Saturday Morning Amazons – Part 2 – Bedrock Better Bodies

[grbaclig]

The following is a work of parody for entertainment purposes only.  All creations are the trademarks of their respective owners.

   It was ten o’clock on Monday morning and Wilma Flintstone was already bored.  She had already washed up after breakfast and vacuumed the floors, and she was absentmindedly hanging the wash out to dry using small birds as clothespins.  Wilma sighed as she stared out at the houses of Cobblestone Way, taking the last clothespin out of the laundry hamper.  “It’s a living,” the small bird grumbled.
   “You’re telling me,” Wilma said flatly.
   Just as Wilma was finishing hanging up the wash, Betty Rubble came outside and walked to the garden wall, holding a small stone tablet covered in exclamation points.  “Good morning Wilma,” she said.  “You look a little down in the dumps.”
   “Oh I guess I’ve just gotten myself into a rut,” Wilma said, gesturing to the porcine garbage disposal and woolly mammoth shower.  “All these modern conveniences make housework a breeze, but now I feel like I have nothing to do all day except for listen to the radio.  It’s almost a relief when I have to bail Fred out of one his hair-brained schemes.”
   “I know how you feel,” Betty said, holding up the tablet.  “That’s why I wanted you to see this.”
   “Bedrock Better Bodies,” Wilma read aloud.  “Build the body of your dreams in just a few weeks.  Oh Betty, I don’t know.  This place looks expensive.”
   “There’s a free trial week, so it won’t cost you a single clam.” Betty said.  “Besides, you owe me for those free judo lessons last year.”
   “I guess I could stand to lose a couple of pounds,” Wilma said.
   “Or maybe even five,” Betty teased.
   “Thanks Betty, you’re a real pal,” Wilma said with a scowl as the laugh track played.

   A few minutes later Wilma and Betty were standing outside Bedrock Better Bodies with their gym bags slung over their shoulders.  Bedrock Better Bodies was a three story high building made of polished marble with a zebra skin awning to match its zebra skin curtains.  “Wow this place is fancy,” Wilma said to Betty as a boa constrictor slid the front door open for them, making a hissing sound.
   “Tell me about it,” Betty said, motioning to a penguin using his beak as a record needle.  “The hi-fi is wearing a tuxedo.”
   “Naturally, “Wilma said.  “In a place this fancy the aerobics instructors probably wear tuxedos.”
   “Welcome to Bedrock Better Bodies,” a woman’s voice said.  “I’m Shanique Granite.”
   Betty and Wilma turned to see a beautiful brown-skinned woman with wavy black hair walking toward them.  Shanique had the most extreme hourglass figure that they had ever seen, accentuated by a two-piece zebra-skin leotard that left little to the imagination.  “Tuxedos?’ Betty joked.  “That outfit has less fabric than a cummerbund.”
   Betty wasn’t far off.  The bottom of Shanique’s leotard was slung low across her hips, accentuating her sweeping thighs and tight stomach, while the halter-style top struggled to contain round, firm ebony breasts.  Shanique smiled and struck a fashion model pose, with her hands on her hips.   “Believe it or not,” she said.  “I used to wear frumpy dresses like you ladies.  Then Bedrock Better Bodies helped me build a body I could be proud of.”
   “We’re not here for fashion tips,” Wilma said dryly.  “We just want our free trial week.”
   “Certainly,” Shanique said, gesturing toward a blackboard-sized slate listing dozens of classes, all with confusing titles, multiple prices, and fine print.  “Which class would you like to try?”
   “That depends,” Betty said. “Which class will help us lose the most weight in one week?”
   Shanique puckered as she thought.  “That would be class 4-A-565-JKL-1, hot aerobics” she said.
   “Thanks, I think,” Wilma said, and she and Betty walked into the locker room and changed into their baggy full-length leotards, Wilma in white and Betty in Blue. 
   Back in the gym, Wilma and Betty studied the multitude of labeled doors before them.  “What did she say again?”  Betty asked.  “Something about ABC’s and 123’s?”
   The laugh track sounded as Wilma looked about.  “I think it’s this one here in the corner, Wilma said, opening a door that read ‘4-A-565-FMG-1’.
   The room was pitch black, and as Wilma and Betty entered, door slammed shut behind them.  Lights flicked on overhead, and the women found themselves on treadmills powered by sabertooth tigers.   Four monkeys strapped their arms and legs into elaborate machines made of vines and boulders while a fifth monkey placed a bird’s beak on a record.  “Welcome to class 41-A-565-FMG-1,” the record crackled.  “Now follow along with me.”
   “Wait, what did that record say?” Wilma asked.
   But before Betty could answer the tigers began running, and the record began to bark out instructions.  “Run and jump and lift and pump and run and jump and lift and pump,” the record barked.
   Wilma and Betty scrambled to keep up as the monkeys laughed and pointed.
   “When I get my hands on that Shanique Granite…” Betty wheezed as she pushed herself madly to keep up with the record.

   An hour later the record stopped playing, the cheetahs stopped running, and the monkeys untied the women.  Betty and Wilma collapsed with a ‘thud’.  In the locker room, they showered in silence, gasping to regain their breath.  They just recovered when they finished dressing, and left the locker room.  Shanique was at the front desk, chatting with a large burly man with a handlebar mustache in a zebra-skin singlet, and did not see Wilma and Betty stomping toward her.  “Now let’s show that hussy Shanique a thing or two,” Wilma hissed.
   “I’ve got just enough energy to teach that strumpet a lesson,” Betty growled.
   As the two approached, Shanique raised her arms and flexed her muscles, as the man with the mustache nodded with approval.  Wilma and Betty froze in their tracks, jaws hanging open, as perfectly round biceps the size of baseballs sprang up on Shanique’s arms, seemingly from nowhere.  The sculpted muscles throbbed under the Nubian beauty’s brown skin as she kissed one, and then the other.
   “Well maybe we should just get home,” Wilma said nervously.
   “Yeah I think she’s learned her lesson,” Betty sheepishly agreed.
   “Oh hello ladies,” Shanique said, turning around.  “Were you saying something?”
   “Uh, we were just saying that you have quite a remarkable physique, Ms. Granite,” Wilma gulped.
   “Yes I definitely didn’t call you a strumpet,” Betty stammered, as a laugh track cut in.
   “Please, call me Shanique,” she said with a smile, tossing her perfectly coiffed hair.  “And it takes more than just a pretty face, perfect hair, a great figure, and fashion sense to be Ms. Rocklympia.”
   “You forgot to mention modesty, Shanique,” Wilma said through clenched teeth.
   “So how was your class?” Shanique asked.  “4-A-565-JKL-1 was it?  I hope it wasn’t too tough.”
   “No no,” Betty said.  “It was just right.  We’ll be back tomorrow.”
   “Don’t overdo ladies,” she crowed.  “You might be a little too old for a serious workout.”
   “Goodbye, Ms. Granite,” Wilma and Betty hissed as they limped out of the gym.

   The next morning, Wilma struggled to get out of bed.  She had to drag herself through her morning chores.  Fred didn’t notice.  When she had finished her morning routine, she limped to Betty’s house and knocked feebly on the door with a shaky hand.  “Too… sore…”  Betty called from inside.
“Come on Betty,” Wilma said.  “We can’t let that stuck-up Shanique get the best of us.”
   Betty groaned as she dragged herself outside.  A few minutes later, Wilma and Betty were in room 4-A-565-FMG-1, being strapped into the overwrought contraption of treadmills, weights, and pulleys.  The record hissed to life.  “Here we go again,” Betty said as the sabertooths began to run.
   Later, in the locker room, Wilma and Betty gasped for air.  “I actually feel a little better than I did after yesterday’s workout,” Betty said as she put a clamp on the woolly mammoth trunk that served as a shower, stopping the water. 
   “Me too,” Wilma said as the two women wrapped themselves in towels and headed to the lockers to change.  “I mean, I still feel terrible, but not as terrible as yesterday.”
   “I actually feel kind of good, in a way,” Betty said as she put on her blue dress.
   “And the best part,” Wilma said as they exited the locker room.  “Is that we didn’t see that snooty Shanique.”
   As soon as Wilma had finished speaking the doors to the gym slid open, and Shanique entered, being carried aloft by a small crowd that cheered her name as reporters took flash photographs.  Shanique hopped down from the adoring mob, draped in blue ribbons and gold medals, and holding an armful of trophies.  “Oh hi ladies,” she said, flashing her perfect smile for the photographers.  “Sorry I was late, but I had to go to Bedrock City Music Hall.  They were having a bikini contest, a fitness competition, a judo tournament, and a weightlifting contest.”
   “Let me guess,” Betty growled.  “You won a contest.”
   “I won them all!” Shanique crowed, and the crowd cheered, throwing ticker tape in the air.
   “Well at least she’s not showing as much skin when she has those ribbons on,” Wilma sighed.

   On Wednesday, it was Betty who knocked on Wilma’s door.  “Do I have to?” Wilma pleaded.
   A few moments later, they were flailing madly to the recorded instructions being barked out in room 4-A-565-FMG-1.  “You know,” Betty said as she struggled with the weights and pulleys, “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.
   In the showers, Wilma and Betty joked about their husbands.  In the locker room, when they dropped their towels, Wilma gasped.  “Betty!” she exclaimed.  “Your tummy looks flat as a washboard!”
   “Yours too!” Betty cried, pointing to Wilma’s midriff.
   The two women stood naked in front of a full length mirror and squealed with delight at progress they had made in only three days.  They ran their hands along their stomachs, where the faint outline of six abdominal muscles could be seen under their skin, giggling with glee. “I thought my dress was fitting better,” Betty said.
   “Your butt looks incredible!” Wilma said, playfully spanking her friend.
   “Yours too!”  Betty said, spanking Wilma in return, her fingers lingering for a moment on the dimple on Wilma’s left buttock.
   “We should by some two-piece leotards to wear when we workout,” Wilma said.  “That way we can show off the results of our hard work.”
   “They have a store upstairs,” Betty said.
   A few minutes later, Wilma and Betty left the changing rooms in the store of Bedrock Better Bodies.  They were wearing two-piece leotards, Wilma in white and Betty in blue, which showed off their stomachs.  “You have the figure of a woman half your age,” Wilma said to Betty.
   “And you look like you could fit into your wedding dress again,” Betty said to Wilma.
   Just then Shanique entered the store.  “Good morning ladies,” she said.  “I love the outfits.”
   “Thanks Shanique,” Wilma said.  “We have abs now, and we thought we ought to show them off.”
   Shanique giggled.  “Don’t be silly ladies,” she said.  “Those aren’t abs.  These are abs.”
   Shanique smiled as she put her hands on her hips and tensed her torso, causing eight perfect abdominal muscles to spring to life one at a time, accompanied by rising notes on a xylophone.  A ninth note sounded as her ribs and obliques erupted into definition, every inch of her abdomen now covered in rippling muscle, from her jutting bosom down to her curvaceous hips.  Without breaking her pose, the ebony amazon plucked a stone bowling ball from a nearby shelf, and swung it against the silky brown skin of her muscle-etched stomach, shattering it into a hundred tiny pebbles.  Wilma and Betty stared slack-jawed at the sight of the beautiful dark-skinned amazon’s muscular superiority.  “Those aren’t abs,” Betty said.  “They’re industrial machinery!”
   Once again, Wilma and Betty slumped out of the gym, heads hung low.

   On Thursday, Wilma and Betty had gotten used to the routine in room 4-A-565-FMG-1.  “You know, the weights that we’re using look pretty big,” Wilma said.  “I wonder how strong we are?”
   “We can try out some weights when we’re done in here,” Betty said, panting.  “It seems like I never run out of energy these days.”
   “I know what you mean,” Wilma said.  “And talk about frisky!  I just wish Fred would make whoopee more than twice a week.  It’s Friday night, Saturday night, then five days of nothing.”
   “Barney’s the same way,” Betty said.  “Of course, I guess you and I could always take matters into our own hands.”
   “Oh Betty,” Wilma sighed, “we’ve been through this before.”
   “Well you can’t blame a girl for trying,” Betty chirped.  “I guess a barbell is the only curvy thing that will be making me sweat today.”
   After their shower, Wilma and Betty went out onto the floor Bedrock Better Bodies, where dumbbells and barbells were stacked.  “This one looks about right,” Wilma said, picking up a barbell and curling it to her chest.  “And it’s not too heavy either.  What do the numbers on the side say, Betty?”
   “Hmm,” Betty said as she examined the weight.  “50 on this one… and 50 on this one...  Wilma, you’re curling 100 pounds!”
   “And it feels good!”  Wilma said excitedly as she continued to pump.
   “Just look at these biceps,” Betty said as she began to alternate curls with two 50 pound dumbbells, watching rounded peaks the size of golf balls pop up with every rep.
   “Looking good ladies,” a familiar voice called out from across the gym.  “Keep it up and soon you’ll be able to lift some real weight.”
   Wilma and Betty turned.  They dropped their weights to the floor in shock as they saw Shanique Granite balancing a 100 pound barbell on the little finger of each hand as a group of women stared up in admiration at her bulging biceps and chiseled deltoids.  With a smile, Shanique flipped the barbells into the air, and began bouncing them up and down on the peaks of her biceps as she flexed.   The group of women all clapped and cheered with delight at her incredible exhibition of strength.
   “Doesn’t she ever take a vacation?” Wilma grumbled.

   On Friday, Wilma and Betty attacked room 4-A-565-FMG-1 with vigor, pushing both themselves and the equipment to the limit.  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Betty said, “but it’s almost too easy.  I can barely get a decent pump in here anymore.”
   “I know what you mean,” Wilma said, and with a mighty yank she pulled the contraption of weights and cables so hard that it collapsed into pieces on the ground.  “If anyone asks,” she said, “it was like that when we got here.”
   In the locker room, Wilma and Betty examined their naked bodies in the mirror, turning so that they could see themselves from every angle.  “I have the backside of a 19-year-old track star,” Wilma said with glee, clenching her peach-shaped butt as she stroked it lovingly.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             
   “I love the way my new chest muscles make my boobies stick out,” Betty said, admiring the newfound perkiness of her DDD-cup breasts.  “I could barely fit into my brassiere this morning.”
   Then Betty tensed her pectoral muscles.  The twinkling of a triangle could be heard as Betty’s big round breasts hopped up and down.  “Oh my goodness,” Wilma gasped.  “What did you just do?”
   “I don’t know,” Betty giggled, “but let’s see if I can do it again.”
   Again, Betty made her breasts hop and jiggle, accompanied by the sound of a triangle.  “I can’t do it, Wilma said,” looking down at her own DDD breasts in frustration as they refused to move.
   “Here let me help,” Betty said, placing her hands on Wilma’s chest, just above her breasts.  “You have to flex these muscles right here.”
   “Careful Betty, Fred might get jealous,” Wilma quipped, triggering the laugh track.
   A few seconds later, Wilma was making her breasts hop and jiggle just like Betty.  The two women giggled as they put their dresses back on, and kept on giggling as they left the locker room.  They saw Shanique at the front desk on their way out of the gym.  “You two are in a rare mood today,” she said.  “You must have had a great workout.”
   “It’s not that,” Betty said.  “We learned to do this,” and she and Betty began to flex their pecs, making their breasts hop beneath their dresses, as the light tinkling sound of a triangle filled the air.
   “Not bad,” Shanique said, “but get a load of this.”  She smiled as she flexed her pectoral muscles, and her big round breasts swelled until they protruded from her chest like globes of cocoa-brown skin, her  zebra skin top that struggled to contain her buxom glory.  Then, as Betty and Wilma stared, Shanique’s heroic bust began bouncing up and down like basektballs, jiggling as the sound of kettle drums in the background.  Betty and Wilma stared, their eyes moving up and down in time with the bouncing mammaries. 
   Then the over-stressed zebra-skin top snapped like a rubber band, and Shanique’s perfect chocolate-colored breasts popped out.  Betty and Wilma gawked, their jaws hanging open, but Shanique didn’t show the slightest sign of embarrassment.  “Oh dear,” she said.  “I just can’t find a decent top.”
   “Have you tried something bigger than a handkerchief?” Wilma asked, and the laugh track roared.

Commercial break

[horst11]

Love it, hope to see more soon.. thanks
K+

[nickolai]

Awesome and great to have you back!

[IBP]

Jeez that was great. Is there a part one that I missed? It's lovely to see you channel some of the almost cartoon-like things that happen into your stories into a real cartoon format. Becky inflating her biceps and the way she can flex almost brings to mind some of the things that happen in this story, and I distinctly remember her breasts making big booming sounds as well. But that ab flex with the xylophone ascension.. Yow! Classic!

[grbaclig]

   It was Friday night, the dishes were drying, and Fred was lounging in his recliner.  But Wilma was in no mood for relaxing.  In the bedroom she slipped into her sexiest white dress, and found that it was too small for her newly toned body, but in all the right ways.  The neckline was so stretched that half-moons of cleavage could be seen peeking out, and the hem was so high that a tiny glimpse of orange pubic hair could be seen every time she took a step.  Wilma smiled lustily as she put on a coat of lipstick.  In the living room, she sashayed in front of the TV, moving slowly so her husband could see her new and improved body. “Say Fred,” she purred, “isn’t it about time for our Friday night romp?”
    “Not tonight Wilma, the game is on,” Fred said absently as he tilted his head to look around her.
   Undeterred, Wilma continued, standing with her legs spread to display her sex.  “Fred I just got this dress back from the cleaners, and I think it shrank a little.  What do you think?”
   “Yeah yeah,” Fred said, unmoving.  “Your new hat looks great.”
   Wilma frowned.  “Fred I’ve been working out a lot recently,” she said, running her hands along her trim waist and shapely hips.  “Can you tell?”
   “Yeah yeah,” Fred mumbled.
   With a scowl, Wilma ripped her dress off, kicked the recliner footrest so Fred sat bolt upright, and stood directly in front of him, wiggling her sweeping thighs and sculpted buttocks.  “Fred, do you see anything here that interests you?”
   Fred’s eyes bugged out as he rose up into the air, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and Wilma smiled.  “Holy mother of pearl, Wilma, you have a butt like a 20 year old track star!”
   “I was thinking 19, but that’s close enough,” Wilma said as the laugh track played.

   Next door, Barney was staring slack-jawed at his naked wife.  “And if you like my butt,” Betty cooed, “just wait until you get a load of this.”
   Betty batted her eyes provocatively as she clasped her hands and began to flex her pecs.  Her breasts began to hop and jiggle, the tinkling of the triangle accompanying them as ever, as Barney’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. “Wha-wha-wha-how are you doing that?” he exclaimed.
    “They’re called pectorium muscles,” Betty bragged.  “And I’m glad you noticed.  Now are we going to the bedroom or what?”
   “Just try to stop me,” Barney said, but then the crack of a baseball bat erupted from the TV, and the crowd roared, and Barney gently pushed his wife aside to return to the game.
   “Oh no you don’t, Barney,” Betty said through gritted teeth as she picked her husband up in the air by the waist and carried him to the bedroom.  “I’ve been waiting all week for this!”
   “Help!” Barney cried as Betty threw him down on the bed with a ‘thud’.
   “Oh don’t be such a baby,” Betty said, tearing his clothes off.  “Remember these.”
   Again Betty performed her pectoral dance, and Barney’s eyes began to bug out as his manhood slowly grew to the sound of a slide whistle.  “How could I forget,” he drooled, giggling.
   “That’s right, just a little bit more…” Betty said, studying Barney’s growing erection a she continued her erotic display of muscle control. “Just a little bit more… and… now!”
   When Barney’s hard-on had reached its throbbing foot-long maximum, Betty leapt into the air and landed squarely with her labia on either side of his glans, slowly sliding down the length of his penis until he was completely inside her.  “But Betty,” he panted.  “You can’t be on top.”
   “Oh no?” Betty retorted.  “We’ll just see about that!”
   And with that Betty began to rock back and forth, her tight stomach undulating, and her creamy breasts bobbing as Barney’s eyes began to spin in his head.

   Back at the Flintstones’ house, Wilma was perched atop Fred, impaled by his member and driving her pelvis forcefully into his hips as steam blew out of his ears.  “Wilma I can’t take it anymore,” Fred panted.  “I’m about to-“
   “Oh no you don’t,” Wilma said, squeezing her vaginal muscles tight around Fred’s tumescent penis, stopping his ejaculation cold.  “Not until I’m good and ready!”
   Fred cried out in pain as Wilma continued to ride his priapistic manhood.  “Let go Wilma, I’m dying!” he screamed, grabbing his wife around her svelte waistline and trying to lift her off his body.
   Wilma squealed with pleasure as Fred’s frantic tugging twisted her body around the axis of his penis, but her cervical muscles held firm.  “Ah-ah-ah,” she scolded, clamping her gym-hardened thighs around his waist.  “I said not until I’m ready.”
   Wilma continued on for several more minutes, bouncing up and down on the bed with her husband trapped inside her in a carnal embrace.  Finally, she began to twitch and shudder.  “Yabba Dabba Do!” Fred and Wilma yelled in unison as Wilma relaxed, and the force of Fred’s ejaculation shot her into the air.
A few minutes later, Wilma had finished cleaning up the bedroom but Fred was still in bed, panting from exhaustion.  “Say Fred,” Wilma said suggestively, “How about an encore?”
   “I can’t Wilma, I just can’t,” Fred moaned.
   “Well that’s what your mouth says,” Wilma purred, “but let’s ask another part of your body.”
   Wilma pulled back the covers and gasped.  Fred’s penis was bent in 5 places, and was glowing red.  “I hope it’s not too late to call Doctor Pilldown,” he said, accompanied by the laugh track.

   A few minutes later, Doctor Pilldown had finished wrapping Barney’s midsection in bandages.  Barney was covered in bruises, and had two black eyes.  “I’ve never seen such a collection of physical trauma,” the doctor said.  “What did this to you, a sabertooth tiger?”
   “Well it was a pussy, but not a sabertooth,” Betty giggled, as she handed the doctor his coat.
   Doctor Pilldown ran his eyes up and down Betty’s sleek frame, round backside, and ample bosom.  “Lucky stiff,” he mumbled to Barney as he turned to leave.
   “I wish I was a little more lucky and a little less stiff,” Barney whined, and the laugh track roared.
   Just then the phone rang, and Betty answered.  “Doctor, it’s your answering service,” she said.
   “Yes?” Doctor Pilldown said, taking the phone and talking to the voice on the other line.  “What’s that you say?  Another one?  Flintstone, eh?  No no, I’m already in the neighborhood.”
   The doctor hung up the phone and said goodbye, leaving the Rubbles alone.
   “Gee I guess I don’t know my own strength,” Betty giggled.  “That week at the gym sure paid off.
   “What week at the gym?” Barney asked.  “We can’t afford gym dues, especially not if they come with a side order of doctor’s bills!”
   “But Barney!” Betty pleaded.  “What about my gains?”
   “Your gains and my losses,” Barney said.  “So unless you can pay your own dues, you’ll have to get by lifting stains and pressing shirts.”
   Betty stormed out in a huff, and walked to the rock fence in the back yard, the moon beaming down from above.  Mere seconds later, Wilma joined her.     “Cigarette?” Wilma asked, taking out and prominently displaying a pack of Winston cigarettes.
   “Thanks,” Betty said.  “Barney made such a fuss I didn’t get to have one after you know what.”
   “Same here,” Wilma said.  “The worst part is, I’m still feeling frisky.”
   “Me too,” Betty said, her eyes drifting up and down Wilma’s newly toned physique.  “Of course we could always…”
   “Give it a rest, Betty,” Wilma said.  “What we did together in college was a one-time-thing.”
   “One time?” Betty asked.  “I counted ninety-six.”
   “Very funny, Betty,” Wilma said dryly as the laugh track cackled in the background.

   On Saturday morning, after feeding their wounded husbands breakfast in bed, Wilma and Betty met in Wilma’s kitchen.  “With all these medical bills, we’ll never afford gym dues,” Wilma said.
   “Unless we earn a little money of our own,” Betty said, handing Wilma a newspaper.
   “Exotic dancers wanted,” Wilma read aloud.  “50 clams per hour plus tips.  Oh I don’t know, Betty.”
   “Come on Wilma,” Betty implored.  “We’ve got it, so we might as well flaunt it.”
   Wilma looked down at her toned shapely calves, and smiled.  “You know,” she said.  “You may be right.  Besides, with Fred out of commission, someone needs to enjoy this hot new body of mine.”
   A few minutes later, Wilma and Betty were standing their overcoats in the office of Rudy Quartzberg.  Rudy was the owner of the Peppermint Triceratops, Bedrock’s most lavish gentlemen’s club. He puffed on a cigar as he looked them over.  “We’re here about the ad in the paper,” Betty said.
   “I don’t know,” Rudy said, puffing on a cigar.  “You dames look a little too old for this gig.  You aren’t all saggy are you?  Have you got the goods?  ”
   Wilma and Betty looked at each other and smiled, then dropped their overcoats to the floor revealing their teeny bikinis, and the curvaceous bodies that filled them.  Rudy’s jaw dropped open as he scanned the hourglass figures of the confidently smirking housewives.  His eyes bugged out at their smooth calves, sweeping thighs, peach-shaped behinds, tight stomachs, and perky DDD breasts.
   Wilma turned her back to Rudy Quartzberg and stood her feet shoulder width apart.  With a wink she slowly bent over to one side, running her hands down her toned and shapely leg as her thong bikini disappeared between rounded buttocks.  “Do I look saggy to you?” she asked.
   “Incredible!” he gasped.  “You have the butt of a 18-year-old track star.”
   “I was thinking 19, but that’s close enough,” Wilma said as the laugh track played.
   “How do you like these goods?” Betty asked as she playfully shimmied, making her firm, alabaster boobs jiggle and bounce, cleavage wobbling above, below and on all sides of her bikini top.
   “Goods?  They’re greats!” Rudy said, as steam began to rise from his ears.  “You dames are in!”

   Later that night, as the sun began to set, Wilma and Betty found themselves backstage at the Peppermint Triceratops, waiting to go onstage.  “Wow, look at all those people,” Wilma mused, peeking through the curtain.  “I hope I don’t get stage fright.”
   “I hope I don’t fall over in these heels” Betty said, looking nervously down at her stilettos.
   Just then a waitress approached with a tray and two glasses.  “First night jitters girls?” she asked.  “Here try a shot of liquid courage to settle your nerves.”
   Wilma and Betty took a glass, shrugged, and threw back their drinks.  A few seconds later, the house lights shut off and spotlights illuminated the stage, reflecting off several highly polished obsidian poles.  “Here goes nothing,” Wilma said as the two women walked out onto the stage, and were greeted by the sound of a jazz backbeat.   
   Wilma and Betty slowly began to dance, rolling their slim hips from side to side as their large breasts began to sway back and forth.  “Are we doing it right?” Betty whispered.  “This doesn’t seem that sexy to me.”
   “I’m not sure,” Wilma said.  “To be honest, I’m feeling a little funny.  I wonder if there was something in that drink.”
   “If there was, I want some more,” Betty said.  “I’m tingling all over.  I feel good.”
   Just then the jazz ensemble came to life, blaring sleazy horn riffs as the beat picked up, and the two lissome housewives began to bead with sweat, and their eyes began to spin like pinwheels.  “Oh I dig that beat,” Wilma said, feeling her heart beat in time with the bass drum.
   Wilma ran her hands through her hair as her swaying turned to shimmying, and her shimmying turned to forceful, rhythmic gyration.  Soon Wilma was thrusting her hips with piston-like force to the drumbeat, making her DDD cup hooters shake so forcefully that the tiny white triangles of her bikini top began to slip from her areolas.  Wilma tore her uncooperative bikini top from her chest, exposing her perfect breasts, orange areolas, and upward pointing nipples to the club.  With graceful ease she grabbed hold of the nearest pole, looped a toned calf around it and began to spin around it, twirling her bikini top as she did.  The cool sensation of wind on her erect, sweat-covered nipples made her gasp visibly with pleasure as jaws dropped open all around her and bills flew up in the air.  When Wilma tossed her top into the crowd, bills rained down on her like blizzard, but she was too enraptured in her own exhibitionism to notice.  Grasping the pole between her athletic thighs, Wilma arched her back and stretched her arms out, savoring the way the pole rubbed her clitoris through her bikini bottom as she continued to spin around the pole, reveling in way the audience celebrated her beauty and sexuality.
   Not to be outdone, Betty placed her left foot against the pole nearest her and slowly began to lift her left leg over her head until her blue-painted toes pointed to the ceiling, and her stiletto heel rested against the pole.  Now in a standing split, she lingered for a moment in admiration of her own physique, running her fingers along her left leg.  Betty’s flesh tingled with ecstasy as she moved her hands from her diamond-cut calf to her smooth, cellulite-free hamstrings to her firm, round buttocks.  Cheers went up on all sides as she pumped her hips, deepening her splits in an impressive display of flexibility and balance.  With a wink Betty grabbed her bikini bottom and began to tug until the blue fabric disappeared between her bulbous buttocks like a thong.  She savored the way the fabric rubbed against her labia, which were clearly visible to the cheering crowd.  When the tiny strings of the bikini bottom snapped, Betty shamelessly held the bikini bottom overhead and waved it like a flag as cheering men and women responded by and throwing bills onstage.  When she flung the bikini bottom into the crowd, she was showered with bills.  Emboldened by the praise of her sexual desirability, Betty grabbed the pole and began to twirl, her splits still intact, showing her bare ass and neatly trimmed raven-black bush to the adoring audience.                         
   Wilma and Betty twirled and twirled until, at the same moment, they lost their grips on the sweat-covered poles and flew toward the center of the stage, their slipped grips indicated by the sound of a slide whistle.  They collided, wrapping their arms around one another to prevent from falling over in their stiletto heels, and their heads would have knocked together if not for their firm DDD tits, which mooshed together nipple to nipple with a “boing” sound, and absorbed the impact of the collision.  There was a moment of awkward silence as the audience stared at the two intertwined housewives, their lean supple bodies glistening with sweat, Wilma without a top and Betty without a bottom.  Then the chanting began.  “Kiss!  Kiss!  Kiss!” the men and women in the audience implored.
   “Might as well give the people what they want,” Betty said, licking her lips.
   “Oh Betty I… I don’t know,” Wilma said, her cheeks flushing.  “Right here in front of everyone?”
   “Just one little kiss,” Betty said.  “I promise I won’t get fresh.”
   “You said that once before,” Wilma’s said as her brow furrowed in skepticism and the laugh track cackled.  “And four hours later they needed a whole team of paramedics to untangle our legs.”
   “Kiss!  Kiss!  Kiss!” the crowd cheered.
   “Just think of all the money we’ll make,” Betty said.
   Wilma looked at the carpet of bills covering the stage and did some quick math.  Dollar signs flashed in her eyes as a cash register bell sounded.  “Oh what the heck,” she said.  “Just one little kiss.”
   Betty squealed with delight as she placed her hands on Wilma’s hips, twisting her fingers around the strings of the bikini bottom, and pulled her friend closer.  “Just one little kiss,” she said.
   The anticipation in the club was palpable as the two stone-aged MILFs drew their faces closer and closer.  As soon as their lips touched, Betty slid her left hand into Wilma’s bikini bottom.  Wilma gasped.  She and Betty had spent most of their sophomore year in college experimenting with each other’s bodies, and Betty had learned how to play Wilma’s pussy like a virtuoso.  Their sexual relationship ended when Wilma started dating Fred, but Betty never stopped eyeing her lustily or trying to talk her into bed.  Now, Betty had her right where she wanted her—literally and figuratively.  Wilma knew that Betty could turn her into a quivering heap of desire with a few well-placed kisses. “No Betty,” Wilma gulped.  “Not here in front of all these people.  You wouldn’t dare!”
   “That just makes it hotter, don’t you think?” Betty whispered in between kisses as she rubbed the top of Wilma’s labia majora in a quick clockwise circular motion, stimulating Wilma’s clitoris.   
   The crowd erupted with cheers and money flew around the stage like snow in a blizzard.  Wilma strained to resist the aphrodisiacal effect of Betty’s touch, but as the drumbeat intensified she weakened, and melted into Betty’s arms. “Oh Betty,” she moaned. “Let’s do it.  Let’s do it right here!”
   Betty responded instantly, cupping Wilma’s big, firm breasts in her hands and smooshing them together so she could run her tongue over both of Wilma’s nipples at once.  Wilma dug her fingernails into Betty’s athletic shoulders and squealed with delight as Betty’s tongue flitted across her tumescent nipples with hummingbird speed.  The second Betty released Wilma’s tits, Wilma stood Betty up straight and pushed her backward into the nearest pole, her hands still clamped around Betty’s shoulders.  “Oh Wilma,” she purred, grinding her buttocks on the pole, “you know I love it when you get rough.”
   The bills on the stage were now up to the ladies’ ankles, and Wilma appreciated the extra padding as she dropped to her knees in front of her old friend.  At the sight Betty’s tight pink vagina, Wilma became awash in memories of the pleasures that they used to share as young women in college.  “You’re more beautiful now than ever,” Wilma cooed as she lovingly stroked Betty’s tight stomach with her hands even as she began kissing her way up Betty’s lean, toned thighs.
   Betty began to purr as Wilma peppered her inner thighs with playful bites, slowly working her way toward the pink ruffles of Betty’s labia, which were aquiver with excitement.  Betty reached up and grabbed the pole with both hands, muscular definition appearing in her biceps and triceps as she clung for dear life to resist collapsing from lust.  The faint outline of a nascent six-pack was visible as Betty tensed her body in anticipation of the velvety caress of Wilma’s tongue.  Wilma growled with lust as the scent of Betty’s vagina caught her nose, and she greeted its beautiful pink lips with a kiss that made Betty buck against the pole.  Using her newfound core strength, Betty lifted her legs off the ground, suspended for a moment by only her lean, strong arms, and brought her thighs to rest on Wilma’s shoulders.  Biting her lip and whimpering with pleasure, Betty ran her feet up and down the elegant muscles of Wilma’s back, as Wilma licked her into a climax.
   Now the hooting and hollering of the crowd was so loud that the jazz combo was drowned out entirely.  Men and women crowded the stage to watch Wilma and Betty wrapped in carnal embrace, and money fell onto the stage until it buried Sapphic housewives entirely, the pile shifting as they contorted into more and more scandalous sexual positions.

   On Sunday morning, Wilma came to Betty’s door.  “Betty, about last night…” Wilma said.
   “I know, I know,” Betty said.  “It was only a one time thing.”
   Wilma was startled.  “Actually I was going to thank you for being such a generous lover.   I never thought that I could feel so good.”
   “Oh sure,” Betty said casually, her back to Wilma as she stretched up to dust the top of the fridge with a peacock, balancing on one foot, her shapely legs on full display from the tips of her toes to the crease of her buttocks.  “You were great, too.”
Wilma felt a tingle of sexual excitement as Betty’s dress lifted up to reveal that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.  “Betty Rubble, are you playing hard to get?” she asked.
   “There’s a first time for everything,” Betty said, and the laugh track cut in.  “So what do you want to do with all that money?
Wilma tried to remain cool as Betty continued to ignore her, now bending over to put the peacock back under sink, her breasts spilling out of the neckline of her blue dress.  “Well the first thing I’m going to do is go down to the gym,” Wilma said, trying to conceal her stiff nipples.  I need to get a good pump.”
“Now you’re talking,” Betty said.  “Let me get my things.”

Commercial Break

[grbaclig]

   In a few minutes, Wilma and Betty were back and Bedrock Better Bodies, their middle-aged bodies tight and curvy like fitness models, with muscular definition showing in their shoulders, abs, and thighs.  “We would like to enroll in a new class,” Wilma said to the large man with the handlebar mustache at the front desk.  “Something challenging.”
   “Yeah,” Betty said pointing to the door in the corner where they had taken their classes the previous week.  “That one was way too easy.  It was fine on Monday but by Friday it was a big yawn.”
   “4-A-565-FMG-1 was too easy?” the man said with a start. “After only one week?”
   “We need a serious program,” Wilma said, flexing her golf ball-sized bicep, which sprang up from her arm with a loud ’pop’.  “I just got these muscles and I don’t want them to go soft.”
   “Well there’s 4-A-565-FMG-2…” the man said.  “Nobody ever says that class is easy.”
   “We’ll take it,” Wilma and Betty said in unison, slapping stacks of bills down on the counter.
   A few minutes later, the two athletic housewives stepped into a giant room filled with wooly mammoths and boulders.  “Well this looks promising,” Wilma said as monkeys appeared holding vines.
   “I hope those boulders are heavy,” Betty said as the monkeys tethered her.  “I need my gains.”
   A monkey placed a bird’s beak on a record.  “Welcome to class 41-A-565-FMG-2,” the record crackled.  “Now follow along with me.”
   Seconds later, Wilma and Betty were screaming as they strained against wooly mammoths, and struggled to move boulders the size of cars.  The record barked instructions at them.  “Pull and push and pump and crush and pull and push and pump and crush,” it barked.
   Later in the locker room, Wilma and Betty were gasping for air in the steam of the shower.  “I think I almost died during that last set,” Wilma said.
   “Tell me about it,” Betty said.  “Those woolly mammoths are stronger than they look!”
   The laugh track cackled as the women turned off the shower and walked into the locker room, their naked bodies emerging from the steam.  “Oh my God,” Wilma gasped.  “Betty… you’re… big.”
   Betty gasped in turn.  “Wilma... so are you.”
   Shocked, the housewives turned to face the full-length mirrors.  Two hours ago they had walked into Bedrock Better Bodies looking like fitness models, with lean muscles wrapped accentuating the lines of their lithe figures.  Now they looked like bodybuilders, with bulging muscles popping out all over their curvaceous bodies.  Wilma looked at her reflection in awe as she stood on her tiptoes with hands on hips and spread her lats.  A cello groaned as her back widened and her thighs swelled into braided columns of muscle.  “None of my clothes are going to fit now,” she whined.
   Betty stared in amazement at her reflection as she leaned down into a 'most muscular' pose.  The sound of inflating balloons filled the room as her traps, delts, triceps, and biceps swelled into knots of quivering female power.  “I'll have to make my drapes into a bikini,” Betty said as the laugh track played.
   “Well that means a shopping spree is in order,” Wilma said, smiling as he flexed a towering pair of split-head biceps in the mirror.  “We should head to Bloomingstones.”
   "Charge it!" the ladies called as a horn fanfare sounded and the laugh track played.
   Then Betty looked at her wristwatch as she examined her own massive arms.  “Bloomingstones doesn't open for two more hours,” she said.  “We'll have to find something to do while we wait.”
   After a moment of silence, Wilma turned her head toward Betty as the two musclebound housewives continued to pump their muscular arms.  “Say Betty,”  she said casually.  “Would you mind if I felt your muscles?”
   “Only if I can feel yours,” Betty said, turning toward her friend.
   “Fair is fair,” Wilma said as the two shredded beauties stepped closer.
   Wilma continued to flex her left arm as she reached her slight, feminine right hand toward Betty's throbbing, meaty bicep.  Betty did the same, and soon the two women were pressed up against one another.  Betty ran her hands up and down Wilma's thick flaring lats.  “You've got so many muscles that my hands can't keep up,” Betty panted.
   Wilma put her arms behind her head.  “Good thing you have a mouth, too,” she said.
   Betty moaned in passion as Wilma tensed her torso, causing her arms to swell, her breasts to hop, and her abdominals to pop out like a cobblestone street leading down to her shock of orange pubic hair.  As Betty slid her tongue down the slabs of Wilma's pectorals, Wilma ran her fingers along the thick, striated globes of Betty's delts.  Moaning and giggling, the two women slid down the wall of the locker room until their bodies disappeared into the steam that lingered along the floor.

   A few minutes later the locker room was clear of steam, and Betty and Wilma tried to stuff their muscle-packed bodies back into their dresses, which split into shreds of white and blue fabric.  “I guess we'll have to wear our workout clothes,” Betty said.
   “It's just as well,” Wilma said.  “It's a shame to hide a body like this under clothes.”
   To the housewives' dismay, even their workout clothes were now stretched to the brink, their breasts spilling out above and below their tops, and their shorts allowing a clear view of the muscles around their thighs and pelvises.   “It's a good thing we've got it, because we sure are flaunting it,” Betty said as the laugh track cackled.
   Shanique Granite was standing at the desk at the front of the gym as Wilma and Betty left the locker room.  She was flexing her muscles proudly for a small group of admirers, her who 'ooh'ed' and aah'ed' at her amazingly proportioned physique.  But as Wilma and Betty approached she froze, her eyes bugging out and her jaw dropping as she saw the hulking prehistoric housewives.  “The poor girl's nothing but skin and bones,” Wilma said with a smile.
   “Don't feel bad, Shanique,” Betty said with a wink as they exited the gym.  “Keep it up and soon you’ll be able to lift some real weight.”
 
   Bloomingstones was the fanciest department store in Bedrock.  Haughty women with upturned noses examined fancy gowns presented by prim and proper attendants in tuxedos.  But as Wilma and Betty sashayed down the aisles, their nearly naked bodies rippling with muscle, every head in the store turned to follow them.  As they began to examine dresses, a small, trembling bald man with glasses approached them.  “What prompt service,” Wilma said, turning to the man.  “We need new wardrobes.”
   “Yeah,” Betty said.  “Do you have anything narrow in the waist and huge everywhere else?”
   “W-well, actually...” the man stammered.  “I'm not an attendant.  I-I'm Mr. Bloomingstone.”
   “What great service,” Wilma said.  “Mr. Bloomingstone, I'd like to see your shortest skirts, please.”
   “And I want to see your flimsiest lingerie,” Betty added.
   “W-well, actually,” Mr. Bloomingstone stammered.  “I'm going to have to ask you ladies to leave.”
   “Ask us to leave?” the women said in unison as shock appeared on their faces.
   “Y-yes,” the small man said, flop sweating pouring off him.  “You see, our policy doesn't allow such revealing outfits in the store.  I-it's nothing personal, I assure you, simply a matter of policy.”
   “Well if it's nothing personal then sell us some clothes, so we can get out of these revealing outfits,” Wilma said, plucking the drum-tight strands of her workout top as her breasts wobbled.
   “I-I'm afraid that our dresses won't fit women as unfeminine as you,” he cringed.
   “How dare you!?” Betty snarled, cracking her knuckles.  “I'll show you unfeminine.”
   “Security!  Help!” Mr. Bloomingstone cried, and he was instantly flanked by two burly guards.
   The guards were as wide as Fred and Barney put together, and stood at least a foot taller than Wilma and Betty.  They had hats pushed over their sloping brows and fists the size of bowling balls.  “Alright you dames,” one of the said as he placed his hand on Wilma's shoulder.  “time to go.”
   “Get your paws off me,” Wilma snarled, as her muscle-bulging arm shot forward with a punch that knocked the guard backward, his body smashing through the stone wall of the store.
   The second guard slammed a judo chop onto Betty's shoulder, but his hand bounced off her hulking trapezius, and swelled up red and sore.  “Hitting a woman? How rude!” Betty exclaimed as she stood on her tiptoes and stretched out her arm.
   With one downward hammerfist blow, Betty knocked the guard straight into the ground, leaving only his nose, ears, and hat visible.  Mr. Bloomingstone was curled into a fetal position and sobbing.  “Please don't hurt me!” he said.  “I'll let you have anything you want for free, we'll even tailor it for you!”
   “The things a girl has to do to get good customer service these days,” Wilma quipped.
   As Wilma and Betty approached the seamstress counter with their arms full of new clothes, two seedy looking men in black suits with toothpicks in their mouths eyed the.  “Did you see that,” one said.
   “Yeah,” the other said.  “We need muscle, and those dames have muscle in spades.”
   Later, when Wilma and Betty left Bloomingstone's, the two seedy looking men followed them. 

   Back at the Flintstone house, Wilma found Fred watching the ball game on television, his crotch still covered in a cast.  “Notice anything different about me, Fred?” Wilma asked as she set down the bags from Bloomingstones.
   Wilma was wearing a white dress that hung over one shoulder, as she always did, but her new dress had a more elegant cut and exquisite piping, and was cut to showcase her muscle-swollen body.  The skirt was short enough to show off the cuts of her quadriceps, sartorius and adductors, all of which stood out in perfect definition.  The plunging neckline and shoulder strap showcased Wilma's thick, meaty pectoral muscles, and her round, perky breasts.  Fred didn't even glance at her.  ““Yeah yeah,” Fred said, unmoving.  “Your new hat looks great.”
   Wilma frowned and stood in front of the television.  Fred leaned over to look around her, and Wilma's frown turned into a glower.  Then a sly smile spread across her face as she placed her hands on her hips, and began to flex her lats.  Wilma's back grew wider and wider, until she was twice as wide as the television.  “Let's see you look around me now,” she crowed.
   “For goodness sake Wilma, I can't see anything because your muscles are too b-b-b-b...” Fred's grumbles turned to stammers of confusion as he finally saw his wife's hulking, chiseled physique.
   “What was that you were saying?” Wilma crowed as she raised herself up to her tiptoes, making her calves bulge and her thighs swell.  “My muscle are too beautiful?  I thought you'd never notice.”
   “Too b-b-b-big,” Fred stammered.  “Your muscles are way too big.”
   “I certainly don't thing so,” Wilma said as she brought her hands together and began to flex her pectorals, causing striations to appear on her beefy chest.  “In fact I want to get bigger.  A lot bigger.”
   “No way!” Fred objected.

   The shot cut to Barney, in his house across the street.  “No way!” he objected as Betty marveled at a side tricep pose that made her arm bloom with lumps of muscle.  “I forbid you to get any bigger.”
   Betty's eyes narrowed in anger.  “You forbid me?” she hissed as she held her arm in front of Barney's face.  “You and what army?”
   “Since when do I need an army to control my wife?” Barney asked grumpily.
   But then Barney's eyes began to widen as Betty flexed, and her bicep began to grow, bending his nose upward as it swelled, accompanied by the sound of an inflating balloon.  When Betty's bicep finally stopped growing, Barney's eyes could barely peek over its rippling mass.  “To control a wife with muscles like these you're going to need the army, the navy and the marines,” Betty quipped.  “Or a nice snuggle.”
   The laugh track played as Barney's knees began to shake visibly as he crossed his arms over his bandaged crotch.  “Are you crazy?” he cried.  “The last time we snuggled you almost killed me.”
   Just then the phone rang.  Betty picked it up as Barney cowered in the corner.  “Hello,” she said cheerily.  “What's that?  Free gym dues?  For 5 minutes work?  123 Fourth street?  I'll be right over.”

   Wilma and Betty were standing outside a seedy looking building.  “I guess you're here for the free gym dues, too,” Wilma said as she knocked on the door. 
   A peephole slid open and a fat man peered out.  “What's the password?” he asked.
   “Open this door or I'll bust it down,” Betty said.
   “Nobody gets in without the password,” the voice said.
   Wilma and Betty looked at each other and smiled.  A second later the door fell to the ground, trapping the fat man underneath it.  Wilma and Betty strode confidently into the building, and found two seedy looking men in black suits sitting at a table examining a blueprint.  “Is this where we get our free gym dues?” Wilma asked.
   The men looked at each other.  'Oh... uh... yeah,” the taller of the seedy men said.  “All you have to do is help us with a surprise party for our friends the O'Leary brothers.”
   “That sounds fun,” Betty said.  “What we have to do.”
   “Just guard the door at the First National Bank, and make sure the O'Leary brothers don't get inside while we plan their party.”
   “The surprise party is at the bank?” Wilma asked.
   “Yep,” the shorter of the seedy men said.  “And one more thing.  The O'Leary brothers will be dressed up like police.  So just make sure no one dressed like police get into the bank until we're gone.”
   “Why would your friends the O'Leary brothers dress like police?” Betty asked.
   “Um... it's a costume surprise party,” said the fat seedy man as he pulled himself up.
   “This sounds easy enough,” Wilma said.  “We're in!”

   A few minutes later, Wilma and Betty stood in front of the door to the First National Bank.  An alarm bell split the air and the looked at each other.  “That alarm is going to ruin surprise,” Betty said.
   Just then a half dozen policemen rushed up.  “These must be the O'Leary brothers,” Wilma said.
   “Move aside ladies,” a red-headed police captain said.  “We need to get by.”
   “Nope,” Betty said.  “We're not letting you in there no matter what.
   “I'm afraid I have to insist,” the policeman said.  “Now step aside.”
   “Some people are real party-poopers,” Wilma said.  “You all can just wait out here.”
   “If you don't move, we'll have to move you by force,” the police captain said, raising his arm.
   “Move us?' Betty laughed.  “By force?  This should be a hoot.”
   Two policemen advanced on Wilma and Betty, grabbing them by the shoulders.
   “Big mistake buddy,” Wilma said.
   Wilma and Betty swung their fists in uppercuts, colliding with the policemen's jaws with a 'bonk' sound, and sending the two men flying into the air and across the street.  The redheaded policeman blew his whistle, and two of his mates advanced on Wilma with nightsticks, while two others advanced on Betty with a battering ram made of solid stone.  The two policemen nearest Betty reared back and slammed the battering ram into her stomach with a 'thud', but the musclebound housewife didn't even flinch.  Instead she arched her back, her blue dress so tight against her torso that it looked as though it had been painted onto her eight perfect abdominals and rippling ribs.  “That tickles,” she giggled as she began to pose.
   The policemen gawked at each other, then gawked at Betty as she began to point and flex her massive legs, making cords of sinewy power erupt with each tiny movement.  “What are you standing there for, hit her again!” the police captain yelled.
   The two policemen hopped to attention and slammed their battering ram into Betty's stomach again and again as she continued to flex her titanic muscles.  When Betty turned around to show off her back, they swung the battering ram at her big, round, peach-shaped buttocks.  But as soon as the battering ram approached, Betty flexed her glutes and the battering ram shattered into dust and pebbles on impact.  “Now it's my turn,” Betty quipped with a wink as the policemen began to tremble.
   Meanwhile, two policemen approached Wilma with nightsticks and began to slam them wildly against her chest.  Wilma smiled as she placed her hands on her hips, the blows bouncing harmlessly off her beefy pectorals.  The police batons shattered, and they gawked in amazement at the stubs in their hands.  “It can't be,” one said.
   “Nothing's harder than petrified wood,” the other said.
   "Nothing except my muscles.  And maybe those thick skulls of yours,” Wilma said.
   Then Wilma grabbed the policemen around the collars and pulled them to their knees.  Smiling, she began to flex her pecs, causing them to erupt into boulders of muscle one at a time, pummeling the policemen with her mighty chest until they were bruised and bumpy.  “We need backup!” said the captain.
   “You sure do,” Wilma said.  “I'm just getting started.”
   Inside the bank, the three seedy looking men had finished stuffing money into huge sacks, and ran out the back door of the bank.  “There go the robbers!” the captain cried, pointing down the alley.
   Betty was twirling two policemen by their arms like lassos.  “Robbers?” she asked, startled.
   Wilma was juggling two policemen with ease.  “Betty, I think we've been had,” she said.
   “Thanks a lot ladies,” the tall robber said.
   “We couldn't have done it without you,” the short robber said.
   “All that brawn and no brains,” the fat robber laughed.  “Can you believe it?”
   Wilma and Betty let the policemen that they were manhandling fall to the ground with a thud.  They exchanged an angry glare.  “Aren't you going to go after them?” Betty asked the police captain.
   “With who?” he asked.  “You two broads have pummeled my whole force.”
   The two hulking housewives looked around at the dozens of bruised policemen that lay at their feet, tongues hanging out, faces covered in bruises, and stars circling their heads.  “Well, it's like they say,” Betty quipped.  “A woman's work is never done.”
   
   In their hideout, the three robbers laughed as they threw handfuls of money into the air.  “That was almost too easy,” the tall robber said.
   “And the cops'll never find us here in the zoo,” the short robber said.
   “It's not the cops you need to be worried about,” said Wilma Flintstone as she and Betty Rubble walked into the dark room, every movement of their bodies causing huge overdeveloped muscles to contract and bulge all over their bodies. 
   “How did you find us?” the fat robber asked in a panic.
   “Because the bags you used in the robbery say 'property of Bedrock zoo on the side,” Betty quipped.  “How's that for all brawn and no brains?”
   “Now to dish out some justice,” Wilma said, cracking her knuckles.
   “With a side order of pain,” Betty said, cracking her neck.
   “Let's get out of here!” the tall robber cried
   The robbers sprinted out of the office and split up.  Betty trailed the tall robber to a big cage.  “Now I've got you!” she said. 
   “Not so fast,” the tall robber said.  “Get her, Bruno!”
   Suddenly a gigantic gorilla appeared, twice as tall as Betty and twice as wide.  He beat his hands on his chest and howled madly.  “Pee-yew, what awful breath,” Betty said, waving her hand in front of her face as the laugh track crackled behind her.
   “Joke while you can, lady,” the tall robber said.  “Bruno's as strong as 20 men.”
   Bruno raised his arms and flexed his muscles.  His hairy body erupted with muscles in all directions, and both he and the tall robber began to laugh.
   “20 men?” Betty said.  “Is that all?  No wonder his muscles are so tiny.“
   With a smile Betty extended her arms and wiggled her fingers.  Then she slowly began to curl her arms.  The robber and the gorilla began to shake as Betty's curvaceous body began to bulge and swell with muscles.  As the sound of stretching rubber filled the air, Betty's muscles began to grow and grow, bursting through her blue dress and ripping it to shreds.  Her calves grew to the size of basketballs and her thighs swelled up as big around as tree trunks.  Although her waist remained tiny, her lats ballooned out until she was as wide as Bruno, and her chest erupted outward with pectorals over a foot thick, thrusting her bare breasts outward proudly.  “I can't believe my eyes,” the robber squealed.
   Then, as the robber and the gorilla stared, Betty's biceps began to swell, until they reached higher than her head.  And they kept growing.  Bruno looked timidly at his own arm as the naked, musclebound housewife's biceps slowly rose up until their peaks reached higher than his own, despite his great height advantage.  The tinkling of a triangle could be heard as Betty's biceps finally reached their massive limit, peaking six inches above Bruno's.  Bruno's muscles sagged, cowed by the superior muscularity of the overdeveloped cave woman.  “Boo,” said Betty, and he disappeared in a cloud of dust.
   The tall robber was shaking as Betty stomped toward him, naked, scowling, and bulging with mountainous muscles.  “Please lady, don't hurt me!” he begged.  “I promise I'll go straight!”
   Betty picked the robber up by the neck, and with a few twirls of her arms, tied him into a series of knots.  “Straight huh?” she quipped.  “You look all tangled up to me.”

   The laugh track played as the camera cut to Wilma, who was running after the short robber, who ducked into a door in a high wall.  Wilma followed him, and was confronted instantly by two woolly mammoths the size of houses.  “Meet my friends Mumbo and Jumbo,” the short robber said with a laugh, as he appeared riding on the back of a rhinoceros.
   The mammoths reared back and stomped down at Wilma.  Without so much as a blink, Wilma raised her arms, and met their enormous feet with her dainty housewife's hands, and stopped them cold just an inch from her head.  The mammoth's gritted their teeth and shook with effort as they tried to crush Wilma beneath their feet.  Wilma smirked, showing no signs of effort except for a slow, steady bulging of the muscles in her shoulders and back.  “You guys are a lot smaller than the woolly mammoths I normally work out with,” she said, “but I guess you'll do.”
   With a ripping sound, Wilma's dress exploded into shreds, exposing her naked body, which was getting bigger every second as her muscles began to swell into big, thick boulders of female power.  With deltoids the size of medicine balls, a back as wide as a squat rack, and triceps the size of kettlebells, Wilma slowly began to force the mammoths' feet upward until her bulging arms reached full extension.  “Get her Nosy Joe!” the short robber yelled as he smacked the rhino, which barreled toward Wilma, its horn down.
   The rhino's horn collided with Wilma's shredded midsection with a thud.  Wilma's big round breasts wobbled slightly from the force of the impact, but she was other wised unmoved.  Nosy Joe, on the other hand, collapsed to the ground, visibly shaken from his collision with the cavewoman's naked, rock-hard body, his horn bent in three directions.  “That's cute,” Wilma said, still holding the mammoths at bay with confident ease, “he's trying to tickle me.  But I've played around your pets long enough.”
   With that Wilma dipped her mighty legs into a squat, and exploded upward, sending the woolly mammoths flying into the air like dolls.  The short robber held his hands in the air.  “I give up,” he cried.
   Wilma grabbed his arms by the wrists and brought them down, until they were at 90 degrees, and then spun him like a corkscrew, laughing as he drilled into the ground until only his head was visible.  “Give up?  More like wind down,” she quipped.
   Wilma and Betty met up again in the zoo offices, where they found the zookeeper's door locked.  They effortlessly kicked it in with their dainty bare feet, to reveal the fat robber sitting behind a desk, surrounded by piles of money.  He trembled as the naked, hulking cavewomen entered the room, so bulging with muscle that they had to enter one at a time, and turn sideways to fit through the door.  The fat robber jumped onto the desk and pulled out two long-barreled revolvers.  “D-d-don't make me shoot you,” he said, his threat weakened by the obvious fear in his voice.
   Betty placed her hands on her hips and erupted into a lat spread, her back widening to the size of a car and her delts swelling to the size of basketballs as her breasts began to hop up and down with the power that trembled through her body.  “What are you going to do with those tiny little guns?” she asked.
   “Other than make us angry?” Wilma said, exhibiting a rear double biceps pose that showed off not only biceps that peaked above her head, and a back covered in knots of muscle, but also the delicate ruffles of her labia that peeked out from beneath her bare buttocks.
   Instantly, the fat robber's gun barrels went limp and sagged downward, accompanied by the sound of a slide whistle.  The robber himself collapsed on the desk, overcome by the intimidating display of feminine muscular superiority that Wilma and Betty presented.
   Unceremoniously, the girls took the fat robber out of the office and stuffed him in a wastebin, compressing his body until he was crammed in so tightly that he couldn't move.  “All in a day's work,” said Betty as she and Wilma returned to the office.
   “I wonder how much money is in here?' Wilma said, bending over to examine a bad full of jewels.
   “I didn't know they had a beaver at this zoo,” Betty said, the laugh track roaring as she ogled Wilma's easily visible vulva. 
   Wilma smiled.  “Go ahead and pet it, Betty,” she said.  “It won't bite.”
   Betty gently slid two fingers into Wilma's vagina, as the orange-haired cavewoman began to moan with pleasure  “Maybe it won't but I will,” Betty said, spanking Wilma playfully.
   “Oh Betty, you're an animal,” Wilma said as the screen faded to black.

THE END

[nickolai]

Aww ... over way too soon!

[IBP]

I thought it couldn't get any better than Shanique and her super flexing, but you really outdid yourself with not only that in this last chapter, but took an easily accessible context, remained true to form, and made it fantastically erotic! The sound of a cello folks. Be sure to write that down. And then with the way they just dominated their way through the rest of the story. Fantastic! I really hope this isn't the last of your tales in the cartoon universe. The possibilities are so limitless and fun.