FROM BEST FRIENDS TO SOUL MATES Part 2 by Mike Snow - written for DTM / Amy's Conquest *** The Below is an extended segment from this story, written for us by one of the best authors I've read in a long time now, Mike Snow! For the Full Story of "From Best Friends To Soul Mates (Part 2)", please visit our Member's Section at Amy's Conquest (www.amysconquest.com), or purchase it on its own on our AC site. Thanks all, and as always, hope you Enjoy! *** ******************** His hands slid upwards to the outsides of her thighs, partly from his misguided survival instinct (had she wanted to squash his head flat, his resistance would've meant nothing to her), but mostly to feel pliable bulk of the muscles beneath her smooth, soft skin flex into marble hardness. Her abs tensed again as she pulled her legs toward her chest in a sort of lying leg-lift -- only here he was the one being lifted. He gripped the rock-solid flesh on either side of his head to relieve the pressure on his neck, his fingers finding purchase on the teardrop-shaped muscles just above her knees. The motion of her legs, driven by her armored core, dragged him across the couch so that now his nearly limp form lay over her, suspended by the grip of her legs around his head. When she'd pulled him as far as she could, until his head was nearly over her breasts, his hands slid down the silk-coated stone of her thighs, over the enormous coiled power of her hips, and onto the corrugated plain of her abdominals. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her grin still in place. She stared at him for a moment, saying nothing. "Remember when you said, 'Don't hold back'?" she asked. She chuckled softly, huskily, and reached a hand up to tweak his nose, still held immobile by the muscular thighs around his head. "You have no idea," she said, still smiling. Her legs opened suddenly, but before he could fall, she swung them downward and snapped her calves around his waist. Gripping him tightly, she extended her legs, contracted her abs, and raised him into the air directly above her. Her smile remained unchanged. "No. Idea." She reached back above her head to grip the arm-rest for leverage, then began slowly to sway his body from side to side, causing her obliques to contract and spring into sharp relief around her bra strap. "Comfy?" His eyes travelled from the armor-plated muscles of her torso, up past the cleft between her breasts, and found her smiling eyes. He swallowed. "Uh... uh-huh," he managed, nodding dumbly. In a liquid, lurid voice, she asked, "How about now?" He saw the muscles on her inner thighs bulge slightly, and his waist suddenly felt as if it were about to cave in. The enormity of the pressure, of her power, startled him into a near panic. He arched his back and reached for her knees in a futile effort to try to pry apart her legs, but the moment he touched her flesh, the pressure abated. His heart was racing, his breath coming in sudden, frightened gasps. Her expression softened into an amused sympathy. "Ooo, baby," she cooed, chuckling slightly. "I'm sorry. I might've gotten a little carried away there." "A little?" he asked. "Well... it certainly wasn't a lot, now, was it?" He laughed. "I guess not." He kept his hands on her knees. "But could you, maybe, let me down? This kinda hurts." "Let you down? But we just got started," she said, looking innocently at him. "Tell you what. Let's compromise." She bent her knees toward her chest, then straightened them, flinging him into the air. From the couch, she skipped to her feet and caught his midsection over her shoulder as he fell back down. He let out an "oof" as he folded over her muscular shoulder, his head hanging inches from the rolling hills of her well-muscled lower back, his legs dangling down the front of her torso. She wrapped an arm around his hips, giving his ass a firm squeeze, and spun on her toes toward his bedroom. She stepped easily, smoothly, not wanting to put any more strain on his waist just in case she'd bruised it. Eeeasy, girl, she thought, smiling. Play nice. She wrapped her free hand lightly around the lower end of one his legs and slid it slowly upward, her fingers brushing along the inside of his thigh. She felt his erection lurch against her shoulder. Hanging behind her, he watched the hemispheres of her glorious ass alternately flex with each step. His hands wrapped around her midsection, feeling her abs, then working their way around the stranded muscles in her sides. "That's nice, baby, but would you mind doing something a little more useful with those? You could save me some time by undoing that clasp by your chin." They'd entered his bedroom. He reached up and slipped the hooks out of the eyes in her bra strap. No sooner did he let go than he felt her grip both sides of his hips, power him upward, and send him sailing and tumbling in a half-rotation across the room. He landed on his back on the bed, bounced once and came to rest. He looks up at her. The orange street-lights shine through the raindrops still falling on the windows, casting a soft, undulating, gauzy light onto the statuesque body standing at the foot of his bed. She tilts her head to one side and slides the fingers of her right hand up the crease between her abdominal muscles, across her left breast, and under the thin bra strap over her shoulder. She pivots her body around the strap so that when her left arm has pulled free of the bra, her back is to him. He watches her roll her left shoulder back slowly, causing her traps to bunch. She lets her arm fall from her broad shoulder to her side, where it hangs slightly away from her relatively narrow hips. He stares at the wide muscularity of her upper back, the dramatic V-shaped sweep made by her lats leading to her narrow waist. She turns her head over her right shoulder, her hair partially covering her face, and stares into his eyes. With her right hand, she slides the last strap off her body, letting the bra fall to the floor. She turns her body slowly toward him and crawls onto the bed. Her triceps and shoulders bulge in the dim light as they carry her torso over his legs, then his hips, then his chest. She rocks back, sitting on his upper thighs, grabs his underwear in both hands and tears it from his body. Her smile is gone; her lips part slightly, and her tongue lightly moistens them. Slipping her thumbs into either side of her panties, she pulls until the fabric gives way and tosses the ruined undergarment aside. She leans down over him, a feline motion, and drags her erect nipples over his flat stomach and then his chest, as she pressed her lips into his neck. His head back, his eyes closed, he reaches a hand between her legs and feels her moist heat. She lifts her lips to his ear and breathes, almost pleadingly, "Yes." He slips himself inside her, and she rocks her hips back, pulling him into her and arching her spine forward so she can lock her lips with his. He slides his hands up the hard, writhing muscles of her sides and back as she thrusts gently back and forth. One of her hands remains planted on the bed; the other slips behind his upper back and pulls his torso off the bed, mashing his chest into hers. Her tongue pushes into his mouth, shoving his out of its way, overwhelming his desire with her strength. He begins to thrust his hips into hers, and their pace quickens. She lowers him to the bed and rises above him, her hips pumping faster and faster, her arms now folding into her hair, losing herself in the sensation of their coupling. He watches her abs contract and stretch, driving her into him. As she nears her climax, her eyes close and the speed of her thrusting hips increases, faster still. He has to lower his hands to her waist, first to try to slow her down, and then, when the impossibility of that becomes clear, to hold tight and keep from being thrown into the headboard. The entire bed is moving now, pushed by hips that are rocking faster than he would have thought possible. The sensation it gives him -- her colossal strength and the utter helplessness of his position, combined with the firm, wet friction of his shaft sliding rapidly into and out of her -- overwhelms him. She's moaning, her pitch rising, and he feels himself nearing the edge. She screams and he releases into her. Her pace slows, becoming gentle, almost languid, and she folds herself forward onto him, her arms stretched on either side of his head, her lips closing around the muscles of his neck, then his jawline, then his lips. She rolls off of him, leaving one leg draped over his, and nestles into his shoulder with her arm across his chest. He wraps both arms around her upper torso, feeling her heat and the raw sexuality of her firm, superhuman muscles. Minutes pass before their breathing slows and neither can muster the strength to speak. He is the first, and tells her he loves her, and she follows with those exact words to him. *** By the time Mark's lease ended, he'd been living at her apartment for two months. It was larger, and had a lap pool and fitness center on the lowest level. Both became late-night playgrounds for him and Kira. As when she was a girl first testing her strength, they'd wait until the building slept and then slip into the workout areas. She would take him on her back and dive into the water, then pump her powerful limbs to rocket them underwater the length of the pool as he held tight to her neck. In the gym, she'd coach him through workouts as he pushed himself, trying to impress her with his dedication, if not the weight. And he did, though rare was the night when they'd make it through all of his sets without her casually demonstrating the vast gap between the limits of his strength and hers. Sometimes, she'd be subtle, like the night he finished a full set of seated one-arm curls with 40-pounders for the first time and, exhausted, dropped the dumbbells to the floor, his arms aching. "Good job baby," she told him, and she meant it. Then, "Here, let me rack those for you." She walked in front of where he sat and bent towards him until her face was barely an inch from his, then stood smoothly back up holding the weights. When he looked down, he saw she gripped them only by the index fingers on each hand. She backed up two steps, smiling at him, and turned, her single finger lightly bouncing the weight his arm had struggled to lift, as she walked to the rack. Another night, as he finished a set of bench presses with 235 pounds on the bar, he reached back to lower it into its cradle, but as he dropped his spent arms, he heard no clanking metal. She had placed her palm under the center of the bar, and held it motionless mere inches from the supports. She had worn no T-shirt this night, only a black sports bra, so her bulging shoulders were on full display. He began to sit up, but she slipped off her right sneaker, raised her leg, and pushed down on his chest with the ball of her foot. As he collapsed back into the bench, he looked up at her while she made and exaggerated gesture of checking the fingernails on the hand that held the weight he'd barely been able to press. Slowly, she swung it to her side and began to curl it to her shoulder, watching her bicep bulge easily to overcome the weight. Directly above him, her calf muscle flared as it pushed her foot into his chest, holding him immobile. Grinning, he lifted the hand farthest from her field of vision and ran the nail of his index finger quickly up the arch of her foot. She yelped, pulling the foot back. Laughing, he tried to sit up and make a getaway, but she swung the bar back around, slammed it into the cradle, leapt over it while keeping a hand on it to help her pivot in mid-air, then landed, straddling him on the bench. He exhaled sharply as her impact knocked the wind out of him. She reached behind her head and pulled out the hair tie holding her ponytail in place, then gripped the bar and leaned over him. Her hair spilled down around her face. "That," she said, smiling down at him, "was dirty pool." He grinned back up at her. "Even Wonder Woman has her weakness," he said, as he placed his hands on her thighs. Beneath the bench, her ankles crossed, and he felt the pressure on his torso increase. "Uh huh," she said, her eyes looking dominantly into his. "You know, they say a little bit of knowledge...," her thighs closed in on either side of him, pressing into the padding and then the metal of the bench beneath his hips, "can be a dangerous thing." He heard the sound of tortured metal bending beneath him as the bench's steel base surrendered to her thighs, compressing lightly upward against his hips. She closed her eyes and let out a soft, deep moan, then looked back down at him. "Mmmm... If I were you, I'd be real careful with that." The pressure on his torso relaxed as she unclasped her ankles. She stood over him, legs spread on either side of him. She lifted her arms and flexed her biceps, then lowered her fists to her hips. She flexed the muscles in her torso, the ridges in her arms rising, her shoulders and traps bulging. Flaring lats expanded her upper body, while her tensed abdominals compressed her narrow waist into marble relief. She shook her head to flip her hair over her shoulders, and smiled down at his awestruck face. "Don't tug on Supergirl's cape, sweetie." He sat up slowly and wrapped his hands around her tense glutes, feeling their solidity beneath the slippery fabric of her workout shorts. His hands moved lightly up, caressing her lower back, as he pressed his lips to the v-shaped lower abdominals peeking out above her shorts. As he worked his way upward, licking and kissing the silk-covered iron of her abdomen, she lowered herself onto him and wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him between her breasts. His hands moved to her upper back, his fingers probing its thick muscularity, playing over the hills and valleys of her dense body. She wriggled slowly against him, causing the muscles beneath his hands to writhe and bunch and stretch. As her broad neck came within reach, he lifted his head to it as she bent hers back. One of his hands rounded the corner of her lats and found her breast, fondling it gently. "Mmmmm... harder," she whispered toward the ceiling. He slightly increased the pressure on her firm flesh. "Harder," she said again, a little louder this time. He pinched her hard nipple between his fingers. "Harder!" She felt him hesitate, and the spell of the moment was broken. She put her hands gently on the sides of his face and pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. "Baby," she said, gently but with an undercurrent of exasperation, "you know what 'Harder' means, right?" "That was pretty hard," he said, a little defensively. "I just didn't want to..." She raised her eyebrows, letting the absurdity of his unspoken words hang in the air between them. "You didn't want to... hurt me?" She stroked his cheek and sighed, then stood. "Get up." He stood and followed her away from the bench. She turned to face him, and tapped her abdomen with her palm before crossing her hands behind her lower back. Looking him squarely in the face, she said, "Hit me." He froze. "Go ahead." "No," he said, shaking his head. "It's OK." "No, it isn't." She sighed, amused. "Yeah, it really is." "No, it's not! It's not OK! I'm not going to hit you!" He was genuinely horrified by the idea of striking a woman, and she melted a little at his chivalrousness, misplaced though it was at this moment. She brought her right hand from around her back and placed it lightly on the side of his neck, her thumb brushing his cheek. "You're adorable," she said. "And I love you." She rotated her hand and brought her fingers around to hold his jaw. Her grip tightened. She pushed up slowly, and his hands gripped her wrist to relieve some of the pressure. His feet left the ground as her arm extended. He had asked her to try this once, months ago; she had resisted, afraid she'd hurt him, but he convinced her. It hurt like hell then -- afterward, he felt like an idiot for thinking it wouldn't -- but he had tried to hide it from her so she wouldn't feel guilty. It hurt like hell now, too, but he tried not to wince as he looked down into her relaxed, tender eyes. It's even easier for her this time, he realized. Seeing the way she looked at him, he realized she knew that it hurt the first time, and she knew it hurt now, too. But she also knew he wasn't moulded from porcelain, that this wasn't more than he could handle. More important, she had a point to make: When you asked me to do it, I didn't like it, but I did it. "You have encouraged me and goaded me and pushed me to explore just how far I can take myself," she said evenly, holding him above her. "You've helped me learn a lot -- a lot -- about this body of mine. But there are a few things you need to learn about it, too." The pressure on his jaw and neck were becoming unbearable, yet her arm remained rock-steady and she sounded and looked as calm as if she were holding a docile puppy. "I'm going to put you down, and we're going to try this again." She lowered him to his feet, released his jaw and put her hands behind her back again. "Now... hit me." He worked his jaw back and forth to loosen it, and massaged it with one of his hands. He still was not wild about the idea, but she wasn't going to be deterred. "OK," he said. He turned his left shoulder slightly toward her and crouched into the boxing stance she'd taught him during their cardio sessions. His eyes locked on the muscles of her core. "Um..." he said. "What is it, baby?" she asked. "How do I do this without breaking my hand?" "I'm not going to flex." He looked up at her and let his arms fall to his sides. His shoulders slumped as he relaxed his stance. "So how the hell ... ?" "Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me," she interrupted, her face soft but impassive, her gaze steady. "Ever?" Checkmate, he thought. He breathed in deeply and dropped back into his stance, one leg behind the other to help his hips power his fist forward. Breath. Breath-breath-breath. THUMP! His fist bounced off the firm -- though not hard -- flesh of her abdomen. Other than the small patch of flesh he touched, she moved not a millimeter. "Good. But you can do better," she said, her voice taking on exactly the tone she used when serving as his trainer. She sounded no different then when she was pushing him for one more rep, one more cardio circuit: "Again." He lined up. "Don't puss out this time," she said. He bristled a little. OK, he thought, and let another punch fly. This one had his body behind it. The way she handled the first shot had taken away some of his fear, though not his instinctual aversion to what he was doing. But his desire to do what she'd asked was amplified by the twinge of anger her comment had intentionally aroused. And after years of training with her -- strengthening his muscles and honing his form -- the blow was substantial, enough to end a fight with most men. Still, it wasn't the best he could've done. He'd made his target the skin of her stomach and not, as would be the case with a proper punch, the space several inches behind it. Part of his mind still wouldn't let him hit her with everything he had. *** Continued in our Amy's Conquest (www.amysconquest.com) Exclusive, Members Only, Text Stories Section OR purchase it individually with our site's Updated Format. ***