The Story Of Amelia

Chapter Four

For a split-second, Amelia felt a surge of anger rising within her at his unbiddened familiarity. Her first inclination was to give him a blistering reply, something about him keeping his mind on business. But as she looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but a strong, sensual appreciation for what he was seeing, she quickly changed her mind.

"So-ooo, you really don't mind a little extra muscle in a woman?" Amelia murmered.

"Not when it's so well-packaged," he replied with a grin. "I hope you don't take offense, but are you really as strong as you look?"

"Would you care to find out," Amelia purred in a soft voice. "How about a little test of strength?"

With that, Amelia stood up and leaned over her desk, planting one elbow on the top, with her forearm raised and hand slightly curled. She gave Anthony a slow grin of challange.

"How about a little arm-wrestling," she invited.

"Hey, I'd love it," Anthony laughed. Quickly shedding his jacket, he moved around to the other side of the massive desk. He placed his own elbow down, raised his hand, and let his long fingers grip hers. His eyes traveled to her arm, wishing that it wasn't concealed by the long silken sleeves so that he could see the ripple and play of her sleekly sculpted muscles.

As if reading his mind, Amelia reached up with her other hand and began to slowly roll up the sleeve of her silken blouse, exposing inch-by-inch her sunbronzed arm to Anthony's eager gaze. With a lazy grin, Amelia slowly rotated an arm until her triceps were exposed, tightened her fist, and watched as en etched V of smooth muscularity rose up against the firm skin. Then, just as slowly, she rotated the arm back to a point where she could clench her fist and curl the forearm, first upward and then downward, flexing her hard-rounded bicep.

Anthony felt a shiver of excitement scamper along his spine as his eyes took in the sight of the sinuous movement along her upper arm. MY GOD! This woman was incredible. She possessed an arm almost as cut and defined as his own, Anthony realized. Yeah, but would she also have the strength that goes with those muscles . . . strength enough to give him a good long contest? Anthony liked pitting his strength against women. He liked that a lot.

"Are you ready?" she asked. He nodded. Then, without warning, her fingers crushed inward against his, and she began levering his arm down to the desk. But he quickly put his own strength to work, and stopped the downward movement of their arms. For a couple of seconds they were in stalemate, neither able to lever the other's arm down. Then, slowly but surely, Anthony pressed Amelia's arm off-center and levered it down toward the desktop. It was only a fraction of an inch at a time, but he was prevailing in their silent battle of strength. Then, with a final wrench, Anthony took her arm flat onto the surface of the desk. Pinned!

"Wow! You're good!" Amelia exclaimed, a gleam of excitement in her jade-green eyes. It was the first time in years that any man had been able to defeat her at wrist-wrestling, and she was impressed. Amelia also felt a tell-tale tingling in her loins. This man was turning her on!

The contest of strength had even further excited Anthony. It showed in his heavy-lidded eyes and the quickening of his breath. He reached out with one hand, forefinger extended, and traced the smooth bulge of her bicep. His fingers slid around the muscle, discovering that he couldn't reach even half way around that splendidly flexed bicep. Then, to the accompaniment of Amelia's sharp intake of breath, his fingers trailed down and along the underslope of one jutting breast through the silk. His hand cupped the soldidity of it, slowly squeezing while a thumb traced a slow circle around her stiffened nipple.

He moved against her, folding her almost roughly into his arms. For a split-second she fought him, then his lips were kissing hers; hungry, demanding, penetrating, and she melted against his hard body. The hands grasping her sleek shoulders were like iron. Anthony was as physically strong as any man she had ever known. Amelia also realized that he was a male who was used to having his own way with women.

Amelia ran her hands down his sides, then reaching around to caress his powerful back, feeling the shifting play of heavy platelike bands of male musculature. Then her eager fingers reached down to cup his taut buttocks, one hard half-globe in each hand. It was like squeezing a pair rubber beach balls. Meanwhile, Amelia was taking in the subtle signals being made by his lips and busy tongue.

The very harshness of his kiss was revealing. Amelia could tell that he was trying to communicate something to her. The silent confessions of lips, of sighs, of strongly gripping fingers; all of these signals were saying one thing, that he enjoyed pain! If that was the case, Amelia thought to herself, then he probably also enjoyed being dominated by a strong, commanding female.

Ah-hhhh, with that knowledge she had the handsome young lawyer just where she wanted him. The way in which Anthony stared at Amelia's smoothly sculpted muscularity spoke a thousand words; there was no doubt but that this man would not settle for a single arm-wrestling match. His maleness would demand that he wrestle-fuck this stunning young Amazon, and Amelia somehow knew that she would be in for a memorable experience. This guy would want to play rough. Amelia smiled at the man with her lips, but her eyes had become glacier-cold, her body strumming with tension, as she realized what his secret passion really was.

Like most men, Anthony could not admit to a woman that he actually wanted to be "handled". So instead, the handsome young lawyer resorted to attempted physical domination of a woman, secretly hoping that she would him fight back and prove her own female strength. He admired strength, but hated weakness.

The problem was that if the woman could not or would not fight him, then his frustration turned to an abusive anger. He would MAKE her fight him, one way or the other. The alternative all too often led to the hapless female being injured in the course of their struggles. This was not, Amelia somehow understood, about rape. Instead, this was very much about domination. The man simply wanted a woman to make him submit to her, instead of the other way around. If this was indeed his game, then he had picked the right player!

A silent growl rumbled deep in Amelia's broad chest as she prepared to engage in erotic combat with this hunk of a male. But first there would be foreplay . . . highly erotic foreplay that would eventualy lead to a sexual confrontation that could only partially be called "wrestling".

As a test, Amelia reached swiftly down and slid one hand under the waistband of Anthony's trousers. She didn't have to search. His cock was already thick with desire, bulging out against the front of his shorts. She gripped his shaft with her fingers and began to squeeze softly, a slow rhythmic pressure that brought a hot gasp of pleasure from his lips.

Meantime, Anthony's fingers were working with the buttons on her silken blouse. He fumbled with one buttom, and with a growl of impatience Anthony ripped the blouse away from her splendid upper torso. Amelia stepped back an inch or two, and for a second it appeared that she was going to strike him. But instead, she reached out and began to undress him. They seemed to enjoy the slow unveiling of their bodies to one another. Without the silk blouse, her breasts were revealed in all their ripe, melon-solid magnificence. The beauty of her strong, sleek body took his breath away. And Anthony's deep-chested, broad-shouldered, athletic muscularity brought a gleam of pleasure to her eyes. They were both naked now, their bare flesh goosebumping from the slight chill in the room. And then they moved together.

Once again Anthony folded Amelia into his arms, tightening them around her back until she could hardly catch her breath. They stood there, pressed hard against one another, their lips locked and tongues grappling. His hot, purple-veined penis stood straight up between their bodies, pressing against the delicious flatness of her supple belly. A gasp escaped Amelia's lips, as she felt his fingers slowly exploring between her legs. She was, as both of them discovered, already wet with need.

"Mmm-mmm," she murmered deliciously in his ear. "yes, lover-man, I'm ready for you . . . in more ways than one!"

Without a word, Anthony took her down to the thickly carpeted floor and covered her with his weight. His hands grabbed both of her wrists, spread-eagled her arms, and pinned them to the floor. He had expected more fight from her, was frustrated by not feeling her female power. Could it be that this Miss Rich Bitch had the muscle, but not the strength? But then, without warning, he had his answer.

Her muscular thighs snaked up and around his hips, her solidly sinewed calves clamped across his lower back, slim ankles twined and locked. Amelia had imprisoned Anthony within the oldest wrestling hold known to man, or woman . . . the primordial love-scissors! And then Amelia began to squeeze Anthony within naked bondage of her long, muscular thighs.

Anthony gave a sharp gasp of pain, and tried to roll away from Amelia. But with a quick shake of her legs, she brought him back under control. She fought against the grip of his hands around her wrists, making the superb muscles in her arms and shoulders writhe and ripple. After a moment or two, she was able to work free of his grip. Amelia twisted around until she was riding his back, her thighs still scissored around him. Her arms came up under his armpits, while both hands clasped together behind his neck in a strongly applied full-nelson. And, suddenly, Anthony realized that he could not move.

Her two holds had left the young man totally immobilized. She was now the aggressor, like some glorious mythical young Amazon, completely in control of what was now taking place on that thickly carpeted floor. Amelia had turned the tables. And while she could not hope for an easy victory, Amelia found herself caught up in the delicious desire to subdue Anthony's male strength, and make him completely submissive to her.

No longer was it foreplay that they were engaged in on the carpet. Instead, it was something far more elemental, far more primordial. It was the pure Amazonian impulse to test the strength of a potential mate that had seized Amelia. It was natural selection at work. This was the age-old process, always hinted at in Amazon mythology, of the female of the species attempting to seek out the best potential male breeding stock. This was now the ultimate test between an Amazon and her potential mate . . . a physical battle of supremacy!

This had turned into a wrestling match, male against female! And Amelia was under no misconception as to what would happen if she couldn't make the young lawyer submit to her amazonian strength. He might enjoy pain, but Amelia didn't. This wasn't about inflicting pain as far as Amelia was concerned, it was about domination and subjegation! And thus it was about sex. Amelia loved sex, especially what she called "wrestle-fucks". So she wanted nothing better than to take her time and enjoy the erotic slither and slide of bare flesh, the feel of sweat-slippery skin, and the feel of muscles rippling and flexing together as their two naked bodies wrestled.

On the other hand, Anthony was caught up in a frenzied mood that seemed to demand that he test the full extent of the exciting female strength possessed by this magnificent young Amazon. Despite his natural male need to be dominant, the young lawyer discovered that he was strangely hungry to be overcome by this beautiful woman; to be taken by this superbly muscled female, rather than him playing the usual role of the male aggressor. And this was so unlike him that Anthony could not really understand what motivated this bizarre masochistic desire. But he wasn't able to pursue that line of thought for very long. He was too busy experiencing the erotic mixture of pleasure and pain as he lay grappled within the sweat-soaked silken prison of this young Amazon's splendidly muscled limbs.

For several long minutes the two of them strained together in silent combat. The only sound was that of their harshly panting breath and the soft slurp and slither of sweat-filmed flesh rubbing together. It was as if their two naked bodies moved swiftly from one hold to the next without conscious thought or plan. As they rolled across the carpet, with first one on top and then the other, their eyes were wide and staring . . . as if each was watching a movie playing out upon an inner visual screen, their minds completely caught up in the personal sexual fantasies in which each was engrossed. Amelia, as was usually the case when engaged in an erotic wrestle with a man, was reliving the memories of her sweaty bouts with her Uncle Hugh.

Slowly but surely, his greater weight began to tell in their bizarre test of strength. Amelia now found herself pinned beneath Anthony's naked body, straining with all her tigerish strength to dislodge him from her. But he had managed to grape-vine her long legs with his, spreading them wide apart for better balanced in keeping her pinned flat against the carpet. One of his arms had slid around her neck, levering the soft column of her throat between his bicep and forearm, threatening to cut off her air. There seemed to be little that she could do at this point, other than conserve her strength and wait for an opening. Amelia was not, however, in control of the situation. And that bothered her!

They lay face-to-face with his chest pressing down against the solid globes of her breasts; belly to belly, loins locked, thighs entwined. Anthony squirmed atop the magnificently muscled female body beneath him. He was enjoying the feel of her sweat-slippery flesh against his own, just as he enjoyed the ripple and roll of healthy musculature writhing against him. And he knew that he was turning her on.

Anthony knew the tell-tale signs of Amelia's arousal; her nipples were now as stiff and hard as bullets, there was a wetness between her thighs whcih wasn't just sweat, and he felt a tremor coursing through her body. Yes, she was ready . . . but not yet willing. Well, he couldn't wait . . . he had to have this magnificent Amazon NOW!

The thick shaft of his penis had worked its way down into the V between her thighs, the engorged rounded head insistantly demanding entry into her already lubricated cleft. But Amelia scissored his cock between her thighs, holding him prisoner. She levered her muscular thighs together, scissoring and squeezing his heavy penis in a slow rythmic movement. It was as if his big dick was being milked, and Anthony felt the stirrings of an orgasm approaching. NO! Not yet . . . it was too soon, Anthony cursed to himself.

Frustrated almost beyond measure, Anthony raised one hand and started to slap Amelia, determined to make her release his throbbing cock. But the splendid young Amazon beneath him reacted first. She bucked like a wild mare, and Anthony slipped to one side. She quickly rolled their bodies over until she was on top, pinning his sweaty body beneath her supple weight. She knew that this strange young man had been goaded to his limit, and that he was about ready to transform their erotic wrestling match into all out rape. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and she knew that it was. But there was that perverse impulse, that desire to take this male to his absolute limit before subjugating him in a final pin that made Amelia take the gamble.

Her thighs suddenly released Anthony's trapped penis, and she sent them crawling up and around his hips. She drew him against her body with her legs, and then quickly lifted them higher around his waist. Meanwhile, her superbly muscled arms had worked themselves around his thick neck in a torturous headlock. Once she had secured the scissors and headlock to her satisfaction, Amelia began putting on the pressure. It then took her less than a minute to defeat the handsome young man whom she held prisoner within the grasp of her mighty arms and legs.

"OK, you've got me . . . I give", came Anthony's muffled voice.

Ah-hhhhh, those were the sweetest words Amelia could have possibly heard. And now that she had humbled the young lawyer in their bizarre test of strength, it was time for her to taste victory. Continuing to maintain her scissors, Amelia slowly scootched down the length of his sweat-drenched body, alternately releasing and tightening her thighs as she climbed down along him. Then, so swiftly that Anthony was caught totally by surprise, she reversed her position. They were now locked together in the classic 69 position, with her cheek nestled against his still-stiffened cock, while he had his face jammed into the moist, hot bush of pubic hairs that stood guard over her vagina.

Without saying a word, Amelia took Anthony's big cock into her mouth, clamping her lips around the hard shaft and biting down ever so gently with her teeth. Anthony froze!

For the first time in his adult life, Anthony was freightened of a woman. This young Amazon had only to bite down, and he would be neutered like a gelding.

"No-ooooo, please don't hurt me", Anthony stammered out. His mouth was still pressed so tightly against her crotch that he could hardly get the words out. He began sobbing like a baby, as scared as he had ever been. "I'll do anything you ask, but please let go of me," the man continued to beseech the Amazon who held him prisoner.

"Well, for starters you can get that tongue of yours working," Amelia laughed down at him. "And I don't mean for talking. Take your time, big boy, you and me are going to remain locked up like this until I've enjoyed the full measure of my victory. And if you're a good boy, we'll then see about taking care of your needs, too."

One thing was certain, young Anthony would not be billing this time at his usually high lawyer's fees. This afternoon's session would be on the house, so to speak!