aftermath: Life is good -- perhaps too full sometimes
Part C
[...continued]
"Why me, Linda? I'm technically old enough to be your father.
Surely there is someone else to spend the day with."
She pressed her fingers lightly on my lips in the age-old sign to
stop talking. "Don't ask foolish questions like that. I have a
life, you have a life; I don't want us to change our lives. I
just want you to come over to my place for a while. Let's just
talk for a while. I can't help being curious about you. Aren't
you just a little curious about me?"
"It's just a few miles from here," she continued. "For once in
your life, Glove Man, let yourself go -- just for one day, one
hour."
I could have been angry with her for her naive conceit that I had
never done so before. Well, maybe I had never cheated on my wife
with another living, breathing, female, but I had let emotions
lead me into many other foolish escapades. "What made her so
special?" I could have said. But I didn't. I looked at her and
listened to the youthful racing of my heart. I nodded my head
slightly, and breathed, "Okay, but I really can't stay long."
Yet I knew I shouldn't go at all, because I wouldn't want to
leave, I wouldn't want to stop looking at her, and, if we
touched, I wouldn't want to stop touching her.
"Follow me in your car," she said, resting her sports bag and her
large bat across the handlebars of her bike. She snatched my
ball glove from my trembling hands and put it through the
handlebars. "For insurance," she grinned. "You get it back at
my place."
"Some trust you have in your elders," I shot back mildly, and,
smiling, she stuck out her tongue at me. She knew that was the
one thing I would not part with. That glove was broken in just
the way I wanted it.
She sped out of the parking lot and onto the road. Following
her, I thought I would have to drive slowly, but of course not
with this Amazon. I often had to drive above the speed limit to
keep up with her. The game had really not been much exercise for
a vitality such as hers. This gave her a chance to work her
magnificent body.
She still was wearing those more and more abused spike heels.
Why? For me? Perhaps, but probably just for the pure hell of
it. Regardless, it took even more athleticism to sprint as she
was doing in such shoes. I chuckled when the few cars we met on
this lazy country road almost ran off the road, with the males
craning their heads around to get a last look. Even having
covered her bikini with halter and shorts, her spectacular curves
were displayed for all the world, and her luxurious hair
carelessly, seductively streamed in the wind she was creating
with her vigorous pace.
On a long, flat stretch she caught up to one of those serious
bike racers -- clad in the skin-tight shorts, racing bike, water
bottles, gloves, and cute little cap. As her exuberant pace took
her around him, he looked up in surprise to find that a veritable
sex bomb had passed him. He stood up on his pedals and burst out
in pursuit of her, and cockily overtook and passed her. Taking
this as a challenge, she in turn increased her pace. She yelled
out something to the shocked bicycle jock as she overtook him and
sped in front of him. The race was on! For a while it was
fairly even, although to my amazement and no doubt his, he was
not able to gain ground on her. Little by little, she lengthened
her lead until he was no longer close enough to draft on her
wake.
I stayed back in my car to watch still another demonstration of
female superiority and another bashing of male ego. He was
giving it all he could, standing up occasionally to get more
power, but mainly leaning down as far as he could to reduce the
wind resistance. He had toe clips and a racing bike; she was
still in high heels, no toe clips, and riding a mountain bike,
still with the sports bag balanced across the handle bars acting
as a serious wind drag. It was simply muscle over matter. He,
with the classic wiry racing physique, could not gain on this
amazon despite all her disadvantages. It must have been very
demoralizing and as they started up a long hill, he dropped ever
further back, clearly not up to her incredible conditioning. She
slowed down hardly at all in scaling the taxing incline and the
flexing of her thighs and calves was scary -- emasculating in its
awesome superiority.
I was hard as a rock. The poor biker gave out completely before
he had managed even half the hill, and, letting his bike fall, he
pulled off his cap and put his hands on his knees to recuperate.
Turning back, Linda noticed that he had stopped. Still pumping
her pedals, she turned her spectacular torso so that her
magnificent left breast sprang into sight and waved to the
defeated racer. The undulation of the breast within the
straining halter thrust out by prodigious pectoral muscles and
the flexing of her biceps and triceps, as she waved and then
pumped her arm in triumph, caused me nearly to loose the flood of
semen that was welling up in my loins. As I passed her latest
male conquest, his white face signalled how hard he had tried,
how overmatched he was. He was a physical wreck; sweat flooded
over his grimacing face from his wet mop of hair as he removed
his sweat-drenched cap. He removed his sopping-wet shirt to wipe
his face and wretched ignominiously in the tall grass off the
road. Shaking my head, I pressed the accelerator to catch up as
she disappeared over the hill.
At the apartment she swept me up into her arms to carry me into
her place, but, for once, I protested. "Stop," I said. This was
not the way to start out if we were just going to talk. Perhaps
I could make her pity me. "Let me carry you. I've never done
this."
"Careful," she giggled. "I'm heavy. Muscles weigh more than
fat, you know." My wife had never wanted me to do it, either.
Janet is a tall woman with big bones, not overweight, indeed she
has always been in good shape, but certainly not light. I think
she was opposed it mainly because she saw it as the type of
caveman mentality she detested. But, I sensed also that she was
worried that I might injure myself by lifting her substantial
body and that would have injured her psychologically. So, even
on our wedding night, I decided that I had nothing to prove and
let it go.
But I had been wrong. Maybe I did have something to prove to
myself.
Squatting a little, I found the correct leverage to do it, but
Linda was right. I was amazed at how heavy she was for her size.
For days afterward my back and knees complained of sharp pains
and I smiled ruefully at my ego. It would have been worse if she
hadn't more or less lifted herself onto me, in just the best
position, with all her delectable parts pressing warmly and very
moistly against me. If I was trying to put sex out of our minds,
this was definitely a bad beginning. As I carefully advanced us
across the threshold of her apartment, I felt the velvety skin of
her arms as they encircled my neck and drew my lips toward hers.
She pressed her lips on mine softly and then more ardently until
I began to get dizzy from lack of air. Instinctively, I
struggled to draw back my head, but it seemed she wasn't even
aware of my predicament. My knees buckled and I tumbled to the
carpet as she managed to disengage gracefully and land on her
feet.
We were both laughing -- she in true amusement, I in
embarrassment and confusion, mixed with trepidation at how close
I was to sexual capitulation. She bent down and lifted me up in
her arms. "This is how it's done properly, Glove Man," she
teased as she let go with one hand and held me steady as a rock
with only one prodigious outstretched arm. Impulsively, I
reached out to feel the amazing girth and steely hardness of her
mountainous bicep. My member engorged and hardened in concert
with her muscles, and with the devilish explorations of her free
hand, she discovered my condition. "For an old man, your
equipment still seems to function quite well," she giggled.
I had completely lost control of the situation and myself. At
that moment she could have done anything she wanted with me, but
she broke the spell. Perhaps my misgivings were misplaced. "How
about a beer?" she asked, setting me deftly on a stool. I nodded
and she brought out two bottles packaged at a local brew pub.
Good stuff, I thought. She had kicked off her high heels, so
that at least I stood taller now. Taller and older. I began to
feel more confident, almost condescending.
She put on a couple of CDs and led me out onto her balcony where
there were two lounge chairs and a table for our beer. It was an
unusual apartment complex in that the balconies were completely
private. Walls separated us from the adjacent apartments and all
we could see was a meadow that stretched out behind the
apartments, full of brush and prairie grass. I could see how
this might be the spot where she got that amazing tan that showed
no bikini lines.
I sat so as to be in the shade, while she let the sun beat on her
broad back and let me gaze at the body that, of any flesh I would
be able to touch in my conscious life, was the closest to the
fantastic ideal of my imagination. And she silently dared me to
gaze into her intelligent, seductive face -- but I could not
trust myself to do that for more than a few instants at a time.
"So, tell me about the man behind those eyes," she said, flashing
her own dazzlers at me.
I blushed and suddenly felt very hot in the shade I had sought.
I took off my glasses so that she could see what they hid: the
dark bags and crow's feet of middle age. Now that my hair was
dry from the sweat of the game, I knew she could see the abundant
strands of gray.
So we talked a little about myself, my work -- I did not bring up
my family. I was perfunctory at first, as I usually find the
esotery of what I do to be a conversation stopper, but to my
surprise Linda not only understood it sufficiently to keep me
talking, but seemed to have a genuine interest in it.
Gradually, I brought the conversation around to how she had built
such a body.
"I've been lifting and working out since before I became a
teenager. I was always a tomboy and I wanted to be the best.
Later I introduced a friend named Mary to it and we kind of
supported each other. Every sport that was considered off limits
to a girl, that's what I went after."
"Has a male ever bested you at any contest?"
"Not for long," she said simply, and fastened her eyes on mine.
"I know what you're thinking. Yes, it is a great kick to show
you males how inferior you are, and the cockier, the stronger,
the bigger, the better. But, honestly, I train myself mainly to
reach my potential," she asserted, suddenly straightening her
awesome legs and flexing them along with a sudden twisting of her
forearm that made her bicep leap into jagged relief and her
pectoral muscle to thrust out her breast so that the nipple and
its melon-like density threatened to burst through the fabric of
her overstretched halter top. My cock, which never really
relaxed in her presence, lurched against my jock and made me
shift my position.
Looking absently at the play of her muscles, she continued, "So
few women do that. They have no idea how great life can be when
you do. And I try to do it mentally and physically."
As we slowly sipped our beers, I lost track of myself and the
difference in our ages. In the seductive rays emanating from her
vibrant eyes, I felt like a young man. I found I could talk to
her about things that mattered to me and on a level that people
seldom enjoyed talking.
I learned that she had been a Physics major and had gone to the
first year of grad school. She had been doing fine and liked it
but had felt restless. So they had granted her a leave of
absence. She had wanted to get out and experience life from all
the angles she could, she claimed. Now she thought she was ready
to go back. Her special interest was in solid state physics and
she told me why and about the ideas she wanted to work into some
"theory" that she kept having to explain to me and some
experiments she had thought up to prove the theory. No, she kept
correcting me -- you don't "prove" things in science, you "test,"
and she was testing a hypothesis of hers not a theory. I think
that's the way she said it. Well, anyway, I already knew that.
After all, I watch public television and the basic business of
science was already under some moldy rocks in my head basically
undisturbed from high school. With her explaining it, though, I
thought I was understanding more than that -- specifically what
she wanted to know. But when I tried to sort it out later, it
was a complete muddle.
"What about sports," I asked. "You could be a professional.
What you have is unique, a talent, a drive ...."
"No, I like so many sports that I never wanted to focus on just
one. No, it's taken me a while, but I see now that physics is
where I want to make my mark on the world. The sports, the
physical challenges, that's a private pleasure."
In the silence that followed, the music from the CD wafted toward
us: "... Let the world spin outside our door, ... it's you I
adore. I'm gonna give you some more." She looked at me almost
shyly and her eyes glittered with naked passion as she smiled.
It was the intensity of her manner that bothered me the most; it
didn't make sense. It was as if I were an embodiment of some
fantasy of hers (as she undoubtedly was of mine) -- a fallacious
embodiment I was sure. But my nervous thoughts flitted back to
the music.
The singer was one my daughter had introduced me to and I liked
her honesty and her exuberant, sometimes unpolished youth on this
first CD. It is exhilarating to hear thoughts you can relate to
from the fresh mind and eyes of youth. And you can't help but
smile at the extremes in what they say; for them it's all new --
these problems and vexatious people you've lived with all your
life -- but none the less real and vital. And maybe what you see
as overreaction is just that they see clearly, with sharp edges,
while your eyes are blurring more and more, softening those sharp
edges. The fact that you've seen it all doesn't seem to make you
any wiser. You still make the same mistakes -- or new ones you
shouldn't.
Several minutes later, at another lull in the conversation, my
favorite of her songs broke again into the silence: "... I'm
sensitive and I'd like to stay that way!" Again Linda smiled,
but this time sadly I thought, and said "That's you, Glove Man --
sensitive." I blushed like a teenager, cast my eyes aside, and
said nothing. She seemed to be waiting for a move from me, but I
wasn't going to make it easy for her.
Our beer bottles were empty. We both knew that this was the
moment of truth. I said nothing, letting the breeze cool me a
little while longer, prolonging the physical exhilaration of
being alone with her but knowing that I should leave. [continue...]
-
Glove man, part 3, by Jack Straw
Aftermath: Life is good -- perhaps too full sometimes
Part D
[...continued]
She looked at me searchingly and put down her feet. Reaching
back to unclasp her top, she ended our revery, "Well, I've got to
take a shower." And then, standing up, "Want to join me?" As
her unfettered breasts literally sprang outward into view, I was
momentarily paralyzed.
It was a defining moment, perhaps not of my life, but certainly
of my sex life. I looked up at her and, dry of throat, I
replied, "There's nothing I'd rather do," and in my mind's eye I
saw the water splashing off and trailing along that perfect naked
body, and I imagined her holding me off the wet tiled floor by
the buttocks and plunging me in and out of her -- wet, hot,
clinging, blissful ecstasy ....
But as she stretched her hand out to lift me up, I managed to
croak out, "But --" Her hand stopped and emotions fought each
other for control of her face. Obviously, she was not surprised,
but even the toughest hide suffers from the barb of rejection
after such a naked offer. And, despite the awesome power of her
feminine musculature, her skin was soft.
"Look," I blurted out like a man coming out of the sea for his
last breath before drowning, "you are the most, the best ...." I
took a breath and tried to start again, but she placed her finger
over my mouth to quiet me. Then as she moved her hand to caress
my face sadly, I thought I had to be clear.
"I have to go, Linda," I trailed off barely able to look at her.
"Are they expecting you at home?" she asked vacantly, her eyes
moist.
"Well, no, they're not even home today." Why did I tell her this
truth? If I had lied -- but for some reason, I could not be
dishonest with Linda, whereas with my wife, half of what I say is
half truth, half lie. Linda saw this admission as an opening
that made what I said next meaningless as far as she was
concerned. "No, I have to go because this is not right. I'm
married, you're half my age. I'm sorry," I trailed off again.
"Don't be sorry, Glove Man. It's been a lovely day," she smiled
at me, no longer sadly, indeed almost teasingly as she stepped
out of her tight shorts and now was clad only in her thong bikini
bottom. "It's still a rejection, though."
"Well that's that!" I thought, wanting to congratulate myself for
doing the right thing but, unconvinced at my motives, I lapsed
momentarily into a reverie of introspection. Passivity or
nobility, take your pick, had triumphed. Once it had become a
psychological contest, even her powerful allure was no match for
my lifelong passivity and submission to societal norms. And I
owed it to Janet; she deserved my faithfulness. But it wasn't
all passivity and nobility. Resentment kicked at the edges of
these thoughts and forced me to view it less as triumph than as
weakness. I resented Linda's freedom -- and I admired it.
This brief reverie dropped my defenses and allowed her offenses a
complete and swift reversal. Deluded that I was in control of
the situation, I never knew what hit me. It turned out that I
had merely selected the method of my capitulation. I had spurned
the "easy" way, now I would get it the "hard" way, or perhaps the
"hard" sell is more like it. She threw all her weapons into play
and under this blitzkrieg I was as impotent as the Maginot Line.
I had shifted my eyes away during my introspection and was
startled to find her awesome, delectable form looming over me as
she straddled my prone body in the lounge chair. Before I could
move, she had lowered her almost bare derriere firmly onto my
middle and pressed my head toward hers in a cloying kiss.
Instantly, I felt my penis engorge. Her naked breasts pressed
into my chest and her hardening nipples gouged painfully into my
yielding flesh. Breaking off her kiss just before I passed out
from oxygen starvation, she moaned as she forced my head into the
huge cleft between her breasts and grazed my stubbly cheeks along
the inside of her moist, firm orbs. I was instinctively
contracting my neck muscles and pushing with my hands to extract
my head in an attempt to regain some dignity, but I might as well
have tried to move a truck. She giggled delightedly as she
shifted backward and could feel my rigid cock beneath her
massaging derriere.
As I gasped for breath, I became dimly aware that she was
whispering -- in seductive tones that softened her menacing
words.
"I'm afraid, Glove Man, that I will have to punish you," she
smiled smugly as she continued delicious ministrations that had
me writhing in mind-numbing arousal. "You pretend to reject me
and you force a shy girl like me to take the initiative. How
silly of you. So many sins against your nature -- that's going
to cost you triple. There'll be nothing left for your spindly
wife tonight!"
And as she continued this sensuous onslaught, kissing my neck,
breathing hotly and nibbling on my ear, simultaneously caressing
with her hands in the most devilish of places -- as she was
rendering me into a lump of vacuous steamy arousal bereft of all
thought except SEX!, she was whispering in my ear in oh so
enticing tones the case for her seduction.
"You haven't proven to me that you don't want this; you've
already failed to convince me that it will cause a problem for
your marriage. You simply have to be strong enough not to let
it."
"Now it's off to the showers with you," she continued firmly.
"And we have to release that little poker of yours before it
hurts itself from too much stress." SPROING! SPLAT! My pants
and jock were ripped down to my ankles before I knew what was
happening. As she pressed her clenching glutes back onto my
rigid member, I was dangerously close to exploding in most
unmasterful fashion.
"You said we'd talk," I managed desperately. Perhaps I could
divert her.
"We did talk."
"Why am I here? What are we doing? Why me? I read once that
young women going after older men have unresolved feelings about
their fathers. Is that what's going on here?" I rasped out,
finding it difficult to maintain a train of thought.
"Look, you're the one who's ignoring some latent feelings," she
smiled, unruffled, and her smile broadened as she felt my penis
lurch as she devilishly rotated her hips. "You know you can't
keep your eyes off me. You're starved for something and maybe I
have it." She fixed her brilliant eyes on my lust-fogged but
frantic visage. "And yes, something attracts me to you.
Perhaps it's that you're attracted to me."
"Oh, come on," I gasped weakly. "Half the men in this town would
gladly exchange positions with me."
"Don't be so sure. They might want to do it on their terms,
perhaps, but not on mine. Most men, young and old, are
intimidated by me. Some are plain scared and stay a safe
distance away. Others are threatened and feel they must prove
themselves by besting me. Once they lose, I can still have fun
with them but they usually can't. Some -- and these I still
don't understand -- want me to walk on them and hurt them, whip
them, punish them; that may be fun for them somehow but not for
me. YOU were never threatened, YOU were never frightened, and I
don't think YOU want to be beaten. We're two parts of a puzzle
and this is our only chance. If your wife is missing something,
and I'm sure she is, would you deny her the chance to experience
it one afternoon of her life?" Casanova could have taken lessons
from this girl. I would have been overmatched, even had I been
truly motivated to resist.
"ENOUGH TALK!" she said emphatically in mock fierceness. She
snatched me out of my seat and lifted me into her arms in the
reverse of the traditional threshold scene of the macho stud
about to ravish his woman. My indignity was magnified by the
bobbing of my penis, which had been brought to the edge of
eruption by the abrading of her moist velvety skin. Saved from
explosion by mere seconds, it cooled in the late afternoon
breeze.
The dancing of my member amused her. And her smile broadened as
I struggled against her, not really hoping to escape but more to
test her strength -- and to quell the urgency of my ridiculous
erection. I concentrated all my effort, strained my back, leg,
and arm muscles against her two mighty arms. Nothing. I could
feel her muscles flex but she was hardly exerting herself.
Giggling, she grabbed me securely with one arm so that with the
other one she could pull off my shoes and finish stripping off my
pants and then my shorts. Next my sweaty shirt was peeled off.
The soft touch of her hand, the rubbing of my bare skin against
her stupendous contours, and the psychology of my position had me
hard as a rock. Like a little girl, fascinated with a toy, she
trailed one finger across my member and devilishly watched it
lurch excitedly. Then she dropped that hand and let me renew my
exertions, this time directed against just one mighty arm that
had me wadded up with my back against her granite-like abdomen
and the back of my head nestled between her breasts as her
forearm and hand pulled my bared thighs and urgently erect penis
toward my nose.
I am not a big man by any means, but I am not small either. I am
taller than she and I suspect that, her dense muscles not
withstanding, I outweighed her too. But despite my best efforts,
I could do nothing to move that mighty arm one iota. I put all
my energy into straightening myself and grabbed through my legs
with both hands to twist her hand out of its secure grip on one
of my thighs. The only effect of my efforts was to cause her
biceps and forearms to bulge in rigid striations, but her
sexually-aroused laughter betrayed no effort at all in wadding me
further.
Finally, in resignation I relaxed my effort and looked up at her
merry visage. I silently communicated simultaneous confused
feelings of awe, sexual arousal, inadequacy, and embarrassment.
Something in my look induced her to spin me around and kiss me.
A long, breath-robbing, passionate kiss. When at last she let me
go, on the verge of my passing out, I was dizzy and so aroused
that my member was seeping with pre-cum. Her eyes glittered with
lust.
At that moment, even if she had pushed me toward the door, I
could no more have walked out than I could have stopped my heart
from beating. If Janet had burst in that moment and asked me to
choose between a fleeting afternoon with Linda and the rest of my
life with her, with my children and my career thrown in -- the
passions that drove my conscious life -- I wouldn't even have
listened. Such is the frailty of men, certain men anyway,
whatever that makes me.
But I wasn't forced to make such choice, and Linda swept me up
again before any such thoughts could creep in. She had been
right; the moment to escape was before we had arrived at her
apartment, before we had talked in the grove on the ball field.
I had already chosen and we both knew it; any protest at this
point was pretense.
The rest of the afternoon is understandably not as vivid in my
memory. Our first release was in the in the shower, much as I
had imagined it. She had the consideration to use a condom:
"For you and your wife -- one should never worry." She took me
forcefully, dominantly, mercilessly; I had no choice but didn't
care.
True to her word, my punishment was to be so wrung out that I
could not possibly have sex with anyone else that day. Three
bouts in all, with periods of recovery and then lascivious
reinflation of desire, two climaxes for me and then an eternity
of trying to survive as she endeavored to extract the last ounce
of satisfaction from an utterly defeated rubbery shaft and an
exhausted tongue and mouth.
During the second round she thrust me on top and I foolishly
endeavored to match her vitality, putting all my energy into
pumping away while she concentrated her strength on just the
nether region; the rest of her glorious physique including her
arms behind her head was so relaxed it was an insult to my
exertion. Before I could bring either of us to climax, I
collapsed ignoblely in exhaustion as she tirelessly took over.
It was so painful and pleasurable that I lost a few minutes of
consciousness after spewing my seed -- much more weakly to be
sure than the first time.
For me it was an afternoon of sublime delirium mixed, I admit,
with some frustration because I couldn't be a force to rival
hers, not even close really. Another thing that was missing was
the mutuality of arousing each other that my wife and I have
worked out by practice over the years. But Linda certainly knew
what she wanted and showed no reticence in forcing me to do her
bidding. And from my side, the novelty was her energy and her
body, so solid, so surprisingly large when flexed, so strong --
everywhere!
At last during the third bout in which the differences in our
potencies were so woefully exposed, she relented and let me slump
in total exhaustion against her glorious breasts and corrugated
abdomen, both streaming with sensusous perspiration. I drifted
in and out of a sated consciousness as she absently stroked my
graying sweat-soaked hair. Finally I mustered the energy to roll
out of bed. I had to leave while some skin still remained on my
pulverized, swollen, limp, utterly useless penis. [continue...]
-
Glove man, part 3, by Jack Straw
Aftermath: Life is good -- perhaps too full sometimes
Part D
[...continued]
Honesty compels me to admit my final humiliation. I emerged from
a bit of cleaning up in her bathroom and pulled on my scatted
clothes, acutely aware of the scraping on my sensitive piece of
jelly by my jock and shorts, starched as they were from copious
seepages during my almost continuous aroused state earlier in the
day.
"So, that's it, I guess. This is a final goodbye," I said,
hoping she would say no.
But she was clear: "Yes, we both know our lives are on different
tracks. It's nice to be sure that we weren't meant for each
other, anyway, when it can't be."
I didn't see that at all. It seemed I hadn't measured up to what
she might have expected, but what had she expected and what was
nice about it? How soon I had forgotten about Janet, my kids, my
life.
She had said it simply, without regret as if it were obvious and
something for which to be thankful. Parting didn't seem at all
difficult for her; I was the one who now felt rejected. But as I
look back on it now, I am flattered that she even considered such
a thought.
More than a little agitated, I headed for the door to leave.
"Glove Man, aren't you forgetting something?" she called out
softly.
Foolish old man that I was, I turned around expectantly, hoping
to see her lips press on to mine in a lingering kiss, but
instead, she was holding out my ball glove. I was embarrassed.
It was so inconceivable that I would forget such a focus of my
existence, that she must have thought I was leaving it on
purpose, as an excuse to see her again. She, on the other hand,
was making a clear statement. There would be no other time. I
did not have to worry about her intruding on my life, and she
expected me to act the same.
"Thanks," I said almost ungratefully, feeling the heat on my
checks. But then, looking at her in that short bathrobe, open
sexily in just the right places, and in my mind's eye seeing
through it at the rest of the perfection it hid underneath, and
then lifting my eyes to her lustrous face and those brilliant
eyes, I softened. "And thanks for --" being you, I completed the
thought silently even as she once again put her fingers on my
lips to cut me off.
"Sometimes you talk too much, Glove Man," she smiled. I
chuckled. No one had ever accused me of that. Janet is always
chastising me for being too taciturn. I reached for the door
knob and found myself being lifted in the air. She was cradling
me in her arms and giving me a final kiss. One-handed, she
lifted me and then set me down as her robe popped open. I
playfully yanked it farther open, drinking in her glorious flesh
fully revealed one more time. She held her head up almost self-
consciously.
Fumbling at the lock, I looked at her one last time, swallowed
loudly, and said nothing. Nor did she. Breathing deeply, I
walked slowly toward my car. I looked up at her window, where
she was discreetly holding most of that incredibly sexy and
powerful physique hidden and gazing down at me. Neither of us
waved but our eyes met.
As I drove off, the spell gradually wore off and I suddenly felt
my age -- sore from the game and tender in the back from lifting
her, and completely exhausted from our afternoon together. I was
going to be a physical wreck for maybe a couple of days, and a
mental wreck for a good deal longer.
I never saw her again, although I admit I did return a month
later to her apartment complex. To my shame, I had thought
feverishly about her for days. Over the course of a couple of
clumsy stakeouts, I realized that she no longer lived there. In
an attempt to exorcise Linda's ghost -- which still haunted
intimate moments with my wife, to the point that she was becoming
hurt and suspicious through that cursed women's intuition -- I
drove to the park where the game had been played. I pulled from
the trunk of my car the treasured softball Linda had given back
to me and carried it out into left field, bringing the grove of
trees within my throwing range. I flung it so that it hit the
base of a tree, bounded around and disappeared. I walked back to
my car, drove off without looking backward and never returned.
But this attempt at exorcising her didn't work. Even as I drove
off, my thoughts drifted back to that day. Looking back on it
from an expanse of time, I was even more grateful to her. If one
removed the element of infidelity, and clearly Linda disregarded
that entirely, she had given me the greatest gift I could have
imagined. But I still didn't know why.
As I drove on, my thoughts turned to the night that followed that
day, and I sighed. When I got home from Linda's place, they were
eating pizza. Uh-oh, I thought.
"We waited for you. Where have you been, Dad?" Amy called out,
immediately on my case.
"Why are you eating now? I thought you'd eat with your father," I
asked Janet as I kissed her.
"No, I told you yesterday. I swear you never listen to anything
I say," Janet replied darkly.
"Wow, Dad, you really look dragged out. Just from a softball
game?" Amy was on my case again.
"I got talked into another game," I said vaguely, more to Janet
than Amy.
"Hey! That's my piece," Amy shrieked, grabbing Joe's wrist in
mock anger. Janet noticed my surprised fixation on the bulging
of Amy's forearm and biceps.
"Ow!" Joe screamed and dropped the piece as if shot. "Mom!" he
yelled for her support, as he winced in pain.
"Don't look at me. You know you've had your share," Janet opted
for the judicial-ruling approach, which failed as usual to win
her any points.
"Oh, you always take her side," he muttered as he jumped up and
left the room.
Janet looked at me and nodded her head toward him, silently
entreating me to talk to him while she talked to our daughter. I
saw no reason to get involved. It seemed like normal family fare.
Then as I proceeded toward our bedroom, I noticed him in the
darkness of a hallway holding his wrist in obvious pain. His
fifteen-year-old male pride hadn't allowed him to massage it in
our presence. He was bravely holding back a tear at the
humiliation, an old humiliation that he thought by now he
wouldn't have to suffer any longer as he was passing his sister
in height and weight. Amy was a year older, so we had always
been able to assuage his pride by pointing that out.
I remembered a recent conversation. "She's stronger than most of
the guys on the football team and, Dad, she wants to go out for
the wrestling team. I'll quit if she does. The coach will
always be comparing us. And, Dad, the things she does to guys
sometimes, you --" and then he had stopped, knowing that he'd
gone too far, betrayed a trust. I had pretended I hadn't heard
exactly what he'd said, made it seem I thought he'd said
something else. However, in my mind's eye I had seen the flexing
of her arm and the stretching of her chest. She was definitely
developing in ways I had not been completely aware of. I had
felt a stirring in my loins and kept saying silently to myself
"Oh, boy, Oh, boy , this is not good. Not good."
"What about going out for the baseball team?" I had asked Joe
hopefully.
"Oh, Dad, you know I was never any good at that," he had replied
softly not wanting to hurt me, and knowing my love for the sport,
he didn't say what I knew was unsaid, that he hated baseball and
probably hated himself for not being good at it, when it was so
much a part of my life.
I decided to leave Joe alone with his thoughts for a while and
after changing my clothes, I returned to the kitchen, hoping to
find some ready food to feed my suddenly ravenous hunger. Amy
was drinking water by the sink. When she saw me she became
suddenly coquettish.
"Dad, you should have seen me driving tonight. Smooth as silk.
That lesson we had about the clutch last night really helped.
Why don't we take a spin tonight and I'll show you how much I've
improved," she seemed to swell her breasts and even flex her
shoulders and arms for my benefit. I looked at Janet to see if
she thought the same, and I could tell that she was troubled. So
was I. I thought about Linda. I had accused her of having
unresolved feelings about her father, but could it be that Linda
was a surrogate for Amy? That was a scary thought, and my
shoulders shivered in an involuntary spasm.
"Amy, I think you still have some homework to finish for
tomorrow. Let your Dad rest for a while," Janet said, coming to
my rescue.
As Amy swept out of the room, Janet and I looked at each other
with raised eyebrows. "She doesn't know her strength," Janet
whispered, diverting our thoughts back to Joe and his plight.
"Since you let her get that big set of weights, she gets stronger
every day. And it shows. And I know you've noticed. It's not
healthy for a girl to be that strong." I looked away to compose
myself from a possible you've-found-me-out look and then returned
my eyes impassively to her. "She's a natural athlete, Jan. It's
a new world. Let her do what she's capable of." But I could see
that Jan was not convinced.
"She's getting to be such a tease with the boys. I see it when
she thinks I'm not around. Let's just say I wouldn't challenge
her to arm-wrestling any more if I were you," Janet said
meaningfully, and I had to look away quickly to hide whatever my
face might show of the sudden surge in my heartbeat. That
tingling in my spine was back, but I resisted the shivering of my
shoulders this time.
Well, I was hardly surprised. It fit the profile of her father's
pride and joy. The girl who was always too squeamish to put the
worm on the hook but always insisted on landing her own fish. In
a word, she was spoiled -- a spoiled brat. And I was to blame.
I had always thought that with Janet as a role model, she
couldn't go wrong, but I should have known that doesn't work
during the teen years. Oh, well.
"Looks like you'll have to have a heart-to-heart talk with her,"
I said hoping to sound concerned and sympathetic at the same time
and to wash my hands of it. But that didn't work, as usual.
"Well, you'll have to help, too. You know she's testing you out
as a model male to interact with," Janet said as she busied
herself with fixing my plate of food. I said nothing, but again
that tingling led to a shiver I couldn't control.
Later that night as I waited in bed for my wife to come out of
the bathroom, Linda flashed into my mind, crowding out thoughts
about our children. I silently examined the depths of my guilt.
It was the first time in twenty years of marriage that I had been
intimate with another woman. I knew that I would be affected
much more by that day's events than the earlier encounter with
Linda -- which I could dismiss, by the marvelous convolutions of
human logic, as not having been under my control.
As I thought about it, I knew that my unblemished faithfulness to
that point was due, not to admirable integrity, but to not having
ever been seriously tempted. I was weak, might as well admit it.
Once Linda had decided to seduce me, I caved in without much of a
struggle. And MENTALLY I had strayed for years.
As I looked at Janet, my wife, undressing and moving her body, I
was reminded that she was an amazon in the flesh as well as in
the spirit -- tall, strong, with a lean big-boned muscular figure
that was ripening well with age. BUT, it wasn't enough for my
libido, my fantasies ran to women like Linda, the extreme epitome
of the superior female physique. For years, after my wife would
make it clear that she was not in the mood on that particular
night, lovingly but firmly repulsing me, I would slip away after
she was asleep and indulge my fantasies, eventually climaxing in
autosexual relief. So, I was not completely faithful, by any
means, despite my respect, my love for her. I knew Janet was
more than I deserved, sexually and in every other way. When
would I grow up?
Although she may have suspected something of the sort, Janet
would have been shocked to find out that I had an orgasm almost
every night, with her or without her, on rare occasions even two,
one with her and then one without her. It was hard to say which
I enjoyed more; I would have to say that when she was truly in
the mood and really got into it and climaxed ecstatically, THAT
was the best. But it didn't happen often. Sexual addiction had
limited my career, even interfered in my family life, but not
much. There are worse addictions than sexual addiction. I was
reminded of the autobiographical joke of the poet whose therapist
told him, "She's wrong that you're addicted to sex; you don't get
enough to be addicted." Well, maybe the therapist didn't know
the whole story.
As Janet got into bed, I cleared my throat. "How was the day
with your father?"
"Oh, he was in a good mood." Yeah, I wasn't there. "The kids
love him." Someday they'd see that they were being bought, I
thought spitefully. "He asked about you. I think he was
disappointed you weren't there." Yeah no one to criticize and
show up.
She turned to me. "I missed you, too. You know Sundays are
usually our day together." She fiddled with the loose collar of
my thin T-shirt "pajamas."
To my chagrin this was one of the nights Janet was very much in
the mood. When she started gently caressing me in places that
always arouse me, I feigned exhaustion from the game as the
reason I could not make love, and I really did wince from a sharp
twinge in the lower back when I turned to her. I should never
have carried Linda into her apartment, I mused ruefully. I felt
guilty for not accommodating Janet; she deserved at least that.
But Linda had made certain that for one day I would be "faithful"
only to her.
Janet smiled sweetly, "Perhaps tomorrow," but she made a final
pass with her trained fingers, doing what invariably set my
member at attention and always sent my breathing into involuntary
gasps that signalled my capitulation to pleasure. But this
time -- nothing. She tried massaging my limp member. She was
really in the mood and not giving up easily! But I winced in
pain. Concerned, she drew down my short pants and turned on the
light by the bed before I realized what she was doing. "It's red
and puffy. What happened?"
"Uh, I -- Well, it's embarrassing. I was hit there with a
vicious bad hop during the game."
"Oh you poor dear. And I bet you insisted on continuing to
play." She thought I had incredible thresholds against pain.
"Well, you know we are little shorthanded. Everybody has to
play."
She put her head lightly on my shoulder and snuggled against me.
"Well, I'll give you a couple of days or so. But look out after
that!" How could I not love this woman?
She kissed me sympathetically. "Maybe you should give up that
game. It's making a wreck out of you."
"Yeah, maybe I will just as soon as this season's over." THE END
Last story will follow.
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As we've seen from GeoCities, large websites can disappear. And disk space costs almost nothing these days.
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I can hardly believe this post has been revived after all these years...
He did post some slightly updated stories on some french website later on (also closed down now).
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Some of his stories have been illustrated and can be obtained at amysconquest.com. Not the Glove man triology though, which I'd love to see illustrated