Tested to the limit
By valisdick
A female powerlifter finds other ways to test her endurance


With a belly crunch gorgeous giantess Queenie bent up and sat on the bench
leaning on her palms, gasping for oxygen. Her solid lift had prompted a
unanimous surge of approval from the circle of seasoned male bodybuilders who
surrounded the bench press stand. The fabulous blonde in ripped-edge tank top,
fingerless muttons and matching head band had installed herself on the bench,
spread out her torso as under a uv lamp, grasped the colossal bar with great
care, and shattered Randy's personal best by 6 full pounds. Amazingly, it was
a clean lift, without a trace of trembling from her elegant marble triceps.
She half screamed during the last bit of the extension, a pussy's moan, that's
all. Loomu, the gym owner, a short bald guy in his late forties wearing a
filthy halter top unscrew the two tiny plates added to the monster sized ones
and waved them for all to see. 'Looks like we have a new intergender welter
weight gym record'. 'Next please'. The bunch of jocks stirred, intimidated by
the massive iron burden Queenie had just made float before their eyes. Randy,
a large stout guy with a twitching eyelid, aerated his lungs and took a step
forth, determined not to yield to the blonde in the raw strength challenge.
'Hung on' fumbled Nat placing one hand on his chest. 'I'm not through yet'.
'Put 6 more' she called, rubbing the back of her swollen arms. Loomu hopped on
his footballs. He was delighted with the progression of his pupil, and
considered her as his own masterpiece. He had spotted her at the scholar
swimming trials and persuaded her to work with weights. He had baptised the 5
ft 9 girl with a reach close to 7 foot Queenie -he gave 5 inches to her- and
led the physical transformation of the slim but powerfully built schoolgirl
into a top class heavy weight.

Queenie didn't sleep well. Her triceps ached and the stomach heaved around.
Only in the morning her body allowed her to doze under the stirred sheets. She
got up, fixed some tea and unloaded the answering machine. Bruno, the Italian
guy she had been dating lately, suggested a weekend excursion, Randy
apologized about losing his temper at the gym, and begged her a rematch, a
harsh female voice with broken English gave the details of her appointment for
tonight, Randy once more asked if she was really around and gave up and hang
off, two blank messages, Loomy clearing his throat and confessing he had
signed a last minute registration in behalf of her for the nationals, and Mira
confirming she could give her a lift tonight for her mystery date. Seeping her
tea, she grabbed a pencil, winded the tape back to the harsh voice, and
scrapped the address down in a piece of paper. 'Bruno, is it you? ... Salut
cheri, I won't be around tonight nor the day after ... We could meet on Sunday
... Nothing really, don't care ... I ring you. Think of me'. Then she picks
the phone again and starts dialling Loomu's number. She simply could not
attend the nationals on Sunday. Just before pushing the last figure she froze.
That man was an angel. Her personal guardian angel, just a bit too tanned. He
had worked so hard with her muscles, getting them ready for the Nationals. She
couldn't let him down. Somehow she had to make it to the airport after her
mystery date. Mira, her best friend and swimming team mate, banged the horn at
half past eight. She had a last look to the collection of lingerie spread on
the cover, bottom pieces of tiny dimensions ranging from white-spandex sporty
slips to see-through lace briefs. All of them fit on the palm of her hand. She
chose a couple, plugged them into the bag, zipped it close and run down the
stairs three steps at once. They drove past downtown with no talk. I thank you
not to ask, said Queenie, eventually. Her real name was Natalia but even Mira
called her Queenie now. It seemed so inappropriate for her physical at first
glance, but when one knew Nat's fragile psyche and ever- changing moods it
finally fitted quite well. It's not that strange. You know I'm pretty involved
in physical contests now. I know you can crush a walnut in your fist, if you
mean that. I'm now trying to do it with these two fingers, giggled Queenie
turning to her friend. Her face went serious again. There's a night club in
the dockyards area. They have a purse challenge on. One of their dancers
claims she can outlast any woman at love making. Mira's eyelids fluttered but
she kept staring forth to the heavy traffic. It is not that I frequent those
places, Randy talked about it. There's a big prize also but I'm not doing it
for money. Randy says it's the ultimate test of strength, the toughest trial
for body and will. Listen, Nattie, are you sure, this can be dangerous. You
don't need to come in, Mira. I'll go on my own. You just come back and pick me
tomorrow noon. Mira raised one hand from the wheel and pulled one bang of
Queenie's curly mane. Foolish little girl.

'Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the Dingle Dangle love
making endurance annual challenge'. With a pitched squeal the deafening music
came off, the dancers gave way to the smart greasy-haired MC, swaying her
implants away under the catcalls and cheers from the liquor-fuelled crowd.
Eight big bouncers with the double-D T-shirts heaved two identical
Emperor-size square beds covered with dark-red velvet mattress to the centre
of the stage and clamped the bed legs into 4 pits on the stage floor. 'Let me
introduce you our challenger, 180 pounds of allmighty gorgeous female... Miss
Victoria!' Queenie clumsily step into stage. Her mane had been brushed to
gleam under the back lights. She was barefoot and had a crimson robe down to
her long sheens and a black mask on. The crowd started cheering her to show
off a bit more. Be patient guys, you soon see it all. And believe me, it's
worth waiting. From the scaffolding above the stage hung down two large
counters with red numbers set to double zero. On the opposite side of the
club, above the counter, a giant screen intended for those regulars who
preferred to follow the match from their stalls sparkled on. 'And now my
friends please welcome our reigning champion, the man-eating machine, the
supreme sexual athlete, the one and only Liz Frazzetta!' A dynamic middle age
woman with a long hazel mane down to her buttocks jumped into stage and rushed
to the edge waving above the heads about to jump, driving them mad. Her face
was not particularly beautiful, covered by a slight excess of make up, but
from neck down she was simply perfect. Hidden behind her glass, Mira struggled
to find the minor imperfection, exploring that unreal body to no avail. Her
shoulders, breasts and hips were so harmoniously balanced that you wouldn't
dare to move a single gram of flesh out of place. She could beat the dreams of
a plastic surgeon. The bends along her compact and graceful limbs puzzled the
most exigent inquiry. She seemed to come straight out of Leonardo's mind. Pure
idea made human. She grabbed a first row hunk from his hair, rubbed his face
into her chest and released the dazed guy on his friends' arms. Only then Mira
realized that the woman was completely naked. Her skin was so warm and
pleasing to the eyes that one could not think of a sexiest outfit. Her fuzzy
pubic hair was so immaculately trimmed, it looked like a delicate piece of
French lingerie. Only under the floodlight she could spot sparkling traces of
silver powder spread on her flanks. A convinced heterosexual as herself found
tough to admit that the body of that woman raised a tickling surge under her
skin. As Liz taunted the audience Queenie, alias "Miss Victoria" slip off her
robe and stretched hugging her own knees. Finally she had chosen the sporty
tight-fitting slip. Mira raised a hand to her friend and made a fist. What an
utterly insane colleague she had. Still she loved her. A black & white
stripped referee climbed up stage and called the girls. He informed them
through the MC's microphone that the bout had no time limit till one of them
gave up by rising her hand or verbally acknowledged defeat by pronouncing 'I
give up'. The male partners would be received one by one, and any position
implying mutual stimulation will be allowed. Brutality was barred; otherwise
the girl cannot refuse or switch the position till she manages to make the guy
cum. All studs were HIV and hepatitis tested since condoms are not allowed.
The number of ejaculations each girl takes is indicated in the display,
because there is a special extra purse sponsored by Gaigy Chemicals for the
highest number of cums. Only water would be allowed during the match. Medical
assistance was ready if the girls felt that need. Having said all that the ref
asked Queenie to pull off her briefs and pointed with both arms at the beds
screaming: let the contest begging... now! From each side of the stage a man
strutted in. They were not fully naked but wore front-less underwear, and when
they jumped on bed backstage warmers had saved the contestants any chance for
foreplay. The first two studs sat on top of the girl's heads and dived at once
for twin 69s. Queenie gulped the pinkie head pumping the shaft with her right
hand. Liz worked the first half of her stud inside her mouth and grabbing his
muscular buttocks tight, drove her fingertips inside his slip, reaching the
rim of his anus. Working with her lungs, she sucked the prick in and blew it
out at an infernal pace. Her cheeks pumped up and down like a trumpet player
in a hurry solo. To Mira the contest was lasting incredibly long. Those guys
had to be highly trained to hold on. Queenie's mighty hand and Liz sensual
mouth seemed formidable weapons they were successfully fighting. In fact some
grunts from the crowd revealed not that self- controlled males. Liz's guy
eventually spurted like a geyser and lied limp on top of her. She shoved him
aside and jumped on her knees to receive her next partner face to face. Mira
was afraid the guy on Queenie was going to make her cum before she could do it
herself. A grip camera flew above each bed like a preybird, uncovering the
details of the genital clash full size in the giant screen. Queeny is starting
to grimace, biting her lower lip. The guy is prying her vulva open with one
hand and inserting three stiff fingers of the other inside her. If she cums
that ready that's going to tax her endurance. Meanwhile Liz and her new
partner are locked by the neck screwing chest to chest Indian style. Liz gives
him no chance. Her lower belly has autonomous life, bite, shake and spit his
cock like a ragged toy and cheek-kisses him goodbye. Next stud roars pounding
his brawny chest and leaps on, ready to make the mighty goddess spit. On the
other bed Queenie is caughing. Her stood squirted inside her throat just when
she was moaning for her own climax. She hunches over the beds edge and spits a
yellowish slut. When she faces up propped on her muscular limbs the handsome
face of an African guy grins as he guides with his hand the first half of his
up- bent prick up her nether throat. Eyes locked she cocks her head and
relaxes. On Liz's bed the clash is far more violent. The new stud takes the
pounding with no sign of weakness. Liz is angry. Finishing him is taking
longer than expected. A bead of sweat runs down her face and clings to her
jaw, refusing to drop. Queenie pokes the tip of her tongue and runs it across
her lips. The black man is massaging the deepest areas inside her with his
prick of steel. Her breasts ache tightly swollen. She had fused the muscles of
her vulva around the base of his rod and don't let it out, swirling her hips
as if rocking her dearest child. He pushes forward with his massive hard-on
clearing its way inside unexplored land. It would take a dockyard crane to
pull them apart. When he finally cracks up his calm face distorts and he
releases a surprising high-pitched whimper. Queenie holds him inside
unnecessarily long, and doesn't loose her grip till he drops his head. Perhaps
she wants to give him the fuck of his life, a monster orgasm he would try to
reach with other women to no avail. Immediately afterwards Liz breaks the
tenacity of her third stud, who yells scratching Liz's back with his nails.
She pushes him off and slaps his face so hard his sweat showers the ref 2 m
away. Both girls wait for their next partner and for an instant their eyes
lock. At that stage Queenie already realized that was serious business, and
Liz had learnt the strange wouldn't give up at first sweat. The most powerful
and overhuman Liz looked like, the most intense was inside Queenie the urge to
test her body against hers. Randy was right, she had to admit. Pump more
weight than a man in the gym was quite a challenge, but outlasting that
screwing machine, just the idea, turned her on harder than a thousand pricks.
Next was a hairy Turkish- looking skinny man with a moustache and a funny
prick whose head was wider than the shaft. He slid on top, grabbed Queenie
under her knees and turned her legs over to expose her both orifices. Hopping
from one to another he performed kind of push ups leaning on the inside of her
knees. That way he was able to thrust just the fat head in and out, stretching
the rim of Queenie's vulva and anus in shifts. Soon he found the spot were his
ramming prompted a self-conscious twitching at Queenie's jaw, and savagely
hammered the spot till the girl's toes fluttered and her pussy overflowed with
her intimate juices. When the tide went down the humbly-working efficient
Turkish shifted his grip to Queenie's ankles and turning her over like in a
wrestling match pinned her on the mattress face down, sat on her shoulders
with her lower body curled up like a Mongolian bendy girl, which left her sex
tight open at reach of his lethal prong. While the Turkish creamed Queenie,
two more studs have left Liz's bed head down, unable to take the very first
orgasm from her and the counter announced the 05-02 score with the champion
substantially ahead. But even worse, reflected Mira, her pal had abundantly
come twice, while the champion's pussy saved all her vigour intact. With her
partner totally dominated in the wrestling hold the Turkish made her wet by
second time in a row. Only then he granted himself a modest exclamation of
triumph clenching one fist as the big girl burst out under his hips. He loved
big girls, and he had never ridden such a gorgeous one. Clasping her feet
under his hairy armpits he manoeuvred for a new hold. 'Get up, Queenie, don't
let him catch you again', shouted Mira standing on top of her stall. Queenie
strained her legs and simply outmuscled the moustache man, forcing her way out
of the hold. Lifting him up like a puppet with a frontal hug, dived on the
mattress landing on top, engulfed his prong and smashed him with her 180 pd
till he raised both hands in panic. Next stud lied across the bed and
cautiously proposed her to sit on his pride, which she didn't refuse. Liz was
also on top of her partner, an Asian youngster with incredible self-control.
Early that year the boy had won the DD 1 h challenge, surviving the hand job
of 3 experienced dancers for 60 min. When the time went out and the last
dancer stopped pumping the three girls were more sweaty than he was. Liz had
resorted to nipple pinching, but the boy, slightly shorter than the champion,
wasn't intimidated and fought back with incredibly precise tongue work on her
ear lobes, neck roots and breasts. So far Mira had considered the freaks who
unzipped and jacked off madly asylum clients. She even had to dodge a couple
of times to save her dress from the spontaneous wankers. Now the pitched
battle between Liz and the Japanese boy was arousing her so much she was
afraid to dribble if she uncrossed her legs. Queenie milked her partner and
engaged in a rolling furious battle with a spirited young muscular stood about
her size. They passionately Frenchkissed and manipulated one another with
incredible vigour. Despite the fact that Queenie had made love with four other
partners for about one hour her fabulous physical condition helped her to
overpower her new partner, pin his wrists down and shatter his prick to pieces
in record time. As she did so she challenged Liz, who struggled to keep her 0
score fighting the solid urge the Asian boy, tongue and cock at once, were
building up. As her defeated stud left her bed, Queenie recomposed the knot
that kept her hair off her face, lost during her last duel. Then she realized
than most of the eyes from the DD audience were fixed on her ponderous
physical. Rather than filling ashamed, she reached her neck and pulled out her
mask. Mira's noisy catcall led a massively excited cheer from the crowd. The
Jap boy was incredible, Liz had tested every square inch of her body, surface
and creeks, with no result, and now he had her rigid as a solid rock with a
tender bite on her ear lobe. She was so horny one could melt 10 pounds of
butter on her chest. The boyish teeth had pinned a tiny nerve and she couldn't
move. The slightest wince and she'd overflow. But the boy had reached his own
limits also, and didn't dare to shake his hips a single strike more. Their
shiny tangled bodies seemed the marble image of some Olympic wrestling bout.
Every living body at Dingle Dangle was holding his breath, waiting the
outcome. Mira felt something trickling in her eardrum. The noise grew audible
and similar to a mouse moan. Much later she could locate the origin, deep in
Liz's throat. Her pussy erupted like a volcano. Her elegant neck flushed. A
wave of amber liquid bathed her belly and thighs and dripped down soaking the
crimson bedding. As the liquid crystallized on her skin, trapping the curls of
her pubic hair, new waves spilled out. The boy quickly withdrew his sex out of
the champ. A bit too quick. He had pursed the 1000 for creaming the champ but
couldn't hold himself and lost the extra 1000. Stretched on all four spurted
on Liz's midsection with half a dozen jerky waves of cum that heaved his prick
up and down. The champion recovered just on time to watch Queenie destroying a
bulky block with her bare hands, both at once, and setting the 6-all draw in
the score. The next two pricks and their robust owners climbed the sultry
beds. There was no need to talk, not even to exchange a glance. They both went
for a 69. The female bodies tolled with two hours of sex departed for a fresh
start. The 69 was not good for Queenie. Liz superior technique gave her a huge
advantage. Queenie pumped like mad with both hands in shifts, resorting to her
fabulous musculature. Liz in contrast accurately squeezed and rubbed,
occasionally using her mouth to provide natural lubrication. Even worse, those
guys were experienced and Queenie's pussy opened like a huge flower offering
half a dozen sensitive points at finger reach. The blonde came off abundantly
by fifth or sixth time in the match. A bit later it was the turn for Liz's
stud. Five cums to one, thought Mira. With that rate it is virtually
impossible for Queenie to outlast the champ. However the share of studs seemed
fair to her. Queenie finished hers and the next two climbed on bed. Queenie
was improving her times, creaming the guys at an ever fasting rate. Or perhaps
the best lovers were already gone and DD was resorting to less experienced
volunteers. Fact was in the next 30 min Queenie managed to juice four more
guys yielding just one point in the score; 12-11. Both girls had cum twice
more. Queenie against a heavyweight with a short cock thick as a fist, and a
handsome blonde guy who didn't take his grey eyes out of her till they melted
at once. Liz's climaxes came unattended, screwed doggy style at lightning
speed by a fibrous guy sporting two retardant rings who got so madly satisfied
that started springing on the bed, bouncing his small tricky rod till the
referee requested him to go back to his job. Queenie was experiencing the
limits of her fabulous endurance. Her 12th partner was again the one who had
made her come at the very start. He French-kissed her, wrapped her chest with
his large arms and leaning back pushed her on top of him. Since Queenie didn't
make much progress he hugged her and made her roll on the mattress to get on
top. Seized his own prick and made his way inside the sore ragged sex. Feeling
Queenie in trouble Liz reacted like the killer she was. A wasp can't help but
sting eventhough doing so she kills herself. Stood up on her bed, lifted her
partner up tugging at his hair, grabbed his thighs and carried him with his
legs straddled around her hips. He was about 160 pd. You need a lot of
strength to do that. She wanted to prove she had that strength left, and
Queenie hadn't. It was a stupid move from Liz. Loomu wants Queenie to register
in the powerlifting nationals. Queenie is a muscle mountain. She may be
ragged, but her guns can still carry one of those hunks each. It was quite a
sight. The girls standing on the tall beds with a guy clasped to her like a
huge parasite, the kind of bug that rather than sucking fluids let them go.
Liz's arms started shaking. She held her stud by the buttocks, but with his
violent pumping she was loosing grip. She realized she had made a mistake, but
was stubborn enough to keep trying. After years of dancing her strength was
formidable for a woman, but clearly she had chosen a mismatch. Still she
waited for him to cum before releasing him. So did Queenie. Liz collapsed
landing on her muscular buttocks. The next stud waited sporting yet another XL
prick before her face. Only four other women had made it to the finals in her
weight class. As usual, she had a head on them. They were brawny, stocky women
with a thick layer of fat covering their muscular packs. Queenie seemed the
overgrown young sister, the one whose body attracts all the eyes. There was a
native Indian from Arizona at least 45 years old who trained by carrying 3 or
4 relatives on her shoulders. From Illinois a suburban black woman muscular
and vascular as a mare, with a protruding forehead and her hair combed back
from the top of her skull. From Philly another black woman and finally the
favourite and last year's winner, a blonde powerhouse from Brooklyn with
shaved neck and very short hair who walked with her stumping feet pointing
apart. The four athletes shook hands and jumped on stage. On the bench Loomu
asked for the weight she had just lifted in the gym, but she could clear it
only at her third attempt. That was good enough for the indian but leave her
in 4th place and her favourite event was gone. The squat was a mad contest
were all except for the Indian mama requested crazy poundage and the favourite
and the black mare broke the national record two times each. Queenie assured a
310 pd lift and engaged the mad race but couldn't get up with the eight plates
on. When they got ready for the dead lift it had become clear that first place
was reserved for either the black mare or the defending champion, and she was
going to dispute bronze medal to the second black woman, the one with tree
trunk arms and no neck. Since she trawled behind she should lift first and
choose the weight, and her rival could simply repeat the lift and weight for
her to fail. Dead lift was her worst event. Nothing to do with her swimming
training, and even dangerous for her spine. She cleared 295 but failed 305.
The black woman took her chance and with a grunt bent the bar and took the
plates off the mat. Queenie squeezed the double notched belt tighter patted
her thighs and inhaled the salt flask in Loomu's hand. She stomped the
platform, rubbed her hands in magnesium, screwed her feet and released the
thrust. The bar bent and the weights winced, but she was unable to stretch
herself up. The screams from the wild DD crowd still rebounded inside her
cranium. With a double bang the weights rebounded on the platform. She
shrugged her shoulders and bit her lips to Loomu, who was already clearing her
stuff and run away.

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