Dona Irene (continued)

[MuscleWomanBR]

– There’s a key hanging on the left. Take it. – With no other choice, Clayton did as she told him. – Unlock this door… Feet behind my knee, dammit!
When they entered that mix of gym and prison, they found Marcos standing. The horror of seeing that tall, athletic man with his neck tied to a chain, his head covered by a leather mask and wearing only underwear, caused Clayton to grunt in terror. He made a move to rip off the duct tape and scream. Marcos made a restraining gesture, but too late: Mrs. Irene applied a chokehold on the boy until he lost consciousness. The young man’s body collapsed, with the strap-on coming free from penetration, stained with blood and feces. The muscular widow looked disgusted at the odor that infested the room. She quickly left. She returned a few minutes later, without the strap-on and with cleaning products. And handcuffs. Until his kidnapper returned, the former fighter remained motionless, although overcome by the desire to wake the young man, begging him to escape and seek help. But Marcos knew what she was capable of.
Mrs. Irene handcuffed Clayton's wrists behind his back, while the boy began to grunt again, and cleaned everything with her usual obsession. Soon the room smelled of lavender. The young man, now sitting down, couldn't stop crying: he couldn't imagine what else this woman – who seemed completely bizarre to him – could do to him, after beating and raping him. Ms. Irene squatted down beside him. The thief cowered, expecting the worst.
"I'm a woman." She brought her face close to his. "A woman, you know? A woman like you've never seen. And I don't think you ever will. Because I'm fucking strong! I lift weights, you know? I lift 25 kilos with each arm, you know? Do you know what that means?" My goal now is to lift 30. I'm very, very strong. Really strong! – She held the boy's face, forcing him to look at Marcos. – Do you see this man? He's big, strong, right? Did you know he was an MMA champion? – Clayton continued to just grunt, while a runny nose and tears ran down his chin. – Well, I hit him several times. And I'm stronger than him. Right, Marcos? – The kidnapped man nodded, slowly shaking his head. – He's been locked up here for ten months. He's tried to escape a bunch of times. So I had to show him that I know how to fight. I'm a black belt in karate. Do you know what that means? It means that, besides being very strong, I know how to fight very well. I hit a black belt brat who must be your age. I ripped off her black belt. Then I hit… I hit, I really hit my karate teacher. I almost crippled the guy. And I ripped off his black belt. Do you understand what that means? I do jiu-jitsu. I do boxing. I like running, working out, feeling strong. I love beating up men, feeling like I'm stronger than them. The stronger the man is, the more I like beating him up. And I like it more and more. – Mrs. Irene stood up and forced Clayton to kneel in front of the prisoner. – Pull down your underwear, Marcos. – The ex-champion's erection sprang free, proud. – Oh, you bastard... You were already excited for the show, weren't you? Good boy... Imagine when I start for real... – She pushed Clayton's head up to the height of the other man's swollen penis. – Now you're going to suck this big dick... – She ripped off the tape that was shutting the victim's mouth and yelled: – Suck it, you son of a bitch!
Clayton started yelling.
– Help! For the love of God! Help! Help!
She smiled with a look of false compassion.
“You can scream all you want. No one can hear you from here.” She grabbed him by the hair on the back of his neck. “Aren’t you a man? Aren’t you a man enough to break into an old lady’s house all alone? Now take it easy!” And she pressed the boy’s head against Marcos’ penis. She stared at her prisoner. Standing behind Clayton, she stroked her abdomen. “I worked out my six-pack a lot yesterday, see?” She clasped her hands behind her neck, contracted her abdominal muscles, and a set of six well-defined blocks emerged, exuberant. Marcos grabbed the boy’s head and stuck his penis in his mouth, devouring the athletic image of his tormentor with his eyes. “You’re crazy about my six-pack, aren’t you? You learned quickly to like a muscular woman, huh?” She smiled mischievously. And slapped Clayton’s buttocks. – Suck it properly, boy! You’re not leaving here until he cums! – Marcos moaned. Little by little, the young man found the most pleasant rhythm and position for fellatio. The kidnapped man continued to stare at Mrs. Irene. He knew what was coming. The anticipation excited him even more. –

[Dona Fell Friz]

 

[MuscleWomanBR]

The woman clenched her hand tightly and contracted her left arm. Her biceps emerged – strong, defined, voluminous, rigid as steel. She punched her own muscle. “I’m getting stronger, Marcos! Too bad I only discovered it now… But even that turns me on, you know? I’m 59 years old and I’m more ripped than many men half my age…” Clayton’s inexperience was evident, but Mrs. Irene’s sculpted body and exciting words provoked the ex-champion’s erection, whose pleasure the young man, choking and coughing, prolonged as best he could. “I’m pure muscle!” She stared at her prisoner with a flaming gaze. “Strength! I’m pure strength!” The woman flexed both biceps. “No man can stop me!” Marcos moaned under the mask. “My back… My ass… My arms… My legs… Even my pussy is pure strength!” – He grunted, on the verge of orgasm. – That's it... Cum... Cum for this strong woman... muscular... karateka... boxer... who knocks you down with jiu-jitsu... who hits you whenever she wants...

[Dona Fell Friz]

I cannot wait for more!

[MuscleWomanBR]

An electrifying current of pleasure took over Marcos from the back of his neck to his calves. He moaned and snorted at the same time under the mask that compressed his face. Semen and drool leaked from Clayton's mouth. Coughing and spitting, the boy cried, looking at the kidnapped man with a mixture of horror and pleading. Mrs. Irene bent over his torso and lifted him up in a bear hug. "Now I'm going to teach you the last lesson, brat." He screamed, asking for help, under Marcos' languid gaze and the lady's indifference. Mrs. Irene turned Clayton upside down and ordered: "Pull down my underwear and suck my pussy!" He obeyed. She moved away and discreetly flexed her knees. Her thighs, far from being exaggerated or disproportionate, showed the rigid muscles and the power to support the young man who was now running his tongue over the athletic widow's vulva, while hugging that magnificent and marbled pair of sartorius muscles. "Shove your fucking tongue in my pussy, dammit!" Apparently more familiar, Clayton gave himself to the task as best he could, always with tears of despair and regret for having chosen that house to rob. His anus still hurt, remembering what that bizarre woman was capable of, if he didn't do what she told him to do. "That's it... That's it, boy..." And looking at the kidnapped man: "Your turn, Marcos..." Those words were enough. He began a series of poses to show off his muscles, as he had been doing for the last few months, while she masturbated. The unusual novelty now was that young man, used as a sex toy. – How handsome you are, man… That’s it… Show me those biceps… Hum… Show me your six-pack… Beautiful… That’s it… Your thighs… Hum… Delicious… Turn over, I want to see your ass… Show me that hard, delicious ass… That’s it, fuck… Show me… Show me your back… Keep on your back! I didn’t tell you to turn over! Hum… – And speaking to Clayton: – Suck it, boy, suck that pussy, go on… That’s it… That’s it… – While devouring her former trainer with her eyes, Mrs. Irene climbed towards orgasm. Her muscles were emerging under her skin, contracted by the threshold of climax that was approaching with Clayton’s incessant and eager stimulation, who could already feel the pressure of blood accumulating in his head: he had been in that position for more than five minutes. A shiver took over that body sculpted by years of intense bodybuilding (and now martial arts), at the sound of an orgasmic scream that lasted for a few minutes. – Don’t stop, fuck! Don’t stop! – she screamed at Clayton, in the midst of spasms. Exhausted and feeling his head about to explode, the young man resumed what seemed to be his tribute to get out of there. He had never felt a body capable of such physical strength: Mrs. Irene's arms held him in such a way that he could let go of her very strong thighs without danger of smashing his skull on the floor. But the unfortunate thief hugged them even tighter and slid his hands up, towards the woman's buttocks, while his legs opened like scissors. Clayton found two round and very hard mountains and had no doubt: although quite young, he had experienced various ways of arousing a woman. Then he looked for his torturer's anus and caressed it with a skillful and agile index finger. She moaned. He desperately licked his tormentor's clitoris while massaging her anus. Dona Irene responded by opening her legs a little wider and relaxing her sphincter to receive Clayton's skillful finger. – That's it… That's it, boy… – Another climb towards orgasm. Instead of letting herself be carried away by this other wave of pleasure, however, she grabbed the young man's ankles and lifted him as high as she could, ripping off that mouth that would give her a new climax. Surprised by the abrupt gesture, he grabbed the thin, rigid waist of that mature athlete. – No male controls my pleasure! –

[Dona Fell Friz]

 

[MuscleWomanBR]

And she turned her body, gaining momentum to throw the boy against the padded wall of the outbuilding. The blow was so strong that Clayton lost consciousness for a few seconds. When he recovered, he groaned in pain. Something had broken. But Mrs. Irene was already pulling him by the arm and throwing him over her shoulders. She looked at Marcos, who was starting to masturbate at the scene: a mature, athletic woman, completely naked, holding on her shoulders a scrawny young man she had used for her pleasure, including beating him. “I didn’t let you masturbate!” the karate fighter yelled. Marcos immediately let go of his hardened penis. Ignoring Clayton’s groans, the woman left carrying her victim. He couldn’t imagine what else Mrs. Irene would do to the poor boy. He only noticed that she took a long time, until, smelling of a freshly showered bath, she burst back into the small gym, wearing her always impeccable karate kimono. On his waist, two black belts: Kelly's and sensei Guto's. – Your turn to get hit, Marcos. – And, slowly, he walked towards his prisoner.

[MuscleWomanBR]

– Guto filed a police report, Irene.
– What do you mean?! We were just training…
– Don’t give me that talk. You almost killed the guy! You’ve completely lost your mind!
– He provoked me, Sandra.
– Provoked me? Irene, the guy is the sensei, he was just giving orders…
– I showed him who can wear a black belt in that dojo. He can’t anymore.
– You’re completely crazy, woman!
– Now you’re the one who shouldn’t give me that talk! Do you think I forgot about your sex with the police officer? You loved dominating the man, Sandra! You love being a black belt! You love your strength! You love your biceps! You love lifting weights! You’re just like me!
– But I don’t go around beating people to death! You almost broke Guto’s skull in the doorway!
– Tell me you didn’t get turned on by that scene! Tell me! The old lady here beat up the sensei, the black belt, the champion... He was lucky I didn't find more strength to break down the door using his body. But I'm increasing the amount of strength exercises... No one can stop me...
- You're completely out of control, Irene! You have to seek help...
- Enough of this talk, Sandra. You're one of my kind, but you're not like me.
- Good! You need to sort it out with the police now.

[MuscleWomanBR]

The sun was shining when, with great ill will, Nunes rang, for the second time in less than fifteen days, the doorbell of the house of the “crazy old lady” – as he referred to Mrs. Irene. This time, he brought a summons for her to appear at the police station. He would not leave without her. When they assigned him to the task, the investigator flew into a rage:
– Damn! Again? That old lady needs psychiatric hospitalization, not the police!
– Hospitalization?! – asked the police chief, irritated by his subordinate’s insolence. – Listen, this woman sent a karate master to the hospital! She almost killed the guy! Bring her here to me, and from here she will never leave!
For some reason, the young neighbor who claimed to have been attacked by her withdrew the complaint, although there was no doubt that the assault had occurred. But Nunes did not give the case any importance. Now, however, it was still curious to understand how a lady could beat up a black belt thirty years younger. And it wasn't just a few blows. The police officer saw the photos: the athlete was disfigured, and almost suffered more serious trauma. After all, times have changed, Nunes mused silently, and women can be good at fighting too – like Sandra, he remembered, which gave him the beginning of an erection. So, when he rang the doorbell, he was more excited by the exoticism of the situation than by its relevance for the investigation. The “crazy old lady” had probably reacted to some boldness from the sensei – or had simply overdone her training. Or, what seemed more likely to him, she was just a lunatic, someone who couldn't control herself, an aggressive and violent man born in a woman's body…
Nunes's musings were abruptly interrupted by the equally abrupt opening of the door, after a long wait. Before him, barefoot, stood once again that lady of about sixty years old, perhaps five feet tall, with broad shoulders that were bare the other time and that the karate kimono could not disguise. She was dripping with sweat. Her hair was stuck to her head, probably because she had stopped a very hard workout. Around her waist, two black belts stacked together – which seemed comical to the investigator. Without saying anything, Mrs. Irene stared at him with her greenish eyes sparkling with anger.
- Mrs. Irene, I have a summons here for you to appear at the police station to give a statement as an investigated person in a case of serious bodily harm to…

[MuscleWomanBR]

The woman was no longer listening to the police officer. She was simply assessing him physically: once again, she was presented with that man, who was about six feet tall, with a thick neck – from which hung the São Paulo police badge –, broad shoulders, arms toned by the muscle build that could be presumed under the tight shirt that also barely hid his defined chest, a handsome, masculine face, perfect teeth, no belly, the expensive, tight jeans outlining his genitals – and the legs that she suspected were disproportionately thin supporting that very athletic chest. Mrs. Irene was doing her best to contain the beast that was roaring inside her, thirsty: she had just beaten Marcos, who had fallen unconscious on the floor when she heard the doorbell. “Saved by the bell,” she muttered, about to deliver the fifth punch to her prisoner’s face.
“Don’t you want to come in?” – she said, with false candor, after the legal formality was fulfilled by the investigator, who made an expression of surprise. – I need to get changed… I was training… I’m all sweaty…
In the always tidy living room, Mrs. Irene pointed to an armchair for Nunes and, instead of leaving, sat down too.
– Mrs. Irene, I don’t think you understood: I came to get you to testify at the police station. I don’t have time to make room…
– I think you need to know…
– Leave it for your testimony…
– …that I acted in self-defense…
– Mrs. Irene, please go get changed…
– …because that man disrespected me…
– Look, either you get changed so we can go now or…
– Or what?! Or what, young man?!
For a few seconds, Nunes felt intimidated by the harsh and aggressive reaction of the “crazy old woman”. But he soon recovered and became indignant in the face of such insolence:

[MuscleWomanBR]

– Or I’ll take you by force! You’re being investigated for a crime that could result in up to five years in prison, do you understand?! And I can also charge you with contempt of court if you keep messing with me with this talk of yours!
Dona Irene rested her hands on her thighs, spread her knees apart and straightened her torso.
– You’d better calm down…
– Then cooperate. And everything will end well. Go get changed, please.
Nunes stood up in a threatening posture, with his hands on his waist, where a pistol was visible. The beast inside the woman roared, who feigned calm and restraint.
– No man gives me orders.
– I’m a police investigator…
– He’s a man. And no man gives me orders.
– You don’t understand…
Before he could finish his sentence, the fifty-something woman was standing in front of him, just a few inches away, with her hands on her hips, staring at him defiantly, despite her disproportionate size, which didn’t suit her.
– You’re the one who doesn’t understand, young man. – Nunes reached for his gun. – Don’t do that – she said, already holding his wrist.
Nunes smiled discreetly, feeling compassion for what seemed to him to be obvious madness.
– Mrs. Irene, please let go of my wrist. Let’s prevent anyone here from getting hurt.
Since the woman didn’t move, he tried to pull out his gun, but the power of the “crazy old woman”, who kept his arm still, was unexpected by the police officer. During the split second in which he realized this, however, the seasoned karate fighter had already sprung into action: with her free hand, she fired countless punches at Nunes’ chest, completely unprepared for the speed and brutality of the blows. Without pausing, she thrust her knee between the officer's legs, crushing his testicles. Nunes completely lost control of the situation, bent over under sharp, debilitating pain. Mrs. Irene had already disarmed him, throwing the pistol away – she had no idea how to shoot – and now she was slamming the man's head against her knee. In a few seconds, without the slightest chance to react, he was lying face down on the floor, semi-conscious. With her usual agility, Mrs. Irene lay on the investigator's back, held his waist between her legs and wrapped her powerful left arm around his neck, in an efficient chokehold. Instinctively, Nunes tried to free himself from the arm that was choking him. He felt, shocked, the steely consistency of those muscles.
- I know you like strong women, you scoundrel... Take the opportunity to feel a real one.
Tightening her grip, Mrs. Irene waited patiently for the officer, after struggling for a few seconds, to pass out. She dragged him to the armchair and threw him on it.
“Busy day,” she muttered, with a sardonic smile.
Contemplating Nunes’s sexy and now vulnerable figure, whose police badge hung from the collar of his dress shirt, she finally realized what she had done. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed in the silence of her increasingly agitated thoughts. “What do I do now?”

[Dona Fell Friz]

I expect that what she does next is a cruel nightmare. This beast Irene is unbeatable!

[MuscleWomanBR]

Holding Clayton tightly in one arm, Mrs. Irene covered his mouth with her free hand, carrying him into the house. In the kitchen, she threw him into a chair and said:
“Listen here, kid, you’ve seen what I’m capable of. Don’t even think about showing up around here again!”
Clayton didn’t dare say a word. He just nodded nervously.
“And there’s no point in going to the police. Who’s going to believe a stinking little thief like you? Who’s going to believe that an old woman beat you up and fucked your ass? Are you going to have the courage to say that?”
The boy made a negative gesture. His eyes showed a look of panic.
“Now you’re going to leave the same way you came in.”
The young man looked at his own body, bruised and naked. Then he looked at the lady, as if in supplication. He was on the verge of tears.
“You’re going to leave here naked.”
Clayton started to cry.
“Swallow your tears! And get out of here!” Without further ado, he ran to the kitchen door and, like a cat, climbed the wall, disappearing to the sound of famous footsteps on the roof.

Tired, Mrs. Irene sat down for a few moments at the kitchen table. And she realized that she was completely naked. She smiled. She had never felt so good. She looked at her thighs, marked by defined muscles. She stretched out her legs to admire them. Then she caressed her hard, “ripped” abdomen – as she called it, adopting the jargon of bodybuilding gyms – that she loved to work out so much. She stretched out her arms and examined them carefully: hard, equally well defined. She remembered, happily, the progress she had made towards lifting 35 kilos in each of them. Just like her abs, she loved working them out. And feeling them strong. She knew that men are obsessed with women’s breasts, thighs and buttocks. “What nonsense,” she thought, smiling disdainfully. She wanted to compete with them on where women were “weaker.” She was proud of her small breasts, engulfed by rippling pectoral muscles, and her round, firm buttocks, but far from the protuberance so valued in Brazilian sensual culture. Her thighs, in addition to being very strong, were thick as they should be for someone her height and weight—and not two monstrously disproportionate logs.

[MuscleWomanBR]

There were certainly millions of men around the world with greater muscular power than hers. But she knew that she was far above the average woman. More than that, she was one of the few who were obsessed with physical strength, muscles, power… and with truly showing herself capable of doing what she does to men. This thought made her sit up straight in her chair, spread her legs and rest her hands on her knees, looking at the wall of the sink as if she were looking at the horizon. Always with a discreet smile, she stretched out her arms at shoulder height, at the ends of which two small muscular spheres grew. Clenching her fists, she slowly bent her elbows, keeping them horizontal, pulling imaginary cables. Her biceps erupted like two very hard peaks on her equally solid triceps.
“I’m strong!” she shouted, feeling excited. She wanted to masturbate, but preferred to do it in the bathroom, under the warm shower. Walking upstairs, the five-foot-six-inch woman felt like a giant. She climbed the stairs, proud of not touching the railing, feeling the muscles in her legs and no pain. She finished the climb without getting tired – unlike so many her age – and soon went in for a long and pleasurable shower. She kept part of her arsenal of sex toys in the shower. Remembering what Clayton had done earlier, already under the relaxing water of the shower, she inserted the anal plug while she began to finger her clitoris. Soft moans emanated from the room, along with the steam. She stretched her right hand above her head, resting her palm on the white tile covered in steam. With her left, she intensified her movements while the water glided over the muscular curves that marked her back. She raised her left leg, as if freezing it in a karate chop, and increasing the intensity of her masturbatory movements, she admired the muscles in her arm that displayed all their strength and definition. The sight excited her even more, intensifying her search for orgasm.
“I’m so fucking strong!” she shouted, getting even more excited by what she heard. “No man can beat me!” That last scream reminded her of her karate, boxing and jiu-jitsu training, of Kelly’s beating, of the fight against the sensei in the dojo, of the countless times she had beaten… Marcos! Dona Irene stopped masturbating. Still in the same position, under the warm shower, she thought for a minute. Suddenly, she picked up the soap and started to bathe normally.

[MuscleWomanBR]

When she arrived at her bedroom, which had been transformed into a closet, she chose one of her impeccably white and perfumed kimonos, going through the ritual as if she were getting dressed for yet another workout at the gym: first the men’s boxer briefs, then the sports bra that was almost unnecessary for such small breasts, the white cotton T-shirt, the loose and thick karate pants and jacket. Solemnly, and finally, she picked up the two black belts and tied them around her waist, one above the other. She looked at herself in the mirror. She remembered the fight with Kelly.
“That one doesn’t count. She’s a woman,” she said out loud, as if talking to someone. “Pretentious brat…”
She remembered Guto. She felt a burning sensation in her genitals, which she pressed with her hand, looking in the mirror, full-length, at the woman dressed to fight. That fight had been very difficult. And for that very reason, it had been delicious. Black belt, third dan. State karate champion. Sensei. Strong. Virile. Fatal. Man. Especially man. Her excitement grew. Feeling the karateka's steel muscles against hers excited her immensely during the fight. She realized the scale of the challenge. Guto was very strong. And more skilled. More experienced. More skillful. At the beginning of the fight he was winning by a large margin, in an amazing display of technique and power in various blows: seiken tiudan zuki, aeiken ago uti, hiji otoshi-uti, mae keague... She recognized them all as the master fired them at the insolent student, visibly determined to punish her without mercy. For a few minutes, Mrs. Irene, already injured by punches and kicks, felt overwhelmed by her opponent's mastery. It was then that she remembered the beating her father had inflicted on her when she was a teenager. The scene emerged in her memory, crystal clear: the girl being thrown from one side to the other in the room, her inability to react in the face of such brute force, the mix of hatred and contempt in his eyes, the painful injuries, the disgusting insults, the subjugation, the humiliation – above all and mainly the relentless, cruel and unbridled humiliation. “No man will do this to me again”, she thought, as Guto punched her in the face again, making her nose bleed. Dona Irene retaliated with a lightning aeiken ago uti that destabilized the fighter for a split second – enough for her to go on the attack, combining techniques from karate and boxing. He retreated. She didn’t give him a chance. She was taken by the beast. Dona Irene didn’t just want to beat him. She wanted to kill him. And the weapon would be her body. Strong. Fatal. “Time to train”, she muttered as she threw herself at Guto. The sensei's blows seemed weak, almost childish, compared to the fierce martial avalanche that Dona Irene had become. Before throwing him against the door several times, the fifty-something woman humiliated him as much as she could. "I'm going to rip off your black belt," she whispered through her teeth, while, using jiu-jitsu, she held him in her invincible rear naked choke. When she noticed that he was about to faint, the implacable woman released him and pushed him aside. "Get up!" she ordered. He was still recovering, getting up as best he could, but visibly weakened. Dona Irene grabbed him by the collar of his kimono and threw herself backwards, thrusting her foot into Guto's abdomen, throwing the sensei off the mat. She repeated the throw twice more before moving on to boxing, going through the entire repertoire of strikes from that fight: cross, jab, straight, uppercut, overhand... He counterattacked as best he could, using karate and what he remembered from boxing lessons when he was still a teenager, in a combination that did him no favors, also hampered by the fatigue and pain that were beginning to weigh him down: the athletic lady was indisputably dominating the fight. And the weaker Guto seemed, the more her desire to massacre him grew. That was how, possessed by the beast, Mrs. Irene decided to break down the door of the dojo using the sensei's body. This memory made her hyper-excited. Throwing that athletic and virile man so many times almost brought her to orgasm during the fight. The only reason she didn't break down the door was because she no longer had the strength to do so. However, Mrs. Irene was still better than him, completely unconscious at his feet.