CHAPTER 1: BIG MAN, BIGGER GIRL
Caleb
Location: The Brooklyn Barracks, New York, New Themyscira Empire (Three weeks after Cassie’s transformation)
After Cassie’s transformation, that same evening, we were separated to our respective units. She was to be housed in the barracks with the rest of the newly transformed Amazons of the Athena Company. With all these elegant, beautiful naked girls, it looked more like a Playboy mansion than anything, only that the girls over here were much more ripped and powerful than any Playmate.
As for me, I was shuttled over to the other side of the barracks, towards a building at the far corner known as the Temple of Eros. Fifty other men joined me there, led by a fearsome-looking Bana Mighdall known as Penthesilea. Of all the Bana Mighdall, she was probably the biggest of them all besides the Immortal Goddess-Queen Diana, standing at a whopping 6 foot 10 and weighing a heavy 470 pounds, and for good reason too for she was the younger sister of the murdered Queen Hippolyta. When she was not in the Temple of Eros, she would be out in the courtyard training grounds, and once I saw her do cable flys weighted with buses on either side, each weighing up to a mind-blowing 20 tons.
The first day we arrived, Penthesilea emerged in our gathering hall with the unconvential custom of being clothed, this time with an oversized white silk robe that hugged much of her figure, the laces wrapped around her streamlined, thin waist, contrasting well with her massively broad shoulders and torso above, and her gargantuan thighs and hips below, giving her the exaggerated hourglass look of an Amazonian mass monster. If not for her terrifyingly stern expressions, I would even say she was gorgeous, with her long raven hair tied in an athletic ponytail, her prominent cheek bones and rose-red lips. When it was time to bare it all, instead of removing the robe like a normal person, she decided to flex out of it, striking a dynamic front double bicep, transitioning into a Most Muscular that sent her body bursting with explosive mass, every single ounce of muscle in her body erupting into a peak muscularity, every single muscle group looking like boulders of the Grand Canyon stuffed into her frame. The seams of her robe found no resistance to deny her surge of power, the fabric tearing off cleanly and briskly to reveal every single inch of her glorious muscular nudity, her nubile tanned skin glinting in the lights. And the most unique part was her pussy, unlike most of the Amazons here who shaved off most of their pubes on a regular basis, Penthesilea decided to let them grow all naturale, revealing a beautiful, pheromone-induced bush that emasculated every man’s pubic hair with her brawny, beastly thickness.
“I am Penthesilea, and I am in-charge of the Temple of Eros. For the next two months, you will be subjected to a gruelling training regime, we will teach you the ways to sexually please an Amazonian and Bana Mighdall, the intricacies of Amazonian fatherhood and when this is all done, you will graduate as Sons of Eros, loyal servants of the New Themyscira Empire,” she explained. “I demand absolute discipline, for the Sons of Eros are destined to obey only your Amazonian mistresses, and if anyone does otherwise…”
She then punched a hole straight through the concrete Greek pillar that was erected adjacent to her, her arm pommeling the concrete through and through, and as she pulled her arm back out, the entire structure of the pillar was ripped cleanly off its foundations. Penthesilea grabbed the 11 foot pillar, possibly weighing up to 2000 pounds in weight, and launched it across the room like a javelin, the pillar smashing against the opposite wall before decimating into a million pieces.
She made her point clear.
So there we were, trained to be glorified “sex slaves” of the New Themyscira Empire. First thing to note was the weight training. Amazons had specific tastes in men, and they absolutely adored the Greek ideal: if you didn’t look like a Spartan warrior or Hercules, you’re basically not worth their time. Amazons were the peak female form, and likewise, they were only attracted to the peak male form: big, courageous, masculine men that could hold their own against a great Amazonian musclefuck. But with them transforming into the female mass monsters that were the Bana Mighdall, their tastes in men evolved as well. They want their men strong and virile: with huge, tasty cocks; deep, brawny voices; chiselled angular jawlines; long, everlasting stamina; high, unwavering pain thresholds (to withstand the merciless musclefuck of a Bana Mighdall Amazon) but at the same time, boasting as much muscle mass as they possibly can, in parallel with their Bana Mighdall overladies (female version of overlords). Submission is an important trait for us both in bed and beyond, and it absolutely turns a Bana Mighdall on when they could crush the will of a strong, masculine man, especially when that man looks like the epitome of a dreamy, brawny muscular hunk with muscles the size of a Mr Olympia. There is something about conquering a powerful-looking man that makes a Bana Mighdall super wet. Which is why, the bigger our muscles, the stronger we are, the greater their conquest, and the hornier they get.
With Penthesilea supervising, our days were filled with a routine of pain, sweat and fear. In two months, it was her job to turn us from regular human males to an army of massively ripped Olympia-level bodybuilders. There were around 50 of us guys in the Brooklyn Barracks, the youngest being me at 19 years of age, and the oldest being a former firefighter aged 37. The Great Death tend to take the lives of those beyond 40. Most of us, in keeping with the difficult times, were “Intimate and Breeding Hosts” in one way or another. The weirdest thing that took some getting used to for me, was the dress code. During our Amazonian reproductive classes, we were supposed to only wear a thong-styled loincloth that just barely covered our genitals. But for every other physical training, it was nude all the way. So there were a lot of butts and dicks being flashed around the entire time. Regardless, I think I was proud to have one of the biggest cocks in the group, a whole 10-inch of it. And despite being the youngest, I was voted by Penthesilea’s bevy of Bana Mighdall wardens as the Top 2 most handsome men of the group. The other was this buff former personal trainer named Tyrone Hughes. So, it was natural who the top student in the class was. Our daily trainings were like hobbies to him, and he was desperate to get into Penthesilea’s good books. I mean, he was everything they were looking for. Badass, with tattoos inked all over his body, strong, hunky, muscular, gigantic dick almost 10-inches thick which he was shameless in showing off, with toxic masculinity written all over. He was already an amatuer bodybuilder even before the pandemic hit and was months away from earning his pro card. Already as big as a Men’s Classic physique competitor, he had a head start over the rest of us.
Me, on the other hand, fared better than most, due to my impressive fitness from my swimming days. I had my 2-month targets written clearly for me: height increase to 6 foot 5, body weight increase to 300 pounds (pure muscle), body fat percentage less than 1%, 1-rep maximum bench press of 600 pounds, 1-rep squat max of 1000 pounds, and dick size increase to 15-inches. All-in-all, a modern version of Jay Cutler, Gunter Schlierkamp and Markus Ruhl. Still, Penthesilea’s brutal workout regime was still too much for me. I usually end up puking at the end of each session, only to be yelled at further by Penthesilea for being “a pathetic mere mortal, weaker than girls”. Our routine was basically created by a madwoman, and logically so because it was meant to break us into humble submission while maximising muscular gains over a short period of two months. And remember, unlike Cassie and the rest of the female population, we had no Amazonian genes to give us a boost. We were just mortal human males, and this gulf in physical ability was drilled into our heads daily. Every morning, right before dawn, we would be forced to jog to the Empire State Building and run up the stairs up to its very top floor with a 50-pound sandbag tied to our backs. And each day, there would be a group of newly transformed Amazonian girls who would overtake us and outlap us 5 times over, with 800-pound osmium-plated armoured backpacks slung over their backs. After that, we would have breakfast (meal 1) and followed by our first of three weight training sessions of the day. Two hours of strength training, with moderate repetitions (around 8-12 reps per exercise), high volume weights, and high intensity. Monday was chest day, Tuesday was back, Wednesday was legs, Thursday was shoulders, Friday was arms, Saturday was legs 2.0 and Sunday was abs and core day. After the first workout session of the day, we would then have Meal 2, before starting sexual training. Sexual training would involve a variety of physical activities aimed at improving our sexual performance in bed, in a way that would best please a Bana Mighdall Amazon. Every day would focus on a different aspect of it, ranging from Submissive Speech; to Submissive Etiquette and Demeanor; to Stamina Training and Sexual Endurance; Thrusting Practice; Oral Sex; Pain Tolerance and Durability; and lastly, Foreplay. These Bana Mighdall girls would be fighting a brutal war, killing Atlanteans for sport on a daily basis, and they would be eager to come home to an amazing musclefuck against their favourite Sons of Eros. That was the job drilled into us.
After the sexual training, we would start our second workout session of the day. This would involve time-under-tension, focusing on high repetitions (around 12-20 reps per exercise), moderate weight and high intensity. Then it was Meal 3. After Meal 3, it was the third and final workout session, and this would involve explosive power, focusing on low repetitions (around 1-2 reps per exercise), extremely high weight volume, and moderate intensity. Then it was Meal 4. After Meal 4, it was Posing and Flexing Practice. More often than not, a Bana Mighdall loves to be entertained by a muscle show from their favourite Sons of Eros, before striking a couple of emasculating poses themselves, just to humiliate their men and show them exactly who is the real boss in the bedroom. And lastly, we end the day with Meal 5 before taking a shower, grooming ourselves and going to bed, only to repeat everything all over again the next day.
As for meals, the 5 meals were generously big meals, equivalent to 2 adult male portions, and these portions would get even bigger as we put on more muscle mass, just to meet our metabolic requirements. Meals were focused purely on energy and muscle building, and that means lots of clean carbs, lots of protein and lots of bland food. Every meal would be served with a double scoop protein shake, with us taking at least 2 grams of protein for every pound of bodyweight, and laden with a variety of carbs (such as brown rice, wholegrains, oats and boiled potatoes) and a super abundant amount of protein (such as chicken, fish, pork ribs, lean beef, turkey, tofu, beans, and LOTS of egg whites). Sometimes we could eat up to a whole chicken per person, per meal.
And I have to say, even after 3 weeks, I was showing astonishing results. I had put on 25-30 pounds of muscle, looking less like an athlete and more like an IFBB Men’s Physique Pro, much like Sadik Hadzovic and Jeff Seid. And there was a big reason for that besides the weight training and nutrition. It was testosterone. Not regular testosterone that bodybuilders use, but Amazonian-patented testosterone, Testosterone Hercules, a modified version special for guys that had a much-reduced risk of health damaging side effects, while maximising its muscle building potential…and libido. A wonder drug, and the Bana Mighdall juiced us up with it three times a day, 1500mg per injection, which if you think about it…was insane. With an added effect of penile enlargement. Tyrone, on the other hand, his targets, as set by Penthesilea, were to be a modern version of Ronnie Coleman, Flex Wheeler and Phil Heath, and already, he was getting there, putting on up to 40 pounds of muscle. We had weekly posedowns, judged by Penthesilea herself, and they were an opportunity to compare our conditioning with the rest of the class. Tyrone always placed first, and then there was the rest of us. I usually fared around the Top 5, and to be honest, I couldn’t care less about the placings. I was depressed out of my mind, the physical and mental pressure of the training just too overwhelming even for me, a former swimming athlete.
Honestly, I didn’t really give two shits about any Amazon or Bana Mighdall. I only cared about Cassie, and for these first three weeks, I had not seen her since her transformation. I had tendered in multiple formal requests for a visit, but all of them were denied, not by the Bana Mighdall command, but by Cassie herself. Which to me, felt like claws scratching against my heart. Cassie had changed since her transformation, not just physically and I needed to know why.
So, one morning, right at the end of our third week here, luck was on my side. The sun was not yet up, and it was early dawn, we were just preparing to start our daily Empire State climb, when I jogged past a large pantheon-themed gym with its large gaping arches beckoning me. Inside it was a singular figure, its movements swift and agile, the outlines of its bodily silhouette glinting in the dim light, the bulky, blocky countours resembling a rugged topographical terrain, and all in all, the figure looked huge, even from afar, closely reminding me of a IFBB Men’s Classic Physique competitor.
But something told me I knew this figure, and as my instincts brought me closer to the pantheon gym and past its entrance, I knew why. From afar, the figure looked like the prime specimen of brawn and virility, but I knew we were in an Amazonian barrack, and chances were, this body belonged to a girl, no matter how emasculating it was.
It was Cassie.
As I inched deeper into the pantheon gym, I could hear the feminine grunts of her exertion, the chilling growls of her ferocity and the deadly thumps of her fists striking a punching bag. It has been a while since I had seen her, but if I ever stopped short of calling her ripped a few weeks ago, then I wouldn’t repeat that same mistake again. Because right now, she was shamelessly naked, shamelessly RIPPED and just downright MUSCULAR.
And it was absolutely frightening how ruthlessly RIPPED she was. She looked like she had been working out like crazy, sporting an upgraded and roided-up version of herself from three weeks ago, every inch of shredded muscle looking bigger, bulkier and beefier than ever before, boasting complete levels of supra-human musculature and aesthetics. She still looked shy of a massive full-blown Bana Mighdall, but she was still JACKED nonetheless. And observing her bareknuckle attacks against the punching bag, the unrelenting barrage of her lighting punches spitting venom like machine gun fire, the spine-crushing twitches and jerks of the punching bag only evidencing the brutal force of her strikes, the swift movements of her body resembling the rehearsed precision of a professionally trained fighter. I could only stare, stunned in fear as trickles of sand were forced out from the seams of the punching bag with every blow she landed, some blows so inhumanly fast that I couldn’t even catch the flashes of her movement with my naked eyes. The bunched-up strength of her core, from the chiselled compactness of her cobblestoned abs, the bulging beef in her slabs of obliques, to the detailed serratus and intercostals looking like shark-gills, the muscled contours in synergistic flux with every twist of her torso. As she danced and shifted athletically in her bare feet, the thickened cords of undulating sinews in her musclebound calves, quads, adductors, hamstrings and glutes all rippling with power, coordinated in perfect kinetic choreography. Preparing for one final strike, the chained punching bag already sent swinging in an arc towards its ceiling with one of her deadly cross jabs, she then raised her right leg, folding her knees towards her chest, bunching up all the abundantly beefed-up muscles of her thighs, her hamstrings and glutes compacted like an Olympic sprinter ready to launch, before landing an exquisitely executed roundhouse kick straight to the incoming punching bag. I could make out the sexy outlines of her girly feet – toes, soles and heels fully plantar-flexed – the dorsum of her bare foot striking the punching bag with the ultra-herculean force of her Amazonian piston legs, the industrial grade chains holding the bag snapped in surrender, sending it into an explosion of sand as it flew straight across to the other side of the gym wall.
Standing tall, proud and naked, her body laden with the bulging topographical terrain of bulbous she-muscle, her exaggerated hourglass physique showcasing her muscularity and unique beauty, she looked like a character straight out of a Baki manga, a perfect real-life replica of Yujiro Hanma, Yuichiro Hanma and Jack Hanma. She looked really good, and obviously really big, like I mean, she was HUGE, and her smug facial expressions proved that she knew it. She knew she could go up on stage in the Men’s Classic Physique Olympia, go toe-to-toe with the likes of Chris Bumstead, Ramon Dino and Stephane Matala, and WIN, with just pure muscle mass alone because pound for pound, she was bigger, unquestionably bigger. She was just oozing size, and combine that with her posing, conditioning, and aesthetics, her win would be absolute. She was so ripped and massive, she could even embarrass half the Mr Olympia Open Bodybuilding lineup with her ultra-lean conditioning, aesthetics, posing and size.
At this point, I expected her workout to be over, but as soon as I wanted to speak, she lifted a finger as if to silence me. She then walked over to the side, where a granite boulder lay, about the size of a watermelon. She picked up the solid rock with relative ease, casually smashed it straight against her granite-chiselled abdomen, and the entire boulder shattering to a thousand pieces of debris.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. That was…almost unbelievable. To test it out for myself, I picked up one of the larger, fist-sized debris. I squeezed it inside my palm with all my might, my hands hurting and my skin blanched white from the force of exertion, but it was no use. The boulder was really made of solid, unbreakable granite, but Cassie somehow managed to crush it almost effortlessly against her abs, and without even a single scratch upon her flesh, proving once and for all that her muscles were way harder than even solid rock!
She then marched over to a caged section of the gym, looking somewhat like a batting ring. Inside the batting ring, was a big X marked on the ground where Cassie was supposed to stand. And then, located 30 yards away was a cannon, and inside it was loaded with cannonballs the size of bowling balls. Standing on the X, Cassie inhaled sharply, striking a well-rehearsed abdominals pose, bringing both her arms up and folding them behind her head, her exposed lats flaring abundantly like thick papayas stuck to her sides. She then twisted her tummy, doing an erotic belly dance before crunching down hard on her abdomen, which sent all the cobblestoned muscles in her midsection to bloom outrageously outwards, bulging increasingly in size, deepening the shadowy crevices separating them, her solid six-pack packed with blocky, angular detail that could grind beef patties into minced meat.
As if powered by AI, as soon as Cassie stood on the X, the cannon jumped to life, charging itself before blasting out three rounds of cannon fire, the three bowling-sized cannonballs launching straight towards her, the same type of arsenal used to destroy battleships and armoured vehicles. Still, she stood composedly firm, keeping her impressive abdominals pose as one after another, the three cannonballs smashed harmlessly into her sculpted six-pack, exploding into a thousand pieces of debris, but not even causing a single scratch on her invincible frame. Not even a cannonball (nay three cannonballs) was a match for the invincibility of her rippling abs.
She then transitioned into a vacuum pose, one arm folded behind her head, the other arm curled into a beautiful single biceps pose, and holding that pose, eyes burning with confidence, she looked like a true bodybuilder. Aesthetically pleasing to the core. She was just oozing confidence. She eyed adoringly at the size and definition engraved in her incredible bicep, her hand splayed as she slowly curled her elbow up, admiring the seductive contractions of the muscle as she pumped and unpumped, before at last, forcing one final powerful flex, her hand balled rapidly into a fist as her bicep erupted from her flesh. And it was HUGE, looking like the very definition of mass. Her arm was at least 20 inches around, and as a 19-year-old girl, that was quite the feat. How many 19-year-old girls, or 19-year-old GUYS, could say they have 20-inch biceps? And Cassie knew it, and she loved it.
She stepped out of the cage for the third station in her workout. There was a bench next to it, with racked barbell fully loaded to the max with much more weight I could only ever dream of lifting, making it look like an absolute monstrous contraption that could flatten cars. And that was assuming if the weights were made of iron. But they were not. They were made of osmium, making them EVEN HEAVIER, almost three times heavier! Each plate was almost 130 pounds, despite being the same size as a 45-pound regular iron plate. And loaded on that barbell were 30 of such plates, meaning 15 on each side! Giving a total of almost 4000 pounds, which was like heavier than a sedan!
But Cassie was unfazed. She positioned herself with full composure, growled angrily as she freed the barbell off its rack, and then flawlessly pumped out one, two, three, four…
…twenty-two perfect reps on the bench press, the clacking of the plates clattering against each other timed perfectly with each pump, her guttural growls of exertion and controlled breathing emanating across the gym. And when she restacked the horrific looking barbell, the clang of the metals thundering loudly, the entire room shook, the bar obviously bent due to the sheer weight dragged down by the gravity. She got off the bench, standing tall and proud, the beads of sweat running down her body, forming puddles on the floor, her bare-feet stamping out sweaty footprints. But she looked majestic and huge! The bench press gave her chest a full pump. Now going into a side triceps pose, rounding her shoulders and forcing out her grotesque horseshoe triceps, her beefy pecs puffed up, now bunching and expanding up to her chin looking as thick and bulky as loaves of bread, her detailed striations lined up like brush strokes to beautifully differentiate her upper, middle and lower pectoral fibres, while showing off a sexy pec cleavage that could make any male bodybuilder green with envy. And balanced upon all that were her voluptuous breasts, now grown to firm and perky DD cups, the rounded outlines blending in smoothly and naturally with her muscular pecs. She looked absolutely beautiful and powerful.
“Now what do you want, mortal?” she asked sternly, not bothering to look at me, just admiring her full-body muscles in the mirror. She might be checking for imperfections but there were none. To her, her only imperfection was that she wasn’t big enough! “And hurry up, I have 4 more sets!”
“Y-y-you didn’t want to see me. Y-y-you rejected my meet-up requests…” I stammered.
That was when she paused her flexing. She turned away from the mirror to face me, and she put one muscular foot in front of the other, marching intimidatingly towards me, her thunderous footsteps thumping on the ground. She stopped just inches away from my face and seeing that she was taller, she looked down at me. Standing this close, her imposing figure was enough to almost make me pee myself right then and there.
“Look at me. And then look at you. Are your muscles supposed to impress me, you little mortal? You think just because you put on some 30 pounds of muscle, somehow you’re the boss of this relationship? I put on double the amount of muscle you did, 60 pounds! Easily. And right now,” she stepped forward closer which made me back off and cower slightly as I thought she was going to trample over me. “I’m an Amazon. I’m bigger, taller, heavier and stronger than you. We are not equals.”
She then grabbed onto my throat and lifted my 200-pound body off the ground as if I weighed like nothing. Just as I thought she was going to choke the life out of me, she unexpectedly planted a kiss right onto my lips, and a passionate one at that, her tongue skilful as it was luscious.
As we parted, she said, “I do love you, I truly do. But I’m an Amazon now, and my sexual physiology has changed. You just don’t turn me on. I need a big, strong, muscular man, as big, strong and muscular as you can ever be, and I need the pleasure of dominating and emasculating a big, strong, muscular man. I want to see him being helplessly afraid as I MUSCLEFUCK him. THAT turns me on. There is no excitement nor pride in dominating weak, wimpy, small men. Do you get me? All Amazons are like that.
“And I only plan to get bigger! I want to be a Bana Mighdall, the best there ever was! And because of that, you need to work extra hard, and become more muscular than any other man, as I intend to be the most RIPPED Bana Mighdall of all!”
And as she put me down, she gave my cheeks a gentle stroke and one final kiss, before turning to continue her next set. She picked up a new punching bag lying in a big pile, which looked really heavy (almost needing two men to lift), placing it over her shoulders as casually as lifting a bolster, before making her way to the fighting ring.
“Oh and one more thing, your shoulders are slouching. One way to change that is to build up your rear delts. It will make all the difference.”
And with that, she chained the punching bag up to the ceiling and continued her barrage of attacks against it, her strikes as ferocious as they are scary. Stunned, I watched her for a bit, before I rejoined my group.