[Fonk]

Her calves were like bicycle helmets. Her thighs were inhumanly large slabs of green muscle…

Thanks for posting this, it's brilliant! ;D

[Fonk]

Now, how to get myself arrested and – hopefully! – handcuffed to her. Hmmmm…

Thanks for posting, Mr. 'man! 😀

[Fonk]

I'm gonna go against the flow and say that I prefer the 3 Assassins picture. Mmmm yeah. Great works all! 😀

[Fonk]

Yeah, I like that. Kinda rounds the story out more. ;D

[Fonk]

I am very much looking forward to what happens next! ;D

[Fonk]

IVANA – Chapter 2

Mike followed her down there. She was standing in the middle of the room, arms folded. Before Mike could say anything, she began.

"We're going to take it in turns to choose a weight and an exercise. We both have to do it. Each time, the one who fails has to hit the other."

"Don't you mean – the one who *succeds* – should hit the other!"

"No, no, the one who *fails* must hit the other! You'll see, it'll be much more fun that way round."

Mike smiled to himself. He had decided to fail on purpose whenever she succeeded. That way, he would always be the one who had to strike her. It really was too easy!

"Be warned," she said, "no cheating!"

Mike looked at her reproachfully. "What do you mean?"

"The person who is hitting must do so with all their strength. Otherwise, the other will have to hit them."

Mike was a little surprised by this new rule. Had she gone mad? Had she become a masochist? Well, it didn't matter either way – he was going to punish her, just as she deserved.

"Right, I'll start!" she said. She quickly grabbed a 20kg dumbbell, did two or three quick curls easily and put it back down.

"My turn!" Mike grabbed the dumbbell and faked trying to pick it up. He pulled a face and let go. "It's too hard, I can't do it!"

"OK, hit me!" Without flinching she moved to face him and spread her arms out wide. Mike was astonished that she didn't complain. After all, he had cheated. He decided not to hit her too hard. Whap!

"OK, my turn to choose," Mike said, "I'm going to go for a smaller one!" He grabbed a 10kg dumbbell and again faked not being able to pick it up. "It's too hard, I can't do it."

She grabbed the dumbbell, did two or three easy curls and put it back.

"OK, hit me!" Again Ivana moved to face him and spread her arms out. This time Mike decided to hit her with all he had. It had gone on long enough. Whack!

"Argh! It hurts!" he cried, grabbing his hand. "Have you got something under your sweats?"

"No honey, you must have done it wrong!" While she had been speaking, Ivana had done a further five or six curls with the smallest dumbbell. She held it out to Mike and put on an innocent look. "Here – it's the smallest one, maybe you can lift it!" Mike dropped it.

"Oh, no! That one really is too heavy!" he exclaimed, smiling wickedly. "Maybe," he thought to himself, "she hasn't figured out what I'm doing." He stood up, tapping his fist. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready!" Whack!

"Aaaargh! I'm sure there's something underneath those sweats. Take them off!"

"As you wish, honey! But, you know," she said, taking the garments off, "these clothes are very thick. They were probably protecting your little handy." When Ivana looked at Mike again, she couldn't help but smile. His eyes were practically out on stalks. He'd gone white and was trying to say something.

"Wh – wh – what… are… those?"

"Those! Oooh! Well! Those are abdominal muscles. Real abs! Abs that are harder than the walls of this room! Oh yes, you'll see! You'll break all your little bones on those abs. And these – these are pectoral muscles!" she continued, flexing the enormous slabs of muscle. "And these – they aren't bowling balls! They're as big as bowling balls, they're as hard as bowling balls, but they're made of muscle! Real muscle!" This time she burst out laughing. She picked up the biggest pink dumbbell, but put it down again. "Pah! Toys for girls!" Ivana stretched, making sure to flex, one at a time, all the muscles in her body before heading for the blue dumbbells. Mike was rooted to the spot, but he managed to stammer:

"You… you use… the blue dumbbells!"

"Oh! Of course, honey! Let me explain. The guy who lived here before us had black dumbbells and barbells. As I progressed I painted the ones I could lift blue. You see, it's quite simple." Mike looked around for any black dumbbells, but apart from the pink ones, they were all blue.

"But – but – what about the pink dumbbells? I thought that…"

"Oh! Those? Well, when they were too light to be of any use to me any more, I painted them pink! And by the way, I should have painted most of the ones on this rack now!" she said, indicating the rack of blue dumbbells. As Mike watched his wife, in her underwear, took all the dumbbells one by one, tested their weight and did a few curls. She turned back to face him, continuing the curls mechanically with the heaviest one.

"So? Which one are you going to choose?"

"Your – your – arms, they're…"

"Yes, honey! That's muscle too! Look!" She let go of the dumbbell loudly and pulled an extraordinary double-biceps pose. He stood paralysed a moment, and then began to shake.

"Oh!" she said. "I didn't think I was going to have this much effect. I should cover myself, maybe you'll be more relaxed then." She went past him and picked up his blue overalls, the pair he'd taken off earlier. As she walked past, Ivana knocked into Mike, who had to stagger back a few paces to keep his balance. She slid one leg, and then the other, into the overalls, and pulled them up over her enormous thighs. The fabric was stretched to its limit. Without Mike realising, she took great care not to rip them. She slid her arms into the sleeves with the same care. The stitching of the sleeves was starting to come undone under the pressure of her voluminous muscles, and it was getting bigger by the second. She lifted her head slowly. Mike hadn't moved. The overalls were stretched to their utmost, outlining her muscles like a second skin. She zipped the garment up slowly, stopping at her pecs.

"Oops! Most of it's OK, but it's a bit tight around the chest, don't you think?" she asked maliciously.

She waited for some response from Mike. He hadn't moved, except for his penis, which had slowly stood to attention and was pointing out of his shorts.

"No, I was joking!" she said. "It's far too small to contain my muscles. It's just big enough for a runt like you!" She burst out laughing again. "Do you know what a double-biceps pose is, honey? Look." She turned her wrists to contract her muscles. Rip! Rip! Riiiiiip! The sleeves, in tatters, fell to her thighs. Then she contracted her quadriceps – rip! Pieces of material exploded from her and landed throughout the room. Mike jumped and instantly ejaculated into his shorts. She walked forward and stopped just in front of him.

Ivana picked up a piece of the blue fabric which had landed on her husband's weak shoulders and slid it slowly around his face. With the ends of her fingers she caressed his hair, moving around his body. Then she grabbed his neck and turned him to face her. She pulled him close to her and whispered in his ear.

"We haven't finished yet, honey!" She lifted him by the throat and carried him to the dumbbell she had dropped. She held him there for a moment, a few centimetres from the ground, before throwing him to the floor.

"Go on, honey! Lift it! Show me how strong you are!" Mike began to cry. In between sobs, he managed to reply.

"I can't!"

"Are you going to try?" she said calmly.

"I caaaaaaaaaaan't!" he burst into floods of tears.

Ivana crouched down next to him and grabbed him by the cheeks. With her powerful fingers, she began to press down. It was weak at first but she piled on the pressure quickly. She asked her question again in the same calm tone.

"Are you going to try?" She had to make sure not to break his jaw but to put on enough pressure to make him give the right answer. Ivana gripped ever tighter.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!" She let go.

"Show me how strong you are!"

Mike crouched down without a word, took hold of the dumbbell with both hands and tried, using his legs, to lift the weight. It came a few centimetres off the ground, but, unable to stand up, Mike dropped the dumbbell.

"Oh, honey, honey, you're *pathetic*! Watch me." She took the dumbbell and did a few curls. "You lost again! Hit me, honey! And, don't forget – with all of your strength! Come on, take it all out on me! Hurt me!" Mike looked at her for a moment and then lowered his head. Wham!

"Aaaaaaaaargh!" He fell to his knees. "Owwwww! Owwwww!" He stayed down for a few moments. When he got up, Mike was holding his wrist.

Ivana took the barbell Mike had tried to lift earlier, lifted it above her shoulers and pressed it a few times. She put it back down.

"No, not that. Far too easy!"

Mike started to cry again as he thought about how hard it was for him to lift that barbell just a few centimetres from the ground. She looked around for a moment before turning to Mike with a very evil grin on her face.

"Oh! The punchbag! Now, that's an idea!" She paused. "Let me explain it to you, honey. We'll take turns hitting the punchbag. The one who makes it move the least – loses! Do you understand? OK, you start!" Mike stood in front of the punchbag, feeling the leather with his fingers. His mind was overflowing with ideas: if I win, she gets to hit me! – Oh God! Those muscles! She'd really hurt me! – On the other hand, my hand hurts so much that if I have to hit her I'll break my fingers. I'd prefer to hit the punchbag than her abs. – I have to win. – Otherwise she'll make me hit her and if I don't hit her hard enough, she gets to hit me… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

Mike couldn't think anymore. He cried with rage and put everything he had into his best right hook – wham! The punchbag wobbled for a moment whilst Mike struggled with his pain. Ivana noted how much the bag had moved and waited for Mike to get up. She seemed to be savouring each instant. No, she was celebrating! She stopped the bag, took a step back and lifted her arm in front of Mike's startled gaze. She looked her husband in the eyes and – blam! The enormous mass of muscles soared towards the punchbag at a startling speed. Mike stared at the punchbag: it hadn't moved! Ivana's fist had punched into the bag's stuffing and come out the other side. She had driven her fist straight through the punchbag! Mike didn't realise what had happened – Ivana had to remind him!

"Oops! The bag didn't move – so I lost! I have to hit you – with all of my strength!" With that, she nonchalantly withdrew her arm from the punchbag. She flexed her enormous biceps, all the while blowing and rubbing it to remove the bag's stuffing.

Mike's legs gave way and he fell towards the floor. Ivana caught him before he hit the ground and lifted him into the air so that his feet dangled ten centimetres from the ground. His shoes fell to the floor with two slapping noises.

"Now is not the time to disrobe, honey!" She put him on the ground so that she could punch him. Blam! The force of the blow made Mike fall to the floor two metres away; he continued to roll on the ground until he hit the wall. Immediately Ivana's hand went to her mouth.

"Oops! I didn't hit you with my full strength! I must be punished, honey! You must hit me! Pull me back into line! Come on, come on, hurry up!"

"No! You win! You're the strongest!"

"Of course! I knew *that* already, honey! Only, it's up to me to decide when we finish the game." She took Mike by the arm and dragged him to the punchbag. She put his arm through the gaping hole she'd made. She made sure he noticed how ridiculously small his arm was in comparison to the huge hole. She put her hand on Mike's stomach. "Do you really want me to hit you as hard as I can? Of course not!" She put her hands on her hips. "So hit me!"

Mike trembled at the idea of hitting Ivana's impenetrable stomach again. His hand had turned blue, swollen up and just touching it caused him tremendous pain. Despite everything, he has to resign himself to his fate and hit her. He lifted his arm, but Ivana interrupted him.

"No! Stop!"

He looked his wife in the eyes and smiled weakly. She'd stopped him in his tracks! Was it over! Was she going to forgive him? Ivana continued.

"I'm so silly! You've been hitting me – and hitting me – and I never flexed my abs!" Instantly her abs doubled in size, the line down the middle of the muscles became more pronounced and striations started to appear on her stomach. "Right! You can start now! No – wait!" She leaned over and opened up Mike's toolbox, taking out a hammer. She hit the wall with it. The hammer went halfway through the wall. She turned to Mike.

"Ooh la la!"

She rubbed her abs, flexed them again, and landed a hammer blow on her stomach! Cling! Half of the hammer stayed in her hand, whilst the rest of the tool went clanging into the corner of the room.

"I'm going to give you a choice, honey! You can hit me, when I've been humiliating you, or you can hit this nice wall, which has done nothing to you!"

"Honey! No! Have pity! Don't do this – leave me alone!" She lifted her arm up and he fell to his knees. He begged her.

"OK! OK! I'll do it – I'll do it…" He sniffed a couple of times before going up to the wall and hitting it violently. Wham! Crack!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!"

Mike's swollen hands couldn't take any more: the bones of his fingers fractured in several places, his skin cracked and blood began to flow. Ivana seized him by the neck, lifted him off the ground and pinned him against the wall. Arms flailing, feet ten centimetres from the ground, Mike looked at Ivana and cried.

"Have pity! Have pity!"

"Tut tut tut. I'm going to make a deal with you, honey! Let's have an arm-wrestling contest! If you win, we'll stop and you can go upstairs to bed. If I win, we stop and you can help me to train."

"And…" he sniffed again, "we'll stop the game?"

"And we'll stop the game!" Mike agreed by nodding his head. Ivana threw him to the ground again.

"Come on, honey! Don't keep me waiting! Get into position!" She laid on the ground, facing Mike, and put her elbow out in front of her. When Mike saw his wife's enormous muscular arm, he burst into tears. He lowered his head to avoid looking at her. She caressed his neck delicately.

"Come on, honey, don't cry! I know it hurts, so let's use your left arm! OK?" She didn't wait for a reply and put her left elbow in front of her. Mike lifted his head slowly to get into position. She was ready, her left arm forward, moving her wrist slightly to observe her large, well-developed muscles flex. While she waited, she bit the nails of her right hand.

"Are you ready, honey? You can start when you like!" She looked straight into his eyes, biting her nails all the while. Mike knew he had no chance of beating his wife in this contest of strength. But the poor man believed he could still win. The only chance he had was to take her by surprise. He took a deep breath and flexed his muscles so that he could use all his strength from the start and… hnnnnnnnnngh!

His arm didn't move one millimetre.

"I've overdone it," he thought. "The muscle's locked." So… hnnnnnnnnngh!

Again nothing happened. Mike looked up. Ivana was still biting her nails. She spoke.

"I said you could start when you wanted! I'm still waiting!" She turned away, leaving Mike to face the situation alone.

Running out of hope, Mike put all he had into it. He pushed with all his might. He tried with two hands. He even put his feet against the wall and pushed with his legs. Nothing worked! Mike looked up again, strength gone. Ivana was rooting through his toolbox. All the screwdrivers were strewn over the floor, all bent out of shape. She was holding one in her hand and trailing it over the carpet. Slowly she slid it up Mike's arm and stabbed it into his bicep.

"Owwww!"

Then, she slid it down his forearm, over her own, and stopped at her own bicep. She tried to shove the screwdriver through her muscle but there was only going to be one winner: the screwdriver began to bend, inexorably, until it was completely crushed. She threw it with the others.

"Right! So! I said – when – you – wanted!" She turned back to the toolbox.

Mike couldn't believe his eyes. He began to panic and tremble. He tried everything he could think of to escape: pushing, pulling, gesturing. But Ivana's hand wouldn't move. She had taken a spanner out of the toolbox and was holding it strangely: one finger above, one below, and so on, moving her fingers to attract Mike's attention. All of a sudden, she clenched her fist. Creaaaaaaaaak! She dropped the metal. She picked it up again, smiling, and shoved it under Mike's nose. He was terrified.

"An M, honey! An M! For Mike!" she smiled. Mike felt terrorised.

"Let me go! Have pity! Let me go!"

"OK, honey! Seeing as you don't want to start, I will!" Without the slightest effort, she moved her fist to the floor, taking Mike with it. She held her hand in that position for a moment before moving him back to the point they'd started at. She looked Mike in the eyes and spoke in a serious voice.

"Mike – Mike – my love!" she said. "I said that you were going to be humiliated – I said that you were going to suffer." She still held in position with her left hand, and with her right, she wiped his tears away. "You have been humiliated," she continued. "Now – you're going to suffer!"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! No, no, no! Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"Mike – Mike – honey! Calm down! It was your hands that hit me – so it's your hands that will have to be punished!" She began to close her fingers around Mike's comparatively small hand, then, slowly… crack! Crack! Inexorably… crack! Showing no mercy! Crack! Crack! Crack!

A spurt of blood arced into the air and put an end to the torture. Ivana frowned and looked at Mike wriggling on the floor. He couldn't cry any more, he couldn't shout. Just a few moans escaped his lips. Unable to use his hands, he slithered along the floor as best he could using his elbows towards the stairs. Ivana grabbed his ankle and picked him up. His head was twenty centimetres above the ground, his arms trailing on the carpet. She took him back to the centre of the room.

"You're forgetting my training, honey!"

DING DONG!

"Listen! It's the delivery boy!" she said. "Do you remember? It's our anniversary, honey? I asked for two meals to be delivered so we could have a fine candle-lit dinner!"

DING DONG!

She thrust Mike's leg through the hole in the punchbag up to his knee and left him to dangle, head touching the floor.

"Wait for me here, my love! I'm going to open the door!" She ran for the stairs. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

[Fonk]

That's just hot. And brilliant! Thanks! ;D

[Fonk]

There may well be a lot to learn, but it looks like you're making hella progress! Good on you! ;D

[Fonk]

Hi! I offered to translate the story for scat, he accepted, and here we are.

Ivana (Chapter 1)

It was Friday evening, the day before the holidays. Mike got home at 8 o'clock, just as he had every day for the past two

years. He had a new job and wanted to make a good impression with his boss, which took a long time. It had begun to cause

problems in his relationship. Ivana and he had been distant for a few weeks now. As he got in so late, they slept in separate

rooms. The stress and fatigue had also meant that they hadn't made love for more than a year. Mike had lots of small-time

jobs and it was always the same: "If I don't look good, I'll get fired! Is that what you want?"

He opened the door and went straight into the kitchen. Normally at this time, a hearty dinner was on the table and Ivana had

gone to bed. Tonight, though, the table was bare, and the crockery had been put away.

"Ivana?" There was no response.

"Ivanaaaaaaaaa!"

"I'm downstairs!"

"Downstairs?" he thought. "What's she doing downstairs? There's nothing down there!"

Mike had only been down in the basement once, when they first moved in. The only things down there were old gym equipment

that the previous owner had left behind. Mike had never been bothered to move them. Mike went down the few stairs that led to

the basement and stood still for a moment. The room was lit by four great shining white lights. Three of the walls were

covered in mirrors, making the room seem larger than it was. The fourth wall, which was in front of him, had been painted:

one half was blue and the other pink. A cooker had been fitted in one corner of the room, along with two large leather

armchairs. Ivana was sitting in one of them, smiling widely. What astonished Mike the most, however, was the vast array of

weights, dumbbells, barbells and bodybuilding equipment covering the floor.

"What's all this?" Ivana said nothing. He carried on.

"D'you really think I've got time to work out? With the job I have… ?"

"It's not for you! It's for me!" She paused. "If you paid a bit of attention to me, you'd know I've been training for over

two years!"

Mike looked doubtfully at his wife. She had a pretty face but didn't know how to exploit it. She never wore make-up. She

always wore big, thick sweatshirts that hid any femininity she had. She never gave the impression of someone who took good

care of her body. Mike couldn't stop himself from laughing at her.

"Wow! I'm really impressed – a proper fitness champion! No, seriously, have you seen yourself? You must weigh 150 kilos!" He

began to act out his words: letting go of his toolbox, which fell to the floor with a clang, Mike spread out his elbows and

began to waddle around the room, mocking her, "Bang, bang! Oh, I just keep bumping into things! Bang! Bang!"

Ivana stood up and left the room without a word. Mike continued: "Oh, ow, ah! Bang! Bang! That's it…  go and make me

something to eat, fatso!" He heard Ivana burst into tears whilst still on the stairs, but it didn't have the slightest effect

on him. Instead, he looked from left to right at all the equipment in the room.

Mike walked towards the part of the room reserved for training the back, looking behind him to make sure that she had left.

He stopped in front of a heavy-looking barbell which was lying on the floor. He gripped it with both hands and tried to lift

it. It didn't budge. He stood up and tried to move it with his foot – it still didn't move. He looked around again and

crouched down. This time, however, Mike contented himself with pushing the weights on one side of the bar to make it turn. It

rolled a few centimetres, which confirmed it wasn't stuck to the floor. He gripped one side of the barbell with both hands

and tried to lift it onto its side. Mike felt it move but it wouldn't leave the thick carpet that covered the floor. He stood

up again quickly, hoping that she had not witnessed the scene. A few quick glances around were enough to reassure him.

"She couldn't have used that, it's far too heavy! She mustn't have been able to lift it and has just left it lying there."

Mike spotted a rack of dumbbells and made his way there. Each dumbbell was made up of a small chrome-plated bar and a varying

number of sky-blue disks on the sides, but no indication of their weights was written on them anywhere. Mike gripped a

dumbbell and tried to lift it. Impossible. He tried with a lighter one. The same!

"You'd have to be a monster – with muscles everywhere – to lift a weight like this!"

Unsuccessful, Mike resigned himself to trying the smallest one there, first with one hand, then two. He managed to get it off

the rack and began to pull it towards his body, but soon it was pulling him down. The weight fell heavily to the ground,

throwing him forward. He righted himself and tried to lift it but couldn't. He leaned over, grabbed the dumbbell and pulled

it up to thigh level. In this position, he contracted his biceps to their limits but the dumbbell wouldn't go on the rack. So

he stood on tiptoes. On the edge of cramp, and with his whole body trembling, Mike managed to put the dumbbell back and

rolled it into position. The task finished, he turned around: the room was still empty. He breathed a sigh of relief.

In front of him, Mike noticed a second dumbbell rack comprising smaller, lighter dumbbells, which were pink. He smiled

faintly.

"Ah, there are the ones she must use! And they're pink, as well!" Mike reproached himself for being stupid and walked towards

them, ready to try again.

Mike grabbed a dumbbell from the middle of the rack and lifted it with one hand. He was so happy he even did some curls,

looking all around. This time, he was so proud of himself he would have loved it if Ivana could have seen him. But there was

still no-one there. He replaced the dumbbell, noting its weight.

"10 kilos! That's not bad for a beginner!"

Mike grasped the biggest dumbbell on the rack and began to curl it. On the third rep, however, his arm began to tremble. He

gritted his teeth and fought, but nothing happened. The weight refused to move. He let it drop and replaced it.

"25 kilos! Ah, I thought so! Now those are biceps!" he exclaimed, pulling a double-biceps pose in the mirror.

Mike didn't seem convinced by what he saw in the mirror. He was still in his blue work overalls and his arms didn't fill the

sleeves. His muscles, contracted or not, didn't seem to be having any effect on the folds of the fabric. He unzipped the

uniform and let it fall around his knees. Mike struck the double-biceps pose again and observed his reflection's muscles. He

moved his forearms and wrists to make his biceps move around. From time to time the little mass of muscle became more

evident, which seemed to make him happy.

Then he took the overalls off completely and threw them onto an armchair. Now in shorts and T-shirt, Mike looked at himself

in the mirror again.

"Hey, I look pretty good for a guy who doesn't train! And – I did manage to lift the biggest of those dumbbells," he said,

looking at the rack of pink weights, "and if I train, I might be able to lift one of the blue ones in a week or two!"

Mike went back upstairs to the kitchen, whistling to himself. When he got there the table was still empty, but this time,

Ivana was sitting there.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Nothing! I won't be making dinner this evening!"

"Could you tell me why?"

"Of course, honey. It's because you've treated me like a slave for the past two years! You never take care of me! You never

noticed all the effort I went to for you! I've had enough! Enough! It's our anniversary today and I had a surprise for you."

"Ooh, you're angry! I'm really scared!" he said ironically. "Come on, make me something to eat!"

"No!"

"Do I have to make you?" he said, flexing his biceps.

"If you touch me, you'll regret it!"

"Are you going to hit me with your little muscly arms?" he mocked. "Hurry up, fatso! Lardo! Gutbucket!" He struck Ivana with

a commanding slap with his right hand, then another with his left. He took a step back and looked at her devilishly.

"You have gone too far, Mike!"

"Ooooh! Now I'm really – really – scared!"

She looked up at him. Tears were running the lengths of her cheeks.

"You should be!" She used a hand to wipe her tears away and carried on. "When I think that I did it for love! And you… you… you humiliated me!"

She stood and looked him right in the eye. "But now you're going to be humiliated too! You're going to suffer too! Believe me! You raised a hand to me and you are going to regret it!" She pushed him away and went down to the basement.

[Fonk]

This already makes me happy! ;D

[Author]

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