Preamble

Ever since I got my first computer and started surfing the 'net, I've peen struck by the volume of material, both pictorial and othewise, that celebrates the beauty of the muscular woman. As long as I can recall, I've been captivated by the lure of the athletic gir, as many people obviously have. This audience can relate to me, though, when I say that I'm not typical of most leg-, foot-, or breast-loving men. Though I appreciate the felale body in whole and in part, I confess (with some embarrassment, until now) that I'm an "arm guy".

I LOVE strong, muscular, competent women; however, the preponderance of material on the web that depicts such women as exclusively dominant may be fine for some, and even me, at the outset but... I like it when the tables get turned.

Occasionally, on the web, I'll come across a gal who bears our cherished "qualities", and who doesn't feel at all diminished by occasionally assuming a submissive roll. Imagine my shock and disbelief, then, when I met (we'll cal her) Lisa at a local supermarket.

Lisa is real. And Lisa is attractive, muscular, and nobody's ragdoll. But Lisa loves to play games.

With her knowledge and permission, I'd like to relate some of our encounters here. Please be advised that these stories are sexually explicit, but contain no pugilistic violence or physical abuse. I do not, in any way, condone or support the abuse of women or anyone else.

Todd

Under Penalty of Law

I first noticed Lisa at the Safeway, where she was employed as a cashier. Although she is twenty-one, her handsome, tomboyish face suggested that she might barely be 19. That day, her large, almond-shaped blue eyes, small nose, and all-American smile were framed by a 70s-ish, short, layered coiff of chestnut hair that just revealed her dark eyebrows and small ears before being sheered off straight at the nape of her neck. And those shoulders, although I was indeed captivated by her face, played no small part in piqueing my interest in this gal. Lisa's white, short-sleeve buttondown shirt was standard fare for Safeway cashiers but, although it's sleeves fell nearly to her elbows, the breadth and squareness of her shoulders was not lost beneath the stark, white cotton. And when she reached up to tear my receipt from atop her register, I caught myself staring at the vascularity of her forearm, and had to force myself to avert my gaze when her sleeve, which had slid up her arm a tad, revealed the single, blue vein which capped the belly of her bicep, and then ducked coyly into the safety of the her shirt's fabric. There were other indications of Lisa's physical prowess, too, such as the narrow, almost boyish hips upon which her little clamdigger jeans rode, as well as the way in which her hamstrings swept prominently into her full, exposed calves.

Lisa made smalltalk as she handed me my change, chortling in a slightly raspy voice which seemed an octave or so deep for a small girl. The sound of the 5-foot 2-inch recent college grad's greeting alone stirred my loins, and I found it especially gratifying that I seemed to have her undivided attention every time I stopped in. I don't think I'd ever made a secret of my attraction to her, but I think I might have been equally transparent about my surprise when she asked me out in front of a line of customers. Not that I'd ever have turned her down, but I really admired the guts that took. More than that, though, was the tone of her voice and the look in her eye while she made her overture - her demeanor was almost... well... supplicant. There was an innocence there that was wildly erotic, and I accepted almost before I'd realized what was happening.

When I took Lisa out for the first time, my intuition about her athleticism was validated. A fitness competitor who'd been quite successful at the local and regional level, Lisa continued to hone her physique, dance, and strength skills and, although her long-sleeve denim shirt and jeans were objects of some consternation for me that evening, I bided my time; I had every reason to believe that, among Lisa's many appealing qualities, the objects of my wildest dreams lay beneath those denim sleeves. Once I had established a climate of trust, all sorts of inroads would be opened. Lisa's athletic prowess and confidence notwithstanding, there was, periodically, an undeniable undercurrent if compliance - a kind of maleability - in her speech and behavior. The prospects gave me chills.

Upon going out with Lisa a second time, I was met with yet another concealing outfit, but managed to score an important coup by the close of the evening. Lisa hadn't been reluctant, from the outset, about some degree of physical demonstrativeness - it had become almost habitual for her to grab my hand or arm while walking, and other small public displays of her increasing affection for me were becoming equally routine. Anyway, upon my leaving her apartment, she'd insisted on repaying me ten bucks I'd spotted her when she was in a little pinch. I was reluctant to accept it, believing that in a relationship, a few bucks was neither here nor there, but Lisa was adamant. As I continued to resist, she tried to force the bill into my pants pocket and, laughing, we began to tussle, and an opportunity for a fact-finding mission arose. Grabbing Lisa's wrists, I backed her up against the inside of her apartment door and, placing my right hand at the small of her back, held her arms above her head with my left, probing for signs of supplication. I'm nearly a foot taller than she, and much heavier, so there wasn't really any contest, but Lisa's reaction made me swallow hard. She dropped the piece of currency, as if she'd forgotten about it and, still resisting slightly, asked me to kiss her.

"Please..." she whispered, her eyes fixed on mine.

I practically had to stoop to kiss her, and as I did so, I released my grip on her wrists and went to withdraw my hand, but to my astonishment, Lisa grabbed the hand which had restrained her and, crossing her wrists, lifted them to their former place above her head! Secretly jubilant, I obliged her submissive inclination and kissed her deeply. She drank by tongue in, as if desparately thirsty, and moaned lightly as I tightened my grip on her wrists and drew her pelvis toward me with my free hand. It was as if she relished the mild restraint, and I noticed that as we kissed, Lisa was lightly - slowly - grinding her loins against my leg. Not wanting to be to "easy" of a catch, I withdrew slightly, releasing her wrists, but she held them there momentarily, eyeing me, puppy-like, as I backed slowly away.

Cupping her handsome little face in my hands, and leaving the bill on the floor where it had fallen, I gave her a non-committal peck on the cheek, and said goodnight. I was in like Flynn.

The following morning, the phone rang, and I was pleased to hear Lisa on the line. She said that if I wouldn't take the money back, she'd at least like to fix me dinner. I, of course, happily accepted. I arrived at her house about 6:00 p.m., after my shift (I am a deputy for a municipal law-enforcement agency) and, when she opened the door, I swallowed hard and fought to conceal my reaction.

A khaki, mid-thigh skirt and a pair of strappy cork sandals showcased the spectacular legs of a trained athlete, such that a pure leg man would have fallen backwards down the steps. What had me self-consciously gaping, though, was something else. Just south of her warm, white smile, Lisa wore a little cotton shirt in the fashion of a classic baseball tee, but the white body of the garment had a deep scoop neck, piped in orange, which revealed slight pectoral striations between her small breasts. The most significant feature, though, was the shirt's orange raglan sleeves - they really weren't sleeves at all, but mere suggestions thereof - and they stretched dutifully across Lisa's square shoulders, managing only to barely cap her deltoids before ending snugly in a band of orange piping. On a lesser girl, these ineffectual little sleeves might have served some purpose, however marginal, but not on Lisa - only the very uppermost edge of her shoulders were covered, and where the taut orange piping ended, the stuff of my fantasies began.

Lisa's arms are two of the most fantastic that I'd ever laid eyes on, and certainly the unrivalled sexiest of any girl I've ever had the pleasure of dating. Rendered essentially completely exposed by this wonderful little spin on the venerable baseball tee, they are blemishless and lightly tanned, as Lisa generally seemed to be. Unlike the arms of a female bodybuilder, though, they are lithe - almost thin. And - as a happy side effect of Lisa's almost total lack of body fat - there is that prominent web of vascularity that snakes up each forearm before leading my eye to a single blue vein which ridges the long bellies of each of Lisa's delightfully naked biceps. What was more, even at rest, every muscle and striation is visible beneath her thin skin. Her delts are lightly striated ribbons which cap her shoulders, and are a pleasing compliment to a pair of triceps which make themselves apparent, even when relaxed. This gal is my fantasy in the flesh.

Lisa shut the door behind me and drew near for a kiss. She placed her hands on my waist, and as our tongues rolled together, my fingers explored - perhaps a bit conspicuously - the firm, fantastic contours of those hot, muscular arms, which were lightly awash with goosebumps.

Dinner was wonderful, but I was very aware of my inability to focus on the topics at hand. Lisa appeared oblivious, but all I could do was gape at that beautiful little hardbody, particularly those incredible arms of hers. I noted that Lisa was braless under that little tee, which only added to my longing for her, but it was as if she'd worn it to tease me with those silly little sleeves. She might, though, have just assumed that I was a "boob man" like most of the planet. She'd be wrong. "God... look at those sexy little muscular arms!" my inner voice exclaimed.

Pleasant conversation continued as we cleaned up after dinner, but my preoccupation was surely obvious. I found myself continually succumbing to notions of engaging my muscular date, dressed as she was, in various physical scenarios ranging from armwrestling to grappling on the floor - all of which ended with her being placed in some form of restraint, where she would writhe on the edge of ecstacy, in a phenomenal display of anatomic perfection, until I had kissed every muscular centimeter of her, and spent myself between her captive loins.

After coffee, we moved to the couch, where we inattentively watched tv and talked some more. Sitting to my left, Lisa was quick to put my arm around her shoulder, and she tucked her platform sandal-shod feet under her smooth, bronzed quads, engaging me attentively. Lisa had asked me on several previously occasions about my job, as a result of which I'd explained to her the nature of my work. The fact that I wear plainclothes initially had her wondering whether I had any law enforcement purview, and I'd told her that I did. Her seeing my sidearm and cuffs, which I'd removed when I'd arrived, prompted her to ask if i'd ever "collared" anyone, and I told her that I had, but that my job was generally quite unromantic. Like a curious child, Lisa went to the chair where my shoulder belt lay, and withdrew my cuffs from their canvas sheath. Playfully, she draped one over a vascular wrist, careful not to close it. I shifted uneasily on the sofa. She coyly promised to be on her "best behavior", and I told her she'd better, unless she'd a pair of matching bracelets, hoping to elicit some response.

"Uh-oh... I'll remember that, Lawman" Lisa acknowledged with a note of sarcasm. "I have a clean record, ya know."

She sat close to me again and held my right hand with her right, and I used my free hand to palm the solid details of her left arm, which one pathetic little cap sleeve tried in vain to protect. Her wrists bore a watch and a gold link chain, respectively, and I caught myself guiltily imagining how she'd look in those cuffs. My erection raged, and I was sure I had some pre-come by now.

In a brief lull, I took a gamble. "Hey, anyway, girl... how long you been working on these muscles of yours? I'm impressed! In fact, I'll risk total exposure here. Most guys are 'boob men', or like legs, or even feet - you know. But I confess: I'm an 'arm guy', as wierd as that might sound. I've always loved girls with muscular arms - and YOU, lady - well... I just cannot get OVER your arms." I felt my face flush in a wave of self-consciousness. I hoped that hadn't put her off.

"Really?! Oh, wow!" Her huge eyes lit up. "I've worked on them all through college, ever since I've been competing in fitness, but I'm really pretty lucky because I've got the genetics for it. You just don't know how glad I am to hear you say that! I've always been kind of self-conscious about my arms because they've always had a lot of definition, but now I think they're my best feature. I've never really been a good athlete in general, though. That surprises people... but I think I'm probably at least as strong as I might look!" She locked her left arm at the elbow momentarily as she held my right hand, and my left felt the heads of her triceps awaken smartly. Now that my confession was off my chest, I felt hugely relieved. She knew my secret. I thought she had the hottest arms on the planet.

I'd wondered about her strength, secretly, and maybe even hoped she wasn't as strong as people assumed she was. Even if her muscularity was more cosmetic than functional, Lisa was, nevertheless, built expressly for the art and act of loving. To hear her outwardly ponder the measure of her own strength, though, planted a seed that I wanted to nurture carefully.

"Oh... I'll bet you are! I bet you're no limp biscuit!" I countered. "How else could you get through those stage routines?"

I couldn't believe I'd stoop to bating her, but there'd be no harm. I wanted her to contest me somehow. That sexy little baseball tee was an omen. Tonight had to be it. The portal was open.

"Well, that's different, though. That's strength relative to my own mass. I'm not sure how I'd fare against - say - you, for instance. I might just crumble!"

There it was again, as in the first night at her door - not just the tone of supplication in her voice, but it was in her expression, too... a sort of doe-ish, almost pouty sort of undercurrent.

"Oh, that's crap!" I recoiled, pulling away from her, incredulous.

"What! That you might be stronger than I am? You're a head or more taller than I am and who-knows how much heavier! Plus, you're a federal agent!" Her tone was amicably argumentative, but I hoped she didn't feel too patronized. I could have easily stepped on it here.

"I know, Lisa, but look at those gorgeous arms of yours." I was giving it up my fetish here, I feared. "You ain't just a pretty picture!"

"Okay." She sprang from the couch, energized. "Come over here."

Lisa quickly cleared a lazy susan off the oak table at which we'd just eaten. I swallowed hard, not out of apprehension, but because I was trying to validate what was about to happen here. This was real now.

Lisa sat at the table and motioned for me to take my position across from her.

"C'mon... just for grins, Lawman!" At this juncture, it wasn't clear whether she was arguing for or against herself. But I didn't really care.

"Okay. But only 'cause you asked," I acquiesced.

"Oh, shutup and sit!" she barked. I discreetly adjusted myself as she looked away briefly. My cock was like marble.

Lisa placed her right elbow on the table, and I mine, and we clasped hands. Even as she took my hand in hers, the tiny cap sleeve of her tee shirt abandoned her arm entirely, and every sinew awaited her command.

"You call it," I said.

"Now!"

Lisa's arm erupted into a festival of muscular beauty as she unleashed the first wave of effort. She was indeed strong, as I'd guessed, and I surged to counter the torque of her initial push. As we hovered with our forearms perpendicular to the table, Lisa was never more handsome. Her bicep had peaked to the size of a peach, the single blue vein capping it conspicuously. As I gained ground, the separation between her inner bicep and triceps became beautifully pronounced, as did the juction of her spectacularly corded deltoid. Lisa's inner forearm was electric with effort, and I found myself toying with her just to savor her valliance. The scooped neck of her tee revealed the dovetailed striations of her pectorals between her small breasts, and a small gold medallion on a chain around her neck swung, pendulum-like, on a thin film of perspiration.

It was then that I noticed that Lisa's nipples were erect, and her face, handsome even in its contortions, bore the pained expression of a woman on the edge of her ability. She whipped her head to flip an errand fall of hair from one eye and, interestingly, seemed momentarily to be observing her own sinewous arm as we fought. I felt that I could take her any time, but I wanted to relish her explosive beauty - her blue eyes told a tale of impending defeat, and she bit her lower lip in a sensual, last ditch campaign. I imagined that this must be the visage that she would wear while trying desparately to escape an impassive schoolboy pin, or perhaps while in the throes of an orgasm. Then, Lisa moaned audibly, shuddered, and it was over. It wasn't so much that I'd sprung to best her, though - she just sort of fell to pieces. I wasn't quite sure what had happened but, after such a sound defeat, I was somewhat surprised when Lisa, having recovered somewhat, put up her other arm!

"Again... c'mon'!" she barked. "Other arm!"

Curious, and utterly captivated by this sexy challenger, I obliged.

So, around we went with our alternate arm, with the same intoxicating carnival of muscular delight, and exactly the same result. Afer a protracted contest, in which Lisa seemed, at times, to be intentionally prolonging her obvious discomfort, she yielded once again, with another undisguised gasp, but it seemed borne of something other than pure exhaustion. It was as though she were trying to tell me something.

"There. See?" she cooed, as if she'd fulfilled a prophecy, as she rose from the table and lead me into the living room again. "What'd I tell ya?"

Lisa's voice trailed off as we stood there, the tv prattling at no one, and she drew me into a deep kiss, her hands at my lower back. I began to explore the landscape of her arms again. They were damp with perspiration, and somewhat pumped from our contest. Lisa yielded to my kiss hungrily... passively, as if she'd been assigned a secondary rung in some sort of territorial rite. As we kissed, my fingers ascended those blue veins northward, along the mound of her now-vanquished biceps, to her smooth, damp armpits, and then traced the lines of orange piping where her tee-shirt's tiny sleeves abandoned those astounding works of art.

Lisa placed her hands on my chest, and looked up at me. I took her wrists in my hands, aware that they were substantial and strong for those of a small gal. This evening wasn't over yet, I suspected. I hoped.

"What's with all the 'lawman' stuff?" I querried. It was as if I were being asked to assume some sort of role. "Is that my niche around here? Thrust into an cliche stereotype by my occupation, am I?" I asked, secretly hoping for some affirmation.

"Well..." Lisa averted her gaze, and then re-established unbroken eye contact. "Somebody's got to control the criminal element around here." She covered each of her eyes with one hand, peering from between her middle and ring fingers as if wearing a burglar's mask, and grinned. "You never know who you're dealing with!"

Lisa grabbed the waistband of my jeans and pulled me toward her as she sat down on the couch. "I've never been in trouble with the law before... but..." - she pecked at my cheeks between words - "I always thought that... assaulting an officer... was a crime, right?"

Lisa was now atop me on the expansive, heavily stuffed couch, her sweeping quads astride my hips, lightly slapping my face with playful antagonism. Then she took my wrists and tried to pin them next to my shoulders, which she was able do after a moment; her having an occasional upper hand, I thought, would make things much more interesting.

My captor seemed pleased with her work, leering down at me, momentarily victorious. I noticed the faintest swirls of peachfuzz on her vascular forearms and, with her elbows locked as she pressed her weight onto my wrists, her sexy arms were taunting me.

"Well... THAT was easy!" she chided. "Is THIS what they taught you in cop school?"

"Well, not exactly, smartass." It was as though I'd been invited into my own fantasy. I wanted to take my time. Savor this. Commit every detail of this evening to memory.

With some difficulty, I pulled my wrists free of Lisa's grasp and, snaring her forearms, pressed her away from me and stood up, and backed her out into the carpeted area beyond the coffee table. The speed with which I did so caused her playful spunky laughter to evaporate into little gasps of effort and, for the first time, it occurred to me that I could actually fulfill my wildest fantasy with this muscular angel. After all... she's assaulted a law enforcement officer!

Lisa leered at me as if she wondered what was next, and fought to keep her balance as I pushed her backwards. Her nipples were like pencil erasers behind her cotton tee shirt, and her exposed neck and upper chest were flushed.

"Miss, I'll have to take you into custody," I advised her coldly. I began to jestfully mirandize her, but stopped when she launched another defensive barrage.

"But, I really didn't mean anything," Lisa implored in feigned, but very convincing, repentant tone. "Can't we talk about this?" Her voice was cracking in a half-laughing, half supplicant tone. "C'mon, pleeeze!" Her apparent lack of inhibition, and slightly overcooked acting, were incredibly erotic.

"We'll just add resisting arrest and bribary, too, while we're at it," I snapped. "You can make this easy for both of us, miss..."

I tightened my grip on Lisa's wrists as she fought harder. I'd have to work for this, but all the better. This would be a flexfest!

"No... I'm so SORRY, " my sexy quarry begged, seemingly fighting more to kiss me than to pull away. I held her at bey, realizing that my cuffs were sitting on the nearby chair with my jacket and sidearm, but it was really too soon for that. I'd hoped she wouldn't cave so soon. This whole scenario was just too ripe with chance.

Lisa's hands were becoming flushed from my grip and, bating her, I released one of her wrists to reach for my cuffs. Siezing the opportunity, Lisa swung a diamond-shaped calf behind my leg and tried to push me to the floor. I broke my fall with one hand and was nearly on my back, but as she tried to straddle me, I managed to knock the cuffs to the floor within a few feet of where we tussled. When she saw them fall, she tried harder to straddle me but, taking her wrists again, I rolled my shoulders and forced her onto her back, my knees astride her hips. Lisa's brown hair fell back away from her face, and she looked up at me as if fully aware of my next move in this erotic arrest. I clasped her wrists, locking them together at my stomach. She offered periodic, halting bursts of resistance, alternating her anxious gaze between me and the ceiling, as if she were waiting for something. I was so aroused. Her face was a seductive tonic of anticipation and helplessness as she lie beneath me, her skirt's hem having ridden up her muscular thighs to her crotch, her sculpted arms having been conspicuously bared by her tee-shirt's showey little sleeves, and her tanned neck and shallow cleavage rising and falling under a glaze of sweat. I'd just bet that Lisa had bought this little tee with the specific intent of showing off those sexy muscles, and she couldn't have found a bigger fan.

Suddenly, my sexy charge tried to sit up and yank her wrists away, but I held fast. Kicking her ankles apart with my feet, I leaned forward and began to slowly, methodically, spread her wrists away from her chest. Lisa tried desperately to counter my effort, but I'd dreamed of this. I would not be denied. Not now.

My precise slothfulness about parting her wrists was almost cruel. As Lisa began to falter, her face was awash with effort, and I slowly continued to drive her wrists toward the floor. I'd let up occasionally, even allowing her to lift her upper body toward me, only to resume my assault. Eventually, Lisa's wrists were an inch from the floor, next to her broad, square shoulders, and then I welded them to the carpet in a final, decisive shift of my weight. My dreamgirl, clad in an outfit that I might well have picked for her, was pinned.

"Oooooooo, no!!" she cooed theatrically. "Oh, god... pleeeze, no!! You can't arrest me!!" I was stupefied. That was exactly what she wanted me to do.

She was absolutely supplicant, and I was actually afraid that I might come, given my combined state of arousal and my efforts to restrain her. Lisa struggled violently to free herself, gritting her teeth, trusting her shoulders off the floor, and begging me to let her go. Her trapped arms exploded in futility, every sinew distinct and singular. I was having some trouble containing her, a fact which only heightened my arousal, and I spread her wrists further from her shoulders to reduce her leverage. The fan of her delts tested the limit of the little cap cleeves, and punctuated the depth of her smooth armpits. Lisa's jugular pulsed along her now ruddy neck and, my face inches from hers, I notice how she smelled vaguely like vanilla. I love that fragrance, and will forever associate it with her.Her breath was short and measured, and she exhaled repeatedly in frustration, gazing furtively at the ceiling during lulls in her attempts to escape.

To be continued?

At this point, there was no argument that this was the rapidly becoming the most dizzying sexual experience I'd ever had. I confess that I'd always "screened" my dates, at least in part, with an eye toward my secret little fetish, but no girl I'd ever dated could match Lisa in this realm. She had, unequivocally, the hottest arms of anyone I'd been out with, and I couldn't believe that this scenario was actually unfolding as it was. By virtue of my sheer bulk, I was clearly in control, but my goal was to allow Lisa to display that fantastic beauty and relative strength - to keep her right on the cusp of establishing an advantage - and then supress her again. As we engaged in this tantalizing contest, I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to make love to this stunning athlete. And I hoped I'd soon be allowed that honor.

I was rapt in those thoughts when Lisa spoke. "Well, whatcha gonna do to me, lawman?" she bated, recovering her breath as she lay there in a schoolboy pin, her sexy muscles still defiantly taut.

"Well, this sort of civil disobedience normally calls for harsh measures, but maybe we can let it go this time, " I suggested with condescention. I knew that wouldn't happen. She was far too willful for that, and I suspected she had not come down this path in ignorance.

"Maybe," Lisa bated sensually. But as soon as I relaxed a tiny bit...

"And maybe NOT!!" she hissed through clenched teeth as she launched another attempt to free herself. Caught unawares, I lost her wrists and had to make a concerted effort to contain her fury. As sensual as slamming my captive into another spread-eagle pin would have been, I knew I'd need to take another inroad eventually, and now was as good a time as any.

With great difficulty, much more than I thought I'd have, I lifted Lisa partially off the floor by her wrists and, wresting her to the carpet again, face down, I crossed her wrists at the small of her back, and pressed them up toward her shoulder blades. Lisa struggled desperately as I did so, especially when I reached for the nearby cuffs. I caught myself actually muttering to myself in disbelief as the first - then the second - serrated steel appliance closed about her pretty wrists. There was an explosion of effort from her triceps as Lisa tried futilely to straighten her arms, but gradually, she seemed to accept the realization that she was, quite literally, in bondage. I straddled Lisa's khaki skirt-clad haunches, tentatively relaxing my grip, and admiring my quarry. Lisa was still breathless, and the downy peachfuzz on her vascular forearms was glossy with a thin veil of perspiration. I still held her wrists up near the middle of her back, and she was reasonably immobile.

I broke character for an instant, in the interest of fairness. "Are you okay?"

I'm sure she knew that my question was genuine, but she seemed preoccupied - almost dazed - as she looked back at me in her peripheral vision and nodded.

"Mmm... oh, god... oh my god..." my captive whispered, almost unintelligably, as I gradually loosened my grip on her wrists. Lisa slowly moved her now-manacled wrists toward her haunches and, with me still astride her hamstrings, locked her elbows and pulled the short chain between the cuffs taught, as if to see if her restraints were real. And, of course, they were. She again tested her restraints in futility, but in earnest, cooing in a seductive mixture of helplessness and frustration. Her sexy muscles, she realized, were no match for her steel bonds.

Gently, but with authority, I took Lisa by the upper arms and helped her to get up, instructing her to remain on her knees. I turned her to face the front wall of the room, which was mirrored, and quietly instructed her to look at her reflection as I knelt behind her.

"You're under arrest," I stated with quiet resolve.

"You have the right to remain silent...". I began to mirandize Lisa again, kneeling behind her, leering directly into her eyes via the mirrored wall, whispering the words. I put my hands on her square shoulders, which were thinly clad by the tiny sleeves of that magnificient little baseball tee, and slid my fingers across her lightly striated delts, along the distended vein which capped each taut bicep, and pulled her elbows tightly, and suddenly, together behind her back. Lisa gasped, and resisted lightly, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip.

"Do you... understand... these rights?" I halted between the words, kissing her ear and her neck, and pressing her elbows together more tightly. As I did so, the little sleeves of her tee shirt grappled to barely cap her shoulders, and her nipples strained at the shirt's thin cotton fabric, which was damp with perspiration from her heaving chest.

"Yes... I do..." Lisa panted, and started a little as my free hand slowly explored one of her muscular arms, and then slipped into the scoop neck of her tee and gently cupped a warm breast. "Oh, god... oh, god. don't tease me... please, don't tease me..." she implored.

"No teasing tonight... I promise... ". I was lying.

I stood Lisa up slowly and, cupping her shoulders in my hands, backed her deliberately down the hall and into her bedroom - a large room with rheostatic lighting and a massive brass bed. I looked her in the eye the entire way, not allowing her to turn about or make her own way. Once in the bedroom, I guided her, still cuffed, onto the bed. Lisa lay there, her svelte muscularity at extreme variance with the helpless state in which she now found herself. I was overcome, at that moment, by how sexy she was.

"Holy Christ... you are UN-believable..." I pronounced as I lay down next to her, nesting a thigh beween her legs and pressing her shoulders to the mattress. Light pecks on her cheeks and lips soon became deep, hungry kisses during which I breathed only through my nose, except when I was ravaging her hot neck and chest. As I kissed her, I made explicit verbal allusions to her wonderful muscularity, as well as to her helplessness, threatening to do whatever I wanted to her - with her - and the more I expounded on my plans, the more responsive Lisa became. I made her the absolute epicenter of these moments. Finding the cinch to the belt of her wrap skirt, I removed it, exposing her fancy, while lace panties. Momentarily, I discovered that they were soaked, and the musky smell was like a drug to me as I cupped Lisa's mound in my hand. She quivvered as I did so, and moaned loudly, her muscular body going rigid momentarily. She strained against the cuffs, an the veins that ridged her helpless biceps went an angry blue under her thin, tanned skin.

"Oh... oh, GOD... no TEASING... NO TEEEE... aaaah...... uunh..."

Lisa was going apoplectic. I had a finger on her clit, just kneading it as I kissed her, and she was nearly tearful with frustration.

My fingers still damp from her swollen labs, I produced the key to the cuffs and inserted it in one, freeing her right hand. Apparently bewildered, Lisa stalled for an instant before she showed any resistance but, pulling her left arm to the bedhead, I was able to get the empty cuff cinched to the outermost brass tube before she could respond.

Now, all I had to concern myself with was that perfect left arm, which would receive due attention indeed. Mounting her pantied hips, I siezed my shocked captive's free wrist and drove it unsympathetically into the mattress next to her shoulder, and with my free hand, I slowly pulled my leather belt from the loops of my pants.

It was hard to tell if my captive had anticipated this, but my intuition, and the fact that she hadn't asked me to stop, caused me to proceed. The belt looped quickly about her already reddened wrist, with and a hearty, authoritative yank of the loose end, I locked that beautiful arm out and secured the handy accessory to the other bedpost.

To be continued?