Beat Francis at Arm Wrestling Pt. 01byKatieTay©
[This story is set in the universe of the game Fallout 2. Any locations, NPCs and other in-game concepts are all the intellectual property of the original creators. No infringement is intended. If you don't like the idea of "tampering" with the game lore, don't read.]
[This story has a muscular female protagonist who likes it rough, and has some very specialized kinks. If this kind of stuff is not to your liking, don't read.]
[I like muscles. I especially like women with muscles. If you don't like that, don't read.]
So this was Broken Hills... the place certainly fit the name, Jenny mused. The most prominent feature that she could see from where she stood was the reactor. The second thing a traveler like her would notice was probably the fact that almost every house had lighting. Dusk was descending, but already there were dozens of windows showing the steady, unwavering glow of electric lighting, as opposed to the flickering effect produced by gas lamps or wood fires.
Jenny had been following a caravan from New Reno for the last couple of weeks. The route went like this: east to Broken Hills to drop off food and medical supplies, and pick up uranium slugs -- north to Vault City to offload the slugs and pick up light arms -- then resupplying and heading straight back to New Reno. Jenny had never been this far east before. She was curious about Vault City and she wanted to see for herself how people lived when all they knew about life was what they had seen on old tapes from long before.
"Alright, we make camp in the town tonight. Three days from now, we leave again at first light," the caravan master said, addressing Jenny and the other hired caravan guards. "If you're not with us by then, you make your own arrangements. The next installment of your pay is at the gate of Vault City."
The guards began to wander off in the general direction of the town, and Jenny followed. They'd lost a couple during a raid on the way from New Reno. Jenny had taken down one of them herself -- a lean but malnourished girl with a mohawk, a knife and a bad attitude. She was wearing that girl's leather jacket now, after her own leathers had been sliced to pieces in that raider girl's ferocious assault. The knife was also strapped to her belt. In the wasteland, you wasted nothing.
She started towards the well she could see in the town square, thinking of filling up her canteens. At this hour, not many locals were about, but there was a figure lounging about at the well. As Jenny got nearer she could see he was short and spry, and he seemed preoccupied with looking down the well as if he had lost something in there.
He looked up at her approach, and did a double-take. "Coo-ee!" he exclaimed. "We definitely don't see your type coming around here very often!"
"I'm sure you get all sorts round these parts," Jenny said, rolling her eyes slightly. She got the same reaction everywhere she went. It was tiresome, really.
"Well, that is correct, we certainly do. And may I say, this humble town is greatly enriched by your visitation," the small man said, looking her up and down appreciatively. He held out his hand. "The name's Micky, suave and debonair Treasure Hunter of Broken Hills." The way he said it, Jenny could hear the capital letters in the title.
"There's treasure around here?" she asked, taking the hand politely and giving him a firm handshake.
There was a pregnant pause. Then Micky disengaged his hand gingerly, and shook it as discreetly as he could. "One of these days I shall have to fill you in on all the gory details about my many pernicious plunderings," he offered. "My word... you do have quite the grip..."
"Oh... sorry." Jenny didn't always remember not to squeeze so hard. "I'm just here to get some water. Is this well working?"
"Oh... yes, do go ahead," Micky gestured vaguely. "Though if you're feeling a thirst, and you have some cash to spare, you could also try Phil's. Just over there, two buildings down in that direction. You might even find one of the regulars interesting... yes indeed..."
"Well, it depends, I guess. Why don't you go ahead and check out the place? Phil would be very glad for your patronage. And... look for this super mutant named Francis. He'd be the one you're looking for," Micky said with a knowing nod.
"Superm-" Jenny managed to check herself. Of course, she'd been hearing about it on the way here. Broken Hills was home to humans, ghouls and super mutants alike, living in relative harmony. She shouldn't be surprised, after all. But who was this Francis and why did this "Treasure Hunter" think she'd be interested in meeting him?
Her curiosity was piqued, and she was nothing if not curious. Bidding Micky a polite goodbye, she walked off in the direction of the building he mentioned.
When she entered, she saw a ghoul wearing an apron.
"Howdy, stranger. Welcome to town. What's your name?"
She'd met a few ghouls before, so she didn't balk at his appearance. Clearly, he was the bartender.
"Name's Jenny, from New Reno. You must be Phil."
"That I am," Phil agreed amiably. "Pleased to meet you. What'll it be? A Nuka-Cola? A beer? Or do you feel like some rotgut?"
"Just a beer," Jenny replied. "Cold one."
"Ain't any other kind," Phil chortled as he turned to the fridge behind him. "Yes ma'am, we get the power running all day long here in this town, and we got working fridges. Here's a nice chill one for ya. That'll be three dollars, plus a dollar tip for me, kiddo. That's four dollars. Say, you got any mutant blood in you?" he asked.
Jenny flushed. "First of all, that's scientifically impossible, since they're all sterile, and secondly, I don't have... funny... skin." Her voice trailed off, and she wondered if her host would be offended by that.
He was not. "Just a joke, lass, don't take it hard," he chuckled, putting the frothing -- frothing! -- beer in front of her. "You're as big as they come, these days. I've never seen a gal your kind, friend. Maybe it's all for the good, we all have to make use of what we have going for us. You one of them caravan guards?"
Jenny sighed. She wasn't that tall or imposing -- just a sturdy five-eight. It was her build that always drew the remarks -- broad shoulders, a tapering V-shaped torso, thick thighs, and a sheath of firm, hard muscle around her trunk. Right now, some abdominal muscle was visible beneath the black leather jacket she was wearing. There was nothing underneath -- she had to go buy a few shirts or something soon.
"Yeah," she replied, taking a gulp of the beer. It was pleasantly cool and refreshing. "I ran into this guy, name of Micky, on my way in. Said something about how I ought to meet this super mutant called Francis. Who's he?"
Phil laughed. "That Micky sure has a mean mind. He was just pranking you. No offense, but I don't think you got anything on our Francis. You do look pretty burly for a gal, but well... he's taken down bigger guys than you, and he hasn't been beaten yet."
"So he's a fighter? Some kind of brawler?" Jenny said, narrowing her eyes. She knew that type.
But she was surprised. "No, no," Phil explained, holding up his hands. "Nothing like that. He... look, there he is, he's coming in right now. That's him. Why don't you go over and introduce yourself, and he'll tell you all about it."
The big creature lumbering in, stooping slightly to avoid knocking his head on the doorway, sent a momentary chill of remembered fear down Jenny's spine, but she shook that sensation away mentally. Francis was big, greenish-grey, wearing black leather as well, and powerfully-built even for a super-mutant. He went to a corner table and sat himself down, seemingly preoccupied and not paying attention to anyone else in the bar. Jenny looked again -- sticking out of a satchel around his waist was something that looked like a gauntlet.
Jenny's pulse quickened. That was a Power Fist! She wondered if she would be able to barter for it. That must have been what Micky was referring to -- the fact that someone like her could obviously make good use of a Power Fist in her line of work, and for some reason perhaps this Francis had no use for it.
She took her mug and went over to the table. As she did, she felt the buzz of conversation die down a little, and she sensed all eyes turning to her. Francis looked up, boredom writ large across his ugly misshapen face.
"Yeah? Help you out with something?" That was promising. No hostility, just a general offer of possible aid to a stranger. Jenny quelled her misgivings. This was Broken Hills, not... that other place.
"Hi, are you Francis?" she asked, deciding to be straightforward about it.
"Yep. I'm Francis. I'm the arm wrestling champ of the town. I've got a running bet that no one can beat me."
Oh? That was interesting. Jenny wondered about his pugilistic skills. When it came to boxing, Jenny felt confident of knocking over anyone or anything short of a Deathclaw.
"That good, huh?"
"Yep. Take a seat. What's your name?"
"I'm Jenny, from New Reno."
"You passing through, on one of those caravans?"
"Yes. What do you do around here?"
"Well, not much. There's the saloon, the mines, the refinery, the caravan. We don't get much time for fun around here, and what time we do get, we devote to drinking. Also, we work on human-mutant relations." There was a slight curl to his lips as he said that last line.
"Sounds exciting," Jenny replied. "But what specifically do you do?"
"Like I said, I'm the arm wrestling champ of the town. And looks like there's no one in this whole godforsaken wasteland who'll take me up on my bet, either."
"What's your bet?"
"See this here?" Francis shifted so that he could point at the Power Fist. Jenny felt her gaze drawn to it. "It's simple. Whoever beats me, gets this Power Fist. Not like I use it. Whoever loses to me gets to be my gimp for a night."
Jenny blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I take on all comers. I've made a lot of gimps in this town, let me tell you. People don't walk right after a night spent as my gimp," Francis belly-laughed.
So that was his deal... Jenny took mental stock of her inventory, and she realized she probably didn't have enough to offer for a straight out barter. But that Power Fist... with an augmentation like that, and her boxing skills, she'd be a devastating force in battle. That meant better-paying work, not to mention higher chances of survival.
"Alright," she heard herself say. "I'm in."
There was a hush. Francis stared. Then he shook his head and laughed. "Sorry, gal, it'd just be a waste of my time. Bigger and better men than you have tried, and they all got gimped. I mean, I don't really care if it's a man or woman, long as I have a hole to stick it in and the whole dominance thing to get it going, but no woman's ever challenged me. You're maybe the biggest looking broad I've seen, but there's no way you could even put up a fight."
Jenny stood up. As they watched, she stripped off her leather jacket and tossed it onto the back of the chair. There was a collective intake of breath. Locking gazes with Francis, Jenny raised her arms and posed, flexing her muscles, turning her torso slightly sideways for maximum effect.
She had a healthy looking bosom, a sign of good nutrition which could only have come from success in her chosen line of work. Her body fat percentage was high compared to almost any other woman in that day and age, giving her a thickly curvy physique. The lines of her muscles were still clear to see all over her body, however, and her biceps peaked when she curled her arms in. Her short red hair fell to her chin, leaving her bulging traps exposed and visible. Her breasts were not large, perhaps a bit more than a handful if she cupped them, but they perched proudly on her slabs of pectoral muscle underneath. All in all, she knew she was a very strong-looking woman.
"Come on, Francis, you afraid to take on a woman? I don't have time to waste with snitty remarks and cowards. If I win, I get that fist. If you win, I'm your gimp for the night, same as the rest of the others. Do we have a deal or not?"
Francis stood up. He towered over her by more than a head. He took off his leather jacket as well, and shrugged his shoulders, limbering his limbs a few times. There was a glint in his eyes as he said, "You're a pretty piece of meat alright. Don't get many like you these days. Maybe you'll be a bit more interesting than a typical woman... I'm sure you'll be able to take what I dish out after you lose."
The other bar flies were talking excitedly. None could take their eyes off Jenny. Jenny smiled to herself. She had risen in the streets of New Reno without becoming a Jet whore or any other kind of whore, largely because she had trained her fists to be powerful weapons. She had become a prize-fighting boxer in the Jungle Gym, with an impressive record. She knew she cut an impressive figure now, clad only in her leather pants and boots.
"I'll give them a show they won't forget," she thought to herself. She felt a thrill run through her -- she had never taken on a super mutant in a direct contest of strength like this before, but arm wrestling was a matter of skill as much as strength, and she had actually done a fair bit of it against plenty of strong men. She knew some tricks -- the top roll, the hook, how to lean in and use her shoulders.
Besides, the risk-reward ratio was good. If she won, that sweet Power Fist was hers, and her punching would become the stuff of legend. If she lost... well, there was no risk of pregnancy with the sterility of super mutants, and besides, the truth was that she was feeling long overdue for some kinky fun.
Part of her actually was imagining what it would be like to lose to this grotesque caricature of masculine potency, and she was in fact getting a bit wet at the thought. She leaned towards other women -- but her main way of getting off was actually winning bouts in the ring against cocky males. Against the odds, and in spite of the constant disparaging from the gym's midget manager Stuart Little, "Jolting Jenny" had risen steadily in the lists, beating a total of six other fighters to date.
She had two losses on her record -- one of them was another woman, a huge hulking ogress, and the other was to the infamous Mike "The Masticator". She had narrowly avoided having her ear chewed off by the latter, and the former had provided her with a very memorable night afterwards; Pounding Patty had used a strap-on on her. But it wasn't the same as the real article, presumably. Jenny got no particular rise out of taking in a man's cock -- particularly a man who could not beat her -- but she had wondered sometimes if she would meet a man strong enough and potent enough to give her both the beating and the fucking of her life.
Francis, if he won, would overwhelm her. Strong as she was, she would be completely outmatched. Jenny imagined being filled up by his hard throbbing rod -- and she flushed, her pulse quickening. Time for that later -- she had to focus, win the match, get the fist. Then, afterwards, she might offer Francis his consolation prize.
The super mutants, whichever origin they claimed, were surpassingly powerful. Their strength and endurance were far beyond what any human could attain without being augmented by implants of some kind, or simply old-style power armor. And then there was always Buffout... but Jenny had always prided herself on never needing that to punch out big guys.
She would have to try using explosive strength coupled with grip technique. Once his arm went down below a certain angle she could hold him there indefinitely and crank up the pressure, forcing him down for the win. She flexed her fingers in anticipation as she followed Francis to the center of the room.
Francis cast his eyes about, contemplating the bar-top counter briefly.
"Too high for you," he grunted. "Won't want you crying about how I used my height advantage or something."
"Bar counter's fine," Jenny replied, though she would have to raise her arm up slightly higher than she was used to.
"Nah. Down here," Francis said, gesturing to an unoccupied table. He sat himself in the chair opposite. Jenny sat down across from him, feeling her nipples stiffen with anticipation. They began limbering up their arms and shoulders. Jenny's eyes were drawn to the interplay of the muscle fibers underneath Francis's greenish-grey mottled skin. He was gross. Exaggerated. He was symbolic of everything Jenny wanted to beat -- or be beaten by.
"Don't you be breaking that table now," Phil called out from where he stood. He was leaning forward watching interestedly. Everyone else had crowded around, some pulling up chairs. Someone tried to start up a betting pool, but to Jenny's dismay it quickly petered out, as it swiftly became clear that not a single one was prepared to bet on Jenny winning.
"I'll show them," she thought vengefully.
Francis shrugged once more, his boulder-like shoulders moving, his muscles seemingly having to move aside to make way for his other muscles. He thumped his elbow down on the table, hand open invitingly. "Come on, little girl, let's get this over with," he growled.
Jenny drew herself up, and flexed her right arm, showing her mounds of arm muscle. There was some wolf-whistling and catcalls.
"Now that's what I call an ARMS race!"
"You oughta join the ARMy, girl!"
Well, so this was what passed for humor in a mining town.
Jenny moved her hand in carefully, hooking thumbs with Francis from above.
"Come on, put your elbow down already," the super mutant grumbled. "Trying some fancy arm wrestling tricks? No tricks here, Jenny. Left arms behind our backs. Elbows close together. Pull inwards."
This was a blow. Jenny complied, putting her left hand behind her back, her mind awhirl. She could not even grip the table for leverage! It would really be just a contest of muscle -- strength, endurance and sheer bloody-mindedness would have to see her through!
Even she knew she couldn't win this one!
She swallowed hard, trying to hide her sudden nervousness. She'd be damned if she let Francis see how shaken she was. Instead, she braced her shoulders and coolly looked him in the eye as she closed her fingers around his hand. He tightened his grip as well.
Jenny almost gasped aloud. His grip was strong! He gave the term "vise-like grip" new meaning. Her corded forearm rippled as she tried, unsuccessfully, to match his grip strength.
Jenny tried to follow her original plan as much as she could. With a roar, she rocked her whole body to the left, pulling in as hard as she could. Francis's body barely moved at all. His arm jerked an inch or so in her direction. Then he held her.
"Gal's got spirit, gotta give her that!"
"Yeah, gotta HAND it to her! Ho, ho, ho!"
"Look at 'em biceps go!"
And their biceps were popping indeed. Jenny gave another cry of effort, though this one sounded less like a fierce roar and more like a desperate scream. It was all she could do to keep her wrist from being completely overwhelmed and bent back. She could not even attempt a hook or overhand roll. In this battle, forearms against forearms, biceps against biceps, shoulders against shoulders, pecs against pecs, there was only one possible outcome.
But she refused to give in. The strain was showing completely on her face as the seconds passed, and she grunted and moaned like a she-bear in heat. Francis moved her back to dead center without much apparent effort. His muscles bunched up, and Jenny felt her arm starting to get pulled down.
"Over the top, Francis! Over the top!"
"Use your clavicle, Francis, use your clavicle!"
"Hey, Francis, TRICEP-arating her arm from her shoulder!"