Pumps 
By Dreamspinner and B. Dancer



It was a real important business trip and I was supposed to be reviewing a
file but the only thing I could think about on the flight over was the
dark-haired woman in the window seat three rows behind me. I already had my
seat when she came on board, and I saw her come walking sideways down the
aisle. She was looking at everyone she passed, saying 'excuse me' when her
carry-on bumped someone's seat and smiling apologetically, like people do.
When she got to my row she looked right at me. She held my gaze for only a
moment and then went on her way. I'd given her a once-over before she moved
past me and disappeared, but that was enough to get me going. I'd been as lost
in the clouds as our plane until we began our descent.

As a rule, I loved landing in Fort Myers^×the approach is directly over the
Holiday Inn on Estero Island. I'd always looked out the window when I flew in,
and at a thousand feet I could see just enough detail to get me excited. But
on this day, the only thing I could think about as we bumped our way down
through the convection currents was that woman's ass and what I remembered of
her legs.

When I feel the plane lurch when it hits the runway and hear the squeal of the
tires, I collect myself. I gather up my papers and make sure the file I was
supposed to have been studying is as it should be and when I find that it is,
I am immediately torn between my duties and the overwhelming desire for
another torrid, 'who-gives-a-shit-I'm-away-from-home' tropical liaison If she
hadn't had such a great body I wouldn't be so tormented, I thought. My mind
would be clear, I think. I will be focused on the prospect. I would have been
as intense as a laser beam, cutting through the bullshit objections like a
Jedi. But as it is, I'm a fish, flopping on the bank, gasping for water. Damn
it all, anyway, I think. The best thing to do is to avoid looking at her. Out
of sight, out of mind.

That line of thinking works only until she passes by, let go first by the old
lady who has the aisle seat. Like fire control radar I lock on my favorite of
all targets, a pair of very muscular legs. In a second, I forget the purpose
of my business trip and accept another mission, but in the next, I lose sight
of her in the crowd going up the ATA skyway and the purpose of my trip to Fort
Myers comes back to mind.

In the concourse, I am more comfortable and check my watch, reminding myself
that time is of the essence. I have an hour and fifteen minutes to get to the
Hertz counter, get a car, and get to where I need to be. I am fine, I tell
myself as I walk up the concourse towards the terminal. I will be fine as long
as I don't see her again, I think, but then I see her.

She is by a bank of telephones and has moved to the side to be out of the way.
She rummages in her purse for something. Like all of us do, she points a toe
and lets her bag on that knee so she can see in it better, and having her toe
pointed has made two deep crescent-shaped shadows appear where her big calf
muscles end. All at once, my legs are concrete and it takes all my strength to
pick up one foot and place it in front of the other. I feel like I'm clomping
like a robot. My stream of thought, too, has almost come to a standstill. One
by one the ideas squeeze into my mind: 'Must be a dancer.' 'No, can't be a
dancer^×too thick.' 'But she has that solid ass.' 'Bodybuilder. then.' And
finally, 'If you're so damn curious, why don't you say ask her instead of
vacillating until it's too late again?'

Then she finds what she's looking for, she closes her purse and goes calf
pumping her way through the terminal, and my legs turn to flesh again and my
thoughts pick up speed. I see her solid ass twitching in what seems to be the
end of a great, long tunnel and then it and the rest of her goes down the
escalator to the Hertz counter.

I go into the restroom, use the loo and come out and look at myself in the
mirror. The strain shows. I dab water on my cheeks and forehead. I'm not my
usual kick-ass self and if the prospect sees my weakness, it's going to be all
over and I'll be on the way back to the home office empty-handed. I dab more
water on, brush my hair and straighten my clothes. A cleansing, focusing
breath and I'm out the door, full of a renewed sense of purpose.

I take the escalator and see her standing at the Hertz counter. As I go down
my heart rate picks up. I turn into a robot again when the escalator gets to
floor level, clomp my way over and take my place in line right behind her. I
set my briefcase down and spend a few seconds gazing at her calves while I'm
bent over. They're big and I want to reach out and grab them, but I don't^×I
stand up but I keep on looking. From this angle, I can see how the muscles
sweep out dramatically from her tapered ankles and in a second, I feel the
warm blood rushing in. Then she stands on her tiptoes so she can see over the
idiot who's paying a minimal fee with a thousand dollar cashier's check.

She has deep cuts between the big muscles of her calves, and as she holds
herself up, I can see the veins of her lower leg fill up^×even through her
medium tan hose^×and (best of all) I notice she's wearing patent leather
pumps^×my favorite.

The idiot gets his $976.34 worth of change and collects a filthy look from the
clerk and the dark-haired woman with the muscular calves goes down flatfooted
and steps to the counter. I hear her talking to the clerk and learn she's
staying at the Holiday Inn on Estero Island. My heart, which has calmed
somewhat, begins to race again. The file in my hands feels like a turd and I
want to throw it away.

She finishes her business and click-click-clicks to the baggage claim and gets
two bags and then click-click-clicks out the door to the shuttle bus. The
driver reaches out to take her bags but she waves him off and lifts them in
like they were nothing. Then she steps up and I can almost hear the fabric of
her hose straining to contain her big, bulging calf muscles.

The Hertz clerk taps the counter. "May I help you?" she asks. I turn to her
and clear my head and tell her what I need and how long I'll need it and where
I'm staying. "Oh," she says. "That's where that woman who was in front of you
is staying. Maybe you'll get acquainted," she says. I'm becoming quite mad
with anxiety for thinking of it and nod like a marionette and my heart starts
skipping beats.

I get my bags from baggage claim and go on out to the shuttle bus which is
still waiting to fill up before it goes to where the Hertz rentals are parked.
As I get near, I see she's the only one sitting in the shuttle. I get to the
door and the driver reaches out to take my bags but I lift them up like they
were nothing and I hope she sees how strong I am. I step on and she's looking
right at me. I put my bags in the rack and get a seat right across from her,
lay my file on the seat and take off my jacket and lay it on top of my file.
I'm wearing a sleeveless linen top and I flex my elbows a few times to get the
stiffness of the flight and the strain of carrying my bags out of my thick
arms and I see her smile and nod.

"How long have you been lifting?" she asks.

My heart is in my throat. I realize I've gotten myself in a situation that
might mean big trouble for my career without really meaning to, or so I think:
I'm away from home, she's got big muscular calves, she's wearing black pumps
and she just now asked me how long I've been lifting. It's a recipe for
disaster. "Fifteen years," I say.

She nods. "It shows," she says.

"Do you think?" I ask, and twist my wrists, making my biceps knot up.

"I do...definitely," she says through a dazzling smile. She shifts her weight
and I hope she's getting turned on.

I stop showing off and say, "And you lift too, don't you?" It's not a
question.

"Yes," she says, and sits up and slips off her jacket. "But my arms aren't
nearly as large as yours," she says, and flexes both in the mandatory double
biceps pose. She, too, is wearing a sleeveless top. Her nipples press out like
pencil erasers and so do mine.

I feel like I'm going to faint. My mouth is dry but I manage to squeak out,
"Maybe not, but your legs are...well, I'll put it this way: I've never seen
such calves."

"Ballet," she says, and pumps up on her toes, tightening her calves and I see
the edges of her inner and outer heads bulge out. Then she lets down so the
heels of her pumps click on the floor and then pushes up again and squeezes
her calves tight. Her veins fill and so do my arteries.

"Do some more," I say, but I hear the driver welcoming another passenger to
the shuttle. It's an old brown man loaded down with three heavy bags. The
driver slings them on board, and without missing a beat, she of the
astonishing calves gets up and carries all three back to the rack and lifts
them in like they were nothing. I hear a symphony of muscle when she moves.

The old man sits next to me and nods politely. He looks across the aisle and
nods. "Es muy bastante. Gracias," he says.

"Por nada," she says. "¿Todo está bien?" she asks.

"Sí, gracias," he says and settles back.

"You're Spanish?" I ask, and then realize how stupid it was of me not to know.
Everything about her screams it.

"Hondurana," she says, and smiles her 100 watt smile. "And you?"

"Muscle," I say, completely distracted by the symphony still ringing in my
ears. "Oh, yes," she says, and pushes up on both toes again, making her patent
pumps crease just beyond her instep. She clenches her calves so all four big
muscles stick out. I can see them plainly from the front and think how
remarkable that is.

"I don't ever remember being able to see as much of all four big muscles from
the front before," I say.

"¿You are a student of legs, are you?" she says. Her erasers are sticking out
even more than they were a few minutes ago.

"I am," I say. I look to my right and see the old man is sound asleep.

"And what are you a student of?" I ask.

"At the moment, ¡I am a student of you!" she declares.

I twist my wrists and make my biceps ball up. She smiles and I think I need
sunglasses, her teeth are so white.

The driver gets in and tells us he'll have us to the Hertz rentals in three
minutes. He starts the bus and we lurch away from the curb. Three minutes
later, we arrive. The old man wakes up and speaks to the driver in Spanish.

"What did he say?" I ask.

"He asked if this is the place he gets out," she said. "The driver said no,
that he would take him where he needed to go after he let us out."

We stand up and go to the luggage rack. I let her go first. She plucks her
bags off the rack like they were nothing and steps off the bus. I hear her
tell the driver she doesn't need help. She doesn't^×that's very clear. However
small she thinks her arms are, they're obviously very strong. I could see the
muscles stand out when she lifted her bags. I'm sweating profusely. I get my
bags and in a moment, I'm standing next to her in the blazing south Florida
sun as she tells the car guy what she wants, where she's going to be, and how
long she'll need the car. As it happens, everything she says is exactly what
I'm going to tell him.

"Our itineraries are exactly the same," I say.

She turns to face me. "Are they? Why don't you let me give you a lift, then?"
she asks.

My file is heavy as lead. "I better get my own car," I say. "I have an
appointment in forty-five minutes."

"OK, then," she says. "¿See you later?"

I nod dumbly and turn to the car guy. I tell him word-for-word what she said
and he says he thinks we'll probably get acquainted. "Seeing as how you're
going to be staying at the same place and all," he says. "She seems real
nice," he says, and asks me if I saw how strong she was. "Her arm muscles
popped right up when she lifted her bags," he says. I tell him I didn't notice
and make my way to my car.

I start the car and put the AC on super cold and super high and flop back
against the seat like a wet rag. I look in the rearview mirror and see my bags
on the back seat. I remember the car guy asking if I wanted them in the trunk
and I remember telling him to just put them in the back seat. I see my file on
the passenger's seat and don't remember putting it there. I look at my watch
and see I've got a half hour to get where I'm going. I put the car in gear and
get on the gas.

I get on the Interstate and in a few minutes, I'm at my destination. I don't
remember the drive, but I get out anyway and go inside. I feel like
everything's going in slow motion.

To my great relief, my being there turns out to be a formality^×the parties
have gotten everything worked out ahead of time. All that's needed is my
signature on the agreement they've already had typed up. After I sign, we
shake hands all around and I get invited for champagne. I accept and one of
the guys calls the bar and has a bottle delivered. It's heady stuff and one
glass on an empty stomach later, I'm very lightheaded. I stay just long enough
to be polite and beg off. I put the paperwork in my file and we shake hands
all around again and I get out of there. Everyone's smiling and happy when I
leave, and when I get back to my car I weep with relief.

I go over the bridge to Estero Island and turn south on the boulevard, heading
for the Holiday Inn. When I pull in the parking lot, I see a car like the one
she rented and pull in next to it. I get out and fetch my bags from the back
seat and make my way to the front desk. It's a least a hundred fifteen degrees
and by the time I get to the door, I'm soaked with sweat.

The guy at the desk is real nice. He sees how hot I am and suggests room
service bring me a cart with some nice things in a few minutes. I tell him
that would be nice but I say I'm too tired and get my bags and go to the
elevator. He asks if I don't want some help and I say I'm OK, but thanks
anyway.

I get to my room, peel off my clothes and get in the shower and let the
tension leave my body. I'm in there for a good half hour.

Reluctantly, I turn off the water, step out, dry off and root through my bag
for my robe. I slip it on and go out on the veranda and stand at the rail. The
Gulf stretches out before me. The sun is blood red and about three minutes
from plunging in completely.

"¿It's beautiful, isn't it?" she says from the next veranda over. I know it's
her without looking. My heart leaps into my mouth but I look anyway. She's in
a robe, too, and she's standing at the rail, just like me. Her hair is wet and
it's hanging in ringlets. The sun is bloodying her face. Her eyebrows are up
like she's waiting for something.

"Sorry," I say. "Yes, it's beautiful," I say. "And so are you," I add, without
really caring if it's appropriate or not. She's so gorgeous I just can't help
myself.

"¿Do you want to come over and watch the sunset with me?" she asks.

I nod and go inside, out my door and into the hallway. I knock on her door and
she lets me in. The moment I'm inside, she undoes her robe and lets it fall
open.

"¿Enjoying the view?"

"Yes," I say and reach for her breasts. I let the pads of my thumbs just touch
her erasers. She winds her arms around my waist.

"¿What's your name?" she asks.

"Gina. What's yours?" I ask.

"Arielle," she says. She grabs my upper arm. "I like your muscles," she says.
I bend my arm and her fingers explore my biceps. She shudders.

"And you," I say, "how many years did you take ballet?" I put my right leg
between hers.

"Still at it," she says. "Started when I was seven." She pushes her hot pussy
against my thigh. "¿My calves aren't too big for you?" she asks.

I look down. She pushes up with her toes and the big muscles of her calf stick
out. "No," I say. "I like big calves. I couldn't take my eyes off your legs
when we were in the airport," I say. I kiss her lightly, and again.

"Really?" she says. "By the way, it looks like you work everything...and by
the way, I'm not the only one with nice legs^סyours are awesome!" she
declares, and kisses me, harder than I kissed her. She pulls away and says,
"¿And did you know, I couldn't stop thinking about you on the flight over?"

Rivulets of sweat trickle down everywhere^×between my breasts, from my armpits
over my hips and from the inside of my thighs to my ankles. She sees one go
from my neck down across my breast. Just when it gets to my nipple, she says,
"I'll get this one," and bends down and catches it on the tip of her tongue.
She stays there and the next thing I know she's got my nipple between her
lips, sucking on it like it's a straw. I writhe with the pleasure of it and
clutch at her arms. I'm surprised how hard they are. When she did the double
biceps in the shuttle, I saw that they were nicely-shaped, but never imagined
they would feel like polo balls.

"You do work your arms, don't you?" I say, breathlessly.

She stops making me crazy with my nipple and says, "¿You want to see my
muscles?"

I say I do and she flexes one arm and then the other. "How big?" I ask.

"Unflexed, about 13. Flexed, about 14." She asks me if I want to see a slow
flex, and without waiting for me to answer, bends her elbow a degree at a time
while she rotates her wrist inwards, making the muscle peak up. When she gets
to about seventy degrees, her arm is trembling.

I put my hand on her muscle. "Oh, my God!" I say. "It's so hard!"

"Let me see yours," she says.

I undo my robe and let it fall to the ground, suck in my stomach and hit a
pose.

Arielle's mouth falls open. "¡Dios mio! ¡What a body!" she says, then she gets
a real sly look on her face. "Your muscles aren't the only things sticking out
here," and opens her legs. Her clit is red as a little beet and I can see it
throbbing.

"¿Do you want to muscle fuck?" she asks.

I tell her I don't know what she means and she says 'muscle fucking' is where
a person humps their favorite muscle of another person until she has an
orgasm. I say that sounds really cool and ask her how it works, and Arielle
makes me come over to her bed and sit down on the edge and stick my arm
between her legs and make a muscle. I do and she opens up her pussy lips and
puts down on it and starts slowly sliding back and forth. She's already real
wet and within moments, she's humping like crazy and cursing under her breath
in Spanish and pulling her hair with both hands and the mess is spilling out
of her but she doesn't stop until she's nearly exhausted from the effort and
multiple O's. Then she falls off my arm and collapses next to me on the bed.

She reaches up to me and says, "Cara mia, you are wonderful."

I bend down and kiss her on the mouth. She opens up and I put my tongue in and
she gets her fingers in my pussy, all in the same moment. I feel myself start
to burn and all at once I'm coming like never before, shaking and gasping and
grinding on her fingers, feeling her nipple and getting more and more
lightheaded by the moment.

Arielle tells me to stop and calm down for a minute. She says she's afraid I'm
going to pass out and goes and gets some cold water on a towel and makes me
lie down and puts the wet towel across my forehead. In a minute I tell her I'm
OK and she says I better rest for a little while longer and sits down beside
me and takes me in her arms until my heart slows down.

After about ten minutes I tell her I'm OK and sit up. "What now?" I ask. She
tells me I can fuck my favorite muscle on her and I say there's no
question^×your calves are it, but first I tell her I'd like to see her do some
ballet exercises while I get myself real ready.

She says she'd be happy to do whatever turns me on and puts her hands on the
desk to steady herself and begins going up and down on her toes. Her ass is
the high, squared-off, clenched kind that ballerinas have, and her calves...my
God, her calves. They are inch-thick slabs of twin oval muscle laid on top of
her heel cords and their heads make VV corners when she goes up high and I
come without touching myself just watching the muscle contract and relax,
contract and relax.

She hears me groaning and says, "¿Don't you want to fuck these big legs of
mine?"

I say, "Yes, dammit, get your sweet ass over here on the bed and figure out
some way I can fuck your leg!" and she flops face down on the bed and tells me
get on all fours and put my pussy right over her left calf. I do and when I
get in position, she lifts her leg off the mattress with the sheer force of
her tight muscled ass and forces her calf between my legs and starts pointing
and flexing her toe and I can feel her big hard muscles pushing on my pussy
and I hump and hump and I see my sweat dripping on her hard ballerina's ass
and I remember the moment I saw her muscle legs in those wonderful black
patent pumps after we landed and I hump and hump and hump her hard, bulging
calf and I remember when she was looking in her purse and then when she was
click-click-clicking from the baggage claim to the shuttle and on the shuttle
when she was pushing up on her toes and finally right here in her room when
she had her fingers in my pussy making me feel like I was going to pass out,
and I hump and hump and hump her hard, bulging calf and I start to see stars
and then everything gets black.

When I wake up I'm in Arielle's bed and I can tell it's dawn by the color of
the sky. Her sliding glass door is open and I can hear the smooth morning
breakers come crashing in. I roll over and see her lying on her back with her
black mane spilling all around. I study her profile and conclude I've never
seen a more beautiful woman.

I get up as quietly and I can and go pee. When I come back in the room, she
opens her eyes and smiles. "Buenos Dias," she says, and stretches, then flexes
her arms, making her hard little biceps pop up and then relaxes.

I scoot in the bed next to her and give her a kiss. I let my hand go to her
nipple. It immediately stands at attention and her eyes roll back. She pulls
me to her and kisses me hard. "Por favor," she says, "feel my arm," and makes
a muscle.

Her arm is as surprisingly hard as I remember; with a nice peek just where it
should be. I feel all over, letting my fingers trace lightly from front and
back to front and back and then I squeeze it as hard as I can. She gasps and I
see her other hand dart under the sheet to her crotch.

"Don't stop," she whispers, and I keep on with her biceps. The more I feel,
the faster her other hand goes working. A minute goes by and I see her arch
her back. Her other hand is making a drumbeat on the sheet. I get close to her
biceps and let the tip of my tongue on the peak and her breath catches in her
throat. She pulls me on top and shouts, "¨¡Chinga me! ¡Chinga me!" and even
though I don't know what that means I go digging hard on her pussy and she
bucks like a bronc and shouts, "¡Sí! ¡Sí! ¡Sí!" and wraps her arms around my
neck and jams her tongue halfway down my throat and that makes me come and I
hump her back as hard as she's humping me.

When we finish I roll off and we both lie there panting.

"Jesus, Arielle," I say, after three minutes. "Jesus."

"Are you hungry?" she asks. I nod. "You fainted last night, you know. Your
stomach was growling all night long. Let me call room service," she says, and
gets to the phone on the desk. She orders breakfast for two, tells the voice
on the phone thank you and sits on the end of the bed. "¿After desayuno, let's
go swimming in el Golfo, OK?" she says.

I say OK, and after breakfast comes, I eat like I'm starving, only pausing
every tenth bite or so to give Arielle a long kiss. When we're done eating, I
get on my robe and tell her I'll meet her downstairs. She asks me if I have a
thong and I say 'hell yes,' and she smiles and says she does too and says
she's going to wear hers and I say I'm going to wear mine and go out to my
room and change and get my beach stuff.

She's waiting for me at the gate to the beach with her stuff. Neither one of
us is wearing a cover-up, and as we flip flop through the thick sand to the
beach we turn a lot of heads. We go to a place about a hundred yards south of
the Holiday Inn where the sea grapes provide some shelter from prying eyes. We
put our stuff down and Arielle looks me up and down.

"Make a muscle pose for me," she says.

I suck in and do a double biceps like I did the night before. She comes close
and feels me from top to bottom. "You are hard like a rock," she says. "Except
for here," and squeezes my boobs.

I drop my pose and hold her hands where they are. "They're not too small?" I
ask.

"No," she says, cupping them. "Just right. I like small tits. And your
muscles...they are more than right," she says, and squeezes my unflexed arms.
"¿How big are they?"

I flex my right biceps. "Guess," I say.

Arielle feels my muscle with both hands. "Fifteen inches," she says.

"Fifteen-and-a-half," I say and lower my arm.

She lets go and steps back and looks me up and down. "Turn around," she says.
"I want to see your ass in a thong."

I turn around and when I've got my back to her, I squeeze my buttocks
together. She laughs and pinches my right cheek and says we should go for a
swim before she has an orgasm just looking at me.

We go out to where the swells can lift us off the bottom and set us down when
they pass. We splash each other and laugh and look at the gulls flying and the
planes coming in on approach and when I see an ATA 737 going over, suddenly I
get real sad and start to cry.

Arielle comes over and holds me and says, "Lo entiendo, lo entiendo."

I say, "No, you don't understand, Arielle. When I was on the plane, I was
thinking all I want was a torrid tropical liaison, but now that I've had it I
want more but I know I'll never see you again and I hate it! Do you hear me?"
I hissed. "I hate it!" and broke free and made my way to the shore, stumbling
every time a wave hit me and barely able to see through my hot tears.

When I get to dry sand, I look up and see three Hispanic men coming my way.
They start hooting and pointing at me and jabbering away in Spanish. They come
toward me and everything about the way they're walking and acting is no good.
When they're ten feet from me, I make fists and get ready to fight^×they're
that menacing, but they just stop and stand there making comments. The tone of
what they're saying is real bad and I'm real scared.

I hear Arielle come out of the water and make her way to where we're standing.
"¿Que es la chingada problema, pendejos? ¿Nunca viste musculosas?" she
demands, and when they don't say anything, she puts her hands on her hips and
says, "¡Si no quieres nada, volves a tus agujeros!"

The guys look at each other and think better of it and go back the way they
came.

"What did you say?" I ask.

Arielle just stared after them.

"Arielle, tell me."

She came to me and took me in her arms. "Gina," she said. "When I was on the
plane, I wanted nothing more than a hot affair, but now that I've had it, I
want more. But..." she said, letting her voice trail off.

"But what?" I said.

"But we live in different places," she said, and drew near and kissed me
tenderly.

I know she is right. I know she doesn't live in my neighborhood, and truth be
told, we are too different. We are from two very different cultures; we barely
speak the same language, it would be logistically impossible to get together
on a regular basis, and on and on and on and on and on, and fuck it all.

"Arielle," I say, "I've done this before^×more times than I care to remember."

"So have I," she says, kissing me again.

"I'm sick of it," I say.

"So am I," she says.

"Make a muscle," I say.

She bends her arm and her tight little biceps pops up. I put my hand on it. It
is as a polo ball. I kiss her. She puts the tip of her tongue out. It is
clearly an invitation.

"Let's go back in el Golfo," she says. "I am in need of orgasms."

In her arms after multiple O's in 'el Golfo', I ask, "What did you say to
those guys?"

Arielle puts her tongue in my ear.

I pull away. "Stop it! What did you say?" She grabs at my
still-too-sensitive-to-touch pussy.

"Would you stop!" I demand, scooting away.

She smiles her dazzling smile. "OK. First I asked 'what's the fucking problem,
assholes, you never saw two muscle girls,' and when they didn't say anything,
I told them if they didn't want anything to go back to their holes.'"

"Jesus," I say. "Spanish is a very colorful language. You're tough."

"I'm not the tough one," she says. "They were looking at your muscles and I
think they were afraid to tangle with you."

I kiss her, and then draw back. "I have to leave tomorrow," I say.

"So do I," she says.

"Can I see you tonight?" I ask.

Arielle draws near. She kisses me deeply. "Make a muscle," she says. I bend my
arm and she squeezes my big biceps. "I wish you would see me tonight and more
nights somewhere after that," she says. "I want to fuck with you many more
times."

The End