Beat Francis at Arm Wrestling Pt. 02

The people inside Phil's saloon gave a small cheer when she stepped in. "There she is!" some people cried.

"She must really like Francis!" a man dressed as a miner guffawed.

"No, it's being his gimp that she likes!" another man retorted, snorting away.

This time, Jenny noticed, there were actually some other super-mutants in the saloon -- they took up so much space as individuals that it would have been hard not to notice them.

Jenny barely spared any of them a thought. Her gaze was drawn to Francis, who was already sitting at the table, the same table as last night. The super mutant had just downed a bottle of rotgut, it seemed, and was already bare-chested. His teeth flashed in a grin as he saw Jenny walk in.

"Here she is -- the buffest broad in Broken Hills," Francis called out in a good-natured way. "Let's see if she does any better this time, eh?"

Behind him, Jenny saw Liz standing with a few others, including a bedraggled man wearing a stained lab coat and a fairly attractive middle-aged woman, dressed the same way. Liz nudged them and whispered something to them, and they looked over appraisingly at Jenny. The woman frowned a little and shook her head, saying something to Liz out of the corner of her mouth.

"Time to show them," Jenny decided. She stepped up, and felt the gaze of everyone present as she unzipped her jacket and took it off. There was a collective gasp.

"Fwoar..." more than one onlooker gawped appreciatively, as Jenny struck up a side-chest pose, hooking her fingers together.

Francis's eyes glinted. Behind him, Liz looked smug, and winked at Jenny. The man and woman on either side of her nodded approvingly, and the man licked his lips. "You went and took something?" Francis asked bluntly.

Before Jenny could respond, Francis continued, "Well, no harm in that, really. I got FEV, you got... whatever you got. Maybe you decided to bust out some Buffout or something. Heck, I don't care. You use what you have. You ready for another ass-whooping? Sure would be nice to have you tonight again."

Jenny smiled at him. "You're right, it would be nice -- only this time, it'd be me in charge!" The spectators hooted with delight.

Except the three -- Jenny saw that Liz's eyes had narrowed suspiciously, and her companions seemed puzzled. The woman took hold of Liz's elbow and whispered what looked like an urgent query, but Liz shook her off and stood with folded arms, her permanent scowl fixed firmly on her face as she watched silently. What were they thinking? Jenny thought. They didn't like the companionable banter she was exchanging with Francis? They would prefer real animosity in this encounter?

Well, whatever, she thought. "I'm here to beat you, Francis," she said, settling into the chair. "Remember our bargain if I win."

"Yep," was Francis's terse reply. They sat silently, looking over each other's physique for a few moments, before they both put their arms up on the table.

As they moved their hands together, Francis grunted, "You're a real sweet-looking piece of meat. Really growing on me. Seems like you look better every time I see you. If you're on something, keep taking it -- it suits you just fine."

Jenny only smiled in reply. Part of her didn't like that she had had to take Buffout to enhance her muscles for this contest, but she realized that without doing that it would be simply too uneven. It was as Francis said -- he had the FEV, so why shouldn't she get a temporary boost to go up against him? But she had no intention of taking it regularly -- becoming addicted to any sort of chem was a dangerous liability she was not prepared to take on.

"Wow, she looks even bigger than last night!"

"Not all that much bigger -- but more ripped!"

"Not bad for a pinkie!" This one came from a mutant at the back of the crowd, near the wall.

Jenny liked what she was hearing. She looked down at their arms. Her biceps were a solid veined mound, with a little hint of a split that had never really been there. Her muscle definition had been increased. Even her forearm seemed to be more corded. It looked a better match than before for the massive greenish-grey arm it was up against. Francis looked as formidable as ever.

Right now, she desired victory as she had never desired it before. She was not interested in losing tonight. She was here to win!

Her fingers tightened, and she saw how Francis's eyes widened slightly at the realization that she could match his grip strength.

"Ready... GO!"

With a roar and a sharp jerk, Jenny tried to get a jump on Francis, but the canny mutant stopped her dead. After the first violent tremor, their arms vibrated dead even.

Jenny sucked in air through her mouth, getting more oxygen to fuel her efforts. Francis actually began to look strained, which he was probably unaccustomed to. The cheering started, and bets began to be laid. Jenny supposed that some of them were now willing to bet on her.

She didn't care -- she was shutting out the rest of the world, as she did sometimes for a particularly intense boxing match. Her concentration was focused increasingly on just her, her adversary, and their arena of battle -- in this case, the table. She arched her back, pressing her diaphragm harder against the table edge, her left fist clenched behind her back.

The strength was flowing all through her body, and she almost moaned with the sensation of power as she tried to visualize all the strength flowing in one direction -- towards her flexed right arm, into her chest and shoulders, into her biceps as she pulled, into her forearms as she tried to bend Francis's wrist.

For an indeterminate period of time -- perhaps a minute -- their arms stood at dead even, trembling with the pressure of their effort. Francis was starting to grunt with effort. His expression became less cocky, and he frowned. It was clear that he was no longer going to underestimate her.

"Hey, Francis, come on! Move it, over there! You playing around with the pinkie woman?"

"Yeah, stop holding hands with the missy and put her down already! I got fifty dollars on you!"

"Look at them arms go! Not even that last guy had an arm like hers!"

"Homina homina homina! She got good jugs too!"

"Damn... woman..." Francis grunted, sounding really strained. "Gotta... hand it to you... not bad... at all..."

Jenny could not even spare the breath to retort. She was barely holding her own. Sweat had beaded all over her face and body, and was starting to trickle down her forehead and cheeks. Her breathing was becoming ragged. Francis was showing all the signs of strain as well, but to a lesser degree.

A gnawing worry began in her mind. Surely not... surely she could not lose, even after she had taken the Buffout. She was the strongest she had ever been -- but what if it were not enough...?

She knew she had to go on the offensive somehow. The longer the match dragged on, the worse it was for her -- there was no known limit to a super mutant's powers of endurance, and his arm was also longer than hers, meaning that she was putting in more effort than he was moment by moment. He also outweighed her more than five times over -- though this did not matter as much as it would in, say, a wrestling match, this meant that some of his upper torso weight was being brought to bear on her arm.

Unlike him, she could not last indefinitely, even with the Buffout. She had to win fast. But how?

"Hrruugghh!" she suddenly grunted, almost choking, as Francis suddenly gave a surge of power, jerking her down almost halfway!

No! Jenny bared her teeth and flexed for all she was worth, her arm shaking violently. Francis had pulled her down so abruptly that she felt a twinge in her lower biceps. He was also starting to overpower her wrist, bending it ever so slightly.

She refused to give in. Slowly, the veins on her arm and shoulder began to stand out more clearly. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and her head bowed, as she struggled to channel every ounce of strength she possessed into her hurting, tired arm.

With agonizing slowness, she began to pull him back up. She barely registered the yells of shock and surprise resounding all around her -- her world had been reduced to just the table, and the growling, grunting hunk of male muscle opposite her. She refused to acknowledge the ache of the lactic acid in her muscles, or the tightness in her arm muscles that she knew would mean soreness later on. She was conscious only of the pressing need to somehow make her opponent's big arm move up, inch by inch, by dint of her sheer muscle power alone.

And when their arms were once again dead even, she didn't stop. At the same excruciating pace, she began to pull that arm down. Her world narrowed even further. Now it was just her and the arm, the enemy arm. Her legs braced her body against the floor, her trunk braced her body against her legs and the table, her chest anchored her shoulder, her shoulder powered her biceps, her biceps pulled on the forearm, her forearm pulled back and also pulled her wrist inwards.

All her muscles worked in concert. All she could see of her opponent was his arm, large, potent, grossly swollen, masculine. Overwhelmingly masculine. She could not let it crush her. She had to crush it. Crush it or be crushed.

Dimly she was aware of a thin trickle of blood emerging from her nostril. She was straining so hard that her nose had begun bleeding. When it reached her lips and stained her teeth she tasted the coppery tang. She ignored it.

Almost done. The arm was almost down. The hand was a few inches off the table. She did not slacken. If she stopped pulling, it could reverse all her gains in an instant. Her muscles were crying out for mercy. She ignored them, forced ever more out of them. She could not stop until it was down.

Francis fought her to the end. Being a super mutant, he did not feel muscle fatigue, so his arm could not suddenly give out. The only way to overpower his arm was to do it with sheer strength alone. This, Jenny did. She pressed her hand slowly onto the table, plastering it onto the tabletop, until it was, indisputably, down.

And just like that, his arm stopped resisting her. Her muscles relaxed, and she suddenly felt twinges of pain all over, especially all through her right arm and shoulder. She stared numbly at the sight of her smaller hand pressing down on Francis's. It looked ludicrous, now that she was looking right at the sight. Had she really just done this?

She raised her head as awareness washed over her. The din was deafening.

"Hot damn, I don't believe! She's done it!" Variations of this were being screamed and yelled through the entire room. Jenny looked around. Almost everyone's face showed utter astonishment. Even those few who were collecting their winnings were gaping dumbly at her. Some were shaking their heads in frank disbelief and hooting with incredulous laughter.

Liz, and her companions -- Jacob, and Aileen, their names suddenly came back to Jenny in a flash -- were among the few not reacting with outright shock. They were nodding with a certain grim satisfaction, and Jacob especially seemed almost as if some favorite theorem of his had been proven conclusively.

And Francis sat back, his arm still held down by Jenny's, not trying to pull it back away from her. He slumped in defeat, but there was a big grin plastered across his face.

"You crazy bitch, you," he rumbled. With his left hand he reached into the satchel around his waist. He drew out the coveted Power Fist, and laid it on the table between them. "There. As promised. Fully charged. Take it -- you earned it. With an arm like that, and a glove like this, you'll go far, Jenny. Really far."

Slowly, Jenny relinquished her grip on Francis's hand, her fingers tingling as feeling returned. She had been gripping so tightly that her hand had gone partly numb, it seemed -- or it could have been Francis's grip. Absently, she wiped the blood off her upper lip and reached for the Fist. It would serve her well indeed -- but it was no longer the main prize, in her mind.

She slipped it into a bag she had brought along and fastened the straps. Then she stood up, and stepped in front of Francis. As every pair of eyes fixed on her, she cocked her right arm and flexed it, caressing her biceps sensually. Then she reached out and cradled Francis's head with her hand, and drew it towards her. She dived in for a ferocious kiss -- a kiss of victory and possession.

"Hey, save that for somewhere else! This is a saloon, not a brothel!" Phil protested from his place by the bar.

He got boos for being a spoilsport -- but Jenny laughingly disengaged, and enjoyed the sight of the trail of saliva connecting her mouth and Francis's.

"I'll go get a drink. Then we'll go back to your place," she told him.

"Fine by me. Can't wait," Francis chuckled.

Jenny felt most of her strength returning already -- Buffout enhanced her natural athleticism, and that allowed her to recover quickly after exertion. And what immense exertion it had been! She was filled with the thrill of victory. She didn't care that she was still bare-breasted as she ordered a cold Nuka Cola and gulped it down, letting some of it splash onto her chest.

"Let them feast their eyes," she thought. "Bit of reputation never hurts for a prize fighter."

But Liz came up to her, and the scowl was deeper than ever. "So it's true," she hissed under her breath. "You're a mutie lover, literally. What was all that kissy kissy with that freak?" Jacob and his wife Aileen came up behind her, also looking unhappy.

Jenny looked her in the eye, knowing that she was disconcerting Liz with her upper torso nakedness and her sheer physical presence. "It's called dominance," she explained, her tone neutral. "I took that kiss to show I had conquered him. And now I'm going to repay him for what he did to me last night."

Liz's expression became friendlier at that. "Ah... right... give it to the scum nice and good, eh? Revenge can be sweet."

"It's sex, and both he and I are going to enjoy it," Jenny stated. "And if I swing by this way again, we'll probably do it again, and again, and it doesn't matter who wins or loses, because I like doing it with him. I think I like him a lot better than I like you. He's not scum."

Liz's eyes flashed. Aileen's eyes widened, while Jacob's narrowed.

"Fucking mutie-whore," Liz spat. "We gave you that Buffout -- it wasn't easy to come by! And this is how you repay us?"

"Wasn't aware you wanted paying," Jenny retorted. "You said it'd be enough for me to beat him. Which I just did. I can't help it that you saw it differently from me. You could stand to be less bigoted. A lot less bigoted."

"You'll regret this," Liz threw as a parting shot, as the trio walked away. "I'll make you regret your mutie loving ways, and playing us out like this." Jenny noted that as they walked out, they were given a wide berth by the others.

Phil walked over, cleaning a mug. "Bad sort, those," he said, conversationally. "Their opinion of me is that I barely rate as worth keeping alive. They say they don't want to kill us ghouls, but they think we're just fit to be servants or some such. Was at a town hall meeting, some time back, can't remember when, because after that was when ol' Marcus stopped holding the damn things. Just letting all these kooks rile everyone up... not worth it, he said."

Jenny finished her drink and put the blue bottle on the counter. "Well, I think the town's in good hands," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." She walked towards Francis, cracking her knuckles.

She was disappointed that hoisting him over her shoulders was simply not feasible -- when he straightened, his body was 10 feet long, almost twice Jenny's height. She settled for simply walking out together with Francis and back to his place.

Once there, she wasted no time and dragged him by the arm into the bedroom. Perusing his collection of "equipment", she quickly realized that she would have to improvise -- none of it would fit him. Clearly he had never even contemplated having to be on the receiving end of his proposed forfeit.

"How're you gonna restrain me, eh?" Francis chuckled.

In reply, Jenny turned and gave him a slap, even though swinging her hand upwards somewhat reduced the dominating effect. "With my strength!" she replied. "On your knees, now!"

He stepped in closer. "Make me," he growled menacingly.

In response, Jenny sent a hard right uppercut directly into his lower abdomen. "Ooof!" he gasped. "Ok, ok! Play nice!" he protested good-naturedly as he got down on his knees as instructed.

"Oh no," Jenny grinned. "I'm going to play real nasty..."

On his knees, his head was almost on a level with Jenny's, so she found that she did not have to even bend when she flexed her arm and made Francis kiss her muscles.

"Say, 'I got beaten by a girl at arm wrestling,'" she said huskily.

"Do I gotta? Ow! Alright, alright... I got beaten by a girl at arm wrestling!"

"That's more like it." Jenny put her left hand on the back on Francis's head and pressed his face against her flexed arm, moaning softly. "Feel that... lick it... loser... I beat you..."

When she looked down she could see he was as hard as a rock. "You're a kinky boy, aren't you..."

In reply, Francis grabbed hold of her breasts and pressed them against his cheeks. Jenny's breasts were relatively modest, and they fit very snugly into his huge hands. To make up for it, Jenny crooked her arms forward, compressing her breasts and flexing her pectorals to make them pop out further. Francis shoved his face into her cleavage, kneading her breasts with his strong fingers.

Jenny grabbed his face and kissed him savagely again, almost gnawing at his lips with animal passion. He reciprocated just as fiercely, making a contest of it. His tongue pushed against hers, and Jenny gradually felt the warm, wet interior of her mouth getting invaded by his tongue. Frustrated, she broke the kiss, and they stared into each other's eyes, gasping and panting. She glowered. She would dominate this night -- it would not be the other way round.

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed hard -- she had to push with all her strength, grunting with the exertion, to get him down onto the floor. Then she bent down, hooked her arms under his knees, and heaved, to push his lower body up and over, folding him in half. It was slow, hard going, because he was being deliberately passive, like a sack of meat, instead of cooperating. Jenny had to manhandle him to get him to do what she wanted -- but she had known she would need to do that, and she was brawny enough to do it.

Soon she straddled him, the backs of their thighs touching, Francis being folded in half and held down by Jenny's body weight and strength. His big cock flopped onto his belly, pointing up at his face.

Jenny slowly stretched her arms out to the sides, seeing how Francis drank in the sight of her body. Then, she slowly pulled her arms inwards, flexing her muscles sensually. She was more pumped than she had ever been, thanks to the Buffout. Francis moaned to see the sight of her triumphant pose, and he reached for her hanging breasts, fondling them, rubbing her nipples with circular motions of his thumbs, causing shivers of delight to shudder through her body.

To return the favor, Jenny reached down and grabbed hold of Francis's hard rod. It was pleasantly thick and meaty in her hands, and she loved how grotesque it looked -- it was a veined, throbbing monstrosity, and she held it securely in her strong hands. Francis was at her mercy.

"You cum when I tell you to," she whispered, beginning to massage the shaft and stroke it firmly. "You cum when I let you. You cum because I make you."

"You moan when I touch you like this, bitch," Francis growled, and he reached down, managing to get his fingers rubbing against her slit. Jenny bit her lip, trying to stifle her moan.