+Notable Author: [Atastretch] Stories~collected

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Stories in this collection:

Amy's Efforts

Daya



You find Amy doing weighted pull-ups and help her with her training...

Amy's Efforts
By Atastretch
atastretch@talktalk.net
________________________________

She was already down in the basement when I got home. I thought it was
hot outside but the heat down there hit me like a wall as I descended
the steps. "Just in time" she said breathlessly, "I could do with a
hand". My eyes widened as I spotted her on the far side of the room. She
was hanging from a bar, her face reddened with effort and her thong-clad
body dripping with sweat. A thirty pound weight was suspended from her
trim waist. The floor below her was damp so I guessed that she had been
on the bar for some time already. Her large, round breasts were pulled
high and bulged slightly around the narrow, taut material of their
scanty covering.

As I approached, she grunted and heaved herself upwards, until her upper
arms were horizontal. Then she just held that position. I was surprised
that she could make a weighted pull-up look as easy as that, and that
she was managing to sustain the pull-up. "Pull me downwards" she gasped.
Astonished, I didn't respond for a few seconds, but then I raised my
hands to her hips and applied some downward pressure. She gasped again
but somehow resisted my force. "Harder!" she grunted. I leaned into it a
little and to my surprise she still didn't budge, though she was now
trembling. "More!" she hissed, face contorted. I stopped, stepped
forward and encircled her waist with my arms, then pulled down, using my
weight this time. She descended a couple of inches but cried out and,
throwing her head back, pulled us back up an inch or so, her body
shaking with the effort. My arms were pulling down on the thong and her
breasts were now pulled even higher and pushed together into a
breathtaking cleavage, nearly bursting out of the garment. I was
enormously impressed, and straightening up, I stepped back.

Her head came up, but she remained in the half pull-up position. "Don't
stop," she complained, "try harder - but put another weight belt on
first". I was amazed at her endurance. Her remarkable biceps bulged, her
chest rose and fell rapidly with her deep breaths. I lifted another 30
pound weight belt from the nearby rack. God, it felt heavy! I stepped
forward, buckled it on, she groaned but it seemed to make very little
difference to her position. Then I wrapped my arms around her waist
again, my face close to her flat tummy with its faint outlines of
abdominal musculature. This time I lifted my feet completely off the
floor. She screamed and again threw her head back violently, arching her
whole body backwards. We dropped a couple of inches again but no
further. Her body vibrated with the efforts of those amazing arms. Her
ribs bowed outwards, her six-pack became more prominent and her breasts,
thrust forwards, bulged alarmingly against the taut thongs, more out of
them than in. I was waiting for us to drop down but it wasn't happening,
she was just gasping, groaning and heaving and keeping us there.

Then at last, a full fifteen seconds after I applied my full weight, we
began to slowly descend. Suddenly she screamed again and arched even
further back. Her breasts simultaneously popped out of their thongs, now
freely heaving up and down with her quick, heavy breathing. Her face was
a picture of determination, her teeth clenched, her jaw jutting out, her
eyes wide and her brow furrowed. She stopped us from going down, but
only for a couple of seconds before slowly, very slowly, we began to
move again. Now she shuddered violently, breasts jiggling alarmingly as
she threw everything she had into her exhausted biceps. She didn't give
up all the way down, managing to keep the descent at a snail's pace
until her arms were nearly straight.

I released her and stood up. I was soaked with her perspiration. "That
was incredible" I exclaimed. She seemed unable to speak, just hanging
there trembling, her sheened breasts shimmering with the vibration and
heaving up and down with her gasps. The two 30 pound weights dragged
heavily at her waist. Why don't you come down now, and I'll make us a
cup of tea." After a few seconds, she gasped, almost inaudibly "I'm
trying to improve my grip strength". I shook my head in amazement,
turned and went upstairs.


Ten minutes later, after I had changed and made tea, I carried the tray
downstairs. Amy was doing slow, steady pull-ups, still loaded by 60
pounds, and I realised that she still had not come down from the bar.
She had adjusted her thong to cover her nipples again, though the
material was barely wide enough to do it. "Ten" she was saying as I put
the tray on the table. Then she stopped in the dead hang position, still
breathing very heavily. "can you take these weights off me now?" she
asked. "About time too" I exclaimed, uneasy at the punishment she was
giving herself. "Now, let's try something else" she grinned.

With that, She raised her feet together, moving into a pike position so
that her straight legs were horizontal in front of her. Her abdominal
muscles bunched into two impressive undulating cords and her thigh
muscles bulged, with superb curves of impressive definition. Seconds
later I was standing on a chair, just to the left of her gleaming
thighs. "Now get on!" she said. As if in a dream, I obeyed. As I began
to sit astride her upper legs, I put my arms under hers and clasped my
hands behind her upper back. Before I knew it, she was using her leg and
stomach muscles to support me! My weight caused her body to arch back,
my arms pulling her chest towards me whilst her pelvis was being pushed
away. How she managed to keep that piked position I'll never know. The
strain on her abdomen must have been terrific. Gazing at her tummy, I
saw that the abdominals were standing out even more than before, her six
pack very clearly defined within the very prominent, deeply bifurcated
cords of muscle which disappeared into the lower part of her costume,
eight inches below her navel. Her tummy button was scarcely visible, so
deep was the vertical groove of her abdomen. Her breasts jutted out
magnificently, inches from my eyes, beautiful firm hemispheres, glossy
with perspiration, seemingly attempting to expand out of their
inadequate confinement each time they rose with her rapid breathing.
Although Amy must have been under severe physical stress, her pretty
face seemed to contradict this. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was
slightly open, though her breathing was rapid and deep.

As the seconds ticked away, she began to tremble. The sweat was pouring
off her, a constant rivulet channelling down her deep cleavage. The
trembling was progressively increasing. I couldn't believe she was
keeping this up but it must have been over a minute already. And she
must have been hanging by those hands for ages now. Her breathing was
deepening and a frown of discomfort forming on her brow. After two
minutes she was groaning with the effort, the trembling has worsened to
a shudder, tears were being squeezed from her tightly closed eyes and
her voluptuous breasts were heaving with remarkable amplitude.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and looked straight into mine, a wild look
on her face. "Hang on!" she shouted. I'll never forget what happened
next. Still in the agonising piked position, she threw her head back
and, with a cry of effort, she heaved us upwards! With incredible
strength, she performed a complete chin-up, loaded by my 180lb weight.
Chinning the bar, she lowered us rapidly and, with a half cry, half
scream, without pause she repeated it.

I was totally blown away by this feat, which I would never have believed
humanly possible. Dazed, I stared at the incredible woman before me. Her
whole body shuddering, she was performing a third pull-up. This one was
noticeably slower and I could almost feel the effort required to
complete it radiating from her. Her biceps bulged, tendons and ligaments
standing out in sharp relief in her arms, shoulders and neck. Her
breasts, bulging out like balloons, quivered even more than the rest of
her body as she strained to haul us laboriously upward again. With
terrible slowness, she brought her trembling chin to the bar again and
we dropped rapidly, a cracking of sinews clearly emanating from her
shoulders. Unbelievably, she strained once again to lift us, but despite
her loud scream, we did not rise. I felt the attempt stop and noticed
that her legs had dropped slightly. No sooner had I become aware of this
than, with a gut-wrenching groan of anguish, she raised them back to a
perfect pike position once more. Her head came forward again and I saw
that her eyes were now open, tears streaming down her reddened face.
"Amy, shall I-". She interrupted me with a snarl. "Stay where you are!"
she grated, between gasps.

Next moment she simultaneously threw her head back sharply, arched her
back and drew in a great lungful of air. Her flushed breasts immediately
burst upwards out of the thong with a taut wobble and a spray of
perspiration. For the first time, I realised that her nipples were fully
erect as they pointed almost directly up at the ceiling. Silently we had
begun to rise again, but oh so slowly... Amy was throwing everything she
had into a titanic effort but it seemed that she was doomed to failure.
Her whole body was now spasming and again I noticed that her legs were
beginning to drop. After eight seconds of monstrous straining she let
out the lungful of air in a scream of rage and we dropped to the hang
position, even more violently than before. I marvelled that she managed
to keep her grip despite the sudden jerk. Again her head came forward,
this time I was shocked at the anguished expression on her face.

"I need your help," she whispered in a tremulous voice, "massage my
tits". Needing no further bidding, I began to gently rub her prominent
nipples, which were about 3/4" long and very hard. The skin of her
breasts was taut, alarmingly hot and silky smooth, shiny with
perspiration. The effect of my work was immediate, A shock passed
through us as her body, already under terrible strain, tensed yet
further and I felt her legs rise slightly once more.  Her jaw dropped
open and she let out a cry of mixed pain and pleasure. I quickened my
massage and she gulped. I could see the whites of her eyes and her
breathing was getting even faster. "Huuuh!" she mumbled, as if trying to
speak. "Pardon?" I replied. "Harder!" she groaned. I began to squeeze
the nipples quite violently and increase the amplitude of my rubbing
action. The breasts moved around in a delightful manner, tautly
springing back to their upward thrusting position whenever I allowed it.
Her head flopped back and she thrust her chest out towards me, her ribs
bowing outwards like bent swords. "More! she shouted, then "Harder!". I
redoubled my efforts, digging my nails into what now resembled the one
inch blunt ends of pencils. "Harder! she yelled, then suddenly she drew
in a great, shuddering breath and started to scream.

Simultaneously her legs and I rose a good four inches, her body arched
more violently and further back than before and every muscle I could see
bulged and sprang into sharper definition. Incredibly, her arms began to
drag us skyward again, whilst her whole body shook violently. Still
screaming shrilly, her gorgeous breasts thrusting almost into my face,
Amy's orgasm was enabling her to call on reserves which even she had not
learnt to tap in her rigorous training sessions. But halfway up, she was
beginning to slow and her scream was dropping in pitch. Instinctively, I
dropped one hand to her lower abdomen and began to caress it. Even well
below the navel, I could feel solid, bulging muscle through the silky
smooth skin just above her garment. I leaned forward and replaced my
missing hand with teeth at her nipple, squeezing both as hard as I dare.
Amy instantly responded, her continuous scream rising in pitch and
volume and our pace of elevation increasing. To my astonishment, she
continued the pull-up even higher than usual, her head still straining
back, until her breasts both bulged against the bar. Next moment her
scream faded, her lungs completely exhausted, and we both plunged to the
cellar floor as she lost consciousness.

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[atastretch]

You go to Indonesia in search of an exotic bride and are luckier than you could have dreamed!

Daya
by Atastretch
atastretch@talktalk.net
___________________________________

Part 1

Twenty-four hours after my plane touched down in Denpasar, I found myself walking out of the Bali Introductions Agency with a delightful girl beside me. I'd met three prospective brides during the course of the day; all three were quite nice to look at, the first was a slightly plump girl in a short skirt who had a pretty face but giggled too much. The second was very loud with a classically beautiful face, who gave me sexy looks every so often and was wearing skin tight, provocative clothes. The third was quieter than the others, was very pretty, wore baggy blue jeans and baggy white tee-shirt and seemed to be taking the meeting as sincerely as I was. Daya's English wasn't brilliant but she spoke well enough for me to understand that she was serious about finding a nice foreign man, with a view to marriage.

We went to a nearby cafe and sat down to a snack of noodles and a coffee. We chatted about Indonesia, work, friends and family. She had an older brother and a younger sister, did part-time work as a masseuse in town and lived with her parents and sister in a small village. I began to really warm to this girl, she seemed very good natured, vivacious and her eyes had a dreamy quality, I found it difficult to concentrate, getting lost in those deep, dark pools. I mentally shook myself and was just in time to hear that she was asking if I would like to meet her parents. She explained that their village was not far outside town and that we could go right then and spend a couple of days with them. Not wanting to waste any time in the short two weeks I had allotted, I readily agreed, so we walked back to where her moped was parked. I'd never ridden one before and was a little nervous, clinging to the rails of the luggage rack at the back as she drove the old motorbike along the bumpy, dusty roads to the outskirts of the capital. The roads were getting worse and it was difficult to communicate, as I was sitting behind her and we had the noise of the little two-stroke engine to to compete against.

Half an hour later, we were winding along a tiny trail in the hills, having been gaining altitude for the last fifteen minutes. I hadn't seen any other traffic for a while and had only spotted the occasional person on some distant path. I was feeling more relaxed and the beautiful, lush green scenery was having a calming effect. Looking over Daya's shoulder, I noticed for the first time that her forearms seemed unusually large for a girl her size, and her hands were quite vascular - good characteristics for a masseuse, I thought. Sitting back a little, I also noted that she had a nice, broad back and strong-looking shoulders. I imagined that, living in a small village, Daya might well have been brought up on a farm and would therefore be no stranger to manual labour. We were passing a few small houses, then a little school - I could hear the voices of a teacher and the children who were repeating her words. A few minutes later, I spotted ahead of us some kind of wooden structure with rope tied to it. Daya headed in that direction and as we drew close to it she stopped the engine. A very substantial wooden pole had been partially buried in the ground, on the edge of a canyon. It had obviously been part of a bridge at one time, as other, more minor timbers were poking up close to it and a thick rope, secured near to the top of the pole, stretched across the canyon to a similar stanchion on the other side, maybe 150 feet away. She dismounted and, taking my hand, led me to the edge. There was quite a drop and the sides of the canyon looked almost impossible to climb.

"You saw school before?" she asked, gesturing back the way we had come. I nodded. "I went to school when I was child. My village that side." She pointed across the canyon. "One night, very big storm came and next day bridge was smash. My brother and me can't get to school. Many days after, nobody try to fix bridge. We check every day but still not fix it. Then one day we saw man cross by swing on rope, like this:" So saying, she released my hand and ran under the rope, then leapt up and grabbed it with both hands. Next moment, she swung, arm over arm, out over the canyon. My heart was in my mouth! If she slipped, she'd be killed, almost for sure! She kept going, off into the distance, until she arrived at the end of the rope, hanging there for a moment over the land on the other side. It had taken her just over a minute to make the crossing. Then she turned and started to swing straight back! My fear was beginning to turn to admiration. She must be really fit to do that, I thought to myself. A powerful grip and plenty of upper body strength would be needed to swing that distance, never mind straight back again without a rest. I was sure I couldn't have made just a one way trip. I looked around quickly, but there was no-one else around to witness her crossings. I was still feeling worried that she might not make it back. As she came closer, I could see that her biceps were well developed; I hadn't noticed them before, as they were covered by the T-shirt sleeves, but with her arms above her head, the sleeves dropped down to her shoulders. The bottom of her shirt was pulled up too, as her shoulders lifted it and her body stretched. I saw tantalising glimpses of her tummy, as her body flexed alternately from left to right as she swung towards me. Her waist was slim and her belly looked flat, from what little I could see of it. As she neared the edge of the canyon, she was swinging only slightly more slowly than she had at the start. I began to relax again, confident in her ability to reach safety, and became aware that her gymnastic display was turning me on! Moments later she dropped to the ground and walked back to where I had remained, rooted to the spot.

"That was amazing!" I enthused, startled by the loudness of my own voice in this peaceful place. Daya was breathing a little more heavily than normal and perspiring just slightly after her exertions. I constantly sweated profusely in this tropical heat but she had seemed unaffected until now. I realised, having now seen her narrow waist, that those breasts that I could see rising and falling beneath her voluminous shirt were quite generously proportioned. She smiled at my comment and continued her story. "Me and my brother saw man do it and wanted to go to school but we scared. So we tie rope on tree and pull to another tree. Then we try to swing like man. First time it was hard but we try and try and after one week we can do it. Next day we try to cross. We very scared and almost didn't make it but we got to school and we very happy. Next time we always go school like that and not scared no more." Her pretty face was lighting up with the memory of her happy experience and I found myself smiling too.

"Then my dad got promotion and soon he bought new bike and gave old one to my brother. Brother let me go on bike with him but can't ride to school. Bridge still not fix. Then I say to brother we can maybe carry bike across rope. So we try to swing on tree rope first, carry bike in our legs. Him carry front side and me carry back side. It very hard but after one week we can do it. We try on bridge rope next day and get bike across. We so happy to go on bike to school first time. One time, my leg slip and brother nearly drop bike, but I catch my brother with my leg and help him to side." She was talking faster with the excitement of her narrative and her eyes were sparkling. I was imagining her hanging from the rope, legs around her brother's waist, straining to help support him and his bike! "One day my brother got sick with fever so I got to go to school alone. I try to carry bike over but it too heavy and I drop it. I so scared that brother will beat me so I get rope and climb down and pull bike up. It take two hours and I beaten for coming late to school. That night I try to carry bike on tree rope. It too heavy so first time I can't do it but after one week I can even carry bike over bridge!". She beamed with pride. I was becoming more attracted to her by the minute.

"Later my brother got well, but I not let him carry bike over, I always want to do it alone now. Next year father got moped and then soon got promotion and got car. He gave brother moped. I say we try to carry moped to school and brother say you must be joking but I say it every day and so one day we try on tree rope. Wow, moped so heavy and pull our body so much but we try and try. After one month we can do it sometimes. I remember time I dropped brothers bike so I tell him we got to try on tree rope some more times. After two more weeks we get strong enough to try on bridge rope and carry moped across. After, every day it get little more easy but one time when we get to side, he lake leg off bike before me and just me holding it! I try to hang on, see if I can hold it but can only for a couple of seconds. That time, stretching hurt but it make me feel good." She was looking across the gorge, into the distance and I was admiring the profile of her face, then of her body, though I was having to use a good deal of imagination, thanks to the XL size of her clothing. I was quite aroused now, by her tales of strength. Had I not seen her monkey-swing across the gorge and back with such ease, I would certainly not have believed that this five foot nothing girl could have managed such feats. Her story wasn't over yet, though.

"Two years after, my brother left school and went to college. He take his moped away. I had to use bike again for going to school. I keep asking my dad for moped then one day he get old one for me. I so happy, but can't go to school on it yet." She smiled mischievously up at me, the deep, black pools of her eyes twinkling. "Bridge not fix! Moped too heavy to carry across rope but I think maybe one day I can do it, so I try to get strong. Every day I put rocks in buckets on my belt and swing across tree rope many time. Always I try to put more rocks in to get more strong. It very hard but now I grow up and stretching my body make me feel good so I like to try more and more. After three month I can try to swing on rope bridge with moped. I very, very scared and very excite. Moped so, so heavy, rope so long, stretching so much, my body nearly break but I do it! I lie on floor for ten minutes after. I not try again for one week, I just try carry moped on tree rope and get more strong. Next time on bridge rope I not so scared but still very hard. But now I can do it!" I had been standing there in awed silence all this time, my gaze alternately at Daya's animated face and into space, trying to visualise the events she was recalling. It was just incredible to think that the little Indonesian girl before me could be so strong. I could see what might be coming, though I didn't dare to believe it. Her village was on the other side of this gorge and here we were with a moped... She had stopped talking and was looking up at me, smiling radiantly, as if waiting for me to say something. I was completely tongue-tied for the first time that day, I was embarrassed to be so aroused. After a few seconds, she gave up waiting for a response from this strange white man, turned and skipped off to the moped. Climbing astride it, she wheeled it down to the point below the rope and lowered the kickstand. I stood, awestruck, with mixed feelings of dread and excitement, as Daya leapt up from the seat to grip the rope once more.

Dangling fom the slightly sagging rope, she adjusted her position slightly then gripped the moped tightly between her legs, curling her feet beneath the pedals. Then she moved hand-over-hand towards the edge, the moped and her legs staying behind at first and her body arching slightly backwards. Suddenly the moped shifted, she was dragging it forwards. Her shirt was being pulled up a little more than before, as her body took the strain of the heavy machine. I was getting a side view and could see that her tummy was beautifully flat. I could make out hints of abdominal musculature, attesting to the effect that all that training I'd been hearing about had had on her body. Her biceps were bulging nicely too and I caught  a glimpse of powerful-looking shoulder muscles just above her sleeves. The moped flopped sideways then fell, one wheel at a time, over the edge, causing her body to twist violently then be tugged down. There, she was, hanging this time with the weight of the moped as well as that of her own body. As she started swinging across, much more slowly than before, I tried to think how much it must weigh. She was maybe 45kg and the moped - I guessed that it must weigh 50, 60, maybe even 70kg, almost my weight. I goggled in disbelief as she continued to swing, each time she moved one hand forward the other was supporting all the weight. I couldn't imagine how her grip could be strong enough for her to hang on. She must give one hell of a massage! Those thighs must be pretty powerful too, managing to hold the bike in that awkward way. Her stamina was amazing; she kept up a good pace and didn't slow down perceptibly until she was nearly there. I could just hear her beginning to make faint gasping sounds as she neared her goal. I wished that I was on the other side, so that I could see her face and the front of her body at close quarters as she approached. The wheels hung down slightly lower than the edge of the canyon, so Daya had to work even harder over the last few feet to drag it up, her tired biceps heaving her to safety. As she released her leg grip and her moped toppled over, I realised that she'd taken a lot longer to cross the canyon this time, over three minutes. To my surprise, she didn't drop to the ground to rest after her ordeal but turned and came straight back. I could tell she was tired, her face was reddened and gleaming with sweat. Some had soaked into her white shirt and in parts it was clinging to her body, especially to her chest. As she came nearer, I admired her full, round breasts, which were alternately stretched upward as she swung from hand to hand. I could see the edges of her ribcage sticking out through the cotton just below her breasts. I tried to imagine what her body really looked like under those oversized clothes, as she hung by her hands like that, or indeed when she was stretched out by the extra weight of her moped. My mind wasn't co-operating but even so I was now painfully aroused and beginning to realise what a one-in-a-million chance I had been dealt in finding this amazing woman.

I walked shakily over to meet her as she swung over the edge to safety. I expected her to drop down but she still clung to the rope, breathing heavily. "Come!" she said, "we cross now." How was I going to get out of this one? I knew it had been coming but I hadn't thought of a plan. "I don't think that I can do it." I said weakly, feeling very nervous, "my hands aren't as strong as yours." "No problem" she smiled, "I carry you!" I suppose I should have anticipated this but I still felt shocked when she said it, despite what I had just witnessed. I'd been terrified enough by the idea of swinging out over that chasm under my own steam, but to literally put my life in the hands of little Daya... But this was a crucial decision; I needed to go with her. If I backed out now, I might lose the opportunity to establish a relationship with this woman. Fortunately she took the initiative. "Hang on to me" she said, as she reached out with her legs. Moments later, I was clutching her waist, her legs were wrapped around my chest and she was dragging me reluctantly towards the edge. I'll never forget the blind panic of the next moments, as I tumbled into space to be stopped with a jerk by Daya's wonderful body. As I gradually calmed down, I became less aware of the dreadful drop below me and more of the rather enviable aspects of my situation. I was held in a vice like grip by Daya's powerful thighs, my head pressed into the side of her hot, straining body, inches from her breasts. As she swung from hand to hand, her body flexed strongly from side to side and she gasped each time she reached forward for the next handhold. I could feel the tension she was under, the strain as she held our combined weight with first one hand, then the other. I could feel her ribs, hard against my face, flexing as the weight shifted from one side to the other. I could smell her mango perfume as she sweated with her awsome exertions. She'd been hanging onto the rope for over five minutes now, how could she do this? The gasps were becoming louder and her breathing was more rapid and deeper. I glanced at each side of the chasm and realised that we were not yet at the halfway point. I wanted to look up at her but my head was jammed against her side. Feeling a little safer now, I lessened my death-grip on her waist. I still felt secure in the grip of her legs, so I slackened my hold a little more, until I could move my head back and look upwards. It's difficult to describe what it was like to be in that situation. I was looking up from a point slightly below her breasts, so they filled a good proportion of my vision. My arms, still encircling her trim waist, were dragging the shirt down and tightening it over her breasts. The damp T-shirt was partially clinging to them, showing off their large, voluptuous shapes, which moved up and down by about eight inches as she changed hands on the rope. I was treated to occasional glimpses of the outline of slightly erect nipples, high up on the lovely mounds. I remembered what she had said about stretching making her body feel good. Daya's head was thrown back and her mouth was open, I could see the perspiration running down her neck into the shirt. The tendons were standing out on those amazing arms, as they took it in turns to support our 120kg. As she felt me move, she looked down, caught my eye and managed a re-assuring smile. "Oh God," I remember thinking at that moment, "I think I'm in love!" Now she was glancing at the edge of the canyon, still thirty feet away, with a look of grim determination that I found even sexier. We were moving a shorter distance with each swing now, as Daya was obviously tiring. She was groaning slightly each time she released her grip on the rope and swung forward. I suddenly thought of her stretched, flat tummy, somewhere under the folds of that accursed T-shirt. I ached to see it, stroke it, imagining its damp firmness beneath my probing fingers - but no, no matter how great my desire, I dare not take the liberty of lifting her shirt, I must resist. We were close to the end now, but Daya was pausing for a couple of seconds between each set of five swings. I looked up at those hands. It was incomprehensible, how could her grip be so strong? To my relief, She forced her fatigued body to make the last seven swings in quick succession, at last dropping me to the safety of the canyon edge. Then she gritted her teeth and pulled herself slowly up, until her chin was above the rope, letting out a defiant cry, finally dropping to the ground beside me.


End of part 1 (of 2)

(sorry, had to split it into two chapters to avoid the 20000 character limit)

www.atastretchstories.co.uk


     

[atastretch]

Daya - (Part 2 of 3)

I noticed for the first time that I was shaking. We had survived! Euphoria washed over me as I faced a new lease of life in the company of the wonderful Daya! She stood over my crumpled form, her hands on her hips and her chest heaving impressively. "You are amazing!" I cried and she beamed appreciatively. Then her face became more serious. "It's okay for you that I so strong?" she enquired with a concerned tone. "Oh yes, I think that it's wonderful, I like it very much." She grinned again, apparently relieved. "Indonesian man not like woman too strong but I happy you like it!" she announced, then turned to her moped. Unsurprisingly, she easily lifted it upright and climbed on. "You want to go to my village now?" she enquired, still smiling. I dragged myself to my feet, trembling only slightly now, and sat behind her. The bumpy ride on a rickety old moped suddenly seemed safe as houses after my last experience!

We arrived in the village ten minutes later, just as the light began to fade. Daya introduced me to her parents and little sister in front of their modest home and I was made very welcome. Everyone seemed delighted to see me and I took to her family as quickly as I had to her. We had a delicious home cooked meal of fish in coconut rice and shared a huge, juicy pineapple afterwards. Her father was quite a character and pulled my leg all the time, grinning incessantly. He worked in the capital as an accountant, travelling there in his Nissan car, via a roadbridge further along the canyon. Her mother was quieter, I could see that both Daya and her sister had inherited their good looks from her, not their father! She was a housekeeper and also cultivated some land at the back of their house, producing fruit and vegetables. Daya's sister was a cute little kid, still of school age and I couldn't help wondering how she made the journey... Whilst the others were busying themselves with clearing the table after the meal, I walked out of the house to sample the night air and sounds. There was a heavy smell of jasmine on the gentle breeze. Noticing Daya's moped parked by the side wall, I walked over to it and, gripping the handlebars, gave an experimental heave, with no discernable effect. I moved into a better position and posture and tried harder, managing with considerable effort to raise the front of the machine a few inches. God, it was heavy! I held the position for a few seconds, remembering what Daya had done, as my arms quickly began to ache. A thrill passed through my body and I smiled to myself. Later, lying in my hosts' spare bedroom, I replayed the things I'd seen at the bridge that day over and over in my mind, marvelling at the wonderful Daya and trying to imagine what her strong body must look like. Eventually I fell asleep, probably still with a smile on my face.

Next day we all went for a walk around the the village and Daya's father described a few local features of interest, in his excellent English. His wife didn't seem to speak English at all but she smiled at the right moments when I talked to her, so I guess she understood what I was saying to some extent. At one point we stopped at a fruit stall and Daya's father asked me if I knew what one of the fruits was. It was pale green, nearly as big as a pineapple, almost spherical and covered with sharp spikes. "You didn't try a durian yet?" He asked in mock surprise. Since I like fruit, I readily agreed to check out this unknown one. As the vendor opened it in front of me, I began to realise in disgust that the rather unpleasant smell I'd noticed a minute ago wasn't coming from the nearby drains, it was the aroma of durian. The blobs of fruit inside the shell had the colour and consistency of giant maggots. I regretted agreeing to try this, but after the previous day's experience at the bridge I thought the risk was comparatively minor. I took a cautious bite of the soft, creamy flesh and instantly heaved at the sharp acrid tang and the foul smell. I spat it out into my hand, to roars of laughter from all who had been watching me! That evening, Daya and I were sitting by ourselves in the back garden of the house, the sound of the cicadas and frogs increasing as the sun went down. She was still very modestly dressed, there was no clue as to the appearance of the rest of her body. But I had noticed something strange, so I decided to ask her about it. "Daya, why do your parents keep calling you Lita?" "Oh, Lita is my name" she smiled. "When I grow up and get strong with my brother, people start to call me Daya. It mean power or strength. Nobody call me Lita now, only my parents."

The following day, Father took us all out in his car, to tour the area. We stopped at some fantastic viewpoints, looking out over lush emerald jungle and picture postcard views of little wooden huts in beautiful green paddy fields, tended by workers in big, straw hats. As the day drew to a close, I knew that it was time to go back to Denpasar. Daya had said that we should have a serious talk about where we wanted our relationship to go next and that she would like to discuss it on the way back. From my point of view, I was very eager to pursue it, I'd been so lucky to find her and I was keen to build on our excellent start. I would ask Daya to come back home on a visit with me. After that, we could decide what we wanted to do. Indonesia was so beautiful, the people seemed so friendly, that I wouldn't mind living here, if I could get a decent job. Otherwise, if she didn't object to moving overseas, away from her family, we could make my house our home. I felt that she liked me a lot too, though I was a little apprehensive about the serious talk that she'd mentioned. After warm goodbyes with her family, we climbed on her moped and set off along the track. We were going towards the ruined bridge again and I started to worry. I kind of hoped that we might take the road bridge this time, even though it meant an extra thirty minutes of travelling. As we neared the dilapidated structure, the weather was changing rapidly. Towards the west, the sky was mostly clear, with a few hazy clouds turning pink as the sun neared the horizon. Above and to the east, dark rainclouds gathered into a dense mass. We bumped off the track near to the edge of the canyon and Daya parked next to a large, flat boulder, maybe a metre high and a couple across. She hopped onto the rock and turned to face me, with a serious expression. I dismounted. The sunset was becoming spectacular, as were so many things in this country. The clouds were pink, yellow, orange, it was beautiful. The golden light made Daya's pretty face glow as she began to speak.

(Part 2 of 3 - sorry, even splitting it in half wasn't good enough)

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Part 3 of 3

"I really like you and my parents like you. You say you like me even if I too strong like man. Indonesia man not like too strong woman. Before you say you really like me I got to show you my body. Indonesia man not like my body, say it got too many muscle." At that, she unzipped and pulled off her jeans, to reveal lovely, long, olive legs with high, prominent calf muscles and beautifully defined, curvaceous and smooth thighs. I gulped. Before I had a chance to recover from this sudden revelation she was pulling her T-shirt over her head. She was completely naked underneath! She struck a pose on the rock, head up and shoulders back, her tan body bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. My jaw sagged as I drank in the sight. Her breasts demanded immediate attention; I had formed some favourable opinion of them, from what I had seen through the shirt, but I wasn't prepared for how stunning they actually were. Pamela Anderson's plastic surgeon would have been jealous. Full, firm and with perfect nipples, they stood high on her prominent ribcage. Her abdomen was gorgeous; I could imagine that it might look too muscular for many men's tastes, but not for mine. Even in this relaxed pose, her abdominals were clearly visible and her stomach was flat as a board, even below her belly button. Bordering on each side of her tummy, the powerful ridged cords of her external obliques were further testament to her remarkable strength. A lovely cleft ran all the way from just below the sexy depression of her navel, up through the ridges of the muscular abdomen, through her deep cleavage to between her collar bones. She began to turn, slowly, so that I could view her body from all sides. Her skin was flawless and looked radiant in this light. No horrible tattoos, not even a birthmark or scar. Apart from her breasts, there was scarcely any sign of fat. Her body was like an anatomy lesson; if there was a muscle there, you could see it. Her back was remarkably detailed. I don't want to give you the impression that she looked like some kind of Schwarzenegger; her muscles weren't huge, just rather more developed than average but prominent because of the lack of body fat. I could view her shoulders and upper arms properly now and could see all the muscles that had carried me to safety. She was looking at me again, so pointing at my own biceps, I flexed my arm. She obligingly flexed both hers, and I was treated to the sight of two impressive peaks, with similar muscular definition and separation to the rest of her superb body. She lowered her arms and frowned at me in concerned anticipation. "Can you love this body?" she demanded. I ached with desire. "Indonesia man crazy!" I announced loudly. "You are very, very beautiful and I am a very, very lucky man. I think I've fallen in love with you!" Her face lifted into a beam of delight and she jumped down from the rock and ran into my arms, her breasts so firm that they bounced only slightly in the process. As she squeezed her body against mine, I continued, almost deliriously: "I think that you're wonderful, I would be happy if you get stronger and stronger, so that one day you can even carry both me and the bike across the canyon at the same time!"

She pushed back from me and, still beaming with happiness, looked up into my eyes with her dark, hypnotic pools. She cried with delight: "I am so strong, I can do it already!" She turned and pulled me towards the moped, then let go of my hand as she took the handlebars and pushed the machine into position, beneath the rope. I was left standing next to the rock and, despite hardly being able to take my eyes off her, I did manage to notice her clothes lying there. I gathered them up and ran after her. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, neither of us was thinking straight, so when she shouted "Get on!" I just jumped onto the back seat as normal. I was seriously distracted by the stunning sight of her hanging naked from the rope, right there in front of me. This time she had her back to the canyon, facing me, to allow me to fully enjoy the body I loved so much. Her breasts and abdomen were stretched out, even more superbly displayed now. I sat there, bewitched and fully aroused. As she gripped the moped, her thighs tensed and, wide eyed, I watched the individual muscles and tendons springing into sharp relief. She began to drag us backwards, her abdominal musculature seething; I suddenly snapped out of my stupor. "No," I shouted, panic once again stabbing at my heart, "wait!" But Daya was still grinning and pulling us over the edge. I lunged forward, instinctively grabbing at the first handholds I could see - the handlebars, just behind and on either side of her waist. Suddenly we twisted and fell, then the back of the bike swung in an arc downwards and forward, as Daya's body held the front. I realised afterwards that the cracking sound I heard just before her cry of pain must have been the sinews of her arms and shoulders. Loaded by my weight, the back of the bike had dropped, pivoting around the petrol tank where her thighs were gripping it. The handlebars slammed into her lower back, the rotation of the bike arching her body backwards around them. I was left hanging onto the handles and clinging onto the seat with my legs, narrowly saving myself from falling. I looked up at her in terror, scarcely believing that she had managed to hang on. Even in my state of near panic, her incredibly sexy body was having its effect on me. Extended by such an awful weight and bent backwards, the front of her body was an incredible sight. My eyes were no more than two feet from that gorgeous tummy, thrust out towards me but now so stretched that it was concave. Her deep navel was pulled into a narrow slit and the central groove had deepened, now extending down her lower belly as far as I could see. Her abdominal muscle blocks all stood out in sharp definition through her taut skin. The muscle cords flanking her abdomen were even more prominent and at the top of her extended belly, the base of her ribcage thrust out sharply. Her breasts were visibly stretched and pulled high, so that I could no longer see her nipples. Her rippling arms looked like they were being pulled out of their sockets. Her face showed pain, but as soon as I looked at it, her expression changed to one of determination. "Daya!" I spluttered, "pull us back up!" She looked at me and forced an unconvincing smile. "No," she contradicted in a strained voice, "I WILL carry you." and with that she threw her head back to look up at the rope, then with a half gasp, half cry, she lunged backwards with her left hand, to grip the rope a foot or so further behind her. The bike and I lurched as her powerful thrust pulled us away from safety. Painfully slowly, we were leaving the nearby ledge, beginning to cross the 150 foot width of sheer drop. This was madness. What she was attempting was totally impossible, she couldn't make it and we would fall to our deaths. I was yelling but she was ignoring me, struggling on slowly, repetitively, like a machine. I could immediately tell that progress was terribly difficult for her, so much more than when she had carried me across two days ago.  As well as supporting and carrying herself plus something like three times her bodyweight, she was also having to use the strength of her legs to hang onto the bike and me.  On top of that, her she was arched backwards by the handlebars pressing painfully into her back, further increasing the tension in the front of her body. As she flexed from side to side, her form seethed with muscle, little bulges beneath her stretched skin coming and going as she shifted our weight from one side to the other. Now we were twenty feet from the start, still 130 feet to go and Daya was already perspiring profusely with the effort of keeping up the tension in her muscles. I watched a rivulet of sweat, gleaming in the golden light of the setting sun, as it flowed down her cleavage, across the stretched expanse of her beautiful belly and down between her thighs. Those muscles, defined as they were before when she was just gripping the bike, were now really shredded and bulging as they fought to hold onto the machine with me on board. As she shifted from arm to arm, the two sides of her ribcage took it in turns to bow outwards against her taut, amber skin. Above them, those beautiful, voluptuous globes, pushed forward by the arching of her body, were alternately being stretched up and down. As each breast descended, I could see its erect nipple and when the breast was hauled upward again, the nipple was thrust towards the sky, hidden from view by the beautiful curve of the underside of the breast. I had thought the sight of her on that rock was stimulating, this was another level entirely!

On and on we went, though Daya was tiring fast. Her rate of crossing was decreasing perceptibly and we were only about one third of the way across. Her gasps were louder, her rate and depth of breathing attesting to how hard even her very fit body was having to work. Still she struggled on and by the time we were halfway across her body was beginning to tremble with the effort. I looked at her thighs and saw the muscles twitch; her abdominal muscles were also working very hard, they looked more pumped than before and seemed to vibrate slightly as they twisted her sinuous body from side to side. Suddenly a flash of distant lightning illuminated Daya in a stark, bluish light, catching her from an angle that accentuated her breathtaking contours. She looked like a goddess! Despite the danger, I was totally turned on and on the verge of orgasm. I remembered again what Daya had said about stretching giving her pleasure and wondered how aroused she could be in this tortured position. Her nipples were very erect... We were two thirds of the way across now and I was really beginning to think that we would make it, but Daya looked almost exhausted. Suddenly I realised that we had stopped. Looking up again, I saw that Daya's head had flopped down, her chin riding on her glossy, heaving breasts. Her body was shaking, the breasts shimmering.  Even in the orange light, I could tell that her face was flushed with exertion. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. Moments later, her head snapped up and, teeth clenched, she began to swing again. This woman was incredible! Twelve swings later, she stopped for another rest. I thought I could see tears coming from her eyes, but it might have been sweat. More swinging, accompanied by desperate groans of effort. Then another rest. Next time she was down to five swings, then four. Her face seemed contorted in despair. "Daya" I called, "It's too much for you. You are amazing but you can't make it." Without answering, she managed another four swings, rested, then another three. Next time, she only swung once, stopped and groaned out in pain and frustration. We were still twenty five feet from the edge. "Daya, I'll try to hold onto your waist, you can drop the moped, I'll buy you a new one!" "No!" she shouted hoarsely, and immediately swung three more times. She stopped again, breasts heaving enormously with the effort and body shaking more violently now. With the help of my legs, I managed to pull myself up, release the handlebars and reach around her waist, clasping my hands behind her back. Her body was hot and slippery and I realised for the first time how much her waist had thinned with the stretching. Now my eyes were just inches from that gleaming tummy, with its superb contours and trembling, bulging abs.

But Daya wasn't releasing the machine. She struggled forward two more swings, then moments later two more, then just one. She'd stopped again, seemingly unable to squeeze any more effort out of her incredible, trembling body. Lightning flashes had punctuated our adventure, and now it was starting to rain. Daya was quickly drenched and looked even glossier and more stunning than before. Suddenly, the rain started pelting down with amazing ferocity. I had experienced tropical storms before but never anything like this! The raindrops were stinging the top of my head like pellets from a gun. It really hurt! Squinting, I looked up at Daya. Completely naked, she had absolutely no protection from the storm. Her arched body was exposed to the full force of the downpour and I could actually see her skin denting where the raindrops struck. Her abdomen, breasts, thighs and arms were pulsing with hundreds of impacts per second. She began to cry out, writhing her stretched body around in a vain effort to escape the stinging drops. I'd never seen such an erotic sight. Then her beautiful body suddenly stiffened, she threw her head back and let out a half scream, half roar - it was a shocking sound. Next moment, her abs sprang into even more definition than before, bulging out and vibrating, as I felt the bike rise up a few inches beneath me. At the same time, Daya started swinging again, three times, then she paused, took a huge breath and started roaring again, her body shook violently as she managed four more swings. She was like a woman possessed, somehow calling upon deeper reserves of strength. She took yet another enormous lungful, her breasts thrusting out against the stinging rain. Screaming, she made the remaining three swings to the edge. The bike struck the side of the canyon, leaving us still over the drop. Whimpering now, Daya clenched her teeth together, squeezed her eyes tightly shut and threw her head back once more, for a final titanic effort. Every muscle in her shuddering body was straining, her incredible biceps bunching as she heaved herself, me and the moped onto the ledge, the kickstand carving deep furrows in the ledge. I collapsed on top of her heaving, naked body, unable to control my desire any longer I ran my eager fingers over her abdomen and breasts, and covered her with kisses.

The End