orgasm – Page 2 – The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi

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 11^th in the Women’s Bodybuilding category. Miss Popa finished 1^st, 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 21^st 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.

Sexy Summer Short Story #5 – It’s Getting Hot in Here

Hot in here - Lynn McCrossin — The late Lynn McCrossin. May she rest in peace.

“Enough chit chat. Let’s get down to business!”

Madeline stands up, positions herself right in front of Max, and shows him her double biceps pose. Max remains sitting on the bed, captivated by her flawless physique. She knows she’s got him mesmerized in every way possible and is enjoying every moment of it. Madeline has seen her fair share of guys for muscle worship sessions, but she never tires of the feeling of being adored, revered, and lusted after.

“So hard. So powerful,” Max observes in a trance-like state. “You’re even bigger than the last time I saw you. And you were ridiculously huge even then.” Cupping her bicep peak in the palm of his hand, Max feels his manhood swell with arousal.

“Thanks, sweetie. Good eye for detail,” she says. “In fact, I am a little bigger than I was last year. I’m trying to move up a category the next time I compete.”

By now Max has moved his hands down to feel her hardened abdomen. Madeline’s six-pack abs are more pronounced now since she plans to compete in Europe in seven weeks. As a professional female bodybuilder, Madeline has placed high in several prominent bodybuilding contests across the world – spanning the globe from the United States to Europe to Africa to Australia to Central America to Southeast Asia.

Unfortunately, despite her impressive accomplishments, Madeline doesn’t make enough money doing these competitions. She has a part-time job teaching yoga to little old ladies in retirement homes, but even that doesn’t come close to paying the bills. So, she has to earn money on the side through “alternative” means.

Muscle worship and fantasy wrestling appointments are those means.

And Max – and lots of men (and occasionally women) like him – are her clients.

In Max’s case, this is his third time seeing Madeline. He first saw her five years ago when he was a nervous 19-year-old kid meeting his first ever real-life female bodybuilder. Ever since he was a little boy he’s always had a strange and unexplainable fascination with muscular women. He never could figure out why. They just turned him on more than “traditionally” beautiful women. Of course, he kept this a secret. And he’s pretty sure his mom never discovered the elicit bodybuilding magazines he had hidden underneath the bed.

So when he saw on a bodybuilding forum that Madeline – a woman he’s had a crush on for several years – was travelling to his city, he couldn’t let this opportunity go. He had to pursue this chance to meet her in-person. And he did. Then he did a second time. And now, he’s seeing her for a third time.

Usually they meet at an upscale hotel in the downtown area, but not today. Due to a major comic book convention happening this weekend, Madeline had to settle for a cheaper motel located outside the main city. Oh well. Her fans will follow her to the ends of the Earth for the chance to touch her heavenly body.

Hot in here - motel — A typical motel. Nothing fancy. Just a place to sleep.

“Your calves…my God…so dense,” Max whispers. Madeline accommodates him by raising her right leg and flexing her calf. Wearing a sexy crimson red bikini, Madeline reflects on all the guys she regularly sees. Most of them are men in their 40s and 50s. Very few are in their 30s, never mind their 20s. But alas, here’s Max enjoying the company of a woman like her. Big, tall, bulky, muscular, eye-popping, pretty, and infinitely confident. There aren’t a whole lot of women like Madeline in this world.

Max has moved on to her backside, admiring her curvy butt and broad back. He lightly pats both of her butt cheeks and she wiggles her hips for him.

“You like a woman’s ass?” Madeline asks.

“I like your ass!”

Madeline smirks and bends forward, inviting Max to further explore her glutes. He is glad to oblige.

***

Meanwhile, a motel employee is putting a large batch of bed sheets into an industry-sized dryer machine. It’s just a typically boring day at the office for her.

It’s almost lunchtime – and as any normal human being can testify to, it’s easy to mentally check out when you have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and bag of Funyuns on your mind. Right now, this employee has forgotten to clean out the lint trap before putting in the new load.

Statistically speaking, it’s exceedingly rare for a piece of hot lint to catch fire and burn down a building. Rare. But not impossible.

“God, it’s hot in here. No air conditioning, no windows, no nothing,” she complains. “Fuck this. Time for lunch.”

She closes the dryer hatch, sets it to the default cycle for white linen, and walks away to the staff break room. Little did she – and every single person in this motel at this particular moment – know that a disaster of epic proportions is about to occur just a few minutes later.

***

Thirty-six minutes later, Max is sitting on the bed watching Madeline take off her bikini. He’s in awe as she exposes her breasts and genitalia to him. Her boobs are small (she’s chosen not to get implants), but her clitoris is definitely not. She’s not erect yet, but Max still cannot believe she’s that large down there.

“You’re perfect,” he begins. “An impeccable beauty.”

Madeline is accustomed to compliments and does not blink an eye.

“Thank you sweet thing. Thank you.” She approaches him and helps Max strip nude himself. First, she removes his socks. Then she pulls down his jeans after Max unbuckles his belt. Soon, both she and her client are completely naked. Madeline peers out of the corner of her eye at the bedside clock and sees she has about fifteen minutes left with him. Time to end this session on a high note.

And to give him quite a surprise!

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Max,” she says. “I really like you and you’re a great guy. Do you want to go all the way?”

Max’s eyes widen. Did he hear her right? Did she just offer what he thinks she offered him?

“Uh, yeah! I guess…are you being serious?”

Without saying a word, Madeline walks over to her luggage and takes out a box of condoms. She selects a packet, opens the foil, and returns to the bed.

“Deadly serious…”

Max silently nods his head in approval. Taking that as her cue, Madeline hops on the bed and tickles Max’s scrotum. He closes his eyes and moans. Wanting to take in every sensual moment, he lies down and allows Madeline to do whatever the hell she wants to do. Eventually, Max’s penis is completely erect, ready to enter Madeline. She dutifully rolls the latex condom onto his penis and climbs on top of him.

“Oh my…you look so sexy right now…” Max finally opens his eyes and looks at Madeline’s beautiful face. “I’ve dreamt of this moment ever since I first met you.”

Madeline slowly lowers herself onto Max’s erection. Facing him “cowgirl style,” she finally takes in his entire penis and deliberately sways back and forth. Her client groans and grabs her fists. Holding hands, Madeline rides him like a stallion until Max sniffs something unusual in the air.

“Um, do you smell that?”

Madeline stops making love to him and raises her nose. She sniffs and shakes her head.

“I have a bad sense of smell. Sorry ‘bout that,” she concedes. “However, it is getting a bit humid in here. I think I have the A/C turned on…”

She resumes making love to Max by raising and lowering her pelvis. Unfortunately, he’s distracted by the distinct odor of smoke filling the room.

“I think something’s on fire…maybe not here, but somewhere else,” he says.

“It’s getting hot in here,” she concedes. “That I can tell. That is rather strange.”

Hot in here - fire — A firefighter doing what they do best.

All of a sudden, a loud blaring noise bursts through the building. Ear-piercing and relentless, Madeline and Max immediately know what this sound signifies. It’s the fire alarm!

“Fuck! You’re right!” Madeline screams. “Something is on fire! Fuuuuuuuck!!!”

Both of them jump out of bed and run toward the door. A voice cracks across the PA system – neither Madeline nor Max knew the motel had a PA system to begin with – announcing:

“Attention guests and staff! This is not a drill. There is a fire in the building. Please leave your rooms immediately and head to the nearest exit now!”

Still naked, Madeline and Max don’t think about their nude state because their survival instincts have kicked in. They burst through the door and sprint down the hallway. A small handful of other people are doing the same. At the far side of the hallway is an emergency exit that leads to the south parking lot. A sea of desperate human beings surge through the door to escape certain doom.

White smoke fills the hallways. Nobody running saw it, but an orange glow can be seen pouring out of a door marked “Employees Only” at the opposite side of the building. The sprinkler system has activated, soaking everyone in its path.

“Run for your life!” Madeline shouts.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” Max exclaims to anyone who is willing to listen.

Moments later the motel parking lot is full of a few dozen people in various states of dress. One young woman is topless. A little girl has no pants on. A middle-aged businessman is wearing only a towel, evident that he’d been taking a shower when the fire alarm started to shriek. Most of the people don’t have shoes on. The five motel employees are fully clothed of course, but that’s to be expected. Madeline and Max are the only two who are completely naked.

“My God, the whole damn building is on fire! Look!!!” a random person in the crowd yells. Sure enough, smoke is seen rising out of several windows on the west-facing side of the building. In the distance the reassuring sound of fire trucks racing to the scene can be heard by everyone present.

Now that the hysteria has died down and everyone has regained their mental bearings, everyone looks around at the crowd that has assembled in the parking lot. All eyes are on Madeline and Max.

“Mommy, look! That boy is naked!” a small boy blurts out. “Is that another boy with him? Or is that a girl…?”

It’s not every day you see a gorgeous nude female bodybuilder and a short nerdy nude young man standing side-by-side in plain sight. Not to mention a young man with a condom rolled on his (miraculously) still-erect penis. The frenzied life-and-death atmosphere has not dissipated his arousal, apparently. A crowd of random people have gathered near the building since the smoke can be seen for miles. Half the people are looking at the motel that’s burning to the ground…but the other half are fixated on Madeline and Max.

“Holy shit…” Max mutters under his breath. His penis has deflated considerably, with the condom hanging on the tip. “People can see us!”

Madeline, on the other hand, is enjoying the attention. She strikes a few poses, proudly showcasing her nude muscular body. A few onlookers cheer. Others have deliberately moved away to avoid participating in this “scene.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Max! We can put on a little show before the fire department arrives!” Madeline’s side chest pose elicits a “damn girl!” reaction out of someone. One young woman looks at Max’s little penis and giggles.

The crowd disperses after four large fire trucks arrive to the parking lot. Ten minutes later everyone moves to the sidewalk as the first responders courageously do their job. Madeline impulsively picks up Max, holds him up over her head, and pauses for pictures. Several people – mostly men – take out their phones and snap a few shots of this unlikely couple. Max still feels embarrassed, but strangely…

…empowered.

A firefighter offers both of them a blanket to cover up their nude bodies. They graciously accept it. People have switched their focus away from the couple and toward the flaming building. Thankfully, the fire seems to be relatively small. It shouldn’t take too long to tame it.

Hot in here - Lindsay Mulinazzi — Can you imagine what it would be like to see Lindsay Mulinazzi dressed like this walking down a busy sidewalk?

“Still want to go all the way, darling?” Madeline whispers into Max’s ear.

“Uh, really? Now? Where can…”

Before he could finish that sentence, Madeline sweeps up Max into her strong arms and carries him to the back side of the building. She eyes a large recycling dumpster and plops him on his feet behind it. Away from prying eyes, Madeline notices the condom is still hanging off the tip of his penis.

“You still have it on. That’s cute!”

Max blushes and turns beet red. Sensing his vulnerability, Madeline kisses him and rolls the condom back on. Max feels his manhood become erect again. Then, Madeline turns around, places her hands on the wall, and bends over – exposing her moist entrance to him.

“Take me.”

Without hesitating, Max enters Madeline slowly. A soft groan escapes from her throat. Gaining confidence, he grabs her hips and moves in and out of her; leisurely at first, then more rapidly as his pleasure intensifies.

“Fuck, yeah…” Madeline moans. Max quickens his pace as his orgasm builds. Madeline bends her knees slightly to adjust to his short stature. Standing at a striking 6’ 1” barefoot, most guys are shorter than her. Especially Max. Making love doggie style can be difficult if she doesn’t lower herself to the man she’s with.

“Oh, yes!” Max growls.

He climaxes hard, sending chills throughout his whole body. Madeline doesn’t come, but she doesn’t need to. She gets enough pleasure from knowing her clients are receiving pleasure. After his spasms subside, he pulls out of her and violently turns Madeline around to face him. She’s surprised by this sudden move. He stands on his toes and kisses her. When their lips part, she kneels down and takes the condom off his deflated penis. She tosses it into the garbage dumpster and orally cleans him. After she finishes they kiss again.

Moments later, Madeline and Max walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk in plain view of the entire city as naked as the day they were born. They cheerfully give the blanket back to a random firefighter, who is stunned at what he’s witnessing.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims.

The naked couple continues to walk away from the scene, which by now has been successfully contained. They don’t know where they’re going or if a police officer will arrest them for indecent exposure. But they don’t care. All they care about is sharing this moment together and making it last as long as they can.

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Four of Five

Cindy Landolt possesses a most magnificent body of work herself.

Continued from part three

“I knew I had no chance of winning,” Jonathan begins. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have run for office. I don’t regret doing something I knew wouldn’t work out.”

By now, the shock that the mystery man is none other than Jonathan Westmore has mostly worn off. Deborah is almost finished with her dinner and probably hasn’t spent a single moment looking away at her handsome host. She’s lost in his deep blue eyes, still fantasizing about what it will be like to share a bed with him – the realization that they will (most likely) make love soon hit her like a ton of bricks – for the entire evening. She smiles and nods, not in a condescending way, but in a genuinely captivated way.

“You gave people hope that we can have more options. Our elections don’t have to be just between two people nobody actually likes,” she observes. “That’s an accomplishment unto itself, trust me!”

He chuckles and drinks the rest of his wine. Deborah quickly glances outside, noticing the sun slowly setting in the distance. Wow, has time flown by that fast?

“Hope. That’s a funny thing. I’ve never put much value into that. I prefer to take action, not sit around and wait for somebody else to do it instead,” he says. And with that, Jonathan runs his finger up and down Deborah’s swollen right bicep, tickling the vein running down the middle. She feels her heart flutter a little. Maintaining her composure, Deborah lays her napkin on top of her plate, drinks the rest of her wine, and stares at her dashing host right in the eyes.

“Are you a man of action?”

“I am. Can’t you tell?”

The sun sets lower over the horizon. The temperature outside may be gradually going down, but the heat inside is being turned up considerably. Jonathan impulsively stands up and positions himself behind Deborah’s seat. He rubs her broad shoulders and kisses her on the neck.

“You are a work of art. A masterpiece, my darling,” he whispers. Deborah feels dampness forming between her massive legs. Jonathan inconspicuously looks down her chest to see the sharp division between her pecs. His manhood awakens from its slumber. And despite their significant age difference, he plans to ravish her like she’s never been ravished before.

“Thank you. I think I know what comes next.” She cranes her head upward to get a better look at him. He smiles, sending shivers down her spine. Jonathan pulls Deborah’s chair out and invites her to stand up. She obliges.

“Before we get to that, there’s something I’d like to show you. Perhaps this will explain why I was so keen on bringing you here tonight.” He takes her hand and squeezes it lovingly. He leads her into another area not far from the dining room. When he opens the door, she’s greeted by yet more art featuring hypermuscular women doing what they do best: show off their beautiful strong bodies.

Paintings of female warriors with bows and arrows. Sculptures of Greek goddesses smiting their enemies. Photographs of female athletes competing in track, basketball, martial arts, boxing, and MMA. Sketches of hypermuscular cartoon characters and celebrities with enhanced musculature (Deborah sees one drawing of Marilyn Monroe looking like she can bench press 500 pounds). All of it looks personalized, as if someone – such as Jonathan himself – commissioned them to be created specifically for one owner in particular. Deborah wonders whether she’ll see a rendering of herself anywhere.

“I think I get the idea. You really love muscular women. Wow.”

Jonathan wraps his arms around Deborah and squeezes as tightly as possible, indulging in experiencing her unbelievable thickness. Deborah kindly flexes for him, challenging his ability to maintain a grip on her massive torso.

Body of work 4 - Boris Vallejo artwork — Female muscle artwork from artist Boris Vallejo.

“Can’t you tell? I’m not very subtle about my interests. I’m glad you’re not offended by this.”

“Not at all.” She flexes her right bicep. Jonathan sticks out his tongue and trails it along its peak. “So, why me? Why did you ask me to come here, out of the thousands of women like me across the globe?” Deborah turns around to face Jonathan. He lets go of Deborah’s body and looks into her beautiful face. He traces his finger along her jawline and pinches her meaty shoulder. She gasps with pleasure at this bold, unexpected move.

“I chose you because you’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says. “I’ve researched most of the women in your profession. But out of all of them, you captured my attention. It’s probably when you were dating William Harris. His death was unfortunate, but it did provide the opportunity for me to be introduced to you. The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, one way or another.”

“I was a celebrity of sorts for a while, especially when everyone thought I was a murderer,” Deborah confesses. Jonathan reaches down to rub her abdomen, relishing her hardened core. He knows his erection is poking out of his slacks, but he doesn’t care one bit. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Indeed, it was.” Jonathan plants a soft kiss on her neck. Deborah audibly gasps. He is unable to control his animalistic desires – and Deborah isn’t sure she wants him to. For some inexplicable reason, her thoughts immediately turn to Cassie. Oh, God. Cassie! She wonders what the fuck she’s doing at this moment. Thinking of her, perhaps? Petting Bruce on the head while he sleeps on her lap?

Thankfully, Cassie gave her permission to come here. She’s okay with it, even though they’re both reluctant about the whole thing. The fact she’s given Deborah her blessing has put her mind at ease and given her much-needed peace.

“Enough talk. Follow me to my bedroom, lover.”

Lover? Just hearing that single word uttered from his deep masculine voice is enough to make her knees tremble. Fortunately, she doesn’t fall down to the floor like a pathetic drunk. He graciously takes her by the hand and guides her down the hallway into the room at far end of the mansion.

Jonathan’s bedroom is much more modest than she was expecting. It’s spacious and roomy, with plenty of erotically-charged artwork adoring the high walls (no surprises there, considering where they were just at). Deborah may have seen out of the corner of her eye a watercolor rendering of dozens of nude Amazonian warriors engaging in a massive orgy. Or maybe they were just bathing in a river. Whatever.

Sitting at the far north-facing wall is one of the largest beds – probably a super king-sized one, by Deborah’s estimation – she’s ever seen. It also has the largest number of fluffy white pillows she’d ever imagined could possibly fit on such a bed. Jonathan quietly shuts the door (as if anybody is left inside the house who could disturb them) and presses a button that opens roller blinds that have been covering the entire east-facing wall. It reveals a grand floor-to-ceiling window that boasts an immodest view of their natural surroundings.

“Wow! You can see the entire ocean from here,” Deborah exclaims. Jonathan quickly maneuvers behind her and lightly caresses her wide shoulder blades again, signaling to her that he’s definitely a “shoulder man.” He marvels at how broad they are. He’s seen countless photos of her before – yet being able to finally touch her makes him realize just how massive her body actually is compared to what existed in his imagination.

“It’s a fantastic view, but I prefer the view from in here…”

Body of work 4 - bedroom — A room with a view.

And with that, Jonathan peels away the layers of Deborah’s Xena costume. She almost forgot she was wearing it. Soon, she’s reduced to just her underwear. Jonathan stands back to regard her entire figure. He lets out a whistle.

“Magnificent. Simply magnificent. You possess a most magnificent body of work, my darling. Just fabulous.” He approaches her as he unbuttons his shirt. Deborah kindly showcases all the bodybuilder poses she knows. The fading sunlight’s orange glow accentuates her muscles in the post poetic way possible. Finally, they’re both wearing nothing but underwear. His erection looks almost painful as it presses against the thin fabric.

Deborah takes a closer look at Jonathan’s devilishly handsome face. He’s got some lines here and there, especially around his deep blue eyes. His hair is peppered with greyness in a way that makes him look “distinguished.” He keeps his body in great shape. She estimates he regularly works out and maintains a healthy diet. That’s probably not too far off from the truth.

“Show me why you brought me here,” Deborah dares him.

He smiles and runs to her.

Caught off guard, Jonathan picks her up and carries her to bed. He plants a deep kiss on her. Deborah forgot to take a breath beforehand and nearly chokes. He meticulously lays her down and unhooks her bra. She responds by squirming out of her panties. Finally, she is completely nude. Jonathan tosses her underwear aside carelessly. He gets down on his knees and spreads her legs out wide.

“Just beautiful…so fucking beautiful…” Deborah is proud of her larger-than-normal clitoris. Cassie constantly reminds her of how enormous it is. “You’re not like the other girls down there,” she’d always say. Right now, it’s fully engorged and ultrasensitive. Cassie once measured it just for fun. She says it can get up to three inches long. Deborah has reasons to believe she was exaggerating, but Jonathan’s fascination with her endowment makes her believe perhaps she was telling the truth…

Jonathan greedily opens his mouth and surrounds her feminine endowment with his lips. He experiments with a few lingering licks and kisses. Deborah moans, feeling the tension inside her body start to escape. All the fantasies he’s ever had of doing this to her is finally being realized right here, right now. He’s feasting on the most beautiful woman in the world. This cannot compare to any other experience he’s ever had in his life.

Pressure builds inside her body. All she can do is close her eyes and feel. Feel his tongue inside her sensitive area. Feel his lips gripping her fleshy bud. Feel every pore on her body emanate with pure bliss. Feel…

“Oh!!!”

Deborah climaxes suddenly, sending jolts of electricity through her whole being. She involuntarily raises her pelvis upward as she orgasms. Jonathan continues to feast on her until her spasms subside. Finally, she falls back down onto the bed and opens her weary eyes.

Body of work 4 - Brandi Mae Akers — Who wouldn’t want to spend the night with Brandi Mae Akers?

“My God, Jonathan. That was fucking fantastic.” She struggles to catch her breath. “You’re a real pro. Fuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkk!”

“My dear…” He leans over and kisses her hard abdomen. “We’re just getting started.”

Jonathan stands up and removes his athletic briefs. He kicks them aside. Deborah sits up and finally gets a good look at him. She’s impressed by his, uh, “endowment.” It’s bigger than she was expecting! A solid six and half inches, perhaps? Maybe seven! Or maybe that’s just because the fading light is playing tricks on her eyes…

Jonathan’s full erection is now liberated, free to be satisfied for its own sake. Deborah will make sure that happens.

“Come here, sweet thing,” she beckons him.

First, Jonathan walks over to the bedside table and takes out a box of condoms. Deborah reluctantly sighs, but realizes it’s the smart thing to do. He finds a single wrapper, tears it open, and sheathes the oiled latex onto his manhood. Deborah watches in anticipation. He comes to her and plants several kisses on her left calf. She kindly flexes it for him, making it jut out further than he thought was possible.

“So hard…so beautiful.” Ignoring all pretenses, Jonathan positions his penis right in front of Deborah’s moist entrance. “I’m taking you. Now.”

“Do it!” she commands.

And with that, Jonathan enters Deborah with the full force of a man who is unsure if this moment is real or not. For years, he’s fantasized about making love to this woman. From a distance of thousands of miles he’s dreamt of this. But now, he gets to fulfill this fantasy. He hooks his arms underneath Deborah’s thick legs and runs his fingers down her sides, feeling the striations of her dense core. He thrusts in and out methodically at first, but then increases his tempo as his furious lust gets the better of him. He’s usually a calm and rational man, but not now. Not today. Not with her in his bed. In this moment, he’s an animal. But she is not his prey; but his lover. His equal.

Deborah moves her hips up and down to match his rhythm. She’s impressed with his ample girth and hardness for a man his age. At first his penetration was painful, but her body eventually adjusts to him. She focuses her eyes on him, watching him grunt and labor as sweat beads down his handsome face. She tries her best to not think about Cassie, the absurdity of her surroundings, or the shock of actually making love to a man she’s admired from a distance. But that distance is long gone. They are as close to each other as is humanly possible, intertwined in a way where physical intimacy transitions to emotional intimacy, which then becomes something closer to…

…spiritual.

With one last heave, Jonathan pushes into her as deeply as he can and finally climaxes. It goes on forever. It’s been a long time since Jonathan has this ferociously made love to a woman. Deborah cannot remember what it was like the last time a man penetrated her in this way. Perhaps never?

Body of work 4 - candles — Romantic candles.

Totally spent, Jonathan collapses on top of Deborah and kisses her intensely. Still hard, he sways back and forth in hopes of giving her a few more moments of pleasure. She appreciates the gesture.

After several minutes of lying together in complete silence, Jonathan pulls out and removes the condom. Deborah sits up in bed and sighs.

“Fuck. That was worth it. You’re fantastic,” she whispers. Jonathan smiles and walks to the bathroom on the far side of the room to clean up.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you. Especially you.” He places the condom on top of a nearby table. Deborah is curious why he’d do that.

“You’re not throwing it away?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, I will later. But not now. Think of it as a, um, ‘record’ of how we’re going to spend this evening together.” Deborah isn’t sure what to think of this, but she goes along with it. She stands up and sees a row of candles next to the condom. She finds a lighter and lights all of them. The gorgeous golden yellow glow illuminates the entire room. By now, the sun has completely set. Jonathan comes out of the bathroom and nods approvingly at Deborah’s initiative.

“Nice choice. Now the ambiance is perfect,” he begins. “Not that it wasn’t before.”

He sits down on the bed and strokes Deborah’s massive quads. She reciprocates by caressing his softened penis.

“It never occurred to me that Mr. Presidential Candidate would be hung like a horse,” Deborah smirks. “But alas, you are.”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite go that far,” he chuckles. “Maybe your standards are too low. Or you haven’t been with enough guys.” She tickles his scrotum in response to his teasing.

“You’re right…I haven’t been with that many men,” she says. “But I like what you’re packing down here…it’s beautiful.” Despite their recent lovemaking, Jonathan’s manhood begins to grow again. Deborah is astonished that he’s able to do that after such little time has passed–

“It’s not how many you’ve been with,” he kisses her delicately on the cheek. “It’s who you’ve been with and how they’ve treated you that really matters.” Touched, Deborah feels her eyes water. Before she can wipe away her tears, Jonathan playfully nibbles on her earlobe, causing her senses to go into overdrive. Cassie isn’t the sentimental type, and if Deborah is to be completely frank, not the most sensual lover. But Jonathan is different. He’s both fierce and gentle. Impulsive and methodical. Calm and unhinged. He’s a complicated man, one who is used to getting what he wants but also cherishes what he has once it’s right in front of him.

“Lie down on the bed for me, lover,” she orders. “I’m about to give you a show.”

To be continued…

Sexy Summer Short Story #4 – School’s Out

School's Out - Ginger Martin — When you think of Miss Richardson, think of Ginger Martin.

Packing up the things in her classroom, Nikki takes a moment to stop, inhale a deep breath, and sigh in relief. Those pesky kids are gone for three whole months. This time in September, she’s going to have a whole new crop of little monsters who will make her life a living hell.

But now is not the time to think about that.

Nikki Richardson is the PE/health teacher at Marianne Wadsworth Elementary School. She’s also an amateur bodybuilder who regularly competes in triathlons and strength competitions. She’s sort of a local celebrity, having appeared on ESPN and sports podcasts many times over the years. But at the end of the day, she’s a teacher through and through. Until summer vacation kicks off, of course.

Then she’s something else entirely.

She has a side job that she does throughout the year, but mostly during the summer months. It’s something she keeps on the downlow for obvious reasons.

She’s also a webcam performer.

As she starts up her car and proceeds to leave the school’s parking lot, Nikki remembers that she needs to run a few errands before returning home. She needs to stop by the local sex shop and purchase new crotchless lingerie. Her loyal clientele already knows what she owns and will expect to see something different, Nikki figures.

***

Derek recently heard a rumor that he could not believe.

Is Miss Richardson actually a porn star?

Derek’s best buddy, Marcus, texted him yesterday saying he made an epic discovery: As a side job, Miss Richardson – their former PE teacher from a long time ago – hosts a weekly webcam show where she answers questions from fans, gets undressed, and does…stuff.

What kind of stuff, exactly? Neither of them knows. But they’re curious to find out.

Marcus emailed Derek earlier this morning a link to an erotic cam website where amateur performers from across the globe host regular “performances” for a modest fee. They keep a portion of the proceeds, while the website hosts keep the other portion. There are thousands of performers on this forum, but only a small handful actually make a substantial income from it. Nikki Richardson isn’t one of them, but her “following” is large enough that she can make a nontrivial amount of dough to supplement her meager teacher’s salary.

According to the forum’s chat board, Miss Richardson’s next webcam appearance is scheduled for tonight at 9:00 p.m. sharp. Luckily for Derek, his roommates are planning to attend some boring art gallery opening, so he’ll have the house entirely to himself.

Growing up, all the boys loved Miss Richardson. She was gorgeous, tough, strong, and didn’t take shit from anybody. She also had a soft spot and a good sense of humor. She’d challenge anyone to a pull-up contest and always won easily. Always.

Nobody knew if she was married – rumors spread that she was a lesbian – or had any kids. Her life was an enigma, which is pretty typical of all teachers. But her unique combination of beauty and brawn made her especially intriguing to impressionable hormone-raging adolescent boys.

The time is now 6:40 p.m. A little more than two hours away from the start of the show.

Time to get something to eat!

***

“Hm, this looks pretty damn good on me,” Nikki says aloud to no one in particular. All alone in her bedroom, Nikki regards herself in a full-length mirror in her newly purchased lingerie. A ruby red satin number with sexy white frills lining the edges. Nikki can be very particular about her outfits. She is supremely satisfied with this one.

Nikki glances at her phone and sees it’s 8:30 p.m. She typically logs in to the streaming site 15 minutes before showtime (which is recommended) so that if any technical difficulties were to arise, customer service could fix them before her impatient audience decides to bail. That’s not an unusual occurrence. Unless you’re really popular, if you’re even five minutes late, people will assume you’re a no-show and go somewhere else. Even if you’ve paid the entry fee, the website gives you a 10-minute grace period to switch to a different performer if the one you originally wanted to see is absent.

As a teacher, Nikki hates unexcused absences.

School's Out - webcam — A typical webcam.

Boris, Nikki’s black Labrador, looks at his mommy with sad eyes. He wants to go out for his nightly walk around the neighborhood. But not yet.

“We’ll go for our walk later, sweetie. Sorry, but you have to go downstairs now.”

Miffed, Boris is led downstairs where he must live in exile for the next hour. He’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean he hates it any less.

***

8:58 p.m.

Derek has already paid his $25 for this 30-minute show (he doesn’t want to think about how much that is per minute). The screen is blank with the ominous words “The Show Will Begin Shortly. Thanks for Cumming” sprawled across. That pun couldn’t be more cringe-worthy.

A single drop of sweat rolls down his face. He just texted Marcus to let him know that he’s going to watch tonight’s performance. Marcus replied: “Me too bro. Looking forward to it!”

Memories of 6^th grade start to flood back. Derek remembers trying to steal a peek at Miss Richardson’s enormous biceps during class. One boy claims he spied on her during lunchbreak and saw a glimpse of a tattoo on her broad back. He couldn’t verify this claim.

Growing up, Derek often fantasized about making love to her. He spent many nights jerking off to the thought of touching her muscles. He knows he’s not the only one who did that. Far from it.

It is now 9:00. Oh boy. Derek’s heart is pounding hard. His pulse is racing a million miles per hour. He might pass out if indeed Miss Richardson is the one who will be performing at this webcam show.

The blank screen starts to load. A familiar voice beckons.

“Good evening, boys.”

Oh shit!

Sure enough, from the comfort of her bedroom, Nikki Richardson appears wearing nothing but red underwear. Her chiseled pecs, sculpted arms, husky shoulders, and six-pack abdomen are all there for viewers to see. It’s been more than ten years since Derek last saw Miss Richardson. She still looks as gorgeous as ever, even with a few new wrinkles lining her face. Derek is almost surprised that Miss Richardson could ever get…old.

School's Out - red lingerie — Sexy red lingerie.

“Judging from the email addresses I’m seeing here, I’m guessing a few of my former students are watching this. So I’d like to say “hi” to Derek, Marcus, and Stephen. Hi boys! I miss you all!”

Derek falls backwards out of his chair and lands on his ass.

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck???”

Damn! She knows he’s watching her! How fucking humiliating…

“Don’t feel embarrassed,” she continues. “I won’t expose your last names or anything. I know all of you are adults now, so it’s fine.” She smirks with guilty pleasure.

Derek gets back in his chair and catches his breath. He’s surprised he didn’t suffer a heart attack. Or knock himself out cold when he fell to the floor.

Nikki starts by brushing her dark brown hair and talking about her summer plans. She doesn’t reference any boyfriend or husband, yet she seems to imply she’s travelling to Europe with somebody else. Her bedroom looks pretty standard, with a neat-looking Chinese lamp in the background. Derek could not stop staring at her large pecs sitting underneath her modest breasts. He fantasized for many years of what it would be like to fondle those breasts. This moment is the most surreal of his life.

The double striations going down her chest make a chill run down Derek’s spine. Then she stops chatting and unhooks her bra. Derek’s breathing stops. She drops it, revealing her flat yet enticing breasts. The very breasts that he’s thought about for years. Nikki’s nipples stick out nearly an inch – by Derek’s distant calculations – and look as hard as a rock. This moment was definitely worth the years of waiting.

“It’s way too hot in here. No AC. The windows in my room don’t open all the way,” Nikki observes. “It looks like I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands…”

She stands up, revealing her crotchless panties. Derek audibly gasps. Nikki rolls them down her hips and drops them to the floor. Nearly naked – with the exception of her cream-colored white high heels – Nikki knows she has her former students in the palm of her hand. And that they have something else entirely in the palm of their hands!

“This is a side of me you’ve never seen before but have always dreamed about, right boys?”

“Yes, Miss Richardson,” Derek replies, knowing she can’t hear him.

“Let me show you a side of me you definitely haven’t seen before!”

Nikki reaches down and lightly pinches her swollen clit. She rubs it between her index and middle fingers, going up and down as leisurely as she can. Derek can’t help it. He unzips his pants and takes out his hardened penis from his boxers. He begins to stroke it. He has no clue if Marcus or Stephen are doing the same thing, but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is seeing what Miss Richardson is capable of…

Damn!

“Oooohh, yes….Mmmmmm………..” Nikki moans.

Sitting down on her bed, Nikki then falls on her back and spreads her legs as widely as she can. By now she’s flat out jerking her clit as if it were a little cock, hungry for stimulation. Derek intensifies his own stroking. Nikki’s moans become shorter and are replaced by heavy breathing and animalistic groans. The viewers can almost literally feel the heat emanating from their computer screens. She’s about to come, as is Derek.

“Oh fuck!” Nikki screams.

Indeed, as if on cue, Nikki comes. Her thick legs – still spread apart – convulse wildly. Her entire bed shakes. Meanwhile, Derek reaches his climax and spurts hot semen all over his keyboard. Damn it! That better not cause it to malfunction…

Nikki’s spasms subside. Derek’s spasms keep on going. But eventually, it stops too.

Whew.

Nikki then takes out a large black dildo from an unseen bag and licks the tip with her tongue. Derek has yet to catch his breath when he realizes that the show isn’t over yet…it has just begun.

“Well, boys. What did you think about that? What do you think about this hefty toy of mine? Doesn’t it look…intimidating?”

Derek silently nods in agreement.

“If you want to know what I plan to do with this toy, you’ll have to wait until, ahem…next week,” she says. “I’ll see you all later. For now, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Nikki continues to lick the dildo up and down its realistically veiny shaft.

“School’s out!”

Truth or Dare (part one)

Twice a week, I get to see Shawna.

Shawna is a professional bodybuilder, personal trainer, model, fitness accessory spokeswoman, pornographic actress, and overall Muscle Goddess. I first got acquainted with Shawna at a fitness expo last year when she delivered the keynote address to a room full of hundreds of nutritional experts. I was among those in attendance on that fateful day.

Shawna is the Most Perfect Woman in the World…and I do not mean that lightly. She’s strikingly beautiful, stands at 6-feet tall barefoot, and has bigger muscles than the typical Meathead Bro you see at the gym. She has long blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, curvy hips, and bulging muscles covering every square inch of her incredible physique. She’s absolutely flawless. I don’t know how old she is, but she probably hasn’t hit 40 yet. Or maybe she has. I don’t know. None of that matters. She’s ageless.

I work for Healthy Living Nutrition, a medium-sized startup company that specializes in producing breakfast bars, protein shakes, and hot to-go meals that people can order via an app. Just download the HLN app and within minutes you can plan an entire month’s worth of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners (not to mention a few snacks here and there).

The app allows users to plot out every single one of their meals in advance and have them shipped to the address (or addresses) of their choice. We began serving clients only in greater Seattle, but have recently expanded to include Spokane, Portland, Coeur d’Alene, Boise, and Redding. We foresee expansion to Los Angeles – which is considered the Holy Grail of markets – and Phoenix within the next two to three years.

But first, we needed a spokesperson who could sell our app to the bodybuilding community. We’ve already enlisted pro baseball, football, basketball, and tennis players, respectively. Now we need an “in” with bodybuilders, figure competitors, fitness models, and anyone who aspires to become one of those. When me and a colleague registered to attend this fitness conference, I knew Shawna could be that “foot in the door” that we so desperately needed.

And as it turned out, she was.

My co-worker Dale and I chatted with Shawna after the expo ended over glasses of wine and plates of cheap happy hour nachos. We told her she can use the app for free for an entire month, report back to us how she felt about it, and choose to endorse it if she wanted to. We told her the percentage of our profits that she can earn in a year, which appeared to go over well with her. She agreed to our deal, downloaded the app onto her phone, and went about her merry way. Dale and I felt happy about ourselves, all the while staring helplessly at her impressive, angelic muscular body.

“Holy shit, she’s perfect. She can’t possibly be human,” Dale quipped after she left.

“The amazing thing is that she is human,” I said. “She looks like that because she dedicates her entire life to looking like that. It didn’t happen by accident.”

“Damn,” Dale replied, downing the rest of his wine. “So fucking gorgeous.”

A month passes and Shawna emails me saying she loves the app and would be happy to endorse it in our upcoming advertising blitz. She signed her name on the dotted line and agreed to keep using the app for at least a year and appear in several promotional videos, radio hits, and social media posts. I got a promotion. Dale ended up leaving the company after being plucked by a competitor. His replacement ended up being a dopey idiot fresh out of college. Life moves on.

Factory where pre-packaged food is made.

Me being promoted meant I had to move to a different city. Now I reside in Santa Monica, right in the heart of where we want our business to expand to. I guess the logic is that if the company moves its best people into a desirable target market…eventually that’ll mean we will successfully penetrate that market. We’ll see if it actually works.

Shawna, coincidentally, also lives in the area – albeit Torrance. We’ve met up a few times to discuss business-related items, chat about our lives, and complain about the things regarding the fitness industry that drive us up a wall. As it turns out, we both hate everything Planet Fitness stands for and would love to see its business model burn to the ground. Great minds think alike, right?

My office is located within walking distance of the factory where we produce our breakfast bars. Every day we churn out tens of thousands of granola bars and ship them to gyms, grocery stores, convenience stores, gas stations, and online retailers across the country. And occasionally, out of the 25,000 we produce daily, a good dozen or so will be “unfit” for sale.

What does “unfit” for sale mean exactly? It could mean a variety of things. A bar could accidentally get smashed, come out wrongly shaped, not fit within the designated packaging, or fall on the floor when a clumsy warehouse worker nears the end of his shift. Regardless, we normally toss out the “bad” bars so that the public doesn’t see them. We can’t allow our newly developed brand to be sullied in any way.

Sometimes, employees will steal a few bars that didn’t make the final cut when nobody is looking. There’s technically no internal rules against that, although the higher ups at Corporate would prefer these misshapen bars never see the light of day. Heaven forbid if a random guy on the street accidentally sees one of our breakfast bars with an unauthorized crack down the middle. That’ll spell our inevitable doom for sure.

Recently, I got the brilliant idea of delivering some of these misshapen bars to our favorite customer – Shawna. These bars don’t taste all that great, but they aren’t supposed to. They pack a nutritional punch, stuffing in every single vitamin and mineral known to mankind in a single bite. They’re supposed to help bodybuilders get “gains,” and that’s exactly what they do. Shawna recognizes and appreciates these benefits better than anyone. That’s why she’s our #1 spokeswoman.

Whew. Deep breath.

All of that is to say that twice a week, I come over to Shawna’s home and deliver to her as many “unfit” breakfast bars as I can manage. I usually visit on Tuesdays and Fridays, but sometimes I come on a Thursday if she plans on being busy the next day. I have no life, so it doesn’t matter to me when I get to meet her. No girlfriend, no kids, no hobbies, no nothing outside of work. It’s depressing, but I try to not think about it too often.

I should also hurry up and mention that because these bars are so super nutritious, they’re also super expensive. $8 per bar. Yeah, that’s quite a lot. But they’re supposed to supply an entire meal’s worth of nutrition in a few bites, so they’re pricy for a reason. The bean counters aren’t just making this up out of thin air. Shawna likes them a lot but can’t afford to purchase too many of them legitimately.

So, that’s where I come into play.

I give her free breakfast bars twice a week. Each delivery could be worth up to $100. That’s a lot of free stuff. Although, it’s not completely free.

Nope. She does pay me.

In sexual favors.

I usually arrive at her house between 7:00 and 7:30 p.m., depending on traffic (and, for the record, traffic really sucks in California). I park my car in her driveway, take out a non-conspicuous looking brown cardboard box out of the trunk, and casually walk to her front door. I knock three times. Within 30 seconds she opens it. We kiss each other on the cheek. We exchange pleasantries for a couple of minutes. Sometimes she offers me iced tea or lemonade. I graciously accept. I politely drink it all, whether I like it or not. She takes the box of contraband granola bars from me and stashes it away in her kitchen.

Then, she dims the lights, closes the shades, turns on some quiet music, and strips naked.

I also strip naked.

We enter her living room and begin the festivities. She poses for me. She shows off her muscles. She goes to the gym and trains five days a week, with Tuesday and Friday being her two off-days (hence, this is why I visit her on these days). She’s a Tall Blonde Muscle Goddess who stands – I believe I’ve said this before – 6-feet tall without shoes on. She’s a marvel to look at. From head to toe, she’s ripped. Completely ripped. Jacked up. Her biceps are larger than my legs. Her legs are larger than my torso. Her torso is larger than…a freight train? A Mack truck? A Boeing 747?

I touch her body. I sometimes rub oil on it. I worship her muscles. We almost never talk during our “play time.” I kiss her skin as she flexes. Occasionally, when she’s in the mood, she’ll lie down on the sofa and spread her legs wide, revealing her swollen clitoris.

It’s huge. HUGE. Three inches long when fully erect. That’s not a fucking joke. I’m not exaggerating one fucking bit. Her clit is that enormous. Unbelievably enormous. It defies science. And that’s an understatement.

Eye-popping. Jaw-dropping. Heart-stopping. And highly erotic.

After she spreads her legs, I get down on my knees and suck on it. I suck on it until she comes. She’ll come multiple times. At first, I was terrible at it. But after repeated attempts, I’ve become exceptionally good at it. Shawna’s coached me on how to properly give her cunnilingus. She explicitly tells me how to use my tongue, lips, and fingers to my advantage. Now, I can play her like a fiddle. I know how to give her pleasure that literally makes her scream.

Shawna could be a taller Lindsay Mulinazzi. Note: This story is fictional and does not reflect any real world experiences.

I know how to give her satisfying climaxes that make her entire body shudder. I know how to prolong her orgasm just long enough to make her beg me to finish the job. I know how to tease her, how to torture her, how to make her teeter just long enough on the edge of orgasm but deny her the conclusion she seeks. And once she does reach that orgasmic climax, it’s the greatest orgasm she’s ever experienced…up to that point, of course.

Once I’ve satisfied her, she enthusiastically returns the favor. Most of the time, she’ll give me a simple hand job. Occasionally, a blow job. But that’s it. Those are my two options. We’ve given each other oral and manual stimulation hundreds of times, but we’ve never had actual penetrative sex. She has strict boundaries, and I respect those boundaries.

I always respect her boundaries.

Although she’s not currently married (she’s been divorced twice before) and doesn’t appear to be in a relationship with anyone (that I can tell), she doesn’t want to cross that threshold with me. She says it’s not personal. It’s strictly a professional choice. I dutifully accept that explanation.

“In a weird way, this is a business transaction,” Shawna once said to me moments after cleaning up my semen off her neck. “An unconventional business transaction, but a business transaction nevertheless. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would agree with that,” I replied.

So we’ve never had sex – at least, “sex” properly understood and traditionally defined. But we’ve been very intimate with each other. Many times. During the past year I’ve spent countless hours with her clitoris in my mouth. She’s had my semen smeared on almost every imaginable place of her magnificent body. Yet, we’ve never gone “all the way.” I don’t think we’ll ever get there.

Shawna is a unique kind of person, both externally and internally. She obviously looks different on the outside – not too many “normal” women have muscles as big as an NFL linebacker – in every conceivable way. But on the inside, she’s both open to talking about her life and extremely guarded in other areas.

For example, she rarely talks about her kids. During one moment when both of us were slightly drunk, she revealed that she has four kids. She first became pregnant when she was 15. Her second born arrived when she was 17. Her other two kids were born when she was 18 and 20, respectively. She’s now in her late 30s or early 40s, and her youngest child is now old enough to be a college student. Yikes.

The father of her first child was a 15-year-old kid just like her. He panicked, ran away from home, and later joined the Army. He was deployed to Iraq shortly afterward and came home in a body bag. Very tragic. The father of her second child was a Catholic missionary who apparently tried out the “missionary” position with her. That’s no joke. When she became pregnant and refused to have an abortion, he quit his job, renounced his Catholicism, and committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. Yet another senseless tragedy.

Her other two children were the product of her first marriage. I don’t know much about this guy. She didn’t have any kids with her second husband. I also don’t know much about him.

Her first husband was 25 years her senior, and her second husband was born two weeks earlier than she was. She’s now single…and definitely not ready to mingle. She says she has no intention of getting married ever again.

I don’t know which of her kids are male and female. They could all be boys or they could all be girls. Or somewhere in between. It’s probably somewhere in between. But at the end of the day, I don’t know much about this part of her life. And that’ll probably be the way things remain.

As I pull up to her driveway for the umpteenth time, I think about whether or not her kids are aware of what Mom has to do in order to get her daily quota of protein, vitamins, and minerals. I’d rather not ponder that, but how can the thought not cross my mind?

I knock on the door and wait. The wait is shorter than normal.

“Hello sweetie! Come on in,” Shawna greets me after opening the door.

I step into her house and take off my shoes. I try to not notice the glaring hole in my left black sock, exposing my big toe for everyone to see. It’s embarrassing, but Shawna is like an old buddy to me. A buddy with big muscles. And the Universe’s Largest Clit.

Her house smells like freshly coated paint. I hope I don’t start to sneeze.

“Did you finally repaint the bathroom?”

“Yes, I did! Thank you for noticing,” she says. I drop a box full of contraband granola bars on the kitchen counter as Shawna deals with something in the dining room. Cleaning up after dinner, perhaps?

Shawna pokes her head in the kitchen with a glass of champagne in hand. “I have an idea for what we can do tonight. It’ll be fun. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will. In the mood for something more creative?”

“Yes, I am,” she begins. “I’m feeling a bit adventurous tonight, for some odd reason. Probably because I’m still on cloud 9!”

“Oh? What happened to you?” We move our conversation to the living room. I start to undress like usual until Shawna places her hand on my shoulder, indicating I should stop.

“I just got cast in a movie! It’s not a major Hollywood film, but it’s not a typical porno either. It’s something low budget, independent, and artistic,” she announces.

“That’s awesome! What’s it called?” I kiss her on the cheek to congratulate her.

“It doesn’t have a title yet, but it should soon. It’s basically about a middle-aged couple whose marriage is going through the motions. In order to spice things up, they decide to play a game of erotic Truth or Dare.” Shawna sits us down on the sofa. Even when we’re both sitting, I still have to look up to her. “One of the dares the wife makes to the husband is to hire a female bodybuilder for a competitive wrestling match. You can guess who I play in this little drama.”

“Neat! You play the chauffeur, right?”

Shawna laughs. I do too.

“Not quite. We start filming in two months. Locally, so I don’t need to travel anywhere. However, in the meantime, I thought it would be a cool idea to play our own game of Truth or Dare. What say you?” She stares at me, smiling with a big toothy grin. I cannot think of a reason to refuse her offer.

“Of course! Let’s do it. You can go first if you’d like.”

Shawna sits up and blinks a few times. I feel my heart start to race, as this is a very unusual way for our evening to commence. We’ve settled into a routine. She clearly wants to break this routine, at least for one night.

“I would love to go first,” she says. “Alright. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Fantastic.” Shawna clears her throat. “I dare you to have anal sex with me. Without protection. Right now.”

Looking Up to Her

An unknown friend in a position to look up to Roxie Rain.

The heat emanating from her coarse, rough skin is palpable. I’ve never experienced skin so abrasive, yet so beautiful to the touch. Tonight is a night of many unique experiences.

Shannon stands tall in her translucent grey high heels, her forest green eyes hovering just above my own. Her eyelashes flutter with musical synchronicity. Right now, her wavy dark brown hair sits right above her broad shoulders, looking as if it’s set just right for this moment. I struggle to find the words to speak to her with, a burden that seems insignificant for the time being.

“Have you ever touched a woman like me before?” she coyly asks.

I nod my head “no,” but realize she wouldn’t be able to see that. So I attempt to make a pithy verbal reply to her inquiry.

“No, I have not. Definitely not. You’re the first, for sure.”

She murmurs something unintelligible back to me, but it’s probably just a slight laugh. She knows she has all the power right now; she knows damn well that I am like a helpless child, with normal thoughts and conversational abilities thrown out the proverbial window. My fingers move down to her wide back, every striation of muscle sending shivers down my spine. Her thick mounds of flesh seem piled on like bricks in a mansion. To reiterate, I’ve never met, seen, or touched a woman quite like Shannon before.

But what a ride it has been thus far.

“Wow. You’re so damn beautiful, Shannon,” I say. “But you already know that, I’m sure.”

Shannon unexpectedly turns around, her piercing eyes staring straight into my weak soul. She rubs her hands down her bare breasts, completely aware of their remarkably small size. Is she projecting her insecurities to me? Or pointing out her flaws (as if she has any)? Or is she attempting to turn herself on? I can only guess.

Next, she hooks her fingers around the sides of her bikini bottom and methodically pulls it down to the floor. Once it pools around her ankles, she kicks them off to the side. Neither of us have any clue where it lands. Not that we actually care.

Now she is completely nude.

“Thank you, Max. I appreciate the kind words,” Shannon begins. “Why don’t you show me how beautiful you think I am, instead of just saying it?”

With the grace of a world-class ballet dancer, Shannon leaps backwards onto the hotel bed and spreads her powerful legs as wide as they can go. She rests her head against the purple satin pillowcase. I think I know what she’s inviting me to do…so I oblige her invitation with very little humility.

I get down on my knees and lean my chest against the edge of the bed. My hands explore Shannon’s tree trunk legs, her calves the size of grapefruits, and her impressive six-pack abdomen. Shannon closes her eyes and moans as I touch every inch of her magnificent body. She’s an angel, a deity, a demi-goddess who is charitable enough to visit the Human World. For this, I am eternally grateful.

My eyes open wide when I see Shannon’s enormous clitoris. Hot, ultrasensitive, pulsing, and as erect as it can possibly be, my tongue laps its broad head with reckless abandon. Protruding out at least three inches in length, I wrap my lips around it and rhythmically fondle it with my entire mouth. Shannon groans in response, intense pleasure building up within her being.

She grabs the bedsheets and squeezes them with all her might. I would not be surprised if she accidentally rips the fabric. Her brute strength is enough to break or tear anything manmade. Loud moans of delight escape from her throat. I clutch her legs to stabilize myself. I continue to suck as meticulously as I can – wanting to bring her to the earthshattering orgasm that she deserves.

Eventually, Shannon does climax. Maybe just once. Or maybe twice. I cannot tell for sure.

“Oh fuck!” Shannon belts out.

She lifts her pelvis off the bed and writhes around involuntarily. Shock waves of orgasm pulsate throughout her body. I try to end on a gracious note by slowing down my oral actions and tickling her clit head with the tip of my tongue. I do not know if she enjoys this or even acknowledges the gesture.

Moments pass. Shannon is out of breath and smiling unashamedly.

“Alright kid. Now it’s your turn,” she announces.

Shannon playfully shoves me backward, forcing me to stumble onto my bare butt. She flexes her bulging biceps, then shows off her jaw-dropping triceps. Next, she squeezes her delts and looks to the ground to provide me with a more advantageous view. I appreciate every second of it. The final thing she does is turn toward the window and strike a side chest pose, demonstrating the results of all these years of bench pressing at the gym. She grins with delight at the conclusion of her little “show.”

She takes a few steps toward me. I am still on the floor, as vulnerable as can be.

There I am, looking up to her. She smiles. I can clearly see the deep grooves between her abs. I can see her shrunken breasts – and the chip on her shoulder that comes with it. She’s still wearing the high heels, which adds her to considerable height. She is all powerful. Omnipotent. Invincible. Indomitable. I am weak. I can do nothing to resist. Yet, why would I?

“I’m in a good mood right now. I know we’ve just met, but I have a special feeling about you, Max.” Shannon stands frozen in time, as still as a marble statue. “I rarely let guys do this the first time they see me, but like I just said, I’m feeling generous.”

She walks toward her suitcase, opens it, digs around it for a few moments, and takes out a condom wrapper. My heart flutters, knowing exactly what is about to transpire next.

Shannon tears it open and tosses it carelessly on top of the bedside credenza. She points to the bed. I immediately get up and sit down on it, as obedient as a pet dog. I remain silent. She does as well.

This is what the hotel balcony looks like.

Seductively, she approaches me and wraps her callused fingers around my manhood. It awakens, growing harder and longer in the palm of her hand. I take in a deep breath, afraid I might prematurely come right then and there. Thankfully, I do not embarrass myself in front of this Gorgeous Muscle Goddess. Eventually – and for what seems like an eternity – she smooths the condom down my erect penis and leans over to kiss me. Our lips meet. Her tongue wrestles with mine. Her strawberry-flavored chap stick invades my senses. Shannon then grasps my wrist and pulls me upward. I stand next to her, my eyes still just below hers. She leads me to the sliding glass door. My breathing stops. She unlocks it and escorts us outside. The chilly early spring air greets our nude bodies. It is still not quite dark yet, so at this moment complete strangers could be watching us if they were fortunate enough to stumble upon this glorious sight:

A lucky nude man accompanied by a beautiful nude muscular woman.

Shannon turns around, braces the metallic railing and sticks her bottom out toward me, offering it to her newfound mate. I place my cold hands against her hips. The tip of my penis brushes against her left butt cheek. I manage to take in a deep breath.

“Now fuck me,” she says in a much louder voice than I thought was prudent.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without thinking too much about it, I seize her hips with more force and guide my penis inside her. She’s already wet, signaling her hospitality. I thrust in and out of her vagina, not saying a word and secretly hoping somebody would see us. After all, this is the most triumphant moment of my life…I would kill to have some kind of an audience to witness it. Is that too much to ask?

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s great. Just like that, Max…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw an older couple watching us from a nearby balcony. But I could be wrong. My vision has blurred and I can only concentrate on fucking her with the forcefulness that she requires. Shannon returns the favor by bouncing her pelvis up and down, adding to the sensations running through my manhood. I can only scream.

“Oh, fuck!”

Pleasure swells to its pinnacle…

…

…and arrives at a satisfying conclusion.

I come. Much longer than usual. I cannot imagine how much semen I’ve just ejaculated into this measly condom. More than twice than I usually do? Thrice? Who the fuck knows?

Finally, we come apart. Shannon stands up straight, kisses me one final time, picks me up with her burly arms, and takes me inside. I still do not know for sure if we had any spectators see our animalistic coupling just now. I suspect we did. But that’s just a baseless guess.

She drops me to the ground and my knees buckle. I fall feebly to the carpet. Now, I’m the one who’s out of breath. I peer up to see her. Once again, she’s standing over me. That smile has not left her pretty face. Her authority is tangible. It’s frightening how powerful she is right now and how weak I am. The contrast is jarring. Yet, in my weakness, I feel no shame. I feel ecstatic, in fact. I feel…masculine. The most masculine I’ve never felt in my life, ironically in the presence of a much bigger and stronger woman. I don’t feel any humiliation or emasculation. Quite the opposite.

It’s funny how paradoxical life can be at times, isn’t it?

Regardless of the real power dynamics actually going on in this room, there’s one constant that never ceases to exist. There I am, in the presence of the most beautiful creature I’ve ever been privileged to meet. She’s standing tall, I am on the floor.

Looking up to her.

Thank Heavens for the Clit Pump

Denise Masino proudly showing off her best asset.

Throughout the history of human civilization, there have been several inventions that changed the trajectory of society for the better.

The wheel. The compass. Gunpowder. The printing press. The combustion engine. Vaccinations. The lightbulb. The telephone. The automobile. The computer. The Internet.

These new technologies revolutionized how human beings communicated, learned, traded, survived, and lived. Without getting too deep into the weeds, suffice to say that these inventions – and its descendants that we still use today – have made it possible for our life expectancies to go up and the global population to boom to more than 7 billion people and counting.

Yet, there is one particular technology that we cannot overlook. We must not underestimate its importance to our shared humanity. To not acknowledge and recognize its impact would be intellectually dishonest.

What am I referring to?

The clit pump, of course!

Huh?

Well, that might be a slight exaggeration, but hopefully you get the idea in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way.

The clit pump, in case you aren’t acquainted with its existence yet, is a sex toy that increases blood flow into a woman’s top erogenous zone using a small tube and hand pump that creates suction around the clitoris and labia. It is a device that is derived from the penis pump, a gadget that essentially does the same thing for men. The vacuum created inside the cylindrical tube both increases blood flow to the clitoris and enhances its size. This leads to the nerve endings in the clitoral head becoming more sensitive – and subsequently heightens sexual pleasure.

Women tend use clit pumps to masturbate, as foreplay before actual sex, or alternatively on the nipples, which is also an erogenous zone. Since lots of female bodybuilders have larger than normal clits, it makes perfect sense why they’d love to use a clit pump – and why fans of female bodybuilders love watching them use it. It’s a textbook win-win situation.

Any casual fan of female bodybuilding has probably watched a video or two (or three, or four, or five) of a female bodybuilder using a clit pump to pleasure herself. Some prominent FBBs who’ve participated in such videos include Denise Masino, Amber DeLuca, Brandi Mae Akers, Angela Salvagno, Ashlee Chambers, and Kathy Connors. There have probably been others, but this should give you the idea that this activity isn’t rare or unusual.

Angela Salvagno is redefining how we think women “should” look.

The benefit a clit pump provides a woman shouldn’t have to be explained in further depth. You can probably imagine how much pleasure it gives them to have such a sensitive part of the body stimulated in a sucking manner. Um, yeah.

However, female bodybuilders are a different breed of woman. And fans of female bodybuilders recognize this fact as clearly as anyone. Watching a female bodybuilder use a clit pump is an experience unlike any other. Yes, that could seem like hyperbole, but it does indeed deserve special acknowledgment.

The reasons why we love female bodybuilders and their big clits have been outlined before, but here’s a brief summary: In short, a large clitoris is an outward expression of an FBB’s sexual sovereignty. Unlike the vagina, which is an internal organ that serves – at least from a reproductive standpoint – the purposes of receiving a man’s penis and birthing a child, the clitoris is an external-facing organ that exists for the sole purpose of giving a woman sexual pleasure. It’s hypersensitive and provides her satisfying orgasms. However, because the clit is normally very small, our culture at large (as well as other cultures around the world) doesn’t always recognize its importance to a woman’s sexual health. It’s not talked about at school or at home. Thus, many women across the globe never realize what their clitoris is and what unique function it serves.

Men, on the other hand, have penises. The penis is a much larger external organ that is obvious in its appearance and universally understood to give a man sexual pleasure. No culture throughout human history has ever misunderstood the purpose of the penis. Therefore, boys do not grow up not knowing what purpose this organ serves and what benefits it can provide. It also gives men a sense of unearned sexual superiority because of the obvious nature of this particular organ. Women, however, do not have the luxury of possessing an outward-facing organ that serves an obvious sensual purpose. The clitoris is small and is often overshadowed by the vagina, which can be seen as a “passive” organ that only exists to please the penis during coitus.

We know that the vagina isn’t a passive organ, but that fact isn’t ingrained in our culture’s psyche. However, women who possess a larger-than-normal clitoris are a different matter. They do in fact possess an organ that is both obvious in its appearance and unambiguous in its functionality. It gives a woman pleasure, period. End of story. No need to elaborate.

So, an FBB with big muscles and a large clitoris is a special kind of woman whose sexual independence is punctuated by their enormous genitalia. They are in fact sexual beings who don’t just exist to please others, but exist for their own sake. They don’t need a man to please themselves. They don’t need another woman either, so this is not a matter of sexual orientation or preference. This is a case of sovereignty. This is a matter of our culture giving permission to women everywhere to enjoy their sex lives with or without a partner. It’s about women being able to experience orgasms without any rhyme or reason. She doesn’t need any reason to do so other than she desires to have orgasms. Whenever she wants to, how often she wants to. That is the definition of “sovereignty.” Unfortunately, this simple concept hasn’t always been universally agreed upon.

We’re better than we were in the past, but we still have a long way to go. For sure.

Whew!

A female bodybuilder fits the definition perfectly of a “strong independent woman,” yet our culture doesn’t see it that way. Our culture doesn’t really acknowledge female bodybuilders at all. They’re still at the fringes of the “mainstream” and don’t have a seat at the table. It’s a crying shame, but it’s a reality that FBBs and fans of FBBs have come to accept. For those of us who are aware of female bodybuilders and their vast accomplishments, we’ve come to appreciate their sovereignty. Their long hours at the gym, grueling dietary choices, and financial sacrifices are not lost on us. Nor is their sexuality lost on us. Far from it.

Ashlee Chambers filling that tube with her girly meat.

We all know Denise Masino possesses a lot of meat between her legs. A long clitoris, thick labia, and a fleshy pink vagina await anyone fortunate enough to be able to witness her substantial feminine endowments. But here’s the kicker: Her enormous genitalia doesn’t exist to please a man. Nor does it exist to please a woman. Instead, it only exists to please herself.

A clit pump only emphasizes that point. When you see Denise’s large clitoris become even larger, your eyes become so big you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets. It serves as a valuable reminder that Denise is a sexually independent being. She might be showing off for the camera, but the real purpose of her performance is to prove a critically important point: Her body is capable of providing her immense sexual pleasure and she isn’t afraid to explore these possibilities to its fullest limits.

Denise, and every other FBB who’s shot clit pump videos, is willing to titillate her audience as well as educate them. She’s teaching them an important lesson in female sexuality. She’s schooling us on the fact that women are not passive creatures who need a man to please them. Rather, women are sexually autonomous and don’t have to apologize for being so. These ladies may not mean to make this statement, but they are regardless.

A clit pump, therefore, is a fantastic invention not just because of the primary function it serves, but also for its secondary function. It drives home the point in the most bombastic manner possible that women do not exist to give men pleasure. Women are not second-class citizens. They don’t have to be subordinate to anyone. These concepts are arbitrarily drawn up by our culture and have been passed down from generation to generation. When you see an FBB’s clitoral meat nearly fill up the entire tube, your jaw drops to the floor not just because you’re “impressed” by what she has, but also because you finally realize what you’ve been missing all these years: The way women experience sex isn’t radically different than how men experience sex.

Kathy Connors is not afraid to show us her best features.

Yes, there are remarkable differences. Biologically, male and female genitalia are very different. No reason to contest that. Yet, where they are similar is the basic configuration of how orgasm is achieved. Stimulate the genitals during the proper state of arousal…and orgasm will ensue.

This stimulation can be provided by a man. Or a woman. Or herself. Or by a toy. No matter what, the result is the same: Bliss.

There’s even one video where Denise jerks her clit off between her fingers, similar to how a man would masturbate. She strokes her endowment up and down until she comes. Of course, whether she actually climaxed in that moment is beside the point. What’s more important is how much guys watching this can identify with Denise’s actions. We’ve all been there in some form or fashion. It’s supremely arousing to see a lady do what we’ve been doing since we were teenage boys. Denise is a fine looking lady who’s strong, confident, intelligent, sexy, and proud of what her body can do for her. She isn’t ashamed. She isn’t embarrassed to have a large clitoris that provokes Internet trolls to make denigrating comments like “She’s actually a man!” or “Gross! That’s what steroids will do to you!” Denise isn’t a man of course, and not only are these idiots totally wrong, they’re missing out on enjoying an entire facet of femininity that many of us deeply appreciate.

FBBs who use clit pumps aren’t redefining “femininity.” Instead, they’re expanding the definition of it. Big muscles, large genitalia, and an assertive personality can also be feminine. FBBs aren’t trying to be like men; they’re trying to be a better version of themselves. When we see Angela Salvagno stretch her golden brown labia as far out as it can go, we’re reminded that she’s showing off her feminine body in all its glory. We’re not seeing a masculine-looking figure inhabiting a female body. We’re seeing a nontraditional womanly body that doesn’t conform to our preconceived notions of what “feminine” should look like.

These truths can go over the heads of far too many of us. However, clit pumps play an integral role in tearing down these barriers. When that clear tube is filled with 2-3 inches of meat, our philosophical paradigm shifts completely. We finally recognize the irrefutable truth that female bodybuilders are exactly that: females who build their bodies up to proportions that shatter our expectations. And they build their bodies in ways that go beyond their muscles. It includes their genitals, too.

Witnessing a cute girly girl like Brandi Mae Akers filling her tube with a couple inches of clitoral meat really proves the point that our perceptions of “masculine” and “feminine” are completely wrong. Our brains struggle to comprehend how someone so unmistakably feminine can also have such large genitals. How is that even possible? Then, she jokes about walking around in public with the tube still attached, giggling at the possibility of strangers stopping dead in their tracks when they see a pretty young lady like herself sport a substantial endowment between her legs. What a sight that would be!

Whether we’re dealing with a pretty girl-next-door like Brandi Mae or an intimidating Alpha Female like Amber DeLuca, both of these ladies force us to reevaluate how we should view the differences between men and women. Personally, when I see Amber proudly filling that tube with her large clit, I don’t feel insecure or apprehensive. Instead, I feel a sense of kinship and commonality with her. I feel like she isn’t all that different from me. She’s obviously quite different from me in every aspect of life, but in that moment I feel as though we’re two sides of the same coin.

Male/female. Masculine/feminine. Blah. Why does it matter? What’s the difference? Differences do exist, but why are we so focused on them all the time? Can’t we just celebrate our distinctions, recognize our similarities, and enjoy what every single one of us can bring to the table? I pray the world may wake up and finally realize that we’re tearing ourselves apart for no good reason.

In closing, we should be grateful that there are a number of female bodybuilders who are not afraid to pump their clits for the entire world to see. They’re not ashamed of what Mother Nature has endowed them with, as well as the side effects of living life as an elite bodybuilder. But it’s not just that they’re not afraid; they’re proud of their bodies. They take pride in being unique. They relish being able to shatter our preconceived notions of human sexuality and gender identities. They’re taking all of us to school one way or another.

Every time they film themselves using a clit pump, they’re planting seeds inside our imaginations of what women are actually capable of being. They aren’t people who “lack a penis,” but instead are people who affirmatively “have a vagina, labia, and clitoris.” These parts do not singularly define their identity, but they certainly play a role in shaping how we view and treat them. We take pleasure in watching them experience pleasure. And whether we know it or not, we’re becoming better people, little by little.

As they expand their clits to larger lengths, they’re also expanding our hearts to newer heights.

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Two of Five

Continued from part one

Twenty minutes later Deborah is parking her car in stall #17, the spot assigned to her by the apartment complex. Cassandra owns a motorcycle that she hasn’t ridden in at least a year; and probably won’t until her leg fully heals. So until then, Deborah essentially has to drive her everywhere. It’s a burden, but one that she has gotten used to.

Once inside, she pats Bruce on the head. Bruce is their orange tabby whom they adopted from Cassie’s brother, whose new wife is allergic to cats. Deborah never thought she’d ever become a mommy, but that all changed when this adorable ball of fur entered her life.

“Meow,” Bruce purrs with gratitude.

“Meow, meow back to you, little guy,” she whispers. Deborah finishes her banana strawberry smoothie and tosses the cup into the trash. She drops her purse onto the kitchen counter and takes out the envelope. She reopens it and counts the contents inside. Sure enough, it’s 100 $100 bills, which indeed adds up to $10,000. Deborah may never have been good at math, but she can do basic arithmetic when large sums of money are involved. She closes the envelope and places it back inside her purse.

She doesn’t know if Cassie is still awake, so she proceeds cautiously to the bathroom to brush her teeth. All of a sudden, a familiar soothing voice breaks the silence.

“Good evening. Or is it officially morning yet?”

Deborah looks up at the wall clock. It is only 11:30.

“No, it’s still evening. Hello sweetie.” Deborah approaches her lover and kisses her with more intensity than usual. Cassandra heaves after their lips come apart.

“Wow! That’s more than just a simple good night kiss. What’s gotten into you?” Cassandra switches on a light and takes a good look at Deborah. Her hair is unkempt, but that is not unusual. She appears to be like a walking zombie, which is definitely out of character. Usually the Debbie she knows carries herself with more pomp and authority.

“The strangest thing just happened to me as I was walking out of the gym,” Deborah begins. “I still haven’t been able to process it.”

“Well, that’s quite out of the ordinary. Did that asshole start to flirt with you again?” For years this random spray tanned muscle bro would always hit on her at the gym. Finally, he stopped only because Cassie clocked him in the nose after he called her a dyke. There were hundreds of witnesses, but no one felt any sympathy for the douchebag. In fact, the crowd cheered her on.

“No, I haven’t seen that guy for several months. Just as I was leaving, this guy I’ve never seen before struck up a conversation with me in the parking lot,” she says. Deborah goes to her purse, takes out the envelope, and hands it to Cassandra. “He offered me a deal on behalf of his ‘client.’ He didn’t say who his client is. Then he gave me this.”

“What’s in it? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Go ahead. Open it.”

Cassandra does. After looking inside, her eyes become as wide as Deborah has ever seen them.

“Holy shit! Is this for real?” Cassandra takes out the bills and begins to count them one by one. “Holy mother of God, this is a shit ton of money!”

“I’ve counted it. Twice. It’s ten thousand dollars. Real dollars. I used to work at a bank, remember? I know a fake dollar bill when I see one. And every single one of them is real. No doubt about it.” After the initial shock wears off, Cassandra next discovers the business card that is also tucked away inside the envelope. She reads it.

“I’m guessing this is the phone number of the person you talked to?”

“Yes. He told me I should think about his offer. If I want to take him up on it, I should call this number.” Deborah sits down at the dining table. Cassandra, sensing a longer conversation is about to commence, joins her.

“What was his offer?”

Deborah clears her throat. Bruce meanders over to his water dish and drinks from it.

“He says his client wants me to spend the night with him. He didn’t specify what we’d be doing, but you can use your imagination,” she begins. “His client is willing to compensate me with one million dollars–”

“Are you serious?! One million dollars? In cash?”

“He sounded serious. And he gave me this money to prove he’s not blowing smoke. Says I can keep the ten thousand bucks regardless of whether I choose to go through with it or not. He told me I have 48 hours to reply.” Deborah sinks back in her chair and sighs. Bruce jumps on her lap and rubs his head against her hardened abdomen. She scratches the orange fur ball’s underbelly, much to his delight.

There is a long pause.

“This is unbelievable. He cannot possibly be serious.”

“That’s what I thought at first as well,” Deborah says. “I’ve been thinking nonstop about this ever since. I don’t know what to do. He didn’t seem dangerous or anything.”

“Did he follow you home?” Cassandra asks. She peers outside through the window facing the main street. Not a single car has zipped by in the past fifteen minutes. After all, it is the dead of night.

“I don’t think so. He drove off before I did.” Bruce has decided he wants to sleep on his favorite mommy’s lap. Deborah continues to stroke his belly.

“Are you sure? He could have had someone else tail you.”

“Don’t be paranoid, Cassie dear. He didn’t seem threatening. He did give me $10,000, right? That’s not something a scary man would do.” Reluctantly, Deborah also looks out the window. She sees an old retiree walking a dog. Why the fuck would you walk your dog this late at night?

“Hm. 48 hours, you say? What will you do? What did he say if you said no?”

“He said if either I said ‘no’ or I never contact him, he would pursue other candidates or something like that. Either way, I keep this money. I just wouldn’t be eligible to get the bigger prize.” Cassandra stands up and closes the blinds. Deborah is happy to see how effortlessly she can move around without wincing in pain. That wasn’t the case not too long ago.

“Other candidates? What is this, a job interview? Wow. What are you going to do?”

They stare at each other for a long time. Bruce yawns. Deborah feels a yawn of her own sneaking up on her.

“I have no fucking clue.”

***

The screeching of an alarm clock awakes both Deborah and Cassandra from their slumber. Bruce has already awakened hours ago, which isn’t surprising considering cats sleep for twenty hours a day – or so it seems. He dutifully sits next to his food dish, ready to be fed. Today is Thursday, which means it’s Cassie’s turn to give the feline what he demands.

Deborah lies in bed staring up at the ceiling. Was last night a dream? Did that encounter with Thin Fedora Man really happen to her? As Cassandra plops a lump of wet food into Bruce’s dish, Deborah suddenly makes her decision.

“I’m going to do it.”

Cassandra’s ears perk up. Bruce could not care less, chowing down on his food with the ferociousness of a starving Dickensian orphan.

“Really? Why?”

“It’s only for one night. Plus, I can talk to him, ask a few more questions, and back out if he reveals further details that make me uncomfortable.” Deborah sits up in bed and rubs her eyes. “It never hurts to ask, right?”

“Maybe not, or maybe so,” Cassandra answers, with a slight hint of melancholy in her voice.

***

The rest of the day proceeds as normal. Deborah drives Cassie to work. She’s a part-time laboratory tester at a pesticide company. She makes sure new anti-insect products won’t poison humans. It’s a pretty important job.

Deborah also works part-time as a nutrition coach at a fitness gym across town. The gym itself is small, dirty, and low-grade. Never in a million years would Deborah ever train there. But she will earn a small paycheck from them. But would she ever work out there? Not a chance.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” Deborah says to a short overweight man named Calvin. Calvin is one of Deborah’s best clients. He may be overweight, but he used to be much more overweight. So much so, his doctor told him to lose 175 pounds or he might not live to see his 50^th birthday. That was quite a wakeup call, to say the least.

“Thank you. See you next time, Debbie,” Calvin says. She prefers that he not call her “Debbie,” but he’s a pleasant enough fellow so she doesn’t mind all too much. As Calvin stands up to leave, out of the corner of her eye she sees a man wearing a fedora walk through the front door. She intently watches the mysterious man, and then sees it’s just Jeff, the boyfriend of the gym’s manager. God, how paranoid is she getting? Deborah then realizes she’s kept a close watch on every single person who’s entered the gym. Why is she constantly looking over her shoulder?

Deborah takes a sip from her water bottle and deeply sighs. She can’t keep going like this. Frightened. Anxious. Suspicious of everyone. Unable to focus on the task at hand. She sees the time is 11:17. A bit early for lunch, but late enough in the day that she can take it. Deborah checks her calendar. Her next appointment is at noon. Perfect.

Ten minutes later, Deborah is sitting in her car with her phone and Thin Fedora Man’s business card sitting on the dashboard. She breathes in deeply like a Buddhist monk and exhales.

“Let’s do this shit.”

She quickly dials the number and waits. Six rings later, a voice that resembles that of Thin Fedora Man answers.

“Good day, Miss Frost.”

“Hello, whoever your name is. Is this the gentleman I spoke to last night?”

“Indeed, it is. Have you made a decision?”

“I have,” Deborah says. She looks around to see if anybody is watching her. Other than a squirrel that has just run up a nearby tree, the coast appears to be clear. “I’m interested in taking up your client’s offer. I’m saying yes.”

“He will be most pleased to hear that,” the voice responds. “Will your girlfriend mind that you’ll be taking on this endeavor?”

Deborah’s heart sinks. How the fuck does he know that she has a girlfriend? How does he know about Cassie? Is her life in danger? Is she being watched after all…?

“How do you know I have a girlfriend?” she inquires with urgency.

“You’ve mentioned her on your Instagram page,” Thin Fedora Man says. “It’s public knowledge.”

Oh. Right. That pesky thing. The perils of putting your whole life out there to the public.

“Right. I have talked about her publicly. Silly me.”

“No worries,” he chuckles. “Do you know where the municipal airport is outside of the city?”

“Yes. It’s not too far from here.”

“Good. Now listen to these instructions very carefully. Go there this Saturday morning at 9 o’clock. Park your car in the main garage and grab a ticket from one of the kiosks,” he says. “Then, proceed to the ticket counter and tell them you’re scheduled to ride the Silver Hawk. It’s my client’s private jet. Give your ticket to the front desk employee and he or she will validate your parking. We’ve already paid for it in advance. Got all that?”

“Yes.”

“Delightful. You will be escorted to the Silver Hawk. I will be standing outside it on the runway. Then, we will board and fly off to the location my client has chosen for this little adventure.” Deborah realizes she probably should be taking notes, but so far nothing about this seems particularly complicated. “You can expect to return home by Sunday evening. Are we clear on this?”

Deborah watches the squirrel nibble on a lone French fry that somehow fell on the ground. The squirrel seems so at peace with not a care in the world. She envies the little bugger.

“Crystal clear. I understand.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Unless you have any further questions, I will end this conversation now. Just so you know, the moment I hang up, this phone number will become disconnected, so you can’t redial to reach me again,” he warns. “So the next time we chat will be on the tarmac.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I have no questions.”

“Excellent. Goodbye, Miss Frost. See you in two days.” Thin Fedora Man hangs up. She hears nothing but the dial tone. Deborah ends the phone call and drops her phone on the passenger seat. She can do nothing but stare ahead into the nothingness in front of her. It may be lunchtime but at this moment Deborah has no appetite.

***

That night, Deborah breaks the news to Cassandra about her conversation with Thin Fedora Man. She seems stoic and confident that everything will turn out alright when all is said and done.

“It’s basically a really elaborate muscle worship session, right?” Cassandra asks. For the uninitiated, a “muscle worship session” is a type of erotic service many female bodybuilders offer to male clients. Lots of muscular women – both young and old, married and single, mothers and the childless – do this. There’s no shame in it. It’s not particularly taboo or discouraged by the female bodybuilding community. Deborah has never offered such services before, but at a steep price of $1 million she may never have to work another day in her life again if the evening with Thin Fedora Man’s client goes well.

When you think about Deborah Frost, think about 1970s bombshell Deborah Shelton, who appeared in the TV show “Dallas” and won the Miss USA beauty contest in 1970. Only much more muscular, of course!

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Deborah admits. “I know lots of girls who do that sort of thing. I’ve never done anything like that, but it’s not because I’m a prude. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with. But you’re right. One million dollars is a shit load of money.”

Cassandra approaches her lover and kisses her deeply. She reaches out and feels Deborah’s massive biceps. She’s just gotten back from the gym, so Deborah’s muscles are more swollen than usual. Once their lips come apart, Cassandra unzips Deborah’s jeans and pulls them gently to the floor.

“It is a shit ton of money. More than we could ever imagine. Think about what we could be doing if we never have to worry about money ever again…”

But Deborah is in no mood to think. And judging from Cassandra squatting down and pulling down her panties, it appears she isn’t either.

Five minutes later, the two lovers are in bed. Cassandra is sucking on Deborah’s enormous clitoris, desperately wanting to bring her lover to orgasm. Deborah does eventually come, but she feels no pleasure as her mind has wandered off in another direction. After a full hour of making love – and it’s been several months since Deborah and Cassandra have engaged in a lovemaking session this long and intense – the two lovers find themselves intertwined together, covered in sweat and the grime of the day. They smell awful, but it’s the least of their worries at this moment.

“I’m not scared,” Deborah reassures her partner.

“I know you aren’t,” Cassie whispers back, caressing her lover’s dark brown pubic hair.

***

Two days later, Deborah follows Thin Fedora Man’s directions just as he instructed her. Carrying only a small black suitcase with a change of clothing, lingerie, makeup, a can of pepper spray, a pocket knife, a Tupperware container of food (steak, brown rice, and asparagus), and a hair brush inside it – she decided to “pack light” for this overnight excursion – Deborah drives to the barren municipal airport and parks her car in the main garage. She takes a parking ticket from the nearest kiosk and scurries to the front desk area at a brisk pace.

It’s surprisingly crowded for such an early morning flight. All eyes stare at her, which by now Deborah has grown accustomed to. It’s quite unusual to see a tall muscle-bound woman strut around out of the blue.

“Mommy! Is that a boy or a girl?” a little snot-nosed kid blurts out rather loudly. Embarrassed and apologetic, the woman shushes her son and gives Deborah a regretful look. Deborah pleasantly smiles and walks away. The boy still stares blankly at her, confused and disoriented.

“How may I help you?” a perplexed young man asks. Deborah leans over the counter and speaks to the Front Desk Man in a low voice, not wanting anyone to hear their conversation.

“I’m here to ride the Silver Hawk,” she says.

Front Desk Man checks his computer. After a moment, he gives Deborah a stunned look of disbelief.

“That’s very strange. Usually every flight has a, uh, you know, a flight time. But not this one. It’s just sitting in Runway D waiting for…um, you to show up,” he says. “Is your name Deborah Frost?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The puzzled young man inadvertently stares at Deborah’s defined pecs peeking out of her low-cut top and raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. You must, uh, work out, huh?”

“I go to the gym when I find the time,” Deborah sarcastically replies. Front Desk Man instantly realizes his inappropriate behavior and furiously works on his computer to process Deborah’s flight. He grabs a boarding pass that emerges from a printer and hands it to her.

“So, um, here you go. Here’s your ticket. Do you need your parking validated? It says here that the owner of the Silver Hawk has already paid for it ahead of time.” Deborah nods her head and hands her parking ticket to Front Desk Man. He enters the code in the computer and tosses the worthless piece of paper into the trash.

“Fantastic. I believe that’s it. Go to your left and walk down that hallway to the security zone. After that, head over to Gate D12. One of our employees will escort you to your flight after you show them your boarding pass,” he awkwardly explains. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No thanks.” Deborah holds onto her boarding pass as if her life depended upon it. She gets the funny feeling that perhaps it does.

“Great. Cool. Enjoy your flight.”

Fifteen minutes later a short Vietnamese girl wearing a suit jacket and a short blue skirt escorts Deborah to the Silver Hawk. Deborah cannot help but imagine what her pussy must look like. She’s always had a “thing” for Asian chicks. Before Cassie, Deborah once dated a tall Chinese girl who played for the school’s basketball team. She possessed the most beautiful pussy she’s ever laid her eyes on. Unfortunately, she spoke broken English so their relationship never felt natural. Oh well.

“Enjoy your flight,” the Vietnamese girl says as they enter the tarmac. Sitting authoritatively on the runway is a gorgeous twin engine silver colored jet that looks like a dream come true. Deborah doesn’t notice the Vietnamese girl walk away because she’s too busy being in awe of the plane. As if on cue, the side door opens and Thin Fedora Man walks down the stairs to greet her.

“Good morning, Miss Frost. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise. Oh my God, this plane is beautiful! How much does it cost to rent?” A second mysterious person shows up out of nowhere and takes her luggage. Still, Deborah doesn’t notice this. Thin Fedora Man laughs and shakes her hand.

“I couldn’t tell you. My client isn’t renting the Silver Hawk. He owns it.”

Deborah’s mouth nearly drops to the ground.

“Seriously?! He owns this?”

Thin Fedora Man chuckles some more. He takes her hand and guides her toward the jet.

“Of course he does. I think you will discover my client has much deeper pockets than you think.” And just like that, within minutes Deborah is sitting down at her seat and buckles her seatbelt. Thin Fedora Man chooses to sit in the cockpit. She’s all alone, with an endless supply of magazines at her disposal. A stewardess enters the cabin with a tray of scrambled egg whites, turkey sausage, tomato slices, a buttermilk biscuit, fresh fruit, orange juice, and coffee. She sets the tray beside Deborah and promptly exits. A few moments later the engines turn on and the plane crawls forward.

It’s at this moment that her feelings of wonderment dramatically shift to unmitigated dread. She cannot explain why. But as the Silver Hawk prepares to fly off into The Great Unknown, Deborah only has one thought running through her mind:

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

To be continued…

The Strap-On Fantasy: Ready, Willing, and Well-Endowed

Denise Masino showing Lisa Cross who’s the boss.

Imagine you’re lying on the ground with your hands and feet tied together with rope. There’s a gag in your mouth. You cannot speak a word. You struggle to move. But for some odd reason, you feel no desire to speak or move. You just lie there. Waiting. In complete silence.

Suddenly, a door opens. The silence is broken. You cannot look behind you, but you can clearly hear the clank of high heels banging against the cement floor. The steps come closer. And closer. And closer. Finally, the clanking stops. You hear a low gravelly voice barking out orders. It sounds masculine, but strangely feminine at the same time. But instead of being confused or perplexed, you’re frightened, nervous, and uncontrollably aroused all at the same time.

A strong pair of hands takes hold of you and turns you around. Finally, you see who it is that has graced your presence. It is that of a muscular woman. Tall, confident, and ripped from head to toe with big bulging muscles, she’s a sight you’ve never seen before. You will never forget this moment, the moment your eyes first see her size and strength. It is forever burned into your memory. And for that, you are eternally grateful.

You look at her gorgeous face, then her pecs, shoulders, biceps, six-pack abdomen, and her tree trunk thighs. She definitely goes to the gym regularly! But the one thing that you cannot help but notice is the enormous strap-on attached to her pelvis. Your eyes focus on a huge ten inch long black dildo hanging between her legs. It is the most intimidating thing you’ve ever witnessed. It looks hard, violent, and unforgiving. It is a tool of punishment. It is her way of asserting her deserving and rightful dominance.

However, no matter how scared you get, there’s a small part of you that desires that dildo to penetrate you. You want it shoved deep inside your body, invading your most intimate parts. You want her to be the one to do it. And from the way she positions herself over you, it appears as though that’s precisely what’s about to happen. Again, you are powerless to object. You cannot escape from your fate. She is going to do it. Hard. Over and over again. Until she decides to stop, not when you decide it should stop. She may want to penetrate you for hours. Or maybe for only a few minutes. Or seconds. Regardless, it’s her choice…not yours.

You fully expect the penetration to hurt immensely. It will be the most painful and humiliating experience of your life. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You want this to happen, even though you’re terrified out of your wits. You’re sweating. Your heart is racing a million miles per second. If the dildo doesn’t kill you, cardiac arrest might instead. But if that were to happen, it would be tragic but at least you will die happy.

The moment of truth is approaching. She parts your thighs, preparing to enter you. She licks her lips. She grabs onto the black dildo and strokes it up and down as suggestively as possible. She then takes out a bottle of lubricant and dabs a small amount onto her fingers. She reaches down and smears it on you. It feels cold, but comforting. The anticipation has reached a fever pitch. It’ll only be a few moments until she finally enters you. She smiles. You grimace, but you also remain calm. You’ve accepted your fate. You choose to accept what’s coming to you.

At last, she positions her dildo right at your entrance, and she squeezes it in…

Alright, wake up sweetheart! It’s time for school.

Huh? What just happened?

If the following anecdote arouses you in any way, I suppose that means I’ve done my job, which is to act as a (de facto) scribe of your dirtiest inner thoughts. Your fantasy world may not be this vivid or kinky, but I’m sure you’ve had your moments. I can guarantee it. Whether you’re truly into kink or if you’re more vanilla, you’ve probably at some point during your female muscle fandom watched a video or two that features a strong powerful woman wearing a strap-on dildo.

Melissa Dettwiller cannot help but submit to Lynn McCrossin (may she rest in peace).

Maybe she’s penetrating a guy. Or a woman. Or a fellow female bodybuilder. Or maybe she’s just by herself and she’s teasing you with it. No matter the circumstances, this fantasy scenario is not uncommon within the female muscle fan community (believe it or not, such a community actually exists!). Watching a hypermuscular woman wear a gigantic strap-on dildo – the color specifications can differ depending on who you are – can be quite arousing, even if BDSM isn’t necessarily your “thing.”

Why is that? Why do we enjoy watching Angela Salvagno or Yvette Bova wear a strap-on around their waists while they prepare to unleash pain and humiliation upon a hapless victim? How many of us wish we were that victim? Or at the very least, how many of us wish we could witness in-person this act of tyranny up close?

The Strap-On Fantasy is a fascinating one to ponder about. It covers a wide range of ideas that exemplify why female muscle fandom is so perplexing. Whether we secretly wish for an FBB wearing a strap-on to enter us where the sun doesn’t shine or whether we get turned on watching it happen to somebody else, let’s dig deep into this phenomena further (no pun intended).

The first major observation is that many female muscle lovers enjoy watching a muscular woman assert her sexual dominance. Many of us don’t fantasize about making love to an FBB as if she were our equal (although I do!). Rather, many of us desire that she take control, declare her sexual sovereignty, and do whatever she wants with us. However, such a fantasy isn’t just reduced to a powerful woman “being on top” in the bedroom. It takes it one step further.

Any woman – muscular or not – can assert her dominance in the bedroom. Either she decides what transpires or she determines the pace of play. Whichever it is, neither option is particular unusual or noteworthy. But when you add the element of a strap-on into the mix, things get a bit dicey. A muscular woman with a strap-on attached to her isn’t trying to become more “masculine” or “man-like.” It certainly appears that way, but underneath the surface we come to realize that a strap-on isn’t just a fake penis. It’s an external (and material) symbol of sexual dominance.

As a society, we view the penis – for better or for worse – as a symbol of sexual sovereignty. It’s an external organ that, when stimulated, provides pleasure for the person who has it. Women have organs that provide her sexual pleasure as well (her vagina and clitoris, primarily), but neither organ is pronounced enough for our psyches to relegate them as “vehicles of pleasure.” The vagina is internal and the clitoris is very small. For this reason, when we were little kids we thought that “boys have a penis” and “girls don’t have a penis,” as opposed to “girls have a vagina.” Girls do have a vagina, but it’s less obvious. Women can have orgasms without a partner, but far too many across the world aren’t explicitly aware of this ability. You can’t learn anything unless you’re taught, right?

Given this backdrop, a muscular woman wearing a strap-on is an exaggerated and crude way for her to showcase her sexual abilities. It’s her way of communicating to the world that she possesses (even in an artificial sense) a sexual organ that exists for the purpose of giving her sexual pleasure. Obviously, a strap-on is just a toy and doesn’t actually provide her pleasure (unless it’s a double sided strap-on), but that’s beside the point. It’s all about symbolism. If we associate a large sexual organ with sexual dominance, a strap-on hammers this point home unlike anything else.

Along the same wavelength, our culture tends to associate sexual dominance with the ability to penetrate. If you can penetrate your partner, that makes you powerful. It makes your partner subordinate to you. It makes him or her passive. It makes you the active participant who’s initiating the coital act. You are not surrendering your body’s autonomy by allowing someone else to enter it. You are the invader, not the invaded. If all of this sounds violent, it certainly does. On a more serious note, that’s often why we consider rape the highest of all crimes, perhaps worse than murder. Or at the very least, it’s the crime that’s just below murder as the worst possible crime you can commit against another human being. There’s something unholy about entering another person’s body without permission or with ill intent. It’s unseemly, discomforting, and appalling to comprehend. These sentiments stem from our cultural associations of “the ability to penetrate” with “strength” and “being penetrated” with “weakness.”

There’s nothing weak about Angela Salvagno.

Fair or unfair, that’s how we tend to view these matters. I am not here to argue whether or not I like this; rather I’m just pointing out the way things are. So the bottom line is this: Sexual dominance can take many forms, but the ability to penetrate your partner with a pronounced sexual organ is chief among them. Because women do not (normally) possess such an organ, a strap-on is the next best thing; a symbolic way for them to exhibit their power, independence, and authority.

The second major observation is that we enjoy watching female bodybuilders hug that fine line between “feminine” and “masculine.”

Of course, we love muscular women because they’re women with big beautiful muscles. Not because we think they look like men. And not because they exhibit qualities that we traditionally associate with masculinity. Female bodybuilders are feminine. They’re just a different kind of feminine. Or, they’re an “enhanced” version of feminine that embraces muscular curves in addition to her conventional curves.

But on second thought, perhaps there’s a shred of truth to the stereotype that guys who love muscular women are, whether they realize it or not, also embracing the FBB’s “masculine-lite” qualities. Or maybe, and this sounds much more plausible, guys like us are really turned on by strong ladies who walk that fine line between what we are and are not supposed to be attracted to.

We love watching a beautiful feminine FBB sport a large strap-on dildo not because it appears she has a penis – and thus appears to be a “man” of sorts – but because she doesn’t really, but she acts like she does. As men, we may or may not be proud of our phalluses. We may like the power it gives us, or at least the perceived power it gives us. And we love seeing our favorite FBBs share in that power, even if it’s superficial and temporary. Deep down inside our dirty imaginations, we secretly want our FBBs to be strong, powerful, and well-endowed. We want them to act like men while still being women. In our minds, acting masculine doesn’t make you masculine. You can exhibit masculine qualities while still being unquestionably feminine in nature.

As I’ve written before many times, female muscle fans love large clits because it’s their way of demonstrating their sexual power. It’s a (albeit, smaller in size) phallic-like external organ that gives sensual pleasure when stimulated by one’s self or by a partner. It provides orgasm. It becomes engorged when aroused. It grows in size when aroused. And if it’s large enough, it can be sucked on or jerked off to the point of climax. Sound familiar?

Due to extra testosterone in the body caused by both muscle growth and taking synthetic steroids, women bodybuilders often see their clitorises grow significantly in size. There’s a perfectly rational scientific explanation for this phenomenon. So the “female phallus” theme is more evident when we’re dealing with ladies such as Denise Masino (a goddess among men), Angela Salvagno, and Brandi Mae Akers. These women possess abnormally large clits that are gorgeous, sexually alluring, and allow them to demonstrate their power in the bedroom.

We all know that Denise, Angela, and Brandi Mae do not have penises. They have clitorises and vaginas just like every other woman. But without a doubt, the shape of the meat between their legs is noteworthy and sets them apart from the rest of the female species. Their status as women is undeniable. Nobody – at least, nobody with a fully functioning brain – seriously believes these ladies are anything but ladies. Internet trolls aside, it is because they’re strong, beautiful, confident, sexy, and feminine that we love them so damn much. They’ve captured our hearts because they break the mold of what society traditionally expects women to look like while still retaining much of that mold. They don’t defy these notions so much as they redefine them. And that is an impressive feat.

Yet, we are still intrigued by tiny voices inside our heads that tell us there’s more to these ladies than meets the eye. Is it that these ladies expand the definition of “feminine,” as I’ve argued above? Or, do they shatter these definitions completely and flesh out the argument that there’s actually no such thing as “masculine” and “feminine?” Are these labels real or perceived? Are they based on objective biological scientific fact or are they shallow and archaic holdovers from a less enlightened time? Maybe straight men aren’t actually attracted to women…they’re attracted to femininity, regardless of who (or what) exhibits these characteristics.

This brings to mind all sorts of questions regarding sexual orientation, the nature of gender, and whether or not our understanding of biology is totally accurate. But suffice to say is that we know what we like and do not like. Sometimes, someone will come along and challenge our previously held conceptions of our personal preferences. This can be a good thing, but it can also be a confusing thing. The world is a complicated place, indeed.

Meet Mistress Kiana, a London-based erotic service provider.

There is something intriguing about people who are androgynous. We may or may not be attracted to them regardless of who they are – or claim that they are. Female bodybuilders are not always cleanly in the “feminine” category, mostly because the definition of “feminine” changes depending on who is doing the defining. FBBs can walk that fine line between the labels we choose to place on each other and ourselves. Perhaps this ambiguity is what enthralls us the most.

The Strap-On Fantasy forces us to reconsider why we associate a penis with masculinity. After all, we know not to associate big muscles with masculinity. We can think of hundreds of examples of big muscles being very feminine. Muscles are universal, not monopolized only by men. So by that logic, why should we associate a large phallus hanging between one’s legs as being solely masculine as well? What if, instead of the strap-on being designed to look like a penis, it were designed to look like a comically oversized clit? I have no clue if such a contraption actually exists, but the idea should bring a smile to your face.

So, we love seeing a strong woman with a fake penis, but only because it enhances her femininity, not because her appearance traverses into the territory of masculinity. Got that? Don’t worry if you find this confusing. I do too!

The third major observation is how intertwined the concepts of strength, power, and sexuality are. I’ve touched on a lot of these ideas already, so here’s what I’ll say about this. It seems nearly impossible to separate a female bodybuilder from her sex appeal. She isn’t a robot. She isn’t a machine. She’s a flesh-and-blood human being who strives to sculpt the “perfect body” as she sees it. And such an endeavor will inevitably augment her sex appeal. Whether this is intentional or unintentional, as casual onlookers we cannot train our eyes to see things differently. We cannot help but look at a female bodybuilder as a sexual object.

Perhaps we also see her as an athlete, trainer, entrepreneur, model, wife, mother, sister, community leader, celebrity, and most of all, a human being. But how can you not also look at her beauty and find your mind drifting off into all sorts of erotic places?

Don’t make Mistress Treasure (Victoria Dominguez) angry!

Connected to a female bodybuilder’s body is her strength and power. I define “strength” as her pure physical strength and “power” as the dominion she has over her surroundings, including the people around her. We are drawn to FBBs not just because of what they look like, but also because of how they act and what they can do. It arouses us to see them lifting heavy weights at the gym. It turns us on to watch them grapple a helpless male opponent to the ground while he begs for mercy – and doesn’t receive it. We may not fantasize about being the hapless chap whose face turns red while his torso is contorted in all sorts of unpleasant directions, but we sure enjoy witnessing it. Or at least, many of us do. I’m not super into that sort of thing, but whatever.

It’s not enough for us to see our favorite FBBs be strong. We need them to act strong. And not just do stunts like bend steel or crush an apple with her bare hands. That’s all fine and dandy, but what really gets our blood boiling is seeing an FBB exhibit her strength through her sexuality.

These concepts cannot be separated, no matter how much we try to. Strength, power, and sexuality are almost synonymous at this point. They aren’t of course, but that doesn’t stop us from thinking about these ideas within the same framework.

The final major observation is this: No strap-on dildo can possibly compete with a real penis. Regardless of the size of your penis – whether you think it’s small, medium-sized, or large – no dildo in the world can act as a substitute for the real thing. Women often say that as much as they love masturbating with a dildo, nothing beats the feeling and knowledge of a man’s actual flesh entering her. Synthetic materials can provide the same orgasmic effect, but it’s not psychologically the same.

A female bodybuilder wearing a strap-on is just that – a female bodybuilder wearing a strap-on. She isn’t an “honorary” man. She isn’t actually well-endowed. Her endowment is fake. She’s still a woman and a man is still a man. Even a man being anally penetrated by a woman wearing a strap-on is still a man. The power she derives from having a phallus is superficial and disappears the moment she takes it off. A man, on the other hand, never relinquishes that power.

Perhaps this is why erectile dysfunction is considered such a bruise to one’s ego. The inability to produce an erection consistently (or at all) is essentially a form of emasculation. His penis isn’t literally cut off, but it might as well be. It’s limp. It’s useless. It cannot bring a woman to orgasm. In a way, the failure to bring a woman to a satisfying climax is the height of emasculation.

Never mind he can’t bring pleasure to himself. That’s almost beside the point. He cannot successfully penetrate his female partner – which in turns makes him less of a man. “Male enhancement” medication sells like hotcakes for a reason.

However, despite all that, even a small and limp penis is still much more potent – mostly in a symbolic sense – than every single dildo sitting on the shelves of every single sex shop in the world. As an elongated piece of meat that protrudes outside of the body, a phallus is the ultimate symbol for maleness. Women, even muscular women, have no such external symbol. No strap-on ever created in a factory can compete in the long-term with the real thing. An FBB wearing a strap-on has power in the bedroom only temporarily. As I mentioned earlier, the moment she takes it off she instantly returns back to her normal state. She is “emasculated” as well – figuratively speaking, that is.

Porn star Ava Devine teaching a lesson to naughty Brandi Mae Akers.

It provides a small amount of giddiness knowing that men still hold the ultimate bargaining chip: a perfectly functional and real penis. No FBB can possibly match that. Regardless of how big her muscles get and how large her dildo is, she’s not even close to being a man. She can never actually be one of us.

But alas, is that necessarily a bad thing? Sexual power can come from anyone, no matter what is hanging (or not hanging) between their legs. So does it really matter whether a man has a penis and an FBB has a strap-on – or no strap-on at all?

Let’s think of it this way: the next time you see Angela Salvagno or Brandi Mae Akers wearing a large dildo around their waists, ask yourself this question:

Does the strap-on complete her dominating presence, or does it merely complement it?

In other words, does she even need the strap-on in the first place, or is it just a fun toy for her to play with for the time being? In the back of your mind, do you secretly wish that she actually has a phallus hanging between her legs? It could be a penis that co-exists with her vagina or it could be a clitoris that’s grown far larger than normal. Either way, is that a must? Do you clamor for her to have such an endowment? Or are you perfectly content with her having a slit between her legs and allow her muscularity to speak for itself?

Muscles give women power. The penis gives men power. When a woman can have both, it’s understandable why we’d have such vivid daydreams that prevent us from getting to school on time.

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Five – Gym Rats (part two of two)

Continued from part one

As quiet as a church mouse, Max creeps out from behind the corner and reveals himself to Tanya. Embarrassed to his very core, Max isn’t sure whether he should immediately run away into the next zip code or stand there and take his punishment.

Either way, he’s going to be in major trouble!

“I, uh, seem to have been unaware that the gym had closed,” Max stutters. “My mistake. Sorry about that!”

Tanya, glistening in her own sweat and standing as tall and confident as an Amazon warrior, smirks at Max’s clumsy excuse. She knows he’s full of bullshit…and thinks it’s completely adorable.

“Don’t worry, Max. Come on out. Seriously. I won’t bite,” she says. “I’m not even angry.”

She steps forward away from leg press machine and places her hands on her shapely hips. Max reluctantly approaches her. Although she’s naked from head to toe and is possibly the most perfect physical specimen he’s ever seen in his life, he maintains eye contact with her as he gives her the most shame-filled expression possible. Tanya still smiles.

“You probably didn’t expect me to take off all my clothes, huh?” Max nods his head in agreement. She bobs her head in response. Out of the periphery of his vision, Max notices an unusually large phallic organ hanging between her massive legs. He chooses to ignore this observation and remain focused on crafting an apology in his head.

“No, I didn’t. That came as quite a surprise,” Max says.

“That’s okay. I’d be shocked too if I were you.” She reaches down into her gym bag and takes out her water bottle. In one fell swig, she empties it and tosses it back inside. She lets out a modest burp.

“The truth is, I never work out in the nude. Especially not in public. Especially when there are security cameras everywhere.” Tanya points to the ceiling at a panoramic 360-degree camera stationed almost right underneath her. Max gulps as he reckons with the fact that this entire interaction is being recorded and stored into the cloud. Holy shit, will some random bloke working at some God-awful private security company watch this whole thing and…

“But, I don’t worry about such things. Generally speaking, nobody watches this unless they have a reason to,” Tanya takes a few steps closer to Max. He feels a chill run up his spine as she closes the proximity gap between them.

“I am…um, really sorry for peeping on you,” Max says.

“I’m sure you are. In your defense, you aren’t the first guy who’s tried this, and you probably won’t be the last.” Tanya strikes a quick side chest pose, showing off her impressive triceps. Max cannot believe his eyes…or the situation he finds himself in!

“I should be going…”

Tanya grabs Max by the shoulder and squeezes it tightly. Instead of pain, which is what he was expecting to feel, Max is pleasantly surprised at both her considerable strength and gentle touch.

“Why? We’re just getting started. Aren’t we?” Tanya leans over and kisses Max unexpectedly. He quivers in response. She steals his breath away from him. Their lips come apart after what seems like a blissful eternity. “You’re different from everyone else, Max. You’re modest, you don’t show off, and you treat everyone with respect. There’s a lot to like about that.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what to say. I just try to be myself, I guess.” As he fumbles his words, Max is afraid he might tip over and fall flat on his face. Luckily, he doesn’t.

“You just want to be yourself? Good for you,” she says, leaning in toward him. He can smell a grimy musky sweaty scent emanating out of every pore of her gorgeous body. Usually he would grimace at such a noticeable stench, but in this moment it smells like sweet exotic perfume. “I try to do the same. I try to live my life as authentically as possible, and without any regrets.”

Max nods. It’s the last thing he can do until…

Tanya squats to the ground and tears off Max’s shorts. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Max takes off the rest of his clothes until he’s down to only his underwear. His erection is as plain as day. But instead of being embarrassed by it, he feels powerful. More powerful than he’s ever felt in his entire life. Even though Tanya is stronger and more authoritative than he is, for some unexplainable reason he cannot help but feel invincible.

“So, who do you think has a bigger one, you or me?”

Max blinks unintelligently. He is as dumbfounded as he’s ever been.

“I…um, uh, beg your pardon? What are you talking about…who has a, uh, bigger one?”

She smiles. He still cannot think straight. Then, she takes his hand and leads him toward a wall mirror. The two of them stand side-by-side in front of a smudged-up mirror, looking intently at their reflection. The sight of a tall muscular woman dwarfing a medium-sized man almost looks comical, but in this environment it’s as erotic of a sight that has ever been produced.

“It’s a simple question, Max. Who has a bigger one, you or I?” Suddenly, out of nowhere, Tanya spreads her massive legs apart and shows off her…

Her…

Um, her……………….

………………………………………………………..

Holy shit!

…her enormous clitoris!!!

Hanging between her legs, almost as if it exists purely for shock value, is the largest clitoris Max has ever seen before. Before he can process what he’s just seen, Tanya abruptly rips off his underwear and exposes his erect penis for the two of them to see. Fully hardened, Max’s modest size never bothered him before. At least, not before he encountered a fully nude Tanya!

Protruding out from between her legs is what appears to be a hefty six-inch long piece of meat. Mostly covered by a thick-layered dark brown clitoral hood, the head of her clit looks to be the size of the tip of Max’s thumb. What the hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How the FUCK is that even possible????????

“Is that what I think it is? Is…um, is that your…you know?” Max’s erection deflates as he attempts to mentally process what he’s witnessing. He doesn’t seem to notice. She doesn’t seem to care.

“What? What do you think it is, Max?” She continues to flex her enormous muscles.

“Is that a, uh, penis?”

There is a long awkward pause.

Tanya bursts out laughing and slaps Max playfully on the back. She doesn’t mean to cause any harm, but her sheer strength causes him to screech in pain. She grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him down to the floor. Max is on his knees with his face right in front of her divine clit.

“Fuck, no! It’s my fucking clit, you dumbass! I’m a woman, not a man. For fuck’s sake.” Tanya strokes her feminine endowment up and down, exposing the bright pink head to its fullest extent. Indeed, her clit is an eye-popping six inches long, if you count the tip to the point where it appears to enter inside her body. Max’s modest erection is not quite 5.5 inches, a sore subject with him whenever the topic of “size” ever comes up in casual conversation. Fortunately for him, it rarely does.

“Believe it or not, I have to wear a cup around my pussy every time I go out in public so that it doesn’t attract too much unwanted attention,” she says. “It can be quite distracting, wouldn’t you say?” Max nods in agreement, which is the only thing he can do right now.

“You want to take a closer look?”

Autumn Cleveland in her natural habitat – the gym.

Max looks up at Tanya and stares at her ocean blue eyes. She does not seem to be joking. Obediently, he sticks his face between her legs. Tanya is fully erect, with small traces of moisture dripping down her slit. Max is impressed by the stature of her feminine endowment. Eventually, Tanya pushes Max’s head closer in and he takes the whole thing into his mouth. He sucks on her engorged piece of meat with furious curiosity. She moans and trembles as the initial rumbles of orgasm shake inside her.

“Fuck, Max! Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck……”

Tanya lies down on a nearby stretching mat and spreads her legs out as widely as she possibly can. Max’s lips have not come apart from her beautiful meat. He laps her ultrasensitive pink head with his tongue, relentlessly beating it back and forth. Tanya shakes in response. She’s close. Max also knows it. He pinches the sides of her labia and stretches it as far as it can go, further exposing her pink head to his tongue. Finally, she comes.

Trembling, squirming, and gasping for air, Tanya lifts her pelvis off the floor and lets out a small fart. Breathing heavy and enjoying her last few vaginal contractions, Tanya lays her head down on the mat. Max scoots closer to her and kisses her on the lips. She enjoys the taste of her own juices. Before she can say “thank you” to him, Tanya wraps her fingers around Max’s penis and gently strokes it up and down.

My God, Cindy Landolt. You sure do things to me…

Max moans. Tanya turns on her side and kisses his cheek as she caresses him with more urgency. Sweat drips off his face. He closes his eyes so that he can indulge in the moment. He notices the hardness of her calluses against his sensitive shaft and loves it. Max is pleasantly surprised at how gentle she is, considering the power of her forearms. She may be bigger, stronger, and more accomplished than he is, but in this moment Max has never felt like more of a man than he is now. He feels in charge, even though he clearly knows she’s the one who is…

“Oh!”

Max climaxes, spurting his hot semen all over Tanya’s six-pack abdomen in five potent squirts. She allows it to drip down her belly and onto the mat. Minutes later, Tanya and Max are lying in a pool of their own fluids – sweat, saliva, semen, and vaginal juices – all without having a care in the world. They’re a sticky mess…and that’s the way they like it to be.

Who gives a fuck if a security guard watches what they’re doing? Who cares if gossip spreads across the gym and soon everyone will know about their illicit nighttime coupling? Let those idiots say whatever they want. Tanya needed this. So did Max. And now they have each other, at least they do for this moment.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? They don’t want to think about that right now. All that matters is the here and now.

Tanya strokes Max’s limp penis and brings it back to life. After a long period of silence, Max decides to speak.

“Ready for round two?”

Tanya leans over and kisses him deeply.

“Ever since we got done with round one!”

They laugh. They kiss again. This time, it’s Max who takes charge. Full of newfound confidence, he mounts her, looks at her pretty blue eyes, and begins to make love to her.