Lisa - text formatting fixed

[speed]

Lisa — As It Was

First, a little about me. For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by — and attracted to — strong women of all ages. It's not something I usually share, because in my experience many people don't understand it.

I work an office job doing technical support for a manufacturing facility. I'm not into sports, and physically I'm probably a little below average in strength. I'm 6 feet tall and weigh about 200 lbs.

Here is one of my memories involving a strong woman, as it happened. Afterwards as I wished in my dreams.

After a family dinner at my in-laws' house, a few of us were relaxing in the winter garden. I was sitting next to my sister in-law Lisa. She's an attractive woman in her late 30s, about 5'8", with long black hair. She dresses stylishly in ways that show off her ample breasts while hiding that she's a little on the heavier side. She often wears heels, which makes her taller than me. She can be somewhat bossy at times and usually ends up getting her way — perhaps it's connected to her being a nurse.

Here's where it became interesting.

She told me she had been going to a local fitness center for a few months and was beginning to see results. I was, of course, very interested and asked what kind of results she meant. She said she was getting stronger and had noticed that when she finished on a machine at her maximum weight, the younger guys who used it afterward had to lower the weight before starting their training.
She didn't elaborate further, and I didn't want to push, as I was sure she would quickly sense the real reason for my interest.

Then she said that besides getting stronger, her muscles had grown, and asked if I wanted to see. I told her I would.

She was wearing a loose blouse made of thin material. She didn't lift the sleeve, but simply flexed her right arm underneath it. Even through the fabric, her arm almost filled the sleeve.
"Feel how big it's gotten," she said.

Her arms were already fairly large, so I didn't expect much. I half-turned toward her and placed my right hand on her bicep. It was a lot bigger than I expected. Even though there was some fat on top, it was obvious to me that the muscle underneath was larger than mine, and it felt very solid.

I felt myself blush immediately and there was a tingling in my crutch. I let go quickly and sat back, hoping no one had noticed. Someone else asked her a question, she turned toward them, and the moment was gone.

Instinctively, I felt my own bicep for comparison — and yes, hers had been bigger.

I never got the chance to feel her bicep again, but now I pay much more attention to her arms when she goes sleeveless. Sometimes I catch her fixing her hair with both hands, which makes her biceps stand out even without a full flex.



Lisa — As it Happened in My Dreams

After a family dinner at my in-laws' house, everyone went out for a long walk except Lisa and me. We stayed behind, relaxing together on the couch in the winter garden.

Lisa looked stunning that evening — around 5'8", late 30s, long black hair, and dressed in a stylish outfit that highlighted her curves while softening her fuller figure. In heels she was taller than me, and she carried herself with a natural, confident authority. She could be a little bossy at times, but it suited her, almost as if it were part of her profession as a nurse.

She talked about her recent vacation and asked if I could tell she had gotten a tan. I told her it looked wonderful on her and that she'd be turning even more heads now. She smiled, clearly enjoying the compliment.

Then she mentioned that she'd begun seeing serious results from her X-fit training. Naturally, I was very interested and asked what kind.
She said she was getting stronger — strong enough that she out lifted the younger guys at the training sessions, sometimes by a lot. And whenever they did, she made sure they were watching.

I asked why.
"Because it feels good," she said. "Knowing I'm stronger than them. And it feels even better when they know it too."

I could feel myself blush. She noticed immediately. She studied me with a curious, knowing expression, as if she could see exactly what stirred inside me.

Then she asked, "Do you think you're stronger than the young guys at the gym?"

"Maybe some," I said. "But what you really mean is: do I think I'm stronger than you. And the fact you're asking... means you think you're stronger than me."

She smiled, slow and satisfied.

Without warning, she shifted her position, swung one leg over me, and settled herself onto my thighs, straddling me. I couldn't move my lower body at all — she held me in place effortlessly.

Then she pulled off her blouse, leaving only a sports bra that revealed the full shape of her upper body. She raised both arms in a double-bicep pose, her chest lifting as she flexed. I had seen her arms before, but now they looked powerful — almost intimidating.

"Look me in the eyes," she said.

It took all my strength not to glance at her flexed arms or her chest, but I managed it. Her eyes had a predatory intensity that made butterflies swarm in my stomach. I felt small — like a boy caught doing something he shouldn't.

"How does it feel," she asked softly, "knowing I'm dominating you like this?"

"I... I don't think you're dom—"

She suddenly tightened her thighs around me. A sharp jolt of pressure made me flinch. Her smile turned unmistakably cat-like.

"I'm sitting on you and holding you down with almost no effort," she said. "And I can feel how your whole body reacts to it. You want to stare at my body and touch my arms. I can tell."

I swallowed hard.  "Yes," I whispered. "You're probably stronger than me."

"Not probably," she corrected. "I am stronger. Let me show you."

She extended her hands toward mine.
"Interlock your fingers with me."

I did. She squeezed. Her grip was unyielding — overwhelming. I tried to squeeze back with everything I had, but her strength swallowed mine effortlessly.

"Good," she said. "Now watch my forearm. And try to stop me from bending your wrist back."

She flexed slowly, deliberately, drawing my hand upward as she curled her arm. Her bicep rose visibly as she applied more pressure. I strained but could do nothing; her strength felt absolute.

"See?" she murmured. "I have complete control of you."

The sight of her bicep swelling under the skin made my breath catch. I felt helpless, powerless, and completely captivated.

"Want to play a game of Mercy?" she asked with that same sly smile.

"No... please," I whispered. "My fingers already hurt."

"I'm hardly squeezing at all," she said. "Would you like a demonstration of how strong my grip really is?"

"Not on my fingers," I said quickly.

She leaned in closer.
"Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes," I admitted quietly. "You're much stronger than I thought. Stronger than me."

She smiled.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "Even though I easily could."

Then she took both of my wrists in her left hand — her weaker hand — and held them effortlessly in place.

"Try to get free," she said. "If you manage it, I'll let you feel my muscles."

I pulled. I twisted. I pushed.
The harder I tried, the more her grip tightened. Tears pricked at my eyes from the pressure, and she didn't seem strained at all.

"It looks like you really want to feel my muscles," she said calmly. I nodded helplessly.
"But I should warn you... I can squeeze a lot harder. And it doesn't look like you've got much fight left."

She laughed softly — not cruelly, but confidently.

"You're so weak compared to me," she said. "I could do almost anything I wanted right now... and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Lisa still held both my wrists in left hand, effortlessly pinning me in place. I could feel the strength in her forearm, the steadiness, the casual confidence radiating off her.
Then she tightened her legs around my hips again—not painfully, this time, but firmly. Her thighs felt hard as steel. I couldn't move even if I tried.

"That's better," she purred. "Now I can feel every reaction your body has."
She leaned in slightly, her face inches from mine.
"You want to touch me," she said. "My arms, my chest... everything. I can see it in your eyes."

I nodded helplessly.

"Good." She leaned forward, bringing her lips close to my ear. "But you don't get to touch me. Not yet. First you get to understand exactly how much stronger I am."

She slowly raised her right arm and flexed again, making sure I watched this time. The muscle rose smoothly, powerfully, like it was growing right before my eyes.

She released my right hand and easily despite my instinctive resistance placed my right on her flexed bicep. The muscle felt so hard and strong under the smooth skin.

"Now squeeze," she ordered.

I did. It didn't make the slightest difference.

Her grin widened. "Harder."

I squeezed harder and harder until my hand shook—her bicep didn't even dent.

"You see?" she whispered. "Your hand can't make a mark on my muscle... but I can make you do anything I want."

She leaned in so her chest almost touched mine, her breath hot on my skin.

"Tell me you're weaker than me."

"I'm weaker than you," I whispered.

"Louder."

"I'm weaker than you."

Her eyes flashed with satisfaction.
"Good boy."

Sorry something went wrong with the text format when I pasted, hope it doesn't bother you too much.

[speed]

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