Candy and the Rueful Rabbit Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996 This material is not intended to be read by those under the age of consent in the jurisdiction in which they are accessing the Internet. If you are too young to be reading this, DON'T READ IT! If you are an adult with children and are reading this, please consider where you store it, and whether or not your children can and should be accessing it. This is a work of fiction. Copyright: This story is copyright 1996 by the author, Sam Rabbit, under the U.S. Copyright Convention and the Bourne Conventions. All rights, including: the right to re-transmit beyond the initial access, the right to store on a remote server; and the right to re-print or distribute, are expressly reserved to the copyright holder and may not be exercised without permission of the author. Please send comments to an413801@anon.penet.fi Introduction This story is essentially a love story. It is written as a classic love stories, with a plot that was probably first used in a Greek Tragedy. If you don't like love stories, or if you don't like explicit sex and violence, or if unhappy endings make you unhappy, don't read on. If you're a vehement Prohibitionist, or don't like beer, then this story isn't for you. Candy and the Rueful Rabbit Copyright (c) Rabbit Productions, 1995, 1996 Chapter 1 - The new barmaid It was hot, I was worried, and I needed more problems like I needed a hole in my head. For the last six months, the bar had been losing money - there isn't enough distance between the price of beer and the cost of beer to pay for the exorbitant rent on this place. I certainly couldn't afford any more staff, and that's what I told the girl. She was pretty, even if her face was a bit thick-set. OK, let's be honest, her hair was nice. Long, light brown and very curly; what you call big hair. Very nice hair - the sort of hair that some girls use on you to turn you on. In fact, the more I looked at her hair, the more I thought it was more blonde than light brown, really. I couldn't really tell what her figure was like in the coat she was wearing, and I thought she had to be a bit weird to wear a coat in this heat. Did I mention it was hot? It was humid too; I could have put the air-conditioning on, but the electric company had funny ideas about the price of power, so I only put it on when the bar filled up. Not that it ever filled up. Of course, a pretty barmaid can help business; men seem to drink faster when they're talking to an attractive girl. Big breasts help a lot, and long hair does too. Don't ask me why, I'm a barkeeper, not a psychologist. On second thoughts, I take that back - there isn't much difference between the two professions. You can also hope that a few more customers will walk in, or that some of them will stay a bit longer. She looked depressed, so I offered her a drink on the house (only a small one), and told her to take off her coat and sit down. She told me her name was Candy, and I said "Sam". She took off her coat, and I tried to reel in my tongue and close my mouth while she sat down. Candy was big, very big. She was wearing a loose sweater and a long skirt, but even so, you could see that there was an awful lot of Candy there. "Tell me your problems", I said. They teach you that phrase at barkeeper school; it's a great way to get the customers talking for hours on end, and they can't talk unless you keep their throats wet. Of course, you don't have to actually listen to their stories; an occasional sympathetic noise is all they really need, like "Oh, I know", or "Oh, that's terrible", or "What rotten luck". But I listened to Candy. Last place she'd been, she'd had to leave town; some random act of senseless violence. She didn't seem to want to get specific, and I didn't want to press her. You read all the time about the terrible things that can happen to defenseless women, and I didn't really want to hear the details. She'd left fast; just jumped on the first long distance bus, which fetched her up here. Here? A town called Hope, consisting of some hundred thousand citizens without any. Her money was all gone, she had nowhere to stay, nothing to eat - I started hearing the violins in the background. I should have clucked sympathetically and wished her well for the future. Rule number one at barkeeper school is "Never empathise with the customers". But I had one of my stupid ideas, and found that my mouth was moving before my brain could stop it. I offered Candy a trade; food and lodging in exchange for her working as barmaid. I told her she could keep half of any tips, which would give her a way to build herself up a stake to either get a proper job, or to take the bus again. I figured that it wouldn't cost me much (she could sleep in the room upstairs, which was perfect for large parties and suchlike, and it was such a shame that no-one ever hired it). I thought - a big girl like she seemed to be, maybe the well-known barmaid magic would increase beer consumption. Her face lit up - when she smiled, she was almost pretty. I guessed that she was about 25. She seemed like a nice girl. But then, I've thought that before, and usually been wrong. I explained the job of the barmaid; it isn't just a matter of pulling pints, although that's a skill in itself. I can't understand people who drink beer from cans and bottles; beer from the wood is so much better, although handling the barrels is a pain. There's a skill to pulling a pint from the barrels in the cellar, though. The hand pumps that we use (I don't like electric pumps, and you've got to be a Philistine to put the beer under pressure) need a fair amount of pull, although it isn't hard once you've got the knack. But there's an art to getting just the right amount of head on the pint. Bitters can be pulled in four steady strokes, but stouts have to be drawn more carefully, and allowed to settle a bit halfway through. I showed Candy how to draw beer - I suppose not many people realise how much there is to learn about it. Then I explained the more important aspects of her job. It isn't that a barmaid has to do anything gross, but a bit of flirting with the customers does no harm at all. I explained that many of them were there because they preferred it to being at home, and it was part of our job to make sure that The Rueful Rabbit was a home from home, with a smile and a welcome always there. Candy asked me why I called the place The Rueful Rabbit, so I ruefully told her that my name was Sam Rabbit, and I watched her carefully, and she didn't laugh, and I began to quite warm to her. She helped me clean the glasses - no, let's be honest, I got her to clean the glasses. I mean, if you're going to have staff, you get to delegate the menial jobs. I swept the floor, although it didn't really need it, went down to the cellar to check that the barrel connectors were all tight, and gradually we got ready for the evening trade. At seven o'clock we opened. I went to the front entrance and opened the double doors, and a crowd poured in. Yes, honestly! Well, you know what they say - two's company, three's a crowd. Unfortunately, two of those three were Candy and myself, but at least we had one genuine customer. He walked up to the bar, and I heard a lot of silence where there should have been a request for beer. I finished fastening the doors open, and turned back to the bar myself, at which point I understood the silence. Candy had taken off her sweater. Underneath it, she was wearing a white blouse, and under that there was a lot of woman. I stood and stared. Candy was reaching up to the shelf in front of the bar where the clean glasses are kept, and I wished I had either a photographic memory or else a camera. I rapidly discarded the theory that she had a pair of soccer balls under there; she was just too big. Anyway, soccer balls aren't that shape. I heard someone moaning softly, and realised that it was me. I carefully shut my mouth, and my eyes. That was a mistake - as soon as I shut my eyes, I couldn't see the incredible sight of Candy stretching up, and by the time I'd opened them again, she was asking a paralyzed customer what his pleasure was. Between seven and midnight, we must have had nearly six customers. Each of them reacted to Candy in much the same way. She threw herself into the job with enthusiasm, batting her eyelids and swirling her long hair, and making the customers feel like they were at home, only better. We had better beer than they could buy in the supermarket, and Candy was better company than whoever they had at home. And in exchange for a pleasant evening out, they drank nearly $60 worth of beer between them. You can see why it's very hard to make ends meet in this game. Chapter 2 - Where does Candy sleep? As I locked up, my thoughts strayed to Candy. Actually, my thoughts had been straying to Candy quite a lot that evening, or rather to her stunning breasts. I wondered if they were real, I wondered how big they were, and I wondered if stroking her very large nipples would make her scream. Have I mentioned her nipples? I suppose I ought to try to explain. Although Candy was wearing a blouse made of some substantial material, you could see her nipples very clearly through her blouse. This wasn't the fault of her clothes - it was because her nipples were devastatingly large. As far as I could guess, they had to be a bit longer than my thumb, and somewhat thicker, and they seemed to be quite rigid. I thought of stroking the underside of those nipples, and I thought of licking the ends, and then I tried to think about cold showers and greasy food, because it doesn't do to have an obvious erection when you're talking to a girl. She'd taken another $10 in tips, which isn't bad considering the big spenders that we'd had in that evening, and she'd quite enjoyed herself, bantering with the customers. We split the $10 (I did consider generously allowing her to keep the lot, but I didn't want to set a bad precedent), and I showed her upstairs to what I rather grandly call The Rabbit Hall. It's quite a large room, big enough for a party of a few hundred people. I had hopes of hiring it out for weddings and funerals, but Hopers seemed to always hold these in church halls. This is where I intended Candy to doss down. She seemed happy enough - after all, it beats sleeping in bus shelters, and asked me where the bed was. Sometimes I wonder about myself. Why didn't it occur to me that she'd need a bed? I had tables (short) and tables (long), I had chairs (stacking) and chairs (folding). But since weddings and funerals don't need beds, I didn't have a bed. Or sheets. Or blankets. Or pillows. Yow. Fortunately, at times like these, the old noggin can often do a bit of fast lateral thinking and come up with the goods. I didn't have sheets, but I had plenty of tablecloths, and what's the difference? I didn't have pillows, but I had lots of cushions. For the bed itself, I collapsed a long table, and that only left a mattress to find. Cushions? No, they'd escape in the night. OK, what do you need for a mattress - it has to be about six feet long, two or three feet wide, and with plenty of give. What could I see that answered that description? Desperately, I pushed the answer "Candy" out of my head, but it kept returning. She looked like she'd make the most amazing mattress, with two large pillows included. Sternly, I disciplined my mind to the problem at hand, and tried to stop thinking about words like "discipline" and "hand". I looked down at my feet to avoid being distracted by the huge female beside me, and I realised that I was looking at the answer. A few minutes later, I had the carpet up and folded, making a reasonable mattress for someone who looked like she really didn't need one. I don't know how well Candy slept - I had a bad night. I kept thinking about how Candy looked, and I had a dream, which I don't remember very well, but which involved a girl with amazing breasts and nipples. Candy didn't look like that, you understand; she wasn't as pretty, and I didn't actually know what her breasts looked like. But the thing in my head that makes the dreams had done a bit of extrapolation, and maybe a bit of exaggeration, and came up with such a splendid result, it was a shame I had to wake up. Next day I got down to the Rueful Rabbit at about ten. One of the drawbacks of bartending is the unsocial hours that you keep; another is that you get to meet lots of men, many of them single, and hardly any women, none of them single. My social life was zilch, and my sex life consisted of staring wistfully at girls in supermarkets. On the other hand, being a bartender has compensations; all the beer you can drink, and you learn very rapidly to restrict that to a couple of halves per day. So you can see how even Candy's rather plain face looked good to me, not to mention her other assets, not that I had a clear idea of how she looked underneath her clothes. We got ready for the lunch-time session, noon till three. I went down to check the barrels, and Candy stood behind the bar waiting for customers. By half past two, it was clear that there weren't going to be any, so I closed up again. Candy asked me if she could go shopping - she'd left town so fast, she didn't have anything except what she stood up in. I told her that she was free till seven, but instead of going, she stood facing me, nibbling her lower lip nervously. I found her nibbling action excessively suggestive, and it made it more difficult for me to keep my eyes on her face. It's very impolite to stare at a girl's bosom while you talk to her, but almost impossible when the girl has a body like Candy. Eventually, she got herself together enough to explain that she couldn't go shopping without any money, and could she have an advance? An advance, I thought? An advance on what, I thought? I wasn't paying her any salary, and Rabbit customers weren't exactly munificent in their tipping. I was wondering what to say, when Candy continued to explain - she needed some panties and she only had this one blouse to wear. I tried very hard not to moan again as we both looked down at the only blouse she had to wear; I could see her point. To be precise, I could see two rather large points; were her nipples really the size of my thumb? I ponied up a hundred bucks, hoping that they didn't charge by the square yard, and away she trotted. I wondered where on earth she expected to find a shop that stocked her size, especially in a small town like Hope. While she was away, I went down to the cellar, pottered around in the brewery, and indulged my favorite daydream. Most bars sell beers that big companies, brew, bottle, and spend a fortune advertising, because no-one would drink them otherwise. Some beers are given a sporty image, and some a macho image. The beer that I brewed had no image whatsoever, just taste, head, aftertaste and gentleness. Mild Rabbit, for example, was a dark beer with a light taste, about 1.038 gravity, and lightly hopped. Rabbit's Ruin, on the other hand, was really a barley wine, with a gravity of 1.100, and a kick like a big buck rabbit. Rabbitbolter was a 1.045 gravity beer suitable for steady drinking, although more than a few pints would leave you more than merry. Black Rabbit was a milk stout that an Irishman once told me was better than Guinness - you could sign the head, and your signature would still be visible by the time you'd drained the pint. But I still experimented, varying the proportions of malt and hops, sparging the barley at various temperatures, experimenting with different yeasts, in search of the perfect beer. The perfect beer would taste like your mother's milk but more suitable for the adult palate. It would be gentle on the head, so that even over-indulgence would leave you the next day with no more than a mild feeling of lethargy. It would have a head that proudly announced its beerness, without getting in the way of pouring or drinking. And most of all, it would be in such demand from the customers that I would be able to afford to pay the rent on the Rueful Rabbit. Chapter 3 - Candy pumps beer At six thirty, I reluctantly left my little brewery to get ready for the evening trade. Candy had returned from her shopping expedition, and as I emerged from the cellar, offered me a glass of beer. I explained to her that bar staff didn't drink, and I explained the excellent reasons why not, but I told her to draw a pint of Black Rabbit anyway, so that she could practice her technique. Let me explain about beer pumps. The handle is about eighteen inches long and about two inches thick; it's round, and made of brass and wood (ideally mahogany). At the top, just above the wooden handle, there's a decorative brass boss. You grasp the handle, and pull it down firmly, and this pumps the beer up from the cellar, making it gush through the tap. You've probably seen this many times - I certainly had. But I wasn't ready for the erotic display that followed. Candy moved her hand up and down the wood a few times, looking for the right position. Then she grasped the handle near the top, putting her thumb gently on the decorative knob. She clenched her hand a few times, getting herself ready, and then she gently pulled the handle down. As the beer flooded out of the spigot, I moaned, as quietly as I could. Candy looked up from her task, smiled brightly at me, and continued. The handle was now fully in the down position, and Candy now had to raise it into the erect position. She changed her grip on the handle for this, using a two-handed technique. She laid both her thumbs under the handle, with her fingers splayed out along the length of the handle, and lifted. She was in a bad position for lifting; the upstroke of a beer pump needs very little effort, but because of her stance, she had to push hard, and this effort was reflected in the forward surge of her breasts. When she had the handle fully erect, she changed her grip again to the single handed, thumb on knob position, and drew the handle down again. Once more, Black Rabbit gushed from the spigot, and this time Sam Rabbit nearly did too. After five strokes the glass was full of milky black liquid and frothy white head. She wiped the bottom of the glass, placed it in front of me, and said "How's that?". Great, I said. I didn't have the heart to explain all the mistakes she'd made, and I guessed that very few customers would complain. Actually, I didn't have the strength, either - her method of pulling a pint had left me as weak as a kitten. She hadn't held the pump handle correctly, she hadn't pumped fast enough, she hadn't left the beer to settle (necessary in a stout like Black Rabbit). She'd given me a glass that was more head than beer, and I didn't care. I opened the doors and customers started to trickle in. We had a few more than last night, but we were hardly rushed off our feet. For me, it was nice to spend the evening sitting down while Candy handled the bar, and I thought it was worth having her around for that alone. That and a couple of other things, of course - I made sure I had a good view of the other things throughout the evening. I dreamed of her again that night - not Candy specifically, but a very pretty woman who certainly had Candy's two-inch nipples. The dream was confused, as dreams are, but I definitely remember her smiling at me. The week went by, and I got the impression that we were definitely getting more customers. By Friday, I was counting over a dozen during Happy Hour. I'd better explain about Happy Hour, you might be used to something different. Most bars have a Happy Hour, during which the drinks are a dollar off, or half price or something. At the Rueful Rabbit, drinks are free during Happy Hour, and I have one every day, and if that sounds crazy, let me explain my theory. Beer is 99% water; the ingredients are quite cheap. It costs me maybe ten cents per pint in raw materials; my main costs are the rent on the bar, and the huge amounts of money that the government demands with menaces; they call it tax, I call it protection money. If I don't pay, they put me in prison - what would you call a threat like that? But the rent on the Rueful Rabbit is the same no matter how much or how little beer I sell, and not even the robbers in Washington have found a way to tax what you give away for free. The Happy Hour gets people in, and during that time, it would need a determined man to drink more than a few pints, unless he was drinking to get drunk, which hardly ever happens in the Rueful Rabbit. When Happy Hour ends, the customers are nicely relaxed, enjoying their conversations, and they don't want to leave. And it's at that point that I start taking the cash that pays the rent. Saturday was an all-time record. For once we had a real crowd - at one point, I counted twenty people. Candy was kept fairly busy, and I noticed that the customers seemed to be drinking more beer than usual. Certainly the toilets were in heavy use, because beer is something you can only borrow, you always have to give it back. I guessed that the old barmaid magic was working, and certainly a lot of the customers were sitting at the bar where they could more fully appreciate Candy. And I hadn't done anything to correct her unusual pumping action, because it was such a joy to watch (and I was right about getting no complaints). We closed up at two in the morning. I was shagged out, and so was Candy. We divided up the tips, and she paid me back the hundred she'd borrowed. We gathered up the dead men and put them in the sink, and cleaned the place up a bit, because there's nothing worse than dried beer to get off, but we left the proper clean-up till later. I told Candy that the Rueful Rabbit would be closed on Sunday, because someone had passed a regulation that imposed their religious ideas on me. I had once thought as registering the Rueful Rabbit as a church; after all, if one religion can make the drinking of wine part of a sacred ritual, why couldn't I treat the drinking of beer that way? But I didn't like the idea of the hypocrisy that often accompanies organized religion, so I had to close up each Sunday. So Candy could have the day off. She thought for a few seconds, then asked if she could stay in the Rabbit, since she didn't have anywhere else to go. I thought of how much fun it would be to lurk in a dark and empty bar all day, then suggested that we go out on a picnic. Candy switched that kilowatt smile on again, and said she'd love to. I went home and went to bed, and for once I got a reasonable night's sleep. Next day, I got the car out. I say car; that's not true. It's a van ordinaire, rather old, and not entirely reliable. I called at the Rueful Rabbit to pick up Candy, who was wearing something new on top. It was lime green, and rather silky, and very large - well, it needed to be. Under that she wore her usual long skirt. She'd put her hair up into a sort of coil on top of her head, and looked very fetching. We stopped in at the supermarket to get some food for the day (you can probably guess what I'd organized to drink), and set off to find a nice place to spend the afternoon. Chapter 4 - The picnic After driving for fifteen minutes, I stopped the car by the side of a field. There were sheep in the field, but I thought they wouldn't mind sharing some of their grass with us, and not too far away I could see a small stream. Candy carried the food, and I carried the drinks; we spread a blanket on the grass near the stream and sat down. Candy did it again - I wasn't sure whether she did these things on purpose. I just plonked myself down on the blanket, but Candy's way of getting to the ground was much more complex. First, she smoothed her skirt from hips to knee. Then she smoothed her blouse, making sure that it was properly tucked in to her skirt, causing it to cling to her breasts like a second skin, and making her huge nipples stand out further than most women's breasts do. By now I was almost sure that she didn't wear a bra, firstly on theoretical grounds (I doubt if you can get one big enough) and secondly on empirical grounds (if she were wearing a bra, her nipples wouldn't stand out like that). Candy continued the process of sitting down. She lifted her skirt several inches and lowered herself to one knee, while keeping her back upright and staying in balance. Then her second knee joined the first, and she sat back onto her heels, the way Japanese people do. All this time, her back had stayed perfectly vertical with her nipples pointed directly at my eyes, and after a moment's thought, I could see why she sat down that way. What she was doing was keeping her center of gravity above the point of support at all times - if at any stage she had leaned forward, she would not have been able to keep her balance. And her position now was ideal - she was sitting comfortably, but if she needed to move to reach something, she could simply walk on her knees. She started opening the supermarket food, and I started work on the bottles. First, I went down to the stream to fill a plastic bucket with water. Then I put the bottles in the bucket to keep them at the proper temperature. Beer should never be drunk chilled; it should be below ambient temperature, certainly, but not by very much. Dunking the bottles in water was ideal. For starters, I opened a bottle of Ginger Rabbit, a beer made with ginger, a little white sugar and hardly any malt. The strength of Ginger Rabbit is entirely in the flavor; the alcohol content is almost nil. I poured a pint for Candy and the same for me, and we both relaxed blissfully in the warm sun. Candy was very good company. She didn't nag, she didn't scold, and she had her eyes closed and her head back, which did incredible things to the front of her blouse, and meant that she couldn't see me looking at her. I could watch this all day, I thought, sipping my Ginger Rabbit. "You managed to find some clothes, them", I said. No, explained Candy, she didn't even try. She simply bought some material and a sewing kit; she was used to having to make her own clothes. I could see why, and desperately wanted to ask her how big she was, but I can't see any way of doing that politely. She said she'd made a few blouses, and was now working on a new skirt. I explained some of my theories about beer, and Candy disagreed with my notion of government-as-robber. We debated about religion (I'm an unregistered Cynic) and I shared some of my barkeeping expertise with her. She asked me how she was doing as a barmaid, and I told her candidly that her style of pulling pints wasn't classic, but seemed to work, and the customers liked it. And I told her the Theory of the Barmaid, and why it was a bit of innocent flirting seemed to result in more beer consumption. She told me that she'd always been taught that a bar is a den of iniquity, but that the Rueful Rabbit was more like a non-exclusive gentleman's club. She said that she hadn't known that there was so much to beer, she'd thought it just came in a can. I sadly agreed that most people shared her opinion, but that we would do our best to educate them. All this time I kept thinking I ought to do something, to make some move, but I was really enjoying the afternoon, and I didn't want to risk upsetting her. A few of the sheep came over to say hello, and Candy stroked and petted one of them. It obviously mistook her for a patch of grass, because it shoved it's head towards her, and gently butted her on one of her breasts. She laughed, and stroked its head, and it butted her other breast. She grabbed its head and cuddled it; the sheep's head disappeared in her huge bosom. I tried to breathe as normally as I could, but there were too many physiological changes affecting me, and I started hyperventilating. The sheep wandered away, and I briefly considered taking its place. Candy smiled at me, and I almost wet myself. I closed my eyes, and thought of the fermentation process, of different varieties of yeast, and of the advantages of using wheat instead of barley. A shadow obscured the sun, and I opened my eyes to find Candy kneeling above me, looking worried. I opened my eyes and looked up. The sight that met my eyes was surely worth all the beer in Bridlington. Candy was upright on her knees peering down at me with a look of concern, and her immense breasts were just in front of my face. One huge nipple was inches from my mouth, and once more I wondered how she'd react to having the underside of her nipples licked. "Are you all right?", she asked. Just a moment of weakness, I assured her, it'll pass if we both keep perfectly still. The sun was heading down towards the horizon and we'd finished the last bottle of Ginger Rabbit, so it was time to go. Candy helped me tidy up, and stood up by reversing the way she'd sat, and we walked back to the Rabbitmobile. As I approached, I could see that I had a flat tire - the Rabbitmobile isn't exactly in the prime of life. So, while Candy knelt by the roadside, I brought out the spare, and hunted for the jack. Then I remembered. Rabbit droppings, I thought. I'd used it to get a barrel into place (those 45 gallon barrels of beer weigh over 500 pounds when full; the idea is to move them while they're empty, when they weigh a mere (mere!) 50 pounds. Flat tire, no jack. There had been no traffic along this country lane while we'd been there, and it was a long walk back to Hope, which I didn't fancy in the dark. I explained to Candy; it sounded like a variation on the "out of gas" excuse, but I really couldn't see any way out of this fix. We were stuck here overnight, and I kind of hoped it would turn cold, so that I could suggest huddling together for warmth. Chapter 5 - Candy lifts the Rabbitmobile Candy frowned. "All we need to do is get the car off the flat tire, then we can put on the spare, right?", she asked. I nodded, but explained that without the jack that was currently in the beer cellar, there was no way to get two thousand pounds of car off the ground. Candy stood up, picking up the blanket she was sitting on. She walked over to the car, and lifted it up. I just stood there, aghast. She had her back to the car, the blanket wrapped round her hands which were under the car, and she'd just bent her knees, gripped the underside of the car and lifted. She looked at me calmly. She didn't seem to be under any stress, and looked like she could hold the van up all day. I told her to put it down, and she lowered it gently to the ground. I took my large wheel-nut spanner, and started to loosen the four nuts that held the wheel in place. One of them was rusted on so tightly that no matter how I pounded the spanner, I couldn't shift it, but I knew how to deal with that. "Candy", I called. Candy gripped the spanner in both hands and twisted. Unfortunately, she twisted the wrong way, and instead of the nut coming loose, the screw thread snapped and came away with the nut still rusted to it. Candy lifted up the car again, and while she held it up, I rapidly removed the flat tire, and put the spare into place. I bolted down the three nuts and told Candy to lower the car. She offered to tighten the nuts, but it was bad enough to have the wheel held in place with only three nuts; I didn't want to risk her stripping the thread on any others. I tightened the nuts as hard as I could, we got back in the van, and I drove home very carefully, aware of the wheel that was a nut short. We didn't talk. What do you say to a rather pretty girl who has just lifted a car weighing about a ton? I realized that because she'd lifted one side, she'd only lifted half a ton, but I'm not sure that "only" is the right word in this context. Candy broke the silence. "I'm sorry", she said. "Sorry?" I asked. "About that." she said. "No, not at all", I said. There was more silence, and after a while, I looked across at her. Then I stopped the van, and turned to face her. "Candy, please don't cry", I said. I felt terrible. She was sobbing quietly, obviously in deep distress. What do you do with a girl who's crying? Right, you put your arm round her. But what do you do with a girl who can lift a car without any apparent strain? Right, anything she wants. I didn't know what to do. Thousands of years ago, some genius had worked out that if you sparged barley, extracted the malt, added water, hops and yeast, and left it to ferment, you got a drink that made all other drinks irrelevant. No-one knows his name, so I call him Eric the Brewmeister. And when I'm in a fix, and don't know what to do, it's Eric I call on. What would Eric have done in this situation? Put like that, it's easy, so I turned to Candy and put my hands on her shoulders. She leaned towards me, put her arms round me, and sobbed and howled louder than I'd ever heard anyone cry before. I tried to put my arms round her but they wouldn't reach, so I held her as best I could while she cried; I stroked her hair and whispered "There, there". I know it's not an original phrase, but I couldn't think of anything clever, and it seemed to be appropriate. The surprising thing was that I didn't have an erection; I'd been lusting after this girl all afternoon, and now - nothing. I just wanted her to stop crying - I would have done anything to stop her crying, but there was a lot of pain deep inside her, and the weeping was just an expression of that pain. After an eternity, the crying turned to sobbing, then to sniffles, then to silence. I unwrapped my arms and put my hands back on her shoulders, and said "Candy, tell me about it", in my best bartender voice. She sniffed. Then she pulled up the sleeve of her blouse so that I could see her forearm. At first, I couldn't understand what she meant, and then she started to clench her fist. As her hand opened and closed, her forearm grew - slowly it increased in size until it was thicker than mine. Candy looked up at me, and I met her eyes. She blinked away a tear, then looked down at her arm again. I followed her gaze; she continued to flex her fingers, and I began to see the prominent ridges of muscle hardening on her arm. The veins became more noticeable, and the tendons connecting her fingers to the extensor muscles began to stand out. I noticed a drop of water falling onto the large bulges of her forearm, looked up, and saw that she was still crying. I tried to brush away her tears, then looked down at her arm again. She was still working her muscles, and by now, they had grown more than I would have thought possible on a man, let alone on a very feminine girl like Candy. Still her fingers opened and closed, and I began to wonder just how muscular this sweet girl could possibly be. Eventually her hand became still, and I gazed in awe at her forearm. It was about as thick as my thigh. It wasn't fat, just very, very large. And it wasn't just round, it was ridged with muscle. I could see the blue lines of her veins, I could see a light dusting of fuzzy hair, and I could see a forearm that made Popeye the Sailorman look small. "You like spinach, then", I said. She laughed, and I felt glad that I'd cheered her up a bit. "I like you, you've got the best sense of humor I've ever met", she said. Yeah, right. I was five foot eleven, and about 220 pounds, none of it muscle. One of the side effects of beer, is a beer belly, and although I didn't actually drink that much, I still had the belly. I've still got all my hair, and hardly any of it is grey, but I daren't grow a beard, as that would be almost pure grey. I'm a failed bartender running a failing bar in a nowhere town, and my main dream is to brew the perfect pint. Girls don't look at me twice, and they only way I can keep my pecker up is to joke about life. "Can I touch?", I asked. "Sure", she said. I put my hand on that incredible forearm, stretching my fingers out. I put my other hand underneath, and tried to make my fingers meet, and couldn't. My hand span is nine inches, so that meant her forearm was more than eighteen. I could see why half a ton of car wouldn't be a problem. "Are you like this all over?", I asked. She nodded, and closed her eyes. I think she was waiting for something, and I tried to guess what. Eric, help me here. What's she expecting? I guessed she was used to two main reactions, and I told her so. She looked at me with her cool grey eyes, and said "Three, actually". "I guess the first kind of reaction you get is totally negative". Right, she said, the guy just wants to get away and never wants to see me again. "And the second kind of reaction you get is a challenge." Yes, she said, some men see me as a threat to be conquered, and challenge me to an arm wrestling match or something like that. "Which there's no way they can win, of course", I said. Wrong, she said. They always win. Why would I want to beat them? I looked at her - that hadn't occurred to me. She let them win, so that they wouldn't feel bad! It made sense, though, Candy didn't need to prove anything. "So what's the third reaction?". Candy shuddered. "Some men want me to hurt them". Yes, I could see that. I felt tugged that way myself, a bit. But I also wanted to prove to her that I was stronger than she was. I looked again at her forearm, and at mine, and told myself not to be silly. I thought that I could challenge her to some duel and win, and try to imagine that she hadn't let me win, and I thought that my imagination wasn't good enough. "I can make better beer than you", I said, confidently, and Candy dissolved into giggles. She wrapped her arms round me and hugged me, and told me I was funny, and I hugged her back, and we kissed. Have you ever kissed a really strong woman? I've kissed a few girls (not many), but never anything like Candy. Her lips were soft, but her tongue was strong. It was the same with her body; an interesting mixture of hard and soft. Pretty soon I was having trouble breathing; it wasn't that she'd covered up my mouth, because I could still use my nose. It was her arms round me. Before I passed out from lack of air, she released me. "Whew", she said. "Wow", I said. "Candy, could you be a bit more gentle with your arms?" "Sure", she said, putting them round me again and pulling me towards her. This time she was a lot more gentle, and I could breath just fine. This time I broke the hold - I was close to wetting myself. It wasn't just the kiss, it was being held close to those amazing breasts, and especially those extraordinary nipples. I moaned with pleasure as she tucked herself in and tidied her hair. "Candy - you don't have to stay in the Rabbit Hall", I said, "Come back to my apartment." She turned those grey eyes on me, and I felt like I was drowning. "No", she said, "I never go to live with someone on the first date." It was my turn to fold up laughing, and I started up the Rabbitmobile and drove her back to the Rueful Rabbit. "But you do kiss on the first date", I said as we went inside. "Yes", she said, and this time she was standing in front of me as her arms went round me, her breasts pressed into my chest, her nipples screamed for attention against my skin, and by the time the kiss was over, she was supporting my weight in her strong arms. "Good night", she said. Goodnight, Candy. I slept pretty well that night, considering. Chapter 6 - Kissing Candy By the time I got in to the bar on Monday, Candy had cleaned the place up, washed the glasses and was practicing her arm action at the pump. "Good morning", I said. I wondered if I should kiss her, but decided it would be pressing my luck. I went down to the cellar to see how the Old Peculiar Rabbit was getting on. This was a special project of mine, involving an unusual ingredient - treacle. I got the idea from Alice through the Looking Glass, where they had a treacle well. Treacle is the residue left after you refine brown raw sugar into white sugar - they take out all the good stuff because people seem to like it that way. So in treacle, you get the concentrated goodness of sugar cane, without very much sweetness, and I was experimenting with adding varying amounts of this to a brew that I proposed to call Old Peculiar Rabbit. I turned to get my notebook, and collided with something that hadn't been there a moment ago, something that seemed to be both hard and soft, something that put its arms round me and hugged until I thought my ribs would crack, and which then kissed me until I nearly passed out. "Candy, stop it", I heard some idiot say. I knew he was an idiot, because why would anyone want her to stop? She looked hurt, and I apologized at once, and said I didn't mean it, and tried to put my arms round her. I had the same problem as yesterday - they weren't long enough, but I did my best, and we stayed that way for quite a long time. I'm not sure who broke first, I think we both needed a breather. Candy smiled at me, and went upstairs. By the time I'd followed her, it was time to open up. I was surprised at the number of customers we had, although looking at Candy, I thought I knew the reason. I'd tried to get my arms round her, and found it impossible. Since I measured about six feet from fingertip to fingertip, it followed that Candy was more than 72 inches around her top half. Looking at her, I found that entirely plausible. After the last customer had drained the last pint and I'd locked up, I walked up to her boldly and took her in my arms. She came to me easily, a delightful mixture of hardness and softness. As we kissed, I undid her hair from the comb that she used to control it, then moved my hands up to under her armpits. I gently dug three fingers in to each, and moved them around. The result was most satisfactory; Candy screamed and jumped away, looking very surprised. I explained what she was supposed to do; keep her arms up and let my fingers touch every part of her armpit. Screaming was allowed, but she had to control her impulse to stop me from doing it. Candy hadn't heard of anything like that before, but she was willing to try. She put her arms round my neck, and I moved my fingers under her arms again. As I gently dug my fingers into the sensitive hollows under her arms, she made a little noise, which gradually got louder until she was almost screaming. I relished the feeling of power; this girl could lift a car, and here I was making her scream using no more than my fingertips. It didn't last long. Candy brought her hands down, trapping my fingers and stopping any more activity. "Mmmmm", she said. "Wow. Let me try that on you". Candy didn't do it in quite the same way. She gripped me with her legs, held my wrists over my head in one of her hands, and put her thumb under my left arm, moving it gently to and fro. Within seconds, I was gasping and trying to pull my arm down. She switched to the other side, and I let out a small cry as her fingers found my sensitive nerve ends. After less than a minute, I couldn't take any more, and tried to curl up in a helpless ball. Have you ever been held in a stretched out position and gently tickled by a girl capable of lifting a car? It was amazing - very soon I was screaming at the top of my voice. At that, Candy's powerful hand released my wrists, and I buried myself in her, sobbing with relief. She asked me if I was all right, and after a while I got my breath back and assured her that I was. "Oh good", she said, "You were screaming so much I thought I was hurting you." I assured her that I wasn't actually hurt (and I'm not sure whether that was the truth or not). She kissed me better, I kissed her for kissing me better, and between one thing and another, it was quite late before we said goodnight. I slept like a dead rabbit. The next day, I came in bright and early, because I'd had one of my ideas. You know the feeling? It happens to me occasionally - I have some major problem, and I think up an elegant solution, and the moment of ideation feels like someone hit me over the head with a baseball bat. In this case, the problem was to save the Rueful Rabbit from bankruptcy. Candy's presence had certainly helped, but moving from four customers to a dozen wasn't going to keep the wolf from the door (or, in this case, keep the rent paid). To break even, I calculated that the Rueful Rabbit needed to sell at least fifty pints per day, and since the average customer drinks two or three, we weren't out of the woods yet. Clearly the presence of Candy was helping, but there must have been hundreds of potential customers who would come to see a girl as stunning as Candy wearing her green silk blouse, and would stay to drink beer that was substantially better than what they were used to. But you can't advertise a bar on the basis of "Very busty barmaid here". I needed to tell them about Candy's delights, without making it too obvious. In Hope, you can't run a topless bar (anyway, I didn't think that Candy would be willing). But you certainly can run a sports bar. I'd never run a sports bar, because in my mind, a bar is for talking to people and drinking beer, not for watching television. But I had in mind a rather different sports bar, a bar devoted to just one sport, in fact. An arm wrestling bar. Chapter 7 - The arm wrestling bar Unless you're a man, you probably don't understand about arm wrestling; it's very much a man thing. Evolution has left men very competitive; think about the difference between the drab duck and the gaudy drake, or about the peahen that looks like a brown chicken, and the peacock with its astonishing display. Human males also love to show off, and you mustn't get upset about that, we can't help it any more than a peacock can. One of the ways men like to show off is in competitive sports, especially one-on-one. Some bars offer darts, some bars offer skittles, but neither of these can compare in adrenaline-generation to direct contests of strength, such as wrestling or boxing. Well, the fighting sports need a lot of equipment, a doctor on hand, and it's all very specialized. But for arm wrestling, all you need is a good strong table. We could organise knockouts, round-robins and record-breaking contests. We could have teams events, leagues, and pairs events. I could dream up all sorts of variations around the theme of two men sitting opposite each other, and especially the variation that consisted of one man sitting opposite one woman. Because Candy would be the main attraction in all this; I could imagine men fighting for the privilege of being defeated by a lovely girl. And all this would be thirsty work. But first, I had to see if Candy would be willing. She went to a lot of trouble to cover her arms and legs from casual gaze, and I'd be asking her not merely to reveal her strength, but actually to flaunt it. I had no doubts about whether she'd be up to it; hadn't I just seen her lifting the Rabbitmobile with those hands? And when she'd gripped my wrists in her hand, she didn't actually hurt me, but I didn't have the slightest illusion that I could break free. That evening, after we closed the Rueful Rabbit, I invited her up to my flat for a chocolate drink (barpeople don't drink much alcohol, because if they do, they don't last long as barpeople). We held hands as we walked down the street, and you can't imagine how proud I was of her. A cyclist trundling towards us lost his concentration totally, carried on looking at Candy as he wobbled past, hit the kerb, and went down with a crash. Candy turned round and was on top of him in a flash, helping him to his feet, asking if he was all right, and giving him a bit of a cuddle with the huge breasts that had caused the problem in the first place. After a few minutes, she decided that he would be fine, and we continued back to my apartment. "Does that happen a lot?", I asked her. "Does what happen a lot?", she replied, innocently. Too innocently. When we got inside she came back to it. "Yes, I think it does. But I can't really tell, because I don't know how often that sort of thing happens to other girls." I told her that it was hardly ever, in my experience. Certainly I would ogle a pretty girl as much as anyone, but it was only a girl with a body like Candy that would capture my undivided attention to the extent of walking into things. Candy explained that she couldn't really tell very much - yes, men walked into things and dropped things, but she wasn't sure how much that happened when she wasn't there. This is a philosophical question, first addressed by Bishop Berkley and by numerous philosophers since. The Bishop posed the question, if a tree is in a wood, and no-one is there to see it, then how do you know that the tree is there, and indeed is the tree truly there. The bartender's version of this is, beer only counts when you drink it. Schrodinger's cat is a special case of this. One of the prime principles of quantum mechanics is that the act of observation always affects what is observed. The bartender's simplification says that if you taste beer, you always have less of it. We got home, and I went into the kitchen to put in the kettle. The offer of chocolate wasn't just a ruse, I really meant it. By the way, not a lot of people realise that chocolate has a different effect on most women, compared with the effect it has on most men. Each person get a different sensation on their tongue when they put a piece of chocolate on it, but women seem to get a lot more delight from chocolate than men (men like nuts more than women). Call me an unreconstructed MCP if you like, but I'll stick to my theory about chocolate. If you buy into this theory, you'll do what I do. If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, one of the things that helps with a woman's heart is chocolate. Candy followed me into the kitchen, and watched me pottering about, performing the Ritual of the Chocolate (maybe I'll tell you about this some other time). When I'd finished, I had two steaming mugs to sip, and I intended to get her all chocolated up, and then float my arm wrestling idea. Some men try to get women drunk - I think that's a despicable way to get a girl into bed. Chocolate, though, is socially acceptable and much more certain. We sat down on the couch facing each other. I took a sip of chocolate, and so did Candy. Then she put her mug down, placed mine on the table, and jumped on me, head first, across the couch, ending up with her full length laid alongside of and on top of me, without even needing the aphrodisiac effects of the chocolate. Have you ever been jumped on by a very well developed girl? Candy was very well developed indeed, in two senses. I was overwhelmed immediately, and had neither the capability nor the will to push her off. Her mouth covered mine, her tongue found mine, one of her hands gripped both of mine and pulled them over my head, and her other hand slid inside my T-shirt, up my body, coming to rest under my arm. Once there, she gently rubbed the fur under my arm, until I started screaming with delight, or at least I would have been screaming if she hadn't had my mouth trapped with hers. I felt her breasts against my chest, her nipples on my skin, her legs on mine, her hands on my arms, and the exhilarating sensations she was causing my body to feel were greater than anything I'd ever felt before. She continued this for a very long time, and I don't know how long I lasted, but she converted my raging erection into a devastating orgasm that was several times more amazing than any I'd ever had. I think she released my mouth so that I could scream my way through the massive pulses of ecstasy, which towards the end felt so stupendous that the difference between pleasure and pain was blurred, and I lost consciousness. I gradually returned to this world. I found that I was on top of Candy, and wrapped up in her arms, my face resting on the largest, softest breast in the world. I opened my eyes, and moaned. Candy asked me if I was all right, and I told her that I had never felt so all right in my life. She stood up, still holding me in her arms, and carried me to the bedroom. I weigh over 200 pounds, none of it muscle, and she didn't seem to have the slightest trouble carrying me to bed, where she helped me undress (to be more precise, I feebly co-operated with her undressing me), tucked me in, gave me a goodnight kiss, and left. I thought of asking her to stay, but by the time I'd got the thought formulated, I was asleep. Chapter 8 - In love with Candy Next morning, I woke up feeling great, and as I thought about why this might be, I realised that I was in love, in love with Candy, and that it seemed very likely that she felt the same way about me, given the events of the previous evening. Her incredible femininity and overpowering strength seemed like the most wonderful attributes of the most marvellous person I'd ever met, and best of all, she seemed to like me too. I thought about this, and decided that I should make a formal declaration to her that day. On the way to the Rueful Rabbit I stopped off at a shop for a small present, which I got the shopgirl to gift- wrap. When I arrived at the Rabbit, Candy was getting the place ready for the afternoon session. I went straight up to her, took her in my arms (as much of her as I could get hold of), and told her that she was the most wonderful girl I'd ever met, that last night had been the most wonderful night of my life, and that I loved her deeply and truly. Candy burst into tears. I gave her the present I'd bought, and she stopped crying long enough to unwrap it, revealing a gorgeous cuddly rabbit. "Oh, Sam", she said, and put her arms round me and squeezed. I'd hate to be in Candy's arms if she was trying to squeeze to hurt; her love-squeeze left me almost unable to breathe and in considerable pain. After a couple of minutes she put me down (somehow in the heat of the moment, she'd lifted me a few inches off the ground) and started kissing me, which left me completely unable to breathe. "I love you too", she said, which were the most wonderful words I'd ever heard, and left me in seventh heaven. All through that day, we each took every possible opportunity to brush against each other, to touch, or even to kiss when no-one was looking, and that evening we went back to my apartment again. I headed for the couch, hoping for a repeat of last night, but Candy had other ideas. "We've got to talk seriously, Sam", she said, and I thought she was going to talk about commitment (which was fine by me) and marriage (which I wasn't so sure about, once bitten twice shy). But that wasn't what she meant. "Sam, you've got to see what you're getting yourself into". Candy took off her blouse, and I thought that I was quite prepared to get into that, yes please. Her breasts were as large as soccer balls, with large stiff nipples that stuck out at least two inches. But then my eyes wandered down slightly, and I could see that her stomach was hard and flat - well, not flat, because it seemed to be ridged with what I guessed was muscle. Then she flexed her arms, and I could see how a woman could lift a car. Her lower arms were huge slabs of muscle, but her upper arms were gigantic. She'd always worn a loose-sleeved blouse, so I hadn't appreciated before just how big her upper arms were. Her shoulders were broad and had the same kind of ridges that he arms had. I wondered just how big she really was, and fetched the tape measure from my sewing-box to find out. I ran the tape round her forearms, getting twenty inches; her upper arms were twenty four. To compare, I measured my own arms, which looked rather puny compared with Candy's, thirteen inches of lower arm, and fourteen round my bicep. And some of that wasn't muscle. "Candy, you're not just a woman", I said, "You're a superwoman". She sat down on the couch, and I sat down next to her, and looked into her lovely grey eyes, and wondered how I had ever thought that she was plain. For quite a long time now, Candy's breasts had occupied a great many of my waking moments, and now they were totally naked, and just a few inches away. After she lifted the car, I thought I'd never dare to touch her without getting permission, but the way she looked at me, I didn't think I needed it. If she didn't want me to do something, she was entirely capable of telling me so. And I couldn't see any way that any man could do anything to Candy against her will. So I reached out towards her, and touched one of her nipples. It was stiff and hard, and rubbery and soft, and Candy lowered her eyes and looked at me submissively. I felt that I had this incredible girl totally under my control, and I watched her shudder gently as she drew in her breath. I came a little closer, and moved my fingers under the nipple, and Candy moaned slightly. I put one hand on each nipple, with my thumb underneath, and rubbed gently, and Candy screamed and exploded into action; I found myself in a grip of steel, entirely surrounded by half-naked superwoman. She had one of my wrists in each of her hands, and she had me spread out like a starfish. "Candy", I said, "Let me go, and put your hands by your sides." She opened her eyes and did as I asked. "Close your eyes, and lean your head back". When she did so, I started stroking her neck; there's a little hollow just under the Adam's apple that some women love to have touched, and the place where the neck joins the shoulder. Candy seemed to like all of these, and she hummed as I ran my hands over her delicate skin. Then she opened her eyes, sat up straight, and said briskly "Your turn now.". I could hardly refuse - I was in a high state of sexual excitement, and as she ran her hands down the sides of my body, I could scarcely hold in a scream. I managed to grit my teeth and muffle the sound, until Candy's hands reached round my back and stroked the place where I'd have a tail if I had a tail, which of course I don't. Over the next few hours, Candy and I explored each other's semi-naked bodies. There was scarcely a square inch of her skin that couldn't be used as an erogenous zone, and she found places on me that I hadn't known I had. I think it helped that I was so deeply in love, I think it helped that she was so lovely to look at, and it certainly helped that she was much stronger than I was and could control my body in any way she wanted. You can only take so much arousal and pleasure, and as we rested with me nestled against her large, firm breasts, I remembered my idea. "Candy", I said, "I've had an idea". I explained my idea about a sports bar that specialized in arm wrestling, I outlined my thoughts for the various contests we could have, and I explained that it was the best idea I'd ever had, apart from opening the Rueful Rabbit in the first place. "And falling in love with you", I added hastily. Candy looked thoughtful, and said that it sounded like a great idea, but wanted to know where she fit in to this. "I want you to be the house champion", I said. Whatever the contest, the winner would have the chance to go one-on-one against Candy, which I reckoned would be a greater prize than any cup or belt. Candy frowned - I could see she didn't really like the idea. "Can you arm wrestle?", I asked her. She said that she never had, but it didn't sound difficult, and did I have a quarter? I dug out some change, and she took two. She held the first one with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, and pushed against it with her left thumb. The metal bent in her fingers, and she squeezed until it was bent double. The other quarter, she held one-handed against her index and middle finger with her thumb, and without any apparent difficulty, bent it double with her strong fingers. As she was doing this feat of strength, I was watching her forearm, which seemed to increase in girth until it was huge. I could see thick cords running down her forearm to her wrist, and I guessed that the muscles that power your fingers are actually in your lower arm, and connected via tendons to the fingers. Please don't get me wrong - I'm not into this bondage and torturing stuff, but I needed some way to control Candy so that I could do things to her. It was obvious that even a heavy steel chain would not be able to offer much resistance to this superwoman, but I could see a way to tie her up and make her helpless. "Let me show you what I can do", I said. I took the coins from her, and put her arms behind her back. I went behind her, and using a paper handkerchief, I tied her wrists together. While I was behind her, I looked at her back. Her shoulders were wide and covered in layers of muscle, and I could see great pads of it running down each side of her back. I guessed that she was the same in front, except that her immense breasts hid most of her chest muscles. Then I came back in front of her, and started to caress her sides. Gradually, I brought my hands closer and closer to the middle, until my fingertips were running up and down her belly. She was obviously having a lot of trouble standing the extreme pleasure that I was putting her in, but I was just getting her ready for the main event. While her hands were tied behind her with the paper handkerchief, she was helpless, and unable to stop my wandering hands as they stroked the upper slopes of her full breasts. I slowly worked my way down to the underside - by this time her head was thrown back and she was close to explosion. And when I homed in on the nipples that were by now fully erect and over three inches long, she screamed a mighty scream, and her arms whipped round my body and crushed me to her. As soon as she realised that she was being a bit too rough, her hold relaxed slightly; it still felt like there were thick steel cables encircling me, but at least I could breathe. We lay there panting for a while, and kissing a bit, and telling each other how much we loved each other, and saying and doing the things that lovers do. I asked her if she'd like to stay the night, and she was obviously tempted, but not enough. Next time, I thought. Next time I'll get the chocolate down her, and she'll be putty in my hands. Next time, I thought, and fell asleep before I could complete the thought. Wrestling with a superwoman is pretty exhausting, I can tell you. But incredibly good, whether you win or lose. Chapter 9 - The Full Frontal Next morning, in the Rueful Rabbit, we discussed how to turn it into an arm-wrestling bar. I explained my idea that Candy and her tremendous body would be the main attraction, and that we had to set things up so as to get the most out of her physical attractions. Candy went down to the public library to work out the rules for the matches, and I went off to a local printer to find out how much posters would cost. My plan was to cover the town with large posters advertising the Rabbit, using a full-size picture of my full-size superwoman as the attention-getter. I explained what I wanted to the printer, and then visited a local photographer. I explained to him what I was up to, and the sort of shot I wanted, and that I wanted PMTs for the printer. Then I went back to the Rabbit, and started writing the copy for the poster, and for handbills to distribute. Candy returned from the library that afternoon with a remarkably simple set of rules for arm wrestling. Too simple. I wanted a complex set of rules, covering a complex set of different contests, otherwise the customers would get bored too quickly. Candy and I sat down to devise what would come to be known as Rabbit's Rules. First of all, I challenged Candy to arm wrestle me. Obviously I knew I didn't have a chance, but I wanted to explore the mechanics of the sport. Candy put her elbow on the table, I put my arm in hers, and discovered the first problems. Where are you supposed to put your elbow, exactly? Clearly, we had to have some sort of indentation in the table to show where the elbows went. Secondly, how do you get the contest started? I didn't fancy the idea of just shouting "go"; surely we could work out something a bit more scientific. The problem was to restrain each contender from starting to push until both could start, but if they started by gripping hands, you couldn't see if one of them were cheating. I solved this using tissue paper, an egg timer and a video camera. I used tissue paper to tie each contender's arm into the upright position, and started the egg-timer. As soon as the last of the sand ran out, the arm-wrestlers could tear the paper, grip hands and start. The video camera was there to see if anyone jumped the gun. Three minutes might sound like a long time before getting started, but I reckoned the competitors would spend it hurling insults at each other, and getting the crowd wound up. Candy and I tried a few mock contests, and I can tell you whenever she let me press her arm down, I had the same incredible feeling of power. After she'd let me win the third time, I couldn't take it any more, and I hurled myself at her with a wordless shriek. She caught me easily, and we sank to the floor in a wrestling match that very rapidly turned into an erotic encounter. By the time we'd reluctantly disentangled ourselves, it was time to open for the evening trade, so Candy smoothed her blouse, tucked it into her skirt, and I opened the doors. Business was quite brisk that evening. Obviously word of my astonishing new barmaid had spread, and people were coming to see if the rumors were true. They were, and I wondered what effect Candy would have on these guys when they saw her arm muscles. Next day, the photographer arrived. What I wanted ideally was a full frontal topless shot, but I knew that Candy wouldn't agree, and even if she did, the good burghers of Hope wouldn't have let me plaster a topless Candy all over town. So we did the next best thing. I persuaded her to roll up her sleeves and turn half-sideways, so that you could see both the huge size of her biceps, and the extraordinary depth of her bosom. I thought that she might be able to win a contest with the power of those breasts alone, simply by using them to weaken her opponent. I certainly felt weakened whenever she used them on me. I also felt weak when I opened the letter from the bank. The interest rate had gone up again, and they had decided to pay off my loan from my checking account. What? They can just take money out of my account and pay it to themselves? Crooks and criminals! I would take my business elsewhere! Meanwhile, how was I going to pay for the advertising posters and handbills. I explained the situation to Candy, and her eyes went large as she realised what it implied. I had run up some large debts on the assumption that I had this cash in the bank, and here the bank was calmly informing me that they were stealing it. I told her I was going to see the manager, and she asked if she could come too. I could see no harm in having a large and distracting Candy around, so I told her to tag along. Down at the bank, I demanded to see the manager. They kept us waiting for fifteen minutes, and then we were shown into a large and imposing office, full of expensive furniture that had been paid for out of their excessive profits, made by grinding the faces of bartenders all over the country. The bank manager stood up to greet me, full of insincere smiles and hair oil, and with his hand stuck out for me to shake. I bet he drank cider. I didn't want to go near this snake-in-the-grass, let alone shake his double-dealing hand. Candy came past me and walked towards his hand, and then carried on walking. She walked straight into him, from top to bottom, and as he backed away, she carried on walking forward. He backed into a wall, and Candy followed him, pressing her entire body against his. After a few minutes standing like this, and jiggling her body up and down, she backed off, and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "Here's the plan", she said. "You're going to restore Sam's bank account to just the way it was. You've got discretion in these matters, and you're going to exercise it." He nodded weakly, and I noticed the wet patch on his trousers. "Come on, Sam", she said, and took my hand. I don't think I was able to move either, but Candy's grip brought me back to the land of the living, and I followed her out. "Rabbit's Trousers, Candy", I said. "What on earth happened there?". She explained that it was called a Full Frontal. She didn't use it very often, but when she hit a complete stranger with it, it was as devastating as a sledge hammer on the head. She backed me up against a wall and showed me. She gently pressed her body against mine from top to bottom, moving up and down, and everything left my head except for the incredible feeling of this superwoman in contact with me. I had a huge erection, and I could see how a few moments of this would leave anyone with wet trousers, but she stepped back, kissed me, took my hand again, and we went back to the Rueful Rabbit. That evening, as we looked after the increased custom at the Rueful Rabbit, I kept remembering the feel of Candy's Full Frontal, and I wondered what other delights she had up her sleeve, or up her dress, to be more precise. I reminded myself that I hadn't actually seen her below the waist, and wondered what her legs looked like. Not to mention what was between them. In fact, not even to think about what was between them, because thinking about Candy's genitals gave me such an erection, I had to go down to the cellar to think about cold beer and other distractions. Which worked about as well as a rabbit's antlers, because Candy noticed I wasn't in the bar, guessed where I'd got to, followed me down there, and showed me an alternative to the Full Frontal called the Huge Hug, which I'm not even going to describe, because unless you've met a superwoman like Candy, you wouldn't believe. Chapter 10 - Love on the grass Next Sunday, I suggested we go out for a picnic again. This time I made sure that I had the jack for the Rabbitmobile (not that we needed it, with Candy there), a good supply of Ginger Rabbit and a new concoction made with oranges, grapefruit and lemons, and fermented using brewers yeast, that I called Rabbitade. We found a shady spot, under a tree, by a river, and in a field that a bunch of sheep seemed to own. I was very keen to find out what was under her rather full skirts, so I started off our love-play by getting her to sit with her legs straight out in front of her. I then sat on her shins with my full weight (I wouldn't try that with a normal girl, but I knew it wouldn't hurt my superwoman). We each had a bottle of Ginger Rabbit to swig at to keep the dryness from our throats, and I was very conscious of a large and very well-developed body only inches behind me, and a pair of very powerful hands around my waist. I knew that I'd better behave myself, although the definition of "behave" was quite flexible. I took off Candy's right shoe, and stroked the skin at the top of her foot. Candy hadn't expected that, and the sensation made her scream and kick upwards. I suppose it was silly of me to have thought that I could hold her down with my weight on her legs, and I flew up into the air. She caught me on the way down, and apologized. Let's start again, I suggested. This time, I sat facing Candy, while she leaned back, with her arms splayed out behind her, supporting her body, and throwing her breasts forward into sharp relief, and making her stand out even more than she normally did. I wondered exactly how far her breasts stood out in front of her body, but I could look into that later. This time, I tied her ankles down, so that she couldn't move, using some of the long grass that we were sitting on to keep her in place. Then I went to work on her foot again, stroking the top, sliding my hands round the sides, and finally putting my hand under the arch of her foot, by which time she was screaming loudly enough to startle the sheep. After a while, she couldn't take any more of this, and ignoring my wisps of grass, came for me on her hands and knees. The sight of Candy on her hands and knees would make you cry, even if though she was wearing her blouse. I just lay there helplessly while she crawled over me and dropped her heavy body on to mine. At that point in time, if Gabriel had blown the Last Trump, I wouldn't have had any serious complaint - Candy landing on top of you full length from a height of six inches has got to be the ultimate experience, and life could only deteriorate from that point on. I was wrong. As she lay her voluptuous body over mine, she took my right shoe off, held my ankle in one of her powerful hands, and proceeded to show me how it was really done. When she'd finished my right foot, she started work on my left, stroking the top, round the sides, underneath the arches, and sliding her strong fingers between my toes. After she'd been doing this for a while, she added a typical Candy touch; she started sliding her body up and down mine. I screamed, again and again. I think Candy can tell the difference between a scream of pain and a scream of ecstasy, but I'm not sure that I can, even when the scream comes from me. It seemed like an eternity - Candy simply let me scream my throat out, while she continued her attack on my feet and body. I think when I started to orgasm, my screams must have gotten more desperate or something, because she seemed to sense the change, and turned round and held me while I screamed and spasmed and bucked and orgasmed for the longest time I'd ever orgasmed in my life. After I quieted down, she kissed me, and I kissed her, and I told her that I loved her more than I could ever express, and that she was the most wonderful girl, no, woman, no, superwoman in the world, and I expect I said lots more stuff like that. It sounds gooey and soppy, and I meant every word of it, and you'd sound the same if you'd just been worked over by a superwoman like I had. She told me that she was happier than she'd ever been in her life, and that she wanted life to be like this forever. We lay face to face and with our arms and legs tangled up, talking and kissing, kissing and talking, until the sun started to get low in the sky and it was time to go home. We tidied up the picnic area, packed the Rabbitmobile, and drove back to my apartment. I put the kettle on to make chocolate - not in order to seduce Candy, because I didn't feel that either of us could put up much resistance to the other. I got the chocolate ready because I knew that my superwoman would like it, and I wanted so much to please her. This time, we got through the chocolate, and started talking about the past and the future. I told her about some of my failures and regrets, and about my triumphs and tragedies. I told her how I got to be a barkeeper (I haven't actually been to barkeeper school), and how I got my love of beer. It isn't just a drink, it's a symbol of a whole way of life, of male bonding, of the ancient art of the Brewmeister handed down from father to son, with women strictly excluded from the mysteries. Candy told me a little bit about her past, although not very much. She told me about how it had been for her at school, being teased by the other girls because of her size. She told me how the boys used to grab her nipples until one day she lost her temper with one of them and punched him in the belly. He was away from school for a couple of weeks, and no-one grabbed her nipples after that. Hardly anyone asked her out for dates, either, except for weird types who wanted her to beat them up and urinate on them, or even weirder things. She wouldn't tell me about the weirder things. I got my tape measure and tried to determine the size of her bosom, but the tape measure was only sixty inches. Never mind - Rabbit-brains to the rescue. I got a piece of string, and with Candy's help, led it round her back and across her nipples. I tied a knot to indicate the length of string it took, and then told Candy to make herself big. She breathed in, squared her shoulders, and stuck out her chest, and I made another knot. Then I measured the string, and found that Candy was 73 inches without trying, and 84 inches expanded. She told me that she had to make all her own tops, and had gotten quite good at it. I asked her about bras, but she said she'd never worn one, never found one big enough, and didn't see the point of wearing one anyway, and I had to agree. Next, I measured the depth of that extraordinary bosom. I pushed one hand in between her breasts, and measured the distance between her rib cage and her nipple. it came to an extraordinary twenty inches, and when she stood up straight, that was how far her nipples were in front of her chest. I was rolling up the tape measure to put it away, when Candy asked "Aren't you going to measure my separation?". I asked her what she meant, and she explained that separation is the distance between her nipples, and that they always measure it in contests. I was wondering "What contests?" as I held one end of the tape on one nipple, and unrolled it until my other hand was on her other nipple, and I barely had time to read off the distance of eighteen inches before Candy screamed and exploded at me. I should have remembered how sensitive her nipples were. Quite a lot happened then, and after a frenzy of licking, stroking, kissing and squeezing, I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was alone in bed, it was morning, and time to get up. My first thought was of Candy, and so were several of the thoughts that followed. I especially thought how nice it would be if we woke up together, and how nice it would be if on waking we kissed a bit, and cuddled a bit, and ... and I thought I'd better stop thinking like that or I'd never get down to the Rabbit. I thought how terrible it was that I never walked her home, and then I thought it wasn't really possible that anything bad could happen to her in her midnight walk back to the Rabbit. And I thought how nice she'd look wearing a silk night-dress, and I wondered what it would feel like to fuck a superwoman like Candy, and whether my penis would be able to penetrate the muscles of her vagina, and .. and I took a cold shower, or rather a shower that wasn't quite as hot as I usually like it, and went down to the Rabbit, trying not to think about Candy. Chapter 11 - Getting ready for arm wrestling When I got there, she was pushing a broom around and singing, but she dropped the broom and picked me up instead, and squeezed me, and I squeezed her, and we both behaved like we hadn't seen each other for years instead of hours, and if you've never felt like this about a woman and had a woman feel like this about you, then I feel sorry for you; go find yourself a nice girl. I went down to the printer and picked up the Candy posters, advertising the Rueful Rabbit Arm-wrestling bar. The poster looked like this: Arm Wrestling at the Rueful Rabbit Have you got what it takes? How long can you hold it out? The first Rueful Rabbit arm wrestling contest will be held at 3 pm on Saturday September 13th. Come one, come all. Entrance free. Spectators welcome. The winner of the contest may challenge our resident Superwoman. The idea was to make the entertainment free, but to make money on the beer. I left the challenge part open - I had a notion that whoever won the contest wouldn't want to take Candy on, especially after seeing her arms, so I wanted them to have a graceful get-out. But I rather hoped that Candy would get to beat the winner, because that would make the following contests more exciting. Throughout the days that followed, the bar became more and more crowded. People wanted to see the arm wrestling facilities, they wanted to see the rules, and they wanted to see in the flesh the incredible superwoman whose picture was all over town. I also had a couple of complaints. The first was from a pious churchman - some sort of priest or vicar or something. I asked him precisely what it was he was complaining about, and he started off by talking about naked women. I pointed out that there were no naked women here, that there weren't going to be any naked women here, and that a woman with her sleeves rolled up is not the same thing as a naked woman. So he changed his tack, and started to complain about violence. I pointed out that boxing and wrestling were far more violent than arm-wrestling, and that no-one complained about those. He complained about excessive consumption of the devil's brew, and I pointed out to him that beer was mentioned several times in the bible as a beneficial drink, that we hardly ever had anyone seriously intoxicated, and that he served up wine in his own church, so why shouldn't I serve up beer? Eventually, he couldn't think of any more complaints to make, so I asked him if he'd like to try just a half-pint of our best beer, and he agreed, so I gave him half a pint of Rabbit's Ruin, which I usually serve in a small wine glass, and he went on his way entirely happy. The other complaint was potentially far more serious, as it was from the local chapter of the Women's Movement. They sent a deputation of three ladies, who had a number of complaints. The first complaint was about the exclusion of women from the Rueful Rabbit - I disposed of that one by pointing out that I would gladly welcome any and all to the Rabbit. They pointed out that I only served beer, and that I should strike a balance by offering cider and wine as well. I explained that the Rueful Rabbit would only sell wine over my dead body, as it wasn't a wine bar, and that there were plenty of wine bars that anyone could go to, but mine was the only beer bar in Hope. I refuse to even think about cider. Then we got down to what was really bothering them - the arm wrestling contest. the main purpose of their visit, it seemed, was to establish that it was only open to men, but I explained that if they'd read the poster, they would have found no such exclusion. In particular, I pointed to the phrase "Come one, come all", and went into some detail about the exact meaning of the word "all". Finally, I offered them each a glass of Black Rabbit without telling them exactly what it was, and they loved the sweet milky taste of it, and said they'd come and watch the contest on Saturday - maybe even participate. Meanwhile, Candy and I were getting ready for the great day. I bought a new barkeeper's apron, which I proposed to used as a referee's uniform. I went out and found some really strong tables - I thought that the normal tables might not stand up to the strain, and a table collapsing in the middle of a squeeze-and grunt contest would be too comic to be contemplated. Each evening when we closed the bar, we would race back to my place for a few hours rough-and-tumble (well, I was a bit rough, but Candy was nearly always gentle). Once, after a particularly strenuous session, after she'd left, I had a hot bath to recover, and to my surprise, I didn't seem to have any bruises, just limbs that ached the way you do after hard exercise. I also noticed that I'd lost some weight, and I guess that this was partly because I was eating a bit more sensibly, but mostly because of the vastly greater exercise that I was getting. I was pleased about that; 220 pounds is much too much for a Rabbit, which ought to weigh at least 20 pounds less. Saturday arrived. We'd cleared the Rabbit Hall upstairs, in the optimistic hope that we'd get a lot of people. We weren't disappointed. They started arriving at 2 pm, and by 3, we have a dozen contestants and over a hundred spectators. Candy flew round the room making sure that everyone had all the beer that they needed, while I organised the contests. I noticed that Officer Carter was there, and I had a word with him. He wasn't particularly expecting any trouble, and neither was I, but you never know, and I was quite glad he was there. He also said that he wanted to discourage any illegal gambling that might happen. I sat the contestants down at the tables, and explained the rules. For these early bouts, we wouldn't be using the tissue paper, so I explained that they could clasp hands, but not start any exertions until the egg timer was done. Apart from that, the rules were simple - in arm wrestling you don't have to worry about hitting below the belt, gouging or any of the other nasty tricks that boxers and wrestlers get up to. They would wrestle right arm to right arm, then left to left - this evened up any disadvantage that left-handers might otherwise have. The round would be won (two points) with a 2-0 victory, or drawn (one point each) if each man won a match. After each round, each contender had to change places. If you've ever played tournament bridge, you'll know how it's done - in fact, that's where I got the idea and the movement from. It means that after eleven rounds, everyone has played everyone else. Candy turned the egg timer (I wanted people to notice her, after all) and everyone's eyes were on the grains of sand. At the point where the sand ran out, grunts rang out throughout Rabbit Hall (do grunts ring out?) and our contenders were straining against each other. This was the first round, so everyone was full of piss and vinegar, and some of the contests lasted four minutes. But eventually, everyone was done, and we started the second leg of the first round, the left hands. I suppose second leg isn't really the right phrase. At the end of the first round, there were winners, there were losers, the crown was yelling itself hoarse, and everyone was having a great time. Even the losers, who were telling themselves that they'd been unlucky, and that they'd be ready next time. I called the move for the next round, and at the same time called for orders of beer - lets get the priorities straight. As soon as we had things sorted out, the second round started. More grunts, more yells from the crowd - the atmosphere was terrific, and I was feeling really pleased with myself. I was grinning from ear to ear, when suddenly I felt something grasp me from behind with a grip like steel. Then, while my arms were pinned to my sides, a hand came round to my front, under my apron and shirt, and moved over my body. I screamed, partly with shock and partly with the erotic sensation. It was Candy, of course, taking advantage of the screaming crowd to make me do a bit of my own screaming. Before I could do anything, she moved on, leaving me weak as a kitten and barely able to stand. During the next ten rounds of the contest, she managed to do the same thing to me three more times - I never saw her coming up behind me, and I was never able to keep myself from screaming in ecstasy as her powerful hands raped my body. Well, I suppose rape implies I didn't want it, which certainly isn't true. At the end of the round-robin, I totalled up the scores of each of the contestants - the best four would go forward to the semi-final. I told the four lucky contenders who they were, and sat them down for the next part of the contest. This time, instead of two legs, there would be six, three with each hand. Also, the contests would happen one at a time, so that the referee could control the contest more carefully. The first semi-final went well - the guy on my left was big, but John, the guy on my right was huge - at least 240 pounds, and quite a lot of it muscle. He won five out of six of the legs, and so there was a clear winner. The second semi-final was more evenly matched; the very large gentleman on my left by the name of Cledwyn won four out of six, which got him into the final. It was in the final that the unexpected happened. John was right handed, and Cledwyn a southpaw. Every time they matched right hands, John won, and every time the matched lefts, Cledwyn was the victor. This went on for the planned eight legs, at which point the score was four-all. I decided to continue, but after four more legs, it was clear that I wasn't going to get a single winner. Zugzwang, as they say in chess. I decided to declare them both winners, and offer them both the right to arm wrestle Candy. I called her over. "Which of you has the courage to arm wrestle against this superwoman", I asked. Put that way, it was impossible for either of them to refuse. I nudged Candy, and she rolled up the sleeve of her right arm. Chapter 12 - Would you dare arm wrestle Candy? You could have heard a pin drop. She had prepared by flexing her arm, and it was obvious that she had arms that were thicker than most people's legs. Once again, I wondered what her legs were like, and I guess so did every man present. I heard a few low moans, and from personal experience I could guess that some of the spectators now had wet trousers. Candy smiled, and rolled up her other sleeve. The act of doing that flexed her right arm, and now it was clear that arm wrestling this superwoman was going to be like tackling those hydraulic rams they use to crush cars. There were several more low moans, and I knew that we'd be seeing those guys again next week. Candy whispered to me, "Do I win or lose?". Lose? Then I realised - she was asking me if she should throw the match. Candy was used to letting men win things - heavens, she let me wrestle her to the ground often enough, and it was a tremendous turn-on for me, I can tell you, which I suppose is why she does it. "Win, Candy, win", I told her. I wanted to create a situation whereby men came here just for the chance to arm wrestle my superwoman, which would only happen if she defeated all comers. Candy sat down, and looked submissively up at her first opponent, John. I don't know how she does that. She's often done it to me, but how a woman several times as strong as me can look submissive, I can't understand, but it's another tremendous arouser. Before the match started, I wanted to give the audience something to appreciate. Candy and I had planned and practiced this ahead of time. I brought out half a dozen apples, and passed them round the audience for examination. Then, I passed one to Candy. She took the apple in her right hand, resting her elbow on the table, and squeezed. The apple gave way a little, and Candy squeezed harder, until suddenly the apple's internal structure gave way, and there was mashed apple all over the table. She did the same with two more apples, and then did the same trick with her left hand. By now, I guessed, there wasn't a dry pair of trousers in the audience. Next, I passed round a couple of oranges. After the audience had felt them a bit, I gave one to Candy. She held the orange over a glass, and squeezed. It might not sound very difficult to squeeze the juice from an orange, but you try it with a whole, uncut one. Squeezing the second orange filled the glass, which Candy then drank. I wouldn't have blamed John for chickening out then, but either he was very brave, or else he was very insane, or else his pride vastly outweighed his intelligence. Common sense tells you that you don't arm wrestle a superwoman who can crush apples and squeeze whole oranges. But John sat down, put his arm on the table, and looked at Candy admiringly. Then I understood - Candy had warned me about this. He wanted her to hurt him. They clasped hands, and I started the egg timer. John looked at Candy like he was worshipping a goddess, and I started to get irritated with him. By what right did he look at my superwoman like that? I frowned, and Candy looked up at me and smiled. Candy's smile is like the sun rising on a June morning, like the taste and smell of Black Rabbit after a hard day's work. I glowed warm all over, and felt mildly intoxicated - very like a pint of Black Rabbit. I smiled back at her, the sand ran out on the egg timer, John started to arm wrestle, Candy looked down at him, John pushed as hard as he could, and Candy's arm didn't move. Candy looked up at me again, smiled, and laid her hand gently on the table, with John's underneath it. She knew that she hadn't used much effort, and I could see that she hadn't used much force, but John screamed like he'd been skewered by a white hot poker. I guess that he'd wanted her to hurt him, he'd decided that she was going to hurt him, and irrespective of what actually happened, he felt the pain. Candy looked startled, and released his hand immediately. She came round the table and knelt by his side, took his hand in both of hers, and kissed it. Then she pulled it to her breasts and rubbed it with her nipples. After a few moments, John stopped yelling as the pain (which had been imaginary in the first place) left his hand. Candy stood up and kissed his cheek (and rubbed her breasts on his body as she did so), and I led John away before my darling started getting too enthusiastic. I announced to the audience that Candy had won, and we moved on to the final round - now it was Cledwyn's turn. But first, another demonstration from my superwoman. For the first demonstration, I'd bought a pound of six inch nails, made of hardened steel, and a quarter of an inch thick. Again, I passed them round the audience first, so that they could check that they were the real thing. Then I handed a few of them to Candy, one at a time. She took each nail, and bent it double using just her fingers. The last one she treated slightly differently; she bent it onto a right angle, then straightened it, then bent it, then straightened it, and so on. Gradually the pace increased, until suddenly it snapped. For the final demonstration, I produced several cans of cola. I opened one of them, and passed the others round the audience. As they came back to me, I passed them to Candy, and she opened them, but in a rather different way. She gripped the can and squeezed. She increased the pressure, until suddenly the can gave way; it burst, rupturing along the side, and spraying cola all over the place. She repeated the feat with the other cans, until they were all gone, and there was a sticky mess everywhere. Especially inside a lot of the audience's trousers. She smiled at her opponent, who was staring at his arm and hers, appalled. Imagine that you plan to put your hand in a vise and get someone to crush it flat, and you can imagine how Cledwyn felt. He put his hand into Candy's, and I started the egg-timer. As the sand trickled out, he started to breathe raggedly, and I could see the sweat on his brow. In his imagination, he could see Candy's powerful hand crushing his, he could feel the bones of his hand start to bend and slide over each other, and he could feel the mind-destroying pain as his hand was turned into a mixture of bone fragments, blood and skin. Just before the sand ran out, he screamed "No!", tore his hand away from Candy, and leapt out of his chair. Candy looked alarmed and concerned, and stood up. He knocked over his chair in his panic, tripped over it, and was about to smash himself to the ground - just in time, Candy caught him by shoulders, and stopped him from getting hurt. She helped him upright, but as soon as he straightened, he turned and saw his worst nightmare with her huge arms spread out, assumed that he was about to be crushed to jelly, and screamed, trying to escape. Candy grabbed him, to prevent another accident, and held him against her body. I know that when she held me like that, it felt like heaven, but Cledwyn had a completely different frame of reference. I think he imagined he was about to die, and in his terror his breath failed him, his sphincter muscles relaxed, and he fainted. Yuk. I thought arm wrestling was a pretty safe sport - I expected a strained wrist as the worst that could happen. Candy had pretty much destroyed this guy, and she hadn't even touched him, such is the power of the human imagination. I needed to get him out of the way quickly, and I didn't think I was up to carrying a 240 pound man down to the cellar to recover. But I knew someone who could. "Pick him up, Candy", I said, and she carried him down to the cellar, and we laid him next to a barrel of Old Brown Rabbit. He smelled vile, and pretty soon, so did Candy. But as soon as she'd put him down, I hurled myself at her, she caught me easily, and we spent far too short a time kissing, and we were both totally aroused when we parted. But the audience upstairs was waiting, so we broke after a few seconds, and hurried back. I raised Candy's arm and declared her the winner. She stood on the table with her huge arms flexed, while I wrapped the champion's belt round her waist. We'd bought this in a boxing trophy shop, and had it engraved with the legend "Hope Arm Wrestling Champion". I had to make a few extra holes, otherwise it wouldn't have fitted snugly round Candy's twenty-six inch waist. Candy was an astounding sight standing upright on the table, the tight belt pulling her silk blouse over her devastating breasts, her sexual arousal very obvious from the size and stiffness of the nipples that were two inches long normally, and three in her current state. Her twenty-four inch arms totally explained the feats of incredible strength that we'd just witnessed, and her skirt hinted at the legs that we could only imagine. She was sex and violence; an unimaginably mind-blowing fuck or three months in hospital, depending on your point of view. After the cheers died down, I announced that there would be another contest next week - same time, same place. I wished everyone good night and a safe journey home, and pleasant dreams. I knew that they certainly would have fantastic dreams, and that there would be several pleasantly surprised wives tonight. By the time we showed the last customer the door, and gotten rid of a rather smelly Cledwyn, it was midnight. Both Candy and I were still high on adrenaline, plus we both smelled rather high from John's accident. I suggested we go back to my place and get cleaned up, and have a mug of chocolate, and Candy agreed that was a great idea. Chapter 13 - Cleaning up I put the kettle on, then went to the bathroom and started to run the shower - it has to run a few minutes before it gets warm. As I waited for it to get ready, a totally naked superwoman came into the bathroom and started tearing off my clothes. When I say tearing, I mean tearing - I doubted if my trousers would ever recover. Candy was still aroused - her nipples were a dead give-away, and it wasn't very long before I was in a similar state of nakedness and arousal. All I could think of was getting her down and fucking her, right now, but Candy wasn't willing, and what do you do when a woman isn't willing, rape her? Well, I'd like to think that I wouldn't, but in Candy's case, the possibility didn't arise anyway. Raping Candy would be a bit like trying to ram your fist through a brick wall; painful and futile. What Candy wanted was to get clean, which I could understand. She smelled of urine, she was sticky from cola, and she had bits of mashed apple all over her. I couldn't believe that I'd let the superwoman I loved get into this kind of mess, so I took a bar of soap, and using my hands, I started lathering her all over. I think that soaping Candy was probably the most erotic activity I'd ever done. She held her great arms over her head while I worked my way down her body, and there must have been at least fifty places where she screamed. But she held her pose, and I worked away with the soap, concentrating especially on the places that elicited the loudest shrieks. It was an amazing feeling. Candy had destroyed one man with a gentle push, and another man without even touching him, and this stunning superwoman was totally at the mercy of my wandering hands. I could made her scream at the top of her voice and beg for mercy; she was shouting "No, No!" so loudly that I wondered what the neighbors thought was going on. I can well understand how some men get confused and assume that No means Yes, and get accused of rape as a result; I was perfectly certain that Candy's No meant Yes, and no-one in their right mind would consider that rape was the remotest possibility where this superwoman was concerned. The screams were audible manifestation of her orgasms - the visible manifestation was a series of great shudders that racked her powerful body. By the time I was finished, I could barely stand up, and Candy was hanging from her hands as they gripped the shower fitting. Her orgasms were gradually dying down; even she couldn't come indefinitely. She took a great shuddering breath, and let it out in a great sigh. She brought her hands down and wrapped them round me in a crushing grip, and whispered in my ear the terrifying words "Your turn now, lover". We were both slippery from the soap and water, but she picked me up in her arms, and gave me a Full Frontal. Until you've been Full Frontalled by a naked, wet and soapy superwoman, you can't imagine what it feels like. She rubbed her huge breasts against my naked body and kissed me until my head spun. I gasped for breath when she released me, and found myself being turned upside down. She held my upper thighs with her strong hands, and lowered my face down her body. Her long, thick erect nipples dug into my chest as my face nestled against her vaginal fur, and I wrapped my arms round her waist to get closer. Suddenly, it felt as if my penis was dipped in molten iron as her mouth closed around me and her tongue seemed to surround my swollen shaft. She lifted me a few inches, and it felt like my penis was electrified; as she lowered me again, I tried to pull my tongue closer to her vagina, but the sensation on my penis was so great that all I could do was scream. From that point on, I felt like the world was exploding, like a volcano was erupting, like I was being turned inside out. I knew that the screaming must be coming from me, and I was vaguely aware that Candy's incredible strength was responsible for the spasms of pleasure that shook my body. But I was completely helpless to do anything except scream and orgasm, and I had no control whatsoever over my body's imperative to do both at maximum strength. At some point, my screams had emptied my lungs at a time when an especially powerful orgasm made it impossible to breath, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, Candy was kneeling on the bed in front of me wearing something long, sexy and silky, and she was drying me with a towel. "I was a bit worried about you", she said. "Oh, Candy", I said, and pulled her down on top of me. She felt incredible in the silk night-dress. We wrestled a bit until I'd gotten on top of her and pinned her down, then I released her, and we kissed, long and lovingly. I nestled my head in her breasts, she put her arms round me, I put an arm round her waist, and we fell asleep like that. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in the world that compares to waking up in the morning in the arms of the woman you love, and kissing her awake, and gently touching the soft places that you know give her pleasure. We kissed, and touched, and cuddled, and tickled, and snuggled, and generally carried on like two people in love who don't have to get up to go to work. But the sun streamed in through the window, and I suggested that we could do this just as easily outdoors somewhere, over a few bottles of Rabbitade and a picnic, and Candy who loved a picnic as much as I did agreed. So we disentangled ourselves and got dressed. Actually, Candy got dressed, I watched her. Her legs were long and lovely, but when you looked at them again you could see that they make tree trunks look feeble. I pulled her down on the bed again, and wrestled her into submission. I couldn't believe how this superwoman would let me overwhelm her with my puny muscles, except that she seemed to find it as much fun as I did. "Candy", I asked, "How did you get like this?". I knew she didn't lift weights, or anything like that - how does a woman get the sort of body that Candy had? "I don't really know", she said. "I've always been like this, I don't know what causes it. But I do know I have to keep it hidden, or it causes me even worse problems than these" and she hefted her breasts in her hands. "It's the luck of the chromosomes, I think. Some people have a pretty face, I've got these" and she showed me those massive forearms again. "Candy, you do have a pretty face. But I have to admit, your breasts are what really turn me on." "Grrr", she said, and rolled on top of me. "Whufff..", I whuffed, trying hard to breath. "Candy, what do you weigh?". "Two hundred pounds", she said, rolling off me. "Candy, I promise I'll never lie to you, or try to keep anything from you". "OK", she said, "I promise the same. I'm 240 pounds." Wow! I did some sums in my head. A normal woman her height would be 120 pounds or so, and I couldn't see any flab anywhere on her. The extra 120 was all muscle, except maybe twenty pounds of bosom. I also thought about her arms. 24 inches around, compared to my twelve, meant that her arms were twice the size. But that meant that the cross-sectional area was four times the size, so on bulk alone, she was four times as strong as me. "I saw you lift the Rabbitmobile", I said. "How much can you actually lift, Candy?" She said that she wasn't sure, because she'd never tried to find out. Quite a lot, she thought. Yes, I agreed, quite a lot. I wondered how to find out. I remembered that there was some sort of gymnasium in Hope, and wondered if they could help. I suggested it to Candy, and she thought about it for a moment, then said "Well, they've already seen me in action at the Rueful Rabbit, so I might as well". Chapter 14 - How strong is Candy? We packed up a picnic for the day, and dropped in at the gym on the way. Candy was wearing her usual silk blouse and a short cotton pleated skirt, and her thighs were enough to make a strong man weep. I asked Harry if we could use his gym for a short while, and offered him a couple of pints of Strong Rabbit as trade, and he agreed. We went over to the weights, and started loading them onto a bar. We used 25 kilo weights, and thinking of Candy and the Rabbitmobile, we put ten of them on the bar. Candy lifted that over her head without much difficulty, and put it down again. "It's pretty awkward", she said. Awkward. I could barely lift one of the 25 kilo disks, and she called 250 kilos awkward. We added two more disks, and Candy hoisted the 300 kilos overhead. At 400 kilos, she was obviously having some trouble, and at 450 kilos, she only just got her arms straight above her head. Harry walked over while she had it up, and when she dropped it, after the bar stopped bouncing, he looked at it. "Bloody hell", he said. "Including the 10 kilo bar, that's over a thousand pounds!" The calculator that I always carry around with me whirred; 2.2041 pounds to the kilo, yes, over a thousand pounds. "That's about 50% more than the world record", said Harry. "Come on", said Candy, "We'll be late". For what? Ah - I was being stupid. "Right," I said, "let's get going." Candy and I lay on the long grass. Heaven knows where the blanket had got to; neither of us knew of cared about anything except the wonderful feeling of being together, in each others arms, and in love. I thought about her thousand pound overhead lift, and estimated that I could maybe manage a tenth as much. Then a thought occurred to me - Candy habitually underperformed, and had never demonstrated any need to prove her strength. "Candy." "Mmmm?" "You lifted 460 kilos today. How much more do you think you could manage?" My superwoman thought about this. "Truth", I said. "Mmmm." she said. "Quite a lot more, I think". I thought so. I was very pleased that she'd been so honest with me, and told her so. She kissed me. I kissed her, and one thing led to another. "Candy, I love you". "And I love you". I drove the Rabbitmobile home, and we went straight to bed. Where else would you go with a superwoman like Candy? We were both pretty tired, me from trying to keep up with her, and her from doing all the work for both of us, and we fell asleep in each others arms again. As we left that morning, my next door neighbor Simon Smith accosted me. "Mr Rabbit", he began. He always called me that. He was complaining about all the noise that we'd made on Saturday night, said it sounded like a cat being everted. I had a quick mental flash of the entrails of a cat, and assured him that we weren't torturing animals, let alone turning them inside-out, thus demonstrating to him that I did know the meaning of "evert". "I'd be obliged if whatever it was, you ensure that there is no repetition of the same, or I shall be forced to inform the Tenant's Committee, of which I an honored to be the secretary". Smith always talked like this; he was a total plonker. But the Tenant's Committee could make life difficult for me, so I started to apologize. Candy pushed past me, and walked towards Smith. As she came close to him, he backed away, but Candy followed him, until he backed into a wall. Candy then walked forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest, then her thighs against his thighs, her belly against his belly, and finally her groin against his groin. The Full Frontal was too much for him, and his erection exploded into his trousers. Candy kept pressing him against the wall. "Mr Smith - the noises that you heard were me having an orgasm. I expect it to happen again tonight, and every night. Sometimes it will happen more than once. What I suggest, is next time you hear me having an orgasm, think about me, and think about my body, my breasts, my legs and my vagina. Think about how you feel right now, and how it would feel to have sex with me. Grip yourself firmly in your hand, like my vagina would, and try to have an orgasm at the same time as me." She backed away from him, and he sank, moaning, to the floor. I took Candy's hand in mine, and we walked to the Rueful Rabbit. As we walked, I explained that listening to her talking to Smith had almost creamed me. That week, we had an average to thirty people each evening. Nobody asked Candy to arm wrestle, but she got numerous requests to crush apples, squeeze oranges, break six inch nails, and open cola cans. She obliged with all of those, except the cola cans, because it got rather messy when the can exploded in her hand. Candy and I took every opportunity to play touchy-feely, and we didn't really care who noticed us doing it. We were in love, she was the most wonderful superwoman in the world, and I couldn't believe how lucky I was, because she loved me too. On Saturday, we had a really big crowd. There must have been a couple of hundred people; fortunately, I'd guessed that we might get a big turnout, and I'd hired a couple of temporary bar staff. I wanted Candy by my side all evening, firstly because I wanted her to have maximum visibility to the customers, and secondly because I wanted Candy by my side all evening. There were thirty contestants - I'd made it clear that although the winner would be given an opportunity to arm wrestle Candy, it was optional. With that many competitors, a Round Robin was out of the question, but a simple knockout would be too fast, and not provide enough entertainment and drinking time. So I decided on a pairs event. I ranked them in order of weight, and paired them off on that basis; the heaviest with the lightest, the second heaviest with the second lightest, and so on. We got them sat down at the tables, and I rotated them in a Mitchell movement (if you play bridge, you'll recognize it). The evening went well - the spectators were cheering themselves hoarse, which naturally stimulates the drinking muscles. I was pleased to see that the most popular drink was Black Rabbit, which is a joy to brew, The next most popular was Old Peculiar Rabbit, which I'd always thought was an acquired taste, but the taste seemed to have been acquired by an enthusiastic following. As the evening drew to a close, we had a winning pair, and once again, I asked them if that would like to tackle our resident champion. Candy was standing by my side looking demure and submissive, and very, very sexy. Chapter 15 - Candy does a strong woman act Now came the moment that everybody was waiting for. Candy walked up to the table; she looked magnificent, wearing a powder blue silk blouse and a short white skirt that showed off her splendid legs. She wore her Champion belt, emphasizing the contrast between her waist and her bust. As she rolled up her sleeves, men gasped and moaned, and wished that they had muscles half as big as my superwoman, and that their wives has breasts a quarter as big. She rested her elbows on the table, and I handed her a brick, a common house brick. She gripped it in both her powerful hands, and with a single smooth motion, broke it in half. I handed a few more bricks round the audience, and passed those back to Candy, and before long, she had a small pile of half bricks in front of her. We'd been practicing her next feat, because we hadn't been sure that even Candy could do this. I had some one pound cans of baked beans. Candy took one can in each hand, and started squeezing. There was complete silence, broken only by some heavy breathing from the audience. The cans began to bend inwards under the pressure, until suddenly they burst, first one, and then the other, spraying baked beans in all directions. Next, I collected quarters from the audience. Candy could bend these in half almost as fast as I could pass them to her, and we gave them back to the audience to keep as souvenirs, proof that they'd been within yards of what was surely the strongest woman in the world, probably even the strongest person in the world. For a finale, I'd bought some one inch thick, three feet long mild steel bars. Mild steel isn't as strong as structural steel or tempered steel, but it's certainly strong enough, and none of the men in the audience could make the slightest dent in any of the bars. Again, we'd practiced this before, so that we knew exactly how far Candy could go. She bent the first bar double, and although everyone was impressed, I knew that my superwoman found that pretty easy. She bent the second bar almost double, and then gripped each end and pulled it apart. That was very much harder, and the effort thrust her proud breasts out in a very provocative way. It was the same story, sex and violence. Obviously Candy was an unimaginably good fuck, and equally obviously she was serious time in hospital if you got on the wrong side of her. She bent the bar double again, then pulled it apart, and bending it back and forth gradually weakened the heavy steel until finally it came apart in her hands. For the last feat of strength, we had a six foot long bar. Candy used her thighs to grip the bar, and bent it round her upper leg. She continued heaving at the steel bar until it formed a complete loop around her leg, the loop being about three feet in circumference. I knew the circumference because in practice, we'd discovered that a three foot long bar wasn't enough for this, because Candy's upper thigh was thirty four inches around. Now Candy had the bar bent in a loop, with the ends crossing, and she could start the difficult second phase. She gripped the entire loop in the vise of her thighs, and started bending one end into the middle of the loop. She turned the loop over, and bent the other end towards the middle. Finally, gripping part of the loop with one hand, and the end of the bar with the other, she pulled the end through the loop. She did the same with the other end. Candy held the completed lover's knot up in the air, then gave it to me, followed by a kiss. Then she lifted me a few inches into the air, and rubbed me up and down her body until I couldn't think straight, and every man in the room imagined her doing that to him, and most of them wet themselves, if they hadn't already. She put me down and let me recover - I had to introduce the finale. Candy was going to arm wrestle two men at once. The easy way to arm wrestle two men at once, is one on each arm. Candy was going to take both of them on with one of her hands. Only one of the men had to keep his elbow on the table; the other one was free to use all his weight and leverage on Candy's arm. We hadn't been able to try this out beforehand, so we weren't completely certain that she could win, but I'd done some calculations using the principles of leverage, and worked out how many pounds of force Candy would experience, and we tried her with that many pounds, and she could handle it. Still, practice makes theory a dunce, as they say. I set the egg timer. As soon as the sand finished falling, Candy came under attack from the two men. One of them was arm wrestling in the conventional way, but the other had both of his hands on Candy's, and was leaning on it with all his weight. In my calculations, I had assumed that he'd only use one hand, and I silently prayed that Candy could cope. For quite a long time, nothing seemed to be happening, and I was afraid that I'd put my darling into a position that not even her steel muscles could handle. Then she gave me her demure, submissive look, which turns me into a mixture of jelly and iron, flexed her arm, and it was all over. As a grand finale, and to keep the screaming customers pumped up, I handed my superwoman a succession of objects, all of which she crushed into dust or ground into pulp. A charcoal brick was crushed to dust. A pewter tankard she squeezed flat. She reduced several apples to pulp, and to finish off, I passed a six-inch ball of lead round the audience, so that they could feel how solid and incredibly heavy it was. Of course, lead is one of the softest metals around, in spite of its impressive solidity and weight. She started to explain. "Most of you have been wondering what it would be like to be between my legs, so I'm going to show you". Candy took the lead ball and put it between her thighs, the thighs that most men had been fantasising about all evening. She stood up with the ball between her thighs, and you could see the muscles of her legs swelling and hardening. You could also see a lot of cocks doing the same thing, although on a much smaller scale. Candy's legs became as hard as steel as the vise tightened. After a little while, Candy took the lead sphere out from its leggy prison, and held it up. It wasn't a sphere any more. She had crushed it almost flat. After that, we rounded up the customers and sent them on their merry way. Candy and I left the new staff to clear up, because I had a huge and uncomfortable erection, and Candy's nipples were signalling a similar condition, to the extent of almost three inches. We got home as quickly as we could, Candy ruined another pair of my trousers by ripping them off me, and we got into bed as quickly as we could. I expect you've heard of the 69 position. It means that Candy's face is close enough to my genitals to use her mouth, tongue and hands, and my mouth is close enough to Candy to be able to reach her labia and clitoris, and with a bit of stiff fingerwork, to even get to her G-spot. You maybe didn't know about the G-spot. Everyone has one, but different people have it in a slightly different place. Mine is just under my penis, about an inch from the head. Touch me there, and I'm yours, touch me there a second time, and I'm nobody's. Candy knew about my appalling weakness, and went straight for it. Candy's G-spot was inside her vagina, a few inches back. It's harder to locate in a woman, because you're working blind, but the noises that Candy made acted as a guide, as I gradually worked my fingers towards the places that caused the loudest screams. We 69ed each others genitals until we'd had several orgasms each, and them Candy turned round and demonstrated the advantages of the missionary position (face to face, man on top, in case you've never tried it). The number one advantage, which comes from being face to face, is that you can see who you're with, you can kiss her, and you can talk about the things that lovers talk about. The second advantage, which comes from the man being on top, is that you have a large, soft, sexy superwoman to lie on. Well, hard in some places, but soft in some places, some quite large places. I lay on Candy with my face in her breasts and licking one of her nipples like an ice cream, and drifting off to sleep. Just before I entered the land of Nod, I heard myself saying "Candy, will you marry me". I didn't hear her reply. Chapter 16 - Will you marry me? I woke up in the morning feeling really good, and in the most privileged place in the world; on top of a superwoman. As soon as Candy realised I was awake, she gave me a long, lingering kiss, that left me somewhat light headed. I remembered last night, but couldn't remember what she'd said. I didn't dare ask her - it isn't the done thing to ask a girl to remind you whether you are due to get married - you're supposed to remember things like that, all on your own self. But all was not lost - I had a neat trick up my sleeve. I asked Candy to marry me again, and this time she sat up straight in bed, pretty much Full Frontalled me, and said "Yes". I felt like the luckiest man in the world. I was in love with a girl who loved me, only she wasn't a girl, she was a superwoman. Sex with her was about a hundred times better than anything I'd ever experienced, and we hadn't even gotten as far as fucking yet. Because of Candy, the Rueful Rabbit was back in the black, and she seemed to be able to deal with just about any little problem by Full Frontalling someone. Life was good, and I suggested that we go down to our usual spot for a Sunday picnic on the grass. We packed some food, plenty of Ginger Rabbit, and even a celebratory bottle of Black Rabbit, and we set off in the Rabbitmobile for our favorite field. When we got there, we laid out our blanket, and then Candy jumped me. Its a bit like being Full Frontalled, but more enveloping. We rolled over and over on the grass, struggling to see who would get to be in top. As we struggled, various articles of clothing seemed to disappear - I really must show Candy how trouser zips work, otherwise I'd be spending more on new trousers than on beer. We ended up with me on top, although I had no illusions that this was for any reason other than Candy preferred it, and we kissed and talked, cuddled and talked, hugged and talked, about getting married, about where we would live, about babies, about the Rueful Rabbit, about beer, about the arm wrestling, about Candy, about me, about all the things that lovers all over the world talk about. After a while, I pulled up Candy's skirt and started to stroke her long, powerful legs. The feel of her huge muscles was thrilling, and I remembered the lead ball that she'd crushed between them. As her hands caressed my body, I couldn't help thinking about broken six inch nails and knotted steel bars, and I started to moan rather loudly as her hard abdomen rubbed against my hard erection. Her nipples were long and rigid, a sure sign of her arousal, while her breasts were big and soft, a tremendous turn-on. Candy pushed me down a few inches and moved her legs apart. My penis stayed high above her vagina, until she raised her hips, making a bridge out of her body, and capturing my penis at the entrance to her vagina. I felt the labia unfold and grip me first gently, then harder as she drew my penis inside her. I hadn't imagined that such a thing was possible - I wasn't penetrating her, she was pulling me inside, and I don't think I had any choice in the matter, not that I wanted any. I sank deeper and deeper into her vagina, until the G-spot on my penis was lightly touching the G-spot in her vagina. Her clitoris was fully engorged, and felt as if it were larger than a man's penis, as it nudged against the top of my testicles, exciting both of us still further. I instinctively knew that I had to service her breasts, using my hands to stroke and squeeze her huge nipples. Her mouth covered mine, and her tongue penetrated the inside of my mouth, and I knew I was in heaven. Then Candy began to fuck me. She did it using her vagina muscles; I hadn't realised that they would be as powerful as the rest of her, and I certainly couldn't think clearly as she used them to squeeze and release. She could also create a ripple effect that made me scream, and her strong hands tortured my delicate underarm fur. I rapidly moved towards orgasm, and Candy must have heard the screams that indicated my passion. But the superwoman wasn't going to let me get away that easily. She clenched her vagina, and it felt like a vise was gripping my penis. The incredible pressure delayed my orgasm - delayed it and delayed it until it was no longer urgently trying to burst through my penis. I rested on top of the most sexually devastating woman in the world, completed exhausted from our activities, until I felt a gentle but compelling pressure from the vagina that was still gripping me. Gradually the pressure increased, and then it combined with the rippling effect. It felt like my penis was trapped in a burning whirlpool, as Candy used her powerful vagina to fuck me. I was under no misapprehension as to who was in charge here. I might have been on top, but the mighty superwoman under me was calling the shots. My erection grew inside her, our G-spots melded again, and her hands seemed to be everywhere at once. I shouted with the fantastic sensation of being helpless in the arms of my beloved, but she muffled my shouts with a kiss, and brought me to the edge of orgasm again. Once more she denied me release, clenching her vagina tightly until my urge to orgasm dissipated. As soon as I'd stopped screaming, she started again, this time using her vagina muscles to alternately push me out a few inches and pull me back in, until once more my orgasm cried out for fulfilment. But Candy wasn't finished with me. I desperately attacked her breasts, trying to get her to orgasm so that she would let me come too. I rubbed her nipples, licked the hollow of her throat, tickled her arms, but still she kept on bringing me to the verge of orgasm, and pulling me back from the brink at the last moment; an inexhaustible sex machine. "Candy", I screamed, with only the startled sheep to hear, "I love you". My declaration of love had many of the desired effects. Candy's vagina pulsated with her pre-orgasm, resulting in a feeling like being trapped in a milking machine. My long-denied orgasm exploded throughout my body, triggering Candy's own gigantic eruption. As she came, we both totally lost control of our bodies. The orgasm poured out of me in a pulsating flood, while her powerful vise-like vagina clenched and vibrated around my penis. My breath left my body, powering my triumphant shout, while Candy's scream deafened my ears. Her legs wrapped round mine, paralyzing my body in a grip like a ten ton press, and her arms crushed my body, stopping me from breathing and preventing the screams that I would otherwise have been yelling. The unbearable pleasure racked my body as the superwoman underneath me spasmed and squeezed, bucked and shook with her own orgasms, and I crossed the divide between pleasure and pain once more as the sensation of Candy's body around mine became more than any man could handle. Her astoundingly powerful vagina pulled a second orgasm from me, and the sensations from that turned Candy's body into a sex machine. "Candy", I screamed as her powerful muscles minced my penis into hamburger and her orgasm fibrillated my muscles like an electric shock. But Candy was in another world, her own sensitive body entering a double orgasm as she simultaneously came from both her vagina and her clitoris. Her long, powerful clitoris rammed against my testicles, turning them to mush as her muscular vagina made my penis feel as if it was being hammered on an anvil. "Candy", I screamed once more, as she brought me to a third orgasm. Her body tossed me around like a rowing boat in a storm; and some of what I was hitting was gently soft, but some of it was painfully hard. Desperately, I gripped her three-inch long nipples in an effort to hold on, but that was a big mistake, as it increased the electric shocks running through her body to a new level. Chapter 17 - The climax The superwoman underneath me was now shuddering and shaking in the throes of a triple orgasm, as her nipples, clitoris and vagina all separately channelled their sensations to her body. Surely no woman had ever had a simultaneous orgasm from all three of her primary sexual areas at once; it was only Candy's exceptional sensitivity that made it possible, and it only her extraordinary strength that made her so sensitive. That same stupendous strength was affecting me powerfully now, as her vagina made my penis feel like I'd caught it in a mincer, and her clitoris rammed painfully against my testicles. I couldn't hold her nipples any longer, as her arms had crushed all the strength out of my body, and I couldn't move my legs as hers were twined around them. There was only two things I could do now; scream and orgasm, and I overdosed on both. Candy's arms pressed me harder and harder - I couldn't breath. She obviously had no idea what she was doing to me; in her state of triple orgasm, I don't think she was aware of anything except the gigantic sensation ripping through her body. I felt a devastating mixture of exhilarating pleasure and agonizing pain as I passed out. I woke up in bed, and reached out for Candy. She wasn't there, and it wasn't my bed. I looked round, and saw that I was in a hospital. The fact that my left leg was in plaster helped my deduction, and the fact that my right arm was also in plaster told me that some terrible accident must have happened. I've heard that accident victims lose the memory of the events just before the accident, and I suppose that must be what happened to me; I certainly couldn't remember smashing up the old Rabbitmobile. I took stock of myself; all the parts seemed to be there; I could wiggle both lots of fingers and toes, which told me that it was not likely to be any permanent damage. As I shifted position, a sharp pain ripped through my chest, making me think of broken ribs, and then a nurse arrived. She was short, middle aged and dumpy, and looked like an angel from heaven. I asked her what the damage was, and she told me a broken forearm, broken thigh, and a few cracked ribs. I asked if I could use a phone - I had to let Candy know I was fine, well, not fine, but in one piece at least. She brought me a portable, but there was no-one home, and no-one at the Rueful Rabbit either. The doctor came and had a look at me, and told me not to make such a fuss about a few broken bones. I laughed, and then I told him it only hurt when I laughed. He asked me how it happened, but I told him I didn't remember. He told me I could get a cab home if I liked, but the plaster would have to stay on for six weeks, and I shouldn't put any weight on the leg. I struggled home by cab, and hobbled to my apartment. There was no sign of Candy, but I found a video cassette on the table, and a note from her suggesting that I play it. I put the cassette in the VCR, and it was Candy. She was crying, sobbing. "I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry. Oh Sam, Sam, I love you so much, but it won't work." She explained that it was her lovemaking that had broken my bones, and she was sorry, so sorry. She'd completely lost control when her orgasm hit her, and her arms and legs had just crushed my body. She loved me and she was sorry. Something like this had happened to her before, and she had to leave me before her body destroyed mine. She told me that she was going away, far away, and that I shouldn't look for her. She was leaving me because she loved me, and I should forget her and find a normal woman to love. She said she'd always remember our time together as the best time of her life. Oh, Candy, I love you, where are you? They say that time heals. Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't, but while I'm waiting to find out, I need something to ease the pain. I've tried Black Rabbit, and I've tried Rabbit's Ruin. I've gotten drunk on Old Peculiar Rabbit, and plastered on Brown Rabbit. Beer doesn't help. Nothing helps. It hurts so bad, I can't tell you how bad it hurts. Candy isn't in the bar, she isn't in my bed, and she isn't in my life. Sometimes I go down to where we used to picnic, and lie on the ground and howl with the pain of it. I hate the Rabbitmobile, because she isn't in the seat next to me. I hate the Rueful Rabbit, because she isn't behind the bar. Whenever I go to bed, she isn't there; I reach out and there's nothing. My pillow is wet each morning, and I cry during the day sometimes as well. The world is empty without Candy, I don't feel like eating, and I don't like beer any more. Oh god, I don't even like beer any more. Candy, what's the point of anything without you? Oh, Candy, Candy, Candy ..... Copyright (c) 1995, 1996 Rabbit Productions <<END>>