TV Tussle #5: Fran and Maxwell
by BeegBoy
She pummels his ego, then paddles his bottom.

On a bright, warm, sunny afternoon even New York's Central Park
can appear downright safe and cozy.  The perfect setting for a
romantic little picnic for two, provided there are sufficient
numbers of cops patrolling the area, of course.

The couple approached a small, grassy rise that was partially
shaded by a large tree, providing comfort and a fair degree of
privacy.  Fran carried her purse in one hand and had a blanket
slung over her shoulder.  Maxwell followed close behind carrying
their picnic basket with both hands, as he had been since they'd
left their nearby townhouse.  He managed the weight of it easily
enough, his breathing only mildly labored, but was nagged by the
perplexing thought he kept rolling over in his mind.  Before
they'd left the house, Maxwell could have sworn Fran had emerged
from the kitchen carrying the basket aloft with just one hand,
and her arm hadn't been hanging straight down like his were, she
had it curled at the elbow, casually holding it as if it weighed
no more than a pillow.  She'd even held it that way during a
somewhat lengthy phone conversation with her mother.  But logic
told Maxwell the basket he was carrying was much, much too heavy
for his small, unathletic wife to have handled in such a manner.
He finally grinned to himself and dismissed the though completely
when he remembered he'd gone upstairs to change while Fran was
still on the phone.  Surely the basket was still empty at that
point, and she'd filled it after talking to her mother.  What
other explanation could there be?  The couple stopped as they
arrived under the tree and Maxwell put the basket down with a
mild grunt.   

"Good heavens, Fran", he said amicably, "you must have enough in
here to feed an entire army!"
"Weeellll....", she answered in a sultry, seductive tone, "after
the 'appetite' you showed me on our honeymoon and in the bedroom
last night, I figured you have a healthy desire for food, too,
ahahhaahhaaaaaah!"
Maxwell couldn't resist chuckling at her extended, nasal laugh. 
He knew it irritated most people, but he still found it very
endearing, at least so far.
Fran reached down and opened the lid of the basket, removing a
large, deep red apple.  Then she extended her hand upwards with
it, mimicking the action of having just pulled it off a branch of
the tree they were under.
"Care for a bite, sweetheart?" she suggested as she cocked her
head and fluttered her eyelids at him, "Snack now, sin later!?"
Maxwell felt his desire growing as her beheld her long, raven
black hair as it tumbled over her shoulders and chest and she
pursed her full, red lips in a smooching gesture.
"Let's have a bite, darling, a big, big bite!" he replied as he
reached for the apple (or was he reaching for her?).
Teasing, she jerked her arm back, pulling the apple away from his
advancing reach and gently tossed it over his head.  He whirled
to watch it land a few yards away and roll down the small slope. 
"Go fetch, like a good boy!" Fran purred.
"Yes ma'am, but you better have on helluva goodie for me when I
get back!" Maxwell snickered over his shoulder as he went after
the apple.

Grinning with anticipation, he walked over to where the apple had
come to rest and scooped it up, turning back towards the picnic
site as he did.  He watched from the short distance as Fran shook
out the blanket and spread it over the ground, her tight little
ass swaying mildly back and forth, her full, tender arms jiggling
ever so slightly is response to her physical gyrations.  Then she
knelt down to smooth the blanket evenly over the grass.  The grin
on Maxwell's face broadened into a full smile as he approached
her from behind, but his expression dropped abruptly in shock
when he observed what she did next.  

Unaware she was being observed by his fixed gaze, Fran strolled
casually over to the picnic basket and grabbed the handle with
her one hand.  She lifted it to waist height effortlessly, her
arm bending at the elbow as the slightest hint of a soft biceps
appeared on her upper arm.  She carried the basket onto the
blanket and was looking for the best place to put it down when
she realized Maxwell was watching her.  Immediately, she quickly
grabbed the handle with her second hand and put the basket down
with a drooping motion, the way a person would relieve himself of
an uncomfortably heavy load.  
"Oh, silly me!" Fran trilled, "I should have waited for you to
move this!"  As she spoke, Fran massaged her arm as if she had
strained it.
"You poor darling!" Maxwell said soothingly as he approached, "I
hope you didn't pull a muscle doing that!"
"Pulled a what?  Ahhaaaahaaaaaah!  Don't be silly, darling, you
have to have a muscle in order to pull it!"  Fran said as she
flexed her arm for him.   Maxwell gently gripped her upper arm in
his hand and smiled as he shook his head.  Though thick, her arm
was soft and tender, and yielded easy to his grasp.  Even flexed 
it produced no apparent sign of muscle tone.  Still, he couldn't
reconcile what he felt with what he'd seen.  He stepped behind
Fran and tenderly started kissing her neck and shoulders, keeping
her back to him.  While she was thus distracted, he reached down
and gripped the basket with one hand and started to lift it.  He
was certainly capable of doing so, but had to clench his teeth
and put a considerable degree of effort into it, considering the
hefty weight of the item.  How could Fran possibly have lifted it
with one arm?  Had he actually seen her do it?  What about back
at the house, hadn't she been using only one arm then?  
 
A low grunt escaped his mouth as he continued holding the basket
in his hand, catching her attention.
"Are you alright, sweetie?" she asked, a noticeable degree of
concern in her voice.
"Fine Frannie, just fine", he replied as he put the basket down
as smoothly as he could, the weight of it causing a slight
jerkiness in his action.  He recovered quickly, however, as he
placed both arms around Fran's trim waist and continued nibbling
at her neck and earlobes.
"Slow down, wild man!" Fran moaned, "Let's get some food in us to
build up strength for what you have in mind!"
Maxwell laughed as he took her hand and gently pulled her down
onto the blanket.  The basket incident still nagged at his mind,
but for the time being, at least, it was moved to the back burner
and forgotten.

After they settled themselves on the ground Fran flipped open the
lid of the large basket and extracted a generous assortment of
cold appetizers and entrees, along with full places settings of
dishes and silverware.  Maxwell was amused at how formal a picnic
his new wife had arranged for them.
"I'm surprised you didn't pack the dining room table as well!" he
chuckled, "No wonder the basket weighs a bloody ton!"
"I wanted to, but the table wouldn't fit, ahaahahaaaahaaa!"  Fran
countered as she pulled a bottle of wine from the basket along
with two crystal goblets.  She handed him the wine along with a
corkscrew, indicating he should do the "manly" honors.  He took
the bottle and absentmindedly twisted the corkscrew into the top
as he watched her place their meal on the elegant dishes.  Fran
placed a plated laden with food before him as Maxwell continued
twisting the opener deep into the neck of the bottle, then began
pulling on the cork to extract it.  Initially, the cork refused
to yield, so he slightly increased the degree of effort he was
applying to it, but this produced no movement on the part of the
cork, which remained firmly in place.

Fran chewed her food silently and sensuously as she lifted her
wine glass towards him to be filled with the alcoholic nectar.
Maxwell looked at her, then the glass, and grinned sheepishly as
he further elevated the force he was pulling on the cork with,
but still failed to even move it, let alone remove it.  He drew
in a quiet breath and clenched his teeth as he concentrated all
his strength into a powerful yank on the corkscrew.  A low grunt
of exertion emitted from his throat as a result of his latest
effort, but if it's possible for a cork to be unimpressed, this
cork was, and it remained snugly wedged in the neck of the wine
bottle.  Fran was beginning to notice something was a bit amiss,
but for the moment she thought he was playing games with her and
decided to willingly frolic along.
"Wine, my love, wine!" she pleaded mockingly, "lest I die of
thirst or have the taste of chopped liver on my gums until the
end of time!"
"Heaven forbid the latter!" Maxwell replied in feigned dismay, "I
still plan to kiss those lips and taste that mouth for years to
come!"  Even as he teased with her playfully, however, his voice
betrayed the effort he was putting into his repeated unsuccessful
attempts to open the bottle of wine.  He wished Fran had packed
the more elaborate, "lazy man's" corkscrew, the one where the
handles did all the work, and then it occurred to him perhaps she
had (the basket weighed a ton and contained everything but the
bloody kitchen sink, didn't it?).  
"One moment, my sweet damsel!" Maxwell chirped to Fran as he put
the wine down and turned his attention to the picnic basket,
searching through it in hopes of finding the other corkscrew. 
 
With a quizzical expression on her face, and a mildly devilish
gleam in her eyes, Fran reached over and grasped the wine bottle
while Maxwell was distracted in his search through the basket. 
She gently curled her four fingers of her right hand around the
handle of the corkscrew, not using her thumb or actually gripping
it tightly, and with her left hand took firm hold of the bottle's
neck.  An amused, wicked grin crossed her lips as she casually
pulled outward on the corkscrew and felt no noticeable degree of
resistance as she extracted the cork from the bottle.  Still 
distracted, Maxwell distantly heard the popping sound of the cork
being removed, though the sound didn't quite register, but the
splashing gurgle of a glass being filled did.  His eyes widened
and mouth dropped open as he looked up to see Fran's extended arm
offering him a full goblet of wine.  He meekly accepted the glass
from her, still at a loss for words.  She closed the lid of the
basket and lifted it a few inches, placing it between them like a
small table so they were sitting facing each other across it. 
Fran took her own goblet of wine and curled her right forearm
around Maxwell's so they could consume it intimately and close,
as lovers and newlyweds do.  She leaned forward, took a sip from
her glass and purred, "Yummy", as she looked seductively into his
eyes.  He pulled his glass to his mouth, taking Fran's arm along
with it, but his drink was more of a nervous gulp than a sip as
he gazed upon her with a bewildered expression.  The basket was
one thing, but now it was compounded by the incident with the
wine bottle.  What was going on?  What the hell was going on?!?

"What's going on where?" Fran inquired in an irritated tone, her
romantic revelry broken for the moment.
"What...huh?...oh!" Maxwell flustered, finally aware that his
thoughts had been spoken out loud.  The issue had moved back to
his front burner, so he decided to pursue it once and for all.
"Fran", he queried gently, "how did a little thing like you get
the cork out of that bottle?"  Her expression changed as she
seemed to go mentally in search of a plausible response for her
husband, one that could satisfy his curiosity but preserve his
ego.  Her eyes brightened as she made an attempt to verbally
cover her bases.
"Oh, you silly!" she squealed, "That's an old girl's trick to
baffle her man and keep him guessing.  I just shook the bottle so
the gas put extra pressure on the cork and loosened it!"   
"Fran!" Maxwell continued, not placated by her lie, "this isn't a
sparkling wine!  The cork was wedged incredibly tight, so how
could you have opened the bottle?  And how were you able to carry
the basket when it was so full?  It weighed a ton, you shouldn't
have been able to budge it an inch much less carry it!"
Fran leaned forward and took another drink of wine.  This time it
was her turn to take a deep gulp as she contemplated her answer.

"Oh, Maxwell....", she sighed in resignation, "it's just the Law
of Feminine Force, that's all..."
"The law of what?!" he blurted out, "What the Dickens are you
talking about?"
"It's a law, darling...", she continued tenderly, "just like
there's the Law of Gravity, there's the Law, or more properly
put, the power, of Feminine Force.  It's a force that can't be
overcome or resisted by any man, it's simply natural law".
"You mean...how....you do things like make us weak by using your
sexual allure and feminine wiles?" Maxwell asked, reaching for an
understanding.
"No", she replied in a low voice, "no allure, no wiles, just the
simple power of Feminine Force, the superior strength of women".
"You...you mean your natural superiority in areas such as being
more resistant to disease...?" Maxwell stated/asked, still unable
or unwilling to accept what his mind and his wife were really
trying to tell him.
"No, Maxwell, no....", Fran continued patiently, "not resistance
to disease or greater endurance, but greater physical strength. 
A strength based on pure feminine power, a power next to which
bulging biceps and testosterone are pale weaklings!"  There was a
definite tone of sadness in Fran's voice as she spoke.  She known
her new husband would have to know the truth in time, but she'd
hoped to gradually prepare him for the revelation.  Now, due to
her carelessness, she'd had no choice but to thrust it upon him
all at once.....and she wasn't sure how he would react.

Suddenly, Maxwell broke into a wide grin as he threw his head
back and released a hearty laugh, which Fran merely viewed as a
typical reaction of masculine pride, denial.
"Oh, please, Fran!" he snorted as small tears rolled down his
cheeks, "you're telling me a slip of a girl like you is as strong
as a man, as strong as I am?!"
"No, not as strong as you, stronger than you....", Fran replied
as she took another sip of her wine.  Only this time, instead of
leaning forward towards the glass, she drew her arm in towards
her lips and, being each of their forearms were still curled
around the other, as she did so she pulled Maxwell's arm along
with it easily, though he didn't really offer any resistance. 
She finished drinking and removed the glass from her lips, but
kept her arm folded close to her chest.
"Stronger.....stronger?" Maxwell miffed, "Oh, Fran , that's just
too ridiculous for words.  How can you possibly..........".  His
words trailed off as he attempted to take a second drink of wine
himself, but found himself unable to bring the glass to his lips. 
Still looking deeply into Fran's eyes he made a second attempt to
bring the glass to his lips without really giving it any thought,
but his failure to do so for a second time brought the matter to
his attention.  His eyes left hers and slowly moved down until he
was gazing upon her forearm.  Slim in comparison to his own, it
was nonetheless defying his steadily increasing effort to pull it
away from her chest so as to bring his own forearm towards his
own chest.  

To anyone passing by, the frozen scene might almost have appeared
to be a photograph, or at least a couple posing for one.  Maxwell
and Fran sat face to face over the basket, their right forearms
curled around each others, their right hands each holding a glass
of wine.  But the positioning of the arms wasn't equal; his was
open at a wide angle, extended away from his body, whereas hers
was bent sharply at the elbow, her upper arm at her side and her
forearm almost forcing his against her breast.  If the observer
continued to view this scene, they would eventually be aware of
some small degree of movement on Maxwell's part.  A mild shaking
or quivering motion, often associated with a person struggling or
straining against an immovable object, which in this case was
Fran's arm.  

Fran studied her husband with an almost neutral expression as she
casually bent her wrist towards her mouth and took another sip of
wine from her closely held glass.  Maxwell glanced at her and the
relaxed look on her face frustrated him all the more.  He hadn't
seen this expression on her face before, she appeared emotionless
and bored (and did it contain, perhaps, just a hint of sad dismay
and/or contempt?).  Looking down at her forearm again, he gritted
his teeth and gave several fierce tugs against her arm as sweat
began to appear on his brow, but her arm remained yielded nary an
inch and remained solidly in place, his latest efforts having no
more affect on her than his initial ones.  Maxwell's biceps
swelled and grew as he continued struggling against the smaller
female, but no such protrusion appeared on her upper arm.  Both
fascination and disbelief, combined with his embarrassment, made
Maxwell spontaneously reach forward with his free left hand and
grasp Fran's upper arm.  The sensation alarmed him.  Her arm was
indeed thick and firm, but the skin was soft and yielding to his
touch.  How could her arm, an arm that was so easily overpowering
his, remain so soft and supple?  He removed his hand and with his
right arm and made another attempt to break her power, his own
arm shaking so much some wine splashed and spilled from his
glass.  Fran sighed and cocked her head to one side, but her arm
remained triumphantly in place.

"Well, there's certainly no need to waste good wine!" Fran said,
reaching up and taking Maxwell's glass with her left hand, "If
you want to play games let's get that out of the way first, then
we'll eat!"  She quickly placed his glass down on the blanket,
reached up again and took her own.  Still holding her wine in her
left hand, she slid her right up Maxwell's forearm and clasped
hands with him as their elbows settled on the top of the basket.
"Whenever you're ready, my darling husband!" she quipped as she
fluttered her eyes at him.  Nervous, but determined to convince
himself the previous incident was just a fluke, Maxwell steadied
himself, reasserted his grip with Fran's hand, and took a few
second to regain his composure.  He looked at his cheerful,
smiling wife with an expression of grim resolve on his own face,
and nodded for the arm wrestling contest to begin.

Maxwell didn't jump off to a quick start at the offset but simply
held his position, hoping that by taking his time and studying
the situation he might uncover what trick or method Fran was
using against him.  He was absolutely convinced that she couldn't
be stronger than he was; there was no way that could be the case,
no way at all!  Even now he marveled at how gentle her hand felt
as it gripped his, not a clamping or squeezing hold, just a soft,
feminine caress.  He allowed his eyes to meet hers again and she
gave him an amused shrug as she turned her head and took another
sip of wine from the glass she still held in her left hand. 
Maxwell's own left hand, which was resting on the basket, slowly
closed into a fist as he started to increase the amount of effort
with which he pushed against Fran's arm, his eyes widening ever
so slightly when it had no visible effect on her attitude or
position; she remained calm, her arm remained upright.  Sweat
appeared on his brow again as Maxwell bowed his head and put
forth another growing surge of strength, being careful to pace
himself.  No sudden, jerking motions he had decided; the best way
to wear her down was with a series of relentless attacks where he
increased his level of force against Fran proportionately each
time.  Using an exceptional degree of self control, Maxwell
managed to maintain a grim but composed expression on his face as
he began to realize the series of attacks was having no more
success against his wife than his initial thrust had.  His left
hand opened and firmly gripped the basket's edge as he closed his
eyes and concentrated on yet another desperate effort to pin the
arm of his petite opponent, or at least begin forcing it down.  

Maxwell's composure finally broke when he opened his eyes to see
the only movement in their arms had been in Fran's favor.  She
had not only resisted his maximum output of strength against her,
but had overcome it with incredible ease.  His mouth dropped open
as he drew in air in a series of quick gasps and made a valiant
attempt to regain the starting position, but he failed to force
her arm back up, in fact, he wasn't even able to halt or slow her
steady progress towards beating him.  The neutral expression he'd
seen on Fran's face earlier returned as she forced his arm down
with a slow, deliberately steady display of her clearly superior
strength.  It was obvious she could have slammed his arm down to
defeat in a few brief seconds, but there was a point to be made,
a lesson to be learned.  Maxwell realized he was losing, but he
still had trouble comprehending the situation, he just couldn't
understand it.  Fran's grip continued to feel gentle and soft as
opposed to tight or squeezing (yet Maxwell had no doubt that if
he tried to pull his hand free, he'd be unable to).  Even as she
pressed his arm down the sensation was in some strange way unique 
and different, not like battling a powerful force, but a gentle,
yet somehow irresistible force.  He honestly felt as if his hand
was holding onto a light, silk scarf, or some other gossamer or
linen fabric; and this soft, light fabric was overpowering him in
some inexplicable way.  Even her upper arm continued to look soft
and even a little "jiggly", betraying no sign of strain or effort
on her part.  

Finally, with a slight smirk added to her neutral face, Fran
gently put Maxwell's hand firmly down to the basket top and held
it there.  The strange sensation returned as he felt his hand was
pinned inescapably down by a soft, light scarf or napkin someone
had placed on it.  Finally, Fran's earlier words returned and
echoed through his mind:  "Feminine Force, it's simply natural
law". 
"Well", Fran quipped as she leaned forward and kissed his
forehead, "I know that worked up my appetite a little, how about
you?"

Stunned, Maxwell abruptly rose to his feet.  Fran was still
holding his right hand in hers and could easily have prevented
him from standing, but she relented and allowed herself to be
pulled along.  The couple stood face to face, he looking down at
her due to his being several inches taller.  The expression on
his face was one of frustrated exasperation and humiliation, he
finally understood the situation, but now came the harder part;
he had to accept it and live with it, or at least try to.  Fran
gazed at him with genuine love but knew their relationship would
never be the same.  What should have been a gradual learning
process for Maxwell had been dumped on him all at once, and she
realized, with a touch of guilt, it was due primarily to her
carelessness.  Still, she resolved, what was done was done.  Only
time would tell if their relationship could survive under these
revised conditions.

"Come on, darling", she cooed soothingly, "lets sit down and eat
and we can discuss......."
"No...NO!" Maxwell stammered, "I need to be away from you right
now, Fran, I need to go and sort this whole bloody business out!"
His masculinity deflated, Maxwell started away from her but Fran
retained her grasp on his right hand and stopped him cold in his
tracks.
"You can't resolve anything alone!" she pleaded, "You need to
talk this out with me, not stew over it alone!"  She realized he
only wanted to go off and lick his wounds, but she also firmly
believed the sooner he faced the truth, the better.  She'd
catered to his ego for years before they were married and she
didn't want anymore of that crap.
"I can't face you right now!" he cried, "You've turned my world
upside down and want me to calmly discuss it as if it's something
that happens everyday.  This may be no big deal to you, Fran, it
may even be funny to you, but it isn't a trifling thing to me,
and I just can't deal with both it and you right now!"
"Do not walk away from me Maxwell!" she commanded threateningly,
"You will not walk away from this, you will confront it and deal
with it!!"
Maxwell again attempted to rush away from her.  She still held
his hand firmly in hers but allowed him some slack.  Just as he
was gaining momentum she abruptly pulled him back and slammed him
against a nearby tree.  She released his hand and placed her own
flat on his chest, pinning him solidly against the trunk, her
free hand resting on her hip.
"Let me go, damn you!" he trapped man exclaimed as he struggled
against her, "Leave me alone!"  He continued trying to push away
from the tree but Fran's lone powerful arm easily met, matched
and overcame whatever strength he could throw at it.
"Maxwell, you might as well stop this foolishness and talk to
me!" she spat out haughtily, "Because you're not moving an inch
from this spot until you do!"
He didn't reply but continued to fight her pinning hold.  He
removed his hands from the tree's trunk and with them he gripped
her forearm.  Maxwell put all his remaining strength reserves
into a series of violent yanks, attempting to dislodge Fran's arm
from his chest, but the small woman's deceptively strong limb
remained firmly in place; only at this stage of the struggle did
a small hint of biceps appear prominently on her arm.  She kept
telling her husband to calm down but he continued to resist her,
pulling futilely at her arm and shaking his head from side to
side.  Finally, Fran took her other hand from her waist, reached
up and tightly grabbed hold of Maxwell's chin, halting the back
and forth motion of his head.
"Stop this!" she hissed, looking up into his eyes as he looked
down into hers, his head held in place by her one hand as firmly
as his body was held in place by the other, "We're going to
attract attention if you don't behave yourself and quiet down!"   
"Behave?" he sputtered incredulously, "After all this you're
ordering me to behave?!  I am not one of your charges, Fran, I am
not a child!"
"Well you sure as hell acting like one!" she shot back, "So just
stop all this foolishness or.....or...."
"Or what?!" Maxwell sneered, his sarcastic tone unmistakable
despite the humiliating situation he was in.
"Or this!!" Fran spate back, her temper finally cresting.

Fran removed her one hand from Maxwell's chin.  The hand pinned
flat against his chest closed into a fist and grabbed a healthy
handful of his shirt as it did.  She stepped back from the tree
pulling the helpless, astonished man along with her.  Returning
to the blanket, Fran sat down on the picnic basket, taking the
hapless man along with her.  As she settled into place on the
basket, Fran pulled Maxwell down until he was lying, face down,
across her right knee.  She released her grip on his shirt as she
wrapped her left leg around his lower back and locked her ankles
together, trapping him securely in her legs with his arms pinned
tightly to his sides.  Her right arm reached into her handbag and
searched until it found what she wanted, her large, wooden, oval
headed hairbrush.  She took the hairbrush out and again grabbed
Maxwell's chin in left hand, forcing his head around so they
could see each others faces.
"You asked me 'or what' when I told you to behave", Fran said in
a direct, steady voice as she locked eyes with him, "well, this
is what!"  As she finished speaking, she gave his ass a swift,
stinging wallop with the hairbrush.  Fran only used a portion of
her arm's formidable power as she struck, but Maxwell's yelp of
pain indicated she probably should have held back even more.

"Stop this, Fran, oh please stop it!" Maxwell whimpered and cried
as she applied several more strikes again his buttocks.  The
additional blows were gentler, and didn't hurt as much, but they
still hurt.  At this point, however, he wasn't sure which pain
was worse, the physical pain of the spanking or the emotion pain
of the humiliation he was suffering.  Sometimes it's stunning to
consider how much a person's perspectives and perceptions can be
changed in as little as a half hour.
"I want to stop it!" Fran quipped, "And I will, as soon as I'm
sure you won't try to run off on me again!"

Maxwell shook his head free of Fran's hand (or more likely, she
allowed him to shake his head free) and noticed a pair of police
officers approaching from a short distance away.
"Please, Fran, let me up!" he whined, "This would be far to
embarrassing to explain, please release me!!"
"But you haven't promised to behave yourself yet, my love", she
teased, whispering in his ear, "besides, this won't be a problem
at all, just watch!"
Maxwell turned his head and looked at Fran, confused.  She just
smiled at him and nodded back in the direction of the approaching
police officers.  Maxwell turned his head back towards them and
now realized that one officer was male and the other was female.
They halted their approach about thirty feet away, or at least
the female officer did.  She gripped the male officer's forearm
and halted him in his tracks.  Maxwell could see the perplexed,
confused look on the male officer's face, but what caught his
attention more was the mischievous, knowing smile on the female
officer's face; and he could also tell she was looking directly
at Fran.  Again, Maxwell twisted his head towards Fran and saw
the same smile on her face as she exchanged glances with the
other woman.  Then, Fran winked.  Twisting his head around yet
again, Maxwell saw the female officer return the wink.  Then, the
silent message conveyed, she started to walk away, taking the
male officer with her.  He resisted at first, as if questioning
the situation, but she insisted and soon prevailed over her male
partner.  Maxwell could see the male officer wince in pain as he
was led away, indicating the grip his female partner had on his
forearm had tightened considerably.  As he watched the officers
move away, the words "the Law of Feminine Force, the natural
order of things" again swirled through his bewildered brain.

"Alright, Fran, alright", the defeated man croaked, realizing now
that she could hold him captive as long as she wanted, "I'll
behave, I won't try to storm off, but please just let me up, this
is so.....so damned humiliating!"
"Now, that sounds like a good boy!" Fran chirped happily.  "Of
course I'll let you go, my love, but I'm not quite ready to let
you up yet!"
She released Maxwell and allowed him to role gently down onto the
blanket on his back.  As he started to rise, however, she quickly
dropped to her knees, straddling his waist, and placed her hands
on his shoulders.  Using both her arms, pressing him back down
was accomplished with virtually no effort on her part at all.  He
briefly considered grabbing her wrists and attempting to dislodge
her arms, but knew it would be useless to even try, so he didn't.

Gently she leaned forward and kissed his lips, then his forehead
and then his cheeks.  Finally, she was smothering his face and
neck with her full, luscious lips.  Maxwell's mood was mellowing,
but he still couldn't help but dwell on what had happened.
"You bested me so easily, so very easily", he sighed, "now I
guess I know how you discipline Brighton so well, though I trust
you're not as rough on him".
"Oh Maxwell, I'd never lay a hand on Brighton", Fran replied,
besides, he hardly ever misbehaves anymore, and if he does I just
let his sister put him in his place!"  Maxwell's eyes widened a
little at this revelation.
"You mean that Maggie can handle Brighton as easily as you just
handled me?"
"No!" Fran laughed, "Not Maggie, Grace!"
"Grace....?!" Maxwell uttered, stunned, as his eyes grew even
wider, "Gracie's barely half Brighton's size and she's so much
younger......." his voice trailed off as he mulled it over in his
mind.
"Feminine Force, my darling husband", Fran tittered, it's not a
matter of size or of age, just a matter of gender.  You're a
fine, loving man, and I'll see to it that you stay one, just as
Gracie and I will see to it that Brighton grows into one.  As for
Maggie, well, she's older and just started dating, so there are
countless other males out there for her to conquer!"

Fran continued to hold Maxwell pinned as she caressed him and
smothered him with sweet, gentle kisses.  Eventually, he relaxed
and relented to her charms and wouldn't have attempted to rise
even if she didn't resist.  With her body pressed down on his,
Fran felt a hard pressure rising in his groin as he let the days
embarrassing events wash away and he succumbed to her feminine
attention as he had to her feminine power.
"Oh my, Maxwell", she cooed with delight, "I do believe we've
found your silver hammer!"