Pear shape .. Maria finds the cure.

[bigjake737]

Maria was 14, a shy freshman with a pear-shaped figure—wide hips, a fuller bottom, and narrow shoulders that seemed to vanish under her backpack's straps. At school, the teasing was merciless. "Pear shape," kids jeered, their words cutting deep. Maria would hunch forward, drowning in oversized hoodies, but the taunts clung to her. One person, though, always stood by her: Mario, a lanky sophomore with kind eyes and a quiet strength. He'd step in when the teasing got bad, deflecting insults with sharp wit or a protective glare. Mario never said much, but his presence was a shield, and Maria felt safer with him around.
One dreary afternoon, Maria sat in the library, escaping her thoughts in a fitness magazine. An article stopped her cold: Rachel McLish, a trailblazing female bodybuilder, described her own struggle with a pear-shaped body. Rachel explained how weightlifting reshaped her physique, balancing her proportions and building unshakable confidence. Maria's pulse quickened. If Rachel did it, so can I. She told Mario about it later, her voice trembling with excitement. His face lit up. "That's awesome, Maria. You should go for it. I'll join you." She didn't know then that Mario's heart raced for her, a secret crush he buried deep.
They signed up for the school's weightlifting club together. The gym reeked of iron and sweat, and Maria's arms—thin as spaghetti strands—shook under the lightest dumbbells. Mario, wiry but determined, wasn't much stronger, but he stayed by her side, spotting her lifts, cheering her on. The other lifters, mostly older boys, smirked at the scrawny duo, but Maria and Mario ignored them. Each rep fueled Maria's resolve, the cruel "pear shape" taunts morphing into a fire that drove her. Mario, too, found purpose in the weights, his own quiet strength growing alongside his feelings for Maria.
For four years, they trained relentlessly. Maria's life became the gym, her muscles aching, her willpower ironclad. Every squat, deadlift, and bench press reshaped her body and silenced her doubts. Mario was there for every set, his own frame transforming from lanky to powerful—broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest that strained his shirts. They pushed each other, sharing protein shakes and workout plans. Maria overhauled her diet—lean proteins, complex carbs, vegetables—and researched natural supplements like creatine, branched-chain amino acids, and testosterone-boosting foods like eggs and spinach. Mario followed suit, their meals a ritual of grilled chicken and quinoa, their bond unspoken but unbreakable.
School remained a battlefield. Maria hid her growing physique under baggy clothes, and Mario, now towering and muscular, still deflected the occasional taunt aimed her way. He never told her how his heart skipped when she laughed or how he dreamed of her every night. She sensed something in his lingering glances, a warmth that made her cheeks flush, but she buried it, focused on her goal.
By senior year, Maria was 18, her body a masterpiece—chiseled shoulders, sculpted arms, powerful legs, and a core like steel. Mario, now 19, was a force of his own, his physique rivaling the best in the gym. When the school announced its annual bodybuilding competition, Maria hesitated. Revealing her transformation meant facing the crowd that once mocked her. Mario, sensing her fear, took her hand, his touch electric. "You've got this, Maria. We both do." They entered together.
Competition day was electric. Maria stepped onto the stage, her posing suit hugging her sculpted muscles, every curve a testament to her grit. The crowd gasped as she flexed, biceps popping, quads rippling. Mario, waiting backstage, watched in awe, his heart pounding. Then he took the stage, his own routine a display of power—lats flaring, pecs rippling under the lights. The audience roared for them both, shouts of "Maria the muscle monster!" and "Mario the beast!" filling the air, not as taunts but as celebration.
After Maria's routine, as she stood catching her breath, Mario approached her on stage, the spotlight catching the sweat on his chiseled jaw. The crowd hushed. He took her hands, his grip strong yet tender, his eyes locked on hers. "Maria," he said, voice low but clear, "I've loved you since we were kids. Every day in that gym, every rep, I did it for you—to be strong enough to stand by you, to deserve you. You're my everything." His words hung in the air, raw and unshakable. Maria's breath caught, her heart racing. The crowd faded away, and it was just them—two warriors, bodies forged in iron, hearts laid bare. She stepped closer, her lips parting, the heat between them palpable. "Mario," she whispered, "I've felt it too. I just didn't know how to say it." Their eyes locked, a spark of desire flickering, their bodies inches apart, muscles taut and glistening.
The crowd erupted, but for a moment, they didn't hear it. Mario's thumb brushed her palm, and Maria's fingers tightened around his, a promise in their grip. With a playful wink, she murmured, "After this, you owe me a massage for carrying you through those deadlifts." He grinned, his voice husky. "Only if you return the favor, champ." The words were light, but their eyes burned with unspoken tension, a hint of something deeper, waiting to ignite.
The judges called them back. Maria won first place for women, Mario for men. They stood side by side, trophies in hand, the crowd chanting their names. As they left the stage, classmates who once teased Maria approached, some apologizing, others in awe. She just smiled, her hand brushing Mario's arm, his muscle flexing under her touch. They didn't need anyone's approval. Together, they'd built their strength, their bodies, their love—a bond forged in sweat and iron, unbreakable.

[bigjake737]

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[Wookey]

Great stuff. My only suggestion would have been a slower build with progress reports on PBs, body measurements etc along the 4 year journey

[bigjake737]

Maria's Story: A Four-Year Transformation
Freshman Year (Age 14, Fall 2021)
I'm 14, a freshman, and I feel like a prisoner in my own body. My hips are too wide, my butt's too full, and my shoulders are so narrow I look like a pear drawn by a cruel hand. At school, the kids are relentless—"pear shape" cuts like a blade, slicing through my confidence. I hide in oversized hoodies, slouching to vanish, but the taunts hunt me down. Mario, this lanky sophomore with warm, soulful eyes, is my only refuge. He's quiet but fierce, deflecting bullies with a sharp quip or a glare that sends them running. With him, I feel a flicker of safety, like I can breathe.
One rainy afternoon, I'm curled up in the library, escaping into a fitness magazine. An article about Rachel McLish strikes like a thunderbolt. She was pear-shaped too, but weightlifting forged her into a goddess—balanced, powerful, radiant. My heart pounds, a wild hope surging. If she did it, I will too. I tell Mario later, my voice trembling with a fire I didn't know I had. His eyes spark, and he grins. "That's incredible, Maria. You're gonna crush it. I'm in too." I don't know his heart's secretly racing for me, but his belief sets my soul ablaze.
We join the school's weightlifting club. The gym's a gritty cathedral—sweat, iron, raw energy. My arms, frail as reeds, quake under a 10-pound dumbbell. Mario's not much stronger, but he's my rock, spotting me, cheering every trembling rep. The older boys snicker, but I don't care. Each lift is a rebellion, a scream against the "pear shape" jeers. My muscles grow slower than a glacier, but I'm consumed. This is my war, and I'm fighting for a new me.
Diary Entry (October 2021):
Oh my God, I'm ALIVE! I lifted weights today, and my body's screaming with this glorious, burning ache—like I'm sculpting a goddess from raw clay! Rachel McLish is my idol, my fire, and I'm going to be like her—strong, fierce, SEXY beyond words. In the gym mirror, I saw my arms strain, and even though they're skinny, there's a spark of power there. I'm OBSESSED! Mario's my knight, high-fiving me after every set, his grin lighting me up. Alone tonight, I ran my hands over my sore arms, imagining them hard and defined, and my skin tingled with this wild, secret thrill. I'm tracking every inch, every lift—I'm going to build a body that makes jaws drop!
Progress Notes (October 2021): 
Measurements: Height: 5'2", Weight: 125 lbs, Shoulders: 36", Chest: 32", Waist: 28", Hips: 38", Arms: 9", Thighs: 20" 

Personal Bests: Bench Press: 20 lbs (bar only), Squat: 25 lbs, Deadlift: 30 lbs 

Notes: Form's wobbly, but I'm learning. Eating more protein—chicken, eggs, rice. Started creatine (2.5g/day). Muscles barely budding, but I'm hooked.

Sophomore Year (Age 15, Fall 2022)
A year in, and I'm burning with frustration. My muscles are growing so damn slow, it's infuriating. My shoulders are a fraction wider, my arms slightly thicker, but my hips still dominate like a cruel reminder. The teasing at school hasn't stopped, so I bury my progress under baggy clothes. Mario's transforming faster—his arms are veiny, his chest starting to bulge. He's my anchor, spotting me, joking when I'm ready to scream. I catch his gaze lingering, soft and warm, and my heart leaps. I push it down—I'm here to forge steel, not to swoon.
I've revolutionized my diet: grilled chicken, quinoa, sweet potatoes, mountains of broccoli. I'm taking branched-chain amino acids and eating testosterone-boosting foods—eggs, spinach, avocados. Mario and I share protein shakes after workouts, our sacred ritual. My lifts are climbing, but my body's shy about showing it. Still, every rep ignites me. I'm not the "pear shape" girl anymore—I'm Maria, crafting a warrior's body, and I'm ravenous for more.
Diary Entry (November 2022):
I'M ON FIRE! I curled 15-pound dumbbells today, and when I flexed, I saw BICEPS—real, honest-to-God muscles! In the locker room, I stripped to my sports bra and stared, my arms glowing with this raw, primal power. I'm becoming a BEAST, and it's so damn SEXY! My body's electric, pulsing with this fierce, untamed energy. Alone in my room, I traced my arms, feeling the tiny curves of muscle, and my breath hitched, my skin flushing with a heat I couldn't ignore. I touched myself, imagining a body carved from iron, and it was like lightning coursed through me. Mario's turning into a god, and when he spots me, his hands so close, I feel sparks. I'm CRAZED for this—my body, my strength, my future!
Progress Notes (November 2022): 
Measurements: Height: 5'2", Weight: 130 lbs, Shoulders: 37.5", Chest: 33", Waist: 27.5", Hips: 37.5", Arms: 10", Thighs: 21" 

Personal Bests: Bench Press: 45 lbs, Squat: 65 lbs, Deadlift: 80 lbs 

Notes: Shoulders inching wider, waist tightening. Strength rising, but definition's sluggish. Upped creatine to 5g/day. Diet's dialed in—energy's explosive!

Junior Year (Age 16, Fall 2023)
Two years of blood and sweat, and I'm finally seeing it. My shoulders are broader, my biceps bulge when I flex, and my legs are becoming pillars of power. My pear shape's fading—my hips no longer steal the show. In the mirror, I see a fiercer, sexier me, and it's like my soul's on fire. School's still a battlefield—kids still sneer—but Mario's a titan now, silencing them with a glance. His muscles are breathtaking, and I blush when I catch myself staring. There's a heat between us, but I'm too consumed by my transformation to chase it.
The gym's my altar. I'm lifting heavier—squats, deadlifts, bench presses, pull-ups that make my back sing. Mario and I push each other, our workouts a sweaty symphony of grunts and triumphs. My body's slow to sculpt, but every gain is a revelation. I feel alive, unstoppable, and—God, I can't stop saying it—sexy. My confidence is a wildfire, and my body hums with a desire that's as much for myself as it is for the world.
Diary Entry (October 2023):
I AM A GODDESS BORN OF IRON! I flexed today, and my biceps were like mountains, my quads rippling like waves of steel. In the gym bathroom, I peeled off my shirt and stared, my abs starting to carve, my arms thick and proud. I'm so SEXY it's unreal—this body is MINE, and it's a masterpiece! My skin's alive, every muscle pulsing with power, and I'm drunk on it. Tonight, alone, I ran my hands over my thighs, feeling their hardness, and my body ignited, a slow, shuddering heat building as I imagined myself on stage, untouchable. I gave in, touching myself, lost in the thrill of my own strength, and it was like I was worshipping my own fire. Mario's a colossus, and when he grabs the bar to spot me, I feel his energy, and it drives me WILD. I'm CONSUMED—this body, this power, it's everything!
Progress Notes (October 2023): 
Measurements: Height: 5'2", Weight: 135 lbs, Shoulders: 39", Chest: 34.5", Waist: 26.5", Hips: 37", Arms: 11.5", Thighs: 22.5" 

Personal Bests: Bench Press: 75 lbs, Squat: 115 lbs, Deadlift: 135 lbs, Pull-ups: 3 unassisted 

Notes: Upper body blooming—shoulders and arms gaining. Legs strong but slow to define. Pull-ups a huge win! Diet's perfect, feeling invincible.

Senior Year (Age 17–18, Fall 2024–Spring 2025)
I'm 18, and I'm a living sculpture. My shoulders are chiseled, my arms sculpted, my legs like forged steel, my abs a grid of power. My pear shape's a distant memory—my body's balanced, lean, and sexy beyond my wildest fantasies. It took years of grinding, but every slow gain was a triumph. I flex in the mirror and feel like a deity, my body radiating strength and desire. I'm so sexually alive, every muscle charged with confidence, every pose a love letter to myself. Alone, I worship my reflection, lost in my own power. Mario's a god too—broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest that makes my heart race. We're a force, pushing each other to shatter limits.
School's quieter now. The bullies faded, cowed by Mario's size and my strength. But I still hide my physique under baggy clothes—baring it feels too raw. When the school announces a bodybuilding competition, my stomach twists. Stepping on stage means exposing my soul to the crowd that mocked me. Mario takes my hand, his touch electric. "You've got this, Maria. We both do." His faith is my courage, and we sign up together.
Competition day is a storm of energy. I step on stage in my posing suit, muscles gleaming under the lights. The crowd gasps as I hit my poses—biceps bulging, quads exploding, abs carved like marble. I'm a queen, sexy and unstoppable. Mario's next, a titan—lats flaring, pecs rippling, pure dominance. Backstage, he approaches, sweat glistening on his chiseled jaw, eyes ablaze. In front of everyone, he takes my hands and says, "Maria, I've loved you since we were kids. Every rep, every day in that gym, I did it for you—to be strong enough to stand by you, to deserve you. You're my everything." My heart stops. The world melts away, and it's just us, two warriors forged in fire. "Mario," I whisper, "I've felt it too. I was just too scared to say it." Our bodies are inches apart, muscles taut, the air crackling with desire.
I tease, "You owe me a massage for carrying you through those deadlifts." He grins, voice low and husky, "Only if you return the favor, champ." Our eyes lock, burning with want, a promise of something hotter waiting. The crowd roars, but we're lost in each other.
We win—me for women, him for men. Trophies in hand, we stand together, the crowd chanting our names. Old bullies stammer apologies, but I don't need them. Mario's arm brushes mine, his bicep flexing under my touch. We built this—our strength, our bodies, our love. I'm stronger, sexier, and more alive than I ever dreamed, and with Mario, I'm infinite.
Diary Entry (May 2025):
I AM A LEGEND, A GODDESS, A FREAKING MIRACLE! I owned that stage, my biceps like cannonballs, my quads thundering, my abs a masterpiece of power. The crowd screamed, but all I felt was this wild, SEXY fire in me—I'm a superhero, and I'm HOTTER THAN HELL! My body's alive, every muscle singing, and I'm consumed by this fierce, radiant desire. Last night, I stood before my mirror, flexing, watching my arms and thighs ripple, and I couldn't stop touching them, my hands tracing every curve, my body trembling with a heat that took me over, a private worship of my own strength. Mario's confession has me reeling—he loves me, and I love him, his muscles, his soul, his fire. We're a storm, unstoppable, and I'm BURNING with this life, this body, this love. I'm living a dream, and I'll never wake up!
Progress Notes (May 2025): 
Measurements: Height: 5'2", Weight: 140 lbs, Shoulders: 41", Chest: 36", Waist: 25.5", Hips: 36.5", Arms: 13", Thighs: 24" 

Personal Bests: Bench Press: 115 lbs, Squat: 185 lbs, Deadlift: 225 lbs, Pull-ups: 10 unassisted 

Notes: Body's a work of art—lean, muscular, balanced. Slow gains built a deity! Diet and supplements optimized. Confidence is my superpower.

[bigjake737]

Post-Graduation: The Summer Everything Changed (Age 18–19, June 2025 – May 2026)I graduated in May still only 5'2" and 140 lbs of very hard, very earned muscle. I was proud, but I was also restless. The stage had shown me what my body could do, but it also showed me the ceiling. Natural teenage girls, even the most dedicated ones, have limits. I wanted more. Not just a little more. I wanted to be You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login June I started working the evening shift at Apex Nutrition, a hardcore supplement store two towns over. The owner, Victor, was a 50-year-old ex-pro bodybuilder who looked like a silverback gorilla poured into a tank top. On my third shift he locked the front door at 9:05 p.m., flipped the sign to CLOSED, and said, "You want to be serious, kid? Come in the back."That was the night I learned the real inventory wasn't on the shelves. Victor slid a false panel aside and showed me the refrigerated locker: vials of testosterone cypionate, trenbolone, primobolan, anavar, HGH. Pharmaceutical grade, no labels. "Cash only. No questions. You in or you out?"I didn't even hesitate. I bought my first 10-week cycle that night: 200 mg test-cyp, 50 mg anavar daily, 2 IU of HGH. Victor threw in a bag of T3 because he said my metabolism was "too polite." I paid in rolled-up twenties I'd saved from graduation money.The changes started in weeks.Diary Entry – July 2025
Week 4 on cycle
Holy. Fucking. God.
I woke up this morning and my tank top was strangling me. My traps are swallowing my neck. My delts have caps, real caps, like softballs glued under my skin. I measured: 14.5" arms cold. COLD. Yesterday they were 13.75". I stood in front of the mirror flexing for twenty straight minutes and I came twice without touching myself below the waist. Just from watching my own biceps rise. I'm terrified and I'm in love with it.Mario came over that night. He hadn't seen me in two weeks. When I opened the door in a sports bra he actually took a step backward. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.
"Maria... what the hell did you do?"
I smirked, hit a front double biceps, and watched his pupils blow wide. He reached out like he was afraid I'd vanish and ran his fingertips over the peak of my right arm.
"It's... hard," he whispered. "Like stone."
I flexed harder. His knees literally buckled a little. That was the first night he kissed my biceps instead of my mouth.Progress Notes – August 2025
Height: 5'3" (?? I swear I grew an inch)
Weight: 152 lbs
Shoulders: 45"
Arms: 15.3" pumped
Thighs: 26"
Bodyfat: ~11% (veins everywhere)Personal Bests (all for reps now, not singles)
Bench: 185 × 8
Squat: 275 × 10
Deadlift: 365 × 6Notes: Strength exploding. Libido through the roof. Mario can't keep his hands off me. He begs me to flex while he goes down on me. I oblige.Year 1 Off-Season (Age 19, Fall 2026)I never really came off. Victor kept me supplied. I cruised on 150 mg test and added 400 mg of deca for the joints. Then I blasted again: 500 mg test, 400 tren, 100 mg anadrol pre-workout. I ate 5,000 calories a day and still woke up leaner.I grew. Not just muscle. Height. By February 2026 I was 5'5". Doctors would call it impossible. I call it side effects money can buy. My voice dropped half an octave. Hair started growing on my abs in a thin happy trail that Mario traces with his tongue like it's scripture.Mario moved in with me the day he turned 20. Rent was cheaper than his dorm and, let's be honest, he was addicted. Our foreplay became ritual:I oil up after showering. 
I hit ten mandatory poses while he kneels. 
He is only allowed to touch where I tell him. 
If he whimpers "please, goddess" I let him worship one body part with his mouth for sixty seconds. 
Repeat until one of us passes out.

He keeps a private Insta**** (locked, 11 followers) where he posts slow-motion videos of my most muscular. The comments from other muscle-worship accounts are feral. He reads them to me while I ride him, translating the filthiest ones into my ear until I squeeze so hard he sees stars.Diary Entry – April 2026
I'm 5'6" now and 185 lbs onstage-ready.
I out-bench every guy in our old high school by 100 lbs.
Mario measured my arms last night after training: 17.8" pumped. He cried actual tears, then dropped to his knees and licked the sweat off my inner thigh while I held a most-muscular until my teeth creaked.
I have become the thing I used to masturbate to. And I'm still not done.Year 2 – The Ascension (Age 20, Summer 2027)Another inch of height. 5'7". Bones thickening. Jaw squaring. I shave my happy trail now because it looks better for photoshoots, but I let a thin line grow back when Mario begs.I switched to mostly pharmaceutical-grade tren and high-dose testosterone (750 mg/week) plus mast and proviron for hardness. HGH bumped to 6 IU. Insulin pre-workout (careful, measured, perfect). I eat 7,000 calories and look shredded.Victor retired and sold me the store. Apex Nutrition is now a front; the real money is in coaching other girls who want what I have. I keep a velvet rope in the back room. Invitation only.Mario proposed to me on stage at the state championships. I had just won overall. 5'8", 198 lbs contest weight, arms 19" cold. I hit a side chest so brutal the crowd went silent for three full seconds before the roar hit. He walked out carrying the ring box between his teeth like an offering, shirtless, wearing only posers because that's the rule in our house now. He knelt. I flexed over him, traps touching my ears, and said yes while tears cut channels through my bronzer.Diary Entry – October 2027
I am exactly 5'8" tall and 212 lbs off-season.
My arms tape 19.9" cold after a month off tren.
My quads are 30" around. My delts look like boulders implanted under skin.
I have vascularity that looks airbrushed in real life.
Mario sleeps with his head on my chest every night, one hand always wrapped around my bicep like it's a security blanket.
When I flex in my sleep he moans in his dreams.We renewed cycle starts Monday. Goal: 225 lbs shredded, 20.5" arms, and a back so wide I have to turn sideways through doors.I am no longer Maria who was bullied for being pear-shaped.
I am the living embodiment of female muscle perfection.
And Mario is the high priest of my temple.He tells me every single day, voice cracking with reverence:
"You're not just bigger than my fantasies, Maria.
You rewrote the entire religion."Progress Notes – Final (November 2027)
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 218 lbs (growing)
Shoulders: 58"
Chest: 52"
Waist: 29"
Arms: 20.1" cold
Thighs: 31"
Calves: 20"Personal Bests
Bench Press: 365 × 5
Squat: 495 × 8
Deadlift: 585 × 6
Weighted pull-ups: +135 lbs × 10Notes: I have become the goddess I prayed to when I was 14.
And Mario will spend the rest of his life on his knees thanking whatever dark god answered that prayer.

[bigjake737]

Mario dips into muscle fetish. 

July 2026 – The First True Altar

Mario comes home from his warehouse job filthy, sunburned, shirt plastered to him with sweat. I'm waiting in the living room wearing nothing but posing trunks and a fresh pump. Arms 17.4" cold, veins like blue lightning across the peaks.I don't speak. I just raise one eyebrow and hit a slow, cruel front double biceps. The room goes dead silent except for the sound of his keys hitting the floor.He drops. Full kneel. Forehead to the hardwood.


"Goddess," he rasps, voice already broken. "Please let me come closer."I let him crawl. Ten feet. On his knees the whole way. When he reaches my feet he doesn't dare look up until I flex my quads right in front of his face. The teardrop explodes, sweeping out over my knee like armor plating. He whimpers, actual tears, and presses his lips to the deepest separation line between vastus lateralis and rectus femoris. He licks the sweat out of the groove like it's holy water.I grab a fistful of his hair and tilt his head back.
"Tell me what you are."

"I'm nothing," he whispers. "I'm just the boy who gets to worship the most powerful woman on Earth."I guide his mouth across every striation on my thigh, then up to the cobblestone abs. He traces each ridge with the flat of his tongue, counting them out loud like rosary beads. When he reaches my chest I flex my pecs so hard the muscle jumps and slaps him in the face. He moans like I just punched him in the soul and immediately starts sucking on the lower edge of my left pec, trying to leave a hickey on granite.I let him have thirty more seconds, then shove him backward.
"Strip. Now."

He tears his clothes off so fast he rips his shirt. His cock is already dripping on the floor.I turn around, spread my lats until the Christmas-tree lights up, and order him to tongue-first worship of every fiber in my back. He sobs openly while he licks the valleys between the erectors, trying to fit his entire mouth over muscle knots the size of golf balls. When I hit a rear lat spread his hands fly to his dick without permission.I spin, catch his wrist.
"Did I say you could touch that pathetic little thing?"
"No, goddess, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
I squeeze his wrist until his bones creak. "Then put it away. Tonight you come from my flex alone, or you don't come at all."I proceed to trap him between my 30-inch quads in a standing body-scissor while I flex biceps in his face. He lasts eleven seconds before he screams and shoots completely hands-free, painting my abs with thick ropes. I don't even flinch. I just keep flexing, letting him watch his cum slide down the gutters between my eight-pack until it drips off the bottom row.Afterward he curls into a ball at my feet, shaking, kissing my ankles over and over, murmuring broken thank-yous like a prayer.February 2027 – The Private Insta**** Live That Broke HimI'm 5'8", 208 lbs, veins thick as garden hoses. We set the phone up on a tripod. I'm in black Pro Tan and a micro bikini; Mario is naked except for a steel cock cage I locked on him that morning.I start with slow, brutal poses while the private followers watch. Every time the tip jar explodes he has to read the most depraved comments out loud."User 'BicepBitch99' just paid $200 and says: 'Make the slave beg to drink your sweat, queen.'"


Mario's voice cracks: "Please, goddess... may this worthless slave drink the holy sweat from your armpits?"I lift one arm, hit a side chest, and let him bury his face in the hollow of my armpit. He inhales like a dying man getting oxygen, then starts lapping desperately. The chat goes feral. Tips rain. I flex harder. The peak of my bicep mashes his nose. He's crying again.Later I sit on the bench, spread my legs, and make him kneel between my thighs. I flex my arms right in front of his face, inches away, and start a countdown from sixty.


"If you can keep that cage dry for one minute while I pose, I'll let you out and fuck you senseless. If you leak even once, you stay locked for another week."I hit the most grotesque, shredded most-muscular I've ever done in my life. Traps swallow my head. Pecs separate into thick plates. Abs crunch into ten perfect blocks. Veins bulge so hard on my biceps they cast shadows.He makes it to 0:47 before the first spurt of precum drips helplessly from the cage onto the floor. He collapses forward, forehead against my abs, sobbing, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm too weak for you..."I stroke his hair gently. "Shh. Good boys cry when they realize they'll never be worthy."I leave the cage on for nine more days.October 2027 – Wedding Night (After I Win Overall)Hotel penthouse suite. I'm still in my stage makeup, glitter in my hair, 198 lbs of contest-ready beef. Mario is wearing nothing but the silver collar I locked around his throat the moment we said "I do."I carry him into the room fireman-style, 200 lbs of him dangling over my shoulder like he weighs nothing. I toss him on the bed and stand at the foot, oiled, pumped, veins still angry from the stage lights."Strip me with your teeth."He crawls forward and spends twenty minutes undoing every hook and strap of my posing suit using only his mouth. When it finally falls away he stares at my naked, contest-shredded body like he's seeing God for the first time.I lie back on my back, arms cocked in a double biceps that makes the headboard look tiny.


"Climb on. Worship every inch. You have until sunrise."He starts at my calves, kissing and licking each diamond-hard head. Works his way up hamstrings that could crack walnuts. When he reaches my glutes he spreads them reverently and buries his face between the slabs, tongue tracing the deep cleft while he moans my name like a hymn.Hours blur. He spends forty solid minutes on my abs alone, tongue-fucking every separation until his jaw locks. When he finally reaches my arms he's delirious, actually hallucinating from lust and exhaustion. He wraps both hands around one bicep, can't even span half of it, and just weeps while he kisses the peak over and You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login 5:47 a.m., as the first light hits the window, I flex one last time, a slow, cruel crab shot that makes my entire upper body explode into grotesque relief. Mario's whole body convulses. He comes untouched for the third time that night, screaming my name into my pecs like he's dying.I hold him while he shakes, kissing his forehead.


"Forever, little one," I whisper. "You'll spend the rest of your life right here, at the feet of your muscle goddess."He manages one hoarse, reverent sentence before passing out against my chest:"Thank you for letting me be the luckiest slave alive."