Jenna in Tonya Part 4 By Avida Dolor Jenna and friends are livin' Largesse Warning: This work of fiction contains frank language and explicit sex and violence. No one under 18 permitted to read without the express consent of parent or guardian. Copyright 1998 Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com) "Tara. Totally Tara." "Fucking Lipinski. Liquid Lipinski." "Tear her fucking leg off, Tonya, and beat her to death with it!" We're in the lounge watching the Tonya/Nancy interview on Fox, and we're not happy. It's, like, Tara, totally Tara. That's our new all-purpose pejorative, borrowed from that stick-figure ice pixie who's just lucky Tonya isn't still in the game, or she'd have her skinny premenstrual hips shattered when the big T checked her on the boards during a warmup. "Why's she wearing that fucking baggy white shirt?" Lee Ann whines. "She can't show her gorgeous arms off," explains Tiff, who's blowing a spliff--this is a special occasion and we've sealed off the lounge and got permission from Pretty Penny to do ganja--"she just did the whole act about how Jeff Ukulele used to beat her up." "Yeah, right," big Bon sneers, "like that skinny shit could ever hurt Ton in a million years, what a joke. Even Nancy could kick his scrawny ass." "Well, this is starting to suck bigtime," says Stef. "Let's go back to the room, break out the vodka and get Oksana." Yeah, drunk. "Bobek Oksana," I go. Yeah, falling down drunk. This show's a big bummer. Lucky thing we have the Missy/Glo rematch to look forward to tomorrow. Missy's not partying with us tonight, she's on a strict training schedule. She's in her room sleeping now, as a matter of fact. Oh, I should mention that this is three months later. Three months after we all started Largesse. The Missy/Glo fight was postponed by mutual agreement. Missy wanted time to get big on Largesse, and Glo wanted time to get big on whatever it is she's doing, and she must be doing something, 'cause she's bigger. But not as big as Missy, we don't think. My girl is a steely muscled 5-4, 124. She's put on two inches and 12 pounds in 12 weeks. I'm not clear on Glo's numbers, she's been in semi- seclusion, we almost never see her. Last time I got a look at her, she didn't seem like that 5-1, 105 mouse who kicked the shit out of Missy's leg more like she was a kangaroo. She looked taller too, wider in the shoulder and bigger in the calf, and then she was gone, back to her room to work out on her Cindy Rothrock foot toughener. But how could she be as big as Missy? Oh, that tape I stole from Glo's room that night, the night of the fight when Missy got her leg all puffy. It was just Brooke getting it on with Hairy Mary. That's all, about 40 minutes of hot sex, with someone operating the camera, there were all kinds of great zooms. Mary seemed normal, not fucked up on some drug, and they were both just very sweet and loving. The tape is a total turnon, and the Hards have watched it more than a few times during frig sessions in the sealed-off lounge. Glo never reported it stolen, never said a thing about it. Maybe Brooke sent her another one. Which brings me to Brooke and Mary. They've both disappeared. Totally. Which is totally Tara at least as far as Mary goes, though I'm relieved to have Brooke out of my hair. Michelle From Hell gave up looking for them a month ago, she's working now as a dominatrix in Santa Trusso, she's very busy tying salesmen up and hanging them on hooks on the wall. We never got any more tapes and we never got any definitive word on the apparent murder victims. We've written them off as goners and we've put the whole thing out of mind. Even Bon no longer carries on about her beloved Mary anymore. Well, Bon has other things on her mind. Like the fact that she's getting as big as Godzilla. She's 6-2, 225 with 18-1/2-inch arms after 12 weeks on the drug. I tremble to guess where she'll be six months from now. And what about me? I hit 5-9. An inch. Not thrilling, but at least I'm going in the right direction. I've put on a lot of muscle too; I'm up to 175 and I can squeeze up a 17-inch arm on command. Stef's the one who exploded. She's beyond def now, I guess she's phat or something. 6-0, 200, up from 5-10, 180, and her arms have gone insane, they're 19 inches cold, and when she gets a wicked pump going she can edge it over 20. Hards will stand on line outside the weight room like they're her congregation just to get the chance to see Stef preacher curl. So we're getting Oksana in Hard Central in celebration of tomorrow's fight. It's me, Stef, Bon, Lee Ann and Tiff. Missy remains in pre-fight isolation, and Who Flung, the newest member of the Hard inner circle, is in just plain isolation. She's spending two weeks in solitary getting reacquainted with her own clit for beating the crap out of her roomie, Bouncing Betty. It seems Flung fell in love with the girl who cornered for her in the fight with Betty. That would be 14-year-old Ice Baby, the skate slicer, who's in for three years and needs a quality steady. She's cuter than Tonya's tutu, and she and Flung make a delicious pair, they're just as adorable as me and Missy. But Flung had made up with Betty, they were roomies again, and one night when big-boobed Bet came into her room to find Ice getting her pussy thawed in Flung's face, she freaked out and started hitting the lil' triple lutz queen with double ouch-cows. Flung took offense and punched Betty silly, wrestling her out into the hall and working her over real good out there in full view of everyone on the floor. Betty ended up on her hands and knees, dripping blood, snot and drool from her smashed face in a sticky puddle, and you can bet the guards took notice. In fact, they videotaped it, Marlow loves to see girls beaten up. And it's no wonder Flung made short work of Betty; my jade-hard lotus flower is in on the Largesse deal and she's put on an inch and a half and 15 pounds. Betty should've known better than to mess with her, but jealousy is an untamed beast. Speaking of untamed beasts, huge Bon has just lifted me off the floor, my hardass on the forklift of her big hands, and she takes me up to her face like she was scarfing a pussy pot pie. Tiff and Lee Ann are in a hot embrace, tongue kissing like fish, and Stef is sitting on the bed con curling a 30-pound bell. She likes to get a really fresh arm pump before we all lick her biceps. We're all naked as Tonya on her wedding vid. Tiff and Lee Ann, by the way, are not too hepped on Largesse yet. They've registered no height gains at all, nada, though they've both put on some appreciable weight and muscle. Little Lee Ann weighs 128 now at the same 5-2; Tiff is up to 138 at the same 5-5, and her former 15-inch guns peak up real perky to 16 at the drop of an e-z kurl bar. I keep counseling the girls to be patient, Largesse works different people different ways, but it's hard to stay short when Bonnie is about to hit the ceiling, with Stef not far behind her. And Stef is not far behind her right now, having got off the bed and slipped up behind Bonnie's boom boom bum on her knees to spread her big cheeks and ream her third eye blind with tongue darts. I'm watching this from an aerial view, holding onto Bon's head; she's still got me in the air, my wet crotch in her face. That's when someone starts pounding on the door, despite our Do Not Disturb sign. Very rude. Stef gets it, and Bon moans piteously when Stef's fat tongue pulls out of her ass like rectus interruptus. It's Missy, in a bathrobe. "I wanna party. I can't sleep." "Missy," I go, as Bon gently puts me down, "you can't get all dissolute now. Tomorrow's the big fight, babe." "I won't drink or smoke, I just wanna come. I'm all wound up like a spring. Just gimme a good toss and chew." "Oh, all right," says Stef, pulling Missy into the room. Missy whips her robe off, she's naked and glistening. "I was working the bag in my room," she says. "I got a good sweat going. How do I look?" Missy asks this question all the time now. She's finding it hard to assimilate her new size, it's like a dream she's afraid she'll wake up from. "You look great, Missy," growls Stef. "Take a ride on my arm." Missy sits on the crook of Stef's arm like she was riding a muscle horsie, and starts humping her crotch up the sweatslick bicep, which Stef is swelling in a breathy life rhythm, Missy's swollen clit mashing into the thick-veined mound of muscle like a flesh fuck. I slip around behind Bon and continue Stef's tossing and Bon bends way over, grabs her ankles, groans with relief and lets go a long ripsnort of hot air from her supercharged cunt. Just another fun-filled evening in Hard Central. Tonya, wish you were here. . . . Fight day. There's an undercard. Get this: Shitass Sara versus Joan the Bone. Yes, the girls who kneecapped me, months ago now. They've been back from the hospital for a long time, trying to keep as low a profile as you can in a place like this. Everyone was urging me to take out Sara, either in the basement or in the ring, but she already got a bad beating from Bon and I don't like messing up cute girls unless I have to. And Sara is a cute girl, I've got the hots for her. In fact, last week I made her, though none of my Hardmates know it. It started in the laundry room when no one was around. She walks in a few seconds after I do, like she was following me, and I guess she was. "Jenna Takedown," she says, addressing me solemnly by my official Hard name, "please may I talk to you?" "Sure, Shitass. What's up?" She's looking way good. I'm already feeling prickly in my privates. She's wearing this scoop-necked black Danskin thing that has plates of pec popping naked and delicious on her chest, running from just above the nipple in a striated arc all the way to to the kissy cool marble column of her neck. "I know I deserve a beating from you for the capping," she says shamefully. She turns her pretty head to the side and I get an eyeful of that Roman nose, which has hitchhiked a bit from Bon's ring beating, but it's not flattened Kathy Long-style or anything. A busted sniffer is frequently cute, and it sure is on Sara. She had no other big damage from the fight, she didn't lose any teeth or get her cheekbone or jaw smashed. She's got a tough skull. "Forget it, girl," I say magnanimously. "You got your beating. It's not like I was hurt bad." "I want to make it up to you," she pleads. "I want, like, a pardon from the Hards. I want to prove myself by tossing you and beating the shit out of Joan." "The Bone got the shit beaten out of her by Lee Ann," I point out. "She got some bones broken and she was in a fucking coma. She's been taken care of. You don't room with her anymore, right?" "No, I room with Bendy Wendy now, she just hit Tonya two weeks ago." "Bendy Wendy?" "She's, like, a contortionist. I don't think you've met her. But the thing is, I want to take Joan out in the ring. I want to be on the Missy/Glo undercard. It needs an undercard. A big rematch like this, it's gotta have an undercard, you know?" "So you have a beef with Joan?" "Yeah, she tried to put some beef in my girlfriend. She had the fucking temerity to try to dildo Wendy." "Bendy Wendy. But why would Joan fight you in the ring? You'll destroy her, she's a beanpole." "Exactly. That's why I was hoping you'd put the pressure on her to fight me or get taken out by the Hards. Like, if she fights me she gets a permanent reprieve from the Hards. If she doesn't fight me, she gets double-capped." "Sure, Sara. I'll talk to her tomorrow. I'd love to see you strut your stuff in the ring. Now what's the deal with this Bendy Wendy?" "She's real double-jointed. I mean, she can shampoo her own rug, it's incredible. But never mind that right now, I want to toss you, Jenna, a toss of forgiveness. I've gotta get in good with you, I'll do anything." Sara runs her tongue around her luscious lips and nervously jerks her pecs, making her chest shimmer under the fluorescents like ripples in a glacial pool. She's not a tanner, she's stark white and perfect-skinned, and her hard little nips are popping through the Danskin like flash- frozen chewberries. I'm dizzy with the contrast of her white wall of muscle and the black top and I mutter, "Take your titties out so I can suck them." Sara smiles appreciatively, and manages somehow to pull the stretchy top over her achingly wide shoulders and slip her arms out the long tight sleeves so she can pull the whole thing down under her beckoning breasts. I rub up against her and lick these delectable little pears all over, then suck hard on first one rigid brown nip then the other, running my hands over the gorgeous muscles of her chest, letting the pecs swell up in a steamy curve against my damp palms. Then I lick her stubbly pits and work my way down her arms, which are meaty big like raw slabs of juicy rump roast and blood-puckeringly blue-veined. This girl brings out the carnivore in me, I'm having a big rack attack. Sara's got easy 16-1/2-inchers without benefit of Largesse, and I respect her for it. She's about as big and as strong as I am, she must train like an animal. "Please let me toss you, Jenna," she coos in my ear, nuzzling my face like a puppy. "And you can toss me, if you like, I'm clean as a whistle, I'm not a shitass anymore, I'm fucking immaculate. I've got my own box of Huggies wipes in my room." Oh, really? This gives me pause. Speaking of rump roast, Sara has a hell of a well-trained caboose. I turn her around gently with my hands and contemplate her southern exposure, which is giving me a sunny disposition. She's wearing tight Levi's that hug her ass like a booty glove, and, despite her hardbod, the girl is a full-hipped symphony of avocado-blown curves, imparting a powerful hourglass that's making my crotch chafe like there's sand in my pants. "Peel those jeans down, girl." Sara frees her fabulous fundament--she's thoughtfully not wearing panties--and spreads her cheeks wide, the pink eye pulsing. She's clean as Nancy Kerrigan's midnight thoughts, and when I put my nose close she smells meadow fresh like she had a Pine Sol enema. The next thing I know my tongue is out of my mouth and up her crack, my hands gripping her heavy-muscled butt, which is flexing under my fingers like it's doing the perpetual wave during halftime at the Tidy Bowl. Shit, this is embarrassing. The girl, who tried to cripple me, is supposed to be on her knees paying homage to my bunghole, and here I am with my head parked like a Dumpster under her garbage chute. And loving every minute of it, getting soaked in her personal juices like I was sopping up gravy at a spanks-giving feast. I'm getting a slick coating of butt nectar on my tongue now, and Sara's hot pussy drippings are lubricating my chin and running down my neck like I need a cunt bib. I stand up and ram my middle finger up her ass and work it in and out fuckstyle while kissing and licking her behind the ear and damned if she doesn't start coming as she frigs her own clit, her traps hunched big, all the muscles in her back and shoulders swelling in a steel crescendo. "Oh, God," she moans, panting like a racehorse, and wouldn't Secretariat just kill for her ass. "I'm so sorry I came before you, Jenna, will you forgive me?" she pleads in a heavy-breathed husk that makes my nips tingle. We go to her room. I'm hoping to check out this Bendy Wendy--where was I when she checked in, don't we top Hards always eyeball the fresh meat?-- but Bendy is not in, she must be watching Yogi bare in the lounge. So I get an homage from Sara, whom I've already renamed Sweetass, and she does me real good, the girl's got a hell of a hunk of tongue on her, she can touch her nose with it, and she almost touches mine, from the *inside*. Then I do her again, I'm really enjoying having the weight of that gorgeous ass on my face, I'm pigging out on pillows of pulchritude, then I go back to Missy and hope she doesn't detect the piney fresh scent of Sweetass on my breath. So the next day I arrange the Joan/Sara fight, first with Warden Marlow, then with Joan. Marlow's all for it, she's as excited about Sara as I am, and she confesses to bankrolling the girl's complete supplement supply right down to the creatine and whey powder and buying her a Parabody gym for her room. A fact that Sara already admitted, but which I'm not about to relate to Marlow, who has no reason to know I was in the girl's room. But it went a long way to explaining how Sara keeps her muscles so damn hard without ever being seen anywhere--like the gym. "I had a personal chat with that sweet girl, and convinced her to keep her behind rosy," says Marlow proudly. "She'll never get anywhere in here walking around with a filthy ass. Consorting with the disgusting likes of Joan the Bone, it's scandalous. I blame the Bone for Sara capping you. She's a bad influence." "Well, her Bone days are over. I guess you checked out this Bendy Wendy, Warden?" "She can tie herself in knots, she sort of gives me the creeps. But she certainly is easy to look at. A great step up from Joan, that's for sure." "Well, Sara can make a clean break with Joan, so to speak, when she puts her lights out on the undercard." "Why don't you put her on the stuff you take to get big, Jen?" Marlow suggests. "This girl would only look that much better three inches taller and 30 pounds heavier, don't you think? I'll pay for it." "Warden Marlow, she's not a Hard, she's a Nancy. How can I put a Nancy on Largesse?" "Make her a Hard first. She wants to be one, right? Isn't that why she's fighting Joan?" Well, it's a thought. But right now Sweetass Sara is my dirty little secret. Actually, my clean one. I keep wondering if the night she capped me she would've swung that plumbing at my head if Lee Ann didn't jump in. Who the fuck knows? She'll say no if I ask her, of course. So I ask Joan. Joan the Bone's got no roomie now, she's kinda an outcast, even among the Nancies. She's sitting on her bed holding a 14-inch black latex monster dong in her hands like it was a microphone and she was singing cockyokey at a Japanese porn bar. "The deal with Brooke was for you to get capped real good," she recounts. "Like, crippled. Brained I don't know about. Never heard anything about a braining. I really doubt Sara would do a braining. She'd get killed by Stef for that. She's not crazy. She just wanted the money. And she hated the Hards." "It must've been great rooming with Sara," I muse. "She's really quite a looker." "She was OK," Joan says grudgingly. "She'd let me fuck her doggie style. Too bad we had this falling out over Bendy Wendy. But, like, I saw Wendy and I flipped. I'm in the bathroom and she comes in fucking naked, sticks her head between her thighs and starts tossing her own salad. Right in front of me, like it's a dare. I just flew right off the handle. I had Ezra in my toilet kit, I just had to use him." She shakes her head sadly. "Nothing's better than Ezra," I go, nodding like an idiot. "So lemme get this straight," Joan says sullenly. "Sara beats me up in the ring, and after that I've got Hard protection for the rest of my Tonya time. I'm in for another year, you know. Hard protection all that time, no one hassles me. Right?" "Right. You've got my word on it. And if you don't fight, you get double capped. It'll make what happened to Kerrigan look like an ice cream party. What are you in for, anyway? Drugs?" "Nah. I got caught stealing boxes of sex toys from the storage room at Marty's House of Joy. Breaking and entering, I went in through a window at night. Then when the judge found out about my 'depravity' "--she holds up the monster dong and wiggles it like it was a snake--"she gave me *two* fucking years. She wanted to *hang* me. Some people just hate dildoes. So I've got a collection, so what?" "Well, you've gotta have something to do with your hands," I go, trying to sound sympathetic. "Speaking of which, you better be prepared to put on a show against Sara. I know she's about four times as strong as you, but if you just go down like a paper doll it's no deal. The Hards'll take you out for taking a dive. A Kwan dive." "So what's my fight strategy? How am I supposed to last even a round with her? I'm not a fighter, I'm a fucker." That's how I became Joan the Bone's corner girl. Yeah, I had to spend a few days sparring with her, and this was no ice cream party, either. The girl is a pimply, ungainly mess, but as least she has some reach. She's 6-1, after all, but only weighs 140. She doesn't work out, she's got no muscle, and I have no idea how she's gonna go more than a minute with Sara. But, like, whatever. So let's get back to fight day. We finally find out who's cornering for Glo, and it's none other than Nora the Neck, the girl Stef almost strangled to death before I got here. Nora's a bitter Nancy, she's got a nasty hardon for Stef, and this is one way of her getting some revenge-- having Glo kick the shit out of Missy, or at least try to. She doesn't wear that whiplash collar anymore, but she still holds her head kind of funny. She must work out though, she's a well-built girl, goes about 5- 6, 160. She gets real rowdy when she's Oksana, which is how she crossed swords with Stef in the first place. She threw a drink in Stef's face one night during a wild party in the lounge. Stef lost her temper and almost hanged the girl with her bare hands, Bon had to pull her off. But we still don't know what Glo really looks like, she's under wraps all the time, she's like a fucking Stealth fighter. We're not gonna get to see her till she unveils in the ring. Well, Missy isn't worried, she's supremely confident. She's big, she's strong and she has her low-kick defense all worked out, just like her body is all worked out. But first the undercard. The Hards are all stoned at ringside, and I'm stoned in Joan's corner. Marlow has graciously let Who Flung out of solitary ahead of schedule so she can see the fights. Bouncing Betty has graciously agreed to corner for Sara, and she even looks down at Flung and sort of smiles, even though Flung is sitting with Ice Baby. Betty is a great boxer, not that Sara needs any tips. She couldn't lose to Joan if they let Joan have a battle ax. It's the usual headgear, chest and groin protection, and that's it. Bare fists and feet, you can strike with knees, elbow, the works. Marlow's the ref, and she understands the idea is to keep Joan on her feet long enough to take a good beating, so standing eights will be on ready standby. Sweetass looks so good in her Speedo one-piece, all pec-hard and bottom- blown, her big arms thickly veined and sweat-shiny under the hot gym lights, I want to strut across the ring and tongue tickle her squeaky clean asshole till she pees herself. She knows the plan, which is to keep everything to Joan's body, break some ribs, maybe rupture her spleen, but keep her on her feet, at least for the whole first round. And Sweetass does this to perfection. She hits the Bone with so many gut punches and rib rockers I can't keep count. Marlow steps in three times to give Joan standing eights, which are more like standing 28s. Joan is panting like a dog, her face twisted in a smear of pain, she's looking pathetic in baggy maroon Marty's House of Joy t-shirt and shorts, like Olive Oyl getting beaten up by Bluto. Sweetass weighs 180 these days and hits as hard as a sledge hammer, but she's keeping her punches under control, 'cause the fact is if she hits Joan as hard as she can in the belly, Joan will just go down and she won't be able to get up, she'll be paralyzed. Joan is helpless, she has no defense, she can't even use her reach to jab, 'cause Sara slash blocks the punches so viciously, Joan's *forearm* is swelling up. So there's the Bone sitting in front of me on the stool, getting prepped for Round 2. I sponge down her pimply face, which is unmarked. Sara didn't hit her above the neck even once. But the Bone is clearly not well. She's panting and wheezing like an old lady with an asthma attack, she's got her torso angled funny, and I figure she's got cracked ribs all over the place, probably even on her back. I resist the urge to pull up her baggy tee and see what's going on under there. The Bone's got no abs, no pecs and she's kind of titless, and the whole thing is quite unattractive and depressing. "Throw the jab," I tell her. "Use your reach, keep her away from you with the jab." "I can't throw it fast enough," she complains. "She blocked me so hard with her forearm, I think she *broke* mine." The Bone holds up her left arm, and indeed, the forearm is in the process of getting all purply and swollen like something in there shattered. Weird. "Then clinch her up and hang on. You make it through this round, you can fuck me doggie style with Ezra." What the hell did I say that for? The Bone looks at me hopefully before she staggers out for Round 2. Well, no need to worry about being as good as my word. Sara spends two more minutes making mush out of the Bone's innards, hitting her so hard in the midsection poor Joan's feet are leaving the canvas with every blow, and Marlow judiciously spaces out the torture with three more standing eights. Then Sara bulls Joan into a corner, backing her up with a series of uppercuts that are pounding the Bone's skimpy chest protection like a battering ram, and she finally hits the girl so hard in the solar plexus it's like a solar eclipse. Joan's mouthpiece shoots out of her gaping maw like a bullet and bounces clear out of the ring. In fact, it lands in the lap of Bendy Wendy, who cackles delightedly, she's loving every second of her dildo-attacker's unjust desserts. Never mind that the punishment doesn't fit the crime. Joan didn't penetrate Wendy, she just tried to, then Sara came in and broke it up. There's no reason to think weakling Joan could have overpowered lithe Wendy anyway, but this is about blood, not justice. So Joan is poised to go down for good purely from body blows, but before she can crumple to all fours, Sara does a knee act on the acne, which is to say she raises the right patella and plows it into the Bone's naked face four times quick and hard before Marlow can pull her off, and the Bone drops flat on her tits like a corpse, blood pooling under her face like she fell off a building. This knee work has me cringing--it's in the opposite corner from me, all I can see is Sara's gorgeous butt cheek rolling like a cannon ball with a gigantic muscle shudder as the 26-inch thigh, the heavy flare of quad and hamstring clearly visible from behind, pumps like a piston. I shoudn'tve got stoned for this, it's making me too sensitive. Well, at least it's over. The Bone is loaded onto a stretcher by two guards and taken directly to Rauncho County. It's taken for granted that she needs immediate medical attention. Bendy Wendy bounds into the ring and starts kissing and hugging Sara, which is what I'd like to do, but the Hards still don't know about our fling. Sara comes over to shake my hand in my official capacity as Joan's corner girl, and I let my fingers play over her swollen knuckles. She's got a big sexy fist and I want to kiss it and rub it all over my moist crotch, but I restrain myself, everyone's watching. "Nice work, girl," I go. "You did everything but kill her." "Yeah, she was a real trouper. She took a lot of punishment. I hope they don't have to take any of her organs out." "That'll teach everyone to fuck with me," says Wendy with an evil grin. She's clinging to Sara like a love monkey, her pinpoint eyes bloodshot and sparkly like she's been blowing fine weed and snorting fine coke. This Wendy is a real looker, by the way, Warden Marlow wasn't kidding. A foxy little golden-tanned, green-eyed blonde, about 5-4, 120, all wiry muscle, pert little thrusting titties and the tiniest waist you ever saw, with abdominals that pop like rows of steel champagne corks. She came to the fight in a fucking thong bikini, no shit. She and Sara in the sack would make a sex vid to rival Brooke and Mary. I can see where Joan lost control of herself when Wendy did a nude self-toss. Would've flipped me too. The deal seems to be Wendy went after Sara soon as she got Tonya'd for protection and to get a piece of that luscious ass. Smart move, I guess, though why she didn't come to the Hards, or why the Hards didn't get to her first I haven't figured out yet. I suppose it's because we don't pay much attention to fresh meat or running the Nancies anymore. We're too busy doing Largesse, working out and studying our gains in the mirror when we're not studying each other's assholes. Anyway, I'm standing there making meaningful eye contact with this whip of a contortionist, who has this saucy smile on her face like she wants to fold herself up and crawl into my pussy and lick my ovaries, when Sara says, "We'd love to party with you tonight, Jen. Our room. I know you'll have a Hard party, but we thought maybe you'd come by after that." "Love to, Sweetass. I'll see what I can do. But let's take this one thing at a time. We won't be partying if Missy gets beat, I don't think." Yeah, I'm worried about my little pee partner. Glo is clearly much bigger and stronger than she used to be, though so far I've got nothing but teasing glimpses of her bod. Maybe she's on Largesse too, Brooke could be supplying her from the outside. At the weigh-in earlier today, she was 118. Not a lot of poundage, and not up to Missy's 124, but she was 105 for the last fight. And 5-1. She didn't look 5-1 today, she looked more like Missy's height, 5-4. We couldn't get Marlow to measure her, and Marlow also refused our request to make Glo take off her robe for the weigh-in. Marlow likes the mystery surrounding Glo, and she likes the idea of a startling ring unveiling. And that's just what we're about to get, as soon as they finish wiping up Joan's facial leakage from the canvas. I take a seat next to Stef at ringside, right under Missy's corner. Bon will be up there working Missy, but we'll be right below for consultation, just like last time. After a delay that gives me time to smoke a fresh joint with Lee Ann and Tiff in a corridor outside the gym, the fighters finally enter the ring, and Nora the Neck finally prepares to take off Glo's ankle-length robe. The Neck herself is looking pretty damn good, and much bigger than I remember her. She looks to be around 5-8, 175, almost as big as Sara, and she's still holding her neck stiff, or maybe that's just because her traps are so big. She's got this freaky buzz cut bleached platinum blonde and she's wearing a fetching halter top and bike shorts, muscles bulging all over her with that fresh-pumped glow like she wants to show off for the crowd. Well, I guess she does. When you've got it, flaunt it, has long been a Hard motto, and she's not even a Hard. "What's with the Neck?" I find myself stonily blurting to Stef. "She looks good enough to neck." "She's gotta be on Largesse," Stef declares. "She was never anywhere near that big. That means Glo's gotta be on Largesse too." At just that moment the question is answered when the Neck holds Glo's robe as she slips out of it in a smooth shoulder shake. She's wearing a hot turquoise sports bra and matching skintight bike shorts that make the twin humps of her rump scream for a frank piece of lingua. The background din in the gym drops to a sudden hush, as we all stare. Glo is muscle-packed and sinew-strung like a lightweight Junior Miss SuperBod contestant, greased and ready to kick ass. She's so defined she's showing tie-ins all over and when she crunch-flexes her arms these gotta-be 14-inch mini muscle mountains blow up, hard and round as eight balls, and when she unfists and jerks the open palms out, fingers in a half-curl spread, the biceps split into two deep bellies of muscle on either side of a sinew seam, each bulging belly the size and shape of an overripe lime and every bit as tart, I bet. My mouth is hanging open and so are my labia, my enLargessed rubbin' nubbin' all hot and bothered like somethin' from the oven. Then there are the legs. The thighs are oak-massive by bantamgirl standards, heavy teardrops of quad above the knees, and the calves are ridiculous, huge slabs of multifaceted muscle bulging on each side of the leg, with fucking fat *veins* running over them like transgigantic cables. "Fuck me, then fuck me again," says Stef in wonderment. "Girl's been doing Largesse, all right." "Maybe it's 'roids," I mumble, stupefied. "How could she get so much size on only three months of Largesse? How could anyone put on that kind of calf size in 12 weeks? Those have gotta be 18-inch calves, for the sake of shit. What does she have in there, *implants*?" "If it was just 'roids, she wouldn't be three inches taller," says Stef. "And how do we know she wasn't doing Largesse at the time of the last fight? She may have started before we did." "How about a Largesse and 'roids combo?" "Could be. Could surely fucking be. Whatever it is, it's really working for her." Missy unrobes, she's looking great too, also in sexy sports bra and bike shorts, but she's just not as big as Glo. She hasn't got the same thickness in the chest and shoulder, she hasn't got the heavy-duty arms, she can't match the width of Glo's back and she sure can't measure up to those romper stomper legs. Missy's carrying water weight or fat weight, her 124 isn't all muscle. Largesse doesn't lean her down while it bulks her up like it does to some girls. Glo's 118, on the other hand, is all diamond hard stuff, she hasn't got an ounce of fat on her except for a couple pats of butter on each tittie. She's got hair-trigger ligaments and high-tension tendons and they're all standing out like she just ate a box of shredded wheat thins. The bell rings for Round 1 and it makes me jump in my seat, I was zoning out on Glo's bod, watching the muscles in her back ripple as the Neck stood close to her face to face and massaged her striated shoulders. Glo isn't a mousy loser anymore, she's the mouse that roared and I've got a bad feeling for Missy, who hasn't got any height or reach advantage and can't possibly hit as hard as this fireball. Missy comes out bobbing, weaving and jabbing, keeping a careful eye on Glo's right leg, the one that did all the damage in the last fight, but Glo keeps her feet on the floor and just bobs, weaves and jabs her own sweet self. In fact, this is all that happens for two and a half minutes, till Glo works Missy into a corner and explodes a short right off the side of her headgear that staggers my Miss, who wisely covers up in a crouch, and Marlow wisely steps in for a standing eight. The round ends without further incident, and chalk it up to Glo for the good right hand. Round 2 goes the same way for the first minute, then Missy snaps a really good front kick into Glo's chest, backing her up on her heels. Missy tries to pounce on this advantage, coming in low firing uppercuts, but Glo whips an elbow into the side of her head, then puts a right hook on Missy's jaw that drops her on her ass. Missy's sitting there stunned as Marlow starts counting, and we're all screaming hysterically for her to get up. She gets her wits about her on five and gets up on seven. Marlow gives her another 10 seconds to compose herself, then lets Glo charge in, and there's a furious exchange of hooks and uppercuts in the center of the ring, both girls' heads getting snapped back two or three times, and this ends in an angry clinch that turns into a kidney smashing festival till Marlow pulls them apart and gives them both a warning. Missy's lip is bleeding and so is Glo's nose, just a tiny trickle from one nostril, nothing major. They come together again and Glo hits Missy in the ribs with a left hook that simply fucking knocks her down. She gets right up, but it's a knockdown, not a slip. How hard does this fucking girl hit? "This is totally Tara," I go to Stef. "Lucky thing there's no three- knockdown rule." As the words are out of my mouth Glo sends Missy sprawling onto her hands with a short, chopping right to the jaw. Missy scrambles to her feet and Marlow gives her another eight count. There's still half a minute in the round, and Glo charges forward, stalking Missy, driving her into the corner right above us with a hail of roundhouses as Missy tries to knee her way out, grabbing onto Glo and kneeing the body Muay Thai style, but Glo backfists Missy in the nose, kicks her lead leg out from under her with a sweep of her huge calf, then, before the off- balance Missy can topple, Glo punches her in the mouth with a short, vicious left and Missy is standing there dazed and bloody, her legs all wobbly, as Marlow gives her an eight and the bell rings. I jump up on the apron and check Missy out as Bon works on her. Her nose is bleeding profusely from that backfist, and her lips are split and puffy, her teeth are all red, she's a mess. I jump back down and whisper in Stef's ear: "She should throw in the towel right now. She's only gonna get her ass kicked in the next round. Her nose may already be broken. Glo is perfectly capable of breaking her jaw. Let's cut our losses and call it a day." Stef looks at me pointedly. "You're right," she whispers, "but the fight is only half over. If she's getting beaten up in 3, Marlow will call it a TKO. You know Marlow, she's good about these things. So let her go out and see what happens." Well, this is one situation when Def Stef's decision wasn't so def. Missy came out raring to go for 3, got kicked between the tits with a terrific roundhouse, then Glo went to work on the body with her fists, throwing so much wicked knuckle it looked like Missy was getting shot by a machine gun, she was just standing there jerking and vibrating from all these blows, and then we all realized her bike shorts were soaked in the front. Pissy Missy had peed herself, gushing hot liquid right through the holes in her groin cup, and before she could fall down from all these body shots, Glo launched herself like a lethal top into a spinning elbow strike, delivering the bone-hard tomahawk of her righteous right arm between Missy's eyes even as the bloody towel Bon threw into the ring sailed by Marlow's head. Well, this blow bounced Missy off the ropes like a slingshot and I'll give Glo credit for not hitting her again but just watching her fall on her face, stone cold unconscious. It was 47 seconds into Round 3, and Missy stayed unconscious for another 47 seconds, her swollen eyes shot with blood, her nose bleeding again from the force of the elbow, and we put her on a stretcher and took her to the infirmary and had Nurse Church check her out. Nurse Church deemed it necessary to send Missy to Rauncho County for X-rays, where it was later determined she had three broken ribs, though nothing in her face was fractured, amazingly. All us Hards were livid, not at Glo but at Marlow, who should have stepped in and stopped it before that potentially fatal elbow was delivered. "I'm sorry, but I didn't think the body attack merited a standing eight, never mind a stoppage," Marlow insists. "I'm sure Missy would rather get taken out fair and square than be the victim of a charity TKO. Look at the body job Joan stood up under." Yeah, look at it. Joan left her spleen and her gall bladder in Rauncho County. Actually, she brought them home in a jar. We're thinking about requesting a different ref the next time a Hard fights. Or maybe this bare fists business isn't such a good idea. You can bet the State Corrections Commission is looking into adding gloves to the headgear right about now. But right about now I'm thinking about what to do tonight. Missy is spending the night in the hospital for observation. Stef and Bon are so bummed they're just getting quietly Oksana in their room, and Lee Ann and Tiff are doing the same in theirs. Flung has been returned to solitary after Marlow caught her having a shoving match with Betty after the fight. So I'm alone, with a standing invitation to Sara's, but I've got to satisfy my curiosity first. I go way down the hall to Glo's room and knock. The Neck opens the door. She's got a towel draped around her shoulders and nothing else on at all. "Jenna Takedown!" She smiles at me and opens the door wide with an expansive gesture. "Come in!" I do, and I get an eyeful of Glo, who's sitting stark naked on the bottom bunkbed, her dark-pelted pussy curled up in her lap. Glo and the Neck are roomies now. The room is littered with bars, bells and plates, but they don't have a whole gym setup, just a bench with a leg attachment. And the Cindy Rothrock foot and fist toughener with the water-filled base. "Is Missy OK?" Glo asks. "Last I heard she had some busted ribs but her head will be fine. She's staying in County tonight for observation. She should be back tomorrow." "Good. I didn't want to hurt her seriously. And I don't want to fight her again. I hope you're not here to set up a rematch." "Not at all." I ignore the remark about not wanting to hurt Missy. Then why throw that devastating elbow? Glo has already been renamed among the Nancies Go 'Bow Glo in honor of it. "I'm here just to congratulate you on your win, to tell you how good you look and to ask if you might gimme a clue about what you're on. I can't believe Largesse alone could give you the gains you got in such a short time." "Who said I'm on Largesse?" Glo asks. "So it's not Largesse?" "Wait a minute," the Neck chips in. "Why should we tell you what drug we do?" "You do it too?" "Yeah." The Neck unconsciously flexes her chest as she says this, making her good-sized tits stir under the towel like wild boars hiding in the underbrush. "But it doesn't do me like it does Glo. She's got a special receptiveness to this shit. Look at her, wouldya? Twelve weeks ago this girl was as soft and weak as pudding." "I had some leg strength. I was a good kicker, as Missy will recall." "Yeah, but look at you now, babe," the Neck purrs. "Look at this arm, Jenna. You ever see shape like this on a fucking beginner?" I go close to Glo, sit next to her on the bed and watch as she flexes her right arm while the Neck rubs the muscle down with a handful of Load Lotion, that 'roid-based cream that can make your skin all itchy and scaly. "So that's it, rub-on 'roids? Don't they fuck your skin up?" "No, they don't bother my skin at all," says Glo, "and that's not it." "That's just a little extra for the bi's and the calves," says the Neck. "There's no way you get a body like this from 'roid rubbing." "Then what is it?" I get sidetracked from the answer as the Neck takes her hand away from Glo's arm, which is now glistening with a shiny vigor in the pale yellow lamplight, and Glo squeezes the muscle up with a soft grunt, curling her fist down, and there's that ball of steely-stranded sinew again, it seems built up like the dense windings of the inside of a golf ball, but twice the size of a golf ball. "Feel how hard that fucking bicep is, Jenna," the Neck urges. "I'd shit if I had muscles that hard." I'm making eye contact with Glo now, my focus darting between her tanned arm and her baby browns, which are imploring me to feel her up any way and any where I want. Glo's not really a cute girl, she's kind of plain- faced, but her body has put her essence on another plane entirely. She's not that ill-humored shit I used to know as Go Blow Glo anymore, she's someone else, someone new and way, way better. Go 'Bow Glo, I guess. I gently place my palm on Glo's bicep and curl it around her tautly expanding muscle as she flexes the arm into a solid ball that feels like a little shot put. She iso flexes a half dozen times, letting the bloated mound swell up into my hand, and I slowly rotate my palm on the massed might of her muscle, letting the power soak up my own big arm which is rigid with tension, my bicep curled tight and springy like a baseball. I take my hand away and delicately trace the thick length of her brachial artery with my finger right up into her delt, then I turn to the Neck and carefully wipe all the Load Lotion off me on the towel she's wearing, making sure I rub my thumbs over her stiff nipples. "You're fucking incredible," I say to Glo, turning back to her as she transitions the fist from curled down to curled out, which makes the heads pull apart to each side of her arm, separating into those two deeply divided bellies that pulse like blood bladders as she rocks the fist up and down. "What does that baby measure?" "Dig this," says the Neck with pride. "It goes 14-3/4 hot pumped and it's 13-3/4 cold. In a few weeks this girl will have 15-plus arms, maybe 16 plus in a couple more months." "And what about the calves?" The Neck guffaws. "The calves are 18 fucking inches, the thighs are 24. This girl's got the kind of legs that belong on a 180-pound chick." "I always had decent calves," says Glo. "These calves didn't appear out of nowhere, like my arms." "So what did your calves measure three months ago?" I ask. "Fifteen inches," goes Glo. "Three inches in three months. That's, like, unheard of. You don't even have a calf machine." "I do hundreds of raises a day with the Neck on my back," says Glo. "She weighs 170." "So what's the drug? You girls gonna tell me? The suspense is, like, killing me here." "Toss our asses and maybe we'll give you a hint," the Neck teases. "You kidding, Neck? Tossing you two biscuits is hardly a chore. That's all I have to do to get the truth?" "Cut it out, Nora," warns Glo. "Even if we told you, you couldn't get the stuff, Jenna. It's not, like, available. So stick with Largesse. It's working for you, isn't it? You look bigger, I think." "I put on an inch. Haven't you put on three?" "Yeah." "Three inches and almost two years' worth of muscle in three months, plus melting all her bodyfat," says the Neck with awe. "The girl is blessed." "But if you want to make us, we're, like, really up for it," says Glo. "We always liked you, Jenna Takedown, you're a hell of a piece of work." Glo stands up, looks up at me and smiles. She tightens her naked chest and the pecs pull her little tits wide, the oversized brown nipples winking at me like fudge fundays. I feel a tap on my back and I turn around to see the Neck pull her towel off, her much bigger, fuller C cups jiggling in a striptease rhythm as she makes her pecs dance, the muscles roiling right up into her big hunched traps. "Girls," I go, "I really appreciate the offer, and I would very much like to make you two dynamite specimens, but Missy, my roomie and my number one girlfriend, is in the hospital right now and I can't very well get it on with the girls who put her there just a few hours ago. It's just not right. Lemme take a rain check on this." "You didn't even check out those legs yet," the Neck complains, pointing to Glo's stupendous sticks. She's got short legs, but the huge calves ride high, leaving a long, lean drop to the razor-stropped ankles. "I really must go now. The temptation is too great." Glo smiles, looks down at her feet, turns one leg so the inner mass of calf faces me, and she points the toes up and flexes the thigh, making the calf blow up like a beef balloon while the knots of quad above the knee thicken like slabs of sinew steak. Fuck, I'm having another meat frenzy. Glo puts her foot back on the floor and studies her arm for a second, making the bicep inflate just by turning her wrist, like she was gripping a compressed air valve. "We understand, Jenna. Go, and may Tonya go with you." Sweet thing to say for a Nancy. Of course, I go right to Sara's room to relieve my aching clit, which is standing up in my pants at this point like a poured-concrete hardon. Maybe I can finally get to see Bendy Wendy do her toss for one, and I'd prefer to watch it while I'm reclining on the cushion of Sara's tongue-hung face.