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Isabelle and Jim
Part II thought I’d come home early and surprise my wife–so I left the office early and got home around 3:00. We hadn’t seen each other much over the past six months, as I’d been working a lot. But when I got home no one was there. I assumed Isabelle was out on a walk, since her car was in the garage, and that she would be back any minute. I wasn’t too thrilled when I heard a car pull up at around 6:30. I was even less thrilled when she came in the house with a big muscle-man wearing a tank top and shorts. Isabelle had on a sweat suit. She obviously wasn’t expecting me to be home, and she said to the guy, “Alright Jim, I’ll see you tomorrow,” and gave him a kiss.
“Wow!” I said, “Who was that?”
“That’s Jim Nedders, a trainer at the gym.”
“I guess you’ve been spending a lot of time there lately.” Given how friendly she seemed with Jim, that was an understatement.
“Yup. With the kids gone, I like getting back into shape.” As she said that she took off her sweat top, and all she had on was a muscle shirt–with an emphasis on the muscle! Her arms and shoulders looked massive. Her chest was huge and even her back muscles were obvious from the front. I was taken aback.
“Well the results are excellent,” I told her.
“Thanks hun. We did a small photo-shoot down at the gym this afternoon.”
“Wow. That’s great. I can’t wait to see the photos. Hey, I’m getting hungry. Do you want to go out?”
“No. I’m beat. Why don’t you just throw some steaks and veggies on the grill.”
“I’m tired too. Let’s go out.” I whined.
“Let’s arm wrestle to decide.”
“What’s that all about? Have you ever arm wrestled before?” I asked.
“I was messing around at the gym with some guys, today. They said I was pretty good. But I think they let me win. Anyway let’s get going. I’m starved.”
So we sat at opposite sides of the table and both put our right elbows on the table. It certainly appeared as though I would have an advantage as my forearm is so much longer than hers. But I could tell I was in trouble when I saw the veins on her forearm and the thickness of that forearm. It was obviously thicker than mine. Let alone the fact that her upper arm looked big, and there was a big vein visible atop her swelling biceps. The difference in size was obvious. I felt weak and soft. When we clasped our hands together, she squeezed mine so hard that I almost cried out. “OK GO,” I said. And within a split second my hand was slammed to the table.
“NO FAIR,” I yelled out.
“What do you mean,” she laughed.
“I didn’t have a chance to get started.”
“But you’re the one who said go.”
“OK.” I said. “This time I’ll count to 3 and then say go. No fair starting before I say go.
“1, 2, 3, Go.” Wham — same result. My hand was really starting to hurt!
“This just isn’t fair I muttered.” “OK. She said, this time, I’ll wait until you reach your full force before starting. You start whenever you want, and then tell me when I can start.”
“1, 2, 3, Go.” Now I pushed as hard as I could. But nothing happened. “OK, tell me when you’re pushing,” she said. So I breathed deep, and gave it all I have. Nothing. Alright, I’m starting,” she said, and I felt a steady push down until my hand gently touched the table. Then she kept her grip, pulled me back up to the start, and slammed me down again. She repeated this three or four times. My hand was stinging. “Had enough?” she asked.
“Alright,” I said. “Let me use both hands.”
“Sure,” she replied. So this time I started with my right arm in the usual position, and I placed my left hand around my right –positioned to pull with it. “Even with two hands, you can say go, and tell me when you want me to start,” she laughed. (She really seemed to be enjoying this!) “GO,” I yelled, and pushed and pulled with all my might. This time, I pulled her about an inch down. “Are you ready for me to start?” she asked. I waited a few seconds, but even using both hands I couldn’t budge hers. “OK,” she said, “that’s it.” And with that she slammed me down, and I went flying off my chair.
“Oh I get it,” she said. “You’re letting me win.” I assured her that I was not letting her win, but she didn’t believe me. “Come on, there’s no way I’m that much stronger than you! You weigh 70 pounds more than me, and you’re a man. You must be fooling around and not even trying.” “This is just like at the gym. You guys are all letting me win.”
“What do you mean? You arm wrestled at the gym?”
“Yeah. We had a tournament this afternoon. I won.”
“You beat everyone at your gym? Including that Jim guy?” (I gulped.)
“No. There was a tournament. The guys competed, and then I arm wrestled the winner. Jim won, and then I beat him. It took a bit longer then you though. But I don’t buy it. I think you’re all letting me win. It’s too easy.”
I said, “look at our arms.” I sat next to her, and put my arm next to hers. Feel yours and then feel mine. “Yours is longer,” she said. “Come on,” I insisted. “Oh alright.”
So she felt my biceps — I self consciously flexed. Then she felt hers. “Oh my God. Mine is like a rock and yours feels soft. Plus mine feels so much thicker.”
“So now you understand?” I asked.
“I still don’t get it. You mean you didn’t let me win, and you think Jim didn’t either? Let’s go compare in the mirror.”
“What do you mean? I thought you wanted to go eat.”
“In a minute. I’m curious now.” Take your shirt off.” She said, as she slipped out of her top.
“Come on, this is silly,” I complained. But she pushed me into the bathroom in front of the full length mirror.
“Ok, now bend down so we’re the same height. Now flex.”
“Flex what?” I asked.
“Start with biceps. Show me what you’ve got.”
So I hit my double biceps pose. Not bad, but certainly not bodybuilder quality.
“All right. Now hold that. Don’t strain yourself!” she chuckles as she positioned herself behind me. Then she hit her double biceps pose. I was shocked by what I saw, and I think she was too. Her triceps showed below the bottom of my arm and the peak on her biceps rose well above the top of my arm. In addition, her shoulders and back were wider than mine, whereas my waist hid hers completely.
“OK. So what are you trying to prove?” I asked.
“Nothing. I was just trying to understand how I could beat you so easily. It’s clear now! Get that grill fired up. I’m starved. Oh and put a couple extra steaks on for Jim, I told him to come back in an hour.”
“When was that? He was just here.”
I told him if I didn’t call then he should just come over.”
“Just Jim? No one else?” I asked sheepishly.
“No just Jim. While you get things cooking I’ll grab a shower and change for dinner.”
When Isabelle came back to the kitchen she was wearing a “wife beater” tee shirt and a short skirt. The shirt looked about three sizes too small as it seemed that her chest and shoulders were about to break out of the fabric. She was not wearing a bra. “I never saw you in a wife beater, where’d you get that shirt?” I asked.
“It’s one of yours,” she told me. “But since I’m wearing it, it’s a husband beater.”
“All right,” I said, “let’s not get carried away.”“How long until you’re ready with the steaks and veggies?”
“Another five minutes. Oh, that must be Jim.” She went to the front door and let Jim in again. When they walked into the kitchen together I could have mistaken them for twins. Jim had on a polo shirt with the gym’s logo, and looked like he was busting out of the sleeves.
“Can I get you a beer, Jim?”
“No thanks. I’ll just have some water. You sure are a lucky guy, Phil.”
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back with our dinner.”
When I brought everything in Jim and Isabelle were finished setting the table, and sat down. I served them both, and then myself.
“Your Isabelle is quite a sensation down at the gym.” Jim said enthusiastically as he was cutting his steak.
“Doesn’t surprise me. She’s a wonderful woman.”
“Never mind,” Isabelle said. “Jim how long have you been bodybuilding?”
“I started when I was 15. So it’s been 12 years. What about you, Isabelle?”
“I’ve been weight training for 35 years.”
“Oh my God,” Jim said. That’s why your muscle is so dense–and why you’re so strong. How about you Phil, do you lift weights?”
“No, I’m a runner,” I said. “I ran cross-country in high school, and just kept it up.”
“Well, your wife is like a goddess down at that gym. All the guys ask her advice, everyone is asking her to pose or arm wrestle. It’s amazing. Truly Amazing!”
“She has certainly experimented with different exercises and regimens, and there is no substitute for experience,” I noted.
“Jim, why didn’t you bring your girlfriend?” Isabelle asked, trying to change the subject.
“Krista isn’t my girlfriend. She’s been hanging around the gym lately, looking for advice.”
“That’s funny, she certainly gave me the impression that she was your girlfriend.” Isabelle replied.
We were all finishing our dinner, so I got up to help clear some of the dishes, and put them next to the sink. “I’ll help you get started and then Jim and I can talk for a while while you do the dishes.”
“Why don’t we arm wrestle to see who does the dishes,” Jim said.
“That’s ok,” I said, “I’ll do the dishes.”
“No. Now let’s be fair about this,” he insisted. And he put his elbow on the table and said, “Ok Phil you and I go first, and then Isabelle will take on the loser.”
“Alright,” I consented. “But this isn’t really fair.”
“I’ll give you a head-start,” Jim said. “We’ll start at this angle–with my hand just an inch from the table.” We grabbed hands, and he almost crushed my right hand. I gripped with all my strength, but I felt my hand crushed. “Isabelle, you say go.”
“Go.” Within a second my hand was slammed down hard on the table. It was sore from being crushed and sore from hitting the table so hard.
“Alright, I’m in the clear.” Jim gloated. Now man versus wife.
“That’s alright,” I got up and excused myself to the bathroom. I had to clear the tear from my eye. But when I came back Isabelle was waiting for me.
“I’ll be gentle,” she chided me, and winked at Jim.
So we clasped hands. Jim acted officious by placing his hand atop ours to ensure the grips were secure, and then said go. I pushed with all my might and nothing happened. At least I lasted longer than the last time, I thought. Again I saw her wink at Jim. “OK, I’m starting now,” she whispered. And slowly my hand was pushed down to the table, which it met with a gentle tap.
“Well Phil, looks like you do the dishes. There was no way you could beat her. She’s the strongest person in the gym.
“She told me you let her win,” I chided Jim.
I know she said that at the gym. I think she was trying to protect my ego and standing with all the men. But I told her I gave it my all.”
“I still don’t believe you,” Isabelle said. Just look at you.
“You should look at yourself!” was Jim’s response.
Isabelle thought for a minute and then said, “Tell you what. I’ll only believe that I beat you if there is a lot at stake. Let’s make a wager. If I win, you have to be my spotter for a month.”
Now that would be a heavy cost! Her workouts go on for hours, and they were heavy! Jim knew this, and was clearly reluctant to continue. I knew at this point that Isabelle was stronger. “All right, he finally consented. But if I win you have to give me a blow job tonight.”
Isabelle didn’t skip a beat, and said, “Sure!” I had some suspicions right then and there, since I think Isabelle was expecting to lose.
“Phil you be the judge,” Jim commanded.
“All right,” I said, “assume the positions.” I grimaced when I saw Isabelle’s hand inside Jim’s and remembered the pain of his grip. Jim’s arm stretched the sleeve of his shirt so that I though it would shred. Veins bulged from his wrist up to his shoulder. Although the polo shirt covered that shoulder, you could see it bulging.
But Isabelle was smiling, and I think I saw Jim wince. I placed my hand atop theirs and counted to 3. At the count of 3 nothing happened. Jim grunted, and I could see him pushing with all of his strength. Isabelle was smiling, she seemed not to be paying attention.
“Are you ready?” she smiled at Jim.
Jim grunted, “Bitch.”
And with that Isabelle slammed his hand down. I thought that the table was broken, it was so loud. But Jim just smiled, and Isabelle told me to start with the dishes–that she was going to help Jim with his posing routine. Jim went back out to his car to get his posing trunks, then changed into them. He strutted by me in the kitchen. Jim is a pretty good looking guy, and his build was herculean. Those trunks were bright green, and tiny. Jim’s glutes stretched the back of the trunks, and his package which looked enormous was clearly visible. As he passed by me–my hands in the soapy dishwater–he flexed his pecs–in the traditional bounce-bounce way. I felt pretty jealous of all those muscles.
“Where’s Isabelle,” he asked.
“She went back into the bedroom where there’s a full-length mirror. She told me she was going to help you with your posing.”
“Thanks Phil.”
I could hear them talking and laughing, but the bedroom was too far away to make anything out. After another 20 minutes, I finally finished the dishes, and went in to check on them. Isabelle had on a bikini bottom–bright red, barely covering her private parts. She was topless. “Whoa! Why are you topless,” I screamed.
“Come on Phil. Calm down. I’m showing Jim how to pose his pecs. What do you want?”
“All right,” I sighed. “Let’s see your pose.” So she placed her hands behind her head, put her left leg out, and flexed everything. “My God,” both Jim and I exclaimed at the same time. Her elbows were above her head, and her upper arms looked enormous. Both biceps and triceps flared–the upper arm looked like a balloon–a couple of prominent veins covered the bulging biceps. There was some stubble in her arm pits, but her lats bulged out from her sides, and her pecs were stretched. Her nipples were stretched across her powerful chest muscles. The most amazing thing was how she had vacuumed her stomach in. It literally looked like each of her arms was thicker than her waist. A deep etch ran down the middle of that powerful stomach–all the way down to her bikini top. That bright triangle of red accented the tight waist — it seemed to dip in front as the size was a bit big for that pose. Her thighs were ripped, but not as impressive as her upper body. She held this pose for a minute and then took a deep breath. Muscles rippled through her arms and chest.
Jim was visibly impressed. “I love that pose. But I don’t think I’ve got the thickness of your muscles.”
“All right. Let’s see,” Isabelle prompted him. She stepped to the side, but still kept the position. Jim positioned himself slightly behind her, and to her right. He assumed the same position, and flexed. The moment was not as impressive as when Isabelle popped all of her muscles, but you could see that Jim was a big man. His arms seemed even bigger than Isabelle’s although not as ripped. His lats were almost as big as hers, and his chest was massive. But his stomach was not vacuumed in, which made his pose less impressive. So Isabelle, came out of her pose, and walked behind Jim. She put her hands up under his ribs, and seemed to gently pull. What struck me then was Jim’s trunks stretched out even more, as he popped an erection. I could see the outline of his thingy against the thin green fabric. I felt puny. Isabelle obviously saw this massive erection, and joked with Jim–“If that pops up during a show you’ll certainly win.”
“No chance of that when I’m dehydrated and thirsty in show mode,” he joked back. “I think I got the idea. Thanks a million, Isabelle. You’re a great help.”
“You should put that thing away,” I chided Jim.
“Let’s see what you got.” He ribbed me.
“I’m not a bodybuilder.”
“Isabelle told me you have a nice body. I want to see what that is.”
“That’s alright Phil. You can take my word for it,” she stood up for me. I was deeply grateful for that. I’m extremely self-conscious being shirtless with Isabelle, but with the two of these muscle giants, I feel puny.
Jim was heading home. “All right. Well thanks Isabelle. That was helpful. I guess I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget you’re spotting me. I’ll be there at 6:00 am sharp,” she shot back.
Here are Isabelle and her husband:
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