Dona Irene (continued)

[MuscleWomanBR]

Women of Mrs. Irene's age had never aroused Nunes's interest. But his fetish for muscles, physical strength and female martial artists was greater than his, as was evident in his submission to Sandra – who played "difficult". Now, a "slim older woman" who was at the same time muscular, strong and skilled in jiu-jitsu and karate seemed to offer herself to him, giving him a sexy look, but not at all vulgar or ridiculous. Nunes felt that her strength was also in those implacable eyes, which were not afraid to look into his. The police officer felt the harbinger of an erection.
- I want to apologize for what I did last time...
- Mrs. Irene, it's better if we don't talk about that. Just come with me to the police station.
She took a step forward. He stepped back.
- I'm much better than her, Nunes.
It took the investigator a few seconds to understand what she was talking about.
– I'm much stronger, more muscular and I fight much better than Sandra. You've already had a taste of that.
Nunes had to adjust his already hard penis inside his pants.
- See? You haven't even seen me naked and you already have a hard-on.
She did a double biceps pose, which she had purposely practiced half an hour before he arrived, lifting weights.
- Do you like that?
The man tried to touch them.
- No, no, no! First, let's make some arrangements...
The widow went in and came back quickly, with a shawl covering her shoulders and part of her arms. And the two of them left for an expensive restaurant chosen by the excited policeman. The bandage on her nose added a detail that would be comical, if Nunes didn't desire that body so much. In the car, during the trip, the fifty-something woman lifted her skirt and contracted her thigh muscles to excite him even more, and slapped his hand when he tried to touch her. At the restaurant, the police officer chose a discreet table, in the dim light, away from prying eyes and ears.
- Is this where you bring your prey to be slaughtered, stud?
He recognized the nickname Sandra called him by, and understood that she knew absolutely everything.
- Only the ones that are worth it.
- Good to know. Let's get straight to the point. You're going to make Guto drop the complaint.
- What do you mean?
- You're the police officer here. Turn around.
He smiled disdainfully, irritating Mrs. Irene.
- Out of the question. That's impossible.
- Nunes, I'm not stupid. Every man thinks I'm a lonely, stupid, ignorant old widow. This is Brazil. And I know very well that here the police do whatever they want, the way they want, whenever they want.
Once again he identified that devastating, confident, and forceful look of Mrs. Irene, which rekindled his erection.
- And why would I do that... for you?
– Because I want to.
Nunes feigned another smile of disdain.
– You've never been as close to a woman as I have, Nunes. Sandra is just an apprentice. In fact, I made her cum with her thighs on my shoulders and my tongue stuck in her pussy.
Under the table, the investigator felt the widow's foot on his erection, which she began to massage.
– It's in this position that I want to give you a blowjob. Not just one. Several.
The woman's torso remained rigidly still, as if that public masturbation wasn't happening, while she read the menu, pretending to concentrate on it.

[MuscleWomanBR]

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[MuscleWomanBR]

– Hmm... everything here looks really tasty... muscle... thigh... chest... it's hard to chose what's better or stronger.

The investigator's breathing was fast, his face was red, his eyes fixed on the woman with one foot in his groin. He made a move to reach under the table and caress that strong, muscular leg. Without taking his eyes off the menu, she threw her hand over his and held it tightly. Nunes felt like she could crush it, which increased the intensity of his excitement.

"It looks like you already want to go for the main course. But let's stay at the appetizer."

She took her foot off Nunes' penis and looked at him.

"If you want to fuck me, stud, try to convince Guto to drop the complaint. Expensive food is like that: it's worth it, but it's only once in a lifetime."

Dona Irene, with a discreet smile, adjusted the shawl on her shoulders and left without saying anything else.

[MuscleWomanBR]

"Good boy," repeated Mrs. Irene, now looking at Marcos in the middle of the sun, with his swollen nose covered by a bandage.

Minutes after the lady left him on the mattress, bleeding from the blows that had struck him, Marcos tried to put his broken nose back in place himself. The pain was terrible and he groaned softly, afraid of being beaten again by the mature and powerful karateka – who returned shortly after, with a first aid kit. She threw the box at him and left, again without saying anything.

His tormentor was now looking at him, still kneeling in the Japanese style and with her hands on her hips, but her gaze was distant, as if she were not there. In fact, she was not. The police officer had just told her that Guto had withdrawn the complaint. She took a deep breath and smiled, feeling infinitely powerful. That was the beginning of her story with Nunes.

[MuscleWomanBR]

New message on his cell phone: "Go home now!" Nunes maneuvered the car with such anxiety that he almost caused an accident. Once again, he felt his penis swelling inside his underwear. His heart was beating fast, his lips were pursed and his eyes could no longer see anything other than the signs that he was close to his building. His anxiety was so great that he parked the car in the first space he found and ran to get to the lobby and the elevator. He cursed living on the tenth floor. He almost broke down the door to get in. Anyone who saw him would think the police officer was suffering from uncontrollable diarrhea. Nunes eagerly walked around the 70 square meter apartment and did not find what he expected: Mrs. Irene, stretched out somewhere, ready for endless hours of wild sex. But the rooms were all deserted. He even looked under the bed and inside the wardrobe, but there was no one there. So he sat down on the sofa, frustrated. He was already regretting having believed her when a new signal told him that another text message had arrived on his cell phone. "Open the second drawer of the dresser. Left side." Nunes was furious. He wanted sex with a muscular woman, not to play like a child. "Did you find it?" asked Mrs. Irene, always in writing. Very reluctantly, Nunes went to the dresser in the bedroom and found, in the second drawer, a pink box. "I found it," he replied. "What is this?" A minute later, the order: "Open it." The policeman found a pair of pink lace panties, very feminine, brand new and perfumed. They weren't the most daring, but no less sexy. He got excited, imagining the athletic widow wearing that piece – and nothing else. He decided to call:
– You'll be so horny in those panties, Irene. I can't wait...
– They're for you.
– I only keep the panties of the hotties I fuck.
– They're for you to wear.
– What?! – he yelled.
– Don't argue, Nunes. Just put them on – and ended the call.
Indignant, he decided to report everything that had happened. He already had his hand on the doorknob when the signal announced a new message. This time, a long one: "I'm working out my biceps right now. You like them, don't you? Imagine being able to lick them... Hard as a rock. Strong. Very strong. Imagine the strength of my karate blows, and my boxer punches. Don't you want to see and touch all that? Then put on these panties under your underwear and go to work normally. I'll see you tonight. Trust me."

[MuscleWomanBR]

As he read the message, Nunes held his erect penis, determined to masturbate. But he preferred to "save" it for tonight, as a last chance to meet Mrs. Irene. Reluctantly, however, he went back to the bedroom, opened the drawer and took out the panties, examining them carefully. They were of good quality, without a doubt. With a narrow strap at the back, they would be swallowed by the buttocks. Another message: "Now I'm working out my abs. They'll be even harder tonight." Quickly, he took off his pants and underwear and put on the panties. They were tight. It would certainly cause him discomfort. The skin compressed his penis and scrotum, and was already invading the crack of his buttocks. He imagined Mrs. Irene's athletic abdomen and, hoping to see and caress them, he put on the underwear and pants over his women's underwear.

In the car, during the journey he resumed, however, he realized that this discomfort could be arousing. The friction of the panties tucked between his buttocks and the tightness of his scrotum and penis could be pleasurable, depending on the vibrations of the car or the movement of his walking. More than that, after his initial indignation had passed, Nunes began to understand the erotic game that Mrs. Irene had prepared for him. His excitement increased when he realized that he was wearing panties under the sober men's clothing he was wearing. The discomfort of that piece of clothing would remain as a permanent reminder of his subjection to the muscular widow. Suddenly, he found himself overcome by joy, and began to whistle, in anxious anticipation of what awaited him that night. His colleagues did not find such joy strange: it was typical of the countless successful sexual conquests, which he would later detail with pleasure, in the smallest details. This time, however, it was the opposite: Nunes was elated at having been conquered by a woman who dominated him. During a meeting, he received a text message from Mrs. Irene: "Go to the bathroom." The police officer assumed she was there, waiting for him. Her exit was abrupt and quick, causing a strange feeling among those present. Once in the bathroom, he answered: "I'm in the men's bathroom. Are you in the women's?" "Go into a stall and put on your headphones," she ordered. Then the woman made a video call:
– Show me.
There was no need to say anything else. Nunes, trembling with excitement, lowered the waistband of his pants and underwear a little, showing a part of his underwear.
– Good boy. Don't you dare jerk off!
Nunes wanted to answer, but someone came into the bathroom.
– See you tonight. – She hung up curtly.
While he was counting the hours until he could go home, he tried hard not to ejaculate without even masturbating. Wearing that piece of clothing, under those circumstances, brought him to the brink of orgasm.
When he finally arrived at his apartment, Nunes found the door ajar. Dona Irene was waiting for him in the living room, sitting in an armchair. She stood up slowly. He could only see her head, her hands and her bare feet: the widow was wearing her karategi tied with two black belts. The investigator was somewhat frustrated: he expected to find her naked. But she wasted no time and repeated the order she had given a few hours earlier:
"Show me."
Nunes allowed himself a striptease, slowly opening his pants, letting them fall sensually over his heels, always casting a seductive look at his visitor. Then it was his turn to take off his underwear, which he pulled down with the same sensuality. Dona Irene thought it was all ridiculous, but she enjoyed watching him submit to that scene in the hope of finally touching her.
"Turn around," she ordered.

[MuscleWomanBR]

When he turned his back, Mrs. Irene stood up and grabbed the waistband of his panties and lifted them. Nunes moaned at the sudden and painful gesture, which squeezed his testicles. The lingerie dug deeper into the crack of his buttocks and rubbed against his anus. The woman did not ease up on the pressure. On the contrary, as if she were a rein, she led him to the bedroom and made him stop in front of the mirror. Moaning at the same time in pain and pleasure, he saw the scene that excited him even more: he, an athletic man of six feet tall, handsome, virile and masculine, was there, dressed in a classic black polo shirt, his legs bare and his genitals crushed by a pair of pink lace panties, feeling a woman's strong fist pulling the piece up, pushing it even deeper between his buttocks. The woman, about five feet tall, is a broad-shouldered, erect lady in her late 60s, dressed like a karateka with two black belts around her waist. She looks at him with a discreet sadistic smile.

Suddenly, she drags him to the bed, making him bend over the mattress with his feet on the floor, exposing his buttocks. Dona Irene grabs the back of her panties with her left hand and with her right she lands the first slap on Nunes' buttocks. He groans deeply.

"I threw all your underwear away. I replaced them all with panties."

[MuscleWomanBR]

Nunes tried to get up to say something, but she lifted a leg and stepped on the back of his neck. Another slap.
- You move when I tell you to.
Another slap. The policeman, with his head pressed against the mattress, moaned with each blow. That humiliation was not just an act. Another slap.
- Now you are mine, stud - and Mrs. Irene applied the fifth slap.
The strong blows echoed through the room. The cracks and the pain caused an erection that tore his panties, but Nunes had no way to masturbate. Soon he felt the sixth slap, which came with a force that seemed to redouble, leaving his buttocks increasingly red, with clear marks of the fifty-year-old's fingers. He could only moan. On the tenth slap, stronger, the man gave himself over to an orgasmic ecstasy, which surpassed - and by far - what he had experienced on the ardent and athletic night of sex with Sandra. Still during this convulsion, however, the lady pulled her panties until they burst, squeezing Nunes' scrotum terribly, who roared in a mixture of pain and pleasure. With the sperm running down his legs, Mrs. Irene turned the man onto his back, mounted his torso, holding his arms with her knees and, while his orgasm was still fading, she gave him a formidable slap on the face, which made his head turn.
- Never cum without my order!
Nunes stared at that strong and terribly overwhelming gaze.
- I love you - he moaned.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Nunes was drowning in debt. To convince Guto to withdraw the complaint, he lied and said that the sensei would receive compensation paid by Dona Irene. It was the only way to dissuade the man who had been brutally beaten by the unbeatable and muscular karate, boxing and jiu-jitsu fighter. The police officer gathered all his savings and resorted to a bank loan after the widow threatened to present to the police the exchange of messages between the two, in which Nunes not only explained his fetishes – which, strictly speaking, was not a crime, but a moral embarrassment – ​​and above all the negotiations with Guto, with false allegations and other illegalities. But there was a third reason forcing the investigator to commit this imprudence: Dona Irene threatened to break up with him, depriving him of the rare – perhaps only – opportunity to have a relationship with a woman who met all the requirements of his fetish. In an equally imprudent exchange of text and audio messages, a few days after dinner, Nunes explained the situation to Mrs. Irene:
- The only way for him to withdraw the complaint is through an out-of-court settlement, paying compensation.
- Like I told you, this is your problem. You have to resolve it.
- What do you mean, "my problem"?! You don't understand. You have to pay the compensation if you want to be free from a lawsuit.
- The one who doesn't understand here is you, Nunes. Don't you want to have sex with me? I already gave you the price. The deal won't be expensive.
- Of course I want to have sex with you! But I may be a pervert, but I'm not crazy. This sex isn't worth 300 thousand reais. And even if it were, I wouldn't do something crazy like that.
- You did worse. You sent me a ton of messages negotiating this sex with me in exchange for convincing Guto to withdraw the complaint. I'm not stupid, Nunes. You lied to Guto so you could have sex with me. And you don't just want a fuck. I offer you much more than that.

[MuscleWomanBR]

In addition to the compensation, Mrs. Irene demanded a copy of the apartment key from the police officer. The ever-uncertain possibility of finding it in his house caused a permanent state of erotic tension in Nunes, who was now in debt because of the woman who fascinated and dominated him. The panties that squeezed his testicles and dipped into his buttocks were also a constant reminder of this. And he could only take them off when the widow allowed it. She also began to control his workouts at the gym. She demanded that he exercise his buttocks a lot – "That ass needs to be strong to withstand my slaps and other things I intend to do to it...", said the mature karateka. "I want to see those panties tucked deep into that beautiful ass of yours."

In one of her unexpected appearances, as soon as he got home from work, Mrs. Irene got excited by running her hand down Nunes' pants and feeling the contours of the panties under the fabric. The small dining table was set with the best china and the best crystal in the house. The investigator felt ecstatic as he entered that cozy, half-lit setting. The woman was wearing a strapless dress that reached mid-thigh. On her feet were low-heeled shoes. Dona Irene gestured with her finger, calling Nunes closer. Their bodies were almost touching. Twenty centimeters shorter, the widow looked at that handsome, virile man, whose beautiful green eyes begged for her body. He tried to hug her. She pushed his arms away. He tried a second time. She gave him a withering look that didn't require words.
Dona Irene firmly held the man's buttocks and pressed him against her body, feeling the bulge of his arousal. She lifted his shirt and smoothed Nunes' hairy, defined chest, finding his nipples and gently squeezing them. A shiver ran through the investigator's body, along with a soft moan. Then she began to lick and nibble on his nipples, getting excited by the relief of the panties under the pants of that prototypical specimen of Latin American virility. Dona Irene sank her teeth into one of his nipples. Nunes screamed. She gave him a strong slap on the buttocks. Unable to hug her or hold her in his arms, he pressed his erection even more against her chest, showing the effects of the erotic game.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Suddenly, she grabbed his shoulders and forced him to kneel. Then, she lifted her dress to her waist, parted her legs and thrust Nunes' head into her groin. With his heart racing with joy, he immediately understood what he had to do. Dona Irene placed his hands on her steel-hard thighs, while the man roamed that much-desired vulva, savoring it as if it were the most delicious delicacy. Nunes' large, strong hands went up to the widow's equally hard buttocks, and then cautiously sought out her anal orifice – until he penetrated it with his finger. The investigator heard a hoarse roar, which startled him, but he continued with his tongue penetrating the depths of her vulva and his finger making its way to the depths of her rectum. The lady's formidable body convulsed on the eve of an orgasm. Without rest, Nunes intensified the movements of his tongue, keeping his finger still, stuck in the karateka's anus. He remained like that for a few minutes, listening to the wild grunts of Mrs. Irene. Upon feeling the widow's violent tremor and the fluids of female ejaculation flooding her mouth, the police officer immediately reached for his penis to masturbate. The woman, still roaring, bent over to hold his arms and look at him ferociously. For a second, Nunes feared for his own life.

Keeping the same position, she relaxed, calmed down, feeling the post-orgasm pleasure as Nunes' drool mixed with female fluids ran down her thighs. He was able to admire up close, for the first time naked, his dominatrix's athletic shoulders. And he realized that her breasts were not voluminous, swallowed up by that no less athletic chest.

Once she had recovered, the fifty-year-old lifted the man by the chin. Once again she admired that masculine beauty that, throughout her shy and anonymous life as a housewife in a big Brazilian city, she had never been able to touch. That same woman... Or rather, that transformed woman now literally had at her feet two men accustomed to subjugating other women. She smiled admiringly at the handsome Nunes. She smoothed his powerful shoulders, his athletic chest beneath his dress shirt. Then she reached down to his waist, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, opened the zipper and squeezed the policeman's hard penis beneath his white lace panties. The pants fell to the man's heels and she pulled up his polo shirt. Her nipples were very red. One of them was bleeding discreetly. Once again he tried to hug her, and once again she used some kind of blow to stop the hug. Then Mrs. Irene ran her hands over Nunes's herculean back until she reached his buttocks divided by his panties. With both hands, she slapped the man's hard buttocks. Then she turned and picked up a pink apron, tying it around Nunes' waist.
- Cook.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Far from being a chef, he tried to create something on the stove. Dona Irene sat at the kitchen table, with a mug of beer in her hand, and watched the scene that provoked new excitement in her: the very incarnation of Latin virility, with a body sculpted by heavy weight training, wearing delicate white lace panties and a pink apron, exposing the most beautiful and pronounced male buttocks she had ever been able to touch – and slap. Nunes felt no less excited. He didn't want to wash his mouth to continue savoring the taste that Dona Irene's genitals had left in him, and he loved knowing that he was wearing the most feminine of panties because she had ordered him to. His erection came and went as he remembered or felt these details. He was overcome with joy at cooking for the woman of his most unattainable dreams. Dona Irene stood up and came closer to him, kissing his back – since she couldn't reach his earlobes, which she wanted to nibble on. The policeman felt, wrapping his abdomen around himself, the strength of the arms that had once knocked him down in a fight. A rock-hard torso was pressed against his back, a mixture of affection and memory: at any moment she could throw him in a masterful jiu-jitsu move. But she preferred to attack his nipples again, squeezing them. They were sore now. He stifled a scream. She responded with a slap on his buttocks. Nunes groaned.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Before serving the dish, he opened a bottle of wine, serving it to the lady who had sat at the table she had prepared herself. Then the police officer brought the steaming dish, with an appetizing aroma. Mrs. Irene tried to affect the gestures of the well-mannered lady she had never been. She needed a tutorial on YouTube to understand how to set the table for a romantic dinner and to learn the basic etiquette for that occasion. On the other hand, the solitary and obsessive routine of bodybuilding and fighting training, and the brutality with which she treated her secret prisoner, brutalized the widow, who lost the manners that culturally define femininity and stiffened her movements – which now exuded pride, determination and, above all, physical strength in the most subtle details. Obsessively and continually worried about keeping her muscles healthy, she made stretching or stretching movements that seemed like nervous tics. While Nunes, experienced and sophisticated in the art of seduction, presented her with the plate of pasta that smelled of basil, Mrs. Irene tried to remember whether or not she should put her elbows on the table.

However, the police officer, who was inept in the culinary arts, arrived at a rather mediocre result: her spaghetti bolognese was overcooked, and the sauce was so salty that it was inedible. She didn't care how well it was cooked. What irritated her was the excess salt. Suddenly and quickly, as usual in these situations, the fifty-something woman picked up the plate and rubbed it in Nunes' face, who felt his face burn as the pasta ran down his neck and bare chest. Still under the impact of this unexpected violence, he heard the karate fighter's quick steps to the kitchen, from where she returned immediately with the plate where she had thrown all the spaghetti and sauce. Dona Irene grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced him to kneel, placing the plate on the floor and ordering:
– Eat!
With an indefinable expression, somewhere between laughter and tears, Nunes knelt in front of the plate, bent over and began to eat, like a dog, while the woman gave him slow and intense slaps on his exposed buttocks. Between one bite and another, he repeated:
– Irene, I love you... I love you... I love you...

[Dona Fell Friz]

Sick and brilliant! Thank you and please continue. This is no less than a novella in the making.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Marcos noticed the distance. Karate, boxing and jiu-jitsu training became bureaucratic, without the vigor they once had. Long weight training sessions became solitary, at different times. She would frequent the outbuilding as if he weren't there. Their conversations became monosyllabic, restricted to the essentials.
Sometimes she would show up in the middle of the night, eagerly launching herself, with her relentless mouth, at the ex-fighter's genitals. Dona Irene was also unbeatable in the art of fellatio. Then the widow would impale herself on her prisoner's well-endowed phallus and exercise her anal sphincter, while spitting on her hand and lubricating her clitoris for a long masturbation. Marcos knew that she wouldn't say anything, that he couldn't say anything and that nothing on her body could be touched. There, the man was just a large, powerful phallus that she used in the darkness of the early morning to appease her desire – which, for some reason, was so intense that she couldn't control herself. When she felt Marcos' profuse ejaculation, she would jump, contracting her sphincter, and throw her anus over his mouth, "giving back" his own semen to the man – which he would swallow, while cleaning that orifice with his tongue, taking her to orgasmic ecstasy.

What happened next was completely unpredictable. It could be a deep, long kiss, in which she would savor the taste of the sperm in Marcos' mouth, as a trophy for her absolute dominance over him. It could be an affectionate caress or a violent slap on the face. Or a withdrawal as untimely as her arrival, in absolute silence. What didn't vary was the unpredictability.

But he had noticed his captor's cooling down. And he had been trying hard to regain the attention he had once deserved. He was afraid that she would completely lose interest in him. So he began to dedicate himself more diligently to bodybuilding, without forgetting his buttocks, in the hope that she would penetrate him again with the strapon – an indication of Mrs. Irene's sexual voracity for him. Now free to move around the house, the former champion recovered his natural tan and showed off his masculine, athletic body wearing the contrasting white underwear that excited her so much. None of this seemed to have any effect, and he began to fear that the fifty-something woman was planning to kill him.

Forbidden to take any initiative, one day he resorted to a bold and extreme solution, addressing her, while the woman grunted as she lifted the weights:

– Mrs. Irene, please... I'm sorry for bothering you...

She continued exercising with the dumbbells, without looking at him.

– Mrs. Irene, I've been training a lot... Look how ripped I am, all defined...
Marcos showed off his biceps and flexed his abs. The widow continued to ignore him, focused on counting the repetitions.
– Mrs. Irene, shall we do some sparring? I've been training a lot in karate...
The widow, out of breath from the effort, put the weights on the floor with an impatient expression and looked her prisoner straight in the eyes.
– You're nothing more than a cock at my disposal, Marcos. I'll fuck that cock whenever I want. I'll fuck your ass whenever I want. Working out every day and training karate is your obligation. And if you don't train properly, I'll beat you. I don't want a flaccid, flabby man here! And if I notice that you're making it easy for me in the sparring, I'll beat you until you die!
She pulled on the waistband of the former MMA fighter's underwear.
– Now I have a man who's much more handsome than you, Marcos. I can have him whenever I want. And I didn't even need to kidnap this guy. I have the key to his apartment. He loves me. He does what I tell him to do. He obeys me like a puppy. He has so much more to offer me, Marcos. I'm working out more, getting even stronger, because he likes my muscles and my strength... She paused dramatically, still looking at Marcos. "Try to offer me something more, if you don't want me to throw you out of here." The former fighter fell to his knees, his eyes full of tears. "Please, Mrs. Irene, don't do this to me... I swear to you that you won't regret it... I'll get better! I'll do whatever you want! I just ask for one more chance for you! I'll surprise you... Mrs. Irene turned her back on him, without waiting for him to finish his sentence. For him, being returned to his old life was worse than death. In those almost two years of captivity, he was madly in love with her. Marcos didn't even remember Sandra. With Dona Irene, he had discovered what he understood as other ways of loving and other levels of pleasure. He could no longer imagine his life without her, away from her, without that woman in his daily life. In the solitude of the night in the outbuilding, he was often overcome by the pain of imagining that he could lose her – or be abandoned by Dona Irene. Then he would cry uncontrollably.

Despite being shocked by her revelation, Marcos had been thinking, for some time, of strategies to become at least minimally relevant to her again. Indifference was the most insufferable expendable. So he decided to get back into shape, the one he had at the height of his modest career as an MMA fighter. Not that he wasn't physically fit, healthy and athletic. But now Marcos wanted to get back the body of a fighter at the height of the championships he had competed in.

Although the space was small, there was plenty of equipment and time for the intense training program he had drawn up for himself. He took care of his own meals, since he now had full access to the kitchen – which was properly stocked for Mrs. Irene's strict diet. With careful breaks for rest, Marcos began to exercise all day, from the moment he woke up until he went to bed. His aggressiveness in sparring with the fifty-year-old became more pronounced, with no less harsh responses from her. The fight training with Mrs. Irene was equivalent to the ones he had with MMA champions, but it was far from where Marcos wanted to go.

Dona Irene was not indifferent to her prisoner's new commitment. On the contrary, although she said nothing, she enjoyed admiring the results of her former trainer's increasingly defined and strong body, and she loved the challenges he imposed on her in sparring. For her, training with an athlete like Marcos only improved her martial skills and increased her strength – her two great obsessions, now also idolized by Nunes.
What she didn't expect was to be attacked by Marcos.
It was a hot Brazilian summer night, in the middle of January. She was sleeping in her room, without a door since she had beaten her prisoner there. With the window open and her body exposed, Dona Irene snored, moving her ultra-defined abdomen and her athlete's chest. Wearing only a pair of panties – a rare occasion when she wore lingerie – she exposed her muscular sculpture to the excited admiration of the kidnapped man.
"Dona Irene, I love you," he whispered, throwing himself on top of the widow, in a typical Brazilian jiu-jitsu mount.

She woke up screaming. Defenseless from the surprise, she felt Marcos's extremely strong hands strangling her. The woman struggled to free herself from the mount, trying to put her feet under the man's armpits to throw him backwards, while forcing his arms out. But he knew how to take advantage of the enormous difference in size, and was absolutely convinced that the intensification of his bodybuilding had made him much stronger, to the point of rivaling her. So the efforts of the karateka and jiu-jitsu fighter had no effect. And her breath was exhausted by the strangulation. Dona Irene still tried to get out of that position, raising her hips to destabilize her attacker, but Marcos remained still, keeping her trapped with a strength that, for the first time, truly surpassed hers. Her eyes bulged and her face reddened and was already turning purple. Her vision began to darken. Before he fainted, he managed to whisper with great difficulty:
– I love you...

Marcos immediately let go of her neck, while she breathed in desperately. He was panting. His effort had not been small. Quite the opposite: if he had taken another minute, either she would die or he would not be able to maintain that position. Sitting on the woman's hard, muscular thighs, he waited for his kidnapper to recover. Her face was still red, and now the widow was coughing, seeming to be choking. Her movements were slow and her gaze was languid, as if she had woken up from a long sleep. Her nipples, however, were erect, and Marcos noticed that Mrs. Irene's panties were soaked – and it was not from sweat. He got up and sat on a chair. He calmly waited – perhaps for more than an hour – for her to recover enough for what he would do next. When he noticed that her color had returned to normal and that she had gotten up in bed, Marcos went to the dresser drawer, took out the strap-on and the tube of intimate lubricant and stood in front of the bed, holding both objects. Mrs. Irene lay down, raised her legs and he dressed her with the strap-on. Then she knelt on the mattress and Marcos lubricated the fake penis. Placing his hands on the back of the chair, he bent over, exposing his beautiful and pronounced buttocks. Mrs. Irene grabbed his waist, slapped him on the buttocks and, in a single blow, shoved the piece into the ex-fighter's rectum. The pain was so intense that he could not contain his roar. Another slap on his buttocks, and Mrs. Irene began a frantic and wild back and forth while repeating:
– I love you, Marcos... I love you... I love you...

The blows of the athletic lady's pelvis against his buttocks were so strong that Marcos' erect penis hit his abdomen, even harder from his recent training. Mrs. Irene's speech, the anal pleasure and that no less exciting collision of the penis against his "six-pack" brought him to an indescribable orgasm, with a jet of sperm that hit his chest.
With the strap-on still stuck in his rectum, he turned around and smiled at her. He felt like the happiest man in the world.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Guto went to Sandra to get what was still in the possession of his now ex-employer. He decided to teach karate at another gym, not far from there. The farewell was dry, almost harsh: for the sensei, she was jointly responsible for what had happened. With one foot out of the management office, he turned to the fellow karateka:
"One day she will pay me for what she did."
This sentence is the cause of Guto's fright when he closed his locker in the changing room of his new dojo: as if out of nowhere, Mrs. Irene appeared, wearing a sweatshirt, with her arms crossed over her chest. The black belt master thought he was suffering from some paranoid hallucination.
"How about today, Guto?"
His heart raced. He was in a panic. She grabbed him by the lapel of his karate gi, almost touching her face to his, and said with apparent calm:
"I already ripped off your black belt. I'm going to rip off your balls." And I'm going to make you swallow them – and he squeezed the athlete's genitals. Guto couldn't even moan, such was his catatonic state of panic. – Hum... Big dick... I like that. He tried to say something, but with his scrotum threatened by the woman's strength, he felt his shitabaki soaking wet with urine. Mrs. Irene smiled and ran her wet hand over the sensei's face. – Poor guy... The master pissed himself... He's not the man to face me in a rematch. And she began to untie the black belt that Guto was wearing, without speaking calmly. – Let's do it like this: when you get the courage and learn karate to face me, come get this black belt back. You know how to find me. Two weeks later, Guto moved to his native Bahia. He never returned to São Paulo. That same day, Mrs. Irene met Sandra at the gym. The widow threw Guto's black belt on the manager's desk, who imagined the worst. – Irene, for the love of God... What did you do to Guto?
– Don't worry, Sandra. This wasn't the time I finished that idiot. All I had to do was threaten him and he pissed himself, poor thing. He really did, soaking his shitabaki. How embarrassing! He can't wear a black belt. He can't wear any belt. I made a karate champion piss himself out of fear of me. Can you imagine if I competed?
– I told you just so you'd be smart...
– You told me because you knew what was going to happen, Sandra. Don't come at me with that. You can't fool me. You know what I do to those who threaten me. And that turns you on. You're dying to fuck me because I'll knock any man down. And you don't even know half of what I've done and what I do to many men... We're the same, Sandra. We like to have muscles, to have strength. And we like to show it to men. The more manly, the better it is to beat. But I don't have an Irene to turn me on. You are far from being what I am. There is no other woman like me.
Sandra was shocked by the sharp insight of the karateka, who came closer to the girl.
- You could have stopped me from beating Guto like I did. You didn't do anything. You stood at the door of the dojo, to keep anyone from coming in.
- No, I couldn't...
- Are you trying to fool me, Sandra?! Do you think I'm stupid?! You're the manager of this place! Of course you could have opened that door. But you stood there, listening to the master of your dojo get beaten by me. You got really horny hearing his screams, didn't you? The sensei, all ripped, the champion, the badass of karate, got beaten up badly by that old lady here.
Mrs. Irene, smiling mischievously, grabbed Marcos' girlfriend's right hand.
- I bet that hand of yours worked really hard that night, still in the locker room bathroom, didn't it?
Sandra pulled her hand back, trying to hide her embarrassment.
- It's okay, babe. I understand you. I think only I can understand you. No man, no woman is capable of understanding us. Just don't pretend to be innocent to me. Guto was saved by his physical fitness. The damage could have been much worse. If I were as strong as I am now, Guto wouldn't have stood a chance against me. I didn't hit him anymore because I was exhausted. The guy is really strong! And he fights well. But he couldn't take me down and he still got beaten up badly. If I were stronger, I could have killed him, yes.
This last sentence was said while Mrs. Irene squatted in front of Sandra. The widow flexed her arm. A mound appeared under her sweatshirt, which Marcos' girlfriend quickly squeezed, eagerly. It was bigger than the last time. Breathing quickly, Sandra squeezed the muscle that filled her hand tighter. It was harder. It felt like steel. The gym manager put her other hand under her leggings, searching for her clitoris, giving the athletic lady an avid look – who interrupted her.
- Lock the door and close the blinds.
Sandra jumped up and obeyed her. When she closed the blinds she could see the gym full of people. The idea of ​​having so many people there made her even more excited. But Mrs. Irene was already pulling her shirt and ripping off her leggings, knocking everything on the table and throwing Sandra on top of it. The powerful lady got rid of her sweatpants and her unfailing male undwear. Naked from the waist down, she showed off the flexibility that had become more pronounced with the intensification of her training: she climbed onto the table while she placed the other woman's ankle on her shoulder. With that, she opened her genitals enough for them to touch each other completely, in an accelerated friction, in a position similar to two intertwined scissors. Sandra held Mrs. Irene's arms, feeling once again their strength and solidity, which heightened her excitement to the maximum. The widow put her hands under her partner's shirt and felt her hard, defined abdomen.
- You're working out your abs well, aren't you, you naughty girl...
- It's for you, Irene...
- But it's not enough...
- I'll work out more...
- I want you stronger.
- I'm going to get stronger, Irene...
- Stronger!
- I'm getting... I'm getting...
- How strong?!
Shaken by the force of Mrs. Irene's pelvic thrusts, Sandra bent one arm to show off her biceps.
- Twenty on each arm, Irene...
- That's not enough!
- I'm going to increase it... I'm going to stay...
The widow slapped Sandra in the face, who moaned with pleasure.
- Strong like me?!
- Strong like you, Irene...
- I'm very strong, Sandra!
- Very! How hot, Irene!
The mature karateka pinched Sandra's nipples, who got goosebumps all over. The sound of the dumbbells falling to the floor and the grunts of physical effort in the weight room was like a sexy soundtrack for the two of them, who remembered the gratifying sensation of lifting weights and feeling their muscles getting stronger.
- I want you, fighter...
- I'll beat up all... the black belts... in the dojo...
- Men!
- Men! I only fight men, Irene... I chose the... strongest ones...
– I want more!
– I'm doing... judo...
– I want you to be a black belt now!
The two spoke with difficulty, because the frantic friction commanded by the fifty-year-old would soon bring them to orgasm. The table shook and creaked. It seemed too fragile to support the strength of those movements. Without stopping, the widow pulled the girl by the collar of her shirt and muffled their orgasmic screams with a wild kiss, which lasted a long time, until they relaxed. As soon as she could speak, Sandra whispered:
– I love you, Irene... I'll do anything to be with you...