[stmercy2020]

Rick made the image in the attachment below and had this to say about it:

Any way i was wondering if any one could write a short story inspired by it?

Some facts i would like included: (cheeky i know)

Girls name is Sarah
Age 15
has always been short
some thing happens to make her that big, but its gradual over the space of a week or so…

and this pic is her bursting into my bedroom!!!  😆 or some thing like that.

and before someone says it, no i cant write the story my self! i do pictures not words!! lol

Cheers in advance and i hope you enjoy the pic guys…

Rick

http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,3180.0/

Hi, yeah it would be great to be in the story,

I would like it mostly gentle, but hey this girl is growing some serious muscle she is going to want to show off her strength  and of course if she could be extremely attracted to me that would be good too lol

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

Anywho, this is my attempt to comply with that request.  It was fun to do, but also a bit like pulling teeth.  I don't generally do GTS fiction or erotic fiction, so this was kind of an attempt to branch out for me.  I aged the characters slightly- Sarah starts at age 15, but has a birthday in the story to bring her up to the age of consent.  This was important for me, as making her any younger made me start to feel a little icky, probably because I'm already old enough to be the father of either character…

Oh, another quick note.  There is, in fact, such a place as Blue Lake and it is a summer camp.  It is, however, located on a real lake in Michigan and has, to the best of my knowledge, nothing to do with church youth groups whatsoever.  The jokes about the food, however, are wholly accurate.

So, without further ado,

for Rick, Sarah's Surprise
by: stmercy2020
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

I met Sarah at Camp Blue Lake the summer after I took my GCSEs.  Blue Lake was a mission camp for various church youth groups.  I was somewhat apathetic to the whole venture, but my parents felt that it would be good for me, so off I went.  We spent the days working on various projects- sometimes crafts, sometimes more technical pursuits- and the evenings were given over to a combination of campfire games and bible study.

There were actually six youth groups at Blue Lake that summer, divided into a total of ten cabins in the wooded area surrounding what was laughably called the lake.  Sarah came with our church, but I’d never laid eyes on her before.  Unlike most of the other kids, Sarah had not yet attached herself to any of the usual cliques that teenagers form at these places- she didn’t hang out with the jocks, the geek-squad, or any of the bizarre subdivisions like the emo-kids, the wannabe-goths, or the punks.  Mostly, she hung out by herself, wrapped up in her loose flannel and an ankle-length skirt or, sometimes, loose jeans.  She pretty much never wore anything that was in the least revealing, and I was under the impression that she was pretty painfully shy.

I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face, and Sarah had a very pretty face- kind of exotic.  Her jaw was strong, with high cheekbones and a smooth brow.  She had what is commonly referred to as a roman nose and her lips were full and nearly sensual.  There was a hint of something non-European about her, too- maybe Korean, maybe Native American- I didn’t really know, but it was fascinating.  I resolved to be her Prince Charming (if she’d let me) and made sure to sit with her at least a couple of meals every day.  She seemed to welcome the company.  Actually, she seemed pretty lonely when I first approached her- kind of an outcast and pretty vulnerable.  I learned that she had only recently moved to the area and hadn’t yet had a chance to make any real friends.

One morning, just after breakfast, the camp counselors indicated that we were going to have the option of taking a canoe trip upriver instead of the usual assorted craft projects.  Apparently the construction teams were a little behind in their work and needed a day to get caught up.  We were given the option Sarah looked as if she wanted to go, too, but she couldn’t seem to find a partner who was willing to have her in their boat.

I could understand this, a little- Sarah was pretty short and looked a bit chunky.  Anybody who took her on was likely to have to do most of the work for both of them.  On the other hand, it seemed unfair to me that someone as nice and pretty as Sarah was being snubbed by everyone else just because they might have to work a little harder.  I told my friend to go and get another partner (he didn’t really mind because it gave him a chance to try and chat up a cute blonde number he’d had his eye on since camp began) and I walked up behind Sarah.

“Hey, toots,” I said from just behind her, eliciting a shocked gasp, “you look like you need a partner.”

“Rick,” she hissed, “you shouldn’t sneak up on me!  That was mean!”

I was instantly chagrined.  “I’m sorry, Sarah,” I apologized.  “I was just teasing.  Seriously, though, you wanna be my partner?  You can steer and I’ll push?”

She looked up at me with her serious, dark eyes.  “Are you sure you want to?  I mean, weren’t you and Steve going to head up the river together?”

“Eh,” I demurred, “Steve has the hots for Tanja,” I said, pronouncing her name in a fake, lilting accent.  Sarah boggled at me, then covered her mouth as she tried not to giggle.  “So whadaya say,” I went on, a twinkle in my eye, “keep me company?”

She reached up and punched me lightly on the arm and smiled.  “Sure, Rick- it’ll just be you and me.”

I grinned and went to claim our canoe.

Camp Blue Lake is one of those many absurdly named places in Wiltshire County.  The town of Blue Lake actually lies along the Avon river, but there is no real lake.  What there is, is a widening of the river as it crosses over a shallows.  It is literally possible to wade nearly half-way across the river at this point, and the weeds and reeds in this marshy area make it nearly impassable for most of the year.  In a couple more decades, I suspect that it will be genuine swampland, but for now there is just enough water passing through that it is possible to pilot a shallow-bottomed river boat or a canoe through the “lake” and into the much deeper and swifter waters of the river proper.

The trip, as officially planned, mostly wended its way leisurely through the shallows except for about a mile on the river proper.  The total distance to the halfway point, where we were supposed to stop and eat lunch, was about five miles.  Add another five miles to get back, and the camp counselors assumed we’d be pretty well worn out by the time we got back to our cabins.

Sarah and I were pretty much the last couple to get in the water, and we decided we weren’t in any particular rush, especially given the sunny day and the cool breeze over the river.  As we got underway, I noticed right away that I was right about Sarah being pretty heavy.  Sitting in the front, she actually made the canoe a little front heavy, impressive given that I wasn’t exactly tiny sitting in the back myself.  Actually, I had grown pretty much to my full adult height over the course of the summer and was just waiting for the rest of my body to catch up and fill in- at just over one hundred eighty centimeters, I weighed in at just over seventy kilos.  I was hoping to push it up to around eighty five for rugby, but, so far, my body had been uncooperative.

After going about three miles, I realized I was sweating pretty well and I wished I’d worn lighter clothes.  I pulled off my t-shirt, figuring I would continue in just my undershirt.  Sarah looked amusedly at me, then began peeling off her shirt as well.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked, shocked.

“If you can paddle in your underwear,” she said brazenly, “then so can I!”

I couldn’t really argue with that and, as I was sixteen, I didn’t really want to, so I didn’t.  Underneath her camp t-shirt, Sarah was wearing a gray cotton sports bra.  I was immediately impressed.  What I had taken to be general thickness of a standard American diet and too much television was, in fact, a serious hardbody.  Her shoulders were much broader than I had expected and her back looked hard and ripped.  Her arms were thick, probably thicker than mine, I realized with a mild twinge of envy.

“Wow, Sarah,” I commented happily, “you’ve got some pretty good arms.”

“For a girl?” she commented dryly.

“For anybody,” I admitted.  “I’m not sexist.  How long have you been working out?”

“Seriously?  About three years, now.  It doesn’t turn you off?”

“Nah.  I’m a total perv, though.  Ask anybody,” I teased.

“Tell you a secret?” she asked cautiously.

I was enraptured.  “Go ahead,” I urged.

“I want to get bigger,” she confided, then waited for me to say something to show that I was sickened or thought she was a freak or something.

“Well,” I said after a second, “maybe you should come over to my house and train with me after we finish camp.  I’m trying to get bigger for rugby and I could use a good training partner.”

“Seriously?” she asked, stunned.

“Really seriously.  Steve’s got no discipline, and most of the other jocks think I’m too small to really bother with.  I could use Power Girl as a training partner,” I teased.

About then we realized that one of us probably ought to have been paying attention to the map, as we had somehow gotten well off the established route.  We weren’t really concerned, mind you, as Blue Lake ran along the highway and, at worst, we’d have to portage a mile or so overland (not something either of us were looking forward to) and flag down a driver to return us to home base.  Since it was such a nice day, though, we decided to try our luck staying on the river and see if we could find a good place to beach ourselves while we ate our lunch.

The trees along the banks of the river had gotten pretty thick, and there were enough creeks and streams to make us seriously consider turning back, but before we hit the point of no return, Sarah spotted a clearing and steered us towards it.  I pushed us up onto the embankment and Sarah hopped out and pulled the canoe up a bit further so that I could get out safely.  We trudged inland a little ways and I set out a couple towels for us to lounge on.  Lunch was pretty unexciting- I had PBJ and Sarah had coldcuts and mustard on whole wheat.  There were a couple apples and I’d thought enough to bring a few bottles of water which we shared.

As we started to pack up, Sarah offered to take the back seat for the ride back.

“Nope,” I said, “I volunteered on the way out, now you’re stuck with me.”

“But it’s a lot harder in the back end,” she protested.

“Well,” I said slyly, “if you’re so concerned, you can arm wrestle me for it.”

“What?  But I don’t even know how to armwrestle!”

“Nothing to it,” I said grandly, “but I won’t insist.  If you just want to concede, then you can go on and take over the steersman’s position like a good girl, and…”

Sarah smirked at me.  “All right, you dork.  Set it up.”

I grinned and laid one of the towels on the ground.  We laid down and clasped arms.  She really did have good arms.  A fairly impressive bicep was already visible on her arm as she got ready to push with all of her considerable might.  I counted down and we started pushing in earnest.

It was an interesting match- she was actually a little brawnier than I was, and I could really feel the power of her arms and shoulders as she pressed against me.  I, on the other hand, was good thirty centimeters taller and more experienced with this kind of physical contest.  We each struggled for the advantage, but eventually I managed to get her wrist turned and she had no choice but to let her arm fall.  I was beet red and sweating and shaking like a leaf when we got up, but she just shook her arms out a couple of times, then said, “best two out of three?”

“No chance,” I panted, “I beat you fair-and-square, and I want to savor my victory- especially because I won’t ever get another.”

She pretended to pout, then, but I put up a hand.  “Ah!” I scolded, “None of that!”

She stuck out her tongue and started loading things back into the canoe.  As I was folding the towel, I noticed something shiny on the ground.  I reached down and picked it up.  “Hey Sarah,” I called, “you dropped a penny.”

“I doubt it,” she called back, “I wasn’t carrying any money.”

I shrugged and tossed the penny over my left shoulder just as Sarah came back to help me with the last load.  “You’re supposed to make a wish,” she smiled at me.

“Huh?”

“Find a penny, toss it over your shoulder and make a wish.  Don’t look back.  At least that’s what my Grandmother always used to say.”

“Oh.  In that case,” I said gallantly, “I wish for you to achieve all of your heart’s desires.”

She shivered for an instant, than looked at me solemnly.  “You know you shouldn’t joke about things like that, right?”

I was a little surprised by how seriously she seemed to be taking this.  “Well,” I said slowly, “maybe I wasn’t joking.  You seem like a really good person- why shouldn’t I want you to have every success?”

She shrugged and smiled wanly at me for a second, then turned and got into the canoe.  I followed her and got into my seat without ever looking back.

We made better time getting back to camp as it was all downriver.  We got into campt and had about an hour before dinner, so we hung out and played cards.  She introduced me to a game I’d never played before called euchre and I showed her some of the finer points of the art form that is known as seven-card stud.

Dinner was one of those meals that you dreaded at Blue Lake.  Whereas breakfast was more often than not cereal and milk with options for some basic breakfast items that were virtually impossible to ruin and lunch was invariably cold cuts, fruits, and salad, the food police at Blue Lake always attempted to do something special for dinner.  Unfortunately, the things they tried were always bad, from chicken cordon bleu that was the same color as the name to creamed peas that were hard as marbles and swimming in a viscous jelly.  Tonight was no exception.  They served a barbecue beef sandwich on stale white bread that was almost edible- it would have been better if the shredded beef hadn’t been so salty and dry that it left you parched with thirst- runny mashed potatoes that you could just about drink with a straw except for the lumps, and grey string beans.  The only forgivable part of the entire mess was the drinks cart, where I filled up on chocolate milk and apple juice and prayed my intestines would forgive me until morning.

Sarah came up and sat down.  I noticed right away that she had actually taken double helpings of everything.  She didn’t say much as we ate, that night, but focused instead on delivering the food-like substance to her mouth as quickly and efficiently as possible.  When she had finished her plate and I was still only about half done with mine, she looked up hungrily.  “You gonna eat your beans, Rick?” she asked politely.

I felt my stomach do a slow roll and dive to the left and I shuddered slightly before pushing my tray over to her.  “Be my guest,” I said weakly.

Even in the throes of her obvious hunger, Sarah had the grace to look worried for me.  “Are you okay?  You really should eat something, you know, especially after you did all the hard work today.”

I held up my hands in a warding gesture, “I’m fine- my stomach’s just rebelling at the concept of me putting this…stuff…in it.”

She shook her head.  “It’s really not that bad if you just don’t chew,” she joked, but she didn’t return my tray to me.

I didn’t see much of Sarah for the rest of the evening as we were divided by gender for a couple last minute campfire games.  I don’t actually know what the girls did, but the boys pretty much mutinied after the first round of silliness and spent the rest of the night telling ghost stories, seeing if anybody could tell one scary enough to keep any of the rest of us awake.

As exhausted as I was, I missed the majority of the tales and Steve nudged me at one point- I don’t actually know when- and made me get up and go to bed.

The next day we broke into groups and went about site cleanup.  It was our last full day at Blue Lake, after which we were all supposed to pack up and go home.  Steve and I joined Sarah and two other girls on one site.  The theory was that we would pick up all the loose debris and get it into dumpsters, hopefully finishing up by midafternoon.

In any case, we worked like demons that morning, with the ladies mostly grabbing assorted smaller pieces of discarded materiel while Steve and I worked together to collect the larger, bulkier, and heavier bits.

Finally, we were finished except for one last chunk- a steel I-beam that had been partially embedded in concrete and then later set aside.  As luck had it, I was on the side with the steel and Steve was trying to get a grip on the concrete side.  I guessed that the whole thing probably weighed close to two hundred fifty kilos.  As heavy as my end was, I was barely able to get it off the ground.  Steve, on the other hand, turned bright red as he struggled to overcome both gravity and the suction of mud that had dried over the past three sunny days.  He was getting nowhere and I was certainly not moving this bit of junk on my own.

Sarah came over and saw what we were doing.  “Looks big,” she commented, “need a hand?”

“I think Steve could use the help,” I affirmed, and she moved over to where Steve was struggling.  I noticed that she had her flannel off again, tied around her waist, and her stomach was looking amazingly toned despite the huge dinner and breakfast she had eaten.  She was wearing a cute babydoll t-shirt that barely covered the neatly rounded caps of her deltoids and a pair of loose Capri pants that stopped at about midcalf, showing just the bottom ridges of those tight, hard muscles.

She squatted down next to Steve and got a good grip near the base.  The three of us slowly started rocking it, and you could just hear the ground cracking as we overcame the seal the ground had formed with the base.  All at once it came free and Steve and Sarah each staggered back a step, pulling me with them.  When we managed to stop, Steve had fallen completely over on his rear and Sarah was left lifting their end in a very awkward cradle carry.

The tendons stood out along her neck and her biceps and traps looked ripped, solid, and huge.  Her eyes were closed and she was breathing quickly through her mouth as she absorbed the tremendous weight.  Steve quickly got back to his feet and moved to take back some of the weight.  Together, all three of us managed to stagger over to the dumpster, where we realized we were facing another problem- the side of the dumpster was just about at my shoulder level, which made it just about even with the top of Sarah’s head, I guessed, if she were to stand up straight.

Getting my weight under it, I hoisted my end up and over the edge.  Steve and Sarah were forced to absorb the extra weight on their end and they managed it- it looked like Steve was about to have a heart attack, though, while Sarah’s eyes were screwed tight with concentration.  Her white Capris were now glued to her butt by the sweat that was now flowing in rivers down her back and thighs.  It was the sort of sight to make any red-blooded male a little weak in the knees, but I managed to get around to the end and get my arms under the base as well.

“Okay,” I muttered as I was the only one with any breath left to spare, “On three.  One…Two…Three!”  We hoisted, and Sarah stood straight up, further raising the base by pressing it up straight over her head.  With a roar, we shifted the whole thing over the side of the dumpster where it landed with a resounding ‘THOOM!’

Gasping, I noticed for the first that Sarah was actually a bit taller than I remembered, actually standing just about eye-level to my chin.

“God,” she groaned, “I think I need a massage.”

I volunteered at once, of course- what sort of gentleman would I be, otherwise?  She stood in front of me and rolled her shoulders slightly to relax them while I kneaded the lumps under her skin.  It was truly amazing- the muscles forming her shoulders and trapezius were like galvanized rubber- I could barely press in against them even with all the strength of my grip, which was fairly considerable.  Still, I worked her shoulders over hard for several minutes until I felt them start to loosen, then kept working them until she finally melted back into me.

“That,” she purred, “was really nice.”

I hugged her and then we all piled into the van and headed back to base.

I have to admit, I don’t remember a whole lot about the rest of the day.  It was mostly consumed by getting everything ready to leave the campground first thing in the morning.  I do remember sitting with Sarah again at dinner, although I can’t recall what the inedible mess they were calling food was.  Whatever it was, Sarah ate quite a bit and I just barely managed to down enough to keep me going until morning, I remember that much.

That night, after lights out, Steve and I chatted a little about the day.

“Honestly,” I teased, “I thought you were going to pop a vein, you were trying so hard.”

“I was,” he admitted.  “I guess I just needed that extra push, you know?  Damn, Sarah’s buff.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “she’s got some good size to her…”  I let it fade, thinking back on it.  I was getting a little hard just thinking about her.

“‘Some good size?’ You’re joking, right?” he mocked, “She’s like a mini-Schwarzenneger!”

“What, you mean if Schwarzenneger was, oh, I don’t know, a girl?  And cute?”

“Yeah…cute.  You sound like you’ve got a crush.”

“Who, me?  Gigolo Jake?”

“Your name’s Rick, dumbass!”

“Yeah, but Rapscallion Rick just doesn’t sound as interesting,” I joked, glad to have turned the conversation elsewhere, even if I hadn’t managed to turn my thoughts.  I was in for a very uncomfortable night.

I woke in the morning to a raging hard-on and Steve telling me I had a visitor.  I muttered a couple choice curses and looked for a pair of trousers to pull on over my boxers.  Thus informally attired, I went into the front room to meet my guest.

“Hey, Rick,” she said, graciously not noticing my discomfiture, “I’m Lisa- from Sarah’s cabin?”

I nodded hello and waited for her to continue.

“Um, Sarah was wondering if she could borrow a shirt from you…”

“Huh?  Oh, um,” I waffled as my brain tried to catch up, “sure.  Just a moment.”

I went back to my bunk and rifled through my clothes, finally coming up with the smallest shirt I had, a light blue size L.  I grabbed it and took it back out to Lisa.  “Will this do?” I asked.

“Um, I think she was hoping you might have something a little bigger,” Lisa suggested.

“Well, I have an extra-large, but she’d probably swim in that,” I offered.

“Maybe not,” Lisa said with a raised eyebrow.  I shrugged and got the larger shirt for her.

“Thanks, Rick.  We’ll see you at breakfast.”

Breakfast proved to be a muted affair that morning, as many people had already met their parents and gone home, while others were summoned by the staff even while they were eating.  Steve left early during the meal, while Sarah and Lisa and I ate together in a quiet corner.  Lisa had been right.  My shirt, while a little large on Sarah, didn’t appear to be overwhelming.  The large definitely would have been too small, especially across her shoulders.

After breakfast, I gathered all of my stuff together and sat outside my cabin waiting for my folks.  I didn’t have to wait long as my dad, always prompt, pulled up with Mom in the family minivan.  We loaded my bags, and I was all set to go, but Dad looked like he was still waiting for something.

“Rick,” he said, “do you know a girl named Sarah?”

“Sure, Dad- she’s just around the corner.”

We walked over to Sarah’s cabin and I pointed her out.  She appeared to be the last person in the camp apart from the counselors.

“Good morning, Sarah,” Dad said, “I’m Rick’s Dad.”

“Well, hi, Rick’s Dad,” Sarah dimpled.

Dad smiled and explained that her parents had asked him to pick us both up.  Apparently Sarah’s parents had to head to Bristol unexpectedly for a few days and Sarah was going to be staying in our guest room.

We loaded her bags into the back and set off for home.

My home was a two-story stone job, fairly large as houses went, but not overwhelmingly so.  Like so many British homes, the rooms on the ground floor were moderately spacious with wide openings that made it seem as if one space flowed organically into the next.  The living quarters on the first floor, on the other hand, were of modest size and connected to the main hallway by single doors.  My parents’ room was upstairs, as was our guestroom.  My Dad also kept a study up there at the far end of the hallway in what had, at one time, been my bedroom.  My bedroom ever since I’d added a second digit to my age was actually in the basement along with the laundry room and the weight room.

As we pulled up into the driveway, a small black dog started jumping and barking excitedly.

“’Tang,” I yelled above the racket, “Settle!”

The little dog got slightly quieter but, for the most part, ignored me as it tried to assert its authority over the newcomer.

“’Tang?” Sarah asked.

“It’s short for ‘Potiontang,’” I explained, hauling the excited mutt away and making her sit down.

Sarah’s lips worked for a moment.  “Dog stew?  You named your dog ‘stew?’”

I grinned.  “I sort of figured it could be like a warning, you know?  Behave or else…”

She shook her head.  “I don’t think she gets it,” she remarked.

“No, she’s remarkably stupid, sometimes.  Hey, I didn’t know you spoke Korean,” I commented.

“Yeah- my Grandmother is a native, so I grew up kind of bilingual.”

After showing Sarah her room, I gave her the nickel tour of the rest of the house.  She was especially impressed with our weightroom, which Dad had spent quite a bit on over the years to keep well-maintained and modern, and with, of all things, my skateboards.

“Somehow I never pictured you as a skater,” she commented.

“There’s a half-pipe not far from here,” I explained.  “I like to go out there and try out new tricks and stuff- it’s a great way to stay in shape.”

“Unless you fall off,” she said archly.

“Well, yeah- but falling off is one of those things that you try and learn not to do very often.  And that’s why you wear protective gear, you know?”

She nodded and we moved on to other things.

For some reason, I didn’t see her very much over the next few days despite living in the same house.  When I did, I was amazed by how much bigger she always seemed when compared to the last time I’d seen her.  She would go out jogging early in the morning, and her long legs would just devour the ground at a pace that I couldn’t begin to match for more than a couple of blocks.

Most of the time we didn’t use the weightroom together- not, I think, because either of us were avoiding each other, but rather just because our schedules worked out that way.  I remember catching sight of her as she left the shower a couple days later.  She was wearing a couple towels- nothing else- wrapped around her chest and hips.  She was showing a fair amount of belly and I realized with a start that those were beach towels she had on.  My eyes were now about level with her nipples, which was a source of instant embarrassment for both of us.  Blushing, she hurried into her room and shut the door.

The next day was Sarah’s birthday.  We couldn’t really make a huge deal out of it, of course, because my folks both had to work, but Mom promised that we could get a decent pub meal and an ice cream cake when they both got home from work.

Sarah had pretty much stopped wearing long trousers altogether at this point.  My dad had donated some of his old work jeans to her and she had cut them off around mid-thigh.  They now looked like Daisy Dukes on her.  By the same token, she was wearing the largest shirts we had in the house and they were tight across her back, straining with the effort of keeping her unreal lats and pecs from bursting through the thin cotton material.  Everything except her pajama shirt now looked like a belly shirt on her.

After breakfast, I went downstairs to work out.  I was working heavy, today, and I had about sixty-six kilos loaded on the Olympic bar.  I was struggling on the seventh rep when the door opened, but I didn’t look up.  Honestly, I don’t think I could have if I’d wanted to, I was straining so hard.  Sweat was pouring in rivulets down my arms and through my hair as I tried desperately to straighten my arms.

I felt my arms about to fail and I was close to having the bar in place, but not quite there.  I gritted my teeth and pushed with all I had left.  She actually stepped over me, straddling me and reached out with one arm, grabbing the bar in an overhand grip.

My God, she was huge.  Our ceilings were a little over three meters in the basement, and her head was less than a thirty centimeters from them.  I realized with a start that, as long and lean as she looked, her arms were nearly twice as thick as mine- and she wasn’t even flexing, yet.  I was so amazed, I lost my grip on the bar, but she seemed not to notice as she simply absorbed the weight with her right arm the way I would if it had been an empty roll of paper towels.

She was wearing a tiny shirt- well, tiny on her, anyway- and another pair of cut-off shorts.  “Hey Rick,” she breathed, a seductive smile playing across her lips, “you never wished me a happy birthday…”

I was desperately trying to find my voice, even just a little air, but my lungs and vocal cords seemed to be frozen in lustful paralysis.

She reached around behind herself and stroked my gym shorts.  “Don’t you want,” she sighed with another stroke, “for me,” stroke, “to have,” stroke, stroke, “a happy birthday?”

I swear to God, I would have exploded right there.  There was nothing I could have done to prevent it, but her large hand suddenly clamped down on the tip of my penis and held tight.  The pain was excruciating and I was certain I would die right then and there, but, at the same time, it was exhilarating.

Absently, she placed the bar back on the rack.  She held me until the sexual pressure started to recede- it felt like hours, but couldn’t possibly have been more than a minute.

“Wh- How?” I finally managed, stupidly.  Sarah giggled slightly, but her eyes smoldered.

“Your wish, remember?”  I shook my head, suddenly lost.

“You wished for me to achieve all my heart’s desires.  It worked, I think.”

She unstraddled me, then, and waited for me to sit up.  “Remember when we armwrestled on the beach?” she asked.  I nodded- how could I forget?  “I want to go again!”

I stared at her.  She had to be nearly three meters tall in her own right, and, even at that height, thickly and powerfully built.  She picked up the bench with one hand, the bar with the other, and carried them easily over to the side of the room.  She lay down with her knees bent so that I’d have room to lay down opposite her and put her hand up in the classic armwrestling pose.  Even knowing I had no chance at all, I couldn’t refuse.  I scrambled into position and clasped hands with her.

Her grip wasn’t vice-like- her grip was a vice.  I felt the bones in my hand compress and squeeze together as she casually tightened her grip against me.  She must’ve seen the sudden pain in my eyes, because she instantly relaxed her grip.  “Oh God,” she apologized, “I’m so sorry- are you okay?”

I gave her a strained grin.  “I’m fine- c’mon, let’s do this!”

I counted down and quickly brought all my strength to bear on her, but it was as hopeless as trying to armwrestle a truck.  She held her pose, not even working hard, as I grew red in the face.  After a few minutes, she smiled slightly.  “Why don’t you try using your other hand, too,” she suggested.

I needed no further invitation.  Reaching up with my left arm, I started applying all the pressure my body was able to bring to bear against her single arm.  For just an instant, I felt as if I might be making progress- I think I actually felt her arm quaver and drop maybe a centimeter before she simply stopped it dead with a light flex of her bicep and deltoid.

She stared me straight in the eyes, then, and raised her left hand to her lips.  Sticking her thumb in her mouth, she pretended to blow on it like she was blowing up a balloon.  Her right arm flexed suddenly to unreal proportions.  The sleeve first stretched to near transparency, then the shoulder seams split.  The sleeve itself, now drawn tightly around her bicep, began to slowly tear, rips forming along the top and bottom as her bicep’s peak split and grew against it.  Finally, an angry purple vein popped to the surface, snaking from her shoulder, over the peaks of her arm, and down into the valley of her elbow.  That was all it took.  That vein shredded what remained of her shirtsleeve and it fluttered to the floor.

Grinning broadly, now, she gently took both my arms and my body over with the power of her single arm.  It clearly wasn’t even difficult for her.  I was as helpless to resist as an infant in a hurricane.

“How about some real wrestling, then?” she breathed.

I sucked wind, but nodded nonetheless.  “I think the odds,” I gasped, “are more than a little in your favor.”

She pretended to look thoughtful.  “You may be right,” she conceded, pursing her lips.  “After all, I have these,” she said, bringing both arms up into a powerful double biceps pose.  Her other sleeve simply exploded off her arm.  “And these,” she said, straightening her arms and making her triceps burst into huge, jagged relief.  “And it wouldn’t do to forget this, either,” she continued, going into a lat spread that pulled her shirt completely apart on both sides of her deep chest.  She reached up and tore the cotton shirt completely off her torso like she was tearing tissue paper.  Underneath she was wearing a nearly overwhelmed yellow bikini, the flexible elastic just barely managing to contain her vast contours.

“And,” she lowered her voice once again, “that’s just my upper body.  Imagine what I could do to you with these,” she growled, going up on her tiptoes and pointing at her chiseled, rock-hard calves.  “Or these,” she said, going into a partial squat so that her quads and glutes expanded.  The explosion as the tough denim gave up all at once sounded like a rifle shot and startled me out of my lustful reverie.  Sarah slipped to fingers into the belt, the only article of her outer layers of clothing that was still intact, and, with a sexy sneer easily pulled it apart, the thick leather strap giving way as easily as if it were made from kitestring.

“So,” she concluded, “are you up for it?”

How could I possibly refuse an invitation like that?  I grinned and dropped into a crouch.  Smiling, she actually went down to her knees and brought her hands up.  It really wasn’t much of a match.  I did my best, and my superior knowledge of how to apply and slip holds helped a little, but I simply couldn’t begin to create enough pressure to really trouble her at all.  She even allowed me to get in a position to get a good choke, only to demonstrate that her neck muscles were so powerful that I couldn’t even begin to shut down her airways or her bloodflow.

After a bit, she simply grabbed hold of me and drove me straight down to the floor with the strength of one arm.  She leaned into it slightly, and that was it.  I couldn’t shift her weight or get my hips or legs in any position to gain leverage, and the match was over.  After she let me back up, I showed her some of the moves I had tried to use on her, and let her apply them lightly on me.  She had to go lightly, because she was so strong that even a slight twitch from her pumped muscles could have broken me in half, but I felt safe, somehow.  I knew she wasn’t going to hurt me, and she knew she didn’t want to.  Her touch was so sensitive and gentle that I found myself getting hard once again.

She noticed it, too, and licked her lips playfully.  “Is that for me?” she asked pseudo-innocently.  My mouth went very dry.

“Only if you can catch me,” I teased and suddenly sprinted for the door.  She made a grab with her long arms, snagging my already torn shirt and peeling it from my back, but barely slowing me at all.  I was almost disappointed as I raced into my room, closed the door, and threw the lock.  I knew that wouldn’t slow her down for long.

I was right.  A moment later, I heard her outside my door.  She tapped gently on the oaken frame.  “Rick?  Don’t you want to come out and play some more?”

I was panting too hard now to answer, but she didn’t really wait for me, in any case.  “Maybe I should just come in… would that be better?  Or maybe, just maybe, you’re scared of me.”  Now her voice sounded as if she were frightened.  “Maybe I’d better just go,” I heard her say.  All of a sudden, I was worried I’d taken the game too far and I bolted off my bed to race for the door.  Before I reached it, though, the door burst inwards, bits of the ruined frame exploding in a shower of splinters.

Sarah stepped across the threshold, ducking her head so that she could get inside.  Grinning broadly, she looked around the room.  “Why, everything’s so tiny,” she marveled, half-jokingly, “I feel like I’ve just stepped through the looking glass.”

I gaped at her.  Her shoulder pressed against the upper frame of my door and she easily filled the entire space from side to side.  I couldn’t possibly escape if I’d wanted to- and I really had no desire to, now.

“Now, Rick,” she breathed, “no more playing hard-to-get.  I think it’s time for you to give me my birthday present, don’t you?”

Attachments:

• gXwIoQgP__Sarah.JPG

[ratlaf]

Marvelous!!!  Eight feet, ten inches tall!  Too bad the penny thing doesn't work in real life…

[stmercy2020]

There are actually a couple of penny superstitions.  The best known, of course, is "Find a penny, pick it up and all day long you'll have good luck."  I was looking that one up because I'd remembered that in some variations it matters which side the penny's on whether or not it actually grants good luck.  Apparently if you find a penny tails up, it actually reversed the karmic flow and you get bad luck instead.  Anyway, while I was looking at that, I happened to notice a couple different versions of the superstition I used in the story.  Basically, the superstition says that if you pick a penny up and it's heads up, all well and good- you get good luck for a day.  If, on the other hand, you pick up a penny and it's tails up, you should immediately cast it over your left shoulder (apparently this is important, although I don't know why) to avoid bad luck.  If you then make a wish and don't look back, your wish will come true.

Just fun trivia…

yeah, about 8'10"- I was actually aiming for 9 feet even, but I didn't want to get too precise with the measurements, because it's always bugged me when I read stuff like that.  I always end up thinking, 'what, you whipped out a measuring tape in the middle of your lust fantasy?  Are you a moron?'  At some point I ought to figure out how much she would weigh at 9 feet tall, too.  I did figure that she probably had roughly twenty four inch biceps, which made my jaw drop for a moment…

[Rick]

Thanks so much for that it was  fantastic, you can see that you put a lot into it just from the research you must have done for it. Its defiantly much appreciated and if I can return the favor for you one day by doing a custom pic just give me a shout.

[yaracyrrah80]

Very, very nicely done.

[Risatara Kalja]

Thank you for writing this story. Please do more of that kind of stuff.

[ratlaf]

yeah, about 8'10"- I was actually aiming for 9 feet even, but I didn't want to get too precise with the measurements, because it's always bugged me when I read stuff like that.  I always end up thinking, 'what, you whipped out a measuring tape in the middle of your lust fantasy?  Are you a moron?'  At some point I ought to figure out how much she would weigh at 9 feet tall, too.  I did figure that she probably had roughly twenty four inch biceps, which made my jaw drop for a moment…

I agree, I'm not a numbers type of person, but I am not used to the metric system, so I converted it so as to give me a better sense for how tall she becomes.  😉

[stmercy2020]

Thanks so much for that it was  fantastic, you can see that you put a lot into it just from the research you must have done for it. Its defiantly much appreciated and if I can return the favor for you one day by doing a custom pic just give me a shout.

Thanks, Rick.  I'm glad you liked it.  At some point, I may take you up on that custom pic idea- I don't really have a stable of giantess characters, right now, but I have a number of characters with varying degrees of buffness that I wouldn't mind seeing in a non-text format… ;D

Very, very nicely done.

Thank you for writing this story. Please do more of that kind of stuff.

Thanks, all- I don't know if I'll be doing another in this genre for awhile- it was fun, but it was also bloody difficult to do and do well enough that I was satisfied with it.  Maybe if someone posts another picture with a request attached…

I agree, I'm not a numbers type of person, but I am not used to the metric system, so I converted it so as to give me a better sense for how tall she becomes.  😉

Yeah- that's basically the same thing I did in reverse.  It's funny that I'm so not a numbers person, as my father taught math up until he retired just a couple years ago.  You'd think it was in my blood, right?

[Prophet Tenebrae]

I agree with the positive feedback. Solid story, well written and a nice finish.

[alex]

Very nice and sweet! Kind of a dream scenario for me (and I'm sure lots of others). 

Thanks for writing.

[Author]

Posts