Ingrid by Tom Adams
She fights and kills for money, But Why?: Part II of a series.
The sweat glistens on Ingrid's steel stomach as she completes sit up number two thousand. With no hesitation she goes to an overhead bar, grips it with both hands and slowly raises her massive legs keeping them straight. Her legs rise to a point even with her waist. She holds them there for a full minute, then continues to raise them until her toes almost touch the bar. She holds that position for a full minute then slowly lowers them until her bare feet touch the floor. Immediately her legs rise again. She repeats this two hundred times.
Her abdominal exercises completed, Ingrid looks at her stomach in her gym mirror. She likes what she sees. When she flexes her gut, the creamy white skin stretches so tight over her large, steel muscles it seems to vanish. She grabs an iron pipe and tells Bob to use it like a basball bat and hit her in the stomach as hard as he can. Bob grasp the pipe with both hands, draws back and slams it into her gut. Ingrid just smiles.
"Again, Bob"
"Again, Bob"
"Again, Bob"
"OK, that's enough." Bob is relieved. The vibration in the pipe is beginning to hurt his hands.
It's been more than two months since the last time Bob was successful in bringing her an opponent. The wait is making Ingrid edgy. She takes out her frustration by increasing the length of her workouts. She normally trains four hours a day. It has slowly expanded to six. It's almost midnight, but she's not through. She always works out the most important part of her body last.
Ingrid's legs are massive, especially her thighs. She lays down on an inclined bench and brings her legs back toward her chest until her bare feet rest against the soft leather. She always works out nude. Bob admires her body and its pumped up muscles. He also adores her large, firm breasts that sit high on the large muscles in her chest.
Ingrid pushes against the leather and a thousand pounds of iron rise at the end of the pulleys behind her. She repeats this twenty times then quickly goes to another bench, lays face down, stretches out her legs and rest the back of her ankles against another piece of leather. She curls her ankles in toward her hips and five hundred pounds of metal rise. A lot of women ignore the backs of their thighs. Not Ingrid. Hers rise to a peak resembling a biceps.
Ingrid repeats the thigh curls twenty times then moves to a five hundred pound barbell on a rack about shoulder high. A block of wood, two inches thick, is underneath the barbell. Ingrid puts the front of her bare feet on the wood with her heels resting on the floor. She slides her shoulders under the barbell and rises on her toes twenty times. Her calves bulge. Then she repeats the three phase process nineteen times.
Bob never tires of watching this. Her legs, especially her thighs, are so pumped, that her skin is stretched so tight it might as well not be there. Hugh mounds of solid steel flesh ripple as she walks toward him. He also adnires her long blond hair even though it's matted with sweat, her high cheek bones, full lips and deep blue eyes.
Except for her opponents, Bob is one of the few people who have ever seen Ingrid's body. She works in the men's section of a large department store and always wears a full skirt down to her ankles and a full blouse. Ingrid doen't need to work. Thanks to Bob's recruiting and her success in combat she's rich. But she likes meeting and talking with the customers.
Social life for Ingrid would be difficult. Eventually there would be questions about why she keeps her body so covered up and what she does for a living, if she left the store. So the store is better than being alone all day in the house. The thought gives her the creeps.
And what does Ingrid really do for a living, other than the store where the salary is pocket change?
She fights and kills other women. She gets paid a lot of money to do so. And she likes the job. No, "likes the job" is an understatement. It's her passion. Bob finds other women who like to fight and are willing to bet large sums of money on the outcome. Finding women who like to fight is not difficult. Finding women who are wealthy is not difficult. Finding women who both like to fight and are wealthy? That's difficult. Not impossible, but very difficult.
But Bob is a ladies man who knows his way around the gyms, martial arts businesses and body building, weight lifting and strength contests. And he usually comes up with an opponet, "victim", at least once a month. But it has been two months, going on three.
Ingrid is admiring her steel body in the mirror, slowly flexing every muscle, her creamy white skin glowing beneath a layer of sweat.
"Bob, come here." He knows what this means. Bob worships Ingrid's muscles. She knows this and keeps him as a combination partner and slave. "I need a massage, Bob"
But it's not really a massage. Ingrid flexes her steel muscles, starting with her arms. Bob gently runs his fingers over high peaked biceps and then the slabs of muscle in her triceps. His hands go to her powerful back. Bob is well endowed and his pants begin to bulge. Ingrid gently massages his erection as his hands roam her body.
Bob's hands travel to her large breasts and her nipples, then to her steel stomach and hips. His hands arrive last at her powerful legs. He falls to his knees and caresses her beautiful, well defined calves. Then it's her thighs. Ingrid flexes them. Again her skin seems to vanish. Bob gently runs his fingers over the mounds of solid steel flesh. He is now extremely aroused and so is Ingrid. She moans as he continues to run his fingers over her thighs.
Suddenly Ingrid's mood changes. She grits her teeth and wraps a powerful arm around Bob's neck.
"It's been over two months and you have produced nothing, Bob. I need someone to fight, someone to kill, someone who will pay a large sum to die. And I did not say I "want" this. I said I "need" this. There is a difference. Do you understand, Bob?"
Bob nods an OK. Ingrid releases her grip, grabs her clothes and leaves her gym.
The next day Bob attends a women's weight lifting contest. He's glancing through the program when his eyes widen. Kathy Young, one of the top heavy weight contenders is described as a young business woman who took over her late husband's real estate firm and made it one of the largest and most prosperous in the state. He smiles and settles back to watch the contest.
Kathy Young is about six inches taller than Ingrid and built like a pro football line backer. The huge muscles in her arms and legs bulge as she lifts the barbell over her head and easily wins the heavy weight division. Bob approaches her after the contest, pretending to be in the real estate business, and invites her to dinner that night. She accepts.
Bob is surprised by her appearance when he picks her up at her hotel room. Like Ingrid, her clothes hide her powerful body. And her long brown hair, which was up in a bun during the contest, now flows down to her shoulders. Her relaxed face, now that she's not turning red from exertion, is very attractive. She has a smooth complexion and a generous mouth with large, full lips and perfect, white teeth. The serious contest look is gone and she smiles easily.
"When did you decide to start lifting weights?" ask Bob as they both sip a scotch and soda before dinner is served.
Kathy was a little reserved at first, but the alcohol has loosened her tongue.
"I've always been exceptionally strong," replies Kathy. In high school the kids called me "muscles". I participated in a lot of sports, but we didn't have a weight lifting team. Didn't really think about it until I got to college. There was a men and women's weight lifting team. Hadn't really thought about it before, but once my hands touched the iron and I lifted the weight over my head, I was hooked. That's how I met my late husband. He was on the men's team.
The restaurant was very crowded. Dinner was late and Bob and Kathy were on their third scotch and soda.
Bob is very smooth. He has a way of getting women to talk about themselves as if he was an old friend, especially if the woman is on her third drink.
"You know what pissed me off, Bob?" ask Kathy with a slight slur. The alcohol was begining to show. "Even in college, there wasn't a girl's wrestling or boxing team. Still isn't. And why not? You see how strong I am. Bet I could beat the shit out of most of the men in this restaurant." But then she caught herself and blushed. "Except you, of course, Bob." They both laughed.
She's a natural born fighter. But has she ever fought?
Dinner is still late. A fourth scotch and soda is served.
"This is the last one. I promise," says Kathy. She takes a few sips and leans in close to Bob. "Want me to tell you a little secrete?" Go ahead, that's why I'm here. "Back in college some of us girls formed a secrete wrestling society. I always won. We even invited some boys. Tough ones too. And you know what? I beat them."
"And after college?", ask Bob. He tosses the question out nonchalantly, as if he were asking what time it is. And it's amazing the way women open up to him.
"Nothing for a few years," replies Kathy. "Then one day I happened to spot a small ad in the classified section from the "Right to Fight Society". She laughs. "No shit Bob. That's what it's called. I joined and found myself fighting other women, sometimes men. And I mean no holds barred street fighting, Bob. Not boxing or wrestling with all their rules. Just down and dirty fighting. I love it."
Bob notices the subtle things. She didn't say "loved it", the past tense. She said "love it", present tense. So she's still fighting.
"Did your husband ever know?" ask Bob.
"No, never," replies Kathy. "He would have died from embarrassment."
"Are you good, Kathy?"
"I'm great, Bob. I always win, even against some men."
Now comes the most delicate part of the conversation. It's got to be done just right, in just the right tone of voice. Bob is very good. A lot of people would blow it. To him, it's a piece of cake. Like a walk in the park.
"Kathy, funny thing, but I have a girl friend. I mean not a "girl friend" but a friend who happens to be a girl." They both laugh. "Anyway, she's into this same sort of thing. And she's tough too. Hard as nails. Always wins."
Bob pauses for a few seconds.
"Are you a gambler, Kathy?"
Kathy laughs. "I'm in real estate, Bob. Does that answer your question?"
Bob pauses again.
"They bet money on the outcome. My friend says the opponents put up as much as half a million dollars on their fights. Obviously my friend is very wealthy and getting richer. She always wins. And at five hundred thousand dollars a fight, she must be worth millions.
Kathy now has a serious look on her face. Like she's been challenged.
Perfect Bob. Just perfect.
The pace picks up.
"Will she bet two million dollars?"
"Do you want to fight her?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Anytime."
"Where?"
"Anywhere"
Kathy is not doing this just for the sport. She's in real estate. She takes chances and a shopping center venture is about to go under taking her down with it. Two million dollars will get her out of the hole.
Suddenly and finally dinner is served. The rest of the evening is spent on small talk. No further mention of the fight. As Bob walks Kathy back to her hotel room he starts to open the subject again. She beats him to it.
"I'm very serious about the fight, Bob. Here's my card. Talk to your friend and call me as soon as possible." She starts to open the door to her room, but turns quickly. "And Bob. Tell your friend I'm going to beat the shit out of her." She turns back and goes into her room.
"Is she big, Bob?" ask Ingrid.
"About six inches taller than you and built like an NFL line backer."
"And strong?"
"Very, won the heavy weight division at the weight lifting contest I saw, just blew her opponents away."
"Call her, Bob. Set it up anytime she wants. If it's during working hours at the store, I'll make up some excuse. And be sure she brings the two million dollars, in cash."
Kathy arrives, alone, at 3:00pm a week later, She has the two million dollars. Raising that amount of money in cash has been a real pain in the ass. She's had to mortgage her home and use stocks and mutual funds as collateral from friendly bankers she's met during her years in the real estate business. It's taken a week, but if she whips this woman's ass, which she fully intends to do, it will have been worth it. And the shopping center fiasco will be behind her.
Bob introduces Kathy to Ingrid, whose clothes, like Kathy's, reveal nothing of the powerful muscles underneath.
Kathy is in no mood for small talk.
"Ingrid, I respect what you have accomplished. And please don't be offended by the crude language. But it's taken me a hair rasing week to raise this two million dollars in cash. I just want to beat the shit out of you, collect your two million and get out of here."
Ingrid smiles.
"No offense taken, Kathy. I'm also a business woman. And I respect what you have accomplished and have some idea of why it took a week to raise the two million dollars. We'll go to my "arena" for the fight. But first, and I'm sure you can appreciate this, I'll do a quick count of the money in your briefcase while you count the money in mine."
Kathy nods, relaxes a little. She glances at Ingrid's blond hair and blue eyes as she counts the money. Probably of north European stock. German, Swedish, Norwegian. Kathy is pure Irish American.
The money count over, Ingrid leads Kathy down to her arena. A very large room with padding on the walls and floor. There is a gallry about six feet off the floor, a small room where spectators can watch. But since her opponent has come alone, Ingrid tells Bob to stay out of the gallery. She tells him he'll see her again after she's killed Kathy.
Kathy looks around. She's impressed by the layout of the arena and the money it most have taken to construct it. This woman is really into fighting. She's probably very good. But no matter. I'll whip her ass within ten munutes, collect my extra two million dollars and leave.
"Kathy, there are two conditions to all my fights."
"The first is we fight in the nude. Do you have any objections."
Kathy smiles. "No objections."
"The second is we fight to the death. Only one of us will leave this room alive. If you object to this, you can take your two million dollars and leave. But I fight to the death or I don't fight. It's your decision."
Kathy is stunned. "I have to think about this."
"Take your time, Kathy."
Ingrid smiles and waits.
Shit! Shit! Shit! First I spend a week rasing the money. And now this little blond, blue eyed bitch wants to kill me. Well I'm at least six inches taller than she is. I don't know what's underneath her clothes. But her muscles can't match mine. I'm a champion weight lifter. And I've won every fight, even against men. If she wants to die today. That's her problem.
"No objections."
"Then it's to the death, Kathy."
"To the death, Ingrid."
Kathy quickly takes off her clothes and tosses them against the wall. Bob was right. She is built like an NFL line backer. Her muscles bulge beneath a very fine layer of fat, especially the muscles in her arms and legs. They are huge. The muscles in her thighs rival Ingrid's. She flexes slightly and glares at Ingrid.
Your turn, bitch, Show me what you've got.
Ingrid returns Kathy's glare with a smile. Unlike Kathy, Ingrid is not in a hurry. She pauses for a few seconds, then reaches down and takes off her shoes, and slowly unbuttons her skirt and lets it fall to floor. She's not wearing panties. She turns to the side and flexes her massive thighs as well as the muscles in her butt.
Kathy is impressed with the appearance of Ingrid's muscles. Ah, but is she as strong as she looks. Probably not. She's been to a lot of weight lifting and strength contest that body builders have entered. Their muscles are beautiful but never strong enough to win against a massive weight lifter.
Ingrid is wearing a baggy sweater which she pulls slowly up, flexing the steel muscles in her stomach, then across her large breasts and finally over her head and lets the sweater fall to the floor. She picks up her clothing and tosses it against the wall. Kathy is sort of flat chested and the sight of nude, large breasts always makes her face redden.
Ingrid's muscular shoulders are exposed now as well as the massive muscles in her arms. She gently flexes them.
"Kathy, you see what you're up against. Do you still want to go through with this? "
"You arrogant little body builder. I'm going to crush your beautiful body like it was an egg shell. Of course I want to go through with this."
"Then let the game begin," says Ingrid.
Kathy lunges at Ingrid, grabs her in a bear hug with Ingrid's arms pinned to her sides. She lifts Ingrid off the floor and begins to crush her spine "like an egg shell". The steel muscles in Ingrid's arms swell as the pulls them from beneath her side. She uses her left hand to push Kathy's chin back and her right hand balls into a fist that crashes into Kathy's jaw.
Kathy falls back, stunned. The little bitch is stronger than I thought.
Ingrid smiles at Kathy, daring her to try another hold.
Kathy locks arms with Ingrid, trying to push her over backwards, to pin her to the mat. Ingrid tightens the steel muscles in her stomach and doesn't bend an inch in spite of Kathy's six inch advantage in height and leverage. Kathy tries to push her across the floor. Ingrid's massive thighs turn to steel and she pushes back making the big woman slide across the floor until her back is against the wall.
Ingrid smiles again. "You said you'd beat the shit out of me. Well you're not doing too well."
Kathy steps behind Ingrid, wraps ger right arm around her neck and grips the wrists tight with her left hand. It's the classic choke hold. The muscles in both arms bulge as she tightens the grip. Ingrid can't breathe and she feels her vocal cord start to collapse. She tries to break the hold with her strong arms. But she doesn't have the leverage. She graps the back of Kathy's head with both hands and using the steel muscles in her gut, quickly curls her body downward, flipping Kathy over her head.
The hold is broken as Kathy lands on her butt with her back to Ingrid. It's a perfect opportunity to apply a deadly scissors hold with her massive thighs. But Ingrid wants to have some more fun. Kathy has unsulted her several times, and now she's pissed off. She will defeat and kill Kathy, but first she intends to humiliate her.
"Any other ideas, big woman. You said you'd "crush my beautiful body like an egg shell". Well you're off to a lousy start. And I promise you, it's just going to get worse. One last chance to take your two million dollars and run."
"Nobody talks to Kathy Young, President of Young Real Estate, like this. It's going to get worse all right. A lot worse for you, Ingrid."
Kathy jumps to her feet and lands a vicious kick to Ingrid's pussy. She should have seen it coming, but had gotten a little over confident, was expecting another wrestling hold.
Ingrid sinks to her knees. There is tremendous power in the big woman's legs and the blow leaves Ingrid blinded by the pain. She almost passes out.
Kathy moves in for the kill. She sits down behind Ingrid and wraps her huge legs around her ribs in a scissors hold. She leans back and tightens the grip. Her large thigh mucsles are bulging beneath the fine layer of fat. Ingrid's large breasts are caught in the hold. They bulge sensually but they're about to burst. But the main problem is the ribs, the chest wall, the internal organs.
Ingrid regains full consciousness as the first rib cracks. She remembers a trick a karate opponent used to break a similar hold she used. Using her steel arms and shoulders she pounds Kathy's knee caps with her fists, almost shattering them.
Kathy's legs go limp. She has trouble getting to her feet.
Ingrid is wide awake now and enraged in spite of the pain in her ribs. She lands a vicious kick to Kathy's stomach which doubles her over in pain. Then a quick right fist to the head and Kathy lands on her back. Ingrid leaps on her stomach and grabs her by the throat. The grip in her hands is unbreakable. Her steel forearms bulge. Kathy tries to pry her fingers loose. but it's no use.
Kathy spots Ingrid's large breasts. Being flat chested she has hated those breasts from the moment she saw them. Her fingernails are long and sharp. She claws at Ingrid's breasts, opening large gashes. She continues to rip and claw until Ingrid releases her hold.
Both women are hurt now. Ingrid's breasts and ribs, espceially her ribs, and Kathy's knees. She can forget about another scissors hold. The circle each other cautiously, not just looking for an opening, but also trying to think about what their opponent might try next, and what will be the best defense for it.
Ingrid sees an opening and a way to get revenge for an earlier blow. The steel muscles bulge in her right leg and her right foot sails bwteen Kathy's thighs straight into her pussy. She falls to her knees and then rocks back on her butt.
Ingrid gets behind her and applies the same scissors hold Kathy had used earlier. But she's smart enough to grab Kathy's wrists and pull her arms behind her back to prevent the same attack to the kneecaps she used earlier.
Ingrid tightens the muscles in her thighs and they turn to massive mounds of solid muscle. Kathy can feel her ribs cracking. She desperately tries to free her arms. It's a waste of time.
Ingrid taunts Kathy, "So, you are going to crush my body like it was an egg shell. And you are going to beat the shit out of me."
The steel muscles in Ingrd's biceps and triceps bulge as she yanks on Kathy's arms, seperating them from her shoulders. They fall ueselessly to her sides. Ingrid leans back tightening the perfectly round muscles in her butt, giving more power to her thighs. Kathy's ribs break and her chest wall collapses. Her internal organs including her heart are ruptured. She's dead but Ingrid hangs on a little while longer just to make sure.
Bob has comd into the gallery near the end of the fight and his eyes light up. He gets ten per cent of any prize money, which means today he's two hundred thousand dollars richer. And all I have to do is bring this killing machine victims and put up with the muscle worship and some other humiliations. Plus I get to make love to her occasionally. And no woman on this planet can match Ingrid in bed.
Ingrid relaxes her grip and quickly wipes the blood off her breasts with Kathy's shirt. Then she heads for her bedroom. Bob will be waitiug. She's so aroused she almost runs.
Bob is there, fully erect, huge. Ingrid takes it in her mouth slowly stroaking the sensitive underside with her tongue. And then she lets go. She doesn't want him having an orgasm now. He's going to have almost more than he can handle without going limp later.
Bob uses his erection to caress her from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. She flexes each muscle group as his erection caresses them. She's now extremely aroused. But she loves the foreplay. Likes to see how much she can stand before she ask Bob to plunge deeply into her.
"Caress my breasts again please, Bob. God you're so big. Once more over my butt and thighs. Again very slowly over my stomach. The repeated pass over her stomach is usually the signal that she's about ready.
"Over the lower part of my gut and very, very slowly, Bob." She starts to moan and a few seconds later, "OK, Bob, now!"
Bob plunges deeply into her and Ingird wraps her arms and legs tightly around him. She meets him thrust for thrust and has so many orgasms he doesn't bother to count. Even when he's limp inside her she manages to keep going until she passes out from exhaustion. Bob crawls slowly out of bed and puts his clothes on. He leaves Ingrid in a sound sleep.
That night, Ingrid is awakened. The sound is very faint, but it sounds like church bells. This always happens after a fight. She puts on her clothes and goes to a small Catholic church down the street. As always she stands at the alter, but does not kneel. And as always the priest approaches her and says something. In the past she's never heard him, never been aware he's there.
Tonight she still doesn't see him, but can hear very faintly. "Do you want me to pray for you?" Ingrid nods her head yes, turns and walks out of the church.
Ingrid cannot figure out why she goes there. She always dismisses it as something from her subconscious, something from early childhood. But she still wonders why. She remembers very little from her childhood. But she knows that now she's consumed by passions for working out, the site of her body in a mirrow, sex, fighting and killing. She wonders why. And she wonders if it really matters.