Forum Saradas
Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction => Muscular Women Fiction => Topic started by: JohnAubrey on November 18, 2022, 07:15:43 pm
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Let me tell you about the type of woman who really turns me on: the shy, petite, creative type.
There’s something about a delicate, introverted woman who is nonetheless intelligent and accomplished that makes my heart beat faster. You can keep your slutty bimbos; I prefer gamine musicians, elfin academics and mousy authors.
You know the type of woman I mean: the type that will spend contented evenings knitting comfy Scandi-style jumpers in her reading nook as she sips on a mug of hot chocolate.
A well-spoken, cultured, feminine woman with her thick, dark hair cut in a French bob; a woman with a well-stocked bookshelf and a Criterion blu-ray collection; a woman who can write poetry in Latin and who plays the piano.
The type of woman you meet at arthouse cinemas, book festivals and concert halls.
The type of woman who almost certainly has a boyfriend, fiancé or husband who is kind, caring and considerate; and who is probably also a vegan who considers himself to be a feminist.
And just as you know the type of woman, you also know the type of man I’m talking about: the type that’s just begging to be cucked.
I am nothing like any of these women that make me uncontrollably horny. I am even less like the pathetic men they love.
My name is Emma. I’m 6’2” tall, I weigh 215lb, and I love my bulging muscles almost as much as I love fucking shy, petite, creative women senseless.
Maybe you know my type?
Maybe you just wish you did.
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Intriguing start. Eager to see more. :rock:
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Intriguing start !
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Let the games begin!
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The point of my stiletto heel pressed into his testicles as he lay spreadeagled on the floor. By now all the fight had been beaten out of him and it was all he could do to whimper in pain.
His girlfriend, naked, on all fours and wearing a dog collar, watched him in silence; I could see her pussy dripping like a leaking tap.
I pulled on her lead and she eagerly spun round to face me.
“You can make all of this stop. I will leave right now. I will not touch you, or him, again. You just have to do one, simple little thing…”
I removed my foot from his crushed balls and started to shake my quad, a mass of muscle billowing back and forth, seemingly out of control, until I stomped my foot down and my thigh snapped to a standstill and solidified like concrete, veins and striations traversing the surface of my leg.
“... All you have to do is tell me you don’t want to worship this.”
In other words, it was a pretty standard Tuesday night.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should probably explain this particular ménage à trois, because Jules et Jim this ain't.
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Hm, slow burn. Hope to see more soon.
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Oh, this is really good!
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Promising, we’ll see!
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This is cute. Hope to see more soon.
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Where to start?
Maybe with him? The guy sobbing and broken on the floor? Hang on, no, that’s not a good idea: I didn’t even catch his name before I broke his nose and a few of his ribs. All I know about him is that he’s a whiney areshole. Oh, and that he’s her boyfriend.
So maybe I should start with her? The girl who tore her own clothes off when I promised to show her mine if she would show me hers? The girl currently on her hands and knees, squirming and rubbing her thighs together to try and get herself off as she stares at my freakishly muscular body?
Yeah, let’s start with her. She’s Ophelia, and she’s brilliant: PhD funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council, a BBC New Generation Thinker, and a fellow at All Souls College, Oxford, all by the age of 25. She just so happens to be beautiful, too - and the absolute spit of Audrey Tautou at the same age.
And that very evening she had been celebrating the publication of her third book, a monograph analysing Truffaut’s film criticism in Cahiers du cinéma.
I know, because I gatecrashed the launch party. That’s how we met, actually. All of, oh, an hour ago, I think. Time flies when you’re having fun.
It’s funny to think how aloof and distracted she was when I first approached her at the party to ask her to sign my copy of her book. She was totally uninterested in me right up until I took off my coat and suddenly I had her full attention. I knew there and then she wouldn’t be able to resist me.
“So what’s it going to be, Ophelia? I don’t have all day.”
I made great play of raising my arm to look at my smartwatch, flexing my bicep and rolling my wrist as I did so. Hell, even I was impressed by how beefy and powerful my arm looked - what chance did Ophelia have? Still on all fours, her body shuddered with her first orgasm of the evening, and I wasn’t even touching her yet.
Yet...
“I think we both know what you want.”
I extended my leg and moved my foot back towards her boyfriend’s testicles, already turning unhealthy shades of black and blue. Black and blue balls. After tonight, as far as his relationship with Ophelia went, he would never be enough for her again. He would have blue balls forever.
He saw my foot coming and tried to curl up into a protective ball. Unfortunately for him, he’d forgotten about his broken ribs. He spasmed almost as impressively as his girlfriend just had, but without any of the pleasure she had experienced.
Pain was all he would know tonight.
This time though, as my stiletto lightly touched his testicles, I held my leg in the air, resisting the urge to press down with any weight.
I think he thought I’d taken pity on him. How wrong he was.
“How about this, Ophelia: you have ten minutes to hump my leg, like the horny little bitch you are. Imagine how these muscles would feel between your thighs. Imagine how good it would feel to have this big, hard quad pressing into your pink little pussy. Imagine how it would feel to have something this massive and this powerful rubbing against your clit.”
She crouched on the floor, staring up at me wide-eyed and nodding, gently at first but then more and more emphatically.
“There’s just one thing you need to bear in mind: every time you press your moist little pussy up against my rock-hard muscles, well, your weight is going to cause me to press my heel down into your boyfriend’s balls. Your ecstasy will cause him agony. Do you want that, Ophelia? Do you want to worship my muscles that badly?”
“Pl-please, Ophelia… No… You can’t…” he pleaded, through his sobs.
Ophelia must have heard him begging, but she didn’t acknowledge him; instead she stared in wonderment at my thigh, her fantasies running wild.
I flexed my extended leg a little, just enough to make my muscles jump. Not for her benefit - I knew she wasn’t capable of resisting me - but for his: I had already asserted my dominance, but I enjoyed vaunting my power.
I almost envied him his view of me right then, as I towered over him, my muscles bulging and rippling at will. I must have looked spectacular.
And terrifying.
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OMG.... This is insanely good!
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Two hours ago, I watched Ophelia as she stood at the front of an auditorium and gave a speech to celebrate the launch of her new book. She was dressed smartly in a chic sapphire blue suit, a deliberately oversized blazer paired with tailored wide-legged trousers. Underneath the blazer she wore a Girls on Tops white T-shirt, printed with the name of director Céline Sciamma in simple black font.
With at least two hundred people present to hear her talk, Ophelia spoke quietly but confidently, and without relying on any notes. She was composed, funny and engaging - not to mention self-effacing and generous, lavishing praise on her academic colleagues and her editor. In the Q&A at the end of her address, she answered several lengthy, detailed questions in flawless French.
The audience was spellbound, and not because Ophelia was young, attractive and stylish - she had charmed them all with her wit, modesty and erudition instead.
I couldn’t wait to be inside her.
I was still watching Ophelia now, but the circumstances were different, to say the least: there was no auditorium; no audience of two hundred; no fashionable clothing.
No clothing at all.
Ophelia was naked, on all fours, and reaching up to caress my quad with her delicate hands. She seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Her mouth hung open as she panted, her tongue lolling. She had been reduced to little more than a feral animal by her muscle-lust.
I guess the moral of the story is: never skip leg day.
Still, it was kind of a shame about the suit. It had looked expensive. Once I had whispered my indecent proposal into Ophelia’s ear, she had barely been able to wait and had slipped out of the blazer there and then, abandoning it on the foyer floor as members of the crowd looked on, unsure what was happening.
As Ophelia had heard my proposition, I had watched her nipples instantly harden and grow erect; as we headed for the exit together they poked through the thin material of her T-shirt, her state of arousal impossible for anyone to miss.
Ophelia had discarded her trousers in the car park; the T-shirt had come off as we drove to her house; and she had dropped her silk knickers to the pavement as she got out of the car.
Before we walked up to her front door, I slipped the dog collar around her neck. She stood there, silent and submissive, shivering either with the cold or anticipation. Or both.
“Good girl,” I had said. “Now, heel.”
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Hm, nice turn of events. Nice detail, but could use a bit more. Good luck on more.
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Really enjoying this story. Love the dominance, great work.
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As I looked down at Ophelia I wondered how much of the book launch she could even remember at this point. The thoughtful academic with a knack for communication had gone, replaced by a creature of impulse and desire. Her monomaniacal obsession with my man-shaming muscles had consumed her entirely.
I mean, who could blame her?
The metal couplings on the dog lead rattled as Ophelia slowly stood up.
The broken little sissy boy on the carpet started to cry again, not because of the physical pain this time but because he realised how far gone his kind, beautiful, loving girlfriend was now.
As far as Ophelia was concerned, he had ceased to exist. She eagerly climbed onto my outstretched thigh - so obscenely massive that she had to swing her right leg over my thick quad like she was mounting a horse - and settled herself against my muscles. I could already feel how wet she was.
My leg was so strong that I could have borne her entire weight easily, but where would be the fun in that?
I stayed relaxed and let her weight push my leg down, my stiletto sinking into his scrotum. He choked and moaned in agony.
Ophelia was moaning too, still behaving like an animal in the grip of a frenzy. Her head hung back and her eyes were wild and unfocussed as she started to furiously hump my muscles, rubbing her pussy up and down my thigh. I could feel her lips parting over the fat, squirming veins and deep, coursing striations in my quads.
A frisson ran through her slight body as the stimulation began to overwhelm her. Unable to even stand upright anymore, she crouched and hunched over, the better to focus her energy on furiously pounding her pussy into me. She half-collapsed and flung her arms around my waist, her small, perky breasts pressing into me, her diamond nipples rubbing against my rock-hard abs.
And with each and every frenetic thrust of her crotch, my leg pressed down and up again and my stiletto beat a tattoo on his balls.
Ophelia didn’t last the ten minutes I had promised her - her low moan became higher-pitched and wavered hysterically and she started to convulse, clamping her thighs tightly together, her soft, pert flesh moulding itself around my unyielding brawn.
I laughed. If the roles had been reversed, I would have snapped her femur - not that I would ever want to hurt one of my debauched little muscle-whores, not when there was so much fun to be had with them.
Time to give her a taste of what I could do with just one flex.
I squeezed my quad hard. My vastus lateralis and vastus medialis each bulged outwards, forcing her legs back apart; my rectus femoris punched upwards and into her clitoris, and as my muscles swelled and hardened against her, Ophelia had no other option: she came.
Ophelia came hard and she came extravagantly, squirting a stream of her juices down my leg. I raised my thigh higher off the ground, a shuddering Ophelia still straddling it, and pointed my toes. Ophelia’s mess ran down my shin, dripped from my foot and spattered onto his chest.
He didn’t notice: he had passed out. What a fucking loser. Probably the one time his girlfriend had ever had an orgasm when they were together in a room and he wasn’t even awake to see it.
Oh well, he’d have plenty of other opportunities to watch his girlfriend in ecstasy tonight. I would make sure of that much.
I stroked Ophelia’s hair.
“Good girl, Ophelia. Now, I want you to go and look in my coat pocket. I’ve got a present for you.”
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Ok, so you're definitely my new favourite author!! :bravo:
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Any chance of this getting a new chapter?
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I heard Ophelia squeal as she discovered her gift. It would be responsible for making her squeal even more soon enough.
It was the kind of present Santa would only leave in your stocking if you’d been really, really nice and you intended to be really, really naughty later.
Ophelia turned to face me, running the fingers of one hand over the leather straps.
I’d had to have the harness custom-made. Most people with thighs and glutes as big as mine are usually disgusting fatties, and even when I’m bulking you wouldn’t call me fat, not least because you would end up in A&E explaining to a doctor how you had managed to break both of your arms.
So even though I look obscenely sexy while I’m shredded as fuck, there is a downside: I had to pay extra for a bespoke strap-on harness to properly fit my chiselled core and my tree-trunk legs.
Hey, off-the-rack strap-ons are for basic bitches anyway, and nothing about me is basic.
No. I’m a bad bitch.
Ophelia was using her other hand to feel the heft of the 12-inch dildo attached to the harness. It was probably bigger and thicker than her boyfriend’s forearm. She stared at it in disbelief, still breathing heavily after her recent excitement, still lost for words.
“Tell me what you think of it.”
Ophelia stroked the length of the shaft and gulped. Then she kissed the tip. It was a big, wet, sloppy kiss. The head of the dildo glistened with her saliva.
“You like it.”
She nodded.
“Although you’re also scared, because you’re used to his little shrimp-dick. You poor, deprived girl; you don’t know what you’ve been missing out on. You deserve better than his sad excuse for a cock. Put it down and come here.”
Ophelia obeyed, unhesitatingly. As she stood in front of me, she had to tilt her head back to look up into my eyes. I stroked her flushed cheek.
“Did you enjoy it when I made you cum just by flexing my muscles?”
The words alone made Ophelia convulse as if she were about to orgasm all over again, just by being reminded of the experience. She closed her eyes with a look of bliss on her face.
“Are you ready for round two?”
Ophelia’s eyes snapped back open.
I bent down into a crouch and slipped my arm between Ophelia’s legs, slowly pushing it forwards and upwards until the girth of my meaty bicep irresistibly spread her legs apart. I stopped moving before my arm made contact with her dripping pussy and smiled at her.
Ophelia looked at me like she was dying of thirst and I was denying her a glass of water. She started to try to wriggle downwards onto my arm.
“Ah, ah, ah, you naughty girl. Patience is a virtue and if you wait, good things… come.”
As I growled the final word, I flexed my bicep.
My mountain of muscle erupted upwards and nearly lifted Ophelia off the floor with the size of its growth.
Forced up onto her tippy-toes by the expansion of my bicep, Ophelia emitted a high-pitched scream of surprised pleasure as she was penetrated by my peak.
And then I stood back up, easily hoisting Ophelia into the air and holding her in front of me on my flexed arm.
Ophelia’s mouth still hung open, but it was a silent scream now, her eyes rolling back, her fingers grabbing at her own breasts.
I had taken her to seventh heaven.
And now it was time to drag her boyfriend to the seventh circle of hell.
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Great continustion! Glad to see that the story is still going.
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Oh wow, short but oh so sweet. Incredible invention and description once again! :clap:
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Nice follow up. Hope to see more soon.
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Absolutely loving this story. I'm here everyday anxiously waiting for another chapter.
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Absolutely loving this story. I'm here everyday anxiously waiting for another chapter.
Thank you! Hopefully it was worth the wait...
I stepped towards his prone form, squatted back down and grabbed his shirt collar with my free hand.
Still bestride my bicep, Ophelia was lost in her own private world of pleasure. She bit her lip and moaned, her body shifting on my arm as it rocked and tilted with my movement.
I had already established that he was a weak little bitch. Time to find out if his shirt was stronger than he was.
I stood back up, material bunched in my fist, lifting his body off the floor.
He was heavier than his petite, perfectly-formed girlfriend, but I had picked up heavier men than him before, picked them up and thrown them around.
I always enjoy it when a man fights back. The bigger and cockier the man the better - the look on their faces when I break them and they finally realise that they are physically inferior to a woman, well, it turns me on just thinking about it.
He hadn’t put up much of a fight though, and that made me despise him even more.
I curled him higher until he dangled like a puppet with its strings cut, his body as limp as his dick. He was scrawny, unconscious and totally unworthy of his beautiful, brilliant girlfriend.
Ophelia was spectacular. Ophelia was out of his league. Ophelia deserved better.
Ophelia deserved me.
Why do women settle for these inadequate men? I could curl this twerp all day and I wouldn’t even get tired. He had barely presented me with a challenge and I had defeated him so easily that he had denied me any satisfaction.
I wanted him to struggle more. I wanted to terrify him with my strength. And I wanted Ophelia to witness my superiority. But he was so pathetic that he had denied me the opportunity to show what I was capable of.
So now I needed a proper workout, something to pump my muscles full of blood, so that when I finally fucked Ophelia and forced him to watch I would be the biggest, baddest, veiniest muscle-freak either of them had ever seen.
I manoeuvred Ophelia closer to my body, gently nuzzled her neck and then nibbled on her earlobe.
“You love submitting to my strength,” I whispered softly to Ophelia. “You love how powerful I am. You love how easily I dominated your boyfriend. From the first moment you saw my muscles at your party everyone else in the room ceased to exist and you knew that you wanted to worship me. You love my muscles. My muscles excite you. My muscles make you feel good.”
“Oh yes, yes,” Opehlia murmured, dreamily.
“You excite me, too,” I continued, turning my wrist as I spoke, making my bicep bulge further inside her and Ophelia gasp. I stuck out my tongue and twirled the tip around her hard nipple. Ophelia arched her back, pushing her breast into my mouth; I stopped licking and kissed her soft skin, watching the goosepimples rise. “And you want me to feel good, too. Don’t you?”
“Yes! Anything! Please let me… Please just tell me how… Please?”
I kissed her forehead. I kissed the tip of her nose. I kissed her full red lips.
The last was a long, lingering kiss. When I finally broke it off, Ophelia cried out in disappointment, stretching forwards to try to kiss me again, keening, pleading.
I shushed her. She fell silent.
“You want to make me feel good? First: wake him up. Slap his face and wake him up. And make sure you slap him hard. I don’t want him to miss this.”
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Would like to read what happens when she waked him up.
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Ophelia’s first slap was too gentle, like an uncertain kitten batting at a new toy.
He remained unconscious.
“Oh, Ophelia. I’m very disappointed in you. You said you wanted to make me feel good. I told you to slap him hard. I’m going to give you one more chance.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never-”
“Ssshh. One. More. Chance.”
This time the slap rang around the room and raised an angry welt across his cheek.
He groaned and started twitching, his eyes fluttering as he came to, slowly.
Turns out this cute little kitten had claws after all.
Ophelia stared in amazement at her own hand, struggling to comprehend what she had just done. But her eyes shone and I could tell she was excited to discover that she had a vicious streak.
Good girls are always surprised to find they have an appetite for violence.
“Much better.”
I drew Ophelia in for another kiss, another long kiss. I wanted to make sure the first thing he saw as he regained consciousness was his girlfriend succumbing to her desire for me and becoming mine willingly, passionately and totally.
I could feel his legs start flailing as he tried and failed to make contact with the floor. I ignored him and pushed my tongue deeper into Ophelia’s mouth, probing the back of her throat, blocking her airway.
When I finally broke off the kiss, Ophelia’s chest heaved as she gulped for oxygen. But even as she panted wildly she maintained eye contact with me.
She was mesmerised by me.
Her boyfriend was suspended from my other hand, bruised and bleeding, snivelling and sobbing, but she ignored him.
And for the moment, so did I.
“I’m the biggest, most muscular woman you’ve ever seen,” I said to Ophelia as she caught her breath.
“The biggest, most muscular person. I’ve never seen a man this big. I didn’t know a woman could even be as big and strong as you.”
“What if I told you that my muscles can get bigger?”
Ophelia shook her head in disbelief.
“When I work out, my muscles pump full of blood and become swollen. They get fuller. They get veinier. They look even more spectacular. Would you like to see that?”
Ophelia sat up straight in barely contained anticipation, and then closed her eyes and cooed as my bicep peak hit a sweet spot.
“Imagine how you would feel right now if my bicep was even bigger… Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the pleasure you would be experiencing? Now I would love to get pumped up, but I need an incentive to work out… Do you want to give me an incentive, Ophelia?”
Ophelia clasped her hands together and nodded enthusiastically.
I straightened my arm and pointed it towards the floor. Ophelia slid down it, leaving a snail trail of her juices down my bicep and forearm.
“Is all that because of my muscles? You must really like them!”
I smiled at her, flexed my huge bicep again, and then extravagantly licked it clean.
“Mmh, you taste delicious, little one. Do you want to find out how I taste?”
Ophelia gulped, hard, and her mouth silently formed the word ‘Yes.’
“On your hands and knees!”
Ophelia dropped to the floor in front of me, and then craned her neck to bring her face closer to my pussy.
“No. Stay!”
I turned my back on her and walked across the room to the doorway. When I turned around, she was still crouched on the floor in the same position.
“Good girl!”
I beckoned her towards me with a finger. She eagerly crawled across the floor like an excited puppy and waited for the next command.
“If I’m going to have an effective workout, I’ll need some extra weight.”
Silently, we both turned to stare at him. Like an animal caught in a trap, he shivered. I curled him up and down a couple of times and snorted with derision.
“Not that he’ll provide much in the way of a challenge.”
“P-please,” he stuttered. “Please just let me go… I don’t want to do it, whatever it is… Just please don’t make me…”
“Oh, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”
He looked pathetically grateful.
“No, I won’t make you do anything. But she will. Because she wants this. She wants this more than she’s ever wanted anything before, and I wouldn’t get in her way.”
“No. No! Please, Ophelia, you won’t, will you? You can’t!”
Ophelia silently stroked my bulging calf, and then rested her head against my rippling leg, her eyes fixed on my pussy.
He started to cry again.
“You should be grateful that Ophelia was ever yours in the first place, you little bitch. You’re barely even a man. You’re so scrawny and malnourished, I bet you’re a fucking vegan?”
No reply. I shook him like a rag doll.
“I asked you a question. I won’t ask again.”
“Y-yes.”
“I thought so. Well, I’ve got a salad for you to toss.”
I threw him over my shoulder, lifted one of his legs over my head, and then lowered him down my back until I could feel his nose running between my rock-hard glutes. I looked at Ophelia.
“Stand!”
She leapt to her feet.
I grabbed her around the waist. With an effortless flick of my arm I spun her upside down and caught her against my body. Her nose bumped over my cobbled abs as I brought her face down to the level of my pussy.
“The first person to stop licking will be punished.”
I reached up and grabbed the narrow lintel. There was just enough space for my fingertips. No matter. My hands were strong enough to crush apples and to roll up frying pans like newspapers.
“Start licking.”
I stood motionless for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of frantic warm tongues simultaneously stimulating my holes, and then I started to pull myself up, the weight of the two naked bodies draped from my shoulders and neck providing a welcome challenge.
I grunted as the first wave of pleasure coincided with the physical exertion.
You can’t do this in your local gym.
Well, you can’t do it twice. They’ll ban you after the first time. But that’s another story.
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This just keeps getting better and better. Can't wait for the workout session.
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There’s nothing quite like knowing your physique is so awe-inspiring that it can make even the most self-possessed woman become so out-of-her-mind horny that she loses all her poise and composure and becomes willing to debase herself just for the chance to worship you.
I mean, obviously you’ll never experience this feeling first-hand, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Watching a woman beg to be allowed to touch my muscles and to eat me out excites me just as much today as it did the first time it happened...
Everyone remembers their first time, of course, and I’m no different - although unlike most teenagers I didn’t lose my virginity in the backseat of a car or in a bedroom at a house party.
No, I lost my virginity in the Medieval and Renaissance wing of the V&A. Don’t let anyone tell you that school trips aren’t educational…
I was at the museum with a dozen or so other students from my sixth form college. I avoided my classmates and they avoided me. The reasons were simple: they were frightened of me and I was bored by them: they had no drive, no discipline, no motivation; they were unremarkable, uninteresting, unworthy of my time and attention.
Even back then my body was freakish: I was already 195lb of solid muscle, benching 280lb for reps, and obsessed with getting bigger and stronger.
The funny thing is, my classmates had no idea I was so jacked.
They were scared of me because of the way I towered over them - I’ve been 6’2” ever since I was 14 years old.
Oh, and also because I was an intimidating stone cold bitch with ice water in my veins. That probably had something to do with it, too.
It was a cold, wet Monday morning and apart from a few Japanese tourists, we were the only people in the gallery; most of our group stood around looking unenthusiastic as we waited for the curator who would be giving us a talk.
And then she arrived.
Emily. Emily Wallace. Dr Emily Wallace, new in post at the museum, she told us, having just started her postdoctoral studies.
She had my attention immediately: she was a gorgeous nerd. Mid-twenties, flaming red hair piled high in a bun, vintage horn-rimmed glasses framing sparkling green eyes; her bold poppy-red lipstick in striking contrast with her pale skin and lightly-freckled cheeks. I stood at least a foot taller than her, but somehow she was every bit as eye-catching as me.
Until that moment, I didn’t even know I had a type, but the mega-ladyboner I experienced when I saw her suggested otherwise.
And then she started to speak.
Could you have a wet dream when you were awake? Because as I listened to her I felt like I was having one. I felt so pent up I could have exploded.
Unperturbed by the initial lack of interest shown by most of her audience, within minutes she had won us all round. She was enthusiastic and knowledgeable, but she didn’t patronise us and she was unafraid of being silly.
The age difference between us was small enough that she could almost have been a classmate, but she was totally unlike anyone I had met at college - and academically, she was such a class apart she made even my teachers look like intellectual pygmies.
I was torn between wanting to carry on looking at her and listening to her, and running off to the toilets to pleasure myself while I thought about her.
Snapping back to attention, I realised that we had reached the end of the gallery, and that she was standing in front of a line of statues of various gods and heroes, taking questions from my classmates.
“Yes, the statue I’m currently standing beside depicts Herakles - or Hercules, if you prefer - brandishing a xiphos, a type of double-edged sword. Herakles, of course, was a Greek hero and the son of Zeus. He was also the patron of Greek gymnasia which might explain why he looks so spectacularly buff; alternatively, he may just have been trying to compensate for - how shall I put it? - a lack of size elsewhere.”
She glanced at Herakles’ crotch amidst lots of sniggering from the group.
“Unfortunately, I can confirm that his physique as depicted here is entirely improbable - no man, even if he is a god, has muscles this large and this defined in real life. You’ll notice these grooves below his hugely impressive six-pack abs just here, running from the hips to the pubis? Well, it’s impossible to see those in real life. It’s almost impossible to see his, ahem, pubis too - but sadly, my research suggests that’s probably the most realistic thing about our marble man here.”
More giggling.
“Anyway, it’s time for a short break before we reconvene upstairs in a few minutes.”
The rest of the group dispersed, heading next door or in search of the toilets, chatting and laughing. I remained still, staring at the statue, making up my mind.
She noticed me and smiled.
“I see you’re smitten with my muscular friend. Whatever his other shortcomings may be, he does have an awesome bod. Did you have a question you’d like to ask about him?”
“No. I mean, it’s not a question. I… I’ve got something to show you.”
“Oh, how lovely. What is it?”
No going back now. This was the point of no return.
“This.”
I unzipped my hoodie, pulled up my baggy T-shirt with one hand, and pulled down the waistband of my jogging bottoms with the other.
“I call it my Adonis belt. Who was Adonis again? Another Greek hero?”
I exhaled and crunched down on my abs, making my absurdly ripped core somehow look even more solid and defined.
“What do you think? I’ve got a V-cut just like the statue of Herakles, right? Well, actually I think I’m more shredded. His diet was probably a little sloppy.”
Her mouth hung open and her eyes popped out of their sockets like Jim Carrey in The Mask.
“No. No… It can’t… You can’t…”
Staring in disbelief, she took a step towards me and bent down, trying to get a clearer view of my rippling abdomen, as if she were trying to work out how a magic trick had been done.
There was no trick. Not unless you count the hundreds of hanging leg-raises and cable crunches I had done each week for the last six years as a trick.
I moved towards her and she stood up quickly and stumbled backwards. She kept retreating until she had backed into the statue. She swooned against Herakles’ torso, like a damsel in distress.
“It’s not possible… How? How are you so muscular?”
“Diet and exercise.”
“But you’re just a girl.”
“I may be just a girl, but I’ve got better pecs than the son of Zeus.”
I dropped my hoodie to the floor, and then pulled off my T-shirt.
“Or do you disagree?”
Throughout my teens, I had spent hundreds of hours in front of the mirror, flexing and admiring my pecs - of all my muscles, they had always given me the biggest thrill.
When we had gone through puberty years earlier, my female classmates had celebrated their blossoming curves and soft, jiggling breasts, gossiping about cup sizes and boasting about their new bras, but not me; no, I was secretly obsessed with making my own chest squarer and harder.
I had known even back then how transgressive my obsession was; no teenage girl should have a chest as thick and beefy as mine. And since then it had only got thicker and beefier and no one other than me had ever seen it in its full glory.
Until now. Dr Wallace had inspired me to make up for lost time.
Plus, there was no doubt about it: I had Herakles outclassed. I made him look like a weedy little bitch.
For the first time in my life, rather than just being the tall, scary weirdo, I had revealed myself to be a musclebound goddess and I had amazed someone with my physique.
It felt… good.
I started to feel like showing off a little and swaggered towards her. She couldn’t look away, transfixed by the stupendous size of my torso.
She reached up and grabbed the god’s arm, clinging onto the marble bicep like she was expecting him to protect her.
I stopped just in front of her, raised my own arm and flexed my bicep.
“Mine’s bigger. And harder. Feel it.”
She shivered and whimpered, but she did what I told her.
She obeyed me.
It felt… great.
I closed my eyes as I enjoyed the sensation of her slender hand first flitting nervously over my bulging bicep, and then beginning to knead the dense muscle, trying and failing to make an indentation in my flesh, still whimpering as she did so.
What else could I make this woman do?
“Kiss my bicep.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before she was fervently pressing her lips against my peaked muscle.
How far would she go? How far could I go?
“Lick my abs.”
This time, nothing happened. Hadn't she heard me? Didn't she know I wasn't making suggestions, but giving orders? Or perhaps her muscle-lust had passed and she had returned to her senses?
I opened my eyes, reluctantly, because I was worried the last possibility may have been the case, and then I saw that she was occupied.
While her left hand caressed my muscles, with the other she had lifted up her skirt and slipped her hand first inside her tights, and then inside her knickers, and now she was furiously fingering herself.
Her cheeks flushed redder than her flaming hair when she realised I was watching her.
“I don’t… I don’t know… I can’t help myself! I can’t resist… You’ve just got so much muscle!”
I moved my hand towards her face and she flinched like she was expecting me to hit her. Instead, I gently stroked her cheek. Then I removed the three pins holding her bun in place, one after the other, until her hair cascaded down onto her shoulders.
“Mmh… I like it when you wear your hair down.”
“Oh, thank you!”
“I think you should wear it down all the time.”
“I will, I always will from now on!”
“And do you like my muscles?”
“Yes! Yes! They’re… they’re spectacular.”
“And do my muscles turn you on?”
“Oh god, yes. I’ve never seen muscles like this. I didn’t know there were muscles like this, so big and so hard.”
“My muscles turn me on, too. And you turn me on. And you being turned on by my muscles turns me on even more. I want you to carry on worshipping me.”
I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees. She stared up at me, saucer-eyed.
“Lick my abs.”
I squirmed as her tongue probed between the crevices of my six-pack, tickling me.
Working her way downwards, she stopped when she reached my waistband.
"Why have you stopped?"
"M-may I... May I keep going?"
"Do you want to?"
"Yes! I was worried you wouldn't-"
“If my trousers and underwear aren’t around my ankles and your face buried in my pussy in the next ten seconds, I’m going to be very angry with you.”
“Oh!”
“Ten…”
I stared triumphantly at Herakles. Even though his muscles were quite literally chiselled, the bulges and the definition exaggerated by the artist, as befitting a god, my muscles were by far superior.
So superior that Dr Wallace was sucking eagerly on my clit before I got to nine.
It felt amazing.
And I’m pretty sure the Japanese tourists enjoyed the show too, judging by the number of photographs they were taking.
Anyway, I digress. Back to Ophelia...
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Oh wow, both new chapters are epic! Keep up the amazingly inventive work :bravo:
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This story just keeps getting better! Loving the backstory/flashbacks. Also love how she has thing for intellectual women. Hot stuff!
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I felt the orgasm building as I completed my twenty-fifth pull up. A few more reps and it finally hit hard as I reached the apex of number thirty.
I kept my chin as close to the lintel as the tangle of legs around my neck would allow.
My low growl became a ferocious roar as the waves of pleasure washed over me, every muscle in my body contracting and bulging in response.
Less impressive bodybuilders than me boast about their ‘boulder shoulders’ and ‘cobra lats’, but I promise you descriptions like that wouldn't begin to do my muscles justice.
I was wide enough to fill the entire door frame.
The orgasm felt amazing anyway, but the knowledge I was so unnaturally, freakishly big that my body defied design standards for normal people made it feel even better.
I slowly lowered myself back to my feet, still flexing so hard that my entire body was rigid and vascular.
There was no doubt about it: Ophelia wasn’t just a cunning linguist.
I glanced down through my valley of pec cleavage. Ophelia was still eating my pussy with all the zeal of a convert, but the lack of stimulation and the muffled noises coming from behind me suggested something was wrong.
I eased Ophelia to the floor. She looked drunk. She was giddy and glassy-eyed, a blissful smile on her face. She started to move back towards my erect clit, like a hungry baby greedily trying to latch onto a nipple for a feed.
I placed my hand on her head and gently guided her around the circumference of my glutes until she could see my back.
“What’s his problem?”
Ophelia gasped.
“Oh god, your glutes are so big and hard that when you flex them you completely trap his nose and his tongue between them.”
Ophelia placed her hands on my rock-hard glutes and ran her hands over them, kneading my muscles, needing my muscles, completely ignoring her struggling boyfriend.
“And how’s he doing?”
“Oh. I think he can't breathe,” she replied, dispassionately.
“Can't he? That’s all because of you, Ophelia: your skilful tongue made me orgasm so hard that I lost control of my muscles.”
“All because of little me? I made you lose control of all this muscle?” Ophelia asked, still massaging my powerful rump.
His distressed noises were becoming more urgent.
“I made you orgasm? All by myself?” Ophelia asked, jealously.
“It was all you, my good little girl. I can tell he’s never offered to eat your arse before. He's terrible at it.”
Ophelia beamed with happiness.
I unclenched and slipped his legs from my shoulders. He crashed to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
We both stood and looked down at him. He cowered up at us, looking from me to her and finding no sympathy on either of our faces.
I shook my head and tutted.
“You stopped licking first. Ophelia gets a reward, but you get punished.”
Ophelia looked like Christmas had come early.
“A reward?”
“Oh yes, Ophelia. I make sure good girls get rewarded. Take off the dog collar and put it on him instead. Then pass me the lead and go and lie on the bed.
From our different vantage points we both watched as Ophelia busied herself with following my orders and lay down on the bed.
“Spread your legs.”
Ophelia grabbed her ankles and forced her legs back until she was doing the splits.
I looked down at him. For the moment, he seemed to have forgotten I was there; his beautiful girlfriend’s graphic display had distracted him even from my menacing muscularity.
Even I stopped and stared. But not for long.
“This is perhaps your last ever chance to satisfy your girlfriend.” I stopped and laughed. “Who knows? It may even be your chance to satisfy her for the first time. This is what’s going to happen: I’m going to stand in the middle of the room. I’m going to hold your lead with my arm extended. You are going to try and reach Ophelia’s pussy and provide her with the pleasure she deserves. But I am going to be pulling on your lead. Not with my whole body: just with my arm. To make it even easier for you I’ll stand on one leg while I do it. It’s your entire body against just my bicep. Understand?”
He stared wildly at me.
“And the prize is your girlfriend.”
There was no need to ask if he understood: as I raised my left foot from the ground, he jumped towards Ophelia, trying to pull me off balance.
He might as well have been tethered to a tower block with a steel cable.
The lead went taught and he was snapped back.
I remained standing on one leg, like a serene yoga babe posing for a fitness photoshoot. Quite a niche, S&M-themed photoshoot, admittedly, but I’ve been there, done that, bought the T-shirt… flexed right out of the T-shirt…
He kept heaving. I didn’t even wobble.
There was enough slack in the lead for him to get within six inches of Ophelia’s pussy. He strained to reach it, twisting from one side to the other, ignoring the pain in his ribs, trying to knock me off balance, scrabbling for foot and handholds on the carpet, anything to give him an advantage, sticking out his tongue, anything to get slightly closer to her, to make physical contact with her.
All to no avail.
He was getting more and more desperate. He kept trying, kept pulling forwards, kept struggling.
He was so close to her that the scent of her excitement must have filled his nostrils, an excitement that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.
Ophelia lay on the bed, watching the show playing out, framed between her spread legs.
“You can do it,” she encouraged. “You look so strong. Powerful. Sexy. I want you to win. To win me. I want to be yours.”
Neither of us were under any illusion as to which of us she was addressing.
“Show us how strong you really are,” she whispered.
I gave her a wink and started to curl my arm, easily dragging him away from her.
He grabbed the leg of a heavy dressing table as an anchor.
It was dragged across the floor with him.
I stopped when my forearm was perpendicular to the floor. Then I relaxed and extended my arm again.
He scrambled forwards, trying to make up the lost ground.
He was stopped dead in his tracks by my strength once more.
Ophelia giggled as we repeated the performance.
The third time I flexed, I flexed explosively.
He was pulled backwards so violently that he cartwheeled through the air and collapsed by my standing foot.
I lowered my left foot until it pressed into his face.
“Your girlfriend has such a beautiful pussy,” I told him. “I know you were desperate to taste it. Such a shame you’re too weak to ever get to enjoy it again.”
I turned towards Ophelia.
“Fetch my harness and strap me into it. I’m going to fuck your brains out while your boyfriend watches.”
Ophelia jumped off the bed, ran across the room and grabbed my dildo with both hands.
She carried it towards me with the reverence of a priest holding a sacred object.
I kissed her, tenderly.
Her hands shook with excited anticipation as she helped me into the harness.
I scooped him up off the floor and threw him onto the bed, where he lay with his legs dangling off the end.
I held Ophelia’s hand in mine and walked her to the edge of the bed, positioning her between his legs.
“Bend over.”
Ophelia bent at the waist.
I pushed Ophelia down until her torso pressed into his and she was almost face to face with her boyfriend.
I flexed my mighty quads until they pressed against her pert little bottom and rocked her even further forwards.
The huge strap-on ran up Ophelia’s back, tickling her and making her squirm; it looked impossibly big for this petite woman to handle.
I grabbed her hips to hold her still.
“Can you feel it, Ophelia? Can you feel how big it is? Do you want it inside you?”
“Yes, yes… Please… please put it in me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please, I want it. I want it hard. I need it. I’ve never needed anything as much as I need you to fill me up and stretch me out now. Right now. Please?”
“First tell him his cock is small and pathetic.”
Nose to nose, Ophelia looked into her boyfriend’s eyes.
“Your cock is small and pathetic.”
“Tell him he never satisfied you.”
Her perfect breasts pressed into him.
“You never satisfied me.”
“Tell him what you really think of him as a lover.”
He could feel the heat of her pussy against his bare skin.
“You were never enough for me.”
He suppressed a sob and Ophelia paused.
Then the floodgates opened.
“I would lie there with you squirming on top of me, humping away at me for a couple of minutes before you got too excited and it was all over, and I would fantasise that I was being pleasured by some big, burly man with a huge horse-cock, who could pick me up and carry me around and throw me down and pin me there, helpless, as he had his way with me, ravished me, made it his mission to pleasure me until I couldn’t take it any more and then carry on regardless.”
Ophelia broke off and moaned as I pulled my hips back and manoeuvred myself until the tip of my strap-on pressed against the slippery, engorged lips of her pussy.
“And… mmmhhh… and now I’ve discovered you were even less of a man than I thought, because there’s something even better than being fucked by a big, burly brute… mmmhhh… and that’s being fucked by a big, burly bitch, a man-shaming musclebound she-hulk alpha Amazon queen packing a girl-dick big enough to split me in half and make me scream with pleasure until I lose my voice.”
I don't know about you, but I'm getting the impression he was a bit crap in bed.
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Superb.
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Absolutely incredible yet again! Your imagination and way with words - just superb :clap:
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“And… mmmhhh… and now I’ve discovered you were even less of a man than I thought, because there’s something even better than being fucked by a big, burly brute… mmmhhh… and that’s being fucked by a big, burly bitch, a man-shaming musclebound she-hulk alpha Amazon queen packing a girl-dick big enough to split me in half and make me scream with pleasure until I lose my voice.”
Sheer poetry right here. :bravo:
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My kind of woman is young (not to young)) more than 6ft2,very big boob and biceps and very strong,which she uses to beat up male fighters,wretlers,etc.
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I laughed.
“Oh, Ophelia, that was brutal. You’re just too bad. Whatever am I going to do with you? Do you need to be punished?”
“Yes.”
Ophelia’s voice had changed. She hadn’t spoken that last word softly, she hadn’t purred or cooed or moaned.
She had growled.
“And here I thought you were a good girl. Am I going to have to spank you? Bad girls get spanked. Are you a bad girl, Ophelia?”
“Yes.”
There it was again. Ophelia’s jaw was clenched. Her teeth gritted.
Fierce.
Ravenous.
I took half a step back and delivered a smack to her right buttock.
“Again. More. Spank me more. I’m a bad girl. More, more, please? More?”
Ophelia was in a frenzy now, bucking her hips back, trying to spear herself on my 12-inch monster, clawing at her boyfriend’s chest, leaving ugly red scratch marks.
I smacked her left buttock.
Ophelia’s body quivered. She threw head back and howled wolfishly.
“Quiet now.”
Ophelia stopped howling but continued panting like a bitch in heat. He continued crying like a little girl.
“I said ‘quiet’. Can you hear that?”
They both fell silent. A dripping noise became audible.
“Ophelia, ask him if he can hear that sound.”
“Can you hear that?”
He nodded, wide-eyed, fearful.
“Tell him what that noise is, Ophelia.”
“It’s… Oh god… It’s… I’m so wet right now my pussy is literally dripping.“
"All because of little me?" I asked, mimicking Ophelia's question from earlier.
"Yes. I never even dreamed..."
“That it was possible to be so turned on? Let’s all stay quiet for a moment and enjoy the sound of Ophelia’s arousal.”
There was another distant sound, a bit like the rattling of keys.
And then a voice, calling up the stairs.
“Babe? Are you up there? Don’t be cross with me - I know I’m not supposed to come round unless you give me the all clear, but I thought you might like a quick fuck while Little Miss Perfect is getting her ego stroked at her party?”
What. The. Fuck?
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Fierce!
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Plot twist!!
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Selfishly wanting more of this amazing story. Hoping you haven't given up on it or your other in-progress ones on the site. You're one of the best authors here!
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Agree!
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:thanks:
Definitely more chapters on their way for this story and, indeed, all the others. I've just been very busy again recently, which is especially annoying because the ideas for the next few chapters are bouncing around in my head and I just need some time to actually write them down.
If I had to guess, I would say Undercover is most likely to be updated first, then either this story or Body Swap, then April Fool's.
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Glad to hear! No rush, take your time. :rock:
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Oh what a twist in the tale! Great news that you're going to update Undercover too :clap: