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Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fiction  |  The Making of a Submissive Ex | #DOMME
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Author Topic: The Making of a Submissive Ex | #DOMME  (Read 9266 times)

Offline skipberg

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The Making of a Submissive Ex | #DOMME
« on: February 21, 2018, 05:47:28 am »
The Making of a Submissive Ex

I was horrified.  I wanted to climb into a hole.

I didn't even know she had come by, I guess I had left the door unlocked.  But there she was when I came out of the shower, sitting at my desk, staring at my computer screen.  I knew what I'd been doing, what I'd been looking at.  Did I close my browser?  Did I click that little savior of an "x" in the corner before walking away?  I felt queasy, but hopeful, and immediately opted for the smooth approach, hoping my terror was over nothing.  That she had opened up Chrome and was looking at the news.

"Oh, hi, I didn't hear you come in" I said, as confidently as I could muster.

She looked over at me, and with an ever-so-subtle arch of her eyebrow I knew I'd been discovered.

She pointed at the screen.  "This is what you look at when I'm not here?  Are you into this?"  She looked at the computer.  "This looks nothing like me.  Nothing."  Looking back at me, with some emotion I couldn't quite grasp, she said, "Are you into this?"

I walked over and started stammering.  "What?  What the heck is that, it must have been a pop-up window from something else.  Might have been a virus.  There's been a lot of spam lately."  I reached for the mouse to click out of the windows but she pulled it away from me. 

"This is no virus, and this is no pop-up."  She started clicking through the various tabs, each of which was opened to a different video or image that I'd been viewing.  "Or this.  Or this one.  Wow, or this one, either.  What is she doing to him here?  I didn't know a guy could bend this way."

"Look, you shouldn't have been on my computer in the first place," I said somewhat annoyed.  I closed the laptop before she could stop me.  "Who knows why that's there, it's not from me."  I said those so confidently that it was abundantly clear I was lying.  I stepped away from her.

She opened the laptop back up, but the screen required a password to re-enter.  "What's your password, let's talk about this, you don't have to be afraid."

"No way.  No password.  Let's go out of my office."  I tried to grab her by the hand but she pulled it away from me.  "I'm serious.  I'm really upset right now."

"You're upset?  I can see you're embarrassed, but are you the one who just found out her boyfriend likes to look at fetish pictures of women bodybuilders?   That picture of that hugely muscular woman sitting on that guy's face?  And the video of the other woman slapping the guy and wrestling him into submission?  Is that what you're into?  You want me to get all muscle-y and beat the crap out of you?"  She reached for the towel around my waist and made an attempt to rip it off me. I pushed her hand away.  "Does that turn you on?"

I was silent while she looked at me.

"You need to tell me.  When I'm not here, do you jerk off to pictures and videos like this?  And when I am here, are you thinking of women like this when we're in bed together?  Tell me!"

I turned away from her.  "I think you need to leave right now.  I am not having this conversation." 

"We're going to need to have it.  I'm totally fine if you're into this, I just want us to be hon--"

"I said leave.  Now."

"Or what?  Do have a muscle woman in the closet who'll kick the crap out of me and once I'm knocked out she'll kick the crap out of you and get you off?  You know, I could slap you around a bit if you want, maybe you'd like to spice things up a bit?  I may be skinny but I have attitude.  Just talk to me."

"Get OUT!"  I walked out of the room and into the bathroom, and closed the door.  "Out!  Now!"

I heard her get up and walk away, then I heard the door close, and she was gone.

She called later that night but I didn't want to talk.  I hung up on her.  I did that several times.  She came by the next day, and the next and the next, but I was too embarrassed to see her.  I had to cut things off, to save my manhood.  I was done with her.

-----------------------------------------------

I couldn't believe what I was looking at.  These women were huge!  I'd seen some buff chicks around town, coming out of the gym or running along the water.  But not like these women.  They were packed with muscle, all over.  Tab after tab were videos and pictures of massively muscled women, and most of the videos showed them beating up or wrestling and defeating smaller men.  Every tab had something a little bit different, but they all had the same theme -- the man was weaker than the woman.  And knew it.

My heart was beating so fast from this shock, and I wanted to see more but then he walked in from the bathroom and saw me in front of the screen.  He went white.  I knew that he knew he'd been caught.

He had never once indicated to me that he was into bondage or masochism or anything like this.  Heck, I was tall but so thin and weak that it would have been strange for me to try!  So this was such a surprise to me, to know that there was this side to my boyfriend that was off-the-charts kinky.   Did he want to have a woman sit on him and shove her pussy onto his face?  Did he want to be carried around on a woman's shoulders and jerked off while in the air?  Did he want to be spanked over a woman's knee?  Did he like the look and feel of muscles on a woman?  I wanted to know if these were just videos and pictures or if this was his 'thing' and he was missing it by being with me.

We had a great relationship and all, and I really liked him, even loved him, I think, but he was pretty darned conventional, all things considered.  Or at least I thought so up to that point.  So I was I.  Two conventional people having their conventional relationship until one of them gets onto the other's conventional computer and all conventions go out the window.

I was so curious.  Could this be a way of spicing things up?  I must admit I found the idea that he was kinky quite sexy, even if the way he was kinky was so foreign to me.  I wanted to ask so many questions but I had to get him to calm down and open up.

But I didn't find that possible.  As much as I tried to prod him to talk, he shut down and ultimately asked me to leave.

When I got home I went to the website he'd been on, one of the many porn video sites that had a wide variety of content.  I did my own surfing on the site, using a variety of search terms.  'Muscular woman' brought up some amazing videos of a series of woman, one larger than the next.  Massive arms.  Massive legs.  Huge barrel chests generally with fake tits sticking straight out.  'Female bodybuilder' brought up different videos but with similar looking women.  I searched 'man being spanked by muscular woman' and came across some insane videos, one of which I'd seen on his computer, of men over the laps of these large women, with their bare asses exposed and being slapped over and over until they cried out.  I searched 'muscle woman fucking man,' and that's when I was drawn in.  There was a video of a woman riding a man, flexing her arms and forcing him to feel her muscles.  There was a video of a man with his legs wrapped around a much larger and stronger woman, as she held him up and let him penetrate her.  And then there was a video of a man on his back, his legs pulled over his head, while a woman bodybuilder strapped on a dildo and penetrated him.

What started hours earlier as shock, and then as curiosity, quickly became interest.  This looked amazing.  What these women could do was astounding.  Such confidence.  Such control.  I was missing so much by being weak.  I wanted to look and be like these women. 

And now that I knew that my boyfriend was into that, he would love me even more.  I understood now.  I wanted to be a part of his fetish, for him and for me.

I called him that night to tell him, but he immediately hung up before I could even say a word.  I called again but nothing.  I went to his house the next day, and I knew he was home, but he wouldn't answer the door.  I was shut off, even though I had so much to give.  After a month or so of trying, I stopped.  But instead,

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a while, but I recognized the number.  It wasn't her normal cell number but it was a number from a conference room at her office.  She was disguising herself so I would pick up.  I hadn't talked to her or seen her in over three years.  I'd done as good a job as I could at eradicating that experience from my waking memory.  The first few months were filled with moments when the memory of that day, when I'd been discovered, and I would visibly cringe.  If I were around other people I'd pass it off as a quick headache, but it was definitely more than that.  It was humiliation.  But over time, that faded.

And so did the underlying desire for muscular women, and the kinds of relationships and dynamics that had been fantasies for me.  I saw a therapist for a year and a half, talked about the experience and she explored the reasons behind the desire, whether I wanted or needed to get past that desire, and how I could do so.  I hadn't looked at a video or picture of a muscular woman in well over 6 months, and rarely thought of doing so.  I was "cured," I guess, although I never really thought I was sick.  But the cure was the knowledge that I'd never be "discovered" again.

I knew it was her on the phone.  I knew I still missed her after these years of being apart -- other than that instance, our time together was magical.  We may have eventually gotten married if  I hadn't been in the shower that day.  But then again, I would have probably been discovered later anyway.  I knew I could never be with her again, that the sight of her would flood back the memories of that day and make things so uncomfortable for me that I'd probably run.  But I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Hi, it's me."  She expected me to know her voice after all this time.  Of course I did.

"Wow.  Been a long while.  Hi."

"How have you been?"

"I'm great.  What's up?"

"Oh, ok.  I guess you want me to get to the point."

"That's not what I meant, but since you mentioned it..."

"Can we talk a bit?  I was really hoping to get your opinion on something, and on this topic I would value yours over anyone else's."

"On what?"

"I can't talk about it here.  Can we meet?  Would you be ok with that?"

I thought for a minute.  I really didn't want to see her.  But then I considered, I was already on the phone with her and I wasn't cringing.  Live a little, I said to myself.

"OK.  When, where."

"How about this evening, can you come by?  I'll give you my new address."  She did so.  "8pm?"

I agreed to meet her.  At her place.  It was a fateful decision.

---------------------------------------------

It was time.  It had been three years.  I hadn't seen him even once.  I stopped calling after a few months and decided to cut him off entirely.  I made sure my friends didn't see him either.  We were now strangers to each other, "somebody we used to know" as they say.  But with shared experience, both good and terrible.  But it was time.

Time to share with him the new me.

Time to share with him the new us.

I had never really gotten over him. I'd never gotten over the "him" that existed in our relationship bliss before that final day, because in that relationship I was happier than at any other time in my life.  And I'd never gotten over the "him" that existed in private, that I had revealed that final day, and the idea that I could participate in that private existence, in a way that would bring us both even greater happiness.  If you'd questioned me the day before, could I imagine happiness in a fetish-driven private existence, I would have said 'huh?'  But that fetish, with that man, and now with me as I am now, it feels like it should be, and must be.

Oh, you probably don't know what I mean by "as I am now."

I've changed.  A lot.  Physically and mentally.

Seeing those images was shocking at first, and then intriguing.  As I explored these fetishes myself on video sites, I was transfixed, scouring for all the different angles that these muscular women used on smaller men, and all the different ways the men would submit to their stronger women.  I could have written a book on the subject, I had immersed myself so much in my research.  But then I remember that night a few weeks into my explorations that I had this intense dream, a dream where I was with him again, even though he had been completely ignoring me, and we were sitting on the couch, and I grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him over my lap.  I pulled him so hard he was off the couch momentarily as he flew across my legs.  I pulled on his jeans and ripped them off, threw them shredded to the floor.  His underwear had the same journey.  I took off my blouse in the dream and I could see myself, swollen with huge muscles, arms bigger than my actual legs, shoulders  twice as broad as his, breasts huge like the fake breasts of the women in those videos and much larger than my a-cups.  I was powerful.  I was in control.  I started spanking him.  He was crying for me to stop.  I told him he knew the way to get me to stop.  He said "yes, please, I'll do it now!"  And I let him go and he rolled to the ground, got between my legs, pulled down my skirt and my underwear and started licking and in my dream it felt amazing, more amazing than any sex I'd ever had.  And I groggily awoke and felt my hands in my underwear.  I was pleasuring myself and even though I was awake now I couldn't stop, I kept my eyes closed and I kept imagining that dream and I was moaning, getting so close, and I said aloud "get me off or you'll feel what these muscles can do" and that part didn't feel like a dream, it felt like real life, like I wanted it to be real life, and then I came and I was spasming from the most incredible orgasm I'd ever had.  I was panting, and then I started calming down.  I opened my eyes.  I looked down at my body, the thin, flat frame that I'd had my entire life.  I got up, cleaned myself off in the shower, and packed a bag of exercise clothes.  I went to the gym, found the biggest guy I could find who worked there, and said to him, "I want to change. I want to get huge."

I've spent almost three years working on that.  All my extra time has been dedicated to lifting in the gym.  And I look the part.

I'm still 5'11", but instead of 130lbs I'm now 180lbs.  When I'm not dieting as much I get up to 200 but I like my current size.  I've put on a good 50lbs of muscle.  Probably more.  It's fair to say that I'm not just big, but I'm ripped.  When I wear tight shirts, it's clear where the different muscles of my arms stop and start -- the shape and girth of them bursts through all but the bulkiest of tops.  I can only wear stretchy jeans, and when I walk the cut and size of my calves is entirely noticeable and the sweep of my quads is too.  It's clear that I'm not just a chick who lifts weights or does cross-fit -- I bodybuild.  I don't compete, as that's not what it's for.  All of my efforts have not been for public adulation or competition hardware.  They've been in anticipation of one moment. And it's time for that moment.

It's important to note that with that muscle has come strength, and with that strength has come added confidence.  All my friends have noticed it --- not just that I've put on size, but that I'm more assertive.  Not crazy assertive, I don't yell at people or try intimidate them with my size, but I'm more willing to go for what I want.  And right now, I definitely know what I want.

So I called him.  I wasn't sure if he would pick up a call from my number.  Heck, he avoided my calls for months before.  So I headed into a conference room at my office and used that line.  He picked up after a few rings.  I couldn't believe it. 

"Hello?" he said.

My mouth got dry, and I couldn't speak.  I couldn't get a word out.  My body got all tingly.  Was it nerves?  Was I worried about rejection, that he would hang up on me once I introduced myself?  Or was it anticipation, that I knew I would get him, that my dreams of getting back with him under new circumstances were about to become reality.

"Hi, it's me."

He agreed to meet me.  At my place  That night at 8. 

In the last three years I had gained confidence to know what I want.  I had learned how to be assertive to let people know what I want.  And I had the undeniable strength to get what I want, if I needed to use it to get it.  Up until now, confidence and assertiveness had been sufficient to satisfy my needs and desires.  But I knew that tonight, I would need, for the first time, to tap into that base of physical strength.  In a way I had never done before, outside of my sleeping fantasies.

---------------------------------------------

I didn't get anything done that day, at least not anything that required thinking.  My head was filled with emotions.  A mixture of anxious, intrigue, embarrassment, dread, and a hope for redemption.  Should I tell her right away that all of that fetishism was behind me, or would that sound like I want to get back together?  I didn't want to seem desperate, or even interested.   She didn't even mildly reference that horrible moment on the phone -- maybe she's past it as well?  Maybe she's forgotten?  Should I just ignore it?  No, there's no way she forgot something so...so...daunting.  But should I bring it up or let her?  I decided to let her lead the conversation, but if she brought up the past I would stop her and make clear that it was the past, and make even more clear that I've moved on.

I dressed casually, I button down and some jeans.  Not too dressy to make it seem like I was trying to impress her.  Middle of the road attire.

I made it to her place a few minutes late, fashionably so.  No eagerness on my account, at least that's what I was projecting.

I knocked on the door.  I felt queasy from anticipation of the unknown.  There was a long pause, and then I heard footsteps coming closer, it sounded like high heels on a wooden floor.  She never wore high heels when we were together, she was very tall already and never wanted to make herself stand out.  And heels of even 1 or 2 inches would be enough to make her look quite taller than me, and that was something else that would make her stand out.  That wasn't her m.o.  Maybe they weren't heels, maybe clogs.   Or tap shoes.  Why do I care about her footwear?  Focus.  Take a deep breath.

There must have been twenty footsteps, along with the sound of a piece of furniture sliding across the wooden floor just a bit.  Then I heard the door unlatch.  It opened slowly.  I don't know why, but instead of looking at her face, I looked at her feet.  They were heels after all.  And then I looked up at her. I was suddenly terrified.

------------------------------------------------------

I rushed home after he agreed to meet.  I had to prepare.  So many preparations.  I had to arrange the furniture just right.  I had to set things in just the right places.  I had to pick right clothing, just the right layers for maximum effect.  Surprise.  Amazement.  Belief.  Acceptance.  I needed heels.  I didn't have a single pair.  I definitely needed heels.  3 inches minimum.  I needed at least two inches on him.  His eyes at my mouth, his mouth at the base of my neck.  I needed him looking up at me.  Theater. I wanted theater. 

Over time I had compiled a list of things I would do with him -- to him, and with him -- if I could get him to meet up again.  It was a long list, -- all those videos, so much content, made for such a long list -- but I had my priorities.  I had my top 10 for sure.  I prioritized the list based on two criteria:  1, what would be most enjoyable for him and for me; and 2, what would be most effective.   And for each thing, "each activity," I had listed the requirements, assuming everything went according to my ideal:  where in the apartment we would do the activity, where the furniture would need to be, what I would be wearing and what he would be wearing (which was different for many of the activities), other items I would need for each activity, how we would transition from one activity to the next and if they were different locations how I would get him there.  Clearly, I had done a lot of thinking about this over time -- I did have almost three years to fantasize! 

I had to move the sofa to the center of the living room, with nothing in front of it.  I moved the cushioned sitting chair to a separate part of the room, between the sofa and my bedroom, in open space.  I needed easy access to the sofa for both of us, and plenty of space around it, and I also needed easy access to the back of the sitting chair.  I hid a spatula under the leftmost cushion, just in case my hand got tired.  I moved one of the dining room chairs next to the sofa.  I left a tube of moisturizer hidden at the back of the cushion of the sitting chair, and left a hand towel over the armrest.

I took the duvet off of the bed, just a single plain sheet covering the mattress.  I placed hand towels in three locations on the headboard.   I moved the bedside tables into the closet.  I needed to get rid of as many corners as possible.  I placed pillows on the floor on the far side of the bed and against the wall there as well, in case he bounced off of the bed harder than intended.  Another spatula had to go under the mattress.  A pair of my shorts laid on the bed, for him to wear.  I tied some rope to each of the head-side bed legs, soft but strong ropes I'd made myself, bungee material covered in yarn and velvet.  Two on each side.  I tucked the ropes under the bed to hide it.  I double checked the pull-up bar that I'd installed in that same bathroom doorway over two years ago -- solid as they day it was installed.  I did a few pull-ups to make sure, yanked on it hard to make sure it could hold more than my weight.  I loved that feeling of my chest touching the bar.  When I'd installed it I could barely get my nose to touch, and needed some kip-ups to cheat and get that far.  And now I can do an easy 20, 30 reps all the way to the chest, full extension down, full contraction up, and at the gym had to use a weight belt to give me more resistance so it wasn't too easy.  I never cheated.  How I'd changed and evolved since then.  The wrapped present was sitting on the kitchen table.  It had to go in the bedroom.  But I needed it as a surprise.  I hid it behind my jewelry case on the dresser.  Oh, you dear, dear gift.  You will mean everything.

I had spent so much time arranging the apartment that I barely left myself enough time to arrange myself!  Shower, hair, some very subtle perfume, but no makeup.  And attire, I needed layers; going from activity to activity would require costume changes, like a Broadway play, but I wouldn't have time to go offstage, I needed to change seamlessly and quickly.  G-string and bikini top.   I tied the bikini top a few times until I was sure that a quick, light tug behind my back would unravel the tie behind my neck and send it fluttering to the floor.  I held my breasts and made sure they were set perfectly in the bikini cups -- these would be news to him, I was quite small-chested before I started working out but diet and pec workouts made me positively flat-chested.  So I had to have a little work done.  Well, not "little," mind you, but also not the crazy circus breasts that some of those muscle women on the videos had.  Enough to put a man's head between them.  Enough to put a man's cock between them.  Enough so that some pec flexing would be hypnotic.  But not too much to be obvious to men who weren't steeped in the math of inverse correlation between a woman's muscle tissue and her breast tissue.  And not too much so that a man's mouth couldn't get a good grip with his mouth and latch on.   

Over that, a halter tank top, cut off just below my chest, and a pair of workout shorts.  Then a tight t-shirt, one that was stretched to capacity by my arms and chest.  It was stretched enough so that one hard pull would tear that one to shreds.  I bet it would fit him quite comfortably.  I might have to consider that one as a demonstration, maybe I wouldn't rip it to shreds after all.  We'd see.  A looser long-sleeve shirt over that.  Then a loose but thin pullover sweater with two buttons at the top, the two buttons open to show a tiny bit of boob cleavage and a fair amount of pec cleavage.  Loose, flowing pants that I had notched down the sides so I could tear them off with a flourish.  Finally, a bulky pullover sweater.  I looked in the mirror.  I looked bigger than ever, but without knowing what was underneath he would think it was the clothing, not me.  I heard steps at the door.  My heart raced.  I heard a knock at the door.  I needed those heels!  I strapped them on and took a deep breath.  It was time.  There was no turning back.  For either of us.

As I walked to the door, I noticed the end table next to the end the sofa. His head might hit it.  I needed to move that a bit, behind the back of the sofa.  There, perfect.  I looked around a last time.  Perfect.  I was ready. 

I unlatched the door.  There he was.  He looked the same, exactly the same.  No, he looked smaller.  It was my high heels.  And he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at my heels.  Right then and there I decided that I loved high heels.  And then he looked up at me, and I smiled.  He started to flush. 

I knew I would have him tonight.  Confidence.  Assertiveness.  And Strength.  A healthy dose of Strength.  More than he knew was possible.

------------------------------------------------------

Why was she wearing heels?  She was towering over me.  Was she trying to make a point?  I don't know why, at the time, this made me so nervous, but I could feel my face flush.  I couldn't speak. 

She broke the silence, smiling down at me.  "Hi.  Thanks for coming over.  It's so nice to see you."  She reached her hand out to me, inviting me in.  I went to take her hand but she took mine instead.  She led me in.  "You haven't seen my new place.  There's not much too it, not much to show off."  She pointed around.  "Living room, kitchen, a dining area, and back there is the bathroom and bedroom.  Pretty normal place.  Come, take a seat."  She gestured to the chair next to the sofa, it looked like a chair from a kitchen table or dining room table.  I guess she didn't have a lot of furniture.  She sat on the sofa.  I sat on the chair.

As she sat, I looked her over.  Her face looked the same, a little fuller than before but perhaps that comes with age.  She looked quite a bit bigger than I'd remembered -- I don't mean taller, I chalked that one up to the heels -- I mean bigger.  But she was wearing a really bulky sweater so I assumed that it was an effect from the looseness of the sweater.  But I definitely noticed her chest, even with the bulkiness of the sweater I could see that she had some work done.  I tried not to stare there but I'm sure she noticed that I noticed.  Heck, she probably wanted me to notice anyway.

I put my hands on my knees and twiddled my fingers as we sat momentarily in silence.  I was going to try to wait as confidently as possible, but my nerves got the best of me.

"So what did you want my advice on?"

"It's not really advice, it's just an opinion."

"OK, then, opinion.  On what can I..." I made a royal gesture to try to be funny, "...opine?"

She took a deep breath, audibly, like she was preparing for something. 

"I'm planning to make a life change.  Really a lifestyle change.  I'm struggling with it.  You were always such a level-headed person.  I just need a sounding board.  And my friends can't play that role on this one."

"Lifestyle change?"  I immediately thought she was going to tell me she was gay.  Unfortunately my brain-mouth filter malfunctioned at that moment.  "Like, are you trying to tell me you're gay?"  The instant I said it I wanted to take it back.

She smiled and laughed a bit, in a way that put me at ease.  "Gay?  No, that's not it. You are too funny."  She patted my knee.  "No, I've changed a lot since the last time we saw each other, but not that way."

"You don't look much different," I said.

She looked around the room, over towards the window.  "It is so hot in here, or maybe it's just that I'm nervous."  She shifted in her seat and pulled that bulky sweater over her head.  She was wearing another sweater underneath it.  It was interesting, that sweater was a pretty thin sweater but she still looked bigger than I'd expected.   Maybe it was just the pull of the sweater against her new "features," which with the bulky sweater off were considerably more prominent.  I played it off.

"That's better," she said.  "Maybe I should open a window later."

"I'm not sure why you'd be nervous.  So what's the life change you want to talk about?"

"I've been working really hard at something for a long time.  It's the hardest work I've ever done.  At first it wasn't for me, it was for someone else.  But now I want to use everything I've developed.  And I'm not sure how to use them, how to get others to let me us them.  Does any of this make sense?"

I had no idea where she was going with this.  "No, not really.  What were you working at."

She looked around again, like she did the first time.  "Man, I must be really nervous, I'm burning up.  You're not hot?"

"No, not at all."  Why was she so hot?  What was going on?

She shifted again in her seat and reached down to take off the second sweater.

"I assume you have a third sweater under there, like Russian nesting dolls," I said, smiling at my cleverness. 

She had pulled the sweater over her face when I heard her say "Nope."  I could see she had a shirt on underneath, and her motion pulled the shirt up a bit, separating it from her pants and lap.  My eyes were immediately drawn to her stomach.  I did a double take.  She had abs.  Defined abs.  Muscular abs.  I was staring, and I was aware that I was staring, and it felt like I was staring for longer than it should take her to remove a sweater.  Was she taking a long time on purpose?  Was she showing off her abs to me?  As I considered the question she finished her motion, removing the sweater and tossing it to the side, and her undershirt returned to cover her midsection.  I was red-faced, I knew it, even more so than when I saw her towering over me at the door.  I was dry-mouthed.  I started to tell myself that I saw a shadow, just a shadow, an illusion. 

Now she was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt.  It was loose but as she brought her arms into her lap, I thought I could distinctly see where her shoulders ended and her shirt began.  And it started to strike me that she was no longer the stick figure that I remembered.  She was definitely bigger, more substantial.  Had she put on weight?  Had she let herself go?  Or was it something else?

She made herself a bit more comfortable on the sofa, as I became more UNcomfortable in my chair.  "That's better, I'm I feel cooler now.  Now where was I?"  She smiled at me, a knowing smile, and I gave some kind of weak, meek smile back.

"You were saying that you've been working on something, but you're being quite cagey about it.  Why don't you just come out with it.  Are you playing a game with me?  What do you want to share with me?"

She put her hand back on my knee and petted it.  I moved my knee away, uncomfortable at the touch.  "I'm sorry, I don't mean to play games.  It's taken me so long to finally be comfortable sharing this with anyone, with you."

"Sharing what?  What is it?"  I was getting annoyed and upset.

"Sharing the new me."  Again, that smile. 

"I'm really not entirely following.  Are you talking about your new...body?  I don't mean to pry, but it...they..."  I made a motion towards her chest.  "...they kind of jump out at you.  I like it and all, don't take it the wrong way.  But is that all you're talking about?"

"These?"  She put her palms on her chest.  "No, that's not what I'm talking about."  I looked at her arms while they were bent, angled so her palms could cover her breasts, and there was something different about them.  I swear, she was flexing them.  Based on my history, I know flexing, and this was definitely flexing.  The shirt she was wearing was loose, but it seemed, with regular syncopation, that they were being stretched just slightly as she moved her arms.  My heart really started to beat faster.  I was starting to understand.  My mind was blurring.

"I was so upset with you for the longest time.  And I've forgiven you, because you opened my eyes to what I could become.  To who I could become.  A better me.  And yes, I've forgiven you.  But I haven't forgotten.  Not a thing.  Not anything I saw that day, and not anything about what I know you like.  You said my new body, thinking these.  You're warm when you say my new body.  You know, it's still warm in here."  She reached down and started to take off her long-sleeve t-shirt.  The moment she started to lift the shirt over her midsection, and I saw those abs again, confirmed to myself that it wasn't just a shadow or an illusion, I just knew what was coming.  I didn't accept it, but I knew it.  And as she lifted the shirt higher, and saw that there was a much tighter t-shirt underneath, I could tell that the shirt underneath was stretched to its capacity.  The long-sleeve was over her face, she was slowly, ever so slowly pulling it over her head, and she continued to talk to me.

"Yes, I've forgiven you.  You can be sure of that.  But still..."  The shirt came off and she threw it to the side.  I gasped, audibly. 

"Oh my god, oh my god."

"...still, I deserve satisfaction." 

"What did you do to yourself?"

"Do to myself?  I made me into ME.  And satisfaction means you are going to satisfy ME."  And with that, I felt a hand grab me by the back of my neck and I was flying out of my chair, over to the couch.

---------------------------------------

He looked so adorable, I was melting the instant I saw him.  All the memories, the good ones, came back.   The fun and the tenderness, the long conversations, the emotional support, and the sex, and of course that last time together when I discovered his fetish.  While for a time that was not in the "good" column of memories, it had moved there over time, as it led me to who I am and who I was meant to be.  He looked adorable, and small, and I wanted to grab him right there and throw him down and fuck the hell out of him.  I could have done that, I know it.  But I knew I had to be patient, follow the plan I'd meticulously laid out.  The plan to make him mine, forever.

"Hi, thanks for coming over, it's so nice to see you."  That's the line I practiced over and over, and I delivered it with just the right mixture of dispassion and interest.  I held out my hand to him, and I could tell he was about to grasp it but instead I grabbed his.  A hint of what was to come, known by me but not by him.  I doubt he caught the importance of it, maybe he would later on when he would think back on this day.

I briefly oriented him to the apartment, a bunch of nothing comments that meant nothing but were intended to draw him inside, get him to sit down.  I made it to the sofa and sat there, on the end, and made sure that he sat in the chair I'd placed next to the sofa.  I didn't want him touching any part of me other than my hand, at least not yet.  We sat in silence for a moment, I just looked at him smiling, wanting to see if he would break down first.  He did, he asked why he was there.

"I'm planning to make a lifestyle change," I told him.  Then I complimented him on how level-headed he'd always been and how I couldn't imagine taking this step without getting his opinion. 

He asked me if I was gay, which made me laugh.  I wasn't offended at all, I just thought it was funny.  As I'd grown stronger and more muscular, I found that I'd attracted more attention from certain women, who assumed I was gay.  And some of the guys who I would have been interested in thought the same.  So sexually my new look sometimes had an unintended effect.  Don't get me wrong, I also attracted men that I did want, and I knew I could have them if I wanted.  And sometimes I did, but not often.  He hadn't seen me yet, at least not the elements that I planned to reveal that night, so the fact that he immediately went to "gay" even without that knowledge struck me as funny.

"No that's not it," I said, calling him funny.  I told him I'd changed since I'd seen him last, but not like that.  When I said that, I saw his eyes go to my chest.  Apparently he'd already noticed my additions.  The bulky sweater was concealing them but he was perceptive.  It was time to start the reveal.  Layer by layer.

I told him it was hot, said I was nervous, and took the big bulky sweater off.  He could get a better sense of my new d-cups now but still nothing else. 

I continued talking, saying a bunch of nothings about how I'd changed, how I'd been working at something really hard for a long time and wanted to figure out how to use it.  I know it made no sense to him, but that was the point.  Draw him in, make him curious, even a little confused, until finally daylight hit him and he was trapped.

He asked another question about what I was talking about, and said I was still hot, and started to take off the second sweater.  He made some funny joke about expecting another sweater underneath, he was always so adorably funny.  When I got the sweater over my head, there was something different in his face.  There was a bead of sweat on his forehead, and he looked dry-mouthed.  He seemed uncomfortable, shifting in his seat a bit.  I didn't expect that so soon, I still had my long sleeve shirt on and hadn't started flexing yet.  Was it the better view of my breasts?  I looked down and saw how my shirt was laying on my stomach.  He'd seen my abs!  He'd caught a glimpse, and it got to him.  Did he know?  Had he figured it out?  I continued the pressure.

"Why don't you just come out with it," he said, asking me if I was playing games with him.  He was agitated, and it happened quickly.  It was the abs.  He definitely saw them.  He was already confused.  "What do you want to share with me?"

That was the line I was looking for.

"The new me," I said.  I was ready to give him the flex of his life, but he caught me off guard with his next comment.

"Are you talking about your new body?"  I was about to say exactly! and then he pointed at my chest and continued. "They kind of jump out at you."

I laughed a bit, clutching my breasts and asking him, "These?  No, that's not what I'm talking about."  Then I saw that he wasn't looking at my chest at all, but rather my arm.  I realized that bending my arm to grab my breast was flexing it.  He saw them filling the sleeve.  Instead of a big double biceps, I toyed with him a bit, flexing the arm intermittently.  More beads of sweat on his brow.  It was dawning on him.  I had to go in for the kill.  It was time to start talking about the past.  I told him I was upset with him for a long time but that I'd forgiven him.

This, of course, was only partially true.

I'd forgiven him because it's not something he could have helped.  It was his fetish, and he was entitled to it.  He still is.  But my plan was not one of forgiveness.  It was one of revival, of return.  His fetish led me to the new me, and this night was both to thank him and to punish him.  To win him over through love and fear.  To make him mine.

My plan had five stages, each designed to resurrect his fetish and connect it to me and me alone.

First was awareness.  I would show him my new physique, my incredible strength. 

Second was dominance.  I would show him that I was completely more powerful than him.  That he had no hope of physically stopping me.   That I was in charge.

Third was caring.  I would show him how much I love him still

Fourth was submission.  I would demand of him his full and complete devotion to me.

And fifth was connection.  He would agree to be mine forever.

And throughout the house I had made stations that would facilitate the progression from stage to stage.

And now that he'd noticed that hint of size under my long-sleeve shirt, just that hint that sparked a mild panic response in him, it was time to get straight to awareness.

"It's still warm in here," I lied.  And I proceeded to lift off the long-sleeve.  This time, there was no accident in revealing my abs, I made sure the tight t-shirt underneath came up enough that he could see them clearly.  "I've forgiven you," I continued as my shirt covered my face, "you can be sure of that, but still I deserve....satisfaction."  I'd rehearsed that line too, straight out of Hamilton, like I was challenging him to a duel, which I guess I was, only a duel that he had no hope of winning.  I threw my shirt aside and took a deep breath, puffing my chest out.  I thought the shirt was going to explode off of me.   

His panic was in full mode now.  He'd seen me.  He saw my muscled arms, my sloping traps, the width of my shoulders.  He knew I had become a bodybuilder like in his fetish fantasies.  I saw his hand drop to his lap, covering his cock.  "Oh my god, oh my god," he said. "What did you do to yourself."

"Do to myself?  I made me into ME.  And satisfaction means that you are going to satisfy ME!"  And with that the training began.

---------------------------------

The next few minutes...or at least what I think were a few minutes...were a complete jumble.  I was disoriented from the start.  That initial vision, a massive version of my ex-, was something I'd never in my life expected to witness.

You see, I'd spend the last three years excising from my psyche, as much as I could, the desire to be dominated by powerful women.  Before that day when I'd been caught, it was all-encompassing.  Most mornings and nights had moments when I would get onto my computer, trolling for interesting videos exploring different sides of my secret fetish, each having unique details but all containing the same core elements:  a powerful, usually highly muscular woman overwhelming a smaller male, the male ultimately surrendering to her physical superiority.  Sometimes that surrender ended in being pinned or having her sit on him and flex victory.  These were the tamer videos, more about viewing a woman's musculature in comparison to a weaker man.  But more frequently that surrender was more sexual.  And for the more sexual content, this usually ended with the stronger woman forcibly extracting come from the man, through a handjob or a blowjob.  It's funny how a handjob could be considered forced -- clearly it's something a man would relish!  But when that handjob is performed under duress, either because the man is held tightly by the woman and can't stop her or because the man has been so overpowered that he stops fighting and lacks the will to stop her, then to me it is much more titillating.  But for the sexual content, sometimes the sexual end is a reversal -- the woman strapping on a dildo and taking the man from behind, forcibly or otherwise.  When I was first exploring my fetish this was a complete turnoff, but over time I found that my strongest orgasms were after viewing or fantasizing about being taken by a stronger woman, being thrown on my back and having my legs bent up so that my ass was exposed, and being unable to stop my aggressor from penetrating me.  It was forced, but it wasn't unwelcome.

But once caught, I knew my life could never be "normal," I could never be truly vulnerable and open with a woman, unless one of two things happened:  either the woman herself was into these things, which was incredibly unlikely, or I got past my fetish. 

I spent years seeking out muscular women to date, with very little luck.  Twice I had found success, but both times I ruined things by trying to migrate what was a quite "normal" relationship into something out of my fantasies.  I learned the hard way that just because a woman was stronger than me didn't mean she wanted to use it.  I particularly remember the second situation, when I was rubbing her body and suggested we wrestle.  She agreed to play a bit, but I created a problem when, upon being pinned, I let loose an orgasm and passed out.  When I  woke up, she was gone, and there was a note:  "This just isn't what I'm into. Sorry."

After three years, I thought I was past it all.  I'd dated several women, and none of them had anything muscular or powerful about them, and it was fine by me.  I'd stopped surfing for muscle porn.  The nighttime fantasies were few and far between.  Not entirely gone, but not pervasive.  I felt normal.

And then I saw her in that shirt, and it all came back.  It was a flood.

I'd only caught a short look at her before she grabbed me, and it was enough.  I'd seen that look before.  And it was an instant turn-on.  And I hated the idea of it.

As those dichotomous emotions went through my head, my head went through the air, and before I knew it I was on the couch, face down.  I thought she threw me past her, but in fact I was over her lap.  My lower legs were resting on the arm of the couch, my feet dangling off.  My head was being held down, smooshed into the cushion, held down by one of her hands.  I couldn't move my hand at all.  I tried to push myself up, and caught a handful of cushion in my left hand and a feel of her abs in my right, but very quickly she had trapped both of my hands behind my back, held tight with one of her hands.  I kicked my legs but that was useless, it was just hurting my lower leg every time they hit the arm of the couch.  I think she was talking to me but with my face in the cushion I couldn't hear what she was saying, other than that I'd been "a bad boy."

After some amount of time she let go of my head and switched hands, still holding my hands fast but with her other hand.  Then I felt her hand reach up between my legs and I started kicking again, but then she slapped my ass and I stopped that.  She said something again and I had no idea what it was but the tone was firm and it got to me.  Then I felt her reach up past my penis and she unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled down the zipper.  She pulled her hand out of my crotch and tugged on the back of my jeans, and with a few pulls they were down at my ankles.  I think she threw my shoes off at that point because the jeans slipped off soon after that. 

I knew what was coming.  I just knew it.  I'd seen it in those videos.  And the only thing stopping it was, well, nothing really.  If she could get my jeans off she could get my boxers off too.

She pulled my head up, by my hair.  I could hear every word.

"And now it's time for you to finally face the consequences of disappearing on me, when all I wanted to do was talk it through.  I've been working towards this for a long time.  Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it."

And with that, she released my head, pushing it back down into the cushion, and moments later my boxers were lowered around my calves and fell to the floor.

The first spank was the most shocking.  But not the most painful.  It got progressively more painful as the onslaught of slaps continued.  I have no idea how long it lasted, I kept on asking her to stop but at some point she started hitting me in a way that was just unbearable, and I said "I'll do whatever you want, just please stop!" and that did the trick.

She stood up, picking me up with her.  I was draped face down over her arms.  She shifted me, flipping me over so I was facing her.  My cock was embarrassingly hard.  She lifted one leg and rested me on it, enabling her take one of her hands and grab me by my cock, squeezing it and giving it a very hard tug.

"Then it's time for the next step."

"What next step?" I said.  I was terrified.

---------------------------------------------------------------

It was time for a taste of dominance.  It was critically important to me that he not forget the next few minutes of his life, as it would set the stage for the rest of it. 

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and intended only to guide him slowly to my lap, but in my excitement I pulled to hard and he went flying through the air towards me.  It's funny, I didn't think to do that but it must have been more effective than anything I'd imagined.

I had him held down quickly and easily.  He was desperately trying to free himself, pushing himself off the couch against the force of my pushing him down.  Both of his arms pushing against just one of my hands.  And my hand clearly was superior.

I got one of his arms in a chicken wing and pulled his elbow and hand behind his back, locking it in place.  Then I did the same with the other hand.  I had made his arms futile, held in place by the grip of one of my hands.  It was so easy.  I was so much stronger than him, as I knew I would be. 

At that point I was able to talk to him.  I suspect he wasn't listening, his struggles were so fierce, but it didn't matter to me.

"Well, there you have it.  I have you trapped.  And it took me less than a minute.  I even impressed myself with this one.  All this muscle, it isn't just for show. But what to do now?  Do I just hold you here all night until you beg me to let you go?  What would that accomplish?  It's not much challenge now that I have you immobilized, a man much stronger than you would have trouble getting out of a position like this.  No, there has to be more than this.  Hmmm, what should I do.  What can a strong girl like me do to send a message to a guy that his behavior has been unacceptable?"  His legs were kicking so I pushed them down into the arm of the couch, and I guess that hurt him because he stopped soon after.  "To tell her guy that he's been a bad boy?  What's a girl to do?  I know.  I know what to do to a bad boy."

With that, it was time to start stripping him down.  Forcibly stripping him naked was a key component of my plan to make him submissive.  And I intended to do so slowly, deliberately, and in a manner that would make him crazy with fear and embarrassment.

I switched my hands around, keeping the armlock tight, and reached through his legs.  As I reached up for the button of his jeans, grazing his groin, he started kicking again, and with my arm between his legs there was risk that he might actually injure me.  I pulled my arm back out and gave him a quick swat against the butt, and he stopped his kicking.  It wasn't a hard hit but it did the trick.  Then I reached through again and made my way past his groin, making sure that he could feel my hand grazing his penis through he denim.  I heard him emit a short gasp at my touch.  I grabbed his jeans button, and deftly undid it, and brought down the zipper.  Again, a graze of this penis, this time with my fingertip on his boxers, evoked a little silent gasp.  I brought my arm back through his legs and said, "Bad little boys need a good spanking if they're going to change their behavior, don't you think?"  I grabbed the back waist of his jeans and pulled them down, then pulled on the waist to lift him up and pulled the jeans down around his ankles, and then ripped his shoes off and pushed the jeans off of him to the floor.

"No!" I heard him whisper.  "Please."

I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up so he could hear me more clearly.  "And now it's time for you to finally face the consequences of disappearing on me, when all I wanted to do was talk it through.  I've been working towards this for a long time.  Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it."

And with that, I grabbed the back of his boxers and pulled them down as well.  They slipped off easily, and as I brought my hand up to his ass, I let my fingers travel through his legs to see what was going on with his cock.  He wasn't hard in the slightest.  A disappointment, for sure, but I was confident that he would respond soon.  My ideal was that the moment he saw me he would spring to attention, but I guess the fear and shock was too much.

I caressed his buttocks, rubbing up and down them, on each side, saying "so tender, this ass of yours.  It's perfect, really, for this.  Not too big so that you won't feel it, but big enough that the sound will be terrifying to you.  The suspense is making me tingle!"  I lifted my hand high above my head and gave a commanding blow to his left check.  And then 4 more blows.  Then 5 to his left cheek.  Then more caressing and massaging.  Then 5 to the left and 5 to the right again.  He kept saying "please stop, please it hurts, why are you doing this, please stop," but I was ignoring him.  His pleas were insufficient, I needed him to do more than request -- I needed him to beg, to supplicate.  His ass was getting intensely red, and after I think 20 blows on each side, when I rubbed his skin it was hot to the touch.  I was starting to worry that I might do some real damage if he didn't yield soon.  I was actually impressed that he was handling it without begging for mercy.  But yield he must, I would not be deterred.  After 25 blows on each side my hand started to sting.  So I reached under the cushion and took out the spatula I'd hidden there.  And I continued with the spatula for some time, 30, 40, 50 blows on each side.  I said to him, "I can do this all day until I'm convinced you've learned your lesson," and at that point I wanted to tell him what to say, just to make it stop, because his ass was redder than seemed safe, but doing so would degrade my dominant position.  I let go of his hands and spread his ass cheeks a bit with the hand that had been holding him steady, and made a direct blow onto his anus with the spatula, about 3 or 4 times, and that ended things. 

"I'll do whatever you want, just please stop!" he begged, and he was crying while he said it, not a sobbing cry,  but a cry all the same.  A cry of a man who was desperately trying to not cry.

That was good enough for me.  I stopped.  His ass was streaked with lines from the spatula and was red all over.  Now it was time to check his reaction.  I put my arms underneath his torso and legs and stood up, lifting him with me.  I threw him up in the air a bit, like a rapid bicep curl but easier given that I could curl about 30lbs more than he weighed, and did that a few times to shimmy him onto his back, and once on his back I saw my handiwork. 

He had a raging erection.  And more than that, his cock was seeping.  He was turned on.

I knew it.  I  knew it would work.  I knew I had him, and would have him even more.

I wanted to fuck him so badly, I wanted that cock in me and I wanted to milk it dry.  But not yet.   It was too soon, and his submission was at this point based only on pain, not on fear, respect, admiration and love.  No, I needed all those too.  And the process was just beginning.  But for now I just wanted to let him know that his cock was going to be mine.

I rested my foot on the end of the couch, and rested his ass on my knee.   He winced.  I held him firm around the back to keep him sitting there.  And I reached down with my hand and reached down to his raging hardon.  I touched the seepage on the head with my fingertip, and trailed it down the shaft.  Then I grabbed the shaft and gave it a hard pull, and pulled his body up with it.  He gave a slight moan, which to me seemed a mixture of pain and excitement but to him was probably discomfort.

I looked into his eyes. "It's time for the next step."

He looked back at me.  His eyes were filled with terror.  Everything was going according to plan.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"What next step?  You've made your point!  Why don't you..."

She put her fingers to my lips, shh-ing me.  She shook her head to gesture no, indicating to me that I should stop.  I did so.

She released me and set me back down on my feet, and my instinct was to run.  I turned ever so slightly to make a break for it but at the first move I felt her grab my cock again.  "No," she said to me.  "We're not done."  I couldn't break away.  "Don't try to leave, unless you want to run outside without any pants on." I looked around desperately for my jeans, and couldn't see them from where I was.  "In fact, let's complete the picture."

She grabbed the bottom of my shirt with her other hand and started pulling it up, and I jammed my hands and arms down to prevent it.  She then grabbed it with the other hand, and despite all of my struggles she pulled it up and over my head.  Momentarily my arms were sticking straight up into the air, helplessly, and I started to wriggle and buck against her, but I once again heard her shh-ing me and I stopped.  A second later my shirt was off.
"And for good measure," she said, and then she ripped the shirt in two pieces, with one pull.  Her arms flexed considerably and my gaze lingered on them, which she clearly noticed, because she continued flexing them just slightly, to get a little movement in the biceps, clearly showing them off. 

"There, now if you want to run out you'll be entirely naked.  Good luck with that."  She smiled at me. 

I took a moment and looked her over.  She was still towering over me in her heels.  She was wearing loose, flowing pants that showed nothing.  I was curious what was under there but suspected it would match what I could see up above.  Her tight shirt was tucked into her pants, and her waist was narrow, as I would have expected, but as my eyes continued working their way up the difference between her waist and her shoulders was astonishing.  They were much, much wider than mine, and the short sleeves were entirely incapable of covering her massive shoulders.  The sleeves ended perhaps halfway down her delt, whereas I'm sure the designer intended them to go halfway down the upper arm.   That shirt was not intended for use by a woman of her size.  Her biceps were equally astounding.  Once my eyes hit them, I was completely transfixed.  I just followed them, they moved up a bit, and then down, and then out again and back.  They went up over her head and then back down.  My eyes and probably my head followed each time, I just couldn't stop taking them in.

I heard her say something but the only sense that my brain was operating was sight, so I have no idea what it was.  And then she raised one arm and flexed it, giving it a full flex like a bodybuilder would do.  The bicep exploded from her arm, the sleeve regressed past the shoulder and I could see her entire arm, the most muscular I had ever seen so close.  She pumped it twice, three times, four times, again, again, over and over and I kept staring.  Then she brought her other arm up, and it caught my attention, and did a double biceps that was breathtaking.  She was so huge, as large as any of the women I'd fantasized about in the old days of my persistent fetishism.  She was flexing both arms now, pumping them both.  I was trying to take both of them in simultaneously, and in that focus could see the breadth of her chest, how her breasts shot straight out at me, how her lats stretched the fabric of the shirt from the back, and then her shirt untucked a bit from her pants and my eye was drawn to just a peek of her abs again.  This time there was no question -- they were muscled abs, the bottom of what was sure to be a total six pack. 

She grabbed her shirt and pulled it up over her.  Her abs were revealed to be exactly what I'd expected, solid, washboard, incredible.  She was wearing a cutoff tank top that showed off her abs and, with the size of her breasts, left very little to imagination.  As huge as her arms were, the rest of her body was equal to them.  Her pecs were thick and the chasm down the middle looked deep enough to fit my entire hand.  She did another biceps flex and I think I emitted some kind of noise because I heard her say "yes, that's it" to me, as if she were responding to me. 

She ended the double biceps and flared her chest outwards in a lat spread, and I stood there staring, still unable to move my eyes from her now almost fully exposed musculature.   I had no awareness of anything else I might be doing. My only working sense was sight, and it was overwhelming me.

"Wait, there's more," she said.

With that she grabbed the waist of her pants and with a single motion tore them off.  Her legs, I don't even think I can adequately describe.  They were just as muscular as her upper body, flaring out from the bone and carved like granite.  She was wearing just a short pair of workout shorts.

I was standing in front of the woman bodybuilder of my former dreams, at a time when I was desperately closing the chapter on all of those dreams to move on with my life. 

"Not what you expected, right?"

"No.  You're...you're...you're..." I couldn't make the words come out.  I didn't know what words to use anyway.

She stepped forward and took my hand -- I think I may have been fondling myself but couldn't tell.  "Would you like some help finding the words?"  She flexed her bicep again with her other arm and guided my hand to the top of her bicep, resting my palm on it and holding it there.  She flexed it several times so I could feel it contracting and expanding in my grip.

This time I knew my other hand transited down to grab my penis, and she reached down and pulled it away.  "No, not that. That's for me to do."  I vaguely felt something hurt down there but the sensation of my hand on her arm was my primary focus.  She guided my other hand to the same arm that was flexing.  "Try to get your hands around it."  I complied.  I couldn't do it.

I was squeezing and kneading her arm, feeling it's girth and it's hardness under my hands, unyielding, powerful.  It was unlike anything I'd ever felt or experienced. 

"They're 17 inches now. Three years ago maybe they were 9 or 10, I was so weak then.  But now they're 17, maybe just a bit more after a hot workout.  I can curl 175 pounds on a bar, or I can do 65lb dumbbells with each arm.  Can you imagine being able to lift that much?"

The pain that I'd been suffering from the spanking was entirely forgotten.  And then she put her arm round my waist and grabbed my behind.  The pain came back.  I probably yelped or some other ridiculous sound, because it hurt so much. 

"I need to take care of that for you," she said.

And I felt her hand move to my groin and she grabbed me under my balls.  She lifted me a bit in her hand, and then she leaned over and lifted me onto her shoulders, keeping a firm grip on my groin, pushing me enough so I was steadied over the back of her shoulders.  She looped her other arm around my neck to hold me fast there and started to walk around the apartment.

"I remember one of the videos I saw in your apartment was of a woman carrying a man like this," she said.  She walked me around for what seemed like a long time but was probably just a minute or so, and ultimately made her way to a padded chair.  She pressed me off of her shoulders and over her head -- a real military press, not just leaning over and letting me slide down, she head me in the air held by the power of her arms -- and I was slowly making a measured descent to the back of the chair, where she rested me face down, my stomach on the top of the back and my legs dangling over the back.  The top of my head was resting on the cushion and I could see a tube hidden in the cushion.  She released me and I felt her push up against my behind, eliciting another jolt of pain, and she reached over me and grabbed the tube from near my head. 

"This should soothe you." 

I heard her squeeze something out of the tube.  What was going to do me?  What was in the tube?  My ass was completely exposed and she had just come up behind me and pressed against it.  Had she seen some of the other videos I'd watched?  Was she about to lube up my ass and penetrate me?  There was no way I was going to let that happen and I started kicking wildly, saying "No, don't do that!" 

One thwack to my ass ended the kicking.  I blubbered something promising not to kick anymore, and she gave one more spank, I think to the other cheek, I guess to make things balanced.

I heard a bit more of a squeeze, and then felt a coolness on my behind that was at first stinging but then incredibly soothing.  She was rubbing all over my cheeks, applying some kind of lotion to them, and my breathing went from rough and jolting to calm and even.

She spoke to me in a soft and gentle voice, while she rubbed all over my behind, stopping from time to time to squeeze more lotion out of the tube. 

"You needed punishment, yes, for being such a bad boy all that time ago.  Bad boys always get their punishment.  It just sometimes takes a while.  But we're just getting started, and I need to make sure that this first step doesn't make it impossible for you to handle the rest of what I have in store for you."  She squeezed the tube.  I felt her hand travel between my cheeks, lotioning in between, the spot where she had spanked my anus so painfully.  "Because there is much to do still.  Much for you to learn."  She squeezed the tube again.  I felt her hand travel further downward, to the perineum between by anus and my testicles, which had been tangentially impacted by the spanking but was, at that moment, intensely sensitive.  I definitely tensed and gasped.  "Much for you to...experience."  The squeezed the tube, and she continued between my legs, grabbing my balls and massaging them, and I could feel the cool of the lotion as it spread across my scrotum, and then more lotion on the shaft of my penis, and she was stroking me, a lotioned hand on a lotioned penis.  I was going wild, my penis harder than I'd ever imagined it could be while this muscle woman was giving me a handjob while I was draped over her chair. 

She released my penis and put her arm under my legs and lifted them up, then put her other arm under my torso and pulled me off of the chair and heaved me up over one of her shoulders. I was facing backwards, my face dropping down to the small of her back where I was so close to her glutes, and saw them bulging out from her body but clearly hard and striated.  My stomach was on her shoulder and my legs were sticking straight out to her front, and she had her arm around my waist holding me in place.  Worried about falling, I instinctively put my hands out and the rested on her glutes, pushing at them to keep my face away but providing some sense of security.  I held my hands there, unsure where else to put them, and she grabbed my penis again and started stroking me.  I was desperately trying to fight the desire, but it was overwhelming me, this feeling of helplessness as I was draped over the shoulder of this much stronger woman, with a body that for years was my fetish desire, and the psychic pain it was causing for me to be held in this way not by some fantasy woman but instead by my ex- who I'd never thought would get to this state of strength and musculature made me tense up and fight it, and I grabbed tightly at her glutes, squeezing them trying to fight the sensation, and I heard her saying, "go ahead and try, you'll never make a dent in those."   And she continued her stroking, over and over, until I couldn't take it anymore and I heard her say, "One!" and I spasmed and came uncontrollably, and my tension was released and I flopped over her shoulder in exhaustion.

I was in a daze, but I felt her swing me back over her shoulder, and put me in some position, and then felt a soft kiss on my lips.  It felt different.  Something felt different.  The terror was gone.  But some form of fear remained, a fear of how this was going to change me, how the last 30 minutes had wiped away years of work to forget this part of my life, to forget those unusual desires that had so consumed me for so long.  I felt myself slipping, into an old self, but one that saw a light in the distance.  It was a fetish, yes, when it was secret and in my dreams.  But would it be a fetish...if it were real?

----------------------------------------------------

He tried to stop me before I could start, tried to talk me out of whatever I'd planned next.  I wouldn't let him finish, quieting his voice with a finger over his mouth.  I knew this wouldn't stop his struggles, his desire to escape.  And I was right.  Almost the instant I put him back on this feet, I could feel him turn in my hands to get away, turn towards the door, to safety.  I half-wanted to let him go, imagining watching him running out of my apartment onto the street and run down the block before realizing he had no pants on!  But I wasn't going to let that happen.  I wanted him humiliated, yes, but in a way that was in front of me, not the public.  So I stopped him quickly by grabbing the most prominent part of his body, which at that moment was clearly his cock.  I grabbed it firmly, and put my pinkie around his balls to lock the whole area in place.  In control.  I gave it a pull and his body moved with it.  I told him we weren't done yet, that he couldn't leave.  Much more to accomplish.

He was aware, mostly.  Aware that I was muscular, although I hadn't shown him the full extent.  Aware that I was strong, that I could hold him over my lap and he couldn't get away.  And I had established the most basic level of dominance, one of physical punishment.  I had spanked him -- him, a fully grown adult male, over my knee, helpless to defend, spanked with my hand and then with a spatula until he begged me to stop, agreed to do whatever I wanted him to do.  I know he didn't fully mean it, he was just trying to find the right formula to get me to stop.  But soon enough he would mean it.  So while I wasn't entirely done with my Awareness and Dominance stages, I was well into them.  I had to deepen the awareness.  I had to extend the dominance.  And it was time to also introduce Caring.  It was important to make progress through the stages, but it wasn't linear. It was shades of each, and they overlapped for maximum effect.

Deepening the awareness was easy.  I had more layers to remove after all!  I was still wearing my pants that showed nothing below the waist, and my t-shirt showed some great width and arm size but limited his view of my chest, which I knew was going to blow him away.  At the gym, men and women were always amazed by the density of my pecs.  I had good natural genetics for building pec size, and even before I had augmentation surgery it would appear to others when I wore a tight shirt that I had sizable tits even though it was all pec muscle.  Now that I had actual tits -- well, not actual, but you know what I mean -- the effect was even greater.  But he hadn't seen any of that yet, nor the full effect of my shoulders, and not my abs either.  He would see all of that in time, and worship it all, as he compared my physique to his and recognized my supreme superiority, and the hopelessness of his struggles.

But to effectively compare he had to be able to see his own physique in its entirety, and that meant removing his shirt.  I made some joke about taking his shirt off so he wouldn't run, and grabbed it.  I was going to tear it off of him, but he held his arms down so I decided to quickly test myself, to see how easy it would be to overpower him.  I pulled the shirt up and over his head, and while he was desperately pushing his arms down to stop me it was shockingly easy to force his arms up over his head.  How much stronger than him was I, really?  I'd never considered how strong he was when we were together, because it wasn't something we ever focused on.  But now strength and power were central to things, and I wondered, was he this weak when we were together?  Was he stronger then and let himself go?  Or has he been working out and I just advanced exponentially faster than him?  These questions ran through my mind, but in the end none of them mattered to the here and now -- I'd just forced his arms up despite his best efforts, I probably used 30% of my strength to do so, and so I was much stronger than him, pure and simple.  Maybe 2x, maybe 3x, maybe more, but it was a lot.

His shirt was off quickly.  I tore it in two for effect.  I'd practiced that several times over the past week.  I knew just where to hold it, at the weakest part of the seam.  It was easy.  Well, it was easy for me.

He was looking down at my feet again. Did he have a foot fetish, too?   This was the third time I'd seen him looking at my feet.  Then I watched him raise his head and look me up, and when his eyes made it to my arms they just locked in place.  I watched his breathing.  It was in short bursts, not a tired air-sucking but a form of panic.  His eyes weren't moving even an inch.  I lifted my arm to the side, and his eyes followed.  I did it a second and third time, and his head bobbed with my arm.  I lifted my arm over my head and he looked up, keeping his eyes locked on my arm.  This was actually quite fun! 

"You like big arms on a girl.  I remember that.  All those videos of girls with huge bodybuilder arms.  It turns you on, I can see that.  But in all those videos, did you ever see an arm like this, up this close?  Take a look at this baby."  I flexed one of the arms, a good bicep flex, and his eyes opened so wide and he took a big gasp of air and held it.  His breathing was audible.  A mixture of panic breathing and excitement breathing.  I flexed it a few times and I could feel the blood flooding into the muscle.  4 or 5 flexes got it to its maximum size.  Then I gave him the double view, I flexed the other one at the same time.  One of my favorite poses, double biceps straight away.  I pumped them both, over and over.  His hand was back on his cock.  He wasn't stroking himself, he was fondling, I'm sure he could sense some tingling down there and was reacting to it.   I let him rest it there and play, as long as he didn't stroke it I was fine with that.  Any pleasure he would feel would be from my touch or at my direction.

I noticed his eyes finally broke from my arms.  He looked down, at my stomach, and I noticed that he could see a peek of my abs.  He looked up at my arms again, and then back down to my abs, he didn't know what to do with his eyes, I think his brain was overloaded. 

"Time for you to see more."  I finally took my shirt off and showed him my halter tank top, which I so loved to wear because with my expanded tits atop my massive chest looming over my narrow waist it made for what one guy called the sexiest effect he'd ever seen.  I gave him another double biceps and I heard a very audible gasp, he said "Oh my god, my god," and then I gave him my favorite pose, my front lat spread, and I heard him say "Oh maa, oh naaa," which was probably random sound as he was searching for the will to breathe.  I ripped off my pants, one quick motion and they split in two along the notches I'd made, and he could finally see my legs.  I was performing that lat spread that my trainer once called the single most impressive pose he'd ever seen on anyone, male or female.  He looked down at my legs, but then when I changed to a double biceps again he was back up staring at my arms.

 "Now you've seen me.  Now you know.  Not what you expected, right?"

He started blubbering.  He couldn't get words out, his breathing was too short and clipped.  And I could see his arm moving a bit, and found that he had started stroking himself, which had to stop.  I stepped forward to him, took his hand and said "No baby, not yet.  Would you like some help finding the words?  Maybe a touch or two will give you inspiration."

I flexed my arm again and brought his hand to it.  It was time for him to learn how to worship me.

As I got more muscular, I found that I was incredibly sensitive when they were touched sensually.  Like I said earlier, I'd been with some guys over the last few years.  This sensitivity wasn't everywhere on my body.  It wasn't on my neck, it wasn't on my toes.  It was when the touch was directly to the most massive parts of my musculature -- my upper arms, my delts, my traps, my thighs, my calves and my abs.  Massage was and is a key component of my workout regimen, to keep the muscles I've been building loose and pliable, but the sensitivity caused complexities even to massages -- I had to bite down on something whenever I was on the massage table, to combat the sensitivity.

My ex was going to have to learn how to touch me the right way, not only the touch itself but also the reason behind each touch.  I wanted him to worship every muscle on my body.  And I knew he wanted to do that, just like in the videos.  But in the videos I never saw women sexually reacting just from the touch -- it was usually the men.  He was going to have to learn that worshiping my muscles was for my pleasure and not for his, but that it was both a requirement and a blessing to him.  But not for his pleasure.

Right now, though, there was no question he was going to get pleasure from his first experience touching me.  Well, he'd touched me before many times, but not the new me.  And I'd let him have that pleasure for now.  But I would end it with pain before starting pleasure in another form. 

He touched my arm.  He sighed.  I felt him squeezing it, probably as hard as he could, although it had no impact on my arm at all.  His grip wasn't strong enough to make a dent.  No man's was.  I caught another glimpse of his other arm move and noticed he was stroking his cock again.  He couldn't help himself!  I grabbed his hand away again, this time a little more roughly, and then squeezed and twisted his balls and he squirmed a bit in my grasp but never stopped feeling my arm with his other hand.  "No, not that. That's for me to do."  I brought his second hand to my arm and told him to try to get his hands around my arms, told him some stats about my arm, how big and strong they were, some  muscle talk that I was hoping would drive him wild and intimidate him at the same time, but I think his mind was entirely focused on the feel of my biceps as I flexed them over and over in his grasp. 

It was time to end this pleasure for him with a dose of pain.  I reached around his waist and put my hand on his raw ass, and scraped my fingernails along them.  He tensed and let out this sad little whimper, like a dog's whimper, still holding onto my arm but tighter, like he was afraid he would collapse and was desperate to stay upright. 

"Oh, my poor baby, that must hurt.  I need to take care of that for you," I said to him. It was time for caring.

I put him over my shoulder, ensuring in the process that he could tell that it was easy for me to get him up over my head.  Once he was in the right position, I locked him there through his legs and over his neck.   I started walking around the apartment with him.  I swung him around a bit, twisting myself side to side so he could feel himself up in the air. I told him how I remembered that I liked watching women do this to men in the videos he was watching.  It was important to remind him that I remembered the videos, as much as possible.  I wanted him remembering them too, in case he had stopped watching them in the last few years.  I walked him around for a minute or so, in and out of the kitchen, around the sofa, to the front door, all the while telling him how light he was and how easy it was to carry him around.  I made my way to the sitting chair, the next station in my journey.  I had to put him face down over the back of the chair so I could have access to his butt cheeks, so to do so I had to get my hands back into position to press him over my head and bring him down to the chair.  I didn't press him all the way, but when I got him up in the air his hands reached down and grabbed my biceps, probably an instinctual response to prevent a fall.  I liked that feeling, his using my muscles for protection, even if it did happen to be an instinct in this case as opposed to a thoughtful decision.  I laid him over the chair, making sure his stomach was the pivot point as opposed to his groin, and then gently and quickly adjusted his cock so it didn't get crushed by the chair.   

It was time for caring.  I reached over him to extract the moisturizing balm from the cushion of the chair.  I squeezed the tube and it made a razzing sound as the goop came out.  He tensed up immediately, I'm not sure why because I wasn't even touching him at that point, other than my legs pressing against his legs so he would stay on the chair.  He started panicking, big time.  He was kicking his legs, and he hit my leg with one of his legs.  "No, don't do that!"  he said.  I assumed at the time that he thought I was going to start spanking him again, but it's possible he thought I was going to shove a butt plug into him.  I'd seen that in one of the videos as I was surfing, and it just seemed strange.  Not my thing.  Whatever his concern, kicking me was not acceptable. 

I gave him a very strong spank, probably stronger than any individual slap I'd given him earlier, and he yelled in pain and stopped kicking.  I gave him one more just for good measure, not as hard but still meaningful.  Clearly his butt was raw and tender, and I was worried that I may have done such a job on him that it would make it hard for him later.  I would need extra moisturizing balm, I thought.  I couldn't quite understand what he was muttering as he calmed down after that initial yell of pain but it sounded like he promised not to kick again, and that was good enough for me for now.

I applied the cooling balm to his ass, and after an initial tensing from the shock of the touch, his body relaxed and his breathing became calmer.  He was making noises of relaxation with each breath, "aaah, aaaah, aaaaaah," as I rubbed the balm gently and softly across the rawest parts of his butt, all around, making sure it covered all the redness, everywhere I had struck him.  After all of the redness was addressed, I made my next move.  I took smaller and more frequent squirts from the tube, and made my way to my intended destination -- first into the crack, then onto his anus, then under the anus to that patch of skin between the anus and his scrotum, then I opened his legs and put my hands through to the scrotum, and lathered his balls up fully, and then one last squirt and I took hold of his cock.  I told him he was going to get a new experience, and started stroking his cock, for the first time a stroke that was clearly intended to give him pleasure.  I heard him emit a sigh of pleasure at the sensation, and then I picked him up and put him back over my shoulder, with his cock down in front of me.  It was time for his first orgasm.

I had developed the belief that to make a man submissive required tying his orgasms to your dominant behavior.  Not just once, but again and again.  I wanted him submissive today, so I figured I needed more than a few of these instances.  I had planned on four of them, each one completed using more power and dominance than the last.  This first one was to be done just showing how I could show him my strength while getting him off -- pretty basic stuff.  Later would be more dominant executions. 

So I had him over my shoulder and started jerking him off, stroking his slippery, balmed cock again and again.  At one point I felt him trying to grab my ass, maybe he was trying to stop me or maybe it was a physical reaction to the overwhelming stress he was feeling from desperately wanting to orgasm but my not having him there yet.  I could feel him take a huge intake of breath and hold it, and I knew he was there, so I quickly grabbed the jar from the chair and held it at the tip of his penis and gave it one last stroke and he came into it, spurt after spurt, it just kept coming, more than I'd ever seen any man emit.  He'd made his first deposit.  "One!" I shrieked, and I'm sure he had no idea what I was referencing but soon enough he would.  His body went flaccid while his cock remained hard, and he was jelly in my arms.   

I flipped him back over my shoulder and cradled him in my arms, holding him tightly.  He was limp.  I made sure his head rested on my shoulder.  I held him as caringly as I could, swaying just a bit to ensure he was calm.  I walked him around the room a bit, making sure to hold the jar safely in my hand.  I'd need that later, and I didn't want it to spill.  And then I gave him the first kiss of the evening, three soft presses onto his lips in slow succession.  On the third, I felt him barely return the kiss, a slight, inviting opening of his mouth. 

He was controlled, but not yet under my control.  It was time to move to the next stage.  He was now fully aware.  He had experienced mild dominance and a hint of caring.  Next was submission, and to get there I knew I had to raise the volume of dominance to levels he had never experienced in real life, only in his fantasies.  As I held him there, starting to walk him towards my bedroom, I hoped and prayed that I wouldn't completely destroy him in the process.

----------------------------------------------------

She carried me into the bedroom.  I was just re-emerging from the daze that had come over me after she had made me come.  My mind was spinning -- did I enjoy it?  Was this my dream in reality?  Or was this a nightmare that was just beginning, was she playing with me in some twisted punishment scenario she was acting out with me to make a point now that she was clearly a different woman -- a woman who now had the power and strength to make a point with me.

Despite having just been brought to perhaps the most intense orgasm of my life, I wanted to get out of there.  "Please, let me go.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry for everything.  No more, I've learned my lesson.  Just let me go."

She put be back down on my feet.  I was a little unsteady and almost fell over and she held me up under my arms.

She closed the door to the bedroom behind me and pushed me up against it.  She held me to the door with one arm pushing against my chest.

"You want to leave, do you?  Even after that?  OK, let's play a little game."

"No games, please.  I just want to go."

"I'll make you a deal.  If you can get out of this room, I promise to let you leave.  That's all.  Easy as that.  Just make it out of the room.  Of course, I'm going to do my best to stop you, but I'm just one woman.  You're a man."   She took off her heels and kicked them to the side.  She was now just a bit shorter than me, just like I remembered her.  Shorter, but definitely broader.  And definitely stronger, I knew that now.  "And you're bigger than me, see that now?  Without my heels, I don't tower over you.  I'm just a woman of normal height, smaller than you, and all you have to do is make it out of this room, and you're free."

"And what if I can't?"

"Why think so negatively, baby?  Have some confidence in yourself!  If you can't, then you can't.  We can figure that out later."

"But you shredded my clothes!"

"I just tore your shirt.  Your pants are still out there.  But I'll be fair with you, just in case you don't trust me.  Here...."  She let me go and reached over to the bed, and in that split second I turned around and reached for the doorknob, got the door open just  a little bit, and before I could go any further I saw an arm shoot out in front of my eyes and slam the door shut, and then push me up against the door face first.  "That was cheating, we hadn't started yet."  She put her hand on my behind, and rubbed it a bit.  It stung but not like it did before, not a blinding pain.  The soothing lotion had made things a bit better.  "Do we need another round of punishment for being a bad boy, hmmmm?"

"No, no, no, I'm sorry, it was just an instinct, no more of that," I said to her.

"For now I will forgive that instinct."  She turned me back around to face her.  She handed me a pair of black shorts.  "You can put these on.  If you can't find your clothes out there when you get out of the bedroom, and you're worried I'll chase you down, you can just run outside in these."

I put them on.  They fit well, and the fabric was soft so it didn't bother my raw behind. 

Once I had the shorts on, she grabbed the waist of the shorts with one hand, and put her other hand under my armpit. 

"Go,"  she said, and I felt myself flying through the air again, she had lifted me up and thrown me across the room, and I landed on the bed and bounced off of the other side, onto a bunch of pillows.

I got up and made a run at her, planning on ramming my shoulder into her gut.  Just before I hit her, she shooed me to the side and I hit the wall.  I got up quickly and lunged at her legs, planning on tackling her.  I got my arms around one of her legs, but soon after locking my hands in she got her arms around my waist and lifted me upside down, and when I let go of her legs she tossed me aside back onto the carpet. 

This wasn't working.  I wasn't getting leverage.  I was trying to spring at her. 

I approached her from the front, more slowly this time, and made a move low, she bend down to ward me off, and then made a jump at her neck and got my arm around her head.  I put all my weight on her, holding her in a headlock.  I thought I had her, and then I felt her hand grab my elbow and she pulled my arm off of her head, then I felt her other hand shoot between my legs and she lifted me and threw me onto, and over, the bed again. 

I tried again from the front, this time I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled, and I was able to get her off balance and she staggered forward away from the door.  I pulled hard and she fell to the ground.  I had my chance!  Not looking back, I grabbed the doorknob and turned it, opened the door and was about to take a running step outside when I felt an arm grab me around the waist and I was up in the air again, flying backwards, and once again landed on the bed, bouncing off to the pillows.

"You almost had me there," she said, standing at the other side of the bed, away from the door. 

I saw another opportunity, and decided that perhaps I needed to get a bit more aggressive with her.  I stalked my way up to her, and this time tried to kick her in the stomach, but she slapped my leg away and I went spinning to the ground.  I started to get up and took a wild swing and hit her in the stomach, hard, but it had no impact on her and instead merely served to make my hand ache.  Those abs were for real.  As I held my hand in pain, I felt a sharp blow to my cheek and I went spinning to the ground again.  She had slapped me.

She stood over me.  "Don't try hitting me again.  If you want to get out, you'll have to overpower me.  Overpower this."  She did a double biceps flex again, and from below her upper body looked even more massive and imposing than from my earlier view straight on.  "Unless you want to give up.  Is it time for me to make you give up?"

"NO!" I yelled, and I got up quickly and jumped at her, intent on bringing her down to the ground again.  I got my arms around her shoulders and wrapped my legs around her waist and I was pulling and pushing as hard as I could but she was just standing there, and when I took a moment to look at her to see how hard she was straining I saw her calmly look back at me and smile.  I stopped trying after I saw that and tried to climb back down to attempt a different maneuver but she grabbed me and hoisted me over her head, holding me by the butt and the back of the neck, fully extending her arms, and my nose seemed perilously close to the ceiling but I'm sure it was several feet away, and she walked around with me for a few minutes, saying something I couldn't understand because my senses were shut down from the terror of potentially being dropped from such a height, and then I was flying yet again, thrown to the bed and I bounce off and into the wall, which thankfully was also covered by pillows.

I looked back up at her, and she flexed her biceps again.  "Now do you give up?  Or do you still think you can get out?"

I tried one last time, I'm not even sure what I did or how I approached her, it's a bit of a blur now, but she got me bent over and trapped my head between her legs and was crushing my head, and I yelled out that I gave up, and I couldn't hear anything she was saying as I continued yelling it out, worried that she couldn't hear me only because I couldn't hear anything through the massive thighs that were covering my ears, and then she lifted me by the waist and I was upside down, my head still trapped and my legs straight up in the air, and I felt her walk a few steps around the room, and then she removed the shorts and I'm sure I was hard again and I short time later her yelling "Two!" and the next thing I remember is waking up, with a view unlike any I'd ever had.

------------------------------------------------------------

It was time for some wrestling fun.  This was a core element of so many of the videos I'd seen -- a woman and man wrestling, the woman overpowering and pinning the man over and over, until finally the man gives up.  In most of the videos, the man gets sexually aroused by the wrestling, and in most of those videos, the man is stripped naked by the woman and she helps finish him off.  I didn't have any wrestling mats, so I opted instead for a little game.

I carried him into the bedroom, still cradling him like a child in my arms.  He was so adorable in that position.  I discretely put the jar of his semen onto the dresser, hidden from view.  He was begging me to let him go.  "I'm so sorry for everything...I've learned my lesson."  There was nothing he could stay to stop the next stage. 

I put him back down on his feet, next to the door, and then closed the door behind him.  I told him that we would play a little game, that if he wanted to leave he would have to get through me.  If he successfully did so, I'd let him leave.  And if not...well, I didn't tell him what would happen if he didn't leave, I left that to his imagination.  I took off my high heels for the first time; I wanted to be intimidating but not too intimidating, so I gave him the psychic benefit of being slightly taller than me. 

He objected that he didn't have his clothes, and of course I'd thought of that.  I'd left a pair of shorts on the bed.  I pretended to turn around to get the shorts, figuring he'd make a break for it, and he was predictable as always.  I gave him no opportunity.  I had considered throwing him over my lap again, to soften him up before I let him try to wrestle me for freedom, but I'd done more damage to his ass already than I'd intended, so I was compassionate, I just pushed him back against the door, and put my hand on his ass and squeezed just a bit, just enough for him to feel it, to know what I could do.  He gasped and held his breath, and started blubbering, begging me not to spank him again.  I admonished him, told him not to cheat, called him a "bad boy" which I had already used several times but I wanted to reinforce that I saw him as a boy.  I was a woman, a strong and powerful woman, but next to me he looked like just a boy. 

I gave him the shorts and he put them on.  The moment they were on, I took my first test of wrestling dominance -- I grabbed him by the groin and the neck and I threw him across the room, onto the bed. He bounced off and onto the pillows.  "Go!" I told him.

I was incredibly excited to test my wrestling strength and skills against him, although I knew that it wouldn't be much of a test.  From just that first throw, I knew he had no chance.  Picking him up was a breeze, and throwing him wasn't much harder.  He wasn't a trained wrestler at all, and I doubt he was much of a fighter. 

As for me, yes, I was incredibly strong physically from the bodybuilding, but I had a group of four girls, me and three other women who worked out a lot, and we did different fighting disciplines 3 days per week as cross training, bringing in different experts each time.  We experimented widely -- jiu jitsu, judo, kickboxing, olympic wrestling, and other martial arts that, I guess, fed into MMA.   Traditional olympic wrestling was my favorite, actually.  It was a test of strength and speed, both of which I had in abundance.  And two of the girls in our group had been collegiate wrestlers, so they were tremendously skilled, and also quite strong, although not as strong as me.

One of those girls was super-interesting.  This is a bit of an aside, I know, but she was a densely strong chick, and very tough, and last summer I saw her out at the park with a guy, and they were sunbathing, and he was this incredibly skinny guy and she was in her bikini and she was really buff at that point, full and thick muscles even if they weren't highly defined like mine, and I assumed it was some friend of hers or her brother or something but when I said hello she introduced him as her boyfriend of 7 years!  I must have reacted in a bit of disbelieving way, which I was ashamed of later and apologized to her, but he chimed in.

"We get that a lot, don't be embarrassed," he said, lying back on his towel.

I tried to play it off.  "Get what?"

"It's ok," he said, not moving from his towel, completely non-plussed by the moment.  It's not like I don't know she's a lot bigger than me.  It's not a sudden thing."

"Oh, sorry.  I noticed, but it's none of my business."

He sat up and took off his sunglasses.  "What's none of your business?"

"Nothing.  I mean, the two of you, the difference, it's not a big deal to me."

He put his glasses down next to him and seemed to be getting upset, and said "Not a BIG deal?  It's not even a deal to you.  What we do isn't..."  And then she placed her hand on his arm and he immediately stopped talking. 

"It's ok baby, she didn't mean anything by it," she said.  "Come lie on me."  And he shimmied over and laid his head on her stomach and relaxed again.

Later I talked to her and she told me about their relationship.  That he was a strong personality to the outer world, an executive with a finance company, but at home he was completely submissive to her, and that she used her strength to dominate him at home, and only at home.  But that it was an entirely consensual and bilateral relationship -- they both were into it.  I'd seen the fetish videos but I'd never met anyone who actually did any of that stuff.  I wanted to ask some detailed questions but she told me she was private about it, and asked me to maintain her privacy, that the only reason she told me was because we were becoming such good friends through our training and because she had this hunch that she had a dominant streak too.  I told her that I'd never had a relationship like that, which is why I was so curious, but the topic ended and we never brought it up again.

Anyway, the four of us did a lot of wrestling and with my ex there, I desperately wanted to apply what I learned and show him how utterly over-matched he was, not just by my strength but by my skills.

And that's what I did over the next 10 minutes or so.  I thought it would take longer to get him to give up, but it only took 10 minutes, maybe less.  I even surprised myself at how impressive I was at fending off his best advances and countering with superior force.  He tried headlocks but I pried those off.  He tried to grab my legs but I pulled him off also.  He tried to bear hug me but made me laugh when he couldn't get his arms around my back to get sufficient leverage, so I fended him off pretty easily. 

He came pretty close once when he pulled on my wrist and when I was going to reach under his other arm to flip him over on his back I tripped over his foot and stumbled forward.  He got close -- too close for comfort!  - but I caught him before he was able to step outside and wrapped one arm around his waist and heaved him backwards.  He flew like he'd been pulled by a rubber band!  I realized I'd need to be a bit more careful with how hard I was tossing him around.

He even tried to hit me.  I knew he would do that at some point, and I knew exactly what my response would be.  He tried a kick first, but it was the lamest and weakest kick I'd ever seen.  If any of the women had tried that on a jiu-jitsu day we would have laughed her off the mats!  He had no balance, and a quick deflection sent him spinning away to the ground.  Then he caught me with an uppercut to my stomach.  I saw it coming and could have deflected it easily, but I figured this was the right time to introduce a new element, so I let it through, but tensed my abs and his hand bounced off.  He yelped "ow" and grabbed his hand in pain.  Even the women in my group knew not to bother kicking my abs! One of them once broke a toe!

So I slapped his face, very hard, with the back of my hand.  He went spinning to the ground.  This was an important moment.  Spanking was one thing -- even though it was painful to him, there was an element of playfulness to it, like it was a prelude to something else.  I could say fun things like "you've been a bad, bad boy" and it fit the context. 

But this was different. It was clear from the sharpness of the slap, and then from the stern look on my face when he caught his senses and looked up at me, and then from the firmness of my voice when I admonished him, that he should never try to hit me again, ever.  And if that weren't enough, I gave him another arm flex to remind him what kind of power was behind that slap, and would be behind any other punishment I would deliver.  I asked him again if he wanted to give up.

I was hoping he would give up at that moment, but he had resolve, and my flexing and preening made him angry.  He yelled out "No!" and jumped at me, grabbing me around the shoulders and wrapping his legs around me, I guess hoping he could topple me and squeeze me into submission.  He was grunting and pulling and pushing me, and his eyes were closed with all the effort, and I just let him tire himself out, standing there supporting his weight.  He eventually slowed his struggles and opened his eyes again, and looked at me, and I just looked back at him and smiled, making it clear that none of what he was doing was having any impact on me whatsoever.

He was about to jump off of me and I went for the kill.  Instead of letting him down, I lifted him up.  I grabbed him by the ass and the back of his neck, steadied him horizontally, and then pressed him up and over my head.  I held him as high as I could, making sure he knew I could hold him easily up there.  "You're so light in my hands!" I said to him.  "You weigh, what, 150 or 160?  I can do this with well over 200lbs at the gym!  I could hold you here forever!"  He was shaking a little bit in my hands, it was obvious he was terrified.  "Time to fly, baby," I said, and I threw him forward, he hit the bed and bounced off into the wall.  I was so thankful I'd thought to put the pillows on the wall, that could have been a bad bounce otherwise.

I was about to walk over to him to claim my prize when he jumped up and ran at me again, putting his shoulder into my gut and wrapping his arms around my waist, and he was swinging his arms blubbering something or other, and I let that go on for a few seconds and then pushed his head down and trapped it between my legs.  I flexed by thighs just a bit and heard him scream, and then decided that was too much and just lightly held his head in place.  Honestly, I'd had enough, and I had made my point sufficiently to him.  I said to him, "it's hopeless for you to try to compete with me based on strength or skill.  I need you to stop trying before you really get hurt.  It's time for this stage to end."  And then I reached over and grabbed his waist and pulled him up, using his head as a pivot, so he was upside down in front of me, facing away.  I pulled my shorts off of him in one motion and exposed his cock, once again incredibly erect.  I shimmied over to the dresser to get the jar.  And then I stroked him off a second time, and within maybe 15 seconds he made a deposit in the jar almost as much as the first time.  I released his head a bit so he was sure to hear me.

"Two." 

I put him back on the floor.  He was completely passed out.  Maybe I squeezed his head too hard.  Or maybe that orgasm was too much for him to handle.  Either way, he was out, and I could do whatever I wanted with him.

It was time for stage 4 -- complete and total submission.

--------------------------------------------

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on my back.  My face was being stroked by a hand, her hand.  I opened my eyes and saw two breast, perfectly shaped and only partially covered by a cutoff halter top.  My head was in her lap.  I couldn't see her face, only those perfect breasts.  I'd never really been that much of a breast guy -- after all, I dated her back when she was a beanpole and she had much less than a handful.  But for some reason the sight of these breasts, and underneath them from that vantage point I could see the outlines of her underlying pecs that appeared thicker than anyone I'd ever seen, woman or man.  As much as, or maybe more than, any picture I'd seen or video I'd watched on the internet back during my fetish days. 

Back then. 

I started thinking about it, and back then was now.  My fetish was clearly not gone.  My fetish was present.  I had become uncontrollably hard when my ex spanked me, and then when she completely destroyed me while I was trying to wrestle my way past her to escape.  Both times, I was overpowered, shown to be inferior, outclassed by a beautiful and muscular woman, and all those desires came back.  No, not came back.  They'd always been there, I'd just been repressing them.  The desires were a part of me, and she was bringing light to them once more.  But a real world light, not a glow from a computer screen.

I had spent far too much of my life trolling the internet for muscle porn.  Even when I was dating her, I sometimes told her I didn't want to make plans because I wanted to jack off to some video I'd downloaded the night before.  Sometimes it was just a straight video of a bodybuilder flexing.  I liked them as massive as possible, but cut and defined.  They had to look the part.  These were even better when there was a smaller man in the video as a comparison -- and better still when they were comparing to each other, showing how much bigger her arms were than his, how if she flexed her lats he would disappear behind her, how his hands couldn't fit around her calves.  Then there were the wrestling videos, with muscular woman pinning men.  Some of these were long and involved, but I was drawn to wrestling videos where the men were picked up and carried and thrown around, not just skirmishing on the mat and turning him over.  I liked it when the woman would demonstrate massively superior strength.  Lifting the man and throwing him, just like my ex had just done to me.  And some of these videos ended with the woman pinning the guy and jerking him off.  Sadly there were few of these with bodybuilders, more with fit chicks, but as long as the guy was completely subdued I found those episodes a total turn on -- the stronger chick in control of his manhood, taking his come whether he liked it or not.  I'm sure he always liked it.  I would have.  I just did.  There were also some videos that I would come across that didn't do it for me -- there was a stream of fetish videos of dominant women, some of whom were also muscular, using dildos on submissive men.  While I watched those from time to time, more out of curiosity than anything, it wasn't my thing.  And in the wrestling videos some of the guys got off from having the woman sit on his face, forcing him to give pleasure to her that way.  That wasn't my thing either, in that fetish or in any of my normal relationships, I never liked to bring my face there for any reason.  But overall, I spent way too much of my life on this form of sexual self-pleasure, and I was glad to be rid of it.

And then this.

"Welcome back," she said.  "I'm sorry I put you out like that.  I'll make it up to you."  Then she lifted off her halter top and threw it to the side, and she was wearing a bikini top, I knew it was a posing bikini, and I could see that I was right about her pecs and her breasts.  They were both incredible.  She continued to caress my cheeks, and I was upset to notice that it was calming to me, that I wanted to smile and give a sound of satisfaction but I prevented myself from doing so.  I just stared up at her, trying to act unfeeling, maybe a bit perturbed.

"Can I please go now.  I apologized.  I apologize again.  I've had enough."

She tsked several times and put a finger over my mouth.  "No, baby.  You've had enough when I say you've had enough."  I got agitated at this point and didn't hear what she said next.  But then she roughly threw me off of her and to the ground.  She stood up and took off her shorts, displaying her posing bikini bottom, and gave me yet another flex, a double biceps that was even more breathtaking now that I could see even more skin. 

"I know you like this, I can see it from that cock springing to action," she said.  And she was right, I looked down and I was hard yet again.  "If you want me to set you free, I think you should show me how much you want it.  I want you to worship every muscle on this body.  I know you know what that means, from those videos you used to watch.  Touch everything.  Rub everything.  Kiss everything.  I give you permission.  No, not just permission.  I demand it.  Now."

I hesitated, about to say something in response, and then I saw her lift her hand in preparation of a backhanded slap to my face, and I knelt down and kissed her feet.  And then I slowly worked my way up her legs, moving around her as she stood solid on the ground, kissing and rubbing her calves, all quite dispassionate with my only intent to finish the task so she would let me go.  I regarded her calves for a moment and held each one in my hand to test whether my hand or her calf was bigger, and I found it was difficult to decide.  Getting this close to her muscles, touching them, really made me understand how much work she had done to build her physique so much.  I continued, still somewhat mechanically, tracing the lines along her thighs, squeezing them and shaking them so I could see the huge muscles move side to side along her bones, then I got on my knees and went around to her glutes and kissed and kneaded them, then her lower back, and kissed her abs along every undulation, tracing my finger again in each crevice and ridge, and then started to stand up and raised my face towards her chest, until my nose rubbed along her breasts and I had a bolt of electricity go through me.  Suddenly, I don't know why, it clicked -- here I was in the closest proximity to the muscle woman of my dreams and I was making my way around her body like I was waxing a car.  Was I mental?  I kissed the chasm of her pecs, and I was right about their size, I fit two fingers in the chasm, there were huge and solid and I started kissing them them everywhere, I couldn't stop myself, kissing from left to right and top to bottom, getting my mouth achingly close to her perfect orbs and was preparing to start kissing them also when I felt her hand take my head and guide me away, up towards her shoulders.  So I continued the journey to her shoulders where I rubbed and squeezed them, kissed her down her left arm to her hand and then over to her other hand and up her right arm, gave her a lick along the length of her biceps and then a kiss to the middle of it, then went around the back and tried to massage the massive musculature of her upper back but it was too dense for me to move anything, so instead I just kissed her straight across from one side to the other, and then her traps, I squeezed them and kissed them, on to the neck and then I stopped with a kiss to the chin and looked up at her, and she was smiling a devilish smile at me.  I don't know if anything I had just done had turned her on at all, I hadn't heard her panting or reacting in any way.  She gave me a soft kiss on the lips and then said "One more place.  You never wanted to do this when we were together.  I want it now."

She pushed my head down, and the pressure was more than I could bear and I fell to my knees, and then she pushed me down harder and grabbed my hair, and tilted my head back, and then she took her bikini bottom and shifted it over a bit to expose her womanhood and started to force my face into it, and I was struggling against her, and she let go of my head and I jumped away from her. 

"No, I won't do that!" I yelled, and turned around and ran for the door, but as soon as my hand touched the doorknob I was being pulled backwards through the air and I was flipped over and thrown onto the bed, my face smashed into the bed. 

"Then it's time for you to truly understand what I can do to you," she said.  And she started to put me in hold after hold, each one more painful and embarrassing than the last.

I was squeezed, I was bent, I was smashed, I was contorted in so many different ways I lost count.  I was lifted and tossed around, I was held fast in her grasp, and ultimately pinned, I don't know, a dozen times, and each time she demanded that I utter "I submit" before she would let me go and move on to the next demolition.  I struggled my hardest for a long while, desperately trying to stop her from overpowering me, but eventually I gave in.  I knew I was hopelessly weaker than her.  And I came to accept that it was an uncontrollable turn-on for me.  I found myself trying my hardest to avoid having my raging erection smashed or bent by the various holds she put me in.  The end came when she had me up over her head  and it seemed like she was going to throw me across the room, but then she slammed me down to the bed, jumped on me and kneeled over me, atop my chest.  She wasn't sitting on me, she was just kneeling there, looming over me.  And she wasn't pinning me, I could have worked my way out, but by then I lacked the will to fight her.

"Do you submit?  Do you submit completely?"

I looked up at her, and knew that I was done.  "Yes, I submit completely."

She reached up and behind her neck, and as she did so her biceps exploded to its full size.  She gave a small tug to the string of her bikini, and the bikini melted off of her.  I stared up at her, at her bare chest, at those perfect nipples that were hard from her exertion, and I wanted them.  I wanted her.  I wanted all of her.  Then I looked down and her bikini bottom also was gone.  She was naked before me, as I was naked before her, however her nakedness was by choice, and at that point her nakedness would have been my choice too.  I was about to say something to her, and before I could get a word out she leaned forward and sat on my face, her pussy directly on my mouth.  "You know what to do, baby."  I'd never gone down on a woman before, I'd avoided it up until now.  Had I wanted to at any point, my preference would have been to not have the woman sitting on me so dominantly.  But in this case my preference was irrelevant.  She had made the choice for me.  And I followed her instructions.  I licked her over and over, sucking here and there, doing everything I could to pleasure her, even though I really couldn't hear any of her reactions, I could only feel that she was moving herself around giving me the signal that she was enjoying it. 

Then, out of nowhere, she got up and said "Don't move."  I stayed right where I was and then a few seconds later she came back and repositioned herself on top of me, still covering my mouth with her womanhood but this time she was facing my feet, and without any instruction I started again, and seconds later I felt her holding my penis and cupping my testicles and she was stroking me yet again, and saying "Wait, wait, wait" and I could hear her this time and I knew she didn't want me to come too soon, she was trying to time it with her own orgasm, so I held off and then I heard her say "Now!" and she shrieked and came on my face, and I had another mind-blowing orgasm, and I heard her yell "Three!"

My legs were twitching, my heart was pounding, and out of nowhere I blurted out "I love you!"  The moment I said it, I knew things would change.

-----------------------------------------

He was out cold for a while.  I laid his head on my lap, and looked down at his resting face, at his motionless body, his chest rising and falling with his relaxed breath.  He was so calm.  I felt his arms, such lean arms, even smaller than I'd remembered, but maybe that's just because the comparison has changed so dramatically.  I wrapped my fingers all the way around his upper arm and barely connected my middle fingertip to my thumb.  It fit all the way around.  He was so skinny.  I felt his shoulders, could easily feel the bone underneath and the palm of my hand could completely cover one of them.  I felt his chest, the narrowness of it across, the flatness of it, there was nothing to his chest at all, and I rubbed the tiny nipples to see if they would get erect at my touch and they did.  He was responsive to me even while knocked out.  I reached down further to his thighs, stretching both my hands to them, and wrapped my hands easily around one of them.  He was such a small, weak man, something I'd never recognized back when we were together.   I had just destroyed him physically, and feeling his body this way cemented the reality that there was zero chance of his ever competing with me on physical strength.  The idea that I could spend every day like this, overpowering him and then caressing him back, giving pleasure to both of us all the time, was all I could think about.  I was falling for him again.  Falling for him based on the supportive and caring person he was when we were together, falling for him based on my knowledge that he would relish the role I was creating for him in our relationship, and falling for him based on the body that was lying on me and that I desperately wanted to fuck but knew I had to wait until he was completely mine.  I rubbed him again, and thought to myself that I was actually worshipping his skinny, muscle-less body, just like I knew he would soon be worshipping my heavily muscled, dominant one.   Yes, dominant.  I would continue dominating him until he accepted that.  It was time for him to show submission.

It was time for him to wake up, for us to continue the process.  I laid one hand on his cock, rubbing it.  Again, he responded, hardening in my hand.  I played with his balls a bit, feeling them in my hand, moving them around, while at the same time tenderly caressing his face with my hand. His eyes opened.

"Welcome back," I said.  "I'm sorry I had to put you out like that.  I'll make it up to you."  I winked at him. 

I took off my tank top and revealed my bikini, and he could finally see the shape of my new tits.  Despite all the wrestling we'd been doing, they were still positioned in the bikini cups perfectly, jutting outwards proudly like I'd wanted when I visited the clinic.  I was incredibly proud of them.  And I wanted him to be too.  But he didn't really react that much, other than a bit of eye widening.  He just asked if he could leave again, said he'd had enough.

"No baby," I said, "you've had enough when I say you've had enough."  I was in control now.  It was time to show him how much in control I truly was.  I threw him off of me roughly and stood up, and tore off my shorts to reveal myself more fully in bikini and gave him some poses like I frequently practiced at the gym studio. 

I made sure to practice posing after every workout, at least for a little bit.  The practice wasn't for competitions, because I'd never really intended to compete.  And it wasn't to harden the muscle after a workout, like some trainers advised me.  My muscles were hard enough.  It was for me, it was so I could see myself in the mirror, appreciate the results of all my hard work, and to be honest I kind of turned myself on when I did it.  Not that I was attracted to myself, or to other muscular women, it wasn't that.  It was that whenever I posed, I thought of all of those videos I'd seen of female bodybuilders having men rub and kiss all of their muscles.  Muscle worship is what it was called, and that's what I'd daydream about in the studio when I was posing.  I didn't really mind the fact that, in the mirror, I could see men's faces as they stared at me. I got a kick out of that.  But I never invited any of them in to join my daydreams.

But today was different.  I wanted him fulfilling that fantasy for me.  And I could sense that he was ready to want it too.  His cock was still hard as he laid there, even harder than when I'd been playing with it a few minutes earlier, and I saw his hand move down to it, another instinct where he was needing release. 

But he just needed an invitation to worship, and a bit of prodding.

"I know you like this, I can see it from that cock springing to action," I said.  He looked down and removed his hand from his cock, probably remembering the last time he did that I slapped it away.  "If you want me to set you free, I think you should show me how much you want it.  I want you to worship every muscle on this body.  I know you know what that means, from those videos you used to watch.  Touch everything.  Rub everything.  Kiss everything.  I give you permission.  No, not just permission.  I demand it.  Now."

He hesitated, I think he really wanted to but didn't want to admit to himself that he wanted to.  So I prodded, with a raised hand, I was prepared to give him another backhanded slap and was about to let loose when he lunged at my feet and started kissing my toes.  I smiled, I even laughed a little at how easy it was to get him to act, with the mere threat of physical punishment.  He feared me.  I needed to know he respected me too.  And wanted me.  And would submit himself to me fully.

I could tell he wasn't into it as he started, the kisses were short pecks and he was moving quickly.  In my imagination, I had to force him to move from muscle to muscle because he was just too into it, that he didn't want to let even a single muscle go once he started touching it.  But he was moving from my feet to my calves to my legs as if he just wanted to get it over with.  He made it up my legs and approached my pussy but never quite kissed it like I'd hoped he would.  When we were together he never went down on me, and while I knew he would get there that evening he wasn't quite ready yet.  He kissed my ass after my legs.  I muttered to him, "get used to that," as a half-joke.  He gave me no reaction, maybe he didn't hear me.  When he made it to my abs, something changed.  I was flexing them for him, something I didn't do when he was working his way up my legs.  I wanted him to see the definition, feel the bumps and hardness, to their full extent.  And he slowed down.  He used his fingers to trace them.  He seemed to kiss every line, it just felt different at that point, like he was finally getting into it.  Then he moved up to my pecs and for a moment his face was between my tits and I squeezed them together just for a bit to trap his head, just for an instance, and I could feel his body tense up and then relax again as I released the hold.  He sighed again, the first sigh of this worship session, an indication that he was finally enjoying things.  He kissed my pecs all over, and while he was kissing them I was flexing  them for him, a beating of the muscle that took me months to perfect.  And as he worked up and down his nose poked against my left breast, and then his lips started to kiss the top of it, and he was about to work down it more, I knew he wanted to kiss it all over but there would be plenty of time for that, for now it was all about worshiping my muscles, so I took his head and redirected it elsewhere, to my shoulders, where he continued the worship, my shoulders, my arms, my hands, he kissed my hands and my fingertips, as if I were the queen herself, and then my neck and he was standing up at that point but not at his full height because he was still an inch shorter than me, perhaps he didn't want to be taller, perhaps he liked that feeling of being smaller and weaker and lesser than me so he stooped a bit in my presence, and I was feeling like the most powerful woman alive, and I kissed him gently on the lips.

"One more place," I told him, putting my hand on top of his head.  "You never wanted to do this when we were together.  I want it now."  I pushed his head down and he folded to his knees, he yielded under just a portion of my strength, had I pushed with full force I would have thrown him backwards and he would have been too far from my intended target.  Once on his knees I grabbed his hair and tilted his head up, and his face was directly in front of my bikini bottom, looking up at me, and then I pulled aside my bikini just a bit and he looked straight ahead at my pussy, which was so wet at that point from the excitement of having him truly, truly worship this physique I had built, this powerful packaging of dominant womanhood that took years to chisel, and was ready to have this man as hers.  I pulled his face towards me and he started to struggle, saying "No, no, no" but I kept pulling him until his nose touched me and I shivered for a moment at that first touch and released his hair, expecting that he would service me as I'd demanded, but he jumped away and ran to the door.

I snapped.  Next thing I knew I was grabbing him and throwing him around, but this time it wasn't playful, it was anger.  I wanted that victory right then and there and he withheld it from me.  And if he wasn't going to do it by HIS choice, after clear guidance from me that he was I wanted him to do so, then we was going to do it by MY choice, after clear guidance from me that he had no choice but to comply.

It's hard to describe what came next.  I was pissed off and like I said, I snapped.  I'm lucky he came out the other side without anything physically broken...and alive.  It could have been much worse.  I was picking him up and throwing him around, I was wrapping him up in various pins I'd learned and making sure he was completely subdued before letting him out and then doing more maneuvers on him.  I used every muscle in my body to overpower him, scissoring him in my legs, crushing him in my arms in a bear hug, lifting him onto my shoulders and dumping him to the ground, bending him in half, in thirds, in quarters, in fractions I didn't think a human could do.  I finally woke up when I had him up over my head and I was about to throw him as hard as I could across the room, I was grunting in anger, and then I looked at him and his face was terrified, but his cock was totally erect and throbbing above me, and it was seeping, and suddenly I wanted that cock to be mine and I remembered that I didn't want to hurt my little man and I calmed down, and instead of throwing him across the room I stepped forward and slammed him onto his back on the bed.

I climbed atop him, kneeling astride his chest, which underneath my solid thighs looked so weak and puny, and I lowered myself for a moment and rubbed my pussy a bit along his chest because I was so hot for him at that moment.  I kneeled again and looked down at him.

"Do you submit?  Do you submit completely?"

His face had changed again.  He was no longer terrified.  He had a look of complete and total respect.  "Yes, I submit completely," he said.  "Yes."

I smiled at him again, and I rubbed my hand across his chest and then brought my hand slowly up my body, cupping one of my tits for a moment and then reached back and untied my bikini, and the bra fell to the bed.  He immediately started at my tits, like I knew he would.  I flexed my chest out, and he continued his stare, and I could feel his arms trying to move but my legs were holding them tight to his body.  He was trying to reach up and touch them, whether he knew it or not.  Then I untied the bikini bottom and showed him my entire body.  He could finally see all of me, all of the new me.

I moved forward and positioned myself so my pussy was directly above his mouth, still kneeling.  I waited there for a few moments to test him, to see if he would start objecting, because there could be no doubt in his mind what was about to happen.  It's one thing for a man to go down on a woman when she opens her legs in bed invitingly, and he does so willingly.  It's another thing for him to go down on a woman when she opens her legs and pulls his head to her requesting attention, and he does so partially willingly.  But it's yet another thing altogether for a man to go down on a woman, when in fact it's the woman who is having the man go down on her, when she deposits her pussy into his mouth, forcibly, giving him no option but to service her as she deserves and demands to be serviced.  And in this moment, they were both about to experience this "yet another thing altogether."  He did not say a word.  He did not shake his head.  He did not close his mouth tight like a child refusing broccoli.  He did not give a pained face that was a tacit plea for mercy.  Instead, he looked up at  me, and then he closed his eyes, and he opened his mouth for a long breath, and then kept it open.  His first true submission to me.  He was accepting something he had never before allowed, and he was doing so willingly and submissively.  I sat down on him, told him he knew what to do, and he licked and sucked me like I had dreamed, there was no hesitation, there was no pause, it was constant licking and sucking, where it was clear to me that he was serving me, and that he was trying to bring me pleasure.  And he was.  He was driving me wild.  He couldn't see me, but I was grinding him, and I was massaging my tits and pulling on my nipples, and at one point I pulled a tit up to my mouth and sucked on my nipple because I couldn't help myself from experiencing the sexual arousal to its fullest, and I looked back and his cock was absolutely throbbing, bobbing up and down, the vein jutting out from the massive blood flow going into it, maybe half of his entire blood volume was in his cock right then and there, and I was worried he might come then and there without my helping him, so I jumped off of him and grabbed the jar and then returned and before I could even sit on him in that same position he was craning his neck up trying to re-establish his connection to my pussy to continue his work, and I reached back and gave his cock a hard grip while I was stroking it to make sure that I could keep control over his orgasm because I didn't want him to come too soon, definitely not before I had mine because he'd already shown that he might pass out after such a strong orgasm, so I was telling him "wait, wait, wait," and then I felt myself going, and I was bucking on his face, and then I felt myself coming, and I was spurting just a bit, and it was the most incredible feeling of my life to be coming on to the face of a man who was submitting to my more powerful body, whose only desire was to bring pleasure to me, and I gave him one, two, three, softer strokes to his cock and yelled "now!" and put the jar over his cock and he came again into it, emitting just as much as the other times, and he was bucking and twitching underneath me and he was moaning and yelling into my pussy while I was still orgasming, and the vibration from his voice and breath brought me to a second orgasm and I shivered atop him again, and yelled out "Three!"  And then it was over.

I sat up off of his face, still kneeling over him, my pussy still wet and dripping, his face wet, with drool all over his mouth along with whatever I had emitted from my double orgasm, and as I was about to take the next step and attach him to the bonds that I had secretly tied to the bedposts, I heard three words from him that I didn't expect to hear.

"I love you."

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The moment I said it, I was terrified, but for a different reason than the terror I had been intermittently experiencing all night.  I wasn't afraid of physical harm, imminent or potential.  I wasn't afraid that she would throw me, or that she would beat the crap out of me with those incredible muscles.  I was afraid that I was telling the truth.

She lifted herself from my mouth and face.  She took a hand towel from the bedframe and wiped my mouth off.  And then she leaned down and gave me a soft kiss on the lips, and then one that was a bit harder and then I felt her squeeze my balls and I opened my mouth in a gasp and suddenly her tongue was in my mouth, exploring me, a kiss unlike any I had ever experienced.  I let myself experience it, being kissed, being the recipient of a kiss that was performed with unquestioned intent and demand, allowing myself to be invaded without defense against invasion, submitting myself to her advance.

Submitting myself.  That's what I had just done.  I had just allowed a woman to perform an act on me that my former self would have fought its hardest to avoid.  I had fought it the first couple of times she asked for it, demanded it of me.  But each of those fights had ended in a bout of undeniable overpowering where she made the point that I lacked the right to deny her anything.  And finally when I was worn down by her power, after the physical demolition I had sustained against her superior strength, skill and will, and she demanded it again, in a manner that was the apex of humiliation, lying back and having her cover me with her womanhood, with no question of her expectations, I fulfilled her expectations immediately and without question.  And, even more quickly than occurred when I was rubbing her body, when my mentality went from getting through the experience to relishing the experience, when I went from dispassion to passion, it took me no time to make that humiliating position a completely sexual experience for both of us.  As I made her excited, I became excited. As I made her moan, I moaned.  As I made her come, I came.  My own sexual pleasure seemed to be getting tied to hers. 

Did that make me submissive?  I thought back on the videos I used to watch.  I had thought a submissive male was bound in chains, and wore a mask, and a ball gag, and allowed his woman to do whatever she wanted with him without question.  That wasn't me.  But in a porn video, it's almost impossible to understand the underlying mentality that brought the man to that state.  There was no dialogue, no backstory.  Only porn.

Was I becoming submissive?  I knew she was stronger than me.  I knew she could overpower me.  And it turned me on.  But if she asked me to do really unacceptable things, things that even when I watched them in videos I would wince, I still would say no.  If she took out a rope and tried to tie me up, I would say no.   If she handed me a mask I would refuse to wear it.  If she strapped on a dildo I would scream for help.  I had submitted, yes, but I was not submissive.  I needed to keep convincing myself of that.

She ended the kiss and took my hands, pulling me up off the bed.

"I want to show you something.  I think you'll like it," she said.  And she led me over towards the bathroom.  I watched her legs from behind as she walked.  I wanted to lick them all over again.  They were long and muscular but not huge, not tree trunks.  On a smaller woman, that size would look too big, but on her they were so attractive to me.  Especially the calves, more prominent than any I had ever seen up close. 

She led me under the door and pulled me close to her.  She looked up, and reached up to a bar that was installed in the doorway.  She put her hands on the bar, leaned forward towards me so that her breasts pushed on my chest, kind of like that scene from Rocky but with the genders reversed.  "Watch me," she said, and she proceeded to do a series of pull-ups, to the front and to the back, over and over, and I watched her muscles flex and bulge and strain as she did ten, fifteen, twenty reps.  I think my hands went to my penis again, because she kicked my hand away, and then I felt her legs wrap around my waist and pull me in closer to her, and I felt them constricting around me, and then she was pulling me up and I was off the ground, being pulled up with her.  She was performing pull-ups with me as additional weight, and she did rep after rep after rep.  She lowered me back down to my feet and got down, turned around and flexed her arms again to show me her back muscles, and then did a lat spread that filled the entire doorway.

Then she turned around to face me and leaned down and put one hand on my inner thigh and the other in my armpit and hoisted me up, up, up above her head, and had me all the way up in the air above her, her arms straightened, and then did squats holding me in the air. 

"The pullups were hard, that was a lot of weight," she said.  "This one is much easier.  I can probably squat 3 times more than you weight.  Maybe one day we can have two of your friends over and I can show you."

Then she stopped squatting and brought me down in front of her face, and did a series of military presses with my full weight, 2, 4, 6, 10 of them, up to 15, and then lowered me again down to her waist and started to curl me like a barbell, rep after rep after rep, and was telling me how light I was, how adorable it was for me to use me for her workouts. 

I was truly amazed by her strength.  I was so turned on I thought I would explode.

She walked me over to the bed.  She laid me back onto it, on my back.  She took my arms and stretched them over my head, and while she did that her breasts were right in my face.  They smelled amazing and they looked just as amazing.  I was transfixed by them and quickly she lowered them so that they were completely surrounding my head, I couldn't move my head even one inch, they were holding my head tight.  I was having a bit of trouble breathing and kicked my legs a big and she pulled up a bit to give me space.  Then I felt something around my wrist, and it was tightening against me, and moments later around my other wrist.  I struggled to move my head and was able to catch one slight glimpse of a rope tying my hands, which must have been connected to the bed post.

I didn't struggle against it.  Earlier I had thought that I would never let her do that, but after that exceptional demonstration of her overpowering strength, lifting me like deadweight in so many different manners, and with those perfect breasts in such close proximity that I wanted to lick, and fondle, and even more fearfully I had this urge to suckle at them, to be comforted by her while I accepted that she was tying me up to capture me, I did not object to this action.  I let her do it.  I was her captive.  I was her prisoner.  I was agitated but not struggling.  I was starting to accept my position.  But the urge would go away, and I gave a single kiss to one of her nipples.

She pulled her breast away, and sat up a bit and looked down at me.  She started flexing her pecs, and her breasts started to bob up and down, and my eyes and head were bobbing with them, and she kept doing it over and over and it was just too much for me and I think I yelled out "please" and then her nipple was in my mouth, and I was sucking as hard as I could, and it was filling my mouth entirely.  I couldn't stop myself.  I heard her moaning a bit, I guess it was turning her on as well.  She pulled her breast away and presented the other one and I resumed my actions, and then I felt her grab my penis yet again and she was stroking me and shortly she had brought me to climax yet again, and I was screaming and sucking at the same time, a muffled scream but a scream for sure, as I was overwhelmed with desire for her, and the last thing I heard from her as I think I passed out again was "Four!"

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I took a moment to make sure I'd heard what I thought I'd heard.  There was no doubting it.  He professed his love for me.  I picked myself off of him and looked at his face and he looked like he was in shock -- and I don't think it was the shock at his having come for a third time, or at his having made me come, or of his being sat on by me for all that time.  It was the shock of his having said those words.  And, I guessed, the shock of his having felt those words.  He was in love with me, and maybe some of it was the core of me that he remembered, but most of it was the way I made him feel that night, the way I was able to make him feel that way -- weak, inferior, protected.  And I think he was getting to the point where he was ready to love me for making him submissive.  Yes, he was getting there.

I needed to give him positive reinforcement, tell him that loving me was a good thing that would result in reward.  I raised myself from him and grabbed one of the towels I'd laid over the headboard.  I wiped his mouth, all the wetness from it that came from him and from me, and once I did that I was ready to show him what good boys get, after so much time demonstrating the result of bad boy behavior.  I kissed him, softly first, then more firmly, and he kept his mouth closed.  I needed my tongue inside his mouth, I needed my kisses to reflect the dominance I had been establishing all night, and my tongue needed to be in control of his.  I could have forced his mouth open and shoved it in, but I decided to take a different approach, and reached back and squeezed his balls firmly, not viciously, but enough to get a reaction, and when he opened his mouth in gasping surprise I made my entry.  The kiss tensed him at first and then he relaxed and accepted my tongue, allowing to explore his entire mouth without struggle or issue.

Once I ended the kiss, finishing it with some soft kisses and sucks on his lips, I told him to come with me and pulled him gently from the bed, allowing him to get up on his own rather than throwing him or dragging him.  I brought him over towards the bathroom.

The time had come to show him the full extent of my strength.  Well, the full extent I could demonstrate in an apartment, without free weights.  If we were at the gym I could show him more obviously, but it would be more fun the way I'd planned.

I stopped under the pull-up bar and had him stand in front of me, while I did pull-ups to the front and back.  I wasn't counting, I was just repping.  I felt powerful, especially next to his weak body that probably couldn't do more than two of them.  I caught him reaching for his cock again, he was insatiable!  But it made me feel good that I was able to evoke a reaction so easily, just with a strength demonstration, and whatever explosion of muscle he was witnessing from his vantage point.  I kicked his hand away again, and then trapped him between my legs and did a bunch of reps holding his weight in my legs, like a human weight belt.  He was breathing heavy again, I was worried he might come right then, so I stopped the reps and lowered him to the ground.  Then I did other exercises using his weight as a barbell -- military presses, olympic lunges, curls...curls were my favorite because as I curled him up his cock went right to my mouth, and I really wanted to blow him but that wasn't part of the plan today.  I did sneak a kiss to his cock at one point, but I doubt he was able to tell.  I kept telling him how his weight was so light for me, that if we were at the gym I could lift a lot more. 

After the demonstration I wanted to see if he would be compliant to my demands, so I brought him to the bed and laid him down, ready to use the ropes I had intended to use earlier when he told me he loved me.  I pulled his arms up and started to get the rope ready when I could feel his nose rooting around between my tits.  I hadn't noticed that I was smothering him when I leaned over him.  He was kicking his legs, I guess he couldn't breathe.  As I pulled back a bit giving him space, I felt a peck at my chest, and then another peck and I could feel him giving tiny little kisses at me.  I liked that feeling, a different kind of worship as I dominated this time not with my muscles but with smothering breasts.   

I secured each wrist with a rope and I was pleasantly surprised that he neither objected nor struggled.  Was he so focused on my tits that he didn't notice?  Or had a made him sufficiently compliant that he would now do anything I wanted?  The true test  for that was soon to come, I knew, based on how far I had led him down the path that would ultimately lead to his total and complete submission to me.

He was tied now, and just as I finished securing his second wrist, I  felt not a peck but a sucking kiss, right on my nipple.  Since the surgery my nipples had become much more sensitive.  His kiss was quick but it pulled on my nipple and hardened it a bit.  I felt a little electricity shoot through my body.  I pulled away from him, taken by surprise, and looked down at him for a moment, and he was looking up at me, and I regarded how small he looked in his fully naked state, how in need of my protection he appeared.  Some of it came from the recognition of all that I had put him through that night, but some if it came from the recognition that he was just a small, weak man, in need of a strong woman to take care of him, to take care of all of his needs. I'd obviously never had children, but I think my maternal instinct kicked in a bit, and I wanted to comfort him, to nurture him.  I wanted to nurse him.  That was it.  That was what I was feeling.  I wanted to feed him from my own body, in a way that mothers relished the feeling of a suckling baby at their breasts.  I wanted him latched to me, utterly dependent on my for not only his protection but his sustenance.  Oh, if only the human body worked that way!  If a woman could produce milk on demand for any purpose, if she didn't require special hormones that only were present after childbirth!  I imagined in that moment a lifetime with him, where at every meal I would eat my bodybuilding diet of protein and greens, and while I ate he would be in my lap suckling for his own meal.  Never a reason for him to open his mouth for anything buy what I could provide for him.  Never a reason for him to have any needs that I could not provide!  The thought of this kind of life was making me feel potent and dominant, and I was breathing more heavily and I felt my pec involuntarily flex, and I saw his gaze shift downward to my tits which I knew heaved when I did that.  I did it again, this time voluntarily, and his head moved to get a closer view, and I did it again and again, and his head was straining to get closer.  He was desperate to touch them!   I continued it and I could hear his breath so fast, so stressed, and he was moaning as he strained against the bonds to reach me, and I pulled back a bit further and he strained further, and I moved to the left a bit and he moved with me, all the while flexing my pecs and waving my tits at him, and out of nowhere he gave a loud moan and said "Please!  Please!  Let me!!" and with that I shoved my chest downward and put my erect nipple under his nose, and he reached his neck up and put his his lips around my nipple, and took the entire erectness of it in his mouth, and he was sucking so hard, harder than I had ever felt anything suck my nipple, and the sexuality of it overcame me and quickly I was moaning just as much as he was, and he was making a gnawing and slurping sound like he was pretending to drink from me when I knew there was nothing coming out from my breasts, but I could feel that something might come out of somewhere else if he kept it up because I was so turned on by his display of desire and need.  My nipple was becoming just too sensitive from his motions and I had to force his mouth off of me and I heard him say "No, please more, please more," and I presented my other nipple and he latched on, it was a real latch, he was like my baby and I was caring for him, truly suckling at my breast like a dependent baby.  It was heaven for me.  It was more empowering and sexually exciting than I'd even dreamed. 

I looked back and saw his cock throbbing yet again, and once again he was leaking, desperately ready to be brought to orgasm again, so I reached over and pulled on his legs to bend him over and give me better access to his cock, and while doing so he didn't lose his latch at all, he just kept on suckling away, I'm sure he was hoping and praying for even a drop of sustenance but I know I had none to give, at least none that my breast would provide, but the sustenance I offered him was his ability to touch me, to worship me, to be cared for by me, protected and eventually brought to heights of sexual pleasure he could never replicate.

I grabbed the jar, then grabbed his cock and stroked him and within seconds he was coming yet again into the jar, and I yelled "Four!" and heard a muffled scream as he continued to latch but couldn't help himself from vocalizing his release, and the vibration of the muffled scream on my nipple was too much for me to handle and I too was brought to a raging orgasm, and I fell forward on top of him, my tits on his face and I was panting and bucking and when I was done, I sat back up and he was out cold.  I had nearly suffocated him with my tits, and he passed out.  I checked and he was still breathing.  But he was out.  And it was time for the final stage, to make him mine forever.

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Awaking from my slumber, I found myself bent in two, and unable to move my limbs.  I was still lying on my back.  I looked around the room and she was nowhere to be seen.  I looked at my wrists and they were still in their roped bonds, attached to the legs of the bed under the headboard.  I was stretched out even more tightly than I'd remembered, and I had been moved down to the other end of the bed.  She must have lengthened and then tightened them to lock me more securely in place.  I looked at my legs and they were in the air over my body, my feet over my face, bent backwards, and around my ankles I saw another set of ropes, also attached to the headboard-side legs of the bed.    My legs were spread open about two feet, and I couldn't close them even an inch.  I couldn't lower them.  I could have opened them further, but I was at the limit of my flexibility.  And I could have pulled them up further over my head but I was at the limit of my ability there as well.  It was a little uncomfortable but not overly so.  I looked down my body and could see the top of my behind, still a bit red from my earlier episode over her knee but it appeared to be clearing up, thanks to time and the lotion she'd put on me.  I had a brief feeling of humiliation at my position, the fact that I continued to be naked, that I was restrained, and that my behind was sticking up in the air, easily accessed at the foot of the bed.  I had a brief feeling of fear, about what she might do to me in this position.  I had seen those videos, and I never liked them.  And short of that the idea that my behind was completely accessible to her hand made me fear for a return of the pain and she could inflict by another round of spanking.  I did not want that, not at all.  That thought dominated my mind, to make sure  I did nothing that would upset her, so she didn't turn to punishment. 

But that thought evolved quickly in my mind.  Was it the punishment I feared?  Was that why I didn't want to make her angry?  And was it anger I wanted to avoid?  Or something short of anger?  Disappointment?  Both of these emotions would have been externally motivated, by which I mean that her anger or her disappointment would have been directed at me.  I found myself thinking more about the woman I had been dominated by all night. And it had been domination, I knew that.  She wasn't a dominatrix, whips and chains at the like, despite the ropes that were currently restraining me.  But she was dominant, there was no doubt.  I was thinking about how I wanted to make her feel.  I wanted her to feel happy.  But how?  She clearly had a desire to be strong and muscular.  And to be dominant.  And a need for respect.  To be worshiped.   To be adored.  What I came to realize that yes, I didn't want her angry at me, or disappointed in me, but those were so that I didn't suffer the consequences of that anger or disappointment, either because I would be physically punished or psychically punished.  But in order to not feel anger or disappointment at myself, I wanted her to feel dominant, and powerful, and worshiped, and adored.  And to do that, it would take more than merely making sure I didn't do anything to make her angry or disappointed.  I needed to make sure she was pleased, always.  Not the avoidance of a negative, but rather the pursuit of a positive. 

I needed to make my every moment with her about positively reinforcing her needs. 

And I needed to make my every moment NOT with her about positively reinforcing her needs.

I needed her to be happy.  Happy with me and happy with herself.

I needed to serve her, fully.  To satisfy all of her desires and wants and needs.

I could think of nothing else at that moment, and in my mind I could not imagine that I would ever think of anything else.

I had become her submissive.  I could never look back.

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I had been in and out of the room to check on him over the next hour or so.  It was getting late, and I should have been tired, but instead I was entirely energized by the entire experience and sleep was the last thing on my mind.

I was in the  bathroom flexing in the mirror, when I heard him rustling on the bed, finally awake.  I waited a moment and strained my ears to hear if he would struggle against his new bonds.  I had tied his feet to the bed while he was out, pulling them over his head so his ass was completely exposed to me.  I heard nothing.  I peeked my head out and I could see him talking to himself, his mouth barely moving as he had an internal dialogue about something, I could only imagine what.  I decided to give him some time to talk it out.

After a few minutes, I re-entered. 

"Hello, my baby," I said to him.

"Hello," he replied.

"You were out for a while.  I was worried.  Can I get you anything?"  I expected him to ask me to release his bonds.  Instead, he asked for water.  I smiled at him, and went into the bathroom and came back with a cup of water, which I poured into his mouth.

"Thank you," he said.  Still, no request to remove his bonds.  Was he finished?  Had he yielded himself to me?  I had to see.

I sat down next to him and put my fingers through his hair.  I held my tit in my other hand and presented it to him.  "You suckled for a long time, and now my nipples are so sore.  They even hurt a little bit.  Was that what you wanted to do?  Hurt me?"

"No," he instantly replied.  "I'm sorry, I would never do that."  He was agitated, his eyes went from calmness to fear, or maybe a scared sadness that was more internal than external, I wasn't sure. 

"Good, but still," I reached under the mattress and pulled out the spatula I had hidden there, "there must be consequences."  I showed him the spatula.

He took a deep breath.  If it had been an hour ago, I'm sure he would have freaked out and begged me not to.  But instead, he just laid his head back and said, "I understand."

He was accepting it.  He was accepting punishment that he knew would be painful.  He was so close!  I was so close!! 

I moved around him and gave only two slaps to each cheek, and he cried out on each one but handled it well.  I stopped quickly.  I didn't want to hurt him too much, not down there.

"I had to do that because I told you I would, and I always keep my word.  But I gave you a small dose because of how you handled it.  How you didn't argue.   How you didn't struggle.  How you understood your place."

"Thank you."

I reached down to his cock and touched it.  It had become hard again after the spanking.  He liked it.  It had become sexual for him.  It had become desirable.  I knew that eventually he would ask for it, beg for it.  And that I would offer punishment frequently, both to bring him pleasure but also to cement my dominance over him.

"I have a gift for you," I said.  I walked over to the dresser and pulled out the wrapped present I had hidden there.  The box was tall and narrow, and had a bow on the top.  "I'll open it for you."  I slowly lifted the top off of the box, without showing him the full contents, and removed a silver ring.  It probably looked to him like a key ring, but without a keychain attached.

"This is for you.  It is a token that represents my commitment to you, to always care for you.  And it is a token that represents your commitment to me, and attachment to me."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" he asked, turning his head in surprise.

"In a way.  I am telling you that I am committing myself to you, which means you must commit to me.  I will put this ring on you, as a constant reminder to you that you are mine, and mine alone."

He relaxed a bit, and then I saw him wiggle his fingers a bit, inviting me to slip the ring onto his finger.  It was his way of saying yes.

"No, not there," I told him, shaking my head.  I took the ring and put it over my finger to show him how much bigger it was than is finger.  "It's not meant for your finger."  Then I showed him how the ring opened up, that there was a joint that allowed it to flex open so it could be attached a cylinder capped at the ends  by greater widths, like a Greek column.  Or like a dumbbell.  Or a neck.  Or a cock.  He looked like he didn't quite get it, yet.

I got up and moved around to the foot of the bed, standing where I could look between his legs directly at his face.  I showed him the ring again, fully opened, holding it with both hands.

"With this ring..." I said, and then I reached down with one hand and grabbed his erect cock, stroked it a couple times, to make sure it was at its fullest state, and then brought the ring down and clamped it around the shaft, just below the head.  I clicked it twice to shrink it and lock it into place.  "...you are tied to me always." 

He was staring down at his cock, and at first his look was of concern, but then he smiled gently, accepting the ring around his cock.  I crawled forward a bit, lunging my upper body between his legs, and kissed him passionately.  As I finished the kiss, I nibbled his earlobe and then whispered in his ear, "And you will never take this off.  Never.  If I ever see if off of you, I will spank you so hard you won't walk for a month."

"I promise," he whispered.

I crawled back out and sat down next to him again. 

"There's a second present in the box.  Would you like it?"  He nodded silently. 

I reached in and pulled out a strap-on.  I heard him gasp, but I ignored his reaction, and continued to talk to him.

"I know you have seen these, from those videos.  Whether you were into it or not, I do not know.  But whether it is appropriate for us in our new relationship, whether with my much stronger and more powerful body I deserve to penetrate your weaker more compliant one, well, I guess I just answered that question in the way I framed it.  I'm going to release you from your bonds now.  And I promise you this -- I won't stop you from leaving anymore."  I stood up and took the next few minutes standing next to the bed, giving him an extensive posing routine, showing every single muscle I could, with nothing hiding a single striation.  I saw his cock again seeping fluid; and the fluid was dripping around his new cock collar.  I ended my routine, saying "you may leave now if that is your desire,"  and then as quickly as I could I released the ropes from his wrists and ankles, and once again stood back from the bed and did the best double biceps flex I could, with my lats flexed as wide as I could and my legs striding wide to accentuate the flare of my thighs.

He rolled to the side of the bed, stretching his arms and legs out as he did so, and sat on the side of it, in front of me.  He stood up and looked me in the eye.  Then he fell to his knees and put his arms around my legs, around my ass, and reached his mouth up and started to lick my pussy, voluntarily, in complete subservience, wanting only to pleasure me.

He was submitting to me.  He had become submissive.  He was mine.

But how far would he go?

I pulled him off of me and reached over to the dresser and grabbed the jar.  I showed it to him.

"You know what is in here, what I have been collecting?"

"Yes, I can tell."

I pushed it forward towards him.  "Take it."

He took it.

"Drink it."

Without hesitation, he lifted the jar to his hands and started to tip the jar back.

"Stop!" I said.

He stopped, before taking a single sip.  I took it from him and walked over and grabbed the other hand towels from the headboard, and poured the semen into the hand towels, and then threw them back towards the bathroom. 

I pulled him up by his chin so he could look at me.  I kissed him again, and reached down and grabbed him by the cock. 

"You are mine," I said.

"I am yours," he replied.

"Are you my submissive now?"

"I am.  I will always be.  Dominate me."

I took the strapon and started putting it on.  He turned around and bent over.  I told him, "No, not that way," and then turned him onto his back and pulled him so his legs were off the bed.  I crouched down and entered him, and then put my arms around his back and picked him up, lifting him up and down with the strength of my arms, over and over penetrating him, deeper and deeper inside of him, establishing myself as his owner and his master.  He was moaning and eventually he started to bend his body forward, and I could sense him reaching his head forward, so I let go with one hand and too my breast and guided it to his mouth and he latched on again, and then I took his cock and started stroking it yet again, and the whole thing was turning me on incredibly because the strapon was designed for a woman's pleasure and there was something tingling inside of me and as I continued to thrust into him and bounce him up and down, I had the most intense orgasm of my entire life, and orgasm worthy of a powerful dominatrix, an orgasm worthy of a queen of the universe, and then he was gasping and holding his breath in my arms and he was ejaculating up into the air wildly, over and over, screaming into my nipple and as I yelled "Five!" I took a deep breath and started my new life with my submissive love. 

----------------------------------

[Auto-reply:  I belong to my lover now.  I am her submissive.  I have no thoughts of my own to write.  Please refer to her writings from now on.  Thank you.]

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Offline giantgirl7foot2

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Re: The Making of a Submissive Ex
« Reply #1 on: February 22, 2018, 01:16:56 pm »
This is definitely one of the best stories I've read lately. Damn. Finishing it felt like watching the last episode of a series you've been hooked to for seasons... wishing, no, begging for more!
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Offline legfan71

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Re: The Making of a Submissive Ex
« Reply #2 on: February 22, 2018, 01:58:24 pm »
Wow, just...wow. A lot of thoughts come to mind, that was extremely well written and thoroughly enjoyable. It was exciting, stimulating, and ultimately very gratifying. Thank you for sharing it.

Offline chango14

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Re: The Making of a Submissive Ex
« Reply #3 on: March 12, 2018, 01:35:01 am »
one of the better things I have ever read on here simply incredible. I hope you continue to write more and more stories. thank you !

Offline jstans

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Re: The Making of a Submissive Ex | #DOMME
« Reply #4 on: March 16, 2020, 12:50:30 pm »
I'm really glad I ran into this story. Five stars.
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