Kyle 3
by Muscle Fan 



Note: Reader's comments are always welcomed. I hope you enjoy the story.

covert.1@hotmail.com

My life had changed in more ways than one. I was confirmed as a member of the
board of directors for Biomax, a position I deserved, if I do say so myself. I
continued training hard and supplementing my workouts with an occasional
injection of my Muscle Enhancing Drug, or MED's as I called it. For the most
part no one seemed to notice, or if they did, they knew better than to ask. I
dressed conservatively and updated my wardrobe as my body changed. The only
one in the office to see me naked was Kyle and I had him sworn to secrecy.

I had left my small apartment and bought my own home, an investment with the
raise that came with the seat on the board. I had outfitted one of the
bedrooms as a play room. This is where Kyle and I had some intense workouts.
The muscle enhancement drug that I was taking not only seemed to stimulate my
muscles but also my libido. Much to his credit, Kyle was beginning to be able
to keep up with my sexual demands. It was after one such session that this
story focus' on.

This particular Saturday night was warm and clear so we had the sliding glass
door open to allow what little breeze there was to enter. I had Kyle in a
headlock on the living room floor. We had been wrestling for the better part
of an hour and I was waiting for him to 'tap out' at which point I would
release him. His endurance had improved but still, I had to be careful not to
hurt him too bad. Certainly I didn't want to bruise his face or neck where it
would draw undo attention at the office.

He tapped me on the hip indicating that he submitted. As I released Kyle, he
rolled onto his back, gasping for breath. I glanced to my left just as a
stranger came through the sliding glass door. "Well, what do we have here,"
the stranger said, "lover's spat or a little S&M?"

He was big, in excess of six foot tall and over two hundred pounds. I remained
on the floor where I was, my butt resting on my heels, but Kyle rolled over
and got to his hands and knees. That's when the intruder delivered the first
kick. He kicked Kyle in the ribs, and then when he was on the floor again,
kicked Kyle a second time, and laughed. Kyle didn't move.

"Funny guy," I said to him, getting up slowly. "Well, aren't you just a smart
ass," he said, "but for an old broad you take care of yourself." "Old?" I
said, "You're going to be sorry you said that." "Oh, what's the matter,
honey," he goaded, "did you get your feelings hurt?"

I stood up but made no effort to cover myself. I watched as he stared at me
and licked his lips trying to decide how he could take advantage of me. Little
did he know that I was no one's victim, especially this assholes.

"Come on, baby, what are you waiting for," I said, "Show Margo what you got."
He didn't move or speak, so I added, "Maybe what you got isn't that much, is
that it?" He moved slowly toward me, taking his time. "You really have a smart
mouth lady," he said as I waited for him to get into range of my legs. When he
was about ten feet from me, I took one powerful stride towards him and
propelled myself upwards while bending my knees. At the top of my leap, I
quickly thrust my leading leg forward, the sole of my foot catching him in the
sternum.

With his forward momentum, he was lifted slightly off his feet and fell
backwards. Stunned, he was slow to try to get to his feet. Before he could
raise himself off the floor with his hands, I delivered a kick to his ribs.
"This is for kicking Kyle, you pansy-ass," I said. He let out a grunt as the
ball of my foot made contact, but quickly rolled away.

As he scuttled away, I was right on top of him. I grabbed one ankle and lifted
it high so that only the top half of his torso was in contact with the floor.
He tried to kick at me with his free leg, so I twisted the one that I held.
This forced him to roll to his back. Resting with his shoulders on the ground,
I raised my foot and drove it into his femur, snapping it. The man yelled like
a wounded animal, but that's what he was, a wounded animal.

I let his leg drop and when it hit the floor, he screamed again and said, "Son
of a bitch, you're dead lady, you're dead." I smiled down at him, then noticed
that Kyle was coming around, maybe because of all the yelling. "Call an
ambulance, lady," the man said and I turned my attention back to the intruder.
"I'm not calling anyone," I said, "I'm going to take care of everything." "No,
look, lady, I didn't mean anything," the man said, putting his hands up, "I
was passing by and saw the two of you through the window so I thought I'd see
if I could join in." "So you want to wrestle, do you?" I asked. "I did," he
said, "before you broke my leg." Now it was my turn to laugh, but I briefly
turned to Kyle and asked him, "Are you all right, sweetie?" Getting to his
feet slowly, he was holding his ribs, listing slightly to the left. "Yeah," he
said, "I it hurts a little when I breathe." "Probably a hairline fracture or
something," I said, then turned back to the intruder who was by this time
trying to leverage himself onto a couch.

I stepped in front of him and grabbed his right arm and ducked under his arm
hoisting the man onto my shoulders. "Hey, hey," he yelled, "Put me down,
lady." I turned to face Kyle and gave him a wink, and then lifted the man from
my shoulders and let him hit the floor with a heavy thud from perhaps six-feet
in the air. His breath went out of him and he wheezed as he tried gulping in
oxygen. As I stared down at him his eyes didn't seem like they focused on me.
"Aw," I said in baby talk, "did Margo put you down a little too hard?" "I, I
think, ah, my back might be broke," he croaked finally.

"What should we do, Margo," Kyle said slipping into his briefs, and reaching
for his jeans. "We," I said, "aren't going to do anything. I'm going to take
care of this jerk." "What are you going to do, Margo?" Kyle asked. I looked
down at the man who stared back at me and said, "I'm just going to have some
play time."

I really didn't have anything in mind, but the man, obviously now concerned
for his life began pleading, "No, look, lady, I'm sorry. Honestly, just let me
go and I'll forget I was even here," he said, "please, I'm begging you." Now I
can't stand a whiny little pansy ass. Kyle is at least man enough to take what
I would give him.

I put my foot on his crotch and said, "I bet I could crush your balls with
just my foot, asshole." The blood drained out of his face and again he
pleaded, "No, please, Margo, is that your name?" he asked, and continued,
"Please, don't hurt me, just call an ambulance and I won't say a thing, I
promise." I applied a little pressure and I could feel is penis beneath my
foot. "Ahh," he said, "Please that hurts." "What do you think, Kyle, should I
crush his cock like a cockroach?" I asked.

Kyle gulped and said, "No, please don't, Margo." I stole a look at him and he
looked pale. "You better sit down, sweetie," I said, "you look like you might
pass out." He sat in an arm chair.

I took my foot from the man's crotch and he seemed to begin to breathe again.
I studied him as one would an insect. "Very well," I said as I walked around
and straddled the man's head. I was now facing Kyle. "You might as well put
that vicious tongue of yours to work," I said, and lowered myself so that my
pussy was inches from his face. "No, please," he said, "just let me ... " and
I smothered his mouth with my labia. His nose was in the crack of my ass. I
wiggled my hips from side to side. "He's not as good as lover as you, Kyle," I
said. Kyle gave me a weak smile. The man began to slap the floor with both
hands as I knew his air was running out.

I raised myself. The stranger took in deep breaths replenishing the air to his
lungs. "Please, lady, please, ... " he said as I lowered myself back into
position. With a free hand I fingered my clit which was just above his chin.
"Hmm," I cooed, grinding my hips into his face slightly, "I can't tell you how
this makes me feel, Kyle, to dominate this whimp."

My mind was racing. I continued to stroke my clit and the area surrounding it
while I moved my hips in rhythm to an unheard tune, my eyes closed. With my
other hand I rubbed my six-pack abs and pinched my nipples, rolling them
between thumb and index finger. "Umm," I said as I was bringing myself to
orgasm. As I reached my climax, my thighs tensed and exploded with a final
shudder.

I opened my eyes and saw Kyle watching me in stunned silence. I smiled at him
and he smiled back at me. "That was fantastic," I said, and then I remembered
that I was sitting on the man's face. I raised myself from his face and he no
longer was gasping for air. In my lust I had suffocated him. Kyle sat looking
at the man with his mouth open slightly, trying to process everything. Slowly
I got to my feet.

"What are you going to do, Margo," Kyle asked softly. My mind was racing, but
no longer with thoughts of sex, but rather how to dispose of the body. I
looked at the clock and it was nearly one in the morning. "I'm going to dump
him where my DNA will be washed away," I said, "but I need your help, do you
understand?" "Yes, Margo," Kyle said, glad, I suppose, that I would deal with
disposing of the body.

I dressed in black leggings and a black pullover sweater. I put on my ankle
boots and a pair of black gloves, and then went back to the 'play room'. Kyle
stood frozen in place, still looking down at the man. "Did you see if he had a
wallet," I asked. "No," he said quietly. "See if he has one," I told him. Kyle
began going through the man's pockets and came up with not only a wallet, but
also a cell phone and a set of car keys. Spying the car keys I picked them up
and said, "You'll have to follow me. I'm going to put this guy in the trunk of
his car and drive down to the beach." "Yes, Margo," Kyle said.

I located the car a few doors down the street and backed into my driveway. My
neighborhood is quiet as a grave yard at night. I lifted the man and carried
him to the waiting car. With Kyle following me we arrived at the beach within
minutes. Few cars were on the road and none were in the public lots adjacent
to the pier.

Quickly I removed the body from the trunk and with Kyle following, carried it
to the end of the pier. Lifting him over the rail, I let him drop the thirty
feet into the Pacific. The body seemed to bob on the surface for a minute and
then slipped below the waterline. I threw the man's car keys in the ocean as
well.

We turned to leave and midway back to our car, I noticed a police cruiser
stopped behind our vehicle. Kyle stopped, but I put an arm around him and
said, "Just keep walking, baby, act as if we're two lovers out on a stroll,"
and more or less pushed him along.

"Excuse me," the officer said as he shown his flashlight on us as we walked
towards the car, "Is this your vehicle?" He moved his flashlight over the dead
man's car. "Why no, officer," I said, "that's our car," and pointed to the
black Hummer that was parked a few spaces away.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but beach parking is not permitted after ten o'clock. Did
you see anyone else on the pier?" the police officer asked. "No," I said and
looked at Kyle who shook his head but said nothing, "no we didn't." "OK," the
officer said, "I won't site you for parking, but I need to find the owner of
this car." "Wish we could help, sir," I said and pushed Kyle toward our car,
"but we didn't see anyone else."

"Thanks," the officer said as he turned and walked in the direction of the
pier and waved over his shoulder.

Inside the Hummer, Kyle said, "Do you think he'll spot the body?" "Maybe, but
maybe it will be under the pier when or if he looks," I said, "Let's get
home." Kyle started the engine and we drove home.

I asked Kyle if he wanted to spend the night. He did occasionally and
naturally he said he did. He never turned me down. As we lay there in bed,
Kyle with his head on my shoulder, he asked, "Do you regret having killed that
man?" I thought about that for a minute and then said, "No, not really, he
broke in. He had an agenda in mind and that was to beat you and rape me. He
just didn't know who he was dealing with is all." "I suppose that was justice
in some form," Kyle said. "Yes," I said, "street justice, perhaps, but it's
one less rapist on the street."

And as Kyle drifted off to sleep, I wondered what sort of person that man was.

The next day, I read the newspaper and listened to the eight o'clock news. No
mention of a body being found off the California coast or anything about a
person going missing.

Kyle, who had gone home, had left the man's wallet and cell phone on my
kitchen counter. I opened the cell and scrolled through his contact
information as well his speed dial numbers. It was an old style phone and I
found several women's names as well as men's but no listing for wife, work,
etc. Odd, I thought. No text messages and no recent calls in the call log.
Apparently this guy didn't have much to say and no one had much to say to him,
either.

Next I opened his wallet, and found a California driver's license for Henry
Barker, age 33, with an address not far from my house. Making a quick
decision, I drove to Henry's house, parking two doors down. I sat in my car
for several minutes, a map propped against the steering wheel should anyone be
suspicious, but I was studying the house over the top of the map. No movement,
no kids, no nothing, I thought. Leaving the car, I walked to the front door
and rang the bell. No answer, no barking dog, no footsteps. Leaving the front
porch, I walked down the driveway to the rear of the house. One trash can
filled with beer cans sat at the corner of the house, the other had flies
circling and smelled of rancid food, a pizza box sitting atop the garbage.

Henry was apparently on some sort of cholesterol chugging diet, I thought. I
stepped to the back door and knocked loudly. Getting no answer, I tried the
knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. With one foot on the stoop
and the other in a kitchen that looked like it had been hit by a tornado, I
said loudly, "Hello".

No response, so I went in. A quick tour of the kitchen revealed a sink filled
with cups, dishes and utensils, the refrigerator was well stocked, if you
liked beer and the kitchen table was littered with old newspaper and an
assortment of bills, mostly overdo.

I walked through the rest of the house which was in as much disarray as the
kitchen. A bedroom at the end of a hallway opened onto an unmade bed and
clothes strewn about. What a slob, I thought.

A pornographic magazine and jar of petroleum jelly was on the nightstand next
to the bed. With a gloved index finger, I opened the nightstand drawer to
discover a battery operated dildo and a large, perhaps two-foot long,
double-headed rubber dildo. Old Henry was into some kinky stuff, I thought, if
this was all his paraphernalia.

In a dresser drawer, I found a plastic sandwich bag full of marijuana and a
smaller envelope with a white powder. This was in Henry's sock and underwear
drawer. Why do drug users hide things in their underwear drawer, I asked
myself. In the next drawer down I found a dozen or so pair of women's panties,
mostly thongs, two bras and three pair of fishnet nylons. Girlfriend, I
thought, and no sooner had I processed that than I heard a car door slam.

What do I do if that's the cops, I asked myself, but moving the dirty bedroom
curtain aside, I saw it was a thin girl of perhaps 25. She was dressed in an
extremely short mini skirt and had on a see through blouse, her small breasts
visible through the sheer material. Stripper, hooker, call girl raced through
my mind. Certainly she was not wearing normal corporate attire.

I stepped into the bedroom closet. Maybe I could get out undetected.

"Hank," she yelled as she came through the back door I had entered. "Hank,
baby," she repeated, her footsteps getting closer. She looked in the bedroom
and finding no Hank, retreated down the hall a few steps, and then returned.
She sat on the edge of the bed and removed her three-inch pumps, then stood up
and unzipped the mini skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She didn't bother
to retrieve it, but examined herself in the dresser mirror. She removed her
blouse and now stood clad only in a snakeskin G-string.

She turned to her purse which she had sat on the bed and removed a roll of
dollar bills held together with a rubber band. Stripper, I thought.

She stooped and picked up the skirt and along with the blouse, came towards
the closet where I was standing. There was nowhere to hide in the small
cubicle, so when she saw me, she surprised me by not screaming but saying "Who
the hell are you?"

"I'm Jeanie," I lied, "who are you?" She stepped back and looked at me from
head to foot. I had on what I wore last night, black leggings, a black
pullover and my ankle boots. "What are you, Cat Woman," she asked. I smiled.
This chick has balls, I thought. "No," I said, "I'm your surprise. Hank sent
me." She looked at me curiously, and then smiled. "It's not my birthday," she
said. I said, "He said something about an anniversary." She seemed to ponder
this then the smile returned and she said, "Yeah, right, one month today.
Isn't he the sweetest." I smiled back and said, "Must be."

"I'm Zoe," the woman said, "good to meet you, Jeanie," and she held out a
hand. I shook her hand and asked, "Dancer?" "Yeah," she said, "Downtown, and
you?" "Escort," I lied a second time.

Zoe came to me and raised her lips to the underside of my chin and kissed me
gently along my jaw line. At the same time her hands moved my top up under my
arms. I took the hint and stepped back and pulled the top free of my torso and
head, revealing my upper body. Zoe gave a sharp intake of air. I looked her in
the eyes and her eyes traveled down my body and then back to my eyes. "I
didn't realize how muscular you are," she said.

"You don't mind, do you?" I asked. "Oh, no," she said, "Are those real?"
nodding at my breasts. Why is it that everyone thinks a woman with big, firm
breasts, has implants? "Yes, they're real," I said. She reached forward with
both hands and ran them around my tits, and then pinched my nipples. "Debbie
at the Play Room, has some muscles, but not like yours," Zoe said, "she does
Pilates, yoga and works out, but her tits aren't as big or as firm as yours.
You could make a killing if you came to the club." "I can't dance," I said.
"Jeanie, dancing isn't what keeps you on the stage," she said, "it's how long
you keep the guys in the seats spending their money. That's what counts as far
as the club is concerned." I pondered this for a moment, but she interrupted
my thoughts when she said, "Take off your leggings, Jeanie." I peeled them
from my hips and down my quads.

"Wow, your legs are awesome," she said, "I bet the guys go wild when you show
up at their door." I laughed and said, "Would you believe, some guys don't
like muscle on women." "I don't know," she said, "I've been told that I'm too
skinny." It was my turn to reach out and massage her breasts. As I did, she
closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "Hmm, that feels good, Jeanie," she
said.

I reached down and slid the G-string over her hips and she stepped out of the
small patch of material. She knelt in front of me and began to suck on my
clit, all the while caressing my quads.

I reached down and placed a hand under her arm pits and lifted her so that her
head almost touched the ceiling. Her clit was in front of me and I flicked at
it with my tongue. "Ah, ah, please, don't stop," Zoe panted. I could tell she
was near orgasm, ready to explode when there was a loud knock at the front
door and the doorbell rang.

I stopped exploring with my tongue and lowered her to the floor. "Please," Zoe
said, "let's ignore it, it's probably someone wanting to convert me or sell me
something."

The knocking continued and there was a faint, "Police, open up." Zoe's eyes
got wide and she mouthed the words, 'Police'. She went to the closet I had
been in and grabbed a kimono from the back of the door. The green silk garment
barely covered her. She tied the sash about her waist and padded down the
hall.

I stood just inside the bedroom door knowing what was coming. Several minutes
slid by and then I heard Zoe burst into tears. Perhaps five minutes past and
the front door opened and closed. When Zoe came through the bedroom door, her
nose was running and her eyes were wet. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the
dresser and blew her nose. "Hank is dead," she said, "the cops said he
drowned, but they were going to do an autopsy." "Oh, Zoe," I said, "That's
terrible," and I hugged her. The coolness of the silk kimono felt wonderful
against my chest. "I just don't know what I'm going to do," she said between
sobs, "I guess I'll have to move, I suppose the bank will sell the house. Hank
didn't have any family." "Maybe, but let me ask around tomorrow," I said, "I
have some friends who are attorneys." I was thinking of Biomax' legal team,
surely one of them would know something about probate or real estate law. "If
I could stay here, at least for a while, that would be great, I have nowhere
else to go," Zoe said, her sobs finally abating, "Maybe I could even clean the
place up." I smiled to myself, thinking about the dishes in the sink and the
trash cans out back.

I was eager to leave, but Zoe wanted to pick up where we had left off before
being interrupted by the police. Fortunately it didn't take much for her to
reach orgasm and within minutes of climaxing, she was asleep in my arms.

I slipped my arm and shoulder from under her, dressed and left after copying
down her cell number from the phone in her purse.

What worried me was the autopsy that would be done on Hank, but what's done is
done, I thought as I drove home.

To be continued ...