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Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fiction  |  The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
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Author Topic: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years  (Read 90743 times)

Offline biggerisbetter

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #30 on: August 05, 2018, 08:35:57 am »
Slowing the plot is great because we are in the same position as Lawrence. Our desire is growing and growing but we have to wait. I feel like Mrs. Jones is telling us: "Not yet, be patient little boys" ;)  She is so deliciosly unconscius of her insane body and the impact it makes on men but -please - as the story unfolds, let her discover her potential. Let her become a muscle goddess who is making men pass out with a slight flex of her muscles. Can't wait to read next chapters :) I wish English was my mother language so that I could write such stories too!


Offline 009eli

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #31 on: August 08, 2018, 09:10:55 pm »
Hey everyone! I was trying to make this a short chapter but some how it wound up swelling into one of the longest things I've written. I'm breaking it up in two parts for readability.  Also I'm about to head out of town for work and then take a few weeks off for myself so probably wont post anything until September so this will give y'all plenty to chew over as our boy Lawrence and Mrs. J continue to rekindle their relationship.

As always love comments, feedback, criticism and encouragement. I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks its been nice encouraging all the enthusiasm for this tail so give me plenty of feedback. Thanks again to everyone who takes time out to read and comment  :wob:

Mrs. Jones The College Years Chapter 2

Mrs. Jones’ skin felt incredible under my hands.

Thin and soft. Stretched tightly over the rock-hard muscles underneath. Her thick beefy pecs, board flat abdomen, peaked biceps… her body. It felt like a warmed stone.

I was in heaven. My hands traveled further down feeling the warmness as her skin moved over her muscles. The complete lack of subcutaneous body fat causing it to feel thin as rice paper as I pinched it in my hands. She giggled slightly and her thick abs flexed under my touch…

I traced further down. Her chiseled intercostals, corded with light veins that floated just below the surface curving down to her sex.

“Do you know how I got this body, Lawrence?” Jinni cooed playfully. Batting her eyes at me. “From pumping big heavy, heavy weights…. From working out hours and hours in the gym… from pumping and pumping until the muscle grew.. big and hard….” She continued to say almost in a baby doll voice. “From dedicating myself, days…. Weeks… months… years…”

“Do you want to feel them, Lawrence? My arms…” Mrs. Jones asked playfully before bringing her thick biceps up into a hard flex.

“It’s okay Lawrence…” She laughed as I stretched my hand out.

“Lawrence…”

And I was suddenly brought back to reality. To the present by my American history professor, Professor Jefferies, standing at the front of the lecture hall calling out to me.

“Lawrence would you like to answer the question?”

“Uhm… Sure Professor Jefferies.” I managed to stammer out, which brought a collective bought of laughter from nearly everyone in the lecture hall.

“Well… go ahead.” He said puffing himself up under his tweed jacket and stroking his beard.

“Can you repeat the question…”? I stammered out bringing much more guffaws from my classmates and a scowl from my history Prof.

It seemed as if this had been happening more and more since my meeting the previous week with Mrs. Jones in the lobby of the hotel. I would float into these reveries be it if I was walking across campus or sitting, waiting for the bus to take me to my 11:30 office hours in the econ building. Out of nowhere I’d be back sitting across from Mrs. Jones. Taking her in. Or it was back on that beach watching Mrs. Jones strut in her polka dotted bikini and then just as suddenly I’d be brought back to reality.

These flights of fantasy were not helped by the fact that I now learned Mrs. Jones was going by her maiden name ‘Halifax.’ A Google search of Jennifer Halifax brought up a cornucopia of stuff from the interwebs. Photo shoots from numerous contests of her on stage, her golden hued body trained within an inch of its life. Photo sets of a shoot she had done in a tiny, minuscule swimsuit that you wouldn’t even be able to think of a lean young coed in her 20s being able to pull off, never mind your friend's mother. It became a daily battle to fight the fantasy and realize I had an authentic life including school and a girlfriend I needed to focus on.

But still, the specter of the next upcoming weekend loomed. I even thought about canceling it just to stay back and try to keep my sanity, but I told myself the $200 would be helpful to me to offset my cost of living. But I knew very well it wasn’t the money that would draw me to the convention center that next weekend. It was Mrs. Jones.

I had other issues as well. It wasn’t odd that I was gone off campus for a weekend, but two weekends in a row was a bit unheard of for me. I knew I’d need a good alibi and saying I was going to see a friend of my families two weekends in a row wouldn’t cut it.

“Help your dad?” Came Lizzy’s somewhat confused reply. And I felt guilty about lying to her. I hadn’t before, but now I was telling her a lie 2 weekends in a row. But still, I figured this was for her own good. Sometimes truth was stranger then fiction and I remembered seeing that Mrs. Jones was heading out of town after the convention so she wouldn’t even be a temptation after that… and I’d be able to move on with my life.

###

As Saturday approached Mrs. Jones sent me the information to where the expo was happening, and I caught an Uber over, thinking I could quickly make up the difference in the cost of the car from what I would make helping her work the event.

Arriving at the convention center, I had the car pull up front and hopped out.

“Body Power Expo” The sign blared above the large hall of the main building. I was immediately taken by the crowd piling in. They were unlike any group of people I had ever laid eyes on. It seemed like they looked as close to real life superheroes as humanly possible. The men were huge, great puffed up chests and arms as ripped, as they were thick, swinging at their sides like huge chunks of meat. And the women, the women… my good god…  all seemed to have primped posed and pumped for the day. Blonde hair and huge fake boobs spilling out of barely there tube tops which stopped above mid stomach to show abs as ripped as any swimmer.  They looked like something out of a Playboy spread, but better. Leaner. Healthier an entire array of BUFFED UP BARBIE DOLLS! All seeming in competition to see who could flaunt the most of their hard-earned bodies.

And flaunt they did – modesty was not on the menu this day it seemed. And who could blame them? Everyone there had worked so hard on their physiques. I’m sure they were happy for the opportunity to show it off. And it seemed that you had to be either the biggest, buffest or most beautiful to get any attention.

Jinni had texted me on the way over to tell me she was finishing up something in the central hotel adjacent to the convention center and that I should meet her over there and we could walk over to the convention together.

Entering into the hotel lobby from the heat outside – I was immediately greeted by the cool of the air conditioning. I could see that the lobby of the hotel had been taken over by the same beefy occupants of the convention center. As I entered, I saw a large group of huge men, all with baldheads and their thick tanned muscles popping out of what was left of their cut-up tank tops. Competitors in the bodybuilding show that was happening that night at the convention.

Each of the muscle heads craned their thick beefy necks in my direction as I entered and then seemed to take in my modest frame, no doubt judging me not to be a threat in any way to their dominance and then just as quickly they turned away to find the next muscular individual in the crowd to look at. It seemed that if you weren’t deemed to be at or near the level of muscle in the crowd – amongst this group, it was a bit like you didn’t even exist.

“I’m here.” I texted Jinni unsure where to meet her and suddenly feeling a bit nervous and self-conscious of my unmuscled frame.

“Back of the lobby – by the bar –“ Jinni shot back and then followed it with an “Excited to see you” and a winky emoji face.

To say I was excited to see her again was an understatement. I had replayed meeting her for lunch over in my head a hundred times in the past week. Slowing every frame of it down into slow motion. How she had looked in her summer dress. The soft, warm blue hue playing off her tanned skin. The way the thin fabric straps had dug into her thick neck and spilled down the expanse of her pecs. Her mammoth back…. And bulging thighs teetering on her wedged heels as we walked to her car in the parking structure.

I felt that seeing her again at least I had gotten a handle on the effect being around her seemed to have on me… 

But even then I wasn’t quite ready for what I was about to see next.

As I came around the corner off the main lobby. I should have known it was where Mrs. Jones was as there was a large group of onlookers gathered and as I first came around I could hear a man saying –

“Okay. That’s good Jinni… Hold it like that… Good and up more….” And what sounded like a camera whirring and clicking.

As I came closer around the corner, I got a better idea of what the commotion was. A large, bright light was perched on a frame leaning against an area, which I guessed was used as a bar when the hotel was busier.

The light was blocking my view somewhat. But as I walked closer, I could hear the murmurs of the crowd of onlookers who had gathered to look at the scene that was taking place.

“Wow… oh, my… Oh geez…” I could hear the lookie-loos all saying under their breaths a bit in unison and I knew that no doubt Mrs. Jones was playing some part in their collective awe…

But even as I steadied myself and I came into the light and moved past the crowd angling myself to get a better view, I still was a bit flabbergasted by what I saw…

It was a full-on photo-shoot! Mrs. Jones was standing by the bar end of the lobby near a couch, while a short somewhat pudgy man in a blue baseball cap snapped her photos.

“Very good Jinni. Tighten… tighten your arms” He directed her.

But it was what Jinni was wearing that nearly caused my heart to beat out of my chest! Now I had seen and been up close to Mrs. Jones in all types of clothes, and she somehow seemed to have the ability to even make a burl lap sack sexy. I remembered back all those years to her cranking out arm curls in the teeny-tiny white bikini in her basement. The small white pieces of cloth doing little to cover her outrageous musculature. And I, of course, remember full well that day at Hawthorne beach where Mrs. J had pranced for all the world to see in her cute polka dotted bikini. As if it was the most natural thing for a mom and housewife to carry 160lbs of bulk and 4 percent body fat on her frame.

But I don’t think all that had really prepared me for what happened when Jinni went all out. Since she was getting near contest condition, her supplement sponsor had thought it was a good idea to photograph her in her near peak condition. I guess I had been late to the part where she wore some cute workout wear… but now the outfit selected was off the charts hot. It was a tiny black swimsuit made up of little straps that I would learn would be called a micro-teeny. Basically only a thin square of fabric connected by tiny straps. An outfit so minuscule its only design was to show off the wearers body as I could imagine it getting quickly washed away when exposed to any water.

Mrs. Jones stood there in all her glory.

“Flex. Flex Jinni…” The photographer barked as Jinni pulled hard on the tiny string straps that sat around her thickly muscled intercostals and the lower parts of her abs. She pulled hard on the strings pulling them away from her body, and I worried that they may snap as she tightened and flexed her arms down, causing her triceps to flex hard away from her body.

The crowd all cheered in unison and applauded as if she had done a magic trick. Mrs. Jones, I noticed shot the entire gathered crowd her bright, million-watt smile and I couldn’t help feel that like a true performer, she was playing as much for the crowd benefit as the photographer.

“I’d hate to have to have you mad at me!!” a sunburnt man in a tight-fitting Disneyland shirt stretched over his belly yelled out and the crowd laughed in unison.

“And I’d hate to ever have you do anything that made me mad…” Jinni shot back in his direction with lightning fast timing. The crowd erupted again in laughter, no doubt as awed by her quick comedic response as her dazzling muscles.

She primped, balancing for a moment on the towering black stiletto heels she wore which accentuated her thick calves and made her legs seem not only impossibly muscled but also supermodel long.

“Just a second… “ Said the photog as he looked at something in the camera.

“Technical difficulties, folks…” Jinni said once again playing to the crowd who ate it up and laughed at the line as if they were watching a comedian give a monologue on a late night talk show.

As Jinni stood for a second as the photog continued to fumble with the camera, she spotted me in the crowd. Gave me a little wink and a little half wave that set my heart afire and I’m sure made the rest of the crowd wonder… who was this kid?

“Okay.. handled it. The light in here is a bit off… So Jinni lets just get a few rear lat spreads to finish…” He said taking a crouching position.

With that, Jinni spun around turning her back to the crowd. And there was another collective gasp. As Jinni spun around, she brought her thick back into view and placed her small hands on her waist. I, along with every other person there traced my eye line down to… the end of her bikini bottoms, which were dental floss tiny coming off the thin material of the side of her bikini and disappeared between the thick, jutting, bowling ball glutes the sprung off the back of her body.

With the great care of the natural performer she was, she stuck one of her high heeled, stiletto feet out and… flexing tightened her calves...

“Oh my….” I heard a woman in a sun visor that had the name of a church on it whisper under her breath.

Continuing the slow flex up her lower leg which caused her calves to thicken and explode with veins. As Mrs. Jones continued, she sent the flex up the back of her leg, bulging out her thick, curved hamstrings and then curled her back in –

Waiting a few moments for the tension to build, she then… with great care and deliberation… slowly spread and flexed first her left lat out… and then, slowly, as if trying to move and sway the large shutters on a door… finally popped her right lat out.

“Oh, my…” visor woman said once again.

And finally as the piece de resistance. Mrs. Jones clasped her hands down hard. Mashing her small tight waist and in one incredibly quick motion, popping up on her toes and flaring her bat wing wide back out and flexing her glutes so hard I not only heard audible gasps amongst the crowd but I worried that the quick, decisive flex may have cut the tiny thong in two –

“Oh, my!” Visor woman finally cried out as Mrs. Jones stood stock still holding the flex for what felt like minutes as eventually, the crowd burst into rapturous applause.

###

A little later after the photo shoot had finished, I watched the photographer stash his stuff away and fold up the light.

“I think we got some great stuff Jinni…” He said.

Jinni was on the other side of the lobby talking to a husband and wife. No doubt another group of average humans lured in by the amazing siren song that was Jinni Jones and her body.

As I watched their interaction.  The husband, occasionally rubbing his chin as Mrs. Jones talked to him about her health and training regiment. Every once in a while stealing glances at Jinni’s impossibly muscled, thighs, glutes as Mrs. Jones gathered her stuff up after the photo-shoot.

The wife too, almost staring as if she herself couldn’t believe that someone like Mrs. J actually existed.  I could see even now, Mrs. Jones’ body acted as a beacon. A view of what the human body was capable of. Utterly unattainable to the average person, but none the less an outlier that hinted at what complete discipline over ones physical self might look like.

Even standing there, dressed only in enough fabric to barely fit in a pencil case, Mrs. J had an ease about her. I had seen it before, but she had the amazing ability to look more clothed the less clothes she wore. As if the muscle that wrapped and coated her frame was all the clothing it needed. And the work that went into honing such a body to this apex of development called for it to be looked at rather than hidden behind layers of fabric.

Before I knew it, Mrs. J had finished her conversation and was trotting back to me, doing a remarkable job of balancing her bulk on the towering platform heels. Her thick quads, quaking, then relaxing causing the thick teardrop over her tiny knees to bunch into quick hard flexs and contract with each step.

“How did I do?” She said taking a seat next to me. Her muscular capped shoulders just inches from me as she lowered her bulk down to the bench and took a small towel from beside her and lightly began to towel off the droplets of sweat that had run down the crevasse of her bulging pectorals during the photo shoot.

“I think you did great.” I managed to stammer out, my mouth dried of any liquid as I watched Mrs. J give the underside of her boob a quick swipe with the towel. This action caused the heavily muscled breast to bounce momentarily, just as it would on an average woman. But Mrs. J was far from normal, and I watched as the pec quickly snapped back into place, reforming into its cubed, muscular shape.

“Okay. Well, don’t run away. I just need to change for the floor show, and I’ll be right back.”

Runaway? After Mrs. J’s photo shoot. I don’t think I could move.

Jinni grabbed a small plastic bag she was carrying her stuff in and with a click of her 5-inch heels powered her way to the women’s room. The back side of her thickly developed back, inches thick tris and bull work neck, swaying femininely under the black lycra strings of her swimsuit. And the cubed muscle meat of her thick glutes, bunching and squaring rhythmically as she made her way to the women’s room.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the reactions of those ladies in the women’s room would be to seeing sheer physical perfection in an outfit that none of them would ever be able to wear in the wildest dreams, unsheathing that body in front of them. But I knew whatever would happen Jinni would navigate it with her seemingly otherworldly ‘Aw-shucks’ beguile.

A little while later – Mrs. Jones had exited the women’s room now wearing what she would wear for the floorshow of the convention. A definitely more modest outfit, consisting of skin-tight lycra workout pants which clung to the impossible swells of her thighs, her thickly chiseled calves and stopped inches below her belly button giving the world a clear view of her chiseled waist and blown out 8-pack. The outfit was topped with a black sports bra that exposed Mrs. J’s chiseled stomach. I couldn’t help but notice too how an outfit like this seemed to bring into focus Jinni’s’ tremendously developed thick arms which seemed to hang, jutting out at her sides pressed out by the thick back swells which were giving the strained straps of sports bra a run for their money.

The outfit was definitely more modest than the barely-there bathing suit she was wearing moments earlier but still, let the amazing shape (Mrs. J’s calling card in the world) open for all to see.

Now out of her ridiculously high platforms, Mrs. J was a full head shorter than me, but still, her presence seemed to far outstrip her relatively short height.

“How you holding up?” She asked, and put her hand on the small of my back. She gave me a combination, light rub and scratch with her nails. The entire thing feeling tremendously intimate and maternal.

I nodded. Good now, I thought.

Offline 009eli

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #32 on: August 08, 2018, 09:11:58 pm »
CONTD.

###

Later we found our spot out on the convention center floor. All around us the rest of the booths were setting up for the day. Our booth was for the “Pro-Ex’ a top the line supplement company that Mrs. J was working for. My web searches have stumbled across a few ads shoots she had done for them. “Pro-Ex Pre Workout Performance Bars are good enough for my workout, are they good enough for yours?” Blared the ad copy above an ad that showed a sweaty soaked Jinni Jones (ne: Jennifer Halifax) hoisting a substantial old-school dumbbell that looked well over 50lbs while staring down at her arm with a fierce look of concentration.

As we set up the both I was also introduced to Mark and Tony, two of the co-owners of Pro-Ex and guys who looked like I could easily have been friends with them in high school. They didn’t seem much older then there mid-20s. Which was impressive considering their company was well known.

“What do we got here – You certainly seem to rope ‘em in young, Jennifer?” Said Mark, the biggest one, playfully. The two of them were big and built tall guys, but seemed to have more of the physiques of off-season football players, then the balloon inflated musculature that many of the bodybuilders circulating the floor sported.

“Meet Lawrence… he’s my manager…. So any decisions you have. Just run them through him.” Jinni said back with a playful giggle. She had changed into a pair of skintight spandex pants that clung to every curve of her bulging lower body. Her thick squared off glutes, tiny waist and curved up quads that seemed to cast her small knee joints in shadows, were all hugged and highlighted by the skintight material. On her top, she was sporting a sports bra which was cut high revealing her armor-plated stomach and allowing her thick vein covered arms to hang at her sides propped up from the meat of her thick back.

Both the pants and the sports bra were emblazoned with the company’s logo.

“Well, we got to get you jacked up and into some Pro-Ex gear. Here you go, Lawrence.” Said Tony, the shorter of the two who looked like he can easily step off the floor and play running back for a division one college.

Tony tossed me a Pro-Ex shirt and dug out from behind the table a large handful of samples of different energy bars, pre-workout and protein powder.

“Yeah, you better treat my manager right!” Jinni said playfully coming up behind me and putting her sculpted hands protectivly on my shoulders.

“You okay?” She asked bending down and drawing close.

I nodded as I pulled the shirt on as the convention hall opened and was flooded with people.

###

As the hall filled up, I pretty quickly got the gist of how the day was to go. Jinni had set up a huge stack of glossy photos of herself, and a line began to form around, full of eager patrons of the convention.

Jinni would sign photos that I would grab – take snaps, which I would help out with and then pass the eager fitness buffs a handful of Pro-Ex samples that I was also in charge of prepping.

Far from being a drag, I was soon thrust into the swing of things and felt the energy of all the people at the event. As well as being around Jinni began to fuel me.

I would often sit and watch the cast of people moving by, the men huge and muscular and the women looked like they had all fallen off the front pages of the most insane bikini spreads imaginable. Boobs so big and pushed up they threatened to hit there chins ,all showing off flat stomachs in their tight-fitting clothes.

My people watching was monetarily interrupted as I heard –

“Jinni-dahling…” in a thick, Spanish accent. The voice was high pitched but at the same time had the bass-gruffness of a smoker.

My head snapped to follow the sound, and I had that odd feeling, it was coming from a tall women with dark, Latina features, dark hair… and I thought for a moment it may have been a friend of Jinni's from back in Hawthorne or maybe a person from the college. I had that feeling because I was sure I recognized her. But what I was actually experiencing was a feeling akin to seeing a celeb and confusing them with a friend from high school. I could see now that the woman was, in fact, Paloma Silva the famed Venuzlian heavyweight bodybuilder, currently ranked #1 in the world! And a headache as far as Mrs. J’s efforts to climb the rankings as she had usually finished in the top spot at the Mrs. Olympia almost five years running and now had moved her dominance over the Rising Phoenix, the current contest whose winner was generally considered number 1 in the world.

I had of course seen pictures of Paloma online many times, and I had.. ergh… let us just say, been intimate with her… even though she would of course not know that ;) It was hard not to – towering near 5’10 she was bodybuilding royalty. A former model with long black hair and exotic feature and curves that didn’t seem possible on a human being. But seeing this exquisite creature in real life was indeed something else. Paloma was clad in skintight white jeans which seemed to want to burst at the seams under her famous bulging Brazilian thighs and titanticaly muscled glutes, and a pair of heels pushed her near six feet. She was huge and even made Mrs. J seem like (somewhat) small in comparison. It was crazy to see this woman in real life. The photos I had seen online and in mags didn’t do her justice and seemed to flatten her, as if shrinking her down to just a small digital image. But in real life she was huge. Her big broad back dwarfing many of the guys at the show.

She stopped at the booth and flipped her long mane of raven black hair over her broad shoulders and knelt slightly to give Mrs. Jones a hug. I winced a bit as I felt an electric charge of excitement fire through me as I saw Paloma’s burly, silicon enhanced chest push hard into Mrs. Jones iron pumped pecs as the two hugged, momentarily mashing their massive chest regions against each other. I couldn’t help imagine what that felt like to be stuck in between there. The hard, stretched silicon forced against the muscle mass would surely be enough pressure to turn coal into diamonds.

Watching the two women try and navigate their thickly developed pectorals was like watching two oil tankers try to dock. 

After the huge Paloma straightened herself up, jabbing her plastic enhanced chest out to such a degree, I wondered the struggle her internal system must go through just to balance herself. Let alone stand on her tall, log leg enhancing high heels she was currently sporting.

The gigantic and the buffed up MILF were stopping traffic on the main floor, and I noticed people whipped out their phones merely to start filming the two buffed up ladies interaction.

“You look good… big…” Said Paloma tripping over English with her light Spanish accent. All while playfully squeezing Mrs. Jones arms. I noticed Mrs. Jones mirrored the action back as if the two titanically built women were checking out each other the way you’d kick a car's tires.

And as Paloma’s big, muscular hands continued to needs and squeeze Mrs. J’s arms, triceps and shoulders in a full test of their tactile strength I felt a pang of envy. There was the feeling that these two women had built their bodies up with such extreme dedication that they were members of a club. A special club. And once you had proven your membership with your extreme commitment to your body, your diet, you were given full access to touch, test and prod someone else’s physique rewarded your sacrifice.

“You look… amazing…” Mrs. J said back, apparently in awe or the gargantuan Venizualian who playfully took the comment and whipped her ponytail over shoulders an NFL linebacker would envy.

“I don’t know… I feel a little flat…” Paloma said with the same insecurity of a regular women checking on her butt in a department store mirror. Only she then proceeded to cock her arm in front of Jinni and flexing a bicep peak, which was so big – It literally covered Mrs. Jones’ face. I kid you not.

Standing there watching this interaction, it was odd. I had, of course, looked at photos of Paloma online, but in person, as I said before she actually appeared ‘too big.’ Although I had imagined myself being intimate with her as I peruse her photo sets, now seeing her in real life – I was almost scared. Mrs. Jones compact, albeit massively pumped body with its muscles and curves seemed just fine to me – Paloma, while standing so close to her I literally felt flashes of adrenalin, fearing for my safety if something happened and she went Hulk and got angry.

Soon the two buffed up women parted ways, and Paloma gave Jinni a cute wave ‘Okay… see you in a few weeks…’ she said in her accent, which I did notice was undercut with a gruffness to her voice which seemed suspiciously deep and low for a female.

‘Yep… see you, sweetie.’ Mrs. Jones said and gave the buffed up brunette one last hug, and it almost appeared as if Mrs. Jones herself seemed to savor the mashing and the duo’s muscular chests once again pressed up against each other.

Watching that exchange I couldn’t help but wonder, and also observe in Mrs. Jones eyes, a sort of mischievous glee as if she loved the muscular poking, prodding, and power of feeling up against Paloma’s sizeable muscular chest herself. It wasn’t lost on me that these powerful women seemed to get off on each other’s muscles maybe as much as they got off on their own. And why shouldn’t they? They more then anyone else would know what went into building these bodies they paraded around.

But soon my reverie was interrupted as I saw Mrs. Jones fumble nervously and gather a few items as she exhaled under her breath… ‘And… here goes…’

It was odd to see her flustered. Perhaps the first time I had ever seen her that way. The cause of this disturbance? A tiny, grey-haired man in a skintight muscle shirt whose bulging biceps and swelled chest looked like someone had inserted overly inflated tires under his skin. The little man walked swinging his huge arms and spoke with a thick German accent as he approached our table –

“Jinni-fer! Jinni-fer!” he called out excitedly as he strode over to us. His bulk clearing out a pathway as he came over.

This man, whose chest and upper body was so massively muscled it, seemed impossible he would ever be able to put his arms flush against his body. I soon recognized him as Uri Kingman, or Uri ‘The Champion Trainer’ as he was called in some of the muscle mags I had purchased off of newsstands, in a desperate search for more women who looked like Mrs. Jones. Uri wrote a column, and I knew, trained many of the highly ranked male bodybuilders. His training techniques were often seen as highly unique (weird, contractions holds, etc.) but the results spoke for themselves as many of his clients had gone to win major titles, including the past two Mr. Olympias.

I could gather from the interaction that Mrs. Jones was one of Uri’s clients. This would, of course, explain so much, how her muscles seemed to have a sculpted, aesthetic 3d shape that set her so far ahead of the rest of her competition.

“There she is—okay to let me see it…” Said Uri as he approached the table and got uncomfortably close to Mrs. Jones. I momentarily felt a desire to protect her despite that fact that Uri seemed as thick as he was wide, but Jinni appeared to welcome the attention, if not entirely, but with only some slight reservations – which made me relax and decide to let unfold whatever was to happen.

“Okay… Let's see these compulsories…” Uri said as he began to walk Mrs. Jones through the compulsory poses she’d need to do onstage at her upcoming competition that I believe I heard Uri say was the Nationals.

But as Uri led Mrs. Jones through her poses as she strained, pumped and flexed for him, the young girl who had walked over to our booth, at Uri’s side, momentarily diverted my attention.

As Uri peered at Mrs. Jones over his glasses, my eyes glanced over to Uri’s companion. I had seen him walk over to the table with another girl, but now that they were close by I could get a better look. Looking at her face first, she was young and blonde with her golden spun hair done up in a ponytail. And as I looked closer at her, I gauged her age at reasonably close to mine. She had big eyes, and her makeup looked like it had been done fast and cheap, that wasn’t to say she looked unattractive just unsophisticated. And her bold perky lips regularly showed two buck teeth with a small gap in the middle of them which would appear when she smiled. Far from making her look unattractive, these added a sort of innocence to her that was highly alluring.

But to be honest, it wasn’t her face that most people would look at. Not as she was dressed now. She was wearing a bright yellow tube top and small daisy duke type denim shorts. It was an outfit I noticed had been selected by her with the design to show off her body to its fullest…. And what a body it was.

I had been gazing at fantastic physiques all day, and standing by the most fantastic one at least in my opinion: Mrs. Jones. I had gone a bit numb. But this girls’ body was definitely a jaw dropper. She lacked the heavyweight bulk of Mrs. J but instead looked longer and leaner. With everything on her upper body looking incredibly developed. She was tall, and her physique seemed as if someone had taken a hardcore FBB and stretched her out. That’s not to say she wasn’t muscular, far from it. The girl’s tube top showed off a huge pair of shoulders that seemed almost disgustingly muscular and thick. In fact, they looked jaring on such a young girl.

It looked in fact like Uri had shoved thick basketballs under her thin, clear skin. Taking in her sizeable upper body, I could see that her back was huge as well, pressing her thick arms out, giving her shape an impossibly inverted V-shape. And standing there I wondered (was she Uri’s wife? Girlfriend? Daughter?) It was odd to see two people (Uri short in stature and the girl, tall) but both with this distinct feature of arms unable to touch at their sides due to their full development. I flashed to an image of a family unable to walk into their front door without having to turn sideways first.

All this led the eyes down to her acres of visible abs. Obviously, her pride and joy as they were exposed for all to see. This girl may have had the best abs I had seen. Thick and running along each side of her abdomen. One, two, three…. Four… five… up… and the other side. Fuck! This young girl had the elusively developed 10 pack that only the most extreme of all athletes seemed to be able to developed. Each thick abs pressed hard and out, fluttering lightly as she breathed, under her perfected skin, before disappearing down into her low cut denim shorts.

The effect was odd because although her legs were toned, they didn’t even come  to close to he extreme development of her upper body. She was the pre-eminent example of the old gym joke, ‘don’t skip leg day.’ And it was as if some mad professor had told her to only focus on building her upper body, bigger and bigger.

The entire thing was utterly mind-blowing to behold… and I couldn’t help but get the sinking feeling as I was looking at someone or something… that seemed a bit off. A bit unnatural. But my gaze taking in her body, which she appeared wholly fine with me doing, was interrupted by her raising a soft girlish hand and giving me a half dainty wave, followed by a cute, demure smile.

After her impromptu posing performance. Mrs. Jones gave Uri a stern look.

“Enough?” She asked. Her sternness giving way to one of her playful grins.

“Enough. You work. Hard.” Uri said. “You will do well at Nationals… but we still have some work.” He said cryptically.

After a few parting goodbyes and plans to follow up regarding her training Uri get a text that he was needed and bid Mrs. Jones goodbye and held out his hand for his young blond concubine to take it. I watched as they headed off into the crowd of the expo. Uri’s bulging; bulldog body disappearing amongst the throngs of the overly pumped crowd. I scanned for a little bit longer following the blonde’s taut physique and chiseled sports bra shoulders. Looking on a few minutes longer until I finally saw her daisy duke clad chiseled glutes and long, coltish legs disappear as she obediently trotted on her tall legs behind Uri. Looking on for a moment I saw her look over her shoulder, flipping back her blonde ponytail and give me a half wave and was gone.

I looked up to see Mrs. Jones looking over at me. Smiling somewhat mischievously. I wasn’t sure if she had caught the interaction between me and the blonde. I wasn’t sure if she cared for that matter. Mrs. Jones seemed to at times catch every detail and also appear entirely unaware as if the trifling’s of us regular humans couldn‘t interfere with the goings on between her and the other gods on Mt Olympus.

“You must be starved, Lawrence. Let's take a break and get you something to eat.” She said as she gave my hair another playful tussle.

###

We had shut down the booth and now made our way through the crowded convention center. Mrs. Jones once again leaned in and playfully wrapped her arm around mine; she was able to convey the gesture in a way that wasn’t romantic. More like a close friend taking you into their confidence.

For our walk over to the convention center’s food court Mrs. Jones had pulled on a tight-fitting grey hooded sweatshirt with the name of her supplement sponsor on the back. I could only imagine she had done this, perhaps to be comfortable, or moreover to avoid any undue attention. Like she was shutting down the show that followed her pumped up physique whereever she paraded it, but in some ways covering up only seemed to have the opposite effect. The thin, subtle material of the hoodie squeezed tightly over her rounded shoulders and clung, stretching to the breaking point trying to contain her bulging biceps. And it was apparent as it pulled and stretched over the curved muscles of her upper body that the shirt, which reached near translucence at specific taxed areas, was made for a woman with a far less developed body.

Mrs. Jones body was a physical impossibility. It seemed almost improbable for a human to look like that. Like an anatomy chart wrapped around a real live woman. As we walked and talked with the closeness of old friends, I would occasionally crane my neck to try to catch glimpses out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help but notice how the thick rolls of swells of Mrs. J’s musculature offset the effects of gravity. The thick bulges of her overly developed hamstrings and obviously thickly muscles glutes seemed to push up, forming a muscular shelf which appeared to offset the sag that most women of a certain age sported in her lower hindquarter.

I had to shake out of my discreet gawking as  we soon found our way to the food court.

“What do you want. My treat?” Mrs. Jones said, a cheerful smile dancing across her face.
“You don’t have to–“ I began to protest.
“You kidding, I dragged you out here. Bored you by exposing you to all these muscle heads… Hey! Uri’s daughter certainly seemed to take a shine to you.” She said winking.

Daughter? That made sense and would explain the age difference. But still…. It seemed like the daughter was in the some ways playing guinea to Uri’s constructed training schemes. Or if not guinea pig, benefiting from them as she had to be by far once of the most developed humans I have ever seen around my age. Man or woman!

But before I had an answer – Mrs. J had yanked me further along the food court.

“Sebastian loves those… what are they – Which-which…” Mrs. Jones said indicating the shining awning of the sandwich-based food chain.

“The bread has a very low fiber count, and the turkey has a lot of phosphates… but then again, I’m not eating it.” She said cheerily and indicated her lunch in the small Tupper wear container she had carried over from the table.

“Yep. Sure. Which-which is fine.” I said, my head still a bit swimmy, from Mrs. Jones, and from Uri’s over pumped daughter, from meeting Paloma Silvia. From the entire day!

“Welcome to Which….” I heard the cashier say as his eyes fell on Mrs. Jones and he trailed off, and I could clearly see this cashier, who looked close to my age, his eyes were getting tractor beam locked into the exposed muscular cleavage that the combination of Mrs. Jones sports bra and the unzipped front portion of the hoodie offered up for view.

I felt terrible for the poor guy, as I too had fallen prey to that alluring siren call many a time. Luckily I could see him shake himself out of it. He looked over at Mrs. Jones for a moment and then looked back at me as if trying to piece together what the relationship was. Mother/son? Close relative? Boy toy and muscle mommy? I can only imagine what he came up with. Of course as per usual Mrs. Jones was wildly unaware of any of what was unfolding.

“Can you get my friend here whatever he wants…”? She said smiling at the poor cashier who was now entirely under her charms.

I ordered a turkey wrap, trying my best to be good and keep in Mrs. Jones good graces, all though I’m not sure if she actually would have cared if I ordered something terrible for you off the menu. And of course, as we waited for my sandwich the regular circle that followed Mrs. Jones wherever she went began to unfold. Moments after ordering my sandwich a young woman who introduced herself as the manager came out and handed Mrs. Jones a handful of coupons which heralded her next purchase as being 1/2 priced!

Mrs. Jones of course gratefully accepted the coupons and then passed them off to me, her faithful follower (who would no doubt use them, as Mrs. J would never put something as impure as a chain sandwich in her temple of a body.) And I then watched as the manager, and a few other employees talked to her, eagerly animated, each trying to engage and impress the muscle-bound woman in their midst. And of course, after it was all said and done came the photos. Mrs. Jones dutifully slid off the grey top, peeling it off with a slowness and casualness that communicated a complete unawareness of the effect she had on other people.

And I couldn’t help but notice as she pulled off the hoodie, revealing her bulked up muscle bound upper body in all its glory the cashier who had to take our order stared slack-jawed at her as she took her requisite series of photos with her adoring fans.

We ate both of our lunches in relative quiet at one of the tables on the other side of the food court. Not much to see, just a mediocre college soccer player and the overly muscled mother of his one of his old friends enjoying a lunch together ;)

Mrs. Jones looked up from her small container which contained the perfectly pre-measured out servings of rice, chicken breast, and asparagus. One of her six times a day rationing of her perfectly planned out macronutrient rich diet.

“How’s school going?” She asked matter of factly taking an asparagus tip off her bowl and eating it with her fingertips. Her question was so matter of fact it was easy for me to momentarily forget it was coming from the lips of a hardcore female bodybuilder and not just any other of my friend’s parents.

“Good… Good… “ I said, finishing up a bit of my sandwich.

“Okay?” Mrs. Jones asked me quizzically. And as I looked away, she held me in her gaze. Her eyes staring deep into me. And giving me that gaze. The one that held me. The one that told me she was going to get her way no matter what and it was just a matter of time.

“There is… there is this one Professor whose always up my ass…” I said, venting about Professor Jefferies, my history teacher who seemed to take delight in torturing me.

“He always calls on me. I have the work ready, and study hard… but… he just seems to have it out for me.” I said with exasperation.

Mrs. Jones continued to take a look at me. Long and hard and pursed her lips slightly as if turning over my answer. Examining it for truths in her lie detector of a mind.

“You know what I think…” She said pulling another asparagus spear and biting the tip off of it. “I think he’s jealous of you…”

“Yeah. I don’t think so.”

“No, I’m sure… He’s probably looking at you, sitting there in his class and wondering why every girl is looking at you. And not him.”

“Yeah. I don’t think that’s it.” I said with a huff.

“Lawrence, I want to tell you a secret,” Mrs. J said and lowered her eyes, cupping her hand partially over her mouth in a conspirator tone.

“You and me…” She said, leaning in close with the great care of someone taking you into their confidences. “We’re not like everyone else… we’re meant to stand out. Not to blend in – and trust me, it bugs some people. They can’t stand it. And they’ll do anything to try and cut us down.” She said again, chewing hard on the last of her lunch. And I looked at her. Closely. Really looked at her and for a moment, there amongst the raucousness of the food court for a moment I saw a flash of pain briefly behind her eyes and then… and just as quickly. It seemed to pass, and she was back to the chipper Jinni that I had grown to know so well.

“So… lunch break over. Come on. I’m going to put you back to work and really make you earn this two hundred bucks.” She laughed as she toweled off the Tupper wear and rose to head back to the booth.

As we walked back to the booth, I noticed Mrs. Jones had dispersed with the hoodie and held it in one hand at her side. Her back arched up, pecs standing upright, her muscular arms swaying at her sides, slicing through the crowd. And like magic, it seemed as if the crowd seemed to part to let the woman bodybuilder through.

“So… what are we going to do about this professor that is ruining your semester?” She asked me again, intently.

“I don’t know--- study harder…. I guess.” I said trying to come up with my best plan. “There’s a faculty open house next week, and I’m trying to get my parents to come to maybe have some face time with him to try and smooth some things over, but it’s looking like they’ll be traveling on business.”

“How about I come!” Jinni said. Her eyes were bright and vast and vivid all of a sudden.

“No! No! Noooooo…” I said maybe a bit too loudly, so a group of beefy bro’s by some exercise equipment spun their thick necks to look in my direction. It’s not that I don’t want Mrs. Jones there. God, no. I’d walk across a hot desert just to help her pick out paint samples, but I was still struggling with balancing these two spheres of my work. I hadn’t ever told Lizzy what I was doing, and she had no idea about my love for or desire of muscular women. Mrs. Jones being chief amongst those.

There was that, as well as the fact that there still was a possibility of my parents going, and after the incident at the beach all those years ago, my mother had never forgiven Jinni and certainly would not look kindly on her playing stand-in parent.

“I… I really think my parents are going to try and make it though…” I said pulling my self out of the tailspin. Still, Mrs. Jones stared deep at me with those eyes that threatened to crack me open from the inside out.

###

As the day ended the crowd began to disperse, and I helped Jinni and the rest of the team from Pro-Ex pack up from the day.

“I can drive you back Lawrence.” Mrs. Jones said as she put the last of the stuff away and stashed an extra bit of Pro-Ex product in my gift bag.

I told her I was fine and had gotten an Uber over but she was insistent.

“You helped me out, and we don’t do things in half measures.” She said as we put the last of the stuff away.

Later driving back to campus in Mrs. Jones Porsche. The whirr of the traffic outside seemed to glide past in the cool air-conditioned interior, and as I sat on the ivory white seats of the luxury SUV, I couldn’t help but feel safe and protected.

Mrs. Jones would occasionally glance over as if checking on me and we finally pulled into the front entrance area of my school where most of the drop-offs happened.

“Here we are – oh and… your money I almost forgot.”

“I’m fine…”

“Please, you helped me.”

And I agreed. A bit freaked out about what if one of my friends saw me pulling up in an ivory white Porsche SUV with one of the top 10 FBBs in the world chauffeuring me around. What if Lizzie saw me!

Pulling up to the college. Mrs. Jones fished around in the back of the car looking for something.

“Hand me my bag.” She asked. And I reached into the back seat of the SUV, digging through a few exercise straps and some sweat towels that had no doubt been used to towel off Mrs. Jones champion caliber body after many brutal workouts.

I finally found it, digging out a leather purse and passing it to Mrs. J on the driver’s side. And as I brought it out, I could see it was tan and had bright flowers on it. For a moment I was taken aback as the purse was so corny and looked like something one of my mom’s friends may bring over for tea. It was such a vivid reminder that Jinni was, underneath all the muscle, still a well taken care of housewife from the suburbs.

She slowly clipped open the flask of her purse with her well-manicured nails which I could see were painted a shade of pearl white which offset her deeply tanned hands and pulled out her clutch, which too looked like it could have belonged to any SUV driving mom picking up her kids from soccer practice.

“Here you go, Lawrence… “ She said flicking out a set of crisp $100 bills. “And this is for being my bodyguard” She smiled and pulled out an extra hundred. Wow! $300 bucks. I held the money for a second. Even it smelled good, clean, and pure. As if Mrs. Jones was able to retrieve even her cash from someplace us mere mortals weren’t allowed to tread.

“Let me park, and I can walk you back to your dorm.” She said after sliding her purse back behind her seat. My mind hit a panic! As much as I would love to saunter through campus with the jacked up Mrs. J on my arm, the idea of Mrs. Jones now still wearing her skin-tight outfit clinging to her bodybuilder hourglass shape would most doubly cause social problems for me.

“I’m good…” I said too quickly. And right then my phone buzzed with an email. I checked it.

Mrs. Jones looked over at me, and I could see she was looking hard, trying to gauge my expression.

“You okay…” She asked staring at me with her deep blue eyes, looking into my soul. She slowly raised her arm and nuzzled my hair slightly in a playful manner, causing her thick shoulder to bunch up, and the movement sent light ripples down my arm.

“I’m—I’m fine,” I said, and Mrs. Jones bit down hard on her lip. Her bright white teeth sinking seductively into her pink lower lip.

“Let me guess. Your parents. Can’t come to the open house…” I was about to open my mouth to say something, but before I could, Mrs. Jones continued. “That seals it. I’m going.”

“But—“ I began to protest.

“When and where is it?” She said with a touch of sternness. And I sat there feeling very much like a chastised child.

“Where and when is it, Lawrence?”

But I didn’t answer.

“Very well, I can call up the history department. ‘Hello… hi… This is Jinni, Lawrence’s… stepmother… I’m supposed to come to the history open house, but young Lawrence is withholding the information from me… would you be a dear and tell me…” Jinni said playfully while pantomiming how the imaginary conversation might go. She leant over the gear shift panel and gave me a playful tickle, jabbing her strong fingers in my side as I tried to dodge it, but her index and pinky soon found my lower oblique, and she gave me a quick, mighty squeeze with her two fingers, that felt both painful and pleasurable as I finally gave out the information.

“Thursday! 7:30! History department!” I yelled trying to shield myself from the next of her poking’s.

“Great! I’ll see you then.” She said chipperly.

“And it's cocktail attire.”

Jinni pulled down her sunglasses and shot me a look, “Oh really… I was going to come in my posing suit.” She said it bitingly, but still, the comment stirred in my mind that image and I felt a strong ripple of pleasure flash across my body. The perfect anecdote to the still tingly spot where Mrs. Jone’s powerful fingers had tickled me.

“I’ll meet you there… 7:30… And don’t worry Lawrence… I’m not going to embarrass you. “


Offline biggerisbetter

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #33 on: August 09, 2018, 08:23:14 am »
My oh my... The mixture of her protectiveness and sexuality is intoxicating. And I love little details, like the "purse thing". And I love Uri's daughter (I hope her legs will match her upper body in the future). And I love the possibilities which open in the college with the history teacher. And I hate the thought of having to wait until September to read what happens next. Are you kidding me? Are you?

Offline 009eli

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #34 on: August 09, 2018, 03:57:24 pm »
My oh my... The mixture of her protectiveness and sexuality is intoxicating. And I love little details, like the "purse thing". And I love Uri's daughter (I hope her legs will match her upper body in the future). And I love the possibilities which open in the college with the history teacher. And I hate the thought of having to wait until September to read what happens next. Are you kidding me? Are you?

Hey! Glad you seem to be responding to the direction of the storyline and the details and insights about Mrs. Jo. but yes I just want to be honest that I'm probably not going to have anything new for at least a few weeks.

If you wanted to read some other writing heres a link to a another story series I've posted called Sexual Harassment. Just a small warning it is definitely more extreme and has more extreme muscle so its a little tonally different this story --

http://saradas.org/index.php?topic=483799.0

Also this story is twice the length of most of my stuff -- so you could look at it as getting 2 MONTHS IN ONE! Anyways thanks for the commenst and enthusiasm. keep em coming Im always interested in feedback and seeing how people are enjoying the unfolding of this story!

Offline bolt21

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #35 on: August 09, 2018, 04:52:41 pm »
This story gets better and better. I'm pretty sure that we all have a huge crush on Mrs. J by now :)

I love this line - "Watching the two women try and navigate their thickly developed pectorals was like watching two oil tankers try to dock."

Instant classic!

Offline QBikk

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #36 on: August 09, 2018, 07:34:04 pm »
Wow, you are really building it slowly. Love it!!! Have nice holidays!!

Offline nyfiken

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #37 on: August 10, 2018, 12:20:32 pm »
I love your story style.
k+

MaryMuscle

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #38 on: August 19, 2018, 05:28:08 am »
love the story's slow build. It will be an interesting conundrum for Lawrence having to admit he likes muscular women or selling out Jennifer

Offline Bigred81

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #39 on: August 23, 2018, 11:03:06 pm »
Wow this story is awesome!
I would love to see more from Uri's daughter!
How big is she when she flexed? And what happens when she flex those 10 pack?!
Omg.. Can't wait to read more!

Offline kredenchurut

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #40 on: August 25, 2018, 07:58:59 pm »
I really hope she will embarass him at the open house... and also embarass the hell out of all the younger bodybuilders by being much bigger and more ripped than them!

Offline taoschild

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #41 on: September 09, 2018, 04:02:07 pm »
Any update?  I'm enjoying the plot and your writing style.

Offline 009eli

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #42 on: September 10, 2018, 01:07:29 pm »
Any update?  I'm enjoying the plot and your writing style.

Thanks for the continued interest. Its great that people are excited about this story.

I started working on the latest chapter earlier this week so I should have something out within the next week or two.

I'm also working harder on this latest installment to try and streamline my writing style a bit. Rereading some of these earlier post I actually found them a bit cluttered. So I'm working hard to make sure the writing and emotions in this next chapter come through clearly in order to improve the experience for the reader. So stay tuned. Again, its always great to know people are responding to the stuff you are working!

Offline biggerisbetter

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #43 on: September 27, 2018, 09:09:46 am »
Where is the story? Where is the story? Your fans are waiting :)

Offline taoschild

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Re: The Muscular Mrs. Jones: The College Years
« Reply #44 on: September 28, 2018, 03:47:31 am »
I saw this story shoot back to the top today and was hoping Eli was sharing more of this wonderful story.  I know from experience that writing takes awhile. Lets give him some time, but not too much, because this story is really good.   :)

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