Xena - My Story, Part 2
By Love My Muscles



Thank you to those who commented on my first submission. That word,
'submission,' plays a part in Part 2 as you shall see. Again, if you have any
comments, please email them to covert.1@hotmail.com attention, Love My
Muscles, thanks.

I was in my senior year of high school. I had taken the SAT test, college
entrance exam, and was headed to California State University at Long Beach.
This would allow me to live at home and continue to work at the gym while
attending classes. I would enter as an undeclared major, but knew I wanted to
do something that involved physical fitness. I was looking forward to that,
but right now I had to get through high school.

I was working nights and studying hard which left little time for a social
life. Most of the kids seemed to avoid me as I'm sure my size intimidated
them. I was not quite six-foot tall, but had the build that I had been
striving for, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and hips with large,
heavily muscled thighs and calves. One freshman had the bad manners to call me
a 'guy' and I grabbed him by the collar and threw him in a bush. This was
after school and was witnessed by a handful of kids, so word spread pretty
quickly that I beat up some kid. Not good for anyone wanting to enhance their
social status in high school.

I was called into the principal's office for that and given one week
detention, having to stay after school for an hour each day. Not that
devastating since I had no boyfriend, but the little punk deserved it and I
enjoyed picking him off the ground and throwing him aside like a rag doll.

I was about midway through my senior year and things were going along well. I
had met a guy at the gym, Jack. He was in his senior year at USC with a Law
major. Jack is very smart. Naturally my parents were thrilled as I think they
thought I might never find a boyfriend with my 'fascination with bodybuilding'
as my mother put it. What mom and dad didn't know was that Jack was in love
with not just me, but my muscles.

I asked him over one Saturday for dinner and he was the gentleman to my mom
and dad, answering their questions, accepting the glass of lemonade,
complementing mom on her baked chicken dish and asking dad about his business.
He even brought mom flowers and dad a bottle of wine when he showed up. He
appeared to be very self-confident, but little did they suspect that he wore a
pair of my thong underwear beneath his slacks and would lap the sweat from my
arm pits if I told him to.

Mom and dad were very impressed and told me as much once Jack had left. They
didn't even mention that I was eighteen and Jack was twenty-three.

A couple of weeks after this, my mother and father were coming home from some
friend's house when their car was hit by a drunk driver. The police said they
were killed instantly. I was at the gym when a detective walked through the
door and told me. From that moment on, I was working on pure adrenaline alone.
With his help we cleared the gym and locked the door. He drove me to the
hospital where my parents had been taken, but there was nothing I could do.

The detective asked if there was anyone that could stay with me and the only
one that I could think of was Jack. I called and he picked me up at the
hospital. I was an emotional wreck.

The next two or three weeks felt like I was sleepwalking but in fast forward.
That's hard to describe, but that was the feeling. Arrangements were made for
cremation that was stipulated in their wills, arrangement for a memorial
service, notification of relatives, flowers, etc. My mom's sister came into
town from the Midwest and my dad's brother from Pennsylvania. They hadn't seen
me, nor I them, in years.

We spread their ashes from a boat off the coast and I threw two orchid lei's
in the water and quietly said a prayer.

Jack stayed with me the entire time, putting his life on hold. Three days
after the spreading of the ashes and the memorial service, my parent's
attorney called. He wanted to go over the contents of the wills, "if this is a
convenient time," he asked. I felt like screaming, "No, asshole, there is no
convenient time when you lose your parents," but I didn't. Jack accompanied me
to the attorney's office and it was no surprise that they left me everything.
They left me, the house, the car, all worldly goods and a half-million dollar
life insurance policy. Small consolation when you lose your parents, but the
insurance money would make me financially secure for a while.

When I went back to school, the teachers were quite sympathetic. They allowed
me to take the final exams and gave me a pass on the homework I had missed. I
graduated, walked down the aisle and received my diploma along with the rest
of the class. The only difference is that after the ceremony there was no one
there but Jack.

Jack moved in, giving up his apartment. I threw myself into working out,
teasing and pushing my muscles. Jack worked out with me when he could but he
was doing an internship at a large legal firm.

It was inevitable, that my first sexual experience with a boy, or I should say
a man, was with Jack. Jack had just cleared the dinner dishes and was standing
at the sink, his naked but to me. I stood behind him as he washed a pot and
reached around him and took his penis in my hand. I didn't dare squeeze too
hard for fear of hurting him, but I began to stroke his manhood ever so
slowly. "Ahh," he sighed, "If you want these dishes done tonight, you better
stop that." "Maybe they can wait," I said and with my free hand turned him
around, "right now I need to have that wonderful cock in me." I pressed Jack
against the front of the sink with my hips. He was erect in moments.

"Come with me," I said and led him to the bedroom, pulling him along by his
cock. I sat him on the edge of the bed and gave him a private muscle show. I
knew he would soon explode, so as I pushed him back on the bed, I leaned down
to his ear and said, "Don't even think of coming until I tell you,
understand?" He nodded, but didn't look happy about it.

I straddled his hips and immediately engulfed his shaft without any foreplay.
I was wet and needed to release my sexual tension. The last several weeks had
been hell.

I lay atop Jack and wrapped my arms around him. I could have easily broke his
spine or crushed his ribs but instead, I rolled to one side keep him firmly
within me. The sensation was fantastic. My vaginal muscle and hips took on a
life of their own and with Jack held to my chest, I whispered, "Alright, stud,
you can come." Jack exploded and I along with him.

We remained locked in each other's arms, waiting for our breathing to return
to normal. "Jack," I said. "Yes, Xena," he asked. "It's time for you to clean
your cum from my pussy," I told him. He looked at me questioningly and I said
more forcefully, "Get down there and clean me, Jack." He slid down my body,
kissing my abs and navel as he went. He knelt on the floor and then set to
work lapping at my vagina.

I rewarded him for his efforts by climaxing once more sending cum into his
mouth. I raised myself on my elbows to look at him. "Hmm," I said, looking him
in the eyes, "you have a marvelous mouth," and ran a finger over his lips,
wiping away a drop of my own cum. I touched the moist finger to my tongue and
he smiled.

It was time to clear some of my parent's things from the house. Jack and I
spent an entire weekend going through clothing, books and other personal
items. We separated these into three piles; one was items that would be
donated to charity, one was things that would be thrown away and the third
were items that I wanted to keep, either to use or for sentimental reasons.
This was the smallest pile.

We had pretty well gone through the house and were now going through the boxes
and cartons in the garage. A box with my mother's name was on a shelf in the
corner. I lifted it from the shelf, setting it on the floor. I knelt and
opened the lid. Inside was a pair of padded handcuffs, ankle restraints, a
small riding crop, a pair of black spandex leggings, a large strap on dildo as
well as three battery operated dildos of various sizes. It was my mother's box
of sex toys.

"I can't picture your mother using any of this," Jack said as he hefted one of
the dildos. I took it from him and said, "I had no idea, myself." I examined
the life like rubber shaft. I slid the switch forward but it didn't vibrate.
"Seems to be dead," I observed. "It must have died happy," Jack said,
chuckling at his joke. Holding the handcuffs by one finger, he said, "Care to
give these a try?" "Is there a key?" I asked, and he looked in the box once
more. "Here it is," he said, holding the key in the other hand. "I'll pass,
but you put them on," I said. He looked at me and I added, "Really, put them
on, Jack." He glanced at the polished surface but then slipped the locking
mechanism over first one wrist, and then the other. I stood and holding the
short chain in one hand lifted. He stood as well to take the pressure off of
his wrists. I continued to lift until he was standing on his tiptoes.

"Xena, please," he said, "this hurts." I lowered the chain and I unlocked the
cuffs. "They could be useful," I said, "we'll add them to the save pile."

On the bottom of the box I found a photograph of my mother wearing the spandex
leggings. She was bare-chested and had the riding crop in one hand, a dildo in
the other. The photo which was in black and white was yellowed around the
edges.

Jack carried the box into the house. As we were sorting through things, the
news came on the TV. After several stories, a reporter standing in front of
the county courthouse said, "We've learned today that Mark Davis, the man who
was accused of driving drunk and killing a husband and wife, has posted bail.
He faces arraignment, but for the time being is free, but required to wear an
ankle monitoring device." I couldn't believe it. The man who killed my
parent's was out on the street. Jack looked from me to the television and back
to me. "Xena," he said, "I know what you're thinking and I strongly suggest
you leave the police and courts to handle the situation, besides he's not
going anywhere, he's wearing a tracking device." "This isn't just a situation,
Jack," I said, "This is a travesty. A travesty that he's walking around and my
parents are dead, and frankly I don't care about the damn tracking device."
"What are you going to do?" Jack asked. I blinked a couple of times and then
told him, "The least you know the better, counselor."

That night I drove to Mark Davis' house having found his name and address in
the phone book. 'Amazing,' I thought, 'that some people are still listed in
the phone book.'

The house was dark except for the light of the television visible through the
living room curtains. I had dressed in a pair of black spandex leggings, black
T-shirt that was very tight and had a black baseball hat pulled low over my
eyes, my hair tucked underneath. My stiletto ankle boots gave me an extra
three-inches of height. I wore a pair of latex gloves that I had found in my
father's painting supplies.

I knocked on his door and the porch light came on. "Yes?" he asked through the
aluminum screen door. "Mark?" I asked. "Yes," he said, "Who are you?" I could
smell the booze on his breath. "I'm here to give you a hand," I said. He
looked at me puzzled. "What, give me a hand, what do you mean?" he asked. I
reached through the mesh of the screen door as if it were tissue paper and
wrapped my hand around his throat. He immediately grabbed my wrist with both
hands trying to free himself from my grip. It was all to no avail.

Lifting him off the ground, I threw him away from the front door and opened
the screen door and let myself in. I closed the front door behind me, locking
it.

I looked down at him on the floor. He was rubbing his throat with one hand,
propped on the elbow of the other. I hoped he wasn't too drunk that he didn't
appreciate the muscle woman standing over him.

"What did you do that for, what do you want?" he asked. I smiled and replied,
"Because I could, you pathetic drunk, you murdering son of a bitch." This got
his attention and his eyes opened wide. "You're the daughter of the couple
that I hit," he said. "I'm the daughter of the couple that you murdered," I
corrected, "get up." He lay there, not moving.

Reaching down I grabbed his wrist and lifted him up and pushed him onto the
couch. A half-full bottle of whiskey was on an end table next to the couch. He
watched, moving nothing but his eyes, as I walked to the small table and
picked up the bottle. Only then did he lick his lips. I threw the bottle
against the far wall, shattering it and sending whiskey over the wall.

"Is it warm in here?" I asked. He gave me that puzzled look once more. I said,
"It feels warm in here to me," and I put my arms behind my head, stretching
the T-shirt I was wearing to the ripping point. Looking down I saw my nipples
were beginning to pierce the fabric. I looked back at Mark; his eyes were
glued to my chest. I flexed my right bicep and could feel the shirt tear,
separating over my bulging muscle. I smiled and kissed my muscle as the fabric
parted. Repeating the spectacle using the other arm I asked, "Have you ever
seen anything like that, Mark?" He shook his head. "No, I didn't think you
had, but I wanted to show you what you have in store," I said, "My girls want
to come out and play," and grasping the neck of my T-shirt in both hands, tore
it from my body.

"Ohh," he moaned softly, "please, don't." I laughed and said, "Please don't
what, Mark, show off my muscles?" Bringing my arms across my chest, my
trapezius muscles flared. Bringing my hands under my breasts I ran my index
finger around my rock hard nipples. I glanced at him and noticed beads of
sweat on his upper lip and forehead. "Do you like my muscles, Mark," I asked.
He nodded his head slowly. I smiled at him.

"You asked what I wanted earlier," I said, "well, Mark, what I really want is
to crush the life out of you, but what you're going to do is plead guilty to
manslaughter at your arraignment." "But, I can't do that," he said softly. I
place my right foot between his legs, the sole of my boot resting on his
crotch. "Oh, but you can and will, Mark," I said and applied just a bit of
pressure. He began to squirm.

"You're going to submit, Mark," I said, "or I'll have to get physical with
you, do you understand what I'm saying?" "Y-yes," he said, the perspiration
dripping from his brow. "Good," I said, giving just a little more pressure to
bear with my boot on his crotch. His bladder let loose and as the wet stain
spread across his jeans the living room took on the stench of urine. He really
is pathetic, I thought.

I reached down and taking him by the shirt front lifted him from the couch as
if I were holding up a doll. He clutched my wrist and mumbled, "Please,
please, don't hurt me." I laughed and said, "you're not worth hurting, but if
you don't do as I asked, I'll come back and you won't be as fortunate, do you
understand?' He nodded his head. "Good," I said, "Now go and clean yourself
up, you're a mess," and tossed him aside. "I'll show myself out of this pig
sty," I concluded.

I turned from the man on the floor, sobbing and wiping his eyes with the back
of his hand. Slowly I walked back to the front door and unlocked it. Instead
of merely opening the screen door, I tore it from its hinges and chuckled. I
left the door open. 'I need a shower', I thought as I walked back to my car.

When I got home, Jack said, "What happened to your shirt?" The remnant of the
material hung from my shoulders. "Just a little display for our friend Mark
Davis," I said, tossing what was left of the ruined shirt away. "Friend?" Jack
asked as he collected the shirt. I smiled and told him, "Mark has agreed to
plead guilty to manslaughter." "So you didn't kill him?" Jack asked. "No, he
was drunk when I got there and pissed his pants before I left, but I didn't
kill him, Jack," I said, "Now I really have to shower and get the stench of
that place off of me."

I took a long shower allowing my muscles to relax. Part of me hoped Mark Davis
wouldn't keep his word so I could go back and destroy him, but part of me
hoped he would plead guilty and do some 'hard time.' Time would tell.

To be continued ...