Stepmom Wore Muscle
By Forrest Curran

                               or

                    Her Ladyship, The Amazon

This text story is the completely unedited, full-length version,
unavailable until now.  An edited version with illustrations has been
recently adapted by L-H Art as a graphic novella. You can reach L-H Art
at PO Box 1269, Kapaa, HI 96746-7269. 24 Hour Phone/Fax is (808)
332-9802. Send $5 for catalogue.


     It's all because of Stepmother, I suppose. 
     My life, I mean. And my tastes in women...
     My folks split up when I was two years old, too young to
remember much of their marriage. But in the years to come my
step-sister would luxuriate in telling me about my natural mom...
     She was a great All-American beauty with a cheerleader's
youthful looks even after thirty, to hear Linda tell it. She
stood five-foot-five--equal to my diminutive, downtrodden dad in
height, and rarely ostentatious about her looks; never even
wearing modest high-heeled shoes that might have otherwise tipped
the scales in the presentation they made to the world.  
     But there was one thing about her that she could not hide,
as my stepsister--no slouch in the body department herself--would
say...
     The former Mrs. Tomalak had a body that drove men wild.
     Conceal it as she might, her insistent cleavage spilled out
every time she moved, and her legs, to hear men speak, were
silken legend. She couldn't help the affects she had on the
opposite sex, wedding ring or not. She just plain drove them
crazy.
     And that was the affect she finally had on one guy in
particular; some beach boy who fell hard for her. She tried hard
to resist him, Linda would assure me with a laugh as she
recounted the story for the thousandth time while pumping up
poolside.
     But finally, her flesh weakened. And she stopped resisting.
     There were wild stories about their affair; of the modest
wife throwing caution to the wind and baring her bod for the
world via thigh-high hot pants and slinky little tube tops and
dental-floss bikinis, carrying on with a man ten years younger
than her, coming in at all hours of the night. Apologies weakened
until they ceased altogether, and one August night she packed her
spiked heels and g-strings and left our home forever. 
     Linda says that she became a fitness pro, and that she and
her beach boy moved out to the coast, but I still don't know for
sure if she's telling the truth, or just rubbing things in, the
way she always does.
     Anyway, the result was that I was raised by a stern-faced,
reed-thin maiden-aunt, whose grey complexion matched her joyless
outlook on life. She kept her brother--my dad--occupied with
chores when he was home, and answering to the million-and-one
questions she had about why he had 'failed' in his marriage.
     There was an air of permanent sulk about the house, and dad
never dated, at least not while he was here. 
     And Auntie Amelia?
     Fat chance...
     Auntie believed that men should be kept underfoot, or so she
said; barring that treatment, she decreed, "their super-egos
would rear their ugly lion's heads and wreck the home of a true
and pious lady." 
     Even then, I had a feeling that that statement had something
to do with sex, but I didn't know what, exactly. I was kept in
the dark about such things, to the degree that Auntie refused to
allow me to wear long pants! I was the object of some ridicule at
school, but my stern guardian would not relent; not even when I
tried to get dad to intervene. 
     That was just another milktoast appeal that his sister,
three inches taller than dad even in her ever-constant flat-soled
shoes, would dismiss just as quickly as it started, and she would
return to her televangelistic companions--all blown hair and
blowin' smoke--and Auntie would sit and sing along in off-keyed
discordance in front of the Magnavox. 
     After all, she'd warble so shrilly that it drove away the
neighborhood birds, "it was good enough for Moses and it's good
enough for me!"
     All in all, those weren't the most pleasant years, but at
least I didn't have the worries I have now! 

     Fifteen years had passed in drab procession of drilled
commands from my own personal sergeant-at-arms, the winner of the
Margaret Hamilton look-alike contest, Amelia Greyson, sister of
John, my dad. And it looked as though I had taken after dad in
both my inability to stand up to that dry spinster-in-charge, and
in his diminutive stature, as well; and I found myself the
further target of schoolmates for my underdeveloped size, among
other things. 
     The result was that I stayed pretty close to home, content
with my books, imprisoned in picket-fenced desperation...
     Anyhow, you should know that, by then, dad was abroad much
of the time. His job as a low-level attache with the diplomatic
services had him permanently on the go, free from his sister's
castrating clutches, and I saw him infrequently at best, days
passing to months, months even to years...
     Not even the prospect of college approaching on the horizon
seemed to be much of an escape; Auntie had informed me I'd attend
the local community college, and help her out around the house,
keeping it just-so in preparation for the occasional returns of
my bachelor-father.
     Life seemed grey and uneventful, my prospects, until I
finished my schooling, anyway, nothing short of nil...
     Until, at the age of seventeen, a pair of tornados full of
estrogen blew across the mundane terrain of our humdrum lives,
and turned them upside down. 
     That was the day Sophia moved in. 
     Oh! I am sorry. She has foredained that I should never
address her with her given name. In public, it is "ma'am."
     Her name when we are alone, and the visiting company has
made their goodbyes, is another title altogether. 
     One that will be made clear to you, dear readers, soon
enough...
     This new woman had a daughter, who was a year older than me,
but much older again than that, in many ways. 
     She moved in with us as well. But other than a similarity in
age between Linda and me, there was little else we had in common.
     Because, you see, Linda and her mom were quite an amazing
pair of women, if ever there were.
     And this is my tale of life with them...

     My mind still flashes back to how it all began; the arrival
of a singular piece of mail trumpeting the impending appearance
of the two women, and the night they marched up the walk to our
secluded and modest two-story home...
     And things would never be the same...

     The look on Auntie's face when she tore open the telegram!
     Her pinched face screwed up, the way it did when she caught
me reading my prized collection of Playboy Magazines, and her
thin neck swallowed quickly, once, twice, three times. Her
rimless spectacles rode high along the ridge of her nose as she
sniffed and smelled the bad news contained therein...
      For the diplomatic delivery contained a bit of shocking
news...
     Dad tersely informed us in polished diplo-speak that he'd
married a beautiful South American woman; and shock turned to
pandemonium on Auntie's sour puss when he added that he'd be
sending her north to the land of the free, along with her very
pretty seventeen-year-old daughter. 
     The general air of displeasure this news descended on our
home took tangible form in a long list of caveats posted in my
bedroom in Auntie's floral script; the do's and don't made my
head spin and my back ache.
     And so I had been kept on double-time housework alert,
cleaning and re-cleaning our modest home, top to bottom, whether
it needed it or not; until my nostrils perpetually held the odor
of ammonia, furniture polish, and soap.
     She didn't much like the idea of sharing her home with two
additional females, since in her estimation, one hen was more
than enough to rule the our little roost...
     But there was little she could do about it.  Dad, never one
to stand up to his sister, had apparently found his courage in
sending them ahead, and into our home. What had prompted this
newfound bout of manhood was going to be soon apparent...
     And, as stepmother might later say in her best Mae-West-
manner, "Manhood's got nothin' to do with it!"
     In truth, I wasn't too enthused about the prospect either,
and had held the day off in the distance, like a small child
views the beginning of school at summer's end.
     And, true to form, I had firmly decided that my best
approach to dealing with the arrival of two strange and new women
into our household was to go down into the basement and pretend
that they weren't coming at all.
     It didn't work...
     We'd been told that they'd be coming that evening, arriving
by diplomatic airbus that afternoon, and pulling into town in a
brand-new car he'd purchased especially for his new bride.
     The ETA was around six o'clock.
     My aunt and I had just finished supper; dad was in some
Central American country helping his many bosses avert a crisis
that would have raised precipitously the price of coffee and
bananas.
     People hate to have their breakfasts ruined!
     It was just after eight o'clock that I heard the low throaty
roar of an engine I recognized as a predatory V-12. I couldn't
see much from the basement window, but I heard a pair of doors
open and shut decisively; and the sharp click-clack of spiked
heels on the hot pavement. I stood on an orange crate to see
better, craning my neck up, to get a view of our new housemates.
     What I saw made my throat catch in shock!
     The window's low-lying condition gave me only a small view
of what was coming my way, and into my life; but I clearly saw
two pairs of legs strut past the musty glass of the cellar
window. Sure enough, in the dusky twilight I saw that they both
wore shining red spiked-heels, high and wicked-looking.  
     But it was not so much the shoes that made my eyes bulge;
not at all. It was what had been put in 'em!
     As I said, the view of the window ended somewhere just above
their knees, but what I saw of the bare legs was enough to make
me sputter. For the dark female limbs that were taking their
owners on a determined, quick-step beeline for our front steps
were unlike any legs I had ever seen before.
     For the skin of the million-dollar gams was darkly tan,
almost brown, and there was a cocoa-butter softness to the flesh,
supple and moist. But what made these legs stand apart from the
bare legs of the miniskirted local girls at school was the
pronounced development of the calves and quads! 
     Two pairs of huge, diamond-shaped calve muscles flexed and
pulsed under that dark skin, and were matched step for step with
two pairs of sleekly and heavily muscular quadriceps! 
     Thigh sweep, I think it was called, and the two visitors had
enough sweep to knock me off my feet and carry me away!
     It was as if two of the ladies from my dad's not-so-
secretly-hidden female bodybuilding magazines had decided to
drive to our small town, take a left at Main and head for this
secluded spot, to show off the results of their dedicated
training!
     They went by me in an all-too-brief flash, the ladymuscle
boldly churning to it's destination with a predatory strut; and I
heard their footsteps continue up the battered wooden stairs that 
creaked audibly as they ascended. I heard the echoes of their
footfalls they boldly stepped across the porch as though they'd
been here a million times. 
     The doorbell rang a moment later. I heard female whispering,
followed by a teenaged laugh...
     Then I heard the creak of the door as Aunt Amelia pulled it
open. And then I heard her let out a scream; the first time I'd
ever heard her lose her composure.
     "What do you two trollops propose to be?" she demanded, her
voice floating across the early summer air, and echoing over my
head through the floorboards.
     "We don't propose to be anything, you insolent old bag of
skin 'n bones," came a confident teenage voice with a mouth full
of bubble gum ; the younger of the two. 
     "...we're the new bosses around here, that's what we are,
lady. If you plan to stay around, best learn that now."
     "Why, I never..." Aunt Amelia began...
     "Yeah, that's not hard to believe, ladybird," came the other
woman's voice. It was low and stern and haughty. 
     "Now step aside. We want to get settled."
     They began to enter; I heard the door bang open against the
wall. I could also hear Aunt Amelia sputter, words unformed
drowning in her own outrage.
     I had to see what these ladies looked like!
     Quiet as a churchmouse, I crept along the darkened cellar
and up the stairs. There were voices being raised in the dining
room, followed by more teenaged laughter, high and girlish. 
     I knew Aunt Amelia's moods well enough to know that she was
indignant at something these women were doing or saying.
     But what?
     Seconds later, as I reached the top of the steps, careful
not to creak them as I went, I spied at them through the small
crack between the slightly-ajar door and it's frame. 
     My heart started pounding with the scene I saw unspooling
before me...
     There stood Amelia alright, shaking with anger under the
baggy confines of her floral print Eisenhower-era dress. The two
women strutted slowly around the dining room like circling she-
wolves, arms folded, sniffing around at their new surroundings
with a vague sense of disapproval.
     It wasn't until they came together in the center of the
room, right in front of the five-foot-ten-inch Aunt Amelia, that
I fully realized what was so singular about these newcomers.
     The older of the two--and for all intents and purposes, my
new stepmom--stood six-foot-ten! She was wearing a white micro-
miniskirt that hardly cleared her hips, and bared the bold brown
expanse of her naked and powerful legs, perched vampishly in her
sharp-heeled scarlet shoes.   
     Her very broad-shouldered torso was clad in a strapless red
blouse that bulged at her considerable cleavage, two juggernauts
of breastflesh that pushed and strained against the confines of
the skimpy covering. 
     She wore a white jacket over it, and the dark, shining mane
of hair flowed freely down past her very broad shoulders;
amazingly-broad in fact, as I measured them against the width of
the generous archway between living room and dining room. 
     Her face was sternly beautiful; a strong chin, a pair of
exotically-high cheekbones that looked carved from stone, for
such was their sharpness, their prominence on that hard, painted
face. 
     The eyes were big and black and strangely cold, as though
their owner had seen things, wild things, that people of this
time and place could not comprehend... 
     There was authority in her every movement and expression as
she paced bare-legged around the room like a tigress in a cage,
running a finger around the flat surfaces of the room--the dinner
table, the prized buffet side-table, Auntie's collection of glass
figurines--inspecting for dust; while her daughter, six feet of
miniskirted blondness packed into a similar outfit, looked on
smiling with pink-painted lips, blue eyes sparkling with mischief
as they shone through her golden bangs. 
     I could smell their sinful perfumes, pungent and daring and
smelling of sinful acts on very hot nights, overwhelming my
aunt's permanent baby-powder aroma.
     Aunt Amelia burned with resentment.
     Surely, these invaders weren't the women her brother had
sent into her, uh, their cherished home!
     Now the taller Amazon paused and turned. She gathered her
jacket around her, put her hands on her waist, tiny as a
schoolgirl's, and made her first high-heeled pronouncement.
     "I can't say I'm very impressed with your housecleaning,"
the muscular giantess declared as though she was talking to a
recently-hired mail. She was leaning over the far end of the
dinner table, standing over the place where Auntie sat and held
court at dinner every night; the tone of her voice turned the
knife in the wound she'd inflicted on the older woman simply by
entering this place. 
     "You'll have to re-do all this at once," she ordered,
gesturing around the room.
     In all the years Aunt Amelia'd been here, nobody had tried
to tell her what to do; but two minutes across the threshold, and
the natural Order of Things had already been upturned!
     To make matters worse, I was sure that Auntie--a stern
proponent of propriety at-all-times!--had neither seen nor heard
of such women before; or so I had supposed...
     "I'll do no such thing," the head housekeeper of the home
retorted, her slim bosom trembling. "Now gather up this half-
dressed strumpet you brought in here and get out at once!"
     The dark-haired woman stepped around the table and briskly
approached her, standing over her...
     Heck! towering over her was more like it; superior by more
than a head over the suddenly subdued Aunt Amelia, who was no
Lilliputian herself. 
     Hands on her hips, she spoke quietly, but very clearly,
making her intentions known...
     "Now get this straight," she growled through clenched teeth,
her voice betraying just the slightest hispanic accent as it was
raised in anger, "I'm the new Lady of the House. Your brother
wants me here, and I don' theenk you're gonna win any popularity
contests between you and me. So let me geev you a leetle beet of
advice," she explained, her tone forbidding interruption as her
huge physique inflated under her vampish clothes, "do what I say
and you won't get hurt. Geev me trouble and I'll make you sorry
you ever TRIED to stan' up to me. Is that quite clear?"
     More tittering from the apple-pie-sweet blonde behind her...
     Aunt Amelia had nothing to fall back upon, so she just
quaked with anger and indignation. It took her half a minute to
come up with a retort...
     "Now see here," she said, and her voice was so full of
emotion that her voice quaked up and down the musical scale, "I
have the respect of the men of this house. I have standing in
this community. And I shall brook no insolence, not even from a
woman as, ah, commanding as you," she said, her eyes roaming the
wide architecture of the woman's big-as-broadway physique.
     "Too bad," replied the woman, who held up a sharp three-inch
fingernail whose blood-toned colors matched her blouse and shoes.
A roped coil of jewelry around her wrist caught the light and
jingle-jangled with the movements of her arm as she moved it
slowly about under Auntie's nose. The nail was a razor ready to
do evil...
     And so, it did...
     "...I'd hoped we could reach some understanding," the dark-
eyed dominatrix declared, as she turned and nodded to her
daughter, standing behind her.
     Ziglinda approached from behind and waited, and mother bent
slightly at the waist, pulling her black waterfall forwards to
safety. 
     Then she straightened, and tilted her extended arms back, as
her blonde apprentice went to work, and pulled the jacket from
the taller woman's body like a magician's assistant displaying an
impossible sight beneath it...
     Which she did...
     The sunbrowned sight that was revealed to my youthful eyes
was so extraordinary that I gasped aloud, caught off-guard by the
gargantuan developments on the woman's body. It was only Auntie's
own startled cries that covered for my careless awe, drowning out
my gurgles.
     From my coward's post, it was her superb back I saw first.
     And it was the definitive letter 'V', dyed almost-chocolate
by the equatorial sun, and I imagined that I could never spell
"violets" or "veranda", "vibrant" or "vermouth" again, without
thinking of this moment. Her shoulders weren't merely broad; they
were plains of existence unto themselves, capped off by a ski-
jump trapezius that swept upwards, to vanish in the lushness of
her thick rain-forest hair!
     The scanty top dove low on the genetically-engineered back,
baring insistent flesh, and the mack-truck bigness atop tapered
gradually and gracefully to the narrow waist. Along the way, her
spine was defended by a dorsal armor of unlimited strength,
battle-plates that rustled up close to the skin in rock-ridged
elegance, breathtaking definition with every movement, as though
ready to be called to action on a moment's notice...
     Someone must have tampered with the laws of nature to create
a woman like this! 
     She half-turned now, the better to give the staggered
spinster a better view of her prehistoric developments.
     "What do you think, grandmother?" she winked in disdain,
tossing her hair back, to fall freely down her already-displayed
aft-side; and the oldish woman shut her eyes and shook her head,
as though unable to believe the electrifying rumblings before her
bifocals.
     For just above her silky red top--itself stretched so tight
across a pair of Goodyear breast-bulges that it looked ready to
burst--that strange visitor from a far-away land was proudly
displaying a brown torso heaped high and dense with steeply-
rolling hills of rough-rock muscle! 
     Transformed to something incomparable, her build was almost
sadistic in it's larger-than-life architecture, too bursting with
endless stratum upon stratum of chiseled power for the virgin eye
to fully digest! Perhaps some mad sculptor had found a way to
instill life in his creations, and had mistakenly initiated the
start-up procedure before finishing the necessary whittling on
his creation required to render her a human female; for such was
the unearthly grandeur, the wicked-witch splendor, of his runaway
model as she stood casually pumping her electrified-muscles in
the dining room, displaying her maddening muscularity for all to
see, belittling the merely mortal with a mere flex of her super-
sized immortality.
     For her arms were enormous, all drop-dead cliffs and
impossible slopes of merciless muscle, hard and sharp and
silently roaring it's dominion like a lioness. 
     Her massive limbs sported a series of complex tributaries
entwining the flesh, disappearing only when confronted by the
highest degree of thickly-packed biceps; reappearing when the
coast was clear, and feeding the flesh with the bodily fluids
they required to sustain themselves.
     She looked positively bulletproof, I thought, and I noted
that the air had suddenly taken on a sweltering overture. Even
the mild breeze that had blown through the open windows of our
home had died, as though killed in combat with another force of
nature that stood in our dining room showing off...
     Sweat collected on my brow. I found it hard to breathe.
     "An Amazon," I whispered reverently; and it was then that I
remembered that Things Amazonian really did come from South
America, didn't they?
     I didn't know how he'd done it, but somehow, in his
bureaucratic roamings upon the southern continent, dear old dad
had managed to stumble upon a genuine pair of full-blooded,
battled-ready, take-no-prisoners Amazon Warriors!
     Accentuated all the more by her barely-there waistline, this
legendary creature cupped her hands behind her head and hit a
roaring flex that inflated herself to twice her previous size,
and her mountains sizzled, like plump-when-you-cook-'em muscles,
right before our eyes! Hard cuts sculpted over years of hot iron
spoke a wordless authority, and the confrontation was all-but-
over, a formality about to be a rout...
     There was a strange look in Auntie's eyes, a long-lost
search for what might have been...
     But this was no time for reminiscing; this was clobberin'
time!
     The South American Gladiatrix reached over to the tight bun
of repression that was Aunt Amelia's hairdo, and found the
metallic sentries that held it in place. With a quick flick of
her fingers, she undid the clasps, and Aunt Amelia, too shocked
to offer any resistance, stood agape as her hair fell loose in
iron ringlets.
     "There," my new stepmom said, satisfied. "That's ever so
much better," she said, "for our purposes."
     Auntie tried to take uncertain steps backwards, unaccustomed
to retreat on her own hallowed grounds; but she would never quite
make it. Her hair down, she provided a vulnerable target for the
big woman, and a strong hand reached for the salty iron scraggles
that was Aunt Amelia's mock-hairdo.     
     Like a marionette on a string, Auntie was jerked ferociously
back to face her tormentors. A wince fell over the screwed-tight
features, and she swooned in a dead faint.
     The dark-haired powerhouse did not know mercy, and so could
not show it...
     "Holy cow," I thought, as the thick-as-a-thigh arm of the
miniskirt-and-muscles woman roughly grabbed the battleship-grey
strands, and lifted auntie off her feet, and right out of her
flat-heeled shoes.  My mouth agape, I watched as she hoisted Aunt
Amelia higher and higher in the air, suspended by her own hair!  
     Helpless feet kicked at the air as her head nearly scraped
against the low ceiling of the tea-and-china gentility that was
our dining room. The other musclegirl tittered behind her hands
at the spectacle, and it seemed at the time that this was
something that she had seen her mom do before, and that it never
ceased to amuse her.
     Auntie squealed indignantly, like a lady hog trapped in a
slaughterhouse, sizable clumps of hair tearing out by the roots.
     "What we have here," decreed the newly-wed Amazon Goddess 
as the tree-trunk muscles of her arm rumbled electrically ablur
beneath the skin, "is a failure to appreciate!"
     She used that sharp razor-blade of a fingernail now, to
slowly begin ripping the front of the floral dress. There was the
sickening sound of tearing cloth, as it unfolded itself about her
bony frame. Aunt Amelia wailed in lamentation, her skinny legs
scrambled for footing in thin air, kicking uselessly; but it did
no good; the dark-haired dominatrix wasn't going to stop until
the dress was laying in a dead heap on the hardwood beneath her.
     And moments later, it did, joining the snowfall of hair that
had surrendered to the task of supporting her weight.
     Aunt Amelia wasn't nearly as intimidating now as she had
always been to me; now she looked like a withered animal pinned
up for the amusement of her captor. Stripped to her oversized
metal-reinforced bra and bermuda-short sized panties, she was a
comic figure of pity.
     "Here, Ziglinda," the brunette said, handing the shivering
package of sagging flesh to her daughter, "hang this up
someplace." 
     The blonde blew a pink bubble as she slid the jacket off her
equally-well-developed shoulders, and reached for the sagging
victim of their well-muscled ways. With one hand, she grabbed
auntie by the small clump of loose hair that still hung from her
dome; the other slid down her panties, and into Auntie's
unimaginable nether regions, and grabbed a-hold.
     She marched around the room trying to decide where to
dispose of the shell-shocked burden held so easily in one hand;
and, finally finding a free hook hanging off the doorway between
dining room and living room, hung the kicking and crying package
by the industrial-strength bra-strap like a very sad Christmas
ornament.
     "There," said the blonde, the deep cuts of muscle on her
chiseled arms accentuated as her hands came to rest on her hips,
"she looks good there, momma, huh?"
     "She certainly does," the muscle-mom agreed, chuckling at
the sobs of the defeated woman, wriggling uselessly on the hook.
     "Let's go, daughter," she sighed, "there's some good light
still left. We must work even harder to keep up our tans in this
chilled climate, my dear. The sun can be so weak here..."
     And the two oversized women marched with sensual non-
chalance through the house, looking with amusement at their new
surroundings, toy-like in comparison their super-sized splendor.
     They trailed their intoxicating perfume like a sexy pair of
F-16's trailing afterburn in a crisp blue sky.
     "There's a boy to be dealt with," warned Mother Gigantic,
who couldn't help but flex some heaving mountain on her torso
even when she was simply walking, I observed.
     They marched through the just-cleaned kitchen towards the
back door, unaware that the boy in question was watching their
every move with trembling awe from behind the cellar
passageway...
     "...He'll have to be trained as soon as possible..."
     "Can't wait, mom," said the big blonde, who was already busy
undressing as she walked to the back door. Her blouse was already
on the floor, revealing her own wide v-back; her skirt was
unzipping, too...
     "It's gonna be fun..." she added, pausing at the door to
slip daintily out of her skirt; and by now my new step-sister was
a bare-assed bunny of exotic ladymuscle in nothing more than a
micro-bikini of tender stings and tiny straps, the bare flesh
decorated, but not covered, by the overwhelmed swimsuit. 
     A pair of perfect globes were uncovered, and they were the
most magnificent pair of buttocks I'd ever seen. 
     Wow! I was going to have to mind my P's & Q's with a sister
like this one! 
     Muscle and breast battled once again for my attention. Her
arms had to measure seventeen, maybe even eighteen or nineteen
inches around at the biceps; the thick rocks on her arms were her
own Declaration of Independence, as it were, as far as how she
might be expected to behave in the company of men...
     My new stepmom followed suit; but she waited until she was
outside before stepping out of her barely-there outfit...
     I galloped back down the steps, scuttling through the dark
of the cellar so I could better see the goings-on in the yard,
though the window in the rear...
     Outside, in the fading rays of the sun, the Mother
Giantess's skirt slid off, and I gulped with a mixture of fear
and some strange feeling that didn't quite add up just yet...
     For what did I know of women at his point of my life? The
only attribute that was singular to females, as far as I had
known, was breasts! But here, these two women had not only two
spectacular pairs of double-d-cups, and lush curves sweeter than
any dessert, but the physiques of She-Beast MuscleQueens!
     Step-mom's bikini was as barely-there as her daughter's;
tiny ribbons of cloth that decorated, rather than covered, her
wildly futuristic frame that combined a showgirl's glamorous
symmetry and a female bodybuilder's hard carved muscle, a gift of
nature honed and refined in a cool and dark gymnasium, in parts
unknown...
     They pulled out the lounge chairs, pulled back their
glorious manes, tying them back with rubber bands into schoolgirl
ponytails. They stretched languidly, like a pair of contented
cats. And they hit a variety of unconscious flexes as they did,
sighing with pleasure as their sinews unfurled.
     Relaxing in repose, they snuggled into the dying rays of an
early evening sun, wiggling in the vinyl lounges until they found
just the right spot to further darken their two huge slabs of
fire-hardened female flesh.
     My head spun; I'd never even seen a woman this tall before;
but with this sort of muscular development, holy cow! I
immediately thought of the television shows that dad would watch
in those rare evenings when he was a.) at home, and b.) Aunt
Amelia was out, and so had left the channel-surfing to him, after
I'd gone to bed....
     I remembered seeing him sitting in the dark in his chair,
when I had crept past the open door for a glass of water. He was
watching something on cable, wherein a line-up of brown-skinned,
pumped-up ladies were strutting about a stage in the briefest of
swimsuits. I didn't know what the Ms. Olympia was at the time,
but I had a pretty good idea that these visiting women had been
there that night, if not on the stage, then in the audience...
     Their flesh was a contradiction; curvy, soft, lushly flowing
femininity was balanced by their rock-hard architecture of their
mountainous physiques; the deltoids carved from stone, abdominals
like rungs on a plained ladder, all contained as so much dressing
for two pairs of party-girl breasts, like balloons bouncing
amidst hewn rock. 
     I could not look away.
     They laughed quietly with each other; sharing female
secrets. I could not hear what they were saying, separated as I
was by the glass, but I felt my hands tremble upon the windowpane
with each casual little movement of their astro-spectacular
bodies, their long hair squeezed into those convenient ponytails,
flowing behind the headrests of the lounge chairs like hennaed
waterfalls under wraps, blowing lightly in the early evening
breeze. I didn't know how these women had come to enter my life,
but I knew that my old way of doing things, of thinking about
things, of feeling about things, was about to change forever...
     I heard a thump! from overhead; Aunt Amelia had struggled
down off the hook, and in my mind I could identify each sound she
made; her determined march upstairs, the outraged slamming of
doors, then, minutes later, while my new sister squirted lotion
on her mom's rocky abs, the sounds of her ascent, her precise and
measured step out the front door, and finally, the sound of her
ancient Packard's engine turning over with an enphysemic wheeze.
     And then she was gone...
     And I was glad. Whatever might happen, at least I would be
free. Or so I thought...
     I watched the hot twosome sun their fem-muscular selves
contentedly, talking of forced reps and wild orgasms like best
girlfriends, until the last rays of the day faded beneath the
woods that bordered on our yard.

Mother Nature was brewing her nightly dose of darkness, the
red sky overhead signaling it was almost ready to be served, and
long shadows fell across the buxom muscularity of my stepmom and
her blonde daughter. The radiant glistening upon their suntanned
figures gradually faded, and as though mourning the sun's slow
disappearance behind the trees, the two grew quiet for some
minutes, and finally began pulling their perfect bodies up from
their sun-kissed contentment, their baked muscularity moist,
dripping with a sweat only half-dried by the slight breezes that
only now whipped up.
     The daring duo had spent countless hours pumping iron,
engorging both their muscles and their appetites for worship and
command, and made a spectacular sight in our secluded yard, that
fed a cowering young man's hungry eyes like some strange food of
the gods!
     And they rose, and rose and rose; a pair of bikini-clad
giantesses looming in the gathering dusk. The brunette was just a
shade under seven feet in her lofty mules; her daughter six-five
in white platform sandals!
     The two she-hulks gathered their slinky clothes and sashayed
in high-heeled, hip-swinging splendor back inside, the cloth-
coverage consisting of nothing more than a string that vanished
between heaving buttocks, re-emerging above to bridge the fragile
framework of the swimsuits. Their bare bottoms churned like a
pair of pert power sources, retaining just the faintest trace of
the lounge's vinyl piping on the healthy globes.
     Reeling, I remained in the basement, too shy to introduce
myself, and I sat in the darkness even as I heard the footsteps
as the Amazonian mother-and-daughter "twins" went back inside.
     There was a period of an hour that filled the house with the
noises of habitation; a radio playing New Age Jazz, feet racing
up and down the stairs, plumbing rumbling, doors slamming on the
upper floor. 
     I remained where I was, imagining how they looked stepping
out of a shower, toweling the beads of moisture from their
shining physiques; then slipping on their underthings, pulling on
a pair of sleek stockings; the muscles of their calves and thighs
bulging, stretching the capabilities of the meshy material
further than they were expected to accommodate, threatening to
explode and let the chiseled heartlessness throb in front of the
eyes of a shocked world!
     A shroud of black night had descended on the grounds of our
lonely home by the time they had showered and dressed, and I
heard them talking loudly as they descended the stairs with a
surprisingly light step. I crept to the top landing of the black
stairway, the better to hear them; and the buzzwords of their
intentions stung my ears...
     "Time to check out the local cock-supply, dear daughter,"
came the elder woman's calm ordinance...
     " ....sex tonight, Momma?" I heard the younger woman ask, as
though seeking permission.
     "More than just sex, Ziglinda dear. Tonight I fully intend
to begin the re-education of the provincial male mind in this
part of the world. And I intend to do it one man at a time, if
necessary. They're going to learn to appreciate a superior-
muscled specimen of the opposite sex, or I'll know why.."
     Her daughter let out a cheer like one of the miniskirted
sideline rooters I routinely ogled at the local football games.
     Finally, I heard the leggy twosome step out into the night
in perched decadence that clicked on the concrete, announcing
their every move; the throaty V-12 fading as it raced into
someone else's earshot, to upset everything they thought they
knew about women...
     The coast was clear.
     As the growling of Detroit muscle faded from my ears, I
fairly hopped up the steps to the first floor, and my curiosity
was so piqued that I didn't even think of stopping at the
refrigerator for my evening bowl of double-fudge ice cream.
     Instead, I turned at the head of the steps, shot through the
doorway, and went straight for the second stairway, and up...
     There were four bedrooms on the second floor. The master
bedroom was largest, at the far end of the hall. Nearer the
staircase was the one used for a den; next one was mine, the
other bedroom just across and down a bit was formerly Aunt
Amelia's. 
     Now there was a new resident; my new stepsister. Her
suitcase was laying atop the bed, the contents ajumble,
illuminated by an invading shaft of hallway light. 
     I fought an impulse to look through it, even though
miscellaneous underthings of red and black lay half-tumbled over
the bag's edge, wagging like tired tongues, anxious to tell of
their mistress's misdeeds while wearing them...
     I peered into the darkened den, and found that the tv had
been unplugged and shoved to the corner, banished to forced
retirement in order to make room for a shining silver workout
bench, with a matching barbell loaded with nearly two hundred
pounds of daunting metallic challenge, laying patiently in place.
     They must have set this up very quickly, I thought...
     In the master bedroom, there was still another very large
suitcase, in likewise disarray. I didn't quite understand why,
but the impulse to rummage through this enormous black-leather
valise proved too strong for me this time, and I submitted to a
mischievous voice in my head. I crept into the darkness and
turned on a bedlight, and stepped up to the oversized case, whose
size took up most of the surface of the queen-sized bed. 
     The lid was pulled back, as though their owner had hastily
pulled something from within, and had given little thought to the
neatness of it's state afterwards.
     What treasures I saw within! Knowing little of women, the
tiny garments were provocation personified, the stuff I had
dreamed of. I'd always wondered what went on under the short
skirts and slinky tops of the women on the street, and now, I
knew...
     I reached for a bra, a brilliantly flimsy construction of
red, with two very large cups and an array of small scarlet
straps that held them in place. Then, my nervous hands held
within them a satin g-string, perfumed, soft to the touch, tiny
as it's owner was large. I mistook one of the tiny stretch-skirts
for a tube top, so skimpy was it's volume...
     High heels. Baubles of gaudy jewelry. And a strange cup of
yellowy rubber; an odd device, unknown to me at the time, that I
would later understand to be a diaphragm. Some sort of leather
strap was snaking it's way out of a pile of tank tops; I pulled
on it, and it came loose in my hands, dragging a bizarre anchor
of tubular rubber. It was a dildo...
     My hands shook as they went about their unwarranted
exploration. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but
curiosity about this strangely beautiful and utterly compelling
breed of woman forced my need-to-know onwards, and I was little
aware of how completely I was re-arranging the sinful contents of
the suitcase. 
     Until, that is, it was too late...
     At the bottom of the bulky box was a smaller plastic case,
about ten by twelve inches in size, about eight inches thick. I
pulled it out, upsetting various string bikinis and not-so-
secretly-stashed pairs of fishnet stockings.
     I set the box on the floor and removed the top, my heart
pounding. As though it was crystal, I placed the top on the
carpet beside me, and I removed the sheet of blank paper that lay
atop whatever the contents might be.
     And there, in living color, first in a generous pile, was a
copy of a glossy-covered magazine called "Madame-So-Muscular."
     It looked expensive; a solid spine, quality stock-paper.
     And on the cover?
     Underneath the blue masthead, there were scarlet letters
screaming against a black background in almost 3-d life. It read:

           Ms. Sophia Magenta and her Daughter Linda:
   The South-American Muscle Mom and the Daughter of Deltoid!
               Bodybuilding's Answer to the Judds!

     Both the women were bikini'd, oiled, tanned; the pumped-up
fruits of their labors shining in carved fem-muscular glory. The
camera caught the whites of their eyes and perfect teeth as
strobe-flashes bounced off the diamond facets of their
abundantly-revealed musculature in full-bodied throb. 
     Standing high-heeled in front of a blue curtain, the two
women looked like a pair of bronze statues, womanly masterpieces
and testaments to the not-so-spartan life of liftin' and pumpin'
and joyous overdevelopment. Their hair was pinned primly atop
their heads, and each was flexing a hard-packed mountain of
pounding bicep over a foot and a half thick!  
     There was, in fact, a real pair of golden figurines gleaming
at their feet, and my eyes went to a footnote at the page's
bottom:

     Heavyweight Winners in the She-Flex Spectacular 
                               of 
                         Rio De Janeiro!

     I'd never seen anything like this before; even dad's
mainstream stuff was pale compared to the taunting 8 X 11
publication of pure ladymuscle!    
     I paged through the journal, making mental placemarks to go
back to the various color pictures of miniskirted muscle-women
pouting haughtily, their stingy-tank-top splendor highlighting
daunting deltoid, abundant biceps, titillating triceps, and
bulging breasts, nipples ripe and ready, poking through the
flimsy cloth, as they crossed their legs and flashed suntanned
thighs that made my mouth water...
     On page thirty-two was a story of the Mother-Daughter
Triumphant...
     "A Day With The Queen and  Princess of Pump!" it read in
colorful headline. There were pictures of the mom and her only
offspring, wearing most daring of cut-offs and bulging tube-tops,
washing a mint condition '63 Corvette. They were covered in soap,
but there buxom and built-up attributes, attained by nature and
honed to inflated perfection in the gym, shone through the
dripping in clinging suds.
     "Too much for one man," the reporter's gossipy prose gushed,
"Ms. Hernandez-Rasouli-Longren-DesChambres-Magenta is single once
again! Her fourth husband, the erstwhile Mr. Magenta, filed for
divorce several months ago, citing sexual exhaustion. It is said
to be the first claim of it's kind in the all of Brazil..."
     The lurid story that followed told of a wifely infidelity
whose perpetrator had every right to fornicate freely, and a
late-night confrontation that had been all the news in the Rio
suburb in which they'd lived. 
     My new stepmom, it seemed, had been outraged by the daring
confrontational tactics of her husband, and had swiftly beaten up
now only her erring spouse, but the photographer he'd brought
along to catch her in the act. The fact that she was naked and
horizontal with her lover--who watched her swift dispatch of the
two meddling men--only amused the writer of the story, who seemed
to feel, from the tone of the story, that Sophia Magenta could do
no wrong! 
     Soon, I would feel that way, too...
     And the scribe added that, once the two invaders had been
transformed to bleeding heaps on the bedroom carpet, the
lovemaking summarily resumed. The musky scent of sex mixed with
muscular sweat, and accumulated into a foggy cloud of wantonness
and hung over the bouncing bed, the sex going on, long and wild
into the night, as a thick cock rammed into a strong-walled
pussy, the slapping nudity a symphony of slutty syncopation.     
     Now the effervescent article turned to Linda Longren and her
bodybuilding ways and means. A color photo showed her on Ipanema 
beach, cool and perfect, barely-bikini'd and hiding mischievous
eyes behind wrap-around shades; surrounded by ardent high-school-
boy-admirers as she lay her muscle-packed wide-body torso of
heaving tit and stunning muscle back against an ogling lad, whose
mouth was agape as he was turned into a sunburned beach chair for
her convenience. 
     Somehow, he didn't look like he was going to complain...
     I read the article through, memorizing facts and stats.

     Madame Sophia's Weights & Measures read as follows:

        Height:     6 feet, 5 5/8 inches in her stockinged feet!
        Weight:     280 heaving pounds!!
        Biceps:     25 bulging inches!!!
  Measurements:     63 DD-28-43!!!!???

     Her daughter was not far behind!

        Height:     5 feet, 11 2/3 inches, sans sandals!
        Weight:     219 bra-bursting pounds!!
        Biceps:     19 1/2 molten inches of ladypower!!!
  Measurements:     54 DD-26-40!!!!

     Something told me that I wasn't going to be using the
SegaGenesis anymore; not if my new sister wanted it!!
     Linda's complexion was lighter, almost nordic, in comparison
to the sultry dark beauty of her mother. It was clear to me that
she had inherited the genetic tendencies to muscularity from her
mother, but the skin tones and hair color of one of her mom's
many husbands.
     Or, perhaps, a lover she might have taken?
      Even then, I had a feeling that there were many...

     I had no frame of reference for women of that size; not at
that point in my brief and naive lifespan. But a short time after
these women entered, no, invaded my young life, my re-education
of Things Female would lead me to be introduced to the collected
works of L-H Art, and while perusing it's thrilling pages, I
would see a duo of women who would strongly remind me of my new
step-mom and step-sister...
     Elie Xyr's most-muscular Polynesian Amazon, "Mareva", and
her faithful sidekick, the teenaged female flexing machine known
as  "Germaine"! 
     Each was a bit older than her fictional counter-part,
perhaps, but both had more than enough pulchritude of womanly
nature and pumped-iron size to give those pen-and-ink creatures a
run for their money!
     This new world of women who flashed cleavage and muscle
simultaneously filled my young mind with thoughts run wild as a
rollercoaster. There were more magazines at the bottom of the
suitcase, and I saw my first copy of what would thereafter become
my favorite periodical, then and there...
     "Women's Physique World" glowed magically amongst the
scattered unmentionables disturbed by a pair of anxious teenaged
hands. A woman named Thea Bennington beamed a southern smile,
proud of the huge bicep she sported and flexed on the cover.
     Below that issue, I met another cover model, a woman of
robust sexuality and ferocious physique named Karla Nelsen, and
my darting eyes took a ride on the nearly-naked roller-coaster of
her astonishing form...
     To this day, I don't know how long I knelt at the side of
the bed, perusing the various issues of this incredible breed of
New Woman... 
     In retrospect, it must have been several hours, time
decompressing, flying by, as my imagination floated on the
scarlet possibilities of encounters with so-powerful women like
these...
     It grew late, but I didn't notice. My breath came short, and
my brow began to sweat profusely as fatigue and excitement mixed
to form one dizzying state of heady expectation. My life had been
invaded by a pair of women just like these, and I was unsure of
what an Occupation by Well-Muscled Giantesses would be like!
     I could hear the pounding blood in my ears, and so I didn't
hear other things, important things...
     "Well!" came a stern female voice behind me, accompanied by
the sound of a pair of spiked heels stepping across the threshold
and onto the hardwood floor. My head spun, and my senses began to
reel...
     Step-mother was home.
     A female eclipse filled the doorway with her incredible
size, the crown of her dark-haired mane almost touching the
overhead archway.
     A pair of almondish black eyes turned down to her own torso,
and she nodded slightly, as though offering it for my ocular
inspection before saying so much as a word, letting her ultra-big
body speak for itself...
     A white-leather network was wrapped around her astoundingly
big torso; the straps ran up her otherwise-bare abdomen, widening
so as to half-cup the biggest breasts I had ever seen--in person,
anyway--in my life! 
     Brown basketballs heaved under her leather lacings, and I
saw a long vertical depression running between the two
hemispheres of her torso, proof of her pectoral persistence! 
     The scanty top turned into a collar that extended wide and
high above her neck, cape-like; her powerful shoulders were
otherwise bared, wrapped in a well-plated mantle of cleaven
muscle, nearly touching the opposing doorframe, so wide were
they...

     Her enormous arms were thickly stacked with mahogany knolls
of tricep and bicep, two-feet-thick; and generously slathered
onto the woman's limbs until they pounded menacingly, a relief
map of muscle manifesting it's power before my eyes. 
     She was posed to impress, and on her dark skin of those
shocking arms I almost thought I could see the bloodflow pound
through a network of prominent veiny tributaries as they rushed
to feed the sinewy mountains with every pulse of the great
woman's heart... 
     Her hands were balled into fists and were placed on her
hips, where golden bracelets jangled on her somehow-slender
wrists--an artist's wrists, I thought--and in the faint glow of
the bedside lamp-light I saw diamonds sparkling everywhere, stars
ablaze on a galactic-sized woman...
     My knees went rubbery, but I put them to work, finding my
Keds unsteady beneath me, as though they were melting...
     I tried to put my brain to work, but failed, my senses
stealing any access to it's thesaurus as it drank in every detail
of this woman from another time...
     Someone had painted a pair of spandex slacks onto the
breakneck curves of her hips, and down, past steeply-sweeping
quads, to just below another set of diamonds--twenty carat calves
bulged like footballs under the shiny tights. 
     On her feet were a pair of predatory high heels, the kind
that brought trouble wherever they were pointed. I didn't know
how many inches high they were, but they looked like the average
woman would need a ladder to climb into the wicked steeples!
     Awed and stunned at the same time, I half-turned to gently
lower the purloined magazine back to it's rightful place on the
bed below; but it slipped from my shaking fingers. 
     I tried to re-capture it, but in the process, my
uncoordinated knee exerted just enough pressure on the mattress
that it's edge compressed, and the entire contents of the
distraught suitcase slid off and fell to the floor, accompanied a
second later by the suddenly-empty valise itself! 
     It landed with a bang!
     Stiletto heels on hardwood bounced echoes off the walls and
low ceiling of the room, and I looked back to see my new source
of familial discipline take two long-legged, hip-swinging strides
over to me. 
     Intoxicating perfume filled my senses, making my eyes water
with the heady secrets they seemed to imply, and I breathed
deeply, forgetting, if only for a moment, the situation I was in.
     But the fact that my face was just now level with, and mere 
inches away from, a pair of double-d-cupped breasts with two-inch
nipples poking through the cloth like vigilant radar, brought me
around. My mouth hung open in unconscious fantasy of what it
would be like to fix my mouth around the creamy containers...
     "Well, little boy, what have you to say for yourself?" she
asked, in a tone that was not nearly so confrontational as I
would have expected. In fact, she seemed merely amused, as a
mother might if her toddler had knocked over his blocks!
     "Um, I, h-hello, ma'am," I offered as an excuse, self-
consciously shuffling my sneakered feet, but I found myself
trampling upon the scattered remains of my awkward
investigations, and I squeaked a shock of dismay that sounded
like "sorry..."
     Quickly, I bent and busily began righting the results of my
nosiness, hoping to buy clemency for my poor first impression.
     "Hello yourself," I heard her say; but I did not look up
from my efforts, collecting her panties from the floor while her
spike-heeled feet stood planted around the spilled debris, like
oaken pillars in a sea of g-string islands...
     "No doubt you were trying to make us feel at home, weren't
you, little boy? To save us from the bother of unpacking?"
     The same tone of voice, gently remonstrative, no unkindness
in the tones. I kept about my task, not answering, not looking
up, busy re-collecting the magazines that lay scattered amidst
the strewn undies...
     Which was a mistake...
     I heard a jewelry-jangling hand spring to action; a hand
that reached down for me with the power of a mahogany-hued
derrick, seizing my upper arm in an iron-clad clamp; the sharp
fingernails digging through my t-shirt and into the pale flesh of
my slender limb.  As though I was weightless, I was hoisted off
my feet. Muscle Magazines fell from my grasps along with tiny
pieces of ladies' underwear, forming a strange rainfall below.
     She shook me like a dusty teddy bear, and I saw stars as my
ligaments, atrophied from scholarly disuse, stretched and
strained and screamed silently for mercy.
     She pulled me to within inches of her sternly, darkly
beautiful face, until I was literally nose-to-nose with my new
stepmom. Her cheekbones were the highest, most prominent, I had
ever seen, and added a menace to her already-intimidating
demeanor.  She shook back a shining tress of night-black
silkiness and scowled, her dark eyeshadow making her appear like
some underworld lady super-criminal; the look was reinforced by
her exotic outfit, and with it's high leather neck she looked
like some dominant vampiress on steroids.
     "When I speak to you, little boy, you answer. Understand?"
she demanded, her breath full of cinnamon, and hot on my face. As
she shook me I wondered if her generous boobs would spill out of
their small white holder-straps...
     "Y-yes, ma'am," I replied again. "I'm s-sorry."
     "Hmm," she answered, and slowly stretched her massive limb
back out, to study her new step-son at arm's length like some
unwieldy and malodorous bug she'd inherited with the house. In
short-arms inspection, she looked me up and down as the enormity
that was her hulking bicep seemed to bubble under the skin, and
the tiny adjustments she made to hold me steady gave the bowling-
ball-sized muscle a simmering aspect; my eyes were held by the
fleshy earthquake-in-the-making.
     Why did she insist on addressing me as a little boy? I was
of legal age, but barely; still, wasn't I the man of the house
now?
     "You certainly aren't much to look at, are you?" she asked.
"Don't look like you could punch your way out of a paper bag,"
she added. "Not that I mind, though. In fact, your skinny non-
physique should make things that much simpler around here," she
concluded. Then, in defiance of her attitude up until now, she
pulled me close, and kissed me gently on the cheek. I could feel
the sticky lipstick adhere to my face, and she laughed when she
saw what I looked like. I resembled a...
     "....clown, don't you?" she teased, as she dropped me to my
unsteady feet. "Well, come along, little clown-boy, and let me
show you why step-mamma rules the roost from this moment
forward..."
     I followed her out of the room, watching her rear end shimmy
with every powerful stride she took. She led me down the hall,
into the darkened den...
     I followed her in. In the darkness I was aware of her
presence only by the delightful scent of her perfume, and as my
eyes began to adjust to the inky cloak of nighttime I thought I
caught the familiar rustling movements of a person taking off
their clothing. My heart raced in my slim chest, my breath fast
and thin, knees knocking in fear and short-pantsed desire.
     "Hit the lights, little boy," she ordered, and the air of
confident surprise was in her voice.
     My eyes squinted as the bright overhead light came alive; it
was attached to a ceiling fan whose blades began to rotate,
throwing a parade of passing shadows on the titanic woman
standing below them.
     "MY GOSH!!" I exclaimed, the hair on the back of my neck
standing straight up in shock.
     Standing in the center of the room was Stepmother.
     She was naked.
     No, not altogether naked. She though she had removed her
white-leather costume, she still sported a small white g-string
that was easy to mistake for a tan-line, so stark was any
fairness on her sunbrowned bare flesh. The high heels remained,
too, and the motion of the fans blades blew her heavy sheets of
tar-black hair lightly, gently, about her barn-door shoulders in
raven billows that rose and fell, like my heart.
     Those breasts! Like baby watermelons, they stood proudly on
her chest, defying gravity with what looked like nothing more
than sheer force of will and many pounds of insistent ladymuscle.
     The nipples sprung to life on her basketball-boobs, like
two-inch volcanos that had sprung to life on her purplish Areolae
Islands. The sight of the two spectacular growths on her chest
would have been extraordinary enough; but they were just hors
d'oeuvres for the feast that was spread out on her huge body...
     She was like some sort of strange combination of granite and
estrogen; hard and soft, lushly curved of hip and thigh, her
siren's lips blowing toy kisses even as rudely bulging and
densely-packed muscle flexed, to confound the eyes of narrow-
minded men. 
     The discarded outfit lay on dad's television chair, and it
suddenly seemed woefully inadequate at the task it had performed
all evening, namely containing the overflowing attributes of this
super-sized Amazon with strut in her every step, and flex in her
every movement...
     I wondered how many guys got to see their step-mothers
practically naked; and I remembered locker-room tales about
clumsy efforts from my school-mates to do just that with their
own second-string maters, through the crack of a bathroom door,
or sneaking a peek at a heavily-sleeping subject who tosses off
her covers, mid-dream; but mine needed no prodding to display her
astounding wares...
     Her midsection was a hard runged washboard of determined
superiority; the stomach muscles seemed to be breathing on their
own...
     Those arms! Thicker than my thighs, they were chiseled as
though by some subversive sculptor, as the diamond-like facets of
brutal deltoid and smug tricep flowed like glacial rivers into a
veritable Grand Canyon of Bicep, filling it to overflow with
muscle that made itself home there, then heated, melted and
turned it to a molten muscle-mountain that defied logic! 
     Now she flexed that same Jurassic Peak, and I thought that
the skin would surely burst, and spray me with some Pre-Cambrian
concoction held within the cocoa-brown skin. Instead, the flesh
met the ever-growing challenge, and expanded as well, inflating
balloon-like, dirigible-sized, to a throbbing engorgement fully
two feet around, thick, almost terrifying...
     Beautiful!
     More rivers came to life on the brown sea, carrying off the
excess muscleflow to safety...     

     She cracked her knuckles, the long red cat-claws shining in
the light, jewelry ajangle, like a ceremonial pronouncement
before something began here, something incredible. For some
reason I did not yet understand, she wrapped a pair of silken
white armbands tightly around the widest part of each bicep, and
winked as she tied the straps securely around her sinews. 
     They matched the tiny g-string that was entwined around her
Penthouse-Pet hips; Madame Sophia in fashion, even here,
displaying the stunning hills of her flesh to her short-pantsed
step-son.
     "Pretty amazing, huh, little boy?" she vamped, as she hiked
an Olympian shoulder in starlet-like pose. The thick flesh pumped
up and down through a cascading veil of her ebony hair that
flowed freely, like silk waterfalls of sweet crude.
     "Yes, ma'am," I said, watching her make a preliminary flex
that, I almost thought, actually rumbled audibly. But that was
all I COULD say. Words failed me, just like they did every time I
saw the primly-pretty Veronica McCaskell in history class...
     With casual practiced skill, she pinned her raven glory atop
her head, securing it with a pair of bobby pins magically
produced from the tiny pocket-patch that was her g-string.
     She did not approach the gleaming poundage that lay at rest
in their holders on the weight bench; she stalked it!
     As though she had caught it unawares, she snatched the
overladen barbell from it's nest with the speed of a mongoose.
     Standing in her Sears Tower Heels, she nevertheless retained
her balance with the incongruous grace of a ballerina, and turned
to face her shivering underling. Centerstage in the living room,
the television retired to the corner, it appeared as though she
was the new entertainment in this house...
     "Step close and watch your step-mom make her muscles get
even bigger, little boy, and remember it!" she commanded, as two
hundred pounds became silver-plated toys in her hands.
     I drew near, almost in arm's reach...
     All but naked, in proud display, she began pumping the
shining metal, the plates clanking against each other with the
steady up and down movements. Like machine-pistons, my step-
mother's massively-muscled arms worked the weights, knocking out
one rep after another as her huge breasts bounced ever-so-
slightly, like casual dancers bobbing to a steady tune. I watched
the demonstration with a dizzy mixture of awe, fear, and, though
I would try to refuse it...
     Desire...
     I thought, somewhat incongruously, of the time I
overinflated my bicycle tire. How the inner tube expanded,
spilling out over the outer tire, cracks appearing in the
texture, until...
     But Stepmother's biceps did not explode. Instead, as the
unceasing rush of ready blood fed the demands of this singular
woman's immense muscles, they continued getting ever more
swollen, vast, and imposing; the cloth armbands seemed to be the
only thing that held the awesome increase on human levels!
     The sharp contour of her deltoids was enhanced to a fourth
dimension, such was their hard-cut clarity, bigger than life. Her
triceps were like the thickest of Power Streams, supplying the
challenge for her Mt. Everest Biceps. 
     It looked as though a volcano had erupted subcutaneously,
and the muscular magma was collecting under her skin, forming a
mountain range of Womanhood Definitive as rivulets of hot sweat
ran down her arms like steaming rivers, and dark skin grew veiny
seams to control the bustling growth...
     Her nipples stood on red alert on the breasts that needed no
pump-up to be at their biggest; how I wanted to touch those
immense jugs that swung in soft summer splendor on my step-
mother's glistening chest! Her breath came hard, heaving.
     Grunts filled the room as the thirtieth, the fortieth, the
fiftieth, rep was chalked up to her astounding strength, and I
imagined the metal getting hot with the friction of this singular
session. As though oiled by an unseen but devoted assistant, her
impossible body began to shine, catching the overhead lights, the
split-second shadows passing over her hard body as the fan blades
revolved slowly above her like uncertain eclipses. Her perfume
was accelerated with her exertions, and the entire room took on
her heady scent of warm musk mixed with what I would one day
unmistakably recognize as hot pussy ready for use.
     The bands of white cloth around her pumped-up appendages
began to fray with the sheer strain of the Step-Mom Muscle
Explosion, and I saw loose threads fall away...
       A rep accomplished, she locked her twin muscle-guns for a
moment, to gauge my reaction as the female sinews almost popped!
with the strain. They took on a rougish blush...
     "You remember this, little boy," she spat through grit
teeth, her beautiful face contorted; and a warm spray of spittle
hit me in the face.
     Another rep, straining now, every bit of massive carved
relief coming to larger-than-life detail now, percolating into
supersized ferocity; her head thrown back, her dark eyes closed,
grimacing, terrifying, as her mean guns kept firing a volley of
indiscriminate power right in my face...
     Now the cloth shackles surrendered, small tears becoming
large ones, ghastly sounds of spandex stretch-cloth giving up the
battle; and they fell simultaneously with a final tear off each
arm, as the muscle chased them from their appointed places.
     For the splendor of their state demanded full exposure, no
boundaries to hinder their glorious ultra-sized majesty...
     "Yeeeaaahhhh!!!" she howled in victory, as she hurled the
vanquished metal to the mats below, to join the conquered cloth.
     I nearly looked away from that unthinkable sight. Surely, no
lady could be this muscular, this powerful, and still be so
irresistibly female. Could she?
     Her shoulders heaved from steely exertions; breasts dancing.
     Now it was her step-son that she stalked, and, dripping with
the results of her pump-up demonstration, she confronted me.
     She presented me with a crackling boulder of bicep.
     "Feel that, little boy. Put your hand on it!"
     Timidly, checking and re-checking her steady gaze to
reassure myself of her permission, I placed a shaking hand on her
immense brown muscle, fresh with pump, with angry veins and plump
arteries raging like rivers whose banks had burst. The skin was
moist, hard, and my fingers took a roller-coaster ride as they
journeyed across the relief of her irrefutable power-pumper.
     "Feels kind of nice, doesn't it?" she soothed me, her voice
going soft. "You can use two hands, if you want to, you know.'
     And so I did, but it did no good--I could not get both hands
around her lushly-massive limb so wet with sweat. My hands
slipped as they tried to squeeze the hard brown flesh, over-
lubrication defeating my strange hunger even as my eyes explored
that powerful arm like a pair of invisible lasers.
     "Strong, ain't I?" she winked rhetorically, as she casually
made her big breasts twitch on her chest to my delighted eyes.
     The large sacs twitched and flapped about, as though in
response to some electrical stimulation...
     But before I could offer my awed acknowledgement, she pulled
the greased thunder from between my worshipful fingers; the thick
muscle slid away like so much candy escaping my dampened hands.
     This testament to Amazonia Unleashed stood back, hands on
her hips...
     "Now you understand, don't you, my timid little lamb?
There's not going to be any trouble from you, is there?"
     Muscle-Mom-In-A-G-String seemed almost to pout, as though
hearing any disappointing response to her question might make her
cry...
     "No, ma'am," I assured her, taking a sub-conscious step
forwards, hoping to make fleshy contact once again.
     "DAMN RIGHT THERE WON'T!" she roared in concurrence, and I
jumped with fright at the high-decibel decree.
     She flashed a sultry smile as she held out that pulsing
splendor still full of my fingerprints. Nodding down at it, she
made the wet muscles throb as though a lovesick heart was beating
within the bulky bicep itself, keeping it fresh and huge and...
     "Because if you make your big strong step-mommy mad," she
pouted, as my eyes kissed the throb on her arm from five feet
away, "then big strong step-mommy will have to pull your pants
down and spank her bad little boy, won't she?"
     I didn't answer; I was too lost on an x-rated voyage 'round
my father's new wife!
     And that proved to be a mistake...
     She moved with lightning speed once again, faster than I
could mount a defense, her muscular mountains and buxom hills a
sun-bronzed blur as she hopped, grabbed, and lifted me like a
Puppet Boy, right off my now-dangling feet. 

     "Stepmother's going to have to set you straight, little
boy," was all she said as she held me at arm's length again,
showing not the slightest strain at sustaining my one hundred and
thirty pounds aloft. "Hereafter, don't make me repeat myself...."
     As easily as though I was a newborn, she carried me to the
television-loveseat against the far wall, the stabbing echoes
made by her shoes the only sound that could be heard.
     She sat, threw me across her lap, ripped the youthful shorts
from my bottom, taking the starched BVD's along with them, as she
threw them to the floor. I felt the cool breeze from the overhead
fan on the white skin of my ass. Even the television had it's
bulbous back turned to us, the darkened screen facing the wall...
     I did not try to offer resistance, knowing all to well the
enormous power contained in this beautiful woman's arms.
     She grabbed my chin and pulled it to her, stretching my
neck. My mouth agape with the strain, she smiled, and spoke
softly once again.
     "When Stepmother speaks, you listen, little boy. And when
Stepmother asks you a question, you had best reply to her, or
make her muscles mad at you," the magnificently-built Amazon
explained... 
     "And if I ever find you sticking your nose in where it
doesn't belong again, well..."
     "Now, this won't hurt," she chuckled, her breasts dancing
with anticipation as she held her dominant glee within,
containing her laughter...
     "...too much!" And then the laughter escaped her lips, and
the spanking commenced...
     SMACK! CRACK! SMACK! CRACK!
     The sound of distressed flesh bounced off the walls as my
back arched with every barrage. I tried to steel myself for the
each punishing buttsmack, but as her hand found it's mark, a bomb
would go off on the soft flesh, and a cry would break through my
clenched teeth. I would try to recoup, tightening the tissues
under attack, but when the M-80's went off under my skin, my body
would spasm, groan, and try again to withstand my punishment in
dignity.
     And I would fail again, as she switched buttocks, evading my
meager defenses, laughing at my attempts at defense or dignity.
     "We're gonna have to ...."
     SMACK!
     "...soak your little bottom..."
     CRACK!
     "...in the bathtub when we're done, little boy!"
     SMACK!
     "I'm not a little boy," I muttered, my judgment impaired by
the pain of my first--but certainly not my last--spanking. 
     "...I'm seventeen," I cried, trying to reassure myself.
     Pausing, she turned my head around to her, my brimming tears
shaming me as I tried to evade the eye of my stark-naked stepmom.
     "Well, aren't you the little spitfire? The hell you say,
little boy. Do you think you can stand up to THIS?"
     She hung a hulking bicep in the air, and I meekly gulped my
rebelliousness as an erection grew and brushed against her knee.
     "N-no ma'am," I acquiesced to the naked Amazon.
     "That's what I thought. So if I decided you're a little boy,
that's what you are, aren't you?"
     "Yes, ma'am."
     Out of the hard corner of her mouth, a smile slipped out as
my member expanded to full length and tried to ingratiate itself
against her smooth brown thigh.
     "That being the case, I'll let that insolence slip, for
now," came her most-muscular decree from above...
     And she pushed me to the floor, and I landed with a thud!
     My pounding posterior hit the hardwood, and on reflex the
fresh pain made me twist around on my stomach, and let the
cooling waves of air from the overhead fan tend the pain of the
spanking from my Stepmother.
     "No need to hide that cute little missile from your
stepmommy, little boy. I'm responsible for you, so I'm
responsible for your sweet little cock as well. Bring it over to
your big muscle-momma, where I can see it," she winked, extending
an inviting hand, the fingers wagging, motioning me to approach. 
     No woman had ever seen my erect penis before, not counting
the now-departed Aunt Amelia, who in her regime had insisted on
full disclosure from her nephew; her prescription for any malady
I might have had been promptly-administered enemas, no nonsense
about it. She would mutter and cluck disgustedly at any fleshy
growth at my loins as she'd pull down my short pants, spread my
cheeks, and go about her warm and soapy work...
     Hoping to finally receive some approval for my cock-
sprouting, I began to rise, bare-bottomed and uncertain, and
perhaps receive some new medicine from a very different kind of
woman; proudly naked, big muscles, big breasts, big dreams...
     Suddenly, through the hallways of the house, I heard two
pairs of very faint footsteps. When you live in a home for any
period of time, you become familiar with even the vaguest sounds
that it can produce, and I knew there was someone inside even
before Flexing Stepmother did.
     There must have been a telltale sign on my face, perhaps I
tilted my head towards the door that hung half-open, ready for
visitors. I couldn't let anyone see me like this, naked from the
waist down, my rear end full of red handmarks!
     I half-hoped it was my dad, but some equal part of me hoped
that it wasn't!
     I didn't understand the raging conflicts in my beleaguered
mind...
     "Seems like 'Linda's home, little boy. You'll get a chance
to meet your new stepsister now. She's the same age as you, too.
Isn't that nice? And don't be trying to cover up," she admonished
me, waving away my attempts to gather the torn remnants of my
pants.
     "In my house, we have NOTHING to hide from each other," she
added with a wicked wink as she passed her hands along the miles
of rocky bare flesh. She cupped the soccer-ball boobs and gave
them a gleeful shake, and the big flesh danced in the light.
     There were two sets of feet advancing; I was sure of that.
     They were getting closer, ascending the stairs. From my
vantage point I could see the top landing of the staircase, and
through the shadowy gloom of the hallway I could barely make out
two heads alighting, bodies all but invisible in the darkness.
     "In there, lover," came a sultry-voiced female direction
from the gloom. Steps faded into Aunt Amelia's bedroom.
     "Be ready for me in two minutes," she commanded, "and you
better be good 'n hard!"
     He responded but I couldn't hear what was said. But I heard
a girlish giggle seep through the shadowy seas outside the door,
and a pair of muffled spiked heels venture along the carpeted
hallway, and head for this room!
     I turned in desperation to my Muscle-Mom, hoping for a
reprieve. But there was none coming.
     My hands went to my loins, cupping their full-blown exposure
as I sat on the floor. But in order to cloak my pubes fully, I
had not choice other than to turn my reddened rear end towards
the door... 
     It swung open, and my new step-sister, six feet tall and
barely-dressed, marched in. 
     "Well," she said, smiling at the undressed state of her
brother, and seeming a bit disappointed that she'd missed what
had transpired to create the scenario that met her almond-shaped
baby blues that sparkled with mischief in the bedroom light.
     She was wearing a sexpot's rendition of a little girl's
white dress; puffed sleeves, high cinched waist, and the most
micro of miniskirts that fluttered above dainty pettycoats. 
     But there was nothing innocent about her footwear! White 
leather ankle boots, four inches high, steel-tipped, whose
wickedness seemed to sprout and grow into a pair of darkly tanned
and muscularly-accented legs so perfect, so bare, that my breath
stopped in my chest.
     I wondered how long it would take her to make say something
about the bare-bottomed boy on the floor of her mother's new
bedroom...
     Through her snug sleeves thick highways of muscularity
escaped; double-d boobs bulged at the snug-fitting bodice on her
wide but wasp-waisted torso.
     Her hair was done in a pony-tail, and she looked like a
schoolgirl on steroids as she stood before us.
     I was instantly, hopelessly, in love with her...
     "Company, darling?" my stepmom firmly asked her muscular
daughter, with a nod down the hall, as though she might be
displeased at this prospect. "I became a bit worried when we got
separated back at the Blue Lagoon...," she huffed, clarifying her
attitude; not displeasure but envy of her daughter's prize...
     Linda stood there like a naughty teenybopper caught in the
midst of a forbidden act. She blew a misplaced blonde bang from
her downcast eyes, hands clasped behind her, the strong features
of her oval face taking on a pretend-pout.
     "Golly, mama," the teenaged Amazon posed, her lower lip
protruding in sadness, "you know how much better I sleep after
I've been fucked. I'm horny," she complained, the way a child
might report it's hunger at bedtime, "and I just love dropping
off to sleep while I'm suckin' on a big sticky cock. Mmmm!
Yummy!" she exclaimed, as though discussing her favorite candy...
     Stepmom nodded. 
     "Yes, dear. It's like a pacifier for you, isn't it? Very
well. Enjoy, my daughter. But have a care not to hurt him. We
can't have any more troubles like we did the last time..." she
warned, but blessing her daughter's healthy sex drive with a wave
of her hand, like a Queen's decree.
     Linda's cheerleader face lit up, and she lightly bit her lip
in glee and anticipation of hard sex.
     "Thank you, momma," she trilled, curtsying, turning to go.
     She opened the door, exited, vanishing behind it for a
second before sticking her head back into the room.
     "Oh, momma?" the Flexing Cheerleader implored.
     "Yes, dearest?" came the reply from my all-but-naked
stepmom, who showed not the slightest self-consciousness at this
state of big-breasted undress in front of her daughter and step-
son.
     "You promised me that I'D get to hand out the spankin's
around here," she protested, nodding at my reddened rear, before
they both broke into a grin that indicated a play-act ruse.
     She winked at me, blew me a pink-lipsticked-kiss, and
vanished, to tend to the hungry lover waiting for her in Aunt
Amelia's down-filled bed. A loud giggle could be heard from her
room seconds later, as she arrived at the bedside, to commence
their naked dance of hot late-night sex.
     My gaze was locked on the closed door down the hall, as my
mind imagined the hardbodied proceedings. As far as I knew, there
hadn't been any sex in this house since my real mom had left,
fifteen years ago, and this upsetment at the Order of Things made
my heart want to explode with excitement! Something told me
there'd be alot of bedroom athletics for now on...

"Sorry I didn't introduce you, little boy. But sex is sex,
and a growing girl like Linda has needs that are far more
important than meeting little fellahs like you, you know,"
Stepmother admonished me.
     But then she seemed to recall what she was preparing to do
just before her daughter made her ill-timed return...
     My erection was still at the ready, throbbing wildly like a
dog desperate for a moment's attention.
     But musclemom yawned...
     "You can show me all your little penis-tricks tomorrow,
too," she assured me with a wink and a short flex...
     "After all, as Scarlett said in the movie," she sang, as she
rose to her spike-heeled feet, "tomorrow's another day!"    
     She made no further mention of the first-hand examination
she was about to initiate before my sister's timely return to her
new home; instead, she rustled her rumbling-naked collection of
muscle, curves, and breast up, and pulled me to my feet...
     "Linda's not the only one going to bed, little boy. Big
Momma's gonna tuck you in," she sighed, as she picked up a half-
length tank-top and slid it over her head, bringing down a
curtain on the two sweet bulges that were her breasts. She took
my hand and put it in hers, where it promptly disappeared...
     My cheeks burned with humiliation as, like a child, I let
her walk me to my room. I felt weak and helpless as we stepped
lightly, silently, down the carpeted hall, naked from the waist
down like a wandering toddler who meanders about to the delight
of visiting company. My new step-mother towered over me, dwarfing
me; in her high heels, there was almost a foot and a half
dividing our respective heights, and my mouth was even with her
ripe rich nipples!

     We passed Linda's new bedroom. She'd neglected to close the
door fully--these women seemed to have a natural aversion to
closed doors--and in the soft light of the room, I saw my new
Amazonian stepsister stark naked.
     On Auntie's bed, the brass headboard flat against the wall,
precisely placed between the two windows that looked out on the
street, she was kneeling over her undressed lover-in-distress,
his clothes thrown about the floor. Her powerfully-muscled back
was turned to me, wide and clearly dominant, it's quicksilver
muscle rippling. Her buttocks hovered like a hen's, and were
spread wide as her knees bookended his, imprisoning the pale
skinny legs, ridiculous and anemic between the suntanned prison bars.
     I could see her puckered anus, hairless and small, at ground
zero between them perfect hovering globes of her ass. 
     She was untying her ponytail, and let her long blonde glory
fall free, and she whipped it around in celebration with a snap
of her thick neck. 
     Leaning forwards as she held down the wrists of the writhing
man, her ladymuscle ruling even the early stages of this
encounter; and a dripping vagina came into view now, the lips
provoked to angry pinkish-red, musky, ready to go to work on the
man's large veiny erection. I caught a glimpse of her clitoris
now, too; engorged like a proud pinkie anticipating the coming
fun. Her man seemed to be protesting not the encroaching
encounter as such, but the clear upper-hand she had so easily
claimed as hers. But he wasn't up to mustering a rally against
this young powerhouse, any more than I could. She slid forwards
on the soft plaid afghan now, so that her warm sex-slit was
hovering inches above his pulsing genitals.
     "Hush, lover, don't struggle so," she smiled down at this
man whose face I could not see, "Linda's gonna make you feel real
good if you do as she tells ya. And if you don't," she teased in
sing-song, as she leaned down to breath in his face, "then I'm
just gonna hafta rape the shit outta ya!"
     She giggled at her own pronouncement of power and defiance,
and pecked a kiss on his nose. He tried to let out a cry of
shock, but she muffled it with her hands...
     A white cloth that had been sitting on the adjacent night-
table found it's way into her hand now, and she promptly pinched
his nostrils closed with her free hand, and shoved the terrycloth
into his gaping mouth.
     She'd subjugated him completely now, placing his wrists
inside her thighs, and she bent low again, right in his face...
     "Now don't you try and spit that out, fellah. Linda hates a
noisy fuck, unless I'm the one doin' the hollerin'," she scolded
musically, waving a remonstrative sharp-nailed talon in his face.
     He groaned his submission, and this most-muscular
cheerleader straightened up grinning.
     A skilled hand reached around for his generous cock, and she
held it upright, primed for sliding up her pussy agape. Her hand
slithered up and down the shaft, and the blonde she-hulk
whispered x-rated words of encouragement and promise to her
subjugated Sex Slave For the Night...
     "Get ready for me, baby, 'cause you ain't been fucked 'til
you've been had by Big Bad Linda-girl. I'm gonna teach you to be
my slave, and if you're good, I'll come to your place in nothin'
but a tank top, show you my muscles, and fuck ya once a week.
You'd like that, huh?" she heaved, as her hand wrapped it's
fingers around the hard six inches like five hungry snakes...
     He gurgled a reply; I didn't know what it was...
     She turned now, to inspect the site of her sexual
constructions, and watch the enslaved member, pounding now with
the pleasure of the impromptu massage, meet her demands, and
slide obediently into her snatch.
     Anxious to see the penetration, I had sacrificed the cloak
of darkness and leaned into the doorway, pulling lightly on the
iron grip my stepmom held my hand in. Linda's eyes met mine from
under her concentrated brow, and a sly grin beamed it's wicked
intent straight at me...
     "Are you waitin' in line, little boy? 'Cause my machine's
gonna be cleanin' this lucky guy's load for now, but I can always
wash that darlin' little thing by hand!" she tormented, her eyes
going to the erection I sported at my groin, and had almost
forgotten about in the hyper-surrealism of the scene I was
watching. My hand went to cover up, but it was slapped away by my
alert MuscleMom, towering high above me, amused to no end at the
antics of her small stepson.
     Linda ignored me now, as she nestled her round rear over the
fleshy missile-on-alert she controlled in her strong hand. As a
hen nestles contentedly on a new egg, she found just the right
spot of entry, and the cock-head made first contact with the
powerful pussy. There was utter silence now, punctuated only by
the slurping sounds created by oozing privates seeking their
delight, stuffing flesh into the hidden nooks and dark little
crannies within my new sister's body. I could hear my own heart
beating in my chest, the blood running through my ears, my breath
coming shallow and fast once again...
     She set a slow and steady fuck-pace, and I watched the
topography of her muscles on her powerful wide back come into
play, emerging, then sinking, emerging, then sinking, into the
tanned flesh, in steady syncopation to the cock's magic show
below, pumping like a mindless piston into the body of it's
Muscular Mistress. Linda seemed coolly pleased by the business up
her cunt, and threw back her head, not in mindless ecstacy, but
merely to dispose of the stray tresses that had fallen in her
face...
     The sounds of a steady Squish-Slap filled the sparse room,
and only now did I hear the first small groans of enjoyment from
my stepsister. As though joining this concerto of sex sounds, the
bedsprings began to moan in steady rhythm, and the metal
headboard began to simultaneously bang against the wall with
every thrust of Linda's thundering hips. I watched her sexmouth
devour the cock in it's entirety now, vanishing to the hilt
within the body of the young Amazon musclegirl, locking it in
place and putting an end to the drumbeat rhythms for the present.
     Some deeply-placed muscle seemed to clench within her body,
as though her ravenous pussy was trying to somehow swallow the
overwhelmed penis and bring it forever within her molten silk...
     MuscleMom reached into the room, pulling the door closed.
     "See?" she winked, "if you're a good boy, maybe one day a
big muscle-girl will rape you, too. Wouldn't that be nice?"
     I knew by now that if this seven-feet-tall-in-heels lady
said anything that ended with a question mark, I had damned well
respond, for the sake of my still-enflamed behind!
     "Yes, ma'am," I quivered, my eyes still full of the sights
that had been riveting them until the door closed shut on the
sinful festival for the senses...
     But what did I need with the blonde within, when the
gigantically-tall, enormously-built Lady of the House was
standing before me in next-to-nothing; a tiny g-sting, her
cannonball breasts threatening to erupt through the flimsy cloth,
and hanging so close to my face that I could have sucked on one
of those gorgeous two-inch nipples right through the tank top by
merely opening my mouth...
     She smiled, pleased at my quick and timid reply, and with
more of the same lightning speed she had already displayed, she
stripped off her translucent muscle-top, tossed it away, and
swooped down and took me in her arms. Her skin was still warm,
moist, creamy even where it was stretched tight over a
particularly mountainous muscle, and I nestled against a heaving
aereolated bowling ball contentedly.  With delight, I accepted a
guided nipple as it slid into my mouth, and her eyes hooded with
pleasure as I suckled her bosomy sweetness.
     "C'mon little boy," Stepmother whispered huskily, "Linda's
of legal age and can do whatever she wants to. You're legal too,
but you're mine, aren't you? So Big Momma's takin' her little boy
to bed."
     My eyes were closed, but I knew without looking that she was
carrying me to my room. Humbled hands ran around the still-
swollen thunderheads that were her deltoids, finding safety in
the deep grooves and crevices of stepmom's muscles.

     "Well, what have we here?"
     My eyes opened, stirred from the quiet embrace of suckling
sleepiness by a jostling shoulder. Saliva ran from my lazy mouth.
     She was standing beside my bed, looking down at the edge of
the aged bunk's dust-catcher, a convenient addition to a sagging
mattress, and ideal for hiding things under beds.
     Like certain magazines forbidden under the colorless Puritan
Regime of the vanquished Aunt Amelia...
     MuscleMom seemed to have found something that displeased
her. Her stern features hardened, and she released me as though I
was so much poison. I fell like a stone onto my bed, yelping at
the pain as my battered behind came in contact with the familiar
bedding, finding no comfort there, not now, not with the
autographic handprints of an Amazonian Dominatrix still fresh
upon my rear in a red-and-white mesh of painful flesh.
     I bounced like a puppet and shouted in pain, and
instinctively rolled to my side in a clownish attempt at
preserving my composure. But by then, the pumped-up Headmistress
of the House was crouching, pulling something that had lain half-
exposed on the floor, at the bed's edge. 
     She stood, taking it with her.
     And I knew all-too-well what it was, too.
     The May issue of "Playboy" that I had swiped from the
barbershop in the folds of my school-jacket.
     The Spanking Disciplinarian was not happy to see it. She
perused the pages as though each glossy picture was a personal
affront to her muscular dignity. Anger seemed to be building
within her massive bare-skinned frame, evidenced by the tearing
sounds of too-briskly-turned pages and the tremors of her stacked
iron-fed architecture.
     She reached the centerfold, and it made her wrath boil over,
and pour down upon a shivering small young man in nothing but a
torn and baggy Chicago Bulls t-shirt.
     Turning the magazine towards me, she let the three-sheet
centerfold pin-up tumble down, exposing the full-length splendor
of the small-boned, big-breasted vixen who graced the most
prestigious place in men's reading.
     She was the sort of girl who looked like she was ALWAYS
naked, as she held onto a rig of netting atop the decks of a
graceful sailing ship, the late afternoon sun highlighting the
graceful curve of her bare hip. A captain's hat was jauntily
tilted on her short-cropped blonde head, and a naughty smile let
you know that she had no cavities. Her small breasts were pert
and perfect and contained not one tan line...
     I had almost worn out that picture with a million-and-one
fantasies behind my locked door, but fear overcame the automatic
desire I would have otherwise felt when looking at a beautiful
twenty-three year old law student named Denise Hannan, 34-24-34.
     "What is this smut doing in this house?" she quietly
demanded of me, and for a moment I heard not this pulchritudinous
and raven-haired MuscleQueen, but no one else but Aunt Amelia...
     What could I say? That I only read it for the articles?
     "I-I like sailboats," I squeaked, "and..."
     "HOW DARE YOU!!!" she roared like a lioness, insulted at my
feeble attempts to defuse the situation. The sculpted perfections
that were her bare breasts perked up like a pair of radar on red-
alert... 
     "This creature is pathetic!" she sneered, jostling the
magazine in her hand, and pointing to my unattainably far-away
dreamgirl, Denise.
     "All big eyes and little tits, and not enough muscle to
carry her own panties!" the giantess decreed. "Disgraceful! Why,
if I could get my hands on this scrawny little bimbo, I'd...."
     "Beat her up?" I chirped, hoping to get back in the good
graces of this Steroid SuperMom.
     "No, you little idiot," she sneered, as she smacked the
glossy image of the girl I loved from afar. 
     "I'd grab her by her bleached roots and drag her to my gym.
I'd work her 'til she stopped looking like a weakling disgrace to
her sex. I'd feed her full of protein shakes and ride her skinny
little ass until she had something to be proud of. Like this!"
     On her brown limb, she sprouted a fresh cannonball of
impossible lady-muscle-mountain once again.
     "And then that skinny little centerfold slut you've been
pumpin' your pecker over will have something to REALLY show off
when she takes off her clothes!" she bragged, as she made a
brutal monument to female might do a dirty little dance for-my-
eyes-only.
     "Yes, ma'am," I nodded, not sure if I really concurred, but
decidedly hesitant to state my doubts for the sake of my
throbbing rear end.
     "There will be no more pictures like these," she proclaimed,
as she tore the magazine in two. Loose pieces fluttered and fell
to the floor as this most-muscular madame continued to demolish
my treasured nudie mag with as much effort as I would use to tear
a kleenex...
     I heard a muffled groan leak from Big Sister's room; it was
her beleaguered lover's plea for mercy, gone ignored, no doubt,
while she pursued her pussyful pleasures.
     Stepmom's dark eyes veered to their corners as she listened
for any more sound. There was none for several moments, but then
the night air was punctuated by an exhilarated and girlish whoop!
of satisfaction, the jostling thrusts of her hips evident in her
voice as she rode the captive lover.
     "My daughter is as passionate as her mother. Good for her,"
she announced. "A pity her father did not share the same quality,
or I would not have divorced him.  What a weakling," she sneered
in reminiscence. 
     "No, she inherited her insatiability from her dear mater,"
she announced. "Between her appetite for men, and her strict
schedule in the gym, you'll have to take up her chores. Nothing
heavy; just washing and ironing, and cleaning her room. The same
duties will be expected of you where your dear mother is
concerned as well..."
     My eyes were wide with shock. Even in the old days, Aunt
Amelia did most of that!!
     "Oh, yes," she reinforced, "you'll be kept busy. There'll be
very little time for the silliness so common to young boys. No
baseball," she ordained, and she counted out the other taboos on
her fingers...
     "No SegaGenesis. No arcades. No hanging around on
streetcorners. You'll be expected to be available for the
convenience of the ladies of the house. You'll find that life
will be very simple for you, little boy, if you mind your place.
As you no doubt already know from your inexcusable perusal of my
unmentionables, my daughter and I are rather popular in our
circle. We're female bodybuilders, and we intend to ride our
muscular bods all the way to the top of the world. The sky's the
limit, little boy; and that's where you come in..."
     "Me? What can I do, ma'am?"
     She ignored my question, and began to walk around the room,
offhandedly kicking the snowfall remnants of my magazine clear
across the room, and sniffing at the boyish disorder of the small
bedroom. She seemed to be inspecting the place, deciding what
changes would be made...
     "This will be coming down," she said, jerking a thumb at my
Christy Brinkley poster that was carefully scotch-taped to the
wall, and stood beneath a small tier of track lighting, as though
she were the centerpiece of an altar to my dreams.... 
     "In fact, why not take care of that right now?" she asked,
as my alternate date for the upcoming prom grew a jagged scar
across her face, before disappearing altogether on the second
Amazonian attack. Poor Christy never even had a chance to put up
a fight; the torn poster, rolled to a white ball, joined my
magazine in the corner.
     "What a waste of cosmetics," my new mom observed of the
banished ultra-babe. "With her height, she could go a long way in
bodybuilding if she had the guts."
     I got the distinct impression that MuscleMom saw everything
through from a rather singular vantage point; namely, from over
the shining silver gleam of a heavily-weighted barbell...
     She carried her incredible shapely package of tit 'n muscle
over to me, where I was curled to a half-fetal ball of shock and
backside-barraged pain; to say nothing of my attempts to hide an
insistent erection that would not go to sleep. 
     Had this Princess of Pump somehow converted me to her Iron-
Made Faith? Or was I simply responding to a woman--any woman--who
paid me some attention??
     "Hm, rather excited by all this, aren't we, little boy?
Well, I have just the thing to fix both your pulsing penis and
your black-n-blue bottom. After all, I AM your mother, right?"
     She smiled, as her eyes ran up and down my bare skin like a
wicked she-wolf with a heartless agenda.
     "You wanted to know where you 'come in', right? Well, I
always answer a question, even if you do have the smarts not to
presume to interrogate your betters..." she nodded, pleased; and 
turned to leave.
     As she cruised out of the room, I caught my first full view
of her spectacular rear end. No spankmarks there! No sir! In
life, she was the spankER, not the spankEE!! The buttocks were
full and round and sun-darkened, moving barely-at-all as the
bigger-than-big Declaration of Female Superiority vamped her way
out, with the cat-like grace--despite her vast size--of a runway
model...
     I heard her check on the sexual status of her daughter; the
two shared a joke in the darkness that I could not quite hear...
     Water ran in the bathroom down the hall; its' fluorescence
reached me only as a white haze, barely detectable. Her telltale
heels clicked on the hard floor, then muted as she made her way
back to me...
     "Look at what I brought you, little boy!" she chirped, so
sweetly that I knew she was being sarcastic.
     She held an aluminum basin far too large for most people to
hold in one hand; it's diameter must have been two feet across,
and full of gleaming cubes of ice floating in what could only be
frigid water.
     In the other hand, she held up a copy of another female
muscle magazine, one I hadn't seen before in the voluminous
suitcase. It had a plain red cover that said, quite simply,
"Dames with Delts."
     "Get up," she commanded, and I obeyed.
     The package of d-ball dominance set the basin on the floor,
atop a thick terrycloth towel she'd grabbed from the towelrack.
     A long rapier-sharp fingernail pointed at the small Arctic
Sea floating in the middle of my bedroom floor.
     "Take off that t-shirt and sit," came the order.

     Steeling myself for the frigid shock, I slowly sank into the
punishing bath, as my genitalia dropped below the frigid surface
like a sinking ship. I felt my three-piece pride-and-joy shrink
to infancy; in moments it resembled nothing so much as a blue-
hued thumb and two fleshy marbles...
     "That'll tend to your poor backside," she diagnosed. "Now be
a good boy for your Big StepMother and I won't have to spank you
too often, 'kay?" she asked, as though I had done something to
deserve the battering I'd received on my buttocks.
     The shock of the enforced sit-down bath hit me now in
delayed reaction; I let out a howl of pain as the numbing ice
shut down the sensory inputs of my damaged flesh in one fell
swoop. Suddenly, although the room was warm and the weather
temperate, I began shivering uncontrollably.
     MuscleMom let the centerfold fall from the magazine.
     And there was my StepMother of Muscle, stark naked.
     She was standing on a small grey outgrowth of stone,
surrounded by neatly-mowed green grass. Her fishnet stockings
were torn and threadbare in places, as per the odd fashion of the
day; and a gold necklace three inches wide dove down deeply on
her rollerball cleavage, to form a strange sort of breastplate
that shone in the sun. One hand was locked around her opposing
wrist, coaxing an outgrowth of her own; made of solid sinew.
     Grinning with superiority, she seemed to be holding within a
sweet secret, as though she were saying, "Don't you ladies wish
you looked like ME?'
     She tossed it to me, and I caught it, saving it from a
soaking. I began looking through it, my teeth chattering as I sat
in the enforced icebath.
     "So, whaddaya think about that, huh, little boy? What you've
got there is female muscleporn, very underground and all," she
huffed, stroking a stray tress from her face, proud of her nudity
between the covers of the bizarre periodical.
     "V-very n-nice, m-ma'am," I replied, my stammer coming not
from emotion now, but mind-numbing cold...
     Exasperated now; why I didn't know...
     "Well, what the hell are you waiting for, little boy? If you
can jerk off looking at that Denise character, you can do it to
that!"
     I turned the pages. The rest of the magazine was the same.
Amazingly developed women, blonde, brunette, redhead, some tall,
some short; all amazingly busty, astoundingly-muscled. All of
them stark raving naked, high-heeled, pumped.
     "I was going to leave this for tomorrow, but your sister's
little pussy-show across the hall has given me ideas," she
winked.
     "Show your MuscleMommy, little boy. Play with yourself for
your big, strong stepmother. Show her how all those hot pictures
of those huge, mean, sexy ladies make you want to touch yourself.
Do it," she ordered, teeth suddenly clenched.
     "Do it right now..."
     I tried to obey; I lifted my hips out of the basin, and my
penis emerged from the Arctic Sea, a miniature finger of flesh
twitching on my thigh like a dying wet fish on a pale blue deck. 
My loins had gone numb and limp with the cold; I had to revive
them, or face punishment...
     I took the diminutive bluish icicle in my palm, trying to
warm it with thoughts of eros as my eyes roamed about the
brutally-buffed spectacular that was the naked disciplinarian
standing over me. She was beauty gone berserk, the inhuman
developments of her body subverting the natural order of all I'd
soon come to know and desire of womanhood, but forcing my eyes to
subservient adoration all the same. She was a mountain range
transformed to flesh-and-blood, hills of muscle and breast in
breathtaking barbarity, proud of her singular severity, bigger
than life and twice as cruel...
     Still, for it all, I coaxed a new bloodflow only with
effort, the frozen flesh thawing only slowly now...
     Stepmother was watching; impatience setting on her heartless
features...
     "Page thirty-seven, little boy," she said, as she coolly
flipped a stray tress off her face in powerful nonchalance.
     The magazine lay on the floor to my left; I used my free
hand to leaf unsteadily through the slick pages...
     I found what she was talking about a second later; and I
focused on a picture of my stepmother standing bare-ass naked, up
to her knees in a crashing surf, and dripping sea-spray that
caught the sun and created a faint rainbow on her furious flesh.
     An eight-foot wave was ready to unfold around her as the
Amazonian WaterGoddess stood planted firmly, one hand behind her
head in mock-starlet irony. The translucent green of the incoming
roller was a sweet backdrop for her sun-browned splendor, the
white-capped breaker above her head was a match for her eyes and
perfect teeth, bared in still another smile of unquestioned
authority, complimenting her unyielding presence, her womanly
resolution. She was going to stand up to this wave, and anything
else that Mother Nature might throw at her, and never once lose
her savage cool...
     "That's the only kind of woman you'll be looking at from now
on, little boy," my hovering giantess added, stepping close to
linger just above me. "It's all you're going to be needing.
Welcome to your new life, and a wonderful world of big mean
musclegoddesses!"
     And she conjured up yet another impossible flex as though by
magic, and a cyclone was whipped up on her wide-bodied frame.
     Torn between the magazine and the woman herself, I began to
slowly masturbate, my routine touch familiar, exactly the way 
I'd been doing for the last six years. But it was different now.
     Much much different.
     I pumped my warming cock, now tinged with pink as blood
began a slow return to my prized appendage; but my fist made
unsteady gestures that I could not discipline. The cold had crept
up through my rump, and had begun to close down the pathways and
highways of my nervous system, numbing my coordination, causing
my erection to hover in half-erection.
     A photo of a trim blonde bikini-woman having sand kicked in
her face by a six-foot-four inch female bodybuilder in a floral
bikini caught my fevered eye; in the next panel, we see her
walking away with her new man, while the skinny bikini-woman spat
sand and cried.
     My weak back and rubbery thighs began to rebel at the task
of supporting my weight as I tried to keep my middle raised over
the water; the thought of a full erection falling again into that
watery shock below was even more terrifying than the mile-wide
mom standing above me. But as I looked up, I felt my testes
suddenly pull tight in hot reply to the sight of my Stepmother
sliding off her g-string, commencing to dance naked in front of
my very eyes, her snake-like hips now swinging like a deranged
dance-hall stripper, setting a wild rhythm, hair flying like the
wildest of seductresses, wanton, beautiful.  She was several
acres of ferocious flesh gleaming in the nightlight, her contours
a jagged relief map of barbaric beauty, as her breasts bobbed on
an iron-plated torso of exquisite ferocity.
     My eyes went to her neatly-trimmed pubes, and dreamed of
what it must be like to enter so hallowed a set of loins as hers.
What must a man have to melt her hard edges? And could my dad be
the man who had found the answers?
     For the first time in my life, I envied him!
     A sneer came across her face, erasing the hedonism that had
settled there while she danced like some sort of Nudes-A-Poppin'
version of a Ms. Olympia. She ceased her gyrations, and put her
hands on her hips, shaking her head sadly at my uncertain
motions; for such was the chaos this haughty intruder had visited
upon me that even this act--the only form of sex I had ever know
in my young life--was now beyond my abilities. The full warmth
necessary to pump my masturbating fist with accustomed teenaged
dispatch was eluding me still...
     "I see you're gonna need mommy's help jerking off, too!" she
lamented, but there was a trace of amusement in her throaty
tones.
     I could not explain that it was the cold, and not my
inexperience, that made my hand shake and my penis hover between
erection and deflation. But she wasn't interested in excuses,
only results, and so she knelt down over me to begin her
diagnostic applications of she-muscle...

     Slapping my hands away gently, she pushed me back in my bowl
of punishment, and I rested both my elbows on the floor to
support my weight. As though knowing it was in capable female
hands, my cock shot all-at-once to full life, a little missile-
toy in her large hand. She ran the tips of so-sharp red
fingernails along my scarlet-hued helmet, her fingers like three-
inch snakes creeping up and down, exploring the pulsing shaft.
     My eyes signaled my final surrender; even this last refuge
of my life, this last sign of my sexual independence, was being
taken away...
     She stretched out on the hardwood as casually as she might
at a sunny beach, resting her head in her hand. There was a stern
look of intolerance in the deep tar-pits of her eyes as her
turbo-charged, monster-truck body came to rest close beside her
shivering stepson; and as though to further awe me, she made her
huge breasts dance on her chest with a tweak of her pectorals.
     Her gaze locked on mine like a laser. An impossible arm
larger than my thigh silently unfurled towards me, and closed it
slowly on the pulsing pink presence on my loins. I wondered--if
the gift of mobility had been given the male member--if it would
try to run away from the brown thunderhead-muscle that was about
to bring it's displeasured wrath upon it, like an angry storm. 
          Two fingers lifted my penis up by it's fleshy hat,
holding it erect, and the thick limb, two feet in circumference,
formed a 'V' that encroached ominously...
     Her midnight eyes spoke to me, directing my gaze to the
proceedings at my thawed crotch. Like a pair of tractor-beams,
those endless orbs took my own nearsighted focus down to the
incoming tide of her intentions...
     As the striated walls of female sinew slowly closed in, I
felt a bizarre sorrow for my lonely member, so long deprived of
the sweetness of a woman's tender depths. Did it know, as it
throbbed hopefully, dutifully, what fate had foredained as it's
cherished first contact with the female of the species?
     The pumped singularity that was my Muscle-Mom's immense arm
clamped around the little pink rocket, which suddenly looked tiny
and vulnerable, like a small child trapped in a vast sienna
prison. It had only known my hand's touch up 'til now, but the
sexual training wheels had been taken off this slender bicycle,
and an introduction to something new and unforgettable was about
to be made via the crook of her enormous limb.
     The flesh of her bulging arm was tropically-hot as the land
of her birthplace, and it wrapped itself around my virginal tool
like a hungry python; it super-heated my chilly cock to a
searing, almost-liquid condition. I was afraid it would indeed
melt to nothingness in the folds of her awesome architecture, but
I could see it intact, and I could feel it throbbing in a
makeshift womb of my stepmom's muscles. The sinewy cocoon was
also somehow soft, yet full of searing-hot coals within. As the
tiny piece of flesh stood, squeezed tight in the crook of her
magnificent arm, I could feel the steady pulse of her hard heart
through the prominent veins just below her sun-darkened skin. 
     Or was it my own pulse I detected through the terrified
throbbings of my penis?
     Now I watched my manhood vanish as mommy's muscle-clamp
enclosed completely around it, rendering it invisible to my eyes,
it's insignificance in the Brave New World Order of Muscular
Women made all-too-clear.  But, as the remaining senses of the
blind will heighten and sharpen, and attain a second sight of
their own, my cock achieved a new awareness, as though it teemed
with it's own consciousness. I could almost see in my mind's eye
the squeezing pressure re-shape my cock, and somehow I imagined I
saw the pre-ejaculate ooze to freedom even as I felt it seep from
the cyclopic eye...
     The prisoner began to burst with sensitivity within it's
captor's muscle-popping jail. A pool of sweat formed in the
crease of the two walls of solid flesh, easing the steady pumping
motion of the massive muscle-motor that now began; it's countless
horsepower releasing the smallest fraction of the kinetic energy
it contained within it's thick circuitry of muscle. 
     Her prominent veins became highways for my eyes to travel,
the toll booth of ecstacy awaiting a confused young man only at
journey's end...
     My legs weakened, and my bottom submerged into the January
bitterness below. But my body did not respond to the jolt that I
should have been feeling; too lost was I in my rapture...
     My erection was held securely in place, just above the basin
of floating ice, hot in it's small nook amidst the thick sultry
pillows.  Sweat ran down from within the fiery furnace created by
our odd conjoining, and I felt it trickle down the incline of my
cock, to merge with the white-cold below.
     A car horn rudely bleated up at my window, interrupting this
sinewy serenade from my new stepmother. My head turned to the
window, the black night pierced by headlights searching out their
favorite target.
     "Hey," came a cat-call cry from down below, "c'mon out an'
play, Mr. Shorty-Pants!" declared a female taunt. 
     It was the girls from school, the bad girls; the too-much-
makeup, too-little-clothing, leather-jacket-and-spandex crowd;
they were out on the prowl in somebody's daddy's car, drinking
cheap wine and smoking joints. They loved to taunt me--the shy
and overaged virgin of the school--and were regularly shooed away
from the grounds by Aunt Amelia only after much verbal
humiliation, before going off to chase boys until dawn. 
     Just this once, I wished they'd ring the doorbell, and meet
the new Lady of the House!
     "Watsa matter, Hot Pants Boy?" came another female taunter.
     "You stayin' home an' swoonin' over a picture of Veronica
McCaskell? She's out fuckin' her new boyfriend, you asshole!"
     My eyes downturned, ears burning with shame.
     "Ladies' man, huh?" asked a derisive stepmom, who stepped-up
her arm-pumpings, up and down the shuddering shaft of my cock,
making love to it with solid muscle.
     How that massive piece of architecture pumped away, with a
practiced and unforgiving grace, as though this was something it
did as everyday routine! I even thought I saw her stifle a yawn
as her crackling muscles swelled like pretty party balloons as
they went about their work, the veiny thickness unrelenting.
     I heard more giggling laughter outside; the sound of a beer
bottle breaking on the concrete...
     "Oh, come out and fuck me, Mr. Short Pants!" entreated a
third female voice in front of the house. "My pussy's so hot and
wet for ya, fer shur! I need your sweet little dick inside me!"
     And laughter exploded below.
     "Unless your mommy's busy playin' with it!" she added, 
breathless with the daringness, the humor of it all.
     Stepmother's eyes met mine, and her sensually-cruel lips
curled into a rare smile as the mommy-muscle rode my penis.
     "If only they knew, huh, leetle boy?", and the heavy hidden
veins that ran across her bicep massaged my concealed cock-head,
back and forth, back and forth, back and...
     Splashes of icewater soup spilled on the floor like dark
stains as my hips rocked; and orgasm slowly built within my
fevered loins. But my testicles were dunked beneath the cold-
sweat soup on every descent of the commanding clamp, only to be
rescued by that same bulging paradox half a second later, in a
metronomic game of sexual torture.
     And so, two minutes went by, accompanied by noisy female
nonsense outside; my body unable to gush it's white adulation for
this sadistic phenomenon who'd taken up residence in my home, and
purchased the keys to my soul. The pumping of her powerful limb
continued, and I thrust with every sweet crash of our flesh. But
the cold water acted as a hindrance to my ejaculation, like a
trigger frozen to stillness, and I thought my semen had gone
half-solid within my frozen-blue balls.
     But the barrel of my invisible pistol was superheated;
pleasure muted my voice to all but the most primitive abilities
to groan and sing a wordless opera of adoration for this
astounding transgression of nature. 
     I looked up entreatingly to her expressionless mask, and my
hands went to her super-swollen bare breasts that bounced like
sweet buoys with each jostle of her jerk-off serenade. My hands
tried and failed to cup their overflowing hot bounty in my
trembling paleness. MuscleMom winked wickedly, licking the
painted severity that were her lips with a long pink tongue...
     "Cum for me, baby boy. Cum for your MuscleMommy," she
whispered gently, as though all her previous severity had been a
ruse to coax this display from my privates.
     The commands of muscle were too fast for my weak eyes to
keep up now; and her wishes could not be disobeyed, not even by a
scrotum that shivered like a pair of frightened puppies...
     Still seated in my makeshift therapeutic bidet, some
pirouetting groans escaped my throat though gritted teeth, and 
my penis--invisible in it's muscle-cloak--spasmed as her rock-
hard cannonball-bicep squeezed my overloaded penis as tightly as
a teenaged hooker's velveteen pussy...
     The girls outside were drunkenly practicing bird-calls,
congratulating each other with gales of good-humored enjoyment,
adding a strange acoustic backdrop for what was about to happen
to me; puncturing the night with sisterhood and heavy metal.
     "Golly, ma'am, that feels so good," I oozed, my throat a
wheezing channel gone dry with worshipful adoration...
     "Goddamn right eet does," she decreed through gritted white
teeth, her sultry accent re-emerging. "Lady-Muscle always does,
leettle boy. Now, small senor, cum!" she commanded; and she
pumped her meaty appendage into a blurry synchronocity that
matched the animation of her bouncing breasts. 
     My heart raced as fast as her sports car, pedal to the metal
and ready to burn rubber...
     "Cum inside my big, mean, muscles!" she breathed raspily, in
mock-seductive tones.
     I took a deep breath; my chest contracted into a weak,
wildly-jerking accordion. A spark leapt from my scrotum, and set
off a chain-link reaction in my shaft. My buttocks contracted, my
throat clamped in a vise of adulation and wild excitement...
     "Yes, MuscleMommy," I shouted with abandon; the singular
sensation of sexual ecstacy finally catching up with me.
     Moments later, I compliantly orgasmed deep in the makeshift
womb of stepmom's proud bicep...
     StepMommy coaxed and cheered and applauded my ongoing
performance, and I felt the cold bullets of semen shoot forth
from within their chambers. Her bicep flexed into an impenetrable
mound of nuclear muscularity, squeezing and compressing my
sputtering member, denying it any escape to daylight. 
     Her monster-sized bicep must have created a suction of
sorts, for none of my semen had yet escaped it's sinewy prison.
Squishy little slurp-sounds issued from within the crook of her
locked arm, and I did not understand what she was doing at first.
     But then I felt the vacuum begin it's pull, it's inexorable
demand for release. And, so it did.
     "Thar she blows!" musclemom laughed; and a geyser of fresh
semen shot up from the muscular crevice; ambitious bullets of
white, pure white, rising high, splashing upon her massive
breasts, and running along her tough-as-nails terrain. 
     "Eezn't eet pretty?" she softly needled her stunned stepson.
     Only after some seconds did the ejections wither and
decrease to bubbling sighs, trickles of exhausted adulation on a
twenty-two inch arm.
     Her pace switched to a long slow voyage up and down my
shrinking shaft--still hidden from my eyes by a cloaking device
of daunting brown female meat--and she coerced the last drops of
salty brine from my body, wanting to take every drop I had
stored, plundering my scrotum for all it was worth.  
     Through the sweat-filled crevice of her glistening arm, the
white ejaculate leaked and ran freely in little pearly streams
across the brown expanse of mommy-muscle, traveling down like
frosty rivers amidst the sweet harsh mountains; it flowed without
guidance, uncorrected; distinct and stark amidst the darkness of
the bulges of stepmom's big bad arm. 
     But an estuary of fresh cum found a striated groove as it
veered southwards along the himalayan bicep; and, as though
guided and disciplined by the woman herself, a little brook was
born, held in place by a set of heavy-veined river banks as it
flowed slowly down her arm, conjoining at last with the
crystalline sea in which I sat. 
     We watched the silent streams in quiet fascination; a
dominant stepmother and her subservient son...
     "Very good, little boy," she asked; her accent suddenly
fading as the heat of the moment cooled. She nodded with approval
at the salty coating upon her sinew, as though I was a toddler
being freshly potty-trained...     
     "See how pretty?" she asked again, whispering in amused
tones of condescension, as though I was a very small and stupid
child, my eyes locked on the wicked perversion of Alpine nature. 
     "When you're good, this is what mommy can do for her little
boy," she lilted. "And when you're bad," she admonished, a
firmness coming into her voice, "I can just as easily fill those
little muscular ravines with your tears..."
     I knew without asking that she was all-too-serious...
     As though to add to the effect, she began lightly flexing
the iron-fed enormity; and more squishing sounds became audible
from deep down in the hot crevice of flesh, little cum-bubbles
appearing and popping in salty spray as the last ounces of
adulation were summoned up from my balls...
     The riverhead source between the narrow V-clamp spasmed and
spat again, as though a fresh volcano was brewing below it's
brutal acreage. Trembling, I swallowed a mouthful of hot saliva
that had collected without my having even noticed, and waited for
what would come next...
     And now I also took notice that the icebath in which I sat
had somehow been warmed to an almost tepid state, heated by the
piston-driven BTU's of mommy's twenty-two-inch muscle-cannon...
     The last dying spasms passed, and the bailiff opened her
bicep. The exhausted cock stuck to the cum-smeared flesh for a
second as though it didn't want it's parole to the outside world;
but presently it came unglued and weakly splashed into the
waters, where it was instantly cleaned, refreshed. 
     "That's quite enough for now," she sighed. "Tomorrow you can
show your sister how nicely you cum," she encouraged as though
she was promising a trip to Disneyland. She dunked her massive
limb into the water, and stirred it around like a muscle-whisk.
     Instantly, a froth of protein was born, and clung to my
spindly thighs like strange soapsuds...
     "He already has," came the delighted tunes of my stepsister.
     We both turned, surprised at the tall blonde standing in the
doorway, as naked and as proud of it as her muscular mother.
     A cheerleader's shapeliness filled the doorway, the black
background of the hallway highlighted every curve. She was
standing still, her posture connoting a period of spectatorship
longer than I would have wished for; her arms bent at right
angles, as though holding up the house itself with her arms,
generously packed with many pounds and inches of muscle of their
own!  She wore nothing but a pair of high-heeled slippers, and
her misplaced hairdo told of having recently emerged from a
rapturous encounter of her own...
     But where her body might have been soft and slender had she
been an everyday cheerleader found on a hundred college campuses,
all weakness and big-eyed daintiness had been erased here;
replaced by layer after layer of stacked girl-muscle.
     Her breasts were fat-nippled soccer balls, held almost
unnaturally high on her chest, defying gravity. Her stomach was
hard and unforgiving and in marked contrast to her amused smile;
my eyes bathed themselves in the cool beauty of her Mary-Hart-On-
Steroids legs, muscled thigh and bulging calves a treat for my
re-educated eyes!
     I suddenly found myself wondering why the real Mary Hart
didn't get off her skinny ass and build herself a pair of legs
like these!
     I didn't realize it then, but that was the first sign that
my newly-changed tastes had taken root permanently in my mind...
     Stepmom got to her feet, sauntered over to the dresser and
grabbed a crisp towel, and began drying herself off. She tossed
me another one, and I caught it without rising...
     But Big MuscleSister wasn't even looking at her mother; her
eyes were glued to her new--and much smaller--stepbrother, and I
could tell she was busy inventing a hundred-and-one torments for
me, to be administered every time stepmom's back was turned...
     Life was going to be very, very different from now on...
     "Stand up, little boy, and meet your new sister," came the
command from the Mommy-Monument as she tossed the towel into the
laundry hamper.
     I looked down and saw the semen turned to little sea-weed 
clumps about my submerged flesh, and I blushed red, suddenly
self-conscious with the passing of my sexual fever.
     "Yes, ma'am," I acquiesced...
     I stood to begin my sexual clean-up, mopping up the sexual
havoc that dripped on my pale form, aware of my sister's keen
study of my unprepossessing paleness. I dried my nether regions
with hands made swift by nervousness and fear, feeling terribly
vulnerable now, the weak link in an all-nude trio, susceptible to
any whim of the two pumped-up roommates!
     "Well," Linda grinned, as she folded her massive arms across
her bare bosomy chest, "looks like you've got him trained, momma!
Why, he's meek as a lamb already! Don't tell me I won't get to
teach him some muscle-manners! You always have all the fun!" she
mocked, stamping her spike-heeled foot down, hard, in imitation
of a small child's  frustration...
     Absolutely nothing giggled on her body except for the
slightest flutter of the porn-queen treasures on her chest...
     "Oh, Linda, don't be so dramatic," MuscleMom corrected her
playfully. "There's plenty you can teach him yet. Why, he doesn't
know the first thing about showing the proper worshipful attitude
towards us muscle-gals, or," she roared, suddenly turning her
head around to me with lightning speed, "HE'D BE ON HIS KNEES
RIGHT NOW!!!"
     Instantly, I fell to the floor so fast my patellas made an
audible bang, even on the carpeted floorboards. I swallowed the
pain, sure that any complaint on my part would not be
appreciated. My neck was parallel to the floor, and I saw the
women only through a straining pair of eyes turned upward...
     MuscleMom ambled over, still beautifully nude, as though it
was the only outfit she'd ever need, and it was true; for so
perfect was the sight that both women presented, that no clothing
could do them justice. Let them stay naked forever with me, I
thought to myself, and let the consequences be damned.
     By now, I'd forgotten that my father ever existed!
     In the silence, I heard crickets chirping outside my window,
as they did every night. But this night was truly like no other I
had ever known, and I thought that even the crickets' song
carried something of what was transpiring inside the house...
     She came close, and slid my bowed head between a pair of
thigh so huge, so powerful, they could have been cornerstones for
a skyscraper. I felt like a prisoner sentenced to a beheading,
and had no doubt she could do just that, with little more effort
than I might use to squash a stray silverfish on the bathroom
floor...
     I looked up through my newest prison cell and saw Linda step
out of the shadows, and across the threshold. She took several
steps and paused, winking at her captive brother...
     Miming, she made her future intentions towards me quite
clear...
     She pointed at me, then at her own muscular self.
     Winking, she formed a loop with her thumb and index finger,
the nails clicking like evil pincers. Then she sucked on the
opposing index finger of her other hand, and slowly began pumping
it in and out of the digital loop. Her Penthouse Pet hips began
to thrust with lewd enthusiasm to a barely-audible bit of radio-
music that began drifting our way from beneath her bedroom door,
and her tousled hairdo flew about her with cyclonic animation...
     The pressure began on my neck now, and I could feel my face
redden as breath became scarce. Although I knew that the force
being used on my throat was but a fraction of the might held
within those killer quads, I tried to insert my fingers, and
force the limbs apart, repercussions be dammed!
     But the insistent sinews would not be interrupted, and the
stress accrued on my narrowing windpipe. Now my fingers were
trapped as well, wedged against my neck and the iron thighs that
had enslaved me.
     "Never resist your punishment, little boy," she growled, and
began tightening the vise-grip even further. She began twitching
the thick slabs of muscle on her legs, so that I could swallow
some sweet air every other second or so before the Quad-Valve
would be slammed shut again...
     "..it's your place for now on, my lad. At my feet in
obedient acceptance. Meek. Mild. At my big-bodied whim. There's
no escape, my skinny little lamb. Accept your fate and you will
be provided for. Rebel and meet our wrath. Understand?"
     The pressure increased; I heard blood rushing through me
ears, and a grey whirlpool began beckoning to me as the scent of
her perfumed flesh filled my senses...
     My brain grew foggy, my vision blurring; but I managed to
nod somehow, and the pressure released. Liberated, precious air
began it's fresh flow to my reprieved innards...
     I coughed, forgetting to thank her for her treatment; and a
pair of subway doors made of muscular human flesh slammed closed
on my neck like a late commuter...
     "WHAT..DO..YOU...SAY?" she demanded, growling. My mouth hung
open, and warm saliva dripped on her harsh legs, and trickled
down over her mighty calves.
     "Th-thank you," I rasped; but my voice sounded as though it
belonged to an old and dying man.
     "That's better, then,"  she relented, and freed my from her
haughty prison.  Stepping away from me, stepmom made a surprised
chirp of approval as she saw her daughter hard at work re-
decorating her little brother's bedroom...
     StepsisterMuscle had crept out during my scissor-session and
returned with a rolled poster. Where my own pin-up had been prior
to it's banishment, stepsister stood in her precarious heels.    
     I watched her perfect bare buttocks twitch slightly as she
went about her assignment; struggling to my feet as I did, never
taking my eyes off her...
     Already, I had a vicious crush on the teasing blonde
bodybuilder babe, and I wondered...
     Did she have any friends, and were they like her??
     Unfurling the poster, she slapped the glossy paper on the
wall, tacked it into place, and stood back...
     "There! That's ever so much better!" she declared, and I
could see for the first time who was in the poster...
     A tall woman with short blonde hair was proudly showing off
a bicep nearly twice as voluminous as my new mom's. She had a
pair of wonderful light blue eyes that had an innocence that
belied the staggering terrain of she-hulk physique she displayed
below them. The bikini she wore was made of sewing thread and
skimpy patches, carefully placed.  But little else. 
     Her breasts were gigantic; she couldn't be real.
     Could she?
     And so I had a new dreamgirl to see me through the solitary
evenings to come, when the towering tigresses were out at the
gym, or stalking fresh lovers in smoke-filled dance-halls...
     Linda stood proudly below the display; a shapely hip thrown
out in spike-heeled-showgirl pose, her dangerous arms folded like
a sentry at a sanctuary. 
     She glanced up at it with smiling eyes and now pointed-and-
winked, as though to show me her approval of the blown-up
lithograph...
     It read, "Elie Xyr's "Ms. Fancy Bigthighs" Wants You!"
     "Learn to love it, little boy," Linda ordered.
     "That's right," my stepmom agreed, folding her huge lady-
guns across her bare chest. 
     "Because for now on, it's the Law of the Land!"
     Stepsister giggled, delighted at this muscular
pronouncement, bobbing up and down on her high heels like a
partying beach-girl playing volleyball.
     "Yaaaaayyyy!" The Naked Cheerleader replied, clapping her
hands together in glee at the pronouncement of oaken ladymuscle.
     Only now did her double-d-cups wobble, and I exhaled most of
the fresh air I'd taken in...
     I blushed, and turned to my new mom, looking up at the
ceiling-scraping, big-boobed, incredibly muscular Lady of the
House. The authoritative beauty stood in skyscraper-heels,
radiating a Queenly contentment, naked still, enormous still,
pumped still.
     "For now on," my stepmom decreed, as she produced a pair of
mommy-mountains on her arms; gigantic vein-rich biceps over two
feet around, "when we're home alone, you'll address me as
MuscleMommy. Understand?"
     What did I say? What COULD I say?
     "Yes, MuscleMommy," I replied, good as gold, anxious to
please a seven-foot-tall-in-heels Amazon Bodybuilder.
     "Now, bed-time for you, young man. Why, it's almost eleven
o'clock!"
     I looked at the clock over my door. It didn't seem possible.
If anyone had asked me, I would have though that the long night
was all-but-over. Surely, wasn't the sun going to rise any
moment? For too much had happened in too short a time; my senses
had not yet been able to adapt to this Strange New Life unfolding
before me, sucking me willingly in to it's flexful vortex like a
furious female whirlpool to dwarf even the eddys of Charybdis...
     "Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it, little boy?"
MuscleMom asked. "Now kiss your big sister goodnight."
     Linda strutted over to me, a naked package of rocky young
muscle and heaving tit entwined in long blonde hair. She seemed
to have noticed the saliva dripping from one of her mother's
prominent calves, and leered enviously. I blushed as her long
fingernails began tickling and juggling my testicles as though
they were toys in her grasp.
     Suddenly, my re-aroused cock was being tugged downwards...
     "On yer knees, little brother," she said lightly.
     "Kiss my big calves goodnight!"
     The muscles looked like a pair of gigantic diamonds placed
subcutaneously under the brown skin, and looked etched in stone,
as though they'd been carved by a craftsman, rather than built in
a gymnasium.
     I looked up to her, unsure, at that tender age, of how to go
about the Art of Leg Worship. I got a wink, and she juggled her
giant jugs lasciviously...
     "Put a little tongue in it, little brother."
     And so I did...
     I moved in close, and reverently kissed one of the female
power-sources; it was hard, firm, and unyielding, and it's
occasional twitches were like the beating of an oddly-placed
heart. And, as my tongue dripped saliva that ran in clear streams
down her legs, I distinctly heard a girlish giggle from above,
followed by a hum and a sigh of pleasure...
     But if I thought that those gentle signs of gratification
meant that her attitude towards her brother had altered any, I
was to be rudely disenchanted...
     She called an end to my veneration with a tip of her spike-
heeled slipper; it caught my chin, firmly but gently; my head was
slowly tilted upwards...
     "Nice job, doofus," she granted me, her eyes dancing; before
pushing me back onto the floor.
     Stepmom stepped in.
     "You can do that for your Step-mamma real soon, little boy,"
she commanded. "But not tonight. Now give me a kiss and scoot
your little bare bottom to bed!" she ordained...
     I approached uncertainly, not imagining this female
powerhouse even wanted an affection kiss on the cheek from her
new stepson. Yet, orders were orders; and I stepped in close and
stood on tiptoe, lips puckered, eyes closed, expecting a rouged
cheek to receive their timid sentiments. So why wasn't she
bending down, so that I might bestow my affections?
     Laughter gushed out from below the illuminated Poster.
     It was Linda. Evidently, I'd done something wrong.
     Again...
     I opened my eyes to find my Naked MuscleMommy standing three
feet back; having been repulsed by my attempts to affix my lips
anywhere near her face, as though my mouth secreted a terrible
acid of some sort...
     I lost my tip-toed balance, and fell over with a thud, right
on my coccyx.
     "What are you proposing to do, little boy?" my stepmom
queried, stepping close, her high heels in my face, the polished
leather shining in the light.
     "Now get up," she said, speeding up my ascent by reaching
down and pulling me to my size sevens effortlessly...
     "Now give mommy a kiss," she sighed, and she presented her
crackling bowling-ball bicep in a rocky flex too big for any
sensible measurements, immune to a tailor's tape...
     She held it above my head, and I had to stand on tiptoe once
again. I held the hot boulder of womanhood in my hands, and
reverently kissed the rock that was her biceps.
     I was sure I could once again feel her heart beating deep in
the sinewy tissues... 
     But--as-quick-as-that!--she put me in a headlock, and used
it to lift me from my feet; the thick arm began squeezing my
head, and I thought my cranium would burst!
     "This is just to keep your little head from swelling, small
fry," stepmom said; though the insulation of her thick arms muted
the words. "Being around all this magnificent femininity might
get your ego in gear. This is just to make sure it doesn't!"
     My battered body went limp, and for nearly a minute she
shook me about like a flag in the wind, until finally, I slipped
out of the iron hold, and thudded to the floor once again.
     How many bruises did I have by now?

     Linda groaned, as though releasing something from her
overflowing breasts she'd been trying hard to contain...
     "All this fresh meat to conquer has gotten me horny again,
momma," her voice whined, her hair fallen over her pretty face
like a golden forest in which she'd gotten lost. 
     "So, I'm goin' back to bed, and pump my pussy on a nice hard
cock. I wanna fuck Stevie stupid!"
     "Go for it, Linda dear," her naked mother okayed, the
affection in her voice detectable. "Fuck him good. Fuck him hard.
Fuck him long," the Madame-So-Muscular covergirl decreed, her
voice a low rumble of power...
     "Will do, mommy-dearest!" her daughter trilled....
     At just that moment, a shadowy blur shot past the doorway;
apparently, Linda's beleaguered lover was trying to make a
desperate escape.
     Linda shot out like a steroid-powered rocket-ship, her
blonde hair streaming behind her.
     "Oh, no, you don't! You get back here, Stevie-kins!" she
admonished him; but I heard her give chase down the stairs,
where, upon arriving, I heard the hard slap of flesh against
flesh; a huntress re-capturing her whimpering prey, ready to drag
it back to a sensual lair of decadent pleasures...
     She laughed heartily in victory.
     I heard a pathetic plea for mercy in a male voice, but Linda
was horny, and would have her pound of penile flesh.
     Marching footsteps came back up; and a moment later, Linda
appeared in the doorway with her naked paramour over her broad
shoulder...
     "I always get my man," Linda giggled, winking at us. And she
carried him to bed, tittering like a muscle-bound Beach Bunny. 
     A look of frantic horror was etched across her captive's
face; it was the last thing I saw before they disappeared into
the bedroom.
     I heard a male moan as her door opened, the overmatched
lover no doubt hoping for a longer reprieve before being made to
dance to the sex-tunes of my sister...
     "And speaking of getting laid," MuscleMommy sighed, her hand
going to the free-falling beauty of her ebony mane, pulling it
high and holding it for just a moment.
     "I have to get ready for my own overnight guest," she
leered, letting it fall free. The shining silk unspooled,
cascading down her back.
     She scooped me up in her supportive arms that to my
conquered eyes now seemed half-a-mile around, and I felt like a
very small child. 
     The power throbbed under my hands as she carried me to the
bed, holding me high, outstretched, not needing to cradle such
easy weight... 
     "Pleasant dreams, little boy," she wished me, though it
sounded much more like an order; and promptly dropped me to the
springy bed below. 
     I bounced like a wind-whipped puppet, and watched her walk
out.
     She paused at the doorway, deliberately posing like a Vegas
Showgirl, filling all the available airspace of the doorframe as
she inhaled and heaved her giant breasts high. The light
glistened on the chiseled contours of her nakedness, and another
erection came to full life...
     "MuscleMommy's going to do a little fucking herself, little
boy. Stay in your bed and don't come out, or I'll give you a real
spanking next time!" she decreed, and as though to reinforce her
command, she made a mountainous bicep dance.
     "Yes, MuscleMommy," I said, my voice choking in anticipation
of what might happen down the hall, very soon, in stepmother's
bedroom...
     "Tomorrow morning your stepsister will be giving you a bath.
If she gets up before noon, that is!" she added, as a pair of
loud moans echoed through the dark corridor.
     Smiling at the commotion behind the closed door, she
explained...
     "Linda will be in permanent charge of your hygiene. I know
how careless you boys can be about such things," she sniffed, as
though I was offending her senses even now...
     "Therefore, she'll be bathing you, and tending to your
private bodily functions as she sees fit. She'll be helping
herself to every crack and crevice on your puny little bod," she
promised, her physique crackling to high-definition as she
squeezed the doorframe. 
     "There's gonna be lots of on-the-spot inspections, too.
Anywhere. Anytime. Your big sister might want to pull your pants
down in the middle of the living room, or when you're out in the
yard playing, just to make sure you haven't cum in your jockey
shorts while watching her pump up...," she conjectured, shrugging
a shoulder that scraped the sides of the doorframe.
     "And she will be checking, little boy. You can be certain of
that. She will. Or I'll know why!"
     A final flex now, a naked thundering, like a storm, crashing
like a raging sea; an earthquake tearing rips in the earth even
as the vascular mountain-streams appeared ready to do the same to
her brown brown skin.
     My penis pulsed at full alert, and MuscleMommy was pleased
at my quick reaction. She cut short her ultra-flex; instead she
merely presented a single arm.
     The bicep throbbed as though an electrical flow was
alternately turned on and off below the impossibility that was
her left arm. It danced and writhed, and I sighed, my throat
tightening as though her thighs still held it prisoner...
     Laughing at my adoration, she bade goodnight...
     "Ms. Fancy's watching, little boy. Behave yourself," she
warned, wagging a corrective finger at me, then up to the wall-
poster.
     "And clean your room, first thing in the morning," she
scolded; a mother's universal decree declaring that disorder
would not be tolerated, not anymore.
     The fact that she had caused most of it was beyond my
imagining, much less my notice...
     "Good night, leetle stepson," she hissed seductively.
     "Good night..." I replied in a shaking voice, and spared
myself a sound spanking only by adding, at the last possible
second, "...MuscleMommy."
     And then, smiling haughtily, her work done for the night,
she was gone. The inaugural orientation to my new life was
complete; it would continue tomorrow...
     My breath quaked in my lungs, the emotion escaping like a
hissing steam valve as my senses tried to sort out my overloaded
feelings. Life as I had known it was over; that was for sure!
     I blinked several times, and shook my head about as though
to assure myself that what had transpired in my dull bedroom was
real. I opened them. The basin was still on the floor; semen
stained my flesh...
     It MUST have been real!
     Was I to be a slave to two most-muscular, short-tempered
women? Was I expected to devote myself to their convenience?
     But then I saw them in my mind's eye, sunning themselves in
tiny bikinis. Banishing Aunt Amelia. Working out with impossible
poundages. And the bizarre, other-worldly arm-pumping upon my
virginal loins...
     Hey! This might not be so bad, I thought! There'd be lots of
sex-stuff going on, and two very beautiful women strutting around
in next-to-nothing! 
     So what if I had to be careful how I spoke?
     At least the self-righteous Aunt Amelia wasn't around
anymore, to help herself to my nether regions every time someone
said 'damn' on the TV, to administer Holy Enemas to my innocent
behind. (I'd quickly learned to go to sleep early every time
"NYPD Blue" was on! )
     And if such snooping was to be done, I figured, so what?
     What better short-arms inspector could a fellow ask for than
that sizzling package of post-adolescent muscle-beauty, Linda??
     My step-sister, I sighed dreamily.
     My hand went to my resuscitated penis, to begin a familiar
dance, the only kind it had known until tonight. I found myself
wishing for those wicked magazines I'd perused earlier, and
wondered if I might venture out, to plea for their ransom...
     I saw Ms. Fancy Bigthighs smile from below the reverent
lighting, encouraging my sexual initiative with a friendly wink
of azure eye..
     Boy, she was something, too, I thought. I began fantasizing
about being tended by both the big L-H Art lady, applying her
womanly charms upon me, and my musculo-voluptuous stepsister...
     Perhaps Mareva, too, would slide my penis between the crook
of her own generous arm, and Linda would make a muscle, and...
     Suddenly, the door re-opened just a crack. As though reading
my mind, MuscleMommy's hand appeared, and tossed a handful of
magazines exclusively featuring Nude Female Bodybuilders.
     I pounced like a hungry mongoose, oblivious to my dripping
erection, collecting the sweet gifts in shaking hands, not quite
understanding the strange new fixation I felt for an all-new type
of woman that I barely knew existed until six hours ago...
     The door closed, and I was left to my delirium...
     I'd forgotten about the troop of overage-girl-scouts-gone-
bad; their female intuition had told them that something strange
was taking place inside the house. To my horror, I realized that
they'd been listening to everything!
     Peaking out the second-story window, a gaggle of tough-
mamma-teens sprung to life from their perches on the hood of the
stepmom's new sports car...
     They'd seen me; I jumped back into shadow, but it was too
late for that...
     "G'night, MuscleMommy!" they taunted up at me in a baby-talk
voice, their teased and curled hairdos twittering in the night's
soft breezes, big bosoms bouncing in their tube-top trappings.
     My goose was cooked! When school started again in the fall,
I'd never be spared the ridicule, the humiliation...
     But that was then. This, I thought--my gaze riding along the
topography of the magazine's glorious covergirl, Karla Nelsen--
this was now. I'd worry about that in September!
     I trotted back to bed with the magazines in my thin arms
like a child hoarding it's Halloween candy...
     I didn't see the door re-open, ever-so-slightly...
     "Oh, by the way," came my stepmom's off-handed tones.
     Her head was in the doorway now, her harshly gorgeous face
beaming, the hair piled high...
     "Big sister found an enema bag earlier," she added.         
"You'll be getting the full treatment in the morning, little boy.
Be ready for it..." she forewarned, blowing me a taunting kiss as
the door closed for good.
     Gulp!
     For just a second, the tarnished picture-frame containing a
worn photograph of a much-younger Aunt Amelia pulled my
attentions away from the powerful naked women waiting for me,
flexed and pouting, between the covers of the sizzling magazines.
     Amelia Grayson was unsmiling, stern-faced; primly-dressed in
a high-necked, short-sleeved blouse, her bosom a tightly-clamped
suppression under the heavy-duty wraps of a stiffly-starched bra.
     As usual, she was clearly displeased about something as she
peered through her horn-rimmed spectacles at an inefficient world
full of messy men.  But for the first time in all the years that
the image had hovered so near my bed, I finally noticed the
youthful bulges of muscle proudly prominent on her bared arms.

     "Gotcha," I almost heard her say...


THE END!