+Notable Author: [grbaclig] Stories~collected

[Jeremy Lightning]

Haha, awesome! I love that she took those shots without even flexing, she flexed to make sure they knew what the size and definition of her muscles would look like had she been flexing, though I'm sure their minds were so scrambled with fear, shock, and anger that this didn't really register to them. I can't wait to see the next chapter to see what she's going to do to them! She says she's as strong as an Olympic weightlifter, but I'm thinking she's probably stronger, with that level of toughness, I'm thinking she can beat a Superheavyweight male weightlifter in arm-wrestling if he used both hands against her weaker arm. Truly another great to read story! k+!

[thebaron]

Great I hope there is more to come from  Debbie and maybe her new admirer.

[Darkbreed]

Hey just wanted to tell you that i think your story is really awesome!! Love your style, i hope the men will hide behind a lot of steel that she has to use her muscles often. Would be cool if there are heavy feats of strength waiting for her that even she has to struggle and strain and flex her muscles to even bigger sizes.

Please continue your work 

[kredenchurut]

Awesome chapter, thanks! I really loved the realistic and long build-up in the first chapter so I am really looking forward to see the next chapter. The thought of Debbie slowly and methodically destroying all these big men who are trying to hide or run away To save their pathetic little lives...

[sevenpeight]

Fantastic writing. Thanks!

[grbaclig]

Chapter 3 – Sticks and Stones

   I kept my distance as I followed Debbie, watching her incredible rear end sway and bounce as her high heels clacked across the tile floor of the kitchenette.  Her gluteus maximus muscles were as big as watermelons, with smooth dimples on either side where they met the gluteus medius that caught shadows in the fading sunlight.  I took out my phone and tried to take a picture, but my battery was almost dead.  There was so much metal in the mill that it was almost impossible to get reception, especially when the doors were closed, and my phone always ran itself down looking for a signal.  I decided just to keep watching.  Besides, I don’t think I could ever forget the way Debbie moved that night.
   She moved through the kitchenette and into dock, where the pig iron ingots and polished aluminum sheets were stored.  Just before she crossed into the dock she looked around, like she expected something.  She was right.  The second she stepped out into the dock, Pete jumped out and swung his pipe at her knees.  But Debbie was too quick for him, and she cocked her leg just a bit, and the pipe thudded against her right calf, bouncing harmlessly off the giant diamond-shaped cantaloupe-sized muscle, both sections bulging with angular definition.  “That has to hurt,” I thought, but if it did, she didn’t let on. 
   She didn’t even turn her head.  Pete was fired up, though.  He swung again, this time at her upper body, then again, and again.  But each time, Debbie’s massive forearm moved with incredible speed, and intercepted the pipe before he could bring it down, and Pete’s blows didn’t seem to hurt her arm any more than it hurt her chest or leg.  “You don’t learn very quickly, do you Pete?” she snorted.  “No wonder you were so bad at your job.”
   She was still standing ramrod straight, facing forward, and barely moving at all, but Pete couldn’t get near her.  Each swing was met with a lump of bulging arm muscle before it could land.  “How can she be so fast?” I wondered.  “How can she be that strong?”  Eventually, Pete started getting gassed, and his blows came less frequently.  “Come on you giant muscle bitch, look at me!” he screamed.
   Debbie turned toward him with a glare.  First her head, then her shoulders, then her hips, then her whole body.  Her ribs and obliques were like a waterfall of rock-hard, flesh as she twisted her torso, and I almost tripped over my own feet moving to hide behind the fridge so she couldn’t see me.  “If you want my attention, you’ve got it,” Debbie said, putting her hands on her hips and scowling.  “But I really, really think you’re going to regret this.”
   “I don’t care what you think!” Pete yelled, and swung at her again, this time at her head, but he had slowed down so much that Debbie plucked the pipe from his hands without even flinching.  She held it in her hands and smiled. 
   “I kind of enjoy this, Pete,” she said.  You’re so slow and weak that you make me feel positively… superhuman.”
   “Well fuck you, Wonder Woman!” Pete yelled, and swung a punch wildly at Debbie’s face. 
   She leaned back on her heels, her abs, glutes, and legs rippling in a symphony of bulging muscle, and Pete’s punch missed her by a mile.  Then, pipe still held in her hands, she gently pushed his shoulders.  At least it looked gentle.  She barely showed any effort, but Pete flew back into the loading dock door like he had been tossed by a tornado. 
   “I used to love watching Wonder Woman when I was a girl,” Debbie said, slowly raising the pipe up, one hand on each end.  “I especially loved when she would be in jail or a safe and then she would sloooowly bend those metal bars...”
   Then, bracing herself, Debbie bared down on the bar.  All three heads of her deltoids exploded with size and striations and her traps swelled up to size of bowling pins and sure enough, the pipe started to squeal and bend.  “And the men would just stand and stare, helpless before her…”
   I couldn’t believe what was happening.  Debbie’s arms were bulging, as she strained her biceps, triceps, brachiallis, and forearms.  I could only see her profile, but I could see pecs rippling into thick cabled slabs of defined muscle, lifting her massive rack up a good six inches.  I could also see Pete squirming. 
   A second later, Debbie proudly showed him the fruits of her labor, a 30 inch steel pipe bent into an oval.  “And Wonder Woman would just smile, Pete,” Debbie said, dropping the mangled pipe to the ground looking down at her pumped arms with satisfaction, “because she knew she was stronger than those gawking little males could ever be.”
   Then from out of nowhere, Eric appeared.  He must’ve run from the other end of the dock when Debbie’s back was turned.  “Bout damn time!” Pete yelled as Eric brought one of the big, 15 kg pig iron ingots down onto Debbie left shoulder blade.  Eric wasn’t a lot bigger than Pete, but those ingots weigh almost 35 pounds, and he swung like a man possessed.
   I gasped.  Debbie grunted and buckled, her heels sliding a bit as she crumpled, bracing herself with a hand to avoid from falling.  Eric brought the ingot crashing down again, this time on her other shoulder, and she groaned.  Her back was bleeding from the first hit and I could see bruises forming on from the second. Eric raised the ingot again for a third strike, his arms and shoulders visibly shaking from the strain.  “I’ve worked with these things for seven years, and I’ve wanted to do this from day one!” he yelled.
   “Hit her again, Eric!”  Pete screamed.  He was slowly standing up. 
   But Debbie was standing up as well.
   Her hair had come loose from her bun, and was cascading across her massive traps, and through the silver strands I could see her lips snarling and her nostrils flaring.  She slowly began to rise up, her massive quads inflating with power and beading with sweat as she kept her balance on her four-inch heels.  Eric brought the ingot down again, but with substantially less force.  He looked like he was getting weaker. 
And Debbie looked like she was getting stronger.
   Debbie crumpled a little bit from the third blow, but she kept her balance, and by the time that Eric had brought the ingot overhead for a fourth time, she was standing before him, straight as an arrow, hands on hips, glowering down at him.  I was so in awe my heart was beating a mile a minute.  “You’ve wanted to do what since day one?” Debbie growled.  “Make me mad?  Almost hurt me?  Almost knock me down?  Is that the best you could do with seven years?”
   Eric was pale as a ghost, and he was shaking.  “No,” he whimpered.  “No no no.”
   Debbie tossed her hair over her shoulders, which were now starting to gleam with sweat.  “I worked with those ingots for seven years, too, Eric,” she said, as she slowly tied up her hair, her engorged biceps bunching and flexing with every movement of her hands.  “My family was dirt poor and I had to start work here when I was 13.  But unlike you, I had to unload those ingots by hand.” 
   “Shut up you old gray bitch,” Eric snarled, bringing the ingot crashing down into Debbie’s chest.
   But he was tired and weak, and the ingot smacked off of Debbie’s massive pecs and nearly bounced out of his hands.  Debbie smiled.  “And unlike you I got stronger.  A lot stronger.”
   Debbie cackled wickedly and clasped her hands together as Eric struggled to raise the ingot for a fifth time.  “Seven years later I could toss those things around like Frisbees,” she said as her pecs began to flex, bulge and grow like a rolling ocean of female muscle.  “And I was also floor supervisor by then.  And I was also halfway through with a masters’ degree in biochemistry by then.”
   Pete was creeping up behind Debbie now, with a crowbar from the pallet station.  I should have been worried for Debbie, but I was excited.  It was like watching the climax of a wrestling match.  They had almost beaten her, they almost had her down, but she had dug down deep and pulled herself back up.  And she was going to win.  As I watched her bounce her massive jugs up and down with the movement of her pecs, I could feel that she was going to win.  And from haughty smile on her face, she could feel it too.  Pete and Eric both swung at the same time.  Debbie caught Pete’s crowbar in her right hand without even looking, and with her left, she stopped Eric’s ingot in midair. 
   I had never been more proud to be a woman, and I felt like cheering.   But since I didn’t want to give myself away, I just twisted my nipples and bit my lip to keep from moaning at the sight of Debbie’s muscular dominance.  Pete and Eric strained, but Debbie threw both the crowbar and the ingot away with casual swipes of her arms.  Pete jumped toward her, but her right arm shot out like a flash and she slapped him, the back of her open hand striking him cleanly in the face.  I recoiled as Pete’s jaw unhinged with a sickening crack, and blood sprayed across the loading dock. 
   Eric froze.  “Not bad for an old gray bitch, huh?” Debbie laughed, as she flicked blood from her right hand, and started to slowly curl her left into a fist, her softball-sized bicep swelling up dramatically, and veins creeping into visibility on her hulking forearm.  “And that was just a slap, Eric,” she said, raising her arm up triumphantly.  In the fading light of the factory, her mountainous bicep cast a shadow over Eric’s head that obscured his features, but I could still see him shaking.  “If I can do that with an open hand, what do you imagine I can do with a closed fist?” she asked playfully, looking at the throbbing muscle of her left arm.
   The view of Debbie’s flex from behind was incredible.  Her shoulders and back were bulging with twitching slabs of muscle that were so big they seemed to fight for position, like they were too big for her body.  Traps strained against delts, delts strained against teres, teres strained against lats, and they all erupted upward from a tiny, narrow waist that was so packed with muscle that it erupted in ripples of tight, toned flesh every time she took a breath.  Each muscle in her arm stood out in perfect definition, each one so hypertrophied that it looked like she was going to bust out of her skin.  I could hear Eric sobbing.  Debbie raked her red fingernails across the throbbing double-headed monstrosity of her bicep as she laughed.  “Nothing to say now?” she giggled.  “Not much of an imagination I take it?  Fine then.  If you don’t want to imagine, just let me show you.”
   Eric turned to run, but Debbie moved with blurring speed as she swung her coiled arm around into a vicious uppercut that landed squarely in Eric’s midsection.  Eric’s eyes rolled back into unconsciousness and his body jumped off the ground the second her fist collided with him.  And I swear I saw a bulge the size and shape of a fist appear under the back of his shirt, as if Debbie had almost punched her fist clean through his body.  Eric seemed to hang in the air for a second, and then flopped to the ground, motionless.
   Debbie scoffed at his body, then walked a few steps further, to where the sheets of polished aluminum were stacked up.  “That’s how she could see Pete,” I thought to myself.  “She was watching his reflection the whole time.
   Then Debbie started to go through bodybuilding poses, smiling and puckering as she admired one overdeveloped muscle group after another.  She was reveling in her own dominance, and from the way her nipples poked out through her lacy bra, she was enjoying herself.  One pose at a time, she showed off a body that could have won any bodybuilding contest in the world, hand down.  It still didn’t seem quite real.  Debbie Thorson was a gray-haired pencil pusher who was older than my mom, and somehow she was stronger and more muscular than any man I had ever seen, in real life or on the TV.  Or in my dreams.
   I was literally weak in the knees, and I slumped against the refrigerator with a thud.  I was dripping with sweat, and all I could think about was Debbie Thorson.  She was everything that appealed to me, emotionally and sexually, all at once.  Her gray hair and fine wrinkles made me view her as a wise and supportive elder, and her tight, athletic body made me view her as a nubile sex goddess.  Her massive, overdeveloped muscles excited my heterosexual impulses, and her perfect, gigantic breasts and round ass excited my homosexual impulses.  And her dominance was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  I was rubbing myself into a climax when I heard the clacking of her heels getting closer. 
   I froze and looked up, and all I could see was a wall of abdominal muscles culminating in the underside of Debbie’s boobs.  “I thought you were going upstairs,” she said.  I could tell she was smiling, even though I couldn’t see her face.
   “I… I…” I wanted to explain myself, but I was embarrassed.  I was a college graduate, a beauty queen, a painter, and damn good office manager, and here I was flicking my bean on the floor of a steel mill like a crack whore.  I could feel myself tearing up.  I pulled my legs closed, wrapped my arms around my chest to cover my hardened nipples and turned my face to the wall.
   Then I felt Debbie’s hand on my shoulder.  It was soft and firm, and so was her voice.  “Please don’t cry,” she said.  “I know that you’ve spent your whole life hearing that women need to be ashamed of their sexuality, but I know in my heart that you’re too smart and too strong to believe that.”
   Debbie took my hands and brought me to my feet.  “I couldn’t help it,” I said.  “I’m not even really a lesbian, not like, a serious lesbian” I sobbed.  “It’s just that…”
   I was choking up trying to express myself, and when I hesitated, Debbie spoke for me.  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sheila,” she said.  “Other people may judge you or belittle you—your friends, or even your family—but I never will.”
   I laughed a little bit, and hugged her gently, shoulder to shoulder, like I used to hug my best friend Gretchen in high school when we told each other secrets.  And even with all the blood and violence around, I felt safe and secure.
   And then the lights went out.
   “This is why I wanted you to go upstairs,” Debbie sighed.
   The loudspeakers crackled to life, and Harry’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers.  “Attention filthy dykes!” he yelled.  “When we catch you two we’re going to force you to do things you ain’t ever even seen in a porno!”
   I could hear the other men hooting and howling in the background, and the more graphic and disgusting Harry’s threats got the louder and more excited the other men got.  I put my hands over my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear anymore.  “They were supposed to be my friends,” I pleaded into the night.
   Then Debbie scooped me up in her muscly arms and carried me upstairs, to a door that I never been into, and she punched a combination into a keypad.  We walked into the dark room together, and Debbie flipped on the lights as the door closed behind us.
We were in a small but well-stocked gym, complete with benches, machines, showers, and to adjoining rooms that I assumed were lockers and a sauna.  “I didn’t know we had a gym,” I said, looking around.  “It’s nice.”
   “It’s only for executives,” Debbie said, turning on the shower.
   Then I saw the weights.  The benches, machines, and dumbbell racks were loaded with more weight that I had ever seen in one place at one time, even in a full size gym.  I tried counting the plates on the bench press, but I lost track somewhere around 500 pounds.  “Who uses these weights?”  I wondered out loud.
   “This company only has one executive, Sheila,” Debbie said.  “Me.”
   I turned to look at Debbie as she slipped out of her bra and panties, her musclebound body dripping in sweat, streaked with oil and blood, and completely naked.  Her breasts sagged a bit, despite her enormous pecs, and her bush was a neatly trimmed flame of gray pubic hair.  Those were the only signs of her age on her superhumanly developed body, but somehow they only made her hotter.  I could feel my nipples hardening again.  “Uh… Uh…” I stammered.
   Debbie turned around and stepped into the shower.  “Help me wash my back,” she purred.  I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”
   “Yes Debbie,” I said obediently.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Another great chapter of this epic tale! Once again, great stuff with her easily overpowering these two guys, taking their best shots with some hard, tough weaponry and seeming only to get tougher and stronger. Now it looks like she is going to show Sheila how awesome she is in other ways. k+!

[grbaclig]

Chapter 4 – An Almost Romantic Interlude

   Time seemed to stand still as I watched Debbie’s naked body squirm under the water.  The shower was completely open, built into the corner of the gym, and had four heads that sprayed fine droplets all over her hulking physique.  She swayed her muscle-wrapped hips slowly and rhythmically as she let the water wash over her, her dimpled glutes pulsing with the gyration of her pelvis.  It was as if she was moving to music only she could hear.  Her hips went left, right, left, back.  Then right, left, right, back.  Every time she thrust her huge, round buttocks backward, her gluteus maximus muscles rolled upward with the movement of her gluteus medius, and the perfect pink ruffles of her labia appeared for just a moment.  And every time the perfect pink ruffles of her labia appeared my clit throbbed with pleasure and I trembled all over.
   She peeked over her shoulder and smiled as she reached for the shampoo, and blew me a kiss.  I had to look away or I was going to come right there.  My libido had gotten me in trouble before.  Sometimes when I get worked up I can’t control myself and I do stupid things, and everything that Debbie did got me super worked up.  I fought to keep my hands at my side and to keep my hips from grinding together.  I closed my eyes and started counting backward from 100.  I had to control myself.
   Then I smelled the lavender, lemon, and jasmine of Debbie’s shampoo.  The bouquet was so soothing that just stood there for a moment and breathed it in.  All the dead bodies, all the misogynistic threats and all the sexual tension just fell away.  “That smells so good,” I said, and opened my eyes.
   I should have kept them closed.
   Debbie was working the shampoo into her long, gray hair, her arms rippling as she kneaded her silvery locks.  I shuddered as I watched a trail of suds run from her right hand down her massive forearm.  It rolled down the pumping mass of her brachioradialis, curving into the sharply cut separation between her brachialis and her bicep like a river snaking through a mountain range.  Then it curved again, forming a rivulet of tiny white bubbles that traced the dramatic lumps of her delts.  It thinned out a bit as it traced the incredible shapes of her back, running down her teres, traps, and latissimus dorsi, finally disappearing between her massive buttocks.  I could hear a whimper escape from my throat.  My nipples were so hard they hurt, and my panties were soaked.  Debbie looked over her shoulder again, her face mostly hidden by the monstrous bulk of her shoulders and traps.  “I thought you were going to help me with my back.” she laughed.
   I tried to control myself.  I had to control myself.  But I couldn’t.
   I slowly walked to the shower, trying to not watch Debbie’s hips as they went left, right, left, back.  Then right, left, right, back.  I took some body wash and a sponge and started to rub the massive knots of muscle with glimmering soap.  I still couldn’t believe how big she was, or how hard she was.  I could feel drops of water splashing into my open mouth and my open eyes.  I couldn’t close them.  But I had to control myself.  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.  My blouse and skirt were getting soaked, but I didn’t care.  I tried to make conversation.  “D-did you get these muscles working in the mill?” I stammered.
   “You might say that,” she said.  “Do you remember, Sheila, what I said earlier?  About how I started working here when I was 13? “
   “Yes,” I said absently, feeling around her back and shoulders in vain to find an imperfectly developed muscle on her hypertrophied frame, if only to convince myself she was human.  Because she looked like so much more.
   I couldn’t find an imperfection.  And I was losing control.  My eyes popped open and feasted on the churning muscles of Debbie’s glutes.  She kept talking.
   “When my parents first came to this worthless town we were so poor we lived out of a car for two years.  I had to work here every night while I was in school because my father was too busy drinking away the pocket change he scrounged up during the day.  The only job an unskilled laborer could get was moving pig iron.  It hurt so badly, Sheila.  I can still feel the way my arms, back, and shoulders burned.  I cried myself to sleep most nights.”  Debbie held her titanic left arm out straight and looked down at its thickly cabled massiveness, her eyes lost in thought.  “I had to sleep still as a board, because every movement made my body scream with pain.  I stole aspirin from the school nurse during the day.  Some of the workers were nice, and let me take extra breaks or gave me food.  Most of them just laughed at me and called me ‘Little Debbie’.”
   I tried to look away from the rippling juggernaut as she glistened in the water.  “That must have been hard,” I said, staring at her chiseled hamstrings and diamond-cut calves.  “So hard.  So… hard.  Big and hard.”  I was losing control.
   “It was.  But eventually I got stronger.  I didn’t need to steal aspiring and I didn’t need extra breaks.  By the time I was 14 I could load more iron than some of the men.  Then my boobs came in.”
   Debbie laughed and worked her hands around her massive tits.  As wide as her back was, I could still see the edges of those gigantic orbs when she raised her arms or turned her body.  I closed my eyes again so I didn’t see their perfect spherical softness.  I had to control myself.     “Were they always that b-b-big,” I stammered.
   Debbie laughed again.  “It seems like it.  Fortunately my back was plenty strong from loading iron.  Not that the guys cared about how well I could load iron.  Oh no.  I was ‘Little Debbie with the Big Tits’ to them.  God, how I hated that name.  I could feel my face burning with anger whenever I heard it.  But I kept working, and by the time I was 15 I could load more iron than most of the men.  And then one day, Reggie Peterson…”
   “Reggie Peterson?”
   “That cocky sack of shit.  One day during break he walked up bold as you like and copped a feel, right there on the dock.  And what did the other guys do?  They laughed.  They didn’t pull Reggie off of me, they didn’t scold him or anything.  They just laughed.”
   “That’s terrible,” I said.  And it was.  I remembered when my boobs came in the sixth grade, and Kevin Royce copped a feel in the lunchroom.  And what did the other guys do?  They laughed.  “That’s terrible,” I repeated.  “To treat a young girl like that.”
   “It was the first time in my life that I felt truly alone and truly ashamed.  But then something clicked inside me, and I got mad.  I don’t even remember throwing the punch.  All I remember is looking at my bloody fist while the guys yelled and went to see if Reggie was still alive.”  Debbie straightened up and puffed her massive back out even more.  I moaned quietly at the expanse of her lats as she crowed with pride.  “He was a 27 year old man, and I was a 15 year old girl, and I broke his jaw with one punch.  Smashed his jaw, actually.  He never spoke quite right again.”
   “That’s so cool.”
   “It was there, on that dock that I realized that women could be stronger than men.  And that night, I went back to our lousy little apartment and looked at my body.  Really looked at it for the first time, and I realized that I had muscles.  And they were incredible.  After that I started wearing sleeveless shirts to the mill.  And the guys stopped calling me ‘Little Debbie with the Big Tits’ and started calling me “Little Debbie with the Big Muscles.”
   I laughed.  It was a pretty inspiring story, actually.  “Did anyone try to mess with you after that?
   “Oh yes.  Men aren’t smart enough to learn from their mistakes.  They tried to grab me, they tried to strip me, they tried to hold me down and do… God knows what.  But they never did,” Debbie said, turning around, her enormous tits almost knocking me to the floor, and the fine wrinkles on her face bending as she cracked a vengeful smile.  “No matter how many of them tried to attack me at once, not one of those bastards ever felt any part of me except for my fists or my boots.  Then my growth spurt came in, and I could load more iron than any of the men.  And they started calling me ‘Big Debbie.’  And a year later, I made floor supervisor and they started calling me ‘Ma’am’.”
   “That’s so cool,” I said absently, staring at the gentle sag of Debbie’s colossal breasts as they bobbed up and down on her massive pectoral shelf. 
   Rivulets of water ran down the striations on her chest, hugging every swollen curve, then painting glistening stripes down her jiggling jugs.  I was jealous of that water.  I wanted to touch her so bad that it hurt.  But I had to control myself.  Then I felt fingers under my chin tilting my head up, and I was eye-to-eye with Debbie.  “My eyes are up here, Sheila,” she cooed.  I blushed. 
   I was shaking with passion, and I could hear my heart beating like a drum as I looked into Debbie’s burning blue eyes as her soft cupid-bow lips began to pucker.
   I had to control myself.  I really had to control myself.  I absolutely had to control myself.  So I pulled away.  “I’m sorry, Miss Thorson,” I bleated.  “I can’t.”
   I heard the shower switch off.  “Sheila, are you all right?” Miss Thorson called.
   “I want to,” I sobbed.  “I want to so bad it hurts, but I can’t.  I have to control myself.”
   Then I felt her hand on my shoulder, turning me toward her.  Then I felt fingers under my chin tilting my head up, and was eye-to-eye with Miss Thorson.  Tears were forming in her eyes.
   “Sheila,” she said.  “I’m so sorry if I’ve done anything to make you uncomfortable.  I thought that you felt the same way about me that I do about you, and I should have spoken to you about my feelings instead of trying to seduce you like some teenage lothario.”
   I had seen Debbie Thorson’s eyes hundreds of times over the past year at the mill.  They were almost always burning with anger.  On good days they were rolling upward with sarcastic mockery.  But now they were soft and teary.  No one had ever looked at me with eyes like that before.  “It’s not your fault,” I said.  “I want you so bad.  You’re so… amazing.  I want you so bad it hurts, but I can’t.  Sometimes when I get worked up I can’t control myself and I do stupid things.  So I just can’t.  Not here.  Not like this.”
   “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Miss Thorson said.  “You have to do what you feel in your heart.  Now let’s get dressed.”
   There were some gym clothes of various sizes in the locker room.  They were all varieties of red shorts, white t-shirts, and white running shoes.  I found a set that actually fit me, although they were a little tight.  Miss Thorson wasn’t as lucky.  I caught a glimpse of her as I was tying my shoes and laughed.  “Holy shit,” I exclaimed.
   “I swear these used to fit just a week ago,” she grumbled.
They didn’t fit now.  Her red shorts were so small on her that her massive femoris muscles forced them up over her hips, and they fit like a bikini bottom.  Her t-shirt was so tight that it looked like a spandex crop top.  I could see the cuts of her delts as the sleeves strained to cover her volleyball-sized shoulders, and six of her eight-pack abs were visible where the bottom of the shirt pulled up to accommodate her Olympian breadth.  But she wasn’t thinking about her clothes, because she was busy looking at my butt while I was bent over tying my laces.  I had to smile.  It felt good to feel desired, as long as I controlled myself.  “That shirt isn’t going to last very long on you,” I joked.
   Miss Thorson giggled and began putting the towels away, when she saw my bra on the floor.  “Sheila, you forgot your bra, she said.”
   “I don’t really need one,” I said, standing up.  “My boobs aren’t that big.”
Miss Thorson’s eyes widened as I turned around.  “They’re hardly small,” she said, and I saw nipples the size of shotgun shells fire up from underneath her straining t-shirt.
   She was right.  I hadn’t been keeping to my diet, and my boobs had come back in.  I looked down at myself and frowned.  “I have to get back on my diet before pageant season,” I said.  “It’s just that I’ve been so stressed I go to the gym all the time for kickboxing, and that makes me hungry and I eat and I get fat.”
   “No,” Miss Thorson said firmly.  “Sheila you are not fat.  Having tits and an ass does not mean a woman is fat.  Especially not you.  You have beautiful muscle tone, see.”
   She gestured to a mirror and I looked at my body.  Really looked at it for the first time, and I realized that I had muscles.  And they were incredible.   Well, pretty cool at least.  Nothing like Miss Thorson’s, but bigger than Pete’s, and maybe as big as Eric’s.  Maybe even a little bigger.  “I’m pretty hot,” I said to myself.  “All that kickboxing must have done something after all.”
   “Why are you so stressed in the first place?” Miss Thorson asked, her incredible bulk looming behind me in the mirror.
   Her tits were literally as big as my head, and I could feel their heat on the back of my neck.  But I had to control myself.  “Because of you, Miss Thorson,” I said.  “You treat all the guys like crap, and you’re ruining their lives, and some of them are my friends.”
   “They’re not your friends, Sheila,” she said, shaking her head.  “They just want to fuck you.”
   “Well so do you,” I said, stomping my foot, “but at least they never yell at me like you do.”
   Miss Thorson looked down.  “Sometimes I have problems controlling myself, too,” she said.
   There was an awkward silence for about five seconds, before we heard hooting and hollering on the landing, and loud thumping on the door of the gym.  There were windows that overlooked the factory, and although you couldn’t see into the gym, there was probably light leaking out through the door.  We slowly left the locker room and went out into the gym, just in time to see Vince Cartwright spray painting ‘die cunts’ on one of the windows.  “These are your friends?” Miss Thorson growled.  “It’s like they want me to crush them…”
    “They are my friends,” I insisted.  “They’re just mad because you fired them on Christmas Eve and they’re scared because you’re the She-Hulk or something, and now they’re acting crazy.  And I know that guys like that were bad to you when you were little, but this is different.  They’re my friends, and when you hurt them it hurts me, too.”
   I was tearing up.  I had wanted to stand up to Miss Thorson every day of my life for the past year, but instead of feeling good, it actually kind of hurt.  She touched me gently on the arm, and spoke softly.  “Sheila, you mean more to me than anything in this world.  I love your beauty, your brains and everything else about you.  Some days you’re the only reason I get up in the morning.  But I would rather lose you forever than hurt you for even a second.  So if you want a peaceful solution, I’ll do whatever it takes to find one.”
   We were both crying.  I’ve had boyfriends before, and a few girlfriends even, but no one had laid their heart out like that for me before.  I had to control myself, but it was getting harder to do.  I was falling in love with my 50 year old boss.  “Thanks Miss Thorson,” I said.
   “Please, call me Debbie,” she asked, wiping a tear from my cheek.
   “Okay Debbie,” I said. 
   Then the hooting and hollering came back.  We looked up just in time to see Jimmy Lincoln spray painting on the other window.  It read:  ‘Sheila I am going to rape you to death.’
   I covered my mouth and gasped.  Jimmy was supposed to be my friend.  I helped him change is tire in the rain last year, I let him borrow $200 dollars when his kids needed to go to the doctor and I did all kinds of other stuff for him too.  I remembered all the nice things I did for him in the past, and then I saw him in the present, licking the window and waving his stubby little dick around with wild eyes and clenched fists.  And I started to cry. 
   Debbie was shaking with rage.  Her face was bright red, and her t-shirt was starting to open at the seams as her breathing got heavy and her muscles expanded.  It looked like she was ready to bust out of her shirt and smash through the wall like the Hulk.
   But she didn’t.  She closed her eyes, let her arms hang down, and took a breath.  She knelt down beside me and put her hands on my shoulders.  “What do you want?” she asked me, fighting to control the anger in her voice.  “I will do whatever you want me to do, Sheila.”
I sobbed and threw my arms around her bulging shoulders, and buried my face in her rock-hard traps, drying my tears in her shiny gray hair.  She was right all along, but she was still willing to support me, no matter what.  No one had ever cared for me that much.  I cried and cried and hugged her tighter and tighter.  She held firm, rubbing my back and patting my thigh. 
   When I was done crying, I kissed her on her wrinkled cheek, and put my lips to her ear.  “Crush them,” I said.  “Crush them all.”

[BossRose]

This story is amazingly hot. You're doing a masterful job building up tension and describing muscle in a way that newer seems to get boring or repetitive. This story is becoming one of my all time favourites! Well done!

[horst11]

Fantastic!! Keep it up... K+

[Jeremy Lightning]

Hehe, I don't know what it is, some of the time I do feel bad for the guys in the stories that you post, but then you do something like what Jimmy Lincoln did to make them more terrible than ever, so that it doesn't feel so bad to see the guys destroyed by the powerful females. Same thing with Bubblegum, I was feeling bad for the main guy, until he turned out to be a misogynist pig who starved his girlfriend and lived off her, having her buy his car, and then it didn't feel so bad that he's getting humiliated by Becky in that story. This time as well, I almost wanted to see this turn out better for the guys, who seemingly have been mistreated by Debbie, but now we see that maybe these guys are assholes, maybe they deserve whatever they're going to get. So yeah, great stuff, I look forward to more! k+!

[grbaclig]

Hehe, I don't know what it is, some of the time I do feel bad for the guys in the stories that you post, but then you do something like what Jimmy Lincoln did to make them more terrible than ever, so that it doesn't feel so bad to see the guys destroyed by the powerful females. Same thing with Bubblegum, I was feeling bad for the main guy, until he turned out to be a misogynist pig who starved his girlfriend and lived off her, having her buy his car, and then it didn't feel so bad that he's getting humiliated by Becky in that story. This time as well, I almost wanted to see this turn out better for the guys, who seemingly have been mistreated by Debbie, but now we see that maybe these guys are assholes, maybe they deserve whatever they're going to get. So yeah, great stuff, I look forward to more! k+!

Thanks, Jeremy!  You're one of the truly great FMG storytellers, so if I can pass muster with you I guess I'm doing something right. 

[grbaclig]

Chapter 5 – Chain Gang

   Debbie stood up smiling, but it was a nasty smile that was half scowl, and her eyes were burning.  She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, and as she put her gray hair up into pony tail, tiny splits appeared on the seams of t-shirt where it struggled to stretch over her mammoth traps.  “Wait here,” she said with a wink.  “This won’t take long.”
   “I want to come along,” I said.  “I can take care of myself.  Pavel at the gym says I’m the best kickboxing student he’s ever had.  Sometimes I even beat him when we spar.”
   “Sheila these men are animals.  They aren’t going to box, they’re just going to charge like a pack of wild beasts.  And I want you to be safe.”
   “The safest place in here is with you,” I said, crossing my arms.
   “Sheila, I can’t protect you from all eight of them.  I’m not a superhero.”
   “The hell you aren’t,” I said.  “You lift grown men up by the neck, you bend steel with your bare hands, and just look at yourself.”
   I motioned to the mirror, and Debbie followed my gaze.   She smiled as she saw the red shorts and white shirt clinging to her massive body like spandex.  She cocked her hips and flexed her abs, and her entire midsection exploded into a cobblestone street of chiseled, bulging female muscle.  “I could pass for a comic book super heroine, couldn’t I?” she chuckled.
   But the truth is she couldn’t.  She was too much for a comic book or even a cartoon.  She was too big, too cut, and her tits were too big.  I was losing control.  I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, running my hands over her abs.  They were so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.  There was no flat space on her midsection at all.  Everything from her narrow waist up to her sprawling lats was either a bulge or a cut between bulges.  I closed my eyes and tried to pull my arms away, but I couldn’t.  I just kept running my fingers along the grooves in Debbie’s abdominals, with my breath trembling.  “I want to see it,” I sighed.  I couldn’t control the words that were coming out of my mouth.  “I want to see your body move when you crush them.  I want to lick their blood off your fingers.”
   Then I came to, with Debbie holding my arms and shaking me.  She had a sly smile on her face.  “You’re quite the little tease, aren’t you, Shelia,” she said.
   I felt my face blush, and I turned away.  It happened again.  Maybe I should just stay in the gym and wait.  “I’m sorry,” I said.  “It’s just…”
   Then I felt Debbie’s hand stroke my hair.  “Stay a few feet behind me,” she said, and be ready to run back up here and shut the door behind you.  The code is 5807.”
   Then she turned the light off.  I could see the dull glow of the emergency lights out in the factory, but it was quiet now.  Slowly and silently, Debbie opened the door.  There was no one on the landing.  I stayed a few feet behind Debbie as she crept down the stairs, hypnotized by her incredible legs.  They were so big, and so ripped, but they still had distinctly feminine curves, and they were so smooth I could see them gleaming in the dull yellow emergency lights.  When she reached the floor, she stopped and looked around, peering into the dimly lit floor.  There was a rattle in the kitchen, and Debbie stalked after it, her incredible calves bunching into twin diamonds as she snuck carefully forward, glowing with smooth, toned perfection in the dim light.  With each step she looked right, then left, and behind her.  She should have looked up. 
   As she approached  the kitchen, one of the overhead buckets spilled open with a crash.  Debbie sprung to the side, but not in time to avoid being buried in the load of quarter-inch chain that fell from above.  I gasped, and back up a couple of steps into the shadows.  Those buckets held 36 cubic feet of load, and that means that there must have been something like a ton of chains piled on Debbie.  I could see her gray hair on one end of the pile, and I could see her white gym shoes poking out of the other end.  It didn’t look like she was moving.  And then Irv, Lemuel and Hank appeared from crawling out from under conveyor belts and from behind stacks of I-beams, each holding their own length of chain.  They started hooting.  Soon the other men appeared, filing out of the kitchen.
   I saw Debbie’s feet wiggling, but the heap of steel links didn’t move at all.  My heart sank.
   “Show me how you’re gonna get out of that, super bitch!”  Irv called.
   There was a second of silence.  And then I heard Debbie’s voice, slightly muffled but as calm and confident as ever.  “Okay,” she said.  “I’ll show you.  But I really, really think you’re going to regret this.”
   I saw Debbie’s feet wriggling until her toes were on the floor and her heels were pointed at the ceiling.  Then I saw the links of chain near Debbie’s upper body shift a bit.  Then I saw Debbie’s elbows poke out of the web of chains, as if she had planted her palms on the ground.  And then, slowly, I saw the tangled mass of chains rise up six inches into the air.  Then twelve inches, then 18 inches, then more. 
   I could see Lemuel’s face fall.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  I could believe it though, because I had seen Debbie Thorson, the sexual juggernaut contorting every inch of her naked body in the shower, reveling in her own brawn.  My heart rose again.  I wanted to cheer for Debbie at the top of my lungs, but I kept hidden.
   With each inch the pile moved upward, it unraveled a bit, spilling a few feet of chains on to the floor.  But it was still huge.  And then it collapsed, and settled again, burying Debbie’s feet and elbows.  I felt a pang of fear, and I backed up another step toward the gym.  Was there a phone in there?  Would I be able to crawl out the window and get to my car?
   Then men started laughing.  Roy and Billy started pounding the mound of chains with their weapons.  “You ain’t so strong after all, are you?” Roy barked.
   There was a second of silence.  And then I heard Debbie’s voice, slightly muffled but as calm and confident as ever.  “Oh I’m strong,” she said.  “Very, very strong.”
   Then the pile started to move upward again.  First six inches, then twelve inches, then 18 inches, then more.  And then a few feet of chain spilled away.  Now all the men joined in, attacking the tangled web of chains with their weapons, and then the pile collapsed and settled again.  I thought I was going to cry.  It was hard to watch Debbie struggling like that, buried under a ton of steel and outnumbered eight to one.
   Then the pile started to move upward again.  First six inches, then twelve inches, then 18 inches, then more.  And then a few feet of chain spilled away.  And then the pile collapsed and settled again.  “Hit harder, you sissies!” Vince screamed.
   Once again the pile started to move upward again.  Then down.  Then up.  Then down.  And I smiled.  Debbie wasn’t struggling.  She was doing push-ups.  And each time she did a push-up a few feet of chain fell off the pile.  I imagined her enormous, two-inch thick pecs pumping and undulating like an ocean of feminine muscle as she hefted the ton of chains upward.  Except now it was more like a half ton.
   The men were getting tired of attacking the mound of chains.  Some of the older guys were sweating, but they were all slowing down.  And Debbie was speeding up. 
   The chains were falling away more and more, and soon I could see shining perfection of her perfect, round ass as it bobbed up and down, the bright red workout shorts now completely disappeared between her rippling buttocks.  Then I could see the incomparable muscle of her shoulders, bigger than volleyballs now, and so perfectly cut I could see each of her deltoid clusters moving as she continued to move up and down.  Then I could see the engorged horse-shoe shaped mounds of her triceps, expanding and contracting around her elbows like pistons of flesh.  Debbie’s head, feet and hands, were still covered in a web of steel links, but the rest of her shredded immensity was starting to reveal itself. 
   Most of the guys were gassed, and some of them looked scared.   Vince and Jimmy turned and ran back through the kitchen, toward the back of the mill.  Lemuel hadn’t moved since Debbie’s first pushup.  He was one of the biggest guys in the mill, and we worked with those chains every day.  He knew just how much weight Debbie was moving.  “Not possible,” he croaked.
   “No no no!” Roy yelled, and swung his hammer down as hard as he could on Debbie’s back.
   Debbie laughed as the hammer bounced off her rippling musculature and skittered across the floor.  And then I heard Debbie’s voice, slightly muffled but as calm and confident as ever.  “If you guys are impressed by my standard pushups, wait until you see the plyometric version.”
   And then, as Debbie’s massive boobs flattened against the floor at the bottom of her push-up, I saw her body tense up.  And then, in a split second, she was airborne, her feet over a foot off the ground, her titanic arms angled upward, her gray hair flowing in the breeze, a few strands of chain still draped around her rippling perfection.  She landed like a gymnast, arms up in the air, feet together, and a look of pride on her face.  Her boobs bounced up and down with so much force I could hear them smack against her torso when she landed.  If her shirt wasn’t so tight, they would have flopped out completely. 
   But the shirt held, and only the bottom third of her breasts were exposed.  I collapsed onto the stairs at the sight of them, as big as soccer balls and jiggling gently as cocked her leg and dropped into a side triceps pose that made my eyes water.  Her arms were so pumped that I couldn’t even imagine how big they must be.  Her obliques and abdominals were showing striations and cuts I didn’t think existed.  She was showing off muscles other people didn’t have.  “You know,” she said with a cocky laugh.  “I surprise even myself sometimes.”
   “It can’t be,” Lemuel stammered.  “No one can be that strong…”
   "I can,” Debbie cooed, putting her hands on her hips and spreading her lats out. 
   I was losing control, and I was rubbing my clit through the silky fabric of the workout shorts as Debbie kept getting wider and wider.  She was covered with sweat, and her skin was shining in the soft light of the factory as she stood, draped in chains, smiling as if she had just been  out for a jog.  There was an audible ripping sound as her shirt ripped along the sides, no longer able to cover the swelling masses of throbbing power in her lats.  Billy, Harry, and Roy ran back into the kitchen, toward the rear corridors of the mill.  Irv and Hank would have joined them, but Debbie gracefully slid in front of the door. 
   They looked terrified with their hands shaking as they clung to their lengths of chain.  She looked hot with hands on her hips, swaying from side to side and making her adductors dance as they ran with sweat and forced her tiny red shorts even further toward her crotch.
   Then Lemuel snapped.  Tears in his eyes he ran at Debbie barehanded, his fists raised.  “For heaven’s sake,” Debbie scolded.  “Are you even looking at me?  Do you see this body?  Do you remember, Lemuel, how I just shrugged off a literal ton of weight?”
   I think he had brass knuckles on one of his hands.  Maybe both of them.  I couldn’t really see, and it didn’t really matter.   His fists bounced off Debbie's stomach and he whimpered in pain, and she giggled.  His fists bounced off Debbie's ribs and he croaked in pain, and she chuckled.  His fists bounced off Debbie's arms and he cried out in pain, and she laughed.  Then a stray punch landed square on Debbie’s left breast, and she stopped laughing.  Her face reddened, and her lips bent into a scowl. 
   Lemuel froze.  Debbie was shaking with anger.  He was shaking with fear.  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he pleaded, “I’m so sorry Miss Thorson.  Please don’t-“
   I laughed.  "Huge mistake, Lem," I said to myself as I started to rub my labia.
   In a flash, Debbie had wrapped her right hand around Lemuel’s neck, and slowly hoisted him off the ground.  Then with her left hand she grabbed him by the crotch, squeezing until he squealed in pain.  “In my forty years in this shithole, only one mill worker every touched my tits,” she growled.  “And I broke his jaw.  When I was a girl.  I wonder how much of you I can break now that I’m a woman?”
   Debbie’s raised Lemuel overhead with a smooth, almost effortless press.  She glared at Irv and Hank.  They dropped their weapons and began to look frantically around.  Then she raised her eyes upward and slowly started to apply pressure to Lemuel’s struggling body.  He must have weighed close to 250, but Debbie was holding him above her head and bending him like we was a twig, her body draped in gleaming sweat and shining steel chains.
   She wasn’t even flexing.
   She didn’t have to.  She was strong enough to fold a huge man in half over her head without even exerting herself.  “Oh fuck me,” I moaned, as more and more of her 50-year-old breasts peeked out from under her skin-tight t-shirt, shining with sweat and so perfectly round and firm that they would make a 20-year-old Dallas stripper burn with jealousy.
   When Lemuel started to scream, Irv and Hank looked at each other in fear.  Then they had an idea.  Each one grabbed a handful of chain from off the ground, and ran toward the chain spooler.  “Debbie, look out!” I screamed as they fed the chains into the spooler and threw the switch, but she couldn’t hear me over the sound of Lemuel’s back breaking into a hundred pieces.
   Debbie dropped his folded body to the ground, just like she had done with Pete’s pipe a few minutes ago.  And then the chains tightened around her.  And then she started to lose her footing.
   The spooler spun like crazy, and soon it had wound up all of the chain, except the sections that were wrapped around Debbie’s chest, arms, and legs like some kind of S&M climbing harness.  She tried to plant her feet, but she was being dragged, toward the spooler and its carbon-steel teeth, her shoes squeaking on the factory floor.  Now I was scared.  The chain spooler was the size of a pickup truck, but had a bigger engine.
Step after step, she struggled to keep her balance as she was pulled inevitably forward.  Step after step, Irv and Hank grew more confident, picking their weapons back up and smiling.  Step after step I got a little more scared.  “Oh please Lord,” I said under my breath.  “Not like this.  Not on Christmas Eve.”
   Step after step, Debbie was pulled closer to the teeth of the spooler, closer to Irv and Hank.  And then she stopped.  I couldn’t believe it.  The spooler had a three-thousand-horsepower engine built only to wind chain.  And Debbie was matching it's power.  Irv and Hank looked at each other in disbelief.  Debbie smiled and tossed her hair back.
   Debbie's legs and butt were pulsing with power, and bulging with such incredible definition that that they looked like a woven mass of steel cables that had been painted to look like sweat-drenched flesh.  Debbie’s shoulders were so big that they might have been as big as her tits, and her back muscles were so incredibly contracted that the bumps of her vertebrae were clearly visible, and looked soft in comparison to the knots of feminine power that bulged on either side.  Her arms trembled with might as she raised them up, both arms wrapped multiple times with steel chain that now quivered under tension.  “Do it, baby,” I moaned, squeezing my nipples and biting my lip.  “Show them.  Show them how big you are.  How hard you are…”  I was grinding my thighs so hard the aluminum staircase was shaking.
   The spooler groaned, then settled into near-silence as it strained against Debbie.  Debbie was standing up straighter each second, raising her arms up a little higher.  The spooler had a three-thousand-horsepower engine built only to wind chain.  And Debbie was overpowering it.  Then she tossed her silver hair again, and started to flex her biceps.  My jaw dropped open as her arms exploded with sharply defined muscle shapes that I had only seen in my most graphic fantasies.  Her biceps were bigger than softballs now, and they were so hard that they were starting to swell up, even under the pressure of the chain spooler.  Debbie looked from one arm to the other, and laughed.  “If I remember correctly, each of these links is 2.75 inches long,” she said.  “That means my arms are about 27 inches.  Pretty big for an ‘old gray bitch’, wouldn’t you say?”
   I couldn’t believe it.  27 inches?  That wasn’t big.  That was impossible.  But I was looking at them with my own eyes, and they looked even bigger.  I was rubbing myself into ecstasy as Debbie puckered in satisfaction at her own incomparable physique. 
   “Oh no,” Hank croaked.
   “Oh yes!” Debbie cackled.  “I wonder how big they would get if I actually flexed,” she asked playfully.  "Like if I really flexed."
   And then she really flexed. 
   Her arms erupted upward into sculpted mountains of sweat-drenched flesh, shattering the links like pretzels and freeing her chains.  The spooler sucked up the ends of the now broken chain, and switched itself off. 
   “I guess we’ll never know,” she said, holding her flex as she stared down the two terrified men, her Olympian physique rippling with impossible mounds of muscle.
   “Miss Thorson, please,” Irv wept.
   “Shut up you sniveling little worm!”  Debbie yelled, her eyes burning with anger.  “You just tried to feed me into an industrial chain winder and now you’re begging for mercy?”
   “Please please please,” Hank cried.  “I didn’t know.”
   “You didn’t know what?” Debbie demanded.  “You didn’t know that I’m stronger than you?  Stronger than all of you?  You didn’t know that I’m the strongest thing in here, man or machine?”
   And then Debbie Thorson brought her arms down into a most muscular pose, her back, lats, shoulders, and chest exploding with power.  Her t-shirt finally gave, flying into shreds as her muscles swelled impossibly and her huge, barely sagging jugs spilled out into the air.  “I am in control!” she shouted.  “Me!”
   Hank cried out in fear, and I cried out in lust as I came like a waterfall down the stairs, and my legs went soft and week.  I lost control.  And it felt great.
   Irv made a break for it.  He tried to run past Debbie, but her leg shot out in a side kick with blinding speed and perfect form, and I could hear his ribs shattering as her white gym shoe caved in her chest.  Hank was a slow guy, but he was scared, and he was halfway to the kitchen by the time Irv hit the ground.  I gaped slack-jawed at the pumping of Debbie’s legs and the bouncing of her tits as she ran after him.  And passed him.  And stood in front of him.  Hank slammed against the hypertrophied ridges of her back, and fell to the ground, just a foot from the kitchen door.  “No one can be that fast,” I thought as I pulled myself up, and started to walk down the stairs.
   Debbie towered over Hank, hand on hips, her boobs jiggling as the swollen ridges of pectoral shelf twitched with anger.  “I thought you were going to make me beg for mercy, Hank?” she crowed. 
   Hank was covering his face and whimpering.  “Please,” he cried.
   “Move your hands, Hank,” she ordered, and he did.
   In a flash, Debbie punched downward, and Hank’s face exploded into a red smear on the pavement.  And there were cracks in the pavement from where Debbie had brought her fist down.  She had cracked a concrete slab were her fist.  And if it hurt her, she wasn't showing it.  Instead she smiled at me as I came down the stairs, my knees wobbling.  I should have been scared to approach her.  I should have run from her.  She could kill me with a flip of her wrist,  She was too strong to handle, too strong to be real.  But I was losing control again, and I couldn't help myself.
   “I’m sorry you had to see that, Sheila,” she said.
   But before she could finish, I was sucking her slim, dainty fingers, savoring the salty taste of Hank’s blood as I stared into the rippling, heaving, sweat-soaked majesty of her chest.  I couldn’t decide what I liked more, her pectorals or her breasts.  So I ran my hands over every inch of her torso as she giggled with delight.
   Then I felt fingers under my chin tilting my head up, and was eye-to-eye with Miss Thorson.  “My eyes are up here, Sheila,” she cooed.  I blushed.  And I came.

[BossRose]

Debbie might just be the sexiest thing ever. I can't wait for Sheila to finally give herself to her. Well written!

[Jeremy Lightning]

Another insanely hot chapter of this story, you got me hooked on Debbie's incredibly developed body, her huge, ripped, and oh so strong physique, man the way she showed off to Sheila how these men had no chance, by overpowering a machine that is stronger than 3000 horses, not men, but horses, just shows that there was just no chance, she is just too much woman for them, and probably any hundred more, if they are able to find them, I hope there is much more, especially if what she has shown so far is her barely even trying as far as muscle size is concerned! K+!