+Notable Author: [grbaclig] Stories~collected

[Jeremy Lightning]

Hehe, great to see Rachel come back into the story, I absolutely loved what she was able to do in the last part of this story, and I like what I see here so far, making Courtney, who is even more beautiful than she was earlier in the story, much more of a woman as well, cum just by kissing her. Personally I wonder what her fate will be, and what Becky was doing at the time that this story is taking place, most likely making her body even more of a deadly but sexy weapon.  I very much look forward to seeing more. k+!

BTW, the only place that I know of on the web that has Portrait of the Valkyrie as a Young woman is the yahoo group in my signature.

[eoj123eoj]

I just hope Courtney gets huge and rubs it in his face. 

[grbaclig]

Chapter 7 – Licking Wounds

        I stayed on the floor of the O’Neals’ front room all Saturday, listening to Courtney moan, scream and cry out with passion.  Every so often, Rachel would walk past me to get water for her and Courtney, her incredible body bouncing and swaying hypnotically in the mirror.  I would have killed for a better view, but I couldn’t move. 
        Courtney had beaten me so badly that every bone, joint, and muscle of my body was throbbing with pain.  Whenever I closed my eyes I could see the lean, angular muscles of her body rippling with power as she slipped around my punches, swatted away my kicks and landed strike after strike with methodical precision.  Three months ago she was a bubbly cheerleader who was worrying about keeping her pores clean and getting into a good school.  Now she was a psychotic martial artist lined with rock hard muscle and fueled with a burning desire for lesbian sex.  And it was all Becky Finklestein’s fault.  That wild, unstable glimmer in Courtney’s eyes had appeared for the first time when Becky stripped out of her track suit in the soccer field.  Becky’s muscles had created something dangerous inside Courtney, or maybe activated something that was already there.  I didn’t know exactly what happened but I knew that if I wanted Courtney back I would have to get rid of Becky. 
        But how?  Becky was smarter than me, faster than me and stronger than me.  She was stronger than anyone else for that matter.  As far as I knew there was only one person in the world that could control Becky, and she was busy having sex with my girlfriend.  I closed my eyes and started to cry. 
        When I opened my eyes again, Rachel Finklestein was standing over me, naked.  Her breasts looked more incredible from below that from straight on, with their heaving, perfect roundness obscuring her gorgeous face as they bobbed up and down with her breath.  Her pubic hair was perfectly trimmed and coiffed, and framed a ruffle of pink labia so perfect and so beautiful that I started to cry again.  Rachel smiled a vicious ugly smile.  “I never get tired of seeing men cry,” she jeered.  “Are you crying because of the pain?  Because it could be much worse if Courtney hadn’t been playing around with you, showing off and pulling her punches.”
        In my mind’s eye I could remember the fight.  I could remember Courtney slapping one of my punches away, then blowing me a kiss.  I could remember Courtney twitching her newly-peaked biceps, her fingers fanned out for show, before unleashing a flurry of punches.  I could remember Courtney stroking the angular cuts of her abdominals as she easily sidestepped my clumsy attempts to punch her.  I could remember Courtney making her buttocks bounce in her flimsy white panties before unleashing a kick that knocked the wind out of me and made my eyes go blurry.  She had been showing off.  She had beaten me nearly to death without even really trying.
        Then Rachel bent over, her nipples hovering just over my face.  “Or are you crying because of me?” she asked.  “It wouldn’t be the first time that a man cried with desire at the sight of my body.  I am, after all, a biologically perfect woman.  You should be honored you know.  Normally males who see me naked wind up dead.  Or enslaved.”
        “Becky…” I groaned.
        “Ugh.  I prefer not to think of my daughter in the middle of a day-long sexual escapade.  But being a male you are riddled with filthy desires, and I doubt you could understand that.“
        “Courtney wants Becky,” I gasped, my chest full of broken ribs.  “She lusts for your daughter.”
        Rachel frowned.  “I imagine that she does.”  And then Dr. Rachel Finklestein laid down beside me, her achingly beautiful face inches away from my own.  She played with her nipples casually as she spoke.  “I knew that my daughter would be special, Gregory.  I knew that she would be step forward for womankind.  But I didn’t expect other people to react to her so… strongly.  It’s quite a challenge to control her, and to control the way that other people interact with her.”
        “Courtney wants to have sex with your daughter,” I spat, trying to make myself clear.  “And she can’t control herself.”
        Rachel laughed.  “You’re right about that last part.  Courtney can’t control herself.  She is quite wild.  I’ve never met a young woman who hates men so passionately.  Or one who loves women so passionately.  I wonder if her father had something to do with that.  But I digress.  Becky can take care of herself.  You’ve seen her Gregory, she’s positively superhuman.  I’m proud to be her mother, when she’s not making trouble that is.”
        “Courtney wants-“
        “Yes I know,” Rachel said, standing up.  “And now that you’ve ruined the mood completely I might as well go pick Becky up from the school.  She spends Saturdays at the Vanneman High School gym, and it’s the only time I get to myself.  And now you’ve brought my alone-time to an abrupt and ugly end.”
        And with that, Rachel Finklestein wrapped herself in her coat and left.  Moments later, I heard the door to Courtney’s bedroom open.  Courtney stumbled into the front room naked, smiling, dripping with sweat, and shaking.  Her legs buckled and she fell to the floor, laughing.  “Wow,” she cried.  “Oh wow.”  Courtney was a mess.  Her hair was disheveled, her makeup was smeared, and she was covered in perfect lipstick imprints from Rachel Finklestein’s kisses.  “I could feel it everywhere!” she screamed.  “I could feel it in my pussy and my tits and my mouth and my eyes and even in my hair!  My hair had an orgasm!”
        For the next hour Courtney laughed and cried and screamed and professed her love for Dr. Rachel Finklestein as she squirmed on the hardwood floor of the front room.   For the next hour I planned my revenge.

   I woke up in the morning to the sound of weights clanking in the O’Neal’s basement.  Every so often Courtney would cry out in triumph or excitement as she dropped her weights to the ground.  I was finally able to pull myself up from the floor and limp to the bathroom to shower the dried blood and sweat off of my body.  As I gently washed my battered body I thought about how I could get rid of Becky once and for all.  I would need Vic’s help, and the police of course.  And I would need Courtney to be there too, if I ever wanted to get her back.  After the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror.  I was covered in bruises and welts from where Courtney had pummeled me into submission the day before.  My muscles looked big enough.  I looked strong enough.  But I was no match for the lean, rock-hard physique that Courtney had built in just a few months.  In my mind’s eye I could remember the skinny blonde cheerleader who was always bright and bubbly and agreeable.  But that seemed like ages ago.  Now whenever I thought about her all I could see was her angular musculature twisting as she bombarded me with punch after punch and kick after kick, and her wild eyes as she laughed at my futile attempts to defend myself.  I wondered if she would ever be normal again.
   When I opened up the bathroom door, she was standing in front of me, inches away, glaring.  She curled her right arm up, and my eyes widened as the hard, angled peak of her bicep rolled up and contracted like a mountain.  “Look at it, Greg,” she growled.
   “Courntey, I-“
   “Look at my bicep, Greg.”
   I couldn’t look away.  It was sharply angled at the peak, striated, perfectly defined and gleaming with sweat.  “Courtney, I-“
   “See how big it is, Greg?  See how hard it is?”
   “Courtney, I-“
        “Now see what it can do, Greg.”
   Courtney’s fist shot forward so quickly I didn’t even see it.  One moment I was looking at the angular swell of her bicep, and the next moment I was lying on the bathroom floor, watching blood drip from her knuckles.  My blood.  Courtney was standing over me, her cabled legs rising up like curvaceous tree trunks into her soccer shorts.  I could see the undersides of her ample bosom spilling out of her cut-off t shirt.  Her tits would have aroused me, if they weren’t floating above abdominal muscles that looked so superhumanly ripped that I couldn’t even count all of the abs, ribs, and obliques that ran with sweat as Courtney growled down at me.  “Did I tell you that you could get up off the living room floor?” she demanded.  “Did I tell you that you could take a shower?”
   “Courtney, I-“
   Then I felt her slim, delicate fingers under my arms.  Then I was in the air, looking down at my girlfriend, who used to be a ninety pound cheerleader, and who was now holding me up in the air as my feet dangled inches above the floor, laughing at me.  “You are my property, Greg,” she cackled.  “You do what I tell you to do, and only what I tell you to do.”
   “Courtney, I-“
   “Because I am strong, Greg.  I am so fucking strong!” 
   “Courtney, I-“
   “Put your hands on my shoulders, Greg,” she ordered, and I obeyed, almost unconsciously.  “Now squeeze them,” she ordered, and I did.
   Or at least I tried.  Beneath her warm, soft skin her shoulders were as hard as rocks.  I couldn’t find any give.  Courtney laughed as she dropped me to the ground.  I stood up, my body still screaming with pain.  I couldn’t look her in the eye.  I couldn’t face the burning madness of her eyes, because I wanted to remember the bright bubbly little ninety pound cheerleader that I used to love.  “Courtney, I—“
   “Now let’s see what happens if I squeeze your shoulders,” she jeered, and my deltoids exploded in pain as her finger dug into them like claws.  Her grip was unimaginably strong, and I dropped to my knees, crying.
   Through my tears I could see Courtney’s abs, their angular cuts gleaming in sweat.  And then they were getting closer.  Suddenly it felt like I had run headfirst into a brick wall.  And again.  My head started to swim as Courtney continued to slam it into her steely midsection, her laugh filling the bathroom.  Finally she stopped and let me slump to the floor.  She stood over me, fawning over her own body as she flexed her muscles in the bathroom mirror.  “Look at this body, Greg,” she said as she peeled her t-shirt and shorts off.  “I am incredible.”
   She was.  She was incredible and terrifying.  Every inch of her body was a shredded contour of sleek muscle, except for her firm, jiggling breasts, which twitched as she dropped into a side chest pose.  “I can hurt you in so many ways, Greg.  I don’t even have to hit you.  I can just slam you against this rock-hard body until your soft little skull cracks open.”
   “Courtney, please stop.“
   “I wonder if I could beat a real man.  Like one of those pit fighters they talked about on the news last year.”  Then Courtney flexed her biceps, popping them one at a time.  “’Yeah, of course I could,” she laughed, kissing each peak before putting her hands on her hips and spreading out her lats like the wings of a predatory bird.  “I wonder how many I could beat at once.  Two?  Three?”  And then she laughed and walked out of the bathroom, caressing her jutting buttocks as she did. 
   This was my chance.  “What if Becky finds out you had sex with her mom?” I called out.
   I could hear heavy stomping heading toward me, and then I found myself locked in Courtney’s gaze, her hands on either side of my head, squeezing so hard I was honestly worried that she would crack my skull.  Her nostrils were flaring and her eyes burned as they filled with tears.  “Don’t talk about Becky!” she spat.  “You don’t even deserve to say her name!”
   “You have to apologize,” I squeaked.  “She’ll find out.  You can't lie to her.  She’s too smart.”
    “I know,” Courtney sobbed.  “But it’s not my fault.  I couldn’t control myself.”
        “You have to apologize to Becky,” I said.  “She’s at Vanneman every Saturday lifting weights.  Just talk to her.”
        Then Courtney let go of me and sat down on the floor beside me, crying.  “She means everything to me, Greg,” she sobbed.  “I just want to worship her and please her.  I just want to be part of her life.”

        Courtney made a doctor’s appointment for me on Monday.  We told the gang at FHS that I had been hit by a car.  Courtney acted like her old bubbly self when other people were around, but whenever we were alone, she would tease me.  When we were at my locker between first and second bell, the hallway was empty.  So she snatched my French book, held it in her hands as a smile crept across her lips, and ripped in half like circus strongmen do with phone books.  Except it wasn’t a phone book, it was a hardcover book.  “I will hurt you more than any car will, Greg,” she whispered, dropping the halves of the book onto the floor and walking away.
        In American History, while I was at the front of the class talking about the War of 1812, she sat in the back row alone, invisible to anyone but me.  Halfway through my speech she slipped her left foot out of her shoe and sock, and silently rested her leg on the desk so that I could see her toes.  They were tipped with black nail polish with tiny skulls and crossbones.  Then, with excruciating slowness, she lifted her leg up so that her toes pointed to ceiling, all without leaving her seat or making a sound.  She pulled the leg of her baggy blue jeans down to her knee, revealing a bulging, diamond-shaped calf perfectly split into two rock-hard muscle shapes that shone in the afternoon light as she stroked her leg, puckering sensually and winking.  I shuddered, because I knew what those calves could do.  In my mind’s eye I could see them exploding with definition as Courtney planted to deliver one devastating strike or another.
        As we walked to my car after class, she pulled me close.  “If you tell the doctor anything I will kill both of you,” she promised.  “You need to tell him that you got hit by a car, just like we discussed.”  In the car, she waited until we were at a red light before she spoke to me.  “Grab my upper arm, Greg,” she said flatly, and I obeyed.  “Now squeeze as hard as you can,” she said flatly, and I obeyed.
        Or at least I tried.  Courtney’s arm was no longer skinny enough for me to fit my hand around.  And it was hard.  Really hard.  And then it started to grow under the sweatsuit sleeve as she pumped her arm and smiled.  My fingers strained in vain as she flexed her bicep, forcing them apart as she laughed.  “If you tell the doctor anything I will kill both of you,” she promised again.
        A few minutes later we were standing in the mirror filled exam room, with my broken and bruised body stripped to my underwear. Courtney smiled as she looked me over, admiring her handiwork.  Then there was a knock on the door, and instead of Doctor Haverford we were greeted by a gorgeous blonde woman with glasses, an hourglass figure straining through her labcoat, and pouty lips covered in bright red lipstick.  “Greg?”  she said formally.  “My name is Doctor Annika Allen.  Doctor Haverford had a stroke last week, and I’ve just come in from Columbia to help see his patients.”
        I blushed a little bit at the thought of this smoking hot young doctor seeing me in my underwear, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Courtney lick her lips.  “Greg got hit by a car on Sunday,” she said.  “It was a hit and run.”
        Doctor Allen walked around me, prodding my bruises and frowning as she made notes on a legal pad.  I winced in pain as she touched my ribs and my shoulders.  “It must have been going terrifically fast,” she said.  “I’ve seen pedestrians hit by cars before, but not even dump trucks do this kind of damage...”
        Courtney beamed with pride.  “It was a muscle car,” she crowed.  “A high-performance machine.  It could have easily killed him.”
        Doctor Allen was now focused on my ribs, and Courtney moved around behind her, visibly ogling the stunning blonde’s backside as she bent over to examine me.  “These ribs are broken, Greg.  They have to hurt.  Why didn’t you go to the emergency room?” the doctor asked.
        I didn’t know what to say.  I looked at Courtney.  She scowled, and put a finger to her lips with one hand to indicate silence while her other hand lifted up her sweatshirt to show me her steely, shredded midsection.  I was going to think of an excuse when Doctor Allen froze and her jaw dropped open. 
        And I knew why.  In the lenses of the doctor's glasses, I could see Courtney’s abs reflected in the mirror behind me.  “Oh wow,” Dr. Allen whispered.  Courtney smiled.
        And then Doctor Allen pulled herself back together.  “I didn’t want to miss school,” I said.  “I had a presentation on the war of 1812.”
        “That’s admirable, Greg,” she said as she blushed, scribbling on her notepad.  “But you need to go to the hospital and get fitted for a cast like you did a few months ago when you broke your ribs.  Your parents’ insurance will be billed, and you can see the receptionist for more information.”
        Courtney was playing with her hair and smiling, putting on her flirty schoolgirl act as Doctor Allen tried to ignore her, reddening visibly.  I pulled my clothes on as fast as I could, I wanted to get the hospital as fast as I could and I wanted to get Courtney away from Doctor Allen.  “Thanks, Doctor,” I said.
        Courtney pointed to the door.  “Wait in the waiting room,” she ordered.  Then she turned to the gorgeous blonde.  “Doctor can I ask you a quick question while I’m here?  My name is Courtney O’Neal and I’m one of doctor Haverford’s patients too.”
        “I suppose…” Doctor Allen stammered as I closed the door behind me.
        “It’s my breasts, Doctor,” Courtney cooed.  I heard her sweatshirt ruffling and falling to the floor.  “They’re swollen and very sensitive.  See? See how big they look?”
        “They’re certainly… large,” Doctor Allen stammered.  “And sensitive, you say?”
        “Oh yes,” Courtney giggled.  “Just touch them and see what happens.”
         My eyes were tearing up as I walked to the waiting room to get my discharge forms from the receptionist.
        I sat in awkward silence for nearly an hour as muffled sounds of passion drifted out of the exam room.  If the receptionist noticed, she didn’t let on.  When Courtney emerged, her lips were the same color red as the doctor’s, and her hair was a mess.  “Time to go, little man,” she said, snapping her fingers, and I followed her to the car.
        I didn't want to follow her, but I didn't have a choice.  I was afraid.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Cool chapter, I love how strong Courtney has gotten, not to mention how muscular and tough, in such a short amount of time, easily able to lift him, overpower him, yet Rachel and Becky have a level of control over her, like she has over him. But I've missed Becky the last couple of chapters, as awesome as Courtney and Rachel are, they just pale in comparison with Becky, but I'm sure the master plan of the writer will have her appear and be a big, big part in the final chapters of the story. I'm looking forward to it! k+!

[IBP]

You can't imagine how happy I was to see you are an author capable of producing more and more fantastic work, as our first encounter with Ms.Finkelstein definitely had us begging for more. For myself I was imagining a bit of a different timeline of her development, more along the lines of "my muscles got bigger but so did my boobs", showcasing the remarkable Becky growing up, attracting boys at a young age with her overdeveloped chest yet humiliating them as her muscles grew much faster than hers did. The whole "3 months" growth thing adds an extra element to the story, and although Courtney's rapid change is a bit jarring it's not unwelcome, and the idea that she can get bigger yet is enticing. All that said you are are a remarkable writer of female muscle fiction, and I'm looking forward to seeing what you can cook up next.

[eoj123eoj]

I'm starting to feel really bad for our plucky hero. It's not very fun being beaten up by someone truly stronger than you. Poor guy is breaking bones and losing blood because he's too stubborn to be honest about what he really likes.

Maybe if he finally admits that he thinks muscles are hot, Courtney will stop beating him up. I think she knows that her new muscles turn him on, and all she really wants is for him to finally acknowledge her as his muscle superior. Once he does that, maybe they can go back to being friends again. And being  friends with someone so muscular certainly has its advantages. They need someone to hold the tape measure and oil. 

[grbaclig]

Chapter 8 – Troubled Girls

   Some of my bruises were healed by Friday.  I knew Courtney would be at Shelly Kramer’s birthday party, so I snuck over to talk to Vic O’Neal.  He offered me a beer as we went down into the basement to watch the Twins play the Royals.  “You gotta stop getting’ hit by cars, kid,” he said, his booming voice echoing through the basement.
   “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Vic.  It wasn’t a car.  It was Courtney.”
   “Courtney?  My Courtney?” 
   Vic had a good laugh about that, but I looked him in the eyes.  I wanted him to know how sincere I was.  “She’s messed up, Vic,” I said.  “She’s messed up in the head and you have to help me get to her before she does something seriously crazy.”
   It took some convincing, but eventually Vic started to come around.  After all, why would I lie about getting beaten nearly to death by a teenaged girl?  He sat quietly and drank his bear as he thought.  “When I got back from the lake this week, I came down here to put up the luggage and drop off the laundry.  Someone had moved the weights around.  At first I thought it was you.  But there was five hundred pounds on the bench press.  Who pumps iron like that?”
   I knew who.  It was Becky Finklestein.  And she didn’t even need to use her arms.  If I closed my eyes I could still see her bouncing the straining barbell on her pectoral shelf like a feather.  “The police can take care of Becky, Vic.  We just have to worry about Courtney.”
Vic finished his beer, and crushed the can in his massive fist.  “Okay kid, what’s yer plan?” he grumbled.

   On Saturday I was starting to feel a little better.  At least I could breathe without my ribs hurting.  I got a call from Vic at noon.  “Courtney just left,” he told me dryly.  “She said she was mentoring a troubled girl as part of an after school program.”
   I had to laugh.  Troubled didn’t even begin to describe Becky.  Or Courtney, for that matter.
   I waited a few minutes, then I called the police, and then I went to pick Vic up in his car.  When we got to FHS, the O’Neal’s station wagon was parked right out front.  It was the only car there.  The front doors were normally unlocked on weekends for track practice.  Today was no exception.  We were quiet as we snuck in the doors and down the hallway toward the weight room.  I could see a new door had been fitted.  We could hear voices.  I motioned for Vic to wait while I snuck a peak through the door.  He wasn’t a quiet guy.  Through the crack in the door I could see Becky, wearing her pink spandex workout clothes, bulging with sweat-slick muscles that erupted with power every time she moved even though she was just cleaning her glasses.  Courtney was at her feet, crying.  “I’m so sorry, Becky,” she sobbed.  “It was wrong of me to put you in that position.”
   I motioned for Vic.  I could hear him gasp when he saw Becky.  “Holy shit,” he whispered.  “She’s like a tank.  A tiny pink tank.”
Vic didn’t know the half of it.  You could stop tanks.  But Becky was unstoppable.  Invincible.  She put her glasses back on and stretched her massive quads as Courtney continued to apologize.  “All my life I’ve hated how it feels when men try to objectify women as sexual objects, and I’m doing the same thing.”
   Becky smiled.  ‘It’s okay.  I fucked Jenny Harrison last night.  She wasn’t as hot as you, though.”
   Courtney sighed with relief and laughed.  I was getting uncomfortable.  And so was Vic.  I could hear his gigantic feet shifting behind me. 
Courtney continued, drying her eyes and starting to laugh.  “It’s just that… You’re perfect, Becky.  You’re everything I want to be.  And you can change the world.”
   “You sound kind of like my mom.”
   “Becky men have been abusing, mutilating and humiliating women for thousands of years.  Just because they’re bigger and stronger.”
   “Now you sound exactly like my mom.”
   “But you can change that, Becky!  That’s why I get so excited around you.  You can make the world a better place for women.  You can be our role model, our teacher, and our champion.  You can bring the men to their knees!”
   “I do like doing that” Becky agreed, smiling.
   Courtney sat up, cross-legged gazing admiringly at the eighteen year old behemoth.  “Becky, I’ve been measuring you.  You’re the strongest person in the world.  And probably the fastest.  And I’m sure you’re the most muscular.”
   Becky beamed with pride.  “Supergiiiiiiirl,” she sang and curled her arms into a double biceps pose that made both Vic and I gasp in disbelief.     Every cut and striation was perfect, every bulge stood out in sharp definition. 
   Courtney was visibly agitated.  “Becky, may I…  may I touch your muscles.”
   “I guess,” Becky said playfully.  "If you can behave yourself."
   Courtney slowly draped her hands over Becky’s bulging biceps, panting audibly and closing her eyes.  Then she lay her head against the rippling mounds of Becky’s pecs, and buried her face in Becky’s ample freckled cleavage.  She was smiling and crying at the same time, mascara running down her face. 
   Vic had seen enough.  He kicked open the doors to the weight room.  “Courtney Denise O’Neal you let that girl go this instant,” he yelled.
Courtney’s smile turned to a scowl, but she didn’t move.  “No,” she said coldly.  “Besides, Becky isn’t a girl, she’s a goddess.”
   “Yeah, a goddess!” Becky said, pointing her tiny left foot and making her thigh and calf harden in slabs of muscular power and erupt with striations.  She squeezed her little fists, and her arms swelled up even bigger, spreading Courtney’s fingers with the massive peaks of her biceps.  Courtney moaned. 
   “Courtney I am your father,” Vic bellowed.  “You get your hands off that little steroid slut and get in the car!”
   Courtney’s eyes burned.  “How dare you!?” she growled, standing up.  “Becky is a goddess and I am her disciple!  You apologize to her right now!”
   “Yeah!” Becky added.
   “Courtney,” Vic said, trying to keep calm.  “You need to get help.  And I will make sure you get that help if I gotta pick you up, carry you outta here, and force you.”
   Courtney cackled and smiled a horrible, leering smile.  “Force me?” she laughed.  “You?  Force me?  With a flourish Courtney stripped out of her sweatshirt and jeans into red satin panties that barely covered her chiseled physique and heaving bosom.  “No one can force me to do anything anymore, daddy!” she hissed.
   “Wow Courtney,” Becky exclaimed.  “That underwear is hot.  And you look really strong.”
   “I am so fucking strong,” Courtney crowed.  “Not as strong as you, Becky, but stronger than him,” she added, pointing at Vic.
   “Courtney,” Vic said, “we have to leave.  You need help.”
   Courtney raised her fists and stepped out of her Keds.  Her toenails were the same bright red as her underwear, and had little skulls and crossbones painted on them.  She cackled wildly as she raised her knee.  “I’m just fine,” she laughed.  “You’re the one who needs help.”
   Vic raised his palms.  “Courtney stop,” he pleaded.
   “Hit me,” she said in response.  “Just like you hit mom.”
   I backed out the door to look for the police.  I hoped they would show up soon, for Vic’s sake.
   “I’m not going to hit you,” Vic said.
   “What’s the matter, big man?” Courtney jeered.  “Afraid to hit a girl with muscles?”
   “Courtney-“
   “Because you should be. © Saradas hit back.  And they hit hard.”
   And then Courtney leapt into the air in blur of red satin and sculpted flesh, swiveled her curvaceous hips and brought her heel against Vic’s head.  He fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.  Vic O’Neal was the biggest guy in town, respected and feared for his strength for the past twenty years, and his eighteen year old daughter had dropped him with a single kick. 
   “Yay Courtney!” Becky cheered.
   “It really worked,” Courtney called to Becky as her father struggled to his feet. “All the exercise and that crazy diet—it all worked.  Just look at me Becky.”
   “You should be proud Courtney!” Becky cheered.  “You’re incredible!”
   “I know,” Courtney said, running her hands up and down her rock hard midsection and rubbing her nipples as she looked back to the hulking redhead.  “I did it all for you, Becky,” she said.  “I want you to be proud of me.”
   “I am,” Becky said.  “It only took you three months to get really hot.  And I bet you’re really strong, too.”
   “I am,” Courtney said.  “Just watch.”
   As Vic struggled to his feet, his daughter circled him, stretching her shoulders and cracking her neck.  In a flash she threw an uppercut into the huge man’s midsection.  Her back and shoulders tensed and rippled with muscular power as she drove her girlish fist into his gut with so much force that his feet left the ground.  For just a second, Vic O’Neal hovered in the air.  Then, as Courtney gloated and kissed her peaked biceps, he crashed to the floor of the weight room, blood streaming from his mouth.  “That’s how mom feels when you hit her, asshole,” she snarled.  “And you’ll never do it again.”
   Then, with her lean angular muscles straining and her blue eyes burning through a ring of running mascara, Courtney grabbed her father by the neck and the groin, and lifted him up to her shoulders.  I couldn’t believe it.  Vic was three hundred pounds of dead weight, and Courtney had snatched him up to her shoulders.  “I am so fucking strong,” she growled. 
   Courtney’s lats, shoulders and arms swelled with power and trembled with strain as she slowly pressed Vic overhead, despite his struggles.  Her arms, extended, Courtney screamed in victory and her perfect round breasts spilled out of the red satin bra.  Her nipples were as hard as diamonds as she laughed at Vic’s struggles. 
   “Yay Courtney!” Becky cheered, her braces shining in the afternoon sun.
   But her smiling face fell as Courtney’s laughing turned into wild cackling.  “No Courtney, don’t” Becky said, covering her mouth in shock.
   “Goodnight, daddy,” Courtney crowed as she brought Vic down over her raised knee.
   The crack of Vic’s spine was so loud it echoed through the weight room until the police finally barged in.  There were a few seconds of confused silence.  It was the moment I had been waiting for.  “It was Becky,” I said.  “They should have never let her out of juvie.”
   “No,” Becky protested, as two policemen moved cautiously toward her bulging body, guns drawn.
   “No!” Courtney screamed, her eyes fiery with rage.  “I will kill you for this Greg!”
   Courtney launched at me, splitting the jaw of the policeman nearest me with an elbow strike.  I heard cops yelling and walkie-talkies screeching, but all could see was the blur of Courtney’s fist.
   As everything faded to black all around me, I saw my ex-girlfriend, once a bubbly, wide-eyed cheerleader and now a muscle-bound lesbian killing machine, grappling with a half-dozen police officers.  It looked like she was winning.  Becky Finklestein was in handcuffs, being marched past me out the gym doors.  She stopped in front of me and, with a quick flip of her wrists, snapped the handcuffs like a rubber band.  “I’ll be back, Rubber Chicken,” she said venomously.  “And I’ll be bigger and stronger.”
   The last thing I saw as I lost consciousness was the burning green of Becky Finklestein’s eyes.  And she looked pissed.

The End

[Jeremy Lightning]

Oh oh, looks like once again, Becky has someone in her cross hairs, if there's another sequel to this series, most likely Becky is going to be humungous and so strong that she can rip a car apart like a piece of damp tissue paper. And that most definitely goes for human bodies as well, I also like that Courtney got in the act, breaking her dad's back and then going on to beat up several police officers with reckless abandon, I don't think they would need to pull their guns, but I'm wondering if Becky is bulletproof, I doubt Courtney is at this point, but Becky is a lot bigger and stronger, so it might be close. Anyway, thanks a lot for posting another great Becky Finkelstein story, 3 for 3 in my eyes, all 3 stories posted here were just tremendous in every way, great power, great muscle, and great action scenes, not to mention great characterizations. Hope you can post more for us, thanks! k+!

[Jeremy Lightning]

Jeremy I'm curious, I only count two stories, this one and the first, "bubblegum pigtails and total domination" Is there another Becky story I'm missing out on?

Yes, it's titled Portrait of the Valkyrie as a Young Woman, I believe it was posted 4 or 5 months ago, and it was basically Becky's origin story, it featured her at 12 years old, and concerned her relationship with her mother which was at times abusive, both verbally and physically, up until the penultimate chapter, where Becky broke free of her mother's oppression by breaking her mother's neck. Because of the fact that she was 12 through the story, yet still had incredibly big, hard, strong muscles, well, a person or persons didn't think that it was appropriate for this forum, so they had it removed. Fortunately, I had the foresight to save the story, and I recently uploaded it on my yahoo group, which is in my signature.

Hi Jeremy do you have a link? I've tried to find the third story with no joy

This is the third story, the second story is called PoRtrait of the Valkyrie as a Young Woman, you can find it in the yahoo group in my signature under the Unknown Authors folder in the files section.

[Greatguy87]

I wish she was taller. Great work though.

[grbaclig]

Hostile Work Environment
by grbaclig
_______________________

Chapter 1 – The Bitch Who Stole Christmas

   There were lots of bad things about working at the Battery Creek Steel Mill.  The hours were long, the work was hot, and the pay was lousy.  But the worst thing of all was Debbie Thorson.  Debbie owned the mill, and most of Battery Creek, and most of the surrounding towns.  And she let everybody know it.  She would march around the mill, all six feet of her, in her thousand dollar suits, with her five hundred dollar shoes clacking on the floor.  She would glare with contempt at the mill workers, her pretty little nose pointed up in the air, thrusting her giant boobs and giant butt out when she walked like she was daring someone to say something about them.  And God forbid someone made a mistake.  She used to work on the floor, before she married old man Hackett, so she knew how to do every job in the mill from working the furnace to rolling wire.  And she let everybody know it.
   The guys on the floor hated her.  Some of the old timers used to talk about how nice it was before old man Hackett died.  They got four weeks of paid vacation, turkeys on Thanksgiving, hams on Christmas, and there was a scholarship fund to help kids from mill families get to college.   Then one night, old man Hackett had an accident on the floor and broke his neck.  They found him when the first shift started the next morning.  By lunchtime Debbie was in charge, and by the time the closing whistle blew ten percent of the mill staff had been laid off.  By the end of the week she had dissolved the scholarship fund, cut vacation back to one week per year, and de-unionize the mill after the local chapter heads died in a car crash on the way home from work.  A month later Debbie Thorson owned the Battery Creek meat packing plant, the local movie theater, and two neighboring mills.  By the time she turned 50, she ran the tri-county area from her mansion on top of Battery Hill.  And she let everybody know it.
   Things weren’t so bad for me.  I was the office manager so I didn’t have to work on the floor, and because I was Miss Hayden County three years running, the guys went out of their way to be nice to me.  Even Miss Thorson was sort of nice to me, and she wasn’t nice to anyone.  It wasn’t easy for the guys on the floor to be nice, because Christmas was approaching and there was a rumor that Miss Thorson was going to make everyone work through Christmas, just like she made them work through Thanksgiving.  At least that’s what Jimmy Lincoln told me when I brought the guys donuts on Christmas Eve.  It wasn’t much, but I figured they deserved it on account of all the abuse they took from Debbie through the year.  “Sheila,” he said, “you’re the only pleasant thing about this job.
   Then Debbie came around the corner.  “For God’s sake Lincoln, you’re fat enough already,” she hissed as she swiped the box of donuts from my hand and threw them into the trash.  “Get back on the damn floor.   And Sheila I need you to get upstairs so we can cut some Christmas bonus checks.  Now.”
   “Pardon me Miss Thorson, but are we getting Christmas bonuses this year?” Hank Waters asked meekly.
   “Some people are, Waters,” Miss Thorson crowed as she swiveled her curvy hips to leave.  “Not you, though.  You’re stupid and incompetent.”
      
   I got the checkbook out of the safe and knocked on Miss Thorson’s office door.  “It’s about damned time!” she yelled.
   I opened the office door and gave her the checks.  I hated being in there.  There were trophies and ribbons everywhere, the walls were covered in awards and press clippings, and she was always screaming at someone on the phone about something that probably wasn’t their fault.  I got out of there as quickly as I could and went back to my desk to do some accounting.  A few minutes later, I saw the shadow of Debbie’s giant suit-jacketed boobs appear over my keyboard.  She thrust a bundle of envelopes into my hand.  They little ribbons on them, some red and some green.  “That’s very festive, Miss Thorson,” I said.
   “The green ones are checks, the red ones are termination notices.  She glared out at the floor.  Twelve of those worthless assholes are going to get to spend Christmas with their ugly little kids, but not the way they wanted.  Everyone else has to come in tomorrow,” she growled.  Then she turned to me, and her voice sweetened a bit.  “Except for you, Sheila,” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder.  “You’re the only person here worth a damn, and I want you to enjoy the holidays with your family.”
I thought I saw Debbie sneak a look down my blouse, but in an instant she was on the intercom yelling at the guys on the floor.  “You almost killed yourself, Hostetler, you dumb fuck!” she screamed.  She snorted as she hung up the intercom.  “It will be a miracle if that idiot stays long enough to get fired,” she snorted as she left.
   I looked at the envelopes in my hands.  I had to fire twelve decent hard-working men on Christmas Eve.  It had been a hard year for Battery Creek, and most of them were barely putting food on the table, and the winter was already the worst one on record.  Besides that there was something in the water that was causing a lot of local girls to come down with sprained jaws and sprained pelvises, so medical bills were through the roof.  This was the last straw, I thought.  I had to do something.

   On the floor, I took my time handing out envelopes.  I told everyone not to open them until they left.  The first red ribbon was going to Jimmy Lincoln.  “Jimmy don’t open this.  She’s going to fire you,” I said.  Jimmy’s face fell, and he looked like he was going to burst into tears.  “But don’t worry I have a plan.  She always works late, so everyone who’s getting fired can wait in the kitchen.  Before she leaves I’ll take that door lock remote control thing off her desk, so she has to stay.  Then we can talk to her and get her to change her mind.”
   “She don’t care, Sheila,” Jimmy moped.  “She’s going to do whatever she wants like she always does, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
   “Sure there is, Jimmy,” I said, trying to sound chipper.  “We just have to get her to sit down face to face and show her some Christmas spirit.”
Jimmy shook his head.  “It won’t work.  Besides, you don’t need to get yourself mixed up in something like this.  You’ll be okay, on account of Miss Thorson being sweet on you.”
   I blushed.   “Miss Thorson isn’t a lesbian, Jimmy,” I said.  “She’s the most beautiful woman in the tri-county area.  She’s just too busy to find a man.  But we’ll get her to change her tune about that too, just you wait.”

   Jimmy reluctantly agreed to my plan and so did the other eleven guys who were getting fired.  They were waiting in the kitchen when the closing whistle blew and I went into Miss Thorson’s office.  “Miss Thorson, I just wanted to thank you again for letting me have Christmas off,” I said, putting my hands on her desk, near the wallet-sized remote control that locked and unlocked all the doors in the mill.
She smiled and patted me on the hand.  “It’s my pleasure, Sheila,” she said.  Then she looked down my blouse, and smiled.  “And feel free to call me Debbie.  You’ve only been here for a year, but I can tell you belong here under me--I mean with me.”
   Oh my God, Debbie Thorson was totally hitting on me.  Jimmy was right.  I was startled for a moment, but then I grabbed the remote control and backed away.  “Miss Thorson, you need to come down to the floor,” I said.
   She laughed and stood up, all six feet of her.  “Oh Sheila, if you’re trying to get my attention, you don’t have to be nearly this dramatic.”
I giggled a bit as I left her office.  I felt like I was back at boarding school, playing pranks.  My heart fluttered as I ran down the stairs and toward the kitchen.  I waved the guys out as the clacking of Miss Thorson’s shoes got louder.  For some reason, Roy Stevens had a ball peen hammer.  Pete Small and Billy Albertson had lengths of 30-inch pipe.  And Vince Cartwright and Irv Norton had lengths of chain.  And all the guys looked mad.
But as mad as they looked, that was nothing compared to how mad Miss Thorson looked when she caught up with me and saw all the guys. “What the hell is this?” she growled.  “Shouldn’t you assholes be crying into your cheap domestic beer by now?  Get the hell out of here!”
   “Not until you hear what they have to say, Miss Thorson,” I said.
   Then Dennis Cooper grabbed the door remote from my hand and threw it into the oil bath.  It exploded instantly.  “You ain’t leaving until you apologize for everything you’ve done!” he yelled.
   “Guys let’s be civil,” I said.
   But it was too late.  All of the hate that they felt toward Miss Thorson was spilling out.  “You think you’re better than me?” Jimmy screamed.  “You ain’t better than me!”
   “Yes I am, Jimmy,” Miss Thorson said rolling her eyes.  “I am superior to you in every way.”
   “I’m gonna make you beg for mercy!” Hank yelled, brandishing a pipe wrench.
   I was starting to get worried, but Miss Thorson just scoffed.  “Oh please,” she said.  “You’re not smart enough to use that for plumbing or for assault.”
   “I’m gonna press my face between those big ol’ jugs until I pass out,” Harry Mitchell snarled.”
   Miss Thorson raised an eyebrow.  “Be careful what you wish for Harry,” she said.
   I couldn’t believe how cavalier Miss Thorson was, but I was getting worried.  The guys were like a pack of dogs.  “Guys no,” I said, trying to stand between them and Miss Thorson.  “We were supposed to talk about better treatment for workers in the spirit of the season.”
   Miss Thorson laughed, and started putting her long gray hair up into a bun.  “Sheila you are so adorably naïve,” she said sweetly.  “I’m almost sorry you have to see this.”
   “My daughter can’t walk or talk for a month because of the crap you dump in the water!” Pete Small yelled, waving a 30-inch length of pipe.
   Miss Thorson rolled her eyes.  “Pollution doesn’t cause lockjaw and bruised pelvises, Pete,” she said venomously.  “Have you considered the possibility that your daughter is a slut?”
   And the Pete lost it.  He screamed and pushed me to the ground and swung his length of pipe down with all his might, landing it on Miss Thorson’s blouse, right between her breasts.  I recoiled in horror, but Miss Thorson didn’t flinch.  I kept expecting her to fall over or scream or… something, but she just glanced down at the grease stain on her blouse and scowled. 
   “Are you okay, Miss Thorson?  Do you need an ambulance?” I asked. 
   Miss Thorson sneered.  “No I’m not okay, Sheila.  This is a two hundred dollar silk blouse,” she spat.  Then she sighed.  “I suppose I was going to have to take it off eventually,” she mused as she began to unzip her long skirt,  “before I start drawing blood.”
   I was just sitting up when Debbie’s skirt hit the floor, falling over her high heels.  My jaw dropped open.  Debbie Thorson, the 50 year old steel mill tyrant had taken her skirt off in the middle of twelve guys who wanted her dead, exposing a very skimpy set of black lace panties, a diamond-encrusted ankle bracelet, and a pair of legs that bulged with slabs of huge, sharply defined feminine muscle.
   “Oh my God,” I exclaimed.
   “Come now Sheila,” Miss Thorson said, stepping over her skirt and unbuttoning her jacket.  “You’ve been into my office dozens of times.  Surely you’ve seen my awards for power lifting and bodybuilding.  And mixed martial arts.  And strongman competitions.”
   Miss Thorson was showing off now, twisting her legs and pointing her toes, making her quads, calves, and glutes ripple and bulge.  “Holy shit look at her legs,” Eric Oliver said.
   “If you think my legs are impressive, wait until you see my arms,” Miss Thorson bragged, letting her jacket drop to the floor.
Her two hundred dollar silk blouse was sleeveless.  I guess it would have to be, because her arms were so big I couldn’t imagine how she kept them from bursting out of the jacket.  Her shoulders were the size of cannonballs, and when she brought her arms up into a double biceps flex I could hear gasps of disbelief.  The massive split peaks seemed to keep getting bigger as Miss Thorson slowly pumped her biceps, her forearms erupting with cords of rippling muscle.  She cocked an eyebrow at me.  “Oh wow,” I said, without thinking.  I was so in awe of the size and definition of Debbie’s 50 year old musculature that I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
   But I hadn’t seen anything yet. 
   “You haven’t seen anything yet,” Miss Thorson crowed.
   And then Debbie Thorson splayed her fingers, letting her jeweled rings catch the light, and brought her arms down into a “most muscular” pose, the gentle lines on her face contorting into a scowl.
   As Miss Thorson’s traps and lats bulged and swelled, her blouse began to give way.  Buttons flew and the seams ripped open.  In a few seconds the blouse was in shreds on the ground, and Debbie straightened up, all six feet of her to display a very skimpy black lace bra that struggled to contain her massive breasts.  I laughed in disbelief.  Debbie’s boobs were as big as my head, and the striated pectoral muscles that thrust them outward looked almost as big as her boobs.  “No wonder Pete’s pipe didn’t hurt her,” I thought as her pecs rippled, jiggling her massive mammaries.  “Those slabs of muscle must be two inches thick!”
   Then Miss Thorson cocked her hips and raised her massive arms over her head, and her core rippled into unbelievable definition.  I had played sports in boarding school and college, and I had seen my fair share of six packs and tight 20-year-old waistlines, but 50-year-old Debbie Thorson had a torso that put all of them to shame.  Her abs, obliques, ribs, and lats bulged with perfect shape and symmetry, and it was impossible to find even an inch of her midsection that wasn’t a rippling muscle.
   Finally, Miss Thorson relaxed.  She stood before us displaying scandalously flimsy underwear, dangling golden earrings, gaudily-jeweled rings, diamond-encrusted ankle bracelets, a pearl necklace and the most perfectly developed musculature any of us had ever seen.  She had a body that would win Ms. Olympia without having to step on stage, a body that would make Mr. Olympia contestants shake with fear and jealousy.  She seemed too big and too ripped to be real.  But there she was, all six feet of her, smirking arrogantly as she examined her fingernails, coyly making her incredible bicep dance.  “Now remind me again which one of you scrawny little runts hit me with a pipe?” she asked with a smile.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Well, no Becky Finkelstein this time, but you seem to have dug up another gem for us Grbaclig! I like that this time it's a much older woman who is showing off her pure superiority, though I'm guessing she's far from done with that, as in most of the other stories you posted, we might be in for a long, interesting, but very painful for males, ride. I look forward to more! k+!

[kredenchurut]

This story is the best thing that happened to me in a while, thank you. I really hope we will se much much more chapters. I want to know all the little details. Even the tiniest ones like did that metal pipe even leave a mark on Debbie's pectorals? Like a little graze or a  bruise or something? Please give us more!!

[grbaclig]

Chapter 2 – Bad to Worse

   I couldn't believe my eyes.  I stared at Miss Thorson's chest.  There was a little red oval where the pipe had hit her, right on the massive shelf of pectoral muscle, but no blood and no bruise.  "I really like that blouse," she said sourly. 
   Pete backed up a couple of steps, he still looked mad, but he looked shocked, too.  Heck all of the guys looked shocked, and a couple looked downright scared.  Irv Norton was shaking so hard I could hear his chain rattling.  Then Miss Thorson started walking toward Pete, and my eyes were drawn like a magnet to her legs.  She strutted slowly, her heels clacking against the floor, and her quads bulging and bunching with each movement.  When she passed me she twitched her butt just a little, looking over her shoulder.  But I couldn’t meet her gaze, because I was hypnotized by the motion of her huge, round, buttocks.  They rolled like ocean waves, turning her panties into a thong as the black fabric crept deeper and deeper into the crack between her chiseled glutes.  Then I woke up out of my trance when I heard Pete scream.  He jumped at Miss Thorson and swung the pipe as hard as he could.  It bounced off her left triceps with a dull thumping sound.  Miss Thorson just laughed.  “Pete you couldn’t hurt a fly with that thing,” she crowed.  “You’re smaller than Sheila is, for Christ’s sake.”
   Well Pete may have been little, but he was angry, and he swung again, bringing the pipe down inches from Miss Thorson’s head, right on her trapezius muscle.  She didn’t flinch.  She didn’t move at all, at least not until she put her hands on her waist, and started flexing.  I could see muscles pop to life along her back, huge bunching mounds of rippling flesh expanding and contracting as she got wider and wider, her traps were swelling up so big that her dangling earrings were draped over them.  “I can’t believe you’re such a coward that you would hit a woman,” she spat as Pete backed away again, his anger now completely replaced with fear.  “And I can’t believe you’re such an idiot that you would hit a woman who’s twice your size.”
   “I ain’t scared of you!” Pete shouted as Miss Thorson relaxed her massive back and started strutting toward him again.
   “You obviously are, Pete,” she laughed.  “And you should be.  I’m going to break you apart in so many ways you’ll be in the hospital for a year, and you won’t even have any insurance to pay for your visit.”
   Things had gone from bad to worse, and it was all my fault.  I had to do something.  I got up and ran into the circle of men that had formed around Pete and Miss Thorson.  I stood between them as best I could with Pete backing up and Miss Thorson sashaying after him.  “Come one everybody, stop.  This is Christmas Eve,” I pleaded.  “Can’t we just sit down and talk?”
   Then I heard a yell from behind me.  “Sheila did all this!” Greg Garrity yelled.  “She’s the one handed out them envelopes and told us to meet here!”
   Before I could object I had been grabbed from behind.  Greg had me by one arm and Dennis grabbed me by the other.  They were squeezing real tight, and it hurt real bad.  “Please,” I whimpered.  “Don’t.”
   Miss Thorson froze in her tracks.  Her blue eyes were burning and she looked as mad as I had ever seen her.  And she was always kind of mad.  “Let her go,” she growled as she began stalking toward us, her breasts bouncing violently.
   “Don’t take another step, you giant bitch,” Dennis said when she was about six feet away.  “Or we’ll tear her in half.
   I could hear laughing from the other men.  These guys were supposed to be my friends.  Didn’t they know I was only trying to help?  “Please guys,” I pleaded.
   Miss Thorson was breathing heavily now, and every time she took a breath her muscles rippled, straining the bra and panties visibly.  “If you don’t let her go in the next five seconds, I’m going to kill every last one of you,” she hissed.  Then she started counting.  “Five.”
   “You can’t beat all of us,” Harry said.
   Miss Thorson laughed, and straightened up, all six feet of her, cocking her hips and splaying her arms, like some kind of bikini model on steroids.  “Four,” she said.
   “We’ll stand together, just like in the union,” Vince said.
   “Remember what I did to the Union, Vince,” Miss Thorson said, balling up a massive bicep and puckering at it, as if she was aroused by her own rippling mass. “Three.”
   “Shit, look at Sheila’s nips.  They are dykes!” Roy said.
   I wilted.  My nipples were hard as diamonds and as big as lug nuts.  I knew I couldn’t help being aroused, but I was still kind of ashamed.  Ashamed because I couldn’t control myself.  I was a sexually experienced woman, I could teach most of the guys in town a thing or two—and most of the girls for that matter—but Miss Thorson was so big and so beautiful I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.  She brought both arms up now, her throbbing biceps the size of softballs and so defined they looked like they were carved out of granite.  “Two,” she said, fixing me with her blue eyes and blowing me a kiss. 
   I got moist, just from the sight of her, and my thighs started rubbing together.  I couldn’t help myself.
   “This is going to be fun,” Billy said. “You fellas can have Sheila.  I’m going to stick this pipe up that old gray bitch’s pussy and make her scream.”
   That must’ve really made Miss Thorson mad, because she dropped her arms, relaxed her legs, and scowled like an angry dog.  “One,” she growled.
   “What are you going to do?”Greg jeered.  “You can’t do anyth-“
   Then four things happened in about a half a second.  I heard the clacking of high heels, Greg stopped talking in mid-sentence, my arms were free, and I was staring right at the biggest breasts that I had ever seen in my life.  I could smell the rose fragrance of Miss Thorson’s perfume wafting up from the gulf of cleavage that was just inches from my face.  Miss Thorson may have been 50 years old, but her tits looked perfect, without a bit of wrinkled or sagging skin.  I was burning with jealousy and desire as those perfect globes rose and fell gently with her breath.  I could see the fading daylight reflecting off her pearls.  Then a single drop of sweat formed beneath the necklace and ran down into her cleavage, and I dropped to my knees.  I was so turned on I had to look away, or I was going to start fingering myself right there.  But what I saw next brought my libido to a screeching halt.
   I was looking up at Miss Thorson, her muscle-bound frame towering above me, as she held Greg and Dennis by the neck, one man in each hand, their feet dangling at least a foot off the floor.  I couldn’t believe it.  I saw superheroes do that kind of thing in movies, but I couldn’t believe that anyone—let alone the 50 year old woman that I made coffee for every morning—was strong enough to do that in real life.  Neither could the guys.  They were starting to back away.  Hank was shaking the door handle like crazy, but it was locked tight.  Roy looked like he was trying to hide.  Miss Thorson was smiling.  If she had a hard time holding Greg and Dennis in the air, she wasn’t showing it.  She looked relaxed and calm, with a bitchy little smirk on her face.  “I gave you a chance,” she said coldly.  “I would have smacked you around a little bit and let you go.  But now…”
   I heard a sickening squishing sound, and the two men hanging above me went limp.  Then they dropped to the floor.  I hopped up out of fear and backed up, inching myself up on the first stair of the staircase leading to the upstairs office.  The guys scattered to the other rooms of the mill, and I was alone with Miss Thorson.  She smiled at me, sweetly now.  Like my grandma.  If my Grandma had muscles like bodybuilder, tits like a porn star, and an ass like a Brazilian dancer.  “Are you hurt, Sheila?” she asked softly, slinking over to me.
   I shook my head as she sat down beside me, her hand on my knee, red fingernails shining in the twilight.  I was surprised by how dainty and ladylike her hand was, compared to the hulking mass of muscles in the forearms that they were attached to.  She stroked my arm lovingly where it had been bruised.  “Can you turn your wrists and move your fingers?” she asked.
   I think I said something, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her boobs.  At least not until I saw her pectorals.  I always like guys with big chests, and I’d seen plenty of bodybuilders, but none of them had pecs like Miss Thorson.  Not even close.  They were as thick as a pair Stephen King novels, and so cut that I could see the individual muscles weaving together.  “No wonder Pete’s pipe didn’t hurt her,” I thought.  “She’s got more muscle in her chest than he does in his entire body.
   Then I felt fingers under my chin tilting my head up, and was eye-to-eye with my big, beautiful, bitch of a boss.  “My eyes are up here, Sheila,” she cooed.  I blushed.  “Can you turn your wrists and move your fingers?” she asked again.
   I nodded.  I wasn’t hurt that bad, just a little disoriented by the events that transpired.  Then I heard something heavy fall on the far end of the factory, and I jumped.  “We have to call the police, Miss Thorson” I said.
   “Why would we do that?” she asked, brushing my hair out of my face.
   “There are twelve of them, Miss Thorson,” I stammered.  “You can’t fight twelve men unarmed.”
Miss Thorson laughed and stood up.  I was staring slack-jawed at the cabled mass of her thighs when she pulled me gently to my feet and brushed a tear from my cheek.  “First of all, there are only ten of them now.” 
   I shuddered when I remembered how easily she had killed Greg and Dennis.  “But they’re finding weapons and coming to get us and we’re unarmed-“
   “Second, I am never unarmed,” she chuckled, raising a massive bicep, her jewel-studded rings flashing as she fanned her fingers to accommodate the swelling bulk of her incredible arm.  I was so engrossed I could hear my own heart beating.  The massive, double-headed softball-sized muscle was only inches from my face, quivering with power as a single vein came into prominence and snaked its way toward her hypertrophied forearm.  I couldn’t help myself.  If I didn’t touch her I was going to explode.  So I reached out and cupped my hand over Miss Thorson’s bicep.  It was warm, and so hard it was like squeezing steel.  I could hear her laugh.  My fingers trembled as the matronly powerhouse’s bicep kept growing.
   “So big…  So hard…” I gulped.  My free hand was rubbing my clit through my panties now, and I couldn’t have stopped it if I wanted to.  “How… How did you get these muscles Miss Thorson?” I panted.
   “The same way I got everything I have,” she said.  “Hard work, ceaseless dedication, unwavering focus, and uncompromising willpower.  And one more thing, Sheila,” Miss Thorson turned my face toward hers again.  “Please call me Debbie.”
   “Okay Debbie,” I said obediently.
   “Do you still have your keys to the office, Sheila?”
   “Yes, Miss Th— yes Debbie.”
   “Go into my office and lock the door,” she said.  “You’ll be safe there.  I have to find where those ten roaches have scattered to, and crush them.”
   “Can’t we just sit down and talk?” I asked.
   Debbie laughed and shook her head.  As she turned to go, she gave me a peck on the cheek, and I exploded.  I could feel ejaculate running down my thigh, and my legs were quivering.
   As Debbie walked toward the kitchen that connected the main floor to the rear processing stations, her glutes and calves bulged with every step, and I crept along behind her, biting my lip and trying not to moan at the sight of her muscular perfection.  I couldn’t go upstairs.  I had to watch her muscles in action.  I had to see her power.  She stopped at the intercom by the kitchen, and the speakers in the mill crackled to life.  “May I have your attention please,” she called, her voice echoing through the mill.  “Up until now, I have been more than patient with you tiny, stupid parasites.  However, due to recent events beyond my control, I am going to have to smash you into the ground like the insignificant bugs that you are.  Don’t try to hide; it won’t work because I know every inch of this mill like the back of my hand.  Don’t try to fight; it won’t work because I am as strong as an Olympic weightlifter, as fast as an Olympic sprinter, and have the reflexes of an Olympic fencer.”  Then, with a flick of her wrist, Debbie ripped the intercom off the wall and smashed it to bits between her red-painted fingernails.  “That is all,” she said, and stalked off into the kitchen.

[slim0926]

  escuse me but i need to take a shower after reading this...great work cant wait to see how much destruction she cause!!