
 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                          Chapter Nine: 
 
                    A Surrender to Slavehood 
 
 
     Expensive leather keeps it's soft rich scent long after the 
cheap stuff turns hard and crackly and dry. So when I awoke the 
next morning, still in a collapsed ball of submission--naked as 
the day I was born, my genitalia still comatose, shrunken and 
collapsed from overwork--my mouth found itself slobbering over 
the rich black surface.  I chortled in surprise, unsure of where 
I was for only a second, until I caught sight of the picture 
hanging on the wall.  I hadn't noticed it last night, because the 
painting served a dual purpose.  Not only was it an awe-inspiring 
piece of art-work that detailed M'Lady Margo in her g-string, 
muscle-flexing glory, surrounded on a beach by a group of her 
fans, but it was also a covering for the panel that hid her 
large-screen television. I wondered how long M'Lady had sat there 
with me, and if she had ever reached down during the course of 
the contest and touched me with affection, patted my head, or 
smiled at the insensate slave whose body had given out for the 
evening, but who was still ready to please her, now, here, first 
thing in the morning. 
     Somehow, I didn't think she had, and I wondered for a second 
who had won the contest... 
     My hand went suddenly to my lower back when a pain shot 
through it; there had been no blanket, no pillow, no easing the 
discomfort I had tumbled into upon my surrender of last night. 
That was how life was to be, I supposed. 
     I felt a chill. It was still early morning, and even though 
I had slept well-past eight hours, I could see the grounds 
outside of the house were still attempting to catch the first 
true light of the day, and shake the English-fog mists that 
seemed to have settled around the house.  There was a paleness to 
the sky, as though the dream of night was just ending, and the 
reality of day beginning. 
     The towel that I had used to softly wipe her body was still 
in evidence.  I reached for it, and sniffed the rich essences of 
Margo the Magnificent; sweet perfume and sweeter perspiration 
mixed with something else, too, something undefinable. I held it 
close and wished she were here.  I had a sudden thought to creep 
upstairs and perhaps visit Her Most Muscular Majesty as she lay 
drowsily, magnificently naked, in her bed. 
     But then, I paused; that might not please M'Lady... 
     I wrapped the towel around my waist, trying to ward off the 
early dampness of the day, and the mild chill that lingered, 
waiting for the warmth of the sun to chase it away.  There wasn't 
much to the thing, but I was grateful for the scant coverage it 
offered, and I caught a sight of a comical paleface in the 
mirror, skin lightly red with yesterday's sunshine, trying to 
look dignified in a terrycloth wrap-around cover-up that didn't 
quite wrap-around, and barely covered-up half my thighs. 
     I crept into the kitchen, suddenly quite hungry. 
 
     Rummaging someone else's refrigerator is usually a lot of 
fun, and can give you some information about the person.  But if 
I was looking for junk food, like the Coca Puff-Nuts I usually 
had for breakfast, I was going to be disappointed. 
     There was nothing here but health food stuff--fruits and 
vegetables and honey, and a pitcher of some generic protein 
shake.  I poured myself a glass and took a sip; and helped myself 
to some fruit, and was about to close the door when my eyes 
caught a small box on the bottom shelf.  I recognized it as the 
box that Dr. Deanna had given Margo yesterday, as we were leaving 
for the beach.  My curiosity got the better of me, and I reached 
down for it, when... 
     "Nosey this morning, aren't we, mouse,?" came a now-familiar 
voice from behind. 
     I turned as though on a pivot.  I had the package in my hand 
as I turned around, and my fear upon seeing M'Lady's displeased 
expression made me lose my grip.  The package suddenly became as 
slick as a snake in my hands, and I juggled it, gulping horror as 
I did.  Whatever was in there, it must be important, and dropping 
it to her kitchen floor was not going to ingratiate myself to 
her. 
     She reached out with a hand that appeared to be moving in 
slow motion, and caught it easily. She seemed to be trying to 
control her anger, and held it up to her face, as though to 
inspect it. Then she turned angry... 
     "You," she bellowed, "are never to touch this under any 
circumstances.  Do you understand,?" she asked, leaning down, 
right-in-my-face, and waving the box under my nose. 
     "Yes, M'lady," I responded, properly cowered. 
     She stared at me as though my stupidity knew no bounds, and 
shook her blonde head, still neatly tressed in the hairdo of the 
prior evening. 
     She was dressed in a delightful perversion of a business 
suit; it was a dark blue pinstriped job, that hugged her wild 
curves like a racecar at the Indy 500.  The jacket had a plunging 
neckline that showed off most of her bulging brown breasts, and 
the hemline of the skirt had been shortened to just below her 
crotch! I wondered what the corporate powers thought when she 
showed up at a meeting in that outfit!  
     She took the protein drink from my hand, sniffed it, and 
drank it down with three long pulls. 
     "I assume that was for me, right, slave?," she inquired, as 
she wiped her face with the back of her hand and gave the empty 
glass back to me. 
     I nodded, feeling the cool air from the refrigerator on the 
battered skin of my rear end. 
     "Good," she decreed, "because if I ever see you taking food 
from my frig without my permission again, it'll be your ass, 
slave.  Get me?," she demanded. 
     I nodded again, stomach rumbling.  The sound made Margo 
smile. 
     "Hungry, aren't we? You may have some fruit, and a bowl of 
grain cereal from the cupboard, my mouse.  But no protein drinks 
for you. Protein puts on muscle, and I'm the only one around here 
who's allowed to have any muscle, my little cunt-sucker.  I want 
you small and awed under my hot heavin' bod, understand,?" she 
asked, leering down her magnificently-designed frame at me from 
above. 
     What else could I do but nod again? 
     "I have a meeting," she explained, checking her gold 
wristwatch, one of the many pieces of spangled jewelry she had 
adorned herself with. She wore the black choker, complete with 
small blue diamond in the center.  Incongruous on a business 
suit, but entrancing all the same. 
     "I'll be back around noon.  We'll be together all afternoon, 
my little slave, and I'm gonna keep you busy.  In the meantime, 
there's plenty for you to do around here.  Check the list I have 
left for you upstairs in my bedroom, and do everything I tell you 
to do.  If you don't, your big M'Lady's gonna be very upset," she 
pouted, looking soft but letting me know with a menacing lean- 
down that her displeasure would be anything but soft and gentle. 
     My head went up and down again., like a back-seat bobble- 
doll one more time. 
     "Good," she assented, with a nod at the terrycloth wrap- 
around I had fashioned as a covering for my nakedness.  "By the 
way, I just adore that little miniskirt you're wearing, mouse.  I 
declare," she flirted, her voice high and sing-songy like a sexy 
Southern-Belle, "you're just positively adorable in it," she 
said, her eyelashes fluttering. 
     "Gosh, M'Lady," I said, uneasy at the description of my 
scant garb, "it's not a miniskirt. It's the towel that I used to 
cleanse you, last night on the sof...." 
     But her face took on a look of shock, and her voice boomed 
and silenced me... 
     "SILENCE!," she roared like a lioness, making me back down 
involuntarily, until I almost fell into the open refrigerator, to 
cower amidst the cucumbers.  She reached for me, grabbing my 
slender arm and hurling me across the kitchen.  I sprawled on the 
cool tiled floor, and looked up to see Margo slam the freezer 
door so hard that I distinctly heard something fall over and 
break within it. 
     She walked over to me, her pulse electric, muscles taut.  
She slid the jacket off her shoulders and placed it neatly on the 
sideboard, and stood over me. 
     Holy cow, I thought.  Somehow, Margo had gotten even bigger, 
thicker, harder, in the last twenty-four hours!  Her sculpted 
physique raged over me, and made my eyes bulge with shock, and I 
tried to avert my gaze, fearful as I was at the sight of her 
awesome grandeur. 
     But I couldn't... 
     She stood over me in bare-chested, big-breasted glory; 
nipples at attention. 
     She reached for me with an arm that suddenly looked ominous 
and ugly.  I tried to escape, but where was I going to go? 
     She grabbed a shank of my hair, and lifted me as easily as 
though I were so much stuffed teddy-bear fluff.  The pain was 
excruciating, and tears flowed from my eyes as I stifled a cry. 
Holding me out with a straight arm, studying me as though I was 
something strange; something that had been caught in a mouse-trap 
beneath her sink.  She shook her head sadly, as though regretting 
what I had done. Her voice was quiet and controlled, as though 
she was trying to keep her tempter. 
     "I'm beginning to think I've been too easy on you, cumstain. 
Lettin' you hang around me, 'n payin' all sorts of attention to 
you when I could be doing something more constructive...If I tell 
you you're wearing a miniskirt, then that's what you're wearing. 
Do you understand,?" she threatened, voice rising. 
     "Yes, M'Lady," I groaned. "I'm sorry if I displeased you." 
     Still shaking her head, she reached for my towel and pulled 
it loose, while simultaneously releasing her grasp on my hair. 
     I fell to the floor, amidst fluttering follicles of my own 
hair, ripped out by the roots under M'Lady's iron grasp. 
     I was naked again. 
     She turned her broad bare `V' of a back to me for a moment.  
I didn't follow her motions, put I heard the rattled of metal 
from a drawer she had pulled out. 
     And she turned with danger in her eye. 
     And flashing a knife as sharp as an icepick. 
     She squatted down upon me, locking my wrists at my sides 
with her thick thighs, and ever-so-lightly placed the flat side 
of the cold steel blade against my testicles, and looked me right 
in the eye. 
     "In two seconds, I can have you singin' soprano, slaveboy.  
Wanna see what your balls look like on the inside. Huh?," she 
inquired, angling her head at me as the huge muscles of her arms 
inflated with anger. 
     I shook my head from side to side, desperately. 
     "That's what I thought," she sneered. "Can't shoot your cum 
around if you don't have balls, right, slave?" 
     "N-no, M'Lady." 
     She ran the sharp edge of the blade around my groin, like a 
surgeon trying to decide where to make the incision. I held my 
breath, and hoped my heart wouldn't burst as the coldness 
explored my privates. 
     "Know what I could do, mouse?" she asked. "I could pin your 
fleshy little sac to the floor, and keep you there until I get 
home. You deserve that, I think. But then, who'd do the 
housework, right?," she asked.  She tossed the knife up in the 
air, and it spun dangerously, until she caught it by the handle 
when it came down. 
     She stood. 
     She looked down at me, and dropped the towel over my head in 
a perfect three-point precision landing. 
     I remained huddled under the terrycloth cover as I heard her 
footsteps recede.  Only when I heard her descend to the basement, 
and the adjoining garage, did I venture from underneath my 
protective cover that still held Margo's scent like a reminder to 
keep busy, and obey her every order. 
     I hustled to the window, gathering my terrycloth-kilt about 
me as I went.  Under an early morning sky full of high silver 
clouds, I watched her car pull up the drive-ramp. 
     She was gone moments later, amidst the low rumble of the 
throaty engine.  
     I recall feeling unusually weak despite my long night's 
rest, as though something had been drained out of my being in the 
last two and a half days.  That, too, was just as M'Lady Muscle 
had wished. 
     I then spent the next few minutes cleaning up the slowly- 
spreading white pool of protein shake that was leaking out of the 
refrigerator.  When I was done, I swept the floor clean of my 
hair that had been torn out, and deposited it via the dustpan, 
into the trash. 
     I ate sparingly on the food she had specified.  Then, I went 
to my duties. 
     M'Lady had work for me to do. 
 
     My mind did not function well early in the morning; that was 
my usual M.O.  But today, there was something else as well. My 
brain seemed as though it was enshrouded in a grey fog every bit 
as tangible as the mists that hung on the grounds of the house. I 
followed the dictum of the handwritten list that awaited me on 
the bed, and I spent the better part of the morning scrubbing the 
bathroom clean. There was surprisingly little on my mind, as I 
polished the pipes; it was almost as though I had...drugged? 
     I tried to recall the strange fluid M'Lady had secreted into 
my mouth.  I could not recall it's taste, merely that it had a 
heavy, molasses-like texture.  I tried to play back the taste on 
my tongue, but could not.  But I felt at that moment, for the 
first time, a strange craving for more of it. 
     Much more. 
     I finished my chores in a trance that seemed to be taking 
hold, stronger by the second.  It began to rain by mid-morning, 
but I did not notice it for a long time. I was in the basement, 
handwashing a collection of satin g-strings stained with 
substances whose origins I did not want to offer conjecture upon. 
     I was moving slowly, as though weighted down by something.  
There was no reason for this fatigue; I had slept well, and even 
eaten a little.  So why was I yawning; my arms heavy, my mind a 
singular near-blank? 
     The rain came down heavily, and in the lone windowpane of 
the basement, I could see a sky full of black thunderheads.  
Booming cloudbursts filled the sky; lightning flashed in angry 
jig-jag cracks, as though the sky itself had broken and was 
falling way, like a bowl that gives in to pressure. 
     The lights flickered, surrendered to nature. 
     I was in the dark. 
     Another flash of lightning showed the magazine centerfold I 
had pinned to the wall, as Margo had specified. It was a picture 
of Karla Nelsen, smiling knowingly down upon me, and in the brief 
second I could see it, I thought I saw her laughing at my down- 
and-out condition; naked, red-bottomed, cowering in the cellar of 
a hugely-muscled Amazon as I did her laundry by hand... 
     My mind reeled.  A thunder-crack made my stomach jump into 
my throat; I jumped reflexively, splashing water as I dropped the 
panties. Suddenly, there was a creeping horror running up my 
spine.  I felt as though the very walls around me were closing 
in.  My life had been taken away, alright; and I had done things, 
and allowed things to be done to me, that seemed as though I had 
only watched them, as though they were part of a murky movie in 
my mind.  A shroud began to lift.  I had my fantasy, alright; and 
then some.  It still wasn't too late to run. 
     But was that what I wanted to do? 
     My feet made the decision for me, and I took to my heels. 
     I ran upstairs, through the halls of the darkened house, 
made all the darker by the short-out electricity and the 
blackness of the skies above. A sky that almost could have been 
the dead of night loomed just outside the window. 
     I scampered into Margo's bedroom.  She hadn't had time to 
throw out my clothes yet, had she?  I just had to find them, 
and... 
     I began rifling through the drawers.  M'Lady had quite a 
collection of bustieres, fishnet stockings, g-strings. I confess 
right now that I sniffed them, to savor her fragrance and relive, 
for only a moment, a bit of pleasure in her bed. My mind paused 
for a moment as I pictured the scarlet nights that would be 
coming, wearing all these outfits and more, if only I acquiesced 
to her, forever, completely. 
     But it was as though two equal halves of my brain were 
fighting one against the other.  My hands ran over the smooth 
silk, even as my mind pictured my getaway from this sexual 
enslavement beneath the six-foot-seven succubus of sexuality and 
sinew, Margo... 
     At last, after rifling through the drawers, knowing that I 
had all-but-wrecked their neatly-folded contents, I spied my 
lightweight beachpants and t-shirt, thrown in a small heap in the 
corner. I plucked them up, slid them on, reassuring myself that I 
was doing the right thing, the only thing, even as a little voice 
whispered in my ear that it wasn't. 
     It was Margo's own voice somehow, transplanted into my mind. 
     No! I had to make this stand, this attempt at dignity. 
     Right? 
     My feet were still bare, and I slid across the hallways of 
marble and varnished wood listening to my pulse pound deafeningly 
in my ears.  My conviction wavered as I made it to the front 
corridor, not even sure how to get home, not even sure if I was 
leaving my wallet behind.  Or if I even had a place to live in at 
all. I passed two mirrors placed opposite each other; the effect 
was to give one a look at oneself from behind one's own shoulder 
if you looked at just the right angle... 
     I stood at the foot of the second-floor stairway, where I 
had tumbled just yesterday, to land at Margo's spike-heeled feet. 
I looked out the front door windows. The rain was letting up. 
     I suppose it was a dramatic moment; a moment of decision.  I 
hesitated, unsure of the validity of my objections to my 
treatment.  The fog returned; so did M'Lady's voice... 
     "Where do we think we're going?" the voice asked. 
     I ignored it, lost in the maze of my own mind.  But only 
until a hand reached out and tore the billowing pants from my 
body. The old cloth gave way with a long, loud tearing sound, and 
fell to the floor at my feet.  Then, I was spun around. 
     Margo stood before me, a calm, matter-of-fact look on her 
face.  She asked again. 
     "And where do we think we're headed this morning, little 
man?" she asked with a genteel tone she might use on a neighbor. 
     I could think of nothing to say. Instead, I just backed up, 
fearful of the punishment I knew was coming my way. 
     She stepped towards me, unbuttoning her jacket as she did. A 
brown oversized bosom tumbled free of it's corporate trappings, 
nipples at full alert.  She made no further step towards me, 
instead stepping to the full-length mirror on the hallway wall.  
She inspected her exquisite bulk, turning in profile to gauge the 
size of a waistline that barely existed at all.  She handed me 
the coat over her broad shoulder, without looking at me... 
     She unbuttoned the short blue skirt, stepped out of it, 
handed it to me.  My arms were full of her clothes, as my resolve 
weakened by the second. I waited for a harsh pronouncement, but 
it wasn't coming...yet. 
     "Y'know, mouse," she said at last, as she posed for herself 
in the mirror, "if I didn't know better, seeing you in those 
clothes made me think that you wanted to leave your big Margo. 
You weren't thinking of anything silly like that, were you now?" 
the naked musclewoman asked, peering at me from over her flexing 
shoulder. 
     I hoped I could tell a lie and escape with my life! 
     "Um, no, M'Lady, I wasn't," I stammered.  She seemed to 
repress a grin of amusement at those words, and slowly, wearing 
only the high-heeled shoes, she ambled over to a small table that 
was filled with the unopened mail of the business week. She swept 
it off the silver tray upon which it had rested, and created a 
small snowfall of small white envelopes.  The tray was itself 
polished to a mirrored finish, and Margo sat down upon it, naked 
as a newborn, her body hard and soft and cruel and beautiful. She 
leaned back against the wall; I wasn't sure if the small table 
would hold her weight... 
     She raised her powerful legs high, opened them, spread the 
knees wider, wider; until they were nearly parallel with her 
ears! Her abs contracted, still bearing the cobblestoned results 
of her gut-busting workout the day before... 
     The pink lips were twitching, seemingly alive on their own, 
in some silent conversation.  Whatever language it was speaking, 
my penis understood it, and sprung to full-blooded life.  The two 
sets of genitalia called to each other, and I neared the shrine 
of physical perfection that was M'Lady Muscle. I could see, in 
the tray, the perfect reflection of those amazing pubes, 
duplicated. And as I looked up for just a moment, I could see, as 
though I were a ghost behind myself, my own reflection in the 
mirror-within-a-mirror before me. I watched myself as I obeyed a 
command to kneel before her, prostrating myself.  I obeyed the 
wordless order to kneel, to lean in, to close my eyes, and... 
     To taste. For within a moment, she ejected more of the thick 
sweet molasses from her loins, and I lapped the steaming fluids 
as they ran out the pink lips, swallowing it eagerly, forgetting. 
     I looked up to her as she sat back in a bizarre position, in 
casual display of her naked body.  She released her legs from her 
own grasp now, and lowered them down, until they rested on either 
of my shoulders. 
     Then she tightened them... 
     "Get this straight, slave," she said, through teeth gritted 
into an ivory wall, spitting angry bullets of saliva as she spoke 
in a low voice, "you have no rights. You have no life. You belong 
to me, and you're goin' nowhere. Are we clear on that or not,?" 
she demanded, as the iron thighs tightened around my neck. 
     My vision blurred, as my voice became a raspy, crushing 
thing.  Air vacated my lungs, unable to replenish the supply. 
     Another thunderclap sounded in the skies, as a flash of 
afternoon lightning illuminated the huge woman above me.  She hit 
a double-biceps pose, making pounding mountains out of her arms. 
     The jewelry flashed; the blue stone caught the lightning, 
and seemed to hold it for moments after the flash had vanished. 
     So, too, did her eyes, full of fire and demanding obedience. 
     By now, she had lessened her choke-hold, allowing me to nod 
my ready assent to her commands.  I kissed the very flesh that 
had seconds ago nearly ended my life, and she smiled. 
     "Forgive me, M'Lady," I pleaded, "I was confused." 
     She smiled, as she pushed my head into the musky fragrance 
of her steaming and plump-lipped pussy. 
     "That, my slave, is what you get for thinking.  Leave the 
thinking to your betters," she sighed haughtily, "and surrender 
to my rule, once and for all.' 
     I went on lapping, kissing, revering her, and even as she 
reached down and tore the garments from my body, letting the 
tatters fall to the floor, I did not stop. 
     She made a little pleased girlish sound as I was reduced to 
complete nakedness again, and she reached down for my head, and 
pushed it hard into her groin, my nose and mouth and cheeks 
instantly bathed in the combination of vaginal lubrication, and 
whatever strange liquid candy her magnificent body was producing.  
I coughed and spluttered as she ground her powerful hips in my 
face, but I offered no protest. I heard her sigh in pleasure, my 
anxious tongue bathing her sizable clitoris, sliding it inside 
the sweet lips, like a child licks sweet batter from a bowl... 
 
     I don't know how long I knelt there, in that incongruous 
position in the hallway, as she balanced her bare-assed bulk on 
the small hall table, dripping her secretions onto her slave, and 
the shiny silver serving tray beneath her.  She pointed at each 
new emission, and I would watch her pink pussylips pucker for 
just a second; twitch; and dilate. The thick stuff would then 
slowly drip across her loins, and across her shaven puckered anus 
waiting to be kissed. 
     And I would kiss it, and lick the sweet ooze with eager 
desire to please the naked woman who was now my reason for 
living... 
     By the time she grew tired of my servile attentions, there 
was a sizable pool of her fluids on the platter, warm and 
fragrant... 
     Slowly, she locked my slender neck in a tight scissors of 
hard huge quadriceps. 
     "Good little drink, huh, slave?" she asked, smiling. 
     I nodded my agreement. I felt as though my brain had been 
emptied... 
     She increased the pressure on my neck; my face went red. 
     "Then I'm gonna give you a chance to thank me for it, slave. 
In a way I think you might enjoy." 
     She stood finally, commanding me to tend with tired tongue 
the rivulets of the amber drug that ran down her thighs.  After I 
did so, she turned, picked up the tray, and poured the several 
ounces of mind-numbing ambrosia down my eager mouth, as I knelt 
beneath her. 
     For minutes after M'Lady had risen and gone upstairs, I 
remained kneeling upon the hallway floor, trying to gather the 
shredded remnants of my mind, and tasting the amber drug that 
flowed so freely from the vagina of the woman I....loved? 
     I was under a strange and powerful spell now. Not only the 
dominion of a six-and-a-half-foot tall woman with a body of a 
Penthouse Pet on steroids, but on the mysterious fluids she 
secreted into my all-too-willing mouth, completing my servility, 
and padlocking my mind to any thought of rebellion again. My 
world had been re-painted in the colors of M'Lady, and it was all 
I could see... 
 
     "Hop to it, slave," came an order from the head of the 
stairs, minutes later, "we're going outside." 
     I turned and stood, to see Margo descend the stairs, naked, 
high-heeled, pumped, and wanting worship.  
     It would be coming.  Didn't she know that? 
     Anything for M'Lady Muscle... 
     My shaven loins responded, pounding a plea for punishment. 
     I ran to the foot of the stairs, mindless; ready to serve. 
     She held a long flowing cloth over her vascular forearm, and 
had piled her hair high atop her head. Wild, rebellious strands 
fell free about her mile-wide shoulders, and presently she swiped 
at them, not really caring if they found their places or not, her 
eyes dancing... 
     She paused on the landing, planted her feet wide, and placed 
her hands on her hips. Under a soft spotlight, she flexed her 
physique into a superhuman caricature of female muscularity, and 
shot me a look of sneering contempt when she saw the heartsick 
desire in my eyes as the femme-muscle came to life beneath the 
illumination. Vascular rivers ran up her thick arms; metamorphic 
muscle tensed and grew into ladyboulders of hot sex; her breasts 
tightened and danced above the sculpted plain of her abdominals, 
and the stingy nothingness of her waist.  She turned around, and 
thrust a vampish hip this way and that, making her showstopper 
bottom shake like a stripper's; but there was no wobble in the 
flesh as it gyrated, no sign of softness... 
     Now she bent low, ever-so-slowly... 
     So low in fact that her hands rested upon the floor. Her 
widespread stance bared a hairless, pert anus deep between her 
sculpted mahogany buttocks.  
     Remember the little white spot? The one place on her 
magnificent, near-seven-feet-tall-in-heels frame that didn't see 
the sun, and know it's darkening after-effects?  It was a small 
circle of pale, pale white around the little orifice; she 
maneuvered it directly beneath the warmth of the light, and 
sighed with pleasure as a warm circle of iridescence descended 
upon it, tantalizing my eyes. The small orifice stirred; hidden 
muscles came into play, and now it puckered, dilated, puckered, 
dilated; throbbing on command, as though a heart beat just 
beneath the skin; an x-rated spasming taunt from M'Lady Muscle. 
She pumped her bottom about all the while, as though meeting the 
thrusts of an imaginary lover, and made faces of mock-desire at 
me, cooing and purring and pouting and groaning as she daydreamed 
of a scarlet encounter with a well-hung lover, who helped himself 
to the twin treasures between her spread-wide buttocks. 
     Now she locked her hands around her own ankles, turned and 
laughed, keeping the secret mouth pulsating all the while... 
     "I'm just too much woman for ya, huh, my little slave?," she 
asked in rich tones of amusement. 
     The room was filled with her hot musky scent; she was as 
aroused as I was, and as she bent ever-lower I saw her vagina 
come into view, as it twitched in time to her anus in filthy 
syncopation.  The throbbing of the fleshy portals seemed to beg 
for something hard and unrelenting to slide urgently within them; 
and be pulled ever deeper within her hot wet depths by the 
spasming sinews of her sex.  But it was clear to me that this was 
merely a stage performance, and that any overture or response on 
my part was unwelcome; her laser-blue eyes went to my penis, 
erect with excitement, and she pretended that the sight was 
repugnant. 
     Now she began inserting long fingers up either pinkish 
opening, in-and-out rough insertions making her hand a blur as 
her body tensed into a hard coil of cruel female power. As orgasm 
neared she groaned and spat obscenities... 
     "Oh, yeah, baby boy, do it to Margo, fuck her good, yeah! Do 
it good'n hard like Margo needs it! Yeah! Fuck me up my cunt 'n 
up my ass...fuck me good," she entreated her unseen lover... 
     "Make me cum like a hot slut...fuck fuck fuck!" she 
continued, roaring loudly, enjoying each new insertion as she 
continued to manipulate her privates... 
     Masturbating wildly, she brought herself to a hot and noisy 
climax seconds later. Slapping her hand against her own flesh, 
her fingers slurping her slickened holes; her thumb vanished to 
the root with each thrust, deeply within her anus; and three 
strong fingers had their way with her pussy. Two were inserted to 
the knuckle, spreading the wet lips; the other one massaged her 
clitoris vigorously. 
     There was a loud moan. After the cry of relief ended, her 
mouth hung open silently, and her eyes were half-lidded in 
drunken ecstacy as she continued to climax; and a long string of 
drool exited from her parted lips, collecting in a tiny pool on 
the hardwood floor. There seemed to be an incredible ability 
within this massively built woman to enjoy her own body, and take 
pleasure in it; whether she was simply admiring her own hugely- 
muscled torso and Double-D cup breasts, or playing with her pink 
pubes with an expert hand. 
     She stood upright, her back an Elie Xyr monument to glorious 
over-development, wide and ridged with power. She hit a 
mountainous double biceps pose that made me almost faint from the 
thrill, and finally, turned around again. She held out a long 
light blue hooded robe that ran down to the floor. I drew near, 
smelling her hot powerful scent, and with shaking hands took it 
and let her slide her package of pulsin' 'n flexin' ladymeat into 
it... 
     She turned to me, looking like some sort of other-worldly 
high priestess, her head covered in the pointed hood.  I felt 
shame as I stood before her, small as I was, insignificant 
almost, before her queen-sized splendor of tits, curves, 'n 
ladymuscle beneath the ominous cloak. Her size persisted; the 
muscle was concealed, but her startling bulk was not. 
     She reached down to the naked slave of her choosing, and 
grabbed his penis as it throbbed away madly. She led him, making 
his penis a leash of subservience; and they went out into the 
afternoon sun, the clicking of her stiletto heels on the tiled 
floor the only sound to be heard as her buttocks wiggled under 
the robe, into the sunlight of her spacious yard. 
 
 

 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                          Chapter Ten:  
 
                    Worship in a Rusty Bucket 
 
 
     "That's how we used to take baths when I was a kid," Margo 
said, as she turned off the waterhose.  
     She looked nostalgic for just a moment, as though looking 
into her own past as she stared down into the waters...  
     There, at our feet, on the grounds of her spacious backyard 
was an aluminum bucket full of cool soapy water. The interior of 
the bucket was spotless and shiny, almost antiseptic as a 
hospital basin. But the outside looked neglected; rusty patches 
predominated on it, and it contrasted sharply to the interior. 
     The contrast was every bit as pronounced as the difference 
between my Muscle Mistress and me... 
     I had been watching quietly. I was grateful for the high 
hedges around the grounds of M'Lady's estate--invisibility from 
the curious public was something to be thankful for. Who knew 
what she had planned for me now? 
     "Well, what're you waiting for, slave? Help your hunkin' 
honey into the water!" 
     I wondered why we were using a basin when a perfectly 
respectable in the ground swimming pool was just feet away. But 
it was not for me to venture a guess, or speak out of turn. 
     I took her hand as she kicked off her high heels, and made 
sure she had sure footing as she stepped over the high rim. In 
actuality, she didn't need it, but it was part of the ritual she 
seemed to enjoy. She stepped daintily into the foot-high tub, 
splashing water and not seeming to care about the hem of her robe 
as it quickly absorbed the waters of the basin. For a moment, I 
thought of this robe as being the sort that a satanic cult might 
wear in summertime, to keep cool. "Worship the Dark One is Style 
and Comfort This Year," came the strange ad-lingo to my frazzled 
mind... 
     "For Chrissakes, cover up that thing," she smirked, as she 
pointed down to my ever-ready penis, stiff as a tentpole. I 
grabbed for a small towel she had discarded on the thick, 
fragrant green grass, and wrapped it around me. 
     I turned back to her with a sheepish grin, and reddened as 
she chortled at the bulge it made in the makeshift wrap-around. 
     It was a bizarre sight.  
     The sun burned brightly in an azure sky. Underfoot, the 
grass was only slightly damp from this morning's storm, and the 
evaporating moisture hung in the windless air. The atmosphere was 
tropical; and behind the high hedges, I could see nothing of the 
surrounding homes. We could have been anywhere; as far from 
civilization as though we were on our own island. 
     "Do you know why you're here, slave?" came the question from 
within the folds of the cloak. 
     "M-M'lady?" I asked, uncertainly. 
     Her head shot up, and I was pierced by a pair of angry eyes. 
     "Of course it's me, you idiot!" she boomed. "Who do you 
think I am, Nicole Bass? I mean why are we here? " she demanded. 
     All I could do was shrug meekly, hoping for instruction. 
     I gazed at her, this strange, cloaked musclegoddess, 
incongruously standing in the basin of soapy water in the hot 
afternoon sun. 
     "What you're here for, slavemeat, is worship. You're gonna 
worship your big lady, and tell her how much she means to you. 
And you can't worship without praying...' 
     My head shot up. Prayer? 
     "'s right, slave. Pray to me. Pray to Margo..." 
     She pushed back the hood, found the front zipper without 
looking or turning away from me. The thing opened halfway and 
caught the first warm breeze of the afternoon, and it billowed 
like a sail around her. Her bare brown flesh was becoming more 
and more visible again, miles and miles of it, naked, big, 
sculpted, heartless; the double-d-cup breasts said hello to my 
hungry eyes; the blonde hair was let loose, and fell about her 
body like a supersized Lady Godiva, chiseled, wonderful.  She 
threw the robe behind her; the breeze carried the damp robe off 
her body and as though it had taken on a life of it's own it 
floated through the air until it fell several feet behind her, 
into a clump of bushes; nature herself was holding it for her. 
     Now came her fun... 
     Suddenly coquettish, Margo turned her flank to me, her legs 
crossing, her hand going to cover her small pubic bush as though 
the curse of modesty had suddenly found her. A thick arm went 
across her breasts, covering them; and her chin dug down into her 
shoulder. Through the flowing golden veil of her mane, she batted 
her eyes at me as she sucked on the tip of her index finger, and 
I thought I could actually see a blush cross her face. She seemed 
suddenly shy as a country maiden! 
     But it did not last. 
     She began slowly, very slowly, rotating her hips as though 
listening to some far-away music. Her movements became 
increasingly more sultry, the thrusts gradually more blatant. Her 
eyes lost their feigned innocence and began to burn with a sexual 
fever. 
     And then she extended an arm and conjured a veined 
cannonball of pure sweet flesh to spring to life upon it. Turning 
fully to me now, her awesome architecture plain to see. She blew 
me a kiss while looking right at the protrudance in my towel... 
     Flexing thunderously, her superstructure let out a silent 
roar to brag about it's size, it's hard beauty. Ladymuscle 
throbbed and beckoned under the hot sun, and the terrain of her 
body, stacked high here, gouged low there, as her wishes 
ordained, began to glow with light perspiration. 
     "Pray to your goddess, mouse. I told ya I like to hear what 
my awed slaves think of this big hot bod 'o mine. So tell me... 
     `Worship me...," she commanded, as she thrust her hips to 
some imaginary lover, her eyes closed in fantasy beneath wrap- 
around sunglasses.  
     I fell to my knees before her and began to pray out loud, 
long past shame, drugged by her body and the sweet dark elixir it 
somehow created and ejected into me. I looked up to her, and the 
sun peaked out from a remaining cloud. The rays came down from 
behind her, in a golden halo, and at that moment, she looked very 
much like some elemental Sun-Goddess. And so I obeyed. 
     If someone was watching, they would have seen a small, 
bruised man shudder with desire before a magnificently muscular 
Amazon Queen, standing naked in a bucket of sudsy water, enjoying 
her dominion as she ran her own hands over her extraordinary 
physique, enjoying the feel of her own thick sinews, wild curves, 
showgirl-big breasts... 
     And they would have heard the words of one who worships her. 
     And so I began... 
     "Gosh, M'Lady, you're awesome. Beautiful," I offered, my 
vocabulary gone on vacation when I needed it most. "You own me, 
M'Lady," I said, my eyes closed as I racked my brain for another 
compliment. 
     "Lucky me," the naked wonder-woman of muscle answered, 
sounding bored and flexing for herself. 
     "I am sorry if I displease you, ma'am," I enjoined her, as I 
held onto the rim of the basin, and looked up to her. 
     There was a silence. I didn't know what was coming next... 
     "Displease me?" she repeated. "You bore the shit out of me, 
mouse. Know why? You're a little runt with a thimble for a dick 
and an empty drum for a brain. That's why..." 
     "Yes, ma'am," I agreed.  
     "Looks like I'm the lucky girl you've been waitin' for all 
your life, huh, wimp?" she inquired, facetiously, as she 
displayed another astronomical display of her wares. Her muscle 
thundered; now those cannonballs on her arms looked ready to be 
shot out of a cannon... 
     "Yes, ma'am," I complied, my voice shaking, my mind in some 
strange conflict. 
     "Good. Now that we cleared that up, bathe me, slave," she 
decreed, putting her hands on her hips. She produced a soapy 
sponge from the waters, and tossed it to me. 
     I took it and began the task. 
     She held the mane of perfect gold above her as I washed her 
V-Back, massaging the hard flesh. She sighed with pleasure as I 
ran the sponge down across her buttocks, and further, along her 
steely thighs. The breasts were soaped up, her hard belly made 
fresh and full of the scent of the rosewater oils she had put 
into the basin before filling it. This is what it must have been 
like to be Cleopatra's slave, I thought. 
     "Get me good'n clean, slaveboy," she extolled me, as she 
surveyed her water-shining torso. She was lightly fingering the 
rungs of her abdominal plates, and humming to herself quietly. 
When she spoke now, it was in that same sing-songy voice... 
     "Hafta be nice and well-scrubbed for tonight," she said, and 
I looked up from where I was, crouching on the ground and pouring 
water on her calves. There was a look of haughty pleasure on her 
face now... 
     "Don't tell me you forgot now, mouse. Tonight's the night we 
go downtown, and see how your former ladyfriend's sex life is, 
now that you're not around to bother her with your tiny erections 
anymore. Isn't that right, slave? I mean, you're with me now, 
aren't you?", she asked, and her voice went soft and pouty now, 
as if a negative answer would break not my bones, but her heart! 
A stream of soapy water ran down her thick biceps as I soaped it 
up on her command... 
     I wished I could find the velvet words that would talk her 
out of that game plan. I wished I had not heard the words. I  
thought I might feign illness tonight, or something. This had all 
gotten out of hand. In some corner of my mind, I knew that.  But 
my will to object was fastened down, tamped tight, bound and 
gagged, sealed shut... 
     "Yes, ma'am," I replied to her facetious question, although 
it did not need an answer. "I'm with you. Only with you." 
     She lifted a foot that was so clean that the skin had 
wrinkled up in the water, but still she wanted me to tend to it. 
So I did, and as I did, she spoke on from above... 
     "So what do you think I was doing this morning, wimp? Why, I 
took your lovely Barbara down to the gym. Introduced her to all 
the girls, and put her on a strict fitness regimen. Why, she'll 
be benching twice your weight in no time. 'Specially after I 
brought her into Deanna's office for a little treatment..." 
     I didn't know what she meant by that, but suddenly the 
purpose of that mysterious little package began to make sense. 
     "Wait'll you see what she's gonna be wearin' tonight, slave. 
She'll be the hottest little pumped-up thing in the place. And by 
midnight, she oughta be gettin' pumped, too, if you catch my 
drift," she winked. 
     She hit another pose above me, and I could see the pleased 
look on her face as she enjoyed her superiority in so blatant a 
display. 
     "Yes, ma'am," I said again, choking on my words. 
     "Yes, ma'am," she mimicked me. "Wait'll you see what she's 
gonna be struttin' around in tonight. It's gonna drive you 
crazy," she promised, from beneath half-lidded eyes. "You'll be 
dressed correspondingly, too. That I promise you," she leered. 
     I swallowed hard, eyes downturned, and kept tending her 
body.  
     "So let me ask you, slave. Miss me while I was gone this 
morning?" she inquired, feigning innocence. 
     "Yes, ma'am," I sighed, "very much." 
     She paused for a moment; I knew there was an anger building. 
     "Whatever did you do while I was gone, slave? I mean, 
besides your chores, and maybe pumpin' your puny pecker over the 
toilet thinkin' of what I might do to ya tonight?" 
     I swallowed hard again, wishing I was someplace far away. 
Had she discovered my transgressions upstairs in her drawers? 
     When I didn't answer right away, she swooped down upon me. A 
hand grabbed me by the scruff of the neck--she was as powerful as 
she was beautiful--and she elevated me to her hard gaze. I felt 
like a small bug she was studying. I felt the hot sun on my 
flesh. I was scared. 
     "N-nothing, M'Lady," I wheezed. 
     "Zat right?" she replied. I nodded, hoping this would pass. 
     But it didn't. 
     As easily as though I was a bag of feathers, I found myself 
shoved down into the waters below, held there by an omnipotent 
female hand. Darkness and silence surrounded my senses, as my 
lungs felt as though they had been ignited--I had had no chance 
to take a deep breath, so sudden had been my immersion. I was 
bent over the rim of the basin, and the hard metal was digging 
deeply into my waist. And then began my punishment... 
     SMAK! SMAK! SMAK! 
     Three sharp jolts across my now-naked buttocks, but even if 
I had heard them I could not cry out. My flesh screamed with red 
alarm; I could feel the handprints burn themselves into my 
behind. A rush of air escaped my mouth, and I began to swallow 
water... 
     Now I was hauled out by my hair, held aloft once more as my 
lungs tried to come back to life. I spat up soapy water. 
     "You didn't do anything, huh, slave?" asked the blonde 
goddess, whose beauty was turned to a frightful stance. "You 
weren't upstairs in my drawers, fishin' around, huh? That's 
BULLSHIT!" she declared, spitting fire, before slapping me hard 
across the face; so hard in fact, that I was thrown from her 
grasp, onto the grass below, where I lay heaving. But not for 
long... 
     She reached down for me, grabbed my upper arms, and lifted 
me like a toy... 
     "Now get this straight, you friggin' wimp-boy," the naked 
musclegoddess said, with a voice that was low and quiet with a 
contained rage that made her Elie Xyr-physique shake like a 
burgeoning earthquake, "the next time I catch you snoopin' 
around, it's gonna be your ass, get me?" she demanded, looking me 
in the eye. Her larger-than-life body heaved, bringing a 
kaleidoscope of ladymuscle into play, her sculpted and carved 
mountain range of female sinews heaving and threatening. 
     In every mountain range, there's a volcano, isn't there? 
     "Y-yes, M-m-m'lady," I sputtered, nodding emphatically, and 
trying to ignore the pain of my pounding posterior. 
     "You're goin' nowhere. Get me?," she bellowed. I shook my 
head decisively up and down. 
     "And if I ever wake up one mornin' and find that you've left 
your goddess, I swear," she said, lowering her already husky 
voice and leaning right into my face, "I swear I'm gonna come 
find ya wherever you are. Even if it takes years, I'll bust right 
into your bedroom, even if you're married to some little mousey 
librarian. And I'll fuck the hell out of you right in front of 
her. Then maybe I'll strap on my biggest dildo and fuck her too. 
She'll probably be grateful for the action, from what I hear 
about your bedroom abilities. That thimbledick," she sneered, 
rubbing my erection with her knee just hard enough to hurt, 
before lightly jabbing her patella against my testicles, just 
enough to hurt, as well. 
     The pain shot through my head, down my back, down my legs, 
and out my feet, where it did a u-turn and came right back up. 
     And so would my breakfast, if I had had any... 
     "And then," she continued, "I'll take ya both back to my 
house, and you can both be my slaves. 'Course, they'll be no kids 
to worry about, will there, slave?" she laughed... 
     She stared at me for a second more, then decided I had more 
coming. She released me and squatted in the oversized tub, regal 
amidst the bubbles. Then she leaned on the edge of the basin with 
her hands, bringing the stunningly thick muscularity of her arms 
to twitching, pounding life. Smiling at the rapt attention I gave 
her, even though I was sprawled on the ground, she flexed those 
slabs of female muscularity. She motioned for me to approach her, 
as she surveyed me with a haughty sneer. I was scared to obey, 
but even more to disobey... 
     She pulled me to her... 
     Roughly, my head was bent over, and my thin neck was locked 
between her steely thighs, my face hovering inches above the 
sudsy water, covered in the shadow of the huge woman. I was 
breathing heavily with fear--she could have split my skull with a 
few pounds of pressure and an afterthought. My nostrils were full 
of the dangerous scent of her aroused pussy, the aroma 
intensified by the water.  
     "That's right, slave, take a deep breath," she exhorted me, 
before sitting down in the water. 
     And like a rag doll, I was dunked once again into the soapy, 
sweet-smelling waters. 
     And there were more spanks, followed by another release as 
she half-stood in the basin, never letting my neck free from the 
quadricep-prison; from between her steely thighs, I gasped and 
gulped and went in again, as my words were cut off in mid-plea... 
     "Please, M'Lady Muscle, no mor...." 
     SPLASH! 
     Underwater, I heard her laughter as she pummeled my backside 
with half-angry, half-playful swats. I could feel the vibrations 
of her amusement through her flesh that had sandwiched my ears. 
     "Had enough?" she asked, sympathetically, after giving me a 
moment of freedom after fifth immersion. My behind was aflame... 
     All I could do was nod. 
     She smiled. "Well, I haven't!" 
     And I went underwater again... 
     Near unconsciousness now, surrendering to oxygen 
deprivation. She brought me up to the surface just long enough to 
ask... 
     "So who's the biggest, meanest, hottest bitch you've ever 
seen in your lift, slavemeat? Answer me or drown like the little 
mouse you are! What's her name?" 
     "Yoo-hoo!" came a cry from behind the chain-link fence. It 
was soft and refined and friendly, but I couldn't see whose it 
was, only that it was female and full of mirth. My universe had 
become the waters of the shiny, soapy basin, and the only light I 
knew was when Margo permitted me a moment's respite. 
     As though in ironic answer to M'Lady's question came a voice 
from behind us... 
     "It's me, Margo; Deanna..." 
     My heart flip-flopped at the sound of that musical voice. 
     "I say, Margo my dear, am I interrupting?" came the call 
from over the fence, once again. "I shan't intrude..." 
     "Naw, come on in, BabyCakes," Margo exhorted her. "We were 
just playin'..." 
     And I was suddenly freed from my flesh-prison, and pushed to 
the wet grass below. As I lay there, stunned, naked, exhausted, a 
friendly face came over to stand above me. She was upside-down in 
my cockeyed vision, and I almost didn't recognize her... 
     A mass of black curls fell behind an angelic face full of 
cheekbones and rosy cheeks. Dark sunglasses disguised the eyes of 
this female angel of relief... 
     "Well, we're quite the bold one, aren't we?" she asked, her 
English accent strong now, as she stood looking down at me from 
over the rim of the glasses. From any angle I knew those eyes. 
     They belonged to Doctor Deanna! 
     Suddenly aware of what she was referring to, my hands went 
to my shaven genitals, and cupped them in a protective shield.  
     "Tsk-tsk, we're the shy one now, eh?" she asked. "I've seen 
quite a portion of your anatomy already, young fellow. There's no 
need for modesty with me," she scolded with a playful lilt. 
My mind was up-and-running enough by then to know to roll over. 
     A mistake; my battered behind.... 
     "Well, Margo, seems as though you've been at it again, 
haven't you? Honestly, dearest, wouldn't his sit-upon look ever 
so much prettier without a battlefield of red spankmarks upon 
it?" she inquired as she walked slowly around me, her high heels 
digging into the soft soil. Now she stopped to regard M'lady, 
standing naked in the basin, thundering ladyflesh bared and big 
and bold. 
     Deanna pushed the sunglasses back on her head. 
     "For goodness sakes, Margo, they've invented indoor 
plumbing, you know," she said, waving a hand at the makeshift 
bathtub. 
     "Yeah, `D'", Margo acknowledged, "but I've always been an 
outdoor girl," she sighed, and they laughed together. "I like 
doin' things in front of Mother Nature. She's a single woman, 
too, so she probably gets a kick outa seein' me put another man 
in his place, rapin' 'em, and spankin' 'em, and makin' `em grovel 
at my spike-heeled size tens. Besides, us big bad ladies gotta 
keep these twigs in their rightful place. When the revolution 
comes, there have to be some standards for behavior." 
     "Tsk-tsk, Margo, you're quite a harsh mistress, I must say. 
You don't forget easily, do you?" 
     "No, I don't. You're damned right I don't." 
     I didn't know what they were talking about, but there seemed 
to be something in their past that bound these two women 
together. Their bodies were those of hard-core female 
bodybuilders; but there the similarities ended, resoundingly... 
     My eyes roamed about the beautiful LadyDoctor. She was 
wearing a long white labcoat that fluttered in the breeze and 
reached down to her bare knees. Her prominent bustline protruded 
from beneath it. And as though she knew I was looking at her, she 
turned and blew me a kiss. 
     "Hello, my dear," she said in a patronizing tone she might 
use on a child. "I'm here to check up on our little surgical 
procedure, and perhaps catch a little of this afternoon sun. But 
first, would you be ever so kind and fetch your surgeon a cold 
drink? That's a sweet little lad, what?" 
     "Yeah," ordered Margo, "get us a coupla lemonades, slave." 
     "M-may I dress, ma'am?" I asked, wiping the dripping water 
from my eyes. Deanna turned to Margo with amusement, as though 
curious to see what pronouncement she would make about my 
apparel. 
     "Yeah. There's somethin' on your bed upstairs. Put it on and 
move your sore little ass, before you make me mad," she said, as, 
aided by Doctor Deanna, she stepped from the tub, naked and 
totally without a trace of self-consciousness. 
     As I went into the house, I heard the sounds of female 
laughter, as the two hugely-built bodybuilding babes shared a 
joke. There was a fluttering in my heart. In my confused state of 
mind, I didn't know what it was... 
     On the bed upstairs was a Roman tunic; the sort that you see 
in Hercules movies of the nineteen-fifties. It was white and v- 
necked, trimmed in a kind of Etruscan red piping along the neck 
and sleeves. There was a pair of roman sandals also; the kind 
that tie around your lower leg. As though to complete the 
picture, sure enough, there it was...a bandanna. As I stood 
before the mirror what I saw was a Hollywood stereotype of the 
Roman Slave, come to life in the late twentieth-century. Still, I 
was grateful for the clothes; they were a decided improvement 
over the g-strings, and the orders of total nudity so often 
foredained by my commanding Lady-At-Large. 
     I fetched the drinks and brought them outside on a silver 
serving tray. The two women stood nearly where I had left them, 
in the shade of the large elm tree. Margo had slid on a tiny 
black g-string; otherwise her sculpted mass was bare, and drying 
in the sun, the mahogany tan ever-darkening. Deanna, equally pale 
as M'Lady was dark, still wore the lab coat. They were finishing 
a conversation as I came near... 
     "And so I said," Deanna was whispering, "I have worked very 
hard building this body, kind sir; and I jolly well will show it 
off however and wherever I like, sir, and if you don't like my 
muscles, you can jolly well kiss my sit-upon!" 
     "What did he say?" Margo inquired. 
     "Him? Oh, nothing. I beat him up, took him home and raped 
the crap outa him," Deanna said, dropping her english breeding to 
make a point. She put a saucy hand on her hip and thrusted it. It 
seemed even to my newcomer ears that she was kidding. Or was she? 
     "You're a scream, `D'," Margo complimented her, as her huge 
bare breasts shook with merriment. She turned to look at me as I 
stood there in my roman garb. 
     "Well," Margo said, folding her thick arms in front of her 
bare chest, "don't we look our subservient little best, eh, 
Deanna?" she inquired. 
     The English ladydoctor turned and looked at me with wide 
eyes full of pleasure. Her brown-eyed gaze scoured my legs that 
were bared by the very short hip-length tunic, and she licked her 
lips like a she-wolf in heat. 
     "I say, Margo, aren't you the lucky one! He's quite the 
charmer, he is! So cheeky!" 
     Margo's face became cross. "What do you say when you've been 
complimented, mouse?" 
     "Thanks, Doctor Deanna," I replied as meekly as I could, as 
I pulled the short tunic down as low as it would go, which wasn't 
very far... 
     But the Beautiful Brit only smiled back, as she looked me up 
and down and licked her painted lips once again. Her eyes were 
full of mischief, and her body language became languid, and 
unconsciously seductive; full of soft slow movements. 
     The women took their drinks from the tray and pulled them 
down quickly. The sun had become strong; I could feel my neck 
reddening, and my skin was getting burnt quickly as I stood 
there, holding the tray out for them to rest the glasses upon 
between sips. 
     "So, Deanna, word is you gave that guy the heave-ho," Margo 
announced, as though expecting Dr. Deanna to explain herself. I 
didn't know what or who they were talking about... 
     "Cocks like his are hard to find. What was his name again?" 
Margo asked aloud, facetiously, enjoying some sex-talkin' in 
front of me. 
     "Oh, Margo, what does it matter? He just didn't do `it' for 
me, one supposes. So I told him that I needed my freedom, nice- 
as-you-please. It was all quite civilized, I assure you," she 
attested, with a bit of defiance in her demeanor. 
     "That's as well maybe," M'lady Muscle acknowledged as she 
absently massaged the cannonball that was her bicep, "but after 
all the trouble I went to last month in setting you two up 
together, I thought you'd at least give this guy a chance, that's 
all." 
     There was a trace of discomfort on the beautiful 
Englishwoman's face now... 
     "I'm sorry, Margo dearest, it's just that I don't enjoy any 
man who spends as much time in front of the mirror as I do!" she 
asserted. "After all, I like a man who dotes on me a bit, not one 
who wants to cart me `round to all his pals like some sort of 
little prize trophy-girl. I was brought up to expect certain 
things from a gentleman, after all...' 
     "Gentlemen?" Margo chuckled. "Hey, Babe, he's alot of things 
but he's no gentlemen. Take it from me, Deanna," she winked. 
     Deanna tapped her playfully on the arm. 
     "Yes, I am sure of that," she acceded. "But I found that out 
for myself without getting undressed." 
     Margo looked shocked. 
     "Wait a minute, Deanna. You tryin' to tell me you didn't 
even fuck him?" There was a manner of incredulity on her face. 
     Deanna blushed. 
     "Well, I wouldn't go quite that far, Margo...," she grinned, 
blushingly. "I knew he was a clod early on, but I like a scarlet 
evening as well as the next woman. After all, I'm an idealist, 
but I'm no fool..." she said, thrusting her shapely hip and 
patting her hairdo in her best Mae West style. 
     Margo laughed. "Atta girl, `D', she complimented her. "Take 
it from me, girlfriend, grab it while it's hot and fuck it hard!" 
she advised; and all I could do was cast my eyes downward as they 
extolled the virtues of a kind of man I would never be. 
     The two built-up beauties laughed together for some moments, 
and spoke in shorthand for minutes thereafter, evoking emotions 
positive and negative with the mere mention of someone's name, or 
a contest's result. There were engaged in the lingo of the female 
bodybuilding community, and this was their bond, after all. All I 
knew was what I read in the magazines, and I felt quite 
ostracized from this conversation.  
     "Still, it takes all kinds to make the world go `round, 
doesn't it, Margo?", Deanna asked finally, when the conversation 
came back around to sex. "And I like a man who is a bit gallant 
when it comes to damsels. I like being swept off my feet, carried 
off to bed, stripped of my clothes and being given a jolly good 
fuck with a well-hung gentleman now and then, like any woman. But 
I'm no mere trophy girl. I want to be appreciated," she declared, 
and from the corner of her eyes I thought I saw her glance at me. 
     "And speaking of trophy-girls, what's all this I hear about 
your influencing young Margie again. She thinks the world of you, 
Margo. You really ought to take your responsibilities in that 
regard more seriously, you know." 
     M"Lady shrugged. "Hey, what can I tell ya? I just had her 
babysit this one," she said, pointing at me. "I had other 
business on the other end of the beach, was all.' 
     "Yes," Deanna agreed, a slightly disapproving tone in her 
voice, folding her arm across her chest as she sipped the last of 
the drink. "I heard about that too."  
     The Englishwoman drained the glass and put it on my tray; 
and when my downturned gaze uplifted, it met hers, and was 
received with a saucy wink from above. I smiled back. 
     "Still, Margo, I just saw Margie as she was headed for the 
beach. I had rather hoped she'd be a candystriper this summer, 
and help me out a bit." 
     "Up to her," M'Lady said with a shrug of her huge shoulder. 
"I can't tell the kid what to do.' 
     Deanna seemed annoyed. "Yes, well, she was strutting about 
in the street in a bikini so tiny it was positively indecent. 
True, she was on her way to the beach, but still!" she said, as 
though uncomprehending these American brazen ways. "Perhaps I 
ought to have to have a big-sisterly talk with our little Miss 
Margie before you corrupt her too much further, Margo dear..." 
     Margo laughed. 
     "Poor Deanna," she chuckled, "always tryin' to save the 
world. What you oughta do," she declared, as she reached out for 
me and pulled me against her, "is get yourself one of these." She 
hugged me so hard the breath ran from my body... 
     A look of amused alarm crossed the ladydoctor's royal 
features... 
     "I say, do be careful, Margo. You may very well break his 
ribs if you treat him so harshly," Deanna said, half-concerned, 
half-amused, at our lopsided spectacle. My face was buried in the 
supersized breast-cleavage of Margo-Most-Muscular; the scent was 
heaven, despite her rough-handed treatment. My hands went to find 
support upon her architecture, but they were swatted away like 
buzzing flies. 
     "Don't get fresh, slaveboy," she reminded me, as she shoved 
me backwards. I stumbled back, blindly, and found friendly 
support in the arms of Deanna. I was surprised at the solidity of 
the grasp in which she held me; this was an extremely strong 
woman, at least as strong as my mistress! I looked up to her and 
found a friendly, warm smile, and sweet perfume; and did I detect 
a glimmer in her eyes? But how could that be? Even though she was 
nowhere as big as Margo, this was a six-foot-tall woman whose 
body, under the medical garb, was as developed as any Ms. 
Olympia's!  
     Did I dare think that she could care for ME??? 
     She gave me a friendly pat on the back, and made a motherly 
sound of distress when the next order came... 
     "Get over here, slaveboy," Margo commanded. "Watch this, 
Deanna," she said. 
     I drew close to the giant woman, and as I did, a mammoth 
bicep of ladymuscle popped into view again on her arm. I stood 
looking at his goddess-in-a-g-string standing a head over me, 
twice my weight, many times my strength. She pointed at the hard- 
capped muscle. 
     "Plant one on me, mouse," she ordered, with a superior 
smile. She was watching Deanna out of the corner of her eye. 
     I approached her oaken limb, puckering; a slavish hunger 
rising in my gorge. But as I drew near to the arm, held with 
contempt at eye level to me, she began to slowly rise it higher 
and higher. My hands fumbled with the triceps, damp with humidity 
and sweat; and her arm pulled away, the way a mean adult might 
teases a small child with a beloved toy. But she did not count on 
my continuing my grasp; and I found myself lifted half a foot off 
the ground. 
     "Well, we're determined, aren't we," Margo asked. Now I was 
caught between a ladymuscle and a hard place! 
     And Margo knew just what to do, too... 
     She swung her arm to the side, with a quick snapping motion, 
launched me into the air like a one hundred and thirty-five pound 
rocket... 
     And in front of Doctor Deanna, I landed with a splash into 
the basin. Margo bellowed with laughter, her mane shaking; and it 
seemed to echo around the grounds. Birds alighted from the 
overhead tree at the sound, fluttering away to find peace and 
quite and safety away from a cruel blonde giantess. For her part, 
Dr. Deanna tried to contain her amusement, but a spatter-of-a- 
chuckle escaped her pretty painted lips, and they turned upwards 
at the corner. 
     I got up, the small tunic sticking to my skin; transparent 
and dripping wet. 
     "Try again, slave," Margo announced, making another mother- 
of-all-ladymuscles right out of an LH-Art magazine. I stumbled 
out of the basin, walked over. This time, she did not move.  
     "Kiss me, my fool!" she said, amused. 
     And I did as I was told, and the hot mound of flesh was hard 
and cruel beneath my lips. I looked up to Dr. Deanna, and saw her 
look away, pretending to be fascinated with a remaining lone bird 
in the tree overhead that must have been hard-of-hearing.  
     And--was it possible--was Deanna supressing a tear? 
     "I'll be going upstairs," Margo announced, after having 
enough of my mouth-worship. "Got some paperwork to do. Managing 
an empire is such hard work," she admitted, with a stage-sigh. 
She grabbed the robe from a bush and threw it on over her mile- 
wide shoulders. 
     "Do what you gotta do, Deanna," M'Lady Muscle decreed, as 
she gathered her high heels in her hands.  
     "He's all yours." 
 
 

 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                         Chapter Eleven: 
 
            The Luscious LadyDoctor Struts 'N Flexes 
 
 
     Margo's footsteps faded into the house, and I watched her as 
she went. Then I turned to Deanna. I was soaking wet, 
embarrassed, and very sore... 
     But there was Deanna, bright as a new penny, rolling up her 
sleeves and eager to get to work... 
     "Alone at last, eh? Well, let's get to our labors, shall 
we?" she asked in a melodic voice; and I watched her powerful 
arms reveal themselves, the proud biceps veritable softballs of 
power, seeming to bask in the afternoon sun as the muscle was 
exposed, inch by inch by inch...  
     There was an amused look on her face when she realized my 
lack of eagerness as to the agenda of the day... 
     "I'm supposed to check out our recent incision on your 
pretty pecker, my dear. Now lift that delightful little tunic," 
she cooed in admiration, as though understanding completely why I 
would wear this thing--to please Margo's demanding eye.  
     "R-right here?" I inquired. The tunic was clinging to my 
body; a soaked wreck of sheer cloth. I took a step backwards; I 
didn't know why, but i felt very modest in her presence, 
something I never felt with M'Lady... 
     Deanna did not approach; instead, she just folded her 
impressive arms in front of her, and tossed a stray tress off her 
face with casual and cool grace; studying me... 
     "Modesty strikes yet again, eh? Now see here, I'm a 
professional, and as I already told you, there's very little 
mystery on that slender frame of yours for me, my lad. I'm 
intimately aware of your every little orifice. And I can force 
the issue quite easily, too, you know. I'm more than capable of 
turning you over my knee, too, dearie, and turning that pert 
posterior even redder than it already is!" 
     I gulped; suddenly unsure if such a thing was a punishment, 
or a reward... 
     "But I understand," she relented, "maybe you'd feel more 
comfortable if I wasn't quite so formally garbed...," she asked,  
conspiratorially, and with a gentle smile that, I thought at the 
time, contained perhaps just a bit of seduction in those dazzling 
ivories and dancing brown eyes? 
     My heart started to pound as Doctor Deanna began unbuttoning 
her medical lab-coat. I shivered a bit; but it wasn't the 
dripping tunic, or a sudden breeze, that gave me the chills. 
     It was Deanna... 
     She motioned me to approach, and turned her back to me as I 
came near, so that I could assist her in removing the long 
labcoat. As she undid the buttons, she turned over her shoulder 
and looked down at me with a friendly wink, and she blew me a 
little kiss with bee-stung lips!  
     My excitement was matched only by my fear of what would 
happen if Margo saw this...! 
     And then she pulled the coat down... 
     Compared to M'Lady, Deanna was not big, or tall. But after 
all, my mistress stood six foot seven, and weighed double what I 
did.  Deanna?  The beautiful British LadyDoctor was just under 
six feet in flats--large for the average woman, to be sure, but 
when she stood next to Margo, well... 
     But when it came to her build? Deanna's body could rival 
that of any Ms. Olympia, and beat quite a few outright. But as 
the coat slid down her arms, and into my hands, I couldn't help 
but notice that there was a softness, a gentleness, that gave her 
a grace that Margo did not have.  
     Her back was a `V' of pale soft skin over many years of 
thick ladymuscle, and was covered only with the thin string of a 
bikini top.  She flipped her the long curls of hair back; they 
hit me lightly, delightfully in the face, and I got a chill of 
desire again as I smelled it's light, musky scent. 
     Now she turned around.  
     And I think I fell in love, right there and then. 
     Deanna took several steps backwards and displayed her 
hardware. She wore a black fishnet bikini, with large gaps that 
grew smaller and smaller as the many strings made their way to 
the nipples of her generous D-cup breasts. The bottoms were 
meager, to say the least--thin stings held it together, and she 
turned to display a pair of bare buttocks, with a long thread- 
like string running vertically between them. She made a double- 
biceps pose, and gave me a pouty look of seduction. Then she 
displayed a prominent pulsing tricep, and licked her lips. 
     She was as lush of breast and hip as she was endowed with 
carved muscle. Almost as if she were a kinder, gentler version of 
Margo; less over-endowed, more demure--if a woman with eighteen 
inch biceps could be called demure... 
     Her waist was an homage to tiny understatement. Her legs 
were equal to those of Mary Hart herself. That is, if the ever- 
perky ET newslady had joined a gym in say, 1977 or so, and 
adhered to a program religiously. They were perfect, glamorous 
gams, with a soft sweep to the thighs, and prominent but not 
overly-intrusive calves.  
     She locked her hands behind her head, and flexed a flat 
abdomen; rungs of determined muscle appeared. 
     "Aren't I the scamp?" she inquired.  "I chastise Margo for 
letting little Margie run about in a swimsuit as revealing as 
this one, and what do I do? I taunt and tease you with one of my 
own!" 
     "That's quite alright, Doctor Deanna," I replied. "I don't 
mind at all," I grinned, looking up to that six-foot Amazon from 
Across the Sea. 
     She chuckled, and her gaze swept over my alert groin that 
poked through the cloth... 
     "Yes, I can see that. Well, I'm glad you like what you see. 
I've worked out very hard for this body, you know. I like it to 
be appreciated when I see fit to show it off." 
     "Do you compete?" I asked. 
     She nodded confidently. "Indeed I do, young man. I just won 
the Ms. Muscle Extravaganza in Nevada. Quite a field I beat, 
too," she added, proudly, as she flexed again. Her hard-won 
muscle peaked into queenly crowns, and I swallowed hard. 
     She walked over to me, her hips wiggling from side to side, 
seductively vampish. In her high heels, she,too, towered over my 
unprepossessing five-and-a-half-feet-tall height; and as she drew 
close to me,I had to strain my neck just a bit in order to look 
into her terrific eyes. She folded her strong arms in front of 
her, and tapped a long unpainted fingernail against her chin. 
     "Now that I've done my share, my lad, it's your turn," she 
said softly. "I can't very well examine you with that wet tunic 
on. Besides, I rather like you in nature's own, if I may be so 
bold. Undress for me," she commanded, blowing me another tiny 
kiss. 
     The tone in her voice said that she would enjoy my obedience 
to her order, and I felt her eyes roam freely on my body as I 
pulled up the scanty garb. My hairless erection fell free, 
pounding with the beat of my nervous heart. I put the tunic over 
one of the chaise lounges and turned to her, naked; feeling the 
hot sun on my skin and ready for anything she wanted... 
     She was an extraordinary woman, to be sure. Despite a body 
that would be at home on the front page of "Women's Physique 
World", there was a gentleness, a sweetness, to her that overrode 
even those prominent aspects of her demeanor. I saw a pair of 
nipples peaking through the skimpy cloth of her bikini top; lady- 
erections of the twin kind! 
     Her hands went to her hips. "Best be quick, my lad. Margo's 
only going to give me so much time with you, after all. I'm sure 
there's some domestic chore she just waiting to assign to you, 
isn't there?" 
     I nodded, and followed her pointing hand to a chaise-lounge 
mattress that had been left on the grass. I walked over to it and 
sat down; it was still damp from the rain, and had a vaguely 
mildewy scent. 
     She followed me with the unmistakable swing-hipped stride of 
a woman in heat. Her body wiggled with a seductive jello-on- 
springs wobble of a pumped-up Marilyn Monroe; my heart was hardly 
beating now--just one long continual pump of adrenalined 
bloodflow that I could feel in my throat... 
     A high-heeled and muscular English Siren stood over me. My 
gaze was level with her thighs; she was a tall woman by any 
standards other than M'Lady's own... 
     Reaching down to take my trembling chin between a well- 
manicured thumb and forefinger, she tilted my gaze up to her.     
     "Have no fear, my lamb. Margo's office is in the front of 
the house, and she can't see what we're up to. So please feel 
free to enjoy our little examination,"  she purred. 
     Arching an eyebrow, she added... 
     "Because I know I will."  
     She squatted down and gave my legs a pull, just like 
yesterday in her office. I slid over the cushion until my legs 
were off the mattress altogether.  
     A hard washboard prevailed on her stomach, as she perched in 
that crunched position above me... 
     She saw where my eyes were going, and responded... 
     "I'm quite the fit one, aren't I?" she asked coyly. 
     "You sure are, Doctor Deanna," I answered, swallowing hard 
as I felt a drop of pre-cum ooze from my erect penis's head. She 
saw it too, and gently massaged it into the purpley flesh of my 
cock-helmet with a pair of just-right fingers.  Little electric 
detonations shot through my body, and I moaned as my scrotum 
pulled itself tight, feeling the unusual sun upon their 
overworked innards... 
     Through it all, her eyes never left mine, and I felt those 
languorous pools of brown beckon to me with something sweet and 
hot and wonderful deep within them. 
     "That's rather pleasant, 'tisn't it? No need to fear me, 
dearie," she assured me, blowing my cock-head an up-close kiss. 
     "I shan't toss you about the way your muscular mistress 
does," she promised me; and as though to remind me that she, too, 
had a build that Lenda Murray might envy, she flexed the muscles 
of her right arm with a steady twitch. A balloon of female muscle 
popped up with each little spasm of her thick biceps.  
     She kept up a smooth and gentle massage of my glans penis 
with a gentle left hand, all the while... 
     "Don't misunderstand me, however," she added, raising her 
right arm, and turning a well-formed bicep into a foxy 
ladymountain of muscle. "I'm no pushover myself. After all," she 
huffed, "you happen to be gazing upon a woman who, at that 
aforementioned Extravaganza, defeated none other than Karla 
Nelsen herself!" 
     "Wow," I said, in humbled, hushed tones. 
     "Wow, indeed," she agreed, her vocal tones matching my own, 
as she began to run a finger up and down the shaft of my penis. 
     "Gosh, Dr. Deanna, you're so hot," I whispered in adulation 
beneath her, even as my Margo-shaven testicles continued to 
contract into tight-spun balls, readying a launch... 
     "That's right, love," she cooed, leaning her head so close 
to my penis that it could have been a microphone.  
     I felt her breath on the skin, and shivered. 
     "I'm rather proud of it, too...' 
     "Yes, ma'am," I agreed, nodding enthusiastically, savoring 
the small graceful movements she made, like royalty, or a 
ballerina on D-Ball! 
     "Enough of this," she said suddenly, letting my throbbing 
erection drop.  She sat down on the side of the mattress; and I 
could smell the remaining moisture on the damp earth, the slight 
mildew of the cushion growing in the heat.   
     But now, as strong as any of these, I caught the heady, 
light aroma of Doctor Deanna herself. She swung my legs around, 
spreading them with not a trace of the eroticism with which she 
had brought me to the brink of orgasm moments ago; and she again 
lifted my desperate jewels up to her eye; but this time it was 
with a mechanical disinterest, the better to inspect her work; 
and her abs crunched as she leaned in... 
     "Hmm, everything seems to be fine. No infection. And the 
procedure is quite easily reversible, too, if you play your cards 
right," she winked, as she dangled my most private-parts this way 
and that like a three-piece toy set. "I don't suppose your 
mistress gave your genitals much time to recover, though, did 
she?" she demanded to know with casual authority. It was strange 
to hear this professional tone coming from a pumped-up woman with 
a sculpted hotbod, in nothing more than a fishnet micro-bikini... 
     "Um, no ma'am, she didn't," I admitted, looking away with a 
bit of embarrassment. Perhaps it was the hot sun that beat down 
upon us, but I felt a flush over my skin, as I sat there looking 
up at this most-muscular seductress with an M.D.... 
     "No need to blush, young man. I would expect nothing less 
from Margo," she sighed, muscles and breasts heaving. "She likes 
her entertainment, that one does," she tsked in full accent. "And 
you, sweetcheeks, are her court jester of the moment, aren't 
you?" 
     I felt a bit rebuffed at that description of my relationship 
with Margo. I had hoped that she gave me the benefit of the doubt 
in my relationship with M'lady. But then reality hit me like a 
brick over my dazed head... 
     And I saw myself as Deanna saw me. Red-bottomed, under- 
sized, shaven, sterilized, dunked in the water; made to jump and 
cower and prostate myself before Margo; even made to dress like a 
slave of Ancient Rome, with Margo as the Empress of the Realm! 
     Perhaps she saw the embarrassed look on my face, because she 
reached down and patted it, and held it there for a second. 
     "Nothing new under the sun, me-dearie," she assured me. "In 
fact, to be quite honest with you, I rather envy your mistress," 
she declared. "Getting serviced, and obeyed with no more than a 
snap of one's fingers.  Perhaps one day I shall have a slave of 
my own after all.  But only," she whispered, closing in to bring 
her lovely face to within inches of mine, and her warm sweet 
breath wafting across my cheeks, "if my slave is as cutely 
obedient and eager to please, and as desperately handsome, as 
you." 
     And I blushed; even after all my prior indignities before 
her, that she had witnessed. Perhaps it was her pair of proud 
breasts, their prominent nipples poking through the fishnet, that 
made me react in such a manner... 
 
     "It seems I have done my usual good work," she said finally. 
     She seemed on the verge of mentioning a new topic of 
conversation, then thought better of it, breaking her gaze with 
me. Now her demeanor changed again, to that of hardbodied 
seductress... 
     She ran a sharp fingernail down my body, from my sternum all 
the way, slowly, to my groin. Her fingers went to work there, 
with the delicate surgeon's touch, juggling my testicles lightly, 
softly; as her hand went to her all-but-bare bosom and massaged 
the heaving flesh lightly. How I wanted to reach up and touch the 
pale white breast myself, kiss it, suckle the prominent nipple. 
But there was something in her attitude that forbade such a 
bravery, and I obeyed an order to lay back on the mattress. 
     From my new position, the afternoon sun surrounded her head. 
I could not see her features now, but I saw her slide the 
sunglasses back onto her face, and the hard expressionless face 
of a displeased dominatrix came upon her. I even thought I saw-- 
though I could not be sure--a sneer reminiscent of M'lady's cross 
her face. But if I was expecting some sort of punishment or pain, 
boy, was I ever wrong... 
     It was merely a prelude to bliss; an attitude she slipped 
on, the better to electrify me with pleasure... 
 
     She stood, walked several steps away, bare bottom churning 
with each step. There, she stopped. I saw her back tighten, 
muscularity becoming prominent, tensed. It was as if she had 
become someone, or some-thing else; some change taking place, 
there, in the hot sun... 
     She got on her hands and knees like some muscular lady-lion; 
turned to me, her hips and shoulders pumping seductively as she 
slowly made her way over to me. A little purr-snarl issued from 
her closed lips when she came to a stop, right over me. She 
reached out with her hand, sharp long fingernails clawing at the 
air, just like a wildcat. I looked at her with a combination of 
fear and desire.  
     And then she pounced upon me. 
     I liked to watch Vanessa Del Rio movies; there were things 
that Latin from Manhattan could do that no other woman could, or 
so it seemed.  Until my afternoon with Dr. Deanna... 
     Grabbing my wrists, she proceeded to pin them down beneath 
my naked body... 
     "Margo told me I ought to consider a slave for my own. Let's 
call this a test run to see if I like it, alright then?" she 
chirped; and her lilting voice went just a bit husky... 
     A second later, my entire penis was engulfed in her mouth... 
     I tried to watch the cocksucking ceremony, as the gorgeous 
lady-physician-with-a-physique inhaled my manhood like a mid-day 
snack. There were wet slurps! and hot sucks! emanating from my 
through-the-mill loins, but my eyes could not remain on the 
vision. Because they were closing now, involuntarily, as I 
savored the sensation, and my body shuddered with delight. Her 
mouth was tight, and the pink tongue within it danced around my 
cock-head like a small and very friendly snake, wrapping itself 
around not just my penis, but my heart as well... 
     She traced a prominent vein with a tongue that tread lightly 
upon it, and I raised my hips upward, involuntarily, to my own  
health-care professional.  Her head began bobbing, up and down 
like a British Piston, hair flying wildly.  My cockhead made an 
unseemly bulge in her sculpted cheek, but she didn't care; and 
warm streams of her wet saliva ran down across my shaven pubes.   
     Trembling male hands ran up and down her triceps, 
luxuriating in the dual pleasures, oral and muscular.   
     Finally, as though she had personally commanded it, a 
lightning bolt of semen shot upwards form deep within my loins; 
it burned like hot lava.  But I never saw it; not a drop... 
     Because this gorgeous ladydoctor had swallowed it 
completely... 
     A long string of after-semen extended from my penis-tip to 
her mouth as she drew away smiling wickedly, delighted at the 
look of havoc, of utter pleasure, on my face.  The string kept 
accommodating her distance, and finally snapped with a wet spray 
upon us both. 
     On her knees, Deanna laughed as she pulled off her shades... 
     "Well, you're quite the viscous one, aren't you?  I thought 
that your ejaculate would be fairly like water after being with 
Margo," she winked, before coming close again... 
     "You must've made a hot little load in anticipation of a 
certain very beautiful and muscular Englishwoman taking advantage 
of you, didn't you?" she teased. I nodded... 
     "Well, that's as well may be.  Though I ought to tell you, 
it was delicious, my lamb," she whispered, as her pearl-coated 
tongue ran about her lips. 
     "And now," she announced, her hand going to untie the string 
of her bikini top, "for the piece de resistance"... 
     Two large pieces of perky perfection fell out of her cups; 
nipples hard and erect.  The breasts bounced once, only once, as 
they settled high on her proud chest.  I sat up, wanting to reach 
out for them, but I wasn't sure... 
     And now she reached below her, and slid off her g-string. 
     And she made total nudity the rule in the hot sun. 
     Her mouth descended upon mine, and she sucked upon my tongue 
with impunity, as my hands ran along her torso.  Sleekness 
predominated upon her body; the muscularity flowed in dynamic 
syncopation with her femininity, and I let out long sighs of 
pleasure, basking in the gentle ministrations of this woman. 
     She broke a kiss, pushing me back upon my elbows, to let her 
hungry eyes roam up and down upon my body.  Those soft brown 
pools were dancing with pleasure, and she knew what sort of candy 
to hold before my own admiring gaze.... 
     A rocky mountain grew where a prominent bicep had been 
moments before, and she offered it for my hand.  I slid my 
dampened paw along it's huge contours and sighed with pleasure. 
     "Quite lovely, isn't it?" she demanded in a soft whisper. 
     "Yes, Doctor Deanna, it sure is," I agreed, careful to 
glance over my shoulder for any unwelcome sighting of my most- 
muscular mistress.  She was nowhere to be seen... 
     "That's what I like about you Yanks," she complimented me, 
as my eyes went misty with dirty daydreams, "so open to new 
experiences, so willing to try something new.  Why, do you know 
that in my home country I'm considered something of a social 
pariah?" she pouted. "And all because I like packing shapely 'n 
sexy muscle onto my figure.  It's most unfair, I assure you," she 
said, with the confidence of a women who has a firm hand on the 
controls of her life. 
     At last, she reached down for my eager erection, impossibly 
alive upon my loins once again. It was as if all those years of 
isolation and frustration had provided a non-stop fuel supply for 
these constant erections; priapic resolution without end... 
     Her hand was soft; steadying my shaft as she pushed my back, 
holding it upright as she nestled her svelte hips over me, hen- 
like.  I could smell the delicate lilac scent of her vagina, a 
contrast to Margo's animal musk; I looked up to see the pink- 
blushed clitoris, the engorged lips... 
     "Hey," she admonished me, "look up." 
     Deanna blew me a kiss. "Have you ever been had by a 
bodybuilding British Woman before?" she asked playfully. 
     "Gosh, no, Doctor Deanna,"I replied worshipfully, eager for 
my maiden effort at just such an action. 
     "Well, then, count to three, my lamb.  Because you're about 
to be roundly fucked by just such a lass.  What do you think of 
that?" she asked, flexing her ladylike armor into hard lush hills 
for effect, and making her breasts twitch on command, pectorals 
at work below the skin... 
     "Yes, please, ma'am," I replied; and I felt the heat of her 
sex hover lower, lower, near to my seeping eye of my cock... 
     "Well, bully for you, my lamb," she added; and I felt a 
small drop of her pussyjuice drop down onto my pleading penis. 
     "Because if you'd said no, I'd have jolly well made you fuck 
for me all the same, you know," she commanded, and if my penis 
was a flagpole, it would've been flying the white flag of total 
surrender to this British Bodybuilding Bombshell... 
     "Hey, Deanna!" came a voice I didn't want to hear, echoing 
from somewhere deep inside Margo's mini-mansion... 
     "Hey, D!" she called again, "get your brit-buns in here. I 
got a problem with some figures..." 
     We leapt away from each other as though repelled by opposite 
forces of magnetism. And the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, 
ever hoped to see, much less come on-the-verge of making love 
with in the hot sun, dressed quickly... 
     "Coming, Margo, dear," she returned her call, slipping on 
her bikini and lab coat in seconds... 
     By the time Margo stood on the porch that overlooked the 
yard, Deanna was dressed. 
     "Why, Deanna," M'Lady teased, her open robe fluttering in 
the breeze, revealing a generous expanse of harsh naked flesh, "I 
didn't interrupt anything, did I?" 
     Deanna laughed. "Why Margo," she soothed her. "Don't be 
absurd. What could you possibly be interrupting when the only 
vaguely male object in the yard," she spat haughtily, "is your 
tiny shivering slave? Why," she summaried, turning back to me 
with all affection suddenly gone, "he's hardly worth the effort 
to undress.  Gracious, one's eggs would dry up for lack of 
interest if that little dick-stick was all one had to play with!" 
she decreed, pointing at my erection and laughing... 
     "Of course, he couldn't help but fall in love with me, dear, 
but the day I let such a little loathsome worm touch me is the 
day I go back to East London for good!" she exclaimed.   
     As though to convince Margo of her sincerity, Deanna stepped 
over and picked me up easily, as though I weighed nothing at all.  
     Hoisting me over her head, she promptly tossed me into the 
nearby swimming pool, and I splashed into the warm chlorinated 
waters... 
     When I floated to the surface and sputtered and crawled to 
the edge, Deanna was laughing at me, her proud boobs bouncing on 
her chest...! 
     Margo joined her in laughter, and Deanna wiggled out of the 
sun, into the house in her spiky shoes.  But before vanishing 
into the cool caverns of Margo's Inner Kingdom, she turned and 
winked back at me.  Then, hidden by the overhead awning, and 
careful to ascertain that Margo could not see her from the above 
balcony, she opened her lab coat and flashed me a cool expanse of 
sculpted ladyflesh.  Flashing a set of washboard abs unmatched 
since Lenda Murray, she disappeared into the mansion after 
blowing me a soft kiss full of sweet promise. 
     "Later," she'd mouthed wordlessly, a look of frank and 
unashamed seduction on her face before the door closed on her. 
     And I was alone. 
     And I was in love... 
 
 

 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
             
 
                          Chapter 12:  
 
                      Margo Hits MuscleTown 
 
 
     "There!" muscular Margo huffed, standing over my shoulder 
and surveying my reflection as I stood looking in the mirror.  
     "You look like the perfect little gentleman.  I'll be so 
proud to have such a well-behaved young boy on my arm tonight," 
she gloated, sarcastically. "Now remember, you must behave 
yourself, or I'll pull off those cute shorts and spank your bare 
bottom right in front of everybody, understand?" she lilted, in a 
sweetly-motherly tone that hinted only slightly at the threat her 
gigantic arms made reality.  
     As though I might not see her power, so evident thanks to 
her sleeveless t-backed muscle-top, she flexed an immense Sequioa 
Limb, and silenced any dissent with her abundant attributes.  The 
brownness of her abundant flesh was offset sharply by the taxi- 
cab yellow of the top's skintight cloth, and made for a 
forbidding sight.  How she managed to stuff so much muscular 
pulchritude into so little cloth and have it stay affixed to her 
gigantic frame was beyond me.  She was simply a marvel of female 
determination over the limits of nature.  
     We were standing in Margo's dressing room, my first time 
inside it.  The walls were lined with Margo's countless kinky 
outfits; micro-skirts, cocktail dresses sheared off inches below 
the hips; backless blouses, off-the-shoulder sweaters that 
depended only on vast cleavage and luck to stay up; and ominous 
high-heeled hip boots of the softest leather.  The lighting was 
designed to be flattering in this place, but my full-length 
visual echo informed me that nothing held within the glass was 
going to flatter me... 
     I looked long and hard at the guy in the mirror.  My 
reflection was that of a small guy wearing a look of utter 
humiliation.  Not that he didn't have reason; for the clothing 
I'd been given to wear, was, well... 
     The outfit consisted of a white short-sleeved shirt, yellow 
bow-tie, and matching yellow shorts.  I had slid the shorts on, 
under her ever-watchful eye of stern appraisal, and was dismayed 
to see that they were not the conservative Bermuda-shorts length 
they had appeared to be, but shorter, more like jogging shorts in 
length, neatly creased and pressed.  
     High white knee socks came next.  I hadn't worn anything 
like it since third grade, and looking back, I like to think that 
my thought processes had become truly clouded in order to arrive 
at such an absurdist intersection in my life; either through my 
own compliance, or something that had been done to me... 
     At any rate, there was nothing I could say.   
     "C'mon, my little man. Time's a wastin'. The rest of the 
world wants to feast their eyes on Margo's big hot bod, too!" 
     And then, moments later, we were off into the night in 
Margo's long black Cadillac; it purred with satisfaction as the 
hungry tires devoured the shadowy blacktop... 
     Anxious to make a grand entrance, M'Lady Muscle had hit the 
iron hard earlier in the evening, after Dr. Deanna had made her 
exit.  Throughout her session with the steel, she had been 
wearing only a tiny g-string; and I had been transfixed by her, 
as her muscles had grown with an obscene pump, getting larger and 
larger as veins deep in her brown flesh rose to the top, thick 
and angry; decorating the inflamed, huge deltoids, running down 
the biceps that were like mountains growing on redwood logs. 
     And I was the lucky one, because, before being shooed off to 
prepare her meal, I got to watch the six-foot-seven inch giantess 
explode her muscular charms in full view of my eyes.   Then, her 
broad and buxom chest heaving, drenched with the effort, she had 
stormed off to the shower, and her wardrobe. 
     Doctor Deanna's visit of the afternoon had been pounding in 
my brain since her departure, but the oncoming proceedings of the 
evening forced even that bit of British perfection to the back- 
burner of my mind.  But that sweet blowjob in the afternoon sun 
made my loins throb every time I thought of her, and my chest 
tingled with the sheer excitement of it all.  ( Although the 
possibility of Margo finding out about my infidelity was so 
terrifying that I quickly--and forcibly--pushed the thing from my 
upper consciousness, as though on top of her bigger-than-life 
size, M'Lady might also be endowed with super-powers, and was 
somehow able to read my mind! ) 
     As our voyage wound around quiet, lightless streets, I sat 
back on the bench seat, and was struck by the fact that, with 
Margo's stature and long powerful legs, she had pushed the seat 
back as far as it would go; in so doing, it left me, with my 
short stature, sitting with feet dangling over the edge like a 
grade-schooler being driven to class.  I felt undersized and 
overwhelmed--even more so than I had been made to feel in the 
past few days--and I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself, 
hoping that all my instincts were wrong, and that what I was 
afraid was going to happen tonight really wasn't going to happen 
after all... 
     Margo's keen eye caught the rapid movement of my narrow 
chest, as it expanded and deflated rapidly... 
     "What's wrong, slavie?  You nervous?  Silly, we're just 
going out for a night on the town for some fun.  Remember, we're 
playing matchmaker tonight!" she leered, as she steered the car 
with a casual twist of her mountainously-thickly-muscled arms. So 
powerful did they look, that I felt sure those stalwart limbs 
could have powered the front wheels of this luxury car by 
themselves; how many foot-pounds of torque could M'Lady muster 
from her mighty muscles? 
     I gulped my dread as I thought about where we were going, 
and prayed that some small fender-bender accident would occur, 
and put an end to this evening before it got started.   
     She went back to her driving, humming delightedly to a disco 
tape, tapping the steering wheel with fingers decorated in 
diamonds and gold.  One again I was grateful for the dark smoke 
glass on the buxom dominatrix's vehicle, as we suddenly made a 
sharp right, sped by a cluster of trees, and joined a veritable 
beehive of vehicular action... 
     The three-lane road was full of buzzing traffic, and visible 
or not, I shrunk low in my seat all the same.  My humiliation on 
the beach, and at the women's gym, had been enough for a 
lifetime.  Margo's thighs of white-spandex-encased lady-muscle 
were busy, the sinews wandering beneath the cloaked brown skin, 
as she pumped the pedals of her car, fully in control of my 
destiny.  An expert driver, she was captaining our ship of sexual 
slavery to it's next port of call. 
     My heart beat fast at the sight, but I wanted to beg her, 
right then and there, to show me mercy, and turn this sleek 
chariot around... 
     Maybe I should have. 
 
     Pulling off the highway, we did about twenty minutes of 
twist-and-turn street driving before we veered into the parking 
lot of a flashy nightclub standing on an otherwise empty street, 
alone, somewhere on a far edge of town.  I didn't recognize the 
club, or the part of town in which it resided.  But in truth, 
with the exception of the beach, almost everyplace Margo had 
taken me was unknown to me, as though she had somehow transported 
me to some topsy-turvy dimension... 
     The car's low growl was silenced by a turn of the key, the 
lights extinguished as well.  The heat-filled engine clicked, but 
could not drown out the crickets, who sang their nightsong like a 
simple symphony.  I thought an odd and fleeting thing at that 
moment; at least, they were free, and answered to no one... 
     Margo looked over at me with a smug grin, as though savoring 
the squeamishness that must have shown in my eyes. She looked 
into the rear-view mirror, and I watched her inspect her makeup 
in the mirror of the car, her bejeweled bracelets dangling like 
chimes with each little motion.   
     Her hair was worn loosely, cascading down her back, shining 
in the meager light, and smelling like honey and summer flowers. 
     "Well, my devoted little slave, looks like it's showtime," 
Margo announced, feigning ignorance of how painful this scenario 
was for me; but seconds later, seeing my eyes pleading for some 
clemency, there was a low and evil little chuckle of satisfaction 
from her, and her whopping breasts, their cleavage bared by the 
near-non-existence of her top, shook subtly with delight... 
     My date that night was a stunningly beautiful, big-breasted, 
zoftig Amazon, with the body of several Ms. Olympias combined 
into one conglomeration of hot female muscles; oozing sex.  In 
truth, she was, even then, my dream date. 
     "Well, move your butt, slave.  Open the door for me," she 
chided, and I hustled out; the heat of the sun still permeated 
the blacktop beneath my feet as I hustled around to perform my 
duty.  It hit me in waves, as though I was standing in some giant 
frying pan, and the combination of the cool evening air and the 
hot ground under my sneakers made me shiver.   
     I pulled open her door, and she swung herself 'round.  As 
she took my hand and unfolded her frame to it's high-heel-aided, 
seven feet high, I heard laughter coming from the distance. Even 
though we were out of view, I felt sure, somehow, that--whoever 
it was--they were laughing at me... 
     Margo took my hand and placed it on her arm, and we made our 
way to the front door, her stiletto heels clicking a stately 
proclamation of sensuality and size.  Walking, I recognized a 
familiar econo-car in the parking lot, and removed any doubt in 
my mind about what I was in for... 
     From my public disgrace on the beach the other day, I'd 
learned to focus only on Margo at moments like this, my gaze on 
her and her alone, and so avoid any strange glances we might 
have; but I heard tittering from some twenty-something women who 
had congregated in the plaza that led to the doors of the club.  
     All buxom and wasp-waisted, clad in the tightest clothing 
that could be had short of a can of spray paint, they were 
smoking and re-arranging their large hairdos, but their chatter 
stopped abruptly as we passed them.  My head was turned away from 
them, but their reflections showed in the black glass nightclub 
wall opposite, and I clearly saw their looks of amused 
incredulity... 
     "Hey, little boy," one of them mocked, "what's the matter? 
Your mommy couldn't get a sitter?" And, incongruously, they all 
laughed like nuns, lightly and sweetly.  As L'Air du Temps wafted 
over on the evening's soft breeze, I squeezed a Vesuvian bicep 
and pretended in vain that I hadn't heard a thing... 
     In truth, we did look like some schoolboy, taken from class 
by his wicked, gigantic aunt, to play late-night hookey out on 
her arm, to show off and amuse her friends and hold her packages 
for her while she shopped. 
     The doors parted by themselves, and Margo thundered into the 
nightclub with her blonde hair flowing, all her hard brown flesh 
nearly-naked from the waist up, big breasts bobbing and swaying 
like balloons with every step.  With her Sears Tower height, she 
took long strides that forced me to jog in order to keep pace 
with her. We were met by darkness and soft music and alot of 
questioning looks... 
     Because a seven foot tall woman had just marched in, coolly 
leading a five and a half foot tall man dressed like a schoolboy, 
and something in the way we were greeted made me think that this 
was not the first time, either... 
     They knew her here, too.  And, it seemed, the routine. There 
were nods of recognition exchanged between her and the bouncer, a 
woman of curly brown hair and abundant muscularity in her own 
right, who stood no taller than I.  She had a smooth olive 
complexion and was smoking a cigarette, and I clearly saw her 
areolae through the white sheerness of her t-shirt. 
     "Heya, Margo, whatcha benchin?" she rasped; a bodybuilder's 
shorthand, substitute greeting for "hello." 
     M'Lady paused only for a second. 
     "755," she attested, presenting a thick arm, whose rampant 
muscularity backed-up the statement.  Then she winked; the 
bouncer nodded, whistled low, impressed.  Suddenly, a flash of 
recognition came over me, and I realized I knew this woman; she 
was one of the other built-up gals who patrolled Everson Beach, 
and had caught my eye just a few weeks before as she lolled about 
on her blanket in a micro-bikini.  She hadn't shown any interest 
in me then, even when I futilely paraded back and forth on the 
hot sands a hundred times, trying in vain to think of something 
sly and witty to say.  
     "Dressin' in matchin' outfits, like mother and son, eh, 
Margo?" she teased.  "At least this one has cute legs," she 
admitted, grinning in amusement. 
     It was only then that I noticed with some belated surprise 
that my own outfit was a muted reversal of Margo's own... 
     "Yeah, well, you know what they say, Ginger.  The one who 
wears the muscle wears the pants," she reminded her, as though 
this was something she had said before.  The bouncer had a wicked 
twinkle in her eye, and there was now, I was positive, a wink of 
final recognition at me. 
       As we ventured into the club, my nose became filled with 
the usual nightclub ambience; old cigarettes masked by 
industrial-strength room deodorizer and spilled whiskey.  
There was a parting of the small crowd gathered near the 
coat-check window, and I saw one small and artificially-blonde 
woman drop her umbrella-laden drink and stare up at Margo with 
her mouth wide open, in complete shock, as though someone had 
just declared a peroxide embargo.   She, too, looked strangely 
familiar, but I had no time to study her. We were tearing a 
path through the half-empty nightclub, and amusement met me 
every time I looked away from M'Lady. I felt my face burn red 
with embarrassment... 
     The place was dark, as dark as Margo's home invariably was.  
It struck me that the same unreality of a nightclub's ambience 
was exactly what Margo's home was like; I hadn't been able to put 
my finger on it exactly prior to this; but that was it.  A 
certain unreality was here, and there, too, and when I thought 
about it, a certain unreality pervaded this whole bizarrely 
compelling situation. 
     I was pulled briskly by the hand across the club, my feet 
scrambling, barely touching the carpeted floor.  There was quiet 
jazz playing on the sound system, and the tinkling of the lady 
bartender's washed cocktail glasses echoed off the low ceiling of 
the darkened nightclub.  Veering off to a corner, my bosslady 
picked out a table that overlooked an unused dance floor--it was 
still early in the evening, and the couples that were slowly 
filing in were engaging in the usual vapid small talk heard in 
clubs before the dance music starts playing.   
     But I was sure that most of it was about the seven foot tall 
blonde giantess with her undersized and ridiculously-dressed 
escort, who were seated in the shadowy environs.  
     I shivered in the cold as the air-conditioners pumped out 
air for a midnight crowd that wasn't here yet at nine-thirty; 
they could have stored meat in this place, so low was the 
temperature.  Even the leather seat beneath my bared thighs was 
cold as metal, and goose-bumps broke out on my skin. 
     But I looked over--and up--at M'Lady, whose skin was smooth, 
impervious to the almost-bitter temperature.  She was perched 
comfortably on her chair, despite her great size, and the fact 
that most of her gigantic upper body was bare--the tank top was 
cut half-way to the waist, and the armholes brashly corresponded. 
     Her huge breasts seemed ready to vanquish the cloth at any 
second; it was stretched comically by the big twin cannonballs of 
flesh loaded and ready, nipple-guns set on alert.  I took 
particular notice of the swollen biceps of her sunbrowned arm 
that seemed as thick as my entire torso, and I half-gulped in awe 
at this reminder of just how powerful she was.  The muscle, even 
here, at rest, fairly thundered with stored-up power. 
     And yet, for all that sublime stature and bulk, M'Lady was 
daintily inspecting her make-up again, this time in a small 
compact case held in the palm of her hand.  Pivoting her head 
this way and that, she blew herself a kiss of final approval, 
snapping it shut and tossing it in her purse. 
     Without turning aside to look at me, she reached over for my 
hand and placed it inside the crook of her kinetic cache of 
impossible ladymuscle, hard and somehow hot to the touch, even in 
this arctic surrounding.  Her own hand went below the table to my 
thigh, and sharp painted talons drew circles on my puckered 
flesh.  The muscle-moment distracted me; my eyes closed, and so I 
did not see the figure that was approaching... 
     Margo had just surreptitiously-unzippered my fly, and was 
casually foraging out-of-sight for my bursting genitalia, when a 
voice put an end to our dangerous moment... 
     "Well, well," came a female growl, "what a pair of 
lovebirds.  Where'd ya find this one, Margo-baby? The local 
junior high?" 
     I looked up, and focused on the figure standing over me. My 
eyes had a feast fit only for a female-muscle-lover like myself. 
     She was of average height for a woman; but that was the only 
average thing about her!  She was small-bosomed, wide-waisted, 
and dressed in a leather jacket and a pair of skintight black 
jeans that showed off her muscular legs. Her hair, what there was 
of it, was shaved into an outrageous red mohawk that grew longer 
as it travelled back on her skull, until it was a veritable mane 
that dropped down below a set of shoulders that rivalled my 
date's. 
     Smoking a cigarette whose tip glowed an angry red in the 
subdued light, she placed her hands on a set of mildly-flaring 
hips, and stated her business... 
     "How about we go at it for the night's tab?" she challenged; 
and she took the cigarette from her mouth with fingers that bore 
none of the niceties of grooming that my captor exhibited. 
     Margo's eyes roamed up and down her body, the determined 
blues not revealing anything. I felt her biceps involuntarily 
harden into a fresh edifice of might beneath my fingers. 
     Resigned, she shook her head and said, "Roxanna, you're a 
real glutton for punishment, aren't you?  Oh, well, it's YOUR 
Visa bill," she shrugged, and shooed my hand from her arm.  Only 
now did she tuck my throbbing member back into it's BVD holster, 
and, giving it a gentle scratch with a predatory fingernail, 
zipped me back up without even looking. 
     "Sit down, you big bitch," Margo replied affectionately, and 
the woman slid the jacket off and did as she'd been told... 
     Whatever regimen Margo was on, so was she.  Though 
apparently only half her height, she sported a gigantic pair of 
arms that must have measured two feet around!  She shot me a 
conspiratorial wink, and sat across the table.  Flipping back the 
stray hairs of her stark, garish mane, she placed an elbow on the 
table, and presented a half-open hand, clasping air; her thick 
bicep throbbed and twitched in anticipation... 
     "I'm ready for ya this time, Margo-baby.  Remember, I was 
born with this muscle," she attested, nodding at her impossible 
arm.  "I didn't need any dru..." 
     "Yeah, yeah, we know all about your great genetics, Roxy.  
Now shut up and get ready to buy some drinks," Margo interrupted. 
     She reached for my shirtfront and yanked me off the chair. 
     "Stand clear, asshole," Margo addressed me without looking 
anywhere but at her opponent. "Some women are gonna test their 
muscle, and you'd only get hurt or in the way." 
     As I uncertainly balanced myself, a guffaw rose up from the 
gorge of this other woman. "Well, ain't he the cutest thing?  Not 
a hair on them pretty little legs, either." 
     "That's cause I shave my little guys bald, Roxy," Margo 
informed her, cracking her knuckles in preparation.  The action 
made thick muscleplay beneath her skin; my eyes zeroed in on it. 
     Roxy's eyebrow raised. "You don't say!" Her gaze went to my 
crotch, but before she could say anything more... 
     "That's right, Roxy baby. Everywhere. We make quite a little 
ceremony out of it, too.  Don't we, my little schmo?" she asked, 
turning to me. 
     I nodded, embarrassed to the nth degree. 
     "Yes, M'Lady," I replied, shuffling my feet. 
     "You mean," a stunned Roxy pressed, delight bursting beneath 
her veneer of tough-girl control, "you even did his..." 
     But Margo wanted to get on with it. "That's right, 
girlfriend," she sighed impatiently, as though bored.  "Cock, 
balls, and asshole. Everything south of the chin, and north of 
the big toe.  The whole fuckin' nine yards.  Clean as a whistle 
and ready for love.  Just 'cause I like it that way. Quite a 
power, ain't I?" she asked, rhetorically, flexing a bicep that 
instantly transformed into a mountain. 
     "..Try it on your next boyfriend, if you ever have one. Now, 
are we gonna wrestle or talk about how irresistible I am?" 
     Roxy inhaled on her cigarette for a final time, before 
extinguishing it in the ashtray... 
     And they began... 
     A pair of elbows imperceptibly danced atop the table, 
inching about for leverage until they were placed strategically 
on the cocktail table's surface.  Their hands joined above the 
tabletop, palms linking, strong fingers finding their holds as 
determined high heels anchored themselves deeply in the 
carpeting... 
     I could see their knuckles go white even as a pair of huge 
right arms asserted their burly muscularity with test-pattern- 
flexings... 
     "Wait a fuckin' minute!" came a familiar voice from behind. 
I half-turned just in time to see Margie, my beach-bunny-blowjob- 
babysitter, dressed in the very abbreviated red-satin dress of a 
cocktail waitress, scoot around the table.... 
     "Can't do this thing on a wet table, right ladies?" she 
asked, shooting me a wink as the only acknowledgment of my 
presence. I noticed that, with her hair pinned-up neatly, she 
looked five years older than her nineteen years. 
     "...somebody'll break an arm, and I'll get the boot on my 
first night on duty!" she exclaimed; and I watched her tan bosom 
wobble in the low-cut straplessness of her uniform as she leaned 
over and busily ran a dry cloth over the formica. 
     "Thanks, Margie-kins," Margo offered, as the ladies regained 
their proper positions, propping up two great arguments for a 
matriarchal society; a couple of female arms stacked with 
Himalayan peaks and slopes of daunting ladymuscle. 
     "No sweat, Margo," she replied, before turning behind her... 
     "Hey, Stella, there's gonna be an arm-wrestling match!" she 
called out to somebody I couldn't see, as though she'd been 
working her for ten years, and these things happened all the 
time.  Instantly, several dozen early-evening people appeared 
from invisible corners of the club, and formed a circle around 
the table.  As though this was a ceremonial ritual, the meager 
lights of the club went down, and a pool of light appeared upon 
the table, warming my skin as I stood on the periphery.  Almost 
at once, cigarette smoke appeared in long slow swirls, wafting 
through the yellowy beams like surly smog. 
     Immediately self-conscious of my toddler's attire, I 
nevertheless had nowhere to run.  A "wave" of elbow-ribbing and 
pointing of painted fingernails came at me like accusatory 
indictments of my manhood.  Hoping to find some avenue of escape 
from prying eyes, I thought of grabbing a tablecloth from a 
nearby table. Instead, I simply stepped back, out of the warm 
light, letting the darkness shield my shame, shivering again. 
     My wandering glances of the crowd cost me the close-up view 
of the beginning of the Battle of the Biceps; because when I 
looked up, it had begun... 
     Instantly, the faces of both Margo and her Mohawk opponent 
contorted into grimaces; their chins trembled with the strain 
being exerted in their hands.  Even their hair seemed to vibrate 
subtly, and they leaned in close to gain leverage over the other. 
     The crowd, too, crept closer, and began cheering their 
favorite.  Painted faces stood with their dates, abuzz with 
excitement at the hub of she-muscle straining at the reigns of 
possibility right before their eyes. 
     Their two arms grew huge, every heartless inch of 
muscularity bursting at the confines of the darkly-tanned skin 
that contained them.  Amazon River Veins burst their banks, 
creating hot-blooded tributaries that wound their ways around the 
sinews created by their mistresses.  Sweat popped-out on those 
bulging gladiatrix arms, too; running in rivulets over and around 
the mountains and streams in long slow paths.  Their lips twisted 
with this ultimate exertion into painted, straining snarls. 
     Muffled, quick cries of strain and anguish seeped out of the 
two women, eliciting more howls from the assembled mass, many of 
whom still held their drinks, waving them around, and spilling 
the pungent contents.  The right angle over which the two wrist- 
wrestlers' hands met varied from second to second, this way and 
that, as one gained a temporary advantage, only to relinquish it 
a moment later. One could clearly see the minute interplay of the 
various layers of heaped muscle in their arms, as subtle changes 
in pressure made them tremble and twitch. 
     But the Mohawk'ed woman, whose astoundingly-big arm 
surpassed in size even M'Lady's, slowly began to stake it's 
claim.  Gaining momentum with every moment, it slowly began to 
take the upper hand, and the gap between Margo's knuckles and the 
formica surface below it began to decrease. Every few moments, 
she rallied; only to be forced down even lower once again.  
     Within a minute, her hand was less than six inches from 
capitulation.  It seemed inconceivable that she could be defeated 
in anything, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be on the receiving 
end of her wrath if she did. 
     There was an awed rumbling amongst the crowd, drowned out 
only when Margo let out a sudden war-whoop, as she called upon 
her last reserves of power.  Fresh cannonballs of ladymuscle 
bulged and peaked in brown volcano-mounds, and if smoke had 
appeared upon the vibrating crowns of those brutal biceps, no one 
would've been shocked.  
     I thought I saw Margo's top begin to tear across the slender 
straps. As slowly as it had descended, so her hand now began a 
slow, but sure, ascent. 
     Margo had begun her muscular comeback... 
     Suddenly, a ravenous blonde beauty stepped out from the 
shadows and stood near the table, watching enraptured, fascinated 
by this she-muscle demonstration, and seeming to want a closer 
look. Ordinarily, anything sort of a stark-naked "tit'n bone" (as 
Margo called all non-bodybuilding women) would distract me from 
such a show as was unwinding before me.  But there was an air of 
serious study to this tall blonde showstopper's quiet 
deliberations; a look of flushed excitement blushed through her 
artfully, generously applied make-up, and half-concealed behind 
long bangs, her eyes twinkled with the liveliness of the busty 'n 
bulging proceedings. 
     Though not a bodybuilder, she was captivating; a wonderfully 
buxom hourglass figure was decorated only skimpily.  A pair of 
imposing double-d cup breasts were packaged tight into a tiny 
top; they stretched the cloth between them so tight you could 
have bounced a quarter upon the taut material.  Big suckable 
nipples poked prominently through the black bodyhugging stretch- 
cotton.  Her arms, bared by the sleeveless blouse, were full of 
chilled goose-bumps; so were her luscious legs, daringly bared.  
     For upon her tiny waist hung the waistband of a skirt so 
short it barely covered her hips; a pleated, plaid, tri-color 
rumor of black, white, and red fluttering lightly beneath the 
overhead fan.  Her legs were long and smooth and could've been 
borrowed from Elle McPherson on a night when that Aussie 
superbabe didn't need them.  On her delicate feet were black 
spike-heeled mules that she seemed to have difficulty holding 
herself still within, not just from the excitement--as Margo and 
the Mohawk's meaty arms now were ninety degrees upright again-- 
but as though she were a shy librarian who'd borrowed a flashy 
kid sister's shoes and clothes, or a schoolteacher who... 
     "No!" I exclaimed in a hushed whisper... 
     I looked hard, blinked, looked down at the floor and looked 
up again.  But the blonde's face hadn't changed.  Behind the 
recent modification's done to it's exterior, I knew it was her. 
     Barbara, newly-blonde; packaged for immediate pick-up. 
     Suddenly, our eyes met, held; she shot me a defiant pout, as 
though to accuse me of creating the conditions that had led to 
her being dressed in such deliciously slutty attire; then we 
simultaneously broke contact. 
     At just that moment, a roar came up from the crowd. 
     M'Lady Muscle had just won some free drinks... 
     The back of the Mohawk's hand slammed noisily down upon the 
table, turning the ashtray into a flying wedge of glass that 
shattered out of sight.  The touchdown of that pounding flesh was 
accompanied by a fresh rain of four-letter curses from it's 
owner, chorused by the cheers and applause of the onlooking 
audience.  Somewhere in the struggle, Roxanna's top had 
surrendered to the strain of the proceedings, and the better part 
of a set of unspectacular boobs was now clearly visible when the 
loose cloth flapped about her chest. 
     People came up and shook Margo's hand, eyeing her rampant 
charms as they glistened under the lights, asking for autographs 
that they were summarily given before being dismissed.  A man 
came up and offered her a light for the cigarette that now 
dangled between her lips.  She accepted haughtily, blowing smoke 
in his face and waving off any further contract.   
     Their curiosity sated, their entertainment had, the flabby 
crowd went back to the two glass-and-metal bars, to try and 
quench their thirst for love or sex or water-down, over-priced 
booze.  The overhead spotlight was doused, and we were engulfed 
back into dusky shadow.  A moldy Lionel Ritchie song sobbed over 
the sound system, audible scratches revealing it's age... 
     Presently, Margo turned to her blonde fan who stood, hands 
clasped childishly in excitement, at her breasts, and motioned 
her to come close.  I could smell a wicked perfume as Margo 
whispered something in her ear; the blonde's big blue eyes 
widened with fevered anticipation, and she nodded adamantly.  
     Dismissed with another queenly wave, Barbara scampered off 
on wobbly legs to the bar, and I was grateful that we exchanged 
no further notice of each other. 
     "God, Margo," Margie gushed, jumping enthusiastically up and 
down at the exploits of her heroine, "that was SO bitchin'!" 
     But the Mohawk counterpart was not so enthusiastic, and 
stood seething in silence, rubbing an arm made sore by her 
encounter with Margo, her strange mane of hair bristling with 
resentment. 
     "Yeah, well, I'll be seein' ya, Margo," she sighed. "You win 
again, this time..." 
     "Like always, babe," my muscular mistress reminded her, as 
she puffed on her cancer-stick.  Roxanna pivoted, suddenly 
enflamed by this fresh salt in the wound, her powerful physique 
coiled for combat, every sinew apulse.  If she noticed the fact 
that one of her sweaty boobs was sticking out from under the torn 
cloth, she didn't show it. 
     "Fuck you, Margo!" she spat, knocking over the table where 
seconds ago, she'd been defeated. It bounced and rolled away. 
     "Fuck me?" Margo retorted very quietly, as though 
uncomprehending why anyone would say such a thing to her. 
     A few people drifted back to watch this brewing battle... 
     "I'm so fuckin' tired of your bullshit," Roxy rasped. "I 
bust my ass in the gym six friggin' days a week; I don't gotta 
back down from you!" she rumbled, menacingly.  
     "No. Indeed you don't. Step closer, Roxy, and we'll work 
things out, I'm sure," Margo smiled, standing only now and 
shaking her slab-of-an-arm at her side, as though to re-charge 
it's circuits. 
     But the Mohawk'ed MuscleMamma had already lost her cool, and 
it betrayed her from the start.  She prepared to charge at Margo, 
who stood, egging her on with small waves of her outstretched 
hands.  I headed for safety, not wishing to get caught in a 
crossfire that I didn't understand. I had to admire this woman; 
Margo may have been a foot taller, but she showed no fear. 
     By now there were a number of people, including those who'd 
just come in the door, heading for the female fracas, 
reassembling the SRO rapture that had departed only seconds ago. 
     Roxy stepped in and wound up a roundhouse punch, indifferent 
to her naked chest, exposed by the tattered top. Her bizarre 
hairdo stood stiffly, as though an electric current was coursing 
through it, to be discharged only when fist met flesh... 
     She delivered the blow squarely, connecting with a steely 
breadbasket.  But, like a cannonball striking an ironclad ship, 
it seemed to bounce off with an almost-metallic "clunk"... 
     Margo only winced, barely bent-over by the best this 
courageous foe could muster. Then, she retaliated... 
     With cobra-speed, Margo grabbed the flowing row of bristles 
with her left hand, and prescribed her own Medication for 
Muscular Mohawks.  A sledgehammer punch to the jaw. Then another. 
Then another. Blood spouted from her split lip, then from a nose 
nearly re-arranged by this rain of fists.  Margo's waist-length 
tresses billowed about her, powered by the pure vacuum created by 
her nuclear-powered blows. 
     "Fuck me, huh?" Margo roared. "No, Roxy, FUCK YOU!" she 
proclaimed; and, releasing her hold on that exotic hair only now, 
she clobbered the challenger a final time. 
     Carried by the sheer momentum of the muscle-punch, Roxy 
careened over the next table, and onto the floor in a crumpled 
mass of bruised she-muscle and wet mohawk hair. 
     "Way to go, Margo," Margie trumpeted, as though she'd just 
seen a Super Bowl touchdown.   
     Roxy got up much faster than I would have thought possible, 
bloodied but unbowed.  Staggering over for her jacket, she ably 
plucked it from the floor, where it had fallen. 
     "Don't tell me you want more, Roxy, honey," Margo exclaimed, 
feigning alarm.  The flexing female fire-plug was aflame with 
emotion, blood decorating her blunt features.  But she contained 
her wrath, and her swollen face took on a look of resignation 
before turning a broad back to us, as she made for the 
restorative ice-packs at the back bar. 
     "Remember what you just saw, slave," Margo threatened me, as 
she swooped a long tress of golden hair off her bulging chest.  I 
could see splotches of blood on her bright-yellow tank-top, and 
made note that she seemed rather proud of them. 
     "Hey, Margo," Margie said, stepping in to finally wait on 
us, as though that had all been just a part of the show, "ya 
gotta teach me how to do that sometime." 
     "It's all in the delivery, lil' Margie," she assured her, as 
busboys buzzed about us, re-arranging the tossed furniture. 
     "Yeah, well, anyway, thanks for helping me get this job..." 
     Margo looked her up and down and nodded her approval. 
     "Joined the Fishnet Squad, eh, Margie? You look pretty damn 
good in 'em, too," she added, winking and pointing at Margie's 
stocking'ed legs with her chin. "It was either that, or spend the 
summer wipin' up the messes in Deanna's office. Like I told ya, 
this little guy," she chuckled, jerking a thumb at me, "left some 
wadd on her table the other day.  Figured you'd like this 
better..." she beamed with the pride of a mother, and sliding 
herself back into her chair. 
     "Sure as hell I do. Whatcha gonna have, Margo?" Margie 
finally inquired, notepad in hand. "Your usual poison?" 
     "Yeah. But make it a DOUBLE Remy Martin this time, straight 
up," Margo assented, "all this action gives a girl a thirst, and 
besides, Roxy's gonna be payin' for it.  And for my little 
boyfriend here," she added, pulling me off my feet without so 
much as a glance my way, "an ice cream sundae!" 
     I landed squarely in my seat, welcomed by the bare-legged 
cocktail waitress's giggles. "Okay," she acknowledged, turning 
her scrutiny to me. "But have you been a good little boy?" 
     "Yes," I answered; and it was Margo who tittered now. 
     "Well, then, I guess you can have your ice cream, then," 
Margie surmised, blowing me a teasing kiss. 
     "And bring an ice-pack while we're waitin', kiddo," Margo 
instructed her, waving her sore fist back and forth, "my money- 
making mitt feels a bit swollen." 
     "Gotcha." 
     Margo grinned at the sauciness of our waitress, and waited 
until she had wiggle-vamped her way to the kitchen to deliver a 
final warning... 
     "Grab a hold of me, and hold on tight, slaveboy," this 
volatile tree-top-tall bodybuilder recommended with a sexy snarl, 
"it's gonna be a bumpy night!" 
     Somehow, I knew she wasn't kidding... 
 

 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                          Chapter 12:  
 
                 Margo Hits MuscleTown (cont'd.) 
 
 
     On Margo's orders, our rookie waitress eagerly skedaddled to 
the bar, and fetched a damp cloth. Upon returning, she tossed it 
at me, and I obediently began dabbing the glorious topography 
that was my mistress' sweaty right arm while we waited for our 
order to be filled. 
     "Geez, for once you're doin' something right, asshole," 
M'Lady Muscle proclaimed, shooting a quick glance down at my 
nervous ministrations before turning back to studiously scan the 
nightclub populace. 
     I was nearly complete when Margo stood, and her powerful 
bicep, pounding like a thick prize and wet with my attendant 
moisture, slid right through my hands... 
     "Sit tight, slave, and be a good boy," she commanded, as she 
tossed her thick mane back off her Ms. Olympian shoulders. "Enjoy 
your ice cream. Don't let some horny baby take advantage of you, 
and make Margie have to make a bad report back to me."  And I 
could tell that  her attention was already somewhere very far 
away. 
     "But, M'Lady, where are you g..." 
     "Shutup, littledick, and stay put. Fightin' always sets my 
cunt on fire, and it wants to fuck somethin' big, hard, and hairy 
real fast," she breathed.  "Looks like someone answering that 
description just walked in.  I think I got a date!" she surmised 
coolly, as though the idea was a rather pleasant surprise. 
     I watched her broad back ripple with metamorphic layers of 
muscularity, tapering from the Pacific Ocean width of her 
shoulders down to her tiny, Strait-of-Gibraltar waistline, before 
she stormed off into the gathering crowd.   
     From where I sat, I now caught shadowy glimpses of Barbara 
through the forest of nightclub movement.  Partially shielded by 
the bar's partition, I caught only snapshot glances of her, 
sipping an umbrella-drink daintily, her incredibly-bare legs 
kicking back and forth like a teenybopper; an effect reinforced 
by her wicked-schoolgirl skirt. 
     "Excuse me, mister," came a voice that had become edged with 
exasperation, and I realized that this was the third or fourth 
time she had called over to me... 
     A dark-haired, slightly-overaged woman sat in a couched 
booth some ten feet off to the right, beneath a soft baby- 
spotlight of misty red.  She was dressed in a low-cut blouse and 
a too-short skirt entirely inappropriate for a figure that could 
candidly be described as unathletic.  She went for a glamorous 
toss of hair that missed it's achieved effect, and the processed 
mane fell awkwardly over her glasses, blinding her.  A cigarette 
was locked between her fingers... 
     "Got a light?" she vamped, after she had re-arranged her 
locks. "I lost my lighter," she pouted dramatically, trying hard 
to be very seductive.  The fact that there were matchbooks in 
every ashtray didn't say alot for her creativity, but I obliged, 
half-afraid that any open flames might very well combust the 
half-pint of sickeningly-florid perfume she was wearing. 
     In the small light of the match, I saw that she was far from 
a kid; desperate for some male accompaniment, even if he was 
dressed like he was waiting for his mom to pick him up from his 
kindergarten class.  She thanked me, and I turned to slink back 
to my seat, hoping nobody noticed my bare-leggedness. 
     "Aw, where ya off to?" she mewed, all false disappointment.  
"Aren't you allowed to talk to big girls like me?" she asked.  
The irony of her question made me smile; obviously, she must've 
just entered the club herself, and hadn't seen who I was with. 
     "Let me buy you a drink," she winked, casually unbuttoning 
her blouse another three buttons, so that a braless pale bosom, 
sadly deflated and in obvious decline from it's ripest years, 
could leak into view on her chest. More than a mere flash of 
cleavage, it stopped just short of total exposure! 
     Subtlety, I supposed, was something she'd discarded after 
35.  However long ago that might have been... 
     "Why me?" I asked, trying, absurdly, to sound hard-boiled.   
     "I like your legs, that's why," she maintained.  I looked 
over my shoulder, unsure; looking for a way out. That was when 
her feet locked around mine, and she pulled me onto the thickly- 
padded velour beside her. 
     "You okay?" she asked, as though she hadn't been the cause 
of my tumble. "My name's Marlene," she revealed, smiling only 
now, after she'd caught her prey. "What'll ya have?" 
     I felt her hand voyage under the table, and up close her 
powder and perfume made my sinuses swell. "Hmmm, smooth," she 
approved, as her hand ran along my thigh. "I like that," she 
announced, as though her approval was all-important to me. 
     "I-that is w-we--my date and me--are on our way to a, a, a 
c-costume party!" I improvised, trying to explain my clothing as 
I simultaneously tried to pull away a bold hand that had no 
intention of ceasing it's explorations. 
     "A party, huh?" she cooed. "Feels like there's a party right 
under my hand," she whispered into my ear, as her palm softly 
coaxed a growing lump in my lap. "How 'bout you 'n me makin' 
bouncy-bouncy later on, little lover?" came a bold booze-breathed 
come-on past her painted lips. 
     Maybe it was the short pants, maybe it was something else 
that women sense somehow--the fact that I'd been put through the 
sexual wringer in the last few days, and tamed to docility--but 
she was adamant in her advances. My sudden success with women was 
something I'd have to figure out sometime, but not now.  If I was 
seen like this by either of the two "M" women...! 
     The fact that this was another "M" was little solace; I had 
to get away fast or... 
     "Hmmph. Seems like you're not only wearin' hot pants, 
slaveboy," waitress Margie announced, as she put Margo's order on 
her table, "but you've caught a first-class case of 'em, too!  
Wait'll I tell Margo..." she concluded with satisfaction. 
     That threat made me shoot up and over the objections of the 
over-the-hill hussy, and scamper over to the table. Margie 
smiled, adjusting the tops of her sinful stockings with a pull.  
     I couldn't help but notice that they ended a good three 
inches below the hemline of her naughty-nineties micro-skirt; it 
was heavily petticoated, billowing out in little flutters as she 
gave it a refreshing shake to remove any wrinkles. 
     "Better sit down and eat your ice cream, little boy," she 
corrected me, as though I was seven years old.  "That big girl 
was gonna try an' pull your pants down!" she explained, loud 
enough that the dark-haired divorcee heard her. 
     Margie sauntered away, and I watched her bestow an open- 
mouthed, casual kiss to a guy several tables away before a swing- 
hipped scurry took back towards the bar.  The place was getting 
crowded, and she vanished in the masses. 
     Contenting myself with my banana split, I avoided the fiery 
glances of the brunette.  I was halfway through spooning the 
stuff away when a high-pitched squeal shot past me. 
     "Marlenie, Marlenie, I can't fuckin' believe it! I can't 
fuckin' believe it!" she insisted over and over to the her 
friend, the divorcee whose clutches I'd just escaped. It was then 
that I remembered these two; the iced-tea tag team from the beach 
last Sunday, still on the prowl.  It was the blonde who'd dropped 
her drink at the sight of Margo's entrance into the nightclub, as 
she stood waiting for her counterpart to arrive. 
     I guess she made a habit of dropping things... 
     "In the ladies' room, holy shit, ya gotta see!" 
     It took nearly a minute to calm her friend down. 
     "Nancy, what?" she urged her, until finally her little 
blonde tit-mouse companion regained some semblance of composure. 
     "I was fixin' my make-up, y'know?" she asked, loudly. "This 
real big, I mean huge, guy comes right in with this friggin' 
gigantic blonde muscle-bitch--the one I told you that I saw walk 
in a little while ago.  All the girls let out a scream and run 
out, but I freeze, y'know?  So he rips open a door to one of the 
stalls and grabs this chick by the hair and pulls her right off 
the throne!" 
     "Holy shit!" Marlene acknowledged. 
     Nancy nodded; her own glasses sliding down her nose. 
     Somehow, I knew who they were talking about... 
     "So she falls on the floor with her skirt around her waist 
and her fucking panties around her ankles. I coulda died 
laughin'! So these two animals go into the stall, and jeez, 
Marlene, I swear they start fuckin' right on the toilet!" 
     "Get out!" Marlene swore back, feigning disbelief, but 
hoping for all the world that it was true. 
     "I swear ta God, Marlenie," she attested again, her eyes 
bright with excitement, putting a hand over her slim breast in 
solemn oath.  "They didn't even close the door. Stripped off all 
their clothes and started goin' at it like crazy. They're gonna 
break the goddamn toilet, that's for sure," she resolved.  "You 
can hear her moanin' and screamin' all the way outside, the 
fuckin' slut!" 
     "This I gotta see!" the brunette replied. 
     The two biddies rose, straightened their short skirts and 
made for the toilets, the little blonde leading the way. I lost 
sight of them as they past behind me, but out of the corner of my 
eye I saw the peroxided one pause near my table, squint at me, 
and announce loudly, "Hey, Marlenie, this is the guy she came in 
with!"  I wheeled around in my chair, and saw my spurned 
brunette... 
     "Hey, Mister Legs," Marlene sneered, all attempts at forced 
charm gone now, the harshness that accounted for her sustained 
singlehood showing their true colors, "don't look now, but your 
date's gettin' laid in the ladies' loo! You gonna do somethin' 
about it, or you gonna cry in your ice cream?" 
     They laughed, and, ashamed, I looked down into my dish, 
where a cherry syrup stream was winding it's way around a vanilla 
hill.  A moment later, the smell of powder and perfume suddenly 
very strong again, a hand gave my head a hasty shove down into 
the sweet goo before me.  Dunked into my own dessert, my face 
arose painted a clownish Carvel white, dripping heavily; laughter 
fading as the two old maids scampered away. 
     "That's what you get, slaveboy," I heard; and there was 
Margie standing over me.  She tossed another damp cloth onto my 
face, before jiggling away. 
     I re-arranged my melted ice-cream, closing myself off from 
the inquisitive world around me.  Periodically, I received 
updates in the form of overheard gossip from the crowd around me; 
Margo was mounting him atop the porcelain, now he her, and she 
was screaming his name over and over while thrusting and bucking 
her powerful hips wildly.  Now another woman was reporting first- 
hand that a naked giantess was sucking the thick cock of her male 
friend, hungrily swallowing the freshly-pumped white juices whose 
excesses ran in streams out her mouth, down her chin, and 
dripping heavily in Mississippi streams down onto her large bare 
breasts, upon her powerful thighs, and onto the cold floor below. 
     I could see the whole encounter in my mind's eye, the 
porcelain throne made tiny as the brown impossibility that was 
M'Lady's body bucked and thrashed below her lover, her blonde 
hair thrashing about like golden wheat in a windstorm.  I could 
see his rigid torpedo slam away commandingly at her pink pussy, 
the large clitoris rubbing itself raw against the invading slab 
of veined meat as her cunt opened wide, wider, swallowing it's 
treat.  I could see them, the sun's kiss of mahogany approval 
authorizing this ultra-huge coupling on a ladies's room toilet.  
     Yes, I could see them; Margo's rippling attributes meekly 
offered to a theoretical man who had caught her eye; and I 
wondered about the sweet syrup her vitals produced so freely, and 
whether he was tasting it even now, too.  And I saw Margo, her 
hips bucking as his mouth tasted her gushing sex, smiling, 
laughing, glorying in the absolute wickedness of it all, and 
knowing that she had a guy eating ice cream outside, holding his 
breath until she returned to him. 
     It was half an hour later when I saw a blonde head tower 
over the crowd that had assembled on the dance floor.  All 
musical strutting stopped though, and they pulled back to reveal 
a muscular Lady Moses parting the human seas.  Margo's hair was 
tied into a haphazard bun, and I could tell that her makeup had 
been re-applied.  There was no sign of her enameled paramour. 
     Bowing to the applause of the men, ignoring the disdain of 
the women, Margo did a quick flex and ultra-big pose that brought 
a roar from the appreciative throng.  Motioning the partyers to 
carry on as they were, she made a bee-line for me as she 
continued re-fastening the last buttons and zippers of her 
outfit. 
     Glowing sinfully, unashamed of her rest-room reconnoiter, 
she took her seat next to me, beaming like a honeymoon bride.  
     People pointed at her from behind cupped hands, only adding 
to her enjoyment of the naughty encounter. 
     "Was your ice cream good, slave?" she asked, stretching her 
thick muscularity, and yawning.  I nodded, and she smiled... 
     "I just had a great time," she guaranteed me. "Fucked the 
shit out of a guy, and he fucked the shit out of me. Pretty good 
deal, don't you think, slave?" she demanded, searching my face 
for the least objection while she rubbed down the topographical 
Atlas-sized bookends that were her shoulders.  "Sure was funny 
just now," she added.  "When we finally finished fuckin' away, we 
let the women back in to use the bathroom. They were all lined up 
outside, waiting in their little minis, just desperate-as-you- 
please to take a tinkle. I haven't seen so many dancing babes 
since I went to Radio City Music Hall and saw the Rockettes!" 
     Margo laughed at her own jokes, her big and nearly-bare 
bosom bouncing. 
     "Yeah," she reminisced again, after I still hadn't responded 
to her question, "sure feels good to have cold porcelain under 
your butt while somebody helps themselves to your privates.  But 
you already know about that, don't you, my slave?  That is, 
thanks to me..."   The huge lady warden of my heart leered down 
at me and snickered at that reminiscence for just a moment, 
before planting a motherly kiss on my forehead. 
     "Aren't I awful?  A cuntful of cum and I go all gooey, don't 
I?" she queried.  Downing her large glass of cognac, the muscle- 
packed maiden tossed back her hair and announced her plans for 
us... 
     "We're leaving, slave. Up on your feet." 
     I stood quickly, grateful for my release from this 
surrealistic experience.  But when I pulled myself upright, I was 
met with a taunting whisper floating into my ear... 
     "But first there's somebody I want you to meet..." 
 
     Even the crowd seemed to know what was happening, even 
though there was no way they could.  Parting like passworded 
sentinels, a path was cleared for us to walk.  I felt amused and 
inquisitive glances at this role-reversed odd-couple, and I 
simply studied the floor beneath my feet, to once again avoid the 
shame I had brought down upon my self.  But even then, I saw my 
own absurd garb, my childish knee socks, my brown-and-white 
Buster Browns, and I hated my own weakness at having allowed my 
fetish for muscular women to reduce me to these humiliations.  
Resolved, I numbed myself to what was coming as best I could. 
     We stopped at the dark bar near the rest rooms, where a 
residual few miniskirts dared to give Margo a dirty look for her 
recent conversion of the powder room into a porcelain motel. 
     But not a one dared say a word, and their ladylike "hmmphs", 
disapproving noses in the air, did nothing but amuse her. 
     "We can't leave without saying hello to friends, slaveboy," 
Margo said, scanning the long bartop.  "It'd be rude." 
     We stepped behind a high partition that separated this part 
of the bar from the drink tables behind it.  My eyesight isn't 
very good, but I saw her first.  Maybe it was the fact that I had 
once been intimate with her, and had known her fairly well, that 
I recognized the small movements and motions that identify us all 
so well.  Whatever the reason, there she was; standing with her 
back to the bar, one foot on the polished bar-rail, tossing back 
her hair like a coolly-seasoned call girl. 
     If an outfit could get shorter--or tighter--I didn't know 
how, but the buxom wearer was clearly enjoying the attentive 
glances of men as they passed her by, and her gaze followed them 
as they walked past her.  For there were two drinks on the bar- 
top, two chairs placed closely together, and a large cigar 
burning in the ashtray; clear signs that the bare-thighed babe 
was not alone, and wherever her escort was, he was not gone long, 
and had not gone far... 
     But an insensitive--and unlucky--oaf tried his luck anyway. 
I got the impression that she'd dealt with him earlier, no doubt 
before her date had finally arrived.  She looked away in disgust, 
but the stooge came in close, breathing booze that further 
repulsed her.  He was shorter than she, and his gait was 
unsteady, and it looked as though he was ready to fall.  But he 
was about to be aided in reaching that particular destination... 
     But my busty Barbara took charge.  Heaving her imposing 
bosom and straightening up, she gave the guy a shove that 
propelled him several feet backwards.  He should've retreated 
then and there, but he didn't.  Like a punchdrunk fighter that 
won't go down, he wandered in towards her again.  And Barbara 
responded. Big time... 
     She stiff-armed him, grabbing a hold of his imitation disco- 
silk shirt by the collar. A hard look came over her face, and as 
she read him the riot act with a few four-letter words I couldn't 
quite make out, I was sure I saw... 
     Could it be? 
     Barbara's arm was sporting some newly-won muscle; a mound of 
considerable bicep was taut and flexed, ready to uncoil it's 
newfound wrath.  Was this the same exercise-o-phobic who never 
said anything more malevolent than "Goodness Gracious" ? 
     Why not?  Until tonight, I'd never seen her wear anything 
more revealing than a mid-calf skirt, either... 
     Finished with her scarlet-tinged oratory, she seemed ready 
to let go of her prey. He had gone suddenly sheepish, trying to 
back away with rubbery legs and feet that slid under him as 
though he was standing on ice.  He couldn't move, locked as his 
shirt was in the hand of this hot-blooded schoolmarm.  So the 
schoolmarm decided to have some fun. 
     "Remember this, pencil-dick, the next time you piss-off 
somebody stronger than you are!" she declared.  She tossed a 
shank of her blonde mane off her face with a twist of her neck, 
as though wanting to look just so before delivering the blow. 
     She wound up, and with her right arm belted him so hard 
across the face that I thought her fist would smash straight 
through the waxen flesh, clear to the bone.  Blood sprayed up, 
and he fell down upon the floor at her spike-heeled feet.  
     But that wasn't good enough, not for this brand-new 
powerhouse princess.  Bending low, she grabbed him by the belt; 
her back was to me, and I clearly saw two perfect buttocks 
emerge, creeping out from below the high hemline of her micro- 
kilt.  The pink globes were divided only by a thin black vertical 
strip.  Evidently, her new sense of fashion-flash extended to 
underwear as well... 
     Now she looked as though she was seeking retribution for any 
man who might have ever hassled her, as though the collection 
aggravations were now about to be avenged.  Looking down at her 
victim, her suddenly-beautiful face was knit in anger;  her teeth 
were clenched, looking lethal and shining white, framed by her 
too-red lipstick. A couple of barflies not interested in the 
growing throng of nightclubbers on the dance floor stood around, 
fascinated at the flashy blonde bending low in that tiny skirt. 
     "What are you looking at, you, you..." It seemed as though 
Barbara was trying to think of the word... 
     "Assholes!" Margo coached her from twenty feet away. 
     "Yeah, assholes!" Barbara reiterated, and something about 
the way she said it made it sound like the first time she had. 
     The beer-bellied duo scrambled for the corner stools, where 
it was safe... 
     Barbara didn't know who her peanut gallery was, and didn't 
have time for us yet.  Because, still holding the guy by the 
belt, she let out a grunt, lifted him from the floor, and hoisted 
the astonished victim over her head with one hand!  She struggled 
for balance in those bad-girl high-heels, but found it soon 
enough. 
 
     Instantly, I was reminded of Margo's display last Sunday on 
the beach, when she halted the bullying tactics of a mean 
husband.  Somehow, Barbara had developed an aggressiveness--to 
say nothing of strength--that defied understanding.  But somehow, 
I knew that a certain seven-feet-in-heels Amazon Dominatrix had 
something to do with it... 
     The poor guy had long since paid for his presumptions, but 
the bleached-blonde schoolmarm had other ideas. 
     "Do you know how to fly, mister?" she asked him, craning her 
neck up at the man, who struggled like a fly caught in the web of 
a black widow spider. 
     "Wha-what? No, I c-can't!" he pleaded, as his feet shook, 
limply... 
     "Too bad. Well, don't worry, because I'm a teacher," she 
assured him. And it was then that she treated him like a one- 
hundred-and-seventy-pound shotput... 
     He rocketed improbably over the barricade, through the 
darkness.  He must have landed on a table, because I distinctly 
heard glass breaking, and the general scuffle of overturned 
chairs.  Then, there was silence. 
 
     "Hey, Barbie-babes!" Margo called out to her, waving. 
     My former girlfriend turned excitedly, her schoolmarm 
innocence suddenly prevailing through both her scarlet finery and 
sizzling vengeance.  Waving back, I was struck by the out-of- 
nowhere muscular development in her arms and shoulders.  Though 
nowhere near Margo's or Dr. Deanna's, Barbara could have stepped 
onto a stage and competed as a Ms. Fitness competitor that very 
moment, and won.  That I hadn't noticed it earlier I could only 
attribute to my general distraction at the wrist-wrestling table. 
     Barbara motioned for us to come closer, even as a busboy 
scurried past us, no doubt to aid the punished drunk. 
     I wondered if the same treatment was in store for me... 
     I didn't know how much Barbara knew about what had happened 
to me, but I had a good guess that Margo hadn't considered my 
feelings too much. As we walked closer, I tried to veer off, 
behind my captor, but she wouldn't have it.  I was shoved 
forwards, and I stumbled on the wet floor, landing inches from a 
pair of four-inch-heeled fuck-me shoes.  I looked up. 
     Barbara stood leaning on one bare leg, extending the other 
as though in sultry, sneering presentation.  With her recently- 
enlarged arms folded across her overflowing cups, she looked down 
and smiled, only a bit nostalgic. 
     "You always were so anxious to put me on a pedestal, weren't 
you?" was all the d-cupped debutante said.  Margo stepped up from 
behind, and lifted me to my feet. 
     "You did good just now, Barbie. Real good," she assessed. 
     "Thanks, Margo. And thanks for, you know, everything," she 
added, passing a hand over her new outfit, smiling awkwardly; 
suddenly as self-conscious as a schoolgirl. 
     "Don't thank me, girlfriend. You deserve a little fun. For 
once," she appended, taking a cloaked shot at my manhood again. 
"Well, I'll leave you two to reminisce," Margo sighed, and her 
great bulk vanished behind the partition. 
     My heart pounded as Barbara stepped forward, proud to thrust 
her big boobs at me, relishing their freedom-to-flash, and their 
escape from the oppression of the short man standing near them.  
Barbara seemed to be confronting me with a "see how wicked I can 
be?" stance... 
     "You should've told me about your taste in women," my ex 
announced flirtatiously, as she sipped on her drink through a 
straw. "That way you wouldn't have wasted my time for so long." 
     I was going to interject that she should've told ME about 
her taste in the opposite sex herself, and saved me about two 
thousand dollars in American Express charges at restaurants. 
     But I never got the chance... 
     "Don't worry about it though," she reassured me, stirring 
her drink with the straw, then lifting it to a little waiting 
pink tongue. She ran the tongue tauntingly along her lips, 
shivering with the pleasure of it all, quite dramatically. 
     "...cause your new girlfriend's taken care of everything," 
came her perfunctory guarantee. If I knew Margo, she had, too... 
     And her eyes of the micro-mini'd lady held the promise of 
excitement looming on the evening's horizon as she daintily 
pulled on the silly straw again. 
     "I-I like your hair that color, Barb," I complimented her. 
     She straightened. I would like to have thought it was my 
silver words that did it, but no.  Her gaze lasered right through 
me, off into the distance. 
     "You do, huh?" was all I got in reply. 
     "Yeah, sure, Barb. It's a nice change, really it is, and..." 
     But she wasn't even looking my way, searching the busy bar 
of talking heads and bent elbows amidst the smoke... 
     "Yeah, I understand Margo's changed some of YOUR hair, too," 
she declared, disinterested in my humiliation; merely offering 
the comment off-handedly as her painted eyes glanced upon my 
covered loins.  "Why don't you go find her, little boy?" she 
offered, standing on tip toe to peer around the heads of the 
assemblage.  
     "But, Barbara, I just wanted to..." 
     She reached out and stiff-armed me out of her way; I nearly 
fell over again, shoved by an Amazon-in-Training. 
     "Get out of my way, little man," she coldly intoned, as 
though she might have been angry had I not been so insubstantial, 
so insignificant a character in her life now. 
     I watched her do a vicious strut, hips swinging in hookerish 
overstatement, her naked legs taking long, look-at-me strides.  
She found her target, and melted into the arms of a man who was 
faceless to me.  Looking up at him, her painted mouth was already 
half-open, upturned for his taking, her pink tongue wiggling like 
a snake.  He quenched her open mouth with his own, and she melted 
into him. 
     One leg bent up at the knee, upraised off the floor; and her 
high heeled foot began to idly rotate at the ankle, fueled by the 
fumes of pleasure.  Her too-short skirt betrayed her dignity, and 
a flash of pink buttock was easily visible.  If she knew it, she 
didn't seem to care. 
     Passers-by glanced with envy over their shoulders, and, 
defeated, I looked away.  Trudging downcast back to Margo, I was 
met by her harsh face, full of victorious smiles... 
     "Whatsamatter, slaveboy?" she pretended to sympathize. 
"Barbara didn't want to play with you?" she asked.  Her massive 
breasts heaved with merriment, and her powerball-biceps crackled. 
     "Don't feel so bad, my little schmo.  Love's in the air, 
after all.  Look at them go," she sighed, in a kids-will-be-kids 
way, as she glanced over at Barbara and her new beau. 
     But I didn't. 
     "M'Lady, I don't feel well," I offered, hoping to be spared 
any more humiliation.  My head spun. 
     "What's that?  Ate too much ice cream, and now your tummy's 
all upset, right?" 
     I nodded, feigning that her diagnosis was correct.  My hands 
went to my stomach, when in fact my injury lay to the north, in 
the center of my chest. 
     "Well, I'll have to take you home then, won't I, and 
prescribe a bit of muscle-medicine. Wouldn't that be nice?" she 
asked, soothingly, her voice going sultry even as a mountainous 
bicep leapt into three-dimensional glee on her arm. 
     "Let's split," she ordered, and placing my hand in her arm 
once again, we headed for the door. 
     Margo was saying her goodnights at the door, when she 
whispered to me, "Go over and say goodnight to your ex-lady, 
slaveboy. And make it snappy." 
     I looked up to her hoping she was kidding. 
     She wasn't. The hard delighted glint in her eye told me 
that... 
     Slowly, looking down at my Buster Browns and losing myself 
in the paisley pattern of the carpet, I inched my way back to 
where the couple stood, hotly bumping-and-grinding in each 
other's arms like splendid animals.  The music's volume suddenly 
increased as I came near; the tune was primal, full of bassy 
rhythm, and I saw Barbara's hips writhe and her buttocks wiggle 
to the beat. 
     Trying to place my feelings, my mind, someplace very far 
away, I shouted to be heard... 
     Barbara broke off her wet kiss full of tongue and shot me a 
look of pure death, her sparkling eyes flashing hatred for me. 
     After saying something to her man, he walked away quickly, 
and she turned to me. 
     If I thought she was going to talk about the weather, when 
she'd practically obliterated me from her memory five minutes 
earlier, I was wrong.  Instead, she stood facing me, her hands on 
her hips, the newfound musculature flashing in the disco lights 
that orbited the place every few seconds. 
     As though this was all a part of some sick stage treatment, 
the music suddenly ended. The background of voices and clinking 
glasses stopped as well, and I looked around at a crowded 
nightclub that moments ago was going at full blast, in full- 
decibelled life, that had now fallen utterly silent. 
     And everyone, but everyone, heard what was said now... 
     "What the hell is your problem, little man?" inquired micro- 
mini'd Barbara, and her eyes were like living coals, burning a 
hole in me as I stood before her.  I wanted to quiet her somehow, 
but did not know how to approach that problem. Placing her hands 
on her hips, she inhaled, inflating her large shapely frame; and 
freshly-burgeoning muscularity was somehow evident upon her arms, 
to a degree I had never seen before.  Such a transformation did 
not seem possible, but there it was... 
     "Don't you get it, you little idiot?" she demanded, lifting 
her big bosom high.  "I've graduated from little pencil dicks 
like you. I wanna get laid by somebody who uses his cock for 
something besides a friend for his fist, comprendez? Or do I have 
to spell it out for you even further?" she spat.  Her voice was 
raised, and people around the club were snickering audibly. 
     "I want you to go away, you scrawny little moron, so I can 
get fucked without bein' disturbed, okay?" she hollered... 
     This couldn't be the Barbara I had known! Barbara the meek, 
the quiet, the ladylike!  Surely, Margo had to have influenced 
her somehow, in some way. But how? How had she turned her into 
this blonde, foul-mouthed she-beast? 
     "Look at you," my former girlfriend spat with contempt. "I 
can break you in half before breakfast.  And you thought I wanted 
YOU? Don't make me fuckin' laugh! You with your little pencil 
dick and scrawny little-boy physique!" she chortled; and like a 
Greek chorus, a smattering of laughter swelled up from the crowd. 
     Redfaced, I began backing away, but she would not permit it. 
     "Oh, no, you don't," she corrected me, stepping forward and 
grabbing me by the wrist.  "You're gonna stay and take what's 
comin' to ya once and for all, asshole," she growled; and 
Barbara's grip was now like a vise... 
     "This is what you get for wastin' my time, little-dick," she 
decreed, as she sat down upon a table-top and took me with her. 
     A strong arm went around my back, clamping me onto her bare- 
legged lap, and a hand undid my shorts. Quickly, they became a 
permanent-press knot around my knees.  Female whoops and hoots 
went up from the crowd, and I felt the cool air brush against my 
exposed haunches. 
     And seconds later the sounds of cracking flesh, and a female 
hand repeatedly assaulting a sore pair of buttocks, filled the 
room.  I yelled, I pleaded, I begged, I sobbed. 
     And Barbara laughed. 
 
     When at last it was over, I was tossed to the sticky floor. 
I watched Barbara strut boldly back to her lover as I hastily 
struggled to my feet and pulled up my pants, and felt my throat 
tighten at the sight of her wiggling hips putting more distance 
between us with every step.  This voracious, sexually predatory 
creature had been lurking just beneath her sensible tweed skirts 
all the time, and I had been unable to coax her to the surface.  
     I had failed. 
     Marlene and Nancy were hovering a mere ten feet away, and 
took the opportunity to draw near, laugh, and slip two crisp $5 
bills down the front of my shorts... 
     "Thanks for the show, little man," Nancy sneered, and the 
two melted into the freshly-grown crowd at the bar. 
     Margo, bursting to contain a gale of laughter, came near, 
collected her slave-lover, and rustled him out the door to the 
sounds of applause from some disgruntled females in the crowd.  
     I had been roundly humiliated in full view and ear of the 
entire nightclub population, and for the first time in my short 
stay under her, Margo did not look so much beautiful to me, as 
cruel. 
     On the way out, Ginger the Bouncer gave me a wink and a 
playful swat on my already-sore behind that made me wince. 
     "Come back anytime, little man," she snickered... 
     Then the door closed behind us, and we were out in the 
chilled night air, with only an audience of parked cars, their 
headlights staring like so many pairs of thick glasses. 
     My feet stumbled as they tried a quick-step-march in order 
to keep pace with M'Lady's omnivorous strides to the waiting 
Cadillac, and I remained standing afoot only because of the vise- 
like grip that that six-foot-ten-in-spiked-heels Amazon had on my 
slender wrist. 
 

 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
 
                       Chapter Thirteen:  
 
                  Walking into Doctor Wonderful 
 
 
     On our way back, we passed row after row of parked cars, 
their owners busy inside the nightclub, all no doubt furiously 
speculating about the odd couple who had just made their exit. 
     The crickets were still chirping, too, and at that point in 
my degradation I was sure that if I spoke "cricket" I would have 
heard the insectoid equivalent of derogatory gossip about me. And 
amidst return choruses from the bordering woods, more untranslat- 
able laughter hot-wired the news through the night. 
     I did not look forward to sitting down upon the leather 
seating in M'Lady Muscle's car, as you, the reader, can no doubt 
imagine.  My posterior had become such an oft-assailed target for 
these authoritative women that it positively pounded with red- 
stripes of pain, a pain only magnified by the long, hopping 
strides I was forced to take in order to keep up with the 
gigantically-tall woman around whose bulky-rock bicep my hand now 
resided on high. 
     How was her skin so warm, no, so positively hot in this cool 
night air?  The feel of her flesh was as though she'd just 
stepped off a red-hot beachworks!  Looking over, I watched her 
prodigiously overgrown breasts slosh aquatically in their tiny 
hammock-top, this way and that, with every bold step she 
devoured. 
     As we approached the vehicle, Margo handed me a set of keys, 
fully expecting me to do my duty, and I did.  Whereupon, she slid 
into the car, took the keys, and slammed the door. 
      Quicker than I could move, the big Caddy came to life, the 
lights opening alertly, brightly, the lionesque engine growling 
chestily, revving in place.  Margo looked up at me as I stood 
dumbly outside her door, her eyes twinkling demonically.  The 
window suddenly lowered, sinking into its place within the door, 
as she delivered the final decree of punishment... 
     "Get home on yer own, my little short-pantsed schmo.  I'll 
be waitin' for ya, bare-ass naked," she taunted, "pumped, oiled, 
'n ready for fuckin'".  She made that pledge with such lustiness 
that it set electric sparks to sizzle in my chest, despite the 
pain in my pants and the rancor of this fresh bit of cruelty.  
     "So hurry home, sailor boy!" was her final sneering command, 
as she produced that insurmountable mahogany-muscular growth she 
had slabbed on her arm, that text books called a bicep, but I 
called a hot mountain of womanhood, a harbor, a shelter, a 
punishment.  Snagging the tiny strap of her t-back top between 
her fingers, she slid the thin cloth down her broad shoulder, 
wiggled it's thick muscularity, and blew me a red-lipped kiss, 
tagging it with a flash of pink tongue. 
     "See anything you like?" she goaded in a girlish tone, 
knowing that the prize she was flexing was my own very special 
brand of sweet candy. 
     And then, amidst the malodorous purple plume of burning 
rubber, the big Caddy bolted from it's corral, and injected 
itself into the vein of black night. 
     I stood listening to the fading song of the big V-8 until it 
was gone, carefully trying to catch the last flashes of that 
ominous coupe and it's irresistible driver as it roared further 
and further into the distance, noting where it made it's final 
turn before disappearing, the better to find my way home. 
     For only one thing was sure; I had no idea where I was.  All 
was silent except for the crickets, and the faraway sounds of 
activity and all-but-undetectable music within the club. 
     Penniless by her decree, I had no alternative but to somehow 
find my way back to Margo's home on foot through the night-washed 
streets, determined to stay within the shadows and thus spare 
myself the added shame of being sighted by any passing pedestrian 
in my absurdist little-boy outfit. 
     Careful to remain cloaked in the various bushes of the 
adjoining woods, I began my journey, darting from one clump of 
thorny growth to another; but I had gone only a few yards when an 
arrow, shot by some sadistic perversion of Cupid, pierced my 
narrow chest and lodged deeply in my aorta, deflating my lungs, 
and crushing what little remained of my spirit... 
     This wound took the form of Barbara, the newly-blonde, 
freshly-built, and very busty Barbara, sauntering out of the club 
with her very tall date, a man who I will only refer to as The 
Jock.  To this day, he is faceless to me, so tightly were my eyes 
glued to the statuesque and freshly emancipated woman I had hoped 
to one day present to my parents back east, and hopefully, marry.  
     Now she was a micro-mini-wearing tank-topped harlot, lush of 
thigh and breast, and anxious to show them; her arm around the 
lower back of her Herculean escort, and tossing a new headful of 
blonde hair casually off her face, and laughing at some obscene 
witticism he had just whispered in her ear.  Her bare-legged, 
high-heeled strides were long, slow, and sensual; and when his 
hand strayed from her tiny waist to come to rest upon her left 
buttock, she only smiled wickedly, languorously, up at him, and 
leaned her lush breasts against his side, her head tilted for 
support against his chest. 
     I shrank back into the woods, letting nightshadow save me 
some small measure of dignity.  But I could not tear my gaze away 
from this masochistic sight... 
     Now they wound their way around the darkened low-built 
building, to the far end of a row of parked cars, and I crept 
along, reversing my course until I was soon crouching mere feet 
from where Margo's car had been parked, taking refuge behind the 
back of a weathered pick-up truck.  
     Looking down to check my footing in the darkness for only a 
second, when I next peered around the rusty fender, I saw that 
the new couple had paused in their travels some thirty feet away 
from where I now hid. 
     Whoever had instigated this interruption I could only guess; 
but, in the illumination afforded only by the subtle afterglow 
from a faraway streetlight, I could see that Barbara had pinned 
herself against the man, who in turn was leaning against the 
stucco wall of the nightclub.  Her hands went beneath his coat, 
reaching high and beseechingly for him, in submission, coming to 
rest upon his wide chest, and rubbing small playful circles 
there.  I saw her head nod ardently in affirmation to something 
he must have said, the blonde ocean bobbing upon her head. 
     A moment later, this statuesque and newly-muscled 
schoolmarm--who had just belittled me moments before, raining 
down her verbal contempt upon my head and promptly lowering my 
shorts to my knees and spanking me in front of the wide-eyed 
habitants of the nightclub--let loose a soft, high-school-girl 
giggle of self-aware cuteness. 
     The Jock knew women; and knew what this little sex bunny was 
looking for, and bestowed it upon her, leaning down to kiss her 
hard enough to make her moan from somewhere deep in her throat.  
The little slut-kitten sounds carried on the still night air, 
piercing the crickets' song, and silencing the insistent insects. 
     My head began to pound, reality knocking on portions of my 
brain I had unconsciously closed-off during this strangest of all 
interludes in my life, and a nerve-grinding headache began to 
settle in somewhere within my temporal lobe, kicking at my eyes 
with mulish determination, and obliterating my ongoing denial of 
where I was, and what I'd become... 
     Soon she began rocking and bucking against him gently, 
desperate for more serious intimacies to commence as they 
continued to kiss, pausing only to murmur four-letter promises 
into each other's ears while her hands explored his torso.   
     Her skintight hooker-skirt rode up her hips, partly baring 
her tawny buttocks, the pert little globes perfectly defiant of 
gravity and shapely as a young teen's, and she made no effort to 
stop it.  And when the narrow belt around her waist caught his 
own during one of her ardent little puppy-leaps up at him, the 
skirt deserted it's post altogether, remaining affixed there long 
enough for her hourglass curves to slide cleanly and neatly out 
of the tiny kilt, until it became a colorful, ridiculous 
waistband 'round her middle, and no more. 
     But she did not care.  The coupling continued, and Barbara, 
teased to the brink of orgasmic delights now, and using the 
lapels of his sport coat for balance, began shamelessly thrust- 
and-grinding her tiny-pantied-crotch upwards at his own,  
electrifying her barely-hidden privates with each contact 
achieved with their target; namely, the prominent lump in his 
slacks.  
     If that Bizarro-World Cupid had indeed pierced my heart with 
some malevolent arrow, then that invisible missile must have 
nicked some unseen faucet within me, for presently my vision 
became blurry, then moist.  My cheeks were soon dampened as well, 
and I would have claimed, if found there, that it was only the 
evening's chill that had caused the streams to course from my 
eyes and down my face, but it was not... 
     Now she began grunting through clenched teeth her admission 
of needful weak-kneed fervor for this New Man In Her Life, and 
like a seasoned stripper, her hips continued to thrust themselves 
in time with the heart beating wildly now, beneath her deeply 
bobbing d-cups.   
     I watched those toned and creamy buttocks go through their 
hot-blooded paces with an abhorrence, perhaps; but one that was 
slowly beginning to mutate within my gut into something else, 
something darker... 
     In the rising moonlight, little dimples would appear in her 
motorized asscheeks as she clenched them, thrust herself up at 
him, then lowered herself, only then releasing the tensed muscles 
of her behind, the flex-dimples momentarily fading, before 
reappearing  again an eyeblink later. 
     On it went, like some obscene high-speed aerobic routine; 
clench, thrust, lower, release and soften; clench, thrust, lower, 
release, and soften, as she rocked in her high heels and launched 
herself on tip-toe, fairly bouncing off his boastful bulge as it 
began to propel forwards now, in time with her own gyrations.   
     A girlish cry of exertion would sometimes punctuate a 
particularly difficult hip-thrust, as her leg muscles grew 
fatigued.  But they were offset by the satisfied half-swallowed 
meows she emitted as the erratic probings of her pussy found an 
especially-satisfying site on his pulsing log, where her shy 
little clit, now undoubtedly engorged and hungry beneath the thin 
black satin, caught and scraping lightly upon the rocky cock 
waiting for it beneath the cloth. 
     In the distance, there was the sound of joyful exit from the 
nightclub entrance, as the group of spandexed maidens said their 
final goodbyes.  I turned to look only for the second it took for 
him to reach for her insolent dancing bottom with two very large 
hands, tear off the flimsy g-string now buried deep within her 
crevices, and pull the panting woman up to him. 
     The kisses turned almost hurtful now, frantic; and he 
powerfully squeezed her buttcheeks like a pair of soft pink 
marshmallows in his gorilla-like paws, the fingers digging deep 
into the soft flesh.  Barbara's low female moans became 
accentuated as he jerked her hard against his torso and the 
breath was pounded out of her lungs.  The Jock was manipulating 
her wicked hiney like a puppeteer, and she tossed back her head 
and lost herself in the scandalous pleasure of it all. 
     That this timid woman could suddenly blossom so brassily 
into a flashy, busty, man-hungry bargirl was one thing; but this 
behavior was positively unnatural for her, even blatantly 
sluttish!  Something was wrong; this just couldn't be the same 
person. 
     ...Could it? 
     There was never any serious thought on my part to 
interrupting this encounter; my clothing alone precluded that 
possibility, and, combined with the fact that her new man weighed 
more than twice what I did, made spectatorship the only sensible 
alternative.  Besides, to what end would I even try to interfere? 
     Barbara did not want me now, if she ever had.  Margo had 
taken her in hand, shown her where the fun lay for her, dressed 
her up flashily, and had just about delivered on her promise to 
get her soundly screwed with the man of her dreams. 
     The same robust young woman who had so easily reduced me to 
humility and shame over her knee in the club was now putty in 
another man's hands.  One thing, I knew, was for sure: I had been 
doing something wrong... 
     Having therefore removed any final traces of emotional 
involvement for me was a strange but sweet release, and I began 
to take a twisted pleasure in watching these two animals in their 
sexual pas-de-deux, their Prelude to A Fuck... 
     Amidst the flurry of hair-tossing breathless activity, a 
pair of long-taloned nails painted a fiery red began digging into 
the waistband of his pants, began undoing his belt, probing 
deeply within the unseen confines within.  Her gaze went south; 
for moments, her shaking hand rummaged busily, until moments 
later, a satisfied yet frantic mew came from her lips as her 
search hit paydirt.  I consoled myself that if she had to search 
that long, he couldn't be very well endowed; but that was small 
solace indeed... 
     An interruption to this blacktop tryst came only when a 
large minivan pulled almost soundlessly into the lot, carelessly 
running it's roadway high-beams; and like two after-hours sex 
felons, two streams of yellowy light converged upon them and 
caught the heaving duo, indicting them on the spot, cooling their 
passions as effectively as a bucket of ice water. 
     I caught their open-mouthed expressions of trepidation, 
Barbara's was full of a runaway strand of her newly-blonde hair 
that she spluttered at, even as he released his top-heavy, bare- 
bottomed package onto her high-heeled feet.  She wobbled, shaking 
like a bottomless table dancer for a sweet second before falling 
out of my view to the grass below. 
     Her apish date was busy tucking-and-zipping, and I couldn't 
help but notice the large irregular stain on the fly of his 
light-colored slacks, created by Barbara's wet sloppy-pussy ride 
against his crotch. 
     The van passed them, hooting vulgar encouragement to their 
aborted couplings; when she re-emerged into view the light had 
faded, the vehicle merging, well past them, into a long row of 
stilled sedans. 
     The recuperated couple laughed their x-rated delight at the 
whole thing, embraced briefly, exchanged a quick kiss full of 
snakish tongue, and began jogging right towards me!   
     Barbara took hurried but tiny baby-steps of almost 
cartoonish daintiness as she tried to keep up with her new beau, 
and as he took her wrist the micro-miniskirted president of the 
local Emily Dickinson Poetry Club was propelled forwards like a 
drunken ballerina in a bottom-baring tutu, and I only then 
realized how much this wordless tableau was a mirror image of the 
unsteady shuffle I had just performed with my muscular mistress, 
now safely home, having left her servant to fend for himself most 
horribly here. 
     As they drew near, I nearly leapt up and apologized for my 
sneaky vigil, hoping to spare myself a beating that she would 
have no doubt quickly authorized, if not executed herself.  But 
no soon had they reached the forward cab of the old chariot than 
he produced a key, slipped it in the lock, whisked the door open, 
and leapt in with one quick athletic movement. 
     Barbara joined him just an eyeblink later, and there was 
little I could do but crouch and watch them start another go- 
round.  Through the rectangular framing of the rear cab window, 
they were like a pair of silver-screen lovers as they chewed 
passionately on each other's faces in the moonlight, and my 
former girlfriend's lipstick-traces quickly covered his face like 
love-sick chickenpox. 
     A sweetly-musky scent drifted out of the window of the pick- 
up; it was the same bawdy scent I'd detected on her in the club.  
Somewhere between spring roses and the sweet-salty aroma of a 
young woman's aroused vagina, it wafted deeply into my head, 
soothing nerves made raw by the emotions of the night, even 
muting the dull throb of my brain, and that which was beneath the 
seat of my pants, courtesy of Barbara. 
     Thankfully, the engine soon turned over with a horny growl 
that seemed to reflect the mood of it's occupants; spun it's 
tires for just a moment, and zipped out of the lot, off to 
someplace that no doubt contained a very big, very solid, bed... 
     My stomach felt as though someone had delivered a solid 
punch deeply into it's innards, and, when the attacking fist has 
finished, had brutally pulled some vital organ out with it.  
     Shaking, too demoralized to think, I began a long dark walk 
back to the place of my captivity, having no place else to go.  
There, I would have to accept whatever else was prescribed to me 
by my Muscular Mistress, knowing that some strange dark part of 
me was grateful for her attentions, and hoping that at some time- 
-maybe not today or tomorrow, but sometime--my subservience would 
convince her, would soften her heart, would win her over to my 
devoted ways.  I laughed when the very thought crystallized in 
mind; conversely, I knew it would never happen... 
     With stealth, I crept through the garden-growth, looking 
about for some lost coin, or better, a dropped wallet that might 
contain my passage home.  But the carefully-tended grounds held 
no relief for me, and desperation offered no alternative. 
     Walking was the only solution. 
     I was almost out of the quiet but crowded parking lot; the 
cars' owners were inside, falling in love and dancing and 
drinking and breaking up and commiserating about how there was 
nobody good "out there" any more, and gossiping about the 
Heavily-Muscled Gladiatrix and Her Slave who were in earlier... 
     Through the last heart-shaped hedge, I saw only one 
barricade to my bolt for safe haven home; in the black-shadow 
background, framed by a dozen evergreen branches, a glowing 
cigarette was visible in the nightshade.  And I was determined to 
escape the notice of it's owner, and make my break.  But the 
woods were too heavy behind, to thorny to port and starboard.  
The sidewalk was the only alternative... 
     From my limited vantage point, the indistinguishable Smoker 
appeared to be leaning on the trunk of a car, quietly enjoying a 
tar and nicotine treat.  This might've been understandable if we 
were outside a No-Smoking office building, but this was a night 
club... 
     Amidst grumble, roar, and flashing headlights, another car 
slid out of it's spot at the far end of the lot, and I counted on 
the smoker's attention being pulled ever-so-subtly in that 
direction towards the interruption.  Inhaling some courage, I 
bolted out of the woods, onto the deserted sidewalk.  Slowing my 
pace at once to appear nonchalant, I began savoring this first 
small victory, confident that I would go mercifully unseen and 
gratefully unheard. 
     And, regrettably, I almost was. 
 
     "Well!  I rather like that!" came a musical female voice 
from behind, brimming with steady Cambridge Coolness.  "A lady 
dons her Saturday Night Best finery, and her Intended deliber- 
ately gives her the cold shoulder.  I frankly wonder whether I 
ought to be insulted! Or are you merely being shy?" 
     Embarrassment had frozen me in my tracks, but those soft, 
lilting words, so ripe with British Gentility and soft 
sensuality, all-at-once reformattted my battered heart, re- 
writing the data to begin the dance of love in the darkness. 
     "Hi, Doctor Deanna!" I replied after I'd turned 'round, 
trying to keep my voice low and manly, and probably failing; 
unable to conceal my absurdist outfit either.  I couldn't make 
her out yet; all I could do was savor her busty-brawny six-foot 
spike-heeled silhouette against the privacy of nightfall. 
     But I knew it was her without a doubt... 
     "Hi yourself, dearie. I'd no idea you played at tennis," she 
tweaked, amused at my abbreviated slacks.  Her face became 
visible for only a moment as she inhaled on a Benson & Hedges, 
the momentary red flare highlighting her regal beauty before it 
slipped again into the dark.  In the brief flash, it was the face 
of a slumming princess; the serene features were chiseled, 
refined, strong yet womanly... 
     "Although I must confess most frankly that I quite fancy a 
good pair of legs on a fellow, especially if said fellow enjoys 
showing them off to a receptive lady?" she inquired; but there 
was no question in her voice, only a sultry come-hither 
invitation to sin. 
     "I say, you rather do look like quite the proper little 
English schoolboy in that outfit," she declared, her voice still 
a disembodied bolt of pleasure to my ears.  "Why, the very 
premise conjures up a veritable plethora of dirty little 
scenarios in my mind..." came her soft giggle from the darkness. 
     "Perhaps I should assume the role of the wicked governess, 
come to instruct her young charge in the ways of the grown-up 
world?  Would you care for that?" she queried, in the casual ways 
of fine London breeding that only further fueled my fires... 
     "Y-yes, ma'am," I affirmed, swallowing hard even as I felt a 
Pavlovian erection begin to bulge and pound in my tailored 
shorts.  I detected the scuffle of a high heel on the pavement, 
and of leather aromatically crunching as it's wearer pushed 
herself up to her full height.   
     A second later, the gorgeous Dr. Deanna herself stepped out 
of the dark and onto the sidewalk, striding gracefully into a 
circular street-light spotlight that stood between us, as though 
it was a very private posing circle meant for just the two of us. 
     The gasp that escaped me made her smile serenely, knowingly. 
     "`Ma'am'..." England's former "Ms. Most-Muscular" repeated 
softly, as though she'd heard it only for the first time and was 
now turning the word over in her mind as I felt her look me up 
and down with hungry she-wolf eyes that seemed to catch the far- 
away light, and glow, cat-like, in the light.  Her demeanor was 
confident, fully knowing that I'd give just about anything to see 
what she looked like without that jacket covering her prominent 
shoulders and arms, or the tank top that cloaked a pair of lush 
and ready breasts. 
     "..I rather like that title..." the ladydoctor decided, as 
she took another glowful puff. 
     She was dressed all in a rich leather dyed an eye-catching 
aqua, or teal or whatever the popular name that they've given to 
the color that the Miami Dolphins wear.  A waist-length zippered 
motorcycle jacket, tapered skillfully at the waist, made up the 
top half, complimented by a godlessly-short skirt, tight as a 
second skin.  Below were a pair of Legs Rebuilt, the better to 
redefine what a woman's legs ought to look like... 
     Shapely as a showgirl's, but full of powerful quadriceps; 
tapering to schoolgirl daintiness at the knee before power 
restated itself in the Rockefeller-Big Diamonds that were her 
calves.  Spike-heeled shoes, wicked steeples that inched her six- 
foot height ever upwards above me, shone in the meager light, 
matching the color of her outfit perfectly. 
     Her hair was arranged to look painstakingly casual, pushed 
back off her serene brow; the long curls flowing only after 
having been channeled through a matching black beret, tumbling 
like a raven waterfall down her back like a wicked queen's cape. 
     She tossed a renegade ringlet back to join the others, and 
blew me the tiniest of painted kisses amidst the silent rumble of 
ladymuscle under leather.. 
     "Yes," she concluded between puffs, "`Ma'am' is quite a nice 
word.  It holds a certain respect for the addressee, wouldn't you 
say?" she asked coyly, leaving the flamestick in her lips as she 
began sliding the jacket off her stupendous torso, the better to 
flash some naked ladymuscle for her small audience. 
     My heart, already two-stepping, immediately began a rhumba 
as her Anglo-Saxon skin, rippled with years of carefully layered 
she-muscle, was now revealed.  Slabs of hot-sculpted flesh had 
been added into all the right places, and the little sexy 
mountains made for a wonderful contrast.  For they were hard as 
rocks against the softness of those wonderful breasts, breasts 
that strained in a small white tank top whose straps were 
mercifully thin, the better to bare the all that big hot hard 
flesh beneath, the result of slaving to an iron passion all her 
own... 
     A sidewalk strip-tease was underway, and it was leaving me 
breathless.  There was something indefinable about her 
heartstopping body; some magical way she had taken all that 
muscle and made it cohere with a sense of decorous, almost dainty 
femininity, to conjure up a creature of utter desirability whose 
traditional curves were only amplified, not contradicted, by 
those sizzling sinews... 
     But Dr. Deanna was still talking in that light sweet voice, 
sounding very much like a young Joan Collins, when the actress 
was younger and her British accent more prevalent.  For that 
matter, she even looked somewhat like that woman, except for the 
fact that Dr. Deanna was far taller, far more busty, far more... 
     ...Built!  God, but her musclebod was about to drive me to 
my very knees... 
     "...Yes, my lamb.  You do right in calling me `Ma'am.' 
Because it says that you're a young gentleman who understands 
that a certain lady is respectable, and to be treated well.  And 
it says ever so much about the addresser, as well," she added, as 
she took a final drag on the smoke before killing it beneath her 
spiked heel.. 
     "When a gentleman calls a woman `ma'am', doesn't it reveal 
that he was raised to admire, and quite possibly..." she winked, 
as she blew smoke like some Arthurian LadyDragon, and slowly and 
serenely flexed a serenading softball bicep that pounded like a 
meaty heart upon her arm before continuing... 
     "...just quite possibly to revere, adore, or--dare I say it, 
dearest?--even to worship that respectable woman?" 
     By now my miniskirted, muscular madam was arching an eyebrow 
and pouting theatrically, fully knowing what sort of effect this 
demonstration of her she-muscle splendor was having upon me. 
     "Yes, Doctor Deanna," I rasped, trembling with a desire 
whose fuel was limitless.  Below, her sidewalk-silhouette aped 
her every move like an actress's stage-reflection, and she went 
on like that, standing right before me in all her Old English 
pulchritude, flexing and pouting and smiling. 
     Putting one foot directly before the other in exaggerated 
hip-swinging strides, she vamped her way towards me, drawing 
near.  Her subtle perfume soothed my overloaded senses, and 
smelled like a field of flowers after something very sinful had 
been performed there.  Her eyes were dancing with delight at the 
good fortune that fate had steered our way. 
     Standing nearly a head taller than me in her high heels, 
this British Bodybuilding Bombshell nevertheless had eyes only 
for a much-disgraced, much-shorter man standing before her in 
frank admiration, and she drew close enough to embrace me.   
     "I say, that's quite a becoming little development in your 
jockeys, dearest," she complimented, lowering her eyes to get a 
closer look. 
     Instinctively, I shot a quick glance down there myself, and 
when I looked up, the make-out party had begun...! 
     Doctor Deanna seized me in her muscle-enwrapped arms, 
drawing me in hard and close; close enough that her generous 
breasts, bulging pleasantly through their sheer cloth encasing, 
rested comfortably against either side of my neck, the big 
nipples ajutting clearly through like a pair of suckable thumbs.  
     One manicured hand slid confidently down the back of my 
shorts; the other cupped my chin so that her target would not be 
missed, and as she ran the sharp edge of a red-shellacked 
fingernail across it, tilted my head steeply upwards towards this 
mountain of a woman.  The aroma of leather merged with her exotic 
perfume; our faces were mere millimeters apart, and I could see 
her teeth, perfect, even and white, shining brightly as a little 
pink tongue danced about in her mouth... 
     "'Tis a pity our little moment of passion in the sun was 
interrupted this afternoon, wasn't it?" she asked in a whisper. 
"I'd rather like to continue our little familiarization session 
this evening, if that's quite all right with you." 
     I nodded eagerly, but there was no change in her queenly 
aspect.  Rather, she stepped back into the protective cloak of a 
tree's nightshade, taking me with her in a powerful grip.   
     And so I followed in a slow-dance shuffle without music, not 
wishing to relinquish the feel of her body so close to my own, 
even if I could.  I was sliding my hands around that tiny wasp- 
waist when her mouth finally collided hotly with mine. 
     I've been kissed by women before; one or two might even have 
been called pretty.  But they were nothing like Doctor Deanna, 
either in their spectacular physicality of appearance, or the hot 
fever with which she kissed me now... 
     The kiss went on and on, our tongues waging a war amidst 
chesty groans and throaty moans, as we massaged each other's 
throats obsessively, tirelessly.  Her flesh was taut, lean, in my 
hands; but in her high heels, there was an eight-inch difference 
in our respective heights, and she had to nearly crouch in order 
to cram her tongue down my throat so sweetly... 
     Finding this less than ideal, Doctor Deanna could've slipped 
off those evil skyscraper-heels, and level the field of play just 
a bit, but where was the fun in that?  When you're a MuscleChick 
Supreme, you don't need to do things the easy way.   
     You do things the fun way! 
     And so she used her grip upon my buttocks to hoist me ever- 
nearer, and my feet left the ground, suspending me like a willing 
marionette of she-muscle until our loins, too, began to rub 
against each other, just like Barbara and her date. 
     I felt her lipstick smear on my face, but I didn't care, 
wanting only to feel more of this marvel of medical might, this 
irresistible MD whose MO was pure ladymuscle, polished with 
enough English Society Girl charm to enslave a nation. 
     Two hands ran up and down her incredibly-rippling V-back, 
enjoying the topographical thrill it gave me, savoring what might 
transpire if I played my cards smartly, obediently, and well.  
     Impossibly, this hot British Fox seemed to have her sexual 
sights set on me!   Her arms were hot, nearly steaming in the 
cool air with the fresh feeding of blood to her redwood 
muscularity as she applied it to my bodyweight as we kissed and 
kissed and kissed and... 
     "Aren't I wicked, dragging you into the bushes?" she 
whispered at one point, but not wanting such a realization to 
tarnish her assault upon me, I shook my head and kissed her back 
all the harder... 
                            ********* 
 
     "So were you really being shy just then, or were you 
actually trying to avoid your Doctor Deanna?" she asked in false- 
wounded tones when our kiss has finally faded for the moment, and 
my feet returned to use on the wet grass.  I looked up at her, as 
she stood haughtily above me, and caressed her svelte physique 
with drunken admiration... 
     "Gosh no, Doctor Deanna," I reassured her, "I didn't know it 
was you. Honest I didn't, ma'am." 
     "Then whyever were you shrinking about so, in the bushes, my 
lamb?  Were you hunting for fireflies?" she laughed, eyes alight, 
and her lush braless breasts jiggled within the tight tank top, 
the deep cleavage bared mere inches from my eyes. 
     I then recounted the whole unpleasant tale to her; 
dishonesty didn't seem credible at that point, and she'd only 
hear the truth from Margo later, anyway.  But she seemed appeased 
by my honesty, and sadly smiled when I was done recounting how I 
could not face the world in this surreal get-up... 
     "My poor little lamb," she reassured me. "But I'm relieved 
that you weren't hiding from me all the same. I thought perhaps 
you were afraid of what I might do to your luscious little body 
if I got my hands upon you again," she winked, tilting her head 
down at me again, preparing to launch a counter-attack kiss. 
     "Which I've now most-decidedly got, eh?" she reminded me, 
nodding down at her muscled arms.  My hands went to enjoy their 
bulges, their matter-of-fact feel beneath trembling fingers of 
adoration, and I sighed my delight at the hot handfuls of femme- 
muscle I now enjoyed as they ran up and down their blazing- 
bulging architecture. 
     "Well, at least we can be grateful for one thing, eh?  Your 
mistress's harshness has delivered you into my rather generous 
arms for the night, and no one will be the wiser, eh?" she 
leered. 
     Reaching down within the shorts, Dr. Deanna began boldly 
squeezing my battered behind with cool healing hands before 
slamming her mouth down upon mine once again, and my throat 
gurgled in appreciation for the aggressiveness of this British 
Big-Vixen ... 
     The air had grown even cooler, but I shivered with the warm 
enchantments of this big-muscled mademoiselle, as we stood in the 
woods, exchanging kisses hard enough to qualify as assaults. 
     A million watching crickets sang not their mockery now, but 
their approval, like a chorus of eight-legged angels... 
 
                      ******************** 
 
     "Where shall we go?"  
     She got around to asking me that question only after ten 
minute's worth of precise necking, and another ten minutes of 
slavish exploration of her futuristic frame that brought small 
sighs of gratification from her as she savored my ardent 
muscleworship, causing her to ignore the long stray strands of 
her raven curls tumbling across her regal face. 
     The kinetic power of that Flex-Centerfold body made me weak 
in the knees, and I shivered with passion for this Angel of 
Muscular Mercy.  For there was a feminine elegance, a graceful- 
ness, to her powerfully-decorated physique that seemed as natural 
as though every woman should look as she did, and that perhaps it 
was all the other women who'd committed some Garden of Eden mis- 
deed that had caused them to fall from favor with Mother Nature.  
     I needed no stage-prompting to that last question, however.. 
     "C-can we go to your place?" I gasp-pleaded, looking up to 
her deferentially, maddened with hunger for her naked bedtouch. 
     "We can, but we shan't," she corrected with a school- 
teacherly haughtiness that hardened her kissed-liquid features 
for just a moment.  "At least not yet. I meant where shall we go 
on the town?  Because I'm going to take you out for a while and 
show you that sinking to brutality and sado-masochism isn't the 
only way to spend the evening with a well-muscled woman, my lad," 
she chastised me. 
     "Not that there's anything wrong with a little Spankenfuk 
now and then..." she commented; I didn't understand that allusion 
just then, and wouldn't until later... 
     "...but there are finer things, too, my dearie," she remin- 
ded me between soft kisses, as gentle clouds of her peppermint- 
breath wafted down upon me.  Trying to reassure me, she tucked-in 
my shirt below the waistband of my shorts as she went on... 
     "There are candlelit dinners, fine wines, dancing, good 
talk, theater.  And I want to show you some gentleness tonight. I 
should think you deserve some by now, don't you?" she inquired, 
as she groomed her undersized paramour with soft pats and tiny 
flicks of her shiny talon-nails. 
     I nodded. "But may I change clothes first?" I petitioned, 
sure she'd understand the indignity of... 
     "...Why, whatever for?" she demanded, as though wounded. 
     Stepping back to re-inspect my underage-like presentation, 
this wasp-waisted, big-breasted, six-foot-three-in-heels 
MuscleGoddess-in-a-Miniskirt folded her arms, knit her brow, ran 
a contemplative hand across her proud chin and tossed a pesty 
stand of errant hair away from the high-fashion elegance of her 
cheekbones.  The thick sculpture of her muscled thighs twitched 
and pulsed as she posed first on her left leg, then her right, 
and tapped her foot in careful study of my legs... 
     But then she shrugged a set of shoulders sheathed in that 
hot flesh-armor that--for whatever reason nature intended--I 
found so irresistible on women; shoulders that would shame a Ms. 
Olympia, and she smiled sincerely as she announced her decision.. 
      "As I have already told you, my dear, I approve of the way 
these rather unsophisticated vestments look on your body.  They 
serve to create quite an unaggressive air about you that I find 
so endearing," she divulged.  Stepping in again, she placed her 
hands gently on my slender shoulders, and crouched down to 
whisper in my ear as though to make a scarlet confession... 
     "...And your obedience will please me ever-so.  Won't you 
wear those darling short pants for your well-muscled Doctor 
Deanna?  Besides," she continued, "I really am quite the 
incorrigible leg-woman, my lamb, and yours are to die for!  I 
shall be eternally gratified, I can assure you..." 
     I blushed at the odd role-reversed compliment, but as though 
to verify that declaration, she nodded down to her left arm and 
began half-flexing a soulful bicep that seemed half as large as 
my head, and made it slowly gyrate to it's own inner tune.   
     We watched it's sultry performance as though it was 
something she herself could not control, or that these phenomenal 
female muscles were something she was merely holding for some 
Unspoken Goddess; and my breath went light and rushed, my chest 
tight.  A look upwards caught an arched eyebrow that queried, a 
wink that assured, a lightly-blown kiss of smeared lipstick that 
promised what was to come.  My cock was pounding in time with the 
mound of ladymuscle, aching for unzippering... 
     "See, my sweet?  Druscilla Bicep's positively thrilled at 
your compliance to her tastes! But then, she's an easy lady to 
please..." 
     I didn't know what or who "Druscilla Bicep" was, but that 
was for another time; a hot-flexed female arm just-for-me was all 
the argument I needed; so I nodded my docile assent. 
     "Weren't you being a dizzy duck?" she teased, as she 
reclaimed her jacket from an overhanging tree branch and handed 
it to me for tending, "all concerned over your silly clothes.  As 
I said, we quite like their effect," she pronounced, accentuating 
the `we' the way a ruling princess might, "and that's all that 
matters, what?"  
 
     "But never you fear," she reassured me, as we began a slow 
hand-in-hand stroll to her shining red Jaguar, her spiked heels 
clicking on the concrete, "no one shall give you the slightest 
trouble over your outfit, of that I can assure you," she stated 
firmly, merely nodding imperceptibly down at her powerful frame 
yet again.  "And for the record, sweetie, to show my apprecia- 
tion, I fully intend to take my most voracious pleasure with you 
tonight before I send you back to your brutal Margo..." 
     I didn't even hear Margo's name uttered; as we ventured 
further into the lot full of late-model sports cars, I was too 
busy looking dreamily up at those dangerous brown delights 
twinkling like mahogany diamonds in her head.  I nearly tripped 
when she suddenly stopped our progress to clarify that statement, 
now, too; planting her feet and promising in a brutal Urban- 
American accent...  
     "...Or as you Yanks might say, `You ain't goin' home 'til 
I've fucked the livin' shit out a' ya,'" she rasped in perfect 
Brooklynese... 
     I almost collapsed! 
     "Oh, did I say that at all correctly, my lamb?" she 
beseeched, feigning innocence even as she put her hands on her 
tiny waist and hit a humongous ladyflex-pose.  She was now 
wiggling her hips just a bit more than was necessary to drive me 
insane... 
     "I used to be an actress, you know, and quite a good one," 
she added, batting her eyes rather deliberately, quite pleased 
with the effect of her overpowering performance... 
     Words eluded me altogether as my jaw opened and closed in 
frantic delirium.   The shocked look on my face-full-of-lipstick- 
smeared kisses quickly melted into a fevered hope that she kept 
her promises.  An electric excitement ripped through my body upon 
hearing those decisive words, spoken with such declarative 
elegance and refinement that only added to their eroticism... 
     "Tsk-tsk, aren't I awful?" she chastised herself. "But after 
all, I'm only flesh and blood..." 
     "Not only," I reminded her weakly, running my hands across 
the steep slopes of her decorated traps, and across the thickness 
of her deeply chiseled LadyDelts, serenading my fetish with sweet 
silent music applied manually... 
     "Quite," she concurred, looking down at her own living 
masterpiece. "At any rate, in those delightful little shorts I 
may have to ravage you in the car on the way to the restaurant!" 
     "Yes....ma'am," I acceded in the formal address that seemed 
to please her, and looking up at the abundantly-blessed 
Englishwoman like a schoolboy with a crush on teacher.  My 
subservient response created a satisfied all-knowing smile upon 
the beautiful face of this ripple-muscled Goddess of Love... 
 
     "...Are you quite ready for a most-romantic evening?" she 
purred, after we had situated ourselves in the cockpit of her XJ- 
S, and she sat with both hands on the steering wheel.  My smile 
was all the answer she needed, but just to entice me, she pumped 
her Jurassic bicep without releasing her grip on the wheel, and 
the thick muscle pulsed and inflated like a meaty balloon.  
     As though reading her mind, I leaned over and bestowed an 
awed kiss upon the genteel slab that was her right arm.  The 
billowing eighteen-incher shivered with pleasure, and I tasted 
it's  hard severity, wallowing in the wonderful contradiction of 
her soft skin in which it resided, and inhaling the soft promise 
of her body powder.  I massaged the endowment reverently when I 
was through, as her own long-taloned hand went to my knee, and 
began inching up the bare skin in little love-circles.   
     I looked up; her eyes and mine were on a locked-beam 
transmission powered by Ladymuscle Love, and illuminated by 
streetlight; a pair of parallel-port transfer protocols 
exchanging the secret information of passion... 
     "You certainly know how to show a musclegirl what she 
likes," she complimented me in a whisper as she lightly caressed 
my cheek with the back of her hand.  The gesture contained the an 
aristocratic trace of authority and control presumed, and big- 
muscled tenderness promised... 
     "I must confess I find your kisses absolutely delicious, and 
your servility so dear.  And I shall soon reward your good 
behaviour by providing a certain darling little schoolboy with 
that for which he most yearns," she guaranteed gently, before 
turning to revive an acre-wide engine almost as powerful as she. 
     It purred almost soundlessly as we drove off into the most 
wonderful night of my life... 
 
                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
                      Coming in the Spring: 
 
Our "hero"'s night on the town, and because You asked for it: 
            A Trip to the Gym with Doctor Deanna...! 
 
 



