+Notable Author: [sevenpeight] Stories~collected

[Jeremy Lightning]

Well, if this is indeed the end, I really have to thank you, because it was my complete and utter pleasure reading this whole story, this may be the best story series that I have read in a long while, probably since reaper's Muscles of Mercy or Mr. Shhh's Hardbody series, it really was that good, in my eyes. I hope you come up with a new series that has the staying power and quality that Methodical has had. k++!

[Jeremy Lightning]

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[sevenpeight]

Hong Kong
by sevenpeight


Hong Kong is a funny place. Even if you're rich the best you can hope for is a penthouse. And if you're not rich, you can expect to share a small space with a lot of family. When the youngest of my three baby sisters turned 4, my parents arranged for me to stay with my father's brother. I was 19, in my second year of university. And I told myself I had to make the best of it.

My childhood memories of my uncle were of a befuddled, skittish man in thick spectacles. He'd married a few years ago and I'd only met my aunt once, at the wedding. She was decked in a big frilly dress. I couldn't make out much, other than that she short and squat, quite tanned (which is not a compliment amongst traditional Chinese), but had a pixie cute face. Apart from that she wore a bit too much make-up and had the most incredibly long curved nails my teenage eyes had ever boggled at.

So these were the odd, jumpy/rotund strangers I'd be making my life with for the next few years. But at least, I comforted myself, I'd have my own room for the first time I could really remember.

When we got to Uncle Raymond's place, my aunt was missing in action and Uncle Raymond was as skittish as I remembered him. Partly out of a desire to ease his nerves, partly to get the parting over with, my family left quite quickly, hugs all around and assurances that I was always welcome at home. Assurances that seemed hollow by the act of their vocalisation.

Uncle Raymond made up my room and I had an early night. Packing and moving had taken it out of me and, despite the new surroundings, I fell asleep quickly.

The next morning my aunt was still nowhere in sight, and my uncle made me a breakfast of congee and tea. I'd never thought about it till then, but in our house it was my mother that did the cooking. I wondered if my uncle's presence in the kitchen was exceptional, caused by my aunt's mysterious absence, or a more usual occurrence. Either way, his congee was top-notch and I was happy for it.

After eating and cleaning up, I got my things together and headed out to meet my friends. The hot, cloudless Sunday went quickly. It was mid-afternoon before the pile of assignments I had to get through dragged me back to the apartment.

I unlocked the door and slipped inside, closed it carefully and turned around. And there I froze. Keys and backpack in hand. Jaw slack.

In the middle of the living room, facing a mirror on the wall, was my missing aunt. Standing a diminutive 5'1'', she was decked out in a vanishingly small lime-green bikini. But there was little else about her that was small.

Her arm was cocked at her side, the petite wrist circled by the opposite hand. Her nails were exceedingly long, as I remembered them, and now painted a deep jade green. The biceps of her cocked arm were balls of thick muscle, quivering with the flex she was putting on. A thick throbbing vein underscored that muscle developed to such perfection required serious biological infrastructure to maintain. Smaller veins and capillaries ran every which way, mounting the glorious hard orbs of her hulking shoulders. They were round and bowling ball sized, easily outclassing her cute pixie face. The too much make-up of the wedding was replaced by deeply defined cheeks and unabashedly dark eyelids. Her lips shimmered with outrageously green lip gloss.

Her eyes were trained on the reflection of her own muscular chest. Deep plates of she-meat, slick with sweat, heaved under the incredible tension of her flex. A groove inches deep and wide separated her fem-pecs. There was no fatty breast tissue for her bikini top to cover, and the thin strips of lime-coloured material were reduced to covering up my aunt's nipples. Even there the material struggled for effect. The lady seemed to have nipples as big and hard as my thumbs, standing proud testament to her monster flex.

I swallowed and looked further down, to where a leg was also cocked, the meaty muscles of her thigh bulging in all directions. A bulbous calf muscle throbbed before tapering to a sinewy ankle.

There was no way to go past her without acknowledging her so I decided to avoid embarrassment for either of us by muttering 'hello aunty' in high velocity as I shuffled past her to my room.

Once I was in my room and the door was shut, I stood against it gulping for air. I'd never seen anything ilke this before. I wanted to see more. I quickly gathered my study materials and hustled into the living area. I was careful not to look at my aunt yet, setting out books and pens and laptop on the dining room table.

My uncle was cleaning, fussing with knick-knacks and photos. But I noticed he was stealing looks at his wife as often as he could. I made sure I was sitting in a good spot to sneak peeks at her too.

Between bouts of running my pen across the page or looking intently at an open book, I ogled her impossibly spherical bubble-butt. The g-string she wore was nothing more than a lime green triangle at the base of her swollen lower back, where the two pillars of muscle gave way to her taught round arse. When she pushed a leg out to one side the arse-cheek above it bounced up, maintaining its presence high up, held there by unimagined muscular structures. She placed her legs apart before flexing her back, and suddenly more of the bikini appeared, a beautiful round bulge between her legs, a sac of sex bound in shiny spandex glory. A groan escaped me and in my panic I coughed unconvincingly to hide my indiscretion. My uncle redoubled his cleaning efforts and my aunt, thankfully, seemed not to notice.

A few moments later I looked up again. Her hands were on her hips and as I watched, she slowly inched her gargantuan shoulders back. Her upper back began to expand in front of my eyes, growing inexorably outward, her petite waist seeming to contract correspondingly. Before long she seemed wider at the shoulders than she was tall. Her expansive back muscles were so broad that it had become uncomfortable for her to keep her hands on her hips. The meaty back pushed her arms up and out, so they hung at a 45˚ angle. Muscle was piled on top of muscle. Her rock hard arms buoyed by slabs of chest and back meat surging outwards.

It was almost too much meat to comprehend. Focusing on any one part of that  vast muscle-packed visage you might think you were just looking at an animal composed out of nothing but pure shredded meat, stretching on forever. My cock throbbed angrily, pent up in my pants. It was confusing. I'd only ever lusted after the slim waifs from girly mags and their online counterparts. This was out of all experience for me.

The bright afternoon sunlight glinted off her muscular form, highlighting each crease and crevice on her incredible back, each muscle group defining her by its hyper-developed form. She twisted from the waist, pivoting one way then the next, admiring her development from all angles. Side on, her back was all the more amazing. Several inches of muscle meat protruded from her frame, piles of muscle jutting away from her shoulders, the fruits of her hard work trying to find space on that tiny skeleton. Beginning to realise the sheer bulk of musculature that that diminutive middle-aged woman must be carrying around blew my mind. Suddenly her eyes caught mine in the mirror and I froze in terror.

She'd seen me. Watching her. I could feel my heart pounding in my head. My mouth went dry. My cock quickly shrunk back and seemed to shrivel more than its normal flaccid size, perhaps trying to escape back into my body in terror.

'Jason,' my aunt addressed me in a sweet husky voice that I was hearing for the first time, 'come here darling.' She perched herself on the couch and patted the seat next to her.

My heart pounding at an even faster rate, I slowly willed myself out of my chair and made my way over to the couch on shaky legs. I sat down and focused on not hyperventilating. I kept my eyes straight ahead.

'Jason,' said my aunt quietly, almost whispering, 'were you looking at aunty's muscles?' She sat disconcertingly close to me. I could feel the heat of her muscles warmed by the afternoon sun. The smells of her heady perfume invaded my nose. 'Jason?' she prompted.

There was no point denying it. I bobbed my head.

'I have very big muscles' she pointed out needlessly. 'Have you ever seen a woman with muscles like mine?' I shook my head and screwed up some courage. 'Aunty I've never seen anyone with muscles like yours.'

She smiled and I nearly melted. She might be over twice my age but she was beautiful. 'This is what they look like up close' she said and lifted the leg closest to me. She pointed her toe and the bulging mass of her quads exploded into rugged rocky crags of hard cut muscle. My aunt ran her hand over the jagged rocks of her spectacular thighs. They looked impossibly small against the gargantuan limbs.

My cock was back to straining against its confines. The overwhelming power of my aunt's super-honed body overcame my conscious mind's feeble objections. My aunt dropped her leg back down and wriggled closer to me. 'Jason, do you like how my muscles look up close?' she asked as parts of her tight, trained body tensed on command, emphasising her question. I nodded yes. Suddenly my aunt jumped up, throwing her massive over-developed arm around my neck and tightening it dangerously. My hands automatically tried to pull the muscle-noose away, finding no purchased against the oiled  skin, silky smooth over the heaving muscle and pulsing veins.

'Pervert!' she spat as her arm tightened around me. I tried to plead, but  no air would leave or enter my windpipe. 'You come into my house,' her voice was rising, 'and then your perverted little eyes run around my body like I trained these fantastic muscles for some little worm to ogle?!' By now she was shouting. She stood at her full height and her unforgiving forearms were eating into my neck as she pulled me upwards with incredible pressure while her stupendous biceps simultaneously pushed my head forwards in a blindingly painful pincer grip.

'Well,' she hissed, lowering her voice ominously, 'these muscles are not just show-pieces Jason,' I was beginning to get dizzy and my eyes stopped focusing, 'they're going to teach you a lesson'. She poured on a sudden burst of energy and blackness overwhelmed me.

I woke up some time later, groggy and twitching. Smoke stung my nostrils and a haze hung around me. As my eyes focused I found my aunt's face looking at me haughtily. Between gleaming white teeth was a big dirty cigar, the end chewed off and smouldering. 'Get up' she snarled. She had changed, and was wearing shiny black platform stilettos, a tiny black PVC pleated skirt that did barely anything to cover her sex, and a pearl choker. Her magnificent muscular chest was visible in all its naked glory. In her hand was some amber liquor which she sipped from, not bothering to remove the cigar, merely juggling it from side to side between her teeth. Her body was mesmerising. But I quickly looked down at the floor, remembering how dangerous it was to stare.

'You have work to do, dirty boy!' my aunt spat from around her cigar. 'Go to your room.' I couldn't comply fast enough.

[sevenpeight]

That night as I lay in my bed, I heard my aunt and uncle in the next room. It started out muffled, but soon rose in volume. My hot, hard aunt was fucking my uncle. I could hear her grunts as she rode him, his head repeatedly banging against the bed-head. I imagined the enormous weight of her on top of his prone, inadequate body, her thighs clamped around his waist, each thrust moving him bodily up and down. I imagined her vascularity and her rock-hard frame arched with arousal.

My hand worked its way into my lap and I began jerking off to their aural-porn. I imagined what my aunt was doing to my uncle in the next room.

Maybe she raised her hand high across her body, I thought, he quivered in terror as she held it there suspended. I saw her swollen tricep, bulging with creases of definition as it held her weighty arm aloft. And then just as the first squeak of fear escaped him her powerful arm swung downward and the back of her solid hand thundered across his face, the meat connecting with his skull and leaving it bruised. Her thrill from knowing her power.

Maybe, I imagined, one of her pert little hands with the long dangerous nails was tightened around his neck, squeezing his airways closed. Her arm, in its hard, etched, glory would stretch terrifyingly from closest edge of his vision, growing inexorably to her incredible colossal shoulders which ate up the whole extreme reaches of his eyesight in immovable muscular glory. He gagged in her unflinching grasp as her powerful, muscular, legs pistoned her on top of him, her vagina gripping his penis while her engorged clitoris rubbed against it.

I was whacking of furiously, my mighty aunty consuming my vision when the wall above my head suddenly exploded and a shower of plaster rained down on me. The plaster was followed by a fist, which was quickly drawn back. I looked up to the spot that had exploded, my fat cock still in my fist. My aunt's eye stared back at me.
'You filthy little boy!' She roared 'I'm going —' Her threat suddenly ended mid-sentence. Her eye was on my hand.
Her face disappeared from the hole she'd just punched through the wall, and I hear her dismounting my uncle. 'Stay.' she said firmly. I listened as her door opened and the heels of platforms  click-clacked toward me.

I was frozen in place as the door slowly swung open, revealing my aunt. Her dark eyes bore into me as she walked toward me slowly. She wore the same black PVC pleated skirt, which seemed a mere device to emphasise the extraordinary development of her lower abs, giant quads bulging below it. Her glorious hard chest was slick with a film of sweat, her nipples long and hard.

My dick, which had been shrinking since her fist erupted through the wall was stirring again, excitement winning out over fear. 'Jason', she started quietly, 'you have a very big penis for a small boy...' the cigar was still in her mouth and wreaths of smoke wafted around her head. She smiled at me, gleaming teeth clamped around the dirty big cylinder of smoke. She raised her voice 'your cock is much bigger than your uncle's!'

She was standing beside the bed now and from her hand dangled a black leather hood with a leash. She leaned over and placed the hood over my head. There was a buckle to tighten the collar and she made sure it was tight against my throat. The hood had holes for the eyes and nostrils and a zipped compartment that covered the mouth.

When it was done up she stood back and looked at me. 'Awwww,' she pouted in mock concern, 'does the little boy feel a little claustrophobic?'
My breath was warm, filling the hood, making me feel like I might suffocate. I nodded.

'Good' she purred. She wound the leash around her hand twice, looping it at a leisurely pace while contemplating me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, and looked at her small, hard, muscular form only from the corner of my eye. Suddenly she jerked the leash, and my body jumped toward her as I gagged in the hood.

She leaned down. 'Now, it looks like your little man needs some encouragement to get up and play...'

I was still holding my manhood, which was semi-flaccid, caught between the excitement of her and mortal fear of what she could do. Her long-nailed hand curled around my pecker. She drooled a river of saliva lazily on to my cock, a slimy trail extending from her lips to my penis. I was starting to get hard just looking at her thick oral juices running drooping on to me. She used her free hand to remove the cigar from her mouth and leaned closer in to my face, blowing smoke into my eyes and nostrils, making me smart. Her tongue snaked out of her mouth and licked the hood. Then she moved her mouth over my hardening cock, swallowing it whole and bobbing her tight little mouth up and down on it. My cock was heating up and I began to breath heavily, the leather of the hood restricting my air intake. She popped my penis out of her mouth and shoved her big cigar back into it, chomping down ominously and grinning at me. She leaned further down and took my now fully erect penis into the crook of her arm. She flexed her mighty muscles and trapped my dick between the rock of her biceps and her hard unforgiving forearm bulge. It felt like my cock would simply bend at a right angle and be squeezed into non-existence. She was watching it and eased the flex enough to let the muscles move around my cock. She began working my meat, the oversized muscle peaks, hard and hot on my cock, slipping slickly up and down my shaft, lubricated by her nasty saliva. I could feel my orgasm massing in my balls and I tried to warn my aunt, muffled by the hood. Her arm slammed down the base of my cock and it released in a shower of jism, covering her rock hard arm and spurting on to  the bedding.

Her arm let go of my cock and she slowly stood up. 'Cumming with no warning...' she said, looking at me darkly, 'you don't have any manners at all.' I tried to plead with my eyes, to protest. She backhanded me through the hood, her rock-hard hand colliding with my cheek bone and leaving me dazed and bruised, spinning from her powerful blow.

Her hand unzipped the mouth of the hood. 'You make a mess, you clean it up.' She suddenly burst into a flex, her immense biceps inches from my face, a deep groove separating its heads into twin orbs of pulsating hard power. A vein strained against her outmatched skin, pulled taught over the masses of muscle meat despite her years. I was hard again, her muscles overpowering my sex organ's need for recovery. 'Boy...' she prompted threateningly. I poked my tongue through the unzipped hood and licked up my own cum, starting at its tangy sourness.

When I'd finished she dropped her arm and carefully, in her platform heels, climbed on to the bed, planting a stilleto'd foot either side of my pelvis.  She closed her eyes and pushed her shoulders back, expanding the width of her chest by half a foot in either direction. Her back pushed her arms out again, leaving them hanging haughtily out either side of her. She slowly descended, bending at the knees, back expanded, feet firmly on the mattress. Her mighty calves were etched in diamond hardness either side of her shin, thick ropy muscles of her inner thighs facing me. She was squatting over my dick, and it oozed precum.

She descended slowly until her sex, peeking out from below the black PVC skirting was touching the head of my organ, and then, opening her eyes and staring into mine menacingly, she flexed her abs, the grooves on her washboard midsection deepening, the individual squares of muscle across her stomach gaining hideous new definition. She smiled and continued the flex down to her sex, and suddenly the maw in her loins spread wide open. I gasped and she grinned, impaling herself on my cock and gasping in turn, pleasured by my meatstick. 'Oh, yes' she heaved. She slowly lifted herself back up, so only the head of my throbbing cock was inside her love tunnel.

'Work for it you little bitch' she sneered. My heart thumped in fear. 'Thrust!' she roared. My instinct for self preservation kicked in before my brain engaged, and I started humping her, pushing my arse into the air, and thrusting my cock into her as commanded. She played with her nipple, long nails tweaking the big brown protrusion as her cunt swallowed my dick over and over. Soon both of her hands were caressing her muscle tits. My balls were aching for release, my legs exhausted. Without warning her love muscles clamped down on my boner, trapping me inside her as she burst into a most-muscular flex, punching her arms down, giant traps rising in flexed glory, gobbling up the space between her shoulders and ears. Her pecs were tensed into impenetrable plates of muscularity and her teeth again bared, chomping down on her cigar as she climaxed spectacularly.

She pulsed her sex muscles, cumming again around my manhood, rising up on her stilettos as she orgasmed, every muscle rippling with force of her pleasure. I was suspended in mid-air, her mighty vagina lifting me bodily by my over-matched cock. It cock felt like it was about to be torn from my body, then she yanked hard on the leash, jerking my head up to her fearsome pixie face, covered in a fine layer of sweat, her smoking cigar burning a hair's breath from my hooded face. Her hands clamped around my head, the long hard nails digging into me through the leather. 'You... are... mine' she heaved as the final quivers of her orgasm reverberated around my penis 'do you understand?' My skull felt like it was on the verge of collapsing inward. 'Yes aunty' I managed to squeak out.
'Mistress' she responded, sending a wave of pleasure down my cock. I came inside her, shooting wave after wave of my semen into her womb. And as suddenly as she'd clamped down she let go of my head and my dick. I dropped suddenly to the bed.

Her sex lips were slick as she walked up the bed. Without warning she dropped on to her knees, her sex slamming hard into my face. My aunt — my mistress - raised herself up to her knees, looking back down at me between her legs. She reached down and grasped my jaw in her strong hand. She began to squeeze my jaw, placing incredible pressures on it, forcing my mouth to pop open. 'Now,' she whispered, 'keep your mouth open.' Her crotch slammed into my face a moment later. She flexed her tight muscle cunt and a geyser of sex juice splashed down my throat, her cum mixed with mine, filling my mouth and nose as I gagged on it. The valve shut off as suddenly as it started. 'Swallow' said her voice, muffled by her legs around my ears. I slurped it down as fast as I could and took a deep breath - waves upon waves of cum followed. And at the end her voice purred 'now let me wash it down...' a hot stream of piss hit the back of my throated as she urinated in my mouth. She wiped her pussy on my hooded face and stood up. 'Good pet... I think I'm going to like having you live with us.'

[Jeremy Lightning]

Very nice, you hit upon a couple of my personal fantasies, I'm not much into domination, but I do love shorter muscle women, and incest is also a favorite story element of mine. It's a very cool story so far, and I'm looking forward to more from you. k+!

[sevenpeight]

Musclefuck
by sevenpeight
___________________________

Lucy was awake. Her fingers walked across my belly and up my chest. Thick, strong fingers that dug into my flesh. The force of those two fingers could easily burst through my chest cavity without her even bringing her strength to bear. Lucy had more power on two fingers of her hand than my entire body could produce.

I looked down at her jet black bob. She looked almost Asian from this angle. A heavy leg was thrown over my midriff. I held my breath in trepidation. It was an automatic reaction to that much power. I was prey beneath her musclebound thigh, kilograms of meat carved like hard stone bearing down on me.

Her fingers had reached my shoulder and she looked up at me with her piercing blue eyes. I still hadn't breathed, and it came out all at once. I gasped and spluttered like a fish thrown out of water. It made her smile, and she shifted herself onto me. Her hand bore down on my shoulder in the process and my mouth formed into a scream — the pressure of her weight nearly shattering my shoulder for good. 'Sorry baby...' she purred 'it was only for a second.' I could never tell whether she enjoyed frightening me or just forgot her own strength.

I quietly moved my thumb down to her snatch — already wet and ready for sex. I flicked the inch-thick bulb of her clitoris, rubbing it like a growing she-dick. She reared up, throwing her shoulders back with pleasure. The more excited she was the greater the danger of accidental damage to my over-matched body.

Her shoulders were enormous — like a footballer with shoulderpads. The enormous wingspan of her lats blocked out the light, like a statue of a giant bird. But this bird had wings of rippling musculature. spreading from a taught torso piled high with breastplates of solid steel overhanging fist-sized cobblestones of her 8 pack abs, sliding slick into a pelvis that bulged from hard, defined legs. Her thighs bulged maniacally either side of my body.

My thumb had become a frenzy against her now-hard clit and she was breathing heavily. Her excitement mounted a peak and she threw her body forward. Massive trapezoid muscles suddenly slid over her shoulders,  swallowing the space to her ears like a cobra's hood suddenly flared. Her arms came down hairs away from my ears, whoosing past my head as her fists hit the mattress with a force that burst it asunder.

My thumb was wedged between my body and her imovable pelvis. She panted above me before looking down and grinning. In a fluid motion she went from kneeling to standing over me. Freed from her weight and relieved a little of my fear, my cock instantly stood at full attention.

From towering over me she quickly leaned into an insane most muscular crab, her pectorals errupting into demented striations, her milky complexion etched by deep ravines between cords of muscle. Her shoulders were equaly striated, each fibre snapped tight across the enormous balls of hardened musculature.

My manhood was almost doubled back with desparation, my balls aching for release. Lucy quickly spun around, and simultaneously slammed down to her knees and spread her back in a latspread that doubled the width of her upper back, piles upon piles of muscle spreading outwards and locking into place, turning the deep chasm of her back-muscle cleavage into the faultline of tectonic plates of musculature. Veins found their way even there, squirming across her back with the pulsing bloodflow of this muscle vixen.

Her sex enveloped my member and clamped around it firmly. She began pumping it without letting go long enough to let me spill myself into her. My role in our sexual entanglement was over and she was in charge now.

She began pumping harder and faster. Her thighs were hyrdaulic pistons, moving her mass at frenetic pace, up and down my shaft. She was moaning with excitement and my eyes rolled back in my head, overcome by muscle-ecstacy. I ventured forth my thumb and circled her tight asshole. She gasped with pleasure and her  glutes quickly swallowed my thumb into that hot sweaty rectum.

Everything squeezed as she came in a loud explosion of juiced and muscle. I screamed as she turned my thumb into a messy pulp... my cum covered her snatch and my pole... I passed out from the pain.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Another great one, though a little short, definitely liked all the muscle description, and the thought that two female fingers could be stronger than an entire male body, I would love to see that put into practice. k+!

[sevenpeight]

Thanks for the feedback. I find I have all these ideas for stories, but then they become a pain to get into words, and it's hard to find the time, so I thought I'd just pump out something short rather than nothing at all if you know what I mean.

[sevenpeight]

Firefighters
by sevenpeight

We were childless when Teresa passed away, leaving me a lonely middle-aged windower. My friends were good to me, but I guess I didn't move along as quickly as they might have hoped. It wasn't until I began volunteering at the local fire station that things started to look up a little. They needed someone to help with the officework - and I needed the company. Then three of the men died in a chemical warehouse fire. After losing Teresa, this second blow compounded the first.

Two weeks after the fire, a new station chief was appointed. To say the crew was unhappy is an understatement. They resented the interloper. And all the more-so because she changed the previously male-only crew by being there.

Liza was quiet and stern. And while she respected the men's need to grieve their comrades, her first priority was to run an efficient fire crew.

Trent was the first to snap at her. And I was the unwitting catalyst. There were mistakes in the tax return I filed for the station. Liza took me to task over the errors and the boys overheard it... Trent let fly his emotions.

'Hey boss,' he hissed, 'maybe you should just be thankful you *have* a volunteer'.
Liza's head turned in slow-motion. 'If he'd done the work he was supposed to,' she resopnded evenly, I'd be very thankful. But as it is, he might as well not have volunteered.'
It was a red rag to a bull, and Trent charged at it. 'You snide bitch!' he exploded.

General mumbling indicated the crew's disapproval. But it was a disapproval of the outburst, not the sentiment.
'Trent,' I tried softly, 'She's right. I should've paid more attention to my work.'
But Trent was ranting by now — 'That's the problem with people like you —you sweat the small shit'.
'People like me huh?' It was the first rejoinder from Liza. 'And what kind of people are those?'
'Fat.' He said, pausing for emphasis, 'Lazy. Desk jockeys.'

Liza didn't raise her voice even a decibel. 'I'll tell you what Trent' she responded with steely calm, 'you pick a challenge that you think would expose a fat lazy desk jockey... and I'll beat you at it...'
My stomach somersaulted. Liza must've been in her late 40s, not all that much younger than me. She was 5' 2'' and nearly as wide as she was tall.

With all the arrogance and callousness of youth, Trent grinned and named his challenge. 'There are two benchpress sets over there' he said pointing, 'We'll load each one with 100 pounds and see who can do more sets.'

'That's a little boring isn't it?' said Liza. My heart felt like it might burst for the amount of blood it was pumping. 'Why don't we do something a little more interesting — we'll start downstairs, climb the fire poles, and then see how many sets we each do...'

Suddenly Trent was off-center. 'Sure!' he responded, but the bravado was mixed with confusion. Liza called one of the other boys over and whispered in his ear. He looked dubious as she patted his shoulder in reassurance.

Downstairs Trent pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a toned body that stood head and shoulders above Liza. We all watched with increasing unease. Then it was Liza's turn. In one motion she'd taken off her sweatshirt and singlet — revealing the body, not of a fat lazy desk jockey, but of a massive striated hardcore muscle fanatic.

Her shoulders were each split into two gargantuan heads that looked impossibly hard and feathered with striations.  Each one was larger than a man's head. And from each shoulder hung an equally massive arm - pumped with muscle, biceps the size of cantalopes. Thick pipes of blood ran over each smooth bicep. A crazy riot of veins ran across each monster limb like a network of railway lines built by a madman, all feeding the insane power that she suddenly radiated.

The veins became bunched and concentrated down her exploding forearms. The size and hardness of her impressive forearms almost rivaling those monster biceps and emphasizing the petite wrists they narrowed into. Each extreme arm rested atop an impossibly wide set of lats that almost doubled the width of her strapping chest, the monster limbs held out at a 45 degree angle. Muscle josteled against muscle for space on her overmatched frame. 

Trent's smile disappeared at the same speed as Liza's formed.  She brought her arms to her hips, causing her lats to flare ever-wider, making her hard chest expand and explode with striations beneath an overmatched sports bra. The two pectoral masses jutted over a steel-plated stomach that looked like the humaniform armor of a Roman legionnaire.

Liza walked over to the closer of the two fireman's poles, spit on her too-large hands and grabbed the steel tubing. She looked back at Trent and arched her brow. 'Coming?'

Trent, holding on to whatever machismo he had left, took to the further pole. 'Go ahead, ' said Liza, 'you can have a head-start.' Machismo or not, Trent took the chance he was given and hauled himself recklessly up the pole. As he opened a body-length between himself and the floor with some difficulty, Liza pulled up with her mammoth biceps. As she heaved her body up the pole, her triceps exploded with the power she was exerting, knots of muscle forcing their way to the suface and creating a craggy muscular ediface for us to gape at.

While Trent's legs were knotted around the pole spaghetti-like, Liza used only the power of her mighty arms to propel herself up. She reached the top before Trent was half way. Looking down she cooed at him, 'Poor child, can't keep up with big mama firefighter huh?' She looked at us and grinned, savoring the moment. Then she looked back and Trent and snarled 'I'll give you a second chance sonny boy...' She suddenly let go the pole, dropping heavily to the ground, boots shaking the building with the thud of her enourmous mass hitting the concrete, cracks spready out radially from the locus of her frame.

'Go!' she urged in a frightening growl before getting back on the pole, this time using her legs and arms to race up. Even through her sweats the incredible size of her thighs was evident, squeezing the pole like it might be liquified in those jaws of doom.

She reached the top before Trent and hauled herself over the lip of the floor above. We raced up the stairs in time to see her emerge. As Trent clambered inelegantly on to the second floor, Liza slowly swaggered over to the bench nearest us, oozing confidence. She lowered herself slowly on to the bench, arching her back and taking my breath away as I fully comprehended the enormous thickness of her upper body. From her hard, tight, abdomen her torso suddenly flared, forward and back. Heavy thick pecs which added several inches to her front, pure muscle destroying any breast tissue, outclassing it with thick muscle fibres. Her back was like a muscle beast crouched and waiting to be unleashed.

Trent breathlessly took his position as Liza wrapped her strong hands around the bar above her and heaved upward. Trent was groaning with the effort, exhausted by his previous exertion. Liza pushed upwards again, her limbs exploding with definition. I gasped with a realisation. Liza was lowering and lifting with perfect equanimity twice the weight that was loaded on Trent's bar. Her triceps were larger than my thighs, knotted with muscular energy; matched by enormously vascular biceps and shoulders shredded to oblivion. Metal plates crashed down as Liza completed her set and shifted to sit up. Her body radiated energy. Her inhuman pectorals, implausibly hard and pumped from the workout glistened with sweat. She smiled and got up. Trent had barely pushed out more than a few reps as she stood over him looking down. 'Next time' she breathed slowly, 'don't be so quick to jump to conclusions...'

I'd never seen a seriously muscular woman before. And I had no inkling I'd be excited by something so far outside my experience or imagination. But the shear power of her. The supreme confidence that came from her strength... I was dizzy with lust.

[DEA]

Really very well written, man.
I suggest put some "closer" strenght comparison in the next part, like e.g. armwrestling, wrestling etc.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Hey man, another great story by you, always excited to see something new from you, your description is great as always. Liza was wonderfully muscled, and probably could take on a team of firefighters in a tug of war! k+!

[sevenpeight]

Wife
by sevenpeight

Part 1: Firmer

In the months since the wedding, Zara had put on a few kilos. Nothing drastic, but she didn't like it and was openly worried about her health. So when Paul came home one evening to find Zara, who normally got home after him, in gym gear and exercising in front of the TV, it wasn't a complete surprise. What was a surprise, was the nature of her exercise. In each hand she held a small set of dumbbells, and was rapidly pumping them down in front of her chest and out to her sides. She was covered in a sheen of sweat and he could see she'd been at it for a while. The tone of her body, there despite the bit of fat that had crept in, together with her flushed cheeks, made him instantly warm, his manhood stirring in his trousers.

'Hi baby!' he called out, entering the room. 'Hey babe,' Zara answered, followed by a grunt, 'I'll be with you after this set.'
'Sure', Paul answered, putting down his things and heading for the bedroom to change. 'Jeez,' he thought to himself, 'she's really getting into this. "Set"?' He wondered where she'd picked up the lingo and how long it would last.

Days went by and Zara's post-wedding kilos quickly sloughed away. She regained the tone of her pre-wedding days and within weeks she was firmer than she'd been in her life.

Happier with her body and emboldened by her progress, Zara began to wear clothes that highlighted her toned arms, firm breasts, built shoulders, firm thighs and diamond-hard calves. Paul and Zara's sex life improved as well, to both their delight as Zara started wearing more revealing lingerie and forcing them both to be more adventurous in their lovemaking, trying exotic positions and exercising newfound stamina in their foreplay.

[sevenpeight]

Part 2: Bigger

A few months into her fitness regime, Paul came home to find Zara lifting heavier weights. He realised that over the previous months, their exercise equipment (her exercise equipment, really) had multiplied. There were free weights all over the living room. Zara's body soon went from toned and fit to sporting some serious muscle. And Paul didn't mind a bit.

Zara started working out in only a sports bra. It exposed her developing abdomens, four thick fists of muscle framed by a chiseled torso, and her increasingly sharply defined V of a pelvis, leading to ropy ligaments that shifted and hardened as she moved her bulging thighs. 'No need to support myself down there' she quipped, 'so why trap the sweat around my pussy? Only makes it more unpleasant for you babe, when you lick me out...' She ended the statement with a wicked grin. Zara had started being more assertive in the bedroom as her athleticism outstripped Paul's by an ever-wider margin, but this was the first time since they'd met that she'd been so openly sexually aggressive. Paul immediately dropped to his hands and knees and started lapping his wife's sex. She moaned with pleasure — the pleasure of his tongue and his submission to her whim. Her left hand pushed his head to her musky womanhood while her right tweaked her own nipples.

Sooner than either of them realised, Zara had become a musclebound she-hunk.

Her head seemed to shrink and grow closer to her body, a combination of her body growing proportionally larger and her muscle gains transforming her neck into a thick bull's stump and her trapezoids into mountains of hard musculature which, in a crab pose, swallowed that thick bull neck. She enjoyed putting on this display if when Paul was about to cum. She'd lean forward on top of him and crunch the pose hard, expanding into his entire view. It never failed to make him blow his load violently into her.

Her shoulders had become large boulders of granite which alarmingly rippled with striations when she exerted herself. They surrounded the thick girl-beef of her pectorals. The breasts she had had when she married Paul had failed to compete with the plates of musculature which now rippled and striated when she pulsed and tensed them. They left her always-large nipples the only feminine feature of her chest. And with the new firmness of her bosom she also discarded the sports bra which had for a while been her only workout covering. She now often stood naked but for socks and runners in the middle of the living room, pumping weights and grunting hard with the effort.

Her four abs had grown to an uncompromisingly chiselled six-pack which, rather than sitting on a toned tummy, was nestled in between fingers of obliques and a devastatingly defined pelvis.

Her stunning musculature was highlighted and supported on two giant legs, with tear-drop quads hanging over her knees and an always impressive set of calves which were no longer just hard, but were also eye-bulgingly large.

[sevenpeight]

Part 3: Sexier

Paul loved feeling her hard muscular body during sex. If he was lucky she'd flare her lats, unfurling thick wings of muscle that emphasised how huge her upper body was, and how tight her abs. He'd fumble and grasp at them, pulling himself up to worship her steel-like pectoral plates. She wouldn't even flinch at supporting his weight on her wings of muscle.

Sometimes she'd pull a double biceps pose while pounding him in bed, marbled balls rising on her arms, the split heads of her enormous biceps emerging with a sickeningly deep crease between them as ringer-thick veins writhed on the surface.

One day Paul came home to find Zara working out as normal, in front of the TV. But instead of the latest reality TV hit or cooking show, Zara was watching muscle girl porn. Two lesbian bodybuilders were moaning and rubbing themselves against each other on TV as Paul's wife grunted and groaned and lifted weights.

Paul didn't know what to do. But luckily Zara told him. 'Get naked Paul', she commanded, 'fast.' He did as he was told and stood with bated breath. Zara finished her set, dropping a barbell to the ground with a definitive crash before fixing Paul in her sights and slowly, deliberately, walking over to him. Her eyes had him trapped and wouldn't flicker even for a nanosecond. Paul felt like a deer in headlights. Suddenly her hard fingers and long nails grabbed him by the pelvis. Her mouth closed around his and her hot, wet tongue forced its way in, thrashing about like a mad thing. She moaned her ecstasy and pulled him in to her, her big arms crushing his ribs and her hands moving to his arse. She mercilessly kneaded his arse cheeks while grinding her hips against him and bruising his ribs with her arms. He tried to gasp for breath only to have her tongue force its way further in, making him want to gag, his eyes agog and desperate.

Paul hadn't a chance of moving his mountain of a wife, so he was lucky when her lust overtook her desire for his mouth and she roughly pushed him to the couch. Paul expected to be mounted and worked over, but Zara lifted a foot to the couch and began furiously masturbating herself. Her whole body tensed in anticipation, the muscle groups etched in deep relief. She came with the force of  a hundred Niagras, blasting her hot juices over him and the couch and the floor. 

[sevenpeight]

Here it is...

Part 4: Hornier

Zara played with the vision on the TV until the lesbian muscle porn was replaced by a snuff film. A dominatrix in leather and PVC tortured an underwhelming man. Zara swivelled to Paul and stared at him, sending a shiver down his spine. The man on the TV yelped with pain. Zara's breathing grew heavier and her clit began to pulse and harden. She pointed to the floor with a long polished nail. 'Get down there' she ordered. Paul did as told and lay quivering with fear and excitement.

His wife mounted him, wrapping her massive legs around his in a grapevine. Her thighs invaded the space his would have occupied, forcing them to bend painfully while hers were bullet straight, muscles ballooning in every direction. Her eyes flitted between Paul and the TV. She began pumping, the occasional grunt reflecting her arousal rather than the effort of lifting her magnificent body inches off him before powering down, bruising his pelvis with each violent thrust.

Zara's eyes lingered on the TV and her pace quickened, her awe-inspiring musculature pumped and shredded, demented vascularity at its peak. Paul couldn't see the screen but suspected the man was dead now, she returned her stare to his face, her vise-like hand whipped down on this throat and contracted. Her urgent thrusting increased tempo again, muscles blurring into a fury of pistoning excitement.

Zara's thrusting became insane, threatening to dislocate Paul's legs, rending them from his hips. Paul pushed the edge of consciousness, eyes streaming with involuntary tears from the pain of her arousal. Just then she climaxed, her hips boring into his like a musclebound jackhammer. Her legs tightened, bending his further out of shape and she rose up like a cobra about to strike, freaky biceps flexed to their mind-bending hyper-definition, blue-purple cords of veins crawling over them. She unloaded another blast of hot girl cum, drenching him. She screamed with the passion of her orgasm. Paul slipped into unconsciousness.

He woke again to Zara's concerned face. She was slapping his face to wake him. Paul grinned. He'd unloaded his own orgasm into her tight muscular love hole in the instant before blacking out. 'Jeez lady,' he quipped, 'it wasn't enough to knock me out and nearly break my legs, now you're slapping me around too?' Zara's face lifted, flooded with relief.

'You want slapping?' she asked, returning volley, 'this is slapping!' Her hand whooshed down, powered by the hydraulic power of her lats, and slammed into his face, shaking his skull and rattling the teeth in his head. His vision blurred before clearing. 'Careful Paul,' Zara said towering above him, 'I'm so powerful now,' her hand began absentmindedly fondling a tectonic pectoral plate, 'that my play can do serious damage to your weak man body.' Like he needed to be told.

[sevenpeight]

This follows from my previous story, Wife

Worker

Part 1: Promotion

Zara was going from strength to strength at work as well. First it was just the confidence that came from her growing self esteem. She closed more deals, negotiated higher prices with customers and lower ones with suppliers. Her boss was happy with her performance.

She was promoted twice within a year before seeming to hit that famed glass ceiling. But it was about the same time that she started hitting the weights with real gusto, and her musculature was becoming apparent even when she was dressed for work. Before she'd seemed fit and toned in a business suit. Now the sleeves of her jacket strained to contain her biceps. When she wore suit pants they bulged with clearly defined musculature. People noticed and commented. Mostly uncomfortably or in awe. Often both. She noticed some men would stare at her longer than could be explained by passing curiosity. She didn't mind.

She reached the glass ceiling two levels below the C-suite when her manager called her into his office for a quarterly 'personal development' chat. It was company policy that managers talk to their employees about career development. But Graham had no good news for Zara in this meeting.

'Come in!' he called cordially as the meeting started. 'Close the door Zara.' He stared at her massive diamond-etched calves as she turned. She was wearing a skirt that ended just above the knees and the platform heels that had become de rigueur for power dressing. The bare lower half of her legs were tanned and unbelievably hard, as though chiselled from a cliff face.

Graham pulled his eyes away just as Zara sat down. His fascination hadn't escaped her. He smiled fatuously.

'You've been doing great work Zara,' he offered as an opening gambit.
'Thanks' she replied. She knew it was true.
'I want to be up front with you though.'
Zara steeled herself, unconsciously curling her hands into large, deadly fists. The motion caught Graham's eye and he proceeded cautiously.
'You've progressed pretty fast recently,' he said, 'but at this level of the... corporate ladder, there are fewer opportunities for progression and it takes longer. You keep up the good work and the promotions will come, but you can't expect to keep rising at the speed you have been.'

Everything he said was true. But Zara knew that Graham was one to manage up. His employees rose more slowly than those in some other parts of the company because he was rarely active in promoting them to senior management. And that, Zara was unwilling to accept.

'Graham,' she said slowly, her voice dropping an octave to a sultry, slightly threatening growl, 'I'm not going to sit around waiting for good things to come to me.' One by one she unclasped the cufflinks on her business shirt and slowly, deliberately rolled each sleeve up to the elbow.

'If you don't go in to bat for me, I will go around you. And you may not like where that leaves you.' Everything she said, she said calmly and matter-of-factly. Her forearms were ripped to shreds, thick cords of muscle wound around her radius and ulna, writhing veins pumping hard to feed the monstrous power she wielded.

Graham was transfixed by the display of aggression. He hadn't said a word since Zara had spoken. She decided to drive the point home. She stood, towering over him in her six-inch stiletto platforms, and swiftly brought her sledge-hammer fists down on his desk, driven by her powerful forearms. The mahogany buckled and splintered. 'Do you understand?' she asked quietly.

Graham had quietly begun to urinate into his pants. His only desire now was that Zara should leave before she realised what had happened. He swallowed hard. 'Yes, perfectly,' he choked out.
'Good,' replied Zara, a grin breaking out on her perfectly made-up face.

Normally Graham saw his employees out at the end of a meeting, but on this occasion he stayed seated. Zara turned and walked out, her calves bulging and striating with every step.

Graham now had a raging hard-on and a warm wet crotch. It was quite uncomfortable and he wasn't sure how he was going to explain the mess – or the ruined desk – to his secretary.