My Story Part 20
By Muscle Fan, covert.1@hotmail.com
A short story of a coed muscle goddess.


The following evening, Jane, Jeremy and I were in the weightroom when there
was a soft knock on the door. "Get that Jeremy," I said. "Yes, Mistress," he
replied. He opened the door and Becky, the peeping-tom from the night before
came in.

She hadn't met Jeremy and Jane made the introductions. We made an odd
foursome. Jeremy was tall and muscular, but a pussy cat at heart. Jane was
5'-4" tall with a newly honed muscular body. I'm 5'-10" of muscle, and then
there was Becky who stood about 4'-10" with a lean body. We went about our
lifting routine, having Becky fetch weights, towels and water for us. When she
wasn't doing as we commanded, she asked a thousand questions; 'Why are you
doing this,' 'Why are you doing that,' 'How did you get so big,' etc.

"Where do you live, Becky?" I asked. "Not too far from here," she said and
told me the name of the suburb. It was not the best neighborhood, I knew. She
bent to pick up a weight that Jane needed and her T-shirt rode up on her back.
That's when I saw the bruise. "What happened here," I asked, raising her shirt
which revealed more bruises. "I fell down the other day," she lied. Jane
stared at her as did Jeremy and I. "Becky, don't ever lie to us or hide
anything, who did this to you?' I asked. "My mom's boyfriend, but you musn't
say anything, my mom doesn't even know" Becky said. I looked at Jane and we
knew we had found our next victim. "We won't say anything if that's what you
want, Becky, I just hate to see you beaten that way," I said. "That's OK, I'll
be alright," Becky replied.

After the workout we told Becky we were going to shower at our place rather
than the gym. I told her to come back tomorrow night, and she left. But
instead of going to our apartment, we followed Becky at a discreet distance.
Soon we were in the part of town that she said she lived in. She turned into
the driveway of a small, but well kept, house. She hadn't been in the house
longer than 15 minutes before the three of us could hear raised voices. We
couldn't make out what was being said, but the volume and tone was
intensifying.

Leaving Jeremy in the car, Jane and I quietly went to the side of the house. A
window looked into a living room where we saw a thin woman, resembling Becky,
cowering in an arm chair before a man who was pacing back and forth waving his
arms. He seemed agitated. He was doing most of the yelling, but occasionally
the woman said something back as well. Becky was nowhere to be seen, but then
as we watched, she came through a doorway, wearing flannel pajamas. She
appeared to be 13-years old. Becky, never at a loss for words, joined in the
argument.

Jane and I went to the houses front door. I tried the thumb piece and found
the door unlocked. We went in quietly. The ranting of the man was loud and his
words were now discernable. He was carrying on about Becky being out so late,
how this didn't make Becky's mom look like a fit mom and finally about what a
reflection it was on him. We got to the door from the hallway to the living
room just as Becky was yelling that it shouldn't matter anything to him since
he wasn't her father. The man who was approximately 6 foot tall, started
toward her, closing the gap between Becky and himself with an evil look in his
eyes. That's when I stepped from behind the doorjamb and almost filled the
doorway.

The man froze in mid-stride. His eyes opening wide, he said, "Just who the
hell are you?" Becky turned to look at me quickly, "Mistress Amanda, wha ...
," she started to ask what I was doing there, I thought, but at that minute,
the man grabbed Becky's mom from the arm chair and held her back against his
chest. As if that wasn't bad enough, he took a switchblade from his pocket and
held it against the woman's throat. "Take one step towards me and I'll cut her
throat," he said. As he was talking he was backing towards the archway
separating the dining room from the living room. He was nearly through the
archway when Jane grabbed his arm and in one twist, snapped it. The sound was
like a breaking tree limb. The woman ran to Becky, the man howled in pain and
I ran to help Jane for fear that he'd somehow manage to cut her. The scene was
near chaos.

Jane had fortunately circled behind the man cutting off his escape through the
back door. I twisted the wrist of the hand that held the knife and he dropped
it instantly as the wrist shattered. I backhanded him and he went limp and
fell to the floor out cold. "God, I hate it when they scream like that," I
said to Jane, "Thanks for cutting off his retreat." "Not a problem," she said,
"Just glad he didn't see me go for the dining room."

Becky's mom with Becky held tight now looked at us, "Who are you two?" she
asked. "Oh, mom, this is Amanda and Jane," Becky said, "I go to school with
them, their seniors though, Amanda, Jane, this is my mom, Barbara." "Nice to
meet you, Barbara," I said, "Who is this guy," I asked pointing to the man on
the floor. "That's Mike, my boyfriend, or rather I should say, my
ex-boyfriend," Barbara replied, "a short time ago he started hitting me and
then a week or so ago, it escalated to include Becky. I was trying to end it
tonight." "I think Jane and I can help with that," I said, "We're going to be
running along now and take the 'trash' with us. Becky, I'm sorry we had to
follow you home but we knew something was wrong." I turned to look at Jane and
she already had Mike slung over her shoulder. He was still out cold. Turning
back to Becky, "Do you have a roll of duct tape I could have?" I asked. Becky
went into the garage and returned a minute later with the tape. "Thanks, we'll
see you around, and Barbara, good to meet you," I said. We left with Jane
depositing the man in the back of the car. I quickly bound his hands and feet
as well as taping his mouth.

"Who's that," Jeremy asked. "That's Mike, he's Becky's mom's ex-boyfriend,"
Jane said. "Where to?" he asked. "Any place secluded," I said. "I know just
the place," Jeremy replied. We drove and as we neared the harbor area, Jeremy
pulled into a local street that was home to warehouses. He stopped at one at
the end of the block. It looked deserted. He carried the man inside after I
broke the lock and hasp off the door.

There was a workbench against one wall of the empty building, Jeremy layed
Mike on the workbench. The place looked as if it hadn't been occupied in
years. "How did you know about this place," I asked Jeremy. "I use to work
here when I was a senior in high school. It was a machine shop then, but it
went out of business about a year after I started," he said. "Nice place,"
Jane said sarcastcally looking around. Jeremy just laughed.

Mike was waking up. His eyes were filled with fear. He surveyed his
surroundings and then focused on the three of us. I walked over and ripped the
tape from his mouth. "Oww," he yelled, "what the fuck!" "Shut the fuck up," I
said to him, and swatted him across the chin but not hard enough to break
anything, yet. I could tell he was sizing us up and looking for any means of
escape. "We need to reach an understanding," I said to Mike, "Jane here broke
your arm, and I broke your wrist. You're going to need to have those looked at
by a doctor pretty soon. But I need to make sure you never see Barbara and
Becky again." "Yea, and why would I agree to that?" he asked. "Good question,
Mike, it's because I'll kill you if you do," I said. I said it as
matter-of-factly as I could, but he didn't believe me. I could tell. So could
Jane. She picked up a 3-foot length of reinforcing bar about an inch in
diameter and casually bent it, twisting it in a loop pattern. "I can do this
without much effort," she said, "I could do it to your neck, asshole."

"Look," he said, "I'm going let you guys let me go and I won't call the cops,
how about that?" We all looked at each other and laughed out loud. "Some how,"
Jeremy said, "I don't think he understands that we're in control here." Jeremy
walked over and hit Mike in the ribs, cracking a couple. "Now listen to
Mistress Amanda, and do what she says," Jeremy told him. "Mistress Amanda," he
said with sarcasm, "What are you, some sort of dominatrix?" "Yes, but I'm
more, Mike; sure, I'm a dominatrix," I said, "but I can be your living hell, I
can beat the shit out of you and kill you, but all I ask is that you not go
near Becky and Barbara." "Look, Amanda," he said, "I'm going to see who I want
to see when I want to see them, got that?"

To be continued ...