Danielle, Part Two: Questions, Answers and More Questions>
By Sonofjack, sonofjackwell@gmail.com
Mr. Jenkins tries to find out more about Danielle.


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Hey! Here it is (finally), the second part to my ongoing "Danielle"
storyline. I've received more comments on part one of this story than on any
other story I've ever posted. I want to thank the readers for ALL of their
comments and suggestions. I incorporated several reader suggestions into this
story and plan to add more to subsequent chapters. If YOU have a suggestion
or a comment, I would LOVE to hear it/them. Email me at
sonofjackwell@gmail.com

Also, don't forget that I write CUSTOM stories on commission. If you like my
writing style and have an idea that you would like to see turned in to a full
story, email me at sonofjackwell@gmail.com

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    I was lying in my bed when my bedroom door opened. My room was dark
but a faint blue light that shone from somewhere beyond the space on the other
side of my door illuminated the silhouette of a shapely female form. The
beautiful feminine form was rolling her shoulders and hips seductively to the
faint slow background music that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.

    I watched the snake-like, hypnotic movement of her liquid cool form,
her large breasts, her slender rolling waist, her wide swaying hips. She
turned to show her body's profile.  Her breasts stood firm and proud; her
ass was round and tight.

    Finding my voice I asked, "Who is it, who's there?"

    "You know who it is, Mr. Jenkins," she whispered in her tempting,
pouty voice.

    "Danielle?" I asked wanting it to be her, but too afraid to hope it
was.

    "Yes, Mr. Jenkins, it's Danielle."

    "You came back?"

    "I had to come back, Mr. Jenkins; I had to come back and see you
again." As she began to walk towards me, I could see her remove her top off
over her head. I could see the outline of flawless breasts against the light
shining behind her. "I had to come back so that I could be with you, Mr.
Jenkins. I had to come back so that I could show off my amazing strength and
my stunning body and use them to bring you untold pleasure. I had to show you
how much you mean to me, Mr. Jenkins."

    This was unbelievable. My gorgeous, incredibly strong student,
Danielle Thorn, had come back to my apartment apparently to ravish me. I was
instantly hard. I thought about her seductive beauty and her miraculous
strength. This was beyond my wildest fantasies coming true. Just the thought
of it was enough to make me -

    "AAAAuuuckkkkk!", I screamed out in ecstasy. Suddenly it was all
over. I woke up alone in my bedroom with my shorts filled cum. It had been a
wet dream - a fucking wet dream! I hadn't had a wet dream since...well, since
the night before when I also dreamed about Danielle returning. And I had
another the night before that. I'd dreamed about Danielle every night since
she visited my apartment two nights ago. Who can blame me?

    Now it was late Sunday night, and I would most likely be seeing
Danielle in school the next day. The thought of seeing her again both
thrilled and terrified me.

    It thrilled me because it seemed as if she liked me at least a little
bit. She called me cutie, and she didn't beat the crap out of me when she had
the chance. She even said she'd come back and visit me at my apartment.

    It terrified me because, with her amazing strength, she COULD beat the
crap of me if she wanted. Moreover, with her unpredictable nature, how could
I be sure that next time she WOULDN'T? I'm also not so sure that her visiting
me again at my apartment is such a great idea since I'm her teacher, but I'm
almost positive that is she wants to there's no way I could stop her.

    After I changed my shorts and went back to sleep, I just couldn't help
wondering what tomorrow would bring....

    The next day at school, the first thing I noticed was that several of
the football players had black eyes, bruised faces and swollen jaws. One boy,
Ronnie Ray Reynolds, even had a cast on his hand. I remembered that as
Danielle was leaving my apartment on Friday she said that there was a group of
football players that she was going to beat up. Could this be them?

    One of the boys in question was in my first period class so when he
walked in I said, "My goodness, what happened to you?"

    "I got in a fight," was all he said. A couple of the other students
laughed so I decided not to press the issue for fear of embarrassing him.

    Later that day when Danielle came to class, I wanted to ask her about
it, but I was too intimidated. She walked towards my classroom with the
feline grace and power of a dark lioness. I noticed that the other students -
especially the football players - stepped aside as she strode through the
halls. "She's so beautiful," I thought to myself. Then I remembered how easy
it was for her to lift me into the air with one hand.  I could feel the fear
and the lust she inspired in me without even trying, so I forced myself to
look away.

    "Hello, Mr. Jenkins," she said in her soft, little girl voice.

    "H-hello, Miss Thorn," I responded happy that my voice only trembled
slightly.

    Somehow I made it through class knowing that those eyes - her eyes -
were watching me the whole time. I avoided her gaze as much as possible only
daring to look in her direction a few times so it didn't become too obvious
that I was trying so hard NOT to look at her. The times I did look her way, I
could see her eyes were on me and burning directly into my soul. At one point
our eyes locked for a few seconds. I felt so light-headed that I actually got
a little dizzy.

    When class was over, I watched as the other students filed out.
Danielle made a point of getting up and walking out last. As she walked
towards the exit, I couldn't help myself. I followed the sway of her tight,
round ass. She had poured herself into a tight pair of faded jeans. The once
stiff denim looked so soft and supple and conformed to the shape of Danielle's
ass so completely. I couldn't help but think about how everything in
Danielle's life conformed to her - including me.

    Just before she left my room she turned and gave me a wink. "Don't
try to avoid looking at it, Mr. Jenkins. It's just too perfect to resist!
See you tomorrow, Cutie." She was gone long before I could make a reply.

    Later that day during my last hour prep period, I decided that I had
to find out more about Danielle Thorn. I figured that the best way to do that
was to make discreet inquiries among my fellow teachers. When I first asked
my teaching mentor, Mr. Couvillion, about Danielle the Friday before, he was
very reluctant to talk about her. When I asked him why he said, "It's just
something that people don't usually talk about."

    I soon discovered that this was partly true and partly untrue. I
found that NO teachers would talk about her if there were a lot of people
around. In fact, if you wanted to empty out the teacher's lounge, the
quickest way to do it was to bring up Danielle Thorn's name.

    On the other hand, if you asked most teachers one-on-one you could
probably get some information from them. It seemed that most teachers had at
least one Danielle Thorn story, and some of them seemed eager - even relieved
- to share. They all talked about her in low whispers however.

    Slowly a picture began to emerge. For one thing, it was true that all
the teachers gave Danielle straight A's in all her classes even though she
didn't earn them. When I asked why, the story that I was told most often was
that while in middle school, Danielle forced the principal to call a mandatory
faculty meeting of all the teachers. At that meeting it is said that Danielle
laid down the law and explained to the entire faculty how things were going to
be. She was to receive straight A's in all her classes and to always be
counted present whether she attended class or not.

    According to the story, she told the faculty that they would obey her
"or else". Then she is said to have performed feats of great strength as a
warning and a demonstration of what she was capable of. The thing that is
strange, however, is that no two teachers could seem to agree on exactly what
feats of strength she performed.

    One teacher told me that me that she had the five largest male
teachers climb up on one of the meeting room tables and then easily lifted the
table completely off the ground. Another story is that she took some nails
and drove them into a table using her bare fist - one punch per nail. The
teacher that told me that told me that he'd actually seen the table with the
nails driven all the way into it. Other stories were that she punched holes
through brick walls, turned over cars in the parking lot and crushed steel
file cabinets as if they were accordions.

    I asked a few people if any teachers had ever stood up to her and
refused to obey her orders. Several of them told me the story of Coach
Barnes. Coach Barnes they explained used to be our high school's head
wrestling and assistant football coach. Apparently when Danielle was a ninth
grader, he was overheard several times in the teacher's lounge saying that he
was not going to "play Ball" with Danielle.

    They say that shortly into the school year Danielle told him that she
heard that he said he wasn't going to "play ball" with her. When she asked
him if that was true, he confirmed that it was. The next day, a local
construction company reported that their two ton wrecking ball was stolen
right off one of their cranes. The day after that the missing ball was found
crushing in the roof of Coach Barnes' new car. 

    When Coach Barnes reported what had happened to the police they
laughed at him. How could a ninth grade girl use a two ton wrecking ball to
crush his car they asked. The whole thing seemed absurd.

    After that things went from bad to worse for Coach Barnes. It seems
that Danielle began to intimidate and pick on him right in class in front of
the other students. They say that several times she drove him to tears.
Reporting her to the office did no good because the principal was terrified of
her. Eventually the overwrought teacher had a nervous breakdown and left the
teaching profession.

    The moral was obvious: sooner or later EVERYONE did as Danielle told
them to do.

    I know I sure caved-in quickly enough and gave her what she wanted.
With me though, it wasn't just fear; it was a combination of fear and lust.
When she allowed me the privilege of feeling her powerful bicep and whispered
in my ear, "I'm stronger than anyone," I admit it: I lost the power to resist
her. Something about the combination of feeling her power with my own hand as
I felt her warm breath on my ear turned me into putty.

    I tried to talk to a few of my fellow teachers about Danielle's
incredible powers of seduction. This topic, I discovered NO ONE would
discuss.

    So, after four days of asking various teachers about Danielle, I came
away with a portrait that was not too flattering. Meanwhile, I had to face
her every day in class.

    The most interesting development there was that on Tuesday, Danielle
decided that she wanted to move up to the front of the class. I don't have
assigned seats, but the way it usually works is that by the end of the first
week, students settle into the seats they'll occupy until the end of the
course. People are just naturally territorial that way.

    Up until then, Danielle always sat in the back of class. However, on
Tuesday she walked over to a boy sitting in the front row and said sweetly,
"Charles, switch seats with me." It wasn't quite a command, but it wasn't
exactly a request either. Whatever it was, Charles could not have moved
faster to comply. He was clearly intimidated, but this could just as easily
have been because of Danielle's gorgeous good looks as it was her strength.

    Either way, now Danielle sat right in front of class. This, of
course, made it much harder for me to avoid looking at her. However, as the
week went on, I felt less self-conscious about having her in class. She
generally seemed to be paying attention. She never asked any questions or
turned in any of her assignments, but she did seem more-or-less interested in
what we were doing in class.

    She didn't really say or do anything to draw attention to herself
other than saying, "Hello, Mr. Jenkins," every day when she entered class.
Gradually I got reasonably comfortable with having her in class. Still, I was
relieved when I noticed that she was absent on Friday.

    Even though she wasn't there, I marked her present.

    That afternoon when I got home, I noticed that the doorknob to my
apartment was crushed and broken. Someone must have broken in when I was at
work. From the look of the doorknob, whoever it was must have used some kind
of heavy-duty, industrial pliers. Careful not to step into the apartment, I
cautiously pushed the door open only to find that it was loose and only
attached to the frame by one hinge.

    The door wobbled open and there I saw Danielle sitting in a chair in
my living room. She looked up at me and said, "Come in, Mr. Jenkins, we've
got some things to talk about." I thought about running away, but as usual,
Danielle seemed to know what I was thinking and was one step ahead of me. "If
you're thinking about running away, don't. I promise you that I'd catch you
before you even got to your car. You wouldn't like for your neighbors to see
me carrying you back in would you?"

    "No," I said as I stood frozen in the doorway.

    Danielle smiled disarmingly and said, "For goodness' sake, Mr.
Jenkins, come in. All I want to do is talk to you - for now anyway."

    I carefully placed my broken door back into its frame. "Did you have
to do that to my door?" I asked.

    "A lot of people I know would be glad that it was ONLY their door that
I damaged," she said. She had a way of saying even vaguely threatening things
like this in such a charming way that it almost made you feel grateful that
she was talking to you at all.

    "Besides, you weren't here," she said, "What was I supposed to do,
wait outside?"

    "Well . . . that IS what most people would do," I pointed out.

    "Mr. Jenkins, when are you going to get it through your head that I'm
not most people?" she asked.

    "I forgot," I said, "The rules don't apply to you."

    "Now you're learning," she said with a little girl giggle.

    After getting the door to stay in place in the door frame, I went and
sat down on my couch. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" I asked
only half sarcastically.

    "You've been asking a lot of questions about me, haven't you, Mr.
Jenkins?"

    I felt my stomach drop to my feet. "How did you find out?" I asked
warily.

    "I have my ways," she answered with a mischievous smile.

    "You-you're not mad about that are you?" I asked. Again the thought
of trying to escape crossed my mind, but I decided that I was probably better
off trying to talk my way out of it if it came down to that.

    She looked like she had to think about it for a few seconds. "I was
at first, but I decided that it's only natural for you to want to learn more
about me. After all, I'm quite fascinating."

    "That's for sure," I agreed. This seemed to please her. "Really, you
should look at my questions as a compliment. I wanted to find out more about
you," I explained.

    "I understand that" she said, "What bothers me is if you wanted to
know more about me, why didn't you just come to me and ask?"

    "Well, uh -"

    "Is it because you don't trust me?" she asked, the fire starting to
rise in her eyes.

    "No, no, that's not it at all," I explained, "It's just that I didn't
know when the two of us would have a chance to get together like this and talk
again."

    "The last time I was here I told you that I would come back and visit
you soon," she reminded me.

    "That's true," I agreed, "But I don't know you well enough to know
what you mean by 'soon'."

    "That's ridiculous! 'Soon' means 'soon'," she said.

    I decided to try appealing to her ego. "You're right, Danielle, I
guess that my fascination with you was so great that I just could wait to find
out more about you."

    This clearly pleased her. "I can understand that," she said.
"Besides, I don't really care. I just like watching you squirm a little."

    "Oh," I said. Since I wasn't really sure how to take this statement,
I went back to my earlier question. "Seriously, how DID you find out I'd been
asking about you?"

    "Mademoiselle told me," she answered.

    "Mademoiselle? You mean Mademoiselle Desiree?" I asked. Mademoiselle
Desiree was the very attractive French language teacher at the high school
where I taught and Danielle was a student. She was only a couple years older
than me, and she was a petite, well put together beauty. She reminded me a
lot of the woman who played Batgirl in the old Batman TV series. It would be
safe to say that I had a little crush on Mademoiselle Desiree.

    "Yep, that's the one," she replied.

    "How did you get Mademoiselle to rat me out?" I asked.

    "What do you mean 'get' her to? She volunteered the information. She
was trying to get on my good side at the time."

    "Were you threatening her?" I asked. I could feel my anger rising at
the thought of Danielle picking on Mademoiselle Desiree. I had no idea what -
if anything - I could do about it, but it made me mad all the same.

    "Why would I threaten her? She already give me straight A's."
Danielle explained.

    I was confused. "Okay, slow down for a second. Where and when did
this meeting with Mademoiselle Desiree take place, and why would she tell you
about me asking questions about you?"

    "Wow! You really are nosey, aren't you?" she said. "If you MUST
know, she came over to my apartment last night -"

    "Wait! You have your own apartment?"

    "Yes, I do. Now, don't interrupt me again; I really hate that!"

    "Sorry," I said.

    "Seriously, I HATE that. Now, where was I?"

    "Mademoiselle Desiree came over to your apartment. . ."

    "That's right!" she said, "And as usual she started begging me to let
her eat my pussy -"

    "Hold it! Stop! Mademoiselle Desiree was BEGGING you to let her eat
your pussy?"

    Danielle got out of her chair with an agitated look on her face. She
walked over to me and grabbed me by the collar. She pulled my face close to
hers and said, "Are you going to interrupt me again?"

    "N-no, Danielle, please accept my apology," I said.

    "Because if you do . . . ."

    "I understand," I assured her. "It won't happen again."

    She went back over to the chair she was sitting in and sat back down.
I made a mental note to myself to save my questions until AFTER Danielle
finished talking.

    "Anyway, she was on her knees begging me." I ALMOST blurted out "On
her knees?", but Danielle must have sensed his because she hesitated for just
a fraction of a second and shot me a look that told me I'd better not. "When
I told her I really wasn't in the mood she said that if I let her she'd tell
me who in the school had been asking a lot of questions about me. So I told
her 'okay', and she told me and I let her eat me out."

    "So, Mademoiselle Desiree eats out your pussy on a regular basis?" I
asked.

    "Geez, you're really fixated on that part of the story, aren't you?"
she said. Then she added, "What's the matter? Jealous?"

    "Well, I sure wouldn't mind it if Mademoiselle Desiree got on her
knees and begged me to let her do stuff," I said.

    "That's not what I meant," she said, sounding a little hurt. "I meant
are you jealous that she gets to eat out my pussy?" she explained.

    "Oh, well . . .uh," I stammered.

    "You don't think that Mademoiselle is prettier than me do you? I know
that she's very pretty, but she's not as pretty as me," Danielle insisted.

    "You're right," I assured her, "You're prettier than Mademoiselle
Desiree." I wasn't lying either.

    "I know I am," she said haughtily, "I just wasn't sure if you thought
so."

    Curious, I asked, "Why do you care what I think?"

    "I don't! And besides, I know that you think I'm hot. The last time
I was here, I made you cream your pants just by letting you feel my bicep,"
she reminded me.

    "That's true," I admitted, "And I guess we should talk about that.
I'm afraid I DID become a little overwhelmed by your . . . presence last time,
but that's not going to happen again. I don't guess that there's a problem
with the two of us just visiting and talking like this, but there won't be any
more . . . well, incidents like last time -"

    "When I made you cum," she interrupted. (I didn't say anything about
it because I know she'd just remind me that the rules don't apply to her.)

    "Yes well, anyway, it won't happen again because it's inappropriate."

    "Mademoiselle Desiree sure doesn't think so," she giggled.

    "I can only speak for myself," I stated emphatically.

    "Hmmmmm, we'll see about that later," she cooed seductively, "We'll
just see." Then she remembered the question I asked her before we got off on
these tangents. "But, yes, to answer your question, Mademoiselle Desiree eats
out my pussy whenever I let her. Believe me; she'd gladly do it every night."

    "But why?" I asked. I admit; it was a stupid question.

    "Because, Dumbass, look at me; I'm one hell of a hot chick!" Danielle
again got up and this time she did a little twirl to demonstrate to truth in
what she said. She was wearing an oversized men's dress shirt - blue
pinstripes - and blue bikini bottoms. She seemed to like to dress very
skimpily whenever she came over to my apartment.

    Suddenly it occurred to me, "Hey! Is that my shirt you're wearing?"

    "Of course, Silly, don't you think it looks a lot better on me?" she
asked as she twirled around again. As she did, the light behind her shone
through the thin fabric of the shirt so that the silhouette or her slender
waist, her large, firm breasts, and her shapely hips could be seen through the
shirt. The shirttail flared up just enough to catch a tantalizing peak at her
amazing, round, tight ass.

    My shirt surely did look a lot better on her. Also, though I might
not admit it aloud, as Danielle twirled a third time, I did envy Mademoiselle
Desiree for being allowed to perform sexual acts on the exquisite example of
young womanhood twirling around in my shirt in my living room.

    "Besides, I think that Mademoiselle likes being all submissive to me.
She likes my power." Then she added, "So do you I think."

    Trying to ignore that last part, but being intrigued all the same I
asked, "H-how strong are you?"

    "I told you; I'm stronger than anyone," she replied.

    "That's kind of vague," I pointed out.  "For example, I've heard some
rumors about some of the things you can do . . . ."

    "Okay, so ask me."

    "Is it true that you had the principal call a meeting of all the
teachers while you were in middle school so that you could tell them all at
once to give you straight A's?"

    "Is that story still going around? I wish I HAD done that it would
have saved me a lot of time," she said.

    "But a lot of the feats of strength I heard about you performing were
connected with that meeting," I explained.

    "Well see, I had to do lots of different feats of strength to
intimidate several different teachers into giving me A's."

    "You mean you intimidated all of your teachers individually?" I asked.

    "No, I didn't say that; actually I only had to directly intimidate a
handful. Then I just let the rumors spread. You'd be surprised at how many
teachers give me A's just based on the rumors. Your friend Mr. Couvillion is
a good example. I've never had to intimidate him in person. He just gave me
straight A's without me telling him to. He must have heard the rumors."

    "So what kind of things have you done to intimidate teachers?" I
asked.

    "What have you heard?"

    "One thing I heard is that you drove nails into a table with just your
bare fists," I said

    "Oh yeah," she said with a smile, "I'd almost forgotten that one."

    "So it's true?!?" I asked.

    Danielle shrugged her shoulders. "Sure, why not?"

    "Have you punched holes in brick walls?"

    "Yes."

    "Turned over cars?"

    "Yes."

    "Crushed steel filing cabinets like they were accordions?"

    "Yes."

    "Did you tell five large male teachers to climb up on a table and then
lift the table off the ground?"

    "Yes, but that wasn't to intimidate them per se, that was to win a
bet."

    "What about Coach Barnes," I asked.

    "What about him?" Danielle asked back.

    "Is it true that you crushed his car with a wrecking ball?"

    She giggled. "No one can prove I did that."

    "But did you?" I asked.

    "Yes, I did," she answered steadily.

    "And then you tormented him so much that you drove him out of
teaching." I said.

    "Yes well, he brought that on himself by being an asshole," Danielle
said.

    "You mean because he wouldn't do what you told him," I said.

    "Oh, he did what I told him to do," she said, "Believe me; he did
EXACTLY what I told him to do." Then to make sure I got the point she said,
"Everybody does."

    "So . . . so you've managed to intimidate yourself to getting straight
A's all though middle and high school?" I asked.

    "You say it like it's some kind of amazing thing," she responded,
"Like I said before, I didn't have to intimidate every single teacher. After
word of my strength spread around, a lot of teachers fell into line without me
even having to say anything to them. Also, I've discovered that I have other
ways of getting my way."

    "What do you mean?" I asked.

    "D'uh! Look at me! Hot chick alert! Most men, and quite a few
women, can't wait to give me whatever I want ever since I grew these," she
said cupping her perfect breasts, "And developed this," she said slapping her
perfect ass.

    I have to admit that I could believe this. Danielle was by far the
most sublimely beautiful girl I'd ever seen. "There's something else I've
wanted to ask you." I said.

    "What's that?"

    "The football players I've notice around the school, the one's with
the black eyes and the bruises . . . ."

    "Yep! Those are the boys I beat up after I left here last Friday
night," she confirmed.

    "Why did you do it?" I asked.

    "I told you last time, because one of them wouldn't obey me."

    "Actually what you said was that one of them said 'no' to you," I
reminded her.

    "Well yeah, I was trying to sound cool," she admitted, "It wasn't that
he actually said the word 'no', it's that I told him to stop doing something
and he did it again anyway," she explained.

    "So you beat up . . . how many boys was it?"

    "Only six."

    "So you beat up 'only six' boys just because one of them had the
courage to stand up to you?" I asked hoping that my righteous indignation was
clear.

    "Now wait just a minute, Mr. Jenkins," she said, clearly irritated,
"First of all, I didn't set out to beat up six guys. I went out to find one
guy so that I could teach him a lesson. Is it my fault that five of his
friends were stupid enough to try to help him?"

    "I guess not, but-"

    "What was I supposed to do, let him get away with defying me?"

    "Well, you didn't have to hurt them that bad," I said.

    "Ha! I went easy on his five friends. They got away with only a few
bumps and bruises. Do you have any idea what I COULD have done to them?

    "What about Ronnie Ray," I asked.

    "What about him?"

    "You broke his hand," I pointed out.

    "I didn't break his hand," she protested, "He broke his own hand when
he hit me in the stomach."

    "What do you mean by that?" I asked.

    "I mean that he hit me as hard as he could in the stomach. The force
of his blow against my rock hard abs was enough to break his hand."

    "Are you kidding?" I asked.

    "Of course not," she said, "I never joke about my rock hard abs. And
in case you're wondering, I didn't feel a thing." Then she jumped out of her
chair and lifted up my shirt high enough for me to see her toned abs. "Want
to try and hit them?" she asked.

    "No thanks," I said.

    "Go ahead and try," she said.

    "Thanks, but I'll pass," I said, "I don't want to break MY hand."

    "You don't have a baseball bat around here do you?" she asked.

    "No. Why?"

    "Because if you did, I'd show you how you could shatter a bat against
my abs, and I still wouldn't feel it," she said.

    It took me several seconds to process this information. Part of me
wished I had a bat, and part of me was glad I didn't. "What have you got to
say now?" she asked.

    "Which boy was the one you went after to begin with?" I asked.

    "Vincent Crenshaw," she said.

    "I don't know him," I told her.

    "And you're not likely to meet him anytime soon unless you go visit
him in the hospital where I put him," she explained.

    "Aren't you worried about getting into trouble?" I asked.

    "Trouble how? You mean like being arrested?" she asked.

    "Well, yeah."

    "First of all, in order for me to get in trouble with the law, Vincent
would have to admit that a girl half his size beat him within an inch of his
life. Second, he'd have to convince the police of that with me standing there
looking all cute and innocent and smiling at them like I'd just looove to give
them all blowjobs. Third, if it came down to it, I'd like to see the police
force that thinks it could arrest ME. Remember, I'm the girl who was turning
over cars when she was still in middle school. And I wasn't even angry at the
time."

    I was sitting there looking at this devastatingly attractive young
woman, trying to make sense of everything she was telling me. I didn't doubt
for a second that everything she was telling me was true. What reason would
she possible have to lie to me? What reason would a goddess have for lying to
a flea after all? Yet I felt that somehow I just had to get through to her
that she should not used her incredible strength - or her gorgeous form - just
for selfish reasons like this.

    "But, Danielle, don't you see that it's wrong for you to put someone
in the hospital just because they did something you didn't like. What did he
do anyway? Ask another girl to the prom or something?"

    "Oh, please!" she said rolling her eyes.

    "What was it then?" I asked.

    She got up from her chair and came and sat down next to me on the
couch. She reached out for my shoulder with her hand, and I flinched. "Mr.
Jenkins, I'm not going to hurt you," she said.

    "I'm sorry," I said.

    She placed her hand gently on my shoulder and explained, "Vinnie was
dating a friend of mine. Nicole Evans?" I knew Nicole Evans even though I
didn't have her in class. She was a senior cheerleader at our school, and the
only student who came close to being as pretty as Danielle. I nodded to
Danielle that I knew who she was. She continued, "I found out that Vinnie was
beating her up so I told him to stop seeing her and leave her alone. When I
found out that he hit her again, I put him in the hospital. Understand?"

    I felt like such an asshole . . . "Danielle, I . . I don't know what
to say . . . I -"

    "Well, don't worry about it," she said, "But next time you think you
know all the facts, ask a few questions. You might not know everything."

    "Danielle," I said, "You're like . . . you're a hero!"

    "Shut up!"

    "No, I mean it!"

    "See, there you go again making up your mind before you know all the
facts."

    "What do you mean?" I asked.

    "Ever since I got Nicole away from Vincent, she's been my bitch. I
moved her into my apartment, and she does whatever I tell her to. The other
night when Mademoiselle Yvette was eating my pussy, Nicole was right there
licking and kissing my ass."

    "So, are you a lesbian?" I asked.

    "Hell no! I like boy just fine. Last Friday night after I beat up
those six football players, I took two of them home and fucked them so hard
that they begged for mercy. Believe me; they were much more beat up from me
fucking them then they were from me kicking their asses. However, they were
also smiling from ear to ear when I was finished with them."

    The more she talked, the more fascinated I became. On the one hand, I
found her almost complete lack of restraint and self-control repellent. On
the other hand, I found her unpredictability and confidence quite
stimulating. Needless to say, I found her power and extreme sexuality almost
impossible to resist. I wanted to know more. "Have you ever had a steady
boyfriend?" I asked.

    "When I was twelve and I first started to notice boys," she began, "I
got a big crush on this boy in my neighborhood named Tommy. He was a couple
of years older than me, but I was very pretty even without the big tits and
the great ass so I asked him if he'd like to be my boyfriend. He agreed. Of
course, he didn't know it at the time, but he was going to be my boyfriend
whether he agreed to or not."

    "So Tommy and I went around together for a couple of weeks. He was
the first boy I ever kissed. He was also the first boy I knew who got turned
on by my superior strength. Anyway, a few weeks later I got a crush on
another boy in the neighborhood named George. So one day after school I
carried him off behind some bushes by my house and started making out with
HIM."

    "When Tommy found out, he was furious. He knew he couldn't do
anything to me, but since he was bigger than George, he beat the crap out of
him. When I found out, I beat the crap out of Tommy. In fact, when Tommy's
father found out, he came over to our house and started yelling at my dad so I
beat the crap out of him too."

    "So then you started going steady with George?" I asked.

    "No, because by that time I had a crush on this kid named Tony."

    "Oh."

    "After that I decided that it just didn't make sense to go with any
one boy. Why settle when I could have any boy that I wanted whenever I wanted
him?"

    "But isn't that sort of, I don't know, superficial?" I asked.

    "Why should I go around trying to keep one guy happy when instead I
can just take any guy I want and let them work at making ME happy? Besides, I
sure haven't heard any complaints from any of the boys or men I've been with.
In fact, they ALL come back on their knees begging for more."

    I knew that what she was saying was wrong, but at that moment I
couldn't really come up with a convincing counter argument.

    "And then I discovered girls!" she said. "That opened up a whole new
world to me. They're just so soft and cuddly and sweet; you know what I
mean?"

    "Sort of," I said. The truth was, I wasn't very experienced in the
art of love.

    "When I found out that I could seduce most girls just as easily as I
could seduce guys, well, let's just say that I've never seriously considered
settling down with just one person. Who knows, maybe someday."

    "What about gay men?" I asked.

    "What about them?" she asked confused.

    "Can you seduce them as well?"

    "Let me put it this way, so far I've never found a man who was THAT
gay." Then she explained, "Even if they're not attracted to my body - and who
wouldn't be attracted to this body? - they're still beguiled by my awesome
strength."

    "But aren't most people terrified of your strength?" I asked.

    "Yes, of course, but I've found that that's a major part of the
attraction. See - "

    "No, you don't have to explain; I get that part." I said.

    "Are you terrified of me, Mr. Jenkins?" she asked with a definite
sharpness in her tone.

    "Should I be," I asked cautiously.

    "Yes," she said, "Because you just interrupted me again," she said.

    "B-but I d-didn't mean to; it was just part of the ebb and flow of our
conversation."

    "But I already warned you twice that I didn't like to be interrupted."

    "Yes, you did, and I'm sorry," I said.

    "I'm afraid that 'sorry' isn't good enough," she said. Then she
effortlessly picked me up and unceremoniously dropped me on the floor. "I'm
afraid I'm going to have to punish you," she said.

    "Please, Danielle, don't do that. I'm really sorry." I pleaded.

    "Before you got home, I looked around your apartment," she told me.
"I noticed that you had a set of weights in your spare room."

    "Yes," I confirmed.

    "There was a bar there with some weights loaded on it. Bring it in
here."

    I jumped up as fast as I could and ran into my spare room. I grabbed
the bar and using most of my strength I carried it into the living room where
Danielle was waiting for me. When I got there, she held out her hand and
said, "Hand it to me."

    I was not at all surprised to see her handling the light weight easily
with just one hand. "Is this how much weight what you work out with?" she
asked.

    "Well, I'm not very strong," I admitted.

    "No shit!" she said.

    "I just started working out, see, and I've been trying to build up my
strength by doing reps with this," I explained.

    "How much weight it this?" she asked.

    "It's forty pounds of weights with a fifteen pound bar, so it's
fifty-five pounds altogether," I answered.

    The whole time she held it, she was casually twirling it around the
way you or I might absent-mindedly play with a stick we were holding. "How
many reps can you do with this?" she asked clearly amused by my lack of
strength.

    "Ten," I lied. So far I'd barely managed to squeeze out nine.

    "What made you start working out now?" she asked.

    "Ah, well, uh . . ," I was a little embarrassed to say.

    "C'mon, out with it," she coaxed.

    "Well, I bought these weights last Saturday, after . . ."

    "After what?"

    "After you visited me last Friday night," I confessed.

    "You mean I inspired you to go to start working?" she asked.

    "Yeah, kind of," I said shyly.

    "That's so adorable! Do you hope to get as strong as me someday?" she
asked sarcastically.

    "No."

    "That's good," she said, "I'd hate to see you become disappointed
because you fell so short of your goal."

    Then she explained, "I was going to bend this bar around your neck and
make you lie on the floor at my feet until I left as punishment for
interrupting me for the third time. However, since you're SO weak and
pathetic, I've decided to let you plead and grovel for my forgiveness instead.

    "Please, Danielle, I'm sorry that I interrupted you. It's a bad habit
I have," I confessed, "But please, don't humiliate me like this."

    I was standing in front of the couch she was sitting on. She took the
barbell and placed it on the floor beside the couch. She stood up and placed
her hand gently ion my shoulder again only this time she began to apply
pressure. She stood there smiling a most serene smile as she slowly drove me
to my knees.

    "Ask me to forgive you," she said when she had driven me completely
down on my knees.

    "Please, forgive me?" I said.

    "You call that begging?"

    "Please, Danielle, please, forgive my rude behavior," I said trying to
sound a little more subservient.

    "That's still not very convincing," she said.

    "Please, Danielle, I'm begging you," I said. I have to admit that I
was only going through the motions.

    "Perhaps this will motivate you," she said. She bent over to pick up
the barbell making sure that when she did, her phenomenal ass was about two
inches from my face. When she stood upright again, she took the barbell in
her two dainty hands and began bending it upwards towards the ceiling. "This
is the barbell I wanted to wrap around your neck," she reminded me.

    "I immediately dropped to all fours at Danielle's feet and began
begging in earnest. "Please, don't hurt me, Danielle. Don't unleash your
awesome power against me. I'm sorry I interrupted you-"

    "Three times!" she reminded me (and ironically interrupted me to do
so).

    "I'm so, so sorry. Please, what can I do to make it up to you?" I
asked.

    "Kiss my feet," she demanded.

    "Both of them?" I asked.

    "Yes, both of them - you're a lucky guy," she chortled, "I know a lot
of boys and men who would love to be where you are right now."

    There I was - a guy that hadn't kissed very many women anywhere - down
on my knees kissing the feet of this eighteen year old goddess. I kissed both
of her feet several times. I have to admit that it was far from the most
unpleasant thing I've ever done.

    When I finished, Danielle said, "Good! Now we can be friends again.
And no more working out for you," she insisted, "I prefer you weak and
pathetic." She set down the ruined barbells on the floor next to the couch.

    "That will make for an interesting conversation piece," I joked.

    "If they know me, just tell them I was here. They'll understand."

    As I sat back down on the couch next to Danielle, I couldn't decide
what to make of her. She wasn't quite the sociopath I thought she was, but
that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. One thing that was clear was that she
was instantly in control of whatever situation she found herself in. It was
also clear that she enjoyed having that power. Perhaps that's what made her
seem so dangerous - because if she was in control, that means I wasn't. I'm
not a person who easily relinquishes control, and yet here I was in the
presence of someone who could make me gladly kiss her feet with just a slight
display of her incredible power.

    Despite my fear of Danielle, I was intoxicated by her proximity - her
aura of power, her beauty, even her scent. The fact that not only was she
fully aware of my intoxication but that she clearly expected it as her due
only made her seem more powerful and alluring.

    One more thing was clear, the more I knew about her, the more I WANTED
to know. "So, how did you get to be so strong?" I asked her.

    "I didn't 'get' to be strong. I've just naturally always been this
way. The first time I remember it ever really causing a stir was when I was
about six. My dad and some of the other men in the neighborhood were in our
garage fooling around with my father's weights. They were having a weight
lifting contest or something - you know real macho man bullshit. Anyway, at
some point I came in and was watching them."

    "It was down to my dad and one other guy to see which one could bench
press the most. I don't know how much weight was on the bar, but I'm sure it
wasn't all that much. Anyway, they were drinking beer and not being careful
when the other guy's arms just gave out and the bar crashed down on his
chest. He wasn't being spotted properly, and he was clearly in distress. I
was the closest so I went over and lifted the weight off his chest with one
hand."

    "All the men ran over to the guy who had the weight fall on his chest
to make sure that he was okay. They helped him up and walked him around a
little bit and decided he was okay. It wasn't until then that one of them
noticed that I was still standing there and still holding the weight with one
hand."

    "Then what happened?" I asked careful to wait for a pause in her
story.

    "They got into a big discussion about how I must have been able to
lift so much weight because of an adrenalin rush in an emergency. Finally one
of the geniuses pointed out that while that might explain how I first lifted
that much weight, how could they account for the fact that I was still holding
it long after the emergency had passed?"

    "What did they decide?" I asked.

    "They asked me to put the weight down to see if I could lift it
again. Of course I could. Then they started adding weight, but no matter how
much they added, I could easily lift it with one hand. Eventually they used
up all my dad's weights, so one of the neighbors went to his garage and
brought over some old weights he had. I'm not sure how much they got up to,
but you should have seen the looks on their faces when no matter how much
weight they added, I could easily lift it. I eventually started using two
hands, just to make them feel better."

    "And you were only six years old?" I asked.

    "Yeah, they kept making a big deal about that too. To me it just
seemed natural. The neighborhood men were clearly becoming uncomfortable.
They began making excuses and one by one they all drifted home. They never
came back to our house after that for weightlifting contests or really much of
anything else."

    "So you have no way to account for you incredible power?" I asked.

    "Well, sort of. I found out soon after that my mom is stronger than
my dad - quite a bit stronger actually. But before long, I was stronger than
her as well."

    "So . . . is that when you took over at your home?" I asked.

    "More or less," she answered.

    "How did that come about?" I asked.

    "There's no big dramatic story," Danielle explained, "I just started
doing what I wanted to when I wanted to do it. There wasn't much they could
do about it, so they pretty much stayed out of my way. My mom took it harder
than my dad. He was already used to being ordered around by her anyway. Then
when I was sixteen, I moved into my own apartment anyway."

    "How can you afford to live on your own?" I asked.

    "When you're as hot as I am, you don't have to pay for much," she
explained. I decided not to ask about the details.

    "What's it like?" I asked.

    "Being able to do whatever I like, take whatever I like, not having to
follow all the rules that everyone else has to follow? It's great! What do
you think?"

    "But, Danielle, don't you think that it's wrong to use your power that
way?" I asked her trying to appeal to the good nature I thought might be in
there somewhere.

    "Hell no!" she said, "Why shouldn't I take advantage of the gifts I've
been given. Why should I treat others as my equals when clearly they are
not?"

    "Okay fine, Danielle, but aren't you worried about what people will
think about you?"

    "What do you mean - like worried they won't like me?

    "Yes, I guess I do mean that," I admitted.

    "I don't know, Mr. Jenkins, but people seem to like me fine the way I
am. I mean what about you? You know how I am; would you rather not be around
me?" As she said this she gave me a little girl smile that would melt the
heart of a snowman.

    "No," I said.

    "Because I'll leave right now if you want me too, but I don't think
you want me to, do you?" She said this so sweetly and sincerely that I
responded the only way I could.

    "No, Danielle, don't go," I said.

    "Are you sure?" she asked, "Because I will."

    "Yes, I'm sure," I replied.

    "Say 'Please don't go'," she instructed.

    Almost against my will, but fully aware of what was happening I said,
"Please don't go." Then for good measure I added, "Please, Danielle, I really
want you to stay; I really do."

    "Are you sure?" she asked.

    "Yes, I'm really sure."

    "Would you kiss my feet again to get me to stay?" she asked with a
devilish smile.

    I almost couldn't believe it when I heard myself say, "Yes, of
course." There was no doubt about it; this girl was dangerous.

    "Okay, I'll stay a little longer," she agreed, "But I do have to leave
soon."

    "Why? Do you have some people to beat up?" I asked. The question
sounded funny in my head, but it came out sounding pretty sarcastic.

    "No," she said, "But who knows? The evening is still young."

    I couldn't tell if this was a joke or a threat or what. "Do you
really have to go?" I asked.

    "Yep! I just have time to make you cum, and then I have to go."

    "Wait! What did you say?" I asked.

    "I just have time to make you cum, and then I have to go," she
repeated.

    "But, Danielle, you don't have to . . . ." Then I thought about what
I was about to say. The part of me that was descent and believed in
appropriate behavior wanted to speak up. The part of me that lusted after
Danielle - that had wet dreams about her every night - would not let me finish
that sentence.

    She had me right where she wanted me and she knew it. She smiled at
me and asked, "Earlier tonight when you were asking me about all those feats
of strength I've performed . . . . "

    "Yes," I said. She had my full attention.

    "That got you hot didn't it, Mr. Jenkins?"

    "Yes," I admitted.

    "Which one got you the hottest?" she asked.

    I noticed my breathing getting heavier. "They were all pretty hot," I
replied.

    She stood up in front of me and said, "Okay, let's talk about my being
able to drive nails into a table with my bare fists," she said.

    "Okay," I agreed as beads of sweat began forming on my forehead.

    She held out one of her delicate looking hands. "Does that little
hand look like it could drive a nasty old nail into a table?" she asked.

    "No."

    "But it can, Mr. Jenkins. One little tap of this cute, dainty hand is
capable of driving hard iron nails into a hardwood table all the way up to the
nail's head. One. Little. Tap."

    "What about railroad spikes? Could you drive railroad spikes too," I
asked.  

    "Of course, I could, Mr. Jenkins. That's not even the hard part?"

    "What is?" I asked.

    "The hard part is restraining myself; if I give the nail more than
just a light tap with my powerful fist, I'll split the whole table apart. So
do you know what I like to do, Mr. Jenkins?"

    "What? Please tell me," I begged.

    "I like to push the nails in with just my thumb, Mr. Jenkins." She
held her thumb up. Do you believe that I can push nails - and railroad spikes
- into a table with just the strength in my thumb, Mr. Jenkins?"

    "Y-y-es."

    "But how can that be, Mr. Jenkins? I'm just a little girl." Then she
raised her thumb up to her mouth and licked it seductively. "How can such a
pretty little girl possibly be that strong, Mr. Jenkins?"

    "I ... I just don't know," I replied.

    "You do think I'm pretty don't you, Mr. Jenkins?"

    "I think you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen," I answered.

    She lifted up her shirt - my shirt - to reveal her flat, toned abs.
"You don't think I'm too fat?" she asked.

    "Of course not!"

    She did a half turn so that I could see her amazing ass. "You don't
think my ass is TOO big?" she asked.

    "I think you have the most perfect ass ever," I said.

    "Mr. Jenkins, don't be silly! There are no degrees to 'perfect'; if
something is 'perfect' it simply is 'perfect'. It can't be more or less so.
You're a science teacher; you should know that."

    "But he rules don't apply to you, Danielle," I countered, "That
includes the rules of grammar where your greater-than-perfect ass is
concerned."

    Danielle gave out a delighted giggle and said, "You're learning Mr.
Jenkins."

    "You're an excellent teacher," I said.

    She turned towards be and said, "If you think my ass is perfect, you
should see my tits." She started to unbutton the shirt - my shirt - that she
was wearing. I'd seen her deep cleavage before. I'd imagined what her
beautiful large breasts must look like. I couldn't believe I was about to see
them for real. She unbuttoned the shirt all the way, but she hadn't pulled
the two sides apart yet.

    "Are you sure you're ready to see these tits?" she asked.

    "Yes, please, Danielle, please."

    "I like it when you beg, Mr. Jenkins; do it some more."

    "Please, Danielle, show me your beautiful breasts," I begged.

    "Do you like my big tits?" she asked, "Would you really like to see
them?"

    "Yes, Danielle, please, I'd like see them more than anything," I
pleaded.

    "Take off your pants and underwear and show me your dick, Mr.
Jenkins."

    I did exactly as I was told. Danielle's eyes grew big. "Wow, Mr.
Jenkins, you've been keeping a secret from me."

    "What?" I asked confused.

    "You didn't tell me you had such a big dick," she said. I blushed.
"Really, Mr. Jenkins, I've seen a lot of dicks, and your really is impressive
- especially for someone your size. Do you know what I'd like to see you do
with that big dick, Mr. Jenkins?"

    "What?"

    "I'd like to see you stroke it for me," she said. Once again, I did
exactly as I was told.

    She slowly started to pull the shirt open revealing just enough to
torture me. "Are you sure you can handle this?" she asked.

    "Please, Danielle, please show me your tits." I was going crazy with
lust and anticipation.

    She pulled the shirt open just a little more. From what I could see,
they looked truly spectacular - like perfectly formed mounds of flesh that
begged to be touch, fondled, sucked and worshiped. I was stroking my dick
hard and fast. She was just about to reveal what I'm sure were the sweetest,
most delectable strawberry nipples on the planet when she lifted up her bare
foot and gently nudged my balls with it.

    "AAAAuuuckkkkk!" I screamed as my cum squirted across the room leaving
a visible streak across my living room rug. When I regained my senses I
looked up at Danielle who was tying off the two ends of my shirttails into a
knot exposing her midriff but unfortunately covering her breasts.

    "Why did you do that?" I asked.

    "What?" she said innocently.

    "Tease me like that - make me think you were going to show me your
breasts and then not?"

    "I figured that someone as "appropriate" as you wouldn't want to be
the kind of teacher that jacked off to his student's naked tits," she said.

    "Why are you like this, Danielle?" I asked.

    She shrugged her shoulders and cocked her head slightly to one side.
"Because I can be," she said. Then she smiled sweetly and said, "Sorry about
the door. Call the super; he should be able to fix it right up for you. If
he doesn't, tell him you're friends with me; that should take care of it."

    "But, Danielle," I called.

    "Got to run, Mr. Jenkins, I've got places to go and people to do. See
you Monday. Oh, and by the way, I'm keeping the shirt."

    And she was gone. I wonder what my wet dream will be like tonight.

*****************************

Be sure and let me know if you have any comments and/or suggestions. Contact
me at sonofjackwell@gmail.com

Also, email if you have any CUSTOM story ideas you'd like for me to write on
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