Twenty- Five Cents A Flex by GJ This story is purely fictional. Any characters, names, locations or situations in this story are coincidental in nature. This story is inspired by a conversation I had with Diana, in the chat room recently. It is based on the old standard Ten Cents A Dance. The lyrics are as follows: Lyrics: I work at the Palace Ballroom, but, gee that Palace is cheap; when I get back to my chilly hall room I'm much to tired to sleep. I'm one of those lady teachers, a beautiful hostess, you know, the kind the Palace features for only a dime a throw. Ten cents a dance that's what they pay me, gosh, how they weigh me down! Ten cents a dance pansies and rough guys tough guys who tear my gown! Seven to midnight I hear drums. Loudly the saxophone blows. Trumpets are tearing my eardrums. Customers crush my toes. Sometime I think I've found my hero, but it's a queer romance. All that you need is a ticket Come on, big boy, ten cents a dance. Fighters and sailors and bowlegged tailors can pay for their ticket and rent me! Butchers and barbers and rats from the harbors are sweethearts my good luck has send me. Though I've a chorus of elderly beaux , stockings are porous with hole at the toes. I'm here till closing time. Dance and be merry, it's only a dime. Sometime I think I've found my hero, but it's a queer romance. All that you need is a ticket Come on, big boy, ten cents a dance. Ok, now for a new spin, dear readers. A new muscle club opened up in my city. It was called The Flex Club. It was very exclusive and expensive. All the waiters and waitresses were bodybuilders, dressed in posing outfits. They were oiled up and were the creme de la creme of the sport. They were paid very well and their tips were off the charts. The food they served had names like Muscle Treat, Big Boy Steak, Calves Liver, and a delicious tomato- based topping for dark brown bread, called Lat Spread( just to name a few). The biggest attraction of this unique restaurant was the showcase called Twenty-five Cents A Flex. Patrons, who were well healed ,could go into another venue attached to the restaurant, and pay to have a taste, feel, or squeeze, or even some well placed punches. All this at the hands of huge, sexy bodybuilders. The joke here was that it actually cost $25/for each contact from these incredible specimens of muscle power. In a short time, a well healed patron could shell out hundreds or even thousands of dollars, depending on what he/she required. So after eating a great meal, served by this walking blonde wet dream called Olga (She was 6', 180lbs, 18" biceps, huge quads and calves and an ass that could make u cum in your bvds.), I watched her lifting these impossibly large platters. The muscles in her back rippled and sweat began to slowly drip down her lats. Her arms were so huge, so ripped, that their veins pulsated with power. Her ass could crack nuts deep inside it. My nose would have been a piece of cake for her. Ok, so as you guessed I came 2x just observing her. She knew something was UP as she continually smirked as she came by. By then my creme pants were very creamy. After dinner , I needed some release from my building libidinal impulses, and I wanted it rough. Calling over the hostess ( yes with the most tight, hard, oh God, muscle crafted, body), I booked some time in the special room aforementioned before. Leaving a super generous tip for Olga, as she served me well , I went through the curtains to a private room. It was spartan-like. Yet it had posters of famous bodybuilders, all nude and shot to maximize there beauty and sexuality. I waited, with heightened anticipation for the arrival of MY Muscle Goddess. Checking my watch ever minute or two, my sexual tension building, I was rewarded by the view of the most beautiful female body builder I have ever seen. Facially, she resembled a famous N Y bodybuilder who lives in the Greenwich Village area of that city. Her muscles were huge ( of course) but not freakish, nor steroid-induced. Introducing herself as Ruth E, she went through her stats. She was 22 years old, 5'10, 195 lbs, 21" biceps, 30" quads, 19" calves. She had a lat spread( no not the stuff on the bread), of major proportions, and her chest was a 42DD. Finishing her curriculum vitae, she had black belts in Aikido, Judo and she had fought in the underground for 5 years, with a record of 28-0( all knockouts and all against football players, Navy Seals and the like.) I came when she first told me the size of her biceps. Wouldn't you dear readers?, come on you know you would. Then she approached me and asked what I would like her to do to me that evening. Looking up at her beautiful face, I said, "Muscle worship, some wrestling to a knockout and of course some boxing." Nodding her head, having heard this all before countless number of times, Ruth explained the pricing policy. I took $5,000 and held it out in a shaking hand, to her. "This should pay for the tab", I said, whimpering now. My muscle goddess took the money and put it in a tube and sent it down a chute to an unknown destination. She came closer and I could smell her scent. It's pheromone-like quality , was making me shake. Then she said, "How do you want it?" Licking her right bicep, tracing the angry vein that rose and fell as I squeezed that impossibly hard arm, "I want it rough." Smiling like she had found a little animal to play with, Ruth made me suck on each muscle, lick each muscle, and kiss her steel fists. Then I was made to lick her creamy buns of steel and kiss her huge quads. After that she knocked me out with every muscle of her body. She finished up with her hammer fists working me over. I was a bloody mess but thankfully she spared me from real damage. I would heal, eventually. At least, that's what the doctors said, at the trauma center I was transported too. As they feverishly worked me over, I heard music coming from the white, sterile environment. Someone liked old songs apparently. As my jaw was wired shut, I heard a real torch song, plaintively sung. It was called Ten cents A Dance.