In Tennis, Love Means Nothing
By Nomdreserv and Marknew



Rick biked easily up the hill to Debbie Moore's house, pleased to see that she
was already waiting for him by her tennis court. It was a gorgeous house, in
the estate area in town. He had to admit that he had never actually been
inside any of the houses in the area. He wondered for a moment what it would
be like to live here, to have his own tennis court, swimming pool and riding
stables, then gave up. He was happy just to be here, getting ready for another
friendly game of tennis. Who knew where it would lead?

Debbie waved cheerfully, then returned to practicing her serves. She was
dressed in a short skirt and sleeveless tennis top, and Rick admired her long
legs and full bust as he set his bike down, enjoying the way the motion of the
serve pushed out her breasts first to stretch her top, then sending them
bouncing within. Debbie was a gorgeous, popular sophomore cheerleader, well
coordinated and supple in her cheering routines, but Rick had never known her
to be particularly strong or athletic, and he hoped it was merely a pretense
to attract his attention. Well, it had certainly worked! Rick was a junior,
not the most popular or skilled around girls, but he was one of the best
players on the high school team, and he jumped at the opportunity when Debbie
had asked if he was interested in playing her in a series of matches to
improve her own game. She had certainly dropped some hints that she wanted
more from him than just tennis instruction, but to his surprise she had been
quite serious about their games, playing quite intensely and competitively
with good form and improving every week. Obviously she had taken regular
lessons before and was looking to bring her game to the next level. He had
heard that she was an ambitious and determined girl, and judged she could in
time be a very competitive player.

That is, for a girl.

He smiled to himself at the thought. Debbie was pretty good, and his coaching
was certainly helping, but she was nowhere near his own level and never would
be. That was fine with him - it gave him leisure to watch her rather than the
ball when they played - but it certainly seemed to frustrate her. When she
tried to copy his aggressive serve and volley play style, he had to keep
reminding her that it wouldn't work, since she was just not strong enough to
drive the ball past her opponents, especially men. He added, a bit
patronizingly he had to admit, that few girls were strong enough to play that
kind of game, even at the professional level. He'd given her the example of
Chris Evert, the number one women's player in the world for awhile. Even so,
her first husband -- who never got beyond a 300 ranking in the men's game --
invariably beat her easily. Then last week, just to drive the point home, he
played full out during their last set, slamming her 6 - Love and blasting the
racquet out of her hand with his last shot. She'd been pretty angry
afterwards, and he worried for a few days that he had messed up his chances to
go further with her, but she called this morning at the usual time to make
sure he would meet her. In fact, she seemed positively bubbling with
excitement about the next match.

He unzipped his racquet cover and walked onto the court. When he approached to
say hi, she suddenly surprised him by running over and giving him a huge, long
kiss, rubbing her bare legs and soft body up against him. Astounded, he lost
no chance in trying to match her unexpected warmth, and prolonged the kiss as
long as he could. When they finally broke apart, she stepped back and looked
at him speculatively.

"Surprised?" She smiled at him slyly.

"I...well, yes," he finally admitted, his cheeks flushed. "But, hey, it's cool
with me. Wow."

He felt a surprising, lingering tingle in his lips from the kiss that seemed
to spread through his body.

"Just a sample. There's lots more to come. I thought you deserved to start
getting, you know, something back, after playing me and teaching me so much
about tennis." She looked up at him with an odd, not entirely friendly
expression, as though turning over something in her mind, then, seemingly
satisfied, she turned and started walking to the other side of the court,
swaying her hips seductively.

Rick's heart jumped. It was just what he had been hoping for. Relieved too,
since his younger sister Delia had been teasing him mercilessly about Debbie's
using him as an unpaid instructor, while everyone knew she was tight with
Tony, a senior who was the starting quarterback. Not that Delia needed an
excuse to tease him. Like all sisters, especially ones near their sibling's
age, she took a particular delight in tormenting him. She sometimes tried to
best him physically as well, since she was close to his own size and just as
competitive. He beat her at tennis and basketball regularly, and he always
used to enjoy arm wrestling and tickling her into submission although that
kind of contest had fallen off in the last few years as they both had matured.
Still, he knew that Delia just ached to beat him at some physical contest.

Fortunately, he thought smugly, she was just a girl, and his superior
masculine strength gave him an edge that she would never overcome.

He called to Debbie. "I thought you'd be mad after that last game."

She stopped and turned around, giving him a good look at the profile made by
her curvy figure. "I was. Especially the way you flaunted your 'natural male
superiority.' But then I thought, don't get mad, get even. Show him there's
more than one way to be a winner."

He was puzzled. Her surprise intimacy seemed an odd way to get even. She
laughed at his confused expression.

"Hey, to make it interesting, how about a little wager about the game today?"

"Money?"

"If you want, but I was thinking about some more interesting stakes. Winner
gets to take whatever they want from the loser."

"Anything?" he tried to figure her angle, but found himself imagining those
full lips wrapped around his hard cock. His libido seemed to have been
supercharged after their previous kiss, and he sported a slight bulge that was
persisting long after from feeling her body against him.

She smirked. "Anything within reason. I think I KNOW what you want." She put a
finger in her mouth suggestively. "And that's in bounds. So, deal?"

Rick could barely contain himself. "Deal." He wondered how many points he'd
have to let her win just to make it look like he wasn't completely taking
advantage of her. "You can even serve first.," he suggested, to be sporting.

"Thanks. I'll take that. But one other condition."

His heart sank. He knew there must be a catch. How many points would he have
to spot her?

"We change courts after every game."

"Why?" he asked, surprised at such a strange request.

"To keep you off balance," she smirked. "You talk about male physical
superiority. Maybe I can play some female mind games to balance things out."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he agreed readily, already trying to decide to ask for
a simple blow job or something more.

She tried to catch him by surprise with an immediate, quick serve. It was a
decent serve, too, a bit faster than usual for her, but Rick's reflexes
enabled him not only to return it, but since he couldn't think fast enough to
take anything off, immediately put the point away by driving past the charging
Debbie. She shook her head, but didn't seem too upset. Her next serve was a
fault, and Rick couldn't resist smashing the soft second serve down the line
for another point. Her third service was average - and promptly put away. And
a minute later, they were changing courts.

She surprised him yet again when she abruptly waylaid him as they passed,
planting another kiss on his lips and rubbing up against his flushed skin. He
felt another pleasurable but unusual tingle move through his body.

"For luck," she explained, then winked. "Mine."

Rick bounced the ball, then tossed it high for his usual serving motion.
Something felt wrong in his arm as he swept the racquet down, and he was
chagrined to find that the ball hit high on the net. He thought it might be
just as well, since Debbie didn't have much of a chance against his first
serve anyway, and sent an easy second serve over. She hit it back crisply, and
they rallied for several strokes before he put the point away. His next two
serves were in, and he was up 40 love when he deliberately sent a creampuff
serve to appease her. She smacked the return even more sharply than he had
anticipated.

"Good one," he admitted. "Your overhand smash has really improved."

"And getting better fast," she replied cryptically.

He finished the game with another service winner, though Debbie surprised him
by actually getting her racquet on this one. As they changed again, he
expected the mid-court kiss this time and wasn't disappointed.

"Mmm," he said, prolonging it as long as he could. "You sure you don't want to
just call it a match now and get on to the good stuff?"

"Oh, but I AM getting the good stuff," she replied eagerly, looking at him
carefully. "And I'm not nearly done yet."

He shrugged and took his position. Debbie's serve this time was long, as
though she'd misjudged her strength, but after he won the point on her second
serve, her next two were in and hard - her serve seemed to have really picked
up since they last played - maybe even from the first game. Rick actually had
to concentrate to hit them back well.

The match proceeded apace, though the games were starting to get much closer.
Debbie's game kept improving - her serves and returns were getting stronger as
they played, and his own play seemed little off. He rubbed his shoulder as he
prepared to serve out the set. His arm felt weird - almost tired, and he was
having more and more trouble getting any real velocity on his serves, at least
if he wanted to keep them in. And he needed to - Debbie had really ripped his
last few second serves, the returns so hard and fast that he'd been caught
flatfooted. The only reason that he was still winning handily was that she
also seemed to be overhitting the ball, sending many returns out. She even
seemed aware of this but didn't care, as though she was just testing
something. In fact, she deliberately let his last serve go by her to end the
set.

"Good one," she pretended, belying her obvious pass on the return. "But I
think I've finally found my zone. Change sides and get ready for a real
battle."

Rick actually felt a little winded after the set, which astonished him, even
more so since Debbie seemed perfectly paced, maybe even a bit stronger now
than when they had started. Debbie had never really pushed him in their games
before, and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling of being challenged by her. As
he caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, stopping to take a
long drink from his water bottle, he was surprised when she reached into a
pocket and pulled out a tube of lip gloss, applying a fresh coat. He could
just make out the brand label, "Power Me."

"So that's your secret," he joked, trying to hide his being slightly out of
breath.

She winked. "Now you know it. But it's too late for you." As if to give truth
to her words, she immediately leaned over to kiss him with the refreshed
coating on her lips. He felt that warming tingle move through his body even
more strongly, and his cock jumped embarrassingly. Before she broke away, she
reached out to massage his arm, lingering on his biceps. To his surprise, she
encircled them with her fingers and squeezed.

He pulled his arm back with a startled cry. He wasn't sure what had surprised
him more - the act itself, or perhaps more worrisome, how much it had hurt. It
seemed her fingers were able to push in much too easily into what should have
been a well-developed, firm muscle.

She smiled and wiggled her hand as he rubbed his arm. "Aw, I'm sorry, Rick.
Did these little fingers hurt you?"

"No, no way," he lied, flexing the arm, and trying to pretend it was a joke.
"You just surprised me."

Debbie walked away, swinging her ass provocatively and taking his mind off his
arm. "Good, because sometimes I like to play a little rough. I wanna make sure
you'll make it through our game and be ready for what comes after."

He stared openly at her gorgeous body. Her legs were really toned, something
he hadn't really noticed until now. Maybe it was because her skirt was shorter
and tighter than usual - it actually rode up and exposed her taut panties
beneath. He frowned. Had it been that short before? He shook his head. Of
course, it must have been. Still, her top seemed awfully tight too, making her
breasts look bigger, yet somehow also higher on her chest, as though her whole
upper body was bigger and stronger. And the sleeveless style really showed off
her strong upper arms.

Rick did a double take. When did her arms get so toned? She had the upper body
of a real athlete, with defined biceps and shoulders like those he'd only seen
on women who did regular weight training. No wonder her game had picked up so
much! She must have been working out in secret for weeks now, just to ambush
him like this. The realization made him angry, and he decided to forget about
any ideas of taking it easy on her.

And then, her first serve of the new set rocketed by him, a clear ace.

He turned and watched the ball ricochet off the fence with a ping. He'd never
seen another high school girl serve that fast, let alone Debbie. It was almost
as good as his own.

Or - though his mind refused to consider this for long - given how weird his
arm felt today - maybe even better than his - today. He rubbed at the sore
spot where she'd grabbed him. The pain was subsiding, but did he actually see
a bruise forming where she'd pinched him? He pretended that her ace had been
because he was distracted by that.

Debbie was smiling at his obvious discomposure. "Surprised?" she called
happily. "You'll be flattered by what I call it -- 'Ricky's serve.'"

"Yeah," he agreed grimly, getting into his ready position for the next one,
and gearing his mind and body as intensely as he did for any of his real
matches. That was the problem - she'd caught him by surprise. Now that he knew
what to expect, he'd show her how he handled hotshot serves. Her next shot
came zooming across the net, he brought his arm back and swung.

And hit the ball right into the net.

He didn't know what had happened. His return of serve was one of his stronger
assets, and yet he'd misjudged the way he'd caught the ball and how fast the
serve had been. It was as though his arm was just a little slower and weaker
than his brain remembered. He adjusted his racquet for a shorter grip and
decided to just volley the next serve back until he got the timing of her new
serve down better.

That worked better, especially since Debbie still didn't seem quite to have
control over her own returns. Twice she overhit his volleys, tying the game.
Frustrated, she double faulted twice to give him the game.

"Surprise yourself," he grinned as they passed each other switching sides.
"Hitting it hard doesn't always make the difference."

She stopped and looked at him challengingly, her hands on her hips. "Oh? Here
you told me last week about the superiority of a man's game because of his
strength. Changing your mind?"

"No, of course not. Hitting wildly at the ball doesn't work. Tennis is about
power AND control. Having superior strength enables a player to hit the ball
hard without overswinging. That's why if the difference in strength is great
enough, the stronger player will almost always win -- so long as he has decent
skills. That's just the advantage male players have. We can hit the ball
harder with a nice, even swing."

"Hmmph. We'll see about that." She grabbed him by both arms and kissed him
hard, almost hungrily. He was surprised at how strong her grip was, and even
more by the passion of the kiss. He again noticed her hands moving over his
biceps, almost as though she was checking something.

"Yes, pretty soon," she replied mysteriously, flexing her own arm in
experimentation. Now that he thought of it, her shoulders really weren't all
that rounded. They were pretty broad for a girl - hell, they were broad for
anyone! He was amazed at the size of her biceps, and unconsciously flexed his
own arm, feeling the disturbingly small swelling that resulted. It seemed
barely larger than hers, and softer than normal too he realized with a slight
sense of panic, and he resolved to hit the weights again regularly starting
that evening.

His problems with his serve continued and seemed to get worse with every game.
Soon, he felt like he was lobbing the ball like in a practice session with a
beginner. Unfortunately, Debbie wasn't playing like a beginner, as she proved
time and again by rocketing the ball back with more and more power. The
placement of her shots was improving too, as her well-practiced form seemed to
be returning. Rick hated to admit it, and was sure that it was because he must
have come down with a virus or something, but she was definitely playing
better than he was today. What incredibly bad luck, he thought, when he had
that wager to win!

And she was looking so great too. Her legs seemed to look better to him with
each game, making her tennis skirt look like a mere decorative sweat band
adorning the sculpted columns of her legs. Her calves were defined diamonds,
and the muscles of her thighs bulged whenever she reached or stretched,
showing taut bands and thick cords. Meanwhile, he was wondering more and more
whether he had somehow this morning put on the wrong shorts, which seemed to
flap around his legs - making them look much thinner than normal. Even lower,
since they reached almost knee level now. He tried to pull them up, but they
didn't want to stay, almost as though the waist was too big. Maybe he was
wearing his father's by mistake.

Meanwhile, her tennis top seemed ready to split from the strain of her upper
body. Her breasts squeezed out the top, enhancing her cleavage, but even the
shoulder straps looked too tight, and her back seemed too broad to be readily
contained by the stretching fabric. Rick decided she must have deliberately
chosen a too small and tight outfit to distract him.

And it was working. Even now, when she leaned back to serve, he could see
glimpses of bare midriff where the too tight shirt lifted up, catching his eye
irresistibly, especially when he noticed the beginnings of a six-pack abdomen.
How far had she gone with this secret weight training? His own shirt seemed to
hang ever more loosely and low on his body. Somehow, even the sleeves hung
lower.

He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable with the whole setup, especially
as Debbie's accuracy caught up with her increasing power. By the middle of the
set, she broke his serve.

"Yes!" she called triumphantly, shaking her racquet in the air. He changed
sides in shock, beginning to wonder if this was some kind of nightmare. His
game was deserting him. And he was so confused that he didn't even notice that
their lips and eyes were even in height as she extracted her now customary
kiss. She all but ran in her eagerness to switch sides and try her own serve
again.

Things went from bad to worse. Even using all his skill and strategy, Rick
could barely challenge her new and improving serve, and his returns got more
and more pathetic. Debbie was striding around the court like she owned it,
catching up to every soft shot he hit and returning the ball with increasing
power. And she kept looking more and more intimidating physically, no doubt
because of her increased confidence. Now her shirt left her stomach uncovered
even when she stood straight, and her arms and shoulder muscles bulged
noticeably when she swung her racquet.

Rick, meanwhile, was left more and more frustrated. He was increasingly
breathless. His arms felt like rubber. At last, he decided he must be sick. It
was the only thing that could account for his sudden weakness and exhaustion.
He knew people could actually lose weight when they got sick, and that would
explain his loose clothes. He paused to finish off his water bottle, hoping to
fight what must be an early dehydration, and deliberately took his time to
catch his breath. He thought about telling Debbie and calling the match, but
was afraid that she would think it cowardice on his part because of her
improved game, especially since his inability to hold his serve had left her
in a position to close out the set.

He limped a bit from a sudden muscle cramp while they changed sides. As she
reapplied her lip gloss, he stopped to rub his leg, surprised at how soft the
cramped muscle felt. He realized he must really be getting sick, and when
Debbie came close, he said ,"Look, how about..."

Before he could finish, she grabbed him for yet another passionate kiss. His
body responded immediately, making him forget the muscle cramp and his
fatigue. Debbie seemed just as turned on as he was and again rubbed her
surprisingly hard body up against his. He reveled in feeling her pillow-like
lips against his, especially as they sent such intense tingles coursing
through his body. The feelings were making almost weak on his feet and he
wobbled for a moment, but fortunately their embrace supported him.

Debbie finally broke the kiss and smiled at him, satisfied for the moment. She
gave his behind a playful swat as they parted, and he yelped at the unexpected
sting. He thought he heard her giggle at the feel of his ass under her hand
but he ignored it as he watched her stride away, her long legs eating up the
ground. The tingles from their kiss continued to make him shiver with a dizzy
pleasure, but he smiled and relaxed, as though in a drug-induced fog, slipping
back into happy thoughts. Even if he did lose this set, he could take it back
in the last one, and there was lots to enjoy in the meantime, he decided while
watching her round, firm ass sway underneath her micro skirt. Besides, he was
sure that his skill could still overmatch her, even if his flu-weakened body
couldn't.

He was wrong. Embarrassingly so. It was a rout now, and the match ended
decisively on her next serve. He barely managed a weak volley around two aces,
then crouched, sweating and panting while she wound up for the possible set
point. He moved his hands back on the handle and tightened his grip,
determined to hit it back hard and catch her by surprise, then he could rally
by changing games and keeping her off balance. He gripped the racquet hard and
swung as the ball screamed over.

And cried out as the ball actually knocked the racquet out of his hands.

Debbie cried out again and enthusiastically jumped at her first ever set
victory against him. Rick rubbed his stinging hand in amazement. He had never
lost the racquet like that. It was almost as if he was being completely
overpowered.

Debbie actually jumped the net to come over, clearing it by more than a foot
with a powerful leap. Rick noticed that her skirt now sat above her waist, and
her panties had become a near thong since they seemed to be swallowed by her
thick legs and hard buns. What he didn't notice as she came over to place a
strong arm around his shoulder - being too distracted by her breasts, which
now seemed bigger than D cups as they were squeezed and half exposed by her
too small top - was that Debbie was now slightly taller than he was.

"You don't wanna quit, do you?" she asked. "You're looking overmatched out
there."

Rick tried to catch his breath so she wouldn't hear him panting, but was
desperately relieved at the idea of halting the match.

"Um, maybe I'm coming down with a virus or something," he puffed. "I am
feeling pretty weird." Why did her ballooning breasts look so close to his
eyes? And where the hell did she get the bulging biceps that now held him?
Could her muscles really respond that much to exercise? Her legs looked as
thick and strong as carved ivory columns. Normally, he liked to show off his
own muscular thighs, but given how he was feeling, he was thankful for his
drooping shorts. His legs felt small and weak - the muscles almost quivering
from the strain of running around the court. Could you really lose that much
mass from fever and dehydration? He sat down on a bench.

"No problem," she smiled. "Now, since I've won my first match ever against a
boy, and the bet, I think I'll celebrate by choosing..."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," he wheezed angrily, ashamed to admit the obvious.
"What do you mean you win?"

"Well, come on, Rick. You're forfeiting, right? I mean, not that I blame you.
I think we both realize that the way you're playing..."

"Uh uh." He shook his head in stubborn defiance. "We keep playing. Just
because you've put on some muscle from the secret training you've been doing
-- and probably some drugs" he added sharply, "doesn't mean you can beat me.
You're still not half the player I am. Even sick, I'm the stronger one and
I'll beat you."

Her look was steely and confident. "You mean, because of your natural male
superiority?"

"That's right. Not to mention my training and experience. Let me just catch my
breath," he insisted. "Then, I'll serve and put you right down." He thought he
could actually feel a little strength returning as they rested. All he needed
was a break and a different game plan. After all, he'd beaten plenty of guys
with bigger serves and stronger returns than hers. And he had years of
experience playing tough matches. He gathered his energy while she stonily
reapplied her lip gloss once, and then again, and checked the strings on her
racquet. "OK. I'm rested. I'll show you how it's done," he said confidently
and stood up.

"Oooh, such a brave trooper," she said in a surprisingly icy tone. "Show me
now." Suddenly, she was all over him, kissing him hungrily and rubbing her
hard body against him. He was amazed at how big and firm her breasts felt as
they mashed against him, seeming even wider than his whole chest. Her leg
forced its way between his knees and he felt the bare, smooth skin of her firm
thighs move against him, making his cock instantly take notice and jump to
full hardness. She noticed and massaged it with her hand, nearly making him
cream in his shorts, while she smothered him with wet kisses and licked his
face. Her other hand roamed wildly over his back and upper body, caressing
here, probing there. Apparently satisfied, she brought both hands up to work
together below his shoulders and squeezed his upper arms, pulling him closer
to her.

She was all over him, lost in a passion even greater than his. He felt as
though her desire for him was physically overwhelming him, her lips, tongue
and breasts forcing themselves against him, pushing him from every direction,
attacking him, almost with more firmness and strength than he could handle to
hold himself in place next to her. Fortunately, her hands drew him in even
more tightly against her body, and the sexual heat that flared as she ground
against his hard cock made him ignore the feelings of weakness. He had never
felt so turned on before; he just wanted to surrender everything he had to
her. His senses whirled and again he nearly came - he'd never felt so excited,
so desperate to cum even though he was fully dressed. She removed her hand
from his neck and his head began to tilt back to meet her kisses, and he let
himself be supported in her iron grip as wave after wave of weakness swept
through him. She licked his ear while rubbing her body up and down against his
rigid penis. He felt it slide along her muscular thigh towards her hot cleft.

It was too much for him. With a cry of released ecstasy mixed with some
embarrassment, he came, gushing a huge load of cum into his shorts. His cock
jerked spasmodically for what seemed like minutes, while she continued to rub
against him. Her breasts, arms and legs seemed to swell as they moved over
him.

Suddenly, he winced. Her hands had compressed his biceps hard, her fingers
sinking in as easily as though butter. She let go, and with a cry of pain he
stumbled backwards. "What the hell?" he asked, then paused. His voice sounded
weird - higher and thinner. He cleared his throat. "Why'd you do that?" he
whined, rubbing his arms. He was too confused and disoriented by his recent
climax to notice anything unusual. Strangely enough, neither of their clothes
looked especially wet after rubbing together with what had been a huge load of
cum. Even more bizarrely, he didn't feel wet in his underwear at all.

Debbie was already walking away. "OK, big shot. Show me what you've got. Your
serve, right?"

Rick was thoroughly dazed. How could she still be interested in the game? All
he wanted to do was go home and take a nap. He'd never felt so exhausted and
weak after an orgasm.

"Ready?" she called impatiently, waiting for the ball.

Rick took up his place, his racquet feeling very strange in his hands. It was
an extremely expensive model that his parents had given him for his birthday,
and normally it felt like an extension of his own hand. But now, it felt heavy
and clumsy, almost as though the handle was too big and the frame had been
weighted down. He pulled at his loose shorts, not noticing how his shirt now
reached his lower thighs.

But he sure noticed Debbie. She looked like something out of a supermodel
bodybuilding magazine, with bulging arms and shoulders and corded, muscled
legs that threatened to rip through the tiny skirt that no longer could hide
them. Her chiseled body was set off by her ridiculously tight clothes, which
must have shrunk somehow from her sweat, since her rock-hard abs were now
fully exposed by what had become a halter instead of a shirt. She looked down
at her tennis clothes and laughed and pulled off her top, content to play in
her sports bra. She looked superhumanly strong.

And so were her shots. He could barely lift the racquet to serve and half his
shots didn't even clear the net. When he did managed to land one in the
service box her returns blew by him or tore the racquet out of his enfeebled
hands. Her serves zipped by him in a blur, and he waved at them in slow motion
with a too heavy racquet. With each game and each increasingly brutal but
perfunctory kiss, his game deteriorated further while hers rose to higher and
higher levels. When she went to put the set away without losing a single
point, she cold-bloodedly smashed the ball straight at him. She hit it hard
and high enough to go out, but his legs couldn't respond quickly enough to his
brain telling him to get out of the way and the ball hit him squarely in the
chest, driving all the breath from his body. The ball ricocheted lazily in the
air back to Debbie, who casually slammed at the fence behind Rick, watching
satisfied as it tore through the hole and dropped out the other side.

Rick had collapsed on the court from the pain of Debbie's last shot, but this
time Debbie showed no sign of interest or sympathy. The now Amazonian woman
calmly collected her things, including a sweatshirt. Rick idly wondered, when
she put it on, why she had picked such a small size. The sleeves didn't reach
her wrists, and the bottom rode above her waist. She shrugged, and he could
swear he heard the snap of her overstressed sports bra give way underneath.

"That's better," she sighed. Without turning, she continued, "You know, Rick,
since I don't really see you giving me much of a challenge anymore, I think it
might be better if we forget about these little games after today."

"What?" he gasped in shock. His shirt felt like a sack and barely stayed on
his shoulders when he stood up. Even his shoes felt loose.

She turned to him coldly. "To be honest, I think you've given me about as much
as you can." A mysterious smile. "Not that I'm not grateful. Thanks to you, I
bet I could even beat Tony now." She flexed a softball-sized biceps. "Maybe
we'll see what else I can beat him at now."

"But...but..." he protested, his voice still sounding weak and high like a
kid's.

She actually patted his head, though his confused brain still didn't notice
that she was tall enough to do it without raising her arm.

"Now, now. No regrets. You were a great...inspiration to me." Unexpectedly,
she reached out and grabbed his racquet. He tried to hang on, but she easily
overpowered him and pulled it away, hoisting it experimentally. "No wonder you
liked this one. This is so incredibly light - like it's made of air. I think
I'll take it as my victory prize."

"No!" he cried, inexplicably near tears and still in shock, as though his
whole body was in upheaval. "That's not fair!"

"Oh, and a blowjob or fuck for you would have been?" she sneered. She calmly
put the racquet in her bag, leaving her own girl's model for him. "Hey, if you
want, go tell everyone what happened. How I whipped your sorry butt." She was
already walking away, up to the big house. "But don't make me do it again in
front of everyone."

He watched her go, completely overwhelmed. What the hell had happened? She
seemed so huge and strong now, with a confidence to match, while he seemed to
be shrinking into his clothes, weak and frightened. Somehow, she must have
drugged him or something. Set the whole thing up. He tried to shout an angry
defiance.

"Yeah, well fuck you!" he called, hearing his voice move into an embarrassing
alto with the increased force. Humiliated, he picked up her discarded racquet
(strangely enough, even her junior miss model seemed heavy at the moment) and
gathered his own things, wincing at the aches of his overtaxed muscles. He had
to adjust the seat on his bike, and found it incredibly hard to ride, as
though his muscles had just turned to jello over the stress, and wobbled a bit
in the street as a result.

He hoped his sister would give him a break when he got home, especially if she
heard that Debbie had dumped him - or even worse, guessed that he'd lost the
match. Though then again, the idea of physically abusing another member of the
female sex in revenge had its attractions at the moment. After all, what else
were little sisters good for? Maybe he'd be the one to pick a fight.

Though the familiar tingle that seemed to move through his body in response
really should have told him better.

He also tried to console himself by remembering what a powerful orgasm Debbie
had given him during the match just by rubbing against him. His cock seemed
unusually sensitive even now, and started to firm up all on its own. He
decided he'd take a shower and jerk off when he got home, already mentally
recalling the image of Debbie bursting out of her too small tennis clothes. At
least he could still masturbate to that image, even if the real life version
had brushed him off.

That thought cheered him as he strained with all his strength up a small hill.
After all, sex was what he had been hoping for from the beginning. He'd gotten
what he wanted from their match, hadn't he?

(Just like Debbie.)

Epilogue:

When he arrived home to the still empty house, Rick was too tired even to take
a shower. He staggered downstairs to his basement room and quickly stripped
off his clothes and into bed. He'd have a short nap, restore his energy, then
figure out just how sick he was and whether he had to do homework for school
tomorrow. He quickly dropped into a deep sleep, ignored the alarm he'd set for
ten o'clock and awakened only at eleven-thirty when his sister shined a
flashlight into his eyes.

"Hey! What gives? Turn that thing off."

Delia was wearing her summer sleepwear, just a tank top and shorts. She lifted
the flashlight a few feet higher, out of her brother's range, but kept the
light on him. "You went to bed pretty early big bro'. Life too much for you
these days?"

"Leave me alone, if you know what's good for you. I've got the flu or
something," he said angrily.

"Hmmmph! Listen to you. You sound funny, but you don't sound fluey to me." She
reached forward and felt his forehead. "Nope! No fever."

Rick's head was slowly clearing. What the hell did Delia think she was doing
in his room, waking him up in the middle of the night? He twisted his head and
knocked her hand off him, feeling an odd stinging sensation where his wrist
hit her arm. His whole body still felt strange. "Yeah? Well that doesn't prove
anything. I feel lousy, so I must be sick. Now get the hell out of here and
let me sleep or I'll make you'll pay for it."

Delia looked down at him with amusement, not at all sympathetically. "You
think so? I saw Debbie at the mall tonight. She sure looked different. You
wouldn't know where she got so much muscle, would you?"

He looked up at her. What was his sister after? "Yeah, she looked pretty buff,
like she's been working out. I played tennis with her this afternoon. I should
have quit while I was ahead, though. I started feeling sick in the middle of
the match. I should have just quit then."

"I guess -- if you're a quitter. Debbie said she really whipped you. She said
she beat you the last set without even losing a point. That means she must be
pretty good -- or you're pretty bad."

Rick snorted. "Yeah right. I told you, I'm sick."

"I don't think so, Rick. But from what she said, I gotta believe you're not as
strong as you used to be. You want to prove me wrong? How much you want to bet
I can take you?" She felt her lean, muscular arm. "You know I'm pretty strong,
Rick. Maybe too strong for you now."

"You are not. No way!" he said, bravely, knowing that if he let her think she
could win he'd never hear the end of it. He leaned up on his elbow, trembling
with the effort. Delia'a hand darted in and felt his biceps. Again, Rick was
astonished by how easy it seemed to be for her to compress it, and he winced
as her fingers squeezed all the way to the bone.

"Oh yeah!" she said sarcastically. "A real he-man muscle." she teased,
giggling. "You have no clue, do you? Why don't you feel mine? I think we
should compare." She turned on the light over his bed and leaned over his
headboard to put the flash down. Rick's eyes stole quickly to the open neck of
her top which flopped open. Although he felt a little bit ashamed of it, he
always took the opportunity to check out his sister's development, and his
residual arousal from this afternoon made him respond quickly to the sight of
her round, C-cup breasts hanging freely inside her shirt. She paused for a
moment, which allowed him to extend his peeping, then met his eyes and
snorted. "Pervert," she muttered. "Just makes me feel better about ...." Her
voice trailed off as she turned away and flexed her biceps, proud of the firm
rise in her upper arm that they made.

Rick grimly placed his fingers on her biceps and felt it, trying to encircle
it with his thumb to push hers in as she had done to him, but the span of his
fingers could not quite reach around. He pressed them together with increasing
effort. Somehow, he could compress it only part way and actually had to give
ground when she tightened her flex.

"See? I've got the better muscle; yours is the soft girlie one. I'm stronger
than Ricky, I'm stronger than Ricky!" she crowed.

"You are not! You've never been able to beat me in anything physical, just
remember that Deel," he said hotly. "You like to tease me, and like most
girls, you're a big talker. You may be able to play with my emotions, but I'll
take you any time in any contest. You think you're such a jock, but how many
trophies have you brought home, huh? I've won more big matches in two years on
the high school tennis team than your teams have won since you started
playing. And that's because I know how to win, and not just stand around and
giggle with my friends during games and cry afterwards when I lose." Rick felt
he was on a roll now. "And maybe I did blow it with Debbie, but how many dates
have you been on this year? Huh? Maybe your body isn't as great as you think.
Maybe you just don't have what it takes to be a winner."

"Oh ... you!" she said, her voice quivering. "You ... asshole!" she said, her
voice sounding a bit harder. She reached into her little breast pocket,
removed a small tube and smeared something on her mouth and hands, then put it
down on Rick's dresser. Rick thought the logo looked vaguely familiar and a
new scent in the air reminded him of Debbie.

"You think I don't have what it takes, well, let's see how much I can take.
Yeah. And don't take this the wrong way, brother," she added, gritting her
teeth, "but you asked for it." She pulled off his blanket and jumped on top of
him, locking her lips tightly to his, and stuck her hands under his loose
pants to grab his soft behind and grind his pelvis into hers. Out of complete
shock, Rick lay there passively for several seconds, but then felt a wave of
desire wash through him, one even more intense than he had this afternoon. It
was accompanied by that weird tingling he had felt when he had kissed Debbie,
spreading this time not only from his lips, but also from parts of his ass
where Delia gripped him. In spite of his weakness, his cock was as stiff as it
had ever been, and he struggled desperately, first to stop himself from coming
and embarrassing himself, and then, more urgently, to throw Delia off him and
reassert his superiority. He bucked against her violently, but for some reason
was barely able to move beneath her and was wholly incapable of pushing her
away. The tingling grew more intense until his entire pelvic region felt
electrified, and despite his best efforts he felt himself coming repeatedly,
but, bizarrely, without any dampness or stickiness.

Meanwhile, Delia was feeling like a crushing weight on top of him, getting
heavier all the time, and it was getting harder and harder for him even to
draw a breath. He struggled to slide his hands under her shoulders in order to
lift her off him, even a few inches, so that he could have room to breathe,
but his arms had as much success as if he were trying to lift a car. This was
impossible! Delia couldn't be that heavy and he couldn't be that weak, even if
he was sick. He couldn't get his arms underneath her to punch his fists into
her stomach and instead pounded on her back, which felt unaccountably hard,
but the blows did nothing to slow her down and he thought he even heard the
rumble of a chuckle in her throat. Her hands moved further down his body and
she grabbed his thighs tightly, kneading them with strong fingers while she
held him firmly in place. The tingling spread to his legs and his muscles felt
like jelly. Finally, she pinched him so deeply that he couldn't help but cry
out in pain. With that, she pressed him to her once more. He shuddered and she
pushed herself off him.

Rick's wounded pride roared within him. Even if he was ill, Delia could not be
allowed to handle him like this and just walk away. He hand darted out to
snare her arm and wrestle her back onto the bed. He'd show her a few fighting
moves then! He grabbed her upper arm and tried to wrap his hand around it.
Strangely he was unable to get any grip at all, and his fingers slipped off as
she sauntered away. No matter, he thought, and pushed his covers off to leap
out of bed and go after her. Somehow he got tangled up and was still half in
bed. Delia turned around at the noise of his struggle and laughed as he
withdrew his foot from the knot of sheets and blankets and landed on the
floor. Rick was seething with anger now and he tensed his legs to jump onto
his sister and tackle her. To his shock, he could barely rise from the floor
and staggered onto his feet, stumbling. He tottered unsteadily around the room
and then fell into Delia's arms.

"Wanna hug?" she asked, looking down at him with great amusement, holding him
in place, then put one hand on his back and pushed him into her. Rick gasped
as he crushed the air out of his lungs and the tingly feeling again spread
through him. He felt her body move against him, as though he was falling, and
craned his head upward. Was this some kind of nightmare? Delia looked like she
was at least a foot taller than he was. What happened to her?!! Her tank top
ended halfway between her waist and her breasts and the gap revealed a solid
wall of thick muscle. Directly in front of him, her breasts jutted out at him
sharply, the nipples etched against the fabric of her tank top, propelled from
her chest by slabs of pectoral muscle. His eyes strayed to her arms and his
mouth in astonishment when he saw her biceps, which even as she lightly held
him, bulged threateningly, twice the size he'd ever seen on his own arms when
he'd been working out regularly. Was he going crazy? He felt dizzy with fear.

"Hey Rick, did you lose something? You're such a LITTLE weakling, Ricky. So
small," she said, teasingly. "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

"I am NOT weak. You -- you've become some kind of freak!" he said, trying to
free his arms. Delia let him go and he backed away from her slowly. His legs
felt like lead. He was barely able to lift them off the ground.

"Freak?!" she said, pretending to be offended. "I prefer ... well-built." She
extended her arm toward him and admired the rolling curves of her muscles,
then slowly lifted her hand and flexed. The ball of muscle already starkly
visible in her upper arm gathered force and rose higher and higher, a solid
mass of power. "OK, so maybe extremely well-built."

She reached toward him and wiggled her fingers. "Are you still ticklish Rick?"
He backed away clumsily but soon was cornered next to his bed and dresser. She
moved her hand toward him slowly, giving him ample time to try to stop her. He
held his hands in front of him to intercept her, but she kept dodging him. He
felt as though he was moving so slowly, as though he were underwater. Finally,
he caught her hand and immediately saw that it was half again as large as his.
He'd always been able to hold both of hers in one hand, leaving his other free
to tickle her at will, but quickly he saw that this was impossible. Instead,
he used his free hand to jab at her. Unfortunately, his thrust fell about
three inches short and Delia snatched it, then closed her hand around his
other hand and transferred it to the one that held the first one. "I've always
wanted to do this!" she exclaimed happily and held his arms above his head,
jabbing him unmercifully under his arms and on his sides above his hips. Rick
moved spasmodically, unable to suppress his laughter, while he shouted at her
to stop. He was laughing so much his legs were buckling. Only Delia's firm
grip held him off the floor.

"Oh god! No! Please! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Auggh! No. Oh no! Please Deel -" he
gasped. "You've got to -- ha-ha-ha-ha-ha -- I can't --

Delia stopped for a moment and looked down at her brother. He seemed so
pathetic as he leaned against his dresser and tried mightily to catch his
breath. Should she really go on with this? Maybe she had done enough. She let
go of him. "That'll do -- for now," she warned. She laughed and folded her
arms across her chest.

Rick's chest was still heaving. He just couldn't catch his breath, and his
heart was pounding faster than he had ever remembered. What was going on? He
felt nothing but a blinding rage. How had Delia built so much muscle so
quickly? He felt humiliated, and insanely jealous. "You're -- just -- like --
Debbie!" he gasped. "Crazy -- bitches -- pumping -- up -- with -- male --
hormones."

"Is that what you think?" she laughed. "Wrong Ricky," she sang out. "I'm still
100% girl," she said, wiggling her hips and then her shoulders, "but I'm also
a very strong girl!" She took Rick's barbells, which had been gathering dust
in the corner of his room for months, and easily hoisted his two-arm curling
weight above her head with one hand. "Yes!" she cried out happily, pressing it
to the ceiling and holding it there.

Rick stared at her. "Y-you're stronger than me!" he said, starting to shake a
little.

"Well ... duh! Stronger than you were, stronger than you are, and stronger
than you'll ever, ever, ever be!" She pumped it up and down a few times, then
put it down and rolled it slowly toward her brother. Rick bent down to try to
stop it, but it slipped right through his hands and banged into his leg,
tripping him. "Strike! Oh I can't resist. It's going to be so much fun paying
you back for all those years you tortured me." She traced her fingers up her
arm along the ridges of her large forearm and around her softball sized
biceps, then tensing them suddenly. She grinned as they exploded in size.
"When you were into the bodybuilding thing, you always liked working on your
biceps. They ARE cute, aren't they. Want to feel how hard they are?"

Rick crawled back to his feet, leaning against the dresser. "N-now Delia! It's
not fair. I'm sick. You start something now, and when I get better I'll just
--

Delia flexed harder, probing the large ball of muscle with her fingers. "I've
got news for you, brother dear. The good news is you're not sick. I'm sure of
it. And the bad news is ... you're not getting better. I can promise that
too."

"What do you know about it?" Rick said challengingly. He tried to sound
confident, but he couldn't stop himself from trembling. This day had been so
strange ever since he started playing tennis, and seeing his sister so
immensely muscled and acting so bold was starting to frighten him.

"Well," she said playfully, "let's start with you. Let's see how strong you
are." She pulled off his shirt, which hung on him like a gown. "Whooops! Look
at that skinny bod!"

Rick looked down at himself and almost fell over from the shock. His chest was
just skin, bones and a bit of fat, with a little pouch around his belly and a
droop in his triceps. His arms were so skinny that his wrists were practically
the widest part and his legs looked like he were a starvation victim. He
collapsed onto his bed, sitting. "What's happened to me?" he wailed. "What do
I have?"

"Precious little, I'd say," she said, teasing him unsympathetically. "But
let's be scientific, Rick. Make a muscle for me. Let's see what happens."

He nodded, eager to do something. He brought his arm to a 90 degree angle and
flexed as hard as he could and saw a tiny rise where there used to be a
handsome firm muscle. "Look! There's nothing there!"

"I wouldn't say 'nothing,'" Delia said and bent over it. "You've still got a
little bit of muscle there. Maybe your sister's kiss will make it better." She
held his arm and locked her lips onto it. Rick struggled futilely to pull his
arm away; his sister's patronizing, "maternalistic" attitude annoyed him. Then
he felt that weird tingly feeling again.

"Cut it out, Delia! What are you --" He stopped, feeling another wave of
weakness wash through him and he slumped down, barely able to sit up straight.
Delia held him up and put his free hand on her arm. He could feel it pulsing,
growing beneath his hand! What the heck was going on?

"Mmmmmm hmmmm," she said, lifting her head. "That's better now, I think. Try
again."

He glared at her, but obediently he did as she suggested. This time, nothing
happened. Nothing at all. She nodded. "Yup. I think that's it. All gone." She
smiled and played with her own biceps, bouncing them up and down. Rick could
swear they looked even larger than before. She stood up straighter, and flexed
more fully. She WAS bigger. Her biceps were now half the size of his head! And
she was even taller than before. She cupped her breasts and pounded on her
rock-hard abdomen. "Ahhh! That feels so good." She reached out and put her arm
around Rick, lifting him and holding him next to her in the crook of her arm.
Her firm breast pushed into his chest and he had trouble expanding his chest
against it to breathe.

"H-h-how did this happen?" he asked plaintively. Delia smiled as she
straightened his soft, skinny arm, now little more than half the length of
hers and one third as wide. She played with it, encircling it with her large,
strong fingers, and jiggling the fat underneath his upper arm, then pushed it
between her forearm and her biceps and crushed it by flexing her biceps
against it. Rick screamed in pain. "Oh god!! What are you doing to me?"

"I'm just flexing my little muscle, Rick. It shouldn't hurt. It's only a
playful cuddle with my soft girlie biceps."

"N-n-nooo! They're so hard, they're going to cut my arm in two! Please!" Rick
begged.

Delia let up slightly. "Imagine that. So you're actually admitting that my
girlie muscles are so hard that they're pushing all the way through your big,
masculine biceps and hurting you?"

"Yes! Yes!" he cried. "Just let my arm go!" Delia opened her arm and Rick slid
his upper arm out slowly, his flattened biceps purple. "Look what you did!"

Delia peered at it. "Oh it's just a little bruise. No worse than I've gotten
from you when you used to sit on me and squeeze my arms to show me how soft
they were. I can tell you from experience that it'll heal in just a few days."

"Oh god! What's happened to me?"

"You really want to know? It's something new and great. It's a lip gloss,
called 'Power Me.' You know Debbie's Dad bought out The Body Shop, that
natural personal care product company? It turned out they had developed a
power transfer product but the last owner didn't bring it to market because of
some ethical concerns. I can't imagine what they were! Anyway, they're going
to start selling it soon. Debbie used a sample of Power Me PMF2 on you today,
you know, when she kissed you between games. Each time, she took away a little
bit of your strength and added twice as much of it to herself. I can't believe
you didn't notice anything, but she's so pretty, you probably even looked
forward to it. When I saw her at the mall, she game me some Power Me PMF25 to
finish the job."

"Power Me PMF 25? What does that mean?" Rick asked weakly.

"PMF means power multiplication factor 25. You know, like SPF, sun protection
factor, on sun block? It gave me twenty-give times as much power as it took
away from you. So you lost another 5 pounds or so of muscle, pretty much all
you had left, while I gained about 125 pounds of muscle! It really works! I
can't wait to tell my friends."

"Oh god! What am I going to do?!"

"Not much," Delia chuckled. It's not only muscle you've lost, but also bone
density, hemoglobin, endurance. Your heart is lot weaker too. It has to race
just to keep the blood flowing through your little body. I doubt there's much
margin for any exercise. You don't want to give yourself a heart attack, you
know. Feel my pulse, slow, strong. If Debbie's right, we should be able to
sprint for half an hour without even beginning to elevate our heart rates,
even carrying all this extra muscle weight."

"But how will I be able to exercise to get my strength back?"

"Oh Rick! Forget about that! It takes muscle to build muscle, and you have
hardly any left. Even if you could double your muscle, it would still leave
you with no more than the strength of a little girl. And how long do you think
that would take, assuming your heart held out. But think of it this way, the
two of us together are about ten times as strong as we were this morning. So
our family is stronger than ever," she concluded with a satisfied grin. "Now,
I'm going to call Debbie and find out how her date with Tony went. I wonder if
she used some on him." She gave one more satisfied flex and walked to the
door.

Rick spotted the tube of Power Me on his dresser. It was his only chance. He
picked it up. Too late, Delia realized she'd left it behind and turned around.
"Don't touch that, Rick!" she shouted and ran back to him, but he was too
quick. He emptied the tube onto his palm and placed it against her bare
shoulder as she reached him. Oh! He imagined that in seconds, power would flow
back into him. Not only what he'd lost, but Delia's stupendous strength
multiplied twenty-five times! He'd be like a god, the most powerful person on
the planet! He opened himself to the flow and sank to the floor, clutching
Delia's leg as he descended . . . and felt the most intense tingling flow
through him like a bolt of lightning. Was this it?

"You idiot!" Delia boomed, her voice exploding in his ears. He lay on the
floor, staring at Delia's leg which, instead of shrinking, was bursting larger
and larger with more muscle before his eyes. "Power Me PMF -- PMF also stands
for Power from Male to Female! It only works one way. Oh god! It's going to
take the last shred of power from your body." She lifted him gently into her
arms as they swelled with muscle. Her thirty-five inch biceps were the last
sight he saw before his sight dimmed and his heart stopped.

Delia looked down at the thin wisp of the body that had been her brother and
sighed. "Well, no point wasting it." She held his palm to her cheek and
quickly absorbed the last muscle fibers from his body. The dried bone and skin
was unrecognizable and fit easily into her brother's sandwich bag, which she
tossed into the bin.

"And I really thought that after a while we could have become closer," she
mused as she hurried to phone her friends.

End

Copyright 2001 by Nomdreserv and Marknew