[kredenchurut] The Hardest Brexit - ongoing story

[kredenchurut]

Hi, this is the first chapter of a longer story. There is not much muscle action in this one - as this is only an intruductory part - but bare with me, it will be worth it! (I hope 😁) Comments and critiques are welcome!

The Hardest Brexit
Chapter 1, part 1

“Hi, this is Amanda Bliith, from TV78, reporting live from Brussels.” - the young and athletic presenter said, staning in front of a waiting crowd. -
“After several years of extended deadlines and fallen negotiations it all comes down to this: the last and final brexit negotiation between leaders of the Europen Union and PM of the United Kingdom, Theresa May. They will either settle on a deal tonight or brexit happens without a deal - starting next monday. No more delays, no more excuses. Will the EU be able to force their agenda or can Theresa May strong-arm them into submission? We will see. No one can really deny that the continent’s leaders hold most of the cards in this situation. It would be a miracle for the British Prime Minister to negotiate something even remotely satisfying for her people. Failing at this task several times already made her a constant target of ridicule by the press and fhe people. So she chose to spend the last two years away from the spotlight and working on a deal that would finally impress the Union. Everyone around the globe is looking forward to what she came up with as it could change the way of European politics for the future.”

-“Thank you, Amy! That was it for Amanda Bliith, our field reporter, reporting live from the brexit negotiations” - the anchorman concluded and than kept on discussing brexit with his invited guests on TV78. The heated discussion among the pundits and the anchor was cut off prematurely as the camera cut to Brussels again. The star of the night finally arrived. A heavyly padded black limousine rolled slowly to the entrance of the negotiation building, where a small delegation of Europen Politicians were waiting for it. Jean-Claude Junkcer, Angela Merkel and Emmanuelle Macron, so the most influental leaders of Europe were all there, standing in the cold and waiting. When the limousine stopped, bulky gorillas stepped out of it in sunglasses and tuxedos. With ceremonial gestures they slowly opened the back door of the car.

The signature leopard printed high heels appeared from the darkness of the limousine followed by the scrawny and weiny ankles of the 64 years old lady who wore them. Discussion of “should a woman of her age wear shoes clearly designed for much younger and more delicate feet?!” started from the day she entered politics and never stopped, it was a common talking point even today. Although it should be noted that this view was the most prevelant amongst men who had to look up to see her eye to eye - her being 1m 71cm already and wearing heels higher and higher these days. It was always shameful for a man to be dwarfed by a woman, so how shameful was it to be dwarfed by and old hag with a wrinkled face and graying hair?

It seemed like she wanted to issue a statement to these man in particular by chosing really high, 10 inch heels and opting to surround herself with intimidatingly big but shorter bodyguards, towering over them by a head at least. Was this a sign of how things will go tonight around the negotiation table? Was the message “Now matter how big of a man you are, I will always be above you”? We’ll have to see.

As usual she showcased a unique taste of fashion, maybe this time a bit more extravagant, wearing a fur coat ridiculously oversized. Compared to her dress her head looked comically small. Her neck that was hidden from the chill of the cold january night by one of her signature scarves she always wore.

Although there was practically no positive response to her from the gathered crowd she waved around with the biggest smile on her - not too attractive - face. The years of the negotiations left their toll on her, leaving her hair almost completely white and deepening her already prominent wrinkles. With her grin showing her uneven and yellowish teeth she seemed oblivious to the fact that she arrived late. She also ignored the delegation that came forward to welcome her and she strolled closer to the public and started to give them autographs, surrounded by a sea of her guards. “Boo”-s and insults came her way from the crowd but she seemed deaf to the negative tone and blind to the sight of the inpatient world leaders who clearly wanted to get on with the greeting procedures and start the negotiations already.

To completely disrespect them she even started giving comments and interviews to the press, to the immense pleasure of young Amy, the reporter from TV78 who earned a second appearance on screen by getting to ask her a few questions. Theresa wasn’t in a hurry to answer, taking her time to ponder and mumble about. After a few more interviews she finally decided to meet the delegation and enter the building.

As all the other EU politicians arrived on time, they already took a seat at their desks. Their annoyed and hateful stares followed Theresa as she walked towards the desk marked with a small UK flag. The public and the press was omitted from the conference room but she kept her guards around her anyway. She even got a few laughs from people for being overcautious and also because her oversized coat looked funny on her fragile and usually hunched form. Although she seemed to have a much better posture now... It looked so much better, it even seemed imposing from up close. As she reached her desk her guards stepped down and for the first time of the night the people could see her in full form. She was always obscured by these behemoths she had as guards. But not this time. And here came the first shock of the night: (Although looking back, this first shock seems tiny compared to the shocks this night still had coming) The two guys who were standing on Theresa’s left and right side stepped away. And at this moment it turned out they weren’t next to her but in front of her, because her shoulders were so wide in this huge-huge coat she was wearing. Easyly as wide as her two guards together. And they weren’t lean at all, not by a long shot. Her arms were equally thick but the long fur showed nothing of her legs. Surprised murmurs started around the room: Did she gain this much weight? So she’s not just ugly but also fat now? Or is it just a really really huge coat? Why isn’t she taking it off? Theresa paid no attention to the chatter, just took her place and gestured toward the others to start the meeting.

Juncker, the leader of the negotiating comittee started right away. He explained in a really
long speech how generous it is of them to even listen to the United Kingdom. And then he asked what everyone wanted to hear: What is the Theresa’s new offer? What can she propose?

Theresa May while keeping a calm eye-contact said the following: “Our final offer is this: We, the United Kingdom will leave the EU. Will get to keep all our rights and privileges we had as members. But we are not members anymore so we won’t pay any of your taxes and won’t have any of the drawbacks that other members share. Do we have a deal?”

Quiet shock followed her question. No one new if she was actually serious. It seemed so ridicoulus, most of the politicians started laughing. But Theresa didn’t. She was just looking straight ahead with confidence and composure.

(To be continued)

[wolflightning13]

Interesting idea.  Definitely one way to shut politicians up.  Nice job teasing the possibility of muscle. 

[Lupus753]

This story's title is not one I expected to see on this site.

[kredenchurut]

Hi guys and thanks for the feedback. This one turned out to be a bit longer than I wanted but at least at the end of it we finally got to some serious muscle-action. I hope you will like it!


The Hardest Brexit
Chapter 1, part 2

“It is still TV78 and we are still talking brexit. Lets resume where we stopped before the commercials” said the 30-something anchorman with the smart haircut, looking around the four guys they had on their brexit coverage.

“Sure thing, Bob” said the pundit with the goatee. “We were questioning Britains decision to let their PM enter the lion’s nest alone, practically defenseless. Where is her team? Where are her negotiators, experts and diplomats, who could help her? She has no backup!”
“I think this spells disaster for the english people. She can’t handle these guys alone.” weighed in an other expert. “One fragile old lady against the most ruthless negotiators of the continent? It will be a bloodbath! I can’t imagine what could be going on in there...”

In there - with the European Union’s negotiators and Theresa May - a nervous silence sat on the room. The diplomats couldn’t wrap their heads around what the UK prime minister just said.
“You want to leave the EU and keep all its benefits? We never accepted deals in which you gave up these benefits. They weren’t good enough for us. How could you possibly think we will accept this?! Are you out of your mind?”
“This has to be a joke”
“What is this madness?!”
The european politicians started to get nervous. They gave a final chance to this old hag and she was wasting their time with nonsence like this. Some even started to stand up and pack their things to leave.

“Calm down, calm down!” said Juncker. Everyone got quiet and sat down. “I understand that you are upset, my friends. I can’t understand what the english delegate just said, either. But I’m sure it was just a joke. A bad one at that.” Turning to Theresa, he continued “We are expecting you to give us something more than your previous offers. We got nothing from those, so we refused them. Give us something more, so we can get over with this finally!”

He got appreciating claps and nods from all around the room. Theresa though seemed unfazed by his words. Holding her smirk she exclaimed “I’m actually glad you never accepted our previous deals. These weren’t what we, what I deserved. But you will accept this one, I’m sure. And you will accept it tonight.” Nervous chatter erupted in the wake of her words immidately.
“How could you possibly force us into such an atrocious deal?! Is that why you brought your goons here?” The baffled Juncker asked, referring to the group of heavyweight bodyguards who had escorted Theresa to the room.
She exploded with laughter: “You are worried about my little boys? You are clearly mistaken. These whimps can’t even protect themselves, how could they be of danger to you? Look at this one” she said, forcingly grabbing the face of one of these Mr. Olympias in hear hand and shoving him forward. “You see these bruises and swollen lips?” she said, while removing the guy’s sunglasses with her other hand. The bruised guard looked down, visibly uncomfortable with the situation. It was a curious sight for sure: a wrinkled granny intimidating a hugely muscular guy. And who could have even possibly beat him? But theresa went one step further and even slapped the guy on face. Although the guy was clearly broken already, this slap iginted something in him.

Huge guys like him usually take lots and lots of steroids and hormones to develop their phisique. People with these drugs in their system usually loose their temper quite easily. As you could have predicted, the slap made him loose it and he surged forward. Mid-movement he came to his senses though and retreated, but Theresa already noticed his misbehaviour. And that’s something she doesn’t tolerate.
“Hah, look at this monkey! Stepping up for himself. Don’t back down, my son, finish what you’ve started. If you want to step up to me, do it! The huge guard sheepishly stepped up to Theresa, her advantage in height painfully apparent.

“Surely there are better opportunities to discipline your employees, miss Prime Minister. We should make progress with the neogtiations and you’ve only been wasting our time. Show some respect please and continue the negotiation!” a diplomat asked. She ignored the request though and addressed the room:
“Such a marvelous opportinuty. Lets see if this rebellous guard of mine can do any harm to an old lady, like me! You will see that he can not, so it will prove that you have nothing to be worried about.”
The guard muttered a quiet “Please stop.” but she paid no attention to him either. Ignoring the displeased crowd of politicians around them she shoved the guard forward and called him out: “I’ll give you an opportunity to have payback for all the abuse and indignity you and your friends had to suffer while around me. I can be a little harsh occasionally...” she said turning to the crowd with a huge smile on her face. With a stern voice he continued: “You can punch me as hard as you can and prove your worth once and for, you worthless subhuman weakling”
“But miss, keep your tongue! This is the European Parlient!”
“See if I care!” she shouted back.

The scene was rather unusual at least. In front of all the European leaders stood and old lady in an oversized fur coat, asking the incredible Hulk to punch her so she could discipline him. The politicians were paralyzed by what they saw and could only continue to stare as Theresa continued: “My little boy, here is your chance. Hit me. Ignore everything else.” The guard looked around nervously, but shyed away from doing anything. “Come on! I gave you a permission. You don’t have to fear punisment.” She said with a reassuring smile. But the guard was still suspicous, so he asked her: “Do you promise? No retribution?” “I promise, little one. Just get on with it already!”

He finally gathered his courage. He stepped backward for bigger momentum and rotated his whole upped body to put all his strength behind the punch that he waited so long to hit. All those months listening to her scolding them for every little mistake, all her abusement was concentrated into his anger and into this overloaded punch. It felt liberating to finally realease all his strength, to power up all the muscles he built up over the years.

“Breaking news on TV78! We just got information regarding the delegation that left the UK to negotiate brexit. It turns out they actually had a team and not just the prime minister herself. But the rest of them have been found beaten and woundsd in a brutalized hotel room where their preparation took place. Doors torn off their hinges, walls smashed through and multiple people beaten almost to death. Several of them will live their remaining lifes in wheelchairs or worse. The police is clueless about what or who could have caused destruction of this magnitude. Experts speculate it to be bear attack although it seems highly unlikely in the center of Brussels downtown. Witnesses refused to comment on the matter. The question remains: how could have Theresa May escaped the attacker? What information does she hold about the attack? We won’t be able to find out until the end of the neogtiations.”

The punch that would have knocked out a grizzly bear bounced off of Theresa like a pingpong ball. It couldn’t even wipe off that stupid smirk from her face. In fact her smile couldn’t have been wider as she looked around the dead silent room, with everyone shocked by the way she absorbed the hit, defying reality and showing no sign of pain at all. “What was she packing underneath this fur coat that could stop the huge guy’s fist?! And now he’s in agonising pain, doubled over, holding his bleeding hand! What is going on?!”
“See? He’s harmless!” said Theresa “But to show you how generous and merciful I am, I will ask these little monkeys to leave us. Off you go! Hurry!” She said as she turned to her bodyguards. She even slapped one of them on his ass as she ushered them outside through the door. “Uugh, that’s firm, my boy” she hissed. But the bodybuilder just bowed his head and took the abuse without a word.

Juncker seemed pleased: “Thanks for your understanding, miss Prime Minister! I hope we can finally move on to the actual negotiation now...” he said but he trailed off at the end: “Miss Prime Minister... Wha...? Are you locking the door? Why? What is happening?!”
“Hahah, yes, yes. I’m locking the door, my dear. If I have to leave my boys outside than it is only fair to keep your guys out as well.”
“My guys?!” What on Earth are you talking about?!”
“Don’t play dumb! I’m talking about security, police, military, these kind of guys. The ones who could came to your help.”
“This is a monetary negotiation, woman! Come to your senses! Why would I need any kind of help from the military?! Wha... Oh... Ough...” he couldn’t finish his sentence. His brain just stopped working. The sight in front of him was so unbelievable his mind couldn’t handle it anymore and just gave up. He stared slack jawed, with saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Why would you need help? Let me show you a little sneak peak. Just a teeny-tiny one!” the elderly PM whispered as she finally removed her fur coat and let it hit the floor.

It turned out it wasn’t the coat that was big. It was Theresa herself. In all her insanely muscular glory. Her sleeveless blouse showed off arms that were easily as thick as a full grown man. She had a mind-boggling amount of muscle on these monstrocities. There was more meat on each one of her arms than on her bodyguards... COMBINED. Her shoulders had inches deep striations. Her biceps was larger than a wrecking ball and propably had more destructive power in them. Forearms wider then a doorframe narrowed down to wrinkled wrists, wearing her favourite bracelets. There was more muscle definition on display here on one person than on a while crew of a bodybuilding contest combined. It was so detailed you had to see it from close up to notice all the small ridges and bumps of her ultramuscular form. Her - not double but - triple headed biceps were so sculpted it looked like her thin and old skin couldn’t contain their earthshattering hugeness anymore. Liverspots showed around the folds of her muscle groups, reminding her slack jawed onlookers of her advanced age. Weins criss-crossed her beefy features around her elbows, bringing blood to fuel the oversized hyper-muscles she had on her. Even though her shoulders were easily wider than she was tall, her gargantuan arms looked so out of place on the wrinkled matron, it was really hard to believe that this could actually be real. It would have looked unbelievable even in a cartoon.

The double yeti-sized arms made it almost impossible to notice anything else on her. But here legs were no toothpicks either. Her white blouse was complimented with a dark grey tweed skirt in XXXL size, that came down to her knees. Beneath them were the biggest calves any human (or any other living being for that matter) had ever had, its curvature being even more emphasized by her sheer black nylon stockings. Her legs were so insanely overdeveloped, even dinosuaurs would be jealous of them. Her T-rex shaming thighs filled out her tent sized skirt almost to a ripping point. Her calves were so wide that she had to spread her legs and even then they were smashed together in the middle. Her leopard printed heels looked even more out of place underneath this hurricane of muscles she had on her shins.

“So we were talking about you accepting my deal, if I recall correctly” she purred while having a shit eating grin on her face, her wrinkled and ugly features radiating with confidence and power. “I already destroyed a hotel suite today, but i think I still have some juice in me if you force my hands...”

[MegaMassiveMuscle]

Oh I hope they are stubborn! Maybe even rude to her. I’d love to see one of them REALLY make her angry.

[zyxww]

Easily one of the best stories around, I can't wait to see the following chapter!

[kredenchurut]

Hi guys and thank you very much for the feedback. I hope this chapter will be to your liking, it goes all in on the muscles 😁

The Hardest Brexit
Chapter 1, part 3

The negotiations seemed to take a bad turn. British Prime Minister, Theresa May had to take matters into her own hands. Weathered, old, wrinkled, but astonishingly powerful hands. Hands that were connected to layers upon layes of over-developed forearm muscles, defined and striated well beyond belief, defying what was previously thought humanly possible. Yes, this 64 years old granny of a politican shattered all theories about what the human body can achieve, regarding muscle size and power. As she stood in front of a paralyzed crowd of EU politicians she couldnʼt help but feel utterly superior, having the most muscular arms man ever seen on display, jutting out from her silk sleeveless blouse. Her muscles were so detailed and even the tinyest muscle group so ridiculously developed that the surface of her body looked more carved than the Grand Canyon. Her legs were so utterly muscular, she couldnʼt even fit one of her unflexed calves through a regular sized door, they were so amazingly huge in diameter.

Fortunately the negotiations took place in a room with double sized doors.
Unfortunately these doors were locked now, by non other than the overly muscular mega-behemoth, who stood in front of committee. Her ugly, bird-like face stretched to a wicked grin. Nothing less then perfect, nothing less then the strongest was enough for her. So she didnʼt trust a simple lock to hold the doors - knowing what would come next - she needed something more powerful. Next to the door were the flags of the represented countires and the EU, each fixed on massively thick metal bars. She grabbed the EU one and shoved its bar between the doorhandles. She stopped for a second and turned her head back towards her opponents. Turning her neck seemed nearly impossible, regarding how much neck muscle she had to move to make her traps stretch out just so her head could fit. From the back her chin wasnʼt even visible as her mountainous trap muscles obscured most of her wrinkled face.

The EU leaders were staring at her in horror. With a dry, almost fading voice, Juncker - the head of the comittee - asked her “Please, miss May... Yes, lock the doors for sure, you are free to do that! We couldnʼt agree with you more... But is that steel bar really necessary? Ergh… We have state of the art door locks, no need to shove that 15 cm thick solid metal through them... Hm… We wonʼt leave, we promise!!” All the while screaming inside: “Please for the sake of god, donʼt be that strong to be able to bend those pipes! Please! She canʼt be that strong, it just sould not be possible!!” But almost as if she could read his mind she grabbed the two ends of the massive metal bar and moved them towards each other in a painfully slow pace and without showing any hint of effort. She deliberately had her back towards the diplomats so they could see how her already insanely wide delts came to life and expanded even further, stretching her elegant silk blouse to the max. It clinged to her muscles so tightly that all each and every muscle group were clearly visible through it. Her back was so insanely sculpted and vastly huge that it was hard to remember that it was a living thing, not a massive mountain or a pile of rocks. Her traps balooned asnthe movement continued, obscuring her playful eyes milimeter by millimeter. Her silver hair got pushed tightly to her scull as her neck muscles enveloped her head, each single piece of hair disappearing one by one behind the ultra-ripped balloon of muscle.

Although her back wasnʼt on full display, her naked arms made up for it immensely. Her shoulders were so peaked and jacked, they were practically vibrating with power, every little bump of muscle fighting for its place on its surface. Her ever-expanding triceps were smashed so tightly to her silk covered delts, you couldnʼt fit a single piece of paper between them. The horseshoe shaped tricep muscle looked like an oversized toiletseat, or more like a somehow balooned AND oversized toiletseat. Her meat packed limbs narrowed down drastically to pointy and dry skinned elbows, covered with veins. As she bent the bar upwards her forearms  eventually disappeared behind her mega-muscled upperarms until the two ends of the bar finally met in the middle.
She stepped backwards and turned toward her negotiating opponents. She took her time to look around and bath in the admiring stares she got from all around the room. She took immense pleasure in watching as they finally realised just how strong she was. She reveled in every slack jawed expression, every face distorted by fear. The fear of something above them, the fear of an unbelievably powerful force, like a god… or something even more powerful than that. She certainly felt that way. If the God would have came up to her in her current state she would just brush him of with a small fragment of her strentgh and then rape him. So yes… she had some wicked thoughts, but she obviously had really good reasons to believe she could do these things.

It took several minutes of complete silence for Jean-Claude Juncker to finally gather all his courage and speak in front of this deity who just demonstrated how ungodly powerpul she is. “Dear Miss Prime Minister, we bow before your immense strentgh. We applaud your phisical superiority and congratulate you on being the - i think i can safely say it - the most muscular person to ever walk the face of the Earth. But… But as I said earlyer this is a monetary and legal discussion about our countries’ future. So if you could please show how fair and correct you are - as we all know - and continue the negotiation only with words and not involving any phisicality… We would be immensly grateful to you…” but he couldn’t continue because his mind got blown again. Not just his, but everyone else’s in the room who experienced this otherworldly muscle-creature unfolding in front of their eyes.

Theresa May, the United Kingdom’s ageing Prime Minister raised her hands until her arms were spread horizontally on both her sides. The top of her unflexed biceps rose to her forehead while the bottom of her triceps were in level with the top of her skirt. Her elbows looked miniature compared to her herculean upper arms, even though they were massive as well, as they had to connect the immense weight of her forearms to her ultra-ripped biceps. If you thought nothing could compare to those magnificent and unnaturally huge upperarms, you were wrong. Her forearms were clearly rivalling them in size and in definition as well. They were maybe a few centimeters smaller in diameter but they were still thicker than the trunk of a mammoth-pine. This disgustingly detailed muscle explosion she had as her arms ended in hands fleckered with ugly liverspots and wrinkles. The one thing haven’t changed about her with her muscle transformation was her fashion sense: she still liked to wear expensive jewelerry, bracelets and diamond rings. She clinged these rings together with closing her fists and moving her hands towards her weathered face. Her already bloated biceps started to grow exponentially and strain to an even more detailed more shredded state. At the top of the flex her arms exploded into dense walls of uber-muscular meat that rose well above her comperatively small head. Her definition etched into her muscles so insanely deep that her already triple headed biceps boomed to an unprecedented quadra headed state. Veins rose to the surface of her pale and unhealthy skin, showing small red scars all around her inner elbow where she usually juiced herself. And at the top of this mountain of hyper-ripped muscle sat Theresa May’s jovial face. Her rather ugly features couldn’t have been anywhere more out of place than on this man-shaming body of a god she became. Her regular make up to cover at least some of her wrinkles, mascara to emphasize her rather small eyes, the designer haircut that was so iconic, it all comnected to the most muscular specimen the world has ever seen.

“You accept my deal.” Theresa exclaimed. “We, the UK keep all our privileges and leave the EU. You either agree to it or face the consequences of opposing someone well and truly above your wieght.”
“Err… I’m afraid we couldn’t do that… Our hands are tied here you see… We have to achieve something that our voters would want… You have to understand our position…” Juncker tried to argue, but Therese cut him off.
“Oh shut up, worm. You clearly don’t understand what is going on here. I wanted to act like a merciful god, but you just ruined your chances. Let me show you.” and with that she started to move towards Juncker. Sho could have bypassed the tables, chairs and people who were in her way… But she was a bit pissed at this point so she just stomped her way through everything. Heavy, 10 seated wooden tables flew away as her moving legs touched them, trapping several people underneath them as they toppled. Her feet brushed off people from their chairs and tossed them in the air, landing with painful thuds on the floor. The diplomats tried to shove her away or stop her, but they couldn’t do more than shouting at her. She just couldn’t possibly be budged by them. They had to know it. As she reached her destination she briefly looked back above her ultra-ripped and hyper striated shoulder to see the mayhem she caused. Fifteen or so people tried to move each table she just waved over with a single movement of her ankles, trying to free their peers who got trapped underneath them. They reminded her of little ants, who gathered in immense numbers to lift objects several magnitudes bigger them them, but they just couldn’t. The sight of a destroyed room and almost a hundred people desparately trying to recover from damage they suffered just because they were in her way felt really good.

In front of her, Juncker gulped loudly as he played through in his mind the worst scenarios she could do to him. She had to smile because he couldn’t have imagined how miserable a role she meant for him. “I wanted to do this a bit later, but if you insist... I guess I can start the raping a bit earlier today. Flexing this body - clearly meant for crushing gods - kinda makes my clit tingle…” and as she said that she grabbed his head with her palm and shoved him between her man-crushing legs, right under her skirt. He got trapped so tightly between several hundred kilos of muscle he couldn’t move an inch. He could only hear her muffled voice from the outside: “You start licking now.” Fearful of the vise-like preassure her pillars of quadriceps could apply he moved the hem of her lace panties sideways with his paralyzed tongue and started licking her aged and bad smelling pussy with all the power he had in his fragile body.

Earlier it seemed the shock in the room couldn’t be more intense, but now it almost multiplied. Having their leading figure shoved between Theresa May’s supernaturally muscular thighs - her muscle pussy practically ate him alive - broke every last bits of resistance these guys had. Several one of them were already injured from being thrown around or smashed under tables and the rest of them were paralyzed by crippling fear. They lost all their confidence. They just wanted to give up and hide under something, desperately seeking for any way out. It was at this moment when the building’s security team finally found their way into the room, using a secret door hidden behind an EU flag. They heard the loud serias of bangs of Theresa destroying the room earlier but they couldn’t get through the regular door.

As these trained and armed professional security guys swarmed room, Theresa finally felt regrerful for the first time in a long while: l shouldn’t have locked these little monkeys out. I could have had their tongues inside my pussy much much earlier!”

[MegaMassiveMuscle]

Woo hoo!

[kredenchurut]

Hi everyone, a bit longer chapter this time. I tried to explore the character’s background a little bit:

The Hardest Brexit
Chapter 1 Part 4

Two years earlier

Theresa was standing in front of a full sized mirror in the spaceous bathroom of their home. She was staring at her own reflection. Her old, crawny and beaten up figure looked out of place in the expensive and classy interior of the room. “Why do everyone hate me so mutch?” Even blinking did hurt a bit, because of the black eye she had and the bruises. Lips swollen, red marks of slaps still on her face. “Why do they always hurt me?” She had her make-up and mascara smeared by her tears, making her old and wrinkled face even less appealing. Her tears fell on her low hanging and wrinkled breasts. They were sizeable but awful looking. The tears ran down further, to her protruding pot-belly, to her thin and wrinkled thighs, spoiled by severe cellulite. The graying pubic hair between them hid her private parts. She never had a good looking body to begin with, but she ruined it to the point where it just couldn’t be fixed anymore. Her ever swollen ankles made the simple task of standing paifully dificult. She lived with this pain. No one cared about that. There was a video a few weeks ago that showed her being humiliated by the queen. It quickly went viral and soon half the world was laughing at her. “Look at this old hag bowing so ridiculously before the royal family! What a piece of shit she is” they said. It felt really bad to be the target of ridicule for the whole world, but at her position it happened sometimes.

She’s been working for a better brexit deal day and night for several months now. She came up with a new offer that she thought would be really lucrative for the EU. They outright refused it. They didn’t even read it through properly. They just wanted to fuck with her. But she managed to get them to postpone the deadline for their agreement by another two years. That was something at least. The newspaper today went out with the headline “Theresa May - the cunt”. Lately the press started to go all in on hatred and insults. “Why does my own country attack me constantly? Can’t they see that I’m trying to make their lives better?” A lawsuit will definitely take care of the newspaper but by the time it will happen, the damage will be already done: The whole country will call her a cunt. The Conservative Party, - the party she is the leader of - had another no-confidence voting today against her. They even changed the rules just so they could have this vote. Although she won it, she did it by the smallest of margins, only by two votes out of two thousand. “Why do they hate me so much?”

When she got home today it seemed it couldn’t possibly get any worse. But it did. After another long day of being ridiculed and made fun of, she just wanted some rest. To relax. She couldn’t have it. Although she tried to be really quiet and moved down several rooms away from him, her husband still started to shout at her “Fuck off you stupid cunt! I told you I can’t cum while you lurk around!! Just the thought of you makes my stomach turn! Get the fuck out! You stupid fuck” She was expecting him to hit but it still did hurt. First just slaps, then kicks and punches, wherever he could reach her. She escaped to the bathroom upstairs and locked the door. He eventually left and went back to the jacked up bodybuilder guy he was having sex with. He really enjoyed the feeling of a strong cock slapping her bald head while he was licking some testoteron filled manballs. And as she could judge from the voices - she knew the voice he made when he ejaculated - he could actually cum while she was around.

The hatred and despise she recieved on a daily basis reached unbearable levels at this point. She had to do something to fight the crippling depression. Somehow channel all this negative energy into something... “I should start taking care of my body. Work out. Eat better food. And when I’m done lets see what more can I do!” A little bit of confidence returned into her tired eyes. The next day she joined a gym, hired a dietician and a personal trainer. When she met the guy for the first time and told him that she wants to get into shape, he outright laughed in her face and said “It would definately be a challenge”. But he accepted the job and she bared with him because the guy had really good references, having helped several hollywood guys buff up. She kept all this a secret from her husband and made her trainer sign an NDA, just to avoid it getting public. She went to private gym rooms and had her supplents and healthy food stored at her workplace, where no one would find them. She trained three times a week, mostly doing cardio, aerobics and some light weight training. The minutes of running on the threadmill went by painfully slow. She was contantly looking at the clock to see how many more minutes were left. Sweat poured down from her messy silver hair, flowing down her face. For work outs she never wore make up. She got stares from the gym employees but she ignored them.

After a full week of incredibly tiring workouts she felt like she couldn’t take it anymore. She hoped the next workout will never come. She knew that there should be no results after such a short period of working out but she checked the scale anyway: no result all. She still had her starting weight. She expected this result but it still felt awful. Deep down she hoped that it would be easier. She still looked like shit. “Everyone is so fit nowadays. How do they do it? I’m sure they have it easier... Whatever...”

When she left the bathroom she stumbled into her husband’s lover and frooze. The guy was huge and ripped. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes, othervise she would be looking at his buffed up pecs. As she tried to politely move from his way he quickly shoved her away and grunted at her. She lost her footing and fell to the floor, but the muscle guy already closed the bathroom door behind himself and paid her no attention. Humiliation again. Coming from this jacked-up man-whore it felt even worse. She tried to think of this experience when she was sweating under the tiny pink dumbbells she had to work out with. It didn’t make it any easier. For her it was still hard as fuck. Every time she lifted the weights she felt exhausted and burnt out. And she only started the work out a few minutes ago, she had almost an hour left... She clenched her teeth and continued on, trying to survive and shut out the pain.

She became really good at shutting out the pain. The next time her husband, Phillip was beating her up she caught herself daydreaming, thinking about the way she has to do her make up to hide the bruises on her face. She was only a passenger in her life. She just stared out of her skull as she did the painful exercises in the gym, as she checked the never changing scale, as she was humiliated day by day and as she got beaten by her husband. She was so distant from her daily life that a few days later she found herself being shouted at by the cleaning guy at her office. She spaced out and stayed at her desk several hours after closing hours. The cleaning crew arrived and the guy with the broom was really angry with her for being in his way “You stupid old count lift your sorry wrinkled excuse you have for ass and MOVE!” he even shoved her away, tossing her out of her chair. She landed on the floor with a thud, bruising her shoulder.

She stayed down. She just wanted to die. She tried to change things, to change her life for the better, but she failed. She started her new and healthy lifestyle more than a month ago but she made no progress at all. It was too hard. She wanted to give up. But the cleaning guy still couldn’t calm down: “Lay down somewhere else you human garbage! I’m tryin’ to work here for god’s sake!” and with a powerful movement of his fat legs he kicked her right in her stomach. As she was shoved forward by the force of the hit she clenched her teeth to prepare for the unbearable pain a simple kick would cause her. But there was a surprise in store for her: the pain was actually tolerable. Sure, she felt it, but it was nothing serious. “Did I get used to being hit this much, that I don’t feel it anymore?” she thought as she rised from the floor and stood firmly in front of the cleaning guy. She adjusted her black pantsuit, dusted it off and looked confidently at her tormentor. Her make-up wasn’t ruined that much and although her hair was messy, she still looked like the posh old lady that she was. She wasn’t wearing the biggest of heels but she still towered over him by a good 10 centimeters.

But he punched her in the face.
She stumbled backwards, pain exploded inside her skull... but it wasn’t that bad. She found her footing and stood up straight again. Her swollen eye ruined her confident look but she stood her ground. As she finally gathered her courage to hit back he surprised her with a quick but powerful blow to the belly. “Go down and stay the fuck there, you fuck” he said.
But she stood up again and after another punch to her face - that didn’t even set her back - she finally did hit back.
It was a week slap but she had to start somewhere. She never fought in her life before so she had no technique, no experience. She only had defermination. The guy didn’t stop though, he continued on with his blows but showing visible signs of exhaustion already. With her next hit she tried to copy his punches. It was much better then her first one.
They continued to exchange blows, but while he had two or three punches for the one of hers, they got weaker and weaker while her punches only grew stronger and harder.

For the first time in really long time she finally felt alive. She eventually succeeded in protecting herself. The fight took so long and both of them got so tired they just stopped fighting at one point and limped away. Even though phisically she was more beaten than ever, on the inside she was pulsing with life, defermination and will.
From this point forward she turned her life around dramatically. She attacked her workouts with unprecedented vigor. She wasn’t just surviving them anymore but she tried to milk every last drop of pain and struggle she could get from them. There were still no visible changes to her body so she doubled her gym time by going six times a week and multiplied her daily dose of protein and supplements. She upped the weights she was using and upped the effort. But she still had the most important change in front of her: she had to go find her scumbag husband and beat the living shit out of him.

It was a quiet day at the investment firm where Philip May worked. But only before his wife arrived. The doors of the elevator parted on his floor and Theresa stepped out looking as determined as ever. Her silvery hair was recently cut, her make-up done, even her jacket showed a faint hint of a cleavage. She looked good for her standards, but compared to an average woman she still looked nasty. Philip would have had to pay more attention to the sounds of her heels clicking towards his desk. Maybe that way he could have avoided his head being smashed down to the hard wooden desk and his nose breaking immidiately. Theresa wanted to give no chance for him to react. The loud bang made the whole floor stop suddenly and stare at the old lady who just assaulted their boss. She slowly looked around to see if there was anyone who had a problem with her. Fortunately no one  wanted to step up so she could continue with the beating. Philip wasn’t exactly glad though “What the shit woman? Are you crazy?! I will beat you so bad, so so bad, you will end up in the hospital!” Theresa knew her limits, so she didn’t want to wait for him to recover from the first shock. She quickly grabbed his head and smashed her stockings covered knee into it at least three times before she let him fall backwards, completely shattering his nose and his glasses. To reach him again she had to walk around his desk. The people who still stood there quickly moved out of her way.

But still she couldn’t reach his husband fast enough, so he had time to stand up and recuperate. “You had it coming, Philip. There had to be consequences for your behavio...” This time he was the one who tried to hit her off guard and use the fact that she was talking and not paying attention to him. So he delicevered a punch right into her fat guts and made her double over with pain. But his triumph didn’t last long because Theresa straightened up quickly and although she was visibly in pain she punched him back. He wasn’t as used to pain as she was or she just simply packed a more powerful punch. Either way, he fell backwards and collapsed. She wasn’t done with him though. She grabbed his tear soaked face by his hair and lifted him to his feet. “Please stop” he whispered through swollen lips “it hurts so bad...” With a stern face she punched right between his eyes with one hand while holding his head in place with the other. She continued on until she couldn’t keep his husband’s weight anymore and let his frail body hit the floor. She was shaking with exhaustion as she looked around. The people around her were still shocked by the events. She could hardly keep her legs from collapsing but she waited out the long silence, until finally the people went back to their work. She left her husband alone in the puddle of blood that was spreading from his body.

Of course she visited him at the hospital, like a caring wife would. But their relationship was never the same again. He was the younger one of the two of them, but still quite old at 61 years, so he had to spend several weeks in the hospital to fully recover. She kept on working out relentlessly and shoving as much protein down her throat as she could phisically fit. She still kept the whole thing in secret and fortunately Philip felt humiliated enough to keep secret the fact that her granny-aged wife beat him to pulp in front of a crowd. He even bribed his coworkers to keep their mouths shut. Even though she took care of her husband, she still had her other problems. The press, her political opponents and the general public still made fun of her and abused her. But now she had something to channel all this hatred into: working out and getting fitter.

Bruno spent the last two weeks in Frankfurt. This year they held the European Bodybuilding Champiomships here and he came to won the whole thing. For the last three months he spent all his time preparing so he expected great results. He practically lived in the gym and never even had a cheat-meal during his preparation. To be able to live this life he needed powerful “sponsors” to support him. He made strict rules about what these “sponsors” could do to him in return. Bothering him during a competition wasn’t one of them. So it was only natural that he got really angry at Philip who called him practically every day, even though he asked him specifically to leave him alone for these two weeks. After the competition ended, he finally answered his call.
“What the fuck do you want, Philip?!”
“Bruno you have to come home. I’m in the hospital... I need your help. I need you.”
“...Oh Phil...”
“I need your strong shoulder to cry on, my dearest Bruno! I can’t live without it.”
“Oh Phil, I’m so sorry... I was caught up so much in this competition that I forgot about what is important to me... I forgot about you, baby. I’m on my way!”

Theresa stepped out of the bathroom wearing her favourite night-gown with her initials embrodiered on it. She was carrying a huge basin of hot water to soak her swollen ankles in it while watching the telly. Ru Paul’s dragrace was on tonight and she always watched when she had the time. She was so caught up with the show that she didn’t even notice the huge guy who just entered her room. Philip got released from the hospital a week ago, but he avoided her ever since so she didn’t expect any company. She almost jumped in her armchair when his lover, Bruno called her from behind: “No one is allowed to hurt my Phil and get away with it. It is time someone teaches you a lesson.” and he stepped into light. He was wearing a skin tight wifebeater and jeans, showing off her contest ready arms and traps. Theresa has seen him before and he was already huge back then, but now in full contest shape he was terrifyingly ripped. She started to back down, thinking about the possible ways of escape from the room. But unfortunately she was cornered: stuck between a rock and a hard place. To have such a muscular guy go for this old, posh lady seemed like an overkill. And he wouldn’t be OK with beating up helpless old women - he wasn’t a monster - but he heard what she did: she had someone beat up weak old Phil, that harmless gentleman. So she deserved some spanking.

He clenched his teeth, ignored the fear in Theresa’s eyes and hit her in the face. She fell backwards a few steps and quietly screamed out of pain. He slapped her again, this time on the other side of her face and quickly followed up with a third one, making her collapse to the floor. He waited really long for her to stumble to her wrinkled feet before he struck her again. Even though he got some blood on his hand this time she took it better and kept her footing. Her hair being a mess and her ugly face swollen in several places she stood, tears gathering in her eyes: “You are right. I deserved this, for beating my husband. You made your point and I accept this punishment. Now please let me be. I won’t hurt him again.”
“Not good enough” he said and punched her right in her nose, this time with the full force of his rippling muscles. She shouldn’t be the one making demands here. She only made him angrier. The blow knocked Theresa to the wall, breaking a vase that was behind her. The impact was loud enough that Philip could hear it in the next room. He had a huge smile on his face. He was really looking forward to see his wife get destroyed by his lover.

As Theresa tried to stay on her feet by clinging to the closest cupboard Bruno moved in for a finishing blow, a sucker punch to the gut. The hit squished the air out if the old hag and she fell forwards, landing on all fours. While he expected her to get knocked out completely, the sight of her in unbearable pain and on the verge of vomiting, caughing up blood seemed satisfying as well. He waited for long minutes to see her suffer until he felt he was finally done and could leave. He was aching to get a blow job and after tonight’s showing Phil would be more than happy to give it to him. But as he was reaching for the door he noticed some movement and turned around. Somehow Theresa was trying to get on her feet again. “Why?” he couldn’t imagine. Yes, he wanted to beat her up but not munder her. Seems like one more punch and not even the doctors will be able to help her... But then why not stay down? “You are asking for it, lady!” he said and kicked her in the head with his knee. Her head shot backwards, followed by a trail of blood, but she clinged on to the furniture. She shaked her head and looked at him. She looked terrible, her bloodshot eyes focused on him and her teeth clenched like a vise. He had to admit the old bird could take a punch. These blows would have knocked the regular guy out already. He wasn’t a boxer or anything but he had his fair share of fights, being around testosterone filled males for most of his life, so he knew just how hard his punches were. Or was he losing his toutch? One more punch couldn’t hurt.

But right as he moved in to hit her again she did something really strange. She raised her delicate fists and punched him. The hit wasn’t as painful as unexpected but it interrupted him none the less and made a window for her to strike again, this time with her other hand. This didn’t hurt too much either. He was immensely surprised by see ing her fight back so he decided to take it a bit more light hearted. “You have serious stamina, I give you that. So what about this: I let you punch me the hardest you can and then I punch you to settle thi...” She didn’t let him finish. She caught him off guard and punched him right under the eye. Her blows started to sting more and more. Her next move was a mistake though. She tried to grab his immense shoulders and shove him to the floor. But he stood his ground and shoved her instead. This time he wasn’t waiting for her to get up though, he kicked her with everything he had, the hit lifting her fragile body off the floor several centimeters. He was done fighting fair so he grabbed a cabinet and overturned it to bury her underneath the heavy wooden shelves. She somehow tumbled out of its way and grabbed his pelvis to  tackle him. He banged with his fists on her surprisingly firm back but she hanged on and eventually toppled him over with a loud shout. Philip in the other room started to worry as he heard these sounds. “What takes him so long?!”
 
Bruno and Theresa fell on each other and she tried to grab his hands and hold them down. At first he thought she had no chance of containing his bulging arms but the task of throwing her off seemed harder than it should have been. When he could finally throw Theresa away, he accidentally held on to her gown and tore it down. She only wore a pair of black lace panties underneath, her low-hanging, wrinkly breasts on full display. But they were connected to actual muscles. Sculpted and deeply striated pectoral muscles that fell and rose as she was panting. Her musculature continued downwards, transforming into a vascular midsection with clearly defined obliques. Her abs were obscured by strung-out skin and severe stretch-marks. Her old fashioned lace underwear would have looked incredibly sexy on any other woman but not on this freak of nature. Her thighs bulged outwards, the separation between her quadriceps clearly visible. Her old skin looked so thin, each muscle fiber was clearly visible. Her vascular arms were clearly toned as well. Thick weins covered her aged forearm that connected to rather small but incredibly cut biceps. Her shoulders showed clear definition as well even though her brushing hair hid parts of it. And on top of this clearly aged but incredibly ripped body sat the face of Theresa May, the Prime Minister of the UK, beaten to an almost unrecognizable state. But she was still standing proud, still holding on. “I gave you a chance, but you refused it. As you can already tell I don’t give up easily. I know that you are already thinking about surrendering. That would be the wise choice. As a fellow gymrat yourself you might appreciate this:” she said and slowly raised her closed fists. Her biceps were already discustingly defined, but the grooves deepened even further as she flexed them. A clearly separated double headed muscle rose from her arms, the size of a golf ball. And by the looks of it it was also as hard as a golf ball. Her smirk showed blood soaken teeth to make the sight even more disturbing.

Bruno was disgusted. As a bodybuilder he saw his fair share of defined muscles and such but she was beyond those. Her age probably helped her in that, but man! She was maybe even more defined than himself... How could that be?!
“I have no idea how you got this body of yours, lady, but it is a disgrace. You make muscles look disgusting! It will only make me beat you harder. I think you should be glad if you survive this.” He jumped towards her and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over but his fist started to hurt like hell. “What is going on?!” He punched her again at the same spot, this time putting more force into it. She stepped backwards, but much less so then with the previous attack. By the time of his third and fourth punch she already took the hits without even flinching. He screamed with frustration and exhaustion as he gave a pounding to her midsection, bruising and damageing her fragile skin but bouncing off her incredibly defined abdominal muscles. She was clearly in pain from his punches but she stood her ground. She took her momentum and while he was so occupied with trying to knock down her belly muscles she made a clear swing at his temples.
Theresa couldn’t even believe her eyes: she knocked him out instantly. She almost fell down herself, having a hard time keeping her completely exhausted body under control. She took a few minutes to collect her composure. It was deeply satisfying to see the results of her gruelling workouts. In the last few months she was relentless and made a huge effort in the gym. Even more satisfying was the fact that her muscles weren’t just for show either. Contrary to poor Bruno who clearly didn’t match his appearance in stamina. Such a majestic creature, a testament to male power laying on the floor unconcious, knocked out by a granny.

Bruno felt a really hard slap on his face. Like the one his mother used to give him. Than an other. And an other. He opened his eyes and saw Theresa May sitting on his chest, giving him the hardest slaps he ever got. “You still don’t like them?” she asked and hit a double biceps pose right in front of his face. She cleaned herself up and did her make-up to hide her scars and bruises. She had a grey haltertop on, that contained her sizeable breasts. It showed her disgustingly detailed abdominals underneath. But he couldn’t really tear away his eyes from her arms. From up close their definition was even more apparent. The only thing that gave him any confidence was that they weren’t as big as his. “This is what real muscle looks like” he panted and flexed his own arms. They were in prime contest form, the biggest and leanest he ever was, easily twice as big as Theresa... but much less defined. She reached out and grabbed his biceps. “Lets see what little Bruno is made of” and dig deep into his muscle with her fingers. Her hand was so incredibly strong, his huge muscles felt like play-do underneath it. She pinched his arm so hard, he cried out in pain. “Pathetic. And this mush is coming from a bodybulding contest? Laughable. You see, this is real hardness” she remarked and hit an insane most muscular pose. Her traps and shoulders exploded in size with every striation clearly visible. Bruno couldn’t contain himself and had to touch those balooning biceps. As she released the flex and repeated it a few times they grew in size visibly. And they were the hardest thing he ever felt. He felt puny and weak as he touched these granit slabs she had for arms. He touched his peers muscles several times so he knew what was the standard in male bodybuilding for muscle definition and hardness. But Theresa surpassed all that. He thanked god that her muscles were small in size, otherwise she would kill him with ease. Theresa was really glad to see how fear distorted his face as he realized just how hard her muscles were. She revered in this feeling, the feeling of being superior. She was so taken back by her own muscularity that she didn’t prepare for Bruno’s next blow and he scored a clean hit right in her face.

She tumbled backwards and Bruno jumped on her back, hitting her everywhere he can with his feet and with his clenched fists. Theresa regained her footing and with a loud roar she slammed him to the wall. She punched him during his collapse and punched him again in the face when he was already on the ground. He grabbed her arms and started to lift her off him. His pumped arms came to life: ripped muscles strained against each other, trying to overpower Theresa’s much smaller ones. But he couldn’t keep up as Theresa started to mach him and keep his arms down. Muscle was against muscle in this stalemate, no surprise attacks, no cheating, just the power of their arm muscles. They were pushing so hard, they were both shaking. To their amazement Bruno’s arms slowly started to go down. His mighty and huge muscles crumbled underneath her much smaller but insanely defined granny-muscles. She felt incredibly powerful at that moment. To have a male bodybuilder underneath her and outmach him in power felt strangely sexual to her. But she couldn’t enjoy it too long as a baseball bat hit her back from behind.

The blow threw her away and she landed on the floor in agonising pain. She probably had several ribs broken. The one who attacked him was her husband, Philip. He petted Bruno’s bruised face: “Let me help you to your feet, my love” he said to him while still holding the half-broken baseball bat. These things does not supposed to break, so he didn’t understand how could it break from hitting an old woman in the back. Bruno had a really hard time getting up on his feet. It took so long, that Philip started to get nervous. “I think we should hurry my Bruno, just in case...” but he couldn’t continue. They should have hurried. He looked over his wife and was shocked to see that she was already getting up, despite the huge bloody stain on the back of her shirt. And she looked really angry. Philip quickly let go of Bruno and sprinted for the door of the room. But he was an old man, out of shape. She reached him and grabbed his neck. “Please let me... phfff... let me go...” he tried to whisper while waving his bat around aimlessly. Bruno jumped to them, to save his lover from chokeing. They tried to pry her fingers from his throat, but she was just too strong and too determined at this point, not even the two of them could overpower her. As Phil fell limp in her hands Bruno realized that he couldn’t do anything more here. He realized that he should run. But as Theresa threw his husband’s lifeless body to the floor she grabbed Bruno’s wrist really quickly. He tried to wiggle out of her grip but she held on. His exhausted punches bounced off her incredible musculature. He couldn’t do anything, she was just so fucking strong. He couldn’t do anything against her when she started to unbutton his jeans. He could only stare in disbelief as this old granny grabbed his limp dick and worked her delicate wrinkled fingers around fhe shaft. “Stop! STOP THIS! You can’t do this to me!” he shouted “Than stop me, little man.” she purred to his ear. He tried desperately to force her hands away but the fight wore him down, he could hardly move his arms. He tried to deny her and keep his penis limp but he just couldn’t resist her expert fingers. By the time Theresa removed his pants and stepped out of her lace panties Bruno was crying like a baby, with snort flowing out of his nose: “P-leaaase STOOoP! I w-will do ANYthiing! Ple-ple-pleaseee!” But she was relentless. She sat her mind on raping a male bodybuilding champion so she just did that. His screams echoed on the street for almost an hour.

[zyxww]

Wonderful story, it would be great if it went ahead!