Tag: Victoria Dominguez

5 More Types of Female Muscle Porn that We Cannot Resist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes one to know one, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s muscular.

Really, really, really muscular.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cannot resist her. Who could?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…hand? Oh, yes. Hand. Ha.

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

Pin Me, Wrestle Me, Abuse Me, Dominate Me: The Uncomfortable Association of Female Bodybuilders with Violence

Uncomfortable with Mistress Treasure and Yvette Bova? Yeah, neither am I.

The association of female muscle fetishism with violence is an uncomfortable reality that cannot be overlooked. Anyone with even a casual level of knowledge of female bodybuilders and the men who love them can see this relationship underscored everywhere.

Guys who love female bodybuilders often fantasize about being dominated by them, disciplined by them, trampled by them, tied up by them, punched by them, pinned to the ground by them, verbally abused by them, and having other physically demeaning activities done to them. This is not to put all female muscle fantasies in the same boat, however. This is merely an observation of a trend that cannot be denied.

Nothing about this is inherently wrong. Nor is anything about this explicitly scandalous, surprising, or unethical. As far as I can tell, as long as all the parties are consenting, openly communicating, and enjoying these activities, there isn’t anything to complain about. I have no quarrel with a guy who becomes aroused by a female muscle dominatrix teasing him, pouring hot candle wax on his skin, and calling him all sorts of filthy names. I’m not personally into that, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be allowed to.

Whatever floats your boat, as the old saying goes.

However, I must be completely honest. I am a bit uncomfortable with the close association of female muscle fetishism with violence. Any decent human being should abhor violence in any form. We live in a particularly violent world filled with shootings, riots, terrorism, war, political repression, rape, abuse, genocide, and a whole host of other unspeakable acts of brutality. I’d like to think we live in a more peaceful world today than our ancestors did hundreds of years ago, but it only takes reading the news for five minutes to have that belief shaken to its core.

This is why the mixing of sex with violence should make any free thinking person squirm a little. You don’t have to be an ardent critic of “50 Shades of Grey” to hop on board this train. While experienced BDSM practitioners are, for the most part, intelligent people who define their sexual play with meticulous rules that ensure safety and mutual consent, accidents do happen. But more than that, it’s the root of BDSM fetishism that can create a cause for concern.

Why does sexuality have a violent component to it that seems, well, unavoidable? Surely, I am not the first person to have ever raised this question. Critics have argued that the proliferation of BDSM into pop culture could have the unintended effect of “justifying” rape and sexual assault in the eyes of people who are already prone to commit such atrocities. I cannot speak to how warranted these concerns are, but they are definitely worth mentioning. How can you not fear such a backlash?

Our pop culture reinforces these messages in other ways as well. I love the James Bond movie franchise just as much as anybody else, but it is clear what 007’s two chief pastimes are: Making love to beautiful women and shooting/punching/blowing up the bad guys. He also happens to participate in both activities in immodest quantities. And worst of all – to put myself in the shoes of a feminist media critic – Bond is “rewarded” with the former after doing the latter.

American football games feature scantily clad cheerleaders right next to big burly men pummeling each other to a pulp. The “Sex and Violence” motif is found everywhere: sports, movies, TV shows, video games, music, literature, advertisements, religious texts, folk tales, and so on. It even infests the evening news. Bombings in Baghdad are shown side-by-side with stories of young female teachers having sex with her teenage male students. It’s everywhere you look. It’s so pervasive it’s sometimes hard to see it because of how saturated it is in our culture. Because it’s everywhere you don’t actually notice it.

Who wants to be put in a headlock by Melody Spetko?

This motif is also deeply embedded within the world of female muscle fetishism. Of course, I’m referring more to the fantasy aspect of the fetish. In no way shape or form are female bodybuilders more inherently aggressive than non-muscular women. But maybe there exists in the imaginations of some of us the belief – or the desire – that this is somehow true. Or that we want it to be true because it titillates a part of our deeply held kinkiness.

One of the reasons why many people in society look down upon guys who love muscular women is because they’re also uncomfortable with how this fetish is played out. Perhaps they’re just as unnerved by the undertones of violence as I am – although I am less troubled by it than others are, for sure. But it is completely understandable why this uncomfortable reality exists…and why we need to talk about it.

I am not of the belief that sadomasochistic sexual activities are explicitly dangerous, oppressive, or dehumanizing. If it’s safe, consensual, and enjoyable by all parties involved, I have no bad words to say about it. But on the other side of the equation, I get why this makes some of us cringe. So I’m not trying to make a point so much as I’m trying to articulate a topic that I think needs to be discussed.

It should be stated that very rarely is any single act, interest, hobby, or creative endeavor inherently evil. Unless we’re talking about terrorism, overt political repression or murder, most activities exist in a gray area. Whether it’s “good” or “evil,” “valuable” or “trash,” all depends on the context in which it exists. A book unto itself isn’t evil. A science textbook, for example, can be a force for good. Books such as “Mein Kampf” or “Mao’s Little Red Book” on the other hand, could be used to spread hateful and dangerous ideas. So it’s not the object of a book that’s up for debate. It’s the intent behind creating a particular book that is. And the results.

If a guy fantasizes about a strong female dominatrix giving him physical pain because he finds it exciting, there’s nothing (on its surface) harmful in that. If this guy goes out of his way and pays a professional dominatrix to perform such acts on him, that also isn’t necessarily a red flag. The presence of violence within female muscle fetishism isn’t a bad thing, nor would I want to change a thing about it. However, what should be talked about is why this is and whether this should concern any of us.

From the beginning of human civilization to the present day, conflict has been a constant theme throughout our history. And not just conflict between groups of people, nations, governments or tribes. There has been conflict between individuals, ideas, cultural norms (both from without and from within), assumptions, and social hierarchies. Without getting too deep into the history of humankind, let’s just settle on this conclusion: Conflict has always been here and will be here to stay.

This is especially evident in the relationship between men and women. Or, to be more politically correct, between masculine and feminine dynamics. Whatever your worldview may be, the Battle of the Sexes is something we’re all familiar with. Hollywood screenwriters have made a fortune capitalizing on this. Lecturers have gone on tour and sold books purely on the basis of telling us how we can alleviate this perpetually awkward relationship. It’s the topic of endless discussions over coffee, beer, cocktails, and happy hour chicken wings. Men and women – and people who are not comfortable identifying as either of these two choices – just can’t seem to get along 100% of the time.

My God…Dayana Cadeau.

For better or for worse, we’ve managed to exist for thousands of years despite these tensions. And we will continue to exist. So will the next generation. And the generation after that one. And so on. Unfortunately, we are all too familiar with how violence has been intertwined in this ongoing conflict. Domestic violence, spousal fights, disagreements that lead to physical altercations, and cultural norms that accept these acts as being normal – or at the very least “acceptable” if it’s not openly talked about – have created a cycle of conflict that isn’t healthy. This won’t go away anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it or turn our heads in the opposite direction whenever it happens.

This is why BDSM culture strikes a nerve in so many people. This is why people who are supportive of this subculture feel inclined to vehemently defend it with their dying breath. This is why so many of us don’t want to understand these things to begin with. After all, how can you argue in favor of violence? How can you possibly win that debate?

BDSM aside, female muscle fandom is different…but not at the same time. I’ve long argued that one can be not into BDSM but still really dig female bodybuilders. They can be mutually exclusive. Yet, the perception exists that they aren’t. For lots of folks, they are definitely interconnected.

Lots of guys love it when a female bodybuilder wrestles them into submission. Or pins them to the ground and holds them there against their will. Or verbally abuses them. Or smacks them with a paddle. Or “forces” them to do things upon command. This dominant/subordinate relationship carries the underlying theme of violence to its literal interpretation. However, because it’s all “fun and games,” it’s not really violence, is it?

Well, no. But yes. Uh, maybe both?

The relationship between a muscular woman and a normal-sized man can be jarring. It’s unusual. It flies in the face of social norms. We don’t expect to ever see such a sight. It challenges our notions of gender roles. It forces us to ask ourselves questions that we’d rather not contemplate.

Are women the weaker sex and men the stronger sex? Well, most of the time. But not all of the time. What does that mean? And how do we proceed going forward? Is an FBB more than just a woman, or is she just a “normal” woman with an abnormal physique? And is this man really a man, or an emasculated man? Wow, this is bonkers!

And yet, these questions don’t really come up with we witness a muscular woman and a normal-sized man quietly enjoying drinks at the pub. Or silently riding the subway together. Or holding hands while strolling down the sidewalk. If they physically appear to be a “normal” couple, we may stop and stare but we don’t necessarily ask these questions.

We only start to wonder about the dynamic of their relationship if we witness any conflict. What if they start to argue? What if they fight about who will pay the bill? What if she slaps him in the face? Will he slap her back? Or does he not dare? If he doesn’t hit her back, is it because he’s scared of her, or is it because he’s not naturally inclined to do such things? If she were “normal-looking” like him, would his reaction be different? How could we know for sure?

Do you want Amanda Dunbar to put you in an armbar?

Whew! All of this is so confusing. But this does bring up a crucial observation: When we see a female bodybuilder, our minds automatically – whether we consciously know this or not – wander off into the realm of violence. We wonder how rough their sex lives must be. How are they like in bed? Is she domineering? Does she prefer weaker men or men who are strong like her? How does she react if she’s angry? Is she naturally aggressive? Are men scared of her? Are other women scared of her? Is she fearful of people and that’s why she became so big and buff in the first place? Was she physically abused as a child, with bodybuilding acting as a “shield” against future abuse?

So it’s pretty clear that whenever we’re presented with a strong muscular woman, our natural inclination is to think about her within the framework of violence, self-defense, and aggression. Yes, we also think about her beauty, impressive strength, and numerous accomplishments; but doesn’t it seem like the first thoughts that pop into our minds consist of whether she can crush me with her thighs or if any of her ex-boyfriends have ever been sent to the emergency room after an argument?

Perhaps this speaks to the cognitive dissonance that muscular women create in our brains. We cannot accept the sight of a strong woman being “normal” or “no big deal.” There must be an explanation why she wants to look that way. And she must be a completely different person now that she does look that way.

But alas, these ideas are not always true. Maybe she always was aggressive, “alpha,” and assertive even before she ever picked up a dumbbell. Maybe for her, bodybuilding is an avenue for channeling her strong personality, not a result of it. Who knows?

The larger point to be made is this: Society, both fans of FBBs and everyone else, cannot seem to separate female bodybuilders and violence from their imaginations. I’ve written this before but will rewrite it again. My ultimate female muscle-related fantasy has nothing to do with violence. It has more to do with a romantic candle-lit dinner, a fine bottle of wine, a nice long walk along the beach, and an entire evening of passionate lovemaking. No one gets tied up. No one gets paddled for being “bad.” No one gets verbally abused. No one feels any pain. Everything is pleasant, sensual, low-key, and most of all, idyllic. In other words, I’d love to spend an entire night with Alina Popa in a setting that looks more like a cheap romance novel than a creepy bondage-themed Dark Web video.

I’d love to spend a peaceful evening with Gina Aliotti.

Yet, not everyone shares my pacifistic fantasy. There are lots of folks – and this is not a negative judgment about them – who want a more “antagonistic” experience. They want Miss Popa to burn them with hot candle wax. They want her to pick them up and toss them to the ground like a rag doll. They want her to punch them in the belly until they surrender. They want her to crush their head between her thighs until they “tap out.” They want all that…and more.

Well, to that I say this: That’s fine.

That’s fine. But that’s not for me. And it probably never will be my cup of tea. I tend to have a “live and let live” attitude toward most things in life. I have nothing against violent fantasies unless things cross a certain line. Yet, there is a significant part of my brain that feels uncomfortable with this. Why must we think about female bodybuilders within this context? Why are we unable to separate FBBs from the violent chambers of our imaginations? Why do our minds automatically go there? Is this unhealthy, or just the cost of doing business? Is it possible to love female bodybuilders in a non-violent way, or is it inevitable that this motif will always seep its way in?

I have no good answers. Only more questions.

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.

Educating Jonathan – Part Four

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

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

“Did you hear me, Jonathan?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you, little white bitch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m about to come!”

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

The wait doesn’t last long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The authoritative Mistress Treasure.
The authoritative Mistress Treasure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is it?” Dr. Sammy inquires.

“Let me check,” Jonathan says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A clown mask.
A clown mask.

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

“Do it. Put them on. Now!”

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

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

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

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

Once again, the three hostages nod their heads.

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

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

“Get in,” a voice commands.

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

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

You Don’t Have to Like Every Female Bodybuilder

Who doesn't like Cindy Landolt?
Who doesn’t like Cindy Landolt?

There’s a strange misconception out there that people who like female bodybuilders are “into” every single female bodybuilder in existence.

I’d venture a guess and say that a lot of us appreciate most muscular women, but not all. Thanks to the Internet and social media, FBBs can promote themselves in ways that were unimaginable twenty years ago. Today, a muscular woman with a prominent number of followers can post a picture of herself on Instagram (at no cost) and immediately have tens of thousands of people see it within minutes. Wow. Not even ten years ago was this possible. What a time we live in.

Because of this, we are exposed to thousands of women of all shapes and sizes who gladly post photos of themselves at little to no cost to the consumer. Celebrities, singers, models (and wannabe models), politicians, athletes, and the like are out there for our prying eyes to witness. Without social media, do any of us think Kim Kardashian would be nearly as popular as she is today? Maybe so, but her Q Score would not be nearly as high.

What exactly is a Q Score? It’s a metric that measures the familiarity and appeal of a brand, celebrity or company based on a panel of judges pulled from the general population. Obviously, people like Leonardo DiCaprio and Katy Perry have extremely high Q Scores. For the general population, Lisa Cross and Debi Laszewski do not have high Q Scores. However, among female muscle fanatics, these ladies are off the charts. But sadly, not everyone appreciates strong muscular women like some of us do.

Due to this fairly low profile, many people in society tend to group all muscular women into one singular cluster. They’re the big, brawny she-males you see with gross looking faces, man-like muscles, and excessive body hair in places where hair shouldn’t exist. We all know this stereotype exists. To be fair, there are some female bodybuilders who do (to an extent) fit this profile. But there are plenty out there who do not. There are lots of female bodybuilders who are just as “feminine” as any “normal” woman.

Wake up! Victoria Dominguez says it's time for school.
Wake up! Victoria Dominguez says it’s time for school.

Perhaps that’s the key. People who do not like FBBs look at one or two and think that’s how they all are. So when they find out that someone they know really digs women with muscles, they automatically conjure up in their minds all the negative stereotypes they’ve previously held about female bodybuilders. No matter how much you insist your attraction to them is completely normal, preconceived notions can be hard to break.

One can like muscular women without liking all muscular women. Yes, this is possible. Just like it’s possible to love Japanese food but at the same time despise wasabi, female muscle fandom isn’t an “all or nothing” proposition. We all have discriminatory tastes, even when it comes to strong women.

So the lesson to be learned is simple. You don’t have to like every female bodybuilder. You should respect every single female bodybuilder on planet Earth (unless they’ve done something in their lives that you find morally objectionable), but that’s a given. But it’s perfectly fine to be attracted to some but not to others. It’s socially acceptable to find certain personality traits desirable and others repulsive. Beauty is, as the age-old cliché goes, in the eye of the beholder.

My preferences are quite pointed in the direction of Sheila Bleck.
My preferences are quite pointed in the direction of Sheila Bleck.

But of course, it’s not that simple. I understand why some of us get defensive about our beloved FBBs, even if we ourselves don’t particular like some of them. I once tried to set up a muscle worship session with an FBB who, for reasons I still cannot figure out, was supremely rude to me. I think there was some miscommunication going on between us, but regardless I felt like she could have handled matters better. Nevertheless, I don’t judge every single FBB as being difficult to deal with just because I had one negative experience. If anything, I might give them the benefit of the doubt because of how much I love and respect them. So there’s that.

For many FBB fans, to admit that you don’t find all FBBs attractive is to open the door toward legitimizing hateful criticisms of these women. That’s why a lot of (or maybe most) social movements tend to view the world in black and white terms. There are absolutely evil people out there and absolutely pure and virtuous people as well. If you’re sympathetic to folks in the latter category, you might be more inclined to overlook their flaws because you don’t want to provide unwanted ammunition to those so-called “evil people” who don’t happen to like “your people” as much as you do. I won’t get into specifics (in order to avoid a shouting match in the comments section), but hopefully you understand where I’m going with this.

This is why I won’t say anything negative about any particular FBB. I won’t even mention the name of the person I just referred to earlier. Heck, I don’t even reveal the identity of the women I write about in positive terms! Maybe I’m being a little too overprotective. Whatever. It’s better to be safe than sorry, I say.

All of this is to say that we’re allowed to have different preferences. Personal choice is an inalienable human right. If you prefer slimmer, “toned” women as opposed to bigger bodybuilders, that’s okay. If you are genuinely disgusted by the large female bodybuilders who compete in the heavyweight category but you get uncontrollably turned on by the “athletic look” instead, I’m not one to judge. There’s plenty of room in the Beautiful Strong Women Lovefest Train. All aboard! Choo, choo!

Cute pink dress, Tarna Alderman.
Cute pink dress, Tarna Alderman.

So in your own minds, you can like or dislike whatever you choose to like or dislike. I will never tell you that you’re wrong. I can tell you that you’re misguided or blinded by prejudice, but that’s not the same thing as “calling out” someone for being in the wrong. However, in the public sphere, I totally get why you tend to get defensive whenever some random Internet troll decides to defame the good names of Shannon Courtney or Danielle Reardon. I’d probably react in the same way, to be perfectly honest.

But I don’t, generally speaking. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to respond to trolls or skeptics. Or people who aren’t trying to start an argument but say something derogatory about a muscular woman anyway. Nah, life is too short to deal with that kind of commotion. I accept the fact (tacitly, perhaps) that not everyone will accept the unique beauty of a muscular woman into the “mainstream” of society. That’s probably not going to happen anytime soon, for that matter. But that’s not a huge tragedy either. There are enough fans like us who adore these women that an aspiring female bodybuilder will never feel unappreciated. Mainstream culture may not completely embrace them, but there are lots of subcultures who will. I realize the word “subculture” tends to carry deviant connotations, but that’s not actually the case. There are countless subcultures in our world. Almost in a literal sense, countless. Many of them are more prevalent than we think. It’s not just talked about. I sincerely believe female muscle fandom is one of them.

Take this message to heart, female muscle supporters out there in the wide, wide world. You don’t have to like every muscular woman you happen to come across on the Internet. Some of you like big beefy bodybuilders. Others of you like smaller, figure competitors. There are folks whose cup of tea is beautiful, feminine athletic women with curves in all the right places. And believe it or not, there are people in this world who really love “normal” looking women who can display feats of strength (either real or pretend) when called upon to do so.

Our fandom stretches across a wide spectrum. I am in no position to say what a “real” female muscle enthusiast is supposed to like or dislike. There are no “real” FBB fans just as there are no “fake” FBB fans. What tears apart fandom culture – whether we’re talking about comic books or punk rock – is infighting from within. This is why I don’t really spend a whole lot of time browsing and posting on female muscle-related forums. I am not against anyone who does, but that sort of thing isn’t for me.

Life is too short to deal with unnecessary negativity.

This isn’t to say that this sort of infighting is common. I have no clue if it is or not. This is also to dispel the myth that people like us who appreciate strong women are unequivocally head-over-heels attracted to all strong women. Everyone has different tastes, which is perfectly fine. Personally, my appreciation range is quite wide. I still get distracted by the cute girl at the gym just as I am by photos of Lindsay Mulinazzi that randomly pop into my Facebook feed. I’m fairly open-minded in that respect. You certainly don’t have to be, but it never hurts!

Do you like the vascular look of Cris Goy Arellano?
Do you like the vascular look of Cris Goy Arellano?

Here’s a message for female muscle skeptics out there: You don’t need to find the most grotesque photo of a female bodybuilder who has abused steroids for far too long and shove it in our faces and ask us incessantly, “So, do you like THIS?” That’s unfair. That’s mean spirited. It’s okay for us to say “no” and not be a “sell out” toward the Female Muscle Cause. I’ll be honest here. There ARE a handful of FBBs in this world that I don’t particularly think are attractive. Yes, a few actually disgust me. But that doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. I’m still a committed female muscle fan through and through. My Female Muscle Fan membership card won’t be revoked.

Personal choice. It’s what makes us autonomous human beings. It’s what makes us flawed, but it’s what makes us who we are as people. We have the right to choose what we like and don’t like, what we think is beautiful and what we find to be ugly, what our favorites are and what we’d rather not have to deal with if we can. It all boils down to personal choice.

Thanks to the Internet, we’re exposed to beautiful women of all shapes and sizes. In an age that celebrates diversity and opens the doors to anyone to publicly express themselves, we have more freedom to choose what we want to be into and what we don’t want to be into. There are lots of beautiful women out there. Don’t put any of them into a box. Nor us.

What a time we live in, indeed.

My Top 10 Favorite Female Bodybuilders

The future of the sport of bodybuilding: Shannon Courtney.
The future of the sport of bodybuilding: Shannon Courtney.

Since the subject of female bodybuilders is of keen interest of this blog, I figure it’s about time I created a list of my favorite FBBs and why I like them.

After all, isn’t it conventional wisdom that “top 10 lists” are prime ways to score high clicks and search engine optimization strength?

Of course, these rankings are purely unscientific and bear no resemblance to actual truth. It’s not like I’ve seen photos of every single female bodybuilder on the planet and can rank them with the knowledge of a seasoned connoisseur. Even if I did, I still couldn’t give you specific quantifiable criteria as to why I chose to rank a certain lady over another.

When coming up with my list, I sincerely struggled. I wanted to mention at least 20 or 30 of these women, but I had to only narrow it down to my top 10 because…well, because I said so. I make the rules, so I should follow them, am I right?

I’ve also discovered that my top 10 list of favorite female bodybuilders changes as I discover new ones. One woman in particular, who’s listed as number five, is one I’ve discovered fairly recently, perhaps in the past six or seven months. Naturally, she had to boot someone off, which is no slight to that unfortunate soul. It’s not about you. It’s about her. Yes, I’ll stick to that excuse for now.

Enough of that. Let’s get to the good stuff. So, without further ado, here is a list of my top ten favorite female bodybuilders, starting with the bottom and going up.

Love those abs on Karen Zaremba!
Love those abs on Karen Zaremba!

10. Karen Zaremba

Karen Zaremba holds a special place in my heart. She was one of the first muscle women who caught my eye when I first discovered my attraction to female bodybuilders.

Though more of a figure competitor than a hardcore bodybuilder, Karen is the full package: Beautiful, toned muscles and alluringly sexy. What more could you ask for?

Ms. Zaremba is the kind of woman who can steal your breath away in a heartbeat. She could also stop your heart from beating as well. If she’s wearing baggy clothes, she might not appear to be that big, but when she’s wearing something skimpier there’s no doubt she can turn heads left and right.

I think I first stumbled across Karen sometime early in my college years. I could not believe my eyes when I first saw photos of this amazing woman. How could a 40-something mother of multiple children look THAT AMAZING? What makes her even more incredible is that she doesn’t depend on extensive cosmetic surgeries or caking on layers of makeup to look beautiful.

She’s a natural beauty, no doubt about it.

My guess is she’s either fully or partially retired from bodybuilding. Nevertheless Ms. Zaremba will always be one of my favorites. She deserves a “Favorite Female Bodybuilder Emeritus” trophy. She’s the elder stateswoman you know isn’t “active” any more but deserves an honorable mention. You never forget (one of) your first(s), am I right?

May I touch Debi Laszewski's arms?
May I touch Debi Laszewski’s arms?

9. Debi Laszewski

As a bona fide bodybuilding superstar, Debi Laszewski is one of the most well-known stars in the sport today. Ms. Laszewski’s incredible muscularity is only matched by her physical beauty and charming personality. She’s incredibly motivated to be the best in the business and you can certainly see her drive and determination come out in her interviews. If you want somebody to be the ambassador of the sport to the general public, Debi is more than fit for the job.

Of course, I’ve never met her (or any of these women, for that matter), but she seems to be very genuine, down-to-earth, and more interested in lifting other people up rather than tearing them down. In a cutthroat business like competitive athletics, I’d guess that sort of attitude isn’t as common as it should. For me, personality matters.

So does her body. Her body is incredible. Her blonde locks of hair combined with her bulky frame make her seem superhuman. How can one person be that beautiful? How can one person be that perfect? This almost makes me question why Debi is number nine of my rankings and not down further. I may have to adjust this list somewhere down the road.

Who can resist the rich Italian looks of Deidre Pagnanelli?
Who can resist the rich Italian looks of Deidre Pagnanelli?

8. Deidre Pagnanelli

If you don’t know who Deidre Pagnanelli is, stop whatever you’re doing immediately and do a Google search of her as soon as possible. Deidre’s greatest asset – and she has a long list of them – is without a doubt her beauty. Ms. Pagnanelli is a classic beauty of the vintage Hollywood variety.

Part Sophia Loren and part Monica Bellucci, she’s comparable with those legendary Italian beauties on every level: femininity, pure beauty, gracefulness, mysteriousness, sensuality, and on and on and on.

And know what? She’s in her 40s and is a mother of four kids. Yes, you heard that right. This is no joke. She is a middle aged woman with four children who have emerged from her body. Now, there’s a certain popular acronym that’s used to describe women like this, but I refuse to use it. That would be disrespectful to her. It’s vulgar, partially sexist and cheapens who she is. Deidre Pagnanelli is more than just a woman who looks incredible at this stage of her life. She’s a personal trainer, motivator and athlete who should be treated like a Goddess.

She is someone who stops you dead in your tracks. She’s the type who can redefine how you feel about muscular women. To be fair, she’s not as muscular as a pro-level bodybuilder, but her physique should not disappoint anyone. She shatters all stereotypes about muscular women being gross. She commands the room. Once you learn who she is, there’s no way you can get her out of your mind.

I remember when I first came across Ms. Pagnanelli on the Internet. My pulse raced. My eyes were as big as dinner plates. My jaw probably fell to the floor. I could not believe she was real. Is she an actual person or a comic book hero created by a female muscle-loving illustrator?

Nope. She’s real. Very real. And we should all be thankful for that.

How did I not realize Emery Miller's beauty right off the bat?
How did I not realize Emery Miller’s beauty right off the bat?

7. Emery Miller

There are some women in this world whose beauty doesn’t hit you right away. You need to let them grow on you. Emery Miller is one of those women.

I didn’t fall in love with her right off the bat. It took me a while to warm up to her. But once I did, I never looked back. When I first came across her, I figured she was just another cute blonde FBB. But after watching interviews of her and some of her more “adult entertainment” oriented videos, my thinking about her changed. She became a joyfully sexy woman with a level of sexual intelligence that is so extraordinarily appealing.

Emery’s beauty is more on par with the “girl next door” category. She’s pretty, but not too pretty. She’s that really cute girl you knew in high school whom you ignored but years later you regretted it once you realized how awesome she is. That’s Emery Miller. You kick yourself for not realizing how amazing of a woman she is until it finally hits you over the head like a frying pan.

She’s also a very intelligent woman. Underneath her sexy smile lies someone with an equally sexy brain. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do. There are certain people you meet you who know are special even though you can’t exactly describe why. Emery Miller wouldn’t have made this list a year ago, but she certain does now. I sure am glad I finally saw the light.

The unbelievably sexy Angela Salvagno.
The unbelievably sexy Angela Salvagno.

6. Angela Salvagno

Out of every pore of her body, Angela Salvagno drips with sexiness. She’s a little rough around the edges but possesses a level of sensual intrigue that leaves you wanting more. And without a doubt, I want more!

Other than her rich Mediterranean looks, Ms. Salvagno is striking for one other reason: her beautiful genitalia. Large clitoris, luscious labia and a pretty pink vagina that seems oh so ready for loving, Ms. Salvagno is a wonder of Mother Nature between her strong legs. Many of you may think it’s rather strange for me to remember her for her genitalia, but that’s just the kind of guy I am.

I discovered Angie through her work in porn. She’s not afraid to masturbate for the camera, that’s for damn sure. She’s proud of her body, isn’t ashamed of a single inch of it, and doesn’t need permission to please herself to her heart’s delight. There’s a lot to like about that kind of attitude. She doesn’t have the salient beauty of Deidre Pagnanelli or the insane muscular development of Debi Laszewski, but she doesn’t have to in order for me to notice her. She oozes with sex. It radiates out of every square centimeter of her being. You can practically feel the heat rising from her body when she performs for the camera. It’s tangible. It’s palpable. It’s very, very erotic.

In addition, Ms. Salvagno also has a little bite to her. She isn’t a “Miss Nice Girl” by any stretch of the imagination. Whether she’s wearing an eye-popping BDSM outfit or wrestling a hapless opponent into total submission, Angie can kick your ass if you’re not careful. There’s something undeniably sexy about that. To be truthful, every single woman on this list could probably manhandle you if you push them to their limits, but Angie is someone you genuinely don’t want to mess with. She’s not dangerous, but she can be if you want her to be.

God help us all if you ever make her angry!

It must be the eyes of Lindsay Mulinazzi that's so hypnotic.
It must be the eyes of Lindsay Mulinazzi that’s so hypnotic.

5. Lindsay Mulinazzi

It must be her green eyes. That has to be it. They’re so captivating. I swear her eyes could hypnotize me and force me to jump off a bridge. I’d be in a trance so powerful I’d empty my bank account in an instant if called upon to do so by her. And you know what? I probably wouldn’t complain too much. I’d accept it as the cost of admiring Lindsay Mulinazzi’s immaculate body.

But not just her body, but her entire self. Everything about Ms. Mulinazzi intrigues me.

Lindsay Mulinazzi has an air of mystery about her. She has so much going in below the surface that none of us will ever know about. Is she sweet or sexy? Is she naughty or nice? Is she a Good Girl or a Bad Girl? She’s probably all of those things. All at once. Yeah…she’s that multifaceted.

Ms. Mulinazzi’s looks are exotic. She’s the type of woman a sophisticated gentleman would appreciate. She’s like a glass of Henri Jayer Richebourg Grand Cru, Cote de Nuits, France served with filet mignon, grilled asparagus, pâté de foie gras and rich buttery mashed potatoes (that bottle of wine, apparently, is one of the most expensive in the world). She’s a treasure. She’s for sophisticated tastes only. I realize it’s rather odd to think of a female bodybuilder as being “high class,” but Lindsay fits the description perfectly. Savor her like she deserves to be savored. I can guarantee you would not be disappointed.

Denise Masino = SEX
Denise Masino = SEX

4. Denise Masino

For a woman with a gorgeous face, mouthwatering figure and fun, sexy personality, Denise Masino is most famous for another one of her assets.

Her world famous clitoris.

It looks like a pastrami sandwich. Maybe not the most refined analogy, but anyone who’s seen it would have to admit it’s not a terrible comparison. Think it’s strange for us to be so fixated on someone’s genitalia? It is, but rest assured what’s situated between her legs isn’t the only thing I love about her.

Like other women on this list, Denise Masino is an exceptionally intelligent woman whose business savvy is second to none in the industry. She understands her appeal and isn’t afraid to take advantage of it for her own benefit (and ours!). Her large clitoris isn’t a point of embarrassment. It empowers her to make her irresistible to adoring fans worldwide. She’s sexy and she knows how to market herself. She may not be a mainstream Hollywood celebrity, but among female muscle fans across the universe, Ms. Masino is as big as Marilyn Monroe ever was.

She embraces her sexuality in ways many of her peers do not. True, many FBBs will star in sexy videos from time to time, but Denise seems to thoroughly enjoy it. Many female athletes struggle with balancing being an athlete and a (often times reluctant) sex symbol. Denise, however, appears to have embraced her role as a sexually-charged woman who has no problem being both physically powerful and erotic at the same time.

I could go on for days praising Ms. Masino, but I will leave you with one thought: When you first think of Denise, her muscles aren’t necessarily the first thing that comes to mind. You think about her beautiful clit, her gorgeous face, smarts, sexiness and shrewdness first. Her muscles, while undoubtedly attractive in their own right, seem to be almost an afterthought. This demonstrates the depth of her appeal. Denise is a one-of-a-kind. There may never be another one like her. For that, we must treasure her while we can.

Lisa Cross, a.k.a. "The British Bombshell."
Lisa Cross, a.k.a. “The British Bombshell.”

3. Lisa Cross

World class female bodybuilder. Author. Part-time dominatrix. International superstar. Perhaps one of the most beautiful women on the planet.

Who could I possibly be describing? Lisa Cross, of course.

Ms. Cross, a.k.a. “The British Bombshell,” captivates your attention. That’s what really sticks with you when you first come across her. Your attention immediately goes to her and no one else. She looks dangerous. She looks intriguing. She’s unique from other female bodybuilders. There’s something about her that sets her apart from her fellow muscle sisters. Once you’re introduced to Lisa, you keep wanting more and more.

Lisa has almost the perfect combination of size, beauty, intelligence, femininity and mysteriousness. She’s exactly what you’d expect a female bodybuilder to be like, yet she’s always surprising you in one way or another.

For example, have you ever read her book Devil and Disciple: The Temptation? I have. While it has a few flaws you often see in new authors, overall it’s a strong book with a compelling story, well-crafted characters and intelligent poetic prose. As far as I can tell, she wrote the book all by herself. Her editor, of course, obviously had his or her input during the creative process, but fitting in writing a book (without a ghost writer) with an already jammed pack schedule of being a professional bodybuilder is nothing short of impressive. How many athletes could say they’ve written such a piece of art?

Lisa Cross is one of my favorites because you keep wanting more from her. She makes you pay attention to her. Not because she forces herself upon you, but because you can’t help but keep on coming back. She’s enthralling because she’s so multifaceted. She’s a beautiful and intelligent woman who’s overcome a lot of obstacles to get to be where she’s at right now. Her success wasn’t handed to her. She earned it with her hard work, dedication and relentless spirit. And she finds time to be creative, personable, confidently sexy and a much-needed ambassador of the sport to the general public.

Hats off to you, Ms. Cross!

Don't cross Victoria Dominguez. You'll regret it!
Don’t cross Victoria Dominguez. You’ll regret it!

2. Victoria Dominguez

Haters gonna hate. She might not be on everyone’s top 10 list (or even top 50 list), but I don’t care. I genuinely don’t care what anybody else says. Victoria Dominguez is one of the sexiest women in the known universe.

She might not have a traditionally beautiful face, but that doesn’t matter to me. Vicky has plenty of attitude, erotic appeal, confidence, intrigue and curves in places most women don’t have curves to make up for it. Know what? I actually think her face is quite beautiful. Don’t agree with me? I really don’t care.

Vicky’s strength as a female bodybuilder is her raw sexual power. Her alter ego, Mistress Treasure, is a true dominatrix in every sense of the word. She’s a scary lady to be around when she’s in her full “Mistress” mode. Don’t ever cross her. EVER.

More than any other FBB out there, Vicky has a level of confidence in herself that borders on cocky. But the truth is, when you’re as ripped and gorgeous as her, you have every right to be as arrogant as you want. She expects cleanliness, respect and adherence to her rules when she’s meeting with her session clients. And do you know what? She deserves every ounce of respect and reverence possible from them. They are the weaker sex, after all.

Ms. Dominguez doesn’t appeal to everyone. But that’s perfectly okay. I love Vicky because she is a powerful, authoritative woman who isn’t afraid to kick your ass if you get out of line. Her intimidating presence, combined with muscular definition that I could explore for days, makes her peerless. She has curves on top of curves embedded within more curves. She’s a beautiful black woman who’s exotic, unapologetically rough and flaunts her sexual prowess whether you like it or not.

Whew. What’s not to like about that? But sadly, not everyone is willing to jump on the Victoria Dominguez bandwagon. For those of you who think her facial features are off-putting or that her persona is too abrasive for your tastes, all I got to say is that haters gonna hate!

Alina Popa is number one! She's number one! She's number one! Whoooooo!!!!
Alina Popa is number one! She’s number one! She’s number one! Whoooooo!!!!

1. Alina Popa

Oh, Alina. You know how to charm a man like me.

Some guys really love a woman with an accent. If you do, then Alina Popa is the lady for you.

Ranking at number one, Alina Popa boasts the impeccable combination of brawn and beauty. Born and raised in Romania, Ms. Popa currently lives in the United States. Those of us in America who love muscular women couldn’t be happier. Welcome to the U.S. of A, Alina!

Alina’s charms come in many forms. First, she seems like a very sweet and kind-hearted person. It’s hard to argue with that, right? Second, she had to overcome her family’s disapproval of her dreams of pursuing bodybuilding. Apparently her mother wanted a “normal” looking daughter instead of what Alina chose to become. Fortunately, she’s warmed up to Alina’s bodybuilding career and right now is her most passionate cheerleader.

Perhaps more than any other female bodybuilder on the planet, Alina strikes the perfect balance between superhuman muscularity and undeniable femininity. If you’ve ever seen her interviewed, she’s very fun, outgoing, irresistibly sexy and unquestionably feminine. She’s unintimidating. She isn’t the type who will try to emasculate you or show off her impressive strength out of sheer narcissism.

Alina Popa may not be my hands-down favorite FBB, but after careful thought, I really have no reason not to put her as number one on my list. If I created a checklist of every quality I value in an FBB, she would score high marks on every single one of them. That counts for something. Alina is like that world class athlete who may not be your personal favorite, but you cannot deny their greatness. They’re the G.O.A.T. (Greatest of All Time) while the rest are mere mortals.

I’m also glad Alina hasn’t gotten breast implants yet (as far as I know). Her natural look makes her all the more incredible. She’s like a comic book hero…except she’s real. I don’t know her personally, but she seems to be as authentic of a person as you’ll ever meet. Celebrity status has a way of destroying that facet of your personality. From what I can tell, being an internationally renowned state-of-the-art female bodybuilder has not diminished that part of her one bit.

***

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

I can’t list everybody, but here are five more FBBs who deserve Honorable Mentions.

Shannon Courtney – A newcomer on the world stage, Shannon is a rising star in the bodybuilding industry. She’s young, gorgeous, unbelievably muscular (especially for someone her age) and belongs to the millennial generation – who, for better or for worse, is the future of our world. How lucky we are if Miss Courtney is the future of the sport.

Lynn McCrossin – a.k.a “PecPanther,” Ms. McCrossin’s pecs are not her only noteworthy asset. She’s a bona fide muscular porn star who definitely isn’t afraid to strut her stuff in front of the camera. Lynn may call herself a panther instead of a cougar, but after watching enough of her videos you should get the idea about what she’s into.

Dena Westerfield – Perhaps the poster child for the “natural” look, Dr. Dena Westerfield is legendary for, among other things, her flat chest. She’s as beautiful as she is smart, but her choice to flaunt her body – despite her nonexistent breasts – turns me on like nothing else. Dena is a gem.

Krissy Chin – Finally, an Asian lady! Miss Chin’s petite Asian figure makes her tight muscular body all the more alluring. How can you not want to cuddle up with her on a cold winter evening and stroke her six pack abs over a mug of hot chocolate? She has the figure of a fitness competitor more than a bodybuilder, but that doesn’t matter. Krissy is as cute as a button but feisty if she has to be.

Yvette Bova – If there’s anyone who deserves the “Porn Star” label in all capital letters, Yvette would get that distinct honor. Probably the most sexually dynamic woman on this list, Yvette isn’t for all tastes. But if you really love her, you know why. She brings “sexual liberation” to a whole new level. Yvette doesn’t lack confidence or sexual experience. That combination is dangerous to guys like me!

Everything You Wanted to Know about Muscle Worship but Were Afraid to Ask

Roxie Rain worshiping Lynn McCrossin. Oh, yeah!
Roxie Rain worshiping Lynn McCrossin. Oh, yeah!

You may have heard about it somewhere online. Maybe it was a chat forum. Perhaps it was on someone’s blog. Or maybe you read about it on Wikipedia or saw a documentary about it on YouTube.

Wherever you first heard of it, you probably have a lot of questions about it.

Who does this sort of thing? Why? What happens during it? How often does this happen? Who started it?

This topic would be “muscle worship.” You may have also heard about it referred to as a “session.” Regardless, you probably have a lot of questions about what happens during a muscle worship session, who does this sort of thing and why on Earth a female bodybuilder would want to offer these bizarre services.

Luckily for you, I’m about to enlighten you about what this is all about.

Muscle worship, essentially, is when a participant is allowed to touch, caress, fondle, rub and praise the muscles of a session provider. This is set up usually in a hotel room (for the sake of safety for both parties) for a set fee. The conditions of the session are arranged beforehand and agreed upon by both parties prior to the meeting.

Usually the muscle worship provider is a male or female bodybuilder, athlete, wrestler or someone who takes their lifting time at the gym seriously. Male bodybuilders can have female clients who are attracted to muscular men as well as gay male clients who love the same thing. Likewise, female bodybuilders can also host both male and female clients (although from what I’ve heard, most of their clients are men).

Because bodybuilding isn’t a very lucrative sport, many of these athletes need additional income to finance their lifestyle. Professional bodybuilders have to go through a lot to achieve their desired physique. It requires gym memberships (sometimes multiple gym memberships – depending on personal preference, availability of certain trainers and equipment, travel schedules and other living conditions), food, dietary supplements, drugs (though not everyone takes drugs), personal training fees, travel costs, marketing/advertising efforts and other expenses related to the business.

It should be obvious to anyone that professional bodybuilders lead an unorthodox life which requires taking unorthodox measures to fully live this life. Working part-time as a muscle worship provider is one of those measures.

Some bodybuilders travel from city to city to meet clients. Others just work locally. Many choose to never do these sessions at all. Everyone has to do what they got to do to survive. Popular bodybuilders often develop a following (that sometimes stretches internationally) of dedicated fans who schedule muscle worship sessions with them periodically. Sometimes returning clients whom the bodybuilders particularly like get discounts and “extra” services with each subsequent meeting.

Who wouldn't want to touch the muscles of Fanny Palou?
Who wouldn’t want to touch the muscles of Fanny Palou?

Personally, so far I’ve participated in four muscle worship sessions with four different female bodybuilders. Three were travelling into town and one was local. To be honest, I don’t know a whole lot about male bodybuilders and the sessions they provide, so my perspective here is limited to the female side of things. What I can tell you is that for anyone out there who loves strong women and has a fervent interest in meeting one of them in an intimate setting, I highly recommend you seek out a female bodybuilder who is coming to your area and schedule a session with her whenever you get the chance.

The pricing varies. Some women charge as little as $200 for an hour-long session and as high as $600. A session could last 30 minutes if that is the most you are able to afford. Others could last three hours or even the whole day if you want to make this more of a “date” instead of a simple appointment. Payment usually happens in person and many experienced muscle worship providers will require a deposit wired electronically to their bank account in advance.

There are websites that list the travel schedules of female bodybuilders, including wb270.com and sessiongirls.com. Many times the women list their schedules directly on their personal websites or Facebook pages. Finding out who is coming to your town or who already lives in your town isn’t terribly difficult if you know where to search.

As far as what goes on during a session, as mentioned before the conditions of the session should be discussed and agreed upon ahead of time, preferably before the deposit is given. Usually an FBB will at the very minimum wear a posing suit or bikini. For an extra charge, many will be willing to be either topless or completely nude. Sometimes the FBB will ask you what you want her to wear – whether it’s lingerie, a bathing suit or her birthday suit.

Most of the time the session will take place at a hotel room. For the sake of her own personal safety, an FBB doesn’t want to make “home visits” out of fear of not knowing the person they’re doing this session with. I don’t need to tell you that there are a lot of creepy and dangerous people out there. A hotel room is private, “neutral” and it’s an environment she can control.

Let’s take my first ever muscle worship session as an example. I contacted her via e-mail after seeing she was travelling to my city on wb270.com. After exchanging several e-mails, we decided on a one hour fully nude muscle worship session. She informed me she was staying at a motel in my city (conveniently for me, it was only a few miles away from my apartment). She also agreed to give me a hand job at the end of the session. I paid her an $80 deposit through her PayPal account and was given her phone number so I could text her 15 or so minutes prior to the session to find out which room she was staying in.

The chiseled physique of Heather Armbrust.
The chiseled physique of Heather Armbrust.

Now, this is where things get, ahem, interesting. This is probably the one aspect about muscle worship that most people are curious to learn: What types of sexual activities happen during a session?

Let’s back up for a moment and address the elephant in the room:

Are muscle worship providers prostitutes?

It’s a valid question. On the surface, it does certainly seem like what an FBB does with her clients resembles prostitution. The clients are paying money for services that are very sensual in nature. Sometimes actual sexual activity is performed. To be fair, if muscle worship is considered a form of prostitution, it definitely deserves to be in a subcategory of its own. It’s so different from the stereotypical image we get of a prostitute visiting her “john” that “erotic session” seems to be a more accurate label.

Of course, there’s something to be said about the word “prostitution” unto itself. It’s a very politically and socially charged word that brings about many connotations; both positive and negative (though mostly negative). As a culture, we think of prostitution as a seedy, dirty business between loose whores and desperately lonely men. This is unfair in many cases. Now, I’m not about to go on some pro-prostitution rant, because I will admit I’m not really informed enough to make an intelligent analysis on the subject. What I will say is that muscle worship is in fact a form of prostitution. You can’t deny it from a dictionary definition perspective. It involves someone using their body for money to perform acts of a sexual nature. That fits the objective description of “prostitution” as far as I can tell.

But understandably, a lot of people will be uncomfortable with this classification. Both FBBs and the men (and women) who love them. Trust me, I’m one of them. I love strong women so very much. I admire them enough to have started this blog. I’m a big enough fan of them that I’ve paid a handsome portion of my hard-earned dollars toward arranging muscle worship sessions with them.

I completely understand the taboo nature of the word “prostitute.” I understand how stigmatized this phenomena is in our culture and other cultures. I understand how difficult it must be to work in a profession where people out there either hate you for it or are disgusted by you for willing to participate in it. I can empathize with those (both the clients and the providers) who feel ashamed to be a part of it.

I get that. I get that this is why most FBBs refuse to call themselves prostitutes and vehemently deny their services fall into that category. I’m willing to bet many FBBs wish they didn’t have to engage in these sorts of activities. Can you imagine how difficult it must be to travel across the country (and world) and be away from your friends and family for extended periods of time just so you can meet complete strangers under secretive circumstances? I’m sure many of these women hate doing sessions. I’m sure many of them would quit – or at the very least downsize their involvement – if they had the adequate financial resources available to them.

Oooooh, Amber Deluca getting frisky with Victoria Dominguez. Yikes!
Oooooh, Amber Deluca getting frisky with Victoria Dominguez. Yikes!

Sadly, professional bodybuilding doesn’t make money. Only the elite competitors earn enough cash to call it a career. Endorsement deals, media exposure and prize money doesn’t exactly fall from the sky.

Of course, I can’t speak for all FBBs. I’m sure there are plenty out there who genuinely love doing sessions and meeting their clients. I’m sure there are lots of session providers who are proud of their work and are not ashamed of their on-the-side profession. But for those who are, or at least hold a certain degree of reservation for what they’re doing, I get why the label “prostitute” can hurt so much.

The woman I met for my first ever session is a mother whose daughter is only a few years younger than me. I met another who is married and another who has a long-term boyfriend back home. Can you imagine if you Googled your mother’s name and labels such as “whore,” “slut” and “skank” prominently came up? I’d be embarrassed beyond belief. Can you imagine being a husband and having to cope with the idea of your beloved wife pleasuring other men a whole ocean away from you? I can’t wrap my mind around that.

But I don’t want to get too melodramatic. I just thought it was appropriate to address the question many of you might be asking. Personally, when I had my four sessions, I never for one moment thought of the women I was meeting as prostitutes. I treated them kindly and with deep respect. I treated them like human beings, not living breathing sex toys. Of course, I’d treat a traditional prostitute the same way, but it never crossed my mind to treat these ladies as if they were any different from anybody else.

If anything, I treated them with more respect. I respect them for doing what they love regardless of the consequences. I respect them for doing something so socially unconventional and for enduring the weird stares, hurtful comments and awkward relationships it must create. If this is what they love doing, who cares what other people think? What others think about you is inconsequential.

But returning to the original question, what types of activities (both sexual and nonsexual) are offered during a muscle worship session? The possibilities are wide in range. This list is by no means complete or exhaustive:

  • Muscle worship
  • Wrestling (both competitive, semi-competitive and fantasy)
  • Role playing
  • Posing
  • Domination and submission
  • Lift and carry
  • Arm wrestling
  • Scissor holds
  • Face sitting, belly punching, boxing, smothering and other grappling/competitive activities
  • Fetish scenarios
  • BDSM activities (Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism)
  • Oiling
  • Sensual massage
  • Sexual acts (blow jobs, cunnilingus, hand jobs, dry humping, kissing and vaginal sex)

Typically, the furthest sexual activity an FBB will allow is giving her client a hand job at the end (also known as a “happy ending” for those of you unfamiliar with the euphemism). Anything beyond that either is never on the table or comes at a very steep cost. Sometimes actual sex (or “full service”) is only reserved for repeat customers because the FBB knows the person and presumably feels comfortable around them.

Many times, no sexual activity is allowed. Not everyone is willing to go that far. Nor should any session provider feel like they have to in order to stay “in business.” As with anything, whatever is mutually agreed upon prior to the session is fair game.

But the real reason why clients seek out these sessions is for the muscle worship aspect. Let’s discuss this a little bit more.

“Worship” isn’t necessarily to be interpreted literally. A client won’t deify the muscles of the session provider as if they were God or Allah incarnate. It’s “worship” in a more sensual, playful way. The men who participate in these sessions obviously share a fetish for female muscle. Just look up the words “sthenolagnia” and “cratolagnia” if you need a refresher.

A very erotic lady is Yvette Bova.
A very erotic lady is Yvette Bova.

Let’s put it this way: Strong women with big muscles are rare. Not everyone’s wife or girlfriend possesses the ripped, bulging muscles of Alina Popa. Not every lady out there can sport a chiseled physique like Victoria Dominguez. Women who look like Lisa Cross, Lauren Powers and Yvette Bova mostly exist in our wildest dreams.

So, the only way men can live out their fantasies is to participate in these sessions. Watching videos on the Internet or chatting with an FBB through her webcam only goes so far. Sometimes you need to experience the “real thing.” And muscle worship sessions are about as real as you can get.

“Worship” usually means feeling her body and touching her muscles to your heart’s delight. Sometimes you might pretend to worship her as if she was an actual Goddess, but role-playing isn’t always a factor here. The client may heap endless verbal praise onto her. He may treat her like a divine figure. But mostly, he just wants to feel those big beautiful muscles in his hands. He wants the tactile experience of being able to engage in his personal fetishistic fantasies.

Fetishism is really what this all boils down to. A fetish is defined as “any object or nongenital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.” These men fetishize the muscles of these women. It’s as simple as that. For whatever reason – her strength, muscles, bulk, size and power really turns you on. It turns you on to the point that you must experience it for yourself up close and personal even if it comes at a significant financial cost. But for anyone with a strong fetish for something, it’s worth every penny.

In a strange way, a muscle worship session is nothing more than a business transaction. You are paying someone for particular services. These services are usually done tax-free (meaning the government and the IRS will have no knowledge that these sorts of shenanigans are happening), but business is business no matter how it transpires. Everyone has to do what they got to do to get by, am I right?

After a session comes to an end, the client will try to leave the venue as discreetly as possible. If the hotel staff gets suspicious that possible illegal activity is happening at their establishment, the FBB could get in trouble. No one wants that to happen. So in light of that, here is a list of important protocol every client should keep in mind when setting up a muscle worship session:

  1. Be discreet: Because of the awkward nature of these sessions, it is important that everyone respects the privacy and anonymity of the other person. Would you want your boss or grandmother to know that you paid a woman $350 to touch her body? Yeah, probably not! So keep in mind the importance of not leaving a paper trail or compromising her identity if she wishes to remain inconspicuous. She may have kids, parents, relatives, co-workers, church friends and neighbors from whom she wants to keep her extracurricular activities a secret. This is why both parties must be discreet.
  2. Be respectful of each other’s boundaries: Make sure you agree on everything that is to happen at this muscle worship session beforehand. Never assume what’s on the table and what’s not. She may not want to do certain things with you. Respect those boundaries and don’t push your luck. Never do anything drastic before requesting permission. In fact, when in doubt, ask her. Ask her what you want from her. Ask her what is okay and what isn’t. This way, there won’t be any ambiguity going on. Preferably, ask her ahead of time so you can prevent being disappointed after the session ends.
  3. Keep open lines of communication flowing: In addition to always asking for what you want, make sure you maintain an open line of communication so you don’t get important details like hotel information or payment policies mixed up. You never want miscommunication to ruin your session. Remember, she has a stake in this too. She doesn’t want to disappoint. Help her help you.
  4. Treat her like a lady: Don’t treat her like a piece of meat whose only purpose is to serve your every whim. Don’t be a jerk. Respect her just as you would show respect to your mother. Treat her like a lady. She’s risking quite a lot to offer these sessions. She’s making sacrifices that deep down inside she might not want to make. So make it worth her while. Don’t demonstrate douchebag behavior. No one wants any of that nonsense.
  5. Don’t flake out: Yes, unexpected scheduling conflicts do occasionally happen. But don’t ever flake out on an appointment. These women travel thousands of miles to come to your city. Don’t promise her you’d show up for your 5:00 p.m. appointment only for you to completely blow her off. The cost of flying from airport to airport and booking hotel rooms is really expensive. Don’t flake out unless you have a very good excuse. And if you do, please e-mail, call or text her if something unexpected does unfortunately come up.
  6. Tell her what you want so that you can have the best session experience possible: In case you need a reminder, she wants to give you a good time. Very rarely does a session provider not care if you have a splendid time or not. They want to fulfill your fantasies and have you begging for more. This is good for business and ensures she can make a handsome buck in the process. This goes along the lines of constantly communicating with each other. Talk to her about what will make your experience the best it can be. Don’t shy away from the moment. Live a little!

After a session is over, many guys will write reviews on popular websites like saradas.org. Some FBBs might appreciate you sending them kind e-mails afterward so that she can post them on her website or on session directories. As always, if the FBB chooses to use a fake name, don’t “out” her on the Internet. That’s a big no-no. Anything written on a chat forum or blog can be read by millions of people. Don’t be “that guy.” If she doesn’t want her true identity revealed, don’t reveal it!

Even if you don’t know for sure if she doesn’t want her identity revealed, be on the safe side and keep things under wraps. After all, these sessions are very private in nature and should remain private. There’s no need for the entire world to know what happened during that one hour in that hotel room. You know…what happens in Vegas…

If everything turns out well and a year or two later she returns back to your city, you can set up another session with her! And who knows? She may decide to offer a little “extra” for her faithful clients.

My new female muscle crush: Lindsay Mulinazzi.
My new female muscle crush: Lindsay Mulinazzi.

Or she may not offer anything extra. Never feel entitled to anything other than what you two agree upon beforehand. Make sure she consents to everything. Never assume anything. Never leave anything unspoken that should be brought to light.

In other words, use common sense. That can’t be too hard, hm?

Whew. That’s a lot to cover. And I never even got into things like wrestling or BDSM. I’ve personally never done those sorts of things before, so my expertise on these subjects is admittedly limited. What I am reasonably knowledgeable about is traditional muscle worship. Trust me, it’s a very glorious world once you get into it!

Muscle worship is fun. It’s meant to be fun. It’s erotic fun, but it’s fun nevertheless. So have fun when you do it. Come with a smile. Prepare to enjoy yourself. Yes, it’ll be nerve-wracking right before it starts, but once things get going the butterflies in your stomach will go away.

I will admit that this article isn’t exhaustive about describing the world of female muscle worship sessions. Generally speaking, people will use the acronym “YMMV” to describe their experiences. This stands for “your mileage may vary.” This means every session provider is different and will be different depending on who you are and what you ask for. I can’t give you hard and fast rules. You have to see for yourself.

One last note before I end this lengthy article. As strange, odd, weird, peculiar, atypical and controversial as the concept of muscle worship may appear, at the end of the day there’s really nothing bizarre about it. Some men find muscular women attractive. Because muscular women are rare in our society, the only way for these men to enjoy this particular fetish is to engage in these sessions. That’s all there is to it. Certainly, these sessions are unorthodox in nature, but the reasons they happen are very simple.

Can I measure the beautiful biceps of Gina Davis?
Can I measure the beautiful biceps of Gina Davis?

We have interests and needs that we want fulfilled. If there are people out there who are willing to fulfill these needs, what’s the harm? No one is being forced to do this. Everyone on planet Earth has needs. You can’t escape that fact. So don’t think of muscle worship as being dirty, exploitative, deviant or immoral. It’s a simple business transaction between two consenting adults.

Yes, this transaction is erotic in nature, but that shouldn’t muddy the waters. Eroticism can be a beautiful thing. No one should be punished for living out their fantasies as long as no one gets hurt in the process. Hopefully there won’t be too much disagreement over this notion.

So there you have it. Everything (or mostly everything!) you wanted to know about muscle worship but were afraid to ask. This is just a starter. A primer. A summary. There is a whole world out there that even I am not totally familiar with. I am no expert. I’m just someone who operates a humble blog out here in the WordPress blogosphere.

Try for yourself what muscle worship is like if you’re truly curious. And guess what? You might be able to answer all these questions on your own!

Educating Jonathan – Part Three

A beautiful shot of a woman exuding sexuality.
A beautiful shot of a woman exuding sexuality.

“Listen, I’m…uh, not really comfortable doing this sort of thing,” Jonathan says. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say right now.

Samantha turns around but still remains on her hands and knees. She peers up at Jonathan with innocence in her eyes. She doesn’t like the fact she’s making Jonathan feel uncomfortable.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. Listen, Jonathan. I’m serious about what I’m saying. I really do deserve to be punished. Someone needs to do it, even if you don’t want to,” she says.

On the contrary, Jonathan sees absolutely no need for any of this to happen. Punishment for what exactly? Racism around the world? Slavery? Past crimes against humanity? Samantha isn’t responsible for any of that! She’s just a college professor. An author. A public speaker. She’s not a tyrant or a flaming bigot. Dear Lord…

“No, Samantha. You don’t need to do this. This is crazy. This doesn’t make sense. Get up off the floor. Let’s just…snuggle and make love again. I don’t like how you’re behaving.” He’s being sincere. Jonathan has never considered himself the “kinky” type. Of course, he’s not one to judge. What someone is into is their business and their business alone.

“I had a feeling you’d feel this way,” Samantha begins. “So I have a backup plan.”

Standing up, Dr. Sammy digs into her black bag again and takes out her cell phone. By this time Jonathan’s arousal has disappeared completely. When things started to get weird, Jonathan didn’t know how to react. He hopes things return back to normal soon.

“Do you mind if I invite my friend to come up here? I have an associate who’s been waiting in my car this whole time.”

“Wait, what? You came here with someone?”

“Yes. An associate of mine. An old friend. Can I invite her here? She’s friendly.” Now there’s someone else involved? Uh oh.

“Uh, sure. Invite her in. I don’t want anyone to be bored and wait in a car all night,” Jonathan says.

At this point, what’s the harm? It’s not like this night could get any stranger. Jonathan’s been with a few women in his life, but never under these circumstances. Most of his “hook-ups” have been just that: hook ups. No requests to whip anyone. No discussions about white guilt, compensating for injustices of the past, no need to sexually appease a so-called “oppressed” racial minority. None of that.

“Okay. Thanks!”

Samantha dials a number and puts the phone up to her ear. A moment later, the person she calls picks up and answers.

“Hello Mistress. It’s me. Come on up. He just gave me permission to invite you in. He’s in unit number 821. See you soon. Bye, honey.” She ends the call and puts her phone back in the black bag. There is a moment of silence. Samantha twirls her hair. Jonathan sits patiently on the bed, trying to rationalize this whole eventful evening. What the hell just happened during the past few minutes? Did he just step into the Twilight Zone or some other alternate dimension?

Finally, Samantha breaks the awkward silence.

“Like I said, she’s an old friend. She’ll punish me in a way I severely deserve,” Samantha insists.

“Who…exactly is your friend? And how is she going to punish you, you know, like you supposedly deserve? Or do I not want to know?”

“Oh, you’ll find out. Trust me. You’ll like her. You’ll like the Mistress.” Samantha sits down on an easy chair and rubs her nipples. They stand at attention. Jonathan sighs and leans back against the headboard. Mistress? What the hell does that mean? As if this night couldn’t get any creepier…it does!

A woman in bondage.
A woman in bondage.

Jonathan decides to use the bathroom. He does. After washing his hands, he hears the doorbell ring. Samantha, who still hasn’t put on any clothes as far as Jonathan knows, answers the door. He faintly hears Samantha and the “Mistress” exchange pleasantries, but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. Jonathan considers whether he should put on a bathrobe before meeting this unexpected guest, but is suddenly interrupted mid-thought.

“Oh, Jonathan! She’s here. Don’t worry about getting dressed. Just come out when you can,” Samantha says sweetly – like a mother calling her children in for suppertime.

Embarrassed and a little nervous, Jonathan reluctantly exits the bathroom to greet his newest guest. Standing near the entrance is a tall beautiful black woman wearing a long dark purple fur coat, scarlet red stiletto heels and large gold hoop earrings. She looks to be in her late 30s or early 40s. But black women can be difficult to age at times. Jonathan is mostly captured by her unique beauty. A sharp angular face, striking green eyes, minimal makeup and a husky build makes her a sight to behold.

Unsure of how to properly react, Jonathan is content to just stand there awkwardly and hope for the best.

“Jonathan, this is Mistress Nguvu. She and I go way back. We’re old friends,” Samantha proudly announces. Showing off her friend, Dr. Sammy takes the Mistress’s hand and leads her closer to Jonathan. When they finally approach him, Jonathan is taken aback by how tall she is. Well over six feet tall, his best friend from high school played on the varsity basketball team and was 6 foot 5 inches flat. She appears to be a little shorter, so Jonathan estimates her to be around 6’4” or 6’3”.

“Welcome. Make yourself at home, Mistress Nguvu,” Jonathan weakly says to her. He extends his hand to greet her and she shakes it. Her strong grip also surprises him. He feels like she could break every bone in his hand if she chooses to do so. Finally, their handshake comes to an end and all three are left standing around in silence. Samantha is relishing the moment. Mistress Nguvu’s gorgeous green eyes have not left Jonathan’s earthy brown eyes. While he is physically naked, but her piercing look leaves him exposed in ways that he’s never felt before.

“Thank you for inviting me into your home. I couldn’t stand sitting around in Sammy’s car in the rain for much longer. I needed to stretch my legs,” the Mistress says. Her deep baritone voice has a deep reverberation that could shake the foundations of Earth and Heaven; a voice that also carries confidence, wisdom, sexual prowess and unmistakable femininity. She speaks with a slight accent, one that Jonathan couldn’t quite figure out yet. In these brief few moments he’s known her; Jonathan already senses Mistress Nguvu is a human being unlike any he’s ever encountered before in his life.

“She’s here to give me the punishment you are uncomfortable to deliver. I don’t begrudge you for it. After all, we hardly know each other. But the Mistress and I have been friends for decades. We know each other all too well,” Samantha says. She leans over and licks the Mistress’s left cheek. Mistress Nguvu responds by teasing her right nipple with her long fingers. Dr. Sammy giggles at these sudden pleasurable sensations.

“Is there a place I can hang my coat?” Mistress Nguvu asks.

“Yes, there’s a coat rack right by the door. You passed it when you came in here,” Jonathan answers.

As Mistress Nguvu turns toward the front door, Samantha comes to the bed and picks up the whip, handcuffs and rope. She looks around the room, perhaps to determine where to best use these “toys.” All of this is completely new to Jonathan. He’s read about BDSM practices in a human sexuality class he took during his freshman year, but he mostly took that class to get closer to a girl he liked. They ended up dating for most of the semester, but he truthfully found the class genuinely interesting.

Who knew what he learned in that class would actually become relevant at this very moment?

As if what’s already happened weren’t astounding enough, what happens next would blow all of that completely out of the water. When Mistress Nguvu finds the wooden rack and takes off her handsome fur coat, she reveals an even more stunning spectacle:

A rock hard muscular body.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Jonathan has never seen a sight like this. This striking black woman’s body exudes strength in a way he never knew was possible for a woman. Thick thighs, dense glutes, a chiseled eight-pack set of abdominal muscles, a broad back, plump breasts, a wide chest, vascular arms that look like they could burst out of her skin, shoulders of steel and forearms strong enough to bend iron; Mistress Nguvu has the physique of a male bodybuilder mixed with the grace of a gymnast and the sensuality of a salsa dancer. She hangs up her coat and returns back to the bedroom.

Imagine Mistress Nguvu looking a lot like a taller version of Victoria Dominguez (a.k.a. "Mistress Treasure").
Imagine Mistress Nguvu looking a lot like a taller version of Victoria Dominguez (a.k.a. “Mistress Treasure”).

Wearing nothing but the stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, a tiny black g-string thong and a tight leather corset, Jonathan wasn’t sure whether to feel fear or uncontrollable arousal. Her massive muscles and remarkable height add to her mesmerizing allure.

After everyone finally gathers back in the bedroom, Samantha starts the evening’s activities.

“Jonathan darling, there’s something I want you to watch. The Mistress and I are going to play together. We do this sort of thing all the time, but I feel it is important for you to witness it. I am confident you will get an empowering and much-needed cathartic experience from it,” Dr. Sammy explains.

“Emotional healing is good for the soul. This is why the Mistress is so vital in my life. We have a symbiotic relationship. Our interdependence is crucial for each other’s existence. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Jonathan blinks. He nods.

“Great. Fantastic. So, let’s begin, shall we?” Samantha gets down on her knees and hugs Mistress Nguvu’s legs. Her thighs are so thick Dr. Sammy struggles to wrap her arms completely around them. Jonathan sits down on the easy chair and can do nothing else but stare at the exhibition unfolding before him. He is powerless to think or even begin to comprehend where this evening is going.

Playtime has begun.

“You fucking piece of shit. Why the fuck are you even touching me? I never gave you permission to touch me, you dirty little fucking whore!” Mistress Nguvu declares to Samantha. Still unable to place the source of her accent, the Mistress’s voice is like music to Jonathan’s ears.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I fucked up. I’ll never disobey you again,” Samantha prostrates herself on the floor, her forehead touching the carpet.

A black whip.
A black whip.

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a worthless slut. You white bitch. You worthless white piece of fucking shit. Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, little slut,” the Mistress scolds.

It’s been a long time since Jonathan has heard language this foul between two adult women. He’d rather not rehash the specific circumstances.

“I’ll do what you say, Mistress. Discipline me for being a little slut, I beg of you!” Samantha – clearly “in character” – looks up at Mistress Nguvu and licks her muscular calf. A smile lurks underneath Nguvu’s threatening façade.

“Thank you, cunt. Now go into your bag and give me my cock.” On cue, Dr. Sammy reaches over for the bag and takes out a nine-inch long black strap-on. The black dildo’s lifelike appearance catches Jonathan by surprise. Its considerable girth and unrealistic length (at least, Jonathan hopes its length is unrealistic) nearly makes Jonathan gasp out loud. Thankfully, he remains perfectly silent.

Mistress Nguvu puts the strap-on around her crotch and strokes the dildo suggestively. Jonathan still cannot believe all this is happening right before him. Never in a billion years would he ever guess a brilliant college feminist professor and a black female bodybuilder dominatrix would ever pay his humble apartment a visit. But alas, here they are engaging in erotic “roleplaying” right in this very room.

“Suck my cock, you white slut. Suck my beautiful black cock till I tell you to stop. And never stop looking me in the eyes, you fucking white cunt,” Nguvu sternly instructs. “If you break any of my rules, you will pay the dire consequences.”

Obediently, Samantha remains on her knees and opens her mouth wide to suck on the nine-inch long black dildo. Her eyes never leave the Mistress’s eyes. Nguvu lightly strokes Samantha’s hair and rubs her shoulders. As she sucks, the Mistress pretends to be having an orgasm from the mock fellatio. A few moments later the Mistress “climaxes.” She moans. Samantha’s eyes remain locked onto the Mistress’s gorgeous face.

“Swallow all of it, little slut. Make me happy,” the Mistress says. She bends down and kisses Dr. Sammy on the forehead. Samantha pretends to swallow Nguvu’s imaginary semen. Afterward she wipes Samantha’s mouth and kisses her deeply on the lips. The whole time Jonathan does nothing but watch. The initial shock of the situation has at last worn off, but enthralling intrigue has taken its place.

“Now give me the rope and the handcuffs, you worthless white cunt.”

Samantha obliges the Mistress immediately.

Nguvu proceeds to tie the rope around Dr. Sammy’s ankles and straps the handcuffs on her wrists. Slumped over, Dr. Sammy looks worse for wear. Unkempt hair, makeup streaking down her face and sweat dripping off her brow, her physical appearance is about to erode even further. Without instructing anyone, Mistress Nguvu walks over to the bed and takes the whip. Jonathan’s heart flutters when this beautiful strong black woman comes near him. It’s as if her presence alone is enough to make his pulse race.

A very kinky photo of Desiree Ellis and a friend.
A very kinky photo of Desiree Ellis and a friend.

“Now, you are about to be punished for your earlier showcase of disobedience. I hope you learn your lesson from this, you fucking white cunt.”

The Mistress raises her fist high in the air, waits a beat, and lashes down on Samantha’s back. The crack of the whip against Dr. Sammy’s flesh makes a sound that stuns Jonathan. He never anticipated the whipping sound would be that…jarring. He thought this was all fun and games (granted, kinky fun and games). But this is something else entirely–

Before Jonathan could process another thought, Mistress Nguvu whips Samantha again. And again, and again, and again. Four, five, six, seven, eight times. More than that. More times than he could count.

Samantha screams. Mistress Nguvu laughs out of sheer sadistic pleasure. Her screams continue. The laughter also continues. Jonathan is frozen stiff. The screams burn his ears. The lashings persist unmercifully.

The Mistress whips her at every angle: her back, her sides, her butt, her legs, her feet, her stomach, her chest, her breasts, her arms, everywhere except for her neck and face. Perhaps they agreed prior to this evening the head area was off limits. But still, Samantha hollers in pain.

For a brief moment, the Mistress stops whipping Samantha. Dr. Sammy is helplessly lying on her stomach, weeping nonstop. Is she actually crying or is she pretending to be crying? Jonathan couldn’t tell. Samantha’s beautiful body is now covered in swollen red streaks. No blood. No evidence of her skin breaking. But the redness on her body appears authentically painful. If she’s really crying because of the pain, Jonathan could understand why.

“Have you had enough, little white bitch?”

Samantha rolls on her back and looks up at the Mistress. Real tears are streaming from her eyes. She’s choked up. She’s sobbing uncontrollably. Jonathan considers intervening, but what the hell could he do? He looks at Mistress Nguvu’s face. She looks angry. Genuinely angry. Jonathan is afraid. He is clueless about what to do next.

“No answer. Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. I always want an answer. I demand an answer from you, little white cunt. You fucking piece of garbage. Just for that, I’ll give you what you deserve. I will officially make you my little slut,” the Mistress threatens.

By now, Jonathan gets it. He understands completely what’s going on here. In a “reverse slavery” motif, Samantha is, within the context of BDSM play, receiving the same treatment African slaves received from their white slave masters. The supposed “cathartic” experience she’s getting from this is feeling the same excruciating humiliation her ancestors brought upon Mistress Nguvu’s ancestors.

Mistress Nguvu, a dominant and powerful black woman, is unleashing relentless physical pain upon a wealthy, educated, privileged white woman. The irony is, of course, how they are reversing the historic roles their predecessors played centuries ago. Dr. Sammy must feel as though her white guilty conscience can come clean after this. Perhaps Mistress Nguvu gets a small degree of vicarious revenge as well.

The rope. And no, this isn't "Clue!"
The rope. And no, this isn’t “Clue!”

The Mistress throws the whip down and straddles herself on top of Samantha’s weary body. She leans over and kisses her. Her tongue slips into Samantha’s mouth. She still has not stopped crying. Her sobs and the tongue entering her mouth cause her to gag. Nguvu snickers condescendingly.

“Jonathan,” Mistress Nguvu says.

Jonathan awakes from his trance. For the first time since they shook hands, the Mistress addresses him directly. Awoken from the spell she’s cast over him, Jonathan dutifully replies.

“Yes, Mistress?”

Mistress Nguvu continues to sit on top of Samantha. The large black dildo pokes her in the back of her head. Dr. Sammy’s persistent wails fill the room. Jonathan’s heartbeat skyrockets. The room is dead quiet. The Mistress then speaks:

“I’m about to give this little slut the next phase of her punishment. But this time, I need your help.”

The Wow Factor

Before Lindsay Mulinazzi, there was nothing.
Before Lindsay Mulinazzi, there was nothing.

I’ve finally figured it out. In all my years of my female muscle fandom, I’ve never really been able to put into succinct words why I love muscular women so much.

Sure, long essays can explain the bread and butter of why I find female bodybuilders and athletes so appealing. I can even post a ton of photos of my favorite FBBs for all of you to salivate over. But that still doesn’t even begin to describe why exactly we love them.

But now I’ve got it figured out. Finally.

Simply put:

The Wow Factor.

That’s it. The Wow Factor. “Wow” is a word we use to describe something so amazing, Earth-shattering, incredible and astonishing that no other monosyllabic utterance could do it justice. Wow. You could substitute that for “whoa,” but let’s not confuse our female muscle fandom for the vernacular of California surfer dudes or college stoner kids. I’m talking about something else here.

Wow. Just…wow.

The Wow Factor is my best way of describing it.

Women like Debi Laszewski are so damn beautiful that “wow” is the only way I can properly react when I see a photo of her. Yes, “Damn girl” or “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaamn” are also sufficient substitutes, but I’m not interested in catcalling Ms. Laszewski like a dirty-minded construction worker on his lunch break.

I’m interested in communicating what’s on my mind. And “wow” is the only thing on my mind. Is there any other way to put it?

How can this image of Victoria Dominguez lifting this heavy weight not turn you on?
How can this image of Victoria Dominguez lifting this heavy weight not turn you on?

But it’s not just about putting your feelings into words. It’s describing your gut reaction the moment your brain processes what your eyes have just seen. The millisecond your mind realizes that it just saw an image of a strong, gorgeous woman showing off her hard work in all its erotic glory – you can’t possibly articulate what that feels like. No way. It’s a feeling that hits you on a level that goes way beyond mere “attraction.”

It’s not just lust. It’s not just turning your head when you see a pretty woman walking past you and thinking to yourself, “That’s one fine looking lady.” That happens all the time (at least, it happens to me all the time!). The Wow Factor goes way further. The Wow Factor isn’t an everyday occurrence. The Wow Factor changes the way you think. It changes the way you look at women (all women, not just those of the muscular variety). It changes the way you behave. It changes your paradigm.

This Wow Factor explains why bloggers like me continue to post pictures and essays about female muscle nonstop. This explains why guys like me are willing to pay $350 for an hour-long muscle worship session with a complete stranger in a hotel room. This explains why we can’t get enough of those glorious FBBs and their immaculate beauty.

The Wow Factor is a visceral gut reaction you can’t control. Here’s an anecdote for you. As strange as it sounds, sometimes I occasionally forget why I love female muscle in the first place. It’s sort of like a professional baseball player who’s played for 10 years in the league but lacks passion because he plays for a terrible team. But the moment his team catches fire and he’s playing in Game 7 of the World Series, suddenly his childhood love for the game returns and he’s playing with rejuvenated energy.

He suddenly remembers why he loves the game. The nervous energy. The thrill of competition. The joy of victory. The heart-wrenching depression of defeat. That child-like love for the game all of a sudden returns in that moment when you’re actually playing for something.

A rising star, Jill Rudison.
A rising star, Jill Rudison.

I sometimes get like that in regards to my female muscle fandom. I know I love strong women, but all it takes is a singular image of Alina Popa flexing her large, beautiful biceps wearing nothing but a microscopic thong bikini, and…I suddenly remember why I think Ms. Popa is a gift from God. I’ve always known that, but The Wow Factor hits me like a semi-truck blindsiding me out of nowhere and I’m instantaneously reminded why I feel the way I feel.

It’s a feeling that causes you to stare at your computer screen with your jaw dropped to the floor and your heart ceasing to beat. It makes me forget that other women exist in this world.

Lisa Cross. Denise Masino. Lindsay Mulinazzi. Angela Salvagno. Victoria Dominguez. Nikki Fuller. Yvette Bova. Amber DeLuca. Autumn Raby. Gayle Moher. Lauren Powers. Annie Rivieccio. Brandi Mae Akers. Jill Rudison. Shannon Courtney. Desiree Ellis. Jana Linke-Sippl. Lora Ottenad. Brenda Raganot. Monica Martin. Gracyanne Barbosa. Juliana Malacarne. Karen Zaremba. Michele Levesque. Sheila Bleck. Monica Brant. Lisa Marie Bickels. Lenda Murray. Iris Kyle. Julie Bourassa. Kris Murrell. Sondra Faas. Vilma Caez. Kris Clark. Melissa Dettwiller.

The list goes on and on and on. This doesn’t even scratch the surface.

Pick anyone on this list and spend five minutes doing a Google Images search on her. I guarantee you’ll be hooked within seconds. You’ll be completely enraptured by her power, beauty and strength. Her feminine prowess and physical stature will make you as hapless as a little puppy dog. You’ll totally forget why you used to ogle at the rail-thin supermodels in the Sears catalog (if you actually at one time did that, I’m really sorry!).

The Wow Factor exemplified in Larissa Reis.
The Wow Factor exemplified in Larissa Reis.

This is what it’s like to experience The Wow Factor. You’re struck by a lightning bolt and feel like there is no definition of “beauty” other than what you’ve just witnessed.

Before Lindsay Mulinazzi, there was nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if this is the reason why there’s so much animosity against female bodybuilders. Haters (who are, pardon the expression, going to hate) have never experienced The Wow Factor. They’ve instead experienced The Ew Factor. The Gross Factor. The Utterly Disgusting Factor. The Why-the-Hell-Would-Anyone-Want-To-Look-Like-That Factor. It saddens me when people choose to shut themselves out from a certain part of life. True, no one has an obligation to like female muscle, but why say “no!” when instead you can choose “sure, why not?”

It’s clear to me that someone who says they’re repulsed by female bodybuilders say that mostly because deep down inside they’re insecure about themselves. They don’t feel secure in their masculinity. They don’t feel secure in their femininity. They react negatively to what they don’t understand or want to understand. They insult others because the only way for them to feel good about themselves is to bring down everyone else. This is a vicious cycle that especially comes out on the Internet. Anonymity brings out the worst in us. There’s no harm in expressing your true feelings when nobody knows your name. Insecurity and a forum for acting upon that insecurity can be a hurtful combination.

One can never see enough photos of Karen Zaremba.
One can never see enough photos of Karen Zaremba.

It should be obvious to anyone who follows the sport of female bodybuilding that the industry is pushing our favorite ladies off to the side and telling them “we don’t want you as much as we did in the past.” People may have wanted to see you on the cover of magazines thirty years ago, but that’s all changed now. Iris Kyle will never be a sports superstar. No way. We don’t care how many Ms. Olympia titles she’s won. We don’t care how dominating she is in her sport. None of that is relevant. What speaks is dollars. And, quite frankly, she doesn’t bring in the dollars like others can. Sorry. You lose. Better luck next time.

Does this make you angry? To anyone who’s experienced The Wow Factor, it should.

Additionally, The Wow Factor affects you in one other way: It makes you defensive whenever you feel like your passions are being attacked. How many times have you been told that female bodybuilders look “gross?” How often do you read articles about the decline of female bodybuilding and you just want to throw your computer against the wall? Does replacing the sport with pole dancing competitions make you want to face-palm over and over again till your forehead turns beet red?

These reactions are classic examples of wanting to defend what you love. The Wow Factor makes us feel as though any attack on a strong woman is also an attack on us. Insult the sport of female bodybuilding on a public forum? Expect fans from across the world to fight back. Someone wants to deny Alina Popa’s right to climb the mountaintops and finally win the Ms. Olympia? In no time will you see her countless fans defending her on her behalf.

Gracyanne Barbosa. Baby got back.
Gracyanne Barbosa. Baby got back.

Though this negative energy can be seen as a bad thing, anything can be used for something positive. Being angry and defensive all the time will get you nowhere. A more constructive use of these emotions is to become pro-active. There are a lot of things we can do to make sure female bodybuilding doesn’t become extinct. Write letters. Send e-mails. Boycott those who vigorously marginalize the FBBs we idolize. Buy books and magazines promoting female muscle. Open your wallets and hearts to the women we adore. Openly support these athletes as if they truly are our best friends. Don’t let society dictate what you find beautiful. Do what you can to make these amazing athletes more mainstream.

What if one day female muscle becomes more mainstream? Imagine a world where gorgeous women like Larissa Reis are seen in the media as often as we see Kate Upton. Think about how awesome it would be if we can turn on the summer Olympics and instead of being perplexed by the presence of strong women, we can just sit back and enjoy watching her hard work being proudly displayed on the world’s brightest stage.

Instead of thinking to ourselves, “Ew!” we can have a more complimentary reaction:

“Wow.”

The Erotic Dreams of Max Shimura: Episode Two – Black Beauty

When you think of Black Beauty, think about Desiree Ellis.
When you think of Black Beauty, think about Desiree Ellis.

Max’s next dream took him to a familiar place: his own life.

Rainfall. Dusk. The time is 5:37 p.m. It is Friday, a day Max always cherishes.

After a rough week at work, Max knew he had to blow off some steam at the gym. TGIF, right? Max frequently worked out at the gym 3 to 4 days per week, doing a variety of exercises ranging from weight lifting to yoga to Pilates to swimming. Today he just needed to lift till his muscles gave out. It was one of those days.

6:40 p.m.

Max just completes nearly an hour and a half of blasting his chest and back muscles. Drenched in sweat, breathing hard as if he’d just run a marathon; he decides it’s time to stretch and end his workout with light cardio. As he was heading to the treadmill area, a heart-stopping sight caught him dead in his tracks.

Walking out of a now completed Zumba class was a striking black woman. Tall (perhaps 6’1”, maybe taller), muscular, athletic and as gorgeous as a supermodel, this woman exudes sexual power out of every pore of her impeccable body. Max is certain he’d never seen her here before, but at this moment, encountering this Beautiful Goddess destroyed any certainty he had of anything.

Imagine seeing a lady like Tatianna Butler in your gym. Talk about distracting.
Imagine seeing a lady like Tatianna Butler in your gym. Talk about distracting.

Wearing tight pink workout shorts and a revealing pink sports bra to match, this fetching woman is a perfect specimen of female beauty. She is the quintessential Black Beauty, the Immortal African Queen. Her dark black skin looks silky smooth and as soft as a blanket. Her hard muscles are sharp and well-defined. She is as strong as an ox. Every inch of her is perfect.

And Max was determined to find out more about her.

Black Beauty proceeds to walk toward the weight room. Wait, really? She’s not going back to the locker room? She actually plans to lift with the rest of the guys?

Hell yes, she is!

Black Beauty demonstrates that she isn’t just strong “for a woman;” she shows everyone she’s STRONG, plain and simple. Deadlifts. Squats. Lunges. Leg presses. Massive weight. Heavy reps. Sweat dripping off her delectable body. Today is definitely her leg day.

All the guys stop and stare at her. But does she get offended with this new-found attention? Nope. She loves the attention. She adores being looked at. She treasures every guy who can’t help but stare at her glorious figure. She wants this. She desires this.

She deserves this.

Every guy wants her. But Max knows he would be the one who would end up with her before the night is out. He doesn’t know how. He just knows this is how things will happen.

So…time to make a move!

It started with casual flirting. Max passes by Black Beauty and lets out a hushed wolf whistle. Black Beauty smiles back and returns the whistle as Max pumps out ten reps of heavy military shoulder press. Today isn’t a shoulders day, but any excuse to get close to her makes that fact irrelevant.

Then he strikes up a casual conversation with her. He asks her why he’s never seen her here before. She answers that she just moved into town. Their conversation goes deeper. They learn things about each other; where they grew up, what schools they attended, where they live, what they do for a living (as it turns out, she’s an amateur bodybuilder and a professional erotic model) and what hobbies they share. They learn a lot in a brief amount of time.

Her name is Afrika. See her power. See her strength. Admire her.
Her name is Afrika. See her power. See her strength. Admire her.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Forget working out. Max and Black Beauty aren’t just flirting – they’re connecting at a deep level. All the men in the weight room are jealous of Max. Many leave after conceding that Black Beauty is Max’s for the taking. They know what will happen between these two. So why bother sticking around and hoping they’ll get their shot?

For Max and Black Beauty, this is no longer casual flirting. This is foreplay. This is a mating dance; albeit one that involves dumbbells, barbells and lots of 45-pound plates of weight. Consummating this dance isn’t a possibility; it’s a guarantee.

Eventually Max and Black Beauty ease off their conversation and resume their workouts. Having already completed his initial workout, Max is now doing overtime. His muscles may collapse on him. But he doesn’t care one bit. This opportunity to get to know Black Beauty is one that he cannot pass up.

Max says he’s leaving and is heading home. Black Beauty, clearly enamored by him, offers to exchange phone numbers. They do. Max texts to Black Beauty his name and phone number. She smiles and resumes her grueling workout. Max leaves the weight room as if he’d just conquered the world.

After taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Max buys a protein shake at the juice bar. He looks around for Black Beauty. She’s still at the weight room, squatting what looks to be 315 pounds. Holy smokes. Look at that power. Look at her impeccable form. Look at her massive thighs, growing stronger and stronger with every punishing repetition. The way she strenuously pushes her leg muscles beyond what they can handle turns Max on in ways he’s never been turned on before.

Max senses his manhood waking up. Who cares if anyone notices?

An hour later, Max is at home watching a rerun of some football game he couldn’t care less about. Out of the blue, his phone buzzes. He checks it out and sees this simple message:

I wanna fuck you. So fucking bad. My place or yours?

Do you really have to guess who this is? Didn’t think so.

Ultimately, Max decides to come over to her house. Black Beauty texts him her address and fifteen minutes later he’s pulling up his car onto her driveway. He kills the engine. She lives in a quaint stone house in a quiet residential neighborhood a few miles away from his apartment. Though he wouldn’t consider her a next-door-neighbor, he’d drive any distance to be with this Black Muscle Goddess.

Zoe Saldana's beauty is enough to make my heart stop.
Zoe Saldana’s beauty is enough to make my heart stop.

He rings her doorbell. He waits. Seconds pass which seem like days. Eventually, the door opens. Black Beauty is standing before him.

Holy shit.

Dressed in nothing but a lily white negligee, silky purple lingerie and bright red stiletto heels, Black Beauty was a divine object of flawless beauty. Her revealing outfit shows off every bulging muscle on her unbelievable body. Her pumped legs, which Max was surprised was still able to stand considering the intensity of her earlier workout, nearly gave him a heart attack. Her wide, massive thighs squeeze together, unable to separate apart on their own. This thickness sends a chill down Max’s spine.

She invites him in. He enters her home. It is artistically decorated – littered with Greek nude statues, post-modern erotic paintings, photographs of muscular men and women in a variety of sensual poses and bookshelves full of academic textbooks.

She explains that she’s a student of art history, erotic art and human sexuality. Max isn’t surprised one bit. Their conversation at the gym was much deeper than any normal weight room banter. Black Beauty isn’t just a strong, beautiful woman. She’s also deeply passionate, intelligent and artistically-minded.

Not a bad combination.

Black Beauty offers him something to drink. Max takes the offer. They enter her dining room and sip fine wine by romantic candlelight for the next two hours. Their topics of conversation run the gamut; politics, art, sex, race, society, bodybuilding, culture, sports, history, family and culinary experiences. Their mutual fondness grows exponentially with each passing moment. Both Max and Black Beauty sense this isn’t going to be just a quick affair. Both know this has potential to be something more…profound.

It is nearing midnight. One empty bottle of wine later, Max and Black Beauty are both fairly loosened up. Not drunk. No, both are very clear-minded. Probably because they only have one thing on their mind:

Making love.

Yes, not fucking. Not screwing. Not banging one another. No…making love. Max and Black Beauty are about to make love as if they’d known each other for decades. This isn’t purely physical. This is something else entirely. This is real. Very real. Very tangible.

All hail Iris Kyle, a legend in her own right.
All hail Iris Kyle, a legend in her own right.

Finally, after hours of keeping a respectable physical distance, Black Beauty leans in and kisses Max passionately. She tastes him, possessing him with her mouth. Her tongue explores him, marking its territory. Max couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t mind. He’s been waiting for this moment a long time.

Max and Black Beauty finish their kiss and lock eyes. It’s time to start this dance. This erotic dance that will, inevitably, last all night and into the early morning. Hell, it’ll probably last into all day tomorrow as well. But tomorrow can wait. All that matters is the here and now.

Black Beauty stands up from the dining room table and walks over to him. Max loves the sight of her tight butt jiggling with every step. They share a second kiss, this time less fervent than the last, but nevertheless equally endearing. Max gets up and embraces her securely, feeling every mound of muscle on her taut back. She squeezes back and nearly knocks the wind out of him. Wow! She’s powerful! Her enormous arms wrap around his torso with a force that could sever him in half.

She releases. He struggles to catch his breath. Before he makes an attempt to, she grabs his hand and leads him into the living room.

All the lights are out. A fire is burning in the fireplace, giving off a dreamy glowing aura. A large fleece blanket and two pillows are neatly laid on the floor. She’s planned this out, meticulous detail by meticulous detail. God, what a woman!

Black Beauty stops, turns around and lifts Max’s shirt over his head. She kneels down and unbuckles his belt. Max reaches down and rubs her strong, broad shoulders. Black Beauty kisses his abdominal muscles, savoring every inch. Max plans to savor every inch of her, too.

Victoria Dominguez on a beach. Heaven on Earth, no?
Victoria Dominguez on a beach. Heaven on Earth, no?

She finally strips him and instructs him to sit down on the blanket. Max obliges. Black Beauty takes a few steps back and starts an erotic dance that captivates him. His manhood stands at attention. She removes her negligee and drops it to the floor. It pools around her ankles. She slowly removes her bra tosses it recklessly across the room. It disappears into the darkness.

Her large, plump breasts beckon him, but she pulls away to tease him. She kicks off her stilettos and places them behind her. All that’s left are her panties.

After another languorous erotic dance, inspired by ballet and rhythm stepping, Black Beauty at last removes the one last piece of clothing from her magnificent body. She steps back and poses, proudly demonstrating her muscularity. The light from the fire accentuates every fine curve, every muscle, every inch of her hard work at the gym.

Black Beauty bends over and kisses Max again. She lightly strokes his penis in an effort to arouse him. But the truth is he’s been aroused for hours now. But he appreciates the kind gesture.

She rolls on top of him and kisses his neck, chest and shoulders. Max returns the favor and strokes her long silky black hair. Black Beauty pulls him up and they share a long, wet kiss. Max reaches down and inserts a finger inside her vagina. She lets out a moan, expressing her approval. She’s completely wet, moist and ready for him. He knows what comes next.

Coming apart from their kiss, Black Beauty lies down on her back and spreads her thick legs in a spreadeagle formation. Max caresses her calves and takes his time to admire them. But she is impatient. She wants him to enter her. She wants him to please her.

Max, not wanting to disappoint, positions his penis at the entrance of her vagina and rubs the tip against her swollen clitoris. Black Beauty moans again loudly, not holding back. Now is not the time to hold back anything.

Halle Berry is one of my favorites from my youth. God, what a beauty!
Halle Berry is one of my favorites from my youth. God, what a beauty!

In one single movement, Max pushes himself into her until he can’t possibly get any deeper. Jolts of electricity scream through their bodies. Max bends over and kisses Black Beauty ardently, savoring her with an earnest that he’s never experienced before. She wraps her long strong legs around him and thrusts herself into him, forcing both lovers to moan out loud in unapologetic pleasure.

Max whispers something into Black Beauty’s ear. Only they know what is said, no one else. As he drives himself deeper and deeper into her, he forgets where he is for a moment. Her house? Paradise? It makes no difference.

Black Beauty clutches her lover’s body tightly against her ample chest, her bulky muscles temporarily knocking the wind out of him. They kiss with a force that neither could replicate with another person again. Wet, sloppy and untamed, these lovers are holding nothing back. They don’t have time to waste. It’s only this moment, this place and their animalistic lust for each other that matter. Why worry about tomorrow?

The lovers experience the initial sensations of orgasm. But this lovemaking session isn’t about the orgasm. No. It’s about one thing only: Love.

She rolls over and takes over on top. He enthusiastically indulges in her whim. Riding him like a cowgirl riding her prized stallion, she locks her fingers around his and playfully dances up and down his manhood. He whimpers, knowing this is a moment he will never forget. She falls on top of him, spreads her legs wide and prepares for one final thrust that will send both lovers over the edge.

She whispers something into his ear. Like before, no one in the world will ever know what she tells him.

Black Beauty lifts her perfectly rounded butt in the air, takes a deep breath, kisses Max one last time and gives him one last final thrust. Their lips never come apart.

Max and Black Beauty come at the same time. Their lips finally separate. They let out a wild scream which will surely shake the Earth’s foundation.

Her vaginal muscles contract uncontrollably. His penis pulses with authority, emptying himself into her. He wants to give her all he’s got. He wants this moment to be special.

She collapses on top of him. They breathe heavily. Sweat drips off their bodies. Their hearts pound together to the same beat. The shadows created by the fire’s light produce a picturesque image of erotic perfection. Two people. One body. Pure love.

They continue to whisper sweet words into each other’s ears. The poetry shared between them could fill a thousand volumes of classical literature.

Outside, the rain begins to fall. It gets louder and louder with each passing moment. There is now a peace between the two lovers. The gentle sounds of water cascading off the roof add to the sexual ambiance.

Finally, she lifts herself off of him. His penis has softened by now. She toys with it playfully, smiling down at him. He returns the favor and lightly strokes her beautiful labia. He sits up and kisses her breasts, lapping her tongue across her sensitive nipples. She closes her eyes, looks up to the Heavens and sighs with satisfaction. This moment cannot be any more perfect, she tells herself.

Romantic fireplace and wine.
Romantic fireplace and wine.

The night is still young. The fire’s celestial glow endures. The fire burning within them is far from being satiated. Their shared love will never die.

The two lovers cuddle underneath the blanket and share stories about their childhoods. There’s something poignant about the simplicity of life and the desire to share it that comes out after the act of lovemaking. They talk for what seems like an eternity. The rain continues to pour. Nurturing the earth, the light tapping of water against the windows makes both Black Beauty and Max a little nostalgic for the mutual pleasure they experienced moments before.

What should they do? How can they make this flawless night last forever?

Max has an idea.

He pulls back the blanket, kisses her again, hugs her firmly and tells her what’s on his mind. She nods.

She embraces him back, and they make love again.

And again…and again…and again…and into eternity.

The Art of Sardax

The Wonderful and Wacky World of One Single Mom

A place to write all I need to write.

Chocolate Cocaine

Eroticism, Intimacy, Sex, Erotic Poetry, Erotic, Writer, Author, Spoken Word, Erotic Spoken Word, Erotic Artist, Sensuality, Erotic Artists Unite, Karma Eve, Chocolate Cocaine

To Helen a Handbasket

Just another WordPress.com weblog

submissy

Married submissive: The love, the kink and the connection.

Jade Mask Entertainment

Follow the lewd adventures of a digital whore.

A Dissolute Life Means...

The Other Livvy

My secret alter ego...

hornygeekgirl.com/

Scandarella

Thoughts, imaginings and opinions, straight from the slightly skewed mind of Ella Scandal

Story to Tell

Fia Naturie

Let's Burn

Dark Desires

Erotic Fantasies

Eve's Temptations

Erotica & opinion on all to do with sex amd kink

Bill Dobbins Photo

The Creative World of "The Body Photographer"

Simple living...with kids

Helping great parents raise terrific kids

Erotic Escapades

Erotic tales curated and cared for by our small band of (deviant) writers...

Fearless Ophelia

Speaking Out on the Unspeakable

Sarah Doughty

Novelist, Poet, Wordsmith

Babbling Beauty

Beauty, life, and the inner workings of a female mind.