The Stronger Girl 01

This story was originally published as "Can I Rub It For You".

But because I didn't imagine this story as the first of a series and so I didn't organize it as one, I am correcting that error now. The original text also had a number of very distracting typos, spelling, and grammar errors, as well as some weaknesses in the way it was told. (I also HATED the title.) I have therefore renamed, revised, and copy-edited it (with the generous help of HaltWhoGoesThere and ButteredCrumpet - who I am very grateful to for their time and input). I have tried to keep it as close to the original as possible.

My intent is not to offend, but this is a d/s romance with strong themes of nonconsent and reluctance. If that's not your bag, I understand and hope you will find another story to enjoy.

As always I hope you will enjoy the story, and that if you do you will leave a comment.

XOSNS

Annie was at her desk, her book and notepad open in front of her, holding her pen, but staring out the window. She was daydreaming; had been for some time. Her dreams were relatively modest. She was imagining being the kind of girl who other girls liked and asked for advice; who made boys nervous, but they still asked on dates; who had friends who looked up to and admired her- that's when her roommate Michele had come hobbling through the door, tears running down her cheeks.

Michele, who was so strong and serene, who moved with an easy power and confidence, was weeping.

Annie watched in shock and confusion, arms hanging uselessly at her sides, not completely understanding what was happening; unable to imagine what could possibly make the stronger girl cry.

Michele had her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail and was in running gear - a tight white tank top over a sports bra, little red short-shorts, and clunky beige trail-runners. Her legs were spattered and smeared with mud.

"Did you fall?" Annie asked.

"NO!" Michele bellowed, startling Annie, making her jump back a foot.

Michele drew in a sharp breath, tears streaming down her face. "I did, but it's not-", she sucked in another breath. "My legs are cramping!" she hissed through gritted teeth as she stumbled forward.

"Lie down?" Annie blurted.

'Stupid girl,' she thought, feeling herself blush as Michele toppled face down onto her bed, her feet hanging off the end of the mattress, her legs twisting and flexing with the cramps. Annie stepped forward, started grabbing Michele's shoelaces, preparing to pull off her shoes, but stopped, suddenly unsure of herself.

Her hands were shaking.

In Annie's daydreams she and Michele were good friends, the two of them walking through campus being greeted by other students, eating meals together with a big group of smiling girls, laughing at jokes with handsome boys.

'You're such a ninny,' she thought, her heart racing. Michele scared her even when she wasn't barging through the door and yelling. Annie was a bit in awe of her roommate, and she knew it. Beyond Michele's serene confident manner, she was tall with a womanly frame Annie coveted.

Michele was over a head taller than Annie, had a thick mane of long brown hair. She was athletic, stylish, and was, Annie thought, the most beautiful girl on campus.

'She's glamorous' Annie thought, looking at Michele twisting and kicking in pain. 'Even like this.'

Michele was everything Annie wasn't. Annie was shy and small and skinny with fine blonde hair cut disastrously short. She wasn't even boyish compared to her roommate's womanly frame.

'I'm not even little-boyish,' she thought, looking down at her roommate's powerful long legs. Even though frighteningly stiff and warped by pain they looked beautiful.

Looking down from Michele's muscular tan shoulders, heaving with sobs, to her shaking fingers - so pale and thin - Annie thought of how very much she'd hoped that they would become friends, very much afraid it might not happen.

Annie felt paralyzed - frozen by embarrassment and fear - afraid to make a mistake, afraid to presume, afraid to overstep. But mostly she was embarrassed by how badly she wanted to make herself of use. It felt like desperation. She felt desperate. She took a long deep breath.

"May I rub it?" Annie asked quietly. Her voice sounded reedy and weak to her own ear. She waited, cheeks burning with shame.

Michele, her face buried in her pillow, was sobbing now. Not sure she'd even heard her, Annie squeezed her ankle. Michele nodded her head in the affirmative.

Annie's only experience with massage was rubbing her mother's neck after a long workday, or rubbing her feet while they watched TV together on the couch. This crisis was something entirely beyond Annie's ken.

She knelt at the end of Michele's bed, carefully undid her shoelaces, pulled her shoes and then socks off. Annie grabbed her feet and began to squeeze and rub them both with all the force she could muster. She pressed much harder than she would ever have dared to use on her mother, but Michele was much taller and more powerfully built than Annie's mother - taller and more powerfully built than any woman Annie had ever met for that matter.

She could feel corded tendons through the soles of Michele's arches and used her thumbs to grind into them. Michele, her face still buried in her pillow, cried out, but didn't protest, so Annie pressed on. Still kneeling at the end of the bed, she began working even harder into the arches of the stronger girl's feet with all her might, then using the heel of her hand to stretch Michele's curled toes, and using both hands to hinge her frozen ankles as best she could.

Rising onto her knees, Annie began to work her hands up Michele's calves. She brushed away dry mud; jealously admiring the other girl's firm muscular legs. Her skin was perfectly smooth and still tan from summer. Annie burned easily, she described herself as "skinny fat", feeling her own skin was pasty, that her 'muscles' were doughy. Her hands looked suddenly tiny and pale; her arms felt bird-like and inadequate against Michele's spasming bucking calves.

Shaking off her harsh self-deprecating thoughts, Annie focused on squeezing as hard as she could. Even though her forearms ached with the strain, she felt like she was hardly having any effect on the stronger girl. She wished she were stronger, wished she was bigger, more capable. But she worked the cramping muscles as best she could, sweating and grunting with the effort, not giving up. Like her feet, the tendons in Michele's calves felt rigid, her muscles spasming, fighting Annie.

With Michele's feet still hanging off the end of her bed on either side of her, Annie did her best to work both legs at the same time. But more often than not she needed both hands for one leg, or to abandon the calves altogether, in order to return to the work of pulling open Michele's cramping feet. But slowly Annie worked her way upward, pressing her hips into the edge of the mattress, reaching forward as far as she could.

Annie wiped sweat from her lip and climbed onto the foot of the bed, kneeling again, but now on the mattress between Michele's legs. Annie wasn't sure, but as she worked back and forth, from one leg to the other, she thought she could feel the other girl beginning to relax. If nothing else she had finally stopped sobbing.

Now, rather than kneading and grinding with all her force, Annie began to rub and massage more gently, working from Michele's toes upward; straddling one leg and then the other. She allowed her hands to climb a bit higher now, less and less worried with each pass that her feet would begin to spasm again.

Annie's mind drifted. She imagined how Michele would be grateful, that they would become friends; inseparable. Annie, who felt very much alone at her new school, imagined her roommate easing the way for her socially. Having transferred in as sophomores, Michele from a big school down South and Annie with credits from an accelerated program. Both started out the year on the back foot, Annie even more so, not just because of her age as she had transferred in a year younger than their classmates, but because she was painfully shy. Michele meanwhile seemed to be in demand socially, having already made lots of friends. And while she and Michele were friendly, Annie knew that they weren't friends.

After a long while of working up and down Michele's legs, it became clear that the crisis had passed. Michele was breathing deeply, almost as if asleep. Michele made no move to try and get up or otherwise end the massage whatsoever; so Annie, enjoying this work now, continued. The stronger girl had grown still. The only time she would move, even slightly, was when Annie shifted from straddling one leg to the other.

Allowing herself for the first time to reflect on what she had done, Annie felt curiously proud of herself, like a hero - something she was very unaccustomed to feeling. But she also realized, now that it was no longer an emergency, despite how much she was enjoying massaging Michele.

Annie had always thought her mother was beautiful and loved touching her, making her feel good. The neck and foot rubs she had given her were discrete, however, not like what she found herself doing now. As she worked up and down Michele's long legs in turn she found the contact itself pleasurable - even erotic.

Annie wondered why she had never massaged any of the boys she dated - it wasn't a long list, 'three' she thought glumly. Part of the problem was that the boys she seemed comfortable with were almost as timid as she was. She had been too afraid of things going "too far" to allow any of them to do much more than kiss and grope, and paralyzed by the idea of instigating anything herself. Annie tried to remember the last time she'd touched anyone, or been touched. It had been her grandmother hugging her goodbye, her uncle's big hand holding her by the shoulder.

'That was more than a month ago,' she thought, the sweet memory suddenly making her feel a bit glum.

But as she pressed into Michele's thigh, Annie was enjoying the feeling of the powerful shapely leg in her hands. The skin on skin, her small thumbs pressing into the stronger girl's smooth rounded muscles, the pleasure she was clearly giving, all seemed to drive her loneliness away. She realized, with a start, that she was getting turned on.

Until that moment, Annie had been cooling down from the heat of the hard work of the crisis, but now she felt herself blush with sudden embarrassment. She had been so lost in the effort, and then the pleasure, of what she was doing, but now she looked down at Michele with new eyes. Her face was still hidden from view, buried in her pillow. And while her breathing was heavy and slow - she still hadn't stirred - Annie was sure however that she wasn't asleep. Michele's jaw was clenching. Her arms, wrapped around her pillow above her head, were flexing, her hands rhythmically squeezing her pillow as Annie continued to massage her legs.

Watching the pulses of Michele's fists, clenching and unclenching, Annie felt her own breathing shorten and go jagged. Her stomach seemed to fill with heat as her hands wrapped and moved up the back of Michele's thigh. She let them climb higher, sliding upwards until her fingers were just brushing the hem of the red running shorts; she felt lightheaded. Again she worked her way down, feeling herself relax as she did, almost as if she were backing out of danger.

She studied Michele as her hands moved slowly up again. The muscles of her bare shoulders were better defined than any of the boys she'd dated. And while her back was muscular and sculpted, her chest and waist were narrow and delicate. Down and up her hands moved, pressing inward, feeling abruptly cool and oddly light as they climbed - as if they had bird bones or bones made of glass.

Annie started to rise, intending to stop, but Michele seemed to anticipate that she was just switching legs again, the stronger girl shifted. Annie watched as Michele's back arched ever so slightly, lifting her ass a tiny fraction, almost imperceptibly parting her legs.

'Making room for me', Annie thought.

Annie went still, hovering there, her eyes riveted to the red shorts as they rolled upwards, even ever so slightly. Annie found herself admiring Michele's hips and round muscular ass.

'Plump' she thought, surprising herself.

Annie placed her hands on either side of Michele's hips. Suddenly aware of how quiet and dim the room had become. It was twilight; the failing light was painting everything blue. Climbing off her right leg Annie let her head droop and elbows flex. Her face very close to the small of Michele's back, and those red shorts. She listened as Michele took a shallow stuttering breath.

Annie was awake. Something had awakened her, maybe a sound, but she couldn't be sure. She tried to remember where she was; her room, the dorm. Behind her in the dark was Michele's bed; was Michele.

Annie lay still, wide awake, staring at the wall, listening to the darkness. Against the wall next to her bed long strange shadows fluttered, the remnants of light passing through the trees and the slits of the blinds. Her breathing was very loud. Something had frightened her. She tried to quiet her breast, to calm herself, to slow her startled heart.

The room began to feel familiar, less threatening. She brought her hands to her face, let her fingertips pet the soft skin of her cheeks, tug at her lips. Her mind returned to the events of the day, to her terrible regret. Like a tongue probing a broken tooth, her thoughts were unwilling to let Annie stare at shadows. Annie felt herself blushing as she remembered.

After the massage things had been awkward. Michele had mumbled her thanks as she gathered her dopp kit and towel. Limping out of the room towards the showers, but not once had she looked Annie in the eye.

Annie watched after her, positive she had misread what had happened, wishing she had had the courage to act, and at the same time berating herself for being a weirdo and a pervert. Her face hot with shame, she was sure Michele hated her; thought she was a creep. She had made a fool of herself.

Avoiding further embarrassment, Annie had thrown on a light jacket and rushed out of the room, heading down the hall away from the bathrooms. She almost ran down the stairs, rushing away from the stupid mistake she'd made. Once outside, she stood in the crisp evening air fighting back tears. The quad was mostly empty. Besides a few shadowy figures crossing in the distance, everyone was at dinner. A boy's loud laugh was abruptly cut short as a door slammed.

She'd taken a deep breath, gathering herself in the privacy of the gloom, and deciding what to do, she headed to the Dining Hall.

When Annie arrived the hall was filled and noisy with students talking loudly and laughing, the clatter of plates, flatware, and trays, the clanging bangs from the kitchen crew. While she hadn't missed dinner, she'd missed the rush. There was no line. Getting herself a tray she moved through her choices, trying to remember what things Michele liked. She wasn't hungry but made herself a small salad as well.

Checking out, the woman at the register looked at her as she handed over her meal card. "Are you all right?"

The tears threatened to return, but Annie took a deep breath, pushing them down. "Homesick", she lied.

The woman handed back her card with both hands, touching Annie's hand and smiling. She was frumpy in her uniform with short steel gray hair like a housewife but had a kind face and gentle expression. "It only feels like it will never get better, but it does."

"Yes ma'am." Annie did her best to smile "Thank you."

She found a place to sit and forced herself to eat the salad. She didn't hurry, she wasn't anxious to get back to the room. No one else stopped her or tried to talk to her.

'No one else even knows me' she thought miserably.

When she got back to the room Michele was already in bed and the lights were off, but the shades were still open. The halogens on the quad threw enough dappled light through the trees for Annie to navigate the room easily.

Michele had an old pair of button-up men's pajamas, like something Dick Van Dyke might have worn. She was laying on her side facing the wall, the cuffed pajama sleeve covering her face, her hand draped like sculpture over the waves of her hair.

As quietly as she could Annie put the tray of food and drinks on Michele's desk, she kicked off her shoes, stripped out of her jeans and socks, took a careful look around the room, and prepared to pull down the shades. She saw herself reflected in the darkened window. Her 'Pixie' cut (the solution to a recent experiment with bangs gone horribly wrong). Her thin angular frame. Skinny little arms and tiny tits, hardly as big as a boy's. And her nipples - as always, puffy cones standing out against the flatness of her chest, ready to humiliate her.

She shut the shades and turned back towards her bed. Rather than let her eyes adjust to the darkness, she shuffled slowly to her bed by memory, careful not to knock into any of the things she's seen before drawing the shades. Sleep did not come easily. For a long time, Annie lay awake in the dark, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, listening to Michele breathe.

Annie had been sure she wouldn't be able to fall asleep, but at some point, she must have - because here she was in the darkened room listening; wondering what had woken her up. She heard it then, a tiny high-pitched grunt of pain.

She turned her head to look, her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness. The light from the edges of the shades was more than enough to see Michele was silently twisting on her bed, her hands holding her right leg which was pointing like a ballerina, but rigid, her mouth held in a gruesome 'O' of pain. Annie jumped out of bed and rushed across the gap, kneeling, she put her hands over Michele's, feeling the spasming muscle beneath.

"May I?" She whispered. She knew she was begging, and wondered if Michele knew.

"May I please?" she asked. Her cheeks burned with shame. Her voice sounded so small and needy.

Michele released her leg, turning her face into her pillow, and nodded.

Again she started with Michele's foot. Working at the knotting tendons, flexing the toes and ankles. Michele was much stronger than she was, and her arms were still sore from earlier, so it was still hard work, but Annie was thankful it was only the one leg this time.

Keeping one hand working her foot, she used the other to begin kneading her calf, which was bare. Michele had either kicked her pajama bottoms off or more likely, had been sleeping in just her panties. As it was, Annie was glad not to have them in her way as she worked upwards. She felt how hard the thigh was cramping and knew Michele must be in terrible pain. As soon as the foot was relaxed enough to uncurl, she climbed onto the mattress and straddled Michele's leg, using both her hands, working Michele's calf and thigh.

The crisis was over almost as suddenly as it began. Annie felt Michele's leg relax under her and with some relief was able to focus on more than what she was doing with her hands. Without stopping her work, she really looked at the wider chaos of Michele's bed for the first time. The covers had been pushed to the floor at the end of the bed, and the fitted sheet was partly off the mattress. Michele's old man pajama tops had become unbuttoned and were pushed up to the middle of her back. Annie had assumed Michele was sleeping in her panties. Like a blow to the face, she realized Michele was totally naked from the waist down.