The Land of Awe
By Merz
Dorothy Sails Over the Muscle Rainbow

Dorothy Gale raced down the flat Kansas road, her strong legs 
spinning the crank of her mountain bike as she maintained a steady 
22 miles per hour.  "Hold still, Toto.  We're almost home."  Her 
small black dog squirmed in the backpack that held her school 
clothes and books.  She glanced over her shoulder and was relieved 
to see only empty prairie behind her as she turned up the long drive 
to the farm of her aunt and uncle.

Her powerful thighs in her black Lycra capris made a pleasant 
zipping sound as they rubbed.  She wore a snug, stretchy shirt that 
left her arms bare.  She liked to show her bare arms whenever she 
could because she was so proud of their size and definition.  Many 
of the boys she went to school with were envious of her arms and her 
strength, but she had deliberately piled dedicated weight lifting 
onto the effects of her farm chores to produce a truly formidable 
physique for a teen aged girl.  Those not put off by the results of 
her work found she was easily flattered and happy to show off more 
of her impressive body.  That tendency lay behind the urgency of her 
current race for home. 

She parked her bike in the barn and started for the house with Toto 
at her heels.  Skipping up the front steps she met the farm's 
attorney, Mason Longfellow, coming out.  "My, Dorothy, you get 
better looking every day."  Longfellow, true to his name, was tall 
and slender.  He never seemed to tire of touting his success as a 
ladies man and never let Dorothy pass without taking the opportunity 
to flirt.  "You here to see your uncle?  Whoa, are you still lifting 
weights?  Aren't you afraid you'll scare off Mr. Right when he comes 
along, if he isn't already in front of you?"  The obvious power of 
Dorothy's muscle-packed body was an instant turn-on for him as well 
as a private embarrassment when he compared her to his own boney 
physique.

Dorothy had little patience for his line of patter because it never 
led anywhere.  "I have to exercise.  It seems like I'm the only one 
who does any real farm work around here, so I better be able to 
handle it.  Is Uncle Henry in?"  

"Speaking of work, good job getting the tractor tires changed 
yesterday.  I guess they aren't as heavy as they look.  The factory 
recall was a nuisance, but the new ones you mounted should last 
several years, and I've drafted a letter demanding a refund for your 
labor.  That'll help compensate us for the time I spent handling the 
matter.  Henry's in his office.  Seems like Ms Gulch needed to have 
a word with him.  Did she catch you making out with one of the local 
boys again?"  Longfellow craned his head for a better view of 
Dorothy's nicely rounded butt in her tight pants.

Was Longfellow a mind reader, Dorothy wondered.  "Almira Gulch is 
here?  How could she get here ahead of me?  I have to talk with him.  
And those darned tires were every bit as heavy as they looked and 
every bit as hard to get on and off the rims.  Be nice if I saw some 
compensation some time."  She pushed past the lawyer, who got his 
usual thrill as the muscular teenager shouldered him aside.  He 
watched her strong arms pump and her thick legs churn as she 
sprinted up the stairs and into the house.  

Inside, Dorothy headed for the back where her uncle maintained his 
office.  First she had to pass the desk of Abercrombie Bryant, the 
farm's marketer.  He held up a hand mirror as he smoothed his 
perfectly coiffed blond hair.  "Gale's Kale - Good for What Ails.  
What do you think?"

Dorothy paused.  "Excuse me? Is that your latest advertising jingle?  
It sucks.  And we don't grow any kale, just corn and soybeans."  
Despite herself she had to admit the blond, tanned marketer was 
quite handsome.  She saw no real need for any marketing campaigns 
for crops sold through on-line commodities brokers, but her uncle 
seemed to think it might one day pay off.  Dorothy and her aunt 
insisted Bryant work mostly on commission, so his lack of results 
didn't really cost the farm much.  Decorative but not expensive: it 
seemed an acceptable tradeoff to Dorothy.

"Perhaps we should plant a hundred acres then.  It's much too good a 
line to go to waste.  I hear you like making out in the corn rows, 
so having shorter crops might have the added benefit of keeping your 
mind on the business.  That field you fenced in last fall might be a 
good place."  Bryant picked up the telephone and seemed to 
completely forget Dorothy as he dialed and began asking about the 
price of kale seed.

Dorothy pressed on, shaking her head. "That dude doesn't even know 
the difference between a corn farm and a truck farm.  He probably 
thinks they grow trucks there.  And how does he know who I make out 
with or where?" 

"Ah, just the person I was looking for."  Dorothy was startled and 
looked around for the source of the voice.  "Out here," the voice 
called.

Finally Dorothy realized someone was calling her through the window. 
She went out the side door and found the systems analyst, George 
Clayborne, standing beside a large wooden crate.  He waved at it 
with his clipboard.  "That idiot UPS driver just dumped this here.  
This is old fashioned farm work so it's your department.  I'll show 
you where it goes."

Anxious to get to her uncle as quickly as possible, Dorothy decided 
not to argue the point but to perform the chore.  She grabbed the 
edge of the box and heaved.  "Holy smokes!  What's in here?"

"Just the new servers and cooling units and steel racks to hold 
them.  Plus a couple security cameras.  The old server farm keeps 
overheating and crashing.  Follow me, I'll show you where it goes."  
He turned and started walking toward the side building where he 
maintained the computer network controlling all aspects of the farm 
from irrigation to inventory,           

"Wait a second.  This weighs a ton!"  Dorothy strained harder to get 
a sense of just how heavy the box was.

"So? Aren't you the one who's so proud to let the boys rub her big, 
bad muscles?  If a broken down UPS driver could handle it I wouldn't 
think it would be any problem for you." Clayborne paused at the door 
to his electronic domain, barely glancing back.

Furious, Dorothy threw all her strength into the job, raising the 
box off the ground, wrestling with its awkward dimensions as well as 
its enormous weight, and staggered to the door Clayborne obligingly 
opened for her.  "Just set it on the desk.  I'll unpack it myself 
and get the server farm up and running in no time.  Appreciate the 
hand," he commented airily.

With a grunt, her arms trembling and her back groaning with the 
strain, Dorothy heaved the box higher and deposited it on the desk.  
The desk legs promptly collapsed under the load.  "Goodness," the 
farm's computer expert remarked. "The UPS driver's hand truck didn't 

seem to have that problem.  Don't build them like they used to.  You 
may want to ball your boyfriends in their own barns from now on.  
I'm installing some more security cameras that will cover that part 
of the hay loft you like to use."  Clayborne dismissively pushed 
past Dorothy and pried opened the box with a crow bar.  As he began 
removing twenty pound electronic units from its interior he had to 
admit to himself that Dorothy had made the job of moving the box 
look no more difficult than had he, the driver, Longfellow, Bryant 
and Henry Gale when they had lifted it off the truck and set it in 
the yard to await Dorothy.

Dorothy shook her head at his lack of consideration and his failure 
to comment on what an incredible feat of strength she knew she had 
just performed, and choked down her fury at his reference to the one 
romantic interlude she had had with the Watson boy in the barn.  How 
had this nerd found out?  Returning to the house she rubbed her 
throbbing biceps and wished she could hurry to her workout room and 
admire how pumped they must be.  But she had to get to Uncle Henry.

"Oh, there you are, Dorothy.  Would you step in here for a moment?"  
Dorothy's Aunt Emily styled herself after James Bond's boss, M, and 
seemed just as central to the running of the farm operation.  
Dorothy obediently entered the first of the twin offices at the back 
of the sprawling farmhouse.  M stood frowning in front of a world 
map that bristled with colored push pins.  "What does the world need 
more, soy diesel or soy sauce?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm thinking of putting in some distilling equipment, but we have 
to decide if we want to produce fuel or go head to head with the 
Yellow Horde producing sauce.  What would be better for America?  
And just as important, for our bottom line?  The red pins show where 
the Chinese have their own sauce making sites, free from any 
international inspection, and the blue pins are the main shipping 
ports where their product enters the country.  Do you see a 
pattern?"  

"Golly, I don't have any idea."  She shifted nervously, looking over 
her shoulder at the door to Uncle Henry's office across the hall 
where she heard thumps and crashes.  

"Then let's experiment.  Would you mind carrying a couple of those 
hundred pound sacks of soybeans from the warehouse into the basement 
this evening?  I want to try a couple of test runs to see which 
process will have less overhead."

"I'll grab them right after dinner.  Right now I gotta see Uncle 
Henry and explain something before Almira Gulch tells him her 
version."  Without waiting to be excused Dorothy darted across the 
hallway and knocked before slipping inside.  "How could she get here 
ahead of me?" Dorothy wondered.  "I never saw her go past, but there 
she is and there's her bike parked outside.  Must have got a lift in 
the back of a pickup."  

"Henry Gale, if you don't do something I will have the police on 
her, on her dog and on you.  I won't leave until I have that vicious 
animal."  The normally neat office was in disarray with chairs 
upturned and papers scattered about.  The familiar figure of Almira 
Gulch loomed above Dorothy's Uncle Henry as he cowered in his office 
chair behind his desk.  She was a tall woman who dressed in severe 
suits, her hair pinned back with one ugly little hat or other 
perched on top of her head.  She straightened and spun about when 
she heard Dorothy's gasp upon entry.

"Bad enough you can't keep your pants up around any boy in the 
county, when I try to break up your shenanigans you sic your vicious 
dog on me.  I might have been killed!"  Almira glowered down at 
Dorothy. Her high cheek bones and sharp nose gave her a predatory 
appearance.  She took a slow step toward Dorothy.

"You can't take Toto!  He wouldn't have bitten you!"  The fierceness 
of Almira's glare drove Dorothy flat against the wall as the tall 
woman took another step toward her.  Uncle Henry used the 
distraction to try a dash to the side of the desk away from Almira.  
Without bothering to glance back at him she threw a straight arm 
across his chest, slamming him back down.

"Give her the dog, Dorothy," Uncle Henry gasped, rubbing his chest 
and trying to get his breath back.  "She says Toto tried to bite 
her.  She won't sue if we turn Toto over to her, and with just 
Longfellow to count on we don't want any lawsuits."   

Dorothy started to argue, clenched a fist and considered fighting 
for her dog, and then gave up in despair beneath the withering glare 
of Almira Gulch and the urging of her Uncle.  Without another word 
she lifted up Toto and handed him to her adversary.

With burning eyes Dorothy rushed to the little shed she used as her 
weight room.  She was so furious she felt she had to focus her anger 
on either hitting something or pushing her muscles to their limit.  
Stepping inside she paused in front of the narrow wardrobe mirror 
she had hung behind the door.  She checked quickly to see if she saw 

any effects from lifting Clayborne's box.  Not sure, she blasted 
through a fast set of bench presses.  "The nerve of that old biddy!  
I don't screw every boy around here.  Just certain ones, and 
sometimes even they don't get to go all the way. And Toto wouldn't 
have hurt her." she exclaimed after the first rush of adrenaline was 
past.   At that moment her dog Toto nosed open the door and 
scampered inside.

"Toto!  You got away!  Let me finish one heavy set and we'll get out 
of here until things cool down."

Thrilled to have her dog back with her, Dorothy felt confidence in 
her ability to accomplish anything she put her mind to.  Loading 
more weight on her heavy bar than ever before, she took her place on 
the bench.  "I should have a spotter for this, Toto, but I know I 
can do it.  And I'm so mad at Almira Gulch I need a challenge to 
keep me from kicking a hole in the wall."  With a grunt she heaved 
the massive bar up and held it suspended above her for a moment.  
With a great gasp of air she lowered it quickly until it kissed the 
nipples her straining muscles forced against her elastic top.  
"Unggghh," she cried as she inched it back up until her elbows 
locked.  "State record," she muttered between clenched teeth.  
Dorothy took a moment to glance at the effect the strain was having 
on her powerful young body, and she liked what she saw.  Her chest 
made twin peaks as hard and large as her clenched fists, her arms 
trembled with power.  Excited by what she saw she held her breath as 
she lowered the bar for a second repetition and let the steel bounce 
against her screaming pecs before pouring all her strength into 
forcing it back upwards.

Suddenly, just as her arms locked out, her vision began to flash 
between burst of darkness and light, and the room began spinning.  
She could feel the enormous weight begin to tip and she fought to 
regain control.  Glancing out the window of her small studio she 
choked back a shout for help.

"Oh, my goodness!" she thought as she fought for control, "I thought 
she was gone!"  Dorothy clearly saw the upright figure of Almira 
Gulch pedaling furiously but somehow staying in place!  Her nemesis 
looked in the window and waved as if nothing out of the ordinary was 
happening, as if she saw young girls lifting incredible weights 
every day and as if pedaling without making progress were a daily 
occurrence.  The grim-faced figure suddenly dissolved in a flash of 
light to be replaced by one that was much less familiar.  

Instead of the upright three-speed commuter bike, this rider 
straddled a carbon-fiber racer.  Instead of the long, loose dress 
and jacket, she wore a sleeveless sweat shirt and sweat pants cut 
off to show ropes of sinew for the length of her thighs.  Unlike the 
boney limbs that Dorothy imagined went with the chiseled bone 
structure of Almira's face, those thighs looked as big around as 
beer kegs and were exploding with incredible strength as she spun a 
front chain ring that must have had a hundred teeth, far more than 
Lance Armstrong turned in his prime.  The rest of the body looked 
just as powerful.  It seemed as if she could crumple the sleek bike 
frame in the knobby fists that gripped the handlebars.  With a shake 
of her head, Almira's dark hair broke loose from a tight bun into a 
wild dark mane.  Looking over at Dorothy, Almira shrieked in 
maniacal laughter before shifting gears and sprinting out of sight.  

"Jeepers, Toto, no wonder she could manhandle Uncle Henry that way!"   
Dorothy fought her vertigo, trying to rack her huge barbell as it 
swayed wildly.  Before she could get it safely settled, however, she 
felt her bench tipping to the side and then everything went dark.

"I knew I should have had a spotter," Dorothy moaned as she regained 
consciousness.  "If for nothing else than to certify my record."  
She knew she might have been seriously injured by the weight 
dropping on her.  Looking up, she realized she was lying on her 
stomach in a strange room.  Off to the side her weight bench lay 
upside down, and somehow the barbell lay across the bottom of it.  
"How could it flip completely over?" she wondered as she pulled 
herself to her feet.

She heard some strange muted laughter and looked quickly all around 
the room.  It appeared to be a reception area of some sort with a 
large counter, a few chairs, a couch, and some potted plants.  Two 
sides were curtained top to bottom.  "Who's there?" she called out.  
Silence.

The door behind the counter sprang open and an amazing person strode 
confidently in.  Dorothy ran through her memory of all the blonde 
body builders she had seen in magazines and concluded that although 
this woman was more powerfully developed than any of them, she had 
never appeared in a contest or feature article.  The blonde goddess 
stood at least six feet tall, with every inch appearing rock hard.  
Her arms were deeply cut with muscle, her legs bulged.  She wore a 
tiny, French-cut white leotard that emphasized the width of her back 
and chest and the narrowness of her waist as well as the leanness of 
her hips and butt.  Her hair was pulled back in a sporty pony tail, 
and her springy walk caused it to bounce about provocatively.  
Dorothy nearly swooned seeing such an incredible physique matched 
with a classically pretty face.

"Sorry I'm late.  I heard you arrive but had to take care of a 
couple of things before I could come welcome you to the House of 
Awe.  Now first off, the Munchkins want to know if you are a Good 
Bitch or a Bad Bitch."

"But I'm not any kind of bitch.  Bitches are rude and scary and 
mean.  What's a Munchkin?"  The invisible giggling increased.  
Dorothy gathered her wits and stood up.

"The Munchkins are laughing because I am a Bitch.  I am Glinda, the 
Muscle Bitch of the North."  To emphasize her point she tensed her 
right arm in a triceps pose that brought hawser-like cords seething 
to the surface of her arm and shoulder.

"Goodness, I didn't think there were any female bodybuilders with 
your size this side of Oklahoma.  I'm Dorothy Gale, from Kansas, and 
I'm pleased to meet you."  Dorothy curtsied politely as she had been 
raised to do.  "Where is this place?"

"This is the House of Awe, as I said, the gymnasium beyond the 
rainbow.  It's a magical place where devotion to exercise and proper 
diet can make all your wishes for beautifully pumped muscles come 
true."

"So this is where all the real muscle comes from?  Do the guys look 
as good as you?  And do they believe in any of that old fashioned 
age-of-consent stuff here?" 

"As you know from what has obviously been a long time lifting 
weights yourself, what you look like is something you determine 
yourself.  What you do with the muscles you build, such as stamping 
out Bad Bitches, says a lot about the sort of Muscle Bitch you 
become.  I'd say you were off to a very nice start."  She gestured 
toward the bench with the heavy barbell resting on top of it.  For 
the first time Dorothy noticed the top of a head visible beneath it 
where someone had been driven straight down into the floor.

"But I just like to be strong.  I don't know about stamping anyone 
out or being some kind of a Bitch."  Dorothy was quite confused by 
this entire conversation and unable to take very seriously the idea 
that there really was a body beneath her weight bench.  

"Well, here you are with your nice sixteen inch arms, and there is 
the Bad Bitch of the West, right where your workout bench landed on 
her.  Anybody who looks like you," Glinda traced a polished nail 
down the vein on top of Dorothy's bicep, "and goes around squashing 
the likes of Elphaba, is some kind of a bitch.  I hope you're my 
kind rather than her or her sister's kind.  Give me a double biceps.  
Hmm, definitely the makings of a very Good Bitch.  You can all come 
out now!" 

From behind chairs and from underneath potted plants, from around 
the reception desk and the curtains came a bizarre host.  Each came 
about up to the level of Dorothy's chest, standing little more than 
three feet high, and being rather portly.  There had to have been 
dozens of them crowding around.  They rubbed their little pot 
bellies in delight at Glinda's news.

"Hey, wait a minute.  These guys don't exactly inspire me with Awe. 
I thought you said this land is one big gym."

"Well, I didn't say everyone had quite the discipline we might 
want."  Glinda slapped the hand of a Munchkin who had let it wander 
too familiarly up her leg.  "Nor the manners, but there are 
certainly some fine specimens here and there."

A pair of the little people who looked no more fit than the others 
stepped forward and looked up at Dorothy.  "We represent the 
Lollipop Guild, and we'd like to invite you to a private tasting 
we're having."

"No way!' Glinda interrupted.  "I've already put the two of you on 
sugar-free diets. Just because we have a guest doesn't mean you can 
go face down in the candy bowl.  How about if Dorothy visits your 
circuit training class today instead?"  After her initial irritated 
explosion Glinda attempted to make the prospect sound appealing for 
the Munchkins.  They didn't appear terribly enthusiastic.    

Suddenly the curtains along one wall flew open with a cloud of smoke 
and a clap of thunder.  A black bicycle hurled into the middle of 
the crowd and its massively muscled rider somersaulted off.  It 
would have been a more dramatic entrance if the Lollipop duo hadn't 
gotten in the way and tripped her up.  From the tangle of bodies the 
cyclist arose, astounding in her size and definition.  She stood at 
least six feet-three and was dressed in the cut-down sweat clothes 
Dorothy had seen her wearing on the bike so her massive arms and 
legs were clearly visible.  The face was definitely that of Almira 
Gulch, but nothing else bore any resemblance at all.  The neck-hem 
of her shirt had been torn out so it scooped low on her chest, 
revealing great cannonball breasts thrusting straight out.  That 
they needed no support was evident when she twisted abruptly and her 
right nipple winked in and out of view.  On her feet she wore heavy, 
black work boots that added inches to her imposing height.  "Who 
killed my sister?  Who killed the Bitch of the West?  Was it you, 
Glinda?  Or was it you?" she spun and demanded of Dorothy.

The barrel chest with the cannonball breasts cast a shadow over 
Dorothy.  The brawny teenager cowered from the tremendous Muscle 
Bitch who glared down, her ruddy face taking on a furious purple 
tone beneath a dark tan, the cords of her thick neck standing out 
like steel cables.


"Oh hush," Glinda told her.  "You have no power here.  The little 
bitch is hard as granite and you'd best be off before she drops a 
ton of weights on you as well.  You're riding your bike without a 
helmet again and that might hurt even your thick skull." Almira eyed 
the ceiling nervously as Glinda waved her hands to shoo the Bad 
Bitch on her way.

"What about Elphaba's belt?  It's mine by rights now that she's 
gone."  

"I believe you'll find that it has been awarded to Dorothy as a 
result of her state record bench pressing."  The blonde muscle-
beauty gestured and the next thing Dorothy knew her waist was 
encased in a leather belt that rose in the rear to support her lower 
back and fixed by means of a ruby encrusted buckle in front.  "She 
needs this more than you, so she shall have it as long as she is 
working out among us here in Awe.  Now off you go, before she 
changes her mind and teaches you how mean the Muscle Bitches from 
her own land can be.  Shoo!"

"I'm going, but you haven't seen the last of me!" Almira shrieked.  
With another burst of flame and dark smoke she was on her bike and 
gone.

"Jeepers, she's certainly big and nasty.  I don't think I'd stand a 
chance against a powerhouse like that," Dorothy confided to Glinda.  
Maybe I should give her the belt if that will make her leave me 
alone."

"I don't think that will help.  She will want to prove she's 
stronger than you by snapping you in half, as she certainly could 
do.  You had best either beef up very quickly to match her, which is 
unlikely, or stay out of her way."

"I just want to go home to Kansas.  How do I get out of this place?"

"Well, one way to escape from Awe is to get your Pro card.  That 
will allow you to go to Las Vegas with a possible stop home in 
Kansas along the way."

"A Pro card!  Cool!  Where do I get that?"

"I'm afraid the judging system is much too complex for anyone to 
understand.  You'll just have to go talk to the Trainer of Awe.  He 
is said to be very wise and to know what's best for Muscle Bitches 
everywhere.  To find him, just follow the yellow tiles in the floor 
and stairs up to the penthouse."

"Wouldn't it be easier to take an elevator?" 

The Munchkins again erupted into laughter, while Glinda smiled 
indulgently.  "This is the House of Awe, dear.  You take the 
elevator if you have mobility issues.  Otherwise everyone who is at 
all capable uses the stairs.  Don't be a wuss now!  You have a long 
way to go.  Oh, one other thing: don't take off the belt of the 
Muscle Bitch of the West.  Wandering around where you could run into 
Almira you might get hurt.  The belt will help keep you safe.  
Almira will want to take it from you, but you better keep it on at 
all times for safety until you get that Pro card."  

"Way cool!  This will give me magic powers so Almira can't hurt me?  
I'll never take it off!"

"Well, that isn't exactly how it works, but for your sake I'd keep 
it on if I were you.  Now off you go - and don't try singing.  It 
disturbs the folks doing aerobics who need to keep their own beat."  
Glinda led Dorothy through the door into the House of Awe and gave 
her a gentle push toward the first yellow tile in the floor.  
Dorothy saw the second and skipped toward it, then broke into a run 
as she rounded a corner and saw a corridor that disappeared into the 
distance with a yellow tile every twelve feet.

"You, the smart ass who put his hand on my butt and you Lollipop 
addicts -  drop and give me ten!"  As she jogged along Dorothy heard 
Glinda's commanding voice.  "No, lard-ass, rocking back and forth on 
that pot gut doesn't count as a push up."  The sound of her crisply 
counting repetitions faded into the distance as Dorothy ran down the 
endless hallway.

*	*	*	*

Dorothy followed the tiles through a maze of halls and rooms until 
she rounded a corner and stopped in surprise.  A gaunt figure 
wearing a tattered warm-up suit was entangled in the mechanisms of a 
complicated exercise machine.  One leg was snared by the cable for 
the leg curl station, an arm was pinned under a modest weight stack 
for the rowing station, the other leg draped over an overhead press 
bar at the level of his head while his remaining arm fumbled with a 
twenty-kilo plate that had come off its stack and seemed poised to 
crash down his head if he made one more wrong move.  Looking on were 
the most peculiar group of rodents Dorothy had ever seen.  By their 
naked tails and pointy snouts she concluded they were rats of some 
sort.  But these rats were larger than her dog, Toto.  What was 
more, they pranced about on their hind legs standing about two and a 
half feet tall and displayed brawny physiques with well developed 
biceps and triceps, bulging pectorals, and wide lats.  As the 
trapped creature continued his futile struggles that seemed about to 
end in his destruction, the rats taunted him and offered suggestions 
calculated to make his predicament worse.

Dorothy sprinted to the rescue.  Scattering the rats as she crashed 
through their circle, she caught the loose plate just as it toppled 
toward the creature's head.  The largest of the rats moved forward 
as if to stop Dorothy, so she tossed the plate to him knocking him 
flat as he caught it against his muscled chest.  He heaved it off 
and scrambled away, followed by the rest of the pack.  With a few 
deft moves she shifted this stack of weights and that until she had 
separated the victim from the device and held him in her arms.  She 
was amazed by how little he weighed.

"Oh, thank you!  I've been trapped in that contraption for the 
longest time.  I couldn't make head nor tail of any of it."

Dorothy set him down and he stumbled a few feet before getting his 
balance.  "It seems like a pretty simple machine to me.  How much 
weight do you usually lift on it?  Or do you normally use free 
weights?  And who were those peculiar animals?"  Dorothy inquired of 
him, steadying him as he again staggered after taking a step.  

"Well, maybe it's simple to a jock like you or those Gym Rats, but 
it's completely beyond me.  You see, I don't know what weight to 
use, or what to do with a weight for that matter.  I just signed a 
monthly contract the Gym Rats sent me and I thought I needed to 
start getting my money's worth.  I guess they didn't really want me 
around as long as they got my money."

Dorothy felt sorry for the gangly figure, and felt his arm to see if 
she might suggest a starting place for him.  To her shock, she found 
no muscle tissue under his clothing at all, just some sort of soft 
stuffing.  "Why, you're the biggest wimp I've ever seen!  I'm just a 
girl, but feel this muscle.  My arm is four times as big as yours 
and doesn't have anything soft.  Go ahead, feel it, squeeze it."  

"My goodness!" he exclaimed.  "That's hard as a rock, and so big and 
round!  And your thighs are bigger than my waist.  With your 
strength and my flexibility I'll bet if you tried screwing me, we 
could find about three new positions nobody has ever gotten in 
before.  I have a little time.   Would you like to try?  See here, 
there is one part of me that gets nice and hard and is always 
looking for exercise."  He shoved himself against Dorothy who became 
aware both of how stiff his dick and how thin the material of his 
pants were.  The combination did not please her.

"Eeuw, no.  I need my boyfriends to be big and strong, hopefully 
even stronger than I am which is harder for them every year the way 
I work out.  I don't want to go out with somebody as wimpy as you, 
no offense, even if you are polite and pitiful."

"Oh, if it's pitiful you like we should get along very well.  Not 
only am I weak, I'm dumb enough for the Gym Rats to take advantage 
of, like you saw.  I don't think I should ever let you out of my 
sight."

"Just my luck," Dorothy said.  "I'm out of here, wimp.  First it's 
those runty little Munchkins and now it's a wussy Stringbean.  I was 
really hoping I could get my ashes hauled if I came to a new place, 
but a girl has to have her standards."  She jogged off toward her 
destination again, but became aware that the Stringbean was jogging 
easily on her heels.  

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him.  He crashed full tilt 
into her and bounced hard onto the ground.  To Dorothy the impact 
felt like being hit by a feather pillow.  "Where do you think you're 

going?"

"Oh, feeling that big hard muscle of yours, and then hearing you 
talk about sex has me so charged up I'll never give up hope of 
balling you!"  The Stringbean scrambled to his feet.  "May I run 
into you again?  You're so solid and strong!  I could do that all 
day!"

Dorothy put her hand on his thin chest as he lunged toward her 
again.  She shuddered as he ran his hands up her contoured arm.  
"No, you may not.  Don't touch me unless I ask.  You're such a 
weenie you give me the creeps, but I guess this is a free country, 
too, so I can't stop you from jogging behind me.  Just keep your 
distance.  I have a Trainer I need to see.  He might be able to help 
you, too, but really that's your business."  Without another word 
she turned and resumed running.  The Stringbean fell into step ten 
feet back, his mouth watering as he stared at her powerful glutes 
working in her Lycra capris. 

All of this was being watched closely by Almira and her servant, the 
King of the Gym Rats.  "Get on my back," Almira snapped at the King 
Gym Rat.  The two of them were in her den, watching Dorothy's 
encounter with the Stringbean on her plasma security monitor, "and 
be careful with those claws.  If the little bitch is as tough as 
Glinda says, I want to be ready.  Look at her, hanging out with that 
nit-wit.  I'll tear them both apart."  

She was working herself into a frenzy as she did pushups almost too 
fast for the eye to follow.  The Gym Rat obediently hopped onto her 
back to add resistance to the exercise.  Almira adjusted to the 
added weight immediately, barely slowing her pace as she watched 
Dorothy and the Stringbean running down the long corridor and out of 
camera range.

She stopped after a hundred and jumped to her feet, tossing the Gym 
Rat into a corner.  "Did you hear that loser saying he'd be 
interested in screwing her?  She isn't creative enough to figure out 
how to use his flexibility even though her hard, young body has him 
so turned on.  Do you think she's as hard as this?"  The Gym Rat 
ventured a hand onto the brick-like abs Almira tensed for him as she 
pulled up the bottom of her shirt.

The moment his furry hand prodded the steel-corded stomach, she 
jerked him off his feet and fell onto her back.  "I'll show you 
creativity." In an instant the cut-off shorts were around her knees 
and she was thrusting the Rat's head in and out of her snatch.  Her 
left hand fondled her own right bicep as it surged and relaxed, his 
whiskers tickled, his wet nose drove her crazy as she rammed it 
deeper and deeper into herself until she came with explosive force.  
The Rat was ejected to land in the corner once more, barely 
conscious but licking his wet face with his long tongue.

"Now we'll see how good that muscle-punk is.  To the Bitch Mobile!"  
Almira pulled up her pants again and turned toward the door.  "Well, 
come on!" she snarled at the Gym Rat and shook him until his wits 
seemed as much returned as they were going to be.

Back in the hallways of Awe, the tile markers led Dorothy and 
Stringbean to a door marked "Studio".  Inside they found a medium-
sized, well lighted room with an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling 
mirrors.  In front of one stood the most splendid statue Dorothy had 
ever seen. The silvery metal figure stood about six feet tall and 
was posed to show off the maximum number of astonishingly developed 
muscles.  At its feet was a pair of equally shiny dumbbells.  
Dorothy counted the plates and realized they would total two hundred 
pounds each.  She could not help herself, but diverted from her 
straight course through the room for a closer look.

"Look at this!  Could you imagine who they got to pose for it?  Or 
do you think it's an exaggeration?"  Stringbean stayed on her heels 
as she began circling the alluring form.  When she stood between the 
statue and the mirror, with her companion behind her, she yelped in 
surprise when the gorgeous form moved.  It dropped its pose, 
stretched and bent and shook itself from top to bottom.

"Oh, thank you!  I can't tell you how good it feels to move around 
once more."   

"You're alive," Dorothy blurted out unnecessarily as the metal man 
turned his back toward her.

"Yes, very," he replied and stretched again.  "It's just that I'm so 
beautiful that I hit that one pose and couldn't tear myself away 
from admiring it.  Wasn't it the greatest thing you've ever seen?  
I'm probably in your debt for blocking my view so I could change 
position, but my God how handsome I am!"

"Well, I will admit you have a very impressive physique, but one 
shouldn't be so vain as to announce the fact to everyone."  Dorothy 
stepped back in front of the metal colossus, her mouth watering as 
she scrutinized every detail in this different position.  He 
obligingly hit a couple more poses for her to savor.

"This is what it's all about, boys and girls," he smiled 
condescendingly as he flexed one gleaming arm.  "I curled those 
dumbbells and this is the result.  What's the point of having so 
much if I can't show off?"  Dorothy gasped at the size, at the clear 
definition of both heads of the huge muscle.  In size and definition 
it exceeded anything she had seen even in the bodybuilding magazines 
she jacked off to under her covers at night.  She hesitantly rubbed 
its taunt hardness, then tried to squeeze the top where it dwarfed 
her hand.

"Oh, my goodness!  I thought you'd be harder!  I'm ever so sorry."  
Dorothy looked at the dent her squeeze had left and fought the 
temptation to flex her own arm and squeeze it for comparison.  She 
knew her muscles were much harder and squeezing them never left 
dents.

"Careful!  It's tin, not steel.  It's kind of a turn-on having a 
strong young girl like you feel me up.  I'm the Tin Hardman, but you 
can call be Gorgeous.  Got any muscles you want me to feel?"  He ran 
a cold hand down her arm and Dorothy could feel her nipples harden, 
whether from the temperature inside her or outside she couldn't 
tell.  They hardened further when a trapdoor between the robot's 
legs opened and an enormous gleaming phallus sprang out.

"Hey, wait a minute!" complained the Stringbean.   "I saw her first.  
Dorothy is my girl!" Both Dorothy and the Tin Hardman elbowed him 
aside as they fell toward each other.

"I'm Dorothy Gale, very pleased to meet you I'm sure."  Dorothy 
remembered her manners as she eyed the great metallic shaft jutting 
out from beneath the washboard abdomen.  "Um, everyone here seems so 
nice and friendly, do you think it possible for us to get a little 
better acquainted?"  She rubbed her body against the superbly 
sculpted physique of the Tin Hardman and winked as seductively as 
she knew how.

"Why, I think that would be very nice," he replied.  "I'm truly 
interested only in myself but I think sex would be a great way to 
get to know each other."  He began lifting Dorothy's top up over her 
head and she quickly stepped out of her Lycra pants.  She wished she 
dared remove the ruby belt because it hid part of her nice six-pack 
abs, but she decided to keep it on as Glinda had recommended.  As he 
deftly lowered her to the ground, Dorothy was amazed at how smoothly 
the thick shaft sank into her until she realized it was self-
lubricating.  The Tin Hardman plunged so far inside she thought he 
was about to reach her tonsils when he gave one quick thrust, 
shuddered powerfully and withdrew.  

As the majestic form rolled off her to lie gasping on the ground, 
Dorothy cried out, "What the hell was that?  You mean you're 
finished already?  You have what - two seconds of staying power?  
I'd have more fun tipping cows back in Kansas."

The gleaming figure raised his head and gasped out, "I'm afraid so.  
I was built for strength and beauty, but my inventors didn't program 
me for any endurance at all.  I hope it was good for you, too."  

Dorothy leaped to her feet, barely able to control her anger and her 
need for sex.  The powerful member of the Hardman had completely 

retracted.  Dorothy looked frantically about for a way to relieve 
her own cravings.  She considered Toto and for the first time 
regretted having him neutered as a puppy.

The Stringbean took one look at Dorothy's naked appetite and 
prepared to pounce upon her himself, strictly as a favor to her of 
course.  He never got the chance.  With a sickly stench of liniment 
and sweat Almira and the King of the Gym Rats appeared, her black 
bicycle leaping out of the mirror that had trapped the Hardman and 
skidding to a stop.  

"That's it, my pretty, time for you and this wimp to get better 
acquainted!"  Almira caught Stringbean in one mighty fist and 
Dorothy in the other.  Before Dorothy could react to the danger, 
Almira wrapped the flexible buffoon tightly around her upper body 
and then knotted him so tightly that Dorothy's arms were pinned to 
her sides.  

As she staggered clumsily from having to carry the squirming 
creature, Dorothy was easily tripped up by the Gym Rat and fell hard 
onto her back.  The power packed rodent sprang at her, aiming to 
drive his feral face hard between her legs and into her damp pussy.  
Dorothy crossed her muscular thighs and caught him with his tongue 
flicking a half inch from his target.  The rat squirmed and fought, 
but Dorothy poured on the pressure.  The rat's arms bulged as he 
strained against her killing strength which only increased Dorothy's 
sexual craving.  She resisted the urge to let him burrow in as he 
wanted and continued squeezing until she felt the furry beast go 
limp.  She released him and concentrated on freeing herself from the 
bonds of the useless Stringbean still knotted around her and showing 
no particular interest in getting loose himself.  He kept uttering 
little sighs of pleasure and actually seemed to be enjoying the 
experience of being wrapped around just below Dorothy's breasts.

"You could get out if you just gave it a good flex and tore that 
wimp apart," Almira gleefully informed Dorothy.  "Of course that 
would kill him and you seem burdened by a conscience.  Take care of 
my belt, I'll be back for it in a moment."  Dorothy debated how much 
of a burden concern for the Stringbean really was, and whether it 
might not be worthwhile to snap the clinging weakling in half.

Seeing the intimate embrace of Dorothy and the Stringbean caused an 
abrupt reaction in the Tin Hardman.  As Almira had expected his 
shining unit sprang outward again as he cried, "Look!  I'm back!"

The Muscle Bitch was on him in an instant.  Her rock hard body 
slammed onto his metal one with a ringing clang, his gleaming lance 
disappeared between her legs and her hips began slamming powerfully 
against him.  "Just try and pull out of this grip, you tin foil 
clown.  Oh baby, you just needed a Bitch who knows how to get the 
best out of you."  There were distinct sounds of staining metal as 
Almira continued pounding herself against the metal figure beneath 
her.

"Please, help!  I can't take this much!  You're tearing me apart!  
I'll overheat and explode!"  The hapless Tin Hardman's cries were 
getting more and more feeble.  He beat weakly against the wide, 
beefy back of the Bad Bitch as she had her way with him, her mighty 
clit preventing him from withdrawing even though he had again shot 
his wad in the first instant.

Just as Dorothy thought the situation hopeless enough that she 
wouldn't be blamed if her muscles destroyed her annoying companion, 
she saw Glinda hop out of another studio mirror.  In an instant the 
Good Bitch untangled the clinging Stringbean and settled him firmly 
on the floor in a corner.

"For God's sake, Dorothy.  This is Awe, not South Beach.  You can't 
just try screwing every good looking creature you come across.  Try 
benching the Hardman's dumbbell.  Your arms will look much prettier 
when they're pumped up again.  And as for Almira,"  Glinda stooped 
to pick up a metal screw that had been shaken loose from the Tin 
Hardman during Almira's exertions on him.  "There's kicking ass 
around here and then there's kicking ass."  She slowly and 
deliberately bent the inch-long steel against her jutting glute to 
demonstrate its hardness.  "You're a little far from home to try 
this shit on my turf, Bitch, and I promise kicking my ass will prove 
a little tougher than the competition you're used to.  Get off that 
reciprocating dildo, gather up your furry buddy, and pedal back East 
where you belong."  She delivered a hard kick to Almira's butt where 
it still gyrated above the Hardman as she began to extract his shaft 
from herself.

Almira reluctantly heaved up off the Hardman, by now considerably 
dented and twisted by the power of her humping, and adjusted her 
shorts.  With a toss of her curling mane she grabbed the still-woozy 
Gym Rat by the scruff of his neck, tucked him under her arm as she 
remounted her bike, and flashed into the posing mirror she had used 
for her entrance.

Dorothy, meanwhile, had obediently dragged one massive two hundred 
pound dumbbell to the bench.  She heaved it up and carefully rolled 
down onto her back, taking care that the great weight didn't crush 
her completely.  As she struggled with both hands to push it up from 
her bare chest, she was impressed by how much harder this hand 
position hit her triceps, and how nicely it forced her pecs together 
as they flexed to raise the weight.  Cool, she thought, and 
struggled through another rep and then another, getting more than 
her usual thrill from watching her muscles work because this was the 
first time she had done nude bench presses. 

"Hey, Hardman!" she called out.  "Can you really curl these?  One 
handed?  How many reps?"  She was gasping and straining to press up 
a fourth rep, her eyes roving over the trembling muscles of her 
chest and arms.  The sight was doing nothing to dissipate her 
horniness.

"Why, sometimes I go for two reps.  With so many ways I can make my 
muscles beautiful why would I want to do more?"

Glinda caught the huge weight at the top of the cycle before Dorothy 
dropped it on herself in astonishment.  Dorothy thrilled to see how 
holding the weight caused Glinda's mighty physique to swell with 
strength as she smoothly carried it over and set it by its twin.  
She moaned softly watching the thigh muscles bulge when Glinda 
stooped with her burden and how perfectly symmetrical her arms were.

Aware of the effect she was having, Glinda informed Dorothy, "You 
really must be on your guard around Almira. She's a smart competitor 
and dangerously strong.  Next time I might not catch her with her 
ass in the air and you don't want to let her catch you with your 
pants down ever again."   She returned to the bench where Dorothy 
now sat, still quivering with lust.  Glinda took Dorothy's hand and 
helped her to stand up on the bench.  "I have a certain charm that 
may protect you from falling under her spell.  This will take just a 
moment."  As Dorothy stood on the bench, Glinda inserted her arm all 
the way through the young girl's legs and flexed her arm.  The bicep 
slammed upward and gave Dorothy a thrill as its stone hardness 
lifted her nearly off her feet.  Glinda repeated this a couple of 
times, then sped up the flexing and relaxing until Dorothy felt 
herself coming in moist ecstasy.  She melted down to be caught in 
Glinda's mighty arms and eased to the floor.

"Now get dressed and hurry on your way.  That should keep you from 
being overly impressed by Almira.  If you ever feel her capturing 
your heart, just remember this and imagine what fun we could have 
naked in the hot tub.  Maybe you should take this metal character 
along to help keep your overeager companion off you.  The Trainer 
might suggest some ways for him to improve his performance in the 
sack and you can give him another try."  With that Glinda kicked the 
Stringbean off from where he had been humping her leg and swept out 
of the Studio.  

Dorothy and the Stringbean followed the Hardman's directions to find 
his tool kit and the access doors that allowed them to pound and 
press out the many dents Almira had made in his metal body.  Soon he 
looked as good as new, but he had to take their word for it because 
they would not let him examine himself in one of the many mirrors, 
lest he become trapped once more.  Instead they led him to the exit.

Leaving the Studio, the trio followed the yellow tiles to a 
stairwell.  Inside they found the lights flickering and dim, the 
shaft poorly lit and smelling of sweat and dust and dead spiders.  
Nervously, Dorothy led the way upward.  Twice she had to stop and 
swat the Stringbean who seemed to have a habit of following too 
closely so his face would bump into her muscular butt.  The Tin 
Hardman brought up the rear, huffing and puffing because this really 
was a longer workout than he was used to.

As they went up they tried the door leading off from each stair 
landing but found them locked.  Rounding a corner to the fourth 
floor landing they were startled when a shadowy figure suddenly 
jumped in front of them.  "Where do you think you're going?"  the 
shape demanded.  The travelers couldn't make out its features 
because of an eerie blue light that shown upwards, casting shadows 
where the face should be.

The Stringbean was so frightened he jumped down several stairs into 
the arms of the Tin Hardman rather than upwards to where Dorothy 
might catch him.  Before he could correct his mistake Dorothy had 
her arms full with Toto who cowered against her breast just as he 
had hoped to do.

"Jeepers," Dorothy cried out.  "You shouldn't go around scaring 
people that way.  Someday you might scare the wrong person who would 
slug you without thinking about it."  She set down her dog and 
worked to regain as much poise as she was trying to suggest by her 
deliberately steady voice.  She knew this creature was much bigger 
than a Gym Rat, and the voice and general shape were nothing like 
Almira, either as she had appeared back in Kansas or as she looked 
here in the character of the Bad Bitch of the East.  Because it 
stood several steps above her she couldn't judge how tall it was.

"That'd be cool.  Nobody around here gets into real fights.  Let me 
get my webcam set up and you can take your best shot.  Maybe you 
could describe what you're doing so I can write up the fight as it 
goes along.  Do you want me to say your muscles are hard as iron or 
hard as diamond?"   As she looked more closely at the stranger she 
saw that the blue light came from the screen of a portable computer 
casting shadows upward and obscuring his features.  The keyboard of 
the computer clattered rapidly, echoing in the dimly lit stairwell.

"Describe it?  Have you forgotten the last time you were in a fight?  
And who cares what you compare me to?"  Dorothy was quite confused.

The figure came down to the same step Dorothy was on so she could 
see he was pudgy with bad skin.   "Well it's not like people come up 
or down these stairs every day.  How am I supposed to know what a 
person and a carrier duking it out really look like, you dope?  I 
just make stuff up and post it on the internet, but this should 
really be good.  Let me get out of the way and you can let him have 
it.  Do those lumpy arms of yours come from using some of the 
exercise equipment I keep seeing around this place?"

Dorothy shook her head in disbelief.  "You mean you're just some 
dork who writes about muscles and fighting, but you've never really 
worked out yourself?  Or been in a fight?  What a dork."  

"It isn't like I'm totally inexperienced.  I paid a skinny little 
woman to flex her muscles for me once, but they were too small to 
get a good description from.  For a little more - well, a lot more - 
she even wrestled with the carrier.  Then after she'd beaten the 
shit out of him for a couple of minutes so I couldn't get up, she 
transferred the rest of my money into her bank account and said if I 
told anyone she'd erase me permanently.  So I do too know about 
women and fighting.  At least I got a good story out of it all."

"For Pete's sake, this whole place is a gigantic gym.  You just have 
to pick a room and do some exercise so you don't get beaten up by 
skinny women.  You dork, you just hang out on the stairs and write 
your stupid stories or make your pictures, and probably eat take-
away junk food, but you never exercise so of course you're blimping 
out and have zits.  Even this miserable Stringbean made a little 
effort."  Dorothy was becoming quite cross with the young man.

"Well, duh. He has arms and all but he's still a twig, and I'd 
really give him an embarrassing write-up he'd never forget if he 
crossed me.  I'd have a nine year old girl tear his balls off and 
feed them to him.  Just watch me.  And my weight is the same as it's 
ever been, so there."

As Dorothy stared at the creature, trying to make sense of what he 
was saying, a light bulb went on in her head.  "He has arms?  Like 
you don't?  You mean I'm talking to the computer?"


"As if there was anything else worth talking to.  God, what a 
muscle- bound moron."

Dorothy snatched the computer and dangled it over the open gap 
between flights of stairs.  The person stood passively but a loud 
squawking came from the computer.  "What are you doing, you damned 
dyke?  Put me down!  I'll have you know I have files of swear words 
in sixteen languages, and if you don't give my carrier back you're 
going to hear everyone of them!"

"I should think now would not be the time to insult people.  A 
little 'please and thank you' will get you much more than all your 
silly threats and bragging.  Are you sure you won't bounce?  Have 
you ever tried?  Imagine what a new and interesting experience this 
will be."  Dorothy released the computer for a fraction of a second 
without ever completely losing contact with it.  She didn't really 
wish to smash it to bits even though she imagined the echoing sound 
in the stair well would be quite impressive.

"No! Please!  I beg you! Down let me fall!  I apologize!  Just put 
my carrier back. I'll do anything you like - write you a poem, draw 
some great nude pictures of you, whatever you ask."

Feeling she had made her point, Dorothy handed back the computer.  
The one it referred to as its carrier accepted the flat box again 
without commenting or reacting.  "Very well, Dork.  We're on our way 
to see the Trainer of Awe so that I might get a Pro card, and these 
others can get whatever it is they decided to ask for.  Perhaps you 
should come along and ask for some manners software, and your 
carrier can get a brain of his own so he doesn't have to hang around 
with you all the time."

Without another word Dorothy pushed impatiently past the Dork and 
jogged up another flight of stairs.  At the next floor she found the 
door unlocked and led her growing band of followers into yet another 
vast corridor dotted with the familiar yellow tiles.  

Soon their trail led to a door labeled Locker Room.  The companions 
carefully crept inside, on the lookout for ambush.  Slowly they 
tiptoed past the banks of lockers toward the exit door at the 
opposite end.  Lockers stood ten feet high to their left, and to 
their right was a bank of mirrors.  A few more feet would bring them 
past the showers, and then to the door out the other side.  Dorothy 
stopped abruptly and the Stringbean ran into her, as usual.  The Tin 
Hardman piled into him and the Dork completed the chain reaction 
collision.  Impatiently, Dorothy pushed the Stringbean back, which 
pushed back the Hardman and Dork in turn. 

"Don't crowd me so!  Look at this!  Could this be from benching the 
dumbbell, or from pushing you jokers up the stairs?"  Dorothy stood 
in front of a large mirror that revealed upper arms and a chest 
grown to tremendous proportions above a wasp waist encased in her 
ruby belt.  She flexed her arm and nearly fainted at the mountainous 
bulge reflected back at her.

Stringbean glanced at her, and then studied himself in his own 
mirror.  "I think you're about as buff as when you started, but I'm 
happy some of this activity is showing results on me."  He studied 
his wide shoulders and thick thighs in his mirror, turning this way 
and that to accentuate various angles.  

The Tin Hardman was puzzled as he watched the posing routines of the 
two in front of him.  "You guys are as bad as I am, and I think we 
need to get on through here to see the Trainer.  What about you?"  
His own reflection was the familiar one and he forced himself to 
ignore it for once.

"Yeah, you're right," grunted the Dork as his carrier pointed his 
web cam at the mirror they were in front of.  "My carrier is the 
only one who's packed on any muscle since meeting you guys and I 
gotta write it up right away."  He began clattering keys without 
looking up again.

"Stop it!" cried the Hardman. "Don't you see these are fun house 
mirrors designed to stall us here, admiring ourselves?  We have to 
get to the exit."  But no amount of pleading could persuade his 
companions to leave off admiring themselves.

"For Gods sake," moaned Glinda as she pushed open the door from the 
sauna to the locker room.  She stepped out wearing only a towel 
around her blonde hair, sweat and condensed steam running in 
rivulets down her mighty, golden body.  The cloud of steam hit the 
row of mirrors and fogged them instantly as well as the Dork's 
screen.  "Get out of here.  You have places to go and I'm busy."  
She shooed them along, their trance broken by the clouding of their 
exaggerated reflections.  Dorothy led the way quickly to the exit 
and they all stumbled into the corridor beyond.  

Glinda, meanwhile, stepped in front of the Hardman's mirror, the 
only one giving an accurate reflection.  Using the towel from her 
hair she carefully wiped it clear and sighed as her physical 
perfection came into view.  "Imagine those oafs wasting time looking 
at themselves.  No way can they ever hope to look this good."  A 
thread of water ran slowly down her chest and formed a drop at the 
end of her nipple.  When she sensed it had reached sufficient mass 
to fall free, Glinda twitched her pec, flinging the drop six inches 
to splash against the mirror.  She laughed, and then spent the next 
hour caressing her own breasts, combing her closely cropped pussy, 
and going through an elaborate, exotic posing routine until time to 
fetch her vibrator from her monogrammed locker.  

Out in the corridor the travelers looked one way and another, 
wondering where the yellow tiles had gone.  Finally the Stringbean 
remarked, "I know I'm not very good at making decisions, and if I 
had my choice we'd climb a few more flights of stairs so I could 
bump Dorothy's butt with my head some more, but that door looks like 
what we're after."  Sure enough, across the corridor from the locker 
room was a double fire door labeled: Trainer.

END OF PART ONE