My Little Band of Worshippers Part 1 By Suzi Q (souzeequ@hotmail.com) My sixteenth year landed me with a whole new lifestyle choice By the time I was sixteen, I had been doing gymnastics for twelve years, but between the age of fifteen and sixteen, I shot up four inches to 5'10", which meant I could only realistically hope to continue with rhythmic gymnastics, and not having ever been over- fond of chucking flags up into the air, I opted to take up different sports instead. Volleyball appealed instantly – and I still play to this day – but what changed my life that year was my decision to also get seriously into weight training. Coming from gymnastics, I had already cultivated a powerfully wiry physique – and I've had a six pack ever since I was eleven – but now I wanted to add some size to my thin legs and arms, especially since I was seriously in danger of being pestered witless by the school medic, who had made it her personal crusade to declare me anorexic. Though the silly cow must have realised that at 98 lbs I was a clear stone heavier than any of my fellow gymnasts, I must admit I did feel rather gowky and awkward – despite the fact most of the boys in the school thought I was a model. So I hit the gym with my mum's membership card, getting up at 5am and spending two hours every day with the weights. If anything, the training was more relaxed than the regime the school coach had me on for gymnastics, and the fact that I was now able to consume lots of gorgeous food didn't do anything to de-motivate me. I was already a tough little cookie when I started, easily able to bench my bodyweight for ten the first time I went to the gym, and I really enjoyed the fact I didn't have the huge mountain to climb that most sedentary types do when they first start using a gym. In a couple of months I had made great strides, particularly with my bi's, and I had delicious little bulges popping up all over my bod. My butt was to DIE for ! It still is, but that's another story. Anyway, suffice to say that by the time school started back after Christmas, my little blue pencil-skirt clung to two proud little muscular bulges in the butt department, rather than the typical gymnast's un-butt that I used to have. My boobs, always small, high and pert, acquired an even more provocative aspect as I developed my pecs, and my decidedly low body-fat percentage left me with a slight muscle crease down the centre of my chest that accentuated what little cleavage I had. My legs really didn't need any work, being as strong as mooring ropes to begin with, but I had given my quads and hamstrings an extra going over, and now I could crook my legs and bulge out my hamstring muscles in a sort of parallel to the biceps pose, which looked really cool as they looked huge against my slender legs. But like I said, my best work was with my bi's. I'd already been able to do thirty chins without a break – now I'd doubled that, and was doing fifty barbell curls with half my bodyweight every other day in addition. And I had bi's that, when I pumped them, were more or less the same size as tennis balls. And my god, had my forearms gotten wiry ! They were strong before, of course, but the extra work was really showing, and they had grown really really sinuous, and hugely vascular. It was such a turn-on, because I have always gone for guys with wiry, muscular and above all veiny forearms and hands, and now I had them myself – except in a way it was even more sexy to just, like, look at myself in a mirror and touch myself up. I was getting the beginnings of bodybuilder's narcissism, and I was loving it. About this time, my best friend Vicki ran up to me all worried, and told me she'd overheard some guys talking about me in English, and how they all thought I was hot, and what they'd like to do to me, and whether I was a slut or not. And Vicki, bless her, was so worried that I was going to get some sort of reputation. Luckily, she said the ringleader was Andy Ferguson, and I knew he went to my gym to work out some days when he wasn't being a hot-shot on the football (soccer) field. A notorious thickie, but easy on the eye, and I thought I'd make sure his lips were sealed by confronting him at the gym. The next few days, he didn't show, and so I had a good long time to mull over what I was going to do. I talked things over with Vicki, and she said I was mad, but if I did it she'd go along. And so I started laying my plan. Anyway, eventually, Andy showed up, and so I cornered him on the bench. He was going for what looked like ten reps of 160, which amused me a little. I let him get to the end of the set, and then walked right over, swung my leg over him, and sat down on his stomach. His eyes widened in surprise, and he started stuttering at me. "So I hear you've been spreading it around at school about how you'd like to do stuff to me ?" I said brightly, in quite a loud voice. A couple of gym-rats looked over briefly. Andy went scarlet, and carried on stuttering. He tried to sit up, and to grab my elbows to manoeuvre me off him, but I quickly grabbed his wrists and forced his hands to his chest. He looked surprised, and in a little pain. "You know where I live, don't you, you little pervert," I whispered, my face close to his. He nodded frantically. "Then be there tomorrow night, at 8. My parents both work abroad, so they won't disturb us. And we'll be able to see whether you can do all those things you want to do to me, won't we ?" The look on his face was just priceless, and he was still struggling to speak, so I pushed down on his chest, lifting my body up and flipping my legs to the side, landing with both feet together and arching my back in signature gymnast stylie. I looked back down at the poor lad, who was just staring at me, open mouthed, with a stiffie tenting his shorts for all to see. I patted it condescendingly, whispered "always a pleasure", and stalked off to the showers. * The following night was great. Vicki arrived at six, and we set up her dad's video camera in my wardrobe, with its lens pointing out of a cracked louvre. It covered most of the room, which was fine. I was a bit surprised, but not all that, when Andy actually showed up, and while Vicki rushed upstairs to start the camera, squealing with excitement, I tweaked my tits, pulled the little black number I was wearing up a little so my legs were more or less all exposed, jammed on some kitten-heeled monstrosities that nonetheless made my calves look sensational, and tottered to the front door. Andy was being irritatingly bashful, holding flowers, and still gibbering, so I grabbed him by the school tie (he was still wearing his uniform, if you can believe it) and hauled him into the house. I enjoyed the fact that in my heels I towered over the poor lad, and I made him stand on tiptoe to plant a kiss on my cheek, then grabbed his tie again and towed him upstairs without saying a word. I rounded on him when I'd got him sitting on the bed in my room, and started marching up and down like a teacher or somesuch. "First things first, Andy. I am not a slut – okay ?" I didn't wait for an answer. "Nonetheless, you think I am a real hottie, and that is flattering, even coming from you. The trouble is, I can't go out with you, because we aren't on a level playing field." I beckoned him to my desk, then, offering my right hand in arm-wrestling poise. He twigged on, and offered his hand – I could see his rising confidence, as he knew he'd beat me. We clasped, my bicep popped up on my arm like a rising sun, and I slapped his arm down in less than a second. "As I was saying, we aren't on a level playing field. I need a partner who can sweep me off my feet, and that ain't you. But it seems pointless for you to be hanging around, fancying me, and spreading nonsense about me round the school, unless we both get something out of it. Which is why I'm proposing a compromise. Here's how it works. You do stuff for me – you fetch my shopping, you wash my clothes, you clean my house – and I will make you come. You won't get to touch me, but you will get to look. Now how does that sound ?" Andy seemed astonished. I must admit I was a bit astonished with my own audacity, but I was much too into the part to back off, and I wanted to see if I could use my body the way I had imagined I could. Eventually he whispered "yes." I hollered with laughter, then looked him in the eye, and murmured "I'll go first." I swayed a little in front of him. "You'll have heard of lap dances, Andy. The rule is, you do not touch. If you do touch me, then our arrangement is over, and I will hurt you really very badly before telling the whole school what an inconsiderate lover you are." He looked worried. "But for now…" I ran my fingers over the front of my dress. "Look at that, Andy. You can see my abs through the fabric of this dress." I gave my abs a good hard squeeze, and sucked in my breath so that my waist snapped down to less than twenty inches, then turned side-on to the lad, whose eyes were popping. "You can even see the lines on them from the side – god, I am so warm". I pulled the straps down on the dress, lowering it so that it barely covered my nips, and then turned into a rear double-bicep shot that pulled up all the muscles on my back and elicited a groan from Andy. Then I sauntered really close to him on the bed, pulling up my dress so that he could see my purple knickers, and the chord that ran from my hip-bone down to my quads. I moved my leg one way and the other, making the tendons rise and fall and writhe, murmuring "isn't that just the sexiest thing – and look at my hands." I trailed the long fingers of one over the backs of the other. "These hands are so incredibly strong, and they can do such things to a lad, such gorgeous sexy things." Andy by now had a huge bulge in his trousers that was showing evidence of fairly copious leakage, so I simply turned once, flashing my bare butt in his face, clenched the buttock muscle whilst slowly rubbing it, and then spun on my heel again and merely blew once on his ear-lobe. At once, he doubled up in orgasm, lust and shame contorting his features, and then ran off to my bathroom. Vicki quietly popped open the door of the wardrobe, with a far more serious look on her face than I would have thought possible. "We need to talk", she said. "What – how do you mean ?" I was puzzled, and I couldn't read the expression on her face at all. "What is it, Vic ?" "I can't tell you, I …" "You can tell me anything – friends forever, right ?" "It's just too weird – it's – oh god, Sue – I fancy you…" She sobbed a bit, and rather comically shut the wardrobe door on me. To be continued.