Muscle Maturity Ch. 04

"Always with the big man act," she growled. "Think you're so tough, so beefy..."

"A beefy egghead, that's what you called me, isn't it..."

"That's it, I'm off to the kitchen, I need to grab some beef and eggs and make a sandwich."

"Gosh, I feel famished too, just thinking about it. I'll come with."

"Mmm. No, you stay here, I took a lot out of you. You won't be in a fit state to move about for a good long while yet." She was right, as usual - my limbs felt light and rubbery. I'd probably stagger every step of the way to the kitchen, in my current condition. In contrast, she was already sufficiently recovered to spring up jauntily from the bed. I gasped again as my cock slid out of her pussy and flopped to the side, no longer tumescent.

She had taken a lot out of me, I thought, grinning.

"I'll bring back the sandwiches," she said, giving me a peck on the cheek before departing.

I lay back and closed my eyes for a while, basking in the afterglow of our shared orgasm. My whole body felt limp now, in a pleasant way, but there was no doubt that I had been completely sapped. I tensed my muscles experimentally, and groaned as I found that I could not maintain the tension for more than a few seconds. Yes, well and truly drained! Still, my satisfaction with my pleasure- drenched body was at an all-time high.

My languid thoughts drifted, naturally, to contemplation of Judith. Sex with her was beyond amazing. Incredibly fulfilling. We catered to each other's tastes and proclivities so well. And her physique...! How very pleasing it was. How wonderful her thighs and arms, her broad tapered back, the blossom of her pussy lips as it was lowered onto my eager mouth...

"Hey."

Judith prodded me awake, and I lurched back into the world of the conscious. I had drifted off, evidently!

"I bring refreshment, O Master," she quipped, with a sly wink and grin. There was no beef - cooking some at this time of night was a hassle - but there was shredded chicken and eggs, with fresh milk.

I took my glass of milk and made her a mock toast. "Hair o' the cat that licked yer," I quipped, with a cocked eyebrow, and took a sip.

She caught the hidden meaning in my deliberately mangled quote, and grinned wickedly. "When you've thought up a way, Jay, I'd be glad to take my prize."

"I believe I have, actually. I'll fill you in this weekend."

"Oh? Can't wait!"

**

It still remained a point of "honor" to Judith that she wouldn't accept cunnilingus from me except as a sort of prize for a well-earned victory.

We'd done most of the things a healthy, sexually-active couple in the bedroom would have done. Tantric massage was extremely good, when we were feeling more sedate. But me eating her out was something she would only take, she told me, as and when we were both in "Hulk" mode, and she truly defeated me in a physical contest.

She would brook no cheating on my part - no condescending concessions, no outright throwing a match. She could tell if I tried to lose on purpose, and I had no wish to insult her by treating our contests as a joke. People did do that, typically - videos abound on YouTube, after all, featuring man-versus-woman arm wrestling "matches" in the gym, wherein a ripped muscular guy would put on what amounted to a comedic skit, losing hilariously to a laughing woman. It was all in "good fun", and while in principle I had no objection to that sort of thing, this was not what Judith wanted if I was to taste her pussy juice and feel her sit on my face.

It took me a while, but I had figured it out. So that weekend, we stood facing each other, naked, on the mat in my basement. We were both sporting a light sheen of glistening sweat from the light warm-up we'd just done together.

"So, Jay, let's have it," Judith said, bouncing on her heels with anticipation. "What's the contest?" She meant, of course, what's the contest that will allow me to beat you fair and square in a satisfying manner?

"It's a gauntlet. Arm wrestling, primarily... but gauntlet-style." I told her.

"Oh? So that's what your setup is for?" she said, gesturing.

"Exactly," I said, with a touch of pride. I'd spent the previous evening tinkering around with the equipment I had and created the ideal setup for our contest of arms - a contest that I was reasonably sure Judith would win, despite me giving my best effort.

"Station 1," I announced, "is this." Two inclined benches, slightly upraised, placed so that Judith and I could lie down on our fronts, facing each other. At the base of the benches, I had placed two loaded barbells with moderate weight: 40lbs.

"20 reps of these," I explained, "strict form: our feet up on the bench, so it's just arms only. Barbell has to go all the way up, and touch the top of the bench just here, just below where our chins will be."

Then we went to Station 2. I'd set up two pulley systems so that we could do lat pulldowns face to face, with about three-quarters of our body weight. The pulleys and weights were positioned behind each seat.

"The bar has to touch the chest. Like so," I said, demonstrating by pulling the bar down to my clavicles. "20 reps of this."

And finally, Station 3: our arm wrestling table.

"Winner takes all - losers lickers," I said, smirking.

She raised an eyebrow. "That phrasing tells me just how much you hope to actually win this one."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not throwing anything. I'm going to give this my best shot, you can trust me on that. Anyway... I haven't finished." I took a breath for a dramatic pause. "Best of three."

She blinked. "What, the whole routine? Best of three?"

"Yep!"

It would be grueling in the extreme. It would be incredibly intense. It would be hellishly demanding.

And it would give her, I figured, a very good chance of legitimately outmuscling me. I could still beat her handily in any isolated contest of outright muscle power. That was just the plain fact of it. But she could outlast me, and often did, with superior recovery and muscular endurance. That kind of victory was just as valid. It was still muscle against muscle, after all.

Evidently she thought so as well, for her eyes glittered. "Let's get it on, baby!" she declared, and sashayed to the first station with a delightful hip swivel.

We lay on the benches belly-down, and rested our chins on the top of the cushions. She locked gazes with me intensely. I could feel myself growing hard just from the challenge in her eyes.

Gripping our bars tightly, we began cranking out the reps.

Her biceps swelled up more and more with each successive rep. Her biceps split began to appear, faintly, as her skin surface became more flushed with blood. When we'd finished the set, her pumped biceps were the size of tennis balls.

We got to our feet, but before moving on to the next station, she came over to give my upper arm a squeeze. "Mm.. nice and tight."

I returned the favor. We stood for some moments, squeezing each other's arms, making sure to tense our muscles. Gosh, but she was hard. Yet pleasantly soft.

Down there, of course, I was thoroughly hard, in an altogether different way.

I felt faintly silly doing lat pulldowns with my shaft jutting out in front of me as I sat. But it was ok - Judith's eyes flicked down to my groin area and she licked her lips appreciatively. Her own pink nipples were fully erect. Her chest muscles gleamed with beads of sweat. Her lats flared out from behind her visibly with every perfect pulldown she performed. I completed the set of 20 with some heavy grunting at the end, while she was still on her 18th, so I had some moments of extra rest as I stretched and limbered my arms.

But when she finished, she bounced up energetically and went over immediately to the table, where she waited in a posture of readiness. We took up our positions, gripping the handles with our left hands tightly.

The veins on her shoulders - specifically, her anterior deltoids - had become prominent. As she put up her arm, her biceps moved sinuously. That faint split on the head was still there. I gripped her hand tightly, hooking thumbs with her, and glanced down.

Yes, I was still larger... more defined. And probably still stronger.

Without much ceremony we began, putting out about 60% or so of our strength, I gauged. Immediately we began groaning, as the muscle fatigue kicked in. Within moments I had levered her arm to the side, and she bowed her head slightly while gathering more of her strength.

"Urrgh... aah... no... no... you... don't..." she groaned, as I forced her down inch by inch.

I was gasping and grunting too, but steadily widening my advantage. The lactic acid was burning in my muscle fibers, but not intolerably. She resisted me with everything she had, but with a big surge of effort, I pressed her hand down onto the pad. We slumped. Her broad shoulders and neck visibly relaxed.

"One-nil to me," I said, panting. She raised her head and nodded in acknowledgement. But in her eyes, I could see no defeat, merely grim determination.

We began the next set briskly. That was the point - to minimize resting periods so that muscle endurance would really come into play. This time I was feeling a proper burn now; each rep was harder than before to complete. The lat pulldowns really made me feel the tightness in my back. I even missed a couple of reps; as a point of integrity I discounted those and made sure to do a total of 20 with the bar touching my chest.

Judith missed not a single rep. She was bathed in sweat by the time she finished the pulldowns, and I noticed now that her forearm and biceps veins were standing out now, but she completed each rep with perfect form. I had to jerk a little, with my hips, for the last few lat pulldowns; she hadn't.

Once again we locked arms. There was a fire in her eyes now. Beads of sweat trickled down her face. She bared her teeth and clenched them. It was a Warrior facing me across the table.

She had to win this one, and the next. If she lost, with how aroused I was I would probably fill her mouth up after a few deep thrusts. Not completely unsatisfying... but not really the conclusion I wanted. I wanted to taste the nectar. I wanted to lap up the ambrosia.

So when we started, and immediately I gained a clear advantage again, I groaned partly from exertion and partly in dismay.

"Come on, Judith, come on! You can do it!" I silently urged her.

She bucked her entire body and curled her arm as hard as she could, moaning like a she-bear. She was trembling all over her body now, not just in her arms. If there had been a crowd, they'd have been cheering her on wildly, screaming her name, as she struggled against the odds. She threw her head back, and I could see the striations on her pecs, the delineation of her deltoids, the baseball that her biceps had become.

Yes - she had grown too, from tennis ball to baseball! And the cleft in her biceps now was deep, deeper than it had ever been!

But would it be enough? Down, down she went, past the halfway point. I may have wanted her to win in my heart of hearts, but for her sake I could not let up. I growled from deep in my throat as I sensed victory approaching. Just one more surge of strength would do it. One more would cement my masculine victory over her feminine muscle. I filled my lungs, and my veined arms quivered as I pulled...

Our hands came to a stop, hovering shakily one inch above the tabletop. Judith had dug in, and stopped me just in time, somehow.

But her face was a rictus of pained effort. All I had to do was to squeeze my muscles and pull just a little harder...

... and our hands didn't budge. I felt my muscles giving way, losing strength, not just in my arms but in my shoulders, my lats... the fatigue was catching up with me at last.

But it had to be sheer torture for her, too! She still couldn't quite pull me up to regain lost ground. She was just barely fighting me off, on the verge of defeat.

For a long eternity we struggled, a man trying with all his might to pull his woman's arm down that one last inch, and the woman straining with all her might to stop that from happening. One of us would be the first to give.

Then, my strength failed. It was almost anti-climactic; I just couldn't keep pumping anymore. In one fluid motion our arms went back upright, and then over onto the other side. I gasped with sweet relief as I felt the cushion touch the back of my hand, because it meant I could stop flexing.

She had won Round 2.

Through our exhaustion, we grinned happily at each other. This was going very well, I thought! That had been a completely legitimate victory, and she fully deserved that over-the-top victory. Sylvester Stallone could not have done any better.

As much as I sought the soreness and pushed for the pump when working out... round 3 was an absolute nightmare. On our benches, we moaned piteously as we cranked out the curls. By this time, Judith's arm girth had grown enough to put most people's thighs to shame. We were so pumped that we could've easily won some bodybuilding competitions in the shape we were in. Watching Judith do her pulldowns in front of me was still a delight.

But towards the end, I was having to rest almost half a minute in between each rep. That was ridiculous. Judith struggled too but she finished well ahead of me, and simply sat there catching her breath back while enjoying the sight of me with my arms stretched out above, huffing and puffing as I strove not to miss a rep.

That much I managed: 20 full pulldowns, bar to chest. Missing one would've been disastrous to my morale. By the end, I could barely feel my arms and back.

Meanwhile, though, Judith had finished her set and consequently had some time to recover. She stood now at the table, clenching and unclenching her fists. I walked over to her, none too quickly.

She was a simply incredible sight. Her strongly-shaped clavicles framed her heaving chest muscle. Her skin was blotched, yet attractively so, because it meant her muscles were pulsing with blood, with life. Her upper body looked like a vein map now.

When she thumped her elbow onto the pad and held her hand out to me, it trembled only slightly. "Come on," she growled. "Let's do it. My pussy is so wet and ready right now."

I gripped her hand and settled myself into position. My eyes widened involuntarily as we squeezed, sounding out each other's grip strength. I could barely match her grip now.

The result of the match was almost a foregone conclusion. From the beginning, I was on my way to a crushing defeat. I had reached muscle exhaustion - she hadn't, though she was pretty close herself. But she had enough of an edge to slowly, sexily press my hand flat onto the pad.

And it was over - she had won.

I could barely wait to fall to my knees in front of her as she sat down on a bench, braced herself, leaned back and splayed her legs wide open. There it was, at last - the full bloom of her womanhood. Thick labia lips, engorged with arousal, framed a slit out of which dripped a significant trickle of pussy juice. I dove in headfirst; this would be both her prize and mine.

For a moment I closed my eyes, with my mouth plastered against her pussy, my tongue gathering up the salty liquid. This was sheer bliss, compounded by the tightness and deliciously numb fatigue in my arms, shoulders and upper back. This was where I'd wanted to be for a long, long time, with my face right in between those luscious thighs of hers, lapping up the sumptuous feast there.

She could already match or beat me in lower-body contests. Now, at long last, we had a way for her to outflex and outmuscle my upper body with her own.

This was going to be so good, I thought.