Chapter 10: Licking Wounds

I stayed on the floor of the O’Neals’ front room all Saturday, listening to Courtney moan and scream and cry out with passion. Every so often, Rachel would walk past me to get water for her and Courtney, her incredible body bouncing and swaying hypnotically in the mirror. I would have killed for a better view, but I couldn’t move.

Courtney had beaten me so badly that every bone, joint, and muscle of my body was throbbing with pain. Whenever I closed my eyes I could see the lean, angular muscles of her body rippling with power as she slipped around my punches, swatted away my kicks and landed strike after strike with methodical precision. Six months ago she was a bubbly cheerleader who was worrying about keeping her pores clean and getting into a good school. Now she was a psychotic martial artist lined with rock hard muscle and fueled with a burning desire for lesbian sex. And it was all Becky Finklestein’s fault. The wild, unstable glimmer in Courtney’s eyes had appeared for the first time when Becky stripped out of her track suit in the soccer field. Becky’s muscles had created something dangerous inside Courtney, or maybe activated something that was already there. I didn’t know exactly what happened but I knew that if I wanted Courtney back I would have to get rid of Becky.

But how? Becky was smarter than me, faster than me, and stronger than me. She was stronger than anyone else for that matter. As far as I knew there was only one person in the world that could control Becky, and that person was busy fucking my girlfriend. I closed my eyes and started to cry.

When I opened my eyes again, Rachel Finklestein was standing over me, naked. Her breasts looked more incredible from below that from straight on, with their heaving, perfect roundness obscuring her gorgeous face as they bobbed up and down with her breath. Her pubic hair was perfectly trimmed and coiffed, and framed a ruffle of pink labia so perfect and so beautiful that I started to cry again. Rachel smiled a vicious ugly smile. “I never get tired of seeing men cry,” she jeered. “Are you crying because of the pain? Because it could be much worse if Courtney hadn’t been playing around with you, showing off and pulling her punches.”

In my mind’s eye I could remember the fight. I could remember Courtney slapping one of my punches away, then blowing me a kiss. I could remember Courtney twitching her newly-peaked biceps, her fingers fanned out for show, before unleashing a flurry of punches. I could remember Courtney stroking the angular cuts of her abdominals as she easily sidestepped my clumsy attempts to punch her. I could remember Courtney making her buttocks bounce in her flimsy white panties before unleashing a kick that knocked the wind out of me and made my eyes go blurry.

She had been showing off. She had beaten me nearly to death without even really trying.

Then Rachel bent over, her nipples hovering just over my face. “Or are you crying because of me?” she asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time that a man cried with desire at the sight of my body. I am, after all, the most biologically perfect human female alive. You should be honored you know. Normally males who see me naked wind up dead. Or enslaved.”

“Becky...” I groaned.

“Ugh. I prefer not to think of my daughter in the middle of a day-long sexual escapade. But being a man you are riddled with filthy desires, and I doubt you could understand-”

“Courtney wants Becky,” I gasped, my chest full of broken ribs. “She lusts for your daughter.”

Rachel frowned. “I imagine that she does.” And then Dr. Rachel Finklestein laid down beside me, her achingly beautiful face inches away from my own. She played with her nipples casually as she spoke. “I knew that my daughter would be special, Gregory. I knew that she would be step forward for womankind. But I didn’t expect other people to react to her so ... strongly. It’s quite a challenge to control her, and to control the way that other people interact with her.”

“Courtney wants to have sex with your ten year old daughter,” I spat, trying to make myself clear. “And she can’t control herself.”

Rachel laughed. “You’re right about that last part. Courtney can’t control herself. She is quite wild. I’ve never met a young woman who hates men so passionately. Or one who loves women so passionately. I wonder if her father had something to do with that. But I digress. Becky can take care of herself. You’ve seen her Gregory, she’s positively superhuman. I’m proud to be her mother, when she’s not making trouble that is.”

“Courtney wants-”

“Yes I know,” Rachel said, standing up. “And now that you’ve ruined the mood completely I might as well go pick Becky up from the school. She spends Saturdays at the Polk Junior High School gym, and it’s the only time I get to myself.”

And with that, Rachel Finklestein wrapped herself in her coat and left. Moments later, I heard the door to Courtney’s bedroom open. Courtney stumbled into the front room naked, smiling, dripping with sweat, and shaking. Her legs buckled and she fell to the floor, laughing. “Wow,” she cried. “Oh wow.” Courtney was a mess. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup was smeared, and she was covered in perfect lipstick imprints from Rachel Finklestein’s kisses. “I could feel it everywhere!” she screamed into the night. “I could feel it in my pussy and my tits and my mouth and my eyes and even in my hair! My hair had an orgasm!”

For the next hour Courtney laughed and cried and screamed and professed her love for Dr. Rachel Finklestein as she squirmed on the hardwood floor of the front room. For the next hour I planned my revenge.

I woke up in the morning to the sound of weights clanking in the O’Neal’s basement. Every so often Courtney would cry out in triumph or excitement as she dropped her weights to the ground. I was finally able to pull myself up from the floor and limp to the bathroom to shower the dried blood and sweat off of my body. As I gently washed my battered body I thought about how I could get rid of Becky once and for all. I would need Vic’s help and the police of course. And I would need Courtney to be there too, if I ever wanted to get her back. After the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was covered in bruises and welts from where Courtney had pummeled me into submission the day before. My muscles looked big enough. I looked strong enough. But I was no match for the lean, rock-hard physique that Courtney had built in just a few months. In my mind’s eye I could remember the skinny blonde cheerleader who was always bright and bubbly and agreeable. But that seemed like ages ago. Now whenever I thought about her all I could see was her angular musculature twisting as she bombarded me with punch after punch and kick after kick, and her wild eyes as she laughed at my attempts to defend myself. I wondered if she would ever be normal again.

When I opened up the bathroom door, she was standing in front of me, inches away, glaring. She curled her right arm up, and my eyes widened as the hard, angled peak of her bicep rose up like a mountain. “Look at it, Greg,” she growled.

“Courtney, I-”

“Look at my bicep, Greg.”

I couldn’t look away. It was sharply angled at the peak, perfectly defined and gleaming with sweat. “Courtney, I-”

“See how big it is, Greg? See how hard it is?”

“Courtney, I-”

“Now see what it can do, Greg.”

Courtney’s fist shot forward so quickly I didn’t even see it. One moment I was looking at the angular swell of her bicep, and the next moment I was lying on the bathroom floor, watching blood drip from her knuckles. I pulled myself up to one knee. Courtney was standing over me, her cabled legs rising up like curvaceous tree trunks into her soccer shorts. I could see the undersides of her ample bosom spilling out of her cut-off t shirt. I would have been aroused, if they weren’t floating above abdominal muscles that looked so superhumanly ripped that I couldn’t even count all of the abs, ribs, and obliques that ran with sweat as Courtney growled down at me. “Did I tell you that you could get up off the floor?” she demanded.

“Courtney, I-”

Then I felt her slim, delicate fingers under my arms. Then I was in the air, looking down at my girlfriend, who used to be a ninety pound cheerleader, and who was now holding me up in the air as my feet dangled inches above the floor, laughing at me. “You are my property, Greg,” she cackled. “You do what I tell you to do, and only what I tell you to do.”

“Courtney, I-”

“Because I am strong, Greg. I am so fucking strong!”

“Courtney, I-”

“Put your hands on my shoulders, Greg,” she ordered, and I obeyed, almost unconsciously. “Now squeeze them,” she ordered, and I did.