The pick-up
By Martin Kane mksequela@yahoo.co.uk
Four female bodybuilders in a Mini.




Please note this story contains some adult content.




Q - How do you fit four elephants into a Mini?
A - Two in the front, two in the back.




Q - How do you fit four female bodybuilders into a Mini?
A - Take the elephants out first.




They picked him up outside his flat. Literally. The first he knew of 
anything amiss was when two dark shadows eclipsed the sun - for such 
mammoth brutes they moved with an eerily silent grace - and then powerful 
hands had him. The women clasped an upper arm each, their fingers digging 
remorselessly into the meat of his flesh. He was lifted neatly off the 
ground. His weight nothing to them, the two goliaths didn't even pause as 
they swept him up, carrying him along in their stead. 

He was bodily turned towards the road. A small blue Mini cornered at 
speed and screeched to a grinding halt before them.

Panicking he looked from one giant to the other. His captors were each 
about half a foot taller than his own meagre five foot seven and 
obviously a lot stronger. He squirmed between them as they held him aloft 
with ridiculous ease, as though he were a child and this just an innocent 
game. Neither one even bothered to look at him, paying his feeble 
protests no mind whatsoever. Despite all his writhing struggles he 
remained suspended a few inches above the ground - utterly helpless.

In the Mini sat two more mighty women, both in the front. The passenger 
side was closest; the woman sitting there was cool and indifferent. She 
wore shades and a white T-shirt. The window was fully down and her 
obscenely muscular arm was resting lightly in the open space. It was as 
thick as his thigh and rippling with power. Her flesh was deeply tanned, 
a rich golden contrast to the dazzling white of her T-shirt, the sleeve 
of which was stretched to bursting point. The hem was so tight against 
her arm that he doubted whether he could have squeezed even a finger 
between the material and her dark, solid flesh.

She looked up at him, her eyes hidden behind sardonic black shades, her 
smile adding to her understated cruelty. A perfectly structured face, 
sculptured beauty, was complemented by sun-bleached hair, tied back into 
a ponytail. 

"Jason Smith?" she said to him, a voice as honed as her awesome physique. 
"We're going for a little ride."

"What's going on?" he demanded, the panic evident in his voice. He had a 
horrible suspicion that he already knew however. There was only one 
person he had any dealings with who was either likely or capable of 
sending round the heavies to retrieve him. And these four gym-rats were 
definitely heavies.

The white T-shirted woman was Rhea. She opened the passenger door and 
unfolded her body to step out of the Mini. It was like watching an 
optical illusion as a physique just as massive as either of the two women 
holding him emerged from the tiny vehicle.

She stood at least six feet tall and had the build to rival the most 
muscular pin-up beauties he'd ever seen in magazines. Shoulders like a 
labourer, rolling from a chest of slabbed muscle. Her breasts were small, 
given a body devoid of fat, but sat high and solid aboard powerful 
pectoral muscles.

Her belly rippled, her abs like a cobbled street. Even through the white 
cotton shirt they were clearly discernible as she breathed, flexing them 
in rhythmic waves. Her waist was bodybuilder trim, rather than a 
weightlifter's thickness, but without being too skinny. Then the 
staggering flare of hugely muscled thighs. Her jeans were so tight it 
looked like a miracle she'd managed to force such bulky limbs into them, 
but manage she had and as a result every bulge of her powerful legs could 
be mapped in clinical detail.

The Mini only had front doors so she folded the seat forward, creating a 
small gap to access the rear of the car.

One of Jason's arms was released and he dropped, falling, but twisting 
uncomfortably as his other arm was held resolutely at its current height. 
The woman still holding him didn't relent as his full weight was 
transferred to the single arm and he dangled painfully from her grip.

Jason tried to ease the strain by standing on tiptoe with the one foot 
that could now just about reach the ground but his weight still stretched 
his body in a painfully uncomfortable contortion.

The woman who had just released him was Nita. She strode forward and 
Jason saw her fully for the first time. She was actually curvier than his 
initial impression had been. Were it not for the blatant development of 
her musculature she would look like a generously proportioned Bollywood 
babe. As it was, her fuller-figure was accented by bulging muscles, her 
curves hard and rippling rather than soft and yielding - but curves 
nonetheless. 

Unlike Rhea, she had a deep cleavage, the kind of improbable breasts that 
drew all male attention, regardless of how fake they were. They were 
currently flattered by a shameless halter-top, its design intent on 
exposing as much of the wearer's bosom as possible while still 
technically qualifying as clothing. It also exposed her belly - eight 
inches of flesh as smooth and hard as slate. The top was floral and 
pretty. In fact, from her general dress you got the impression of someone 
airy and girly, quite in contrast to the intimidating muscles she had 
thrust upon him. Her skin was as tan as Rhea's, though in Nita's case it 
was natural born rather than sun-induced. Her thick and flowing hair was 
long - Indian black.

And complimenting this wanton body was a face of freshness and girlish 
prettiness. She had the kind of features that could curl and wrinkle into 
an adorable sweetness that would effortlessly melt the hardest of hearts.

As Nita stepped into the car, her light floral skirt flipped up, showing 
curvaceous muscle right up her thigh. The shape of her firm round 
buttocks impressed themselves through the summer skirt.

Next into the car it was Jason's turn. The woman now holding him, Lisa, 
shoved him forward with a force that suggested she could quite easily rip 
his whole arm off should she wish to.

Jason was jammed forward at the Mini and had to duck his head as his 
whole body was thrust unceremoniously at the open door.

Obediently, he clambered in, wondering how much space there was going to 
be on the compact back seat with the savagely built woman already in 
there. Not to mention if the woman still clutching his arm as tightly as 
a tourniquet expected to fit in beside him too.

Nita was sat behind the driver, arm resting along the length of the 
backseat, invitingly. Jason looked down at breasts and belly, the long 
inches of thigh beneath the short hem of her skirt. He gulped in fear at 
a sight that should have been a privileged delight. She winked at him 
salaciously.

This woman, despite the muscley perfection of her body, despite the sweet 
playfulness of her expression, incited in him nothing except utter dread.

He was released finally and collapsed into the seat. The upholstery was 
uncomfortably hot, sun baked, the windows turning the tiny car into a 
miniature greenhouse - the very air baked dry.

Nita laid her arm around his shoulders, treating him to the intimacy of 
her muscles; he was crushed against bicep and breast as she pulled him to 
her body with unabashed familiarity. Instead of gaining erotic pleasure 
from such enticing proximity to so luscious a physique, Jason still felt 
nothing but terrible apprehension and fear.

Sure enough, Lisa followed him into the back of the Mini. She was 
attractive in a coldly professional kind of way. Dark hair smoothly 
styled. She lent forward as she climbed in, her blouse open to expose a 
few generous inches of cleavage, held together with a smooth black bra. 
She didn't have Nita's outrageous size, but her chest had the benefit of 
being genuine. 

She caught him glimpsing down her top but she didn't react. Her face 
remained cool and aloof. Maybe she read the sudden fear on his face as he 
realised she'd seen him peeking and actually felt a sliver of pity for 
him. It wasn't even as though he'd looked out of sexual desire - despite 
the incredible allure of all four women, his libido seemed to have 
completely abandoned him for the moment. It was more an instinct than 
desire - when presented with such a splendid sight, what else was one to 
do but look? He guessed her indifference was just that - indifference. 
She didn't give a shit one way or the other.

She was dressed elegantly, her dark blouse semi-businesslike, a smart but 
casual cut, unbuttoned for the weather. The sleeves were mid-length, not 
quite reaching her muscular forearms. They should have been loose around 
her upper arms and on another woman perhaps they would have been. Lisa's 
arms however, thickly muscled biceps and triceps, filled the flowing silk 
to capacity.

The smart skirt was narrow, making running an impossibility. Strong legs 
bulged from beneath the tight hem, their bristling power looking as 
though the simplest flex of her thighs would burst the constricting skirt 
apart.

Lisa sat herself next to Jason. Her shoulder pressed on top of his, 
jamming him painfully back against the seat. His arm was crushed back, 
pinned beneath her far thicker, far more muscular one. Every tiny motion 
of her triceps, every twitch and pulse, was distinctly felt.

Jason was crushed between the two mountainous women, their joint bulks 
threatening to squish his feeble form with the slightest twitch. His legs 
were squashed painfully together, there was simply no room for him 
between the two sets of muscled thighs that demanded so much of the seat 
space. It felt like if these women were to stretch themselves out a 
little, his hips would shatter and crumple between them.

Rhea clicked the front seat back into place, locking the three of them 
into the tiny compartment. She then sat herself in the seat and closed 
the door. The Mini somehow contained the five of them within its compact 
area.

Christine was driving. All Jason could see of her at the moment was the 
back of her head and the bulky shoulders that loomed large and awesome 
above the driver's seat. She wore a muscle-shirt and certainly had the 
muscle to justify its name. Her hair was cropped short, muscle-dyke 
style, its shorn length spiked and dyed black.

Her shoulders were huge and rippling, decorated with dark tattoos that 
twitched and flinched with every pop and motion of her muscles. Thick 
arms led forward to clutch tightly around the racing style steering 
wheel. Her window was also open. In fact, it seemed to Jason that it was 
the only way she could possibly fit her broad bulk into the car.

She reached one rippling arm down, popped the car into gear, and they 
took off.

"What's going on?" Jason demanded. Then he asked, "where are you taking 
me?" his voice weaker than ever.

Rhea sighed from the front seat, turned around and fixed her eyes not on 
Jason but Nita, who sat behind the driver.

"Tell it to keep its mouth shut," she said, and faced forward again.

Nita's muscular arm still lay thick and impassive on the seat-top behind 
him. She brought the forearm down in front of his shoulder then curled 
it; her fist nuzzled against his throat and then slid tightly around. The 
motion closed her arm about his neck and also turned her bicep at the 
back into an iron baseball, the tight constriction preventing his breath 
from passing through his windpipe.

"You will be quiet," Nita informed him clearly. "Either by your own 
initiative, or by our intervention. Is that understood?"

Jason didn't bother trying to speak, the desperate need for breath 
clawing through his lungs made a verbal response impossible. Instead, he 
frantically nodded as best he could while being restricted by an arm the 
size and density of a metal pipe.

"Good," she said and released him. The forearm lifted, resting itself 
back onto the top of the long seat. Jason felt the meaty biceps muscles 
unfurl - a heavy cushion at the back of his neck.

Jason sat there trapped and helpless at the mercy of these elite women. 
All he could do was sit in silence and wait to see what they had in store 
for him, wait to see where it was they were taking him. Although in his 
heart, he already knew. He hoped that he would be able to persuade them 
that their boss had no cause to issue a warning. He was playing ball.

But he knew these women were unlikely to deal with that side of the 
organisation. They were only called in when examples had to be made. 

His only hope was that they'd give him a chance to speak, get them to 
ring their superiors and let him explain the situation, let him speak to 
someone who could call them off. For the moment however, given the 
instruction he'd been issued, it was probably best to stay quiet.




The Mini pulled onto the main road and instantly hit heavy traffic. They 
slowed to a crawl, only moving in fits and bursts. It was a hot day, 
waves of heat seeming to blister off the very road. The sweat and grime 
of the city filled the air along with the cacophony of traffic. The 
revving of engines and toot of disgruntled car horns.

In the front passenger seat, Rhea stretched her body. Jason could see the 
seat bend and strain as she tried to straighten out. If she wasn't 
careful she'd rip the chair apart. It was sturdily built, but then so was 
she.

He realised what she was doing as she finally tugged a mobile phone out 
of the impossibly tight pocket of her jeans. She sat normally again, 
muttering about the limitations of space. "Why d'ya get a fucking Mini!"

"I like Minis," the driver, Christine, said defensively. Her voice was 
far sweeter and softer than Jason would have suspected, given her stark 
tattoos and intimidating physique. "This is a classic. Anyway, I didn't 
know I'd ever be using it for work."

Rhea made a call on the mobile.

"Hey... Yeah, just picked him up... No... Oh, OK... Yeah, text me the 
address... Fine... See ya soon."

She didn't bother trying to negotiate the phone back into her pocket, 
placing it instead on top of the dashboard.

"We've got another pickup en route," she told them. "I'll give you the 
address in a minute, she's gonna text it over to me now."

If anyone else was wondering where a sixth body was going to sit, they 
didn't voice the question. Jason had a horrible feeling that if anybody 
was going to have to offer up their lap, volunteers would be in short 
supply. He was already being half crushed by the over-developed physiques 
of his two seatmates - further company would not be welcome.

"Where's the air-con in this fucking crate?" Nita hissed from besides 
him. She was the least dressed of all of them, her bright and pretty 
outfit skimpy to the extreme, but that didn't necessarily help. The air 
was like an oven, plus she had no protection against the sun-cooked 
upholstery.

"Besides you," Lisa said.

Nita saw what she referred to, the window clasp. The one on Lisa's side 
was already open. 

It wasn't even a proper window, a hinge on one side and a clip on the 
other that allowed the glass to pop two inches out of the frame. It did 
nothing to reduce the air temperature inside the car.

Nita was not impressed. "Fuck!"

"It'll be cooler when we hit an open road," Christine assured her. "Once 
we get some air flowing through here."

"Be cooler if you had a car with air-con," Nita grumbled, "or fucking 
windows at least."

Jason could see that she was sweating, beads of perspiration around her 
neck and chest. A droplet of sweat ran from her throat down into the deep 
chasm between her breasts.

She took hold of her neckline and pulled it out, trying to fan herself 
cool with the front of her top.

The sight of this flesh gorge should have incited in him a desperate lust 
but on this occasion it didn't. The temptation to peek however was still 
too potent to resist. It didn't matter that he wasn't feeling stimulated 
by the sight or smell or sense of her, male was male, he couldn't help 
but look. 

"And what the fuck are you staring at," Nita demanded. 

Jason nearly yelped with fear. His eyes shot to hers - her gaze viciously 
cutting into him. Though she spoke with aggression, it wasn't a 
passionate anger. He saw in those eyes violence of the most careless 
kind. This woman was capable of anything because his existence meant 
nothing to her.

"You're not very smart are you?" she snarled, cold and vicious.

Jason looked down, avoiding her penetrating stare. He wasn't sure whether 
she was actually asking a question or not. He figured it was probably 
best not to answer back, if she thought he was debating with her it would 
only further provoke her wrath.

Lisa laughed, her voice a dry rasp. "I think he's struck dumb with fear."

"You did tell him to remain silent," Christine put in from the front, 
also amused.

Nita's countenance changed immediately, her mood switching without any 
sign or warning. She threw back her head and laughed. It was a rich and 
musical sound, deep and free. It too amped up the potential sex appeal of 
this incredible woman. But the way she switched mood, and from one of 
such violence, made her just as fearsome and intimidating as ever. The 
swing itself suggested a potential sadism that even her viciousness had 
not.




The Mini crawled through town, down the main street, rich as it was with 
city life. Loud and bustling, decorated with graffiti and billboards. 
Shops either side were doing busy business, wares piled up outside. A 
grocers shop cashing in on the weather, selling freshly made iced 
smoothies.

There were a bunch of kids hanging around at the corner of a junction, 
sitting on the steps of one of the buildings. One of them had plugged his 
i-pod into speakers and was pounding drum and bass into the street. The 
boys were chatting, joking, ogling the girls. The girls in question being 
two teen beauties sat opposite them, perched on the railings, their backs 
to the road.

They were both dressed in jeans, casual and loose, but their tops were 
designed to display. One girl was in a cut-off top, exposing a rippling 
midriff, the other a halter that was skimpy enough to classify as a 
bikini. Both girls were bare armed and were currently flexing their 
toned, teen peaks to the delighted, baying boys.

They were both fairly well developed, despite their tender age, 
displaying real potential. And they were lapping up the attention their 
defined physiques garnered them. The boys were aroused and amused; they 
clapped and whistled at each impressive flex.

As the Mini pulled up at the lights the passenger side was towards the 
group. The boys were suddenly distracted by biceps of a different 
calibre. Rhea still had her massive arm resting down through the open 
window, huge and blatant in its contained power even when carelessly at 
rest.

The two teen girls twisted about to see what had distracted their 
audience so. Perched where they were on the railings, they were only a 
few feet away from the temporarily parked Mini. They gawped in awe and 
surprise.

Rhea smiled to herself, always pleased to be able to cause a scene. 

"Hey, Lady..." said one of the girls, her voice ringing with respect, 
"...your arms!" If she had wanted to say anything more articulate it had 
evidently gotten lost somewhere in the distraction.

"Show us a flex," the other girl pleaded.

The boys had rushed up to the railing, eager for a closer view.

"See that? Jesus, look at that muscle. Are you seeing that?"

"Oh man, those are some serious guns."

Rhea smiled at the gang, but she addressed the girls.

"You're not too slack."

The girl closest to her almost blushed. "Hardly," she dismissed.

The boys were pleading for her to flex. So far, Rhea's arm hadn't left 
its comfortably relaxed position.

"Keep it up, you're looking great. I didn't start lifting 'til I was in 
my twenties, and look at me now."

And with that, she stopped teasing them and lifted the arm. The lights 
changed just then, but before the Mini could pull away Rhea drew her 
forearm into position and gave them a glimpse of a rear peak that could 
split shirtsleeves.

In fact, the short sleeve of her T-shirt was in real danger. It rested 
halfway down her bicep and when she flexed, the already taut hem was 
stuck in position a second, straining to contain the sudden massive 
expansion within. Then, as her muscles swelled, it popped suddenly up her 
arm, ruffling to make way for the tremendous pump of her mountainous 
bicep. 

Had it not - had it perhaps been further down her arm to begin with - it 
was doubtless that the material would not have been able to withstand her 
muscles. The sleeve could stretch, but not that much. Whatever give the 
material had was already stretched to capacity by her arm unflexed. When 
she pumped up that peak, it stood no chance at all.

The gang of youths watched this display awed. Not one of them could make 
any sound - boys and girls alike staring in either lust or awe or envy or 
any combination.

The Mini pulled away and they watched it go, the arm still sticking out 
of the window, maintaining the stunning pose, turning heads as it passed. 
And when the spell was finally broken they looked at each other. Fists 
were knocked, palms slapped. One voice broke the silence, voicing every 
thought. "Damn, that was fine."




"Gotta love kids," Rhea remarked, smoothing her sleeve. It had gotten 
bunched when she flexed.

"I think you made an impression," Nita giggled.

"You see those girls? How old were they? Thirteen? Fourteen?" Rhea asked.

"The world is getting younger," Lisa remarked. "I was into sports when I 
was their age but those biceps must've come from a gym. I didn't start 
lifting until I was seventeen, and I thought that was young."

"I did," Christine said. "My sister was a serious bodybuilder from about 
sixteen. I idolised her so I wanted to be just like her and train 
seriously too. I was the only fourteen-year-old in school with fourteen 
inch arms."

"World is definitely getting younger."

The Mini slowed again, traffic heavy. It moved in fits and bursts, the 
flow crawling, long lines of cars ahead of then glimmering in the hazy 
heat. 

At moments like this it was actually quicker to walk. As if to 
demonstrate this, a woman passed them on the pavement, striding with bold 
purpose. Her muscles were fit enough, but she was toned rather than 
boasting any serious development. Though, that said, she had a lithe 
appeal nonetheless. She was leggy, walking with an arrogant strut that 
demanded men take notice; dressed for the heat in a skirt and top lighter 
and brighter than Nita's. And that's not all she had in common with Nita. 
The purposeful rhythm of her stride kept her momentous chest in constant 
motion.

Lisa watched the woman flounce bouncily past them. "Christ, Nita," she 
laughed, "she must've gone to the same plastic surgeon as you."

Nita was used to being teased about her boob-op, affectionately or 
otherwise. "Could be," she agreed, "she certainly looks big enough."

"That guy last night seemed to approve," Rhea said.

"You don't know the half of it," Nita told her, her voice lurid.

"Oh yeah? What happened?"

"What guy?" Christine asked.

Rhea laughed. "Nita picked up this real dodgy looking bloke last night."

"He was not dodgy looking," Nita insisted, though she was being defensive 
of her standards rather than of the man himself.

"We were just out for a quick drink and he followed her back to our table 
from the bar. We couldn't shake him. Insistent little bugger. He spent 
most of the time staring at Nita's tits."

"He wasn't that bad," Nita insisted. "He was kinda cute. And he was 
funny, at least."

"Yeah. There's funny and there's funny. Anyway, I take it the night 
progressed once I left you two."

"Yes is did. I had fun. I don't think it was quite how he intended the 
night to go though."

There was a tone to her voice now, a particular musical colour to her 
speech that the other women all recognised. They knew Nita well enough to 
tell the direction this tale was going. 

Lisa winced in anticipation. "So what happened?" she asked. "Or, more to 
the point, what did you do to him?"

"How did you...? No, never mind. Anyway, we went back to his place. 
Everything was going fine. Then I told him that I wouldn't fuck him but 
I'd do anything else that he wanted."

"I bet I can guess what that was," Rhea said, "the way he was staring at 
your tits."

"He wanted to fuck my tits," Nita confirmed with a sigh.

"I don't understand," Christine said, her voice genuinely confused.

"Well a guy sticks his dick between your breasts..."

"No," Christine interrupted, giggling, "I mean, why did you tell him you 
wouldn't fuck him? What was wrong with him? No offence Nita, but you'd 
fuck a lamppost if there were no people or animals to hand."

"Oh, I was going to. I just said that to him because I was curious to see 
what he'd say. And I did still have every intention of fucking him 
senseless. And believe me, that's not just a pretty turn of phrase."

"So what happened?" Rhea insisted, a hint of foreboding present in her 
tone.

"Well I told him very clearly not to come in my face or my hair. I 
fucking hate that. I even gave him a handful of tissue ready. Understand, 
I was perfectly clear about this point. Do not come in my face."

"Ah. I take it he didn't play ball," Rhea said.

"Ew," Lisa exclaimed, "I've had a guy do that to me. It was not 
appreciated."

"I even gave him a second chance," Nita told them, perfectly reasonably. 
"I'm sitting there with this bastard's spunk dripping off of me, and I 
tell him, and again I am perfectly clear when I say this, that he has 
just one chance to apologise. All he has to do to prove that he's 
genuinely sorry is lick it off of me."

"You're disgusting," Lisa told her.

"I was making a point."

"I take it he refused."

Nita smiled, evilly. "Yes he did. I think you'll agree it was my duty to 
womankind to teach him a lesson. He soon saw the error of his ways. Once 
I'd broken his wrists."

Lisa pondered this a moment. "Seems fair enough," she said.

"Bend, twist or squeeze?" Rhea asked.

"Squeeze."

"Yeah, that's my favourite. There's something really satisfying about 
that moment when the bones just give and everything crunches up in your 
hand."

"And the funniest bit was when I told him to phone me a cab," Nita 
continued. "I told him in the same calm, clear manner. This time he 
didn't protest or complain. He didn't even hesitate. He just picked up 
the phone with his hands all flopping and broken and he somehow managed 
to dial the number."

"Oh God, you're evil!" Christine gasped, but she was giggling again as 
she said it.

"He's trying to keep enough control in his voice to give them the address 
and I'm busy getting dressed, trying not to burst out laughing."

"Well if it's any consolation," Lisa said, "my own carnal adventures 
where less than satisfying last night."

"What happened?" Nita asked. "Or rather what didn't happen?"

"I felt like something a little different," Lisa told them. "Tom and I 
have never done the spanking thing, so I suggest it and I can tell right 
away that it's not really his thing. But he's willing to try it if I want 
to, and I really do want to.

"So I adopt the position, him sitting on the bed, me sprawled across his 
lap, bare buttocks awaiting his beating. And he keeps asking are you 
ready? Are you sure? And finally he slaps this light little patter of 
spanks that I can barely even feel.

"I explain to him that the whole point is to make it a little bit 
painful. I tell him to really let go, give it everything you've got. 
Fucking spank me!"

"Maybe he just didn't want to hurt you," Christine suggested.

"Yeah, well he's got no problem with frustrating me. He gives it another 
go but he's still only tapping me so gently he might as well not bother. 
And I get up and say to him, quite clearly and unequivocally that I am a 
fully grown, large, muscular woman. A woman who works as a professional 
thug, no less. We have a safe word system so I can stop him if it gets 
too much - as if I couldn't stop him with ridiculous ease anyway. 

"I'm asking him to spank me as hard as he possibly can. Don't hold 
anything back, really hit me with all his strength. And he apologises and 
says he'll try again, and that it's just that he's not used to trying to 
hurt anyone, least of all someone he loves. But he's got it now, he'll do 
it right this time.

"So we adopt the position, and he asks again if I'm sure and if I'm 
ready. By this time I'm about ready to flip - I just yell at him I'm 
fucking ready, just fucking hit me! And he spanks me maybe a fraction of 
a degree heavier than before.

"I just snapped. I pushed him backwards onto the bed, clamber on top of 
him, flip him over and I begin to spank him. And I'm not gentle. I am 
seriously wound up and I just let rip. As you can imagine, I'm a fair bit 
stronger than he is, and I'm not holding back, I'm just slapping his arse 
as hard as I can. He is yelling, shouting out in surprise and pain, kind 
of an inarticulate yell."

"Oh God!" Rhea said, "did you hurt him?"

"Hurt him?" Lisa said, "the bastard was having an orgasm. I get a hold of 
myself after a few moments and stop. He's lying there face down, gasping. 
I turn him over, suddenly scared I've really hurt him, and he's still 
ejaculating everywhere. All over the fucking bed. Hurt him? I was about 
ready to punch him!

"I said to him, do you see now? Do you get it? And he just kind of nodded 
weakly."

"Did he at least spank you properly after that?" Christine asked.

Lisa sighed. "He tried, but it still wasn't quite what I was hoping for. 
The truth is, he's not strong enough to hurt me, no matter what he does. 
But it's not just that. I dunno, I guess the fact that I was having to 
dictate exactly what he was supposed to do just detracted from it 
somehow. Don't get me wrong, I mean, a man should be obedient and 
everything, but you still want him to have the wit to surprise you and 
come up with stuff to impress you. You want a man to show initiative."

They drove on a while, contemplating this, until Nita broke the silence. 
"What about you two?" she asked. Then, specifically at Christine, "You 
know it heals over if you don't use it often enough."

Rather pointedly, Christine didn't answer. 

Nita persisted, "I mean, seriously, when was the last time?"

"None of your business!"

"That long, huh?" Nita remarked, her voice dry. But then her tone became 
more tender. "I'm not getting at you, really. I just think you're denying 
yourself, that's all. At least I know what you're doing with that excess 
energy." She reached forward, past the chair, to knock on Christine's 
impressively developed shoulders. Not too sharply though, not wanting to 
distract her from driving. "Seriously, I've never seen you looking 
bigger."

"What happened to that guy Lisa set you up with?" Rhea asked. "The blind 
date. I thought you said that went really well."

"It did," Christine agreed. "And then the second date went even better. 
So well in fact that I went back to his place. We go up to the bedroom 
and we're playing around. I'm flexing for him and he's feeling my 
muscles. Next thing I know is he pulls a funny face, and the mood is 
broken, just like that. I ask him what's wrong. And then I notice the 
front of his trousers and the penny finally drops. I say that's fine, 
we'll try again. But he just kinda bustles me out and I go home, feeling 
disappointed and decidedly unsatisfied.

"We go out again and go back to his place again. He puts on some romantic 
music, we drink wine and chat and kiss, and I'm very careful about not 
getting him too worked up too soon. We slow dance and he's pressing up 
against me, really grinding away and so I pull back, but he says then 
that he loves my thighs and he runs a hand down the back of my leg. Then 
he basically grabs my leg and starts humping it like a horny dog. And a 
few seconds later he's gone off again.

"This time I'm pissed off. He just says he's sorry, but it was about to 
happen anyway, and in those last few moments he loses control. I ask if 
anything else is gonna happen tonight, and he just says no, he's done, 
but he promises it'll be better next time."

"Oh, God. I do hope that was the last time you saw him," Rhea said

"Actually, I saw him one more time. We went out for dinner, and I told 
him we needed to talk about it. He said he was really sorry, but he just 
needed to settle down around me. It was just that I was so amazingly hot 
that it wasn't possible for him to control himself. I just had that 
effect on him. He was very complementary and very apologetic and very 
reassuring that things would improve next time.

"Don't you believe it," Nita said with authority. "It's easy for them to 
promise that after they've shot their load. Unless he's willing to get on 
his knees and beg for forgiveness, he's not worth the time and trouble."

No one needed her to elaborate on this. They all knew Nita well enough to 
know what she meant by it.

"I told him I wanted to try something."

"What, this is still in the restaurant?" Nita asked, her voice sounding 
decidedly impressed.

Christine smiled, her voice becoming more evocative as she confessed. "I 
put my elbows on the table in front of me, my forearms down flat on the 
table. I told him to grab my biceps."

"Sleeves?" Lisa asked.

"Erm, yeah, long, but a thin cotton blouse. Anyway, he's groping my 
biceps, fingers splayed out in anticipation, and I can see he's excited, 
heavy breathing, pulse going wild."

"You can hardly blame him for that," Rhea said, "you're not exactly 
under-developed."

"Anyway, I start pumping, really squeezing hard, giving it all I can, 
making them peak as hard as I can. And I can see on his face that it's 
having the desired effect."

"What did everyone else in the restaurant make of this piece of careless 
foreplay?"

"It was pretty discreet; we were in a quiet corner. There was one couple 
close enough to see us. The woman looked like she barely lifted, the guy 
was looking totally envious of my date. And then she was pissed off at 
her partner for ogling me, but she was also looking at me kinda 
embarrassed as though she wanted to explain herself or something, like 
she knew she should hit the gym more often but never quite got around to 
it. I think they were both a bit shocked that we were doing that in 
public."

"It worked on your date though?"

"Yeah," Christine said. "While I was pumping I slipped my shoe off and 
put my foot between his legs. I swear, I couldn't finish a 100 metre 
sprint in the time it took him to come.

"I just grabbed my coat and walked out of there. Didn't look back."

"Well, I think it was very sweet of you to leave him with one last little 
thrill to remember you by," Rhea said. "I wouldn't have given him that."

"Actually, that wasn't the point," Christine admitted. "You see, he 
didn't have a jacket with him or anything, and he was wearing these 
really pale grey trousers."

Nita laughed, her voice rich. That was more to her taste. "OK, Rhea. Help 
us out here, one of us has to have something better than premature 
ejaculation to share."

"Sorry," Rhea told them. "I don't have any ejaculation to tell you about, 
premature or otherwise."

"What?" Nita sounded concerned. Like Lisa, Rhea was in a long term 
relationship.

"Last night was one of our off nights," Rhea said, as though this 
explained it.

"You're still doing that?" Lisa asked, sympathy in her voice. Nita and 
Christine however needed elaboration.

"Larry was complaining about all the sex we were having," Rhea told them. 
There was bitterness in this statement despite the dry humour; it 
indicated that this was an issue she'd yet to resolve with her partner.

"Yeah, don't you hate it when you're in a relationship with someone and 
they want to fuck you!"

Rhea sighed, ignoring the sarcasm, however sympathetically aimed. "Things 
were going great as far as I was concerned. The sex was great... the sex 
was fantastic! I mean, he's good. And I'm not bad either, even if I say 
so myself. And what's more, he'd never even had a bodybuilder before, his 
biggest girlfriend before me was barely even competition size. So you've 
got that whole other dimension of eroticism going on for him as well as 
all the normal attraction between couples."

"Showed the boy what a real woman was made of?" Nita said approvingly.

"You better believe it. But more than that, we just clicked in bed, you 
know. Everything sex is supposed to be - an extension of our love, a 
fully realised expression of our passion and longing to unite on a 
spiritual as well as a physical level. All that crap.

"However. Larry has to get up early in the mornings. Larry's job is very 
tiring. Larry loves me very much. But Larry isn't an athlete like I am. 
Larry loves having sex with me, he really does. But..." Her voice was a 
shrug.

"Larry can't keep up with Rhea," Nita finished helpfully.

"To be fair to the guy," Lisa put in, "that's not really that surprising. 
He is just a normal guy."

"And I'm abnormal?"

"No, you're not abnormal," Lisa said. "You're a normal, healthy, well 
developed woman, with normal drives and normal desires. You are however 
physically capable of acting upon and expressing those desires to a 
degree beyond which he's capable of achieving. You're not restricted by 
the same physical limitations that he is. I don't doubt that he'd want to 
engage with you on the same uninhibited, unrestrained level of intense 
frenzy at which you operate, but the unfortunate truth is, he can't."

Christine tried to stifle a giggle at this point. Nita slapped the back 
of her chair, Christine's laughter acting as a catalyst for her own.

Rhea twisted her head around and shot her friends a scowl, but she took 
it in good humour. "I know. He's only got a normal man's stamina and all 
that. Of course I know. Unless I start dating athletes or gymnasts, blah, 
blah. I've been here before and I dare say I'm not the only one." There 
were three murmurs of assent at this remark. "But it's just the way he 
proposed of dealing with it that got to me.

"He figured that the problem was that continued late and exhaustive 
nights had an accumulative detrimental effect - his wording, not mine - 
and that he just couldn't maintain that kind of ongoing physical labour. 
It was wearing him out."

"That's the problem with monogamy," Nita told them. "You see, I don't 
have that problem. Even if I'm repeat-dating guys, I have a rota in my 
head. Every farmer knows you don't kill a field by using it continuously, 
you rotate several fields over a long time, that way you don't suck them 
dry."

"Aw, that's so romantic," Christine laughed.

"One in three," Rhea stated bluntly, bringing the topic sharply back into 
focus. "He limited us to one night in three!"

"Jesus," Nita exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "That's inhuman."

"He said he needed a least a couple of days to recover."

"Are you making the most of the one night?" Christine asked.

"That's the thing," Rhea said, "because I'm having to wait so long, I've 
got all these pent up frustrations, all this excess sexual energy that 
needs to come out, so when I finally get him in my clutches, I've been 
tending to lay into him a little bit. It's still sweet and romantic, but 
there's now an added level of desperate fury and aggression that gets 
unleashed.

"What he's done is effectively made the single night a greater ordeal - 
however pleasurable an ordeal it may well be - than the combined total 
that the three nights would have been. Larry even said after the first 
time, 'Jesus, I thought you were savage before.' To be honest, I think 
he's actually made the problem worse."

"Did you tell him that?" Lisa asked.

"Well no. He kinda figured it out himself. He's now changed it to one 
night in four."

"Have you considered rape?" Nita asked, her voice perfectly reasonable. 
"After all, the only thing stopping you from having sex is that you're 
actually agreeing to this absurd system. What's he going to do? Stop you? 
I doubt you'll have much trouble getting his body to assent even if he's 
begging you not to."

"Well I figure what I'll do is really lay into him on the sex nights. I 
mean, hard and heavy - savage him as brutally as possible without 
actually damaging the man. If he thought he was getting beaten up before, 
just wait until I'm done. I'll drain his body like a vampire, leaving him 
a dry, desiccated husk of a man, unable to move let alone crawl to the 
phone to call in sick at work.

"Then I can tell him that the reason I can't ease up on him is because 
he's making me wait so long before we have sex. That all my frustrations 
and desires are building up to such an overwhelming degree that when we 
do finally get it on, I'm just exploding all over him. That the only way 
of toning it down a little bit is to lift the embargo."

"Either he'll see sense or he'll end up in hospital," Christine said.

"Either he'll see sense or I'll try Nita's idea and just start fucking 
him whether he lets me or not."

"You know it makes sense."




Jason listened to all this. The easy chat of the women, the candid personal 
talk was so unabashed, it was as if they had completely forgotten he was 
sitting there in their midst. It was frightening because it showed how 
little he meant to them. He was nothing but a package for them to pick up 
and process. And he had little doubt that they were capable of all manner 
of evil, should that be their brief. Not just simply their supreme 
physical capacity to do whatever they wanted to him, but the emotional 
capacity. If he meant so little to these women then they would have 
absolutely no compunction about despatching or torturing him in whatever 
vicious manner took their fancy.

The eroticism of the sex talk wasn't lost on him however, as Nita 
noticed. With her far arm, the one not intimately resting behind his 
head, she reached across and grabbed the bulge in his trousers. She did 
this with an unnecessarily tight grip, her strong fingers quite obviously 
capable of rendering this the last erection he ever got should she so 
wish.

"Hey Rhea," Nita said, tugging Jason with unnecessary roughness. "Looks 
like this guy would be willing to service you." And she turned to him, 
shifting the intimate crush of her breast hard against him, serving to 
preserve his erection even despite his terror.

"Would you like that?" she asked him teasingly, flattening her palm 
against his bulging crotch and massaging it gently. "You'd like her to 
rape you, wouldn't you?"

"I'd break him!"

"What about me?" Nita asked, her voice a soft, mocking coo. "Am I more to 
your tastes? I could rape you and smother you at the same time. You'd 
enjoy that. If you had to die, wouldn't that be on the top of your list 
of preferred methods?"

She squeezed the bicep that still lay behind his head, making the peak 
harden and shove his body forward a few inches.

"Do you like that? Do you like muscular women?"

Did he like muscular women?

Jason had lost his virginity to a prostitute when he was twenty-three. 
She had flexed for him before the act and let him play with her muscles. 
Before the grand finale she first made him come with her bicep. She'd 
then wiped him clean and tenderly stirred him back into action, before 
finally shedding him of his boyhood. He guessed she'd sensed his 
virginity immediately and throughout the session she had treated him 
accordingly. She had taken her time with him and made the act almost 
ceremonial. Despite her commanding and authoritative demeanour (again 
correctly gauging what he desired of her) she was never less than tender 
and reassuring.

All of his girlfriends since then had lacked any real muscle, though some 
at least had worked out to maintain a respectable physique. But it was as 
if he just couldn't attract fit women. His last girlfriend had barely 
even been stronger then he was, actually struggling to overpower him 
(although she had finally succeeded in the end, preserving her ego.) 
Jason had found himself more and more often of late thinking back to that 
first encounter with the prostitute and wondering how much they charged 
these days.

Who knew how far Nita's toying would have gone had they not been 
interrupted. Looking back on the scenario later that night, he wondered 
whether she would have gotten bored with him before she actually brought 
him to climax; she certainly seemed to enjoy the effortless power she had 
over him. But as soon as they were distracted, she released him, 
forgetting about him once more and switching her full attention to the 
new entertainment.

"Fucking twat!" Christine hissed. "Piss off you little shit."

Given that this was accompanied by the sharp judder of breaks, making 
them all lurch in their seats, the cause of her sudden rage was almost 
certainly another driver.

The Mini continued forward, not having actually stopped, just breaking 
suddenly. Lisa peered forward, but there was no obvious culprit ahead of 
them.

"Tailgater," Christine explained, her tone apologetic. "I tend to brake 
for tailgaters. Bad habit, I know, but they have to learn."

The two women in the back twisted around. The motion crushed Jason even 
harder into the seat cushions but they seemed oblivious to his 
discomfort. A Ford was close behind, a large man sat behind the wheel 
looking shaken by Christine's stunt.

They were on a larger road now but the traffic was still sporadically 
backing up, the occasional pauses making the journey frustrating enough 
anyway without aggressive drivers. 

As they continued, Christine focused on the rear-view mirror, getting 
more and more agitated. "I don't believe it, he's still doing it. What is 
wrong with this guy? Get off my arse you fucking tosser."

Nita turned again. The Ford was only a few feet behind them. She laughed, 
shaking her head. It was an expression of incredulity rather than 
amusement. "He's really not having it."

Christine had slowed, her driving becoming over cautious to compensate 
for the carelessness of the man following. It succeeded in making the 
Ford driver even more frustrated.

"I don't think he liked that," Nita told them. The man had recovered and 
was looking angry now. Nita contributed to the situation by pressing her 
middle finger against the rear window and giving the driver a savage, 
sardonic grin. "Road rage at six o'clock."

"I'll give him fucking road rage," Christine hissed. She slammed the 
brakes again. The Ford bucked in turn, coming close to piling into their 
rear end.

"Honey," Lisa said, her voice calm, though serious, "we don't actually 
want him to hit us."

"Relax. That's what the crumple zone is for."

"This is a Mini!"

"There is a crumple zone on a Mini," Christine pointed out helpfully. It 
was an old joke, one Jason had heard before. He was almost tempted to 
offer it, glad that the focus of these women's aggressions had switched 
to another. 

"Where?" Lisa demanded.

Rhea had heard the joke before as well. "That area between the front 
headlights and the rear bumper."

"And he's still there," Christine said, not believing it.

"Chris, he's doing it deliberately now. He's not going to ease off."

"You're right," she sighed. She hit the brakes again and this time 
brought the car to a complete halt there in the middle of the road.

She snapped off the safety belt, clicked open the door and stepped out of 
the car.

Jason saw her properly for the first time. Christine was not as tall as 
the other women, but was no less muscular. Jeans and a tight vest clung 
to a physique that was of competition size and density; a hard, stocky 
mass of solid, condensed muscle.

Her thick biceps were tattooed, wavy black streaks snaking along the 
lines of her sinewy definition. To Jason they looked like patterns from 
some tribal tradition, intricate, bold shapes like wire or vines. Her 
nose was studded as were her ears, piercings at the lobes and lined 
around the back and top. Her hair was cropped short, spiked and jet 
black. 

Despite all this - despite the expression of savage wrath she currently 
wore - Jason couldn't help but sense a sweetness about this fearsome 
woman, a kind of na�ve innocence that was not present, at least not as 
obvious, in any of the other women, especially the more sensual Nita.

What was about to go down behind them however, was far from sweet, he was 
sure. The three women were craning their necks to see. From his position, 
still effectively pinned down, it was hard to twist about and he had to 
almost wrick his neck. But he didn't want to miss the show any more than 
the others did.

The Ford driver had skidded slightly as he halted, veering a little to 
the side. He had come within a foot of the Mini's rear, a detail 
Christine noted as she strode meaningfully past.

He wound down his window, wisely choosing to stay inside his car. He 
looked shocked by the sudden change in situation, realising that 
behaviour occasionally has consequences. What's more, the sight of 
Christine's massive muscles clearly put him on his guard. He started to 
say something but from inside the Mini his words were inaudible.

Despite his fear, he was also pissed off and appeared to be sounding off. 
Christine was having none of it though. She punched the man, slamming her 
fist through the open window and smashing him cleanly in the face.

Even from a distance it was clear to all witnesses, in front and behind, 
that the man was knocked out cold.

Christine then grabbed the man and began tugging at him. She realised his 
seatbelt was fastened. In a move akin to a magician's slight-of-hand, she 
produced a butterfly-knife with her free hand. She made the elaborate 
three-way flick to open the blade and used the weapon to slice the man 
free.

Then, while replacing the knife in her back pocket, she hauled the man 
out of his vehicle, a one-handed tug that violently dragged him through 
the open window.

He was large - tall and heavily built, but the shorter, stockier 
bodybuilder still easily held him aloft one-handed, the unconscious man 
swaying a little in her grip.

She threw him down across the bonnet of his car. For a few moments she 
seemed to be debating with herself whether or not to give him another 
smack, just for good measure. If that was the case, she thought better of 
it, considering all the witnesses avidly watching her every move. She 
turned around and headed back to the Mini.

Throughout the whole performance, no other driver had got out of their 
cars, even though traffic had quickly backed up. Either people sided with 
Christine in her punishment of bad driving, or (more likely) they didn't 
want to risk inciting her wrath. 
 
She started the Mini again and pulled off. No one tailgated them.

"Good job we're keeping a low profile," Lisa remarked, dryly.

"You want to drive next time? We'll take your car."

"More room in my car," Lisa muttered. But she spoke in good humour, there 
was no hostility in it.




When they got onto the motorway it was better; the Mini finally started 
moving properly. The speed gave them a bit of breeze at least.

Nita moved her face in the rush of air, glad for it, fanning her breasts 
with the skimpy top again. Jason made a supreme effort not to watch.

"You ever notice," she asked, "how if you stick a dog in a car it wants 
to hang its head out the window, yet if you blow in a dog's face, it gets 
annoyed?"

"No," Lisa told her. "I've never noticed that. Have you? Do you often 
blow in dogs' faces?"

"I prefer cats to dogs," Christine said.

That made Nita giggle. Lisa gave her an odd look. "What?"

Still laughing, Nita apologised, trying to explain, "sorry, it just made 
me think of that guy."

Christine groaned.

"What?"

"Tell them," Nita insisted.

"Noooo."

"Christine was dating this guy a while back. He was into cats too!"

"That's the last time I go to you for advice!" she complained. But she 
sighed and began relating the story. "He was just this geeky kid," she 
said. "We were getting on really well. He was into all these weird 
cartoons and odd art stuff. Nothing too wrong with that. I did think it a 
little odd that he had so many stuffed toys. But, you know, each to their 
own. Then he suggests we try dress-up and I thought, yeah, OK, that might 
be fun.

"But then he got out this costume, a leotard but it was all fluffy and 
leggings to go with it plus the ears and tail and whiskers."

"The fact that he already had the costume ready for you didn't clue you 
in?" Nita asked, still giggling uncontrollably.

"Actually, I did look pretty good, even if I say so myself. Some weird 
bestial Superheroine. But I think muscles in tight anything is kinda 
cool. At least he liked it. He was very... pleased, let's say."

"I bet he was!"

"I tell you what though, the sex was amazing. The costumes weren't my 
thing at all but he was fucking wild! I was more than willing to go along 
just because of what they did for him."

"He dressed up too?"

"Oh yeah, he had a whole furry identity online. There's a real community 
for this shit."

"That's the thing about the internet," Rhea said. "No matter how bizarre 
or out there your fetish might be, you can guarantee someone else also 
has it too and they've gone online and built a fucking website about it. 
Seriously, there was this documentary I watched once about men who get 
off on cars. Not like most men normally get off on cars but are actually 
literally sexually aroused by cars and they fuck them. Not fucking in 
cars but literally having sex with a car."

"And if you go to furry sites, you can look at pictures of Christine the 
cat," Nita pointed out, getting the conversation back on track.

"Seriously?" Lisa gasped, seeing by Christine's embarrassment that it was 
indeed true.

"He begged me to let him post the pictures on-line," she told them. 
"Which I refused. But he kept pleading and in the end I agreed as long as 
my face is obscured. He used Photoshop to cover my face with more 
catified features. You wouldn't recognise it as me unless you already 
knew."

"I can't believe you went along with it!"

"He was a really nice guy, and completely normal except the cat thing."

"Quite a big thing though."

"Yeah. And it did become a problem in the end. You know, I think it would 
have been OK if it was just his own little hobby, something he was happy 
to do himself. I could have got used to that without any real issue. But 
he needed to share it with me. He wanted someone who actually enjoyed it 
all as much as he did. It wasn't enough that I accepted it, or even that 
I'd join in for his sake. He needed to actually involve me and it just 
wasn't my thing."

"I can't believe how accommodating you are!" Lisa exclaimed. "Christ, did 
he know how lucky he was that you even tried it and dressed up for him? 
You were definitely too good for him. You make the rest of us look bad."

"Gotta admit," Nita joined in, "if a guy even suggested I do that for 
him, I'd probably punch him to death."

Christine sighed. "Why is it so hard to find a normal guy who likes 
normal women?"

"Well you can have one of mine if you like," Nita offered. "I'm sure I 
could spare a few. We'll go through my little black book."

"No offence..."

"You're too picky. What, don't want used goods?"

"Used up, more like!" Rhea laughed. She was focusing on her mobile again 
as she joined in. She must have had a sat-nav on her phone as she used it 
to pin-point precise directions to their location. She dictated to 
Christine. They were close now.




They pulled off the motorway again, winding their way through town and 
then to a row of cheap houses.

It was a quiet residential street but parked cars lined both sides.

"Great, nowhere to park," Christine muttered.

"How about there?" Rhea suggested, pointing out a tiny gap between two 
cars. 

The car behind was a Toyota and had typically taken up way too much 
space. If the driver had backed up just a little more, then the space in 
front would be usable. It was of course feasible that this wasn't in fact 
the driver's fault, other cars may have parked afterwards. But given 
Christine's experience of Toyota drivers, she'd be willing to make a bet 
on it and was still happy to curse them.

"I can't get in there!" she protested.

"Sure you can," Rhea assured her. "Just get the nose in, I'll swing you 
around."

So Christine parked with the front of the Mini in the space, the rear end 
still sticking out into traffic. There really was no room to manoeuvre.

"OK guys, I'll be back in a tick," Rhea told them getting out and 
slamming the door shut. None of the other women offered to help. Not 
because they didn't want to, they just knew she didn't need it.

First thing Rhea did was walk around to the back of the Mini. Jason tried 
to twist his head around to see what she was doing. Next thing he knew, 
the whole car had been lifted from behind. The rear end was carried and 
neatly swung into line with the kerb.

Rhea walked past, dusting her hands on her obscenely tight jeans, wiping 
them against her muscular round buttocks.

She walked up the path of a garden so wild and unkempt it made the 
building itself look derelict. She rang the doorbell and waited. When 
there was no response she rang again. Impatiently she shielded her eyes 
against the sunlight and tried to peer through the frosted glass window 
on the door.

She turned back to the car and shrugged. She made a gesture that she was 
trying the back, and promptly disappeared from view around the side of 
the house.

None of the other women seemed much bothered by Rhea's predicament. 
Christine was humming to herself, tapping the steering wheel. Lisa was 
picking at her nails, bored. Nita was looking out at a house opposite. 

There were a couple of builders apparently working on a garage 
conversion. They were both well built guys and in the day's heat had 
stripped off their vests to expose their weathered, sweating bodies to 
the sunlight.

Apparently impressed by the sight, Nita gave a high whistle, waving to 
the men as they looked up to see the Mini and its occupants. They 
whistled back, nudging each other.

Nita had turned in her seat and was leaning forward. She did this as 
though she was completely unaware that the tops of her boobs were 
pressing against the glass.

The guys however had spotted something else they liked the look of too. 
One was making a flexing gesture towards them. It was clear he wasn't 
trying to pose himself, rather he was asking the women in the car to 
oblige.

Never one to disappoint, Nita lent back from the window a little, making 
sure her arm was visible from outside the car. She didn't appear to be 
the slightest bit bothered by the fact that doing so squashed Jason so 
thoroughly that he thought he would be completely crushed.

That did not however prevent him from admiring the view from behind. 

Nita's body was incredibly tight. When she flexed, the bulge was 
startling, her bicep a sharp peak swelling out from her deceptively 
slender arm.

Sitting just inches away from such an impressive and sensuous display of 
femininity and strength, Jason felt his excitement stirred once more. 
Were he to lean forward he'd be able to plant a shivering kiss on the top 
of that surprisingly large bicep. Despite his fear and his awe of these 
women, he couldn't help but feel unmitigated lust for them too.

It did occur to him briefly that he could shout out for help. He 
dismissed the idea quickly though. Even if the builders were inclined to 
get involved with his predicament (which was in itself highly unlikely) 
the three women were undoubtedly more than a match for them. In fact, he 
highly doubted it would even take all three, just one of the women would 
be more than enough.

No. Better to wait it out and try to deal with the situation once they 
finally arrived at their destination.

The builders were whistling and applauding Nita's highly impressive and 
highly alluring pose. She grinned and blew them a kiss, then tapped the 
seat in front of her.

"Don't be a spoil-sport," she insisted.

Reluctantly, Christine faced the men. She was blushing slightly. Jason 
was actually taken aback that the woman he'd just witness fearlessly face 
a man down before carelessly knocking him unconscious with a single blow, 
could now be so shy and retiring.

Giggling embarrassedly, she put her arm out of the open window, squeezing 
tight and bringing her forearm up. Jason couldn't see the flex from his 
vantage point but from the impressed and appreciative reaction from the 
men, it must have been suitably arresting.

Christine blushed a little but gave them a sheepish wave.

"Way to keep a low profile guys," Lisa moaned.

"What are they going to do, ID us?" Nita sneered, dismissively.

"Well, yeah!"

"Oh I know I'll recognise her again officer. She was hot and she had nice 
biceps. So did her friend."

"They're false plates," Christine offered, trying to appease.

"It's unprofessional."

"It's irrelevant. We're just having fun."

Rhea strode back up to the car. She lifted the back of the car and walked 
it back out into the road. This was met by whoops and cheers from the men 
standing opposite. Rhea curtsied playfully.

She opened the passenger door but didn't get inside. "The back opens out 
onto a footpath," she told them. "It goes behind all the houses and then 
onto a cul-de-sac. There must be a turning up ahead somewhere. Take the 
car down there and I'll meet you."

If any of the other women noticed that her bright T-shirt was now darkly 
spattered with blood, they saw no reason to make mention of the fact.

Christine nodded and started the engine. As Rhea disappeared back up the 
garden path, the Mini pulled away and headed down the road.

They found the cul-de-sac, angling back on themselves, and drove to the 
end. Rhea was ready and waiting at the end of the footpath, shadowed by 
trees. She saw the Mini and headed out towards them. She was carrying an 
unconscious man slumped over her shoulder.

Rhea walked past to the rear of the car and opened the boot. Jason could 
not imagine that the boot of a Mini was a particularly large space. Rhea 
seemed to be having some trouble fitting him inside, roughly folding 
limbs down and using brute force to close the boot. Suddenly being 
squashed between Lisa and Nita didn't seem quite such a bad place to be 
after all.

Rhea got back into the car and Christine pulled away.

"So what happened?" Lisa asked.

"He was a bleeder. Honestly, I barely tapped him. He just bucked and then 
sprayed blood all over me. Chris, you wanna stop at a public toilet 
somewhere, I'll try and wash some of it out. I shouldn't really go around 
like this."

"I've got another top," Christine told her. "Check under the seat."

Rhea did so, pulling out a small gym-bag. Towel, toiletries, shorts and a 
work-out top. A slim fragment of cloth that looked barely capable of 
covering a small woman, let alone Christine.

"OK, great, but I still need to stop and change."

"Change here," Christine told her, "I'll stick to quiet roads, make sure 
we don't pull up next to an old people's home or anything."

"I'm not wearing a bra," Rhea protested. Then, as Christine cast her a 
glance at this admission. "Well it's not like I need one. Do you?"




So they headed towards the centre instead, seeking out rows of shops. 
They found a public toilet and Rhea quickly slipped inside.

The others waited patiently for her, idly watching the world go by.

Jason saw a woman being followed by two boys. They were in their late 
teens, maybe even their early twenties. The woman was probably under 
thirty. She had a stunningly attractive body and was undoubtedly aware of 
the excited scrutiny her bouncy short skirt and spaghetti-strapped top 
was currently causing. For someone who didn't know she was being watched 
she certainly had an awful lot of sway to her hips, walking with a 
knowing flirt. If she was unaware of the excitable boys right behind her, 
then she was reaching up to brush her hand through her hair, her 
remarkable bicep popping hard and round every time, far more often than 
was strictly necessary.

She stopped at a crossroad, considering directions, pulling out an A to Z 
and regarding it carefully. The boys saw their opportunity and rushed 
forward to introduce themselves, good Samaritans eager to lend their 
assistance. With a definite sense of accomplishment she made a 
flirtatious greeting.

Jason wasn't the only one to have noticed.

"Very smoothly done," Lisa remarked approvingly.

"Two to one," Nita pointed out, "always good odds."

A little way off a traffic warden was slowly working his way down the 
line of parked cars, checking each of them, wielding his electronic 
notebook like it was a weapon. Despite the heat he was in full uniform, 
hat, boots and jacket.

"Good job Rhea didn't see him," Christine remarked, "you know how she 
hates traffic wardens."

Nita snorted a laugh. "You say that as if no one else does. I mean, does 
anyone actually like traffic wardens?" 

Christine shrugged. "They're just doing a job. Probably a very difficult 
and stressful job."

"Oh stop, you're breaking my heart. He has a tough time of it? Good! End 
of the day, he chooses to do it. He deserves everything he gets."

"People only get a ticket if they break the law," Christine insisted. 
"It's just like people who complain about speed cameras. If you don't 
like getting a ticket then don't speed. It's not that hard to 
understand."

Rhea emerged at that point. In the tiny strap of Lycra her muscular body 
was even more on display than ever. Her shoulders bulging huge and round, 
her broad chest stretching the fabric taut and the incredible washboard 
beneath, rippling like liquid steel.

She was about to get in the car when she saw the traffic warden. She 
changed her mind then, and carried on down the road, heading towards him.

The warden was too busy with his machine to notice this encroaching 
monster, happily filling in the details of a Bentley that had gone 
overtime. 

He ripped off the printout and put it on with relish, taking obvious 
pleasure in his job. The fact that it was a Bentley clearly gave him a 
sense of achievement and it was easy to imagine him relating the story to 
his colleagues back at the office.

He looked up to see the poetry in motion that was Rhea, skimpy and 
bulging, her tanned body glistening in the midday heat.

His jaw dropped at the visual beauty on display, the pleasure of his 
accomplishment momentarily forgotten. Then he noticed the expression this 
woman wore and his own expression flipped instantly from joy to fear.

He backed away as Rhea closed but somehow managed to face her, though he 
was visibly quaking as he did so.

"Is your mother proud of you?" Rhea demanded.

"I'm just doing my job," he said, his voice very small and very weak.

"Can you give me a single reason why I shouldn't punch your fucking 
lights out?"

"There's no need for that," he insisted.

"It's not about need," Rhea told him, her voice savage, "it's about want. 
Is this what you wanted to be when you grew up? Is this really what you 
aspired to? Does it give you a fulfilling and satisfying life knowing how 
much misery you bring into people's lives?"

She didn't see that behind her a man had walked up to the Bentley.

"If you don't want a ticket then make sure there's enough money in the 
meter," he told her, but his voice trailed as he was saying it, glancing 
past her.

"Are you trying to provoke me? Is that it? Have you got the slightest 
idea of how much damage I could do to you if I wanted to?"

She trailed off too, turning to see what had caught his attention.

The man had taken the ticket, cursed under his breath and got into the 
Bentley with a sigh, paying the arguing pair no mind.

As they watched, the Bentley pulled away.

"It's not your car!" the warden stated redundantly.

"I didn't say it was," Rhea pointed out. There was less venom in her 
voice now, as though trying to keep from giggling.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't like traffic wardens?"

He had no answer for that, his face screwing into one of utter defeat. He 
just turned around and walked away. 

Rhea hesitated as if debating whether or not to follow. She went back to 
the Mini instead.

"What was the point of that?" Lisa asked.

"If you can't torture traffic wardens whenever you see one, then where is 
the fun in life?"




They drove on. 

Jason was hopelessly lost by now, but they didn't know that.

"Blindfold him," Rhea instructed. "We don't want him to see where the 
warehouse is."

"Blindfold?" Nita asked. "What you mean...?" She made a very ominous 
gesture with her hands, as though cupping a head between them, then 
plunging both thumbs forward with savage purpose.

"No!" Rhea hissed, almost shocked. She'd twisted in her seat to see the 
motion that Nita was making and she eyed the woman suspiciously not 
entirely sure whether or not she was joking. "With a blindfold!"

"Do you happen to have a blindfold?" Lisa asked.

Rhea grabbed her T-shirt. "Use this," she said, and passed it back.

It was a little damp. Rhea had apparently attempted to sponge out the 
worst of the blood, though it was still heavily spattered.

Lisa regarded Jason. "Face that way," she ordered coldly, as though he 
wasn't helplessly pinned to the spot.

She saw his predicament and eased her mighty bulk aside a little, 
allowing him to twist in the seat and turn his back to her. He was now 
facing Nita who winked salaciously at him, smiling in mock seduction. A 
shiver ran down his spine, despite the heat. He had the horrible feeling 
that should she have been required to blind him then not only would the 
task have been effortless for her but she would have actually enjoyed it.

The T-shirt was wrapped around his head. Lisa had rolled it up tight and 
with it still being damp the shirt was like a rope, harsh and rough 
against his face.

Jason had his eyes shut tight but even so, the cloth bit terribly against 
his face and cheeks. Lisa pulled it closed behind his head and he almost 
cried out in pain. She pulled it so tightly that it felt as though his 
skull would crack open and his brains spurt out the top in some sort of 
gruesome fountain.

"That should do it," she said. Her voice was also partly muffled by the 
T-shirt inadvertently covering his ears as well as his eyes.

Jason thought he was going to collapse. He felt dizzy and his vision had 
begun to sparkle. Lights and shapes exploded in his head like fireworks. 

He was roughly thrown back against the seat, two mammoth shoulders pinned 
him down once more.

The car carried on and Jason had no hope of knowing where they were 
going. The women chatted some more but he didn't follow it. He was 
beginning to feel nauseous. 

Presently the car came to a halt. Even muffled, the sound of the car 
edging forward took on an enclosed echo, and he knew that wherever they 
were, it was somewhere inside. He remembered the word 'warehouse' being 
used and he surmised that wherever 'there' was, they were now 'there'.

Then car doors again, seats being released, and the massive weight 
squashing him down into the seat was lifted as the women got out the car. 
Rather than a relief, this filled him with an overwhelming sense of 
dread.

"Stay!" he was ordered by Lisa. He had no intention of doing anything but 
obey her. 

Then he heard the boot. They had left the car doors open and he could 
hear all this clearly. He felt the shake and shift of weight as the man 
was pulled out. He was awake now. There was a cry and a scuffle which was 
followed by a heavy slap and a feminine laugh.

"Be a good boy," Nita said, that bizarre tone which aimed halfway between 
a flirt and a physical threat. Though in her mind, the two things were 
doubtlessly inextricably linked. "Otherwise..." and she trailed off. Her 
voice became a genuine question. "Actually, how are you supposed to 
threaten a guy when he knows you're about to beat him to death?"

"I never threaten people," Rhea replied, and you could actually hear the 
careless shrug in her voice. "I just go ahead and assault them. Why give 
them any warning?"

There was a thump of furniture, followed by Rhea saying, "OK, sit him 
here."

"Sit!" instructed Nita, as though she was talking to a dog. And she 
laughed again.

Christine asked, "Should we tie him up?"

Lisa answered her. "Yeah, use this."

"OK, come here, you."

"Do it behind his back," Lisa corrected. "In fact, thread the loop 
through the back of the chair too so he's actually tied to it." 

"OK," Christine agreed. Then Jason heard the plastic rip of a zip-tie 
being tightened.

"Chris, have you got my gloves?" Nita asked.

"In the car. The glove box, of all places."

Jason heard her come over. There was the judder of the car responding to 
her weight, then the glove box was opened and rifled through. He heard an 
exclamation of success and her retreat.

The man's voice spoke, dazed and woozy. "Please," he said in a slurred 
sob, "please you don't have to do this."

Another heavy slap answered him, making him cry out in a gasp of pain.

"Get that other chair." Nita said. "No, not like that. Put it facing 
him... a bit closer... that's it."

There was a scuffle of the second chair against the concrete floor. 

"What are you doing?" Christine asked. Her voice was a little wary now. 
Unlike the other woman, there was no joy apparent in her tone.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Nita asked her, full of malicious 
glee.

The man had apparently worked it out however, he began hollering and 
struggling, begging them to stop, promising bribes and threats. Appealing 
to any mercy they might possess.

"Someone hold his shoulders," Nita ordered, a sadistic anticipation all 
too apparent in her voice. "Chris, you support the other chair and hold 
his foot so his heel doesn't slip off of the seat."

Then Lisa's voice, calm and gentle. "It's OK Chris, I'll take it," as she 
moved around the others.

The man's was screaming "NO" over and over, raw panic. It made Jason 
shudder to hear it. That savage fear. And worse, the thought that he was 
next.

And then he heard the crunch. There was no mistaking the sound, nor the 
difference in the man's screams after that. Fear and apprehension 
switched over into agonised pain.

And Nita's laughter continued throughout.

"You're evil," Rhea told her, though her voice was one of amusement 
rather than genuine reproach. "Let me do the other one."

"Can we shut him up first?" Lisa asked.

There was the sound of duct-tape and then the screams became muffled. 

The second crunch wasn't the end of it, they'd only just begun. Next 
there was a series of flat thuds - hard flesh impacts. Jason could only 
imagine what they were doing to the man but it sounded bad. It was made 
far worse by the fact that they continued to laugh and chat throughout. 

It wasn't long before the muffle cries of pain had ceased altogether 
although the beating continued undiminished, the women not faltering in 
the jubilant zeal with which they went about their task.

Though he couldn't be sure, he didn't recognise Christine's voice 
anywhere in the baying ensemble. He wondered if she was actually still 
participating and he didn't have to wait long for his suspicion to be 
confirmed.

He smelt smoke, a cigarette - felt the weight in the car shift.

"You're actually lucky that you're blindfolded," Christine told him. "You 
really don't want to be seeing this." Her voice was level and controlled. 
So meticulously so in fact that it sounded almost mechanical.

Jason didn't know if he was expected to answer her. He remained silent, 
just in case. He'd judged her the least savage of the four but she was 
still an unspeakably dangerous woman. He remembered the careless ease 
with which she had punched the tailgater unconscious and then hauled him 
from his car.

"We got a call," she told him. "It seems there was a miscommunication, we 
shouldn't have been sent to retrieve you. You'll be glad to know you're 
off the hook." 

Despite the offbeat way she delivered this, the awesome significance of 
its meaning was not lost on him. He could have laughed, he could have 
cried. He wanted to yell out in exultant joy.

"Messages kinda crossed in the mail. It happens. I'll drive you back once 
I've finished this."

He presumed she meant the cigarette. So Jason sat there and waited, 
listening to the dull impact thuds of muscle-bound women beating on a man 
who was quite probably already dead. He waited with joy and gratitude in 
his heart.




The weight in the car shifted again. He heard one door slammed shut, and 
then the other.

"OK," Christine told him, "here we go."

And the Mini started up and drove out of the warehouse once more, with 
Jason alive and well in the back seat, glorying at all the space he had 
to spread out in.

"You can take the blindfold off now, if you want," she told him.

It was easier said than done. The woman who'd fastened it was 
considerably stronger than he was and she'd tightened it so hard that he 
could barely get a hold on the knot.

But he worried away at it, taking his time to find the loop and ease it a 
millimetre at a time, incrementally loosening it until, finally, the T-
shirt fell away.

Jason sighed in delight. His head seemed to pulse as the pressure was 
finally released. Together with the euphoric high of just being alive, he 
wondered if this was the kind of rush that junkies felt when they shot 
up. If that pleasure came anything close to this, it was no wonder they 
were junkies.

Christine glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. She laughed. It was a 
sparkling sound, rich and glittery.

"Sorry," she giggled, grinning brightly, "it's just your hair."

Jason shifted his head to catch his reflection and saw what she meant, 
the bizarre pineapple effect the blindfold had given him. He couldn't 
help joining her laughter. Relief and giddy delight overwhelming him.

"Believe me, my hair is not a problem," he laughed. "It's the last thing 
I'm bothered about."

"I'm Christine, by the way," she offered. It was way past the point of 
introductions but there was something incredibly sweet and endearing 
about the fact that she did so."

"Jason," he told her.

"Yeah, I know," she said, grinning sheepishly, exchanging a quick glance 
with him via the mirror. "I was sent to retrieve you, remember."

A slightly awkward silence then. And Jason sensed that she did feel 
awkward about it, as absurd as that was.

"Can I ask a serious question?"

"Sure," she assured him. "I mean, I can't promise that I'll be able to 
answer, but you can ask."

"It wasn't really a mix-up was it?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, and there was a suspicious edge in her 
voice.

"It was a warning. It was a way of showing me what might happen if I 
don't play ball. You knew there was no reason to pick me up, but you made 
me think they'd been some confusion so that I'd have to witness what you 
did to that other guy."

"You're saying we did it like that deliberately?"

"Yes, I think you did."

"Well. In that case, I'd say you have a suspicious mind."

Jason sighed. He realised that she wasn't going to confirm or deny what 
he'd said. But the way she dismissed it made him all the more certain 
that he was correct.

"I would never..." he began, but he left it there. Promises meant 
nothing. And at the end of the day, what this woman really thought didn't 
mean anything anyway. She just followed orders. She picked up the guys 
they told her too. And she and her compatriots despatched them.

"Well, this is you," she said, her voice still a little on edge.

"You want to come up for a coffee?" he suggested. The words were out of 
his mouth before he even realised what he was saying.

She appeared genuinely surprised by the suggestion, but there was 
something else there too. He saw that she was genuinely touched by the 
gesture. It was as though within the offer he was on some level forgiving 
her for her part in all the threat and deception, forgiving her for the 
ordeal she had just put him through.

"OK, why not."

And she parked the car properly and they both got out. She locked the 
Mini and followed him up to his flat.

"Third floor," he apologised.

"I can handle it," she assured him, dryly. 

He smiled. Her legs were, after all, probably twice the circumference as 
his even though they were roughly equal heights.

On the third floor as he pulled out his door key he glanced at the woman 
standing just beside him. She happened to be brushing her finger across 
the side of her cropped hairline. It was almost a nervous gesture, 
perhaps with long hair she'd be running her hand through it now.

The effect the gesture had on her arm was dramatic, the thick bicep 
rolling and swelling, alive with bulky power. Jason missed the keyhole, 
too distracted by the sight.

Christine noticed his scrutiny then and grinned playfully. "You never did 
answer Nita, whether you like muscular women or not."

"No... I didn't," he murmured, not taking his eyes from the sight of that 
mighty arm.

She squeezed the bicep tight, making it pop into a solid round ball of 
boulder-like muscle.

He pulled an awed expression, so enraptured it was almost a wince of 
pain.

She laughed and retracted the arm, allowing him to focus on the door once 
more and finally unlock it.

"Holy fuck!" he muttered, as though to himself.

Once inside the small but comfortable flat he said, "It's too hot for 
coffee, how about a proper drink. A beer, good to cool down on a hot 
day."

"I shouldn't, I'm driving," she said, though her tone assured him that 
she could be persuaded if he made the effort.

And he knew just the way to persuade her. "No, not beer. I've got some 
Pimms. A chilled Pimms and lemonade. Tell me that isn't the drink for a 
lazy summer afternoon. You're allowed to have one."

"OK," she giggled, "but just one."

"Go through there." 

The room he pointed out was not his living room but his bedroom.

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me," she said, putting on a haughty tone. 
"Just what sort of girl do you think I am?"

He laughed. "No, go right through. The far door... there."

She saw where he meant and realised that it led through to a balcony. It 
was small but there was enough room for two garden chairs. The view 
wasn't bad either.

Christine stopped short however, her attention caught by a large print on 
his bedroom wall. It was a framed picture, a blown up photograph.

She paused before it, putting on a pensive expression. "Very... arty," 
she offered.

"Ah that," he said, and the apology was already in his voice. "In my 
defence it's not just gratuitous nudity. I was the photographer."

It was a black and white shot. The woman standing boldly, one arm 
resolutely covering both breasts with hand and forearm, the other resting 
her hand on her hip, the solid bicep rigid and bristling. Her hair was 
sleek, a smooth flow behind her head, hooked behind her ears and straight 
down to her powerful shoulders. She was completely naked, wearing an 
expression of confrontational strength, her muscled thighs unabashed at 
the pubic triangle where they met.

"Very moody," Christine said. "Girlfriend?"

"No, actually, a professional. Once upon a time I wanted to be an artist. 
We had mutual friends who put us together. She posed for a set of shots 
and I did her portfolio for her in return."

Christine went out onto the balcony, making herself comfortable. Jason 
went and got the drinks returning quickly with a tray, a large jug, two 
chilled glasses, ice-cubes clinking.

They made careless small talk and neither one mentioned who Christine 
worked for or the manner in which Jason dealt with them. Some things just 
weren't seemly conversational topics. Not after a single glass at least.

And when both glasses were empty, he offered her a refill. "I shouldn't," 
she insisted, but when he filled it anyway and offered it to her, she 
didn't refuse.

The sun was still hot and the view pleasant. After the stresses and 
strains of earlier, didn't they both deserve a little down time?

"Do you have to get back to your friends? I mean, weren't you the 
driver?"

"No," she said. She didn't elaborate and he certainly didn't push her on 
it. Besides, he was glad she didn't have to rush off, he was enjoying her 
company. 

Christine was genuinely sweet. Her personality seemed to him incongruous 
with her profession, even if her powerful physique was not. He was 
surprised to learn that she liked musicals of all things. They chatted 
easily for a while.

At the next glass she said, "If I drink this, I really can't drive."

"So call a cab, pick up your car in the morning."

And she agreed, for all the world as if that's exactly what she intended 
to do.

Despite the heat, it was breezy, and Christine was not dressed for it. 
Evening was setting in and it had a chill that stirred her nipples into 
jagged little soldiers, standing to attention. Instead of scolding him 
for doing a double take when he noticed, she grinned flirtatious. She 
tried to twitch her muscles to make her breasts bounce. It was less than 
successful however.

"I'm not really built to do the pec thing," she apologised, giggling. "It 
takes more than muscle to create the right effect. You should see Nita do 
it, believe me, that is a sight to see. And Lisa actually, you wouldn't 
think it at first glance but she's pretty stacked."

And then her voice was softer, more introspective.

"I mean, look at Nita. She's stunning. It's no wonder men worship her. 
Would you prefer it if she was here with you now, instead of me?"

"Stop!" Jason insisted, his voice scolding. "How can you say that? You're 
stunning. There is no one in the world I'd rather be here with. I'm 
privileged."

Christine smiled, sweet and almost na�vely flirtatious. But when she 
spoke, it was another woman she was talking up.

"You should see my flatmate, she's incredibly glamorous, she's a model. 
Or, at least, when she can get the work she's a model. When we go out she 
has all the boys flocking around her. They don't even notice me."

"What sort of work?" he asked, trying to divert focus from her negative 
reflections.

"Oh, all sorts of stuff. Catalogue work, swimwear and lingerie, 
bodybuilding products, adverts. Anything really. She has done the odd 
glamour shoot, but only the really mild stuff. No nudity."
 
"Have you thought about doing that? I mean, with your physique, you're 
more than qualified."

"Actually I was in a TV advert. I just went along with her to the 
audition and I ended up getting hired and she didn't. She was pissed off 
at me for months."

"Really?" He was impressed. "What advert?"

"Just this silly shampoo ad. Right at the end a guy walks down the street 
and there's loads of women everywhere he looks, all with long beautiful 
hair fluttering majestically in the breeze. I was one of them."

"You were one of the beautiful women!" he reiterated.

She smiled modestly but was still enjoying his enthusiasm. "Yeah. This 
was before I cut it all off of course."

"Wow!" Then he grinned. "I was nearly beaten up by someone famous!"

She winced a little and Jason cursed himself. It had just slipped out. If 
she was showing hints of being maudlin then he was showing hints of 
runaway chatter. The drink was stronger than he'd given it credit.

"Have you ever thought about doing other work like that?" Then added 
quickly, before she got the wrong end of the stick. "Like extra work, or 
modelling or anything like that?"

"No. I don't have the ambition to do that. I've got no acting background 
or anything. My flatmate tries to get acting work but it sounds so 
dispiriting. She'll turn up to an audition and there's a huge room full 
of muscle-bound babes, all pumping up, all trying out for the same part. 
Can you think of anything more horrible?"

Jason grinned. "Being in a large room... full of muscle-bound women..."

She slapped his arm lightly. "You know what I mean," she scolded 
playfully.

"What about competitions?"

"Once," she admitted, "just for the sake of trying it. The Playboy 
Amateur Physique. I didn't place very high."

"Really, I love that show, I don't remember you though. What year?"

"2006."

"Not got that one. I'll have to order it."

She smiled. "Have you ever... dated a bodybuilder?" She asked him. The 
slight, almost unconscious hesitancy she placed on the word 'dated' 
suggested what it was she was actually asking him with that question.

"I've never been that lucky," he told her.

And of course, the balcony led straight into his bedroom. So it was that 
when the air grew chilly, as indeed it had, they didn't bother to go 
through into the lounge. After all, the way things were going, they would 
end up back in the bedroom anyway.




She peeled away the layers, not having enough clothes to prolong the 
striptease, but she wasn't really cut out to be a siren anyway, despite 
her tremendous sex appeal. Her giggling made the show a playful act 
rather than a sultry one.

Jason's gaze was one of wonder as well as lust, his awe and delight as 
sweet and innocent as were her na�ve attempts at being the vampish 
temptress. 

He found some baby oil and began to massage it into her staggering 
physique. She flexed each muscle as his hands ran over them, making them 
twitch and harden in his grip. The slick, sensual roll of her body such 
an intoxicating blend of warm, yielding flesh and hard, solid muscles.

Christine loved the relish with which he worshipped her. Though it was 
hardly the first time she'd made a man weak at the knees just at the 
sight of her magnificent body, there was something honest and unabashed 
about his awe and longing. 

The touch of his hands on her body, actually trembling as he caressed 
her, stoked her own pleasure. She found herself delighting in the simple 
joy he took in relishing her physique as much as the sensual 
gratification obtained from his fondling.

Despite the magnitude of her strength, Christine was a gentle lover. She 
rode him tenderly, encompassing him with her powerful limbs. Their 
passion was intimate and adoring as they lovingly entwined their bodies.

But both had been celibate for far too long and as their mutual ardour 
rose a wanton hunger was roused in each of them. Like a burst dam they 
were unable to hold back the flood of desperate need.

Christine took him with increasing fury, impaling herself upon him with 
ever more frenzied need.

And Jason was swept away in the excess of her zeal, for his part helpless 
to do otherwise. As she ravished him, he finally understood what had been 
missing from his sex life. The weak bodied women of his admittedly highly 
limited sexual history just weren't equipped to manhandle him like this - 
physical abuse had never tasted so sweet.

The fantasy of a muscle woman came nowhere close to the physical reality 
of being fucked insensible by one, especially one he was rapidly falling 
in love with.

As she came her muscles began to spasm, that final squeezing inside her 
body mercilessly clamped down upon him providing the final trigger to his 
own stupendous orgasm.

He gasped, crying out in shuddering release, and she wrapped her mighty 
arms about him, squeezing him in a tight embrace that allowed him to feel 
every quake of her tremendous body, her tremulous quivering at her own 
rapturous climax.




Christine opened the door naked except for Jason's silk dressing gown. It 
was a man's size and barely fit her, her muscles threatening to burst it 
apart with every motion of her bulging physique.

"Nita?"

Nita stood at the flat door, having already broken in the street door 
downstairs. 

Christine stared at her friend in surprise, eyes still caked with sleep, 
head still hazy. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"What are you doing here?" Nita retorted. Then, with a grin. "Actually, I 
think I can guess exactly what you're doing here, you little slut!"

"I drove him back, we had a couple of drinks, one thing led to another."

"When I couldn't get through to you I phoned your flatmate. She said you 
hadn't been home. Well, two plus two."

"Equals four-play, yeah I've heard that one before."

"You're such a romantic," Nita assured her. "I've been trying to ring 
you."

"Oh. My phone's on silent."

"Figured it might be." 

"I'm not working today," Christine said defensively, "that shouldn't be 
an issue."

Nita's voice became serious and genuinely sympathetic. "It's not. Look, 
Honey, I'm here because of Jason, not you."

"What? What about Jason?" Christine insisted.

"They've decided to use him as an example after all. He was always 
skating on thin ice. Guess it cracked."

"You're here to...?"

"I'll make it painless."

Christine gave a bark of a laugh at that, as much an expression of shock 
as of humour. "Do you even know how to make it painless?"

Nita's voice was tender. "If I want to, I can make it painless. I promise 
you, he won't even wake up."

Christine just stared at the wall, as if trying to process this, as if 
trying to make her mind catch up with all that had suddenly been thrown 
at it. And then, just as suddenly, she clicked back into low gear.

"No," she said flatly.

"Chris, honey, you know this isn't debatable. The word comes through, 
it's as good as done. There isn't room for personal feelings. He has to 
die."

"I know that, I mean, I should. I mean... I'll do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I probably owe him that much. Give me a second then we'll go in 
there."

"Sure." And Nita squeezed her friend's shoulder. In all the unpleasant 
jobs she'd ever been given, this was undoubtedly the worst. 

Together the two women walked back into the flat, Christine leading the 
way into the bedroom. It was empty.

"He was asleep..." she stuttered, confusion apparent in her voice.

The doorway to the balcony was open, the curtain fluttering in the 
breeze.

"Fuck!" Nita hissed. 

Christine beat her across the room, out onto the small balcony, eyes 
scouring the street below. There was no sign of him. "He's done a 
runner," she gasped.

Nita glanced around the room suspiciously. There was a built in wardrobe. 
She punched through the door, putting a hole in it, then she ripped it 
right off. No sign of the man inside.

Christine looked surprised at first but caught on quickly enough. She 
responded in like, grabbing the large double bed and heaving it up into 
the air, pressing it lengthways against the wall. There was an assortment 
of junk under there but again, no Jason.

Nita sighed but was apparently satisfied. "Get dressed and then follow," 
she snapped, already out onto the balcony. She threw herself over the 
railing, hanging on to it so her body swung around. Her muscular belly 
bounced off the base, legs hanging below. She lowered herself, clambering 
gracefully onto the balcony below, and from there, she could hang and 
drop to the ground. She headed for her car at a sprint.

"Well," Christine sighed, watching her friend go. "I'm really out now."

"And I'm glad you are," Jason told her, coming up behind her and kissing 
one mighty shoulder. "You know you've just saved my life."

"We're not out of this yet," she told him, her voice deadly serious.

"You have to go now. I'll get after her and find out what I can."

But despite the urgency of their predicament, they still took the 
opportunity to kiss.

"Life is about to get very interesting."