Love During the Time of Covid-19
By Sonofjack, sonofjackwell@gmail.com>
The stay at home order brought big changes to Nikki.


Here's a story I recently completed on commission. If you like it and you
would like to commission a story from me, email me at sonofjackwell@gmail.com

I'd also love to know what you think of this story, so if you have any
comments, email me at sonofjackwell@gmail.com

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It would normally seem kind of funny for a petit, 5'2" woman with gorgeous
good looks and amazing G-cup breasts like me to be getting ready to attempt a
sixteen hundred pound bench press. However, while my muscles are not big and
bulky, they are diamond hard, incredibly dense, very well toned and immensely
strong. It was a long road that led me to this moment, but my alpha-male
husband needed to be taught a lesson. I'm just the strong girl to teach it to
him.

Before I tell you the whole story that led us to this point let me make one
thing clear: I love my husband, and I know that he loves me. Our marriage
isn't 100% perfect, but whose is? Being a positive person with a sunny
disposition, I'm going to start off describing what is good about our marriage
before getting to the parts - mostly only one major thing - that could use
some improvement.

Even before I get into my marriage, I have to talk a little bit about myself -
who I was before I met my husband. My name in Nikki, and I'm a knockout.
There's no sense in beating around the bush about it, and I'm not the false
modesty type. I know that I'm a super hot babe, and I own it. However, that
is not all I am.

Let's be honest, being a hot babe in more happenstance than anything else. I
have two very attractive parents, and they produced an extraordinarily
attractive daughter. It happens all the time. My big breasts, my round ass,
my gorgeous face and blonde hair are all products of superior genetics.
However, events happened during my childhood that made me realize that being
attractive wasn't all I wanted to be.

For as long as I can remember, everyone fawned over me for being such a
beautiful child. It's hard for a little girl to hear about how pretty she is
every day without it going to her head. For the first ten or eleven years of
my life, being pretty WAS my life.

I also made good grades in school, but that came easy for me - more superior
genetics. But my identity was all about being the pretty girl. Naturally my
friends were also pretty girls, but it was clear, if mostly unspoken, that I
was the prettiest.

At age eleven, something happened to knock me off my perch. The four girls
that were my closest friends all started to develop breasts. I didn't. In
fact, they all developed big knockers seemingly overnight. Just like that, I
was knocked off pedestal.

I was still a pretty girl, but I was definitely a girl, while my friends were
all becoming hot young women. It is well known that boys that age are
obsessed with girls with big boobs, and most of them stay that way until they
die of old age.

So my friends attracted the attention of boys who were twelve, thirteen and
fourteen and started having boyfriends. I didn't, and so I was left out. I
wasn't invited to their make-out parties. Soon I wasn't invited anywhere. My
former friends were all too happy to let me know in ways both subtle and not
so subtle that I was no longer the queen bee.

Most of the other girls I knew didn't want to have much to do with me either
because of my former status. To make matters worse, by thirteen or fourteen,
all the girls in school had developed breasts except me.

Since I could no longer rely of just being the pretty girl, I started to focus
on other priorities. My good grades became straight A's. I also began to
work on my personality. I strived to become a good person.

I volunteered at places like the local animal shelter. I organized canned
food drives at school. I started a youth group at my church that did
charitable work like toy drives at Christmas and winter coat drives for
underprivileged children. I became known around town as Nice Nikki and even
Saint Nikki. Some kids also called my No-knockers Nikki.

Then, during the summer between 10th and 1th grades, it happened. At age
sixteen, my boobs came in! In four weeks I went from an A-cup to an F-cup.
And they weren't just big. They were firm and round and perfect. Seriously,
my boobs are a natural wonder! Some people swear that they're fake. "Those
are too perfect to be real," is the common argument.

However, my boobs have a very lively bounce when I walk that no fake boobs
could ever achieve. It doesn't take long for even the biggest boob skeptics
to come to the correct conclusion that my amazing, spectacular breasts are one
hundred percent real.

Naturally when school started again in the fall, every A-list boy was after
me. My four former best friends? I could have taken any of their boyfriends
from them with the snap of my fingers, and they knew it. However, I wasn't
interested in those boys. I preferred to let them lust after me while I
ignored them. Sure, occasionally I would flirt with one or three of them.
I'd flash them sly smiles here and there. I'd "accidently" let them catch a
fleeting glimpse of side boob. I did these things just to give them false
hope. 

My journey from the prettiest girl to the nicest, most hardworking girl to the
hottest babe in school taught me that it's not enough to just be gorgeous.
Sure, being pretty is important, but there are other things in life as well.
I discovered than having great tits along with a fine ass, trim body and a
gorgeous face is the closest thing most girls will ever get to having
superpowers!

I continued organizing canned food and other drives, but now, when I asked men
for donations, I got twice as many yeses and three times the merchandise.
Most men's minds turn to jelly when they're confronted by a gorgeous young
woman with great tits, and my tits are the best. 

Now I was known as Nikki the Knockout. My senior year I was Homecoming Queen
and Prom Queen. I went to prom with a shy, sweet, cute boy who'd been helping
me with my various charity drives since 9th grade. I wasn't in love with him
or anything, but I figured he deserved a reward for helping me all those
years. That night, we got a hotel room and fucked like bunnies until dawn.
Lucky boy! To this day he sends me a fruitcake every year at Christmas.

With my spectacular grades (I was class valedictorian.) and my record of
community service, I received a generous scholarship to my first choice
college that covered tuition, books and student housing. However, I still
needed money to cover living expenses like clothes, entertainment, etc. Of
course, I knew that with my great looks I could have gotten men to pay for
these things, but they might expect too much in return.  

Even though my parents were very attractive and intelligent, they were not
especially practical. In other words they were almost no help at all when it
came to helping me pay for college.

I thought about applying for a student loan from the government, but I came up
with another plan instead. I figured that with my years of experience seeking
handouts for various charities and my super hot looks, I would more success
and get more favorable terms by seeking a private loan from a male loan
officer at a bank.

That's how I met James, the man I would end up devoting my life to. He was
the head of the loan department at the bank I chose to borrow from. I was
eighteen at the time. James was twenty-eight which is very young for holding
such an important position at a large, prestigious bank.

Of course, they didn't want to let me see the head of the loan department at
first, but I made sure that James got a good look at me outside his office in
my cute little sundress with the ample cleavage. I was shown right in.

Two minutes into our meeting, I knew that I would get anything I wanted. He
took one look at my long, blonde hair with the soft curls, my gorgeous face,
my tight 36-22-33 figure, my long legs and my F-cup breasts almost spilling
out onto his desk, and he was mesmerized. I expected that. At 5'2" and 108
pounds, I was exactly the kind of petite, sexy eye candy an alpha male like
James desired. 

What I didn't expect was that four minutes into our meeting, I was beginning
to fall for him too. He was 6'2" 215 pounds with broad shoulders and dark,
handsome looks. Even though he was wearing a suit, I could tell he had a
great body. Somehow I knew that he had washboard abs under his eight hundred
dollar suit and one hundred dollar dress shirt. He was a real man's man, and
he oozed self confidence. This was a man, and I knew that when he looked at
me he didn't see a pretty girl. He saw a desirable woman.

Thirty minutes later I walked out of his office with exactly what I wanted: a
low interest loan with fabulous terms. James also had what he wanted: a
dinner date with me for later that night.

I discovered that night that James's body was every bit as buff as I thought
it was. He discovered that without a doubt that my tits were real and that
they were even more spectacular than he imagined. He began working on me
almost immediately to marry him.

I would have married him almost right away except that as part of the deal, he
wanted me to drop out of college. When it comes to some of his views on
male-female relationships, James isn't old fashioned. He's practically
prehistoric! He believes that a woman's main function is to support her man.
He believes that it's the man's job to "bring home the bacon".

I had plans of my own for my life. I knew that I had a talent for organizing
good works, and I loved doing it. In college I pursued a triple-major in
social work, communications and political science. My plan was to become a
community organizer and maybe even go into politics some day.

Meanwhile, James and I continued our passionate love affair. Within six
months of me being his girlfriend he was promoted at his bank. He attributed
his promotion in part to me. He said I gave him the boost in confidence he
needed to impress his superiors.

He also says that I helped him by simply being on his arm as his date when we
attended company functions together. He would always buy me a new killer
dress before such functions which would always highlight my spectacular body.
That plus the fact that I could always hold his bosses spellbound with my
killer smile and my bubbly personality helped boost his career.

You should have seen the way those older men flocked around me and hung on to
my every word like love struck schoolboys. I was like the sun providing light
and warmth. James was like the moon reflecting a portion of that light.
However, that portion of reflected light was enough to attract the attention
of the right people.

James worked on me relentlessly to drop out of college. "I want to give you
the full time job of being my wife," he would tell me. He promised to give me
the best of everything, and he assured me that I could still work to help
others and improve the local community

"You can start doing the good works you want to tomorrow by becoming my wife!
You don't need a piece of paper from some college. I'll provide the financial
stability, and you can take care of me and do all the things you dream about
doing."

He made a good point. I liked the idea of being taken care of. Besides, I
really did - and still do - love the big lug. So after my freshman year in
college, James and had had a June wedding and I didn't go back to school.

Within a year of that, James quit his job at the bank and became a private
financial adviser. He's been extremely successful. At thirty-five he had one
of the most successful firms in the United States with more than fifty other
alpha males working for him. And every one of them - EVERY one of them -
wishes they could fuck me! But they can't; only my husband gets that
privilege.

My number one priority in life is taking care of James. We live in a large,
very nicely furnished house which I decorated myself. I keep it absolutely
spotless and perfectly organized. I've also turned myself into a gourmet cook
so that I can provide my husband with delicious and nutritious meals. Plus,
not least of all, I am a creative and dynamic lover.

I've studied ancient as well as modern sex manuals so that I can provide my
husband with ultimate sexual pleasure every night. I spend at least an hour a
day watch online porn looking for new ways to please my husband.

He's suggested hiring outside professionals to help me with cooking and
cleaning which I have turned down. However, he's never suggested hiring
anyone to help improve our sex life because he knows that I'm the only whore
he'll ever want or need. Even though he's in great physical shape he can
barely keep up with me in bed.  

My husband is my number one, but he's not my only priority. I've continued
doing good works, and I've been very successful at it. As a result of my
efforts, we live in the only sizable city in the country with virtually no
homeless population. We have more than ample space in our many well funded
homeless shelters to take care of any short-term homeless problems and
extensive low cost housing projects to take care of any long-term issues.

The same goes for abused women and children in our city. Likewise our food
pantries are filled to capacity, and I see to it that every child has a new
toy at Christmas, turkey to eat at Thanksgiving and a warm coat to wear during
the winter. Our city is considered a model city, and the people who really
know what's going on know that I'm the reason why.

I have dozens of devoted helpers - mostly male - who will drop anything
whenever I call them to ask for a favor. Needless to say, they would ALL like
to see me naked and fuck me. 

I am very happy and fulfilled taking care of my husband and my community. I
have to admit that I also LOVE being the object of desire for almost every man
I encounter.

So what is the problem? It has to do with the way my husband handles money.
He keeps a very tight hold on the purse strings. It's not that he's not
generous. He buys me expensive clothes and jewels all the time. I have two
very nice and expensive sports cars. He doesn't deny me the things I want or
need. He just refuses to let me handle the money.

"Honey, I handle money for a living," he tells me, "I'm very good at it. Let
me do what I do best."

He won't admit it, but he uses money as a way to control me. For example, he
prefers that I dress in expensive clothes all the time because he believes
that the way I dress is a reflection on him. I agree that when we are
attending an important social function that I should dress in sexy, expensive
gowns and jewelry. I'm happy and proud to be his trophy wife. When I'm
playing that role, as with everything I do, I'm better at it than anyone
else.

However, when I'm at home doing the laundry or driving a forklift in the food
pantry warehouse, I feel kind of silly wearing expensive clothes. There are
times when jeans and an old sweatshirt are more appropriate, and most of the
time that's what I prefer. Besides, even dressed down I still look amazing.
You can't hide my kind of beauty.  

The problem is, I don't own any clothes like that. I also wish I had an old
pickup truck instead of one of my sports cars. It would be so much more
practical and useful when I'm driving around picking up donations. But James
won't buy me a truck. He'd buy me a third sports car if I asked him, but not
a pickup.

And I can't sell one of my sports cars and buy a pickup because everything is
in his name. When I confront him about nothing being in my name he says,
"What's the difference? We're a team right?" Then he claims that his way s
better "for tax purposes".

I know that this is hogwash. He has the best tax experts in the state working
for him. They could easily sort through any tax issues. When it comes to
money, he just likes having his way.

"Don't I provide you with everything you need?" he asks. He just doesn't seem
to get that it's not enough to just "provide" me with things like a parent
"provides" for a child. But no matter what I say, he just doesn't seem to get
why I want to feel like an equal partner.

It's the only thing we ever disagree about. The thing is, he knows that other
than that I love him and my life. He knows I would never leave him. That
gives him the upper hand. I wish there was some way to shift the power in our
marriage. I don't want to be the boss; I just want equality.

Mostly my life was going very well... that is until the global pandemic came
along. I don't have to describe what Covid-19 has done to most of our lives.
When the stay at home orders began, James simply started working from his home
office. He was as busy if not busier than ever.

Mostly because of me, our city was better equipped to handle Covid-19 than any
other city in the country. I'd been reading about and preparing for a crisis
like this for years. As a result, our hospitals and other health care
facilities had all the ventilators, PPE like masks and gloves and everything
they needed including large "rainy day" cash reserves.

Our food banks were filled to capacity, and our homeless population was
practically non-existent. Our city was considered a model of preparedness for
the rest of the country when it came to handling such a health crisis.

Ironically, since I was technically a volunteer, I was not considered an
essential employee anywhere. When this is over I'll have to get out there and
restock the food pantries and solve the other problems that will pop up. In
the meantime, I didn't have much to do. I began to get bored.

I would not even think about violating the stay at home guidelines. That just
isn't my style.

I would love to spend the time in quarantine fucking my handsome, loving
husband, but he's been busier than ever. I tried to find ways to fill my
time, but I could only clean the house so many times. I could only prepare
three gourmet meals a day. I could only watch so much internet porn.

Other than for research I wasn't a big reader, and I hated watching TV and
time wasting hobbies like jigsaw puzzles. Finally, James suggested that I
might try working out.

I'd never really been much for working out. I'd always had a naturally flat
tummy. My legs had always had a nice shape, and my tits are naturally firm
and awesome. My body was trim in all the right places and curvy in all the
other right places.

In fact, when he suggested it, I was a little offended. "Are you saying that
I NEED to work out?" I asked.

"Of course not, Baby," he replied, "But you are getting older, and it's true
that everyone's metabolisms start to slow down as they get older. You know
how hard I work to stay fit and trim."

"I'm only twenty-five," I told him, "And I'll have you know that I still weigh
exactly 108 pounds - the same as I weighed the day I walked into your office
at the bank and wrapped you around my little finger!"

"I'm sorry, honey," he said, "You're right! You look as sexy as ever." But I
thought I detected just a hint of doubt in his voice. Later, I went to weigh
myself. I hadn't weighed myself since the stay at home order was given and my
activity level dropped.

I weighed 110 pounds! Without admitting that he was right, I began working
out immediately.

My first attempt at working out was horrible. I could barely do one push-up.
Like with most things I do, I did extensive internet research. My husband has
a fully equipped home gym which I would get to in time. However, I didn't
want to start out lifting weights right away.

On the internet, I discovered dynamic tension which was an exercise method
championed by legendary bodybuilder and fitness advocate Charles Atlas. With
dynamic tension different muscles are pitted against each other. This
appealed to my efficient nature. I also got into isometrics and started using
some of the workout equipment in the gym.

It was tough at first, but like everything else I set my mind to, I soon
mastered it. In an amazingly short time I went from barely able to do one
push up to doing sets of twenty-five four times a day. I threw myself into
exercise with even more enthusiasm that I throw myself into everything else I
do.

If I had known how great it feels to be in great physical condition I would
have started exercising years ago. I've always had a lot of energy, but now I
felt like I was bursting at the seams with vigor all the time. It gave me the
energy to perform all my household responsibilities with even greater speed
and competence than before which in turn gave me more time to exercise. Soon
I hardly missed my husband at all because I was virtually addicted to physical
fitness.

It was having quite the effect on my body as well! I actually gained a little
weight, but only because muscles weigh more, and my muscles were especially
dense so they weighed more than most muscles. As I said before, my tummy had
always been flat, but now it was tight.

I didn't get bulky like a female body builder; I got more toned than
muscular. And I didn't think it was possible, but my spectacular breasts
became even more round and firm while still maintaining their softness and
buoyancy.

Even though I've always made sure that the meals that I prepared for James and
myself have been healthy as well as delicious, I became even more focused on
nutrition. The combination of more exercise and better nutrition really paid
off. My sexy body had never looked better.

James noticed it too. One night after an especially intense night of passion
he commented, "Baby, you've always had a great body, but lately you've become
a hard body! What have you been doing?"

"I've been working out like you suggested."

"You have? That's great, honey." I was a little put off that he didn't even
know that I'd been working out for almost a month. I understand that he's
busy earning money during the day, but he should have known that I was working
out. It's not like I hadn't mentioned it over dinner more than once.

I always take an interest in the things he talks about even when he talks
about stupid things like sports. I know he loves me, but sometimes I wonder
if he mostly loves me for just my tits and ass. I mean, who could blame him
for loving those things, but still....

"Seriously, you look great! It's really paying off."

"I know, right! Did you notice how great my ass is lately? And how firm my
tits are? Plus, my tummy has gotten really tight. It's because of all the
sit-ups I've been doing."

"Right; I said you looked great."

He sounded a little put off - like I was talking about myself too much. His
only interest in me working out was how it made me look. I mean, yes, working
out DID make me look AMAZING, but he didn't ask me how it made me feel. I
decided I wanted to talk about it some more.

"Yes, honey, I've really gotten into it. I've mostly been doing isometrics
and using dynamic tension. And I'm doing lots and lots of sit-ups and pushups
every day."

"That's fine, honey." Those were his words, but behind the words I heard "The
Tone". "The Tone" is the voice James gets when he isn't really interested in
what I'm telling him, but he's pretending to be just to humor me. Next to his
weird money issues, "The Tone" is what drives me the craziest about him - and
NOT in a good way!

I also don't like the way that he thinks that he can do everything better than
me. Like, most people are really impressed with the way I can raise money for
various charities. Even though he's never come out and said it, I know that
James thinks what I do isn't that hard. I know that he believes that he could
do it better if he ever tried.

Maybe I have a couple of more issues with my husband other than the way he
handles the money. So sue me.

I'd really made great strides with my fitness quest in a short period of
time. I wasn't going to let him dismiss my progress like it was
insignificant. That's when I said the nine words that would ultimately change
the balance of power in our marriage forever: "I bet I can do more sit-ups
than you."

He laughed at this. He laughed! "Honey, I've been working out since I was
fourteen. How long have you been working out, a couple of weeks?"

"Almost a month," I replied.

"You're doing great, baby, but there's no way you can do more sit-ups than
me. Not a chance!" He sounded so smug.

"Then let's bet," I said.

"What's the point of betting? All your money comes from me, so I'd just end
up paying myself when I win."

"How about if I win, you have to cook dinner tomorrow night," I suggested.

"What do I get if I win?" he asked. Even though he said "if" it was clear
that he meant "when". I didn't know what to offer. He was right about him
controlling the purse strings. It was pointless to offer him sexual favors
because I was constantly giving him blowjobs and titty fucks already.

"I don't know, but it doesn't matter because I'm going to win," I said. My
husband is VERY competitive, and I knew how to push his buttons.

"Okay, you're on," he said. "I'll go first." He got down on the floor and
started churning them out. I could tell he was trying to intimidate me. His
first fifty sit-ups were fast and smooth. By sit-up sixty-two he had
noticeably slowed down. But James has a warrior's heart. He toughed it out
and finally stopped after eighty-four.

"That's impressive," I quipped, "For a man your age." He responded with a
mock laugh.

Now it was my turn. I'd never done that many sit-ups at one time before.
Like with my push-ups, instead of doing them all at once, I did them in
smaller sets throughout the day. I had no idea how many I could do all at
once.

I started out slow and smooth. When I got to twenty-five, I felt as fresh as
when I started. The same was true when I got to fifty and then to
seventy-five. I was beginning to impress even myself. I'd already done four
sets of twenty-five earlier in the day so you'd think I'd be starting to get
tired. Something about the thrill of competition made me exceed my own
expectations.

I guess maybe I was competitive too, because the thought of thoroughly
defeating James sure spurred me on.

Sit-up eight-four came and went, and I still felt fresh. When I went past one
hundred and fifty, even I was impressed. I thought about stopping at one
hundred and sixty-eight - exactly twice as many as James had done - but why?
I still wasn't tired. I felt like I could go on and do at least that many
more. So I stopped at three hundred and twenty-eight. However, I made it
clear to James that I didn't stop because I couldn't go on. "I was getting
bored," I told him.

When I was finished, I jumped in the shower for a quick rinse off. When I
jumped naked into bed, James was already there wearing the clean pajama
bottoms I left for him. I kissed him of the cheek. He didn't respond.

"Don't sulk, baby," I said, "You're still my big, strong bear."

"Damn right I am," he said, "I've just had so much work lately that I haven't
had time to work out as much." A hugged him around the neck. Then I stuck my
amazing tits in his face.

"I'm sure that's it, baby."

"So... what do you want for dinner tomorrow?" he asked. That's when I
realized that I should have said that if he lost he'd have to cook breakfast.
The only thing he knows how to cook is scrambled eggs.

"Don't be silly, honey," I said, "That bet wasn't serious."

"Oh no," he said, "The deal was that I cook dinner tomorrow night." He left
out "if I lost" because I still don't think he could admit that he lost a
physical contest to his petite and sexy wife.

"I'll make you a deal," I offered, "We'll call it even if you agree to pepper
my sore tummy with baby kisses."

"You're tummy is sore?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, baby, of course it is," I lied, "Isn't yours?"

"Not at all," he lied. I could tell he his tummy was sore by the way he
cringed when he moved certain ways. He ended up taking my offer and kissing
my flat toned tummy all over with baby kisses. Then he moved down and worked
my pussy with his tongue and lips. This wasn't the first time he'd ever given
me oral pleasure, but it WAS the first time he'd ever done so without
expecting something in return.

I gave him something in return anyway because I love sucking his cock. It was
nice to do so because I wanted to rather than because I knew it was expected.
I wanted to let him know that I loved him even though I was way better at
sit-ups than he was.

I began to wonder if there were other things I was better at. That night I
slept peacefully and blissfully through the night.

The next morning when I woke up after such a night's sleep, I was surging with
energy. I woke up James with a surprise titty fuck which he enjoyed
immensely. (What man wouldn't enjoy a surprise early morning titty fuck from
a woman with round, firm, F-cup tits like mine?) Then I went to the kitchen
and made him a ginormous breakfast of eggs over easy, bacon, ham and pancakes
with coffee and orange juice to drink.

After James ate his fill, I sent him off to his home office. "Make lots of
money today," I encouraged. I loaded the dishwasher with the breakfast dishes
and went to the gym to work out.

Every day I could feel my body getting more and more fit and stronger than the
day before. A lot of things - being beautiful, academics, fundraising,
organizing - have come quite easy to me in my life. However, NOTHING in my
life ever came easier than exercising and physical fitness. I only wish I'd
known about this sooner.

I stopped exercising late in the morning so that I could make a nice lunch for
James and I. I threw a load of laundry into the washing machine, and I went
back to working out.

You'd think that I'd get tired from working out so much, but really, after the
first ten days or so it seems like I never got very tired. This allowed me to
keep going and to keep pushing myself to get better, stronger and faster. I
think that this more than anything is what made it possible for me to make
such amazing progress in so little time.

By the time I stopped in the afternoon, I realized that I didn't have time to
make my usual gourmet dinner for James. Oh well, one night of beanie weenies
for dinner wasn't going to kill him.

After dinner, James decided to hit the gym. I knew that this was a reaction
to losing the sit-ups contest to me the night before, so I decided to go with
him to be supportive. By this time I'd started lifting weights a little. I
was concentrating more on endurance than raw strength so I did reps with
lighter weights rather than testing my strength limits. By this time I could
do three sets of ten bench presses with one hundred pounds which I considered
quite respectable.

In fact, I was a little surprised when James did a quick warm-up set of ten
bench presses with only one hundred and twenty pounds. I assumed he lifted a
lot more weight than that. I didn't say anything, though; I was there to
encourage him. "Your arms and shoulders are so broad and strong," I told
him.

"Sure, baby, that comes from twenty years of working out." If he'd let it go
at that, then what happened next wouldn't have happened. "You may be great on
sit-ups," he said, "But you'd never come close to beating me doing anything
that required upper body strength."

I tried to let it go. "You're probably right," I agreed.

"There's no probably about it. I KNOW I'm right." It was The Tone again. It
was him thinking that he was better than me at EVERYTHING. I was being
sincere when I complimented his arms and shoulders. They were impressive, but
that didn't mean he was better than me.

"Something that requires upper body strength? You mean like pushups?" I
asked.

"Exactly! You could never beat me at push-ups," he said.

"Wanna bet?" I replied. One might think that this was a bold move on my
part. I'd already done four sets of fifty pushups per set that day, but I was
sure I could beat him. Like I said, I never seemed to get very tired from my
workouts. 

We didn't name any stakes in our bet, but we both knew that the main prize in
this contest was bragging rights.

"I'll go first," he announced. Again, I knew that he thought if he did enough
pushups that he would be intimidate me and perhaps I'd give up. Some people
never learn.

Just as with the sit-ups, he started out strong. It really was quite
impressive - for a man....

By the time James got to eighty pushups, I could tell he was really starting
to feel it. However, he pushed on and gutted it out until he squeezed out one
hundred and one. I'm absolutely sure that he could not have done one more
pushup if his life depended on it. I actually felt sorry for the big teddy
bear. It even occurred to me that this wasn't a fair contest. Doing things
like pushups just came so easy to me. He really had to work hard to do as
many as he did, for me it was like taking a stroll on a sunny day with the
wind t my back.

I even considered letting him win until he sat back and smiled at me with the
smuggest grin I'd ever seen. He was so sure he had me beat. "And no girl
pushups either," he said.

I asked him what girl pushups were. He explained to me that sometimes females
do pushups where they rest on their knees rather than the tips of their feet.
"If those are girl pushups," I teased, "I should be allowed to do them. After
all, I AM a girl, right?"

But he insisted that I had to do normal pushups. "Okay, then; no problem." I
began doing pushups fast and smooth. My form was perfect. My back was ramrod
straight. I did the first fifty in just over a minute. "This is really
easy," I announced.

"The first fifty always are," he said trying to sound like he wasn't worried.
I might have even believed it if I hadn't seen the look in his eyes. I slowed
down my pace - not out of necessity, but out of a sense of drama. I was
coming up from pushup one hundred at about the three minute mark. I felt
great.

"Only one more to tie and two more to beat you," I pointed out.  "But this is
getting boring, and it's not really even a challenge." So I placed my left
arm behind my back and started doing one handed pushups. After the first one
handed pushup I announced, "That's one hundred and one." After the second one
I declared, "That's one hundred and two!"

Then, still with one hand I pumped out another quick forty-eight. When I
reached one hundred and fifty, I place my left arm back on the floor and
placed my right arm behind my back. "Let's see if I can do another fifty with
my weaker arm," I said. This was a lie since I'm ambidextrous and my left arm
is just as powerful as my right arm.

After doing fifty more one handed pushups I stopped. "That's two hundred, and
I feel great!" Then, just for the hell of it, I did two more just so I could
officially double his count. I could have kept on going, but why humiliate
him further?

The look of shock on James's face was stunning. I admit it made me feel great
to know that I could beat him this way, but it also made me feel a little
uneasy because I knew it bothered him.

But that's just stupid, right? So what if his beautiful, petite and sexy wife
is stronger than him? Was that really such a terrible thing? Why should my
strength make him feel like any less than a man?

Besides, being so powerful also made me feel turned on which would pay off for
him in a big, big way. It made me even hotter to trot than usual. 

"Why don't we jump in the shower together?" I suggested.

"Why? You're not even sweating."

I whipped off my shirt and my bra and gently pulled his head into my firm,
F-cup cleavage and said in my sexiest, breathiest voice, "Maybe we should work
up a little more sweat before we hit the shower then."

The floor of the gym was padded so we did it right there. I explored my
husband's sexy, fit body with my hands, my lips, my tits and my tongue, and he
did the same to me with his hands, lips, cock and tongue. I'm sure that I
more than made up for any bruising of the ego that he might have momentarily
suffered.

Later, when we actually were showering together he said, "It kind of makes
sense that you can do more pushups than I can because you weigh a lot less
than I do. But that doesn't mean that you're nearly as strong as I am." That
sounded like a lot of BS to me, but I didn't want to argue the point.

However, I decided right then and there that I was going to start focusing
more on strength. If I couldn't lift more than him right now, I knew that I
could if I really set my mind to it. I decided to go fishing for some
information. I squeezed his right bicep. Ooh! I'll bet you can bench
press... what? Two hundred and forty pounds?"

"My personal best is two seventy-five," he boasted.

"Oh my goodness!" I said. "What's your best overhead press?"

He quickly volunteered that his max overhead press was two hundred pounds, his
max curl was one hundred thirty and his personal best deadlift was four
hundred. "In that case, you ought to be able to carry your one hundred twenty
pound wife to bed so we can fuck some more," I whispered in his ear.

(I actually weighed closer to one hundred and fifty at this point, because of
my dense muscles. My body was tighter and sexier than ever. My tits were
even a little bigger.)

Within three days of concentrating on strength training, I was able to
duplicate all of James's personal weight lifting records. By day five I was
surpassing them without any trouble. It was amazing how quickly my body
responded to training. Clearly, I was a phenom. It made me wonder what I
could have become if I'd been interested in athletics when I was younger. I
believe I could have been a world class athlete.

I've always thought of sports as a stupid waste of time. Now I couldn't get
enough of training, and the more I trained, the better I got at everything I
did!

I added running to my workouts. Like with the exercising and the
weightlifting, at first I wasn't very good. However, I quickly improved. The
first day I could hardly run a mile. By the end of five days I was knocking
out five mile runs like they were nothing.

The only thing was, I was now doing multiple daily exercise sets, thrice daily
weightlifting sessions and two five miles runs a day. Fitness was taking over
so much of my time that I began to slide on some of my household chores.

One afternoon James took a break from his office work to workout in his gym.
He went for his post workout shower and came out complaining loudly because he
didn't have a freshly laundered towel to use.

"What are you talking about?" I asked him. "That towel was laundered the day
before yesterday."

"Yes, but you USED to wash the towels EVERY day. I'm used to having a fresh,
clean towel every day. Now, suddenly I have to use the same towel TWO DAYS IN
A ROW?" The way he said it, you'd think the towel had mold growing on it.

"If you want fresh towels every day," I said, "Then YOU do some laundry!"

"But that's your job!" Then he started in on how I'd become obsessed with
working out and that I'd started neglecting him and the house. I knew that
there was some truth to what he was saying. I wasn't spending as much time on
my household chores or preparing meals. However, these were minor lapses. No
one could reasonably accuse me of shirking my responsibilities.

I tried to explain how important working out had become to me. I even
reminded him that he was the one who suggested it in the first place. "Now
I'm sorry I did!" he responded. That comment really touched a nerve. This
was another example of him not being interested in what was important to me.
And so I said it.

"You're just mad because I can do more pushups than you! I have greater upper
body strength than you, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

"No you don't! No you don't! I told you; you can only do more pushups than I
can because you're lighter than me!"

"I'm stronger than you, and I can prove it," I told him.

"Ha! That I'd like to see," he huffed.

"Let's make a bet. If I can prove beyond all reasonable doubt that I'm
stronger then you are, you have to do the next load of laundry." He agreed to
these terms.

I told him to meet me in the gym in five minutes. Then I went and put on my
skimpiest, sexiest bikini. When I crushed and humiliated him I also wanted to
remind him how sexy I looked doing it.

Suspended seven feet from the floor of the gym was a pull-up bar. I went and
got under it. "What? You want to have a pull-up contest?" he asked. "First
of all, you can't even jump high enough to reach the bar, and second, that
won't prove anything. You're still lighter than me."

I told him to come over and stand behind me. "Put your arms around my neck,"
I instructed. He did. "Now, wrap your legs around my waist."

"Honey, this is silly. You'll hurt yourself. I'm sorry that I made such a
big deal about the towel." This almost made me stop what I was about to do.
However, I decided that it was time for a showdown. If we didn't have it now,
we'd have it tomorrow or a weak from now.

"Just do it!" I demanded. I must have sounded like I meant it (which I did)
because he complied.

"There! Are you happy? You can carry me. That's very impressive." He had
such a condescending tone in his voice. I decided that I was going to enjoy
what was about to happen. I jumped two feet into the air with James's
additional 215 pounds on my back and began doing perfect, smooth and steady
pull-ups.

I pumped out a quick twenty. I was moving up and down, up and down so fast
that I think that James actually started to experience motion sickness.
"Please, *URP* slow down," he begged.

"You want me to slow down? I'll slow down," I said. I dropped my left arm
and continued pulling myself up only now with only one arm and at about half
the speed as before. After fifty with my right arm, I switched and did fifty
more with just my left arm. I could have done more - a lot more - but I was
pretty sure I made my point.

I dropped to the floor and allowed James to climb slowly off my back. After
the color in his face changed from green back to flesh tone, I positioned him
under the bar and jumped on his back. "Now, let's see how many you can do
with our combined weight," I said.

"Can I use both hands?" he asked timidly.

"Yes, baby," I replied, full of the milk of human kindness. The only problem
was, he couldn't jump up to the bar with my added weight on his back. I let
him jump up without me. Then I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his chest
and my legs around his legs.

"Argh! Could you not squeeze my chest so firmly? I can't breathe."

"Sorry, honey." I loosened my grip.  

He managed to complete ten pull-ups with our combined weight, (It was really
nine and four-fifths, but why quibble?) which I thought was quite impressive.

I tried to tell him this afterwards, but he thought I was being sarcastic.
"Honey, you can't help it if I'm stronger than you," I told him.

"You're NOT...." He started to argue the point, but to his credit he realized
how ridiculous that was given what I'd just demonstrated.

"Besides, have you considered the advantages of having a super hot wife who
loves you very much who also happens to possess extraordinary strength?"

"Like what?" he asked. I reached out and ripped off his pants and underwear.
Then I easily pressed his 215 pounds over my head with his face towards the
floor. I extended my arms all the way up and then lowered him slowly down so
that his cock was lowered into my waiting, open mouth. I gave him his first
ever midair blowjob. It would be far from his last.

After I'd swallowed every drop of his man-milk I replied, "Like that." Then I
carried him to bed, and we fucked some more. I'm pretty sure that I brought
him around to my point of view.

Later that night I asked him, "So... when are you going to do the laundry?"

"You weren't serious about that were you?" he asked. I let him out of the
last bet he lost. This time I was going to hold him to it, and I told him
so.

"What if I refuse?" he asked.

"Honey, I proved that I'm stronger then you. Don't make me use my superior
strength to punish you." I said it half jokingly, but with enough gravity in
my voice that he couldn't be sure that I wasn't serious. He got up early the
next morning and did a load of laundry.

The next day I decided to really cut loose in the weight room and see what I
was capable of. I'm not going to say how much I bench pressed that day, but
it was impressive enough that I became sexually aroused by my own power.

I needed to release some of my pent up sexual energy, and I didn't feel like
pleasuring myself. I marched right in to James's home office. In the past,
this is not something I would have done. He didn't like it when I interrupted
his work, but I didn't care. I was his wife, and I was in need of a good
fucking.

He was talking on the phone when I got there. I took the phone from his hand
and pushed the off button. "What the fuck, honey? That was one of my biggest
clients! We were discussing a million dollar deal!"

"Call him back later," I said. "What the fuck is that I want to fuck! You!
Now!" His phone started to ring. James looked at it like he wanted to answer
it. I looked at him with a saucy smile.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," I warned him. He looked at me with fear in
his eyes which I'll admit, I didn't hate. I picked him up and carried him to
the big leather couch. I tossed him down and began to unbutton my blouse.

"Baby, seriously. I should take that call," he said.

"Remember how I lifted you up and gave you a midair blowjob last night?"

"How could I forget?"

I removed my bra exposing my awesome breasts. "My breasts have grown; they're
G-cups now. How would you like a midair titty fuck right now?"

James looked at me. I could see him mulling it over in his head for all of
two seconds. "I'll call him back," he concluded.

A shift of power in our relationship was taking place.

The next day I let James work without interruption. I was still concentrating
on my strength training, and I was making incredible strides. I looked up the
women's bench press world record on the internet. Then I went into our home
gym and doubled it. Knowing that I would soon be even stronger filled me with
excitement and a sense of immense power.

I skipped my second run that afternoon to prepare an extra special meal for
James that evening. I wanted to show him how much I loved and appreciated
him. After dinner, he actually offered to rinse off the dishes and load the
dishwasher. He hadn't done that since the first year we were married. This
was his way of acknowledging that he also understood there was shift of
power.  

Afterwards, he made an unexpected request. "Uh... Honey, would you do
something for me - a favor?" He seemed nervous - almost like a schoolboy.
I'd never seen James this way before. He was usually overflowing with brash
confidence.

"Of course, baby, what?"

"Would you... arm wrestle me?" he asked.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" I asked.

"Yes... I've thought about it. A lot. I'm sure," he said with a sheepish
grin.

He had no idea how much stronger I'd become recently. "Honey, are you
starting to enjoy knowing that I'm stronger than you?" I asked.

"Maybe... a little," he admitted.

"Okay, I'll arm wrestle you, but you know that there's no way you can beat me,
right?" He nodded respectfully. He was being SO CUTE!

We went over to the dining room table and positioned two chairs on one of the
table corners so that we could face one another. I put my elbow on the table
first. James followed and we clasped hands. His hand was so much bigger than
mine. His muscular arm was almost twice as thick as mine. However, I knew
that even though my muscles weren't big and bulgy like his, that mine were
dense and contained incredible compacted power.

"Start pushing whenever you're ready," I said.

"I have started pushing," he said. I actually knew that he'd started, but I
figured that if he was beginning to enjoy my superior strength that I'd really
play it up. Also, even though I could tell he was pushing, there was NO WAY
he was strong enough to move my arm a single inch let alone beat me.

"Can I... can I use both hands?" James asked.

"You mean you want to use both of your strong man hands against my one little
girly hand?" I asked. He nodded enthusiastically. "Okay!"

Even with both arms James couldn't move my arm at all. "Maybe if you stood up
and used all of your body weight," I suggested. James stood up. First he
tried pushing with both arms and both legs pushing off the floor. Then he
shifted to the other side and tried pulling with both arms and pushing off the
floor with both legs. Basically, I proved that my one arm was stronger than
his entire body!

That's when I announced that I was going to push back. "Are you ready?" I
asked. "I don't want you to claim later that you weren't ready."

He braced his entire body. "I'm ready," he said.

I slammed his arms (and the rest of his body) with a little too much force.
He flew over the table and tumbled onto the carpeted floor. I rushed to his
side and began kissing him. "Are you okay, honey?" I asked. I was so mad at
myself! He assured me he was okay, but I cradled him in my strong arms anyway
and carried him to our bedroom on the second floor. I laid him gently in our
bed.

"I'm so sorry I was so rough with you," I said, "I guess I don't know my own
strength. From now on I'll be more careful. I forget how weak you are
compared to me." I climbed into bed with him.

"Can I?" he started to say.

"What, honey? Can you what?"

"Can I touch your muscle?" he asked.

"Baby, you're my husband. You can touch any part of me you want," I told
him. He cupped his hand over my right bicep. He seemed timid - almost shy.

"It's so powerful, so dense," he said. "How is it possible that you're so
strong? My muscles are bigger than yours, but you're so much stronger than I
am. How can a woman as petit and beautiful as you also have so much strength
and power?"

"I don't know," I told him truthfully. "But I'll tell you this: knowing that
I'm as strong as I am makes me feel sooo sexy. I know that I'm great looking
and that I'm a hot piece of ass, but knowing that I'm very, very strong makes
me feel even more desirable than before. What do you think?"

"Yes. Yes, I agree," he said. I kissed him passionately.

"I'm so glad that you suggested that I start working out," I told him. And
then the time for words was over. There were no words between us for the next
two hours. We used our bodies to communicate, and the messages were love and
passion.

For the next few days, everything was great. James was more and more okay
with me being stronger than he was. In fact, it clearly turned him on.
That's why I talked a lot about how strong my dense muscles were during our
intimate time. However, forgetting how fragile a man's ego can be, one night
while we were in bed naked and fooling around I said the wrong thing.

I said, "I'm so strong. Can you imagine how easily I could defeat you at
wrestling?" This seemed like such an innocent (not to mention obvious)
question given our arm wrestling match. Unfortunately, James didn't think so.

I should explain to you that the three things in the world that James was most
proud of were having a super hot trophy wife, his extremely successful
business and his college wrestling career. During his senior year in college,
James was the NCAA champion wrestler in the 197 pound weight division. He was
an alternate for the U.S. Olympics Team in men's freestyle wrestling in 2008.

When we first got married James talked about his wrestling career a lot. He
doesn't talk about it that much now, but I still should have realized how
important it was to him. He responded that even though I was stronger than
him, that he could still beat me in wrestling because of his knowledge of
leverage and wrestling moves.

At first I thought he was kidding so I giggled at his response. "It's not all
about brute strength you know!" he insisted. I tried to placate him.

"I know, honey, but I'm SO much stronger than you are...." James had no idea
how strong I'd become by this point. I was even stronger now that I was when
we arm wrestled. He still insisted that he could beat me at wrestling. Maybe
I should have let it go, but honestly, I thought he was being ridiculous. I
told him so.

He decided that with only one week of training that he'd be able to beat me.
I didn't know how to tell him that he could have trained full time for the
next year and he still wouldn't be able to pin me. Instead I agreed to
wrestle him in one week.

For the next seven days, James virtually stopped working on anything else and
devoted himself to training. I actually pulled back on my own fitness
regimen. I was afraid of how strong I might become.

When the day arrived, we cleared out enough space in our gym to hold our
contest. "You have to promise me that you'll go all out," James said. I
wouldn't promise that because I was scared to death that if I used my full
power on him that I'd seriously injure or even kill him.

"I promise that I won't let you win," I responded. He was satisfied with
this.

What can I tell you about the match itself? I dominated my husband to such a
degree that it was embarrassing for both of us. When he talked about his
wrestling skills in the past, he always emphasized his takedown skills. He
often bragged about his ability to take down opponents who were bigger and
stronger than he was. I wasn't nearly as big as he was, but apparently, he'd
never faced anyone who was nearly as strong as me.

He tried a number of takedown techniques, but none of them even came close to
working. Even though I didn't really offer any resistance, his efforts to
take me off my feet were entirely ineffectual. He might as well have been
trying to take down a life sized marble statue of me.

I left him wear himself out for about ten minutes. Then I lifted him up over
my head. While he was up there I did a couple of reps with him just let him
know how easy this was for me. Instead of slamming him down on the mat I
placed him down gently. He tried to roll away once he was on the floor, but I
caught him, positioned him on his back and placing one hand on his chest
pinned him on the ground until he admitted I was the winner.

If I'd want to, I could have pinned him to the mat with one finger by this
point. Seriously, it was like wrestling an infant.

After I let him up I asked him, "Now what did that prove?"

He looked at me with sad eyes. "How can you respect me after this?"

"But that's just silly, honey," I told him. "Didn't you respect me before
when you were the stronger one?"

"Yes, but that's different. Men are supposed to be stronger than women.
Besides, I'm bigger than you."

"I know, honey," I said, "I can't really explain my awesome strength either.
But does that mean I shouldn't enjoy it - that I shouldn't take delight in
it?"

"No, baby," he agreed. "But, damn! It's like you're a goddess or
something." I didn't disagree with him. In fact, I kind of like the
comparison. I was like a goddess of beauty and strength.

I explained to him that he was still exactly the same, strong, confident,
handsome, competent man I fell in love with. "Me becoming stronger doesn't
mean that you become weaker," I told him.

"Yeah... I guess," he said.

"I mean, it might seem that way since I'm sooo much stronger than you are," I
told him, "And besides, you're still the breadwinner in this family. You work
hard, and you're the one who makes sure we have enough money to live a
comfortable and secure life." This seemed to pump him up.

The next few days he made several comments about how successful a financial
planner he was. He reminded me multiple times about how great our life was
because of his ability to earn a lot of money. I smiled and agreed
emphatically with him.

I didn't mention to him that I'd figured out that with my super sexy looks and
my extraordinary strength that I could make a mountain of money by posting
pictures on the internet. I looked hotter than all those nineteen year old
Instagram models that were tearing up the internet. What would happen if I
dressed in sexy lingerie or skimpy bikinis and posted pictures of me pressing,
say, a six hundred pound barbell over my head?

How long would it take for a sexy picture like that to get hundreds of
thousands (or millions) of hits. And how long after that before I signed
advertising and endorsement deals. I could easily become the biggest internet
sensation of all time. With James as my manager, with his financial knowhow,
we'd be rich beyond our wildest dreams in no time.

However, I decided to keep all that to myself. We had enough money as it
was. James was in a good place self esteem wise, and I wanted to keep it that
way. Everything would have been fine if he hadn't pulled one last butthead
move.

It all started when James got his credit card statement and noticed a charge
he hadn't made. He watches this stuff like a hawk. When he asked me about it
I explained to him that I'd ordered some specially made, extra heavy weight
plates for our home gym.

I didn't tell him that I needed them because the plates we had were just not
heavy enough to fill my weightlifting needs. "How did you order them?" he
asked.

"Honey, I've had your credit card number memorized for a few years now," I
replied. 

He pointed out, "You've never used that knowledge behind my back before."

I really took exception to that "behind my back" comment. I wasn't trying to
pull a fast one. I knew he'd find out sooner rather than later. I tried to
explain to him that as his wife I shouldn't have to ask his permission for
every little purchase.

He actually started to get loud and aggressive with me. I shut that down
quickly by jumping up on a coffee table and grabbing him by the collar and
lifting him off the floor with one hand. I stopped short of actually
threatening him with bodily harm, but he got the message.

After I put him down, he explained to me that he took our finances very
seriously. He asked me to please inform him whenever I made a credit card
purchase in the future. Since he asked nicely and with due humility, I agreed
to this.  

I went to him a few days later and showed him some additional workout
equipment online and told him I wanted to buy it. He said, "No."

"No?"

"That's right, no," he replied.

"Why not?"

"Because I make the money, and I say so." I thought that he was okay with the
power shift in our relationship, but evidently he still had lingering control
issues.

"But, honey, you know how important working out has become to me," I reminded
him.

"You've got enough workout equipment. You're not buying you any more, and
that's final."

"No! That is NOT final," I insisted. Of course, with my superior strength -
my VASTLY superior strength - I could have laid down the law and ORDERED him
to obey me. However, I didn't want to go there.

"How about one more contest?" I suggested.

He looked very doubtful. I'd already crushed him over and over again. "What
did you have in mind?" he asked skeptically. I knew that whatever I suggested
would have to be so one-sided that he'd think that I didn't have a chance of
winning.

"How about a weight-lifting contest?"

"I know that you can lift more than me," he replied. This was true, of
course, but he didn't know just how MUCH more I could lift.

"Yes, but I'll bet you that I can bench press twice as much weight as you can
dead lift," I challenged him. I could see the cogs turning in his head. His
mouth slowly curled into a smile.

"You're on," he said.

"Good! We'll do it tomorrow morning at ten when we're both fresh."

The next morning I prepared a hearty and healthy breakfast for both of us that
included egg white omelets, turkey bacon and fresh fruit. I also insisted
that James stretch before attempting his lift.

You might remember that James's personal best deadlift was four hundred
pounds. That morning he attempted a four hundred and twenty pound deadlift.
His first attempt failed. "How many attempts do I get?" he asked.

"Three seems fair, don't you think?" He attempted 420 a second time and
failed. It scared me to see him trying to lift so much weight. I was afraid
for him, but I kept my mouth shut. He finally lowered the bar to four hundred
pounds and on his third attempt he managed to get it off the ground. He
locked his knees and held the bar off the ground for three or four seconds
before dropping it.

I was so proud of him. That's the thing that is so hard to get him to
understand. Just because I was so strong now didn't mean that I'd lost all
sense of proportion. For a man who weighed two hundred and fifteen pounds and
who spent most of his time behind a desk on a computer or on the phone, a four
hundred pound deadlift was very impressive.

It was child's play to me, but obviously, I'm very, very special - like a
goddess of beauty and power.

"That's eight hundred to you," he said. He tried his best to sound confident,
but I knew him well enough to hear the apprehension. I placed a bar on the
bench press brackets.

"I've decided that I'm going to bench press four times more than you can dead
lift I informed him. Help me load this bar with sixteen hundred pounds," I
"requested". It's a good thing I ordered those extra plates, or we wouldn't
have had enough. As it was it took nearly every plate we had. We loaded the
bar until the plates, the bar and the braces added up to approximately sixteen
hundred pounds give or take a pound or two. The enormous weight of the plates
caused the bar to curve slightly in the middle.

"If I'm going to keep progressing, we're going to need to purchase more plates
in addition to the other gym equipment we're going to be buying," I informed
James.

I lay down on the bench. "Do you need me to spot for you?" he asked.

"No," I replied. It was sweet of him to offer, but it would take at least
four of him to spot that much weight.

"Be careful," he said.

"I love you," I told him. "Whatever happens in the next few minutes remember
that I love you very, very much."

I easily lifted the barbell off the uprights and did five smooth, controlled
reps with the sixteen hundred pounds before placing the bar back in its proper
place.

"Wooow," James said. He was clearly stunned. I think he knew all along that
I could do it, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things.

"Baby," I told him, "I'm about to show you something that's going to blow your
mind. I'm not doing it to show off. I'm showing you this because I want you
to understand once and for all how useless it is for you to try to compete
with me when it comes to strength."

I reached up once again and gripped the bar. Only, this time I only used my
left hand. With just one hand I lifted the sixteen hundred pounds off the
brackets, lowered the bar to my chest and lifted it back up back onto the
brackets. I could have done it twice, but that WOULD have been showing off.

I stood up and looked at James. "What are you thinking?" I asked. I admit
it. I was worried. I was afraid that now that he knew how strong I actually
was that he might be too intimidated to stay with me.

He just stared at me. I decided to give him some encouragement. "Baby,
you're married to a gorgeous blonde with G-cup tits, a tight, round ass,
washboard abs, and long, shapely legs who loves you very, very much and who
loves fucking you morning, noon and night. Now you discover that she has
super strength. Face it, tiger, you just hit the jackpot!"

He walked over to me and kissed me more passionately than he'd ever kissed me
before. "I'm thinking that I'm the luckiest man in the world and that I'm
married to the sexiest, strongest, most incredible woman on the planet," he
said. "You're like a goddess of beauty and strength."

"Yes," I agreed, "But I'm YOUR goddess of beauty and strength."

"And I worship you," he concluded. "I'll buy you whatever workout equipment
you want."

"Oh, baby, I'm afraid that you're not getting off that easy," I informed him.
"From now on I'm taking over our finances. All the money you earn is going to
go directly into a personal account that you are going to set up for me
today."

"But...."

"No 'buts'," I said. "That's the way it's going to be."

"But...."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll provide you with a generous weekly allowance."

"But...."

"Baby, I just bench pressed sixteen hundred pounds with one arm. Do you
really think it's prudent to argue with me?" To give this question emphasis,
I did a double flex with my toned, dense biceps.

"(Gulp!) No." he concluded.

"Good! Now that that's settled, I think it's time you went back to work.
First, you need to set up my personal savings and checking accounts. Then you
need to transfer one hundred percent of our assets into those accounts.
Then... you need to earn more money. Is that understood?"

"But... but aren't you going to carry me off to bed first?" he asked. He was
as eager as a puppy.

"Later! Now, get to work!" He started to walk towards his office looking
forlorn and dejected. "But, honey, when I DO take you to bed later, I promise
that I'll make it a night of passion you'll NEVER forget."

I always keep my promises, and I kept that one. I rocked his world until he
eventually passed out from an overdose of pure bliss. And don't worry; I'm
only going to keep James on an allowance for a month or so. I just want him
to understand what it was like for me to have to go to him for money for the
past six years. After he's learned his lesson, I'll instruct him to divide
our money evenly.

Or... maybe a sixty-forty split. I'll have to think about it.

__________________________________

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