+Notable Author: [sevenpeight] Stories~collected

[sevenpeight]

Deflowering

From the moment Claire’s pre-lubricated glass head slipped into my tight little hole through to the moment she came against my legs and arse, I was near-delusional with fear, excitement, terror, arousal. She came with a roar, spraying her girl jizz all over me with the strap-on forcing the liquid in all crazy directions. She threw me on the bed and I flipped over to see this Amazon, this woman who had lifted a grown man clear in the air with her pulsing muscles. Feeling her strength was not enough, I had to see it.

Claire’s massive chest heaved. Her eyes caught mine and she raised her meat-stuffed arms in a double biceps pose, the muscle rising into painfully sharp peaks.

‘Come here Geoff’ she growled, her voice husky. I butt-scooted over to her, my anus still throbbing with the memory of her inside me. ‘Down on the floor’ she pointed with a long red nail, ‘kneel’.

I knelt before her, my eyes level with her bulging quads, pumped from having supported my full weight. I was harder than I’d ever been. Claire lifted a platformed shoe from the ground. Slowly, achingly slowly she rubbed the patent leather up my shaft. She played the pencil-thin tip of he stiletto around the tip. Her shoe came back down, placed just under my member, the tip of it playing lightly with my hairless ball sack. ‘You may cum’ she said, sapphire blue eyes boring into me. It took two strokes and I spurted my hot gunk on to her leg, dropping great dollops onto the military shine of her fuck-you heels. ‘Cleaned it up’ she said simply. I licked my own seed off my wife’s shoe, off her hot shin, running my tongue over the thick hard calf muscle that spilled out from either side. I was hard again.

[sevenpeight]

Taking Control

After fucking Geoff, I knew I wanted to be stronger still. I wanted more. First I hit the gym twice as hard, but found that wasn’t enough. Eventually I supplemented my supplements with something a little stronger. It was great. My voice dropped an octave, and I spent more time at the beauty salon, but given how incredibly strong I was becoming, they were tradeoffs I was happy to make.

My supplements had other side effects too. I found myself more aggressive not just in the bedroom but also in the boardroom. I became known as a specialist for tough negotiations. My sheer presence intimidated the other side. But that was nothing compared to what happened when I brought the real pressure to bear. I waited until the deal was nearly done, putting off the hard issues and logjams to be dealt with last. The other side never liked it — worried that if we didn’t get through the stalled issues, all the work would be for nought. But my team knew how to keep things moving.

Whenever we got to the eleventh hour, I’d come in and demand a late night meeting. We’d wait till everyone was seated, exhausted and irritable. I’d wait for an associate to explain the issues on the table and when he or she was barely done I’d thump the table, sometimes splintering the wood. ‘I will have my way!’ I would thunder. Or ‘Don’t fuck me around or I will fuck you up!’ It was completely unprofessional. And totally unexpected.

I had one guy actually shit himself. With his type, that’s all it took. But for some, pride or dignity or (occasionally) sheer desperation got in the way. That’s when I’d ask the associates on both sides to leave the room. I’d stand up slowly, walk around the long conference table, sigh, and take my jacket off. I’d lay it carefully on a chair back and turn to my opposite number. At this stage, I’d be wearing a sleeveless business top, huge shoulders the size of the guy’s head (it was usually a guy) in pure bone and muscle, my spectacularly meaty arms hanging loosely at my sides, pushed slightly out by my oversized lats. I always made sure to pump myself up before such meetings. I’d long since put gym equipment into my office and by the time I walked into the meeting my arms would be throbbing with power, thick veins writhing around them like cut snakes. If my negotiating partner was too dumbstruck to react at this stage, I’d sometimes bring a fist down meaningfully, this time ensuring I took a chunk out of the wood.

Once in a very long while I’d get someone who resisted even at this stage. That’s when my workouts really came into their own. ‘Stand up’ I’d boom, the glass floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room shuddering, seemingly on the verge of shattering completely. I towered over the puny midgets. Then I’d decide. Sometimes I’d shove one hard and bring a patent leather stiletto down on his neck, showing him I meant business. Other times I might lift one up, one handed. That was how strong I’d become. And believe me, being held aloft, raised one handed by a 6’3” amazon goddess, while her immovable hand constricts your jaw to breaking point, often makes one reconsider one’s position.

[sevenpeight]

Improved and Enhanced

Claire just got stronger and stronger. She began using chemical assistance. What I thought about it didn’t matter in the least. And I wasn’t fool enough to offer my opinion. But luckily for me, the fact was that I was unreservedly turned on by my wife’s continuing transformation.

Thick meaty thighs became giant 35” twisted cords of steel bound together beneath the sleek taut cover of her paper thin skin. Diamond hard calves ballooned into big juicy globules of muscle that tensed into 18” cut rock with each step. Her six pack had morphed into a full-blown 12 pack muscle gut, each thick fist of muscle separated by a deep crevice. Obliques that had once shown when Claire flexed or stretched were now permanent thick fingers below her breasts, like a study of the human anatomy by antiquity’s finest craftsmen. Her breasts themselves were now a thin layer of femininity over bulging pectoral muscle, thick with power and hanging inches over the muscle-belly below. If she felt like showing off for me she’d roll those powerful pecs, waves of muscle inching their way up Claire’s chest, or racing upwards like a wave about to crash on her clavicle; they’d bounce together and then alternatively, putting any circus strongman or Schwarzenegger-wannabe to shame.

Jutting away from her clavicle were huge outcrops of shoulder muscle. In a business suit she looked like she was wearing the most exaggerated of 80s power suits. Revealed, they were immense, making her still beautiful face look like it’d been photoshopped on to an out of proportion body. Deeply striated, they rippled and looked like rocks shimmering in a heat mirage with each slight movement. They were mounted by her mind-boggling traps. impressive from an early stage, they were now unparalleled. They looked like a hunched muscle creature, brooding on her back, symbiotic or maybe parasitic, human and muscle-beast. It had swallowed her bull-neck whole. The effect continued on to her back. The muscle-beast was so thick that it added inches and inches to the depth of her torso, rendering her chest a full 60” around. Her back was a tortured landscape of roiling muscle, huge expanses deeply etched by the knots of muscle that grew everywhere. A landscape never at rest as each movement, twitch or breath sent muscles crawling, bulging and distorting the beast. The growth created wings of demented power. When she spread her lats, she doubled in width. Her immense girth was put into perspective by the insanely small waist it disappeared into. Below that was an arse so shredded that hardly anything remained, deep striations in dense rocky crags carved out of a once-round booty.

Of course people noticed her arms. Twin towers of terror. Her triceps were horseshoes for nightmare horses of the apocalypse. Her biceps were impossible boulders of live muscle. Fed by giant veins and a full 26” around, they put professional male bodybuilders to shame. They hung out from Claire at an angle, pushed out by her nightly lats. Her forearms were no less impressive. Bigger than most mens’ biceps, they pulsed with muscular power, criss-crossed by a lacework of smaller blood vessels, and descending into wrists that looked tiny in proportion to her bulging forearms.

But the most intimidating muscle of all was her love muscle. Her clitoris had grown, now proudly erect whenever she was turned on, which was most of the time. That was nothing compared to her hypertrophied vagina. It had become so muscled that it was spilling out of her. Her labia had become twin lips of muscularity. When she wanted me inside her, Claire could actually flex her cunt open. The first time she did it for me, she sat back on the kitchen table, the massive oak groaning with her 120 kg weight. She parted her car-crushing legs and said ‘Ready?’ I nodded woodenly, fear washing through me. She flexed, her sex jaws gaping open and her love tunnel flexing open in turn. ‘Eat it, slave’ she growled. I spontaneously blew a thick hot load all over the dining room floor.

[sevenpeight]

Climax

I was so pleased with my little Geoffrey. Our relationship had grown and changed immeasurably. He’d gone from being my gallant husband to being my unquestioning slave worm and never so much as muttered a protest. He’d given up his dreadful boring job at which he wasn’t progressing anyway. He worshipped me now. I was his living Goddess. More than any pre-enlightenment despot in the Old World. More than Pharaoh in his splendour. He lived and breathed by my wish. He would die if I chose. He longed after my musculature. He understood my power. We was worthy of my she-meat.

With each muscle milestone, Claire had upgraded her strap-on, as if her cock were keeping pace with her phenomenal muscularity. It had given me a chance to grow as well, as she inexorably expanded my boy pussy to receive her magnificence. Now she towered over me. Her muscle wings and monster traps blocking all light. She wore a studded black strap-on, curved upwards and big as my arm. Alarmingly on her immense frame it looked in proportion. She was so strong these days that looking back on that first night when she deflowered me, it seems only natural that she would have lifted my whole weight in the height of passion.

Now she gripped me by the chin and lifted me bodily into the air with one hand. The pressure on my jaw was intense. It felt as though my mandible would simply collapse in on itself, crumbling in her crushing grip. She brought me up to her face to eyeball me. I could feel her hot breath on me. ‘Open wide little man,’ she intoned, her voice deep and resonant. As I spread my legs wide apart she lowered me on to her monster she-cock. Her head rolled back against the hard stop of her traps, tree stump neck exposed in all its glory, watching me through slit eyes as I gasped at her enormity entering me.

It took months, but I finally used the last cock I’d bought back in the sex shop all those moons ago. I’d been working up to it, and I was excited to finally drill Geoff with my biggest cock yet. It was black and shiny and nobbled. I lifted him up and lowered him on to it. His little boy pussy gobbled up the whole length of it. Geoff ended up doubled on to my cock, his body in my hands. I held him in place while I shoved my massive member in and out of him. He groaned and moaned and called my name, called me Mistress and Goddess while I fucked him like a muscle beast unleashed. As my excitement neared its peak I grabbed him by the throat, a single hand holding him in place while I pumped him with my plastic glory, muscles on fire, pumped to their overstuffed extreme, veins engorged with life giving, muscle fuelling, blood. My pussy was dripping with volcanic hot juices behind my big she-cock. The control I exercised over Geoff was pushing me over the edge. The excitement on deciding his fate, his life, literally in my hand. I saw red, started crushing his weak little man’s wind pipe with my hand. The orgasm overtook me, coursing through me like a tsunami. I roared like a demon loosed from hell, letting go of Geoff altogether and powering my arms down in a mind-blowing most muscular explosion, my traps exploding into unprecedented hardness and size, swallowing my neck and head up to my ears, skin red from the pump and covered in a sheen of excitement and exertion, striations rippling across my shoulders, back, glutes, pussy, triceps, quads, vascularity covering every surface. My cum plastered the bed, the floor, walls.

I’d let go of Geoff’s overpowered neck just in time.  Deep red gashes evidenced the damage that my long black talons had done. He gagged and gasped. He was held aloft only by his anus impaled on my penetrating cock.

When I recovered, coming slowly off my high, I gently removed him from my member and laid him on the bed. We talked later and I ran my hand over him, marvelling at how small and weak he was compared to my insane muscularity. ‘I’m going to redecorate baby,’ I told him, still being gentle as an apology for my earlier excitement. ‘I want a mirror in here so I can see my muscles when I fuck you.’ Geoff was a good sub. He didn’t say anything at all. I could see the fear in his eyes. He didn’t want me getting any more turned on than I already did. I understood — it’s hard to live with a God having life and death power over you. Especially when she likes to hurt you when she gets turned on. Especially when she’s a horny mother fucker…

[sevenpeight]

… Well that's it for now folks. I've got a good idea for a next chapter / epilogue. Let me know if you want more of Claire and Geoff. (Karma's always appreciated too )

[sevenpeight]

Sorry if you didn't enjoy the cock-up-butt parts. I know it's not everyone's thing. For me it's about power and challenging gender roles. Hope there's enough other material in the part that comes (parts that come?) to keep you reading.

[sevenpeight]

Power

Things were good at home. Geoff had started working out. And he’d become quite a little hottie - putting on muscle and even developing a little bubble butt. I could see the girls going googly-eyed at him when we were out. But he only had eyes for me. And he knew what would happen if he strayed. When I saw him around those normal people I realised how buffed he’d gotten. Barrel chested with meaty arms. Of course next to me he might as well have been a scrawny kid. A child playing with child weights. 

I was pretty proud of the progress I’d made at the gym. I was motivated of course. During our love making, Claire had once orgasmed and broken three ribs with the contraction of her rippling muscular hind limbs.

I came home one night from a particularly hard training session feeling pumped and hard. Foolishly I’d been entertaining thoughts that my body might bear up to Claire’s torrid sexual passion. As soon as I walked into the bedroom I realised my hubris. Claire was hanging from a pull-up bar she’d put into the ceiling at the foot of our bed. Between her legs were hundreds of kilos of weights threaded on to an industrial-strength chain that lay loose on her hips like a woman’s ornamental chain link belt. There were so many weights nestled in her groin that her legs were splayed out almost into the splits, hanging down only from the knees. It was like she was riding the iron.

I realised then that despite all the work I had put in or might, I would always pale in comparison to my wife’s Godlike power. I would not withstand her forceful domination. At most, my activities at the gym would (if I was lucky) make the difference between her breaking me irrevocably and breaking me that I might be mended, to again be prey to her voracious sexual appetites.

As I took in Claire’s meaty form, she let out a guttural roar and powered herself and her load high up into the air, monstrous lats swelling to mammoth proportions, angry blue veins straining over her mountainous shoulders and densely rocky biceps, throbbing across her meat-stuffed forearms. Everywhere distended muscle strained with the insanity of the endeavour.

Three times she powered herself up, her strongly defined jaw clearing the bar until her chin touched the cold hard metal and then down, controlling the descent with delts that poured over her workout tops like lurid cuts of meat in a butchers’ window and tendons that supported over a hundred kilos of straining muscles, testing the very limits of human biology.

At the bottom of the third rep she saw me. ‘Come here worm’, she growled, ‘grab a hold and don’t wriggle around. I need more weight.’

I knew better than to argue. I looped my arms through the chains and grabbed at her hips with both hands. Despite her hulking mass, she was painfully cut. My fingers dug into the knife edges of her pelvic bone, every fibre of muscle around it apparent on my finger tips. She was drenched in sweet musky sweat. I was draped over the circular weights, but my face was against her naked and hairless pussy. I was careful to follow instructions and not fidget or move around.

Claire started moving, slowly at first, the herculean effort causing her to shake as she lifted the mind-blowing weight. Then the motion became smoother, surer, as her body adjusted to the challenge and she poured on the power and determination. As she came down my lust overcame my self control. The volcanic power of her sexuality was radiating against me, sending me mad. I began licking kissing her clit. It responded immediately. Claire grunted. Her clit sprung up, throbbing and thickening with excitement. I licked, slurped and sucked with gusto, taking her sex pistol deep into my throat, dragging my tongue thick and hard down the length of it.

Amazingly Claire kept the pace of her pull ups while her sex throbbed its heat into my mouth. On the fourth rep her might body shook with orgasms that washed through her in waves. The light fittings rattled and I wondered if the oak beam which held the pull-up bar would hold firm or buckle. A glob of her girl jizz hit me in the eye. Her legs and the weights between them were slick with it. We dropped to the ground and Claire stood huffing - more I think from the excitement than the exertion.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Very hot chapter, full of great muscle description, and an awesome show of strength by Claire! I'm wondering if in the next chapter, will she reward him because he gave her a very nice orgasm or will he be punished because he didn't do exactly as she said? Whatever she does, I'm looking forward to it. k+!

[sevenpeight]

Another advantage of feedback: I was going to jump scenes. But you're right Jeremy. We should find out what happens to hubby… stay tuned.

[sevenpeight]

Blood lust

Geoff was lying on the floor staring up at me, twitching like a frightened bunny rabbit. He’d disobeyed me and feared my reaction. He knew that disobeying a direct order from his Mistress would have consequences. I could sympathise with his predicament — how could he, a mere mortal, resist my supercharged musculature. I towered over him, a hulking fucking she beast casting my shadow upon him. He worshiped me. Yet I wanted him to understand beyond the shadow of a doubt that his urges, however deeply felt, would always be subservient to my will.

I was torn. He’d pleased me too. The hot searing passion of my arousal was still pulsing in my muscular love tunnel. It throbbed with desire. I stared down at my little husband, cowering before me. His arms were still tangled up in the chain around my waist. He was too scared to move to disentangle himself. A Goddess could exercise mercy, I reasoned. Especially an amorous one. Despite his fear, I could feel Geoff’s cock against my rock hard, chiseled calves. I was getting excited again.

‘Get up Geoff,’ I ordered, ‘stand over there’. I pointed away from me. Once he’d moved away I unclasped the chain from my body and the weights crashed noisily to the ground, rolling crazily away and falling where they might. I swaggered over to my scrawny husband. He flinched with fear as my gargantuan form re-eclipsed him, muscles swollen to hideous extremes, veins engorged and angry. Even as he flinched his member twitched madly, desperate to feel my power laden body, to submit to my awesome glory.

My clit throbbed. My cunt yawned open, hinges of muscle clenching and unclenching, grasping for meat. It had to be fed. Geoff started swooning. ‘No!’ I roared, furious. I swung an open hand at him, wanted to smack him awake. But the blow from my meat filled arm took him out like I’d swung a sledgehammer into his face. He reeled across the room, swept off his feet, his cheekbone caved in and he landed like a chunk of butchered animal on the floor.

My meaty pussy squeezed shut in twisted excitement, anger and frustration, muscular lips mashing against each other, massaging my engorged clit. It drooled thick girl precum, wetting my hypertrophied labia. Unthinking, in a red haze of arousal and anger, and strode over to Geoff’s prone form, each movement causing my insanely muscular legs to rub my clit and lips together, intensifying the excitement. I grabbed him by the neck and shoved his head into my pussy, swallowing it like a python eating a feast. I mashed him with over-developed sex meat, pleasuring myself with the protrusions of his nose and chin. I came with a torrent, roaring so loud that plaster fell from the walls. My cunt spit his used head out.

As my lust dissipated I looked down at Geoff, realising what I’d done. Amazingly he was still alive, though bruised and badly battered. More amazingly, he’d soiled himself, cumming while unconscious, ruining his orgasm. That was how powerful my hold over him was. The hold of my amazing hypertrophied body. I went to clean up.

When I returned Geoff had not only woken up, he’d carefully cleaned up the mess and stacked the weights as best he could by rolling them around. My pet was well trained.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Wow! Awesomely put together chapter, especially doing it so quick basically from a suggestion from me, I loved that it was from her perspective and I loved how she described her own muscles, especially her pussy muscles, nothing I like more than seeing some ripped, pumped up pussy muscles capable of overpowering and even killing a man all by themselves! k+!

[DEA]

@ 7.8 - if you don't mind, I´d continue in a harsh tone. Fucking, raping, crushing, even some bone breaking...

[sevenpeight]

Thanks all. Will post soon.
@ DEA, not sure Claire will go as gory as you'd like (though this story has taken unexpected turns before). But there will be more strength and domination. I have a couple of more hardcore stories bubbling away in mind that may be more your taste. Great to have your feedback. Love your stories!

[DEA]

I fully understand that the level of gore I like is mostly unacceptable, that´s no problem. :-)

If you write some HC stuff in the future, I´ll be really delighted to read it.
 

[sevenpeight]

A Christmas Tale of Muscle and Woe
by sevenpeight
_______________________

Well boys and girls, Christmas has come and gone for the year and no doubt you’re reclining after a day full of eating and rejoicing, plump and content. Since you’re all good boys and girls I’m sure Santa came laden with presents too — jolly and fat, full of good cheer.

But there used to be a time, children, before electricity and big mechanical snow ploughs, when Christmas merriment wasn’t always so merry. It was a time when the winds howled, and the snow fell silently but mercilessly in drifts that could pile up and close you into your cold little homes. It was a time when families huddled before the fire and lit as many candles as they could afford, trying to shut out of their minds the cold and dark pressing in from beyond their doors and windows.

Back then, when children put out porridge and butter out for Father Christmas, it was out of fear as well as kindness. For Father Christmas didn’t just leave bad boys and girls coal… Oh no…

When Old Man Winter was angry, he would bite and beat, and he could be terribly brutish. Woe betide a farmer who was bad in the year. For that mysterious old man who lived, not at the North Pole, but in an otherworldly realm of phantasms and faeries, would turn vicious when goaded. It wasn’t uncommon on Christmas day for a poor farmer to clear the snow and pull open the barn door to find a cow turned inside out, its guts splayed on to the floor, blood and muscle explosively splattered on every surface…

So what changed, you might ask… The answer to your question, like so many, is a woman. Mrs Claus. But she was not a woman like any other.

When they first married, Santa’s present runs (and nights of retribution) were as much about him as about the children (and adults) who received his presents and displeasure. He demanded tribute and fear. And he got them in spades. He was capricious and inconsistent and not too fussed about whether he had exactly the right number of presents or if the naughty and nice lists had a few mistakes.

Mrs Claus watched for a while and suggested, gently, some improvements. But Mr Claus, as set in his ways as any man and quite content to continue as he was, took little notice.

Remember though, the Clauses lived in the otherworld, where things are rarely what they seemed. Mrs Claus was a much more powerful being than anyone, including her husband, had supposed. A powerful being used to getting her way. With her efforts rebuffed, Mrs Claus was filled with a white hot fury.

The first sign was a barely noticeable throbbing of a vein on her forehead. But it pulsed and grew, like a root spreading down and growing thicker, till it throbbed angry and blue and forked from her hairline to her eyes. Mrs Claus crashed her fists down on table like a thunderclap, causing the crockery to jump and crash messily down. Old Man Nick and his elves looked up with an apprehension that constricted their throats. They knew not what they were dealing with.

Mrs Claus pitched forward in her seat, her diminutive form suddenly bursting out with a heaving mass of muscle, the back of her red coat exploding as thick cords of dense musculature overwhelmed her back. Her sleeves ripped at the seams and then disintegrated as waves of muscle clamped into place over her arms, mighty pythons engorged with seething power from the pulsing purple veins layered thickly in bizarre criss-cross patterns all over the creamy white skin pulled taught by the heaving muscles.

She stood up, newly expanded chest heaving, heavy plates of pectoral muscle rising and falling with titanic breaths. She was stooped slightly forward as though the enormous muscles of he back, traps and lats, flaring out in every direction, were overpowering her. The feathered, striated and vascular landscape of her back was almost alive with definition.

She roared a horrible screech around the table, turning her burning eyes on each of the assembly to let them know she saw them all to the last.

She stepped onto the solid oak bench on which they ate. Her sickeningly striated legs exploded with power, each live cable of muscle in her immense thighs bugling hungrily outward, the striations insanely deep.

She stood on the bench, panting, sharp jagged teeth bared in a cruel sneer, carefully manicured nails transformed into hideous claws and everywhere muscle piled on rock hard muscle. An elf was the first to move. Always spritely, the little creature leapt up in a flash and, moving in a blur, sped away from the table.

Mrs Claus’ mouth gaped wide and her tongue lashed out, an evilly pointed long muscular viper, unleashed on the unwitting fellow like a whip cracked by an expert stockman. It found its mark, wrapping around the little elf and whipping him back to the she demon in the midst of the gathering. The corners of her mouth curled up in s chilling smile, the fires of hell dancing gleefully in her eyes. The split veins still pulsed on her forehead. The long sinuous tongue was curled now completely around the little elf, squeezing him till he had no breath to scream. His eyes looked out of his bulging head in horror.

Mrs Claus slowly brought her small strong hands up to grasp the elf’s wrists. Her own wrists seemed only a fraction larger. But they quickly bulged into bloated muscle bellies at her hypertrophied forearms, crawling with blood vessels. She pulled his arms away from his body. He tried to shriek but her tongue was pushing the air from him. Her tongue dripped thick viscous saliva as it held him. She drooled from her open mouth as her concentration focused in on her victim. She pulled slowly and relished the sound as his arms popped first out of his shoulders, then the tendons holding the shoulder and elbow joints snapped loudly, causing his arms to go limp. Then her eyes flashed with excitement as the arms came away altogether, leaving the little manling spurting blood from his stumps.

She dropped him then on the table, and as he tried to back away, scooting with the two limbs he had left, she dropped suddenly to her knees, landing on his legs and crushing them to paste. Mrs Claus roared with laughter and leaned forward grabbing the elf’s now screaming head in her little hand and pulling it straight of the elf’s body, tearing his neck in two noisily. Her arm muscles bulged angrily as she pulled the head off, the veins pumping in overdrive. She held the decapitated head up high as the elf’s scream died and its heart pumped useless blood in decreasing spurts up through its headless neck. A blood curdling grin was fixed on her terrible face as she brought her other mighty arm up and, triceps flaring obscenely, crushed the little head between two blood-smeared hands.

Mrs Claus got up slowly, walking deliberately across the table toward her husband. Her titanic legs bulged and solidified in terrifying mass and definition with each step. Jagged slabs of calf muscle flaring and regrouping.

She reached down and grasped the old man under his pits, enormous lats unfolding either side of her thick torso. She heaved him up as a million feathered striations exploded on her bulbous shoulders, which knotted up with dense musculature as she lifted him. Her tiny strong fingers and unforgiving talons pressed into his ribs, as he groaned in pain and she first punctured his skin and then crunched his bones.

She stopped before threatening his life. ‘From now on,’ she hissed, ‘you’ll give a present to every good boy and girl’. Without his mighty bride seeming to move, her tectonic pectoral plates jumped and bulged with gory muscular detail. ‘No more cruelty to animals or punishment of bad boys and girls’. Again, without any seeming movement on her part, Mrs Claus’ traps rose up and strained into nauseating striated detail. ‘Understand, dear?’ she asked, grinning the worst grin yet.

Santa Claus nodded with fear and loathing.

Mrs Claus never did regain her previous form. She sat watching year after year as Santa and his miserable elves did her bidding. Her luminous red eyes peering out from a face distorted with a jaw that could bite off a human head, nestled in muscular traps which hunched above the monstrous mass of her musculature. On nights when Santa wasn’t delivering gifts, his muscular bride would mount him with her terrible power poised above him. She grinned her hideous grin while mashing his manhood with her hypertrophied love tunnel, pumping her terrifying mass over and over with her sickeningly over muscled hind quarters. Her twitching striations and throbbing vascularity were a nightly reminder of the destruction she would unleash if he every maltreated a child again…

…

So next year, boys and girls, when you open your presents… remember to thank that gruesome muscle beast of the otherworld, that sadistic creature deformed by hypertrophied muscle mass, the formerly sweet little Mrs Santa Claus.