Dona Irene (continued)

[MuscleWomanBR]

– Do you want to feel it?
He nodded. After nine months of captivity, Marcos had adopted the ritual of touching Dona Irene's marble-like muscles after her daily exercises in front of him, in the outbuilding. At that moment, she had finished a series for her upper limbs. And she showed off her biceps, stressed by twenty-kilo weights on each arm. The kidnapped man shivered as he ran his fingers, under the skin of almost sixty years, over the contours and hardness of those muscles whose power had just been reinforced. He knew well what they were capable of.
– You know, Marcos, it took me a while to understand that I didn't need to become a gorilla, a mountain of muscles to be strong. When I started bodybuilding, I thought I would have to take a lot of drugs to gain mass, to become a monster. I always thought that exaggerated musculature was very ugly. That's not human! It's no wonder those very large women, bodybuilding champions, are always taking steroids. Dona Irene stood up and stood in front of the mirror, admiring her own body. Now 59 years old, there was not a single muscle in her that could be exercised that had not been carefully prepared in her meticulous and disciplined routine of lifting weights, running (on the treadmill and in the street) and stretching.
- Not me. I like being like this, well-defined, with almost no fat. No drugs. Just effort. Lots of effort. Food. Rest in the right proportion. There is no woman in the world like me. Not even athletes. I am more than a black belt. I am more than physical strength. - And turning to Marcos, who was looking at her with fascination: - I am a very dangerous weapon, you know.
He knew. Not only because he had felt all of that in his own body, in the fights in which he was invariably defeated – including in boxing, which she had been training along with karate and jiu-jitsu –, in the repeated beatings and, now, in the sexual relations in which that woman was able to lift him in the most unlikely positions, subduing and penetrating the former MMA champion – who had discovered pleasure in being the fifty-year-old's sex toy, although not in the situation of a clandestine prisoner. It was not, therefore, only because of all of that that Marcos recognized that woman as a weapon. He had witnessed how lethal Mrs. Irene's physical strength and fighting skills could be.

What seemed to be another peaceful and sad dawn, while he slept in captivity, was interrupted by the sound of two thuds on the cement floor of the small backyard. Marcos listened carefully and heard whispers between two male and apparently young voices. They were thieves, for sure. Upstairs in the house, Mrs. Irene was also awakened, this time by the sound of someone forcing open the kitchen door. It was a warm night, and she was sleeping wearing only a pair of men's boxer shorts. She got dressed as soon as she jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen, already convinced that they were burglars. But she decided not to react immediately. She stood in front of the door and waited for the break-in. When they managed to break the lock, the two boys were startled by the figure standing in the middle of the room, motionless. At first, they thought it was a short, athletic man, until one of the boys shined his cell phone flashlight on Mrs. Irene. It was from that moment that Marcos began to hear muffled screams and the scraping of furniture being pushed around haphazardly. They were definitely fighting in the kitchen. For days, Lucas and Clayton – two young men who had just left their teens and had always lived in poverty, with police records for petty thefts – had been "watching" the widow's house, observing her routine and how often she visited. And they realized that she didn't receive anyone. They didn't understand that the loose white clothes she wore when she went out were a karate kimono. They had no idea what that outfit was hiding. And the terrible secret she was hiding. They just thought she was a lonely old lady, perhaps a bit exotic. But all she had to do was take advantage of her early morning sleep to steal anything that might have some value. Who knows, maybe she kept money or jewelry at home, like many lonely old women? Unarmed, and trusting in the deep sleep – or in the senile deafness – of the lady, they decided to check what valuable things she had in the house. If the "old woman" woke up, they would easily overpower her – they assumed, confidently. With T-shirts tied over their heads to hide their faces, they jumped over the back wall. It was the two blows that woke Marcos up.

[MuscleWomanBR]

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[MuscleWomanBR]

It all happened in a matter of seconds. When Clayton shone his light on Mrs. Irene's body, confusion set in between the two boys. They didn't know if they were looking at a man or a woman. Her face was that of an "old lady", but her body was that of a powerful 100-meter runner. Her small breasts on her muscular chest led them to believe they were looking at a "traveco" - Brazilian slang for "transvestite". The karate fighter and bodybuilding enthusiast, however, had already gone on the attack, grabbing the waistbands of the long, loose shorts that the skinny boys were wearing. She lifted them up. Clayton's cell phone shattered on the floor. Surprised by the speed and strength of the movement, the two screamed, with their shorts squeezing their testicles, which they both tried in vain to protect. "You'll never steal from here again," she said with cold calm. And she let them down. The relief lasted two seconds, because now the fifty-something woman grabbed them by the throats. "Time for a lesson." They both struggled with desperate gestures of someone who was drowning. Their grunts were ineffective attempts to call for help. Realizing that they were about to faint, she let go of their hands and tore off the shirts they had taken off to cover their faces. They weren't exactly skeletal, but they were quite thin. She felt a little sorry for them both.
"Madam... ma'am... We didn't know..." Lucas began, coughing. "I promise you... I'll never steal again... Let us go..."
"I'll let you, of course I'll let you." Mrs. Irene assumed an air of mocking compassion. "But first, let's have a talk," and she grabbed his testicles, without squeezing them. They both screamed, in panic. "Shut up, kids! If you scream one more time I'll crush your balls!" The scene would be comical if it weren't tragic. With her hands holding their scrotums, under the threat of a strong squeeze, Mrs. Irene made the thieves walk with their legs half open, in steps that resembled children, holding on to the steel arms of their tormentor. They moaned and cried softly, repeating pleas for mercy and promises that they would never steal again.
"I know you'll keep stealing. But you'll learn not to steal here anymore," said the woman, as she led them to the backyard. "Open this cupboard and get a roll of duct tape," she ordered the trembling Lucas, who was sobbing and sweating profusely. The karateka and now also boxer squeezed his scrotum. The boy screamed. She squeezed harder. "Stop screaming or I'll rip your balls off... And I really will!" Pierced by the pain that made him shrink, with great difficulty he reached out and grabbed the roll. "Now cover your friend's rotten mouth." – Lucas hesitated for a split second, but obeyed.

[Dona Fell Friz]

We thank YOU, our Brazilian friend. If there were a Nobel Prize for kinky literature, we know who would win!

[MuscleWomanBR]

Thank you very much! I am very flattered by your compliment. I suppose the fetish for muscular or strong women is universal, as this site demonstrates. But I tried to give a "local color" to the fantasy. I hope to continue writing. I don't know for how long. But I would like to know how this story ends, because even I don't know...

[Dona Fell Friz]

  Please don't stop!

[MuscleWomanBR]

After this operation was repeated on Clayton, she grabbed them by the neck again. "You have no idea what a mistake you made. I sent a third-dan black belt to the hospital!" Lucas and Clayton had no idea what she was talking about, but they understood that it was something very serious. "Beating up kids like you is easy!" They were both in a panic. "You've never seen an old lady like me, have you? Well, just look at what the old lady is capable of doing..."
More than a virtuoso in martial arts, Mrs. Irene loved to experiment and demonstrate her own physical strength. In the extremely difficult fight with Guto, in which she was almost defeated, the athletic widow summoned the beast that she had tamed within herself, after being hit by the master's violent blows: with such an excellent opponent, she knew that her technique would not be enough to overcome him. For the fifty-year-old, this was not a noble dispute to see who had mastered karate better. It was all about proving to that man that she, a woman, was a bundle of muscles more powerful than he, the unbeatable karateka. Indifferent to ethics or the rules of martial arts, at a certain point in the fight when Guto delivered a soto mawashi, Mrs. Irene grabbed the black belt's ankle – who looked at her in astonishment, unable to anticipate what she would do. Always very aggressive, fast and agile, she lifted the sensei's foot as high as she could and stuck her muscular shoulder between the champion's legs, crushing his testicles. He groaned. Mrs. Irene's powerful hands grabbed the karateka's wagui, front and back, and she threw it at the door, as if it were a battering ram. Her strength was so great, and everything happened so fast, that Guto was unable to hit his opponent enough to stop her: in a split second, he was being thrown against the door. "Fight like a man!" she yelled, as she threw a series of punches at the athlete's face, now on the ground. He managed to kick her, throwing her backwards, but the herculean lady got to her feet faster and brutally pushed him against the door: she wanted to knock her down using his body. She went for the third attempt. Throwing herself at the black belt's waist, Mrs. Irene threw him against the door. The impact was so strong that the solid wood cracked. Guto, with his face badly bruised and bloody, and perhaps with a fractured shoulder, could only say "Stop, for the love of God!", while Mrs. Irene picked him up on the ground. "I'm not finished," she whispered in his ear, lifting him up on her shoulders. The sensei defended himself as best he could, but he was in pretty bad shape: after three such violent and painful collisions, not even his excellent physical fitness was able to save him from that massacre. However, with an extraordinary effort, Mrs. Irene now threw him against the door for the fourth time. He fell unconscious. His tormentor grabbed him by the waist again, dragging him to the center of the dojo, where she would beat him for a few more minutes. The fifty-year-old woman's face was also injured. Drops of blood – hers and his – stained her very white "champion's uniform". This infuriated her even more. Her desire was to throw Guto against the door from the mat. Since she could not achieve this feat, Mrs. Irene gave up on beating him and, once again, put the black belt on her shoulders. It was not easy. She was exhausted, and had suffered some very hard blows from her athletic opponent. Her body was beginning to give in to the pain and fatigue. "Go, Irene!" she shouted to herself, eagerly. "You're made of steel, woman..." Carrying about eighty kilos on her shoulders, she approached the door and threw the sensei against it for the fifth time. The position and distance were not favorable for the throw. It was as if a sack of potatoes had been dropped at the foot of the door, but not against it. The greatest impact was the body falling to the floor. Semiconscious, Guto groaned, but was in no condition to react. Panting, Dona Irene once again grabbed the collar of the master's wagui and dragged him, this time to a much greater distance. "I'm going to kill you, you bastard!" she growled.

[MuscleWomanBR]

She put his back against hers, holding his arms, leaned toward the door with the sensei's head hanging in front of her, gathered all the strength she had in her legs, accustomed to pushing 300 kilos, and took off in a murderous sprint: either she would break the door with Guto's head or crush his skull. Dona Irene trusted too much in her power: the half-dozen staggering steps lost strength as she reached her target and, when she reached it, they both fell, sprawling on the floor. The impact against the door was strong, but not enough to hurt the black belt any more than he already was. All the while, which lasted no more than a few minutes, Sandra screamed behind the door, pounding on it. Getting up with difficulty, Dona Irene dragged Guto to the center of the mat, preparing a seventh attempt to break the door using his body. She gave up out of exhaustion, not intention. She used the strength she had left to open the door and make it seem like the sensei's defeat had been easy.
These memories flashed through her mind as, in a matter of seconds, she looked at the two boys and decided what to do with them. "They're so skinny," she said. "But they need to be taught a good lesson."
"Time for boxing practice!" she announced. And she let them go. The two of them wasted no time: they ran to the wall, trying to jump over it. Mrs. Irene even laughed at their desperately naive attempt. "You fools..." And she pulled them by the waistband of their shorts. They shivered. Before the pull crushed their testicles, she let them go. "And don't you dare take the tape off your mouth!"
Lucas and Clayton pressed their backs against the wall, terrified. Mrs. Irene assumed the typical boxer's stance, preparing for the start of the round. Fists raised, bouncing quickly and smoothly, she aimed first at Lucas' eyes. Completely defenseless, he received the first blow, announced by the athletic lady:
- Jab! - The now boxer's bare hand hit Lucas' jaw, who groaned in pain. - Do you understand what a jab is?
Clayton burst into tears, foreseeing his suffering.
- For you, a... hook! - The blow was fired at the boy's liver, who curled up in pain, howling with his mouth closed. Now seated, with their backs still against the wall, they both hugged their knees, trembling and groaning. Mrs. Irene grabbed their wrists and lifted them. - If I catch you two here again, I'll show you what karate is. - They both just groaned softly. - Turn around! Hand on the wall! - The groans grew louder, mixing with a grunt of terror. But Lucas and Clayton obeyed. Mrs. Irene pulled down her shorts and appreciated the volume under the faded and cheap speedo-type briefs the boys were wearing. "You guys are skinny, but you have nice asses..." she whispered in their ears, squeezing their buttocks, which increased their muffled screams of panic. "Look how they fill out those cheap underwear you're wearing... Hmm... I like that, you know? Firm... Fresh... Juicy..." And with each word she lightly slapped both of their buttocks. She took a step back and contemplated them. In the sky, the first rays of morning helped her appreciate them. They were a little taller than she was. And less scrawny than the widow imagined. Clayton especially seemed to have the thighs of someone who played a lot of soccer. "You there on the right! Do you play soccer?" He nodded, turning his face back. "Face against the wall, kid! I didn't tell you to look!" – Mrs. Irene was putting on the strap-on. Their bladders couldn't handle the pressure of fear and urine soaked their underwear, running down their legs. The fifty-something karateka watched the scene while lubricating the erotic instrument and putting on surgical gloves. Their fragility increased their desire. The beast was about to erupt. Seconds later she tore Clayton's underwear while holding Lucas' head against the wall. The boy's buttocks were exposed, exuberant, to the woman's appetite, who dug the crack between his buttocks in search of his anus. – I'm going to teach you the right path to pleasure. – Without the slightest mercy or delicacy, she inserted the artificial penis into the young man and kept him there, motionless, for minutes on end.

[Dona Fell Friz]

Superb work as always. I'm confident that the relentless, unstoppable Mrs. Irene will amp up her training for half a year and grow able to smash sensei Guto through the mahogany door on the 10th effort. I can't wait to read the next thrilling chapter. Your switching from current moments to remembered episodes of the past is very creative and effective storytelling. If I may offer a friendly suggestion, the English pronouns she/her/hers are solidly attached to (if I may use a memory prompt) pretty, long haired woman and girls. He/him/his belong to bald-headed, hairy chested men and adolescent boys. I sincerely applaud your work, each new chapter hitting readers like an electric cattle prod!

[MuscleWomanBR]

Thank you for your words of encouragement, always very kind. My native language is Portuguese, which also has a number of nuances in the use of pronouns. On the other hand, gender inflections between Portuguese and English are not captured by artificial intelligence -- which I depend on to translate my texts here. I try to avoid this, but it is impossible for anything to be lost in translation. In any case, once again, thank you very much for your kindness in trying to help me improve the English version.

As for what you suggest, I try to make Mrs. Irene as realistic as possible, even though she is obviously quite unusual. I avoid stereotypes and paths that have become too obvious, in fetishes like this. Like any human being, Mrs. Irene has her limitations. I don't know if she will be able to have another meeting with Guto. At least for me, a rematch between the two makes no sense. Maybe the woman will have to answer for the physical harm she caused to the sensei -- which could lead the story to the end, I don't know... Dona Irene has other more urgent problems: she is holding a man captive -- which is a crime in any country --, she has a pending issue with her neighbor's son -- whose girlfriend she beat up -- and an unresolved "affair" with Sandra. All of this requires developments. I don't know what they are yet.

Thank you for your always attentive reading![/font][/font]

[Dona Fell Friz]

Thank you. I don't think a rematch with Sensei is necessarily called for, I just wish for Mrs. Irene's dedication to ever-increasing strength to continue. I appreciate that she has to take a solid beating in parts of her fights. That realism makes her eventual victory all the richer. Your choices are consistently surprising and thrilling. Have you published Portuguese strories such as these elsewhere? I would be thrilled to discover them. You are a special voice.

[MuscleWomanBR]

Once again, thank you for your encouraging words. Thanks to them, I feel very encouraged to continue writing.

I have already published the initial parts of this novel that I call "porno-sadist" on this site. It is also reproduced on another site, but with much less visibility. I have never published anything like it anywhere else.

I still don't know what direction to take with Dona Irene. Something that is very common here is this growth of strength, until the thing becomes monstrous, so absurd that, at least for me, it loses its erotic appeal. For me, the most exciting thing is not the development of superhuman strength. It is exactly what is possible. Or at least, that is not exaggerated, almost comically caricatured. I like characters to have psychological depth, that they are not mere stereotypes. This humanization, in my opinion, increases, at least for me, their erotic potential precisely because it brings the character closer to verisimilitude.

We'll see!
And as we say in good Portuguese (a beautiful language, you know? It's worth learning...), "um forte abraço" (a big hug)!

[Dona Fell Friz]

 

[MuscleWomanBR]

– This is so you'll never forget me... – And she started moving her pelvis. Clayton cried and moaned in pain. – Spread those legs, damn it! – Tensed by the unprecedented anal penetration, he kept his knees together. Mrs. Irene grabbed the inside of the young man's thighs and pushed them to the sides. The moans increased. Now holding his shoulders, the woman forced Clayton to bend over, adjusting the position to facilitate penetration and the increasingly accelerated pelvic movements against the ephebe's anus. With her hands on her waist, she turned to Lucas, who didn't dare to take his face off the wall, as he heard his companion's moans. – Look! – the widow screamed. He slowly turned his face, horrified by the scene: with his torso horizontal, his legs open and his hands flat against the wall, Clayton howled with his mouth covered, while his tears and the runny nose dripped onto the floor. Smiling wickedly at Lucas, she grabbed Clayton's waist, forcing it to move back and forth against the strap-on. "Look closely... Look closely at what the old aunt is capable of doing... This is the message for you and your friends..." She stopped moving, keeping the silicone penis stuck in Clayton. A trickle of blood was running down it. "Now get out of here!... No! Don't put on your shorts! You're going to leave here in your underwear. And through the same place you came in..." The possibility of getting rid of what seemed like Hell itself was so powerful that Lucas didn't hesitate to strain himself to, with astonishing agility, climb the wall and reach the roof - and, from there, the small garden and the freedom of the street. Clayton's whimpers were piercing, now that he found himself completely alone. Dona Irene bent over the boy, hugging his torso and getting close to his ear, without slowing down the rhythm of her pelvic movement. – I like hearing your moan, you know?... It turns me on even more to eat a man's ass... To feel my nipples rubbing against a male's back... Hmm... How delicious!
Suddenly, she heard sounds on the other side of the wall. It was Mrs. Isolina, working the day that was just beginning, looking for her son's washed uniform on the clothesline. The mature karateka lifted Clayton, still stuck in the strap-on, and whispered:
– Stop moaning or I'll break your neck! – Lucas made a tremendous effort to keep quiet. – Now put your feet behind my thighs. – Also with difficulty, the young man hugged his tormentor's legs. Held by the torso by Mrs. Irene, he was standing up with the strap-on plunging into his rectum, while the woman walked slowly toward the outbuilding.

[Wookey]

Rape is still rape, irrespective of which gender commits it

[MuscleWomanBR]

This is fiction. And fetish fiction. On a fetish website. With fetish readers. Fetish is fantasy. Anyone who reads these fetish stories is open to fetish fiction. That doesn't mean I agree with anything written here.