Women’s World Bodybuilding Championship, Part 1
By stra1742
Six continental champions square off to find the most muscular woman in the world.

	The six continental champions strode confidently onto the stage, ready for the 
final posedown to determine the true women’s bodybuilding champion of the world.  
They took their places in line and snapped to attention, heads held high with dazzling 
smiles and arms dangling away from their bodies.  Their coats of oil amplified even the 
briefest of movements, so that the stage was filled with six glistening crystals of muscle.
	On the far left was Aisha, the North American champion out of Washington, D.C.  
Aisha was a total package, and definitely one of the favorites.  She had been able to pack 
an enormous amount of dense muscle onto her frame, which was cinched together at her 
20-inch waist.  The muscles that set her apart from all the other competitors, however, 
were her incredible quads.  Two massive teardrops wrapped in a thick sartorius ribbon 
decorated each of her thighs to a circumference of 28 inches; those teardrops were a 
symbol of the tears she had shed building them with set after set of squats, lunges, and 
1000-pound leg presses that left her crying in satisfied pain.  She alternately flexed and 
relaxed her quads, looking down at them with a pleased smile.  Her bright white posing 
bikini contrasted sharply with her beautiful black skin.
	Next to Aisha stood Gabriela, the gorgeous South American representative from 
Chile.  Her hair was ebony black, cut short and swept up from her lovely face, which 
exuded a contagious passion for life, probably because her life was lived with an 
animalistic physique that was absolutely ripped to shreds.  Her body was sliced with 
cross-striations in every muscle group.  But, Gabriela was growing impatient.  She knew 
her best body part was her back, and she was anxious for the command to turn around so 
she could show it off.  She held her arms out a little farther from her prominent lats, just 
to let the crowd (and the judges) know what she had in store for them, and then touched 
her hands to her hips and flashed the briefest of lat spreads.  Golden muscle emerged 
from behind her – the muscles were large enough that she could see them out of her 
peripheral vision just by looking straight down.  She licked her lips in anticipation of the 
back poses that were to come.  Gabriela’s blood-red posing suit was matched nicely by 
the nail polish on her pretty toes.
	Beside her was the African continental champion, a native of Egypt named 
Saraya.  Saraya was the tallest competitor on the stage, and the body she had 
manufactured was well deserving of her center stage position.  Two things were striking 
about Saraya.  The first was her incredible vascularity.  Her entire physique was a 
textbook study in venous anatomy, as she was covered in a road map of veins from head 
to toe.  She had somehow managed to vascularize her glutes, as the audience was soon to 
find out during the side profile shots.  The second, and probably more noticeable, feature 
was her amazingly seductive stage presence.  What Gabriela had in earnestness, Saraya 
more than matched in base sexuality.  Her forest green posing bikini had two small 
triangles sitting on her breasts, and a teardrop-shaped piece of fabric over the middle of 
her pelvis.  The thong bottom had no back; it was simply a piece of string that ran around 
her waist and connected with another string that ran between her buttocks to the teardrop.  
Early in her bodybuilding career, Saraya had discovered the value (and personal sexual 
arousal) in icing her nipples before taking the stage, and tonight was no different.  
Prominent nubs stretched the sheeny green material of the top, rimmed by wet water 
stains from the melted ice.  She was not smiling, but instead picked out several faces 
amidst the crowd and fixed them with a primal lusty stare that was frightening in its 
intensity.  Surprisingly for her height, Saraya possessed the best calves of all the 
competitors.  Cloaked in a net of vascularity, tonight they stretched the tape measure to 
18 inches, and bulged so far from her shins that she was unable to keep her heels together 
in the semi-relaxed pose.
	Fourth from the left, Jennifer provided a stark study in contrast to Aisha, Gabriela,  
and Saraya.  It was almost comical to see the Australian titleholder next to the nearly six-
foot Saraya, as she proudly rose up to her full 4’10” height.  Jennifer had long, straight, 
shiny red hair, and she loved the “natural” look so much she never tanned, which for a 
redhead meant a shockingly ivory, yet very attractive body.  With her black posing suit, 
she was Aisha’s optical inverse three physiques over.  And while Gabriela was a picture 
of serene inner peace, Jennifer was a tiny firecracker, with an exuberant smile and a face 
that revealed her cheerleading background.  She exploded into every pose with an 
enthusiastic nod of her head.  In some unthinkable way, she had managed to find a place 
for 150 pounds of sinewy muscle on only 58 inches of Jennifer.  Her arms were simply a 
distraction from the rest of her world-class physique.  Her deltoids had perfect grooves 
that resembled miniature pumpkins, triceps jutted from behind like fleshy horseshoes, 
and her biceps were like two heart-shaped softballs with a sliced valley between the 
heads.  Altogether, she had constructed 18-inch guns, and she made sure to give short 
gratuitous flexes whenever she got the chance.
	Next to Jennifer was Song, the pretty South Korean whose mind-melting 
abdominals had breezed her through the Asian championships, which was no small feat 
considering the size and strength of her Chinese, Japanese, and Malaysian rivals.  Song 
had fashioned a ten-pack to the front of her torso, with cobblestone muscle squares 
disappearing below her bikini bottom into her loins.  While waiting for the instructions to 
begin, she would twist at the waist, use one hand to raise her sizable breast, and give a 
little crunch to the side to display her latticework obliques.  You could tell she was 
having fun up on stage, and her bright smile and sunny yellow posing suit completed the 
package.  Song was ecstatic with how her body had grown, especially when she recalled 
the eternal isometric ab workouts that would leave her moaning and sobbing on the gym 
floor.  You responded, she told herself, and it was all worth it.
	Finally, stage right, was Danielle.  Bouncing excitedly up and down on her 
tiptoes, she had a look of pure girlish giddiness, which was fitting, since she was only 17 
years old.  Still a high school student in France, she had managed to come out as the 
representative from Europe, arguably the most competitive continent for female 
bodybuilding.  Slabs of muscle were stacked everywhere on her body, but everyone knew 
what had gotten her this far: her grossly overdeveloped chest.  Danielle’s immense 
pectorals stretched the tape to 43 inches, and each attachment to her breastbone was 
perfectly outlined with a clear jagged cut.  Their vascularity was remarkable, too; her 
chest was riddled with writhing, snake-like veins reminiscent of Paul Dillett.  In case they 
weren’t already the picture of feminine perfection, each muscle sheet was topped by a 
cute little dollop of breast, just the right size to fill out her bright blue bikini top.  With 
her blond pigtails, deep tan, and French pedicure, she could have been any other teenager 
heading to the beach for the afternoon, except most teenage girls don’t need the width of 
two beach towels to accommodate their chest muscles.  Much to the delight of the 
audience, she would make her pecs dance; first the right, then the left, then both together.  
She would watch her muscles while they bounced, and then flash the audience an “aren’t 
you impressed?” grin.
	“Quarter-turn to the right!” came the instruction.  The women did so.  Aisha 
wasted no time in trying to find an advantage; she raised a bare foot into the air and 
squeezed an inch of flexed hamstring from behind her thigh.  Song tensed her obliques.  
Jennifer and Danielle thrust their arms to their sides as hard as they could, emphasizing 
their respective best features.  
	“Quarter-turn to the right!”  The crowd gasped audibly as Gabriela’s back came 
into view.  It was even more shocking than the rumors that had been circulating.  Her 
traps swelled, tongues of muscle that seemed to want to give her earlobes a seductive 
flick.  Her lats shielded her teres muscles from view like an old-fashioned dressing 
screen, and minor and major peeked out over the top and fought for the most attention.  
Gabriela arched her shoulders and then slowly spread her wings, eliciting more gasps and 
awe-filled expressions from the audience.  
	“Number three, feet together please.”  Not to be outdone, Saraya was trying her 
best to comply with the request, but her calves simply would not allow it.  “Feet together 
please,” repeated the voice, and Saraya struck one heel against the other several times to 
show that placing her feet together was impossible.  A professionally dressed woman 
hurried to the announcer’s booth and whispered in his ear; soon after, the voice said, “I’m 
sorry, please do the best you can.”  Saraya rose slowly up and down on her tiptoes to 
magnify the objects of the confusion, and her diamond-shaped cows stole a large portion 
of the crowd’s attention from Gabriela’s quarry.
	“Quarter-turn to the right!”  The scene was much the same as before.  Jennifer’s 
right triceps was repulsive in its immensity; the tiny woman looked as though she would 
fall backwards, so imbalanced was her mass distribution from front to back.
	“Face front please!”  Once again the women snapped to attention, ready to begin 
the battle.  “Front double biceps!”  The ladies had various methods of slowly bringing 
their arms to a climactic flex, but of course none was more entertaining than Jennifer’s.  
First, she flexed her right biceps, and immediately the grooved heart-shaped knot jumped 
to the occasion.  She used her left hand to display her arm like a model from “The Price is 
Right,” and shot the audience a look that clearly said, “Tell me what you think.”  The 
audience responded accordingly.  She repeated the process with her left biceps, with the 
same result.  She then blasted into the double biceps pose with her trademark animated 
grin, and rightfully received twice the applause.  
	“Side chest!”  The girls relaxed their arms and turned to their sides, pulled in their 
elbows and thrust their pecs forward.  The sides of Saraya’s calves, with their sliced 
serrations, were no doubt gorgeous, but in this pose no one could hope to compete with 
Danielle.  And, no one could anticipate the display she was about to put on.  She started 
with the standard pose, 43 inches of power in all their glory that strained her top to the 
limit.  Then, she reached behind her head and slightly loosened the knot that tied up her 
bikini top, lengthening the strings between her neck and the nipple coverings.  She 
secured the string at that length, and flexed again.  Once again, her muscles stretched the 
string to the breaking point.  She loosened the knot, lengthened the strings, resecured it, 
and maxed out the fabric again.  She did this five times, until the knot hung on by the 
barest of margins!  And still, she was able to use her chest to bring the string fully taut.  
The crowd heartily cheered her efforts, and her five muscle-laden competitors bravely 
held their own side chest poses (all very impressive in their own right), knowing that they 
were witnessing something special and wanting to provide the proper muscle background 
for the scene.  This contest was fiercely competitive, to be sure, but the respect and 
esteem each of the women held for each other was unmatched.  
	“Back double biceps!”  The audience sat forward in anticipation.  Everyone had 
seen Gabriela’s sheer canyon before, but not fully flexed.  Slowly and sensually, Gabriela 
extended her arms high above her head, pulled her elbows down as far as they would go, 
and eased into her back pose.  The audience gasped again, louder this time.  The judges 
tried to regain their composure; one of them turned away, visibly shaken by the almost 
disgusting degree of development the Chilean woman was exhibiting.  Heads of muscle 
had emerged from every corner of the expansive surface, like a field of prairie dogs.  
Veiny rivers ran between the hard, distinct mounds of flesh.  The other women were 
trying their best to keep up.  Aisha had once again drawn attention to her luscious, 
chocolate hamstring muscles, holding her back pose while standing on one foot.  A 
hurricane could have blown through the auditorium and she would not have wavered, her 
balance was so impeccable.  Song had taken to performing an upright row motion, and 
had worked up a healthy pump by the time the announcer gave the command to relax.  
Saraya could still rely on her enormous calves, and the toe raises she was now engaging 
in did not disappoint.
	“Side triceps!”  The ladies gracefully turned to their sides and extended their 
elbows.  Jennifer was once again the easy winner in this pose, but at this level, all of the 
women possessed absolutely magnificent arms.  Danielle displayed some of the best 
definition of all the women, the venomous fang of the lateral head of her triceps almost 
reaching her elbow.  Saraya had developed lovely striations in her triceps, and she rotated 
her shoulder forward so as to give the judges the best possible look at them.
	“Could I have number one and number five move to the center of the stage, 
please?” came the voice.  The crowd cheered; they knew that the judges wanted a head-
to-head clash between Aisha’s quads and Song’s abs.  “Abdominals and thighs!”  The 
outer four girls placed their hands behind their heads and planted their heels on the floor, 
toes in the air.  They crunched into their pose and looked at Song and Aisha, like a 
picture frame waiting to be filled.  Song smiled and began her routine.  She flexed her left 
obliques, and immediately a confused mass of muscle appeared that resembled a cross 
stitch project gone awry.  When she felt she had reached sufficient shock value from that 
side, she turned to the other side to flex her right obliques, which were just as beautiful.  
She placed her left hand behind her head and flexed her right arm in front of her for 
maximum effect.  She then faced forward, and tensed her incredibly defined quads (when 
you want to feature your abs, you had better dry yourself up as much as possible, and the 
rest of Song’s body benefited from her dehydrated state).  She put her left hand behind 
her head and held up her breasts with her right forearm.  She put her heel to the floor and 
slowly crunched forward.  Her abs came into view, block by block, brick by brick.  It was 
amazing how cute she managed to look throughout this gladiatorial display, and the 
cutest thing about her was that, while she held the pose, she wiggled her upturned toes.  
The audience broke into thunderous applause.
	But Aisha was determined to outshine her Korean competitor.  She gave Song an 
appreciative clap of the hands, and then settled into her own routine.  She put the toes of 
her right foot on the floor and began to shake her right quads.  She waved her hand over 
the muscles while they quaked back and forth across her femur, smiling at her 
development and at the crowd’s appreciative “Oooh!”  She changed to the left side, and 
began to shake again.  Every so often, she would stop and lock her knee, and watch the 
striations appear, crisscrossing her quads like a garden trellis.  She flexed her abs – each 
row of Aisha’s granite 8-pack overlapping the one below it, like roof shingles.  Then, she 
chose her left thigh (because it was closer to Song) to complete the pose, and rotated it 
slowly back and forth at the hip.  Her coating of oil gave the movement a disco-ball 
effect.  A roar went up from the audience.  Hopefully, the judges had an idea of who won 
that pose, because if the audience had to choose, they would be mystified.
	“Please relax”  said the voice, and the ladies resumed their semi-relaxed stance.  
Each one began the small subtle flexing they had engaged in before, anticipating the next 
two minutes that would decide the winner.  They breathed heavily, the rise and fall of 
their ribcages accentuated by the glistening oil.  Their arms dangled away from their 
torsos, ready for battle.  They tried to grip the stage floor with their toes; they held their 
pretty smiles bravely.  It was time.  “Music please….OK ladies, pose down!”

TO BE CONTINUED