Tag: erotica

Bridgette – Midnight Rendezvous (part five)

A hot latte for a cold autumn season.
A hot latte for a cold autumn season.

Sipping on a cold vanilla latte, it’s been two hours since Sean left the party. He found a late night coffee stop several blocks away from the Convention Center and decided to stop in for a caffeine injection.

His vanilla latte tastes okay, but he wasn’t looking for taste. He was looking for a place to sit around until he can be reunited with Beautiful Bridgette. Their previous coupling didn’t drain the energy out of his system. On the contrary, it filled him with more passion than ever before. He craved to be with her again. Her musky smell. The feel of her taut skin. Her gorgeous face. Her rock hard muscles. He needed every inch of her. He felt like he could scream with frustration at not being able to be with her at this moment.

How is this possible? Is be becoming obsessed with her? Sean considers himself to be a reasonable man. He knows obsession can lead someone down a dangerous path. He has no desire to become someone like that; someone who lets their uncontrollable lust overpower them. Sean would like to think he’s more level-headed than that.

He quickly glances at his phone. It says it’s 11:40 p.m. His battery is at 28 percent, just enough to last him for the rest of the night. He figures it will become dead at 2 a.m. or so. All he needs is to receive that magical text from her. That would make him the happiest man in the world.

Minutes pass. Sean finally finishes his bland latte. He tosses the paper cup into a nearby recycling bin. The grumpy old barista who’s working the graveyard shift smirks at Sean’s demonstration of environmental stewardship. Sean gives an obligatory smirk back. He decides to shift his attention away from Mr. Tattooed Barista and stares at the late night traffic. It’s surprisingly busy considering it’s nearly midnight. It must be attendees of the bodybuilding competition going home for the night. That must be it.

His phone then buzzes. His heart stops momentarily. He checks his phone. It’s a text. From Bridgette! It reads:

Hi darling! It’s me! I’m finally back in my room. You know which hotel. I’m in room 1245. Come on up! Can’t wait…lol

She’s right. He does know exactly which hotel she’s staying at. Sean doesn’t hesitate for a moment and skips out of the coffee shop to head toward his next destination. Her hotel room. He doesn’t quite know what to expect, but he’s certain he’ll treasure it for the rest of his life. The human mind has a funny way of remembering key moments. Sometimes, it’s the anticipation of a momentous event you remember more than the actual event itself. Perhaps this is one of those instances. Or not.

Moments later, Sean is strolling into a quiet hotel lobby. He seeks out the elevators as inconspicuously as possible. He eyes a row of metal doors and speed walks to it. He pushes “up” and waits. The doors open. He allows a flood of drunken tourists to pour out. As loud and obnoxious as college kids on spring break, he’s glad to walk inside and have the elevator all to himself. He pushes “12” and watches the doors close in front of him. He arrives on the 12th floor faster than he’d expected. Whoa! These elevators travel up really damn fast. Sean is genuinely impressed.

A luxury hotel lobby.
A luxury hotel lobby.

Sean gets lost for a bit, but eventually finds room #1245. Butterflies are swarming inside his stomach. He can’t figure out why. Why is he still as nervous as a schoolboy to see her? It’s not like Bridgette is a total stranger. He knows her! But for whatever incomprehensible reason, he still feels anxious to meet her. It must be this unbreakable spell she’s cast over him. It’s forcing him to act irrationally. He knocks on the door. The door quickly opens.

“Hello. Good evening. Come on in,” Bridgette greets him. Dressed in sweatpants and an old workout undershirt, Bridgette looks as though she’s just showered. Wearing no makeup and none of the elegance she exhibited earlier in the evening, Bridgette still remains as beautiful as ever. She’s dazzling to behold. Her white undershirt generously shows off her muscles. Sean sees a travel-friendly pull up bar set up on the far side of the room.

“I’ve been doing pull ups for the past 20 minutes before you got here. Today is back day for me, but I haven’t had time to get to a gym because of all the bullshit I had to get done earlier,” Bridgette says. Sean notices the sweat dripping down her flawless face. He removes his shoes, jacket and places his phone, wallet and keys on top of a maple wood credenza. Bridgette leaps up, grabs the pull up bar, and astonishingly busts out 15 repetitions before plopping down back on her feet. Sean feels a tingling sensation dance through his system.

“How on earth can you do that?” Sean’s legs quiver underneath him. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to stand up straight for much longer.

“Practice makes perfect, right?” Bridgette grabs a white towel off the credenza and wipes a drip of sweat off her brow. She looks at Sean and knows she has him in her grip. Not one who frequently enjoys wielding power over people, Bridgette occasionally does get an adrenaline rush from maximizing her sexuality to her advantage. Throughout her adult life Bridgette has realized, not in a narcissistic way, her looks give her power over men (and women). She’s tried to remain humble, but that power can be intoxicating at times. She agrees that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

“Practice? More like hard work. You look incredible, Bridgette. But you already know that.”

“Please. I just got out of the shower. My hair is dripping wet and I haven’t an ounce of makeup on. I probably look like a disaster.” She leans in and kisses Sean. She catches him mid-breath, causing him to gasp. When their lips part, he places his hands on her curvy hips and strokes up and down.

“Stop it, Bridgette honey. You don’t look anything like a disaster. You look so…” She places her index finger against his lips. He hushes up. Bridgette suggestively sticks her finger inside Sean’s mouth and he obediently sucks on it.

“I’m kidding. Do you like how that tastes? What do I taste like?” She removes her finger from his mouth. He comes to her and nibbles on her earlobe.

“Sweet as honey.”

“I like that analogy.” Bridgette sits down on the bed and takes a drink of water from her water bottle. Sean plops himself down on a nearby chair. They say nothing for several moments.

“You don’t like crowds all that much, do you?” she inquires.

“I don’t. I’m not claustrophobic or anything. There’s something about big crowds that make me nervous. I feel like I don’t matter, that I’m just an ant marching up a hill along with millions of other ants. I cease to be an individual. Am I crazy for feeling that way?”

“No, not at all. I think I know what you mean.” Police sirens roar by. Bridgette takes another swig of her water.

“But you’re not in that situation. You were the center of attention. All eyes were on you, my dear.”

Bridgette spreads out across the bed and smothers her face into a pillow. “Yeah, which gets exhausting as hell. I love the spotlight, but not quite like that. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.” Sean jumps out of his chair and lands on top of Bridgette. He kisses her on the neck and caresses her massive quads. She strokes his hair.

Jill Rudison is ready for anything.
Jill Rudison is ready for anything.

“You mean you couldn’t wait to go outside with me and do it in front of all those people!” Sean gets bold and reaches into her panties and strokes her clit. It’s already engorged and moist. Bridgette not only allows him to do this, she gasps in response.

“Oh God! You’re getting frisky, Sean!” Pulling his fingers away from her cleft, Sean kisses her lips and lifts her dirty workout shirt off her and tosses it across the room.

“I was sure frisky with you on that balcony.”

“You sure were, dirty boy. I still can’t believe we did it out in public like that. What the fuck were we thinking?” Not to be outdone, Bridgette cups his balls and feels Sean’s erection. She begins to unzip his pants as he pinches her taut nipples.

“We weren’t thinking. That’s the point. We just did what we felt like.” Sean kicks off his pants and rips off his underwear. Bridgette pinches the base of his erection as Sean removes his shirt. Now completely nude, he seeks to make sure she becomes the same way.

“Are we doing the same thing?” Bridgette asks.

“Yes, except with a little bit more privacy,” he says. “Check that. A lot more privacy.”

“Indeed!”

Bridgette slips out of her sweatpants and removes her panties. She lobs them at Sean’s face and he smells it deeply, taking in her feminine musk. Sweet perfume, as far as he’s concerned. She playfully shoves Sean onto the bed and poses for him. Double biceps. Front lat spread. Side chest. Side triceps. Abdominal and thigh. He can clearly see every muscle fiber on her immaculate figure. She sure knows how to entertain a crowd!

“Flawless, dear Bridgette. Absolutely flawless. You are a spectacle to behold.” Sean feels his erection poke his bellybutton. That’s usually a sign he’s aroused far beyond normal. Bridgette definitely knows how to drive a man crazy.

“You haven’t seen a spectacle yet,” Bridgette warns. She sashays toward the light switch and turns it down to 25 percent. The room dims to a romantic dark orange glow. Bridgette then walks to the curtains and opens them wide, letting the bright moonlight flood the darkness. Sean makes his way toward her.

“What else do you have in mind?”

She turns around to face him.

“Let me show you.”

Bridgette swoops in and lifts Sean onto her shoulders. She playfully tosses him onto the bed and lets out an animalistic roar, loud enough for the entire floor of guests to hear. He laughs at her silliness, but quickly discovers she isn’t messing around. Bridgette jumps on the bed and mounts him. Wrapping her strong legs around his torso, she strokes his penis up and down and never breaks eye contact with him. Sean holds his breath in hopes of delaying his gratification. Like a hungry lion stalking its prey, Bridgette squats down onto Sean’s penis, allowing him to penetrate her. They share a collective moan at the moment of their intimate joining.

Unapologetic and as violent as he’s ever seen her, Bridgette rides him with a level of ferociousness that borders on maniacal. He knows he’s going to come faster than he’d like. Bridgette also senses her impending orgasm, and lowers herself to kiss him in hopes of postponing both of their climaxes for as long as possible.

Their lips meet. He bites her lower lip. She feels pain, but enjoys it. She returns the favor and bites his tongue. Sean tastes her sticky saliva but doesn’t mind it at all. They kiss once more before Bridgette’s final thrust fiercely pushes them both over the edge.

Sean groans as he empties himself into her. Bridgette also climaxes as her pelvic movements slow down methodically. He feels her vaginal walls contract powerfully around him. Bridgette, completely sapped of energy, collapses on top of him. They kiss again, this time deeper than before. She giggles. He exhales with satisfaction. Their first coupling of the evening comes to a glorious end.

A comfortable bed to sleep in...and do other things.
A comfortable bed to sleep in…and do other things.

Bridgette couldn’t remember if she drifted off to sleep, but she finally opens her eyes and looks at the bedside clock. It reads 1:45 a.m. She listens closely to Sean and decides he is quietly snoring. His snoring stops as he too awakens.

“I love you, Bridgette.”

“Sweeter words have never been spoken to me before,” she says.

The lovers fall asleep together again.

Two hours later, Sean wakes up to the sound of Bridgette flushing the toilet. He looks at the clock and notices it’s almost a quarter to 4. The night is still dark, perhaps at its darkest. There is enough moonlight to allow him to fully regard her striking beauty.

“God, you are amazing. A true goddess.” Sean sits up in the bed and stretches his arms. Still naked, Bridgette falls to the floor and does 50 pushups. Watching her exercise makes Sean’s heart skip a beat. His erection returns, much to his gratefulness.

“I’m just doing pushups, not summoning a storm or shooting lightning out of my fingers.” Bridgette sits up on the floor and mimics firing electrical bolts out of her hands. Sean pretends to get shocked and falls down on the floor next to her.

“You’ve got me, Goddess. I shouldn’t have displeased you!”

Sean feels the soft rug underneath his skin. “Wow. This is so damn soft. I could sleep down here if I have to.”

“You should. I don’t know where the hotel got it, but I definitely want to steal it.” Bridgette touches the rug with her bare skin and lets out a subtle sigh. She didn’t grow up from a wealthy family, so staying at these hotels is the closest she gets to experiencing the life of luxury. As a pro bodybuilder and part-time pornographic actress, she barely gets by paying her bills month to month. Sean doesn’t have that problem, but he sympathizes with her.

“Do it. I won’t tell anybody.” Sean licks the back of Bridgette’s neck and caresses her firm butt. She rolls to her side and flexes her left arm. Sean kisses her bicep peak. His erection pokes Bridgette in her belly, the tip of his penis bouncing off her six-pack abdomen. He inhales to keep control. Bridgette twists her body toward him and wraps her strong legs around his torso. She playfully squeezes, stealing his breath. Sean attempts to push her bowling ball calves out of the way but fails to counter her impressive strength.

“You’re not getting away that easily, I can tell you that!” Bridgette smiles. Sean can only smile back.

“I have no intention of going anywhere darling,” he says.

She mercifully releases him and spreads her legs out wide. Sean lays a trail of kisses that start at her feet – Sean isn’t a “feet” kind of guy, but he’s willing to change his mind! – and ends at her inner thigh. Sean still cannot believe how incredibly thick her quads are. He bets she could crush a watermelon between her legs if she wanted to. Odds are she’s done feats of strength like that before.

“Well, if you don’t plan on going anywhere, you might as well please me until I beg you to stop.” Bridgette’s innocent smile turns to a devilish grin. Sean knows exactly what she’s talking about.

Angela Salvagno being her usual sexy self.
Angela Salvagno being her usual sexy self.

Sean levels himself and places his fingers between Bridgette’s engorged clitoris. She lets out a modest moan in response to his touch. He dips down and places his entire mouth over her pubis region, his tongue meeting the ultrasensitive tip of her large feminine endowment. Sean purses his lips around her clit and strokes her as his tongue laps the head. He can sense her squirming uncontrollably. Her eyes are closed. She’s doing nothing but enjoying the gratifying sensations running through her entire body.

Bridgette can feel heat rising out of every pore. She doesn’t just feel pleasure; she feels an intense love for a man whom she met randomly on a street corner in the suburbs as part of her job. Memories of their first encounter and riding with him to the luxury condo where they filmed their love scene come flooding back like a tsunami. She’s about to come but her physical experience is the last thing that’s on her mind.

Sean intensifies his oral motions as he notices her writhing more. An audible gasp escapes from her lips just moments before she hits her satisfying climax. Wanting her to enjoy this moment like nothing else before, Sean jabs his tongue inside her throbbing vagina right before jerking her clit off with his fingers. Her meaty labia are slick with moisture. Bridgette raises her pelvis in anticipation of her climax.

Finally, she comes and her entire body shudders. She even releases an involuntary fart as her vaginal walls contract. Sean tries to suppress a giggle but cannot help himself. Minutes later, still basking in the glow of a satisfying orgasm, Bridgette sits up and kisses Sean’s lips – the same lips that gave her immeasurable pleasure just a few moments ago.

“Thank you lover.”

That’s all she can say. Sean doesn’t need her to say anything else.

Instead, Bridgette responds with actions instead of words. She picks up Sean like a rag doll and plops him onto the bed. Then she proceeds to put her mouth over his entire penis. She gently strokes his scrotum as she covers his entire manhood with her warm saliva. Sean looks up at the ceiling and tries to take it all in. He peers out the window and sees the full moon staring back at him. Like a werewolf eating its prey, Bridgette consumes his erection with reckless abandon.

As she laps her tongue around his sensitive endowment, Sean groans loudly. That’s the cue she needs to know he’s close. One last squeeze of his testicles does the trick, as she feels Sean’s penis contract up and down. His hot semen shoots into her mouth. Without being prompted, she generously swallows it all. Even more generously, she cleans up his deflating penis with her tongue and a tissue she finds on the credenza. She throws the smelly tissue into a trashcan. Bridgette doesn’t normally like the taste of semen, but as far as she’s concerned Sean’s juices taste like sweet dessert to cap off a romantic evening.

The time is now 4:18 a.m. Totally and utterly spent, Sean and Bridgette fall asleep into each other’s arms without a damn care in the world.

Sexy Summer Short Story #3 – Three Strikes

Safeco Field, home of my beloved (but frustratingly inept) Seattle Mariners.
Safeco Field, home of my beloved (but frustratingly inept) Seattle Mariners.

Author’s note: The following story is inspired by a reader who recently e-mailed me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com and suggested this plot. As someone who always wants to please his readers, I enthusiastically obliged.

Enjoy! Once again, feel free to submit your story ideas if anything in particular strike your fancy. My ears are always open. I may not follow through on all your suggestions, but I will try my best to take your feedback into consideration.

***

I really want to go home. Right NOW.

I usually love going to baseball games, but this is too much. I’m squirming in my seat. I can’t focus on the game…or anything for that matter. Our team just hit a home run. The crowd is on their feet cheering loudly. I, however, feel absolutely no emotions whatsoever. My mind is elsewhere. My thoughts are preoccupied with millions of thoughts, emotions, and reactions.

Thanks to her.

Her name is Gabby. She’s the new girlfriend of my best friend Jake. Jake and I have been buddies since we played little league ball together when we were little kids. We hang out all the time. We’ve been to hundreds of baseball games together. Occasionally, he’ll bring along a cute girl he’s just hooked up with. Tonight is no exception. But what is unusual is the kind of girl he brought with him.

She’s a bodybuilder. Not a bikini model who likes to use the elliptical machine, but a real life bodybuilder. The real deal. Gabby has muscles that are bigger than that of most of the players on the field. Everywhere she goes, she gets stares from strangers. No one can help but look at her. She’s gorgeous, confident, strong, and built like a saber-toothed tiger.

Fuck. I am so fucking jealous of him!

Ever since I hit puberty, one particular kind of woman has always intrigued me: Muscular girls.

Holy shit, they drive me insane. I used to steal issues of fitness and bodybuilding magazines from my local grocery store and jerk off to the brawny ladies who grace their pages. My mom once caught me in the act, which is still the single most embarrassing moment of my life. We never talk about it. Ever.

All my life I’ve wanted a strong beautiful woman to be my girlfriend. But that shit never happens. After all, buff chicks like Gabby don’t exactly grow on trees. So how the fuck did Jake get so damn lucky?

FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

I knew he was dating a new girl, but I never in a million years ever imagined she would look like this. As thick as an oxen but as graceful as a ballerina, she’s without a doubt the Woman of My Dreams. She has arms that can snap a steel rod in half and legs that could crush a watermelon. She’s perfect in every way. I’ve had dreams about women like her. But my dumbass best friend gets to bang her instead! What the fuck is this shit???

When you think of Gabby, think about Georgina McConnell.
When you think of Gabby, think about Georgina McConnell.

Just look at them. They’re sharing a box of Cracker Jack and giggling to each other. He’s feeding her, as if he’s her personal servant. I want to be her personal fucking servant! I want to be her slave! Where the hell do I sign up to become the lover/slave of a gorgeous female bodybuilder?

Jake just nibbled on her meaty shoulder. She gasps with delight. A little old grandma sitting in front of them shushes them to be quiet. They giggle again, knowing they’ve just been caught being naughty. It’s sickening to watch!

FUUUUUCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!

The past two hours have been torture. All I can do is fantasize about being with Gabby. I want to be the one who makes out with her. I want to be the one who holds her hand in public. I want her to lift me up, drop me on my bed, and savagely make love to me all fucking night long. I want us to be the unstoppable power couple that we were meant to be.

Envy is enough to drive a man crazy. Wow. I really need a drink.

Unable to stand it anymore, I politely excuse myself and walk down the stairs toward the concessions area. There’s a full bar inside the stadium located not far from here. I think I’ll go there instead and down a few shots of tequila or whatever.

“I’ll be back in a few. I need something more stiff to drink, if you catch my drift!” I politely say this with my teeth clenched. Jake nods his head in agreement.

“Enjoy that! We’ll see you around. If we score any more runs, we’ll let you know,” she says. Her lyrical voice is music to my ears. She’s divine. She’s perfect. She’s…meant to be mine.

Damn it. I really need to get out of here!

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting all by myself at the stadium tavern sipping on God-awful tequila. It tastes like gasoline, but it’s all I can afford. Payday is next week.

The bartender is nice enough, but he barely speaks English. I think Polish is his native language, but I’m not totally sure about that.

I'm not much of a fan of tequila, but that sure looks good.
I’m not much of a fan of tequila, but that sure looks good.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake and Gabby enter the tavern, holding hands and skipping along. They don’t seem interested in ordering a drink. They also don’t seem to notice me sitting all alone at the bar. The bartender just excused himself temporarily because he needed to grab more lemons from the kitchen. It’s dark in here, so there’s a good reason why they don’t see me.

“No one’s in here. Let’s fuck in the bathroom back there!” Jake murmurs to Gabby. He may be speaking softly, but I have really good hearing so I can understand every single word they’re saying.

“Yes, I’d love that!” Gabby responds. She grabs him and kisses him deeply, taking control of the situation. She leads him to a back area and I hear a door open and slam shut.

Intrigued, I immediately leave my seat and scurry in their direction. Sure enough, there’s a unisex single stall bathroom at the back of the tavern. I can hear the crowd roar in the background, but that’s the last thing on my mind. I approach the closed door and hear laughter, sounds of kissing, and clothes being ripped off.

“Quick! Someone may knock on the door! Hurry, Jake!” Gabby begs.

I place my ear to the door and listen intently.

A zipper is unzipped. The kissing has stopped. Jake lets out a passionate groan, which is followed by Gabby also moaning with pleasure. The unmistakable sound of flesh banging against flesh commences. The bartender has still not returned, so I figure no one will witness me listening in on their impromptu fucking.

Always use protection, kids.
Always use protection, kids.

Gabby screams with reckless joy. Jake tries to muffle his own screams, but fails. His banging grows louder and more furious. Her wails become throaty and fervent. Someone kicks the wall on accident, but that only heightens the situation futher.

“God, yes! YES, Jake, YESSSSSSS!!!”

My penis becomes hard at her exclamation of carnal glee. My breathing speeds up. I press my ear against the door as close as possible.

“Oh, fuck!” Jake yells.

The sound of bodies rustling around suggests they’re switching positions. I hear Gabby’s heels clanging against the linoleum floor. Jake is nowhere to be heard. I think the bartender has returned, but I don’t give a shit about him. My attention is on the here and now. In a meek voice, Gabby proclaims to her lover:

“I’m going to come! I’m going…to come….”

The banging stops. Gabby squeals. Jake sighs. I may not be able to see what’s going on in there, but I think they’re done. I don’t hear any more audible noises. I think I hear water running. Or is that heavy breathing? God, it could be anything…

Suddenly, the door opens. I fall on my face into the bathroom. I look up and see Gabby’s muscular calf right in front of my nose. Jake gasps, pulls my legs into the cramped room, and quickly closes the door, locking the three of us inside. I have no idea if the bartender saw us. Regardless, that’s not important right now.

“Holy shit, dude. Were you listening in on us?” Jake asks.

I quickly stand up. The bathroom is a bit larger than I expected, but still too small for three adults to be inside. Gabby’s muscular frame alone takes up most of the space. She’s just pulled up her panties and straightens out her skirt. Jake still hasn’t zipped up his jeans and has just thrown a used condom into the trashcan. I’m blushing uncontrollably. My mind a jumbled mess, I try to think of a way to apologize for spying on them.

“Yeah, man. I was listening. To all of it, from start to finish. Damn, man. I was sitting at the bar and saw you two storming in,” I confess. “I couldn’t help it.”

Silence.

After a brief moment, Gabby flashes Jake a wicked smile. Jake smirks back. Even though they haven’t spoken a single word, they’re apparently in agreement about something. I’m confused.

Gabby squeezes my arm with a level of force that takes me by surprise. She doesn’t look angry. Neither does Jake. What gives?

Gabby reaches into her purse and takes out another condom. She kisses me on the cheek and whispers into my ear:

“Threesome?”

Sexy Summer Short Story #2 – 4th of July Fireworks

Fireworks lighting up the night sky.
Fireworks lighting up the night sky.

Big crowds always make Jeff uncomfortable, but once a year he can make an exception. Strolling through Lake Marino Park on a hot and humid 4th of July, Jeff takes in the sights and smells of his small town’s annual Independence Day celebration.

Little kids with patriotic red, white, and blue face paint, little old grandmas teaching arts and crafts, teenagers enjoying their summer freedom, and the rest of us eating barbecue and getting progressively more drunk as the day goes on….it’s what makes the 4th of July what it is.

His buddies told him they’ll meet him at the southern edge of the lake at 9:00 p.m. It’s 8:15, so he has a solid 45 minutes to waste until he can have an excuse to get drunk. Jeff decides to peruse through the booths usually reserved for local businesses and politicians selling their services to the general public. That sounds like a reasonable thing to do.

The usual sort of chiropractors, massage therapists, tax attorneys, city council candidates, and vitamin stores make their presence known this year. Jeff thinks he voted for the nice lady who’s running for re-election, but he can’t remember. He’s a bit skeptical about just how impactful the city council is on his everyday life.

One booth in particular catches his attention, however. It’s for West Hill Fitness, a small family-owned fitness gym located right across the street from where he works. Jeff has sold out to Corporate America and exercises at 24 Hour Fitness, but he’s strongly considering whether he wants to transfer over to WHF and support the neighborhood business community. He sees a line of guys standing in front of the booth, which captures his curiosity.

After peering inside the booth, Jeff can clearly see why a large crowd has formed around it. Inside is one of West Hill Fitness’s female personal trainers challenging guys to an arm wrestling contest. Jeff reads the sign in front of the booth. It says for $5, you can try to arm wrestle WHF’s top female personal trainer. If you can beat her, you win a container of premiere strawberry protein powder, a brand Jeff has never heard of before. That doesn’t mean it’s not premiere, however.

Delicious barbecue ribs.
Delicious barbecue ribs.

The money raised will go to charity toward providing free lunch to low-income kids during the summer months. Jeff figures this is a worthy cause, drops a crisp $5 bill into a jar, and stands in line.

He takes a closer look at the female personal trainer to see who he’s about to go up against.

Whoa.

DAMN!!!!!

Curvaceously feminine yet chiseled as a Greek statue, she’s impressively muscular considering her young age. Jeff estimates she’s in her early to mid-20s. She looks like a pro bodybuilder, with a wide chest, broad shoulders, ripped biceps, a finely shaped midsection, and legs as thick as trees. Her plain looking face looks somewhat pretty in the fading summer light, but her real assets are located from the neck down. Jeff has never seen her around town before, but her buff physique is persuading him to consider switching gyms!

Contestant after contestant fails to beat her at arm wrestling. Her name is Zoe, and she’s WHF’s senior personal trainer. At the tender age of 24, rumor has it she began bodybuilding at 19 years old and has never looked back since. Jeff is next in line. He’s impressed Zoe hasn’t wavered yet. Shouldn’t she be exhausted by now?

Finally, it’s his turn. He sits down at the table and shakes her hand.

“Pleased to meet you. So no one has beaten you yet?”

Zoe shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. Do you think you can be the first?” She places her elbow on the table and offers him her hand. Jeff grips her palm and lets out a deep breath.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Jeff strikes first, forcing her arm backward with all his might. The thinning crowd behind them (most of them have given up trying to defeat her) cheer loudly, half of them siding with Zoe and the other half rooting for the male challenger. Zoe shows off an impressive bounce back move and brings them back to neutral. Sweat drips down his face. Sweat has already been dripping down her face for hours. Jeff is confident he can win, considering the sheer volume of challengers who have preceded him. Surely she’s bound to get tired eventually?

Pushing as hard as he can, Jeff tightens his grip around her hand, causing it to make a cracking sound. Did he hurt her? She winces in pain, telling him that he indeed did hurt her. Feeling guilty but wanting to win, he expulses all the energy he has left and finally slams her arm backward. The crowd goes wild. Jeff looks at her with concern. The owner of the gym, some middle aged dude with too many tattoos, raises Jeff’s noncompetitive arm up in the air and declares him the winner.

He hands Jeff the large container of strawberry protein powder and gives him a free seven day pass to visit the gym whenever he likes.

“Perhaps I’ll stop by sometime this week,” Jeff promises. He’s not sure if he’ll keep his word. His first order of business is making sure Zoe is alright.

When you think of Zoe, think of Dani Reardon.
When you think of Zoe, think of Dani Reardon.

Defeated, fatigued, and in immense pain, Zoe stands up and holds her hand close to her body. Jeff wants to comfort her, but is suddenly pushed to the side by a male personal trainer who immediately tends to her. He escorts Zoe to a nearby ambulance and asks a medical professional to assess her injury. Jeff feels guilty and sullenly walks away from the booth. The owner tells him he has nothing to worry about.

“Zoe’s a tough girl. She’ll be fine. See you later this week!” The owner then opens a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon (yuck) and downs it. Gross.

An hour later, Jeff decides to abandon his friends, who have decided instead of wade around the lake and smoke weed in front of the ducks. Jeff isn’t a smoker, so he has no interest in joining them in hitting the reefer. Instead, he searches for Zoe with the intent of apologizing to her.

Suddenly, he finds her. Standing in front of a row of portable toilets, Zoe has an ice pack taped around her hand. Nervously, Jeff approaches her.

“Hey, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I can get ridiculously competitive at times.” Zoe turns around and smiles at Jeff.

“Don’t worry about it. This isn’t the first time I’ve hurt myself doing this sort of thing,” she says. “I do this every year. Maybe this should be my last.”

Jeff and Zoe chat for several minutes. As it nears 10:00 o’clock, Jeff remembers the fireworks show is about to begin.

“Shall we head toward the baseball field where the fireworks show is going to happen?”

Zoe leans in and surprisingly kisses Jeff on the lips. Jeff’s heart races.

“I have a better idea. Follow me!”

Unsure about what’s going to happen, Zoe leads him (with her good hand) far away from the thousands of celebratory people and toward a dark woodsy area. The sun is almost completely set. They stop at a walking bridge that goes over a creek. Unexpectedly, Zoe unzips her shorts and pulls her panties down to her ankles. She leans against the stone bridge and kisses him again.

“You want to make it up to me? Pleasure me!”

She spreads her legs out wide and shows off her swollen clitoris. Without thinking, Jeff gets down on his knees and puts her enormous clit inside his mouth. He begins sucking away with reckless abandon, unconcerned if any passersby see them in action. Jeff has never seen a clit this big before, but he doesn’t think too much about it. Sticking his tongue deep inside her moist passageway, Zoe lets out a soft moan that quickly becomes louder and more passionate.

“Oh, yes! Keep pleasing me Jeff…”

Jeff nibbles playfully on her clit, which causes her to gasp. He sticks one finger inside her vagina, then two, then three…then all five. He opens her as fully as she’s able to open, all while lapping her clit with vicious ferocity. He senses she’s about to come, judging from her inability to keep her balance.

A romantic stone walking bridge.
A romantic stone walking bridge.

“I’m almost there!”

He stabs the tip of his tongue once more inside her, which sends her over the edge. In the distance the sound of fireworks booms across the sky. Jeff notices several people have stopped what they’re doing and are watching them. He doesn’t give two shits about what they think.

As Zoe’s orgasm ends, she pulls up her shorts and kisses him again, tasting her own essence dripping from his lips. They hug for a long time.

The fireworks show isn’t just happening on the baseball field. It’s also happening right here, between these two unexpected lovers.

Happy 4th of July!

Sexy Summer Short Story #1 – Room 916

The one and only Italian Muscle Goddess Mavi Gioia.
The one and only Italian Muscle Goddess Mavi Gioia.

Hello readers!

With summer in full swing, I’ve decided to spend the month of July writing short single-post sexy stories involving female bodybuilders (who else?) and the men and women who love them. Time is short, we all have busy lives, so who has time to read a massive four-part story when a simple 1,500 word post is sufficient?

I agree, so here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to launch a series of short FBB-focused sexy stories that are no longer than 1,500 words in length. No need for extensive back stories. No need for expository dialogue (or any dialogue, for that matter). No need for follow through. What happens next to these characters, you may ask?

Who cares? That’s up to your imagination!

So, do you have a story idea that you really want me to write about? I’m going to guess most of you are here for my nonfiction articles, but I do know for a fact a small handful of you actually like my fictional writing, so I’m reaching out to you folks. Post your ideas in the comment section below or send me an e-mail at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. If you’d like to submit a short story yourself, let me know as well!

Without further ado, here’s Sexy Summer Short Story #1 – Room 916.

***

From the moment she sat down, I could not keep my eyes off her. Nor could anybody else at the bar, for that matter. Her broad shoulders, swollen arms, and killer calves were a dead giveaway that she is no ordinary woman.

The bartender cautiously approached her seat, as if he didn’t know how to behave around her. Why did he have fear in his eyes as he timidly asked her what she wanted to drink? She appears to be harmless. She’s not dangerous. What’s his deal?

“Whiskey. Straight,” she replies.

I like her already!

As quick as a rabbit escaping a predator, the bartender scurries off to a back room to find the perfect bottle of whiskey for this remarkable customer. In addition to myself, there are eight other people sitting around the bar. Six men and two women. One of these women is her. The other looks to be nearing 80 and carries herself as if she’s lived a depressing life. I feel sorry for her.

I quickly glance at the muscle-bound eye candy to see what we’re dealing with here. We look to be about the same age. She’s blonde, although I highly doubt that’s her true hair color. There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

With her heels on, she towers over everyone. Standing at a solid 6’, she’s probably more like 5’9” or so. I’ve never had a special affinity for tall women, but I’m about to make an exception. I’ve also never been into muscular women, but I’m definitely going to make an exception.

The bartender returns with her whiskey. He sets it down on the counter. She immediately picks it up, downs it, and requests a refill. Now that’s my kind of gal! The hapless bartender pours her another glass. This time, she takes her time and sips it deliberately.

I look down at my vodka and tonic and feel like a little boy playing street ball with the big kids. I’m not much of a whiskey guy, but I may need to reconsider my drinking preferences.

Wearing a tight pink dress that generously shows off every single muscular curve on her powerful body, my manhood becomes harder with every move she makes. The way she sips her whiskey. The manner in which she watches the evening news with disdain. The mechanics of her impossibly rock hard body that’s undeniably commanding yet unquestionably feminine at the same time. She’s truly a one-of-a-kind…

Just as I get lost in my own thoughts, she catches me staring at her. I try to turn my head away as inconspicuously as I can, but I know I’ve been caught red handed. What’s the point at hiding my fascination with her?

She smiles at me. We make eye contact. I feel my blood boiling. My heart flutters. A surge of energy races throughout my body. She doesn’t appear to be offended or creeped out by my voyeurism. In fact, she seems to welcome it.

I smile back. She nods her head, acknowledging my presence. We may only be 30 feet away, but I feel like I’m connecting with her on a spiritual level. It sounds crazy, but my intuition is almost never wrong about these things. A bored couple walk away from the bar. Our elderly friend also goes home for the evening. The bar is located in the lobby of a swanky hotel, so perhaps this Muscular Goddess is in town for a bodybuilding competition. I don’t pay attention to such things – I prefer baseball and football – but I may need to start to follow the sport if she’s involved in it.

A swanky bar.
A swanky bar.

Ten minutes pass. I finish my drink. The bartender, more comfortable talking with me than her, asks if I want a second one. I decline and ask him a simple follow-up question:

“What’s she drinking?”

I don’t need to point to her. He knows exactly who I’m talking about.

I already know the answer to this, but I ask anyway because I want her to notice that I’m talking exclusively about her. She clearly has overheard our conversation because she offers up the answer herself.

“Whiskey straight. No ice. Just the good stuff.” All ears turn toward her. Her low rumbling voice sends tremors throughout the room. Never in my life have I ever heard a woman’s voice that deep before. Instead of being turned off by it, I surprisingly find myself helplessly aroused by it.

“Thanks. I’ll have what she’s having.”

The room chuckles in response to my lame joke. She does too. She raises her eyebrow toward me and gives me a sassy smirk. I’m surprised I don’t die from a heart attack right on the spot. Thankfully, my blood pressure remains normal and I don’t appear to be meeting my Maker anytime soon.

Minutes later, the bartender returns with my drink. I try to down it with the veracity of the Muscle Goddess, but I cough like a high school kid drinking beer for the first time. She doesn’t hide her amusement. Embarrassed and red-in-the-face (both literally and figuratively), I laugh it off in hopes of saving my dignity.

Whiskey neat. My drink of choice.
Whiskey neat. My drink of choice.

We share a few more flirty glances, but exchange no further words. As it nears 11:30 p.m., she finishes her whiskey and gets up to leave. Deflated, I watch her pick up her purse and walk away, knowing I have absolutely no chance at getting acquainted with her.

She makes a sudden turn toward me and drops a business card in front of my empty glass. She doesn’t speak a word. She makes no eye contact. Remarkably, nobody notices this subtle exchange of information. As she walks toward the elevator (which tells me she’s staying at the hotel), I take a look at the business card:

Katrina Catalina
Professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, and nutrition coach

On the back of the card, scribbled in pen, is a simple message: Room 916. Midnight. Be there.

My breathing stops. I can barely move. Is this what I think it means?

Oh. My. God.

A half hour later, I find myself pacing around an empty hallway on the 9th floor. Standing just outside of room #916, I wonder whether this is a genuine proposition or a mean spirited joke. Well, there’s only one way to find out.

I nervously knock on the door and wait. For what seems like an eternity, I hear footsteps approach the door. My body tenses up. Sweat drips down my face. Is this for real –

The door opens. It’s Katrina. Wearing nothing but a sexy ocean blue negligee, she grabs my hand and fiercely pulls me into her room.

“Come on in!”

Katrina kicks the door closed and leads me inside. We hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes. Without her heels, we see almost eye-to-eye (she’s still slightly taller than me). We kiss. Her tongue invades my mouth. I nearly choke. She giggles and pats me on the cheek. We continue to look at each other for a long moment.

“Shall we fuck?” she asks. Her growling voice is enough to completely turn me on.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I reply.

My best wishes go out to Marthe Sundby, who is battling cancer at the moment. Go Marthe!
My best wishes go out to Marthe Sundby, who is battling cancer at the moment. Go Marthe!

She tears off her negligee and exposes her fully naked body. My eyes greedily take in her magnificent muscular frame. I rip apart my clothes and join her nudity. My manhood is rock hard, ready to enter her. Katrina flexes her big muscles, showing off a double biceps pose that sends me over the edge of sanity. I grab her hips and slam her against the back of a leather couch. She gasps audibly and sticks out her firm bottom, beckoning me to take her from behind.

“Fuck me.”

Will do.

Gripping her hips, I slowly push my penis inside her, inch by inch. We share a mutual moan at the exact moment I completely enter her. A few rhythmic thrusts precede more violent ones as I give her everything I got. Katrina bends forward and widens her stance to allow me to penetrate her deeper. Heavy breathing, the scandalous sound of flesh banging against flesh, and uninhibited screams of delight fill the hot and humid air.

Katrina growls like a wild animal, which further heightens my senses. I know I’m about to come, but I don’t want things to end yet. I want to make love to her forever and ever. But before I can slow our pace, Katrina squeezes her vaginal muscles together, bringing us both to orgasmic climax. I empty myself into her as her wet passageway pulsates with orgasm. She buries her face into a pillow to muffle her scream. I groan as the last few spurts of my ejaculation subside.

We remain like that for several minutes. Still hard, I refuse to pull out of her. She doesn’t seem like she wants me to leave her anytime soon.

She turns her head around and we kiss. We don’t utter a single word.

Pure silence.

And that’s the way it should be.

The Benevolent Voyeur and the Female Bodybuilder – Part Two

Rebekah Kresila looking like a well-trained athlete.
Rebekah Kresila looking like a well-trained athlete.

The following morning before breakfast, Rebecca found herself staring long and hard at the $500 lying on her coffee table. It’s as if the smug stare of Benjamin Franklin were directed toward her, with Old Ben warning her not to go through with this madness.

A voice on the television informs her that the captured aid worker was in fact executed by ISIS in the most brutal fashion imaginable. Thankfully, the network spares its viewers the gruesome details, but the general idea remains loud and clear. We live in an unforgiving world. Sometimes, we cannot let reason or logic dictate our actions. This isn’t the way Rebecca wants the world to work, but she accepts this is the way it is regardless of her feelings.

The hour-long jog on the treadmill goes by so slowly Rebecca could have sworn it took two hours. But indeed, only 60 minutes pass before she finds herself taking a short shower with Katy Perry music blasting in the background. Thank God for Katy. We may live in a world with sexually deviant stalkers and international terrorists, but at least a quick listening to “Firework” can be enough to lift your weary spirits.

Thursday is arm day, which is a day no serious weightlifter would ever skip. In fact, it seems like most people only work out their arms and nothing else. Rebecca knows better than that. As a professional female bodybuilder who one day hopes to achieve elite-level status, she must be diligent and strategic while at the gym. Today is no exception.

“Nice arms, little lady!” Rebecca doesn’t need to turn around to know whose voice this gratuitous compliment comes from. It’s Gregory, a somewhat dirty old man who frequents the gym during the early hours of the morning. Rebecca characterizes him as “somewhat” because for an older gentleman (he appears to be in his mid to late 60s), he’s actually pretty handsome. But not movie star handsome. Let’s not get too carried away.

“Thank you, Gregory. What are you working on today?” Rebecca takes a generous swig from her water bottle. The contents are room temperature, which annoy her to no end.

“Oh, shoulders and back. Whatever I feel like doing,” he says. “When is your next competition? Didn’t you last do some a couple of months ago?” Gregory’s silver hair looks as stiff as roadkill. Does his sweat ever mix with the oil he puts in it? Rebecca apparently has time to ponder these things. She takes a look at Gregory’s biceps and notices a significant amount of size growth. She won’t say anything about that to him, however. There’s no need to feed his already oversized ego.

“Yes, I did a competition last March. It was down in San Diego,” Rebecca replies. “The next one is in Houston in eight weeks. I’m hoping to place in the top five this time around.”

Gregory looks up and down at Rebecca’s body, which sends a shiver down her spine. He doesn’t do it in a creepy kind of way, but she is a little bit “on the edge” right now for obvious reasons.

“I have no doubt you’ll place in the top five. Maybe you’ll win it all!” He laughs. She laughs too, forcing every fiber of her body to play along until she can find an excuse to exit this conversation. Thankfully, a gorgeous 40-something blonde woman walks by wearing a skimpy white athletic bra and short shorts that leave little to the imagination. Expectedly, this steals Gregory’s attention. Using Miss Blondie’s presence as an excuse to leave, Rebecca quickly makes a beeline for the free weights room and enters unnoticed.

Conveniently for her, the gym is within walking distance of her condo, as it is for hundreds of others for that matter. The early mornings are usually not too crowded, but by 8:00 a.m. the masses of people start to show up in droves. Rebecca senses now is the time when these folks might start to arrive. She grabs a pair of 65 pound dumbbells and cranks out 12 repetitions of bicep curls. This impresses all the men who are working out near her. They don’t say anything, but she knows exactly what they’re all thinking:

Not bad for a tiny Asian girl!

Rebecca estimates the gym’s clientele consists of 70 percent men and 30 percent women. The guys range from out of shape couch surfers to young men who aspire to become professional bodybuilders like her. But she doesn’t go to the gym to pick up guys. She goes to get to work. And that’s what she always does.

Of the women, there are only three regulars who are as muscular as her. There’s Candace, a 20-something black girl who’s competed before and is actively working on landing her IFBB card. Then there’s Michaela, a 19-year-old track and field athlete with a lean muscular body and breasts even smaller than hers. Rebecca used to be enormously insecure about her flat chest. Today, she’s accepted this fact and has moved on with her life.

Finally, there’s Joyce. Oh, Joyce. Rebecca suspects she’s a lesbian, but a short haircut, tattoos, and a pierced nose doesn’t necessarily mean she’s into chicks. Rebecca is definitely not one to stereotype like that. Joyce can talk your ear off if you let her. She always has something to complain about, whether it’s her flailing personal training business or her mother who’s wondering when she’s finally going to get married. Joyce is probably in her early 40s, so it’s not like she doesn’t have time to find a significant other. But by now maybe it’s a foregone conclusion that she’s not into men.

Or maybe she is. Rebecca doesn’t care either way.

Today, none of these ladies are at the gym. None of the talkative guys who endlessly flirt with her are here either. So perhaps Rebecca will be able to lift in peace and quiet.

“I’m almost done. Just a few more sets,” Rebecca tells herself.

Before leaving the gym, Rebecca sometimes visits the smoothie bar and orders something to help her recover from her workout. Today is one of those days. After finishing her workout and taking a nice long shower, Rebecca dresses and approaches the bar. This morning, a cute guy named Dale is holding down the fort. She and Dale have some history together. A few years ago at a Christmas party they met each other through a mutual friend. They both got really drunk and started to make out. One thing led to another, and before the night was out they returned to Dale’s apartment and almost had sex. They were about to do the deed until Dale, who was more drunk than Rebecca, accidentally hits his head against a wooden cabinet and suffers a bad laceration on his forehead.

Rebecca dutifully ordered a cab and took him to the hospital. They ended up not having sex that evening. That’s probably a good thing in retrospect. Dale is a good guy, but his frat boy days haven’t totally left him yet. He’s nearly 30 but still thinks he’s a freshman in college. Rebecca tends to not gravitate toward men like that.

“What’s up Dale?” Rebecca smiles and takes out her phone to check her e-mail. No messages.

“Hey, girl, hey! Looking good. Oh, not much,” Dale says. “My dog puked all over my bed this morning. That was fun. What about you?”

Learning about Dale’s dog barfing up his breakfast was not the type of news she was in the mood to hear. But that’s Dale for you, ladies and gentlemen.

“Not much. Same old, same old. That’s what happens to people our age. We fall into ruts. I’ll have a strawberry banana smoothie with two scoops of protein powder and half a scoop of energy. I’m going to need it today.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Gregory hitting on Miss Blondie. This brings a smirk to her face.

A fine pair of legs on Sandy Vu.
A fine pair of legs on Sandy Vu.

“Coming right up!” Dale quickly goes to work. If there’s one thing he does exceptionally well, it’s make delicious smoothies just as you ordered it. So bravo to him for that.

Twenty minutes later, Rebecca almost finishes the smoothie as she parks her car at the physical therapy clinic. She slurps down the rest and tosses the plastic cup into a garbage can. A small army of flies circle around the opening. It looks like it hasn’t been attended to in years. Disgusting.

The work day begins as usual. Only three clients today. None of them noteworthy to mention. In the back office there are several computers that therapists and freelance employees can use. Her usual computer at the back of the room appears to be taken, as someone’s backpack and fleece pullover is lying on top of the chair.

Who could this possibly be? Everyone knows this computer is always reserved for Rebecca Tanaka…

“I’m sorry. Is this your computer? I didn’t know these were assigned to anyone in particular,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind Rebecca’s back. She immediately turns around to see who it is. Standing before her is someone she’s never seen before at the clinic. It’s a devilishly handsome Asian guy with a charming smile and a fit athletic body. Rebecca’s eyes widen as she loses herself in this man’s beautiful aura. She finally composes herself and extends her hand toward him.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. I’m Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.” They shake hands. His firm grip sends a jolt of electricity through her system. There is something about the way he touches her that Rebecca knows is different from anyone else she’s ever met.

“Hi. I’m Brad. I’m new here. Today is my first day on the job,” he says. Rebecca continues to get lost in his eyes. “I’m the new sports athletic trainer. I had no idea this was your computer.”

“Oh, no. These computers aren’t assigned. I just usually choose this one by default. But I can use the one next to yours.” Rebecca puts her backpack in front of the computer next to Brad’s. He smiles at her again, which sends another jolt of energy through her body. God, what is happening to her?

“Great. I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes on my first day at the job, you know what I mean?”

“I definitely know what you mean!” Wow, is that the best she can come up with? Rebecca turns on the computer and sits down. She admires Brad’s impressive biceps and forearms, which is significant considering she’s seen hundreds of big and buff dudes in her life. “Sports athletic trainer, you say? Julie did say she wants the clinic to go further into that direction.”

“Yeah, I guess most of your clients are elderly people and folks recovering from surgery, right? It’s about time we get some new blood in here. High school and college athletics are becoming a bigger and bigger deal, so it makes sense that she would want to adapt to the times,” he says. Right now, Rebecca is hanging onto every word he speaks. Her eyes move from his arms to his chest, legs, and angular face.

“Where were you before coming here?” Rebecca asks.

“I worked with minor league baseball players down in the Phoenix area,” Brad says. “I just moved up here a few months ago. I couldn’t stand the heat anymore and wanted to go somewhere cooler.”

Before Rebecca could say something, Julie pops her head into the room.

“Rebecca! I’m glad you and Brad are getting acquainted. But Sam is here for his 12:30 appointment.” Well, shit. Time to go to work. Rebecca stands up, gives up on checking her work e-mail, and grins at Brad.

“It’s nice talking to you, Brad. I have to get to work. I’ll see you around,” Rebecca says. She stands up, accidentally places her foot underneath a power cord, and trips as she attempts to take a step forward.

“Whoa there!” Brad saves Rebecca from falling by clutching her in his strong arms. The warm touch of his body against her body provides some dampness to form between her legs. It’s not too often that Rebecca becomes sexually aroused at work (actually, she’s never felt sexually aroused at work), so this is a new experience for her. Also, it’s humiliating to be tripping over herself the moment she encounters a good looking guy.

“Thanks. I can be a klutz at times,” she says. Rebecca regains her composure and exits the room without further antics one would usually find in a low-grade romantic comedy. Brad smirks to himself and makes a mental note to remember Rebecca’s name and face. He too is smitten with her.

Rebecca wasn’t able to see Brad for the rest of the day. Her three clients decide to take up entirely too much time (it’s not her problem, though. They’re willingly paying for her time) and their appointments were lined up one after another. By the time she clocked out for the day, Brad had already gone home. Oh well. There will be a next time, Rebecca supposes.

Typical agility drills done by sports athletic trainers.
Typical agility drills done by sports athletic trainers.

After picking up a tub of fresh quinoa and sundried tomato salad from a deli across the street, Rebecca returns home. She makes small talk with Craig and checks her mail. Thankfully, no perverted letters from nutty voyeurs. Rebecca enters her condo unit and decides to take a shower before eating dinner. She usually showers right before going to bed, but her three clients gave her a workout more than she gave them a workout. The daily grind needs to be washed off before her evening could commence.

Self-conscious about preying eyes, Rebecca closes the blinds on all her windows. You never know these days, she thinks to herself. Rebecca strips naked and takes a moment to look at herself in a long full-body mirror. Despite her natural beauty and impressive muscle mass, Rebecca is still insecure about her looks. She looks at her flat chest as a major flaw. She hates her short stumpy legs. She loves the muscle definition on her legs, but she wishes they could be longer. Her short stature combined with her wide muscular frame makes her look like a Hobbit bodybuilder.

Rebecca also hates her eyes. As a full-blooded Japanese woman, her eyes are as narrow and slanted as a cartoon character. Kids used to make fun of her growing up. Deep down inside, she still feels like adult women judge her because of her strong Asian facial features. She knows that’s ridiculous because most people in the Pacific Northwest are more open-minded than that, but those scarring childhood memories don’t ever go away. They’re a part of her psyche for eternity.

Another remarkable feature of her body is her astonishingly large clitoris. Rebecca takes a modest amount of anabolic steroids to help her gain muscle mass, but nothing too extreme. Nevertheless, the additional growth hormones circulating through her system made a certain part of her body grow larger than normal. Even when she isn’t aroused, the thick head of her clit sticks out between her legs like a really tiny penis.

When she is aroused (and when she’s lucky enough for a guy to be willing to give her oral sex), her clitoris can grow to an eye-popping size. Long and thick, she once measured it with an old plastic ruler. Rebecca did a double take when she saw how long it is. Two and a half inches when she’s fully aroused. Only an inch and a quarter when she’s not aroused.

Is that normal? She has doubts about that.

Every time Rebecca goes to the beach and wears a bikini, she uses a piece of scotch tape to hide her clit from public view. It’s embarrassing, but it’s what she has to do to feel like a normal woman. “Real” women don’t have large bulges in their panties. All she wants to do is to not feel like a freak.

Upon finishing her inspection of her body, Rebecca likes what she sees overall and goes on to take her shower. Fifteen minutes later she walks out to the living room still naked and drying her hair with a towel. She turns on the television to see what’s on. Some murder mystery show. The victim died by a sledgehammer being pounded repeatedly into the side of his skull. What an unpleasant way to go. Why do people watch violent shit like this?

She turns off the TV and plops down on her bed. For some unexplained reason, Brad’s handsome face and impressive biceps flash into her mind. Her heart flutters. The dampness returns between her legs. Rebecca thinks now is the appropriate time to masturbate, an activity she hasn’t done as much lately as she’d like.

Lee Jin Won in top competitive shape.
Lee Jin Won in top competitive shape.

Rebecca turns off all the lights and takes out her trusty dildo from the bedside nightstand. She dabs a small amount of lubrication on the tip and spreads it all over the shaft. A typical 7 inch long white dildo, she’s had this since college and uses it as her default masturbation toy. She also has a vibrator, but she doesn’t like the annoying humming sound. It gets her out of the mood and ruins her mindset. Rebecca needs everything to be perfect in order for her to optimally get off.

Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca closes her eyes and spreads her legs out wide. She leans back against her pillow and exhales. She playfully taps the dildo against her enlarged clitoris and moans at the sensations this gives her. Rebecca suspects that when her clit began to grow it also started to become more sensitive. She could be wrong about this observation, though. But the added pleasure it’s given her is something she can’t argue about.

Inch by inch, she inserts the dildo inside her moist vagina. She strokes it in and out at a leisurely pace, not wanting to rush anything. It’s been four days since she last had an orgasm, so she wants this to be a good one. Rebecca makes sure the dildo touches every square centimeter of her wet and sensitive passageway, including her g-spot. More moans escape from her throat.

If only “Jones” were able to see this! He’d go crazy and would probably give her $2,000 instead.

The thought of Jones watching her temporarily takes her mind off of pleasing herself, so she immediately refocuses on Brad. Rebecca imagines the dildo being Brad’s erection invading her, exploring her, pleasing her. With her free hand, she pinches her dark brown nipples. Both are sticking straight up into the air. This inspires her to increase her tempo. Faster and faster she stimulates herself. Her legs tense up. She lifts her back up off the bedsheets. Her head almost bangs against the bedframe.

She’s close, and she knows it.

Suddenly, the explicit visual image of Brad kissing her just as he comes inside her unexpectedly flashes into her head. This is enough to set her off.

“Oooooooohhhhh! YES!!!”

Rebecca comes and squirts a small amount of creamy white fluid onto the bed. The walls of her vagina contract wildly, as if this is the first orgasm she’s ever experienced in her life. This is not true, of course, but this is a testament to how strong of a spell Brad has cast over her imagination. Out of breath, Rebecca opens her eyes and enjoys the smaller vaginal contractions that follow the more intense ones. Finally, her orgasm ends and she is left lying on the bed drenched in her own sweat.

Fuck. She might have to take another shower!

She sits up and notices the wet spot between her legs on the bedsheets. Fuck! She’s been able to ejaculate for years now, but she can usually control it by not excessively rubbing her g-spot. She must have gotten carried away this time. Rebecca goes to the bathroom, cleans up the mess with a paper towel, and pees in the toilet. Looking at herself in the still-fogged up mirror, she smiles and says to her reflection:

“Damn. That was a good one!”

Friday is the next day. It is uneventful and boring, just like every other Friday at the office. It is a rest day, so she spent the morning talking to her photographer about finalizing the details of their shoot tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be gorgeous, which is fantastic news.

As it turns out, Brad will work primarily in the field and away from the office. At a weekly team meeting – who holds staff meetings on Fridays? – Julie informs the group that Brad will travel to high schools and college campuses to work with athletes to help them improve their speed, strength, quickness, burst, coordination, and overall athleticism. Rebecca is disappointed to hear this news, but she is still glad he’s part of the staff.

Later that evening Rebecca goes out for cocktails with her two best friends, Lauren and Desiree. These three have known each other since middle school and they remarkably still keep in touch. Wisely, Rebecca makes no mention of “Jones” but did glowingly rave about her new cute coworker.

“Girl! Are you going to pursue anything with him?” Desiree asks.

“Before she can answer that, she needs to know if he’s single. Is he available?” Lauren chimes in.

Rebecca downs her whiskey on the rocks and coughs. Lauren and Desiree always elect to drink “girly” drinks with too much sugar and fruit. Rebecca considers herself to be more hardcore and goes for the hard stuff. Her two friends cannot figure out why she’d intentionally drink that shit.

“I think he’s single, and I’m definitely going to make a move if the opportunity presents itself,” Rebecca assures them. “It’s been forever since I’ve last dated.”

Three and a half years to be exact. Both Lauren and Desiree know this.

Finally, Saturday morning arrives. Rebecca gets up at 6:00 a.m. – an hour earlier than she usually does – and eats a larger than normal breakfast. She cooks herself a veggie omelet made with egg whites, low fat cheese, peas, broccoli, onion, carrots, celery, zucchini, asparagus, and avocado. This is served with a bowl of Greek yogurt with granola and peach slices. She drinks way too much coffee before brushing her teeth (in order to make her pearly whites as white as possible) and heading to the gym.

Leg day. Oh, fun.

Saturday mornings at the gym is the best time to go because hardly anyone is there. But Rebecca is there. Gregory and Michaela are also there. Gregory might be flirting with Michaela by the TRX machine. Gross.

Several squats, lunges, deadlifts, leg presses, snatch and power cleans, and miles running on the treadmill later, Rebecca showers in the locker room but struggles to walk around. She always wants to get an arduous workout in before a major photoshoot. It makes her feel more sexy and alive when she’s so exhausted her body is running on pure adrenaline. She skips the smoothie bar (and having to deal with Dale, who seems to work here every single day) and instead drinks a bottled protein shake. It’s not the same, but it’ll do for today.

The drive to Alki Beach Park from Bellevue only takes 35 minutes, which is pretty damn good, even for a sleepy weekend. Rebecca receives a text from Garrett, her photographer, saying he’s running a few minutes late. This doesn’t surprise her one bit. He’s always late. Rebecca’s Asian heritage doesn’t allow her to be late for anything. There’s one perk of having slanted eyes.

Garrett has been Rebecca’s primary photographer for a solid decade. They work perfectly together. He’s an artsy type who also knows how to shoot commercial shots. He’s also very gay, so she has no worries of him coming on to her. That’s been an issue with past photographers. But no longer.

It’s a gorgeous morning in Seattle. Not a cloud in the sky, but there’s a cool breeze to keep her from getting too overheated. The beach is thinly crowded, populated with a few joggers and little kids making sandcastles. Wearing gray sweatpants and a tank top, Rebecca notices she’s already receiving unwarranted stares from random strangers. A group of bros smoking weed by the public bathroom stalls makes comments about her “wicked shoulders and savage biceps.” Rebecca doesn’t even give them a courtesy smile. Those fuckers don’t deserve it.

Alki Beach on a beautiful summer evening.
Alki Beach on a beautiful summer evening.

Rebecca arrives at the agreed upon meeting area and waits. She sits on a park bench and checks her phone for messages. Nothing. She looks around to take in the sights and smells of springtime transitioning into summer. This is her favorite time of the year. It’s not too hot, but the chilly dewy elements of spring are long gone. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a middle-aged white man wearing a suit and tie sitting down on a bench about 400 feet away from her.

“That’s an unusual thing to wear to the beach,” Rebecca says aloud.

He’s looking out into Puget Sound with a pair of professional-grade binoculars. The man has dark hair with streaks of silver on the sides. His black suit is complemented perfectly with a bright red tie. Rebecca even notices the impeccable shine on his Italian loafers. They look damn expensive. They probably are damn expensive.

For whatever odd reason, Rebecca notices him out of the 40 or 50 other people within view. She doesn’t know why, but all her life she’s had a well-developed sixth sense about certain situations. Every so often, she’ll fixate on something or someone for reasons she can’t explain. Intuition is a strange thing, indeed. The man isn’t doing anything inappropriate or suspicious; the only noteworthy thing about him is his out-of-place suave attire.

“Rebecca! Hi!” Rebecca jumps out of her seat when a familiar but sharp voice calls out her name. She turns around and sees Garrett, dressed like a 1970s Greenwich Village hipster, jogging toward her with an expensive Nikon camera around his neck and a backpack full of photography equipment slung over his shoulder.

“Hello Garrett!” They hug. Garrett playfully rubs her muscular back and whistles.

“Holy fucking shit, Becky. You’re getting bigger and bigger every single fucking time I see you, I swear to God,” Garrett exclaims. “Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says, blushing a bit. “I do what I can to add quality content to your portfolio.”

Garrett laughs heartily and checks the settings on his camera. Rebecca self-consciously removes her tank top, sweatpants, and sandals and stuffs them inside her tote bag. As always, a hidden strip of tape conceals the bulge between her legs. The brand new bikini she ordered earlier in the week hadn’t arrived yet (the distributor says it’s stuck in Cleveland of all places), so she had to pull out an old frilly Navy blue bikini from her closet instead. Oh well. Life goes on.

“Motherfucker, stop looking like that, girl!” Garrett says. “Well, are you ready?”

Rebecca looks around and already sees a small gathering of onlookers watching them. Some are pointing at Rebecca and presumably commenting on her muscles. She overhears a little girl ask her mother if “that girl is a boy or a girl.” Gee whiz, kid. You just answered your own fucking question!

No matter how long she’s been a competitive bodybuilder, Rebecca has never gotten used to unsolicited stares from strangers and rude remarks from the peanut gallery. But that’s the life she’s chosen to lead. If they can’t handle the sight of a beautiful muscular Asian woman flaunting her stuff at a public beach, they can take their opinion and shove it up their ass.

“I’m ready,” Rebecca says. “Let’s do this.”

The Benevolent Voyeur and the Female Bodybuilder – Part One

When you think of Rebecca Tanaka, think of a younger Tomoko Kanda.
When you think of Rebecca Tanaka, think of a younger Tomoko Kanda.

Most people despise the daily grind. Rebecca Tanaka thrives in it.

Rebecca’s schedule is nonstop. Her evenings are always free – most of the time – but from 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., she is one relentless busy bee, churning along at her own frenzied pace.

7:00 a.m. – Wake up, eat breakfast consisting of egg whites, oatmeal, and fruit smoothie

7:30 a.m. – Walk on the treadmill for an hour, interspersing with light jogging every 10 minutes

8:30 a.m. – Take short shower, dress, and drive to the gym

9:00 a.m. – Workout at the gym, regimen changes depending on the day (Monday: Chest and shoulders, Tuesday: Abs and back, Wednesday: Rest day, Thursday: Arms, Friday: Rest day, Saturday: Legs, Sunday: Rest day)

11:15 a.m. – Shower, dress, eat second meal of the day (brown rice, chicken, and steamed carrots)

12:00 p.m. – Drive to physical therapy clinic, work with clients

1:30 p.m. – Eat third meal of the day (sweet potato, steak, and raw broccoli)

6:00 p.m. – Leave work, drive to grocery store, drive home

6:30 p.m. – Arrive at home, eat fourth meal of the day (Salmon, kale, asparagus, couscous, and tomatoes)

7:00 p.m. – Answer e-mails, schedule personal training clients, set up photoshoots, etc.

9:00 p.m. – Eat fifth meal of the day (protein shake and raw fruit)

11:00 p.m. – Go to sleep, prepare to do it all again the next day

Rebecca, one of the world’s rising stars in the international bodybuilding industry, doesn’t have much time for relationships or pets. No dogs, no boyfriends. But this doesn’t bother her at all. She loves her life and wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

Except for one thing, however. Being a competitive bodybuilder and part-time physical therapist doesn’t pay a whole lot of money. Lucky for her, she inherited a nice studio condominium from her deceased aunt and uncle (they died tragically in a car accident while travelling through South America four years ago) located right in the heart of downtown Bellevue. However, living expenses are still living expenses. Money isn’t tight, but she can’t afford to not be frugal.

All of that changed one fateful Tuesday evening.

Rebecca drove home and parked her car in the underground parking garage like usual. With her massive gym bag slung over her broad shoulders, she takes the short flight of stairs up to the lobby. There, she sees Craig, the reliable and friendly front desk staff person.

“Good evening, Rebecca!” Craig greets her with a wide toothy grin.

“Hi Craig. Has your wife decided on whether she wants to take the promotion or not?” Rebecca takes her keys out of her pocket and walks toward the row of mail boxes.

“She has. She’s not interested. Macy loves where she is right now,” he says. “I guess that means I’m here to stay.”

Rebecca turns around and shoots Craig a happy smile of her own. “Oh well. Darn. I was just getting used to putting up with your antics!” Craig’s wife works at the city’s water treatment facility and was asked to move to Washington D.C. to supervise the federal government on crafting better national water policy. Apparently, Macy didn’t like that offer and would rather stay here and get paid less. Rebecca has never met Macy but she’s starting to like her more and more.

Craig laughs. The phone rings. He stops laughing, puts on his “professional” demeanor, and answers it. Rebecca chuckles to herself and approaches her mail box. She unlocks it and finds the usual assortment of junk: Grocery store coupons, a community newsletter, a postcard asking her to donate to needy children in Tanzania, her monthly cell phone bill, and a lone letter. She doesn’t usually get individually written letters anymore. For that matter, in today’s digital age, who does?

“Jones,” she reads aloud. The return address is somewhere in Kirkland. Only the sender’s last name is revealed. The 4”x3” letter is modest in size but remarkable in its simplicity. She stuffs the mail in a pouch on the side of her gym bag and heads toward the elevator. She nods at Craig, who is still talking to a potential tenant on the phone. He graciously nods back.

Five minutes later Rebecca opens the door to her 15th story condo unit and walks inside. She lays her heavy gym bag down on the floor and gently shuts the door behind her. Not thinking too much about the letter, she turns on the TV and tunes in to whatever baseball game happens to be going on. It appears the home team is losing by a score of 5-2. It’s the seventh inning. Whatever. Sports never interested Rebecca too much – except for bodybuilding, of course. That’s a sport she pays attention to with keen interest.

The clock in the kitchen says it is 6:39 p.m. Rebecca opens the refrigerator and pulls out a blue Tupperware container. Fish, veggies, and corn are inside. She pops it in the microwave and sets it for three and a half minutes. The humming of her dinner heating up provides the background music she needs to relax and unwind. Rebecca plops herself on her bed and turns on her laptop computer. Just as the home screen starts to boot up, the microwave makes the joyful “ping” sound.

Rebecca grabs a fork, napkin, bottle of FIJI Water, and the steaming hot Tupperware container. She returns to her bed and starts to eat. By now, the home team has scored another run and the score is now 5-3. The crowd goes wild. She couldn’t care less.

There are only four e-mail messages in her inbox. Two of them are junk. One is a balance statement from her bank and the other is a picture of a random man’s penis taken with his shitty cell phone camera. As a nationally known female bodybuilder, Rebecca is accustomed to receiving creepy or obscene e-mail messages from fans across the globe. She promptly deletes the dick pic and blocks the idiot from ever communicating with her again.

“Congratulations on being so well-endowed, buddy,” Rebecca says. “But you’re still a perverted jerk.”

A solo home run by the other team. 6-3 road team. The crowd goes silent. Rebecca swiftly changes the channel to the evening news. The first story she sees is a report that ISIS has kidnapped another European aid worker and has threatened to cut off his head. She decides to turn off the TV altogether. Nothing but bad news.

“It’s a hellish world we live in,” Rebecca whispers to herself. “God help us all.”

She looks at her gym bag and suddenly remembers the letter. After putting the dirty Tupperware in the sink, she takes a last sip from her FIJI Water and dumps the empty bottle in a recycling bin. Rebecca takes the envelope out of the pouch and opens it with a letter opener. She sits down on her comfortable leather sofa and reads it.

Rebecca gets plenty of fan mail, but they all go to her business mail box at the Post Office. So she has no idea who this could be from. Who does she know in Kirkland? The handwritten note says the following:

Dear Miss Tanaka,

I am a dear fan of yours. We’ve never met, but I’ve been following your career from the start. I see a lot of promise in you. You are destined for stardom, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.

I don’t know how much money you make being a professional bodybuilder, but I’d imagine it’s not nearly enough for you to live off. Or maybe you do make enough. Either way, who couldn’t use a little extra cash in their pocket?

That being said, I have a simple proposition for you, one you can refuse to do if you choose to with no consequences.

I happen to live within viewing distance of your condominium unit. With my trusty pair of binoculars, I have a clear view of your balcony. I have never made any effort to physically contact you, so do not feel alarmed. Thus, I’d like to offer you this: Every Tuesday evening at 9:00, I want you to stand outside on your balcony and strip naked for me. I want to see your beautiful body in all its splendor and glory. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

Every time you do this, I will mail you $1,000 in cash the following day. I will also send you written instructions on what to do next. I will never ask you to do anything dangerous or unreasonable. But it will always involve me wanting to see your beautiful body.

Just to prove that I’m not joking, tonight at 9:00 please stand outside fully clothed for a solid 90 seconds. I will send you $500 in the mail tomorrow just for that simple gesture. If you do not do as I ask, I will interpret this as your refusal and I will never contact you ever again. I can promise you that.

I look forward to seeing where your career goes, Rebecca. Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.

Sincerely,

Jones

Uh, what? Rebecca looks up at the ceiling in disbelief, remaining frozen for what seems like forever.

What the fuck is this all about? Should she call the police? She knows the return address of this creep, so it wouldn’t be too difficult for the authorities to investigate and put this asshole in jail. However…

$1,000 is a lot of money. Fuck, that’s $52,000 in extra tax-free cash per year. Perhaps she should consider it.

Damn it! That’s crazy talk. This guy is nuts and should be arrested for harassment! Rebecca tosses the letter in the trash can and closes the blinds on all her windows. The last time she ever had a stalker was back in college. A random dude kept writing her love notes despite the fact she was in a committed relationship at the time (they broke up when he later revealed he was gay, but that’s a whole other story for another time). She reported this to campus police and found out it ended up being not a student, but a tenured English professor. She (yes, it was a she) was fired and had to spend 150 hours doing community service and pay a small fine. Rebecca never saw her again.

Writing and sending handwritten letters is a lost art.
Writing and sending handwritten letters is a lost art.

The clock now says it is 7:45 p.m. Rebecca decides to call the police first thing in the morning and report this idiot. She logs on to Netflix and begins watching “House of Cards” to get her mind off of this shit. She may have seen this episode before. Or maybe she hasn’t. Whatever.

Time passes. Soon, it is 8:56 p.m. She looks at the time on her computer and smiles. Should she poke her head outside her balcony just to see if this asshole will actually pay her? Rebecca peeks at her phone bill and gasps when she sees how substantial it is. She’d used a lot of data this month, between using her phone for personal and business matters. Damn. How the fuck is she going to pay for all this shit?

8:58 p.m.

Fuck!

Rebecca puts on a pair of old slippers and cautiously opens the glass door leading to the balcony. She’s wearing pajama pants and a tank top but no makeup or a bra. Her jet black hair is a mess. She doesn’t think she looks terribly appealing at the moment, but this pervert apparently thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life. Rebecca doesn’t know what is compelling her to follow through with this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Standing at a diminutive 5’2”, Rebecca is just as short as most Japanese women but is much huskier than usual. Her thick thighs, broad shoulders, big biceps, 8-pack abdomen, and rounded butt make her stand out against most women, Asian or not. Her 30th birthday is right around the corner, a fact she’s trying to not think about. She’s never been married but has never struggled to find a boyfriend. Most of her past boyfriends have been white, but she’s dated her fair share of Asian guys. But after committing her life to bodybuilding, she’s discovered fewer and fewer men want to be with her romantically. Maybe they’re intimidated by a woman with bigger muscles than them!

Rebecca looks up at the clock. 9:00 p.m. on the dot. Alright, time to do this.

She enters the outside and takes a deep breath. The sun is beginning to set. Earlier in the day it reached 85 degrees, which is practically the seventh level of Hades for someone who was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. She silently counts to 90 in her head. She looks around to see who this creepy stalker could possibly be. All around her are apartment buildings, office buildings, and fancy homes overlooking Lake Washington. There are hundreds of thousands of people who could see her at this moment. Is this guy for real? Or is this a prankster who gets off on writing disturbing letters to competitive female bodybuilders?

Rebecca may be willing to temporarily embarrass herself, but this is far from being the first time she’s ever felt helpless. Though she’s never been married, when Rebecca was 15 she became pregnant thanks to her then-boyfriend (who happened to be Asian like her) using a faulty condom. Her parents were outraged. The rest of her family shunned her. She eventually gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Rebecca reluctantly put the baby up for adoption. Within weeks of giving birth to the child, a couple in Indiana flew out to meet little Cecelia. They immediately fell in love with her. They hired some lawyers to draw up the adoption papers and within days the couple flew back home with a new daughter.

Rebecca has never seen her daughter since. Her family has never spoken about it. They’ve kept absolutely no contact with the couple from Indiana. She tries to not think about that dark chapter of her life, but every so often she’s reminded of it. This moment is one of those times.

A simple outdoor balcony overlooking a major metropolitan city (in this case, Chicago).
A simple outdoor balcony overlooking a major metropolitan city (in this case, Chicago).

90 seconds have officially passed. She returns back indoors and shuts the glass door. She locks it.

“That was the longest 90 seconds of my fucking life,” Rebecca says to nobody in particular.

Looking outside at the setting sun, she wonders if anyone was actually watching her. Who is this “Jones” guy? Was he a balding middle-aged loser who was jerking off at the sight of a female bodybuilder wearing pajama pants? God, that’s disgusting. The thought of this put a churning feeling in her stomach. Rebecca feels foolish that she even went outside on her balcony as the letter instructed in the first place. Wanting to forget the whole ordeal, Rebecca goes to the kitchen, takes out a wine glass, and pours herself some Chardonnay. She returns to bed and turns the television back on.

The home team tied it up in the bottom of the ninth and ended up winning it in the 12th thanks to a walk-off home run by the second baseman. Rebecca thinks he’s cute. Good for him. Good for his teammates. Hopefully, he’ll sleep tonight with a big fat smile on his face.

***

The next day Rebecca didn’t give a single thought to what had happened the previous evening. The thought of calling the police about the disconcerting letter never crosses her mind.

Wednesday is her rest day, so she can spend the morning working on her personal business before going to work at the clinic at noon. She spent the whole morning scouring the Internet for a new bikini. Her photographer tells her it’s about time they take new photos for her website. Now that the weather is improving, they agree to go down to the beach this Saturday and snap a few photos before the hordes of families, little kids, and drunk tourists show up.

Work is boring as usual. She sees four clients altogether. James, an 87-year-old former steel worker who’s suffering from chronic lower back pain. He thinks it’s caused by his days hauling gigantic hollowed rods across the mill he worked at back in Pennsylvania. Rebecca thinks it’s caused by the fact he’s in his late 80’s. Whatever. He doesn’t want to argue with “the pretty girl with big muscles.”

She also sees Tyler, a high school football player who suffered a major knee injury last season while returning a punt. Tyler’s a nice kid. He isn’t good enough to play at the college level, but Rebecca nevertheless feels he deserves a shot at being able to step onto the field again. He’s rehabbing his injury and hopes to be able to be ready in time for summer practices.

Rebecca is confident he’ll be able to do so. Tyler and his mother concur.

Sarah Hayes wearing a dress that shows off all her impressive assets.
Sarah Hayes wearing a dress that shows off all her impressive assets.

The other two clients are a married couple named Frankie and Loren. They’re both in their 60s but still manage to work at the local public school district. Rebecca cannot imagine why they still want to put up with spoiled bratty kids when they’re so close to retirement, but they seem to enjoy the work. They must be good at what they do, apparently.

“I do it for the kids. I can’t speak for Frankie, but I feel like it’s my duty to my community to put these youngsters on the right path,” Loren tells Rebecca and Julie, the clinic’s senior physical therapist. Frankie nods in agreement.

“Damn right! But don’t tell the kids I occasionally swear. I always get them in trouble for cursing, so I don’t want to seem like a hypocrite,” he fires back.

“Don’t worry you two,” Rebecca assures them. “Your secrets are safe with me. My lips are perfectly sealed. What’s discussed in this building doesn’t leave this building, I can assure you of that.”

Now it’s Julie’s turn to nod her head in agreement. It’s so wonderful when everyone agrees with one another. That’s what makes life pleasant.

“See you next time!” Rebecca exclaims as Frankie and Loren stroll out the door. She waves at them. They wave back. All is good and right with the world.

The drive home is messy but not a surprise. There’s a stretch of 8th avenue that’s being repaved. It’s a project the City Council promised to implement years ago, but it’s just now getting underway. Even in the most financially affluent cities it takes forever for simple government tasks to get done. Oh well. That’s the way things are, Rebecca supposes. Maybe that explains why Macy wants to stay put.

Like usual, she parks her car in the underground garage and hikes up the stairs to the main floor. It is at this moment that she remembers the strange letter she got yesterday from that mysterious creep. Today, Craig happens to not be working the front desk. That usually means he’s talking with the maintenance man to fix something. Instead, Hannah, a spunky 22-year-old blonde girl fresh out of college, is working in the lobby. Rebecca thinks Hannah is scared of her. It’s not a stretch of the imagination, however. It’s not too often you encounter a pretty Asian girl with big muscles!

“Hi Hannah. Where’s Craig?”

Hannah jumps in surprise at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. She is busy playing Temple Run on her phone and didn’t expect anyone to want to make casual conversation with her. Hannah puts the phone away and regains her composure.

“Oh, he’s milling around somewhere. A tenant on the 8th floor complained about a weird smell. He’s looking into it.” That’s what Rebecca thought Craig would be doing. Fixing a problem. Hannah is usually an on-call staff person who comes into work if Craig knows he has a lot of building maintenance work to do. Rebecca thinks Hannah works part-time as a cocktail waitress at a dive bar in Renton. She could be wrong about that, though.

“Hm. Thankfully for him, I don’t have any weird or offensive smells coming out of my unit,” Rebecca says. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.”

Hannah can only smile. That’s pretty much all Rebecca expects from her. This must confirm her suspicions that she’s frightened to death of her.

This is what the inside of Rebecca's condo would probably look like.
This is what the inside of Rebecca’s condo would probably look like.

Rebecca takes out her mail box key and puts it in the slot. She twists it and opens the small door. She reaches inside and only finds a single item.

A modest 4”x3” letter.

Oh fuck.

She looks at the return address. Sure enough, it says “Jones” followed by a Kirkland address.

Well, shit.

Stuffing the letter in her jacket pocket, Rebecca smiles at Hannah and scurries off to the elevators. She presses the button for the 15th floor. Three minutes pass until it shows up, which feel like ten. The door opens, Rebecca walks inside, and within moments she’s at her front door.

Rebecca isn’t usually a paranoid type of person, but how could you not be at this moment? Perhaps her decision to not notify the police was dead wrong. Before opening the door to her condo unit, she looks around the empty hallway. No one is in sight. That’s how it usually is at this hour. She unlocks the door and steps inside.

She immediately drops her purse on top of a nearby chair, tosses her jacket carelessly on the ground, and sits down on the leather sofa. Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca cautiously opens the letter without the letter opener. She doesn’t mind if she gets an innocuous paper cut. Fortunately, she’s just fine.

It’s another handwritten note. Of course. It reads:

Dear Miss Tanaka,

I’m glad you decided to follow through with my wishes last night. I did not know if you would ignore me or not. Fortunately for me, you made a choice I am most pleased with. Bravo to you.

In return, I’ve enclosed $500 in cash as I promised in my previous correspondence. I hope you put this newfound money to good use. I trust you will be judicious with it.

Your participation in last night’s trial run tells me you’re willing to play along with my proposition. I am pleased to learn of that. Now is the appropriate time to up the stakes. As I outlined before, I am willing to pay you $1,000 for further exhibitions. That offer is still on the table. I am only interested in watching you perform for me on Tuesday evenings at 9:00 p.m., so you have a full week before I am able to see you again. I cannot wait for our next encounter.

Next Tuesday, June 7, I want you to walk outside your balcony at 9:00 like last time. I want you to wear whatever clothing you happen to be wearing at the moment. I care not what it is. Once you are fully outside, I want you to meticulously strip naked until every single article of clothing is removed from your immaculate body. Then, I want you to twirl around slowly in a circle three times. No more, no less. I want to be able to see your entire body. It is my desire to be able to do so.

I want this full performance to last two minutes. Bring your phone with you if you need to keep track of time. Anything lasting less than two minutes will result in you not receiving any monetary compensation.

I trust you will agree with these terms. I look forward to seeing you next time.

Peace be with you Angelic Sweetheart.

Sincerely,

Jones

Rebecca freezes in stunned silence. Before she could reread the message, she digs into the envelope and finds five crisp $100 bills tucked inside. She holds the bills up to the light. As far as she can tell, they’re perfectly legit. A professional bank teller could tell the difference between a legitimate and a counterfeit $100 bill, but Rebecca’s amateurish opinion will have to suffice for now.

“Holy fucking shit.”

A chill runs down Rebecca’s spine. She isn’t sure if she wants to cry or call the police without a moment’s hesitation. Instead, she chooses to sit there on the sofa and stare off into the nothingness in front of her.

Educating Jonathan – Part Six

Two hungry tigers stalking their prey.
Two hungry tigers stalking their prey.

Two hungry tigers loom in the distance, meticulously stalking their prey. A wounded animal lies on the grass, unable to move and paralyzed with fear. The animal knows its time on Earth is short. He senses his imminent death. Too many times in his life he’s witnessed small creatures like himself helplessly stave off death for as long as possible, only to be disappointed at the end.

Nature is a cruel place. The strong will inevitably triumph over the weak. There is no feeling of injustice or bitterness, however. This is a fact of life. This is how it is. This is how it’s always been. From the beginning of civilization to this present moment, the strong always find a way to destroy the feeble. Even if he could change things, the wounded animal would choose not to and let the course of history continue uninterrupted.

The tigers come closer. He hears a rattling in the bushes. The animal looks down at his bloodied torso and notices his legs are missing. They’re probably hundreds of yards away, being chewed on by vultures with little thought to who they belong to. The vultures don’t care. The tigers don’t care. Even his family doesn’t care. They’ve accepted the fact one of their own will be eaten soon. They secretly wish they aren’t next.

The time has come. The tigers jump on the wounded animal. They tear him piece by piece in the most savage way possible. There is no such thing as a dignified death in the Jungle. Any death is treated the same way. It just happens. Fortunately for those who are strong enough to survive, they don’t have to experience the agonizing pain that comes with death. They can sit back and watch with nihilistic pleasure.

With his dying breath, the wounded animal cries out in pain. It’s a useless expression of suffering, one that will not deter the two tigers from carrying out future massacres. But it’s all he can do. What else is left?

What a beautiful fucking world we live in.

Jonathan opens his eyes and instantly forgets what he was dreaming about. Something about two tigers eating a hapless meerkat? Or was it something more pleasant? No matter. That’s irrelevant right now. He sits up, stretches, and takes notice of how sore he is. That’s what he gets from sleeping on a cold, hard wood floor. The room is still dark. There is no sunlight anywhere to be seen. Silence permeates everywhere. Normally, he’d feel at peace right now. But not today.

Fuck. It wasn’t a dream. Last night wasn’t a nightmare. It’s reality. It’s really real. It happened exactly as he remembers it. And he is powerless to make any of it go away.

He looks behind him and sees Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu cuddled together on the floor. They are also sleeping. Jonathan doesn’t know exactly when they fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been much longer after he did. They were all tired. Physically and emotionally exhausted. How could you not be after experiencing all that?

A pounding on the steel door wakes up everybody. Jonathan leaps to his feet. Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu open their weary eyes and take a look at their surroundings. They too also wish the events of last night never occurred. They are both sorely disappointed.

Breakfast of champions.
Breakfast of champions.

The Short Man enters the room with two of his henchmen. They appear to be still dressed in the same black clothing as the night before. One of the men carries in a pot of coffee. The other has a plastic tray full of bagels, doughnuts, fruit, and pastries. Well, at least these bastards are courteous enough to bring their hostages breakfast.

“Good morning. Or perhaps, I should say good afternoon. It’s a quarter past noon. We let you sleep for a pretty long time,” the Short Man says. “You should thank us.”

The two men place the food and coffee on the carpenter’s table. The third man is still standing outside. Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu get on their feet and glare at the Short Man.

“Go fuck yourself,” Dr. Sammy says. The Short Man gives Jonathan a quick look. Jonathan doesn’t know how to react.

“Women can be so erratic at times, am I right Jonathan?” Upon hearing his captor say his name out loud for the first time, Jonathan refuses to acknowledge his presence. In fact, he agrees that he should go fuck himself. It’s the only thing he could do right.

“Oh well. I don’t exactly expect politeness from any of you. If the situations were reversed, I’d probably say some pretty uncomplimentary things as well,” he says. “As you can see, we’ve brought you breakfast. Don’t worry. Nothing is poisoned. You’re worth more to me alive than dead. So chow down. Enjoy your lunch.”

Nobody moves from their spot.

“Have you heard from my husband? What did he say?” Dr. Sammy asks.

“He said he’s willing to be cooperative. Which bodes well for the rest of you. Soon, we’ll have what we want and you three will be allowed to continue your lives free of danger from us. Sound good?” The Short Man motions for the two henchmen to leave. They promptly exit the room and walk upstairs. Jonathan notices a side door in the hallway that he did not see the previous night.

“Matthew agreed to do what you want him to do?”

“Yes, he did.” The Short Man takes out a cigarette and lights it. He blows a small puff of smoke toward Jonathan’s direction. “I also spoke with my Boss. He’s a very reasonable man. I told him that our kidnapping plot is going just as we planned. He sounded happy. But he also had a hint of intrigue in his voice. I didn’t know why, but now I do.”

The Short Man pauses for dramatic effect. Jonathan’s stomach growls with hunger, but he does his best to get his mind off of food.

“I told him we unexpectedly took two additional hostages. He was okay with that, but mostly wanted to make sure we had the wife in our possession,” he says, puffing more smoke out of his mouth. “However, our Boss decided to call us again this morning. Part of the reason why I’m here is to deliver to you your coffee and munchies. Nobody ever goes hungry under my watch. But…I’ve come here for another reason.”

“And what reason is that?” Mistress Nguvu asks. She takes a bold step forward. The Short Man doesn’t flinch. The man standing guard outside the door doesn’t reach for his gun. They both know the three hostages are smart enough to not do anything foolish.

“The reason involves you two.” The Short Man points at both Jonathan and the Mistress. “My Boss is particularly interested in you two. He wants to learn more. I don’t know exactly why, but I can assure you only positive outcomes will result from all of this. For him, of course. Follow me, please.”

The Short Man turns around and walks out the door. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu look at each other. Then they look at Dr. Samantha. She nods her head, silently telling them to follow the Short Man to whatever fate lies ahead. Reluctantly, Jonathan and the Mistress walk out the door. The guard shuts it behind them, locking Dr. Sammy in all alone.

Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu walk up a short flight of stairs. Upstairs, the Short Man and his two cohorts have set up camp in a spacious lounge area. Peach yellow wallpaper adorns the room. Like all the other rooms in this God-forsaken building, it is sparsely decorated. Hostage-takers apparently have no interior decorating taste.

The Short Man is talking to someone through a laptop computer. Skype, perhaps? Or a different web communication platform used by shadowy global terrorists?

“Here they are, sir. Both of them. I’ll turn around my computer so you can take a good look at them.” The Short Man rotates his computer so Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu can see who is on the screen. It is an older Mediterranean-looking man with silver hair, a trim beard, dark eyes, and an impeccable tan. When he finally is able to see the two hostages standing in front of him, his eyes widen with sudden and irrepressible lust.

“Oh my fucking God. Ma’am, may I ask you a question?” Mistress Nguvu sighs and nods her head in agreement. The Boss squeals in delight. “How big are you?”

“I’m six foot four.”

The Boss’s eyes widen even more, as if that were even possible. “Delightful! And how much do you weigh? I realize that’s a personal question to ask, but I’m sure you’d be thrilled to inform me!”

“I weight about two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Wow! Six-four, two hundred and fifty pounds. You are a big girl. I love it. Fuck. Look at you! You have so much muscle from head to toe. Stand back a little, darling.” Annoyed at his patronizing tone, Mistress Nguvu takes a giant step backward. The Boss giggles when he sees more of the Mistress’s muscular body. “I love it! Now, you. Boy. Take step toward me, please.”

Jonathan’s heartrate jumps. He does as he’s told. “You also look like you work out, my boy. Do you?”

“Yes, I do. I’m no bodybuilder, unlike the Mistress here, but I do what I can to look good.”

“Ooh, yes. You do, indeed. Alright. Both of you, get naked. Now! Strip all your clothes for me.” Jonathan and the Mistress stay still. One of the henchmen takes out his gun and points it at their direction. This inspires them to get started. As Jonathan and Nguvu remove all their clothing, they can hear the Boss moaning with delight, as if he were masturbating while watching them strip. Mistress Nguvu drops her corset, panties, and bra to the floor. Jonathan kicks his shirt, gym shorts, and underwear to the side. They stare directly at the computer screen and see exactly what they suspected they were hearing. The Boss is in fact masturbating.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Nobody can see it, but the Boss is clearly jerking himself off at the sight of these two naked people standing before him. Jonathan turns his head away in disgust. He sees Mistress Nguvu’s naked muscular body and quickly becomes distracted by it. Tall, thick, angular, curvy in all the right places, Jonathan notices two remarkable features of her divine body: Hard black nipples that stick out nearly a full inch and a breathtaking clitoris that extends more than three inches outward. Even the Short Man and the henchmen cannot help but stare at Nguvu’s incredible features. The sight of her jaw-dropping feminine endowment gives Jonathan a slight erection. His penis coming to life is enough to send the Boss over the edge.

“Motherfucker! FUCK!!!”

The Boss comes, groaning as he ejaculates all over himself. Thankfully, nobody in the room can see what that looks like. The Short Man turns away, not wanting to witness any of this. The two henchmen are weirded out, but try to remain calm and professional. They do not want to anger their Boss in anyway. The consequences of that would be disastrous.

Slay me, Alana Shipp!
Slay me, Alana Shipp!

“Oooooh, yes. Oh baby. That’s what I like. Jerry!” The Short Man, whose name is apparently Jerry, regains his composure and leans toward the computer’s microphone.

“Yes, sir?”

“At first I was pissed off that you decided to take two extra hostages. But now I see you made the right decision. Call it fate or good luck, but I want to personally meet these two. Send them to the airport immediately. I will order a private jet to transport them to my home. Do it NOW!” The Boss turns off the web chat and the screen goes dark. The man with the gun lowers his weapon and puts it back in his jacket. Jerry takes a deep breath and tries to think of a contingency plan. Transporting two of his hostages to the airport was not part of his original plan. That means his team has to split up. One has to stay here to watch over Dr. Samantha and the others have to escort the other two to a different destination.

Fuck. But if the Boss says this must be done, then it must be done. Jerry and his crew are accustomed to adjusting their plans on the fly, but that doesn’t mean they have to like it.

“Wow. Well, you heard the man. Let’s get going,” Jerry says. “Get dressed. Now.”

Ten minutes later, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are escorted back to the dark red SUV. As they pass the door where they were locked up for the night, Nguvu stops and looks at it. She wants to say something to Dr. Samantha. She wants to assure her she and Jonathan will be alright. She wants her to know they’ll both be safe. One of the henchmen grabs Nguvu’s broad shoulders and nudges her toward the parking garage. Jonathan doesn’t offer any resistance.

He thinks about Dr. Samantha too, but doesn’t feel any urge to speak to her. Somehow, for whatever inexplicable reason, he senses she’ll be just fine. Her husband will deliver the x-ray machine and she’ll be secure in his arms soon after. Yes, these people will turn it into a radioactive bomb, but Jonathan doesn’t have the inclination right now to think about that. He still wants to know why the Boss wants to see both he and the Mistress so badly.

Like the ride over to the mystery building, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are forced to wear blindfolds. They even put it on themselves. Two hours later, Jonathan can hear the sounds of airplanes landing and taking off for flight. The airport is obviously nearby.

Soon, the SUV stops and the driver shuts off the ignition. A voice instructs them to get out of the car. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu do as they’re told.

One of the henchmen grabs the blindfolds and hands them to Jerry. The Short Man puts them in his inner coat pocket.

“We’re here. I have no fucking idea why the Boss wants to personally see you two, but for whatever shitty reason he does. Enjoy the flight, fuckers.” Jonathan and Nguvu struggle to adjust their eyes to broad daylight. A few moments later, they peer upwards at a small white twin engine jet. There are no logos anywhere to be seen. A short Hispanic woman walks out of the plane and greets her passengers.

“Good day to you both. If you’ll please follow me inside, our flight will take off as soon as possible. The weather looks fabulous, so I fully expect us to be able to leave without too long of a wait.” Wearing a professional flight stewardess’s outfit, the woman goes back inside the plane. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu look back at Jerry and his henchmen. They stare right back at them, urging them to board the jet. The two passengers walk up the stairs with no questions asked. The Hispanic woman shuts the door behind them.

“Sit anywhere you like. The Boss will be pleased to see you both. He’s very excited about this meeting. If you need anything from me, just push the green button next to your seats,” the short woman says. “I’ll be by with snacks and drinks shortly after we cruise to 30,000 feet.”

A private white jet preparing for takeoff.
A private white jet preparing for takeoff.

Still in a daze that hasn’t left since last night, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu choose random seats and sit down. They buckle their seatbelts and stare out the window. Jerry and his henchmen have already driven off. A faint cloud of exhaust is the only indication of their presence at this airstrip.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” Jonathan asks the stewardess. She turns around.

“Yes?”

“How long is this flight, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Nguvu leans forward to hear her answer. The engines start to rumble. The stewardess is right. They do plan to take off right away.

“If we leave immediately, we should be able to get to our destination in nine hours,” she says. “The Caribbean islands are pretty far away, after all.”

The stewardess leaves. Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu can do nothing but sit there in stunned silence. Before either of them could blink, the jet slowly starts to move forward and within minutes they begin their ascent.

Educating Jonathan – Part Five

This is Jay Fuchs. There is no reason to post a picture of her, but I don't need one!
This is Jay Fuchs. There is no reason to post a picture of her, but I don’t need one!

For the next sixty minutes, the passengers inside the dark red SUV remain silent.

The ride to their final destination proceeds without anybody speaking a single word. None of the three hostages make a sound. The two hostage-takers also choose to not engage in conversation. It is an uncomfortable silence, but one that everyone mutually agrees to adhere to.

Dr. Samantha, who is furiously trying to figure out why these four armed men are targeting her specifically, is too frightened to cry. She struggles to breathe even though she is no longer wearing the clown mask. Mistress Nguvu thinks about whether she will die tonight. Jonathan tries to be upbeat about their situation, but resigns to the fact that their captors hold all the decision-making power.

Sixty minutes may have passed. Or maybe it’s seventy minutes. Or ninety. Or fifteen. Regardless, time ceases to exist. Jonathan guesses they’re heading south, judging from the movements of the vehicle. He knows for a fact they’re on the freeway. There shouldn’t be any traffic on the highway at this time, so they must be travelling at 70 or 80 miles per hour. Everyone speeds at this hour in the morning.

Finally, the SUV exits the freeway and they begin to drive at a slower pace. A few twists and turns later, the SUV finally comes to a complete stop. Then it moves again. Then it stops. Then it moves again. They must be taking side streets. Are they driving through a residential neighborhood? Or are they moving through a business district? The answer is anyone’s guess.

Eventually the SUV comes to a stop and the driver turns off the ignition. This indicates they’ve arrived at their destination.

“We’re here,” the driver announces. The two men leave the car and talk to the other two men, who have presumably also parked as well. Jonathan cannot hear what they are saying. Samantha breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about all of this.”

Mistress Nguvu leans over to Dr. Samantha and brushes her head against her shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Whatever happens to us, it’s not your fault. It’s their fault. Understand?” Jonathan cannot see, but he senses Dr. Sammy nodding in agreement. He hopes she doesn’t feel too much guilt about their predicament. The Mistress is right. This isn’t her fault.

One of the men comes by and opens the passenger door. “Time to take off your blindfolds. If any of you make any sudden moves, you won’t be making any moves ever again, got it?” The three hostages provide weak audible responses.

“Good. I’m glad we’re all choosing to be so cooperative.” The man reaches over and removes the blindfolds of Jonathan, Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu. He instructs the three to get out of the car. Jonathan leaves first and looks around at their new surroundings. It’s a small concrete underground parking garage. It looks more cramped than the one underneath his apartment building. A foul odor greets him as he moves to the side to give Samantha and the Mistress room to leave the vehicle. After all three are out in the open, the Short Man approaches them with a wide smile on his face.

The gorgeous Brazilian female bodybuilder Flavia Crisos.
The gorgeous Brazilian female bodybuilder Flavia Crisos.

“I trust the ride was comfortable?” He smirks. Mistress Nguvu wants to punch him in the face, but wisely declines after seeing the other three men pointing their guns at their heads.

“Never mind that. Follow me. I’m pleased by how dutiful all of you have been in following my instructions. I have no complaints,” he says. “Fear can be a powerful motivator, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is. You obviously know how to utilize it to your advantage,” Jonathan says. The two women suddenly look at him. Why the hell is he making polite conversation with their captors? Is he out of his mind?

“Yes I do. Come.” The Short Man leads them through a creaky steel door and down a dark and long hallway. There are no windows anywhere. No art on the walls. The paint is starting to chip on the ceiling. A row of dim lightbulbs hang from above, doing their best to illuminate the entire hall. At the end of the corridor is another steel door. One of the armed men opens it and stands guard. The Short Man leads the other two into the room. Inside are three wooden chairs, a small carpenter’s table with nothing on it, a bookshelf with only a small handful of books on it, a toilet, no sink, an old black sofa collecting dust, and absolutely no windows of any sort. After everyone enters the room, the Short Man shows no indication he wants anyone to sit down. All three hostages stay standing.

“Anyone wondering why you’re all here?” the Short Man asks. He looks at all three captives and knows none of them will guess accurately. Satisfied with the level of fear he’s instilled in the three of them, he answers his question for them.

“I’m sure that question has crossed your minds once or twice this evening. Dr. Samantha.”

Everyone in the room turns to face her. Dr. Sammy isn’t crying, but appears to be on the verge of breaking down in tears. Her inner strength will face the ultimate test tonight.

“What?”

“Why do you think you’re all here? Any idea?”

Dr. Samantha lets out a sigh and bows her head. “No idea at all,” she says. The considerable weight of guilt bearing down on her soul breaks Jonathan’s heart. Mistress Nguvu stands tall and proud, defiantly supporting her long-time friend during this ordeal.

A dark ominous corridor.
A dark ominous corridor.

“Really? That’s surprising. Well, here’s the reason why. Your husband, Dr. Matthew Prescott, is the head neurosurgeon at East Wellspring Hospital, right?” Dr. Samantha’s ears perk up. She nods. “Of course he is. He’s without a doubt the most respected employee at that hospital, wouldn’t you say?”

She nods again in agreement. The Short Man’s insistence on tormenting his prisoners by asking endless rhetorical questions annoys both Jonathan and the Mistress.

“So respected, he could literally walk into a restricted zone with no questions asked, am I right?” Dr. Samantha’s patience has worn thin. She bursts out of anger.

“Yes, goddamn it! He practically owns the fucking place. What’s your fucking point, asshole?!” The men with guns laugh at her unexpected display of passion. The Short Man doesn’t blink but glares at his colleagues. They cease their laughter.

“Take it easy there, sweetheart. My point is simple. Every hospital has radiological material stored within it for x-rays, ultrasounds, MRIs, and things like that. Devices containing poisonous radioactive chemicals like cesium-137 are usually stored in a secure location. But he’d be able to access such things, given his prestige at the institution. Do you get my meaning?” Dr. Samantha thinks for a moment to connect the dots. After a brief pause, she nods her head again.

“Yes, I think I do. You want him to steal some of these radioactive devices for you. So you’ve kidnapped me and holding me for ransom. If he doesn’t cooperate or if he notifies the police, you’ll kill us. Am I getting warmer?” The Short Man laughs heartily. The other men smile but do not make any sound.

“Bingo! We want these materials so we can make a bomb. A dirty bomb. Believe it or not, but we’re kind of a big deal in the underground black market. Pretty big deal. Am I right, boys?”

“Hell yeah, sir!” one man responds.

“Fuck yes!” the other one shouts out.

“Yes, we are. We’re not terrorists, but we deal primarily with terrorists. And drug kingpins. And human traffickers. And organized crime syndicates. And third-world dictators facing international sanctions. You know, those kinds of people. The kind of people your media teaches you to hate. You probably don’t like us very much, do you?” The three hostages proudly stay quiet. The short man knows he’s said enough. They get it now. They know why they’re in this mess. It’s now time to break off this conversation and leave them be.

Portable x-ray machines.
Portable x-ray machines.

“I thought so. Well, I shall be off. I have several phone calls to make. Including one to your husband, naturally. There’s an armed guard standing outside this door. If any of you attempt to escape, expect a bullet to be lodged inside your fucking skulls. Got it?” Not expecting an answer, the Short Man and his two cohorts breeze out of the room. The door is locked. The fourth man is still standing at guard. Dr. Samantha, Jonathan and Mistress Nguvu are left there, stunned and stupefied. When will this nightmare end? Will there be a clean way out of this?

Dr. Samantha drops to her knees. She doesn’t cry because she doesn’t have any tears left to shed. Mistress Nguvu squats down to comfort her. Jonathan slumps down on one of the wooden chairs and stares at the steel door in exasperated silence.

For what seems like forever, none of them speak. What is there to say?

A sense of disgust grows within Dr. Samantha’s body. Obviously, these men specifically targeted her and her husband. They must have researched countless hospitals, doctors, and doctor’s wives to pinpoint who would make the most logical target. Much to her horror, she and Matthew are the unlucky participants. She feels even more wretched that the Mistress and Jonathan had to also get involved.

“Don’t worry, baby. Your husband will do the right thing. Nothing is going to happen to us,” Mistress Nguvu says. She knows her words will ring hollow, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t attempt to comfort her friend. Jonathan decides now is the time to chime in.

This is what the interrogation room would look like.
This is what the interrogation room would look like.

“There’s nothing we can do right now. What’s about to happen is about to happen. We’re powerless to change the course of events. That sounds hopeless, but it is what it is.” Defeated, Jonathan falls to the floor and covers his face with his hands. He cannot remember the last time he ever cried, but now would be an understandable time to do so. Instead, he lies there and attempts to rationalize to himself how everything will turn out okay at the end.

Jonathan struggles to come up with a plausible reason.

In another room on the floor above, the Short Man picks up a cell phone and calls the home of Dr. Matthew Prescott. The time is near 4:00 in the morning, so he should be sleeping. Whether he went to bed wondering where his wife could possibly be is a question he is about to have answered.

The neurosurgeon picks up the phone. Groggy and grumpy, he inquires who would be so rude as to call someone at this inconvenient hour. The Short Man explains calmly the situation his wife is currently facing. The doctor’s demeanor is surprisingly level-headed and rational. The hostage-taker lays out his deal: By midnight tonight, he must deliver to a certain address a portable x-ray generator machine to a man driving a black sedan. He will deliver the goods, and after an inspection of the device that (hopefully) leads to the approval by the inspector, the doctor will be given a second address to drive to. There, he will find his wife and her two friends waiting for him, unharmed if all goes well. If anything doesn’t go well, he may never see her ever again. Her friends will also suffer a similar fate.

Inside, the doctor is fuming with rage and uncontrollable fear. But on the surface, he appears gentle and accommodating. He agrees to the man’s terms and hangs up the phone. Dr. Matthew Prescott punches a wall and throws a wine glass across the room. The Short Man leans back in his chair and grins with joyful self-satisfaction. He instructs one of the men to contact their boss and inform him the good doctor is willing to be compliant. The phone call is made. The boss expresses his gratitude to his underlings. The Short Man suggests they open a bottle of champagne and celebrate this crucial first step to creating a bomb that will be the envy of scum everywhere on planet Earth.

Imagine the payment that will come with selling a weapon of mass destruction. Rich drug cartels and apocalyptic terrorists have plenty of cash to go around. The men drink to their health and their future success.

Meanwhile, the three hostages still have not started any conversation. There doesn’t seem to be any need to speak. Quietness permeates the room. Dr. Sammy and the Mistress cuddle together on the floor. The dusty black sofa looks disgusting and reeks of something awful. Mistress Nguvu wants to pee. She eyes the toilet, but decides against it. Now is the time to comfort her friend. The time for personal business is later.

Jonathan, on the other hand, gets up to use the toilet. There’s no toilet paper or running water to clean his hands. Oh well. He returns back to his spot on the floor and places his arms behind his head. He stares up at the ceiling. A light fixture stares back down at him. A spider crawls across one of the bulbs. Normally, Jonathan would freak out at the sight of such a repulsive eight-legged creature, but he has no more fear left to dispense. All he can do is stare at it and wish it well. Odds are, the spider is capable of escaping this hell hole. The humans, however, are not.

He shuts his eyes and tries to think of more pleasant memories. None come to mind. Fuck.

Eventually, Jonathan drifts off to sleep. He doesn’t know if Dr. Samantha or Mistress Nguvu follow suit, but he doesn’t care. He’s too exhausted to care. All he wants to do is sleep and wake up in his own bed and find out everything is just a nightmare. He doubts this will happen.

Educating Jonathan – Part Four

Classic muscle beauty: The incomparable Minna Pajulahti.
Classic muscle beauty: The incomparable Minna Pajulahti.

Jonathan opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Mistress Nguvu decides to speak next.

“Did you hear me, Jonathan?”

He makes eye contact with her. Her stern look tells him she means business. Jonathan has no intention of getting on her bad side. God forbid that would ever happen.

“Yes, I heard you, Mistress. What kind of help do you need from me exactly?” If there was anything valuable Jonathan learned from that human sexuality class, it was that any dominatrix who is worth anything will always desire to be called “Mistress” whenever possible. Any breach of protocol grants one’s self the right to be punished. Jonathan does not want to be “punished” by this formidable woman.

“Good. Come closer. I want to show you something,” she says.

Like a faithful dog, Jonathan approaches the Mistress as instructed. He feels timid around her but wildly excited at the same time. Mistress Nguvu senses his meekness and relishes the sensual power she has over him. Despite her years and years of experience as a professional dominatrix, she still experiences that tingling exhilaration when a rookie “subordinate” subjects her with proper reverence when called upon to demonstrate it.

“Do you see my cock? Do you see how beautiful it is?” The Mistress strokes her gigantic black dildo up and down its enormous shaft. Jonathan feels a bit insecure, but instead chooses to ignore his emotions. Now is neither the time nor the place to relive his personal insecurities.

“Yes, I see your beautiful cock. It’s so big.”

“Yes it is. And I want to show Samantha here how big and beautiful it can be. Look inside the black bag and take out the bottle of oil,” the Mistress instructs.

Without hesitation, Jonathan goes to the bag and digs inside it. He finds a bottle of baby oil. Dr. Sammy is still on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Jonathan didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or be creeped out by her behavior. He hands the bottle to the Mistress and holds his breath.

Mistress Nguvu opens the bottle and pours a generous amount of oil onto the palm of her hand. Jonathan sees large calluses protruding across her hand and up her fingers. Decades of weightlifting will do that to your skin. It’s the body’s way of protecting itself from repeated abuse. He wonders if Samantha’s body will demonstrate a similar defense mechanism.

“You seem like an obedient boy, Jonathan. Will you obey my commands?”

Jonathan blinks. “Yes, Mistress. I will obey your every word.” He almost tips over. Thankfully, he retains his balance. The Mistress smears the oil all over the dildo, making sure all nine inches are dutifully covered. Samantha sits up and rubs her eyes. Liquid eyeliner streaks across her beautiful face. She’s stopped sobbing, but still has the sniffles. An ominous roar of thunder makes itself heard outside. All three of them stop what they’re doing and look out the window. Seconds later, a subtle streak of lightning follows, as if on cue. The Mistress rumbles in laughter and touches Jonathan on the shoulder. He shudders at the sensation of her warm fingers brushing against his cold skin.

“We are People of Color. We deserve to teach this worthless white cunt a lesson in humility, don’t you agree?” Jonathan nods in agreement. He doesn’t know if the Mistress sees this, but she proceeds as if she knew how he responded.

“Good. Now is the proper time for us to punish this little fucking white bitch in a way she deserves. Are you hard yet?” Mistress Nguvu reaches down and wraps her fingers around Jonathan’s limp penis. He gasps. Samantha’s eyes widen in anticipation. Her breathing stops. The Mistress lightly jerks Jonathan’s manhood and feels it fill her palm. She smiles, showing off her pearly white teeth. “Good boy, good boy Jonathan. Good boy.”

Rene Campbell showing off her hard work.
Rene Campbell showing off her hard work.

Samantha rubs her reddened torso to ease the pain. The worst has already passed, but a faint hint of ache still lingers. She licks her lips.

“Now, go over to her and put your Asian penis inside her mouth. She knows what to do from there,” the Mistress instructs, playfully pushing Jonathan toward the professor. He obliges without protest.

“Don’t you, little white bitch?”

The gorgeous professor bobs her head up and down. Dr. Sammy positions herself on all fours and sticks her bottom out in front of Mistress Nguvu. Jonathan sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs. Samantha obediently crawls toward him. She looks at him and communicates the message “trust me” with her eyes. For whatever reason, Jonathan feels secure by this silent demonstration of consensual verification.

Mistress Nguvu walks over to Samantha and sticks a single finger inside her anus. She struggles to stifle a moan. A second finger enters her shortly after. Jonathan’s erect penis sways back and forth again. The professor extends her tongue outward and licks his sensitive tip. He lets out a deep groan and closes his eyes. The Mistress inserts a third finger and then a fourth. As Jonathan’s entire manhood is engulfed by Dr. Sammy’s mouth, Nguvu’s entire fist finds itself inside her anus. Finally ready to take in the ultimate prize, the strong black woman removes her fist and substitutes it with her oiled up nine inch long strap-on dildo. Inserting it with deliberate intent, she wants to assert her dominance without giving her worthless bitch any unnecessary unpleasantness.

“You know what to do next, slut. Suck on his small Asian cock while I ride you with my large black dick!”

Caught off guard by the Mistress’s description of his manhood being a “small Asian cock,” Jonathan almost makes a sound of protest just as Dr. Sammy submissively starts to perform fellatio on him. At the same time, Mistress Nguvu grips Samantha’s hips and strokes her dildo in and out of her tight anal cavity. The pleasure he derives from the oral sex distracts him from thinking about how the hell a nine inch long dildo can possibly fit inside someone’s anus. The young Asian graduate student decides to ponder such matters at a later time.

“Oh yeah, suck on it. Suck on it real good as I shove my big black cock inside your ass. Take it, you fucking piece of shit.” Still uncomfortable with hearing such foul language, Jonathan closes his eyes again and looks upward toward the Heavens. He feels himself close to climax. Samantha nearly chokes as she once again fights away tears. She’s feeling a tremendous amount of pain from the dildo intruding her tight anus, but she accepts it as a suitable punishment for the generations of systemic racism her people have lashed out against Mistress Nguvu’s and Jonathan’s people.

“When you’re about to come, tell us so this dirty little white slut knows when to stop,” the Mistress instructs to Jonathan. Samantha refuses to relinquish the pace at which she sucks his penis. He tries to concentrate but cannot. His vision blurs. Waves of pleasure roll through his body. He knows he’s close. The Mistress also refuses to surrender her torrid in-and-out thrusting of Dr. Sammy’s abused cavity.

Finally, he senses the end is near. He decides to acknowledge this fact.

“I’m about to come!”

Mistress Nguvu intensifies her thrusts. She slaps Samantha on the back to instruct her to cease the fellatio. She removes Jonathan’s penis from her mouth and waits.

The wait doesn’t last long.

Jonathan groans as he spurts his semen all over Samantha’s beautiful face. The waves of his ejaculation seem to go on forever. Eventually, they stop and he collapses backward onto the bed. Mistress Nguvu pulls out of Samantha’s bottom and peers into her face. It is completely covered in warm white liquid. She laughs, the sound of her husky voice reverberating throughout the whole room.

“That’s a good girl. Yes, a very good girl indeed.” Nguvu strokes Dr. Sammy’s hair like an owner would pet a cat. Jonathan swears Samantha starts to purr like a satisfied feline. All he knows is that he is the truly satisfied one!

A life-like long black dildo.
A life-like long black dildo.

A long silence follows. No one knows for sure for how long, but that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone. At last, Samantha stands up and goes to the bathroom. She closes the door behind her. The sound of running water follows. Mistress Nguvu, who has now fallen out of “character,” removes the strap-on dildo from her waist and cleans it with a disinfectant wipe. She takes another wipe from her pack and offers it to Jonathan.

“Would you like this? To clean up after yourself?”

Jonathan nods his head and takes the wipe from the Mistress. He cleans his penis and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. He really needs to pee, but must wait patiently until Samantha returns from the bathroom. Nguvu places the dildo back inside the bag. An awkward moment takes place between Jonathan and the Mistress as they look at each other but have nothing constructive or practical to say. Finally, Jonathan cordially breaks the silence.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jonathan, but you already know that.” He extends his hand toward Nguvu. She follows suit and shakes his hand. Her tight grip takes Jonathan by surprise. Could she break every bone in his body if she wanted to? Jonathan has no doubts she could if she were so inclined to demonstrate her incredible strength. He hopes he never gets on her “bad” side. The consequences would be disastrous.

“Charmed. I was a bit surprised Sammy wanted to start things off without proper introductions, but she was ‘in the moment’ and couldn’t be bothered with basic pleasantries,” Mistress Nguvu observes. “I don’t blame her one bit. She’s a passionate one, that’s for damn sure.”

Jonathan smirks. “Yes, she is. Have you ever read any of her writings? She speaks from the heart. There’s a lot to admire about that.” He realizes he’s still stark naked, but for whatever inexplicable reason he chooses not to clothe himself yet.

“You’re right about that. I adore her. She provides a level of insight that not too many people can match. She’s truly a one-of-a-kind.”

A moment later, Samantha comes out of the bathroom in a much more upbeat mood. She’s put on a bathrobe (a comfortable dark purple fleece robe Jonathan’s grandmother gave him for Christmas a few years ago) and appears to be “out of character” as well. She and Nguvu hug. Then they share a brief kiss. It is at this moment that Jonathan becomes more self-conscious about his nudity and contemplates putting on something to make things less strange.

“Go ahead and put something on, sweetie,” Samantha suggests, as if she could read minds.

The authoritative Mistress Treasure.
The authoritative Mistress Treasure.

Taking her advice, Jonathan puts on a pair of underwear, gym shorts and an old t-shirt. Mistress Nguvu takes out a bottle of water from her coat and drinks from it. Samantha stands behind her and sensually rubs her broad shoulders. Now that the fog of war has cleared, Jonathan takes a long look at the Mistress and marvels at her impressive muscular physique. He’s seen guys with big muscles, but never a woman with so much from head to toe. Jonathan’s never been into “muscle chicks,” but Nguvu is forcing him to reconsider his position.

“You have a nice apartment, Jonathan,” the Mistress says. Jonathan abruptly breaks out of his spell.

“Thank you. I’ve been here for about a year and a half. The rent isn’t too shabby. I like it a lot.”

“It sure beats my crummy little house down in Puyallup. I should consider moving to the big city. I think I’d like it once I get used to it.” Dr. Sammy leans over and kisses Nguvu’s bulging right bicep. In response, the Mistress flexes her arm to accentuate her bicep peak. A tight bundle of muscle emerges from the top of her swollen arm. Dr. Sammy gasps.

“You would sure get a lot more customers if you moved up here, Mistress. You should really consider it.” Mistress Nguvu turns around and wraps her strong arms around the professor. She playfully lifts her up and drops her to her feet. Dr. Sammy audibly moans, as if responding erotically to the Mistress’s impressive display of brute strength. Jonathan chuckles and turns on all the lights in the room so that he could get a complete glimpse of his guests. Spent, Dr. Sammy sits down on a nearby sofa.

“You look so cute together,” Jonathan observes. “Tell me, Mistress. You have got to be a professional bodybuilder, right? I mean, there aren’t too many women in this world who look like you.”

The Mistress takes a step toward him, which sends a jolt of nervous energy through his body. He knows she means no harm, but he cannot help but react this way to her imposing physical presence.

“I used to compete professionally, yes. But not anymore. I stopped competing about five years ago. But in my heyday, I was one of the world’s premiere female bodybuilders. I still lift, obviously!” Nguvu shows off a series of bodybuilder poses, much to the delight of her audience. Dr. Sammy cheers and applauds for her while Jonathan could do nothing but stand there and stare at her. Totally mesmerized by Nguvu’s impeccable combination of size, strength, grace, beauty and femininity, he can say for certain that he’s never met (or seen, for that matter) a woman like her before. He doubts he’ll ever meet a woman like her again in his life. He’s definitely positive about that.

Before the Mistress could finish all her poses, a sudden knock at the door surprises everyone. Dr. Sammy jumps up to her feet. Nguvu turns her head toward the door. Jonathan looks at a clock on the wall and sees the current time is 2:36 a.m. Who could that possibly be? Nobody would ever have any reason to knock on his door at this hour! They weren’t being too loud. These walls are faultlessly soundproof. Jonathan walks toward the door and peers through the small peep hole.

“Who is it?” Dr. Sammy inquires.

“Let me check,” Jonathan says.

The hallway of his apartment building is usually well-lit no matter time of the day it is. The 17th floor has only four tenants, as most of the residents live on floors one through twelve. However, Jonathan struggles to see who it is that’s waiting on the other side. He thinks there are two or three people, but he could be wrong. Fearing nothing, Jonathan cracks open the door.

“Hello? Who is it? Are we being too loud?”

The person standing directly in front of the door kicks it open violently. Jonathan stumbles backward and falls to the floor. Dr. Sammy screams. Nguvu is frozen with terror. Four men dressed in black storm into the apartment unit and draw guns with silencers directly at all three of them. The fourth man calmly closes the door and points his gun at Jonathan’s head.

“Stand up. Slowly. Don’t try anything stupid,” he commands.

Jonathan does as he’s told. The other three men surround Mistress Nguvu and Samantha, who have huddled together in the southeast corner of the room. All four men are wearing clown masks, black trench coats, camouflage pants, military boots and bullet-proof vests. The fourth man, who is significantly shorter than his henchmen, points his gun in the direction of Nguvu and Dr. Sammy. Jonathan takes that as a hint to move toward them. He shuffles his feet to where they’re quivering and positions his body in front of the women.

“Alright, let’s make this simple. Don’t try anything stupid, any of you. First of all, are you Dr. Samantha Prescott?” Everyone looks at her. Dr. Sammy nods her head. “Good. Now, listen to me very carefully. We’re all going to go downstairs to the parking garage. I don’t know who the fuck you two are, but because you’re here with her, we’re taking you all hostage.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Mistress Nguvu asks. Jonathan senses a level of fear in her voice that he never knew was possible for a strong woman of her stature. Muscles or not, a man with a gun changes the equation really quick.

“That’s none of your fucking business, bitch. What’s going on here, some kind of fetish party?” The man looks around at the dildo, whip, oil and the Mistress’s outfit. “No matter. Kinky bastards. Here, put these on.”

A clown mask.
A clown mask.

The man motions to one of his colleagues. One of the men takes out three identical clown masks from his coat and hands them to his hostages.

“Do it. Put them on. Now!”

Jonathan, Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu reluctantly put on the clown masks. Two of the men walk toward the front door.

“Good. Don’t say a word. If any of you scream, attempt to run away, or pull off any other stupid shit, we’ll put a bullet inside every single one of you. Don’t test us. Got it?”

The three hostages nod their heads to acknowledge their understanding of his orders.

“Fantastic. Fucking fantastic. Alright, let’s head out. Not a single word will be spoken by any of you, understand? If anyone asks who we are or where we’re going, I’m the only one who will speak. Got it?”

Once again, the three hostages nod their heads.

“Great. Let’s head out.” With that, the seven of them walk out toward the elevator. Not a single soul is in the hallway. Jonathan isn’t very religious, but right now he is praying to every deity known to the Universe. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t know who these men are or what they plan to do with them. He just wants this whole ordeal to come to an end.

They get into an elevator. Forty-five seconds go by, which seem like an eternity. The elevator doors open and the seven clown mask-donning figures walk toward a dark red SUV.

“Get in,” a voice commands.

Jonathan, Dr. Samantha and Mistress Nguvu, still wearing the clown masks, sit in the back of the SUV. Two of the men sit in front while the other two men get into a separate car. One of the men collects the clown masks and gives them black cloth to put over their heads instead. The three hostages put them on. The cloth completely blinds them. They cannot see a thing.

Satisfied with their hostages’ blindness, the driver turns on the ignition, puts the SUV in reverse, exits the parking garage and within minutes they’re travelling on the open road toward an uncertain fate.

Muscle Goddess on the Beach

All I need is a warm beach, a cold drink and a beautiful female bodybuilder by my side. Is that too much to ask for?
All I need is a warm beach, a cold drink and a beautiful female bodybuilder by my side. Is that too much to ask for?

The crashing of waves against the white sandy beach echoes along the secluded picturesque shore. Moonlight floods from every direction, illuminating the night sky. The gentle breeze barely resonate a sound, but imposes itself just enough to encourage the tall palm trees to sway back and forth.

Walking hand-in-hand next to the foamy green water with her, I still cannot believe how lucky I am at this moment in time. Kristina is her name. A competitive female bodybuilder, entrepreneur and rising star on the world stage, it makes absolutely no sense why she would choose to be with me. She could be with any man in the world. So why me?

Why not someone else – someone more handsome, rich and influential?

“Look, darling! I think I just saw a dolphin over there!” Kristina points out to sea, insisting she saw a majestic cetacean mammal gliding across the frothy waters. I do believe I saw out of the corner of my eye a black figure dancing across the tide, but my focus and attention is elsewhere. All I want to do is to look at her.

Standing at an imposing 6’ 4”, Kristina is all muscle, completely ripped from head to toe. Nearing her 50th birthday, it also seems rather odd for a woman of her age to be holding hands with a young man who hasn’t hit 25 just yet. But here we are, drinking in the midnight air on the shores of paradise like two old lovers.

Her grip on my hand becomes tighter as we see two more dolphins leap high into the air and splash into the water. Poetry in motion. I caress her large bicep, feeling the long purple vein protruding down the middle of it. She may be more than twice my age, but she is without a doubt the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. We met just a few days ago. She just completed a competition and needed a well-deserved vacation. I happen to live here in this beach city, so I am accustomed to being surrounded by tourists.

But not tourists like Kristina. She’s a one-of-a-kind.

“I don’t want this night to end, my love,” I impulsively whisper into her ear. Wait, what? Did I just call her “my love?” How could I be so foolish? How can I possibly call a woman I hardly know “my love” when she could very well be married and have kids who are my age? What am I doing assuming that…

“Nor do I, my love,” she whispers back.

Well. That settles matters!

We continue walking for several minutes in complete silence. Her grip never loosens. We eventually reach a more secluded part of the beach, away from drunk partiers, debris, empty beer bottles and all signs of humanity. The bright moon blankets the entire beach with its intrusive glow. I love the feeling of the cool sand tickling my toes. However, I love being with Kristina even more. We look like an odd pair. Her tall stature and jaw-dropping muscular body is certainly an unusual sight compared to my smaller frame and shorter height. But I don’t mind one bit. She’s a heavenly Goddess and I am infinitely lucky to be with her right now.

I really want to caress the bicep of Beata Antoninas.
I really want to caress the bicep of Beata Antoninas.

Kristina turns to face me. She leans over and kisses me. Her hot lips steal my breath. Her musky scent is like sweet perfume. Her gorgeous face, while touched with the inevitable lines and wrinkles of age, can still make your heart stop when you gaze upon it. Just looking at her navy blue eyes is enough to erupt a giddy energy within me.

“We’re all alone,” she observes.

“Yes, we are. What shall we do with the rest of our evening?” We snuggle close. The cool midnight breeze is a welcomed change from the hot and humid 90 degree heat endured by all of us earlier in the day. I will accept these conditions every single time.

“As you said before, you don’t want this evening to end, am I right?”

“Right.”

“Then let’s make sure that doesn’t happen, lover boy.” With that, Kristina pulls me in close and kisses me again. She boldly unzips my pants and pulls down my underwear. I gasp so hard while kissing her it nearly causes me to choke. But I do nothing to stop her. She fondles my penis, encouraging it to swell in her hands. When our lips come apart, I reach behind her and unhook the back of her dress. My arms barely reach around her thick torso. Never in my life did I ever expect I’d be with such a strong beautiful woman as Kristina. But here I am, living out a fantasy most men could only dream about.

“My pleasure, Kristina,” I whisper in her ear. Taking my time, I patiently push her yellow sundress lower and lower, struggling to unravel the tight fabric from her large, bulky body. How she is able to put on any article of clothing without it ripping to shreds is a mystery to me!

Finally, the dress pools around her ankles. She kicks it away from her feet and lets it lie in the smooth sand. We finish denuding each other, completely careless about the fact that at any moment we could be spotted by a passerby. If we get caught in the act, so be it. Let them watch. We don’t care.

Stark naked, Kristina backs away and shows off a series of award-winning bodybuilding poses. Watching her immaculate body at work is enough to make me forget to breathe.

“God, you look incredible,” I say, in almost a trance-like state. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

I look down at my own naked body and feel self-conscious. Does she really think I look good? I’m sure she’s accustomed to seeing guys who look way better than me. How do I compare? Is she just being nice to me, or is she genuinely telling me the truth? How can I know either way? What should–

Before I could finish my ramblings thoughts, Kristina tackles me and knocks me to the ground. She kisses me and playfully bites my upper lip. I press my tongue against hers and we taste each other’s saliva. It may not sound too romantic, but up to now this is the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Her sizzling breathe delightfully burns the inside of my mouth.

May I please cuddle up with Deidre Pagnanelli?
May I please cuddle up with Deidre Pagnanelli?

Wasting no time at all, Kristina spreads her legs wide across the ground, burying her toes in the sand. She pinches the base of my penis and positions it in front of her moist entryway. I take in a deep breath. She lets out a moan as she rubs my hard shaft against her engorged clitoris. She refuses to wait any further and lowers herself onto my manhood. We both let out audible groans as we intimately join together. Kristina experiments with a few up and down thrusts as I grab her breasts and pinch her erect nipples.

Bodybuilding may have made her breasts small and flat, but I still treat them as if they were the most beautiful pair in the world. Her nipples, sticking out a full inch, are dark pink and clearly sensitive to the touch – judging from her sudden twitch when I take one of them into my mouth. Kristina powerfully thrusts down hard on my penis, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my whole body. Her enormous frame engulfs my entire being. Covered from head to toe with her hard feminine flesh, I am trapped underneath her…though I have no reasons to complain about this.

As a reckless wave of seawater splashes across a nearby protruding rocky cliff, a warm current of air sweeps across our bodies. Goosebumps form across Kristina’s broad back. I desperately want to feel every single one of them. I want to brush my fingers up and down every mound of muscle on her back, experiencing the fruits of all her pull-ups, deadlifts and bent over barbell rows. Thankfully, I have this moment and many more moments afterward to appreciate her hard work.

“I want you to come inside me, baby,” Kristina pleads with me.

“I’m almost there, gorgeous lady,” I reply. Our lips meet. She bites down on my lower lip. I extend my tongue into her mouth and explore. She meets my tongue with hers. The tension builds to a fever level. We are both close to climax but want to delay it as long as possible. Kristina pulls away from me and massages my scrotum with her callused fingers.

“Let’s not end the party quite yet, mister.”

“What do you suggest we do in the meantime?” I remain laying face-up. The cool soft sand feels incredible against my backside. Kristina keeps on massaging my balls as I reach out and caress her thighs, which are as thick as tree trunks. All her long hours of squatting heavy bone-crunching weights have paid off considerably. Every detail of her quads are well defined. I move down to her calves. They are equally enormous. My hands cannot grasp all of it.

We can all use more Sheila Rock in our lives.
We can all use more Sheila Rock in our lives.

“I suggest we enjoy each other’s bodies,” she says. Kristina moves away from my balls and caresses my chest, tickling my nipples in the process. I jolt up in gleeful surprise when she playfully pinches them hard.

“Oh, Kristina. You know how to drive me mad, you know that?”

“I can only imagine how much I drive you insane. Do you know a lot of women like me?” She proudly flexes her big swollen biceps – bouncing them up and down with impressive precision. I sit up and lick her plump bicep peak. She responds by flexing even harder. The tips of the mountains sitting on her arms are a breathtaking sight to behold. I start to wonder if her bulging muscles will burst out of her skin!

“I have never met a woman as beautiful and strong as you, my dear. Never in my life,” I say to her between licks. “I can guarantee you of that.” My hands reach out and stroke her six-pack abdomen. I feel like I’m going to climax just from doing that. Surprisingly, I remain in control. My fingers go lower and pinch her engorged clitoris. Enlarged from years of using human growth hormones, from a distance it could look like Kristina has a man’s penis. She doesn’t, though. Kristina is unmistakably ALL woman.

“Thank you, darling. I like the way you look, too.” Showing her sincerity, Kristina leaves a trail of kisses down my tummy and ends between my legs. She lightly smooches the tip of my penis. I still struggle to keep my composure together. Kristina giggles at my predicament. Finally, she takes me into her big strong arms and hugs me with all her might. I feel as though the bones in my body will shatter. But her embrace is warm and loving. She sits up and positions me across her lap. Facing each other, we share a languorous kiss before I enter her moist vagina once again.

I bounce up and down on her lap. Our lips never come apart. Our eyes may be closed, but we are staring straight into each other’s souls. She wraps her strong legs around my backside and squeezes me possessively. I want her to own me. I want her to possess me. I want to be hers.

At last, we come together. We both cry out in pleasure. I empty myself inside her. She contracts wildly around my throbbing manhood. We breathe heavily. I collapse on top of her. She falls backwards and lets the cool sand infest her hair. We kiss with every ounce of energy we have left.

Eternal bliss.
Eternal bliss.

After a few moments – but what seemed like a blissful eternity – I remove my softened penis from her and hold her close. By now I look up at a nearby hill and see we’ve attracted a small crowd of audience members. At least a dozen fellow tourists, peering down at our public display of passion, watched in stunned silence. When they see me catching them in the act of shameless voyeurism, they flee as quickly as I noticed them. But I don’t mind. Kristina looks up too and discovers our lovemaking was not made in private.

“Hm. Let them watch, I say!” We snuggle close. The waves cease to crash against the shore and instead calmly brush up against the dry perimeter. After a lengthy kissing session, we pick up our clothes and walk back toward our resort house. It’s only a quarter of a mile away, but we take our merry time making the stroll. All good things in life shouldn’t be rushed. We are in absolutely no hurry.

The moon’s ominous glow portends what will come for us later that evening. I know for a fact Kristina and I will not sleep a wink tonight. Eagerly anticipating hours upon hours of endless carnal pleasure, I take a moment to reflect upon how genuinely lucky I am to be with Kristina at this moment. I’ve always known I was lucky, but I never knew until right now just how fortunate I am.

Truly, she can be with any man in the world. Why me?

Seriously. Why me?

Before the Heavens can provide me with an answer, Kristina picks me up with her mighty arms and carries me through the front door. It slams shut behind us unapologetically. What comes next is not fate, but destiny.

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