FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 
 
 
                          Chapter Six: 
                  Doctor Deanna's Prescription  
                               or 
                      Puppet On A G-String 
 
 
I had convinced myself that she had only been teasing. 
The beach bag, the bursting-at-the-seams bikini, and the g-string 
I wore were simple clues to where we were going.  I slid my 
tender rear end onto the cool dark leather of her front seat, and 
moments later we sped from the dark garage and up the long sloped 
driveway that helped set her house off from the nearby buildings. 
Her V-8 announced it's emergence with a low roar, and I sat 
watching the scenery shoot past me even as my body was pushed 
deeply into the plush seats as M'Lady pinned the accelerator to 
the floor with a spike-heeled foot.  For a moment, it seemed as 
though we were some sort of scantily-clad-yet-dynamic duo 
emerging from a dark fortress to battle evil. I wondered how we'd 
look as a comic strip...  
But just where we were really going? Why would she tease me about 
visiting a doctor? 
I had to know for sure, for certain. I tried to attain an 
assurance that I my hopes were justified, that we were headed for 
surf and sand and the delight of applying more of the warm white 
lotion to her huge and hard muscular body.  Margo, ever dramatic, 
presently slid on a pair of wrap-around dark sunglasses that gave 
her a menacing, predatory look. She shot me a glance, a play-act 
sneer pulling up the corner of her hard mouth.  I sensed that she 
wanted to have me play along, and I acted frightened, hands going 
up before me in a mock attempt to protect myself from her.  
She turned back to her driving, satisfied.   
Optimistic as I had convinced myself to be, I felt there was 
something she was concealing from me. I was unfamiliar with this 
part of the state, being a recent arrival to these parts, and I 
knew we were heading in the wrong direction. 
Anxiety overtook me, and I knew I must approach the subject now, 
or attempt an emergency get-away from a speeding Cadillac. 
We passed speeding cars of many shapes and sizes, all hurrying to 
their destinations.  They shone and reflected in the sun as they 
sped by in blurs.  In the little time I had spent in this section 
of the country, I had met some strange people.  Some of them, I 
was sure, visited some strange places in the course of their 
daily activities.  But somehow, I don't think that any of them 
had as strange a destination as that of the statuesque 
bodybuilder and her trim companion. 
The big black car sped around a corner now, and we drove slowly 
past a gym that sported a big sign in red neon.  It read: 
 
 "Big Girls Gym---Home of the Hardcore Female Bodybuilder!" 
 
The windows were smoked with a mysterious grey mist, preventing 
any passers-by from stealing a glance inside, where women heaved 
and pressed and closed the ever-precarious gap between the sexes 
in strength, and power, and the ability to protect oneself... 
And size, I reminded myself, as I watched Margo's nuclear-powered 
thighs work the pedals... 
We turned down an alley behind the gym, going slowly due to it's  
narrowness.  A dark grey metal door was visible further down, 
covered in the shadow of the adjacent building. 
M'Lady looked at the place wistfully. 
"My old stomping grounds, slave.  Used to pump iron here like a 
bandit.  But," she sighed, "I outgrew these girls.  What can you 
do?", she asked, looking at me with a haughty confidence that 
said that she alone was the commander of our agenda.  
"Just think, slavie, off all the big hard musclegirls who are in 
there, getting bigger and stronger every day.  Wait 'til they get 
their hands on you!" she taunted. 
"Yes, ma'am", I said, meekly, sweating a little now.  Something 
was going on, but at least this wasn't a doctor's office... 
"Let's move it", she said, opening the great wing of her car 
door.. 
I hesitated for a moment and the look in my eyes must have told 
her why. 
"C'mon, little slave", she admonished me, the leather jacket 
making small scrunching sounds as she leaned back towards me, 
"you don't want to make Big Margo mad, do you? I don't think your 
little behind can take any more punishment today.  But we can 
find out right now, if you're curious...", she said, containing 
anger in her voice. She lowered the sunglasses so as to give me a 
direct eye-to-eye stare.  
"Right here, where anyone can see, on the hood of my car. Is that 
what slavie wants?", she glowered, as she leaned across the seat 
on one knee. Her hot breath blew down upon me, and I knew that a 
steely-eyed rage was waiting for a chance to erupt; for a 
moment's hesitation from her slave to unleash her anger upon my 
body.  I had no doubt that she meant what she said, and that her 
threat was not an empty one; but a warning of what could be just 
moments away, in my future, if she deemed it would be so. 
I got out of the car, suddenly terribly self-conscious of the 
minuscule swim-suit M'Lady had given me, but knowing better than 
to attempt any covering-up without her approval. 
I felt absurdly uncovered; white skin touched by a scouring sun.  
My hands went to my bared, reddened buttocks. 
 
She marched up to the imposing-looking door, the chains of her 
leather coat jingling as she walked.  Withdrawing a set of keys 
from the deep pocket of her coat, she began to briskly rifle 
through them.  With her back turned to me, I got a plain view of 
her naked rear end, the menacing-looking leather coat reaching 
almost-but-not-quite to the top of her bare behind, exposed and 
ever-sunbrowned, firm and round and powerful. I found myself 
transfixed at this sight of renegade female sexual power, and my 
loins began to come to life again as she bent slightly now from 
the waist, legs slightly spread as she slid the key into the 
lock. As she crouched, the perfect muscular buttocks separated 
slightly, and the tiny string of white cloth that comprised the 
back end of her bikini bottom came into view. Their owner, 
indifferent to the bareness of her own flesh, worked the key into 
the lock. 
In the tiny brief I wore, an erection could be a very 
embarrassing thing.  The lock turned, and Margo pushed the door 
in, almost turning to me for just long enough to motion, with a 
slight tilt of her head, for me to follow. 
My eyes struggled to adjust in the darkened hallway; a slow grey 
cloud receded from them as we headed down to the light at it's 
end. Margo had pushed her sunglasses back on her head as we 
walked into the back room of the gym. I hoped we would find it 
empty, but I was to be disappointed.  
I heard throaty female voices grunting as they moved clanking 
iron just out of view around a wall, and two more voices, closer 
to the doorway but still out of sight as well. 
I was walking about ten feet behind Margo, and heard them call to 
her as she stepped into view. 
"Hey, Margo, how's the rich life treating you?" 
"Hey, Margo, honey, know any other rich old men who love lots of 
muscles on their women?  I need a new car!" 
I stood behind the wall, dreading the moment that was coming now;  
far from eager to be seen by these strange women in my doubly 
undignified state of undress and arousal. 
But Margo wouldn't have it... 
She turned to me, where I stood, still enveloped in the shadows 
of the hall... 
"Hey, get over here, you!", she called, waving her keys at me. 
I stood frozen where I stood just long enough to see if she would 
have a moment of softness in her all-possessing attitude of 
complete dominance over me, and spare me this one humiliation. 
She didn't. 
I walked slowly to her, into the brightness of the light, and the 
trilling laughter of the amused musclewomen. I stood off to the 
side, near the wall, hoping to keep both my bruised butt, raging 
erection, and shamed face from the women; but covering all three 
was not possible.  I held my hands together, over my groin, and 
squinted in the bright light of the gym. There was a small circle 
gathering now, of half a dozen smiling ladies of varying age.  
One thing did not vary, however; they were all hugely muscled and 
tall. 
Margo pulled me to her, and put a leather-covered arm around me 
and patted my head. 
"Girls, this one is my new slave. Who wants a piece of him?", she 
said with the pride of someone who had just bought a new car and 
was offering free rides.  "Don't worry my little toy," she 
assured me, "I'm not gonna let these big bad girls hurt you--I 
was just teasing.  Say hello to my chastened little slave, 
ladies...", Margo intoned, proud of her latest possession. 
"Hi, there, little slave!", they all called back, pumped-up 
musculature showing on lean bodies-to-die-for, in amused and 
teasing tones. 
"Hey, baby", shouted a tall dark-skinned woman with a latin 
accent, "if I make muscle for you,  you come home with me and be 
my slave?", she asked, tittering and flexing her huge bicep; it 
looked ready to burst through her skin as it contracted into a 
thick, round ball. 
Margo dismissed her with a friendly wave. 
"Sorry, girls, this one is mine. Aren't you, slavie?", she asked, 
looking down to me and giving me a playful hug against her hard 
body. 
"Yes, ma'am", I answered, my hands going to reach up and hold the 
hand that hung over my shoulder, forgetting the reason for their 
particular placement on my groin in the first place... 
"Hey, Margo", intoned a sleekly-muscled older woman of about 
fifty, who had just finished a bench-press and had sat up on the 
seat to survey me. "I think he has a little arousal problem south 
of the border", she said, pointing at my still-obvious bulge. 
Margo looked down at the lump in my black pouch and laughed. 
"Hey, girls, what can I say?  You can dress them up, but...." 
The women all laughed now, including Margo, as I tried to cover 
myself with my hands again. 
But Margo pulled them away from my crotch, and their embarrassed 
attempt at recovering a small dollop of dignity. She gave them a 
playful slap. 
"Besides", she added, turning back to her adoring audience and 
inflicting insult to injury now, "I've seen him naked", she said, 
stifling a bored yawn. "Believe me, ladies, you don't have 
anything to worry about.  Vanessa's clit is bigger than his 
dick", she said sarcastically, pointing at the wolf-grinning 
Latin woman and pulling none-too-gently now on the small black 
pouch that harnessed and covered, but did not protect, my loins. 
"And I keep it pretty drained, too. You been holdin' out on my 
slavie?..", she asked derisively, hands on her hips. 
They all laughed now, some cruelly, some in sympathy for the 
overwhelmed little guy, the smallest person in a room full of 
muscular, tall Amazons who could break him in half and bench- 
press the pieces... 
 
"Is this one for fun or money, Margo honey?", a Southern-accented 
voiced came from the dumbbell rack, where a strawberry-blonde 
beauty stepped out to show the tight hard body of a fitness 
competitor. 
"Oh, just fun.  He's eager, and I figure you can never have too 
much good help, right?" 
"Right, Margo.  You got it, babe! Yeah!", came the various 
replies back to her from across the room. 
"On the other hand, we haven't talked finances yet, have we, 
slave?", she asked, laughing, and lead me away down the corridor 
with a long, sharp fingernail hooked inside the elastic of my g- 
string. 
As the large-muscled ladies caught a glimpse of my reddened rear, 
they all let out a girlish squeal of delight.  I heard one of 
them call out to her as we headed further down the hall. 
"Attagirl, Margo, show 'em who's boss! Keep that little butt 
red!" 
The laughter continued as we continued down the hall. It echoed 
hauntingly; her high heels making sharp, click-clacking sounds as 
she walked with long-legged, sultry strides. I struggled to keep 
up, but had the incentive of the tightly-reigned string she 
clasped with one finger behind her. I knew that she would not 
hesitate to pull it tight and render me insensate with pain had I 
trailed too far behind her brisk pace.  
We reached a door, at the far end of the long hallway.  It was 
nearly invisible in the darkness; there was a light fixture 
overhead, but the bulb had been removed; as though invisibility 
was an aim, and not an after-effect of poor building maintenance. 
Margo knocked twice, then three times, before opening it. 
I followed, suddenly wondering about my optimistic estimates 
about that doctor's appointment talk....Maybe she wasn't teasing 
after all..... 
We entered what appeared to be a makeshift medical office of some 
kind, but without the high-tech equipment one is used to seeing.  
A simple examining table was off to one side, against the far 
wall, and a mirror was behind it. Their were cabinets along each 
of the other three walls.  The office was an antiseptic but 
rather ancient white, as though it hadn't been painted in some 
years. 
A pop music station played on the rather scratchy-sounding 
speakers that were located somewhere in the ceiling, muffled and 
sounding far-away and vague. The place had a silently nefarious 
air to it, as though too many strange things had happened here, 
and had infected the walls with a strange kind of disquiet... 
Margo ordered me to stay still while she looked for someone, she 
said, and exited through a second door at the far wall, closing 
it behind her. I listened to her step fade into empty echoes. 
I stood there shivering in the cool of the strange office.  My 
erection dwindled. 
Maybe I was worried over nothing.  Maybe she was just picking up 
a prescription.  Maybe she was on the pill and needed a refill? 
Yes, that had to be it.  A woman this sexually active had to take 
precautions.  Of course.  What else could it be?  She needed 
condoms. Special condoms, the kind that you can't buy in a 
drugstore.... 
I smiled at my over-reaction, and congratulated myself on my 
deductive reasoning.  But a rapid pulse continued to hammer in my 
chest. 
Just that moment, my leather-clad M'Lady sauntered back into the 
room, smiling a smile that I had learned meant only one thing: 
she was about to have her way once again.   
Seconds later, a very pretty and relatively tall woman followed.  
 
At about six feet in her flat-heeled shoes, she exuded a slightly 
exotic, but healthy attractiveness, with just a hint of 
naughtiness in her smile and shining dark brown, almost black 
eyes.  Her features had a sweetness that seemed to come from her 
attitude rather than her bone structure; kind, with just a touch 
of European elegance to them, as though one of her grandparents 
were of royal heritage.  Perhaps it was her rather dignified 
bearing in comparison to my lady-so-muscular's rather, well, up- 
front behavior, but her beauty was no less attractive than the 
Margo's own carved and sculpted features. She wore a long white 
lab coat buttoned high, and shapely calves peered out beneath 
it's long hemline.  She looked to be a former beauty queen fresh 
from med school; the kind you so often read about. 
Her hair was dark,and pushed back from her face, held into a 
tight bun, but cascading from it, as though it was unwilling to 
be held to such restrictions, was a flowing mass of curls, black 
as ink.  She appeared to have a large bosom, and a rather large- 
boned but fit body largely concealed by the loose lab coat. 
But now, just inside the room, she turned her back and removed 
her lab coat, and hung it on the stand nearby. The sight that I 
now beheld caught me completely off guard.   
She was dressed in a small black tank top. I was right about her 
breasts---they were full and shapely under the lace-trimmed top, 
and she wore tight white shorts cut high on the side, showing 
shapely legs, trim and girlish in comparison to Margo, but 
showing muscularity nevertheless.  Her upper body was very 
developed as well, hard muscularity peaking and showing 
everywhere.  She was softer and less awe-inspiring than Margo, 
perhaps, but a bit less outrageous, too... 
She turned back to face M'Lady and had taken no more than a step 
when she stopped full in her tracks.  She had caught sight of me, 
standing beside Margo, eclipsed from her view until this moment. 
She slapped a hand lightly on her own face. 
"Ye, gods, Margo, not another one!", she exclaimed, half-amused 
and half-shocked at the same time as she looked me up and down...  
She spoke with just a trace of a British accent, rich and 
mellifluous. She looked back and forth alternately to Margo and 
me. 
"You bet", replied Margo, unabashed; leather-covered arms folded 
against her bulging chest, haughty pride showing on her face. 
"I declare, Margo, you're going to be single-handedly responsible 
for the decline in the birth rate", she sighed in seeming 
resignation.  She walked over to a small sink and washed her 
hands, and put on a pair of transparent rubber gloves she pulled 
from a small dispenser beside it. 
So I was right.  She needed a new diaphragm, or cervical cap, 
or... 
"Just fix him, doc," was all she said. 
My jaw dropped in shock. 
 
"Get on the table, slavie", she said, casually, glancing briefly 
to me as though ordering me to a barber's chair for a haircut.  
She pointed to the table.  I looked up at Margo, my expression 
blank in dismay. 
"Deanna is going to fix you, slave", she said, leaning down to me 
and speaking as though I was addle-brained. "Aren't you, 
Deanna?", she stated, rather than asked, her, turning to glare in 
her direction. 
Deanna walked over to me and took my hand, and led me to the 
table. 
"Oh, while you're at it, doc, change his oil, too.  I think he 
might need it...", Margo said, yawning again, suddenly very 
interested in her manicure.  She held her long nails out in front 
of her to inspect them, as she twirled her sunglasses in her 
other hand; seemingly bored by the whole upcoming procedure.  It 
seemed that she had been here before.  Many times before. 
 
Deanna patted the table.  "Hop up, there's a good little fellow", 
she said, with cheerful British lilt, reassuringly.  She reminded 
me now of those sweet English nurses you see in old movies, 
despite her developed upper body and it's hardballs of muscle.   
I looked anxiously at her, and then to Margo.  God, but M'Lady 
was a huge woman!  She dominated the small medical room; her 
broad skyscraper of a body overwhelming in it's over-the-top 
muscle-grandeur. 
 
Upon sensing my hesitation as I stood in front of the table, 
Margo froze; continuing to hold her hand out in front of her, 
motionless. Coiled muscle prepared to pounce, having been forced 
to abandon the slow survey of her manicure.  It did not make her 
happy and she slowly turned her glare upon me. 
"I tell you, Deanna,", she said, biting the words off, "you would 
think he hadn't brought the whole idea up to me in the first 
place.  Now he gets cold feet.!", she muttered, disgusted, 
tapping a high-heel foot. 
What?? 
"Oh, is that it?", Deanna turned to me, the reason for the 
tension suddenly revealed to her, or so she thought.  She beamed 
a beautiful and gentle smile, as she might have used on a child 
afraid of it's vaccination shots. 
"Silly.  Vasectomies are painless", she said, taking my hand and 
patting it.  "You were so brave to suggest it, too. If only more 
men were like you", she said, as though she were proud of me. 
A moment of courage overtook me. 
"If I need to be brave to have it done, why do you say it's so 
painless?", I asked, trying to force a smile. 
I felt Margo's hard icy glare again, as she was forced to turn 
her attention away from the small mirror she had taken from her 
pocket.  She had been preening lightly into it, and did not like 
the idea of another intrusion in her indulgences.  
"Know something, Deanna?"  Margo said to her without looking at 
her.  "I think this might be more effective if you wear the 
little outfit I bought you...." 
Deanna put her hands on her hips, exasperated. The muscles in her 
shoulder jumped into clear-cut life, as though to reinforce her 
words... 
"Really, Margo, is that necessary? Not the outfit again!", she 
said, not afraid to speak up to this woman I had learned to fear 
as much as desire. 
"C'mon, Deanna.  For old times sake, " she said, looking up at 
her for only a moment with a withering gaze that belied her 
friendly tone of voice.   
Deanna backed down now, and wore a nervous smile. 
"Very well Margo, for you.  Honestly, you're so theatrical..", 
she said in a light-hearted tone, as though to dispel the 
momentary tension that had existed between the two. 
"Hey, baby," Margo began, distractedly, as she bent to polish her 
boot with a quick wipe of a cloth.  She stood now, as though to 
make her point dramatically. 
"You know me, Show Business is My Life!" 
 
Deanna raised her arm, and swatted at her from across the room, 
as though to razz her politely. 
"Okay, I shall be right back", she said, shaking her head 
affectionately, walking out of the room, her pert round rear 
disappearing with a wiggle behind her. 
Margo turned to me, and was aware that I was watching Deanna 
closely. She motioned me to approach. 
"Hey, little slave", she said forebodingly, "keep your eyes to 
yourself.  Don't go getting all dreamy-eyed over Deanna.  You're 
spoken for.", she reminded me, threateningly. "I'm your girl, 
right? Besides, where else are you gonna find a musclebabe who 
can push your buttons like Margo? You're owned, aren't you?", she 
said, a touch of gloat betraying her innocent-sounding question. 
"Yes, ma'am.  Ma'am?", I asked, desperate for an escape from what 
was coming for me now, through the door, in the person of a 
kindly English musclegirl. 
She looked down at me and lifted her chin slightly, as though to 
permit me to ask my question.... 
"Is this really, um....important?", I asked, hesitantly, looking 
up to the giantess, the love-of-my-life... 
"Why, what do you mean 'is this important'?", Margo asked, almost 
as though I had offended her. She talked in a patronizing tone, 
with a high-sounding lilt to her voice. 
"I can't have one of your tiny, and I do mean tiny, slave, " she 
said derisively scanning my thin shoulders, "....tiny little 
swimmers makin' their way home, cub scout.  Margo doesn't have 
time for such nonsense." 
"M-ma'am, " I stammered, "I could always wear a condom..", I 
said, hopefully; I looked up to her hard cruel face, eyes 
narrowed in attention, and swallowed hard. 
And Margo laughed.  "Yeah, right, one of my slaves is gonna wear 
a raincoat into Margo's bed...", chuckling still, as though 
picturing it in her mind's eye. She put a hand to her chest and 
patted it, as though to tame the hilarity that beat in her big 
breasts. 
"Gee, ma'am", I said, attempting another approach now.  I had 
decided to try a soft, childlike voice now, and perhaps buy 
myself some time.  I looked up to her with the large, frightened 
eyes of a lamb.  Surely this would work... 
"Please don't make me get my penis cut, M'Lady.  I"m afraid", I 
said, chokingly. "And besides, my great, big, strong, she-hunk", 
I offered worshipfully, kneeling and rubbing the thick full 
hardness of her legs now, "I could always promise to masturbate 
every morning so my semen will be, you know, thin...", I said, my 
voice fading as I kissed her leathered instep in adoration. 
A steely hand slapped a sore buttock.  "Get up", she said. She 
was angry; disgusted at my fear. My bottom felt only a little of 
the force she used; it was still numb from her earlier 
punishment, and had gone to sleep, like a limb that bends under 
you as you sleep until you find it, strange and limp and 
deadened, when you awaken. 
As I rose, she grabbed my small g-string and pulled it tight and 
upwards towards her, making me see stars. I struggled on tip-toe, 
trying to stay on my feet and hold my balance. 
"You're having this done, or we are through", she spat through 
clenched white teeth." That is, after I finish beating the shit 
out of you.  Understand?,'  she growled quietly, obviously trying 
to keep Deanna from hearing. 
I nodded, terrified at both the threat and the prospect of losing 
her. 
"And before you give me any more bullshit, yes, I'm gonna have 
you tested for that, too....", she said, referring to the blood 
test I was to later find out that she required of all her slaves. 
I dangled like a puppet on a string; a g-string.... 
"What's the matter, chickie?", she sneered, bringing her face 
down inches from mine. "Afraid to make a commitment to your big 
Margo?  Aren't you planning to grow old with your hunkin' honey?  
There's enough people on this flying rock already, anyway", she 
shrugged, letting go now, my loins in pain. 
"Oh, that's the problem today", she said, looking to the ceiling 
as if addressing the heavens, in supplication to a muscular 
goddess on high; theatrical once again... 
"Nobody wants to make a commitment!" 
 
Just then, Deanna walked into the room.  My heart leapt in my 
chest, and the aching in my loins subsided. 
Deanna was wearing a white nurse's outfit, complete with tiny 
white hat and white shoes.  The difference was, of course, that 
the shoes were three-inch spikes, and that the skirt, nipped at 
the waist and stiffly starched, was barely long enough to cover 
her hips, much less her thighs.  Her musculature complimented her 
outfit, rather than distracted from it; she had gorgeous chorus- 
line quality legs! 
Margo applauded as she walked in, and I, emboldened, joined in.  
Deanna, a good sport, made several glamour girl poses in the 
outrageously short outfit, standing on tip-toe so as to focus my 
eyes on her bared thighs, and then curtsying grandly as though 
presented to a royal court. My eyes were involuntarily roving to 
the ultra-short hemline as it lifted slightly with the dainty 
gesture.  Now she turned her back for just a moment, bending over 
at the waist and turning her head back to face us. She brought 
one hand to her face, her sensual small mouth open, red 
lipsticked-lips parted into an oval as though in mock surprise. 
She knew that the small white panties she wore beneath the 
pseudo-skirt would be displayed, plainly, in our faces.... 
Her nearly bare behind was wiggling invitingly, pert and small 
and perfect..... 
My heart pounded, my blood raged, and suddenly, the cool room 
began to seem very warm.... 
We applauded again, and I felt an erection starting to strain the 
cloth.... 
 
Still smiling, Deanna attempted to turn to business now, and 
stood straight, pulling the scanty outfit straight, and adjusted 
the microskirted hemline into order. 
"I'll bet you'd like to know what hospital has nurses who prance 
around in these cute little skirts, don't you, young man?", she 
said to me in a friendly, knowing tone, nodding to her bare 
thighs. 
"Yes, ma'am,", I answered, smiling bashfully. "I sure would". 
"Tsk", came a sound from Margo.  "These little slaves are so 
incorrigible, Deanna, and you're not helping any!  Now get to 
work", she said, trying to sound mad, but not convincing either 
the doctor or me. 
"Yes, M'Lady", Deanna curtsied again, all bare thigh and good 
manners, bowing low on one bent knee.  I wondered how she kept 
her balance in those shoes... 
 
Deanna resumed a professional attitude now, despite her short- 
short nurse-turned-babydoll garb... 
"Now, now, take off your that dear little outfit your dear 
muscular Margo has given you to wear, and hop up on the table and 
lean back.  Spread nice and wide for me, okay?", she asked 
sweetly, patting the table again. 
"Do the other thing first, Deanna, okay?", Margo said, applying 
lipstick in the mirror.  
"Surely", Deanna said, over her shoulder. 
I pulled the g-string from my body, holding it in my hands; naked 
again.  Deanna, the professional healer, took no notice.  Or 
pretended not to. 
 
"I'll take care of those for you.  Never you mind", she said, 
taking the small black cloth from my hand and, holding the 
elastic, twirled it; like a female David taking aim upon a 
Goliath with a slingshot. She tossed it to Margo. 
I was instructed instead to climb onto the table and assume a 
position on my knees and elbows, spreading them as far as I 
could, my face to the wall, looking right into the mirror that 
faced the table. It would necessitate displaying my nether 
regions in the cold white light of the beautiful ladydoctor's 
office, in plain and stark view of two women.  But to hesitate in 
the name of a dignity long gone, revoked, seemed futile.  At the 
time, it just seemed to be another order to carry out; my nudity 
seemed almost a uniform now, a state decreed for me by a 
mountainously-muscled M'Lady. 
Besides, I had a simple trust in this kind woman, a seeming 
buffer between my huge musclemistress and me.  I felt Deanna's 
eyes on my bottom, naked and spread wide. 
 
"Holy coy, Margo, did you do this?", she asked, getting her first 
clear view of my battered rump. "He must have misbehaved very 
badly to deserve something like this!  His whole bottom is 
covered with your handmarks!" I felt her soft hands run over my 
pulsing bottom, nerves now beginning to come to life again, skin 
stinging. 
"And it ought to be.  He had the nerve to go spying on me last 
night when I had Big Tony over." 
Deanna let out a soft acknowledgement at the mention of his name, 
raising an eyebrow, seemingly impressed with Margo's choice of 
lovers. 
"Caught us in mid-performance, if you get my drift", she hissed, 
her venom hitting me like the spanks she had rained upon me 
earlier this morning.  She patted her coiffure as though to 
reassure it; as though the thought of what she did last night 
with her well-endowed lover might cause it to fall out of place. 
"I had to set him straight.  He deserved it, and he even thanked 
me for it, too."  
I could see Margo in the mirror, outraged disgust venting at me 
from across the room.  But she smiled a thin veneer of amusement 
at my undignified predicament... 
Deanna leaned over the table, well-muscled arms folded as they 
rested on the cool blue vinyl covering.  Her eyes had a 
mischievous twinkle in them, and they met mine, less than a foot 
away. 
"So", she joked, conspiratorially, eyes narrowing in a 
condescending but kind manner.  Caught them in flagrante delicto, 
eh?" 
"Naw", joked Margo,  "He caught us in bed". 
The two women locked eyes and laughed, enjoying a sisterly sexual 
joke. 
"Actually", Margo now admitted, "it wasn't like I didn't expect 
it.  He looked,sure.  They all do. It's all part of the training. 
They get tempted.  And who can resist me?  So they get naughty, 
and I spank the hell out of their cute little asses.  His little 
ass is cute, isn't it, Deanna?" 
She quickly affirmed the question.  "It certainly is.  It's just 
a shame it's so red and tender-looking..." 
"It's always tender-looking.  So pert and cute.  That's why I'm 
gonna have him wear this thing for my girlfriends to ogle and 
pinch his ass when I have them over", she said, waving my tiny g- 
string she now held. "And as far as the spanking goes, hell, I 
enjoy it. He enjoys it, more or less", she shrugged. "Like I say, 
I expect it a little misbehavior.  Hell, I'd be mad if he didn't 
come take a peak and watch me getting a little of the real 
thing", she said, patting her pubes through the tiny white patch 
of cloth.  "If you hadn't come to see me, slavie", she said to me 
in the mirror, "you wouldn't be here now.  You'd be in the 
hospital!", she laughed. 
Deanna tsk-tsked at Margo's audaciousness, and went about her 
business.   
Deanna turned back to me, holding up a scolding finger. 
"That was very naughty of you, all the same, young man.  Don't 
you know how rude it is to pry into someone else's sex life?  If 
you were my slave, I very well might spank your bottom, too!", 
she said firmly but sweetly, placing her hand on my backside, and 
cupping it so gently it hardly registered on my skin. 
"You can pry into his sex life anytime, Deanna.  What there is of 
it.  Somehow, I don't think he had much of one until he met me, 
isn't that right, slavie?", Margo intoned. 
"No, ma'am", I said to the blonde leather-clad giant in the 
mirror. 
"See?  I'm providing a valuable service to all the little wimpy 
muscleworshippers, Deanna.  I turn their dull little lives 
around." 
"Yes, ", Deanna admitted, "but after you turn them around, you 
smack them on the ass 'til their behinds are covered with big red 
handmarks!" 
"Hey, no charge," Margo said in a cool superior voice.   
She snickered, hands in the deep pockets of her coat.  She was 
proud of herself. 
"Well, all the same, let's tend to it, shall we?", Deanna said. 
She went to a cabinet, and produced a soothing cool gel, which 
she then applied lightly, with strong arms, and a gentle touch to 
my now-throbbing bottom.  Her touch was light and professional, 
with a hint of the kindly lady I felt her to be. 
Margo seemed mildly annoyed at Deanna's gentle treatment of me, 
muttering to herself in the corner, raising and lowering the 
zipper of her coat impatiently. 
"Hey, Deanna, is that K-Y you're using?  You better give me a 
quart of the stuff--I'm gonna be needing it.  That's certainly 
your best side, slave", she said to me from the corner. 
Deanna turned to look over at her, but said nothing to her, and 
went back to work. 
Presently, she crouched behind me, her face less than a foot away 
from my naked genitalia. 
"Judging from the look of your sphincter, your mistress has been 
especially hard on you, young man", she said, peering into the 
orifice, a note of concern creeping into her voice as it 
presented itself to her, agape from Margo's rough penetration. 
She put her fingers on my still-shocked orifice, pulling it open 
for her inspection. 
"Hey, he loved that, too, Doc.  You should have heard him. Moaned 
like a horny virgin gettin' her cherry broken in",  Margo 
bragged.  She began dancing in place to a tune that was playing 
on the sound system. 
I blushed deep red.  It matched my behind. 
"Be that as it may, Margo, give his sphincter a chance to 
recover, okay?", she said, putting a gloved finger up my rectum, 
rotating it, and withdrawing. 
"Careful, doc, he'll start cumming again.", Margo chided her as 
she shook her hips to the music. 
Presently she went on with the business at hand. She prepared to 
give me an enema.   
"Now this won't hurt a bit," she had said. 
Within a minute, Dr. Deanna, as I had come to regard her, 
inserted the nozzle up my anus, manipulating my genitalia as 
though they were mere unnecessary appendages, incidental to her 
task, nothing more. The warm water poured into my rectum, 
accompanied by the music and the muscular lady doctor's  soothing 
tones. 
Dr. Deanna then took a small sample of my blood with a small 
syringe, all cool professional aplomb. 
Margo enjoyed the sight of the apparatus in my battered behind. 
She grinned a hard evil dead-eyed grin; the grin of a dominatrix 
whose foul moods were law; whose whims were turned to wicked 
decree.  
Who ruled... 
Once again, M'Lady Muscle knew when her physique would do the 
most good.  As I lay upon the table, she took off her jacket, 
revealing herself in all her muscular glory, her thundering 
physique overpowering the tiny bikini.  An oddly ironic song came 
over the air now, and Margo began singing along, dancing a small 
little dance with herself, if anything she did could ever be 
called little... 
"Like a virgin", she sang in her deep and throaty voice, 
surprisingly on-key, looking for all the world in her nearly non- 
existent bikini and otherworldly physique like some intergalactic 
go-go girl.  She began improvising the words, and knew I was 
watching her every sensuous if incongruous step.   
"Like a virgin", she echoed, clearly enjoying herself now, 
"FUCKED for the very first time...!, thrusting her provocative 
hips forward as she did, huge breasts shaking, as she looked 
right at me all the while. Her muscles flexed and pumped, as she 
bumped and grinded.  She was in her glory... 
The water had a clean lilac sort of smell, fresh, and it seemed 
strange to me until I realized that was the whole idea behind an 
enema---not for some Amazonian MuscleGoddess to use on her slave, 
for amusement, but to cleanse.  It seemed like a strange idea, 
somehow... 
As the water continued to fill me up, swelling my body as it did, 
she began flexing hard and huge, knowing my eyes were glued to 
her in the mirror, held in place almost magnetically by the 
powerful sexual radiance she was giving off, now more than ever. 
It was perhaps the strangeness of the surroundings that made it 
so unbearably erotic, even for Margo's standards---the usual 
sterility of a doctor's office wrought havoc by Margo's 
persistent, overwhelming sexual presence, defiantly proud of her 
bare skin. She would flex the molten physique while she pawed her 
genitals through the tiny cloth; a little sex and a lot of 
flex... 
Margo called it "flexuality"... 
I could see her, dressed in nothing but a tiny g-string herself; 
strutting into the Oval Office and having everybody; both 
domestic and foreign leaders, eating out of her hand in no time. 
"Margo for President", the signs would say. "If she can't fix it, 
she'll flex it!" 
Presently, my penis, already feeling the pressure of the water 
upon my prostate, had began to erupt again, excited by the 
spectacle and ridding itself of the inhibitions caused by Dr. 
Deanna's kindly treatment.  As Margo continued to flex in the 
mirror, my erection raged, and I could not help myself. I 
couldn't turn away from her image; it was right there, in front 
of me... 
I ached to stroke my penis.  But the chances of that action going 
unnoticed in my current position were nil. 
"Really, Margo, give the poor lad a break", Deanna chided.  "The 
boy can't help the fact that he finds you so irresistible.  It's 
clear you've already taken him where alot of your other slaves 
have never gotten.  Leave well enough for now." 
"Hey, Margo said, posing to the music, "If you got it, flaunt 
it," she said with a shake, ignoring her, and she put her arms 
behind her head, and flexed the huge pectorals several times, the 
huge breasts pushing against the tiny top, weakening it's 
precarious hold with each push.  She was coming closer and closer 
to bursting the small bikini top.  Her chiseled abdominals sprung 
into stark life as she did, the rungs sharp and hard enough to 
climb... 
Finally, on the third or fourth attempt, the small string of 
cloth popped loose, falling off the breasts they had tried 
desperately but futilely to retain. The now-bare-breasted Margo 
continued to flex, delighted with the spectacle she was causing, 
nearly seven feet of an Amazon's hard muscle commanding huge 
breast to perform for her fancy.  Well, Margo", Deanna said in a 
friendly voice, "I'll say this for you", glancing between Margo's 
demonstration and my hairless testicles that hung exposed beneath 
my body.  She ran them between her gentle fingers now, the 
sensation gratifying but unintended as an erotic act for her; 
only an academic one for her study, as though still in med 
school. "You're a great barber.  His testicles are as smooth as a 
newborn baby's behind". 
"What can I say, Deanna?" Margo said, beginning another shimmy of 
a dance, "I get alot of practice!" and she began pivoting her 
whole body around in a sensuous shuffle. 
"Yes, I'm sure you do.  " Deanna admitted, amused as though at a 
tomboyish younger sister who was looking for mischief. "I'm sure 
you do. Saved me a very mundane job, too", she admitted, again, 
referring to my already-shaved state. She began drawing a slow 
steady line with her finger now, vertically from my sphincter, 
down now to my scrotum, around it and down to the length of my 
erect penis, finally coming to the head, hanging suspended, 
pulsing with unmet desire.  She gave it a playful shake now, 
laughing lightly. 
"And you certainly know how to entertain your slaves.", she said, 
admiringly, noting Margo's sexy exhibition still ongoing. 
As that female monument to sex 'n muscle kept flexing 
provocatively, the combination of my anal treatment, Deanna's 
elegant fingering of my privates, and this elementally sexual 
blonde giantess dancing topless were too much for me to endure; 
and I ejaculated involuntarily, a volcanic gush insisting on 
making itself seen and heard as I knelt watching my Duchess 
Deltoid flex her back, and shake her bared brown behind. 
 
No sooner had the spasms left me, however, than I was immediately 
mortified at my actions, near tears in front of the kindly Dr. 
Deanna. 
"Don't worry, little slave", Deanna said, affectionately, as 
though to a child who had spilled his milk. She grabbed the 
tissue box at her side and tenderly wiped the head of my semen- 
soaked penis before attending to the deposit I had unloaded on 
the cracked vinyl. "You can't help yourself with a woman like 
Margo, can you?" 
"No, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't", I offered weakly. 
They laughed as my bottom filled up with Dr. Deanna's 
prescription. 
 
Finally they had decided I had had enough of the warm fluid, and 
the kindly woman gently unplugged the nozzle from my rear. 
"Let him hold it in, Deanna. His cute butt can serve a little 
purpose besides just looking cute and gettin' smacked by his boss 
lady. He'll let it go sooner or later..." 
Deanna made no protest to this order, although I wished she 
would, and allow me, perhaps, to repair to the bathroom.  I was 
out of luck. 
Now the two musclewomen proceeded to the main topic of my visit 
to the doctor. 
My rectum was bloated with the warm fluid, and I could feel it 
slosh around as I was ordered to turn over, and sit back, head 
against the wall. 
Deanna manipulated my now-spent body, pushing my knees wide, 
pulling them up at a right angle and pulling my hips towards her, 
to the edge of the table, where my feet were anchored into two 
cold metal stirrups she unfolded from beneath it.  With my 
bloated stomach I felt as though I had become the world's first 
pregnant man... 
With the skilled ease of a professional surgeon, Dr. Deanna 
administered a local anaesthetic, and prepared to make the 
necessary incision. 
The muscular giantess now drew close, in rapt attention; muscles 
heaving with pride as a slave submitted. My pulse raced and it 
showed in my half-flaccid erection. But it was not from fleshly 
enticement that it did so; it was my heart, pounding in fear... 
"Hey, mouse," she said, in a low voice full of a sultry lilt, 
"look at it this way.  The last orgasm you'll ever have that had 
any ammo in it was five minutes ago, on Deanna's table.  A 
fitting end to your procreative abilities, don't you think, 
slavie?" 
I could barely talk; overwhelmed as I was by all her hard-muscled 
topless ladybulk so close to my eyes, and mouth. 
"Yes, ma'am", I finally said, timidly, as Deanna prepared to make 
the incision that would render me sterile. 
My eyes went to the door. But in order to leap and run for it, 
and out to freedom, I would have to get through Margo. 
And what would I do even if I managed that feat? I would be 
outside; naked. And Margo would come after me... 
 
She would perform the operation smoothly, with no mishaps. 
It was all a bit surreal, as this British musclegirl was clad in 
the tiniest of outfits, seen usually only in lighthearted 
sketches of horny doctors and sexy, scatterbrained nurses.  But 
this "nurse" was all business in her baby-doll dress, as she went 
about her work.  Margo drew still nearer the table, and leaned 
down.  She presented me with her flexed right arm, and she let me 
hold on to the thick slab as Deanna began her work.  My erection 
was guaranteed as I felt the hard peaks and valleys of the veined 
limb, and my mouth attached itself with sluttish fervor to the 
gift; sucking upon a hard and rocky peak of M'Lady's huge bicep.  
I lay passively upon the table, kissing it and sucking on it in 
feverish, wet adoration, ignoring the delicate proceedings at my 
groin as though they were inconsequential. I could feel the pulse 
of her heart on my tongue as blood rushed through the prominent 
veins in her hard-flexed arm... 
"You're such a good little slaveboy, " Margo said, soothingly.  
"Play your cards right and you'll be around for quite some time. 
Careful, Deanna," she said to her friend, "I still want him to be 
able to get his little penis hard and erect when I want it---I 
just don't want it causing me any inconvenience." 
"Not to worry, Margo dear", Deanna said, applying a small bandage 
around the tiny incision. 
"He won't be causing you any more worry.....". 
 
I stumbled off the table and dizzily found my feet.  Margo had 
told me to thank Deanna for her services, and I did.  But once 
again, Margo did not feel that mere gratitude was enough.  
As she patted me on the rear and walked with me to the door, 
Margo invited Deanna to stay over for a weekend and enjoy, as she 
put it, "the services of my slave.  And don't worry, Deanna, he's 
fixed," she said, stating the obvious as she stood at the open 
door of the office. She shooed me out into the hall, where I 
struggled to step into the g-string. 
"He'll make a mess of your bedsheets, but he won't get you 
pregnant. Not anymore", she stated as she turned and smiled at 
me, triumphantly sneering. 
M'Lady Muscle was pleased... 
And perhaps, just perhaps, she would take me to bed again 
tonight. 
After all, I had behaved as a good and proper little slave for 
M'Lady Muscle, hadn't I? 
 
 
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 

                        (c) WIG, LTD 1993 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                         Chapter Seven:  
 
                      Discipline in the Sun 
                               or 
                       A Seaside Spankin'! 
 
Humiliation can be a numbing experience.  On this I can speak 
from experience.  The indignity I had been forced  not only to 
submit to, but to be transformed by!  All for the approval of 
this unthinkably harsh and beautiful giant of a woman who I could 
not tear myself away from; made to gush semen for her amusement 
in front of a genteelly amused and beautiful spectator.... 
And there was more to come....   
 
I shuddered involuntarily, shocked, until my huge musclemistress 
stepped ahead of me again, and I saw the huge cruel big-body, 
heartlessly perfect, her coat over her shoulder and strutting 
mightily down the hall.  The mere sight of her meant that I was 
enslaved all over again, just as at that moment of revelation on 
the beach... 
I felt as though the will to react, to state any objection to 
whatever treatment Margo may deem necessary, impossible to make.  
I was devoid of will on a very deep and primal level, seeing only 
the towering woman in leather and string; her magnificent body, 
naked in bed with me if only I would obey her, sending waves of 
hard-muscled, big-breasted bliss through me... 
I followed her in a trance, half in worship; yes, I had to admit 
it.  But something else pulled me along behind her, some 
invisible rope that bound my body and my mind to her... 
Margo would never ask me my name in all the time I had known her, 
but if she had, by now I would have forgotten it... 
There would be times during my enslavement to her that Margo's 
muscular majesty would seem almost vulgar in it's earthy up-front 
manner; her muscle-strutting, her cruelty, her contempt for the 
slave who groveled wildly at her feet.  But when she would stand 
close, filling my eyes with her mountainous body, my nostrils 
with her strange musky scent, and locking onto me with the blue 
tractor-beam-eyes, all objection would wither under her as I 
drank in her muscular sexual splendor. 
And drinking was just what I was doing now, in long deep pulls.  
Now with my mouth. 
But with hungry loving eyes. 
 
Walking was difficult.  I moved with a waddle that I immediately 
recognized as the awkward stride of a pregnant woman.  I was full 
of the enema fluids, my belly swollen and distended, pushing the 
only garment I was permitted, the tiny g-string, down my body 
even further, until it felt as though it would be pushed off my 
hips altogether. My bowels rumbled, warning of imminent disaster. 
The women were still congregated in the gym's back room, adding a 
few finishing touches to their exquisite physiques, each one a 
little different according to their varying genetics, all 
defined, and big.  Relatively speaking, of course. 
As Margo pranced into their line of sight, they all let out a 
yell as for a sports hero.  Margo flexed her unthinkably big 
body, and they all applauded and whistled, as though a ninth 
inning home run had just broken up a ball game. 
After several moments of this, she bowed, and she turned to me. 
"Hey, ladies, wait 'til you see the condition the little man is 
in!", she taunted, looking right at me and pulling me to her with 
a bent finger. 
I walked slowly into their view. 
They beamed with amusement at my big belly, round and buddha- 
like, as it protruded far ahead of me. 
"Congratulate me, ladies, I'm gonna be a mommy!', she screamed, 
hugging me close to her naked skin.  She reached down and put a 
hand on my stomach, and shook it.  I felt an eruption brewing 
again, this one of a very different nature than the one I had 
discharged on the cracking blue vinyl of Dr. Deanna's table 
minutes ago.... 
"When's the blessed event due, Margo honey?", the Southern Belle 
asked, playing along, stepping close to inspect my  delicate 
condition. 
"Sooner than he knows, ladies, sooner than he knows", she bragged 
in a husky growl. 
"That's it, Margo", said Vanessa as she put down a pair of heavy 
dumbbells, torso swollen with musclepump.  "Keep your man 
barefoot in winter and pregnant in summer."  She hooted, pointing 
at my temporarily-altered physique, made all the more ridiculous 
by my thin shoulders and slender arms.. 
"Hey, " bragged Margo, "I always keep him barefoot.  But really, 
girls, can you see me having babies with this?", she said, 
putting her large hand on my head. "Get real!  Maybe someday if I 
meet some acceptable stud, I could have a baby or two, and have 
this little one around to care for them.  You'd like that, 
wouldn't you slave?  Look after the little ones while Big Old 
Margo and her man fuck their way around the world?", she asked, 
leering down at me; proud of what she had done to me and of what 
she had transformed me into... 
"Whatever pleases you, ma'am", I said, my hand going to the heavy 
zipper of the jacket she had just thrown over her shoulders.  
"Hey, Margo", came the call from one of the ladies, "put on a 
show for us little gals, okay?" 
Margo's eyes lit up at the Call to Arms and Iron. 
"Sure", she said, whisking the heavy coat off again with the 
swift aplomb of an Impresaria of Muscle that she was; and handed 
it to me.  She stormed across the room to the weights, to the 
delight of the ladies, who, despite their own impressive builds, 
looked small when in the same room as the Magnificent Margo. 
There was a scattered applause as she flexed her huge bikinied 
body once or twice, stretching like a big horny cat; her 
massively-muscled arms raised over her head for a second, as 
though to give everybody a good look... 
Margo began pumping iron. 
Overhead, on the wall, was a lithograph of Elie Xyr's "Mareva".  
Strange, but as Margo began inflating her huge body with every 
rep of the barbell, the overgrown Tahitian girl began looking 
smaller and smaller... 
Margo was performing a weightlifting exercise called the "upright 
row"; and as the metal plates clanked and shook with the impetus 
of her arms, her bikini looked ready to revolt.  As she brought 
the weight up, forcing the last few inches through clenched teeth 
and angry, swollen-veined arms, the top looked more and more 
ready to burst off her body altogether.  Her big nipples poked 
through the cloth like a curious pair of hidden eyes. 
Everything that was desire, and that spoke of hard hot sex and 
casual sneering aftermath, came alive in Margo when she worked 
out like this. 
Sweat began to glisten on her chest and arms.  If we were home, 
she would let me lick it off her body while I knelt at her feet. 
I had already forgotten what she had just had done to me; and I 
almost forgot to notice the swollen stomach I sported, whose 
contents threatened to erupt at any second.  As I watched her 
body grow, her huge domineering muscles exploding before my eyes, 
I was almost glad she had done all she had to me.  
If it was what this power-packed sexpot-goddess wanted, who was I 
to argue? 
A thick cord of deltoid muscle swelled and threaten to break the 
very banks of flesh itself, as though trying to give itself 
birth, and find life of it's own outside Margo's harshly perfect 
body. 
The girls applauded as Margo tossed the barbell to the floor. 
The mutineering muscle roared in full life, before it began to 
sink back, slowly, beneath the skin. 
"See how lucky I am girls?", the ferociously-pumped Margo bragged 
jokingly as she swiped at a stray tress of hair, and took me by 
the hand out of the gym.  I felt like a little bear-cub, in tow 
behind it's half-ton mother as she stalked her way through a 
forest, foraging and taking whatever she wanted. 
More laughter inside from the muscle brigade... 
We stepped outside into the mid-day heat, the air seeming to have 
taken on the thermal qualities of a July day---a hot breeze was 
blowing softly that offered little respite from the temperature, 
and the sun was beating down on the black asphalt of the alley, 
making it soft and spongy underfoot. 
No sooner had we gotten outside than Margo's joking demeanor 
faded, and she slid the dark and menacing sunglasses back down 
her face. 
She walked over to the car, shoe-boots clicking on the 
conglomeration of blacktop, metal and glass that lined the 
pavement. Disabling the alarm and unlocking it, finally sliding 
in her massive, leather and bikini-clad body, she looked up to 
me, still standing where she had left me, near the door. 
I felt my bowels rumbling, muscles that held Dr. Deanna's 
treatment surrendering, beginning to open, the water demanding 
release at once, without delay, refusing to obey my desperate 
self-commands to control my sphincter.  I knew Margo would only 
allow me to expel when she thought it proper, or she would have 
allowed me to do it in the office with Dr. Deanna, in the privacy 
of her toilet.  The thought of the beautiful Englishwoman--of the 
soft hands and hard muscles--sent up a longing in me now, and 
added to the lack of control I now felt over my body.... 
I pulled at the skimpy g-string, knowing that dampening it would 
only add to her anger.... God.......! 
But it happened.  As I bent over to pull the elastic-bound string 
over my thighs, all control deserted me, and I evacuated the 
floral and soap-scented water; it came streaming out of my bowels 
and onto the ground beneath me, with a pop of already-weakened 
muscle and a gush of spewing water. 
I heard it hit the asphalt, not wishing to look, but feeling it 
splash over my feet, droplets bouncing up off the ground and onto 
my legs.  The aroma seemed incongruous and out-of-place as it 
reached my senses.  But very little was making sense now.... 
I was suddenly aware of the door creaking open behind me, 
probably just in time to give whoever it was a front-row seat to 
my evacuation.  And I turned, ashamedly, to see Dr. Deanna.  She 
registered no sign of disgust or annoyance on her face, which was 
more than I felt I could say for M'lady Muscle as she waited 
behind the smoked glass of the windshield. 
Dr. Deanna looked past me, calling to Margo, casually, as though 
she had not witnessed my bottom erupt and spill the contents of 
her treatment on the alley ground. 
Margo got out of the car, annoyed. 
Deanna handed her a small package in a box, and said nothing. 
Margo seemed nonplussed with herself for having left without it, 
and breathed with exasperation.  
I wasn't sure if it was aimed at me, or at her own absent- 
mindedness.  She muttered to the built British Lady Doctor as she 
took the box, gesturing towards me with her head as she turned 
back to car.   
"Shoulda used Pampers, Deanna". 
 
The miniskirted Englishwoman, all hot bare thigh and bulging 
biceps, gave me a friendly little wave of sympathy before she 
disappeared back into the gymnasium, the door slamming behind 
her; and her diamond-shaped calves vanished from sight.  
By now the bottomflow had ended, and with as much dignity as I 
could muster, I pulled the drawstring up to my waist, the water 
that had been warmed by my own innards now trickling down the 
backs of my legs.  I trundled over to the large door of the 
ominous-looking car, careful not to add a splinter of glass to my 
list of worries.  It opened, and Margo threw me a towel.  I wiped 
myself down, and after being ordered to pull the g-string down 
again to lean low and so offer Margo a close-up inspection of my 
still-seeping rear end, she threw the towel down onto the seat 
next to her, and motioned me to get in. 
I was aware on some level what Margo had done to me, but again, 
my weakness proved to be more powerful than my strength. 
Surprisingly, she blew me a kiss, perhaps a reward for undergoing 
the treatment so meekly, and backed the car out of the alley, 
shifted gears and sped off, headed for the beach to show off her 
meek muscleslave. 
 
We did not speak all the way there. 
 
At last the nose of the car turned and headed into the crowded 
parking lot, half-full even on this midweek afternoon. 
The summer heat was here to stay... 
Margo pulled the car into a space between two sporty coupes, one 
of them covered in stickers that advertised the questionable 
attributed of a local rock station. 
We got out wordlessly, Margo going to the trunk of her car to 
fetch the beach bag.  I saw that the storage area was full of 
magazines, and I peered into it just a bit, leaning over. 
There were copies of Women's Physique World scattered through the 
bottom of the cavernous interior, and I recognized a prominent 
female bodybuilder on the cover of one issue, dressed in a small 
low-cut white bustiere, her black miniskirted legs crossed as she 
sat on a low brick wall.  She was making a muscle, bicep sprung 
to life, and was staring into the camera with a hard glare that 
commanded admiration. 
I recognized the issue as one I had bought, late at night, 
sandwiching it between two sports periodicals and trying to look 
nonchalant. 
"Good stuff, huh, slavie?", Margo suggested, noticing my 
interest.  "Don;t worry, I'll let you bring them into the house 
when we get home.  There are a few really hot centerfolds in 
those , you know.  If you find a picture you like, I'll even let 
you hang it up down in the laundry room.  I think it's good to 
have a fantasy crush, don't you?" 
She slammed the hood down, after throwing the beach bag on top of 
it.  Presently, she reached to the shoulders of her black jacket 
she wore, and found a zipper which she pushed and pulled around 
the seam of the erotic leather garment.  She then found a 
corresponding zipper on the other arm, and repeated the 
procedure.  Dramatically, and slowly, she turned to me, standing 
within inches of seven feet in height; all of it powerhouse 
female; and motioned for me to step close.  She held out her 
arms, and I reached up for the leather sleeves that were sheathed 
loosely around her arms, separated from the body of the coat.  I 
pulled them off, and her arms, brown and veined and huge; thick 
slabs of muscle wrapped around bone, made themselves apparent 
under the bright sun.  She rubbed them for a moment, as though to 
congratulate them on their liberation from  captivity. 
"There, that's better", she said girlishly, as she took the 
sleeves and commenced to deposit them inside her bag. 
She unzipped it, and explored it's interior, probing for 
something.  Presently, as her patience was beginning to ebb, she 
let out a small cry of satisfaction, and her hand emerged from 
the bag clutching a small white t-shirt. 
I could feel the sun beating down on my unprotected shoulders, 
deprived of their usual heavy coat of sunscreen, pale and white, 
already beginning to burn in the scorching ultraviolet.  Funny 
how the sun seemed so much stronger than it used to be.... 
Margo tossed the cloth to me, and told me to put it on. 
I slid the cloth over my head, a plain white t-shirt, open and 
loose at the neck and reaching down to just past my waist.  I had 
hoped it would have very long tails, as I felt a breeze caress my 
bared flesh.  Unthinking, I backed into the hot metal of the 
adjoining car, and jumped as skin that was usually covered in 
such situations was given a near-branding by the sun-heated 
fender. 
Margo laughed.  
"Now you know what we ladies put up with to be pretty, slaveboy." 
 
She rubbed some lotion onto her face, offering it up to the sun 
for a moment as though to gauge the effect of the sunscreen; but 
did not offer any to me. I reminded myself that I would have to 
ask her for some before too long as I felt the sun beat down on 
me from a crystal-blue cloudless sky... 
Now I only hoped that she would produce some sort of covering for 
my lower half, as well.  The minuscule coverage offered by my 
uniform, as I had come to consider it, shielded only my genitals 
from the sun, and offered no protection to my bared buttocks.  
Besides, the thought of parading, by choice or command, along the 
beach with my reddened and bruised bottom displayed was not an 
idea I cherished. 
I must have stood there waiting with a hopeful look on my face, 
because she returned my inquisitive look now, tilting her head 
slightly, bemused behind Ray-Bans. 
"You waiting for something, little mouse?", she asked, taking off 
her sunglasses now, squinting in the sunlight.  She held them in 
her free hand and twirled them, making slow circles in the air... 
Here was my chance... 
"Ah, well, ma'am, my behind, you see...." I struggled, trying to 
find just the right words that would sway her, soften her 
attitude of complete dominance, taking a moment's pity on my 
crushed ego.. 
"What about your behind?  It looks just the way it should.  Round 
and firm and full of your M'lady Muscle's handmarks.  So?", she 
said, haughtily, and almost offended that I would find fault with 
it's condition.  She made an obscenely big bicep spring into full 
flex again, and kissed it passionately, as though the sight of it 
affected even Margo herself. Her tongue ran across the rocky apex 
of the muscle and left a small trail of saliva... 
"Yes, ma'am, I understand, and thank you for your kind words", I 
said, looking up to her, polite and timid, knowing this was her 
nectar. 
"But it's just that, well, my bottom is showing and people will 
think..", I stammered, haltingly... 
Margo caught me short, rising herself up to her full, near-seven 
feet of height by straightening her back, as though steeling 
herself... 
"People will think what I tell them to think, slavie.  I want to 
show off my newest toy, and you're it. If they see how red your 
ass is, they'll probably think you've been disciplined over your 
big woman's knee.  And they'll be right.  So start shaking that 
little butt for me.  Maybe I'll have some more girlfriends here", 
she added, pushing me sideways and inspecting my buttocks for 
just a moment, running a hand on my still-tingling and red 
posterior. "They'll just love this..." 
Now she reached for the braided ropes of hair behind her, and 
pulled them over her shoulders, where she unbound the tresses 
skillfully and quickly.  "Pay attention, slavie.  I want you to 
learn how to do this for me", she said, knowing that this would 
be a task I would look forward to performing. 
She reached again into the bag, and pulled out the black brush 
again, and ran it through the thick silk of her hair, stroking it 
again and again, first quickly, then with slower and more 
deliberate strokes, as I stood there, entranced once again.  This 
ritual went on for some five minutes, my breath barely 
registering all the while.  Presently her perfect mane hung like 
a wild, golden veil around her fantastically large physique. She 
swung it about as an exotic dancer would toss a silken veil, 
bringing a heaving sigh of longing from me... 
Rock-peaked shoulders poked through the tresses, as though intent 
on showing their power, their ever-present strength through even 
this most feminine of qualities... 
Margo held the big beach bag this time, it's size and weight 
negligible in her powerful arm, the heavy coat she had sported 
turned now into a vest that looked for all the world like the 
flak jacket of some otherworldly warrior race of Amazons. She 
ordered me to take her other arm, my hand wrapping around inside 
between her limb and the hard stiff leather.  My hand found it's 
place around the bowling ball of bicep that now protruded as her 
arm bent, and my fingers felt the hard and huge bulge of muscle, 
settling contentedly over it.  The skin was moist and hot to the 
touch; plain evidence of her recent session heaving iron for the 
delighted eyes of her fans--and her willing slave. 
I could feel her strong, steady pulse under her thick brown flesh 
against my fingers, simple evidence of the heart, however stony, 
that beat within that exquisite body.  
 
I chastened myself at that description, however, as my mind  
concluded a simple truth.  That which she had subjected me  
to in the few hours I had known her, however painful or  
embarrassing, had lifted me to heights of subservient ecstacy 
and orgasmic delight I had only dreamed of, alone, in my bed, 
with perhaps no closer a vestige of Margo than a copy of one of 
those magazines she kept in her trunk. 
I kissed the bulge my fingers tried so futilely to stretch 
around, tasting her sweet flesh, it's always present aroma like a 
love potion that made my heart race and my inhibitions drop.  I 
looked up at her, and she, whatever thought that might show in 
those hard and wonderful eyes cloaked behind the mask of her 
sunglasses, blew me a kiss with pink-painted lips.... 
 
The sound we had heard was coming form behind the old car.  
Grunting and groaning and the sound of a woman's complaint was 
coming from behind the fender of an old Buick.  They were 
obstructed from our view, but as we approached we saw a couple 
who looked strangely familiar. 
It was the husband whose behavior Malady had corrected on the 
boardwalk, and his battered wife.  The husband did not see us at 
first; he was too busy wrestling with a car jack as he tried to 
loosen a lug nut from the rear wheel gone flat.  He cursed wildly 
as perspiration ran down his face. 
"Problem?", Margo asked. 
The husband nearly ran when he saw her. 
Margo didn't wait for an answer, but walked over to the wife, who 
stood aglow at the reappearance of her savior.  Margo surveyed 
the woman as she stood there, dressed in a matronly short beach 
frock.  I didn't realize at first that Margo was looking for 
bruises. 
She turned to the husband, who was frozen in a crouch at the 
wheel, as though afraid to move. 
"Well, it seems you have learned to appreciate your wife, haven't 
you?" 
The husband swallowed and nodded slightly as he looked up at the 
mountain of a musclewoman. 
"Good", Margo announced, as though he had passed a test. 
"Now let's see what we can do here, huh?" 
 
Car jacks were practical things for most people.  But Margo, who 
weighed as much as the average NFL linebacker, had no use for 
them.  She told the chastened husband to prepare to loosen the 
bolts... 
"How am I gonna do that, lady, if I can't raise the car?", he 
asked. Remembering his first encounter with M'Lady, he was 
careful to keep a respectful tone in his voice. 
Margo muttered something and shook her head. 
"See?", she asked turning to the wife, who continued to look on 
Margo as an blonde muscle-packed angel of deliverance. 
"These men are getting more and more useless", Margo said to her. 
"Aren't they?" 
The woman did not answer, so Margo turned her massive brawn back 
to the husband. 
"Get ready, asshole", she said. 
Margo walked to the back of the car, crouched and took several 
deep breaths; flexed her thick, chiseled muscles, spread her 
mile-wide lats, and went to work. 
She put two hands under the fender and suddenly tightened her 
face in a grimace of strain.  Her tree trunk arms sprang to life, 
every muscle jumping to attention in salute to her strength, 
answering the call she now made, the demands she stated--that now 
the muscle would have to display it's power, it's strength and 
not just show itself, hard and big and full of female fury, to 
run afluster her small slaves. 
Slowly, the car creaked and tilted as M'Lady Muscle displayed her 
superiority; her broad back breathed into life as she held the 
car in place as the man removed the wheel quickly and replaced it 
with the spare.  I wanted to run over and feel the thick biceps, 
kiss them as they strained and broke the rules and defied logic.  
And mad me crazy with desire... 
A big breast tumbled out of it's holster, the nipple hard and 
erect as it poked from under the leather casing and heavy curtain 
of golden hair that had spilled down in front of her.  Margo 
didn't care; it was as though she was enjoying this test of her 
strength. 
Her iron muscle trembled, shaking; but Margo was going to beat 
it. Her biceps seemed to groan and shake, the deep cuts of her 
deltoids turned to diamond-hard ravines.  But she held on, 
perched all the while in spiked heels, her large calves grown 
even larger under all the combined demands made upon them. 
As the last lug nut spun into place, Margo let the old car down 
with a small crash, letting it bounce on it's aged springs. 
The Blonde Behemoth was aglow; wiping her hands together as 
though to announce a job well done. 
"Not bad, huh?" she announced, her chest heaving for breath. 
"Uh, yeah, and thanks. Ma'am", the man said, his ego chastened as 
he ran to the trunk; he lifted it and hid behind it in the name 
of replacing his tools.  It was then that my gaze wandered into 
the compartment of the old car and I saw another copy of Women's 
Physique World... 
And the woman, safe from the view of her husband, made a muscle; 
the small bicep was prominent and I thought, growing... 
Margo nodded to her with satisfaction and pride and blew her a 
kiss. 
"Come on mousie", she said, smiling at the look of profound 
admiration from both the woman and her slave.  
"We got some people to thrill..." 
 
I kept my gaze glued to my lady as we walked along the boardwalk, 
and I had no trouble avoiding the strange glances we were no 
doubt receiving.  Another wave of Margo's powerful sexuality had 
engulfed me, vanquishing my ego and doubt, wanting only to be 
with her on whatever terms she deemed fit and proper. 
Her arms still trembled with the strain of the amazing display; 
her sinew had mastered the old Buick, alright !  
"Gee, Malady, that was great..." 
Margo smiled smugly. 
 
"Ma'am", I said, looking with the ardor of a teenager's hopeless 
crush at my mountainous muscle goddess as I struggled to keep up 
with her long thundering strides. 
"Hhmmmmmmm?", she intoned melodically, looking straight ahead, 
ignoring my idolatrous gaze upwards to her beautiful face. 
"Ma'am", I said, using a hopeful pleading voice again, trying to 
mute ever-so-slightly her harsh attitude towards any comfort for 
me that did not serve her wants. 
I was hopeful she would look at me, as I gazed up at her 
earnestly, growing downright winded now... 
"What is it?", she asked, slightly annoyed. 
I explained, shyly and breathlessly, with the proper tone of fear 
and respect and awe in my voice, that I was in desperate need of 
sunscreen.  My white skin was burning already in the early 
afternoon sun. 
She stopped, pushing my arm away. 
"Sunscreen?  You want sunscreen?', she yelled, stopping so 
abruptly I nearly tumbled ass over heels.  Her beautiful face was 
suddenly full of anger, contorting the gorgeous perfect features. 
"Yes, ma'am, if you please, malady..." 
Margo's great bulk heaved above me, and her eyes thundered, 
ablaze. 
"Well, I don't 'please', wimp.  Your body is mine to do with what 
I please, and if I decide you're gonna blister red white and 
blue, that's just what you're gonna do, get me?" 
I nodded, trying to get hold of her arm again, and continue our 
walk.  But I had started something, and it appeared that she was 
going to finish it.  Now. 
"Don't think I forgot the fresh mouth you gave Deanna.  You're 
lucky I was having fun, or I woulda come right over there and 
broken your jaw for that, get me?" 
"Y-yes, ma'am, I am sorry, m'lady." 
She looked me up and down. 
"Yeah, you sure are.  But you want sunscreen,eh?  Fine, I'll give 
you sunscreen.  When I'm through with you, you're gonna need it." 
She dragged me by the hand over to the far railing of the 
boardwalk, a small crowd of young girls beginning to form. 
"You're gonna get it now, mister!", came a teasing taunt in sing- 
song voice from somewhere in the group.  I turned and saw it was 
the little beach bunny from Sunday, who had encouraged me to 
approach Margo in the first place.  I wondered if she could, even 
in her wildest dreams, imagine what had been happening. 
She was feeling daring today, my friend the beach bunny was, and 
wore a bikini even smaller than the last time, a network of tiny 
strings, concealing little more than Margo's suit did. 
My musclequeen instructed me to put both hands on the railing 
that was nearly chest-high, and to take four long steps backward. 
 
With each step, I was further and further off balance, until my 
weight was put equally on my arms and my legs. 
"Stick out your ass", she said, grabbing the string and pulling, 
smacking my rear hard, just once. 
I complied, my bare butt sticking up high in the air under the 
short t-shirt as I bent low to obey her order. 
The teenaged girls let out another whoop of enjoyment at the 
sight of my bare buttocks, red with spank and sun... 
Margo stepped in, supporting my weight with a thick hard thigh, 
and let loose with a stern and unforgiving volley of sharp smacks 
upon my defenseless bottom.  The bare skin rocketed with the 
pain, and I emitted muffled cries through clenched teeth.  The 
bikini-clad lovelies in the near distance loved the display of 
MuscleWoman In Charge Of A Slave; and hooted with each loud crack 
of hand on tender flesh as it filled the air... 
"Like it, slave?", she asked, chuckling deeply, her big breasts 
shaking in front of my face.  I could smell their musky aroma; 
the light sweat of her workout at the gym only heightened it. 
And then she let loose with another fierce round; my shoulders 
tightened in preparation for the assault, but it did me no good. 
And so it went, cracking flesh and peals of laughter, until my 
skin went numb... 
 
When at last her barrage tapered off, Margo seemed to sense 
someone standing close. 
She turned her head. 
"Don't you move, mouse", she warned me. 
I heard her confront someone behind me on the boardwalk.   
"What did you say?', she asked, addressing someone I couldn't 
see.  I heard only a muffled response.  It did not impress her.   
I could not see what took place back there, out of my view; I did 
not dare turn around, and I heard only the brief sounds of a 
struggle, followed by Margo's steady walk to the railing. 
She held a man over her head, his weight no challenge for her 
muscular bulk; and she heaved him over the metal fence, down to 
the sandbank below, where he landed with a thud. 
"Talkin' about big bad Margo behind her back, huh, asshole?", she 
barked over the railing.  She looked ferocious, and ready to eat 
someone alive.  Namely me. 
"Now where was I?", the heartless blonde titaness asked. 
As though she didn't know. 
She pretended to roll up imaginary sleeves on thick arms that 
seemed to pulse with heavy layers of wrapped muscle, and stood 
over me. 
"Bend low and spread 'em wide, slaveboy", she leered. 
"And don't forget to thank me when it's over." 
I didn't.   
It wouldn't be proper for a slave to disappoint his mistress... 
SLAP! CRACK! SLAP! CRACK! 
And laughter peeled through the early summer air. 
 
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 
 
                     Chapter Seven (Cont'd.) 
 
 
The spanking festival was over. 
I had been put in my place--big time... 
My hind quarters throbbed.  But for some strange reason that I 
did not pretend to understand, so did my heart. 
For Margo. 
M'Lady Muscle. 
Maybe it was just the attention. I was so used to being 
ignored... 
For all of Margo's harsh treatment--her fierce disciplines, her 
harsh punishments, her heartless teasing tortures--that was one 
feeling I never got from her... 
 
"Sunscreen, huh?," she asked, almost to herself.   
"I'll give you some fuckin' sunscreen..." 
With that, Margo began to slap on, and apply, a heavy application 
of sunscreen to my buttocks as they hung, bared and exposed, red 
and throbbing, beneath the billowing and oversized white t-shirt 
she had given me to wear.  She was careful to keep it's 
application limited to only the two fleshy orbs that had become 
the target of her wrath once again. 
But I was grateful for the lotion; it covered the blistering 
redness of my brutalized buttocks, and were going to prevent a 
bad burn.  Wasn't that the whole idea?  The spanking, however 
brutal it might have been, would only serve to inspire lust in 
her cruel heart, and I knew what that would mean... 
At least, I thought I did... 
Several of the more daring girls ventured closer now, curious to 
see what this muscular woman with the sunglasses and the bare 
behind and the leather vest was doing to that little guy in the 
g-string.  One of them was the beach bunny, sexily sauntering in 
low heels, confident that it was the women who held dominion 
here. 
"Hey, Margo," she said as she wiggled over, apparently knowing 
her either by mere reputation or perhaps from the beach regulars 
who always tended to congregate on one spot of the sands. 
"This guy is really gone on you," she said, standing directly 
behind me now, clearly entertained by the spectacle of this woman 
and her sex-slave. 
"Heya, Margie.  No foolin'," she said, turning and going back to 
the task at had. She stood to one side now, and pulled the thin 
string away from the crack between my buttocks, and separated 
them with several strong fingers.  For a second, I thought of 
that old joke about the place where the sun never shines.   
On me, at that moment, it was. 
I heard the girl utter a small and shocked cry, as Margo squeezed 
a glob of lotion on the freshly-bared flesh, and ran her newly- 
manicured nail down the crevice in the same way Dr. Deanna had 
done.  I uttered a small cry of pleasure and fear, involuntarily, 
unable to control the sexual spell she held over me, even with 
all these young women watching.  
 
As I bent low over the railing, my gaze went for just a second to 
the shoreline off in the distance. 
I saw that one of the beachhouses had fallen, crashed onto the 
beach, where the high tide battered the old wood, dashing it to 
pieces... 
Nature had won another battle; just as it was here, on the 
boardwalk, as I submitted to humiliation at the hands of the 
elemental tower of muscle, might, and female hormones wrapped up 
in a glamorous package called Margo... 
"I tell, you, Margie, this one's tough." 
I heard the jaws of the teen-bunny chew a wad of gum. 
"How so?  He doesn't look too tough to me.  I mean, look where 
you got him.  Look what he's wearing.  Jesus, Margo, you own his 
ass...! ", she exclaimed, giggling. 
"Yeah, true," she replied, her huge chest heaving with 
exasperation, "but this little fella loves punishment.  I spank 
him, he gets hard. I give him a session with Lady Ramjob, he cums 
all over the place.  At Deanna's he was pumping fluid all over 
the frigging office.  They're still cleaning the walls...," Margo 
exaggerated, the joke bringing a laugh to Margie now, a clear 
little bell that almost made me turn around, too see if it was as 
pretty as it sounded.  But I knew better than to try. 
The other girls had left, disgusted at the display of dominance 
and subservience.. 
 
"Up, slave," Margo ordered.   
I complied, trying to avoid eye contact with the beach girl, 
fearful that she would remember me... 
"Hi, there, little slaveboy," she cooed sexily, twinkling her 
fingers at me in a flirtatious motion, rotating her hips in what 
looked to be an unconscious move. If she noticed my erection, she 
did not show it. 
She had a certain pre-possessing quality of self-assurance that 
can be found in precocious teens, and older girls who have 
learned the social ropes enough to develop a confidence to charge 
into a situation for the sake of a good gossip or a flirt. She 
then returns behind the lines to bring back the information, like 
a good spy.  Her girlfriends---- younger than Margie, if the 
distance from which I judged their thinner frames and flatter 
chests did not mislead me---- did not approach, fearful of the 
atmosphere of dangerous sex that Margo and her slave were 
exhibiting in this little sideshow of dominance. They congregated 
together in a little gaggle of bikinis and pouty attitude, yards 
away, where their voices could be heard only as high-pitched 
squeals like seagulls, above the hot breeze and dull roar of the 
ocean. 
She was very pretty.  As I looked at her now, any chance of 
escaping recognition gone, I realized that she was not quite as 
young as I had thought; last weekend, she somehow had struck me 
as being no more than a well-developed sixteen or so; I could see 
now that she was a little older than that, but how much I 
couldn't be sure... 
Her face had a sort of soft oval that could be mistaken for 
extreme youth; sunfreckled, with a light tan, and very thick 
brown hair that was partially pulled up to a high ponytail, held 
in place by an elastic ring and adorned by a white plastic ball; 
the rest cascading where it might, down, well past her shoulders. 
 
Her figure, too, was girlish, vestiges of baby fat still clinging 
to the hips and thighs.  Not fat or chunky, but gently rounded, 
and I thought for a moment of the bare-breasted girls the other 
day, on the private beach... 
She was dwarfed by Margo's hulking immensity.  She stood only 
about five foot four, a good three or four inches  shorter than 
me, with a figure that was pleasing, if unremarkable. That is, 
for a regular girl, I found myself thinking, unsure of what the 
norm was after several days with muscleladen mistresses and 
deltoidy doctors. 
She had a small pert bust that was held in place by a orange-red 
knit bikini top.  To tell the truth, she did not have that much 
bosom that required any great holding, so the light cloth was 
sufficient for her needs.  The bottom was skimpy as well, though 
nowhere as outlandish as Margo's, whose bared rear was drawing 
stunned and admiring glances from men as they went past her, 
marveling and shaking their heads at her sheer size. 
 
"Oh, gosh, slaveboy, you're making a mess of yourself," Margie 
teased, pointing to a glob of sunscreen as it fell to the ground 
between my legs, where it had oozed from Margo's excessive 
applications.  She smiled at me, and ran a hand through her thick 
hair, playing with it as she stood watching my embarrassment. 
 
Margo laughed. 
"Easy, Margie, it's just lotion.  Does look funny, though, I 
gotta say that.  This one is always doing that around the house.  
Leaving stains, I mean.  Anyway, we just came from Deanna's, so 
he's harmless.  But don't get any ideas, because this one is 
still in training.  I don't want you to spoil my work," Margo 
said, stripping off her vest now as she commenced to flexing for 
an admiring group of passers-by.  She saw the look of 
unadulterated lust in my eyes and sneered at me... 
 
Margie giggled again. 
"Oh, Margo, I would never do that.  I just like seeing you 
dominate all these guys with those gorgeous muscles of yours.  
Someday, when I grow up, I wanna be just like you!," she 
declared. 
Margo raised her sunglasses up again, and flexed that magnificent 
bicep for her little fan, who stood with hands folded in front of 
her chest, her doe-eyes wide with admiration. She made the huge 
lady-sinews dance and wiggle as it shone with lotion; Margo's 
muscle bragged about it's size in the sun. 
 
She took her hand now, and placed it carefully on one of my 
lotioned-up buttocks.  She left a clean, neat handprint that 
succeeded in removing all the lotion that had been underneath it.  
I did not understand why she did it at the time, but later, at 
night as I stepped out of the shower, the answer would be clear.  
My rear end would be protected by the sunblock in every place but 
where she had placed her hand; the total effect being that her 
palmprint would sunburn itself onto the flesh, like a permanent 
sign of Margo's hard-handed discipline upon her slave. 
 
"Just like me?," Margo answered.  "Sure you do, kid.  Listen, I 
want you to do me a favor...." 
 
Margo smiled and put her arm around the young girl and they 
walked out of earshot, her huge arm around Marie's trim girlish 
shoulder; the thick limb nearly obliterated the small girl from 
view.  They were almost cartoonish together; like two different 
species of female from two very separate and far-away planets. 
They whispered together for about a minute or so; the giant 
muscular woman and her adoring teenage "kid-sister-in-training". 
 
Moments later, I found myself watching Margo strut down the 
beach, a phenomenon of muscle and curves and sex strutting down 
the sands, her leather vest in her hand.  Her hips shook and 
wiggled with the sexy little Marilyn Monroe walk again; the 
exaggeratedly feminine walk that meant that my glamorous Amazon 
Queen was up to naughtiness. 
As she kept walking, I couldn't help notice her frame as she 
shrunk into the horizon.  Even at a distance, she stood out... 
Gosh, she really was a huge woman.  Spending so much time with 
her had made me almost forget just how enormous she was; or at 
the very least, that there were precious few women like her. A 
woman turned to double-take her view of the blonde Muscle-Goddess 
as she passed her, amazed; and in comparison, downright 
Lilliputian.  
I had never seen her on such at such an angle before.  I wished 
my she-hunk was coming right back, to take me away from all this; 
home to bed and the glory of her breasts and her muscles and hard 
hand.... 
 
"Well," came a perky voice, "looks like we're together for 
awhile."   
I turned to see Margie, arms locked at the waist behind her back, 
pivoting her torso with her hips, from side to side. 
"Would you like to meet my girlfriends?" 
 
It had taken some fast talking to convince Margie that I was not 
interested in meeting her pals, and she had wiggled, 
disappointed, over to them as they whispered and snapped their 
bubble gum, their eyes on me as she made her way across the 
boardwalk. 
Presently, they were told that she, Margie, had been given a job 
to do for her pal Margo, and that she wouldn't be rejoining them 
at their little spot near the lifeguard's seat. 
 
One of the younger girls, wearing a bikini a bit too mature for 
her age, eagerly hustled down the steps onto the sands, jiggling 
her undeveloped female software. She returned a minute later with 
Margie's belongings. 
She said her goodbyes, and left them.  Just before they 
separated, a laugh broke out amongst the little club of underage 
sexpots, and Margie walked back to me, eyes laughing, still 
enjoying whatever was their private joke. 
All the while, people strolled past me and gave me strange looks 
that I tried to ignore. I had been leaning against the low wall 
of the railing ever since Margo had left, and secure that she was 
gone from sight, I anxiously extended a foot over to the bag, 
trying to pull it to me.  I saw no need for any further public 
viewing of my white-lotioned buttocks that stood out, painted 
like a clown's face and autographed with my Musclemistress' 
handprint. 
Margie bent low and grabbed the bag, pulling it away. 
"Uh-uh.  Margo made me promise her I wouldn't let you cover up," 
she said, leaning towards me flirtatiously, and jerking her thumb 
towards the waiting sands below us.. 
"Shake your buns, slaveboy," she leered. "You need to work on 
your tan...." 
I knew I could overpower this small woman, and get some sort of 
covering for my bottom half. 
But I immediately thought of the repercussions----and What Margo 
Would Do... 
 
Halfway down the steps, Margie had a change of heart.  She 
reached into the bag, which was nearly half the size of her body, 
and pulled out a pair of shorts.  Perhaps she was none-to- 
enthusiastic at the prospect of parading about with me in that 
condition, and had decided to risk Margo's wrath after all.  She 
held the shorts up and shrugged apologetically, as though to say 
that this was all she could find.  They belonged to Margo, and 
were made of some kind of shiny white material.  They were 
probably the match to her bikini, for apres-beach cocktails 
before dinner... 
What the hell?  I had no choice; Margo's shorts or a further 
demonstration of her various administrations to my butt in the 
last few days... 
Thankfully, they were large and roomy on me, and I escaped any 
real notice, passing for a pair of Bermuda-cut men's briefs. 
I felt the first returning vestige of dignity, and I let Margie 
know I appreciated it; even if the shorts did cling to the still- 
wet pools of sunscreen as it congealed on my rear end... 
 
"Thanks, Margie, " I offered, gratefully. 
"No charge, slaveboy," she said, cracking her gum, pleased with 
herself.  We found a spot near the crashing green surf upon which 
to spread our blanket. 
Margo had disappeared down to the surf, to flex and force steel 
flesh to life before unbelieving eyes... 
 
"Nineteen," she said, my hands full of lotion.   
The first thing she had told me once we had unpacked and 
relocated her belongings to this new spot was that Margo has 
given her temporary custody of me, and that I had to do anything 
she said.  Sure enough, she informed me that any misbehavior 
would result in an unsatisfactory report to her friend, Margo.  I 
was glad I hadn't caused any trouble back on the promenade. 
Once again, my mind tried to stir me into action.  There was no 
reason that I could not get up and walk away, and go back to the 
life that I had known until last Sunday afternoon. I could call 
Barbara and even take in a movie Friday night... 
But I didn't. 
 
My hands went to her foot, its skin soft; softer even than 
Margo's own; not having gone through so many hours of sunbaking.  
She was laying back on her elbows, watching me obey the first 
order she had given me, which was an all-over lotioning. 
 
It was a good feeling to have the small girl looking up to me, 
feeling her petite limbs, its flesh soft and muscle-free, 
yielding to my touch as my hands worked their way up her body.  I 
thought she might make some special sections of her body off- 
limits for my hands as my work brought me slowly and steadily 
northward, massaging the upper thighs now, compliant and smooth 
and full of the suppleness of youth.  
But she did not. 
"Nineteen," she said again.  I looked up to her a bit blankly, I 
guess, because she leaned forward as though impatient with my  
numbed reaction, and determined to make me understand this simple 
statement. 
"That's how old I am, dummy." 
I nodded, hands getting nervous now, reaching behind me to keep 
Margo's oversized shorts from slipping down my whitened behind. 
"You've got some cute butt back there, " she flirted, as my hands 
went round the south end of her thigh, as she directed with a 
lift of her knee. 
"'Course, it's three or four colors now, isn't it?," she teased, 
counting off on her fingers. "It's white, over red, over pink.  
Maybe a little black and blue, too, huh?" 
I said nothing. 
"I know.  You don't have to tell me.  Margo is a hard woman," she 
nodded.  I wasn't sure if it was a nod of admiration or emphasis. 
She lay down now, obviously wanting lotion rubbed on her torso. 
All over her torso.   
I began around the stomach, making circles on the not too firm 
belly, passing as briefly as I could on the exposed soft 
underbelly below the navel.  She seemed to move slightly, with a 
controlled pleasure, at the touch .... 
 
"You met her here, huh?  That's where it usually happens.." 
I looked up to her, as she stuck another stick of gum in her 
pouty mouth.   
"What does?," I asked, not quite understanding. 
She shook her head, as if explaining something very basic to 
someone out of the loop, as it were. 
"Where Margo meets her guys, I mean, you guys..." 
"Guys?," I asked. 
She chuckled.   
"Hey, you gotta be kidding.  You think you're the first ?" 
It had occurred to me only vaguely. I thought there was something 
elemental in our relationship, that the reason for all the 
strange things she had perpetrated upon my body was some sort of 
strange predestination that was long overdue, and like most 
overdue things, had erupted wildly at first, to find a more 
peaceful level later.  A little more tranquil, perhaps, I noted 
hopefully, rubbing my rear. 
"She meets guys here all the time, all different kinds of guys.  
Some like you," she waved the empty gum wrapper at my physique, 
my vision looking down to see what she was pointing at, until I 
realized what the gesture meant. 
"Some not like you. Real big guys.  She really goes nuts for 
them. 'Course, she never lets me babysit them!," she exclaimed, 
as she lay down flat on the blanket. 
I shot another gob of lotion onto my hands, and went to work on 
her shoulders.  My erection began to grow and pulse, my natural 
inhibitions fading... 
"How do you know Margo?," I asked, the first sentence I had made 
of more than four words... 
"Me and Margo go way back," she said, as though she were a world- 
weary woman rather than a barely post-pubescent beach bunny. She 
looked into a small compact mirror she had placed beside her as 
she had settled. 
"My brother used to compete.  You know, bodybuilding?  So I went 
to the shows.  I even got to give out a trophy.  I was a 
trophygirl!," she exclaimed proudly, as though she had won the 
Nobel Prize for Fiction. 
"She was the winner, so I had to give her a peck on the cheek and 
give her the trophy.  You know, the way they do on TV ?  It was 
fun, and I got to get all dressed up in a little silver mini and 
everything.  'Course, I lied about my age.  I was only sixteen at 
the time, but I told them I was seventeen." 
She seemed to be more interested in telling me about her brief 
show business experience than about Margo, and I waited through a 
rather boring story of pre-contest jitters and a lost contact 
lens. Finally, she ran out of gas. 
I pounced, if only verbally... 
"Margo won, huh?," I asked trying to keep the conversation 
steered in that direction. 
"Yup.  She was just starting to get so, you know...," she said, 
holding her hands high and wide around her shoulders. 
"All the other girls were jealous.  They all said it was 
happening way too fast to be natural, that she was on the 
juice.." 
I didn't understand.  
"Juice?," I asked. 
She looked at me with shock again, as if I were from Mars. 
"Boy, you can't be from around here.  Juice, you know, steroids!" 
I was very interested.   
"Was she?" 
Margie shrugged, small breasts stirring as she did.  I watched 
them stir.  
"No way," she said, wrinkling her nose like a rabbit.  "They 
tested her and everything.  Really thorough.  Least that's what 
my brother told me.  She was clean," she assured me. 
I heard laughter wafting to us from the shoreline, where people 
whose lives were their own played and splashed in the surf.  
I did not envy them. 
"Nope," she assured me again.  "Margo's muscles are real.  But 
why should it make any difference to you?  Muscle's muscle.  
Feel's the same way one way or the other." 
She seemed to be waiting for me to explain myself, but I didn't. 
"Did you know her before she was so big?," I asked, watching her 
put on a pair of cheap black sunglasses. 
"Nah, I told you. I met her at the contest. She was real nice to 
me afterwards, and then I started seeing her at the beach.  So we 
got friendly.  A couple of times, she asks me to watch you guys 
while she goes out for some fun.  I guess you're used to that, 
huh?," she asked, a gleam in her eye as she began poking around 
for some sexual gossip. 
"I haven't known her long, just a few days," I offered before 
rubbing my hands together and cleaning them off on my t-shirt. 
"Oh, well," she shrugged, as if changing her mind about what she 
was going to say.  Margo probably had her loyalty, and sworn to a 
certain amount of secrecy. 
"I do this," she said, pointing to me,  "and she invites me to 
parties where all the bodybuilders and model guys go.  So I have 
a good time," she said adamantly. "So it's really worth it, boy." 
She said that with a certain sensual emphasis, as if remembering 
a particularly hot time.    
"It's weird," she said.   
I turned to her, hopeful for more information. 
"About you guys, I mean.  In the old days, only guys had muscles, 
and there were ladies, you know, who hung around them just to 
touch them and maybe go to bed with them.  The guys would snap 
their fingers, and these babes would practically reach up and 
hand them their panties in public.  Then the men would dump them, 
and the women would go on to the next muscleguy.  My brother told 
me that some married woman, a real nice lady who dressed like a 
real nice lady, too, all long dresses and white gloves and good 
manners, used to dress up in real short skirts and tiny little 
outfits with real high heels, and hang around the outdoor gym 
down the beach.  That's where I think Margo went, by the way.  
Anyway, whenever her husband went out of town, she'd disappear 
for a couple of days down at the gym. 'Course, there were always 
lots of messages on her answering machine from her husband when 
she finally got home.  She always had some excuse.  I don't think 
he ever caught on.  Some guys never have a clue, even when they 
get home and their sweet little wives are walking funny for a 
week....,"  
She shook her head and chuckled at the mental image. 
She was quiet for a minute, and we listened to the roar of the 
surf before she broke into a chatter... 
"I think that that's what you guys do.  You know, you like women, 
of course.  I mean, you can have baloney on Thanksgiving, but 
that don't make it a turkey.  There's nothing wrong with it, far 
as I can see. It's just that you have a thing for a special kind 
of woman.  The kind with big muscles. Some guys go for big tits, 
some go for big asses.  What's the difference?  I can understand 
why, too. Margo is really beautiful, even though everybody 
doesn't think all those muscles look good.  So you play little 
fantasy games. It's fun to get out of your own skin and let go of 
some responsibility.  I think it's hard for you men nowadays.  
Everything is so upside-down, with two-career families and all, 
and lady bosses, and divorce, and, of course," she said, teasing, 
"great big female bodybuilders!" 
I laughed, a bit embarrassed but relaxing with this uncomplicated 
girl in the last months of her teens.  She lifted her cheap 
sunglasses just a bit, to peer at me from over the edge. 
 
"Must be something. Goin' to bed with Margo, I mean," she stated, 
trying to phrase it as a question.  
I smiled and looked away. 
"What's it like?," she said, as though  deciding that the 
straightforward approach worked best.  
"She must be pretty wild, huh? I heard she's a real handful. 
Aggressive, right?" 
I shrugged, bashfully. 
"Margo has a rather...forceful way about her, yes.  She likes to 
take control of a situation rather firmly..." 
Margie smiled a wicked little smile. 
"So in other words, she just grabs ya and fucks the shit out of 
ya, huh?" 
Her glance went down to my groin, my erection still detectable.  
In truth, I had had so many searing erections so constantly 
during the past few days I was almost unaware of the only-modest 
one I sported now. 
"I think there's something else you like, too, Margo's Li'l 
Slave.  You like really cute girls in little orange knit bikinis, 
huh?" 
 
Suddenly, from down where surf met shore, there was a commotion. 
It didn't take very much figuring... 
It was my own hunkin' honey, over six and a half amazingly- 
muscled feet tall as she stood in the surf that crashed weakly 
around her ankles.  She was wet from a recent swim, her all-but- 
bare body dripping wet and drawing gasps.  She was squeezing the 
long water-heavy hair dry, smiling a wry smile as a woman half 
her size lectured her, pointing at her accusingly.  The woman was 
middle-aged and out-of-shape, with a dry pinched face; and she 
was determined to make herself the latest victim of Margo's 
discipline.  I could not hear what she was saying, because 
although she was screeching, her voice was losing a battle with 
crashing sea... 
People were gathering around them, as the tiny woman, her breasts 
shaking, told a woman twice her size and four times her weight, 
what to do. 
As I would know only too well, that was a great mistake. 
Margo put both hands on her hips, flexing the huge upper body, 
exploding muscles making all the statement she needed.  The 
woman's gaze wandered to the vast torso, her hand lowering just a 
bit as she was distracted. 
I got up to be at M'Lady Muscle's side... 
I felt a hand grab the back of my shorts and yank them down to my 
knees. 
"Hold it, slaveboy. Margo said you're with me. That's where 
you're gonna stay. I'll have to take these if you're not gonna be 
a good boy for Margie." 
She continued to pull the shorts down with an easy steady tug as 
I tried to find my feet. Fully exposed again, I reconsidered and 
sat back down. 
 
The woman was losing her temper.  Rage was getting the better of 
her, her small bosom trembling and heaving; and the crowd of on- 
lookers grew, anticipating trouble and not wanting to miss a 
thing. 
Two old, out-of-shape men passed us, heading for the scene of 
imminent battle... 
"...she's gotta be nuts, takin' on that amazon...," one of them, 
a potbellied guy, said as he chugged his way for a center-aisle 
view. 
Just then, in the surf, the small woman took a swing at Margo. 
And missed her one and only chance... 
The woman's punch was so hard it made her swing around; when she 
straightened and faced Margo it was only to find an open-handed 
slap strike her in the jaw. She reached for her face; legs 
unaccustomed to combat betraying her, and she plopped down in the 
shallow surf.  Her face received the brunt of the wave, and she 
spluttered, accompanied by the laughter of the people gathered to 
watch her humiliation. 
Margo stood coolly over her, a bobby pin in her mouth, as she 
tried to pin her hair up. 
For combat.... 
The woman rose, livid and shaking with rage.  She tried to charge 
at M'Lady, commanding thin legs to propel her at the huge blonde 
target and take it down. 
Margo was ready; and stuck her hand out, locking a thick arm 
straight in front of her.  She cupped the woman's forehead in her 
grasp, paralyzing her progress as she tried to collide with the 
Amazon Goddess.  Frantic with rage, she swung wildly... 
Margo yawned, and caught the woman's right leg as it swung 
forwards with the force of the attempted blow, and tripped her, 
pushing her down again. 
But now Margo went on the offensive.   
 
She reached down for the woman; not to pick her up, no... 
With an easy pull, she tore the woman's faded floral swimsuit 
from her body, revealing a flabby white body, the stark tanlines 
giving her body a mismatched quality plain to see.  She tried to 
cover up in the surf, attempting a fetal position while cursing 
Margo all the while; that just made M'Lady angry, and she reached 
for her hair, and yanked her to her feet. 
M'Lady Muscle laughed. 
"What do you say, fellahs?," she asked, turning to the mostly- 
male crowd of on-lookers.  
"Which one of us is the real deal, this flabby bitch or me?," she 
demanded, flexing her free arm as the tiny woman hung suspended 
by her hair, screaming; spindly white legs kicking, with the 
other. 
The men made their desired known with a lusty yell... 
"YOU!!" 
The woman's breasts had dropped with middle age and neglect; they 
hung, pointy and limp in surrender, from her chest.  Margo 
reached over and gave one of the faded glands a tug... 
"Who wants a fried egg, huh?," Margo asked amidst the laughter. 
She picked the woman up in both arms and, to the counting of the 
men, prepared to eject her into the surf... 
One...two...three! 
And she was an airborne, naked creature of defeat and shame; she 
disappeared with a small splash into the deep water, beyond the 
surf; reappearing, coughing and spluttering a moment later. 
 
The lifeguard went to the rescue of the little naked woman, whose 
attitude would now be greatly chastened. 
Margo strutted over to an even smaller man; the source, I would 
learn later, of the trouble. Before Margo could do a thing, he 
turned and ran away on short, thin legs, deserting his wife even 
as she shivered and coughed and staggered to the shore on the 
lifeguard's strong arm. 
"One of Margo's boys," Margie said. 
She responded to my questioning looks. 
"One of her slaves; one of the ones she threw back, I guess.  His 
wife made the mistake of confronting her. Won't try that again," 
Margie said as a lifeguard wrapped a towel around the spluttering 
naked woman.   
But there was more trouble to come... 
  
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 
 
 
                         M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
             (c) 1994 WIG, LTD ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
                    Chapter Seven: (Cont'd.) 
 
 
     From within a tight circle of spectators came a hard-bodied, 
crew-cut woman of about thirty.  She had the toned, aesthetic 
look of an athlete: small-breasted, wide-backed, and a bit 
androgynous.  She was lightly tan, and weight-training was 
evident on her body as she walked slowly along towards the source 
of her ire; but to nowhere the degree displayed by M'Lady Muscle, 
who stood with her hands on her shapely hips, smiling as though 
grateful for the coming challenge.   
     The smaller woman sauntered with a swagger that spoke of 
confidence, both in her body's abilities and her cause, and slim 
hips moved with the quicksilver grace of a lioness.  Packed in a 
small black bikini, hard coconut-glutes bared in the bright sun, 
she drew a number of admiring glances from the hovering crowd of 
mostly men, as she separated herself from them, and marched up to 
Margo, ready for combat... 
     The woman had more guts than brains, a fact borne out when 
she finally stood toe-to-toe with Margo the Magnificent and found 
herself nearly dwarfed, despite her prominent deltoids that spoke 
of an ability to handle most men. 
     A thick bronze slave-bracelet encuffed her upper arm, and I 
thought I saw a tremble in her thick arm, but I may have been 
wrong. 
     "Is there a problem ?," Margo asked innocently as the surf 
ran weakly around her slender ballerina's-ankles.  She was 
playing with the slightly-fraying stray edges of her hair, coyly; 
knowing confrontation was moments away. 
     The bikini-clad Crew-Cut waited for the count of ten before 
answering, staring for the duration at Margo; expressionless, 
controlling her breathing, as the sun glinted and shined on her 
golden bracelets.  Everyone in the vicinity held their breath, 
and the sound of a wave crashing just a few yards behind us was 
all that could be heard. 
     Finally, she spoke. 
     "Yeah," she said, in a low, deep voice.  
     "There sure as hell is a problem.  You can pick on somebody 
like her," she said, jerking a thumb at the crushed, shivering 
woman who was even now being led to a first-aid station, the 
worse for wear for having tumbled with Margo. 
     My muscle-mistress spoke in a cool and untroubled voice, 
dripping with sarcasm. 
     "Goddamn right I can pick on her. If I want to. And I can do 
the same to you, Sweetcakes," M'Lady informed her, subtly flexing 
her thick appendages without moving them, in ominous warning of 
lock-and-load readiness.  She appraised her challenger with a 
slow up-and-down scour.  It was a look I had never seen her give 
me--it was one of grudging approval.   
     "Although," Margo continued in a breath gone slightly 
breathy, "you look so cute in that little swimsuit, I think I 
might just have a problem at that." 
     The crew cut was losing patience fast.  She trembled with 
what I first thought was rage, but was in fact something more. 
     "Oh, really?," she responded, leaning in so that their 
bodies nearly touched, muscle on muscle.  Her scalp was shining 
in the sun through her short haircut, and small white waves 
continued to break on their shins as they stood in confrontation. 
     "What kind of problem?," the smaller one demanded. 
     Margo tensed her upper body, so that the thick astounding 
muscles, heaped hard and high atop her 747-frame, flexed into 
mean mountains, smiling as a gush of disbelief rose up from the 
crowd.  She ran her fingers to the thin string of her bikini 
bottom, pulling the tiny cloth back in a sensual little tug. 
     "Well, Short, Hot 'n Lovely," Margo said in a voice even 
huskier and more sensual than usual, "if you must know---seeing 
you standing there all full of zip and grit in that tiny little 
swimsuit, I don't know whether to fuck you or fight you..." 
 
     Crew-Cut decided for her.  She stepped out of the long 
shadow of the big blonde, retreated a step; then her strong arm 
flashed in a blur, landing a fist square into Margo's midsection. 
 
     It had little impact. 
     An image flashed in my mind of the cartoon super-hero who so 
easily withstands the test of the arch-villain; for such was the 
abrupt and cold crash-landing of impotent fist on steely ab. 
     There was a another stifled whoosh! of awe from the crowd, 
who stood with pale bodies and flabby stomachs jiggling as the 
two she-warriors had squared off.  Now there were shocked looks 
exchanged by the on-lookers as the Crew-Cut girl winced from the 
impact of the punch she had thrown.  
     Margo stood, pretending to be unmoved and unnoticing.  
     But loving the attention. 
     The impression of the fist reddened on Margo's iron tummy; 
but that was the only proof that remained of it... 
     Hands on her hips, she took delight in the look of 
consternation on the Crew-Cut's face as the woman looked up to 
the blonde chiseled Giantess, shaking her bruised fist at her 
side and trying to pretend that it didn't hurt like hell. 
     She reached down and patted her cheek. 
     "Better try another tactic, Crew-Cut," Margo taunted, 
stepping back a few feet; not in retreat, but in display... 
     "These abs'll stop a fuckin' 38 special," she bragged, 
folding her arms behind her head and locking her midsection.  She 
wiggled and gyrated, and the steel ladder showed itself hard and 
cold and almost frightening, as though it was a beast kept under 
the cover of her brown flesh, now unleashed and angry. There was 
a murmur of impressed approval from the men. But their women 
shook their heads and tsked-tsked at the display of all this 
'disgusting' ladymuscle as they inhaled and tried to hold up 
their sagging bosoms with pectorals long-neglected and melted to 
jello-o softness.  
     "Know what I call these abs,?" Margo asked her counterpart.  
"Fort Knox.  That's 'cause they're hard and mean and tough as 
steel, and nothing gets past them.  Of course, unless I decide to 
let it.  Then the lucky winner gets to taste the gold below," she 
winked seductively, running a hand lightly and quickly over her 
barely-covered crotch. 
     Crew-Cut seemed confused.  Margo reached for her hand and 
took it knowingly, guiding it to Margo's nearly-bare overflowing 
breasts held in check--but barely--by the tiny strings of her 
top.  Crew-Cut's shoulders tensed as she let her hand raise up, 
held lightly by Margo's own.  She swallowed hard and hungry, 
trying to sort out the conflicting feelings.  She raised the 
other hand to join it, but she thought better of it just before 
it would have reached the brown breasts.  And she pulled away. 
     Margo flashed a little mock-pout across her hard, beautiful 
face. 
     "Make up your mind, little lady.  Wanna make nice or get the 
shit kicked out of you?" 
     The smaller woman seemed to be reinvigorated now, 
remembering why she had confronted the overwhelming giant of a 
blonde in the first place. 
     "Bitch!," she said, just before jumping on M'Lady. 
     They began to wrestle, arms locking around each other in 
search of a stronghold.  The smaller woman was experienced, and 
kept Margo off balance by constantly moving, pivoting, denying 
her the edge of her superior weight and strength as she kicked up 
spray in the shallow surf. 
     The crowd was finally getting what it had gathered for, and 
their whoops and cheers rang out in the afternoon sun. 
     Crew-Cut locked a leg around Margo's own, and, darting and 
shifting and calve muscles flexing, managed to push the giant 
woman down into the returning tide.  Her harshly beautiful face 
was met by an incoming wave that crashed over her and left her 
spluttering.  
     And madder than a bull, and twice as strong. 
     For just a moment, I looked over to the small victim of 
Margo's casual disdain, wrapped in a blanket, shriveled by the 
harsh treatment she had received. She was looking up, hopeful 
that the blonde bully would get hers, and avenge her dignity... 
     Now Margo was pushed underwater by the smaller woman, who 
jumped on top of her.  But M'Lady would not be vanquished that 
easily, and her raging muscularity struggled under the weight of 
her opponent; cut-up 'n carved sinews refused to submit.     
     Slowly, Margo was fighting her way up, trying to gather 
strength as she went.  But her lungs at first refused to obey the 
command, oxygen being denied my big-bodied heartthrob for several 
long moments; and depriving a muscle of oxygen meant doom... 
     Now she was flipped over by a skilled twist of her 
opponent's arm, and her bare behind strained and bucked in the 
surf, legs akimbo.  I wondered whether I should rush to her 
support, until I watched the black-bikini'd woman involuntarily 
flex a bit herself, and reached down for the tiny top of the big 
blonde.  She pulled it off and held it high, to some applause; as 
though it was a little victory flag dripping with seawater. 
     That was when Crew-Cut made her mistake.  Sensing a quick 
conquest, she had lessened her grasp for just a moment. 
     And a now-topless Margo shot up from the surf like a stone- 
carved rocket, her muscle rallying and changing everything... 
     In seconds she was firmly on her feet, pushing the surprised 
Crew-Cut down as she did.  The smaller musclegal had been off- 
guard and went down like a sack of laundry, with a splash of her 
own, in the cold ocean.  Margo's tiny top now floated in limp 
exhaustion on the shoreline... 
     With the speed of a panther, Margo reached down for the 
writhing and cursing brunette, whose skull gleamed under her 
short haircut, exposed by the water.   
     "Fuck with me, huh?," my muscle-mistress snarled amidst 
coughs full of sea-water.  Golly, her big breasts were 
magnificent; huge and firm, topped off with nipples nearly as 
long as thick as my thumb in full coldwater-erectness. 
     Margo gathered the woman's wrists in her hands and dragged 
her to the shoreline, ignoring her attempts to kick herself away 
from the golden-tressed amazon. 
     To no avail. 
     Once Margo had you in her grasp--one way or the other--there 
was no sense resisting. 
     You were hers... 
     Like a prize fish she had caught, she beached the brunette 
on the wet sand. 
     Pouncing on her with the speed of a lightning bolt, Margo 
pinned her down, smothering the Crew-Cut with pounds and pounds 
of hard-wonderful muscle.  The nearly-vanquished woman tried to 
muster a rally, but Margo's prodigious bodyweight was full and 
flush upon her.  The two ladies were all but naked, and struggled 
with each other relentlessly, as hard flesh met hard flesh. 
     What would happen now?  Would Margo take final and horrible 
advantage here, and perpetrate some horrid injustice upon the 
body of the smaller, the vanquished, the beaten? 
     Margo whispered something into her ear; the crowd seemed 
disappointed as the jerking jolts of the smaller woman's body 
began to subside... 
     The woman whispered back to Margo, who smiled a certain 
smile only a few would understand... 
     Suddenly, in full view of the throng of spectators, the two 
women released their grasps, and commenced a newer, friendlier 
one as their arms each went around the other. 
     A girlish giggle emitted from the two hardbodies. 
     And their mouths met writhing in a long hard kiss in the wet 
sand. 
     The crowd was silenced, and suddenly one could hear the 
crashing surf as it climbed ever higher on the sands with each 
froth-encapped wave. The two women ignored the breathless crowd, 
the sun, and the rising tide as they continued to kiss and grope 
and explore the muscular flesh bared by their swimsuits, framed 
by the rushing and receding green waters.  Margo pulled playfully 
on the string of the Crew-Cuts's bottom's; she giggled and 
girlishly slapped M'Lady's hand with a grin that meant she loved 
it, and sucked sweetly on a pair of perfect nipples, like a baby 
content in a pair of large arms. 
     They lay like that in the sand and groped and kissed and 
laughed, not caring a damn for the crowd, who, for their part, 
sensed their intrusion now, and wandered off. At will, Margo ran 
her sharp fingernails in light little circles on whatever body 
part caught her fancy, and the woman sighed with pleasure and 
reverently kissed the twenty-two inch bulging badge of power that 
was M'Lady's right bicep. 
     All but a few had left the scene and returned to their 
blankets and their dull lives and skinny wives; when the two 
finally stood, dripping with surf and muddy sand in each other's 
muscular arms. The both looked over at the scant voyeuristic 
remnants of the crowd, and wrinkled their noses at them in 
playful disdain. 
     Now the Crew-Cut fetched a pail from a nearby blanket, and 
hustled to fill it with warm ocean-water, seemingly unaware that 
her bikini bottom was askew and hung precipitously on her hips, 
exposing a deep cleft between her buttocks that removed all 
wonder as to whether she shaved her groin. 
     She did. 
     But then, people who messed with Margo usually ended up with 
their clothing, and their dignity, in disarray, I noted, feeling 
my tender rear end; a recipient of discipline in the sun. 
     Margo, all the while, stood expectantly, magnificently; 
waiting for the accommodation that she knew was hers. 
     The woman smiled lovingly at Margo, with a look that said 
she hoped she was pleasing her.  And she poured the seawater over 
M'Lady's monumental body, rushing over chiseled muscle and 
nearly-bare breasts, cleansing it of the grimy wet sand. 
     Her body shone with seawater, as it continued to cascade 
down the cruel relief of her gigantic and jagged physique.  This 
was not a topless beach, and Margo knew that, but did not care 
for rules and regulations.  Not for her, anyway... 
     When the pail was empty, the Blonde Amazon Goddess did not 
offer to respond in kind.  Instead she reached down for her 
bikini top, and handed it to the woman, who tied it back in it's 
proper place, on the wide-wide torso of Empress Flex. 
     Wordlessly, she turned and reached for the woman now, 
pulling her roughly against her body.  And they kissed in casual 
licentiousness once more, and made ready to bid their goodbyes. 
     The Crew-Cut Woman leaned down slightly and kissed the 
battleplate abs she had tried, moments ago, to injure.  Margo 
beamed at her conquest, and, patting her on the rear, sent her on 
her way. 
     Crew-Cut obeyed, gathering her own muscularity and walking 
away in a daze, looking over her shoulder all the while at the 
giant dominant woman who had tamed her spunk and grit and 
replaced it with gently-throbbing lust. 
     A faithful on-looker who had stayed until the end handed 
Margo the spike-heeled ankleboots she had given him to hold for 
her.  She did not acknowledge his consideration; as though it was 
a duty he would be expected to perform, not a favor.  Another lit 
a cigarette and handed it to her.  She took it without even a 
look at him.  He, a short palefaced guy in a flowered shirt two 
sizes too small, looked up to her as though she was a Musclular 
LadyAngel who had just come down from heaven.  He seemed as 
though he was waiting for an autograph... 
     She coolly pulled a long slow drag on the Marlboro, before 
tossing it into the surf with a flick of a long-nailed finger. 
     Her dominion established, Margo exhaled the smoke and 
collected her massively-muscled package; patted the golden bun of 
her hair and adjusted the tiny strings of the absurdly small 
bikini as though their placement on her bare brown flesh 
mattered.  There was little mystery to her body in that tiny 
swimsuit, but plenty of awe-inspiring grandeur that made me want 
to fall to my knees.  She tied the shoelaces together, like a 
pair of ice-skates; and presently, she turned, tossing her shoes 
over her shoulder, and walked along the surf for long moments 
until she disappeared in the crowd, perfect buttocks wriggling 
and tossing ever-so-slightly, from side to side, fading, fading. 
     Once again, the surf was all that spoke... 
     Finally, some Good Samaritans re-gathered to search the surf 
for her first victim's torn swimsuit; others stood, staring and 
straining at the far-off crowds in the distance; but the scene 
was distorted by waves of heat that rose from the sands, blurring 
the horizon.  But still they searched in vain for some small 
sight of the giant blonde as she melted into the masses with her 
long, determined strides. 
     "Show's over," Margie said at last. 
     She held Margo's car keys up, dangling them in her face. 
     "She told me that you had to do whatever I wanted," she 
whispered in a sing-songy voice. 
     "I want to go for a ride," she pouted playfully. 
 
     I was glad to get off the beach and escape the scene of my 
public display at Margo's hands just minutes ago.  I thought that 
several women recognized me as we went back to the parking lot, 
and Margie obligingly lent me her sunglasses and a baseball cap 
she kept in her bag.  I walked as quickly as I could, Margie 
shimmying next to me, hips all exaggerated bumps and grinds, as 
though in imitation of a Playboy Bunny on a hot runway. 
     Maybe she was hoping to be discovered, I thought, as I 
watched her take long, look-at-me strides in her high heeled 
shoes. 
     The sun pounded down on us; I was glad to be leaving. 
     It was only as I tried to trot, hurriedly, that I thought of 
Margie's joke about the straying wife who came home walking 
funny.  My legs hurt, too, but for a different reason; thanks to 
the hard-handedness of a 6'7" Amazon who didn't care where we 
might be when she decided disciplinary action was called for.  
     She would humiliate me in broad daylight, before many pairs 
of laughing eyes, and expect me to thank her for her efforts, and 
kiss the hand that had done the job, and ask for more, if that 
was what she wanted me to do.   
     Muscle-Slave Training 101, Courtesy of Margo the 
Magnificent... 
 
     I turned over the engine, it's low, powerful roar only an 
echo in the well-insulated cabin of the ominous car.  
     Immediately, Margie pulled close to me, her youthful frame 
covered only by the bikini.  She threw her beach bag, as well as 
the short terrycloth robe meant for wearing at times like this-- 
on the ride home from the beach--into the cavernous back seat. 
     The whole car was very big, I noticed now, with the 
awareness that comes only from being behind the wheel.  I had 
ridden in Cadillacs before, and even driven a few, but there was 
something unusually big--even spacious--about this one.  I pulled 
the seat up close to the steering wheel, and my bare feet still 
strained to reach the pedals.  The roof overhead seemed almost 
high enough to install a chandelier; and I remarked as much to 
Margie, causing her to laugh. 
     "Margo does everything big, slaveboy.  She had this one 
built special...," she said as proudly as though it were hers, 
and patting the wide dashboard, all wood and leather... 
     As I drove, it occurred to me how strange the beach could 
be, how it created it's own rules that applied only there... 
     Margie was now perched prettily in the car, as we pulled out 
of the parking lot, past the teenaged attendant, dully punching 
tickets for late afternoon arrivals.  Margie wore only the tiny 
bikini that had drawn admiring glances but caused no terrible 
commotion on the white sands of the beach, but which, here, as we 
pulled into traffic, got looks from every driver alongside us as 
we drove along.  Several honked their horns, and Margie, ever- 
friendly, would turn and wave to them, all teenage effervescence 
and jiggling small breasts dancing in their dainty cups.  She 
wore less here, in the front seat of the big black Cadillac on a 
hot spring afternoon, than in her bedroom each morning, as she 
donned her underwear.  Yet if someone walked into the room as she 
dressed and saw her in her panties and bra, she would no doubt 
jump and shout and grab a bathrobe, let out a shout of outrage. 
She snuggled close to me, and put a flirtatious hand on my thigh 
and batted her eyes. 
     "You know what?  I have a videotape of Margo at home. Wanna 
see it?" 
     We pulled into the garage of her parent's house, after 
Margie, little butt shaking as she hustled down the driveway of 
her parent's ranch house, opened the door and signaled me to pull 
in, after making sure it was empty.  Strangely, as I killed the 
engine, she pulled the door of the garage closed, and ran back 
into the house through an adjoining basement door.  I sat alone 
in the gloom of the garage for nearly a minute, amidst the 
darkness, and listened to the hot clicking sounds of the big 
engine at rest. 
     Finally, Margie reappeared with a videocassette in her hand; 
she jumped back into the car. She took the gum out of her mouth 
and put it in the ashtray and sat looking at me with a cool and 
measured gaze. 
     "Mom's car's in the shop," she said, as though answering a 
question I had never asked. She held up the black plastic 
rectangle that made my heart beat anxiously, in anticipation. 
     "Let's watch the tape. It's really something," she said, 
arching her brow. "There's a player in the back seat..." 
     "Some of those girls you were with seemed very young," I 
said, with no particular emphasis, as we got settled in the 
cavernous rear seat and prepared to watch the tape in the dark of 
the garage. 
     "So? I don't get them involved in this sort of stuff," she 
declared, fiddling with the box that held the tape.  "It's just 
so fun and innocent to be with them, when they're so full of 
nervous little crushes and all, and wearing a teeny-weeny new 
bikini to the beach is a federal case...," she shook her head 
affectionately, reflecting back on the worshipful crowd of boy- 
crazy teenyboppers who had watched her every move at the beach 
with outright awe.  "You have your escape and I have mine," she 
said, defensively. 
     "I was just like them once," she said, almost wistful.  "But 
now anymore,  thank God.  Now it's fun, fun, fun, 'til my daddy 
takes the condoms away," she said, her arms going over her head, 
hands locking on forearms, and shaking her small breasts at me. 
     They danced to and fro in their tiny cups, right in front of 
my eyes!  I moved towards her as though on instinct, but she 
looked at me as though I had just produced a baby octopus for her 
to kiss; and she recoiled herself in disgust into a deep corner 
of the seat, squatting, bare haunches grazing dark leather.   
     "Don't even think it, slaveboy," she warned me.  "One word 
to Margo and you're a dead little slaveboy, that's for sure...," 
she declared, suddenly forgoing her playful flirting of moments 
ago. 
     "I can do whatever I want to you; Margo said so.  If I wanna 
shake my tits in your face, you better just stay right where you 
are and enjoy the sights and keep your mouth shut and your hands 
to your little wimpy self," she pronounced firmly.  "And you and 
I know that if you cause me any trouble, I'll tell Margo," she 
added, childishly; in the way a young girl will threaten to tell 
teacher.  She wagged a chiding finger at me...  
     Suddenly, she acted like those young girls she hung around 
with....! 
     "I fuck when I want, who I want, 'n how I want," she 
declared; a woman of the nineties in full bloom... 
     "And I don't want to fuck you!," she asserted. 
     Having established her dominion, she plopped back down and 
slid a panel behind the driver's seat. 
     The glass screen of a television showed itself. 
     Below it was the horizontal mouth of a videotape player, and 
she slid the tape into it and punched the appropriate button. We 
hunkered down in the back seat of the darkened car to watch 
Margo... 
 
     The screen fizzled to life after just a second or two. 
     And there she was. 
     The camera met her at the front door, where she was posing 
as the world's biggest, most-muscular encyclopedia saleslady I 
had ever seen... 
     She wore a white micro-miniskirt that revealed miles of hard 
brown thigh.  Her calves were big, diamond-shaped and awesome to 
behold, and she stood perched in a pair of shining black spike- 
heels.  Her red tank top was little more than a decorative tissue 
that showed her singular, sizzling assets off to the best and 
biggest degree possible.  I had never imagined her in glasses 
before, but she wore them now; and her hair was tied into a 
librarian-esque bun... 
     And under one huge arm, she carried an encyclopedia. 
 
     "Hello," she said to the small nondescript man who answered 
the door. 
     The rest, as they say, is video history. 
     No sooner had Margo gotten in the door than the trouble 
started.  He refused her overtures to buy her books, crossing his 
arms and shaking his head, nose in the air in a ridiculous 
attempt at smug intellectual superiority. 
     And Margo the Encyclopedia Saleslady did not like that at 
all.  She decided that the man needed some lessons in how to 
behave around "his superiors," as she put it.  She threw the 
books down and went to work on him. 
     She grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off his feet. His 
face reddened and he gurgled deeply, waving his arms around 
frantically for relief and kicking at air.  Margo sneered and 
threw him across the room.  He sailed like a paper airplane and 
landed on a plush sofa. 
     M'Lady took down her long mane of hair and threw her glasses 
to the floor. Shining hair the color of precious gold plummeted 
gloriously, wondrously, about her awesome brown body like a 
private waterfall for the pleasure of those who submit to her 
authority.  It crashed about her thick muscles, finally resting 
next to them; a perfect contrast for the wild contradiction that 
was M'Lady---hard muscle framed by a shy maiden's golden pride 
and glory.  It was a long perfect mane that ran to her waist... 
     She flexed an overwhelming pair of arms. The sinewy splendor 
that presented itself said all there was to be said--a mouthful 
of muscle. 
     "Get on your knees before me, little man," she commanded 
him, pointed at the fortrel-flooring with a razor-sharp 
fingernail three inches long. 
     And he did, rising from the sofa with a face full of red- 
blushing fear and, I thought, desire. He assumed the dictated 
position, and it was one I knew well... 
     As he looked up to her, she reached down to her blouse.  She 
could have simply removed it, but that would have been dull, 
wouldn't it?  Instead, she inhaled once; the big breasts nearly 
did the job themselves, and almost broke free quite on their own; 
the cloth was very near bursting, stretched thin by that simple 
gesture. 
     She then tore the scanty top from her body, the sundered 
cloth giving way with a shrieky little tear that even the 
unsophisticated sound equipment caught quite clearly, as jagged 
cloth fell at her sides, and her two perfect breasts tumbled out. 
     The perfect nipples upon which I had sucked so unashamedly 
were erect on mountainous mounds of ladyflesh. 
     His mouth fell open in awe... 
     So did mine. 
     It did nothing for her--so she reached down and slapped him 
so hard across his face that his own glasses flew off and 
shattered somewhere behind him. 
     Margo reached down and relieved him of his clothes, lickety- 
split; all-but-tearing them off his body as well.  He offered not 
the slightest objection; indeed, he seemed anxious to obey this 
statuesque glacier of female muscle and supple, big-breasted 
power. 
     I wondered if I had seemed quite so pliant... 
     That having been accomplished, she joined him in nudity.. 
     The sight of her body as it revealed itself, brown and bare, 
as the last of the small garments fell away, made me sigh almost 
as audibly as the guy in the tape... 
     Even then, whenever it was, she was an awesomely-big woman. 
     He proceeded to have a lesson administered to him; one that 
he would not soon forget... 
     A spanking came first.  I quickly saw that she was a long- 
time expert at that particular discipline, as her hard handcracks 
came down upon him.  He could offer little resistance.. 
     I wondered if I was as red-bottomed as he was.  I ran a hand 
along my hemispheres, feeling the remainder of the sunscreen 
treatment.  I looked over at the nineteen-year-old vixen. She was 
cupping her breast in her small hand and massaging it absently, 
unconsciously; loving the spectacle of female muscle-domination 
come to life on the small screen. 
     Then, the small man learned the art of wrestling with a 
bodybuilding woman twice his size.  Or more exactly, how to 
quickly be defeated by such a woman.  He was bent and twisted and 
scrambled like an egg.  His limbs were wrapped into a near- 
pretzel contortion as he begged for mercy; but begging did no 
good, as a six-foot-seven inch Amazon Bodybuilder taught him that 
his legs really could wrap around his neck if he really wanted 
them to! 
     Finally, when all traces of dignity were shattered, his 
identity gone, he fainted.  His small body simply gave out under 
the muscle-packed treatment of this towering Amazon, and he fell 
like a load of last week's laundry, down to the hardwood floor. 
     Margo turned to the camera, huge-muscled, gloriously naked; 
her mane of golden tresses flowing around her like a superwoman's 
cape... 
     "S'cuse us," she said, addressing her video audience.  "I 
have one more lesson to teach this sad little sack of male 
hormones.  He needs to learn, " she said, wickedly winking into 
the camera, "how to service a musclewoman's every little need... 
...doesn't he,?" she asked, as the camera cut into a momentary 
close-up.       
     She smiled seductively, her perfect white rows of teeth 
shining brilliantly, contrasted by her painted lips.  She licked 
them, and winked, before turning to her victim and presenting a 
cracklingly-big bicep. It throbbed like a menacing mountain;  
maddening. 
     I was hungry for her again--a throbbing pleaded for notice 
in my baggy shorts. 
     This was when the tape usually ended with most exhibitions 
of this kind. 
     But not this one.  This one was just getting warmed up. 
     M'Lady Muscle left the camera's range for only a moment; 
just long enough to fetch a pitcher of ice-water.  She presented 
it to him.  But he did not see it, and did not respond until she 
dumped it's contents over him from four feet overhead. 
     He shot to ice-shocked life.  Coughed, groaned, and 
spluttered.  He looked positively anemic, pencil-thin of limb and 
member. Terror crossed his face when he saw the size of that 
woman standing naked over him...! 
     Margo dropped the pitcher on his belly, and he groaned with 
the pain of it all. 
     And then, M'Lady fucked him. 
     It was harsh, full of brutality, devoid of affection. 
     And you want details? 
     Okay! 
 
     Margo addressed the camera... 
     "Oh," she cooed, in a mock-ingenue voice as her hand went to 
her breasts, as though to attempt to cover them. 
     "I thought you'd gone!," she toyed, putting her hands on her 
hips in mock indignation.   
     "So you want to watch me fuck a skinny little muscleslave, 
do ya?," she inquired of her audience in a friendly little tone 
that amplified my raging erection. 
     "Suit yourself," she shrugged. 
     She sat down upon his belly, her broad back to him, making 
sure that she faced her fans. The camera had fallen in love with 
her as quickly as I had; and she winked at her unseen audience as 
she made the small frozen-penis disappear in her hand.  She 
pointed at it as though to say, "Watch what I can do!," and 
produced her bowling-ball bicep full of crackling vascularity; I 
thought it would burst right through the skin! 
     In moments, her hand a blur to the camera, she had grown a 
magic erection in her fist, abra-cadabra.  Now she intended to 
get some use out of it, and the sopping-wet 'n shivering pale 
flesh under her command... 
     Digging the spikes of her high heels into the carpet, she 
raised her hard and rippling body up off the floor and hovered 
above the now- resuscitated man until all that touched the floor 
was her shoe-heels and her hands.  Her vagina was revealed by her 
spread-legged position; completely shaven, except for a few 
decorative wisps just above the sweet doorway to warm, wet 
heaven.  The lips were a ready-for-action pinkish-red. They shone 
in the set-lighting, and as I watched the nearly-pinky-sized clit 
emerge from between them, I imagined I could smell her musky 
fragrance. 
     Below her, his all-but-hairless body was shaking with wet 
water and fear, but he would have no say in what would happen 
now. 
     He was going to be taken by a muscular goddess twice his 
size named Margo; boldly, where few men had gone before... 
     She slid his meager eagerness into her slurping slit, and 
rode and rode him, her bountiful breasts swinging wildly, 
agiggling like buoys on a rough sea, the twin nipples like 
warning lights to all who would come near.  Her thick mane flew 
about her as she moved rapidly, wildly, unforgiving.  She 
grunted, gritted her teeth, bobbed her pelvis up and down in 
hedonistic, hard thrusts that filled the air with wet slaps of 
desperate hot flesh; as she did, the muscles in her arms came 
into stark life as they supported her weight.  My eyes ran up and 
down the arms I knew so well, but they did not linger on them; 
nor on the powerful legs that did their share, too, as the huge 
body pumped up and down. I watched a powerful pussy master a 
small cock, and barrage it with the passions of a MuscleMistress, 
who took all he had and kept pounding him, forcing those last 
drops of dignity to surrender to her fury. 
     I watched her chiseled washboard belly do a continual 
crunch-and-relax, crunch-and-relax just above the action, where 
she continued to atack him with determined hip-pumpings; and 
cobblestoned abdominals came to vivid life on her basin-flat 
stomach. 
     But he was finishing far too soon for a certain Amazon who 
shall be nameless.  His body, all-but-insignificant below her, 
shuddered.  Then a groan, a whimper; spasm and surrender. 
     He was done. 
     His erection deflated, and began to slide weakly out of the 
steel 'n satin heaven that was her pussy. 
     That made her mad. 
     She held a frozen position over his body, and looked at the  
camera, shaking her beautiful head in consternation; her hair 
flowed 'round her massive shoulders as she did. 
     "Shit," she complained, "just when I was gettin' warmed up!" 
     The limp rod slipped out completely now, dripping with 
fatigue and post-ejaculate.  Margo got up, moved slowly, slowly; 
standing upright and walking on spike heels until she was gone 
from the camera's hungry eye. 
     But only for a moment. 
     She came back a minute later from somewhere behind the 
camera, so that one could not see her face, or any other part of 
her frontage; only her wide back and flowing long mane of gold 
was evident, and bare buttocks emerged from between flaxen 
curtains of hair; calves bulged with each step. 
     The man only now looked up at her.  A look of fear flew 
across his face, and he turned over to all-fours and attempted a 
hasty escape, illogically crawling, infant-style. 
     Margo dove to the floor with feline big-cat grace. 
     "Oh, no, little lover," she chided him, reaching for a pale 
white ankle and catching it.  He cried out in anguish as he 
looked over fearfully at the hellish contraption at her groin.  
His eyes bulged with horror as he saw the thing clearly. The 
protrudance must have been ominous; an angry bulge where her 
sweet depths would ordinarily be.  But only straps of black were 
obvious to the viewer, and me; the silken bindings that secured 
it in it's place were all I could see. 
     Margo laughed gruffly, her back to the camera. 
     "Yeah, little man, Margo wants to have some fun with you now 
that you shot your little load..." 
     Thick ladymuscle flexed as she tugged upon the slender 
ankle. He slid towards her, attaining a red carpet-burn on his 
already-reddened backside.  She grabbed his thighs, parting them. 
     "No, please!" he whimpered, hoping that she would disappear 
if he closed his myopic eyes.   
     She did not. 
     "Turnabout's fair play, little boy," she said firmly, in a 
firm, husky voice.  Her back was to the camera as she turned him 
around to all-fours, positioning him as she pleased as she 
prepared to administer a session of cruelty.   
     "The one who wears the muscle wears the pants, my wimp- 
cakes.  And that's ME!," she reminded him in hot-blooded 
declaration, just before a massive flex of her rippling back for 
the camera's delight. 
     And she began a thundering sexual assault... 
 
     "Yeah, babycakes, that's it," she ridiculed the pitiful man, 
who continued to struggle and cry futilely.  I could not see his 
face, blocked as it was by Margo's wide body, but she could... 
     She put a stop to his protests soon enough; in mid-thrust, 
M'Lady Muscle reached over and slapped him so hard that I thought 
I saw him begin to bleed from his nose. 
     She rode him like that for some minutes, laughing at his 
teary pleas for mercy... 
     "Yeah, that's it, baby, scream for Margo," she encouraged, 
flexin' and thunderin', ramming away at the poor man, whose only 
crime was not needing an encyclopedia.  She was loving this mean- 
spirited session of domination made absolute.  Her hair fell down 
her back, puffing with each thrust; only her buttocks and 
shoulders were visible to the home-viewer for much of the time... 
     He looked pathetic and pale beneath her sculpted brown 
ladymuscle as she battered his body without mercy.  His limbs 
were as thin as my own, perhaps thinner; and Margo was so big, so 
brown, so bad.  There was something of the bully in her, to be 
sure.  But it was something my heart did not want to know, even 
when it was fed such information with my own eyes. 
     Finally, all resistance ended, he fell over, and lay still; 
unconscious. 
     It had ended. Her fun was greatly reduced when her victim 
was no longer aware of her cruel perpetrations, or the vicious 
liberties taken with him for sport... 
     M'Lady threw off the artificial enhancement to her already- 
formidable powers, turned around and stood facing us.  She tossed 
back her waist-length blond glory in wild hedonistic pleasure, 
and laughed a laugh full of flowing hair, harsh-cut muscle and, I 
thought, just a bit of madness. 
     "Hey Ladymuscle Lovers," she finally said to the worshipful 
audience in front of their monitors 'round the world, "I can 
always repeat the same treatment. You little boys out there had 
better be good!" 
     And she flexed so bigger-than-big that I thought her muscles 
were going to explode. Deltoids inflated into carved and steep 
relief; biceps and triceps put on a magic show, growing and 
deflating at the will of their mistress.  Breasts did a juggling 
act, and abs came into stark detail like a camera's lens that 
finds it's focus, as she tightened them hard-as-stone beneath her 
skin. 
     Vascularity Triumphant on the Raging She-Bull. 
     His head was at her spike-heeled feet; insensate.  His 
senses were overloaded and he shook it from side to side, 
groaning words of nightmarish fear gone to overload. 
     Suddenly, it occured to me that this demonstration was all- 
too-real. I had never seen anything like it before, and I had the 
complete collection of Built-More and Amazon Productions at home!  
Nothing I had ever seen prepared me for this...! 
     It had become positively frightening! 
     Now she stepped up and angled her body into a strange semi- 
squat above him. I knew--even before seeing the pink pussy-lips 
pucker--what she was going to do... 
     Her arms locked behind her head, and she tensed and twitched 
her groin. The camera zoomed in to her twin orifices, both 
revealed by her high-heeled bent-kneed squat.  Some secret 
muscles made them both contract on a steady, even rhythm, pulsing 
as though a pair of twin hearts were beating within them. 
     The mountainous tower of naked LadyMuscle had had her fun, 
and leered at me through the lenses and screens as I sat on the 
leather of her backseat.  I almost felt she could see me as she 
blew a kiss at the camera, twitched her pubic lips on command, 
and pumped the white ejaculate down upon the small man she had 
all-but-raped.  It shot out in little pearly bullets that he did 
not feel.  He had succumbed completely, and lay unconscious, 
overloaded by fear and pain until he had passed out. 
     She leaned over, and her flowing locks fell forwards until 
most of her upper body was obscured by the flaxen glory, and only 
scattered sections of her hard body poked through in sun-browned 
splendor against the gold of her hair. 
     "I always give back what I borrow, Wimp-Cakes; it's only 
polite," she explained, speaking down to ears that did not hear 
before breaking into more laughter...    
     The screen began to fade to black as she continued to send 
the sticky rain down upon him, and a long clear string dripped 
slowly from her vagina down to the vanquished insignificance 
between her feet. 
     Seconds of blackness, then fade in to... 
     A last shot, where we see her pick him up, disregarding the 
semen-mess she had deposited upon him, and hoist his coma-like 
form over her wide shoulders.  They were off to the bedroom, her 
buttocks ajiggle, pert with glee and flush with victory. 
     She turned at the doorway to address us one more time... 
     "Gotta go, little boys.  If you're good, maybe I'll ring 
your doorbell sometime soon....," she said; but I wasn't sure if 
it was a threat or a promise. 
     "Have some money ready, my adoring little wimps," she 
warned, a stern look of cruelty flashing on her face, before she 
daintily waved at the camera and walked into the bedroom with a 
pale inert mass of humanity draped across her wide shoulders. Her 
prize had been claimed, and a new slave needed training. 
     The camera moved back to the two pairs of broken glasses as 
they lay on the floor together, and faded a final time to 
black... 
     "Wow," I said. 
     "After that shoot was over," Margie added, "they took up 
house for awhile.  Kind of like what you and Margo are doin' now.  
'Course, it didn't last too long...," she said, running her hands 
though her hair. 
     "What do you mean?," I asked. 
     She shot me another annoyed look. 
     "She got tired of him's what I mean, stupid," the bikini- 
clad teen said, with not a trace of warmth or intimacy in her 
voice. 
     "She threw him out of her house.  In the middle of the 
night, too, in the pouring rain," she said, shaking her head.  
     "Seems she had somebody new, so she just tossed him away 
like used condom.  He stood on the doorway for hours, until it 
was light, begging to be let back in.  Man," Margie said, 
impressed with the blonde lady-behemoth's sexual power, "she 
doesn't kid around.  If I was you, I'd keep some clothes in the 
bushes for when your time comes.  That way you won't have to walk 
away naked, like he did..." 
     I thought back to the scene on the shoreline, and the naked 
woman's humiliation, and I thought perhaps she might be right. 
     "Wait and see," Margie said suddenly, as if it were an idea 
that had just occurred to her. "I'm gonna be just like Margo some 
day. Even my name is like hers. Right?  Margo 'n Margie?  See 
these skinny arms,?" she asked, holding up a tiny girlish bicep. 
     "They're just like yours.  But not for long..," she 
promised. 
     I asked her what she planned. 
     "I'm gonna work out and get big like Margo, like I said, 
stupid.  And then y'know what?  I'm gonna come looking for you 
again," she leered, looking my slim frame up and down... 
     "And I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you, and make you my 
slave like you are for Margo...." 
     I tried to picture Margo's vast muscularity superimposed on 
Margie's head. It didn't work.  Still, it was good to have a 
hero, wasn't it? Or heroine, as the case may be.  If that was her 
goal, more power to her... 
     Just then, a voice echoed from upstairs over the garage. A 
loud female voice was calling Margie's name.... 
     Margie suddenly jumped, her relaxed pose gone now. She was 
suddenly sitting upright and stiff, a terrified look on her face. 
     "Omigod!," she cried quietly, petrified, hands going to 
those tiny buds of breasts as though the owner of the voice was 
standing here, staring at her....   
     "My mom!" 
      A panicky cry rose in her girlishly small chest, and she 
threw the contents of her bag back together wildly, her cool gone 
completely now, throwing a stray hank of hair out of her face as 
her hands fumbled with the bag.  She pretended as though I was 
not even there, and dove for the door, finding the lock and 
jumping out and slamming it in one quick blur.  She scurried to a 
switch that opened the garage door.  It opened, and I leaped over 
the seat, and started the engine. 
     I drove off with a screech of tires and the scent of burning 
rubber. 
     It was just the way Margo would have done it. 
     I went home to await the return of seventy-nine blonde 
inches, and two-hundred-and-seventy-nine hard-flexing pounds of 
M'Lady Muscle; the woman who owned my body, ignited my loins, and 
possessed my soul. 
     Worship was awaiting her, if only she would allow it... 
 
 
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 
 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                         Chapter Eight:  
 
                 Muscle-Serf at A Queens's Altar 
                               or 
                      One Orgasm Too Many! 
 
 
     The teenaged swagger of that bikini-clad strumpet had been 
all-but-erased by the sound of her mother's voice, and I had to 
grin as I flashed back on the image of that Oversexed Little 
Guardian of Other Women's Sexslaves as she ran into the dark 
interior of the house like a frightened kindergartner dreading a 
scolding for her misbehavior.  Her pert pink ass had jiggled and 
bounced about in the small bikini-bottom as she baby-stepped a 
little jog through the connecting door that led to her basement, 
and over the sounds of the revving engine, I had heard the 
beginnings of a mother-daughter pitched-battled just commencing. 
     Little Margie, would-be lady bodybuilder, was in trouble.  I 
wondered if girls her age still got grounded for bringing boys 
into the basement, or other naughty behavior... 
     But as I ventured back to the stucco palace of M'Lady, still 
full of sunscreen remnants and that stiff-skin feeling that comes 
from time spent at the beach, I reflected back on the videotape 
that I had just seen. 
     At first, I had felt almost superior to the victimized man 
whom had been conquered, ridiculed, raped and defeated.  It was 
only after some little consideration that I realized that that 
man could have been me, and the realization sent a cold shock of 
reality through me, like that pitcher of ice-water that the 
blonde giantess had dumped on the poor guy's head. 
     Similarities abounded, to be sure... 
     He had prostrated himself at her spike-heeled feet, and so 
had I.  After a vigorous spanking, he had been ridden, taken, and 
measured up as deficient as a sexual partner capable of 
satisfying her womanly needs.  The same verdict had been 
pronounced upon me by my Flexing Dominatrix-In-A-G-String. 
     And she had exacted the same harsh revenge for my 
shortcomings, as well... 
     And yet finally, she had reached the same resolution for him 
as she had for me; captivity under her harsh, cruel, wonderful 
rule. I was unsure--was I a victim, or a lucky soul that had been 
plucked from a life of loveless obscurity and empty 
relationships, delivered to a bed full of soft silken sheets and 
stern hardbodied mistress; this force of womanly nature, who sent 
nerve-fraying jolts of molten, magmatic ecstacy through my body 
with almost no discernible effort, other than a few flexes, a 
hip-thrust or two, and a cruel sneer of contempt? 
     Still, seeing someone else submit to it all had been more 
than a little frightening for me, like hearing your own voice on 
a tape recorder for the first time; and it almost gave me pause. 
     Is this the fate that I had really wanted all my life? 
Sexual thrills would make up for alot of things otherwise lacking 
in my life, to be sure.  But what had I let her do to me?, I 
wondered, as the absolute reality of my table-top surgery hit 
home.  Falling short of her image of full manhood, but not 
wanting to lose the services of a willing slave, she had ordered 
me to be sterilized, with a cruel and casual command as she, 
accompanied by Madonna's singing, danced a Porn-Queen dance with 
herself, and laughed.  And still, I was returning for more. 
     I was ashamed of myself... 
     So, why? 
     Why was I going back, and why was I sporting a throbbing 
erection at the thought of being beneath her in bed once again, 
my penis squeezed tight in warm slick depths of a vagina whose 
every tiny contraction was controlled, and calculated; and could 
melt my resistance effortlessly, at the will and whim of it's 
heartless owner, Margo the Magnificent?  For she had tamed her 
pubic muscles, every bit as much as her biceps, and had taught it 
twitch-and-shoot tricks that no other woman could perform; the 
fleshy pocket of inner muscle could send rockets of white-hot 
wilting pleasure through my body. 
     That was at least one reason why! 
     I smiled to think of the comparison that had occurred to me 
back at the beach--that of Margo as angel. 
     How could she be that?  Sure, she had flown into my life, 
descended before me, to answer a dream.  But the hard fire in her 
eyes matched the harshness of her voluptuous body, and there was 
rarely any mercy in her treatment of me, her newest slave.  
     Surely, there was more of the devil than the angel in her, 
wasn't there?  But if that were so, then she was a glorious 
devil, enticing beyond any ability I might ever muster in protest 
to a cause; and if all the women residing in hell looked like 
M'Lady Muscle, and displayed the stacked 'n steaming 
architectural splendor of Margo's almost-permanently-bare-fleshed 
condition, then I hoped to descend to those brimstone depths upon 
my death, eternity be damned! 
 
     When I finally got back ---after cruising around the 
neighborhood for a little while trying to find the house--I was 
grateful.  It was strange, but I already found myself 
surrendering certain things; I always made mental maps of where I 
was and where I was going, but today I needed some time to 
remember who I was, much less where I was. The newness of it all 
was overloading my mottled brain, and my hopeless infatuation 
with Margo seemed to be overwriting certain areas of my mind as 
though the floppy disc of my memory was being slowly re-written 
to adapt to her own programming.  I shrugged it off as a result 
of shell-shock.  The last forty-eight hours had been astounding, 
shocking, ....and, after all, pretty damn exciting. It was only 
now that the fatigue, the exhaustion, sexual and otherwise, began 
to overtake me. 
     I wanted to sleep. I needed it.  But such things were not my 
decisions to make anymore, and I had to wonder: would I be 
allowed to rest, or would Margo find work for me to do? 
     I parked the car in the garage, the electric door opening 
quickly as I drove in.  I felt a bit like a superhero of some 
sort as he sped into his lair, as the huge black car was 
swallowed up by the dark cavern of the garage.  
     The house was empty when I walked through it.   
     M'Lady Margo, come home...! 
     I showered, bathing my battered posterior in the cool spray; 
Margo's handprint was only slightly evident, but I could see the 
mark, alright; proof of her dominion yet again. 
     I went about my duties: changing the bed linens.  I was in 
Margo's main bedroom---first time!---and was fluffing up the 
pillowcase.  I had bent over to accomplish the task, and I 
suppose I was lost in reverie and reflection, trying to figure 
out where I was going in this wild sexual free-fall that a 
towering Amazon had pulled me into. 
     I caught a reflection in the silver-service tray that sat on 
the adjoining nightstand, and looked up; where I noticed for the 
first time a most-amazing mural, hand-painted on the ceiling. 
     It was a wildly-inverted variation of Michelangelo's 
painting that adorned the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel; but 
here, 'God' was banished, replaced here by an omnipotent Goddess- 
-a sleekly-muscular woman framed by flowing silver hair, and a 
chorus of approving and slender lady-angels.  Her bare breasts 
were entwined by the white mane of glory, and she reached a 
strong arm down from the pearly heavens, earthward; almost 
touching the outstretched hand of a beautiful blonde woman 
beneath her.  This woman was completely nude, stacked, and as 
amazingly muscular as she was buxom; and she lay in decadent 
recline, legs more-than-slightly open and clearly showing her 
silken pubes below a set of impenetrable washboard abs. 
     M'lady! 
     Suddenly, as if on cue, I felt a familiar taloned finger 
slide between my buttocks, and a strong hand I knew was Margo's 
cupped my spank-sore flesh as though she owned it. 
     I turned to see her in her sun-drenched big-breasted glory.  
Her hair was pinned up as a casual afterthought, and she wore a 
very long tank top, that extended to her thighs.  Abounding 
cleavage tested the strength of the cloth; that test was on- 
going, with no clear victor, yet. Areolae were evident beneath 
the tissue-paper sheerness, and a pair of suckable nipples stood 
proud on the bountiful glands. 
     The thing looked as though it had been painted onto the lush 
oak of her torso; and with very little paint, at that! 
     Her ever-present high-heeled ankle-boots were still on. 
     But that was all... 
     Words and thoughts were puny weapons against such a female 
sledgehammer of sexuality.  Pushing seven feet tall, and so 
beautiful it almost hurt to look at her and think of all the 
years I had been without her in my life.  If she was harsh, so 
what?  If she was demanding, so be it.  And if she tailored me to 
suit her needs and wants, well... 
     What woman doesn't do that in some way or another, right?  
Granted, M'Lady's ways were severe, even cruel.  But then would 
come the reward; a body that was like the exaggerated essence of 
every beautiful woman I had ever seen and wished for; the tall 
and sleekly-built babe from accounting, whom I dreamed about on 
long, lonely nights; big-busted bowling-alley blondes, chewing 
gum and talking tough; sleek brunettes in tube-tops, who blew 
smoke at you as they stood above you in a corner of a crowded 
bar; fiery redheads in micro-skirts and high-high heels and 
hands-off attitudes; all of whom I watched helplessly as they 
would go suddenly soft and girlish for some low-life guy, and 
make big-eyes and little-girl pouts of seduction at them, until 
they landed, bare-ass naked, in their seedy beds. They would be 
ravaged and screwed senseless, and they'd spent a day or two 
bumping into furniture (or me!), their hearts full of romance, 
and their panties full of jism and juices.  Unaware of my crushes 
on these lovely creatures, a select and kindly few of these women 
might tell me all about it the next day, over the water cooler; 
and treat me like a cute kid brother. And they would shed their 
tears on my lapels when the inevitable crash of hearts came. But 
that was as close as I would get to women like that. 
     But not anymore! 
     Now I had the girl!  And I wasn't gonna let her get away! 
     The She-Hulk pulled me close, the architectural wonders of 
her arms and upper chest laid bare for me to delight in.  She 
kissed me hard, locking my wrists under her massive arms, and not 
allowing me the chance or honor to kiss her back, just probing, 
pushing, with her tongue. 
     "Hummph. You seem to be learning," she said in her strong, 
sultry voice, acknowledging my post-shower nudity. 
     What choice had I? I had no clothes... 
     "Great painting, isn't it?," she invited, looking up to 
admire herself as a Primeval First Woman.  "Had it done last 
year.  Some of my slaves are so talented," she sighed, before 
changing the subject... 
     I wondered if perhaps the guy on the videotape had done the 
artwork, and I remembered that there had been some paintings of 
muscular women on the walls of the mock-apartment that had 
comprised the set.  They had looked like some of the best of the 
sort of artwork one could see from the catalogue of LH-Art. 
     Who knew? 
     My wrists began to hurt in the vise of her hold, and she 
reluctantly released me with a smirk that spoke of a contempt for 
his intolerance of pain. 
     "How was the beach?," she queried, as though our boardwalk 
scene had never happened.  "Didn't lose your heart to little 
Margie, didya, sexslave?," she grinned facetiously, content in 
her thick-fleshed might and power as it hovered over me. 
     My hands rested on her thick upper arms; the brown skin was 
hot with sun as she held me close again, her hands on my slender 
shoulders. 
     "No, ma'am," I assured her, feeling the hard reassurance of 
her electric physique. Her breasts were within inches of my 
hungry mouth, and I fought a wild impulse to bury my head between 
the large bosoms. 
     "Take her home?" 
     "Yes, M'Lady." 
     "Little Margie is so good in a pinch for watching my little 
loveslaves.  Sorry to desert you, wimp, but I had some things to 
do that required privacy. I had a life before I met you, you 
know..." 
     She bade me turn round, to allow her to inspect my buttocks, 
untouched by the sun from her disciplinary sunscreen session. 
     "Good, I think I approve of this look for you," she 
appraised in a mellow voice, over my sun-reddened shoulder, as 
she lightly rubbed a hand on my buttocks, as though inspecting 
them for a close shave.   
     "My little suntan-tatoo didn't take too well yet, but I can 
see my red handprint, alright," she remarked, after inspecting me 
further.  "Hereafter, you'll be expected to get a few hours of 
tanning every day outside, between your duties, sexual and 
domestic.  But," she said, turning me around again, "I think I'll 
have you keep applying the sunblock on the rest of your little 
hiney, and keep it all white and sweet.  That way, when you get 
spanked, it'll show better," she soothed me, in a patronizing 
tone she might use on a wayward child.   
     "Can't have my girlfriends thinking I'm slipping, can I, my 
little muscle-slave?," she laughed. "'Course, my handprints gonna 
look hysterical once it burns a little more into your skin. Oh, 
by the way," she added haughtily, collecting her heavily-muscled 
physique into a glower of dominance, "you'll be happy to know 
that I'll be having guests quite soon, slavie. Some of the 
musclechicks from the gym are gonna be coming by, to see how 
dutifully you worship every ounce of flesh on this big ladybod 'o 
mine," she declared, creating a mountain range on the spot, with 
a super-sized flex of twenty-two inch arms.   
     "You won't disappoint them, will you?" 
     "No, M'Lady.  Whatever pleases you," I urged, kissing the 
rock of bruised bicep as my erection came to insistent life 
again. 
     "Look what my little slave did to me," she said, pointing 
her long-nailed finger at a bruise, blue-black and shaped in the 
form of a mouth, on her mountainous bicep; it looked quite fresh. 
     "Suckin' some ladyflesh, huh, slavie? Never had a muscle- 
hickey before," she teased, alluding to my session of shameless 
worship on Dr. Deanna's table that morning. 
     "I think our LadyDoctor's taken a shine to you, little man.  
I might have to let her come over some night and fuck the shit 
out of you, wimp-cakes," she winked.  "Don't let her size fool 
ya, either, skinny.  For her size, Deanna's the strongest chick 
on the coast," she confided. 
     From anyone else, talking about Doctor Deanna in the 
diminutive would have been ludicrous.  After all, the beautiful 
ladydoctor stood over six feet tall, with a generous bust that 
stood proud and firm, and a physique that would make a Ms. 
Olympia swallow hard with worry on a posing platform.  In point 
of fact, she was every bit as chiseled of sinew and endowed of 
bustline as M'Lady, but on a scale that was more within the 
everyday. 
     An Amazon perhaps; but one who, dressed in street clothes, 
or a businesswoman's modest pin-stripes, would be remarkable for 
her gentle beauty and sweet smile rather than her other-worldly 
size, and muscle-strutting vulgarity that so typified Margo. 
     At the thought of holding the naked Dr. Deanna next to me, 
my erection pounded so hard it almost hurt, and I began to ooze a 
clear sticky seepage with every throb of my raging penis. 
     As though sensing the cause of my emissions, M'Lady frowned, 
and reached down for it.  She gathered it in a pinch of thumb and 
forefinger, and stuck it in my mouth. 
     "You're firin' blanks, mouse.  Taste any different without 
the swimmers in it?" 
     I dared not splutter or object... 
     She now nodded downwards, directing my eyesight down below 
her ridiculously-tiny wasp-waist, to her own crotch, covered by 
the long tank top. 
     There was an oval-shaped stain that was rich with her odor, 
and I stared at it before finally looking up to her tough visage 
again. 
     She stepped back, away from me, and stuck a finger up, 
between her legs, rotating her wrist; and pulled out a semen- 
dripping digit.  The scent immediately assailed my nostrils, and 
she raised it to her mouth slowly, as though to gauge my 
reaction; and she licked the pearly opaqueness quickly clean, 
making little slurping noises, and running her pink tongue 'round 
her lips like a connoisseur. 
     "We'll have to have a tastin' sometime, slave," she 
recommended, as she wiped the back of her hand across her face. 
     "Yes, my little slave-lamb; Margo's been out fucking away 
the afternoon with a real man, with a cock as big as your arm.  
After all," she shrugged, "you can't expect me to come to you 
when I need a good fuckin', right?  I mean, how's a big girl like 
me supposed to get off a good and proper orgasm with a piece of 
mild-mannered shrimp-meat like you?," she admonished with a 
withering glance at my hopeful hairless loins.  
     "It really wouldn't do at all, would it, mouse?" 
     I blushed crimson and shook my head obediently. 
     "And yes, it was really, really good," she pronounced, 
stepping back into my slender arms, "and I know you're glad for 
me, but I have such interesting news to tell you," she announced, 
balancing herself with her hands on my chest as she began 
bouncing on her toes like a teenaged girl anxious to spread some 
delicious gossip. It seemed a gesture more in keeping with Little 
Margie than Big Margo... 
     "So, we can talk about my pussy-pumpin', cum-spurtin' sex- 
life later," she promised viciously. 
     She stood there in just that position, her hands on my 
chest, looking down upon me, while my fingers, as though 
possessing an undeniable will of their own, lightly squeezed the 
thick and mountainous creations she had put on her arms. I tried 
to contain the frantic racing of my heart that seemed to have 
crept up my throat as I waited to hear her Tale of An Afternoon 
At The Beach. 
     But this was no friendly little talk designed to bring us 
closer together; no shared secret among friends or lovers... 
     And so, standing there before me, she told me a story 
designed to demoralize me, and shatter whatever remnant might 
have existed of my battered ego. 
 
     The other night, she began, when she went out on her date, 
the first item on her agenda had been to visit my apartment, 
which she had located by confiscating my wallet.  And my keys.  
     Funny, I thought, I hadn't even noticed them gone.  
Formerly, I felt naked without my wallet.  Now I really was 
naked, and without it.  But I hadn't even thought of it since 
Sunday, when she brought me home. Nor the keys since I came back 
here yesterday. They were as of another life, forgotten. 
     She found what she had gone there to look for--a picture of 
Barbara.  She then rummaged around my notebooks, and found her 
address as well. 
     All part of the plan, she informed me... 
     Any objection to her behavior was buried in my mind... 
     But guess what happened today?, she asked, staring down hard 
at me, to detect any pained reaction upon my face, as though 
seeing me--engrossed in the pain of the coming humiliation--would 
bring her a pleasure that, in her mind, was downright sexual. 
     She and Tony, she stated plainly, had indeed fucked away the 
afternoon in his over-sized van, and she was taking a little 
apres-sex stroll not an hour ago, all by herself; when guess 
what? Who should she see, not fifty feet from the outdoor gym's 
chain-link low wall, primly reading a book, hair up in a neat and 
tight bun of repression, horn-rimmed glasses on, in a high-necked 
nun-long dress and heavy stockings in ninety-degree heat? 
     Sounded like Barbara, the woman who had been my girlfriend 
until two days--of was it a hundred years?--ago.   
     It was. 
     Margo wanted to tell me the rest of the story while she 
pumped-up across the hall. 
     And that sounded wonderful to me... 
 
     "Well," Margo continued, as she repped the a voluminous 
volkswagen-of-a-barbell in her hands, flesh pounding, and 
exploding as though inflating with air, into hard granite 
testaments of cruel sun-browned sexual authority. 
     "...When I recognized her I knew that I couldn't let this 
poor girl be all alone, by herself, on a beautiful afternoon.  
After all, I had just gotten fucked really good, and it didn't 
seem fair that I be the only one walkin' around this two-bit town 
with a smiling pussy, right?" 
     I grinned nervously, saying nothing, and Margo smiled back 
contemptuously as she continued her tale... 
     "She was sitting really straight and proper, with a hard- 
backed volume of Emily Dickinson, pretending to read.  But what 
she was really doing, my slave, was this:   
     She paused to change her grip, and deplore another set of 
heavy muscle-artillery into full-blown promiscuity; her delts met 
the challenge, and grew exponentially, full of blood raging 
through her veins, feeding and growing her impossible body. 
     The metal pumped up and down, plated clanking like an 
ironworks, as she talked.  There were little pauses in her 
speech, when the effort of the pump-up demanded her undivided 
attentions...   
     "What she was really doin', my little toy,...(pump!)...was 
enjoying the ah, sights, while only pretending to read. Only 
pretending, my little slave-mouse," she clarified, shaking her 
head knowingly, as she forced another rippin' rep with two 
hundred pounds of cold steel in her hands.  Her pump was growing 
ever-bigger, snake-like veins coming to life and pushing outward, 
on her skin; meeting the challenge, as her muscles, already huge, 
grew all the more, like an erupting volcanic mountain... 
     The hem of the tank top rose and rode high on her hips, and 
the trim pubic patch crept out from beneath it; the curled hair 
was matted, and the scent of her vagina, musky and sweet and 
intensified by her efforts on the beach and in the van, and now, 
here, at the iron, filled the room with the aroma of dusky sin. 
     Margo saw my curious look, but turned to examine the effect 
the weights were having on her arms.  She smiled an evil, 
satisfied grin as the thick flesh just kept on growing, rising... 
     Her basketball-breasts expanded the cloth, stretching it to 
bursting.  My attention was arrested by the sight.  But what had 
she just said...? 
     ...That Barbara was only pretending to read? 
     "W..what was she really doing, M'Lady?," I asked her, 
watching her inflate her enormous physique just a little more... 
     A grunt of female fury, and then... 
     "...She was watching the sights, stupid.  She was near the 
gym, right. Put two-and-two together, asshole," she admonished me 
impatiently, with a withering glance of disgust over the heavy 
metal she continued to hoist with grim determination. 
     " So I..(pump!)...wiggled over to her--and she nearly 
fainted when she caught a glimpse of me, boy; you better believe 
it--and I started a conversation.  You know how good I am at 
that, slavie. (pump)...I can talk as well as I can fuck, and I do 
meet people by means other than rescuing their puny asses from 
drowning. 
     I found myself involuntarily steeping back from this 
fantasmagorical female, afraid that something would soon burst 
deep inside this now-obscenely-big-muscled blonde, and ignite 
everything near her with an all-consuming rage of fire. 
     But she kept talking and pumping, tearing out my heart with 
her matter-of-fact enjoyment. 
     "Anyway, she assured me with wounded dignity that she's just 
reading, but I could tell from when I watched her on my approach 
that she wasn't turning the pages.  (pump) 
     The flimsy cloth began to tear under the strain of 
containing her seductive bulk; a little jagged edge began giving 
way under her left arm...      
     "...She was just ogling as shyly as you please, tasting 
muscle with her eyes, and her tongue, or maybe in her imagination 
as she lay in bed at night, feelin' it rammin' away hard and 
long, at her frustrated little pussy." (one final pump!) 
     She put the weights down, and sat down on a flat bench, to 
begin a set of alternating curls with a pair of dumbbells... 
     Bicep City rose up like a mountain range out of the brown 
ladyflesh, the muscles forming skyscrapers of hard sinewy meat 
that transformed into stone monuments as they swelled with each 
contraction. As she reached the apex of each curl, the vesuvian 
bicep rested for just a second against the lovely omnipotence of 
her double-d-cupped breasts... 
     "Well," she continued, keeping her eyes on her efforts, 
"this was no good, sitting there, shy as she could be, staring at 
the guys 'n dreaming of what might have been," she opined, her 
voice straining as her features locked tight for just a second; 
the iron melted against her force, and an Olympic-Sized Bicep 
contracted...   
     "You know, the guys at the gym," she asked me, looking up. 
     And somehow, as though anticipating the worst, I knew 
exactly what she meant.  Once, I had tried to work out at 
Oceanside Gym, and build my biceps a bit.  But I felt downright 
Lilliputian there; even the women were bigger than me, and when I 
could not budge even the lightest weights, I had beaten a hasty 
retreat to the sound of tittering laughter from both sexes! 
     Margo continued... 
     "At first your little lady-pie wouldn't admit it, but she 
finally broke down and admitted she loved going there, and that 
she spent alot of her late afternoons on that bench, as soon as 
school let out (pump) pretending to read some bodice-ripper 
romance, while ogling the guys.  She even claimed that it was 
taking her away from correcting papers, and that she found 
herself canceling on her boyfriend every other night!" 
     Just a bit breathless, she finished a set and leveled a 
knowing look at me.  
     "She done any canceling on you lately, slavie?" 
     I nodded.  "Yes, ma'am," I admitted, swallowing hard, my 
voice choking just a bit as I spoke the truth... 
     "Sunday." 
     She looked up, starting another engorged pump-up all the 
while, with the other arm now; and arched a satisfied eyebrow, as 
though pleased with what she would say now... 
     "Really?  See that, slavie?  Your girl spent Sunday staring 
and ogling the guys, and that left you free to meet me.  Then 
when you and Margie were together on the sands, I was free to get 
my ya-ya's out, and meet your little girlfriend! Isn't it 
wonderful how these things work out...? 
     And the one-two reps accumulated again, as she spoke... 
     "So I took pity on her.  I told her I could get her fixed up 
with any one of those guys if she gave the word.  She lit up like 
a firefly, little slavie, and her hands started to shake just 
like yours are now," she said, as she watched my hands tremble 
with excitement now, as I stood close by her again. She was all- 
too-aware of my arousal, but ignored it. 
     She allowed her legs to splay open as she rode the 
weightbench; her vagina was clearly in view, but she did not 
care.  She just kept pumping, hungry to get bigger and bigger, 
and complete the domination of her slave... 
     She kept talking as well... 
     "I asked her about her boyfriend.  After all, (pump) I'm no 
homewrecker, and I don't want to break up any happy couples.  
Know what she said, wimp?  She told me the guy she was dating was 
sweet and wanted to please, but that you were well, too small for 
her.  'Unspectacular' is how I think she put it.  You didn't give 
her the feeling of being swept off her feet, you see, slavemouse. 
Why," she guffawed, as she forced an illegally-large bicep to 
contract into a steely ball under the stress of the iron," she 
maintained that she didn't even think you could pick her up in 
your arms, much less sweep her off her sensible flat-soled shoes.  
It's size and power and strength she looks up to, my mouse, when 
all is said and done.  She told me that she always wanted to be a 
(pump) Muscleman's Girl.  You know, like those svelte 'n busty 
bikini gals that hang over the fence and flirt and flutter, 'n 
get passed around the troops?  She said she was afraid to 
approach anybody, because she didn't want to be taken for 
shallow, or bold, and that the other women were too flashy for 
her to compete. How sad for her, don't you think, mouse?" 
     My ears burned with humiliation as I watched a last rep go 
the distance... 
     She got up now, and went to an incline board.  I followed 
her; and she reached down and pulled the thin top from her body 
with one quick pull. It rose over her head, and her mane of 
blonde glory came loose and fell wildly from inside it as she 
pulled the thin cloth down her arms.  
     We were both naked now, and in my experience, when a man and 
a woman stand naked together, it is usually as a prelude to sex.  
But Margo acted as though we were both fully-dressed for a 
Monday-Morning's business day, such was the casually nonsexual 
movement she exhibited.  She rolled the tiny top into a ball, and 
threw it at me; it fell on my head.  Sort of like the other day, 
on a secluded beach, with three young women... 
     I pulled it off and saw M'Lady, two hundred and seventy- 
seven pounds of perfectly-muscled, naked woman towering over me, 
like a big-breasted Mount Rushmore of LadyMuscle.  She was 
waiting for me to say something, but all my mouth could do was 
gape at the sight of the colossally huge, hard hunk of woman who 
had taken permanent ownership of my heart... 
     Her perfection taunted me, letting me know that such a woman 
was beyond my grasp, except to grovel and beg at her feet... 
     I was at her mercy.. 
     My erection throbbed wildly, burning for release. 
     She swung back her hair, kicked off her boots, and sat down 
on the bench and began doing incline sit-up crunches, completely 
nude; her abs like many levels of sedimentary rock, step upon 
step, as she continued her tale, talking easily and slowly, her 
hands behind her head as she ran her abs through their paces... 
     "When I suggested that she get her boyfriend to work out and 
build himself up, she just shook her head. 'No'," she said. 'I 
haven't heard from him since Sunday morning, and (crunch) I'm 
going to break it off.  I feel ever-so-awful admitting it, ma'am, 
because he's so sweet and kind and gentle, but he just doesn't 
turn me on at all.'  And then she looked over at the gym boys, 
and sighed."  (crunch) 
     I watched Margo's wide, extraordinary back at play, at the 
apex of her exercise.  Holy Moley, she was an awesome creature! 
     "Keep count for me, slaveboy," she ordered. 
     I already was.  Each sit-up corresponded perfectly with the 
throb of my screamingly-frustrated penis... 
     For the first and only time in my life, I wished I could 
turn off my own ability to hear, and so not know the terrible 
things that this heartless Amazon would soon be telling me; and 
so I could then enjoy--undisturbed by ugly reality--the sights 
that this incredibly beautiful naked woman was displaying before 
they eyes of her newest and most devoted slave. 
     But she had more to tell me.   
     Much, much, more. 
 
 
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                    Chapter Eight: (Cont'd.) 
 
                 Muscle-Serf at A Queens's Altar 
                               or 
                      One Orgasm Too Many! 
 
 
     I know that rape is a crime, and a thing to be shunned by 
civilized peoples. But I must confess now that that was the fate 
that I wished to befall me, right then, as I watched the force of 
female super-nature that was the mighty M'Lady Muscle. I sighed 
with pleasure as she went about the muscle-pumping work that made 
her the perfect specimen of womanhood that she was, and which I 
worshipped freely--unashamed and desperate to please--even if her 
idea of amusement was to tease and toy with the sweet, shy girl I 
had once hoped to marry, if only I could have lowered her stiff 
walls of maidenly repression.   
     Yes, it is true; and now, years later, I am ashamed to admit 
it aloud. But I wished that the big blonde woman would have taken 
me, there and then, loud and rough and long, until consciousness 
left my body.  Because the act of brutal swift sex, laying 
beneath that intoxicating symphony of feline seduction, would 
quiet the swirling conflict in my brain, and erase all feelings, 
cares and worries of what was to happen to my now-decidedly ex- 
girlfriend, Barbara the Meek Schoolteacher. 
     I had long-suspected her true preference in men but, as she 
was so shy and sweet, and the essence of lady-like decorum, I had 
felt sure she would be faithful to me, even if our romance was 
not exactly setting the tongues of the town to wag.  Sooner or 
later, wouldn't I have won her over to my goodness, my loyalty, 
my devotion? 
     "No," M'Lady seemed to be saying. "You wouldn't." 
 
     Margo had exposed the fraud and futility that was my one-way 
relationship with Ms. Barbara Duncan, and would now rub it in my 
crest-fallen face. 
 
     "...So you see, slavie," she soothed, a derisive 
condescension in her voice as she grunted out sit-up after sit- 
up, "you were all worried for nothing.  I asked her if there was 
any guy in particular who made her nipples hard, and she blushed 
and (crunch) said, 'Yeah, there is. That one!', she sighs, all 
breathless and dreamy.  She pointed to a guy doing bench presses, 
and so I turned around to see who she was pussy-droolin' over; 
and guess what, slavie?," M'Lady inquired, delighted at the 
answer she held at the ready, even as her breath huffed with the 
exertion. 
     "...It was Tony's brother," she announced, continuing her 
naked exercise, both of her body and her right of dominion over 
me. I watched her breasts swing about with each completion of a 
gut-busting abdominal crunch, and savored their shapely dance. 
     My ears burned as I heard the story unfold, but my eyes were 
glued on the incredibly, brazenly naked muscle-woman as she 
tailored her physique just-a-little-bit-more, right in front of 
me. Her steely abs met the challenge, tightening into hard rungs 
on a deep-cut lattice that ran down her midsection.  My senses 
were reeling with the dual-overloads; torn between auditory pain 
and visual pleasure. 
     "You know, Tony?," she asked casually, making the whole 
torturous story seem somehow incidental, like so much locker-room 
gossip, as she knocked out sit-up after sit-up... 
     "Remember the well-endowed guy you watched take care of Your 
Margo's cunt-cravings the other night?," she prodded. 
     "Well, I know that this other guy's just as gifted, south- 
of-the waist, if you know what I mean?," she taunted. "And he's 
always on the prowl for fresh and willing pussy, so I took your 
former girlfriend by the hand and laid the cards on the table. 
(crunch) I told her that Pex--that's his nickname, and you can 
guess why," she intoned with a needling note of vicarious music 
in her voice, "has noticed her himself, and has been asking 
questions about quote 'that beautiful woman over by the benches' 
unquote. Course, that's not true, but anyway....," she giggled 
evilly... 
     She kept up her ab-busting crunches in naked metronomic 
perfection, one after the other... 
     "I tell her to fix herself up a bit, just for him.  Get her 
hair done, something new and sexy.  And then I really get her 
going.  I tell her that Pex just loves girls who dress, well, a 
little slutty.  He does, too, " muscular Margo laughed, enjoying 
some secret memory as she shot me a look from the corner of her 
eye. 
     "How many now, slavie?," she asked, as she continued her 
sit-ups.  
     "Th-thirty-three, M'Lady, " I responded, unable to focus all 
my attention on either her actions or her speech... 
     "So I sent your ladyfriend to Spikes And Garters, you know, 
the Hot'n Slutty Specialists?  That's where your lady gets her 
things, you know," pausing to point to the tiny muscle-tee tank- 
top she had worn to the beach and had thrown to me. 
     Back to her steady rhythmic up and down ab work, hands 
behind her head.  The long blonde mane flew wildly with each 
compression of her stomach muscles, trailing behind each 
levitation like a sail blowing in the hot summer wind. 
     "Just the place to shop if you're a nice girl with an itchy 
pussy, hungry for a cock-scratchin'.  And believe me, mouse," she 
asserted in a voice made even throatier than usual by her 
exertions and looking me right in the eye, "your lady's little 
cunt is so itchy she's practically got her hand--and God knows 
what else--jammed up there scratchin' full-time! ...(crunch and 
hold and locking a pair of killer eyes half-shrouded by swirling 
veils of blondeness)...All this time, mouse, your girl's been 
hunkerin' for some real man to take her in his arms and carry her 
off to bed, and fuck her good and hard and long, until she's 
nothin' but a package of senseless estrogen with a sore-lipped 
cunt full of cum," she spat, lowering herself down to the mat 
beneath, to start another set.  
     "Yup," Margo nodded, "he'll send her home with her panties 
in her purse and a smile on her pussy, that's for sure," she 
asserted. "And she'll be walkin' funny, too, my mouse.  That I 
guarantee! Oh,", she teased me, in a playful tone, as though 
promising an anxious child a treat, "it's gonna be so good for 
her!" 
 
     The image flashed in my mind, of a naked, painted Barbara 
lolling decadently on her large and lacy bed full of the shining 
brass headboard-adornments she loved, amidst her paperback 
romance novels, her schoolbooks, and the pink little stuffed 
animals I had given her in a failed attempt to inspire affection.  
She is joined by a mysterious lover whose appearance brings an 
ingenue's sudden pout to her face, and makes her pretty privates 
glow like a horny firefly. 
     Just presently, she would be barbarically taken in hungry 
thrusts of determined flesh, and, wildly out-of-character for the 
demure creature I had known, she moans and groans in bold 
slatternly lust at the mere presentation of his massive erection, 
tasting it with a pubic mouth fairly dripping with hungry sexual 
saliva, and savoring it's approaching flavors, it's stubborn 
implantation within her, like it or not.  She grins at her own 
vulnerability, and offers her naked body to him, her heart gently 
pounding in time with the soft pink vacuum that is her pussy.  
     The lovers assume their positions, and he begins the slow 
insistent insertion into her silken depths, as she, trembling 
with her wantings, both hoping for and shunning any gentleness 
from him, stares upwards with submission in her large dark eyes.  
     Her body vibrates as a palpitating singularity ignites her 
nervous system into a frantic quivering, scalding her flesh. She 
feels fear quite unexpectedly, and suddenly; the sort of fear 
that comes when a long-craved prize is within one's grasp, and 
sudden doubt fills the mind for what will come after, and who she 
will be when the deed is done. 
     It frightens her to be so removed from any ability to 
control herself, but she cannot turn back now, and can find no 
words to soften his harsh advance within her. His penis scours 
the delicate nerve-endings of her most-private-of-places, making 
no apologies, either for it's plump ferocity or it's engorged 
proportions, as the glistening monstrosity makes itself at home 
inside her, rough and rude in a delicate china-closet canal, 
comfortable and smug, in total control, as it finds smooth wet 
pleasure hammering up her once-timid pussy, like a steely fist 
through soft butter. 
     She tightens in fear, her doe-eyes going wide at the sudden 
savagery of it all, fighting the paradise between her legs; but 
that only removes a secret and undiscovered safety-switch that 
normally protects overloaded senses from combusting... 
     Unsure of this over-sized invader, her sugar-walls 
involuntarily constrict around the thick intruder, and with that 
accidental action, the pleasures of heaven and hell rip and sear 
through her abdomen, silencing her brain, overriding it's ability 
to rally to her defense for just long enough to introduce her to 
the sweet hedonism of slapping wet flesh, and bathe her in the 
delicious obscenity of thick meaty invasion. 
     A sensual smile crosses her face; a smile that says she is 
glad to have this debauchery take place; and she wishes, in one 
rare moment of clear thought, that she could stand outside her 
own body, and watch the oozing python dig it's helmet-head into 
her soft flesh, and disappear, inch after thick inch, up her own 
cunt, stretching it frightfully out of recognizable shape. 
     And she wishes that the girls from the faculty lounge, who 
brag so often of high-heeled wet-wild-weekends, could see her 
now, fucking up a storm.  
     They'd be jealous of her, she knows; of what she has... 
     A cuntful of cock, reducing her to helpless quivering 
whoredom for as long as it remained there... 
     A ten-inch slab of veined intrusion is pillaging up her 
pussy, rapacious and determined to see how far it can force her 
smooth white thighs to part.  She writhes madly, instantly; in 
the throes of one searing wet orgasm after another, blinding her 
with an intensity never felt before.  She is sobbing her 
excitement, and speaking in little yelps and half-spoken oaths to 
some unseen Goddess of Wild Fornication.  
     Soon, the cries come, high-pitched pleas for mercy, and 
vulgar half-words pass her lips that she would shun in normal 
occupation. These heaving appeals go ignored by her transgressor, 
who knows that the look of helpless need in her face speaks the 
real truth about her condition; her desire for still-more of the 
tough ravaging she is receiving.  Her creamy and genteel breasts 
become but bouncing playthings for the groping amusement of her 
unseen lover; nipples merely knobs to tweak in sadistic 
enjoyment.   
     Her vagina had been the object of my many months of haunting 
nightdreams; but unseen by my eyes, felt but once by my desperate 
probing penis in the dark, as it comically sought relief she did 
not know how to give me, under her ancient-heirloom afghans that 
smelled of mothballs and baby powder.   
     Now, that dainty orifice, trimmed with tufts of dark curling 
fluff, was the willing recipient of a monster-cock assault, and 
transformed in my mind to a puckered pink-lipped devil-mouth 
devoid of hair and offered to this new man by shapely legs 
spread-wide and unashamed, anxious to please, as her juices flow 
slowly out the fleshy softness, and down the cleft of her 
buttocks, to the sheets below.  She admits her latest orgasm with 
a long gush of air, and she smiles, as a cuntful-of-cock pounds 
like some delightful fire-hammer within, and frees her from her 
own self-image of decency even as it rubs her toy-clit with every 
writhing thrust.  She feels her own body opening wide, like a 
flower blooming at last, petals exposed; and for just a moment, 
fear re-enters; a fear that she will be unable to stop the growth 
of this gap between her legs.  But she feels safe, too; 
overpowered and protected at last, and so she forsakes such 
cares.   
     Her orifice has been unveiled, unleashed; no longer a 
pristine mystery made for the creation of life within, but an 
engorged, hot, and willing pleasure-pumper, a sluttish 
receptacle, unashamed and hungry for his hard and vulgar 
meat-thrusts, luxuriating in their violence as they stretch her 
pussy past her ability to consciously accommodate.  But she is 
feeling not pain but more and still-greater white-hot jolts of 
obscene ecstacy as something gives way deep within her; some 
final security gate designed to protect her from the dangers of 
too much pleasure.   
     And just as the petals of the flower will fall, so too, it 
falls, quickly now; and she feels something tear and ooze within 
her, but she does not care. It conjoins with the overflowing pool 
of her juices, hardly noticed.   
     In complete control of her now, he forces a slab of himself 
deeper and deeper still into her once-tender treasure, burying 
himself to the deepest root with every growling thrust.  The 
relentless demands of his thundering bodystabs shake her body, 
and wreck her bed; and make her face form into masks of shocked 
and delighted outrage.  Her legs lock around his thighs, savoring 
a thick slab of meaty malevolence between her legs, her hips 
pumping wildly, gone animal now, unthinking; ignited by basest 
instincts long-suppressed, now suddenly freed, as naked flesh 
grinds against naked flesh so quickly that the passionate 
back-and-forth bucking rubs their skin raw. The pert bottom that 
she had wiggled to first entice him grows a red circle neatly 
centered on each buttock, the skin angered with the friction. It 
is visible to him as he looks down to inspect his penetration, 
and he smiles with the power he wields with this pliant lady-in- 
love, as he cups her generous white breast in his hand and 
squeezes it hard, stilling it's wild shaking.  He hears her 
plaintive whimpering, her gentle beseeching of her master, in a 
voice punctuated with the unforgiving pounding of his body 
against hers, the mutual moisture of this fornication greasing 
their bodies, making them wet and shiny and slippery to the 
touch. 
     And she weeps with the lovely, meaty violence of it all, but 
wants more, clings to him for more; and so, above the sounds of 
wet flesh slamming against wet flesh, and the squishy 
fart-slurping sounds of her hairless pussy as the cock slaps 'n 
pumps within her, she asks for more, begs for more.  
     And she gets it... 
     A hot harlot-fever overtakes her, as the thick delight pumps 
away at her at her gushing loins, simultaneously showing love and 
contempt for this once-genteel woman of breeding.  Her mouth 
becomes a perfect 'O' that screams with soundless wide-eyed 
delight as he spurts hot lava within her; later she will seek 
that same hard wet piece of flesh to suckle and then lick clean 
with a pink tongue of girlish attendance, a tongue long-held 
silent but called to another kind of work, in a bed full of the 
secreted stains of pussy and penis. 
     After the explosion now, and her hips rock back and forth in 
an X-rated lullaby to the mammoth penis still deeply embedded in 
her steaming pink loins. She craves it's angry power there, 
forever; throbbing reassurance ebbing sticky after-thoughts into 
a pussy she is sure, in the after-glow of reflection, was made 
for his cock alone.  Now she feels for the first time that she 
knows it's pink-lipped purpose, and why she had been born a 
woman. 
     She squeezes the penis with her pubes, and hopes for it to 
take root within her, and claim the soft wet walls around it as 
it's kingdom, it's domain. 
     It's property. 
     They embrace and melt into one. 
     No trace of the shy schoolteacher remains, transformed by 
the thick dripping meat between her soft thighs into a quaking 
sexpot of so much hot flesh, dripping with wet smoldering lust. 
     She has surrendered to delicious defeat.  Anything he wants 
from her, no matter how jaded or dark upon this night, she will 
gladly give him now, and plaintively entreat him, as soon as it 
is done, to do it to her again... 
     He will love her intensely, and promise her anything as he 
unleashes new and insatiable animals from her loins, and her hair 
comes loose, and falls and tumbles about her shoulders, wildly, a 
matted mess. But she does not care, and soon she becomes a 
new-born but full-grown tigress, ready for endless hours of the 
taste of hot angry flesh throbbing within her mouth, within her 
cunt, up her ass.  He shoots white gobs of bliss into her body, 
again and again; a bottomless supply to meet an unrelenting 
demand, and they drip and ebb in little streams, running out the 
tired, open-lipped doorways of pleasure that he has made of her 
secret orifices. 
     But only until the sun comes up. 
     Because then, like a cum-stained sore-legged Cinderella, she 
will fall back to earth.  And reality for her would be tears and 
rejection and utter humiliation, as, hopeful for a future with 
this new lover, and still full of his wet seed, she watches him 
leave her bed, suddenly aloof.  He goes to his home and notches 
his headboard and later, brags of his night-time invasion of a 
schoolteacher's private parts to all the guys, amidst much 
back-room laughter and sordid back-slaps of congratulations... 
     She will wait by the phone for days that lead into nights of 
silent urging, but he has moved on.  He will not call. 
     And when she finds the courage to confront him, he shuns her 
politely, patronizing her attendance as though she were no more 
than a lovesick child.  Another woman, sleeker and younger, is 
already on his arm, sneering at Barbara, silently ordering her to 
move on with daggered eyes full of war-paint. 
     And, tearfully, mortified to her core and shaken to her 
essence, her various orifices still full of the memory of his 
oversized cock slamming into her tender vagina, and what it made 
her feel, what it made her become, once and forever, in her mind, 
she would wither to ghostly nothingness, and die of shame soon 
after. 
     I was sure of that. 
 
     My horror went to my stomach at the thought of it all, and 
took the form of a writhing snake that turned my innards soft and 
heaving.  I shook my head, to rid itself of the masochistic panic 
it had created in my brain. The room spun; I focused on a small 
window that let in the late-afternoon's light.  But above us, a 
cloud moved on in it's journey to nowhere, and a solid ray of 
sunshine beamed into the room, and fell upon the body of the 
naked woman before me, as though the forces of nature were 
calling my attention back to my rightful and dutiful place, as 
her reverent slave of desire. 
     But no! I could not let that happen to Barbara! To be used 
and discarded as some joke between two bodybuilders of opposite 
sexes, to demoralize and desensitize the newest conquest of the 
Mighty Margo... 
     But I could offer no protest to this sinful scenario, this 
game-plan-from-hell devised by my Muscle Mistress, without 
revealing my feelings that I only-now realized still remained-- 
somehow--in the back of my battered and beleaguered mind. Some 
part of my brain still persisted in my lingering love for the 
sweet-hearted young woman I had left behind rather accidentally, 
stranded high on the beach as I paddled and swam in the dangerous 
waters of M'Lady Lake. 
     In my haze of sexual assaults to which I had been subjected 
in the last two days--pleasurable and otherwise--it had not 
occurred to me that I had irrevocably lost her, or left her 
behind; now, it seemed, I had.  The moment that Margo had taken 
hold of a small and drowning man, and saved his life, and claimed 
it as her own, my future had been taken away.  And hadn't I been 
all-too-quick to acquiesce to her splendid thievery? 
     All the while, through my dark and sordid prognostications 
of what would be, my sunlit Mistress of Might had been 
unceasingly repping her sit-ups, and I wondered if it had been 
that perfect rhythm of her uncaring flesh that had hypnotized me 
into that most-unseemly daydream just ended... 
     "...To make a long story short, slaveboy, I told her I'd 
call ahead and speak to Vicky, and tell her that My Friend The 
Schoolmarm was coming in, looking to make some changes. In her 
clothes.  And in her men...," Margo winked wickedly at the peak 
of another twisting sit-up. 
     "Your girl seemed to hesitate, but I convinced her.  I told 
her, 'hey honey, take it from a woman in the know--that's my 
meat, too,' I said, while I winked, flexed my great big sexy 
guns, and pointed to the guys..." 
     "She put her hand on my big muscles..(crunch)..just like you 
like to do, slavie, and oohed and ahhed, her little hand going to 
her breast as she did. She has quite a nice set of jugs, by the 
way, slaveboy.  For now on, she's gonna be showin' them off, too. 
But not for you...," she said, shaking her head as though sad 
about it. 
     She finished the last of her ab-crunches and swung her legs 
over, and stepped into a fresh pair of dainty-but-dangerous 
spiked-heeled shoes.  Her height accentuated even further by 
their stiletto braggadocio, she stood over me, loving every inch 
of her superior height that belittled me so completely. 
     She was breathing a bit heavily and a flush was evident 
across her cruelly-beautiful face as she lightly looped a 
terrycloth towel across her car-seat shoulders.  A light sheen of 
perspiration had broken out all over her Mesozoic-Cavewoman form, 
and the naked Empress of Flex glowed lightly, loving the 
intimidation that reflected in my awed eyes.  She put a hand on 
either hip, the better to show-off the fresh results of a quick 
workout; a gigantic female bodybuilder in full-blooded, hot- 
fleshed pump. Her hair hung down her back, nearly grazing her 
buttocks, like a golden cape of a Flexing Super-Heroine. 
     Back to the barbells now, pausing for only a moment to 
stretch her big-bodied vastness; arms like big hot wings of 
ladymuscle extending outward. She skipped over to the shining 
metal, smiled at me, dropped her towel, and attacked the 
oversized iron as though it was a toy... 
     The weights began moving with the same steady perfect rhythm 
as her heartless musculature hit hard-rock peaks.  Her thick arms 
met the call to action, as sturdy veins rushed hot blood to 
swelling muscles once again.  First noticeable as raging rivers 
on her straining deltoids, nearly vanishing under a thick pair of 
brown biceps, emerging like glacial streams below, the vascular 
ropes broke into a half-dozen tributaries across her forearms, 
tapering out only when her singular arms met a pair of trim, 
ladylike wrists.  
     The metal she hoisted had itself once been hot; smelted to 
liquid, and poured into the shape of the metallic plate that 
clanked out the veracity of each completion.  But now it was the 
naked M'Lady Muscle who was hot and smelting, bathed in another 
glowing sweat, and attacking the sweet grandeur of her thickly- 
muscled body.  She was breaking down those magnificent 
ladymuscles with each hoist; knowing that at night, while she 
slept, Mother Nature would make them even bigger, even harder.    
     And in the morning, she would awaken, sleepily naked amidst 
silken sheets. She would sit-up, stretch, throw back the covers, 
and slip into high-heeled slippers; just a little bit more 
beautiful that she was yesterday... 
     Just that much more MegaMuscled M'Lady.  
      
     Her pectorals hardened beneath the twin mountains of her 
fleshy breasts; below, abs locked into harsh relief as a drop of 
sweat ran down the neat vertical crevice of her chest, down her 
torso, across her abdomen, a hip, a thigh... 
     I wanted to fall at her feet and worship her, such was the 
embodiment of hot sexual womanhood before me, as openly 
contemptful of her small slave as she was for her vanquished 
clothing, or a world ill-prepared for her stern ways. Spike- 
heeled, naked; her vast and chiseled physique was alive, 
throbbing, wet; angry with pump and rushing blood, and shining 
amidst flowing blonde hair that tumbled and flew with each 
movement... 
     And she kept talking as the iron-repped, up and down, up and 
down, up and... 
 
     "Anyway, I told her to be at XQ's nightclub at nine o'clock 
tomorrow night, and to be ready for some hot fun.  I felt it was 
only my duty to warn her that her beau-to-be is a man who, 
well...," Margo hinted, holding the barbell steady in mid-lift, 
and hiking a wide shoulder just a bit towards the coming 
festivities of the future, as though they were inevitable, and 
none of her doing. 
     With a rapacious glint in her eye, she continued the rep and 
the rap... 
     "...Let's just say that your little sweet gal understands 
quite clearly that there's a good chance that she won't be coming 
home from that first date still wearin' her hot little panties.  
Pex likes to know what brand of undies his little women are 
wearin," she needled. "And he usually finds out rather 
quickly,too.  Enough said, my horny little house-boy?" 
     I nodded slowly, in pain greater than any spanking she had 
bestowed upon me. 
     "Barbara blushed crimson when I told her that, but she 
didn't say a word," M'Lady announced, paying attention to her 
battle with a barbell.  It seemed as though her biceps were going 
to break right through her skin, such was the in-your-face 
audacity of this pump-up!! 
     "No, my little mouse, not a word. Instead, she just looked 
around her, from side to side as though to make sure that nobody 
was watching.  Then she turned back to me and nodded with a real 
mischievous look in her eye, and a naughty little smile, as 
though she was picturing the whole delicious and dirty little 
scenario in her mind's eye, like she was anxious to get on with 
the whole thing! Never woulda thought that a hot-pantsed little 
slut was lurking under those Maidenform undies, didya?," she 
smiled, seeing my crimson-faced embarassment that wrestled with 
my awed expression. 
     There was a terrible beauty to her now, pumping up the lush, 
enormous physique she was so proud of.  She had used a muscle- 
girl's sneering, fuck-you glamour to catch my eye, and hold my 
heart, and back in Dr. Deanna's office, she had stuck a hot piece 
of it in my mouth and made me suck upon it in unashamed hunger, 
like a baby suckling the ripe nipple of it's mother's breast. 
     She knew she called the shots and dealt the cards in this 
partnership, and looked at me with a strange approval as I stood 
below her, incapable of concealing my heart-pounding lusty needs. 
     Finished with the weights now, she dropped them, chest 
heaving, determined to obliterate whatever vestiges might remain 
of my ego, my self-respect... 
       Well," Margo summarized, "I shooed her off to the hair 
salon, and she got up and gathered her conservative little 
calve-length skirts and scurried off, all excited and flustered 
and breathless, thanking me.  She practically ran all the way to 
the parking lot, bumping into people and apologizing," Margo 
chuckled, nostalgically. "Anyway, I told Pex that there was a 
little schoolmarm with definite Fuckability-Possibility who was 
in love with him from afar, and where she'd be, and when. I also 
told him what she'd be wearing---I'll be taking care of that 
presently; I'll just make that call to Vicky now... 
     "So tomorrow night, we get to see the whole thing happen, 
slavie.  True love for the little schoolmarm," she sighed, mock- 
wistful at the thought of romance.   
     "Of course, you don't mind, do you, my little man?  After 
all," she reminded me, "you don't want her anymore, right? You 
belong to me now, don't you?," she asked, batting her eyes and 
blowing me a kiss.  The gesture should have been odd coming from 
a naked piece of architectural phenomena like her, but it wasn't.  
Margo was all-woman, and she could play the part, for all the 
world, of a five-foot nothing wilting flower-of-a-woman, complete 
with dainty curtsy and all. 
     When she wanted to. 
     I answered her question with a wordless lie; with a shrug of 
my shoulders and a nod of agreement, while my heart felt as 
though it had been stepped on with one of her spike-heeled shoes. 
     "You know what I can't figure?," she asked, as she toweled 
herself down... 
     I shook my head, not really wanting to know. 
     "She's a big girl for a non-lifter, with a helluva good 
shape under those baggy clothes.  And she's about three inches 
taller than you, slavie; and on top of that, she's gotta have 
fifteen or twenty pounds on you, too.  What the hell did she ever 
see in you?," she inquired innocently, as though genuinely at a 
loss to understand what she, or any attractive woman, could see 
in me. 
     I stared down at my feet, embarrassed and powerless. 
     She was going to dress-up my gentle Barbara as a common, 
horny bar-tramp and get her laid with another man, right in front 
of my eyes!  And my blushing once-hoped-but-never-to-be-bride was 
going along with the whole thing, eagerly! 
     I knew that I must try to prevent this! But what could I do? 
     And how could I protest, after the last forty-eight hours of 
sinful servitude at the hand of this Dominatrix of Deltoid? 
     Little did I know then that this was all a part of my 
Muscular Goddess's Great Plan, and I thought of the painting in 
her bedroom, wondering if there was some supernaturally-hellish 
connection to this cruelty, or was this all merely a part of 
Margo's own self-assured arrogance; a bit of sadistic fun at the 
expense of a slave who had promised her anything... 
     And this qualified as 'anything', didn't it?  It occurred to 
me that this could all be a strange test of some sort.  That this 
scenario was entirely, or nearly-entirely, fictional on her part, 
to test my reaction, and fidelity. 
     I was about to be proven wrong... 
     "Get the phone, slave.  We gotta call the shop, so your 
little gal can get all the tiny micro-miniskirts she's gonna be 
needin' to catch her new lover's eye, 'n make sure his big cock 
rams up her hot little pussy-cunt real soon.  This is a real 
emergency, mouse," she claimed, waiting for me to object, and 
unleash her twenty-two inch coiled-steel biceps upon my behind. 
     Yet again... 
     "Dial this number, and be quick about it!," she ordered. 
     I had fetched the portable phone from the table near the 
window, and dialed as she told me, my eyes burning with stillborn 
tears, and angry at myself for lacking the ability to make a 
stand.  
     The party picked up, and I told the other end of the line to 
hold, please, as business-like as I could, incongruously nude and 
still-erect, under Margo's steady, expectant gaze.  I handed her 
the phone. 
     "Vicky, darling, " Margo purred, as she began twirling 
around her re-claimed tank top with one hand, like a little 
helicopter... 
     "Vic, I need a favor.  I'm sending in a little sex-starved 
schoolteacher to see you this evening.  Yeah, she's looking to 
make some changes.  You know, what I'm saying, don't you Vic?"   
     Margo smiled. "I knew you would, Vicky dear, you're a tramp 
after my own heart. Anyway, she's coming off a bad relationship.  
Her guy didn't get the job done for her," she said, looking at me 
with pity and superior contempt as she presented a growling bicep 
with her free arm.  
     I looked longingly at this naked and gargantuan seductress 
and swallowed a mouthful of pooled saliva, craving her touch even 
as she fixed up my former girlfriend on a date right in front of 
me. 
     "She's got a crush on Pex McAlister, so I set her up with 
him tomorrow night." 
     A wicked grin now, and she threw back her long golden mane 
casually. She looked at me and tossed the sweaty tank-top at me 
again. 
     "Yeah, I know what she's in for, alright.  I think it's just 
what the uptight little thing needs, too. She's pussy-poor 'n 
panting for a little of the real thing. Like I just told my 
little houseboy, it's a real emergency.." 
     Another wicked chuckle as she absently scratched her neatly- 
trimmed groin. 
     "Yeah, I know. She's be gettin' more than a little, sooner 
'n she knows. Anyway, Vickykins, help the little lady out 
personally, will you?  Give her the full treatment.  Everything 
I've bought there in the last six months is on file, isn't it?  
Good!  Give her the same thing, Vicky dear..."   
     There was a pause. 
     "Of course, Vicky, I'm the only woman on earth who can wear 
this size. Take her measurements, silly girl," Margo huffed, 
shaking her head with exasperation. 
     "Make sure it fits her nice and tight, too.  Subtlety hasn't 
gotten her anywhere, so far. Put the whole thing on my tab. 
That's right, I'm paying for the whole thing."   
     A pause. 
     "Let's just say she's a project of mine, to make a point, as 
it were," she said, again looking at me defiantly and producing 
another ominous flex.  Perhaps it was only my state of mind, but 
even the flexing bicep seemed to spell-out it's distaste for me. 
     "Let her pick anything else that she wants, too. Lots of 
little tear-away panties, 'n high-high fuck-me-mister heels. Some 
micro-minis, halter-tops, and a dental-floss bikini or two. Lots 
of skin-flashin' stuff," Margo decreed, reciting a grocery-list 
of lewd apparel, before sharing a secret laugh with the girl on 
the other end, and hanging up.  She handed me the phone.  
     She smiled and shook her head just a bit.   
     "Old Vicky's dumb as a post, but so obliging. Just like you, 
my little bare-bottomed secretary," she teased, referring to my 
phone manner.  "Maybe I really should get you a pair of pumps and 
a tight little mini and let you sit on my knee and take 
dictation.  Like I said, you sure got the legs for it.  Maybe you 
can borrow something from Barbara.  After tonight, she'll have 
some really good stuff.  I'll ask her for you," she teased.  I 
stood there, blankly, not looking forward to the possibility at 
all, but knowing that what Margo said was law.... 
     Perhaps she could intuit some nuance, some slight 
protestation in my manner than even I was not aware of, that said 
I objected to her fix-up ministrations with my former girlfriend; 
perhaps she detected a quiver of objection in my chin, or a fist 
that had balled subconsciously; because she said something now 
that knocked me for a loop.  It was something that hadn't 
occurred to me, but it had to Margo, and she let me have it right 
between the eyes... 
     "Oh, and by the way, slavemouse, if you're feeling nostalgic 
or righteous about your ladyfriend's little make-over, look at it 
this way--she was gonna break up with you anyway, like she said. 
She doesn't love you, she doesn't dig you, and it took ten 
seconds for me to talk her into this whole thing!  What does that 
say about your future as a couple, anyway? Better yet," she 
guffawed, her bare breasts shaking with amusement, "what does 
that say about your sexual shortcomings?  You're goddamned lucky 
I found you and put you to good use before you got old and ended 
up hanging around some Private High School for Girls and getting 
arrested for trying to seduce some fourteen-year-old virgin in a 
little plaid skirt!," she asserted, body-slamming me with mere 
words. 
     "Besides," she yawned, pushing the towel from her shoulders 
and stretching her meaty arms, her impossibly-big physique 
glorifying itself in extra-large life, "you wouldn't even get 
anywhere with a kid like that, either. Even an innocent little 
thing like that who's never even seen a naked pecker would know 
on instinct that there's nothing going on with you.  It's an 
ability we ladies have," she shrugged. "Call it a sixth sense.  
We're the one's who carry on the species, so somehow we just know 
when a guy isn't worth a cunt-hair's worry, or a pussy-pumpin' 
minute of our time. When a guy's harmless, and unworthy of our 
sweet pussies.  We can smell it on you.  And baby, you stink with 
it!" 
     I imagined myself in a place far away, where the pain of her 
summation would not wound me. But I could not picture it in my 
mind.  Instead, my eyes lingered on her ultra-sized splendor, her 
nudity a statement of superiority over me, withering my will, 
destroying my concentration and my ability to escape her, even if 
only in my mind. 
     "So this way," the seven-feet-of-musclegirl concluded, "your 
ladyfriend gets her kicks, and you don't end up dying alone in 
some shoddy one-room flat with a copy of "Women's Physique World" 
under your pillow!" 
     Her words cut me to the quick, as she described the fate I 
had always feared and envisioned for myself.  Demoralization 
overcame me, and I lost a part of myself as it withered and died 
under her barrage, and drifted away into the invisible air about 
us.   
     Now, to my tired and tattered mind, my captivity was 
becoming less and less a chance, a quirk of fate, and more a bit 
of pre-destiny that had caught up with me, and delivered me to 
the stern domination under the Blonde Authority of Womanhood who 
stood before me in her chiseled-muscle splendor. 
     She flexed a bowling-ball of sensuous ladymuscle that ended 
all discussion. It crackled with the base violence of it's own 
strange beauty, and my chest heaved longingly. 
     That was when it finally made sense to me, and I was almost 
grateful for the revelation as I watched her big muscles on 
display once again, as arresting as the first time I had seen 
her... 
     I had been fucked, spanked, sterilized, belittled and 
humiliated.  I had been put in my place, my career canceled, my 
life obliterated, my careful plans for love and family ended, by 
the casual big-breasted flexings, and the jaded snappings of a 
sharp-nailed finger, of a six-foot-seven inch piece of glorious 
woman named M'Lady Muscle. 
     My spirit surrendered, as it seemed only proper to do, and I 
gave myself over to Margo's stern ways for good.  
     I belonged here, after all. 
 
 
 
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723 
 
                          M'Lady Muscle 
 
                               by 
                         Forrest Curran 
 
                    Chapter Eight: (Cont'd.) 
 
                 Muscle-Serf at A Queens's Altar 
                               or 
                      One Orgasm Too Many! 
 
 
     She must have seen the dazed and distressed look on my face 
and she burst out in a throaty laugh that made her huge breasts 
shake.  She took the tanktop from me yet again, and put it over 
my head once more.  Tying it quickly around my eyes, her hand  
then went to my engorged penis.  
     Naked; all thoughts other than worshipping her own vast and 
perfect architecture somehow suddenly gone; she led me, 
blindfolded--and with a firm grip on my erection--back to the 
small bedroom where she had first initiated me to her dominant 
wonders on Sunday night.  There, she would begin another round of 
Surrender Talks with a prisoner who had acquiesced to her at 
first sight. It seemed somehow apropos that she used my own penis 
to lead me, dog-like, back to the Training Chamber, (as she 
called it).  After all, it was that insistent organ's deepest 
longings that had been the cause of my arrival here in the first 
place, and would bear the responsibility for my fate while I was 
here, for however long M'Lady would have me. She tugged on it, 
firmly, when I blindly made the wrong turn in the hallway, and I 
yelped with pain. 
     Amused at my pain, she laughed again, tugging playfully on  
my manhood with a warm hand. 
     Only when we stepped back into the bedroom did she take her 
slowly-unraveling muscle-t tank top off my head.  She hung it 
upon my beleaguered erection, and stood back, giggling as it 
fluttered and moved, ever-so-slightly, with the pounding of my 
heart as my erection raged. 
     "Looks like I've got me a new place to hang my panties, huh, 
slave?," the heartless blonde package of super-sized ladymuscle 
asked, folding her arms across her huge-breasted chest and eyeing 
the odd presentation at my loins. 
     "That is, if I don't get mad and rip it off your skinny body 
one of these days, and use it for something more useful," she 
warned, brow knit in a scowl of general disapproval with my 
manhood. 
     She hopped on the bed with the aplomb of a little girl, 
playfully;  the afternoon sun streaking through the blinds in 
even, slowly-moving rows across the red satin blanket. So that, 
now, it burned like soft gold fire across Margo's huge brown body 
as well. Just as on the beach two days ago, the flesh seemed to 
be gathering strength from the ultraviolet as though by thermal 
absorption, a massive collector of energy laid bare before me. 
     My chest heaved at the sight of the huge womanly frame,  
overtaking the bed, dominating it's surface; a testament to New 
Womanhood with a Tan of Mahogany and A Body of Solid Muscle! 
     Surrender was not always so unpleasant, after all.  No 
longer was shame or guilt a matter of some objection for me. Now 
I could indulge my slavish hot-blooded fever to be with M'Lady 
Muscle, and hug the lush topography of her naked musclewoman's 
frame; a third rail of electric womanhood that sent orgasms of 
shock through my body. 
     She put her hands behind her head, slowly, doing another 
half-situp, and holding it.  Below perfectly huge showgirl-sized 
breasts, the pronounced abs beckoned to me, looking again like 
hard, hand-carved rungs on a dangerous ladder.  As I joined her 
on the wicked-looking satin, I found out which direction she 
wanted me to climb them... 
     The tank top fell away from my penis, to the floor. 
     I approached the bed slowly, as a celebrant to an altar, the 
hot-throbbing collection of muscle, curves, breast and hair 
awaiting me, expecting worship.  As I crept along the bed, 
equally naked as she had once deigned and so ordained as dogma, I 
felt like some pre-Christian pagan high priest preparing to 
grovel before an elemental idol of natural female force and 
power, that which protects, and empowers, and delivers hard and 
swift punishment to transgressors. 
     We had by now our sexual shorthand, the unspoken language of 
queen and slave, connected by primal needs to serve and dominate. 
 
     The slightest movement of her eyes was enough to tell me  
just what she wanted me to do, which way she in fact wanted me  
to climb those magnificent rungs of power and sexuality that ran 
down her abdomen. For a moment, a strange thought flashed through 
my battered mind.  I pictured, deep beneath those battle-plate 
abs, her womb. I wondered what kind of man it would take to 
soften the spirit of this mega-bodied Muscle-Harlot, and 
impregnate her, tend her through those difficult months.  Surely, 
it wasn't going to be me; she had seen to that at Dr. Deanna's. 
     Her vagina was moist with her afternoon's exertion, fragrant 
with aftersex odors that were made all the headier by her own 
musk.  The hair, which was darker than that of the glorious mane 
she now undid and spread out on her pillow, was unmatted, and 
neat.  There was a rumbling movement in those hard abs, a quaking 
that seemed almost a natural phenomena rather than one willed by 
my large lady-love.  She raised her knees slowly, lifting that 
glorious behind off the bed now, perfect and hard, and for just a 
moment I caught sight again of that one small white spot on her 
otherwise dark-dark body, creeping into view as her own buttocks 
spread now, offering me the delight of the intimacies of her body 
once again. 
     I looked up the length of the bed, to see a blonde ocean 
pouring out upon the pillows and satin covers, as the waist- 
length shining glory that was Margo's silken mane rolled and 
rocked in a tiny tide created by the small tilts of her head as 
she sought more afternoon pleasure. 
     The stomach continued to vibrate, producing a slight blur to 
my eyes if they tried to focus upon it.  Now the reddish-pink 
vaginal lips began to quiver, too, as though trying to contain 
whatever eruption was brewing in the hot molten depths of the 
hard and unforgiving and lovely mass that was Margo; unmatched, 
incomparable, too beautiful to be believed... 
     I drew closer, as though what would happen at her loins was 
some long-sought discovery I had searched and trekked the globe 
to find, and now, exhausted and half-fevered from my long 
exploration, would revel in as it's revelation was made to me.... 
     "Hurry, slaveboy, get down in there," she exclaimed in a 
husky voice full of urgency; the pussylips, every bit as toned 
and strong as the rest of her body, cosmically-designed, 
genetically advanced, designed for performance and perfection, 
worship and reverence and adoration, beckoned me... 
     My face lowered down to her vagina now, smelling it's rich 
and spell-binding aroma.  I seemed to know instinctively to wait, 
to refrain from pouncing on the delectable sight before me, 
although I was as hungry for this sight as a starving man for a 
dinner... 
     How I longed to climb atop her, and insert my pleading penis 
into the hot sweet caverns of her cunt. 
     But she would not allow it... 
     "How many sit-ups did your big bad lady do, slavemouse?," 
she inquired, looking down to the small slave shivering with 
desire at the portals of her pussy, rich with the musky, wet 
fragrance that develops and builds with the passage of the hours, 
after prolonged sexual employment. 
     I looked up to her. 
     "F-fifty-five, M'Lady," I replied, guessing wildly; having 
lost count entirely as that dark scenario of deceitful sex had 
seared a sickening burn into my brain.  
     It was a close-enough guess, I suppose. 
     She laughed quietly. Thankfully, she hadn't kept count 
either... 
     "Very good, my little trembling wimp. You've earned a reward 
for your diligence.  Stick out your tongue, slavemouse," M'Lady 
commanded, with a tone in her voice a mother might use upon 
dispensing a treat to her small offspring. 
     I did. 
     The pretty buds-of-lips open and closed as though playing a 
child's game of hide-and-seek; the clit met my anxious stare with 
a poking pinkness, and a slow and small trickling of her clear 
sex-fluids leaked as the lady-lips fluttered like butterflies.  I 
hungered to taste them, to suck upon them, and impart some part 
of their power into my being.  Vagina opening wide now, parted by 
Margo's command, a deeper and more powerful scent emitting now, 
from her depths; her essence imparting to me again, my heart 
racing, my chest seeming to pound palpably, as the throbbing of 
the pussy-lips almost appeared to match my own blood-flow as it 
thumped through my veins.  The twin pulsings of mistress and 
slave came to a peak now, the small oozings of her sex stopping 
for just a second, just a moment now before---before---- 
     My mouth was millimeters from the magnificent vagina, as it 
palpitated, magically, as though powered by some unknown internal 
mechanism; my hands went supportively under the powerful buttocks 
that in fact needed no support, and I almost heard the hot gush 
as it emerged in an orange-red stream, erupting into my mouth, 
onto my tongue, onto my face. I did not know what it was; some 
exotic by-product of her pubes that tasted of warm sticky honey 
and hot illicit sex, of mother's milk and hardbodied cruelty, of 
large-muscled women who brag with big flexes, and orgasms that 
blind and madden the lucky few who are chosen to receive them. 
     Urgently, my mouth affixed itself, remora-like, under the  
onslaught of her gushing pussy, in flushed and febrile frenzy of 
unconscious adoration; this strange and sweet by-product of an 
afternoon's casual copulations, but something much more, too.  
     It tasted of women with great legs and short-short skirts 
and high heels, and of big bosoms that burst tiny tee's, and the 
way zoftig women wiggle down the street in sweat-stained tiny 
outfits in mid-summer that bare their insistent flesh; an 
enigmatic concoction that was, in my mind, Margo's alone, the by- 
product of her pleasure and dominance and towering she-muscle, 
and therefore a thing to be desired by her slave.  I licked and 
kissed the vagina and its now-slowed emissions, a queen's sexual 
magma, a unique and prized potion she seemed to present her slave 
as a gift to savor while she watched, with her hands folded 
behind her head, in amused leisure, as bands of sunshine streamed 
onto the bed and painted golden bands on her rock-hard belly.  
     Her own carnal cravings had been satisfied by the union that 
had devised a part of this sexual formula that she had held 
inside her, to bring home, a gift for a servant.  
     A muscleserf of the queen. 
     And I knew now, clearly, that the man in the videotape was 
really me... 
     My mouth remained at worship and adoration on her body, 
licking, cleaning, tasting the beach and the sweat and the sun 
and the strut of her walk along the boardwalk, the anger with 
which she demonstrated her dominance over me on the promenade, 
and the enjoyment with which she had taken a woman I had desired 
under her spell, too, in her own way, for her own enjoyment. It 
spoke of the continued disciplining of the slave who lapped at 
the orifice she had used so freely and wildly in another man's 
makeshift bed, in the back of a van, just minutes ago; knowing 
that such an action would revolt her slave, if only the pussy 
that gushed so freely had not been her's..... 
     If only he had not been somehow transformed by this very 
action, in a way that he did not understand, and whose affects he 
was not aware of, even now, as he performed the act... 
     "Told ya it'd taste different, slaveboy," Margo said, as she 
yawned magnificently, closing her eyes and patting her mouth as 
though bored. 
     "Yes, M'Lady," I agreed, as I moved up her body now, and 
tended to a plump nipple; but she swatted me away without opening 
her eyes. 
     "Not with that stuff all over you, you don't," she warned. 
     Now one eye opened, barely visible behind the blonde cloak 
of her wildly-flowing hair. 
     "Well?," she asked, expecting an automatic response and only 
now receiving it, she seemed almost disappointed... 
     "Thank you, M'Lady," I gargled. 
     She smiled hedonistically, satisfied; and ordered her slave 
to shower again, and finish his chores, and left orders to be 
awakened in an hour... 
     While Margo slept, I went to the bathroom again, to relieve 
myself of the frantic urges she had stirred within me, first on 
the sight of her female volume as it had filled my eyes, later as 
she had stripped off her meager clothing, and then, torturously, 
as my mouth pleased her, my urges devouring me as I devoured at 
the offering she had made. 
     I took care of the urges first, my penis in my hand as it 
pumped small trickles of semen now, exhausted from a day of 
excitement, subservience and orgasms at the hands of three 
different women, one way or the other. 
     Only then did I clean my face of the afternoon's accumulated 
contents of Margo's vagina.  My head was swimming.  Was it merely 
exhaustion and humiliation meeting an apex at the end of a long 
day?  Or was the sudden eeriness, the unfamiliarity of my 
surroundings, of my identity, a by-product of something more 
tangible? And just what was that bizarre sweet substance that she 
had spurted into my mouth? 
     I showered and went downstairs, church-mouse quiet so as not 
to disturb M'Lady; and prepared a non-fat meal, as per the 
instructions she had posted in the kitchen.  The thought of 
making a meal in-the-nude seemed strangely awkward. But I had no 
voice in such things. My mind had gone curiously vacant at the 
thought of reacting with anything less than complete acceptance 
to anything M'Lady might dictate. 
     I cooked the meal deliberately and exactingly, wanting to 
please her appetite as well as her loins, painstakingly making 
sure the rice was just so, the salad crisp, the fruit cold and 
fresh.   
     I wondered to myself why Margo had made no mention of her 
two brief and splendid battles in the surf.  Perhaps they were 
the sorts of things that happened in her life all the time, and 
so it did not occur to her to mention them to one as lowly in her 
eyes as myself.  I flashed on her kiss-and-grope with the short- 
haired brunette on the wet sands, and wished I could have traded 
places with that lucky woman... 
     I heard Margo stir finally, just before I was to awaken her, 
and I listened as the footsteps headed across the room overhead 
and into the bathroom, the door slamming, every sound easy to 
hear in the quiet, cool of the tomblike house. 
     Presently, my Sultana-of-Spank strutted into the dining 
room, and I turned from my ministrations to serve her meal. 
     "Well, little mouse, our first meal together as mistress and 
slave-boy," she said, referring to the fact that this way the 
first time we would take a meal together.  All her previous meals 
had been taken apart from me, and I realized then that I had 
hardly eaten anything for the first few days here, picking only 
on fruit, as permitted. 
     "Course, you probably aren't too hungry after your little 
pre-dinner cocktail, are you, slaveboy?  Besides, Margo doesn't 
want you to get fat.  Margo likes her slaves nice and skinny and 
small.  Tiny little things under Margo's great big muscular- 
majority, huh?," she cooed, flexing an arm, pivoting her wrist 
from side to side, as she picked up a chicken breast now, and bit 
into it, and I watched the heaving bicep swivel, move... 
     She wore only a short sleeveless babydoll-nightgown, 
shapeless, translucent, and white, barely past her hips; it 
fluttered when she walked and covered her only as thoroughly as 
tissue paper might have. 
     She was breathtaking.  
     She ate the food voraciously, with little aplomb, no traces 
of feminine manners now.  That was a strange quality she had--- 
even as she pumped iron, huge architecture swollen and angry and 
threatening, she retained a bizarre femininity that shone 
through, and it seemed ironic that so simple a thing as eating 
could momentarily take that away.  She ate most of the chicken, a 
half dozen broiled breasts, taking them one at a time from the 
tray that I held at her side, half a pound of rice, the salad, 
the fruit....it was gone, and Margo stretched, pulling the 
nightgown off her body, sitting at the head of her table, nude 
and doubly-satisfied now... 
     She patted her rock-hard and narrow waistline. 
     "Still tiny as a li'l ol' showgirl's....," she said, proudly 
examining it... 
     My stomach growled.  Margo smiled. She reached for her 
prominent nipples with her long-nailed fingers; pinched them, and 
playfully lifted the plush breasts up with the same grip, tugging 
on them like a small child might do if they woke up with fifty- 
five inch breasts on their chests. She made them bounce as she 
spoke... 
     "Next time, make more food, 'cause a great big strong woman 
like me needs lots and lots of fuel.  Lots of cock in bed, lots 
of iron in the gym, and lots of food on the table, that's what I 
say.  After all, Margo comes first, doesn't she?" 
     I knew what to say, and I did, as though stimulated by some 
strange electric charge; like a Pavlovian dog.  I heard myself 
say the words before I was even aware of saying them... 
     "Oh, M'Lady," I worshipped, hands locked in soulful prayer 
in front of my chest, "all I need to sustain me is to suck on 
your great big hard muscles," I gushed, as I eyed the freshly- 
sprouting flex of a vast bicep. "All I need to drink is the sweat 
that pours off them while your pump yourself up".... 
     M'Lady Margo seemed pleased, and studied me for just a 
second, not-quite-buying-it. 
     "We'll see, slaveboy, we'll see..." 
     She instructed me to bring a bowl of cold soup from the 
refrigerator; I presented it to her, only to find a surprise... 
     "Silly slaveboy, that's for you," she said, putting the bowl 
on the floor. 
     And so there I sat, at her spike-heeled feet like a faithful 
dog, spooning a watery green gruel into my mouth and pausing, 
only as she would permit, to kiss the forty-carat diamonds of her 
huge and indifferent calves.  M'lady Muscle, like any good 
dominatrix, loved subservience; and now and then, a devoted touch 
of my lips on her hard-muscled calves would bring a slight 
shudder of pleasure from her, as she sipped a protein drink and 
thumbed through the pages of the latest issue of "Female 
Bodybuilding." 
     She had finished the meal, torturing my senses with the 
aroma.  She then retired upstairs, leaving me to the dishes; her 
table-scraps, she informed me, were mine for the eating.  There 
was little left-over, but I took it, grateful; knowing I must not 
touch any of the plentiful food in her cupboard without 
permission. 
     Later that evening, as I had attended to the kitchen duties 
that were rightly mine, I could hear Margo crash and heave heavy 
iron just overhead, upstairs. 
     I imagined a symphony of Margo's body erupting again, in 
huge muscularity as she moved the weights.  Her skin would redden 
just a bit with the strain, and angry rivers of vein would 
predominate on her arms, her shoulders... 
     M'Lady Muscle was the biggest woman I had ever seen, and she 
had made me hers, claimed me without asking, taken without 
caring.  And it was all I wanted, when all was said and done.   
I had not forgotten Barbara; but if she was what I had to give up 
to have Margo, wasn't it worthwhile, after all? 
     Besides, any doubts or hesitancy on my part that might arise 
in my she-hulk's absence could be eradicated instantly; all she 
need do is walk naked into the room. 
     Which she now did. 
      
     I did not hear her approach; I had re-adjusted the waterflow 
in the sink, and the sound, at close-range, had cloaked her step. 
Light as always, it had eluded my senses, and she came up behind 
me and caught me completely by surprise. 
     Two large sweat-dampened arms wrapped themselves around me 
from behind as I stood at the sink, and a pair of black-gloved 
hands squeezed my chest. I reached up and grabbed the powerful 
arms instinctively, feeling the thick wet power of this, my 
sinuous lady-love, still full of the damp exertions of her 
workout. The prominent nipples pierced my back in sweet stabs, 
and her natural perfume mixed with her perspiration to form a 
dark sweat musk that filled my senses. 
     "Hurry up and finish cleaning my kitchen, my naked little 
mouse-man," that hot-blooded package of female muscularity 
decreed with a seductive whisper in my ear as she pressed close. 
I felt her hot body against mine, making an X-rated promise... 
     I turned around, and saw M'Lady already leaving the room, 
perfect behind wriggling across the threshold.  Gloriously, 
hugely naked, she turned again, standing in the doorway in 
nothing but wicked fishnet stockings that poured into 
spike-heeled boots that reached to her knees.  She filled the 
empty space with seven feet of hot big-breasted ladymeat that 
made me shake with urgent needs, and she smiled at the power she 
wielded so easily over me.  Her hair was done in a tight Teutonic 
swirl-of-a-bun atop her head that accentuated the sharp chiseled 
features of her haughty hard countenance; cheekbones starkly 
prominent on her aquiline face.  Her wrists and forearms were 
covered by many little looping bracelets of silver and gold that 
clinked as she moved, and shone even in the fluorescent light of 
the kitchen; the baubles gave her the aura of a Pagan High 
Priestess, adorned by some unseen lady-in-waiting. 
     Body aglow, shining with the sheen of her exertion, she 
rumbled and tightened her musculature, looking for a moment like 
a creature out of the works of Elie Xyr; thick slabs of 
contradictory womanhood, soft and stern together, made themselves 
stand out in deeply-striated rivers and the chiseled fleshy 
terrain of hard mountains and tender valleys.  
     The glistening Goddess thrust out a vampish hip, like a sex 
queen on the prowl; and the big breasts shook with the motion... 
     "It's time for Ms. Flex-America, slaveboy.  Lots of 
bodacious ladies are waiting to show you what they have on my 
big-screen TV.  So, shake your little behind.  We can snuggle 
naked on my big sofa while we watch.  Maybe I'll even let you 
worship me a little bit," she winked and leered, raising her 
Appalachian bicep to her mouth, and kissing it.  The traces of 
her lipstick formed a red S.W.A.K. on an arm that still bore the 
traces of my black-and-blue table-top suckle-session at the 
LadyDoctor's. 
     Maybe she had kissed it to make it better? 
     "You'd love that, wouldn't you, my slave? A little hot-body 
worship of your big mistress?," she inquired, arching an eyebrow 
and knowing the answer without waiting for it. 
     She flexed briefly but ferociously, smiled, and was gone. 
     I knew that I had to leave the kitchen spotless, and I did, 
scouring pans with shaking hands of desperate anticipation. But 
by then the lights in the living room had gone out, and I half- 
crawled, exhausted from the whirlwind of my life, to Margo, who 
sat regally in the darkness; casually, proudly naked in big- 
breasted splendor on the black leather sofa like a piece of oaken 
femininity; bedecked in tiny gold chains that flash-danced on her 
flesh as they caught the screen's reflections.   
     On the wall-mounted fifty-inch screen, Ms. Diana Dennis was 
flexing and strutting gracefully for the audience; they cheered 
and hooted their approval as the veteran lady bodybuilder posed 
and danced.  My hand went to find refuge, and tucked itself in 
the huge bicep of M'Lady Muscle, hot with fresh pump.   
     She looked down at me and smiled with satisfaction as I slid 
my other hand reverently up-and-down her fishnet-adorned thigh, 
my breath trembling in my throat. I looked up to the towering 
wide-bodied woman, who, with her immense muscularity, intense 
sexual developments, and hard-as-diamond eyes, made me feel like 
a child by comparison. The leather beneath us made scrunchy 
sounds with each movement we made, and it was cool on my bare 
flesh. 
     Suddenly, the oversized sofa looked almost small for her 
perfect female bulk. 
     "Not bad, huh, my mouse,?" she asked, nodding at the screen. 
     "No, Ma'am," I said, as I knelt beside her on the deep, 
over-sized cushions of the couch, pausing for a moment to towel 
her down lightly, and coo my mindless approval of her latest 
developments.  Her sinewy sexual armor seemed bigger, harder, and 
thicker, even in comparison to two days ago on the beach. 
Throughout, she wore a bored look, as though I was just another 
in a long line of guys who had done this, declaring their 
adoration of her with hungry hands; indistinguishable from a 
forgotten field of vanished sex-slaves. 
     "...But she's not my M'Lady..." I added, moments later, 
after tending to the damp body of this tough temptress. I dropped 
the towel, freeing my other hand now, and I put it on the big arm 
as well. 
     Where it belonged. 
     She looked down to me, pleased. 
     "I was waitin' for you to say that, slave-mouse. Goddamn 
right she ain't," Margo said, as she leaned into me for a short 
kiss full of rudely probing tongue. 
     The Bodybuilding Baroness turned back to the large screen, 
and I sensed she did not want to be disturbed while the 
ladyflexers did their thing on the large-as-life TV.  But for my 
part, I was every bit like some frustrated newly-wed, as though 
emboldened by the lingering flame-embers of a rough coupling.  My 
fingers ran lightly along the humongous delt of the naked woman 
who owned my ass, and I traced little highways of love upon the 
skin, and kissed the mountains of hard ladyflesh ever-so-lightly 
while making little sounds of amorous frustration that she 
pretended to ignore, while stealing tiny sideways glances at her 
work-in-progress-slave, and smiling ever-so-slightly.  
      The silver glow of the large-screen television bathed us in 
odd light, and gave her a look that was ethereal, haunting. 
     I looked up to the screen and saw the glorious Hannie Van 
Aken, in spectacular pump and sporting a black bikini, as she 
went through a red-hot routine.  For just a second, she seemed to 
be looking right at me as I knelt like in mindless captivity on 
the sofa, toying with the rapturous contradiction that was the 
body of M'Lady Muscle.  I could have sworn that the German Lady 
Bodybuilder on-screen nodded and winked her approval at me; 
condoning my subservience with a double-biceps pose. 
     I mustered my courage... 
     "M'Lady?," I asked fearfully as I ran my hungry hands over 
her flesh. 
     "What is it, mouse?," she demanded, not unkindly; her blue 
eyes unperturbed and looking straight ahead. 
     I put on my reliance, my courage, my defiance, and... 
     "When may we make love again, ma'am,?" I asked, plaintively. 
     She turned her hard beauty upon me, smirking. 
     "What do you mean, 'again'? I got fucked this afternoon, and 
last night as well," she asserted facetiously, knowing full well 
that I meant 'me', and not the royal 'we'! 
     "And that'll hold me for awhile, slave. You don't have to 
worry about Margo's pussy getting filled.  I know when I need a 
good fuckin'. 
     And then, as an afterthought... 
     "But aren't you the thoughtful little cum-puddle, being so 
concerned about my cunt?," she asked sweetly, before kissing my 
forehead, and turning back to the tube. 
     My hands rested upon her arm, where they tried to squeeze 
the humongous bicep beseechingly, as though I could wring a bit 
of it's gorgeous sexuality out of it, and make it a sweet potion 
to savor and sip. She put a motherly black-leather hand on them 
and gave them a gentle and reassuring pat. 
     But she must have noticed my frustrated pout, because 
presently... 
     Ignoring me all the while, and keeping her attention glued 
to the screen, Margo joined her sheathed fingers together, and 
withdrew a hand from the glove still held within.  She dropped 
the glove beside her, and the thick muscular singularity of an 
arm reached for my penis, long-exhausted, but somehow 
still-erect; like a puppy desperate for attention from it's 
mistress. 
     The hand seemed strangely erotic, deprived of it's glove. I 
incongruously thought of the olden times of a century ago, when a 
glimpse of a woman's ankle was cause to celebrate. 
     For several wonderful moments, she explored my genitals 
absently, without looking at them; all her attention upon the 
bodybuilding expo transpiring on the monitor.  She ran her 
dagger-sharp fingernails around my testes, juggling them, 
scratching them, cupping them in her hands, squeezing them 
lightly... 
     I looked down to see my privates totally encased, cock-and- 
balls and all, in her strong hand, and I looked up to see her 
smile. She, too, seemed to understand the symbolism of this 
action, this belittling of my penis with her extra-large 
womanhood. 
     As though she sensed my desperate pleas for attention, she 
produced a condom from the cushions, and slipped it on me.  It 
was ironic that it's use here was not the expected one, namely 
the prevention of disease or pregnancy.  Besides, she had seen to 
both possibilities with our visit to Dr. Deanna, earlier today. 
     No, this was to spare her furniture from the cum-spoutin' 
worship of her slave, whose body trembled in the silvery shadows, 
with desperate desire for what was coming... 
     She pulled back her hand for a moment, and raised it to her 
painted mouth, and looked at me as she spat a small pool of her 
saliva into her palm.  She then locked my beleaguered rod between 
thumb and forefinger, and pumped her powerful forearm up and 
down, her attention still fully on the proceedings on-screen.  
     Both my hands were still locked around the immense girth of 
her granite-ball bicep, the brown-hued flesh tinged with the 
electronic silver-sunshine, and they squeezed the thick 
ladymuscle in slavish bliss, trying to contain it's wicked 
bursting beauty with my slender fingers even as the thrill of her 
touch upon my loins ignited something dark and needful buried 
deep within me.  The flashing silver bracelets upon her wrists 
began to jangle now, with the up-and-down blurred pumpings of her 
hand; and with no visible strain or expression, decrying any 
gentle build-up to let me savor her flesh or her touch, she 
forced me to another tearful orgasm in seconds, accompanied by 
the sounds of the scrunching leather beneath our behinds, and the 
jingle-jangle of her jewelry, like bells at a very strange high 
mass of ecstacy. 
     For me, it was one orgasm too many... 
     Onscreen, I saw a very big and pumped Sandy Riddell, clad 
only in the briefest red bikini, swing her hips and slay a 
screaming audience, to the accompaniment of blaring rock 'n roll 
that bellowed from recessed speakers in the living-room wall. 
     But that was all I saw.  My fingers lost their grip on the 
feline architecture that they had tried so feebly to contain. She 
shook off my grip as casually as she might shoo a fly, never once 
turning her head to acknowledge the shuddering climax she had 
bestowed upon me so casually, and ignoring me completely in favor 
of the prancing she-hulks onscreen.  
     Swooning and shaking, I saw the screen go blurry before my 
eyes; and I felt myself stumbling to somewhere, falling down to a 
pit of darkness, the music still blasting through my otherwise- 
empty brain. 
     And as the final spasm rocked through my slender body, now a 
burnt-out smolder of sexual exhaustion, I felt a sleepy shroud of 
insensate numbness fall upon me even as I felt the sofa beneath 
me vibrate with the bass beat of a heavy metal anthem. 
     And I passed out.  My body, mind, and spirit began 
collapsing against the cruel immensity of this woman, who would 
not even look at me. 
     My day of domination at the hands of my Madame-So-Muscular 
was done, and the black freedom of sleep enveloped me.   
     The Mistress of the House looked down at the forlorn and 
overwhelmed slave, naked and sunburnt by her decree; who had 
melted like an M&M in her powerful hand, and wilted to form a 
weak white puddle of obedience in her strong lap. 
     She shook her head. 
     And, I was sure, smiled with grim satisfaction. 
     Everything was going perfectly, she knew. 
 
Coming Next Month: 
                            M'Lady 9A & 9B:    
 
Margo Gets Worshipped; A House-Call from the oh-so-muscular 
LadyDoctor Deanna; and M'Lady's Night Out with her Slave-Nephew! 
 
FROM                   THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS    702-243-7723