Thanks again, all!

I want to add a very strong disclaimer here; what follows is by no means, in no way, anything other than essential character background. Mercy is seriously warped, and the most common way that someone is warped is by something that happened early on. Therefore, some of this is portrayed, but I have limited the muscle descriptions of a young Mercy to shift as much focus away from her body to her experiences at that age... and it's probably not what you may think, after reading this next secton.

Ok, onward....
Reap


...cont'd...

As the astonishingly muscular beauty settled into the rhythm of the conversation, the therapist found that Mercy was indeed capable of unexpected bursts of expression, speaking freely and passionately especially when she was talking about something that held her interest. Gymnastics, bodybuilding were two of those things. On the other hand, college was making her yawn – she absorbed scholastic information like the proverbial sponge, and she was on track to graduate summa cum laude in under two years.

The only thing Mercy spoke about extensively on was her fascination with anatomy, physiology, genetics, and biochemistry, and in details and terminology that made the psychologist’s head spin. He was certain it was all revolved around muscles, but she was at a level that far surpassed his knowledge of the subject… and unbeknownst to him, was actually pushing past the boundaries of research in the field.

Unable to follow the scientific content of her topic of comfort, he concentrated on her process and manner instead. Her voice was itself something a revelation. As he had initially noticed, it was almost melodic in quality. Enchantingly feminine and effortlessly bewitching in tone, Mercy could change her speaking timbre from feathery and ethereal to edged steel in one word.  He had no idea exactly what that technical word meant, but it apparently it meant something to her.

Again, she was a study in contrasts, a puzzle that seemed to keep unfolding. And so he kept listening, nodding when appropriate. Inside, the psychologist was himself a mess of ambivalence – Mercy couldn’t possibly be the girl those witnesses described, could she? Then after her dissertation, out of nowhere, she dropped a bombshell.

“I think I was abused.”

His head snapped up. And almost accidentally, looked her straight in Mercy’s cerulean eyes. It was exactly the wrong thing to do, for it seemed like he had jumped into the deepest, blue ocean and it took all his training as a therapist to break the hypnosis in her gaze. The man focused hard on what she had just said. Abuse?  He looked at the smartest, strongest, most muscular being he could even imagine sitting across from him, and tried to understand how anyone could ever make this beast do anything she was not willing to.

He stared at her, and  Mercy coughed nervously, sending a tidal wave of pure shredded brawn dancing across her barely contained torso. “I have this recurring dream – from when I was just a kid,” she added awkwardly, by way of explanation. Looking mortified that she actually blurted her secret out, Mercy flushed bright red. She visibly flinched when he raised his eyebrow, and hastened to quickly continue “Though I was really strong for a kid…” and then to his surprise, she just kept talking in an unstoppable stream of tangents.

...to be cont'd...

NOice!!! i cant wait till she starts to mangle this guy

Yeah, good job reap, it got me totally into the story, leaves me waiting for more, I hope you really come through with some muscle and strength description soon, I think Mercy has potential to be even stronger than E, but I really won't know until you actually describe her doing some extreme feats. Here's to more stories from you soon! 

Greetings all, and thanks again for your comments. Here begins the character background I had written about earlier that I feel is necessary to explain the obsession Mercy has with muscles...

Reap

---------------------
...cont'd...

“I was only four, and I could already do back handsprings that my sister was learning in gymnastics. She was almost ten, and she was so frustrated that her four year-old sister could do ten of them in a row, when she could barely do three. I mean, it was pretty obvious I was already stronger than she was. I could do way more pullups that she could, and when we would fight like kids do, I always ended up overpowering her – pinning her down, and making her cry my name – Mercy -- before I let her up. I always beat her, and she was six years older and a whole lot bigger! She was very athletic and was pretty well built for a ten year-old girl ‘cause of the gymnastics she was doing, so she was the strongest kid in her class. But even at age four, I could beat her up bad. I could make a muscle, and it was way bigger and harder than hers… she used to get so mad! If you saw the photos of us in the pool, I have this amazing hardbody -- there isn’t a picture of me in a swimsuit as a kid that doesn’t make me look like a mini-bodybuilder already. Grownups always asked me to flex and I loved how freaked they’d get when I did. I had muscles everywhere and I wanted to show them all off, veins on my biceps and legs, even chiseled abs. It was pretty weird…” Her face crimson, Mercy finally stopped for a breath. She looked like she was about to run, her eyes wild with anxiety from her revelation of abuse.  But before the man could even raise his pen to interrupt her, she raced on, her words getting faster and faster as she tried to verbally run away from the admission she’d just made.

“…but I’ve always had abs, even when I was, like, an infant – I’ve actually seen pictures and home video of me right after birth, and you can totally see the squares on my tummy! My calves and my delts are really built, too – the doctor actually makes a comment on camera that he’s never seen any baby as muscular as me. I mean, it's obviously genetic. But when my parents finally let me start doing formal gymnastics ---”

“Mercy, please…” he started gently, trying to interrupt her panic-driven tirade. But Mercy kept talking, getting even and more wound up as she started to gesture. The therapist watched her, his own anxiety growing as he saw her already mindblowing musculature ripple and (Good Lord) grow as she became more and more animated. He watched in helpless fascination as veins popped up all over her ripped body, sprawling visibly beneath the straining cloth as she gesticulated, her movements and agitation pumping her already impossibly powerful physique up.

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him at first, as the beautiful girl’s countless sinew striations danced and swelled, but the audible tearing of her clothes failing to contain her muscles confirmed his observation. His mouth felt dry as he saw absurd peaks and bulges all over her granite body become even more prominent. “Stop” he said in a tone of authority.

“— and then I started training for real, and I became even bigger and stronger! At six years old, I started outmuscling even the boys in drills. All of them – pushups, leg raises, pullups, straddles – you name it, and I could double or triple the next best kid. I could even outrun anyone else. I was so much better that they put me in boys’ elite division so I could have some competition for strength and endurance. The next thing you know, I was doing iron crosses and strength holds longer than anyone in the gym, and ---“

“Stop.” he ordered more forcefully, as he watched her become more and more wild-eyed and distressed. She ignored him, plunging forward at full steam. He felt compelled to do something to interrupt her, but instead all he heard was:

“ – then I had this instructor who was also a competitive bodybuilder and he was amazed at my “power.” In gymnastics, your physique and strength is referred to as “power”.  I was only six, a little kid, but my body was so powerful that I probably outmuscled even him in proportions! It was obvious that I totally outmuscled all the boys. I mean, it wasn’t even close. Those 12 year-old boys were twice as old as I was, so their frames were bigger all around, but my muscles were actually far more developed…”

The therapist slapped Mercy. More accurately, he tried to slap her lightly on her cheek with his good hand. But before his palm and fingers could make contact, they were intercepted by the back of her right hand, moving with inhuman speed and economy of motion, blocking his therapeutic blow just inches from her face. In fact, her reflexes were so lightning fast, before he even registered that his hand had never reached its intended target, she was already staring him steadily in the eyes.

For a second, there was a unnerving, icy malice in Mercy’s deep blue eyes. But she had stopped talking, her anxiety clearly broken. Then she blinked and sighed heavily, her posture crumbling as she dropped her intercepting hand, and used it to rub her eyes. “Thanks” she uttered in a quiet whisper, before lapsing again into a discomfited silence.


...to be cont'd...