Building up the Strength-Queen
by Ric
Paul tells how he trained young Miren to become the Strength-Queen
Update: 21/09/97 to ric


My name is Paul Levesque. Along my career as a strength athlete I came across 
fantastic females endowed with unbelievable raw physical power and the strongest 
and more abusing personalities, used not just to defeat males but to 
psychological destroy them also. I was always particularly motivated when 
wrestling women and most of my records were conquered battling against these 
strength queens. Some time or another, I managed to beat all the strongest women 
on earth. Corinne, for instance, had broken the hand of a powerlifter from 
Quebec and never lost with a man when I first challenged her to armwrestle. She 
prevailed with right hands but I pinned her twice with my left to gain a place 
in her heart and by the way in armwrestling history. I have trained many 
strongwomen. They are more determined and psychically solid than men. And above 
all they are extremely competitive against both sexes. But I had never knew a 
case similar to the young Basque stonelifter you all currently know as the 
Strength-Queen. I had trouble like hell to tame her wild arm on a wrestling 
table the very first time we locked up, late in the night, at the gym of the 
hotel where we brought her when we first knew about her feats. As the 
countryside teenager she was, she lacked even the more elemental knowledge on 
grips, moves or techniques, yet she was so naturally powerful I had to recall 
every trick in the book to conceal her exertion and then, I confess somewhat 
ashamed, I applied the hardest foul play I know, which is quite filthy, to 
undermine her endurance. Still she could probably have outlast me, should she 
hold her nerve rather than breaking down like a little girl, as she did, struck 
by the impotence of finding out by very first time somebody she could not simply 
pin down.

She wanted me to train her. I didn't even think about it till she gave me a 
little present, a big stainless steel soap spoon she had beautifully turned into 
a giant screw putting not less than ten turns on the metal with her bare hands. 
That night I hurt myself struggling to unscrew Miren's spoon, unable to accept 
that something a 16 years old girl had bent I couldn't. Honestly, I couldn't let 
go such a talented young lady. Aware of her potential, I decided to play hard 
and put her on a strength training schedule which had left disabled a grown man. 
The part of her body I targeted the most was her strong point, her pretty hands. 
I talked to a friend in a building company and bought a whole truck of bricks. I 
put my people in the gym on work to unload the piles. The truck driver saved the 
day commanding and organizing a whole army of strongmen and women who handled 
the piles as straw. When little Miren arrived for training, wearing the gorgeous 
silver outfit which is nowadays well known all around the world, I introduced 
her the brick pile. Bricks, this is Miren, young lady, this is your enemy, 
bricks; you got all day to see who the tougher is and who can destroy the other.
At first she could hardly break the brick in two pieces after a long struggle 
using her knees or thighs. As soon as I taught her firmer grips she could break 
the bricks as chocolate tablets, half again each piece and even pulverize the 
quarters among her pretty fingers wearing golden rings. My other people in the 
gym left their routines and circled around the brick breaking young lady. 
Somebody took one of the bricks and uselessly tried to crack it, passing it to 
the next guy who also tested its solidity by himself. She didn't pay attention 
to the amazed public, fully concentrated in her rough task. Provided single 
bricks were not match for her anymore, I put my pupil on an infernal routine 
making her to break 20, 40 and eventually 60 bricks in one hour. At the end of 
each training session Miren's hands were so hot she could have melt a lead pipe 
clenching her fingers on it. In a few days proud Miren was able to pulverize the 
bricks faster than my assistants could take then from the piles and put them 
among her rippling hands. We switched to a new class of bricks. I contacted the 
builders and the truck driver delivered a new load. He recalled me as the boss 
of the strongmen division who had unloaded his truck faster than any machine. 
The new bricks were more dense and solid but thinner, so Miren could try with 
two at once. She grabbed the bricks and cracked them like a huge sandwich made 
of stone. I had come across with a method that maximized her speed of progress. 
Taking advantage of her pride and determination, I forgot counting broken bricks 
and made each series last till she gave up. She never quitted before her hands 
completely lost grip ability, sore and shivering. I then brought a warm salt 
bath and massaged Miren's palms and fingers till she recovered her muscular 
tone. She looked at me grateful and defiant at once, and commented some 
technicalities just to make me see how seriously she was taking her strength 
training. She stared at me anxiously, expecting me to get more personal, but 
then I challenged the brave young girl to a new impossible series. 
	Her first day at the gym was one in a kind. That evening I had phone calls 
and even people coming down home to ask who was the girl in the pro wrestling 
micro outfit. To begin with she had queued in a pecs machine after Brad, a 180 
pound hunk from the streets of Chicago, and once he had completed his brutal 
reps, she had shyly asked him to load 20 pounds more to warm up. Brad snorted 
halfway between laugh and anger. They had had spectacular golden diggers who 
looked for some fast fun with the guys, but that quiet teenager wasn't 
definitely that type. Young Miren sat in the machine, spread her little arms and 
made the machine cry with twenty solid reps that covered her upper body with 
shining moisture. When Brad could thaw his jaw managed to stagger onto the sit, 
grip the handles and squeeze out his 20 reps. Every fiber in his chest was 
burning. Miren rushed him to give way, touching his shoulder with hers. Forty 
pounds more please. Forty? Yes please. She constricted the handles and stroke 
twenty fast pulls thumping every time the load against the upper tops. The guys 
nearby turned faces to watch the event. Your turn, she said standing up. Her 
arms had grown thicker and heavier.  Big Brad hesitated. I'll rather work my 
quads now, he said after mentally checking the incredible addition. 

Some guys who had stopped their own training came around and circled the pec 
machine with faces of curiosity. They encouraged his mate. C'mon, big man, don't 
chick on a child. Tell her how it goes. Brad took his place on the machine and 
struggled. He painfully completed 18 reps. His face was boiling and his lungs 
burnt. With a supreme effort his trembling guns completed the two last reps. He 
bent over, panting. H... how much now? 40 more please, replied the girl as she 
wiped her armpits and belly. She passed her hand on his shoulder, pressing him 
out of the bench. The boy loaded the extra weight, he had his lips peeled out in 
exhaustion. Miren made herself comfortable, grabbed the handles and after a deep 
inhalation brutally crashed them one against the other twenty times at an 
infernal pace. Somebody whistled. Rolling her now immense arms she showed Brad 
the way to the machine with her head. OK babe, it's hard but it's true, you win, 
I can't pump that much weight. A bulky figure surged among the spectators it was 
Mad Pearson, a grown man about 250 pounds all muscle completely bald with an 
earring and two tattooed dragons rampaging up his huge arms. He wore black long 
trunks, kickboxing style and bare chest amply tanned. He was a former marine 
banned out for organizing illegal fights. He didn't train with the guys but 
rather sort of led them and gave advice and support. Paul accepted him in the 
gym provided he quit his street fighting. He stepped out to the machine and 
without a word loaded the full weight. Then he grabbed a 100 pound dumbbell from 
the calf machine and loaded it on top. Having done that he strolled his massive 
body around in deep concentration or a sort of pray, aerated his lungs, clapped 
his thighs and face between his huge hands and started pulling. The machine 
cables creaked as the immense load jolted, levered by his colossal exertion.  
Controlling an incipient shaking, he battered the handles against each other and 
then yielded very slowly, as though landing the immense load on a delicate 
glass. For the guys delight he repeated the operation six more times, grunting 
as a bear in between. He tried an eighth rep, but his pecs shook as an 
earthquake and he aborted the attempt. Smiling he stood up and bowed, giving way 
to Miren. The 16 year old 140 pound girl smothered the sit with her solid 
buttocks that completely engulfed the rear thong of her silver v-shaped pant, 
and carefully gripped the handle stretching every finger. Her hairy armpits 
shadowed by the wide insertions of her swollen upper limbs into her feminine 
chest. Biting her fine lips she performed the first rep. The loads floated like 
feather pillows. By rep 3 her pretty nose nastily shrugged. She had lost pace. 
Her pecs spasmodically contracted, making her breasts tremble. The smile grew 
back on Mad Pearson's face. What a little powerhouse, anyway. Miren looked at 
her chest furiously commanding it to go on. She released a guttural noise, not 
completely human, that could have scared any of the hunks in a dark street, and 
completed the third rep. The metal handles clasped. Only very slowly she let 
them spread apart. When her arms reached full extension she felt two needles 
piercing below the collar bones. She had undergone an impressive upper body 
development which filled most of the guys with sheer envy. As a reflex, she 
pulled the handles together like a body builder playing cymbals in an orchestra. 
It took her two agony minutes to complete her fifth rep. But later a relief 
caressed her overcharged shoulders. Her overhuman physiology was compensating 
the fatigue by releasing nervous stimulants into the blood, flooding her 
evergrowing monster limbs with new power. She made the machine weights crush the 
extra dumbbell twice more. The guys chanted the reps, 6... 7 ... 8 a cheerful 
shout celebrated her feat. Exhausted, she released the handles. The big dumbbell 
dropped hitting heavily the floor and rounding through the escaping feet of the 
guys, to eventually land on Mad Pearson's toes. Brad took little Miren big gun 
by its thick wrist and lifted it loudly shouting. Dear gym-rat mates, please 
warmly welcome our little beauty beast. She has just pitted her strength against 
our champion and the winner is... what's your name? He asked, keeping her arm 
up. The guys laughed and came to touch, squeeze and kiss the new queen of the 
gym. Miren stoically bore the physical displays of affection, waited for the 
guys to cool down and walked to face Mad Pearson. The two unevenly sized 
strength freaks watched each other in silence for a long while, the smaller 
looking bigger than the larger. Then Miren offered her hand. Big Mad hesitated 
but eventually made the little hand disappear inside his. They shook and she 
turned back to test a new machine, followed by dozens of worshipping eyes. 

By week two in her working out schedule I surprised her with the thumb training. 
I wrapped her thumb tips in a coarse tape and brought her to a long pine wood 
pole I had set on two benches, and gave her a one inch nail, asking her to stick 
it into the wood. Where's the hammer- she asked finding it silly. No hammer, I 
said grinning, took a nail with my left and dug it into the wood pressing with 
my right thumb. Miren took a nail and carefully observed it with childish 
amazement as though it came from outer space. Then she placed it on the wood 
pole, put her thumb on and squeezed with her usual devotion. The nail tip stuck 
into the wood. I'm strong enough, but it aches, she said grimacing. Not as much 
as Pat's grip, I said crossing my arms on my bulky chest, the target of her warm 
stares, and inviting her to try harder. Miren half shut her eyes and with a 
single thrust inserted the nail into the wood until its head. Later she 
unwrapped the tape and examined her finger, finding out a nasty purple scare. 
She shrugged her mini-nose and blew on her thumb. Well done, honey, I said 
opening my fist where 50 more nails awaited.

By the end of the evening Miren's powerful thumbs were nail sticking machines. 
Her forearms burnt but she was completely happy, seeing me to acknowledge her 
awesome physical faculties. 

After a couple of weeks of intensive training, Miren had trouble to use her 
hands for delicate tasks. Still not perfectly aware of her increasing strength, 
she broke the wineglasses when dinning out with Isa, who by the way had 
abandoned her affection for armwrestling the stonelifter because she couldn't 
stand her grip anymore. She learnt to restrict her power when shaking hands with 
people, though with a certain kind of macho men she recovered her teenager 
spirit amusing herself by slowly squeezing up to just one tenth of her gripping 
power and watching their faces move from the diplomatic smile through a 
embarrassed simulation to the raw pain scream and beg for release.  Miren's 
fingers had grown thicker and the rings her boyfriend had given her only fitted 
in her little fingers. She couldn't use anymore the little scissors she had 
carried in her bathroom suitcase and one night, making herself ready to go out 
with Isa to a party, she tore the leather gloves her mum had gave her last 
Christmas trying to fit her grown hands inside.

One morning, once she had destroyed the whole pile of double bricks I had 
personally set for her, breaking by two minutes her personal best from the day 
before, she turned back and threw me an intense look. Very rarely she 
interrupted her work out. I was curling a fully loaded two hands bar with a 
single hand while clandestinely watched her impressive display. We trained close 
together and observed each other competing to outbest the strikes. I had caution 
not to use the same weight machines she was programmed to use. Though she was 
quickly shortening the gap, I kept some advantage in total weight lifted, but 
her progression was so fast I could hardly match her reps or follow her pace. I 
made the huge dumbbell cry as the girl approached, her swollen arms covering the 
full sides of her sleeveless top, and stepped firmly with her wrestling boots, 
standing just in front of me. With the quiet authority she had got in the gym 
the hard way (by that time she had overpowered each of my pupils in all tests of 
strength she always let them chose) she commanded two of the bigger guys to lift 
a giant dumbbell and hold it behind her. Leaning her left on the hip, she folded 
her right arm over her shoulder letting me see her hairy cave, and grabbed the 
dumbbell behind her back, among her shoulder blades. I couldn't help a shivering 
when she asked the guys to release. Her arm wrecked twisted by the monster 
weight. At once she hardened her body. Her skin flattened as diving at abyssal 
depths. Muscle packets rippled everywhere, and then she just tensed her triceps 
and the monster dumbbells, moaning, took off. When she had completely extended 
up her arm she relaxed a bit her face, enough to half smile to me. She kept the 
weight still on her head for never-ending minutes. My biceps trembled exhausted 
struggling for one more rep. I dropped the weights. Only then she let the 
dumbbell fall, controlling every step of the awkward move, on her shoulder 
first, then on her hip, then delicately on the ground, as though it were made of 
glass. 

Her arms and chest were immensely pumped, and her burning brick-breaking hands 
had semi-flexed stiff fingers. She had a mischievous grin. She walked to me. 
Tonight I bet with Isa she couldn't hurt my middle finger. She struggled for 
half an hour twisting and wrecking it, but I resisted. I was wondering whether I 
can resist you as well. I believe you have made my hands so tough you can't 
yourself hurt me either. She clenched her fists, rippling thick muscle cords in 
her forearms and then she opened hands again. That wasn't very smart of you. I 
wouldn't like you to get injured so close to the Boston gala. Miren's grin faded 
and she twisted her lips visible offended. She turned her back on me, took the 
first pair of bricks in the second pile and destroyed them with a hard squeeze. 
I toweled myself and approached the stronggirl, sat on the wood-pole and called 
her attention. Come, sit here. Miren broke a new pair of bricks and came to sat 
on my thigh. I took her fingers and smoothly folded them, admiring the shape and 
muscularity they had reached, all the way keeping the beauty Miren's hands had 
always possessed, ending in perfectly sculptured nails. I stretched her thick 
middle finger and wrapped it with my right hand, carefully clenching my fingers 
from little to fore and finally fastening the grip crossing my thumb on the 
other four. As Miren's finger had about the same length than my palm width only 
the nail tip left uncovered. Then I grabbed Miren's wrist tight with my left 
hand and said, now tell my how long you think you can stand. Miren watched 
straight in my wet pumped chest stretching the suspenders of my weightlifting 
bottom. You know I'm getting stronger than you. Just fight to delay the time of 
your defeat. I swallowed, not as self-confident as would like. I've close 
handled girls far more exuberant than Miren, but never with that explosive 
cocktail of power, innocence, pride and natural beauty. You know you're giving 
me real trouble with Corinne, I said. You're the first and only girl I know that 
make her jealous. Miren wiped the sweat on her lips with the back of her free 
hand. As long as you could make me surrender nothing will happen between us. But 
sooner or later I'll beat you, and then I'll take my price. I don't mind 
Corinne. I'll challenge her to fight for you if necessary. Armwrestling, 
wrestling, boxing, weightlifting, whatever she wanted. I'll beat her and take 
you. The girl's honest ingenuity touched me. I felt my cock's head advancing 
under her hard buttocks. I pretended I found it ridiculous and forced a nervous 
laugh but I think she realized. C'mon big man, said the girl looking straight 
into my eyes, give me your best shot and see if you're tough enough to make me 
cry. For me it would be a test for our training progression, and also a prove to 
keep the current pecking order. I was struck by her awesome physical power, but 
I felt I could still give her the lesson she deserved. I constricted her finger 
and twisted it upwards, while keeping her wrist pinned with my other hand. As 
she didn't react I increased progressively the pressure, with no visible result 
on Miren's face. Stroke by her toughness I forgot the Boston gala and applied my 
full strength till I discovered my pecs trembling, exerting full power. The girl 
didn't blinked. I thought there was something wrong in my grip, released it and 
clenched firmer, squeezing the blood out of her finger. Then I tensed my arm and 
chest muscles as an arch and suddenly triggered the contraction, pulling up my 
ebony prey in a sudden violent jerk. Miren's finger bones creaked as the 
articulation reached the limit of its flexibility. I instantly looked at her, 
scared by the noise, expecting a pain distorted facial expression. Rather Miren 
kept her straight stare, deeply concentrated in coping with the pain. Drops of 
cold sweat run down my forehead as I realized how tough the young girl was. I 
probably couldn't myself take that much pain, yet she kept her inhuman 
expression, exuding defiance by each pore of her velvet skin and saying give me 
more with her almond-shaped eyes. I repeated the jerks more and more violently, 
increasing their pace till my shoulders burnt. Her eyes continued spitting defy 
on my face. Hurt in my dearest pride by a teenager girl, I squeezed as hard as I 
could and started wringing my wrist aiming to screw her finger out of its socket 
and let her know the meaning of the word pain. Miren's tiny nose shuddered as if 
bit by an electric shock. Encouraged by her first sign of weakness, I redoubled 
the punishment, combining the twists with demolishing thrusts that slowly but 
continuously erased both blood and determination out of Miren's face. Still she 
kept her defiant eyes straight into mine. That was far too much. I had never met 
anybody that tough. I recalled my wrestling bout against a Japanese grown woman 
when I was 16. She was in her thirties but looked much more experienced to the 
scared youngster I was. I was stronger than her but she was a pain mistress, 
able to knock out the toughest wrestler by sticking her steel nails into secret 
vital points of the body. Her gorgeous elegance and legendary cruelty psyched 
me. I had tried to compensate by running over her, but her wrestling skills and 
savoir faire soon reduced my raw power to a king size living toy in her mighty 
hands. She really made her day. She had tried every thing in the book with my 
body and I had resisted, but in round sixteen she applied me the more painful 
hold I had ever suffered and made me lost my first strength wrestling bout by 
submission. She had encircled my chest with her thighs in perfect scissors, took 
my left arm and stretched it pulling by my fore and little fingers with her two 
hands. She applied the stretching in rhythmic jerks, as though my fingers were 
the rows and my chest the boat bench. She was far stronger than a well trained 
rower, but the worse was she combined the finger pulling with a demoniac 
screwing that she applied as though her fists would be accelerating a 
motorcycle. I would have probably black out but she wanted a submission, and 
when I was fading she inverted the wise of her twisting, sending new pain waves 
through my nervous system. I had a rematch with her two years later and broke 
her fingers in the first rounds, even though she gave me hard work sticking her 
chin in my ribs before fading trapped in my bear huge. So I tried the pulling-
screw combination learnt from the Japanese lady wrestler with Miren's ultra 
finger. She started gasping and her eyes shut at last, but still didn't submit. 
My cock spitted under her iron thighs. I think I was coming for two minutes or 
so. Then I made ready to release her invulnerable finger. Just then she 
muttered: I quit. I bowed to kiss her hand. She grabbed my chin and kissed my 
lips, panting, and then run away to the changing room.
     
Next day I replaced the bricks by road stones. When she entered the gym, just 
showered wearing her V-shaped pants, her tank top and her wrestling boots, she 
avoided looking at me. She saw the pile of stones, took one of them and 
struggled unfruitfully. I walked behind her took her hands and placed them 
grabbing the stone fingers up with her left and fingers down with her right. She 
got it, flexed her bulky forearms. After a couple of assaults the stone couldn't 
resist Miren's grip longer, trembled and cracked, throwing some sparks. She 
broke twenty more before falling on the floor completely exhausted. Paul, I'm 
ready for Boston, she said taking off the weightlifting fingerless gloves she 
wore to avoid cuts with the stone angles. I can't find anybody in the gym who 
can cope with my grip for practicing and you refuse to armwrestle me. I want to 
go there and then go for Pat and then go for the world championship. She came to 
me and sat on my legs as the day before. Her little hard body seemed much more 
dense than it should if made from human flesh and calcium bones, and pressed on 
my thighs as a lead-stuffed doll. Her breath though was deep and powerful, and 
warm perspiration glowed on her body. She took my hands and watched the snake-
shaped silver ring I wear in my left middle finger. I'm also ready for our 
private challenge, she said taking my hand and closing it on her middle finger. 
When I clasped around her finger she apparently stopped breathing. Having she 
proved me I couldn't injure her for Boston, I wasn't delicate. The pulling-
twisting combination was the more pleasant caress I made her. I attacked her 
finger articulations with my thumb, redoubled the jerks in every direction and 
even tried to separate her nail from the flesh. She struggled not to surrender, 
eyes closed, panting like a bear and blowing hard through the tiny nostrils of 
her pretty delicate nose. Pain is more unbearable if discontinuous. By surprise 
I quitted twisting not letting her know when I'd start again the torture. After 
half an hour her heart beat menaced to pierce her chest and her rib-box panted 
pumping air frenetically. Her body was so hot I could sea the curls of steam 
flying away her breasts. She was weeping when she called surrender. She went 
back to the stones, grabbed one forgetting the gloves and squeezed, grunting 
like a beast. The stone shattered in a thousand pieces. I called her back, took 
her on my arms and she relieved her anger. You're ready for Boston. You're ready 
for anything you wanted. I couldn't stand half the pain you've just taken. And 
do you wanna know something? I can't break more than two or three of the stones 
you destroy by dozens in one hour. I want to give you a present which hopefully 
bring you good luck in your promising armwrestling career. This is the snake 
ring you like so much. I wear it since, 8 years ago, I conquered it in Africa. 
As a member of the French strength national team we toured there to face an 
African selection. We beat them in a close contest but a member of their team, a 
black giantess, finished all events undefeated. She was a princess of a hunting 
people living deep in the jungle. She was 7 ft and 300 pounds, all muscle. When 
the tournament ended we met in the dining party. She dominated the meeting, 
dressing in white satin a back-less number which stuck to her body as a second 
skin. After drinking two bottles of vodka each, I joined the courage to tell her 
that I would be forever grateful if she allowed me to test her strength face to 
face. We dated each other in the swimming pool early in the morning. Every body 
was sleeping drunk when we appeared on time for the date. Taking off a dressing 
gown she exposed her ebony body to the rising sun. I imitated her. We jumped to 
the pull in the shallow part and wrestled trying to draw each other. She bear 
hugged me and we laid under water. Her arms squeezed my ribs pouring big air 
bubbles out of my lungs. I realized her chest was too tough for me so I attacked 
her eyes with my thumbs trying to goggle them off. She released me. I had water 
burning in my lungs but still wrestled her hard. She was bigger but I was 
faster. I applied arm locks, full Nelsons and head scissors drawing her. I 
finished her off with a vicious underwater head lock. I kept my hold till she 
stopped moving and tapped my thighs for submission. I carried her half 
vanquished out of the pool dropped her giant body on the ground and pressed her 
chest to take out all the water. Then I plugged her nose and blew into her 
mouth. When she recovered  she released a furtive tear, quickly wiping it with 
her huge fingers half black, half pale. I have never met anybody stronger than 
me, she said. I still believe you are not stronger but just a better wrestler. 
Now it is me who begs you to accept one more test of strength. Pure strength. 
Following her instructions I delayed my return to France and two days after took 
a little plane to a distant airdrome in the mountains. A jeep awaited me there. 
A black man drove me through impossible tracks to a hunting camp. All the tribe 
received me formed in front of their cabins wearing lion furs and staff. As I 
approached they silently led me to a big cut trunk were she awaited, wearing a 
breathtaking outfit consisting of a big collar made of lion teeth that clapped 
on her bare breasts, a leopard bottom and leather laces digging in her thighs. 
She looked like under the effect of some drug, her round big eyes wide open, her 
pupils filling nearly all the ocular sphere. We locked up hands. A fat man gave 
the sign. Every body was quiet and only the creak of our arms in full exertion 
could be heard. I let her dominate me. To be honest, I did my best but she was 
ultra-strong and had leverage advantage. My spaced panting sounded like bells 
counting the time passing by. Determined to sell my fur expensive I rallied. I 
noticed her eyes grew even wider as my arm slowly overpowered hers, leveling off 
and then bending her colossal night-black biceps. She stopped me, seeking deep 
in her massive body for extra strength to pit against me. I forced her down 
again. I'm a master faking. I had burst most of my power but made it look like I 
was just beginning. I made her doubt. She started trembling. Her people muttered 
incredulous, seeing their giant princess having a tough time against a white 
male. I passed the tip of my tongue on my lips. I can do that no matter how hard 
I'm flexing. I learnt it from body building shows. She threw a desperate attack, 
wasting vital energies. I waited for her to exhaust, jerking with my whole body, 
and turned the tide, pinning her just one inch from defeat. She thrust 
desperately, burning her last fuel stock. With a solid jerk I pinned her down. 
People whispered as though a sacrilege had just been committed before their 
eyes. Sky got dark and cloudy. I thought I'd serve them as dinner. But she knelt 
before me, even that way she was almost as high as me standing, took out her 
snake ring and put it on my finger, bowing. I took her hand and pulled her into 
her hut. I screwed her. Her sex was even harder than her biceps. It took me more 
that twenty minutes pumping at full power to soften it, then I made her come 
till she started shouting. Corinne probably heard it in Paris. Then I dug into 
her bottom. She had the more massive ass I've ever seen. I couldn't circle one 
of her buttocks with my two hands. When she felt the head of my dick inside her 
guts she flexed her meat mounds. I can't describe that. I was about to black 
out. Still I managed to pin her clit, which was larger than a child willy and 
made her come again. I slept on her back. It was broader than my present bed.

The day before traveling to Boston I arrived late at the gym. Corinne had 
invited an old mate, a Japanese armwrestler she had teamed up with for the world 
couple tournament a few years ago. It was a tantalizing Asian beauty who showed 
great intimacy with Corinne. By the end of the dinner I was ready to fade away 
when to my surprise she invited me to join them two. She wanted to train some 
new grips and put me in front to test the Asian wrestler. Despite vivid 
encouragement from the lioness, I couldn't take the grabbing technique from the 
Asian girl, who used her vanadium hard nails as dissecting pincers against my 
hand tendons. Once she had finished me off Corinne took my place. I saw the Jap 
was destroying her hand as well, but she managed to hold enough time to pin her 
down. We got rid off our dressing and went on pulling for a couple of hours. The 
Asian hard body praised the size of my manhood, and Corinne, extremely pleased, 
allowed her to take a handful. The girl stuck and pinned with her nails till my 
cock's head got purple and ready to spit, but then she released me and switched 
to the thick lips of watching big Lioness. As soon as I had cooled down they 
repeated the show, putting me on the edge and leaving me alone in the very last 
moment. I got angry and charged against the yellow hard body to get my way to my 
girlfriend. She received me with  her legs spread and applied scissors to my 
chest, squeezing my ribs with her monster hard thighs. Corinne caressed her 
thighs as they dug into my sides bending my rib-box as plastic. Not happy with 
that, the exotic beauty grabbed my teeth and pulled my mandibles apart. She was 
so strong she had easily tore off my chin hadn't I clenched my hands to her 
wrists, partially counteracting her exertion. Riding on me, she changed tactics, 
held my skull as a football and started bumping my head against the hard floor. 
Corinne crossed her arms before her chest and prompted her lethal friend not to 
be afraid to hurt me, as though the Jap wrestler were showing some containment. 
I grabbed her nipples between my thumbs and my fists and twisted. She grunted 
and released my cranium, miraculously intact. She yelled like a rat as I reduced 
her firm pretty breasts to pulp. I got rid of her scissors and handled her with 
arm locks and full Nelsons punishing her upper limbs with my more inspired 
holds. Had I mentioned my boyfriend, almost as a child, primed her strength 
career as a pro wrestler and faced some Japanese tough ladies? mocked Lioness to 
her now suffering mate. I hope you won't have trouble to tame him anyway. He's 
damn strong, whistled the Asian beauty among her grit teeth, as I clamped my 
legs to her wrist and rolled her left arm out of its socket, to add a final back 
twist to her fingers that send a pain current straight to her spine. She was 
tireless and her hard breathtaking body looked invulnerable. Legs wide spread, 
Corinne watched us rubbing a pillow against her crotch. After nearly one hour 
the yellow skin was soaked in sweat and slipped out of my holds. I smothered 
her, pressing her throat with my left forearm getting mortal leverage by 
grabbing her head-back with my right and fastening the strangler left on the 
right forearm. That way I could apply the full strength of my both huge arms on 
her throat. She shook spasmodically like a trapped fish, and slowly cooled down. 
I noticed her muscles yielding and getting loose. She drove up a trembling claw, 
as a sort of weak salutation. I tightened my sleeper, feeling her windpipe 
smashed by my arm bone. Her arm felt loose. Corinne clapped her hands. I had 
defeated her. I released her now soft body which strangely rebounded on the 
floor. Sat on her heels, Corinne's brown tanned legs constricted the soaked 
white pillow. Almost 40 min. You're getting old, mate. Dealing with my huge 
erection, I slapped Lioness' open arms away, grabbed the Jap little white feet 
and wrapped with them my cock's head.