Tales from Angie's Gym Part 1
By Al Harder



Main Characters: Angela (Angie) Korinsky · 46 · 5'6" 165 lbs. · Dark
blonde/light brown hair · Brown eyes · 16 1/2" biceps, 46" chest, 24" waist,
36" hips, 25" thighs, 16" calves

Eric Lawrence · 25 · 5'9" 155 lbs. · Dark brown hair · Brown eyes · 13"
biceps, 34" chest, 28" waist

Employees: June Avery · 32 · 5'10" 155 lbs. · Blonde hair · Green eyes · 14"
biceps, 41" chest, 23" waist, 33" hips, 21" thighs, 15" calves

Paige Fontenot · 24 · 6'3" 210 lbs. · Brown hair · Brown eyes · 16" biceps,
44" chest, 30" waist, 25" hips, 25" thighs, 18" calves

Lisa Fillmore · 29 · 5'11" 180 lbs. · Red hair · Blue eyes · 16" biceps, 48"
chest, 30" waist, 29" thighs, 17" calves

Jill Villiers · 27 · 5'3" 125 lbs. · Hair changes, currently platinum blonde
and pink with black tips · Blue eyes · Multiple piercings, tattoos · 13"
biceps, 33" chest, 19" waist, 33" hips, 19" thighs, 14" calves

Karen Maclean · 34 · 5'9" 190 lbs. · Red hair · Blue eyes · Tattoo on back ·
17" biceps, 49" chest, 31" waist, 34" hips, 28" thighs, 19" calves

Carl Miller · 29 · 6'1" 190 lbs. · Black hair · Brown eyes · 15" biceps, 41"
chest, 30" waist, 23" thighs, 16" calves

Emily (housekeeper) · 6"0" 160 lbs. · Blonde hair · Green eyes · 14" biceps,
40" chest, 26" waist, 24" thighs, 15" calves

Louis (chef)

Cassie Green (receptionist) · 5'5" 130 lbs. · Brown hair · Brown eyes · 13"
biceps, 37" chest, 24" waist, 20" thighs, 15" calves Clients: Bob Hunter · 44
· 6'0" 195 lbs

Kara Hunter · 36 · 5'10" 175 lbs · blonde hair · blue eyes · 15" biceps, 42"
chest, 29" waist, 24" thighs, 16" calves

Clint Anderson

Annabelle Lewis

Barb Yarrow

John Foster

Brett Chambers

Chapter 1: We Meet Angie

Eric Lawrence gathered up an armful of blouses and dresses and headed off to
hang them back on their racks. It was just after nine in the morning and he
was working on the items that had been left at the women's fitting room the
night before.

Eric worked in the women's clothing section of a large department store. It
wasn't his first choice for a career, but it was a steady forty hours every
week. Besides, it let him do some girl watching in the process. Eric was
twenty-five years old, not too tall, fairly skinny, and very shy. Watching the
women shopping for clothes and trying them on was quite interesting for him;
he sometimes allowed himself to have fantasies about these anonymous women who
strolled through the store.

There were very few people in the store this early; most of the workers were
scheduled in the evening, when most of the customers would be there. As he
hung the items up, Eric was surprised to hear a voice behind him ask, "Excuse
me, can you help me?" Eric turned and found himself face-to-face with an older
woman who sported a pair of the most defined, muscular arms Eric could
remember seeing in person. "I'm looking for some muscle shirts," she went on
in a husky voice, "preferably Lycra."

"Uhh, sure, I can show you where those are," Eric said. "Follow me." He turned
and nearly tripped over a clothing rack. He recovered before falling and led
the way toward the athletic clothing, blushing furiously. "They're right
here," he said as they reached the correct area.

"Thanks," the woman said with a smile. She began looking through the selection
while Eric stood and stared at her in awe.

She wasn't that tall – maybe five-six – and she wasn't really pretty. She had
strong features and a mane of tawny hair. But she had a presence that radiated
from every pore in her body, a presence that said, "Here I come! Better get
out of my way!" Her biceps rippled as she sorted through the shirts on the
rack. She had large breasts as well; her broad shoulders narrowed to her
waist, giving her back a classic v-shape. She wore a gray jersey tank top the
clung to her like a second skin, and black Lycra pants that showed off a solid
pair of thighs and thick, diamond-shaped calves. "I wonder what she'd look
like in high heels," Eric mused, looking at the running shoes on her feet.

The woman turned quickly and caught Eric staring. Amused, she watched as he
blushed again. Her brown eyes were warm and friendly as she examined the
flustered young man in front of her. "He's kind of cute," she thought, as she
looked him up and down. She held up a selection of shirts and said, "Is there
someplace I can try these on?"

"Oh – uh – yeah, the fitting room's right over here," Eric stammered. He led
the way again, very aware of the woman's scrutiny. "You can go in here," he
said, indicating a closed door.

"I need a man's opinion about how these look on me – okay if I model them for
you?" she asked.

"O-okay, I guess," Eric replied.

"Good. I want your honest opinion, remember," she said severely, before
grinning at his worried expression. "Don't worry, sweetie, I won't get mad,"
she finished. She disappeared into the room and shut the door.

"Shit," Eric thought, "now what should I do? Damn, she's really built. Just
like the women on that Valkyrie web site. I wonder how strong she is..." He
let his mind roam, imagining her body, feats of strength, wrestling, those
sinewy arms wrapped around his head, squeezing, squeezing ...

"How do I look?" she asked, interrupting a particularly realistic fantasy of
muscular arms wrapped around his head, squeezing hard.

"Oh – uh – you look great," he replied.

"You think so?" she asked, examining herself in the mirror. The Lycra muscle
shirt clung to her lovingly, revealing her six-pack abs right through the
fabric. The pale yellow set off her deep tan. Watching Eric's face in the
mirror, the woman executed a side chest pose; her bicep bulged and her large
chest stretched the shirt impressively. "Good thing it's so elastic," she
quipped with a grin, "or else my tits would bust right through." She smiled to
herself in satisfaction as Eric's jaw dropped and his face became several
shades deeper red. "I've still got it – not bad for an old broad," she
thought.

She turned to face Eric. He was holding some clothing in such a way that it
blocked any view of his erection, but the woman knew it was there. She flexed
her arm slowly, revealing a large, hard ball of bicep. "You seem to like my
muscles," she said, her warm brown eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, my
chest too, but I think it's my muscles that have you entranced. Am I right?"

"Um – I mean – oh – damn!"

"I'll take that as a yes," she laughed. Moving closer, so that her breasts
were brushing his arm, she said, very seriously, "Look at my eyes." Eric
raised his eyes so his green ones were looking into her brown ones. She licked
her lips. "I'm very attracted to young men who admire my muscles," she said
sexily. "What's your name?"

"E-E-Eric."

"Well. Eric, what time do you get off work?"

"Uh – five-thirty."

"Good," she breathed. "If you'd like to see even more of my muscles, come to
this address at six ON THE DOT!" She removed a card from a pocket in her pants
and handed it to him. "Don't be late, and don't stand me up, if you know
what's good for you."

She backed away and entered the fitting room to change back into her own
shirt; Eric stumbled away toward the men's room, dropping the armful of
clothes on the way.

Eric locked the door behind him and swallowed hard. Taking a deep breath, he
tried to steady his shaking muscles. "Omigod omigod omigod she wants me to
come over? I've gotta be dreaming," he thought. He looked at the card she'd
given him. It said simply, "A. Korinsky. 1 Smith Rd." Eric was almost as
frightened as was excited. "What the hell should I do?" While he wasn't
exactly a virgin, Eric's one experience in the back seat of his car hadn't
been very well received by his partner. He knew that "A. Korinsky" was much
more sophisticated, and he especially didn't want to embarrass himself.
However, he was so excited by her muscles that he knew he wouldn't be able to
stay away. He tried to think about other things, but his erection throbbed
away and would not disappear until he relieved himself manually.

Eric went back to work, but was distracted all day. He kept seeing that hard
ball of muscle when the woman had flexed, and made several extra trips to the
men's room.

Angela Korinsky parked her classic Cobra (vanity plate MUSCLE1) outside a
large building. In a former incarnation it had obviously been a warehouse, but
now a sign above the door said simply "Gym". The parking spot she chose was
marked with a sign with "Angie" in ornate script. Grabbing her bag of workout
clothes from the seat beside her, she exited the car and strode into the
building.

"Morning, Boss," called the woman behind the desk as Angie walked through the
door. "You're late."

"Morning Cassie," Angie replied. "I know, I needed some new muscle shirts.
What's my schedule look like?"

"Mr. Anderson's already here – June's stretching him out."

"Clint's an okay guy – he won't be pissed that I'm late."

Cassie consulted her computer terminal. "Mrs. Lewis is scheduled at eleven..."

"Stuck up bitch," Angie muttered under her breath.

"...and Mr. Hunter at two," Cassie continued with a grin. "After that you're
free, but Mr. Foster and Ms. Yarrow both called asking for an hour."

"Tell them no – I want the late afternoon free."

"Got a date?" Cassie asked mischievously.

"Actually, yes – at least I hope he'll show up." Angie laughed. "Poor kid –
real shy, and really hung-up about women with muscles."

"Gonna show him the light?"

"Oh yeah – if he shows. And if he doesn't, I might just go to where he works
and kidnap the cutie. I'd better get to work."

"'Kay, Boss. See you later."

Angie strode past the front desk and into the corridor beyond. She tossed the
bag of shirts into her office as she passed and continued to the weight room,
where a tall, slightly overweight man was stretching under the supervision of
a tall young blonde woman in a black leotard.

"Thanks for standing in for me, June," Angie said as she entered. "How's Clint
doing this morning?"

"He's about done with his stretches and ready for you, Boss," June replied.
The tall blonde patted the man on the back and said, "That'll do, Mr.
Anderson. I'll leave you with the Boss now. Have a good workout."

"Okay Clint, let's get started. Today we work on your arms, right?" For the
next hour Angie put Clint Anderson through a grueling workout, cajoling,
prodding, and sometimes yelling at her client to get the most out of him. She
did most of the exercises along with him, and at the end of the hour she was
coated in a light sheen of sweat, while her client was dripping wet. "Good
job," she told him as he finished his last set of dumbbell curls. She tossed
him a towel and grinned as he wiped himself off. "Another month or so and
you'll be curling twice that, if you do what I say." She picked up a pair of
dumbbells that were heavier than anything Clint had used and proceeded to curl
them. Her biceps leapt to attention as she worked with the heavy weights.

Clint stared at her in awe. "Damn, you're incredible," he said. "Just look at
those arms."

"Sixteen and a half inches," she said proudly, "and growing all the time. Not
bad for an old lady, huh?"

"Old lady my ass," Clint laughed. "I'd back you against any three girls half
your age." He flexed his arm and added, "But I'm getting pretty big myself."

"That's nice," Angie said, carefully putting the weights down and flexing for
him. "Remember, my offer still holds – if you beat me in arm wrestling you get
a free year's membership. If I beat you, however, you get to wear an ‘Angie
kicked my ass' t-shirt to the gym every visit for a year."

"It's tempting," Clint said. "But arm wrestling's about more than strength –
leverage and technique are very important. I know that at least." He gestured
at the plaques hung on one wall and added, "And all those arm wrestling
tournaments you've won tell me that you know all about that. So I think I'll
pass – today."

Angie laughed. "Wise decision – I always said you were a smart guy. Let's
stretch out and then you can hit the showers." She gently led him through the
cool down, making sure he wouldn't tighten up later, helping reach the best
stretch by carefully pulling or pushing on his back and legs. "Okay, big guy,"
Angie finally said, slapping him lightly on the ass, "go shower off. See you
tomorrow, right?"

"Yup. Thanks for the workout."

"Cardio tomorrow," Angie said, "your favorite."

"Ah shit, I hate cardio. Take it easy on an out of shape salesman, willya?"

"Get out of here, Clint." He headed for the shower, and Angie walked over to
the bench press machine. Putting three hundred pounds on the stack, she lay on
the bench and slowly cranked out twelve perfect reps. Sweat beaded her face
and soaked her shirt when she was done; the gray muscle shirt clung to her
chest even tighter now, the sweat forming a large stain that accented her
large breasts. Satisfied with her chest workout, Angie headed for her office
and its private shower.

Angie checked the clock when she reached her office. It was just after
ten-thirty, so she had almost a half hour before Annabelle Lewis was scheduled
to arrive. She quickly ran hot water in the shower and sluiced off the sweat.
Drying herself quickly, she donned one of her new shirts – the yellow Lycra
one that showed her large breasts off very nicely – and black bike shorts that
clung to her muscular ass and legs, showing off the striations through the
fabric. She put on a pair of cross-trainers and exited her office. Entering
the lobby, she saw Mrs. Lewis coming in the door.

Annabelle Lewis was married to the mayor, and she made sure everyone knew it.
Her family was obscenely rich, and she made sure everyone knew that too. She
dressed in very expensive workout gear, and hated to get it sweaty. She looked
anorexic; Angie didn't know what she was trying to accomplish by exercising,
but she was quite willing to take her money. If only the woman weren't so damn
snotty and condescending.

"Hello Mrs. Lewis," Cassie said cheerfully. "How are you today?"

"I'd be better if you'd remember to keep a close parking place available for
me. I had to walk all the way across the fucking parking lot," she replied
loudly.

"I'm sorry about that, but our lot is first come first served and ..."

"Don't give me that shit! I'm paying through the nose for these sessions, and
I deserve my own parking spot!"

"I'll talk to Ms. Korinsky about that," Cassie said.

"Oh, never mind." She turned to Angie and said, "Well, at least you're on time
today. Let me get changed and you can torture me for an hour."

"I'll see you in the exercise room when you're ready, Mrs. Lewis," Angie said,
careful not to let her feelings for this unlikable woman show. She headed for
the exercise room and stretched, then put on a cassette with upbeat songs
suitable for aerobic exercise. Ten minutes later the tall, skinny woman joined
her. "Want to use the two pound weights or the one pound ones?" Angie asked
her student.

"Weights? Heavens no! If I used weights I might develop unsightly – er –
bulges. No, no weights for me."

Angie took a pair of ten pounders and started the music. "Okay, let's get
going. Slowly at first, arms above your head, bend and touch your toes..."

After only thirty minutes of the scheduled hour Mrs. Lewis was exhausted. "No
more, no more," she panted. "Just look at my togs, they're all covered with
perspiration. That's enough for today."

Angie, who wasn't even breathing hard, put the weights carefully on the floor
and said, "You're the client, so what you say goes. However, you should know
that you're not going to get fitter unless you push yourself."

"Don't tell me what to do! It's your job to get me fit! If I'm not getting
fitter, it's your fault!"

Angie lost her temper. "You skinny little witch! I've had it with you. The
only way to get fit is to WORK at it, something you're obviously not willing
to do. The reason you get tired so quickly is that you DON'T EAT ENOUGH, you
stupid idiot! The body, especially the body's muscles, need FUEL."

"But if I eat I'll get FAT! You fucking cow, I don't want to look like you!
You look like a man, except for those ridiculous tits!"

Angie exploded. She strode angrily over to Mrs. Lewis and backed the skinny
woman up to a wall, then shoved her breasts into the anorexic chest of her
physically outmatched and suddenly frightened client. "That does it – I don't
have to take that from anyone, not even you. Your membership is cancelled! Get
out NOW!" Angie took a step back to allow Mrs. Lewis room to leave.

"You can't do that to me you fucking bitch! I'm the mayor's wife! I'M RICH!"
She drew back her hand to slap Angie.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Angie said coldly. "If you lay a hand on
me I'll break you in half and toss you out in the alley. Get out while you can
walk out."

Annabelle Lewis thought for a long moment, then lowered her arm and walked
away. Angie followed her out and walked behind her into the locker room. "Take
your stuff and leave. Don't even think about showering." Red faced, Annabelle
opened her locker and grabbed her purse and clothes. Angie followed her to the
lobby. "Cassie, Mrs. Lewis has decided to cancel her membership at the gym.
Send her a refund for the time she has remaining on her contract. Good-bye,
Mrs. Lewis."

Annabelle walked to the door, then turned around. "I will make you wish you
had never met me. I will force this establishment to close and sue all of you
for everything you have!" She stalked out.

Angie sighed. "She'll try to make our lives hell for a while, but she'll
eventually give up. No stamina."

Cassie said, "Well, that's one pain in the ass gone. You planning on making
any more friends today?"

"Not if I can help it," Angie grinned. "I've got until two free, right?"
Cassie nodded. "Okay, if anyone needs to talk to me – and NOBODY BETTER – I'll
be working out on the heavy bag."

Angie turned on her heel and headed for the room containing punching bags,
kicking bags, mats and a regulation ring. She put on some thin gloves and
began walloping the hell out of the heavy bag. WHACK! SMACK! THUD! Alternating
between punches and kicks, she worked out her frustration by pounding the bag
for over twenty minutes. When she'd finished she wiped the sweat from her head
with a towel; she was startled to hear applause from the door. Turning, she
saw that there was a small crowd who had been watching her workout. June and
Lisa, two of the other personal trainers, led the clapping. "Jeez, Boss, I
thought you were going to punch a hole in that thing," Lisa, a tall, strapping
redhead said with a grin. "I hope you never get that mad at ME," she added.

"Then get your asses back to work," Angie growled playfully. "I need another
shower."

Laughing, the crowd broke up, leaving Angie to her thoughts. "I wonder if that
kid Eric is gonna have the nerve to show up tonight. If he doesn't, I'm gonna
hunt him down, drag him home, and rape him." Thinking about Eric reminded her
that she hadn't made arrangements for dinner. She dialed her house and her
housekeeper answered. "Listen, Emily, I'm having someone over tonight. I want
canapιs at six, dinner at seven. Once you and Louis have cleared the dishes,
make yourselves scarce, got it? Oh, and bring a bottle of wine up from the
cellar. A nice Chardonnay I think – make sure it's nicely chilled, okay?
Great. Thanks Em." She hung up and leaned back in her chair, her finger gently
tracing the outline of a nipple that showed through the tight fabric of her
top. "He better show. I hope he's having a better day than I am..."

In fact Eric was not having a very good day. He spent much of it fantasizing
about the muscular woman who had entered his life that morning. He couldn't
think about anything except muscular arms wrapped around his head and muscular
legs crushing his abdomen, chest, and skull. Tina, his supervisor, finally
said, "That's the third time you've put the wrong merchandise out, Eric.
You're useless today. Get out of here and come back tomorrow with a better
attitude."

Eric punched out at two and decided that if he were going to meet "A.
Korinsky" that night he might as well do it in style. He went to the barber
and got a trim, then did some shopping for a new shirt. He got home about
three, and spent almost two hours thinking about what might happen during the
night to come.

Chapter 2: We Meet Bob

Angie had a light lunch of salad and water, then prepared for her two o'clock
appointment. Unlike the previous ones, she dressed herself in a thong bikini –
faux leopard print – and a pair of high-heeled faux leopard shoes. She made
sure her makeup was up to her standards, then checked the private rooms
upstairs.

The upper level of the gym was partitioned off into five four-room "suites".
Each suite had a "lobby" with a comfortable sofa, small refrigerator, wet bar,
and coffee maker. There was a combination changing room, shower, and toilet
off this room, where the client could refresh him or herself. One of the
remaining rooms in each suite was fitted out in a bedroom/hotel room motif,
except that the floor was covered with mats rather than carpeting. The last
room in each suite contained a regulation wrestling ring.

These rooms were for rent by gym members. If they wished, and wanted to pay an
extra fee, one of the employees of the gym could be requested for a wrestling
or sparring session. For a slightly larger fee, the client could indulge his
or her fantasies, up to a point.

Angie's first gym had been a small storefront operation. Besides offering
exercise equipment and personal training, she'd let it be known that she was
willing and able to wrestle and spar with men or women in a back room of the
gym. She'd discovered two things: there was a huge demand for this service and
none of the participants was particularly anxious to have anyone else know
they were interested in that sort of thing. While there might be some
questionable legality about the operation, Angie wasn't particularly worried
about getting raided, since one of her original and most regular clients was
Police Chief Brian Roberts.

When she'd purchased the warehouse, she'd drawn up plans for a private
entrance and elevator to the second floor, where she'd had the suites built.
Also, she'd screened her potential employees to see who might be interested in
wrestling and sparring. To her surprise all of the prospective personal
trainers said that they would have no problem offering that service in
addition to more "normal" training duties, as long as there was additional
compensation. Over the years her employees had come and gone, some retiring,
some opening their own gyms. Angie currently had five female and one male
personal trainer. They regularly brought clients up to one of the suites and
let them indulge some of their fantasies. The limits were set up front: no
sex, although manual release was allowed, and no serious BDSM, even though
some fantasies might include some minor bondage.

All of Angie's present trainers had gone through a basic wrestling and
grappling school, one had been a varsity wrestler in college, two had black
belts in jiu jitsu, two in tae kwan do, and one had gone through a
professional wrestling school. The suites were scheduled in hour blocks, and
in such a way that there was a half hour "window" between clients arriving and
leaving, in order to help insure privacy.

Angie saw that Suite Four was in use. Checking the schedule, she noted that
the client was scheduled until one-thirty. She flipped on the monitor and
checked what was going on in Suite Four. She smiled at what she saw. It was
Paige, her youngest personal trainer, wrestling in the ring against Brett
Chambers, a young guy that Angie had introduced to the joys of muscles on
women and wrestling a year or so before.

Paige had been a star in volleyball and basketball in high school. At six-two,
she could palm a basketball in each hand and slam-dunk them both from a
standing start. Scholarship offers poured in, and she chose to attend
Tennessee because of their outstanding women's basketball program. Majoring in
exercise physiology, she'd led the Lady Vols to four NCAA titles in her four
years there, while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. Much to her parents' disappointment,
after college Paige had chosen to attend a pro-wrestling school, as that had
been her first love ever since she'd seen Chyna beat a male wrestler for the
Intercontinental Championship. Even though she knew outcomes were
predetermined, she loved the athleticism of the wrestlers.

The head of the wrestling school gave Angie a call, letting her know about the
tall young girl. Upon her graduation from the wrestling school, Angie had
offered Paige a job. The youngster decided she had lots of time to start a pro
wrestling career, and elected to join Angie's gym as a personal
trainer/wrestler. Now twenty-four, she'd been with Angie for just under a
year, and was quite popular as a wrestling opponent with quite a few of the
male clients.

Paige lifted Brett across her body and slammed him to the mat while Angie
watched. The young woman was now six-three and weighed around two hundred
pounds, with sixteen-inch biceps, twenty-five inch thighs and eighteen-inch
calves. It was child's play for her to lift the five-seven, hundred and sixty
pound male and drive him to the mat. The big brunette pulled him up by the arm
and whipped him into a corner, then strode confidently over to him. The loud
SMACK as Brett struck the corner padding told Angie how hard Brett had been
thrown; Angie winced in sympathy. Paige, dressed in a pale blue bikini that
showed off her light tan and revealed her armor-plated abs, towered over Brett
as he slumped with his arms draped over the top rope. She asked Brett if he
was ready to submit, but he shook his head no. Smiling, Paige yanked him out
of the corner and ducked, pulling him across her broad shoulders. With a
convulsive heave she lifted his limp body over her head, her arms bulging with
power, then tossed him to the mat again. Lying down beside him, she opened her
legs and pulled him into a body scissor hold. Angie winced again – besides the
enormous girth of the girl's thighs, Paige had a thirty-nine inch inseam,
which meant incredible leverage in any scissor hold. Brett's mouth opened and
he tried to scream, although the pressure Paige was putting on his torso kept
the noise down to a croak. He tapped frantically on Paige's leg, submitting to
her leg power.

Paige released him immediately, then knelt astride his chest and flexed her
biceps. Brett reached up and felt the hard balls of sinew with an awed
expression on his face. Paige asked him if he had suffered enough, and Brett
nodded his head frantically. Paige smiled and stood up, standing with one foot
on either side of his head. She pointed and said, "Pay homage to my legs,"
with a stern expression on her face, and Brett immediately kissed her calves.
Paige stepped back and offered Brett a hand up. She gave him a hug and kissed
him on the cheek. Angie shut down the monitor and began to get ready for her
own match.

She did some crunches and push ups to pump her muscles up. A thin coat of baby
oil put a nice sheen on her body, highlighting the hills and valleys of her
mature, muscular physique. She lightly applied a musky scent that was made
specifically for her body chemistry. At five minutes to two she walked into
the corridor that held the private entrance and elevator and waited for Bob
Hunter. The elevator doors opened and Paige exited. She saw Angie and smiled
down at her. "Hi Boss," she said. "Just finished cleaning up." She took a good
look at Angie and continued, "Damn! You look really hot!"

"Thanks. I monitored the end of your session," Angie said. "I thought Brett
was going to die after that gorilla slam. You sure that was a good idea?"

"Shit, Boss, that little guy's like a rubber ball," Paige said with a laugh.
"He used to be a gymnast. You can't hurt him by tossing him around – he just
bounces up for more." She chuckled and continued, "The way to beat that boy is
to squeeze the hell out of him for a few minutes. That takes the bounce right
out of him, and then you can have some fun torturing him."

Angie laughed. "Okay, as long as nobody gets hurt. You know the rules. Why'd
you wrestle in the ring, anyway?"

"Oh, that was his idea. He figured he'd like to find out what pro moves were
like. She winked. "I guess he did." She turned as the bell rang. "Sounds like
your appointment is here – give him hell." She bent and kissed Angie on the
forehead.

"I will," Angie replied, slapping Paige on the butt. "Go shower off."

Paige walked off, swaying her hips sexily. Angie shook her head and waited
until Paige had entered the locker room before opening the door to admit Bob
Hunter.

Angie stood, hands on hips, flexing every muscle. Bob's eyes widened as he
took in Angie's imposing physique and he swallowed hard. Angie smiled at Bob
and stepped aside, saying, "Come on in, Bob. You're punctual as usual."

"Wow. I never get used to seeing your muscles." He stumbled in the door, and
Angie closed and locked it behind him. "You look amazing."

"Thank you, kind sir. Please come this way." She led the way to the elevator
and pressed the button for the second floor. Bob breathed in Angie's scent and
felt his knees weaken – that was how powerfully Angie's presence affected him.
She preceded him to the suite and opened the door, gesturing to the sofa.
"Make yourself at home," she said. "You want a drink?"

"Yes, please."

"Let's see – you like a single malt Scotch, no ice, no soda, right?" She took
a crystal glass out and poured two generous fingers of the amber liquid in.
Angie walked slowly over to the sofa and handed him the drink, then sat next
to him and crossed her thick legs. She rested a hand on his shoulder and
leaned close. Every client required different handling. Some were all
business, some needed to be reassured that their desires were perfectly
normal, and some needed to be seduced a bit. Bob Hunter needed to feel like a
sexy, desirable man, and Angie was quite willing to indulge him – to a point,
and for a price.

In fact Bob was a reasonably attractive businessman in his mid-forties whose
wife Kara always seemed to be too busy to pay attention to what he wanted.
Angie felt a little sorry for the guy, but business was business, and she
didn't feel any particular attraction for him. Nevertheless, she would do her
best to give him what he wanted.

Bob sipped his drink, and Angie whispered into his ear, "So, Bob, what are we
doing today? Do you have a preference, or should I just squeeze you into
jelly?"

"Um – well, I was thinking about trying something – like, you play an agent
who needs to interrogate me, and I'm a suspected member of a gang. You can do
anything – within reason, I mean – to get me to admit I'm involved and name
the other members of the gang."

"Hmmm – sounds promising, but maybe you should be a suspected terrorist, and
your organization is responsible for a bombing?" Bob nodded. "Okay, and what
tactics am I allowed to use. Or, more specifically, what can't I do?"

"No punches to the face, no ball busting. If you do punch or kick me, please
don't use your full strength – I know I couldn't stand too much of that kind
of punishment."

"What about damage to your face – remember what happened after our scissor
session?" The first time Bob had engaged Angie's services, her relentless head
scissors had caused many of the small blood vessels in Bob's face to burst,
resulting in a blotchy red complexion for several hours.

"My wife's out of town until tomorrow, and I plan to drive straight home from
here," Bob replied.

"Okay, how about damage to your clothes?"

He indicated the briefcase he'd brought in. "Got a sweatshirt and sweatpants
in here." He grinned and added, "This is an old suit Kara thinks I've donated
to the Salvation Army. I'll toss it out on the way home."

"Mmmm, sounds like you've thought of everything." Bob took another sip of his
Scotch. "So, I suppose the scenario starts in the bar of a hotel. You pick me
up and invite me to your room." He nodded. "Okay, let me slip a dress on over
this..." she indicated her bikini "... and we can get started."

From a closet containing various costumes Angie selected a flowing dress that
zipped up the side, making it easy to get out of. She found a purse too, and
added that. Turning, she got into character. "Why Bob, I'd love to go up and
have another drink in your room." He stood up and she took his arm. "Let's
go." She indicated the door leading to the "bedroom" section of the suite. Bob
opened the door and led the way inside.

"So, Bob, what exactly do you do for a living?"

"Oh – um – I'm a salesman. Travel around a lot, selling a men's clothing line
to retail stores."

"Mmmm, I bet you get to see a lot of the country, don't you?"

"Yeah, it's one of the perks of the job." He headed uncertainly to the
dresser. "You want that drink now?"

Angie grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her. "No," she whispered, "first I
want to get to know you better." She flexed an arm and pouted. "Like my
muscles, Bob? Some men do."

Bob ran his hand across her bicep, feeling the hard ball of sinew. "Y-yeah, I
think your muscles are really sexy."

"Oh, you're so sweet," Angie said.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Oh, I'm an FBI agent, sweetie," she said. Taking his wrists she backed him up
against the wall. "My muscles come in handy in my job," she added. "I do
special interrogations for the Bureau." She pulled his arms over his head and
gripped both wrists in one hand. She put the other on his throat and squeezed
gently. "Like the one I'm about to do on you."

"I-interrogation? For what?" he croaked. "I'm just a salesman."

"Cut the bullshit, Bob," Angie said calmly. "You've been under surveillance
for over a year now. We know about your involvement with the Taliban and al
Qaeda, and about your connection with that church that got bombed last month.
We want to know about the other members of your cell, and I'm going to get
that information out of you or kill you trying." She squeezed his throat a bit
harder. "You do believe I could kill you, don't you Bob?"

"Y-yeah, I believe you could. I just can't believe you think I'd have anything
to do with that bunch of nuts. And I could never be responsible for any
explosion."

Angie took her hand from his throat and punched him in the belly. Even at less
than half strength it knocked the breath out of Bob's lungs and his knees
buckled. Angie released his wrists and he dropped to his knees. "Don't lie to
me, Bob," she growled. "That's just a sample of what I can do." She unzipped
the dress and stepped out of it, revealing her hard body. "These thighs are
man-killers," she told him. "If I wrap them around you, either your pathetic
body or your empty head, the only way out is if I feel merciful." She flexed
her thighs and told him, "Feel them! Feel the muscles in my legs! They are
your doom, scumbag," she added as he ran his hands up and down her brawny
thighs. "You will either tell me everything or you will perish between them!"

"B-but I don't know anything," Bob protested. Feigning anger, Angie grabbed
his ears and pulled his head between her thighs in a standing headscissor. She
squeezed hard enough to hurt, but not nearly as hard as she was capable of.
Bob screamed in fear as her tree-trunk thighs crushed in on his skull. She
held him there for a few seconds before releasing the pressure; Bob stayed on
his hands and knees, dizzy from even that brief moment between her muscular
legs.

"I told you not to lie to me," Angie hissed. She stepped to the side and
kicked him gently in the ribs; the kick was hard enough to send Bob rolling
across the floor. He wound up on his back. Angie pounced on him, pinning him
to the mat and quickly grapevining his legs. She held his wrists down easily
and dropped her chest onto his face, smothering him between her large breasts.
She released his wrists and wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him in
hard, preventing him from escaping her fleshy trap. She rubbed her lower body
against his, feeling his erection.

Angie released his head and allowed Bob to breathe again. She raised her hips
up and slammed them down against Bob's belly, driving the breath he'd just
taken out again with great force. Repeating the hip thrust, she quickly had
Bob gasping for air again. Angie stretched her legs, causing Bob considerable
pain as his knees and hips were stretched to the limit. Again Angie could feel
Bob's erect manhood straining against his clothes. She unwound her thick legs
from around his and rolled onto her side, pulling Bob's torso between her
"man-killers". Crossing her ankles, she flexed lightly, giving him a taste of
her power. Her strong fingers ripped Bob's shirt apart, sending buttons flying
everywhere. Making good use of this new access, Angie pinched his nipples hard
so that Bob squealed. "You sound like a little piggy," she taunted. "Wee wee
wee!" Releasing the scissors, she sat atop his chest, facing his legs. Angie
quickly unfastened Bob's belt and ripped his trousers open, revealing his
manhood straining against his boxers.

Less than a second later and the shorts were in tatters and his penis pointing
straight up. Angie grabbed her purse and removed a small bottle of baby oil.
Squirting some in her palm, she ran her hand lightly up Bob's erection. He
came almost immediately, spurting semen in a gusher that quickly covered his
groin and her hand. "Looks like getting beat up by a strong woman turns you
on, scumbag," Angie said, staying in character. "You'll have plenty of chances
to blow your load tonight." She wiped her hand on his ripped shirt. "Who else
is in your cell?" she demanded.

"I-I don't know w-what you're t-talking about," he stammered. "I'm just a damn
salesman. I don't know anything about any cell, or any explosion."

"Bullshit!" Angie exclaimed. "You're guilty and you're gonna confess or die.
You ready to die, Bob?" She shifted positions so that she had Bob's head in a
reverse headscissors. Yanking on his hair, she made sure his skull was high up
between her thighs. Angie locked her ankles and constricted her legs; Bob felt
like his head was about to implode. Angie executed a push-up and tightened her
entire body, careful not to apply anywhere near her full power. Bob kicked his
legs and frantically pawed and slapped at her granite-hard thighs until she
relented and relaxed her squeeze.

Angie stood up, towering over Bob. She held him down with a foot on his chest
and flexed her arms again. "Had enough, Bob?" she demanded. "Ready to tell the
truth now? Confess or I'll break you in half."

"I-I can't c-c-confess to what I didn't do," Bob rasped.

"But you did do it, Bob," Angie said. She pulled him up and backed up to the
bed. She sat on the edge, pulling Bob down to a seat on the floor. Wrapping
her legs around his head again, she leaned back in a relaxed way and locked
her ankles. Slowly she increased the pressure of her squeeze until Bob was
whimpering in pain. Angie unlocked her ankles and told him, "That was about a
quarter of my leg strength, Bob. If you don't want any more than that, confess
now."

"I didn't do anything. I don't know anything," he wheezed. "Please, let me go.
You've got the wrong guy."

"Wrong guy? I don't think so." Angie dropped to a seat behind him on the floor
and locked his arms into a full nelson. Her arms bulged as she pressed down on
his head with her hands. Bob tried to escape, but Angie was far too strong for
him. "You really think you can get away from me? You pathetic weakling!
Confess, Bob!" Wrapping her legs around his body again she jolted him with
another squeeze from her tree-trunk thighs and felt his ribs bend. "I'll bust
you up good before I kill you if you don't."

"K-k-kill me?"

"I told you I could. I'm authorized to kill if necessary," she hissed in his
ear. "And with a scumbag like you, I'm tempted to do it even without a
confession." She pressed down harder on his head, but was careful not to go
too far. "You're helpless, you piece of crap. Just like the women and children
in the church you bombed. How does it feel, scum? How does it feel to know
you're about to die?"

"P-p-please don't do this," Bob whispered.

"You know what I want to hear. Say it!"

"A-all right. I confess."

Angie released the double hold and stood over Bob who was lying on the floor,
tears running down his face. "I knew it!" she crowed. Grabbing him by the
remains of his shirt she pulled him up, biceps bulging as she lifted his dead
weight easily. "Now, if you want to keep breathing you'd better tell me who
else is in your cell." She drove another half-power punch into his gut; Hunter
gagged and doubled over. She pulled his head between her thighs and worked him
over in another standing headscissors. "Come on, wimp! Who are you working
with?" Angie released the hold and Bob dropped to the floor. She turned him
over with her foot so he was looking up at her; she stepped astride his body
so he was gazing up at her muscular thighs. "You don't want these wrapped
around you any more, do you?" He shook his head no. "Then tell me who else is
in your cell."

"They'll kill me," he croaked. "I can't tell you."

"I'm here. They're not." Angie doubled her arms, flexing her biceps to their
full size. "Better choose quickly – and wisely."

"N-n-no, I c-c-c-can't."

Angie shrugged. "It's your funeral," she said. She pulled him to his feet and
then ducked so she could hoist him on her shoulder. She easily carried him
across the room and set him gently on his feet next to the wall. "You sure you
won't reconsider?" she asked him. Bob shook his head no. Without another word
Angie kneed him in the belly. As Bob doubled over she wrapped one arm around
his head and held him in that position. Angie drove another knee into him,
this time hitting him in the chest, then repeated the move three more times.
When she released his head Bob fell face down on the floor; he was barely able
to get his hands up in time to prevent his face from striking the padding
fairly hard. Angie straddled his back and locked her hands under his chin.
Pulling back, she stretched his neck painfully.

"I hope you realize just how dangerous this position is for you," she
whispered menacingly. "With a little twist I can snap your pencil neck. By
squeezing my hands I can crush your jaw. You really are in a tough spot here.
Sure you won't reconsider?" She pulled back a little harder, eliciting a moan
from the helpless man beneath her.

"Nnnnn – okay, okay," Bob rasped. "You win."

She released him and said, "I always win." Angie stood up and lifted Bob under
his arms, walked him over to the bed and sat him down. "The tech weenies will
be here in a few minutes. You will tell them anything they ask you. You'll
name everyone in your cell, and you will confess to the bombing." Angie
wrapped her hand around his throat and squeezed gently. "Otherwise, I'll come
back and next time I won't stop. You know I can kill you anytime I want, don't
you?" Bob nodded jerkily. "And you don't want to piss me off, do you?" He
shook his head. "Good. Then I guess we understand each other." She released
her grip and continued, "But I think I'll just remind you that I hold your
worthless life in my hands."

Quickly she slipped behind him on the bed and wrapped her thighs loosely
around his waist. Locking one arm under his chin, she put him into a classic
rear naked choke, better known in wrestling circles as a sleeper hold. "Don't
struggle – I promise this won't hurt." Applying pressure to the carotid
arteries in the sides of his neck, she almost gently squeezed him unconscious.

Angie was careful not to keep the hold locked in too long. After less than ten
seconds she released the pressure. About fifteen seconds later he jerked
spasmodically as the blood returned to his brain. Angie knew that Bob would be
quite disoriented for a couple of minutes, so she kept him prisoner gently,
not squeezing her legs or arms, and spoke reassuringly. "Hey, Bob, you okay
yet? Take it easy – you'll be fine in a few minutes.

"W-w-w-wow. That was different," he rasped as he eventually became aware of
where he was. Angie let him go and rolled over to the other side of the bed.
She walked around to face him, a smile on her face.

"How was that, Bob?" she asked. "Did that fulfill your fantasy?"

"And more. Thanks Angie."

"Doesn't Kara like to do this kind of stuff?" Angie asked gently. "I know from
her visits here that she's a pretty strong woman. I bet the two of you could
have lots of fun at home with this kind of thing." He hesitated, and she
grinned. "Come on, Bob, don't make me beat it out of you. You can tell your
wrestling therapist anything."

"Kara's pretty busy with her own interests," Bob said, hanging his head a
little. "Takes a lot of business trips, selling her cosmetics. She hasn't had
time for me in quite a while."

"That's a real shame. I'd hate to see you two break up or anything."

"Well, I'm hoping she'll come around eventually. Anyway, thanks for your –
well – thanks. This was great."

Angie gave Bob a kiss on the cheek. "Glad you enjoyed it. I had fun – it
wasn't a usual session for me." Bob stood up and swayed a little on his feet.
Angie took his arm to steady him. "You going to be all right?"

Bob laughed. "Yeah, just a little woozy. I'll be fine. See you in a few weeks,
probably." He walked unsteadily out the door to get into the clothes he'd
brought along.

Angie scratched her head and murmured, "Maybe I should have a little talk with
Kara."

A few minutes later Bob emerged from the dressing room in a sweatsuit and
Angie gave him a gentle hug and kiss. "Have a nice evening, Bob," she said as
she escorted him to the door. Then she re-entered the room and cleaned it up,
something she insisted all her trainers do themselves. "You helped make the
mess, you clean it up," was what she told everyone she hired.

She finished, put the cleaning supplies away and headed back down to her
office where she called Cassie at the front desk. "Ask Carl to come to my
office please," she said. Two minutes later there was a knock on he door.
"In!" she called.

Carl Miller, her only male trainer, entered the room. "You wanted to see me,
Boss?"

"Have a seat, Carl. You're not in trouble. I just wanted to ask you about one
of your clients."

"Okay," he said, sitting down. Angie hadn't showered yet, and the scent of
sweat and musk filled the small office. Combined with the visual display of
Angie's assets, Carl began to feel a bit awkward. "What do you want to know?"

"Kara Hunter. When is her next appointment?"

"Workout or wrestling?"

"Either."

"She's got an appointment for wrestling day after tomorrow, ten AM."

"How good is she?"

Carl grinned ruefully. "She's damn good. She submits me or pins me almost half
the time now. And she's gotten stronger too – she can bench almost two hundred
pounds, and her leg press is up to six hundred."

Angie raised her eyebrows, impressed. "I had no idea she was using that much
weight." She rubbed her chin, thinking. "You got any idea why?"

Carl squirmed uncomfortably. "I think she might be hot for me, Boss. I didn't
do anything to encourage her, honest! Especially since I – well, you know." He
added quickly.

"It's okay, Carl. I know you prefer guys. Does she seem to like it when she
pins you or makes you submit?"

"Yeah, she does."

"Hmm. Okay. When she shows up, I may come in and talk to her for a little
while, and ask you to take a hike. You okay with that?" Angie said.

"Sure. You're the boss, after all."

"Good. Have Cassie put a note on my calendar, will you? Now get back to work."

Carl grinned. "Sure, Boss. Can I ask what this is about?"

"Hopefully getting two people back together. Get out of here!"

After Carl had left Angie showered quickly and dressed in shorts and a tank
top, then headed out. "I'm leaving for the day," she told Cassie. "See you
tomorrow."

"'Kay, boss. Have a good date," Cassie said with a grin.