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Isabelle's Stories (Read 5579 times)
Phil
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Isabelle's Stories
Sep 18th, 2014 at 4:22am
 
                       Isabelle and Jim 
                                Part I

I thought I'd come home early and surprise my wife--so I left the office early and got home around 3:00.  We hadn't seen each other much over the past six months, as I'd been working a lot.  But when I got home no one was there.  I assumed Isabelle was out on a walk, since her car was in the garage, and that she would be back any minute.  I wasn't too thrilled when I heard a car pull up at around 6:30.  I was even less thrilled when she came in the house with a big muscle-man wearing a tank top and shorts.  Isabelle had on a sweat suit.  She obviously wasn't expecting me to be home, and she said to the guy, ``Alright Jim, I'll see you tomorrow,'' and gave him a kiss. 

``Wow!''  I said, ``Who was that?''

``That's Jim Nedders, a trainer at the gym.''

``I guess you've been spending a lot of time there lately.''  Given how friendly she seemed with Jim, that was an understatement.

``Yup.  With the kids gone, I like getting back into shape.''  As she said that she took off her sweat top, and all she had on was a muscle shirt--with an emphasis on the muscle!  Her arms and shoulders looked massive.  Her chest was huge and even her back muscles were obvious from the front.  I was taken aback.

``Well the results are excellent,'' I told her.

``Thanks hun.  We did a small photo-shoot down at the gym this afternoon.''

``Wow.  That's great.  I can't wait to see the photos.  Hey, I'm getting hungry.  Do you want to go out?''

``No. I'm beat.  Why don't you just throw some steaks and veggies on the grill.''

``I'm tired too.  Let's go out.''  I whined.

``Let's arm wrestle to decide.''

``What's that all about?  Have you ever arm wrestled before?'' I asked.

``I was messing around at the gym with some guys, today.   They said I was pretty good.  But I think they let me win.  Anyway let's get going.  I'm starved.''

So we sat at opposite sides of the table and both put our right elbows on the table.  It certainly appeared as though I would have an advantage as my forearm is so much longer than hers.  But I could tell I was in trouble when I saw the veins on her forearm and the thickness of that forearm.  It was obviously thicker than mine.  Let alone the fact that her upper arm looked big, and there was a big vein visible atop her swelling biceps.  The difference in size was obvious.  I felt weak and soft.  When we clasped our hands together, she squeezed mine so hard that I almost cried out.  ``OK GO,'' I said.  And within a split second my hand was slammed to the table.

``NO FAIR,'' I yelled out.

``What do you mean,'' she laughed.
 
``I didn't have a chance to get started.''
 
``But you're the one who said go.''
 
``OK.'' I said.  ``This time I'll count to 3 and then say go.  No fair starting before I say go.
 
``1, 2, 3, Go.''  Wham -- same result.  My hand was really starting to hurt!
 
``This just isn't fair I muttered.''  ``OK.  She said, this time, I'll wait until you reach your full force before starting.  You start whenever you want, and then tell me when I can start.''

``1, 2, 3, Go.''  Now I pushed as hard as I could.  But nothing happened.  ``OK, tell me when you're pushing,'' she said.  So I breathed deep, and gave it all I have.  Nothing.  Alright, I'm starting,'' she said, and I felt a steady push down until my hand gently touched the table.  Then she kept her grip, pulled me back up to the start, and slammed me down again.  She repeated this three or four times.  My hand was stinging.  ``Had enough?'' she asked.

``Alright,'' I said.   ``Let me use both hands.''

  ``Sure,'' she replied.  So this time I started with my right arm in the usual position, and I placed my left hand around my right --positioned to pull with it.  ``Even with two hands, you can say go, and tell me when you want me to start,'' she laughed.  (She really seemed to be enjoying this!)  ``GO,'' I yelled, and pushed and pulled with all my might.  This time, I pulled her about an inch down.  ``Are you ready for me to start?'' she asked.  I waited a few seconds, but even using both hands I couldn't budge hers.  ``OK,'' she said,  ``that's it.''  And with that she slammed me down, and I went flying off my chair.

"Oh I get it,'' she said.  ``You're letting me win.''  I assured her that I was not letting her win, but she didn't believe me.  ``Come on, there's no way I'm that much stronger than you!  You weigh 70 pounds more than me, and you're a man.  You must be fooling around and not even trying.''   ``This is just like at the gym. You guys are all letting me win.''

``What do you mean?  You arm wrestled at the gym?''

``Yeah.  We had a tournament this afternoon.  I won.''

``You beat everyone at your gym?  Including that Jim guy?''  (I gulped.)

``No.  There was a tournament.  The guys competed, and then I arm wrestled the winner. Jim won, and then I beat him.  It took a bit longer then you though.  But I don't buy it.  I think you're all letting me win.  It's too easy.''

I said, ``look at our arms.'' I sat next to her, and  put my arm next to hers.  Feel yours and then feel mine.   ``Yours is longer,'' she said.  ``Come on,'' I insisted.  ``Oh alright.''

So she felt my biceps -- I self consciously flexed.  Then she felt hers.  ``Oh my God.  Mine is like a rock and yours feels soft.  Plus mine feels so much thicker.''

``So now you understand?'' I asked.
 
``I still don't get it. You mean you didn't let me win, and you think Jim didn't either?  Let's go compare in the mirror.''

"What do you mean?  I thought you wanted to go eat.''

``In a minute.  I'm curious now.''  Take your shirt off.''  She said, as she slipped out of her top.
 
``Come on, this is silly,'' I complained.  But she pushed me into the bathroom in front of the full length mirror.
 
``Ok, now bend down so we're the same height.  Now flex.''

``Flex what?''  I asked.

"Start with biceps.  Show me what you've got.''

So I hit my double biceps pose.  Not bad, but certainly not bodybuilder quality.

``All right.  Now hold that.  Don't strain yourself!'' she chuckles as she positioned herself behind me.  Then she hit her double biceps pose.   I was shocked by what I saw, and I think she was too.  Her triceps showed below the bottom of my arm and the peak on her biceps rose well above the top of my arm.  In addition, her shoulders and back were wider than mine, whereas my waist hid hers completely.

``OK. So what are you trying to prove?'' I asked.
 
``Nothing.  I was just trying to understand how I could beat you so easily.  It's clear now!  Get that grill fired up.  I'm starved.  Oh and put a couple extra steaks on for Jim, I told him to come back in an hour.''

``When was that?  He was just here.''

I told him if I didn't call then he should just come over.''

``Just Jim?  No one else?'' I asked sheepishly.

``No just Jim.  While you get things cooking I'll grab a shower and change for dinner.''

When Isabelle came back to the kitchen she was wearing a ``wife beater'' tee shirt and a short skirt.  The shirt looked about three sizes too small as it seemed that her chest and shoulders were about to break out of the fabric.   She was not wearing a bra.  ``I never saw you in a wife beater, where'd you get that shirt?'' I asked.

``It's one of yours,'' she told me.  ``But since I'm wearing it, it's a husband beater.''
``All right,'' I said, ``let's not get carried away.''

``How long until you're ready with the steaks and veggies?''
 
``Another five minutes.  Oh, that must be Jim.''  She went to the front door and let Jim in again.  When they walked into the kitchen together I could have mistaken them for twins.  Jim had on a polo shirt with the gym's logo, and looked like he was busting out of the sleeves.

``Can I get you a beer, Jim?''

``No thanks.  I'll just have some water.  You sure are a lucky guy, Phil.''

``Excuse me.  I'll be right back with our dinner.''
 
When I brought everything in Jim and Isabelle were finished setting the table, and sat down.  I served them both, and then myself.

``Your Isabelle is quite a sensation down at the gym.'' Jim said enthusiastically as he was cutting his steak.

``Doesn't surprise me.  She's a wonderful woman.''

``Never mind,'' Isabelle said.  ``Jim how long have you been bodybuilding?''

``I started when I was 15.  So it's been 12 years.  What about you, Isabelle?''

``I've been weight training for 35 years.''

``Oh my God,'' Jim said.  That's why your muscle is so dense--and why you're so strong.  How about you Phil, do you lift weights?''

``No, I'm a runner,'' I said.  ``I ran cross-country in high school, and just kept it up.''

``Well, your wife is like a goddess down at that gym.  All the guys ask her advice, everyone is asking her to pose or arm wrestle.  It's amazing.   Truly Amazing!''

``She has certainly experimented with different exercises and regimens, and there is no substitute for experience,'' I noted.

``Jim, why didn't you bring your girlfriend?''  Isabelle asked, trying to change the subject.

``Krista isn't my girlfriend.  She's been hanging around the gym lately, looking for advice.''

``That's funny, she certainly gave me the impression that she was your girlfriend.'' Isabelle replied.

We were all finishing our dinner, so I got up to help clear some of the dishes, and put them next to the sink.  ``I'll help you get started and then Jim and I can talk for a while while you do the dishes.''

``Why don't we arm wrestle to see who does the dishes,'' Jim said.
 
``That's ok,'' I said, ``I'll do the dishes.''
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #1 - Sep 18th, 2014 at 4:36am
 
Very interesting, but, hope this is not going to be a "soap opera" love triangle. But, love the muscle slant to the story.
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #2 - Sep 18th, 2014 at 6:26am
 
                                                               Isabelle and Jim 
                                                                     Part II

``No.  Now let's be fair about this,'' he insisted.  And he put his elbow on the table and said, ``Ok Phil you and I go first, and then Isabelle will take on the loser.''

``Alright,'' I consented.   ``But this isn't really fair.''

``I'll give you a head-start,'' Jim said.  ``We'll start at this angle--with my hand just an inch from the table.''  We grabbed hands, and he almost crushed my right hand.  I gripped with all my strength, but I felt my hand crushed.  ``Isabelle, you say go.''

``Go.''  Within a second my hand was slammed down hard on the table.  It was sore from being crushed and sore from hitting the table so hard.

``Alright, I'm in the clear.''  Jim gloated.  Now man versus wife.
 
``That's alright,'' I got up and excused myself to the bathroom.  I had to clear the tear from my eye.  But when I came back Isabelle was waiting for me.

``I'll be gentle,'' she chided me, and winked at Jim.

So we clasped hands.  Jim acted officious by placing his hand atop ours to ensure the grips were secure, and then said go.  I pushed with all my might and nothing happened.  At least I lasted longer than the last time, I thought.  Again I saw her wink at Jim.  ``OK, I'm starting now,'' she whispered.  And slowly my hand was pushed down to the table, which it met with a gentle tap.

``Well Phil, looks like you do the dishes.  There was no way you could beat her.  She's the strongest person in the gym.

``She told me you let her win,'' I chided Jim.

I know she said that at the gym.  I think she was trying to protect my ego and standing with all the men.  But I told her I gave it my all.''

``I still don't believe you,'' Isabelle said.  Just look at you.
 
``You should look at yourself!'' was Jim's response.
 
Isabelle thought for a minute and then said, ``Tell you what.  I'll only believe that I beat you if there is a lot at stake.  Let's make a wager.  If I win, you have to be my spotter for a month.''

Now that would be a heavy cost!  Her workouts go on for hours, and they were heavy!  Jim knew this, and was clearly reluctant to continue.  I knew at this point that Isabelle was stronger.  ``All right, he finally consented.  But if I win you have to give me a blow job tonight.''

Isabelle didn't skip a beat, and said, ``Sure!''  I had some suspicions right then and there, since I think Isabelle was expecting to lose.

``Phil you be the judge,''  Jim commanded.

``All right,'' I said, ``assume the positions.''  I grimaced when I saw Isabelle's hand inside Jim's and remembered the pain of his grip.  Jim's arm stretched the sleeve of his shirt so that I though it would shred.  Veins bulged from his wrist up to his shoulder.  Although the polo shirt covered that shoulder, you could see it bulging.

But Isabelle was smiling, and I think I saw Jim wince.  I placed my hand atop theirs and counted to 3.  At the count of 3 nothing happened.  Jim grunted, and I could see him pushing with all of his strength.  Isabelle was smiling, she seemed not to be paying attention.

``Are you ready?'' she smiled at Jim. 

Jim grunted, ``Bitch.'' 

And with that Isabelle slammed his hand down.  I thought that the table was broken, it was so loud.  But Jim just smiled, and Isabelle told me to start with the dishes--that she was going to help Jim with his posing routine.  Jim went back out to his car to get his posing trunks, then changed into them.  He strutted by me in the kitchen.  Jim is a pretty good looking guy, and his build was herculean.  Those trunks were bright green, and tiny.  Jim's glutes stretched the back of the trunks, and his package which looked enormous was clearly visible.  As he passed by me--my hands in the soapy dishwater--he flexed his pecs--in the traditional bounce-bounce way.  I felt pretty jealous of all those muscles. 

``Where's Isabelle,'' he asked.
 
``She went back into the bedroom where there's a full-length mirror.  She told me she was going to help you with your posing.''

``Thanks Phil.''

I could hear them talking and laughing, but the bedroom was too far away to make anything out.  After another 20 minutes, I finally finished the dishes, and went in to check on them.  Isabelle had on a bikini bottom--bright red, barely covering her private parts.  She was topless.  ``Whoa! Why are you topless,'' I screamed.

``Come on Phil.  Calm down.  I'm showing Jim how to pose his pecs.  What do you want?''

``All right,'' I sighed.  ``Let's see your pose.''  So she placed her hands behind her head, put her left leg out, and flexed everything.  ``My God,'' both Jim and I exclaimed at the same time.  Her elbows were above her head, and her upper arms looked enormous.  Both biceps and triceps flared--the upper arm looked like a balloon--a couple of prominent veins covered the bulging biceps.  There was some stubble in her arm pits, but her lats bulged out from her sides, and her pecs were stretched.  Her nipples were stretched across her powerful chest muscles.  The most amazing thing was how she had vacuumed her stomach in.  It literally looked like each of her arms was thicker than her waist.  A deep etch ran down the middle of that powerful stomach--all the way down to her bikini top.  That bright triangle of red accented the tight waist -- it seemed to dip in front as the size was a bit big for that pose.  Her thighs were ripped, but not as impressive as her upper body.  She held this pose for a minute and then took a deep breath.   Muscles rippled through her arms and chest.

Jim was visibly impressed.  ``I love that pose.  But I don't think I've got the thickness of your muscles.''

``All right.  Let's see,''  Isabelle prompted him.  She stepped to the side, but still kept the position.  Jim positioned himself slightly behind her, and to her right.  He assumed the same position, and flexed.  The moment was not as impressive as when Isabelle popped all of her muscles, but you could see that Jim was a big man.  His arms seemed even bigger than Isabelle's although not as ripped.  His lats were almost as big as hers, and his chest was massive.  But his stomach was not vacuumed in, which made his pose less impressive.  So Isabelle, came out of her pose, and walked behind Jim.  She put her hands up under his ribs, and seemed to gently pull.  What struck me then was Jim's trunks stretched out even more, as he popped an erection.  I could see the outline of his thingy against the thin green fabric.  I felt puny.  Isabelle obviously saw this massive erection, and  joked with Jim--``If that pops up during a show you'll certainly win.''

``No chance of that when I'm dehydrated and thirsty in show mode,'' he joked back.  ``I think I got the idea.  Thanks a million, Isabelle.  You're a great help.''

``You should put that thing away,'' I chided Jim.
 
``Let's see what you got.'' He ribbed me.

``I'm not  a bodybuilder.''

``Isabelle told me you have a nice body.  I want to see what that is.''

``That's alright Phil.  You can take my word for it,'' she stood up for me.  I was deeply grateful for that.  I'm extremely self-conscious being shirtless with Isabelle, but with the two of these muscle giants, I feel puny.

Jim was heading home.  ``All right.  Well thanks Isabelle.  That was helpful.  I guess I'll see you at the gym tomorrow.''

``Don't forget you're spotting me.  I'll be there at 6:00 am sharp,'' she shot back.
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #3 - Sep 18th, 2014 at 3:15pm
 
This is a factual account.  Here's a picture of Isabelle and her husband:

...
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #4 - Aug 8th, 2015 at 6:15am
 
Wow..wish more pictures to see her flexed muscles!
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #5 - Aug 12th, 2015 at 4:29pm
 
labtecfriend wrote on Aug 8th, 2015 at 6:15am:
Wow..wish more pictures to see her flexed muscles!


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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #6 - Oct 17th, 2015 at 9:22pm
 
Isabelle and Jim:
Jim's Perspective
Phil Farrell  phlfrrll@yahoo.com


I couldn't believe these guys asked me to arm wrestle Isabelle--who they said had beaten Dave and Bill.   My grandma could probably beat Dave, so that wasn't a big deal, but Bill is a big, powerful guy.  He probably let her win.  I figured, ``What difference does it make?  This is my gym and I always win.''

So now I was supposed to arm wrestle this old lady?  I'd go easy on her.  I'd seen her around my gym a lot, and she is always very serious, so I didn't want to lose her as a member by hurting her.  She came over to the table and took off her jacket.  This is the first time I had seen her this close, and I have to admit she looked good for an old broad.  She must have just been working out as her shoulders and arms looked pumped and vascular.  She was a small woman but looked at least as muscular as anyone I knew--man or woman.

``Let's get this stupid thing over with so I can get back to it,'' I told Jack R.  Isabelle sat down across from me and without a word she grabbed my hand--which was twice as big as hers.  No one was working out now, as everyone in the gym had come over to watch the spectacle.

``I've only done this a couple of times,'' she said.  `I think these kids let me win.'' 

``Alright, I'll try not to hurt you,'' I boasted.

When Jack R. pulled his hands away and said go, she slammed my hand down on the table before I could get started.  Rather than make a big deal, I congratulated her on the win, and the gym erupted in cheers around her.  I gave her a peck on the cheek, congratulated her, and asked her to stop by my office before she left for the day.

After she had changed she stopped by my office.  ``Let's go out to celebrate your victory.'' I told her.  She was way too old for me and not really my type, but I  was curious and intrigued.  Maybe she was a cougar. I'd crappity smack her, but wouldn't want any ``involvement.'' 

``Sure,'' she said.  ``Although I think you let me win.   Why don't you come over tonight for a barbecue?'' 

``I'll bring my posing trunks, and give you a treat,'' I told her with a wink.  We made the arrangements, I got directions, and she was off. 

At 6:00, I had almost forgotten that I was supposed to have dinner at Isabelle's, I had been working on the gym's books, but hunger reminded me.  I headed over with no idea of what to expect.

Isabelle answered when I rang the bell. 

She showed me into the kitchen and introduced me to her husband, Phil.  He was tall, but what a wimp!  I couldn't believe that Isabelle was married to this guy. 

``How long have you been married?'' I asked him.

``35 years.''

Dinner was good.  Phil was used to grilling a lot of meat.  I tried to goad Phil into a talking about having a wife who could so obviously kick his ass, but he was not responsive.  So I pressed Isabelle into talking about how much bigger and stronger than Phil she is, but she kept redirecting the conversation.

We finished dinner, and I was hoping that I could get some time alone with Isabelle.  I suggested that we arm wrestle to see who would do the dishes,  it was obvious that Phil would be the dishwasher.  The first round was me against Phil.  I wanted to embarrass and humiliate him.  I could see him grimace in pain as I squeezed his hand.  When Isabelle said go, I slammed him down to the table as hard as I could.  He's such a wuss.

So then it was Phil's turn to arm wrestle Isabelle.  I was the official.  This is what I've been waiting for!  To my astonishment, Isabelle did not slam Phil's hand down immediately.  Instead they just remained motionless.  When I looked at Phil it was obvious that he was giving it everything he had.  Isabelle on the other hand, wasn't even trying.  She looked kind of sad, exhaled, and slowly, steadily she pushed his hand gently down to the table.

I told Phil that he was the dishwasher tonight.  He took it in stride.  I opined that he had no chance against his wife as she was amazingly strong.  He told me that it wasn't always that way.  When they were first married, Isabelle was the proverbial 95 pound weakling.  He said he could almost put his thumb and forefinger around her biceps.  I glanced at Isabelle's powerful arms, bulging with muscle,  and couldn't imagine that they were once skinny.

Then it was his turn to goad me.  He told me that Isabelle didn't believe that she had actually beaten me at the gym, which I was glad to hear.  He was chiding me to arm wrestle his wife right then and there.  Isabelle seemed game, but she was skeptical--she assumed that I would just let her win.  She said she would only believe the outcome it entailed serious costs to the loser.  She said that if I lost I would have to spot her for three months.  That was a serious wager!  The time commitment at my own gym would be enormous.  I was reluctant to accept.  I thought back to our match earlier that day and wondered whether she really had caught me off guard.  I began to have doubts.  So I told her that if I win then she would have to blow me right here and now.  I assumed that this would bring this challenge to a screeching halt.  So I was shocked that Phil didn't say anything, and that Isabelle immediately accepted my offer.  This was getting interesting!  My manhood swelled anticipating being placed in her mouth.  She'd handle a real man -- but first things first!

Phil supervised the proceedings, and this time I was prepared.  I grabbed Isabelle's hand and squeezed as hard as I could.  To my horror, she squeezed back with the identical force.  When Phil said go I pushed with everything I have.  But her arm didn't budge.  And man, what an arm!  I pride myself on my guns, and I'm certain my biceps are bigger than hers.  But hers exude power.  Veins running down her forearm, biceps bulging.  At least she hadn't slammed me down instantly, like this afternoon.  I imagined that this could go on for a while, until I looked at her face and to my surprise she was smiling.  She asked me whether I had started, with a laugh.  And with that she slammed me down harder than this afternoon.

Now I was stuck--there was no way I was going to be this bitch's towel boy for the next three months!  But there was a witness.

''Alright, enough of this childishness,'' Isabelle said.  ``Let's work on posing routines.  Did you bring your trunks?''

She told me to get them in from my car, and change in the powder room, and then come to her bedroom.  I had a new pair of ``trunks,'' that were Jill's old string bikini bottoms.  Essentially this was a thong on the back so I could show off my glutes -- tight and striated.  And there was a tiny blue cloth triangle in front.  This allows me to show off my lower abs and upper thighs.

After changing I went back through the kitchen to rub Phil's nose in his dishwashing.  Let him see my physique.  He seemed duly impressed and told me how to find the bedroom.

Isabelle has already put on her posing suit.  I had never seen her like this before.  She was standing in front of the mirror  doing a crab, or most muscular pose.  I knew immediately why she beat me at arm wrestling.  Her traps and chest were huge--defined and hard.  I was stunned.  Before she saw me she moved into a double biceps pose.

So I went up behind her and hit the same pose. 

She saw that I had arched my elbows forward so as to exaggerate the biceps from the front, so she copied me.  I have never seen such rounded biceps.  Her arms looked as though they had swallowed grapefruits. 

She stopped posing and thanked me for showing her that trick.  She was talking about the fact that she thought that her back was her best body part, and how she was frightened of going on stage.  She was also sad that Phil wasn't a bodybuilder.  She wanted to feel muscles like hers on a man. 

I was still thinking about our arm wrestling match.  I told her: ``I wish I had beaten you in arm wrestling, I was really looking forward to my prize!''

``You might still get your prize,'' she said.  Her eyes had drifted down to my trunks, which could hardly contain my excitement!  That tiny patch of cloth was stretched to its limits.

``I guess Phil is probably not too thrilled about your posing,'' I said. 

``No, to the contrary.  He's pushing me to go on stage.  It's me that's too shy.''

``Let me see if we can get over that shyness,'' I ventured.  As I was saying this I was untying her top.  She didn't resist, which was lucky-- I was convinced of her strength already.  I slid my hands down over her chest.  Her tits were nice.  She had not had a boob job, and she still had more than most musclegirls.  ``See that's not so bad,'' I whispered in her ear. 

``How are my pecs?'' She asked as she slowly flexed through her left and right pectoral muscles in sequence.  There was an awful lot of muscle in that chest!

``I'd hate to be on stage against you,'' I said, massaging those pecs.  And I meant it.  The density and quality of her muscles was unbelievable.  She had achieved this physique through years of hard work--not gear.  You could see the difference.

She turned around and slid her right hand down my trunks.  ``I'm not shy,'' she said as she grabbed my erection.
``That's nice,''  she purred.  ``Why don't you slip out of your trunks?'' 
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #7 - Oct 17th, 2015 at 9:23pm
 
But just then we heard Phil in the hall, and quickly we both hit a pose in front of the mirror.  Phil seemed none too pleased, to see his wife topless, but to my surprise didn't blow up.  He asked Isabelle why she was sporting a monokini, and she told him it was because she was posing her pecs.  As she told him she flexed them impressively, and that shut him up.  I don't know whether it was because he believed her that everything was innocent, or because there was nothing he could do in any case.   My erection was still bulging so I stepped back, next to Phil, and Isabelle gave us both a posing demonstration.  Here was a woman who was in my gym almost everyday, but I had never seen her like this.  The results of all that hard work were everywhere to be seen.  Bulging and cut muscle everywhere you looked!

Perhaps for Phil's sake, Isabelle then told me to pose as she had done.  I was a bit embarrassed because her development was so deeply etched.  I don't know whether Phil could see that Isabelle's muscles were so much denser than mine.  I put everything I have into my vacuum pose, to show off my chest.  I flexed my glutes, and my trunks ripped--my thingy was still bulging, so now it burst through the material.  Phil looked pretty upset, and he started to leave the room, but Isabelle held him in place, and told him to take a good long look at what a real man looks like.  He was struggling to move but she held him by his arms and had him immobilized.  I thought he was going to cry.

When I finished I grabbed a towel, and Isabelle was delighted.  She released her dejected husband.  I asked Phil to take his shirt off, and show me his physique, but he didn't want to.  I can't believe that Isabelle is married to this pencil neck.

I changed and left thanking them both for a wonderful dinner, and a fun evening.  ``Don't forget,'' Isabelle reminded me as I was leaving, ''you're spotting me tomorrow.''  She was beside herself.   I was starting to look forward to tomorrow.  It might not be too bad being Isabelle's bitch.
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #8 - Jan 13th, 2016 at 8:47pm
 
Love the stories phil. Any chance of you digging up some of the older ones? I remember something about an airport match? Thanks ahead of time.
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #9 - Jan 15th, 2016 at 2:39am
 
jester105 wrote on Jan 13th, 2016 at 8:47pm:
Love the stories phil. Any chance of you digging up some of the older ones? I remember something about an airport match? Thanks ahead of time.


I will.  In the meantime, here are the current set in order:

1. http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc34/myaw1.txt

2.  http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc34/isabellejimfromherperspective.txt

3.  http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc34/jp1.txt

4.  http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc35/modfam.txt
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #10 - Mar 10th, 2016 at 6:37am
 
any luck finding the other stories Phil? Thanks in advance
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #11 - Mar 26th, 2016 at 11:02pm
 
           Imbiggert   1. At the Airport -- Andrew's perspective
      --by Phil Farrell.  (A true story from 2010)


I was waiting at the gate in Logan airport for a flight from Boston to Dallas.  A group of five big, athletic  guys were sitting across from me.  A normal looking guy came up to one of them and asked him whether he'd be willing to arm wrestle his wife for money.  The big guy looked bored and asked where the wife was.  He pointed to the row across from me, where a petite, middle-aged woman was sitting.  She had on a baggy sweater and seemed demure and small.  From my angle, the most noticeable thing about her was her long blond hair.  The big guy laughed and said, ``you mean that granny?  Look man, I don't want to take your money.''  He turned to his friends and asked, ``Can you believe this dude?''

But the husband persisted.  ``How much?'' He demanded.  ``Look dude.''  At this point the big guy stood up and  flexed his biceps.  The guy was clearly big--he must have weighed at least 250.  While his biceps lacked definition it was clear he could rip this husband to shreds.  The husband was unfazed, and pressed again: ``How much?''  In the meantime, I looked over at his wife, and she seemed oblivious to the whole thing.  The big guy laughed again, and said threatingly, ''Look dude, if I arm wrestle her, I'll tear her arm off.''  The husband said ``$100?''  The big guy then grabbed the husband and said, ``alright.  Let's see the money.''  The muscleman's friends quickly surrounded the man and he gave one of them five $20 bills. 

At this point, the whole group walked over to the woman.  She stood up, and was only about 5'4" or so.  I still wasn't sure whether this was some kind of joke, and I was a little scared for the lady.  The lady asked me whether I was going to Dallas, and whether I would be willing to keep on eye on their luggage.  She seemed nice and had a soft, sexy voice.  I guessed that she was about 50 to 55 years old.  She joined her husband and the group, and walked over to the desk at the gate.  She took off her sweater, and my eyes almost popped out of my head.  She had on a sleeveless t-shirt, and muscles bulged out of it--everywhere.  Her shoulders were ripped, and her arms looked powerful.  Her pecs were ripped. The musclemen were noticeably shaken, but still cocky.  The lady went to the other side of the counter and put her elbow on the counter.  She looked like she had done this before, and she was smiling.  The big guy stretched his shoulders and scoffed at the ``old lady.''  He bent over and put his elbow on the counter and grabbed the lady's hand violently.  She was unfazed, and held steady.  One of the big guy's friends told him to release and establish a proper grip.  He put both of his hands around the pair's joined hands.  He said that he would release their hands and then say GO, and then they would start.

This authority figure did exactly as he said, and before I could blink, the big man's hand was slammed onto the counter.   He was irate.  "She cheated!'' he screamed.  ``I wasn't ready!''  The woman laughed and put her hand up again and said, ``OK.  Let's go again.''  This time the big man made a big deal of getting his grip on the lady's hand.  My God, his hand was twice as big as hers.  The authority guy, asked if they were both ready and put his hands around the two of theirs, and repeated the instructions.  He removed his hands and quicky yelled, ``Go.''  This time nothing happened.  The lady seemed to be laughing.  She chided the big man:  ``Are you trying?''  He was red in the face and exerting everything he had, to no avail.  She was just smiling.  After about 15 seconds of this, she said, ``you're going down again.''  With that she slammed his hand down against the counter again and calmly walked back to where she'd been sitting.

The big man was furious.  His friends were laughing--but to themselves.  The husband came up and told the friends that he wanted the $200.  The big man exploded.  He grabbed the husband with one big arm around his neck, and started rubbing his knuckles into the husband's skull.  This happened so fast, his friends were astonished.  Tears filled the husband's eyes as the pain and shame of the man-handling hurt.  I was sure that airport security would be by to haul the big guy away.  But before the friends could react, the lady was back, and she grabbed the big man's wrists--one in each hand.  She pulled them apart, and her husband dropped to the ground like a ragdoll.  The big man was a good foot  taller than the lady, so she was looking up, at him, and from her back, it appeared as if whe was doing pull-ups. And the knots of muscles in her back exploded.  It looked as if her muscles had massive muscles of their own!

Her husband regained his senses, and scurried away to sit next to me--on the other side of their bags.  The wife meantime, was toying with the big man.  She was making him play patty-cake, and slap himself in the face.  The big man screamed to his friends, ``get this crazy old bitch off me.''  She said, ``I just want our money.''  At this point, the official guy took the bills and came up behind the woman.  He wanted to cop a feel of her ass, by putting the bills in her back pocket, but the sight of her massive back muscles, and the fact that her ass felt like  granite, subdued him and he simply put the bills in her pocket and ran back to his friends. 

At that point the woman let the man go, and quietly walked back over to her husband.  He was wiping his eyes and rubbing his head.  She looked at him scornfully and sat down next to him.  That was all I saw in the gate area. 

Later on, on the plane, the husband walked by me to go to the bathroom, and I asked him who his wife was.  He told me that she is a well-known bodybuilder, Isabelle Cordier.  I made a note of that and planned to contact her later in the week.  (NB 2016 -- Now she's on Facebook).

So as soon as I got home, I looked up Imbiggert on bodybuilding.com.  Sure enough, it was her.  54 years old, powerful body.  So I asked to become a contact on Yahoo Messenger, and waited.  On Wednesday morning I chatted with her.  I told her I was in Logan Airport a few days before, and had seen the arm wrestling match.  She laughed and apologized.  I asked her what that was all about, and here is what she told me.

When she got married, 32 years ago, she said that things were pretty normal.  Her husband was a lot stronger than she was, and he would tease her by tickling, etc.  After a couple of years of marriage, she started working out seriously.  Her husband was amused, as she was a 90 pound weakling with thin arms (his were much bigger than hers at that time).  But gradually, over time, she got bigger and stronger.   She had a couple of children, which set her training back, but she kept at the weights.  Eventually, after ten years or so, she was sitting on the couch with her husband when he wanted to check how strong she had become.  She was able to completely dominate him.  At that point she forgot about it because she assumed that he was acting much weaker than he was to encourage her. But she was also noticing big changes in her appearance.  Her old clothes no longer fit.  They were loose around the waist, but tight around the bust and shoulders.  Similarly, her pants were loose on the waist, but she couldn't fit them over her thighs.  This made her think again about the episode with her husband.  Perhaps she really was much stronger than him now.  She would check this out.  They were messing around on the couch again, but this time she pinned down both of her husband's hands on her chest using one of her hands, and began to mercilessly  tickle him with her other hand.  She knew that if he were faking then he would stop the tickling.  But he was truly helpless.

To check the strength disparity further, she offered to arm wrestle him for the whole week of chores.  The winner could relax, while the loser would do all the chores for the week.  Just from looking at her, and the muscles that bulged from her shoulders, chest, and arms, he declined.  So she said that he could use both hands--against her one.  Well, she won instantly, and after that everything was different.  From what I can tell, he became her bitch.  What she didn't know was whether her husband was especially weak, or whether she were truly strong.  To test this out she needed other challengers.  This laid the foundation for what happened at the airport.  It turns out, her husband is a pretty strong guy, she is simply powerful.  Her husband feels compelled to remind everyone that his weakness is not the issue by episodes like the one at Logan.

She writes about this on the bodybuilding.com forum.  This is from her blog at her group husbandbeaters, from April 27, 2010:

``Arm wrestling against my husband is no contest. In standard competition, I slam his hand down at the word go. Even when he uses both hands, the same result.

We need some other form of competition that shows how much stronger I am than him. One is I hold my hand against my chest and he uses both of his hands to try to move my hand--but I completely pin him down.

Another is he uses both hands to put one of my arms in a hammer lock. Even in this position, I am in complete control. I can move my arm at will--even pressing his hands into my back--squeezing them.

Finally, when he puts me in a full nelson, I can use my traps to completely control--if he doesn't unlock his hands, I would break them.''

Continued . . .
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #12 - Mar 26th, 2016 at 11:03pm
 
She told me that he can't even budge the weights she uses for warming up on the push-downs or low rows.   
Furthermore, now, her arms, chest, and shoulders are now much bigger than his.  I asked her if she continues to torture her husband physically.  She said that the strength difference between them is so great that it's not interesting at all.  Further, they both know that she could inflict serious damage--even if by accident--let alone if she got mad at him.

She seems to enjoy talking about her regimen.  I mentioned that I saw how powerful her back muscles are when she grabbed that guy's wrists at the airport.  She told me that a secret weapon is reverse flies.  Where she lies face-down on the bench and takes 45 pound dumbbells and brings them up to the sides.  She attributes her thick back muscles partly to that exercise.  I mentioned her massive traps and she was pleased that I appreciated those muscles.  She told me that those were the first really large muscles she noticed, and that they develop as a biproduct of the other exercises she does.
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Re: Isabelle's Stories
Reply #13 - Dec 23rd, 2018 at 3:39pm
 
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