Genie - Part 19
By Muscle Fan, covert.1@hotmail.com
A fictional short story of a young muscle maiden and her life.


I was trying to think how to end this before anyone could interrupt my fun,
when I had an idea.

I grabbed a beer bottle and broke it on the edge of the cartons that was
stacked up. Selecting a sharp point fragment, I crouched down and unbuttoned
John's shirt. As neatly as I could, I printed, "I ABUSE WOMEN" across his
chest.

I spied a carton of salt on one of the shelves and poured a handful out. This
I sprinkled on my handiwork on his chest in hope of inflicting a little more
discomfort, but also in hope that the message would be scarred on his chest
forever. I rebuttoned his shirt. He was still unconcious when I left through
the self-locking rear door.

'That should teach him,' I thought as I drove to Rebecca's house. I pulled up
out front and wrapped lightly on the door. A frail mousy woman answered. I
asked for Becky and she came to the door and showed me in. The house was old
and in need of some repair, but it was clean and neat. The three of us sat in
the living room, Becky and I on the sofa and Becky's mom in a wingchair. The
mother not only had a black eye, but a split lip.

I told them an abbreviated version of what happened. What I had done. I told
them I didn't think John would pose a threat to them any longer (providing he
survived), but that if he did, they were to call me immediately and I'd come
over and take care of John once and for all.

They thanked me and I left, but driving home I was still "amped" after my
encounter with John. I needed to vent, to let off some steam. I felt I should
have killed John for what he had put those two women through. That's when I
spied a lone figure standing on a deserted street corner. He wore a hooded
sweatshirt with the hood up, his face hidden in the shadows. I pulled over to
watch from a hundred yards away. As I watched, car after car slowed and
stopped briefly at the curb where this guy waited. 'Drug dealer,' I thought,
'I hate drug dealers.'

I was still wearing the leather mini-skirt and vest from the bar. I was
banking on getting close enough to grab him, but what little I knew about drug
dealers, I knew they spooked easily. He must have thought I was a hooker, as I
had hoped, because as I approached him he whistled and said, 'Hey, baby, what
are you doing on my side of town?' 'Just trying to work a new area,' I
replied. 'Well, this area ain't safe, you know, too many crack-heads and
speed-freaks. They just as soon take your money and leave you in the gutter,'
he said.

I could barely make out his face, a young black man. He was wiry, about 6'-1"
with a small goatee. I approached slowly, not wanting to spook him. As I
neared, a car stopped and I saw the transaction go down. Palm the money with
the left hand, hand off the drugs with the right. The car was at the curb
about 10-seconds. A race car pit crew would have been proud.

He turned to me and said, 'You best move along now, you'll make my clients
jumpy.' 'What are you pedalling friend,' I asked. This must have set off an
alarm, or maybe I had asked the wrong question, because he looked at me a
little longer than he should have. He repeated, 'I said you best move along
now, bitch!' I took a step toward him and in the blink of an eye, as quick as
he could trade dope for cash, he brought out a switchblade and slashed at my
arm.

It caught me across the forearm, but I grabbed his knife hand with my opposite
hand and broke the radius bone. He dropped the knife and let out a yell. In
this part of town, no one looks out their windows; no one wants to get
involved. Fortunately the wound wasn't to the bone and it hadn't hit one of my
veins which were becoming more and more prominent.

I stepped into him and gave him a right to the jaw as he was partially doubled
over and a left to the solar plexus. He went down on the sidewalk in a heap. I
grabbed him under the arm pits and dragged him into a darkened alley. I kicked
him in the ribs a few times with my boots, then bunching up his sweatshirt,
hauled him to his feet. I pinned him against the wall and proceeded to bust a
few ribs with my powerful fist, short jabs that maximized the damage.

Before letting him collapse again, I hit him square on the jaw with a left
cross sending a couple of teeth flying from his mouth. I followed that with an
upper cut that not only broke his jaw but also loosened the remaining teeth.
As he lay there at my feet I raised my right foot and brought the heel down
squarely on the palm of his right hand. The stilletto went through the soft
tissue and, had he not have been passed out, I'm sure would have been quite
painful.

It was time to get out of here. I looked down at him and putting my left foot
on his throat, applied pressure crushing his lyrnx and wind pipe. He never
regained conciousness and probably never suffered from this final humiliation.

Before leaving, I reached in the pocket that I had witnessed him putting the
money in. I took what money he had as well as the drugs. I walked back to the
car picking up the switchblade along the way, and through the drugs into a
catch basin. Thankfully I was unobserved.

Rather than returning directly home, I swung by the school and went to the
weightroom. I thought I'd do a little lifting, bu as I entered I was surprised
to find the lights were on and I could hear the clank of the barbell and its
weights.

Mr. Wilson was on the flat bench doing presses. He wore a muscle T-shirt and
gray gym shorts that showed off his powerful legs. He was a good looking man
who took pride in his body. As he positioned the barbell on the rack above his
head, he caught sight of me in the mirror. 'Genie,' he said, 'what are you
doing here? It's late.' 'I might ask you the same thing, Mr. Wilson, but
remember what I told you when we first got together' I said. 'I'm sorry,
mistress,' he said. I smiled and he smiled back.

'What do you think of your mistress,' I asked as I did a slow turn in front of
him. 'You're a goddess in that leather mini,' he said. 'Get out of the way,
Mr. Wilson, I want to do a set of presses', I said.

He got up from the bench as I unzipped my skirt, shrugged out of the vest and
unbuttoned my blouse, carefully folding them and putting them on an unused
bench. 'I'll show you what your muscle goddess can do' I said and laid on the
bench he had been working on. 'What would you like on the bar, mistress' he
asked. 'What's on there is fine, Mr. Wilson, you don't lift that much' I said
and he gave me a defeated look. I ran through a set of ten without once
needing a spot.

'Wow, mistress, that's impressive, how strong are you,' he asked. 'Strong
enough to have guns like these,' and then I flexed. 'Oh, mistress, you're arm
is bleeding, what happened,' he said, 'let me get the first aid kit.' And he
ran off in the direction of the office.

When he returned he said, 'Here, let's clean that up,' and swabbed the area
with hydrogen peroxide. 'That looks like a knife cut,' he said. 'Yeah, I was
in a bit of a fight and the guy had a knife,' I said, 'but the guy won't be
bothering anyone anymore,' I told him.

He didn't ask any more questions about the fight, and I appreciated that. He
was not only good looking and well hung, but he knew when to keep his mouth
shut. As he dressed my wound, he snuck glances at my breasts. I was sitting on
a curl bench and my huge tits rested on the arm rest between us. 'You like my
tits, don't you Mr. Wilson,' I asked. 'Yes, mistress' he asked. 'You'd like to
suck them, wouldn't you,' I asked. 'Yes, mistress,' he replied. 'Go ahead,
suck them, it's a reward for taking care of my cut,' I said. He eagerly
applied himself to running his tongue around my aeriola's and sucking my
half-inch long nippled.

I glanced down and could see the bulge evident in Mr. Wilson's gym shorts. His
10-inch cock was begging to be freed.

To be continued ...