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Old 08-Dec-18, 04:35
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Default Crossfit Katie - The Kickass College Coed

Note - This is a spinoff from Honeybun Pumps Iron. If you care about plot, you may want to read entries 2 and 3 of that story before reading this. If you only want to read about a really hot girl beating up and humiliating a guy, then dive right in.

Also, Katie likes to break the fourth wall, so if you feel she’s insulting you or being mean to you, please remember that it’s her opinion and in no way represents mine (Mr. Purple).

When Mom let me have my way with Dad, she’d hoped it’d inspire me to find a guy like him. At the time, it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. But damn if she hadn’t been right. After midterm break, I returned to college reinvigorated with a new purpose. It was time to ditch the pretty boys, muscleheads, and poseurs I usually took home, and find a worthy boyfriend.

I had a high set of standards though. I wanted a guy with the brains, wit, kindness, moral character, and large penis of my dad, but taller, with big muscles, athletic ability, and rugged good looks (kinda like my big brother).

Winning such a great guy wasn’t my biggest problem though. I’m stone cold gorgeous. I’ve been able to get any man I’ve wanted since before I hit puberty. Half the reason I’m the awesome athlete I am is because my parents were so worried about me being molested that they stuck me in every martial arts class and sports program in the county from the time I could walk.

They were right to worry. Just two examples - when the cops busted my seventh grade English teacher for child porn, they also found a whole bunch of videos of me he’d secretly been taking with his Iphone. The next year, at a gymnastics tournament, a coach was caught hiding behind the bleachers with her (yes her) shorts down, furiously fingering herself while I was doing my balance beam routine.

Whatever girl your thinking about while you jerk off to this story, imagine her twice as hot. That’s maybe half as hot as I am. So I wasn’t worried about winning the guy, but after watching Dad get so turned on by my jacked muscles, I had one more requirement for my perfect boyfriend. I didn’t want him to only lust after my long honey blond locks, my emerald eyes, my beautiful face, my flawless golden skin, my long shapely legs, or even my incredible D cup breasts that no one believes are real unless they’re lucky enough to touch them.

Now, I also wanted that guy to lust after the delts that let me press twice my bodyweight overhead, the pecs that could make my awesome boobs dance when I flexed them, the thighs that could crack walnuts between them, the rock hard eight pack abs you could grate cheese on, not to mention the biceps that exploded off my arms when I flexed them.

Of course, I know there are plenty of guys who like those things, including the ones reading this. But let’s face it, most of you are wimpy pervs who shouldn’t be allowed within a mile of someone as hot as me. Kind of like the guy who’s been following me around all morning as I go from class to class, thinking I haven’t spotted him.

I’ll deal with him before the end of this story, but first, I went to the university gym to see if I could find any likely candidates. I did most of my workout quietly, wearing the bulky tracksuit I always put on when I don’t want attention. Once done with that, I walked to the chin-up bar and stripped down to my sports bra and lycra short shorts. Every guy within eyeshot looked my way, but I wanted everyone watching.

I started doing muscle ups (pull up on the bar, then keep going until you’ve pushed your body over the top of the bar, repeat). Normally, you crank these out as fast you can since it’s a timed event, but I went nice and slow. When I cleared the top of the bar everyone in the place could see me. Within a minute, there were long lines for all the exercise equipment near me, as if the whole gym suddenly decided they needed to do lat raises and shoulder presses.

Once I had a crowd, I struck the pose I’d used on Daddy, arms held at 90 degrees so my biceps really popped, legs stuck out in front of me so my 8 pack abs rippled. When I’d done this for Dad, he’d stared far more at my guns than my tits. So all I had to do was scan the crowd of horny men (and more than a few women) and see who was looking where.

Good looking surfer dude - tits. Cool theater major grad student - tits. The football team’s massive starting tight end - my tight end (sorry, couldn’t help myself). Sure there were plenty of people looking at my muscles (interestingly enough, they were the ones most likely to have their hands shoved into their pockets to try and surreptitiously jack off).

Unfortunately, the only two hot enough to be promising were the young psych professor, who I knew was married, and the chemistry TA that my roommate had a crush on. I have a rule against married men and it’s a lot easier for me to find guys than to find female friends. Still, if those two had been turned on by my girl power, there must be more who aren’t claimed.

After I showered up, I had a good hour before my afternoon class so I figured now would be a good time to deal with my stalker. I walked down the deserted alley between the science and engineering buildings, set my gym bag down, and pretended to be searching for something inside. A minute later, he walked down the alley, acting as if he was just cutting through, until he got close and charged me.

I danced away until my back was to the science building wall. He followed and when he got within arms reach, he said, “Don’t move and I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, please don’t,” I squealed in mock terror. He extended one hand toward my tits. I slapped it away. He tried with the other. I slapped that one as well.

His face turned red. “I told you not to move,” he said angrily. He charged me with both hands extended as if to grab me. I backhanded him across the cheek just hard enough to stop his advance. He was practically frothing at the mouth now. “All right, I warned you.” He swung his fist at me.

I caught it by the wrist, easily bringing it to a halt. He tried to pull it back but found he couldn’t budge it as my strength vastly dwarfed his. He was skinny, and maybe an inch shorter than my 5’10”. He must have been really stupid too. I mean, he’d been following me around all day, how could he have thought he could take me? Macho arrogance is one thing, but this was just insane.

Not catching on yet, he swung his other fist. Which meant that now I had both his wrists locked tight in my hands. I could have dropped him any of a dozen ways. But this was what you’d call a teachable moment. He needed to be humiliated, for his own good of course.

“Let me go, you bitch. I’m warning you.” Ignoring his rude request, I instead wrapped my right arm around his left, pinning it against my side so he couldn’t pull away. I then rammed his right hand into his face. I did it again.

“Why are you hitting yourself?” I asked. I repeated the motion, first against his mouth, then his nose.

“Hey, cut it out.”

I did it again. “Stop hitting yourself,” I told him, slapping him in the cheek. He furiously tried to break free, but I was way too strong. I slapped him again. Tears welled into his eyes.

“Aww, baby going to cry. Is he getting beat up by a girl using his own hand?” I slapped him again. Tears streamed down his face. “Baby need a tissue? Want to cry for mommy? Maybe you want to call for help? Oh, but you attacked me. I guess I have a right to beat the little sissy boy as much as I want.” I slapped him again.

“Stop.” Snot started to drip from his nose and his breath started to hitch like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“No,” I replied, casually smacking him all about his face with the back of his own hand.

Openly weeping, he begged, “Please stop, please, please stop. I’ll do anything you say.”

I paused the slap attack. “Ok, drop your pants.”


“You heard me.”

“No, I’m not going to do that.” I rammed his hand back against his nose.

“Suit yourself. Beating you is fun.”

Just as I was about to hit him again, he said, “Ok, ok, I’ll do it.”

I released him. I watched him look down the alley, thinking about running for it. “If you so much as move from this spot, losing your pants will be the least terrible thing to happen to you,” I told him. He looked back at me towering over him. He bowed his head in acknowledgement of my feminine superiority, and dropped his pants. “Now the underwear.”

He wanted to refuse, but he was too terrified, so instead he asked, “But why?”

“Why not,” I answered. “You would have done the same to me if you’d had the chance.”

Tears dripping off his cheeks, he did as ordered. I pushed him back for a better look. His weinie was rock hard, but only 3 inches long and no thicker than my index finger. “Somebody likes getting beaten up by strong girls,” I mocked him. If I’d flexed my biceps, I had no doubt he’d spew, but he didn’t deserve that kind of pleasure.

Some of you reading this probably think I’m an evil bitch, but you’re absolutely incorrect. If I were evil, I’d have taken my foot and kicked his marble sized balls into his throat, then I’d have broken both his arms to make sure he’d never try this on another woman less able to defend herself. But since I am a good person, I had him pull up his pants and frog marched him to campus security.

Just before we walked in, I said, “You’re going to confess to how you tried to attack me. You’re going to keep confessing to anyone who asks. They’ll ban you from campus for a semester, give you a year’s probation, 80 hours of community service, and mandatory counseling.”

He stared at me in shock. “How could you possibly know all that?”

“Are you kidding? If I had a nickel for everytime I dragged some creep over here, well, I’d have a lot of nickels. Now, if you don’t do exactly what I said, do the community service and all the counseling, some night I’m going to beat the crap out of you and tie you naked to that flag pole,” I told him, pointing to the pole in the center of the quad.

His eyes widened and he quivered with fear. “No, no, I’ll do exactly what you said. I promise, please believe me.”

He must have remembered how last semester they’d found a naked, beaten, male student tied to that very pole. They never did find out who did it, wink, wink.

If there’s interest and I’m in the mood, next time I’ll tell you about my sparring match with a 6th degree black belt that went very, very wrong.
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Old 08-Dec-18, 10:56
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Default Re: Crossfit Katie - The Kickass College Coed

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