April Fool's

[JohnAubrey]

Hello to all and many belated thank yous for the kind comments.

I've had barely any time at all to write so far this year but, given the day, I thought I should make the effort to knock up another quick instalment of this story.

The next chapter will arrive this time next year. (This may or may not be an April Fool's joke.)

Enjoy!




I was still gazing into Katy's eyes a few seconds later, totally mesmerised by the self-assured way in which she was staring me down. I tried to cast my mind back: teenage girls weren't this confident or this aggressive when I was that age, were they? They definitely hadn't wanted muscles like the ones I knew Katy was hiding underneath her hoodie - thick, beefy, powerful muscles.

I tried to imagine a teenage me flirting with Katy... Girls were meant to flutter their eyelashes and coyly avert their gaze when they were with a boy they liked, not look at you like Shelob deciding that you were only a dollop of brown sauce and two slices of bread away from making a tasty breakfast sandwich.

She looked so proud of her strength, so pugnaciously defiant; she was in competition with a taller, heavier man, but there was absolutely no sign of any weakness, no self-doubt, no sense of inferiority.

She was a teenage girl who knew she was freakishly, unstoppably strong and she loved it.

A teenage me would have been terrified of Katy, stuck somewhere between worry and worship, paralysis and priapism.

To be honest, I was terrified of her now. I had known that she was strong, but not so strong that she could control three of my limbs without apparent effort, all while she was sitting casually in a chair and adjusting her ponytail with her free hand.   

And then I became conscious of another sensation, an entirely unwanted one: it was the feeling of the back of my hand pressing against the hard surface of the table. Katy was so strong that she had eased my arm into such a controlled descent I hadn't even noticed I was about to lose.

I was like a lobster in a pot. The water had slowly come up to a boil and, before I even knew what was happening, I was cooked.

It was over. I had lost. Katy had won. There was a dreadful silence, waiting to be filled.

Not daring to speak or to move, my eyes darted sideways to glance at Rosie. She was still staring at her phone and hadn't yet seen what had happened. Maybe this was the last chance saloon? I might not be able to stand up yet, but if Katy let go of my hand before Rosie noticed I had lost, there would surely still be some way I could bluff my way out of this.

After all, I was an intelligent man, capable of thinking on my feet and improvising to meet the situation; a subtle and ingenious solution was surely only a flash of inspiration away.

I felt sure that I could extricate myself from this situation with a minimum of fuss and embarrassment while maintaining an aura of dignity, my air of suave sophistication intact.

And so I prepared to shout Oh god, I have diarrhoea! and make a run for the toilet as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

I looked back at Katy and my heart sank: she was also staring at Rosie, and she seemed annoyed that her victory had so far gone unnoticed. Katy definitely didn't have the look of a girl who was about to modestly let her physical prowess go unremarked.

We both remained sitting silent and still at the table and there was no indication that Katy was about to relax her grip; if anything, the force with which my hand was pinned down was gradually increasing, as if Katy were growing more resentful by the second about being ignored. 

Now it was Katy's turn to look back at me. She noticed the mortified expression on my face.

Please? I silently mouthed, trying to pull my hand free.

At once the intimidating Amazon warrior sitting opposite me was replaced with a much more familiar-looking mischievous teenage girl. Katy's frown disappeared as she smothered a laugh and then stroked her chin, looking theatrically pensive, tilting her head first one way, then the other, as if weighing up a decision.

Eventually she couldn't hide her amusement any longer: a giggle bubbled up and broke free from her lips.

In my peripheral vision, I could see Rosie lift her head...

At this point, several things happened in quick succession.

First, the doorbell rang. Katy emitted an Oh! as her expression immediately turned to one of shock; before I knew what was happening, she had unwound her legs from mine, released my hand and jumped up from her chair, dashing out of the room.

At much the same time as Katy leaped up, Rosie made eye contact with me.

If Katy's look earlier had scared me, this was worse. This was a look with which even the most uxorious husband was familiar; a look universally dreaded by the male of the species; a look which could only be delivered by a wife to her other half.

It was a look that said Oh, you're for it now, mister.

And I would have been - for it now, I mean, and probably for it for a considerable time afterwards into the bargain - if only something else hadn't happened that very second, something miraculous.

"GET IN!" bellowed Dave, leaping from the sofa, throwing his arms aloft. "FUCKING GET IN! WHAT A FINISH!"

Like a whale spouting water, a spray of beer left the can in Dave's upthrust hand and arced through the air, sparkling in the afternoon sunshine that bathed the room in glorious light.

("ABSOLUTE THUNDERBASTARD!")

In a moment of numinous beauty, it formed an ephemeral rainbow, the reflecting light coruscating and dazzling me as I watched open-mouthed, deeply moved by the majesty of the serendipitous evanescence flashing before me. 

("HE MUST HAVE A FOOT LIKE A TRACTION ENGINE!")

And then I gave thanks - not for the rainbow, but for the pot of gold at the end of it: in this case, a generous slosh of cheap lager splashing all over Rosie's face and hair like she was the participant at a bukkake party who would be having an awkward conversation with a dry cleaner the next day.

"SHIT! Sorry, Rosie!"

As Rosie spluttered and wiped away the beer cascading down her shocked face, I knew I had immediately been demoted from the position of man with whom she most wanted to have some stern words.

"I'm really sorry, Rosie, I didn't mean to... Uh, come with me and I'll grab you a towel."

A hangdog expression on his face, Dave led my wife from the room.

My spirits soared higher than Dave's beer. This was my chance! I gave Dave and Rosie a few seconds to leave the hallway and then I tiptoed to the door, ready to dash to the privacy of the toilet and take off the infernal bra and thong. I could beg forgiveness from Rosie later - she'd been talking about Mustique recently and I suspected the only way she might not kick me out of bed would be if it were king-sized and located in the beach-adjacent luxury suite of a boutique hotel.

I quickly stopped worrying about expensive holidays as I stealthily eased the door open a crack and established that Katy was standing in the hallway, in excited conversation with the mystery party who had rung the doorbell.

Cursing my luck, I threw caution to the wind, aware that my time alone could be brief. I quietly closed the door, withdrew into the middle of the room and pulled off my shirt; I'd have to risk getting changed here and now.

My fingers fumbled with the bra hooks as I contorted my arms behind my back and desperately tried to free myself. Never mind wearing these things - how on earth did women manage to take them off? I flailed around without success, looking like a drunken hula hooper who was yet to realise he may have had the hula down pat but that he had forgotten all about the hoop.

I heard movement on the stairs and began to hop from foot to foot with anxiety. This proved to be one piece of additional choreography too many and I lost my balance and toppled backwards onto the sofa.

I was out of time! In a moment of desperation, I started to roll the bra down my torso, squawking with pain as chest hairs, caught in the twisted material, were ripped from my body as I frantically tried to escape my lacy cage. 

The door swung open.

I froze.

The conversation in the hallway continued, no louder or closer than it had been before, and no one walked into the room.

It must have been a draught! I relaxed.

Then I heard Rosie and Dave talking in the hallway. I panicked again.

The bra had reached my hips. I improvised, pulled my trousers down, dragged the bra below my waistline, hoisted my trousers back to full-mast, flung my shirt back on and collapsed into my chair, a panting and sweaty mess trying his best to look insouciant.

Rosie and Dave walked back in.

Dave headed directly for the sofa, eager to renew acquaintance with his bag of Monster Munch and to make sure he hadn't missed any action. My wife, on the other hand, headed directly for me, crossed her arms and glared.

Even Elsa would have been considerably less icy than Rosie right now. And, unfortunately, I don't think Rosie was about to let it go.

I gulped. 

"So..." she said.

"So... what?" I asked, doing well to maintain the insouciant facade while concentrating very hard on preventing my right eye from developing a twitch.

Rosie snorted.

"Oh, you know. You know. For reasons that are beyond me, you think it's funny to pretend to lose an armwrestle to a teenage girl. Well, if that's the way you want to play it, you know what happens next. Lose the shirt..."

"Wait, I wasn't pre-"

"Or else," she said, hooking a finger in the front of her dress, leaning forward and squeezing her breasts together with her arms. Seinfeld once joked that looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun. You don't stare at it. It's too risky. But when it comes to my wife's breasts I am Captain Pinbacker. I couldn't not stare at them: they're magnificent. The thought of not being able to see them, or indeed to kiss them, to fondle them, to run my tongue around her erect nipples, to motorboat them, to squeeze them as I brought her to climax, was too much to bear.

I stood up and pulled off my shirt.

"Fine. Is this what you wanted?" I said angrily and, as it turned out, much louder than I had intended.

It was at this exact moment that Katy reentered the room. She stopped as she saw me, a look of confusion on her face. But that was nothing compared to the look of shock on the face of the pretty little brunette standing behind her, her hand half-raised in greeting.

There was another dreadful silence, waiting to be filled.

I cleared my throat...

[JohnAubrey]

Reach Your Target Audience

Advertising is hard. We make it simple and effective.

Advertise With Us →

[jbeast]

I haven't been reading stories here in awhile, so I was pleased to stumble across your story. PLEASE continue. Wonderful!

[brave_archer]

The chapters to all of your stories are always worth the wait, even if the time between them is often unbearably long. Here's hoping to see more of all of your currently in-progress works soon.

[jeffbeans]

So happy to see a new chapter....and an Alan Partridge reference!! 

[JohnAubrey]

I'm definitely aiming to continue all my stories - this one was always intended to be shorter chapters knocked out more regularly, even if that hasn't ended up being the case! Anyway, here's the next instalment; hopefully the wait wasn't too long this time.

No Alan Partridge references, but more silliness ensues...



All that clearing my throat managed to achieve was to make Rosie, Katy and the mystery girl regard me expectantly, as if I'd just stood up and tapped my glass with a spoon at a wedding reception.

Even though I was only shirtless, as their eyes bored into me, I felt totally naked.

I wouldn't have thought twice about walking around with my top off at the pool or the beach, or even in the park on a sunny day, so why did standing bare chested in the relative privacy of a friend's living room make me feel so uncomfortable?

It must have been all the women staring at me. Macbeth probably felt much the same way when he was in conference with the Three Witches. I was being subjected to a level of female scrutiny that would have made me uncomfortable even if I had been fully clothed.

Right now I couldn't even take much solace in the fact that things would have been even worse if I hadn't managed to remove the bra. Or if someone had declared me Thane of Cawdor.

I gave a start as a mysterious hissing noise broke the silence.

My brain started to leap to conclusions: was it my wife, expressing an almost feline fury at my emasculation at the hands of a teenage girl? Perhaps Katy was trying to suppress a snigger as she mentally compared her own powerful, virile form with my own? Or could it be the new arrival, reading the room and simply deciding it would go down well if she heckled me?

Any way you looked at it, I was exposed, embarrassed, and the subject of some form of female contempt. Most men think that the ultimate humiliation is to be mocked by a woman; as Margaret Atwood once wrote, men are afraid that women will laugh at them.

Of course, some men know that, actually, the ultimate humiliation to be feared is to lose an armwrestling match to a teenage girl while wearing women's underwear, and then to be denied sex by your wife, but we can forgive Margaret Atwood for trying to keep her truisms universal.

Besides, realistically, how many men are unlucky enough to have ever found themselves in a situation where they're being performatively dominated by a cute but cocky blonde girl with an impish sense of humour and a hyper-mesomorphic ability to build muscle?

Apart from me, that is.

The silence seemed to grow, to swell, to become even more silent.

In retrospect, this was probably because Dave had finished rustling his bag of Monster Munch in the background, but the longer the silence lasted, the greater the pressure of coming up with an explanation became.

Eventually it reached the point where it was unbearable. Overwhelmed, my brain froze and my body wilted.

And so, when there was a sudden enthusiastic glugging noise and I realised that the hissing sound had simply been caused by Dave opening another can of lager, I felt like a man whose reserve parachute had opened just in time to prevent his family from having to get in touch with his tailor to order him some burial clothes that were much, much wider and much, much flatter than when he was measured at his last fitting.

The realisation buoyed my confidence. I was able to relax, to take a moment to inspect my audience, and then to start feeling gratified when I noticed that the stranger was staring appreciatively at my body.

Not all female attention is bad, especially when the female in question is an attractively perky brunette and she's obviously admiring the results of your gym regimen.

As I had emphasised to my wife a few days ago, I wasn't training like a bodybuilder - but I was a regular visitor to our local gym and I was probably in the best shape of my life. It was what had made the disparity in strength between me and Katy even more shocking: I had never been stronger. But still, this girl didn't know about that; as far as she was concerned, I was an impressive specimen of manhood.

Her eyes lingered on my biceps, still slightly pumped from my recent exertions.

Some female attention makes men want to show off, even if it's ill-advised to do so.

I started to feel almost bullish. The dying embers of my machismo, so recently doused by Katy, were reignited.

"Welcome to the Chippendales show," I said, throwing a quick double-bicep flex and attempting a disarming smile at Katy and the visitor.

I had chosen the wrong cultural reference.

"To Chip 'n' Dale's show? Like, the cartoon chipmunks?" asked Katy, her confused frown only growing bigger, and even more confused.

"No, no, the Chippendales. You know? The Chippendales? I was just joking that I looked like a Chippendale."

"Oh, like you're a useless old wreck that belongs in an antique shop?" Rosie chipped in, unhelpfully.

I could sense from my wife's sarcastic tone that she wasn't happy. Not only was she wondering where her bra had gone, she had also definitely resented both the visitor ogling my muscles and the clumsily flirtatious way in which I had attempted to engage the girls in conversation.

I tried to sidestep my wife's insult and recall something more contemporary.

"Aha. No, not that kind of Chippendale. The Chippendales are a male striptease dance troupe - you know, just like the guys in that film..."

"You're saying you're like a male stripper in a film?"

"Yeah! What's it called, what's it called? Tip of my tongue..."

"The Full Monty?"

"No, not that one, the one with Channing Tatum."

"You're comparing yourself to Channing Tatum?"

"Yeah, I'm like him in that film, you know the one..."

"You must mean the one where he plays an idiot. 21 Jump Street?"

"No."

"22 Jump Street?"

"No! Why would you say that? That's the exact same character!"

"He also plays an idiot in The Lost City, so... The Lost City?"

After her series of contributions, my wife was looking happier than she had done all afternoon.

"No, the one where he's a male stripper! Magic Mike! That's it, Magic Mike!"

I paused triumphantly.

"I'm so confused. What's this got to do with Chip 'n' Dale?" asked Katy.

"And who's Monty?" asked the stranger.

"And why have you taken your shirt off?" Katy continued.

I deflated.

"No reason. Just a bet."

"A bet?" said Katy, "What kind of bet?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, just a bet," I replied, trying to avoid going into details.

"I bet him that he would beat you and, if he didn't, well, let's just say strip poker rules applied," said Rosie.

My wife's eyes were darting around the room, trying to find where I had stashed her bra.

Little did she know that it was hidden down my trousers, where its underwiring was currently pressing uncomfortably against my testicles, so the joke was definitely on her.

"A bet? You had a bet... if Katy beat him... If Katy beat him at what?" chimed in the visitor, obviously intrigued.

"In an armwrestle," said Katy. "But I didn't know we were placing bets on the result."

"An armwrestle? Huh... Sooo... You're telling me that you beat him in an armwrestle? But... but he's a man..."

"So he has always led me to believe," said Rosie, her voice dripping with enough acid to melt through several decks of the Nostromo.

"Such a big, strong man..." the visitor continued, reaching out to give my arm a quick squeeze.

My wife snorted.

"There's no way you could beat a big, strong man like him. I know you had that amazing growth spurt when we were at uni, but you can't beat a man; you're still just a girl. I mean, look at him: that's not a dad bod. He's fit... He must go to the gym a lot... He's got some nice muscles... He's way taller than you... He'd probably beat most guys his own size in an armwrestle; he'd totally beat you. Like, easily. You couldn't beat him unless you got lucky or cheated or something."

"I must have got lucky," grinned Katy.

"Yeees..." said my wife, slowly, her voice freighted with suspicion.

"Yep, just one of those things. But I'm man enough to take it on the chin. Nice to meet you, by the way," I said quickly, trying to change the topic of conversation. "We haven't been introduced..."

"Oh, hi! I'm Annie. I'm Katy's-"

"Friend! She's my friend from uni," cut in Katy, quickly, turning a noticeable shade of pink. "We were going to be meeting up later, but she just came by to see if she could drop some of her stuff off here first."

Her friend.

The two girls were staring avidly at each other, deep in an unspoken conversation.

Her friend. I must have misread Annie's signals; she can't have been flirting with me...

"Um, yeah, I've got a few bags and I thought, y'know, it could be a late night and I might need somewhere to crash later, and then I thought of Katy, and I was like, I'm sure Katy wouldn't mind if I spend the night with her, um, at hers, um..." Annie finally said.

The thought occurred to me that maybe Annie had been flirting. Just not with me. Maybe she had been flirting with Katy. Maybe Katy had explained what had been happening to Annie when she had arrived. Maybe, by talking about my muscles and my manliness, Annie had not been flattering me, but rather the person whom she knew had managed to beat me in a test of strength.

I know you had that amazing growth spurt when we were at uni... Annie knew very well what Katy was hiding under her hoodie! She was probably intimately acquainted with every one of Katy's rock-hard muscles; while I thought Annie had been flirting with me, she had probably been imagining every bulge and ripple of Katy's muscles as her friend had crushed me, the big, strong man.   

I had been wrong earlier: this was actually the ultimate humiliation.

My only consolation at that moment was that the topic of conversation had changed course sufficiently that I thought I could see the first glimmering of light at the end of the escape tunnel.

I crawled desperately towards it.

"Well, sounds like you guys have stuff you need to do, so don't let us get in your way - unless, do you need any help getting your bags out of the car? Let me just put my shirt back on before I go outside..."

My wife's hands landed on my shoulders and I flinched. Rosie gently but firmly pushed me back towards the table and into my chair.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked.

"Forgetting something? No, no, I don't think so."

"Oh, but you are. It was going to be best of three. That is, if Katy's not scared that her luck's run out?"

Katy hesitated.

"I don't know..." she said. "We should probably get going if we want to be there in time."

"Don't let us make you late," I offered, trying to sound selfless.

"We should get going, right?"

"Are you kidding? I want to see this! Who cares if we get there a little late?"

I decided Annie definitely wasn't going to be on my Christmas card list.

"Okay, sure, yeah, I'm up for another round! Ready, Mr B?"

"Oh, he's raring to go," replied my wife on my behalf, kneading my shoulders in a massage that could only have been less relaxing if I had made the mistake of booking it at a parlour called Scissorhands Shiatsu.

I was already feeling slightly sick and my stomach gave another lurch when I caught a glimpse of Annie furtively giving Katy's arm a loving squeeze as she walked past her. As Annie's hand pressed into the clothing, the sleeve of Katy's hoodie didn't crumple or collapse as it should; no material gave way; no folds were formed...

Something was lurking beneath the surface.

Something big.

There was another hissing sound caused by some escaping gas. I would have liked to blame Dave again, but the truth was that I was just very, very nervous.

Where were the Rescue Rangers when you needed them?
 

[brave_archer]

Another great chapter! Your manipulation of words and moods is second-to-none. The way you've slowly compounded the many emasculations our protagonist is enduring is masterful and the build up to the ultimate reveal of Katy's body is agonizing, in the best way possible. 

[JohnAubrey]

Katy planted her elbow on the table, the palm of her hand open, digits spread apart.

It was the standard starting position for an armwrestle, but I felt like she was mocking me: her thumb was pointing back towards her nose and as she wiggled her fingers she looked as if she were cocking a snook.

"Shall we go leftie this time, Mr B?" she asked in a sweetly innocent voice - or at least, that's how it would have sounded to anyone else. All I could hear was a childish tone calculated to convey the maximum amount of derision.

I grunted my assent without even thinking about it, preoccupied with trying to picture the scene when - not if - I lost this round as well. It was not a pleasant scene. To my mind it was reminiscent of a hellscape painted by Hieronymus Bosch, only worse, because Bosch never painted anything as mind-warpingly terrible as my wife on the warpath.

Once again I briefly considered the possibility of refusing to participate before recalling my wife's ultimatum. There was no way I could cope with being forced to accept a vow of celibacy.

Never mind Katy cocking a snook; I was more concerned with Rosie snookering my cock.

"I'm a rightie, so my left arm is weaker," Katy added.

This time Katy's words did filter through to my brain and in my confused state I sensed an opportunity. Katy had been able to destroy me with her dominant arm, but she had just revealed an unexpected vulnerability - and vulnerabilities could be exploited.

I had a chance!

I tried to maintain a poker face as I grasped Katy's hand, suddenly excited by the idea that this was my shot at redemption, my Rocky II. I could hear The Final Bell start playing; I could see myself shouting Yo Rosie, I did it!

In my desperation, I became fixated on this idea. Of course I was going to win! It made perfect sense. It was fated to happen. I was the underdog. My unlikely victory was written in the stars.

And then Katy tightened her formidable grip and my knuckles were ground together until I thought they might start rotating around my hand like Baoding balls.

The pain brought me back to my senses and I remembered that I, too, was a rightie and that my left arm was also my weaker.

Bugger.

I had been so desperate for a sliver of hope that I had The Princess Brided myself.

"1..." began Katy.

Buggering bugger.

"2..."

I was out of options. I had to try cheating.

"3!"

Linford Christie said he used to start running on the B of the Bang. I started pushing on the T of the Three or, if I was being entirely honest, the O of the Two.

Our locked arms wavered back and forth, first in my favour, then in Katy's, oscillating in unison like a compass needle trying to settle on north.

Even though I had cheated to gain an advantage and Katy had managed to fight back almost immediately, I could tell that something was different this time. Katy didn't seem able to maintain as much power with her left arm as she had with her right and the contrast between our physical capabilities didn't seem so stark.

Under the table I surreptitiously grabbed the front of my chair with my right hand and pulled, trying to gain some extra leverage.

Katy looked distracted. I told myself she was unnerved to discover that we were more evenly matched than she had expected and I used that thought to motivate myself.

I sneaked a peak at my own arm and saw the results of all my hard work in the gym, my bicep flexed and straining.

I gave an extra heave and gained several inches. It wasn't pretty - I was grunting and grimacing like a constipated gurning champion trying to pass a particularly uncooperative stool - but it was effective.

Suddenly I felt strong, capable, in with a chance.

Katy was obviously surprised by my resilience, her mouth twitching, a faraway look in her eyes; she shook her head and managed to refocus, fighting back, bringing our forearms up to the vertical position once more before her strength failed her again and I began to force her arm down slowly but surely, like a trebuchet being winched back into the firing position.

But try as I might, I just couldn't summon the power I needed to pin her hand to the table. A few seconds later and the roles were reversed, but this time Katy's reserves of stamina failed before she could conclude the win.

On and on the arm wrestle went, both of us locked in an inelegant, see-sawing pas de deux, neither of us able enough to finish the contest. Twice more I came within an inch of victory and twice more I was forced to regroup and marshal my reserves of energy to narrowly prevent my own defeat.

My strength was ebbing away, but I drew resolve from Katy's struggle to overcome me - she must also be close to her physical limits.

I still had a chance!

And then I happened to look up at Katy's face in time to see the flicker of a smile play on her lips before she managed to suppress it, and to recognise the sparkle in her eyes as one of excitement rather than stubborn defiance.

I glanced in the direction Katy had been looking.

Rosie and Annie had both been standing to the left of the table. For the last couple of minutes I had been so absorbed in the battle that I had forgotten they were even there. As I looked across at them now, I realised that Annie had quietly withdrawn a few feet backwards into the kitchen, where she now stood, partially obscured by the doorway, with her back pressed up against the fridge.

Annie's mouth was hanging open, her face pink, her chest heaving, erect nipplies visible through her T-Shirt. And her hand was down the waistband of her jeans. Judging by the jerky, repetitive motions of her right arm, she was every bit as enthusiastic a spectator of the armwrestling match as Rosie was a disapproving one.

Annie was so wholly focussed on admiring Katy that she didn't even realise that I had noticed her.

As I stared at Annie, who seemed so aroused that Dave would probably need to mop dry his kitchen floor later, I finally realised why Katy was prolonging this round: she was toying with me.

I was armwrestling a teenage girl who was so confident she could beat me that she could afford to let me come within a whisker of winning, her hand a mere inch from the tabletop; so strong that she could easily salvage the match each time she was left in this seemingly impossible situation, pushing back against not just my muscles, but also my bodyweight; so bold that she could repeat the charade over and over again, safe in the knowledge she would never lose.

Katy was toying with me to show off her power to her girlfriend. She was a cat playing with a mouse. I was currently confronted with not one, but two pussies enjoying a form of manual stimulation.

Standing apart in the kitchen, Annie didn't seem able to help herself, pinned against the refrigerator like she was a novelty magnet, her body abandoned to pleasure, overwhelmed by Katy's brawn and bravado.

As I continued to watch her out of the corner of my eye, Annie started quivering, her eyes rolling back, her left arm flailing against the fridge, groping for the handle, something, anything, to grab onto to help hold herself up and prevent herself collapsing.

Watching Annie's climax, I became aware of a painful sensation below the table as my lacy knickers began to cut into my growing erection. Katy's domination of me now extended to turning me into an inadvertent voyeur, getting off on her girlfriend getting off on her outmuscling me.

Had I ever made a woman so horny she couldn't contain herself? I caught a glimpse of my wife's face: she looked like an anthropomorphic volcano on the verge of an eruption. Horny, no; angry, yes.

I tried to imagine being so physically impressive that women were unable to prevent themselves from masturbating in public as they watched me in action. How had I managed to convince myself that I could beat Katy? If there were competitions for studliness, she was a gold medallist at the Olympics and I hadn't even qualified for the egg and spoon race at the village fête.

I felt drained. I couldn't go on any longer. Mercifully, Annie's orgasm seemed to be what Katy had been waiting for and she slammed my hand down onto the table with a satisfied giggle.

I had lost. Katy had won. Again.

My wife's impression of a volcano became even more realistic, now including sound effects.

Katy stretched her arms above her head and gave a satisfied sigh.

"Sorry, Mr B, guess that means you have to lose your trousers. I hope you put on clean boxers this morning!"

"Uh... Yeah... I mean, I did... At least, this morning, yeah..."

I felt like curling up into a little ball.

Dave got up from the sofa and started walking towards us. Good old Dave, I thought, he can tell I'm in trouble and he must have come to save me.

"Anyone want another drink?" Dave asked. "How about you, Annie - you're looking a bit hot and sweaty?"

"Oh no, I'm good, thanks," said Annie, a little breathlessly.

Dave carried on into the kitchen, totally oblivious, humming a happy little tune. I envied him.

I looked around. Katy was a picture of innocence. Annie was clearly trying to regain her composure. Rosie was East of Java.

I slumped in my chair, miserable and tense, as the three women stared at me, one doe-eyed, one glassy-eyed, one gimlet-eyed.

I broke the silence.

"Okay, okay, I lost fair and square, but I don't think anyone really wants to see my pants, do they, so shall we just call it quits and leave it at that?"

Katy grinned and shrugged.

Before I could propose that we draw a veil over proceedings, Rosie spoke, her voice clipped but otherwise eerily calm and composed. She seemed to have passed through anger and emerged on the other side in a state I could only describe as 'murderous zen'.

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up and pull down your trousers."

"But-"

"I don't want to hear it! You knew the rules. You knew the consequences and you chose to lose anyway."

"I didn't chose to lose; I was beaten! You have no idea how strong she is! She could have beaten me in seconds - the match only lasted as long as it did because she was playing with me."

"And why would she do that?"

"Because Katy... Because Annie... Because they were..." I began, and then stopped, my voice trailing away as I saw panicked looks appear on both girls' faces.

As embarrassing as this was for me, explaining what I had seen would be even worse for them.

"Because what? What were they doing?" asked Rosie.

I sighed.

Now was the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party, even if clad in only a lacy thong and suspenders.

Slowly, I stood up and reached for my fly.

It wasn't all bad news: as I pulled down my trousers I managed to ensure that the bra remained below my waistband and unnoticed; and while I would not normally take comfort in significant shrinkage, I was relieved that the circumstances had caused the last vestiges of my erection to withdraw like a frightened turtle.

That was as far as the good news went. And then the screaming started.

"Mr B! What? What is happening?"

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Katy, what's going on?"

Dave padded back into the room, took a swig from his can and surveyed the scene.

"Ah, just like the good old days, eh mate?" he laughed.

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

I would have added my own voice to the chorus, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth and I had lost the power of speech.

"Oh yeah, we'd always be getting up in drag on university football socials. I can't even begin to count the number of times we went out on the lash in bras and knickers."

"Dad! What?"

"Yeah, have I never shown you the photos? I look pretty good in lipstick and mascara. Never could manage to walk in heels though, even when I was sober."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

No one was looking at me anymore.

"Yeah, fun times. Anyway, what's all the fuss about?" he asked, and took another swig.

I jumped in, keen not to linger on the lingerie.

"Uh, Katy beat me in an armwrestle. Twice. And Rosie thinks I lost on purpose."

"Ha! I told you Katy'd been lifting weights, Rosie. My little girl's easily stronger than this wimp. No offence, mate."

"None taken."

"I don't believe that for a second, Dave. This is all some ridiculous April Fool's prank you've dreamed up together."

"Well, if you don't believe me, why don't you armwrestle her and see for yourself?"

I had never previously considered the possibility of Dave being a genius - I had once watched him open a pizza box upside down and then complain that there were no toppings, which I'm fairly certain was not a mistake ever made by, say, Einstein - but his suggestion caused me to revise my opinion of his mental capacity.

"Yeah! That's a great suggestion, Dave! Yeah... You armwrestle her!"

"No."

"Yeah, go on, Rosie. Give it a go."

"No."

"Scared you'll lose? And to a teenage girl? That would be amazing, wouldn't it?"

"Fine!"

Rosie sat down abruptly on the seat I had recently vacated. Katy, apparently unfazed by all the arguing, smiled and winked at her.

Dave's genius must have been contagious, because I was hit with a flash of inspiration.

"Wait, wait, wait! We need to establish the rules first!"

"Rules?"

"Yeah, we need to keep everything fair, right? So we should keep things the same... Best of three. Strip poker rules for you, but not for Katy, obviously - this is still our thing, not hers. You lose a round, you lose an item of clothing." 

Rosie suddenly looked deeply uncomfortable. Only I knew that she was wearing a cardigan, a summer dress, and... nothing else.

I never thought I'd be so delighted to be wearing my wife's underwear.

"No, that's silly, I'm not doing that."

"And if you win, hmm, let me see..." I stopped talking out loud, leaned towards Rosie so only she could see my face, and mouthed the word Mustique.

It's amazing what a woman will agree to when there's the prospect of a luxury holiday to tempt her. Especially if she's not paying for it.

"Okay... Fine... Let's do this!"

I was so excited that I didn't even bother to put my trousers or shirt back on, and so distracted that I forgot I had some questions for Dave.

I rubbed my hands together with glee.

Katy and Rosie adopted the position.

"Ready, Mrs B? Okay! 1... 2... 3!"

[Saxony Red Devil]

This was so damn entertaining, I skipped the muscle lust and read for the humour 😂 I hope there's regular updates!

[jeffbeans]

Great strength fiction and also very funny! Great work once again 

[JohnAubrey]

I'm still here, still wanting to write, still struggling to find time to write.

Anyway, here you go...






As Katy started the count, I remembered my trousers were still around my ankles and I bent down to pull them up, sensing my imminent opportunity to gloat at Rosie's expense would be fatally undermined if I looked like I was only a twang of knicker elastic away from completing a striptease.

I wanted to rub it in her face, not rub it in her face.

I hesitated as my fingers brushed the waistband, checking that the bra secreted down my right trouser leg would remain out of sight, when I heard a bang and started upright in time to see my wife scowling and raising her hand from the table.

"Hey, that's not fair," Rosie protested. "You started too quickly!"

"I went on 'three'," said Katy, firmly but not unkindly. "You have to be ready to start pushing straight away - everyone knows that. Anyway, unlike some people I could mention, I don't cheat."

Katy flashed me a cheeky wink as she said this, but Rosie didn't notice it, too busy inspecting her knuckles and rubbing her wrist, which must have felt sore after being smacked so emphatically into the table.

"But... but... I didn't know that! I've never done this sort of thing before... I thought it would be 1,2,3, Go," said Rosie, looking around the room and trying to appeal for support from the rest of us.

"Sorry, Rosie, them's the rules," said Dave, not even bothering to look up from the TV.

"Yeah, sorry, Rosie, them's the rules," I repeated, with a shit-eating grin so wide it could have accommodated a T-Rex coprolite with room to spare.

Rosie glowered at me.

"I don't care what you think," she responded. "I want an independent opinion."

"Well, Dave thinks the same as me."

"And I don't care what Dave thinks either. I don't want a... a man's stupid opinion."

I gave a mock apologetic bow in Dave's direction, unable to resist the opportunity to wind up Rosie some more.

The relief of no longer being the one in the spotlight had already begun to erase the unpleasant memory of my recent humbling, and the look of pained surprise on my wife's face after her instant defeat had, as previously indicated, only served to put a smile on mine. 

"Sorry, Dave, she doesn't mean it; she's just a sore loser. She gets weirdly competitive sometimes. You should have heard her moaning last Christmas about losing at Monopoly. I wouldn't have minded so much, except I'd actually beaten her four months before that and she was still banging on about it when we played again on Boxing Day."

Rosie spluttered with fury.

"You weren't playing by the rules, and you know it!"

"See what I mean? She is such a sore loser."

"No worries, mate. No explanation needed. I was a married man too once, remember?"

Dave sighed wistfully and seemed to drift into a nostalgic reverie, although the burp he released a few seconds later suggested that actually he'd just been suffering from indigestion.

Rosie snorted in disgust at Dave's declaration of fraternal solidarity (or, perhaps, at the burp; I couldn't tell which) and twisted in her chair to face Annie, a beguiling smile sidling across her face. She no doubt hoped she looked entirely artless, but her intentions were more transparent than Casper the Friendly Ghost with anaemia.

"You saw it, didn't you, Annie? Katy started pushing before I was ready. I know you're friends, but it wasn't a fair match, was it?"

I was about to chip in and ask Annie if she thought you should get money for landing on Free Parking too when I saw a flash of panic cross her face.

Annie's gaze jumped from Rosie to linger in an unfocused fashion on an unremarkable spot on the table.

It took me a moment to realise what I had just seen: it was a guilty look. More specifically, it was the evasive, hangdog expression of someone who wasn't sure if they had just got away with ogling some cleavage.

I hadn't been able to place it immediately because it was a look I associated with the face of a man, not a pretty young woman, but there was no doubt in my mind now: apparently, Annie had decided that my wife's choice of low cut dress meant she wanted everyone to enjoy her decolletage like it was a community chest.

How horny was this girl? She had only recently finished having so much auto-erotic fun next to the fridge that I would be reluctant to accept a cucumber sandwich from her in the unlikely event she ever invited me over for tea.

Annie cleared her throat.

"Uh... Sorry, Mrs B - I don't think Katy cheated."

Rosie turned back to face Katy.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll be prepared for that in the next round, then. I just don't think it was fair that no one warned me."

Katy made an attempt at conciliation.

"Okay, Mrs B - to make it up to you, how about we say you can chose which arm we use for each of the next two rounds?"

I would have laughed derisively at the idea that there might need to be a deciding round, but I was distracted by Annie taking a couple of small, quick steps to her right, her eyes wandering back and forth across the table as if she were looking for something.

The table was completely bare...

I knew what Annie was doing; it was a strategy familiar to me, as it probably was to most men. She had manoeuvred herself so that she now had an excellent line of sight over Rosie's shoulder and given herself an excuse to peek down the plunging neckline of my wife's dress.

Rosie's breasts were, of course, currently untrammelled and they jiggled abundantly as she removed her cardigan in an agitated fashion and flung it onto the floor behind her before once more planting her elbow on the table.

I could have sworn I heard Annie let out a little sigh.

Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars.

"Left arm this time. And then we can go with the right again in the final round."

I couldn't fault Annie's taste in women, at least. Rosie really did have spectacular breasts.

"Are you ready, Katy?" my wife asked pointedly. "I think I should do the count this time."

Something about the awestruck way Annie was staring at Rosie's cleavage made me feel quite jealous.

I remembered that Rosie had only decided to change into this floaty sundress a few minutes before we had left. I began to idly wonder what had caused her to pick out a different outfit so late in the day.

"Ready, Mrs B."

"1... 2... 3!"

The match began and Rosie's body jerked with the effort of pushing with all the force she could muster. Her breasts bounced, recoiled, and then swayed back and forth in a figure of eight motion.

I immediately stopped speculating and nearly went cross-eyed as I tried to keep Rosie's heaving breasts and Annie's stupefied reaction to them in view at the same time.

It quickly became apparent this was impossible and I switched to focus entirely on Annie's face - she couldn't have looked any hungrier at the sight of human flesh if she'd been Armie Hammer planning a barbecue. 

I watched as Annie's jaw dropped.

"Ow!"

The exclamation of pain roughly coincided with a hand slamming onto the table again.

It was all over even faster than I had expected.

Now I faced a reckoning: was I really expecting Rosie to remove her dress and stand nude in front of Dave, Katy and Annie?

("Ooh, cramp! Aah!")

Judging by the last couple of minutes, at least one of the trio of bystanders would definitely enjoy the experience, but I knew for a fact that Rosie would hate being forced to expose herself.

It was all her own fault, of course - she had caused all of this by refusing to believe I had been beaten fair and square by Katy - but I couldn't deny the more rational parts of my brain were already feeling guilty.

I decided I should quit while I was ahead. The day hadn't turned out the way I'd expected - or wanted - but at least I'd definitely made my point now: Katy was undeniably strong.

("Yes! I win! I knew it! I knew I could do it!")

I'd also been spared the expense of shelling out several thousand pounds on an expensive holiday - not that I'd ever truly expected it would really come to that, but it was a relief to know that it was now an absolute impossibility.

("Oh, that felt good. Better than good! Great!")

Plus, I thought, reminding Rosie that I had spared her the embarrassment of stripping naked in Dave's living room would be the rhetorical equivalent of holding a royal flush the next time we had an argument.

("I didn't know I'd get such a rush from winning at something so... so physical - is this why people like sports?")

In fact, why should I save it for an argument? Rosie had made my erection go from nought to sixty in 2.5 seconds even as I could see the skidmarks in Dave's downstairs toilet. I wanted to leverage this experience as soon as possible in the more comfortable, not to mention infinitely more salubrious, confines of our bedroom.

As soon as we were back home, I'd ask her to put this lingerie back on, and remind her that she owed me a blowjob.

No. On second thoughts, that was a terrible idea.

Given what a nervous, sweaty wreck I'd been this afternoon and the way this thong had become so intimately acquainted with my taint, I should ask her to put on a different lingerie set first and then give me a blowjob. 

The big, dreamy smile on my face disappeared as I drifted back to the here and now and realised Rosie was looking smug and Katy was vigorously shaking her extended left arm.

"What? What happened?"

Katy winced.

"Ooh, my arm cramped up. Must still be tired from the last round with you."

"What? Rosie won? No!"

"Yes, actually. I did just beat Katy fair and square in an armwrestle, thank you very much, which is more than you managed. It wasn't so difficult, either."

I opened my mouth to protest but then shut it again.

I took a deep, calming breath. There was no need to panic: Rosie had simply got lucky.

Katy had spent so long stringing me along using her left arm in our last match that it was inevitable that she would have tired herself out.

Rosie's victory was no more meaningful than if she'd applied the final twist to the lid of a jar that I had spent five minutes straining to loosen first.

"No big deal. So Katy got a cramp and you got lucky," I finally said, trying to sound as unimpressed as I could. "Of course, it's a shame you've already declared the final round will be with your other arms though, isn't it? I don't think Katy's right arm is likely to get a cramp too."

"If her right arm's not tired yet, it's only because she beat you so easily with it. I think you'll find I'll put up more of a fight. Ready, Katy?"

Rosie was looking fired up, her eyes flashing.

It didn't happen very often at all, but when there was an outlet for her competitive streak, Rosie could become monomaniacal, obsessed with winning. I always found it exciting to watch, but for the most part she would hide Mrs Hyde until provoked on a family game night.

I sometimes wondered what she could do if she channelled this energy into something more productive.

I reassured myself that this feisty streak alone would not be enough for her to emerge the winner but, as the final round began, I found myself nervously poised by the side of the table, silently willing Katy to another quick victory.

"1... 2... 3!"

My wish was not granted. My genie must have been at a long overdue appointment with a chiropractor about that crick in his neck.

One minute passed, then two, and Katy and Rosie were still locked in a steadfast stalemate, both of them straining and grunting.

It was like listening to Monica Seles and Maria Sharapova playing a game of tennis. The only thing missing was the twang of the strings and the balls bouncing back and forth, but if I had to listen to their moaning for much longer I was at serious risk of becoming so hard I would rip out of this skimpy underwear and provide all the missing elements myself.

On the other side of the table, Annie was indiscriminately urging both women on, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Come on, girlies! Yes! You're both amazing!"

I just didn't understand what was happening. None of this made sense. Surely Rosie wasn't strong enough to compete with Katy?

My wife's face was red, the veins in her neck pulsing. Her commitment to the cause was obvious but the biggest surprise was how much she seemed to be enjoying herself. She was normally a woman who complained about having to carry in the shopping by herself, but the smile lighting up her face was far more genuine than the one she had forced earlier when she had tried to cajole Annie into supporting her.

Rosie was having fun.

Suddenly Annie leaned forward and stroked my wife's trembling arm.

"Ooh, Mrs B! Feel that bicep! You. Are. Strong! I want to be you when I grow up!"

"Hey, whose side are you on?" groaned Katy, in a jokey tone that belied the strain in her voice.

"To the victor belong the spoils," laughed Annie.

"No one's won yet," Katy grunted.

"Really?" purred Annie, reaching out with her free hand to squeeze Katy's bicep too. "Because I definitely feel like I've won at life right now, getting to enjoy all this armwrestling, especially now it's up close and personal... What's that saying? Vidi veni vici?"

"Wrong... way... round," panted Katy. "It's... veni... vidi... vici... I came... I saw... I won..."

"Are you sure that's right? I think I did things in a different order... Anyway, even though I loved it when you beat Mr B, you know I always prefer girl-on-girl action - erm, sports action, that is. No offence, Mr B - it was fun watching you get dominated, but I love watching strong women challenging each other and Mrs B is a seriously strong woman."

Rosie seemed to draw strength from Annie's praise. There was a proud look on her face and a wild gleam in her eyes as she set her jaw, drawing on reserves of physical strength I'm not sure she even knew she had before that moment, and growled loudly.

My mind was reeling. All these years together and I had somehow never realised that my wife was a secret powerhouse. But how could I have known? She had never once shown any interest in joining me in the gym, never once taken me up on an invitation to tag along and work out with me.

I glanced at Dave, curious to see how he was reacting to proceedings, but he was currently engaged in an experiment to discover if there was a way he could telepathically transmit sign language to the match officials if he gesticulated angrily enough at the TV.

Katy began to growl too, and the table creaked and chair legs squeaked as she met force with force and both competitors braced themselves against the furniture.

Annie gave a little squeal of excitement, her hands still wrapped tightly around both arms, a rapt expression on her face.

On the plus side, I wasn't jealous about Annie ogling Rosie's breasts anymore.

Instead, I was overcome with a burning desire to feel what Annie was feeling.

I envied Annie, envied the way she was caressing my wife's surprisingly powerful bicep.

It was almost like being back at school, watching someone else share a first kiss with my crush, the sickening heaviness of a thwarted desire I could barely comprehend or explain settling in my stomach like I'd just swallowed a half-brick, or perhaps something even heavier, like a square of school dinner sponge.

And then came a scream of delight and a howl of frustration, echoing simultaneously around the room.

Katy had lost.

More significantly, Rosie had won.

"Yessssss! I did it! I did it! Mustique, here I come!"

Unable to believe what I was seeing, I took a big stride towards the table, wanting to make a closer inspection, as if this had been a quantum armwrestle and I could change the outcome by measuring it.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten that my trousers were still around my ankles.

As my leg swung forward, my foot met the unexpected resistance of my waistband.

My momentum unexpectedly checked, I tripped and fell.

The corner of the table broke my fall.

Everything went black.   

—

When I came to, I was sitting on the sofa.

Two figures standing in front of me slowly came into focus: Katy and Annie.

I looked groggily around the room, but there was no Dave or Rosie to be seen.

"Erm... hey, Mr B. Are you feeling okay?" said Katy, handing me a cold compress.

I held it to my temple and Katy cleared her throat. She looked guilty.

"Um... this might be bad timing but, well... April Fool's!"

"I don't... April... Fool's?"

"Um, yeah..."

Even though I was sitting down, I had the sensation I was toppling over again.

[jeffbeans]

So good to see you writing again, another great chapter! 

[brave_archer]

Yes agreed! You're definitely one of the best writers of female muscle around and I'm glad to see you're back. Hoping for a continuation of your other stories too! 

[JohnAubrey]

Time for some more silliness...





Back in my student days I had once contracted labyrinthitis, a nasty infection of the inner ear, and as a result I had been left housebound with extreme vertigo.

Although this symptom was only the second worst part of my suffering (the worst part was Dave asking me if I still thought I was the Minotaur every time he saw me after my diagnosis, which - as we were housemates at the time - was several times a day for the next year), I mention this now by way of burnishing my credentials: when it comes to dizziness, you can rest assured I know of what I speak; ditto, I am in a unique position to provide expert testimony, should it ever be required, on Dave's commitment to his own particular brand of idiocy.

So when I tell you that Katy's words made me feel as if the room had started to spin as violently as an out of control carousel, know that I do not say this lightly.   

"Oh god," I croaked, cradling my head in my hands and wondering what I had done to deserve this new indignity. "What do you mean, 'April Fool's'?"

"Yeah. Okay. Soooo... I lost to Mrs B on purpose..."

I looked up sharply, the sudden movement setting off a sequence of flashing lights in my vision that reminded me of an unpleasant night spent in Berghain many years ago. The only positive I could think of right now was that at least I wasn't listening to thunderous German techno while a man in silver hotpants and a string vest waved glowsticks in my face.

I tried to gather my thoughts, of which I was currently capable of managing just two: a) I needed to establish if Katy was telling the truth; and b) I was definitely never going clubbing with Dave again.

"What? You mean, your arm didn't cramp? But then... why?"

I still sounded as croaky as a frog with a hoarse throat, or as a horse with a frog in its throat, whichever was worse.

Katy shrugged, a sheepish grin on her face. I noticed that she seemed reluctant to make eye contact with me.

"I just thought it would be funny. You were both being so weird and intense about it, I guess I wanted to see what would happen if Mrs B won."

I took a deep, calming breath, stared straight ahead and tried to focus. Katy's revelation had exacerbated the effects of the blow to my head and I could only have felt worse if I'd just gone twelve bare-knuckle rounds with an angry gorilla inside a washing machine set on the spin cycle.

"Today's been... a bit much," I began, weakly. "Maybe I'm confused. Can I just check: last week, when I was here watching the match with Dave and you came in... you really had just got back from the gym and you really told me all about how you'd got into working out at uni and you really flexed and... you really had muscles... really big muscles? That all really happened, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, I don't think they're that big, but yeah, I'm low-key pretty buff now," said Katy, modestly.

"Babe, you're not low-key buff - you're legit swole," said Annie.

The two girls exchanged a loving look of the sort I had last seen shared between two dogs who had just realised they were slurping opposite ends of the same stand of spaghetti.

"I was starting to think I'd somehow imagined it all," I muttered. "I told Rosie that you'd been working out and that you'd built some serious muscle, but she was so dismissive of the idea and then she beat you and... When you armwrestled I really hoped- I mean, I thought you'd completely destroy her... and maybe she'd be impressed, and... Hang on. Does she know? That you let her win?"

"Uh, no, she looked so happy, I didn't want to ruin it for her. I've never seen her so excited - she must be really pleased about the holiday."

"Where is she now?"

"She's gone with dad to the Tesco down the road - for more ice for your head. Well, Mrs B wanted to get some ice; I think dad just wanted more beer, but he went with her."

Annie stepped forward and offered me a glass of water. Unlike Katy, she looked entirely unabashed by the afternoon's events, barely managing to suppress her smirk.

"Thanks," I said, gratefully accepting the drink and taking a sip.

"No, thank you, Mr B, for not mentioning that I got a bit, uh, overexcited in the kitchen. I just can't help myself sometimes, you know? She's so incredible. Watching her totally outmuscle you really revved my engine."

"Aww, thanks, babe," said Katy, shyly but with a definite hint of pride in her voice.

I watched in embarrassment as the two girls shared a kiss in front of me. Eventually they broke apart and Annie shot me a mischievous look.

"I was thinking... maybe to make up for all this," Annie said, waving an arm in my direction (a simple gesture that nevertheless seemed to me to eloquently convey the fact that in the course of a single afternoon I had been coerced into crossdressing, lost an armwrestling contest to a teenage girl, been tricked into paying for an expensive holiday and was now sitting on a sofa, unable to stand up, half-naked and concussed), "we could show him something to apologise?"

"Show him what exactly?" asked Katy, a curious look on her face.

"The thing."

"The thing?"

"The thing?" I added for good measure, still dazed and trying to make sense of what was happening.

We sounded like we were debating our favourite John Carpenter film.

"You know. The thing," repeated Annie with a wicked grin, tracing one hand across Katy's chest and down her arm, then tugging gently but insistently on the sleeve of Katy's hoodie while starting to lift the hem of her own jumper with her free hand.

"Oh. The thing," said Katy, taking a step backwards, her eyes widening.

Silence fell as Katy stood and stared at Annie with a look of disbelief.

"What about 'Escape from New York'?" I asked, completely at a loss and trying to break the obvious tension.

I was rewarded with a blank look from Annie; Katy didn't even seem to have heard me, apparently lost in thought.

"Never mind... just a joke," I mumbled.

The silence continued and grew so awkward that I had to seriously fight the urge to blurt out 'And let's not forget about 'Assault on Precinct 13'."'

"We've only ever done the thing in private... I'm not sure," said Katy, quietly.

"Please, babe? It's so much fun and you know I love it. And I think he'd enjoy it too."

"Yeah, and I love it as well, but it's a bit... you know. And it's our special thing. Besides, what if he tells someone about it?"

Whatever Annie had suggested had cracked Katy's confidence just as quickly as Katy had crushed my hand - and my masculinity - earlier. The cocky teenage girl who knew she was in total control as she defeated me seemed to have been replaced by her embarrassed, apprehensive doppelganger.

"Oh, please! Who will he tell? Besides, who would believe him even if he did? Please, babe? For me?"

Annie leaned in to kiss Katy once more and seemed to share some resolve with her girlfriend, in addition to a generous amount of tongue. When they broke apart, Katy nodded.

"Okay. We've got time before dad and Mrs B get back. But the second we hear the garden gate opening, it's over. And he has to keep his eyes closed while we change."

"While you change?" I asked, alarmed now. "Okay, what's going on? This doesn't sound very appropriate. I think I should go. I feel fine now anyway."

Katy's eyes narrowed and something indefinable about her posture changed. Her hoodie looked tighter across her body and I wondered if she'd flexed her muscles in anger.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like standing up and trying to leave anymore. 

"You'll stay right there, Mr B. Close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you it's okay to open them again."

I didn't even think of protesting again. I closed my eyes and pressed the cold compress to my forehead, wishing I had another one for my crotch - the way Annie had kissed Katy and the horny look on Annie's face when Katy had finally relented made it clear she thought she was in for a treat.

As, apparently, was I.

There was a sound suggestive of shoes being taken off, dropped onto the floor and kicked out of the way.

"Tell him how we met, babe."

"Annie was my next door neighbour in halls, Mr B, and we became friends in freshers week."

I thought I could hear Annie and Katy moving to and fro now, as well as the rustle of clothing.

"And we quickly found out that we were exactly the same height and build so all our clothes were the same size," Katy continued, her voice briefly sounding slightly muffled. "Which meant we could borrow each other's things. I think I got the better end of the deal, to be honest - my wardrobe was pretty boring compared to hers."

"Yeah, but it gave me the perfect excuse to spend time in your room and encourage you to get undressed, so it's not like I didn't get anything out of it!"

"It started with hoodies and tops and as we got to know each other better and better... well, it just kept on going from there."

"I like to joke that I got into Katy's knickers and then I got into Katy's knickers."

Both girls giggled.

"But not long after we started dating," said Katy, "I had the growth spurt and shot up six inches. I felt ridiculous... Suddenly I was all gangly!"

"Gangly?" I asked, disbelievingly. "What are you now? 5'6" ? That's hardly gangly."

"It's all relative, Mr B. I'd been 5'0" tall since I was twelve. I was used to being petite. Anyway, it's hard to explain - it was like my body didn't feel like mine anymore. I felt all stretched out and uncoordinated, like I wasn't in control. Put it this way: Mrs B is a tall woman - how tall is she?"

"She's 5'10"."

"How do you think you would both feel if she suddenly shrunk six inches down to 5'4"? It would be super-weird, right?"

"Well, yeah..."

"So imagine how I felt!"

"I kept telling her she was still gorgeous," said Annie, "like, all the time, but she became so self-conscious. Personally I loved that I had to stand on tiptoes to kiss her. It was such a big turn on for me!"

"I was already stressed out because of all my uni work, and then changing like that... I found it really difficult. But Annie was very supportive, Mr B - in fact, it was her idea that I should join the gym and try to build some muscle to fill out a bit."

"Best. Idea. Ever!" laughed Annie. "And totally selfless on my part - after all, why would I want a hot Amazon girlfriend, right?"

"I thought it was silly at first. I know dad's always been keen on the gym, but I never saw the appeal. And no way could I see myself ever building enough muscle to stop feeling skinny. But Annie kept on encouraging me to try and I discovered I could use the student gym for free and it was open all day, every day. So I went a few times one week and I quite liked it - it was hard work but it actually felt pretty nice to challenge myself physically and see what I could do. Still, I don't think I'd have ever really committed without Annie pushing me."

"I wouldn't stop nagging her until she went to the gym each day."

"I got into a routine, started to fit in more gym trips between lectures and seminars and essays. And the more I went, the more I liked it."

"And it was obvious that your hard work was paying off: you built muscle so fast! Faster than I expected. Or hoped."

"And I gradually realised that I liked how I looked with some extra muscle. And that Annie really liked how I looked with some extra muscle. I started to feel like me again - only a stronger version of me. An improved me."

"Yeah, and I made sure I let her know how sexy she was looking, like, all the time."

"And that just made me want to keep growing even more. Only, I didn't really realise how steady my progress had been for those first few weeks until my newbie gains slowed down and I got a bit frustrated."

"I had to give her another push. Spammed her with gym inspo, bought her shakes and supplements, cooked her extra protein, promised her massages."

"So then I properly went for it. My whole focus became building muscle. It definitely wasn't easy - I was in the gym twice a day, pushing myself to failure until I cried, forcing myself to eat and eat and eat. It was kinda miserable, but weirdly at the same time I did feel amazing and-"

"-She exploded! She just kept getting beefier and beefier! It was crazy!"

"Haha, I got beefy, did I? Really? So flattering!"

"Beefy in the best possible way, babe, trust me. Beefy's good. It's a compliment - right, Mr B?"

"Uh, yeah," I said dreamily, distracted by imagining what it must have been like to get to watch Katy's incredible growth first-hand. Almost immediately I started to worry that my confirmation might have sounded like I was a little too invested in this story. I tried to keep the conversation moving and blurted out the first related thing that came to my mind: "Beefy's good... You can be muscular and compact like corned beef... uh, to quote Garth Marenghi."

"Bit weird, but okay," replied Katy. "Anyway, Annie encouraged me every step of the way. Her support was everything. She motivated me when I didn't believe in myself."

"And not just in the gym... I've been trying to get her to come out of her shell a bit more, Mr B, especially since she mostly hides her spectacular bod."

"I've never been much of an extrovert. Definitely not compared to Annie! As much as I loved how my new muscles looked, I didn't exactly go around uni flaunting them or wanting people to notice them."

"So every now and again, I have to encourage her to show off a bit. The first time was at the bus stop."

"How do you show off at a bus stop?" I asked, still silently working on trying to interpret exactly what the two girls were doing by listening to their movements, like I was a blind man at a dance performance.

"Oh, we'd been on a girls' night out in the city centre and we were waiting for the night bus and there were some drunk lads having a pull-up contest, hanging off the shelter roof," explained Katy.

"And I bet them Katy could beat them all," said Annie. "Although she totally didn't want to do it at first. I had to persuade her that the idea of her beating them... really turned me on. Like, really."

"It was actually surprisingly easy in the end. Well, it took me by surprise anyway, but maybe I should have expected it - by then I was doing sets of weighted pull-ups when I was in the gym, plus they were all a bit drunk, which helped, obviously - but they were all big guys and I just assumed I wouldn't be able to physically compete with men... until I watched them all and the most any of them could manage was fourteen pull-ups."

"And then Katy jumped up and did fifteen easy. Then she stopped and just hung there. There was a crowd watching and everyone was already cheering her, but then she said 'That's my warm up done, boys' and pumped out another fifteen. The whole crowd went crazy."

"I'd have done a few more, but the roof of the shelter was a bit... pigeony."

"Talk about aura farming! Once she dropped back down, everyone was asking to see her flex and feel her biceps! It was the first time I'd ever seen her be even slightly cocky and show off her strength. It was like seeing a whole new Katy and I was literally obsessed."

"I think that was the first time I realised how strong I actually was. I knew my lifts were getting heavier in the gym every week but somehow that didn't really hit home as hard as beating all those guys in a pull-up contest."

"And I loved how you became more confident about your body after that," said Annie. "I remember during that heatwave there was a day you came back from the gym looking so pumped and so sweaty and I told you how freaking strong you looked and you just grabbed my hips and lifted me up and pinned me against the wall and we-"

"-Uh, maybe that's enough detail? You're getting a bit carried away again. Look how red Mr B's face has gone!"

"Oh wow, yeah!"

Everything went suddenly quiet - or so I thought, until my ears picked up a faint whispering.

The giggling that followed was unambiguously audible.

"But Katy could be just as sexy even when she wasn't trying to show off," Annie eventually continued. "I remember sitting next to her in a seminar once and she casually rolled up her sleeves and I have literally no idea what the lecturer talked about for the next hour... I was just staring at her thick, veiny forearms. It was like they were throbbing with power. I couldn't look at them without fantasising about them picking me up or pinning me down. And the fact she did it so innocently made it even hotter. And you didn't even notice the boy next to you, did you, babe?"

"No, who was it?" asked Katy.

"That posh boy. Loud Voice. Always talking about going skiing."

"Oh yeah... but what about him?"

"At the start of the seminar, he had his sleeves rolled up, too - and then he saw your forearms and his eyes bugged out and he kept staring at you for a couple of minutes and then he rolled his sleeves back down. You totally mogged him and you didn't even know about it! And then I realised something else: I thought you were wearing one of my shirts that morning - that you'd probably grabbed it in a hurry without even noticing. It was so tight I could see your biceps bulging through the sleeves and the seams down the side were straining because of the way your shoulders and back were stretching the material. And then it dawned on me: it wasn't one of my shirts; it was one of yours - one you'd bought after starting to work out, and you'd already basically outgrown it."

"Oh! Was that the seminar where afterwards, you grabbed my hand and took me to the toilet and asked me to flex?"

"Yeah."

"And I ripped the shirt?"

"Yeah."

"And then we..."

"Yeah."

There was more whispering. And more giggling.

"Having a super-buff girlfriend is awesome," said Annie. "You probably don't see the appeal though, do you, Mr B? I guess guys don't want wives stronger than them. I don't think the fragile male ego would cope with being dominated by a powerful woman. All I can say is that you're totally missing out... My favourite thing is lying on the bed when she gets back from a workout and waiting for her to walk over and join me: I'm at eye level with her thighs and I just watch them going POW! with every step she takes. I still can't believe how big and juicy they are now. And the way they move, all twitchy and bulgey like they're alive! There's definitely something sexy about just knowing how strong she is, too, and about how hard she's worked to grow quads that big... I lie there and imagine I can hear her grunting and groaning in the gym, think about her discipline, her dedication... Fuck! And then she joins me on the bed and lies on top of me and I feel so small and soft and weak compared to her. She's not even trying to, but she completely overpowers me... I know she can do whatever she wants to me, but then she kisses me and I also know I'm hers, completely hers, and she will always protect me..."

I was starting to feel like a man who had asked to review his file at the Stasi Records Agency and was only now realising that there had been listening devices hidden in his walls and that perhaps his most intimate secrets weren't actually as private as he assumed.

Could it be that Annie had guessed? Had she told Katy? Was that what they had been whispering about?

I couldn't bring myself to ask the question, and I didn't want to risk revealing anything about myself unnecessarily. I resolved to play it cool. Stoically, I drew myself up in a show of quiet dignity, lowering the compress from my forehead so my audience could see the carefully composed expression on my face. I clasped my hands in my lap and with my eyes still firmly shut I turned my head in the direction from which it seemed to me Annie's voice had been coming.

"There's nothing fragile about my ego," I said.

"Interesting. So you'd have no problem with being dominated by a super-buff Mrs B, then?" asked Annie and I could hear her wicked smile as she said it.

"That's... just never going to happen," I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral and hoping against hope they wouldn't notice that clasping my hands in my lap was only a pretext for me to jam the ice pack against my groin.

"Oh? Shame."

The giggling started again.

"That's a real shame, Mr B. I suppose I never really thought Katy would become as big as she has... Do you want to know how I knew she was definitely going to get jacked?"

"How?"

"It was just a subtle thing I noticed one day: a few weeks after she started working out regularly, she flexed in front of the mirror and she was so impressed by her progress she did a double-take, and there was this little look in her eye... It's kinda hard to describe but it was like a flash of confidence. It said: I love this and I want more. It was super-sexy."

"Aww, babe," cooed Katy.

There was a pause and I could tell from the noise that they were once again duelling with tongues at no paces.

"All of which is a really long, roundabout way of saying that we can't really borrow each other's clothes anymore, Mr B, because... well, you'll see," said Katy eventually. There was a pause and her voice sounded more distant when she continued, "You can open your eyes now."

Not at all sure what to expect, I opened my eyes slowly, carefully, like I was wary of a slap to the face. Annie stood in front of me, wearing only some baggy boyshorts, a loose cami vest and an excited grin. She waved cheerfully at me and asked, "So, Mr B, do you want to see a living, breathing before and after photo?"

A movement behind her caught my eye and I looked up to see Katy emerge from the kitchen. She was also wearing boyshorts and a cami vest, but the similarities with Annie's attire ended there. As Katy walked towards me all I could think was POW! POW! POW! Her boyshorts were bunched up and riding up her bulging quads; the cami vest was so stretched laterally that it had narrowed into a kind of bandolier across the lower half of her jutting pectorals.

Katy's cheeks were flushed pink and her embarrassed smile suggested she couldn't quite believe she was doing this, even if she was happy that she was. She walked up behind Annie and stopped, peering at me over the top of Annie's head, her body dwarfing that of her girlfriend.

"Before," said Annie - and then she stepped to the side with a flourish like a magician's assistant; it was an entirely unnecessary movement given she was physically incapable of hiding Katy -  "and after. We've enhanced the effect a little by swapping underwear."

"It's been a while since we last did that and to be honest don't think we'll be able to do it again: I have got the worst wedgie," said Katy. "If I move too much I might just hulk out of these things."

My eyes darted back and forth manically, like I was watching the tip of Zorro's rapier slashing a series of Zs in the air, as I compared the girls' calves, quads, abs, pecs, delts, biceps and forearms, the disparity in muscle mass between the pair made even greater by Katy's height advantage over her girlfriend.

It was clear that Katy wasn't just a scaled-up version of Annie - the ratios of her physical dimensions were entirely different. In fact, as I looked at her narrow waist, I thought it was obvious that Katy wasn't naturally large-framed and had once been skinny. When I looked at Katy's legs, I could see in their composition the story of all the hard work required to lay down layers of muscle over insubstantial foundations. Not only had their circumference grown, but their shape too - the four different heads of muscle all jostling together, all wanting their chance to show off. Slender thighs had transmuted into something more jagged and rugged.

Looking between the two girls, I was struck by how much of the carpet behind Annie was visible between her legs, whereas even though Katy's feet were a similar distance apart, her thighs pressed against each other so tightly, they hid what lay beyond like saloon doors.     

And seeing Annie's narrow figure standing next to Katy made it startlingly clear how much wider Katy's upper body had become over time; how capping her shoulders with domed muscles had achieved the effect of broadening her frame, and how she had filled in the newly available space below by expanding her lats and thickening her arms, just like the trees and lianas in the lower levels of the rainforest grow bigger beneath the shelter of the canopy.

Annie's arms hung naturally by her sides, but Katy could no longer adopt such a relaxed position, her arms forced upwards and outwards by her lats, making her look even bigger.

It was fair to say that Katy's body was even more impressive than I had realised based on our brief encounter the previous week, and seeing her like this now, with 'normal' Annie in sharp relief next to her, it felt absurd that I could ever have thought I might be in with a chance of winning an armwrestling contest against her - or that I could have believed she would ever have been capable of losing to Rosie.

"Like you hulking out's going to put me off suggesting we do this again!" laughed Annie and rubbed her head against Katy's chest, like an affectionate cat.

"Okay, but not right now, given we have company! Hey! Haha! That tickles - stop it!"

For a second I thought that Annie had chosen to withdraw her head from Katy's chest.

"Woah! You literally just flexed my head off your pecs!" exclaimed Annie, before shamelessly nuzzling into Katy's chest once more, face-first this time. "Mmhhhh... Your pecs are the best, babe!"

Annie turned her head to look in my direction and flashed me a smile.

"Seriously, Mr B - you have no idea how good pumped-up pecs are as pillows! I don't know why, exactly - boobs are softer, after all... It must be the surface area? There's more pec than there is boob. Or is it the thickness?"

Annie gave Katy's chest a couple of exploratory pokes and then another tickle and both girls dissolved into laughter once more, Annie wrapping her arms around Katy's neck to support herself as she almost fell backwards, drunk with exhilaration.

Katy wrapped one arm around Annie's back and her girlfriend completely released her grip, the pair of them bending over into a dip kiss straight out of a golden era Hollywood romance, Katy's lat spreading as she took all of Annie's weight.

For a second I thought Annie might have slipped and been in danger of falling, but then I saw she was simply using the opportunity afforded to her by being held up to run her hands behind Katy and grope her girlfriend's bum.

I could tell that Annie was squeezing hard by the way her knuckles whitened. I could also tell that there was virtually no give in Katy's solid glutes. 

As I watched open-mouthed, wondering if the girls had both forgotten I was there, Katy brought her free arm down behind Annie's legs and scooped her girlfriend up into a bridal carry, lifting her without breaking the kiss.

Katy's quads twitched and bulged as she adjusted her stance.

POW! POW!

The ice pack really wasn't big enough, or cold enough. And I hoped against hope the damp patch I could feel spreading across my groin was just the cold compress melting.

Annie eventually broke the kiss, panting hard, and said, "Now who's getting carried away, babe?"

"Literally you!" laughed Katy, spinning around in a circle, then explosively bicep curling Annie's supine body higher until she could nuzzle her nose into Annie's stomach and kiss her belly button. Annie screamed in delight.

The garden gate squeaked and Katy froze.

"They're back! Shit, that's our cue to leave! Bye, Mr B!" she exclaimed and she carried Annie out of the room at high speed, her girlfriend's adoring eyes never leaving her face.

I could hear the stairs creaking as Katy leaped up them with the ease of a gazelle, and then a rending noise.

"Sorry, babe - I told you I was going to hulk out of these things!"

It was only as I heard a key jangling in the front door lock that I realised the girls had left various garments scattered across the floor. Ever the preux chevalier, and aware that this could prompt some awkward questions about what had been happening in Rosie's absence, I forced myself to ignore the fact that I was sporting a hard-on so big it resembled a monolith, and I jumped up, scooping up the clothes and tossing them all into the washing machine in the kitchen, before staggering back to the sofa, collapsing in a breathless, sweaty mess.

The door opened.

"You still look terrible," said Rosie. "I think I'd better get you home - I know I had some wine earlier, but you're clearly in no shape to drive."

"I'm fine," I said unconvincingly. 

"I said I'm driving," said Rosie, uncompromisingly.

Her eyes narrowed and something indefinable about her posture changed... For a second, I wondered if she had flexed her muscles in anger just like Katy had. Then I remembered that Katy had thrown the match and that Rosie's muscles were in no way comparable.

"I still think I should d-"

"-No," she said, cutting me off. "Unless you want to armwrestle me for the keys? I think we both know how that would go."

She crossed her arms and stared at me.

It dawned on me that Rosie still didn't know that the contest had been rigged - as far as she was concerned, she actually was physically strong enough to beat the girl who had beaten me.

Rosie's eyes flashed with confidence and Annie's words echoed in my ears: there was this little look in her eye... it was super-sexy.

"What on earth have you done to yourself?" asked Rosie, indicating my crotch.

"Uh, I..." I began, and then my hand brushed against the empty glass lying next to me on the sofa; I gratefully seized upon it. "I spilled my drink... Uh, did you at least get me another ice pack?"

I looked back at Rosie but something about her steely glare made me lower my gaze. Then I realised this downwards movement might draw attention back to my crotch and I was still so engorged that my erection could have triggered the next stage of evolution in a group of australopithecines.

Luckily at that moment there was a clattering in the kitchen as Dave began to replenish his depleted stock of beer, and I was able to look quickly and gratefully towards the source of the noise.

"Here," Rosie said, reaching into her bag and tossing one towards me. "Be ready to leave in five minutes. I'm not waiting any longer than that. Oh, and if you're too weak to walk to the car, just ask me nicely and I'll carry you."

Speechless, I watched Rosie stride out of the room and then I shoved the cold compress down the front of my trousers, half-expecting steam to start streaming out of my fly.

Within the next five minutes we had said our goodbyes to Dave and I had mumbled something to him about the girls being busy taking Annie's things upstairs.

Five minutes after that I was sitting quietly in the passenger seat as Rosie drove us down some residential streets.

"I still can't believe what happened this afternoon. Can you?" she asked.

"Uh, no, not really," I said, with complete honesty.

"Look at me."

I turned my head gingerly. Rosie was staring straight back at me, a strange look on her face.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. Actually, that's not true: there is something I need to say to you... April Fool's!"

The road ahead began to shimmer and wobble alarmingly.

Trees, pedestrians and lampposts started to turn cartwheels as we passed and I suspected that if Dave had been there to see the look on my face, he'd have asked me if I thought I was the Minotaur again.

[brave_archer]

Nice to see you're back with another chapter! I had given up on getting more of any of your excellent stories so this was a nice surprise. Hoping you'll have time to add new additions to your other works in progress

[jeffbeans]

So good to see a new JohnAubrey chapter, and what a chapter it is!! Fantastic work as always