Little Sister

by AK.

Another girl discovers the wonders of the Feminox Super-Vitamins.

Part 2

All in all, it was probably the best spring break of my life. But all good things must come to an end, and spring break was no exception. Sunday morning, Mom let me take the minivan to drive my big sister to the airport for her flight back to college. Then the next morning, it was back to the old grind for me.

I only took one Feminox pill that morning, not wanting too much of a difference to show. Plus, I had to worry about clothes. Even with everything else we'd done during those two weeks, my big sister and I hadn't gone shopping for clothes at all.

Still, it was enough to make a difference. The other kids were looking at me, trying to figure out what was different about me. Of course, I wasn't about to tell anybody.

The big test came in gym class, which I had right before lunch. I changed quickly into my gym clothes, not wanting to display my new body any more than was absolutely necessary. Then it was out into the gym for some basketball.

Just because I was now twice as strong as I had been before the break didn't mean that I was a better basketball player. Sure, I could throw the ball harder and jump higher --- I had to be careful not to jump too much higher --- but I wasn't any more coordinated.

Well, maybe I was a little more coordinated --- my big sister had worked with me on it over the break --- but I still had a lot more to learn about my 'new' body.

Maybe the best thing about it was that I wasn't tired at all by the end of the period. I took a quick shower and was all ready for lunch. While Feminox does gives you more energy, you still have to pay for it by taking in enough calories.

The rest of the day went okay, with guys still checking me out. I saw Mike Roberts a couple of times, but I never got to talk with him. We didn't have any classes together this semester; we'd hooked up the previous semester when we were in the same History class.

On Wednesday a couple of guys asked me out for the weekend. Separately, that is. I don't want it to sound like they asked me out for a three-way. I still hadn't talked with Mike, so naturally I turned them down.

It wasn't until lunchtime Friday when I finally cornered Mike in the hallway outside the cafeteria and got a chance to talk with him. He'd never been home when I called him, and it almost seemed as if he'd been trying to avoid me at school.

I was already pretty sure of what to expect. I'd already seen him talking with other girls, and I don't mean talking about homework assignments. He'd already asked one of them out for this weekend. I wasn't too upset, since I don't think I would have gone out with him even if he had asked me. We broke up without making too big of a scene.

Toward the end of the spring, I'd worked up to usually taking two Feminox pills every morning. This Saturday morning, I took three. My blouse was loose enough to cover the new muscles, and my skirt long enough to cover my thighs, though my calves still showed. Borrowing Mom's minivan, I went in search of more Feminox. Since Mom and Dad were planning to have a romantic evening by themselves, I didn't have to be home for dinner. That gave me an opportunity to go a little further afield, which I did.

Late that afternoon, I found an out-of-the-way place that had four crates of it. I managed to buy the lot for twenty bucks; the clerk seemed surprised that anybody wanted the stuff. He was even more surprised when I managed to carry the four crates to the minivan in only two trips.

Since I had to eat dinner by myself, I figured this was as good a place as any. There was a deli too doors down, and I got myself a sub and a large iced tea. I then drove to a quiet park I had seen earlier. It was a lovely late April evening, and I took my sub, iced tea, and a book down to the edge of the large pond. I sat on the grass, ate my sub, sipped the tea, and read and read and read. I didn't realize how late it was getting until I couldn't read the words on the page --- I looked up, and dusk was falling.

You know that lovely time, just after sunset, when it isn't light and it isn't dark? Some people call it twilight, but I prefer gloaming. It's the time when the bright day world starts to give way to the dark night world, and the vampires awaken, and all good children should be safe at home. I put my book back in my purse, threw my trash into a handy trashcan, and set off home, walking across the dark green grass.

I saw someone walking towards me from around the pond, but I didn't think anything of it until he came right up to me, and said "Hello, babe. Out for a walk?" I ignored him and walked on, one doesn't speak to strange men in the park. But he followed me, and grabbed me from behind, turning me to face him. "Hey, I was talking to you, babe." Then he reached out, and grabbed hold of my blouse and pulled, tearing it open. I was in shock --- that sort of thing doesn't happen, not here, not now. Does it? Well, yes, apparently it does.

He took my wrists in his hands, and pulled me towards him, and it was obvious that his intentions were not good. I came out of shock, and started reacting. I brought my hands together, and gripped his left wrist in my right hand, his right wrist in my left. Then I pulled my hands apart, and as I did, it broke his grip on my wrists, so that I was holding him, instead of the other way around.

He wasn't expecting that; I think I was supposed to tamely submit, or scream, or something. But there wasn't any point in screaming, the park was deserted, and anyway the rush of adrenaline had left me short of breath. He wasn't expecting me to fight back, and he certainly wasn't expecting me to squeeze his wrists so hard that my fingers were hurting his arms.

I've never done anything like this before, but I was fighting for my life, I thought, so I didn't hold back at all, I used all of my strength. He was trying to get free of my hands, but I was holding on too tightly. I heard him gasp, and I knew I was hurting him, and then he kicked me in the shins. The dirty rat.

That was extremely painful, he was wearing hard work boots. All I had on was sneakers, so kicking back wasn't going to accomplish much. I'm not used to fighting, I expect there's a skill to it, but like all skills, it has to be learned, and they don't teach street-fighting at my school --- just a couple of videos on self-defense in gym class. So my response was more instinctive than thought-out. I brought my hands together again, let go of his left wrist, and grabbed his right hand in mine.

Hands are a lot softer than wrists. Wrists have huge great bones in them, and you can't do much to them, except at the front. Hands, though, are full of fragile little bones, with delicate joints and tender little muscles and slender, soft tendons. I knew all that because at one time I had delusions of getting into medical school and becoming a doctor. I think that was after I wanted to become a firefighter and before I wanted to become an airline pilot. No nurse or flight attendant for me; if I was going to do something, I wanted to be at the controls, be it a scalpel or a control yoke. Like most kids in high school, I still didn't know what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against nurses or flight attendants. I'm sure a lot of them are happy with their careers, and this world would be a much worse place without them. It's just that it's not what I want to do with my life.

Anyway, I had to do something right now if I was going to have much of a life to do anything with. I gripped his right hand in mine as hard as I could, then slid my left hand down to help increase the pressure, so I could use both my hands on one of his.

His hand yielded under the pressure of my two hands; I could feel it collapse and soften, and the little bones inside bent and distorted. I could feel the bones sliding over each other; I could feel the muscles give way and the tendons tear. I don't think I broke any bones, I didn't hear a crack. Maybe hand-bones don't make any noise when they break? I don't know. But I knew he was in a lot of pain from the noises he was making.

I twisted downwards, so that his wrist bent. I twisted more, and either his wrist would break, or he'd have to move his arm down. He followed his arm down, until he was kneeling at my feet. Now he couldn't kick me any more, but he still had a free hand. He punched me once in the belly with his left hand, and that hurt, it made me gasp a bit. So I let go of his other hand with one of mine, and got hold of his left hand in mine as he tried to punch me again.

I kept hold of his softened right hand in my left and continued to squeeze his weakened hand while the tiny bones moved and creaked under the pressure --- there wasn't any resistance. And now I held his left hand in my right hand, and started to apply pressure on that, too. I held his hands as he knelt down in front of me, looking up at my face. I heard his moan of pain, and I saw the look on his face, and I knew he was getting what he deserved. I also started to feel very turned-on by my dominance over him, girls don't usually get a chance to be like this. Kneeling as he was, his head was halfway up my naked chest, naked because his initial attack had torn my bra off and left my blouse hanging open, and I knew what I wanted from him.

I wasn't scared of him any more. He just didn't look very scary now, kneeling in front of me with his face contorted in a grimace of pain, and his hands turning to mush in my grasp. Looking back on it now, I couldn't believe what I did then, but I was feeling so aroused, and confident, and I thought I might as well use him the way he had intended to use me. "Lick my nipples" I ordered. "Carefully, or..." and I gave his tormented right hand a burst of pressure. I pulled his hands out to the side, so he could get closer, and he started to lick. What else could he do?

I must say, he did it very well. Well, not that I'd had any previous experience with a guy licking my nipples, but it really did feel wonderful. If he started to flag, I'd remind him that I still had his right hand hostage. While he licked, I explained to him that the hands gripping his could easily apply twice as much force as they currently were. I told him that I could break the little bones in his hand if I wanted to, and that if I did, he'd never be able to use them fully again.

I don't know how much of that was true and how much was bluff, but he seemed to believe me. I kept him in abject fear of my hands and what they could do to him, and he could feel the constant pain as a reminder. In fact, as time passed, I could feel his hands softening and yielding even more to the steady pressure I kept on them. The flesh of his hands just gave up trying to resist my grip. I think I must have done something to the muscles inside his hands, or the tendons, or something.

The cool evening air blew over my breasts, and as the moisture from his tongue evaporated, the cooling effect on my nipples excited me more. Meanwhile, his tongue was busy on my other nipple; every so often, I told him to change sides, reinforcing his obedience with a squeeze on his trapped hands. It felt lovely, partly because of the sensations on my body, partly because of the way I had this big strong man submitting to my desires. And, naturally, I started to get aroused. Very aroused. I could feel that lovely squirmy feeling inside me, and I wanted more.

So, still holding his hands in mine, I walked towards him, and pushed him over, making him fall on his back. Then I sat down on his legs, and pulled his poor, abused hands towards me, pulling his body upright. Then I put my legs round his waist, and locked my ankles together.

I'd never done this before. I knew that my legs were strong, of course they are, most women's legs are their strongest muscles, and the Feminox only made them stronger. But I've never tried to do anything clever with them. I knew that I could give his waist a lot of grief, I just wasn't sure how much, and whether I'd have to use my full leg power. I held on to his hands for a bit for safety, I didn't want him using them to punch me again. It hadn't hurt that much, but I didn't want to give him a chance to repeat the punch.

So there we sat together, like lovers facing each other in the dark, in the park, on the grass. Except we weren't lovers, we were combatants, although it was rather one-sided by now. He'd tried to attack me, rape me probably. I felt no sympathy for this jerk. I kept my ankles locked together, and tried to straighten my legs. All that stopped me from doing so was his soft waist trapped between them. And it was soft, I could feel it give as I brought my thighs together and straightened my legs.

At first, he whimpered softly. Then he screamed, the way I was supposed to scream when he attacked me, but the park was deserted, no one would come to his rescue, the way no-one would have come to help me. He screamed a bit more, but then he was having trouble breathing as I pulled his body forward by pulling on his tender bruised hands. And all the time my legs were squeezing, squeezing, crushing the air out of his body and replacing it with fire. I felt a crack, then another; I think it was his ribs going. I eased up, not wanting to do too much damage too quickly. He stopped screaming soon, and went back to whimpering, and then he even stopped that. His eyes closed, and I wondered if I'd gone too far. I relaxed my legs a little, and I could feel him breathing, his lungs sucking in the air he needed so badly. For a while, I played with him by using my legs to inflict pain on his body, and pulling him towards me so that with the combination of his diaphragm under compression, and the vise of my thighs around his waist, he couldn't breathe. After I heard that cracking noise, it got a lot easier to give him pain, I scarcely needed to use any force. Just a friendly leg squeeze was enough. I must have broken something, I suppose.

At some time during this stage, I let go of his hands. I just didn't feel that I needed to hold him still any more. My legs could do everything I needed, and I leaned back on my hands and enjoyed the view of a sobbing man in terrible pain from my strong legs.

But the combination of his supine position, his submissive attitude, and the big thing between my legs turned me on again, got me sexually aroused. I gave him a little squeeze with my thighs, to get his attention, and started talking to him. "What's your name, sweetheart?" Looking back on it now, I couldn't believe I actually said that. Sweetheart? I've never even called a boyfriend that.

"Harry," he gasped out.

Harry the horrible, I thought. Great name. Reminds me of the Viking in the comic strip. "I want you to do something for me, Harry." I gave him another little squeeze; my legs had bruised and tenderized his waist so much by now, I didn't have to try very hard to get a gasp of pain from him. "I want you to bring me off, using your hands, both hands, on my breasts, sweetheart." There was that word again.

He was lying on his back, not quite horizontal because my legs didn't allow that. He struggled to sit up, wincing with pain as his cracked ribs and bruised sides told him about their unhappiness.

I saw his struggle to sit up and saw I'd have to give him a helping hand. "Give me your hand, sweetheart" I said. He lay there with his hands by his sides, looking at me, obviously reluctant to put his hand in mine again. So I persuaded him a little, bringing my legs together compressing his body again, and shaking him like a terrier shakes a rat.

By now, it only needed a little pressure to make him wince in pain; I gave him more than a little, and repeated "Your hand, sweetheart, give me your hand." He still lay there unmoving, his hands obviously reluctant to put themselves back in mine. I had to make the alternative worse, so I gripped a bit harder with my legs, held out my hands, and said "I won't ask you a third time." His throat sang a formless groan, and he raised both his hands towards me. I took his wrists in mine, roughly, and pulled him up so he faced me, like two lovers. Then I released his wrists and gripped one of his shoulders, leaning back on my other hand, and inclining my head back. My hold on his shoulder helped him stay upright, and he had both hands free to do whatever he wanted to my vulnerable neck and breasts.

Except that I still had my legs round him, and he knew that he'd better behave. I gripped him lightly between my thighs, but with the occasional twitch to remind him of the power that I could use to inflict more pain and damage on his body. "Touch me, feel me, stroke me, sweetheart. And make it good, do the best you can, or..." and I gave him a reminder that my legs controlled his body completely. He grunted in pain, then set to work.

There's a very big difference between a man feeling me up without my consent --- like what Mike used to try to do to me whenever he could --- and the same man doing the same things under my control. The touch of the hands I'd so badly injured was very erotic on my breasts, and he soon learned from the noises that I made what pleased me most. And, if he paused, or didn't seem to be trying hard enough, I'd open my eyes, frown at him, and clench my legs together, and he'd get a fresh burst of energy from somewhere.

I've read that foreplay is so important, especially to a woman. Men seem to want to get the whole thing over as quickly as possible. I was finding that I wanted to linger over it, draw it out, make it last. The longer the foreplay, the bigger the subsequent orgasm, or something like that. His hands were bringing electric thrills to my breasts, and my nipples, and my whole body glowed. I began to feel attracted to him, until I realized the absurdity of falling in love with a random rapist in the park.

But I felt so warm towards him, I wanted to kiss him. I brought my arm up from the grass, up the side of his body where my legs had tenderized the meat, up under his shoulder. My fingers reached round his back; my thumb nestled in his armpit. I brought my other hand into the same position, and pulled us close together. Sitting on his legs, my head was slightly above his, so I looked down at him as we kissed. For a moment, I felt tender and affectionate, maybe he wasn't so bad after all, and then he tried to push his tongue into my mouth.

It tasted vile, bitter and sour. It tasted of tobacco, and I could smell the stale beer on his breath. At least, I think it was beer. I'd actually never had any, even though I'd been to a few parties where it was available, but that was neither here nor there. He was totally repulsive, and I wanted him out of my mouth. So I dug my thumbs in, as hard as I could.

His body jerked like someone had put a thousand volts through it, and his head flew back. He screamed as my hard thumbs burrowed deep into the soft flesh under his arms, crushing the main nerves that conduct the brain's messages to the hands and arms. His arms flapped uselessly by his side with the burning pain that my thumbs were causing, and I felt that I could do anything I wanted to him now.

I let my thumbs release the awful pressure on his underarms, and he stopped jerking spasmodically and started to cry. "Please, no more, please leave me alone."

I wondered how many women had made the same plea to him, and whether he'd taken any notice, or whether he'd just smiled and continued to rape them. The thought made me angry, so his begging had the opposite of the desired effect; I wanted to hurt this jerk, and hurt him bad, like he's hurt so many women before me. I dug my thumbs in again, sending white fire into his brain. After a few moments, I released him from his agony, to let him recover a bit, so he could understand what I was doing to him, and so I could taunt him. "What's the matter, is the little girl hurting the big tough man? Do you want to give up?"

"Yes, I give up, please, I'll do whatever you want."

"I'm not finished with you yet, there's lots more we can do together. Tell me, how many women have you attacked?"

"I don't know, please, I can't think, please stop hurting me."

I eased up for a moment, then dug my thumbs in twice as hard. "How many women have you attacked? Tell me!" He knew he was on the horns of a dilemma. If he kept silent, I'd go on tormenting him, if he confessed, I'd punish him. He tried to work out what to say, what lies to tell me. I squeezed his cracked ribs again, dug my thumbs in some more, and said "I can keep this up for ever, it's no effort now you're so weakened. I'm going to count to two, then you'll tell me how many women you've attacked, or I'll just keep making the damage worse until you permanently lose the use of your arms. One..."

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you. Five."

"Five women?" He nodded. "Rape?" He nodded again, silently waiting for his punishment. But how do you discipline a multiple rapist? What could be a fitting penalty? I guessed he'd get a life sentence if it came to court, but there was no way I could prove anything.

I recalled from my civics class that the main purpose of punishment is to stop the offender from committing crime in the future. All I really wanted to do was to stop him from raping any woman from now on. And I had the means to do this. All I needed to do was inflict enough physical pain to make him afraid of women for ever, and make him afraid of meeting anyone like me again. Even with the Feminox in me, I'm not big, though I'm quite muscular, especially with my blouse off. But I'm very strong. And I explained some of that to him. "You've been lucky so far, you've never met a woman like me. But now you know, there are women who can crush you with their hands, who can inflict terrible pain with just their fingers and thumbs, who can break your ribs with their legs." I demonstrated to him as I talked, showing him how helpless he was in my hands, how I could hurt him as much and as often as I wanted to. "And you can't tell just by looking. You've been lucky so far, never encountering someone like me. But your luck's run out today, Harry. Today, you met a woman who can destroy you with just the grip of her hands."

I continued this for some time, alternately using my thumbs to inflict dreadful pain under his arms, and then using my legs to move the center of pain to his body. After some minutes, he was incoherent, and I had to stop to let him get his wits back. As I waited, I explained to him. "The next time you think about raping a woman, remember this," and I dug my thumbs in again. "Remember the time that a woman gave you the worst experience of your life," and I gripped with my legs. "Remember how I damaged your hands." He couldn't move his arms at all now, I'd damaged his nerves so much. "Remember how it felt to have a woman's legs around you," and I squeezed, hard. "Remember what a woman's fingers can do," and I thrust my thumbs hard into the delicate mass of nerves, blood vessels and tendons that are normally protected by the mass of the arm. "Next time you see a pretty girl, remember this," and I crushed with my legs at the same time as I dug my thumbs in hard, and then I held him like that, shaking him a bit to increase the effect. He whimpered softly as I hurt him. After a little while, he fainted, so I released him.

As he lay unconscious, I stripped him naked, putting his clothes away in my purse, except for his jacket, which I put on; it was getting a little chilly. Then I sat next to him and looked at him, thinking about what I'd already done and what I planned to do. I was glad I'd chosen to wear a skirt today instead of jeans. By the time he came to, I had my panties off and I was all ready.

I put my fingers on the sides of his throat. He already knew what my hands felt like under his arms, and he shook with fear at what he thought would come next. His arms lay limp and useless by his sides, I'd done too much damage to the controlling nerves for him to be able to use them for a long time. He couldn't stop me from doing whatever damage I felt like inflicting to his soft, defenseless neck. He must have been expecting to be strangled, or choked. But he was wrong. I spoke to him, softly. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you, aren't you sweetheart?"

"Yes" he whispered submissively.

"And I won't have to tell you twice, will I?" He shook his head, not taking his eyes off mine. "Good", I said, pushing in gently with my thumbs. He looked gratifyingly terrified, and moaned with fear, so I pushed a little harder. "Obedience is so important, isn't it sweetheart?" He nodded, agreeing as hard as he could. I pushed my thumbs in harder. "You don't want me to have to punish you, do you?"

"No, please, I'll do whatever you want, please don't hurt me any more."

I lay down prone on his naked body, my head pillowed by his large belly, and I wriggled myself up until my crotch was just over his mouth. I pulled up my skirt. "Lift your head," I told him and I used my thighs to grip his head and force it into my pussy. I tensed my thighs a couple of times, to show him that his skull was now in a place of great danger, then I slid my hands down his side so that my finger tips rested in his armpits. "I can split your skull open with my thighs," I said, and I'm sure he believed me. I could tell from the way that he tensed, that he remembered what my thumbs had done to his armpits, and what my legs had done to his waist. "My fingers are strong too, strong enough to inflict plenty of pain," and I rested them lightly on the place that my thumbs had mangled so thoroughly earlier.

"You know what to do --- do it!" I ordered, reinforcing the command with a squeeze of my legs and my fingers digging in to his underarms. There was plenty of pain left; I could feel his body twitch and spasm each time I pressed in with my fingers.

Yes, he knew what to do. His tongue was heaven in my pussy and on my clit, absolute heaven. I've never had a man touch me there, and I'd certainly never imagined my first time would be with a rapist in the park.

I don't know if it was the feeling of control that I had, or whether he really was trying so hard to please me, but it was far, far better than anything I've ever dreamed of. Harry was being as giving as he could be. And he did whatever I asked him to, did it instantly, without argument, without discussion. When he was especially good, I rewarded him by reducing the pressure from my fingers. When he got tired, I reminded him of the penalties that I could inflict with my fingers and my legs. And in his weakened state, it was so easy, he had no resistance left.

The end result was inevitable, although I delayed it as long as I could.

Eventually, I came to orgasm. I had him so well trained, he didn't stop even as I came, he carried on licking and sucking, extending my orgasm long past anything I'd ever had before, blasting my brain with ecstasy. Every time I thought it was over, his tongue brought another pulse of pleasure through my body. But eventually, I was completely spent, and I told him to stop.

I lay on him for a while, getting my strength back. Then rolled off him and sat up. I sat back on my heels and watched him as he lay there, his eyes closed with exhaustion, having given me the greatest sexual experience of my life. I wanted to reward him somehow, to give him something to remember me by. I thought about it as I watched him lying there, my sweet little rapist. His eyes fluttered open, and he watched me watching him. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. "I've got a present for you," I said, smiling. I saw, for the first time since we'd met, an erection. That's one of the most endearing things about men, they can never hide how they truly feel. After all I'd done, he still found me sexually attractive.

So I sat on his chest again, facing away from him, and I took his elbows in my hands, my fingers on the inside, my thumbs on the outside. You know the exquisite agony when you bang your elbow, hitting your funnybone? That's actually a nerve responding to the impact. I moved my thumbs over his elbow until I found that nerve, his reactions telling me when I'd found it.

Then I held his elbows in my hands, pressing my thumb down on his funnybone and digging my fingers into the soft vulnerable flesh of the crook of his elbow. He screamed, and his body bucked, but he was weakened so much by the damage my legs had done, he couldn't shake me off. I held on to his elbows, squeezing them alternately, so that one could be given time to recover while the other one got the treatment. It felt great; without much effort I could make him feel like his arms were on fire, but without too much danger of him escaping into unconsciousness. As I tortured his elbows, I was surprised to see that his erection continued, even got harder and stiffer. He moaned and groaned, and I began to wonder if he hadn't gotten confused about what I was doing to him. I could see a spot of moisture at the tip of his cock, and his body started to buck again, threatening to dislodge me from my perch on his chest. So I twined my legs round his waist again, to secure my position, and since I had his body in the right place, I added a crushing squeeze from my legs to the pain that my hands were giving his elbows.

It had a most surprising and climactic effect! Semen spurted from his cock as he climaxed. It rose a few inches into the air before falling back onto his belly, making a disgusting, slimy mess. I was so revolted by the smell and by his foul body, I almost vomited onto him. But I managed to keep my self-control long enough to bear down on his body and elbows with all the force I could muster. He passed out again.

I stood up, and straightened my skirt. My blouse was a total loss, so I put on his jacket and zipped it up. I brushed my hair as best I could in the dark and picked up my bag. I looked down at my sweet little naked rapist, lying on his back, his arms paralyzed and useless, his eyes closed, unconscious. Getting home without any clothes would be another interesting experience for him. I thought that women would be a little safer as a result of tonight, he would be unlikely to attack a random woman in future. "Goodnight, sweetheart" I murmured to him, and I turned and left for where I had parked the minivan.

I drove home thinking about what had just happened. I'd just had my first sexual experience with a man. Okay, so we really hadn't done it together. But he'd done it to me, and I'd done it to him.

In a way, I suppose what I had done to him was just as bad as what he had planned to do to me. I mean, I had used my superior strength to force another person into sex.

Sex. So his cock had never entered my pussy. It was still sex, wasn't it?

And I'd enjoyed it, quite thoroughly. Both the sex part and the domination part, making the man do what I wanted him to do. To give me pleasure.

Still, it was sex. My first time.

I'd always imagined my first time to be with someone I cared for, after a romantic dinner and all that. Not with some random rapist in a park.

As I continued to drive, I wondered whether I should tell my parents what had happened tonight. Should I, or shouldn't I?

I eventually decided not to. Mom might understand. After all, she'd had personal experience with the Feminox. But Dad would never understand. To him, I'd always be his 'little girl.' Nancy was my big sister; she could take care of herself. And she could get away with anything. But not his 'little girl.'

Yes, he knew about the Feminox. How could he not, with Mom occasionally taking some? We'd talked about it some, about the great feeling of strength and vitality, just like it says on the label. Still, there was nothing about using that strength to force myself on a man.

And that was what I had done to him. Technically, it might not be rape, but for all practical purposes it was.

That made me wonder whether Harry would report the incident to the police. Probably not. What man would admit that a girl had beaten him up?

Still, it was with some apprehension that I came up the driveway and parked the minivan in the garage. Mom and Dad were still out on their romantic evening together, so thankfully I was all alone as I entered the darkened house.

Going upstairs, I ran the water for a bath. I took off Harry's jacket and stashed it in the closet. I took off my ruined blouse and threw it in the trash.

I felt better after the bath. If nothing else, I was cleaner. At least, on the outside. I still wasn't really sure about the inside. I was about to climb into bed when I remembered the Feminox in the minivan. I went down to the garage in my pajamas and moved the four crates into the basement. Going back upstairs, I climbed into bed.

Before I fell asleep, I'd resolved to call my big sister tomorrow. She should be in her apartment most of Sunday. This was something I'd feel much more comfortable talking with her than with my parents. Besides, she knew more about the Feminox and its effects than anybody else I knew.

Somehow, what I had gone through last night didn't seem quite as bad in the light of the morning. After breakfast, I returned to my room. I picked up my phone, punched a couple of numbers, then stopped and put the phone down.

Did I really want to burden my big sister with my problems? She had enough problems of her own --- with finals coming up and all that --- without listening to her little sister. But then, she was the one who had introduced me to the Feminox in the first place. Without the Feminox, I wouldn't be in this position.

Without the Feminox, I would have gotten raped last night. I shuddered at the thought.

Which was worse, getting raped or turning the tables on my assailant, beating him up and all but raping him? Well, duh, that's an easy one, at least from my point of view. I picked up the phone again and punched in her number.

I sat on the bed and wrapped a blanket around me while the phone rang at her end. It wasn't long before she answered.

She seemed pleased but surprised to hear from me; we'd been using email for most of our routine communications. I skimped on the pleasantries and got right to the point. "I raped a man last night," I told her.

There was a surprised gasp from the other end.

I quickly explained what I had done, that he had tried to rape me and I had more than defended myself, turning the tables on him and all but raping him. She listened patiently, only asking a few questions.

When she had been here during the spring, she'd told me a little about her current boyfriend, a tight end on the college football team.

Now, she gave me a little more detail. She told me that she enjoyed sex more since starting to take the Feminox, as did the other girls she knew.

Since she always took at least two Feminox pills every morning, she was stronger than her boyfriend. She loved it, and so apparently did he. While she was usually the dominant partner in bed, she had never used her greater strength to force him to do anything that he didn't want to do. Oh sure, sometimes they'd pretend that the girl was forcing herself on the big football player, but certainly nothing like I had done to my rapist last night.

She told me she'd discreetly check around with the other girls to see whether any of them had actually raped a man. However, she didn't think it was a big problem. The man had been trying to rape me, so I had acted in self-defense. She agreed with me that he was unlikely to report the incident to the police.

I felt a lot better when we finally said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I resolved to be a little more careful in the future, to avoid situations like last night. And I would to make sure not to rape any of my dates. Not that I'd dated much since Mike Roberts broke up with me.

I hadn't been to too many school dances, but I couldn't pass up the final dance of the school year. Well, the Senior Prom was next week, but this was the final dance for the rest of us. Joel Perkins hadn't been the first guy to ask me to go with him, but his was the offer I took up since I'd gone to see a movie with him the previous weekend. He's a year older than I am, but we were in the same English Lit class. He was also on the junior varsity football team and was hoping to make the varsity his senior year.

That was something else I had started to notice. The jocks were paying more notice of me. Before spring break and the Feminox, the jocks had completely ignored me. Now that I was a little taller and showing some obvious muscle, they had started to show some interest.

I've got to admit, Joel looked a lot better in his tux than he did in his football uniform. Who cared if the tux had been rented from the place in the mall? I've never had a guy in a tux come pick me up.

And as for me, I had gotten myself a new dress. Light blue, the floor-length skirt was slit up one side to give tantalizing glimpses of my legs when I walked or danced. The halter style top tied behind my neck, the front cut deep enough to show more than a little cleavage. My breasts still weren't all that big, though my large pecs did make them look bigger.

This was also the first time I've had guy come pick me up in a BMW. I didn't know he had his own car, let alone a Beemer. It turned out the car wasn't his, but instead belonged to his dad. His stepdad, actually. That didn't detract from its coolness in the slightest. My Dad makes good money --- we're not rich but we live comfortably --- but he certainly doesn't drive a BMW. And even if he did, I'm certain he'd never let me drive it, for all that I am his flesh and blood.

We had to swing by to pick up another couple. Janey and I had known each other since grade school; she was the girl I'd been practicing French braids with over the winter. Though tonight, neither of us had our hair done up in braids; we'd gone in together this afternoon to get our hair done professionally. She looked stunning in a pale pink dress. Her date was a boy named Martin. I'd known him since grade school as well, Janey and Martin had been together on and off ever since then. There were times when I wondered how they could stand each other so long, then I remembered my big sister and me. But then, sisters you're stuck with.

The two guys had really pulled out all the stops for us. Martin was dressed identically to Joel. I wondered whether the tux rental place had had a two-for-one special this weekend. Not that I minded; every penny they saved on clothes, they could spend on us.

Then it was on to dinner at one of the better Italian restaurants in town. The two guys almost fell over each other holding the door open for Janey and me. We finally made it inside and to our table without anybody getting hurt.

I almost ordered the spaghetti before realizing I'd better not try it in my new dress. Nobody else ordered anything messy, either. All four of us ate very carefully, and we got through dinner without leaving any of it on our clothes. Then it was back to our respective cars for the short ride to the school and the dance in the gym.

The tux rental place really must have had a special of some kind, for a number of other boys at the dance were wearing tuxes.

I'm not really into dancing, though I don't mind a fast dance now and then. Of course, it turned out Joel liked the slow ones. It wasn't too bad though, he mostly kept his hands where they belonged.

And it did feel pretty good, having him next to me. Okay, so there was my dress and his tux and his shirt between us.

We didn't stick around for the last dance. Janey's parents were out of town for the weekend, so she invited us over for some sodas and ice cream. A nightcap, as she called it.

Of course, that was simply a thinly veiled excuse to get us away from everybody else and to someplace nice and quiet.

Janey and Martin split an ice cream bar, nibbling and licking from opposite sides. It didn't take much imagination to know what they would be nibbling and licking on once they met in the middle. Joel and I sat down at the kitchen table to do the same thing, being careful not to get too much ice cream on our clothes. By the time we finished licking the ice cream off each other's faces, we were alone in the kitchen.

Janey and Martin were in the living room, making out on the couch. No, that's not quite right. They were sitting quietly, looking at each other. Or maybe not, their eyes may have been closed while they were kissing. They broke off when they heard us, though they didn't separate.

I'd been in Janey's house plenty of times, and Joel wasn't a complete stranger either. I don't remember whether I pushed him or he pulled me, but we ended up in Janey's dad's study.

He pulled me closer. I giggled and gave him a little push. I'd forgotten about the Feminox, my 'little' push sent him staggering into the easy chair. To cover my slip, I quickly followed him and sat down on his lap, still giggling.

He apparently didn't think anything was amiss. Tilting my face toward his, he stopped my giggles by pressing his lips against mine.

My only previous experience with Joel was the brief good night kiss on our last date. Now, I found out just what he was capable of. I don't know if my toes were curling; I couldn't feel anything that far away from my lips. I just sat there and enjoyed it, trying to kiss him back as well as he was kissing me.

I gradually felt his fingers in my hair. The hair that I spent all that money and time in the salon getting done. But it was worth it. I mean, if I wasn't getting it messed up now, it was going to get messed up the moment my head touched my pillow anyway. This was certainly a much more enjoyable way of ruining my hair.

It took me a while to realize that his kisses were moving down. I didn't mind when he kissed my cheeks and chin, but then he started on my throat. For one ridiculous moment, I thought he was going to bite me throat like a vampire. But all I felt was his lips and his tongue.

His kisses continued to move lower, working around the straps of my dress. And his hands, which initially had been up around my neck, were also moving down, stroking first my shoulders and then the sides of my breasts.

I grabbed his wrists, holding him tight enough to keep him from moving his hands any further. He gasped in surprise at the strength of my grip.

I couldn't help but remember what I had done last month to Harry, that rapist in the park. I eased up the pressure on Joel's wrists a little. At the same time, I bent forward and kissed him again.

He really was a good kisser. I gradually loosened my grip on his wrists. After a slight hesitation, his hands returned to my breasts. His mouth also began working its way down my body.

I still didn't have as much in the way of breasts as I would have liked, but he didn't seem to mind. My dress was showing every bit of what I did have, and he took advantage of it. However, he never tried to work his way inside my dress, confining his attention to the exposed portions of my body.

As good as it felt, I couldn't keep it up. I had told my parents that I would be home by a certain hour, and it was fast approaching. Prying his hands off me, I stood up and asked him to take me home. I had to let him nuzzle me a few more times before he agreed. Well, it was that or break his wrists, and then he wouldn't be able to drive me home.

We picked up the next weekend right where we left off. My parents had gone to eat dinner with some friends and were still out when Joel brought me home after a dinner and a movie. With the lights turned down low, we settled into the living room couch.

I was dressed a lot more conservatively this time, a plain short-sleeve blue blouse over a knee-length skirt. That didn't stop him from being a little more aggressive, his fingers stroking the sides of my breasts, occasionally venturing toward the buttons in front. His mouth occasionally left mine to go over my chin and throat.

I was so caught up in the kissing that I didn't notice he had undone the top two buttons on my blouse until his kisses ventured that far. A couple more buttons came undone.

"No," I whispered. My whisper must not have been loud enough. He licked and kissed me, moving down until he was right up against the edges of my bra.

"No," I whispered again, a little louder this time. It still must not have been loud enough, for his tongue was now on one of the cups.

I put my hands on his head and started to push his head away from my chest. His hands had been playing with my hair, trying to remove the rubber band holding my ponytail. Instead of letting go, he tightened his grip and kept us from being separated.

I wasn't sure just how hard I should try, how much of my strength I should show. I mean, Joel's a guy and he's bigger than me, a football player. Still, I knew that I was stronger, thanks to the Feminox.

I was still trying to push him away when I heard a car turn off the street and come up the driveway. "My parents!" This time I succeeded in pushing him away. I could hear the garage door opening as I quickly buttoned up my blouse and Joel tucked his shirttails back into his pants.

Straightening up our clothes and running Joel's pocket comb through both our hair, we were sitting on opposite ends of the couch when Mom came in from the kitchen, immediately followed by Dad.

We quickly said our good nights, I gave him a lingering kiss just outside the door, and stood and watched while he got in his car and drove away.

There wasn't much left of the school year, but Joel and I became something of a couple. I know he wanted to do more than I was letting him --- and I wanted to almost as much --- but we kept our relationship right where it was. My blouse or shirt might come off early, but my bra definitely stays on. If I'm not wearing a bra, then my top doesn't come off. And absolutely nothing comes off below the waist, except for the shoes and socks.

He wants to do more, I know he does. And in a way, so do I. I mean, we hadn't gone too far, but what we had done so far was a lot of fun. But when we finally do go all the way, I want it to be right. Nothing like what had happened in the park back in April.

So far, I hadn't had to use too much of my strength to stop him. But I don't know how long that'll continue. Am I going to have to show him more of my strength in order to stop him? Or --- and this scares me even more --- will I not want to stop him? What'll happen then? Would I use my greater strength to force myself on him? Like I had done to that rapist in the park, only worse? Would it injure him?

But now isn't the time to be worrying about that. My big sister's coming home this weekend for the summer. She's going to be driving home in her new car, a Nissan four-wheel-drive sport truck.

Okay, it's not really new; she bought it used. Who can afford a new car on a student's budget? And okay, it's not really a car but a pickup truck. Still, it's got four wheels and it drinks gasoline. That's close enough in my book.