The Mighty Marvel Weights Woman, Part Two
By Merz
Further Adventures of The Door to Door Saleswoman 

IV.  MRS. VAN HOUTEN, HER NUT CRACKERS, AND HER BACK 
PROBLEM

Still mulling the conversation with Judy Frederickson, 
Margaret drove to her next appointment.  Just pulling into 
that lovely neighborhood brightened her spirits.  She was 
out of the working class houses now, away from the tired 
brick apartment buildings.  This was a classy neighborhood.  
Doctors' families lived here; lawyers' families.  She was 
going to visit Angela Van Houten, daughter of a good 
family, wife of a rising business executive, possessor of 
the chest that cracked nuts Ð walnuts, that is.  She had 
one in her pocket just to share with this particular friend 
and client.

Margaret parked in the driveway that was wide enough to 
hold two cars.  She considered which samples and catalogs 
to bring in with her, rearranged her sample bags to balance 
the missing dumbbell, and mounted the wide porch that ran 
along the entire front of the Van Houten house.  The door 
opened as soon as she touched the bell.

Angela Van Houten greeted her, dressed in a man's smart 
suit and silk necktie.    The eyes that appraised 
Margaret's modest business attire were aristocratic in 
their refusal to betray any hint of condescension.  The 
hand that pushed the modern French-styled hairdo out of her 
eyes was elegant and immaculately manicured.  The fine-
boned features looked distressed.  "Oh, God, Margaret.  
You've come at last.  Just look at this."  

The hostess led Margaret quickly from the foyer into the 
expansive living room.  Margaret took one look at the 
antique chairs and tables and set her heavy sample cases on 
the floor.  "Dear Angela, whatever could be wrong?"

"Look at this.  This is Henry's suit from last year.  I'm 
falling behind.  Watch this."  An expression of intense 
concentration seized Angela's carefully made-up face.  Her 
shoulders expanded, the sleeves of the suit coat tightened 
dramatically over her upper arms. Cords stood out on her 
neck as the collar and necktie were strained to the point 
that the Windsor knot slid a half inch farther down the 
cravat.

Not knowing what she was supposed to be watching, Margaret 
put a tentative hand on Angela's tensed arm and admired its 
granite-like hardness.  "I'm sorry, dear, I don't 
understand what the problem is."

"It isn't ripping.  Nothing is giving way.  I've always 
been able to shred Henry's shirts and suits, but he's 
growing faster than I am now.  What am I doing wrong?"  
Angela stopped the tensing of her upper body and stood 
pleading with the Mighty Marvel Weights Woman.

With a sigh of relief Margaret spontaneously leaned forward 
and gave Angela a reassuring hug, hoping she wouldn't stain 
the crotch of her Mighty Marvel leotard as she felt her 
client's superb form.  "Don't be ridiculous.  The only 
thing you could possibly be doing wrong is feeding Henry 
too well.  He's getting too large around.  With the 
Communist Conspiracy ready to take advantage of any 
weakness, it isn't just the women who need to keep fit and 
ready.  We have to be sure the men are in shape to fit back 
into their uniforms when that becomes necessary.  But let's 
go to your gym and give me a look at you."

Once more grabbing her heavy cases Margaret followed along 
through the house and down stairs to a well equipped gym.  
One wall was lined with mirrors, the floor littered with 
mats and weight lifting equipment.  Once there Angela 
gratefully unbuttoned the jacket and slid off the necktie.  
"This is always Henry's greatest motivator.  I dress up in 
his worn clothes and use my muscles to burst their seams.  
Then I dominate him for an hour or so while telling him as 
well as showing him what a miserable weakling he is and how 
badly I'll beat him if he doesn't succeed at the office.  
Once he promises me to be a real man in his meetings with 
the board and his employees we make love to show I forgive 
him.  But it isn't working this time." 

Margaret was a thorough professional.  She put aside any 
emotional reaction as Angela pulled off the white dress 
shirt and stood stripped to the waist.  The well-born woman 
had a fine bone structure which she had covered in the 
finest chiseled muscle Margaret had ever seen.  Angela's 
shoulders were wide, her chest barrel-deep, her waist tight 
as a wasp's with washboard abs.  The muscles along her long 
arms and legs formed distinct balls with any effort.  All 
in all, Angela's body was the true work of art among 
Margaret's clientele, the one built and maintained for 
appearance at least as much as for performance.  Before the 
war Angela had chanced upon a demonstration by Miss Marilyn 
Marvel and become an instant disciple to the religion of 
weight lifting.  Her muscular body represented ten years of 
daily devotion.  

"It's a chest problem, I think," Angela told her, studying 
herself in the mirror.  "I just can't get it big enough."  
She stepped out of the pinstriped slacks and grabbed a pair 
of dumbbells from the floor.  Lowering herself onto a 
padded bench she began a series of flies, slowly lowering 
the weights to arms length at her sides and then powering 
them back up above her.  

Margaret watched critically for two reps, then for a single 
cycle allowed herself to simply stare in awe and admiration 
at the naked woman's performance.  "Angela, that's enough.  
Your pecs aren't the problem and you know it. They're 
better than perfect.  Get up from there."

"They're always your favorites, aren't they,"  Angela asked 
after she had resumed standing in front of Margaret.  She 
looked down at her bare chest, from one rounded mass to the 
other.  "Oh, do have a feel. I know you enjoy it so."  She 
thrust out her chest and tensed as Margaret cupped her 
breasts in her hands.  

"Angela, you are such a tease."  Margaret caressed the 
rigid nipples, then squeezed as hard as her thick hands 
could against the unyielding muscles underneath.  "Without 
mentioning your name I described your wonderful nut 
crackers to a prospective new client.  A young woman with 
the most remarkable ideas about a coming revolution of 
wired and elastic bras that will change the way women 
look."  Margaret left off her caresses and gave each 
perfect breast a little kiss of admiration.  "Do you think 
you could meet her over coffee to discuss the uselessness 
of brassieres for the modern woman?"

While Margaret finished paying her respects, Angela dipped 
a hand into the other woman's jacket pocket.  She smiled as 
she produced the walnut she hoped and expected to find 
there.  "You told this person how much, I wonder.  There is 
such a lot of nonsense going around now, about what women 
ought to look like and be capable of, about the so-called 
proper body proportions that would leave us quite helpless.  

But you're such the professional you probably just let her 
spew her nonsense.  I would have snatched her out of her 
pinafore and put that mouth to work between my legs where 
it might do some good."  She placed the nut in the middle 
of her chest and once more tensed her upper body.  The 
pectoral muscles held the shell in place.  

"I'm beginning to believe that women who didn't seize the 
opportunity to be free during the war are lost to us.  
Brainwashed into lives of weakness.  If you give me her 
address I'm tempted to stop by and let her have a good 
lunch where she can appreciate the advantages of strong 
female thighs."  With her chest flexed to the maximum, 
Angela slowly moved her arms inward in what would be known 
as a crab flex...  Both women burst into giggles at the 
sound of the nutshell giving way to the crushing pressure.  
"Lately I catch myself fantasizing about snapping the swan-
like necks to those silly little darlings.  I almost resent 
that I have to dress to leave the house rather than let 
everyone see what I've allowed myself to look like.  Have 
you ever dreamt of running free and naked in the jungle 
with just our own muscles to depend on?  I do all the 
time."

Handing half the nut meat to Margaret, Angela again became 
serious.  "I don't want to be offensive.  I know it's the 
only work he could find, but I blame much of it on that 
television business your husband is in.  Bad enough we see 
those poor underfed starlets at the movies, but movies 
always seem so unbelievable anyway Ð not a bit connected 
with real life or real people.  But that television is 
right in your house, and I've seen some of the shows where 
these poor helpless women are pretending they have the 
strength to keep house or manage their men.  Soon there 
will be shows on every night.  If we aren't careful the 
younger folks are going to begin believing in it.  Elastic 
brassieres indeed."  She carefully discarded the broken 
shell in a trash can to preserve her pristine gym floor.
 
"I know, I know.  I wish Herbert could get into something 
serious.  But he enjoys playing with the electronic parts, 
and there are the wrestling shows we can study, even if all 
they have are men going through the motions.  I've picked 
up a couple good moves and holds.  Not that I allow Herbert 
to turn ours on very often.  Now about your expansion 
problem.  I doubt your chest can get much deeper, so I 
believe the solution must be in the width of your back.  
You're chinning yourself every day?  And you add weight 
when you do it?" 

"Of course.  My bar is over here."  Angela led the way to a 
doorway with a steel bar clamped in place a foot below the 
top of the frame.  She reached high to grab it and began 
crisply chining herself.  "Hand me that forty I was using 
for my flies," she directed Margaret.

Holding the dumbbell so Angela could grip it between her 
knees for a few more reps, Margaret commented, "That's 
quite enough of those.  I see the answer.  And I have a new 
product in the catalog you might be interested in."

Margaret removed her jacket and positioned herself four 
feet from the doorway.  "First thing you need to do is 
change your grip.  Here take my hand in your left and the 
bar in your right.  That's it."  She had to put one 
sensible shoe against the wall to steady her position as 
half Angela's weight came onto her upraised right hand.  
"Now do them."  Again Angela began raising and lowering her 
splendid, ripped body, now hanging perpendicular to the 
doorway.  "Can you feel the difference?  In the doorframe 
your grip can't be more than thirty inches, but if you 
widen the grip by a foot or two, you hit entirely different 
muscles."

"This is perfect!  I can feel it all along the sides of my 
lats!  Oh, heavens, it's incredible!"  She released the 
hand holding the chinning bar so she momentarily swung into 
Margaret's solid frame before regaining her footing.  "So a 
wider grip will widen my back?  You're a genius.  Do you 
have something like that?  Where would I mount it?  How 
soon can you get me one?"  Her enthusiasm bubbled over.

Margaret quickly unpacked a catalog from one of her sample 
bags and sat cross legged on the floor, her bare shoulder 
touching Angela's as they pored over illustrations.  "You 
see.  This one is five feet wide and the ends bend downward 
to facilitate a good wrist position regardless how far 
apart you choose to have your hands.  And this mounting 
bracket will allow you to place it in front of the same 
doorway you use now.  It will require some reinforcing 
since there will be more leverage against the framing, but 
that is a simple matter.  I'm sure you can handle it all 
yourself."  She spoke with the assurance of a woman who had 
built barns and welded ships as she flipped through to 
another page in her catalog.  

"Now, here is something else I think you should be using.  
It looks something like an ordinary support belt, but it 
has this metal hook in front.  Instead of holding a 
dumbbell between your legs, you can attach plates by a 
chain to this hook.  The weights hang free, you can stand 
and walk to your chinning bar, and there's no chance of 
your legs cramping from holding the weight.  If can I put 
you down for one of these as well I'll throw one of these 
new chest exercisers as a gift.  It does more for the back 
than the chest, to be honest, so it will contribute to your 
project.  Here's a test sample."  Margaret offered the 
five-spring device she had picked up just that morning.  
Angela gave it some trial pulls that resulted in her 
handsome breasts thrusting forward even more dramatically, 
to Margaret's secret pleasure.

"That's awfully clever.  By all means sign me up for one of 
the belts.  Margaret, you're a life saver."  She 
impulsively hugged the beefy saleswoman tight against her 
bare, chiseled form, a move Margaret returned 
enthusiastically.  "Do you have time to stay for coffee?  
It seems we hardly see each other any more.  We could arm 
wrestle to see which of us wears the dildo and which perks 
the coffee.  Oh, that's right.  You never allow yourself 
the pleasure when you're wearing the company leotard.  
Promise when you deliver my new bar and belt you'll make 
time for a workout without the uniform, just like in the 
old days.  I will need your help hanging it properly and 
will want to reward you."

Margaret detached herself and got reluctantly to her feet.  
"You don't know how much I'd like to set my uniform aside, 
but I have another stop I simply have to make before the 
kids get home from school.  Don't you sometimes miss the 
war years when women had to rely on each other for our 
companionship and pleasure?  There certainly are aspects to 
muscular sex that we miss too often now that the men are 
back.  I will wear civilian clothes when we put up your 
bar, I promise.  And afterward we can talk more about 
running naked in the jungles together.  The wide grip chins 
should do wonders for your lats, and remember what I said 
about Henry's diet.  If he keeps gaining weight I'm afraid 
not even you could keep up with his expansion.  Take him 
for walks or get him interested in tennis or something. 
Make him cut back on Martinis and dessert.  If that General 
of his needs an adjutant again, Henry has to be ready.  Did 
you ever find out what an adjutant does, by the way?  I 
wonder if men could become interested in lifting, in 
addition to all their other responsibilities.  There is one 
other thing.  I notice some of your bars don't have much 
room left for adding plates.  We're doing a two for one 
trade-in special this month.  I can give you a twenty pound 
plate for every four ten-pounders you would like to 
exchange."

"That's brilliant.  I have far too many fives and tens and 
little stuff around here.  Can I put together a list of 
things to trade in and call you later?  I should be good 
for a hundred and fifty pounds worth, easily, going to 
twenties and a couple forty-fives."  She held Margaret's 
jacket, trying not to notice how threadbare it was in the 
elbows and how ragged the lining was becoming.  She 
diverted herself by feeling up and down the other woman's 
powerful physique in the process of helping her into the 
jacket.  Still fabulously nude she carried one sample case 
as they walked arm in arm up the stairs, and then waved 
from a discreet distance inside as Margaret let herself out 
the front door. 




V.	MISS WILLIAMS AND THE PROBLEM OF DYNAMIC TENSION


Margaret drove grimly toward her final rendezvous of the 
day.  Kristine Williams was a disagreeable person.  
Margaret had met her at a local trade show when the 
imposing six-footer with the flowered dress and flaming red 
hair presented herself at Margaret's table.  She declared 
her disbelief in the need for weight lifting to give women 
the strength they needed and spoke loudly to the women 
clustered around that she was living proof that weight 
lifting was a waste of time.  From her purse she produced a 
foot long section of tread cut from a car tire.  Holding it 
in front of her she pulled and pulled until the thick 
rubber stretched to twice its original length.  She then 
smugly handed it to Margaret and challenged her to 
duplicate the feat.  To her embarrassment, Margaret 
struggled and strained without coming close to stretching 
the rubber as much as Kristine had.

When she accepted her prop back Kristine offered her hand 
for a parting shake.  Margaret was subjected to a 
mercilessly crushing grip beyond anything she could 
imagine.  It was all she could do to hold back the tears of 
pain without begging Kristine to release her.  Her point 
made, Kristine walked away in triumph without another word.

Margaret had tracked down Kristine's address and visited 
twice in hopes of changing the other woman's mind about the 
value of lifting weights, and out of her own fascination 
that such power could be obtained without using barbells.  
At each of these visits Kristine did nothing to hide her 
scorn for Margaret's product line or for Margaret herself.  
She offered two other tests of strength.  In one she used 
primarily the power of her right biceps to straighten a 
horseshoe. Margaret struggled but made significantly less 
progress when challenged to work on its twin.  In the other 
Kristine had taken a can of applesauce from her cupboard 
and held it chest high, her hands pressing in against it 
until the metal collapsed and fruit spilled through 
ruptured seams.  Margaret had noticeably dented a similar 
can but failed to crush it as thoroughly as Kristine had.

On the way, Margaret stopped at a hardware store to buy a 
pair of heavy work gloves a size larger than she would 
normally take, and a pair of smaller cotton gardening 
gloves.  Pulling up in front of Kristine's apartment 
building she pulled on both pair and prepared to face a 
difficult challenge.

"Hi, Kristine.  We haven't shaken hands since that first 
time.  May we start a new relationship today?  And please, 
don't hold back."  She offered her gloved right hand to the 
puzzled redhead who hesitated only a moment before 
accepting the challenge and pouring on the power.  Memories 
of the pain inflicted the first time still haunted 
Margaret, but she knew she had to go through with this for 
her own sake as well as Kristine's.  Even with the padding 
of the gloves Margaret knew she was facing an amazingly 
strong grip.  Kristine strained and bore down, becoming 
frustrated that she wasn't crushing Margaret.  After some 
moments of accepting the maximum force, Margaret could feel 
the pressure gradually reducing.  Then she made her own 
move with a sudden fierce tightening of her own hand.

Kristine gasped and looked up at Margaret in disbelief.  
She tried to resist, but felt Margaret's power increase 
further.  "Stop!" she suddenly cried.  "What are you doing?  
What's happening?"  She fell to her knees in the doorway 
from the pain.

Margaret immediately released her and pulled off her 
gloves.  "Oh, forgive me.  Did I hurt you?  I guess I don't 
know my own strength.  Would you like to examine these to 
see there was no trick involved?"  She handed over the two 
pair of gloves so Kristine could satisfy herself that they 
were of ordinary material.  She pushed past her way into 
the apartment without waiting to be invited.  Kristine 
followed in amazement, still turning the gloves over and 
over as if expecting some creature to crawl out. 

"Kristine, would you mind bringing in my sample case?  I 
think that one weighs about a hundred pounds right now.  I 
carry it all over so I'm sure it's no problem for you.  How 
about showing me you can lift it over your head.  I can do 
it one-handed."

The redhead looked at her defiantly, then picked up the 
case. "Satisfied?"  She bent to brace her hand against her 
knee and bent her arm, rowing the heavy bag up to her 
chest.  Then she stood and attempted to shove it up above 
her head, but failed to get it past shoulder level.  When 
she set it down she rubbed her lower back in obvious 
discomfort.

Watching the performance, Margaret picked up a polished 
stone from a table next to the easy chair in the room.  
"This is your grip secret, isn't it?  You squeeze the rock 
as hard as you can, several times each day.  And that chunk 
of the old tire.  You probably worked at it for years 
pulling as hard as you could until you had strengthened 
those muscles enough to stretch it like you showed me.  How 
many other exercises do you have?  If you show me your 
physique I'll bet I can guess how many and exactly what 
they are.  But I'll show you the Mighty Marvel Weights body 
first, so you can compare."  Margaret again removed her 
jacket and skirt, then she struck a famous pose: chest and 
back tensed, arms bent out to her sides and flexed, torso 
curled slightly to stress her abdomen.   Kristine gasped 
involuntarily at her muscular display, so Margaret decided 
to go even further. Praying that she was not violating the 
spirit of her morning vows, Margaret pulled down the 
shoulder straps of her Mighty Marvel leotard so she was 
bare to the waist and duplicated the tensed pose.

"Oh my God!  You look like him!  This isn't possible!"  
Kristine stared in shock at the saleswoman.  "You're 
Perfectly Developed!  How did you do it?  And why can't I?"

"I'm a long way from perfect, but I did it the same way he 
did.  The only way anyone can.  I should have guessed you 
were an agent of Atlas before this.  I noticed the stone 
the first time I called on you, but I passed it off as a 
keepsake or a paperweight.  You fell for the Dynamic 
Tension propaganda hook, line and sinker, didn't you?"  She 
abruptly reached out to feel up Kristine's arm.  "Just as I 
thought.  Solid biceps, weaker triceps, and weak at the 
shoulder because you didn't have exercises to work all the 
muscles of the deltoids and trapezoids."  She felt further.  
"I would have expected better pectorals from your two chest 
exercises, but they are badly unbalanced.  I'll bet your 
only triceps exercise is crushing those cans.  But that and 
stretching the tire tread don't get enough of the chest 
involved.  And your lower back is dangerously weak in 
comparison to what your arms and legs could lift."  

Margaret stooped over the sample case containing sample 
barbell plates.  She gripped the handle, looked the taller 
woman directly in the eye, and abruptly snatched if up to 
shoulder height.  "Did you notice how many muscle groups I 
just used?  The Atlas system can't hope to mobilize so much 
of the body in its isometrics."  With another surge of 
power she triumphantly powered the heavy case up to arm's 
length above her head.  She turned so Kristine could see 
how the muscles of her bare back fit together like a stone 
jigsaw puzzle leading to the superbly defined triceps of 
the arm supporting the great weight, and then lowered it 
smoothly to the floor and faced Kristine once more, 
crossing her powerful arms below her glowing breasts.

"My grip prevailed today because with the gloves my hand 
was thicker than the stone you have trained with.  Your 
hands aren't strong through the full range, just for the 
specific diameter of your stone.  Your stunt with the tire?  
Just a stunt.  Here is a device my company sells that lets 
your arms work at pulling all the way from a start with 
your hands a foot apart out to your full span.  Watch."  
Margaret displayed the five-spring chest exerciser.  
Ignoring the fact that she was still naked above the waist, 
she demonstrated how it worked, to Kristine's amazed 
inspection.  It wasn't the cleverness of the device that 
left the red head stunned, it was the effect on Margaret's 
upper body.  As she repeatedly stretched the springs, her 
chest exploded into an imposing palisade of power, her 
breasts thrusting forward, her shoulders dissolving into 
churning coils of muscular cables.  

After proving her mastery of the exerciser, Margaret 
offered it to Kristine.  The tall woman remained staring at 
the throbbing upper body but numbly accepted the challenge.  
She pulled and quickly stretched the springs to two feet, 
but then her momentum slowed.  Her arms trembled when her 
hands were two and a half feet apart and she could make 
only a few more inches of progress before the springs 
snapped her hands back together.

"I've been such a fool!  I've wasted my life squeezing 
rocks and pushing doorways.  Can you ever forgive me for 
the things I did?  The terrible things I've said to you?"  
Tears welled up in her blue eyes as she offered the chest 
exerciser back to Margaret.

"You fell for the oldest trick in the book.  You wanted the 
rewards without the work, but that isn't how we do things 
in this country.  We earn what we have.  And we all stick 
together, helping each other along the way.  The Atlas 
approach left you isolated here, cut off from the rest of 
us working toward the same goal.  But it's never too late.  
You'll be starting near the bottom, because so few of your 
muscles can match your biceps and we have to get all the 
parts working together again.  Get out your checkbook, 
Kristine.  I'm putting you down for a basic weights set, 
prepaid and delivered in two weeks.  In the meantime I have 
a brochure you need to read exposing Atlas and dynamic 
tension."

She thought briefly about forcing Kristina to her knees and 
between her thighs as Angela might have suggested.  But she 
still wore her Mighty Marvel leotard, even if it now 
covered only a small area around her hips, and couldn't 
bring herself to indulge herself.  That would wait for 
another day.  In two weeks she would make her rounds 
delivering shipments to Leonetta, Angela and Kristine.  She 
promised herself to leave the honored leotard behind that 
day and see if her endurance matched her strength.


VI    EPILOGUE

Only by driving faster than she felt proper did Margaret 
make it home at the same time as her children returned from 
school.  She poured them glasses of milk and set out some 
wholesome oatmeal cookies she had baked the day before, 
carefully rationing them two cookies each.  As the kids sat 
down to their snack, Margaret chatted with them about how 
school had gone, what they had studied that day and what 
they meant to do in the afternoon with their playmates.  

When the last crumbs were sucked from the plate and the 
last drop drained from the glasses, youthful energy boiled 
over.  The twins raced off to change into play clothes and 
go in search of adventure outside.  

Life Magazine had come in the mail that day.  The cover 
story focused on the Soviet Union, and Margaret paged 
through it with a sense of foreboding.  She studied 
photographs of broad Russian women working the wheat 
harvest using tools similar to what she had used on the 
farm ten years before.  She examined the wide shoulders and 
thick forearms of a woman driving rivets in a Baltic 
shipyard.  She examined many wide hips that were perfect 
for bearing many more Communist children.  Here was the 
enemy.  They looked so powerful, so tireless, so capable of 
shouldering their nation's economy while the Red Army 
marched westward.  Margaret snarled involuntarily and felt 
the hair rise on the back of her neck, felt her nostrils 
flare and her lips pull back to bare her teeth.  

In her bedroom she hung up her faithful jacket and skirt.  
She squared her shoulders in front of the wardrobe mirror 
and studied her reflection.  The royal blue Mighty Marvel 
Weights Company leotard, with its logo printed over her 
left breast, emphasized the width of her own shoulders, the 
thickness of her bare thighs, the flatness of her stomach.  
Let them come, she thought. She would be ready, and she 
would continue her mission of strengthening more women to 
be ready to defend freedom when the time came.  She felt 
ready but there was always more to do.  Young Mrs. 
Frederickson wasn't ready.  Someone would have to shoulder 
her part of the load.  So many doors she had knocked on and 
met denial, defeatism, and so many women watching 
television in the middle of the day rather than preparing 
themselves for the struggle.  With a sigh she picked up her 
sample cases for the last time that day and carried them to 
the basement.  She unpacked and caressed her remaining 
chrome dumbbell, she unpacked her array of cast iron 
plates, and set up her equipment.  An hour and a half later 
she heard the front door open and Herbert's slow footsteps 
cross the living room overhead.  She wiped the sweat from 
her glowing pink skin and went quickly up to change.  She 
would have one more mission before she cooked dinner.

Peeling off the treasured garment, she put it in the 
laundry and made sure she had a clean one ready for service 
the next day.  Her reflection captured her again, now with 
every muscle visible on her torso as well as in her arms 
and legs.  Perfectly developed, that Miss Williams had 
said.  Like something ruling the jungle, Leonetta had said. 
Margaret rarely flexed her muscles for her own enjoyment, 
but now she did, one arm at a time, her chest, her 
abdominals, each leg and her back.  She did the Atlas pose 
again, conceding that while the physique might not be 
perfectly developed, no less an authority than Miss Marilyn 
Marvel herself had graded it Top Rate. 

Margaret slipped on a dress and transformed herself back to 
a housewife.  On her way to the living room she surveyed 
the contents of the refrigerator and cupboards so she could 
plan dinner.  Judging from the sounds of Herbert's entry, 
dinner might be late tonight.  She went to find him.

"I sold one.  I was that close on a second one.  I had a 
couple people come in to talk about repairs, and as soon as 
the customer described the problem I knew just which tube 
it would be."  Herbert looked up at her from the pit of the 
old overstuffed chair he sank into every evening.  His 
necktie had been cast aside, his shirt was opened two 
buttons,  his sleeves flapped loose.  "I almost could have 
sold two.  Ah, who am I kidding?  I'm no salesman.  
Television will never catch on."  He gave up on his attempt 
to present a brave face and leaned forward with his head in 
his hands.

Margaret drew him out of his chair and onto his feet.  
First she hugged him close against herself.  Then she 
scooped him into her arms and rocked him gently back and 
forth.  She sat in the chair with Herbert in her lap and on 
impulse undid the front of her dress so he might lick and 
suck at her breasts.  When she lifted him so easily, 
Herbert immediately felt for her bulging arms and 
shoulders.  She tensed her chest as he licked over its 
rolling contours and crushed his body against her harder 
one.  When the moment seemed right, she carried him to 
their bed room and kicked the door shut behind her on the 
way to their bed.  

Their clothes came off quickly and she took command.  She 
pressed Herbert into the bed and impaled herself slowly.  
He looked up worshipfully as her thick, powerful body 
loomed above his, as she pulled his hands away from their 
explorations of her great shoulders and bulging biceps, as 
she easily held them for a moment before pressing them onto 
the mattress above his head.  Despite his gasping protests 
she ground her weight against him and let him struggle 
ineffectually, unable to free his hands where she now held 
them both in one of hers, unable to twist his body between 
her crushing thighs, unable to resist the savage thrusting 
she began against his trapped dick.  She felt her strength 
increase with her excitement, focusing all the tumbled 
emotions of her day into ferocious sex with her husband at 
the same time she wished she could lend him some of that 
strength.  Her snarling, rocking orgasms left him nearly 
unconscious but smiling inwardly at feeling himself swept 
along by such a powerful tide.  Perhaps he dreamed that in 
some way he was responsible for it or could somehow hope to 
control it.  She dressed again and left him to his dreams.

Herbert was feeling better by the time Margaret had dinner 
ready and called the kids in.  As the family sat down to 
their meal, she looked across at her husband.  "I was 
thinking, Herbert.  Perhaps you should get more exercise.  
It might help you unwind after your work.  Maybe after 
dinner I could show you some with my weights downstairs.  I 
was talking with that nice Mrs.Van Houten today and she 
said she thought her husband might benefit from being more 
active.  He's quite successful in his business and it might 
do you good as well."
  
"It's Tuesday, we can't do anything tonight.  The kids and 
I have to watch Milton Berle on the Texaco Hour!  You 
should join us, honey.  It's so great when he dresses up 
like a woman."