Domination: Which would you prefer?

[taoschild]

I'm writing a novel and I'm including a domination scene. By this point the female is slightly stronger than the male.  I'm trying to figure out which type of domination is most appealing to people.  Which of these options would be most interesting to you - it may affect how I complete the scene although I need to keep it in character to a certain extent.

[taoschild]

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[MaryMuscle]

How long is the novel? Where are you publishing it? I would think the characters would have to be pretty developed by the time this scene happens so your answer might not be best crowdsourced.  Still...I'm voting too.

[taoschild]

Its going to be about 300 pages. I'm not sure of our pr-publishing plan so I'll ask my wife and post more if its in the plan.  The rough draft introduction can be found here:
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[tmbosch]

really not a fan of humiliation and degrading.

[PleaseForgiveMe]

For me, it seriously depends on what the male character is like and to a far lesser extent, what the female is like. As it could end up becoming ooc and break the immersion for me.

[giantgirl7foot2]

I think The Making of a Submissive Ex by Skip is an awesome example of how a man can be made into submission. Despite generally favouring tall amazons, this is one of my favourite text stories ever and definitely a suggestion to read if you're struggling to decide about the extents of domination.

-

The Making of a Submissive Ex
by Skip



I was horrified. I wanted to climb into a hole.

I didn't even know she had come by, I guess I had left the door unlocked. But
there she was when I came out of the shower, sitting at my desk, staring at
my computer screen. I knew what I'd been doing, what I'd been looking at.
Did I close my browser? Did I click that little savior of an "x" in the
corner before walking away? I felt queasy, but hopeful, and immediately opted
for the smooth approach, hoping my terror was over nothing. That she had
opened up Chrome and was looking at the news.

"Oh, hi, I didn't hear you come in" I said, as confidently as I could muster.

She looked over at me, and with an ever-so-subtle arch of her eyebrow I knew
I'd been discovered.

She pointed at the screen.  "This is what you look at when I'm not here?
Are you into this?" She looked at the computer. "This looks nothing like
me. Nothing." Looking back at me, with some emotion I couldn't quite grasp,
she said, "Are you into this?"

I walked over and started stammering. "What? What the heck is that, it must
have been a pop-up window from something else. Might have been a virus.
There's been a lot of spam lately." I reached for the mouse to click out of
the windows but she pulled it away from me.

"This is no virus, and this is no pop-up." She started clicking through the
various tabs, each of which was opened to a different video or image that I'd
been viewing. "Or this. Or this one. Wow, or this one, either. What is she
doing to him here? I didn't know a guy could bend this way."

"Look, you shouldn't have been on my computer in the first place," I said
somewhat annoyed. I closed the laptop before she could stop me. "Who knows
why that's there, it's not from me." I said those so confidently that it was
abundantly clear I was lying. I stepped away from her.

She opened the laptop back up, but the screen required a password to
re-enter. "What's your password, let's talk about this, you don't have to be
afraid."

"No way. No password. Let's go out of my office." I tried to grab her by
the hand but she pulled it away from me. "I'm serious. I'm really upset
right now."

"You're upset? I can see you're embarrassed, but are you the one who just
found out her boyfriend likes to look at fetish pictures of women
bodybuilders?  That picture of that hugely muscular woman sitting on that
guy's face? And the video of the other woman slapping the guy and wrestling
him into submission?  Is that what you're into? You want me to get all
muscle-y and beat the crap out of you?" She reached for the towel around my
waist and made an attempt to rip it off me. I pushed her hand away. "Does
that turn you on?"

I was silent while she looked at me.

"You need to tell me. When I'm not here, do you jerk off to pictures and
videos like this? And when I am here, are you thinking of women like this
when we're in bed together? Tell me!"

I turned away from her. "I think you need to leave right now. I am not
having this conversation."

"We're going to need to have it. I'm totally fine if you're into this, I just
want us to be hon--"

"I said leave. Now."

"Or what? Do have a muscle woman in the closet who'll kick the crap out of me
and once I'm knocked out she'll kick the crap out of you and get you off?
You know, I could slap you around a bit if you want, maybe you'd like to spice
things up a bit? I may be skinny but I have attitude. Just talk to me."

"Get OUT!" I walked out of the room and into the bathroom, and closed the
door. "Out! Now!"

I heard her get up and walk away, then I heard the door close, and she was
gone.

She called later that night but I didn't want to talk. I hung up on her. I
did that several times. She came by the next day, and the next and the next,
but I was too embarrassed to see her. I had to cut things off, to save my
manhood. I was done with her.

I couldn't believe what I was looking at. These women were huge! I'd seen
some buff chicks around town, coming out of the gym or running along the
water. But not like these women. They were packed with muscle, all over.
Tab after tab were videos and pictures of massively muscled women, and most of
the videos showed them beating up or wrestling and defeating smaller men.
Every tab had something a little bit different, but they all had the same
theme -- the man was weaker than the woman. And knew it.

My heart was beating so fast from this shock, and I wanted to see more but
then he walked in from the bathroom and saw me in front of the screen. He
went white. I knew that he knew he'd been caught.

He had never once indicated to me that he was into bondage or masochism or
anything like this. Heck, I was tall but so thin and weak that it would have
been strange for me to try! So this was such a surprise to me, to know that
there was this side to my boyfriend that was off-the-charts kinky.  Did he
want to have a woman sit on him and shove her pussy onto his face? Did he
want to be carried around on a woman's shoulders and jerked off while in the
air? Did he want to be spanked over a woman's knee? Did he like the look
and feel of muscles on a woman? I wanted to know if these were just videos
and pictures or if this was his 'thing' and he was missing it by being with
me.

We had a great relationship and all, and I really liked him, even loved him, I
think, but he was pretty darned conventional, all things considered. Or at
least I thought so up to that point. So I was I. Two conventional people
having their conventional relationship until one of them gets onto the other's
conventional computer and all conventions go out the window.

I was so curious. Could this be a way of spicing things up? I must admit I
found the idea that he was kinky quite sexy, even if the way he was kinky was
so foreign to me. I wanted to ask so many questions but I had to get him to
calm down and open up.

But I didn't find that possible. As much as I tried to prod him to talk, he
shut down and ultimately asked me to leave.

When I got home I went to the website he'd been on, one of the many porn video
sites that had a wide variety of content. I did my own surfing on the site,
using a variety of search terms. 'Muscular woman' brought up some amazing
videos of a series of woman, one larger than the next. Massive arms. Massive
legs. Huge barrel chests generally with fake tits sticking straight out.
'Female bodybuilder' brought up different videos but with similar looking
women. I searched 'man being spanked by muscular woman' and came across some
insane videos, one of which I'd seen on his computer, of men over the laps of
these large women, with their bare asses exposed and being slapped over and
over until they cried out. I searched 'muscle woman fucking man,' and that's
when I was drawn in. There was a video of a woman riding a man, flexing her
arms and forcing him to feel her muscles. There was a video of a man with his
legs wrapped around a much larger and stronger woman, as she held him up and
let him penetrate her. And then there was a video of a man on his back, his
legs pulled over his head, while a woman bodybuilder strapped on a dildo and
penetrated him.

What started hours earlier as shock, and then as curiosity, quickly became
interest. This looked amazing. What these women could do was astounding.
Such confidence. Such control. I was missing so much by being weak. I
wanted to look and be like these women.

And now that I knew that my boyfriend was into that, he would love me even
more. I understood now. I wanted to be a part of his fetish, for him and for
me.

I called him that night to tell him, but he immediately hung up before I could
even say a word. I called again but nothing. I went to his house the next
day, and I knew he was home, but he wouldn't answer the door. I was shut off,
even though I had so much to give. After a month or so of trying, I stopped.
But instead,

It had been a while, but I recognized the number. It wasn't her normal cell
number but it was a number from a conference room at her office. She was
disguising herself so I would pick up. I hadn't talked to her or seen her in
over three years. I'd done as good a job as I could at eradicating that
experience from my waking memory. The first few months were filled with
moments when the memory of that day, when I'd been discovered, and I would
visibly cringe. If I were around other people I'd pass it off as a quick
headache, but it was definitely more than that. It was humiliation. But over
time, that faded.

And so did the underlying desire for muscular women, and the kinds of
relationships and dynamics that had been fantasies for me. I saw a therapist
for a year and a half, talked about the experience and she explored the
reasons behind the desire, whether I wanted or needed to get past that desire,
and how I could do so. I hadn't looked at a video or picture of a muscular
woman in well over 6 months, and rarely thought of doing so. I was "cured," I
guess, although I never really thought I was sick. But the cure was the
knowledge that I'd never be "discovered" again.

I knew it was her on the phone. I knew I still missed her after these years
of being apart -- other than that instance, our time together was magical. We
may have eventually gotten married if I hadn't been in the shower that day.
But then again, I would have probably been discovered later anyway. I knew I
could never be with her again, that the sight of her would flood back the
memories of that day and make things so uncomfortable for me that I'd probably
run. But I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Hi, it's me." She expected me to know her voice after all this time. Of
course I did.

"Wow. Been a long while. Hi."

"How have you been?"

"I'm great. What's up?"

"Oh, ok. I guess you want me to get to the point."

"That's not what I meant, but since you mentioned it..."

"Can we talk a bit? I was really hoping to get your opinion on something, and
on this topic I would value yours over anyone else's."

"On what?"

"I can't talk about it here. Can we meet? Would you be ok with that?"

I thought for a minute. I really didn't want to see her. But then I
considered, I was already on the phone with her and I wasn't cringing. Live a
little, I said to myself.

"OK. When, where."

"How about this evening, can you come by? I'll give you my new address."
She did so. "8pm?"

I agreed to meet her. At her place. It was a fateful decision.

It was time. It had been three years. I hadn't seen him even once. I
stopped calling after a few months and decided to cut him off entirely.  I
made sure my friends didn't see him either. We were now strangers to each
other, "somebody we used to know" as they say. But with shared experience,
both good and terrible. But it was time.

Time to share with him the new me.

Time to share with him the new us.

I had never really gotten over him. I'd never gotten over the "him" that
existed in our relationship bliss before that final day, because in that
relationship I was happier than at any other time in my life. And I'd never
gotten over the "him" that existed in private, that I had revealed that final
day, and the idea that I could participate in that private existence, in a way
that would bring us both even greater happiness. If you'd questioned me the
day before, could I imagine happiness in a fetish-driven private existence, I
would have said 'huh?' But that fetish, with that man, and now with me as I
am now, it feels like it should be, and must be.

Oh, you probably don't know what I mean by "as I am now."

I've changed. A lot. Physically and mentally.

Seeing those images was shocking at first, and then intriguing. As I explored
these fetishes myself on video sites, I was transfixed, scouring for all the
different angles that these muscular women used on smaller men, and all the
different ways the men would submit to their stronger women. I could have
written a book on the subject, I had immersed myself so much in my research.
But then I remember that night a few weeks into my explorations that I had
this intense dream, a dream where I was with him again, even though he had
been completely ignoring me, and we were sitting on the couch, and I grabbed
him by the back of the shirt and pulled him over my lap. I pulled him so hard
he was off the couch momentarily as he flew across my legs. I pulled on his
jeans and ripped them off, threw them shredded to the floor. His underwear
had the same journey. I took off my blouse in the dream and I could see
myself, swollen with huge muscles, arms bigger than my actual legs, shoulders
twice as broad as his, breasts huge like the fake breasts of the women in
those videos and much larger than my a-cups. I was powerful. I was in
control. I started spanking him. He was crying for me to stop. I told him
he knew the way to get me to stop. He said "yes, please, I'll do it now!"
And I let him go and he rolled to the ground, got between my legs, pulled down
my skirt and my underwear and started licking and in my dream it felt amazing,
more amazing than any sex I'd ever had. And I groggily awoke and felt my
hands in my underwear.  I was pleasuring myself and even though I was awake
now I couldn't stop, I kept my eyes closed and I kept imagining that dream
and I was moaning, getting so close, and I said aloud "get me off or you'll
feel what these muscles can do" and that part didn't feel like a dream, it
felt like real life, like I wanted it to be real life, and then I came and I
was spasming from the most incredible orgasm I'd ever had. I was panting, and
then I started calming down. I opened my eyes. I looked down at my body, the
thin, flat frame that I'd had my entire life. I got up, cleaned myself off in
the shower, and packed a bag of exercise clothes. I went to the gym, found
the biggest guy I could find who worked there, and said to him, "I want to
change. I want to get huge."

I've spent almost three years working on that. All my extra time has been
dedicated to lifting in the gym. And I look the part.

I'm still 5'11", but instead of 130lbs I'm now 180lbs. When I'm not dieting
as much I get up to 200 but I like my current size. I've put on a good 50lbs
of muscle. Probably more. It's fair to say that I'm not just big, but I'm
ripped. When I wear tight shirts, it's clear where the different muscles of
my arms stop and start -- the shape and girth of them bursts through all but
the bulkiest of tops. I can only wear stretchy jeans, and when I walk the cut
and size of my calves is entirely noticeable and the sweep of my quads is
too. It's clear that I'm not just a chick who lifts weights or does cross-fit
-- I bodybuild. I don't compete, as that's not what it's for. All of my
efforts have not been for public adulation or competition hardware. They've
been in anticipation of one moment. And it's time for that moment.

It's important to note that with that muscle has come strength, and with that
strength has come added confidence. All my friends have noticed it --- not
just that I've put on size, but that I'm more assertive. Not crazy assertive,
I don't yell at people or try intimidate them with my size, but I'm more
willing to go for what I want. And right now, I definitely know what I want.

So I called him. I wasn't sure if he would pick up a call from my number.
Heck, he avoided my calls for months before. So I headed into a conference
room at my office and used that line. He picked up after a few rings. I
couldn't believe it.

"Hello?" he said.

My mouth got dry, and I couldn't speak. I couldn't get a word out. My body
got all tingly. Was it nerves? Was I worried about rejection, that he would
hang up on me once I introduced myself? Or was it anticipation, that I knew
I would get him, that my dreams of getting back with him under new
circumstances were about to become reality.

"Hi, it's me."

He agreed to meet me. At my place That night at 8.

In the last three years I had gained confidence to know what I want. I had
learned how to be assertive to let people know what I want. And I had the
undeniable strength to get what I want, if I needed to use it to get it. Up
until now, confidence and assertiveness had been sufficient to satisfy my
needs and desires. But I knew that tonight, I would need, for the first time,
to tap into that base of physical strength. In a way I had never done
before, outside of my sleeping fantasies.

I didn't get anything done that day, at least not anything that required
thinking. My head was filled with emotions. A mixture of anxious, intrigue,
embarrassment, dread, and a hope for redemption. Should I tell her right
away that all of that fetishism was behind me, or would that sound like I want
to get back together? I didn't want to seem desperate, or even interested.
She didn't even mildly reference that horrible moment on the phone -- maybe
she's past it as well? Maybe she's forgotten?  Should I just ignore it?
No, there's no way she forgot something so...so...daunting. But should I
bring it up or let her? I decided to let her lead the conversation, but if
she brought up the past I would stop her and make clear that it was the past,
and make even more clear that I've moved on.

I dressed casually, I button down and some jeans. Not too dressy to make it
seem like I was trying to impress her. Middle of the road attire.

I made it to her place a few minutes late, fashionably so. No eagerness on my
account, at least that's what I was projecting.

I knocked on the door. I felt queasy from anticipation of the unknown. There
was a long pause, and then I heard footsteps coming closer, it sounded like
high heels on a wooden floor. She never wore high heels when we were
together, she was very tall already and never wanted to make herself stand
out. And heels of even 1 or 2 inches would be enough to make her look quite
taller than me, and that was something else that would make her stand out.
That wasn't her m.o. Maybe they weren't heels, maybe clogs.  Or tap shoes.
Why do I care about her footwear? Focus. Take a deep breath.

There must have been twenty footsteps, along with the sound of a piece of
furniture sliding across the wooden floor just a bit. Then I heard the door
unlatch. It opened slowly. I don't know why, but instead of looking at her
face, I looked at her feet. They were heels after all. And then I looked up
at her. I was suddenly terrified.

I rushed home after he agreed to meet. I had to prepare. So many
preparations. I had to arrange the furniture just right. I had to set
things in just the right places. I had to pick right clothing, just the
right layers for maximum effect. Surprise. Amazement. Belief. Acceptance.
I needed heels. I didn't have a single pair. I definitely needed heels. 3
inches minimum. I needed at least two inches on him. His eyes at my mouth,
his mouth at the base of my neck. I needed him looking up at me. Theater. I
wanted theater.

Over time I had compiled a list of things I would do with him -- to him, and
with him -- if I could get him to meet up again. It was a long list, -- all
those videos, so much content, made for such a long list -- but I had my
priorities. I had my top 10 for sure. I prioritized the list based on two
criteria: 1, what would be most enjoyable for him and for me; and 2, what
would be most effective.  And for each thing, "each activity," I had
listed the requirements, assuming everything went according to my ideal:
where in the apartment we would do the activity, where the furniture would
need to be, what I would be wearing and what he would be wearing (which was
different for many of the activities), other items I would need for each
activity, how we would transition from one activity to the next and if they
were different locations how I would get him there. Clearly, I had done a lot
of thinking about this over time -- I did have almost three years to
fantasize!

I had to move the sofa to the center of the living room, with nothing in
front of it. I moved the cushioned sitting chair to a separate part of the
room, between the sofa and my bedroom, in open space.  I needed easy access
to the sofa for both of us, and plenty of space around it, and I also needed
easy access to the back of the sitting chair. I hid a spatula under the
leftmost cushion, just in case my hand got tired. I moved one of the dining
room chairs next to the sofa.  I left a tube of moisturizer hidden at the
back of the cushion of the sitting chair, and left a hand towel over the
armrest.

I took the duvet off of the bed, just a single plain sheet covering the
mattress. I placed hand towels in three locations on the headboard.  I
moved the bedside tables into the closet. I needed to get rid of as many
corners as possible. I placed pillows on the floor on the far side of the bed
and against the wall there as well, in case he bounced off of the bed harder
than intended.  Another spatula had to go under the mattress. A pair of my
shorts laid on the bed, for him to wear.  I tied some rope to each of the
head-side bed legs, soft but strong ropes I'd made myself, bungee material
covered in yarn and velvet. Two on each side.  I tucked the ropes under the
bed to hide it.  I double checked the pull-up bar that I'd installed in
that same bathroom doorway over two years ago -- solid as they day it was
installed. I did a few pull-ups to make sure, yanked on it hard to make sure
it could hold more than my weight. I loved that feeling of my chest touching
the bar. When I'd installed it I could barely get my nose to touch, and
needed some kip-ups to cheat and get that far. And now I can do an easy 20,
30 reps all the way to the chest, full extension down, full contraction up,
and at the gym had to use a weight belt to give me more resistance so it
wasn't too easy. I never cheated. How I'd changed and evolved since then.
The wrapped present was sitting on the kitchen table. It had to go in the
bedroom. But I needed it as a surprise. I hid it behind my jewelry case on
the dresser.  Oh, you dear, dear gift. You will mean everything.

I had spent so much time arranging the apartment that I barely left myself
enough time to arrange myself! Shower, hair, some very subtle perfume, but no
makeup. And attire, I needed layers; going from activity to activity would
require costume changes, like a Broadway play, but I wouldn't have time to go
offstage, I needed to change seamlessly and quickly. G-string and bikini
top.  I tied the bikini top a few times until I was sure that a quick,
light tug behind my back would unravel the tie behind my neck and send it
fluttering to the floor. I held my breasts and made sure they were set
perfectly in the bikini cups -- these would be news to him, I was quite
small-chested before I started working out but diet and pec workouts made me
positively flat-chested. So I had to have a little work done. Well, not
"little," mind you, but also not the crazy circus breasts that some of
those muscle women on the videos had. Enough to put a man's head between
them. Enough to put a man's cock between them. Enough so that some pec
flexing would be hypnotic. But not too much to be obvious to men who weren't
steeped in the math of inverse correlation between a woman's muscle tissue
and her breast tissue. And not too much so that a man's mouth couldn't get
a good grip with his mouth and latch on.

Over that, a halter tank top, cut off just below my chest, and a pair of
workout shorts. Then a tight t-shirt, one that was stretched to capacity by
my arms and chest. It was stretched enough so that one hard pull would tear
that one to shreds. I bet it would fit him quite comfortably. I might have
to consider that one as a demonstration, maybe I wouldn't rip it to shreds
after all. We'd see. A looser long-sleeve shirt over that. Then a loose
but thin pullover sweater with two buttons at the top, the two buttons open
to show a tiny bit of boob cleavage and a fair amount of pec cleavage.
Loose, flowing pants that I had notched down the sides so I could tear them
off with a flourish. Finally, a bulky pullover sweater. I looked in the
mirror. I looked bigger than ever, but without knowing what was underneath he
would think it was the clothing, not me. I heard steps at the door. My heart
raced. I heard a knock at the door. I needed those heels! I strapped them
on and took a deep breath. It was time. There was no turning back. For
either of us.

As I walked to the door, I noticed the end table next to the end the sofa.
His head might hit it. I needed to move that a bit, behind the back of the
sofa. There, perfect. I looked around a last time. Perfect. I was ready.


I unlatched the door. There he was. He looked the same, exactly the same.
No, he looked smaller. It was my high heels. And he wasn't looking at me, he
was looking at my heels. Right then and there I decided that I loved high
heels. And then he looked up at me, and I smiled. He started to flush.

I knew I would have him tonight. Confidence. Assertiveness. And Strength.
A healthy dose of Strength. More than he knew was possible.

Why was she wearing heels? She was towering over me. Was she trying to make
a point? I don't know why, at the time, this made me so nervous, but I could
feel my face flush. I couldn't speak.

She broke the silence, smiling down at me.  "Hi. Thanks for coming over.
It's so nice to see you." She reached her hand out to me, inviting me in. I
went to take her hand but she took mine instead. She led me in. "You haven't
seen my new place. There's not much too it, not much to show off." She
pointed around. "Living room, kitchen, a dining area, and back there is the
bathroom and bedroom. Pretty normal place. Come, take a seat." She gestured
to the chair next to the sofa, it looked like a chair from a kitchen table or
dining room table. I guess she didn't have a lot of furniture. She sat on
the sofa. I sat on the chair.

As she sat, I looked her over. Her face looked the same, a little fuller than
before but perhaps that comes with age. She looked quite a bit bigger than
I'd remembered -- I don't mean taller, I chalked that one up to the heels -- I
mean bigger. But she was wearing a really bulky sweater so I assumed that it
was an effect from the looseness of the sweater. But I definitely noticed her
chest, even with the bulkiness of the sweater I could see that she had some
work done. I tried not to stare there but I'm sure she noticed that I
noticed. Heck, she probably wanted me to notice anyway.

I put my hands on my knees and twiddled my fingers as we sat momentarily in
silence. I was going to try to wait as confidently as possible, but my nerves
got the best of me.

"So what did you want my advice on?"

"It's not really advice, it's just an opinion."

"OK, then, opinion. On what can I..." I made a royal gesture to try to be
funny, "...opine?"

She took a deep breath, audibly, like she was preparing for something.

"I'm planning to make a life change. Really a lifestyle change. I'm
struggling with it.  You were always such a level-headed person. I just
need a sounding board. And my friends can't play that role on this one."

"Lifestyle change?" I immediately thought she was going to tell me she was
gay. Unfortunately my brain-mouth filter malfunctioned at that moment.
"Like, are you trying to tell me you're gay?" The instant I said it I wanted
to take it back.

She smiled and laughed a bit, in a way that put me at ease.  "Gay? No,
that's not it. You are too funny." She patted my knee. "No, I've changed a
lot since the last time we saw each other, but not that way."

"You don't look much different," I said.

She looked around the room, over towards the window.  "It is so hot in here,
or maybe it's just that I'm nervous." She shifted in her seat and pulled that
bulky sweater over her head. She was wearing another sweater underneath it.
It was interesting, that sweater was a pretty thin sweater but she still
looked bigger than I'd expected.  Maybe it was just the pull of the sweater
against her new "features," which with the bulky sweater off were considerably
more prominent. I played it off.

"That's better," she said. "Maybe I should open a window later."

"I'm not sure why you'd be nervous. So what's the life change you want to
talk about?"

"I've been working really hard at something for a long time. It's the hardest
work I've ever done. At first it wasn't for me, it was for someone else. But
now I want to use everything I've developed. And I'm not sure how to use
them, how to get others to let me us them. Does any of this make sense?"

I had no idea where she was going with this. "No, not really. What were you
working at."

She looked around again, like she did the first time. "Man, I must be really
nervous, I'm burning up. You're not hot?"

"No, not at all." Why was she so hot? What was going on?

She shifted again in her seat and reached down to take off the second sweater.

"I assume you have a third sweater under there, like Russian nesting dolls," I
said, smiling at my cleverness.

She had pulled the sweater over her face when I heard her say "Nope." I
could see she had a shirt on underneath, and her motion pulled the shirt up a
bit, separating it from her pants and lap. My eyes were immediately drawn to
her stomach. I did a double take. She had abs. Defined abs. Muscular abs.
I was staring, and I was aware that I was staring, and it felt like I was
staring for longer than it should take her to remove a sweater. Was she
taking a long time on purpose? Was she showing off her abs to me? As I
considered the question she finished her motion, removing the sweater and
tossing it to the side, and her undershirt returned to cover her midsection.
I was red-faced, I knew it, even more so than when I saw her towering over me
at the door. I was dry-mouthed. I started to tell myself that I saw a
shadow, just a shadow, an illusion.

Now she was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt. It was loose but as she brought
her arms into her lap, I thought I could distinctly see where her shoulders
ended and her shirt began. And it started to strike me that she was no longer
the stick figure that I remembered. She was definitely bigger, more
substantial. Had she put on weight? Had she let herself go? Or was it
something else?

She made herself a bit more comfortable on the sofa, as I became more
UNcomfortable in my chair.  "That's better, I'm I feel cooler now. Now
where was I?" She smiled at me, a knowing smile, and I gave some kind of
weak, meek smile back.

"You were saying that you've been working on something, but you're being quite
cagey about it. Why don't you just come out with it. Are you playing a game
with me? What do you want to share with me?"

She put her hand back on my knee and petted it. I moved my knee away,
uncomfortable at the touch. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to play games. It's
taken me so long to finally be comfortable sharing this with anyone, with
you."

"Sharing what? What is it?" I was getting annoyed and upset.

"Sharing the new me." Again, that smile.

"I'm really not entirely following. Are you talking about your new...body? I
don't mean to pry, but it...they..." I made a motion towards her chest.
"...they kind of jump out at you. I like it and all, don't take it the wrong
way. But is that all you're talking about?"

"These?" She put her palms on her chest. "No, that's not what I'm talking
about." I looked at her arms while they were bent, angled so her palms could
cover her breasts, and there was something different about them. I swear, she
was flexing them. Based on my history, I know flexing, and this was
definitely flexing. The shirt she was wearing was loose, but it seemed, with
regular syncopation, that they were being stretched just slightly as she moved
her arms. My heart really started to beat faster. I was starting to
understand. My mind was blurring.

"I was so upset with you for the longest time. And I've forgiven you, because
you opened my eyes to what I could become. To who I could become. A better
me. And yes, I've forgiven you. But I haven't forgotten. Not a thing. Not
anything I saw that day, and not anything about what I know you like. You
said my new body, thinking these. You're warm when you say my new body. You
know, it's still warm in here." She reached down and started to take off her
long-sleeve t-shirt. The moment she started to lift the shirt over her
midsection, and I saw those abs again, confirmed to myself that it wasn't just
a shadow or an illusion, I just knew what was coming. I didn't accept it, but
I knew it. And as she lifted the shirt higher, and saw that there was a much
tighter t-shirt underneath, I could tell that the shirt underneath was
stretched to its capacity. The long-sleeve was over her face, she was slowly,
ever so slowly pulling it over her head, and she continued to talk to me.

"Yes, I've forgiven you. You can be sure of that. But still..." The shirt
came off and she threw it to the side. I gasped, audibly.

"Oh my god, oh my god."

"...still, I deserve satisfaction."

"What did you do to yourself?"

"Do to myself? I made me into ME.  And satisfaction means you are going
to satisfy ME." And with that, I felt a hand grab me by the back of my neck
and I was flying out of my chair, over to the couch.

He looked so adorable, I was melting the instant I saw him. All the memories,
the good ones, came back.  The fun and the tenderness, the long
conversations, the emotional support, and the sex, and of course that last
time together when I discovered his fetish. While for a time that was not in
the "good" column of memories, it had moved there over time, as it led me to
who I am and who I was meant to be. He looked adorable, and small, and I
wanted to grab him right there and throw him down and fuck the hell out of
him. I could have done that, I know it. But I knew I had to be patient,
follow the plan I'd meticulously laid out. The plan to make him mine,
forever.

"Hi, thanks for coming over, it's so nice to see you." That's the line I
practiced over and over, and I delivered it with just the right mixture of
dispassion and interest. I held out my hand to him, and I could tell he was
about to grasp it but instead I grabbed his. A hint of what was to come,
known by me but not by him. I doubt he caught the importance of it, maybe he
would later on when he would think back on this day.

I briefly oriented him to the apartment, a bunch of nothing comments that
meant nothing but were intended to draw him inside, get him to sit down. I
made it to the sofa and sat there, on the end, and made sure that he sat in
the chair I'd placed next to the sofa. I didn't want him touching any part of
me other than my hand, at least not yet. We sat in silence for a moment, I
just looked at him smiling, wanting to see if he would break down first. He
did, he asked why he was there.

"I'm planning to make a lifestyle change," I told him. Then I complimented
him on how level-headed he'd always been and how I couldn't imagine taking
this step without getting his opinion.

He asked me if I was gay, which made me laugh. I wasn't offended at all, I
just thought it was funny. As I'd grown stronger and more muscular, I found
that I'd attracted more attention from certain women, who assumed I was gay.
And some of the guys who I would have been interested in thought the same. So
sexually my new look sometimes had an unintended effect. Don't get me wrong,
I also attracted men that I did want, and I knew I could have them if I
wanted. And sometimes I did, but not often. He hadn't seen me yet, at least
not the elements that I planned to reveal that night, so the fact that he
immediately went to "gay" even without that knowledge struck me as funny.

"No that's not it," I said, calling him funny. I told him I'd changed since
I'd seen him last, but not like that. When I said that, I saw his eyes go to
my chest. Apparently he'd already noticed my additions. The bulky sweater
was concealing them but he was perceptive. It was time to start the reveal.
Layer by layer.

I told him it was hot, said I was nervous, and took the big bulky sweater
off. He could get a better sense of my new d-cups now but still nothing
else.

I continued talking, saying a bunch of nothings about how I'd changed, how I'd
been working at something really hard for a long time and wanted to figure out
how to use it. I know it made no sense to him, but that was the point. Draw
him in, make him curious, even a little confused, until finally daylight hit
him and he was trapped.

He asked another question about what I was talking about, and said I was still
hot, and started to take off the second sweater. He made some funny joke
about expecting another sweater underneath, he was always so adorably funny.
When I got the sweater over my head, there was something different in his
face. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead, and he looked dry-mouthed.
He seemed uncomfortable, shifting in his seat a bit. I didn't expect that so
soon, I still had my long sleeve shirt on and hadn't started flexing yet. Was
it the better view of my breasts? I looked down and saw how my shirt was
laying on my stomach. He'd seen my abs! He'd caught a glimpse, and it got to
him. Did he know? Had he figured it out? I continued the pressure.

"Why don't you just come out with it," he said, asking me if I was playing
games with him. He was agitated, and it happened quickly. It was the abs.
He definitely saw them. He was already confused. "What do you want to share
with me?"

That was the line I was looking for.

"The new me," I said. I was ready to give him the flex of his life, but he
caught me off guard with his next comment.

"Are you talking about your new body?" I was about to say exactly! and then
he pointed at my chest and continued. "They kind of jump out at you."

I laughed a bit, clutching my breasts and asking him, "These? No, that's not
what I'm talking about." Then I saw that he wasn't looking at my chest at
all, but rather my arm. I realized that bending my arm to grab my breast was
flexing it. He saw them filling the sleeve. Instead of a big double biceps,
I toyed with him a bit, flexing the arm intermittently. More beads of sweat
on his brow. It was dawning on him. I had to go in for the kill. It was
time to start talking about the past. I told him I was upset with him for a
long time but that I'd forgiven him.

This, of course, was only partially true.

I'd forgiven him because it's not something he could have helped. It was his
fetish, and he was entitled to it. He still is. But my plan was not one of
forgiveness. It was one of revival, of return. His fetish led me to the new
me, and this night was both to thank him and to punish him. To win him over
through love and fear. To make him mine.

My plan had five stages, each designed to resurrect his fetish and connect it
to me and me alone.

First was awareness. I would show him my new physique, my incredible
strength.

Second was dominance. I would show him that I was completely more powerful
than him. That he had no hope of physically stopping me.  That I was in
charge.

Third was caring. I would show him how much I love him still

Fourth was submission. I would demand of him his full and complete devotion
to me.

And fifth was connection. He would agree to be mine forever.

And throughout the house I had made stations that would facilitate the
progression from stage to stage.

And now that he'd noticed that hint of size under my long-sleeve shirt, just
that hint that sparked a mild panic response in him, it was time to get
straight to awareness.

"It's still warm in here," I lied. And I proceeded to lift off the
long-sleeve. This time, there was no accident in revealing my abs, I made
sure the tight t-shirt underneath came up enough that he could see them
clearly. "I've forgiven you," I continued as my shirt covered my face, "you
can be sure of that, but still I deserve....satisfaction." I'd rehearsed that
line too, straight out of Hamilton, like I was challenging him to a duel,
which I guess I was, only a duel that he had no hope of winning. I threw my
shirt aside and took a deep breath, puffing my chest out. I thought the shirt
was going to explode off of me.

His panic was in full mode now. He'd seen me. He saw my muscled arms, my
sloping traps, the width of my shoulders. He knew I had become a bodybuilder
like in his fetish fantasies. I saw his hand drop to his lap, covering his
cock. "Oh my god, oh my god," he said. "What did you do to yourself."

"Do to myself? I made me into ME. And satisfaction means that you are going
to satisfy ME!" And with that the training began.

The next few minutes...or at least what I think were a few minutes...were a
complete jumble. I was disoriented from the start. That initial vision, a
massive version of my ex-, was something I'd never in my life expected to
witness.

You see, I'd spend the last three years excising from my psyche, as much as I
could, the desire to be dominated by powerful women. Before that day when I'd
been caught, it was all-encompassing. Most mornings and nights had moments
when I would get onto my computer, trolling for interesting videos exploring
different sides of my secret fetish, each having unique details but all
containing the same core elements: a powerful, usually highly muscular woman
overwhelming a smaller male, the male ultimately surrendering to her physical
superiority. Sometimes that surrender ended in being pinned or having her sit
on him and flex victory. These were the tamer videos, more about viewing a
woman's musculature in comparison to a weaker man. But more frequently that
surrender was more sexual. And for the more sexual content, this usually
ended with the stronger woman forcibly extracting come from the man, through a
handjob or a blowjob. It's funny how a handjob could be considered forced --
clearly it's something a man would relish! But when that handjob is performed
under duress, either because the man is held tightly by the woman and can't
stop her or because the man has been so overpowered that he stops fighting
and lacks the will to stop her, then to me it is much more titillating. But
for the sexual content, sometimes the sexual end is a reversal -- the woman
strapping on a dildo and taking the man from behind, forcibly or otherwise.
When I was first exploring my fetish this was a complete turnoff, but over
time I found that my strongest orgasms were after viewing or fantasizing about
being taken by a stronger woman, being thrown on my back and having my legs
bent up so that my ass was exposed, and being unable to stop my aggressor from
penetrating me. It was forced, but it wasn't unwelcome.

But once caught, I knew my life could never be "normal," I could never be
truly vulnerable and open with a woman, unless one of two things happened:
either the woman herself was into these things, which was incredibly unlikely,
or I got past my fetish.

I spent years seeking out muscular women to date, with very little luck.
Twice I had found success, but both times I ruined things by trying to migrate
what was a quite "normal" relationship into something out of my fantasies. I
learned the hard way that just because a woman was stronger than me didn't
mean she wanted to use it. I particularly remember the second situation, when
I was rubbing her body and suggested we wrestle. She agreed to play a bit,
but I created a problem when, upon being pinned, I let loose an orgasm and
passed out. When I woke up, she was gone, and there was a note: "This just
isn't what I'm into. Sorry."

After three years, I thought I was past it all. I'd dated several women, and
none of them had anything muscular or powerful about them, and it was fine by
me. I'd stopped surfing for muscle porn. The nighttime fantasies were few
and far between. Not entirely gone, but not pervasive. I felt normal.

And then I saw her in that shirt, and it all came back. It was a flood.

I'd only caught a short look at her before she grabbed me, and it was enough.
I'd seen that look before. And it was an instant turn-on. And I hated the
idea of it.

As those dichotomous emotions went through my head, my head went through the
air, and before I knew it I was on the couch, face down. I thought she threw
me past her, but in fact I was over her lap. My lower legs were resting on
the arm of the couch, my feet dangling off. My head was being held down,
smooshed into the cushion, held down by one of her hands. I couldn't move my
hand at all. I tried to push myself up, and caught a handful of cushion in my
left hand and a feel of her abs in my right, but very quickly she had trapped
both of my hands behind my back, held tight with one of her hands. I kicked
my legs but that was useless, it was just hurting my lower leg every time they
hit the arm of the couch. I think she was talking to me but with my face in
the cushion I couldn't hear what she was saying, other than that I'd been "a
bad boy."

After some amount of time she let go of my head and switched hands, still
holding my hands fast but with her other hand. Then I felt her hand reach up
between my legs and I started kicking again, but then she slapped my ass and I
stopped that. She said something again and I had no idea what it was but the
tone was firm and it got to me. Then I felt her reach up past my penis and
she unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled down the zipper. She pulled her hand out
of my crotch and tugged on the back of my jeans, and with a few pulls they
were down at my ankles. I think she threw my shoes off at that point because
the jeans slipped off soon after that.

I knew what was coming. I just knew it. I'd seen it in those videos. And
the only thing stopping it was, well, nothing really. If she could get my
jeans off she could get my boxers off too.

She pulled my head up, by my hair. I could hear every word.

"And now it's time for you to finally face the consequences of disappearing on
me, when all I wanted to do was talk it through. I've been working towards
this for a long time. Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it."

And with that, she released my head, pushing it back down into the cushion,
and moments later my boxers were lowered around my calves and fell to the
floor.

The first spank was the most shocking. But not the most painful. It got
progressively more painful as the onslaught of slaps continued. I have no
idea how long it lasted, I kept on asking her to stop but at some point she
started hitting me in a way that was just unbearable, and I said "I'll do
whatever you want, just please stop!" and that did the trick.

She stood up, picking me up with her. I was draped face down over her arms.
She shifted me, flipping me over so I was facing her. My cock was
embarrassingly hard. She lifted one leg and rested me on it, enabling her
take one of her hands and grab me by my cock, squeezing it and giving it a
very hard tug.

"Then it's time for the next step."

"What next step?" I said. I was terrified.

It was time for a taste of dominance. It was critically important to me that
he not forget the next few minutes of his life, as it would set the stage for
the rest of it.

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and intended only to guide him slowly to
my lap, but in my excitement I pulled to hard and he went flying through the
air towards me. It's funny, I didn't think to do that but it must have been
more effective than anything I'd imagined.

I had him held down quickly and easily. He was desperately trying to free
himself, pushing himself off the couch against the force of my pushing him
down. Both of his arms pushing against just one of my hands. And my hand
clearly was superior.

I got one of his arms in a chicken wing and pulled his elbow and hand behind
his back, locking it in place. Then I did the same with the other hand. I
had made his arms futile, held in place by the grip of one of my hands. It
was so easy. I was so much stronger than him, as I knew I would be.

At that point I was able to talk to him. I suspect he wasn't listening, his
struggles were so fierce, but it didn't matter to me.

"Well, there you have it. I have you trapped. And it took me less than a
minute. I even impressed myself with this one. All this muscle, it isn't
just for show. But what to do now? Do I just hold you here all night until
you beg me to let you go? What would that accomplish? It's not much
challenge now that I have you immobilized, a man much stronger than you would
have trouble getting out of a position like this. No, there has to be more
than this. Hmmm, what should I do. What can a strong girl like me do to send
a message to a guy that his behavior has been unacceptable?" His legs were
kicking so I pushed them down into the arm of the couch, and I guess that hurt
him because he stopped soon after. "To tell her guy that he's been a bad
boy? What's a girl to do? I know. I know what to do to a bad boy."

With that, it was time to start stripping him down. Forcibly stripping him
naked was a key component of my plan to make him submissive. And I intended
to do so slowly, deliberately, and in a manner that would make him crazy with
fear and embarrassment.

I switched my hands around, keeping the armlock tight, and reached through his
legs. As I reached up for the button of his jeans, grazing his groin, he
started kicking again, and with my arm between his legs there was risk that he
might actually injure me. I pulled my arm back out and gave him a quick swat
against the butt, and he stopped his kicking. It wasn't a hard hit but it did
the trick. Then I reached through again and made my way past his groin,
making sure that he could feel my hand grazing his penis through he denim. I
heard him emit a short gasp at my touch. I grabbed his jeans button, and
deftly undid it, and brought down the zipper. Again, a graze of this penis,
this time with my fingertip on his boxers, evoked a little silent gasp. I
brought my arm back through his legs and said, "Bad little boys need a good
spanking if they're going to change their behavior, don't you think?" I
grabbed the back waist of his jeans and pulled them down, then pulled on the
waist to lift him up and pulled the jeans down around his ankles, and then
ripped his shoes off and pushed the jeans off of him to the floor.

"No!" I heard him whisper. "Please."

I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up so he could hear me more
clearly.  "And now it's time for you to finally face the consequences of
disappearing on me, when all I wanted to do was talk it through. I've been
working towards this for a long time. Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it."

And with that, I grabbed the back of his boxers and pulled them down as well.
They slipped off easily, and as I brought my hand up to his ass, I let my
fingers travel through his legs to see what was going on with his cock. He
wasn't hard in the slightest. A disappointment, for sure, but I was confident
that he would respond soon. My ideal was that the moment he saw me he would
spring to attention, but I guess the fear and shock was too much.

I caressed his buttocks, rubbing up and down them, on each side, saying "so
tender, this ass of yours. It's perfect, really, for this. Not too big so
that you won't feel it, but big enough that the sound will be terrifying to
you. The suspense is making me tingle!" I lifted my hand high above my head
and gave a commanding blow to his left check. And then 4 more blows. Then 5
to his left cheek. Then more caressing and massaging. Then 5 to the left
and 5 to the right again. He kept saying "please stop, please it hurts, why
are you doing this, please stop," but I was ignoring him. His pleas were
insufficient, I needed him to do more than request -- I needed him to beg, to
supplicate.  His ass was getting intensely red, and after I think 20 blows
on each side, when I rubbed his skin it was hot to the touch. I was starting
to worry that I might do some real damage if he didn't yield soon. I was
actually impressed that he was handling it without begging for mercy.  But
yield he must, I would not be deterred. After 25 blows on each side my hand
started to sting. So I reached under the cushion and took out the spatula I'd
hidden there. And I continued with the spatula for some time, 30, 40, 50
blows on each side. I said to him, "I can do this all day until I'm convinced
you've learned your lesson," and at that point I wanted to tell him what to
say, just to make it stop, because his ass was redder than seemed safe, but
doing so would degrade my dominant position. I let go of his hands and spread
his ass cheeks a bit with the hand that had been holding him steady, and made
a direct blow onto his anus with the spatula, about 3 or 4 times, and that
ended things.

"I'll do whatever you want, just please stop!" he begged, and he was crying
while he said it, not a sobbing cry, but a cry all the same. A cry of a man
who was desperately trying to not cry.

That was good enough for me. I stopped. His ass was streaked with lines from
the spatula and was red all over. Now it was time to check his reaction. I
put my arms underneath his torso and legs and stood up, lifting him with me.
I threw him up in the air a bit, like a rapid bicep curl but easier given
that I could curl about 30lbs more than he weighed, and did that a few times
to shimmy him onto his back, and once on his back I saw my handiwork.

He had a raging erection. And more than that, his cock was seeping. He was
turned on.

I knew it. I knew it would work. I knew I had him, and would have him even
more.

I wanted to fuck him so badly, I wanted that cock in me and I wanted to milk
it dry. But not yet.  It was too soon, and his submission was at this point
based only on pain, not on fear, respect, admiration and love. No, I needed
all those too. And the process was just beginning. But for now I just wanted
to let him know that his cock was going to be mine.

I rested my foot on the end of the couch, and rested his ass on my knee.  He
winced. I held him firm around the back to keep him sitting there. And I
reached down with my hand and reached down to his raging hardon. I touched
the seepage on the head with my fingertip, and trailed it down the shaft.
Then I grabbed the shaft and gave it a hard pull, and pulled his body up with
it. He gave a slight moan, which to me seemed a mixture of pain and
excitement but to him was probably discomfort.

I looked into his eyes. "It's time for the next step."

He looked back at me. His eyes were filled with terror. Everything was going
according to plan.

"What next step? You've made your point! Why don't you..."

She put her fingers to my lips, shh-ing me. She shook her head to gesture no,
indicating to me that I should stop. I did so.

She released me and set me back down on my feet, and my instinct was to run.
I turned ever so slightly to make a break for it but at the first move I felt
her grab my cock again. "No," she said to me. "We're not done." I couldn't
break away. "Don't try to leave, unless you want to run outside without any
pants on." I looked around desperately for my jeans, and couldn't see them
from where I was. "In fact, let's complete the picture."

She grabbed the bottom of my shirt with her other hand and started pulling it
up, and I jammed my hands and arms down to prevent it. She then grabbed it
with the other hand, and despite all of my struggles she pulled it up and over
my head. Momentarily my arms were sticking straight up into the air,
helplessly, and I started to wriggle and buck against her, but I once again
heard her shh-ing me and I stopped. A second later my shirt was off.

"And for good measure," she said, and then she ripped the shirt in two pieces,
with one pull. Her arms flexed considerably and my gaze lingered on them,
which she clearly noticed, because she continued flexing them just slightly,
to get a little movement in the biceps, clearly showing them off.

"There, now if you want to run out you'll be entirely naked. Good luck with
that." She smiled at me.

I took a moment and looked her over. She was still towering over me in her
heels. She was wearing loose, flowing pants that showed nothing. I was
curious what was under there but suspected it would match what I could see up
above. Her tight shirt was tucked into her pants, and her waist was narrow,
as I would have expected, but as my eyes continued working their way up the
difference between her waist and her shoulders was astonishing. They were
much, much wider than mine, and the short sleeves were entirely incapable of
covering her massive shoulders. The sleeves ended perhaps halfway down her
delt, whereas I'm sure the designer intended them to go halfway down the upper
arm.  That shirt was not intended for use by a woman of her size. Her
biceps were equally astounding. Once my eyes hit them, I was completely
transfixed. I just followed them, they moved up a bit, and then down, and
then out again and back. They went up over her head and then back down. My
eyes and probably my head followed each time, I just couldn't stop taking them
in.

I heard her say something but the only sense that my brain was operating was
sight, so I have no idea what it was. And then she raised one arm and flexed
it, giving it a full flex like a bodybuilder would do. The bicep exploded
from her arm, the sleeve regressed past the shoulder and I could see her
entire arm, the most muscular I had ever seen so close. She pumped it twice,
three times, four times, again, again, over and over and I kept staring. Then
she brought her other arm up, and it caught my attention, and did a double
biceps that was breathtaking. She was so huge, as large as any of the women
I'd fantasized about in the old days of my persistent fetishism. She was
flexing both arms now, pumping them both. I was trying to take both of them
in simultaneously, and in that focus could see the breadth of her chest, how
her breasts shot straight out at me, how her lats stretched the fabric of the
shirt from the back, and then her shirt untucked a bit from her pants and my
eye was drawn to just a peek of her abs again. This time there was no
question -- they were muscled abs, the bottom of what was sure to be a total
six pack.

She grabbed her shirt and pulled it up over her. Her abs were revealed to be
exactly what I'd expected, solid, washboard, incredible. She was wearing a
cutoff tank top that showed off her abs and, with the size of her breasts,
left very little to imagination. As huge as her arms were, the rest of her
body was equal to them. Her pecs were thick and the chasm down the middle
looked deep enough to fit my entire hand. She did another biceps flex and I
think I emitted some kind of noise because I heard her say "yes, that's it" to
me, as if she were responding to me.

She ended the double biceps and flared her chest outwards in a lat spread, and
I stood there staring, still unable to move my eyes from her now almost fully
exposed musculature.  I had no awareness of anything else I might be doing.
My only working sense was sight, and it was overwhelming me.

"Wait, there's more," she said.

With that she grabbed the waist of her pants and with a single motion tore
them off. Her legs, I don't even think I can adequately describe. They
were just as muscular as her upper body, flaring out from the bone and carved
like granite. She was wearing just a short pair of workout shorts.

I was standing in front of the woman bodybuilder of my former dreams, at a
time when I was desperately closing the chapter on all of those dreams to move
on with my life.

"Not what you expected, right?"

"No. You're...you're...you're..." I couldn't make the words come out. I
didn't know what words to use anyway.

She stepped forward and took my hand -- I think I may have been fondling
myself but couldn't tell.  "Would you like some help finding the words?"
She flexed her bicep again with her other arm and guided my hand to the top of
her bicep, resting my palm on it and holding it there. She flexed it several
times so I could feel it contracting and expanding in my grip.

This time I knew my other hand transited down to grab my penis, and she
reached down and pulled it away. "No, not that. That's for me to do." I
vaguely felt something hurt down there but the sensation of my hand on her
arm was my primary focus.  She guided my other hand to the same arm that was
flexing. "Try to get your hands around it." I complied. I couldn't do it.

I was squeezing and kneading her arm, feeling it's girth and it's hardness
under my hands, unyielding, powerful. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt or
experienced.

"They're 17 inches now. Three years ago maybe they were 9 or 10, I was so weak
then. But now they're 17, maybe just a bit more after a hot workout. I can
curl 175 pounds on a bar, or I can do 65lb dumbbells with each arm. Can you
imagine being able to lift that much?"

The pain that I'd been suffering from the spanking was entirely forgotten.
And then she put her arm round my waist and grabbed my behind. The pain came
back. I probably yelped or some other ridiculous sound, because it hurt so
much.

"I need to take care of that for you," she said.

And I felt her hand move to my groin and she grabbed me under my balls. She
lifted me a bit in her hand, and then she leaned over and lifted me onto her
shoulders, keeping a firm grip on my groin, pushing me enough so I was
steadied over the back of her shoulders. She looped her other arm around my
neck to hold me fast there and started to walk around the apartment.

"I remember one of the videos I saw in your apartment was of a woman carrying
a man like this," she said. She walked me around for what seemed like a long
time but was probably just a minute or so, and ultimately made her way to a
padded chair. She pressed me off of her shoulders and over her head -- a
real military press, not just leaning over and letting me slide down, she head
me in the air held by the power of her arms -- and I was slowly making a
measured descent to the back of the chair, where she rested me face down, my
stomach on the top of the back and my legs dangling over the back. The top of
my head was resting on the cushion and I could see a tube hidden in the
cushion. She released me and I felt her push up against my behind, eliciting
another jolt of pain, and she reached over me and grabbed the tube from near
my head.

"This should soothe you."

I heard her squeeze something out of the tube. What was going to do me?
What was in the tube? My ass was completely exposed and she had just come up
behind me and pressed against it. Had she seen some of the other videos I'd
watched? Was she about to lube up my ass and penetrate me? There was no way
I was going to let that happen and I started kicking wildly, saying "No, don't
do that!"

One thwack to my ass ended the kicking. I blubbered something promising not
to kick anymore, and she gave one more spank, I think to the other cheek, I
guess to make things balanced.

I heard a bit more of a squeeze, and then felt a coolness on my behind that
was at first stinging but then incredibly soothing. She was rubbing all over
my cheeks, applying some kind of lotion to them, and my breathing went from
rough and jolting to calm and even.

She spoke to me in a soft and gentle voice, while she rubbed all over my
behind, stopping from time to time to squeeze more lotion out of the tube.

"You needed punishment, yes, for being such a bad boy all that time ago. Bad
boys always get their punishment. It just sometimes takes a while. But we're
just getting started, and I need to make sure that this first step doesn't
make it impossible for you to handle the rest of what I have in store for
you." She squeezed the tube.  I felt her hand travel between my cheeks,
lotioning in between, the spot where she had spanked my anus so painfully.
"Because there is much to do still. Much for you to learn." She squeezed the
tube again.  I felt her hand travel further downward, to the perineum
between by anus and my testicles, which had been tangentially impacted by the
spanking but was, at that moment, intensely sensitive. I definitely tensed
and gasped. "Much for you to...experience." The squeezed the tube, and she
continued between my legs, grabbing my balls and massaging them, and I could
feel the cool of the lotion as it spread across my scrotum, and then more
lotion on the shaft of my penis, and she was stroking me, a lotioned hand on a
lotioned penis. I was going wild, my penis harder than I'd ever imagined it
could be while this muscle woman was giving me a handjob while I was draped
over her chair.

She released my penis and put her arm under my legs and lifted them up, then
put her other arm under my torso and pulled me off of the chair and heaved me
up over one of her shoulders. I was facing backwards, my face dropping down
to the small of her back where I was so close to her glutes, and saw them
bulging out from her body but clearly hard and striated. My stomach was on
her shoulder and my legs were sticking straight out to her front, and she had
her arm around my waist holding me in place. Worried about falling, I
instinctively put my hands out and the rested on her glutes, pushing at them
to keep my face away but providing some sense of security. I held my hands
there, unsure where else to put them, and she grabbed my penis again and
started stroking me. I was desperately trying to fight the desire, but it was
overwhelming me, this feeling of helplessness as I was draped over the
shoulder of this much stronger woman, with a body that for years was my fetish
desire, and the psychic pain it was causing for me to be held in this way not
by some fantasy woman but instead by my ex- who I'd never thought would get to
this state of strength and musculature made me tense up and fight it, and I
grabbed tightly at her glutes, squeezing them trying to fight the sensation,
and I heard her saying, "go ahead and try, you'll never make a dent in
those."  And she continued her stroking, over and over, until I couldn't
take it anymore and I heard her say, "One!" and I spasmed and came
uncontrollably, and my tension was released and I flopped over her shoulder in
exhaustion.

I was in a daze, but I felt her swing me back over her shoulder, and put me in
some position, and then felt a soft kiss on my lips. It felt different.
Something felt different. The terror was gone. But some form of fear
remained, a fear of how this was going to change me, how the last 30 minutes
had wiped away years of work to forget this part of my life, to forget those
unusual desires that had so consumed me for so long. I felt myself slipping,
into an old self, but one that saw a light in the distance. It was a fetish,
yes, when it was secret and in my dreams. But would it be a fetish...if it
were real?

He tried to stop me before I could start, tried to talk me out of whatever
I'd planned next. I wouldn't let him finish, quieting his voice with a finger
over his mouth. I knew this wouldn't stop his struggles, his desire to
escape. And I was right. Almost the instant I put him back on this feet, I
could feel him turn in my hands to get away, turn towards the door, to
safety. I half-wanted to let him go, imagining watching him running out of
my apartment onto the street and run down the block before realizing he had no
pants on! But I wasn't going to let that happen. I wanted him humiliated,
yes, but in a way that was in front of me, not the public. So I stopped him
quickly by grabbing the most prominent part of his body, which at that moment
was clearly his cock. I grabbed it firmly, and put my pinkie around his balls
to lock the whole area in place. In control. I gave it a pull and his body
moved with it. I told him we weren't done yet, that he couldn't leave. Much
more to accomplish.

He was aware, mostly. Aware that I was muscular, although I hadn't shown him
the full extent. Aware that I was strong, that I could hold him over my lap
and he couldn't get away. And I had established the most basic level of
dominance, one of physical punishment. I had spanked him -- him, a fully
grown adult male, over my knee, helpless to defend, spanked with my hand and
then with a spatula until he begged me to stop, agreed to do whatever I
wanted him to do. I know he didn't fully mean it, he was just trying to find
the right formula to get me to stop. But soon enough he would mean it. So
while I wasn't entirely done with my Awareness and Dominance stages, I was
well into them. I had to deepen the awareness. I had to extend the
dominance.  And it was time to also introduce Caring. It was important to
make progress through the stages, but it wasn't linear. It was shades of each,
and they overlapped for maximum effect.

Deepening the awareness was easy. I had more layers to remove after all! I
was still wearing my pants that showed nothing below the waist, and my t-shirt
showed some great width and arm size but limited his view of my chest, which I
knew was going to blow him away. At the gym, men and women were always amazed
by the density of my pecs. I had good natural genetics for building pec
size, and even before I had augmentation surgery it would appear to others
when I wore a tight shirt that I had sizable tits even though it was all pec
muscle. Now that I had actual tits -- well, not actual, but you know what I
mean -- the effect was even greater. But he hadn't seen any of that yet, nor
the full effect of my shoulders, and not my abs either. He would see all of
that in time, and worship it all, as he compared my physique to his and
recognized my supreme superiority, and the hopelessness of his struggles.

But to effectively compare he had to be able to see his own physique in its
entirety, and that meant removing his shirt. I made some joke about taking
his shirt off so he wouldn't run, and grabbed it. I was going to tear it off
of him, but he held his arms down so I decided to quickly test myself, to see
how easy it would be to overpower him. I pulled the shirt up and over his
head, and while he was desperately pushing his arms down to stop me it was
shockingly easy to force his arms up over his head. How much stronger than
him was I, really? I'd never considered how strong he was when we were
together, because it wasn't something we ever focused on. But now strength
and power were central to things, and I wondered, was he this weak when we
were together? Was he stronger then and let himself go? Or has he been
working out and I just advanced exponentially faster than him? These
questions ran through my mind, but in the end none of them mattered to the
here and now -- I'd just forced his arms up despite his best efforts, I
probably used 30% of my strength to do so, and so I was much stronger than
him, pure and simple. Maybe 2x, maybe 3x, maybe more, but it was a lot.

His shirt was off quickly. I tore it in two for effect. I'd practiced that
several times over the past week. I knew just where to hold it, at the
weakest part of the seam. It was easy. Well, it was easy for me.

He was looking down at my feet again. Did he have a foot fetish, too?  This
was the third time I'd seen him looking at my feet. Then I watched him raise
his head and look me up, and when his eyes made it to my arms they just locked
in place. I watched his breathing. It was in short bursts, not a tired
air-sucking but a form of panic. His eyes weren't moving even an inch. I
lifted my arm to the side, and his eyes followed. I did it a second and third
time, and his head bobbed with my arm. I lifted my arm over my head and he
looked up, keeping his eyes locked on my arm. This was actually quite fun!

"You like big arms on a girl. I remember that. All those videos of girls
with huge bodybuilder arms. It turns you on, I can see that. But in all
those videos, did you ever see an arm like this, up this close? Take a look
at this baby." I flexed one of the arms, a good bicep flex, and his eyes
opened so wide and he took a big gasp of air and held it. His breathing was
audible. A mixture of panic breathing and excitement breathing. I flexed it
a few times and I could feel the blood flooding into the muscle. 4 or 5
flexes got it to its maximum size. Then I gave him the double view, I flexed
the other one at the same time. One of my favorite poses, double biceps
straight away. I pumped them both, over and over. His hand was back on his
cock. He wasn't stroking himself, he was fondling, I'm sure he could sense
some tingling down there and was reacting to it.   I let him rest it there
and play, as long as he didn't stroke it I was fine with that. Any pleasure
he would feel would be from my touch or at my direction.

I noticed his eyes finally broke from my arms. He looked down, at my stomach,
and I noticed that he could see a peek of my abs. He looked up at my arms
again, and then back down to my abs, he didn't know what to do with his eyes,
I think his brain was overloaded.

"Time for you to see more."  I finally took my shirt off and showed him my
halter tank top, which I so loved to wear because with my expanded tits atop
my massive chest looming over my narrow waist it made for what one guy called
the sexiest effect he'd ever seen. I gave him another double biceps and I
heard a very audible gasp, he said "Oh my god, my god," and then I gave him my
favorite pose, my front lat spread, and I heard him say "Oh maa, oh naaa,"
which was probably random sound as he was searching for the will to
breathe. I ripped off my pants, one quick motion and they split in two along
the notches I'd made, and he could finally see my legs. I was performing
that lat spread that my trainer once called the single most impressive pose
he'd ever seen on anyone, male or female. He looked down at my legs, but then
when I changed to a double biceps again he was back up staring at my arms.

"Now you've seen me. Now you know. Not what you expected, right?"

He started blubbering. He couldn't get words out, his breathing was too short
and clipped. And I could see his arm moving a bit, and found that he had
started stroking himself, which had to stop. I stepped forward to him, took
his hand and said "No baby, not yet. Would you like some help finding the
words? Maybe a touch or two will give you inspiration."

I flexed my arm again and brought his hand to it. It was time for him to
learn how to worship me.

As I got more muscular, I found that I was incredibly sensitive when they were
touched sensually.  Like I said earlier, I'd been with some guys over the
last few years. This sensitivity wasn't everywhere on my body. It wasn't on
my neck, it wasn't on my toes. It was when the touch was directly to the most
massive parts of my musculature -- my upper arms, my delts, my traps, my
thighs, my calves and my abs. Massage was and is a key component of my
workout regimen, to keep the muscles I've been building loose and pliable, but
the sensitivity caused complexities even to massages -- I had to bite down on
something whenever I was on the massage table, to combat the sensitivity.

My ex was going to have to learn how to touch me the right way, not only the
touch itself but also the reason behind each touch. I wanted him to worship
every muscle on my body. And I knew he wanted to do that, just like in the
videos. But in the videos I never saw women sexually reacting just from the
touch -- it was usually the men. He was going to have to learn that
worshiping my muscles was for my pleasure and not for his, but that it was
both a requirement and a blessing to him. But not for his pleasure.

Right now, though, there was no question he was going to get pleasure from his
first experience touching me. Well, he'd touched me before many times, but
not the new me. And I'd let him have that pleasure for now. But I would end
it with pain before starting pleasure in another form.

He touched my arm. He sighed. I felt him squeezing it, probably as hard as
he could, although it had no impact on my arm at all. His grip wasn't strong
enough to make a dent. No man's was. I caught another glimpse of his other
arm move and noticed he was stroking his cock again. He couldn't help
himself! I grabbed his hand away again, this time a little more roughly, and
then squeezed and twisted his balls and he squirmed a bit in my grasp but
never stopped feeling my arm with his other hand.  "No, not that. That's for
me to do." I brought his second hand to my arm and told him to try to get his
hands around my arms, told him some stats about my arm, how big and strong
they were, some muscle talk that I was hoping would drive him wild and
intimidate him at the same time, but I think his mind was entirely focused on
the feel of my biceps as I flexed them over and over in his grasp.

It was time to end this pleasure for him with a dose of pain. I reached
around his waist and put my hand on his raw ass, and scraped my fingernails
along them. He tensed and let out this sad little whimper, like a dog's
whimper, still holding onto my arm but tighter, like he was afraid he would
collapse and was desperate to stay upright.

"Oh, my poor baby, that must hurt.  I need to take care of that for you," I
said to him. It was time for caring.

I put him over my shoulder, ensuring in the process that he could tell that it
was easy for me to get him up over my head. Once he was in the right
position, I locked him there through his legs and over his neck.  I started
walking around the apartment with him. I swung him around a bit, twisting
myself side to side so he could feel himself up in the air. I told him how I
remembered that I liked watching women do this to men in the videos he was
watching. It was important to remind him that I remembered the videos, as
much as possible. I wanted him remembering them too, in case he had stopped
watching them in the last few years. I walked him around for a minute or so,
in and out of the kitchen, around the sofa, to the front door, all the while
telling him how light he was and how easy it was to carry him around.  I
made my way to the sitting chair, the next station in my journey. I had to
put him face down over the back of the chair so I could have access to his
butt cheeks, so to do so I had to get my hands back into position to press him
over my head and bring him down to the chair. I didn't press him all the way,
but when I got him up in the air his hands reached down and grabbed my biceps,
probably an instinctual response to prevent a fall. I liked that feeling,
his using my muscles for protection, even if it did happen to be an instinct
in this case as opposed to a thoughtful decision. I laid him over the
chair, making sure his stomach was the pivot point as opposed to his groin,
and then gently and quickly adjusted his cock so it didn't get crushed by the
chair.

It was time for caring. I reached over him to extract the moisturizing balm
from the cushion of the chair. I squeezed the tube and it made a razzing
sound as the goop came out. He tensed up immediately, I'm not sure why
because I wasn't even touching him at that point, other than my legs pressing
against his legs so he would stay on the chair. He started panicking, big
time. He was kicking his legs, and he hit my leg with one of his legs. "No,
don't do that!" he said. I assumed at the time that he thought I was going
to start spanking him again, but it's possible he thought I was going to shove
a butt plug into him. I'd seen that in one of the videos as I was surfing,
and it just seemed strange. Not my thing. Whatever his concern, kicking me
was not acceptable.

I gave him a very strong spank, probably stronger than any individual slap I'd
given him earlier, and he yelled in pain and stopped kicking. I gave him one
more just for good measure, not as hard but still meaningful. Clearly his
butt was raw and tender, and I was worried that I may have done such a job on
him that it would make it hard for him later. I would need extra moisturizing
balm, I thought. I couldn't quite understand what he was muttering as he
calmed down after that initial yell of pain but it sounded like he promised
not to kick again, and that was good enough for me for now.

I applied the cooling balm to his ass, and after an initial tensing from the
shock of the touch, his body relaxed and his breathing became calmer. He was
making noises of relaxation with each breath, "aaah, aaaah, aaaaaah," as I
rubbed the balm gently and softly across the rawest parts of his butt, all
around, making sure it covered all the redness, everywhere I had struck him.
After all of the redness was addressed, I made my next move. I took smaller
and more frequent squirts from the tube, and made my way to my intended
destination -- first into the crack, then onto his anus, then under the anus
to that patch of skin between the anus and his scrotum, then I opened his legs
and put my hands through to the scrotum, and lathered his balls up fully, and
then one last squirt and I took hold of his cock. I told him he was going to
get a new experience, and started stroking his cock, for the first time a
stroke that was clearly intended to give him pleasure. I heard him emit a
sigh of pleasure at the sensation, and then I picked him up and put him back
over my shoulder, with his cock down in front of me. It was time for his
first orgasm.

I had developed the belief that to make a man submissive required tying his
orgasms to your dominant behavior. Not just once, but again and again. I
wanted him submissive today, so I figured I needed more than a few of these
instances. I had planned on four of them, each one completed using more power
and dominance than the last. This first one was to be done just showing how I
could show him my strength while getting him off -- pretty basic stuff.
Later would be more dominant executions.

So I had him over my shoulder and started jerking him off, stroking his
slippery, balmed cock again and again. At one point I felt him trying to
grab my ass, maybe he was trying to stop me or maybe it was a physical
reaction to the overwhelming stress he was feeling from desperately wanting to
orgasm but my not having him there yet. I could feel him take a huge intake
of breath and hold it, and I knew he was there, so I quickly grabbed the
jar from the chair and held it at the tip of his penis and gave it one last
stroke and he came into it, spurt after spurt, it just kept coming, more than
I'd ever seen any man emit. He'd made his first deposit. "One!" I shrieked,
and I'm sure he had no idea what I was referencing but soon enough he would.
His body went flaccid while his cock remained hard, and he was jelly in my
arms. 

I flipped him back over my shoulder and cradled him in my arms, holding him
tightly. He was limp. I made sure his head rested on my shoulder. I held
him as caringly as I could, swaying just a bit to ensure he was calm. I
walked him around the room a bit, making sure to hold the jar safely in my
hand. I'd need that later, and I didn't want it to spill.  And then I gave
him the first kiss of the evening, three soft presses onto his lips in slow
succession. On the third, I felt him barely return the kiss, a slight,
inviting opening of his mouth.

He was controlled, but not yet under my control. It was time to move to the
next stage. He was now fully aware. He had experienced mild dominance and a
hint of caring. Next was submission, and to get there I knew I had to raise
the volume of dominance to levels he had never experienced in real life, only
in his fantasies. As I held him there, starting to walk him towards my
bedroom, I hoped and prayed that I wouldn't completely destroy him in the
process.

She carried me into the bedroom. I was just re-emerging from the daze that
had come over me after she had made me come. My mind was spinning -- did I
enjoy it? Was this my dream in reality? Or was this a nightmare that was
just beginning, was she playing with me in some twisted punishment scenario
she was acting out with me to make a point now that she was clearly a
different woman -- a woman who now had the power and strength to make a point
with me.

Despite having just been brought to perhaps the most intense orgasm of my
life, I wanted to get out of there.  "Please, let me go. I'm sorry. I'm
so sorry for everything. No more, I've learned my lesson. Just let me go."

She put be back down on my feet. I was a little unsteady and almost fell over
and she held me up under my arms.

She closed the door to the bedroom behind me and pushed me up against it.
She held me to the door with one arm pushing against my chest.

"You want to leave, do you? Even after that? OK, let's play a little game."

"No games, please. I just want to go."

"I'll make you a deal. If you can get out of this room, I promise to let you
leave. That's all. Easy as that. Just make it out of the room. Of course,
I'm going to do my best to stop you, but I'm just one woman. You're a man."
She took off her heels and kicked them to the side. She was now just a bit
shorter than me, just like I remembered her. Shorter, but definitely
broader. And definitely stronger, I knew that now. "And you're bigger than
me, see that now? Without my heels, I don't tower over you. I'm just a woman
of normal height, smaller than you, and all you have to do is make it out of
this room, and you're free."

"And what if I can't?"

"Why think so negatively, baby? Have some confidence in yourself! If you
can't, then you can't. We can figure that out later."

"But you shredded my clothes!"

"I just tore your shirt. Your pants are still out there. But I'll be fair
with you, just in case you don't trust me. Here...." She let me go and
reached over to the bed, and in that split second I turned around and reached
for the doorknob, got the door open just a little bit, and before I could go
any further I saw an arm shoot out in front of my eyes and slam the door shut,
and then push me up against the door face first. "That was cheating, we
hadn't started yet." She put her hand on my behind, and rubbed it a bit. It
stung but not like it did before, not a blinding pain. The soothing lotion
had made things a bit better. "Do we need another round of punishment for
being a bad boy, hmmmm?"

"No, no, no, I'm sorry, it was just an instinct, no more of that," I said to
her.

"For now I will forgive that instinct." She turned me back around to face
her. She handed me a pair of black shorts. "You can put these on. If you
can't find your clothes out there when you get out of the bedroom, and you're
worried I'll chase you down, you can just run outside in these."

I put them on. They fit well, and the fabric was soft so it didn't bother my
raw behind.

Once I had the shorts on, she grabbed the waist of the shorts with one hand,
and put her other hand under my armpit.

"Go," she said, and I felt myself flying through the air again, she had
lifted me up and thrown me across the room, and I landed on the bed and
bounced off of the other side, onto a bunch of pillows.

I got up and made a run at her, planning on ramming my shoulder into her gut.
Just before I hit her, she shooed me to the side and I hit the wall. I got up
quickly and lunged at her legs, planning on tackling her. I got my arms
around one of her legs, but soon after locking my hands in she got her arms
around my waist and lifted me upside down, and when I let go of her legs she
tossed me aside back onto the carpet.

This wasn't working. I wasn't getting leverage. I was trying to spring at
her.

I approached her from the front, more slowly this time, and made a move low,
she bend down to ward me off, and then made a jump at her neck and got my arm
around her head. I put all my weight on her, holding her in a headlock. I
thought I had her, and then I felt her hand grab my elbow and she pulled my
arm off of her head, then I felt her other hand shoot between my legs and she
lifted me and threw me onto, and over, the bed again.

I tried again from the front, this time I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled,
and I was able to get her off balance and she staggered forward away from the
door. I pulled hard and she fell to the ground. I had my chance! Not
looking back, I grabbed the doorknob and turned it, opened the door and was
about to take a running step outside when I felt an arm grab me around the
waist and I was up in the air again, flying backwards, and once again landed
on the bed, bouncing off to the pillows.

"You almost had me there," she said, standing at the other side of the bed,
away from the door.

I saw another opportunity, and decided that perhaps I needed to get a bit more
aggressive with her. I stalked my way up to her, and this time tried to kick
her in the stomach, but she slapped my leg away and I went spinning to the
ground. I started to get up and took a wild swing and hit her in the stomach,
hard, but it had no impact on her and instead merely served to make my hand
ache. Those abs were for real. As I held my hand in pain, I felt a sharp
blow to my cheek and I went spinning to the ground again. She had slapped me.

She stood over me.  "Don't try hitting me again. If you want to get out,
you'll have to overpower me. Overpower this." She did a double biceps flex
again, and from below her upper body looked even more massive and imposing
than from my earlier view straight on. "Unless you want to give up. Is it
time for me to make you give up?"

"NO!" I yelled, and I got up quickly and jumped at her, intent on bringing her
down to the ground again. I got my arms around her shoulders and wrapped my
legs around her waist and I was pulling and pushing as hard as I could but she
was just standing there, and when I took a moment to look at her to see how
hard she was straining I saw her calmly look back at me and smile. I stopped
trying after I saw that and tried to climb back down to attempt a different
maneuver but she grabbed me and hoisted me over her head, holding me by the
butt and the back of the neck, fully extending her arms, and my nose seemed
perilously close to the ceiling but I'm sure it was several feet away, and she
walked around with me for a few minutes, saying something I couldn't
understand because my senses were shut down from the terror of potentially
being dropped from such a height, and then I was flying yet again, thrown to
the bed and I bounce off and into the wall, which thankfully was also covered
by pillows.

I looked back up at her, and she flexed her biceps again. "Now do you give
up? Or do you still think you can get out?"

I tried one last time, I'm not even sure what I did or how I approached her,
it's a bit of a blur now, but she got me bent over and trapped my head
between her legs and was crushing my head, and I yelled out that I gave up,
and I couldn't hear anything she was saying as I continued yelling it out,
worried that she couldn't hear me only because I couldn't hear anything
through the massive thighs that were covering my ears, and then she lifted me
by the waist and I was upside down, my head still trapped and my legs straight
up in the air, and I felt her walk a few steps around the room, and then she
removed the shorts and I'm sure I was hard again and I short time later her
yelling "Two!" and the next thing I remember is waking up, with a view unlike
any I'd ever had.

It was time for some wrestling fun. This was a core element of so many of the
videos I'd seen -- a woman and man wrestling, the woman overpowering and
pinning the man over and over, until finally the man gives up. In most of the
videos, the man gets sexually aroused by the wrestling, and in most of those
videos, the man is stripped naked by the woman and she helps finish him off.
I didn't have any wrestling mats, so I opted instead for a little game.

I carried him into the bedroom, still cradling him like a child in my arms.
He was so adorable in that position. I discretely put the jar of his semen
onto the dresser, hidden from view. He was begging me to let him go.  "I'm
so sorry for everything...I've learned my lesson." There was nothing he could
stay to stop the next stage.

I put him back down on his feet, next to the door, and then closed the door
behind him. I told him that we would play a little game, that if he wanted
to leave he would have to get through me. If he successfully did so, I'd let
him leave. And if not...well, I didn't tell him what would happen if he
didn't leave, I left that to his imagination. I took off my high heels for
the first time; I wanted to be intimidating but not too intimidating, so I
gave him the psychic benefit of being slightly taller than me.

He objected that he didn't have his clothes, and of course I'd thought of
that. I'd left a pair of shorts on the bed. I pretended to turn around to
get the shorts, figuring he'd make a break for it, and he was predictable as
always. I gave him no opportunity. I had considered throwing him over my
lap again, to soften him up before I let him try to wrestle me for freedom,
but I'd done more damage to his ass already than I'd intended, so I was
compassionate, I just pushed him back against the door, and put my hand on his
ass and squeezed just a bit, just enough for him to feel it, to know what I
could do. He gasped and held his breath, and started blubbering, begging me
not to spank him again. I admonished him, told him not to cheat, called him a
"bad boy" which I had already used several times but I wanted to reinforce
that I saw him as a boy. I was a woman, a strong and powerful woman, but next
to me he looked like just a boy.

I gave him the shorts and he put them on. The moment they were on, I took my
first test of wrestling dominance -- I grabbed him by the groin and the neck
and I threw him across the room, onto the bed. He bounced off and onto the
pillows. "Go!" I told him.

I was incredibly excited to test my wrestling strength and skills against him,
although I knew that it wouldn't be much of a test. From just that first
throw, I knew he had no chance. Picking him up was a breeze, and throwing him
wasn't much harder. He wasn't a trained wrestler at all, and I doubt he was
much of a fighter.

As for me, yes, I was incredibly strong physically from the bodybuilding, but
I had a group of four girls, me and three other women who worked out a lot,
and we did different fighting disciplines 3 days per week as cross training,
bringing in different experts each time. We experimented widely -- jiu
jitsu, judo, kickboxing, olympic wrestling, and other martial arts that, I
guess, fed into MMA.  Traditional olympic wrestling was my favorite,
actually. It was a test of strength and speed, both of which I had in
abundance. And two of the girls in our group had been collegiate wrestlers,
so they were tremendously skilled, and also quite strong, although not as
strong as me.

One of those girls was super-interesting. This is a bit of an aside, I know,
but she was a densely strong chick, and very tough, and last summer I saw her
out at the park with a guy, and they were sunbathing, and he was this
incredibly skinny guy and she was in her bikini and she was really buff at
that point, full and thick muscles even if they weren't highly defined like
mine, and I assumed it was some friend of hers or her brother or something but
when I said hello she introduced him as her boyfriend of 7 years! I must have
reacted in a bit of disbelieving way, which I was ashamed of later and
apologized to her, but he chimed in.

"We get that a lot, don't be embarrassed," he said, lying back on his towel.

I tried to play it off. "Get what?"

"It's ok," he said, not moving from his towel, completely non-plussed by the
moment. It's not like I don't know she's a lot bigger than me. It's not a
sudden thing."

"Oh, sorry. I noticed, but it's none of my business."

He sat up and took off his sunglasses.  "What's none of your business?"

"Nothing. I mean, the two of you, the difference, it's not a big deal to me."

He put his glasses down next to him and seemed to be getting upset, and said
"Not a BIG deal? It's not even a deal to you. What we do isn't..." And then
she placed her hand on his arm and he immediately stopped talking.

"It's ok baby, she didn't mean anything by it," she said. "Come lie on me."
And he shimmied over and laid his head on her stomach and relaxed again.

Later I talked to her and she told me about their relationship. That he was a
strong personality to the outer world, an executive with a finance company,
but at home he was completely submissive to her, and that she used her
strength to dominate him at home, and only at home. But that it was an
entirely consensual and bilateral relationship -- they both were into it.
I'd seen the fetish videos but I'd never met anyone who actually did any of
that stuff. I wanted to ask some detailed questions but she told me she was
private about it, and asked me to maintain her privacy, that the only reason
she told me was because we were becoming such good friends through our
training and because she had this hunch that she had a dominant streak too. I
told her that I'd never had a relationship like that, which is why I was so
curious, but the topic ended and we never brought it up again.

Anyway, the four of us did a lot of wrestling and with my ex there, I
desperately wanted to apply what I learned and show him how utterly
over-matched he was, not just by my strength but by my skills.

And that's what I did over the next 10 minutes or so. I thought it would
take longer to get him to give up, but it only took 10 minutes, maybe less. I
even surprised myself at how impressive I was at fending off his best advances
and countering with superior force. He tried headlocks but I pried those
off. He tried to grab my legs but I pulled him off also. He tried to bear
hug me but made me laugh when he couldn't get his arms around my back to get
sufficient leverage, so I fended him off pretty easily.

He came pretty close once when he pulled on my wrist and when I was going to
reach under his other arm to flip him over on his back I tripped over his
foot and stumbled forward. He got close -- too close for comfort! - but I
caught him before he was able to step outside and wrapped one arm around his
waist and heaved him backwards. He flew like he'd been pulled by a rubber
band! I realized I'd need to be a bit more careful with how hard I was
tossing him around.

He even tried to hit me. I knew he would do that at some point, and I knew
exactly what my response would be. He tried a kick first, but it was the
lamest and weakest kick I'd ever seen. If any of the women had tried that on
a jiu-jitsu day we would have laughed her off the mats! He had no balance,
and a quick deflection sent him spinning away to the ground. Then he caught
me with an uppercut to my stomach. I saw it coming and could have deflected
it easily, but I figured this was the right time to introduce a new element,
so I let it through, but tensed my abs and his hand bounced off. He yelped
"ow" and grabbed his hand in pain. Even the women in my group knew not to
bother kicking my abs! One of them once broke a toe!

So I slapped his face, very hard, with the back of my hand. He went spinning
to the ground. This was an important moment. Spanking was one thing -- even
though it was painful to him, there was an element of playfulness to it,
like it was a prelude to something else. I could say fun things like "you've
been a bad, bad boy" and it fit the context.

But this was different. It was clear from the sharpness of the slap, and then
from the stern look on my face when he caught his senses and looked up at me,
and then from the firmness of my voice when I admonished him, that he should
never try to hit me again, ever. And if that weren't enough, I gave him
another arm flex to remind him what kind of power was behind that slap, and
would be behind any other punishment I would deliver. I asked him again if he
wanted to give up.

I was hoping he would give up at that moment, but he had resolve, and my
flexing and preening made him angry. He yelled out "No!" and jumped at me,
grabbing me around the shoulders and wrapping his legs around me, I guess
hoping he could topple me and squeeze me into submission. He was grunting and
pulling and pushing me, and his eyes were closed with all the effort, and I
just let him tire himself out, standing there supporting his weight. He
eventually slowed his struggles and opened his eyes again, and looked at me,
and I just looked back at him and smiled, making it clear that none of what he
was doing was having any impact on me whatsoever.

He was about to jump off of me and I went for the kill. Instead of letting
him down, I lifted him up. I grabbed him by the ass and the back of his
neck, steadied him horizontally, and then pressed him up and over my head. I
held him as high as I could, making sure he knew I could hold him easily up
there. "You're so light in my hands!" I said to him. "You weigh, what, 150
or 160? I can do this with well over 200lbs at the gym! I could hold you
here forever!" He was shaking a little bit in my hands, it was obvious he was
terrified. "Time to fly, baby," I said, and I threw him forward, he hit the
bed and bounced off into the wall. I was so thankful I'd thought to put the
pillows on the wall, that could have been a bad bounce otherwise.

I was about to walk over to him to claim my prize when he jumped up and ran at
me again, putting his shoulder into my gut and wrapping his arms around my
waist, and he was swinging his arms blubbering something or other, and I let
that go on for a few seconds and then pushed his head down and trapped it
between my legs. I flexed by thighs just a bit and heard him scream, and
then decided that was too much and just lightly held his head in place.
Honestly, I'd had enough, and I had made my point sufficiently to him. I
said to him, "it's hopeless for you to try to compete with me based on
strength or skill. I need you to stop trying before you really get hurt.
It's time for this stage to end." And then I reached over and grabbed his
waist and pulled him up, using his head as a pivot, so he was upside down in
front of me, facing away. I pulled my shorts off of him in one motion and
exposed his cock, once again incredibly erect. I shimmied over to the dresser
to get the jar.  And then I stroked him off a second time, and within maybe
15 seconds he made a deposit in the jar almost as much as the first time. I
released his head a bit so he was sure to hear me.

"Two."

I put him back on the floor. He was completely passed out. Maybe I squeezed
his head too hard. Or maybe that orgasm was too much for him to handle.
Either way, he was out, and I could do whatever I wanted with him.

It was time for stage 4 -- complete and total submission.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on my back. My face was being
stroked by a hand, her hand.  I opened my eyes and saw two breast, perfectly
shaped and only partially covered by a cutoff halter top. My head was in her
lap. I couldn't see her face, only those perfect breasts. I'd never really
been that much of a breast guy -- after all, I dated her back when she was a
beanpole and she had much less than a handful. But for some reason the sight
of these breasts, and underneath them from that vantage point I could see the
outlines of her underlying pecs that appeared thicker than anyone I'd ever
seen, woman or man. As much as, or maybe more than, any picture I'd seen or
video I'd watched on the internet back during my fetish days.

Back then.

I started thinking about it, and back then was now. My fetish was clearly not
gone. My fetish was present. I had become uncontrollably hard when my ex
spanked me, and then when she completely destroyed me while I was trying to
wrestle my way past her to escape. Both times, I was overpowered, shown to be
inferior, outclassed by a beautiful and muscular woman, and all those desires
came back. No, not came back. They'd always been there, I'd just been
repressing them. The desires were a part of me, and she was bringing light to
them once more. But a real world light, not a glow from a computer screen.

I had spent far too much of my life trolling the internet for muscle porn.
Even when I was dating her, I sometimes told her I didn't want to make plans
because I wanted to jack off to some video I'd downloaded the night before.
Sometimes it was just a straight video of a bodybuilder flexing. I liked them
as massive as possible, but cut and defined. They had to look the part.
These were even better when there was a smaller man in the video as a
comparison -- and better still when they were comparing to each other, showing
how much bigger her arms were than his, how if she flexed her lats he would
disappear behind her, how his hands couldn't fit around her calves. Then
there were the wrestling videos, with muscular woman pinning men. Some of
these were long and involved, but I was drawn to wrestling videos where the
men were picked up and carried and thrown around, not just skirmishing on the
mat and turning him over. I liked it when the woman would demonstrate
massively superior strength. Lifting the man and throwing him, just like my
ex had just done to me. And some of these videos ended with the woman pinning
the guy and jerking him off. Sadly there were few of these with bodybuilders,
more with fit chicks, but as long as the guy was completely subdued I found
those episodes a total turn on -- the stronger chick in control of his
manhood, taking his come whether he liked it or not. I'm sure he always liked
it. I would have. I just did. There were also some videos that I would come
across that didn't do it for me -- there was a stream of fetish videos of
dominant women, some of whom were also muscular, using dildos on submissive
men. While I watched those from time to time, more out of curiosity than
anything, it wasn't my thing. And in the wrestling videos some of the guys
got off from having the woman sit on his face, forcing him to give pleasure to
her that way. That wasn't my thing either, in that fetish or in any of my
normal relationships, I never liked to bring my face there for any reason.
But overall, I spent way too much of my life on this form of sexual
self-pleasure, and I was glad to be rid of it.

And then this.

"Welcome back," she said. "I'm sorry I put you out like that. I'll make it
up to you." Then she lifted off her halter top and threw it to the side, and
she was wearing a bikini top, I knew it was a posing bikini, and I could see
that I was right about her pecs and her breasts. They were both incredible.
She continued to caress my cheeks, and I was upset to notice that it was
calming to me, that I wanted to smile and give a sound of satisfaction but I
prevented myself from doing so. I just stared up at her, trying to act
unfeeling, maybe a bit perturbed.

"Can I please go now. I apologized. I apologize again. I've had enough."

She tsked several times and put a finger over my mouth.  "No, baby.
You've had enough when I say you've had enough." I got agitated at this point
and didn't hear what she said next. But then she roughly threw me off of her
and to the ground. She stood up and took off her shorts, displaying her
posing bikini bottom, and gave me yet another flex, a double biceps that was
even more breathtaking now that I could see even more skin.

"I know you like this, I can see it from that cock springing to action," she
said. And she was right, I looked down and I was hard yet again. "If you
want me to set you free, I think you should show me how much you want it. I
want you to worship every muscle on this body. I know you know what that
means, from those videos you used to watch. Touch everything. Rub
everything.  Kiss everything. I give you permission. No, not just
permission. I demand it. Now."

I hesitated, about to say something in response, and then I saw her lift her
hand in preparation of a backhanded slap to my face, and I knelt down and
kissed her feet. And then I slowly worked my way up her legs, moving around
her as she stood solid on the ground, kissing and rubbing her calves, all
quite dispassionate with my only intent to finish the task so she would let
me go. I regarded her calves for a moment and held each one in my hand to
test whether my hand or her calf was bigger, and I found it was difficult to
decide. Getting this close to her muscles, touching them, really made me
understand how much work she had done to build her physique so much. I
continued, still somewhat mechanically, tracing the lines along her thighs,
squeezing them and shaking them so I could see the huge muscles move side to
side along her bones, then I got on my knees and went around to her glutes
and kissed and kneaded them, then her lower back, and kissed her abs along
every undulation, tracing my finger again in each crevice and ridge, and then
started to stand up and raised my face towards her chest, until my nose rubbed
along her breasts and I had a bolt of electricity go through me. Suddenly, I
don't know why, it clicked -- here I was in the closest proximity to the
muscle woman of my dreams and I was making my way around her body like I was
waxing a car. Was I mental? I kissed the chasm of her pecs, and I was right
about their size, I fit two fingers in the chasm, there were huge and solid
and I started kissing them them everywhere, I couldn't stop myself, kissing
from left to right and top to bottom, getting my mouth achingly close to her
perfect orbs and was preparing to start kissing them also when I felt her hand
take my head and guide me away, up towards her shoulders. So I continued the
journey to her shoulders where I rubbed and squeezed them, kissed her down
her left arm to her hand and then over to her other hand and up her right arm,
gave her a lick along the length of her biceps and then a kiss to the middle
of it, then went around the back and tried to massage the massive musculature
of her upper back but it was too dense for me to move anything, so instead I
just kissed her straight across from one side to the other, and then her
traps, I squeezed them and kissed them, on to the neck and then I stopped with
a kiss to the chin and looked up at her, and she was smiling a devilish smile
at me.  I don't know if anything I had just done had turned her on at all, I
hadn't heard her panting or reacting in any way. She gave me a soft kiss on
the lips and then said "One more place. You never wanted to do this when we
were together. I want it now."

She pushed my head down, and the pressure was more than I could bear and I
fell to my knees, and then she pushed me down harder and grabbed my hair, and
tilted my head back, and then she took her bikini bottom and shifted it over a
bit to expose her womanhood and started to force my face into it, and I was
struggling against her, and she let go of my head and I jumped away from her.


"No, I won't do that!" I yelled, and turned around and ran for the door, but
as soon as my hand touched the doorknob I was being pulled backwards through
the air and I was flipped over and thrown onto the bed, my face smashed into
the bed.

"Then it's time for you to truly understand what I can do to you," she said.
And she started to put me in hold after hold, each one more painful and
embarrassing than the last.

I was squeezed, I was bent, I was smashed, I was contorted in so many
different ways I lost count. I was lifted and tossed around, I was held fast
in her grasp, and ultimately pinned, I don't know, a dozen times, and each
time she demanded that I utter "I submit" before she would let me go and move
on to the next demolition.  I struggled my hardest for a long while,
desperately trying to stop her from overpowering me, but eventually I gave
in. I knew I was hopelessly weaker than her. And I came to accept that it
was an uncontrollable turn-on for me. I found myself trying my hardest to
avoid having my raging erection smashed or bent by the various holds she put
me in. The end came when she had me up over her head  and it seemed like
she was going to throw me across the room, but then she slammed me down to
the bed, jumped on me and kneeled over me, atop my chest. She wasn't sitting
on me, she was just kneeling there, looming over me. And she wasn't pinning
me, I could have worked my way out, but by then I lacked the will to fight
her.

"Do you submit? Do you submit completely?"

I looked up at her, and knew that I was done. "Yes, I submit completely."

She reached up and behind her neck, and as she did so her biceps exploded to
its full size. She gave a small tug to the string of her bikini, and the
bikini melted off of her. I stared up at her, at her bare chest, at those
perfect nipples that were hard from her exertion, and I wanted them. I wanted
her. I wanted all of her. Then I looked down and her bikini bottom also was
gone. She was naked before me, as I was naked before her, however her
nakedness was by choice, and at that point her nakedness would have been my
choice too. I was about to say something to her, and before I could get a
word out she leaned forward and sat on my face, her pussy directly on my
mouth. "You know what to do, baby." I'd never gone down on a woman before,
I'd avoided it up until now. Had I wanted to at any point, my preference
would have been to not have the woman sitting on me so dominantly. But in
this case my preference was irrelevant. She had made the choice for me. And
I followed her instructions. I licked her over and over, sucking here and
there, doing everything I could to pleasure her, even though I really couldn't
hear any of her reactions, I could only feel that she was moving herself
around giving me the signal that she was enjoying it.

Then, out of nowhere, she got up and said "Don't move." I stayed right where
I was and then a few seconds later she came back and repositioned herself on
top of me, still covering my mouth with her womanhood but this time she was
facing my feet, and without any instruction I started again, and seconds later
I felt her holding my penis and cupping my testicles and she was stroking me
yet again, and saying "Wait, wait, wait" and I could hear her this time and I
knew she didn't want me to come too soon, she was trying to time it with her
own orgasm, so I held off and then I heard her say "Now!" and she shrieked and
came on my face, and I had another mind-blowing orgasm, and I heard her yell
"Three!"

My legs were twitching, my heart was pounding, and out of nowhere I blurted
out "I love you!" The moment I said it, I knew things would change.

He was out cold for a while.  I laid his head on my lap, and looked down at
his resting face, at his motionless body, his chest rising and falling with
his relaxed breath. He was so calm. I felt his arms, such lean arms, even
smaller than I'd remembered, but maybe that's just because the comparison has
changed so dramatically. I wrapped my fingers all the way around his upper
arm and barely connected my middle fingertip to my thumb. It fit all the way
around. He was so skinny. I felt his shoulders, could easily feel the bone
underneath and the palm of my hand could completely cover one of them. I
felt his chest, the narrowness of it across, the flatness of it, there was
nothing to his chest at all, and I rubbed the tiny nipples to see if they
would get erect at my touch and they did. He was responsive to me even while
knocked out. I reached down further to his thighs, stretching both my hands
to them, and wrapped my hands easily around one of them. He was such a small,
weak man, something I'd never recognized back when we were together.  I had
just destroyed him physically, and feeling his body this way cemented the
reality that there was zero chance of his ever competing with me on physical
strength. The idea that I could spend every day like this, overpowering him
and then caressing him back, giving pleasure to both of us all the time, was
all I could think about. I was falling for him again. Falling for him based
on the supportive and caring person he was when we were together, falling for
him based on my knowledge that he would relish the role I was creating for
him in our relationship, and falling for him based on the body that was lying
on me and that I desperately wanted to fuck but knew I had to wait until he
was completely mine.  I rubbed him again, and thought to myself that I was
actually worshipping his skinny, muscle-less body, just like I knew he would
soon be worshipping my heavily muscled, dominant one.  Yes, dominant. I
would continue dominating him until he accepted that. It was time for him to
show submission.

It was time for him to wake up, for us to continue the process.  I laid one
hand on his cock, rubbing it. Again, he responded, hardening in my hand. I
played with his balls a bit, feeling them in my hand, moving them around,
while at the same time tenderly caressing his face with my hand. His eyes
opened.

"Welcome back," I said. "I'm sorry I had to put you out like that. I'll make
it up to you." I winked at him.

I took off my tank top and revealed my bikini, and he could finally see the
shape of my new tits. Despite all the wrestling we'd been doing, they were
still positioned in the bikini cups perfectly, jutting outwards proudly like
I'd wanted when I visited the clinic. I was incredibly proud of them. And I
wanted him to be too. But he didn't really react that much, other than a bit
of eye widening. He just asked if he could leave again, said he'd had enough.

"No baby," I said, "you've had enough when I say you've had enough." I was in
control now. It was time to show him how much in control I truly was.  I
threw him off of me roughly and stood up, and tore off my shorts to reveal
myself more fully in bikini and gave him some poses like I frequently
practiced at the gym studio.

I made sure to practice posing after every workout, at least for a little
bit. The practice wasn't for competitions, because I'd never really intended
to compete. And it wasn't to harden the muscle after a workout, like some
trainers advised me. My muscles were hard enough. It was for me, it was so I
could see myself in the mirror, appreciate the results of all my hard work,
and to be honest I kind of turned myself on when I did it. Not that I was
attracted to myself, or to other muscular women, it wasn't that. It was that
whenever I posed, I thought of all of those videos I'd seen of female
bodybuilders having men rub and kiss all of their muscles. Muscle worship is
what it was called, and that's what I'd daydream about in the studio when I
was posing. I didn't really mind the fact that, in the mirror, I could see
men's faces as they stared at me. I got a kick out of that. But I never
invited any of them in to join my daydreams.

But today was different. I wanted him fulfilling that fantasy for me. And I
could sense that he was ready to want it too. His cock was still hard as he
laid there, even harder than when I'd been playing with it a few minutes
earlier, and I saw his hand move down to it, another instinct where he was
needing release.

But he just needed an invitation to worship, and a bit of prodding.

"I know you like this, I can see it from that cock springing to action," I
said. He looked down and removed his hand from his cock, probably
remembering the last time he did that I slapped it away. "If you want me to
set you free, I think you should show me how much you want it. I want you to
worship every muscle on this body. I know you know what that means, from
those videos you used to watch. Touch everything. Rub everything.  Kiss
everything. I give you permission. No, not just permission. I demand it.
Now."

He hesitated, I think he really wanted to but didn't want to admit to himself
that he wanted to. So I prodded, with a raised hand, I was prepared to give
him another backhanded slap and was about to let loose when he lunged at my
feet and started kissing my toes. I smiled, I even laughed a little at how
easy it was to get him to act, with the mere threat of physical punishment.
He feared me. I needed to know he respected me too. And wanted me. And
would submit himself to me fully.

I could tell he wasn't into it as he started, the kisses were short pecks and
he was moving quickly. In my imagination, I had to force him to move from
muscle to muscle because he was just too into it, that he didn't want to let
even a single muscle go once he started touching it. But he was moving from
my feet to my calves to my legs as if he just wanted to get it over with. He
made it up my legs and approached my pussy but never quite kissed it like I'd
hoped he would. When we were together he never went down on me, and while I
knew he would get there that evening he wasn't quite ready yet. He kissed my
ass after my legs. I muttered to him, "get used to that," as a half-joke.
He gave me no reaction, maybe he didn't hear me. When he made it to my abs,
something changed. I was flexing them for him, something I didn't do when he
was working his way up my legs. I wanted him to see the definition, feel the
bumps and hardness, to their full extent. And he slowed down. He used his
fingers to trace them. He seemed to kiss every line, it just felt different
at that point, like he was finally getting into it. Then he moved up to my
pecs and for a moment his face was between my tits and I squeezed them
together just for a bit to trap his head, just for an instance, and I could
feel his body tense up and then relax again as I released the hold. He sighed
again, the first sigh of this worship session, an indication that he was
finally enjoying things. He kissed my pecs all over, and while he was kissing
them I was flexing them for him, a beating of the muscle that took me months
to perfect. And as he worked up and down his nose poked against my left
breast, and then his lips started to kiss the top of it, and he was about to
work down it more, I knew he wanted to kiss it all over but there would be
plenty of time for that, for now it was all about worshiping my muscles, so I
took his head and redirected it elsewhere, to my shoulders, where he continued
the worship, my shoulders, my arms, my hands, he kissed my hands and my
fingertips, as if I were the queen herself, and then my neck and he was
standing up at that point but not at his full height because he was still an
inch shorter than me, perhaps he didn't want to be taller, perhaps he liked
that feeling of being smaller and weaker and lesser than me so he stooped a
bit in my presence, and I was feeling like the most powerful woman alive, and
I kissed him gently on the lips.

"One more place," I told him, putting my hand on top of his head. "You never
wanted to do this when we were together. I want it now." I pushed his head
down and he folded to his knees, he yielded under just a portion of my
strength, had I pushed with full force I would have thrown him backwards and
he would have been too far from my intended target. Once on his knees I
grabbed his hair and tilted his head up, and his face was directly in front of
my bikini bottom, looking up at me, and then I pulled aside my bikini just a
bit and he looked straight ahead at my pussy, which was so wet at that point
from the excitement of having him truly, truly worship this physique I had
built, this powerful packaging of dominant womanhood that took years to
chisel, and was ready to have this man as hers. I pulled his face towards me
and he started to struggle, saying "No, no, no" but I kept pulling him until
his nose touched me and I shivered for a moment at that first touch and
released his hair, expecting that he would service me as I'd demanded, but he
jumped away and ran to the door.

I snapped. Next thing I knew I was grabbing him and throwing him around, but
this time it wasn't playful, it was anger. I wanted that victory right then
and there and he withheld it from me. And if he wasn't going to do it by HIS
choice, after clear guidance from me that he was I wanted him to do so, then
we was going to do it by MY choice, after clear guidance from me that he had
no choice but to comply.

It's hard to describe what came next. I was pissed off and like I said, I
snapped. I'm lucky he came out the other side without anything physically
broken...and alive. It could have been much worse. I was picking him up and
throwing him around, I was wrapping him up in various pins I'd learned and
making sure he was completely subdued before letting him out and then doing
more maneuvers on him. I used every muscle in my body to overpower him,
scissoring him in my legs, crushing him in my arms in a bear hug, lifting him
onto my shoulders and dumping him to the ground, bending him in half, in
thirds, in quarters, in fractions I didn't think a human could do. I finally
woke up when I had him up over my head and I was about to throw him as hard as
I could across the room, I was grunting in anger, and then I looked at him
and his face was terrified, but his cock was totally erect and throbbing above
me, and it was seeping, and suddenly I wanted that cock to be mine and I
remembered that I didn't want to hurt my little man and I calmed down, and
instead of throwing him across the room I stepped forward and slammed him onto
his back on the bed.

I climbed atop him, kneeling astride his chest, which underneath my solid
thighs looked so weak and puny, and I lowered myself for a moment and rubbed
my pussy a bit along his chest because I was so hot for him at that moment. I
kneeled again and looked down at him.

"Do you submit? Do you submit completely?"

His face had changed again. He was no longer terrified. He had a look of
complete and total respect. "Yes, I submit completely," he said. "Yes."

I smiled at him again, and I rubbed my hand across his chest and then brought
my hand slowly up my body, cupping one of my tits for a moment and then
reached back and untied my bikini, and the bra fell to the bed. He
immediately started at my tits, like I knew he would. I flexed my chest out,
and he continued his stare, and I could feel his arms trying to move but my
legs were holding them tight to his body. He was trying to reach up and touch
them, whether he knew it or not. Then I untied the bikini bottom and showed
him my entire body. He could finally see all of me, all of the new me.

I moved forward and positioned myself so my pussy was directly above his
mouth, still kneeling. I waited there for a few moments to test him, to see
if he would start objecting, because there could be no doubt in his mind what
was about to happen. It's one thing for a man to go down on a woman when she
opens her legs in bed invitingly, and he does so willingly. It's another
thing for him to go down on a woman when she opens her legs and pulls his
head to her requesting attention, and he does so partially willingly. But
it's yet another thing altogether for a man to go down on a woman, when in
fact it's the woman who is having the man go down on her, when she deposits
her pussy into his mouth, forcibly, giving him no option but to service her as
she deserves and demands to be serviced. And in this moment, they were both
about to experience this "yet another thing altogether." He did not say a
word. He did not shake his head. He did not close his mouth tight like a
child refusing broccoli. He did not give a pained face that was a tacit plea
for mercy. Instead, he looked up at me, and then he closed his eyes, and he
opened his mouth for a long breath, and then kept it open. His first true
submission to me. He was accepting something he had never before allowed, and
he was doing so willingly and submissively. I sat down on him, told him he
knew what to do, and he licked and sucked me like I had dreamed, there was no
hesitation, there was no pause, it was constant licking and sucking, where it
was clear to me that he was serving me, and that he was trying to bring me
pleasure. And he was. He was driving me wild. He couldn't see me, but I was
grinding him, and I was massaging my tits and pulling on my nipples, and at
one point I pulled a tit up to my mouth and sucked on my nipple because I
couldn't help myself from experiencing the sexual arousal to its fullest, and
I looked back and his cock was absolutely throbbing, bobbing up and down, the
vein jutting out from the massive blood flow going into it, maybe half of his
entire blood volume was in his cock right then and there, and I was worried he
might come then and there without my helping him, so I jumped off of him and
grabbed the jar and then returned and before I could even sit on him in that
same position he was craning his neck up trying to re-establish his connection
to my pussy to continue his work, and I reached back and gave his cock a hard
grip while I was stroking it to make sure that I could keep control over his
orgasm because I didn't want him to come too soon, definitely not before I had
mine because he'd already shown that he might pass out after such a strong
orgasm, so I was telling him "wait, wait, wait," and then I felt myself going,
and I was bucking on his face, and then I felt myself coming, and I was
spurting just a bit, and it was the most incredible feeling of my life to be
coming on to the face of a man who was submitting to my more powerful body,
whose only desire was to bring pleasure to me, and I gave him one, two, three,
softer strokes to his cock and yelled "now!" and put the jar over his cock and
he came again into it, emitting just as much as the other times, and he was
bucking and twitching underneath me and he was moaning and yelling into my
pussy while I was still orgasming, and the vibration from his voice and breath
brought me to a second orgasm and I shivered atop him again, and yelled out
"Three!" And then it was over.

I sat up off of his face, still kneeling over him, my pussy still wet and
dripping, his face wet, with drool all over his mouth along with whatever I
had emitted from my double orgasm, and as I was about to take the next step
and attach him to the bonds that I had secretly tied to the bedposts, I heard
three words from him that I didn't expect to hear.

"I love you."

The moment I said it, I was terrified, but for a different reason than the
terror I had been intermittently experiencing all night. I wasn't afraid of
physical harm, imminent or potential. I wasn't afraid that she would throw
me, or that she would beat the crap out of me with those incredible muscles.
I was afraid that I was telling the truth.

She lifted herself from my mouth and face. She took a hand towel from the
bedframe and wiped my mouth off. And then she leaned down and gave me a soft
kiss on the lips, and then one that was a bit harder and then I felt her
squeeze my balls and I opened my mouth in a gasp and suddenly her tongue was
in my mouth, exploring me, a kiss unlike any I had ever experienced. I let
myself experience it, being kissed, being the recipient of a kiss that was
performed with unquestioned intent and demand, allowing myself to be invaded
without defense against invasion, submitting myself to her advance.

Submitting myself. That's what I had just done. I had just allowed a woman
to perform an act on me that my former self would have fought its hardest to
avoid. I had fought it the first couple of times she asked for it, demanded
it of me. But each of those fights had ended in a bout of undeniable
overpowering where she made the point that I lacked the right to deny her
anything. And finally when I was worn down by her power, after the physical
demolition I had sustained against her superior strength, skill and will, and
she demanded it again, in a manner that was the apex of humiliation, lying
back and having her cover me with her womanhood, with no question of her
expectations, I fulfilled her expectations immediately and without question.
And, even more quickly than occurred when I was rubbing her body, when my
mentality went from getting through the experience to relishing the
experience, when I went from dispassion to passion, it took me no time to make
that humiliating position a completely sexual experience for both of us. As I
made her excited, I became excited. As I made her moan, I moaned.  As I made
her come, I came. My own sexual pleasure seemed to be getting tied to hers.


Did that make me submissive? I thought back on the videos I used to watch. I
had thought a submissive male was bound in chains, and wore a mask, and a ball
gag, and allowed his woman to do whatever she wanted with him without
question. That wasn't me. But in a porn video, it's almost impossible to
understand the underlying mentality that brought the man to that state. There
was no dialogue, no backstory. Only porn.

Was I becoming submissive? I knew she was stronger than me. I knew she
could overpower me. And it turned me on. But if she asked me to do really
unacceptable things, things that even when I watched them in videos I would
wince, I still would say no. If she took out a rope and tried to tie me up, I
would say no.  If she handed me a mask I would refuse to wear it.  If she
strapped on a dildo I would scream for help. I had submitted, yes, but I was
not submissive. I needed to keep convincing myself of that.

She ended the kiss and took my hands, pulling me up off the bed.

"I want to show you something. I think you'll like it," she said. And she
led me over towards the bathroom. I watched her legs from behind as she
walked. I wanted to lick them all over again. They were long and muscular
but not huge, not tree trunks. On a smaller woman, that size would look too
big, but on her they were so attractive to me. Especially the calves, more
prominent than any I had ever seen up close.

She led me under the door and pulled me close to her. She looked up, and
reached up to a bar that was installed in the doorway. She put her hands on
the bar, leaned forward towards me so that her breasts pushed on my chest,
kind of like that scene from Rocky but with the genders reversed. "Watch me,"
she said, and she proceeded to do a series of pull-ups, to the front and to
the back, over and over, and I watched her muscles flex and bulge and strain
as she did ten, fifteen, twenty reps. I think my hands went to my penis
again, because she kicked my hand away, and then I felt her legs wrap around
my waist and pull me in closer to her, and I felt them constricting around me,
and then she was pulling me up and I was off the ground, being pulled up with
her. She was performing pull-ups with me as additional weight, and she did
rep after rep after rep. She lowered me back down to my feet and got down,
turned around and flexed her arms again to show me her back muscles, and then
did a lat spread that filled the entire doorway.

Then she turned around to face me and leaned down and put one hand on my inner
thigh and the other in my armpit and hoisted me up, up, up above her head, and
had me all the way up in the air above her, her arms straightened, and then
did squats holding me in the air.

"The pullups were hard, that was a lot of weight," she said. "This one is
much easier. I can probably squat 3 times more than you weight. Maybe one
day we can have two of your friends over and I can show you."

Then she stopped squatting and brought me down in front of her face, and did a
series of military presses with my full weight, 2, 4, 6, 10 of them, up to 15,
and then lowered me again down to her waist and started to curl me like a
barbell, rep after rep after rep, and was telling me how light I was, how
adorable it was for me to use me for her workouts.

I was truly amazed by her strength. I was so turned on I thought I would
explode.

She walked me over to the bed. She laid me back onto it, on my back. She
took my arms and stretched them over my head, and while she did that her
breasts were right in my face. They smelled amazing and they looked just as
amazing. I was transfixed by them and quickly she lowered them so that they
were completely surrounding my head, I couldn't move my head even one inch,
they were holding my head tight. I was having a bit of trouble breathing and
kicked my legs a big and she pulled up a bit to give me space. Then I felt
something around my wrist, and it was tightening against me, and moments later
around my other wrist. I struggled to move my head and was able to catch one
slight glimpse of a rope tying my hands, which must have been connected to the
bed post.

I didn't struggle against it. Earlier I had thought that I would never let
her do that, but after that exceptional demonstration of her overpowering
strength, lifting me like deadweight in so many different manners, and with
those perfect breasts in such close proximity that I wanted to lick, and
fondle, and even more fearfully I had this urge to suckle at them, to be
comforted by her while I accepted that she was tying me up to capture me, I
did not object to this action.  I let her do it. I was her captive. I was
her prisoner. I was agitated but not struggling. I was starting to accept my
position. But the urge would go away, and I gave a single kiss to one of her
nipples.

She pulled her breast away, and sat up a bit and looked down at me. She
started flexing her pecs, and her breasts started to bob up and down, and my
eyes and head were bobbing with them, and she kept doing it over and over and
it was just too much for me and I think I yelled out "please" and then her
nipple was in my mouth, and I was sucking as hard as I could, and it was
filling my mouth entirely. I couldn't stop myself. I heard her moaning a
bit, I guess it was turning her on as well. She pulled her breast away and
presented the other one and I resumed my actions, and then I felt her grab my
penis yet again and she was stroking me and shortly she had brought me to
climax yet again, and I was screaming and sucking at the same time, a muffled
scream but a scream for sure, as I was overwhelmed with desire for her, and
the last thing I heard from her as I think I passed out again was "Four!"

I took a moment to make sure I'd heard what I thought I'd heard. There was no
doubting it. He professed his love for me. I picked myself off of him and
looked at his face and he looked like he was in shock -- and I don't think it
was the shock at his having come for a third time, or at his having made me
come, or of his being sat on by me for all that time. It was the shock of his
having said those words. And, I guessed, the shock of his having felt those
words. He was in love with me, and maybe some of it was the core of me that
he remembered, but most of it was the way I made him feel that night, the way
I was able to make him feel that way -- weak, inferior, protected. And I
think he was getting to the point where he was ready to love me for making him
submissive. Yes, he was getting there.

I needed to give him positive reinforcement, tell him that loving me was a
good thing that would result in reward.  I raised myself from him and
grabbed one of the towels I'd laid over the headboard. I wiped his mouth, all
the wetness from it that came from him and from me, and once I did that I was
ready to show him what good boys get, after so much time demonstrating the
result of bad boy behavior. I kissed him, softly first, then more firmly, and
he kept his mouth closed. I needed my tongue inside his mouth, I needed my
kisses to reflect the dominance I had been establishing all night, and my
tongue needed to be in control of his. I could have forced his mouth open and
shoved it in, but I decided to take a different approach, and reached back and
squeezed his balls firmly, not viciously, but enough to get a reaction, and
when he opened his mouth in gasping surprise I made my entry. The kiss tensed
him at first and then he relaxed and accepted my tongue, allowing to explore
his entire mouth without struggle or issue.

Once I ended the kiss, finishing it with some soft kisses and sucks on his
lips, I told him to come with me and pulled him gently from the bed, allowing
him to get up on his own rather than throwing him or dragging him. I brought
him over towards the bathroom.

The time had come to show him the full extent of my strength. Well, the full
extent I could demonstrate in an apartment, without free weights. If we were
at the gym I could show him more obviously, but it would be more fun the way
I'd planned.

I stopped under the pull-up bar and had him stand in front of me, while I did
pull-ups to the front and back. I wasn't counting, I was just repping. I
felt powerful, especially next to his weak body that probably couldn't do more
than two of them. I caught him reaching for his cock again, he was
insatiable! But it made me feel good that I was able to evoke a reaction so
easily, just with a strength demonstration, and whatever explosion of muscle
he was witnessing from his vantage point. I kicked his hand away again, and
then trapped him between my legs and did a bunch of reps holding his weight in
my legs, like a human weight belt. He was breathing heavy again, I was
worried he might come right then, so I stopped the reps and lowered him to the
ground. Then I did other exercises using his weight as a barbell -- military
presses, olympic lunges, curls...curls were my favorite because as I curled
him up his cock went right to my mouth, and I really wanted to blow him but
that wasn't part of the plan today. I did sneak a kiss to his cock at one
point, but I doubt he was able to tell. I kept telling him how his weight was
so light for me, that if we were at the gym I could lift a lot more.

After the demonstration I wanted to see if he would be compliant to my
demands, so I brought him to the bed and laid him down, ready to use the ropes
I had intended to use earlier when he told me he loved me. I pulled his arms
up and started to get the rope ready when I could feel his nose rooting around
between my tits. I hadn't noticed that I was smothering him when I leaned
over him. He was kicking his legs, I guess he couldn't breathe. As I pulled
back a bit giving him space, I felt a peck at my chest, and then another peck
and I could feel him giving tiny little kisses at me. I liked that feeling, a
different kind of worship as I dominated this time not with my muscles but
with smothering breasts.

I secured each wrist with a rope and I was pleasantly surprised that he
neither objected nor struggled. Was he so focused on my tits that he didn't
notice? Or had a made him sufficiently compliant that he would now do
anything I wanted? The true test for that was soon to come, I knew, based on
how far I had led him down the path that would ultimately lead to his total
and complete submission to me.

He was tied now, and just as I finished securing his second wrist, I felt not
a peck but a sucking kiss, right on my nipple. Since the surgery my nipples
had become much more sensitive. His kiss was quick but it pulled on my
nipple and hardened it a bit. I felt a little electricity shoot through my
body. I pulled away from him, taken by surprise, and looked down at him for a
moment, and he was looking up at me, and I regarded how small he looked in his
fully naked state, how in need of my protection he appeared. Some of it came
from the recognition of all that I had put him through that night, but some
if it came from the recognition that he was just a small, weak man, in need of
a strong woman to take care of him, to take care of all of his needs. I'd
obviously never had children, but I think my maternal instinct kicked in a
bit, and I wanted to comfort him, to nurture him. I wanted to nurse him.
That was it. That was what I was feeling. I wanted to feed him from my own
body, in a way that mothers relished the feeling of a suckling baby at their
breasts. I wanted him latched to me, utterly dependent on my for not only his
protection but his sustenance. Oh, if only the human body worked that way!
If a woman could produce milk on demand for any purpose, if she didn't require
special hormones that only were present after childbirth! I imagined in that
moment a lifetime with him, where at every meal I would eat my bodybuilding
diet of protein and greens, and while I ate he would be in my lap suckling for
his own meal. Never a reason for him to open his mouth for anything buy what
I could provide for him. Never a reason for him to have any needs that I
could not provide! The thought of this kind of life was making me feel
potent and dominant, and I was breathing more heavily and I felt my pec
involuntarily flex, and I saw his gaze shift downward to my tits which I knew
heaved when I did that. I did it again, this time voluntarily, and his head
moved to get a closer view, and I did it again and again, and his head was
straining to get closer. He was desperate to touch them!   I continued it
and I could hear his breath so fast, so stressed, and he was moaning as he
strained against the bonds to reach me, and I pulled back a bit further and he
strained further, and I moved to the left a bit and he moved with me, all the
while flexing my pecs and waving my tits at him, and out of nowhere he gave a
loud moan and said "Please! Please! Let me!!" and with that I shoved my
chest downward and put my erect nipple under his nose, and he reached his neck
up and put his his lips around my nipple, and took the entire erectness of it
in his mouth, and he was sucking so hard, harder than I had ever felt anything
suck my nipple, and the sexuality of it overcame me and quickly I was moaning
just as much as he was, and he was making a gnawing and slurping sound like
he was pretending to drink from me when I knew there was nothing coming out
from my breasts, but I could feel that something might come out of somewhere
else if he kept it up because I was so turned on by his display of desire and
need. My nipple was becoming just too sensitive from his motions and I had to
force his mouth off of me and I heard him say "No, please more, please more,"
and I presented my other nipple and he latched on, it was a real latch, he
was like my baby and I was caring for him, truly suckling at my breast like a
dependent baby. It was heaven for me. It was more empowering and sexually
exciting than I'd even dreamed.

I looked back and saw his cock throbbing yet again, and once again he was
leaking, desperately ready to be brought to orgasm again, so I reached over
and pulled on his legs to bend him over and give me better access to his cock,
and while doing so he didn't lose his latch at all, he just kept on suckling
away, I'm sure he was hoping and praying for even a drop of sustenance but I
know I had none to give, at least none that my breast would provide, but the
sustenance I offered him was his ability to touch me, to worship me, to be
cared for by me, protected and eventually brought to heights of sexual
pleasure he could never replicate.

I grabbed the jar, then grabbed his cock and stroked him and within seconds
he was coming yet again into the jar, and I yelled "Four!" and heard a muffled
scream as he continued to latch but couldn't help himself from vocalizing his
release, and the vibration of the muffled scream on my nipple was too much
for me to handle and I too was brought to a raging orgasm, and I fell forward
on top of him, my tits on his face and I was panting and bucking and when I
was done, I sat back up and he was out cold. I had nearly suffocated him with
my tits, and he passed out.  I checked and he was still breathing. But he
was out. And it was time for the final stage, to make him mine forever.

Awaking from my slumber, I found myself bent in two, and unable to move my
limbs. I was still lying on my back. I looked around the room and she was
nowhere to be seen.  I looked at my wrists and they were still in their
roped bonds, attached to the legs of the bed under the headboard. I was
stretched out even more tightly than I'd remembered, and I had been moved down
to the other end of the bed. She must have lengthened and then tightened
them to lock me more securely in place.  I looked at my legs and they were
in the air over my body, my feet over my face, bent backwards, and around my
ankles I saw another set of ropes, also attached to the headboard-side legs of
the bed.  My legs were spread open about two feet, and I couldn't close them
even an inch. I couldn't lower them. I could have opened them further, but I
was at the limit of my flexibility. And I could have pulled them up further
over my head but I was at the limit of my ability there as well. It was a
little uncomfortable but not overly so. I looked down my body and could see
the top of my behind, still a bit red from my earlier episode over her knee
but it appeared to be clearing up, thanks to time and the lotion she'd put on
me. I had a brief feeling of humiliation at my position, the fact that I
continued to be naked, that I was restrained, and that my behind was sticking
up in the air, easily accessed at the foot of the bed. I had a brief feeling
of fear, about what she might do to me in this position. I had seen those
videos, and I never liked them. And short of that the idea that my behind was
completely accessible to her hand made me fear for a return of the pain and
she could inflict by another round of spanking. I did not want that, not at
all. That thought dominated my mind, to make sure I did nothing that would
upset her, so she didn't turn to punishment.

But that thought evolved quickly in my mind. Was it the punishment I feared?
Was that why I didn't want to make her angry? And was it anger I wanted to
avoid? Or something short of anger? Disappointment? Both of these emotions
would have been externally motivated, by which I mean that her anger or her
disappointment would have been directed at me. I found myself thinking more
about the woman I had been dominated by all night. And it had been domination,
I knew that. She wasn't a dominatrix, whips and chains at the like, despite
the ropes that were currently restraining me. But she was dominant, there was
no doubt. I was thinking about how I wanted to make her feel. I wanted her
to feel happy. But how? She clearly had a desire to be strong and muscular.
And to be dominant. And a need for respect. To be worshiped.  To be
adored. What I came to realize that yes, I didn't want her angry at me, or
disappointed in me, but those were so that I didn't suffer the consequences of
that anger or disappointment, either because I would be physically punished or
psychically punished. But in order to not feel anger or disappointment at
myself, I wanted her to feel dominant, and powerful, and worshiped, and
adored. And to do that, it would take more than merely making sure I didn't
do anything to make her angry or disappointed. I needed to make sure she was
pleased, always. Not the avoidance of a negative, but rather the pursuit
of a positive.

I needed to make my every moment with her about positively reinforcing her
needs.

And I needed to make my every moment NOT with her about positively reinforcing
her needs.

I needed her to be happy. Happy with me and happy with herself.

I needed to serve her, fully. To satisfy all of her desires and wants and
needs.

I could think of nothing else at that moment, and in my mind I could not
imagine that I would ever think of anything else.

I had become her submissive. I could never look back.

I had been in and out of the room to check on him over the next hour or so.
It was getting late, and I should have been tired, but instead I was entirely
energized by the entire experience and sleep was the last thing on my mind.

I was in the bathroom flexing in the mirror, when I heard him rustling on
the bed, finally awake. I waited a moment and strained my ears to hear if he
would struggle against his new bonds. I had tied his feet to the bed while he
was out, pulling them over his head so his ass was completely exposed to me.
I heard nothing. I peeked my head out and I could see him talking to himself,
his mouth barely moving as he had an internal dialogue about something, I
could only imagine what. I decided to give him some time to talk it out.

After a few minutes, I re-entered.

"Hello, my baby," I said to him.

"Hello," he replied.

"You were out for a while. I was worried. Can I get you anything?" I
expected him to ask me to release his bonds. Instead, he asked for water. I
smiled at him, and went into the bathroom and came back with a cup of water,
which I poured into his mouth.

"Thank you," he said. Still, no request to remove his bonds. Was he
finished? Had he yielded himself to me? I had to see.

I sat down next to him and put my fingers through his hair.  I held my tit
in my other hand and presented it to him. "You suckled for a long time, and
now my nipples are so sore. They even hurt a little bit. Was that what you
wanted to do? Hurt me?"

"No," he instantly replied. "I'm sorry, I would never do that." He was
agitated, his eyes went from calmness to fear, or maybe a scared sadness that
was more internal than external, I wasn't sure.

"Good, but still," I reached under the mattress and pulled out the spatula I
had hidden there, "there must be consequences." I showed him the spatula.

He took a deep breath. If it had been an hour ago, I'm sure he would have
freaked out and begged me not to. But instead, he just laid his head back and
said, "I understand."

He was accepting it. He was accepting punishment that he knew would be
painful. He was so close! I was so close!!

I moved around him and gave only two slaps to each cheek, and he cried out on
each one but handled it well. I stopped quickly. I didn't want to hurt him
too much, not down there.

"I had to do that because I told you I would, and I always keep my word. But
I gave you a small dose because of how you handled it. How you didn't argue.
How you didn't struggle. How you understood your place."

"Thank you."

I reached down to his cock and touched it. It had become hard again after the
spanking. He liked it. It had become sexual for him. It had become
desirable. I knew that eventually he would ask for it, beg for it. And that
I would offer punishment frequently, both to bring him pleasure but also to
cement my dominance over him.

"I have a gift for you," I said. I walked over to the dresser and pulled out
the wrapped present I had hidden there. The box was tall and narrow, and had
a bow on the top. "I'll open it for you." I slowly lifted the top off of
the box, without showing him the full contents, and removed a silver ring.
It probably looked to him like a key ring, but without a keychain attached.

"This is for you. It is a token that represents my commitment to you, to
always care for you. And it is a token that represents your commitment to me,
and attachment to me."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" he asked, turning his head in surprise.

"In a way. I am telling you that I am committing myself to you, which means
you must commit to me. I will put this ring on you, as a constant reminder
to you that you are mine, and mine alone."

He relaxed a bit, and then I saw him wiggle his fingers a bit, inviting me to
slip the ring onto his finger. It was his way of saying yes.

"No, not there," I told him, shaking my head. I took the ring and put it over
my finger to show him how much bigger it was than is finger. "It's not meant
for your finger."  Then I showed him how the ring opened up, that there was
a joint that allowed it to flex open so it could be attached a cylinder
capped at the ends by greater widths, like a Greek column. Or like a
dumbbell. Or a neck. Or a cock.  He looked like he didn't quite get it,
yet.

I got up and moved around to the foot of the bed, standing where I could look
between his legs directly at his face. I showed him the ring again, fully
opened, holding it with both hands.

"With this ring..." I said, and then I reached down with one hand and grabbed
his erect cock, stroked it a couple times, to make sure it was at its fullest
state, and then brought the ring down and clamped it around the shaft, just
below the head. I clicked it twice to shrink it and lock it into place.
"...you are tied to me always."

He was staring down at his cock, and at first his look was of concern, but
then he smiled gently, accepting the ring around his cock. I crawled forward
a bit, lunging my upper body between his legs, and kissed him passionately.
As I finished the kiss, I nibbled his earlobe and then whispered in his ear,
"And you will never take this off. Never. If I ever see if off of you, I
will spank you so hard you won't walk for a month."

"I promise," he whispered.

I crawled back out and sat down next to him again.

"There's a second present in the box. Would you like it?" He nodded
silently.

I reached in and pulled out a strap-on. I heard him gasp, but I ignored his
reaction, and continued to talk to him.

"I know you have seen these, from those videos. Whether you were into it or
not, I do not know. But whether it is appropriate for us in our new
relationship, whether with my much stronger and more powerful body I deserve
to penetrate your weaker more compliant one, well, I guess I just answered
that question in the way I framed it. I'm going to release you from your
bonds now. And I promise you this -- I won't stop you from leaving
anymore." I stood up and took the next few minutes standing next to the bed,
giving him an extensive posing routine, showing every single muscle I could,
with nothing hiding a single striation. I saw his cock again seeping fluid;
and the fluid was dripping around his new cock collar. I ended my routine,
saying "you may leave now if that is your desire," and then as quickly as I
could I released the ropes from his wrists and ankles, and once again stood
back from the bed and did the best double biceps flex I could, with my lats
flexed as wide as I could and my legs striding wide to accentuate the flare
of my thighs.

He rolled to the side of the bed, stretching his arms and legs out as he did
so, and sat on the side of it, in front of me. He stood up and looked me in
the eye. Then he fell to his knees and put his arms around my legs, around my
ass, and reached his mouth up and started to lick my pussy, voluntarily, in
complete subservience, wanting only to pleasure me.

He was submitting to me. He had become submissive. He was mine.

But how far would he go?

I pulled him off of me and reached over to the dresser and grabbed the jar.
I showed it to him.

"You know what is in here, what I have been collecting?"

"Yes, I can tell."

I pushed it forward towards him. "Take it."

He took it.

"Drink it."

Without hesitation, he lifted the jar to his hands and started to tip the jar
back.

"Stop!" I said.

He stopped, before taking a single sip. I took it from him and walked over
and grabbed the other hand towels from the headboard, and poured the semen
into the hand towels, and then threw them back towards the bathroom.

I pulled him up by his chin so he could look at me. I kissed him again, and
reached down and grabbed him by the cock.

"You are mine," I said.

"I am yours," he replied.

"Are you my submissive now?"

"I am. I will always be. Dominate me."

I took the strapon and started putting it on. He turned around and bent
over. I told him, "No, not that way," and then turned him onto his back and
pulled him so his legs were off the bed. I crouched down and entered him, and
then put my arms around his back and picked him up, lifting him up and down
with the strength of my arms, over and over penetrating him, deeper and deeper
inside of him, establishing myself as his owner and his master. He was
moaning and eventually he started to bend his body forward, and I could sense
him reaching his head forward, so I let go with one hand and too my breast and
guided it to his mouth and he latched on again, and then I took his cock and
started stroking it yet again, and the whole thing was turning me on
incredibly because the strapon was designed for a woman's pleasure and there
was something tingling inside of me and as I continued to thrust into him and
bounce him up and down, I had the most intense orgasm of my entire life, and
orgasm worthy of a powerful dominatrix, an orgasm worthy of a queen of the
universe, and then he was gasping and holding his breath in my arms and he was
ejaculating up into the air wildly, over and over, screaming into my nipple
and as I yelled "Five!" I took a deep breath and started my new life with my
submissive love.

[Auto-reply:  I belong to my lover now. I am her submissive. I have no
thoughts of my own to write. Please refer to her writings from now on. Thank
you.]

[taoschild]

Pleaseforgive: I agree with your concerns - the way we've developed the characters leads to the domination scene so it works - the question is how much would they do.  I was hoping a clear direction from the poll but so far its suprizingly up the middle

Tmbosh: Me neither unless the more submissive one desires it

[bolt21]

Not to rain on the parade, but I wouldn't put too much into what the audience wants. Especially when you have a diverse group of fantasies (all within the power/muscle dynamic, of course).

It's one thing to write a story that addresses your own likes and to get feedback that says "more of this, or less of that" but it's altogether different to tailor your story around what you think someone else might want.

In other words, don't try to write about something that doesn't appeal to you just because you think it might appeal to someone else. Your story will suffer for it.

[MaryMuscle]

I agree with pleaseforgive and Bolt.  Stick with the characters behavior - stay consistent and your gut.