Isabelle and Jim: by Phil Farrell phlfrrll@yahoo.com Jim's Perspective I couldn't believe these guys asked me to arm wrestle Isabelle--who they said had beaten Dave and Bill. My grandma could probably beat Dave, so that wasn't a big deal, but Bill is a big, powerful guy. He probably let her win. I figured, ''What difference does it make? This is my gym and I always win.'' So now I was supposed to arm wrestle this old lady? I'd go easy on her. I'd seen her around my gym a lot, and she is always very serious, so I didn't want to lose her as a member by hurting her. She came over to the table and took off her jacket. This is the first time I had seen her this close, and I have to admit she looked good for an old broad. She must have just been working out as her shoulders and arms looked pumped and vascular. She was a small woman but looked at least as muscular as anyone I knew--man or woman. ''Let's get this stupid thing over with so I can get back to it,'' I told Jack R. Isabelle sat down across from me and without a word she grabbed my hand--which was twice as big as hers. No one was working out now, as everyone in the gym had come over to watch the spectacle. ''I've only done this a couple of times,'' she said. 'I think these kids let me win.'' ''Alright, I'll try not to hurt you,'' I boasted. When Jack R. pulled his hands away and said go, she slammed my hand down on the table before I could get started. Rather than make a big deal, I congratulated her on the win, and the gym erupted in cheers around her. I gave her a peck on the cheek, congratulated her, and asked her to stop by my office before she left for the day. After she had changed she stopped by my office. ''Let's go out to celebrate your victory.'' I told her. She was way too old for me and not really my type, but I was curious and intrigued. Maybe she was a cougar. I'd fuck her, but wouldn't want any ''involvement.'' ''Sure,'' she said. ''Although I think you let me win. Why don't you come over tonight for a barbecue?'' ''I'll bring my posing trunks, and give you a treat,'' I told her with a wink. We made the arrangements, I got directions, and she was off. At 6:00, I had almost forgotten that I was supposed to have dinner at Isabelle's, I had been working on the gym's books, but hunger reminded me. I headed over with no idea of what to expect. Isabelle answered when I rang the bell. She showed me into the kitchen and introduced me to her husband, Phil. He was tall, but what a wimp! I couldn't believe that Isabelle was married to this guy. ''How long have you been married?'' I asked him. ''35 years.'' Dinner was good. Phil was used to grilling a lot of meat. I tried to goad Phil into a talking about having a wife who could so obviously kick his ass, but he was not responsive. So I pressed Isabelle into talking about how much bigger and stronger than Phil she is, but she kept redirecting the conversation. We finished dinner, and I was hoping that I could get some time alone with Isabelle. I suggested that we arm wrestle to see who would do the dishes, it was obvious that Phil would be the dishwasher. The first round was me against Phil. I wanted to embarrass and humiliate him. I could see him grimace in pain as I squeezed his hand. When Isabelle said go, I slammed him down to the table as hard as I could. He's such a wuss. So then it was Phil's turn to arm wrestle Isabelle. I was the official. This is what I've been waiting for! To my astonishment, Isabelle did not slam Phil's hand down immediately. Instead they just remained motionless. When I looked at Phil it was obvious that he was giving it everything he had. Isabelle on the other hand, wasn't even trying. She looked kind of sad, exhaled, and slowly, steadily she pushed his hand gently down to the table. I told Phil that he was the dishwasher tonight. He took it in stride. I opined that he had no chance against his wife as she was amazingly strong. He told me that it wasn't always that way. When they were first married, Isabelle was the proverbial 95 pound weakling. He said he could almost put his thumb and forefinger around her biceps. I glanced at Isabelle's powerful arms, bulging with muscle, and couldn't imagine that they were once skinny. Then it was his turn to goad me. He told me that Isabelle didn't believe that she had actually beaten me at the gym, which I was glad to hear. He was chiding me to arm wrestle his wife right then and there. Isabelle seemed game, but she was skeptical--she assumed that I would just let her win. She said she would only believe the outcome it entailed serious costs to the loser. She said that if I lost I would have to spot her for three months. That was a serious wager! The time commitment at my own gym would be enormous. I was reluctant to accept. I thought back to our match earlier that day and wondered whether she really had caught me off guard. I began to have doubts. So I told her that if I win then she would have to blow me right here and now. I assumed that this would bring this challenge to a screeching halt. So I was shocked that Phil didn't say anything, and that Isabelle immediately accepted my offer. This was getting interesting! My manhood swelled anticipating being placed in her mouth. She'd handle a real man -- but first things first! Phil supervised the proceedings, and this time I was prepared. I grabbed Isabelle's hand and squeezed as hard as I could. To my horror, she squeezed back with the identical force. When Phil said go I pushed with everything I have. But her arm didn't budge. And man, what an arm! I pride myself on my guns, and I'm certain my biceps are bigger than hers. But hers exude power. Veins running down her forearm, biceps bulging. At least she hadn't slammed me down instantly, like this afternoon. I imagined that this could go on for a while, until I looked at her face and to my surprise she was smiling. She asked me whether I had started, with a laugh. And with that she slammed me down harder than this afternoon. Now I was stuck--there was no way I was going to be this bitch's towel boy for the next three months! But there was a witness. ''Alright, enough of this childishness,'' Isabelle said. ''Let's work on posing routines. Did you bring your trunks?'' She told me to get them in from my car, and change in the powder room, and then come to her bedroom. I had a new pair of ''trunks,'' that were Jill's old string bikini bottoms. Essentially this was a thong on the back so I could show off my glutes -- tight and striated. And there was a tiny blue cloth triangle in front. This allows me to show off my lower abs and upper thighs. After changing I went back through the kitchen to rub Phil's nose in his dishwashing. Let him see my physique. He seemed duly impressed and told me how to find the bedroom. Isabelle has already put on her posing suit. I had never seen her like this before. She was standing in front of the mirror doing a crab, or most muscular pose. I knew immediately why she beat me at arm wrestling. Her traps and chest were huge--defined and hard. I was stunned. Before she saw me she moved into a double biceps pose. So I went up behind her and hit the same pose. She saw that I had arched my elbows forward so as to exaggerate the biceps from the front, so she copied me. I have never seen such rounded biceps. Her arms looked as though they had swallowed grapefruits. She stopped posing and thanked me for showing her that trick. She was talking about the fact that she thought that her back was her best body part, and how she was frightened of going on stage. She was also sad that Phil wasn't a bodybuilder. She wanted to feel muscles like hers on a man. I was still thinking about our arm wrestling match. I told her: ''I wish I had beaten you in arm wrestling, I was really looking forward to my prize!'' ''You might still get your prize,'' she said. Her eyes had drifted down to my trunks, which could hardly contain my excitement! That tiny patch of cloth was stretched to its limits. ''I guess Phil is probably not too thrilled about your posing,'' I said. ''No, to the contrary. He's pushing me to go on stage. It's me that's too shy.'' ''Let me see if we can get over that shyness,'' I ventured. As I was saying this I was untying her top. She didn't resist, which was lucky-- I was convinced of her strength already. I slid my hands down over her chest. Her tits were nice. She had not had a boob job, and she still had more than most musclegirls. ''See that's not so bad,'' I whispered in her ear. ''How are my pecs?'' She asked as she slowly flexed through her left and right pectoral muscles in sequence. There was an awful lot of muscle in that chest! ''I'd hate to be on stage against you,'' I said, massaging those pecs. And I meant it. The density and quality of her muscles was unbelievable. She had achieved this physique through years of hard work--not gear. You could see the difference. She turned around and slid her right hand down my trunks. ''I'm not shy,'' she said as she grabbed my erection. ''That's nice,'' she purred. ''Why don't you slip out of your trunks?'' But just then we heard Phil in the hall, and quickly we both hit a pose in front of the mirror. Phil seemed none too pleased, to see his wife topless, but to my surprise didn't blow up. He asked Isabelle why she was sporting a monokini, and she told him it was because she was posing her pecs. As she told him she flexed them impressively, and that shut him up. I don't know whether it was because he believed her that everything was innocent, or because there was nothing he could do in any case. My erection was still bulging so I stepped back, next to Phil, and Isabelle gave us both a posing demonstration. Here was a woman who was in my gym almost everyday, but I had never seen her like this. The results of all that hard work were everywhere to be seen. Bulging and cut muscle everywhere you looked! Perhaps for Phil's sake, Isabelle then told me to pose as she had done. I was a bit embarrassed because her development was so deeply etched. I don't know whether Phil could see that Isabelle's muscles were so much denser than mine. I put everything I have into my vacuum pose, to show off my chest. I flexed my glutes, and my trunks ripped--my cock was still bulging, so now it burst through the material. Phil looked pretty upset, and he started to leave the room, but Isabelle held him in place, and told him to take a good long look at what a real man looks like. He was struggling to move but she held him by his arms and had him immobilized. I thought he was going to cry. When I finished I grabbed a towel, and Isabelle was delighted. She released her dejected husband. I asked Phil to take his shirt off, and show me his physique, but he didn't want to. I can't believe that Isabelle is married to this pencil neck. I changed and left thanking them both for a wonderful dinner, and a fun evening. ''Don't forget,'' Isabelle reminded me as I was leaving, ''you're spotting me tomorrow.'' She was beside herself. I was starting to look forward to tomorrow. It might not be too bad being Isabelle's bitch.