Sable

Copyright c 1996 by Gordon T. Roland, All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

        I won't bore you with my own history.  I am interesting only in that I 
got close to a deadly predator and lived to tell the story. Sable wasn't 
my only amazon experience.  And although I am mesmerized by her billowing 
brown hair and deep blue eyes I know that many men don't like the Latina 
look no matter how patrician. She is strong, stronger than most men and a 
devastating fighter when enflamed. She can kill using only her lovely 
body.  But ordinarily she prefers to leave her victims alive, drowning in 
a sea of pain.  Perhaps I shouldn't have said "victims" since these are 
always cretins who need to be taught in fear what they should know by 
conscience about the sanctity of a beautiful woman.  Sable's real victims 
have always been her lovers.  Foolish men blind to the treasure in their 
hands.  Inevitably these men would choreograph their own doom, taking one 
relentless step after another to the fatal eruption of Sable's volcanic 
emotions would emerge no longer from her heart but from lethal hands and 
feet and her long elegant steel strong arms and legs.  No gun or knife or 
poison or speeding car.  When she kills she is intimate, even 
affectionate about it.  It is another way to demonstrate her profound 
love. She is breathtakingly fast and agile, and she uses her sultry, 
unabashed sensuality to find opportunity to demonstrate a cold blooded, 
ruthless aggressiveness that seems impossible from such an exquisite 
angel.  She is the image of the ultra feminine latina aristocrat on the 
surface.  Underneath the surface she is a predator.  Sable made me 
understand the thrill of a male black widow spider unable to resist the 
fatal embrace of his deadly mate.  You need only a few facts about me to 
understand about Sable, and I promised not to bore you.
        What appealed to me about the gym was that it was open 24 hours a day, 
seven days a week, holidays included.  Don't form a picture in your mind 
of me as a hulking bodybuilder consumed by the need to constantly work 
out.  Just the reverse is true.  I am about five eight, 150 pounds, 
middle aged and, uh, formerly fit.  But I have an excuse.  About a year 
before this story unfolds, a crushing workload    yes, it is possible for 
a desk job to be crushing    for too many years lead me to congestive 
heart failure and pulmonary edema.  I was on disability for several 
months and then recovering for months more, all the time softening and 
aging at an appalling rate.  Finally, even I could no longer stand myself 
and made a commitment to at least slowing my decline.  That's why the gym 
appealed to me.  I was sure I could find an hour that would allow me to 
escape the snickers and chortles of sleek and self satisfied yuppies.  
This place was small but very upscale, scrupulously clean and accessible 
by coded lock at any hour of the day or night.  I arrived at 4:00AM 
expecting to have the place to myself.  Apparently so had Sable, because 
when I emerged from the reception area, she seemed as surprised as I.  
Well, I was probably more surprised.  She was stunningly beautiful, even 
sweating and exerting.  Her thick dark hair was pony tailed and draping 
over one shoulder.  Her face was classic Latina, but very fine featured 
and angular.  Her small sharp nose and pouty lips seemed almost two small 
for her face compared to her huge, dark blue eyes and full black eyebrows.
  Her neck was long and graceful, flowing down to prominent collar bones. 
 A spandex bandeau revealed every curve of her full breasts.  Her narrow 
waist flared out into graceful curving hips.  Her feet were spread about 
shoulder width providing a delicious view of long, muscular legs    what 
used to be called "dancer's" legs.  At first I thought that she wasn't 
wearing anything under fishnet tights, almost the same color as her skin, 
shimmering with a silky glow.  Then I saw that the tights covered a 
minimal thong.  What startled me most, however,  was the bar rising and 
lowering over her head.  The bar, I knew weighed 25 pounds, and I 
recognized the plates by their size and embossed numbers:  Two 50's and 
two 25's.  She was about five four and very trim, she couldn't weigh over 
115 or 120 pounds, yet she was pumping 175 over her head, slowly and in 
perfect form.  The only real visible evidence of her extraordinary 
strength were well defined and disproportionally large biceps.  Still, 
the powerful arm muscles had a sculpted, almost delicate line rather then 
massive bulk. Her shoulders were wider than I expected, but still narrow 
compared with her curvy hips. She lowered the bar to her waist and let it 
drop to the, all the time locking eyes with me.
        Suddenly she seemed to lose interest in me completely.  I no longer 
existed as she carried on with her workout.  I continued to other side of 
the floor, dropped my bag by the wall and took off my jogging suit.  I 
selected a bar and carried it to a press bench.  She was hoisting her bar 
to a press bench as well.  I was using the bench only as a convenience 
stand.  I took the bar with no plates and began practicing form, it had 
been years since I had actually lifted or done much of any exercise, for 
that matter, and I knew that even if I could lift substantial weight I 
risked injury and, at the very least, would regret it the next day.  I 
could see she was removing the 25's from the bar and carried one in each 
hand to the weight rack.  I watched in awe as she effortlessly removed 
two 50's and carried them back to the bench, one in each hand.  She 
walked with the gentle sway that only Hispanic women seem to master.  I 
felt my heart race at the site of this supremely feminine angel handling 
the two big iron plates as if she held a hand bag in each hand.  As she 
tightened the collars on the bar she watched me work with the empty bar, 
her eyes somewhat skeptical. 
        "That's why I came up here at 4:00AM" I smiled "I didn't want anyone to 
see how    inexperienced I am."  I continued to smile in hopes of a 
response, but she seemed to ignore me.  She walked around to her bench 
and, ankles and knees together sat on the bench.  I was, frankly, 
anticipating with quickening pulse watching this breathtaking little 
beauty lift the 225 pounds from the bench stand.  I was startled to hear 
her voice.
        "Come over here and spot for me."  Her voice was sweet and feminine, 
even girlish.  Her Spanish accent dripped from the words like honey, but 
her statement was not a request.  She was accustomed to commanding men.  
My heart raced.  Whether it was recognition from her, or the chance to be 
close by while she gave a demonstration of strength few men could equal 
let alone pretty young girls, or the thrill of taking orders from her I 
couldn't say.  But I moved quickly and took my place at the head of the 
bench as she reclined back.  I noticed that, since she was to small for 
her feet to reach the floor completely    the bench was intended for men  
  she had already positioned several 50 pound plates to form platforms on 
either side of the bench.  She arched her back when she pressed, so her 
pelvis was thrust high in the air ith her legs spread wide.  Her smooth 
thighs suddenly flexed into obviously powerful muscles.  Her breasts 
flattened slightly, as she laid back, but still retained two beautifully 
curved mounds.  Her rib cage ended suddenly at her taut stomach that 
seemed to be scooped out down to her arching pelvic bones.  Even her mons 
seemed pumped and powerful, protruding well out from her pubis.  The 
position and shape of her body evoked a strong desire to fill in the 
concave form with my own body.
        "Watch the bar."  She ordered.  For the next few minutes my heart beat 
faster than anytime I could remember since adolescents.  If you have 
never seen this, it is difficult to convey the thrill of watching a 
beautiful girl performing a demonstration of brute strength.  She lifted 
the tremendous weight off the stand, lowered it to her chest and then 
slowly raised and lowered the bar and the huge plates 10 times.  Her 
expression never changed.  None of the grimacing and grunting that men 
like to use to draw attention to how difficult the task is.  She made it 
look easy.  You can probably imagine the thoughts that went through my 
mind as I contemplated that the weight she was pushing was 50% more than 
my own weight.  The last rep was obviously a strain and moved to help put 
the bar back on the stand, but she shook her head and gave a final heft.  
She swung herself up to sit on the bench seemingly not winded or 
overworked in any way.  Her only concern was guiding her hair back into 
the thick pony tail from which it had begun to stray.  I gazed at her 
with unmasked admiration and, I am sure, desire.  Unlike most women who 
are serious athletes, she had retained a very curvy body.  Her hips were 
still wide and feminine.  No one would ever mistake that shape for 
anything but female.  She caught my stare from the corner of her eye and 
her full lips betrayed a gratified smile.  Then, as if oblivious to my 
presence, she began to gently flex and stretch.  I realized that she was 
striking provocative postures for my benefit.
        She lifted herself from the bench with a sudden cat like move and with 
quick graceful bounds moved to the head of the bench.  I expected her to 
disassemble the bar and carry the plates back to the rack.  Frankly I was 
looking forward to watching that demonstration of power a second time.  
But I was surprised to see her lift the 225 pound bar from the stand, 
turn toward me and lower the bar to the floor.  She looked into my eyes 
for several seconds and then commanded:
        "lift it."  My eyebrows jumped up and my mouth opened.  After a moment I 
replied:
        "You know I can't."
        "lift it."  She commanded once more.  I realized that the futility of my 
attempting to lift the bar was nothing compared to the futility of 
refusing her command.  I dropped to the bar and braced myself to attempt 
a clean and jerk.  When I was 25 and training regularly, I might have 
done it.  But that was a long time ago.  I tightened my grip, inhaled, 
and tried to focus all of my physical strength and will in hopes that an 
explosive effort might get the bar off the floor.  The bar didn't move.  
It might as well have been bolted to the floor.  As I braced for a second 
try she positioned herself in front of me with her feet spread apart.  
The muscles of her thighs were finely etched and moving with an easy 
grace beneath her translucent tights.  Her sweet, musky fragrance was 
intoxicating.  Was she showing me the prize I was lifting for?  Or was 
there a more sinister motive in her provocation?  I strained once more, 
and once more the bar took no notice of my effort.  I was determined not 
to give up until I at least broke the adhesion of the plates to the floor.
  She watched my futile effort for a few seconds then dropped to a crouch 
in front of me, fixed me with her eyes then gently but firmly pushed me 
away.  She placed her hands on the bar and gripped. I could see her 
muscles tighten and tense.  Her arm muscles seemed like slinky creatures 
with lives of there own.  From this close her biceps seemed startlingly 
large and powerful, but that was only because of the contrast with the 
rest of her slender build.  She focused her strength and with a small, 
sardonic smile on her lips gave a powerful tug at the bar.  A moment 
later she was standing with the bar raised to her shoulders.  I was still 
so close to her that her fragrance filled the space between us.  I stood 
in shock.  The bar and plates looked huge compared to her.  It seemed 
impossible that such an exquisite creature could perform such a 
demonstration of sheer power. No doubt she was at the upper limit of her 
strength, but that strength seemed incredible against her delicious 
femininity. She re braced her stance and went for the press.  She dropped 
slightly at her knees, and with another explosion of power, got under the 
bar and pushed her arms straight up.  How could those graceful arms 
support so much weight?  Then her sensual hips swayed to bring into play 
the incredible power of her leg muscles.  She was now standing straight 
up, legs apart, one hip slightly lower than, and the leg in slightly 
front of the other.  Her arms extending above her head.  And there, 
looming over her head was that long bar and four big plates weighing a 
total of 225 pounds.  I soaked up the vision with my eyes.  Her muscles 
twitched and shifted slightly.  She was still smiling that provocative 
smile even though she was straining to keep the weight suspended.  Then, 
as if to add shock upon shock, she slowly turned around and began walking 
toward the wall.  Each step was accompanied by an exaggerated sway of her 
hips.  The thick seams running up the back of each leg emphasizing the 
femininity of the motion.  She was walking as gracefully as she could, 
but the tremendous weight she was carrying caused her footsteps to thump 
slightly with each step.  I could feel the vibration of the floor as she 
walked with the 225 pounds hoisted above her head.  When she got to the 
wall she finally lowered the bar to her chest, then her waist, then let 
it drop to the floor with a thud that I could feel from where I was 
standing.

Part 1 (continued)


She turned and faced me.  Her smile had widened a little.  But now it 
took on a different character.  The coquettishness of a few minutes 
earlier was replaced by an altogether different visage.  What I saw 
focused on me was the ruthless gaze of a predator.  I felt a mixture of 
fear and lust.  What did she have in mind?  Did she intend to hurt me?  
Too my amazement the thought of being prey to this stunning predator was 
not so much terrifying as thrilling.  She walked toward me, again with an 
exaggerated sway of her hips, her muscles swimming beneath her smooth 
skin.  I was mesmerized by the sinuous motion and impending threat.  She 
stood in front of me so close I could feel her warm breath and taste her 
delicious fragrance.  The difference in our sizes meant I had to look 
down into her upturned face to maintain eye contact.  I felt a sudden 
wave of pleasure that I did not, at first, realize was her smooth but 
firm hip pressing against my erection.  Without warning I felt myself 
first hoisted off my feet, pressed against her hip with her arm around my 
waist for a long moment, then suddenly flying toward the mat.  She sent 
me flying in a low trajectory and with sufficient force to make me tumble 
and sprawl when I hit the mat.  She was on me before I could compose 
myself.  She reached down and pulled me to my feet.  Again, I felt the 
pressure of her hip against my groin and the iron grip of her arm around 
my waist.  Again, after a long moment that must have been deliberately 
extended I went flying across the mat.  When I stopped tumbling I 
steadied myself on my elbows.  She was looming over me.  Moments earlier 
I was looking down on her delicate face.  Now she was towering over me 
like a tiger pouncing on a rabbit. I felt a thrilling mixture of fear and 
eroticism.
        She turned and started to walk away.  I couldn't say whether it was 
humiliation or lust that made me refuse to leave things at this.  I 
jumped to my feet and lunged at her back.  I caught her in my arms and 
tried to force her to the floor.  I thought that I could use my weight 
advantage to better effect on the floor.  I tried rocking back and forth. 
 But it was futile.  I tried to push and pull her to the floor, but her 
legs were too strong.  She deliberately maneuvered her ass into maximum 
contact with my erection and coquettishly bumped me as she giggled and 
struggled with me.  I could lift her off the matted floor, but this also 
proved to be of little value.  She braced herself against me and jack 
knifed with enough force to bring us both tumbling to the mat.  I landed 
on top and tried to pin her to the mat, but she quickly got a footing and 
easily lifted herself with me on her back and hips.  As she rose she 
reached for the back of my knee with one hand and my wrist with the other 
and pulled me to her shoulders.  She pressed me against her shoulders and 
neck for several seconds then she suddenly dropped to one knee and in the 
same motion flung me across the mat.  I didn't stop tumbling until I hit 
the wall.  She didn't come after me, she wanted me to attack her.  I got 
to my feet and lunged for her, intending my greater bulk to overcome her. 
 But she was prepared for me.  At the last possible moment she turned and 
hoisted me on her back, using my own momentum against me.  She maneuvered 
me on her back for a few seconds.  When she had the grasp she wanted she 
easily levered me to her shoulders.  I expected to go tumbling across the 
mat again, but instead she held me across her shoulders.  Then giggling 
and singing some Spanish melody she began waltzing around the mat.  She 
had deliberately positioned me so that my erection was in maximum contact 
with her at the crux of neck, shoulder and back.  Now she was bouncing me 
in deliberate strokes to make sure I was rubbing against her.  I found it 
very erotic and a wave of pleasure washed over me.  After a few minutes 
she stopped in front of a mirrored wall, spread her feet and struck a 
very provocative posture.  Then, with a few adjustments of her grasp, she 
effortlessly lifted me over her head.
        "Uh oh" she said with mock earnestness "this is quite a situation you've 
gotten yourself in.  Isn't it?"  I took a few seconds to answer, then 
said in utter sincerity:
        "This is the situation  I've wanted to be in all my life."  My response 
seemed to surprise her a little.  But she was obviously satisfied with 
that answer.  After a few seconds she began to lower me, but not to the 
floor.  She turned me as she lowered me so that I would slide down her 
body.  She was careful to make sure that my first contact with her body 
was my erection against one of her breasts.  She held me there for a 
while with her face against my chest.  Then she began to slowly lower me 
down her chest and stomach.  When I felt the flair of her hip against my 
groin, I became a more proactive participant.  I slid one leg between 
hers and locked both of my legs so I was riding her muscular thigh, with 
my thigh pushing as strongly as I could into her pubis.  This was exactly 
what she had in mind.  She immediately locked her thighs on mine and 
started stroking her mons against me.  This position left me looking down,
 slightly on her face and I could see her pleasure was rising to match 
mine.  I could feel her strong shoulders and firm back with my arms and 
hands.  Her sweet fragrance enveloped me.  I now had one of the most 
thrilling sexual experiences of my life.  My sweet, delicious, angel 
began to sway her hips and body slowly increasing the rhythm.  As the 
pace increased so did the range of the motion.  She was swinging me in 
wide arches centered on her pelvis.  With each arch she bent back so it 
looked like I was going  to slam face first into the floor and then with 
incredible power swung  me back in the air.  She was hot now.  Her musk 
became so powerful I was dizzy from the pheromone effect.  It took only a 
few minutes before I felt her arms tighten painfully around my back.  She 
was so strong that I was afraid she would crack my ribs.  But my passion 
now overwhelmed my fear and I was prepared to suffer injury for her 
erotic attention.  I felt myself flowing out on her leg and hip in a 
seemingly endless stream.  I had never come so hard in my life.  The 
starchy smell of my semen mixed with her musk into a perfume that left 
both of us giddy.  She continued pressing my thigh for several more 
seconds as her passion slowly subsided.  Then she stood completely 
upright again.  I dismounted her leg and stood facing her.  We continued 
to embrace and nibble at each other's lips for several minutes, petting 
and nuzzling each other.
        "What about you?" I asked.
        "No," she said "I'm ok.  Don't worry, you did what I wanted.  Another 
time we share."
        We started to separate then suddenly she tightened her grip around my 
back with one arm and with the other swept my legs up so she was cradling 
me in her arms.  She carried me toward the locker rooms.  When we got 
there she set me down and told me to wait for her in the reception area 
while she dressed.  With a propriety that seems strange in retrospect, 
she went to the ladies shower and I went to the gentlemen's.
        I calculated that incredible strength probably did not increase the 
speed with which a woman would shower, dress and make up.  Still, I 
didn't want to keep her waiting so I hurriedly showered and 
changed into the suit I would wear to the office.  On the way out of the 
locker room I noticed that the 225 pound bar had been disassembled and 
returned to the racks, as had the bar that I had been using.  There was 
something extremely feminine and charming about this prim neatness.
        "Well," I thought "looks like I've got myself mixed up with a real 
female again.  All the usual pleasures and all the pains    maybe some 
unusual pains as well."  Certainly some unusual pleasures.  I waited 
patiently in the reception area for what seemed like an interminable 
amount of time, although I'm sure it just seemed that way because of my 
anticipation.  When she emerged from the locker room time melted away 
completely.  I would have smiled at the sight of her in sweats and 
sneakers.  What greeted me knocked me over.  Her fine, patrician features 
were glowing and subtly enhanced with a minimum of makeup.  Her eyes 
accentuated with several shades of shadow and restrained mascara.  Her 
hair was arranged in a long French braid.  The neat coif was beautifully 
crowned by a black mock campaign hat which featured a black lace veil 
ending just above ruby lips.  Large gold shell earings adorned each lobe. 
 Her neck and shoulders were completely uncovered, exposing the graceful 
lines of her collar bones, accented by a heavy gold chain.  But a stiff 
moir, silk wrap covered her extraordinary biceps.  Silky black gloves 
covered her hands to above her wrists.  The simple black sheath that 
covered yet still completely reveled her luxurious body was a traffic 
stopper.  I could not imagine how she would sit down in a dress as short 
as this.  Any shorter and she wouldn't even be able to walk with privacy. 
 But her lean, taut body made it stream and flow to accommodate every 
move she made.  Her muscular legs were cloaked in glistening tights that 
appeared to be real silk, woven in a fine but still barely discernible 
mesh.  When she turned I saw a thick dark seam run down the center of 
each leg from beneath the hem of her dress to the strap of her patent 
leather high heeled sandals.  The four inch stiletto heels caused her no 
problems as she balanced on the balls of her feet as she walked.  She 
exuded a subtle fragrance.  A simple perfume accentuated by faint scent 
of her expensive lipstick.  The flavor of her aroma was intoxicating.
        "Do you approve?" she asked.  I had intended to do my best James Bond 
impersonation, but was only able to non nonchalantly stammer something 
like:
        "Hamada hamada hamada hamada." which gave me more of a Ralph Kramden 
quality.
        "Good." she giggled "Just what I wanted to hear.  Now take me to 
breakfast.  Someplace very expensive."


Chapter 2,  part 1 of 2

        We emerged from the gym in that stillness that assures the imminence of 
dawn.  The sky was already a blend of pitch dark in the west and dull 
gray in the east.  The street lights still commanded circles of clarity 
in the dark.  I deeply inhaled the fresh and slightly chilly air, knowing 
that a few hours from then it would be replaced, for the remainder of the 
day, with the stale smells of the city.  This had always been my favorite 
time of the day.  I felt refreshed and invigorated, hyper-alert and sharp-
minded now as at no other time of the day or night.  Today, especially so.
  We walked for half a block or so.  She made a point of walking ahead of 
me and I noted that her ensemble and demeanor were contrived to be more 
than sexy.  From the waist down she walked with the classic feminine hip 
swivel.  But her shoulders moved in counter-point and she swung her arms 
in a subtly ominous manner and somewhat masculine fashion.  She projected 
a powerfully elegant eroticism that I had never experienced before.   
Each time I tried to catch up she hurried forward a little, giggling, so 
she was always in my direct view.  I can't prove that she was doing that 
to show off her stunning body and seductive walk, but that was exactly 
the result.  Suddenly she stopped and looked over her shoulder with a sly 
smile.
        "Can't you keep up with me?" she asked.  I chuckled and replied:
        "You don't seem to want me to!"
        "Nonsense!"  she said  "Come here."  As I approached I noticed she was 
bending her knees to lower her body and holding her hands out from her 
hips.  I realized, with a thrill, that she wanted me to mount and ride 
her.  She looked over her shoulder with a provocative smile, and in her 
best latina/subservient voice asked:
        "Can I give you a lift seņor?"  My heart leapt.
        "Well thank you, yes, that would be very kind of you."  I said 
sardonically and quickly approached her putting my hands on her shoulders.
  Warmth radiated from her body and her lightly perfumed scent filled my 
senses.  She had lowered herself only enough to indicate her intention.  
Because her legs were so long and her heels so high, I had to vault up to 
get my legs around her hips.  She dipped just a bit at her knees as my 
weight came to rest on her, then stood strait up and bounced me a few 
times to get me positioned exactly the way she wanted me on her back.  
Her body felt hot under me and my heart pounded so hard I'm sure she 
could feel it as I pressed my chest against her back.  She continued 
walking with an exaggerated sway.  She was deliberately inducing extra 
motion against my erection.  Her body felt warm and firm against me and 
her powerful ass and hips moved sensually under my clasping legs.  The 
weight of my body did not seem to bother her in the least.  From time to 
time she would trot a little faster to carry me to a store window to 
point out some detail of the display that particularly interested her.  
Daylight was beginning to show and the darkened store windows were very 
reflective.  Each time we approached one of these huge mirrors I thrilled 
at the sight of myself riding this elegant creature.  Her long legs were 
devastating and the brief dress imbued her with a femininity that made 
our role reversal seem all the more startling and exciting.  
        She chatted continuously as I rode her but the pleasure was so intense I 
could do little to keep up my end of the conversation.  This didn't 
bother her at all.  She seemed quite pleased with the effect she was 
having on me.  I nuzzled my head against hers and she nuzzled back 
contentedly.  Her perfume was so light that I could smell the waxy base 
of her lipstick.  This raised in me an overwhelming desire to kiss her 
deeply.  I nibbled her ear and neck, again noting that there was hardly 
any make-up on her perfect skin.  She seemed to understand and after a 
moment turned her head to look into my eyes.  Her lips were parted.  
Women have deeper eyes then men.  I mean you can look into them in a way 
that men don't allow.  They truly are windows into a woman's soul.  I 
didn't need to say a word.  Our lips pursued each other oblivious to 
either of our wills.  I didn't pursue her tongue, the feast of her lips 
was almost more than I could handle.  It was as if there was no end to 
her lips no matter how far I explored.  She put an arm around my back and 
swung me around her waist so I was facing her now with my legs wrapped 
around her waist and my erection against her taut stomach.  My arms were 
over her upper arms and she squeezed me with her arms around my back.  I 
could feel her extraordinary biceps  and the power of her embrace.  For 
an instant I wondered about the dangers of her impassioned embrace.  Then 
I surrendered myself to the possibility of injury with more than a little 
excitement.  She was able to control her extraordinary strength, leaving 
me slightly in pain but in no immediate danger.  Although I could not 
have broken her powerful embrace, she applied only enough pressure to 
clasp our two bodies together in pleasure, with just an edge of pain.  We 
must have kissed for almost 10 minutes.  In all that time she did not 
seem the least bothered by the weight of my body on her hips and never 
gave the slightest indication that she wanted me to get off of her.  
Daylight was increasing rapidly now and I could hear traffic on the 
busier avenues near by.  I knew that the spell would break soon.  As we 
nuzzled in the after-glow of the kiss, she said:
        "I love the feel of a man riding me.  It makes me feel so strong and in 
control."  I was beginning to feel that I had been wrong my whole life in 
wanting to be physically superior to women when the reverse appeared to 
offer an intensity of pleasure I had never known before.
        "How could any woman prefer," she continued "a man stronger than herself.
  I get so excited when I know I can do anything I want to a man -- give 
him the pleasure of my body, or pain from my own muscles.  And all at my 
whim.  If I like him he can ride my soft skin and hard muscles.  If I 
don't like him, I can put him on the ground broken and bleeding.  All 
from my own power."  I was beginning to wonder how any man could want 
anything else from a woman.  The thrill of pleasure from a delicious 
creature who could, as easily, inflict tremendous pain.  All from her own 
power.  All from exactly the same muscles.  What I knew for certain was 
that I wanted to immerse myself in this pool of danger and excitement, 
pleasure and pain.  I dismounted her, keeping my arms around her 
shoulders, sliding my legs down the outsides of her thighs.  I wanted to 
press my erection against her firm thigh muscle.  The action accentuated 
her strength which seemed so at odds with the delicacy of her face, her 
long dark hair, and her faintly perfumed scent.  She understood what I 
was going for and kept her arms around my torso in a powerful embrace.  
When my feet touched the ground she pushed her thigh into me.  We touched 
lips again and as we hungrily kissed she began to lean back.  At first I 
thought she just wanted to assume a position that would maximize the 
pressure of my erection against her thigh.  But she continued, slowly, 
bending backwards.  After a few seconds my feet lifted off the ground and 
a thrill of pleasure shot through me.  Still she continued bending 
backwards as we engulfed each others lips and tongues with our mouths.  
My pleasure was so intense that I was oblivious to what was happening to 
me.  When I did emerge from my erotic rapture I realized that I was 
completely off the ground and almost horizontal.  She had bent completely 
backwards so her back was at a right angle to her legs, parallel with the 
ground.  To accommodate my weight she had thrust her hips forward a 
little, so the bulk of my weight was balanced on the arch of her pelvis.  
Her long legs were rigid braces poised to sustain my weight with maximum 
efficiency.  Once again I was completely under her control and completely 
supported by her small, powerful body.  I could no longer control myself. 
 Once again I ejaculated in a torrent of which I didn't think I was 
capable.  She bounced me on her hip as I climaxed, which intensified and 
prolonged my pleasure tremendously.  When she was sure I was spent, she 
straightened up letting me slide from her hip to her thigh before setting 
me on my own feet again.
        "What about you?" I asked, somewhat incredulous that once again she did 
me so well with no thought for herself.
        "Don't be concerned" She answered "I'm not ready now."  I tried to 
object, but she was insistent.  She wanted me to climax, but for some 
reason, she would not join me.  My arms were still around her so I 
cuddled as close as I could.  This she responded to eagerly, but not 
lustily.  We started to walk again arm in arm.  It was full light now and 
I was glad I was wearing a dark suit.  My ejaculation had been tremendous 
and would certainly have shown on lighter fabric.  As we walked we 
nuzzled and bumped hips.  I would lean on her in a deliberate effort to 
test and feel her strength and she would respond after a few seconds by 
tightening her grip around my back and leaning to one side which lifted 
me off the sidewalk for several steps.  Even without pressing my erection 
against her the sensation was extremely pleasurable.  Each lift sent a 
pulse quickening thrill through me.  We had walked about a block when 
suddenly she pulled me to a dead stop and gestured to an approaching 
figure.
        "We have company." She said in a playful sing-song.  She slipped her 
hand behind my elbow and we continued walking side by side, but now she 
walked with an extremely exaggerated wiggle that would have been funny if 
it weren't  so erotic.  As we closed with the man approaching us I could 
see she was looking directly at him and smiling.  A wave of jealousy 
washed over me.  The guy obviously couldn't believe what he was seeing:  
A stunning woman smiling at him in a serious come-on.  When he was a few 
yards in front of us he said something very clever and extremely 
seductive.  Something like:
        "Hey, yo baby, what I got for you I can't say in front of your fadder."  
That was obviously what she wanted.  She responded with a glowing smile 
and sensuous perusal of her lips with her tongue.  If he had left it at 
that this would have been just another morning with a little extra 
sunshine.  But of course he couldn't leave it at that.  And she knew he 
wouldn't.  As he passed us I could see his hand dart out for a grasp of 
her firm derriere.  I could understand the impulse, but even before he 
found out, I knew he had made a very bad mistake.  This was what she was 
really waiting for.  As quick as his hand was, hers was quicker.  The 
instant his hand touched her, she whipped her hand around and clasped his 
fingers, so fast I couldn't follow the motion.  He was about six foot and 
looked to be about 180 muscular pounds.  Her hands seemed like a child's 
compared to his, but she had applied her powerful hands to very good 
effect.  She turned half way around and continued to smile as she crushed 
his fingers together.  He tried to ignore the pressure, then disparage 
the grip, and finally treat his predicament as a bad joke.  His smirk 
melted into a grimace and he tried to put an end to what he thought was a 
lucky grab by this little girl.



Chapter 2,  part 2 of 2



	"Yeah, OK babe, you made your point."  He tried to pull his hand free, 

and found that he couldn't.  "OK bitch, I get the message.  Now let go."  

That was rude.  As the pain intensified and it became obvious there was 

no easy way out, his tone became solicitous:  "OK lady, I was wrong.  I 

learned my lesson.  I've had enough."

	"Maybe you've had enough," she replied "but I haven't."  With that she 

swung her free arm around in a blindingly fast arc and land her fist at 

his kidney with wicked "thud!"  His back arched in pain as he lost his 

breath.  She moved her grasp on his fingers to his wrist and yanked his 

arm around his back.  Again her fist thudded into his back and this time 

the pain caused him to lose his balance.  As he dropped she pulled his 

arm up in an agonizing twist that he was powerless to stop.  His free arm 

flailed in a useless attempt to strike back.  When he was on his knees 

she let go of his arm and came around in front of him.  She grabbed his 

collar with one hand and faster than I could follow let lose with three 

pounding punches, each landing squarely in the man's face.  She was so 

quick that he was unable to shield himself in time to stop any of the 

blows.  Blood ran from his nose and mouth and his flesh quickly showed 

signs of swelling.

	"Get up."  She ordered.  He was too groggy to respond.  He tried to 

shield his face with his hand and plead that he had had enough.

	"Get up." She again commanded.  She grabbed his wrist and twisted his 

arm out and up.  He howled in pain.  Then realizing that it would be 

harder to stay down than stand up he stumbled to his feet.  As soon as he 

was standing she pulled her clenched fist.  It looked like every muscle 

in her body coiled in anticipation.  In an instant all of that pent-up 

power unleashed itself.  The punch landed with a thump just below his 

sternum forcing the air out of his lungs.  The blow was so powerful that 

he lifted several inches off the sidewalk.  He started to sag in pain.  

But she wasn't finished.  As his knees gave way she quickly got under one 

of his arms and slid one hand between his legs.  With a mighty tug she 

heaved him up on her shoulders, his back to her.  She took a few pulls to 

position him the way she wanted him:  Belly up, legs dangling over one of 

her bare shoulders, arms and head over the other.  His struggling was 

futile.  When she had him properly positioned, she did a perfect runway-

model-catwalk-turn and faced me with one hip provocatively drooping.

	"Maybe I should have him made into a stole."  She laughed.  She half 

closed her eyes and in a mock-bedroom voice confided to me:  "I just love 

the sound of bones breaking in the morning."  With that she pulled down 

on his leg, pushed up on his neck and tipped to one side sending him 

flying in an arc toward the sidewalk.  He tried to break his fall with 

his hands as he landed with a thud and a crack and groaned in pain.  She 

stood with her feet spread just in front of his head and commanded:  "Get 

up."

	"Oh please no."  He begged.

	"GET UP." She emphasized each syllable.

	"Please stop."  His voice was shrill and quavering.

	"Get up."  She whispered harshly and this time he tried to obey.  He 

took to long getting to his hands and knees so she grabbed his shirt 

front and pulled him to his feet.  As soon as he was standing she punched 

him once again in his gut.  He doubled over in pain.  She started to 

hoist him up onto her shoulders again, but he regained his composure 

sufficiently to realize that he didn't want to go through that again.  He 

struggled against her with all of his diminished strength and, in fact, 

the sixty or so pound advantage he had over her saved him from being 

again lifted and slammed.  She realized she wasn't going to be able to 

repeat the lift.  But she wasn't going to let him off easy.  As he 

struggled to avoid being lifted to her shoulders she changed her tactics 

and countered by getting one leg between his and her hip wedged in his 

groin.  I couldn't help envying his position, but only for a moment.  

Despite the erotic position this put the struggling pair in, she had no 

pleasure in mind for her partner.  With a quick and powerful move she 

lifted him off his feet and sent him flying across the arch of her lower 

back.  He landed hard, tumbling.  He screamed in agony as his fractured 

arm crumpled between his weight and the sidewalk.

	"Oh my goodness.  She said with mock earnestness:  "Do you suppose I 

broke his arm?"  She giggled at her impudence.  "Well,"  she said with a 

hint of malice.  "It doesn't seem to be his rude arm.  We can't let that 

go."  She stepped over to him, walking from her hips in a provocative way.

  The only thing she provoked in her victim was stark terror.  I don't 

think I have ever seen a man so afraid in my life.  He tried to scramble 

away from her but she had him backed against a wall.

	"Oh God, please no."  He begged.  But she was intractable.

	"Now, which hand was the one I got to know so well.  Was it this one?"  

She grabbed the one that he was trying to protect.  He let out a howl of 

pain.  "No.  I don't think that was the one."  He tried to fend her off 

with his useful arm, but she was too quick.  It looked like she could 

read his mind and anticipate every movement of his arm.  Like a mongoose 

out-maneuvering a cobra.  She easily grabbed the flailing arm at his 

wrist and pretended to inspect the hand.  "Oh yes."  She exclaimed.  "I 

would recognize this hand anywhere.  Hello hand.  Do you remember me?"  

His hand was closed in a tight fist.  "Yes, I thought you would remember 

me."  With that she suddenly stood up straight taking the arm in a 

painful twist.  He groaned at this.  Compared to the sea of pain he was 

already in, this new drop of pain was minor.  She seemed flustered for a 

moment.  The extended arm was too long for her to get the effect she was 

looking for.  It took only a second to figure out a solution to this 

problem.  With a graceful hop she stepped up on his back and pulled the 

arm into sharper pain.  His groan shrilled into a scream.  She was 

satisfied with this new arrangement.  She stood atop her victim 

triumphantly.  "Now" she said, "let's see those busy little fingers."  He 

clenched his fist as tightly as he could, but she dug powerful finger 

tips into his nails.  He was weakened far to much to resist and after a 

few seconds of this new torture he gave in and relaxed his fist.  He 

would have been better off enduring that pain.  His hand seemed 

remarkably large compared to hers.  But her long agile fingers exhibited 

a powerful skill that made his seem clumsy and bloated.  Starting with 

his index finger and working to his pinkie she expertly immobilized then 

bent each finger until a sharp crack, followed by a scream sounded.  She 

didn't bother with the thumb.  His hands were just too big for her to 

break his thumb efficiently.  But she did take one more advantage of her 

position on the prone body.  She grabbed his wrist in both hands and gave 

a powerful tug and twist.  There was a loud pop and grinding sound.  When 

she let go the fore arm flopped forward at the elbow in a bizarre angle 

resulting from the nearly 180 degree twist of the upper arm.  His now 

useless hand dangled beside his head.  She stepped from her victim and 

surveyed the damage.  She briefly turned to me with a smile of pride and 

satisfaction in her own work.  Then returned to admire the wreck she had 

made of that goon.

	She turned to me again, but this time her face showed a different 

emotion.  Her eyelids drooped sensuosly and her lips protruded in a 

hungry pout.  The tight black dress was pulled up to her waist so I could 

see that she was tremendously aroused.  She walked toward me like a tiger,

 locking my eyes with hers.  For a moment I was terrified with the 

thought that maybe she wasn't satisfied with just one opponent.  The 

agonized moans coming from a few yards away accentuated the menace.  She 

stopped inches in front of me.  The difference in our height meant she 

had to look up slightly into my face and I, down slightly into hers, our 

noses almost touching.  But I was the one intimidated.  I started at the 

sound of her voice.

	"How do you feel about what just happened?" She asked.

	"I -- I don't know."  I didn't know, but I was pretty sure that lying to 

her could be very dangerous.  What I was feeling was a mixture of shock, 

fear and pure, blinding, animal lust.  The only word I can find that 

comes even close to describing my emotional state is:  Thrilled.  My 

heart was pounding in a frenzy.  I was sweating and dry-mouthed, dizzy, 

disoriented and dazed.  And yes, I was in the most sexually aroused state 

I had ever experienced.  My head cleared a little and I become aware of 

another powerful stimulant.  The faint bouquet of musk I smelled earlier 

now filled the air potently.  She was as excited as I was and her body 

was responding in a fever.

	"Good."  She said.  "You can't be expected to feel any other way."  She 

continued to lock my eyes as I looked down on her.  Suddenly I felt her 

hands grasp my arms in a powerful grip locking them to my sides.  She 

started walking forward again, pushing me back, very deliberately 

thrusting her thigh between my legs, deeper with each step.  In another 

sudden movement she released my arms and threw her arms around my back.  

My feet left the sidewalk as she leaned back slightly and pressed her hip 

against my erection.  She was exhaling hotly through her mouth, her 

breath slightly rank from adrenaline.  Our faces were so close our 

breaths mixed.  I found myself hungry for the air that had just been 

insider her.  At this moment I still wasn't sure if I was about to be 

enraptured or pulverized and I didn't care.  I just wanted the most 

intense physical contact with her that I could get.  Whether she was 

offering pleasure or pain, I wanted it.  We came to a stop with a thud as 

she backed me into the wall of a building.  Now she started pushing me 

against the wall with her body.  The feel of her breasts and mons rubbing 

against me sent shivers of sexual pleasure through me.  She released the 

pressure and let me drop back to the sidewalk.  She wanted my face as 

close to hers as possible so she could work her tongue and lips against 

my mouth.  I responded in a frenzy of my own.  You just can't imagine how 

deep and complex her mouth felt.  Try as I might to engulf her lips and 

tongue there was always something that I hadn't found before.  I simply 

could not get enough of her mouth.  She backed away and fumbled at the 

waist-band of her tights.  She seemed momentarily confused by her own 

underwear but then abruptly turned away from me, stuck her thumbs down 

either side of the waist-band, and slipped them down her curvy hips.  She 

started to reach back for my zipper, but my hands beat her to it.  

Whether from fear or passion, my hands had developed a dexterity that 

surprised even me.  By the time her hand reached my fly, I was out to 

greet her.  She giggled as she took hold of my erection and pulled me 

toward her.  Again, I summoned a proficiency that I never previously 

suspected I had and found the target for my missile instantly, with 

machine like perfection.  Once there it took a substantial push on both 

our parts to breach the tight opening.  Then we both sighed in unison at 

the wave of pleasure.  Again in perfect coordination  I threw my arms 

around hers as she slipped her arms under mine and around my back.  And 

in the harmony of lovers we began to rock back and forth and undulate in 

a complex tango.  It was only a few seconds before her superior physical 

power dominated our dance of love.  I felt my feet bounce on and off the 

sidewalk then leave the pavement entirely.  Once freed from gravity my 

legs immediately sought to embrace hers.  I wrapped my thighs around her 

hips and my calves around her muscular thighs and pulled myself tightly 

against her.  She turned her head around to smile and mouth her approval. 

 She was carrying my entire weight on her back and hips, her legs stiff 

as she gyrated her hips.  

	The sound of her victim moaning seemed to break her concentration.  A 

powerful resentment built in me that his agony might cost me this 

spectacularly erotic experience.  Without setting me down she walked 

stiff legged the three or four yards to the crumpled form.  I was 

mistaken to think she was distracted by the moan.  She was excited by it. 

 Realizing that she was looming over him again he tried to scramble to 

his feet, apparently thinking he had a chance of escape now.  She quickly 

disabused him of that error.  She brought one of her arms around from her 

grasp of me and pulled it back in a wide arc.  The dramatic motion 

fixated me.  When her hand reached the peak of the arc, it instantly 

reversed direction and came down on his face with a resounding "whack."  

Her open-handed slap was more than sufficient to send him sprawling to 

the sidewalk again.  He screamed as his damaged body slammed into the 

pavement.  Truly terrified now he was determined to get away.  But as 

soon as he lifted himself to his hands and knees, she sent a powerful 

punch into his back.  This made him arch backwards in agony and drop to 

the pavement again.  This time, regardless of the pain, he could only 

moan.  

	Now she was in a passionate frenzy.  I was starting to get frightened 

again.  I was not at all certain that I would survive this exquisite 

danger.  But I was also far to engrossed in sensual ecstasy to even 

contemplate escape.  I decided that I had made my bargain with the devil 

and would see it through, whether I lived or not.  Her rhythm changed now 

from kinetic pumping to slow powerful undulations.  She stretched and 

pulled like a tiger after feeding.  Even her vaginal muscles seemed 

possessed of super-human strength.  As she stretched her body and 

squeezed me I came.  However much I was awed by my earlier ejaculations 

on her, I was overwhelmed by my ejaculation in her.  Every muscle in my 

lower body tensed with a force that was almost painful.  My body had left 

my will far behind and was now straining itself to pump as much semen as 

it could into the body of my mistress.  My existence mattered to me only 

to the extent thought I could worship her with pleasure.  I counted for 

nothing.  Only she mattered.  I surrendered myself.  And this time I was 

rewarded with the supreme pleasure of my life.  This time she returned my 

passion with her own orgasm.  She seemed as out of control as I was, 

arching, stretching and moaning in abandon.  Her vaginal muscles 

undulated in a rhythm of their own, pulling me to climax upon climax. 

Finally she tensed and shivered for several seconds.

	Both of us spent, she released me.  I slid off her back and out of her.  

To my amazement, my erection was still fully extended and didn't seem to 

have softened at all.  This was an inconvenience because my bladder was 

begging for relief.  Finally I softened enough to let go and urinated in 

a seemingly endless flow.  I could hear her going as well and was tempted 

to look but decided she might want privacy at that moment.  When I did 

look around, her tights were up, the seams straightened, and she was 

delicately composing herself.  She had lost her hat in the excitement.  I 

spotted it, picked it up, dusted it off and carried it to her.  I offered 

up the hat in a sort of bashful gesture.  She was touched by my attention 

and smiled with obvious affection.  I could hear pained moaning not far 

from us.  But the shattered man didn't seem to matter anymore.  She 

obviously did not even acknowledge his existence.

	"Let's get out of here."  She said:  "People will be around soon.  

Weren't you going to take me to an expensive breakfast?  I'm famished!"




 

Chapter 3,  (section 1 of 2)

        It was full morning now.  The sun was warming the spring air and sounds 
of traffic intensified minute by minute.  We made our way arm in arm, but 
the erotic tension between us was replaced with warm affection.  She was 
different now.  A vulnerability had replaced her powerful self assurance. 
 She seemed to have lost the desire to overpower and lead me.  I tested 
her strength occasionally and found it not at all dissipated.  When I 
leaned my weight on her I still found intractable muscles gently 
resisting me.  But plainly she did not want to lift me or let me ride her.
  I felt as if I had lived 99.9 percent of my life in the previous two 
hours.  Nothing that I had experienced before seemed to count for 
anything compared to what had happened to me that morning.  If she needed 
to be let alone, if she needed my affection in place of my desire, how 
could I refuse.
        The place I had in mind was a hotel restaurant.  Very upscale, and a 
terrific breakfast menu.  I liked breakfasting there.  The decor was just 
a shade overdone lending an ambiance of conspicuous consumption.  The 
dining room was very well designed acoustically as well.  I could see she 
was impressed and not accustomed to being treated to such luxury, which 
struck me as odd since I had already come to think of her as an opulent 
indulgence.  To me she seemed out of place anywhere but in an extravagant 
setting.        As busy as the place would be at breakfast it was always 
possible to carry on a conversation in a normal tone of voice.  The drone 
of conversation lent a constant, invigorating rumble to the atmosphere.  
But distinct words were muffled so it was difficult to really hear 
conversations at any but the immediately adjacent tables.  Privacy in the 
midst of an urban crowd appealed to me.  People that I knew would be 
there.  Business people at business breakfast meetings.  I wanted them to 
see me with her.  I wanted them to envy me.  I was right.  The people I 
expected were there.  And they envied me.  With the maitre'd leading the 
way I gently guided my companion ahead of me through the maze of tables.  
It seemed strange to be in control again, almost unnatural for me to be 
directing such a powerful creature.  But she acquiesced.  She seemed to 
be enjoying our temporary reversion to the standard male/female roles.  
She was also enjoying the effect she was having on the clientele.  Each 
table we passed fell to silence as the men at the table stared slack 
jawed at the vision elegantly proceeding past them.  The maitre'd placed 
us at a very good, and very visible table.  We were a couple to be seen 
that morning.  We both declined coffee.  We'd had enough stimulation for 
one morning.  I ordered Darjeeling and she quickly emulated me.
        "We'd like that with milk, not lemon." I said to the waiter.
        "Milk, not lemon."  He repeated in a tone that made it clear he had 
already sized us up as being difficult.  When the tea arrived I was ready 
to order, she hesitated.  I ordered Belgian waffle with mixed berries and 
yogurt and grapefruit juice.  More confidant now she followed ordering 
Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, a breakfast steak, 
two poached eggs on whole wheat toast, orange juice    large, and a 
croissant, oh, and a glass of milk.  The waiter and I both looked a bit 
surprised.
        "Guess I'm just hungry."  She said by way of explanation.  When the 
waiter left she added.
        "Don't worry, I'm not a pig (pronounced peeg).  I eat most in the 
morning.  Especially after a good workout."  We both chuckled at that.  
Then very little the rest of the day.  Her superb body tended to 
corroborate her explanation.  She didn't wait for me to ask the most 
obvious questions.  She spoke in a low husky whisper so that no one 
except I could hear her over the din of the restaurant.
        "I have always been strong.  Stronger than the boys in the barrio -- 
neighborhood.  I don't know why.  I was what you call a 'tom-boy', we 
sometimes say a 't-bird'.  My parents sent me to ballet school to make a 
lady out of me.  It worked, I think."  She paused to give me a chance to 
agree, which I did, then continued.  "But it also made me stronger still. 
 By then I loved my power.  I loved fighting with the boys, and winning, 
and hurting them.  I didn't know at the time that it wasn't the fighting 
that I wanted, but -- you know."  She flushed a little at the memory of 
her emerging sexuality.  "Of course, that kind of relationship with a boy 
was not possible for a good Latina girl from a good family."
        "So I kept fighting with the boys.  It became a habit with me, maybe an 
addiction. The more I fought, the quicker and more skilled I became. The 
more I fought, the more I learned.  I got so I could anticipate any move 
a man would make.  Men are so predictable.  At first I fought with the 
boys my own age.  But they soon bored me.  So I started teasing older 
boys.  Soon they were too easy as well.  Then much older men.  When I had 
them on fire I made a deal:  Overpower me and I am yours completely, I 
will do whatever you want.  But fail to subdue me and you will be very 
sorry you ever saw me.  They always had trouble understanding what I 
meant at first.  Then always they decided that what I wanted was to be 
dominated by a big, strong man."  She put sarcastic emphasis on the last 
three words.  "They could hardly wait.  I'd pull my dress off and stand 
in front of them in my heels and panties.  So there was no walking away 
from me.  Always they would, what's the word:  Swagger?  Yes, swagger up 
to me thinking they were about to take their prize and use me.  But 
always I greeted them with something they didn't expect at all:  A 
beautiful, graceful, perfect kick in the chest.  My ballet training 
served me well.  I look so beautiful when I kick a man in the chest."  
She giggled at her lack of humility.  "But of course they all knew I was 
a ballerina, and they all assumed it was just luck, and cursed themselves 
for lack of concentration.  They told themselves I was just a 'spitfire' 
and then they would come back at me even more enflamed then before.  I 
liked to throw them over my back.  You know what I mean."  She giggled in 
obvious reference to our work-out in the gym and gave me a little mock 
slap on my shoulder.  "Let their penis"  she seemed a little embarrassed 
at the word but also titillated by it in a naughty-school-girl kind of 
way.  "Let their penis drag across my hip so they got a taste of what 
they would not have.  He would understand what he would really get when 
his body slammed into the floor. You should have seen the look on their 
faces.  That always scared them.  Sometimes they would make one more 
attempt to save their machismo."  Again, sarcastic emphasis.  "But always,
 it was no use.  I think it was when they saw my fist coming down on them 
again and again without mercy that they became truly frightened.  They 
would try to scramble away.  But, even then, I was too strong.  My 
favorite was to lift and throw them.  My legs and back were quite strong 
enough to hold even a very big man, twice my weight and more, on my 
shoulders.  It took me some time to develop enough strength in my arms to 
lift them up and throw them, that is what I really like."  Her eyes 
narrowed in obvious relish at the thought."
        "It was difficult at first to find a place where I could lift weights.  
The gyms in my neighborhood did not encourage girls and the health clubs 
had only silly pink plastic dumbbells for women.  So I found a man who 
would let me use his.  At first he thought it was cute and funny that I 
would want to try.  But I surprised him even from the first as he added 
more and more weight and still I could lift it.  Then he seemed to become 
fascinated, and finally thrilled watching me work with weight that was 
unimaginable in a young girl.  I was also starting to look forward to his 
encouragement and attention.  I was starting to feel true emotion for him.
  Then --"  
        Our waffles arrived at that moment.  Immediately I saw that we were not 
served what we had ordered.  My order was fine.  But instead of 
strawberries with whipped cream, her plate was a duplicate of mine.
        "This isn't correct."  He pointed out to the waiter, who looked 
astonished.
        "What isn't correct?"
        "My waffle is fine, but the lady ordered strawberries and whipped cream.
"  The waiter rolled his eyes and shook his head.
        "Is this really such a big difference?" He scathingly inquired.  "Yogurt 
is healthier and there are strawberries in the mixed berries."
        "But it's not what we ordered."
        "Ohhhh, you'll get over it."  He started to walk away  but a lightening 
quick hand darted out for his wrist.
        "But I do so love strawberries and whipped cream."  She said in a 
mixture of charm and wounded disappointment.
        "Oh honey look around.  This place is packed.  It might take me 20 
minutes to get a new order."  Suddenly his eyes shot to his wrist.  
Nothing in her demeanor indicated that she was doing anything other than 
clasping the waiters wrist.  But he certainly noticed something.  A 
moment later his eyes widened in astonishment.  Then a blatant look of 
fear overtook his face.  Sweat beads popped out on his forehead.  He 
began to shake.  His mouth opened, gasped a couple of times, then he said 
in a quavering voice:
        "Obviously my mistake.  I'll take care of it right away."
        "Thank you ever so much."  She smiled sweetly in heavily theatrical 
gratitude and released him.  Immediately he clasped and massaged his 
white circled wrist as he hurried toward the kitchen.
        "You were starting to tell me something about -- that man?"  She started 
to speak, then shook her head.
        "Never mind she said.  I'll tell you some other time." She brightened 
and said:  "Now tell me about yourself."  At that moment the waffle 
arrived, inundated in strawberries and whipped cream.  The waiter looked 
desperately for approval but I dismissed him with a curt nod and patently 
synthetic smile.  I told her more-or-less the true story of myself, much 
abridged, trying my best to add drama and a sense of destiny to a very 
mundane biography.  She expertly feigned rapt interest.  We got to the 
part about careers and here I did have a little something to tell.  
Consulting can be interesting and very lucrative, in my case it is both.
        "And what about you?"  I asked.
        "I dance. (pause) I'm a dancer. (pause)  An exotic dancer. (pause)  A 
VERY exotic dancer."  That took me a moment to absorb.
        "OK." I said.
        "Don't misunderstand."  She was very anxious to get this straight.  "I 
dance.  Yes, I dance with the men who come to watch.  But I don't go home 
with them."
        "Of course."  I said earnestly.  "There was no need to explain.  I 
wouldn't have even imagined otherwise."  She was very pleased with that 
response.  A moment later she flagged the waiter.  He jumped to attention.

        "I believe I ordered a croissant."  She said dryly.  The waiter scanned 
the table then his eyes widened in panic.
        "Yes. Yes.  Yes.  How could I have been so stupid."  His voice was 
pleading for mercy.  She smiled indulgently and he instantly bounded for 
the kitchen.  The croissant appeared almost magically, warm and 
pleasantly aromatic.
        "Would you mind if I -- if I came to watch you dance?"  She hesitated 
for a moment then smiled and said:
        "Why not.  I think you would enjoy it."  Her voice became low and 
conspiratorial.  "I'm very sexy when I dance.  Sexy in a way that you 
like."  My mind, of course, went hyperbolic imagining what she meant by 
that.
        Neither of us was in a hurry, so we enjoyed a leisurely meal.  
Occasional glances from the maitre'd (accompanied by a histrionic glance 
at the ever growing line of hungry potential breakfasters at the door) 
suggested that we could have taken leave somewhat earlier.  But we were 
so delighted by the attentive service of our charming waiter that we 
could hardly drag ourselves from our table.  Finally I beckoned our 
waiter (who responded in an instant) and handed him my credit card 
without even glancing at the check.  He dashed to the register and 
returned with equal speed.  I signed -- including a generous tip -- and 
we were off.  Again I took enormous pride in gently steering her ahead of 
me through the crowd.  And, again she made sure that no one paid the 
slightest attention their plates as made an opulent exit.  The lobby of 
the hotel was subdued but very crowded.  She took my hand and started 
leading me away from the entrance.  I assumed she was looking for the 
ladies room, and indeed we were heading for the restrooms and pay-phones. 
 A few people sat at well isolated pay-phones, and occasionally someone 
would enter or exit a restroom.  Otherwise we were almost alone in the 
dim, plush corridor.  At one point she looked around and, satisfied that 
we were alone, reached one arm around my waist and one around my back.  
She looked once more to confirm we had some privacy and then pulled me 
toward her parted lips.  As our mouths drew close together I felt myself 
suddenly lifted from the thick carpet.  She was leaning back almost 
parallel to the floor and carrying me on her thrust-forward pelvis.  I 
slid one leg between hers and hooked my calf behind her knee.  She began 
slowly gyrating.  I slipped instantly into an erotic semi-consciousness.  
We heard approaching voices.  I had no shame.  Never-the-less I found 
myself on standing on the floor again just in front of her.  If the two 
men had any doubt about our relationship, I put on a slightly histrionic 
show of "embarrassment" of being "caught in the act."  They made no 
attempt to conceal their envy.
        "Well that will have to hold you for now."  She said.  We headed for the 
door.  She demurely waited for me to open the inner door at the lobby 
entrance.  The doorman snapped to the outer door and saluted us as we 
left.  We stood in front of the hotel for a moment before taking leave of 
each other.  Her eyes assured me that she longed for me the way I longed 
for her.  After a few intimate minutes of gazing at each other she broke 
the silence:
        "So I will see you tonight?  About 11 o'clock?"
        "Yes, of course.  Ah...see me where?"  She instantly realized that she 
had not even told me the name of the club, let alone the address.
        "Why, the 'Amazon Club' of course."  She said the avenue and cross-
street.  I wouldn't need to write down the address.
        She turned and headed down the avenue without another word.  She walked 
with the dangerous grace of a jaguar.  In a jungle of gray concrete and 
gray people in gray suits she was vividly beautiful.  The black seams 
running the length of each lithe leg hypnotized me as they delineated her 
shimmering stride.  The two dimpled hemispheres jiggled just perceptibly 
in time with the click of her stiletto heels against the pavement.  A 
herd of salary-men and women parted as she progressed down the sidewalk 
heedless of the indistinguishable pedestrians.  No head was left unturned.
  I was suddenly struck by the memory of photograph I once saw (I think 
it was in National Geographic) of a cheetah patrolling the perimeter of a 
herd of antelopes.  The cheetah exuded an insouciant atmosphere that 
seemed to proclaim the antelope as her own personal buffet.



Chapter 3,  (section 2 of 2)

        You are expecting me to write that the seconds seemed like minutes, the 
minutes seemed like hours and the hours passed so slowly...  In reality 
the day zoomed by almost completely unattended by me.  I couldn't tell 
you now what transpired for the 10 hours I spent at the office, except to 
say that whatever I did seemed to have been completely successful and to 
every client's complete satisfaction.  The time dissolved as I relived 
every second of that morning's encounter in unstinting detail.  It was 
7:00 PM just less then a minute after it had been 9:00 AM.  I was off to 
home, dinner, a shower and a shave.  The clock made it to 9:00 PM in 
record time and then the next hour drudged through every second I had 
failed to pay proper respect to earlier in the day.  It would take me 
about twenty minutes to get to the club -- I didn't want to seem over-
anxious by arriving too early.  So I paced my apartment for an 
excruciating hour before I finally decided to walk off some tension 
outside.  The streets were brightly lit and busy.  It was late in the 
week and plenty of people were getting a head start on the weekend.  Most 
people will tell you that they are most optimistic during the day, 
preferably bright sunny days.  But it is the night that always holds the 
most promise for me.  It just seems to me that the rules are different, 
more favorable to the less well endowed like me.  Anyway, I like the city 
at night.  
        With remarkably good timing I arrived at the garish exterior of the 
Amazon club.  The dazzling exterior neon display appeared to be promising 
a world of enormously bosomed ingenues.  Was this the right place?  Then 
I noticed a series of photographs surrounding a poster.  The graphic 
poster depicted stylized female forms breaking chains, bending bars, and 
lifting huge barbells.  The photographs exhibited actual performers:  
"Mink, The Warrior Girl of Angor Wat" was shown flipping a sumo-wrestler 
type across her smooth naked back;  "Lady Chinchilla, Marquessa of 
Muscle" (don't blame me, I didn't make this stuff up) stood tall, blond, 
willowy and the image of Anglo-Saxon gentility -- except that she was 
carrying a taller blond guy on her hip.  And there she was, my obsession: 
 "Sable, the Seņorita of Steel."  Sable differed from the others in three 
important respects:  First, even in the photographs it was obvious that 
she was tiny compared to the other girls;  Second, unlike the other girls 
who were almost nude, she wore a rather demure shorts and halter costume; 
 and Third, the picture showed her carrying not one, not two, but three 
men all significantly larger than herself, one on each hip and one riding 
on her shoulders.
        I stopped at the ticket booth and told the attendant who I was and that 
I believed I was expected.  Sable had told me she would arrange for me to 
be admitted as a guest.  A sign at the booth insisted:  "Admission $50.00 
-- NO EXCEPTIONS."  I could pay the admission, but I did like the idea 
that I was someone special here.  As it turned out, I was not -- someone 
special here.  The attendant had never heard of me.
        "50 dollahs, no exceptions."
        I tried again.  The attendant looked through me.  I was suddenly aware 
that she was looking through me at someone else.  I turned my head enough 
to find that I was eye to eye with a pair of very well developed female 
breasts, barely concealed by a cropped jersey muscle-shirt, which in turn 
were connected to a very well developed female body.  The horizontal rank 
formed by two prominent breasts flanked by two enormous biceps 
momentarily blinded me to the fact that the four powerful protrusions 
were ruled over by one astonishingly beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed, 
resolutely intransigent face.
        "Is there a problem here?"  The beautiful face asked in an equally 
beautiful voice.
        "Not at all."  I answered.  "I was just trying to explain that Sable 
invited me here.  She said she would arrange a guest pass for me --"
        "Oh, of course."  The face relaxed into a sparkling smile.  "Yes of 
course.  Come with me.  Everything is arranged for you."  She nodded to 
the attendant and turned to lead me into the club.  I smiled and nodded 
to the attendant in an attempt to convey to her:  "Think nothing of it -- 
no harm done."  But she couldn't have cared less.  I followed my towering 
hostess inside.  We passed another neon representation of mammalian 
gigantism.  My guide must have noticed my quizzical look because she was 
quick to explain:
        "Amazon used to be slang for, uh, exceptionally well endowed, uh, you 
know:  Big bugles.  When we took over the place we thought the name was a 
natural, and we thought the neon was kinda cool."  That was enough 
explanation for the both of us.
        The entry way was dark but there was no sense of seediness or decay.  
The club was clean, well cared for, garish and ridiculously plush.  The 
main room was lined with high-backed booths plushly upholstered with 
leather or a very good facsimile thereof.  The booths were bathed in 
darkness except for a dim pseudo-candle on each table.  The aisles were 
lit with track spots that provided safe passage with out needless 
illuminating any area in which a patron might want to retreat.  I 
recognized the music throbbing from a superlative sound system as (a 
heavily remixed) Thompson Twins, "In the name of love" [...IN the NAME of.
.IN the NAME of...]. Mink performed on a small but very well designed 
and complexly lit stage.  The apron of the stage formed a sort of bar 
lined with enthusiastic male admirers.  Two muscular and imposing and 
very attractive young ladies held strategic stations along the apron of 
the stage.  I guessed they were there to keep things orderly.  But this 
seemed to be an orderly and surprisingly well dressed crowd.  The patrons 
were all male, expensively suited and very professional looking.  Many 
tried to affect a very unconvincing swagger accentuated by huge cigars 
that made them look more like gays making fun of each other.  They 
laughed conspicuously at each other's inane remarks and tried to present 
an air of indifference to the performance on stage.  But they were all 
plainly mesmerized.  One of the female bouncers appeared to be guarding 
an empty chair tipped against the stage. My guide led me to that chair 
and nodded to its custodian.  The girl righted the chair and ushered me 
in with a smile.
        "Something to drink?"  Asked my hostess.
        "Yes, thank you, Pernod on the rocks."  She seemed surprised and pleased 
by my choice.
        "If you like,"  she said "I brought back some real Anisette from the 
Cote d'Azure last winter."
        "Better still!"  I said with unconcealed enthusiasm.  As I took the seat 
my hostess departed.  The bouncer girl leaned close to my ear and 
surreptitiously handed me something as she whispered to me:
        "Sable wants to spend most of her time with you but you have to make it 
look good."  I glanced at my hand and was started at the sight of old Ben 
Franklin smirking back at me in triplicate.  I turned to my benefactor 
and discretely nodded my understanding.  She smiled warmly at me.
        "And if you don't mind my saying so,"  I said returning her smile, "you 
almost make me wish I hadn't met Sable first."  She smiled brightly at 
that.  One of the regulars leaned over to me:
        "So the gorilla girl read you the riot act, huh?"  I gave him a 
quizzical look and he continued to explain:  "Us regulars she knows won't 
cause any trouble, but they like to spell it out to you virgins.  Take my 
word for it, they may be cute, but they can back up what they say."  I 
nodded awed understanding.  "Hey" he continued "Ya know why we call 'em 
'gorilla girls?'"  I hadn't really given it much thought but he seemed 
anxious to tell me.  "Because they can sit anywhere they want!"  He 
howled in glee at his own verbal flatulence.  I feigned amusement and 
looked over to my other side where my new friend was rolling her eyes in 
exasperation.


	Mink had the lush dark -- not black -- hair, translucent -- not yellow --

 skin and well formed -- not huge -- breasts that generally distinguish 

Thais from other Asian women.  But she was bigger than any Thai girl I 

had seen before.  She was about five-eight, 135 or so pounds, and very 

muscular.  Her sumo partner had obviously been on a diet, but it was 

still impressive watching her throw him around to the music.  He wasn't 

much taller than her, maybe five-ten.  But he out-weighed her by at least 

70 or 80 pounds, maybe more.  If she was using judo it was a graceless 

demonstration.  She was mostly just throwing him around the stage, 

occasionally levering him over her hips in a long, gyrating, deliberately 

sensuous display.  These throws sent her admires into howls of delight.  

She seemed to be enjoying the whole thing immensely.  She smiled brightly 

and giggled at her better throws.  At one point she bent over her partner 

as he got to his feet and clasped him around his waist.  He knew the 

choreography and immediately wrapped one arm around her waist as she 

lifted him feet first into the air.  She continued dancing for several 

seconds as he hooked his legs behind her shoulders and under her arms.  

The she released his waist and began a slow spin causing his body to 

flare out from hers.  Her partner seemed bored with the whole thing, 

exhibiting emotion only when he landed particularly hard.  But he seemed 

well trained in his sport.  There was no evidence that he was actually 

being injured.  A few more throws and the song ended.  This was also the 

end of Mink's act.  She took a few sensual bows in response to 

enthusiastic applause.  Then she grabbed the wrist of her partner and in 

a quick motion hoisted him to her shoulders.  She carried him off-stage 

like that with an exaggerated gyration of her hips, all to more 

enthusiastic applause.  

	My drink arrived.  The Anisette was already clouded from the ice.  The 

rich sting of anise root carried another undertone I couldn't place at 

first.  Then I realized that the bartender had painstakingly shaved a few 

coffee beans into the liquor.  The rich complex aroma was matched by an 

equally dramatic taste.  A few moments and the frisson on my gums and 

sinuses confirmed that this was, indeed, the genuine export of southern 

France.  My boorish neighbor was babbling something about a real man's 

drink.  But the alcohol, anise and caffeine had already rescued me from 

the slightest interest in his prattle.  Another Thompson Twins re-mix 

began and the stage lights dimmed.  Part way through the song the stage 

went completely dark and the Thompson Twins seamlessly segued into 

something quite different:  A primal drumbeat.  

	At first I couldn't quite focus on the sound.  The drumming was more 

than just pounding rhythm.  It was clearly a mix of several drums of 

different, harmonized timbres.  Koto drums, I recognized.  The primitive 

yet extremely complex sound of Japanese Koto drums, performed exclusively 

by women.  A disembodied female voice reverberated across the room.

	"And now, la femina fatale.  A force of nature.  The lady of your dreams 

and fears.  The Seņorita of Steel...Sable."  Suddenly I was surrounded by 

a throng of clambering men.  The stage lights rose slightly to reveal an 

indistinct figure on the stage.  I could only make out a generally 

feminine form obscured from head to ankle in diaphanous draping.  Again, 

the slight buzz from my drink left me straining to discern the detail of 

what I was perceiving.  As the volume and the light slowly rose I could 

see that she was pirouetting slowly.  As the tempo of the drums increased,

 so did the rate of her spin.  But now she was adding something extra.  

She wasn't just spinning, she was adding circles around circles to her 

spin.  The volume of the music was steadily increasing.  The sound system 

was well able to project both the thundering bass tones and the fine 

detail of the higher notes.  No two lights on the stage were the same 

color.  Nor was any light the same color for more than half a minute.  As 

she spun ever faster in ever more complex patterns the translucent gown 

took on a life of its own.  The draping was in several layers of 

different lengths, very unevenly cut, so a flurry of corners spun around 

her.  The flying corners seemed to be individually dancing to the 

pounding of the Koto drums, each point seemed to be catching and 

reflecting a specific layer of the complex drum rhythm.  Or maybe it was 

just the Anisette.  Around me I could hear increasingly heavy breathing 

as the dance intensified.  How could she keep this up.  I knew, very well,

 how strong she was.  But how could she sustain this fevered pace.  

Suddenly the music broke to thundering silence.  In the next instance I 

realized that Sable had come to a motionless pose of stark, aggressive 

menace.  She was so threatening I felt a shiver of terror thrill through 

me.

	"OH MAN."  I heard from right next to me.  "Oh man.  Man did you pick 

the right night to come here buddy."  He was addressing that more or less 

in my direction, but I'm sure he meant it for himself.  There was no 

doubting what he was so excited about.  The costume enveloping her was 

sheer enough to reveal that she was not wearing the shorts and top in the 

pictures out front.  Obviously she was wearing nothing under the sheer 

cloth except a very small thong.  Her perfect breasts and large nipples 

were plainly visible through the translucent fabric.  Her thick hair was 

gathered tightly up around her head simulating an oversize Pompadour, 

much like a Cuban starlet of the 40's or 50's. Whooping and hollering 

pummeled me from every direction.

	"Oh man."  He was on his feet and seemed nearly hysterical. "She's 

finally gonna do it."  Do what?  "She's gonna dance topless.  She's NEVER 

done that before.  Oh man.  This is your lucky night buddy."  Why not?  I 

had just experienced the luckiest day of my life.  Why shouldn't the 

night be lucky as well.  She strode to the center of the stage and struck 

a provocative pose.  She looked from one face to the other.  I could 

follow the path of her predatory gaze by the howls of ecstasy emanating 

from the crowd.  She found me and snuck a sly smile at me.  My new 

"buddy" caught the gesture and glanced at me to corroborate his suspicion.

  Apparently he was convinced the smile could not have been intended for 

me because he let out a load whoop to register his glee at being so 

favored.  The drums started again and two men in bicycle shorts, both 

over six foot and at least 180 pounds each emerged from the wings of the 

stage and approached her.  They each took a handful of the gown and 

removed it with an elaborate motion. One of them bundled the gown and 

carried to the wing of the stage.  The other started to depart in a 

mirror image of the first one's exit.  But as he stepped her hand sprung 

out and grabbed his wrist.  He made a theatrical show of being captured.  

Without otherwise moving she pulled him in a quick gesture toward her 

superb body.  He pirouetted and came to a stop with one bent leg behind 

her and the other in front.  Her body glowed with a faint sheen of 

perspiration giving her a slick but not damp patina.  The sheen 

emphasized her muscularity.  She had obviously pumped up for the 

performance, looking much more muscular than that morning.  Her biceps in 

particular bulged with disturbing power, especially compared to her lithe,

 curvy body.  The sinewy musculature of her forearms and articulation of 

her long graceful hands also testified to the exceptional hand strength I 

had seen in devastating action earlier.

	They began a slow but forceful tango.  Both displayed far better than 

average grace and style, but the dance seemed oddly out of kilter.  I 

realized, suddenly, that the dissonance came from the complete role 

reversals they had assumed.  Despite his towering size advantage, she was 

leading him, she was pushing him around the floor.  He was assuming the 

role of the submissive partner to her smoldering Latin domination.  I 

found myself focusing less on the dance, and more on her legs.  Even for 

a woman her legs were unusually long, completely dominated her anatomy.  

Her leg muscles vibrated with power. They were not at all like the 

bulging limbs of a body builder, or even like the taught instruments of a 

ballet dancer.  They were primal, predatory.  Two boa constrictors poised 

to crush a victim between there powerful grasp.  And also strangely 

beautiful in the same way that a big sleek snake often is.  I found 

myself thrilled and terrified at the same time.  I fully expected to be 

between those legs within a few hours.  Would I find untold pleasures 

there?  Or savage death?  I kept seeing a picture of myself, the life 

being squeezed out of me by those beautiful legs.  But I can't remember:  

Was that what frightened me or was that what thrilled me?  The Anisette 

was definitely going to my head.

	The noise level around me seemed to be rising again and that snapped me 

out of my half-dream.  I felt my heart accelerate before the view fully 

registered on my optical perception.  Sable and her partner were slowly 

pirouetting.  More precisely, Sable was slowly pirouetting.  Her partner 

was riding on of her hips with one of his legs between hers, and the 

other around her waist.  One of his long arms encircled her back.  Her 

hand grasped his narrow waist while her other stretched out in counter-

balance to the 180 or so pounds she was gracefully supporting on her hip. 

 My first thought was a moment of jealousy as that guy rode my girl.  But 

the emotion subsided quickly.  This was only a stage show and I would be 

getting the real thing before this evening was over.  The music had 

changed to an electronic Latin meringue with a throbbing bass line.  As 

the music gained momentum so did the dance.  She swung her partner to her 

front.  He changed his position so now both of his legs were wrapped 

around her waist. The spectators roared with approval as she swung him 

around in front of her in looping circles, then shifted him from one hip 

to the other.  When the crowd seemed as satisfied with this display as 

they were going to get, she quickly maneuvered her partner into a cradle 

then set him on the stage beside her.  In consonance with that move the 

other guy came on stage and the three of them vogued, momentarily, in a 

tableau obviously intended to emphasis how small she was compared to her 

partners.  Then, with good synchronization, the two men each mounted one 

of her hips and locked a leg each around one of hers.  They held this 

pose for a moment, again accentuating the disorienting sight of two large 

men being carried by a small, pretty girl.  Sable began a rhythmic, strut 

from the back of the stage to the front.  With each step her hips rolled 

so much that the two men looked like kids on a merry-go-round poping up 

and down on their mounts.

	The stage lights dimmed again and the two men dismounted.  She turned 

and walked toward the back of the stage with a motion that engendered 

vocal appreciation from her fans.  When she found the spot on the stage 

she was looking for she turned and struck a pose of aloofness, disdain, 

menace and sheer sexuality.  She gave every appearance that she was 

completely unaware of her vocal admirers.  Her eyes moved toward me and a 

sly smile snuck onto her face.  My neighbor caught the expression and 

again turned to me in an effort to discern some connection.  Convincing 

himself that I couldn't possibly be that lucky, he returned his attention 

to the stage.  The music had changed again to something slower and 

jazzier.  A soulful clarinet was punctuated by blue chords on a piano 

played from both ends of the keyboard.  A male face appeared, seemingly 

out of nowhere, and hovered above her.  Of course the illusion was the 

result of very clever arrangement of stage lighting.  But the effect was 

very good.  The man was at least six-four, probably six-six and well 

muscled.  Rather Nordic looking:  Smooth, pale, blonde and blue-eyed.  An 

ubermensch if I ever saw one.  He must have weighed at least 200 to 220 

pounds.  The over-all effect was startling.  He seemed like a giant 

towering over Sable.  The difference in height was so great that he 

hardly needed to bend his elbows to place his hands on her shoulders.  

She changed her stance to brace herself with her feet about shoulder 

width apart.  With a sudden motion he vaulted up, balancing on her 

shoulders with the palms of his hands.  A collective sigh rumbled from 

the audience.  He slowly stretched his legs out and up.  When his split 

reached its apex he rotated his legs forward so they projected over her 

shoulders.  Then suddenly he saddled on her shoulders and shot his arms 

out and up, maximizing his size relative to hers.  His legs were so long 

compared to her small body that his feet dangled below her knees.  She 

gave no indication that her rider burdened her in any way as she walked 

toward the edge of the stage with a provocative gyration.  The whooping 

and hollering from the edge of the stage rose to a crescendo as she 

approached.

	She strutted the length of the stage then returned to the center and 

stopped.  The music shifted gears again, this time to a thumping disco 

beat.  To my surprise her rider suddenly dismounted and stood off a 

discreet distance.  No one else seemed surprised.  They seemed to know 

exactly what was coming next.  She started to move in rhythm to the music,

 then suddenly broke into a spectacularly acrobatic dance routine.  Her 

stomach and pelvic muscles were obviously as well developed as her legs.  

At this point the edge of the stage erupted in a flock of hands 

proffering bills of various denominations, none less than 10 dollars.  

She appeared to find something highly desirable in an admirer at the 

opposite end of the stage. She lowered herself to a crouch, never 

slacking her gyrations, and leaned forward to listen to his proposition.  

She listened for several seconds then nodded and allowed him to insert 

the bill in her thong, at the hip.  She then took his hand and led him 

around to a set of steps at the side edge of the stage.  All accompanied 

by the whoops and hollering of his companions.  Up on stage he wore a 

manic grin but otherwise had no idea what to do with himself.  Although I 

couldn't hear her words over the din of the music and the crowd, it was 

clear from his expression that she was instructing him to relax.  The guy 

was about six foot.  A blatant yuppie out on an evening howl.  Probably 

he had never seen anything quite like this place before.  He seemed in 

reasonably good shape, weighed maybe 170 or so.  A trifle for Sable.  Her 

big Viking dance partner had discreetly moved in closer.  The yuppie 

tried to relax, but couldn't.  Sable didn't wait for him to cooperate.  

She took one wrist and in rapid movement hoisted him to her shoulders.  

In another instant she repositioned her hands and, in a quick but 

powerful movement, lifted him above her head.  The audience went wild.  

The big Viking was acting as a spotter, attentive to any danger the 

yuppie might put himself in.  He obviously had confidence in Sable's 

ability to handle this guy.  He watched the guy for signs that he might 

do something stupid like try to get down before Sable had properly 

lowered him.  Fortunately he was rigid with either fear or embarrassment 

and let her handle him with no resistance.  She turned a few times and 

walked back and forth on the stage to the wild approval of her admirers.  

She set him down without incident.  He gave her a perfunctory thank you 

and tried to rush off the stage.  She wasn't having any of his ride and 

run.  She grabbed one of his wrists and yanked him back.  Then swung him 

around and, one arm behind his back, the other over his waist, dropped 

him in a provocative reversal of Clark Gable showing Scarlett O'Hara what 

it means to be really kissed.  The crowd howled with laughter.  When she 

was satisfied that she had sufficiently humiliated him she helped him 

back up and let him make an undignified escape.

	The music changed again to Banarama's version of "Venus."  The stage 

lighting also changed to a demonic red.  She started gyrating again and 

once again handfuls of bills shot toward the stage.  She worked her way 

toward my end of the stage exchanging small favors for medium bills and 

finally was almost in front of me.  I nonchalantly sipped my Anisette and 

savored the rich fennel aroma enhanced by fragrance of the shaved coffee 

beans. She looked at me somewhat quizzically but quickly moved on to the 

oaf next to me.  I knew what she was looking for and I was teasing her.  

Cigar and drink in one hand, 50 dollar bill in the other my new friend 

thought he was the king of the Amazons.  Sable looked at me again and 

this time I didn't disappoint her.  While my neighbor was on his feet 

demanding attention, I sat quietly back and very casually wrapped one of 

the 100's around my fingers in a discreet but plainly visible gesture.  I 

had played my charade perfectly and Sable had the excuse she needed to 

ignore everyone but me.  She lowered herself to let me hang the bill from 

her thong.  Her vanquished suitor looked at me in utter disbelief that I 

had so easily bettered him.  He hurriedly searched his pockets for 

reinforcements.  But I already trumped him with another 100.  He got the 

message that I could produce 100's faster than he could produce 50's and 

retired from the battlefield with little grace.  Sable leaned over to me -

- never breaking her rhythmic gyrations -- as if she were taking a 

request for service.

	"Having fun?" she whispered.

	"Quite an interesting experience."  I answered.

	"Don't worry, I have some VERY interesting experiences in mind for you." 

 My heart raced at that.  She pulled her head back and continued her low 

dance with a display of acrobatics that I hadn't believed possible until 

I actually saw them.  I nudged my neighbor with my elbow and nodded 

vigorous approval at the show.  My jibe was not lost on him.  In an 

effort to regain some dignity he asked:

	"Is that all you're getting for your money?"

	"Oh, no."  I replied.  "Not by a long shot.  I just don't care to get it 

for the amusement of this crowd."  With that remark the emerging flower 

of our new friendship faded, snipped cruelly in the bud.  I got over my 

loss quickly.  She spent another 10 minutes or so delivering a very 

personal performance to me alone.  Then to the great relief of my fellow 

admirers she straightened up again and danced to the center of the stage. 

 Her three dance partners converged on her.  Anticipation became audible 

in the crowd again.  The big blond took a position behind her and vaulted 

to her shoulders.  Each of the other two guys approached her from 

opposite sides and saddled up on her hips.  She staggered for a moment, 

then regained her balance.  A quick calculation told me that she must be 

carrying something around 550 pounds!  The weight was efficiently 

distributed, but 550 pounds on a five-foot-three, 120 pound girl was 

impressive no matter how it's rationalized.  And now she was starting to 

dance again!  It was a slow and somewhat strained samba.  But I could 

hardly believe she was moving at all under that weight.  The crowd was 

screaming their delight.  The two hip-riders locked legs and clasped arms 

with the shoulder-rider, then leaned back and extended their free arms 

out, forming a sort of open basket around her.  The effect was startling. 

 Spread out like that the men looked huge against their tiny mount.  It 

seemed an impossible burden for that beautiful little girl to bear.  Her 

disarming smile and carefree manner made the contrast even more shocking. 

 And there, I knew, I would be before long.

	The music ended and the stage went suddenly dark.  I could hear the 

sound of the three men dismounting.  The lights came up again for the 

quartet to take a bow to thunderous applause.  They left the stage 

directly and some generic disco music throbbed over the sound system.  I 

had almost forgotten my friend the bouncer, but she hadn't forgotten me.

	"C'mon." She said. "You have a reserved booth."  I was glad to have her 

as my guide.  She easily shouldered through the milling crowd of semi-

sober salarymen.  The booth was actually a partially screened table with 

two sturdy but armless chairs.  A "RESERVED" sign stood sentry on the 

table.  She smiled brightly at me and returned to her post at the stage.  

I watched her with admiration as she walked away.  Big, powerful, 

commanding and utterly feminine.  How was it that I had ever wasted my 

time with "ordinary" women when there seemed to be a more than adequate 

supply of real women like this.  "Ah well."  I thought.  Too late to make 

that discovery.  After all:  I was not a free man anymore.  A fresh drink 

appeared at my table mysteriously, and I took a deep sip without worrying 

too much about how it got there.  There was a rumble of voices near the 

stage.  The throng of suits parted deferentially and from that herd she 

emerged with predatory swagger.  She barely noticed the flood of 

admiration pouring on her from all sides.  She was looking right at me.  

Suddenly my former stage-front neighbor leaned toward her, 50's in hand, 

and put his lips near her ear.  She stopped to listen, with little 

apparent interest, to his animated appeal.  After several seconds he 

snapped the bills without ceremony and tucked into her thong.  For a 

moment she gave the impression that this was the end of the transaction.  

Her suitor stood by in anxious courtesy.  Obviously he was also uncertain 

what would happen next.  Then, with one remarkably elegant and poised 

motion she whirled towards him, slipped an arm around his back, slipped 

the other behind his knees and swept the big man into a cradle.  Her 

knees bent slightly at the weight and she had to bounce him up a little 

to get a good grip on him.  There were shouts of: "Yo baby," and "Do it," 

and "Get it on."  The guy seemed relaxed and satisfied for the first time 

all night.  Then, with another elegant motion she swung him up over her 

shoulders like a big sack.  His glasses flew off and skittered across the 

floor.  A crescendo of hoots and hollers accompanied this move.  She spun 

him around a few times and gave him several sharp bounces.  I couldn't 

hear him moan but it was obvious he was in ecstasy.  After a minute or 

two she lowered him to his feet.  He seemed content that he had gotten 

his money's worth.  He smiled dumbly for a few seconds before he realized 

he had lost his glasses.  She continued toward me.

	"Howdy mister."  She said through a sly smile.  "Mind if I join you?"  

She didn't wait for an answer before swinging one svelte leg over me and 

settling into my lap facing me.  She allowed me only a teasing kiss then 

quickly explained the rules, one of which was no kissing.  Also, no 

touching between the waist and knees, etc.  She maneuvered until she had 

my erection pressed firmly between her labia.  I couldn't help letting 

out a deep sigh.  She squeezed me between her thighs and started gyrating.

  This really caught took my breath away.

	"Lap dance for ya' mistah?"  She giggled.

	"Oh yeah." I said, now completely under her control.  She wrapped her 

arms around me, her powerful biceps pressing against my ordinary biceps 

in deliberate domination.  I was quickly losing my composure.  I remember 

seeing the 50 dollar guy find his glasses, straighten his tie and quickly 

head for the exit.  I remember her an announcement that Lady Chinchilla 

was taking the stage.  And I remember a few glimpses of the tall, 

blondish Chinchilla dancing and dominating the taller, blond guy that 

Sable had danced with.  Other than that, everything that wasn't Sable is 

just a blur.  I was completely enthralled by her.  I no longer had a will 

of my own.  As she moved and stroked me she grasped and clasped me with 

powerful arms, hands and thighs.  Her strength was overwhelming.  I had 

no doubt who was in charge.  And I had no regrets about surrendering 

myself like that.  Or maybe it was the Anisette.	



to be continued...