Miren armwrestles Al Kaffir 
by Ric
Miren's first public armwrestling match against a former pro


 Being sixteen and having won her weight category in the local stone 
lifting contest earned Miren a well merited popularity in the region. In 
fact, sweaty and excited after her last opponent had failed the third 
attempt, she made two more successful lifts, beating the winners of the 
two next higher weight classes. Finally, red-faced and panting, she had 
challenged Urko, the off-limits champ, but his stone was too large for 
her short arms to get a good grip and failed. Respect and admiration 
tasted very sweet to her, a former quiet girl not very fond of social 
life at all. She wouldn't admit it and didn't know why, but it was 
people's envy and especially fear, what she appreciated the most. 
Needles to say, opportunists popped out pretty quick. 

Al-Kaffir was a 45 year old former pro armwrestler who owned a well 
known gym in the capital. He had dropped the circuit among the world top 
50 some years behind and still organized colorful exhibitions, 
armwrestling celebrities, animals or machines with unavoidable success. 
When he heard of a sixteen year old pretty girl lifting 350 pd. he 
thought time had come to make good business. He dropped himself by 
Miren's tavern and laid on the bar more money than her mum had seen 
along her life time. 

The bout was set in a week time at a neutral place: the public park. Al 
Kaffir announced it in the journals of the capital, under a picture of 
the strained young girl in shorts and white T-shirt pulling a stone 
bigger than herself up onto her shoulder. In a few days time expectation 
had grown so much that people rang to her house asking how to buy 
tickets and visitors challenged her and encouraged her to beat the 
strongman. Moreover, the famous American pro wrestler Magnificent Molly, 
who was touring in South France and had herself engaged some of the Al 
Kaffir strength challenges without much success, came around to visit 
'the girl who's going to tear that macho balls off'. They playfully 
armwrestled on the bar of Miren's mother tavern and it became clear that 
the experienced wrestler, despite her solid determination, was no match 
for the young powerhouse. Miren swept her out with left, right, both 
arms, single fingers and even in some tests of leg strength they two 
performed on the floor. However she didn't change her peaceful life 
style. She didn't even follow any special training, just once dated the 
boys from the rugby team and armwrestled them all one after the other. 
She beat flat six of them in a row pretty easy. The seventh, an enormous 
prop, gave only after gasping and moaning for 15 min. When she locked 
hands with the 8th her arm was sore and a sharp pain bit her elbow. She 
still kept a nice part of her bare strength but decided to save some. It 
took her twenty min. to beat the next three. The 12th , a tall sturdy 
blonde had particular endurance. He obviously knew about it and used a 
fine technique to take advantage of his much longer forearm to press 
Miren's downwards, sticking her sore elbow against the rough stone 
table. After some ten min. the guy grimaced in pain and sweat like a 
fountain, but didn't give. She was forced to use her full strength for 
ten more min. till he run out of fuel and felt forward, the head the 
first, against the stone. 

Her boyfriend had booked last place. He wasn't as big as the last guys 
but rather resembled Miren's sturdy complexion, with short robust arms 
and thick taped wrists. He smiled in confidence, having tasted Miren in 
many physical ways but never in that one. Depth breathing, she looked 
tired, some drops flowing from her ear bones and above her lips. They 
kissed and locked hands. Hers was warm and soft, his cold and hard. They 
started to pull slowly, enjoying the measurement of each other's 
strength, balancing ounce by ounce each others effort. The pressure 
increased till a fine observer could have found both arms slightly 
trembling. Apparently both had reached the same maximum power. The boy 
felt the air flooding out of his lungs and his arm starting to yield. 
She was stronger. A surge of blood inflated his cock as he felt his 
girlfriend slowly overpowering him. Staring fixedly at him she seemed to 
realize and delayed her victory on purpose. Moving her left hand 
underneath the table she grabbed his member with her fingertips and 
massaged it till he came. Then she let him win. 

The bout will take place in the same stone table at the Central park she 
had used to get rugby boys' asses kicked, but it was hard to recognize 
that morning. An expectant crowd circled the table, a big truck of the 
local tv was parked in the nearby and three cameras had been placed 
around. A smart popular showman with a wireless micro and a single ear 
headphone warmed people up through a loud amplifier. 'Dear spectator, 
this is extravaganza channel bringing to you again the thrill of the 
bizarre. Wherever you hide we'll find you to take your breath and stop 
your heart. Make yourself comfortable, check nobody see you, and make 
ready to enjoy the glance of a delightfully fit country side teenager 
who's about to pit her innate muscle power against a professional of 
strength you all know very well...'  When Miren approached, escorted by 
his boyfriend and mates, she spotted Al Kaffir standing up beside the 
table, interviewed by some city journalists. He stopped talking and 
glanced at her. Al presented 200 pd. of pure muscle in his 5 ft.12 frame 
as a result of serious weight training and body building. He wore a tiny 
sleeveless wrestling shirt with long suspenders which completely 
uncovered his massive pecs over which tapped a thick golden chain. 
Apparently his bald head was the only hairless part of his body, the 
rest, including shoulders and fingers, covered by a thick black silky 
layer. 

She approached opening her way among the crowd like a sort of negative 
magnetic field and faced Al with arms crossed. Eventually her mates had 
convinced her to make a change and display an impressive outfit designed 
to take any normally orientated male's breath. She just wore immaculate 
white rough pro-wrestling boots, a Magnificent Molly gift, in sharp 
contrast with a minimum V-shaped pant very high in the hip and dizzingly 
low cut on the unshaven crotch. Her chest was more or less covered by a 
white tight tank top which pressed her breasts to the border of pain. 
Her thick wrists were gymnast-fashion taped and the white powder stains 
in her arms revealed magnesium-spread hands, as advised by her mates. A 
leather lace ringed her arms just above the biceps, disappearing under 
the beef feast as soon as she lightly flexed. '...and here we have her, 
should I avoid the beauty vs beast image? Hard to resist. But she's 
indeed both in a single body. Look at those healthful arms built up 
chopping tree trunks and loading the wood from the mountains. Could you 
please flex for us, sugar?' Miren looked at the tiny man who jumped in 
her way as an alien. She grinned, but instead of posing she grabbed her 
jacket, single handed lifted him, and threw him 6 ft away like a rubbish 
bag. He enjoyed it. 

Agreed rules were simple: best of three pulls, any grip allowed, right 
hand only. As they sat face to face Miren felt his intense odor and the 
shine of his hairy flesh. He had been obviously pumping to warm up for 
the match. She will never forget his intense male odor which made her 
sick and turned her on at the same time. As soon as her hand showed off 
he gripped it tight, pressing steel-hard fingertips against her hand 
bones. After so many years as a pro armwrestler, Miren still recalls 
Al's grip as one of the more painful she ever faced in her entire 
career, the career that took off that morning in the outdoor stone table 
at his ancient village. 

She was instantly aware that was nothing to do with armwrestling big 
girls or rugby players. That man had been an expert forcing so tough 
mates to beg submission. When the ref broke the silence calling for the 
first pull she found her hand halfway down. In a 30 sec breathless 
effort yet she leveled out. Al was surprised but he knew how to fake it. 
Odds run five to one in his favor; no room for surprises, he thought. 
Gasping after the effort she took air and launched a second attack but 
Al's arm had turned to stone. He was nuts, money wouldn't be as easy as 
he'd thought. Miren heard her boyfriend advising her to calm down and 
don't waste energy, and wait for the big man to soften. But he didn't 
relent. Instead, he made his hand spin and, applying what she'll latter 
learn as a top roll, twisted to place his hand just above hers. She felt 
her huge but untrained wrist tendons stretch like overloaded wires 
risking to shatter. Taking advantage, big Al leaned forward and put a 
dozen additional pounds of pressure on Miren's twisted arm. She screamed 
in pain and started to yield. Miren's arm felt down like a tree in slow 
motion, with the pain flowing from her twisted wrist preventing her to 
use her full strength. She tried to hold on, but the harder she tried 
the more pain she hurt to herself. 

Al had wisely conquered a winning position and Miren's arm strength 
turned against herself. He showed his white teeth in a mixture of 
pleasance, supreme effort and confidence. Three quarters way lost and 
with a stroke of intuition Miren made a quick move. She leaned 
rightwards letting Al's arm go without yielding hers, corrected her 
wrist back into a normal position and leaned leftwards conquering back 
most of Al's advantage with the strength of her whole upper body. Her 
boyfriend lifted his arms to heaven. Very few people could bear that 
punishment, but for Miren defeat hurt the most. She was borne a fighter. 
With gallons of adrenaline flowing by their bulging veins, what followed 
was a series of exchanges of massive attacks from both wrestlers, each 
alternatively earning a couple of inches advantage and failing to go 
further. The crowd went wild, split in two almost perfect halves 
supporting and cheering each wrestler. For full 20 min they struggled 
close to perfect balance alternating little advantages in a kind of 
exhausting child game, burning enough energy to make a lorry move. 
Miren's elbow started to ache seriously. Besides, Al's white fingertips 
penetrated into her hand, expertly punishing her hand bones. 

And then came the ultimate male trick. He opened his hand and, as Miren 
struggled not to lose the grip he closed it again wrapping Miren's 
fingers, tightening and shattering them inside his huge hand. She 
screamed as her finger creep inside his press, tears rolling down her 
cheeks. Ref asked for submission, which could be called tapping twice on 
the table. She still didn't. Using his forearm muscles, he twisted again 
Miren's wrist and groaning put her down with a big bump on the stone 
table. 

With no time to recover, the ref requested Miren to lock the huge hairy 
hand which waited full open with the muscular challenging fingers 
extended towards her. Her boyfriend took her fingers and found them 
miraculously intact. Tough girl. Having scored, and having probed 
Miren's strength, the experienced Al took second pull with a 
conservative contention tactics, relying on his superior technique to 
counter balance Miren's blind displays of bare strength. Unlike her 
bouts against the untrained rugby players, she was using now her full 
strength and finding out that it wasn't enough to beat that skillful 
armwrestler. And even worse, her elbow was seriously injured and she was 
running out of stamina. After her previous easy victories against the 
rugby boys, the feeling of a grown man subduing her in a contest of pure 
physical strength caused her a deep arousal. She spread her legs and 
felt her nether lips growing and pressing against the tiny expanded 
pants. She opened her mouth and yielded a few more precious inches. Al 
saw the victory close and made a beginner's mistake. He spoke to her. 
'Brave pretty girl, give up and got it, I'm stronger, unless you wanted 
your arm ripped off'. She hated to lose so much she wouldn't give 
against a train engine. It wasn't a 45 year old Willie who was to put 
her out. She expanded her strong thick fingers, feeling new oxygen blood 
pumped inside them, and closed a more comfortable and powerful grip 
placing her forefinger on the thumb nail. Nobody had learnt it to her. 
She just found out. The man gasped as if a truck had run over his hand. 
With the grip advantage it took just 20 sec's to Miren's muscles to put 
his hand down. The ref had to shake Miren's arm, reluctant to release 
her beaten prey. 

This time they both took a good breath, ignoring ref.'s calls, before 
locking hands for the third definitive pull. Miren stretched her stiff 
fingers against the stone table and caressed her injured elbow with her 
left hand. The man relaxed his leg-thick arm and shacked its overgrown 
tanned muscles looking for vascular irrigation. He had been a pro for a 
good while, developed an intact technique and still kept 90% of his arm 
strength. Miren was not the first female wrestler he faced and he was 
determined won't be the first woman to beat him. It doesn't mean that 
women were not competitive in arm wrestling. Pound per pound they were 
tougher and plenty of killing instinct, current pro champion of his 
weight class was herself a woman. But he had always managed to beat them 
all and he was too old to get rid of that habit. 

They lock hands. He carefully studies the best grip. Young Miren don't 
care. She just keeps the hand open and as soon as he grabs she wraps his 
larger hand making bloodless traces on it. You beat him in the odds 
already, 3:2 in your favor, cried her boyfriend. Split his hand off his 
arm, you're strong enough to do it. Miren blew through her nostrils as 
the ref gave the count, but apparently nothing happened. Both hands kept 
steady, not a single millimeter advantage. But indeed they were pulling. 
You could tell it by observing the faces turning red first and purple 
then and finally violet, the nostrils trembling, the hand bones creeping 
and the throats emitting grunt noises. Breathing his warm steam, Miren 
glanced at Al straight into his aged eyes. As she saw him put his look 
down on the table she realized she had earned a 45 degree advantage and 
his arm was trembling like and old washing machine. She was still 
capable of adding a lot more pressure and tumble his arm down like a 
sand castle, but she enjoyed her own power. Heat surged down from her 
belly and steamed bellow her wet spandex pants, swallowed by her fully 
dilated large nether lips. With her free left hand she grabbed the pants 
just above and stretched it deeper in her vagina several times. She saw 
a camera taking her from beside just while she came. Al took advantage 
to launch a final desperate powerful attack. She grabbed again the stone 
table's edge with her left and tightened the grip with her right, 
stopping Al's arm progression. He had won some advantage and hung his 
full body weight from his arm, moving his elbow in a formerly illegal 
maneuver. Miren felt her injured elbow crushing against the stone. Even 
in his hanging position, Al wasn't strong enough to fold her biceps, but 
he could still break her elbow and smash her arm nerves. Miren didn't 
know any of that pro stuff by then. She was 16 and had just discovered 
that her body could overpower another one twice larger. She had pinned 
down the colossal arm of a German female shot-putter. She had driven her 
boyfriend crazy beating him at armwrestling after sweeping 12 hunks in a 
row. She had matched a male former pro and come as realized she again 
was the stronger.  She was drunk. Lifted Al's arm and squeezed the grip 
as hard as she could. The big man's groans turned into cries of pain. 
Whipping like a child, he submitted. The ref announced the winner 
through the speakers. Miren took some time glancing at Al, who hid his 
face behind his left arm, the right one like a huge snake strangled by 
Miren, leaning dead on the stone table. Finally she stood up, kissed her 
boyfriend, climbed on the table, and raised her wet expanded arms, 
mighty and statuesque, worshipped by the crowd.