Truth or Dare (part one)

Perfect abs.

Twice a week, I get to see Shawna.

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

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

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

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

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

And as it turned out, she was.

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

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

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

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

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

Factory where pre-packaged food is made.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whew. Deep breath.

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

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

A plate of granola bars.

So, that’s where I come into play.

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

Nope. She does pay me.

In sexual favors.

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

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

I also strip naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I always respect her boundaries.

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

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

“I would agree with that,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

This is what Shawna’s home looks like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you finally repaint the bathroom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neat! You play the chauffeur, right?”

Shawna laughs. I do too.

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

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

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

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

“Dare.”

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

Advertisements

Looking Up to Her

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what a ride it has been thus far.

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

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

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

Now she is completely nude.

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

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

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

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

The flawlessly beautiful Wendy Fortino.

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

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

“Oh fuck!” Shannon belts out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what the hotel balcony looks like.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck!”

Pleasure swells to its pinnacle…

…and arrives at a satisfying conclusion.

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

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

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

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

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

Looking up to her.

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Three of Five

An armed and dangerous Ludmila Kolesnikova.

Continued from part two

Damn. That was delicious.

Placing her fork on the plate, Deborah has finished the complimentary breakfast placed in front of her by the stewardess who hasn’t shown her face in the cabin in the past twenty-six minutes. There doesn’t appear to be a “call” button anywhere, so she has no choice but to put the tray off to the side on the table next to her seat. She quietly burps.

Well, I guess that means I’m not going to eat the food I brought with me. Unless, of course, our trip is much longer than I’m expecting…

Which begs the important question plaguing her mind: How long is this flight going to be?

Many moments pass. Still no one willing to communicate with her. The cabin is, as expected, quite cozy. There’s about a dozen seats spread across the room with a table and stack of magazines adjacent to each one. Next to the door leading to the cockpit is the restroom. Deborah has yet to need to use the lavatory, but that time will come sooner or later.

It then occurs to her that her suitcase has been stashed away somewhere she doesn’t know. A mysterious crew member took it. So she couldn’t access her Tupperware even if she wanted to…

Fuck. Why the hell am I worried about that shit? I’m about to go off to God-knows-where and meet some enigmatic mega-millionaire (or is it billionaire?) who singled me out for this “date.” I could get murdered. Or horribly violated. Or I could come back home with a bag full of $1 million without a single hair on my head being harmed. Or the eventual outcome could be somewhere in between.

Fuck. Which will it be?

“All I can do is sit back and wait,” she says to herself.

Indeed, that is correct.

The plane eventually crosses a large body of water. Deborah guesses this is the Pacific Ocean. She’s never had a keen sense of direction, but it appears as though they’re heading west, maybe southwest. Hawaii, perhaps? Or Australia? Maybe Japan or China or the Philippines. Regardless, it’s going to be a long ass flight no matter where they’re going. It doesn’t seem like they’re landing anytime soon. So there’s no need to endlessly speculate or mentally attempt to map out where they’re going.

Thus, this calls for a nap.

Deborah gives in to her tiredness (she’s struggled to sleep for the past couple of days for obvious reasons) and closes her eyes. A few minutes later she’s fast asleep, dreaming about her old college days, ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, and her childhood Labrador Retriever named Billy. She loved that old dog. She reckons she hasn’t seen him in almost twelve years. Holy shit. Time sure passes…

***

“Good afternoon, Miss Frost. We’re about to land in forty minutes,” a voice beckons, interrupting her peaceful slumber. Groggy and wishing she were still asleep, Deborah struggles to open her eyes but does so anyway. The voice belongs to that of Thin Fedora Man.

“Thank you,” Deborah responds.

Thin Fedora Man winks and returns back to the cockpit. What the fuck was that all about? He doesn’t seem like the type of chap who would wink at you. Whatever.

Deborah looks around and notices during her nap, someone – probably the elusive stewardess – closed all the shades, covering the windows completely. Just as she unbuckles her belt so that she can stand up and open one of them, the stewardess enters the cabin carrying a long piece of black cloth.

Amanda Ferre looking splendid.

“Hello, Miss Frost. Please, remain seated,” she says. Behind her a second crew member, who looks to be just as tall as Deborah and probably nearly as muscular, stands at attention. He’s probably there to ensure Deborah complies with the directions given to her. She is, however, in no mood to be disobedient and discover what the consequences would be for such insubordinate behavior.

“You’re going to have to wear this for the duration of our flight.”

Deborah passively nods her head in agreement, not that she has any choice in the matter.

“Splendid!”

The stewardess wraps the black cloth around Deborah’s head and ties it in the back. She is unable to see anything.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Good. That’s the idea!” She follows that up with a hearty laugh to lighten up the mood. Deborah doesn’t return the favor. She can’t tell if the stewardess is offended or indifferent to this.

“We’ll only be in the air for about thirty-five more minutes. Hang tight.” And just like that, she – and, presumably, the Hired Goon – exits the cabin. Deborah hears the door close. Well, that’s that. Now she has to “enjoy” the rest of her trip in complete darkness…

***

Eventually, the Silver Hawk lands on some kind of airstrip. Is it a private airport or a public one? Deborah has no fucking clue. All she knows is that this very long flight has come to a merciful end (she estimates it was between five and six hours long). Once the jet comes to a complete stop, Thin Fedora Man returns to the cabin and escorts her out of the plane.

“Follow me, Miss Frost. Take my hand for your safety.”

It burns Deborah’s feminist sensibilities to have to rely on a man to do the simple task of walking around, but with the black cloth covering her eyes she has no choice but to rely on his gracious assistance. He takes her to a car sitting on the runway. Deborah doesn’t hear any other airplanes landing or taking off, so she gathers they’ve landed on a private runway of some sort. She gets in the car and manages to buckle her own seatbelt. She has no idea if Thin Fedora Man gets in the car with her. The driver starts the ignition and rides off away from the airstrip.

The car ride is bumpier than she was expecting. There are lots of swerving, turning, and climbing uphill. Holy fuck. Where does this motherfucker live? On top of the Himalayas?

The driver doesn’t speak a word. But then again, what pleasant conversation was she going to have with him?

At last, the car stops and the driver kills the ignition. The door opens, most likely by Thin Fedora Man. Deborah gets out and stretches her long legs.

“We’re finally here. Are you feeling jetlagged, Miss Frost?” Thin Fedora Man unties the blindfold, liberating Deborah’s sensitive skin from the raggedly cloth.

“A little bit. I need a stiff drink. Does your client have any whiskey?” Adjusting her eyes to her new surroundings, Deborah blinks several times so that she can grow accustomed to the sunlight, which has evaded her for the past hour or so.

“Quite a few. His collection is impressive, if I may say so myself. Shall I tell him that you’d like to sample some of what he’s been able to obtain over the years?” Thin Fedora Man offers.

Before she can cordially respond, Deborah’s jaw drops at the sight of her new environment.

“Holy shit!”

She finds herself standing in front of a gorgeous marble colored mansion overlooking an exotic tropical beach. The mansion is complete with a swimming pool off to the side, a miniature golf course in the backyard, a shiny red Lamborghini sitting in the driveway, and a beautiful lighthouse majestically arranged on top of the orange clay tile roof on the far side of the building. Palm trees and impeccably trimmed hedges line the driveway. It appears as though they’re on top of a hill, situated right above the water. A cool breeze greets her. Deborah has only dreamed of visiting a home like this, never mind actually being able to spend a single night in it. Holy shit, this guy definitely has a lot of money lying around…

“It’s a lovely house, isn’t it?” Thin Fedora Man boasts with a grin. Deborah can only wordlessly shake her head up and down. The car that took her here begins to drive away. She sees her black suitcase sitting right next to her. She picks it up and follows Thin Fedora Man indoors.

Once inside, the interior of the mansion is just as stylish as one would expect from a place like this. Greek nude statues stand at attention in almost every room. The furniture looks specially made for the owner. Rich and colorful tapestries hang from the ceiling. A Turkish rug meets them at the doorway. A small army of butlers, cooks, housemaids, and personal assistants furiously scamper around like ants in a colony trying to please the Queen Ant. Or is it the King Ant?

This is what the mansion most likely looks like.

“You will meet him shortly. For dinner. Which is in one hour. Before then, everyone here, including myself, will vacate the premises and leave the two of you alone for the entire night,” Thin Fedora Man warns. “It’s how he wants it. It’s all part of his plan.”

It is at this moment that Deborah notices hundreds – it may not actually be hundreds, but is sure seems like it – of paintings of muscular women hanging on the walls. The tapestries are only in the first room she walked through. The paintings look personalized. They feature everything from female Trojan warriors to hypermuscular female Samurais to, of course, stereotypical Amazon warrior princesses. Why not? That’s to be expected.

“In the meantime, what should I do?” she innocently asks Thin Fedora Man.

“I will take you to your bedroom. You probably won’t sleep there tonight, but you can put your suitcase there for now. And, I hear he has a special outfit he wants you to wear for supper tonight.” Thin Fedora Man snaps his fingers and a short Hispanic woman with gray hair stops what she’s doing and obediently approaches them. “Take Miss Frost to her bedroom, please.”

The Hispanic woman nods her head silently. Deborah intuitively senses sadness in her eyes. She immediately feels sorry for her – and everyone who works here, for that matter. They might be getting paid generously, but she gets a creepy vibe from everyone. Is this a palace or a prison?

Deborah is led upstairs to the top floor. The Hispanic woman opens the door to a bedroom (it seems like there are at least three dozen bedrooms in this place) and motions for her to enter. Deborah does. Just as she’s about to thank her for being so helpful, she suddenly closes the door and locks it. Deborah tries to twist the knob open, but to no avail. She’s locked in. Until they let her out. For dinner. Which is in one hour.

Fuck me.

Deborah then looks at an elaborate costume hanging in front of a full-length mirror. It’s a detailed and very accurate replica of Lucy Lawless’s signature costume from Xena: Warrior Princess, a 1990s TV show she will not hesitate to admit she loved watching growing up. Apparently her host did too. Wait, does he actually expect her to wear this? For dinner?

Apparently he does.

Double fuck me.

***

After putting on the outfit – which, as remarkable as this sounds, fits perfectly as if someone had measured her body beforehand – all Deborah could do was sit on the bed and watch the clock tick toward 5:00 p.m. It’s now a few minutes before. That means dinner should commence any moment.

Before, Deborah felt insulted that she would be asked to wear such an outfit to dinner. However, she can now admit she looks fucking sexy in the Xena costume. It’s skimpy (of course) and generously shows off her large muscles.

A knock on the door startles her.

“Um, yes?”

“You are invited to join the host for dinner, Miss Frost,” Thin Fedora Man says.

Deborah gathers her composure, looks at herself once more in the mirror (she’s still damn impressed, despite her nervousness, at how she’s slaying in this outfit), and takes a deep breath.

A seaside bedroom.

“Thank you. I’m ready.” With that, Thin Fedora Man unlocks the door and opens it. Deborah gallantly exits the bedroom and looks at Thin Fedora Man in the eye. He rarely shows any emotion, but even he’s a red blooded male who cannot help but look upon her curvaceous muscles with lust.

“You look…absolutely stunning,” he remarks in a near trance-like state.

“I do my best,” Deborah quips.

Also trying to keep his composure, Thin Fedora Man leads Deborah downstairs to the dining room. For what feels like several miles – it is a big fucking mansion, after all – Deborah is once again in awe of the size and opulence of her surroundings. Wow, the rich sure do know how to live, don’t they?

They pass by the kitchen, which looks more like a restaurant-quality kitchen than one you’d typically find at someone’s house. The chef stops what he’s doing and takes a look at Deborah wearing the sexy Xena outfit. He almost drops a sharp knife on his foot, but thankfully does not and manages to keep a handle on it. Whew.

Finally, they reach the dining room. Thin Fedora Man motions for her to enter the room. She does. A larger-than-life twenty-five foot long dining table greets her. A lily white cloth covers the entire surface, with an ice sculpture of the Greek goddess Athena sitting in the middle. An impressive Japanese flower arrangement surrounds the sculpture. But before Deborah can fully process the finely chiseled piece of frozen water immodestly presented in front of her, she glances at the far end of the table and sees him.

You know. Him.

“Good evening, Miss Frost. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My god, you look absolutely stunning,” he says. The man stands up and confidently approaches her. Deborah almost faints when she realizes who it is.

“You’re….uh, you’re Jonathan Westmore!”

Jonathan smirks. He extends his hand. She extends hers and they shake. He’s taller than she anticipated, which is especially telling considering she stands at an imposing 6’2”. After for what seems like an eternity, Thin Fedora Man clears his throat. Both Jonathan and Deborah turn their attention toward him. Standing behind him are two wait staff carrying plates of food.

“Ahem. Dinner is now ready to be served. After we clean up in the kitchen, everyone on the premises will be ready to leave, as your instructions dictate,” he says.

“Thank you, Robert,” Jonathan calmly acknowledges.

Hm. “Robert” is Thin Fedora Man’s name? Uh, alright. I was expecting “Humbert” or “Carruthers,” but Robert will do, I suppose.

Robert leaves as the two staff members place the plates at their respective spots. Jonathan and Deborah are still standing face-to-face, neither of them willing to move an inch.

Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess.

“Oh my god. Never in a million years would I expect you to be the man arranging this whole thing,” Deborah says. Her eyes are focused intently on Jonathan’s handsome face.

For those of you who are not aware, Jonathan Westmore is the former CEO of Westmore Capital, a venture capital firm that’s launched more than thirty of the largest corporations in the world. He inherited the company from his father, Peter Westmore, who founded the company shortly after returning home from serving in World War II. Peter married and divorced several times, but eventually settled down with a woman named Linda Sharpe, who once posed nude for Playboy and was at one point in her life considered a “rising superstar” in the modeling industry. After marrying Peter, she abandoned that dream and instead settled for living life as an ultra-wealthy housewife. Later, Jonathan was born, along with several other brothers and sisters. When Peter passed away in 1983, Jonathan, who was only 23 years old at the time, took over the reins of his father’s empire.

Jonathan transformed Westmore Capital from a largely successful American company into one of the most successful financial firms in the world. He became a celebrity who was even more popular than his father. He dated models (just like his mother used to be), Hollywood starlets, pop singers, Olympic athletes, and the daughters of other rich men. In 2012 he ran unsuccessfully for President of the United States of America as an independent third-party candidate. Deborah, and plenty of other women, voted for him. When you’re as rich, successful, and devilishly handsome as Jonathan Westmore, why the fuck wouldn’t you vote for him?

Alas, he had no chance of winning the highest political office in the nation, and simply retired from public life afterward. He stepped down from the company and appointed his daughter, Stephanie, as the new CEO. Though in his mid-50s, Jonathan still remains unmarried ever since his divorce from his fourth wife in 2005. Deborah has definitely had dreams of marrying him and living in one of his (many) stylish mansions across the globe, but she knows such a dream is likely never to come to fruition.

Except, after this stunning revelation, it very well could happen!

“Life can be full of surprises,” he laughs. “Please, sit down and enjoy supper.”

The menu tonight includes prime rib, mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus, a stuffed tomato, and a kale and pear salad. A $5,000 bottle of Chateau Île de Bourguenolles wine complements the succulent meal. The wait staff promptly exits after their duty is finished. Jonathan and Deborah sit down at the table. She places the napkin on her lap, but notices her host staring at her conspicuously, visually taking in every single inch of her muscular flesh.

Prime rib. It’s what’s for dinner.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Miss Frost. May I call you Deborah?”

Deborah almost swallows her tongue at the sound of Jonathan Westmore saying her name like that. God damn, what’s the over-under on how long she can last without collapsing to the floor?

“Uh, of course you can call me Deborah! Debbie, if that floats your boat.” She takes in a deep breath, wanting to prevent herself from hyperventilating. Jonathan senses her nervousness and tries to put her at ease.

“Please, Debbie. It’s okay. You’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about. Let’s just sit back, relax, chat, and enjoy this delicious dinner,” he reassures her.

“I’m not scared. I’m just, you know, a bit overwhelmed at this whole thing,” she says. “Never in a million years did I expect to ever be able to meet you, Jonathan.”

He smiles, which melts her heart. She doesn’t notice that her left breast is completely hanging out of her costume, exposed for everyone to see. Her nipple is erect, signaling her arousal. Thankfully, she is blissfully unaware of her immodesty.

“Well, here you are. And here I am. But I’m famished. Shall we eat?”

She nods her head. Jonathan takes a sip from his glass of wine and beams with approval.

“Excellent! Bon appétit, Debbie dear.”

To be continued…

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part Two of Five

Debbie Leung showing us her best side.

Continued from part one

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

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

“Meow,” Bruce purrs with gratitude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s in it? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Go ahead. Open it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What was his offer?”

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

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

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

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

There is a long pause.

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

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

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

A luscious Monica Brant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have no fucking clue.”

***

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

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

“I’m going to do it.”

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

“Really? Why?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s do this shit.”

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

“Good day, Miss Frost.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A squirrel in a tree.

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

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

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

“Yes. It’s not too far from here.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Crystal clear. I understand.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, that’s me.”

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

“Wow. You must, uh, work out, huh?”

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

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

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

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

“Great. Cool. Enjoy your flight.”

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

A luxurious private jet.

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

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

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

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

Deborah’s mouth nearly drops to the ground.

“Seriously?! He owns this?”

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

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

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

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

To be continued…

A Most Magnificent Body of Work – Part One of Five

Tall muscle goddess Maria Wattel.

One more set, Debbie. That’s it. Just one more set.

Looking up at the bench press bar, Deborah knows she has only one more set of ten repetitions remaining before her chest workout would come to an end. Then she could cool down, work on her abs, shower, buy a protein smoothie, and go home.

At this point Deborah has worked her way up to benching 275 pounds. The only woman currently in the weight room, all eyes are on her and she’s well aware of it. Some men are rooting for her, others are hoping she will fail. But Deborah is determined to prove everybody wrong. Even her supporters.

“Alright, time to do this motherfucker,” Deborah whispers to no one in particular.

Deborah places both hands on the bar, equidistant apart, and lies down on the bench. Her forehead is dry, not a single drop of sweat is left remaining in her body. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and imagines herself pumping this bar up and down ten times before putting it back on the rack. She can do this. She’s done this many times before. Even with all these idiots watching her. For her, pre-visualization is the key to success. If you cannot imagine yourself doing it, how can you actually do it?

Time to do it, Debbie. Time to make yourself stronger. Stronger than you’ve ever been before.

She opens her eyes, focuses on the ceiling fan above her, grips the bar tight with both hands, and lifts the bar off the rack.

Deep breath in.

Down, exhale, up. One.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Two.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Three.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Four.

Inhale. Slight exhale. Another inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Five.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Six.

Deep inhale. Holy shit. This is getting tough. Dammit.

Down, exhale, up. Seven.

Her eyes burn when a drip of sweat seeps into her eye socket. She was under the impression her body had no sweat left in it. She is wrong.

Fuck.

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Eight.

Fuck!!!

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up. Nine.

Oh, shit. She has to give up. Her arms tremble. She feels her elbows start to wobble. She’s going to drop the bar and smash her neck in half. She needs a spotter. But no! She refuses to give up. Nobody tells Deborah she can’t do anything. Fuck that shit. Deborah can do whatever the fuck she wants. Fuck the world. Fuck her doubters. Fuck anybody who thinks she’s a weakling because she’s a woman. Fuck that!!!

Inhale.

Down, exhale, up, up, up, up!

Just a little bit more….

Ten.

Deborah groans loudly, her booming voice reverberating across the room. She couldn’t care less if she’s distracting her fellow exercisers. This is all about her, nobody else. Fuck everybody else.

On the verge of collapsing, Deborah places the bar back on the rack and drops her arms to the floor. She’s gasping for air harder than a heavyweight prize fighter after the twelfth round. Her chest feels so tight it could burst with the prick of a needle. Her arms feel like jelly. She doubts she can move a single muscle until tomorrow morning.

But she has to move. She can’t spend the night and sleep here. No way. No fucking way.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is a classic case of mind vs. matter. And in Deborah Frost’s case, her mind won. She kicked matter’s ass. Big time. Oh yeah.

Yet another tall muscle goddess, this time it’s Shawn Tan.

After a minute or two (which felt like an hour), Deborah sits up, grabs her towel, and wipes herself off. She then stands up, wipes down the bench, and proceeds to take the weight plates off the bar and place them back where they belong. Her “audience” has moved on and returned to their own little worlds. She just bench pressed all that fucking weight and her doubters are left to eat their own shit. Let them eat shit.

Time to do some ab work.

Deborah’s tall 6 foot 2 inch frame is covered from head to toe with big, thick muscles. As ripped as a professional bodybuilder and athletic as an Olympic gymnast, Deborah Frost is a unique, one-of-a-kind physical specimen. She doubts anybody in the world has ever had a body quite like hers. And she’s determined to make sure it stays that way.

At 27 years old, Deborah is certainly young enough to still be in the prime of her physical potential. Everything depends on her work ethic. And her work ethic is off the charts.

Forty-five minutes later, Deborah is stark naked and standing at a shower stall, feeling the hot water cascade off her strong, muscular body. She is not alone, showering alongside a short elderly woman, a grossly obese high school girl, and a young ditzy blonde who looks like she could be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

Mmmm. Delicious. She’d love to lick her sweet pussy. She looks so soft, so sweet. She must smell like roses.

But Deborah isn’t usually into girls like her. She prefers women like Cassandra, her long-time girlfriend who lives with her. Like Deborah, Cassandra is as strong as an ox and refuses to let anybody tell her she can’t do anything. She’s just got back home after serving an eight month-long tour of duty in Afghanistan with the U.S. Marines. Cassandra was wounded when a road-side bomb hit her patrol vehicle, lodging a long piece of metal into her left leg. She sees a physical therapist every single day to help her recover.

But all Deborah could think about is fantasizing about Cheerleader Girl. That, and getting clean. Maybe she should focus more on getting clean.

Cheerleader Girl turns off her shower and walks away to her towel hanging on the wall. Deborah watches her curvy, round butt sway from side to side as she struts. Deborah can feel an electrical current pulsate between her legs. God, she needs release. Really bad. All this pent-up energy can’t be taken out through a workout. She needs a good, old-fashioned fuck.

Cassandra can help her with this when she gets home.

Gorgeous blonde FBB Cindy Phillips.

After her shower, Deborah quickly dresses and buys a small protein smoothie at the gym’s food bar. Her preference is banana strawberry. It’s fucking fantastic.

“Thank you. Have a good night,” the Smoothie Guy says. Deborah cannot remember his name to save her life and it’s beyond the point of embarrassment to ask him again. So she just smiles and nods as pleasantly as she can.

“You’re welcome. See you next time!”

He’s cute. A bit short and pudgy, his dark hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow is too irresistible to ignore. Deborah hasn’t had sex with a guy in nearly a decade, but she’d consider it if Smoothie Guy ever mustered up the courage to ask her. Or the foolishness to ask her. Same thing.

“See you tomorrow, right?” The Front Desk Gal asks.

“Yup, tomorrow. For sure. Today was chest day, so tomorrow is back and shoulders. Got to balance yourself out, you know what I mean?” Front Desk Gal nods. Deborah flashes her a subtle smile and sashays out of the gym.

The time approaches 10:30 p.m., which is a little bit later than she’s used to working out. Today she had a late start because she had to drive Cassandra to and from her therapy appointment. Usually she can snag a ride from her sister, but not today. Today, Cassie’s sister was meeting with her brand new sugar daddy. Deborah hopes things work out this time. Heaven knows she needs one right now.

Tonight, Deborah parked her car in the back lot. The gym’s super popular Zumba teacher taught back-to-back classes today so the front lot was completely full when Deborah arrived. Oh well. It could be worse. Heck, odds are stupid aerobic classes like that keep the gym in business. So she doesn’t have a whole lot to complain about.

Deborah fumbles with her car keys. She really needs to simplify how many damn keys she carries around in her tiny purse–

“Miss Frost?”

Deborah turns around to see whose voice it is that called out her name. It’s pitch black outside, so it’s nearly impossible to properly see who it is.

“Yes? Who is it?”

Standing next to a broken light post smoking a cigarette is a thin man wearing a black overcoat, a burgundy red fleece scarf, and a light gray fedora. The man approaches her nonchalantly. Even though she has every reason to feel threatened, she remains calm and collected. The man takes one last drag and tosses the cigarette on the ground. He steps on it for good measure.

“Good evening. Don’t feel alarmed. I’m not with the paparazzi or anything like that,” the man says. “I know people like that are constantly swarming you.”

“From time to time. But not for a while.” Deborah briefly dated in college a guy who was the school’s stud quarterback. He was drafted in the top ten and played two seasons in the NFL before overdosing on heroin. Deborah had broken up with him prior to his death, but the mysterious circumstances surrounding his sudden passing made her the subject of a criminal investigation. His fame, combined with her unusual muscular body, created a temporary media firestorm. Eventually, her name was cleared and she resumed living her life as normal.

Mysterious man wearing a fedora and smoking a cigarette.

She and William never had sex because he was secretly gay but refused to publicly come out. She was just a “girlfriend” for show. He felt like being outed would hurt his chances of playing in the pros. He wasn’t totally wrong. She went along with the charade as long as she received a cut of his paycheck. He agreed to this arrangement. Their phony relationship resulted in her receiving $15,000 per month from him in cash. They were both happy with this “business arrangement.” They both benefitted. But eventually even that had to come to an end, like everything does.

“I’m glad. It’s good to see your life has returned back to the way it was.”

“What do you want? An autograph?”

The Thin Fedora Man takes another step toward her. Deborah’s heart rate increases slightly.

“Oh, no. I’m not looking for that at all. I’m actually here to deliver a message to you. Would you like to hear it? I believe you will find it financially rewarding.” Deborah’s ears perk up at the mention of money. Due to her living life as a professional bodybuilder – which pays very little – and Cassandra having to spend so much of her money on therapy sessions, money is always tight with them. Always.

“Go away.” Deborah unlocks her car and takes one step toward it.

“Very well. As you wish. I will inform my client that you have refused his offer before even hearing it. He will be quite displeased with this news.” The Thin Fedora Man turns around and walks away. Impulsively, Deborah shouts back at him.

“Wait! Come back. I want to hear your offer.” The Thin Fedora Man stops dead in his tracks and smiles. He turns around and faces Deborah, a woman who is by far the most muscular he’s ever seen in his life.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to hear it. Go on.” How fucking pathetic does she look right now? Deborah shudders at the thought of her actually talking to a complete stranger who claims to represent someone interested in giving her a lot of money…

“Fantastic. I will not reveal my client’s name, but he will reveal himself if you choose to meet with him. He is offering you this: My client wants to spend one evening with you at a location of his choosing. The time parameters will be agreed upon beforehand,” he says.

“During this time together, he asks that you allow him to do whatever he pleases with you. Whatever he pleases, if I may reiterate that crucial point. Don’t worry, no physical or psychological harm will come to you. He can assure you of that. In return, you will receive $1 million in cash on the spot. No questions asked. No need to do anything else after that.”

Deborah can smell Thin Fedora Man’s smoky breath from several paces away. She tries to not cough. The struggle is real.

“Wow. That’s quite an offer. I’ll give you and your client credit. I’ve never been approached before about something so elaborate. But my answer is still no,” Deborah says. She begins to walk away toward her car for the second time.

“He figured you would immediately refuse. I also can sympathize with your reaction. This is why he’s offering you this ahead of time.” Thin Fedora Man takes out a white envelope from his coat pocket and hands it to Deborah. “It’s $10,000 in cash. Straight up. Even if you ultimately refuse my client’s offer, the money is still yours. No need to return it. Go ahead. Open it. It’s yours.”

Cautiously, Deborah takes the envelope from him and opens it. She peers inside. Sure enough, a thick stack of 100 dollar bills greets her. She gasps.

“Fuck me. You’re not joking around,” she mutters under her breath.

An envelope full of cash.

“No, he is not,” Thin Fedora Man chuckles. “Also inside this envelop is a business card with a phone number that you are to call if you would like to take him up on his generous offer. You have 48 hours to respond. If he does not hear from you, he will then pursue other potential candidates for this particular escapade. Understood?”

Unable to believe her eyes, Deborah looks up at Thin Fedora Man and nods her head faintly. “Yes, I understand completely.”

“Good! We look forward to your response. Have a pleasant rest of your evening, Miss Frost.”

And just like that, Thin Fedora Man turns around and calmly walks away. He gets inside a car parked several yards away and turns on the engine. Deborah still has not moved an inch since looking at the stack of bills. She sees red break lights illuminate the pitch black parking lot as the vehicle driven by the enigmatic man backs up. A chill runs down her spine.

“Holy hell. Is this guy for real?” she says to herself.

Dumbstruck and clutching the envelope as if her life depended upon it, Deborah can do nothing but watch Thin Fedora Man’s car speed off toward the main highway, leaving behind a thin trail of dust floating around in the darkness.

To be continued…

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

The gorgeous Laurie Steele.

Continued from part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah Hayes showing off her triceps.

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

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

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

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

“I should be going…”

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

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

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

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

Coco Crush giving us her best side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her…

Um, her……………….

………………………………………………………..

Holy shit!

…her enormous clitoris!!!

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

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

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

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

“Is that a, uh, penis?”

There is a long awkward pause.

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

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

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

“You want to take a closer look?”

Autumn Cleveland in her natural habitat – the gym.

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

“Fuck, Max! Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck……”

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

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

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

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

“Oh!”

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

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

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

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

“Ready for round two?”

Tanya leans over and kisses him deeply.

“Ever since we got done with round one!”

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

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

If Mavi Gioia worked out at my gym, I’d go every single day!

Rumor has it that after the gym closes, one customer in particular is allowed to remain behind and finish her workout.

Max heard this rumor from a front desk employee who can’t keep a secret to save his life. As a frequent member of East Heights Fitness Center, Max is privy to the latest gossip going on among its members and staff. But this latest piece of gossip is the juiciest because of who it involves.

Tanya.

Tanya is without question the most beautiful and angelic woman Max has ever laid eyes on. With an imposing 6 foot 4 inches frame, she is a competitive female bodybuilder who has won numerous competitions over the years. She is by far the most muscular woman he’s ever seen. In fact, she’s probably the most muscular human being he’s ever seen, and that includes all the men who work out at the gym.

She’s the total package: Beautiful, tall, enormously muscular, funny, intelligent, kind, hardworking, successful, famous, and undeniably sexy. She’s a mini celebrity in town and a much bigger celebrity within the pro bodybuilding community. Max has been going to this gym for three years now, but he knew about her legend before he signed his membership contract. Everyone knows who Tanya is and what she’s accomplished during her illustrious career.

He has even spoken to her a few times. She’s very personable and doesn’t mind chatting before or after her workouts, but never during. In fact, she gets very upset with you if you bother her during her lifting sessions. This is why she prefers to work out later in the evenings. There are fewer people around, better availability of equipment and not nearly as many distractions.

A typical weight room.

So when Gus, the chatty front desk guy, told Max that recently Tanya has requested that the gym stay open specifically for her, he figured it makes sense she would ask for this. Gus claims Tanya can stay as late as she wants just as long as she cleans up after herself and turns off all the lights and locks the door after she’s finished. The owner knows her well and Tanya holds enough clout to do whatever the hell she wants. Tanya considers the gym to be her work place, so she wants an optimal environment to get to work.

“She sure is something special, isn’t she?” Gus says to Max. It’s 10:30 p.m., which means the gym closes in an hour and a half. Max has just gotten to the gym and has yet to start his warmup cardio. He usually chats with Gus for a minute or two before heading upstairs to the treadmill area.

“Who, Tanya?”

“No, your Fairy Godmother. Yes, of course Tanya! She’s fucking beautiful,” Gus says.

Max and Gus share a laugh. Today is Thursday (which is Max’s Saturday, which explains why he’s here at the gym so late in the evening), so according to her usual schedule she should be walking in any time now. Most of the crowd has left by now, but a few stragglers continue to lift late into the night in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Most of the guys admit that they feel much more motivated to lift when Tanya’s around. They all want to impress her. Nobody wants to feel weak around her. If a rising tide lifts all ships, Tanya’s very presence inspires everyone around her to work that much harder.

“Without a doubt, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Speaking of which…” Before Max could finish his sentence, she walks in. Strutting in wearing grey sweat pants, a burgundy red tank top and Beats By Dre headphones around her thick neck, Tanya’s celebrity status is palpable. All eyes; both male and female, young and old, those who are in shape and those who are completely out of shape; are fixated on her. Everyone’s undivided attention is drawn to her whenever she enters the room. Tonight is no exception. Max forgets to breathe. Gus freezes in place and ignores an incoming phone call. It can wait.

At 6’4”, she would be eye-popping even if she weren’t so muscular or beautiful. Tanya has striking emerald green eyes, long jet black hair, and dark umber brown skin that looks as smooth as velvet. Max couldn’t quite figure out what ethnicity she is, but regardless, she’s a perfect genetic mix. Sharp jaw line, legs that stretch out forever and enough muscle to put a roaring lion to shame, Tanya’s brawny physique is matched by few. Her perfect combination of muscularity, size, height, beauty and femininity is the reason why she’s so incredibly successful in all facets of life.

Except her love life. In one of the few conversations they’ve had together, Tanya once told Max she’s given up on dating men because they’ve all been jerks to her. Max insisted that not all guys are like that, but she’s put that behind her and insists she’s only interested in being with women right now (yes, she’s bisexual). Max made a vow after that to one day show her that there are good guys out there who will treat her with the respect and reverence she deserves.

Denise Masino showing off what she does best: Giving guys like me heart attacks.

Tanya waves to the two star-struck guys as she walks toward the women’s locker room. Max is surprised he doesn’t faint.

After snapping back to reality, Max grabs a sweat towel from the front desk, wishes Gus a good day, and proceeds to begin his workout.

Seventy minutes later, Max is finishing his evening with light cardio on an elliptical machine. He watches below as Tanya squats 350 pounds for an astonishing 15 repetitions. A small crowd gathers around her as she grunts her way to the end of her set. Cheers erupt all over when she finishes. Her gorgeous face covered in sweat, Tanya smiles and takes a bow to her audience. The people scatter as she takes a drink of water from her bottle and rests a moment before her next set.

Midnight approaches. Gus makes an announcement over the PA system reminding people that the gym closes in ten minutes. Max, feeling in an odd mood, decides he wants to see what exactly Tanya does when she works out alone. Recklessly, with an unexpected streak of lust and curiosity storming through him, Max sees a broom closet located near the dressing rooms and sneakily approaches it. The door opens. Max is aware that Gus and his crew don’t always run a tight ship, so he is not surprised that the door is unlocked. He closes it quickly and waits inside in total darkness.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Max whispers to himself. Seriously! What the fuck is he doing? Staying behind after everyone has left just so he can spy on Tanya’s lonely workout? What kind of a creep is he? Minutes pass as Max ponders these questions. He estimates that twenty minutes have gone by. Then thirty minutes. Finally, he hears this brief conversation:

“That’s about it, Tanya. Enjoy the rest of your workout. You know what to do from here,” Gus says.

“Thank you, darling. Good night!” Tanya replies.

Theresa Ivancik is redefining what “happy hour” is all about.

Max hears footsteps and then total silence. The music has stopped playing over the PA. The clanks of weights hitting the floor have ceased. The humming of the treadmills can be heard no longer. He and Tanya are definitely the only ones left inside the gym. Boldly, Max opens the closet door and exits. The gym is significantly darker than usual. Only a portion of the lights are on, mostly near the weight room. He walks toward the light cautiously.

He peeks around the corner, and sure enough, he sees Tanya all alone. She has moved on from squats and is now engaging in leg presses. She’s lifting 1,080 pounds for 10 reps. Wow! Max gets down on his knees to hide himself better. For nearly 15 minutes, he watches Tanya blast her quads on the leg press machine while buckets of sweat pour from her body. Max would do anything to be able to taste her salty goodness.

After finishing her leg press set, Tanya goes to her gym bag, takes a long swig of water, and puts the bottle away. She takes the earbuds out of her ears and places her phone in her bag. Is she done with her workout? Is she going to head back to the locker room, which means Max is going to have to find a new hiding place? Is she planning to–

Before Max could finish his thought, Tanya reaches down and pulls down her shorts to the floor. She kicks them away to the side. Max’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees her tight, rounded butt in full form. Then she removes her workout shirt and tosses it in her bag. Wearing a black sports bra, her ripped back captivates Max’s attention.

I need Autumn Raby as my personal trainer.

What on Earth is she doing? Why is she stripping naked in the gym?

The bra comes off. She drops it to the floor. Max’s heart momentarily stops. A moment later, she is completely nude. Max has not moved an inch. Covered from head to toe with large ripped muscles, Tanya’s chiseled physique is both awe-inspiring and indescribable.

Max may not be able to move, but he can still attempt to process what he’s seeing right before his very eyes. Does she prefer to work out in the nude? Does it make her lifts easier to complete? Or is she overheated and needs to allow her skin to “breathe” now that no one is around? Or is she…

“Come on out, Max. I know you’re out there somewhere.”

Max’s heart has jumped upward near this throat. How the hell did she see him?

“It’s okay,” Tanya teases. “Come on out, I won’t bite!”

To be continued…