Honeybun Pumps Iron
by Mr.Purple357@gmail.com
Chapter 4


Comments to Mr.Purple357@gmail.com

(This story is told from the point of view of Sue (Honeybun) Miller.)

Tom was at work and Katie was visiting friends from high school when I
returned home earlier than usual. Wednesday afternoons, I volunteered at the
abused women's shelter, but for a change, they were overstaffed, so I was home
hours early. When I walked in, I saw our TV and computer sitting right by the
door. If I'd been thinking, I'd have run back out of the house, but instead, I
went into the kitchen and walked right into a man rummaging through our
drawers.

"Who are you, what are you doing?" I demanded.

He held up a hand. "Stay back lady, I don't want to have to hurt you and I
won't if you keep out of my way." He wore jeans and a gray wife beater. He was
maybe Tom's size but only a few years older than Katie. He had scraggly facial
hair. A missing front tooth gave him an ominous look. He pointed to a corner.

I meekly did as he ordered. While I'd been wrestling my husband lately, I'd
never been in a real fight. Besides, the self defense classes I'd taken had
taught me never to fight someone over stuff. So as humiliated as it made me
feel, I did the smart thing and stood there while he stacked our electronics
by the front door, then my jewelry, Katie's violin, Mark's crossbow, and Tom's
Calloway golf clubs.

He walked up to me and said, "Ok, I'll pull my truck into the driveway, load
up, and be out of your life." He looked at my hand. "But first, give me that
ring." He pointed to my emerald and diamond engagement ring.

I pulled my hand to my chest. "No, please," I begged, tears started streaming
down my face, "this ring's been in my family for more than a hundred years."

"Boo, fucking hoo, Lady. Hand it over." He grabbed my left hand with his left
and pulled it toward him. I pulled it back. I'd done the smart thing until
now, but my Grandma had smuggled that ring out of a Nazi death camp and there
was no way I was giving it to this asshole. He reached out his right hand but
I grabbed that with my right hand. He struggled to free it while pulling on my
ring hand. "Lady, I'm getting tired of this shit."

He pulled hard on me. I shifted my hands to try and slip free, but instead we
ended up in a double handshake. My right to his right, my left to his left. "I
don't care, you're not getting my ring," I told him.

"All right, you asked for it," he replied. He began to squeeze my hands as
hard as he could. My fingers squished together and the tips became blood red.

"Ow, stop, your hurting me," I cried. He just laughed. I couldn't take this
for long. I only had one chance. I had to squeeze back. I forced my aching
fingers to push back against his grip. We stood there for long moments. He
grinned at me, enjoying my pain, but slowly, I got my fingers back to a
neutral position. Now, I could squeeze harder.

I looked at our hands. His hands and forearms were bigger than mine, but my
forearms were much firmer and the muscles were larger. I forced myself to
squeeze harder. I locked eyes with him. His obnoxious grin had disappeared and
a bead of sweat formed on his brow. Slowly, his hands began to bend inward. I
squeezed harder.

"Screw this," he said, and tried to pull away. I plopped my butt on the floor.
Off balance now, he dropped down in front of me, our hands still locked. Now,
it was his fingers that were being squished together. I squeezed harder.

"Lemme go, Lady," he said in a rising voice. He tried to kick his legs out but
I slammed my own legs on top of his. My muscular thighs held his down just as
my hands were mashing his together. "Look, keep the ring lady." He started
moaning. I squeezed harder.

"Yes, I'll be keeping my ring." Tears were starting to form in his eyes. He
was the one who now looked scared, but I was becoming angrier. He'd made me
afraid to be in my own home. He'd scared and bullied me. The fury let me
squeeze even harder.

"Your hurting me. Please lady, I'll just go. Keep your stuff. Oh, God, how are
you so strong?" I could feel all the bones in his right hand compacting
together. His left wasn't much farther behind. He was openly weeping. He
wimpered, his tough guy visage disappeared and he now looked like a little
baby before my power. I squeezed harder.

"Maybe because I spend my free time working out instead of robbing people."
Through tear filled eyes, he really looked at me for the first time. In my
short sleeve blouse, he could see my bulging arm muscles and realized just how
much stronger I was than him.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't take the pain." His right hand was
completely folded over in mine. I squeezed harder.

I looked up to see Tom sneaking up behind him, Katie's softball bat in hand,
about to take the creep's head off at the shoulders. I shook my head at him
furiously. I didn't want Tom to kill the guy, and more importantly, I didn't
want any help stopping him.

In my right hand, I heard a loud pop followed by two snaps as the bones in his
hand broke one after the other. He screamed so loud, it hurt my ears. "Help,
someone help me. Anyone. Call the police. I'll turn myself in. Send me to
jail, please, just don't break my other hand. Please, please," he kept
begging. Tears flooded down his face.

His right hand felt like a loose mass of meat and bones squishing between my
fingers. His left hand was now folded completely in two, near the tipping
point, about to follow the right. I was so mad, I didn't care, I was going to
break it too. I squeezed harder.

I felt Tom's hands lightly stroking my forearms on up to my shoulders. He
knelt down behind me and quietly said, "Honeybun, I think he's had enough.
Please let him go." I almost ignored him, but I took a deep breath, and slowly
unclenched my hands.

The creep snatched his crushed hand into his lap. Tom pointed to the corner
where I'd been made to stand and said, "Go there and don't move a muscle or
I'll let her have her way with you."

I clenched my fists and flexed my biceps. He couldn't have looked more
terrified if I'd pressed a loaded gun against his temple. He used his legs and
his less badly mangled hand to push himself into the corner. A trail of yellow
liquid followed him. I'd made him piss his pants. I began to feel guilty about
how good that made me feel.

Fortunately, we live in a good neighborhood with good cops and when they
quickly arrived, they were much more worried about whether I might have been
traumatized than the robber's busted hands.

They let Tom do most of the talking, so I just watched, stewing in a mix of
pride, anger, guilt, and something it took me a little while to identify,
lust. Beating the crap out of that guy had turned me on so much.

As soon as the police closed the door, I felt myself being pulled toward the
sofa. "Oh, man, I thought they'd never leave," Tom said. "I had to hold my
Ipad in front of me the whole time so they wouldn't see my hard on. Watching
you crush that asshole was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

His dick was about to break thru his Dockers. "Yes, yes, give it to me now," I
cried, ripping furiously at his pants. We were still both half dressed as he
went balls deep inside me. "Oh, God, that's what I need. Harder, harder."

He took my right hand, the one I'd broken the robber's hand with, brought it
to his mouth and started kissing my fingers. I clenched it into a fist and
said, "If you hadn't been here to stop me. I would have broken his other hand
then pounded him over and over again with my fists. I can't tell you how much
that thought turns me on."

"No more than it turns me on," he cried. I felt his already huge cock swell
even bigger. I moaned with pleasure. My own orgasm arrived just as he pumped
out a huge blast deep into me. It was the strongest most powerful orgasm I'd
ever had. Tom later told me he had to wrap his arms and legs around me to keep
from being thrown off as I thrashed about. It went on so long that by the time
it ended, he'd rehardened, rehammered me, and recame.

Much later. We lay together on the carpet, having rolled off the couch. Tom
looked at me and said, "Are you feeling guilty about what happened?"

I shook my head. "No, he got what he deserved, but I'm worried about how much
I enjoyed it. I don't want to become someone who gets off on hurting people."

He laughed, "Honeybun, I know you and I know you'd never pound some creep over
and over again with your fists unless you had absolutely no choice."

(If there's still interest in this storyline, next time, Honeybun has
absolutely no choice but to pound some creep over and over again with her
fists.)