[reaper0002000]

While initially tame, this gets pretty, um, messy.
Mercy in her younger days is explored, but only in the context of character development, shaping her to what she is now.
And no, this Mercy has absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Shhh's character of the same name.

Best wishes,
Reap

PS – my other character keeps muscling her way back into my computer. :- There's an epilogue in the other thread.

—————————————-

The Muscles of Mercy

Her tiny waist barely widens to supremely narrow hips that flow to oaken thighs each the size of her waist. A perpetual, resting eight-pack of abdominals that’s been visible from infancy. Flaring out to winged scapulae and broader shoulders than what’s imaginable for a girl. Comparing the girth of her shoulders to her hips, her athletic proportions are literally breathtaking – she easily exceeds any ratio, even those of male bodybuilders. Genetically, Mercy is already far superior to anyone. Her beauty. Her intelligence. Her muscles.

“Hi.”

Mercy awkwardly flung out a hand, which he accepted. Too late did he notice the ungodly arm that extended her hand, the bulging, pumped-up forearm that powered her fingers into a vice of unholy strength and his eyes widened as she effortlessly crushed his hand. The psychologist almost collapsed from the pain, the bones in his hand helplessly rearranging and crumbling in her incredible grip, his entire hand compressing beneath her fingers. His knees buckled, a gasp involuntarily forced from his lips. Mercy suddenly seemed to register what she was inadvertently doing to him. She immediately released her deathgrip, looking horribly embarrassed, as he clutched his mangled hand to his chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Mercy exclaimed, abashed. Her lips pursed slightly, and she glanced up meekly before quickly looking away. “Sometimes I don’t think about my strength when I’m anxious,” she explained with a touch of nervousness, her large blue eyes barely meeting his before fluttering downwards to stare at his injured hand. For his part, he was staring at her, simply stunned by the inconceivable muscularity of the tall, good-looking girl standing in front of him. Even the clear hyperbole of the report he had read on Mercy didn’t do her justice; it didn’t even come close. Never had he seen muscles like that on anyone, woman or man.

Her long neck was more than halfway swallowed by her bulging trap muscles, while her shoulders were enormous, utterly dwarfing his. Even from the front, he could see Mercy’s gargantuan back flaring obscenely from an almost incomprehensibly narrow waist and tiny hips. Her huge chest jutted outwards, massive slabs of pectoral muscle molding the fabric like a second skin. She was unapologetically without a hint of breasts, even where her nipples were outlined; her small, erotic nubs almost pushed through the cloth by her incredibly thick, powerful chest beef.

Her hulking, fully exposed arms were grotesquely muscular, sinewy fibers seemingly protruding in chiseled relief from every freakishly swollen muscle belly, interrupted only by the thick veins that sprawled under her tanned skin. The only part of her that didn’t strike him as ridiculously muscular were her legs, and that was only because they weren’t at all visible; Mercy wore a long wrapped skirt that obscured everything down past her ankles.

But he couldn’t help but notice how her concealed lower body flared dramatically from her preternaturally small, impossibly narrow hips, like the skirt was straining to contain something significantly larger than what the upper part of cloth was wrapped around. If her lower limbs were anything like her upper limbs… The therapist shook his head in sheer amazement, as Mercy almost imperceptibly raised her head to glance at him before quickly looking down again.

“Um, are you OK?” she asked hesitantly, her tone unsure as she forced herself to look him in the face with those amazing blue eyes. He was taken aback by the striking beauty of the young, almost flawlessly symmetric face peering at him anxiously. She actually resembled someone in the media he had seen recently, and he struggled with the name before it hit him: Mercy looked like a twenty year-old version of Denise Richards – well, Denise with a myostatin mutation and a penchant to effortlessly humiliate Mr. Olympia in pure shredded muscularity. She could have been the younger sister of the star facially, but Mercy was mind-bogglingly muscular – she made the actress look like a twig, and one that she could snap with a mere twitch of a single muscle. Her physical traits notwithstanding, it seemingly took more force of will for Mercy to look him in the eye than what she was probably capable of lifting with just one finger.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to…” her voice trailed off timidly, a mixture of girlish naïveté and somehow, melodic sin. She looked away again, her expression trying to remain blank and casual, but failing to contain her obvious anxiety. The therapist stood back, watching – her demeanor was so… wrong. The muscles were there, but was this the same girl that was depicted with such savagery in the file?

…to be cont'd…

[ayanamifan]

Really great so far ^_^can't wait to read more about her.
I really like your stories by the way.

[iceman75]

Great, great beginning man, I loved reading each and every line of it, your muscle description is awesome, I can't wait to see how strong Mercy really is!

[airnel]

amazing..

[KeithXZ]

A really good start Reaper.  I really like the additional detail.

I'm looking forward to reading more.

[Chachibenji]

Lolol bout damn time buuuuddeh.
Lol extremely great.
Mr. inspired my entire gory writing thing.
>:l

[reaper0002000]

Thanks all! Here's some more:

…cont'd…

The psychologist shook his throbbing hand a couple of times, wondering if anything was broken, and couldn’t help but marvel at what a paradox Mercy’s shy demeanor was to her fearsome, immensely powerful physique. That too contrasted with her straightforward beauty – with her looks, she might easily have been a model… if society could forgive the freakish, hypermuscular beast she actually was from her head down.

Her astounding muscles notwithstanding, Mercy was fretting worriedly in front of him. He assured the powerful girl that he was all right, and wriggled his fingers in front of her, covering up the agony shooting up his arm with a short laugh. She seemed a bit relieved, and awkwardly tried to apologize again. With a pained smile, the man waved her off and directed her down the narrow hall and to the far room.  Nodding, Mercy headed in that direction.

He followed her, amazed at the sight of the utterly outrageous body walking in front of him. She looked like an anatomy chart…an anatomy chart overdosed on steroids. Mercy’s dark ponytail snuggled between such thick, high traps that she didn’t even appear to have a neck from some angles. Even more impressive than the girl’s towering trap muscles was the sheer breadth of her shoulders and upper back. He marveled at her back’s immensity — Mercy seemed to take up most of the width of corridor, her vast, flaring lats looked like they were about to send her bulging, capped deltoids straight through both walls at any second.

Her massive upper proportions were made even more absurd in comparison to her tiny waist and miniscule hips, which he estimated as easily less than a third than her shoulder span. The utterly inhuman taper she possessed, the monstrous lat flare, would have made physique judges weak in the knees. No one could approach, let alone equal her: Mercy far exceeded the athletic shoulder-waist and shoulder-hip ratios for anyone, even males, and every step caused an incredible landscape of hardened muscle to undulate beneath the straining fabric of her vest and skirt, which was losing the battle to contain her monstrous physique by the audible creak of seams giving way to bulging, unrelenting sinew. The vest couldn’t even cover half of her enormous back span, and her bared flesh looked like golden paper stretched over the exaggerated definition of each overdeveloped muscle, punctuated by protruding veins that snaked all over.

As Mercy made her way forward and turned into the room, the therapist froze for a moment, jaw agape. What transfixed him was the flash of one of her calves, visible for a millisecond through her long skirt’s slit. The unearthly calf was a vast, huge beast and utterly shredded;  steely separations and large veins were clearly visible even in a darkened glimpse – an undeniable match for her matchlessly muscled arms. The girl was the embodiment of perfect physique development taken to a nightmarish exponential degree. Remembering the details of the incident, he swallowed hard and entered the room, gripping her file as he closed the door behind him.

Since she took the couch — actually a small loveseat — nearest to the door, he took the chair by the far wall and started the interview. Belying her brutishly powerful physique, Mercy was painfully shy and distracted at times, but the apprehensive psychologist quickly discerned an intelligence as extreme as her body.

As they conversed, it became apparent that she exceeded his brightest, most gifted patients. This girl, barely a young woman, was simply extraordinary – an extraordinary puzzle. He marveled at the bizarre combination of stunning beauty, undeniable brains, and limitless brawn. She was absolutely loaded in all three attributes, far more than he thought anyone ever could be. She could intellectually run rings around the Mensa members he treated, and just by the look of that impossible physique, physically run over the Olympic athletes that he helped in nearby Colorado Springs. It was almost frightening, almost incomprehensible, to estimate what her potential abilities were. Everything about her was off the charts. Mercy was the complete prodigy. Except for one very apparent thing – for all her near superhuman gifts, Mercy was so… inhibited. He had the damndest time establishing a rapport, but she seemed to genuinely want help of some kind, although she apparently found it impossible to say exactly what was bothering her.

Of course, she obviously had no idea that he performed a background check on all new clientele, and that exhaustive search had inadvertently unearthed something – an awful briefing. From an old contact at Justice who told him that the contents of the dossier in front of him was something out of the “X Files.” After reading it, he was forced to agree.  But the thing was, her personality was completely and utterly opposite to what he’d expected from reading the consensus statements of eyewitnesses. Something was amiss. So the man waited for her to get comfortable, letting Mercy’s obviously low confidence grow by exploring things that were comfortable and familiar to her.

… to be cont'd…

[Chachibenji]

>:l
Moar.

[Lupus14]

Awesome! Love it! The description of her walking down the corridor – *moan*!

[iceman75]

Great, great story, man, I can't wait to see what Mercy is truly capable of, I'm sure it will blow me away!

[Author]

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