The Favorite

[MuscleWomanBR]

The Favorite

I remember the first time I saw you very clearly. It was a very cold morning—at least by our tropical standards. Everyone was cheating on their fitness diets with hefty doses of hot chocolate before heading off to the "slaughterhouse in pursuit of a better life," though no one really knows what that means. That's why we delay old age and become stronger in this factory of muscles and flexible bodies we call a "gym," a word that once named a place where brains were exercised. Not that brains aren't exercised here, but the goal is different. Mine is to seduce men like you. Sometimes women... Well, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I saw you fresh out of the shower after an hour of lifting weights. That day, you worked on your glutes. In fact, you worked on them a lot—which is rare among men, especially Brazilian men, so macho about their untouched behinds... They don't know what they're missing. But you, let's say, exercised your glutes with special conviction that day. And that turned me on even more. I'm obsessed with men's butts. Yours immediately caught my attention. It was the bait that led me to discover you. Since then, I haven't lost sight of you.

You never noticed me in that trendy chain gym, always packed at that hour. I learned very quickly how to go unnoticed. Especially when I'm stalking my prey. Besides your butt, I chose you for your stature and your dominant, powerful macho demeanor. That's the type that turns me on the most! Precisely because it's the most challenging, the most resistant. And above all, the most arrogant. Arrogant men drive me crazy... With that MMA fighter's body, you naturally command attention. Worse than that, you intimidate with your insolent presumption. Even when you ask politely—and you are a polite guy—you're still giving orders. Your demeanor, your tone of voice, the expression in your eyes—they all say you're commanding, never asking. At six-foot-three, you always look down on people. Who wouldn't be afraid of a guy like that?

Your beauty is also intimidating. That carefully unkempt beard on your square jaw is the calling card of your overwhelming masculinity, as if your broad shoulders and biceps, always highlighted in the tight shirts you wear to work out, weren't enough. Or in the expensive suits you wear after your post-workout shower. Suits that make you even more masculine and imposing. You look like a top executive at a big company. But I know you're not. You know you're handsome and virile, so you can fake a power you don't have. Who would doubt that this man with impeccable white teeth, brown eyes, curly hair, and a healthy, sexy tan isn't someone running a million-dollar business? The thing is, millionaires don't work out at chain gyms like this one, with promotional prices that anyone in the lower middle class can afford.

So it was easy. I followed your butt and found out who you are. A urologist on the rise in your career, still without the money to afford a fancy gym—or saving up to buy a bigger apartment. Because yours is quite modest for someone who appears so well-off...

Indeed, appearances can be deceiving. Starting with mine.

I'm far, very far from being ugly. On the contrary, I'm quite confident in my beauty. I'm just not foolish enough to flaunt it or impose it like you do. In fact, typical behavior of an insecure male. I'm a master at going unnoticed, as you already know. I wear sunglasses whenever they don't look ridiculous, and I like to cover my hair with a veil. Besides, it makes hunting easier. I stay hidden most of the time under clothes that make it hard to tell what's underneath. Especially at the gym. There, I only make exceptions when I'm baiting my prey. If I didn't hide, they'd run away quickly, scared.

I'm a muscular woman. If I weren't, you wouldn't have gotten this far, of course. I'm more defined than bulky. Female bodybuilding has the side effect of confusing muscle mass with a muscular body. My body is muscular but not deformed by the hypertrophy achieved with a "little help" from hefty doses of pharmaceuticals. I'm somewhere between a weightlifter and an Olympic gymnast—just without the steroids.

The only surprise you gave me was revealing that you like women like me. Men like that are rarer than women like me. At least few have the courage to admit this fetish, except under the protection of anonymity. Fear of seeming gay? Well, maybe you are a type of gay, but I'll leave that to the psychoanalysts. What matters here is that my hunt resulted in prey that enjoys the hunt.

That mugging was providential. I was already following you as you left the gym. I had to cut my workout short if I wanted to catch up with you. I was going to approach you anyway. Then the mugger showed up. He had no way of knowing that when I'm about to bite my prey, I completely lose my reason. I couldn't contain myself anymore, and that night I would have approached you no matter what. And it happened. I didn't think twice. When I saw the guy shoving a gun into your ribs, I went after him with my rudimentary jiu-jitsu skills. I was filled with rage because he had messed up my plans. That's why I almost killed him.

In the end, it brought me greater dividends than expected. Much greater. I enjoyed playing hard to get, pretending to resist your charms and gallantries filled with gratitude for saving your life. Of course, you were dying to sleep with me. I even thought you might just be another guy interested in showing off to his friends that he was hooking up with the hot, fit girl from the gym. But you were fascinated by my muscles. More than that, you're a guy fascinated by muscular women. That was the only surprise you gave me, as I said. Otherwise, you're quite conventional.

It's true that you were even more amazed when you heard my whole theory about physical strength and boxing as a philosophy of life. I wasn't lying. I honestly think that way. I don't know another woman like me. Of course, there are athletes and women who work out hard, even without competing. That's not what I'm talking about. I might be the only woman who pursues physical strength as a meaning for life. I have no other desire than to become stronger and stronger. Physically stronger. What comes beyond that is a side effect—in this case, a good one, obviously. I'm not even sure you fully understood that, but now it doesn't matter. The fact is, I finally caught my prey. And only now do you realize it.

Before you, there was that boxing trainer. A complete jerk, whom I met at a supermarket and had been following for months. Handsome, well-endowed, great in bed, and stupidly macho, just how I like them. The night before I took you to that idiot's gym, I had had a wild night with him. I came like crazy! And when he was basking in the afterglow, about to declare his love for me because he had never come like that in his life, I told him I had married you months ago. The guy was furious! He threatened to hit me right then and there, can you believe it? I told him I was dying to rub his face in the canvas, right there in the ring where he taught. So, the next day, I took you with me under the pretext of showing you the gym where I trained boxing. You believed me. Your naivety touches me, you know? I managed a double humiliation: beating him in front of all his students and the husband I was cheating on him with.

That was the last orgasm I had with that idiot. Yes, I came while beating him up. Feeling my muscles and strength in action during boxing gives me a pleasure I can't describe. And beating up a man like that, who prides himself on being a boxing trainer and champion... Poor guy! A champion in a neighborhood on the outskirts! But it doesn't matter where. What matters is defeating the guy who thinks he's a great champion. Beating him up! Giving him a thrashing! And making him understand very clearly that he's being beaten by a woman who is much stronger and fights much better than him! That throws me into an even more indescribable pleasure... I can feel every muscle in my body imposing its strength... From my calves to my biceps... All my muscles are parts of a weapon. I am a weapon, darling. I don't fight to compete, as you already know. Boxing is for me to feel my own strength and to make others feel it. Painfully.

Then there was the gas station attendant. Hot. Very hot. And he knew it. This one wasn't afraid to wear tight pants to show off his butt. That's what I saw first. I lost count of how many times I filled up at that crappy station. It seemed like the end of the world. There was almost never anyone there. It must have been used for money laundering or drug trafficking, who knows. What interested me was the hot attendant. I always gave him a tip and a naughty smile. He was my height. Well-toned body. He definitely spent half his salary on gym memberships. Black. Very black. Shaved head. A killer smile. Beautiful white teeth. And that marvelous butt... His underwear showed through his pants... It gave me uncontrollable desire. I masturbated in the car, devouring that man with my eyes, across the street. I did that for about three months.

One early morning, I decided to strike. I was only wearing a coat over my top and boxing shorts. I put on boxing shoes. The guy didn't even notice the bandages on my hands. He invited me for a quickie in the back, in a horrible place that reeked of oil. He couldn't believe he was finally going to sleep with a beautiful woman like me. He was definitely going to tell his friends he had hooked up with the hot white chick... But as soon as we entered that stinky storage room, I closed the gate, tied up my ponytail, and took off my coat. The poor guy had never seen anything like it in his life. "Let's warm up, hot stuff." He gave me a silly smile, and I immediately landed three jabs right in that beautiful smile. He didn't even have time to understand what was happening. Jab. Jab. Straight. Jab. Cross. Jab. Straight. Hook. Jab. Jab. Hook. Jab. Jab. Jab. Straight. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. Knockout. It wasn't a fight. Because he couldn't react. He had no idea what boxing was, much less that a woman could hit as hard as I can.

This hunt wasn't fun at all. It was the easiest prey of my hunting career. At least so far. So I decided to have a little fun with the hottie before leaving. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to a tire repair tank full of dirty water. Then I dunked his head in it five or six times and yelled, "If you ever open your mouth about what happened here, I'll come back and finish what I started!" Of course, I would never go back. I'm a hunter, not an idiot. But I got so turned on making that threat... I felt like I was in an action movie!

You're my third. The favorite. At least so far. You're the richest, the fittest, the most polite, the most virile of the three. And also the most arrogant, the most presumptuous, the most full of yourself. So much so that we're here, in this luxury bungalow, on top of a remote, isolated mountain, perfect for someone who doesn't want to be found. You chose this place to have lots of sex with me, didn't you? The perfect husband who wants to fuck the powerful pussy of his hot wife, right? You wanted to stay hard and come all over these hard boxer muscles... Boxer... Just that word gets you hard, doesn't it? I'm the woman of your dreams, darling... Beautiful, intelligent, independent, muscular, and... a boxer! Who else can fulfill a fetish like that, huh, handsome? You took full advantage, didn't you? We took full advantage. For you, it's over. For me, what matters is just beginning. Now comes the cherry on top. I had great sex with you. Your cock is the most beautiful and delicious I've ever ridden. So much so that I almost forgot you're mine, can you believe it? But that was just the appetizer. The main course is coming now.

Enough of the story. I can't stand seeing that stupid look of shock on your face anymore. It's making you less hot, turning me off... I'll give you a chance to escape. Remember that the nearest town is fifteen kilometers from here? Of course, I hid the car keys! Why do men always think women can't think?! I already told you: I'm a hunter, not an idiot! So here's what we'll do: I'll count to a hundred while you run from here... Damn! I'm already so turned on! Run hard, handsome, because if I catch you... I mean, when I catch you... I've been working out my arms a lot more these past twenty days. Heavier weights for stronger punches, understand? Did you notice my more defined, harder biceps? You did, I know you did. Your cock doesn't let you lie. And now I'm running twelve kilometers... I wonder why?

I'm at my peak, handsome. Ready to take on a man like you. Try to stop me, because if you can't, I won't stop. It was so much fun conquering you, every woman's dream guy. But the greatest pleasure, the one that perhaps no other woman can have, begins with my training. Man! You have no idea how I prepared for today... A thousand sit-ups a day, 140 kilos on squats, 120 on deadlifts, 150 on leg presses, 35 on each arm, and a lot, a lot, a lot of sparring. I almost finished off my partners... And now I'm ready to crush the boxer's husband. I'm holding back from starting to hit you right now. Like this. Jab. Jab. Straight. Jab. Cross. Jab. Straight. Hook. Jab. Jab. Hook. Jab. Jab. Jab. Straight. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. Knockout. Get it? That's how I take down my prey. Feeling the strength of my fists. See? That's it! Strength! Do you understand my philosophy now? Squeeze my arm... Squeeze it... I'm telling you to squeeze my arm, damn it! Do you feel it? That's the arm of a woman who lifts weights and boxes. If you don't get it, you'll get it when this arm hits your body. You'll get it when your gym-trained muscles can't handle the strength of my punches. You'll get it when you feel the pain of a humiliating beating. My whole body is asking for this, hot stuff. It's stronger than me, understand? My desire is the only thing stronger than me.

Run, handsome man, run, run, run...

[MuscleWomanBR]

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[MuscleWomanBR]

The rain started beating down on the bungalow's zinc roof just after you went running out the back door, the one that leads straight into the woods. I heard your heavy, desperate footsteps fading into the wet earth, the sound muffled by the branches and leaves you crushed in your flight.

I stood on the porch, counting to one hundred very slowly, as promised. The adrenaline was already making my muscles pulse, a delicious tingling that ran up my legs and concentrated in my core, ready to explode. The sight of your flight, of that powerful male reduced to pure survival instinct, was the final aphrodisiac. I almost came just imagining the fear in your eyes.

But one hundred came.

I grinned widely and took the first step off the porch into the forest. The cold rain was a perfect contrast to the heat my body was generating. I was a high-performance predator, entering its natural habitat. The hunt was just beginning.

You ran well, I'll admit. For a urologist who spends his days between consulting rooms and the gym, you had decent stamina. I followed your tracks easily: a broken branch here, the mark of a sneaker sole in the mud there, a disturbance in a spider web further on. You were loud, desperate. A cornered animal.

I let you tire yourself out. I let the forest scare you a little more. Let you hear the threatening silence, the nighttime noises, your own ragged breath. The chase is as much a part of the pleasure as the capture.

I found you leaning against a huge jequitibá tree trunk, about three miles from the bungalow, your side bleeding from where you'd scratched yourself on a thorn bush. Your breathing was a hoarse roar. You didn't even hear me arrive.

"One hundred," I said, my voice a whisper that cut through the sound of the rain.

You turned so fast you almost lost your balance. Your eyes, once full of arrogance and desire, were now just pools of pure panic.

"No... please..." was all you could gasp.

I lunged. It wasn't a run, it was an explosion. Three steps and I was on you. You tried to defend yourself, raised your arms like a novice. It was pathetic. It was delicious.

Jab. My left fist hit your forearm. I heard a satisfying crack. You screamed in pain.
Jab. The second hit the same spot. Your arm gave way.
Straight. A powerful punch to the solar plexus. All the air left your lungs with a dull thud. You folded in half.
Cross. The blow came from the side, hitting your temple. Your vision must have gone dark instantly.
You fell to your knees, choking, trying to catch your breath.

"The muscles you worked out in the gym can't handle the force of my punches, remember?" I said, my voice calm, almost maternal. "You're strong for lifting iron, pretty boy. I'm strong for taking down men like you."

I grabbed your wet hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look at me.

"It's the cherry on top."

What followed wasn't a fight. It was a methodical application of my art. Every punch was placed with surgical precision: on the ribs, on the shoulders, on the thighs. Places that hurt immensely, that incapacitate, but don't kill. Not yet. I wanted to feel every muscle in my body working, every fiber contracting and releasing pure force. It was like having sex, but more intense, more true.

You tried to fight back once, a weak, predictable hook that I blocked easily before responding with an uppercut that made your teeth clack together with a sound I felt in my wrist.

When you were on the ground, motionless, just moaning softly, I sat on your torso, my firm quadriceps immobilizing you completely. The rain washed the blood from your face.

"You were the favorite," I whispered, close to your ear. "The most delicious. The most fun to conquer. But no prey is forever."

I put my fingers on your neck, feeling your fast, fragile pulse beating against my rough, bandaged skin.

And then I saw it. On the ground, next to your open hand, half-buried in the leaf litter, was a sharp rock. You had grabbed it. You had waited. You had tried one last trap.

That... I didn't expect that.

A cold, sudden respect shot through me. The final arrogance. The refusal to surrender. Even in that state, you were still a challenge.

I smiled, for real this time.

"Nice try, big guy."

And then, with a strength renewed by the new thrill of the discovery, I started again.

This time, I wasn't training anymore. This time, it was personal.

The whole forest heard your last sounds. And I, I felt every single one of mine.

When it was over, I sat in the rain, looking at my hands. They hurt gloriously. My whole body sang with satisfaction. The hunt was complete.

The fourth had been the best. The most challenging. The one that made me feel most alive.

But every hunter knows that after the peak comes the fall. The need for new prey, a new challenge, a new favorite.

I got up, looking down the muddy road that led back to civilization. A few miles ahead, a new high-end gated community was being built. I had already seen the engineer in charge. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the quiet arrogance of a man who commands a hundred others.

He worked out at a boutique gym downtown. Chain gyms were for the plebs, for up-and-coming doctors like you.

I smiled to myself, in the rain.

Looked like I'd already found the fifth.