All the King’s Queens – Chapter 11: The Good Old Days

Monique St. Martin’s road to the Olympics hasn’t been easy. Then again, if it were easy it wouldn’t be worth it. For five days a week, she spends four hours at the AJ Athletic Club, a private gym that specifically caters to aspiring Olympians, professional athletes, and bodybuilders in Miami. The owners are Alex and Julia Hernandez, a husband-wife team who’ve operated the joint for almost twenty years. Both of their parents are Afro-Cuban immigrants who fled the island shortly after Castro’s rise to power. Team AJ, as they’re known locally, has built a mini-empire down in South Beach in the fitness, training, and athletics industry.

The clientele of AJ Athletic Club is not your usual type of gym-goer who just shows up to run on the treadmill and casually lift weights. Here, you see people doing super heavy Olympic lifts, working on improving their 40-yard dash time for the NFL Combine, getting ready for MLB spring training, training for the Mr. Olympia, and ordering nutrient-rich protein shakes and other post-workout beverages. Everyone knows each other, though there are certain clients you only see during certain times of the year. During football, baseball, basketball, or hockey season they go away, but when it’s their offseason they come right back (as if they never left).

On one particular Tuesday morning in the spring of 2014, Monique was working on improving her forearm strength. She noticed one of the biggest inhibitors blocking her ability to progress with deadlifts was grip strength. No matter what type of gloves she wore, when she reached a certain point the bar kept slipping out of her hands. She estimates she’s used more chalk than a whole district’s worth of elementary schools. It helps dry her hands so she can better grip the bar – but she’s plateaued. And in the world of Olympic weightlifting, “plateau” is a dirty word. The dreaded P-word is probably the worst word in the English language for an aspiring weightlifter. It’s the “yips” for baseball infielders. It’s the deep-seated fear that one has reached their peak physical limitations and cannot progress further. It’s what separates a bona fide Olympic athlete from someone who gets a pat on the back after failing at the local trials. Both are well-trained, hard-working athletes. But one was able to overcome their physical limitations while the other was stonewalled by it. Monique is determined not to let that nightmare scenario happen to her, come hell or high water.

At this very moment, Monique has her earbuds in, is locked in, and has no time for casual conversation as she does hammer curls in the corner of the spacious free weight area. It’s the first week of the month, so Dylan Tanaka has already wired his monthly sum of $5,000 into the private bank account he set up for her three years ago. She didn’t make it to London in 2012 but should be a shoo-in for Rio De Janeiro in 2016. Her coaches seem to think it’s practically set in stone. However, she’s learned the hard way to never expect a roster spot because nothing in life is guaranteed. Not making the London roster was a real wake-up call. She won’t make that mistake a second time.

Between sets, Monique pats herself dry with an ocean blue AJ Athletic Club sweat towel. The podcast she’s listening to is almost coming to an end, which is too bad because she was genuinely interested in learning about the history of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The circumstances around it are deeply embedded in the history of Cubans living in Florida, including many of her closest friends. Most people assume she’s also Cuban, but that isn’t true. Her ancestry is Caribbean, so she’s more in line with Rihanna (other than the musical talent) than the minor league baseball players who grew up playing catch in the streets.

“Want your usual?” a faint voice asks her from behind. Monique takes out her earbuds and turns around to see who it is. Sure enough, the voice belongs to Julia Hernandez, the second half of Team AJ. She’s a confident, astute, affable, statuesque woman who’s built like a tank. Tall, sturdy, and pretty enough to temporarily distract many of the male clients from their training, Julia lights up a room when she walks into it. Her husband isn’t much of a talker, so it’s her job to build relationships with the community and make sure everyone is happy.

“Yes please,” Monique answers. “Do you have fresh energy bars left, or are they kind of old and stale by now?” Realizing she (sort of) just insulted her, Julia rolls her eyes but doesn’t seem too offended. Before Monique can issue a correction, Julia puts her hands on her hips and smirks at the young Olympian.

“Well now! I just baked them last night, so they’re as fresh as you are! Damn, what does a girl have to do to get respect around here?” She gives Monique a playful punch on the shoulder, which hurts more than it’s supposed to. That’s what happens when someone with considerable strength occasionally forgets how strong they really are. Though it’s not a big deal because Monique believes she deserves it.

“Sorry, girl! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your energy bars…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. You’re good,” she reassures her customer. “I made the ones with extra flaxseed so you better get them while you can. You see those guys over there?” She points to a group of young college football players doing bench presses in hope of improving their NFL Draft position. “They say they’re going to eat everything I have in stock once they’re done, which means you better get some soon before they run out. That’s why I’m here to warn you, girl.”

“Ah, thanks for the heads up!” Monique takes a long swig of her Gatorade. She notices one particularly attractive wide receiver who may not be a first round pick but would definitely be her first pick to take back to her apartment if her boyfriend isn’t home. “I’ll make sure to stop by the café before I leave. Maybe I’ll stop by now and put it in my bag.”

“Whatever works for you. That might be the better bet, for sure,” Julia says as she starts to walk away. At most normal fitness centers, it’s perfectly normal to engage in long casual conversations with your clients. However, the folks here aren’t doing this for casual exercise. It’s not a hobby. This is a job. Julia (and Alex, to an extent) respects that and doesn’t come out to chat with people unless it’s to tell them something important like their favorite post-workout energy bar might be sold out before they even take their shower. As usual, once Julia is out of earshot Monique is back to work, this time heading over to the pull-up bar to crank out a dozen repetitions. Back strength is another area she needs to work on, or so says her coach.

Forty minutes later Monique wanders over to the café to purchase her usual fruit smoothie (with about $8 worth of extra protein, boosters, omega 3 fatty acids, vitamin C, and other supplements) and homemade energy bar. Julia wraps it in aluminum foil, a sure sign that she’s out of plastic saran wrap. She has about $19.50 left on her tab, according to the receipt. Monique makes a mental note to refill it the next time she’s here. Having a tab is very convenient for athletes who need a quick booster shake or protein bar but don’t want to trudge back to the locker room to get their wallet. They can pay in advance and get whatever they want until their tab runs dry. In addition to offering world-class equipment and lots of space to work (the building used to be a Wal-Mart, which provides perspective of how large the gym is), Alex and Julia understand how professional athletes think and operate. When they’re “in the zone” they are as locked in as one could possibly be. Tunnel vision. Hyper focused. Determined. Anal retentive. Fussy about little details like the exact number of shots of whey protein and calcium tablets they want to be added to their kale shake (which Monique despises but drinks on occasion anyway). You can even order what you want via an app and expect everything to be ready by the time you’re done showering.

“Bye girl!” Julia yells to Monique as she approaches the exit.

“See you later, alligator!” she replies, in typical fashion for a Floridian who grew up around swamps full of such creatures.

As she walks out the front door and into the parking lot, Monique tries to figure out what she needs to do next. First, she must go to the grocery store and pick up more tilapia, steak, broccoli, cauliflower, and brown rice. Second, she needs to pick up a new package that’s waiting for her at the post office. And third, she should hurry and head to the bank before it closes (it’s a few blocks away from her one-bedroom apartment in downtown Miami) to cash out the $5,000 Dylan Tanaka has just wired to her account. She looks at her phone and sees the time is now 11:15 in the morning. The first two destinations should be easy to get to since traffic is light at this time of day. On Tuesdays, the bank closes early at 2:00 p.m. for reasons that she still has not figured out. It’s usually open until 4:30 every other day (except for Sundays, when it’s not open at all) of the week. Monique isn’t short on money quite yet (the rent check is expected to be taken to the bank within a day or two) but having $5,000 in cash handy never hurts.

When she gets to her car, she puts her bag in the trunk and finishes eating the energy bar. She crushes the foil into a ball, sees a nearby trash can, and tosses it inside. Magically, she doesn’t miss. Her hit rate is usually 20%, which is why weightlifting is the sport she chose to pursue. Very little hand-eye coordination is necessary for lifting heavy weights. Before she can take off, a familiar (and totally unexpected) voice speaks to her out of nowhere.

“Nice shot! Dwayne Wade would be proud.”

Monique freezes, lifts an eyebrow, and turns around to see who is speaking to her. Sure enough, it’s Dylan Tanaka: her friend, former boss, and financial benefactor. Dylan rarely makes trips down to South Beach to check-in on her, so this is (genuinely) a pleasant surprise.

“Dylan! Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!” Monique runs to him, throws her strong arms around his torso, and essentially lifts him off the ground. Dylan lets out a small noise of protest when he feels his feet leave the pavement. When his feet eventually land back on solid ground, he kisses her on the cheek. “Like, seriously! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I decided to give you your monthly payment in person this month.” He discreetly hands her an envelope full of cash. Without breaking eye contact, Monique takes it and stuffs it in her purse. “Did you notice that I hadn’t deposited your usual amount in your account yet?”

“Oh no, I just assumed you did. I hadn’t checked yet. I was actually just about to head to the bank before I got home.” Intuitively, Monique looks around to see if anybody in the parking lot is watching them converse. Dylan may not be a household name (though he is quite popular among tech geeks and business leaders) but he did mention a long time ago that he would prefer their friendship remain private. However, he’s the one who decided to pay her a surprise visit out in the open, so he’s the one taking the risk, not her.

“Well, now you don’t need to! What other errands do you have to run?”

“Oh, I need to go shopping and then, uh, to the post office to pick up a package. I’m expecting a new posing swimsuit that I got from Celine. I’m excited to try it on!” Celine Jackson is a retired professional bodybuilder who now sells her own line of posing outfits for competitors. She’s basically Monique’s unofficial second mother. She took Monique under her wing when they met at the Tampa Pro back in 2010. Monique briefly dabbled in the world of bodybuilding before giving up that lifestyle to become an Olympian. It was Celine’s final competition. She ended up placing 8th, which was a significant drop off from last year when she placed 3rd. That was the sign that it was time to “hang up the cleats,” so to speak. Her drive to improve her craft had diminished to the point that, at the ripe age of 48, she retired from competing. However, she loved the people and missed hanging out with everyone on a regular basis. So, she decided to learn how to sew, attended several clothing design seminars, and now runs her own one-woman business making swimsuits for bodybuilders and fitness models.

Monique, while she’s in a comfortable position from a financial perspective, still supplements that income by doing modeling on the side. There are plenty of bikini models in South Beach (too much, to be exact) but not too many of them on the muscular side. Monique’s rare blend of natural beauty, grace, symmetrical musculature, and charming personality make her a photographer’s dream come true. Her rich dark skin glows when viewed through a camera lens, a fact that many local (and national) fashion photographers have noticed. She’s not the tallest gal you’ll ever meet at 5’ 7”, but if she’s alone in the frame and you shoot her at the right angle, she’s as powerful and marvelous to behold as anyone in the world. There’s a reason why Dylan Tanaka immediately was enraptured by her when he first laid eyes on her.

“Celine is the best in the business, for sure,” Dylan remarks. “Are you planning another photoshoot in the near future?”

“Yes! With Charlie Ang. Do you know him?”

Dylan thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Uh, no. I’ve never heard the name. Is he related to Margaret Ang?”

“Oh, yes. I believe so. I think they’re brother and sister.” Margaret Ang is a Chinese-American fitness model (and former competitor) based in New York City. Dylan met her once at a fundraising gala in NYC several years ago and tried to flirt with her. When she informed him that she’s a lesbian and isn’t interested in dating men, that was the end of it. Dylan cut his losses, smiled at her, and moved on to chatting with someone else. He knows Margaret has a younger brother who works as a professional freelance photographer, though he never caught his name. Apparently, his name is Charlie. And he knows Monique.

“That’s cool. I didn’t know that. I guess I learn something new every day.” For an awkward moment, Dylan and Monique look at each other in complete silence.

“Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I’m at the Bentley Beach Club over in Miami Beach,” he says. “Would you, um, like to come over to visit?”

Dylan hopes this request isn’t seen as an ultimatum or a condition of receiving payment from him. From the very beginning, Dylan hasn’t asked for much in return. Just her assurance that she’ll try her hardest to win the gold medal and that she’ll keep their “business arrangement” a closely guarded secret. Only a small handful of times has Dylan paid her a visit. All of those times he texted her in advance so she’d know about it. And every time they meet all he asks is for the opportunity to be with her for just one hour. It usually happens in his hotel room. She gets dressed in lingerie, a bikini, or skimpy athletic wear. Then, Dylan “worships” her by feeling her rock-hard body to his heart’s delight. Sex is never involved. Monique isn’t above making sure Dylan leaves their meeting “satisfied,” though. But no penetrative sex. Ever. All in all, being able to worship her is the only thing he asks in return. She doesn’t mind, though it was awkward at first. She’s been in a relationship with her boyfriend, Jake, for several years now. He’s aware of her friendship with Dylan and the monetary compensation she receives monthly from him. He doesn’t mind them meeting every once in a while on the condition that they never “go too far,” a requirement that every party understands well.

“Of course. I’m not expected to be home for a while. I can…be with you for the rest of the day.” She smiles at him in an attempt to lighten the mood. Still, Dylan doesn’t feel like she’s totally comfortable with him being here unannounced.

“Seriously, darling. You don’t need to say “yes.” You can say no and not feel bad about it. I’d hate to disrupt your day like this. I’m actually here for a technology conference that kicks off tomorrow. I decided to show up a day early to get some sun and, uh, see you.” Monique approaches him and plants a long, wet kiss on his cheek. This eases the tension a bit.

“I know. I get it. Our relationship is always kind of, you know, weird,” she says. Dylan nods his head silently. “But I do like spending time with you. Even though we don’t see each other all that much. Seriously, I’d love to visit you at your hotel. I’ve heard of the Bentley but have never actually been there. I’d like to see it.”

“Thank you. First, let’s go pick up your package. I’d love to get a preview of what Charlie will later capture on film.”

“Sounds good! Let’s get rolling.”

After a quick hug, Dylan and Monique get in their separate vehicles (Dylan is driving a rented car from a high-end car rental dealership that he can never remember the name of) and head to the post office. After waiting in line for a grand total of seven minutes, Monique comes out with a small package in hand. She winks at Dylan, who chose to remain in his car so he could listen to the radio. All he could stand was three minutes of two morons screaming about which University of Miami player the Dolphins should draft before he turned it off. Their next stop was Dylan’s suite at the Bentley, a four-star resort hotel located away from the downtown area. Monique decides to go shopping later this evening. She can use that as an excuse in case Jake wonders why she’s late returning home. Thirty-eight minutes later Monique is parking her car in an underground guest area while Dylan situates himself in a VIP spot located next to the service elevators. Being rich sure has its benefits, Monique observes unironically.

Monique has been to Las Vegas many times, so she knows what a luxury hotel looks like. The Bentley is just like many others she’s been to over the years – including several right here in South Beach – so nothing she sees is surprising. However, that doesn’t mean she isn’t envious of how filthy rich people like Dylan Tanaka can live. He could definitely afford to purchase an oceanside condo for her and her boyfriend, but that would make Jake feel more emasculated than he already is. Jake refuses to think of himself as being cuckolded, though the feeling still persists after all these years. He and Monique met via a mutual friend. She was honest and forthright about her business relationship with Dylan. So he cannot accuse her of hiding anything from him. He knew what he was getting himself into. She was fully transparent and honest. At first, the chance to be with a woman like Monique St. Martin was irresistible. How can anyone say no to her? But as time has gone on, he’s grown weary of her long-distance “friendship” with a rich billionaire who gives her a measly $5,000 a month (he could give her $500,000 a month and he’d barely miss it). And, he’s not comfortable with her allowing him to touch her body like that. Jake believes Monique when she says they’ve never had penetrative sex, but that’s still not enough to make him feel less uncomfortable with the circumstances. Monique is keenly aware of Jake’s reticence. Hopefully, once they get married they can put all of this behind them. She’ll tell Dylan that his days of “worshipping” her are over. He’ll understand and respect her wishes, she believes. If not, by then if she’s already won a gold medal, she can decide to break off their business partnership. The monthly payments will dry up, but at that point what difference would it make?

Dylan and Monique move quickly to his suite, which is located on the opposite end of where the parking lot is situated. They don’t want to be seen together, since Dylan suspects there’s a strong possibility many of tomorrow’s conference attendees might also be spending the whole week here. He doesn’t want any rumors to spread about him. Several witnesses seeing him escorting an attractive muscular woman to his suite is guaranteed to get folks in the tech world gossiping. Twelve minutes after parking, the two friends find themselves inside Dylan’s spacious suite.

“Wow! What a place. You can see the ocean! Hell, you can smell the ocean from here. DAMN!” Monique runs to an open window and gazes at the endless blue horizon. No matter how long she lives in South Beach, she’ll never get tired of the ocean. She loves how it looks, how it sounds, how it smells, everything about it. As Dylan puts his wallet and keys away, Monique takes out a small pocketknife from her purse and opens the package. He watches her gleefully, not knowing what to expect.

“What kind of swimsuit did you order?”

“A red, white, and blue one for the Fourth of July!” After unboxing it, she holds it up so Dylan can better see it. “Charlie says I can be featured in the June issue of Sports Illustrated if we take photos now. You know, so he can submit them early.”

“For the swimsuit issue?”

Monique laughs. “Sadly, no. Just for an advertisement for aviator sunglasses. I can’t remember the name of the company, but they’ve asked the general public to submit photos of people wearing their brand of shades. I have a pair at home. It’s a new company looking to break into the industry. Charlie is a good friend of someone in their marketing department, so I’m practically guaranteed to be featured if we take good patriotic-looking pictures.” She gives Dylan a few practice modeling poses. He smiles. “Want to see me try it on?”

“Please. I’d love to see you in it.” He leans over to kiss her on the cheek. Monique looks into his fiery eyes before strutting to the bathroom to change. As he waits, Dylan unbuttons the top of his shirt so his neck could properly breathe. He removes his shoes and socks, hangs his blazer up in the closet, and checks himself out in a mirror. Dylan regrets that he didn’t shave before leaving Seattle. In his personal (and somewhat objective) opinion, he thinks he looks better with a perpetual five o’clock shadow than cleanly shaven. However, he’s not at his best – by his own admission – when his facial hair gets too long. Dylan doesn’t like to travel despite his many years of experience riding on airplanes, both private and commercial. One reason for that is that he gets so fussy thinking about arrival and departure times that little things like shaving the night before slip his mind. He makes a mental note to shave tonight before going to bed so he’ll be fresh for the conference tomorrow morning.

In the bathroom, Monique removes her hoodie, jeans, socks, and sports bra. She leaves them neatly folded up and sitting on top of a large basket meant for wet towels. Normally, she wears a minimal amount of makeup, especially after a workout. She only gets “dolled up” for date nights, public appearances, and, obviously, modeling shoots. For this special occasion, Monique decides to present to Dylan the best version of herself that she possibly can in such short order. She fishes out of her purse a tube of lipstick, mascara, blush, and glittery gel to place around her eyes. After many years of practice applying makeup on the fly, less than ninety seconds later she looks at herself in the mirror and is surprised that she actually likes what’s reflected back to her. She brushes off some packaging dust from the swimsuit and then blows on it for good measure. While there’s no need to get dressed in a hurry, she doesn’t like making people wait for her. Dylan is a patient man and would wait twelve hours for her if it were necessary. However, she doesn’t want to spend all day in the bathroom. After getting into the swimsuit, Monique takes one last look at her painted face. It looks great. She flexes her right bicep for the mirror, which looks especially full because she’s less than an hour removed from her workout. Finally satisfied with how she looks, Monique leaves the bathroom to present herself to her one adoring fan.

Dylan, meanwhile, is sitting on a lounge chair, respectfully waiting for her to come out. He’s not on his phone or flipping through a magazine as if he’s waiting for his number to be called at the DMV. When he hears the bathroom door open, he looks as attentive as an overachieving kid on the first day of school. Monique dances out of the bathroom with the audacity of someone auditioning for a Broadway musical. She looks radiant, energetic, bright, and full of happy vibes. The red, white, and blue swimsuit would make anybody want to scream “God bless America” from the rooftops.

“My God, you look incredible. Absolutely amazing.” He continues to remain seated, allowing this drop-dead gorgeous woman to approach him at her own pace.

“Thank you, baby. I like how it feels. Very comfy! Celine knows how to design for comfort and, well, sexiness.” Monique twirls around so Dylan can see all of her. He wants nothing more than to cup her full, round glutes in his hands. Hopefully, that reality will soon come to pass.

“She knows what she’s doing. There’s a reason why it’s become such a lucrative business for her,” Dylan assesses. “But can we talk for a moment about…you? You look fabulous! I can see so much growth and development since the last time I saw you. God, your hamstrings are off the charts! And you could rest a freight train across your shoulders, for crying out loud. Wow!” While developing fullness to her muscles isn’t her ultimate goal, all that training will eventually produce the kind of results Dylan has just described. He reaches out to touch her quads. Monique lifts her left leg up so he can better access it. Almost immediately Dylan feels something developing in his underwear. Monique turns around, bends over, and shakes her butt in his face. He then grabs a handful of her glutes, marveling at how hard and bubbly they are.

“My God! Your glutes are, oh baby, life-affirming,” Dylan breathlessly says. “It should be illegal for you to ever sit down or wear a skirt that covers up this magnificent butt of yours.”

“That would make my life very difficult!” Monique laughs.

“I’m kidding, of course. But what I’m not kidding about is, uh, everything about you. You’re…you’re…um, you’re so beautiful. Breathtaking. Your face…your eyes brighten a room.” Dylan finally stands up, unable to take it anymore. Monique cups his groin, sensing his growing arousal. He proceeds to feel her entire body, from head to toe. She closes her eyes, enjoying the soft, delicate touch of Dylan’s fingers against her hard body. Dylan adores the feel of Monique’s silky smooth black skin and the tight muscle fibers hiding underneath it. He’s always hated the term “exotic,” especially given his Asian heritage and the historical connotations of that word. Yet, he cannot come up with a better word to describe Monique St. Martin’s entire being. She’s exotic. She looks like she should be displayed in a museum. Like many Caribbean women, her sharp eyes, angular face, and rich chocolate complexion make her seem like the Almighty spent a little bit more time designing her. She’s blessed with DNA that puts her at an advantage over every other woman on the planet. It’s easy for her to develop muscle mass, which is why she (sort of) looks like a bodybuilder despite the fact she doesn’t train like one. Without question, there are plenty of competitive bodybuilders who are jealous of how effortless her physique looks.

“You feel…amazing. Utterly amazing.”

“Baby, I love the feel of your fingers against my skin. I mean it when I say that.” Monique’s eyes are still closed, while Dylan’s eyes are wide open, taking in her entire physical presence. He’s drinking in her essence, appreciating her physicality, enjoying her aura. “You can touch me wherever you like, darling.”

Especially in their relationship, where business often mixes with pleasure, where they remain platonic friends but are perfectly willing to indulge in sensual activities like this, verbal consent is important. Dylan and Monique both genuinely treasure their unusual, strange, and occasionally awkward friendship. Their relationship isn’t romantic, but it’s difficult to ignore the deeply held feelings they have for each other. She has a boyfriend (and he’s casually dating Amanda McDermott, a senior executive at Perseus Analytics who would be next in line to the throne of CEO should Dylan step down or unexpectedly get fired) who tolerates this weird social arrangement up to a certain point. Dylan is financially supporting her but doesn’t officially expect anything tangible in return…except he sort of does. Monique does enjoy meeting Dylan for these sensual muscle worship visits…though she would be lying if she said she doesn’t always have Jake’s disappointed face etched into her brain the whole time they’re together. Nevertheless, verbal consent is the key to maintaining their longstanding friendship and preventing anything from going off the rails. So far, it’s worked remarkably well.

“I intend to, my dear,” Dylan declares as his hands move down her six-pack abdomen. Monique flexes both arms so she can show off her impressive biceps, triceps, and forearm development. Dylan does not hesitate to follow her lead. He playfully squeezes her bicep peak. She kindly flexes it as hard as she can, relishing the fact his fingers cannot contain her muscle growth. Dylan lays a trail of kisses down her arm until he lightly massages her pecs. Like many athletes, Monique’s breasts have shrunken down to basically nothing. She doesn’t plan to get enhancement surgery anytime soon. It’s not because it’s considered taboo within the Olympian community, but more because she doesn’t want the general public to believe having small boobs makes her less of a woman. She still has curves in all the right places, a pretty face, and plenty of confidence to show she is a force to be reckoned with.

Eventually, Monique and Dylan move to the bed. She’s still wearing her swimsuit while Dylan has stripped down to his boxers. His erection is unmistakable now. While she hasn’t said this out loud, she doesn’t intend to get naked with him. Not today. She has in the past, but she’s not in the mood right now. Dylan senses this and doesn’t say anything about it. The sight of Monique St. Martin in a red, white, and blue swimsuit is enough to make any man’s heart stop mid-beat. Dylan is now kissing her bubbly butt. She wiggles her glutes as a favor to him. She looks at the clock and sees the time is now 4:09. She told Jake she’d be home by 5:00 or so (with groceries in hand), and she intends to keep that promise. Without saying a word, Monique hooks her fingers around Dylan’s boxers and slides them down his legs. He knows what’s going to happen next.

“I have a bottle of oil in my luggage,” he says.

“That’s good. I forgot to put mine in my purse. You know, because I wasn’t expecting to have to use it today!” She giggles. Then, she kisses Dylan on the lips. Remarkably, this is the first time their lips have come together today. He’s kissed almost every inch of her body up to this point (excluding the parts of her that are covered up by Celine’s tailor-made swimsuit) except for her lips. He rejoices at tasting her strawberry-flavored gloss. Thirty seconds later, Dylan returns to the bed with a small bottle of baby oil. He lies down. Already as stiff as can be, Monique applies a small dab of oil onto the palm of her hand and begins to stroke his shaft up and down.

“Oh my God, darling…yes…”

Dylan’s head falls back onto his hotel pillow. Now it’s his turn to close his eyes and enjoy the sensual experience overcoming him. Monique has perfected her technique by now, knowing not to squeeze too hard and allow her strong calloused fingers to do the work. She knows Dylan enjoys long fluid strokes as opposed to short jerky pulls. His breathing intensifies, a sure sign he’s close to completion. Monique smiles. For good measure, she caresses his legs with her free hand, also noticing that Dylan has kept up his personal workout regimen. He (obviously) doesn’t exercise nearly as often – or as intensively – as she does, but Monique can appreciate a full male thigh when she encounters one.

“I…I love this so much…”

“Come for me, baby.”

Right on cue, Dylan spurts all over himself. Hot milky white semen shoots out onto his tummy and chest in four powerful squirts. Monique loves watching Dylan come. It’s the biggest reason why she happily gets him off at the end of their time together. Dylan has one special talent that her boyfriend Jake definitely does not have. Dylan shoots. Far. Jake, unfortunately for her, oozes out slowly. It is, no pun intended, quite anti-climactic. Whenever she manually stimulates her boyfriend, it always ends in disappointment – from her point of view. He’s great in the sack but lacks the ability to “entertain” her when he climaxes. Dylan, to his credit, always delivers a good show that deserves a standing ovation and a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, wow. That was incredible. I keep saying this, but you are so good at this,” Dylan awakens from his daze. When he looks down, he sees a huge mess on his torso. Monique dashes to the bathroom to retrieve a moist towelette. He’s careful not to move or else he risks staining the bedsheets. That’s not something he wants to call room service about. Fortunately for him, Monique returns quickly with a towel. She hands it to him, letting him clean up his own mess. Dylan goes into the bathroom to properly wash up.

When Monique checks her phone, she sees a text from Jake. It reads: “Just went shopping to get the things on your list. No need to go, in case you haven’t already.”

Good to know, Monique thinks to herself. That’s one fewer errand she needs to run before returning home. Soon afterward, Dylan emerges from the bathroom and proceeds to get his clothes back on. Now it’s her turn to disappear back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she returns fully dressed and all her makeup wiped off. She still looks like she just endured a long grueling workout at AJ Athletic Club. That’s the way she plans to present herself to her boyfriend later this evening.

“You probably need to get going, like right now,” Dylan says.

“Yep. I need to get back home. It’s getting late.” The time is now 4:31. Rush hour traffic has already started. She estimates it will take at least forty minutes to return home. If she’s home at least by 5:30 she won’t have to come up with an excuse for what she was doing all afternoon.

“I’ll escort you to the parking lot. You think you can find your way home?”

“Yes!” She holds up her iPhone. “GPS will tell me everything I need to know. Including which roads to avoid.”

“Excellent!” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. A few fragments of glitter can still be seen under her eyes. “Let’s get going.”

The good news for Monique is that the drive home took about as long as she was expecting. As she walked through her front door at 5:28, she smells dinner cooking in the kitchen. Esmerelda, her fluffy orange kitten, is waiting for her. She picks her up and kisses the kitty on the head. Esmerelda meows quietly. Monique puts the cat back on the floor, who immediately scurries off into the living room.

“Hi baby. I’m home. Traffic was a bitch tonight,” she says as she puts her gym bag away in the closet. Jake comes out of the kitchen, struggling to open a jar of pickled onions.

“Good evening, babe. Alright. I’m probably going to feel emasculated by this, but could you, uh, open this for me?” Jake sheepishly smiles at his girlfriend. Without hesitation, Monique takes the jar from him, wraps her fingers around the lid, and twists it open in one fell swoop. The jar makes the oh-so-satisfying popping sound that comes from air escaping after several weeks in captivity. She hands the jar back to her boyfriend, grinning like she just won the lottery.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re still the man of the house, the man in my life.” She kisses him deeply on the lips, making sure she puts a little extra oomph into it. “Physical strength doesn’t change anything. You’re still a man. I’m still a woman. It’s that simple.”

“Thanks, darling.” Jake returns to the kitchen to resume stirring some pork cutlets. Tonight, he’s making Mexican-style tortas. The pickled onions should add texture to the sandwiches. “If I were training for the Olympics, I can guarantee I’d be waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay stronger than you!”

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself babe!” she teases him.

Together, they enjoyed a pleasant dinner that night, with Esmerelda laying at her feet underneath the dining table. Never once did Monique mention her brief meeting with Dylan Tanaka or the fact that he’s in town. She did, however, talk up the new swimsuit she got in the mail today. She promises that when she shows it off for him later this evening, he won’t be able to take his hands off her. After all these years together, Monique has learned one important lesson about her boyfriend, who occasionally feels emotionally insecure from her superhuman strength. A lively romp in the bedroom where she (even if she has to slightly exaggerate things) is screaming her head off in ecstasy is usually enough to make Jake feel like a Man again. Tonight, she feels he’s entitled to a particularly lengthy session of orgasmic pleasure.

She was right.

At 10:38 p.m., while Monique and Jake are passionately making love in their cramped one-bedroom apartment, Dylan Tanaka is alone in his hotel room finishing off a grilled panini he ordered from room service. The television is on, but he is in no mood to watch anything. All he can think about is Monique. Her body. Her face. Her warm personality. Her drive to be great at what she sets out to do. In a different parallel universe, he’d be dating her. Or, better yet, married to her and making lots of beautiful half-Caribbean half-Japanese babies. But alas, that is not his reality. Nor hers. After watching on his laptop a short video of his favorite porn star, Peggy Cole, masturbating with a series of colorful vibrators, Dylan decides he should do the same thing.

With the lights turned down low, Dylan turns off the TV, removes all his clothing, lies down on the bed, and closes his eyes. He thinks long and hard about Monique’s perfect body that was right in this room just a few hours ago. He reaches down and strokes his own penis, awakening it back to life. At 10:46 p.m., Dylan climaxes for the second time that day. At the exact same time several miles away, Monique experiences her fifth orgasm thanks to her boyfriend’s considerable bedroom skills. He may be a raging math nerd, but he knows how to please a woman in the sheets. She recognizes this and constantly reminds him of it. This is one way she makes her man feel like a Big Man, despite the fact she’s significantly stronger than him in every way possible.

At around 11:15 p.m., both Dylan Tanaka and Monique St. Martin fall asleep. Jake is in the shower, cleaning off the grime of the day. It was surely an eventful day for all involved. It would also not be the last eventful day they’d ever experience.

***

“How the fuck do you expect me to fit his whole dick in my mouth?”

Peggy Cole, dressed in a black BDSM outfit and carrying a faux leather whip in her hand, is sitting on a large cage where a male actor has spent all afternoon hunched over inside. Today’s video shoot is at the private residence of Gordon DeLorenzo, a retired Wall Street investor and avid porn enthusiast who now lives in Spring Valley, Nevada. Gordon isn’t currently home, but a modest film crew of eight, plus four actors, have taken up temporary residence at his lavish estate. The director, Tony, is good buddies with Gordon (who’s invested many dollars into past projects) and is grateful that he frequently lets him film videos at his home for free.

All Gordon asks is that they properly clean up after themselves. No candy wrappers, condom wrappers, or muddy tracks in the house after they’re gone. Tony diligently makes sure they leave the place cleaner than they found it every single time.

This week is dedicated to shooting a series of BDSM-themed scenes involving all sorts of performers. Peggy is one of several female bodybuilders Tony has worked with in the past – and by far his favorite. She’s willing to do almost anything imaginable on camera, unless it’s physically impossible. Today, she might have met her match.

“I know it’s quite a lot, but you have to try your best,” Tony reassures her. “Honestly, you don’t really need to get it all in. Half of it will be just fine. Just don’t choke. Look like you’re having a good time, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll enjoy it, you better believe it. It’s just…a lot to take in, if you know what I mean!” Peggy smirks at Tony and Kit Styles, a relatively new performer in the business. Kit winks at her, knowing she’s famous for deep throating some of the largest dicks in the world without gagging. It’s part of her appeal, which everyone on set knows full well. Other than the fact she’s full of muscle, this is a large reason why she was asked to do this scene in the first place. Kit is a one-of-a-kind, which means it requires an equally unique costar to make it all work.

“If anybody should be nervous, it’s me!” Kit confesses. He hopes a little bit of levity will resolve this conflict.

“You’ve done enough of these things to not get nervous anymore,” Peggy tells him. “I can clearly see you’re ready to go, baby darling!”

Peggy points down at Kit’s erect 12-inch penis as all the evidence she needs that he’s not too nervous about shooting this scene. The other male performer, Jeff, is the man in the cage. He doesn’t really do anything except remain inside the cage looking as helpless as possible while wearing an oversized baby’s diaper and a ball gag. He’s basically set decoration, a role that Jeff is perfectly fine with. A paycheck’s a paycheck, after all. As long as the check clears, he’ll do whatever he’s asked.

“Are you ready?” Tony asks his cast. Jillian, who’s off to the side and doesn’t enter the scene until much later, gives him the thumbs up. “Are you ready, dear?”

“Sure. Let’s do this thing!” Peggy says.

“Yeah,” Kit replies softly.

“Good! Let’s roll.” Tony takes a few steps back to give his performers space. A boom mic operator stands at his normal position. The director of photography (DP) looks into the viewfinder to ensure the shot is framed perfectly. The “sound guy” crouches in the corner with a comically large pair of headphones on. He gives a silent “thumbs up” to Tony. A lighting assistant watches from the opposite corner. In another room is a makeup artist, a random production assistant, and the most important crewmember of all: the fluffer.

“Rolling,” the DP says.

“Go,” Tony commands.

Five seconds of silence follows. Then action commences.

“As you can see, I have your friend right where I want him.” Peggy pats the top of the cage. Jeff looks up, mumbles incoherently through the ball gag, and crawls into a fetal position. She stands up and walks slowly towards Kit, who’s standing twenty feet away from her, leaning against a doorframe. She makes sure the boom microphone picks up the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “He’s powerless to escape. So are you. You wanted me, now you’re going to get me.”

“Oh I don’t know about this. This was his idea, not mine!” Kit begs the mistress. “If I do what you say, will you let me go?”

“I might,” she teases him, grabbing his scrotum and squeezing it lightly. A soft moan escapes from Kit’s throat. “I have a proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, yes, miss. I would very much like to hear it.”

“EXCUSE ME? MISS? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH?” she grabs his throat in anger.

“Sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Mistress! Yes, mistress. Have mercy on me. I’d love to hear your proposition, please,” he squeaks. After a few seconds, Peggy releases his throat.

“Good, good. As you know, I’m looking for a brand new assistant to help me out with my bondage business. You and your buddy answered our job posting. Thank you for that,” she whispers in his ear. “However, I know for a fact he’d be perfect for the job. He’s short, skinny, stupid, and a little bitch. He’ll be easy to control. He’s a perfect slave for someone strong and dominant like me!”

“Oh no! Does that mean I have no chance of getting hired? Should I just, uh, go home?” Kit’s erection begins to deflate slightly, much to his chagrin. Tony isn’t concerned, considering Peggy is the queen at getting guys hard under pressure. Lots of new guys have “performance anxiety” that can be crippling to shooting a porn video. Kit is promising, though. He’s not only enormous down there, but he’s charming in a dorky kind of way and comes across as a natural on camera. Those qualities can take you far, Tony often advises him. That, and your enormous dick.

“Not so fast, buster! You ain’t going anywhere. I wasn’t finished yet,” Peggy says in her sternest voice possible. “Your friend may be my little bitch, but you’re going to be my little slut. Come here!” Kit takes a few steps toward her. Wearing nothing but a spiked collar around his neck, Peggy grabs onto it and drags him closer to the cage. Jeff, who doesn’t have any lines in this scene, just looks on like a puppy watching TV. “I’m about to show you boys what it’s like working at my agency, okay? You think you can handle me?”

Peggy gets down on her knees right in front of Kit’s penis. It’s even more deflated than before, a state of being that she plans to alter momentarily. She may be a self-professed “size queen” and someone who’s been around the block a few times, but Kit Styles takes the cake. She can name off the top of her head at least eight or nine guys who arrogantly claim they’re a solid 12-incher. None of them (though Peggy would never call them out publicly) are telling the truth. However, all that changed the day she met Kit a few weeks ago. He’s the real deal. It’s going to be a real struggle to deep throat him when she only has so much throat space. She knows she can’t wait forever or else Tony will yell “cut” and force everyone to do another take. And Peggy hates to make everyone have to do extra work just because she can’t do what she’s supposed to do.

The first thing she does is grab Kit’s penis by the base and tickle his scrotum. He lets out a persuasive moan that will play well for the camera. Not too over-the-top but realistic enough to feel genuine. Then, Peggy licks the tip with her entire tongue like it’s a huge scoop of ice cream. After several licks, Peggy finally attempts to put it inside her mouth. As she anticipated, she only gets halfway before his tip practically touches her larynx. She knows if she goes any deeper she’ll start to gag, which would be quite embarrassing to her professional reputation. Several laps with her tongue result in Kit getting fully hard – which also makes deep throating him an even more formidable challenge. Peggy looks up at him to see if he’s enjoying what she’s giving him. His head is tilted upward and his hands are caressing the back of her head. This is usually a good sign that he’s liking what’s happening. Peggy decides to give him double stimulation: stimulate the top half of his cock with her mouth and the bottom half with her hands. It’s guaranteed to get him off faster than usual, a risk she’s willing to take. If they need to do another take an hour from now (which is common after a male performer ejaculates and is still needed to get hard again for a different scene), so be it. It’s not like Gordon will care. He’s not charging them for using his home. And, he’s not expected back for at least three to four days.

“Ohhhhhhhhh baby…” Kit moans. She can tell he’s getting close by the way his pre-cum is dripping freely down her throat. He hasn’t fully come yet (at least, not to her knowledge), despite the considerable amount of fluid he’s already started leaking. Tony hasn’t stopped the scene yet, so apparently she’s doing something right…

One final jerk of the base of his penis is enough to bring Kit past the point of no return. Peggy follows the script – yes, this porno actually has a written script – and whips out his penis right as he starts to ejaculate. She closes her eyes and allows his semen to squirt all over her face. The hot stickiness awakens her senses. No matter how many blowjobs and hand jobs (technically speaking, this was both) she gives in her life, Peggy Cole will always be disgusted by the strong smell of semen. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like how it smells, tastes, or feels dripping down her face. She loves everything about sex; including kink play, toys, roleplaying, fetish scenes, gang bangs, and doing the deed with people of all gender identities; yet this is the one thing she truly doesn’t like. She’s pretty sure that’s the way it’s going to be for the rest of her life.

“Oh fuck yeah!” Kit screams in delight. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes baby…”

“Mmmmmmm, baby, that’s a very big dick you have,” Peggy says while standing up. “And lots of cum all over my pretty little face. Now, who should clean this up?”

“Uh, I can go get a towel…”

“That won’t be necessary, baby.” Peggy turns to face the opposite direction where the fictional kitchen is located. “Ooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh Kayla! Come here!”

“Who…who’s Kayla?”

“My, how do I say this, personal assistant! You’ll love her!” The one final thing Peggy has to do for this shot is dab a little bit of Kit’s semen onto her index finger and taste it. She does so right on cue, putting on the fakest smile she can possibly muster.

“And cut!” Tony yells. “Excellent! That’s a wrap. I’m very happy with that. Thank you all. We’ll finish the rest of the scene after lunch. What time is it?”

“11:39,” says a random production assistant.

“Great! Let’s break for lunch. Be back on set for the next scene at 12:45. Okay?” Everyone gives Tony a verbal reply acknowledging their new call time. The production assistant (PA) hands Peggy a hot steamed towel to wipe her face with. She graciously takes it and immediately starts to clean herself off. The same PA hands Kit a baby wipe to clean off his penis. She looks down quickly, admiring his considerable length and girth (even after it returns to a flaccid state). Kit smiles back, accustomed to receiving such looks from film crews. The PA looks embarrassed and hurries away to throw away the used baby wipe in the trash. As Peggy finishes cleaning her face, worried that her makeup has been ruined beyond salvaging, Kit gives her a light tap on the shoulder.

“Very good job, Peggy,” he says. “You were great. You’re excellent at making guys like me feel at ease. Damn, I was so fucking nervous when I woke up this morning. You want to know why?”

“Why is that?” she asks, excited to smell freshly baked bread instead of jizz.

“Because I couldn’t believe I was going to work with you. You’re a really, really big deal. Seriously. You are!”

“Oh darling, that’s too kind of you.” She kisses him on the cheek. “One day you’ll be a bigger deal than me. I’m not going to last forever in this business. But you have staying power. Just as long as you’re still able to get it up.” She points to his manhood, grins, then disappears into the bathroom to wash up (for real) and get changed. Peggy realizes just how hungry she actually is right now. Lunch sounds like a delight. Rumor has it they’re having fresh lasagna and toasted garlic bread. That must be where the scent of bread came from.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Jillian, also a relative newbie to the porn industry, is a 23-year-old black girl from Queens, New York. She just decided to go into porn last year, having just moved to Las Vegas four months ago. Her role was to give a hand job to Jeff while Peggy straddles Kit on the floor between her strong legs. She did a marvelous job, which made Tony especially proud. Tony isn’t sure if Jillian has the same “staying power” as Kit Styles, but he has no doubt she’ll give it her best. In the end, that’s all one can do. Give it your all. Until there’s nothing left to give.

Tony informed the crew before everyone left at 4:45 p.m. that they should be done for the rest of the week. They shot everything they needed to shoot. After he and the DP look at the dailies they’ll determine if reshoots are necessary. But until everyone hears from him, they can safely assume their weeks’ worth of work is now done. Peggy graciously offers Kit a ride back to Aria, where’s he’s staying until his flight home leaves in two days. Once inside her car, Peggy navigates the Vegas Strip (and a few side streets) like a seasoned pro. Kit is impressed by how well she knows her way around town, especially during rush hour.

“How often do you visit the Strip?”

“You’d be surprised. Not often. Maybe three or four times a month. Usually for business or if I’m meeting a friend from out of town,” Peggy says, darting through traffic during a somewhat modest rush hour jam. “People who live in Vegas rarely visit the Strip. It’s too damn crowded, full of tourists, and well, not much else. A lot of neat things to take pictures of, but once you do that for a week you get tired of it, know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. I grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Holy shit! Jillian is from Queens.”

“We chatted about that, yeah,” he says before letting out a long yawn. “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve visited Times Square in the past year. Three times. And yeah, like you, once was for an audition and the other two times was when a couple buddies from high school were back in town. Real New Yorkers never visit Times Square. Only tourists.”

“Yup! You know what I mean.” A few moments later Peggy veers off Las Vegas Boulevard and onto a side street leading to a small outdoor parking lot. She sees it’ll cost a whopping $35 to park for two hours, so she comes up with an idea of how to make the price worthwhile. “Tell me, do you have a girlfriend, Kit?”

“Uh, no. I just got out of a, uh, fairly long relationship. But as of right now, no. Why?” Kit is about to get out of the car until Peggy grabs his forearm to stop him.

“I can drop you off right here, or you could invite me up to your place. What do you say?” Peggy flashes Kit a devilish grin, which he instantly knows how to interpret. The young porn actor turns around, sighs, and kisses Peggy on the cheek. She relishes his hot wet lips on her exhausted face.

“I say that’s a lovely idea. I don’t think we’re needed on set tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean we still can’t have our fun,” he smiles. With that, Peggy speeds through the parking lot to find the first available spot. She practically leaps out of the vehicle, pays a meter with her credit card, and links her strong arm around his. Kit works out regularly, though he’s far from looking like a bodybuilder (by his own admission). As they enter Aria’s lobby, the large crowd of people milling around the casino and restaurants overwhelms the two of them. They aren’t tourists in search of cheap booze and slot machines; they’re two porn performers looking for a quick hookup. Neither of them is dressed like they’re hitting the town, with Peggy wearing a sweatshirt hoodie, jeans, and platform shoes and Kit wearing a fleece jacket and ripped up baggy black pants. There are quite a few folks dressed to the nines, with the occasional middle-aged guy in a Hawaiian shirt strutting around looking for a place to pee. Kit escorts Peggy through the gruesome traffic of people – similar to how she weaved the car through the crowd of vehicles – to the elevators.

“I’m impressed Tony was able to get you a room here. I figured you’d have to settle for a Holiday Inn or some cheap ass motel like that,” Peggy remarks. Kit shakes his head as he hits the “up” button on one of the elevators.

“So did I. I guess that rich dude likes Tony so much he makes sure we have, you know, all the right accommodations,” he says. “Let’s go.” They wait a short moment before the elevator they need to get on empties with people getting off on the ground floor. Peggy is now feeling a bit anxious, probably more so than Kit, although he seems to be breathing a little heavier than he should be. Luckily, they are the only ones who want to go up to floor #47, so they have the entire elevator to themselves.

“I’d fuck you right here in this elevator if I could,” Kit promises.

“Baby, I’d looooooooooooove that! But yeah, that would be the quickest way you’d get kicked out of here. And Tony, or Gordon, or whoever wouldn’t like that. Then again, you might be forced to stay with me! That would be fun…” Kit then leans over and kisses her on the lips with all the energy he could muster. He reaches back to grab Peggy’s thick butt cheeks, savoring their fullness. His ex-girlfriend was as skinny as you could possibly be without requiring hospitalization, so he knows he must appreciate Peggy’s curvy, meaty body for as long as he can. Who knows when he’ll be able to experience a woman quite like her again? In two days, he flies back to NYC to resume his boring life as a bartender at a second-rate Brooklyn strip club. He may not have the opportunity (or reason) to return to Las Vegas for quite some time.

A hop, skip, and a jump later, Peggy and Kit find themselves inside his small one-bed suite. He closes the door carefully behind him, making sure to put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outer doorknob. He never thought he’d have to utilize it on this trip, but he is glad to be surprised. Once he closes the door, he turns around to see Peggy immediately stripping her clothes off. She paid for two hours of parking, so perhaps she should slow down…

“Want to know something unique about me, baby?” Peggy is now completely naked, which, surprisingly enough, Kit hasn’t seen yet. Before, he saw her wearing a sexy BDSM dominatrix outfit. She looked great in it. However, this is his first time actually seeing her fully naked.

“Dear God in heaven! Will you look at that?” Kit cannot stop looking at the comic book-style bowling balls she has on her chest. He wonders how she can stand up straight with breasts that enormous without straining her back. How does she bench press? Does the bar literally bounce off her boobs? Or does she place the bar higher up? Kit can only ponder these questions. He doubts he’ll ever receive answers to them.

“I may struggle to fit your beautiful dick in my mouth,” she says, rubbing her boobs together like the world-famous erotic cam performer she is. “But I got all the room in my pussy for you. Come here, big boy!”

Peggy leaps into the arms of Kit Styles, a young man she’s wanted to nail the moment she first met him a few days ago. Once she heard from Tony that the rumors about Kit were true, her excitement to find out if this guy is for real doubled. Once she actually saw him in the flesh (and one piece of flesh in particular), her excitement tripled. Now that she has the opportunity to feel his lengthy penetration in the privacy of his suite – without cameras rolling – her excitement is through the roof. After ripping off his clothes, Peggy and Kit make out in front of a wide-open window overlooking the south side of the Strip. They know the window is one-way, but that doesn’t make them feel any less naughty about the fact somebody – however remote the chances are – could be watching them. The exhibitionistic thrill adds to the fevered atmosphere.

“God, you taste amazing!” Kit says between breaks sucking on her clitoris. Now lying in bed, Peggy feels she’s fully ready to take him in after multiple orgasms produced by his oral stimulation. If her throaty screams of pleasure couldn’t be heard through the hotel walls, then nothing can. Peggy grabs a handful of his beautiful hair and twists it playfully. Not usually into “rough stuff,” Kit takes it all in stride. “I’ll be back in a moment. Stay where you are, my dear.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. You can believe that!” She rubs a small amount of her vaginal moisture all over her labia until it glistens like rainfall on leaves. Kit goes to his suitcase to retrieve an extra-large condom. He rips the packet open and tosses it into a nearby wastebasket.

“Ooooooooooohhhh boy will that fit?”

“Let’s hope so. I have no desire to become a daddy yet!” Kit teases. He rolls the latex onto his 12-inch cock until it gets almost all of the way on. Peggy peers closely, estimating the condom is about an inch and a half shy of reaching the base of his lovely penis. That should be sufficient to prevent anything unfortunate from happening. Fully sheathed (for the most part), Kit leaps back onto the bed and straddles Peggy’s powerful body. With his left hand, he pinches Peggy’s nipple. With his right hand, he positions the broad head of his penis at her sensitive entrance. Even he has doubts that she’ll be able to fully take him in, though he’s heard rumors that Peggy Cole is the ultimate “Size Queen,” a role she plays in real life and not just on screen.

“Do it. I’m fucking ready.”

“Okay, darling. Here it goes…” Inch by inch, Kit carefully enters Peggy until he’s about three-quarters of the way in. He watches her face studiously to make sure she isn’t in pain or any kind of discomfort. Judging from the big grin she’s flashing him, Kit figures he’s doing just fine. She closes her eyes, relishing the feeling of a handsome-ish young man with a mammoth manhood penetrating her with such considerate finesse. Kit has had several girlfriends over the years, all of them privately confessing (sometimes after they broke up) that they found sex painful with him. This always made him feel bad. It’s not his fault that he has a freakishly large endowment. It’s genetics, right?

“Oh fuck yeah! I looooooooooooooooooove it, baby darling! LOVE IT!”

Full of confidence that he could never hurt her, Kit decides to do something that he has never been able to do before with a woman in the bedroom: Make love to her with reckless abandon, no fear, and no reason to hold back. It’s truly liberating, yet another reason why Peggy Cole is one hell of an extraordinary human being. Hopefully for both of them – but mostly for Kit’s sake – this could be the beginning of something special. She may be a solid decade or so older than him (he doesn’t know her actual age), but that shouldn’t matter, should it?

Kit decides it’s now or never. The time to think is later. Still feeling out whether or not she can handle his tremendous length and girth, Peggy grabs him by the cheeks and pulls him closer to kiss him. No hint of flirting or foreplay. That time has passed. Now, it’s all on him to perform his duties.

“Hold on, darling. It’s going to be one hell of a wild fucking ride.”

“Now you’re speaking my language, big boy. Ride me, cowboy!”

With that verbal cue, Kit and Peggy aggressively make love with all the energy they could summon after a long day on set. The bed squeaks in rhythm with every thrust and heave Kit throws at Peggy. It’s been at least two months since Kit last had sex, so he’s as hungry as he could possibly be. He pushes in and out of Peggy with so much force it startles him, forcing his mind to break concentration and wonder if he’s hurting her. Miss Cole’s passionate screams of delight tell a definitive story.

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEE! FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE BABYYYYYYYYYY!!!”

A few minutes later, Kit feels the tightness build up in his body. Peggy cannot remember the last time a man has fucked her like this. Once this is over, she decides she’ll ask if he’d like to be added to her list of “lovers.” As far as she’s concerned, Mr. Styles has earned a spot permanently in her proverbial “black book” if he so wishes. When they look into each other’s eyes, they know it’s only a matter of seconds until both of them experience the sweet, sweet release that their tired souls need. First, Kit climaxes. One final thrust later, Peggy joins him. An inaudible gasp escapes from her throat as she comes. Kit looks up above him, seeing a painting of a stallion running through a grassy meadow. The poetic irony of a majestic male horse displayed right above their bed is not lost on him.

“Motherfucker…that’s what I needed, babe,” Kit, out of breath and sweating bullets, whispers in Peggy’s ear as she comes to her senses. He remains on top of her, not wanting this magical moment to end. As drained of energy as he is, he manages to peck her on the cheek, coaxing her to open her eyes so they can look at each other.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that was amazing. Loved every moment of it,” she says back. If the grin on her face were any wider, it might remain that way permanently.

As Kit withdraws his penis from her, he is horrified when he sees an unstoppable pool of milky white fluid drain out of her vagina. It leaks onto the bedsheets, several drops splashing across her powerful thighs.

“Oh fuck! God damnit! The condom broke. Holy shit, this is a fucking nightmare. I’m so sorry, it looked fine when I put it on, honestly!” Before he could say another word, Peggy puts a finger onto his lips, a clear message to him to stop talking and calm down. When he looks into her eyes, all he sees is a calm, relaxed woman smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her serene attitude tells him he has nothing to fret about. The long wet kiss she plants on his cheek solidifies this conclusion.

“Don’t worry, baby. Don’t worry at all. You’re fine. Nothing broke. Despite everything, we’re going to be alright,” she says. Peggy looks down at the mess developing in front of her. She giggles. “Looks like I wet the bed!”

“What…what do you mean you wet the bed? Isn’t that, you know, me?” Kit inspects the condom still sheathed around his flaccid penis for any signs of tearing. So far, he cannot find any evidence that the prophylactic failed in any way. As a larger man, Kit is constantly paranoid that the protection he’s using will rip during sex. Peggy’s enthusiastic enjoyment of their coupling certainly alleviated some of those fears, though it only takes a situation like this to bring them all racing back.

“Congratulations, Mr. Styles. But you’re the first man to ever make me squirt during sex,” she declares. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re the first. God, I made such a mess. You better call room service to bring you a clean set of sheets. Oh well. I’m sure they’re used to this sort of thing.”

“Wait, uh, what? Huh? You just, um, squirted?” Kit is keenly aware of the concept of female ejaculation, though he is clueless about the physiological science behind it. He’s seen it done in porn, but never in-person. So this is a first for him as well. “Wow! That’s really fucking hot. Dang, I had no idea you could do that. Fuck.”

Peggy sits up in bed, trying to avoid the wet spots as much as she can. “I’m famous for it, which obviously you didn’t know. That’s why you’re so surprised. Yeah, I can squirt with the best of them. You can say I’m the best in the world to ever do it. That’s what I believe. The only way I can squirt is if I use a really huge dildo and fuck myself as hard as I can. Long, even strokes. I need a lot of hardness inside my pussy. Most guys don’t have the machinery or the energy to get it done. But you, my lovely child, passed with flying colors.” She ruffles his hair like a schoolyard bully picking on a kid during yearbook picture day. “Thank you, baby. I loved it. Same time tomorrow?”

Several minutes later, Peggy dries herself off with a towel and gets dressed while Kit retreats to the bathroom. When he unrolls the condom and inspects it carefully, he is pleasantly surprised to see that it did not break, just as she predicted. After washing himself, peeing, and wiping a few lipstick stains from his face, Kit emerges from the bathroom to see Peggy fully dressed and answering a few texts.

“My boyfriend is wondering where I am. What should I tell him? The truth?” Peggy asks Kit, who quickly dresses so he can escort her out and go down to the ground floor to get something to eat. Her hypothetical question makes him squirm a bit.

“You have a boyfriend? Damn! Ha, yeah you probably should just tell him that filming took longer than expected. I think he’d be a little pissed off if he knew that you were fucking the handsome young stud you just met on set.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t care. I do this sort of thing all the time. So does he. And our girlfriend, too. We do whatever we want, just as long as nobody gets hurt.”

“Hold on!” he says with a sharp tone of shock. “You have a boyfriend…and a girlfriend?”

“Oh yeah! We’re polyamorous. Hell, I have right now fourteen different lovers. Do you want to be added to the list?” Peggy approaches Kit and almost kisses him but refrains when she notices he wiped off the lipstick from his face. She just reapplied some lip gloss and wouldn’t want to make him wash his face again.

“Shit, that’s something else. Wow! Fourteen lovers? Damn. I can barely handle one at a time,” Kit says, checking his phone for messages. He sees none that needs an immediate reply. “Well, that sounds like fun. Yeah! So you live with a boyfriend and a girlfriend. That’s…that’s awesome. Sort of weird, but awesome. Sorry, this is very, like, strange to me. I’m not judging or anything, you know? Just…yeah. Weird.” He laughs to ease the tension. Or more specifically, to ease his own tension.

“It’s okay, baby. Not everyone approves of how I live my life, so I’ve heard far worse. We’re happy, the three of us. You should meet them sometime. I think you’d like us.”

“I’d like that. Yeah. Sometime.”

Well within her two-hour limit, Peggy and Kit return to the parking lot. They exchange phone numbers, agree to meet again tomorrow evening for more sexy fun, and go their separate ways. On her way home, Peggy is pleasantly surprised to see that traffic has died down considerably. She listens to Whitney Houston in the car, humming along while replaying her time with Kit in her head. How can she be so lucky? Tomorrow, she decides, is the perfect time to attempt to lure Mr. Styles away from NYC and move permanently to Vegas. The porn scene is thriving down here, with plenty of side jobs available in the restaurant/hotel business, entertainment, and rideshare industries. Besides, she must be able to experience sex like that again. A Size Queen must get her fill (literally and figuratively), she believes, and Kit Styles is definitely the man equipped for the job. Twenty-ish minutes later Peggy parks her sedan on the street after seeing that George and Teresa have parked their cars in the driveway. After a short walk up a flight of stairs, when she opens the front door she sees a somewhat surprising but not shocking thing happening inside the living room: George, Teresa, and Gabriella (a trans woman and part-time stripper who regularly comes over for three or four-way orgies) on the floor – with blankets spread out everywhere – entangled in each other’s bodies. Usually, Peggy is kept in the loop if one of these erotic meetups is happening. She supposes being busy on set all day is a good reason why they didn’t bother to tell her in advance.

“Damn! That looks like fun. Mind if I join in?”

As of this moment, Gabrielle is penetrating Teresa’s anal cavity with her penis while Teresa is sucking on George’s dick. George appears to be fondling Gabriella’s ass and (it’s hard for Peggy to tell from this angle) Teresa appears to be wearing a strap-on. 99.999% of the world’s population would be scandalized if they saw this as they walked in through the front door after a long day at the office. But Peggy isn’t typical of most people. While sex is certainly on their mind right now, the only thing Peggy needs is sustenance. She really needs something to eat or else she fears she might pass out right here in front of everyone.

“Hi baby! Sorry for getting the party started without you,” Gabriella says. Peggy kisses her on the forehead, despite still being deeply inside Teresa’s anus.

“Hi darling! It’s great to see your pretty face again.”

“How was the shoot today?” George asks.

“Great! We got most of it done today, but chances are I’ll be needed again on set tomorrow afternoon, maybe early evening,” she lies to the group. George and Teresa aren’t normally prone to get jealous if Peggy decides to randomly hook-up with someone, but she feels like now is not the time to reveal her budding friendship with Kit Styles and his infamous endowment. There is a time and a place for that later. “Go ahead and finish what you’re doing. I’m starving. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Peggy dashes to the kitchen to get her hands on a slice of cold pizza still sitting in the refrigerator. She was afraid someone would eat it by now, so she lucks out when she sees it still sitting there, all alone in plastic wrap. As she wolfs it down and flips through a random fashion magazine, she hears loud moaning and cries of orgasm echoing throughout the house, a two-bedroom apartment that looks like something out of a 1950’s sitcom. There’s even a white picket fence surrounding the property!

The orgy going on in the living room, however, would have been a bit too extreme for television of that era.

Before she returns to the refrigerator to fetch a LaCroix, Teresa sneaks up behind her, still wearing the strap-on dildo. She grabs Peggy’s boobs, squeezes them tightly, and turns Peggy’s head around so she could kiss her. No one says a word because no words need to be said. Still damp from her recent encounter with Kit, Peggy unzips her jeans and leans over the kitchen counter so Teresa could do her thing. And out of nowhere, just like that, Teresa pulls down Peggy’s underwear to her knees and enters her from behind with the strap-on. It’s already been properly lubed up from being used just now for the orgy. Peggy has no idea what George and Gabriella are up to now. Probably making out? Going outside to smoke pot? Watching TV? Peggy’s mind stops wandering as Teresa slides the dildo in and out of her, employing even strokes that quickly bring Peggy on the brink.

“OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Peggy screams as the tip of the dildo hits her g-spot in the exact right place.

For the second time in less than an hour, Peggy releases a flood of liquid that splashes all over the kitchen tile. Teresa lessens the intensity of her pumps as Peggy’s vaginal walls pound rhythmically. It’s highly unusual for her to squirt like this without a large dildo, so she figures it’s the way that Kit “warmed her up” earlier that explains why. As her orgasm subsides, Teresa withdraws from her, grinning at how much ejaculate she is going to have to clean up. She promptly rips a few sheets of paper towels and gets on her knees to wipe it up. Peggy, remarkably, hasn’t collapsed on the floor. Still leaning over the countertop, only one single thought pops into her mind as the erotic memories of the last ten hours race through her brain:

I love my life.

***

The cold skies, dark grey clouds, and desolate sprinkles of rainwater act as a profound reminder that London isn’t nearly as romantic of a city as Paris, Venice, or Barcelona. As Melanie Wright looks out the window from the top floor of her rented flat, she hears the bathroom door open. She turns around to see Theodore “Teddy” Livingstone, one of her most loyal clients, wearing a leopard-pattern male thong.

“What do you think?” Thomas asks earnestly. Melanie, always polite and considerate of other people’s feelings, is fortunate that she doesn’t have to lie in this situation. Huh. He genuinely looks kind of sexy, she decides.

“Honestly? That’s hot. A little goofy, but actually hot. I’m serious!” Melanie, wearing nothing but a lacy white thong and black heels, goes up to him and tickles his scrotum. He’s already hard – in fact, he’s been hard since the moment he walked through the door more than two hours ago – and appreciative of her kind words (even though he suspects she’s lying through her teeth). What matters is having fun, he thinks, not impressing anybody.

Melanie plans to spend two weeks in Jolly Old England for a variety of reasons: a couple of modeling photoshoots, seeing friends, meeting a handful of muscle worship session clients, sightseeing, and scoping out a few places to possibly rent should she decide to live here full-time. The flat she’s staying at right now is one that belongs to three other friends of hers – all professional female bodybuilders like herself. The four of them, all spread out across the globe, split the monthly rent payments. Fully furnished and ideally situated in the heart of downtown London (and close to a major tube station), it’s the perfect place to host session clients, house parties, and set up shop as a home base if one is staying in the U.K. for a long time. Melanie arrived four days ago and has enjoyed a nearly nonstop schedule since the jet lag wore off.

Today, she’s spending almost the entire day with Mr. Livingstone. Teddy, as he prefers her to call him, is a wealthy CEO of an international shipping corporation, philanthropist, adventurer, playboy, and, of course, lover of muscular women. That part of his life is kept secret. Like Dylan Tanaka, another loyal client Melanie has seen at various times throughout the years, Teddy has more money than he could possibly know how to prudently spend. She doesn’t know his exact estimated net worth, though several appearances in Time magazine and Forbes should indicate that he’s not exactly hurting for money.

Teddy is a big enthusiast of playing “dress up” during their time together. He’s collected a series of costumes, outfits, and sexy male underwear over the years that he likes to show off to her. She also brings along in her massive suitcase a few fun pieces to wear as well. Even though she’s not wearing anything fancy right now (they still have the rest of the evening together since he paid a pretty penny for the privilege to spend the whole day with her), she’ll get there eventually.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Teddy says, his face turning beet red with embarrassment. “What have you brought with you on this trip? A Wonder Woman costume? An Amazonian princess? An icy cold winter queen?”

“After dinner, I’ll show you everything I miraculously managed to fit in my luggage,” Melanie smiles, pointing to her suitcase sitting in the far corner of the room. “For now, would you like to take my measurements?” She whips out a sewing measuring tape from her handbag. Teddy, almost to a fault, treats her more like a valuable piece of art than a living, breathing human being. He adores her. He’s not clingy – she’s had a few clients that she’s had to cut off because they wouldn’t stop texting, calling, or emailing her – but he has his moments. In his own words, his “thirst for muscular women is unquenchable.” Is this a creepy thing to say? Well, yes. But he’s a harmless man (with deep pockets), so it’s fine.

“Yes! Let’s do it.” Teddy gleefully takes the measuring tape, unwinds it, and sits down on the bed. Melanie follows suit. “I see you’re in great shape, as always. The Moscow International is next month, so I’m assuming you’re ramping up for that?” Miss Wright extends her right arm – her dominant arm – and flexes her enormous bicep. She made sure to do a quick workout at a nearby gym right before Teddy arrived so she’d be properly pumped up. He wraps the measuring tape around her mountain of muscle to see how much progress she’s made.

“Damn right I’m doing the Moscow International next month. I intend to win it this time, unlike last year when I was screwed over by the Swedish judge,” she complains. Melanie isn’t one to hold grudges, and she’s had her fair share of heartbreaking losses during her professional life, but she cannot fathom why the Swedish judge gave her low marks for her hamstrings. It’s arguably the best part of her legs! His argument was that they were too big and not proportional with her calves and quads. In a world where symmetry matters, apparently she failed in that department. Still, she’ll never let that go for as long as she lives.

“Wow! Eighteen beautiful inches. Let’s see your left arm. Do you think it’ll be less?”

“Yeah, slightly less. But not by much.” Teddy wraps the measuring tape around her left bicep.

“Seventeen and a half inches, so you’re right. Still, mighty impressive, Melanie dear. Quite impressive. I could never achieve that in a million years.” Melanie looks down at Teddy’s crotch, stifling her need to giggle at seeing his erection practically bursting out of his leopard thong. “Let’s move on to your legs…”

Like an archeologist studying precious dinosaur bones, Teddy measures Melanie’s muscles with exact scientific mathematical precision. It always amuses Melanie to watch him study her body with academic-like studiousness. When he gets to her thirty-inch thighs, that number alone – not twenty-eight, not twenty-nine, not twenty-nine and a half – makes him go crazy. He audibly moans when the end of the measuring tape lines up with the big 3-0. Melanie once again tries not to excessively smile at his joyful exuberance. She looks up at the clock and sees it’s 5:38. Their dinner reservation at some steak restaurant is at 7:00, so they need to wrap up their pre-dinner activities soon so they could have enough time to wash up, get dressed, and hail an Uber.

“THIRTY INCHES!” Teddy exclaims in a voice loud enough to make the walls shake. Melanie flinches at the sound of his bellowing voice.

“You better believe it. Kiss them. NOW!”

“Right away ma’am.” He obediently gets on his knees and trails several kisses up her left leg, starting at her foot and ending at the top of her thigh. She’s surprised the fabric of his thong hasn’t torn yet. When she bounces her quads up and down, Teddy loses his mind.

“Oh…my…fucking…GOD!” Teddy stands up, pulls his thong down to his knees, and kicks them away. His raging erection is finally free at last. He positions himself right above her. Melanie can guess what he’s about to do next. Right on cue, Teddy finds a small bottle of baby oil, opens it, and applies a small amount on the palm of his hand. Then, he takes his penis in his hand and starts to furiously jerk it. Teddy Livingstone is normally a level-headed, rational, and even keel sort of man. But when he’s in the presence of a world-class female bodybuilder with eighteen-inch biceps and thirty-inch quads, he loses all control of himself. His fetishistic love of female muscle takes over his faculties. Almost as if he’s in a supernatural-like trance, Teddy continues to masturbate as Melanie bounces her quads right under him. She decides a little verbal encouragement could go a long way to speed things along.

“Do it. Do it. DO IT! Come all over me. Come all over my quads. NOW, DAMNIT!”

That’s all the hype he needs, apparently. A few seconds later Melanie feels several hot squirts of semen drip onto her leg. One drop rolls down her calf. She hopes it doesn’t stain the carpet. Teddy groans loudly. Melanie still talks dirty to him, well after his pulses subside.

“Your seed may make my muscles grow even more,” she suggests, tongue-in-cheek. This breaks Teddy from his “spell,” returning his mind back to normal. “Maybe after dinner it’ll be thirty-one or thirty-two inches!”

Teddy laughs. “That would be amazing. Thanks, darling. I needed that. That was amazing. God, your legs are incredible. Brilliant. You’re unbelievably beautiful. Sooooooooo much muscle everywhere.” One final kiss, and Teddy and Melanie take turns cleaning themselves up in the bathroom. Less than thirty minutes later, both of them are downstairs in the lobby. Teddy has just hailed an Uber to take them to dinner but neither of them wants to wait outside in the freezing cold rain.

They are dressed like they’re ready to paint the town red, so to speak. Teddy is wearing a traditional charcoal black tuxedo and a bowler’s hat. Melanie has on a classy velvet green Vera Wang dress that generously shows off her considerable body mass. It’ll be impossible for strangers to resist the urge to stop and stare at her arms. While Teddy chooses to keep his fetish for muscular women a secret, he’s not shy about taking beautiful female bodybuilders out on dates in public. He’s taken Melanie before to the theatre, opera, an outdoor Mozart concert, and the finest restaurants in the U.K. He’s famous within business circles, but not the general public. He doubts any of his closest friends or family will ever find out his secret second life that he enjoys privately with some of the finest muscular women on the planet. And if they do discover this part of his life, so what? He’s filthy rich and living his best life possible. Awkwardness would be a small price to pay. That’s not worth denying one’s self the finer things in life.

“It’s here. Shall we?” Teddy puts his phone back in his jacket pocket. He leans over to kiss Melanie on the cheek. The front desk clerk, a young man in this late 20s, tries his hardest not to stare at the mysterious woman with outrageously huge muscles. He’s seen her before, but she’s usually wearing a thick fur coat to cover up her eye-popping physique. No offense to her, but Melanie’s face isn’t pretty enough to be memorable, though her muscles are definitely hard to forget. The clerk whistles after Melanie and Teddy leave the building.

“Yes, let’s go eat. I’m famished,” she replies back. Walking into the unforgiving London rainstorm hand-in-hand, both Teddy and Melanie look forward to a delicious dinner, followed by whatever erotic shenanigans will transpire in the bedroom afterward.

All the King’s Queens – Chapter 8: Party Crashers

Stephen Callahan estimates his crew should arrive at Dylan Tanaka’s property at a quarter to 11 o’clock. That should give him plenty of time to coordinate the shutting off of Dylan’s security systems. Bill Marks, a man Stephen has known for several years from their days working together at a Silicon Valley startup that eventually folded, is currently the Regional Manager of the West Coast office of McDonald & Pierce Security Systems, a private home security company that specifically caters to the rich and famous. MPSS’s clients span professional athletes to Hollywood celebrities, corporate CEOs, government officials, lobbyists, media personalities, investors, and anyone with enough money (and a healthy dose of paranoia) to pay for such expensive services. Bill, who did some contract work for Perseus Analytics back in the day, is also not a fan of Dylan Tanaka. He feels strongly that Stephen was the convenient scapegoat who served the role as the sacrificial lamb so PA’s higher-ups could avoid prison time.

Bill, knowing his actions could cost him both his job and prison time for himself, enthusiastically agreed to join in on the scheme when Stephen first approached him about it. His role is fairly simple but no less crucial: His job is to temporarily create a systems error between midnight and 3:00 a.m. on Sunday, June 30. MPSS regularly goes through a region-wide system reboot/update on the final day of every month for a few hours, usually beginning at midnight. This is completely routine and happens as scheduled every single month. Occasionally, this system reboot will cause a small handful of homes to lose the connection between their security system and the main servers at the MPSS regional headquarters. It’s typical for anywhere between 5-10 homes on the West Coast (Washington, Idaho, Oregon, California, and Utah) to temporarily experience this technical glitch for no more than an hour or two. MPSS tries to minimize this bug, but technology isn’t always a perfect ally. Since they have more than 170,000 clients in these five U.S. states, that number isn’t trivial but is small enough that if it were to happen, it wouldn’t be considered unusual.

Stephen proposed to Bill the simple scheme of intentionally cutting off the connection between Dylan Tanaka’s house during those critical three hours. As far as he’s concerned, his motion detectors, security cameras, door locks, and direct lines to emergency services will still operate – but any data captured from those systems will not feed back to HQ (located in Redwood City, CA, where Bill lives and works). Which basically means Dylan’s security systems will be useless during that window of time. He won’t receive any error messages on his end, but that won’t matter because for three hours the Internet connection between his home and Redwood City HQ will be cut off. All of this, while “tragic,” is perfectly normal. Thankfully for MPSS (whose main corporate headquarters is in Austin, TX) this secret technical glitch hasn’t come back to haunt them – yet. It’s only a matter of time, Stephen and Bill have decided, when a regularly scheduled systems reboot would result in a catastrophic event where a rich man whose house is being broken into isn’t reported to the local police. And, no footage of the crime is ever recorded onto MPSS’s cloud servers.

During their initial planning discussion, Bill estimates this would cost the company dearly in a lawsuit brought upon by Mr. Tanaka, as well as bad publicity. But since Mr. Tanaka has become a social pariah after being dubbed a “war profiteer” by a Congressional defense committee, he will most likely receive very little public support. MPSS’s stockholders and board members will temporarily freak out, but the market has a funny way of returning back to normal after the news cycle moves on to something new. You’re only one controversial Donald Trump tweet away from your sins being forgotten by the media. They are easily distracted. And the current U.S. president has a knack for distracting people from what’s really going on around the country.

Still, such a plan comes with immense risk. After lengthy brainstorming, Stephen Callahan and Bill Marks decided that every client in the greater Seattle area should experience the same “technical glitch” as Dylan in order to minimize any suspicion that this was an inside job. That would victimize only 378 homes – including a few business buildings – a fairly small number compared to MPSS’s total number of clients, but large enough to make it look like Dylan Tanaka’s home wasn’t specifically targeted. This “outage” could also be shorter or longer for some people. Some people may only experience a glitch lasting 20 seconds. Or 10 minutes. Or 30 minutes. Or three hours. Dylan’s home should experience some of the longer outages, of course, which would give Stephen’s team plenty of time to break in, steal whatever they need to steal, and get out without giving Dylan or any of his nosy neighbors a chance to call the cops.

In return for this invaluable service, Stephen promised he’d pay Bill and two unnamed mid-level employees at MPSS (it would be nearly impossible for Bill to singlehandedly execute a plot of his magnitude and technical difficulty) $175,000 each upfront and at least $1.5 million afterward. They could get more if the information Stephen steals ends up being as valuable on the black market as he suspects it is. All in all, Stephen will have to pay at least $5,025,000 to ascertain Dylan’s hidden documents. However, he knows that’s small potatoes compared to their estimated worth: At least $40 billion when you consider the fortune you’d make producing state-of-the-art artificial intelligence programs for foreign governments, militaries, corporations, NGOs, and any party who desires to weaponize data to their advantage.

None of the people involved in this plot seem morally concerned about the potential blowback this operation could create. Oh well. Life goes on.

Until it doesn’t.

“Dude, this drive is long and boring as hell. There’s nothing to see. It’s just darkness.” Thomas resists the urge to yawn, which could communicate tiredness (which he is at the moment) and the possibility that his mind wouldn’t be sufficiently sharp enough to complete the mission. Despite the late hour, Stephen doubts anyone on his team will actually fall asleep on the job. The stakes are way too high.

“You should try driving this road during the day. It’s no better. But we’re not here to be tourists.” Stephen looks at his trusty safecracker for any sign that he’s considering backing out. Unlike most gigs he’s worked on, the loot they’re stealing is potentially worth billions of dollars. This is a scale Thomas has never experienced before. He’s accustomed to stealing boring shit like passports, birth certificates, legally-binding contracts, wills, jewelry, expensive watches, or the occasional key to a safety deposit box. He has never been asked to actually go to the bank and retrieve whatever is in that box, just to steal the key to get in. So not even the jobs where really valuable stuff is involved is directly stolen by him. However, this evening is a whole new ballgame, a whole different can of worms.

“Relax, we’re going to be okay. We’ll be there before you know it. Just pretend like you just chugged seven Red Bulls. That’ll do the trick.”

“Hm,” Thomas reacts with less enthusiasm than a little kid eating a plate full of brussels sprouts. Usually, Thomas does jobs where his only stake in the game is the payment for doing it successfully. It’s never personal, just business. This, however, is a slightly different matter. He doesn’t necessarily consider Stephen a friend, so failure tonight wouldn’t devastate him too much emotionally (unless they get caught by the police, which goes without saying). That doesn’t mean he isn’t rooting for Stephen to win. Thomas has no qualms about stealing money or assets from a super-rich billionaire. It’s not like Dylan Tanaka will miss it. After all, he’s the one who’s chosen to sit on these documents for all these years. He could have easily chosen to sell them to a third-party bidder at a ridiculously high price. That isn’t something he’s done – yet. So if a man like Stephen Callahan, who deserves his fair shake after the clown show that was the congressional investigation and hearings, can’t be faulted too much for taking something that Mr. Tanaka refuses to give away. Morality is a funny thing, Thomas often thinks. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Meanwhile, inside the SUV Xander carefully removes a small flask out of his coat pocket and takes a small swig. He knows he’s supposed to remain “clean and sober” until the job is done, but feelings of nervousness cannot easily be shaken off. He’s only human. The small amount of bourbon he drinks will calm his nerves, loosen him up, and make him more at ease once they get to the rich guy’s mansion. What’s the harm in that?

“How are we all feeling?” Roddy asks his passengers. His gaze is focused on the road.

“Meh. Let’s just get it over with. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a job,” Cortez says. “I feel out of shape, know what I mean? This shit better not take all night, that’s all I’m asking.” Xander, sitting in the back seat, takes a second swig of bourbon before sharing his answer with the group. Before speaking, he puts the flask back inside his coat pocket, thankful that nobody seemed to have noticed it.

“I’m good. Kind of excited. I’m like you, Cortez. Haven’t been on a job in a long time. Damn. Probably my second one this year. Shit.” Xander shifts around in his seat, genuinely surprised at his lack of activity this year.

“That’s it? You worked with Tony Morocco and his boys, right? They snuck all those trucks full of cocaine across the Mexican border right around Valentine’s Day. The DEA had no fucking idea it happened. They probably still don’t. As far as the Border Patrol is concerned, those trucks had corn maize in it,” Roddy says. Tony Morocco is an infamous drug smuggler who is intimately connected with many of the big Mexican and Central American cartels. He’s born and raised in the United States, has lots of personal (and family) connections south of the border, and knows the right federal officials and law enforcement personnel to pay off in order to keep the flow of narcotics onto American streets going smoothly. Almost every hired goon on the West Coast has worked for him before, either directly or indirectly. Roddy, to his credit, knows almost every major player in the game. His knowledge of everyone’s sordid history should come as no surprise. He didn’t assemble this team himself – it was Thomas who gathered all the players on Stephen’s behalf – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know who he’s riding with.

“To be fair, they did have some corn maize in them,” Cortez chuckles. “But not all those boxes, that’s for damn sure.”

“Tony’s a big bad cat. Never met the dude, but I’ve worked with his boys before. But that was a while ago.” Xander hopes this will end the conversation. He won’t ever admit it, but Xander once ratted out one of Tony’s homeboys to the FBI because he tried to sleep with his then-girlfriend. The feds know who Xander is, even though they won’t officially bring him in on criminal charges. He’s too low-level for that, plus he can be helpful in conducting internal “house cleaning” of gangsters who stray too far from the “code.” Therefore, Xander isn’t technically speaking an FBI informant, though he has been an informant before. This isn’t a rare occurrence. Lots of dudes low on the totem pole have talked to the police, FBI, Border Patrol, DEA – even the CIA – at some point. They just don’t rat out the “big fish” swimming in the pond. They only talk to either save their own hides or eliminate idiots on their own side who are about to get caught or killed anyway. Tony’s friend, in addition to trying to fuck Xander’s girl, had a tendency to get sloppy with his hit jobs. One unfortunate mistake led to a pregnant woman getting killed by a car bomb when the intended target was a female judge who happened to share the same name as her. The judge, who at the time was presiding over a case involving submachine guns smuggled across the border by one of the cartels, doesn’t get a scratch on her head (she was in another part of Ciudad Juárez at the time) while the pregnant woman gets killed along with three other innocent bystanders. This mistake was forgiven at the time, but it certainly put him on the “expendable” list by the powers-that-be inside the cartels. His death was inevitable. Xander ratting him out made sure that instead of him getting killed by a cartel assassin, he’d hang himself inside his holding cell with bedsheets. Which he did.

“I see. Yeah, he’s a bad motherfucker. Never met him either,” Roddy adds.

“I have,” Cortez chimes in. Both passengers express their pleasant surprise. “Once. About a year ago. I was at his daughter’s birthday party. Can’t tell you where, but it was by the beach. Nice ass place. Goddamn, he’s a rich motherfucker, just like this asshole we’re about to meet right now. I’m telling you, he has about eight different wives, or girlfriends, or whatever. I don’t know who those bitches were. But hot damn! He gets more pussy in a day than we do all year. Fuck man.”

“Wow. I’ve heard stories about him, bro. But you actually met him?” Roddy asks. He genuinely wants to know.

“Yeah, but we’re not friends or nothing. I just met him once, know what I mean?” Cortez squirms in his seat a bit, knowing he probably just said too much. Tony Morocco is infamous for having a lot of mistresses at any given time. However, that doesn’t mean he likes his employees talking about it openly. He’s a man with typical male desires, but he’s also (technically speaking) a family man with a wife and four kids. He’s also a violent gangster who’s responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people over the years, a fact that doesn’t obscure the truth that he’s also a philanderer. Nobody’s perfect. “So I don’t know a whole lot about him other than the rumors I’ve heard. We’ve all heard rumors about him, right?”

“Right.” Xander quietly coughs to himself, wanting to hide the one final swig of bourbon he just swallowed. This is it for now, he thinks to himself. “Lots of rumors of a lot of people, man. Fuck, it’s hard to know what’s true and what’s not, you dig? Hell, motherfuckers out there are probably saying shit about us, you know?”

“For real. Our boss on this job, Callahan, is new to the game. Nobody knows shit about him, except he spent years in the Big House with Tommy,” Roddy says. “I don’t know him, but he seems like he knows what he’s doing. It makes me feel better about our chances.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.” Xander adds.

Cortez checks his firearm to make sure the safety is still on. It is. “This shit should be easy. I’ve had to break into far worse situations. Remember that boathouse, bro?”

“Oh yeah, that shit was wild,” Roddy remembers. Five years ago, Roddy and Cortez first met doing a hit job on some hotshot lawyer who represented the Securities and Exchange Commission. The SEC was investigating a Ponzi scheme set up by a former Wall Street executive. They and two other guys had to locate this man’s boathouse in the middle of a well-guarded Florida Keys dock, put two bullets into the back of his skull, and get away before his private security guards showed up. The hit was successful and the SEC eventually eased off on the investigation. But Roddy and Cortez had to learn how to scuba dive (!) in order to sneak onto the dude’s boat unnoticed. It was cold, windy, rainy, and dark outside. Thankfully, all four hitmen were paid handsomely for their work. “We don’t have to go swimming this time around, thank God. If our insider at the security company works, we don’t even have to worry about how long it takes. Just get in, steal whatever the fuck we’re stealing, and get out of there in time for breakfast. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

It was at this exact moment that all three men realize that they had broken the one unbreakable rule of the business: they said it would be “easy.” You never do that. Ever. It’s considered bad luck, a sure-fire jinx that would (nearly) guarantee things won’t be as easy as they think it will be. With that, the three men nod their heads quietly, refocus their minds on the mission at hand, and sit silently in the SUV as they approach their ultimate destination.

***

“He’s so different in real life, you know? He’s not what you think he is. For real. That’s true of a lot of guys in the business.”

Peggy Cole has garnered an attentive audience eager to learn about the dirty little secrets of the porn industry. Sitting on Henry’s lap on a comfortable eggshell white L-shaped couch, Peggy has spent the last twenty minutes sipping whiskey, passing a joint around the group, and recalling her favorite moments working as a pornographic actress. Dylan and Melanie are cuddling on the carpet while Monique is sitting by herself at Peggy’s feet. At the moment they are hearing Peggy dish about Kit Styles, a b-level porn actor who is considered a “rising star” among those who pay attention to this sort of thing. “He’s shy and legit an introvert. Seriously. He gets really awkward around girls like me, and, well, people in general, I guess. But he’s a real sweetheart,” Peggy says.

“He reads off a script when he’s making his videos, so that’s not surprising. I can’t imagine someone being that smooth with the ladies all the time,” Dylan says, inhaling a bit of marijuana smoke. Melanie playfully pinches his shoulder. It’s been at least six months since he last smoked weed. It was New Year’s Eve 2018. He was hanging out with a few friends who were visiting from Europe. Thankfully for Dylan, he’s not as much of a pariah overseas as he is domestically. It’s not that Europeans aren’t aware of Dylan’s legal troubles, it’s more that they can’t bring themselves to hate an American suspected of being a war criminal more than a European suspected of being a war criminal. Dylan considered moving to either France or the U.K. at one point. He doubts he’ll ever leave the United States. “Although porn scripts aren’t exactly that well written in the first place, if we’re just being honest for a moment.”

The group laughs. Peggy, not surprisingly, isn’t too offended by everyone poking fun at her chosen profession. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re not known for our Oscar-worthy writing. Who gives a shit? All people want to see are boobs, pussy, dicks, and flesh banging against flesh. What conversation they have before isn’t on anybody’s mind when they’re trying to jack off in the privacy of their own homes,” Peggy argues. Melanie reaches over to caress Dylan’s limp penis, attempting to bring it back to life. Dylan, to his credit, would rather hang out with his friends, smoke pot, drink whiskey, and talk about whatever is on their minds instead of going at it with Melanie again. He loves sex, but he loves being in the company of friends even more. He gets enough sex throughout the year (normally) but not nearly enough quality time hanging out with friendly company.

“I’ve seen a few of his videos,” Monique confesses, a look of embarrassment forming across her face. “He’s not my type, but DAMN he’s big AS FUCK down there!”

“He sure is, baby.” Peggy tickles Henry’s scrotum, making him squirm with her on his lap. “But here’s the thing. He’s got a big dick, but he ain’t a big dick, if that makes any sense. Sort of like you, Henry baby. Big down there, but that don’t mean he’s a jerk or nothing. He’s sweet and humble. He treats everyone with respect.” Henry rolls his eyes, not wanting the sort of attention Peggy is giving him. Yes, he’s aware of what he has between his legs. But he’s not proud of it (or ashamed of it). To him, it’s ridiculous to be proud of something that you’re born with. It’s not like he climbed Mt. Everest or graduated from MIT or was elected President of the United States. He has a large penis. So what? Peggy seems to like it (quite vocally, in fact). That must count for something. But not much, Henry thinks.

“I’d imagine there are a lot of egos going on in your business, just like mine. Or rather, the business I used to be in,” Dylan adds. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Kit Styles before, but he sounds like quite the character. When will your podcast launch?”

“Oh, we don’t know yet. This fall? Maybe during the winter? Or we could launch it next year. Or never. We don’t really have a plan yet. He’s still down in L.A. trying to break into Hollywood. Legitimate filmmaking,” Peggy says. “He wants to be an actor. Like, a real actor. He says he wants to eventually stop doing porn. I hope for the best, but don’t hold your breath. He’s cute and all, but once you do porn a few times that reputation sticks with you. Plus, all he can do is memorize and say whatever shitty lines he’s given. That’s it. He ain’t cut out for Shakespeare, that’s for damn sure.”

Everyone laughs. Peggy, embarrassed that she just threw her good friend under the bus, attempts to steer the conversation away from Kit’s lack of acting abilities. “But you can go to classes for shit like that. L.A. has a shit ton of acting coaches. I’ve taken lessons, he tells me. We’ll see if it works. I hope it does for him, I truly do.”

“I’m sure he’ll figure out a path that works best for him,” Melanie says. “We all have to give ourselves permission to step outside of our comfort zone and leap into the great unknown. If we fail, then we fail. So be it. It happens. Failure happens. It’s inevitable. What really matters is how we bounce back, if we do at all.” Dylan, wondering if this pep talk is indirectly pointed at him, kisses Melanie’s shoulder. She leans her head back on his chest, closing her eyes as he plants more kisses on her body.

“I know what failure is like. I also know what it means to bounce back,” Monique chimes in. “You’re right, baby girl. Failure happens to all of us. What matters is what we do with it.”

“Goddamn, I feel like I’m attending a wellness seminar!” Henry jokes. Peggy giggles charitably, slowly rolling the back of her index fingernail up his shaft. She hopes to get him hard again so she’ll have an excuse to get that 7.5 inch dick stuffed again inside her pussy. However, she decides against it and shifts gears.

“Dylan, baby darling. Did you like my performance earlier? What did you think about it?” Dylan whistles, suddenly remembering Peggy’s remarkable demonstration of her unique anatomical talent. Melanie immediately catches on that Peggy is trying to seduce him, which is something she fully expected from the beginning would eventually happen.

“Oooohhh, I loved it. You were amazing. I’ve literally never seen a woman do that before. Thank you for sharing your special talent with us. It was a joy to watch,” Dylan beams. Even after making love to Melanie twice tonight, his desire for Peggy hasn’t waned one iota. He stares at her enormous breasts, imagining what it would be like to stuff his face between them. He intends to find out sooner rather than later.

“Thank you, darling.” Peggy’s eyes zoom in on Dylan. She slowly stands up, careful to avoid scraping her long fingernails against Henry’s skin. Monique smiles devilishly, knowing what’s about to come next. She looks at the bar, wondering if there are more fresh limes in the refrigerator. “Say, you know that special toy I brought with me? Would you like me to show it to you up close? Would you like a closer inspection?”

Melanie suddenly experiences a strong twinge of jealousy. She knows Dylan intends to have sex with Peggy at some point during this weekend’s festivities. It, like failure, is inevitable. Yet, she feels strange about it. She feels possessive about Dylan, like he’s her man and nobody else’s. This is ridiculous, Melanie thinks to herself, especially considering not even 30 minutes ago she was considering “breaking up” with him for good. Why does she feel this way? What’s going on?

“I would, yes.”

“Then come with me to my bedroom. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies and gentleman,” Peggy teases the group. She winks at Melanie, Monique, and Henry as she takes Dylan’s hand. “I need a few private moments with our host, if you don’t mind.”

“Nah, girl. Go get it. Go do whatever you got to do!” Monique cheers her on.

“Have fun, Boss Man!” Henry shouts.

Melanie Wright doesn’t say a word. Nobody except for Dylan notices this.

“Let’s go!” Peggy aggressively pulls Dylan away from the group. Everyone remains sitting together huddled up and naked in the cabaret room. Monique is already walking up to the bar to fix herself (hopefully) a margarita. Henry stands up, stretches, and decides to pour himself some more champagne. Melanie is still on the floor, watching Peggy and Dylan leave the room, not budging an inch. Hoping nobody notices, she closes her eyes and bows her head, wiping away tears that have unexpectedly formed.

***

At 10:52 p.m., the Buick and SUV quietly arrive about 50 yards away from the cul-de-sac entrance that leads to Dylan Tanaka’s home. A large public park (where Lawrence picked up Dylan’s three guests earlier this afternoon) sits at the base of a busy residential street. The street – and park, for that matter – runs parallel to the north-south edge of Lake Washington. To the east are several private roads that lead to very expensive houses. Many of them are gated. Dylan’s cul-de-sac, however, is not gated since six other homes are located on this small street. Dylan and his neighbors have discussed installing a gate at the entrance over the years, but nothing has ever materialized. After tonight’s events, that will probably change.

The main road has a few open parking spots. Motorists have to pay to park between the hours of 6:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. (but not on Sundays or holidays) but at this hour you can basically park wherever you like for as long as you like. Parking fare enforcement officers rarely show up in wealthy neighborhoods like this one. They’re too busy patrolling the Downtown shopping areas and business districts to care about what happens in this (usually) quiet part of town. During their weekly scouting trips, Stephen’s team noticed several security cameras installed around the private properties. It wouldn’t be wise for two unusual vehicles to park anywhere around the cul-de-sac. The main road, however, contains very few security cameras outside of the major intersections. Fortunately for Stephen Callahan and his team, Dylan’s home is located in a cul-de-sac several hundred feet away from any intersection. They should be able to park on the side of the road and not attract any unwanted attention.

Stephen and Thomas park the Buick ahead of the SUV. Once they shut off the engine, Roddy does the same to his vehicle. Both drivers take out walkie-talkie two-way radios to communicate instead of getting out of the car to chat, not wanting any passerby to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Okay, so we’re pretty lucky right now. Almost no traffic around here. That’s not a surprise. This is a quiet rich neighborhood. No party houses or college kids in sight. The pedestrians who are around seem more interested in either going home or going to the nearest bar instead of strolling around the neighborhood,” Stephen assesses. “What do you think? Am I far off?”

“No, I don’t think you are. I noticed one cop car a couple miles back. Not sure what they were up to. Probably looking out for drunk drivers at this time of night,” Roddy says. “I see two pedestrians about 100 yards ahead of us. They’re walking straight toward us. Do you see them?”

“Yes, I do,” Stephen squints his eyes to see what looks to be a man and a woman holding hands, walking their German Shepherd. It’s way too late to be taking your pooch out to take a crap, Stephen thinks to himself, but people run on all sorts of different schedules. “Just lay low until they pass. They should be behind us in two to three minutes. Put your radio down, now.”

All five men try to remain inconspicuous as the couple strolls by, oblivious to the fact that the shiny Buick and mud-stained SUV are full of armed bandits. Roddy peers at them through the review mirror. The girl has a nice ass, he observes. Thirty seconds after they’ve passed by their vehicles, Roddy picks up his radio again to talk to his boss. “Alright, we’re good now. What’s next? Are you going to call your man at the security company?”

“Yes, that’s the next step.” Stephen hands the radio to Thomas. The veteran safecracker watches Stephen dig his Android out of his pocket to make a crucial phone call. After dialing the number, Stephen waits a few seconds for Bill Marks to pick up. “Hello? Bill?”

“It’s me. Good evening, sir,” Bill answers. Sitting alone in his home office in Redwood City, Bill Marks is drinking his fourth cup of coffee and shaking like a death row inmate nervously awaiting the electric chair. Bill’s two co-conspirators at McDonald & Pierce Security Systems are currently working the graveyard shift at the West Coast Regional Headquarters, located about two and a half miles away from Bill’s plush seaside home overlooking the San Francisco Bay. It would be considered highly unusual for the Regional Manager to be at the office this late – especially since his normal office hours are the typical 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. shift – so he decided to conduct his role in tonight’s heist from the comfort of his private home. His wife is aware of the plot to rob the “war profiteer guy,” as she dubbed him. However, she’s been sworn to secrecy – which should be easy to maintain considering the vast sum of money that’s been promised to come their way should this score succeed. Besides, her husband has assured her that if things were to go to hell in a handbasket, she and Bill would summon a private helicopter that would take them to a noncommercial airport where they’d board a chartered jet to an undisclosed location in the Caribbean. There, they’d either live out the rest of their days on a beachside resort home or relocate to a country that doesn’t care that they’re white-collar criminals.

“Good evening. We’ve just arrived at the target’s home. From what we can tell, nobody is tailing us. Nobody is watching us. No one suspects what we’re up to. We’re good to go,” Stephen reassures his partner in crime. Stephen understands that he has the most to lose if this job goes south, but that doesn’t change the fact that the others involved also have skin in the game. “Can I say the same with you and your boys?”

Bill resists the urge to tell Stephen that one of his co-conspirators is a woman, instead preferring to keep as many strategic secrets as possible. “Yeah, we’re ready as well. I just sent a text to one of them a few minutes ago. I received a response almost immediately. We’re ready to begin rebooting the system once the clock strikes midnight. We sometimes do it earlier, but let’s not do anything out of the ordinary. Not tonight.”

“Damn straight. Keep me posted. From my watch, it’s 11:03. Does your watch say the same thing?”

“It does.”

“Great. Fantastic. Very good. Let’s start as close to midnight as possible. In the meantime, me and my guys will review what’s about to happen once more. When you’re ready, text me. Then the show will get going.” Stephen looks at Thomas for approval of the plan. He nods. Taking this as a “yes,” Stephen signs off. “Over.”

“Over and out,” Bill responds with the glee of a child playing a spy game with his buddies. Stephen puts the radio back inside his jacket pocket. Bill puts his radio back on his desk. To calm his frazzled nerves, Bill gets up to get himself some scotch.

No ice, he decides. Now’s not the time for that.

After spending ten minutes reviewing the plan to his crew for the umpteenth time, all five men are now feeling confident in what they are about to do. There’s no going back. It’s now or never. Bill has repeatedly told Stephen that if any technical glitches were to unexpectedly come their way (such as a citywide power outage or large-scale systemic failure at the Austin HQ), he’d immediately tell him about it. Then, Stephen would have to decide whether or not to abort the whole mission. Bill doubts any such emergency would happen. Stephen, on the other hand, refuses to leave any stone unturned. He doesn’t believe in luck. He believes in preparation. Meticulous, intelligent, forthright preparation. Anything less than that would increase their odds of failure.

And as the cliché goes, failure is not an option. Not tonight. Not after all the countless hours and sleepless nights Stephan Callahan has had to endure because his former boss, Dylan Tanaka, betrayed him and threw him to the wolves.

This time, he intends to be the wolf.

***

“Here it is. The star of this evening’s show. My new favorite toy.” Peggy hands the 10.5-inch long dildo to Dylan. He inspects it with admiration, wondering in awe at how she was able to fit the entire thing inside her vagina. “I call it “Mr. Jerry,” as you found out. What do you think of him?”

“He’s something else,” Dylan observes. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen one as large as this before. I can see why you like it. It’s right up your alley, no pun intended!” This gets a mild snicker out of Peggy. At the end of the day, she’s no different than any other woman who’s ever walked this planet. Just because she works in the porn industry doesn’t mean she’s constantly thinking about sex, desiring sex, or wanting to have sex with anything with a pulse. She does have a plurality of partners – eight, to be exact – but they’re spread out across the world. She doesn’t see them all the time. Her currently live-in boyfriend, Roger, is a bisexual porn producer who also has multiple lovers (of all genders) scattered around the country. They have sex maybe once or twice a week, tops. Most of the time Peggy is at the gym, lifting heavy weights and working out just like any typical professional bodybuilder would. She’s not technically a professional bodybuilder at the moment, but her chosen profession does require her to be in top physical shape. Her appeal as a “sexy, curvy muscular Latina” has earned her tens of thousands of loyal fans across the globe. In addition to Roger, she also regularly goes to Morgan, a fellow female bodybuilder based in Las Vegas, for conjugal visits. Peggy loves dick, but she also loves pussy. Especially muscular pussy like hers. They have sex quite often, sometimes multiple times a day. That’s the advantage of lesbian relationships: They can go at it for as long as they want to without stopping, unlike guys. Peggy takes full advantage of her female parts when she’s with Morgan.

“Yeah, it’s quite a piece of machinery,” she says, eyeing Dylan’s penis getting a little bigger and bigger as their conversation continues. “But nothing beats the feeling of a real man inside me. I mean that honestly.”

Dylan turns to face Peggy. He knows she’s been with hundreds of lovers before (this is probably not an exaggeration). That doesn’t mean he wants to “rise above” any of them. He has nothing to prove. Still, he cannot help but feel some anxiety being with a woman whose experience with sex can fill multiple lifetimes. “Is that true? I…I saw the way this made you, you know, squirt to the high heavens. That was impressive.”

Luckily, it seems as though Peggy cleaned off “Mr. Jerry” between her earlier performance and now. It’s not sticky or dripping wet. Peggy takes the dildo out of Dylan’s hand and places it on top of a nearby credenza. She kisses him passionately. Dylan rubs his hands across her firm butt. Her pointed nipples dig into Dylan’s chest like a stab wound. He doesn’t mind it.

“It’s true. I love dildos. I love sex toys of all kinds. I really do,” Peggy says, moving her hands across his back to bring his body close to hers. “But nothing, I mean nothing, beats the feeling of a man inside me. And you can believe that. Take it to the bank, good sir.” Peggy gets down on her knees to lick the underside of Dylan’s scrotum. He moans, looking up at the ceiling as he feels her experienced tongue lap his sensitive flesh. By now, Peggy has become a true expert at giving head, but that’s not what’s in store for her and her lover. Tonight, she plans to do something a bit more…special.

“Go down on me. NOW!” she commands. Dylan obeys.

Peggy plops herself down on the bed, the sheets still containing the smells from her earlier coupling with Henry. Dylan also notices it, but figures it’s a new brand of fragrance she’s wearing. She spreads her legs out wide, inviting Dylan to taste her musky feminine parts. He gladly accepts her invitation, getting down on his knees and leaning his chest against the edge of the mattress so he can inspect her bits. Her engorged clitoris is large…though not as large as Melanie’s. Nobody in the history of womankind has had a larger clit than Melanie Wright, Dylan believes wholeheartedly. Peggy wouldn’t disagree with this assessment. Still, it’s a sight to behold. Dylan pokes with his tongue the large pink head protruding out of her dark brown clitoral hood. Her folds are already dripping wet, almost as if she’s in a state of constant arousal. Peggy groans as Dylan’s hot tongue touches her ultrasensitive bud. When Dylan slowly laps his tongue across it, shivers creep down her spine. She grabs hold of the bedsheets to brace herself for what she hopes will be an earthshattering orgasm.

“Oh fuck yeah, fuck yesssss babyyyyyyyy,” Peggy moans.

Dylan’s mouth envelopes her entire sex. Peggy closes her eyes as Dylan dutifully strokes her clit with his entire tongue. When he closes his lips around her bud, she knows this will end well. Dylan’s oral skills are second to none, as Melanie would testify to if she were here as a witness. Peggy feels the heat radiating off her body. She’s surprised the windows haven’t steamed up yet. Dylan’s mouth is exhausted between orally pleasing Melanie first and now Peggy. He doesn’t mind one bit. Both women deserve all the pleasure they can get. And then some.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck………”

One final gentle tug at her clit with his lips is all it takes to send her over the edge. Waves of orgasm careen through her body. She’s enjoying it too much to say anything, not that there’s anything meaningful to say at the moment. Dylan’s lips come apart from her. He watches intently as she wiggles around the bed. Watching a woman orgasm might be just as fun as giving her an orgasm, Dylan decides.

After her heavy breathing subsides, Peggy reaches over to her purse to take out a condom. Unlike Melanie, Peggy’s prolific bedroom escapades require her to be as cautious as possible. Mostly for the sake of her lovers, not just her. She tears the foil, beckons Dylan to come closer to her, and kisses him once more. By now, his erection is standing at full attention. He knows he can’t compete with Kit, Henry, or “Mr. Jerry,” so they both agreed to a compromise, one that both of them find beneficial. After rolling the condom onto Dylan’s penis, Peggy also removes a bottle of lubrication from her purse. She opens it and hands it over to Dylan. He squeezes a small amount onto his index finger. Peggy turns around and gets on all fours, her butt facing out to him.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” Dylan remarks, admiring her muscular butt. Peggy slaps it hard, wanting to excite both him and her. It works.

“Come and get it!” she demands.

Slowly and methodically, Dylan inserts his lubed-up finger inside Peggy’s anus. Little by little, he pushes forth until his finger is completely inside her. Dylan made sure to clip his fingernails earlier this morning just for this reason. He circles it around, noticing this gives her a jolt of pleasure. The sound of her moans is music to his ears. He then removes his finger from her ass and applies additional lubrication to more of his fingers. Dylan strokes his hardened manhood, wanting to add more jelly to it despite the condom already being oiled. For this kind of penetration, it’s better to be safe than sorry. For the sake of everyone involved.

Once everything is properly prepared, Dylan grips Peggy’s hips with both hands. He positions his penis right in front of her tight entrance. She doesn’t speak a word. Neither does he. Carefully and cautiously, he pushes the head of his penis inside her anus, paying close attention to her body language. She doesn’t twitch or anything, a sure indication that he’s good to go. He now feels confident to go all in. Peggy’s moans get louder as Dylan fully enters her tight cavity. He also groans at the indescribable feeling of being in such a constricted space. It makes him feel like a “Man” with a capital M to be so tightly inside a woman like Peggy Cole, someone who’s had more lovers than most people have casual acquaintances. Full of confidence, he pushes in and out of her, his hands still gripping her hips. Peggy, to her credit, drops the fake “porn star orgasming shtick” and just enjoys the moment by rocking back and forth to Dylan’s rhythm. She’s been a porn actress for so long that she sometimes doesn’t know how to get out of character and be herself. This is one of those times when she wants to be who she really is.

Peggy’s reputation as a “size queen” is well deserved. Her sexual preferences require larger-than-normal vaginal penetration. However, for other types of sex she is as normal as one can imagine. For what they are engaging in at this very moment, Dylan is more than perfectly suited for the job.

“Oh, God damn it, Dylan. Fuck baby…”

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” Dylan clenches his teeth, anticipating his third climax of the evening. He continues to rock back and forth, sliding himself as far in as he can go without losing balance. Making love to Melanie was a truly erotic experience rooted in genuine mutual affection. This, on the other hand, is a pure hard drive toward orgasm, an exercise in fucking a porn star in a way that thousands of people around the world could only dream of. He knows there are countless men who would commit murder to take his place at this moment. Dylan intends to cherish his privileged position for as long as possible.

Peggy’s throaty cries fill the room. Dylan, feeling as sexually empowered as he’s ever been in his life, drinks in her shrieks like a hypnotic drug. Peggy rejoices in the deep anal massage this man is joyfully giving her, thankful for the large amount of lube they used beforehand. She feels her pussy dripping wet as Dylan continues to pound relentlessly into her.

“Yesssssssssssssssss…” Peggy hisses.

One final forceful thrust sends Dylan to the point of no return. He collapses on top of her. Peggy falls to her belly, still spreading her legs so he can climax inside of her. This climax isn’t nearly as consequential as his previous ones, a testament to him being drained of energy and his relationship with Peggy. He loves her as a friend, but nothing more. She feels the exact same way about him. While he’s on her “list” of lovers, he’s not near the top. They both know it, so it’s not an awkward designation. It’s the way both of them want it.

“I haven’t done anal in a while. Whew! Fuck me, that was amazing. You’re good at this, Dylan baby darling.” Peggy scooches away from Dylan, forcing his softened manhood to slip out. Incredibly, the condom remains all the way on. After several moments of laying on his tummy, out of breath and still slightly drunk from the champagne (not to mention high from taking a few hits of Peggy’s joint), Dylan gets up and heads to the bathroom to clean up. Peggy checks herself in the mirror to make sure her makeup still looks presentable. It doesn’t. She digs through her purse to find some mascara, which desperately needs reapplication. A few moments later, Dylan emerges from the bathroom in mid-yawn. He watches Peggy reapply her face paint. Even though he knows nothing about makeup, there is something intriguing about watching an expert participate in their craft. Before becoming a bodybuilder and porn star, Peggy worked briefly as a makeup artist for one of Las Vegas’s local TV news stations. She was excellent at her job but didn’t find it satisfying enough. She wanted to do much more with her life. Thankfully for everyone who adores her, she eventually did.

“You look beautiful, Peggy,” Dylan kisses her on the neck. She closes her eyes, soaking in the feel of his warm lips on her skin. “You look like a queen.”

“How many queens look like a ‘roided up sex doll?” Peggy smirks. When she’s calm and collected (or high as a kite) she can exhibit a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. This is obviously one of those times. She flexes her left bicep, looking at both herself and Dylan in the mirror.

“Oh dear, you shouldn’t tease yourself like that.” Dylan kisses her bicep peak. It’s not as full as Melanie’s biceps (very few women have biceps as large and vascular as Melanie Wright), a fact that doesn’t take away from Peggy’s accomplishments. Her physique is still impressive compared to most women, despite the fact she’s not as perfectly symmetrical or jaw-droppingly massive as Melanie. She’s big enough to earn her title as a “muscle chick” and hot enough in all the right places – including her massive breasts – to endear her to the porn community. “Though you do look like a ‘roided up sex doll, if I may say so myself!”

“You rude little boy!” Peggy playfully scolds him. She gives him a light slap on the butt as punishment. “I don’t look like a traditional woman, but then again I wouldn’t be where I am if I had stuck to tradition, that’s for damn sure. It pays to be different.”

“And…to not be afraid to be different.”

“Damn straight!” Peggy stands up. A few inches shorter than Dylan, she tilts her head up slightly to look into his eyes. Peggy thinks he’s fairly handsome, maybe a good professional haircut away from being low-key sexy. She’s told him this many times before, but Dylan simply brushes it off as her being nice to him. She kisses him. Their lips take a long time to come apart. Neither of them wants to rush this. “This has been a lovely evening, baby. I’ve had a great time. I seriously can’t think of the last time I had this much fun.”

“Seriously? Isn’t your life one long continuous party?”

“That’s funny, but no,” Peggy laughs. “You’d think the life of a porn star is all fun, glitz, glamour, and orgasms, but it’s much more boring than you’d think. Arguing over pay, complaining about the shitty food on set, waiting forever for the male performers to get hard again, fighting with lawyers over bootleg copies of our DVDs, shit like that. Not to mention all the backstabbing, gossiping, and other shit that happens in every workplace. It’s funny to think of it that way, but it is a workplace. Not like the places you’ve worked, but similar. I guess.”

“That makes sense. Workplace politics is universal, whether we think it is or not.” Dylan fondles Peggy’s breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingers. They’re a handful, both literally and figuratively. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Please, baby. Ask away.”

“It’s fine if you did, and I’m not upset or anything, I’m just curious. Did you and Henry hook up earlier tonight?”

Peggy’s face becomes serious. She’s certain Dylan means what he says when he claims he’s not angry about it, though it is curious why he’d ask about it. “Yeah, we did. A few times. Right here, in fact. While you and Melanie were up in your bedroom. He’s a sweet man. You know that. And he’s great in bed, as I just found out.”

Dylan smiles, nodding his head with gleeful approval. “That’s great. For both of you. He’s a big fan of yours. He loves you. Over the years we’ve talked endlessly about you, your career, and your best videos. He was really excited to see you this weekend. I’m sure it never occurred to him that he’d be able to, uh, you know, bang you. Pardon my language.”

“No apology needed.” Peggy pinches Dylan’s soft penis, hoping to wake it up again. She knows guys can’t go at it as often as women can, but there’s always hope. Even if it’s faint. Dylan shakes his head, signaling he’s not in the mood – and probably done for the evening. As much as he’d love to, Dylan knows he’s spent. Anything more would probably cause him to fall asleep right then and there. As the host of the evening’s festivities, that would be supremely rude.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve had enough fun for one night,” Dylan declares. Peggy kisses him on the cheek, which tells him she understands where he stands. She takes his hand into her hand, swinging it back and forth. They head back to the cabaret room hand-in-hand, Peggy’s head lightly leaning against his shoulder. A triumphant grin can be seen on Dylan’s face.

***

“Make sure you keep your back as straight as you can,” Melanie instructs Henry. “Think of it like there’s a metal rod going straight down your spine from your head down to your butt. Meaning you can’t arch your back no matter how hard you try.”

Henry is currently standing on stage in the cabaret room, attempting a few bodybuilding poses while being coached up by Melanie and Monique. Melanie is the true expert here, although Monique has dabbled in amateur bodybuilding before. The chef-turned-faux-bodybuilder has already demonstrated side chest and front lat spread. He’s now attempting side triceps. Melanie gives him a candid smirk of approval. He feels a bit silly, especially because he’s “out of shape” by his own definition and is surrounded by three beautiful athletic ladies who are a cut above anything he could ever dream of being. A tad out of his league, Henry decides to be a good sport and do his best.

The ladies seem to be enjoying themselves, so that counts for something.

“Like this?” Henry holds his breath, hoping that sucking in his potbelly will help matters. He doubts it will. Monique stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, just like that. Just hold that pose for eight to ten seconds, if you can,” Melanie teases. “I’m just kidding. You can drop it whenever you feel like it. You may not look like a pro, but you are worth, ahem, looking at.” She shifts her eyes downward toward Henry’s impressive member. He blushes, which is probably not noticeable under the oppressively bright stage lights. It’s definitely not normal for him to be this naked for this long in front of more than one woman (let alone three!), so he’s not exactly accustomed to all this attention. His clothes are still sitting in Peggy’s bedroom.

“Ah, thanks Miss Melanie. I appreciate the compliment.”

“Melanie! I think you’re embarrassing him,” Monique chastises. “As a black woman, I can attest to the fact that the stereotypes you’ve heard about black men aren’t always true. Buuuuuuuuuuut…” Both ladies are now staring impolitely at Henry’s crotch, enjoying the opportunity to unapologetically objectify a man for a change. “You, my dear, do in fact fit every stereotype in the goddamn book. Wowee!”

Usually a polite man himself, Henry chooses to remain quiet once he realizes it’s only fair that these ladies should be able to ogle him in the same way he ogles cute girls he sees on the street. It may be uncomfortable, but it’s well worth it, Henry rationalizes. As fortune would have it, the tension breaks when Peggy and Dylan reenter the room. Holding hands like old lovers, Henry looks to see Melanie’s reaction. Her face is as unexpressive as a bald eagle. This does not surprise him. Melanie’s not the jealous type, or so he’s heard.

“We’re back! Did you miss us?” Peggy throws her hands up like a princess entering the throne room. Once she sees Henry standing on stage under the bright lights, she runs to him like a paparazzi chasing after a Grammy Award-winning singer. “Well, I’ll be damned! Henry my dear, you should seriously consider becoming a bodybuilder like the rest of us. You’ve got great body composition. You can tell when someone has the natural physique for being a competitor, even if they haven’t never lifted a weight in their life. You can tell, am I right girls?”

“Oh yeah, you can tell by the fullness of someone’s legs, the way their body fat is dispersed, and how much muscle they can develop without lifting,” Melanie posits. She rubs her chin like a scientist spelling out a groundbreaking hypothesis. “That’s what somebody told me all the way back in middle school. I looked like an athlete, even though I hated gym class and never did sports before. I think he was just hitting on me, though. I can’t remember.” Dylan winks at Henry, a nonverbal cue that he appreciates the fact he’s putting up with the ladies’ shenanigans like a complete gentleman. Henry sighs, acknowledging his boss’s show of appreciation. Dylan pours himself another glass of champagne – the bottles are now practically empty – and sips it as he walks to the front of the dais.

“Whatever he was doing, he was right. And prescient.” Dylan squeezes Melanie’s meaty forearms. She seems happy with this gesture, as if he’s proactively trying to make her forget that he and Peggy just made love. “Words of encouragement can go a long way, especially when we’re young. That’s something we should always remember and never forget. Our words have power. I suppose that’s still true when an adult speaks to an adult. I remember the first time I really had a conversation with Monique. Remember that, my darling?”

“The rooftop restaurant in Miami? Oh yeah, I remember that. How could I forget?” Monique reminisces about that fateful luncheon. It was then when Dylan revealed his intentions to financially sponsor her Olympic bid. “For whatever reason, I just really admire women who break the traditional mold by being strong, athletic, and driven to win,” was what he told her. Those words are forever burned into Monique’s memory. She’ll remember it word-for-word for the rest of her life. She always thought of herself as someone who strives to “break the mold,” but nobody had ever told her that before. Those were words she never heard anybody say to her, despite a bounty of evidence that that’s exactly what she wants to be.

Someone who defies expectations and does things people literally say are impossible.

Just retire.

You’ll never win a Gold medal.

You’ll never overcome your injury.

You had a good run. Quit while you’re ahead.

She’s heard all that bullshit before, oftentimes from the people closest to her. Her parents, her friends, her trainers, even her boyfriend from time to time. But not Dylan Tanaka. He’s always believed in her…and never ceases to remind her of his belief in her. That means something. Always has, always will.

“That’s why I try to act intentionally,” Dylan continues. “In everything I do. I try to treat everyone with respect and dignity, even when they haven’t done the same for me.” He bows his head and stares down at his lukewarm champagne. Melanie wraps her enormous arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He tries not to cry, a feat he (astonishingly enough) actually accomplishes. Peggy, Henry, and Monique can only awkwardly look around the room in silence, hoping someone will speak first.

Nobody does.

***

“It’s time.”

Stephen Callahan decides it’s now or never. Moments earlier Bill Marks sent him a simple text message that says:

Ready.

That’s all he needs to know.

He sends a quick message back instructing him to “get the show on the road.” Then, Stephen turns on his Bluetooth earpiece so he can communicate with Bill verbally. “Let’s start the fireworks, old boy. We’re heading out.” After raising his hand so the inhabitants of the SUV can see the signal, all five men exit their respective vehicles. Stephen is carrying an empty briefcase and wearing his backpack. Thomas trudges along with his rolling suitcase and duffle bag. Roddy is also carrying a duffle bag, but this one is empty. Xander and Cortez are not carrying anything, but they do have spare clips hiding underneath their coats.

“Everything is ready to go, hang on a moment,” Bill says over the phone. He opens an encrypted chat window with one of his MPSS co-conspirators. The time is now 11:57 p.m. In three minutes, his criminal act officially begins. From the engineering side of the scheme, all seems ready to go as well. “I can confirm that we’re ready to get going once the clock strikes midnight. Hopefully, Cinderella doesn’t have a pumpkin carriage waiting for her outside the ballroom.”

“If so, we’re all royally fucked, with or without the glass slipper,” Stephen replies back. The five men quietly stroll through the neighborhood toward Dylan’s property. For such a wealthy community, Stephen is surprised at how little lighting there is on this small street. Only one tall streetlight located right at the entrance of the cul-de-sac. Because of this, he and his men can go by without anyone seeing them. So far, they do not see any pedestrians enjoying a late-night walk through the neighborhood.

“One minute until showtime,” Bill announces.

“Copy that.”

Roddy, Cortez, and Xander remain uncharacteristically quiet. This is, in their estimation, the riskiest part of the heist. Getting in. After that, they don’t expect Dylan to put up much of a fight. He’s all alone in his big fancy mansion. No bodyguards. No butler. No cook. No guests. No one except for this lousy, pathetic, and lonely parasite. Stephen wishes he could catch him while he’s jerking off to a b-level 90’s-era HBO sex movie just to embarrass him even more. That would be delicious. It would be fitting for what he aims to do.

“Ready. Stand by.” Bill wipes a drop of sweat from his brow. He can feel his heart racing a million beats per minute. If he were to drop dead from a heart attack right then and there, it would be pure poetic justice, he’s decided. He’d probably deserve it, too.

Bill watches his computer screen move through the normal routine of a monthly system reboot. A popup window says it’s about to begin. He waits for it to disappear under his “notifications” tab. A progress bar shows up, showing the reboot has begun. So far, it’s at 1%. It takes approximately 15 to 18 minutes for the process to finish. Right on schedule, he receives a text from Roger, one of his co-conspirators, telling him all the homes in the 98112, 98122, and 98144 zip codes are officially “disconnected” from the mother system. Bill breathes a sigh of relief.

“Systems are down in your zone, I repeat, systems are down in your zone. You and your men are clear to enter the property as undetected as a housefly,” Bill informs Stephen. While Bill may be struggling to maintain his composure, on the other end, Stephen Callahan is struggling to contain his excitement.

“Thank you, buddy. I appreciate the good news. Anything else you wish to inform me before we cut off communication for now?” The four men surrounding Stephen stop breathing momentarily so they can listen in on their conversation.

“No, boss. We’re good to go. Nothing else to discuss, unless you want to talk about the Dodgers and whether or not they’ll win the World Series this year.” Bill amuses himself with his own irreverence. He eyes an unopened bottle of scotch sitting on a shelf across the room, tempting him like a Greek Siren. He needs something to help him calm down.

“Good. I’ll be in touch soon. Over and out.” Stephen doesn’t wait for verbal confirmation to turn off his Bluetooth earpiece. By now, the five men are standing right outside Dylan Tanaka’s main gate. There’s a modest pedestrian entrance off to the left side and a keypad above the door handle. Thomas takes out a device that looks like a ballpoint pen, holds it against the keypad, and twists the clip outward. This activates the machine. Roddy, Cortez, and Xander watch with amazement as this gadget disguised as a writing utensil scrambles the keypad, essentially deactivating it. Thomas puts the “pen” back in his pocket and leisurely opens the door as if he owned the place.

“Excellent. Follow me.” Stephen leads the way. Thomas closes the door behind him once everyone has entered the property.

“Damn! I got to get me one of those!” Xander whispers to Cortez. Roddy hushes him up, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise, especially now that they’ve entered the hot zone.

The house’s spacious driveway is enclosed by tall grey and white brick walls, ensuring none of his nosey neighbors could spy on him (or see who enters and leaves the property). Stephen crouches low regardless just to be safe and is pleased to see his four comrades following suit. They gently walk in a straight line along the bricks to make sure anyone inside the house to the right – which is four stories high but situated about a hundred yards away – can’t possibly see them. The cover of darkness also makes this an irrelevant precaution. Still, Stephen refuses to allow even the possibility of failure to creep into tonight’s activities.

Stephen and his men have decided to first locate Dylan before breaking in so that he doesn’t have time to find his phone and call the cops. All five men have night vision binoculars and are looking at every visible window. Dylan’s three-story house (Stephen doesn’t consider the attic an actual floor) appears to be completely empty except for the man himself. Nobody is in the kitchen or dining room (both are visible through the left side of the first floor), as well as any of the bedrooms on the second floor. There is a light on in the foyer and the living room, but nobody appears to be in either of those spaces. As the thieves make their way into the backyard, all five men are startled by the beauty of Dylan’s spacious Japanese garden and try to block it from their thinking. Now is not the time to sightsee.

Damn. This place looks nicer up close than in satellite photos, Stephen thinks. So this is how he chooses to spend his blood money. It must be nice being a rich, petty fool with no conscience. You can spend it on extravagancies like this while old friends like me rot away in prison. Fuck that.

“Ah ha! Look up there,” Thomas points to the second and third floors. A faint light is seen coming out of the third-floor balcony. The flickering suggests it’s from a fireplace. A longer balcony going across the entire backside of the second story, on the other hand, clearly shows a much brighter light emanating from behind the scarlet red curtains. No flickering detected.

“He must be on the second floor. What do you think?” Roddy asks. Stephen shakes his head.

“It’s impossible to tell from this angle. Perhaps if we–” Before Stephen can finish his sentence, all five men see a shadow quickly fly across the scarlet curtains. Indistinct music can be heard, which further provides evidence that Mr. Tanaka is on the other side of those curtains.

“Can you hear some music?” Cortez asks. Everyone nods their heads silently.

“It’s confirmed. He’s up there,” Stephen decides. He cocks his pistol. “Let’s go inside and make ourselves comfortable.”

“With pleasure,” Thomas says. With that, the veteran safecracker calmly walks up to the screen door leading to the kitchen/dining area. Not worried about sounding any alarms, he takes out a tiny drill, points it right at the door handle, and cuts away a ten-inch-long half-circle of glass so he can access the lock from the other side. The four other men marvel at how silently the drill cuts away at the glass. Thomas fashioned an extremely sharp blade at the end of a low-power drill, which gives him the ability to pierce the thick glass without having to generate a lot of torque – and noise that comes with high torque. Within 90 seconds, he’s cut away all the glass he needs. Thomas gently places the glass on the ground and unlocks the door. The men enter Dylan’s home. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander sees a blinking red light coming from a wall right across from the screen door. He knows the signal won’t reach the security company or the local police station, but his heart cannot help but skip a beat just at the sight of it blinking like mad. It’s an involuntary reflex.

“Relax. We’re good. Trust my people to do what they’re supposed to do. We’re fine. We’re good,” Stephen reassures his men. This brings Xander’s heart rate back to normal, whatever that was before.

As the group weaves through all the rooms, they finally reach the front of the house and see the gothic-looking spiral staircase that leads to the second (and presumably third) floor. It’s in the foyer that the music becomes more pronounced. It’s definitely confirmed that Dylan Tanaka is there, probably drowning his sorrows all alone to cheap second-rate jazz music he probably got off Spotify.

“Let’s get it.” Stephen arrogantly says in a normal voice. The four other men are surprised by his cockiness.

One by one, the five armed bandits nonchalantly walk up the staircase as if they were welcomed guests themselves, awaiting what they expect to be a pathetic lonely man sitting all by himself drinking cheap wine and listening to knockoff Miles Davis.

All the King’s Queens – Chapter 7: Carnal Delights

The walk up the stairs took almost no time at all. The guest bedrooms and the cabaret room are on the second floor. Dylan’s entire bedroom occupies the third floor, while a fourth-floor attic can be found on the northeast corner of the building. Lawrence uses it to store miscellaneous items like souvenirs, Dylan’s childhood memorabilia, artwork he no longer finds valuable, and mismatched old furniture that became obsolete when they refurnished the house shortly before Dylan’s fall from grace. But the third floor is the only place where Dylan and Melanie were planning to be for the next few hours.

Dylan’s bedroom is actually several rooms. There’s a main room where his bed is located. There’s a spacious shower and bathroom, and a separate room for taking baths. It’s basically a large jacuzzi, but a bath is a bath no matter how you take it. This is where he goes to physically unwind from a long, difficult day. Then he has another room where he stores all of his clothes. The life of a billionaire means needing several dress suits, a few tuxedos, and lots of ties, loafers, shirts, belts, socks, and hats. Lawrence figures his boss’s wardrobe is worth more than the property value of most middle-class suburban families. He’s probably not wrong about that.

Melanie and Dylan enter the bedroom, turn on the lights, and kiss once more. This time, it’s a kiss that’s in private. No one watching them. No one teasing them. Just them in this room, alone together. When their lips come apart, Melanie notices that Dylan is trembling.

“I’ve missed you,” Dylan confesses. Tears well up in his eyes.

“I know. I miss you too. Badly.”

“I…I love you.”

Melanie gazes at Dylan with her captivating green eyes. She doesn’t respond or react to Dylan’s unexpected confession of love. During their entire friendship, she’s made it clear that she’s not ever getting married again. Too many husbands. Too many fights. Too many messy divorces. Too much trauma that her kids have had to endure. Never again, she vowed to herself many years ago. That chapter has closed. For good. Dylan knows this. He’d much rather marry a girl more in his age range (Melanie is about 15 years older than him) but that hasn’t been in his cards…yet. Becoming a social pariah certainly hasn’t helped him settle down and start a family. But he’s always felt a special bond with Melanie, even if the love they share isn’t romantic or meant to become too intimate. Perhaps that’s why they choose to live so far away from each other. They fear what could happen if they got too close.

“Come here. Let’s make love.” Melanie wipes Dylan’s tears away and kisses him again, this time softly. Still wearing her pink bikini and heels, she walks over to the bathroom to remove any makeup she may still have on. She tried to remove most of it before the show started, but some residue may still be caked on somewhere. Dylan goes over to the fireplace and turns it on. It’s not a real fireplace with real wood, but it does the job. There’s no shame in having an electric one, especially if it sets the mood. He turns off the lights, opens the white silk curtains, and peers out into the fading sunset. It should be completely dark in about 10 minutes, he estimates.

Dylan has floor-to-ceiling wall windows that stretch across almost half of the entire room. Each panel is about four feet wide and 14 feet tall. A long drape of silk curtains stretches across the windows. All one has to do is manually pull them to the side to reveal the outside world. On the south-facing side there’s a small balcony overlooking Lake Washington. It’s a sight worthy of a king, or someone rich enough to pretend to be a king. Dylan is certainly rich enough, though he rarely ever feels like royalty.

After removing a few smudges of foundation from her chin, Melanie returns to the main bedroom area. Dylan swiftly comes to her. She reaches out and takes his hands. They’re as warm as the inside of the fireplace. Instead of kissing again, Melanie removes the charcoal gray blazer Dylan is wearing, plops it on the floor, and unbuttons the rest of his white dress shirt. At the same time, Dylan leans over to unfasten her bikini top. He struggles to reach his arms around her broad torso, an amusing challenge she immediately recognizes. She kindly removes the top for him, revealing her full, plump breasts. Her implants aren’t nearly as eye-popping as Peggy’s, but they’re noticeable to anyone with the inclination to look. Her tiny pink nipples stand at attention. Dylan thumbs them in circles as Melanie unfastens his belt, drops his slacks to the floor. She feels the bulge in his underwear. For all his wealth, Dylan still insists on wearing cheap Calvin Klein black underwear. He could wear something much fancier, but that assumes that he cares about such things. He does not.

Melanie lets out a quiet moan as Dylan caresses her sensitive nipples. Monique may have larger nipples (which some guys are really turned on by) but Melanie has bigger muscles, so she’ll accept that as a victory of sorts. Dylan pushes his underwear down toward his ankles, removes his socks, and kicks them aside. He is completely naked.

Still, her eyes do not leave his eyes.

Next, Melanie places her thumbs inside her bikini bottom and slides them down her tree trunk legs. Dylan watches in amazement as he gazes upon her erect clitoris. Unlike Peggy and Monique, Melanie chooses to keep some of her pubic hair intact. She lets a classy thin strip of hair run down her pelvis, which is more than the other two ladies can say they still have. Peggy waxes almost monthly and Monique shaves weekly. Melanie finds all this too bothersome. Plus, she likes to remind herself that she’s a fully grown adult, not a small child. That’s the life of being a woman in the western hemisphere.

If Peggy is famous for her ability to ejaculate far distances, Melanie is equally famous for her enormous clitoris. Before settling down into wifehood and motherhood, Melanie made a few pornographic videos when she was in her late 20s to pay the bills. This is when her famous endowment put her on the map. She may not have been able to appear in Terminator 2, but her gigantic clit found its way in adult video stores across America. All the porn she made exists either on VHS or in grainy Internet videos, so it’s been a while since the world got to regard her jaw-dropping piece of female meat. That is another chapter of her life that she prefers to never reopen. That’s done. She’s never doing that sort of thing again. If someone wants to see her naked, they’ll have to earn it the old fashioned way. Like Dylan.

Dylan obediently gets down on his knees and licks Melanie’s clit. Measuring at almost three inches in length (it’s a tad shy of three inches, a fact that disappoints her immensely), it’s been mistaken by uneducated fools as being a penis. It’s not. She’s not a man or a woman with male genitalia. No, she’s a woman, a pure woman whose femininity should go unquestioned. Melanie loves the way Dylan treats her. He has soft hands that feel like pure silk when they touch her coarse skin. And Dylan is always attentive to her needs, taking his time to physically explore her body. Standing at 5’ 10” tall and weighing 215 pounds, there’s a lot of her body to explore. Dylan intends to enjoy every square inch of her. And she intends to be enjoyed.

Melanie backs up a few feet, wanting to find the bed. She does. Dylan scoots forward to meet her. She leans back onto the bed, cherishing the feel of the cool sheets against her naked skin. After spending twenty minutes under hot stage lights, this is a nice contrasting experience. Dylan proceeds to crawl next to her, his eyes laser focused on his lover’s face. Melanie isn’t a pretty woman, but she’s not ugly either. Her eyes are kind and her smile captivating, two facets of her that make Melanie attractive enough. For a variety of reasons, you won’t find her on the cover of fashion magazines. But Dylan loves the way she looks, from head to toe. She has never really cared about her skincare regimen since she dedicates most of her time to her weightlifting regimen. So once wrinkles and lines started forming across her face, she wasn’t surprised or particularly concerned with it. She prefers to let her biceps do the talking. And she has no desire to be 25 again. Those days are over. Those days were boring. She loves who she is right now.

“God, I never tire of your skin touching my body,” she confesses.

Dylan leans over and trails a line of kisses along her breasts, stomach, and pubic area. Hearing her compliment him like that is a genuine turn-on, especially since he rarely ever hears benevolent words said about him these days.

“And I never tire of touching your body, my dear. You’re unbelievable. So gorgeous.” After running his fingers across her chiseled abdomen, he returns to massaging her engorged clitoris with his tongue. He loves pleasing her orally. It’s especially enjoyable because her enormous size makes it easy to do so. Once his soft lips caress her sensitive clit head, her gentle moans transition to audible groans. Lapping the tip with his entire tongue, Melanie lifts her pelvis up high in the air, an indication that she’s both enjoying the stimulation and ready to climax. Nothing pleases Dylan more than knowing Melanie is being pleased. He truly loves her. He may not love her like a husband loves his wife, but he loves her deeply regardless of what kind of love it is. Giving pleasure is the ultimate act of love, a mantra Dylan takes to heart. That’s why he takes great care to ensure his guests eat the best food, drink the best wine, and enjoy each other’s company as much as possible. Pleasure takes many forms, as Dylan knows full well.

“Ohhh, that’s it, yes, right there…”

Dylan grips her hips with both hands to stabilize her body as much as he can. It’s a difficult task to maintain oral contact with her sensitive parts when she’s squirming around like a restless kitten. One final lift of her hips, and Dylan knows she’s just seconds away from a satisfying climax.

When it hits, Dylan knows it immediately and stops pleasing her. He loves watching her experience an orgasm. It’s almost as delightful as experiencing one. Melanie writhes around in the bed uncontrollably as waves of orgasm pulse through her body’s core. The Ms. Athena Championship, the most prestigious female bodybuilding competition in the world, is in two months. Which means Melanie is approaching the best shape of her life. It also means she’s exhausted – both mentally and physically – all the time, which leaves little room for her sex drive to be addressed. This weekend, however, was going to be a special time where she could relax, kick her feet up, and not think about her strict diet or the endless hours she needs to spend at the gym. So while this may not be the greatest orgasm she’s ever experienced, it’s certainly the best she’s had in a long while.

“Oh baby, that was fantastic. I loved it. Thank you, sweetie.” Dylan lifts her face up to kiss it. She can taste her own juices on his lips. For whatever odd reason, she actually enjoys the way she tastes and doesn’t mind Dylan sharing some of it with her. When their lips come apart, Melanie sits up so she can remove her shoes. She purchased them in Venice several years ago, so she makes certain they’re properly removed and placed neatly next to the bed. Wanting to return the favor, Melanie suddenly grabs Dylan’s face and kisses him again deeply, making sure her tongue explores the inside of his mouth. He welcomes her penetration. She reaches down and strokes Dylan’s penis, which (miraculously) had gotten soft between now and when she first started to undress him. Slowly but surely it returns to being as hard as a rock.

At 53 years old, Melanie has had her fair share of lovers. She has three children (all adults ages 23, 21, and 18) with two different husbands (she’s had four husbands total). She’s also experienced extensively with synthetic steroids – which are still a (somewhat) taboo subject within the bodybuilding community – to help her grow her massive musculature. Melanie got really seriously into steroids after her third child was born. A few doctors warned her that this could essentially end her child birthing days. She was completely fine with that. Now that she’s a few years past 50, she knows pregnancy is no longer an issue for her. STDs still are, but she trusts that Dylan is clean. He is. So whenever they make love, they never use protection because there’s no danger involved. There’s no reason to. It makes their lovemaking more natural. And also more trusting.

By now the sun has completely set. It’s pitch-black outside. The only light in the room comes from the small fireplace fifty feet away. Still, it radiates enough illumination so that the two lovers can see each other clearly, but still leave enough mystery to the imagination. The romantic atmosphere couldn’t be more perfect, both of Dylan and Melanie observe together.

Melanie would never admit this aloud, but Dylan isn’t the most skilled lover she’s ever been with. He’s perfectly fine, but no one can ever match up to her third husband. That man was special in the sack, even though his money troubles and overall flakiness derailed their lengthy marriage. He, like Dylan, took his sweet time with her. He treated her like a Queen. Dylan also treats Melanie like a Queen, but Robert was incredibly intuitive in the bedroom. Dylan has required a bit of “coaching” throughout the years. By now, Mr. Tanaka knows what she likes, what she doesn’t like, and how to please her.

After gently placing her head against the pillow, Melanie lies on her back as Dylan trails more kisses onto her leathery skin. Melanie’s skin is as rough as Dylan’s is soft. Age, steroids, and muscle mass will do that to you. He doesn’t mind, though. She closes her eyes as his lips touch her most intimate areas. He can tell from the moisture developing between her massive legs that she’s ready. At last, after he can no longer take it, Dylan pushes his penis inside her wet entrance, little by little, until he’s fully inside her. They both gasp at the same time, as if their bodies were synced to react similarly together. Peggy may be the “size queen” of the group, but Melanie isn’t. She enjoys it whenever a man is inside her. Especially if she truly loves that man.

The heat emanating from their bodies could power a furnace. Between kisses, Dylan cannot help but groan as his manhood slides in and out of her. Like most Asian men living in America, he’s a little insecure about his size. Melanie has reassured him many times over the years that he’s perfectly normal. He believes her, but decades of teasing from cruel classmates can be hard to deprogram. Dylan has heard his fair share of racist taunts, as well as assumptions that can never seem to die off. His 5-inch penis certainly isn’t the largest in the world, but it’s not the smallest either. He’s just glad that he can say he’s a solid five inches without lying.

Stroke after stroke, thrust after thrust, Dylan’s breathing intensifies as he makes love to her. When their tongues connect, they can both taste tonight’s dinner on each other’s breath. Melanie smiles at him while she watches her lover build toward a dramatic orgasm. They don’t speak, instead choosing to allow the rhythm of his strokes to do the talking.

Dylan doesn’t want to confess the last time he ever made love to a woman. Has it been a full year? Maybe longer. Melanie senses it’s been a while for him. All she wishes is that he gets what he needs. She intuitively knows he needs this badly. She moans when his pecs slide against her taut nipples.

Finally, Dylan feels his climax impending. Heat, sweat, energy, and strong feelings of love, lust, anxiety, and insecurity all come to a boiling point the exact moment he spurts deep inside her. It goes on seemingly forever. Melanie just lays there, enjoying this moment on Dylan’s behalf. Their eyes connect. She smiles at him. He struggles to catch his breath. Sweat is dripping down his face. When he collapses on top of her, she wraps her strong arms around his toned body and squeezes him as tight as she can without hurting him. She could never hurt him. And she never will.

After ten minutes of pure silence, Dylan withdraws from her. He turns to his side and caresses her thick legs. Melanie playfully pinches his small sticky penis, licking whatever semen residue is left off her fingers. They choose to continue to not speak. The only sound that can be heard is the siren of an ambulance blaring in the distance.

The two lovers stare into each other’s eyes. They don’t talk, but the looks they share speak volumes.

***

Lawrence loosens the knot of his necktie once he believes no one will see him for the rest of the evening. It’s nearing 9:00 p.m. All seems to be in order. His boss and the three guests he’s entertaining are apparently upstairs, participating in some sort of hedonistic fun. He doesn’t know for sure and, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t particularly care. He’s not one for eavesdropping or gathering gossip-worthy material. Who would he share it with?

Right now he’s in the living room, gathering empty glasses of margaritas that have been sitting there for a few hours. Normally, Lawrence tries to keep every room in Mr. Tanaka’s house as tidy as possible, but he (rightfully so) anticipated the evening’s festivities could take unexpected turns. So he chooses to clean up after it appears everything has calmed down.

“Don’t mind me. I have a lot of cleaning left to do,” Henry says, poking his head through the door. Lawrence turns around to see Henry, still dressed in his chef’s uniform, smiling right at Dylan Tanaka’s faithful butler. Mr. Jameson is loading the dishwasher full of dirty plates, wine glasses, silverware, and a few pans. Lawrence resists the urge to ask him about the unusual way Miss Cole greeted him earlier this evening. Chances are, he won’t ever bring it up. Lawrence isn’t one for creating unnecessary confrontations.

“Excellent. I have a feeling Mr. Tanaka won’t be needing our services until the late morning. I will see you until then. Have a good night.” Henry nods to Lawrence. After loading the dishwasher, he pours a small cup of detergent into the slot, closes it, and turns on the machine for a “normal” cleaning cycle. Henry can barely hear Lawrence exit through the backdoor as the dishwasher begins to rumble. He looks up at the clock, waits for a whole minute to pass, and then scurries over to a nearby bathroom to change clothes. It’s doubtful that Dylan would be able to “entertain” all three ladies at once, so hopefully his faithful chef will score the chance to get in on the action. Mr. Tanaka is not known for being a greedy man, despite his immense financial wealth.

Outside, Lawrence trudges toward the staff parking garage. There are only four slots available, which is usually fine because it’s rare for more than three staff to be at the house at any given moment. Lawrence and Henry are regular employees, with Joey the landscaper showing up a few times a month and others less often than that. Mr. Tanaka will sometimes meet with his personal bookkeeper, a few professional arborists (all those exotic trees, many of which are not native to North America, won’t take care of themselves), a wealth consultant, a barber, and occasionally, his “personal trainer” who happens to be a competitive bodybuilder in her own right. The few guests who come over to use Mr. Tanaka’s home gym show up either via Uber or Lawrence escorting them onto the property. As Lawrence unlocks his car door and gets in, he reflects upon the mostly solitary existence his boss has to endure. Is it possible for him to have a more active social life? Can’t he find a part-time consulting gig somewhere? Certainly someone, somewhere would be willing to hire him. They don’t have to make a public spectacle out of it, of course. All of this loneliness can’t be good for his mental health, Lawrence worries.

“He’s allowed to enjoy a few pleasures in life,” Lawrence says aloud to just himself. “After all, what else would make life worth living?” Dylan’s butler ponders this thought – and many others – as he drives off into the night. He decides to stop off at a local grocery store and pick up a few items before heading home. As far as he’s concerned, the rest of his evening will be nice and quiet. What disturbances could possibly come his way?

Back in the house, it takes a grand total of five minutes for Henry to change out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. He exits the bathroom wearing slick Gucci blue jeans (being Dylan Tanaka’s employee has its perks), a long-sleeve dark purple shirt, black shoes, and a modest gold chain across his neck. Henry keeps himself in decent shape, despite an insufferable potbelly that can’t ever seem to go away. No matter how much dieting and exercising he does, he can’t ever figure out how to eliminate the bothersome belly fat that doesn’t want to burn off. Mr. Tanaka seems to know how to stay slim – although Henry figures it has to be because of his Asian genes. That’s scientifically backed, right?

Yeah, probably not.

After taking one final look at the kitchen, Henry decides it’s in acceptable shape. The dishwasher is humming, the countertops are sparkling clean, the fresh fruits and vegetables are already precut for breakfast tomorrow, the coffee grounds are locked and loaded in the coffeemaker, and the dining room has been properly cleared and preset for the morning. He turns off the lights, takes a deep breath, rustles his hair slightly, and walks upstairs toward the guest bedrooms. The house boasts excellent acoustical design, meaning neither Lawrence nor Henry could hear the festivities happening upstairs in the cabaret room. Dylan’s top-notch chef hopes his boss will kindly allow him to join in on the fun.

Before he can get halfway up the long staircase, Henry sees Peggy Cole, still wearing her over-the-top Vegas showgirl costume, leaning casually against the top railing. Their eyes connect. Peggy has the largest grin on her face. Henry feels his heart almost leap out of his chest – as if their earlier encounter had instilled a Pavlovian response inside his brain.

“Oh, hello there baby,” Peggy flirts.

“Damn, girl! That’s one hell of a costume you’re wearing. How the fuck did you fit that feather hat inside your luggage?” Henry cautiously takes a few steps further up; almost as if he’s afraid Peggy’s feather outfit will magically form into a literal bird and attack him. His favorite porn star walks to him, twirls around, and laughs.

“Gee, I sucked you off a few hours ago and this is how you greet me afterwards?” Peggy unhooks her sparkly bra and throws it at Henry, freeing her enormous breasts. Miraculously, Henry catches it in mid-air. He sniffs at it, noticing Peggy’s distinguishable scent. It may not smell like fancy perfume, but as far as Henry is concerned, it might as well be. “Go figure. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh darling, you know I appreciate you and everything you do,” Henry says, trying to simultaneously walk up the stairs and feast his eyes on her bare breasts. “Especially what you did for me before dinner. Woohoo, that was quite an unexpected treat.” Once they stand face to face, Peggy wraps her strong arms around him, gives him the tightest squeeze she possibly could, and plants a wet kiss on his lips. The unmistakable taste of Altoids permeates his breath, which Peggy finds both charming and dorky. Henry figures if he were lucky enough to get intimate with his favorite porn star, he’d better practice good hygiene in the process.

“Shall we take this party somewhere else? Such as my bedroom? It’s not far from here. Just a few feet that way.” She points down the hall to the room where her luggage happens to be stored. All of Dylan’s guest bedrooms are spacious, well-furnished, clean, inviting, and as luxurious as any Las Vegas hotel suite. Every bedroom comes with its own bathroom and shower, plenty of closet space, dressers and drawers, a bed (obviously), and – most remarkably – a small kitchenette. It’s not quite a self-contained living unit, but it comes damn close. One probably wouldn’t want to live with just a tiny refrigerator (no freezer) and an oven with only two stovetop burners, but for a quick weekend getaway trip it’s about as close to living in someone’s studio apartment as one can get.

It takes no more than eight seconds for Peggy and Henry to hop, skip, and jump to their private bedroom. Unlike Dylan and Melanie’s intimate gathering one floor up, these two are in no mood for taking things slow. On the contrary, the moment the door slams shut the two of them are already ripping off each other’s clothes. Henry amuses himself with the thought of the uselessness of changing out of his chef’s outfit and into these “street clothes.” He supposes he couldn’t guarantee that this would happen – and that he shouldn’t have expected it to – but the thought of getting dressed just to get naked a few minutes later was something that he found funny.

Little did either of them know that at the other end of the hallway, Monique was watching them converse, kiss, and sprint away from spying eyes. Miss St. Martin is still wearing nothing but white lacy panties. She’s determined they are beyond the point of the evening where walking around the house naked (or near naked) would be discouraged. She probably could have entered the house naked and eaten dinner naked too if she wanted to be especially adventurous. It’s not like Dylan would mind. Or any of the other guests. Oh well. Maybe next time she can be so bold.

“Have fun, you two.”

Realizing she’s the only one without a partner – Lawrence is a nice man, but definitely not her type – Monique turns around and heads back to the cabaret room. She intends to take full advantage of the stocked bar Dylan mentioned. She thinks she’ll make herself an Old Fashioned, assuming there’s ice available. She couldn’t see why there wouldn’t be.

“Everyone’s getting some except for me…” Monique points out to herself. “The night’s still young, though.” Her boyfriend might object if she did anything unfaithful. Their relationship is already on rocky footing. However, he’s 3,000 miles away. And she suspects he’s strayed a few times here and there himself. That, if Monique is being honest with herself, is a reality she’ll have to deal with sooner rather than later. For tonight, “later” would have to suffice. She’ll cross that dreadful bridge when she gets to it.

Now it’s on to that Old Fashioned.

***

“Okay, gentlemen. Get packed. It’s time to go. Now. You have ten minutes to get ready. Get on it.” Stephen doesn’t raise his voice because he doesn’t need to. After a few hours of nervously fiddling around with their weapons, equipment, and photographs of Dylan Tanaka’s property, the whole group is on edge. They don’t need to shout when it’s not necessary. The time is to get serious, get prepared, and get ready for tonight’s little score.

“Yes, boss.” Roddy is the only one who verbally expresses Stephen’s command. Everyone else has scattered throughout the house, not in a mood to make small talk. Xander goes to the bathroom to pee one final time. Cortez waits outside the bathroom, wanting to do the same thing. Stephen has had his coat on all afternoon, which got irksome because of the hot, humid weather of Central Washington. But this was his chosen outfit for the evening, mostly because he could conceal his firearm inside it. A careful man who takes great pride in thinking through every possible detail, Stephen wanted to get accustomed to wearing the coat and holster so that when they arrived at Dylan’s home he wouldn’t feel awkward or too uncomfortable. He’s been “in the zone” since he woke up this morning. There’s no use getting out of character now. Not when so much is on the line.

“I’m ready,” Thomas says. Out of all of his men, Thomas is the one who has to transport the most equipment. A professional safecracker for several years – he’s lost track of how many – Thomas fashioned a suitcase and duffle bag to specifically carry his thievery gear. He learned from his mentor, a man who’s currently serving a fifteen-year federal prison sentence for stealing important documents from a local FBI office in Houston, Texas, that a professional safecracker should never just stuff their equipment into any old large bag and hope nothing breaks or wears down over time. Like a guitar case that’s shaped like a guitar to minimize damage to the instrument as it gets carried around, a safecracker’s instruments should also be transported in a case that’s specifically tailored to contain said instruments. It’s this level of ingenuity and diligence that attracted Stephen to Thomas in the first place.

“Ready, boss,” Xander acknowledges. Stephen sees Cortez right behind him. Roddy, the driver of the SUV, is warming up the car. The two hired guns go to their respective vehicle. Stephen locks up the safehouse, doubting anyone would dare break in. How ironic would it be if a house being used by thieves were itself broken into by other thieves? The thought made a mostly serious Stephen Callahan smirk to himself. Besides, there are advantages to choosing a place that’s almost in the middle of nowhere. Who would think to break into a place like this?

Once Thomas slams the trunk shut, he tosses the keys to Stephen, who then unlocks the doors of the Buick and gets in the driver’s seat. In the backseat is Stephen’s backpack, sitting inconspicuously beside a few candy wrappers and empty containers of takeout Chinese food. Despite his best efforts to maintain proper appearances, serving time in prison changed Stephen’s outlook on life. Never in a million years before prison would he ever tolerate allowing garbage to accumulate inside his car. But three years in a federal prison cell really changes your personal habits. You no longer care about cleanliness when the filthy stain of being a convicted criminal forever mars your once sterling reputation. That’s just one way that prison changed him.

“Are you ready?” Stephen shouts to the occupants of the SUV. All three men nod their heads. Roddy gives him the thumbs up. “Excellent. Let’s get moving.”

Thirteen minutes later a black Buick and white SUV are traveling 65 miles per hour down the I-90 freeway towards Seattle. The speed limit is 70 mph for cars and 65 for trucks, but Stephen doesn’t want to take any chances. Very few police patrol cars are around these parts. However, Stephen is at this moment as paranoid as one can be. And for good reason. He and the other vehicle are going fast enough to get to Seattle at midnight or so, but not too fast that they attract the attention of Johnny Law. That would be a major disruption to their evening plans. Both vehicles remain in the slow right lane during the entire commute.

Stephen and Thomas don’t say a word to each other during the long drive to Seattle. Neither men have any idea if Roddy, Xander, and Cortez are conversing in their car. Probably not. These men are all studious professionals. No need to waste energy on frivolous activities like making small talk or listening to the radio.

Now’s the time to get to work. This job is straightforward and should be fairly easy.

What could possibly go wrong?

***

Dylan doesn’t think he fell asleep, but he does know he closed his eyes and looked up at the alarm clock sitting on a bedside table and saw that 45 minutes have passed. It seems like only five minutes have passed, so maybe he actually napped for a solid 40 or so. Gosh, he’s such a stereotypical guy. Falling asleep right after sex? Yeesh.

He rolls over in the bed to snuggle with Melanie. To his disappointment, she’s not in bed with him. This prompts Dylan to sit up and investigate. A moment later, he sees the balcony screen door is slightly ajar. That must be where she is, he guesses. He then stands up, stretches his arms high above his head, yawns, and walks toward the source of a gentle warm summer evening wind sweeping into his bedroom.

Before he can go outside, Dylan stops dead in his tracks.

Wow.

Sure enough, Melanie is outside, as he suspected. It’s the sight of her that makes him freeze. Right before his very eyes, almost like an image out of a dream, is Melanie Wright standing naked on his balcony. She’s overlooking the lovely view of Lake Washington, deep in thought. But it’s the image of her that jumps out at him. She’s standing tall and proud, yet relaxed and serene. The way the bright moonlight illuminates her naked body is more picturesque than what any artist could ever conceive. None of the greatest painters could ever render an image this quixotic. They wouldn’t believe such an image could actually exist. But it does.

She’s tall. Authoritative. Powerful. Curvy. Feminine. Erotic. Mesmerizing. Captivating. She’s every word you can think of without needing to consult a thesaurus. The moonlight’s glow highlights every mound of muscle on her formidable body. Every curve, every muscle fiber, every heavy repetition at the gym is on full display right in front of him. He feels blessed to be able to witness it. Her body seems to be radiating, a gentle outer aura outlining her perfect silhouette. Her round butt. Her thick hamstrings. Her bulging calves. Her meaty triceps. The layers and layers of muscle mounds on her back. She’s a living poem. A sculpture conceived by a brilliant artist made of flesh and blood. She looks like an angel, not a human. To call her a human would be an insult to who she’s worked so hard to become. Dylan cannot breathe because the only thing he can do is marvel at her. It’s the only thing he wants to do.

In reality, Melanie Wright is deep in thought. She’s pondering her future. To be truthful, she figures she only has three to four years left of being a top-level elite competitive bodybuilder. Most of her new competitors are girls in their 30s and 40s. She’s 53, which isn’t old by the standards of her unique profession, but she can feel her age in her body. All these years of lifting heavy weights, taking steroids, eating large amounts of food, and traveling the world have taken its toll. She used to feel a sense of pride when she woke up every morning feeling sore from the previous day’s workout. But now, that soreness has transitioned into pain. Real, deeply felt pain. Her entire body hurts. All the time. No amount of painkillers will make it fully go away. It’s a reality she has to deal with every single waking moment of her life. It’s the new normal.

She started to notice it when she got into her mid-40s. She denied it at first, but after a while she could no longer ignore the fact that she’s getting older. And that means your body can’t recover like it used to. When she was in her 30s, she felt invincible. She felt like a true goddess. She believed she could do this forever, that she had no limits, that nothing could keep her down. Giving birth to children was a challenge. Raising them was another. But alas, Melanie Wright is not invincible. Deep inside her soul, when you strip away her muscles, she’s as vulnerable as any other fragile human being. Maybe that’s why she feels a keen connection with Dylan. He’s fragile too. And he does his best to maintain a strong façade. But even he has his moments of weakness. Hell, she witnessed it just a few moments ago when he tearfully confessed his love for her. Melanie still has not figured out how she’ll deal with that. How can she maintain her friendship with him without breaking his heart? She has no idea how to do that…and dreads having to eventually confront it. Like every problem that she’s ever faced in her life, there’s no way to delay the inevitable.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Dylan asks. Melanie turns around to see him, standing behind her with innocent puppy dog eyes. He hugs her, then kisses her on the back of her neck.

“I was thinking about my future. About how long I can remain a bodybuilder,” she confesses. Dylan kisses her neck again. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“I understand. I get it. Have you made any decision yet?” Melanie shakes her head, not wanting to look at Dylan in the eyes. She may start to tear up herself if she did. Instead, she gazes at Lake Washington’s tranquil waters, admiring its remarkable stillness.

“Sort of. I think I have three, maybe four years left. You know, of being elite. I can still compete after that, but it would have to be in a lower category. Sheesh. When I turn 60, that’s when I’ll really start to evaluate my life. That sounds like a good round number. But I don’t know. My body aches. All the fucking time. Even now. My lower back hurts. My wrists hurt. My neck hurts. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. My shoulders definitely always hurt. God, I hurt everywhere.” Melanie remains strong, refusing to break down in front of Dylan. She knows she can be vulnerable around him, but now is not the time for that. Now is the time for her to be as strong as possible around him. “Pain is a regular part of my life. It’s unavoidable. It’s unstoppable. Every time I squat or deadlift or do lunges, I feel like my bones are literally crunching. I’m crumbling.”

The only thing Dylan can do is listen. He rubs her shoulders now that he’s aware that they’re hurting her. He kisses her delts, hoping this wouldn’t cause her any additional pain. She seems at peace right now.

“So, I may quit earlier. I don’t know. I really don’t. Not now. I don’t want to think about that right now. And not just about quitting. I have other worries. Like surgery. I know I’ll need double knee surgery eventually. God, what an awful thing to have to think about.”

“You do whatever is right for you. I want you to be happy. You’ve accomplished so much. You can retire tonight and no one would look down upon you. Least of all me. You’ve done things that millions of people could only dream of. You will always have my respect, for all eternity,” he says. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, with or without your muscles.”

This final compliment makes Melanie turn around to face Dylan. She traces a callused finger across his jawline. She can feel his stubble. Melanie knows she’ll burst out into tears if she didn’t do something to take her mind off of what’s nagging at her. So, she leans over, kisses Dylan, and picks him up. Dylan gasps when his bare feet lift off from the balcony floor. Melanie carries her lover back to bed. Soon, she plops Dylan onto the soft sheets and mounts him. The first time they made love, he was on top. Now, she’ll be on top.

Melanie wastes no time. She reaches down to stroke Dylan’s soft penis. It only takes a few caresses to get it hard. Then, she raises her massive body above him and slowly lowers herself onto his erect manhood. Once he is fully inside her, Melanie moves up and down as languorously as she possibly can. She’s lucky her leg muscles are strong enough to support her weight and maintain her balance. Dylan reaches out to stimulate her clit. This adds to her pleasure. Lightly pinching her hard feminine endowment with two fingers, he is committed to making sure she comes as many times as she desires this weekend.

Dylan leans his head against the pillow after the initial waves of orgasm rush through him. God, she feels so wet, so hot, so ready for him. Melanie feels the heat rising from their bodies. She’s convinced there’s more heat coming from the two bodies intertwined on this bed than there is in the fireplace that’s still roaring away. Melanie closes her eyes, trying to soak up every moment of this experience. She’s not sure how many more like this she’ll have with Dylan, so she better make it count.

“Oh God…” Dylan cries out. He’s not there yet, but he’s damn close.

Melanie also feels the built-up tension of her own climax looming. She didn’t come the first time they made love, so she’s committed to orgasming this time around. Dylan seems close, and she’s not far behind. It helps that he’s also stimulating her clit at the same time. Their delicate dance takes them higher and higher, until neither of them can hold back much longer. She tightens her vagina around him, hoping this final move pushes them both over the edge. He keenly notices her hotness surround him, beckoning him, breaking the boundaries between them.

“Ahhhhh!” Melanie gasps.

Miraculously, Dylan and Melanie climax together. This has never happened before. Dylan empties himself inside her, pulsating until his spasms come to a joyful end. Melanie’s vaginal muscles contract around him, adding to his sensations. She grabs Dylan’s wrist and pulls it away from her oversensitive clit, not wanting more stimulation at this moment. It would be too much for her. They stay like this for several minutes, Melanie truly wanting this moment to last forever. While standing on the balcony, she also came to the conclusion (and wisely chose not to say this to him out loud) that she’ll eventually need to break off their relationship. Not now, but soon. Meaning this could very well be the last time they ever make love. Ever.

So she wants to make it count.

The truth is that Dylan has gotten too close to her. In her heart, she knows that she also profoundly loves him. She doesn’t want to be hurt again and rush into another foolish marriage. Dylan genuinely touched her heart. That scares her. Frightens her. This is why she must break it off now until it becomes too painful for the both of them. And more pain isn’t something she needs in her life.

At last, Melanie collapses on top of Dylan. She doesn’t crush him but comes pretty damn close. Dylan doesn’t mind 215 pounds of woman being on top of him. There are worse ways to go. He looks over at the fireplace, impressed by how beautiful the flickering light of the flames fills the entire room with a pitch-perfect orange glow. Dylan never understood all the hype around fireplaces until this very moment. They do add to the romance, as he’s just joyfully discovered. He has no doubt that he and Melanie look like they belong on the cover of a romance novel.

“Now I really need to take a nap,” he confesses. Melanie reaches down to tickle his scrotum. She licks his right nipple, which sends shivers down his spine. “Well, that certainly will help keep me awake. Thanks for that.”

“I am to please.” Melanie moves on to lapping his other nipple. Eventually she stops fondling his scrotum and shifts toward rubbing his tired shoulders. It’s as though she wants to massage all of his emotional baggage away as if he were both symbolically and literally carrying heavy burdens on his shoulders. “You’d be a terrible host if you just passed out while your two other guests are wide awake, since they’re both hundreds or thousands of miles away from home. Besides, it’s not even 10:30. The night is still young.”

Dylan sits up, kisses her once more, and returns the favor by lightly pinching her nipples. She seems to enjoy it, closing her eyes to better drink in the sensations. “You’re right. I would be a terrible host to fall asleep before we got to even open the bottles of champagne. I’m pretty sure we have a few bottles chilling in the refrigerator. Henry and Lawrence should both be gone by now, so we don’t have to worry about our, uh, modesty, so to speak.” Dylan stands up and walks to the bathroom. It’s a surprise that it’s taken him this long to have to pee. Melanie stretches her arms out before getting up to close the balcony screen door. It’s not cold out, but that doesn’t stop Melanie from being concerned about wasps or flies (or worse, spiders!) getting inside the house. She doesn’t live here, of course, but she still feels a slight bit of responsibility to ensure Dylan’s home doesn’t get as unkempt as a yuppie bachelor pad.

As Dylan exits the bathroom – still naked – Melanie finally starts to wonder what Peggy and Monique are up to. Drinking scotch? Watching television? Staring at their phones playing Temple Run? One could only wonder…

***

“YAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSS! FUCK YEAHHHHHH!!!”

Peggy screams at the top of her lungs as Henry relentlessly pounds into her. No more than seven minutes earlier, Peggy and Henry were ripping each other’s clothes off inside the privacy of her guest bedroom. Now, their clothing (Henry could have sworn he heard something rip) is strewn lazily across the floor. It’s a good thing Lawrence vacuums the carpet at every chance he gets.

Just as Monique is hanging out by herself in the cabaret room making a cocktail, Peggy could not stop making out with this tall handsome black man who happens to be both a great chef and a loyal customer. Once they were both completely naked, Peggy raced to her purse to take out a condom wrapper. It was a normal type of condom, not an “Extra Large” packet that she figured a man like Henry would need. She gave Mr. Jameson’s penis a few sensual strokes with her hand, which was all it needed to fully wake up. Peggy then ripped the foil with her teeth, took out the oily piece of rubber latex, and rolled it onto his erect manhood. His claim that he’s a solid 7.5 inches seems accurate to her. Most guys lie about that sort of thing – especially the guys with whom she talks to during her webcam shows – but Henry isn’t a lying type. Besides, what’s the point of lying when you don’t really need to?

After sheathing him, Henry stuffed his face inside her plump breasts. He’s a “boob guy” and is not afraid to admit it out loud. Eventually, they found themselves on top of the bed. Laying down on her back, Peggy spread her legs wide open, inviting Henry inside. He did not hesitate to go in for the kill. After several minutes of pounding into her with no finesse or absolutely no inclination to take things slowly, he can feel his orgasm impending. Peggy also senses her vaginal muscles tighten in anticipation of a toe-curling climax. Sure enough, they both find the release they are looking for after Henry pounds into her one final time.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUCK YAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!”

Henry and Peggy, like the other couple who were simultaneously making love one floor up, climax together. Henry curses like a drunken sailor as his orgasm drains all the energy from his body. It’s been a long day of running errands, prepping, cooking, cleaning, and waiting for his boss’s three distinguished guests to arrive. He needed some sort of release to burn off all the pent-up tension that was residing inside his body. Doing the dirty with his favorite porn star is exactly what the doctor ordered.

“God damn, baby. That was the best fuck I’ve had in a long, long while,” Peggy says slightly out of breath. While Henry was doing most of the work, she took it upon herself to provide the vocal soundtrack to their mating ritual. Well, they were using protection. That doesn’t mean they weren’t engaged in a mating ritual of sorts. “Good job, baby darling. I really needed that. Mama really, really, really needed that.”

“Really? I’m sure you get plenty of dick whenever you want it. But I appreciate the kind words.” Henry rolls over on his back, sweat dripping off his face. Peggy playfully slaps Henry on the chest to scold him for the implications of what he just said.

“Hold on, are you calling me a whore?” Peggy heartily laughs, clearly not offended. “You’re right. I do get plenty of dick. All the time. But I’m talking about good dick. Good, hard, thick, ruthless dick like yours. I don’t get that all the time. Most of what I get is pretty forgettable. But not you. I’m going to fantasize about this for a long time.” Henry has never heard his penis be described as “ruthless” before, so he’ll accept the compliment. He stands up to go clean up in the bathroom. Peggy watches with amazement at how quickly a man’s penis can go from being as hard as a rock to as soft as a pair of socks the moment after he ejaculates. She also cannot fathom why it takes guys 30 minutes (some older guys need upwards of an hour!) to get hard again. Why can’t men be more like women, who can keep going and going and going until they get tired of orgasming? What’s the deal here? Well, that’s why God invented vibrators, she supposes. They keep pleasing her until the batteries run out of juice.

After disposing of the condom, peeing, and washing his hands with plenty of soap and hot water (even after having sex, Henry still washes his hands like a professional chef who just handled a whole bucket full of raw chicken), Henry returns to the bedroom, only to find Peggy lighting a joint. She doesn’t smoke marijuana all too often, but it’s perfectly legal both in Nevada and Washington State (she purchased it at a pot shop close to Treasure Island in Vegas) so she might as well get high when she’s allowed to. She also has a small amount of cocaine hidden inside an empty tube of lipstick. The TSA agents never catch her with it if she puts the tube inside a small makeup purse. She doesn’t think she’ll snort it tonight (Dylan isn’t known to be an avid drug user since alcohol and muscular women are his vices of choice). However, one can never accurately predict the future.

“Want a hit?” Peggy offers. Henry nods his head, takes the joint from her, and inhales. “I’m lucky it’s legal where I live. It’s legal here too. But not everywhere. So I got to use my supply when I can. I’m constantly flying across the country, so I have to be careful.” Almost like a magical elixir, Peggy feels calmer than before. She could just be exhausted from traveling and getting pounded by Henry’s huge cock. But chances are the cannabis is doing what it’s supposed to be doing.

“I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t travel too much, so I don’t think about it. Plus, I don’t smoke that much. Mostly when I’m hanging out with my homeboys.” Henry returns the joint to Peggy. She takes one more hit before extinguishing the flame on an ashtray and putting it back in her purse. After letting the CBD do its thing, she gets up, closes the window (she doesn’t want the smell of pot to linger inside Dylan’s gorgeous mansion), kisses Henry on the cheek, and places her hands on both of his butt cheeks.

“Let’s go see what Monique is up to. I don’t want her to feel lonely.”

“That’s a good idea. Let’s go.” It is at this moment that Henry realizes he still doesn’t have his boss’s permission to be here this late, especially to hang out with his party guests. Mr. Tanaka is a pretty chill dude, so he can’t imagine he’d be upset at him. Still, it’s considered taboo inside the world of personal chefs to fraternize with your client’s friends without their permission. Henry knows a few chefs who got fired because of that. Let’s hope he isn’t breaking any rules so he doesn’t suffer a similar fate.

Several moments later Henry and Peggy walk into the cabaret room, still as naked as the day they were born. Monique is sitting alone at the bar, sipping on an Old Fashioned made of sugar, bitters, and Macallan 15; while checking her phone for unanswered text messages. There are a few to respond to, but she feels a bit too drunk to answer them properly. She turns around when she hears the doors open.

“Yoo hoo, Monique baby, are you here? We have another special guest with us. You remember the tall beautiful black man who cooked our dinner tonight…” Monique pokes her head around the corner to catch Peggy’s attention. She is surprised to see both Peggy and Henry are still stark naked, not even having the decency to put on a bathrobe or anything. And to think Monique at one point felt weird just wearing panties! She stands up to greet Miss Cole and Dylan’s talented chef. “Ah, there you are! Ooohhh, I see you’ve helped yourself to a drink. Goddamn, I could use one myself. Henry baby, are you an expert mixologist in addition to being a fucking great cook?”

Before he can speak, Henry awkwardly looks at Monique, noticing that she’s practically naked, while he’s fully naked. It seems strange at first, but Henry doubts anyone was under the impression that Dylan’s dinner party wouldn’t include casual nudity at some point. He’s not running a bed and breakfast for Benedictine monks, for crying out loud. Henry and Monique exchange smiles, which appears to be enough to break any embarrassing tension that may exist. Peggy, not surprisingly, dashes toward the bar to fix herself a simple rum and Coke. She opens the freezer to find a tray full of ice cubes ready for her to steal from.

“Good evening, Miss St. Martin. I see the fun has already started around here!” Henry jokes. Monique giggles at Henry’s attempt to put her at ease with humor. It works.

“Oh, it has. It sure has. We just gave Dylan a fun little show an hour ago, or whenever it was. It was delightful. You should have been there, Henry darling.” Monique returns to sipping her drink, trying her hardest not to look down at his enormous penis. Henry considers fixing himself something – an Old Fashioned sure does sound delicious right about now – but decides against it. Maybe later.

“I have no doubt it was amazing, and, uh, very entertaining. But I had chores to do downstairs. Those dirty dishes ain’t gonna clean themselves, if you know what I mean.” The Olympic athlete raises her eyebrows to communicate agreement. By then, Peggy returns from behind the bar and sits down on a bright red sofa. Unconcerned for her nakedness, Henry makes a mental note that he should tell Lawrence later this week to scrub the surfaces of every couch, chair, and barstool in this room. That would benefit everybody. Especially future guests. He’ll decline to provide an explanation, though Lawrence should have no problem figuring out why.

“You deserve a break, and um, a little fun,” Peggy says while sipping her drink. It is stronger than she had anticipated. This is a good thing. “Speaking of which, where’s Dylan and Melanie? Are they doing what I think they’re doing upstairs? Naughty, naughty!”

“Ha, it’s not like you’re so innocent yourself,” Henry reminds her. “You know what? I could use a drink. It’s been a long day at the office, if you catch my drift.” As Henry saunters over to the bar, all three of them hear the doors swing wide open again. This time, Dylan and Melanie walk through, hand-in-hand like old lovers, also completely naked. They also didn’t seem to think putting on something would be necessary. Dylan stops dead in his tracks when he sees his faithful chef approaching the bar, apparently ready to make himself a cocktail.

“Good evening to you all, thank you for letting Melanie and I enjoy some private time together,” Dylan begins. “Well, well, well. Henry! I’m glad to see you. Pleasantly surprised. I thought you had gone home by now. Who will feed your cat?”

“Oh, I think he’ll be just fine. Good evening, Mr. Tanaka.” Henry and Dylan also share an awkward moment of silence together. Both men have endlessly discussed their mutual love for female bodybuilders, however this love has only come in the form of casual conversations around the kitchen. They’ve never done any “intimate” activities with Dylan’s guests together, so this is certainly breaking new ground (for both of them). Sensing his chef is probably feeling more awkward than him, Dylan thinks it would be a good idea to verbalize his approval of him being in their presence.

“Good evening, Henry. I’m so happy you can join us! If you’d like, I’d love for you to stay with us for as long as you want to. You can definitely spend the night in one of the guest rooms if you don’t feel up to driving home. After all, you’re supposed to be back here in less than 12 hours, so you might as well stay.” Henry appears to be genuinely reassured by his boss’s kind invitation. This brings a smile to everyone’s faces. “I think we have a few bottles of champagne in the fridge if anyone is interested in popping a couple of corks of some bubbly.”

“Thanks, Dylan. Thank you for inviting me to stay,” Henry grins at Peggy. She puckers her lips to give him the “kissy, kissy” motion. Dylan, still holding hands with Melanie, could not help but look down quickly at Henry’s prodigious endowment. Dylan had no idea what Henry looked like down there. He didn’t want to stereotype, naturally (especially when enough people casually stereotype men like him), but one can be excused to just assume certain things are true whether they are or not. When men happen to be naked around each other – gym locker rooms are a prime example – subtly glancing down at another guy’s junk to see what it looks like is a common pastime. There’s (usually) nothing overtly sexual about it. It’s just casual research to see what other dudes are packing down there and how you compare to them. That’s it. Dylan cannot help but do the same in this scenario. He’s unsure if Henry is doing the same. In fact, he’d prefer that Henry not do the same.

“Damn, I feel a bit overdressed for the occasion,” Monique observes. “It’s like I stepped into a motherfucking nudist colony, or something!”

“I don’t know girl. Everybody here is naked…except for you!” Peggy scolds Monique. Feeling a combination of peer pressure and reckless abandon, Monique accepts Miss Cole’s challenge and strips off her white panties. The four others cheer her on. She tosses her underwear carelessly to the side, not giving a rat’s ass where it lands.

“Now girl, we’re really at a motherfucking nudist colony!” she announces. This elicits even more cheering from her compatriots.

“Between these walls of my humble abode, we might as well be in a nudist colony,” Dylan says while opening the refrigerator to take out a couple bottles of chilled champagne. As he requested, it’s a Bollinger Special Cuvée, just like his fictional hero, James Bond, would drink. After popping the corks and fishing around the cupboard for five tall champagne glasses, Dylan gleefully pours everyone a generous amount of bubbly. The image of five naked people, three of them muscular women, crowding around a home bar drinking overly expensive champagne must be quite an amusing sight for someone not familiar with the circumstances. Dylan decides to propose a toast.

“To friendship, great company, a better future, and finding your inner light,” Dylan declares as he lifts his glass above his head. The four others mimic their host. “We may not yet know the source of that light. That is for all of us to discover for ourselves. But rest assured. It’s there. Somewhere. We are all unique souls traversing through this rock in outer space toward an unknown destiny. May it be a good one. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’re all fortunate to have been able to cross paths with each other. Deeply, profoundly fortunate. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” everyone repeats. Dylan and his four guests drink from their frothy glasses.

“Motherfucker, that’s some good ass shit!” Peggy proclaims. “Dylan honey, you know how to live life to the fullest. Yessssssir!”

Melanie wanders off to the A/V booth to turn on some music. Apparently, the jazz mix they started playing earlier for their performance had expired long ago. Dylan thought the music would play on a continuous loop, which apparently is not the case. She quickly searches through a playlist of Top 100 hits, selects a few artists, and begins playing it for all to hear.

“Oooooohhh baby girl! I love me some Missy Elliott! Get it!” Monique puts her glass down on a nearby table and starts to dance all by herself. Henry decides to join in on the fun. Melanie sashays toward Dylan, grabs his hand, twirls him around as if they were at a midwestern dance hall, and sways with him to the beat. Their chests join together, Melanie noticing Dylan’s heartbeat rapidly picking up the pace. They lock eyes, kiss, and continue to rock side-to-side to the song’s beat as Peggy joins the other two in creating a makeshift dance club right here in the cabaret room. Dylan feels Melanie’s firm glutes, which is enough to make his heartbeat quicken its tempo even more. How could it not? He wouldn’t be surprised if he got another erection right here in front of everyone. That wouldn’t be out of place for how the evening has gone so far.

If he were to get hard again, he and Melanie would certainly know how to deal with that particular situation. For now, he’s content to just enjoy the music and dance along with his four friends.

Little did anyone in this room know that this would be the highlight of their evening. The festivities would soon come to a crashing halt. Not yet, but soon enough. Unbeknownst to any of the five naked partiers in attendance was the fact that as they were dancing the night away, five armed thieves were caravanning over Interstate 90 at 65 mph with Dylan’s home as their intended destination.

All the King’s Queens – Chapter 6: Dinner and a Show

Leave the place cleaner than you found it.

These words are ingrained in Henry’s psyche. They’re practically his life’s guiding principle. It’s not enough to simply tidy up after yourself and make it look like you were never there. No, that’s not enough. You must also do a service to the people around you by cleaning, scrubbing, sweeping, washing, and dusting the whole place till it’s shining so brightly the room seems to be winking back at you. Tonight is no exception. Maybe he’s working harder than usual because he’s both super nervous and super excited to see Peggy again live and in the flesh.

“Heeyyyyyyyy baby!”

Henry, who’s huffing and puffing while scrubbing a roasting tray laden with sticky honey sauce, turns around to see where that voice came from. But he doesn’t need to investigate whose voice that is because he already knows.

Miss Peggy.

“Oh my Lord in Heaven, is that the voice of Miss Peggy I hear?” Henry drops the sponge in the sink and dries his hands with a towel. And sure enough, standing in the kitchen entrance wearing a crimson red V-neck dress that leaves very little to the imagination (especially her enormous breasts) is none other than Henry’s favorite erotic webcam performer. “Yes it is! I knew it was you the moment I heard your voice when you came in.”

“Hi baby. It’s been forever since I last saw you,” Peggy hugs one of her most loyal clients, then kisses him on the cheek. “I always look forward to our little chats together. It always makes my day.”

“Oh baby, tell me about it. Trust me, I’m waaaaaaay more excited for them than you are!” Still as professional as ever, Henry pauses his attempt to not focusing on Peggy’s boobs for a quick moment to turn off the stovetop keeping the garlic mashed potatoes warm. After another kiss on the cheek, Peggy roams over the oven to see what’s cooking.

“I know it! So, baby, what are you preparing for us tonight? It smells delicious.”

“On the menu are sweet and sticky braised short ribs, curried vegetables, classic niçoise salad, garlic mashed potatoes, and blueberry cream puff pastries,” Henry announces as theatrically as a TV show host. Slow-cooking tough cuts of meat requires braising them in a red wine reduction sauce for at least three hours, meaning Henry has been working his butt off in the kitchen nearly all day. Peggy acutely senses how much work her favorite client has put in to preparing tonight’s dinner. For that, she wants to reward him for his artistry, loyalty, and optimistic attitude.

“Sounds delightful! I’m sure Dylan is taking Melanie and Monique down to the wine cellar to select a few bottles for supper, so we have a few moments alone together,” Peggy kisses him once more, then gets down on her knees to unzip Henry’s pants. He looks around the kitchen for Lawrence, who seems to be out of sight.

“Oh baby, this…this is unexpected! This is, um, quite a way to say hello to a fella!” Henry shuffles his feet toward a large walk-in pantry full of canned food, spices, flour, breakfast cereal, and oatmeal. Peggy follows along on her knees, laboring to pull out Henry’s penis from his boxers.

“I aim to please.”

Finally, once they are settled in the pantry Henry closes the door behind them and switches on a lightbulb hanging in the middle of the small, cramped room. At last, Peggy frees Henry’s bulging length from his underwear.

“Ah! There it is!” Peggy exclaims.

“It’s been waiting for you, baby.”

The reason why Henry is Peggy’s favorite client is because of his most noteworthy and memorable physical asset: His prodigious member. Reluctant to fit the tired old stereotype associated with black men like him, Henry has always known that he’s unusual in this regard. Peggy has been with many men in her life of all races and ethnicities, so she knows the stereotype that all black men have big dicks isn’t universally true. But in Henry’s case, it’s as true as the sky is blue. During their webcam chats, Peggy genuinely looks forward to mutually masturbating with him because she loves watching him stroke his enormous penis as she rubs her clitoris along with him. Very few clients actually turn Peggy on (to be honest, most of her clients are overweight balding middle-aged men with zero sex appeal), but Henry is a notable exception to the rule. Watching his enormous member get hard, harder, and eventually spurt everywhere is something that Peggy dreams about. It gets her genuinely excited.

Henry may not be able to compete with her dear friend Kit Styles, but then again very few men in the history of the human race are able to. If the podcast scheme doesn’t work out with Kit, perhaps Henry would be a suitable replacement.

“I know it has. I know!” Peggy wraps her fingers around the base of Henry’s manhood and strokes it up and down. It instantly gets as hard as stone. Henry has told Peggy that his penis measures 7.5 inches when erect, a claim she believes 100%. He also claims that if he’s aroused enough, he can get up to 7.8 inches, which Peggy can also believe. A self-professed “size queen,” Peggy has seen her fair share of dicks in her life. Some big, some small, many that are average, and a few enormous ones that stand out in her memory. Henry’s is definitely in the “memorable” category.

“I wasn’t expecting this…” Henry drifts off as Peggy opens her mouth wide and takes in his manhood. Earlier today he was talking to his boss about the possibility of (maybe) seeing Peggy tomorrow afternoon just before everyone is about to leave. He had no idea Peggy would proactively seek him out and do…this.

“Ooooohhhh Peggy baby…” She grips the back of Henry’s knees and deep throats him as far as she can go. She gets more than ¾ of the way home until she begins to gag a little. But that doesn’t stop her from servicing the portion of him that she can. Henry’s eyes roll to the back of his head as Peggy’s experienced little mouth does its work. He can tell she knows what she’s doing and has plenty of experience to perfect certain techniques.

“Are you close?” Peggy temporarily gives her lips, tongue, and mouth a break. “Because I want to taste all of you baby.”

“OHHHHHH, yeah. Yeah, baby, I’m close…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Peggy licks Henry’s sensitive tip and resumes her work. A small gasp escapes from him as he struggles to stifle loud noises in case Dylan, Lawrence, or the other two ladies are within earshot. His manhood has grown hot, pulsating to its largest capacity possible. Peggy senses he’s near the end. She hopes he is. She’s been craving this moment from the moment she stepped off the plane.

“Oh baby!”

Henry knocks a can of tomato paste to the floor as he releases deep inside Peggy’s mouth. Five powerful pulses of hot semen roll down her throat. It’s a miracle he doesn’t collapse from the sheer ecstasy of the moment. Peggy obediently swallows everything Henry has to offer, circling her tongue around him in order to lap every single drop. He tastes like most guys. Nothing unusual or noteworthy. She hopes the supper Henry prepared will wash the taste out of her mouth. Totally spent, she pulls his manhood out of her mouth slowly and watches it drop innocently between his legs. She stands up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Oh yeah, baby. That’s one heck of an appetizer,” she teases him. Still in a trance, Henry smirks at her, unable to speak. “I can’t wait for dinner.”

“Y…you’re welcome, Miss Peggy,” he stammers. “I…I sure didn’t expect you to greet a fella like…like that.”

“Well, I am a woman of many surprises,” she quips while exiting the pantry. “I’ll see you later tonight after supper. Take care!”

And with that, Peggy casually strolls out of the kitchen toward the dining room as Henry remains standing surrounded by old boxes of Wheaties and linguine noodles, still in a daze. A happy daze, more specifically.

“Wow! What a woman!”

***

Sure enough, Dylan and the other two ladies also have taken a detour. They are off to the basement to select a few bottles of wine – and other spirits – to enjoy both during dinner and afterward. Dylan suspects Peggy went to go chat with Henry. He has no idea their “meet and greet” would transpire quite the way it did. So, the rest of the crew remains oblivious to what’s happening upstairs.

“Damn, this is an impressive collection,” Melanie marvels. She leans over the middle shelf in Dylan’s wine cellar to read the labels on the bottles. Not an expert on the subject, she selects a 2017 Chateau Ste. Michelle cabernet sauvignon for no reason other than the design looks pretty. Monique knows a bit more about spirits (her grandparents owned a liquor store in Cuba before the Castro regime deemed the establishment an unnecessary “symbol of capitalist indulgences”) and chooses a bottle of Glenlivet XXV for sipping after dinner.

“Thank you. I’m not exactly an expert on wine and spirits, but luckily I know people who are,” Dylan says while inspecting his collection. “Leave it up to those who know what they’re talking about, right?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Monique says. “There’s no way I could train for the Olympics without a whole team of people telling me what to do.”

Dylan chooses a 2018 Columbia Valley Syrah, a 2017 Malbec, and an unopened bottle of Macallan 25. He is happy with these selections. “Sometimes it’s best just to let people tell you what to do. It makes life so much simpler.”

“True,” Melanie chimes in. “But you surrender a little bit of your, uh, agency when you do that. But maybe I’m being a little overdramatic.”

“Ha, yeah, probably a little bit,” Monique says. “I mean, I still decide how I train. It’s my life. But it makes me feel better knowing I’m not going at it alone.”

Dylan locks the sliding glass door (he technically doesn’t need to do this since no kids live in his home, but old habits die hard), turns off the light in the cellar room, and leads the way back upstairs with their drink selections in hand. On the way up, Melanie cannot help but notice a prominent painting of herself winning the 1998 Tampa Pro. Is it a painting Dylan had commissioned or is it a photograph that was made to look like a painting using a clever Photoshop filter? Melanie cannot tell which it is.

A few moments later, Dylan, Melanie, and Monique enter the dining room and find Peggy already sitting down and buttering a piece of toasted sourdough bread. She has the biggest grin on her face. Gee, does she like bread that much?

“Whatever Henry has in store for us smells great!” Peggy takes a quick nibble of her bread. “I literally can’t wait. What drinks did you get for us?”

“A few bottles of wine from local wineries and a couple of my best scotches,” Dylan announces with beaming pride. Peggy seems amused enough. He takes his seat at the head of the table. Melanie sits right next to him, with Monique and Peggy sitting next to each other on the opposite side. Lawrence has already lit the four tall candles sitting in the middle of the table – each candle representing all the people sharing this meal together.

“Thank you all for being here,” Dylan begins. “As you know, my life can get quite lonely. It hasn’t been easy for me these past few years, but I refuse to wallow around in self-pity.” His three guests nod along in silent agreement. Melanie gets a corkscrew and pops open all three bottles of wine. She pours everyone a short glass.

“Thanks, dear,” Monique whispers. “Self-pity is a terrible place to be. Trust me, I know what that’s all about. After my accident, every single day was a challenge. Not just physically, you know, but emotionally too. For real.”

“My life ain’t been perfect, but I got nothing to complain about too much,” Peggy says. “But damn, I feel both of you. For sure. That’s why you got us in your life, Dylan baby.”

“Oh yeah, do I know it!” Dylan fights the urge to cry.

“My career was able to recover from it, but I know a thing or two about having your whole damn reputation destroyed,” Melanie sips her Syrah, marveling at its fully developed flavor. “I still won’t ever forget the sick pit-in-the-stomach feeling I got while sitting in that jail cell. You know, in Budapest. God, I try so hard to forget that night. Worst time of my life.”

The room remains silent for a while. Lawrence quietly enters the dining room with a rolling cart with four plates of niçoise salad, more bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar.

“Good evening ladies. I’ve placed all your luggage in your rooms. Is there anything else you need from me?” Looking as dapper as ever, Lawrence tries to respectfully look everyone in the eye and avoid inadvertently looking at the conspicuous cleavage revealed in the three women’s choices of dresses.

“No, Lawrence dear,” Peggy says. Lawrence avoids looking at Peggy in particular, especially given the fact her dress doesn’t seem to want to contain her enormous breasts. While he doesn’t share the same “tastes” as his boss, Lawrence does appreciate a beautiful woman when he sees one. But he does whatever he can to remain as professional as possible. Even though he knows it’s not necessary. After all, Lawrence did in fact accidentally walk in on the sounds of moaning coming from inside the kitchen pantry. He immediately identified what the cacophony signified and quickly walked in the other direction. Mr. Tanaka’s esteemed chef and Miss Cole were obviously engaging in very “intimate” activities. Lawrence felt it would have been awkward for him to do what he had originally intended to do when he came into the kitchen: Check on the bread to ensure it wasn’t overcooking. Thankfully, it hadn’t.

“Excellent. The rest of dinner will be served shortly. Enjoy.”

“Thanks Lawrence.” Dylan nods at his loyal butler with approval. Lawrence nods back and exits back into the kitchen. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve all done things in our past that we regret. But what matters isn’t what we’ve done, but what we are doing now and what we will do moving forward. At least I think that’s the case.”

“I think it is,” Monique says. “What happens to us happens for a reason. I don’t know why, but I truly believe that.”

Peggy claps her hands in agreement. “Amen! Ya’ll know that not everyone I know and love approves of what I do, but I’ve made peace with that a long, long, long time ago.” Everyone has by now dug into their salads. Including Dylan, who is usually too nervous or self-conscious to enjoy a meal when in the company of a beautiful muscular woman, let alone three at a time. “I’ve never been happier. So, I win!”

“You certainly have, my dear!” Dylan agrees. Peggy grins.

“Making peace with ourselves is sometimes our only option,” Melanie quips. Everyone seems to agree with that.

After the second bottle of wine is completely finished, Lawrence finally brings out the entrées. Sweet and sticky braised short ribs (slow-cooked to make the meat as tender as possible), curried vegetables (inspired by Indian cuisine), and garlic mashed potatoes (as classic as you can imagine). By now, Dylan and his guests are a bit drunk – not too much, for the record – and have moved on to less dire subject matter. What does a group of bodybuilders (and one token fan of bodybuilding) usually talk about?

Bodybuilding.

“For years now I’ve tried to make my delts fuller. But I could never figure out how,” Peggy complains. “It’s like I’m genetically not allowed to have them. I’ve done it all. Bent-over reverse flies, chin-ups, standing shoulder press, hell, doing fucking kettlebell exercises for two fucking hours! Still, nothing. NOTHING! I swear, it never works out. Can’t figure out why for the life of me.”

“Oh sad. I’m pretty lucky in that area. Not sure how, but my delts are one of the best parts of my body.” Melanie demonstrates this by turning her back toward the group and raising both arms toward the sky. Monique almost chokes on her food looking at her impressive striations.

“Damn woman! You have muscles on top of muscles where I’m pretty sure they don’t exist on my body!” Monique exclaims. “Good for you.”

“Melanie has accomplished many things most of us could only dream about,” Dylan says. He runs his index finger along Melanie’s back to feel the full meatiness of her shoulder. “Wow. Impressive, indeed. How on Earth do you get this?” He knows he’ll have plenty of time later this evening to explore Melanie’s body, but he cannot resist it while sitting at the dinner table next to her. It’s a miracle Dylan has been able to hold out for this long.

“Not eating delicious food like this. Or drinking too much wine!” Melanie empties her glass, pours herself another one, and takes one final bite of her braised beef. “I obviously can’t eat like this during my training schedule. But in the off-season? Yeah, occasionally.”

Lawrence enters with the dessert cart. He’s happy to see everyone has loosened up, including his boss. Liquid courage will do that to you. Tonight’s menu concludes with a blueberry cream puff pastry. Henry let him try a few leftover scraps to get a preview of what everyone will be enjoying after dinner. Lawrence was not disappointed. Nor will the diners be, either.

“Lawrence dear, tell the cook that I’ve loved everything he’s prepared tonight,” Monique says.

“You can tell him yourself, Miss St. Martin. I’ll bring him out. He’s currently washing dishes, but that can wait until the morning,” Lawrence pats Dylan on the shoulder, which is his subtle way of asking permission to bring the chef out into the dining room.

“That sounds lovely,” Dylan says with approval. “I’m sure we’d all love to pay our compliments to the chef for the lovely evening we’ve had thus far.”

“Excellent. I’ll let him know he’s invited to make an appearance at his earliest convenience.” Lawrence disappears back into the kitchen. Henry is also an expert at preparing just enough food that you feel full and satisfied afterward but not overstuffed. Feeling too full is a great way to ruin the rest of your evening. Yet another reason why Dylan has kept him around for so long.

“This dessert is giving my mouth an orgasm!” Peggy exclaims. Monique blushes at this rather blunt description of a simple puff pastry. Melanie smiles. Dylan sips some espresso, trying not to laugh. He fails.

“Well, that’s definitely one way to put it!” Dylan says. Peggy doesn’t seem to hear what anyone is saying anymore. She has a sweet tooth that’s difficult to satiate.

“Hello lovely ladies!” Henry barges into the dining room. He shakes hands with Dylan. Melanie lightly rubs his shoulder. Monique waves at him. Peggy, now done wolfing down her dessert, gets up to give Henry a big hug, nearly lifting him off the floor.

“Baby, dinner was fabulous. FABULOUS! Goddamn, can this man cook!” Peggy lightly grabs Henry’s crotch and squeezes it, a subtle move no one seems to notice. Except for Henry, of course. “My highest compliments to the chef!”

“Thanks darling. I cannot believe how lucky my boss is right now! Look at this!” Henry gestures toward the group. Monique pretends to “tip her cap” to the chef. Dylan once again shakes the hand of his faithful cook as a demonstration of his appreciation. It may not be scientifically proven that delicious food is an aphrodisiac, but in this moment, Dylan can only hope that there is a semblance of truth to it.

“Yes, I am one lucky son of a bitch,” Dylan proclaims. “And you’ve truly outdone yourself, Henry. Dinner was remarkable. Perfectly prepared, all around.”

“Well, I have plenty of dishes to wash. Rumor has it ya’ll have got something special planned for Mr. Tanaka, am I right?”

“We do, yeah,” Peggy nods in agreement. “We’ve got a special little show in store for Dylan baby here. It’s going to be fucking fantastic. You should drop by after you’re done with your chores.” She kisses Henry on the cheek suggestively. By now, Dylan has caught on that she and Henry may start their own fireworks show sooner rather than later.

“Can’t wait. In fact, why wait? Come with me to the cabaret room!” Dylan proclaims as if he’s Willy Wonka inviting his guests to tour the mysterious chocolate factory. Yes, Dylan does in fact have a professionally designed cabaret-style room in his home. Modeled after a 1920s speakeasy, it contains a fully stocked bar, tall scarlet red curtains, cushy leather sofas, a small stage large enough for a few performers, A/V equipment, a modest light setup, and a Broadway-like spotlight at the back of the room. The room isn’t used terribly often, but when it is Dylan makes sure his private entertainers are given the best environment to showcase their talents.

“I cannot wait to see this!” Monique says to Melanie. She smiles back with equal anticipation.

Located on the second floor toward the back, Dylan leads his three guests up a gothic-looking spiral staircase. The guest bedrooms are also on this floor, which is convenient for everyone involved. Melanie, who’s seen the cabaret room before, goes straight to her bedroom to get changed. She realizes she’ll most likely spend the night in Dylan’s spacious bedroom, but that still means she needs someplace to put her luggage. She decides she’ll get dressed in her sexy little number as the host gives the other two girls a tour of the new cabaret room.

“I had this room specifically designed to look this way,” Dylan says, leading Monique and Peggy inside the cabaret room. “Before, it was basically a glorified library, or study, as you both may recall. But I wanted to do something special with it. And here we are!”

Both women are gobsmacked when they see the cabaret room in all its glory.

“Sweet mother of God, this is fucking fantastic!” Peggy slides her fingers down the scarlet curtains, admiring the texture. “I love what you’ve done here! Who did you hire to do it?”

“Some guy I know who used to work on Broadway. He’s now retired and does contract work for rich idiots like me.” Monique sneaks up behind Dylan to plant a wet kiss on the back of his neck. He turns around, smiling at her. She smiles back, placing the palm of her right hand underneath his groin. This is an unusually bold move for her, Dylan notes to himself. What’s going on?

“Do…do you like it?” Dylan asks.

“Oh, I hadn’t been looking around much, but yeah, you can say that,” Monique answers. “And you’re no idiot, darling. I remember interning with you.”

Dylan laughs. “Yes, I’m sure you do. That was just a figure of speech, my dear. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Monique gives him a coy look. Dylan continues to wonder why she’s in such a flirty mood today. Peggy is still amazed at the authenticity of the room’s design. It’s remarkably similar to performance halls she’s seen in Paris, New York, London, and Las Vegas. She even imagines what it would be like to shoot erotic videos here since she doubts Dylan would charge a camera crew for the rights to use the space. That’s a conversation she’ll have to have with him later. She makes a mental note of it.

“Girls! It’s time to get dressed and get ready for showtime!” Melanie yells from a distance. Peggy and Monique give each other a look. They turn toward Dylan.

“I think we’re needed. We promised that we had a little show prepared for you. So we must be off,” Peggy remarks as she leaves the room. This leaves Monique alone with Dylan.

“I totally forgot the bottles of booze in the dining room. Should I go get them?” she asks.

“No, that’s fine. This room has a fully stocked bar. I’ll find something to sip on my own. Go on and get ready with the others,” Dylan instructs her. Monique dutifully leaves, giving him one final flirty wave as she exits. Gee, what’s with all these sexual vibes she’s giving him all of a sudden? Monique is usually not like this. She’s in a stable relationship with a man who barely approves of her coming over for dinner dates like this. Has she broken up with him without telling anyone? Or is she drunk and not thinking straight? Dylan ponders these things as he investigates the bar and chooses an already opened bottle of brandy to drink from.

Fifteen minutes later, Dylan receives a text message from Melanie telling him they’re almost ready to go. About a week ago, she sent him a Spotify playlist with various easy listening jazz artists on it. Dylan turns on the computer located at the back of the room, logs on to Spotify, and begins to play it. The playlist runs for three and a half hours, so they’re in no danger of running out of music. Besides, it’ll just automatically return back to the beginning once it finishes. Dylan then turns off the room lights and cranks up the stage lights. He leaves the spotlight off, as it’s so powerful that it can be overwhelming if you’re not accustomed to performing in front of it. The bright Fresnel and floodlights hanging overhead are impressive enough. He has no doubt they’ll give the three performers all the electromagnetic exposure they need to be adequately seen.

The smooth musical score provides complementary ambiance without being distracting. Dylan sees a small flutter in the curtains, indicating the three ladies are now behind it. With a glass of brandy in hand, he’s ready for the show of a lifetime. Suddenly, a long supple leg sticks out between the curtain slit.

“Oooooh, I like this already…” Dylan mutters under his breath. He takes another sip of brandy, nearly coughing afterward. His heart starts to race.

Little by little, it is revealed that the owner of the supple leg belongs to none other than Miss Monique St. Martin. She’s now wearing a classy green satin V-neck dress that makes her the “belle of the ball” who would undoubtedly capture the heart of any Prince Charming. He can only imagine he could be so lucky. Monique struts to center stage, twirling her arms in the air like a ballerina. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I can see we have a full house here tonight, and I have every confidence that you’re all in for a real treat. I am your host this evening, Monique St. Martin. But you can call me just…Monique.”

“Hi, Monique!” Dylan calls out from his comfortable leather chair located right in the center of the room. Monique waves back at him. Her hair is pulled back so he can clearly see her gorgeous face. She’s wearing a little bit of makeup to accentuate her features but not too much that it becomes distracting. Her natural beauty is distracting enough.

“Hi, sugar pie! As you can probably tell, I am an Olympic athlete who plans to compete at next year’s Summer Olympics in Tokyo. Can you tell how strong I am?” She gives the “audience” a double biceps pose, showing off her impressive physique. Dylan watches with amazement, then gives a silent nod of encouragement. Monique, seeing she’s properly captivated the crowd in attendance, removes her shoes (Dylan couldn’t quite figure out what kind of shoes they are) and does the spread-eagle splits with elegance and grace. It doesn’t appear to be challenging to her at all. “As you can clearly see, I take good care of my body. After all, my body is my life. And what puts food on the table. It’s my moneymaker. Can’t you tell?”

Once again, Dylan nods his head enthusiastically up and down. He refrains from verbalizing his enjoyment. “Well, I sure hope it’s obvious that I work out a lot. They don’t just let any old bum on the street compete in the Olympics.” Monique swings both of her legs forward, does a backward roll, and once she returns to her feet, performs a backflip in one sudden fluid motion. This causes Dylan to audibly gasp. She lands once again on her feet, bows to her audience, and gives herself a modest round of applause. The sound of Melanie and Peggy clapping from behind the curtain can be faintly heard.

“Whew! Not bad for someone who’s not a gymnast, huh?” This elicits a genuine laugh from Dylan and the two other ladies backstage. “So okay, I can do a few neat tricks like backflips and whatnot. But do you know why I’m actually going to Tokyo next summer? Any guesses?” Apparently, this is where she wants to solicit guesses from her captivated crowd. Audience participation, Dylan supposes.

“Uh, I think I can guess!” Dylan raises his hand. Monique grins. She points to her lone audience member sitting all by himself.

“Yes, sir! You there, the Asian guy with the crisp-looking necktie. What sport do you think I compete in? Figure skating? Track and field? The discus throw? Curling? What?” The curling bit makes Peggy chuckle from backstage, but not Melanie. Maybe it’s because Melanie actually lived in Canada for several years (with her first husband) before moving to Chicago to live with her second husband. There, she developed a genuine respect for curling. This marriage ended in divorce, but that didn’t end her love for watching curling whenever the Winter Olympics were happening. She understands why Americans scoff at it. That doesn’t mean she still can’t like it!

“Well, I will say something like weightlifting? I mean, you do have some impressive guns there, young lady…” Dylan points to her arms, which at this point do not need any further pointing out. Now it’s Monique’s turn to nod her head.

“Very good guess, sir! Ding, ding, ding! You are absolutely correct. I am an Olympic weightlifter. For my final act, would you like to see me attempt a lift?” Dylan has no choice but to say “yes.” He pretends to look around at his fellow attendees to see if they also would like to see Monique attempt a really heavy lift. It appears as though the hundreds of imaginary people sitting around Dylan all agree wholeheartedly.

“Great! This will give me the opportunity to introduce our next performer, Miss Melanie Wright!” Monique steps toward the curtain and lifts it up to allow Melanie to enter the stage. Unlike Monique, she’s dressed in a mysteriously elegant fur coat that covers her entire body. This coat must be enormous because Melanie has quite a substantial torso. She appears to be wearing heels and…well, it’s unclear what else she’s wearing besides the fur coat. Melanie struts around, waves to the entire “audience” as if there were thousands of screaming fans in attendance, and stands right next to Monique. The size contrast couldn’t have been more obvious. Melanie is much bulkier than Monique – and three to four inches taller, even though both of them are wearing heels – a fact that anybody with a pair of functioning eyeballs could see. Monique is your typical athlete who looks fantastic when she’s wearing minimal clothing but can easily blend into a crowd if she’s in a heavy jacket. Melanie, on the other hand, is unmistakably a professional bodybuilder who takes her muscle-building endeavors seriously. She looks like she can barely fit through a door frame. Whenever she rides in a car, it’s a miracle the tires don’t blow out. While she’s no bigger (in terms of weight, not sheer muscle mass) than a lot of male bodybuilders, your brain isn’t accustomed to seeing a woman that large. And her muscles are evenly distributed from head to toe. No one would ever think of her as being fat. She’s a marvel to look at, no question about it.

“Hi, everyone! My name is Melanie. How is everyone doing tonight?”

Dylan decides to speak up this time, just for the fun of it. “We’re doing great! Couldn’t be better. I cannot imagine doing anything else right now than being here, watching you lovely ladies do your thing.” He gives them a brief round of applause to show his appreciation for their willingness to travel away from their homes and come out all the way to Seattle (which some people consider to practically be South Alaska) to his not-so-humble abode. The two ladies currently on stage take a bow to acknowledge this kind gesture.

“Well, thank you so much for that rowdy ovation!” Melanie acknowledges. “So, Monique, I hear you have a special lift you’d like to attempt. Is that true?”

“It sure is! I will lift you up off the ground, place you on my back, and squat you for at least 20 reps. How does that sound!” Dylan can hear Peggy proclaim something unintelligible from backstage. It seems as though not even she was privy to what Monique had in store. Melanie acts surprised, but it’s clear she knew what the plan was all along.

“Hot damn! That sounds like quite a feat. You should probably take those lovely shoes off first, my dear.” Monique nods her head. One by one, she removes her heels and places them off to the side. She then does a little bit of stretching to get ready. Dylan doesn’t want to worry that she’ll reaggravate her injury, but he can’t help himself. The horrific scene at the Rio Olympics will forever be seared into his memory. How can anybody forget that? Just the image of the ambulance’s lights and the stretcher being carried out by a team of medics is enough to trigger traumatic feelings. Nevertheless, Dylan figures Monique wouldn’t do this (and Melanie wouldn’t have agreed to participate) unless she was confident that she could do it safely. This eases the tension somewhat.

“Good suggestion, girl. Can’t wait! I’m sure our audience can’t wait either.”

After stretching out her quads, bending down to touch her toes, and swinging her arms in a helicopter pattern for several seconds, it appears as though Miss St. Martin is ready to attempt her feat of strength. She takes a deep breath. Dylan holds his. Melanie loosens up by twisting her torso around in a circle. Monique quickly looks into Melanie’s eyes, then turns her head to look directly at Dylan. He still has not released his breath. The naughty smile on her beautiful face reassures him that she isn’t going to put herself in jeopardy. Finally, Monique bends her upper body toward Melanie, grabs her left knee with her right hand, places her left hand underneath Miss Wright’s armpit (Melanie kindly places her left arm around Monique’s back), and lifts Melanie off the ground. Dylan’s mouth drops agape. Now, Melanie is completely resting on top of Monique’s back. Melanie lets out a quiet gasp after she finds herself completely parallel to the ground. Monique has still not made any noise, as if this whole stunt were totally normal. As if she does this sort of thing all the bloody time.

“Alright, time to show you all how strong my quads are!” Monique brags. “Are you ready?” She receives no audible response from anyone.

And sure enough, she bends her knees almost all the way to the floor and powerfully lifts them back up. One rep. It looks as though she isn’t even breaking a sweat. And…Dylan must keep in mind that she’s doing this all in a dress! Then she proceeds to do two reps. Then three. Then four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight…

The entire time Peggy is screaming “Go girl, go!” from backstage. Dylan wants to join in on the raucous cheering, but something compels him to just sit there like a respectful audience member. It must be his Japanese heritage that forces him to be quiet when other people have the spotlight on them (metaphorically speaking). Nine reps. Ten reps, eleven reps, twelve reps, thirteen reps, fourteen reps – by now, Dylan’s concern for Monique’s safety has shifted toward being genuinely impressed by her strength, balance, and endurance – fifteen reps, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one (she promised at least twenty repetitions, so from this point on everything else is just gravy on top), twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…

It’s obvious that Monique is finally getting tired. So, she’s human after all. She attempts one more rep and then decides to quit.

Twenty-five!

After achieving five more reps than her initial goal, Monique gently puts Melanie down to the floor, ensuring she doesn’t slip and fall. Melanie appears to be just fine. Monique is now dripping sweat, which is also a product of standing under these hot stage lights for several minutes. She gives her audience a bow, which prompts Dylan to respond with an enthusiastic standing ovation. It’s the only thing he can do to demonstrate his appreciation for her performance.

“Wow! That was quite a ride,” Melanie exclaims. “Unbelievable!”

“I hope you don’t get motion sickness easily…” Before Melanie could respond, Monique slides the straps on her dress off her shoulders, dropping the green piece of fabric to the floor. She kicks it aside. Wearing nothing but a bright white pair of lacy panties, the Olympic goddess gives Dylan a triumphant pose, lifting her fingers toward the heavens as if an angel delivered her onto this earth. Monique’s small, flat breasts are outshone by her remarkably wide areola and inch-long nipples, which are standing at full attention. Dylan could only imagine what it would be like to circle his tongue around her long, thick nipples.

Monique gives her audience one final bow before slowly exiting the stage through the curtain. She soaks up every minute of her allotted stage time. Melanie stays behind, pretending to fan herself with her right hand. “WOW! Well, that girl sure knows how to put on a good show, am I right?” Dylan verbally responds in agreement. “Not sure how I can follow that up, but I’ll try…”

The music continues to play, which Dylan almost forgets is still on. He’s too distracted by the shenanigans going on onstage to pay attention to the ambient noise. Still wearing her enormous fur coat, Melanie walks downstage from left to right, teasing her audience of one, forcing him to guess what’s about to happen next. “As you can probably tell, I am a woman of mystery. I don’t like to reveal too much about myself unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I suppose it’s a product of my life experience, of the paths I’ve had to cross over the years.” Expressing more melancholy emotions than expected, Dylan isn’t quite sure where Melanie is going with this. “But that’s about to change right now. You folks are in for a real treat. As you may or may not know, I am a professional female bodybuilder. I love women with big muscles, don’t you?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Peggy yells from offstage. Dylan cannot help but smirk at her eagerness. He decides to remain silent and let Melanie do her thing uninterrupted.

“Thank you, baby. I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Melanie quips. “Society isn’t always open to seeing a woman with big muscles. Some people say it’s gross, or unfeminine, or too masculine, or unnatural. They say a woman shouldn’t look like that. That looking like that will turn folks off to her. Ouch. What do I think of that, you may wonder? I say we need to ignore the haters. After all, what have they ever accomplished in their lives?”

“Nothing!” Monique shouts from behind the curtain. Melanie smiles.

“That’s for damn sure. But I don’t believe that. Not for a second. And if anyone out here tonight feels the same way, that a woman with big muscles can’t be sexy, desirable, and majestic, well, prepare to have your mind blown!”

And with that, Melanie takes off the fur coat, dropping it to the floor with more pomp and circumstance than is necessary. But none of that matters because of what is revealed to have been hidden underneath that coat: A world-class muscular physique. Dylan’s heart almost leaps out of his chest when he regards her. There she is, in her full glory, right on display underneath the bright lights, exactly how she’s meant to be seen. Wearing a cute pink sparkly competition bikini, Melanie stands tall and proud, ready to show off her decades of hard work. She flexes both biceps, making sure all 18 inches are seen in full view (in actuality, her right bicep is 18 inches while her left one is 17.75 inches, but who cares?). Melanie turns to the side and hardens her meaty triceps. So full, so thick, so meaty. Dylan is in a trance-like state at this point. He feels his erection straining against his underwear. Next, she turns away from the audience to showcase her broad back, wide shoulders, and round butt. Indeed, it’s a mystery how she can fit through doors. She’s as wide as a truck but as graceful as a figure skater. Finally, she turns around again, takes a deep breath, and bounces her quads. Nearly 30 inches in diameter, even for a top-level competitor, Melanie’s thighs are famous throughout the industry for their girth, fullness, and ability to “bounce” on command. Her muscle control is also famous among people who pay attention to these things. Dylan definitely knows this. Henry also knows this. Melanie definitely knows this and revels in it.

Melanie proceeds to show Dylan all the standard bodybuilding poses: abdominal and thigh, front double biceps, front lat spread, side chest, side triceps, rear lat spread, rear double biceps, and the classic “most muscular” pose (which basically means a final pose where you get to show off all your front muscles from top to bottom). She’s a real pro, which one can tell by how seamlessly she can transition from one pose to another. Going in a whole circle, she makes sure no inch of her immaculate body is left unseen. Dylan has seen Melanie’s body many times before – including fully nude, which he expects to see again later this evening – but this time it’s different. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t seen her in a long time. Maybe it’s because of the dreary funk he’s been in during the past several weeks. But at this moment, in this exact moment in time, Melanie has never looked better. And he’s not sure he’s ever witnessed a more beautiful woman. This means something, considering Monique St. Martin was just on stage a few minutes earlier. Monique looks like a finely chiseled athlete. Melanie, on the other hand, looks like a beast. A monster. A giantess. She looks like she was carved out of stone. She cannot possibly be from this earth, but she is. She’s a real flesh-and-blood human being as far as anyone can tell. It could also be the lighting that’s doing the trick. Stage lighting (especially good stage lighting coordinated by a professional designer) can make any normal human being look…ethereal.

But Melanie is far from a normal human being, with or without the stage lights cascading onto her gorgeous body. She may not have Monique’s natural beauty, but Melanie’s flawless physique more than makes up for it. In fact, her physique makes her a one-of-a-kind, a once-in-a-generation athlete. There will never be another Melanie Wright ever again.

“So…do I have your attention now? Are you still unsure if a woman can still be sexy, curvy, feminine, and undeniably hot with all these big muscles?” Melanie asks these rhetorical questions without expecting an answer. She knows the answers already. Everyone in this room does. Especially her host sitting all by himself in the house. He knows better than anyone.

“I hope this was an educational experience for you all. This is proof, once and for all, that muscles don’t make a woman look like a man. They make her look more like a woman!” With that, she strikes a final pose (similar to the Broadway-style pose Monique did earlier) and waits for applause. Dylan and the two other ladies backstage are more than happy to give it to her. And they do with cheerful enthusiasm.

“Wow! Bravo! Well done! You are so magnificent, so beautiful!” Dylan bellows.

“Thank you darling. Thank you all!” Just as Melanie is about to leave the stage, Peggy barges on stage wearing the most ridiculous costume imaginable. Dressed like a Las Vegas showgirl, she has a bright red feather hat that must be at least three feet tall and five feet wide, a scarlet-colored bikini with shiny sequins all over it, and matching scarlet stiletto shoes. Peggy wears long silver gloves that go up to her elbows, gold hoop earrings, a diamond-encrusted necklace that Dylan hopes isn’t actually real (for the sake of accidentally losing it at the airport), and enough makeup to supply an army of Beverly Hills housewives. “Over the top” would be an understatement. Melanie giggles as she leaves the stage.

“Hi baby! How are ya’ll doing out there tonight?” Dylan whoops and hollers, which isn’t usually his style, but it feels right for the occasion. “I can feel the love in here, oh yes I can. For the finale of tonight’s entertainment, it seems like we need to add some spice in the air, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah!” Monique and Melanie shout in unison.

“And if you need to heat things up, I’m your gal. Now, you might be wondering what it is that I have in my hand here…” Peggy coyly asks. Dylan was so focused on her outfit that he completely didn’t notice that Peggy entered the stage carrying a long black object. What was it…?

“This, my darlings, is a little friend of mine. Or shall I say, a large friend of mine?” Dylan is finally able to see that Peggy is carrying around an enormous black dildo, probably anywhere between eight to 10 inches long. When Peggy ordered it from Amazon.com several months ago, the manufacturer said it was a solid 12 inches long. When she unboxed it and measured it, it turned out to have been about 10.5 inches. Sort of a case of false advertising, but Peggy was too lazy to return it and demand a refund. Instead, she kept it and added it to her collection of naughty paraphernalia. As a professional erotic webcam performer, Peggy Cole must constantly replenish her stock of sex toys so that her audience doesn’t get bored of her act. It’s both exhilarating and a chore, a contradiction Peggy embraces.

By now, Dylan sees Monique and Melanie reenter the stage by sneaking on from the right-hand side. They’re standing off to the side, just as curious as Dylan is as to what stunt Peggy has planned. “This thing here is a good friend of mine. We’ll call him Jerry. Now, Mr. Jerry and I are closely acquainted. He’s long, he’s thick, he’s hard as a rock, and he stays hard forever and ever. Now, you ladies can sure appreciate someone like that, am I right?” Monique and Melanie improvise words of approval. Between servicing Henry earlier today and eating the mouthwatering dinner Henry had prepared for the group, Peggy is in an especially erotic mood. Good food, good wine, good friends, and good cock are guaranteed to get her horny. Already dripping wet down there, Peggy prances around the stage until she decides to sit on the front edge. She licks the tip of the dildo as vivaciously as one could possibly lick a piece of lifeless polyvinyl chloride.

“Mr. Jerry wants to come out and play. I think that would be a wonderful idea, don’t you all agree?” Her mesmerized audience verbalizes their opinion on the matter. “I’m feeling really, really, really horny right now. Why? Well, because I’m always horny!” She laughs to herself. No one laughs back, but that doesn’t seem to stop Peggy from enjoying herself. “So to release this pent-up tension that’s inside me, I figured I should ask Mr. Jerry for assistance.”

Peggy spreads her legs out wide. She removes her bikini bottom with the poetic ease of an experienced professional striptease artist. Which makes sense considering that’s one of her side gigs. Then, she tosses it into the crowd, hoping it lands close to Dylan. It does. Dylan leans over to pick it up. Sure enough, it’s soaking wet. This makes him chuckle. But when he looks up, what he sees next takes his breath away. Little by little, inch by inch, Peggy inserts the comically large black dildo inside her vagina, moaning softly along the way. Nobody could tell if she’s faking it or not. The box says it’s 7 inches in circumference, which Peggy has surprisingly never bothered to measure. It takes a while, but at last, Peggy manages to stuff the entire thing inside her vagina, a feat that the other two ladies are witnesses with a combination of shock and disgust.

“Hot damn! Isn’t that painful?” Monique whispers to Melanie.

“Well, she doesn’t look to be in pain. But I hear you. Holy shit…” Melanie responds.

While it seems like Peggy is grimacing in pain, Dylan can see a genuine smile spread across her face. Finally, she begins to slide the dildo in and out of her moist entrance. It’s slow at first, then becomes quicker as she builds up more natural wetness. Peggy made sure to cover it with enough lube jelly to make this stunt as painless as possible. She considers herself to be a bona fide “size queen,” but at her age she needs a little bit of assistance. Especially when dealing with a brand-new dildo as large as this one. As she masturbates for her audience, Melanie and Monique slowly creep up closer to inspect Peggy’s performance.

“Oh, baby, oh yes. This is what mama likes. This is what I like, baby doll.”

Dylan cannot sit still in his chair. By now, he’s actually afraid he might come in his shorts. It wouldn’t be the first time. His penis is as hard as rock and desperate for release.

“You like this? Does this turn you on? It’s turning me on, that’s for damn sure,” Peggy whispers to anyone willing to listen. “I like it big and hard, like Mr. Jerry here. Ohhhhh, baby…” A veteran masturbator, Peggy has never used this particular dildo before in public. During her cam shows, she’ll use all sorts of sex toys on herself. Vibrators, bullets, wands, beads, butt plugs, sex machines, clit toys, you name it. If it’s out there, she’s done it in front of her high-definition 4K webcam. But this toy is one she was saving for a special moment.

“Oh God, I’m going to come! Right all over this fucking floor. Do you want to see that? Do you? Oh, I’m soooooooooooo fucking close!” Dylan knows what’s about to happen. He’s seen her do it on her shows, but never live in-person. So this should be a treat. He’s not sure if Monique and Melanie have any clue as to what’s about to happen…

“OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Peggy quickly pulls the dildo out of her vagina, spreads her legs as wide as they can go, and squirts three large spurts of milky white fluid out of her urethra. It travels almost three feet in front of her, making a small mess on the carpet. But that’s the least of Dylan’s worries. Peggy screams at the top of her lungs, writhes around violently, then collapses onto her back. A few more shudders travel throughout her body as her orgasm subsides. It must’ve been a powerful one. Maybe one of the most powerful ones she’s ever experienced.

Monique and Melanie are stunned. Obviously, they had no idea what Peggy had up her sleeve!

Dylan falls to the floor, applauding like a madman who’s just listened to the London Symphony Orchestra perform the climax of Beethoven’s 9th. Instead, he just watched Peggy perform a different sort of climax, but one much wetter and messier. For anyone who watches Peggy Cole’s cam shows (Dylan and Henry know this very well), she is infamous for being a prolific ejaculator. She’s convinced that she’s the best in the world. Nobody in the porn industry can do it better than her. No guy, no gal, nobody. She can launch her female ejaculate farther than anyone else on planet Earth. She may not squirt as much volume of liquid as others, but in terms of distance traveled, Peggy Cole is peerless. Unmatched. Unchallengeable. Undisputed.

If you need scientific proof that “female ejaculation” is a real thing, go introduce yourself to Miss Peggy Cole. She’ll persuade you in an instant that yes, it is in fact a real thing.

After several moments of catching her breath, Peggy gets up and beckons the other two ladies to join her. She puts the dildo down on the floor, joins hands with her compatriots, and takes a theatrical bow to their appreciative audience. Dylan gives them a rousing standing ovation, thanking them for their splendid show. Monique’s eyes widen when she sees how far Peggy’s “girl cum” shot out.

“Holy shit, girl. What the fuck was that? Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn!”

“I have special talents that nobody else can match,” Peggy brags. Monique doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t need to. She agrees wholeheartedly.

“Thank you for attending tonight’s performance! Don’t forget to tip your waitress. Drive home safe,” Melanie announces. Dylan stops clapping and runs toward his three guests. Monique jumps off the stage and gives him a warm embrace. Peggy kisses him all over his face, not letting him get a word in. Meanwhile, Melanie is inspecting the mess Miss Cole left behind.

“Sweet Jesus,” she mutters to no one. The milky white fluid on the floor looks like someone spilled a bottle of hand soap everywhere.

The music is still playing. The lights are still shining. And the evening has just gotten started. Dylan looks up at a nearby wall clock and sees it’s currently 8:49 p.m. The night is still young!

“Wonderful, ladies. Splendid. Holy shit, you surprised me. I didn’t know what to expect. But what I got was better than I could’ve imagined.” Dylan kisses Melanie on the cheek. She kisses him back on the lips. Her kiss is deeper and more meaningful than their first kiss. He knows it. Peggy and Monique know it. Everyone knows it.

“The show isn’t over yet. Are you in the mood for an encore?” Melanie unbuttons the top of Dylan’s shirt, then kisses his neck. Peggy growls. Monique can only stare in silence. Without needing to say a single word, Melanie grabs Dylan by his wrist and leads him toward the exit.

“We’ll see you two later. Bye!” Melanie says as she and Dylan leave the room.

Nobody moves for a moment. Finally, Monique turns to Peggy with an exasperated look on her face.

“Seriously, though. How the fuck did you do that?”

As they tidy up the room for the next few minutes, Peggy cannot stop laughing. Neither can Monique.

FBB Video Review #1: Denise Masino and the Leopard Dress

A new recurring feature I’m going to introduce in 2020 is FBB Video Reviews, in which I break down a sexy video featuring a female bodybuilder (or two, or three, or four) doing her thing. The videos could be ones that I personally love or they could come from reader suggestions.

Have a suggestion of one I should review? Email me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. Or you can let me know in the comments below. Whichever you prefer.

For our maiden voyage, let’s dive into one featuring the incomparable Denise Masino. It should be no secret that Denise is my favorite female bodybuilder of all time. She’s amazing beyond words. One can never succinctly describe why she’s so incredible to behold. But she is nevertheless. Denise is sexy, smart, savvy, affable, and delivers exactly what her fans crave. That’s a lethal combination that not too many of her peers can match. A few do, but they’re few and far between.

This particular video looks to have been produced by Denise Masino herself. In today’s world, that seems to be the best bet when you want to create content that fits your own preferred style and tone. You can see more content like this if you become a subscriber on her website.

Watch Video

0:00 – Right off the bat, we see Denise wearing a sexy leopard skin dress that generously shows off her strong arms, thick meaty legs, and curvy feminine figure. She appears to be on the porch of someone’s house (her home or someone else’s residence? Who knows…) in broad daylight. Whether a neighbor was able to sneak a peek at the filming of this video is unknown. If a lucky bastard was able to crouch behind a kitchen window and watch the action unfold, more power to him!

The residence appears to be by a lake, so maybe an alligator was able to witness it all.

0:21 – The lighting isn’t ideal, which probably means the camera’s auto exposure adjustment feature wasn’t working yet. But we are distracted by Denise waving to us. It’s a miracle we haven’t died from cardiac arrest yet.

0:26 – Oh good. The camera’s exposure finally kicks in. We can now see Denise in her full glory!

0:32 – The camera moves down toward the floor and we can clearly see she isn’t wearing any panties. Yowza! It’s difficult to make out what her bits look like, but we’ll eventually find out.

One side note about the music. Yes, the music in porn is much maligned and often parodied. But in this case, it works on a thematic level. The music is upbeat, positive, and not necessarily sexually charged. It communicates openness, fun, and a casual spirit of joy. This video is also filmed outdoors in broad daylight. Not in a dark dungeon or BDSM-themed room. There are no dramatic lighting choices or distracting music. It blends into the background. Denise wants us to relax and enjoy the moment. She allows her body to take centerstage. That’s the only thing that we need to focus on. And it’s safe to say that we definitely are!

1:06 – Denise flexes her arms for us, reminding her audience that she’s a bodybuilder, not just a sexy lady who’s currently performing in an erotic video. The vein popping out of her arm is hard to not notice. When she flexes her left bicep, we instantly know that Denise is a genuinely strong woman – both literally and figuratively. The way she makes her bicep dance up and down is both tantalizing and hypnotic.

2:00 – I’m not into feet, but anyone who happens to be are in for a real treat. Lots of guys are really turned on by this sort of thing, but not me. But hey, I don’t judge. Whatever you’re into is cool with me! I’m in no position to judge someone on their personal fetish.

2:34 – Though I’m not into feet, I am into legs. Holy mackerel! Those heels bring out her calves, hamstrings, and quads like nothing else. I don’t know if she could crush a watermelon between her thighs, but I’d sure like to one day find out.

3:07 – We start to see a bit more of what Denise possesses between her gorgeous legs. Things are still covered up with her dress, but she’s definitely not shy about letting us know that her feminine bits are just as intriguing as the rest of her. She’s got big muscles, but she’s also got alluring stuff where the sun doesn’t traditionally shine. Perhaps soon the sun will in fact shine down there…

3:10 – Our first close-up of Denise’s nether regions. I can sense my heart attack building up inside my nervous system. It’s only a matter of time before my next-door neighbor needs to call an ambulance on my behalf. Maybe the paramedics and I can watch this video together.

4:14 – I’m not sure how comfortable that pose is, but we’re sure enjoying the view! That’s the life of a supermodel, though. You’re constantly forced to contort your body in all sorts of disjointed positions for the sake of getting that perfect sexy shot. We’re all thankful for it, even though it’s probably a pain in the ass to maintain. For that level of commitment, we are eternally grateful.

4:24 – Her top finally comes off, revealing her full breasts and perky nipples. If you need further mental reinforcement that Denise is in fact a feminine woman – and that muscular development does not turn a woman into a man or into a masculine lady – this should be it. Need more persuasion that big muscles on a woman can be incredibly sensual?

4:43 – Our first prominent shot at Denise’s labia. If you aren’t familiar with Miss Masino’s past work, this image may come as a shock to you. If you are already familiar with her, this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. It’s her calling hard. Her prized possession. Her most famous asset. It’s the part of her that makes us return to her again and again. You will see why a little later.

5:17 – The way she’s stroking it almost looks like she’s preparing it for action. She isn’t masturbating yet. This is almost like “pre-masturbation,” or priming the pump. She’s warming up. She’s casually tossing the football back and forth to her receivers right before kick-off, loosening up her arm in anticipation of the Big Game. But her sport is much different than football, baseball, or basketball. MUCH different!

5:45 – Finally, she’s completely naked! Took her long enough. I was worried there for a while. Totally concerned.

Not really. But whatever. You get my drift.

5:51 – This is our first shot of her entire nude body. This is her. This is Denise. She’s not hiding anything. Her position implies that she’s consciously on full display. Like a priceless marble statue at The Louvre, Miss Masino wants the whole world to see her for who she is. She’s not holding back anymore. No more modesty. This is where Denise announces to the world that she’s a work of art in flesh form. She’s an artist and her own body is her canvas. The dumbbells at the gym are her paintbrush. Her food, supplements, protein shakes, and workout regimen are her paint. She’s a modern-day Michelangelo and this small backyard porch is the Sistine Chapel.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

6:04 – I love how carelessly and unceremoniously her leopard skin dress is strewn on the floor. It’s like an inconvenience, an afterthought, a minor annoyance. It’s like a large drape covering up the Venus de Milo. It’s a useless piece of fabric that’s preventing us from seeing Denise for who she really is. Or, it’s an oppressive cloth that acts as a proverbial set of handcuffs that holds back Denise’s true nature. Her body deserves to be seen. It’s divine. It defies description. To cover it up is to deny her body its very purpose. To cover it up is akin to burning a book or pouring an expensive bottle of wine down the drain. It’s a terrible waste and demonstrates a blatant disregard for why it exists. Yeah, this is probably a bit too hyperbolic, but Denise Masino has the unique ability to draw that type of attitude out of me.

6:19 – Oh, how pink it is! Now I can discuss this in further detail. Denise’s most famous asset – one that is arguably her moneymaker – is her genitalia. Yes, that sounds odd to say aloud. But it’s 100% true. Her bright pink vagina, thick dark brown labia, and shockingly enormous clitoris are what endear her to her legion of fans. Her prominent genitalia are important for many reasons, but this is chief among them: It proves that women are autonomous sexual beings who are just as entitled to enjoy their bodies as men are.

Denise demonstrates that women are not merely men who lack a penis. They have their own set of genitalia that are unique to them and serve a specific function. The fact that Denise’s bits are larger and more pronounced exemplifies this point. She’s fully capable of experiencing sexual pleasure all by herself, with or without a man (or woman, or whomever). Her vagina isn’t merely an organ that serves the purpose of accepting a man’s penis during intercourse. Her vagina – and the rest of her genitals – can also serve the purpose of providing her pleasure. Reproduction is one purpose. Pleasure is another purpose. Both are legitimate and should be respected. Her large genitalia make this point better than any academic paper could.

7:01 – Denise is inviting us to take a closer look. Don’t mind if we do!

She spreads her labia wide, letting us see the inside of her vagina. If you don’t feel like an amateur OB-GYN, you should by now. Her motioning us to take a closer look is exactly that. An invitation to take a closer look. As opposed to an invitation to enter her sexually through intercourse. I’ve noted before that Denise is unique in that she rarely ever does videos with other men. In fact, I cannot recall ever seeing one like that. Most of her self-produced videos show her just by herself doing solo activities. Occasionally, she’ll have a scene partner or two. But 99.9% of the time, her scene partner(s) are other women. Usually female bodybuilders like her.

Her reluctance (or refusal) to do scenes with men is a personal choice that also works on a strategic level. Because no other men are present on screen with her, we can vicariously insert ourselves into the scene. We can be her imaginary lover. Our fantasy isn’t spoiled by the image of another guy (or multiple guys) doing the deed with her. Rather, we can fantasize in peace knowing we can easily put ourselves in that position without some random dude bro ruining it for us.

So when she motions us to come closer, she’s either telling us to literally take a closer look at her intimate parts or she’s inviting us to fantasize what it would be like to be intimately with her. Either way, it works.

7:38 – This is when things get really, really exciting (as if it hasn’t already). Denise is poking at her erect clit. The size is both eye-popping and shocking. How can a woman get that big? Is it from years of taking steroids? Human growth hormones? Lifting weights? Or was she born this way? I do not claim to know the answer to these questions, but I can guess that drugs played a significant role here. Whatever. The one thing we know for sure is that it isn’t a penis. Denise Masino is a woman. Period, end of story. She isn’t a man. She isn’t trans. Her gender isn’t ambiguous in any way. That large endowment located between her legs is a very large clitoris, not a tiny penis. Even if you are giving her the benefit of the doubt, one cannot help but notice that the shape of her clit resembles the head of a penis. After all, the penis and clitoris are biologically analogous, so that’s not an inaccurate perception. But nevertheless, we know what she has. It ain’t masculine. It’s undeniably feminine.

8:00 – The tip of her clit looks to be the same size as her index finger. Quite impressive!

8:10 – It’s worth noting that Denise doesn’t normally choose to shave or “tide up” her pubic hair. She allows it to remain as is. Lots of porn performers – male and female – shave their pubic hair so that their genitals can be better seen. It also looks cleaner and sexier. But Denise is different. She wants her thick bushy pubic hair to be part of her. She’s telling her audience that she’s not a little girl. She’s not a traditional porn actress. She’s a fully-grown woman. And fully-grown women have pubic hair down there.

Her act of defiance of remaining “bushy” conveys that Denise is an adult who caters to other adults. She’s not interested in immature man-babies coming her way. She wants adult men and women who will enjoy her for who she is to ride the Denise Train. I don’t know about you, but I got my first-class ticket in hand!

8:14 – This is the moment Denise starts stroking her engorged clit with her thumb and index finger. Remarkably, Denise is able to jerk off like a man. Granted, she’s using two fingers instead of her entire hand, but that’s beside the point. How many biologically feminine women can jerk off like Denise is doing here? “Very few” is the answer.

But let’s be clear about one thing: This isn’t Denise “acting like a man.” No, this is a case of Denise acting like a woman while doing an activity that we traditionally associated with men. Women can “jerk off” too if they have the right sized equipment. Clearly, Denise has that at her disposal.

9:24 – Denise continues to stroke her clit. Is she actually bringing herself to orgasm? Eh, maybe. Maybe not. I’d guess she’s truly enjoying it, but not that much. But I could be wrong. Nobody is under the impression that porn accurately portrays real life. It’s about fantasy more than reality. Whether or not Denise is experiencing actual orgasms is secondary to how we feel watching her stroke that beautiful clit up and down. We feel a tremendous amount of eroticism. And that’s the whole point. She’s completing her objectives like a pro.

9:50 – For the first time, we hear Denise speak! She instructs us to “Jerk with me. Jerk it…jerk it.” Denise is usually more vocal in her videos, so this is a rare instance when she remains fairly silent. Some people prefer to cut the unnecessary chatter in porn videos (mostly because the “dialogue” written for such scenes is unbearably awful), but Denise is a different cat. She’s smart, funny, engaging, personable, and likable. You root for her. So you don’t mind if she talks directly to you. It’s like she’s your best friend. A very sexy best friend, that is.

10:18 – More glorious orgasms. Keep ‘em coming! Yes, pun intended.

10:31 – Denise keeps things low key. She doesn’t scream bloody murder when she climaxes or writhes around violently like a demon-possessed child in The Exorcist. Her breathing quickens and she’ll moan at a low volume. Nothing over-the-top. That’s classic Denise. She’s sexy, but she doesn’t “impose” her sexiness on you. She lets her natural self speak for itself. And that’s enough. Subtlety is an art she’s perfected.

10:49 – Once again, we are reminded at how well-endowed she is. Oof!

10:57 – I wonder how she tastes? Probably like fine wine. Unfortunately, I’ll never find out. But I can dream, can I?

11:08 – After a few nice orgasms, Denise decompresses by slowly strokes her labia. She’s satisfied, satiated, and situated finely to take a long nap. After all, she deserves it! As enthralled as we’ve been, we need to let off some steam too. I wonder how…

***

So that’s that. My first FBB Video Review in the bag! I’m unsure if I’ll go quite into so much observational detail moving forward. But anything is possible.

Once again, please email me or let me know below if you have suggestions of other videos I should break down moment-by-moment. This video was a bit longer than most at 11:21. But that doesn’t mean I can’t review others that are of similar length. They just have to be compelling enough.

I hope you had just as much fun as I did. Happy New Year!

5 More Types of Female Muscle Porn that We Cannot Resist

I promised at the end of this post that I might follow it up with additional suggestions of types of female muscle-themed porn that we need right now. Alas, I did not disappoint. Unlike a lot of my fiction stories that I begin and – ahem – don’t always finish, I try not to do that with my nonfiction essays.

Naturally, all of you are welcomed to provide your thoughts in the comments below or to send me a private email message at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com. I’m always up for starting a conversation with a fellow female muscle lover!

So I’ve been doing some further pondering and came up with 5 more types of female muscle porn that we cannot resist – nor do we want to resist. I’m including things I personally enjoy (obviously), but also threw in a few that I’m not really into, but I know for a fact many of you are into. It’s always courteous to be conscientious of your audience.

Denise Masino and Amber DeLuca enjoying each other’s company.
  1. A full hour muscle worship session between two FBBs

We all know about the gloriousness of muscle worship sessions. It’s the opportunity to be able to intimately touch the hard muscles of a real-life female bodybuilder for an hour or two. It’s the closest you can possibly get to meeting and experiencing an FBB’s unique allure. So nothing more about this needs to be explained.

However, how hot would it be to watch two female bodybuilders worshipping each other?

Wow. Uh, wow. That would be something else.

Imagine watching two gorgeous ripped beauties in a room together. No cheesy music. No distracting pop up ads. Just two strong ladies alone in this room. They’re naked. Or maybe they’re clothed but end up getting naked as the video goes along. No, on second thought, let’s just cut to the chase and have them nude from the very beginning.

One of the ladies goes first. For the sake of this fantasy, let’s say the video features Alina Popa and Cindy Landolt. Would the world implode into trillions of pieces if these two celestial beings were in the same room together? Well, yes, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. The Large Hadron Collider possesses less potential to lead to planetary extinction than this fateful meeting. And as lucky viewers, we’d all die happy regardless.

So, Cindy goes first. She takes her sweet time exploring Alina’s chiseled muscles. Her biceps, her shoulders, her chest, her quads, her abdomen, her calves…her everything. The room is quiet, but not silent. There’s no need to fill the atmosphere with unnecessary noise. Cindy is wide-eyed, witnessing up-close a physique that she aspires to attain. And like any schoolyard bully likes to remind his victims, it takes one to know one. Cindy understands how impressive Alina’s body is because she herself must work countless hours and make immeasurable sacrifices in order to sculpt her body to look a certain way. She doesn’t take Alina’s body for granted. She knows too well how difficult it is to look the way she looks.

Soon, it’s Alina’s turn to worship Cindy. Like before, Alina takes her time in the most deliberate fashion possible. She compliments her younger peer’s raw beauty and gorgeous curves, but gently reminds her that she has a long way to go before she achieves her own level of muscularity. Alina doesn’t say this in a meanspirited way, but rather in an encouraging way. Cindy nods her head in agreement and smiles at the sight of Miss Popa feeling up her calves.

It takes one to know one, indeed.

Angela Salvagno showing off one of her favorite toys.
  1. A group of FBBs playing with their favorite toys

Toys aren’t just for kids. Adults play with them too! FBBs are no different. When they aren’t slamming weights around, there are plenty of other types of tools they can be using during their spare time.

Similar to the previous suggestion of a group of FBBs having a clitoris comparison session, this fun excursion would include a similar lineup of female muscle all stars (Denise Masino, Angela Salvagno, Brandi Mae Akers, Colette Guimond, Amber DeLuca, and Autumn Raby appeared in that particular fantasy scenario) participating in a fun group activity. This time, they’d be experimenting with different sex toys. Maybe one at a time, or perhaps all together.

The toys should be varied: Dildos, vibrators, beads, clit pumps, strap-ons, massagers, and so on. It would be neat if each FBB shared their personal favorite toy and explained to the group – like a college professor lecturing her students – why they like it. And demonstrate for everyone why they enjoy it so much, naturally.

It would be a pleasurefest even more audacious than the previous one. Orgasms after orgasms. Lots of moaning. Loads of screaming. Many satisfied smiling faces afterward. And guess what? You may even learn a thing or two. Not to mention feel inspired to discreetly shop on Amazon for a brand new gift for yourself. Who says education can’t also be fun?

Yvette Bova showing Victoria Dominguez who’s boss.
  1. A muscle-bound dominatrix making men (and women) tremble before her

Oh boy. This should be a doozy. While I am not into BDSM activities, many of you are so I shouldn’t ignore your preferences.

Imagine being chained up by your feet and hands. You’re in a standing position, but you’re only able to stand because the chains dictate that you stand. Without them, you’d be lying on the floor passed out. Your knees are weak. Buckling. Your breathing is steady, but troubled. Sweat is dripping off your face. You’re naked. Vulnerable. Frightened. Exposed. And, admittedly, a little excited for what’s about to transpire. You might be blindfolded. Or perhaps your sight is perfectly unobstructed. Either way, the room is dark so it doesn’t really matter. Suddenly, a loud metallic door opens. You hear the clanking of high heels against the cold cement floor. You might have heard a mouse scurry across the room. The clanking gets louder and louder. It’s ominous. You struggle to see who it is, but you know whoever it is, pain and suffering is certainly going to happen to you soon. Then, the mysterious figure makes herself seen. She stands underneath the only functioning lightbulb in the vicinity. You regard her. And you cannot believe what’s standing right in front of you.

She’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunningly gorgeous. A bit older than you were expecting, but still ravenously beautiful. Her face is partially covered up by her long locks of jet black hair. You look down to see the rest of her. And what your eyes experience is nothing like you’ve ever witnessed before.

She’s muscular.

Really, really, really muscular.

Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. A massive torso. Barrel chest. Round butt. Legs as thick as tree trunks. Calves that are larger than most guys’ thighs. And breasts that are prominent enough to accentuate her femininity. You’ve never seen in person a woman this big. This strong. This intimidating. This muscular.

Her outfit is equally intriguing. A black corset that generously shows off her cleavage (her pecs are so well defined it looks like she has multiple levels of cleavage, if that makes any sense), crotchless crimson red panties that exposes her engorged clitoris, fishnet stockings, red leather gloves, and knee high black boots. She approaches you carrying a whip and handcuffs hanging around a belt with the largest gold buckle you’ve ever seen.

And you’ve just noticed that beside you is a table. Sitting on this table are candles, a lighter, a large blue feather, clothespins, needles, a ball gag, cock ring, rope, padlock, and a strap-on with a 9-inch black dildo attached to it.

She smiles at you. You smile back. You’re trembling with fear. But a part of you likes it. How strange is that? Then, after a long moment of complete silence, she starts to go to work.

Who wouldn’t want to be the lucky guy who gets to spend a whole evening with strong ladies like the competitors at Wings of Strength?
  1. One lucky guy and several FBBs to play with

Similar to a reality show where a “normal” person is asked by a camera crew to participate in some crazy adventure, this video would start with an FBB dressed professionally approaching a random guy on the street. It could be on the sidewalk of a busy intersection. Or it could be along a public park in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. Regardless, she strikes up a conversation with this man and promises him a night he’ll never forget.

Of course, he agrees to this evening of unexpected shenanigans. And then she takes him into a car – or unmarked black van, just for the sake of appearances – and drives away to an unknown location. Let’s say they arrive at a nice beachside house or luxurious resort. Once there, our host strips naked and reveals her body. Our male protagonist is shocked by what he sees: his mysterious new friend is jacked from head to toe! And not just totally ripped, but beautiful as a supermodel and alluring as a Greek Siren.

He cannot resist her. Who could?

She slowly approaches him. Sweat is dripping down his brow. She kisses him, stealing his breath away. It’s a miracle he doesn’t die of a heart attack right then and there. Then, the evening’s frivolous activities commences. What could possible transpire over the next few hours? Just use your imagination…

Ask Emery Miller anything. I dare you!
  1. An in-depth, nothing-is-off-limits sit-down interview with a sexy FBB

To be fair, Aziani Iron has already done this several times. But it never hurts for more videos like these to be produced.

The concept is simple. An unseen interviewer (it could be male or female, but it would be really cool if the interviewer is a fellow FBB) speaks to a beautiful female bodybuilder for a long in-depth interview. Sounds boring, right? I mean, who thinks of a Frost/Nixon style interview as a genre of porn, right? Well, it can be…if it’s done the right way.

No question is off limits. Our beloved FBB can be asked anything – questions about her personal life, training regimen, personal records, sex life, sexual preferences, sexual abilities, opinions on just about anything, funny or intriguing stories, and so on. She can be wearing a sexy dress or perhaps nothing. But her answers should be as revealing as her outfit. A few sample questions include:

  • What does your weekly training schedule look like?
  • What are your favorite lifts?
  • What is your favorite body part? Least favorite body part?
  • If you had a million dollars to spend on anything you’d like, what would you spend it on?
  • Please describe a typical day in your life.
  • What would you change about the bodybuilding industry if you had the power to do so?
  • Are you attracted to men, women, both, or is your answer more complicated?
  • What qualities attract you to a person?
  • Favorite sex positions?
  • Do you have any unusual sexual abilities? (e.g. squirting, multiple orgasms, anal orgasms, ability to insert large objects inside vagina, etc.)
  • How big is your clitoris?
  • Does size matter? Why or why not?
  • Biggest penis you’ve ever fucked? Smallest penis you’ve ever fucked? And what was the difference in terms of your experience?
  • Do you have any insecurities?
  • Do you have any strange fetishes?
  • Weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you in the bedroom?
  • Without naming names, who is great in bed? Who is terrible?
  • What celebrity would you like to have sex with?
  • If you ruled the world, what is one major thing you’d change?

Who wouldn’t want to hear Denise Masino, Brandi Mae Akers, Amber DeLuca, Yvette Bova, or any of your favorite FBBs answer these questions? Just let me know by raising your…

…hand? Oh, yes. Hand. Ha.

Am I missing any questions? Or any other porn scenarios? Let me know in the comments below.

Who Wants To Be a Female Bodybuilder?

Who wouldn’t want to become Larissa Reis for a single day?

Over the years I’ve received quite a few emails from readers sharing their own female bodybuilder-related fantasies. After all, I have not been shy about sharing my own from time to time. Most of them are pretty standard – a wish list of FBBs they would like to get intimate with, for example – but occasionally some of them will stick in my mind.

One in particular that I find fascinating is the fantasy of actually becoming a female bodybuilder, perhaps for only a day or two.

For those of us who love female bodybuilders, we mostly fantasize about being with them and doing certain activities with them. Wrestling, muscle worship, BDSM activities, making love, dating, romancing, courting, and so on. Some are pretty mundane…and others are more kinky. But nothing too out of the ordinary, assuming your horizons are as conventionally wide as the general population’s. Yet, how many of you have thought about – through magic or some other supernatural means – literally becoming a real-life female bodybuilder?

Personally, I have not thought about this too extensively. But I will admit that it has crossed my mind on occasion. It would be rather fun to become an FBB, even for a single day. In the spirit of “going with the flow,” let’s think this through:

Imagine you go to bed one night feeling a bit down in the dumps. Life is boring. Life hasn’t always gone your way. Your job stinks. Your love life is a hot mess. Your dumpy apartment is getting even dumpier…and your landlord just announced your monthly rent is about to go up. You feel like your life has passed you over. All the good luck went to someone else. You’re just stuck with the leftovers. And not the good kind of leftovers you get from after Thanksgiving. You’re left with the bland deli sandwiches and tasteless store-bought cookies that cost more to make than it does to purchase. You go to bed that night wishing, even if it’s temporary, that you could wake up and experience something new.

Something exciting. Something out-of-the-ordinary. Something fun.

Something really, really, really fun.

So, you brush your teeth, take a quick shower, and crawl into bed feeling crummy but strangely hopeful. Unexpectedly hopeful, to be exact. You don’t know why, you just do. Maybe it’s because of the sexy video you just watched of Larissa Reis lying in the sand of some far away beach. Or the other video of Ginger Martin flexing her biceps for the camera. And the final video of Brandi Mae Akers jerking off some lucky sap who doesn’t comprehend quite how lucky he is. You love female bodybuilders (you’ve loved them since you were 9 years old after randomly seeing a picture of Cory Everson on the cover of some fitness magazine at the grocery store) and secretly hope you’ll get to dream about them sometime during the night. Dreams seem so real when you’re in the middle of them, don’t they?

Magic!

Right. Off to bed!

Maybe you do dream about something pleasant, or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is when you finally wake up the next morning. At first, nothing seems strange or out of the ordinary. The alarm clock doesn’t go off. You glance over at the time and see that your clock has stopped. But not in a mechanical failure sort of way. Rather, it’s stopped because time itself has stopped. You don’t need to go to work because things like schedules, deadlines, and obligations have temporarily ceased to matter. Oh, how liberating this feeling is!

But then, you notice something quite odd. You’re naked. You don’t recall going to bed naked, but alas, there you are in the nude. You stretch your body and notice how bulky your arms suddenly have become. Gosh, did all that going to the gym and busting my tail finally pay off? How awesome would that be? Finally, I’ve done something right!

But that’s not it. No, not at all. You lift, but not that much. This is something else entirely.

Finally, you sit up in bed and lift the covers off your body. And what you see both frightens and excites you.

You’ve become another person!

And not just any other person, but a woman. You’ve changed genders! And…uh, your level of muscularity. Hm, this is odd indeed! You leap out of bed and run to the bathroom to look in the mirror. And what you see in the mirror’s reflection confirms what you think has just transpired. You’re a whole new person! A female bodybuilder, to be precise.

A lovely, beautiful female bodybuilder. You’re covered from head to toe with large, bulging muscles. You’re totally ripped. Your arms are the size of cantaloupes. Your back is as wide as a door frame. Your thighs are as thick as tree trunks. Your glutes are as firm as a bowling ball. Your penis…

Hold on. You no longer have a penis! You have something much smaller, something that sort of resembles a dick but clearly isn’t…

Holy shit.

Wow!!!

It’s a clitoris. An enormous one! That largest in the world, in fact. Oh shit. Holy fucking shit, this is incredible! How can you possibly explain what has just happened? You can’t, which adds to the mystery and intrigue. But you cannot even attempt to wrap your mind around that now. Who knows how long this blessing will last? Ten minutes? An hour? A whole day? A week? A year? Um, forever? Probably not, but who wants to risk wasting a single second?

If you were to magically become an FBB, would you touch yourself in bed like Hunter Morgan?

What you do after this is totally up to you, my dear reader. I can probably make an accurate guess about how you’d spend your time as an FBB incarnate. You’d probably touch yourself. All over. You’d masturbate. You’d flex in the mirror. You’d go out in public and see how random people react to you. You’d dress in scantily clad fashion. Or maybe you’d dress in nothing at all! That would really get people staring at you. I think I’d try that first. Go out for a casual stroll wearing nothing but my Birthday Suit, showcasing my strong muscles for all to see, whether they want to or not. That would be fun. And a valuable opportunity to conduct a “social experiment.”

Ah yes, all in the name of “science.”

So, what would you do if you could magically transform yourself into a real-life female bodybuilder? If you knew it would wear off in 24 hours (Cinderella-style), what would you do? Who would you meet? What activities would you try out? The possibilities are endless. Email me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com or share your thoughts in the comment section below.

I might publish the most interesting responses. Or not. We’ll see.

Truth or Dare (part two)

A sexy boudoir photoshoot.

Continued from part one

“Uh, I beg your pardon? Are you being serious right now?”

Shawna scoots closer to me on the couch, making my heart stop during mid-beat. I can feel the heat emanating from her body. She pats my right knee and tickles my thigh. My breathing stops. Then she leans over and kisses my neck. The hairs on the back of my head flutter in response. Her musky smell is unmistakable, yet it’s as sweet as perfume.

“Deadly serious, sweetheart,” she begins. “Like I said, I’m feeling adventurous tonight. What do you say?”

What else can I say? I figured I’d never be able to go “all the way” with her ever, but apparently tonight is my chance. Well, if you consider anal to be going all the way. Which, considering my dick hasn’t penetrated her at all up to this point, it sort of is. So what do I have to lose?

“I’d love to! Yeah, let’s do it.” With that reply of affirmation, Shawna excitedly gets up and scurries to her bedroom.

“Wait here, darling! I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Nervously, I remain seated on her sofa. My toes have curled up tightly, a sign that I’m feeling anxious. Can you blame me?

After what seemed like an eternity, Shawna returns to the living room with a bottle of scented oil. Peach seems to be what she selected. I’ve never seen her this giddy before! Her gorgeous eyes are open wide, she’s fidgety, and she cannot sit still to save her life. I can only imagine what the next few minutes are going to be like…

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done anal, but I know my body pretty well,” she says. After nodding her head at me, I begin to undress. Shawna is wearing sweatpants and an old college t-shirt. She’s already barefoot. I neatly pile my clothes in the corner of the room, with my phone and wallet lying on top if it. I’m already erect, which should come as no surprise to anyone. Soon, Shawna is completely nude as well. And she looks just as gorgeous as ever. She’s squatting heavier right now, which is evident by the advanced thickness of her thighs, hamstrings, and butt. God, her butt is perfect. So shapely, rounded, and full. I cannot believe I’m about to enter it in a short while.

Shawna isn’t wearing any makeup, which doesn’t matter because she’s a natural beauty. I swear she’s even more beautiful without makeup. But maybe I’m biased because I like her so much. She spreads a few blankets on the floor with the reverential meticulousness of a religious ceremony. Finally, she gets on her knees and wags a finger at me. I sit down next to her. We kiss. She strokes my hardened penis, tickles my scrotum, and sticks her tongue deep inside my mouth. Before I penetrate her, she wants to penetrate me first. She’s marking her territory. I do nothing but surrender to her authority.

Jessica Williams looking as hot as any woman can possibly look.

“The key to successful anal sex is adequately preparing the anus,” she explains with the serious candor of an academic. “Let’s oil up your fingers. Then, I want you to open me up.” Shawna dabs some of the sweet fluid onto my fingers. I cannot think. My brain is frozen. I can barely move. I need her to take control because I have no fucking clue what I’ve just gotten myself into! Next, Shawna gets on all fours and sticks her perfectly sculpted ass upward. My hand dripping with scented oil, I take a deep breath and observe where my fingers are about to go.

Her anus looks pretty.

Yes, that’s a rather strange observation to make, but it’s true. It’s dark brown. It’s small. It’s tight. It looks like a cosmic black hole, which is funny unto itself. She shaves her pubic hair, so the surrounding area is as smooth as it can be. Hesitantly, I stick my right index finger inside her. Slowly. Thankfully, I clipped my fingernails earlier this week (coincidentally, of course) so there’s no risk of inadvertently injuring her. I would never want to cause her any pain. Shawna moans in response to my penetration, which I hope is an indication I’m doing this right.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes, I do darling. Thank you!” Emboldened, I stick my entire index finger up her anus. It’s as tight as I’d imagine it would be. Shawna is breathing rhythmically, which keeps her relaxed. I stop, not knowing if I should continue or not. But she isn’t giving any signs that I’m hurting her. Then, I slowly stick my middle finger inside her, with my index finger still there. She groans louder, but still isn’t showing any hints of pain. I playfully experiment with thrusting my fingers in and out of her. In and out. In and out. Rhythmically. Leisurely. Shawna purrs like a kitten.

Hey, I think I’m getting the hang of this!

I move my fingers in a circular motion. She doesn’t speak. I can’t see her face, but I’m guessing her eyes are closed. She’s drinking in this moment. She’s feeling every sensation and treasuring it. Finally, I thrust my ring finger inside her, making it three total. Shawna is in heaven.

“Oh, fuck yeah…!”

Shawna rarely swears. She grew up Presbyterian, after all. So if she’s casually dropping the f-bomb, that means something.

“Oh, baby, you know how to please a lady.” Shawna drops her butt close to my knees. “I think you’ve adequately prepared me. Now let’s prepare you…”

She reaches over and snatches the bottle of oil. I hold my breath. Shawna drips a small amount onto her fingers, wraps them around my erection, and moistens me up. I try my hardest not to accidentally come prematurely! Once my manhood is glistening with lubrication, Shawna declares her desire to get the party started.

“You’re now ready. I’ve been ready. Let’s do this.”

Autumn Raby looking ready.

Oh boy. This is it. For all the marbles. It’s Game 7 of the World Series. Bottom of the 9th. Two outs. Down by three. Bases loaded. 3-2 count. This is where I need to come through in the clutch. This is my time! Time to prove my worth!

Dear God. I need to stop being so damn overdramatic.

I close my eyes, sigh, and open them slowly. I take a moment to observe how the light shining from the nearest ceiling fan perfectly shows off Shawna’s big muscles. They’re curvy, hard, strong, and unmistakably feminine. She’s breathing deeply, almost like she’s preparing to meditate on top of a snow-capped mountain for the next twenty years. I can feel my heart pounding a million beats per minute. Faster than a European techno remix album.

“What are you waiting for?” Shawna impatiently inquires. That wakes me out of my internal monologuing. I pat her on the butt for good measure.

“Uh, nothing.”

I pause. Then, I grab my penis. It’s still erect, as hard as it can be. It’s also dripping wet. With my left hand, I hold on to her left hip. Her denseness turns me on further. With my right hand, I grip the base of my penis. The tip hovers over her prepared entryway. Shawna’s breathing has steadied. I can stay like this forever, but that wouldn’t do either of us any good. So, I go in for the kill.

Gradually, I squeeze the broad head of my manhood inside her anus. It’s difficult at first, but the lube definitely helps. Shawna moans. I’m too nervous to feel any kind of pleasure. Once the whole tip is inside, I brace both of her hips and push in all the way. Inch by inch. As methodically as I can handle it. Once I’m completely inside, Shawna playfully wiggles her butt from side to side.

“Oh, damn. Mmmmmmm. I love this!” Shawna exclaims.

Fully confident, I move in and out of her rhythmically. She’s so tight, despite the work my fingers did earlier. Once I get past the initial shock of realizing that my dick is inside a beautiful muscular woman’s anal cavity, I begin to enjoy the experience.

“Ooh, this is different…” my braindead self observes aloud. “I also love this!”

Still on all fours, Shawna’s moans turn to growls. I cannot even begin to describe the noises I’m making. We must look like wild animals mating in the jungle. The primitive position we’re in, mixed with our involuntary guttural noises, is very beast-like. But we are two wild beasts. In this moment, Shawna and I are no longer human beings living in the civilized world. We are primordial creatures experiencing selfish pleasure for its own sake. Shawna has stopped moving, choosing to only experience my thrusting. My pace quickens in anticipation of my inevitable climax. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

“Oh fuck!” Shawna screams.

“Ohhh!” I also scream.

One final powerful thrust later, I collapse on top of Shawna’s massive body as I empty myself into her. On and on my spurts last, as if she’s draining every drop out of me. She can have all of it if she wants. Shawna falls to the floor on her tummy. Her heavy breathing lifts me off the ground – up and down, up and down, up and down. We stay like that for several minutes. I lean over and kiss the mounds of her back muscles. She’s as wide as a freight train.

Whew.

This is what Shawna’s living room looks like.

Eventually, I roll off her. We face each other on our sides on top of the blankets. My softened penis dangles freely. Shawna pinches it playfully. One last tiny drop of semen leaks out. It drips onto the blanket. Shawna giggles. Then we kiss. The tips of our tongues do a little dance. We continue to kiss for the next four or five minutes. When will we stop?

Finally, Shawna stands up. She rubs her sore anus and twists her torso from side to side, causing her back to make a distinctive cracking sound. She groans in pain. I cannot believe how loud it is! I guess all those years of heavy weightlifting has taken its toll on Shawna’s body. Her physique is eyepopping, but it does come at a cost. She then notices me noticing her back cracking. I can tell she quickly wants to change the subject.

“That was amazing, darling.” Shawna leans over and kisses me, possessing me with her lips. After her momentary display of vulnerability, she wants nothing more than to reassert her power and dominance. “I need to clean myself off. But when I get back, it’ll be your turn in our little Truth or Dare game. Be right back!”

Shawna disappears into the bathroom. I remain on the floor, laying on top of a pile of comfy blankets. But I cannot help but still think about what just happened. For the first time ever, Shawna was vulnerable. She looked insecure. Was she thinking about aging? Is being with me a reminder that she’s no longer a young woman, but a woman approaching middle age? Like I said before, I have no idea how old she is. But she must be 15 or maybe 20 years older than me. She’s as gorgeous as a supermodel and the crow’s feet around her eyes do not diminish her considerable beauty one bit.

A bottle of sensual oil.

Hm. Maybe I’m overthinking things here. Which is funny considering I just made love to her!

Well, anally made love to her. Which is the same thing, right?

Uh, right?

My train of thought is shattered when Shawna sneaks up behind me and lifts me up off the floor. I gasp. She kisses my neck and playfully wrestles me onto the couch. We laugh. After a few moments of silence, I finally speak.

“Okay. You gave me a dare. I’ll give you a truth. Are you ready?”

She sits up and crosses her massive legs. “Ready as I’ll ever be!”

“Great,” I begin. I take a deep breath to gin up the courage to ask my question.

“Does size matter?”

5 Types of Female Muscle Porn that We Need Right Now

Just make sure you aren’t watching porn on a work computer. And remember to erase your browsing history every so often.

Gone are the days when we had to hide contraband copies of Playboy magazine underneath our mattress, praying Mom wouldn’t find it when she does the laundry.

Today, we don’t need physical copies of magazines to get our fill of whatever erotic media we find titillating. All we need is the Internet. And the ability to escape detection. And the smarts not to do any of this on a work computer.

Oh, how spoiled we all are!

Yes, spoiled. This is especially true for fans of female bodybuilders. Whether we know it or not, we live in a Golden Age. Hundreds of thousands of photos, hours upon hours of video, and a copious number of social media accounts can be accessed right at our fingertips. We can enjoy our favorite muscular women without breaking a sweat. And in many cases, we don’t even have to pay a single dime. What a miraculous age we live in, indeed! This is a reminder that we cannot take this for granted. Many moons ago this wasn’t the case. But it is now. Hurrah!

And yet, despite the high volume of free or affordable female muscle porn we have at our disposal, there’s still a void yet to be filled. Perhaps the first step is to speak it into existence. After all, the Wright brothers didn’t come up with the blueprint for creating the first ever successful flying aircraft by twiddling their thumbs and daydreaming about how cool it would be to do that.

No, they did it by taking action. The idea had to materialize silently in their heads, yes, but that wasn’t sufficient. Once the idea was born, action had to lead to results which then led to accomplishments. That’s the way new inventions are made.

Most of the female muscle-themed porn out there is pretty basic. Flexing their muscles. Posing. Dancing. Having sex with men, women, or both. Working out. Masturbating. Using a clit pump. Talking dirty. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary. These are things that non-FBBs can do as well (including using a clit pump). But many of us want more. I want more. So I’d like to put on my Hollywood producer hat and suggest some scenes/scenarios that I’d love to see created sometime in the future.

Without further ado, in now particular order here are 5 types of female muscle porn that we need right now.

I’d like to imagine Kathy Connors would host a massive female muscle orgy if such were to transpire.
  1. A large-scale female muscle orgy

I’ve seen videos where four female bodybuilders come together (no pun intended) to enjoy each other’s company. I’ve seen threesomes. I’ve seen scenes involving a guy. I’ve seen scenes involving absolutely no guys – at least no guys in front of the camera. But picture this: An empty room. Maybe it’s in a fancy upscale mansion like the one in Eyes Wide Shut. You can probably guess where I’m going with this.

In the middle of this room are mattresses, pillows, blankets, bottles of lubrication, and plenty of sex toys. All the dildos, vibrators, and stimulators you could possibly ask for. The room is dark but lit strategically by candlelight. Or, there could be Chinese lanterns hanging overhead, giving off a sensual orange glow. Soft music plays in the background, perhaps a lone piano player or cellist. The scene is set.

One by one, muscular women of all shapes and sizes enter the room. They are all nude. A few might be wearing lingerie or nightwear to begin the night, but we all know they will eventually be discarded. The women are diverse in every sense of that word. Women of all ethnicities, ages, body types, and personalities. Some are as young as 18, others are as old as 70. But they all have one thing in common: they take care of their bodies.

There are big massive bodybuilders in contest shape. There are curvy bodybuilders in offseason shape. There are figure competitors, fitness models, track and field athletes, amateur gym rats, long distance runners, and everyone in between. There are Caucasian female bodybuilders, black female bodybuilders, Asian female bodybuilders, Latina female bodybuilders, Middle Eastern female bodybuilders, and so on. All of them confident, strong, and aroused. Some are more beautiful than others. But all of them are worthy of our awe and respect.

The participants lie down in the middle of the room and begin the festivities. They kiss, stroke their bodies, caress their muscles, masturbate, and make love with whomever is willing to be made love to. Many of the toys are used. The bottles of lubrication nearly run empty, but thankfully there’s plenty more yet to be opened. Eventually, there are 60 or 70 women partaking in this orgy. An orgy of female muscle. Strong feminine flesh is strewn around everywhere, carelessly and artlessly.

Yet, it is the most beautiful piece of art ever conceived.

Soon, cries of orgasm resonate throughout the whole house. Orgasms pile on top of more orgasms. The screaming is deafening. It’s a pleasure fest. Pure pleasure. Everybody gets what they want…and then some. There’s cunnilingus, sex with dildos, masturbation, muscle worship, and making out happening everywhere.

The image of this orgy will forever be burned into your memory. Arms, legs, hands, feet, heads, torsos, and butts are intertwined in a messy pile. An observer cannot tell where one FBB begins and another FBB ends. It’s a free-for-all. Everybody is covered in sweat and other illicit bodily fluids. At its peak, there are 100+ women involved, maybe more. Nobody can tell for sure.

It should be noted that there’s one rule that must be followed. No exceptions.

No men are allowed to participate in the orgy.

Period, end of story.

Men can watch from a respectful distance, but under no circumstances can they join in. In fact, there are a few men present. They keep their distance. Some have pulled out their manhoods and started masturbating. Others are watching with intent fascination. But what happens in the peanut gallery is unimportant. What truly matters is what happens in the middle of that room.

After an hour or two, the orgy starts to dwindle. Participants either move to a different part of the mansion – to grab drinks, use the toilet, or meet up with their male partners – or fall fast asleep. Less than a dozen are still active. After their orgasms subside, everyone decides to call it quits. The last few FBBs with energy still left in their systems chat about their hopes and dreams.

You, as the observer, cannot be happier. Even though you weren’t allowed to partake, you leave the party feeling like you just saw the Greatest Show on Earth. And it ain’t the circus. It’s an epic female muscle orgy.

Denise Masino pleasuring herself.
  1. Clit comparison session with Denise, Angela, Brandi Mae, Colette, Amber, Autumn, and others

Now this can get really interesting! Imagine a living room with a half dozen or so female bodybuilders sitting around. At the very least, we have Denise Masino, Angela Salvagno, Brandi Mae Akers, Colette Guimond, Amber DeLuca, and Autumn Raby present. There could be others too. But let’s focus on these six for now.

The mood is more light than the previously described orgy. The room is better lit. All the ladies are nude or nearly nude. And…they’re all equipped with their very own clit pump.

What’s a clit pump, you may ask? Oh you have much to learn, grasshopper.

After exchanging pleasantries, the six ladies start to play with their toys. They place the clear plastic (or glass) tubes over their engorged nubs of flesh and pump it until it gets as large as it can be. Then, they compare sizes. Who’s got the biggest meat? Is it Denise? Angela? Colette? If I were a betting man – and I am not – my money would be on Colette. But I would be glad to be wrong. Unless I put a lot of money down.

How many inches are these ladies’ clits when elongated in these tubes? Two inches? Three inches? Uh…

four inches?

After they’ve had their little “competition,” you can probably guess what happens next. The next portion of the video would feature so much cunnilingus it would make every customer at a Portland lesbian bar blush. The beauty of this clit orgy is that it’s no longer a competition. It’s a celebration. A party. A pure hedonistic ceremony. Every participant experiences so many orgasms she forgets how many she’s had when all is said and done.

That would be hot.

Natalia Gorbachev and her male counterpart showing off their sexy bodies.
  1. A tastefully done cinematic sex scene featuring a muscular woman

This doesn’t need to be a full-length feature film – although I certainly wouldn’t complain if such a thing were to come to pass – but at the very least a 15-20 minute short film. The setting can be simple. A secluded beach house. A cabin in the woods. A high-rise condominium. A mansion. A castle. A hotel room. A campfire. Anywhere. It doesn’t really matter.

Let’s keep the cast of characters also simple. Just a male and female performer. The guy should be someone famous and good looking. Chris Hemsworth or Henry Cavill would be two great choices. So we’re not talking about some shlubby Average Joe or a (and I shudder to write this word) “Schmoe.” We’re talking a guy who’s handsome, charming, and also in great physical shape.

And that’s the rub. The world desperately needs (alright, alright, I desperate need) a short erotic film featuring a good looking guy and a good looking muscular lady getting it on. But it’s not just doing the deed. It should also show foreplay, flirting, the build-up, and the aftermath. And repeated coital shenanigans as necessary, of course! Something like this that’s tastefully and artfully produced could go a long way in changing people’s perceptions about female bodybuilders.

They can be sexy, attractive, and desirable too. We know that, but not everybody agrees. So not only would this be self-gratifying, this could also serve a larger noble cause by shifting society’s paradigm with regards to female beauty and strength. As female bodybuilding fans, we value strength not just in the figurative sense, but also in the literal sense.

I’m sure there are plenty of film school students or Martin Scorsese/Christopher Nolan wannabes who would jump at such an opportunity. It’s bold, considered unchartered territory, and has the potential of going “viral.” No R-rated film can ever go viral in a “Gangnam Style” kind of way, but it doesn’t have to. And that’s the other part of this too. This shouldn’t be too graphic in terms of nudity. We don’t need to see gratuitous close-ups of genitals banging against each other. There’s plenty of crap like that out there already. Yuck. Rather, this should be something that everybody involved can feel proud of. I’m talking about a film that uses professional-grade equipment, employs a professional-quality production team, and produces a cinematic-quality final product. It’s not pornographic. It’s art.

Is that too much to ask? So far the answer appears to be “yes.”

Linda Steel in the middle of a busy highway. I wonder if she caused any car crashes?
  1. A “hidden camera” video of a female bodybuilder strutting around in public

I’ve written about this fantasy before, so check it out before reading further. But here’s the gist of what I’d love to see:

A camera operator follows a female bodybuilder around. Or, maybe there are multiple cameras. At first, she’s wearing something skimpy but legal. For example, cut off shorts, a sports bra, and high heels. Or a bikini. Or a crop top and yoga pants. Or a low-cut cocktail dress. Let’s say a bikini, just for kicks and giggles.

So she’s wearing a bikini. It’s a hot summer day. Maybe she’s near a beach, or maybe she’s not. Let’s say she is, just so her decision to wear a bikini in public doesn’t seem weird. The camera follows her. She looks incredibly attractive. It could be Cindy Landolt or Minna Pajulahti or Theresa Ivancik or Tina Nguyen. She’s smoking hot. Drop dead gorgeous. Eye-popping. Unforgettable. Unavoidable. Alluring.

She walks around a crowded part of town. People will inevitably stop and stare. Men, women, children, even a few dogs and pigeons. She has nowhere in particular to go. She’s just strutting around. As cool as a cucumber. She’s in no hurry. Her pace is slow and methodical. She wants everyone to look at her. She’s intentionally trying to draw attention to herself…by just being herself. She isn’t loud. She isn’t flamboyant. She isn’t aggressive in trying to garner attention. All she does is just be herself. And let her sculpted body speak for itself. Which is more than enough.

As people stop and stare, she also stops and allows people to drink her in. If people take out their cell phones and film her, she enthusiastically lets them. If this moment goes viral, all the better! They have her permission to amplify her.

This hypothetical female bodybuilder walks down every busy street so that the maximum number of people can see her. She’s a living, breathing piece of art that has escaped from the local museum. No stone is left unturned. This is her moment to shine. Her fucking moment.

Eventually, she stops. If she’s drawn a crowd of followers, they also stop. Then, she shocks the world.

She strips completely naked.

There will be audible gasps. Rude comments. People scurrying away. Onlookers seeing if there are any police officers around who will arrest her for indecent exposure. A few car crashes may ensue. Teenage boys everywhere finally accept the existence of the Almighty. After the initial shock wears off, she poses for her admiring audience. Bodybuilding poses. Glamour poses. She’s Beyoncé, that is if she ever decided to become a bodybuilder. She bends over to expose her genitalia. She clit is as hard as a rock and jutting out so far people are asking the same question:

“Is that a penis?”

It’s not, of course. But how can the general public not think that? How could it not cross their delicate little minds? Eventually, she either dresses back to “decency” or runs away into hiding. The camera captures it all. The buildup, her antics, and everyone’s reactions. These folks certainly didn’t wake up that morning expecting to see a show quite like this. But they’re glad that they did.

Nothing is sexier than watching Shannon Courtney deadlifting and squatting heavy weights.
  1. A compilation of female bodybuilders lifting really, REALLY heavy weights

These videos already exist, but wouldn’t it be awesome if you could sit down and watch a 60-minute compilation of several female bodybuilders, powerlifters, athletes, and amateur gym rats lifting really, really, really heavy weights?

Deadlifts.

Power cleans.

Squats.

Lunges.

Bicep curls.

Bench press.

Shoulder press.

Triceps press.

Hammer curls.

Standing T-bar row.

And whatever else it is that bodybuilders do to bulk up.

Imagine just watching this for an hour straight. Hopefully, all the video footage is shot on a good quality camera, not a grainy cell phone that captures only a few hundred pixels at the most. And unlike a lot of female muscle porn, this video isn’t meant to be glamorous, enticing, or sexy.

Yes, you read that right. This isn’t meant to be sexy.

But it still is.

For fans of female bodybuilders, workout videos are a form of pornography. It’s not explicitly sexual. They don’t get nude or anywhere close to nude. In fact, they often are the complete opposite of nude. These ladies are in the gym to work, not play around. They’re wearing sweat pants, sweat shirts, earphones, weightlifting belts, straps, knee pads, gloves, and a lot more clothing than you’d normally expect from a video that’s considered “pornographic.”

That’s because the thrill isn’t in what the ladies are wearing, but in what they’re doing. They’re lifting. Heavy weights. Really heavy weights. They’re sweating. They’re swearing. They’re chugging Gatorade between sets. They’re not wearing makeup or have their hair done up fancy. They’re not in the mood to talk. They may even get annoyed that there’s a camera recording their every move. They’re not there to show off. They’re not putting on a performance. Instead, they’re getting down and dirty. They’re working their asses off.

They’re looking unglamorous in the gym so that they can look irresistibly hot once they leave the gym. All the heavy lifting, eating, supplementing, and drinking of protein shakes goes toward one goal and one goal only: Getting pumped, vascular, shredded, chiseled, and as massive as possible.

Oh yeah.

There’s nothing more arousing than watching a female bodybuilder labor hard in the weight room. Watching her grunt, breathe hard, and struggle to complete that one last repetition makes our blood boil. It sends electricity throughout our body. We cannot get enough of it. It is – for lack of a better word – pornographic.

***

So there you have it. These are five suggestions of the types of female muscle porn we need right now. These are my ideas, not yours. Obviously. Did I miss anything? Do you have anything you’d like to add? Or, do some of these videos actually exist and I’m not aware of it yet? Please provide your feedback in the comments below or send me a friendly email at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Perhaps I’ll follow up this article with another one if I get enough creative suggestions. Thank you!

Angela Salvagno: A Female Bodybuilder for All Seasons

Angela Salvagno is a woman for every season.

The Perfect Female Bodybuilder may not exist. Never has, never will. But “perfection,” like any aesthetic (and non-statistical) standard, is all in the eye of the beholder. Perfection is an opinion more than an objective fact, something we should remember more often. It’ll make our personal relationships much more bearable.

And, of course, no female bodybuilder will ever be universally liked. Or universally fawned upon. Or, for that matter, universally accepted as being “more than okay.” Thankfully, consensus is not always the best measurement of one’s self-worth. Especially when we live in a world where there are five (and counting) sequels to “Transformers.” That’s five too many.

Angela Salvagno isn’t a consensus “favorite FBB of all time” pick. Nor is she someone who is polarizing. I don’t think there are people who love or hate her. It seems more fair to say that there are people who love her, like her, are indifferent to her, and could not care less about her. Hate her? Nah. That’s not a reasonable response.

Personally, I love Angela Salvagno. I think she’s awesome. She isn’t one of my all-time favorites, although she deserves to be in my top 10. As the kids like to say these days, she isn’t the GOAT. Denise Masino is a GOAT. Alina Popa is a GOAT. Cindy Landolt is a GOAT.

Huh?

Oh yeah. “GOAT” means Greatest of All Time. Not “goat” as in what Charlie Brown tried to avoid being labeled on the baseball mound.

Angela Salvagno is a Female Bodybuilder for All Seasons. That isn’t to mean that she’s philosophically, spiritually, and morally incorruptible in the face of external societal pressure. No, that would be Sir Thomas More. Rather, Miss Salvagno incorporates a multitude of characteristics that make up the identity of a modern female bodybuilder. She does many of them well. Not perfectly, but well enough to capture our undivided attention.

Angela Salvagno was born on January 13, 1976 in Willows, California. After growing up in Orland, CA, Angela now lives in South Florida. Or maybe she’s moved back and resides in Northern California again. Who knows. Her biographical information is sketchy at best. She is of Italian, German, and Native American descent. She’s always been sporty, having participated in baseball and Tae Kwon Do before pursuing bodybuilding. She began lifting weights at age 16 and competed in her first show when she was 23 (give or take). She started competing in 1999 and can still be seen on the stage today. That’s 20 years as a serious competitor, for those of you keeping score at home. Most recently, she competed in the 2018 IFBB Tampa Pro, placing 11th in the Women’s Bodybuilding category. Miss Popa finished 1st, naturally.

Speaking of which, unlike Alina Popa very few bodybuilding fans will consider Angela an elite competitor. Her résumé is still spectacular, though. She’s done quite a lot in her career on the stage, but in recent years she hasn’t made large waves. But she doesn’t need to.

I’ve written about “classy” vs. “smutty” female bodybuilders before. As an example, Cindy Landolt and Deidre Pagnanelli are classy while Yvette Bova and Kathy Connors are smutty. Before we continue, I’d like to point out that these labels have nothing to do with who these women are individually. Rather, these are the public personas they’ve each chosen to adopt. This is how they choose to market themselves. Just because Cindy and Deidre keep nudity to a minimum (and never have sex on camera) doesn’t mean they’re prudes. Just because Yvette does videos where she has unprotected sex with a half dozen men all at once doesn’t mean she’s less deserving of respect. Her choice to be smutty is a personal choice. It empowers her. It enlivens her. It provides her with a steady career. And income. Regardless of which path these ladies choose to take, they all demand our love, affection, and most of all, utmost respect. Period, end of story. So this is not a judgement, but an observation.

That being said, Angela definitely leans in the “smutty” side of the spectrum. She is not hesitant about showing off her body. Every inch of her body. She’s worked hard to achieve her physique and she wants the entire universe to see it on display. She isn’t tall (she stands at only 5’ 3”) but she’s statuesque nevertheless. She’s perfectly sculpted. Her olive complexion allows her musculature to stand out. When she’s strutting around in high heels, she achieves full Muscle Goddess status. And when she’s being dirty…well, that’s when she achieves full Sex Goddess status.

Physically, Angela is nearly everything you want in a female bodybuilder. I was surprised to see that she’s only 5’ 3”. Another source says she’s 5’ 5”. Regardless, I was shocked. When you watch her videos and see her photos, she looks like she’s 6 feet tall. Towering. Authoritative. Powerful. In reality, she’s shorter than me. That’s an odd thing to think about. Her skin is perfect. It’s golden brown like the spray tan most bodybuilders have to use when competing. I don’t know if she uses any of that before walking on stage, but it doesn’t appear as though she has to.

Her face is pretty, but not stunning. Angela is more beautiful than the clichéd “girl-next-door” aesthetic, but she isn’t so gorgeous you feel like looking at her will turn you into stone. She has curves in all the right places but just enough muscle mass to appease those who value that sort of thing. She’s feminine but tough. Cocky to the point that it may annoy you, but you don’t care because you’re captivated by her sensual personality. Miss Salvagno’s “bad girl” act can wear thin at times, however that’s a small bone to pick. Overall, there isn’t much I can complain about her. I really, really like her. A lot. She is one of my favorites, after all.

An interesting observation: Like many FBBs, Denise doesn’t do many videos where she’s having sex with a man. She’s done videos where she wrestles guys, but not too many where she’s knocking boots with them between the sheets. There was, however, one noteworthy appearance on Showtime’s reality show Gigolos. Angela appeared in episode 5 of season 4 that aired on May 16, 2013. She has sex with the show’s star, Nick Hawk, after she shamelessly shows off her muscled physique for the camera. You can watch a clip of it on YouTube. You’ll have to dig around for the entire thing.

But other than that, Angela remains surprisingly chaste on camera. She isn’t quite like Denise Masino, whom I will compare Angela to momentarily. Denise is practically virginal when it comes to her on-camera persona. And on the other end of the continuum is Yvette Bova, who loves to stick as many penises into every orifice possible. Miss Bova craves getting it on with the cameras rolling. Denise is more shy – or professionally/morally/philosophically disinclined – about doing that. That’s her choice, of course. Not a complaint.

Angela loves showing off her body and being sexy, even if doing the deed with a guy or gal isn’t frequently part of the equation. I don’t think that’s anybody’s loss. She gives us plenty to enjoy. When she isn’t talking dirty to the camera, Angela can often be seen spreading her legs out wide and giving viewers an up-close look at her genitalia. Here is where it is appropriate to compare Miss Salvagno to Miss Masino.

Like Denise, Angela possesses beautiful genitalia. Long labia, enormous clitoris, pink vaginal walls, and neatly trimmed pubic hair give her the complete package. She’s gorgeous down there. I can’t tell if her clit is larger or smaller than Denise’s, but that’s almost beside the point. Both ladies have memorable genitals that fans cannot get enough of. It’s hypnotic, an addictive drug you can’t shake off. Once you get a good look at it, you’ll want to see more of it, over and over again. And like Denise, Angela knows it’s one of her most prized assets. It’s her moneymaker. Her fans love what she’s packing down there between her thick legs. She’s sporting more meat than some guys can claim to have (although that’s quite an exaggeration, so please forgive me). All in all, Miss Salvagno gives credence to the notion that women are independent and sovereign sexual beings who desire pleasure just as much as men do. If not more. There’s no doubt that Miss Salvagno enjoys her sexual abilities.

Unlike Denise, Angela isn’t as prolific in creating new videos for her fans. She’ll do videos if approached by a multimedia production company like Aziani Iron or SheMuscle. But she isn’t one to take matters into her own hands and film weekly videos of her doing sexy things like masturbating her clit or teasing us while wearing an enormous strap-on. As strange as this sounds in the 21st Century, Angela doesn’t even appear to have a personal website. She’s on Twitter and Instagram, though. But that’s about it. Very odd for a female bodybuilder in 2019.

But that’s okay. Miss Salvagno doesn’t need to produce the same abundance of media as Miss Masino. That would be awesome, but it’s her choice if she prefers to have a more low-key web presence. But what places her in the upper stratosphere of female bodybuilders is the fact that she can do it all. She’s considered “mainstream” within the bodybuilding industry, but also dabbles in “adult entertainment” with gleeful pride. I’m guessing the taboo of female bodybuilders also doing porn has waned in recent years. In the past, I believe such activities would be frowned upon by competition judges. Today, it’s most likely accepted (even begrudgingly) as the cost of doing business. More specifically, there isn’t enough cost of doing business so modern day FBBs need to create their own business in order to put food on the table and keep the lights on.

So she can compete on the stage and at the same time mark her territory in the world of pornography. On top of that, she’s well known among FBB fans worldwide. And she’s considered conventionally beautiful too. Well, maybe not as gorgeous as a Victoria’s Secret underwear model, but beautiful enough to make your heart flutter when you see her. She has a raspy voice, but she knows how to use it to her advantage. Especially when she’s having an orgasm. When she’s coming, she squeaks, squawks, and splutters to her heart’s delight. She doesn’t hold back. It’s quite a sight to see! And music to my ears.

We must talk about this. Angela, like many FBBs, is one well-endowed woman. There’s a reason why she isn’t shy about showing off her clit for the camera. She also has meaty labia that can stretch for several inches. Five or six inches, maybe? It’s hard to say for sure. Her considerable genitalia is a useful reminder that women are not merely men without penises. She may not have a penis, but she certainly has genitals. And unlike many women, her genitals are not entirely internal. Lots of it is external. I’m a big believer in the theory that this is at the heart of explaining our society’s historical attitudes toward male and female sexuality.

It’s easy to see men as sexual creatures because their sex organ is obvious. It’s outward. It’s external. It’s plain to see. Women, by contrast, possess sex organs that are less obvious. The vagina is inward. It’s internal. It’s not something you can plainly see – unless she spreads her legs out wide and parts her folds with her fingers as if she’s preparing to get a gynecological exam. Because of this difference, humankind naturally treats men as the proactive sexual provider and women as the passive sexual recipient. In the act of reproduction, that is technically true. But physiologically and psychologically speaking, that cannot be further from the truth.

The truth is that women are in fact sexual beings. They can be the proactive sexual provider if they are allowed to play that role. And, if they want to play that role. Many cultures forbid women from being the one who initiates sex. However, Angela Salvagno and many of her peers are living proof that this is a social construct, not destiny. Biology doesn’t determine your fate. Miss Salvagno’s meaty genitals prove that not only is she capable of experiencing sexual pleasure, but her genitals exist solely for sexual pleasure. Her genitals are not a commodity but a prize. It’s a tool for pleasure. Her pleasure. If a partner happens to be involved with her journey in seeking pleasure, that’s fantastic. But it’s not a requirement. Far from it.

Instead, she can experience as many orgasms as she wants all on her own. She doesn’t need a partner. She has her own fingers. And equipment like dildos, clit pumps, and vibrators. Her very existence is a slap in the face to the antiquated argument that women are not capable of being in charge of their own sexual destinies. This is part of why Angela is so special. Unlike the countless number of female porn actresses who participate in the world of “adult entertainment,” Angela isn’t trying to flatter her (almost) nonexistent male costar. She doesn’t screech, scream, moan, groan, gasp, swear like a sailor, and cry out to the Almighty just because her male viewers like hearing that stuff and it makes her male costar look like a stud. She screeches and moans because she’s enjoying herself. She’s experiencing her pleasure the way she wants to experience it. With or without a partner.

Because Angela’s gigantic genitals are right in front of you (of course, with a computer screen acting as a pesky medium), you cannot deny her sexual sovereignty. You cannot deny that her clit exists for one function only…and her willingness to utilize its function as often as she desires. Miss Salvagno is a Liberated Woman epitomized. She is who she is and she refuses to apologize if anybody is offended or disgusted by her antics.

Whether she’s measuring the size of her clit when elongated in a clip pump tube or wearing a comically large brown strap-on dildo, Angela Salvagno knows she’s sexy, knows her audience thinks she’s sexy, and doesn’t care that the general public ignores her. Heck, in that episode of Gigolos her scene partner Nick Hawk looks intimidated by her. Perhaps it’s all an act (which is probably closer to the truth since there’s nothing “real” about “reality television”), but he seems to appear like his masculinity is being tested when he’s with her. She has big muscles like he does. She seems in control. He seems more like the client than she does. He feels compelled to prove his masculine superiority because her very presence challenges it.

Does he – and by vicarious extension, every man who is watching this episode – succeed? It doesn’t matter, to be honest. Her feminine strength doesn’t invalidate his masculine strength. She may make some men feel insecure (many FBBs do, for the record) about themselves, but that’s more of a reflection of them than it is of her. She may excel at projecting the “bad girl” image, but that’s not who she really is. She doesn’t want to emasculate you…she just wants you to feel naughty.

Oh so naughty.

But if she happens to force you to reevaluate your own inflated sense of masculine superiority, so be it. If your ego is that overblown that you are genuinely intimidated by a strong muscular woman standing right in front of you, you probably deserve to feel a tad uncomfortable.

She is that multi-talented!

That is why Angela Salvagno is a Female Bodybuilder for All Seasons. She doesn’t have Cindy Landolt’s striking beauty, Denise Masino’s endearing charm, Alina Popa’s eye-popping physique, Yvette Bova’s unrestrained smuttiness, or Minna Pajulahti’s natural feminine grace. But she has just enough of all of those qualities to make her as lovable as any of them. She’s isn’t considered “elite” in any particular category, but she can hold her own when put to the test.

No matter where she is or what she’s doing, she goes about her business with gusto, energy, and pride. She has only one life to live and she’s making the most of it. No matter what season it is.