Greetings, good readers! I, Ryan Takahashi, have a very special treat for you. As you know, not too long ago I wrote a post requesting to hear your voices about our collective interests in female muscle, female bodybuilding and the men (and women) who love it all.
While this is my blog, I know for a fact that many of you out there are thoughtful, intelligent and wildly creative individuals who deserve to have their voices heard. Your perspectives matter to me and can do a great deal to add to the conversation already happening on a global scale. So far many of you have reached out to me via email. I thank you all! You, of course, can reach me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com.
For today, the special treat I have in store for you is an original piece of erotic fiction written by a real life female bodybuilder. She wishes to remain anonymous, and because I highly respect people’s right to privacy, I will keep my word and not reveal who she is. But trust me, she is a genuinely strong young woman and very beautiful to behold. The photos she has sent to me of her are quite simply breathtaking.
So, she goes by “Cindy Andrews.” This is not her real name, but we’ll call her that. Ms. Andrew’s story is very hot and I am sure you will appreciate her sensual details, erotic creativity and sheer honesty. The piece does not have a title, so I gave it the title of “Confessions of a Muscle Girl.”
If you would like to contact Cindy Andrews directly, her email address is cindyandrewsfit (at) gmail (dot) com. I’m sure she would love to receive feedback for her work.
I enter the backstage pump up room—even the name of the place, the word “pump,” makes me want to work and strain and grow. I am perfect, contest ready, not an ounce of excess on me, all powerfully engorged, sensuous muscle. So ready, every nerve so close to the surface.
I’ve been dieting so I am depleted, but I’m focused. I am in perfect control, I can feel and flex and command any muscle on my taut, ready succulent physique to ripple and flex and swell at will. I’m a musclegirl and I’m ready for the stage. Even though I’m depleted, I feel alive, alert, jazzed… I look around at the other women, mostly older, pumping up with the aid of friends.
Delicious bodies. So touchable, inflated, hard, superhuman. Not only sexy but sexual. The body as sculpted, muscular perfection. Panthers, tigresses. And so much heat from all these bodies, the smell of sweat and oil, of straining, of desire. I stand in the corner waiting in my sweats, anticipating the moment you will come to pump and oil me, the moment I will strip down and reveal what I’ve been building, anticipating the hunger in your eyes to touch, coax, feel my perfect body, these lovingly tuned and etched muscles. It will be a public moment—like my time onstage—but also intensely private. It smells like sex here backstage, but not as much as it will up there under the lights. I lick my lips in anticipation.
Some of the teen and collegiate men drift by on the way to their section, perfect muscular bodies, each like a giant human erection, the biggest cock a girl could ever want, primed and pumped and ripped. I want to climb them, have them penetrate me with all their muscles and with their musclecocks. I wanna cum just watching them strip off their shirts but I need my control, my focus.
You show up, fire and excitement in your eyes to see all these magnificent bodies. I can hardly wait to show you mine… I strip off my sweats – pulling the bottoms over my corded thighs and you gasp audibly.
“Impressed?” I ask, a little breathlessly, and you just nod, eyes wide, and say, “God, yes.”
I shake out a quad and flex hard, twisting it so the muscles bulge and pop. “Just wait,” I say. Pulling off my sweat top, I show myself to you in all my glory. I’m one of the youngest women here. I’m not that tall or heavy, but I am thick, wide and deep; my torso is more muscular than most guys’ but at the same time incredibly feminine because of my hourglass shape, my tiny tight waist with abs rippling and lats so wide they make me look like I couldn’t fit through a door.
I’m proud of my lats, and flare them so a vein appears in them and the thick, deep cuts of my serratus and my high tight pecs ripple. I’m wearing a red suit made of very thin satin material that hugs my body like a second skin. Three tiny triangles and some string. It feels so good to flex and to flex for you, under your admiring eyes, hearing your quick breath, sweating with pleasure and exertion even as I see you start to sweat with excitement.
I feel naked and ready to show myself, experimentally flexing and turning towards the mirror. When I witness the perfection I have built I can’t help but become aroused. I can hardly believe it is me, my body transforms so much over the contest preparation, and even between last night and this morning. I’ve not taped my nipples yet, and, normally dark and broad and covering most of my tiny tits that are set on top of big thick pecs, they instantly spring to sensitive, erect life. They are literally an inch and a half long and incredibly sensitive. And nothing gets them aroused as much as seeing myself flex, feeling myself flex, having others watch me flex. Just the feeling of their erectness against the thin unlined satin top makes my clit also erect, cupped in the suit bottom. I feel so wildly sensual, so ready to go out there and dominate, make the stage my own. I feel like pure sex, pure dominance, pure control, pure woman. I feel so desirable both to myself and to others, so ready to cum and cum and cum again and cum long and hard and musclecum…
You are warming your hands, waiting to put on the thin sheen of oil over my natural color. White girls get “painted” brown, but a woman as dark as I am needs only a little oil to bring out and highlight the muscles. But you need to cover every inch. Your eyes wide, smiling, looking directly at me, you begin. As your warm hands touch me, I’m sunk in a reverie. I need this, I need touching. So much of this lifestyle is training, this kind of deep tactile appreciation is so intense it’s tremendously erotic. I need to be FELT UP, not touched gingerly.
And as you oil me, you do it to perfection. You are sighing as you touch me, your hands feel so warm. You murmur in my ear, telling me I look huge, telling me I feel hard, telling me I feel so ready, telling me you can’t believe how developed I am, telling me I’m going to dominate. You come close as you are oiling my glutes and you whisper, “You are a total goddess. I want you, I want this body…”
My body responds, swelling even more, filling even more. The suit now feels like hands on me, on my little breasts, cupping them, the striated pecs and the straining nipples. I wish you were cupping my breasts, letting my nipples emerge between your fingers. My pussy is being stimulated by the thin material of the suit bottom, with its thong back up my ass, and my sweet taint and sweet pussy being rubbed and felt up by it every time you ask me to flex and my body swells in my suit. I’m so wet that if I wasn’t wearing a shield, I would be dripping down my leg, but you can smell me now… my juices and my sweat.
You are breathing heavily and your nipples too are large and erect in your tank top. You’ve almost stopped talking because you are so in awe, because as you oil my muscles, as you touch and rub and prepare me, I seem to grow and swell under your hands.
My lips are moist…. You ask me to lift my arms, and I do, revealing the sexiness of my deep, thick armpits—the convergence of pecs and delts and lats and bicep peaks. I am fantasizing now about how; although I am totally smooth all over, totally shaven, with skin like silk over steel; I like to leave a little thin line of dark hair under my arms when it is not contest time. It looks hot and makes me feel STRONG. I’m fantasizing that I want you to touch me there when I am unshaven and that makes my clit bulge even more. Sweat pours down my pits and my lats, into the crevasses of my abs and between my glutes and you need to towel me off. As you do it, you lean in close and your lips almost brush mine.
Oh God! My clit is big and engorged from all the testosterone in my system. It makes me aggressive, horny and, ironically, more and more womanly. But also a total nymphomaniac. Whenever I am pumped, whenever I see my body this way, even sneaking a flex in the mirror in the bathroom at school, I immediately feel that I want to be penetrated, touched, licked, sucked. I want to flex for you… I flex my biceps as you run your fingers over them, my lats, my abs… as I flex my abs I flex my PC muscles, muscles strong as steel, muscles that make me cum so hard, make me capable of milking a man’s cock until he is totally drained.
You are practically moaning now, and I’m so orgasmically self-absorbed, standing in the mirror, showing it to you. Other women are staring too, I can feel their eyes on me. “How did she get so big and ripped at her age?” “So much muscle maturity!!” It is very erotic and I begin to fantasize about fucking and being fucked by these women, all of us worshipping and appreciating one another…