Blind Date p. II

Here is the second part of Blind date, are you liking this series? Do you want it to continue? You can read part I here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/41141013

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Blind Date p. II by Denidrax

 Aimee leads you into her building. Her apartment is on the fourth floor and if there is an elevator, she doesn’t tell you. She bounds up the stairs, hopping two or three steps per stride. You do your best, but quickly fall behind. When you reach the fourth floor you are breathing heavily.

Aimee is nowhere in sight, but there is one apartment door wide open and you assume the open door is hers. You poke your head in and see her. Entering the apartment, you turn to close the door behind you. Instead of the normal door you were anticipating, your hand touches cold steel and it is unbelievably heavy. You push against it with both hands, driving forward with both legs. Slowly, the ponderous door begins to move.

Aimee looks up and sees you struggling. “Oh, sorry!” She apologizes as she strides towards you. “We had an attack here in the building a few years ago, so I had a special security door installed.” She explains.

Aimee reaches over your shoulder and pushes the door with the fingertips of her right hand. You stumble as the door moves quickly away. It slams shut with a boom and Aimee’s fingers gracefully flick two deadbolt locks into place.

You turn back and look at Aimee, again amazed by her causal strength. You also wonder how anyone so strong could possibly be so concerned about being attacked, but you keep that to yourself.

“Wait here,” Aimee instructs, “I’m going to get changed.” She walks into the interior of the apartment, leaving you alone for a moment.

You look around. It’s a normal looking general purpose room – couch, tv, coffee table, a few plants. But not so normal is the large stack of weightlifting gear in one corner.

You wander over to inspect them and are impressed by the size of the weights. The smallest one you see is fifty pounds and the largest is two hundred…and there are more of those. Testing yourself, you try to pick up one of the fifties. It’s not easy, but you manage to raise it to your chest with both hands. You place it back where it was and, emboldened, you try one of the hundred pound plates. This is much more challenging – you are red-faced and grunting just to lift it a couple of inches. Aimee interrupts your effort as she returns to the main room.

“Oh! That’s so cute!” She declares, seeing you struggle with the weight. “Here, let me help you.” She reaches out for the plate with one hand, pulling it away from you and effortlessly lifting it overhead.

You look up at Aimee and your jaw hangs open. She has changed clothes into a burgundy top not much bigger than a sports bra and matching workout pants. She is a muscle goddess – every inch of her incredible body carved like marble.

“Yuh…you’re…okay…ripped I see you.” You babble. Aimee laughs good naturedly. “I mean, you’re totally ripped!” You finally manage.

“I’m glad you like it,” she replies. “I work hard to have this body and I don’t often have the chance to show it off for someone who appreciates it.”

“Oh, I DO.” You confirm as you slide you hand over her muscular abs and marveling at how hard they are.

“Not yet.” Aimee whispers as she moves your hand away. “Go sit on the couch and enjoy the show.” You nod and take a seat.

“Since you like my abs, we’ll start with that.” Aimee announces as she saunters towards you. She places her hands behind her head and flexes her abs as she turns left, then right. Her rippling muscles beckon you and again you reach out to touch them, rising slightly off the couch.

“Be patient.” Aimee chides you. She places her hand on your shoulder. It feels like a hydraulic press, forcing you back into your seat. She smiles.

Reposing herself, Aimee raises her right arm into a bicep flex, with her left hand resting on her waist. Her upper arm is at least fifteen inches around and throbs with power. Even her left, unflexed arm is cut and muscular. She gives you a big smile and it takes all your willpower to stay seated.

Reaching back to the weights, Aimee picks up a bench press bar loaded with three hundred fifty pounds and easily curls it in both hands. You are mesmerized by the flexing and stretching of the fibers of her massive biceps and unconsciously rise up off the couch.

Aimee takes one hand off the bar, still holding it in her other hand, and gives you a shove. You are thrown off your feet back onto the couch. She places the bar across your waist and lets go. The heavy weights sink into the cushions.

The bar presses down across you. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it isn’t comfortable, either. You struggle and grunt trying to move the weights, but you can’t budge them. Then you try to squirm out from under them, but that only makes them sink deeper, causing more discomfort.

“That ought to hold you.” Aimee announces in a satisfied voice.

You look at your predicament and realize you simply have no choice. “Ok. You’re in control, muscle goddess,” accepting the fact that she has absolute physical dominance over you. Somehow, that makes her seem even sexier.

Aimee proceeds with her demonstration, flexing her chest for you. The thick, defined plates of pectoral muscle rise up under her breasts and strain her top. Then she picks up a pile of four two-hundred pound plates like it’s a stack of dinner dishes. Holding the pile in her open palm, she curls it first in her right hand, then in her left. You lick your lips as a thick vein becomes visible over each mountainous bicep.

Aimee puts the stack away and picks up a single hundred pound plate – the same one you struggled with earlier. She holds it directly in front of her chest and you hear a metallic creaking sound an instant before she folds the thick plate in half. Her pecs and shoulders flare with power as she folds it on itself again. And beads of sweat form on her brow as she crumples the weight into a ball.

You are also red-faced and sweating, tantalized by this impossible woman. She feeds off your excitement and gives off an almost animal grow as she aggressively steps into a crab flex inches from your face.

Her entire torso explodes into bulging muscles of inconceivable power. A small tear forms in the middle of her top, exposing even more cleavage.

“Please, please let me touch your body.” You beg her.

Aimee tosses away the weights holding you down. Your hands immediately fly towards her throbbing muscles. With her other hand she lifts you like a doll by your collar and delivers a devastating and dominating kiss.

“NOW I’m warmed up,” She announces...