Olive's Rival By Mark (Marknew742@aol.com) Spinach helps Olive deal with the voluptuous Betsey Breasty. And Popeye. 1 Popeye lifted Bluto by the belt buckle with one hand and threw him one hundred feet into the air. Bluto screamed in fear and flapped his arms helplessly to get away from his supercharged foe, but his bloated body fell straight as a stone. Popeye watched him fall, then took a quick step backwards and drop kicked him across the town, right onto the top of the town trash dump. "Har-har-har-har-har!" Popeye guffawed, to the closing strains of the episode's music. "I really socked it to him this time, didn'ts I Olive?" he said, as the camera's red light dimmed. "Poor Bluto. I hope you didn't kill him," murmured Olive, looking concerned. "Aww nonsense! He's always back for the next cartoon, big and ugly as ever." "Still, I wish you boys would try to be friends. It's not right fighting all the time," Olive warned. "Gorsh, you women. Ye have no sense of fun about these things." He looked at her, annoyed. Just then, Betsey Breasty walked by, her 44DDD chest waving a hearty good afternoon to Popeye. "Va-va-va-voom!" he said, his eyes popping three inches outside his face. "Hubba-hubba." "Hello sailor," she purred in her deep, melodious voice. "You're a handsome guy. Do you have anything for me in that cute, white uniform?" Popeye's heart pounded visibly through his suit, then, his spinach enhanced prick tore through his trousers like they were paper, extending a foot toward Betsey like a heavy iron bar. "Oh my!" she said blushing, her voice a half tone higher. "What a strong looking man you are!" "Popeye! You're not decent!" Olive exclaimed. She took him by the arm, but he shrugged her off, sending her flying into a mud hole across the street. She struggled to pull herself up, the mud sticking to her as she looked toward Popeye and Betsey. "So you like to play r-r-r-rough, Sailor?" Betsey said throatily. "I'm busy now, but maybe you should give a me call a wee bit later." Popeye threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, his pectoral muscles forming bowling balls that rolled down his arms, sounding a loud strike when they reached his fingers. "I'd be glad to, Miss , uh, Miss." "Breasty," she breathed. "Of course!" he said. "See you later then, big boy." She turned and sashayed away, her ass wiggling to the drumbeat of Popeye's heart." "Popeye. Popeye!" Olive called in her high pitched voice. "Help me get out of here!" Popeye shook his head, remembering Olive, sighed, and then leapt across the street. Unfortunately, the spinach wore off in mid-air, and he landed in the mud knee deep, knocking Olive back down, and immersing both of them in muck. It took almost an hour for them to crawl out of the hole and then stagger back to Olive's house, dripping mud and water all the way home. Olive put their clothing in the washing machine and started shining Popeye's shoes as he read the newspaper. "I can't believe the way you behaved with that Betsey Breasty. It looked like you find her more attractive than me." "Well, Olive, she does have some nice, uh, qualities." "Oh I'm sure. And your suit, Popeye. Even if I get the mud out, you've completely ruined your trousers. Why can't you show a little self- control?" "It's the spinach, Olive. It makes a man even more manly. I can't help meself." "Well you should try harder." Popeye chuckled. "It can't be done. A man's gotta be a man, strong to the finish. That's something you'll never understand, Olive. You can't. Yer just a woman!" He stood up. "I'm going out. I'll be back fer my clothes later." He's probably going to visit that awful Betsey Breasty, thought Olive. Men! If only that spinach worked on me, then I'd teach him a thing or two. She sighed and went back to shining his shoes then had another idea and went out. 2 Popeye walked up to Betsey's door, holding a fistful of dandelions he had picked on the walk to her house. "Do-do-do. do do doodleoodledodo. Do-do-do. do do doodleoodledodo," he hummed and rang the doorbell. Betsey opened it, her chest pushing hard against the screen door. "Who are YOU?" "It's Popeye! We just met!" "Not you, runt. I met a big man, with a foot long schlong. You're just a little wimp." She slammed the door in his face. "Oh, so she likes 'em big, does she?" Popeye mumbled to himself. I've never balled a girl when on the stuff, but this is a time to be a hero! He pulled out his can of spinach and quickly downed it, ignoring the tasteless slimy feeling that always filled his mouth, and grinned as the power rippled through his body, his muscles doubling in size, quintupling in strength, and most importantly his tool growing and thickening with blood-rich muscle. He pushed down the door. "Now who's a runt?" he roared. Betsey walked out and gasped at the broken door, and then again at the massive prick that was rising beside her. "Now that's more like it! You sure know how to give a girl what she wants! If you'll just let me slip into something more -- Popeye grabbed her and ripped her dress from her body in an instant, then held her close, burying his face in her bountiful bosom, while she clutched his back with her nails, luxuriating in the hard fullness of his muscle. With two leaps, Popeye flew up the stairs into her bed, carrying her with him effortlessly, and quickly he was pumping his shaft deep into her. "Oh yes!" she cried. "I've never, ohmygod, I never, oh my, oh my, yes, yes -- -- And Popeye grunted, pistoning harder and harder into her, the pressure rising deliciously in his balls, filing them -- "Oh yes, so full, so good, yes, yes, YES!" she cried, and with a mighty groan, Popeye flooded her with a pummeling torrent of cum. "Ahhh," Popeye mumbled, shrinking back to his normal size as he fell off to sleep. "Mmmmm," Betsey moaned, squeezing the last few drops from Popeye as she gazed unseeingly at the ceiling, deep in a post-orgasmic trance. "Wow!" shouted Olive, peeping through the window, as she watched Betsey's body briefly turn spinach green and expand with muscle before she reverted to her usual femininely voluptuous form. She clambered quickly down the ladder, tripping on the last step and falling into another mud hole, before she hurried home. 3 Olive was cooking up a storm when Popeye sheepishly arrived, well into the evening. "Uh, hi Olive! Just came by to gets me stuff." "Popeye! Won't you stay for dinner? I have my special beef stew all ready for you!" "Beef stew! Well blow me down! My favorite! But Olive, I -- "You must be tired from your walk, and hungry. Sit right down and start. I'll be right in." Popeye shrugged and wolfed down two bowls of stew before Olive joined him. He ate two more helpings while she ate daintily from her salad plate. "Gosh Olive, you sure can cook!" Olive looked down at her lap, pretending to blush. "Aw, Popeye. You say the nicest things. But excuse me a moment." She left the table, then returned in a bare negligee. "Yikes Olive! But shouldn't we wait? We're not married." "Popeye, seeing you, uh, rip your suit this afternoon made me realized what I've been missing. I'm a grown woman, and I'm ready." She handed him a can of spinach. "What's this?" "I saw what it can do. I want this to be a night I'll remember for the rest of my life.." Popeye mumbled to himself, "Well after Betsey, I'll need this to get it up with Olive!" Then, out loud, "OK Olive, if that's the way ya want it, but I'm warnin' ya. Ya never know what'll happen with spinach." "Oh Popeye, I'm counting on it!" "Well blow me down! Hagh-hagh-hagh-hagh." He downed the can of spinach and muscles burst from his skin in rigid formation. Olive began to sway her lean body like a python and Popeye's tool slowly rose within his suit. "Oh, no! I don't want to repair that again!" Olive stepped forward and undid the buttons of his fly, and Popeye's prick sprang out, startling Olive, who jumped into Popeye's waiting arms. "Hagh-hagh-hagh-hagh," he chuckled and bounded upstairs in three leaps, pulled off Olive's skirt, her slip, her girdle, her hose, her petticoat and finally her panties and plunged inside. Poor Olive screamed in pain, then held on for dear life as Popeye pumped vigorously and in less than a minute flooded her and fell asleep, reverting to his normal form. Olive meanwhile felt a surge of power, which quickly vanished, leaving her sore and quite unfulfilled. She slowly inched her way out from underneath her man and pondered the situation. "Well, in for a dime, in for a dollar," she declared. She headed back downstairs to the pantry and took down several cans of spinach and walked tenderly back upstairs, waited for Popeye to open his mouth and poured the first can down his throat. "Gah, gah," he gagged. "What're ya doin'?" "Popeye, I'm not ready to go to sleep yet." She traced her finger down his chest, his muscles bubbling up as she touched them, until she reached a crucial area, which politely rose to meet her forefinger. "Yer sure ya don't have some cleanin' to do?" Olive shook her head. "Well I'll be!" he replied, scratching his head and pulled her down, pushing himself inside her again and pumping away. Olive struggled to match his rhythm. "Hey, cut it out Olive. Keep still. This is a man's job," he barked as he burst with semen and immediately fell back asleep, shrinking again to his regular size. Olive saw her muscles expand for a minute, then subside. She still couldn't see what the fuss about sex was all about. She crawled out from under him again, rubbed lotion into her rubbed-raw private parts and emptied another can of spinach into Popeye's mouth. "Yowl!" he moaned as he awoke with a start. "Yer gonna kill me. Yer not some nymphomaniac, are ya?" "Oh, Popeye, don't you think a girl's first night should be special?" "Well, sure Olive, but." They both watched as Popeye's form slowly filled out, his erect member rising to face Olive. "Popeye, I could swear it was bigger the first time." Popeye could see for himself that his tool was only half the length it was that afternoon. "Nonsense!" he declared, firmly, then added. "But even Popeye gets a little tired." "Then maybe you can take it slow this time instead of hurrying." She pushed him willingly onto the bed and climbed on top of him, easing him inside her and finding a comfortable position, then rocking on top of him. Popeye was too tired to protest, and soon Olive found a delicious new sensation building within her, filling her with the buzzing of bees, the chirping of birds, the music of violins. She quickened her movements and felt the hardness of Popeye's rod within her change into a pleasure stick, awaking even more new feelings, until they merged into one great explosion of joy, coinciding nicely with another, more elemental explosion from Popeye. Once again, Popeye immediately fell asleep, snoring loudly. The effect on Olive was very different. She could feel a surge of energy rocket through her body, every part of her expanded to twice, then three times its normal size, then slowly began to subside. Olive climbed off Popeye and covered him with a blanket, then looked at herself in a mirror. She was still enormous, her skin was olive colored, even her eyes glowed neon green, in place of the usual mousey brown. She was filled with energy, much too much to sleep. So she went downstairs, to the kitchen. There was always some cooking to be done. 4 The next day was bright and cool, a perfect day for a picnic. Olive prepared a lunch basket, then awakened the sleeping sailor at 11:30 am. "Whoa! What time is it?!" "Almost noon, lover. Would you take me to the park? I've got lunch all packed." Popeye shook his head to get the cobwebs out. He'd never spent the night at Olive's before. What he really wanted was to go home and go back to sleep. But a picnic might be fun. He nodded and padded off to the toilet. "Dum, dum, dum, du scoo dooobedooobe dooo dum, dum, dum dum pee dump!" he sang. "Well, he doesn't seem much the worse for it," Olive said to herself. "It feels strange having a man in my bedroom, but he sure seems comfortable with himself., even his being a two-timer and all. I wonder if there were others too." She walked downstairs, thoughtfully at first, then more determined. 5 They walked through the park, Popeye holding the picnic basket, Olive holding Popeye's arm. "Oh look Popeye. Aren't these flowers beautiful?" But Popeye was looking in a different direction. "Hello sailor. I see you're busy again. Such a shame!" "Uh, hello Betsey. Nice weather." Olive stepped in front. "You leave my Popeye alone." "Why don't we let him decide, sweetie?" she purred in her dulcet contralto tone. "And I know just how to help him." She adjusted her bra, sending seismic waves through her dress, which Popeye followed avidly, then reached into one of the bounteous cups and pulled out a handful of spinach. "It's a good thing I ate some leftover spinach salad last night, or I never would have discovered this." She popped it into her mouth and put her hands on her hips. Suddenly, her chest swelled further, her breasts shredding her brassiere as mounds of pectoral muscles surrounded and lifted them. Her shoulders rose, her arms filled with muscle and her shapely legs grew rounder and harder. "Gagh!" said Popeye. "Spinach ain't never woiked on women. It ain't natural!" "Well, it sure looks natural on me, don't you think?" She took a breath, sending her firm globular breasts bouncing gently. Popeye's mouth watered. "Come on, Popeye. I think you've made your choice." He followed her like a puppy, dragging the picnic lunch behind him. "Popeye wait! Popeye!" Olive called behind him. "What about our picnic?" Betsey wrapped her big arm around him and propelled him forward, turning around only to say "I think your friend will be eating a different lunch today, sweetie. Toodle-oo!" Olive steamed with anger, especially when she realized that all of the spinach treats she'd made were packed in the basket Popeye took with him. 6 Betsey Breasty steered the mesmerized Popeye into her parlor. "Now, you little cutie, how about explaining to Betsey just how this works." "I dunno," Popeye said, holding his hands in the air. "Most people eat spinach and nuthin' happens. It woiks fer me 'n sometimes fer Bluto. But never fer a dame!" He stared at her mammoth breasts. "It sure woiks different fer you though." Betsey put her hands on her thin waist and slid them down to her thighs. "I LIKE it. But I want more. How do I get even bigger?" Popeye shrugged. "It don't come with a manual. It either woiks or it don't." "Hmmph. You're no help. Your brains must be no bigger than your muscles, and they're not too impressive right now anyway. She turned around, displaying her firm, round ass, and continued to herself, "Except maybe -- this all started after last night, after he had the spinach. What if --" "Well, won't you show me how it works on you, you dear man. I'm dying to see you get big again." "Uh, I don't know Betsey, I've been eatin' a lot of spinach lately, and -- Her eyes flashed. "If you won't take it yourself, I'll feed it to you, pipsqueak." She lifted him with one mighty arm, pulled another wad of spinach out of her breast and stuffed the warm, salty leaves into Popeye's mouth. She let Popeye drop to the floor as he chewed them, making sure he rubbed against her pillowy breasts while he slid down. As Popeye swallowed the spinach, he felt the strength pour into him and held his arms up to show Betsey his power. The biceps rose in his arms, then stopped short, just a few inches above the plane of his arm. "That's not very impressive sweetie. Haven't you been drinking your milk?" Popeye looked around in a panic. This wasn't right. He reached into his suit, pulled out a full can of spinach and downed it quickly. The old feeling rose in him. He flexed his arms. The muscle rose ... and subsided again, barely a quarter of an inch higher than the first time. Popeye was mystified, but Betsey seemed pleased. "It'll do. At least you'll be easy to handle." She took another handful of spinach and swallowed it, her chest puffing out to 52", her biceps almost 19". "That'll hold me for awhile." She picked Popeye up and carried him upstairs under one arm while he flailed away helplessly, not even strong enough even to slow her down. Once there, she ripped off his pants, his 5" erect member peeking out bashfully. "What's happened to you, little one?" she said, talking to Popeye's prick. "No matter, I'm sure it's still in working order." She climbed on top of him and straddled him, easing him inside. "Now, sweetie, let Betsey do all the work and this won't hurt a bit." She slid up and down on top of him, her vaginal muscles massaging him almost to orgasm, when Olive burst in, picnic basket in hand. "I thought I'd find you here, you two-timing worm! Well I've got a surprise for you!" She reached into the basket and pulled out a spinach pie. "This would have been for both of us, but instead I'm going to eat it all by myself." She stuffed the pie into her mouth and swallowed it, and like a python eating a pig, her body instantly expanded, her thin chest exploding, first developing breasts as large as Betsey's, then beneath them muscles the size of watermelons, which then spread along her arms and legs, until she was everywhere twice as big as Popeye had ever been, except for her twenty-one inch waistline, which stayed neatly in place. Then, with one hand she grabbed Betsey by her ample ass and threw her across the town, right onto the top of the town trash dump. "Gorsh Olive, look what's happened to ya! Thank goodness you've rescued me. I think I've learnt that screwin' and spinach don't go together" Olive raised an eyebrow, then leapt on top of Popeye. "You've been very naughty, Popeye, and I'm going to teach you a lesson!" She straddled him, taking Betsey's place, and started pumping him." "No, Olive. Don't. This screwin' on spinach is takin' away me power!" "Exactly," she said smugly. She pulled off her shirt, letting her extravagant breasts flow out into his face. "How about the old one-two, lover boy?" She tensed her breasts, which then hardened with muscle and popped out further from her chest, first the right, then the left, pummeling Popeye in the face. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right. "Mmmmmmm, what a delicious feeling, so stimulating." She increased the pace, her nipples hardening, until they became hard points slamming against poor Popeye's face. "Ouch, Olive! Ouch, ouch! Yer hurtin' me! "Well thanks, Popeye. That's good to know." She stopped, though, and instead, took her mammoth globes and pressed Popeye's face between them, then tightened again. "Agggh, Olive, can't breath. Please!" "But I thought you liked big breasts, at least you liked Betsey's," Olive teased. "Never mind, I, oh my, I think that thing is going to happen again!" She tensed her whole body, her muscles expanding to titanic dimensions as she came. Popeye spurted his fluids at the same time, and then immediately fell asleep and shrank down to his normal size, while Olive turned bright green, her biceps expanding to 40" then gradually began to subside. Olive looked over at him, fully satisfied and as happy as she could be, then picked him up and carried him back to her house before she reached her normal size. 7 A few hours later, Popeye awoke in Olive's bed. "YOW! Whadda nightmare!" He pulled on his clothes, which were arranged neatly on the chair next to the bed and went downstairs. "Popeye! Did you make the bed?" "Make the bed? Dang it, Olive, that's not a man's job." "I'm tired of doing it every day. If you're going to sleep in it, then you can make it half the time. You get right upstairs and do it." Popeye grit his teeth and kept on going down the stairs. "Silly woman. That's why I'll never get married. If I know one thing I know that women 'r fer the birds," he mumbled under his breath. "I'm going out," he called. "I'll be back fer dinner later." "Oh no! There's shopping and laundry for you to do, and I want you to learn how to make spinach pie!" "Hagh-hagh-hagh-hagh. Whadda joke." Olive slapped him. "It's no joke Popeye. Get to work!" "I don'ts answer to nobody, especially not a woman." Olive slapped him again. "Yer makin' me mad, Olive. I'll hafta teach ya a lesson." He pulled out his spinach and downed it quickly, ready for the usual surge of power. He tensed his arm muscles, expecting the usual ping pong size biceps to transform themselves into a formidable weapon. Nothing happened, except for a very full feeling in his stomach. Olive put her hands on her narrow hips, then walked up to him, collapsed his ping pong ball biceps with a two-fingered squeeze and then fired a punch into his stomach. "Ooof!" Popeye groaned. "You're not so tough without your spinach, are you? Now, get back upstairs and make that bed!" "Ya cain't tell me what to do, Olive." "Oh yes I can!" She pulled out a can of spinach from her blouse and poured it down her throat. Then she lifted her right hand to flex her muscle. Instantly, biceps the size of an anvil rose on her arm, which grew a sledge hammer on top, which clanged hard against the metal anvil, ringing loudly inside the small foyer of Olive's house. She lifted her left arm, which sprouted biceps the size of a football, to be topped wedding cake style by a soccer ball, a volleyball, a curling stone, a softball, a baseball, a pool ball and finally a golf ball, all rock hard. She took a deep breath, and breasts the size of watermelons flew out. Soon she stood before him, a tower of sex and strength, daring him to protest. "Want to see what two cans will do?" Popeye shook his head. "Then get to work. And don't forget the hospital corners!"