Sara

Strong, hard and very tough

	I suppose that, as long as I've noticed women, I've had this 
unexplained longing for athletic, muscular women.  For the longest time, I 
just figured that I was some kind of deviant, and I never acted on my 
secret desires.  At least until I met Sara.
	I went away to college when I was seventeen, looking for new 
experiences, anxious to discover what life had to offer.  And there she 
was.  Sara lived down the hall from me in my dorm, and from the very 
beginning we were friends.  She was witty and intelligent, thoughtful and 
interesting.  She was also incredibly muscular.  In passing one day she had 
explained to me that she was a swimmer during high school, and her 
shoulders and back showed it.  Even though she never wore a t-shirt or tank 
top, anyone could tell that her delts were powerful and well rounded, her 
back broad with high traps.  
	There was more to her than just a muscular back, however.  On move-
in day, the entire hallway watched in awe as she carried a steamer trunk of 
clothes on one shoulder, with a full suitcase in her other hand.  The other 
guys on the hall were more than a little intimidated, and rarely hung out 
with Sara.  But I couldn't help myself: not only did she have a wonderful 
personality, her body was the very picture of every erotic fantasy I ever 
had.
	After about a month, I got up the nerve to ask her about this 
incredibly powerful physique she possessed.  Sara replied that, even as a 
child, she had always been intrigued by muscles, and when she discovered 
that her body blossomed, she became engrossed in her training.  Despite the 
advice of her coaches and disdain of her teammates, she lifted weights, 
first just body weight doing dips, chin-ups and push-ups, but moved on to 
pumping iron.
	"That explains the forearms.", I piped up.
	"I've been kind of hiding them, because I really like you a lot.  I 
didn't want to scare you off."
	I looked her straight in the eye."I'm not scared at all.  In fact, 
I think your muscles, your body, are fantastic."  I couldn't believe that I 
had revealed my deepest, darkest secret to someone I barely knew.
	Sara leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, a soft, lingering 
kiss.  I knew, I had always known.  Our lips met in a deep. long, wet kiss.  
She moaned slightly.  I was thrilled.  We kissed for the next half an hour 
so, until I began to peel her shirt off.  She stopped me and looked 
straight into my face.
	"Not tonight," she purred. "Come back tomorrow night at nine, and 
I'll have a surprise for you.  Tomorrow night."

	The next day I had three classes: Music, Calculus, and English 
History.  To this day I couldn't tell you what happened in any of them.  
All I could think of was that woman, those muscles.  I barely touched 
lunch, and was so nervous that dinner only lasted a couple of bites.  I had 
dated in high school, but never anyone that I fantasized about.  Even that 
hour between eight and nine, seemed to take forever.  Trying to be cool, I 
didn't make my way to her room until 9:02, trying to be suave.  Who was I 
kidding?
	I reached her door and knocked softly.
	A muffled voice: "Who is it?"
	Answering quietly, "It's me Sara."
	Again muffled, but inviting: "Come on in."
	On entering, I saw no one.  Turning, I called out, "Sara, where..."
	I froze in my tracks.  Hanging from a rod in her closet, Sara was 
doing behind the neck chin-ups, dressed only in a bra and panties.  I 
watched and counted the reps: One, two, three, four, five...It looked as 
though she had been at it for a while, as her back was glistening with 
sweat.  And what a back!
	At the bottom of each movement, Sara flared her lats out for 
maximum stretch.  They seemed to taper from her waist, building upward to 
perfectly formed delts, with all three heads separated and defined.  As she 
pulled her body upwards, her spinal erectors contracted, forming two thick 
columns of muscle around her backbone.  At the top of the movement, her 
traps bulged like cannonballs as she flexed them purposely.  She grunted 
softly at the top as she held the position.  Veins stood out like garden 
hoses, over rippling forearms that seems to be constructed of steel cable.  
I continued to count: seventeen, eighteen, nineteen...
	Then I suddenly noticed.  God, was I hard!  Feeling sure of myself, 
I had only worn sweatpants, and I seriously worried about busting out of 
them.  I ached, feeling as though I could come any second.  I quickly 
grabbed for my cock and tried to hold it down, to think of anything else.  
It was impossible.  Finally, after the twenty-three reps that I counted, 
Sara dropped free of the bar.  She breathed heavily, clearly tired from 
what was an amazing effort.  Then the show began.
	Sara rolled her head back ever so slightly until she caught me out 
of the corner of her eye, and showed a sly smile.  Facing forward again, 
she took a deep breath and moved her elbows as far back as they would go.  
Her traps exploded with power, rear delts lept to life, and she showed a 
lower "V" that looked as though it had been carved from granite.  She held 
the pose for longer that I could believe, an then moved into a lat spread 
that any male heavyweight would envy.  Her lats seemed to touch the tips of 
her elbows.  Again, Sara held that pose for longer than I could stand.  
Finally, she relaxed and turned to face me.
	Her body was drenched in sweat, nipples exploding through what had 
become a see-through bra.  As she breathed her breasts gleamed with the 
sweat and her pecs tightened slightly, but enough that I would notice.  And 
the rest of her!  This was the body I had dreamt of: Broad, muscular 
shoulders which led to full, powerful arms coursing with thick veins, and 
ending with rippling forearms which danced as she opened and closed her 
hands.
	I focused again on those dominant breasts, and moved slowly down.  
Sara possessed a true"six pak", and as she breathed in, it hardened until 
there seemed to be no fat around her middle at all.  The sweat tricked down 
those solid abs and saturated her panties, also now rendered see through.  
The curls of her pubic hair were clearly visible, as was the shape and size 
of her bush.  It was perfect.
	What sweat was left ran down the insides of her powerful, piston-
like thighs.  Sara saw that I was moving down her body and she flexed her 
thighs hard, showing deep cut striations and thick muscle groups.  Even her 
calves bulged, laced with veins.  Where in the hell did a swimmer get legs 
like those?
	"Well", she drawled, "Is this what you were hoping for?"  That sly 
smile was back.  Her eyes drifted down to my aching bulge, and they 
widened.  "Oh my."
	I couldn't speak, but instead let out a low moan and began to 
stroke my cock over my sweats.  As my head rolled back, a hand caught mine.
	"No lover, not just yet.  Save something for me." Our tongues 
locked deeply, and as she put my hand to her breasts, her pecs exploded up 
and then hardened.  Ohhhhhh.  I was sure that I was going to come again.  
Sara, sensing my readiness, again stopped me.
	She cooed, "No lover, save your strength, you'll need it."  That 
smile again.
	I couldn't wait for what was coming next.  "For what?"
	Sara unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor.  She stood bare-
chested, facing me for a moment, her every sweaty pore exuding power and 
sex.  Slowly, she made her way to the desk and placed her right arm on its 
top.  "Let's go."
	"Sara, I am a little bigger that you and I do work out, in case 
you've noticed."
	She widened he eyes in mock surprise.  "Really, then we'll have to 
arm wrestle for something substantial then."  A challenge from me, clearly 
the response she was hoping for.  "What's say the loser goes down on the 
winner for as long as the winner likes, however long it takes.  Interested 
now?"
	I could only stand there like some statue with a raging hard-on, 
mute.
	"Whattya say, think I can take you whole.  Bet you'd like to see me 
try." Sara rolled her fingers and her muscles rippled.  I took a seat and 
we locked hands.  Immediately she squeezed my open palm and a bolt of pain 
shot down my arm.  My first instinct was to pull back or howl in pain, but 
I fought it off and squeezed as hard as I could.  I felt her hand give 
slightly.  Again, clearly the response she was looking for.
	Sara whispered, "Ready, set...go", and the match began, arms 
deadlocked.  I was grateful that I wasn't pinned yet, because it looked as 
though she was actually trying.  For twenty seconds or so, neither of us 
could budge the other, but using every ounce of strength I had, her arm 
began to come down slightly.  "Good", she whispered, "I bet you're so long 
and hard, and you've been waiting for me to suck you off ever since we met, 
haven't you?"  I didn't answer, because at about sixty degrees, my arm 
froze, as Sara's will had kicked in.  
	She continued to taunt me, "You've noticed my hard body from day 
one, and have been dying for me to blow you so you could show me how strong 
you are.  Well, show me.  Try harder."  Try as I might, I couldn't move her 
an inch.  We were both sapped by now, and ropy veins bulged over her 
swelling biceps and rock-hard forearms.  Just when I figured we were dead 
even and trying to plan my next assault, she locked her gaze into mine.
	"Watch this."
	As I looked down, her forearm seemed to grow right before my eyes.  
It swelled and hardened, and I felt my wrist being bent backwards.  It was 
over.  Even though I hung on for a while longer, my advantage was turned to 
disadvantage and finally defeat.  Sara held my arm on the table for a 
little while, breathing heavily.  We were both exhausted.  Just before she 
caught her breath totally, Sara released my hand and lifted her arm into 
the air.  Fanning her fingers, she then curled them into a fist and slowly 
flexed the arm with which she had just destroyed me.  I was astounded: the 
long muscle bellies disappeared, and in its place a lump of muscle the size 
of a softball.  As she hit full contraction, Sara breathed out in a short 
gasp.
	"How about that?"
	I couldn't speak as she extended and flexed, extended and flexed, 
pumping her biceps until, engorged with blood, it looked as though in would 
break through her skin.  She took my hand and placed in on the swelling 
muscle.	
	"Here, I know this is what you want." She extended and flexed her 
arm again, and I could feel every ounce of power.  Squeeze as I might, I 
couldn't dent her enormous muscles.  Sara finally stood up and moved into 
the center of the room.
	Without a word and gazing directly at me, she slowly stripped off 
her sweat-soaked panties and let them fall to the floor.  Completely nude, 
she looked as though carved from a block of stone, her chest still heaving 
from the extertion of both the arm wrestling and the flexing.
	"Are you ready for me?"
	I got up and made my way to her.  I had planned on some sort of 
romantic gesture, but instead, I fell to my knees in adoration.  I was 
thrilled: the woman of my dreams had utterly dominated me in a test of 
strength and will, and I intended to fulfill our bet to the fullest.  I 
couldn't imagine what a woman of that much power would do when she finally 
came.
	She gently but firmly took my hair in her hands and led me to her 
vagina.  The thick, brown hair was also drenched in sweat.  Without a word, 
I cupped my hands behind her knees and buried my face in her crotch.  The 
sweat mixed with her aroma was sweet, and I slipped my tongue inside her.  
I had never been particularly good at oral sex, but I was getting into it.  
Her breath came in heavier and heavier gasps as she tightened her grip on 
my hair.  As I rolled my eyes upwards, I could see that Sara was flexing 
her abs, and her intercostals stood out like piano keys.
	Then something new.  Between breaths, she whispered, "Ass"  Not 
thinking anything of it, I kept on with my business.  She bent over, 
grabbed my hands and placed them on her rock-hard ass, and said, "Put your 
hands where I tell you to."  I couldn't believe how hard her ass was, and 
to my amazement, she made them even harder.  I could feel every striation, 
every ripple.  After a few minutes, she murmured, "Thighs", and I moved my 
hands around front.  Her thighs had those teardrops just to the side of the 
knee, and they were big and hard.  The room was warm, and she had continued 
to sweat.  Now it ran down the insides of her legs, and I rubbed it into 
her deep-cut muscles.  Every so often, she would call out a different body 
part: "Arms", "Tits", "Abs", and I would move on to each and every part of 
her armor-plated body.Sara must have liked it, because she began to moan 
quietly.  I hadn't taken a break since we started, and after thirty 
minutes, I was tiring out.  But Sara was coming.
	The moaning that had been quiet now suddenly became vocal, gritty.  
She gulped for every breath, co-ordinating her hands and body so that with 
every push, my face was driven deeper and deeper into her wet, spasming 
body.  It must have gone on for a minute or more-I couldn't believe that a 
woman could come for this long!  Wave after wave came over her and she rode 
each one, and I suddenly became aware of the fact that she was ready to 
tear my hair out!  As I looked up, she climaxed, "Uuuunnhhhhhh, 
uuuuuuunnhhhhh, uuuuuuunnhhhhh!"
	Glancing upwards, she was peering down at me, licking the sweat 
from her lips, with that sly smile again.  "Nice, very nice", she purred, 
when out of the corner of my eye I saw all of my fellow dormmates staring 
at the two of us through their windows.  Sara's room jutted out onto the 
dorm's courtyard and was visible to anyone looking out their rear windows.  
Apparently, everyone was: quite purposely, Sara had not pulled her shades 
down, better to give the boys a peek at what they were missing.  I was more 
than a little startled and tried to pull my head away.
	To my surprise, I couldn't move.  Sara was gripping my head in her 
powerful hands, and wasn't letting go or letting me back.  "No, no, baby, 
I'm not nearly done yet.  Show me what you've got."  I wanted to move and 
had to pull her off of me, but I couldn't stand up with her sinewy arms 
holding me down.  I grasped her wrists, but even with all of my strength, I 
couldn't budge her grip.  Sliding my hands up to her forearms, I tried 
again.  It was like trying to crush a baseball bat.  Her rippling muscles 
didn't yield an inch.  I was breathing harder and harder, straining with 
all my might, but I couldn't move my face from her crotch.  In fact, my 
face was deeper than before.  Sara spoke again, taunting me.
	"That's it, keep trying, you get harder when you try.  I like it 
that way.  That's it, give it to me, give it, give it, give it."  I found 
suddenly that I was thrilled, as thrilled as I had been when she dominated 
me in arm wrestling.  I let go over her arms and dug my hands into the 
solid flesh of her ass.  It yielded under my fingers and I became even more 
excited.  I buried my tongue into her deep bush and flicked it in and out, 
over and over.  As Sara began to moan again, I looked up to see her looking 
out her window, enjoying the attention.  I slid my hands upward to her 
large, firm breasts to get her attention back to me.  Feeling unbelievable 
power, I pushed her backwards against the wall and quickly resumed my 
business.  Now it was Sara who was thrilled: she had unlocked a passion 
that I had never known existed inside me, and she became the willing 
recipient of it all.  She came not soon after that, groaning and gulping 
for breath.  Her body sagged slightly, signaling that she was satisfied.  
But I wasn't.  This went on for another hour, the two of us alternately 
dominating and yielding, straining and relaxing.  Even though I never came 
myself, it was the most intense sexual experience I could imagine.  We fell 
asleep, arm in arm.
	I awoke three hours later to the sound of heavy breathing.  In the 
middle of the room, Sara was putting the finishing layer of oil on her 
pumped-up body.  She took a deep breath, jutted her breasts out. and struck 
an amazing double-biceps pose.  She told me, "For as long as I can 
remember, I've wished for someone who would love  me for who I really am.  
Someone with whom I could show all my muscle, all my strength, all my sex.  
You're the man I wished for, and this is for you."
	For the next fifteen minutes, I was treated to the most incredible 
posing display I have ever seen.  Front double-biceps, rear double-biceps, 
lat spreads, shaking and flexing her thighs, holding each pose for longer 
than I thought possible.  Her abs tightened mightily as she let out each 
breath, and her chest expanded with each inward breath.  And what breasts!  
My God, her nipples looked like pencil erasers, and the sweat dripped from 
them.  Needless to say, I was hard as a rock, stroking my long member just 
at the sight of her.
	As she finished her routine, she struck a "crab" pose.  Every 
striation in her chest tensed as though it would snap from the strain.  As 
she relaxed, her arms hung at her sides, with veins like garden hoses.  
Sara cocked her head slightly and looked me straight in the eye.  "Are you 
ready for me?"  
	Without a further word, Sara stripped off her underwear and, before 
I could move to meet her, mounted me.  Holding my arms behind my head, she 
began to pump me for all she was worth.  "Just leave everything to me", she 
said, kissing me hard on the mouth, and began to work harder still.  I 
couldn't believe it; she was actually screwing me!  The first time, I 
lasted a good fifteen minutes, and when we came together, the bed shook 
with the force.  We weren't finished yet.  Sara took my hands and placed 
them on her bulging arms.  "Stay hard, baby, just hold on to these."  She 
turned her fists inward, and powerful peaks sprang up under my thumbs.  I 
didn't get soft even for a minute, and we had two more go-arounds before 
quitting.  I slept through my 9:00 class, and could barely walk that day.

	We were supposed to meet for lunch the next day, as we did most 
days.  Usually I just grabbed my lunch and found her in the hall, more 
often than not sitting alone.  When I got my lunch, I noticed a commotion 
coming from the eating area, moments of silence punctuated by loud cheering 
coming from the direction of my normal seat.  I stopped a friend of mine 
and asked him what was going on.  "Didn't you hear? Some chick is 
armwrestling guys and beating the hell out of all of them?  I heard that 
she promised to blow any guy that can beat her!"  I just rolled my eyes and 
made my way over to my seat.
	There must have been a crowd of thirty or more, mostly men, 
watching Sara.  She was dressed in a cut-off tank top that barely covered 
the bottom of her breasts and exposed her rippling abs.  She wore tight 
biking shorts that drew more than a few stares.  Her right arm, engorged 
with blood, seemed to be twice the size of her left, although I was 
informed that she had been using her left when necessary, with the same 
results: Sara had decimated every man who cared to try her.  As I came to 
the table, guys I never met were slapping me on the back, no doubt having 
been witness to my sexual display the night before and now treating me like 
a man who had discovered gold.  Sara greeted me with a deep, wet kiss.
	"Hey baby, not bad, huh?"  With her left hand, she showed me a 
handful of five-dollar bills.  Apparently, the fee for each match was five 
bucks, and she had accumulated more than two fistfuls.  She asked me to 
wait because there was one last victim.  My eyeballs enlarged more than a 
little when he sat down: a member of the rowing team, he weighed 220 if he 
weighed an ounce.  As he sat down, Sara viewed him with mock surprise: 
"Ooooh, you're a big one, aren't you."  He merely replied, "You're going to 
find out the hard way after I whip you."  Looking at me, he nodded: "Sorry, 
buddy."  As his eyes turned back, he saw a sinewy, vein criss-crossed arm 
facing him.  Locking hands, someone in the crowd shouted "Go".
	No movement on either side after ten seconds.  The crowd shouted 
encouragement to my new girlfriend, "Go, Sara!" and "Come on, baby!", but I 
was more than a little worried.  This guy was giving Sara all she could 
handle, or so I thought.  She must have sensed this and looked at me 
squarely and just winked.  What happened next told me more about Sara than 
could a thousand words.  She took a breath and simply bent her opponent's 
wrist back on itself, immediately assuming the initiative.  With a great 
deal of grunting and groaning, he managed to right himself and shot Sara a 
smile.  To this, she responded by simply muscling his wrist back down 
again.  No technique, no finesse, just raw muscle.  Once again, her 
opponent managed to even the odds again, but with this time much greater 
difficulty.  It now became clear to me what was going on.
	This series continued for a couple more times, each time Sara's 
bending becoming easier, and the bending back more difficult.  Her opponent 
began to wail and moan.  He knew that he was beaten and in the process of 
being humiliated, yet to his credit he continued on.  Finally, with his arm 
quivering and dripping with sweat, he couldn't stop Sara from slowly and 
deliberately finishing him off.  The match over, she merely patted her 
vanquished foe on the head, grabbed my shirt and began to make our way from 
the table.  "Sorry, boys, show's over.  This stuff makes my horny and 
that's why I've got my stud here.  See you later."
	The sex was fantastic, lasting a good ninety minutes, in a 
multitude of positions, with Sara demonstrating her tremendous strength at 
every opportunity.  Afterwards, we lay in bed talking.  I told Sara I 
didn't understand the sudden change.  A day earlier, she had tried to her 
magnificent, powerful physique, and yet now she flaunted it, and her 
aggressive sexuality with it.  What happened?  "You happened", she told me.  
"Last night I realized that this is who I am", she said, flexing a mighty 
biceps.  "I am strong, I am sexy, and I am dominating, and it's time for 
everyone to know it.  I owe it all to you.  I know that you're a little 
nervous about my armwresting, but I'm asking you to trust me.  If I don't 
want to be beaten, I won't be beaten."
	It became a regular event.  Every Wednesday at lunch, Sara took on 
the first ten comers in armwrestling, for a price of five bucks a person.  
Not a single man came close, none had a chance from the start.  She became 
a cult figure around campus, always posing or flexing for strangers who had 
heard of her reputation for strength.  Our relationship was great, filled 
with fun, conversation, sex, and meaning.
	We trained together, and in months I had gotten into greater shape 
than I thought possible.  Sara's strength and stamina were simply 
phenomenal.  It wasn't that she was stronger than me, she wasn't, I could 
always lift more than she could, even when my greater size was factored in.  
With the exception of biceps curls (she could curl nearly half her 
bodyweight), I was stronger in terms of sheer amount of weight.  Yet I 
could never beat her in contests of strength.  It seemed to me that Sara 
possessed an infinite capacity for willpower.  Once the contest was 
engaged, she had the ability to grind out victory, no matter the time or 
pain necessary.  At night, we engaged in contests of strength: push-ups 
with the other person sitting astride the back, one armed push-ups, chin 
ups with one or both hands, and punching each other in the stomach.  She 
seemed particularly good at that contest.  With each punch, her resolve 
stiffened, and she seemed to invite more damage.  These bouts usually ended 
after a dozen or so punches, most of which would have dented a tree.
	I was now up to 215, solid as a rock.  Sara went about 145, and 
made my "rock" look positively soft by comparison.  We lifted at the dorm's 
gym late at night, usually by ourselves.  Sara had noticed a punching bag 
hanging in the corner and had asked me to show her a few tricks or two.  I 
had boxed a little in high school and taught her the basics, like how to 
turn your body into a punch and also how to follow through.  We worked on 
combinations, hooks, and uppercuts.  I was sure that she could have swapped 
leather with any man her size or a little larger.  
	On this night, in the middle of our training sessions, three big 
guys came strolling in, looking for this legendary woman who could not be 
beaten in any physical contest.  The biggest guy was clearly looking for a 
fight and wasn't going to take no for an answer.  To Sara's credit, she 
played coy for a while, not really looking to hurt anyone.  Finally, I 
stepped in, telling the big guy that he should take it somewhere else.  
Behind me, one of his buddies gave me a shot to the back of my head and he 
and his pal held me face first against the wall.  I strained to watch Sara 
over my shoulder, as she merely shrugged, indicating that she was ready to 
go at it.  The two squared off, with Sara giving away at least 75 pounds.
	The two circled each other, the bigger man showing respect for the 
power evident in Sara's bowling-ball shoulders and bulging biceps.  A left 
flicked out, smacking her hard across the face.  I fought to release myself 
but to no avail.  A left flicked out again, with Sara moving her head to 
avoid it.  A third left came out.  Precisely at that moment, Sara ducked 
under his hand and launched a right hook, leaving her feet as she did so.  
It crashed into his nose, which began to gush blood.  He staggered 
backwards, barely recovering his balance.  As he cupped his flowing blood 
in his hands, his knees shook and he looked as though as though he would 
cry.
	Sara brought her fists to chest level and declared matter-of-
factly, "This is what you wanted, this is what you get."  Stepping forward, 
she launched another right hand that exploded off of his temple, backing 
him up.  He continued to backpedal as she stalked him: a left uppercut, a 
right hook, another right hook, two straight left hands.  His buddies had 
let go of me, and together, the three of us watched as Sara chopped the big 
man down.  A final straight right sent him reeling into the back wall.  She 
had driven him twenty feet, and now went to work on his midsection.  With 
each punch, she twisted her hips, and the sound of fist on rib cage 
resembled a mallet striking a bass drum.  He began to spit up blood to 
match his flowing nose.  He sank to his knees as Sara stood over him, her 
chest heaving.  Attempting to throw a right hand, she caught it in her left 
and squeezed.  He screamed in pain, as Sara commanded him: "Lift your head 
up. Higher!"  She launched a chopping right hand that flattened him, 
leaving him stiff as a clubbed-out fish on the floor.  His buddies carried 
him away, still dripping with blood.
	We went back to her room and had sex (something about combat always 
turned her on).  Afterwards, we talked about the fight.  I asked her if she 
was scared at all.  She stood and faced me, naked.  "Guys like that are 
just bullies.  Everyone is a little scared during a fight, but they're 
counting on you being more scared than they are.  You have to take the 
offensive.  Once I hit him, he was terrified, because he knew that I saw 
right through him.  The rest was academic.  It's not hard to destroy 
someone who is in their heart afraid.  That's why I love you, because 
you're not afraid of me."  She turned to walk away, took one step, turned 
her head, and showed her sly smile.  
	"But you should be."