Young Boy and Super Muscular Milf

[Thegoodstuff]

Three weeks after the picnic, Marcus finally admitted the truth.

He had bullies.

The confession slipped out on a rainy Tuesday afternoon while he and Liza sat together at the kitchen island folding lumpia wrappers.

Warm light filled the kitchen. Rain tapped softly against the windows. A pot simmered on the stove, rich with garlic and ginger, while Marcus sketched absentmindedly beside her.

Liza noticed immediately when he grew quiet.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Marcus shrugged.

"Nothing."

She waited.

He kept drawing.

Finally he muttered:

"Lunch period just sucks."

Liza glanced over.

"Why?"

Marcus tried to sound casual.

"Just some older kids."

Her hands stopped moving.

Not dramatically.

Just still.

"What kind of older kids?"

He focused harder on his sketchbook.

"The annoying kind."

Liza watched him carefully.

Then, very gently:

"Marcus."

He looked up.

"Are they hurting you?"

The hesitation on his face answered for him.

Something subtle changed in her expression.

The softness remained.

But beneath it, something colder settled quietly into place.

Not rage.

Certainty.

"What are their names?"

Marcus immediately shook his head.

"It's not important."

"What are their names?"

Her voice stayed calm.

Warm.

But suddenly it carried weight.

Marcus swallowed.

"Nate. Brandon. Kayla."

Liza nodded once.

Then she reached over and rested one enormous hand over his smaller one.

The thick veins along the back shifted faintly as her fingers curled around him.

"You never have to deal with things like that alone."

Marcus looked down.

He nodded.

And for a few days, things seemed fine.

Then Thursday happened.

It started behind the gym after school.

Marcus should have walked away.

Usually he did.

But that afternoon Nate grabbed Marcus's sketchbook directly out of his backpack before he could stop him.

The Marvelous Mom sketchbook.

Marcus's stomach dropped.

"Give it back."

Brandon flipped through the pages laughing.

Every drawing was there.

Marvelous Mom lifting buildings.

Marvelous Mom flying through space.

Marvelous Mom smiling while holding entire mountains overhead.

Kayla snorted loudly.

"Dude, what is WRONG with you?"

Nate held up one page.

"Why are all your superheroes built like refrigerators?"

The others laughed.

Then Brandon stopped on a drawing Marcus had worked on for three nights straight.

Marvelous Mom stood on the moon splitting a giant planet apart with her bare hands while her cape billowed behind her.

"She's so gross," Brandon laughed.

Marcus saw red.

Not because they were insulting him.

Because they were insulting her.

Before he even realized he'd moved, Marcus punched Brandon directly in the jaw.

The laughter stopped instantly.

For one glorious second, Marcus felt victorious.

Then Nate tackled him.

Kayla kicked him hard in the ribs while Brandon recovered.

Marcus fought back desperately.

Harder than anyone expected.

But it was still three against one.

And they were older.

By the time teachers dragged everyone apart, Marcus's lip was split open, one eye was swelling rapidly, and his ribs screamed every time he inhaled.

An hour later he sat alone in the principal's office clutching an ice pack against his face.

Humiliation hurt worse than the bruises.

The vice principal sighed while filling out paperwork.

"We need to call your parents."

Marcus hesitated.

Then quietly asked:

"Can you call my aunt instead?"

[Thegoodstuff]

Reach Your Target Audience

Advertising is hard. We make it simple and effective.

Advertise With Us →

[Thegoodstuff]

"20 minutes later the secretary paused mid sentence"

A distant engine rolled across the parking lot.

Low.

Heavy.

Violently loud.

Conversations inside the office slowed.

Teachers glanced toward the windows.

The sound grew deeper.

Closer.

The glass in the front office vibrated faintly.

Then the Harley-Davidson swept into the circular drop-off lane like a black predator.

The motorcycle gleamed beneath the late afternoon sun, massive chrome pipes growling as it coasted smoothly toward the curb.

Marcus looked up.

And forgot to breathe.

Liza.

But not the Liza from picnics and lemonade.

This version looked like she had stepped out of one of his comics.

The Harley stopped.

The engine thundered once more before settling into a deep mechanical rumble.

Then Liza stood.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

And every adult near the entrance fell silent.

She wore black stiletto heels sharp enough to look dangerous on their own.

The heels forced her already colossal calves into an almost impossible contraction. The huge diamond-shaped muscles swelled high and hard beneath the tight black denim hugging her lower legs, pressing subtly against each other as she walked.

They were simply too large for the jeans to drape naturally.

The fabric stretched smooth over every curve and separation, molded around her calves so tightly they looked painted on.

Each slow step made the denim shift and tighten over dense moving muscle beneath, the outlines of deep cuts and flexing shapes visible even through the thick material.

Marcus had never seen them look so enormous.

Thirty inches easily.

Maybe more now.

Then he looked higher.

The jeans somehow became even more unbelievable around her thighs and hips.

Skin-tight black denim clung to her lower body like shrink-wrap over machinery. Her quads stretched the fabric to its absolute limit, thick separations subtly visible beneath the material whenever she moved.

The seams along the outer thighs looked dangerously strained.

As though one wrong movement might split them open.

And her glutes—

Marcus's brain nearly stopped working.

The jeans were simply not designed for a body shaped like hers.

The denim stretched brutally tight across immense densely packed curves of muscle, every step visibly shifting thick glute striations beneath the fabric. The rear pockets sat flattened and distorted across impossible fullness while the center seam disappeared almost entirely between the sheer compression of her lower body.

The denim creaked faintly when she walked.

Actually creaked.

As though the material itself were under stress.

She had trained before coming.

Hard.

Marcus could tell instantly.

Her entire body looked swollen with strength.

Veins pressed faintly beneath the skin around her knees and lower thighs. Her hips rolled with slow controlled power while the stiletto heels elevated the already overwhelming shape of her lower body into something almost comic-book impossible.

Then Marcus looked higher.

The leather jacket was losing a battle against her upper body.

Heavy black leather stretched brutally across a back so broad and thick it seemed physically impossible on someone under five feet tall. Her lats pushed outward beneath the material like armored wings, every movement visibly tightening the seams.

The jacket remained partially open because it simply could not close around her chest.

Underneath, a black tank top strained across enormously full heavily muscled breasts supported by dense pecs that subtly flexed beneath the fabric whenever she moved.

The lower zipper sat just beneath her chest, exposing a section of terrifyingly sculpted abdomen.

Her stomach looked carved from polished stone.

Deep abdominal blocks shifted as she inhaled, while sharply cut obliques twisted into a narrow waist before exploding outward into immense hips stretching the denim below.

And her arms—

Marcus's pulse jumped.

They looked unreal.

The pre-workout pump had transformed them from astonishing to monstrous.

Her biceps bulged against the jacket sleeves like cannonballs wrapped in skin, huge veins twisting over peaks that looked close to thirty inches now. Thick triceps pressed hard against the leather whenever she flexed her fingers.

Her forearms were somehow even more intimidating.

Dense.

Ridged.

Vascular.

The kind of forearms that looked capable of crushing steel accidentally.

Black lipstick darkened her mouth.

A spiked leather choker circled her thick neck.

Her long black hair spilled over her shoulders in glossy waves, moving heavily in the breeze like dark silk over armor.

And through all of it—

All the terrifying spectacle—

Her expression remained perfectly calm.

That was the part that frightened people most.

Not anger.

Not screaming.

Control.

Pure control.

A father near the office entrance stared openly before his wife elbowed him hard enough to make him grunt.

"Seriously?" she hissed.

Nobody else seemed capable of looking away either.

Teachers.

Secretaries.

Parents.

Students lingering outside.

Every eye followed her.

Because Liza did not merely enter spaces.

She dominated them.

Completely.

Then another engine roared into the parking lot.

A massive black pickup truck swung aggressively around the corner and stopped hard enough for the tires to squeal.

The driver's door slammed open.

A huge red-faced man climbed out immediately.

Nate's father.

Behind him came a tall blonde woman wearing expensive sunglasses and an expression sharpened by years of casual cruelty.

Kayla's mother.

They stormed toward the entrance—

Then saw Liza standing beside the Harley.

And slowed down instinctively.

Because suddenly the air itself felt different.

Heavy.

Liza removed one leather glove slowly.

Finger by finger.

The leather creaked tightly around her enormous hand.

Road-map veins shifted beneath bronze skin.

Then she looked through the office windows.

Straight at Marcus.

The moment she saw his bruised face, something changed in her eyes.

Not rage.

Something worse.

Disappointment.

Protective disappointment.

She walked toward the entrance in slow measured steps, stiletto heels clicking sharply against the pavement.

Every movement rolled through layers of impossible muscle beneath stretched leather and overstrained denim.

Adults unconsciously moved aside for her.

Inside the office, Marcus sat frozen in his chair.

His eye hurt.

His ribs hurt.

His lip throbbed.

But suddenly none of it mattered anymore.

Because she came for him.

The strongest person in the world came for him.

[Thegoodstuff]

The moment Liza stepped through the office doors, the atmosphere changed.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

Conversations died mid-sentence. Teachers straightened instinctively. Even the fluorescent buzzing overhead suddenly seemed quieter beneath the sharp click of her stiletto heels against the tile floor.

Marcus sat frozen in the chair outside the principal's office, ice pack still pressed against his bruised eye.

And Liza saw him.

The instant her warm brown eyes landed on the swelling around his face, her expression changed completely.

The intimidating biker queen vanished in an instant.

Concern flooded her face so openly and immediately that Marcus's chest tightened.

"Oh my God— sweetheart."

She moved quickly toward him now, heels striking sharp against the tile while adults instinctively stepped aside.

The skintight black jeans molded around impossible legs with every step. Her calves flexed hugely beneath the stretched denim, the muscles visibly pressing outward against the fabric hard enough to distort the seams.

The jeans looked painted onto her body.

Like they had been vacuum-sealed around muscle too dense and too large for normal clothing.

And as she walked, Marcus noticed something else.

The towering stilettos forced her calves into brutal constant contractions. Every step pumped the huge muscles tighter beneath the denim. The fabric stretched smoother and tighter each time her heels clicked against the floor.

By the time she reached him, the seams already looked stressed.

But the moment she knelt beside Marcus, none of that mattered anymore.

Liza crouched immediately in front of him.

Fast enough that the leather jacket pulled brutally tight across her back and shoulders, massive lats spreading beneath the material while her knees bent smoothly beside him. The denim over her thighs strained hard enough to creak softly.

"Oh, baby..."

Her voice broke slightly.

One enormous hand rose carefully to his face.

So careful.

So gentle.

Her thick thumb brushed beneath his swollen eye while her expression tightened with genuine worry.

Marcus could smell leather, perfume, and the faint scent of engine oil.

"Look at me."

He did.

The concern in her eyes somehow hurt more than the bruises.

"Did they hit your ribs too?"

Marcus nodded slightly.

Immediately her jaw tightened.

Not dramatically.

Controlled.

But Marcus saw the thick cords in her neck tense beneath the spiked choker.

The veins along her forearms shifted beneath bronze skin.

Liza inhaled slowly.

Then leaned forward and kissed the top of his head softly.

"You poor sweetheart..."

Marcus felt his throat tighten.

Then she smiled at him gently despite the concern still lingering in her eyes.

"You fought back, didn't you?"

Marcus looked embarrassed.

"A little."

Her expression softened instantly with pride.

"That's my boy."

Behind them, the office door opened.

The principal stepped out nervously.

"Mrs.—"

"Liza is fine," she said pleasantly, standing.

And suddenly the terrifying version of her returned.

The principal visibly recalculated himself as she rose to full height in the stilettos.

Because crouched beside Marcus she had seemed nurturing.

Standing again, she looked catastrophic.

The heels forced her already impossible calves into towering diamond-hard contractions beneath the black denim. The muscles pressed so massively against the fabric that every movement visibly shifted the stretched material.

Nate's father was already inside the office waiting, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Kayla's mother sat nearby with the stiff irritated posture of someone convinced other people's children were always the problem.

The second Liza entered, both of them stared.

Everyone did.

It was impossible not to.

The leather jacket stretched tightly across her pumped upper body, every breath subtly shifting impossible layers of muscle beneath the material. Her chest projected powerfully against the strained tank top beneath, while thick veins wandered across forearms dense enough to resemble carved stone.

And her hair—

Long black waves spilled over one shoulder in glossy curls, contrasting brutally against the black leather and dark denim.

She looked less like someone attending a school meeting and more like the final boss in a superhero movie.

The principal motioned awkwardly toward a chair.

Before sitting, Liza shifted her weight casually onto one foot.

The stiletto heel lifted slightly.

And the calf on that leg flexed again.

Hard.

The huge diamond-shaped muscle swelled visibly beneath the denim, stretching the fabric smoother over every dense separation.

Then she settled into the chair.

The metal creaked immediately.

Not because of her weight.

Because of the density.

The skintight jeans stretched harder across her thighs and hips as she crossed one leg smoothly over the other.

And throughout the conversation—

Slowly.

Absentmindedly.

Almost delicately—

She continued gently rocking the dangling stiletto against her toes.

Each subtle motion flexed the enormous calf beneath the denim.

Pump.

Flex.

Pump.

Flex.

The muscle grew visibly tighter with every movement.

The fabric stretched smoother and smoother over it.

Nate's father recovered first.

"Well maybe if your nephew wasn't drawing freak garbage and punching people—"

Liza looked at him.

That was all.

Just looked.

And the man stopped talking.

Because her expression remained perfectly calm.

Which somehow felt much worse than yelling.

Kayla's mother scoffed.

"Oh please. Boys fight. This whole thing is being blown out of proportion."

Liza's eyes drifted briefly around the office.

Then paused.

Near the wall beside a filing cabinet stood a thick steel maintenance pole someone had apparently bent near the middle.

Probably damaged equipment waiting to be discarded.

Liza stared at it for one quiet second.

Then rose from her chair.

The room watched silently as she walked over in slow measured steps, stilettos clicking against the tile.

The denim along her thighs creased and stretched with each movement, seams visibly straining across impossible musculature.

And every step pumped her calves tighter.

Higher.

Harder.

She picked up the bent steel pole casually in one hand.

Marcus saw Nate's father smirk faintly—

Until Liza placed both hands around the warped section.

And gently straightened it.

The metal groaned softly.

Not loudly.

Not explosively.

Just a slow horrible sound of steel surrendering.

Everyone froze.

The pole became perfectly straight again.

Liza examined it briefly.

Then nodded to herself.

"There we go."

She leaned it neatly beside the cabinet.

"I have a little bit of OCD," she said pleasantly. "Bent things bother me."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Nate's father swallowed visibly.

Kayla's mother stared at the pole.

Then at Liza's hands.

Then quickly away again.

Liza returned calmly to her chair.

Crossed one powerful leg over the other again.

And resumed gently rocking the dangling stiletto.

The calf beneath the denim flexed rhythmically.

Pump.

Flex.

Pump.

Flex.

The fabric now looked dangerously overstretched.

"Now," she said softly, "let's discuss why three older children thought it was acceptable to gang up on one twelve-year-old boy."

Nobody interrupted her this time.

The principal cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well... there have apparently been ongoing issues..."

"There won't be anymore," Liza said gently.

Not threateningly.

Matter-of-factly.

The room somehow became even quieter.

Nate's father tried again, weaker this time.

"Kids roughhouse—"

"Three against one isn't roughhousing."

Still calm.

Still composed.

"But thank you for clarifying your standards."

The man's face reddened.

Liza folded her huge hands neatly in her lap.

Still slowly flexing the dangling heel.

The calf beneath the denim tightened further.

"I would appreciate seating adjustments," she continued softly. "Separate lunch periods if necessary. And I would also appreciate confirmation that none of these children will approach Marcus again."

The principal nodded immediately.

"Yes. Of course."

Liza smiled warmly.

"Wonderful."

Then her expression shifted slightly.

Not harsher.

Just firmer.

"I would also appreciate apologies."

The room froze again.

Nate's father frowned.

"Excuse me?"

Liza turned her eyes toward him slowly.

"I said," she replied pleasantly, "I would appreciate apologies."

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Then—

RRRIPPPPPP.

The sound tore through the office.

Every head snapped downward.

The denim around Liza's flexed calf had split clean open along the outer seam.

The massive diamond-shaped muscle bulged powerfully through the tear, smooth bronze skin and deep striations exposed where the jeans had finally failed to contain the relentless pumping contraction beneath them.

For one stunned second, nobody moved.

Liza looked down.

Then lightly covered her mouth with one hand.

"Oh!" she said softly.

The reaction was almost absurdly feminine compared to the sheer intimidation of the moment.

She blinked down at the torn denim with mild embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry," she said sweetly. "These were tighter than I realized."

Nobody in the room believed for one second that she had not known exactly what was happening.

Especially Nate's father.

Who looked ready to apologize to gravity itself.

Liza uncrossed her legs slowly.

The exposed calf flexed once more beneath the torn denim.

Huge.

Dense.

Impossible.

Then she smiled politely again.

"Please," she said softly. "Continue."

That was enough.

The principal cleared his throat immediately.

"Yes. Of course. Marcus... I'm sorry this situation wasn't addressed earlier. We should have intervened sooner."

Liza nodded politely.

"Thank you."

Then she looked toward the parents.

Neither moved.

The torn denim shifted softly around her exposed calf as she flexed her foot once.

Nate's father swallowed.

Then muttered stiffly:

"...Sorry, kid."

Kayla's mother forced a tight smile.

"Yes. We apologize."

Liza tilted her head slightly.

"To Marcus," she corrected gently.

Both adults looked embarrassed.

Then, awkwardly:

"Sorry, Marcus."

Marcus blinked.

He had never seen adults forced into submission before.

Especially not adults like these.

Liza smiled warmly at him.

"There we are."

[Thegoodstuff]

Ten minutes later Nate, Brandon, and Kayla were brought into the office.

The moment they stepped through the door and saw Liza sitting there in black leather and towering stilettos, broad shoulders stretching the jacket nearly to tearing, all three visibly lost confidence.

Nate actually stopped walking for a second.

Brandon stared openly at the torn section of denim exposing the impossible size of her lower leg.

Kayla looked suddenly much less interested in bullying anyone.

Liza remained seated calmly while the chair beneath her emitted soft metallic complaints under the immense compressed density of her lower body.

She did not raise her voice.

Did not threaten them.

Did not even frown.

Which somehow made it worse.

"Marcus deserves an apology," she said quietly.

The three kids hesitated.

Then—

SKRRRRNNNK.

The chair beneath Liza groaned violently.

Every head snapped downward.

The thick metal seat slowly bent deeper beneath her with a tortured screech, the rear support bars visibly warping outward under the pressure.

Liza herself barely seemed to notice.

She simply adjusted her posture slightly—

Which made the chair shriek louder.

That was enough.

Nate immediately looked at Marcus.

"Sorry."

"Sorry," Brandon echoed quickly.

Kayla crossed her arms stubbornly for one final second—

Then looked at:
   •   the bent chair
   •   the torn jeans
   •   the straightened steel pole

"...Sorry, Marcus."

Liza smiled softly.

"Good."

Then her expression became just slightly more serious.

"And now," she said gently, "I would like promises."

The room quieted instantly.

Liza folded her huge hands neatly in her lap.

"This stops today."

Still soft.

Still polite.

"If Marcus walks into school tomorrow worried about being cornered, mocked, touched, followed, or bothered in any way..."

She smiled faintly.

"...then all of us will be having a much longer and much more serious conversation."

Nobody doubted her.

Not the principal.

Not the parents.

Not the children.

Especially not after the chair let out another long metallic groan beneath her.

Nate nodded immediately.

"Yes, ma'am."

Brandon swallowed hard.

"It won't happen again."

Kayla hesitated only half a second this time.

"I promise."

Liza's eyes shifted calmly toward the parents.

"And you as well."

Nate's father straightened awkwardly.

"Of course."

Kayla's mother nodded much faster now.

"Yes. Absolutely."

Liza held their eyes another long moment.

Calm.

Composed.

Completely dominant.

Then finally she smiled again.

Warm this time.

"There," she said softly. "That feels much more organized."

A few nervous laughs escaped around the office.

Mostly from relief.

Then Liza rose smoothly from the ruined chair.

The entire metal frame remained visibly molded inward where she had been sitting.

Nobody spoke.

She simply walked over to Marcus and rested one enormous gentle hand against his shoulder.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

Marcus looked up at her.

At the leather jacket stretched across her back.

At the calm warmth in her eyes.

And for the first time since the fight, he smiled fully.

"Yeah."

Liza guided him gently from the office with one protective hand against his back.

Every adult they passed moved aside automatically.

And Marcus noticed something strange.

It wasn't just her strength that intimidated people.

It was her beauty.

Liza was nearly fifty, yet she looked more striking than any actress, celebrity, or supermodel Marcus had ever seen on a magazine cover. Her face had a mature elegance that somehow made her even more breathtaking—high cheekbones, warm brown eyes, glossy black hair cascading over powerful shoulders.

Even the adults stared.

Not subtly.

Openly.

Teachers lost their train of thought around her. Fathers forgot conversations mid-sentence. Mothers looked frustrated at themselves for staring too long.

She was so beautiful it became overwhelming.

Combined with the impossible physique and absolute confidence, it created something almost unreal.

People didn't know how to react to her.

[Thegoodstuff]

Outside, the late afternoon sun reflected off the Harley's chrome.

But there was a problem.

The massive black pickup truck had been parked directly behind the motorcycle.

Close enough to trap it.

Marcus blinked.

Nate's father stood awkwardly near the entrance as though suddenly realizing what he had done.

"Oh," he muttered weakly. "I can move—"

"It's alright," Liza said pleasantly.

She handed Marcus the helmet.

Then walked calmly toward the truck.

The parking lot went silent again.

Because everyone was watching now.

Teachers near the windows.

Parents outside.

Students pretending not to stare.

Liza stepped in front of the enormous pickup.

Then bent down.

Marcus's brain nearly shut off.

The skintight black denim stretched brutally across her lower body as she folded forward, the material pulled so tight across her hips and glutes that tiny stress lines appeared along the seams.

Her hamstrings flexed first.

Huge dense cords of muscle tightened beneath the jeans, visibly shifting under the overstretched fabric as she lowered herself. The backs of her thighs looked almost too powerful for the denim to contain, thick separations pressing outward hard enough to distort the stitching.

Then her glutes tightened.

And somehow looked even larger.

The movement made the black jeans strain violently across her lower body, the fabric molding impossibly tight over rounded muscle so dense it barely seemed human. The material dug deep between the overwhelming fullness of her glutes while the seams stretched wider and wider.

Then—

tick tick tick—

tiny micro-tears appeared near the pockets.

Another formed lower along the seam.

Then another.

The denim had reached its limit.

And the more she positioned herself beneath the bumper, the more her lower body flexed and expanded beneath the fabric. Her glutes seemed to swell harder with tension, pushing outward against the jeans until the material looked moments from catastrophic failure.

The leather jacket tightened across her broad back while veins rose slowly along her forearms.

And somehow, impossibly, even bending over to lift a truck she still looked graceful.

Elegant.

Beautiful enough to make people nervous.

Then she curled upward.

Smoothly.

Casually.

The front end of the truck lifted off the pavement.

Gasps exploded around the parking lot.

Marcus heard someone swear softly.

The huge pickup tilted upward in her grasp as though gravity itself had simply become optional.

And Liza—

Liza adjusted her grip delicately.

Like she was handling something fragile.

Then she began walking backward.

Dragging the entire truck.

Its rear tires squealed softly against the pavement while she pulled it away from the Harley one-handed with the controlled ease of someone repositioning a shopping cart.

Nate's father stood frozen beside the entrance staring in absolute disbelief.

Liza gently lowered the truck back onto the asphalt.

Not a slam.

Not aggressive.

Careful.

Polite.

Then she dusted her hands lightly together.

"There we are," she said sweetly.

Nobody in the parking lot spoke.

Nobody.


Liza simply turned and walked back toward Marcus.

The torn denim shifted softly as she moved.

The stilettos clicked sharply against the pavement.

And every single person moved aside automatically.

She helped Marcus onto the Harley first, settling him safely in front of her.

Then she climbed on behind him.

Marcus immediately felt surrounded by warmth and safety.

Her strong arms wrapped around him to reach the handlebars while her presence blocked out the entire world behind him.

"You okay, sweetheart?" she asked softly near his ear.

Marcus nodded.

"Yeah."

The Harley roared to life beneath them.

Then Liza smiled.

"I think surviving school violence deserves ice cream."

Marcus laughed.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, he glanced back once.

Every adult was still staring.

Some at the ruined chair visible through the office windows.

Most at Liza.

Marcus smiled.

"You know," he said over the rumble of the motorcycle, "you make the best aunt ever."

Liza laughed warmly.

"And you make the best nephew."

Marcus grinned.

Then the Harley surged forward into the golden afternoon sunlight while the strongest woman in the world carried him safely away from the worst day of his school year.

[brave_archer]

Wow, absolutely loving this story. Liza is such a dream woman 

[jbeast]

The story could end right there, but I know it won't. You are too talented a writer.

This is in, as saradas calls, "Muscular Women Fiction" but it is a lot deeper and emotional than that.

If I was the book/novel editor I would ask rather practical questions are there for the asking that have to be resolved or explored:

1. Marcus has to go home... or does he? (There is a very dark line here that can go a few ways.)
2. If he does go home, how does he explain his injuries to his Mom?  How much will she be angry that Liza did not call her to pick up Marcus at school? Will she be angry at her and the school and the bullies too?
3. After the initial shock the principal, teachers, parents involved they will react, especially if the Mom is angry that Liza represented her son at school and took him? (Maybe they all join forces against Liza?)
4. There are already hints that the relationship between Liza and her husband might be rocky. Is the husband jealous of Marcus?
5. Has Liza done anything like this before which is why the husband is concerned, jealous, etc.?

This can be a very fanciful tale, where after Liza drops him off at home or takes him to her home, she disappears with her husband by the next morning. Or it can be a darker, tragic tale - nothing happens to Marcus - but that Liza is a tragic figure in some way and that Marcus never sees her again.

All of this is rather deep for a tale of a gorgeous and astoundingly strong and muscular woman. There have been a few great stories on this site. This is, again, rather deep. I'm interested as to how it ends. Bravo... excellent. And KARMA. 

[Jeremy Lightning]

More great chapters of this wonderful story, you are just doing great, describing Liza's muscles and strength, seeing her do incredible things, with nothing more than the strength of her hands, her fingers. The way she straightened that bent pole, just to subtly hint to those watching what she could do to them, if she did that to solid steel. Just tremendous, don't know if there is more, but I look forward to seeing what you do next anyway! k+!

[Jeremy Lightning]

Glad you guys are enjoying it a lot of thought and passion goes into these. And let's just say a lot of your questions on her strength will slowly get expanded on. Also the red plates, there were at least 60 Olympic red plates, I'll let you do the math😎.

For those aren't aware, red Olympic plates weigh 55 pounds a piece, so 60 of them adds up to 3300. Plus, you had to add on the weight of the huge chain and the racks that the weights were on, I'm guessing the total number was around 4000 pounds. Nice!

[Wookey]

This is a wonderful story.  Be interesting how he develops from age 12 to 18. Presume that he will keep training

[Wookey]

Maybe Lisa becomes his PT. Am sure she has a muscular niece of a similar age in Philippines that can introduce him to once he is of age...

[Thegoodstuff]

I appreciate all the support, I'm deeply honored by your guys words. Yes I agree there are few questions that need answering I'm glad your able to capture the depth I want to convey. And who knows maybe she does have a niece or cousin somewhere back in the Philippians... or maybe even her mother

[Jeremy Lightning]

I wouldn't be against seeing her mother, as a fan of muscular grannies, but it's up to you. I'm sure I'd be satisfied with whatever you come up with. k+!

[Pord91]

You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login

[Sicod]

Enjoying the story, and the shows of slow, confident dominance.

Like Jer I like it when power is packed into a smaller package, although she isn't really small, just short!

I will admit, as an educator, it threw me a bit when the dude asks if they could call his aunt instead of his parents. That just wouldn't fly unless they had things set up to at least make her an emergency contact, and even then they would have to try the parent/legal guardian first.

Non educators probably didn't have an issue with it!