The Teenage Sandi Stone 

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Introduction 
 
This is a story of how Sandi Stone's mind and body developed the way it 
did. It's a gruesome story, and a cautionary tale against the evils of 
drink, and the importance of love and affection in children's lives. If 
you don't like rape, including male rape, gang rape and child rape, you 
might want to give this a miss. Child rape *does* happen, there are some 
terrible people in this world. You might also not like reading about men 
being given devastating and destructive beatings by an appallingly strong
but rather pretty girl. And you'll learn about the Double Triangle of 
Domination, which is something you'd maybe rather not know about, and 
certainly you don't want your lady friends to know about it. Also the 
Triangle of Submission, which is something you probably do want to know 
about. 
 
You should also be warned, that although there are some unpleasant 
scenes of sex and violence, a lot of this story is about teenage love, 
about the difficulty of being a teenager and about first love. If you 
think that kids that age aren't obsessed with love, romance, dating and 
all the things that adults simply call "sex", you've just forgotten what 
it was like. 
 
Another warning - after you've read this story, you'll understand a bit 
about differential calculus. If the thought of differential calculus 
turns you off, then read no further. 
 
There's also some very erotic scenes with a boy and a female cat. If you 
don't like cats, you might skip those parts. No cats were abused or 
exploited in the making of this story. 



The Teenage Sandi Stone

Copyright (c) 1995, 1996 Rabbit Productions

Chapter 1 - Little Sandi

I was just a kid of seven when my father left me and my mother to fend
for ourselves. I remember Mommy used to cry a lot in those days, and I
hated him for leaving us. Then she met Chuck, and married him. I guess
she thought it would be better than trying to cope on her own, but she
soon learned different. Chuck was into beating up on women, and she was
constantly battered and bruised. She tried to hide her pain from me, but
I knew about it at first hand - Chuck also liked beating up little
girls. He would hold my hand in his, while he smacked my head back and
forward with his other hand. He also used to thrash me with his belt,
especially when he came home drunk. When he was out, I used to creep up
to Mommy and ask her why she didn't throw him out, but she'd cuddle me
and hush me and tell me that one day everything would be all right. And
she'd tell me stories from when she and Daddy were courting, and the
world was young and fresh and lovely.

I was abnormal even as a kid. I simply couldn't swim - I sank like the
stone I'm named for, because I have large, heavy bones, and unusually 
dense muscles. When I was a kid, this made me look quite awful - I was
the proverbial ugly duckling. And I think that fed my step-father's 
hatred of me; he used to tell me I was too ugly for words, that boys 
would never be interested in my wide, thick body. Of course, I believed
him, because when you're a kid, you believe authority figures. But my 
Mommy used to kiss me and call me her "Little Sandi" and tell me stories
about handsome princes and beautiful fairies, and what happened when the
lovely princess kissed the ugly frog, and then my step-father would come 
home and beat her up again. 

One evening, I was huddled in my bed, listening once again to the sound
of my mother crying and screaming, then the horrible silence. I pulled 
my pillow over my head to shut out the awful world, but I couldn't stand
it, and I crept down to their bedroom, and listened at the door. He was 
telling Mommy how he'd beat me up if she didn't do exactly what he said,
and she was begging him to give her a chance, she'd do anything, only
don't hurt Little Sandi, she's only ten, just a little kid, please don't
hurt Little Sandi. I didn't know what it was all about, but I soon found 
out.

Over the next few days, Mommy left the house early in the evening
wearing loads of makeup, a tight sweater and a short skirt, and didn't
get back till the early hours. I was in my room, scared, because I
didn't know where she was or what was going on. Mommy told me she was
out earning a living, but it wasn't like the other kids mommies or
daddies. I hated it, because I hardly ever saw her - she was too tired
in the morning to get me off to school, and she left for work soon after
I got home. One good thing, Chuck used to beat her up less now - I 
hardly ever saw blood on her face like I used to. But now the bad news -
he made up for it by hitting me more, and he used to do it in front on 
Mommy, which made her cry even more than if he was hitting her.
 
One day, after he'd used his belt on me, I ran to Mommy to cry in her
arms. She told him he was a rotten bastard for hurting her Little Sandi, 
and he called her a filthy whore. She went white, and burst into tears, 
and suddenly I understood. That evening, she put me to bed, and I cried
some more, asking her why she did what she did. She said, because she 
had to, and I knew that it was because Chuck was threatening to hurt me.
I wished I wasn't there, because then Mommy could get free of Chuck. I 
wished I was dead. 

Chuck came into my room that night, like he often did, and I hid under 
the bedclothes, hoping he wouldn't notice me, or something. He stripped 
the blankets off me and flopped down on top of me. I could smell the
awful, sour smell of the beer on his breath, and I tried to curl up 
tighter, waiting for the beating. But he grabbed my wrists and pulled
them up over my head, and he got on top of me. I was terrified - I knew
what was coming, and I hated it when he did this. I'd rather have the 
beating. I bucked and struggled, trying to throw him off, and I must
have had some effect, because he called me a bitch, and backhanded me
across the mouth. I tasted my own blood, and screamed as loud as I
could, but Mommy was out working, and no-one came. There was only me, me
and this big bad man. He laughed at my fear, and I wriggled free and
jumped out of bed. He grinned as he came towards me, showing his yellow
teeth, and I backed away, sobbing. He cornered me, and spread his arms 
wide to stop me escaping. I lowered my head, pushed with my legs against
the wall, and drove forward as hard as I could, sinking my fist into his 
big, soft stomach.

I guess he wasn't expecting that, and the pain from the blow, plus the
huge amount of beer sloshing around inside him, made his stomach react 
by emptying itself all over the rug. He crouched on his hands and knees, 
vomiting again and again, and I started to wonder what would happen when 
he recovered. His face was a mask of fear, shock and pain as his 
retching continued, and I knew I had to do something quickly, while he 
was still weak from being sick. I made a fist out of my right hand, 
clenching it as tightly as I could, and then I swung my arm in a big 
circle, meeting his temple with the side of my hand. 
 
He went out like a light, falling into the puddle of vomit. I ran out of 
the room, and locked him in, and waited in Mommy's bed with the covers 
pulled over me until she got back that night. When she got back, I ran 
into her arms, and sobbed out my story. She was even more terrified than 
I was, probably because she had a better imagination of what might 
happen next. We huddled together in that room all night and through the 
next day, shivering with fear and anticipation of what Chuck might do to 
us. Mommy tried to reassure me, putting her big arms round me and 
calling me her "Little Sandi", and telling me she'd look after me, but I 
could see how scared she was, and that made me really panicky. Because I 
knew, I knew that she couldn't protect me from the dreadful male brute 
that lived with us. No-one could.
 
The day went by with nothing happening, and by the next evening, we were 
forced out of the room by thirst. We crept round the house, fearful that 
Chuck might be lurking round the next corner, but he'd gone completely. 
We never saw him again. But I thought of him often in the following 
years, screaming awake in the night in a cold sweat, terrified, fighting 
against the blankets as if they were trying to strangle me. And I often 
used to ask Mommy, "He won't come back will he? Promise me he won't come 
back, he's such a big evil man." And Mommy would hold me in her arms and 
rock me, and soothe me, and say "Shh, Little Sandi, don't fret, don't 
cry, Mommy's here, Mommy will take care of you." 
 
Mommy stopped whoring, and got herself a job in a supermarket. The pay 
wasn't too good, but she got to take breakages home, so at least we ate. 
And we had each other, and most importantly, there was no man to knock 
us about. Mommy promised me that she'd never, ever get involved with a 
man again, and I promised her I'd never, ever forget what had happened. 
And I promised her that I'd always be her Little Sandi, and that I loved 
her for ever. 
 
For the next few years, nothing much happened in my life, and I was very 
glad of it. I was a withdrawn girl at school, not speaking much, not 
playing with the other children. I was scared of the teachers, because 
they were mostly men, and men scared me, all men, but especially big 
men. I knew I was different, because when we changed for gym, everyone 
could see how broad and stocky my body was. I hated gym, because all the 
kids jeered at my big clumsy body, and I did as little as I could get 
away with. My breasts were bigger than the other girls, and children are 
very cruel to anyone different. They teased me unmercifully, calling me 
Little Sandi like they'd heard Mommy call me. All I wanted was to finish 
school so I could get a job in a supermarket, like Mom, and maybe earn 
enough to keep a kitten. Meanwhile, I kept myself to myself, hurrying 
home each day after school. Sometimes I'd visit the supermarket where 
Mom worked, just to say Hi, Mommy, and she'd say "Hi, Little Sandi". 
 
I still had nightmares about my stepfather, and I still used to think a 
lot about what happened that night, and all those other nights. Now I 
was older, I realised that it was called rape. What kind of disgusting 
pervert rapes a ten-year-old girl? The kind that gets put in prison for 
a long, long time, that's what. I guess that not a single day went by 
without me remembering that night; the scar on my mind was deep. And 
sometimes, as I remembered, I had weeping fits, which I tried not to let 
Mommy know about, she had enough troubles. All this changed when I was 
14, but it changed for the worse. 

Chapter 2 - The Bullies
 
I was walking home one wintry day in the dusky gloom, alone as usual, my 
head down against the wind and rain. Suddenly, there were boys round me 
"Hey lookee here, it's Little Sandi. Give us a feel." "Go away, go 
away", I sobbed. But they crowded round me, pushing my books onto the 
wet ground, and jostling me. "Leave me alone, I just want to go home". 
But one of them pushed me towards another one, who pushed me back, and 
they continued this game until I tripped over my books and stumbled to 
the ground. Then they laughed and ran away, leaving me to pick myself up 
and get myself sorted out. 
 
When Mom got home, she asked me what the matter was, but I figured she 
had enough problems, so I told her I tripped on the way home. She washed 
the blood off my grazed hands, and put a bandage on, made me hot soup, 
and told me that everything would be all right. But I knew it wasn't. 
 
They were waiting for me next night, and the night after that. Life 
became a misery - I was afraid to walk home alone, but I had no friends. 
I tried to tag along with a grown-up when I could, but that only worked 
part of the way, and they still ambushed me some nights and pushed me 
around. When I could, I ran away, and in my desperation I could 
sometimes outdistance them. But not always, and when they did catch me, 
I was exhausted from running, and easy meat. And they weren't just 
bullying me, they were also trying to get their hands on my breasts, 
which were bigger than the other girls. I thought of telling Mom, but I 
knew that wouldn't help, it would just get her worried, and me into more 
trouble. 
 
I started staying late at school, hoping that the boys would have gotten 
fed up waiting for me, and that worked sometimes. I told Mom I was doing 
extra studying, which was a plausible excuse, since I was bottom of the 
class at just about everything, because nothing seemed worth the 
trouble. Actually I was just sitting at a desk, crying, wishing I didn't 
have to live this way, wishing there was some way to make those horrid 
boys stop torturing me, wishing I could get my own back on them. And 
thinking about my step-father. I thought about him a lot, as it got 
darker outside. 
 
They generally turned the lights out at seven in the evening, but one 
evening, I noticed the lights were on in the school gym, and since light 
is nicer than dark, I walked in to sit there instead. But it wasn't 
empty; Marisia, the girls gym teacher was there, huffing and puffing 
away at some weights. I turned to go - I hated gym because of the way 
the kids teased me, so I didn't have any time for Marisia. But she saw 
me, and called me to come in. She asked me what I was doing there at 
that time of night, and I realised that I couldn't get away with the 
story about extra studying, so I thought fast, and told her I was 
worried about my figure, and wondered if she could advise me on how to 
get slim like the other girls. 
 
She put down the weight she was lifting, and looked at me, frowning. I 
started to think that she hadn't bought my story, when she said "Let's 
have a good look at you, Sandi. Strip down to your bra and panties." I 
could hardly refuse, given the story I'd just told her, so I reluctantly 
bared my ugly duckling body. "Put your hands over your head", she said, 
so I had to stop trying to cover myself up, and stretched out. She 
walked up to me, and pressed my belly, felt my thighs and arms. "You're 
not really fat, Sandi. Maybe a little puppy-fat, but mostly you're just 
built big for your height. What would do you good, would be to tone up 
those muscles, maybe lose a few pounds." I explained that I really 
couldn't do that sort of thing in front of the others, because of the 
way they laughed at me. "Yes, children are very cruel, aren't they. 
Look, tomorrow, you come by here after classes are over, fetch your gym 
kit, and I'll show you how to get started." 
 
Well, what did I have to lose, apart from several pounds of fat? Going 
home that evening, I was pounced on and jostled again, and they left me 
lying in the mud, with my bra round my ankles. Boys ought to be 
strangled at birth, I think. Next day, I brought my gym things, and 
Marisia started showing me how to work out. We started with the two-arm 
curl. She put 25 pounds on the bar, but I did ten of those with no 
effort. She kept increasing it - apparently, you have to find the level 
where you can just about do ten repetitions, or reps. When we got to 50, 
she started looking surprised, and we found that I could just about 
manage 70 pounds. She told me that she could only just manage that 
herself, and she was a full-grown woman who had been training for years. 
Apparently, if you keep lifting a weight, it gradually gets easier, and 
you have to add more to the bar to maintain the feeling of resistance. 
Then we tried the bench, and I could handle 110. At the military press, 
I could just manage 90, but my one-arm curls were a pathetic 25 pounds 
each. 
 
Marisia told me that this was a remarkable set of numbers for an 
untrained 14-year-old girl, and that I should be proud of myself. Since 
I wasn't any good at anything else, I felt a warm glow inside. Apart 
from Mom, this was the first time anyone had told me I was any good at 
anything. Well, if that's what I'm going to be good at, let's see how 
good I can be. 
 
Over the next few months, I worked hard. Not at classes, but every 
evening after class, I pumped iron. Marisia showed me how to maintain 
form, spotted for me, and encouraged me to the extra reps. And I spotted 
for her - we became training partners. By the time spring came, I felt 
stronger and more confident, and I mostly avoided the gang of boys that 
was making my life such a misery. But one day, they changed tactics, and 
ambushed me on the way to school in the morning. When I got in, I was 
muddy and dishevelled, and decided to go to the gym for a quick shower 
before I started classes. Marisia was there, saw me, and asked what had 
happened. I sank down into a crumpled heap on the floor and started 
crying. She got down next to me, put an arm round me, and gave me a hug. 
I think she was the first person to do that, apart from Mom. So, between 
sobs, I told her what had happened, and explained that I had thought I 
was safe in the morning, but if they were hitting on me then as well, I 
really didn't know how I was going to deal with it. 
 
"Sandi, who are the boys?". I kept silent, I knew that if I told on 
them, they'd make my life even more miserable in retaliation. "Sandi, 
how old are they, how many of them". They were the same age as me, and 
the number varied from three to six. "Sandi, you don't have to put up 
with this, you know." Marisia explained that, since I was now curling 85 
pounds for ten reps, and squatting 200, I was a lot stronger than any 
14-year-old boy could possibly be. Boys don't get their puberty growth 
spurt until long after girls do, and when you added my intrinsic muscle 
density and hardness, plus the months I'd spent training, it really 
shouldn't be possible for a boy to push me around unless I let them. I 
stopped crying, and listened to her - what she was saying made sense. I 
knew, from watching the boys on the equipment, that they couldn't lift 
nearly as much as me, but I hadn't put that into the context of my 
tormentor's bullying. "But girls don't fight", I protested, and I have 
to say, it sounded like a pretty feeble excuse even as I said it. Why on 
earth not? 
 
Marisia got some boxing gloves on me, and I practiced punching a bag. At 
first, I hit it like most girls would hit, flailing overarm, but Marisia 
coached me, and got me to drop my inhibitions against punching as hard 
as I could. Soon, I was hitting the punch bag like my life depended on 
it, and I began to think about Chuck as I punched away until my arms 
turned to rubber. 
 
Each evening, Marisia had me lifting weights; curl, lat extension, 
triceps curl, bench press, leg press. And when I'd exhausted myself on 
the iron, she had me hammer away at the punch bag until I couldn't punch 
any more. After a while, we discarded the boxing gloves - I wouldn't be 
wearing them in the real world. Instead, I wore a pair of soft leather 
gloves, which I could wear every day. I noticed that my hands were 
hardening up; the palms and fingers getting callused from working the 
iron, and my knuckles and fists were getting really hard from all the 
punching.
 
One fine evening, I was walking home admiring the sunset, and I realised 
that three boys were blocking my path. I thought of running, which had 
worked in the past, but then I clenched my fists, and thought "No, I'm 
stronger than they are, and I know how to punch. No more running. Here 
I stand, here I fight." So I walked on towards them, trying not to show 
my fear. They spread out as I approached, one in front of me, and one to 
either side. I knew this tactic; the one in front would grab my blouse 
while the other two pushed me back and forth between them. So I stopped 
walking just before I reached them, dropped my books, and stood with my 
hands on my hips, legs apart. "Okay, limpdicks, here I am." They looked 
a bit confused at first, and I thought that maybe this show of bravery 
would make them back down. But no; maybe if I'd been a boy they would 
have thought twice about it, but I was only a girl, nothing to be 
worried about. 
 
The boy in front of me put his hand on my blouse, as expected. But 
instead of trying to protect my breasts, as he expected, I stepped 
forward, swinging my arm up from the waist and plunged my gloved fist 
into his belly. He immediately collapsed down onto his knees, then 
doubled up in pain. I took a couple of steps back, and turned to my 
left, bringing my right arm round in a long hook that ended on the boy's 
cheek. He also went down right away, spitting blood from his cut mouth 
where I'd bashed his cheek against his teeth. By that time, the third 
boy had his arms round me from behind, but I stamped down on his foot, 
and he released me. I turned towards him, stepped back to give myself 
some space, and drove my left fist as hard into his gut as I could. I 
could hear the air leaving his lungs, and he folded himself up into a 
small ball of pain. 
 
I couldn't believe it. Three punches was all it took! These bullies had 
been tormenting me for months, and now they'd got their just desserts. 
And it wasn't even a proper fight - I'd seen boys fighting before, and 
they traded insults and punches for ages before one of them gave up. 
These boys had just turned to mush with one punch, it was like I'd 
pricked a balloon. I scooped up my books, and almost skipped home. Mom 
asked me what I was so pleased about, and I told her I'd just passed an 
important physical exam. 
 
Next day, I couldn't wait to tell Marisia about it, but when I did, she 
threw cold water over me immediately. "It isn't finished", she warned 
me. "Boys can't stand having their egos bruised. They'll convince 
themselves that they must have slipped or something, and they'll come at 
you again, and this time they'll want blood." I didn't care. I knew I 
could handle any boy my age, and make them give up with just a single 
punch. But all the same, I increased the time I was spending on lifting 
weights, and I started doing sit-ups, to strengthen my abdomen. I didn't 
want a belly that would squish as soon as someone punched it, like those 
boys. I also practiced punching with the fast-ball, as well as long 
periods on the punch-bag, to make my punching power greater. 
 
Sure enough, they left me alone after that. I saw them around sometimes, 
but they avoided my eyes, and I laughed at them. I was also less shy at 
gym class now, because I knew that my body was one to be proud of, not 
ashamed of. If a boy made fun of my big arms, I would take his hand in 
mine and squeeze until the pain made the tears come to his eyes. I liked 
the sight of a boy crying, especially when I knew it was my greater 
strength that caused it. And when Jimmy Riverside was rude about my 
legs, saying that they looked like tree trunks, I pushed him to the 
ground, and wrapped my legs round his waist, and squeezed as hard as I 
could. When I stood up, he didn't, he just lay there trying to get his 
breath back, his eyes wet with tears. No-one made fun of my big thick 
legs after that. 

Chapter 3 - The Rape
 
One evening, in late summer, I was walking home with Sarah Courtney as 
the sun was setting. I was explaining to her that she didn't have to do 
what boys wanted; if she made herself strong like me, she could call the 
shots. But as we walked, I saw that a reception committee was waiting 
for us. I told Sarah to run back the way we'd come, and to go home - I'd 
handle these boys. I was actually a bit worried about whether I could 
deal with six, but the other three had gone down so easily, I couldn't 
believe that six would be that much harder. 
 
I was wrong. I'd had the advantage of surprise last time, and this time 
they were wary of me. Also, as I discovered, 6 to 1 odds is a *lot* 
worse than 3 to 1. If you take one out immediately, 3-1 comes down to 2-
1, but 6-1 only comes down to 5-1. Just before I reached them, I put 
down my books, stood with my back to a wall so they couldn't get behind 
me, and waited. While I waited, I tried psyching them out a bit. "Hey, 
limpdick, last time you tackled a girl you got hurt - want some more?" A 
couple of them looked a bit nervous, so I pushed up my sleeves and 
showed them my big muscles; my arms were 13 inches of power, and you 
could see my biceps bulging. They were encouraging each other, egging 
themselves on "Come on, she's just a girl". So I encouraged them a bit 
more. "First one to get near me, finds out what it's like to be hit with 
a sledgehammer." They made a semi-circle round me, each one reluctant to 
be the first to get within range of my fists. I pulled up my skirt and 
showed them my big thick thighs. "Remember what happened to Jimmy 
Riverside? Who wants to be the first between my legs? Come on, Heroes, 
surely you all want to get between a girl's legs." 
 
Billy Downs came a bit too close, not close enough to punch, but Marisia 
had also showed me a bit of kick-boxing, and my foot flew up and out, 
impacting on his head like a hammer on a watermelon. He went down like a 
sack of flour. Scratch one. "Who's next?", I said brightly. "Plenty more 
where that came from." After that, they backed off a few feet, and I 
wondered how this was going to end. And then Spencer Clive, damn him, 
said "All together, and anyone holds back is a soft sissy coward." I got 
one of them with another good kick, and I felt a nose squish under my 
right fist, but then they were all over me, and they dragged me down to 
the ground, one holding each arm, one on each leg, and Spencer punching 
my belly until even my hardened abdominals couldn't take it any more. 
 
"Please, no", I begged, as the pain ripped through my body. They held me 
spread-eagled, punching and kicking me, even Billy Downs got his revenge 
on me. After they'd battered me until there was no fight left in me, 
they ripped off my clothes, and raped me. 
 
Rape isn't a sexual act, it's an act of torture and humiliation. They 
weren't trying to get their pleasure, they were trying to hurt and 
subjugate me. I closed my eyes, wishing I were dead, as the various 
parts of my body were ripped and torn, twisted and punched. After an 
eternity, I lost consciousness. 
 
I woke up, alone, and flat on my back. Everything hurt, especially from 
my belly on down. It hurt to move my arms, it hurt to move my legs. I 
just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But then I thought of my step-
father, and I wasn't going to give in, not yet. It took a major effort 
to get onto my hands and knees, and then with the aid of the wall, I 
managed to stand up. Nothing was broken, or I wouldn't have been able to 
hobble slowly home. 
 
Mom took one look at me, and screamed. She wanted to know what had 
happened, and I was too broken to make up some story, so I told her the 
truth. "Mom, I was raped by six boys." She held me very gently, and 
cuddled me, and called me her "Little Sandi" and rocked me in her arms. 
Then she helped me have a hot bath, and put me to bed. I slept for a 
long time, and when I woke up, a lady cop was waiting by my bed. She 
asked me how I felt. "Terrible", but I managed a grin. The doctor had 
confirmed that nothing was broken, but confined me to bed for a week. 
The lady cop wanted to know if I'd recognized any of my attackers. I'd 
thought about this. If I accused them of rape, it would be my word 
against the six of them. I'd get accused of leading them on, and of 
dressing provocatively (well, what sort of dress would you wear in late 
summer?), and the whole thing would be an ordeal that I could well do 
without. Plus, I had a few ideas of my own for justice. So, I said I 
hadn't a clue who they might be, and anyway it was dark, plus they'd 
bushwhacked me from behind. The cops didn't take much convincing - I 
think they were under the impression that when a boy rapes a girl, it's 
just an expression of high spirits. 
 
Marisia came and visited me, and told me I'd heal fine. Sarah Courtney 
didn't visit, well to hell with her. After a week in bed, and a week 
wandering around the house, I felt a lot better. I still had some bad 
bruises, but they were healing fast. And when Mom asked me what I wanted 
for my fifteenth birthday, I knew exactly what to ask for. Down at the 
sports shop, there was a set of weights made of plastic, which you were 
supposed to fill with water. They were real cheap, but seemed sturdy 
enough, and I got Mom to buy me $50 worth of cheap, shoddy, hollow 
plastic weights. If you filled them with water, you'd get a total of 50 
pounds, which might be enough for some beginner weakdick man, but not 
for me. I filled them with heavy sand, and then poured water in to 
maximize the mass. I used Mom's kitchen scales to get the weights right, 
and using this combination, I got myself a set of weights that went all 
the way up to 200 pounds. 
 
I cleaned out the basement of our house, and put it all down there. I 
also scrounged an old fake leather sofa, and by ripping off the cover, 
and sewing it into a long bag filled with sand, I made myself a punchbag 
to hang from the ceiling. I cut out a picture of a man's face from a 
magazine, and glued it to the punchbag. Extra incentive. 
 
Now I could work out any time I liked. I spent a couple of hours each 
evening at the school gym, and the rest of the evening in my home-made 
gym. I spent most of the weekend chinning, pumping iron, doing crunches, 
and punching, punching, punching. Punching is the key, I was convinced. 
After my initial success in downing those three boys with my fists, I 
wanted to have a punch like a sledgehammer. I wanted to be able to down 
a man with one punch. In fact, I wanted to be able to punch so hard that 
I'd have to pull my punches to make a fight last longer. I had more in 
mind for Spencer than a one-punch fight. 
 
I concentrated mostly on my upper body strength. I didn't neglect my 
legs, but since a girls legs are naturally stronger than her arms, I 
aimed at developing my biceps, triceps and deltoids. Mom used to come 
and watch me lift sometimes, and she used to tell me, "Well, you won't 
have to worry about men beating you up, will you." Indeed not, but I 
wanted more. I wanted to be able to use my big, hard muscles to hurt 
them, to make up for all the universe of pain that Mom and I had 
suffered. 
 
I knew what I wanted. When I could curl 110 pounds, I decided I was 
ready; my bench lift was up to 180, and I could squat 250. Very few of 
the boys in my year could bench 100, and although I wore the regulation 
school uniform, I made sure that I left my arms and shoulders bare 
whenever I could. I also made no secret of my weightlifting ability. At 
the Christmas party that year, one of the senior boys challenged me to 
an arm-wrestling contest, with the prize being that the loser had to 
remove an article of clothing. Even though he was seventeen and one of 
the jocks, I accepted his challenge. We sat down, facing each other, 
clasping hands, and someone said go. 
 
He pushed real hard, but I held him in place. I let him push for a 
while, so he could see that he wasn't going anywhere, and then I clamped 
down on his hand, gradually increasing my grip. I didn't push, I just 
squeezed, and crushed, and the strength left his arm as the pain 
mounted. I enjoyed the sensation of my muscles causing him so much pain 
that his hand felt as limp as a wet fish, and then I ground his soft 
hand in mine. I could feel the little bones in his hand sliding under by 
grip, and I twisted slightly to increase the pain. He screamed, stood 
up, and tried to pull away. I let him go, and smiled up at him. 
"Underpants", I said, softly. And as he took them off, I casually 
reached out and gave his erect genitals a firm, hard squeeze. He spurted 
immediately, and I learned that some men find being dominated by a big 
strong girl, immensely erotic. 
 
Chapter 4 - Rib Crusher

At the prom, no-one asked me to dance. Well, I didn't mind, I had plans. 
I asked Spencer Clive, the boy who'd led the rape, and he was too 
surprised to refuse. He led me out onto the dance floor, and I whirled 
into his arms. He put his arms round my shoulders, and I put my arms 
under his, and round his waist. I linked my hands behind him, and as he 
started to move to the music, I squeezed, hard. He looked surprised; my 
big breasts squashed against his chest, and I moved my grip to cinch his 
waist harder. I tucked my right wrist behind my left forearm, and then 
flexed my left elbow, using the leverage of my left arm to tighten the 
circle of my arms around his waist. Marisia taught me this one, and it's 
a killer. The leverage is tremendous, far greater than you could get 
with just a bear-hug. My arms round his waist stopped him from breathing 
in, and each time he tried to get some slack by breathing out, I took it 
up by pulling my left arm towards me, which tightened the grip even 
more. It's just like a nut-cracker.
 
The result was inevitable. Without air, he soon stopped struggling, and 
his body relaxed in my grasp. He was semi-conscious, and at my mercy. 
Mercy? What mercy? The same mercy he showed a 14-year-old girl when he 
and five friends raped her. I loosened my grip a little and turned him 
to face away from me, so his soft belly was under my powerful arms. He 
sagged down towards the floor, and his lowest pair of ribs slid under my 
arms. I tucked my right wrist under my left elbow, and used my left arm 
like the lever of a nutcracker, except that it was his ribs that were 
being cracked, not his nuts. I levered my arm until I felt the rib 
crack. 
 
No-one at the dance could see what was happening. As far as they were 
concerned, we were dancing, my front to his back. I moved him about a 
bit, to maintain appearances, and let him slide down a few inches, until 
I could feel the next pair of ribs. I slackened off to get my nutcracker 
over them, and while I did, I could feel him stirring in my arms - he 
was regaining consciousness. Excellent; I realized it would be much 
better if he knew what was going on. When he was aware of his 
surroundings a bit, I levered my left arm again, and the agony shot 
through his body, as his ribs came under intense pressure. I kept the 
pressure up, slacking it off a bit if his head sagged too much, and 
levering my rib-cracker when he showed signs of too much life. After 
several minutes, I must have exerted too much tension, because I felt 
that pair of ribs bend, and then give under my arms. 
 
Never mind, I thought. There's lots more yet, and I let him slide down a 
few more inches. Then the dance ended, and everyone was looking at us, 
so I turned him round to face me, and kissed him. Why would I want to 
kiss this shit? Because it was me kissing him, not the other way round. 
My arms round his body caused so much pain to his broken ribs that he 
was in no condition to resist my dominating kiss. He had no choice in 
the matter, and my arms were causing him such a lot of distress that I 
got a lot of pleasure out of that kiss. 
 
Soon, the music started up again, and I was able to turn him round 
again, and slowly, in time to the music, we swayed back and forth. His 
head was slumped forward, his eyes were closed. Agony looks just like 
bliss; even the mouth-set is the same. And, as we swayed, I slowly 
tightened my rib-cracker again. 
 
We spent an hour of pure delight. Well, I was having fun, he was in the 
most horrible pain of his life. He couldn't even breathe unless I let 
him. I don't think I broke all his ribs, but I broke enough of them to 
make me happy. Then the last dance started, you know? A slow waltz. I 
turned him to face me again, and I kissed him gently as I ground his 
broken ribs against my body. I gradually moved us towards the door, and 
as we got there, I put my arm round his waist, and walked him out into 
the bright, romantic moonlight. I sat him down against a tree, and knelt 
next to him, like a courting couple. He tried to fall over, but I 
propped him up. There were a couple more things I needed to do. 
 
What I needed to do now, was to make sure that he wouldn't try for a re- 
match. I wanted him permanently out of the action, and I knew how to do 
it. Boys fight with their arms, and what I needed to do, was to 
permanently weaken his arms. I'd read this up in the anatomy books, and 
I pretty much knew what to do. With so many broken ribs, he was in no 
state to resist me, as I rolled him over on his front, and sat on his 
back. From a distance, we must have looked like several other courting 
couples on the grass. I didn't want him making too much noise, so I 
stuffed my panties in his mouth. He was making choking, coughing noises 
as I sat on his back, and reached down to his right arm. I rotated it so 
that his elbow pointed upwards, and put my left hand on his elbow to 
stop it from bending and gripped his wrist with my right. Holding his 
arm like that, I raised it, with the arm held straight, directly 
upwards. After several inches, I could feel the tension of his shoulder 
tendons reaching their limits. Now the hard work started. I used the 
leverage of his long arm to pull against the increasing resistance of 
his shoulder tendons. As I raised his arm, it got harder and harder to 
lift, but I could curl 110 pounds with these arms of mine. I gripped his 
wrist in both my hands, and pulled harder and harder, gradually raising 
the arms against the shoulder tendons. Suddenly, it became a lot easier, 
and I was able to pull his arm right up, so it was standing vertical. 
When I let go of it, it flapped loosely down, and next time I raised it, 
there was almost no resistance. Dislocations are easy to fix, broken 
bones can heal, but once ligaments and tendons have been torn out of 
their attachments, repair is difficult or impossible. 
 
I rolled Spencer onto his back again, and explained what I'd done. I lay 
next to him on the soft grass, and whispered to him, telling him that 
all I'd used were my strong arms, and I'd torn up his soft, weak body so 
easily. He stared at me, terrified, my panties still in his mouth. His 
right arm was useless, and if he tried to move his left, all his broken 
ribs shrieked with agony. But I didn't want any future trouble from him, 
so it was time to make him totally submissive. I pushed one of my legs 
under his helpless body, and rested the other one on his waist. Then I 
helped him sit up so that he could see what was going on. He understood 
immediately. If my arms could turn his body to mush, what could my legs 
do? I told him that if I ever had any trouble from him, any problems 
whatsoever, he'd find out what my big, hard thighs could do to his 
fragile, delicate body. He nodded that he understood. I retrieved my 
panties from his mouth, and asked him to confirm that he understood. He 
was crying, weeping like a baby. "Please, Sandi, don't hurt me any more, 
I can't take any more." I remembered a 14-year-old girl saying much the 
same thing to him, and was tempted to give him the same reply she'd been 
given. But instead, I rolled on top of him, and gave him a full-mouth 
kiss. I held the kiss until he passed out again, from the combination of 
pain and lack of air, and rolled off him. I was disgusted to see the wet 
patch on the front of his trousers. 
 
It was the best Christmas present I could have had. I began to 
understand what I wanted out of life. I loved the feeling of total 
dominance as I broke up the rapist's body using just my powerful 
muscles, and I wanted more. I loved it when he begged me not to hurt him 
any more, I wanted to hear that again and again. I loved seeing his 
blood, and listening to him cry. I thought about the other five boys who 
had raped me, and about all the other boys who were mean to the girls at 
school. I wanted more strength, more muscle so I could handle bigger 
boys, even men. I wanted a punch that could break ribs, arms to crush 
with, and legs to terrify them into sobbing submission. 
 
Spencer wasn't at school when term started. There were various theories 
about what had happened to him; a lot of people knew the truth, but 
pretended they didn't. The most widespread rumor was that he'd been 
beaten up by a gang from another school, but certainly everyone in my 
class knew that his dance with me had been his last dance. Marisia once 
asked me if that wasn't one of the boys who had raped me, but I 
innocently replied "What rape?", and she dropped the subject. 
 
Meanwhile, I was blossoming - the Ugly Duckling was turning into a 
Beautiful Swan. Well, maybe not beautiful, but at least I could convince 
myself that I was quite pretty. By the time I was 15, I reached 5-6, and 
weighed 140 pounds. I still couldn't swim; my bones were too big, my 
muscles too dense and there wasn't much fat on me any more. I'd lost all 
the puppy-fat, converted it to hard muscle. I let my blonde hair grow 
long, and wore it in a ponytail, kept together with a bright blue scarf. 
I wore cut-off tops that revealed my taut midriff, with short sleeves to 
show off my bare arms. Mostly, I wore jeans on my legs, but occasionally 
I'd wear a short skirt, so that people could see how my legs were 
developing. But I hardly ever got asked out for dates; I suppose no-one 
felt like dancing with me, after what happened to Spencer. Still, that 
didn't bother me. I didn't much care for boys anyway. 
 
To me, sex was just something that men and boys used to hurt girls with. 
I didn't understand why the other girls flirted and sucked up to the 
boys the way they did, and why they'd giggle about it afterwards. They 
spent large amounts of time and money on clothes; I spent my time 
lifting and punching, I had no money. Marisia showed me how to attach 
elastic straps to my wrists to increase the resistance, and I spent 
hours practicing on my punchbag with 25 pound weights on each wrist. I 
also went out running to increase my endurance; I was trying to become 
the perfect man-smasher. 
 
Chapter 5 - The Domination of Simon Carter

One day, while I was out running, I came across a couple in the long 
grass. Simon Carter was on top of Kelly Jones, and she was yelling and 
screaming. Simon was one of the boys who had raped me all those months 
ago, so I didn't have to think very hard about what to do next. I walked 
over to them, and punched him hard in the back, low down, where the 
kidneys are. He screamed, arched his back, and bucked into the air. 
Kelly was shouting and screaming at me as she stood up, but I told her 
not to worry, and to go home. Simon tried to get up, so I hit him again, 
on the face. Kelly screamed "No" again, and tried to grab hold of me, 
but I told her she was safe now, and told her to get off home. She 
grabbed her clothes and ran off crying, leaving me alone with Simon. 
 
Simon was lying on his back, blood streaming from his nose, staring at 
me. I smiled down at him, and took off my jogging suit - this was going 
to be fun, and I wanted him to see the pretty girl that was about to 
make a mess of his body. He stared up at me as I did my hair; I took off 
the scarf, shook it out, gathered it back together and retied it more 
neatly. "Stand up", I said, frowning. He lay there, and I wondered what 
to do next. If he wouldn't stand up, how could I use him as a punch bag? 
I put my hands on my hips, and glared down at him. Well, if he wouldn't 
get up, I was going to have to get down. 
 
As I bent down towards the supine boy, I noticed that his prick was 
stiff. That made me even more furious - why should he have any fun? I 
sat on his chest, gripped his dick in my right hand and squeezed as hard 
as I could. He screamed with the pain, and I grinned in delight. Then I 
let go, and his come spurted into the air, getting into my hair. That 
made me really mad, and I turned round and tried to wipe my hair on his 
face. It was still wet and horrible, and I would have to wash it later. 
 
All that moving around on his soft body was making my lower regions feel 
good, kind of warm. I bounced up and down on him a bit; he didn't seem 
to be putting up any resistance. I rubbed myself up and down his chest, 
but that didn't seem to be quite right. Then I moved up towards his 
face, and rubbed that against my crutch, and that felt really nice. But 
then he started struggling, and I had to do something to subdue him. So 
I punched him over the heart, and he went "Urghhh..." and stopped 
fighting back. 
 
I stood up and took my shorts off. I stood over Simon, spread my legs 
apart and told him to bury his head in my snatch and start licking. 
Whenever he slowed down, I grabbed his head in my hands, and ground his 
face against my crutch. The blood from his nose and the tears from his 
eyes helped to lubricate my groin, and I started to feel better and 
better. Some sort of excitement was bubbling up inside of me, growing 
stronger and stronger, until his tongue alone wasn't enough for me, and 
I wrapped my thighs round his head, clutched his face into my groin, and 
rubbed as hard as I could. 
 
Something exploded inside of me - it was the most wonderful feeling I'd 
ever had. All my muscles flexed and spasmed, and I shrieked with joy as 
my body shook and shuddered with release. After a long time, I stopped 
shaking, and dropped the bloody-headed boy to the ground, where he lay 
still. I sank down to sit on his body. He was sobbing and wailing, I 
don't think he'd enjoyed it at all. But that made it even more wonderful 
for me. 
 
So, at the age of 15, I discovered that sex wasn't just something that 
men did to hurt girls. Girls could also use sex to hurt and humiliate 
boys, while at the same time inducing delightful feelings in themselves. 
I began to use a few of the boys regularly for my pleasure. Simon became 
a standard item on my menu, and I would often lead him somewhere quiet 
so that we wouldn't be interrupted, and make him lick and rub me to 
orgasm. I couldn't do this too often, though, because he needed time 
to recover from the damage that my body did to him. 
 
I would take Simon's hand in mine, and give him my sexy smile. He'd 
usually beg me not to be so rough with him, and I'd squeeze his hand in 
mine a bit, to remind him how much I could hurt him if I really wanted 
to. Then I'd take him in to the woods, and stand over him while he 
licked and rubbed my genitals. If he showed any reluctance, I'd wrap my 
strong arms round his body and squeeze gently, or I'd reach down to his 
genitals and grip and twist. He didn't have to be persuaded very often, 
especially because by the end of each session, he'd be hurt sufficiently 
to make sure that he didn't cause me any problems. 
 
It wasn't entirely satisfying. I felt that something was missing. I had 
a bit of money to spend now - Simon and my other boys used to help with 
that - so I used to look at the other girls, and tried to dress up like 
they did. By the time summer came along, I had long silky hair which I 
usually wore in a ponytail, I'd started to wear lipstick sometimes, and 
I tried to make myself look more feminine in other ways. 
 
Chapter 6 - Karen Fielding

I got Karen Fielding to help me go shopping. Karen was the head 
cheerleader, a beautiful girl with a terrific figure. All the girls 
wished they looked like Karen. But she'd been having problems with her 
boyfriend; he was dating an older woman occasionally, and Karen was 
really upset about that. I helped by taking him aside one day; I gripped 
his head under one of my arms, and ground his face against my side. This 
got his attention, and I explained to him that he was being really dumb 
by jeopardizing his relationship with Karen for the sake of a fling with 
this old biddy. Then I hit him in the belly a couple of times, and told 
him what a wimp he was, and to stay away from Karen from now on. 
 
Karen became my best friend, in fact my only friend. The boys were all 
frightened of me, having heard various rumors about what had happened to 
Spencer at the dance, and the girls just thought I was a freak because I 
didn't like boys. But Karen used to have lots of problems with boys. She 
was so pretty and feminine, they used to grope her in the halls and 
sneak up behind her to fondle her breasts. She'd get asked out on dates, 
and she told me they'd turn into the date from hell as soon as they got 
her alone. She liked the idea of having a relationship, but the boys all 
seemed to just want to get their hands into her bra and pants. She told 
me that sometimes she wished she were plain, and I told her not to be so 
silly. 
 
After we became friends, she had hardly any problems with boys. At 
least, not after I had a few words with a few of the more aggressive 
ones. I saw one boy put his hand up her skirt, and I took that hand in 
mine, and squeezed it until he started crying. I made him get down on 
his knees and apologize to Karen, and after a couple more like that, she 
didn't have any more boy problems. 
 
Karen also advised me about Ken Ashford. I'd better explain about Ken. 
Ken was one of the boys in my class. He was small, thin and wore 
glasses. The other boys used to make fun of him and bully him, and I 
felt really sorry for him. They called him "The Weed" and "Nerd", and 
they'd bump him accidentally on purpose, and make him drop his books, 
then knock him over when he tried to pick them up. You know what kids 
are like. Nothing serious, just enough to make his life an utter misery. 
I used to look at Ken and think about how my step-father used to treat 
me. I felt sorry for him, and I just wanted to protect him. 
 
Ken retreated into his books. He used to get really good grades, which 
made things worse for him, of course. He didn't suck up to the teachers, 
but because he knew all the answers, all the boys thought he was a 
creep. The girls did too, so when I asked Karen about him, she thought I 
was insane. "He's just a weed, Sandi. You could get Tod if you wanted 
to." Tod was a real macho-type jock, football, baseball, running, you 
name it. He was a big hit with the girls - all of them competed to get 
him to date them. I used to see him in the gym sometimes, training. By 
then, I could curl 125 pounds, and he was the strongest boy there, able 
to handle 90. He used to watch me out of the corner of his eye, and I 
wasn't sure whether he fancied me or not. It didn't really matter; he 
wasn't really my type. I tried to explain this to Karen - I don't like 
big strong men the way the other girls did. If anything, I liked my boys 
small and weak, and if they weren't, I'd rough them up until they were, 
like I did Simon. But I felt that I was missing something with Simon, 
something I thought maybe I could get from Ken. But Ken was way too shy 
to talk to me, and I thought if I approached him, he'd be scared just 
like all the other boys. So I asked Karen to help me. 
 
Ken used to look at Karen longingly - all the boys did. Karen was a real 
beauty, terrific figure, long curly blonde hair, great legs. So when she 
walked up to him after class and asked him to come on a double date, he 
didn't think too hard, in fact he could barely stammer out a "Y-y-yes!". 
Karen didn't tell him at that point, but I was going to be the other 
girl on the date, and poor, bruised Simon was the other guy. Simon, of 
course, did whatever I told him. Once he argued with me when I told him 
to lick my anus, so I punched him a few times, not very hard, but enough 
for him to realize that arguing with me wasn't an sensible option. 
 
Karen and I went out shopping for clothes for me. Up till now, I hadn't 
bothered much about what I wore, as long as it kept me warm in winter 
and cool in summer. But Karen explained to me that clothes are primarily 
to enhance sexual display, and helped me to get something nice for the 
date. I really wanted to impress Ken and make him like me, so I went 
along with the idea. Karen told me that I should dress to emphasize my 
best features, and when I asked her what she thought those were, she was 
quite definite about it - my thighs. I thought that boys would find them 
too large at 24 inches, and maybe my breasts should be my main points. 
Karen was emphatic. She said I should certainly draw attention to my 
breasts, but only to draw the eyes down to my thighs. Well, she was the 
expert, so I did what she suggested. 
 
Her first suggestion was that I wear the lightest bra possible, because 
I had large, firm breasts with big nipples. I should try to let my 
nipples be as prominent as possible, so on top of the bra, I would wear 
a silk blouse, tucked well in at the waist. The stress lines in the 
blouse would naturally lead the eye downwards to my waist, and from 
there, to my thighs. Karen said that trousers and shorts were a no-no 
with my legs. She told me I had to wear a short, full skirt, made of 
very light cotton, so it would cling to my legs as I walked. She also 
tried to put me into high heels, but after nearly falling over a couple 
of times, I said no. We bought me a pair, though, so I could practice 
walking on them. 
 
When we met for the date, Simon's eyes nearly popped out. He was used to 
seeing me in a track suit or jeans, looking very tomboy. The new feminine 
Sandi made him forget his place, and he put his hand on my bottom. I 
whirled to face him, put my arms round him, and squeezed the air out of 
him. Just as he was about to pass out, I released him, and whispered 
into his ear "Simon, don't forget this, you don't touch me without my 
permission". Then I crushed him in my arms again, squeezing the air out 
of his soft body. As soon as his head began to droop, I relaxed my grip 
and ask him what I'd just told him. He repeated it back, so I squashed 
him against my hard body a third time until he lost consciousness, and 
then I let go of him and let him fall to the ground. I didn't want to 
hurt him too badly just now - we had a date to go on. I smoothed my 
clothes out - dealing with Simon had made me a bit rumpled, and brushed 
my hair while I waited for him to recover. By the time he staggered to 
his feet, I was ready, and we set off to meet Karen and Ken. As we went, 
I explained to him what he had to do, and that he'd better not try to 
take any liberties with Karen, or what he'd just felt would be like 
nothing. He looked at me fearfully, gulped and nodded. 
 
When we met Ken and Karen, my heart sank. Karen looked simply gorgeous, 
and Ken was gazing at Karen adoringly, and I don't think he even noticed 
me. The trouble was, Karen was just too good looking, and no-one could 
hope to compete with her, especially me. I looked at her legs, then down 
at my own, about twice the size of hers. I began to regret wearing such 
a short skirt. Simon was just as bad; he spent the whole evening staring 
at Karen. Karen and I visited the powder room, and talked about this, 
but neither of us could figure out what to do. In the end, I told her to 
just enjoy herself as much as she could under the circumstances, and 
we'd try to work out what to do later. 
 
At the end of the evening, Ken took Karen home, and I took Simon. Karen 
told me later that he hadn't even managed to work up enough courage to 
try to kiss her, and my heart went out to the poor little guy. She said 
he'd obviously wanted to give her a kiss, but he didn't even try to, and 
when he said goodbye, he shook her hand. I ask you! Poor little fellow, 
I just wanted to take him in my arms and tell him not to worry about 
anything. 
 
I had a lot more luck with Simon, of course. We went round to the 
graveyard behind the church, and I found out a very big advantage that 
skirts have over trousers. Simon spent about an hour licking and rubbing 
with his face and nose, and I didn't even have to undress. I wasn't sure 
how I'd get his blood off the cotton, but I guessed Karen would know. I 
left him crying on the ground and went home alone, wondering what to do 
about Ken. 
 
Simon seemed to spend a lot of time crying, but I rather liked that. I 
found that a boy in tears was a tremendous turn-on. Either they were in 
tears because of something I'd done to hurt them, which made me feel all 
hot and squirmy between my legs, or else they were in tears because of 
something someone else had done, which made me feel all warm, maternal 
and protective. 
 
Karen and I met the next day, and she was very apologetic. I told her 
that it wasn't her fault that she was so pretty, and gave her a hug to 
show her I wasn't upset with her. But I still had the problem of what to 
do about Ken. Karen suggested the direct approach; it isn't subtle, and 
girls aren't supposed to use it, but it usually works, she said. Boys 
understand it a lot better than subtlety. When in doubt, hit him with a 
brick, she said. 
 
I found Ken in the library, and sat down next to him. "Hi", I said, 
smiling at him. He looked startled, and seemed to be too out of breath 
to say anything. "I enjoyed our date yesterday," I lied. He nodded, and 
still seemed to be having trouble breathing. "Did you enjoy yourself?" I 
asked - this conversation was a bit one sided. He grinned nervously, 
knocked his books onto the floor, and scuttled down after them. I 
wondered if I should help him pick them up, but by the time I'd thought 
about it, he was standing up. Then the bell went for the next class, and 
he was walking out, waving goodbye. 
 
I was furious. I wanted to rush after him and smash my fist into his 
little body, again and again until the pain overwhelmed his brain. How 
dare he snub me like this. By the time I got outside, he was nowhere to 
be seen, so I went to my own class. Fortunately, Peter (one of my usual 
boys) was in the same class - unfortunately for Peter. I almost dragged 
him out into the girls toilets, and gave myself a quickie on his face 
(wearing a skirt really is very convenient, I don't think I ever want to 
go back to jeans). I got back into class just in time. Peter didn't, of 
course, needing to recover from my orgasm. 
 
Afterwards, I had lunch with Karen, and she explained to me what she 
thought had happened with Ken. "Boys get like that when they're 
nervous", she said. "I bet he's just scared of you." I hadn't thought of 
that. A lot of the boys were scared of me, and Ken was smaller and 
weaker than any of them. He didn't know that I wouldn't dream of hurting 
anyone as small and weak as he was, so naturally he was scared of me. I 
was very glad I hadn't lost my temper with him. "Is it always as 
difficult as this?" I asked Karen. She grinned, and told me that usually 
it was even worse. The course of true love never does run smooth, she 
said. Tell me about it! 

Chapter 7 - Ken Gets Rescued
 
But the next day I had a major stroke of luck. Ken used to suffer 
terribly from being bullied by the bigger boys, who picked on him all 
the time. It was between classes, and I was just getting some books out 
of my locker, when I heard a commotion and turned round. Boys play this 
stupid trick, where one kneels down behind the victim, and another 
pushes him so that he falls over. No-one really gets hurt, unless the 
victim lands badly, but it's humiliating, especially if they do it a 
lot. Ken was sprawled on the floor, books all over the place, his 
glasses had fallen off, and three boys were laughing at him and calling 
him a weed. Ken was crying - either he was really hurt, or else the 
bullying was too much for him. I just wanted to cuddle him in my arms 
and make him better. 
 
I walked over, and punched one of the boys in the kidneys, from behind, 
hard but not as hard as I could. He went down, arching his back and 
howling, and stayed down. Strike one bully. The other two turned to face 
me, so I punched one of them three times quickly, like Marisia had 
taught me, once in the belly, once in the heart as he doubled up, and 
once in the kidneys as he fell. He went down without a sound, and lay 
very still. Strike two. The third one realized who I was and what was 
about to happen next, and made the mistake of turning to run. I wrapped 
my arms round him from behind, and squeezed his gut until he was in 
agony. Then I let him slip down a few inches until my hands were 
positioned over his ribs, and crushed in really hard. I could feel the 
bones creak and bend, so I let him go, and helped him down to the ground 
with a kick on the bottom. 
 
It takes longer to describe the fight than it took to do it; it was all 
over in a few seconds. Then I bent over Ken, took him in my arms, and 
gently helped him stand up. I kept my arms round him protectively as he 
stood, holding him while he cried hysterically into my shoulder. I 
stroked his hair, and said "There, there", and cuddled him till he 
stopped crying. Then I led him into the cafeteria, and bought him a 
glass of milk, and kept my arm round him while he drank it. He leaned 
into my shoulder, still weeping slightly. I felt like I'd just won a 
lottery - I knew that after this, getting off with Ken would be a 
doddle. 
 
He told me that he couldn't take the bullying any more, he was planning 
to leave school and get some kind of menial job. I told him he was much 
too bright for that, and he should stay in school and go on to college. 
But, he said, the way the boys picked on him was too much for him, he 
simply couldn't go on. 
 
I put both my arms round him and held him close, feeling his soft body 
trembling against my breasts. We were sitting down, so he didn't feel as 
short as he usually did. I dried his eyes with a tissue serviette, and 
gave him a little kiss on the lips. He didn't respond, but neither did 
he shrink away, so I kissed him again. I called him "Little Kenny", I 
told him not to worry so much about those dumb boys, that I'd take care 
of him, and I stroked his hair and made reassuring noises. Gradually, he 
stopped sobbing. 
 
"It's all right for you, Sandi. You're so big and strong, everyone's 
scared of you. They wouldn't bully me if I were strong like you, but I'm 
just a little weed, so they push me around." Ken was just over five feet 
tall, wearing shoes, and he weighed well under a hundred pounds. As I 
held him, I felt his arms, and they were like pipe cleaners. There was 
no muscle at all, and hardly any flab. Just bones, covered with skin. I 
just wanted to protect him from the cruel world. "Oh, Sandi, you're so 
powerful. I've seen your muscles; if I had half your strength I'd be 
happy." 
 
I moved my big strong hands over his small, helpless body, gently 
massaging his chest with my hands. He winced a bit when I rubbed his 
body, and I tried to be even more gentle with him. I pulled his head 
down to my breasts, and let him feel how soft I was there. He turned his 
head sideways and closed his eyes. I held his head to my bosom, and 
stroked his hair, and I felt him gradually relax as the terror of the 
fight drained out of him. 
 
We must have sat there for an hour. I was missing my regular work-out, 
but I didn't care. Little Kenny needed me to cuddle and soothe him, and 
that was what I wanted to do. Eventually it was time to go home. 
 
That evening, I called Karen and told her what had happened. She sounded 
very dubious about it. "Sandi, you could do so much better than Ken." I 
explained to her once again, I don't go for big muscle-bound jocks. Ken 
was just what I've always wanted, and what I wanted now, was some advice 
about how to turn this situation into a long-term relationship. I told 
Karen that I thought I should simply take charge, and not expect Ken to 
take the initiative in anything. She told me that boys don't usually 
like this, and that girls have to be submissive and feminine. I told her 
I couldn't see any reason why I couldn't be dominant and feminine, and 
she was very doubtful about that. "Still, Sandi, you might as well try. 
You seem to have got off to a good start, and you're certainly the 
dominant one so far, so maybe it'll work." 
 
Next day, I wore my best silk blouse and short skirt, and put a belt 
round my waist to emphasize my thighs. And as soon as I saw Little 
Kenny, I simply walked up to him, put my arms round him, and kissed him. 
There was only one problem. He was almost six inches shorter than me, so 
I had to lift his head up to kiss him properly, and although I really 
tried to do it gently, I could feel him wincing again as my arms held 
him. I released him after a few seconds, and he nuzzled his face into my 
breasts for a few seconds, so I knew that everything was fine. During 
class, I kept looking over to him and giving him encouraging smiles. 
 
During lunch break, I took his hand in mine, and led him to the 
cafeteria, and made him sit next to me. Karen was there too, looking as 
ravishing as usual, but Little Kenny was spending more time looking at 
me than at her. Afterwards, I remarked on this to her, and she told me 
that I'd obviously made a major impression on him. I grinned. I planned 
to make an even bigger impression. 
 
After school, I walked him home, and kissed him goodbye at his door. 
Then, I returned to the school for my workout, and for a couple of other 
reasons. Tod was also in the gym, and I walked over to him. He was lying 
on the bench, working his arms, and I took the weight from him, racked 
it, and sat down on his belly, straddling his body with my thighs. 
"Hello, Tod", I began. "Hello, Sandi." "Tod, you know how strong I am. 
Could you imagine what would happen if I put my legs round your body", I 
continued, as I put my legs round his body, "and squeezed" and I 
squeezed, very, very gently. 
 
Then I took the weight from the rack, the weight that he'd been benching 
with so much difficulty, and started curling it, slowly. As I reached 
the top of each curl, I pressed my thighs together, and as I lowered the 
weight, I relaxed them. Tod watched me, fascinated to see a girl with 
her hair in a ponytail curling a weight he could hardly bench. My thighs 
squeezed him rhythmically as my arms went up and down, gradually pumping 
up to their full size. After a several minutes, Tod tensed his body, 
groaned deeply, then relaxed. I looked behind me, and there was the wet 
patch on his shorts. I smiled my sexy smile. "Why, Tod, look. You've wet 
yourself. Did you do that because of me? That's naughty of you, Tod, 
very naughty. Big boys aren't supposed to wet themselves. I think you 
need to be punished. Do you think you need to be punished, Tod?" He 
closed his eyes. "Yes, Sandi. Punish me, I've been bad". 
 
I was rather surprised. He actually wanted to be punished? He must have 
known what my big hard muscles were capable of doing to him, and he 
wanted the pain? This was interesting, and I promised myself I'd look 
into this later. But now, I had other fish to fry. 
 
He lay on the bench, wondering what was going to happen. "I've got good 
legs, haven't I, Tod?" "Yes, Sandi, you've got fantastic legs." "Put 
your hands on my thighs, Tod." Tod put his hands on my legs, and I 
tightened them round his waist. "Feel how hard they get when I flex, 
Tod." I linked my ankles together, and tried to straighten my legs, 
Tod's body was between them, but that didn't provide much resistance. 
"Imagine what would happen if I tried really hard, Tod." "Please, Sandi. 
Everyone knows how strong you are, you don't have to prove it." "Yes, I 
do, Tod. I like proving it. I like injuring big strong men like you, 
Tod." I crushed his body between my powerful thighs. "Urrgh, ugh, please 
Sandi, I give up, please stop, you're hurting me." "Tod, I thought you 
wanted to be punished. So I'm punishing you." "Unghh, urgh, Sandi", he 
groaned. "You're amazing, Sandi, you're so strong, hurt me, punish me." 
 
I relaxed my iron grip. "Tod, I've got a boyfriend, did you know that?" 
"Yes, Sandi, everyone knows about you and Simon." "No, Tod, I don't 
actually like Simon, I just use him for sex. I've got a proper boyfriend 
now." "Congratulations", he said, sarcastically, so I linked my ankles 
again and stretched my legs, threatening to cut his body in half. 
"Unngggh, Sandi" was all he could say, so I relaxed again. "Ken's my 
boyfriend. You know Ken?" Tod's eyes went wide with amazement. "The 
little weed?" Oh dear. Bad move, Tod. I got off the bench, and helped 
Tod to sit up; his stomach was hurting badly from the punishment my 
thighs had inflicted on him. I stood on the bench and put my thighs 
round his head, and tried to crush his skull, while at the same time 
folding him in half so he couldn't breathe. He lasted about half a 
minute, and I could feel his struggles grower weaker and then stop. I 
let him go, and pumped his weights while he recovered. 
 
"Ken's my boyfriend. You know Ken?" I tried again. "Yes, I know Ken." 
"OK, Tod, here's the deal. If you see Ken being bullied, you intervene. 
If you don't, you'll have to explain to me why not. The explanation 
might be painful. For you. Understand?" "Yes, Sandi, I'll do that." 
"Good. And the other guys will do the same, or I'll take it out on your 
hide." "But that's unfair, how can I do that ..." I put my hand on his 
tenderized belly, and jiggled it up and down. "Life is often unfair, 
Tod. You'll find a way." 
 
Next day, I almost skipped to school. I wore a bright blue silk scarf 
in my hair, a white skinny-knit sweater and a short skirt. Little Kenny 
was nowhere to be seen, so I sought out Karen - she didn't know where he 
was either. After school, I went round to his house, and there he was. 
 
Little Kenny was in his bedroom - he'd refused to get up that morning. 
His parents showed me in, and my heart went out to the little guy, 
huddled up in his bed, looking so weak and defenseless. I sat on the 
side of his bed, and asked him what the problem was. He burst into 
tears, so I gathered him into my arms and rocked him while he cried. 
"What's the matter, baby", I whispered, "Tell me the problem." "You 
wouldn't understand", he said. "Try me, Little Kenny." 
 
He was scared. He was scared of being bullied by the boys, he was scared 
of girls, and now he had a new fear - he was scared of me. "Oh, Sandi, 
you're so big and strong, and I'm so small and weak, and I'm scared you 
might get angry with me about something and hurt me." "Baby, baby - I 
wouldn't hurt you. I promise I won't ever hurt you." I held him in my 
arms and cuddled his head to my breasts. I kissed him and promised him 
he wouldn't be bullied in future. "Baby, we'll tell everyone we're going 
steady, and no-one will dare to bully you." He looked up at me, 
hopefully, and I kissed him and cuddled him close to my body. "Oh, 
Sandi, are you sure?" "Shhh, baby, no-one would dare to do anything bad 
to my baby." I dried his eyes and tickled him under his arms. He 
wriggled in my arms, and I kissed him again, and promised to meet him in 
the morning on the way to school. 

Chapter 8 - Protecting Little Kenny
 
Next morning, I knocked on his door, and we walked hand in hand to 
school. As we walked in to the hall, I saw Little Kenny looking 
fearfully at one of the boys who had been bullying him, and I decided 
that he needed a bit of cheering up. "Wait there a minute, baby", I said 
to Ken, and grabbed the bully by the shoulder, spinning him round. As he 
came towards me, I threw my big hard fist into his belly, and as he 
folded up, I brought my knee up into his face. His nose went splat, and 
crimson blood flew all over the place, splattering my jumper and skirt. 
The force of the blow threw him onto his back, and as he lay on the 
floor, I knelt down with Little Kenny, and showed him how helpless he 
now was, how easy it had been for me to wipe him out. But Ken really 
didn't want to know, so I finished him off myself by picking him up off 
the floor, holding him over my head, and slamming him down. He landed 
badly, and his arms and legs jerked spasmodically as he lay there, so I 
picked him up and gave him a bear hug, crushing the air out of him until 
he passed out. Then I pulled Little Kenny into my arms and gave him a 
kiss and a big cuddle, and I explained to him that I'd be happy to 
inflict lots of pain on anyone else who so much as looked sideways at 
him. 
 
Karen joined us for lunch, and I had a great time telling her about how 
Little Kenny and I were now going steady, and she said that in that 
case, I had to have a ring. We looked at Ken, and he didn't seem to know 
anything about it, so I asked Karen if she'd help us choose one. 
 
That Saturday, Karen, Ken and I went down to the mall and chose a pair 
of eternity rings in white gold. I put Ken's onto his finger, and told 
him that he must promise never to take it off. I pulled him into my 
arms, and he whispered his promise into my bosom, and I gave him a long 
kiss. Too long, I think, because he started struggling towards the end 
of it. And that afternoon, I took him down to the lake, where the three 
of us had a picnic by the water, and Little Kenny and I wrestled in the 
long grass. Maybe wrestled is the wrong word, because I certainly wasn't 
trying to hurt my baby, but I couldn't help controlling his delicate 
body with my powerful muscles. We rolled around by the lake, mostly with 
Little Kenny on top, as I didn't want my weight to squash him. Karen 
watched us playing, and I wished she had a date to make her happy. 
 
On the Sunday, I called for Ken again, this time without Karen, and took 
him down to the scrub woods. We found a nice secluded place in the 
undergrowth, and I held him in my arms and we kissed and cuddled. After 
a while, he tried to wriggle away from me, but I wouldn't let him. He 
struggled and strained, but I wouldn't let go of him, and I kept kissing 
his face and neck. But then my baby burst into tears again, so I let go 
of him, and he stood up and ran away. 
 
I was really surprised, and he ran quite a long way before I followed. 
By the time I caught up with him, he'd tripped over and crashed into the 
ground, and was lying there dazed and crying. I sat down next to him, 
and hugged my knees. "What's the matter, baby?" He just lay there 
crying, and when I reached toward him, he shrank away from me. "Little 
Kenny, baby, what's the matter?" I gripped his shoulders and pulled him 
toward me - he resisted, but he couldn't really put up much of a fight 
against me, and as I pulled him into my bosom, he suddenly went limp, 
and I cuddled him in my arms and rocked him to and fro. "Sandi, oh 
Sandi.", he said. "I'm so scared of you, so frightened." "Why?", I 
asked. He turned sideways in my arms, and started stroking my biceps. 
"Sandi, you probably don't realize it, but when you hold me I'm so 
completely helpless. And I've seen the way you can crush those big 
strong men in your arms, and I'm so scared of your arms." He had both 
his hands round my upper arm, and was stroking it up and down, and it 
felt really great. I flexed my right arm, and held him in my left, with 
my arm round his small body and my hand on his chest. "Oh god, Sandi, 
it's so big, so hard." He pressed down on my arm as hard as he could, it 
felt like a gentle squeeze, not even denting my muscle. I rotated my 
wrist, making my right bicep stand out proudly. "Oh Sandi, you're a 
goddess", he said, and started kissing my arm. 
 
"Baby, are you really frightened of me?" I asked. "Yes", he said, "I'm 
afraid of what these big hard muscles can do to an ordinary man, let 
alone to me. I've seen you pound boys into hamburger without raising a 
sweat, I've seen you break ribs with only your amazing arm strength, and 
everyone knows that your thighs could kill anyone who got trapped 
between them. Sandi, everyone's so scared of you, and I'm a lot weaker 
than most people." He went back to kissing and stroking my arm. 
 
"Little Kenny, baby, baby. I promise you, I'll never hurt you. Yes, I 
love causing lots of pain and damage to boys with my body, but not to 
you, never to you." "Sandi, I've heard that you like hurting men, that 
you get sadistic pleasure out of inflicting pain and humiliation on 
people." "Yes, baby, that's true, but not on you, never on you." "I've 
heard that you enjoy hurting your lovers more than anyone." That really 
shocked me - first of all, I've never had a lover before, so where did 
this rumor come from? I asked Little Kenny. "Simon told me what you do 
to him, and how he's so scared of you, he just lets you do whatever you 
like, because if he doesn't, you just hurt him until he can't resist you 
any more. He showed me some of his injuries and bruises." 
 
Ah. So that's what this was all about. I was going to have a few words 
with Simon after this was sorted out. "Baby, Simon isn't my lover, never 
was, never will be. I don't love him at all, and he certainly doesn't 
love me." "Yes he does, he adores you, he told me", said Ken. I was 
shocked. Simon? In love with someone who hurt and degraded him, who used 
his tongue just to get sexual relief, his face as a convenient soft 
rubbing knob? I would certainly have to have a little talk with him. 
Meanwhile, I needed to reassure Little Kenny. "Baby, no matter what 
Simon says about how he feels, I certainly never had any feelings for 
him. Did you know he raped me once?" Ken looked shocked. "Raped you, 
Sandi? I can't believe any man could rape you. it isn't possible." So I 
explained the scenario, that there had been six of them, that I'd been 
younger, that it had been before I took up weightlifting. And that Simon 
had been one of the six, not the ringleader, but an enthusiastic 
participant. I told Ken what had happened to Spencer, and I told him 
what went on between me and Simon. "I don't love him, it's just a way of 
getting sexual relief, that's all." 
 
Gradually I reassured my Little Kenny, and he calmed down a lot. He 
carried on kissing, stroking and caressing my arm, until I thought I'd 
better show him something even more scary. If he found my arms 
frightening, what would he make of my legs? Better to get this over with 
once and for all. I sat facing him, and he sat facing me. I spread my 
legs and moved closer to him, so that my thighs were on either side of 
him, and told him to feel my inner legs. When he realized how big, thick 
and hard my thighs were, he started trembling again. "Oh, god, Sandi, 
you could kill a man with these. Please don't wrap them round me." I 
ignored him - he had to see that I could be gentle with him, and I moved 
forward, putting my legs round his small waist, but just squeezing him 
very very gently, just lightly enveloping him. And then I reached for 
his soft body, and wrapped my arms round him, until I had him imprisoned 
in a hard wall of muscle. But I held him gently, so he could see that he 
was in no danger, and I rubbed his yielding body against my firm 
breasts, so that he could see I had soft parts too. He moaned as my 
breasts dug into his chest and my thighs gently surrounded his waist, 
and I should have noticed the symptoms and done something, but I didn't, 
and suddenly he squealed and a large wet patch appeared on his trousers. 
I held him as he jerked and spasmed, until he slowly calmed down; then I 
held him cradled in my bosom until he fell asleep. 
 
Over the next few weeks, Little Kenny and I talked a lot. We often went 
down to the lake, and under cover of the long grass, I would take 
control of his little body, and force him to have an orgasm, sometimes 
twice. Then I would hold him in my arms and rock him to sleep. I loved 
this petite boy, and he loved me. There was nothing I wouldn't do for 
him, he was so helpless and ineffectual, and he needed me so much. And 
he felt the same about me, I knew. He was still scared of me, but he 
managed to control it most of the time, and only occasionally did I have 
to cope with a weeping fit. But I've already said what the sight of a 
boy weeping does to me, and although I would never make Little Kenny cry 
on purpose, seeing his tears did turn me on, made me feel all maternal 
and protective. 
 
Karen was dating Simon. She asked me if she could, and although I 
couldn't imagine why she'd want to, I had no objection. I asked her 
afterwards, and she told me that she liked the way I'd trained Simon to 
be docile and submissive. Simon was so completely cowed by what I'd been 
doing to him, that he just did anything she told him to. One day, I took 
Simon into the woods and told him to do to me what he did to Karen - I 
wanted to find out what Karen had been teaching him, and I didn't want 
to show my ignorance to either of them. What he did next was delicious. 
He knelt down in front of my, put his head and one hand up my skirt, and 
used his nose and tongue on my vagina and clitoris, his hand on my 
labia, and his other hand slid under my blouse to massage my nipples. I 
threw my head back, closed my eyes, and tried to stand upright as the 
incredible sensations washed over me. 
 
Afterwards, I felt so good that I actually apologized to Simon for 
crushing his head with my thighs, and helped him stand up and clean 
himself. Between us, Karen and I had done a wonderful job on him. I had 
broken his stupid male ego, and made him submissive and trainable, and 
Karen has shown him how to get the most out of a girl. I thought about 
Little Kenny, but then I thought that his ego was fragile enough as it 
was, and I certainly didn't want to bruise it. Simon would have to be 
enough. And Simon, broken by me and trained by Karen, was all a girl 
could want. Well, all a girl would want for sex, anyway.

I told Karen my thoughts on this, and she looked pensive, and then she 
turned those huge blue eyes on me and said "Sandi, why stop at Simon? If 
you broke in a few more boys, I could train them, too." She seemed quite 
excited at the thought of having a whole string of docile, biddable 
boys, freed by me from their macho egos, and trained by her in how to 
please a girl. I was happy enough with my Little Kenny. 
 
Sometimes we went on double dates, and that was fun too. We'd go to a 
movie, pick up a hamburger, and then go down to the graveyard by the 
church. We had a special way to pet together. I would stand, legs 
akimbo, holding Little Kenny, and kissing and cuddling him. Simon, of 
course, wuold be down on his knees, face up to service me. Meanwhile, 
Karen would help me with Ken, putting her hands in places that I 
couldn't reach. For the first few of these sessions, I had to 
practically carry Little Kenny home, because he was so worn out from the 
sessions. Sometimes, he was so exhausted, that instead of half-carrying 
him, I'd just pick him up in my arms, put him over my hip, pull his head 
into my breasts, and carried him home properly. He weighed rather less 
than 100 pounds, so it really wasn't at all difficult. 

Chapter 9 - Sandi fucks up Steve 
 
On the day that Ken turned 16, I decided to give him a birthday present. 
Up till then, we'd petted, often very heavily, and usually resulting in 
an orgasm for him, but he'd never tried to penetrate me, and I'd not 
encouraged him to even think about it. But I'd learned by now that sex 
wasn't just about hurting and humiliating people, and I was ready for 
the next step. From the way that he regularly wet his trousers during 
our petting sessions, I guessed he was, too. 
 
First, I consulted Karen. She was the best expert I knew in these 
matters, and she explained to me that the first and most important thing 
is to make sure that I don't get pregnant. She explained some of the 
ways of avoiding pregnancy, and I decided that the pill was the least 
fuss. I asked her about Aids, but she said that if it was Ken's first 
time, I didn't have to worry, and if it wasn't, I should use a sheath. 
The doctor tested my blood pressure, then asked me to undress. When I 
came back from behind the screen, he just goggled at me; I'd forgotten 
the effect I could have on someone who isn't prepared. 
 
He measured my height (5 feet 6 inches) and weighed me (150 pounds). He 
told me that I was a bit heavier than my height would call for, but not 
to worry. Then he measured me. My arms were 15 inches, my thighs 21. My 
waist was 26, bust 36, hips 35. He told me that I was abnormally 
muscular for a girl, and I told him I'd always been that way, and that I 
was getting more so because of my weight lifting. I asked him if he 
thought that could be a problem, and he said "Only to your boyfriends". 
I explained that I found I was a lot stronger than any of the boys at 
school, and that although some of them had a problem with that, a lot of 
the boys admired my body. The only problem was, they admired me from a 
distance, being too scared to ask me out. He suggested that I take the 
initiative, and I explained that I had with my current boyfriend, and 
that things were going well between us, which was why I wanted to go on 
the pill. 
 
He took my blood pressure, and told me that it was rather high. I 
already knew that - I've always had high blood pressure, and I think 
that's connected with the density of my muscles and the generally high 
metabolic rate that my body works at. I told the doctor as much, and he 
agreed that I was a most unusual physical specimen, and he asked if I 
would come in so he could see me regularly, and monitor my progress. 
 
You have to take it for a while to be safe, so I waited impatiently for 
Ken's birthday. He was going to get a wonderful surprise, but I expected 
to have a good time, too. I asked Karen about what it would feel like, 
and she was surprised that I hadn't already had sex with anyone. I 
blushed, and admitted that it would be my first time, too. Karen shook 
her head. "Bad idea, Sandi. If neither of you know what you're doing, it 
could be a real disappointment. Get some practice in first." "But Karen, 
I want Little Kenny to be my first real lover, I want it to be special 
for both of us. "Sandi, it will be special, I promise. You love him, 
don't you?" "Oh yes, he's such a sweet little guy, so helpless and 
appealing." "Well," Karen said, "Then that will make it special for you, 
and it's up to you to make it special for him. Boys don't know how to 
have sex, you have to show them. They don't know where things are, they 
don't know what to do, they don't know how to behave afterwards. Girls 
have to teach them, and if you're completely inexperienced, it won't be 
good." I thought about this, and it made sense. Little Kenny was 
completely submissive in our relationship, and he was still very 
frightened of me. I could imagine him on top of me, trying to work out 
what to do, and I could imagine him breaking down into tears when he 
failed, and I could imagine severe ego problems afterwards. No, the 
first time *had* to be a success, and it was down to me to make it so. 
 
I thought about practicing with Simon, and I realized it wouldn't work. 
Simon was just too broken-in. Simon's idea of sex was to manipulate me 
to orgasm, and I wanted to practice proper penetrative sex. I asked 
Karen; she offered to fix me up with someone who hadn't heard of my 
reputation as a boy-beater. Karen seemed to have lots and lots of 
boyfriends; she seemed to be going out with someone new every week. She 
said that she could get one of her old boyfriends to go to bed with me, 
and that sounded like a low-hassle solution, so I said yes. "Sandi, 
you've got to try to be submissive with him. Boys aren't used to girls 
who take control." "I'll try, Karen, but you know how difficult that is 
for me." 
 
Karen turned up trumps. She introduced me to Steve, who was one of the 
jocks at the local college - mostly football (and his conversation 
seemed to revolve around the game). I wore my shortest skirt, with my 
best silk blouse on top, three buttons open to show the tops of my 
breasts (Karen's advice). I wore a bright blue satin scarf in my hair, 
and the high-heeled shoes that I could barely totter along on, but Karen 
assured me that they made my legs look really sexy; the tension it put 
on my calves made them flex and bunch. I had big calves in the first 
place, because of all the iron I was pumping, but in heels, I couldn't 
believe how big I looked. And, I have to admit, that as I looked in the 
mirror, I liked what I saw. Mom wasn't so sure. "Isn't that skirt a bit 
too short, Sandi?" was her main comment, but I told her not to be so 
sad. "All the girls wear bumfreezers, Mom, it's the fashion." She still 
looked dubious, and told me to be careful. 
 
Steve took me to a movie. I didn't like it much, it was very violent, 
with blood, smashed cars and dead bodies everywhere. I suppose it must 
sound odd that I don't like violence, but it's true. It's different 
somehow when you're watching someone else doing it. While we watched the 
movie, Steve put his hand on my thigh and started groping me. I thought 
about what I should do about this - my instinct was to smash my fist 
into his face, but I realized that if I wanted to practice sex on him, 
that wouldn't be the right thing to do. So I moaned softly and 
encouragingly, and said "Ooh, Steve", and he explored upwards. 
 
After the movie, we went out for a hamburger. I think Steve was 
surprised at the amount I ate, but I burn up a lot of calories every day 
one way or another, and I have a high metabolic rate in the first place. 
We both ate fast; we were both keen to get onto the main purpose of the 
date. 
 
Steve invited me back to his house for a night-cap. I knew what that 
meant, and pretended to blush, ducking my head and looking submissive. 
His parents were out, so we went straight to his room, and he pulled me 
down onto the bed. My natural inclination was to resist, but I told 
myself not to be so silly, and I let him pull me down on top of him. He 
put his arms round me and we started kissing, but then he put his hand 
on my blouse and squeezed my breasts. I put my hands under his shirt, 
and squeezed him back, and we rolled around on the bed, wrestling. I was 
very careful to hold back and let him dominate me with his body, and 
when he started taking off my blouse, I didn't try to stop him, I just 
squealed and protested just enough, but not so much that he'd stop. 
 
He had trouble getting my bra off, and I had to help him a lot, but he 
soon had me stripped to the waist. Then he stopped, and took his own 
shirt and trousers off. While he was doing this, I lay down on the bed 
in the position that Karen had recommended. I lay on my back, with my 
hands behind my head, my legs spread wide, and with an inviting smile. I 
still had my skirt on - Karen had been very emphatic about that. She 
said that boys like to pull your skirt up to get access. Also on Karen's 
advice, I was wearing nothing under my skirt, because she said that boys 
had trouble coping with the complexities of panties when in the heat of 
passion. 
 
Steve got his trousers off while still standing up (I was surprised that 
he didn't fall over while getting them off), and turned toward me, 
sporting an erection that seemed to be satisfactorily large and stiff. 
Then he took a good look at me, almost naked on the bed. He looked at my 
thighs, and then he looked at my arms, and his eyes stayed on my arms. 
His eyes grew big, while his cock got small and soft. "Jesus, Sandi, 
you've got a body like a man." 
 
Wrong comment. Bad comment. Not a good thing to say to a girl whose 
pussy is sopping wet in anticipation of a good fucking. Especially not a 
good thing to say to a girl who didn't really want to do this in the 
first place. Particularly not a good thing to say to a girl with a short 
temper, a strong right arm and a hard, rough fist. 
 
However, I was determined to go through with this. I thought of my 
darling Little Kenny, and how great it would be for him if I learned how 
to fuck. It was my arms, flexed behind my head that he was staring at, 
so I straightened them out and relaxed the muscles, so I looked soft and 
smooth. I reached out my hands towards him, longingly, and said "Steve, 
honey, I'm really hot for you. You look so strong, so manly. Come and 
show me what a big strong man like you does to a little girlie like me." 
I've often heard Karen say things like this, and I couldn't believe that 
he'd fall for it, but he did. His erection started to stiffen again, and 
I smiled, and brought my knees up, spreading my thighs wider. 
 
Steve stopped looking at my arms, and started looking at my legs, 
especially at my thighs. I don't think he'd realized before just how big 
they were, and he looked apprehensive about getting between them. So I 
sat up, and put my arms round him, and started kissing him. Then, as I 
fell back to the bed, I pulled him down on top of me. His penis was too 
soft for penetration, so I squeezed it gently in my hand. That didn't 
work, so I rolled over on my side and tried using both hands, one on his 
prick and the other on his balls. That didn't work either, and by this 
time, I was getting worried; I was also getting increasingly horny. I 
tried stroking his legs, and then I got down to his groin and tried 
using my long silky hair to arouse him. Nothing worked. I remembered 
Karen telling me that if all else failed, taking his cock in my mouth 
would be fool-proof, but I didn't fancy that at all. So I got back up to 
the head end of things - this needed some serious discussion. 
 
"Steve, unless you have an erection, this isn't going to work." Steve 
said nothing, and he wouldn't look me in the eye. "Steve, what do I do 
to fix your problem?" He kept his mouth shut. "Steve, I can't help if I 
don't know what the problem is." Finally he spoke. "Sandi, I'm sorry. 
You're a very pretty girl, and it isn't your fault." Well, I knew that! 
I was sexually aroused, I was plenty aroused. I was soaking wet between 
my legs, and it was even getting on to my skirt. "OK, but what's the 
problem?" "Sandi, your arms are bigger than mine, your thighs are like 
tree trunks, your body is as hard as oak, and I'm just not able to 
handle all this." "OK, so I'm stronger than you. So what? We're not here 
to compete in an athletic contest. I want you to fuck me. Steve, dammit, 
at least look at me!" 
 
I tried rubbing my groin on his. All that did, was make me feel even 
hornier, without doing anything to make him harder. "Sandi, it's no 
good, I just can't get it up." He tried to push me off him, but I wasn't 
ready to give up yet. It was time to try Karen's fool proof method, so I 
buried my head in his crutch (and he put his head in mine), took his 
small, soft cock in my mouth, and started sucking. Karen told me that 
this would give an instant erection, and the main danger was premature 
ejaculation. But Karen was wrong. I sucked and licked, and he was still 
soft and limp. Eventually, I could see that there was no way anything 
useful would happen, so I turned over onto my hands and knees, forced my 
vagina onto his face, and rubbed myself to a satisfying orgasm. 
 
Just like Simon, his face was covered in blood and tears by the time I'd 
finished, and as I stood up, he was curled up in a ball on the bed, 
crying his heart out. I suppose I'd hurt and humiliated him, physically 
and sexually, and left him in very bad shape. But it was hardly my fault 
that he'd been unable to have an erection. So I got dressed and left. 

Chapter 10 - Sandi fucks up Nigel
 
Next day, I told Karen what had happened. She scolded me. "Sandi, you 
silly sheep, you shouldn't have let him see your big muscles. Obviously 
that would scare a guy off. They have very delicate egos, and their egos 
are connected to their pricks." "But how," I asked, "can I get naked 
without him seeing my body?" Karen looked at me like I'd asked a stupid 
question, and started counting off on her fingers. "Do it in the dark, 
or get into bed before he sees you, or wear a sexy nightie, or don't let 
him see you with your arms or legs flexed. Or tell him to close his 
eyes." Hmm. There was obviously more to this than I'd realized. I was 
very glad that my first encounter hadn't been with my Little Kenny. I 
asked Karen if she could fix me up with another guy, and she said she 
would. "But this time, Sandi, don't fuck the guy up too badly. Steve 
isn't going to be any use to any girl for months, now. He's going to be 
scared of anything in a skirt. I'm going to have to give him some 
special treatment." Karen looked off into the distance, thinking about 
the special treatment, and I saw her smile in anticipation. Maybe I 
hadn't fucked him up too badly, after all. 
 
Meanwhile, I was still having a lot of fun with Little Kenny. He loved 
it when I tickled him until he curled up into a ball, and then I'd kiss 
him and promise not to tickle him any more, and I'd uncurl him until he 
was all spread out, and then I'd accidentally brush my breasts against 
his body. I used my breasts on him a lot, because my breasts are the 
softest part of my body, and I knew he liked that. So then he'd squeal 
and I'd kiss him to keep him from shouting, and then start tickling 
again. What I really wanted to do, is screw the daylights out of him, 
but I had to control myself until I'd gotten the hang of fucking. 
 
Karen set me up with another guy, called Nigel. Karen knew so many boys, 
I couldn't believe it. She told me that Nigel was the biggest stud she 
knew, he could fuck for hours non-stop, he could be ready for another 
round just a few minutes after he'd come. According to Karen, Nigel was 
just what every girl dreamed of. I asked how come, if this was the case, 
she wasn't screwing him herself. "But I am", she said. Apparently, 
they'd get together a couple of times each month for a marathon session, 
and Karen said that she wasn't really up to more than that with Nigel. 
"He's hung like a horse", she said. I've never really looked underneath 
a horse, but I knew the expression. "He's got manners to match, too. No 
consideration for a girl, none whatsoever." 
 
We met at the coffee bar in the mall. I was determined that nothing 
would go wrong this time. I wore a long sleeved skinny-knit sweater that 
hid my arms, but showed off my breasts rather well, and no bra, because 
I remembered how much trouble Steve had had getting it off. Well, who 
needs a bra anyway, if your pectoral muscles are big and strong - no bra 
means prominent nipples, and Karen says she wishes she had nipples like 
mine. I wore a long calf-length skirt to hide my big thighs and calves, 
but it was a big floppy skirt, easy to raise. Under the skirt, no 
panties of course. I had a belt round my waist to help show off my 
figure. Karen had let me use some of her perfume - I'd put it on my neck 
and in my cleavage, as she'd advised. I had my hair well washed and 
brushed until it shone and wore a bright blue silk scarf in my hair. I 
wore some lipstick, not too much, and just a trace of blue on my 
eyelids. In my shoulderbag, I was carrying a few necessaries. Mom said I 
looked great "My Little Sandi, all grown up", she said. Right on - I was 
determined that tonight was the night her little girl became a woman. 
 
Nigel didn't waste any time. He took one look at me, and his erection 
bulged in his pants. Then I got close enough for him to smell my 
perfume, and his trousers looked like they were about to burst. Seeing 
his reaction got me excited, too, and I felt a warm, wet feeling between 
my legs. He grabbed me and pulled me close, and I did my best to soften 
my body and melt against him. I looked up into his face, and he kissed 
me hard. I put my arms round him, and slipped my hands under his shirt, 
stroking his body and getting him even more excited. I rubbed my breasts 
against his chest and moaned, and this made him wild. His hands roamed 
over my body, touching and stroking, and it felt so good! I put a hand 
inside his trousers, I wanted to touch the monster erection I could 
feel. It felt very hot, and very, very hard. It was like an iron bar, 
and it was so thick I couldn't get my hand round it. I moved my hand 
down the shaft, trying to find the end, but it was such a long way down 
to the end, it seemed to go on and on for ever. And when I got down to 
the large knob on the end, it simply exploded. Nigel groaned and crushed 
me in his arms, and a thick, hard jet of semen erupted from his prick. 
It felt like it went on for ever, and it certainly soaked my hand. I 
gripped his prick as it ejaculated, feeling like an uncontrolled fire 
hose at first, until eventually it came in little spurts, and finally it 
stopped. Then Nigel's big hard penis was not quite so big and soft, and 
I pulled my hand out of his trousers and wiped it on his belly. 
 
"Jesus, Sandi. Wow!" he said. I was quite pleased about the effect I'd 
had, and nestled softly and submissively against his chest. I smiled up 
at him, and said "Gosh, Nigel, you're incredible. That's the biggest, 
hardest prick in the world, and any girl would give anything to be 
allowed to touch it." Karen told me that you couldn't lay it on too 
thick when you talked to a boy about his prick. "Ooh, Nigel, I bet it 
would feel good inside me. It would stretch my vagina, and the knob 
would bump against my G-spot. With that thing inside me, I would 
probably pass out with the ecstasy. Oh, Nigel, fuck me, fuck me now." 
Lay it on with a trowel, Karen said. Don't mess about, tell him what you 
want, tell him quickly and tell him several times. Be explicit. He 
pulled away from our embrace and took my hand in his. "C'mon, Sandi, 
back to my place." I smiled, and let him drag me off. At last! 
 
I had trouble keeping up with him in my high heels. Heels really are a 
stupid idea. Why are girls supposed to wear them, and not boys? I nearly 
fell over a couple of times, but Nigel helped me keep my balance. We got 
to his car - a boy with his own car! and he drove us to the apartment he 
shared with a couple of other guys. We whirled through the living room - 
he didn't bother to introduce me to the other boys - on the way to the 
bedroom, and at that point, I had a problem. I didn't want him to see me 
naked, not because I was modest, but because I didn't want him to be put 
off by my big muscles. So I pretended that I was modest and shy, and 
while he was getting undressed, I told him to turn his back while I got 
ready for bed. Actually, I didn't have much to do. I whipped off my 
sweater and skirt, and pulled on the sexy, silky, long-sleeved nightie 
that Karen had helped me choose. 
 
"Okay, you can look now," I said. I stood there looking submissively 
down at my toes. I put my hands behind my back, which hid my arms and 
made my breasts stand out against my nightie. I was hoping that Nigel 
would notice my breasts through the nearly transparent material, and not 
focus on my arms or legs. It worked a treat. He charged at me, knocking 
me down onto the bed, and getting on top of me. I could see now why 
Karen had said he was hung like a horse with manners to match. His penis 
must have been over ten inches long, it was as long and as thick as a 
wine bottle, and I ached to have it inside of me. But I forced myself to 
relax and let Nigel make all the moves. 
 
Karen had explained to me about foreplay a long time ago, and how it was 
necessary to get the two sexual partners aroused, as well as being very 
enjoyable. She showed me how to kiss, and how to French-kiss. She told 
me about tickling and stroking, about erotic wrestling, about foot-play, 
hugging and licking. Karen knew more about sex than anyone in the world, 
I thought, and I listened carefully to what she told me, and sometimes I 
tried some of it out on a rather surprised and definitely fearful Simon. 
So, I expected that what would come next would be lots of petting and 
getting ready for the main event. Imagine my surprise when Nigel simply 
raised himself up, and rammed that huge penis inside me. 
 
It was a fantastic feeling. I'd been a bit nervous about whether I could 
actually take a thing that size, but I needn't have worried. I guess I 
expanded to make room. Nigel didn't seem to think there was any problem, 
and he started pulling out and thrusting it in like there was no 
tomorrow. Meanwhile I was in seventh heaven. I'd never had a sensation 
half as good as this; it made Simon's face and nose feel like a pale 
shadow of the real thing. Nigel was working really hard, and I was 
encouraging him with moans and groans and screams of "Yes, yes" as he 
pumped into me. Oh god, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, 
and I wanted it to go on for ever. But then Nigel started pumping faster 
and faster, building up to a crescendo, and turning my insides to mush. 
I could feel a volcanic eruption building up deep inside of me, until 
with a massive rush of pleasure, I orgasmed. My vagina clenched and 
spasmed, and in doing so, triggered Nigel. A hot, thick jet of semen 
shot into my body like a bullet from a gun, and the intense sexual 
feeling permeated every part of my body. 
 
I think I must have fainted at that point. Because I regained 
consciousness to find Nigel collapsed on top of me. He must also have 
passed out, because he was still completely out of this world. I shook 
him, gently, and he slowly stirred, then opened his eyes. "Wow", he 
said, "Sandi, you're something else." I smiled and stretched. "So are 
you, lover." I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and I went to the 
bathroom to get cleaned up a bit. I had to go through the living room to 
get to the bathroom; Nigel's roommates were sitting playing cards round 
the table. I was aware of their eyes on my almost transparent night-
dress as I swept through the room, and when I reached the bathroom, I 
could see the large wet patch on my nightie, a dead give-away for what 
had just happened. Although if they hadn't heard the sound effects, they 
must be deaf. As I returned, one of them called out to me "How about one 
for me, sweetie?" and made a crude gesture. I smiled sweetly, and lifted 
my hands into the air, letting the sleeves fall away from my arms, so 
that they could see the size of my biceps. "Do you think you could 
handle these?", I asked. They looked at me, stunned. "No, I thought 
not", and I went back to rejoin Nigel. 
 
Nigel was looking beatific, completely blissed out. He told me that my 
orgasm had been so strong that it had triggered his, and that as his 
penis pumped his semen into me, my vagina had been clenching 
spasmodically, like a milking machine. I brushed my hair out of my eyes, 
sat down on the bed, and said "Nigel, you've got the best cock in the 
world, and what happened just now was purely because you're such a 
fantastic lover. I bet you've got a queue of girls a mile long waiting 
for that lovely great thick hard prick of yours." Never be subtle with 
boys, Karen said. Always lay it on with a trowel. "Nigel I can't wait, 
let's do it again," and I reached down to take his cock in my hand. It 
immediately grew, getting too long and thick for me to hold, so I put 
both hands round it and told him that he had the longest, strongest, 
biggest dick in the world, and he ought to get a job making porno 
movies. Trowel, trowel. When I'd stroked it enough so that it was really 
hard, I rolled over onto my back and looked up at Nigel as submissively 
as I could. "Please, Nigel, let me feel that wonderful thing inside me 
again." 
 
He mounted me again, and started bouncing up and down on me. I could see 
what Karen meant by no consideration. His 200 pound body would have been 
painful for any ordinary girl, although it didn't affect my hard body at 
all. He slammed his body into me repeatedly, but I loved the feel of it, 
loved it when his chest collided with my breasts, and I adored the 
sensation of his big, thick, hard cock in my vagina. This time, he came 
well before I was ready, and I lay there disappointed as he prematurely 
ejaculated into me. Never mind, I thought to myself. Next time. But I 
still told him how wonderful he was, what a fantastic lover, and so on, 
and how extraordinary it was that he could do it twice in such a short 
time. There's no such thing as too much flattery for a man's ego, Karen 
always said. 
 
I gave him a few minutes to recover, then I started trying to arouse him 
again. Karen said this guy could fuck all night, and that's pretty much 
what I had in mind. But he excused himself to take a leak, he said, and 
left the room. I got bored waiting for him after a while, and wandered 
out to the living room, where the card game was still going on. 
Remember, all I was wearing was a silky, nearly transparent nightie, 
with a large wet patch at the front, and I reeked of sex. They stopped 
playing their card game to watch me stroll sexily towards them, and when 
I said "OK, who's next", one of them dropped his drink all over his 
trousers. But at that moment, Nigel came out of the bathroom, so they 
didn't find out whether I was joking or not, because I ran across the 
room, grabbed his hand, and dragged him back into the bedroom. 
 
I gave him some more stuff about how wonderful he was (the exact words 
don't matter, I'm sure you've got the idea by now) and rubbed my breasts 
against his face. "Sandi, you're the sexiest girl I've ever met", he 
said, and I think he might have meant it, but it's hard to be sure with 
boys. Karen says that they'll say anything to get you into bed, but I 
was already in bed with Nigel, ready and willing, so he didn't have to 
say that. Which made me think he meant it, and I warmed towards him. I 
got him pretty warm, too, what with rubbing my breasts on his body and 
gently manipulating his genitals in my hand. He started to get larger 
again, maybe not wine-bottle size, but certainly a respectable cucumber. 
Karen says that cucumbers are her favorite vegetable, and one day in the 
scrub-woods, she showed me why. "Cucumbers never have to apologize for 
not being stiff", she said. So I pointed out that cucumbers never buy 
you flowers. "Boys don't either, unless they want something, and you can 
always carry a cucumber in your shoulder-bag". 
 
Anyway, Nigel and I played hide-the-cucumber for a long while, and he 
was just getting me really excited when he pegged out. Damn! I was 
beginning to get frustrated now, and all Nigel wanted to do was roll 
over and fall asleep. So much for Karen's idea that he could go on all 
night. "Nigel, I want it again, and this time, could you hold back until 
I have an orgasm, please?" He rolled over and looked at me. "Sandi, 
you're a real peach, but you've worn me out. We've been fucking for the 
last four hours, and I don't think I've got anything left." I looked at 
the clock - he was right. Doesn't time fly when you're having fun? But I 
was still feeling badly unfulfilled, so I got on top of him, stroked and 
licked his prick until it was semi-hard, which was the best he could 
manage, and then I lowered myself onto him. I figured that if I was in 
control of the proceedings, I could make him last long enough for me to 
come. 
 
With me on top, I felt more in control. When his groans seemed to be 
approaching one long continuous shout, I would slow down or even pause 
for a while, until he got his head together, and then I would resume the 
rhythmic coupling of our bodies. By taking charge like this, I managed 
to keep him going for another hour, and he came a few more times, and I 
managed to get off again, but I still felt extremely horny. I rolled off 
him to talk to him about what we could do about it. "Sandi, please, it's 
nearly five on the morning. I just want to sleep." I looked at the 
clock, and he was right. We'd been screwing for seven hours solid, but 
that didn't alter how I felt. "Nigel, honey, I've still got this 
terrible need between my legs, like an itch only deeper. Please help 
me." 
 
I was answered by a snore. Karen was right, boys only cared about their 
own pleasures, and had no consideration for their sexual partners. Well, 
I wasn't going to let this creep get away with it. If he wouldn't fuck 
me, I knew another way to get my orgasm, a way that Simon knew only too 
well. Of course, Nigel wasn't trained and broken-in like Simon, and he 
was a lot bigger and stronger. I wondered if I'd be able to use him the 
same way, and then I thought that there's only one way to find out. So I 
knelt over his head, facing his prick, and pulled his nose into my 
vagina and started rubbing. 
    
He woke up right away and started struggling, which felt good. The more 
he struggled, the more he stimulated my genitals, and it only took about 
ten minutes before the first orgasm hit me. It hit him harder, of 
course, since his head was between my thighs. Plus, when I climaxed, I 
flopped down onto his body and put my arms round his waist and hugged, 
really hard. 
 
After that, it was easier. Nigel struggled less, which was a pity, but I 
rubbed his nose into several shattering orgasms over the next hour or 
so, and after a few more hours, I'd sated the terrible feeling of need 
inside of me. I looked up, and it was daylight. So I kissed Nigel 
goodbye, got dressed and went home. 

Chapter 11 - Sandi fucks up Derek
 
When I told Karen about what had happened, she was furious. "You've 
ruined a perfectly good fuck!" she said. She seemed to think that after 
my treatment of Nigel, he wouldn't be any use in bed any more. "I didn't 
hurt him much", I protested. "Was there much blood?" asked Karen. 
"Some", I admitted. That's one of the problems of rubbing a man's soft 
face against your crutch - my groin hairs are rather coarse, so after a 
while, it's like rubbing their face with wire wool, like they use for 
scouring pots and pans. "And did he cry?" she asked. "Yes, he did. He 
cried in between me rubbing myself off on him, and he might have been 
crying while I muffled his face, I can't tell. And from time to time, he 
was begging me to stop. Although that's funny, you know, when I got 
dressed, he asked if he could see me again, so I can't have done that 
much damage." Karen grimaced. "Oh Sandi, you've got no idea, you really 
are naive." 
 
Karen explained to me that it wasn't the physical damage that mattered. 
His nose would soon heal up, and the horrible red and purple color of 
his genitals would quickly get better. The problem was the psychological 
damage that I'd probably done to him. She said that his asking me to see 
him again was a very bad sign. "Sandi, he's always dominated girls, 
physically and sexually. And now you've dominated him, and he wants 
more. You might have changed his personality. I'll have to go and see 
what you've done. I expect you're broken him, and I'll have to see what 
I can salvage." I hung my head and apologized. "I'm sorry, Karen, all I 
wanted was a good fuck." Karen put her arms round me and kissed me. 
"It's not your fault, Sandi. He just wasn't up to your needs. Don't 
worry about it, there's plenty more boys around. And I'm sure I'll be 
able to train him to be useful for something", she smiled. 
 
Karen went to visit Nigel the next day, and when she came back, she 
looked a bit glum. "He wanted me to sit on his face," she reported. And 
when she asked him to fuck her, he wouldn't, he didn't think he would be 
able to get it up. "And he kept talking about you, Sandi, about how 
strong and dominating you are." "I'm sorry, Karen, I tried to be 
submissive like you said, but after the first few hours, I had to do 
something, he just wanted to go to sleep." Karen explained to me that 
the usual practice in that situation, was either to accept that the boy 
was all used up, or else to go down on him with your mouth and get him 
interested again that way. "You aren't supposed to rape him, which is 
what you did, Sandi". "It wasn't rape," I protested, "I was just giving 
him a good screwing, and he'd been perfectly willing earlier." Karen 
explained to me that it might technically not have been rape, and I was 
unlikely to ever get charged in a court of law (especially as she didn't 
think a boy would ever be likely to accuse a girl of raping him, it's 
the male ego thing again). But from Nigel's point of view, it had 
started to be rape from the moment I took control of his body. "Sandi, I 
keep telling you how fragile the male ego is, how you have to carefully 
feed and nurture it with flattery and admiration, and how careful you 
have to be not to bruise it. Well, you didn't just bruise Nigel's ego. 
You shattered it into a million pieces, and then flushed them down the 
toilet. Sandi, you didn't just hurt him a bit. You humiliated him 
totally, and that's far worse. Never mind, Sandi, I spent a few hours 
with him today, teaching him how to behave to girls, and I think he's 
going to come out of this experience a much nicer person." 
 
That cheered me up a bit. I listened carefully to what she was saying. 
Karen was an expert on boys, having started at the age of about ten. I 
was a complete newbie, and I didn't want to hurt my precious baby Ken, 
so it was important to me to learn what to do, and what not to do. I 
hadn't realized that humiliating a boy was worse than physically hurting 
him, but I could see she was right. Physical damage heals, but emotional 
damage lasts a long time. Little Kenny still flinched whenever one of 
the bigger boys who used to bully him ran past, even though he was with 
me, and therefore perfectly safe. 
 
I felt I needed more practice, and I told Karen so. "OK, but this time 
you can find your own date", she said. Karen didn't want me ruining any 
more of her good fucks. The problem was, I didn't really know very many 
boys, and I said so to Karen. "Don't be silly, Sandi, everyone knows 
you, and most of the boys secretly fancy you plenty. There's a story 
going round that your powerful muscles make you the greatest fuck in the 
world, provided you don't smash the boy up like you did to Spencer." 
"But Karen, they're scared stiff of me. None of them would go out on a 
date with me, much less fuck me." Karen laughed. "You really don't know 
boys, do you Sandi? A lot of them would go out with you *because* you're 
so scary; it's like showing how brave they are. And then afterwards 
they'll boast about how they fucked you into submission, and what a 
great lay you were. Sandi, just pick one, ask him out, get him somewhere 
quiet and do what I showed you." 
 
I thought about this. I really didn't understand boys, they were like a 
whole different species. But Karen was an expert, and she certainly had 
lots of success. She told me that this wasn't just because she was 
pretty, it was mostly a personality thing. If you're sexy and happy and 
you dress for boys, then they're flattered and they think you're great. 
If you know how to take a male ego in your hand, you can lead him 
anywhere. Hmm. OK, I'll try that then. 
 
Karen and I went shopping again to get me a seduction-outfit, and this 
time, Karen said "No more subtlety - you'll hit them like a 50-ton 
locomotive." We bought a thin silk blouse that especially emphasized my 
large breasts. And a short cotton pleated skirt, that ended so far up my 
thighs I could hardly see the point of wearing it. And with a royal blue 
scarf in my hair, I approached Derek, the college dreamboat. He was 
about nineteen, but fifteen-year-old girls are very mature, and 
fifteen-year-old boys are not. No point in messing about, is there? 
 
My approach was simple and straightforward; Karen says that boys have 
trouble with subtlety. I walked up to him, and said "Let's fuck." Then I 
looked down at the ground, so as to appear modest and shy - Karen says 
boys like that. He looked me up and down, and his eyes homed in on my 
breasts like telescopic lenses; I looked down at them, and saw that 
leaving off my bra had been a good idea, as my nipples were pushing 
through the thin material, leaving stress creases all the way down to my 
waist. I pushed my shoulders back to help the effect. Derek said "Where 
and when?", and I said "Your place, at seven." Thus the date was made. 
No muss, no fuss, no beating around the bush. But wow, was Derek in for 
a surprise. 
 
I arrived at the flat he shared wearing a short skirt and a cotton T-
shirt. I knew how this was going to be - simple and direct, a straight 
act of sex. I walked up to Derek, and without any warning, punched him 
in the stomach, not as hard as I could, because I wanted some life in 
him, but hard enough for him to know I meant business. He didn't look 
very hard, and he felt as soft as butter. He folded in half, and stayed 
that way as he sank towards the floor. I got behind him, and put him in 
a full nelson, using my weight to fold him up double so that he'd have 
trouble breathing, as well as trouble from the pain of my hold. He 
struggled, but he wasn't hard to hold - my punch had weakened him 
beautifully. I felt his struggles growing weaker, and before he gave up 
altogether, I released him from the hold, took one of his wrists, and 
twisted his arm back and behind him. Now he was on the floor on his 
face, my foot on his shoulder, both of my hands pulling his twisted arm 
up and back. I could feel the ligaments stretching and pulling, and now 
that he could breathe, he could make satisfying moans of agony. 
 
As the agony struck through his shoulder, he stopped struggling, as it 
only made the pain worse. So I grabbed his other arm, and twisted and 
pulled on that instead. After a few minutes of this, I decided I'd 
weakened him enough, and I pushed my legs round his body, so that my 
thighs could crush his waist. Boys hardly ever realize how powerful a 
girl's thighs are, but Derek learned very quickly that my thighs could 
exert enough force to stop him breathing, while supplying him with 
enough pain to drain his strength to nothing. I held his head in my 
arms, twisting on his neck to weaken it, and to get him ready for the 
next stage. 
 
With his arms still on fire from my hammerlocks, and while his body was 
still severely weakened from my scissors, I lifted him up over my head. 
At first, I was surprised at how easy it was, but then I guessed that he 
was lighter than the 200 that I was regularly using for bench presses. 
As soon as I had him overhead, I slammed him to the ground. His arms 
were out of action, so he was completely unable to break his fall, and 
he even bounced after the struck the ground. He lay there, moaning, so I 
repeated the body slam. After the second time, he just lay there silent, 
his breathing shallow, his eyes closed. And the third time it didn't 
seem to have any effects - he looked just the same. 
 
He wasn't about to give me any more resistance, his will was broken. So 
I picked him up, and carried him into the bedroom, and pulled his 
clothes off. And then I started to have problems. His little pecker was 
completely flaccid, and no matter what I did, it stayed that way. I 
tried rubbing it with my hand, I tried both hands, I tried rubbing my 
breasts on him, and I even tried taking it in my mouth, which Karen said 
was a sure-fire way to get a boy roused. Nothing. How am I supposed to 
fuck four inches of limp string? I sat there, wondering what to do. He 
opened his eyes, and looked at me, terrified. He looked so funny, I 
laughed, and he looked up at me and said "Please Sandi, don't hurt me 
any more, I can't take it, I'll do anything." I told him that unless he 
made himself hard, I was going to take it out on his soft body, and he 
tried wanking himself, but nothing happened. I waited while he tried it 
with one hand, then with both, still nothing. Then I suggested that he 
use his mouth on his prick. "I can't reach it", he said. "Yes you can, 
Derek, you're just not trying hard enough." He whimpered and really 
tried to reach his cock with his tongue, but finally gave up, and lay on 
the bed, panting. So I got him in the full nelson again, and folded his 
unresisting body in half until I was able to stuff his cock into his 
mouth. There was only one problem - in that position, he couldn't 
breathe, so he soon passed out. 
 
"Oh well," I thought to myself. Nose job. He learned quite rapidly how 
to use his tongue and nose on my crutch, and brought me to a very 
satisfying orgasm, which unfortunately damaged his head rather, as I had 
it between my thighs, and lost control of my muscles at the moment of 
orgasm. I got dressed, and left him unconscious. But it didn't really 
help my main objective, to learn how to fuck a boys prick. 
 
Chapter 12 - The Double Triangle of Domination

Meanwhile, I was neglecting my studies to such an extent that I was 
probably bottom of the class (I say probably, I didn't care enough to 
find out). And inevitably, I failed to get into high school. I wasn't 
too bothered, but Little Kenny was. He came to me, and cried into my 
breasts, as he often did; his propensity to cry was probably one of his 
most endearing features. "Sandi, I'm scared." So what's new? Ken was 
constantly scared, and I was constantly having to cuddle him and 
reassure him that I'd look after him, another of his more endearing 
features. Ken was scared that he would be at high school and I wouldn't, 
so who would look after him. "Please, Sandi, I can't face it without you 
there to protect me." Little Kenny attracted bullies the way a flame 
attracts moths, and before I'd taken him under my wing, his life had 
been a misery. So I could understand his fear. The problem was, I 
couldn't see what I could do about it. "Ken, I'll make sure that 
everyone knows you're my baby, so no-one will dare bully you," but he 
only sobbed harder. "Oh, Sandi, I need to be able to run to you for 
protection, and to cuddle up to you when I'm down." 
 
I stroked his hair and thought about it. Now I had two problems. I still 
wanted to have proper sex with Little Kenny, but I didn't dare until I'd 
worked out how to have sex with a boy without damaging him. And now Ken 
was terrified at being on his own at the new school. I couldn't see any 
answer. 
 
I spoke to Mom, told her that the boy I was in love with would be going 
to a different school from me, but when she asked at my school, she was 
told that nothing could be done, as my academic results were too poor. I 
spoke to Karen about it, and all she could suggest was for Ken and I to 
get married "And I'll be your chief bridesmaid", she offered. But when I 
spoke to Marisia, she knew exactly what to do. "You have to take control 
of your destiny, Sandi. Instead of other people telling you where you 
must go and what you must do, you must make the decisions." "Marisia, I 
want to go to the same school as Ken, but I can't, they won't let me." 
 
"Sandi, who's this "they"? I think you'll find that if you work it out, 
it comes down to a man somewhere, trying to control your life." "What do 
you mean, Marisia?" Marisia explained. Most women are controlled by men; 
often by one man, but sometimes by more than one. If you want to be 
free, then what you have to do is control the man who wants to control 
you. Marisia explained that feminists believed that they should be free 
from the control of men, but that she went further; she believed that 
the only stable situations came about when women controlled men. I 
thought about this, and realized that the head teacher at the school was 
the man who was controlling my life; it was him that made the decision 
about whether I would be going on to high school or not. I told Marisia. 
 
"Yes, I think you're right, Sandi. So now, all you have to do is control 
Mr Carter. Just one thing - never refer to them as men. Either they are 
boys, or else use some humiliating term like limpdick." Mr Carter. Henry 
Carter. He was like God in our school, his word was law. If you got 
reported to him, it was like your life was over. How could a girl of 
fifteen control a powerful man - I mean, limpdick - like that? "Sandi, 
let me explain the theory, then I'll tell you how to put it in practice, 
then you can try it out, then you can do it." "OK," I said. 
 
Marisia explained that the first step was to get physically strong. 
"You've already done that, Sandi. But you can never be too strong, you 
can always use more muscle, more power. Don't ever stop building up your 
body, making your muscles harder and stronger." Then she explained the 
Double Triangle of Domination. 
 
The first triangle is pain, fear and humiliation. You use your muscles 
to give the limpdick pain, more pain than he would have thought existed, 
more pain than he could have imagined could come from a pretty young 
girl. The pain weakens his body, which makes it easier to inflict more 
pain. The more pain he suffers, the weaker he gets, and the easier it is 
to inflict higher levels of pain on him. When he gets used to each level 
of pain, you show him that there's another level. When he thinks that 
his body can't hurt any more than it already does, you show him that it 
can. So, for example, when you twist his arm into a hammerlock, you 
don't twist it as hard as you can. You twist it up to a certain point, 
and hold him there until he gets used to the pain, and starts to feel 
that it isn't so bad, and he can take it. Then you twist it some more, 
and double the pain. Then, after a few more minutes, when his body has 
started to accept the new level of pain, you double it again. And so on. 
 
Fear is the next step. Don't keep him in pain all the time. Let his body 
recover, let the pain fade. But make sure he knows that there is plenty 
more pain on the way. Show him the big hard muscles that are causing the 
pain, show him how much more pain he's going to get, and tell him about 
what is happening to him. The objective is to keep him in permanent 
fear, so that the fear only abates when the pain is so great that there 
isn't room for fear. But when the pain fades, the fear returns, fear of 
more pain. For each step, tell him what you're going to do to him, give 
it time to sink in, so that he understands how much it's going to hurt, 
and then inflict even more pain than he was expecting. The fear should 
be both short term and long term. Short term, he should be terrified of 
what you're about to do during the current session, and long term, every 
time he sees you he should think about the terrible things you're going 
to do to him next time you feel like it. 
 
The third side of the triangle is humiliation. Use the pain to build the 
fear, use the fear to make him humiliate himself. Make him beg you to 
stop hurting him, but make sure that he knows that begging is useless. 
But make him beg anyway, make him cry, then taunt him about what a cry-
baby he is. Make sure he understands that a pretty young girl is causing 
his pain and fear, and that soon everyone is going to know about how 
she hurt and humiliated him. Make him do things like taking his socks 
in his mouth, like licking inside your ass, things that he'll remember 
later with terrible shame. Make him lick your toes, make him plead for 
mercy. 
 
I told Marisia that I was already doing most of that, and enjoying it a 
lot. Marisia explained "That's only the first triangle. Now, I'll 
explain the second triangle, which is the opposite of the first. The 
first triangle makes him terrified of you, makes him subservient and 
submissive to you. But the second triangle makes him yours, gives you 
complete control over his mind, so that all he wants to do is please 
you." 
 
The second triangle is pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment. It's the 
opposite of the first triangle. Pleasure instead of pain, anticipation 
instead of fear, fulfilment instead of humiliation. Marisia explained 
that the limpdick must learn that the same woman that causes 
terrible debilitating pain, can also deliver mind-blowing pleasure. "You 
stimulate the areas of his body that are most directly linked to the 
pleasure-centers of his brain." "I think I know what that is," I said, 
"his cock." "Correct", she said. But don't use your vagina for this, it 
doesn't give you enough control, and there's the danger that you might 
have an orgasm, which would then blow him away. Use your mouth, your 
tongue and your fingers. The fingers are easiest, and the most 
sensitive, and give you the most control." 
 
"Next, anticipation. This works in two ways, short term and long term. 
"Let me guess", I said. "Short term during the current session, and long 
term when he sees me and thinks about what I'll be doing to him next 
time." "Right, laughed Marisia. "In the short term, you don't let him 
come. You make him want to come, you build up a tremendous pressure to 
come, but you don't allow him to. That's easy to do, but there are two 
ways. You can use pain to stop his orgasm in its tracks - that has good 
results in the long term, as he's never certain whether you're about to 
make him feel good, or whether you're about to hurt him. The other way 
is to simply squeeze his cock in your hand, especially if you press a 
finger against his urethra at the base of his penis." Marisia explained 
how the anticipation could be built up over a long period, and how long-
term anticipation could be used to cause an erection at long distance 
any time I felt like it. Marisia explained "I simply make a circle out 
of my thumb and finger, and the boy goes stiff, he can't help it. Once 
I've got him trained, his body is mine." 
 
And finally fulfilment. "You might not want to let him have an orgasm, 
but if you do let him come eventually, that will help to destroy any 
resistance to your will in future. Certainly, you should defer his 
orgasm as long as you have patience. But eventually, letting him climax 
will mean that his mind and body will belong to you." 
 
It sounded marvellous, and I could barely wait to try it out. Pain, fear 
and humiliation I already knew, but I hadn't realized that if you added 
pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment, you could have such a great 
effect. Mr Henry Carter was the limpdick standing between me and high 
school. It was now time for Mr Henry Carter to meet the Double Triangle 
of Domination. 

Chapter 13 - The Domination of Henry Carter
 
I needed a couple of hours, and I needed this time to be uninterrupted. 
So I waited till school was finished, then I went to his office. I 
didn't knock on his door like you are supposed to, I just barged 
straight in. And he reacted just as I'd hoped and expected, by standing 
up and shouting at me. So I marched up to him, and without any warning, 
jammed my tough right fist into his stomach, with the force of my 
body and arm behind it; not full force, because I had lots more for him 
to experience. He sort of collapsed around my fist, and as he bent, I 
threw my left fist into his chest, right about where the heart is. As he 
fell, I hit him a third time in his kidneys. He dropped to the floor, 
jerking spasmodically; I'd really hurt him badly. I took a deep breath 
and told myself to hold off - he mustn't be hurt too badly to appreciate 
what was to come. He lay on the floor, choking and trying to breathe, 
his body sending messages of pain like fire to his brain. Excellent. I 
watched him for a while, letting the pain fade so that he would be able 
to understand the next stage. "What's the matter, can't you stand up to 
a fifteen year old girl? Big strong man like you, and you can't even 
take a couple of punches from a little girl? Call yourself a man - more 
like a limpdick. If you can't take those little taps, you're in real 
serious trouble. That was nothing compared to what I'm going to do to 
you. First of all, I'm going to hurt you so much that you can't fight 
back. Then I'm going to screw you up so badly that you'll never be the 
same again." I doubt if he could actually appreciate what I was about to 
do to him, it was so far outside his experience. 
 
The pain in his body had weakened him a lot, so it wasn't too hard for 
me to lift him over my head and slam him down on the floor. After doing 
this a couple of times, he just lay there, twitching slightly. While I 
waited for him to recover, I had a look over his desk. In one of the 
drawers, I found a magazine with pictures of what looked like 
schoolgirls, although such things are often made with girls over 18, who 
just look younger. But it meant that he was a bit kinky, which would 
reinforce what I was about to do. "Like little school girls, do you?" I 
showed him his secret magazine. "I'm a little school girl - what would 
you like to do to me?" I hoisted him up in the air again, and slammed 
him to the ground once more. "Would you like my soft little hands on 
you?" "Please, no, I can't take any more. I give up. You're too much for 
me, Sandi, please don't hurt me any more," he begged. "Beg me some more, 
beg me on your knees, plead with me not to hurt you any more." 
 
Meanwhile, he had stopped twitching, and was starting to try to roll 
over onto his face, and he got onto his knees and started to whine 
"Sandi, I hurt all over, you've done enough, I don't know what you want, 
but whatever it is, you can have it". "What I want is a soft helpless 
limpdick begging me to stop hurting him. And I've already got one of 
those. Right now, what I want is for you to put your hands behind your 
back and close your eyes." When he'd done that, I took one of his wrists 
in my hands, and twisted it up behind his back. I planted one foot 
between his shoulders, and hauled on his wrist, putting so much stress 
on his shoulder joint that I could hear it creaking and popping, and he 
started to howl with the pain. I held him like that, pulling and 
twisting on his arm occasionally to get the best effect. His voice told 
me what the best positions were. He couldn't help groaning and shouting 
with pain. After a while, I guess his arm must have gone numb with pain, 
so I let go of it, and started on the other one. He immediately gave a 
very satisfying scream, and I worked his arm round and back for several 
minutes. 
 
When I let go, his arms dangled uselessly by his sides. I came round and 
knelt in front of him, putting my arms gently on his shoulders, and 
rubbing my breasts against his chest. "What's the matter? Has big mean 
Sandi hurt poor little Mr Carter? Can I call you Henry?" He moaned. I 
shook him. "Can I call you Henry?" "Yes, call me anything you like, only 
please stop hurting me, I can't take the pain." "I haven't finished with 
you, Henry. We're going to play a game, and every time you lose, I'm 
going to hurt you some more." "No, please Sandi, I can't, I just can't." 
I smiled prettily at him. "Yes you can. Let's start with the first 
question. Henry, what's the Latin word for chair?" "I don't know, I 
don't know, please, I can't do this." "Sorry, Henry, wrong answer. Time 
to pay a forfeit." I took his left hand in mine and squeezed. I have a 
powerful grip, and I could feel the small soft bones in his hand bend 
and slide in my grasp. He screamed, a shrill, high-pitched scream, and I 
relaxed slightly, keeping my hold on his hand. "Now Henry, you'd better 
get the next question right. Are you concentrating?" "Sandi, please ..." 
"What's the French word for computer?" I squeezed his damaged hand as I 
asked; he moaned as the pain travelled up his arm. "Time's up. Forfeit 
again. Do you want to pay the forfeit with your left hand or your 
right?" He didn't answer. "OK, no answer means both hands", and I 
crushed both his hands in mine, loving the way they softly yielded to 
the pressure of my grip. "Want to play again?" I asked. "Or do you want 
to beg me to stop?" 
 
The pain had destroyed his ability to resist, and the fear of my big 
hard muscles was now sapping his will, emptying his mind of everything 
except the girl who was tormenting him. He didn't even want to think 
about his situation. He was kneeling, and I sat in front of him, my legs 
on either side of his body, his hands crushed in mine. I gently wrapped 
my legs round his waist, and then put his hands on the inside of my 
thighs. "Feel those guys", I said. "If you thought my arms were too much 
for you, imagine what those guys will do to your soft helpless body." I 
could see his realization of his position, and he was imagining what my 
thighs would do to him. I locked my ankles together, and gradually 
straightened my legs, his waist trapped between my thighs. Slowly, the 
distance between my thighs got less. His body was compressed by my 
thighs on either side of him; the pain was excruciating. After a while, 
he looked to be on the brink of passing out, so I relaxed my python-like 
squeeze, and slapped his face to get his attention. "If you turn 
sideways, that'll take some of the pressure off your waist." When he'd 
done that, I squeezed harder than ever, and this time the pressure on 
his diaphragm cut off his breathing. I held the scissors until he was 
almost out again, and then released him. Now he understood the power of 
my legs. I stood up, and put his head between my thighs. 
 
"No, please, Sandi, don't do that, you'll kill me, you'll burst my 
skull." "Lick my thighs" Eagerly, he licked and slobbered over my legs. 
"Take your clothes off". His head was still between my thighs, so when 
he hesitated, I simply applied a burst of power to his skull. He 
screamed, and started stripping. When he was naked, I squeezed him hard 
between my legs, not hard enough to do any real damage, but hard enough 
for him to realize who was in control. 
 
Now I had him totally humiliated, I'd completed the first of the Double 
Triangles of Domination - pain, fear and humiliation. It was time for 
the next phase. I picked him up and slammed him down on his own desk, on 
his back. He bounced slightly, and wailed in agony. I pulled him towards 
the edge, so that his head was in mid-air, face up. I straddled his 
face, my thighs compressing his ears. I wasn't squeezing enough to hurt, 
just enough to keep him in place. His arms were still limp and useless 
from my hammerlocks. I reached up and untied the silk scarf from my 
hair; Karen had given me this, with instructions for its use. I leaned 
forward, and took his tiny little dick in one hand, wrapping the silk 
scarf round its length. Then I gently stroked it, up and down. His 
erection came immediately. "No, Sandi, please, it's wrong, you mustn't" 
he wailed.
 
"Henry, I'm going to give you more pleasure now than you've ever had in 
your entire life." I could hear him mumbling something from his position 
between my thighs - it didn't really matter what. I held his dick gently 
in my hand, wrapped up in the silk scarf. As Karen had told me, he found 
it immensely erotic, and started trying to buck and shy away from my 
hand. I opened my legs a little to hear what he was trying to say 
"Please Sandi, you're only fifteen, this is wrong." "Wrong?" I said. 
"How is it wrong?" I held the base of his penis in one hand while I 
stroked the length with the scarf. "Urggh, aargh", he said, and I could 
feel him about to come. So I dug my finger into the base of his penis, 
squeezing his urethra like Marisia had explained, stopping him from 
having his orgasm. I held him like this and continued to manipulate his 
cock with my other hand. He started to struggle, so I gave him a burst 
of power with my legs, crushing his skull between my thighs. "Henry, if 
you fight me, I'll have to subdue you." He stopped struggling, and I got 
on with wanking him. "Henry, when I do let you come, it'll be like an 
explosion in your brain, it'll make anything else that ever happened to 
you like pale pink." "Urghh, arrgh" was his inarticulate reply. 
 
The first two parts of the Second Triangle of Domination were working 
nicely. He was experiencing pleasure vastly greater than anything he'd 
ever felt before, and the anticipation was building like a head of 
steam. Let's start building up the long term anticipation. "Henry, this 
is fun. After we've finished here today, that won't be the end of it. 
I'll come back and do this to you again and again. Would you like that?" 
"Urghh, arrgh", he repeated. I didn't know what it meant, but it didn't 
really matter. "Would you like me to bring you to orgasm now? "Urghh, 
arrgh". "Sorry, I can't hear you?" "Please Sandi, let me come, I feel 
like I'm bursting, don't stop me any more." 
 
After about half an hour of building his orgasm, but not allowing him 
any release, I let go of the base of his penis, unblocking his urethra. 
At the same time, I stepped back, releasing his head from between my 
thighs, and pulling the silk scarf off his genitals. His penis almost 
exploded. A great jet of semen rose towards the ceiling, curved back, 
and splattered on to his body. Another jet followed, and another, and 
another, and his body jerked and bucked in spasms as his orgasm took 
over. I watched curiously, wondering how long fulfilment would take. 
After a few minutes, it was all over; he lay on his back on his desk, 
groaning, totally spent. I smiled, and walked out, closing the door 
quietly behind me. 
 
I visited him twice more that week. The first time, he was fearful, 
scared that I might be about to hurt him, but even more scared that I 
might be about to give him the same sort of pleasures that I had before. 
I reached up to my hair, allowing my biceps to bulge in the spectacular 
way that they do. He cowered away, and I smiled sexily at him as I 
untied the silk scarf from round my hair. "Remember this?" I asked. He 
gulped and nodded, his erection obvious in his pants. "Get onto the 
desk, and pull your trousers down." He scrambled onto the desk, and got 
himself ready for me. I put his head between my thighs again, holding 
him helpless, and wrapped the silk scarf round his penis. 
 
Half an hour later, I allowed him fulfilment once more. The Double 
Triangle of Domination was now complete; he'd experienced pain, fear and 
humiliation, followed by pleasure, anticipation and fulfilment. I left 
him to clean himself up again, and sought out Simon, for my own 
fulfilment. 
 
On the third visit, without being told, he immediately pulled down his 
trousers and got onto the desk. I leaned over him, lifted him up, and 
slammed him to the ground. I twisted his head further than it should 
have gone, I almost ripped his arms off by pulling them behind him, and 
then I stood over him with his head crushed between my legs until he 
lost consciousness. Then I lifted him up onto my shoulders, and with his 
back against mine, I pulled down on his neck and thighs. The backbreaker 
is one of my favorite holds; you can inflict unimaginable amounts of 
pain, and the helpless limpdick can't even struggle, as that makes it 
hurt even more. When you've finished, his back will hurt for weeks, and 
there's always the possibility of doing some permanent damage to his 
vertebrae. 
 
After his cries got weaker and finally stopped, I dropped him onto the 
desk and finished him off with my scarf. His final orgasm made him buck 
and rear as usual, but my backbreaker had damaged him so much that he 
was in terrible pain the whole time. Perfect. Pain and pleasure 
together. As I stimulated his cock, I told him how great it would be 
when I finally let him come, and at the same time how much it would hurt 
because of his damaged back. Fear and anticipation together. And when I 
finally did let him come, the humiliating agony mingled with the 
ecstatic fulfilment, and his mind was mine for ever. 
 
I told him what I wanted. "Henry - make it so I have good grades, and go 
to high school, the same one as Ken." "Yes, Sandi, whatever you want, 
you're a goddess, I love you." I didn't want to hear his stupid 
declarations of adoration, so I left him burbling on his desk. I wanted 
to tell Little Kenny the good news. 
 
I found him all alone in the library, studying as usual. I came up 
behind him, picked him up, and threw him in the air, being very careful 
to catch him on the way down. That isn't as difficult as it sounds, as 
Little Kenny weighs only about 90 pounds. He screamed as he fell, and it 
took me ages to soothe him down. "Sandi, I wish you wouldn't do that", 
he said, but I knew he secretly loved being tossed around, and I was 
ever so careful not to hurt him. "Baby, great news. I'm going to the 
same high school as you are." 
 
"But you can't, what about your grades?" "All fixed, Ken baby, don't 
worry about it. I had a few words with Mr Carter, and he's being ever so 
nice to me, and he's making sure I get into the same school as you." I 
didn't want to frighten Little Kenny by explaining about the Double 
Triangle of Domination. "So you don't have to worry about being bullied 
at high school, I can protect you there." Ken squealed with pleasure, 
and flung his arms round me and kissed me simply everywhere. He really 
can be a little darling. 
 
"Baby, just one more thing. Happy birthday." I took off my silk scarf, 
held both his skinny legs between mine, held both of his tiny wrists in 
one of my hands, stretched him out, and for the next couple of hours, 
all you could hear was his screams of pleasure, anticipation and 
fulfilment. 
 
Chapter 14 - Bad News for Ken
 
School's out! Those must be the two most wonderful words in the world. 
School is a complete pain anyway; and the only thing that made it 
bearable was being with my baby, my little 90 pound, five-foot-nothing 
Little Kenny. My best friend Karen had made some great plans for the 
holidays, and I think the only one who wasn't looking forward to the 
holidays was Simon, who was expecting to have his nose rubbed off 
against my crotch. I was planning to do some serious weight training, 
and I still needed to learn how to fuck properly. The Double Triangle of 
Domination had worked so brilliantly on the head teacher (I finished up 
with a good B average, although I really deserved an F) that I was keen 
to try it out on a few other limpdick men, and, oh!, so many 
opportunities, so much to do, so little time to do it in. 
 
I made a list. All Karen wanted to do was spend the next seven weeks 
fucking; she planned to fuck her way through high school - she didn't 
seem to think of anything else these days. I had more diverse ambitions 
for the holidays, and I made a list. 
 
1. Learn how to fuck. So far, every attempt I'd made had ended in 
disaster. Steve was struck impotent on seeing my big muscular body. With 
Nigel, I'd just been far too demanding, and when he couldn't deliver, 
I'd raped him. And I hadn't really given Derek a chance; it was straight 
date-rape. But I still wanted to learn how to do it like Karen, like all 
the other girls. Properly. 
 
2. Demonstrate my new skills to Little Kenny, often. Very often. Pretty 
much continuously, in fact, for a very long time. I wanted Ken to be the 
happiest boy in the world, and I knew that I could make that happen. 
 
3. Get bigger and harder. I didn't expect to grow any taller than my 
current five foot six, but I felt sure that I could get over 150 pounds, 
and I didn't plan on any of it being flab. My target was 16 inch biceps, 
and thighs (currently 21 inches) bigger than my waist (currently 26). I 
wouldn't object to a bit more on my bust, either - 36B was cool, but 38C 
would be cooler. And I wanted long curly blonde hair, like Karen. Long 
would just be a matter of time, blonde I already had, and I knew I could 
get Karen to help me with the curly bit. 
 
4. Finally, I'd had so much fun doing the Double Triangle of Domination, 
that I wanted to try it out on more limpdick men. Lots more. 
 
But first, I had problems with Little Kenny. 
 
Ken had found out about the other boys I'd fucked - well, fucked isn't 
the right word, because I still didn't know how to do it properly, but 
you know what I mean. And Ken was upset about it. And Ken thought he had 
some sort of ownership of me. Boys get silly ideas like that. 
 
He stormed up to me while Karen and I were in the coffee bar. "Sandi, 
you've been cheating on me", he said. I pulled him onto my lap - he 
struggled but not for very long. "What do you mean, Ken?" "I know about 
Simon." 
 
"Ken, Simon's just for rubbing against; I haven't done anything 
important with him." I used Simon's face and nose against my genitals, 
to get relief - I didn't fancy him at all. And Simon usually got damaged 
in the process - blood and tears, my favorite. And Ken knew that 
perfectly well. So then he produced his trump card. "And I know about 
Steve, Nigel and Derek. You've betrayed me, you're just like all the 
others!" I was furious. How had he found out? And then he slapped my 
face! 
 
I sat there, stunned, while Ken stormed out. And then the tears came. 
I'd only done it for him, why couldn't he understand that? And how had 
he found out, anyway? I couldn't believe that any of the boys had told 
him. I put my face in my hands and cried. I'd loved that little guy, and 
now he treated me like this. He'd even slapped my face, and I wouldn't 
take that from anyone else. 
 
Karen stroked my hair. "There, there", she said, "Boys are all the same. 
Don't ever trust a boy, they only want one thing, and when they've had 
it, they're on to the next girl." I looked up at Karen, tearfully. "But 
I haven't even fucked him yet - I was so looking forward to learning how 
and showing Ken what I could do." I sobbed. Karen put her arms round me 
and hugged me. It's so good to have a friend like Karen. "Honestly, 
Sandi, it's silly to get so worked up about one boy; there are so many 
of them, all ready, willing and able." "But Karen, Little Kenny was so 
small and helpless, such a lovely little thing, I absolutely adored him. 
I can't stand those big he-men types you snuggle up to." "Sandi, one of 
the great things about sex is that no matter what your preferences, 
there's always plenty of boys how you want them. Anyway, I've gone off 
he-men; I'm into docile submissive types now." 
 
I looked across to Karen. She was so beautiful, so perfect, not a hair 
out of place. Her bones were so fine, her nose so small, her figure so 
elegant. I felt so big and clumsy compared with her. It was all right 
for her to talk about the infinite supply of boys, but I wasn't so sure 
that it applied to me. 
 
I took it out on Simon, poor lamb. We went down by the river, and we lay 
in the long grass. My moans of pleasure mixed with his moans of pain as 
my thighs squeezed his head into my genitals until I orgasmed. 
Afterwards, I pulled his head up to my breasts and cuddled him, thinking 
of my Little Kenny, and wondering if there was any way I could make it 
up with him. Simon stopped crying, and I looked down at him, and talked 
to him. "Simon?" He looked up at me adoringly. I've never understood 
this about Simon - I treat him like dirt, and he doesn't seem to mind. 
Well, I guess he minds at the time, otherwise he wouldn't shout with 
pain so much, but he doesn't seem to mind afterwards. Boys are a 
complete mystery to me. "Simon, what do you think I should do about 
Ken?" 
 
Simon rubbed his face gently against my breasts. I suppose that made a 
pleasant change from being abraded against my genital hair. "I love you, 
Sandi", he said, "You can do anything you want." Well, that didn't help 
me much, and I told him so. "You're an idiot, Simon", and I let him 
nuzzle against my nipples, a very pleasant feeling. "But what should I 
do about Ken?" "Whatever you want, Sandi. You should do whatever you 
want with Ken", and he got inside my blouse and started licking me, 
which pretty much ended the conversation. 
 
A few days later, I saw Ken sitting in the coffee shop. I went in, 
hoping that maybe I could cuddle him to my breasts, which he loved so 
much and explain that I hadn't been unfaithful to him, not really, that 
I'd done it all for him, in fact. He looked up and saw me, stood up, and 
tried to run out. I caught him as he tried to get past me, wrapped my 
arms round him, and lifted him off the ground, pushing his face into my 
breasts. In that position, he should have been completely helpless, but 
he wriggled and fought so much, I thought I'd have to squeeze him really 
hard to keep him still, and I was afraid that any really hard squeeze 
would hurt him, so I let go, and he ran off. "Oh, Karen, what should I 
do", I cried. Karen's only suggestion was that there were plenty more 
fish in the sea, and I should find another boy. But the only one I 
wanted was my Little Kenny. 
 
Have you ever cried yourself to sleep in your pillow? I went home and 
did exactly that. If only I could get Ken to listen, I knew he'd 
understand my explanation that I'd only fucked those other boys as 
practice so I would be good for Ken. I had to get him to listen, I just 
had to. 
 
Next day, I waited outside Ken's house. When his parents had left, I 
climbed in through an open window, and ran up to his bedroom. Ken was 
just getting dressed. "You're going to listen to me, like it or not", I 
said, and grabbed him, throwing him down on the bed, and pinning him 
there with my weight. He cursed, wriggled and bucked, so I grabbed his 
arms, and pulled them high over his head, making him helpless. But he 
was still trying to get away, so I had to sit on his face and bounce up 
and down a few times to calm him down. He went limp, and I got worried 
about whether I was smothering him, so I leaned forward to let him 
breathe. I rubbed my breasts on his body - he always loved that, but 
that didn't get any reaction, so I took off my silk scarf, pulled down 
his trousers, and wrapped it round his penis. That certainly got a 
reaction; he was immediately at attention. 
 
I stroked his prick up and down, and he started making noises like a 
washing machine. Pretty soon, I could tell he was on the verge of 
coming, so I leaned further over, and gripped the base of his cock with 
my other hand, with my index finger compressing the urethra, so that his 
orgasm would be prevented. Holding him like this, I continued to 
stimulate his cock and balls, using the silkiness of the scarf as a kind 
of lubricant. I wanted Ken; I wanted him to understand how silly he was 
being about my fucking other guys. I knew that all I had to do was get 
him in a good mood and explain. And there's no better way to get a guy 
in a good mood, than to give him a really explosive orgasm. 
 
Half an hour later, I felt that I had built up enough pressure, and Ken 
was ready for his explosion; he'd been begging and pleading with me to 
let him come for long enough. I released the base of his cock, 
unblocking the passage inside, but continued to pump hard with my other 
hand. Sure enough, he came like a fire hose, semen spurting out of this 
cock and arcing gracefully through the air to the floor. He screamed as 
he ejaculated, and screamed again as I continued to milk him. Again his 
orgasm ripped through his body, but now his screams faded as he fainted. 
 
Wow. I didn't know you could do that to a boy! I'll have to experiment a 
bit, and see exactly how it works. I thought, wait till Karen hears 
about this! At last, something about boys that I know and she doesn't. 
Ken was breathing raggedly, and I could see his heart pounding. I 
covered him up with a blanket, and waited for him to return to the land 
of the living. While I waited, I lay down on the bed next to him, put my 
arms round him, and closed my eyes for a few minutes. 
 
The next think I knew, something was tickling my toes. I sat up, and 
there was my Little Kenny, crouched down at the end of the bed, licking 
my toes and looking rather fearfully up at me. "Hi, Ken", I smiled 
brightly. I'd gotten my baby Ken back! He went back to licking my toes, 
more vigorously. 
 
That wasn't like Ken - he'd never done that before, although he'd seen 
Simon do it. Simon used to lick my toes when I was angry with him, or 
when he thought I was, on the grounds that it's impossible to stay angry 
with someone licking your toes. So I took his hands in mine. "What's the 
matter, baby?" 
 
Ken made a few grunts, looked up at me fearfully, and licked harder and 
deeper. So I grabbed his upper arms, and dragged him onto the bed next 
to me. Ken immediately curled up into a ball, with his hands over his 
head, like he was terrified. The more I tried to uncurl him, the more he 
whimpered and shivered with fear. What was up? I tried to cuddle him out 
of it, like I had so many times before, but he wouldn't uncurl. I could 
have forced him, of course, but I knew that would only make things 
worse. There was obviously no talking to him in this mood, so I stood up 
and left him to recover himself. And I went to see Karen to explain to 
her about boys fainting. 

Chapter 15 - A Scarf for Ken
 
Karen was in the coffee bar, as usual, with a boy on either side of her, 
and a couple more across the table. I sat down amongst them, rolled up 
one of my sleeves, and showed them what a 15-inch bicep looked like. 
"Get lost", I said to them, "I want to have a private conversation 
here." One of them said "What gives you the right ..." but his friends 
shut him up and pulled him away "Are you crazy? That's Sandi Stone! Do 
you know what she did ..." 
 
Karen said "So what happened?" I told her how my talk with Ken had gone, 
including his loss of consciousness. "Yes", said Karen, "I always knew 
it was possible, but I've never been able to do it. You have to get 
things so that every time they try to breathe in, you make them scream. 
Then you're supposed to give them such a big, long orgasm that they 
can't breathe in for a long time, and the lack of air makes them pass 
out." I wasn't so sure about this being right - I wonder if she was 
making it up as she went along? She always seemed to knowledgeable about 
boys. Ken had been breathing just fine - I wouldn't do anything to 
interfere with his air! He'd just passed out at the height of his 
orgasm. But I didn't argue with Karen. I wanted to know if she had any 
ideas on the way he behaved afterwards. 
 
Karen looked at me like I was an idiot. "Sandi, you sat on his face and 
rubbed him up to a shattering orgasm?" "More than one, I think", I 
replied. "Don't you know what you've just done?" she continued. 
 
And then I realized. I'd physically dominated him, probably hurt him 
more than a bit in stretching him out, and then humiliated him by 
sitting on his face. And then I'd delivered more pleasure, anticipation 
and fulfilment than he'd ever experienced before. I'd done the Double 
Triangle of Domination on him, without even meaning to. "Oh, no! Oh, 
Karen, I didn't realize you could do a DTD without even meaning to." "I 
can't, you can, Sandi. I doubt if I could even do the DTD on purpose. I 
haven't got your physical strength." 
 
I practically ran out of the coffee shop to Marisia's house, and banged 
on the door. She let me in, and immediately said "Sandi, what's wrong?" 
"Oh, Marisia, it's awful. Ken found out about the other boys I was 
fucking, so I wanted to explain to him that it was all for his sake, but 
he wouldn't listen, so I pinned him down and sat on his head and made 
him come to get him in the right mood, and now I think I've done the 
Double Triangle of Domination on him, and how can I take it off him, 
because I don't want him to be a zombie, and ..." At that point, Marisia 
pulled me down onto the sofa and put her arms round me, because I was 
crying. 
 
"Sandi, You can't undo the Double Triangle of Domination. It's like 
unscrambling an egg. Once a man has been DTD'd, that's it. If you don't 
like how he is now, all you can do is walk away from him, let some other 
woman have him. He'll stay like that for ever, it's a permanent change 
to the personality. But it's his own fault for not letting you explain 
things to him." "So there's nothing I can do?" "No, Sandi, nothing. You 
have to understand what DTD does. Men have this "macho" thing, it's all 
tied up with their egos and the sexual capabilities. Some have quite a 
small one, some have a very big one, and some men have so much macho 
that they're unbearable. It's when the macho gets too big, that's what 
makes them so unpleasant. DTD simply removes the whole macho, slices it 
out, gets rid of it completely. Then they become much nicer, more 
docile. They might have a few problems immediately after it's gone, 
because they aren't used to functioning without it. But don't worry 
about it, Ken will adjust to his new personality, find a suitable girl, 
and be happy with her." "But I wanted Ken to be happy with me!", I 
wailed. Marisia held my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "Sandi, Ken 
never was suitable for you. He was too small, too helpless and just too 
much of a wimp." But I liked him that way, I thought. "Sandi, you'll be 
at High School soon. It's a whole new life, you'll make a whole new set 
of friends. You should be looking forward to it!" "But the only reason I 
was going to High School was to protect Ken", I explained. Marisia 
explained how I could still protect him. 
 
"Sandi, I've noticed that you always wear a royal blue silk scarf in 
your hair." "Yes", I said, "I think it makes me look more feminine." 
"Which it does, Sandi. But what you should do, is give a scarf just like 
it to Ken, and that way, everyone will know that he's yours, under your 
protection, so he won't be bullied." 
 
I realized that she was right. If I couldn't give Ken back his macho, at 
least I could make life a bit easier for him. I went down to the mall 
and bought the prettiest royal blue silk scarf I could find, and it cost 
me a bomb, but I thought Ken was worth it. I walked round to his house, 
and when his mother answered the door, I ran up to his bedroom. He was 
laying on his bed, crying into his pillow when I came in. He saw me, and 
tried to hide under the bed covers, obviously terrified that I'd come to 
give him another dose of DTD. I pulled the blankets off him, sat on the 
bed, and gathered him into my arms. And then I explained the deal to 
him. 
 
"Ken, you see this silk scarf?" He nodded, fearfully. "It's one of mine. 
You wear it round your neck, like this", and I tied it in a loose knot 
round his throat, a bit like a tie, only more attractive. He actually 
looked rather fetching. "Ken, from now on, you wear that every day, all 
the time. You understand?" He nodded again. He did look such a darling. 
I just couldn't resist saying good bye to him. I whipped off my own 
scarf, wrapped it round his genitals, and went to work. It was very easy 
to get him hard, and just as easy to get him to climax. Five minutes 
later, he was trying to scream, but I'd muffled his head between my 
thighs, so as not to upset his parents. Fifteen minutes later he stopped 
trying to scream, so I thought I'd better get off him and let him 
recover. I stayed around long enough to make sure that he was all right, 
and then went to meet Karen at the coffee bar. 
 
Chapter 16 - Sandi fucks up Donald

On the 18th of August, I turned sixteen, and Karen gave me a wonderful 
birthday present. She gave me Donald, and instructions on what to do. 
Donald was another college jock - Karen's taste seemed to run in that 
direction. She'd given Donald a big build up about me, told him I was 
the second best fuck in five counties (Karen being the first, I 
suppose). And to make absolutely sure that nothing went wrong this time, 
Karen accompanied us on the date. 
 
I thought it would be a disaster - a date is a bit crowded with three in 
it. But not the date that Karen had in mind. None of this movie-and-a-
hamburger stuff. No romantic-dinner-for-two garbage. Karen's idea was 
simple. One man, two women and the biggest cucumber I'd ever seen. Karen 
has a thing about cucumbers - she says that they never care what time of 
month it is, you don't have to keep telling them how wonderful they are, 
and they stay hard for weeks. I asked her what exactly she was planning, 
but she wouldn't tell me. "It's a surprise", she said. 
 
I spent the next few days in a frenzy of anticipation. I felt like there 
was a gaping void inside me that ached to be filled. My thoughts were 
full of cucumbers, wine bottles and salami. Several times each day, I 
felt my nipples grow stiff and my vagina become moist with erotic 
thoughts. Karen and I met in an old, disused factory. In one corner, 
there was a whole bunch of stuff; pillows, carpets, sheepskin rugs. 
"Just do what I tell you, Sandi", she said. I was looking forward to 
this! 
 
Don arrived soon after, and Karen told him to get undressed. He looked 
at us a bit apprehensively, especially at me, and I wondered why. I lay 
naked on a sheepskin rug, the fur doing unspeakably nice things to my 
skin. I was careful to keep my muscles relaxed, so as not to scare Don. 
I spread my legs apart, and he knelt down submissively between them. 
"Hold his body between your legs, Sandi, and take his hands." I did as 
Karen asked; losing the support of his hands, he fell forward onto my 
breasts. I wrapped my legs round his waist and gripped him gently.
Karen was doing something with her cucumber, I couldn't see what. 
Suddenly, Don's back arched, and something long and hard started sliding 
into me. Very long, and very, very hard. Not hard like iron, but hard 
like, well, like a cucumber, I suppose. But it felt warm, even hot, and 
it kept on sliding into me, sliding and sliding like there was no end to 
it. My vagina spasmed slightly from the sensation, my thighs tensed, and 
Don cried out and tried to pull back, so Karen said "Hold him tight, 
Sandi". I gripped his waist hard between my thighs, and held onto his 
hands, trying not to crush and bend the soft little bones inside. But I 
must have been holding him harder than I thought, because he started to 
cry out in pain. "No, no", he shouted. "Hold him tight", said Karen, 
"really tight". I squeezed my thighs together harder, to stop him 
withdrawing, and let go his delicate hands. I put my hands under his 
armpits, pulling him towards me. I could feel the roughness of his prick 
inside me, and the heat of his body on mine drove me wild. He was 
wriggling now, bucking against my body, and his body rubbing against my 
breasts sent fire into my brain. I gripped him hard with my hands, 
holding onto the slab of muscle just in front of the armpit, and used 
this to pull him up and down on me. He was screaming now, and I could 
hear Karen's voice in the background, egging us on. 
 
Then my own orgasm struck me with all the impact of a 100 ton 
locomotive. The next several minutes were just like someone had exploded 
a stick of dynamite inside me, and the shock waves were travelling round 
my body. I was shaking and shuddering uncontrollably, my body spasming 
and convulsing with the sensuality of my first real orgasm. After a 
while, it went from one long continuous orgasm, to a series of major 
explosions. These slowly diminished in intensity and frequency until I 
was just getting small bursts of pleasure. I slowly relaxed my grip in 
Don's armpits, and unwound my legs from round his body. He collapsed on 
top of me, groaning, and I got out from under him. 
 
By this time, Karen was nowhere to be seen. I felt so good - I felt like 
someone had swept my chimney, cleaned out my oven, scoured my saucepans. 
I wanted to share this feeling with Karen, wonderful Karen who at last 
had gotten me properly fucked. I looked down at Don - he didn't look too 
good. Two big bruises were appearing on his hips, where my thighs had 
asserted themselves, and a large, green cucumber was sticking out of his 
backside. I laughed - it looked so ridiculous. Then I stopped laughing 
and looked down at myself; another, even larger cucumber peeped a few 
inches out of my pussy, the end broken off. The end of the cucumber, 
that is. Carefully, I pulled the cucumber out from inside me - I didn't 
want a vegetable stuck inside me. I gasped a few times as it came out; I 
could understand Karen's fascination with them. The rough, nubbly rind 
of the vegetable rubbed against my genitals in a way that sent waves of 
excitement surging through my body. It looked badly damaged - crushed, 
like someone had gripped it in a vice. I filed this thought away for 
future experimentation. Now I knew what had given me that extraordinary 
orgasm. 
 
I wondered if I should do something about Don; he looked in pretty bad 
shape. And then I thought he'd be perfectly capable of getting his own 
cucumber out, and I didn't want to risk there being something nasty 
under pressure behind it. Besides, he seemed to be in some distress, and 
I wasn't in the mood for comforting some limpdick. I wanted to tell the 
world about my new status - I was a woman at last. So I gathered up my 
clothes, got dressed, and left. Before I went, I knotted my blue silk 
scarf round his neck, so he'd have something to remember me by. 
 
And then I had a thought about Ken - sometimes I surprise myself. I 
could ask just Ken who had told him about me and those other guys. Since 
I'd DTD'd him, he would be unable to resist my request. I saw him in the 
coffee bar a couple of weeks later, Karen sitting next to him. He looked 
so small and pathetic sitting there; even compared to Karen he looked 
small. I sat down, trapping him between my body and Karen, and I came 
straight to the point. "Ken, who told you I fucked Steve, Nigel and 
Derek?" He looked down at the floor. "Karen did." Karen left abruptly, 
while I sat there, stunned. 
 
Suddenly, everything became clear. Karen, my best friend, had betrayed 
me! I'd loaned Simon to her, and that had given her a taste for soft, 
docile boys who were willing to be used as sex toys. Ken was pretty 
compliant to start with, and Karen had wanted to get him from me, and 
this was her way of doing it! And for that, I'd ruined Ken's soft, 
malleable personality, turned him into the ultimate submissive. 
 
I felt sick inside. Karen, who I trusted. I'd helped her screw up Don 
with her cucumbers, she must have hated him for some reason. And some of 
those other boys, Karen must have *wanted* me to trash them for reasons 
of her own. Karen, who had used me cynically to soften up boys to the 
way she wanted them. I'd never trust a cheating girl again, never let a 
deceitful girl be my best friend, never rely on anything in a skirt. 
 
Chapter 17 - Salt Mountain High 
 
I was terrified at the thought of high school. I'm only four foot 
eleven, 85 pounds sopping wet, and my friends call me Bunny, because my 
parents were Mr and Mrs Rabbit. What a terrible name to inflict on a 
child. But there's more. My first name was Robert. Yes. Robert Rabbit. 
Do you have parents? So what do I call myself - Bob Rabbit? Bobby 
Rabbit? Robby Rabbit? or even (ugh) Robert Rabbit? I'd made up my mind 
to change my name as soon as I could, so I didn't pass the affliction 
on. Mom and Dad call me Robert, my friends call me Bunny, and everyone 
else (and there's a lot in this category) call me Bunnikins. I was 
fifteen, and looked about twelve. I wore glasses, otherwise I couldn't 
see the blackboard, and I still had a brace on my right leg, because my 
knee wasn't strong enough to take my weight. You can probably imagine 
how the other kids treated me. No, you probably can't. It's hard to 
believe how cruel kids can be - it wasn't enough that I had to suffer 
from my own disabilities, I also had to suffer from the taunting and the 
bullying. I tried to pretend I didn't care, because if you show them 
that it hurts, they do it twice as bad. 
 
I'd worked out a couple of strategies. No-one knew me here, so the first 
thing to do was to make sure that no-one found out about my leg-brace; 
long trousers, and no swimming. If anyone asked about my limp, I'd tell 
them it was a sports injury. You don't think twice about lying when so 
much is at stake. The next idea I'd had, was to hook up with some big 
dumb jock - I'd help him with his homework, and he'd be my insurance 
against bullying. And the third thing I planned, was to leave my glasses 
off, unless I actually needed them to see something. That meant that the 
world would be a little fuzzy, but unless I needed to read street signs 
or something, that wouldn't matter. And no, definitely no, repeat no 
more BUNNY. Let alone Bunnikins.
 
There were about a hundred kids in grade 10 with me, and they divided us 
into four classes. I was in Mr Devonshire's class, with two dozen other 
kids. I couldn't see their faces properly because I'd left my glasses 
off, and I wondered if that was such a wide move. They sat us down in 
alphabetical order, and I started feeling better already. There's 
nothing like a bit of order to improve the quality of life. I was next 
to this big chunky blond jock, and I gave him a big grin, to let him 
know that I was a regular guy. They started explaining about how the 
syllabus worked - English, English Lit, Math and Science, History, 
Geography, plus some optional subjects. Physical education (ugh) was 
compulsory, well, I suppose I'd really expected that, but I had hoped it 
wouldn't be. I could probably duck out of it for a while, though. 
 
Then they showed us our lockers, also in alphabetical order - I really 
liked this, as it appealed to my sense of how things ought to be. As I 
put my things away, I told my neighbor, the chunky blond jock, I was 
really looking forward to this school, and asked him his name. "Sandi. 
Sandi Stone." Unhhh. Unhhh. A girl. Oh no! A girl. I don't know how to 
deal with girls, I've never had any practice. Unhhh. Well, first things 
first; I better put my glasses on. And maybe I better not leave them off 
in future or I could get into more trouble. 
 
I turned to her and gave her my best smile. Then I looked up at her face 
- she was really tall. Well, compared to me, she was. My eyes were about 
level with her breasts; she must have been eight inches taller than me. 
Breasts - I tried not to think about them, but my hands got sweaty and I 
couldn't get my brain into gear. All I could think of was "Hi, my name's 
Rabbit. My friends call me Bunny." 
 
Oh no! I can't believe I just said that. Five minutes and I've already 
got myself in trouble. Now everyone will call me Bunny. What an idiot. 
For heaven's sake, don't even think the word "Bunnikins". Sandi looked 
at me; she was wearing a loose blouse, which left me considerably 
uncertain about what was under it, and a long skirt, which totally hid 
her legs. She had fairly long blonde hair, and she wore a blue scarf 
knotted into it. She was almost pretty, even if she was rather heavily 
built. "Hi, Bunny", she said, and do you know, I didn't mind at all. 
"Looks like we're neighbors. Are you any good at math?" she said. 
 
Am I any good at math? I'm only the worlds lightweight calculus 
champion, that's all. I'm completely hypotenused up on trigonometry, and 
I eat algebra with my Shreddies. "Sure," I said, casually. I've watched 
Easy Rider, I've watched the Fonz, I know how to be cool. "Math is 
cool." "Great", she said, "I'm hopeless at it. I can do algebra, but 
calculus is impossible" Yow - calculus is the coolest thing I've ever 
seen! "So what subjects do you like?", I asked. "Uh", she said, and then 
the bell went. 
 
I've reported this conversation word for word. It's significant - it's 
the first time I've had a conversation with a girl that didn't mostly 
consist of me stammering and her giggling at me. I know it wasn't world-
shaking, in the larger scheme of things, but I can tell you, when you're 
fifteen, and you've just managed to talk to a girl for the first time 
without making a complete plonker of yourself, it's a red-letter day. 
And not just any girl - Sandi was almost pretty, and her hair was very 
nice, fairly long and very silky, with the bright blue scarf knotted 
into it. 
 
When I got home that afternoon, I went up to my room, and started 
messing around with the computer. Phoebe came and joined me; she pushed 
her nose up between my legs and jumped up onto my lap. I couldn't get 
Sandi out of my mind, so after a while, I just sat there and thought 
about her. She was tall, about five-six, and I couldn't remember what 
color her eyes were; I made a note to check next time I saw her. And the 
way she walked - you know how most girls sort of flounce along? A sort 
of up-and-down action, moving in every direction except the one they're 
going? Their arms going in all directions, and things jiggling and 
wiggling? Sandi didn't move that way at all - she moved very 
purposefully, very confidently, like she knew where she was going and 
how to get there. She didn't bounce, she didn't jiggle and she didn't 
wiggle. She just moved. She reminded me of Phoebe. You know how cats 
patrol? When they leave the house on some feline errand, some cat-
critical important mission? Cats don't run, unless they're sprinting 
after prey, and they only trot when they're in a hurry. Otherwise, they 
adopt a gait called the "patrol". And that's how Sandi walked. 
 
Phoebe purred, as I stroked her fur. I wondered how it would feel to 
stroke Sandi's hair. I wondered what it would be like to make Sandi 
purr. I stroked Phoebe at the base of her tail, and then under the chin, 
where I knew she especially liked to be tickled. Then I moved my hand 
under her belly - a cat has to know you really well before she'll allow 
your hand there, but Phoebe and I are old friends, and she trusts me. As 
I stroked her belly and chest, I wondered what it would be like to 
stroke Sandi's belly and chest. I shut my eyes and pretended to myself 
that the soft furry female in my lap was Sandi, and my fingers were 
giving her the most pleasure she'd ever had in her life. In my mind, I 
supplied the dialogue for Sandi "Oh Bunny, yes, that's lovely, don't 
stop". And I imagined my reply "Oh, Sandi, you're so beautiful" Phoebe 
stretched voluptuously, arching her back and extending her claws, as if 
to say "Look how exquisite and dangerous I am, look what a magnificent 
animal I am". And I imagined Sandi stretching her body and arching her 
back, making her breasts stand out even more, and I thought "Sandi, 
you've got such an incredible body, you make me feel so turned on." I 
tried to imagine what her breasts would be like; big and firm and soft, 
I thought, harder at the tips. I squeezed Pheobe in my hand, imagining I 
was squeezing Sandi's breast. "Oh, Bunny, stop it, stop it." A sharp 
needle made me open my eyes. Phoebe didn't like being squeezed, and was 
telling me so. "No! Bunny, not there. Take your hand away!" I went back 
to stroking her fur, and her claws retracted, her eyes closed and she 
started purring again. "Bunny, I love you so much" "I love you too, 
Sandi" Then Phoebe started doing the kneading thing with her paws that 
cats do when they're especially happy and I had to push her (the cat, 
that is) off my lap before a terrible accident happened. 
 
I needed help. I needed advice. This was the most important thing that 
had ever happened to me, and I needed to talk to someone. I went to see 
my dad. 
 
"Dad, there's this girl at High School ..." He looked up from his 
papers. "And I think she's, er, rather nice, er, ..." He grinned at me. 
"How do I ... how do I. I mean, I want to. I mean. You know." "Robert, 
you've only just met her. I guess you're asking me about pickup lines." 
"I guess" "It's easy, son. You just talk to her about anything you're 
interested in." "But my tongue freezes up, I don't know what to say." 
Dad had an answer for that, too. "Just pretend you're not scared, 
pretend you've done this dozens of times. Imagine you're Bond, James 
Bond. On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Licensed to Kill and all that. 
Think what 007 would have said, and say that. She'll be just as nervous 
as you are, she's not used to boys either." "But Dad, I'm only four-
eleven, and she's at least six inches taller than me." "Bobby, don't 
worry about your height. There's plenty of girls your size or shorter. 
Anyway, in this life, is isn't brawn that counts, it's brains." I didn't 
want some weedy girl even shorter than me - I only had eyes for Sandi. I 
gulped, nodded, and went away to compose some cool dialogue. 
 
Next day, I cycled to Salt Mountain High, determined to be the suave 
debonair man-about-town, determined not to let my lack of height ruin my 
life. It started going wrong at once. I was just getting my books out of 
my locker, when a couple of guys, horsing around in the hall, decided 
that I would make a good victim. That's the trouble with being short and 
slight. I was watching them carefully, but that didn't help me. 
Suddenly, one of them shoved the other one, who cannoned into me, 
sending me flying. I couldn't move out of the way fast enough, because 
of my gammy knee. And, to my horror, I found they'd shoved me into 
Sandi. And they ran away, laughing. 
 
I was afraid that I'd knock her down, but luckily my weight wasn't 
enough to make her lose her balance. I bounced off her, and fell over; 
she helped me get up off the floor. "Do you know those boys?" she said. 
I grimaced. "No. You know they did that on purpose? They wanted me to 
make you fall over." "Yes, I know", she said, looking thoughtful. "There 
were boys who played that game at my last school." "Come on, Sandi, 
we'll be late for class." 
 
Her eyes were grey. And she was beautiful.

Chapter 18 - Bunny and Sandi
 
At lunch break, I took my courage in both hands, as it were. I told 
myself that she was just as scared as I was, and I turned to her, and 
said "Sandi, let's go eat in the cafeteria." She closed her books and 
nodded, and off we went. 
 
I tried not to think about what we must look like. My head just about 
came up to her chin, and if I looked horizontally forward, my eyes were 
at the same height as her nipples. I tried not to stare at them too 
obviously. It was better when we sat down, the difference wasn't so 
obvious. She ate like a horse; I thought girls were supposed to be 
dainty? I couldn't possibly get through all the food they gave me, and 
when I saw Sandi looking hungrily at my fries, I offered them to her. 
She grinned, and scooped them all onto her plate, and finished them in 
no time. "Thanks, Bunny. I have a fast metabolism, I eat as much as I 
can, and I don't get fat. I hardly ever get enough to eat; normal meals 
are just not enough." She might not be fat, but she certainly filled up 
her clothes rather well. "I have the opposite problem; they put such 
mountains of food on my plate, I can never eat it all." Sandi looked at 
me, up and down. "You're too thin, Bunny. You should eat more." "You 
sound like my mother, she keeps saying that, too. I eat as much as I 
can, I really can't eat any more." Sandi laughed. "I'm not your Mommy. 
Hey, let's go sit outside, enjoy the sunshine." 
 
We found a patch of grass that wasn't too grungy. Sandi knelt down, her 
feet pointing out behind her, and settled back, sitting on her calves. I 
sat cross-legged in front of her; I still had to look way up to see her 
eyes, but at least that was more because of our sitting positions. "You 
know, I've never understood how girls sit like that. If I try that, I 
get terrible cramp in my ankles and calves." Sandi laughed. "If I sat 
like you are, I'd be showing everything I've got!" I blushed. "I didn't 
mean, I mean, I mean I didn't mean ..." "No, it's OK Bunny. Have you got 
a sister?" "No, just a cat, Phoebe. She's a bit like you, actually." And 
then I thought about yesterday, and I blushed deeper. "Like me? How?" 
"Well, she walks a bit like you, sort of graceful and feline, you know?" 
I could hardly tell her the rest of it, could I? "What about you, Sandi? 
Any siblings?" "No", she said. "Not even a cat. I love cats. I'd love to 
meet yours. I've always wanted a little kitten of my own." "Sure, you 
can meet Phoebe. But don't expect too much. Cats take a long time to 
warm up to people; she'll be very stand-offish for a long time." And 
then the bell went for the afternoon session. 
 
That afternoon was math. Calculus. I love calculus - it's so cool, so 
elegant. Sandi spent most of the afternoon looking bored, and staring 
out of the window. I spent quite a lot of time staring at Sandi, and 
trying not to look as if I was. When you saw her from the side, she was, 
well, I don't know how to describe it. Deep. Her body was sort of thick, 
and you could see that only part of it was the way her breasts pushed 
her blouse forward. Although that was quite a lot of it. I compared her 
with the other girls. She was a lot deeper. And when you looked at her 
from the front, she was very wide. Wide in the shoulders, wide in the 
hips, and even wide in the waist. I knew she wasn't fat, because when 
I'd been pushed against her, she hadn't felt flabby and soft. She'd felt 
quite firm - hard, even. I'd bounced off her like a billiard ball off a 
side cushion. At the end of the afternoon, I had a peek at her exercise 
book. She hadn't done a thing, not a single example! I asked her about 
it. 
 
"It's all completely Greek. All these dx's and dy's and stuff, it just 
doesn't make sense. I just can't do this stuff, it's too hard. How can 
something be infinitely small - that's just stupid. And what's the use 
of it, anyway?" "Sandi, if you flunk this course, they could drop you 
from high school, or at least make you take it again." "Oh, I won't 
fail. Don't worry about that," and she smiled. "Sandi, if you can't do 
calculus, you won't be able to do lots of the things that follow on, and 
you'll turn in blank papers, and you'll fail. You will! And it isn't 
infinitely small, its infinitesimally small." "Bunny, don't worry about 
it, I know what I'm doing. I got an A grade at school for math. Come on, 
you can walk me home." I thought about my bicycle, and I thought the 
hell with that. I'm walking a girl home. Hey! Me, walking a girl home - 
I hope everyone notices. 
 
On the way home, I kept up the pressure. I didn't want Sandi to get 
thrown out for flunking math, especially as I thought I could help her. 
"Sandi, calculus isn't so difficult." "Everyone says it is. And they're 
a lot better at math than I am." "But how did you get an A grade at 
school, if you can't do math?" Sandi smiled. "Yes, a lot of people 
wondered about that. But here I am!" I stopped walking. "Sandi, did you 
cheat?" "I didn't copy anyone else's work, if that's what you mean. I 
just persuaded the teacher to give me a good grade." 
 
I usually strap my books to my bicycle carrier when I ride home. But 
walking with Sandi, I had to hold them by the strap, and when you weigh 
85 pounds in your socks, ten pounds of books is a lot. The strap was 
cutting into my hand, and my right arm felt as if it was longer than my 
left. And my bad knee didn't make things any easier. "Hang on a minute, 
Sandi." I put the books down, and put my hands on my hips, taking deep 
breaths. "What's the matter, Bunny? Are you all right?" "I'll be all 
right in a minute. I usually cycle, I'm not used to carrying all these 
books." "Here, let me", she said, and before I could stop her, she'd 
scooped up my books, and I found myself being walked home by a girl who 
was carrying my books for me. She didn't seem to have any trouble with 
them, and it made my life easier, so I decided that I was being silly 
about this. If Sandi doesn't mind carrying my books, then that was fine 
my me. Hey - at least I was walking a girl home, even if she was 
carrying my books. 
 
Chapter 19 - Infinitesimals 
 
When we got to her house, I was shocked. It was an awful hovel, a dump, 
really run down. I guess they weren't very well off. She invited me in 
for a glass of lemonade. I met her mother, a small woman who looked at 
me nervously, like maybe I was an axe murderer come to kill her 
daughter. We sat outside on the lawn, and I turned to Sandi, and said 
"Sandi, let me explain to you about calculus." What an immortal pick-up 
line. James Bond would have been proud of me. "I won't understand a word 
of it," she warned me. 
 
"Calculus is about the way things change, the way things move. You can 
use it for so many things, it's the Goddess of Mathematics." "Like what, 
for instance," said Sandi. I tried to think of something that would 
appeal to a girl. "Well, suppose you have twenty feet of fencing, and 
four corner posts, so you have to make a rectangle. What's the greatest 
amount of grass you can enclose, and what shape is the best?" Sandi 
frowned. "I wouldn't even know how to start working that out", she said. 
"What's the answer?" "You can work it out with calculus, and the answer 
is a square, five by five. Twenty five square feet of grass. Now, that's 
a useful thing, isn't it?" "I suppose so, especially if you're a 
Rabbit," she laughed. I looked up at her frowning, but she wasn't making 
fun of me, she was laughing with me, not at me, if you know what I mean. 
"OK, Bunny, maybe it's useful, but it's still too difficult." "No it 
isn't, Sandi. Trust me. It's just that people explain it in a difficult 
way. Let's start with gradients." 
 
"You know how different hills have different steepnesses? Some might 
have a 1-in-6 grade, others might be 1-in-12. If you measure how much 
you rise for ten yards horizontal motion, then that's the gradient. So, 
if you rise one yard for ten yards of horizontal, that's a gradient of 
1/10. If you rise two yards for ten yards of horizontal, that's a 
gradient of 1/5." 
 
"Well, of course. I knew that already", said Sandi. I continued. "OK, 
you see - it isn't as difficult as they pretend. Call the vertical 
height Y and the horizontal X. Then the gradient is the change in Y 
divided by the change in X." Sandi thought about this for a second. 
"Yes, of course. That's saying the same thing." "Right. So now, instead 
of saying "the change in", let's say delta." "Why?" asked Sandi. 
"Because it's shorter to say." "Fair enough." "Right then - the gradient 
is delta Y over delta X." Sandi nodded. "And if we use ten inches 
instead of ten yards, we get the same gradient, 0.1. You see that?" 
Sandi nodded again. "Great", I said "now you understand about gradients, 
and about delta. Now we'll do infinitesimals." Sandi shook her head, 
"This is where I get lost." "No, Sandi, honestly, none of it is 
difficult. Stay with it. Think of a hill with a gradient of 0.1 at 
first, then it slowly gets steeper, until it's 0.3. A hill that curves - 
lots of hills do that." "OK", she said, her eyes closed and her head 
thrown back, "I've got that." Sandi with her head thrown back was quite 
a sight. She had hills that curve, with some very interesting gradients. 
I was feeling less and less infinitesimal all the time. 
 
"If we measure the rise for 100 yards of horizontal, and then do the 
same for ten inches, we'll get a bigger gradient with the 100 yards." 
"Yes", said Sandi, "because the hill is curving upwards." "So which one 
is right?", I asked. "What's the real gradient?" "Well, Buns, the 
measurement with ten inches is more realistic, because the one with 100 
yards is really measuring the gradient further along." Buns? I decided 
to let the "Buns" stand for now, we were getting close. "Right! But ten 
inches has the same problem. We want one inch". Sandi looked thoughtful. 
"Well, really one inch could have the same problem couldn't it?" "Yes" I 
was getting excited now, and waving my arms about a lot, like I do. We 
were nearly there. "But as we make the delta X less and less, the 
gradient doesn't change very much, because the delta Y gets less also. 
And by the time we've got the delta X really, really small, the gradient 
has pretty much stabilized. So even when delta x is almost zero, we can 
get an accurate estimate of the gradient. And that's infinitesimals." 
"Hang on, what's infinitesimals? Where did they come in?" "When delta X 
is really really small, it's infinitesimal." "Is that all it means? 
Really really small?" "Well, even smaller than that. Really really 
really small. But not quite zero." Sandi stood up. I decided that I'd 
rather stay seated and look up to her, than stand up and look up to her. 
 
"So what's the big deal? Why don't they just say 'really really really 
small. But not quite zero'?" "Because maths is full of shorthand 
expressions. Infinitesimal is just easier to say. Just like delta X." 
Sandi looked at her watch. "Bunny, I've got to go now, I'll see you 
tomorrow at school." I stood up. I wanted to kiss her goodbye, but I 
asked James Bond what he'd do, and he said it wasn't cool, so I didn't. 
I picked up my books, and walked back to school. Well, I wasn't going to 
leave my bike there to get vandalized, was I? 
 
By the end of the week, Sandi had really understood infinitesimals, and 
I'd introduced her to the idea of limits, by explaining that as you 
shrunk down delta X and delta Y, the gradient approached a fixed number. 
What really surprised me was the results of the Friday afternoon test. 
Sandi very smugly showed me that she had an A grade. Now, not even I 
believe that I'm that good a teacher, so I asked her outright - "Sandi, 
did you cheat?" I really couldn't see any other way she could have 
gotten an A. Understanding infinitesimals and limits doesn't give you 
mastery over the Goddess of Mathematics. I knew I could get her up to 
speed, but it would take time. In answer, she shook her head and pointed 
at Mr Devonshire. I looked at him. "What?" "Round his neck, Bunny, 
look!" I looked. He was wearing a blue scarf round his neck. I turned to 
look at Sandi, and yes, it was exactly the same as hers. I looked 
puzzled. "I don't understand. Why is he wearing a scarf like yours?" "It 
isn't a scarf like mine, it *is* mine. Or rather it was. I gave it to 
him. And he gives me good grades." 
 
I couldn't understand. Maybe I was thick, but I just couldn't see the 
connection. "Why would he give you good grades just because you gave him 
a scarf? And why is he wearing your scarf round his neck? I don't get 
it." Sandi regarded me, grinning. "Because I told him to. Bunny, you're 
red hot on calculus, but there's more to life than infinitesimals." 
Well, she obviously wasn't going to tell me, so I gave up. Girls like to 
be all strange and mysterious sometimes, I've noticed. Dad says it's 
something to do with the Mother Goddess. He gets pretty strange too, at 
times. 

Chapter 20 - Sandi Meets Phoebe
 
That weekend, I invited her round to my house, to meet Phoebe. I kind of 
hoped that just maybe more would happen, but I liked being around Sandi 
anyway, so even if nothing happened, that was cool. She was so 
confident, so sure of herself, so like Phoebe. I worried about things 
all the time - my height, spots, sex. Getting to school on time. Making 
sure that no-one saw my leg-brace. Getting bullied. Getting laid (would 
I ever? could I?). Sandi radiated serenity and certainty. She always 
knew where she was going, and she never seemed to have any doubts, just 
like Phoebe. I felt good just being near her. 
 
Phoebe is a Persian long-hair. She's staggeringly beautiful, and she 
knows it. Her coat is a smoky grey, and she looks like a sexy expensive 
fur coat on four legs. She's also graceful and athletic, and she doesn't 
mind boasting about that, either. I've seen her walking briskly along 
the half-inch-wide top of our wooden fence, leap up three feet to the 
roof of the shed, and ignoring the 1.0 gradient of the roof disappear 
over the top. But she has weapons, and knows how to use them. I once saw 
her face off a dog that had made the mistake of trying to sniff her rear 
end; one swipe of her flick-knives into his nose, and the dog moved 
faster than a scared rabbit. You don't invade Phoebe's personal space 
without her permission, especially if you're a dog. She was a deadly 
hunter, too, and brought me trophies to prove her prowess. Mice mostly, 
some birds and even a few squirrels. Sometimes they were dead, but more 
often they were still alive, and she'd play with them cruelly, torturing 
the poor things to death. I tried to stop her once, but she bit my 
finger as if to say "Keep off", and took her victim out into the garden 
to savor its death struggles. Phoebe had a vicious, sadistic nature; she 
was very bad news to anything that she regarded as prey. If you don't 
like it, don't keep a cat. 
 
But Phoebe was also a playful companion. When she was in the mood, she 
and I could keep each other amused for hours with nothing more than a 
piece of string. And sometimes we would wrestle; Phoebe holding back the 
sharp daggers she could stick into my hand, unless I went too far. 
 
I explained all this to Sandi. "She looks like a sweet little thing, but 
don't ever forget she's a carnivorous animal with teeth and claws." "I 
know what you mean", she said, smiling sweetly at me, "I'm the same." 
Well, I suppose people are carnivorous, although our teeth aren't much 
use except against hamburgers, and I don't think my claws are any use at 
all. I introduced them. Phoebe jumped onto my lap, and wanted to be 
stroked. I showed Sandi how to do it; never stroke her the wrong way, 
and don't take liberties underneath until she lets you. All the while 
Sandi was doing it, I was wondering what it would feel like if the cat 
wasn't there, if Sandi was stroking what was directly underneath. After 
a few minutes, I felt tightly uncomfortable, and wriggled a bit to 
loosen the constriction of my trousers. Phoebe jumped off my lap, and 
Sandi saw what was underneath. I went scarlet. "Unhh, uh", I said. What 
would James Bond have said? "Uh, unhh," I repeated, incoherently. Sandi 
grinned at me, "What's the matter, Bunny? Cat got your tongue? Or did 
the cat get something else?" So I said what James Bond would have said 
in that situation. "Unhh, uh, urgh". 
 
Sandi went across the room and picked Phoebe up. "NO!" I shouted, but it 
was too late. You should *never* pick up an adult cat by the scruff of 
the neck. That's the way cats carry kittens, and it's a total affront to 
the cat's dignity. Phoebe did something too fast for me to see what it 
was, and Sandi's arm started bleeding all over her white blouse. She 
dropped the cat, and stared at the red patch spreading over her sleeve. 
"Come on, Sandi, let's see to that." "She scratched me! That bitch 
scratched me!" "Sandi, she's not a bitch, she's a cat, and any cat would 
scratch you for doing what you just did." I pulled her into the kitchen 
to wash the scratch. You shouldn't ignore a thing like that, because a 
cat's claws are unhygenic; the last thing that Phoebe used them on might 
have been a dead mouse or worse. 
 
Sandi rolled up her sleeve, and we stared at the blood welling from her 
forearm. Then I stared at her forearm; I'll come back to that in a 
minute. The scratch wasn't too bad, really, maybe it stung a little. I 
let the cold tap run on it for a little while, and then dabbed Tincture 
of Iodine on it, which stings even more, but it's a great disinfectant. 
I put some gauze along the scratch, and then a bandage, to keep it in 
place. Sandi looked like she'd been in the wars, and I asked her how she 
was. "Naw, it's just a scratch, I'll probably live" she said, doing a 
John Wayne impression, and we both laughed. 
 
"That's a very big forearm you've got there, Sandi", I said. She stopped 
laughing and looked down at it. We both looked at it. I thought about my 
own pipe-cleaner arms, and wished I had a hunk of meat like that. "I'm a 
big girl, Bunny. A very big girl, with very big arms. Look, I'll show 
you." And she rolled her other sleeve right up, and flexed her arm. 
 
I nearly wet myself, there and then. I had never, ever seen anything 
like it. I stood there with my mouth open and my cock hard, looking at 
an upper arm that was probably bigger than my thigh. No, make that 
definitely. There were lumps, bumps and bulges, there were veins and 
arteries supplying blood to all that power - muscles I couldn't even 
name, in great thick layers upon layers. You could see the blue veins 
inside; I thought blood was supposed to be red? And running down the 
front of her forearm up to her hand, a great thick cable. Sometimes, 
late at night, I would dream about having arms like that, arms that 
could frighten off the bullies, and then I'd wake up with my skinny, 
scrawny pipe-cleaners, you could see the bones through the skin. And 
here was Sandi, just a girl - no, you couldn't call her just a girl - 
with muscles bigger than I'd ever fantasized about for myself. I thought 
about how strong those arms must be; I imagined how her hands would be 
able to open all the jars I couldn't manage. I bet she could crack nuts 
without a nutcracker. I felt that I ought to say something, but all that 
I could manage was "Unhh, uh". I wanted to touch it, to feel that hard 
muscle, but I didn't dare - what if she got upset? Before I could work 
myself up to ask her she put her incredible arm away. Just as well, 
otherwise I might have had an accident. Then she said "Come on, Bunny, 
explain to me about dy/dx again." 
 
We sat down in the lounge, and I explained to her about cats; that was 
more important. "You've got to realize, Sandi, that a cat is an 
individual, with dignity and gravitas. When they play with you it's 
because they want to. You wouldn't pick a grown man up by the scruff of 
the neck - you mustn't pick a grown cat up that way." Sandi regarded me 
steadily through those smoky grey eyes - her eyes were the same color as 
Phoebe's coat. "I've never picked up a man by the scruff of the neck", 
she said. The way she said it, made me wonder. If the rest of her body 
was in proportion to her arms, she probably could pick up a man by his 
neck. I shivered, just thinking about it. "So how should you pick up a 
cat?" 
 
"First of all, you shouldn't. Being lifted up is humiliating." "Yes, I 
know", said Sandi, smiling gently, as of one who knows that being lifted 
up is humiliating. I continued - "You should wait until the cat jumps up 
onto you. But if you're really on good terms with a cat, or if it's a 
real emergency, you would put your hands under her fore legs, and pick 
her up that way. And you should put her down again as soon as you can, 
or at least put her on a flat surface as soon as possible." Sandi turned 
to me and put her hands under my armpits. "Like from here?" she said. I 
couldn't control my tremble, and I couldn't use my tongue, so I just 
nodded. She squeezed me gently, said "OK, I understand now." and let me 
go. Phoebe jumped up and said "Mrrrp?", and stalked onto Sandi's lap. 
"She's forgiven you, Sandi." "She's forgiven me? I'm the one who got 
wounded!" 
 
That evening, I lay in bed and thought about Sandi. I replayed the sight 
of her arm in my mind, and thought about how wonderful it must be to 
have all that strength, never to be afraid of bullies. I wondered what 
the rest of her was like, whether her body was as big as it looked. I 
imagined gazing deep into her soft grey eyes and telling her how 
terrific she was. And I wondered if I could work up the nerve to ask her 
for a date. I thought of James Bond and tried to be cool, casual and 
collected. And I knew it wasn't going to work; Bond was at least six 
feet tall, and it's easy to be self-assured when you're a sensible size. 
Then I thought of Phoebe; she was only small, but she had dignity, 
authority and a really cool attitude to life. I was going to be like 
Phoebe. 
 
Next week at school, the same two louts, George Salmon and a guy I 
didn't know, played the same trick on me, one pushing the other into me. 
Only this time, Sandi wasn't the girl I cannoned into. It was Diana 
Tasker, and she went flying to the floor, with me on top of her. I 
apologized, of course, but she was convinced it was all my fault and 
called me a clumsy ox. If only. I felt awful about it, even though I 
knew it wasn't my fault. 
 
At break, I went and found Sandi, talking to Sally Armitage. This 
particular 85 pound weakling had had sand kicked in his face once too 
often. I didn't beat about the bush - I came straight to the point. 
"Sandi, I'm fed up with being bullied." Sally giggled, yeah, thanks a 
lot, just what I needed. But Sandi took me more seriously. She looked 
down at me (I wonder if there's any way I can put on, oh, about 12 
inches?) and frowned. "I don't see how you can stop them." Thank you, 
Sandi. Let's try being less subtle. I described how I'd just been pushed 
into Diana Tasker, and I said "What I really need is a big brother." 
"But Bunny, you don't have a brother." Well, I wasn't going to ask her 
straight out to be my protection, not in front of Sally. In fact, I 
couldn't see myself asking her straight out at all. But I couldn't just 
let this ride - if I knuckled under, then every knucklehead would see me 
as a victim, and I'd be back where I was at my last school. 
 
As I cycled home that evening, I asked myself, what would Phoebe have 
done? I thought about it. She's have slid gracefully out of the way of 
George, slashed him with a needle-like claw as he went past, and he'd 
never have tried that trick on her again. It must be nice to be a cat. 
But maybe there was a lesson here - Phoebe made up for being small by 
having a rather vicious set of weapons. Could I do the same? All I 
needed to do was make sure that people saw me as a predator, not a 
victim. Phoebe carried a flick-knife, or rather a whole set of them. But 
I knew I could get into really serious trouble if I took a flick-knife 
into school, or any other kind of knife, come to that. 
 
Chapter 21 - Bunny Hits Back

Next day, I took my baseball bat into school; six pounds of hard wood. I 
can't move very fast with my bad knee, so I simply came up behind George 
Salmon, swung my bat as hard as I could, and cracked him on the head. He 
went straight down, and stayed down, out cold. I put my bat in my 
locker, and waited to see what the consequences would be. They were not 
good. 
 
Everyone had seen what I'd done - that was the whole point. I wanted to 
establish that you don't mess with Robert Rabbit (and you don't ever, 
ever call me Bunny, snarl snarl, Jimmy Cagney voice). But then The 
Powers That Be stepped in - apparently, it's OK for two big jocks to 
bully a little guy, but it isn't OK for him to hit back. I was called up 
in front of the Principal, Mr Dixon, who explained that my sin wasn't 
that I'd hit back, but that I'd done so unfairly, using a baseball bat, 
and hitting from behind. I suppose he thought I should have challenged 
the two of them to a fist fight? Anyway, he was suspending me from 
school pending a decision about whether to expel me; apparently my 
excellent academic record would be taken into account, as well as the 
fact that I'd never been in a fight before. I thought of telling him 
that I had, although rather one-sided, but wisdom kept my mouth shut. 
"Rabbit, this is serious stuff; assault with a weapon." I thought of 
explaining that there wouldn't be any point in me committing assault 
without a weapon. A bit like eating fries, without the potatoes. "I hope 
we don't have to get the police involved." Yeah, me too. Somehow, I 
couldn't see the police being interested in a fight between two school 
kids. "We really can't have this kind of thing in a good school like 
Salt Mountain High."
 
As I left his office, I noticed that he was wearing a blue scarf round 
his neck, just like Mr Devonshire, the math teacher, which reminded me 
of Sandi, so I went to tell her about my troubles. 
 
"Oh, Bunny, Bunny, how could you? That's so stupid, of course you'd get 
caught." "But Sandi, if I just let them bully me, I become a victim, and 
it just keeps getting worse and worse." We were sitting down by the 
river bank, throwing stones into the water. "Bunny, believe me, violence 
doesn't solve anything." "It's all right for you, Sandi. You don't get 
bullied like I do. And it isn't just that I'm only five feet tall." 
"Four eleven", she said. "OK, four eleven. And it isn't just that I'm so 
skinny, either." "But you are skinny, you know, you're the littlest boy 
at Salt Mountain High." Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in, Sandi. She 
picked up a stone that I reckoned I would barely be able to lift, and 
sent it flying down the river. "Look, Sandi, if I show you something, 
will you swear to keep it a secret?" She turned to me and raised her 
eyebrows, smiling at me. "Cross my heart." I pulled up my trouser leg 
and showed her my brace. "Sandi, I just can't move very fast because of 
this." "So why do you wear it?" "Because otherwise, my knee just can't 
support my weight. I had polio when I was a kid ... " "I thought they'd 
wiped out polio", Sandi interrupted. "Not quite. Almost, but not quite. 
I've recovered quite well, really, but it's left me, well, skinny and
underdeveloped. Too short and too scrawny. I suppose I'm lucky to have 
as much as I do have. And my right knee isn't strong enough. And I can't 
throw a ball, because of my shoulders." 
 
Sandi rolled over to her side, facing me. She put her hand on the 
ground, and straightened her arm, lifting herself up with just that one 
powerful arm. "Oh, Jesus, Sandi, I can't even do that with my good leg. 
You see, Sandi, if the other kids find out about my brace, I'm as good 
as dead." Sandi nodded. She knew how cruel kids were, especially to 
anyone different. "Bunny, don't worry, I won't tell anyone. We're 
friends, right? And don't worry about getting expelled; I can fix that 
too." 
 
What? No way! Mr Dixon was going to can me, after pretending to think 
about it for appearances sake, and I told Sandi so. "Don't worry, Bunny, 
I can fix it. Didn't you notice he was wearing one of my blue scarves 
round his neck?" Yes, now she pointed it out, I did notice that, and 
wondered about it at the time. It was exactly the same as the one she 
wore in her hair, knotted round her ponytail. Men don't usually wear 
silk scarves round their neck (apart from the Red Baron, of course), and 
there seemed to be a few people dressed that way at school. So I asked 
Sandi what was it with the scarves, and she looked at me without 
speaking for a long time. I looked back at her, almost hypnotized by her 
calm grey eyes. I had the feeling that she could see deep into my soul; 
I felt small and foolish. Some women acquire the knack of making us men 
feel like little boys, and Sandi had it already. 
 
Then she shook her head briskly, dispersing the spell, and said "I'll 
explain it one day. Trust me." Which sounded just like my parents "When 
you're older, Robert". And I wondered if I'd ever be able to ask her out 
for a date. And then I thought of her arms again. Oh god, and one thing 
leads to another, and it was just as well that she turned and started 
throwing stones again. 
 
She was right, though. When Mr Dixon called me back into his office for 
the verdict, he said "It's been decided to let you stay. But there must 
be no repetition of this disgraceful conduct." "No, Mr Dixon." "From now 
on, I want to see a model student - you're on probation." "Yes, Mr 
Dixon." I waited to hear what my punishment was going to be. Detention 
from now till eternity? Ten thousand lines? "You're banned from school 
sports all this year." I could hardly believe my ears. This was supposed 
to be a punishment? Then I thought, I suppose for some guys it would be. 
So I kept a straight face, hung my head like a condemned criminal, and 
whispered "Yes, Mr Dixon." "What's that, I can't hear you?" So I said it 
loud and clear, trying to sound real disappointed, "Yes, Mr Dixon." 
 
When I told Sandi about the lucky break with the sports, she didn't seem 
be at all surprised. "Yes, that's great, Bunny, it means your leg brace 
secret won't get out." "Yeah!" I almost danced with glee, except you 
don't dance when you can hardly walk properly. I put out my hands, Sandi 
slapped down on top of them, I did the same for her, and I thought about 
the Luck of the Rabbits. 
 
Did you know that Rabbits are lucky? You probably already know about 
rabbits feet, but Dad always tells me that Rabbits are lucky, too. "And 
you know what, son? The harder we work, the luckier we get." Dad had 
this theory that everyone gets lucky sometimes, but most people were too 
dumb to notice, and just let it slide by. He demonstrated this in the 
street, quite often, by spotting a nickel or dime that someone else had 
dropped, that no-one else had noticed. And then, get this, he wouldn't 
pick it up! He'd leave it for the next guy; he called it a Random Act of 
Senseless Kindness. This was a pet theory of my parents. If people 
occasionally performed random acts of senseless kindness, the world 
would be a better place. So they'd leave a quarter in public phone 
boxes, gave a dollar to beggars, stuff like that, making the world a 
better place. 
 
I'd made sure that I wouldn't be such a victim by demonstrating that I 
could hit back. And, somehow, Sandi had helped me get away with it. I 
figured I was lucky having her for a friend, and I asked Mom what I 
should do for someone who has just done me a good turn, how to say thank 
you? Mom said what I expected. "Do a Random Act of Senseless Kindness." 
 
Mom's full of crap like that. Something to do with the sixties, I guess, 
because she was one of the Flower Children, she told me. I thought about 
it, but not for very long, because gratitude delayed is gratitude 
denied. Then I asked Phoebe what I should do, and she yawned, showing 
the sharp teeth that terrorized mice for several blocks. And I realized 
what Phoebe would want, and I knew what to get for Sandi. 
 
I asked her to meet me at our usual place, down by the river. I put a 
blanket down, to make her feel more comfortable, and I was sitting on it 
waiting for her when she arrived. She looked a bit surprised about the 
blanket, and maybe got the wrong idea, but not nearly as surprised as 
she looked when I pulled out of my bag, the biggest bar of chocolate in 
the world. Phoebe loves chocolate, and I figured Sandi would too. It was 
two pounds in weight, and cost me fifteen dollars. I opened it, broke 
off a chunk, and handed it to Sandi. She looked at it, smelt it, and 
tasted it. "Sandi, you're acting like you've never had chocolate 
before." "I haven't". Sandi's Mom worked in a supermarket, and they 
didn't pay her very much. I suppose there wasn't much spare cash for 
little luxuries like chocolate. She nibbled at it, and swallowed. A 
blissful look came over her face. "Hey, it's great!" She bit off a 
chunk, and chewed. I watched, as the taste sensation spread through her. 
She closed her eyes, threw back her head, arched her back and almost 
purred, and at that moment, I thought "Phoebe", and I wanted to rub her 
belly and other things. She ate the whole thing, except a tiny piece 
that I had to keep her company. "Bunny", she said, "you're my friend." 
And inside, I glowed. 
 
Chapter 22 - dy/dx 
 
Late summer turned into fall, and the leaves turned interesting shades 
of red, yellow and brown. Sandi and I used to go for hikes in the 
country - not very long ones, because of my knee, but it sure was good 
knowing that if I got into walking difficulties, Sandi would be there to 
help me out. 
 
And I was there to help her out - that's what buddies were for. Today, I 
was going to introduce her to the glories of dy/dx, something that I 
thought demonstrated the essential beauty of mathematics in general, and 
calculus in particular. We went down into the forest, walking along the 
pathways. Sandi carried some food and a couple of bottles of wine (which 
made us feel really grown-up); also a couple of books, a blanket and a 
few other necessaries. I didn't carry anything. This might seem a bit 
ungentlemanly, but if you saw Sandi and me side by side, you'd 
understand. It was practical, is all. 
 
When we went walking, we'd start off dressed normally. But after we got 
away from human eyes, Sandi would take off her skirt, and walk in 
shorts. And I'd take off my brace. My parents said I wasn't supposed to 
do that, but Sandi explained to me that unless I exercised it, it would 
never get stronger. I'd spoken very seriously to my doctor about this - 
I didn't want to make things worse. He said that as long as it didn't 
hurt, I could leave it off, but as soon as I felt pain, I had to either 
sit down and rest, or put the brace back on. 
 
I remember the first time Sandi took off her skirt. First of all, I 
wasn't sure what was about to happen here - we were miles from anywhere, 
and this lovely hefty girl was taking off her skirt. Was I about to get 
lucky? No, Sandi saw me as a friend, nothing more. Although I wanted 
more, I would settle for that. My quality of life had improved a lot 
since I'd met her, and at least some of it was her doing. Anyway, I was 
explaining about Sandi taking off her skirt. Or rather, I've been trying 
to avoid explaining, because it's difficult for me to explain. 
 
You remember I explained about the first time I saw her biceps? Later 
on, she let me measure them, and they were sixteen inches around, fully 
expanded. Don't bother measuring your own arm, try putting a tape 
measure around your calf. Chances are, if you're a regular guy, you'll 
measure sixteen inches. Now have a good look at your calf - that's how 
big Sandi's upper arms were. Take a good look. That's a girl, remember, 
and that's her arms. She let me squeeze them when I measured them, and 
all I can say is, they didn't squeeze, not with the force I was able to 
exert. Hard as mahogany. Try that on your calves - they'll give like 
foam rubber. Sandi wasn't just big, she was hard, rock hard. And by the 
way, I was right about Sandi not needing a nut cracker. I'd half 
expected that she'd be able to crack walnuts in her hand, but I couldn't 
believe it when she showed me she could do brazil nuts too. And I love 
brazil nuts. Walnuts too. And hazelnuts. 
 
OK, OK, skirt, skirt. I'm getting there. This isn't easy. Unhh. You know 
how a cat can make a stage entrance and wait for applause, as it were? 
Phoebe does it - she stalks into the room, tail held high. Then she 
stops and waits, and you just know she's waiting for the ovation. 
 
We were in the forest, and Sandi fell behind me a bit, and then called 
out to me "Wait up, Bunny". So naturally I turned to see what the matter 
was. And then Sandi started stripping. First, she took off her walking 
sweater. You know when a girl takes off a sweater, pulling it over her 
head? There's a point where she's got it half off, over her head, arms 
stretched high and back. Sandi's large breasts stood out in convincing 
protrusion; my eyes stood out nearly as far as my cock. Then, having 
gotten me interested, she proceeded to the main course. 
 
She took off her belt, and ran it through her fingers. Oooh! Then, she 
twisted to one side, giving me a profile view of her great breasts, and 
undid her knee-length skirt, which she then unwrapped like a sculptor 
unveils a statue. Underneath, she was wearing shorts, and as she stood 
there like Phoebe waiting for an ovation, I saw her legs for the first 
time. 
 
They were big. To say that Sandi's legs were big, is like saying that 
the sky is high. She stood with her feet twenty inches apart, her hands 
on her hips. Her calves were big - her thighs were outrageous. I didn't 
know which to look at; after looking up and down for a while, I decided 
that her thighs were the biggest killer. After a while, I realized that 
I was standing there with my mouth open. I was sure that Sandi knew the 
effect she was having, because she just stood there, grinning at me. 
 
I knew I was supposed to say something. I tried to think of something 
casual, like James Bond would say, like "Nice weather", or "Pass the 
mustard", but I couldn't think of anything appropriate. How about "Fuck-
a-duck!"? Eventually, I found something suitable, "Jesus, Sandi! Thighs 
to die for!" She smiled, and looked pleased and a bit relieved. 
Relieved? Did she think I would disapprove? She stuffed her clothes into 
the backpack, and that was the first time I saw Sandi's legs. 
 
After that, whenever we went walking, the point where Sandi took her 
skirt off was one of the high spots of the day. She always made a bit of 
a show of it for me, and I always gave her some suitable acclaim. 
 
Anyway, back to today. Today, I had two objectives. One was to explain 
to Sandi about dy/dx, and the other was to measure those killer thighs. 
She had to be twenty inches, easy. Maybe more. Must be more. I had a 
tape measure, just in case she let me use it. We spread the blanket in a 
small clearing in the forest, and I had my usual fantasy about leaping 
on top of her and raping her while we were out of earshot of 
civilization. Don't worry, I'm not really the rapist sort. And anyway, 
*me* rape *Sandi*? I doubt if a team of three jocks could do it. Still, 
the fantasy was nice. 
 
We got the picnic out of her backpack. I screwed the corkscrew into the 
cork, Sandi pulled the cork out. It's called division of labor - each 
one does what he does best. Screwing - my department. Muscle stuff - 
Sandi. We lay there and talked while we ate and drank wine, talked about 
our classmates, about the teachers, about my science project, about her 
latest achievements on the weights. Sandi cracked nuts for us both, and 
she didn't use a nutcracker. We didn't bother to bring one - I wasn't 
strong enough to use one, and Sandi didn't need one. 
 
Did I mention that Sandi lifted weights? Maybe I forgot, or maybe I 
thought it was obvious. Sandi lifted weights. And she was good at it - 
there was talk of letting her compete in the State High School 
weightlifting that summer. There wasn't a girls division, which was just 
as well, because Sandi wouldn't have wanted to enter it. All she wanted 
was to humiliate the other male competitors by showing them how a girl 
could lift a poundage that they could only think about. But they had 
these rules, and depending on how you read them, girls either were 
allowed to compete, or they weren't. Sandi had a firm opinion, of 
course. "They'll let me compete, Bunny. I know the guy that makes the 
decision, and I'm sure he'll rule the way I want him to." Sandi was 
usually right about such predictions, so I was looking forward to 
cheering her on. I wonder if they allow cheerleaders at such events? 
Anyway, she spent a couple of hours in the gym each day, on the various 
machines, as well as lifting her home-made free weights. I used to come 
by and watch her sometimes, and I wasn't the only one. Even though she 
wore a full track suit, she attracted a fan club whenever she used the 
gym. I noticed that a few of them had Sandi's blue silk scarves round 
their necks. Was she selling them or something? 
 
After we'd eaten, I started explaining about dy/dx. "Imagine we've 
worked out delta_y divided by delta_x, and we let the size of them both 
get infinitesimally small. Then the ratio delta_y/delta_x is called 
dy/dx, for shorthand." "It's all just shorthand, isn't it", observed 
Sandi. "Yes, language is very powerful. When you give something an easy 
name, it's easier to think about it." I replied. "Now let's look at how 
you work out dy/dx." I wrote down an equation, y = x-squared. "Now let's 
work out dy/dx. Consider two points, one at x inches along the x-axis, 
the other at x + delta_x. Then the first point must be x-squared inches 
above the ground ..." "Why?" "Because remember, we said that y = x-
squared; since it is y inches above the ground, that must work out at x-
squared". Sandi frowned. "OK. But so what?" "Now let's look at the 
second point, x + delta_x inches along; that must be (x + delta_x)-
squared inches high, for the same reason." Sandi grinned, cracked 
another brazil nut in her fingers, and passed the kernel to me. 
 
How did she do that? How? I picked up a brazil and squeezed it. Nothing 
happened. So I tried bashing it with a piece of wood - all that happened 
was a dent in the wood. I gave the nut to Sandi, and she put it between 
the pad of her thumb and the side of her index finger, I saw the end of 
her thumb go white, and then I heard the CRACK! that meant another 
brazil had given up the unequal struggle. She handed it to me, with a 
smile, but instead of taking the nut, I took her hand and moved closer, 
for a good look. 
 
I spread her fingers out. Her hands were larger than mine. Her fingers 
were long, but the nails were bitten down, far worse than mine. She 
didn't wear nail varnish, or any kind of jewellery on her fingers. When 
I had examined the back of her hand, I turned it over, and looked at her 
palm. It was thick and heavy, and the ball of her thumb was very large. 
I touched it with my fingertips, and it felt hard; not hard like her 
muscles, but callused hard like the skin underneath your feet. I pulled 
her hand toward me, so I could look at her forearm, but as I did that, 
her fingers closed on my hand. She held me quite gently, but I thought 
of the force that could crack nuts with no apparent effort, and I 
stopped pulling. "Sandi, your hands are so hard, so strong" "All the 
better for cracking your nuts. So what about dy/dx", she asked. 
 
I pulled my hand away, and told my cock to ignore that last remark. "So, 
let's work out the gradient, dy/dx. The difference in height must be (x 
+ delta_x)-squared minus x-squared. Sandi, do you remember how to 
expand that first term, the height of the second point?" Sandi took the 
pencil from me, and lay down on her tummy, her head on one hand. I 
looked at the backs of her thighs; she saw me looking, and bent her 
knees, making her calf muscles bulge hugely. I tried to look away, but 
my eyes were drawn to the great ball of muscle I could see in the middle 
of her calf, as large as a grapefruit. On the paper, she wrote (x-squared
+ 2.x.delta_x + delta_x-squared). "Right. so now we subtract the x- 
squared to get the difference in height." Sandi said "That's easy, we 
just take off the x-squared!" and she wrote on the paper 2.x.delta_x + 
delta_x-squared. "Great", I said. "Now the horizontal distance between 
the two points x and x + delta_x, must be just delta_x. So, to work out 
dy/dx, the gradient, we divide what you just wrote by delta_x. Sandi 
wrote down "2x + delta_x". Now the really clever bit. "Sandi, what will 
happen to that, as delta_x goes infinitesimal?" "You get rid of the 
delta_x, it's so tiny it doesn't matter any more, and you're left with 
2x!" "Sandi, you've just differentiated x-squared!" 
 
Sandi looked triumphant, then dubious. "That's an awful lot of work 
every time you want to differentiate something, isn't it?" She swung 
herself round and sat up, every movement elegant and powerful. Her great 
dominant legs stretched in front of her, commanding my attention and 
respect. Every time this girl moved, she aroused me. And she moved with 
power and grace, like Phoebe, only on a much larger scale, like a big 
blonde lion instead of a cat. Well, a lioness, I suppose, but lionesses 
don't have a big golden mane, and Sandi did. So, she looked like a lion. 
"Well, yes, but once you've done it, you don't ever have to do it again. 
From now on, when someone asks you the derivative of x-squared, you can 
just say 2x, and if you need to, you can prove it!" Sandi raised her 
arms to untie and retie the bright blue scarf she always wore in her 
hair. I thought of the sixteen inch biceps that I couldn't see, but 
which I knew were bulging inside the sleeves of her blouse. Then I 
looked down at the even more impressive sight of Sandi's breasts, raised 
and expanded against the taut cotton of her blouse. I couldn't swear to 
it, but I think she did things like that on purpose. "But what if they 
ask me something else?" "Well, the derivative of x-cubed is 3.x-squared, 
and the derivative of x-fourth is 4.x-cubed, and so on. And the 
derivative of the sum of two things, is the sum of the derivatives." 
Sandi put her pencil down, and lay on her belly with her head in both 
hands. I looked at her. Well, I pretended to look at her face, but 
actually, the more interesting view was a bit below, where her breasts 
were pushing out her blouse in a very filling manner. She knew what she 
was doing to me, I was sure. She was doing a lot of it on purpose, part 
of me thought, and the other part of me just thought "Unhhh". 
 
I got Sandi to try a few for herself, and by the time an hour had gone 
by, she'd mastered the art of differentiating polynomials, since they 
are just sums of powers of x. And now it was time she did something for 
me. I took out my tape measure, and said casually to her, "Sandi, how 
big are your thighs." and I swear my voice only broke once as I said it. 
She looked up from doing her calculus problem, and said "You know, this 
stuff isn't nearly as hard as I thought." I thought about her body, 
which was much harder than anyone would have thought, and I repeated my 
question about her thighs. She looked at my tape measure, smiled, and 
said "Well, since you just happen have brought a tape measure, why don't 
you find out for yourself?" 
 
I knelt down beside her - she was still scribbling away. I tried to get 
the tape under her thigh, but I had no chance, it was too heavy for me 
to move. "Sandi", I said. She looked over her shoulder at me, saw what 
the problem was, and raised her leg enough for me to slip the tape under 
it. I pulled the tape tight, and read what it said. Twenty five inches. 
You know the expression, your imagination boggles? Well, I did some 
fervent boggling right there and then. My waist was about that size! And 
hard, so hard. It felt like a log of wood. There were heavy cables 
running up and down inside, and the veins on her thigh were even bigger 
than the ones on her arms. I could see several muscles, running up and 
down her thigh, and powering her knees. I didn't realize that the human 
body had so many different muscles. I know I didn't have all those, not 
that I could see, anyway. I thought about the pressure that she'd be 
able to exert with those killer thighs; I thought about them wrapped 
round my waist, squeezing, crushing, and I knew that this girl could 
probably kill me without breaking into a sweat. I closed my eyes and 
stroked the back of her thighs gently, up and down, like I would stroke 
Phoebe. I wanted to lick them with my tongue, but didn't dare. I traced 
the lines of the muscles, and the great cords that ran along her legs. 
After a few minutes, Sandi realized what was going on, and she sat up 
and faced me. "Well, what measurement did you get?" "Twenty five 
inches", I replied. 
 
Sandi smiled. "Not bad, eh? Now measure my waist." I crawled up closer 
to her, and put my arms round her waist while she leaned back on her 
arms. I had to get real close to get my arms round her, and my face 
nuzzled against one of her breasts. I savored the feeling for a moment, 
then got on with what Sandi had asked for, measuring her waist. "Twenty 
five inches again", I said. Golly. Boggle. Sandi's thighs were as big as 
her waist. What a girl - correction, what a woman. "I'll measure your 
bust while I'm here", I said. "No you won't", she said, pushing me away. 
She stood up, and brushed crumbs, twigs and leaves from herself. I 
looked up at her, disappointedly, putting on my best unhappy-spaniel 
look. "Oh, come on then," she said, smiling. I stood in front of her, 
and brought the tape up to surround her chest at just the place where 
her nipples bulged through her bra. "Thirty-eight." Wow. "Sandi, you're 
an Amazon!" She smiled at me, and said "Now I'm an Amazon that can do 
calculus. Here.", and she took off her scarf, and tied it round my neck, 
and my heart nearly burst. "Bunny, you're my very best friend in all the 
world. Thank you. Wear this every day, where everyone can see it, and 
you'll get all sorts of good luck." And YES! she kissed me. But on the 
cheek. Bummer. 
 
Chapter 23 - The Lion in Midwinter. 
 
Fall gave way to winter, and I was still a virgin. That might not be 
important to you, but it was very important to a four-eleven sixteen-
year-old bundle of hormones with major worries about ever getting laid. 
As winter spread its white blanket over Salt Mountain, life's 
possibilities narrowed down, and everyone started thinking about 
Christmas. Sandi and I had to stop going for walks - it was just too 
cold for me. I have a tendency to chilblains, because of my poor 
circulation, and I get cold easily, because I don't have enough mass 
(one thing I'd learned, was the difference between weight and mass). So, 
no longer could I enjoy the rapture of gazing at Sandi's thighs, the 
bliss of watching her breasts move under her shirt. Instead, I had to 
stay indoors, where it was impossible to get Sandi alone. 
 
Sandi didn't seem to mind - she just spent more time on the weights. 
We'd go down to the school gym, and she'd work on the machines, shifting 
such colossal amounts of iron that I'd stopped calculating exactly what 
tiny fraction of the weight I could manage. I tried one evening. She'd 
been pushing a weight up and down from her shoulders, and when she 
finished with that, and went onto another machine, I stood up and went 
over to where she'd been working. I got hold of the bar and pushed as 
hard as I could, but it didn't budge. I looked over at Sandi, and she 
was watching me. I tried again, but it still wouldn't move. Sandi came 
over, and said "Bunny, what on earth do you think you're doing?" "I 
wanted to see how strong I was, compared to you." "Bunny, that's silly. 
Your strength is between your ears." "I just wondered. What weight is 
this?" 
 
She looked at the ends of the bar, and at the bar itself. "It's 310 
pounds. No way, Bunny. You'll just hurt yourself trying." "OK, I just 
wanted to feel it. What do you think I would be able to handle?" Sandi 
looked at me with her warm grey eyes, and I felt as if she could see 
everything I had, even the lustful thoughts I had for her. She took most 
of the disks off the bar, and told me to try that, it was only 50 
pounds. "What do you think a normal guy could handle?" I asked. Sandi 
reckoned a hundred pounds, maybe a hundred and fifty if he was really 
strong. I thought about Sandi lifting 310; she was saying that she was 
three times as strong as a normal man. I got under the weight, and 
managed to get the bar off the supports, but I couldn't get my arms 
straight. Then, I was horrified to realize that I wouldn't be able to 
get it back on the supports, and I was about to drop it, which would 
probably break some of my bones. My arms collapsed under the strain, and 
I got ready for the impact on my body, but it never came. I opened my 
eyes; Sandi was holding the weight in both hands, at arms length. 
 
She brought her hands together, then held the bar with just one hand. 
She lowered it to the full extent of her arm, then brought it up again, 
and put it on the supports. "Bunny, I'll do the lifting, you do the 
thinking. OK?" That sounded like a good idea. A simple division revealed 
that Sandi was more than six times as strong as I was; of course with a 
weakling like me, that wasn't saying much. But it said a lot to me. In 
bed at night, sometimes, I would fantasize about what it would be like 
to be as strong as Sandi. Not as strong as some jock football player. 
Sandi. Who thought of me as a friend. 
 
Christmas came and Christmas went. You know what Christmas is like, so I 
won't bother explaining it to you. I bought Sandi the biggest box of 
chocolates I could afford, and when I unwrapped Sandi's present, it 
contained a blue scarf, except where the one she'd given me in the 
forest was just polyester, this one was real silk. But the biggest 
present I got that Christmas, was when I managed to trap Sandi under the 
mistletoe, and I finally got a real kiss from her. She had to help me 
stay upright afterwards. 
 
After Christmas, I found Sandi at the school gym, as usual. I loved to 
sit and watch her there. When there was no-one else around, she'd strip 
off her track suit and work out wearing just a T-shirt and shorts, and I 
could watch her huge biceps and colossal thighs at work. I would sit, 
hugging my knees, watching my Amazon, admiring her power, and wishing I 
had a fifth of her strength. And I used to daydream - usually erotic 
daydreams, with Sandi as the principal character, and me as the boy in 
distress. Or I would calculate the weight she was lifting, and wonder 
what she'd be able to do with that much force in her muscles. And the 
smell of a woman sweating - it isn't the same as a man, and with only 
Sandi exercising, I could smell her more distinctly now. It was such a 
turn-on for me, I used to dream about that smell sometimes. And then 
after she'd finished, after even her big heavy muscles couldn't take any 
more, she'd go and shower, and I'd hear the water running, and I'd 
imagine Sandi naked, the water running down her firm, breasts, dripping 
off her hard nipples, Sandi soaping her body then rinsing it off. And 
she'd come out smelling sweetly of soap, drying her hair on the towel, 
and she'd let me brush it for her, and I'd tie her blue scarf back in. 
And then one evening, while school was still out, after a heavy session 
on the weights, and after I'd finished brushing and tying her hair, she 
just sat there, and I crawled round to face her, and I saw that she was 
crying. 
 
Sandi, crying? No way - nothing could make my Golden Amazon cry? Or if 
there was, I'd kill the bastard. "Sandi, what's the matter?" She shook 
her head, and looked away from me. "Sandi, what is it?" Her head hung 
down, and a tear crawled slowly down her cheek towards the corner of her 
mouth. I didn't think about what to do - maybe if I had thought, I would 
have been to scared to do it - I just reached forward and took her head 
in my arms and pulled her towards me, and I stroked her head and rocked 
her back and forth. "Oh, Sandi, don't cry, please don't cry." I couldn't 
bear it. Sandi was my rock, the foundation of my faith in the future. If 
even Sandi could cry like this, what hope was there for the rest of us? 
"What's the matter? Is it something I've done, or said?" I pulled the 
silk scarf from around my neck, and dabbed at her eyes. "It's not you, 
Bunny." She took the scarf from me and blew her nose on it. Well, I 
could get it cleaned. "I have to leave school." 
 
A feeling of shock sent a shudder through my body. Sandi leaving school? 
Does that mean I'll never see her again? And who will I eat lunch with? 
And who'll walk me home? And why was she leaving school - she wasn't 
doing that bad, was she? "Why, Sandi? Why?" 
 
"Mom's not well. She's been poorly for a few weeks now. She's been 
dragging herself into the supermarket, because otherwise they'll fire 
her, and then we don't have any money to live on, and ..." I knew how 
Sandi and her mother lived about ten cents away from poverty. "But she's 
killing herself, unless she stays at home, and rests, and keeps warm, 
she won't get better." "What does the doctor say, Sandi?". Sandi turned 
her soft grey eyes on me. "Doctor?" Oh. Of course. You get used to some 
things, take them for granted. Mrs Stone probably couldn't afford decent 
medical care. Unless she was near death's door, no doctor for Mrs Stone, 
maybe not even then. I nodded, understanding. "So the only answer is, 
I've got to leave school, and go out to work. I'm old enough, I'm 
sixteen. And I'm strong enough." I put my hands on her shoulders. Sandi 
was certainly strong enough. "What job are you planning to get?" 
"Supermarket checkout, like my Mom." 
 
It felt like a knife in my stomach. Sandi, my Amazon, my Golden Amazon, 
a supermarket checkout girl? It felt like the ultimate disillusionment, 
the end of all dreams, the final nightmare. I moved closer to her. 
"Sandi!" I pulled her towards me, and put my arms round her, something I 
wouldn't normally have thought of doing, and those big strong arms held 
me against a body as hard as a tree trunk. "I'm sorry, Bunny. I can't 
help it. I have no choice, no alternative. I have to look after Mom. 
You'll still be my friend, won't you?" I hugged her as hard as I could. 
Of course I would. "Oh, Sandi, I'm sorry." She sat on the ground, I 
knelt in front of her, our arms round each other, my head on her 
shoulder. My face was being tickled by her hair, her long, soft hair, 
the only thing soft about her. But after a few minutes, my brain became 
unparalyzed, and I started thinking again. If you don't like a solution, 
don't accept what someone presents to you as *the* solution - always 
think it out for yourself - maybe there's a better way. Always ferret 
out what the *real* problem is. Maybe Sandi didn't need to leave school. 
 
"Sandi, maybe you don't need to leave school." She turned her head and 
looked at me, and her big grey eyes filled my universe. "There's other 
ways to make money. If people work their way through college, why not 
high school?" "But checkout is a full time job." "But Sandi, you don't 
have to be a checkout girl." "It's the only thing I know how to do. 
Bunny, you know my grades are all fake." That was the first time I'd 
heard her admit it. I knew she couldn't possibly get grades as good as 
the ones she was getting, I just couldn't figure out how she persuaded 
the teachers to give her such good marks. "Sandi, I want to think about 
it a bit. When do you have to start?" "As soon as possible - my Mom's 
got this cough, and it sounds so bad, I don't like her going out in the 
cold wet snow until she's better. I've got to start as soon as I can." 
"Sandi, just wait one day, wait till tomorrow?" She regarded me 
seriously with her soft grey eyes, and I could see the moisture in the 
corners. "Please, Sandi?" She nodded. 
 
I spent the rest of the evening trying to comfort her, and I told her 
I'd be her friend till the end of the world, and she said she'd be my 
friend for always, and we said things to each other that I'm not going 
to tell you about, because they aren't the sorts of things that friends 
usually say to each other, but Sandi was such a special friend. I spent 
the whole of that night thinking, and making lists, and crossing them 
out again, and plotting, and planning, and devising one money-making 
scheme after another, until I came down to three that I thought stood a 
chance of working, and which we could try simultaneously. 
 
Chapter 24 - Sandi Making Money

The next morning, as soon as it was light, I rushed round to Sandi's 
house, with some chicken soup that I'd badgered my mother into making. 
As I heated it up, I explained to Sandi that this was what had gotten me 
through my polio - well, that was Mom's story, anyway. Mrs Stone was in 
bed, looking dreadful. I don't know what it was she had, but I do know 
that chicken soup ought to cure it. Afterwards, she smiled at me "Bobby, 
you're a good boy." I grinned, and I felt the warmth of Sandi's body 
sitting on the bed next to me. Then we went to the living room, sat on 
the sofa, and I dug out my bits of paper, and started explaining my 
schemes to Sandi. 
 
"I've got three money making ideas, and we can do them all at once. Even 
if only one of them works, then you've got enough to live on, and you 
can still stay at school." Sandi looked at me, her big grey eyes wide 
and expectant. I thought, she trusts me to come up with the goods - this 
had better work. 
 
"OK, scheme one. We find a bar in town that needs a shot in the arm." We 
were both too young to go into a bar, but hey - Sandi looks old enough, 
no-one's going to ask her for identity. If necessary, I could be her kid 
brother. "And we offer them an evening entertainment that'll pull 
customers in from miles around." Sandi kept listening. "And what's that, 
Bunny? I'm not going to be a stripper." Hmm. I hadn't thought of that. 
Sandi would be a fantastic stripper, with her strong, hard body and big 
firm breasts. "No, Sandi, not a stripper. A strong woman act." 
 
"What's that?" she asked. Well, I hadn't gotten as far as the details. 
"You know, you do strong-woman things that ordinary people can't do. 
Crack nuts in your hand. Lift heavy weights. We can figure out the 
details later - you're three times as strong as a normal guy, we should 
be able to work out some really impressive routines." Sandi laughed. 
"OK, that doesn't sound too bad." 
 
I wasn't so sure about how she'd receive the second idea. "Prize-
fighting. You fight someone, winner takes the prize." Sandi frowned. "I 
wouldn't want to fight another girl. Could I fight some guy?" I looked 
at her; I thought any guy that got into a ring with her would likely 
regret it. "Yes, that's the idea, Sandi." "And people would pay for 
this?" I thought about the immense sums that professional boxers got. 
"For sure they would. All we have to do is find someone to organize the 
fights." "Like who?" I'd done some research. There wasn't anything in 
our town, but up in St Josephs city, there was a place where they held 
boxing matches all the time. We'd go visit there, and hook up with 
someone who could promote a match. One look at Sandi would tell him that 
she'd be a devastating man-beater. "Just one thing, Bunny. I don't 
really know how to box. I can fight all right, have done a few times. 
But not proper boxing." Um, I hadn't thought of that. Isn't boxing just 
two people hitting each other until one of them falls down? No, I 
suppose there's a lot more to it than that. But Sandi had the pre-
requisite, big muscles and a hard body. Surely she could learn the rest? 
Still, all we had to do was visit the boxing gym and find out whether it 
was a possibility. If it was, one fight might keep Sandi and her mother 
for months. 
 
"What's the third idea, Bunny?" Now this one was definitely flaky, but 
if it worked, it would be a doozy. "The Sandi Stone fan club!" Sandi 
laughed. "Don't be silly." "No, Sandi, listen. I know what the guys say 
about you. It might work." "Oh? What do they say about me?" Oh shit. I 
shouldn't have opened that can of worms. When will I ever learn to think 
before I speak? I shook my head. "Bunny!" she said, in the tone of voice 
that meant "Don't argue with me, just do what I demand." Phoebe has a 
tone of voice exactly the same, except she always says "Meow", the 
meaning is conveyed entirely in the tone. The same as Sandi just did. 
And when Sandi uses The Voice on me, I go all quivery inside, and 
disobedience is simply not an option. 
 
"All the boys say you're a great lay. Great in bed, great in the sack. 
Comes like a steam train." "And do you believe that?" "Yes and no, 
Sandi. Yes, I believe it, and No, I don't think there's any way that any 
of them could possibly know." Sandi relaxed slightly; I hadn't realized 
it, but there had been a large and dangerous bulge in an arm very close 
to me. "And then they ask me about you. Ask me what it's like fucking a 
girl twice my size." I felt the big, menacing bulge return. "And what do 
you tell then, Bunny?" she asked in a soft voice that sounded like 
Phoebe talking to a mouse. So do I lie to her? Sandi's my best friend - 
of course I don't. But I'd better explain a bit first. 
 
"Sandi, boys always boast about the girls they've fucked. Everyone knows 
that 99% of it is lies, fishing stories. You have to, it's the done 
thing, the culture. So I make up a lot of nonsense about you to tell 
them. It doesn't mean anything, honest. No-one believes a word of it 
anyway." I was relieved to see her break into a smile. "So tell me a 
fishing story." "Well, I tell them that the first hour is great. The 
second hour is pretty good too. The third hour, I'm really too exhausted 
to appreciate, the fourth hour I just wish you'd go to sleep, the fifth 
hour is killing me, and when you do a sixth hour, I just want to curl up 
and die. Good story?" Sandi laughed. "I once spent eight hours fucking a 
guy. I didn't kill him." She was joking. Wasn't she? "What else do they 
say about me?" 
 
I thought of what the boys said about her. "One thing the guys do a lot 
- one of them says "Sandi Stone" and everyone says "Unnhhh", very 
quietly." "What's that meant to mean?" "Er, um, it means they think 
you're sexy." Sandi smiled like a cat - she is sexy, though. "And then 
someone says "Sandi's arms" and everyone groans a bit louder. And then 
someone says "Sandi's thighs" and everyone groans louder. And then 
someone else says "Sandi's breasts" and everyone groans really loud." 
Sandi laughed, "That's like a kind of ritual?" "Yes." "What else do they 
say about me?" I thought about it. "I've heard a few guys say, "When I 
die, I want to go crushed between Sandi's thighs". She smiled 
thoughtfully, "That could be arranged. Remind me to show you some time 
what I can do with a can of beans." I filed that thought away for 
possible future use in Sandi's strong-woman act. "One guy once said that 
he thought you were all fake, so the other guys egged him on until he 
said he was willing to arm-wrestle you." "I've never arm-wrestled in my 
life", said Sandi, "I don't see the point." "No, well, we fixed a date 
and time." "No, Bunny, this didn't happen, it's all a lie." "Right, he 
didn't turn up. Turned up the next day with a bandage on his arm. Said 
he had a sprained wrist." "But I didn't even know about this contest." 
"No, we knew he'd chicken out, so we didn't even ask you!" Sandi 
laughed. 
 
She's lovely when she laughs. She's got a low voice to start with, and 
her laugh is a chuckle, like a cello playing Beethoven. Hearing Sandi 
laugh makes me feel warm inside, which is why I try to make her laugh so 
often. "So how about it, Sandi? You don't have to leave school, do you?" 
She thought about it. "At least one of your insane schemes has to work, 
doesn't it?" "Sandi, there's no reason why they can't all work!" "All 
right then. Just one thing. We go 50-50, partners." I hadn't thought 
about that. I was thinking in terms of getting Sandi some way to earn 
some bread without having to leave school. I told her that. "Sandi, 
you'll be earning the money, and you need it; you keep it." "No, Bunny, 
you'll be working too. I'll need someone to be my agent, arrange strong-
woman props, promote fights, run the fan club. Friends and partners." Oh 
hell and damnation. This was getting worse. First all she sees me as 
just a friend, and then I'm just a business partner. That's not what I 
really really want, and I'm not going to let her get away with it. 
"Sandi, I'm doing this because ..." And then I thought "I love you". But 
I couldn't say it. She didn't want that, she wanted a friend, not a 
lover. And I'd rather be Sandi's friend than be fucking even Sally 
Armitage (and there wasn't a boy in the whole school who didn't think 
about Sally at least once per day). So I said "... I like you." Pretty 
lame, huh? 
 
Sandi wouldn't hear of it, and she used The Voice. "Bunny, I'm not 
arguing about this; you get half, we're partners, and that's that." 
Well, you don't argue with Sandi; you don't even disagree with her when 
she uses The Voice. OK, Sandi, whatever you say. And she smiled, and 
said "That's settled then", and we started to work out what a strong 
woman act would consist of. 
 
That evening, I asked Dad about the bars in town. "Aren't you a bit 
young for bars?", he said. So I explained that a friend and I were 
preparing an entertainment act, and we wanted to approach a bar that 
needed an attraction to bring in business. He looked a bit doubtful, but 
I said told him it was all good clean fun, and he suggested a few 
places. Mom joined us, and suggested "Robert, why don't you get that 
nice girl Sandi to join in?" Great idea, Mom. Yes, I suppose I had been 
seeing Sandi rather a lot, and I suppose Mom and Dad had gotten the 
wrong idea. If only they were right! 
 
The next day, Sandi and I went shopping. We went to the supermarket for 
cans of beans and various fruit and vegetables, we visited a clothes 
shop to get the right sort of gear, we visited a hardware store and got 
some useful stuff, and we finished off with a visit to a garage where we 
bought an empty 40 gallon oil drum. That afternoon, Sandi did some 
practicing, while I painted the oil drum. I made it a fluorescent 
yellow, and using a stencil, I painted the word "SANDI" in big red 
letters running down the side, in four places. Around the drum, I 
painted "The strongest woman in the world" - well, I didn't know that 
she was, but I doubted if anyone would pop up to prove me wrong. 
 
Chapter 25 - The Strongest Woman in the World 
 
That evening, we visited the three bars Dad had suggested. The first one 
just wasn't interested. But in the second one, we found just the right 
place. It was rather run-down looking, and there were only three 
customers, plus a barkeep who looked rather run-down himself. I went up 
to the bar, Sandi next to me. I did the speaking - people tend to pay 
more attention to men than to women - maybe because they've never met 
Sandi. I explained the deal to him. "We can attract lots more customers 
to the bar with our act." Our act! "More customers means more drinking, 
means more profits for you." "Oh yes?" said the barman. "And how much do 
I pay for the privilege of your company?" I'd already thought this 
through. "In the first week, nothing. Then, if you think we're worth it, 
$25 per night." I figured that we'd only need to be there for an hour. 
The barkeep thought about it - how could he lose? If we were no good, he 
didn't pay us a penny. "Let's see the act, then. Singers, are you?" 
 
We cleared a space at the end of the room, and I took off my coat, 
revealing a rather ordinary T-shirt and pair of trousers. Then I helped 
Sandi take off her coat, and conversation stopped. Sandi was wearing a 
halter top, that showed off her arms, shoulders and abs. Travelling 
south, she wore a short cheer-leader type skirt, and nothing else till 
you got down to the high heeled shoes that she could barely walk in. I 
worried a bit about those - if she lost her balance, there could be 
trouble. I put up our easel, and unrolled a big sign that said "Sandi 
Stone - the strongest woman in the world". Although she was only 
sixteen, I didn't think anyone would challenge the "woman" part. Sandi 
didn't exactly look sweet sixteen. 
 
And then she did part of the act. I didn't think there was any point in 
doing the whole thing, there and then - not enough of an audience. But 
she did the thing with the walnuts, she did the thing with the 
watermelon, and she did the thing with the iron bar. It only took about 
ten minutes, but the men watching were gasping for breath by the time 
she'd finished. She put her coat back on, and I went up to the barman. 
"No, we can't sing, or dance. Eight o'clock each evening all right for 
you?" He nodded, and we left. 
 
Next day, we visited the printers. I'd used my laser printer to print up 
a big poster, using a picture of Sandi in her costume posing in a way 
that left you no doubts as to a) the immensity of her muscles, and b) 
what sex she was. And under the strap-line of "Sandi Stone - the 
strongest woman in the world", we announced to a startled world where 
and when you could see this amazon goddess. We posted up three hundred, 
all over town, and by the evening, I was exhausted. Sandi was just 
getting warmed up, though, and she was really excited about doing her 
act before a proper audience. 
 
And in the bar at eight o'clock, there certainly was an audience. It was 
mostly men, although there were a few women. We'd made a stage, by tying 
a whole bunch of milk-crates together and laying planks on top. I hoped 
it was going to be strong enough for Sandi's act - I was sure it would 
be. I put on my fake moustache and gaudy jacket, trying to look a bit 
like a showman, and went up on the stage and hushed the audience, and 
unrolled the big sign announcing the act. There was some scattered 
clapping, and I hushed them again. I wasn't about to do a big speech - 
"Ladies and gentlemen", I said. "Sandi Stone", I shouted. "The strongest 
woman in the world", I yelled at the top of my voice. The plan was for 
me to do all the talking, while Sandi was the strong, stern silent one. 
Sandi got up on stage. She was wearing high heels, which added about 
five inches to her height. She still wasn't very stable in high heels, 
but since she wasn't moving much for this act, she could cope. So 
although she was only (only!) five-eleven in her heels, she towered over 
me, and since it wasn't obvious that I was only four-eleven (we were 
standing on the raised stage), she looked very much bigger than she 
actually was. 
 
Then I helped her take off her long silk cloak (you've probably guessed 
by now the words that were worked on to it), and she stood there looking 
magnificent. She wore a gold lame halter top, and a very short gold lame 
skirt (I think you might as well look glamorous for these occasions). 
She stood, arms akimbo, legs astride, letting the punters drink in the 
incredible sight. Then, as we'd planned, she brought her hands up to her 
hair and fussed with the bright royal blue scarf she used to keep it in 
place. Doing that made her look like the entirely feminine girl she was, 
but raising her arms showed off her full, prominent bosom, and as she 
brought them behind her head, she flexed, and the crowd got its first 
sight of Sandi's sixteen-inch biceps. I could hear a few of the men in 
the audience gasp. 
 
Then we started the act. First, the melons. We had half a dozen of them, 
hard and under-ripe. We passed them round the audience, and then one at 
a time, I held each melon out away from my body, and Sandi smashed her 
fist into it. I kept my eyes closed, because we'd discovered that if I 
didn't, I flinched, and she might miss. As her fist made contact with 
each melon, it literally exploded into a shower of pieces, pips and 
juice. While we worked our way through the melons, I explained to the 
audience that Sandi was also a skilled professional boxer, but she found 
it rather difficult to get opponents there days. 
 
Then we moved on to the nuts. Everyone knows how difficult it is to 
crack walnuts, so we started with those. While she was cracking them, I 
explained that Sandi also did arm wrestling. After Sandi had done a 
dozen, some in each hand, we moved on to brazils, and while she cracked 
those, I explained to the audience that she found it hard to get arm-
wrestling opponents now, after cracking too many men's hand-bones. Not 
many people know just how difficult it is to crack brazils in your 
hands, because it's more than any sensible person would even try. We 
handed a few entire nuts round, so that people could refresh their 
memories about this kind of nut, and I could see a few men trying to 
crack them under the heels of their shoe. After finishing the bag of 
brazils, we moved on to apples. 
 
There's a lot you can do with apples, and it's just as well there isn't 
a Fruit Protection Society. Sandi just did one demonstration, but it was 
a good one. I explained that Sandi could wrestle, too. I explained that 
Sandi would now demonstrate a simple wrestling hold, and she took the 
apple in her hands, her elbows sticking out to the sides, and compressed 
the apple between her palms until it burst. I handed the apples round 
(they were the hard, green kind) so that people could see how firm and 
hard they were, and after Sandi crushed each apple between her palms, I 
passed round the mangled remains. When she'd finished the bag of apples, 
and just in case anyone hadn't made the connection, Sandi stood behind 
me with her palms on either side of my head, and slowly moved them 
together. At the moment I felt her hands touch my ears, I moved smartly 
forward, turned, and said to her "No, Sandi, you know that makes a 
terrible mess". A few people laughed, but a few of the men in the 
audience looked distinctly uncomfortable. 
 
"Enough on fruit and nuts", I cried, "on to cold hard iron!" At the 
hardware store, we'd bought several pounds of six-inch nails. I can't 
think what they use such big, thick nails for, but I knew what we were 
going to do with them. Again, I passed then round the audience, and as 
they came back, I handed them up to Sandi, who rapidly bent each one 
double, until we had a big pile of them in a bucket. I had plans for the 
contents of that bucket later. I could see a few men wondering what 
hands like Sandi's would do to human flesh and bones, but I moved 
rapidly on, we had lots more to get through. It was time for the beans. 
 
I had half a dozen one-pound cans of beans, and I passed those round, so 
that people could see they were just plain baked bean cans. The audience 
returned them to me, and I turned to Sandi. She was standing in a very 
commanding pose, legs together, her big arms behind her head, her 
abdomen tensed, so that you could see the bulges in her belly (and 
although they were big bulges, they were hard, thick muscle). I 
explained to the audience that Sandi's favorite wrestling hold was the 
leg scissors, and that any man who let himself get trapped between her 
thighs, was as good as finished, and most men submitted without waiting 
for what would happen next. She lifted one leg, and I put the can 
between her thighs. 
 
You can probably guess what happened next, but the audience couldn't. 
Sandi exerted all the stupendous strength in her thighs, putting an 
irresistible pressure on the can, which burst, spraying beans all over 
the stage. One after another, I put each can of beans into the vise of 
Sandi's thighs, and each time, you could see her quads bulge and flex, 
see the thick cords of muscle swell as she applied deadly force to the 
doomed can. The beans didn't stand a chance. Sandi six, beans nil. 
 
The audience was silent with awe at the spectacle, and I could see that 
a few of the men had lost control of themselves. There couldn't have 
been a man there who hadn't imagined what it would be like to have those 
terrifying columns of power wrapped round his body, crushing the 
helpless agonized man within, unable to resist the nutcracker legs 
squeezing the breath, strength and life out of him. And then, because 
Sandi's legs were covered in beans and tomato sauce, she gestured to me 
to clean them. So I took a wet towel, and, kneeling in front of her, 
carefully cleaned those pillars of strength. She parted her legs, and I 
could hear the sharp intake of breath as I got in between them to clean. 
I knew they were wondering if they'd have the courage to be where I was, 
but also whether they'd have the nerve to refuse Sandi's command. As I 
worked between her thighs, she brought her legs closer together. I was 
facing the audience, and I pretended to be terrified and to back away 
rapidly. 
 
Chapter 26 - The Finale to the Act

It was time for the climax to the show. I called for two volunteers from 
the audience, and chose the two biggest-looking men. I asked them to 
roll the oil drum to the center of the stage, which they did. That drum 
contained 40 gallons of water; including the drum itself, it weighed 350 
pounds. I asked them to lift the drum, between them. They tried, I'll 
give them that, one at each end. but they couldn't budge it from the 
ground. So I called for two more volunteers, again picking the chunkiest 
men I could see. With two of them at each end, they just about managed 
to get one end of it a few inches up, before it slid through their 
hands. "Ladies and gentlemen", I cried. "Four men cannot lift this oil 
drum full of water. But one woman can." Sandi wore black leather gloves 
to protect her hands against the rough metal of the oil drum, and she'd 
replaced her high heels with trainers, for a better footing. She'd also 
pulled on a bright blue polyester dress, covering most of her body and 
arms. I didn't explain any of this to the audience, but it was to stop 
her skin from suffering scrapes against the oil drum. 
 
She put her hands under one end, and lifted the oil drum up until it 
stood on its end. Then she came round to crouch behind it, put her arms 
round the drum in a bear hug, and straightened her knees. She stood up, 
holding the oil drum to her bosom with a huge affectionate hug, except 
that every man present was conscious of the forces that must be acting 
on that drum, and didn't want to be in its place. She brought up her 
knee under the drum, and lifted it higher, holding it lower down. Then 
she raised her thigh under the drum, and easily lifted it to waist 
level. Now it got tricky. She rested the middle of the drum on her 
shoulder, and with one arm wrapped round the drum and the other arm 
supporting it underneath, she toppled it until it rested horizontally on 
her shoulder. Then she swung it round until it was balanced on both 
shoulders, across her neck. She held it at each end with her hands near 
the bottom of the cylinder, and stood facing a enthralled audience. 
Suddenly, she simultaneously crouched down, and pushed up with her arms. 
This left her holding the oil drum high over her head, and then all she 
had to do was flex those powerful thighs until she was standing, 
upright, with the oil drum held over her head. 
 
There was no applause, just a few low moans from the men in the 
audience. Everyone just stared at Sandi, her muscles tensed and knotted 
against the huge weight of the oil drum. Her stance threw her breasts 
forward and made her thighs bulge with power; the thin polyester dress 
clung helplessly to her breasts and thighs, emphasizing rather than 
concealing her womanly curves and big, heavy muscles. I heard a few more 
moans from the audience, and knew what must be happening among the men 
down there. Sandi still stood, like a statue of an amazon, holding up 
the oil drum that she'd conquered, the oil drum that four strong men had 
hardly been able to budge. Then, she flexed her arms and legs, and 
tossed the drum forward, to land on the mattress we'd put there. As she 
put on her silk cloak, the applause broke out, long and loud, and 
someone started chanting "San-di, San-di, San-di". More and more of them 
joined in, and she turned back to face them, holding her arms high in 
the double-biceps pose, which made the cloak fall away from her body and 
legs. She stood, flexing for them, until by expanding her lats and back 
muscles, she tore the dress apart, and it dropped, defeated, to her feet 
in a pool of blue. The crowd went wild. And on the principle of always 
stop when they're screaming for more, Sandi left the stage. 
 
But I didn't. There was one task left to do. I picked up the bucket of 
bent nails, and shouted "Bent six-inch nails, ten dollars each". Every 
man there wanted to own something that Sandi had touched, and ideally 
something that Sandi had used her terrible muscles to damage. I sold 
fifty six-inch nails in no time. I could have sold a hundred. Some of 
them just seemed to want to throw money into the bucket. Eventually, 
they let me go; I ran out of the bar carrying a bucket full of money, 
and walked down the street. Sandi was waiting for me by a tree, and 
grabbed me as I went by. "Bunny, here!" "Wow, Sandi, that was fantastic. 
You'll never believe how much money I've got here." 
 
We went back to her place, and sat at the table in the front room, 
sorted it and counted it. It came to 643 dollars, and some change. I 
couldn't believe it; "Sandi, one hour, that was all, just one hour!" 
"But we spent ages getting everything ready." "Yes, but we don't have to 
do that again, all we have to do is just buy more fruit and nuts" "And 
six-inch nails. I see you managed to sell them all." "They went like hot 
cakes, Sandi, I could have sold twice as many. It's brilliant!" "No, 
Bunny, it's you that's brilliant", and she stood up, picked me up out of 
my chair and gave me a hug. 
 
Now you might think it's nothing, being hugged by a girl. I was sixteen, 
and I'd never kissed a girl properly, never been hugged by anything 
female except my mother, and had serious doubts about whether I would 
ever get laid (and I spent a lot of time re-examining those doubts). And 
Sandi, who I practically worshipped, seemed to look on me as a kind of 
kid brother, a sidekick, like Robin to Batman, or Tinker to Sexton 
Blake. And now she was calling me brilliant and hugging me? Now maybe 
you understand what I was feeling. I felt those big strong arms round 
me, that soft, hard body in front of me (mostly hard, but with a couple 
of softer places, although even those were very firm), and I put my 
brain on "record", so I could enjoy this later. 
 
I put my arms round her waist and pulled myself as close as I could. I 
pressed my groin against her big solid thigh, my face against her warm 
soft breasts. I closed my eyes, and we stood like that for a long time. 
I thought about trying to kiss her, but I knew that wouldn't be allowed. 
She squeezed harder, and my grip round her waist was broken, so I moved 
my hands round her back, round her sides, and up towards her arm pits. 
When my fingers got under her arms, she squealed with delight and I 
found myself thrown onto the sofa, and joined by what felt like half a 
ton of muscle and silk. 
 
We spent hours and hours talking. Talking about the strong woman act, 
talking about the money we were earning and what we would do with it. I 
wanted to buy some nice things for Sandi; she had so little in the way 
of nice clothes. We wanted a car since getting around was such a 
nuisance, although our age would be a problem. I told her I'd start 
keeping books "We'll have to pay tax, you know", although I hadn't the 
foggiest idea how much. I told her that the priority was a doctor for 
Mrs Stone, and that one was easy to agree. And then Sandi dropped her 
bombshell on me "And you can get yourself a girlfriend". 
 
What? Hey! I don't *want* a girlfriend, or rather I do, and she's right 
here with me now. This was Sandi treating me as a sidekick again; she 
was worried about the fact that I never went out with girls, and thought 
I ought to. I thought, I do go out with girls, with one girl, anyway. 
I'd rather watch Sandi training than have some dumb discussion about pop 
music with some stupid girl. Hell, I'd rather teach Sandi calculus than 
go out with the silly flirty female children at school. "All you need is 
a bit of self confidence, Bunny, you're really very nice, you know." I 
knew that, about the self confidence I mean. I've seen from books that 
all sixteen year old boys have a big self-confidence crisis, but it 
seemed to me that all my friends knew exactly where their towels were, 
and I was four eleven, 85 pounds, and had a brace on my knee. Sure as 
eggs I had a self confidence problem, which was one of the reasons I 
loved being around Sandi. 
 
Eventually, she threw me (not literally) out of her house, and I went 
home, my head spinning with the possibilities for the future. It seemed 
like the world was our oyster, and wanted to throw cash into our bucket. 
643 dollars. That might not sound like a fortune to you, but I 
multiplied it by five (days in a week), and got $3215. And I thought 
about merchandising (I didn't call it that in my head, but I thought if 
we could sell Sandi's bent six-inch nails, there had to be other 
things). I thought about the other ideas we'd planned, the prize 
fighting idea and the fan club. The fan club tied in nicely with the 
merchandising, and the prize fighting would surely be great publicity, 
apart from the prize money, and ... I fell asleep. 




Now read part 2 ...