(Once again you are called upon to assist Amy in her efforts to develop her muscles.)
I was working on the computer one afternoon when the door opened and my flatmate Amy stood there. She was quite a sight, red-faced, dripping with perspiration and dressed in a tight, very skimpy light blue bikini, which appeared to be made of cheesecloth and held onto her body with threads. I tried not to stare. "Are you busy?" she enquired, frowning slightly. Her breathing was heavy, making her impressive bosom rise and fall rapidly and bulge rhythmically over the top of her bikini.
"Not particularly." I lied, looking at my watch. It was 3pm. I had a lot of work to finish but I could do with a break, especially if it afforded the opportunity to admire Amy's fantastic body for a while.
"Come with me." she invited, turning to give me a spectacular profile view of her lovely shape, framed in the doorway for an instant. I followed her out and was greeted by a hot blast as I left the room, closing the door after me to keep the air conditioning in. I had been in there for hours and had forgotten what a scorcher today was. It was slightly cooler downstairs but as we walked through the cellar door the temperature reached a new high.
"Why is it so hot in here?" I demanded, gasping as I breathed in the oppressive air. I could feel the sweat already trickling down my face.
"I've been working out in here for three hours" she replied, "and I'm afraid I might have warmed the room up somewhat." She grabbed an almost empty bottle of water from a shelf, looked at it in disappointment and gulped down the remainder thirstily.
"Well hurry up, before I die of heat exhaustion, what did you want me to do?" Amy walked over to a big, cylindrical punch bag hanging by a chain from a heavy-duty hook in the ceiling. Below it, on the floor was a pool of liquid, which realised afterwards was probably her sweat. Reaching up and gripping the chain, She hopped off the floor and gripped the bag between her thighs. Letting go with her hands, she leaned back, lowering her upper body until it was horizontal.
I mentioned that her body was fantastic. Well, it wasn't just perfectly proportioned and beautifully curvy, it was exceptionally fit as well. She was subtly muscular yet very lean and toned, the muscles of her torso and all of her limbs being well defined. I found it extremely attractive and quite a turn-on. Now here she was right in front of me, her thighs bulging as they gripped the bag and her abdominal muscles straining powerfully as they held her upper body in this stressful position. Twin ridges of muscle were thrusting up through the smooth skin of her belly, the deep groove between them extending from her sternum to just above the long slit of her navel. Her lower abdomen was flat, aside from the undulations of more abdominal muscles. I noticed that, like her face, her abs were reddened as if she'd already been exercising them.
"Can you grab that bat off the wall?" she asked rhetorically. I took hold of a full-sized cricket bat, which hung by a loop of string from a nail. "Now, turn it so that the "V" side is down and hit me in the stomach with it."
"What?!" I exclaimed incredulously.
"It's called abdominal conditioning." she explained, matter-of-factly. "It helps to toughen my muscles up, when they're hit whilst I'm tensing them. You did say you'd help me..."
I orientated the bat as she'd instructed and brought it down just above her navel area with a clunk. I expected it to make a slapping noise but then reflected that the bat was making contact between its v-shaped surface and the opposing ridges of her muscles. "A lot harder than that, please." said Amy in an impatient tone.
Soon I was hitting her pretty hard, much harder that I'd thought anyone could take and still keep a straight face, as she was doing. Her abdomen was going redder though, and she was sweating quite profusely with the strain of tensing her muscles to hold her torso horizontal. Every time I hit her, her breasts wobbled, a delightful effect, especially since I could see so much of their lovely curves around the edges of her little bikini top.
"Stop a moment." she said, after what must have been about five minutes. By this time my shirt was soaked with perspiration and I'm sure my face as well as hers must have been flushed with the heat. I was amazed that she'd managed to maintain this position for so long, especially with me beating on her like this. Her abs must be incredibly strong. I looked at their powerful bulges. "You see that tin of paint, there?" She gestured toward a bunch of stuff in the corner. Wondering why she wasn't coming down from the bag yet, I walked over and touched the handle of a large, unopened can of gloss black paint. "Yes, bring it here, would you?" It was heavier than it looked but I picked it up and went back to her. Was she going to rest her head on it, to take the strain off her stomach muscles, I wondered?
"Pass it here." she said holding both arms out. Incredulous, I watched as she took the weight of the can on her chest, stabilising it with her hands. The heavy tin squashed her breasts down and spread them outwards, making them seem double the size. But the effect on her abdominal muscles was almost as dramatic; they'd looked impressive before but now they bulged out even more, the groove between the sweat-soaked, reddened ridges swallowing up her navel and extending well below it. And I could see her lower abs much more clearly now, I noticed that the reflected light from their glossy curves shimmered, revealing that the muscles were vibrating with the awful strain they were under.
How she was doing this after five minutes of punishment I couldn't fathom, yet she was indeed maintaining her position, even with this increased weight. "More batting, please, and harder and just below the navel this time." she instructed, her voice sounding strained. I set to it, using the same force as before at first, then gradually harder and harder. She seemed to be able to take it, though her face was really red now and the trembling that started in her lower abs was spreading to the rest of her belly. Her breasts had stopped wobbling, as they were squeezed almost flat by the weight of the paint tin and bulging out from beneath its base.
It must have taken enormous core strength to maintain that position but a couple of minutes later she was still doing it. My forceful blows to her poor stomach were accompanied by grunts now, Amy's trembling was a lot worse, her tummy was a noticeably darker red and the sweat was just pouring off her glistening body onto the floor.
Suddenly, biting her lip, she moved her hands to the handle of the can, hooked her thumbs through and lifted it vertically, off her chest, until her arms were straight. Thinking that she'd at last had enough, I stopped hitting her. "Keep going - harder!" she gasped, then slowly began to lower the can behind her, keeping her elbows locked straight. Amazed, I complied, beating her tummy frighteningly hard every couple of seconds. I was sure she'd let me know if I was doing it too hard. The grunts were getting louder as I increased the force of the blows. They were now interspersed with gasps, as the can moved further and further from the punch bag, increasing the awful leverage of its heavy weight. I watched amazed as her body changed, the breasts had returned to their normal impressive shape, though still bearing faint imprints of the ridged edge of the can base. Her straight arms, corded with muscle and sinew as they took the weight of the can, moved slowly towards the horizontal, stretching her lovely, voluptuous breasts so that they moved higher and higher on her chest and strained harder against the little bikini top.
But the most amazing change in her body was the effect on her abdomen. As if rising in defiance to meet the blows of my bat, the ridges bulged yet higher, individual abs pushing up along their length, whilst the cleft between them deepened and lengthened further. Beside the ridges, the belly was no longer flat but was sinking in, as she moved the heavy weight further and further back. Her stomach was becoming concave, dragging the skin tighter over her ribs, making them more prominent. Apart from the jutting cords of abdominal muscle, her waist was becoming very thin. The tight waistline of her little bikini was now suspended above her tummy by her hip bones, leaving dark gaps on either side of the muscular central ridge.
Amy was now stretched right out and shaking badly with the tremendous strain to which she was subjecting her body. It was utterly beyond my comprehension, how she could do it. Think, she had already done three hours of strenuous training in this suffocating heat, then five minutes of this difficult, gut-wrenching position. Then she does a couple more minutes with this heavy weight on her chest, and now this extra leverage must be causing an excruciating strain on her abs, which must surely be in agony by this time. And added to all that, I've been beating her abdomen raw with increasing violence. How she could take these hard blows in her stretched-out position I couldn't imagine. Intrigued, I experimentally tried hitting her still harder, and lower down her belly. She grunted louder but didn't object.
Red-faced, maroon-bellied and shaking violently, with heaving chest and bulging breasts, Amy had endured this straight-armed position for over a minute now. She was groaning loudly and began shaking her head from side to side, spraying perspiration from her hair. It was as if she was begging herself to give up but bravely refusing. Then a few seconds later she cried out in pain or frustration and, with a heave, started to bring her still straight arms up. Excruciatingly slowly, arms shaking with the effort, they rose to the vertical and she lowered the paint can to her chest once more. I stopped using the bat and waited for her to straighten up. Nothing happened. "Do you want a hand?" I offered.
"Get the other can." she managed to say, in a tremulous voice. My mind went blank for a moment and I just stood there. "Get the other can." she repeated, in exactly the same tone. In a trance of disbelief, I went back to the corner and found an identical paint can to bring back with me. She had shifted the first can to rest on her right breast, so I placed the second one on her left, similarly squashing it flat as a pancake. As soon as I did that, her shaking intensified and she started a series of groans. She looked me straight in the eye and paused her groaning for just long enough to say, in a tremulous voice: "You're not hitting me hard enough. Please help me by hitting me as hard as you can."
If my face hadn't been, like hers, red as a beetroot by now, I swear I would have gone pale. Body still impossibly horizontal, arms straining, she managed to lift the heavy cans from her breasts, whilst I started slamming the bat into her defenceless belly again. The wood was sinking considerably deeper into her lower abdominal muscles now and she was wincing with each impact. As I watched my target and steadily ramped up the force of my blows still more, her belly once again began to collapse into a deep concavity, as she lowered the cans, arms shaking but still perfectly straight, behind her head.
Even after I saw her straighten out with one paint can, I would have bet a million dollars that she couldn't possibly do the same with two of them. Yet there she was, increasing the terrible leverage on her body by the second. Looking back, one of the most incredible things was that she didn't sag for an instant below the horizontal position. Her self control, her strength and endurance were astonishing. She was shaking horrifically now, yet her arms were only halfway down to horizontal. Her breasts were wobbling high in the bikini top, bulging up as if to pull out of their confinement at any moment. I could see that her nipples were becoming erect, only just covered by the upper edge of the thin, saturated cheesecloth. She was crying out with the strain on her abs and arms and with the violent beating that I was giving her belly.
Her tummy continued to sink in and her ribs bowed out more and more until she had finally lowered her shaking arms into the horizontal, maximising the effect of the weighty cans on her tortured body. And then somehow she just froze herself in that position, in an unreal rigour of agony, strength and willpower. I diligently continued to build up the force of my blows, until she managed to find time between her cries of anguish to yell "Harder!" in an unmistakable rebuke. Shocked at her unbelievable request, I decided to abandon all caution. I swung the bat fiercely time after time, the thuds of the blows growing louder and echoing around the inferno of the basement.
I adjusted my position, to be able to maximise my swing. I was surely hitting her lower belly as hard as I could now. I don't know if it was that, or the immense tension in her abdominal muscles, or the unbearable fatigue of exerting such strength for so long, but Amy began to let out a series of screams, getting louder each time, her purple face a mask of agony now. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes; her neck tendons stood out corded and drenched, as she strained her head forward, as if attempting to pull herself up. Her whole body was now shuddering as if she was having a fit and the sweat was pouring off her. Sweat pooled in the depressions in her belly and splashed up each time the bat impacted. I kept expecting her to pass out, or to collapse to the floor exhausted, but she had been holding those cans in that position for an incomprehensible two minutes now.
I was getting really tired and badly needed to rest - but I couldn't be the one to give up here! I swung the bat yet again, as hard as I could. I wanted to make sure I'd done everything this amazing woman had asked of me. I suddenly had an idea, adjusted the bat in my hands and brought it down edge on, the wood sinking even deeper than before into her ridged muscles. Amy roared and her body convulsed, but she somehow held her position.
I got about six more blows like that in, whilst Amy's tears streamed down her cheeks. She was screaming like a woman possessed all the time now. Then suddenly she went rigid and silent. Next instant she took in a huge, deep breath and her body gradually began to rise. Her heavily weighted arms were still straight, yet she was commanding her exhausted abdominal muscles to do a sit-up! It seemed totally impossible, yet with strength beyond reason, her body was responding. The shuddering began again almost immediately, worse even than before. Rising only a few inches, Amy stopped and screamed defiantly. I landed another powerful blow on her abdomen, causing her scream to change to a guttural grunt.
Next moment, still shaking horribly, she took a second enormous breath. She was rising again, terribly slowly, so I made an extra effort and whacked the edge of the bat deep into her abdomen, an inch above her bikini line. She let out a deep, inhuman cry as, with an audible snap, her bikini top failed under the strain and flew off. Those delectable breasts, nipples fully erect, burst into view, glossy and shimmering as they wobbled tautly with the violent shaking of her body. With that, I dropped the bat, I couldn't continue. With the shock of my last mighty blow, Amy had sagged back a little but she immediately took another deep breath and ground herself forward again, screaming all the way to the top.
Quickly relieving her of the paint cans, I wrapped my arms around her soaked, almost naked, convulsing body and tried to help her down, but her legs remained locked tightly around the punchbag. "What are you doing?" she croaked weakly, "haven't finished yet..."
She pushed my arms away and, with a deep groan, lay back into the horizontal position again, still shaking. "G-get on." she said. She was crazy. Without hesitation, I lifted my leg over her body and straddled her belly, then raised my feet from the floor. We immediately dipped slightly and Amy let out an intense scream as her tortured abs were brutalised beyond their limits. I could feel her ridge of abdominal muscles thrusting up into my crotch as I goggled at the sight of her shuddering bare breasts right in front of me. Unable to control myself any longer, I reached forward and gripped her two hot, gleaming breasts in my hands, feeling her hard nipples digging into my palms. I squeezed them and looked at Amy's face. Her mouth was open and flecks of foam were at its edges. Her eyes were wide open but as I watched their irises rolled upwards, leaving her eyes completely white, She was making a gurgling noise but those incredible abs still held us up.
Without thinking, I leaned forward to kiss her, supporting myself with my hands on her breasts, which bulged through the gaps between my fingers. What I didn't realise in the moment was that my passionate urge had shifted my centre of gravity considerably forwards, increasing the terrible stress on Amy's abs yet further. I felt them react by leaping up painfully into my crotch, tilting me even further forward. Amy screamed deafeningly as her abs were strained almost to breaking point. Unable to resist the downward force any longer yet still determined with her last vestige of strength to do so, Amy's upper body sagged more, in turn causing me to lean further forward. Amy screamed louder, held us up for a second then fainted, spilling me to the ground.