YOUNG AMY TURNS THE TABLES, Part I by TableTurner When the winter retreat began, I was excited. Heck, I was twenty-four years old, and I needed something that would be a break from my regular job as a computer programmer. Sure, the retreat was for kids who were into computers. But it was a much more enjoyable experience for me to teach these bright and eager 12 - 17 year olds than to go into my office everyday. For certain, a week in Maine over winter break was just what I needed to break the monotony. It was actually my third year on staff, having started my senior year in college. The kids were rather geeky and awkward of course, but nice enough. And they knew their computers. And I felt that the social aspects of the week were incredibly important. It was good for these basically non-athletic, not popular kids, to be 'big' in their particular element. It was a neat thing for which to volunteer, and a fun thing to be a part of. The kids last year were really impressed with me, because they saw me as a well rounded person. Not only am I excellent in my field of computers, but I also box. When I was 18, I won the gold gloves match in my city ... my Dad, who was a really good boxer, had encouraged me, and started giving me lessons when I was eight. I guess, when you can do what I do with my fists, the speed, you know, the graceful movement--it kind of makes you a minor celebrity to people who don't have those skills. I liked that ... being respected. I also liked that I could take anybody down who I wanted to take down. The geeks liked that too. I was an inspiration. When Amy Southerland walked into the dining hall to collect her name tag, I didn't take much notice. She wore a heavy, black trench coat to protect her from the cold, and thick glasses that probably were the result of too much time in front of the computer. The truth is, she most likely would have gone all week without being noticed by me. But when she asked me if I was still boxing, I couldn't help but take notice of her. "You remembered?" I asked. She laughed a little and asked me if I recognized her. Truth be told, the camp gets about two hundred kids per winter, and I had no idea who she was. She informed me that I had met her when she was thirteen (two winters ago), and in fact, inspired her to move beyond computers into more physical endeavors. "Are you boxing or something?" I asked. "No," she giggled. "But two years ago, I joined my gymnastics team at school, and I also lift weights. It's really because of you that I do it, Jason! I'm the best gymnast on the team!" I was impressed that I had made enough of an impression on this young lady to change her life. Then smiling, she reached out to shake my hand. I smiled back at her, and locked fingers. Her grip was like iron. She squeezed tightly, hurting me ever so slightly and said, "I may be even stronger than you!" She moved on, laughing as she went. But from that moment on, I would notice Amy Southerland. Everywhere Amy went that first few days, she wore that trench coat. Inside at seminars, at lecture, at discussion. Quite frankly, it bugged me. I wanted her to take off that coat. I kept imagining a super woman of sorts, and it was oddly exciting to me. That night, I had been working on my presentation, and missed dinner entirely. The kids were in little groups, and I noticed a bigger group in the corner of the dining hall. I walked over, and there was Amy, still in that black trench coat, arm wrestling some of the boys. She just wiped them out so completely, that it was hurtful to them. But she always was really sweet about it, saying things said like 'good try' or 'maybe next time.' She saw me watching and said, "Want to give it a try, Jason?" "I don't want to hurt you, Miss Southerland," I replied. She didn't have time to reply to my dismissal of her challenge, when Frank Peters walked forward and said "I'll take you on, Amy." Frank Peters was at least six feet two inches, and two hundred and twenty pounds. And while I was five eight and one hundred and sixty, Amy was only about five foot four and one twenty, I would guess. Like me, Frank was also not solely a computer geek. He played football on his high school team. He was a brick. Amy looked a little wary, but she was game to his challenge. Frank faced her, and they locked hands. On 'go,' Amy got the quick jump and pressed Frank half way down to the table. He recovered, but couldn't move her up from the position, but she wasn't moving him down either. For about three minutes, they were locked in that position. Then, Frank started to mount an offense. Thirty seconds later, Amy was down. "Well," I thought, "she's not super woman. But if she handled Frank like that, well, she'd probably beat me." "Wow. You're amazing Amy," said Frank. She laughed, ever the good sport. "Maybe I'll get you next year, Frank." She turned to me, and challenged me again. I declined. I could see the twinkle of her eyes behind those thick glasses. She announced to the watching group that it was me who made her into a more physically minded person. "Sometimes," she continued, "I'm shocked at what I can do now!" When I went to bed that night, I kept seeing her face. For some reason that I could not fathom, I really wanted to see if she was stronger than me. I knew in an all out fight, I'd win of course. But in an arm wrestling match? I didn't know. And I needed to! I dreamt of her in that trench coat that night. I wanted to see the body under it. I wanted to have the body under it. The next day, every time Amy walked by me, she gave me a friendly hello. But all I could think of was that I had the chance to arm wrestle her, and I turned her down. My luck changed when I saw her all alone in the study room. She invited me over with some computer questions. Then, I made the challenge. "Goody!" she said, a smile on her face. She pushed aside her work and put her hand up. "Ready, set, go." And we froze at center. "Wow, I'm impressed Jason," she said. Then she pushed hard. But as hard as it was to resist, I didn't move. "You should be," I smiled. I pushed back, and I started to bend her toward the table. She looked a little surprised, and suddenly, she began to really bear down. I could see the muscle underneath her coat begin to bulge with the effort. "Not gonna let you win, Jase," she smiled. Slowly, my strength began to fade, as hers increased. I couldn't believe it. She was pushing me down. I got panicky. I guess I wasn't used to losing. I hated that feeling, deep down, actually. I pushed harder, and she laughed, "I think you're out of steam, Jason." Then, bang. As suddenly as it began, it was over. I had lost. She stood up, reached out her hand and said "Good job, Jason." I don't know what happened to me, but I lost my humor. I pushed her hand aside and said, "Forget it." I started out. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jason," Amy said. "There's no need to be a sore loser about it." I stopped and faced her. "I'll be honest with you," she went on, "I have been training for the chance to beat you. I just thought it would be so cool to do that. There's no need to be ashamed, or hurt. You really did inspire me." "I'm sorry Amy," I lied. I walked over to her and held out my hand. When she took it, I squeezed for all I was worth. "Ow! What are you doing?" she exclaimed. "You beat me in an arm wrestle, it doesn't mean you're stronger than me," I said. I was so angry. I wasn't going to give this young girl the upper hand. Amy was physically hurt by the ferocity of my grip, and I clamped down on her harder still. She let out a yell, and dropped to her knees. With her left hand, she reached for my chest. I tightened my grip and she instead grabbed at my hand, attempting to peel it off. I rubbed her knuckles together, saying, "Hand's off!" She did what I said. "Please let me go," she moaned. "Nope," I answered. "Please Jason." "Guess I showed you who's boss, kid," I said. I felt her try to squeeze me back, but I had the leverage at this point. "Trying to squeeze me back? The only way you're getting out of this is if you cry for me you little cocky bitch." She looked at me, disbelief and fear in her eyes, and I tightened my squeeze. Rather disappointingly quickly, she cried. "Louder sweetheart." She sobbed for me to release her. But I couldn't. I needed to dominate and humiliate this little girl who thought she was so tough. I pulled her hand out in front of her and put her on her stomach. I twisted her arm behind her, and sat on her back. "You want me to touch you, Amy?" "No," she said, begging. I put my mouth up to her ear, and licked it. She pleaded for mercy, but I wouldn't give it. I turned her around and sat on her stomach, still maintaining a grip like a vise. "I-I'm sorry. Please, I-I'm so sorry I beat you, Jason." " You didn't beat me. Don't ever say you beat me. Who's on top, Amy? Tell me!" "You are, oh ... you are ..." I don't know what possessed me to do this next thing. But I leaned down and kissed her. She begged me to stop, but I didn't want to, so I kissed her again. I had all the power, and was loving it. "Vengeance is sweet, little girl," I said. "Not as strong as you thought, huh?" I mocked. I took off her glasses. She had beautiful eyes, and a lovely face. "L-look Jason. I-I-I never meant to embarrass you. I'm sorry. My hand hurts ..." her voice trailed off. I kissed her again. I jammed my other hand through her trench coat, and slipped it under her shirt. Her stomach was steel. I felt the ridges of that six pack. I wanted her, and now. It was when she felt my hand caress her, that she reached her legs up, and wrapped them around my waist. Instinctively, she squeezed me so hard, that I let go of her hand. She pleaded again, "Please let me go, Jason." I couldn't answer her as there was no breath coming to my lips. "Please," she continued through tears, "let me up!" But I couldn't answer her. My ribs were on fire! Suddenly, she noticed my predicament. "Jason?" she asked. "Hello?" I started tugging at her thighs, but I could not budge her. A look of malice washed over her face. "My, oh my, it appears the tables have been turned." I realized that the only way out of this mess was to use my boxing skills against her. I brought my fist up. "Nuh-uh," she said, as she squeezed me between her legs even more tightly. My hands opened, and again I went to her thighs, pawing helplessly at her. She grabbed my knuckles in her strong hands. She started to crush me. "Oh God!" I cried. She let me go with her legs, and started to try to turn me over into a school boy pin. But in letting me go with her legs, she had made a mistake. I pulled my hand free, and we struggled for the superior position, as I started to get on top of her. I had her on her back, with her wrists in my hands, and began to force those hands down to the ground. "No way," she said, gritting her teeth. I had her on her back, and freaked out as slowly, ever so slowly, she began to turn me over onto my back. She slid her wrists out of my grasp, and grabbed my wrists. She pushed my arms to the ground in a matter of seconds. "I win," she said, breathing hard. She slid up to my face, and put her knees on my hands. Then she took off her trench coat. She wore a sleeveless turtle neck, and her arms were slender, but they were pure muscle. "You want a piece of me? Why don't you take it?" she asked, as she playfully started to flex her muscles in front of my face. She was so cut. "Screw you! Screw you!" I cried out, trying to squirm free. As I struggled, despite myself, I started getting aroused. She felt this, and started laughing, "Oh, the tough guy wants something that he can't have!" I made every attempt to throw her off of me, but she simply leaned forward and grabbed my hands. She began squeezing the knuckles together, as I had done to her. Over and over I begged her, "Please God, my hands, please. Stop. God, stop." She whispered in my ear, "Cry first." I tried to buck her off of me, but she increased the pressure. But I would not cry for this bitch. "Why should I stop? You were going to rape me!" she said indignantly. "Maybe I'll rape you!" I struggled furiously to get out from under her control. As I struggled, she chuckled and bent down, she put her lips onto my mouth, and forced her tongue inside of me. "Cut it out!" I choked. She pulled back. "Stop me," she laughed, and she did it again. "Please don't do this to me," I said, my tone changing, so frightened. I wanted to punch at her, use my skills, but I couldn't move my hands. "Mmm. I can see why you liked this, Jason. It's invigorating." She started to move her hips on me. Then she jerked violently and screamed out. "My God, I -I just had an orgasm!" "Get off, Amy, I'm not a toy! Get off!" "Shhh!" she answered almost absentmindedly as she started to undulate back and forth. Another violent shake, a shout of ecstasy. I was utterly humiliated, and I couldn't get free. "Cut it out, Amy! Amy!" "Shhh," she said, almost tenderly as she forced frenched me again. She stood up and began to slide off her jeans. Her legs. Those thighs. Iron. The calves, etched in stone. She was in her underwear. She landed on my chest again. She said: "Come on, tough guy. Come on 'boxer.' Can't you get rid of a little girl?" I balled my hands into fists and started pounding on her thighs. She leaned back on her hands and let me hit her legs. "Mmm. It's like a massage," she laughed. "Stop laughing at me!" I shouted as I kept trying to drive her off of my chest with my fists. "I can't help it! You're so cute when you're mad," she giggled, and started to shimmy up to my neck, choking me as she went. Finally, tears began to fill my eyes. "Amy. Amy, what are you doing? Amy, I can't breathe! I'm crying for you. Okay? I'm crying for you! Please stop using me like this. Please." I was sobbing now, and she looked at me and smiled. She rode up onto my face and sat there and began grinding into me with her hips. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't push, I couldn't do anything, faster and faster she moved. I tried everything, hip thrusts, more desperate punches at her legs, and I started getting weaker as she came again, and again, and again. When she finally released me, I was nearly unconscious. In my haze, I saw her undress fully, and stand in front of me. About 15 minutes passed, and I started to come around. She was naked, her eyes closed, swaying back and forth and humming. "What are you doing, Amy?" She opened her eyes. "Oh, it's you. Do you want to screw me now?" I didn't know what to do. Yes, I wanted to screw her. I wanted to fuck her till she begged me to stop. I stood up, almost falling over. She caught me. She told me that I gave her something special. That she wanted to return the favor. That I brought something out in her that she didn't know she had. She said she'd let me release if I wanted to. She started touching me, kissing me, and getting me undressed. I touched her athletes body, she tightened it for me, asked me if I liked it and I answered that I did. She laid back on the carpeted floor and spread herself. Weakly, I got down onto the floor and I brought my hard self up to her beautiful, young womanhood. As I was about to enter her, she brought her knees up and blocked me. "What are you doing, Amy?" She dared me to enter her. I tried, but her legs barred my way. She started laughing again. "Come on, try it, champ." I tried to get in, but I couldn't. She was able to keep me out by holding back my waist with her feet. "Amy, you said you wanted me, that I taught you ..." "You taught me how to be a dick," she said, as she grabbed mine. I screamed out in pain as she put her feet to my shoulders and started to slide me down on the carpet. When my face stopped even with her pussy, she grabbed my head and pulled me into her with just her hands. She ground my nose and mouth into her and I tried again to pry her off, but her hands were strong and mine were useless. I started pleading for release, but she kept me there, and she came again and again. When she finished with her pleasure, she released me. I was conscious and sobbing. "You're lucky I didn't have my hands free," I bellowed through tears. "You cheated, you cheated. I would have taught you a lesson today." She laughed, imitating me. "You cheated, you cheated." She stood up and got dressed. When your strong hands feel better, drop by later this week. You know where my room is." "I'll be there," I said, through the tears. "I'm not afraid of you!" She made a sudden movement toward me, and I balled up. "Ha, ha, ha!!! Whatever. See you later, handsome man." And off she went. But this wasn't over. Once my hands recovered ... she had no idea what was coming.