The Confessions of a Muscular Woman
By Laura B. lauraflex@hotmail.com
Chapter Four. Close Encounters of the Quad Kind.

This story contains violence and sexually explicit material and should
only be read by adults.

I stepped forward, imposing my bulky right quad upon Matt once again. I
hitched up my shorts, fully revealing the golden mass, the object of
his desire, this time within inches of his face. Then, ever so slowly,
as I smiled down on him with my hands at my hips, I shook-out the
deeply striated mass of flesh, allowing the ponderous muscle to travel
back and forth on the front of my femur in a hypnotic, pendulous
motion. I'll never forget the look on little Matt's face, it had become
warped- a strange mixture of fear, subjugation, and extremely erotic
longing. His eyes where like saucers; his pupils fully dilated. He
studied the corded surface; the striations of beef moving back and
forth right under his nose. For several minutes I allowed the display
to continue, a divine demonstration of minute control.

I alone had summoned forth this mighty tsunami of flesh; I alone was in
command, exerting absolute mastery over the hulking muscle. To drive
home this lesson, I suddenly pointed my toe and flexed hard, as hard as
I possibly could. The powerful muscle immediately snapped to attention
in a golden explosion of sinew. An inert, monolithic slab of granite
replaced the organic, kinetic wave. It was enormous, dwarfing Matt's
head and shoulders. Motionless, it radiated like a nuclear warhead, its
former dynamism now frozen into a titanic reservoir of potential
energy.

"Well, what do you think?" I demanded, my fury now showing itself, "Is
this what you really want?" I held my enormous leg close, challenging
him. I could feel his warm breath on my skin. "Well, go ahead, I'm all
yours," I commanded sarcastically, "Take me, show me what you can do.
I've heard that you're quite the ladies man, Matt, so please, you were
about to show me how its done."

I delivered these words with such venom that I honestly scared myself.
At that moment, I really didn't know what I was capable of, but I could
feel my anger boiling my blood. I knew my face projected this inner
rage. I felt unhinged. I had become a banshee, railing against
centuries of patriarchy.

Poor Matt. He was nothing more than a surrogate; a hapless soul who had
found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had I not been so
irate, I might have seen this. I might have seen him as he truly was:
insecure, weak, struggling to fit in and make friends like everyone
else, desperate to please his overbearing father. But it was too late.

My display was way too much for him; his impudence had been erased. He
was puny. Curled-up in a ball, his whole body could have fit within the
massive space that my quad now demanded. Emasculated, he didn't dare
lift a finger. His proximity to this colossal engine of power, coupled
with my killer glare and sharp tone, had really frightened him.
Instead, he did something I hadn't expected at all. He did the only
thing that he could do. He began to cry. Huge tears welled up in his
eyes, then tumbled down his cheeks. I felt them as they fell on my leg,
warm and wet, creating tiny rivulets as gravity tugged at them. They
traced the furrows and striations of muscle, trickling down the side of
my knee, and then disappearing into the spongy elastic material of my
sock just above the mighty flare of my massive calf. He began gasping
for air as he silently wept. The tears fell like raindrops. Fascinated,
I watched it all, never even imagining such a pathetic sight could
exist.

As if his uncontrollable blubbering weren't enough, Matt then proceeded
to reach down, grabbing for his crotch with both hands, and commenced
pawing at his cup. Astonished, I watched as his left hand went into his
shorts and then inside of his jock strap. Apparently, he was desperate
to find a way of relieving the pressure from the suddenly raging
erection that was now grinding itself into his athletic supporter.
Shamelessly, he grabbed at himself, jiggling his cock as he wept. Like
some sort of lowly, servile beast, he tugged and he rubbed as he
cowered on the ground before me. Matt, the alpha male, was trembling in
fear, quivering with longing.

My somatic response to this position of absolute power was involuntary
and automatic. I felt my adrenaline dump. Instantly it coursed through
my veins, bathing my muscles in its potent hormonal brew. Ancient,
predatory juices flowed: evolutionary instincts surged through my body,
gripping me in their antediluvian embrace. I felt myself becoming
aroused, the wetness of Matt's tears on my quad suddenly matched by the
wetness of my sex. Time slowed to a crawl. As the adrenaline pumped, my
heart pounded like a jackhammer; it was a kettledrum in my ears.

Then, just as quickly, my body's metabolic processes slipped gears. The
furious anger subsided, giving rise to a carnivore's steely confidence.
A huntress, my prey well in hand, I was now awash in the epinephrine's
mediating effects; simultaneously lowering my ire while triggering wave
after wave of intense, sexualized hunger pangs.

I watched in amazement as the veins of my outstretched right leg
distended, swelling further, adding ever more rugged features to my
quadriceps's topography. Between blurry tears, with this roiling
organic surface now centimeters from his nose, Matt too experienced the
physiological change of my body. He had no choice. He stopped touching
himself now, quickly withdrawing his hands from his pants. Instead he
clutched, white-knuckled, at his trembling knees.

He slouched greatly, my massive quad now completely dominating his
personal space as his face hovered just above the golden horizon of
striated beef. His bowed spine conformed unquestioningly to my leg's
volumetric requirements. His entire body seemed to be an afterthought,
a satellite in orbit around a Gaia of muscle. He was now in a trance-
like state. A pathetic, cross-legged figure, he sat motionless save for
a trickle of tears and a gelatinous quiver to his body.

Matt seemed to shrink even further into insignificance. He was now
nothing more than a speck, an ant, groveling at the base of an erupting
volcano. His fate no longer his own, my articulated flesh was the only
reality that he knew. The terrain of my quad had become his entire
universe. His only hope for survival was in becoming completely attuned
to his new ecosystem of fast-twitching fiber. I noticed a dramatic new
flair to Matt's nostrils. Like some nearly blind rodent, he followed
his nose. Almost imperceptible in his movement, he slowly traced a path
along one of my quad's mighty blue arteries, now fully engorged with
vitality. Slavishly, he sampled the feminine hormones, the warrior's
scent, bubbling up invisibly from my skin's surface.

Ultimately, it must have been this musky rush of hostile pheromones
that pushed Matt over a cliff towards new depths of despair. His eyes
again filled with tears. This time, his face carried an expression of
mortal terror so dramatic, so infinitely pathetic, that it made my
heart scream out. As a dominatrix, I was fully in the throes of my
first true reverie.

Matt's pallor had become corpselike; he was now SO pasty and stark. He
had gone into shock. The grim reality of my muscular capacity, of what
my body was truly capable of, had caused his brain to melt.
Overwhelmed, he began to hyperventilate, weeping openly, hysterically,
his chest heaving. The animalistic fear of unbridled aggression by a
far more powerful adversary had actually caused the tiny hairs on the
backs of his arms and neck to stand on end.

Words can't describe that moment in my life. It was the ultimate rush.
Ecstasy; like a virginal heroin fix. Psychologically, it was a
transcendent experience. It was a mindfuck: pure, erotic domination.
Without laying a hand on Matt, I now owned him, both mentally and
physically. We where alone in the world: subjugator and slave. I was
free to exercise unadulterated, 100 proof power in whatever way I might
choose. The "alpha" male, his golden fleece of confidence, paternal
influence, and wealth stripped away, was now a naked and defenseless
lamb, just waiting to be devoured by his mighty leonine mistress.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The air was now rife with the
scent of timidity. It was utterly intoxicating. I could still see
Matt's weak body as plain as day; the way it trembled, the way he wept.
My subject had self-destructed when faced with my superior female form.
This thought caused my adrenaline soaked muscles to shudder. I felt an
influx of wetness down below, acutely centered between my legs. It was
a tremendous sensation, a bone jarring, full-body ache. I opened my
eyes once again to Matt's terrified male body heaving, languishing in
the mud, snot running freely from his nose, saliva pouring from his
mouth. This residue of subjugation now completely coated the fleshy
contours of my still extended right quad. Euphoric, I knew it was now
time to claim that which was rightfully mine...

(C) 2005 Laura B. All rights reserved.