[This story is set in the universe of the game Fallout 2. Any locations, NPCs and other in-game concepts are all the intellectual property of the original creators. No infringement is intended. If you don't like the idea of "tampering" with the game lore, don't read.]
[This story has a muscular female protagonist who likes it rough, and has some very specialized kinks. If this kind of stuff is not to your liking, don't read.]
[I like muscles. I especially like women with muscles. If you don't like that, don't read.]
So this was Broken Hills… the place certainly fit the name, Jenny mused. The most prominent feature that she could see from where she stood was the reactor. The second thing a traveler like her would notice was probably the fact that almost every house had lighting. Dusk was descending, but already there were dozens of windows showing the steady, unwavering glow of electric lighting, as opposed to the flickering effect produced by gas lamps or wood fires.
Jenny had been following a caravan from New Reno for the last couple of weeks. The route went like this: east to Broken Hills to drop off food and medical supplies, and pick up uranium slugs — north to Vault City to offload the slugs and pick up light arms — then resupplying and heading straight back to New Reno. Jenny had never been this far east before. She was curious about Vault City and she wanted to see for herself how people lived when all they knew about life was what they had seen on old tapes from long before.
“Alright, we make camp in the town tonight. Three days from now, we leave again at first light,” the caravan master said, addressing Jenny and the other hired caravan guards. “If you’re not with us by then, you make your own arrangements. The next installment of your pay is at the gate of Vault City.”
The guards began to wander off in the general direction of the town, and Jenny followed. They’d lost a couple during a raid on the way from New Reno. Jenny had taken down one of them herself — a lean but malnourished girl with a mohawk, a knife and a bad attitude. She was wearing that girl’s leather jacket now, after her own leathers had been sliced to pieces in that raider girl’s ferocious assault. The knife was also strapped to her belt. In the wasteland, you wasted nothing.
She started towards the well she could see in the town square, thinking of filling up her canteens. At this hour, not many locals were about, but there was a figure lounging about at the well. As Jenny got nearer she could see he was short and spry, and he seemed preoccupied with looking down the well as if he had lost something in there.
He looked up at her approach, and did a double-take. “Coo-ee!” he exclaimed. “We definitely don’t see your type coming around here very often!”
“I’m sure you get all sorts round these parts,” Jenny said, rolling her eyes slightly. She got the same reaction everywhere she went. It was tiresome, really.
“Well, that is correct, we certainly do. And may I say, this humble town is greatly enriched by your visitation,” the small man said, looking her up and down appreciatively. He held out his hand. “The name’s Micky, suave and debonair Treasure Hunter of Broken Hills.” The way he said it, Jenny could hear the capital letters in the title.
“There’s treasure around here?” she asked, taking the hand politely and giving him a firm handshake.
There was a pregnant pause. Then Micky disengaged his hand gingerly, and shook it as discreetly as he could. “One of these days I shall have to fill you in on all the gory details about my many pernicious plunderings,” he offered. “My word… you do have quite the grip…”
“Oh… sorry.” Jenny didn’t always remember not to squeeze so hard. “I’m just here to get some water. Is this well working?”
“Oh… yes, do go ahead,” Micky gestured vaguely. “Though if you’re feeling a thirst, and you have some cash to spare, you could also try Phil’s. Just over there, two buildings down in that direction. You might even find one of the regulars interesting… yes indeed…”
“Well, it depends, I guess. Why don’t you go ahead and check out the place? Phil would be very glad for your patronage. And… look for this super mutant named Francis. He’d be the one you’re looking for,” Micky said with a knowing nod.
“Superm-” Jenny managed to check herself. Of course, she’d been hearing about it on the way here. Broken Hills was home to humans, ghouls and super mutants alike, living in relative harmony. She shouldn’t be surprised, after all. But who was this Francis and why did this “Treasure Hunter” think she’d be interested in meeting him?
Her curiosity was piqued, and she was nothing if not curious. Bidding Micky a polite goodbye, she walked off in the direction of the building he mentioned.
When she entered, she saw a ghoul wearing an apron.
“Howdy, stranger. Welcome to town. What’s your name?”
She’d met a few ghouls before, so she didn’t balk at his appearance. Clearly, he was the bartender.
“Name’s Jenny, from New Reno. You must be Phil.”
“That I am,” Phil agreed amiably. “Pleased to meet you. What’ll it be? A Nuka-Cola? A beer? Or do you feel like some rotgut?”
“Just a beer,” Jenny replied. “Cold one.”
“Ain’t any other kind,” Phil chortled as he turned to the fridge behind him. “Yes ma’am, we get the power running all day long here in this town, and we got working fridges. Here’s a nice chill one for ya. That’ll be three dollars, plus a dollar tip for me, kiddo. That’s four dollars. Say, you got any mutant blood in you?” he asked.
Jenny flushed. “First of all, that’s scientifically impossible, since they’re all sterile, and secondly, I don’t have… funny… skin.” Her voice trailed off, and she wondered if her host would be offended by that.
He was not. “Just a joke, lass, don’t take it hard,” he chuckled, putting the frothing — frothing! — beer in front of her. “You’re as big as they come, these days. I’ve never seen a gal your kind, friend. Maybe it’s all for the good, we all have to make use of what we have going for us. You one of them caravan guards?”
Jenny sighed. She wasn’t that tall or imposing — just a sturdy five-eight. It was her build that always drew the remarks — broad shoulders, a tapering V-shaped torso, thick thighs, and a sheath of firm, hard muscle around her trunk. Right now, some abdominal muscle was visible beneath the black leather jacket she was wearing. There was nothing underneath — she had to go buy a few shirts or something soon.
“Yeah,” she replied, taking a gulp of the beer. It was pleasantly cool and refreshing. “I ran into this guy, name of Micky, on my way in. Said something about how I ought to meet this super mutant called Francis. Who’s he?”
Phil laughed. “That Micky sure has a mean mind. He was just pranking you. No offense, but I don’t think you got anything on our Francis. You do look pretty burly for a gal, but well… he’s taken down bigger guys than you, and he hasn’t been beaten yet.”
“So he’s a fighter? Some kind of brawler?” Jenny said, narrowing her eyes. She knew that type.
But she was surprised. “No, no,” Phil explained, holding up his hands. “Nothing like that. He… look, there he is, he’s coming in right now. That’s him. Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself, and he’ll tell you all about it.”
The big creature lumbering in, stooping slightly to avoid knocking his head on the doorway, sent a momentary chill of remembered fear down Jenny’s spine, but she shook that sensation away mentally. Francis was big, greenish-grey, wearing black leather as well, and powerfully-built even for a super-mutant. He went to a corner table and sat himself down, seemingly preoccupied and not paying attention to anyone else in the bar. Jenny looked again — sticking out of a satchel around his waist was something that looked like a gauntlet.
Jenny’s pulse quickened. That was a Power Fist! She wondered if she would be able to barter for it. That must have been what Micky was referring to — the fact that someone like her could obviously make good use of a Power Fist in her line of work, and for some reason perhaps this Francis had no use for it.
She took her mug and went over to the table. As she did, she felt the buzz of conversation die down a little, and she sensed all eyes turning to her. Francis looked up, boredom writ large across his ugly misshapen face.
“Yeah? Help you out with something?” That was promising. No hostility, just a general offer of possible aid to a stranger. Jenny quelled her misgivings. This was Broken Hills, not… that other place.
“Hi, are you Francis?” she asked, deciding to be straightforward about it.
“Yep. I’m Francis. I’m the arm wrestling champ of the town. I’ve got a running bet that no one can beat me.”
Oh? That was interesting. Jenny wondered about his pugilistic skills. When it came to boxing, Jenny felt confident of knocking over anyone or anything short of a Deathclaw.
“That good, huh?”
“Yep. Take a seat. What’s your name?”
“I’m Jenny, from New Reno.”
“You passing through, on one of those caravans?”
“Yes. What do you do around here?”
“Well, not much. There’s the saloon, the mines, the refinery, the caravan. We don’t get much time for fun around here, and what time we do get, we devote to drinking. Also, we work on human-mutant relations.” There was a slight curl to his lips as he said that last line.
“Sounds exciting,” Jenny replied. “But what specifically do you do?”
“Like I said, I’m the arm wrestling champ of the town. And looks like there’s no one in this whole godforsaken wasteland who’ll take me up on my bet, either.”
“What’s your bet?”
“See this here?” Francis shifted so that he could point at the Power Fist. Jenny felt her gaze drawn to it. “It’s simple. Whoever beats me, gets this Power Fist. Not like I use it. Whoever loses to me gets to be my gimp for a night.”
Jenny blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I take on all comers. I’ve made a lot of gimps in this town, let me tell you. People don’t walk right after a night spent as my gimp,” Francis belly-laughed.
So that was his deal… Jenny took mental stock of her inventory, and she realized she probably didn’t have enough to offer for a straight out barter. But that Power Fist… with an augmentation like that, and her boxing skills, she’d be a devastating force in battle. That meant better-paying work, not to mention higher chances of survival.
“Alright,” she heard herself say. “I’m in.”
There was a hush. Francis stared. Then he shook his head and laughed. “Sorry, gal, it’d just be a waste of my time. Bigger and better men than you have tried, and they all got gimped. I mean, I don’t really care if it’s a man or woman, long as I have a hole to stick it in and the whole dominance thing to get it going, but no woman’s ever challenged me. You’re maybe the biggest looking broad I’ve seen, but there’s no way you could even put up a fight.”
Jenny stood up. As they watched, she stripped off her leather jacket and tossed it onto the back of the chair. There was a collective intake of breath. Locking gazes with Francis, Jenny raised her arms and posed, flexing her muscles, turning her torso slightly sideways for maximum effect.
She had a healthy looking bosom, a sign of good nutrition which could only have come from success in her chosen line of work. Her body fat percentage was high compared to almost any other woman in that day and age, giving her a thickly curvy physique. The lines of her muscles were still clear to see all over her body, however, and her biceps peaked when she curled her arms in. Her short red hair fell to her chin, leaving her bulging traps exposed and visible. Her breasts were not large, perhaps a bit more than a handful if she cupped them, but they perched proudly on her slabs of pectoral muscle underneath. All in all, she knew she was a very strong-looking woman.
“Come on, Francis, you afraid to take on a woman? I don’t have time to waste with snitty remarks and cowards. If I win, I get that fist. If you win, I’m your gimp for the night, same as the rest of the others. Do we have a deal or not?”
Francis stood up. He towered over her by more than a head. He took off his leather jacket as well, and shrugged his shoulders, limbering his limbs a few times. There was a glint in his eyes as he said, “You’re a pretty piece of meat alright. Don’t get many like you these days. Maybe you’ll be a bit more interesting than a typical woman… I’m sure you’ll be able to take what I dish out after you lose.”
The other bar flies were talking excitedly. None could take their eyes off Jenny. Jenny smiled to herself. She had risen in the streets of New Reno without becoming a Jet whore or any other kind of whore, largely because she had trained her fists to be powerful weapons. She had become a prize-fighting boxer in the Jungle Gym, with an impressive record. She knew she cut an impressive figure now, clad only in her leather pants and boots.
“I’ll give them a show they won’t forget,” she thought to herself. She felt a thrill run through her — she had never taken on a super mutant in a direct contest of strength like this before, but arm wrestling was a matter of skill as much as strength, and she had actually done a fair bit of it against plenty of strong men. She knew some tricks — the top roll, the hook, how to lean in and use her shoulders.
Besides, the risk-reward ratio was good. If she won, that sweet Power Fist was hers, and her punching would become the stuff of legend. If she lost… well, there was no risk of pregnancy with the sterility of super mutants, and besides, the truth was that she was feeling long overdue for some kinky fun.
Part of her actually was imagining what it would be like to lose to this grotesque caricature of masculine potency, and she was in fact getting a bit wet at the thought. She leaned towards other women — but her main way of getting off was actually winning bouts in the ring against cocky males. Against the odds, and in spite of the constant disparaging from the gym’s midget manager Stuart Little, “Jolting Jenny” had risen steadily in the lists, beating a total of six other fighters to date.
She had two losses on her record — one of them was another woman, a huge hulking ogress, and the other was to the infamous Mike “The Masticator”. She had narrowly avoided having her ear chewed off by the latter, and the former had provided her with a very memorable night afterwards; Pounding Patty had used a strap-on on her. But it wasn’t the same as the real article, presumably. Jenny got no particular rise out of taking in a man’s cock — particularly a man who could not beat her — but she had wondered sometimes if she would meet a man strong enough and potent enough to give her both the beating and the fucking of her life.
Francis, if he won, would overwhelm her. Strong as she was, she would be completely outmatched. Jenny imagined being filled up by his hard throbbing rod — and she flushed, her pulse quickening. Time for that later — she had to focus, win the match, get the fist. Then, afterwards, she might offer Francis his consolation prize.
The super mutants, whichever origin they claimed, were surpassingly powerful. Their strength and endurance were far beyond what any human could attain without being augmented by implants of some kind, or simply old-style power armor. And then there was always Buffout… but Jenny had always prided herself on never needing that to punch out big guys.
She would have to try using explosive strength coupled with grip technique. Once his arm went down below a certain angle she could hold him there indefinitely and crank up the pressure, forcing him down for the win. She flexed her fingers in anticipation as she followed Francis to the center of the room.
Francis cast his eyes about, contemplating the bar-top counter briefly.
“Too high for you,” he grunted. “Won’t want you crying about how I used my height advantage or something.”
“Bar counter’s fine,” Jenny replied, though she would have to raise her arm up slightly higher than she was used to.
“Nah. Down here,” Francis said, gesturing to an unoccupied table. He sat himself in the chair opposite. Jenny sat down across from him, feeling her nipples stiffen with anticipation. They began limbering up their arms and shoulders. Jenny’s eyes were drawn to the interplay of the muscle fibers underneath Francis’s greenish-grey mottled skin. He was gross. Exaggerated. He was symbolic of everything Jenny wanted to beat — or be beaten by.
“Don’t you be breaking that table now,” Phil called out from where he stood. He was leaning forward watching interestedly. Everyone else had crowded around, some pulling up chairs. Someone tried to start up a betting pool, but to Jenny’s dismay it quickly petered out, as it swiftly became clear that not a single one was prepared to bet on Jenny winning.
“I’ll show them,” she thought vengefully.
Francis shrugged once more, his boulder-like shoulders moving, his muscles seemingly having to move aside to make way for his other muscles. He thumped his elbow down on the table, hand open invitingly. “Come on, little girl, let’s get this over with,” he growled.
Jenny drew herself up, and flexed her right arm, showing her mounds of arm muscle. There was some wolf-whistling and catcalls.
“Now that’s what I call an ARMS race!”
“You oughta join the ARMy, girl!”
Well, so this was what passed for humor in a mining town.
Jenny moved her hand in carefully, hooking thumbs with Francis from above.
“Come on, put your elbow down already,” the super mutant grumbled. “Trying some fancy arm wrestling tricks? No tricks here, Jenny. Left arms behind our backs. Elbows close together. Pull inwards.”
This was a blow. Jenny complied, putting her left hand behind her back, her mind awhirl. She could not even grip the table for leverage! It would really be just a contest of muscle — strength, endurance and sheer bloody-mindedness would have to see her through!
Even she knew she couldn’t win this one!
She swallowed hard, trying to hide her sudden nervousness. She’d be damned if she let Francis see how shaken she was. Instead, she braced her shoulders and coolly looked him in the eye as she closed her fingers around his hand. He tightened his grip as well.
Jenny almost gasped aloud. His grip was strong! He gave the term “vise-like grip” new meaning. Her corded forearm rippled as she tried, unsuccessfully, to match his grip strength.
Jenny tried to follow her original plan as much as she could. With a roar, she rocked her whole body to the left, pulling in as hard as she could. Francis’s body barely moved at all. His arm jerked an inch or so in her direction. Then he held her.
“Gal’s got spirit, gotta give her that!”
“Yeah, gotta HAND it to her! Ho, ho, ho!”
“Look at ‘em biceps go!”
And their biceps were popping indeed. Jenny gave another cry of effort, though this one sounded less like a fierce roar and more like a desperate scream. It was all she could do to keep her wrist from being completely overwhelmed and bent back. She could not even attempt a hook or overhand roll. In this battle, forearms against forearms, biceps against biceps, shoulders against shoulders, pecs against pecs, there was only one possible outcome.
But she refused to give in. The strain was showing completely on her face as the seconds passed, and she grunted and moaned like a she-bear in heat. Francis moved her back to dead center without much apparent effort. His muscles bunched up, and Jenny felt her arm starting to get pulled down.
“Over the top, Francis! Over the top!”
“Use your clavicle, Francis, use your clavicle!”
“Hey, Francis, TRICEP-arating her arm from her shoulder!”
These witticisms were getting to be more painful than the pain Francis was inflicting on her. He seemed to be taking his time, instead of taking her down in one powerful surge, as she was sure he easily could. Jenny blinked the sweat away from her eyes and looked up, meeting his gaze. She saw the mild sadism there, the desire Francis had to prolong her humiliation and suffering before claiming her as his prize.
She bared her teeth at him. She could not let him know that she had never been more turned on in her life. With every ounce of strength, she continued resisting him.
Her biceps became stretched out as her trembling arm was forced down slowly, bit by bit. The crowd — mostly rough, working men, but Jenny had noticed a couple of women — seemed solidly on their hometown champion’s side. Jenny felt chagrined — she had not had the opportunity to show her true mettle. Her head bowed in defeat as her hand neared the tabletop. She still refused to give up, flexing her desperately tired arm for all she was worth, fighting Francis for every fraction of an inch.
But Francis stopped just shy of victory. Jenny kept her hand hovering barely an inch above the table surface, and it took all of her remaining strength to keep it there. She realized Francis was toying with her.
“Someone get me a beer,” Francis called out. Accordingly, a mug was placed in his outstretched left hand. He took a swig, his throat muscles working as he swallowed.
“Aaaahh… hits the spot,” he exclaimed with satisfaction. “Hey Jenny, Phil’s beer is good stuff. You want a drink? Here, have mine. You look like you could cool off a little.”
Jenny was helpless to prevent what Francis did next. Francis held the mug over Jenny’s head and poured the rest of the beer slowly onto her hair, letting the beverage trickle down her suffering visage and flow in rivulets over the nooks and crannies of her muscular physique. She turned her face to the side, gasping, her face reddening even more with the sounds of laughter ringing in her ears.
Tears of shame pricked her eyes as she felt her strength fail her. Her arm muscles gave way, and Francis pressed her hand firmly down. She slumped. She had been thoroughly humiliated. She knew she looked a hangdog sight, dripping with beer all over, her arm stretched out in defeat.
“Way to go, Francis! You sure SHOULD-ER!” some wise guy chortled.
“You people are the worst,” Francis shook his head in mock despair, letting go of Jenny’s hand. “Alright, looks like you’re my gimp bitch for the night. Better rest up for a bit. You’re coming with me back to my place in about an hour. I gotta get me some grub.”
The crowd dispersed slowly, many eyes still lingering appreciatively on Jenny’s bare torso. Jenny could guess that they had not really expected her to put up a real fight, let alone win. She had just satisfied their prurient interests by going up against Francis, and her decision to strip down had just made it that much better to watch. And later on, in the night… Jenny shuddered.
Someone placed a bottle of rotgut whiskey in front of her. “On me,” said a female voice. “You may not have won, but you’re alright in our books. You’re a tough act for the rest of us women to follow. You got my respect, if nothing else.”
Jenny looked up to see who it was. Her first impression was that of a scowl. The middle-aged woman in front of her looked accustomed to a hard life. No, more than that — something in the curl of the lips told Jenny that this was the sort of woman who took a perverse pride in having a hard life; the self-righteous breed who would look down upon others for not having her kind of tough attitude, and who would sneer at others who were down in the dumps for not picking themselves up by the bootstraps. Jenny had no idea why she just had that sudden intuitive rush of insight, but she was rarely off the mark when it came to these things.
“You’re Jenny, right? Got your name from Phil. Name’s Liz. Pleasure to meetcha. Pity about what you gotta suffer tonight, but them’s the breaks when you have all these undesirables in town.”
Jenny’s mind worked quickly. “You don’t like the way things are around here?”
“Funny how I’m talking about this to a bare-breasted woman in a bar who just got a public shaming,” Liz snorted, “but yeah. Ol’ Marcus, he’s the mutie scumbag who runs this show. Made it so anyone can come in, be they straight up human like you and me, or a dumb useful slave like a ghoul, or a mutant bastard. I run the general store, stop over any time. Tomorrow, say. I got something for yer. Might be of use, if you know what I mean.” Without another word, Liz strode off.
The next hour went by slowly. Jenny put on her jacket again, and had a light dinner at the bar — a strip of iguana meat and half a fruit. She wasn’t concerned with local politics — it seemed that some people like Liz didn’t like the sheriff Marcus, but Jenny didn’t hear anyone else echo her views. In any case, she was preoccupied thinking about her impending night with Francis. Her palms were actually starting to feel clammy.
And suddenly Francis was looming behind her. “Alright, sweetheart, time to go,” he grunted, and wrapped a massive arm around her waist. Before she could so much as cry out, she found herself hoisted over his shoulder. Again, gales of laughter greeted the sight of her fresh humiliation. She struggled weakly but futilely as Francis carried her out, waving goodbye to a few friends.
He hummed a tune as he walked back to his home, in the residential area of the town. Jenny felt like a sack of meat, being bumped with every step he took. “Put me down,” she grunted. “I can walk, damn it!”
“Don’t feel like running and chasing tonight, so nope. You just quiet down until we get home,” Francis replied.
“I’m not going to run. I lost, fair and square. You get to have your way with me, as you said. But put me down!”
Francis ignored her as he walked along the street. A few people peered out their windows to stare as Francis walked past, but apparently it wasn’t a curious enough sight for them to come out and investigate.
Truthfully, Jenny was feeling lightheaded not just from being carried slung over his shoulder, but from the intoxicating feeling of being so completely dominated and overmastered. She could almost feel the power thrumming through the body of this magnificent creature carrying her home like the spoils of a successful hunt. She bit her lip, almost moaning with pleasure at the thought of whatever Francis had in mind for her. Later on she knew she wouldn’t be able to conceal her pleasure, but for now she didn’t want to give Francis the satisfaction yet.
She was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor of the barely furnished bedroom. Francis stomped over to a big wooden cupboard. “Get undressed,” he told her brusquely.
Jenny complied, trying to seem more grudging and less eager. She watched as Francis opened the cupboard, and she could not help gasping. Clearly, Francis didn’t get his kicks the normal way!
“I don’t have much here specifically for a female,” he mused, hand on chin. “One of them sexy harnesses would be good on you, but nobody makes them anymore these days. I keep asking caravans that pass by, but those that don’t give me funny looks don’t turn up anything. Saw some good stuff in a copy of Cat’s Paw once, but that must’ve been much more common pre-war. Pity. We’ll have to make do with good ol-fashioned gear.”
“Good ol-fashioned gear” turned out to be a ball gag and simple leather cuffs. Francis took hold of Jenny’s head, and forced it down, making her sprawl on all fours. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms roughly behind her back.
“You got good strong arms for a gal,” he grunted while cuffing her wrists together. “But like I said, bigger men than you have tried and fallen. Doesn’t do to get too full of yourself, woman. See, what you end up with is, now you get full of me.” He sniggered.
Jenny pressed her lips thinly. She was not going to admit just yet that it was just what she wanted, what she had secretly craved for a long time: to be dominated, conquered, dragged back and taken forcefully.
“You’ll never break me,” she asserted instead, with a defiant tilt of her chin.
“Oh yeah?” Francis grabbed a hunk of her hair and jerked her up on her knees painfully, causing her to yelp with pain. He had gotten naked as well. She smelled musky leather, unwashed flesh, sweaty privates. His cock was standing ramrod straight — it was a good eight or nine inches long. Jenny felt her sphincter clench at the mere sight of it. It was thicker than any she had ever seen, and the length was terrifying. It was a beauty and a wonder.
“Take it easy, nice and slow,” he commanded. “I’ll go faster when I want to, but you better hope I don’t fuck your brains out. Oh, and, if you try biting, it ain’t gonna work — last guy who tried it lost his teeth.” He grinned down at her upturned face.
Trembling, Jenny contemplated the stiff penis he was shoving against her lips. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth as wide as she could. Immediately he forced his way in between her lips, and she took in his head, wrapping her lips around it. The taste was overpowering. On the tip of her tongue she got the acrid flavor of his pre-cum.
“Oh, yeah…” he groaned, as she flicked her tongue across his glans. “Getting a real woman to do it is really a whole different deal… most men don’t know what the hell to do with a cock in their mouth, but you women were made to do this.”
Jenny chose not to tell him that she had in fact never done it before — Patty’s strap-on didn’t count. But in any case she could not — she was trying not to gag, and to keep breathing through her nostrils, as Francis pushed in deeper with insistent thrusts. Soon, his penis head was pressing against the back of her throat. She had taken in as much of his shaft as she could. Her eyes began to tear up, as she tried to suppress her gag reflex.
Francis looked down at her, and he moaned with pleasure at the sight of her upturned face, stuffed with his cock, tears coming out of her eyes. Jenny pictured what she looked like to him, and she wished her hands were free so she could finger herself. What a glorious image of unwilling submission she must be!
Francis began to move Jenny’s head back and forth, his hips bucking as well rhythmically. He was so huge that Jenny’s jaw began to ache. She could not prevent her teeth from scraping slightly against his penis — but to her surprise, it fazed him not at all. He did not seem to notice any pain or discomfort. So this was what it was like with a super mutant, Jenny thought. He probably could take any pain she could dish out. Maybe if he could be persuaded later on to uncuff her and let her actually take a bit of control…
Then Francis suddenly froze, and a tremor ran through his hips.
Jenny felt the back of her throat actually get pummeled with the force of Francis’s ejaculation! Gobbet after gobbet of hot, thick cum impacted her throat and ran down into her gullet. She held her breath, feeling her heart pounding, as the initial barrage became a stream momentarily, then a trickle. She tried to swallow it all — she had no choice, it was that or drown in the flood of mutant cum. But even then there was simply too much — some of it began to froth around the edges of her mouth. She began to struggle reflexively, but her hands were cuffed and Francis’s hand pressed her head tightly in place.
Thankfully, Francis withdrew, his semen dripping off the edge of his cock. Jenny spit and swallowed in turn, clearing her mouth, and then desperately gasped for breath, gulping in as much air as she could. Her vision was swimming, and her throat was burning. She wondered, was it over already? He just wanted her to blow him?
Then she looked at Francis’s cock, and gazed at it for long moments. It wasn’t going flaccid. It wasn’t going down. In fact, it was throbbing and pulsing, seemingly of its own accord, its vigor undiminished.
Francis himself seemed as energetic. “Tha’ was good,” he sighed. “Now, on with the show.”
On with the show? It seemed super mutants were truly engineered to be better in every department. Even though they could never reproduce, their sexual vigor seemed to be limitless, if Francis was any gauge! Jenny now moaned openly with pleasure. She could go on all night if she wanted to at any time — and now here was someone, apart from Pounding Patty, who could do the same with her.
“You sound like you’re liking it,” Francis said in a complaining tone of voice as he reached for the ball gag. “Try to struggle a bit more, why don’t you.”
“Oh, I will. You won’t break me so easily,” Jenny managed to say before the ball gag slipped into place. She began to salivate immediately.
Francis grabbed a hunk of her short red hair and forced it down, making her prostrate, her hands cuffed behind her back. He got behind her and roughly shoved her legs apart with his own. Her slit was now wide open before him, and some liquid began to drip out of her and onto the floor.
“You’re really liking it!” Francis exclaimed at the sight. “Damn it, woman, you’re dripping wet down here!” Jenny closed her eyes, trembling. It was true — she had never been so turned on in her life. Just the thought of that massive organ entering her, filling her up against her will, was enough to get so much of her juices flowing. And that thought was moments away from becoming reality.
“Mmmff… MMMFFF!” Her muffled groans filled the room — she could feel the tip of his cock pressing against her, parting her labial lips slightly. Francis was breathing heavily and raggedly as he crouched over her like some monster, his hand still subduing her head, pressing it against the floor so that Jenny’s right cheek was plastered against it. His other hand reached around her waist, and clutched at her belly. His fingers ran all over her abdominal muscles, pressing them, probing them. His hands wandered up to her drooping, hanging tits briefly, and he slapped and squeezed them as if they were soft bags of cotton.
“Mmm… don’t normally get these with the package,” he grunted, squeezing her as if he wanted to milk her jugs. “Never saw much appeal in them… soft weak spots on the body… but you’re a strong one, alright. As strong as some men I’ve fucked, right here in this room. Maybe even stronger than most of them. Not the strongest though, oh no.”
Jenny clenched her fingers tighter in helpless defiance. She hated hearing that — she wanted to be stronger than any man she met. But this Francis had overmastered her so thoroughly, so confidently… she began to edge backwards, trying to get more of Francis’s cock inside her.
“You want some of it, huh,” Francis chuckled throatily. “What a slut you are. Alright, bitch, you want it, you got it.”
Jenny closed her eyes and moaned, tremors shaking her body, as suddenly Francis thrust himself inside her. In the blink of an eye she felt her pussy walls stretching to accommodate the throbbing mass of power that was his cock. So much of him… so hard… And now he was thrusting in and out, moving it, his cock so big that it couldn’t all fit inside her. It jammed her up, all the way to her cervix.
It was happening… she was being fucked. Fucked like a bitch, taken from behind doggy style, restrained and helpless, after being conquered.
Her body rocked in tandem with Francis’s pounding thrusts, which settled into a steady rhythm. Experimentally she clenched her pussy as tightly as she could — she vividly remembered one abortive rape attempt she had suffered in an alleyway in New Reno, when her would-be rapist had subdued her first with a sneak attack.
He had gotten as far as getting his pants down and his little cock actually inside her. She had squeezed with all her might. She had stared into the pathetic weakling’s face and saw every moment — first, his eyes widened. Then, his face blanched. Then his mouth opened in an “O” and he began to scream, scratching and clawing at her, trying to free himself. But she had crossed her legs around his waist and she was pulling him deeply into her, not relinquishing. Within seconds he was begging for mercy, plastered against her, tears of pain streaming from his eyes.
“I should crush this little prick of yours,” she’d growled in his face, and she had nearly made good on her promise too, except that she had balked at the thought of having mangled bloody pulp inside her vagina. She didn’t want any medical complications — the doctor was expensive after all. She had taken her time to dress herself leisurely, while the little man staggered away, white-faced, clutching his mangled and bruised member. He had probably been robbed and killed that same night — the streets of New Reno were utterly devoid of mercy for the weak, and he had been as weak as they came.
But with Francis, he barely noticed. He merely groaned with pleasure as Jenny increased the friction against his shaft. His pounding barely slowed. Jenny was delirious with pleasure. This felt perfect. No strap-on could feel like this — no strap-on could possibly be responsive, after all. She could feel vicariously the effect that her pussy muscles were having on a real penis.
Francis opened his mouth and let out a long, low roar. He jammed himself into her as deeply as he could. And within moments, Jenny felt it — hard spurts, so hard, being pumped into her, filling her up, so much of it…
Her body shuddered with her own orgasm. She jerked urgently, spasming violently. Hers lasted longer than his — as his subsided, he kept his cock in her, and he felt every clenching spasmodic movement of her vaginal walls. Jenny knew he had to be staring at the broad expanse of her strong, muscled back, fully flexed in the throes of orgasm.
“Ohhh… tha’s good… that’s very good…” Francis sighed, slowly pulling out of her. Unwilling to let him go yet, Jenny tried to clench her pussy hard to keep him in, but she didn’t have full control over her pussy muscles just yet — her cumming was just ending.
“So you liked that, huh?” Francis remarked, placing his hands on her buttocks and spreading them wide apart to get a good view of her privates. “Look at ya. Practically a flood down here. I should get you to clean this up with your tongue, but you’d get splinters.” His cum, mixed with her juices, was dripping out onto the floor. She moaned and tried to squeeze her pussy close, but that only made a big dollop of the fluid plop out and pool beneath her.
“Alright… that was real fine. You’re a great sport, Jenny,” Francis complimented her as he turned her onto her back and slipped the ball gag off her head.
Immediately she said breathlessly, “More… I can do more… and I know you got it in you, big boy… let’s keep going.”
“You’re loving this!” Francis shook his head slowly. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“What’s the matter, big guy, tired?” Jenny grinned. Her hands were still cuffed behind her, so she lay back and spread her muscular legs wide, holding them as straight as she could in a V. “I’m still going strong. Show me what you can do, big man. Unless you think you can’t handle me?”
Francis’s eyes glinted. “Well now, that sounds like a challenge,” he mused.
“Damn right it is,” Jenny shot back. “And I know you get off on this, as much as I do. You conquered me, back there at the bar, but I’m not done. My arm might have lost to your arm, but my pussy hasn’t lost to your cock yet. I say my pussy’s stronger than your cock, and that means I’m stronger than you!”
She knew she had found the right angle to use on him. Francis gave a growl of mock anger, but she could tell that he was intensely aroused by her little speech. “You think you’re strong, huh,” he grunted, as he clambered forward and mounted her, his hands clamping around her ankles to keep them spread. “You think you’re strong, just because you got a bit more muscle on you than a typical broad? You ain’t nothing… you ain’t nothing!”