Forum Saradas
Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction => Muscular Women Fiction => Topic started by: MuscleWomanBR on March 09, 2023, 03:42:53 pm
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The sun seemed high. What time would it be? How long were you trapped there? Now alone, with his testicles still throbbing, the former fighter was sure they would soon miss him. The sun seemed high. What time was it? How long had he been trapped there? Now alone, with his testicles still throbbing, the former fighter was sure that they would soon notice his absence. It was impossible for no one to notice his disappearance! Single, he lived with his parents and had a girlfriend - a black belt in karate, in fact. The gym was certainly open, but its five employees would be surprised to find it closed. There was no message on WhatsApp explaining his disappearance. Surely his parents, friends, students, and the police would start scouring the neighborhood in a few hours. Soon, his disappearance would be featured in sensational afternoon TV programs. Marcos tried to calmly review what had happened: the morning run, the strange invitation from Mrs. Irene, the coffee, the fainting... and here he was tied to a chair by a deranged woman, with a sickening speech about physical superiority and learning to fight. She was convinced that he was now like a possession, a slave to her! This idea sent a shock of indignation through his body. He vaguely knew that foreigners cultivated such a thing as "white supremacy," and he had heard of a certain Ku Klux Klan, which didn't even exist in Brazil... Could Mrs. Irene be a follower of one of these crazinesses? Marcos had never been an anti-racist activist, but his status as a mestizo in a country with a long history of slavery and hidden racism made him furious at any reminder of slavery and especially at any hint of racial discrimination. But he fought alone, in his own way, without joining identity movements or leftist parties - which, incidentally, he repudiated. He saw his effort and gradual business success as the best way to assert himself socially, denying the exclusion of blacks and browns like himself. He believed that, with effort and hard work, he would break down all social barriers. He was ambitious. He intended to establish a respected network of gyms, expanding it throughout Brazil... In fact, these digressions were a way for Marcos to endure the declining, but humiliating pain and the absurdity of that situation. The tension soon returned, however, when Mrs. Irene burst into the annex carrying a tray.
"Lunch time, champion," she announced. "Since we're just getting started, you'll have to swallow this mush like a baby. The gag has a hole in it. That's where the food will go in. Don't worry, it's quite nutritious. Vegetables blended with beef broth. Well seasoned..."
Marcos pulled back his head as the woman, seated in front of him, tried to insert a tube into the hole at the center of the ball filling his former trainer's mouth. Dona Irene just caressed the man's scrotal sack, causing him to make a panicked expression. "Well, you've got the idea, haven't you? Behave like a good boy and everything will go smoothly." Shortly after, there he was, swallowing about a liter of vegetable mush, as if he were a toothless child, choking a few times.
"Now I'm going to explain a few more things to you. You can't stay tied up like this all the time. But don't think I'm going to untie you. Not yet. Gradually you will gain more movement because I want you to exercise. And then teach me how to fight." Marcos groaned, furrowing his brow in an expression of horror and indignation. "Calm down! Everything in due time," the woman continued. "No rush. And I know you don't believe me, despite everything that's happening. With time, you'll learn to take me seriously."
Dona Irene stood up and waited for Marcos to faint again.
While her prisoner slept with his head slumped over his chest, Dona Irene indulged in a series of weightlifting exercises, which always excited her as she felt her physical strength in every muscle that worked diligently. In recent years, these sessions always ended in a prolonged and unvarying gymnastic masturbation. However, for the first time, the athletic lady didn't need to imagine the muscular stallions that she subjected in her fantasies: now she had her own, right there, languishing, bent in a chair, with his stunning nude body, all for her. But she couldn't linger in contemplation. Before the effect of the medicine wore off, she had to chain the former wrestler's wrists and ankles to the wall. Dona Irene muffled the cry of the orgasm she had just reached and, naked, quickly untied Marcos, lifting him onto her shoulders. The man grunted. The fifty-year-old woman gently placed him against the wall and tied the leather handcuffs to the ends of that beautiful athlete's body she had just masturbated over. "Good boy," she whispered, pressing her muscular body against his.
Ten minutes passed - and Marcos began to regain consciousness, while she pressed him against the wall, gently rubbing her clitoris against the rigid left quadriceps of the former MMA athlete. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, interrupting the growing waves of pleasure for Dona Irene. She hesitated. Should she trade an orgasm for an unnecessary door-to-door bleach salesman? The doorbell rang again. And with it, sensibility. That impatience could only be someone already searching for Marcos. She let him crumple to his knees, arms suspended by chains, grabbed her long, furry robe, and left to the sound of the third ring.
Coming! Coming! - she shouted, putting on her clothes as she walked to the door.
Behind the garden gate, a beautiful white girl with light brown hair, sportswear, and an erect posture looked nervously into the house.
Hi! Good afternoon! Could you give me some information, please?
Good afternoon! Yes, what is it? - Mrs. Irene replied, with the door ajar.
Do you know Marcos Galdino?
Who?
Marcos Galdino, the owner of the nearby gym.
Oh, yes, I know him. I attended his gym until about four years ago...
Well, he disappeared...
What do you mean?! - Mrs. Irene opened the door, crossed the small garden, and approached the girl, amiably touching her arms. - Oh, my God! What do you mean, my daughter?
Well, he went out for a run this morning and never came back.
But wasn't he carrying his cellphone? - the lady asked, aware that Marcos did not carry the device during his runs.
No, Marcos didn't run with the cellphone. The device is still at the gym.
Oh, my God in heaven... But can't you see if he had scheduled any appointments?... He may be in a meeting or doing something like that and forgot to notify.
No, he had nothing scheduled. I'm going door-to-door on this street to see if anyone saw him today. Did you see him?
No, no... I haven't seen Marcos for a long time. I haven't seen him since I stopped going to the gym. You know how it is, I'm getting old, right? The gym is for young people - said Mrs. Irene, savoring her intentionally contracted muscular abdomen under the thick robe. - But look, I'll keep an eye out, okay? If I hear anything, I'll let the gym know.
Oh, please! Everyone is very worried. Marcos doesn't usually disappear like this. We've already notified the police, but you know how it is... And I can't just sit around waiting for time to pass.
You're right. I'll pray that he shows up soon, okay? I'm sure everything is fine with him... He must have forgotten to tell us where he was. Marcos will show up soon. Don't worry. - Mrs. Irene made a compassionate expression. And added: - I'm sorry! I didn't even ask your name...
Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm so nervous that I didn't introduce myself. I'm Sandra, Marcos's girlfriend. And you are...?
Irene.
When the widow returned to the annex, she noticed that she had left the door open, through which came the tense jingling of chains and Marcos' now more desperate grunts. He had heard the doorbell. Dona Irene was confronted with the tense man, stretching the chains as far as possible, as if trying to rip them from the wall. The woman became aroused by the sight of that athletic musculature involuntarily displaying itself to her with all its vigor.
"How handsome you are, Marcos..." she sighed, taking off her robe. "I'm not going to masturbate now because we have a lot to do. So calm down. It's no use trying to escape or scream. Get used to it. Now you're mine," and she punched him in the stomach. Marcos writhed with the force of the blow, but the greater shock was from the unexpected gesture. Dona Irene hit him again, now on the temple, opening a gash in his eyebrow from which blood flowed profusely. Another punch, now under the jaw. Unaccustomed to the pains of the ring, the former fighter groaned under the erotic gag, through which saliva, blood, and the mush that Dona Irene shoved down his throat flowed. The widow's punches were very powerful.
"I lack technique, don't I?" - presumed the woman. "Now you understand why you're here? I mean, it's also for this," and she punched Marcos in the liver. "I've been training boxing alone, but nothing compares to having a teacher like you. Or punching you," she added with a smile. Even an athletic body like his couldn't absorb the force with which Dona Irene beat him. And she distributed punches to the most sensitive areas of her prisoner's body. "This time I'll spare your balls," she said, after fifteen long minutes of intense beating. Marcos' eyes were swollen, his face bloody, dark spots and bruises all over his body, his muscles sore. With some difficulty, he could contemplate his reflection in the mirror, strategically placed in front of him on the other side of the room. "Start learning who's in charge here," Dona Irene whispered in her former trainer's ear, now on his knees and hanging from the handcuffs. She took two steps back and kicked him in the face. Marcos passed out.