The Flat (OR The Apartment (if you speak American))
by Ken Earl   
wherein cockney Ken finds the stairway to Muscle Heaven


  The Supermarket 
 
 
So here I am in the Supermarket looking for my
favourite tipple, to which I am helplessly addicted
(that's right - teabags) but they're not where they
were last week. The Supermarket guys want you to hunt
around and, in the process, buy stuff that you had no
intention of buying when you went in - a cunning ploy,
you have to admit.
Now this should have been a quick in-and-out job
(which,as it happens, is how one of my ex-girlfriends
once described my sexual repertoire) for tonight is
pub-quiz night and I don't want to be late.
There's usually some free booze involved, and the
occasional FEMALE even puts in an appearance.
All such thoughts, however, evaporate into thin air as
turning  a corner I see a short, solidly built woman,
late 30s, trying to reach a bottle of shampoo from the
top shelf. She has her back to me, so I can't see her
face, but her hair is dark brown and shoulder length
and she is wearing a loose fitting sweater with a
knee-length skirt. 

(Lady readers: I apologise for my lack of descriptive
powers: feel free to pad out the details to your own
style and taste. Please remember, though, that
although she may very well have "eyes like liquid
pools of gold",I haven't ,as yet, seen her face.)

Gentlemen readers: sorry about that little
digression-I can assure you that she will be getting
her kit off  in due course.)

What catches my eye is that she is standing on tiptoe,
and her calves are very muscular and high up on the
legs, accentuating the slimness of her ankles and
making her legs appear longer than they really are.As
she strains upwards the muscles bunch deliciously into
a tight ball and relax as she comes down.
How I would love to get down on my hands and knees and
feel them! 
I admire the view for half a minute, then with a swift
"Allow me" I smoothly step beside her, retrieve the
bottle of shampoo and hand it to her - I dare say
George Clooney couldn't have done it better.
And if I had been George Clooney she might have
reacted differently.Unfortunatly for me I'm not, and
she is distinctly underwhelmed. She flashes me a
sarcastic smile.
"You're too kind" she says "but it's not the
 brand I want after all. Put it back, please, and hand
me of one those ..." and she points to a case
stacked on top of the shelves. Its a kind-f backup
supply - I know that if I look round I'll find the
same product lower down, but I say "Sure" and try to
reach it.
 Now it's my turn to stand on tiptoe but I'm at least
two feet short. Before I can do or say anything
further the woman says "Allow ME", grabs my hips from
behind and starts to lift. I feel myself floating up
into the air and I realise that she is lifting me as
smoothly and effortlessly as if I were a small child,
wheras I am 5ft 10 and 155 lbs of solid skeleton.
  Now on one level I am deeply embarrassed because I
know that people are watching, but on another level my
heart is pounding and I am visibly impressed - if you
get my drift. I retrieve the bottle but for a moment
she doesn't seem to have noticed and just holds me up
there, but finally she snaps out of it and lowers me
to the ground. As I turn round red faced to hand her
the bottle she tilts her head on one side and says
thoughtfully "150 to 160lb, is that about right?" .
She is smirking like the cat that's got the cream,
having proved to me just how much she needed my "help"
and I'm going redder by the second because I don't
know what to do or say. She is totally in control of
our encounter.Her beautiful brown eyes are laughing
but not, I sense, in an unkind way. She still says
nothing but her eyes flicker ever so briefly down to
my bulging trousers, then she catches my eye again and
looks towards her trolley. When I do not take the hint
she delicately takes hold of my wrist between her
thumb and forefinger,leads me over to the trolley 
and places my hand on the handles. Now , I cannot
pretend to be overjoyed at this development - what did
her last servant die of? Also, if there was such a
thing as a driving test for trolley users then I would
fail miserably, so I try to casually take my hand
away, but now her head has tilted to one side again
and she looks at me quizically - kind of "are you sure
you want me to do this ?" and she begins to gradually
increase the pressure on my wrist, still just using
two fingers. I try very casually to pull her hand away
with my free hand but she gently shakes her head in
disapproval, and ups the pressure. God, but she is
unbelievably strong. 
I quickly place my other hand on the trolley, and try
to disguise the grimace on my face as a smile. Only
then does she let go, and not once glancing behind to
see if I'm following, she leads the way to the
checkout. There is no queue so she waltzes straight to
the till, folds her arms and glances pointedly at the
trolley and then the conveyor belt, which I duly load
with her shopping. Happily for me she doesn't expect
me to pay for it as well, but  
when I've finished packing, there are 3 very heavy
bags AND a sack of spuds to carry. To my surprise she
picks them up and sweeps out of the store , not giving
me a second glance.

  The Stairway to Heaven
  ----------------------

I can't think of anything to do but rush after her
calling out "Wait! Wait!" and when she turns round and
says "Well?" I stammer lamely "I'm Ken Earl, I
...didn't catch your name?"
"I'm Anne Malone but my friends call me Molly."
There is an awkward silence while I'm summoning up the
courage to ask for her phone number.
She helps me out -
"Were you going to offer to carry this heavy shopping
for me?" - she asks, and she's smirking again.
I should have seen this coming and I KNOW that she
won't offer to help, but I say yes.
"It's not far" she smiles, dumps the shopping and
swans off up the High Street.I can barely keep the
bags clear of the ground, and by the time we reach her
flat, which is above a jewellery store, I am
shattered.I put the bags down, expecting to be given
the brush off ,but she says "Ken, you poor man, you
look exhausted. Would you like to come in for a
coffee?".What I really need is a brandy, but I acccept
and we go in. To my dismay there are two steep flights
of stairs to negotiate and I am so tired that I have
to make two trips, by which time she has made the
coffee. 
I sit down exhausted at her kitchen table while she
prepares to put the shopping away, and she makes a
point of lifting it all onto the table with one hand.
"Show off!" I hear myself saying. She starts to giggle
and go red.She appears to be proud of her strength but
embarrassed by it at the same time. While she puts the
groceries away she tells me how most men are either
put off by her muscles straight away or cannot come to
terms with a woman being stronger than them. 
"But I guessed you were different" she says "the
moment I saw you ogling my legs, so I tested you out
to see how much you ...appreciated... me." 
"But you had your back to me the whole time!" I
protested. 
She shook her head in disbelief. "There are mirrors
everywhere" she said "so the security guards can keep
an eye on shifty looking customers."
She chuckled, adding "There was one following you
around!"
Now that hurts!-
Can I help it if I favour the "slept-in" look in
casual clothing? 

The last tin goes into the cupboard.
"Would you like to see the rest of me?" she says,
taking off her baggy sweater "I think you've earned
it."
 Underneath she is wearing a tee-shirt and sports bra.
Her arms are amazingly thick, tight against the
sleeves of her tee-shirt, her hips are narrow and
although her shoulders are not what you would call
wide, her chest is deep and her breasts look at least
a "C" cup. As she breathes in her torso swells by
several inches - I can almost feel the strength
emanating from her. She briefly does a double-biceps
for my benefit.
"Wow" is my all I can think to say.
"Are you a bodybuilder or a powerlifter or what?"
 She says nothing but goes over to the VCR and puts in
a tape. She nods towards the couch and we sit down
together to watch.
Two acrobats come onto a stage. One is a tallish, 
slim man about 150 lbs, the other is a young Molly,
slightly smaller and lighter. 
"This is me and my pratt-of-an-ex-husband" she
explains.
At first they do a ballet-like dance around the stage
but, when he attempts to lift her, he makes a hash of
it and they both fall.They bicker and when he pushes
her she pushes him back with such force that he does a
backward roll.He then races angrily towards her, but
she controls his momentum and lifts him easily,
circus-style, over her head.
>>From then on she is always the under-partner, and her
ability to lift a taller,heavier male with such ease
is awesome. At one point she even manages to keep him
overhead as she moves from lying flat on her back to a
standing position!
The act was much appreciated then, and is
much appreciated now, especially inside my trousers
where I have become painfully entangled in my
underpants. I cry off to the bathroom and ,judging by
her smirk, Molly has noticed my discomfort. 
Having carefully re-arranged my pants and the contents
therof, I emerge to find that Molly has moved into the
bedroom and is lying on the bed covered by a sheet.
She playfully gives me a quick flash to show that she
is naked, and pats the bed beside her.I need no second
invitation, of course, and get my kit off in record
time. 
I leap in beside her but as we close together and I am
in reach of that fabulous body she wraps her legs
around my middle and starts to squeeze.
"Who said you could be on top?" she giggles.
Her thighs are rock-hard, and so am I, but I am
helpless in her grip as she playfully keeps my hands
tantalisingly inches away from her breasts. She pulls
her knees back, which lifts me forward and in reach of
her arms. I find myself in a bear hug which smothers
my face in her considerable bosom. Heaven.
But then she rolls over, sits on my chest,and pins my
arms. All that muscle is surprisingly heavy!
I quickly realise there is no way I can free my arms
or shake her off, but it sure is fun trying.
"Can I try to pin you, Molly?" I ask, after a minute
or so.
"Be my guest" she says, rolling us over again.
I sit high up on her chest, stretch her hands back
behind her head and lean on her with all my strength.
Just using her arms she pushes up and sits up, while I
go tumbling off the bed. Fortunately for me, my head
breaks my fall. Molly finds this hilarious.
When she finally stops laughing Molly suggests that
I try pinning one arm.I grab her right wrist with both
arms and lean all my weight into it, but with just her
one arm she easily pushes me up.
The biceps of her right arm is now hugely swollen.
She begins to flex it up and down, up and down. 
I am like a moth drawn to a flame, as I caress and
kiss her arm.
"I've never met anyone like you, Molly" I find myself
saying in a pathetic whimper.(It didn't seem pathetic
at the time.)
She giggles with embarrassment.
"You've no idea what a turn on this is for me" she
whispers. "To know that I can control your body with
my strength and to know that I can make you go weak at
the knees just by flexing my arm."
She crosses her arms under her breasts, which lifts
them invitingly towards my face. Now ,in my humble
opinion, you cannot say a pair of tits is truly BIG
unless you can lick both nipples at the same time.
Molly's tits are big, I am pleased to report, and
eminently fondleable.
It suddenly dawns on me that I am, maybe, in control
for the first time since I met this adorable woman. 
As if reading my thoughts she rolls us over yet again.
My poor old Member is standing rigidly to attention,
aching for release. Molly's gaze briefly takes it in. 
"Don't worry, Ken" she smirks. "I'll let you come
- eventually" and with that she straddles my chest and
begins to inch slowly forward... 

    Still no Tea for Ken
    -----------------------

So here I am ,in Molly's flat, in the twilight zone
between sleep and wakefulness. Molly is lying in my
arms and she is a perfect fit, oozing femininity,
her feline body totally relaxed.
Suddenly the alarm clock goes off and she's instantly
awake and up.  
"I have to go to work, Ken. Would you fix us both 
some tea and toast, please." 
I mumble something along the lines of "Sure, in a
minute" and turn over because, if the truth be known,
Molly has worn me out. I have been, and am, shagged.
She comes over and attempts to pull the quilt off me,
and I attempt to hang on to it. Big mistake.She wraps 
me up in the quilt, flips me over her shoulder and
takes me out to the kitchen, where I am dumped
unceremoniously on the floor.
"Please stop pissing about, Ken" she says, grinning 
mischievously.
 "You can go back to bed later. If I can get away at
lunchtime - maybe I'll join you!"
I fill the kettle and put the toast on, but there
are no teabags.
"You're out of teabags" I call out "It'll have to be
coffee, I'm afraid. "
"Sh -sugar!" she says. "Now I remember. I looked
everywhere for them last night in the Supermarket,
but they're forever moving stuff around.
I'd be too embarrassed to ask where anything is." 
"Why's that?" I ask.
"I work there!"

---------------- to be continued ---------------------