Ursula Parkheart, P.I. : The Flexing Detective by Forrest Curran The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723 Ursula Parkheart, P.I.: The Flexing Detective in The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon by Forrest Curran (c) 1994 WIG, LTD Chapter Ten: Amazon Rockslide ! The terror that gripped me as I reached the side of the building! The sounds of the driving rain were suddenly gone from my ears; my senses shutting down, as though refusing to believe the horror of what I had just seen. Unable to look down, not wanting to see the magnificent body of my Big Bosslady, her limbs twisted and contorted in a vulgar, unnatural splay of death on the dark, wet concrete below; and so I looked up again, as though to entreat the she-gods above one more time; if they would not take back what had happened, would they at least erase the horrible image of what I had seen from my mind, and ease the creeping insanity that was even now taking over my senses? My emotions were bared and out of control, and a sob broke through my meager attempt to control it... I felt shame at the lusty, heart-throbbing feelings I had harbored, not just for 'Sally, but for the big blonde who had ridden with her to her death below, sinews struggling with themselves, their big breasts pushed hard and flat, as though deflated, against each other, nipple on nipple. Their superwoman physiques could do much; burst their meager clothing, heave iron twice my own weight like toys that had gotten in their way; and capture my heart, mind, and imagination so slavishly that I could not imagine life without those bigger-than-life ladies strutting and flexing and primping in tiny mini-skirts, big hard calves prominent as they perched in heartless pumps. But there were some things they could not do. They could not cheat death, or defy the laws of gravity... I felt vaguely responsible for the tragedy, and the horror of it all. If only I could have helped, if only I had been... Bigger... What was I going to do without her? Would someone ever be able to take her p... "Help me, JT!" I almost didn't hear her the first time, and it took a second before my mind registered those words, spoken with Ursula's own voice emerging from an echo down below, a plea for aid for the third time today... At first I thought that that was all it was; an echo, somehow rebounding like an acoustic boomerang from the recent past. She had beseeched her assistant for help; twice in the last half-hour. But how could it be...? "JT, get your little bare ass down here!," came the cry. I leaned over the edge, and saw... There she was !!!! Halfway down to the ground, at about the level of the third floor, Ursula Parkheart, big, bold, bruised, and naked, was clinging on to the ladder with one hand. She was somehow still wearing the spiky shoes, and she was using them to hook around the rungs of the ladder and help her hold herself steady, her abs in a tight crunch of muscle as she dangled in the rain. Her black hair danced wildly about her face, shifting this way and that in the winds. For just a moment, I thought of her as the star of some corny old movie, where some hugely muscular Amazon Jungle Queen is taken to the big city in chains and escapes; and she heads for the tall buildings that comprise it's skyline, to climb to the top in search of her love. But she did not have to search far. I was here... I raced down the stairs, through the broken fire door that had been shattered by her golden-maned opponent, and scampered through the deserted halls. I burst into the room, grateful that it's door was unlocked and open for business on a Saturday, and reached the third floor window in moments. I did not take the time to explain to the stuffy-looking woman who sat at a desk in the equally-stuffy office why I was there. She looked up from her bifocals and her early egg-salad sandwich long enough to shoot me a wicked grin as I eagerly shot into the room as though from a cannon. I was still in the swimsuit, and armed with the soggy .44; she must have thought I was a beach-going bank robber on the lam, or perhaps, the NRA's answer to a singing strip-o-gram, since today, she would inform me after I had retrieved my bosslady from the window-ledge, was her birthday... I wouldn't ask how old she was. I pushed open the window and leaned out and I noticed it had suddenly stopped raining as abruptly as a faucet turning off, and the gales that had blustered had ebbed to small sighs. Ursula's grasp was strong and firm even now, and I took her hand and pulled her inside to safety. I stole a glance for a just a second towards the ground below, but I saw no sign of the blonde ladyhulk in the blackness. The receptionist let out a yell as the huge wet mountain of naked muscular womanhood tumbled into the quiet confines of Lesterman's Insurance, Inc., dripping water and all but unconscious. I helped her upstairs, putting one arm around her, as she shivered in knee-length white cashmere, courtesy of the shell- shocked Mrs. Dunk, Office Receptionist. I felt her aged eyes ogle my bare red behind as we left her office, and I could only guess at what she thought about the bizarre scene we had presented her. I threw a blanket over Ursula's big body as she sat dripping wet in her office chair, near her desk; it one of the few times I would ever encourage 'Sally Parkheart to cover her perfect flesh. I mopped the floor beneath her as she sat immobile, trickling water; I sopped up the aftermath of the downpour, gladly; relieved beyond words that my she-hulk heartthrob was still with me. I heard my MuscleBossLady groan a bit as she shifted in her seat, as the stiffness of the post-fight wrap-up set in. "Ouch," she groaned, her hand moving under the blankets to soothe an unknown injury, "that Raye-Anne could really dish it out!," she admitted. And she was right. I had never seen my boss take so much abuse. I had seen her take a vicious shot to the kidneys, hoisted off her feet, dragged by the hair, dunked in a toilet, and floored by a sidewinder-of-a-punch that had knocked her insensate. Very nearly defeated, right before my eyes. Perhaps that bothered her; the idea of being cut down to size in front of the man who idolized her. Would she seem less desirable, less impressive to me, afterwards, she would wonder? She need not have asked. Her determination in the face of those ten-ton cowgirl-punches had made me, more than ever, hers. I looked up to her from my knees, beneath her. Sure. She was right. Raye-Anne could really dish it out, but then again... "So can you, 'Sally. You were beautiful," I offered, swallowing a lump in my throat the size of a walnut. "Thanks, JT," she replied, "but I don't feel so beautiful right now. Feels like I could sleep for a week..." But she wasn't going anywhere, she said, when I tried to talk her into going home and doing just that... "Got things to do, my little assistant," was all she'd say. I didn't know how to approach the subject, so I asked it straightforward... "Um, 'Sally? What happened to Raye-Anne? She didn't..." Ursula waved me off as she swallowed her coffee. "Last I saw of her, she was runnin' down the alley. She managed to grab a hold of the ladder a little further down than me, and slid down to the ground. Last I saw of her, she was running down the alley. Probably to an emergency room, or a plastic surgeon, even. I really landed one on her honker, didn't I?" I nodded enthusiastically, rubbed her rocky bicep as it protruded through the cloth; kissed it once, to show my gratitude... She smiled at my display of affection, and shivered; the rain had been warm, but a chill had come to the late-morning air. "Close the window, JT," she ordered me as she sipped stale coffee, exhaustion in her voice. I hurriedly obeyed. When I turned back to her, the first glimmers of sunlight began to break through the clouds, and a light golden glow fell on the lady detective as she pulled on the contents of the styrofoam cup and winced through ragged wet hair. "This can't be your coffee, JT," she gurgled in disgust. She half-smiled at me over her desk, from a face that bore the marks of battle---she had a small black eye that was only now darkening into a small half-circle of burnt cork. I told her it wasn't; Mrs. Dunk had sent it up... "I didn't think so. Mrs. Dunk never met Mr. Coffee, I guess," she joked. "It tastes like week-old mud..." I offered to make some fresh, but she did not respond for a moment or two, locking her eyes on me and not wavering as she ran a finger along the cup's edge, lightly tracing it's oval. "That won't be necessary, JT," she said finally, "'cause I have another way to get warm now..." And to reward a faithful assistant, too... Ursula pushed the soft damp blanket off her body as though removing a cape; it fell to the floor, dramatically, in a float. And she sat there in nothing but a back-up pair of pink g- string panties, tilting back, as she put her feet up on the desk. Almost at once, her massively sexy yet battered bulk lost it's rain-chilled goose bumps; I could see the fine gold-yellow down of her daunting arms, illuminated in the light. The sun had burned through the grey clouds completely now, and threw a fresh spotlight on her as she sat there. As I approached and stepped into the sunlight, and sat down upon the desktop, to be the guardian of her spike-heeled feet beside me, my skin warmed. I felt the soothing sun's rays remove the slight chill from my own skin as well, and dry my soggy swimsuit. Ursula's body relaxed, the vast muscularity easing, the tensed and coiled state retreating now.. She crossed and re-crossed her feet up on the desktop, angling her chair off to the side, so as to remain immersed in the tropical bath of a sun that had not yet reached it's apex in the clearing sky. The silver spikes of her shoes reflected the sun, blinding me when I looked too closely... She produced an ice-pack from the floor beneath her, and, boldly and matter-of-factly sliding the g-string off her hips and down until it hung around one ankle, exposed her silken sex to the sun and my sighs and hungry eyes for just a moment. She placed the cooling treatment upon it daintily, to remedy the sore flesh made tender by Raye-Anne's vicious finger-fucking. I wished just a bit that it was an encounter with my recently-humbled genitals that had been responsible for the soreness, but it was only the stuff of dreams... "That's better," was all she said, winking at me. Having treated me to that perfect sight, she leaned back upon her headrest, and closed her eyes. She gathered the black silk of her hair between her hands and pushed it off her face, until it hung suspended behind the chair's top; like a woman at the beach who is commencing an afternoon of ultraviolet basking. She re- adjusted her position in the seat, got comfortable... Damn that Raye-Anne! She had interrupted something I had dreamed of ever since my eyes had first set upon this statuesque Duchess of Deltoid, two years ago... It seemed as though she had thought better of it; there was no implicit atmosphere of sex, or any possibility of Eros Returned, in her attitude towards me. Perhaps the battled had chastened her, wisened her, hardened her; removed the mischief from that lively heart. It's just JT, her casual actions seemed to be saying. No threat... And she went to sleep like a content lioness might, after fighting her foes, feeding her cub and tending to his needs. I don't know how long she sat like that. But I do know that I did not move. My eyes drank in Ursula's grandeur even as she soaked in the sunlight, gaining power from it's life-giving bright glow. I thought back to that wonderful and strange moment upon the roof, when, amidst a flash of lightning, Ursula had come to life, and had taken the final upper hand in the Battle With The Blonde Beast. Hadn't there been something almost supernatural about it? Or did she, every bit a creature of the elements, simply derive her strength from the life around her, the vitality of nature? Or maybe, she was just magic... I remembered that I had thought the same thing of Raye-Anne Hallison; maybe the only thing magical about either woman was the effect they had on me! I studied my bosslady, in sensual repose... Ursula's face was a carved, sculpted monument to contrasting sensuousness; the harsh severity of her cheekbones was softened by the gentleness around her animated eyes. Her brow was liquid, a testament to her moods, ready to arch or knit or dance delighted when her assistant amused her as she went about her big-muscled days. Her mouth was full-lipped, frequently painted, generous; and when it smiled, even, white ivory dazzled your eyes. Her strong jaw slackened as her body, so massively-built, and yet so relentlessly female, feminine, gentle in her own strange way, descended in a delicate float to a well-deserved rest. I watched her hard abs, highlighted by Raye-Anne's nail- raking; four angry red scratches, a thin crust of dried blood in one or two places where the skin had been broken; the sturdy washboard rustled lightly, rising and falling with her breath. I watched the big breasts do the same, rising and falling in a mild crescendo, and tranquil retreat, of soft flesh. I watched her hand as it sleepily and casually attended an itch in a slow, cat-like movement, as the sheared fingernails passed lightly across her open iron thighs. I nearly moaned with pleasure as the ice-bag slipped slowly off her sleepy pussy; it's contents melting in the morning sunshine, inching it's way down, gradually revealing the twin pink sweet lips, surrounded by neatly-trimmed hints of pubic hair, until the bag sat deflated between her open legs, chilling the leather, nothing more... Her prominent clitoris throbbed gently, almost imperceptibly at first, as it fought to emerge from between the sun-plumping pussylips, bathed in warm gold light; it crept out from the folds of her sex as though lured by sweet promises of sex with a well- hung man, and came to life, calling to me to placate it's wants and needs, sensing only my nearby maleness that had shot to life in response to it's primal call, and lay pounding with insistence in my briefs. The sun warmed the full-blown female equivalent of an erection, and brought it to full, almost-red life; moist musk filled my senses, my heart racing in my slender chest. Her privates were pulsing in a pretty little tea-dance, and looked tender and delicate amongst the massive contours of her hot-rock of a body. She had grown damp, dripping; soaking herself in an erotic little puddle-dream, while a sweet sultry smile curled her lip. What did she see behind the lids of those wonderful eyes? Did she see me? I suspected not... I watched all this as I held the wooden carving of Harry the Hippo, stroking it absently, feeling it's mahogany smoothness, it's persistent bulk and sharp-cut lines, and for just a moment I closed my eyes and pretended it was Ursula's skin, not cool indifferent wood that I was feeling in my sweaty hands... She did not open her eyes once, all the while. It was as if now, on some level, awake or asleep, she knew that I was sitting and enjoying the sight of her perfect body in it's hardbodied beautiful sunlit repose, better than a Vanessa Del Rio Double- Feature, or a front seat at the Ms. Olympia; and that my mind would be swimming in hardcore fantasies of her, while she drowsed peacefully, sitting in the sun. A Warrior-Queen enjoying a rest, earned in spilled-blood and angry bruises that were the only imperfection visible on her otherwise magnificent body. Perhaps this was her way of offering a reward to her faithful sidekick...? And maybe I was wrong about Eros...?! I think that maybe she liked the idea of a hovering guardian-angelboy in a small swimsuit, standing watch over her, and that she was indulging me my pleasures, letting me worship her quietly, even as she slept; receiving my reverence amidst her dancing inner dreams of the muscleman I would never be. I thought I heard her snore lightly, once or twice, pulled into a light repose by the caress of the bright star, and a secretary's devoted watch over her... The image was spoiled only by the ice-cube-of-an-engagement- ring as it perched like a small crystalline bird on her finger. I had not noticed that she had slipped it off in preparation of the fight, when she had gone to her desk, under Raye-Anne's gun, to get the document. I pretended I didn't see it now, and drank the sight of her wet-pussied, hardbodied splendor in long, thirsty gulps, as my eyes rode the steep terrain of her physique; sloping down unskiable hills, bouncing along bumps of pure ladymuscle, sloping down into the thousand little sinewy separations that made her body not just huge, or zoftig, but world-class; every bit the envy of the bodybuilding world at large, man or woman. An erection that shouldn't have been possible demanded attention, pulsing in neat rhythm with that inch-long clit... "By the way, thanks, JT," she finally said, quietly, without opening her eyes, as if she was speaking from a dream-place; or, more possibly, playing coy as if this was a scene she wanted to avoid confronting wide-awake... "You saved my life a couple of times back there...," she said to me, from a very-far-away place in her mind, I was sure of that now... I started to say something, but saw that she was not listening; content in her own inner world, recouping. She stretched, closed her eyes again, tipped back in her chair; her thick arms at her side, perfect breasts always at attention; and sat still and languorous, like a sun goddess enjoying the adoration of the solar rays... And her secretary, who she knew was devouring her hungrily; mentally, if not physically, on his knees beneath her, hoping... Maybe, just maybe, the warmth of the sunshine would warm her attitude towards me, every bit as it had the contents of the frozen balm, now bagged ice-water between her legs? Perhaps some little devil in her unconscious would prod her pussy to action, and to take satisfaction, even if it was just with me... But no... "Clean up in here, will you, JT? And do it quietly. Your big bosslady needs her rest...," came the sleepily naked order- of-the-day. I looked around, only now taking full notice of the calamitous disarray caused by the battle-gone-by. I tore myself away from the paradise-view, on orders, after all; and I went about the task of restoring some order to the office, as well; if not to my life. I swept and straightened, re-arranged and replaced, obeying as I should, churchmouse-quiet; but as I did, my glances went back to the gorgeously-naked piece of Big Womanhood as she dozed in the chair, her respective lips mumbling a little x-rated whisper to some lucky stud. Both pairs. A talking pussy; or that is how it seemed. The damned delicious lips were silently entreating me to approach, whispering a pornographic plea to feed it, as the delicate lips twitched and moved and smiled a squishy-wet come-on in the sun. My hands shook as they held the broom... It was all too much for me to stand by and watch... Sporting a pup-tent in my briefs, and spurred on by it's single-minded wants, I crept close, my inhibitions shattered by the last two days of wild adventure. I stood over her in the warm circle of light, hoping for a chance to pick up where we had left off, before the appearance of the Blonde She-Hulk. Ursula's left eye opened in a foxy squint. She smiled as I dared to touch her bra-buster-big and buttery breast, the huge perfect gland's nipple perked up in the MuscleGirl Sunbath, and tickled my palm. Ursula's musky natural scent made my hand tremble with lust, and for just a moment, I felt a certain odd trepidation, as though I had awakened a strange, sexual carnivore whose strength, and lusty-pussied insatiabilities, I would be able to neither satisfy nor contain. Perhaps it was I who was to drown, after all... She finally stirred and stretched like a hot horny lady-cat; a small smile turning up the corner of her mouth. Her hand went over mine, dwarfing it, pressing it down on the soft pillow of her bosom, holding it there... She smiled; slid the g-string up and over her shapely hips with her free hand, and stood up, shaking sleep and towering over me. They say that danger is an aphrodisiac; I guess it is. Our arms went around each other, and for the millionth time since I had met her, I felt dwarfed by her great size, her elementally hard, superb body stirring me to fever pitch as hungry hands ran up and down a figure designed in heaven but built in hell, delivering me into a hot purgatorial suffering I hoped she would deliver me from; a MuscleGirl Angel.. I could feel the strength in those arms, awesome appendages bigger than my thighs. "Geez, JT," she said, eyes dancing in good humor, "I wondered how long it was gonna take! All along, while I ruminated, she had been waiting for me to make my move. And I, Hamlet-In-A-Speedo, had sat and stared, turning the issue around and around, wondering 'do I dare?'... Ohwa-tajer-kiam! "I didn't think you'd really stop and clean up while I was sitting here with my little pink pussy all apulse," she giggled. "I just wanted to see what you would do. I had no idea the depths of your devotion. I don't know whether to be flattered or offended, JT..." "You were wonderful back there, 'Sally," I said adoringly, looking up to a face that surely must have ruled some kingdom once, somewhere, long ago and far away... A dazzle of teeth that blinded... "So were you, JT. You really saved my ass once or twice," she reminded me again, returning the compliment. "I didn't expect my friend back there to show up so soon." She looked around the office, smiling contentedly. "Hmm. That's better, I must admit," she said, in positive approval before turning glittering lasers back upon me. "Maybe Maria had the wrong idea, my lad," she cajoled, looking me up and down. "Maybe we shouldn't put you in little- boy shorts after all..." She saw the hopeful uncertainty in my face, in stark contrast to the certainty that was her body, that I held in my hands. Was I to be reprieved from my bare-legged uniform to-be? "Yeah, JT. From what I can see around here--the way you clean so nice and neat--maybe what we ought to get you is a cute little French maid's outfit! You know, with the short little skirts, and saucy little fishnet stockings and high heels?" I didn't know it at the time, but that was her way of putting me in my place. She'd get close to me now, out of sympathy, out of gratitude, and a bond created by sharing a great and successful adventure. But she insisting on putting her parameters upon it. By reminding me that she was the boss, and I was the employee, and under her ladymuscle decree. I shrugged, embarrassed, and, could only hope that she was kidding. I think she was, because at that moment, she tagged my shoulder lightly with her hand, as though to reprimand me for taking the threat so seriously... Her breasts were like two huge scoops of rich vanilla ice cream on a hot day, cherry-nipples pert, ready for my mouth... All I wanted was to taste my bosslady's bod, and so I stood on tiptoe, and craned my neck, the better to slide my reverent lips around her supplements, and suckle in devotion. I leaned in close, feeling perfumed granite in my hands; lovely... I entreated the breast for sustenance, of one kind or another, and sucked, as a child sucks... She closed her eyes, put back her head, sighed a warm little cloud of excitement. My hands went behind her, cupping the taut buttocks, level with my mid-section. I was determined to please, and, although it may have been my imagination, I thought I tasted a sweet secretion that emanated from her breast; it was like sweet, fresh honey... "I guess we really do work well together," she admitted at last, her voice a soft purr. "Uh-huh," I agreed, letting her breast's purplish appendage fall from my mouth, to respond to my goddess, because that's what she was to me, now... A long string of saliva connected my lip to the pronounced tip of her nipple; she broke it up between thumb and forefinger. "We're a team," I said, hopefully, looking up and trying to sound sexy and sure, despite my babyish dribblings at her breast. "Sorry if I was a little hard on you when you came in earlier, JT," she confessed. I didn't say anything. She really had been brutal... She shrugged. "It's just that I felt so guilty 'n all. I really did use you to get this case completed. I dressed you up like a beach-boy and made you prance around in that little g- string bikini, and after I set you up with that blonde animal, I placed your life at risk. What if I had failed? Then, to make it worse, I had to make a pass at you, and lead you to think that there could be something serious between us. Then, when you get back here, I make fun of you, and break your heart. Gosh, JT, I'm sorry," she confessed, sincere regret apparent on her sleep- freshened face. "That's why I let you worship me just a little bit, before Raye-Anne made her early appearance. But you know something, JT? I just had a dream..." She didn't go into detail, but I think she wanted to act it out, now, with me... "A girl works up an appetite after a morning like that, my lad. Now where were we before that blonde bitch interrupted us ?," she asked, like a new-age Jane Bond, pumped and primed; her mission behind her and ready for some ribaldry. She pulled me against her with a hard jerk, and brought her mouth down on mine, to bestow a hot wet kiss full of take-over tongue, on the guy who loved her, and who wanted more than anything to be with her always. She thought that was so cute... She sat down on her chair without breaking the kiss, and took a delighted little man with her. I slid into her lap, straddling her thighs, and we rocked in the chair as my hands went to the sculpted brown flesh, running up and down their broad and amazing contours, savoring ripe breasts full of candy-apple delights. Her arms hugged me roughly as we kissed, and I didn't even notice the diamond engagement ring as it now made small scratches on my back. I wanted to stand, and pull off my green bikini-trunks, and throw myself at her blindly, wildly. But something subservient deep within me said to wait for this bold, all-but-naked woman to decided when, or if, that was to happen... We sat and kissed and dry-humped like that for a long time, our breath heaving, pulses speeding; I felt like a kid whose Christmas wish, long denied, had come true; and a great big female bodybuilder had been put under my tree, greeted me on that bright morning, and taken me amongst the tinsel, for a hot hump- fuck under the mistletoe. After endless moments of mounting ecstacy, Ursula made up her mind... She stood, holding me in her arms all the while, and turned. Her eyes were on mine, softly-softly; as she carried me, like a domineering bride who had taken the upper hand, over the narrow threshold. We went into the bathroom. I would have preferred a bedroom, but... She closed the door behind us as she placed me on my feet, inside her private lavatory. She leaned against the wall of the small rest room, her arms going behind her, her sculpted delts accentuated by the movement. "Getting a little moldy in here, JT," she said, glancing around and sniffing; the aftermath of her battle with the blonde still evident in pools of spilled toilet water. She held out a hand to inspect the wet blue tiles, and frowned. "Could you come in tomorrow and scrub the place for me? That's a good boy--you'll be coming in tomorrow anyway, right?," she answered for me, without waiting for my response. Wasn't there a cleaning lady for that, I thought? I guessed that that was another way of keeping a limit, or imposing another definition, on the coupling that was to come, racing towards us... More orders... She bounced against the enameled wall, standing there imperiously; like some chiseled, g-stringed, high-heeled musclegoddess forced to stand in a solitary line-up, as though she'd been apprehended by the police. What was her crime? Breaking and entering my heart. She placed both hands on her hips, flexed the Ms. Galaxy shoulders, and smiled down upon a guy half her size, who was too awed and too excited to do anything but stare and wait for her sexual orders. Ursula Parkheart, the Big-Muscled High Priestess of Pussy- Pumping, was about to issue a decree to her most-faithful subject. "Take that damn bikini off, JT," she said, feigning annoyance, still bouncing impatiently against the tiled wall, like the world's biggest lady-commuter waiting for a bus. Her hair was billowing like a shiny raven curtain around her as she did. She was beautiful, still; despite her bruises. Take off the bikini, she said... Now that was an order I liked hearing! I was amazed at her iron constitution; but hadn't she recuperated faster-than-fast two days ago, when Ms. Sternwood showed up with the job that had started this whole wonderful adventure? And now, after that pitched battled on the rooftop, a few minutes in the warm sunshine was all she had needed to get back on her spike-heeled feet! "Get naked for me, my little secretary," she commanded, as though it was an order. "I think I want to fuck the shit out of you," she stated matter-of-factly, with a little girlish sigh of boredom, and all the while looking at her bicep; as though making sure that it, too, was loaded for the coming lovers'-battle. A rocket of white excitement went up from my loins, and exploded in my stomach... I was eager to obey her, and offer myself in all humility, to serve her as she might deem fit. Her breasts, the only soft tissue on her body, shook as she continued to bounce in full-bodied splendor. The briefs were off in one pull--I needed no prodding. Maybe all my inhibitions were down in my exhausted, nervous state. Maybe they had been removed permanently after my rapturous, dangerous, painfully glorious night with Raye-Anne. I was so anxious to remove them, I nearly pulled myself off my feet, and I had half-stumbled across the tiles, into the cushion of my bosslady's body. She caught me, but did not let me linger in her huge arms-- she settled my balance and let go. "You weren't drinking last night, JT, were you?," she teased. But I couldn't answer. Even if I had heard what she asked. Because standing there in front of me was a woman who towered a full head over me in her green high heels spiked with shiny and sharp silver speartips. The kind that they used to kill werewolves, I remembered, out-of-the-blue... Her huge body was like a cool icy drink on a hot day... "Raye-Anne's really onto somethin', alright. I love the little-boy look on you...," she confessed. "No wonder she had you up half the night, fucking you senseless," she grinned wickedly, throwing me a wink. I was afraid I was going to receive an order to keep THAT clean-shaven as well, but no. Instead... "Let's celebrate being alive, JT. I owe you this one, for getting that she-hunk off me long enough to give me a chance," she admitted, with just a slight shudder at the thought of what might have been... Hadn't she done the same for me, when the gun had failed us? "Show me, JT," she encouraged, with a sultry edge in her voice. "Pretend it's Monday morning, and you've been getting steamed up all weekend long, thinkin' about your big bosslady's sex life--what is going on in that big hot woman's little panties?, you ask yourself, over and over in the dark. And you imagine me having sex, rough and naked, and you just can't help yourself." Her fingers disappeared in the tiny covering of her g- string, and her large arms rippled with thick muscular delights. "Your cock is hard, the way it is now. And there's a little tiny drop of pre-ejaculate oozing from it's mouth, and you need your big Ursula. You want ten just like her, flexing...", she said, licking her lips and preparing to pose, her eyes a slit of intoxicating come-on... She hit a double biceps pose, and muscle gave a concert of exploding flesh; veins rippled, sinew hit furious peaks, flashing like lightning, letting another one take center stage, and another; she turned and the perfect buttocks wiggled, sleek thighs wriggled. Her back was thick and broad and the muscles moved like trees swaying in a storm, oozing about under her skin. I had started masturbating without even knowing it, lost in the wonderland of Ursula's stunning physique. She motioned me to sit down with a little wave of her hand. I did so without taking my eyes off her for a millisecond of time, or missing a stroke as my hand slowly pumped my stiff penis. In truth, I was so excited I should have been rubbing twice as fast as I was; but even my well-practiced body could not keep up with the feast of muscle and beauty that was being presented to a hungry employee as he resided on his bosslady's toilet. I was overwhelmed; I could smell Ursula; the smell I thrived on inhaling each morning as she strutted in past me; it even overwhelmed the coffee I always held proudly high, waiting for her hand. But there was another ingredient; one that gave me a fevered, hot shiver as I felt the pre-ejaculate leak down my shaft. It was the smell of her aroused pussy, rich and musky in the small room... I had smelled it two days ago, sure; but it was doing battle with Old Forrester then, and the aroma was diminished by it. It was like a dark and wonderful treasure suddenly found; rich and thick and heavy as syrup. Sweet, too--but not bittersweet. It would be like a rich sweet confection that was brought out only on holidays, ceremonially placed in tiny glasses, sipped. I felt a spasm, proud but surprised I could support another orgasm but trying wildly to suppress it; not yet, I begged to whatever force that decides that crucial moment when bliss, for a mere moment, rules thought. I succeeded. Thank the gods for baseball statistics, well- memorized... Ursula prompted me with an erotic sway; her rock-ridged abs were already back; as though willed by this renewal of the spirit she had undergone. In fact, any sign of her bodily neglect of the past weeks was gone... My eyelids seemed to burn, half-closed as though with fever; something very warm seemed to have lodged itself in my windpipe, making it hard to breath... It was going to happen... Yes, Ursula, yes! And then... "What's that, JT?" I did not stop; I would have ejaculated right then and there, but Ursula, all-but-gloriously-naked, jumped forward; the high-heels making loud echoing little acoustic-tiled sounds as a quarter-ton of ladymuscle hopped over a puddle to inspect the body of her little sex-slave-in training. Her vast bare bulk hovered over me, and her long hair, only now beginning to really dry, fell wildly over her face. She brushed it back with a hand... She was interested in something, and it wasn't my orgasm; with the casual practiced expertise of a hooker, she locked a ring of thumb and forefinger just below the head of my penis, and lightly pulled my scrotum away from my body, halting any further action in my testes, denying it's coiled, ready-to-spring attempts at firing whatever little ammunition it had left to offer after a night of lady-so-muscular callings and raids upon it. I had been disarmed, like a demolitions expert defuses a bomb, and I did not know why. Something important had interrupted this little playtime, in her mind; and being that she was the one and only Ursula Parkheart, Flexing Detective, she had to know what it was. "JT, what the hell is this?," Ursula asked, half-amused, half-horrified, after inserting a finger between my sore buttocks and scraping off a tell-tale remainder of last night's raid on my dignity. A look that was half-amused and half-horrified crossing her face, she waved the white-gold cream she had scraped from below my scrotum. I did not realize that in my frantic condition, I had leaned back, my feet off the floor. And she had caught a clear first- hand and prolonged view of the orifice Raye-Anne had so mistreated; it was a memory I had already denied, pushing it from my mind... "You cumming in colors, JT? You found a way to make it turn to gold? Boy, are you gonna be popular when the girls find out," she teased. "Maybe I really have been missing something..." She wiped the finger on a paper towel and tossed it into the trash, shaking her head all the while as though she had underestimated me. "Why, JT, you really did brave a few frontiers for me!," she announced, as she leaned over me, her hands resting on the tiled wall above me. Her breasts hung down into my face, eclipsing my view of her body. I wanted to lick them, but she had something else in mind... But still, there was that scent coming from her groin... "I'm gonna have to get you cleaned up," she said, tsk- tsk'ing; her voice full of a promise that said she meant to do something more than give me a bath. "Would you like that, JT?" She marched out without waiting for an answer; threw on the tattered remnants of the raincoat and sailed out of the office holding a large set of keys; the torn coat was a testament to her catfight with the hulking blonde, and bore her handiwork; it fluttered and flew behind her like wind-billowed kite-tails. I heard her step fade and I was left sitting on her toilet, naked and exposed, my penis renewed with desire, throbbing with a silent plea for relief. When she came back a minute later, I was standing in her office trying to look as casual as I could, considering the fact that I was naked, and that my hairless genitalia was standing at full-salute to my Buxom Bodybuilding Bosslady. At this point, modesty didn't enter into the lop-sided equation of our new intimacy... She dropped the trashed raincoat on her desk. I don't know where she found it, but Ursula Parkheart had changed professions. She was wearing what looked to be merely the top half of a nurse's outfit; a stiffly-starched little white outfit whose short crisp sleeves were stuffed full of ladymuscle. Huge breastmeat made the cloth stretch almost to bursting. Shoulders stretched the seams until they were screaming silent outrage at having to remain in one piece on a body that was never meant to be so encased. The hemline hovered at a high-water mark somewhere not far below her navel, and bared her legs entirely. Ursula Parkheart, the Traveling Nurse In A Micro-Mini. And she was making a house-call on me. Magnificent... I saw she had brought something with her. Another towel, a bucket full of soapy water, and...? She held the contraption up before me, ignoring my raging erection that pulsed beneath her. "It must be awfully uncomfortable for you, JT, with that stuff oozing out of you like that. Don't worry, JT. Big 'Sally's gonna take care of it for you. You just hop up here...," she pointed, patting the old oak she was clearing off with a casual sweep of a huge arm, and ruining my clean-up job. She put her still-damp towel--that she had used to dry her hair--down on the battered desktop, and got ready to apply her prescription... It wasn't what I had in mind for my interlude with Ursula. But maybe, I thought, afterwards...? She ordered me to all fours, and I felt the new sunshine on the battered rear end I presented to my boss. The aspirin I had popped when we had returned to the office after the MuscleChick Battle was just now kicking in; it was only a vague ache now, the throbbing abated... I could smell the telltale scent of her hair on the used towel, held their by the moisture. It was a powerful aphrodisiac, but I didn't need one, anymore than a four-legged dog needs a pair of wings. Now when she was standing over me... She took a wet washcloth and soaped my groin and opened buttocks, removing the churned butter where it lay congealing; a sour-sweet curdled scent beginning to settle in. She was thorough and quick; there was no eroticism in her actions, and I felt like a toddler being cleaned and tended; a moment spoiled... "Funny, JT. I never though about having kids," I heard her say from behind. "Thought I couldn't handle diapering and all. Maybe I can at that. Stevie will be so pleased to hear it..." Uh-huh, I thought, as cool water ran down between open buttocks; if they knew how to blush, they would have been red. But then, I remembered with a pained wince, as Ursula playfully gave me a pat, hadn't someone already tended to that? So now I was a practice dummy for her emerging motherly- instincts! She turned me around, and pushed me back until I was laying on my back across the desk on the plush thick towel, propped up on a pillow she produced from her desk drawers, the better to alleviate the still-tender and slightly bruised flesh of my derriere; the recipient of LadyCop Maria's Wrath... "I'll have to have a talk with Maria, JT. She really went to town on your butt. Poor JT," she clucked, "whatever could you have done or said to make her so mad at you?," she asked, shaking her head sadly. I said nothing. What could I tell her? That I had turned Maria away to come back to her, like a dull child who didn't understand that her heart was taken? I felt ashamed and small now, being tended to like an incontinent infant by an Amazonic Nurse with a rugged fiance for whom her privates pulsed. Would she tell him of this later, and laugh, before lowering her head to suck his thick cock? What must she think of me, then, as she performed this act? For this was a woman I loved, and I was being treated like.. I shook the image from my mind, and tried to take whatever pleasure I could from being with her like this... On my back again, my legs were splayed wide, and she pushed my knees up, into my chest, signaling me to hold them there, just for a moment, she said, while she got it in... I felt a bit like a woman preparing for an pelvic examination! But it pleased my big MuscleBossLady, who looked on, amused at my eagerness to obey any command. I was a small man in a world increasingly populated by big- muscled, buxom women who were tall and in control and liked things that way. There was nothing strident in their cool dominion; no agenda, no list of demands. They merely would take what they wanted, flexing all the way, as their big breasts threatened to riot and explode from the confines of their tight and tiny tank-tops, as their hair blew in the wind, gold jewelry glimmered and tinkled on their wrists, and love-rocks glimmered on their fingers in fresh sunlight. They marched down the street in long spike-booted strides, while I broke into a faithful trot to keep up with their lives... And so, if this business gave her pleasure, it was not for me to ruin her fun... So I obeyed and watched her yummy-humongous body go about it's business. I looked up at the stand that held the sack of cleansing fluid. The warm water entered me as Ursula stood and watched. She had inserted the nozzle with her own hand; she didn't even give me the option of doing it for myself. She smiled as the water begin to flow. "How's that, JT? Good?," she soothed; just a hint of tease in her voice as she asked it. "The least I can do for you, my faithful little assistant," she assured me. "In fact, I might need the same treatment," she pouted, reaching a hand down to her crotch, to rub the orifices that had been so rudely treated by the dangerous, and now-vanquished, blonde... She stood over me, arms folded across that huge chest with the contented casual look of a nurse who gave enemas daily, not just to naked male secretaries on her battered oak-and-mahogany desk. Her large nipples peaked out in persistent, curious lumps through the sheer cloth of the nurse's garb. Her hourglass figure was so big, so bold, so daring; she broke all the rules dictating how large a woman could be and still be so stunningly attractive that she haunted my dreams. She eyed the stand that held the sack of fluid with satisfaction. Ursula Parkheart had her own Universal Health Care Plan, and was administering it to me on her desktop, just for fun... I saw my Boss-Lady as the First-Lady; boy, would this plan ever sail through my Congress! "Don't be shy, JT," she encouraged. She was holding a little compact case in her hand, and shot me a glance above the small mirror as she touched up her face. "If you have any urges, why, you just indulge them. I think you've earned it, just this once..." And so, as she stood and watched, I returned my attention to what I had been doing before my MuscleBossLady had turned micro- mini'd medic. There was no talking now; her exotically beautiful face took on a serious, intense look as she watched me, glancing only once or twice at the stand, and the nozzle below my hairless loins. Did she know what I thought, what I saw, as I ran the circle of thumb and forefinger up and down the shaft before this essence of Female allure who towered over me in her heartless heels?; her dominance stated by her bulk as the final word in our relationship; she was in charge, and was enjoying it all the way. My rectum filled with the fluid, meekly accepting her decision to perform this procedure, surrendering even this last bit of privacy to her, just because she wanted it. She picked up the heavily-weighted dumbbells from under her desk again... Biceps so huge they outraged my eyes went to work. She began heaving them up and down, for my own pleasure as well as hers! "Gotta admit, JT, you got good taste," she heaved, glancing at the nozzle to make sure it was still in it's place, in the orifice of her secretary... Her physique pumped and expanded, as though some invisible Goddess of Muscle was inflating it as part of some strange iron- lifting ceremony. Her shoulders strained, thickened; veins ripped and crackled; scalding Spanish blood raced to feed hungry pounds of ladymuscle. And I sighed. How I wished I had been a larger man, fuller, more muscular; taller; better-hung!; and so able to command her respect, her lust, and maybe, one day, her love. Still, if this was the best I was going to get, why not enjoy it? Did she have something more planned for me? God, I hoped so; I masturbated slowly, in long strokes that rose and fell on my shaft in measured, deliberate movements. I looked up to her in adoration unspoken; I was overwhelmed by her size and felt like a child forced to undergo this procedure without understanding why, really; just that he had been told it must be done. In a topsy-turvy world, she was the one in charge; she was the one with the muscles, the height; a confident cocksure, take- charge attitude, changing my life with small flexings of her monumental arms, like a super-sized musical conductor of my heart. The little nurse's tunic began to die, seams surrendering, as her insistent attributes inflated, and began to burst out, expanding by the muscle-pumping, threads coming loose... My vision clouded with the excitement... I saw Ursula in my mind's eye, in a dozen erotic encounters; spying me as a stranger in a nightclub and dragging me away from a mousie little woman, making me dance and fetch drinks and know her firm, powerful hand on my bared backside later that night after she had taken me home, before taking me to bed to revere her body and know it's bliss. I saw her as a powerful gladiatrix again, defeating challenges of men and women alike in an ancient arena; a legend to be feared as much for her name as a Warrior Queen as a Lover and Protector of the Weak. Royalty on a throne, commanding armies at her bidding, seducing visiting princes and kings to her subjugation for only a night of naked passion, and the smallest promise that more would be coming, at her whim... "Getting bigger, JT," she teased, maxing out a rep in it's apex, and holding it there for just a moment as her left arm protested with tears of sweat. A collection of muscle screamed it's name, threatening to expand any limitations man, or woman, might try to assign it... RRIIIIPP! The dress tore open in a long diagonal across her torso, begging to be excused from the task of which it had proven so incapable, as brown attributes broke out and took a deep breath. "And bigger," she said, doing the same with the right arm. Explosions of ladymuscle burst the sleeves, hard hot-fed delts showing contempt for the sterile cloth. "God, I love pumpin' iron, JT," she declared, as though it was a secret she would reveal only at her most vulnerable, as in the throws of orgasm... "Almost as much as I love pumpin' these hips in bed when it's time for a cock-feedin'," she added, emboldened by the day's events, as she performed a little of the stripper's bump-and- grind for effect... I nodded, as the uniform was exorcised from her body altogether now, and fell in meek surrender at her feet. Burst by her iron-pumping impertinence, revealing the hard- baked body of a she-hunk. And now, flesh bared again as it should be always, she displayed her wares, as though competing in a desperation posedown with a heated rival, sparing nothing in an attempt to, once and for all, please her secretary, whose attraction for her knew no bounds... She was molten, she was maddening, she was magnificent. I did not notice the bruises she bore as proof of her she-hulk collission with Raye-Anne. Instead, I just took in the thrilling sight, and enjoyed... She bent and leaned and showed me muscular configurations I did not know she had. Whatever Raye-Anne had displayed, whatever position she had struck, my gorgeous MuscleBossLady now did as well... But soon, her body swollen and highlighted by the workout, her passions aroused by her own muscular and dominant splendor, she was ready for something else... She stepped close, reached for the nozzle, pulled it out, pushing the stand away as she stood over me. I felt like a patient visited in the hospital by the woman of his dreams... Looking down into my eyes, her hand went to the tiny strap of her g-string and undid it with a pull, her face strangely grim; as though she were revealing a weapon that lurked underneath. One that she was not sure I could handle... She pulled me to my feet and wordlessly led me by the hand into the bathroom again. I felt like a shy maiden who resists seduction but finally capitulates and submits to the whiles of a suitor. But I would not offer any resistance at all... I waddled a bit, full of her prescription for worshipful male secretaries. She pointed to the toilet, commanding me to sit. I obeyed, feeling again like a child, ordered to proudly display his toilet-trained habits. She stepped in, straddling me by planting an oaken thigh on either side of my cold seat. For just a moment, I was scared. My breath was frozen in my chest; my eyes were level with the hard chiseled rungs of abdominal, ridges rippling as she began lowering herself down upon me; she did not sit on my thighs---she knew I could not support her weight as I sat on the toilet seat--and that I would end up half-submerged in her commode if she did. Instead, she exhibited an awesome display of her thighs as the power they promised when bared by her skirts now went to work; she was crouched, rock-steady, inches above me; ever-lowering. Her pubic hair was an insignificant inverted triangle, a protein picture-frame of trim dark curls. She grabbed my hair, tilting my head back rather roughly. A stern look came upon her. "One time only, JT. 'Cause I owe you this one. You remember this, now, 'kay?," she asked, like a sexy aunt allowing her child a treat long-forbidden but earned by good-as-gold behavior and straight A's. At the same time, her molten sex filled my nostrils with it's hot-blooded sexual wickedness. I nodded, anxious for the feel of her pussy again, the feel of her body, hard and vast and unforgiving, earth-woman soft and lush, all at the same time. I saw the small tributaries of vein that surrounded her groin, just beneath the skin, feeding blood to the sweet sexual tenderloins of my heapin' hot BossLady. I felt suddenly overwhelmed by her sheer size, and for a moment I fantasized again. I saw myself as a lost shepherd boy, corralled by her ever-vigilant lady-guards, brought to her castle, bathed and oiled by strong female hands, sent to the boudoir of the Queen; where now, I was to be amusement for a passing hour or two... Yes, I thought; let it be so, bosslady. And Ursula, the second-most muscular but by far the most special, beautiful woman I would ever know, lowered her battle- bruised body down onto the penis that had yearned for her, dreamed of her; her vagina was open, almost as a maw; and it dripped copiously onto my lap like a hungry animal nearing food. She was like an unstoppable, inexorable glacier of New Woman, rolling slowly onward, downward, to me; I would bear the mark of this encounter forever, like a stone that meets and falls to the unforgiving moving ice, it's geography changed forever. And so I was standing at the bottom of another kind of avalanche, one made of a hardbodied woman's stern cool desires, backup up by a muscular physique built slowly, devotedly, over the course of twenty years. Her pinky-clit protruded, plainly exposed, wet and firm in it's approval. It stood like a pink guardian as it looked down upon the proceedings, and watched as my erection vanished, engulfed by a determined descent of extra-large female. I could feel a palpable heat exuding from her privates, like a hot furnace ready to be re-stoked; hungry for another log! I slid deeply within her silky flesh-purse, and she seemed for all the world to be taking my penis away from me, to hold it within her, to play with for as long as it amused her, and she wanted to. Suddenly, the elastic walls squeezed tight around my rod, snapping shut, locking it into a pretty prison of pussywall. It was happy to be there, imprisoned in delightful confinement. The guard of this particular jail was a beautiful muscular woman who had entered my cell now, and had decided to make me dance a dark and lusty jig with her. And so she crouched in a sexy squat, showing no strain or discomfort in the position, resting her hands on her lower thighs as she bent low, her head hovering just over mine. She blew me a kiss, her sweet breath the only contact made with my face; she would never once kiss me during this entire encounter on her toilet, either; withholding that one simple intimacy. Her nipples were hard and large; half-inch volcanic peaks I needed to suckle again, and did, locking a meaty nipple between my lips, running my tongue back and forth across it's tip and loving the taste of her flesh. I felt the weight of her breasts upon my face and wanted it there; holding the mighty manifestation of her womanhood with fervent, reverent hands, hands that now burned to go to her broad muscular shoulders, and rest them in that deep cut that separated deltoid and arm. Her hair tumbled wildly down her body, fully dry at last, and the ends tickled my shoulders. She reached for my exploring hands, making me surrender the reassuring handfuls of muscle they squeezed within them; pushed my arms down, to my sides; making a message that rang clear. "Pay attention," she seemed to be saying... I was to watch, and feel only the warmth of her vagina as it squeezed my worn member, and slid oh-so-slowly up and down, up and down. I watched my shaft, wet with her pussy-slick, shining in the dim light. It re-appeared each time, for just a second, as she raised herself upright; only to vanish, swallowed by her voracious sexlips in little damp slurps. And I watched her chiseled rungs of abdominal tighten and release, tighten and release, as she squeezed the penis she so easily contained within her. The wet-velvet lips had the mobility of a second mouth, so fluid was it's movements. I wondered if this was an exercise that lady bodybuilders guarded like a Masonic Secret from the world-at-large... But she seemed to be making a point all the while; letting her faithful assistant enjoy her body's wondrous sweet pleasures at last, and at the same time making it clear to him that such continued couplings were out of the question for her. She was running in a test-pattern of pussy-pump, not daring to let loose her rapacious appetites upon me for fear that it would overwhelm this smaller specimen. She was merely playing, like indulging a lovesick adolescent in a sweet kiss goodbye, letting me down easy, I knew. A reward for valor in the face of the enemy, maybe; that was all, and even as I felt the boiling pressure seek release under all her thick hot mountains of flesh, I still knew... She would play with me on a toilet seat, a beneficent smile on her face as she made me cum and moan and pledge an undying allegiance to her, forever. And she would smile to hear that too, with that same smile. But then she'd go take her real lover to her great cool bed, and fuck him furiously amongst silk and down and whispers of love, and for her it was not even the same act... My mouth went to her nail-scraped wounds that ran in a diagonal rake across her stomach; I kissed them, licked them, wishing I could heal them with my devotion... Once or twice she thrusted downwards upon me with vigor, a small grunt emanating from her throat, as though to give a hint of what it could really be like to arouse her desires. But then, as though catching herself, she would resort to the same slow, gentle up-and-down squat-thrusts. A boiling began again, hot steam roiled to white-water frenzy in my loins, release imminent. And then I did release; but it was not the one I would have expected. Warm water ran from my body, into the cool pool underneath me. All dignity gone now; I was Ursula's toy. I looked up to her eyes in a swoon, and she, proud and strong and in command over me, smiled back and flexed her vagina yet again; the effect was to lock my penis so tightly that the escape of the water from my rectum was slowed to a trickle; after a long slow smile of triumph and control, she then released the hot strong internal muscle, and the clear warm stream began again. I felt it run across my buttocks, flowing downward to the same water in which she had nearly drowned, earlier this morning. She did this three times---hard, battleworthy abs tightening and loosening, constricting and freeing; chuckling with delight at this parlor trick she had taught her secretary's body to perform while my hands went to be reassured in the nook of her bent arms... Her scent of her vagina sent waves of powerful aromatic pheromones at me, filling my head with nothing but Ursula... I had been right; her pussy really was a weapon, every much as Raye-Anne's had been; an after-effect of weight-training, I guessed. At any rate, she had turned it upon me and rendered me insensate, drunk with worship, and, I was sure, with love. And then she got up. Such was the strength of her hold on my penis that, as she rose, she almost took it with her; it stretched like a rubber phallus as her pussy-lip-lock held on tight to the fleshy helmet. After a moment's struggle, the stubborn orifice gave up, and my penis-head escaped with a pop! It fell, shocked at such a narrow escape, into my pale lap. What was going on? Wouldn't I get a chance to finish? I looked up, my face a question mark, to my naked, broadly- built bosslady as she stood over me. FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723 Ursula Parkheart, P.I.: The Flexing Detective in The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon by Forrest Curran (c) 1994 WIG, LTD Chapter Eleven: A Muscle-Girl's Faithful Toy An evil smile crept across her face. "Any young gal worth her bra-straps can drive a guy crazy with a taut 'n tight pussy," she declared. "But we don't have all day, do we, JT? I have places to go and men to ah, you know..." she added, mischievously. Yeah, I supposed I did know. But what was I supposed to do, sitting there in nature's own, on her toilet? Surely, this wasn't the end of our encounter? Why, I hadn't even been given a chance to... Slowly, the she-muscle vixen knelt in front of me, her face close to my glans, and getting closer... She parted pouting lips; opened her elegant mouth... And engulfed me to the root in one quick swallow. I forgot Maria's mouth quite quickly, as my cock-head introduced itself to the back of her throat. Because now, with the skilled expertise of a meat-hungry prostitute, she sucked my penis with tight, wet movements full of warm dribbles of saliva. Her tongue found the underside of the head, her teeth biting down just-right, almost causing pain; yet delivering pleasures I knew would pass as soon as I orgasmed... I did not want to; I wanted only to stay here, with My 'Sally. Where my sexual endurance was coming from, I did not know... I closed my eyes, and felt her pull my penis forwards, and expose my scrotum beneath; she began to suck on my testicles, taking them at once into her large sensuous mouth as though threatening to swallow them whole. She ran them around on her tongue like so much sweet taffy, 'round and 'round; licking, sucking, cleaning; my very manhood at her mercy, like a bit of candy she had fancied. She held perfectly still for just a moment, and stared up at me; I felt the pressure of her tongue under my scrotum, as she pressed it against the slippery-wet roof of her mouth. She couldn't smile, not with her mouth full... Fully in charge even here, as she knelt before me, licking at my loins, making her point again... She spat my masculinity out, as though the very flesh that embodied it had suddenly gone bad, spoiled, in her mouth; or perhaps had begun to bore her. The musclefoxy woman who owned my heart went back to my cock, and nearly swallowed it. Her face distorted a bit as my cock-head jabbed into her cheek from the inside, and my body rocked with bliss... Head bobbing up and down, her mouth slurped in wet-hooker sounds. Now it was her saliva that was hanging in fragile little strings, running down to my skin. She let her hands fall limp at her side, and turned her eyes upon me, in a strange and sudden subservience, lapping and licking like a horny parlormaid desperate to please her master; as though urging his loins to gush semen into her mouth... Her head kept on bobbing and bouncing rapidly up and down like a backseat-bobbledoll; her breasts bounced merrily in correspondence, turned in the rapid motion to flopping teats that jiggled on my knees. More obscene liquid slurps escaped her mouth, as did more thick oozing saliva, warm and dripping. The mouth was a pursed oval full of penis, her eyes half-lidded, turning up to stare me down, as she showed me what the man in her life would be having every night. This was indeed, a demonstration run; like letting me hold a sweet prize in my hands for a moment, before taking it away, handing it, naked and grinning, open-legged, to another. Finally, releasing my penis from her mouth, her face still mere inches from my saliva-soaked organ, she spat upon her hand and grabbed my desperate wet erection, that hovered on the brink of shooting... And she masturbated me with quick and determined and slick little yanks of her powerful hand. It did not take long... "...C'mon, JT. Do it for me!," she ordered, giving me my cue with a raunchy urgency in a voice made raspy with cock- sucking. Another demand from the fair sex to orgasm on their command; the second one I'd had today. Or was it three? Her hand was nearly a blur. Her fingers tickled my testicles, only adding to the pleasure, the pleasure, the plea... I watched the thick arms at work, the bare breasts, the sensual mouth, half-opened in anticipation... I spasmed, limbs out of control, uttering murmured words of servile ecstasy as I did... And I gushed into her palm in seconds, feeling small and weak under all her thick stacked brown ladymuscle. But I opened my eyes and saw not a proud and manly pool of semen-shoot, but a trickling thin seed running over her hand. It dripped onto the white porcelain rim below as I shook and trembled and worshipped her. If I thought that there was to be a repeat of LadyCop Maria's hungry cum-lickings, I was sadly mistaken. "Jaay-teeee," Ursula tsked casually, upset at the mess my loins had created in her bathroom. My ejaculate had been almost water, weak and runny after expelling last night, and again this morning, in service of others, far less kindly but no less powerful. "Guess someone beat me to your balls, JT. Your cum's pretty meager," she said, as though it was my fault, as she reached for the toilet paper. "Don't mind me, JT. I guess I'm just spoiled," she sighed. "When Steve cums inside me, he shoots his load so hard I can feel it; and sometimes there's so much of it that it nearly shoots out my ears!...," she derided, cheerfully; meaning to be playful. I did not find her so. "And it's thick as pea soup, and just as tasty, too," she added, licking her lips unconsciously, as though she wanted some right now. She folded the paper around her hand, eyes going cloudy, lost for a moment in a cum-coated memory. For Ursula, it was as though she had just completed an act she did every day; there was no warm afterglow to her at all as I sat there, exhausted and in love. My naked bosslady wiped the rim with a piece of toilet paper she had pulled from the adjacent dispenser, and dropped it into the water below. Then she flushed; and I continued to sit there, my eyes locked adoringly on her all the while as the runny after- glow of my devotion swirled down her toilet. My DNA would not know the heaven of her pussy, or have the chance to compete with itself for the privilege of fertilization. For her, it was as flimsy and weak as it's owner was, and so she had rejected it, without any hesitation. Just like that. This ever-so-hot, hard-humpin' harlot of a Lady Private Eye had banished my semen to the sewers! Could I really have hoped for more? I guessed not, I concluded, as I sat shuddering... She was such a beautiful woman. Even after a sleepless night of sex and a morning's battle with a blonde titaness, her face was as unlined and fresh as a twenty year old, despite her small black eye that showed, very slightly, beneath her hasty make-up application. As though I had just responded to a medical test, she stood up perfunctorily and washed her hands, humming like a housewife at the kitchen sink, post-dinner. Okay, a naked housewife! Picking up my green trunks in her hand, she winked, completely comfortable in the raw, as she had every right to be; she flexed the haunting slab of bowling ball on her arm, and began to walk out to her desk. I watched the perfect ass wiggle and shake like hot-jello... Only now did I really see the bruises on her ladymuscle-bod, in post-sex retrospection; on her thighs, her arms; testimony to her deltoid-duel with her golden-haired counterpart. They did not detract from her glory one bit. "I think I've seen enough of this bikini-swimsuit of yours," she announced, turning in the doorway, and tearing it to shreds in her powerful hands. Leaving me naked. Didn't I leave my clothes on the desk when I left here yesterday? I hadn't noticed them when I came in... "Finish expelling, my lad, and clean up," she said coolly as she pulled the door closed behind her. "Then come outside and see me. I'll give you something to wear when you come out... 'We have to talk. I'll be waiting..." She had dressed, if you can call picking up the tiny little stretchdress and pulling it down over her chiseled frame dressing; she was wearing it when I opened the door. I felt a certain sadness at seeing her spectacular body covered, albeit very scantily... She was hanging up the telephone, told by my telltale flush that I was coming out. In a moment, I knew who she had been talking to; there was a sexy flush on her face that had not been there when she had departed from our love-toilet tryst. She was sitting on the windowsill, putting some distance between us; bare legs crossed, igniting my urges all over again. I stood, naked, exhausted; and ecstatic. My eyes met hers; she had to give me another chance! Sometime when I had some energy, some rest, some ability to perform for her... I could show her that I really loved her then... Maybe the sight of me, unclad, standing in the sunlight, would bring her around, arouse her again. Yeah, that's it... She laughed out loud as though she could read my thoughts. "You've become quite an exhibitionist in the last few hours, JT," she announced. "You haven't had a real stitch of clothing on since yesterday afternoon, have you? You've been too busy getting fucked and spanked and fought over...," she proclaimed, as she turned a mock-critical eye to a collapsed three-piece set of genitals that had retired from activity for the time being. She shook her head as though amused at a delightfully-cute child who had wandered out of it's bedroom, without a stitch on it's bottom... Raven-tressed muscularity got up and tossed me a pair of tiger-striped bikini briefs from a drawer in her desk; I put them on. They were too large and baggy, particularly in the crotch, and I had to hold them up with one hand. Ursula nodded with a knowing smile. It was over for her; she had tossed me a muscular bone; just this once. She had meant it. It wouldn't be repeated. At least, not the sex part, anyway... "Those are Steve's. I stuck them in there once after we had a little late-night tete-a-tete on my desk one night. Don't worry, JT. I had 'em washed. Up to today, I thought they were just gonna be mementos..." I stood before her, sliding the small briefs on, and it all struck me as ironic. Time was, when someone dressed in small swimsuits to catch the eyes of muscular pool-goers, hardnosed cops and hardboiled detectives, it was a woman doing the un-dressing. But now, it was I who had been the strumpet, I suppose, trying to appease the stern eyes of large-muscled and lovely women. Go figure... "No offense, JT, but I deep-sixed those old clothes of yours," she admitted, not apologetic in the least. "They were so...," she wrinkled her nose before saying the word... "Square! You look ever so much nicer in those little things," she announced. I grinned sheepishly, inhaled; tried to look bigger again. We talked. "Boy, JT," she chuckled amidst an involuntary flex, "if that toilet could talk, what stories it would tell, huh?," she asked, bright eyes blazing. "If Steve found out what a bad girl I've been, I'd get my little fanny spanked. And he'd probably cut me off for a week, too...," she giggled. "Promise you won't tell..." I nodded, looking down. "And that Ms. Hallison thought we were a couple," the musclewoman clucked. "People talk, JT. I hope my Stevie-kins doesn't hear that, or he's gonna misunderstand, and take your Bosslady's pretty diamond away," she worried, her hand going to her face in mock-alarm. How strange it was to suddenly see this monument to female independence suddenly so domestic, so girlish, so tame... But she was not that way toward me; far from it... "Now get this straight, young man," she said, wagging a finger at me, trying to sound stern and friendly all at once. "I took you into my powder room and gave you a good fucking because I figured you'd earned it. It was that simple. I can't afford to give out bonuses at Christmastime--at least, not yet-- so let's just consider that your present from me, 'kay?" I nodded, wishing it had been more, wishing I had been more. But she had also made a point by consenting to this conjoining upon her toilet; she made it clear how mis-matched our bodies were. I had enjoyed it, of course; immensely. But for her, it was just a light workout for her quads and calves... And then, words of consolation... "You're such a sweetheart, JT. And I'm flattered that you think of me in such grand terms. And I want you to know, too, that you're the best assistant I have ever had. I need you. But I don't love you. Not in that way...," she acknowledged, folding her arms, the bold muscle leaving it's signature flex, and signing off on me... "You need a sweet girl to love you for the dear gentle guy you are. Someone to share a life and have a family with you and grow old together side by side... 'But my dear little secretary, that's not what I want," she said, shaking her head sadly, slowly, as though making a confession. "It's not what I need. I don't want a quiet, easygoing little guy to hold my hand and tell me everything's gonna be alright. I've seen too much in life to believe in that. Can you really see me standing over a hot stove fixing dinner for your children? Me? The woman who bosses you about all day?" I shook my head no, but the truth was, even now, I could. And I could see myself, naked under the sheets at the end of a long day, waiting, with a heart that would still be pounding after years of marriage, for Ursula to bring her hard-muscled, huge-breasted beauty to bed. And ravage her adoring husband. In the morning, there would be coffee; but not served in an office. I would bring it to her on a silver tray as she lay naked and satisfied and beautiful and big, in our marriage bed. The sheets might cover that body, but it would still be hugely-muscled and ready to go into action... And maybe, if she felt in the mood, she could take me again, under thick warm blankets on a cold morning... I felt guilt at the orgasms, the wild desires spent with the blonde tigress; but I had done it all for her, hadn't I?, I asked myself, lying... But I was surrendering to the inevitable, something I had secretly known all along but had been reluctant to admit... She was letting me down gently, but making a point, it seemed, she had long wanted to make but hadn't had the heart--- until now, after our rapture in the rest room. She would never mention that secret bathroom tryst after today; not in all the time I would know her. In truth, I do not think it was particularly memorable for her... Flexing her thick crackling slabs of muscularity once again, almost audibly, as if in prelude and preface to what she had to say; to point up so plainly and obviously what our differences were.... I wished I could counter her muscle-making, but knew that any attempt on my part to meet her on her own bodybuilding terms would only amount to so much comic relief. I heard laughter waft in from the hallway; the cleaning crews were attending to the faded tile floors just outside the office, and for a paranoid moment I feared that they were in on the joke. Still, I hoped that their hearing was not too acute... "I don't want a man to put me on a pedestal, JT. I like being worshipped; don't get me wrong; I love your little heartsick looks, my lad, and knowing that I'm Woman Incarnate to you. I love your long hungry gazes, too; they're quite flattering, and I know you'd sell your right testicle just so I'd kiss the left one, wouldn't you?" I smiled, shrugged... But she went on... "But you know what this big gal needs, JT? More than a devoted and adoring little guy at my feet, shinin' my spikes while I pump up this hot bod in my fishnet stockings?" I shook my head, knowing but not wanting to hear it... "I need a man who wants me for who I am, not what I am; and who knows how to take care of me when and where I want him to, JT. In bed," she declared, matter-of-factly, without a trace of embarrassment. "Someone who's big and strong and good-lookin' as the devil, who can keep a big dumb happy grin on my face morning, noon, and night. I can always take care of myself in life, JT, especially by day," My Extra-Large LadyLove said, rejecting me and nodding to her big arm even as she flexed it again, for the thousandth time in a day. "What I need is a hunk who can help take off the edge at night. Someone who can take me in his arms and make me his, who I can hug with all I've got and not worry about hurting him. Who I can look up to, and yeah," she admitted, a musky, indulgent tone sneaking it's way into her voice, "a studly guy, who I can strip-and-get-naked-with and pump my hips and shake my tits and get my muscular ya-ya's out. Who makes me cum like a horny hooker, and scream for his load to shoot hard and hot into my cunt, my mouth, and yeah, JT, even my ass," she affirmed. "Who can fuck the daylights out of me, and leave me breathless," came the announcement, a slight flush at her cheeks; and as if she could see it in her mind, she sighed just a bit... Just like Susan Sarandon... "And who lets me do what I do without sticking his nose into my life," she added quickly, suddenly like a tigress, "'cause the only thing I want him to stick in is below his beltline and measures about nine inches long." She must have seen my raised eyebrows at the mention of the mammoth penis that once again was her sexual plaything and pacifier by night, and I suddenly felt ashamed at the offering I had made her; my own organ was merely half that size... Ursula shot me a wicked wink and a quick evil flex. "S'right, JT," she confirmed, naughtily, while making an eruption of hard-baked bicep spout on her arm; it disappeared as quickly as it came... "You got it," she winked lustily, "Your Bosslady likes a nice big piece of meat pumpin' away in her hot pussy." She had confirmed my worst fears; the ballgame was over. I blushed crimson, knowing I had not presented her with such an inadequate member. "And I want a guy who can back it up with a body--someone who can stand toe-to-toe with your bosslady in the physique department. It's what I need, JT, to get off," the once-and- future Ms. Muscular affirmed, without a trace of apology in her voice or her eye... "Maybe that just makes Steve a big dumb studbull for his woman," she admitted, frowning just a bit at the thought... But then she brightened... ' Well, so what?" she asked, as she shrugged a huge shoulder, happily. "Maybe I just like my men that way, JT---Big, dumb, handsome studs. With foot-long horsecocks that never quit!" Boy, did that leave me out in the cold... She added insult to injury as she glanced at the loose fold of cloth in the crotch of my borrowed briefs and giggled. Through all of the wild goings-on in the last day, something had happened in my relationship with by Big Boss. The sexual aspect of my devotion to her, long as much a part of our relationship as the mighty muscles she wore, had come to the surface; she was talking to me now in a way she never had before. I had always thought I would welcome such frankness from her, but the truth was, now that it was happening, I didn't. Because once a thing is brought up to the light of day, and spoken words are applied to powerful feelings, it can seem oh-so-different from the unspoken private dreams I had had for so long; both in the office as I looked longingly upon her; and at night, alone, in my bed. This heartbreaker-she-hulk in a strapless green micro-mini, standing before me, would never believe that, under her thick physique, there was a woman I loved, regardless of her breathtaking embroidery; now I didn't think she ever would. Because now, after everything had been said, I saw myself through her eyes. I was just a little boy in a little man's body. Oh, sure, a human being, and as such entitled to all the rights and privileges thereof. But I simply was not a part of her own special species of human--the kind that, man and woman both, were larger than life, lusty, and worthy of her respect. And I could not picture myself commanding much esteem while sitting on the edge of her desk in tailored tennis shorts, content to sit in her mighty shadow. But I knew that if I had no other choice, and no other way to be with her, then I would take it and be grateful to love her from afar... Reflecting back, the realization came to me that Ursula had not achieved orgasm in our coupling, and worse, had seemed as though she hadn't expected to, either. I had been the recipient of a mercy-fuck before, from my former fiancee, just after she told me she was leaving me to go shack up with some lifeguard she'd met at the beach; throughout our brief, emotionally-stricken last coupling all I could see was her, naked in his arms, getting fucked loud and long, night after night with her new lover, having long forgotten me as she accepted his wet meaty thrusts and cried for more. And now, when I thought back to my moment with Ursula, the image of her fiance kept creeping in, taking over my position with her until I was out of the picture completely; almost, by sheer virtue of the force of their physiques, to deny that it had ever happened... Surely, she would orgasm with him, I knew, frowning... We were from two different worlds, she and I. Lop-sided, one-way lovers if we were ever lovers at all. Her message, when taken in it's all, came down to One Simple Golden Rule: Size Counts! I watched my bosslady through the open door as she poured out the remnants of the bourbon bottle in the bathroom sink. I had offered her a drink to celebrate her re-betrothal, but she had nixed the thought at once. "For now on, the only thing I'm drinkin' besides mineral water and fruit juice is protein shakes!," she averred, her hand held high at her side in a girl-scout pledge. I wondered how she'd look in the outfit. A small devil in me said if only she would have had a belt of the booze, maybe... Back to the casual Ursula of old now; brazenly absent-minded and careless about her state of undress. She didn't bother to adjust the vanished hem of the hint-of-a-dress she was wearing. The green cloth ended only two or three inches below her navel, like some tank-top that had gotten ambitious and was found wanting. She probably found it more comfortable to let the thing ride her hips anyway. The pink panties were so tiny; a mere sliver that covered her sweet warm crotch---I envied the man who would be pulling them off her magnificent hips tonight; venturing confidently in to her divine pussy as though he owned it; maybe he already did. Maybe that had been the problem all along. He would be rough and strong and stern with her, and she would respect that, and orgasm would strike them both simultaneously, like lightning conjured up from above and below them by their pagan offerings, their godless clashings of hungry pussy and rampaging cock, legs pumping... No, she was safe around old JT, she knew, like a kid brother who wouldn't even notice the incredible eroticism of her outfit; of her very presence. Not after satiating his appetites, and treating me to a few minutes of the LadyMuscle Circus that was her body. That's what she thought. Or did she just enjoy torturing me on some dark and hidden level? Did her showgirl's ego simply enjoy far too much the ready and eager audience provided by her faithful assistant, who would, she knew, run home to a small and empty apartment to dream one-handed dreams of her, repeating her name all the while, as she took her pleasure roughly with another man... "I meant to apologize," she remarked, leaning back as she stood in the bathroom to have a clear line of view at me; her buttocks all but bared in the conspiracy hatched by backless panties and surrendering skirts that hugged and rode high... Boy, she was making this hard. Those miles of hard dark thigh, muscles writhing and stirring beneath them with every tiny high-heeled step, every little move, she made... "For the other day..." The other day? Did she remember after all...? "When you stepped out of the office, I must've staggered out to your desk in nothin' but my stockings and heels!," she exclaimed. She finished pouring the bourbon down, giving the quart bottle a final shake with her vastly muscular, thick arm; and she ran some water to wash the vapors away. A quick check in the mirror now; busying herself for only a minute or so, applying more powder and lipstick, and expertly covered any tell-tale traces of her fight-to-the-near-finish... She walked back in again, after chucking the empty bottle in the bathroom wastebasket with a perfect hook shot. It shattered as it landed in the bin. She strode to her desk, through a pool of sunshine that had collected on the floor, her body taking on, briefly, a bright golden hue as she swam through it. Looking ready for a nightclub entrance, gloriously-built and made up for naughtiness as she stood by the window, looking out; and only now did she pull the dress down her thighs as she surveyed the street below, quiet in the encroaching heat of the day. The skirt shrunk right back up on her body even as she stood there; as though it didn't want to cover this magnificent slab of female muscle, letting it all be revealed to the world. Or at least, to her panting assistant. Her buttocks revealed themselves in perfect crescents, peering from under the flimsy stretch-cloth. It was way too small for her big body, at least for the moment, after a couple of weeks of junk food and liquor; she'd fix that in a hurry, I knew... "You didn't see me like that, did you?," she asked, turning over her shoulder to me and seeming, from the look upon her sharply-chiseled face, to prepare herself for some unpleasant news; and as though the memory was too painful for her to think of, she winced. I could've told her what happened, that we writhed naked together on her desk; that she had torn my clothes off; that she had grabbed my penis and slid the head into her steaming vagina; that it had shrunken around it perfectly, as though it was always meant to be there. That it had been, up until then, the most exciting moment of my life. But already she was busy re-adjusting the stubborn dress again, her attention elsewhere. Unconcerned about the hungry prying desperate eyes of her secretary, who was watching every tiny movement of her hands on those long miles of bare sculpted thighs, and imagining what they felt like. "No, Sally, I missed that. Too bad for me, huh?," I lied. The black-haired amazon seductress turned around. She did not raise her head. She just looked up at me from the corner of her eyes, and smiled. And finished what she was doing, her long legs flexing on matching green-and-white spiked heels; afloat in sunlight. "You know," she said, encouragingly, "it's really very flattering," she acknowledged, later, as we sat cross-legged together upon her desk. I had to hold the briefs up; in this position they nearly fell off my slender frame. We huddled together, looking for all the world like some big mother lioness and her cub as we sat there; the pool of sunshine had sought us out, and bathed us in warmth and light. I had resolved myself to her happiness. The sexual tension, for her part, was gone forever. And we were having a heart-to- heart, drinking the stale coffee. My hand went to my rump as I shuddered and thought of what almost happened... "Let's be honest, really muscular women like me, like Raye- Anne Hallison, are just beginning to find acceptance. Years ago, they'd have put us away for doing this to ourselves," she acknowledged, lifting her arm just a bit; the muscle flexed ever- so-slightly, like an sea that throws up a big wave on a calm day. But you know somethin', JT? That's changing," she said, reaching and running her hand gently through my hair as I sat opposite her, Indian style. Thankfully for my eyesight, she had folded her legs at her side, sparing me the intoxicating but impossibly distracting sight of the tiny pink g-string she passed off as a panty, soft and silky and inviting. "Little by little, we're getting the respect we deserve. And guys like you, well, you make it that much easier for us. You're honest enough to admit to yourselves, if not to the world at large, that you like the way we look. There's plenty of guys out there who scoff and put us down, and then go out and by 'Women's Physique World' and gawk and read it with one hand, if you catch my drift. They're hypocrites." She leaned into me conspiratorially, smiling. "Don't think I haven't seen that magazine in your desk all full of pictures of Juliette Bergmann in her mini-skirt, and Thea Bennington, and Hannie Van Aken and that bad-girl Brit, Paula Bircumshaw. And let's not forget your autographed eight by ten of a red-hot Sandy Riddell you keep under your blotter." She hadn't spotted my Robin Parker videotape yet; I would take it out and play it on the small office VHS machine, when I would stay behind, late at night, attending to grey and mundane details that bored by Bosslady. And after, entertain myself... She made a clicking sound out of the corner of her large sensuous mouth, twitching her head slightly in admiration at the mention of her name... "Now there's a gal, that Sandy. Remind me to tell you about the time I trained with her, kiddo. Whew! Gave me a run for my money, lemme tell ya..." She must have seen the regret in my eyes, because she smiled wistfully, shook her head, and soothed me... "Don't feel so bad, JT. I know I called you a schmo before, but y'know something I've found?," she consoled me. "What's that, boss,?" I asked, resigned, heartsick. "No matter what your tastes are, there's somebody out there for you. If things don't work out with you and Maria--and from the look of your ass, I have every reason to believe they won't-- why, I suppose I could put out the word at the gym," she suggested, arching an eyebrow and regarding me with those ten- carat diamond eyes that were like stars in a galaxy of naked ladymuscle. "What I mean is, I'm sure there are some big ladies who rather like a schmo, if you'll forgive the word," she added in apology, but strafing me with a frank up-and-down scan of my rather unprepossessing body, with it's oversized briefs. The waistband had slipped from my hand, and I had half-tumbled out the front of it; grasping it and blushing, I pulled it back up. She looked ready to say something about it, but did not. My LadyMuscleFox waxed mischievous now... "Mrs. Dunk downstairs asked me if you were married, you know, JT. Don't let that grey hair and that ample-fed frame fool ya, my boy. I hear that she's a wildcat herself on a couple of drinks!," she laughed... "But she chastened me about my rules of behavior in the office; she thought I was the one who had spanked your bouncy little butt all red and angry-looking! See how much trouble you cause me, JT? Honestly, think of what that kind of talk will do to my reputation in the building!" I realized that after today, I was going to have a hard time holding my head high in the building, little-boy short-shorts or no, to say nothing of Ursula. And hadn't she been responsible for at least one of my recent ass-slapping sessions? "You really have alot to offer a woman," she now said, getting just a bit serious as she ran a hand along her calve, "whether she's got muscles or not; you're good, and kind, and faithful, even if the Good Lord put all that nice stuff in an extra-small package the day he made you. There are some rather, shall I say, pumped-up ladies who might welcome your devotion rather gratefully...," she suggested. "Now I'm not saying she'd be the most faithful woman in the world, but oh, JT; the sex! Once you've had a large-muscled lover, you're ruined for anything else, take it from me. Don't you agree?," she asked, shrugging, coaxing her muscles into a momentary presentation of living sculpture at rest... "Uh-huh," I answered, flashing back at once to my three interludes of the past twelve hours, with women I had longed dreamed of, and swallowing my desire in the form of a mouthful of saliva. The gulping sound in my throat made her chuckle in amusement. "To use the lingo of the kids, JT, it's really quite simple, isn't it,?" she asked, raising a wickedly sexy eyebrow, and prompting a massive enlargement of her right bicep as she flexed it into raw and lovely life. "Muscle rules, my little Guy-Friday. Doesn't it,?" My face was locked in an ice-cube freeze of suspended animation, as I leaned in close to the view, as I felt horny butterflies flutter in my chest. "By the way," she added, changing the subject and lightening the mood, as her face playfully contorted in disgust, "this coffee taste even shittier now, doesn't it?" She swirled the twice-burned brew in her cup and held her nose. We laughed in relief. "I really can go make fresh and hot, if you want, Sally," I offered once again, suddenly feeling very tired; emotions laid bare so hard and roller-coastered so often that it was I who was eager to re-establish the office routine, now; a comforting certainty in what had become a wildly uncertain existence. Ursula stretched her huge arms over her head, her thick lats stretching the cloth of the dress. I was sure, really sure for just a second, that the whole thing was going to burst open right down the middle, and let Ursula's hard powerful brown flesh tumble out into my hands... But it didn't. She sighed, her big chest heaving, the vertical cut of muscle on her chest deepening for just a second, before she exhaled, and let the basketball-bosom stand at ease. "Naw, it's Saturday, JT. Let's not exhaust ourselves. You've had quite a night, and so have I, haven't I?" She didn't wait for a response, sliding herself around and for just a second I got that glimpse of pantied crotch again. Maybe it was just the stickiness of the surface in the non-air- conditioned room that caused what I was sure I saw; a dark patch of moisture in the center of the tiny briefs. "Besides," she added, "I have something fresh and hot waiting for me later on today, don't I,?" she asked. I was getting a headache; the kind you get when you repress an urge really deeply. But at least I had been able to refrain from springing into another erection in front of her; after what we had just talked about, I was glad for that. I could start to get a little dignity back, after all. But then I realized that sexual exhaustion probably played the biggest part in my newly-found reserve; damn, that Raye-Raye could fuck! If I had stayed with her, and endured her bizarre initiation, would she have figured out that I had facilitated the theft of the document, or could I have convinced her that she had merely been burgled? And would she, as she said to Maria, have really thrown me out, or kept me as her personal pet? But there was one thing I had to mention, one ace card I hadn't played yet in my draw-poker gambles for the love of the Lady Detective, and now was the time to use it... "Um, 'Sally, you know, there's something I have to say..." She encouraged my follow-through with an arched brow, leaning in, all-innocence... "You know, bosslady, when you were in trouble? It was me you called out to for help, not him...," I said quietly, looking down at my feet, a small man in a baggy pair of tiger-briefs, taking his last chance, hoping to give her food for thought. We both knew who 'him' was... Hands went to showgirl hips... "JT," the barely-dressed explosion of sex 'n sinew clucked affectionately, "we've been all through this, now. Of course I called out to you. How in the fuck was my Stevie-kins gonna hear me, you silly? Be serious, JT," she admonished me, with just a trace of a sad smile playing across her freshly-painted lips. "And besides, my sassy secretary, if he had been here, I wouldn't have had to fight for my life, either. He would've taken care of everything," she harrumphed, touching up her impromptu hairdo with a frosty pout and a patting hand. Touche, Bosslady. That was that. My gun was empty. She swung her legs over the side of the desk, and stood; up and up and... "Watch the phones for an hour or so, JT. Then you can go for the day. Tonight's Saturday night and you've got to find yourself a date for my wedding, don't you? Well, maybe with all the women who'll be comin' in here, one of 'em will see you in your new short-shorts and lose her heart to you," she encouraged before reaching for her lightweight matching white jacket. It had green lapels that offset the dress, and was short-sleeved, the better to show off her muscled assets. Ursula, ever in fashion. She walked over to the door, and opened it. She paused to regard me over her shoulder, and decided to have a little more fun before taking off... "How many times do I have to tell you, JT, to put on some pants? Goodness, it's like working with a Chippendale dancer!," she exclaimed. I still wore the tiger-striped bikini briefs. "If anything really important comes up, I'll be across the street at Amazonia's for awhile. Steve gets so mad if I let myself go..." Let herself go? "That blonde bitch really gave me a run for my money. If it wasn't for a johnny-on-the-spot secretary who'll remain nameless, I might not be standing here right now, all big 'n busty for you, my lad. But we've evened the score on that one, haven't we?" I nodded, grateful for that one sweet taste of her flesh. "Besides, I gotta get these big sexy guns of mine back in shape!," she grunted, as she forced the huge muscle to a head; veins popped and sinew displayed it's authority under hard flesh; she held it next to her deep cleavage exposed through the open jacket, for just a second; the nipple poking through, just brushing against the big bicep; the perfect embodiment of who and what she was. Hot Lady-Muscle and Sizzling Sex. My Bosslady; whom I still loved with the desperation of a martyr... Six-foot-three inches of woman I could not live without. Six-Six In Heels... "Steve and I decided to train for the Mixed Pairs in September. Super Heavyweight class, of course," she said, shrugging her massive shoulder just once, as though suggesting anything less was beneath her. Super-Heavyweight? That was a special class for giants; Elie Xyr women on the juice, and over two-fifty-five. She couldn't weight that much... "I thought you were a heavyweight, Sally. Two thirty-five or so, wasn't it?" Her brow knit in consternation. "Where ya been, JT? I'm two-fifty now, and I figure to put on another ten pounds or so. You know how quickly I put on muscle, right, JT?", she asked, poutin' and flexin'. "Of course, MuscleBossLady...," I shrugged, "sorry." She nodded, as though relieved to have set me straight. It was ironic. Most women I had ever known would get insulted if you overestimated their weight, rather than underestimated it! I guess that was one of the reasons why I loved her. She was one of a kind... "Good luck, Sally," I said, unable to keep just a trace of sadness from my voice as I smiled weakly. I knew what would be coming. In the next few weeks, Ursula would get bigger and bigger, flexing every time she moved, whether she meant to or not, driving me insensate in her tiny outfits, all bare muscle and flesh and hair and breast, bursting to get out; perched on punishing sky-high heels and full of the easy sensuality that comes from a red-hot sex life; rediscovering her body, full of slow and sexual movements as she strutted about the office; hovering over my desk when she waited for something to be typed right-this-minute!; my hands making typos they'd never make if those big breasts were not hanging six inches over the typewriter as her perfume filled my senses and set fire to my brain... I couldn't wait. Hovering in the doorway for a second, her brilliant eyes went to the file cabinet in the corner. Without a word, she strutted over to it and dug under dusty yellow files. Finally, she pulled out a framed picture; I couldn't see what it was until she had marched over to the faded aqua wall and hung it up, where it sat perfectly even and straight, as though it had always been there. It was from her cover photo of 'Women's Physique World'. It was Ursula, dressed in a red bikini and matching red spikes, flexing one arm mightily and pointing with a long fingernail at the big'n angry bulge of muscle on the arm. It looked to be taken in a hotel of some kind; oak paneling was the background; I think I knew the place... It was where we had met... There was a look of pride in her eyes, and a nod of satisfaction followed. Ursula was back. "Gotta split, JT. Steve's gonna pick me up at the gym, and then we're gonna head on back to his place and make up for a little more lost time," she said, doing her best Mae West imitation; a hand on a round and vampish hip, and a thrust thereupon. And as she did, the hem slipped and jumped halfway over one superb buttock half-revealed once again. If it's owner noticed it, she didn't seem to care. She stepped into my office and stopped at my desk, and with a guilty smile back at me, bare buttock still hanging, she opened the top drawer with a light pull of that killer arm and grabbed the box of condoms from within. She knew I was no fool, and I realized that my unused condoms would be sheathing themselves not around her assistant's amorous reaction to her nude body, but rather, that they would be used by her lover-man for those rare nights of necessity, as he slammed in and out of Ursula's pussy, filling her with skyrockets of X-rated pleasure even on those few nights in the month when her eggs were released, and ready for fertilization. If she got pregnant, so what? Thanks to me, and the session she spent with me on her desktop, she knew she could handle any bundle of joy their fevered couplings might produce. Chalk up another victory for me, right? She stuck the remaining half-dozen condoms inside her purse, glancing back naughtily at me; there was nothing I could say or do. I had been put in my place--my fantasies were to remain as such for now on... Just before stepping over the threshold and out into he hallway, she dropped the empty box in the trashcan. It landed right next to my heart, to be collected by the janitor and forgotten... Now, and only now, did she pull the hemline of the stretchy little green knit dress over her perfect rear end once again. She went strutting out, the muscles of those killer legs nearly stopping my heart as they carried their owner away... Happy, horny, and in love. Now she was going to lift weights ? After a mortal battle with a she-hulk, she was ready to go back to the gym, and keep becoming bigger...harder... And more MuscleBossLady for me to love... No sooner had she vanished, than a hand wrapped itself around the doorway, and she leaned that stone-cold gorgeous face into the office. "Oh, listen, JT. Get that glass fixed," she commanded, pointing to the pebbled translucence that separated our offices; a victim of the MuscleChick Feud... I nodded, trying to remember the number of the store... "Y'know what, JT?," she asked. "I was thinking. It gets so hot in here sometimes, and I know it gets a little hard on you. So tell you what... 'Monday we're gonna be closed, right?" I nodded. "Right, bosslady, but..." "I know," came the reply, as though to emphasize the point that she was on the ball, back in full swing. "We gotta do the books..." We simultaneously grimaced at each other.. "But how's about we make it fun? We can dress casual," she suggested, with the innocence of a young mother inviting her children to big dishes of ice cream. With cherries. Casual? What was that she was wearing...? "What I mean is," she elaborated, "why don't we wear our swimsuits? We can keep cool, and I can try on the hot little dental floss number I picked up the other day when I bought your cute little drawers. Got a matching pair of trunks for you, too. So Monday'll be Bikini Day, as well as our big payday, okay?" I nodded with enthusiasm at the thought of both the seventy- five-thousand smackers, and her... "Don't get any ideas, JT," she cautioned waving an upraised finger from side to side. "It's just to keep cool. We're gonna be working hard..." I imagined the creamy brown breasts resting on my shoulder as she leaned over me; the tiny straps that comprised her bikini tops baring the magnificent glands, letting them rise and fall with her breath, full of her sweet scent as her thundering muscle flowed and poured down upon me. I'd watch every muscular movement and memorize just how it looked; storing the images in my mind for later than night, when I was alone... I'd die just to lick the droplets of perspiration that would collect between those perfect breasts... "'Course, since you're gonna be working tomorrow, you won't be able to ogle the workout girls at the Oceanside Gym, will you?," she asked. I shook my head no, shrugged. "Good. That way, I can take you inside after work," she said, nodding at the bathroom, "and you can show me how hot you think I look, if you know what I mean." My heart leapt. Boy, did I ever know what she meant, alright! "It's gonna be all-look-but-don't-touch, of course," she reminded me, waving her ring at me, "but in the tiny little swimsuit I'll be wearin', there'll be alot to look at, won't there?," she asked, proudly. I nodded enthusiastically... "After that," she added, "we'll have to hit the mall and get your 'new image' all taken care of, 'kay?," she reminded me. She didn't wait for me to reply; I half-hoped that the short-pants idea was a passing thought that had come and gone, not to be brought up again. I should be so lucky... "'Member that electrolysis girl I told you about,?" she asked. Unfortunately, I did. "Well, we're in luck, JT, 'cause she's got an office at the mall, and she does waxing, too! Isn't that great? She does all the bodybuilders. It'll be so convenient for you this way," she added, knowingly; "why, you'll be silky-smooth, just like my Steve!" Oh, yeah. Him. "Now you'll learn what we ladies have to go through to be pretty for you boys," she giggled, nodding at my legs, where the hint of stubble was forming, not suspecting the death it would meet on Monday next... Okay, JT, I said to myself; try to talk your way out of THAT one, if you can... "Oh, and by the way, JT..." As the fat bus driver said, "Aha! I knew there was a by-the- way..." "Yes, boss,?" I asked. "Maybe you should clean up that bathroom right away, not tomorrow," she suggested, but made it clear that it was an order. "Some of your ah, cum," she explained, wrinkling her nose, "dripped onto the floor in there. Take care of it, 'kay, my little man?" Humiliation Number Nine!... Her eyes were strafing my body from ten feet away. "Oh, I knew there was something else," she added, snapping her fingers. "If we're gonna start showing you off to the big ladies, I'd like to see you lose five pounds or so, my lad," she admonished me, firmly. She was pointing at my mid-section, gone soft and indistinguishable, the side-effect of sitting at a desk; the bane of office workers everywhere. My hand went to my soft rolls, defensively. "Maybe we'll just have to find you a big mean broad like Raye-Anne, wherever she is, to work it off you," she winked. I saw old Mr. O'Shaughnessy standing behind her, in the hallway, as he pushed and pulled the ancient floor-waxing machine around the stuffy darkened hallway. It rumbled and roared, as if it wasn't too interested about working on a Saturday, either. His eyes bugged as he saw her not-quite-an-outfit she wore so casually, so coolly, on her ultra-muscular physique... She winked at him, leaving him bewildered and smiling... And, turning to blow me an airy kiss, and flash a flexed bicep--as though to hold me 'til Monday--she left for the day, finally. I was out of my misery. Until Monday, when I'd fall hard in love with her all over again, as she crossed the office threshold at nine A.M. sharp. What the heck, I thought to myself, trying to console my heart, which had dropped down to the general vicinity of my feet; I wouldn't want any wife of mine walking around like that; all bare-muscled skin, brown and enticing; breasts that filled out her dresses as though she were smuggling soccer balls in from Peru; skirts so short they were more like tunics, with crescent- shaped slices of ripe buttock perpetually slipping out from beneath the mock-hemlines, revealing killer gams on high high heels, capped off by a face that could weather a storm, and a slogging, bare-fisted naked fight to the near-finish with a mega- blonde and still look as heartlessly gorgeous as a Fairy Tale Princess; who would stay up all night reconciling, okay, fucking, her fiance, brawl in the rain, fuck her secretary senseless, and still have enough energy and stamina to bust up a dying new marriage, and pump enough iron to launch a battleship. Did I? Who was I kidding? This is how it would always be; I saw the future as clearly as though it was presented on brilliant blue metal... Each morning, she would tantalize me, capture my heart, enslave my body; only to beat a hasty retreat at day's end, and take her wet 'n wild moaning pleasures in another man's bed... How had I managed it? I had been in the powerful arms of three gorgeous women in the last twenty-four hours; two were mammoth and gorgeous female bodybuilders, worthy of dying for. One I loved like a blind madman; drinking her luscious muscular vision five days a week; eighty-thirty to five; overtime extra... I saw her in my mind's eye, naked; steam rising from her hot muscles after heaving weights I could never imagine... The other could make her thick muscles ripple on command and gave me electric thrills every time she touched me, arousing depraved animal instincts in me that shamed me to a crimson red whenever I thought of them. And I wondered once again: What would have happened had I submitted to her branding? Would she have kept me as her Muscle Puppet of Love?; or would she really have made good on her threat to throw me out, like a used pair of panties? I would never know... And the third woman, the one whose advances I had spurned; was on her way to becoming one of them. I was tired. But I was seventy-five thousand dollars richer. And I had been with my Ursula in one moment of glorious coupling. And for it all, I was alone. And I had been discovered; my fetish for muscular women laid bare, if it had ever been a secret to begin with. Worse, she believed that that was all there was to my affections for her; my devotion, and my offer of undying love all turned away with a giggle, however affectionately. And while she did not mean to punish me for my persistence, she was doing just that, all the same. Today had been a day that I thought would be encircled on my calendar forever; after a night of hard amazonian love-making (okay, getting fucked senseless!) Ursula would greet me at the door, thanking me for a renewed life, a re-charged career; she would declare the love that she had hinted at yesterday; and start a new life with me at her side, ever faithful, loving her wildly, hopelessly... But it had not worked out that way at all. Instead, she had measured me up and found me sadly wanting, fit only to be a dutiful attendant to her muscular, big-breasted life; constant and compliant, diligent and deferential... A diminutive spectator, bathing her in waves of heroine- worship; awed by her every move, worthy of her motherly affection maybe, but finally, to her...? A joke. A precocious, terminally-horny child who--and Maria was right--made her coffee, and typed her letters. I had been consigned to the short-pantsed sexual minor leagues, where all you got to do was watch the comings and goings of the muscular lady-pros. And dream... And she would, starting Monday, begin dressing me as such. If only I had not put that phone back on the hook, I thought! Perhaps we would have made love on her desk all day, and she would never have taken the damned case that had transformed me into a strumpet of amusement for large 'n lusty women. Maybe it might have happened for us after all... But I consoled myself with the knowledge that Ursula was her old self again, wasn't she? And didn't I have alot to do with that? I told myself that that was what true love was all about; a selflessness that transcended the mere physical. But all the same, how come the other guy, who cheats on her and dumps her and makes her drink and fall apart, gets to take her to bed and fuck her senseless, while I keep a date with her bathroom toilet and a moldy memory? And did she really have no recollection of that drunken coupling on my desk two days ago? Or was she simply telling me that it had not happened, that I should forget it; and had given me that strange and wonderful reward in the ladies' room, behind a closed door, to buy my permanent silence? At any rate, it had taken the post-case exhaustion of the Adventure of the Amorous Amazon to bring all this love-and-angst out into the open, once and for all. At least now, I knew where I stood in the eyes of the woman I loved, and though it was not a place, or a role, I wished to fill, it was mine; and I would be with her, even if it was only as her short-pants-wearing Guy Friday, agog at her muscle-packed, big-breasted splendor. Tonight I would wonder, in the lonely and dark late-night hours just before dawn as I lay awake, how many times she had been taken. Taken? No, not taken. Fucked. For that was what women like Ursula did. Mountains grinding against mountains, beds first creaking, then groaning, then collapsing altogether, failing to withstand the wild thrustings; fluids heavy and aromatic and forbidden running down her inner thighs; the fruit of sins unrepented, boiling up from within her flaming pussy that tailored itself to an invading penis, tamed it and controlled it until it obeyed her own commands; demanding it perform to the music she alone heard. Her hair would fall down across her face; she would ignore it, concentrating only on mutual pleasure, receiving the cock, letting go, shoving her open groin up to her lover's thrusting cock in the wanton offerings of naked lust; her muscle-laden arms equalling his in strength, wrapping around him, pulling him deeply into her... The sex would be rough and violent and torrid, full of four- letter curses guttural and low declaring hot-blooded hatred for the partner, as though attempting to deny so powerful an attraction; a lover's strange language that ended only as orgasm, long and loud and wet, resolving all doubts, all fears, all barriers; roared through their loins, gushing; and declared itself the final arbiter of their combative love. How could I compete with that? Then I remembered another saying that my grandmother used to say... When life gives you nothing but little green apples, make applesauce! To wit; if I was to be her gender-neutral assistant, forced to traipse about in little-boy shorts for her amusement as she recovered from nights of X-rated combat with her large lover, well then, so be it. Because, consoling myself with the remembrance of a dozen old movies, didn't secretaries sometimes catch the boss's eye, right out of the blue, after years of working side-by-side? One day she would realize that after all, I was the man who truly loved her. I could but only hope... Still in my borrowed briefs, I ran to the window, standing in the same golden pool of sunlight my bosslady had bathed in minutes ago; and caught sight of her as she left the building. The world had sprung to life, full of the vigor of a mid-day Saturday washed fresh by the morning's storm, now bathed in sunlight. People stopped and stared but she did not see, or care to see, them. She was Ursula Parkheart, and she had her own hard and muscular dreams. There was no room in her world for them, so why should she waste her time? Tires screeched on streets made thick and slow and soft in the sun-drenched heat, brakes bringing cars to a dead and sudden stop mere feet from the Amazon Bodybuilder, her head held high, as she ignored them--fully expecting them to stop for her as she made her way not only across the street, but across her life. And they did, in shock at the elemental woman they were seeing strut before their eyes. I wondered if they would lose sleep tonight, too, when the image played back in their minds--- would their starved, sagging wives measure up? Or would they see with their mind's eye, in cover of darkness, this incredible, alluring temptress of muscular womanliness dancing, flexing in their dreams? It made me realize that I was lucky, all the same. I got to see her everyday. Up close, where there was more than just muscle; where the tiny pores of her skin came into close-up view, and a pink tongue darted and licked white teeth and sensuous painted lips before astounding me for the zillionth time with her hard, warm flowing-and-jiggling flesh; and a humongous flex that brought down the house, and made the rafters creak! Her giant-sized diamond engagement ring--larger than anything I could ever hope to afford!--sparkled in the sun as her sinewy, thick arms swung to and fro; a happy Amazon woman in a micro-mini whose hemline even now was starting to betray her. That was how she wore her clothes; as adornments to decorate her muscular, big-breasted splendor; not modest coverings-up to appease an unjust world; and if a boob or a pert buttock or a slice of panty crept out now and then, so what? She had nothing to fear, and alot to be proud of... And she did not give a damn besides. She headed wiggling with a bold step that was half-royalty, half-streetwalker; proud and profane at the same time; each hip- swaying stride across the street made my heart beat hard and loud, and I could almost hear a primal drum-beat in syncopated rhythm to the bouncing flesh. She hopped up on the sidewalk, headed for the cool dark haven of the gym, to become what she was all over again. Only more so. This was where the revolution was starting; in Amazonia's, and a thousand places like it, 'round the world. Where women were quietly shattering the myth and mystique of female inferiority, and building bulging biceps to match their new, emancipated lives, full of possibilities unheard of, once upon a time, long ago, when their hopes and ambitions were limited; a sighing Susan Sarandon, breathless; or Lois Lane cowering in the corner, to await the vanquishing of the super-villain, and the unfailing rescue by her dashing love. For now they themselves were donning the cape, the tights, the hardbody physique; and with it, the bold brightness of a new era between the sexes. If one of these women wants you, it is not because you will protect, or provide, for her. Not for shielding her from life, or so she'll have someone to take her shopping because she's afraid to brave the mean streets and go alone. Or worse, because all her girlfriends are getting married, and she wants to follow them, sheep-like, in love or not; and so appease that incessant bio-clock ticking within that had convinced her that humanity just will not survive unless she gets someone to mount her and fill her full of spermatozoan life. None of that... But simply because she wants to be with you. And if you desire her, and are not threatened or challenged by so self-contained and prideful a woman, so be it. And if you didn't, fuck you! Just don't get fresh with these hard-muscled mademoiselles, or step out of line; mind your manners, and your speech, watch carefully how you tread. And only when they are sure, and you have earned and deserved their attentions, and their big-bosomed esteem, will they melt, become your girl, your lover, your wife. And keep in shape--their eyes can rove if you do not keep yourself presentable, worthy of their well-built affections. Because there were more and more of these superbly-built babes walking the streets, who took no guff, and demanded respect. Beneath pinstripes and under purses, and beneath a nurse's stiff starchings; on housewives and harlots and corporate CEO's, ladymuscle was gaining ground every day. And I don't know about you, but I think it's gonna be terrific... This, I now understood, was why she had consigned me to the ranks of the short-pantsed and breathless. The bare-legged benediction was done for a clear-as-crystal reason, in service of Her Cause... To let the bodybuilding Amazons who would be crossing our threshold know, in no uncertain terms, that here, in this office, the Bold New Woman had already overturned the old, stale order of things, banished an old-guard mentality that had frustrated these women, and tried, with frightened hands, to hold them back, hold them down, deflate and discourage their new-found size. They would see me, put-in-my-place, and yes, okay, loving it, despite my objections; and then they would know that they were venturing into a new and friendly futuristic domain, where they were welcomed and understood for the brave women that they were, by a woman who was like them, and a guy who, under his attempts at professional aplomb--all the while sporting a persistent erection--found them irresistible. And who had submitted to their superiority. As she headed for the entrance, My Musclebod-Bosslady, ever alert, spied a couple, under the tiny awning of an adjacent shop; they were newlywed and bickering. The woman was blonde and busty, slightly muscular; and held a gymbag in her hand. She was trying to escape the pull-and-tug efforts of her skinny pot- bellied mate to sway her from entering the gym; shaking off each new weasely grasp, only to have those uncertain, insecure hands buzz about her like persistent flies, grasping her again, darting past a fledgling lady-bodybuilder's attempts to swat them, and pull her into the cowardly shade, where none would see his wife but him. My bosslady looked on, with a glittering hand on her hip, amused. Presently, I watched as the woman's tight tank top was torn down the front in a long and jagged streak; the husband had ripped it wide-open in a jealous rage, however accidental; and the big boobs bounced with the excitement of seeing daylight. And Ursula saw more action... She marched over to the couple in four long, bare-legged strides; planted herself like an oak behind the erring husband, throwing him in her shadow; a man who had betrayed himself, and shown fear at the thought of a muscular wife. The bride had plastered the remainders of her shirt against her bare boobs, and held it there with an effort; but the big jugs were insistent on seeing and being seen, and fought her efforts at modesty, tumbling out the edges, as she choked back tears of humiliation. She now looked up to the jolly green-dressed giantess; quite startled at the sight of her; but full of admiration for the Ursula Parkheart: Flexing Detective, who even now was easily picking up her husband by the skinny-necked collar of his alligator shirt, and was holding him high off the ground with a stiff, upraised arm of solid muscle. She shook him several times, said something I could not hear from this distance; but presently, he nodded adamantly once or twice, and, as though in reward for his compliance, was lowered mercifully to the ground. The man cowered, backing off the broad-shouldered confronter of his unmanly fears. A big-bosomed wife with bursting biceps to boot? How could any sane man object?? But this fool did, and for it, would be cast aside. Ursula reached over for the hand of the now-liberated woman; the marriage would turn out to be a short one; and had seen a quick death on the sidewalk outside Amazonia's Gym For Ladies Only... She took the woman's gym bag from her hand in a friendly gesture of support, and reached down to place a large arm around her shoulders. They walked to the doors, ready to enter; the woman stopped for a moment, as though pondering an action... She marched back to the man, who was doing his best to look invisible as his spouse approached him with her bare breasts ajiggle, proudly now, through the torn cloth; already he looked much smaller than she. Her stride had changed, her whole demeanor renewed and replaced by a hip-swaying, sex-charged freedom to be what she wanted to be... A bodybuilder, just like Ursula, and others of her kind. An Amazon, who had found her Arena and was ready to be transformed. She reached for her marriage band, pulled it off a well- manicured finger. She threw a quick punch to his flabby stomach, and rolls of fat ran from her hand in fear, and he doubled over, his face thrust forwards. And as he leaned there, crouched and bent to half his size, she pinched his nose tightly between thumb and forefinger. A petty and insignificant mouth flew open, and the small gold ring was placed within, and his jaws were clamped down tight by the decisive arms of his pretty former-wife. I grabbed for a pair of opera glasses from Ursula's desk drawer, and lifted them to my eyes just in time to see the husband, his eyes wincing with pain, bugging in terror, and horrified at the scene his pretty 'bride' was causing, involuntarily swallow the token of her love and affection in a long unsteady shake of his prominent Adam's apple. The wife released his nose, flexed a bicep, shot a sneer up and down his body, as though she could see him naked, for all his deficiencies, for the first time. She turned on her heel and ran to a new life, not caring a thing for her bare-chested state, not even trying to cover up, as milk-rich breasts and torn tank top flapped in the breeze. Ursula was waiting... I saw a crowd of women circle around them just inside the glass door, as they welcomed the Amazon MuscleGoddess--and her new-found friend--back into their fold. Some were quite muscular, some were quite tall. But Ursula was both. She was the biggest baddest musclebabe on two spike-heeled feet, and they were glad to have her back. They had witnessed the scene that had just played-out, and congratulated the breathless busty blonde, who put a hand to her chest as though to still her rapidly-beating heart, full of energy, full of desire to hit the weights and fill-out her blouses with muscle as well as tit. She was escorted away to the lockers, and the crowd turned all eyes to Ursula. They walked with her, applauding their pioneering heroine as she led the way; the Amelia Earhart of Iron-Pumping trailed by a procession of female muscle getting ready to attack the iron, swell some muscles, break some hearts. Like mine. I thought back on the adventures we had enjoyed together. Maybe enjoy was too strong a word--a word for retrospect, perhaps, not to accurately portray the furtive missions and late- night lurkings we'd committed in search of Ursula's relentless pursuit of justice. She still had her own moral compass for right and wrong, despite her lusty, busty, micro-minied ways-and- means... I wouldn't have missed even one of them for the world. Unless of course, the world was Angel One, in the Trianguli system, which was populated exclusively by Amazon Women, and... Anyway... As long as I was with Ursula. Even if I was just her operative. Okay, her assistant. Her secretary. Under Her Thumb... She'd come in on Monday, bare-of-flesh, spike-heeled; pumped and strutting and flexing the results of a long hot weekend spent pumping iron and loin. Both would draw pools of sweat from her glands; I would gladly settle for the meager task of wiping it from her hardbody with a moist towel; being with her reward enough. Yeah, I nodded. For her, it would be a cum-spurtin', pussy- pumpin' weekend of raw lust as two perfect bodies collided. I would be home with my right hand and the newest releases from L-H Art... All of the hugely muscular women in the pages of the sharply-drawn stories would remind me of Ursula... The phone started ringing. This time I waited at the window, until I finally saw her disappear completely, the last bit of hard brown thigh bared by a tiny micro-minidress, going out of view, into the bowels of the ladies-only gym. On the eighth ring, I picked up the phone. "Parkheart Investigations," I sighed into the receiver as I wiped off the lipstick of three different women. FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723 Apocrypha (c) 1994 WIG, LTD I sat down in the large leather chair to begin the adventure of my life. Walking up the winding stairway of the old building, I noticed that my footsteps were surprisingly light, almost unnaturally so, in light of my new-found size. Faint echoes sounded up and down the deserted stairwell, dying out only as I turned on the fifth-floor platform, and pulled open the fire-door that had recently replaced the one shattered by the bull-charge of the Lady Big-Blonde-Behemoth. It was a heavy door, made mostly of industrial-grade iron, but it was no challenge for me. I swung it open with the pull of a powerful arm. It squeaked on hinges that had been salvaged from it's predecessor, and began closing behind me, as I strode down the hallway, to the office of Parkheart Investigations. With my sights set on the occupant therein. There was no one on duty at the outer desk; her secretary was at lunch, probably ogling the girls across the way at Amazonia's, too, standing outside the window, blowing kisses to the iron-pumping pussies while his cream cheese and jelly sandwich decorated his face. What a schmo... Through the opaque pebbled glass I could see the blurry outline of a large female form seated at her desk, her legs up on the polished desktop in casual repose. I could smell the wet musk of her neat-lipped vagina all the way to the doorway; she was a robust, aromatic woman, whose body didn't keep it's sticky- velvet secrets to itself. And I knew all her secrets anyway... She was giggling and trilling in a sweet, little-girl voice to some guy on the telephone, all dainty and darling tones of lusty remonstrance to the man she thought she loved. "Oh, studpup, you're incorrigible, you made me climax seven times last night; I felt like I was just gonna pass out on you, babykins...", she cooed. Mushy stuff like that; amidst giggles and pledges of cum- stained amour. The stiff on the other end of the line didn't know it, but he was about to be usurped as the lone holder of the key to the heart, and the cunt, and the whole goddamn gorgeous body of the Flexing Detective. The lady who thought she was so world-weary, so street savvy, so in control, was about to be swept right off her spike- heeled size tens, and into my oversized waterbed. When I was through with her, she would need to have her legs up alright; and an icepack on her steaming, stretched-out pussy, rubbed raw and red and useless for her by-then-former-lover's dick. She was going to be mine, and love it, and turn her engagement ring into a navel-stone that she'd wear for my amusement, like a slave-girl... I stood in the outer office, cleared my throat just loud enough to catch her ear. Unmistakably male, she would know. She made a hasty hang-up from her half-hung lover (compared to me!); and I saw her window-ghost straighten her hair, pull down her dress to mid-thigh, and make herself presentable for me. It was only fitting. Just before opening the door, I could smell a quick pssst! of perfume as she applied the pump-spray first to her neck, then her wrists, then--and I was sure she did this, even though her actions were half-obscured by the translucence--she lifted her skirt and applied a small spritz of nightfall upon her pretty- pantied pussy. Good, I thought. She was gonna make it all sweet-smelling for me, before I helped myself to it, amidst her sweet sighs of pleasure. She pulled the door back, avoiding the centerstage of the doorway until the glass and wood curtain had retreated to it's proper place. She was going to step across the threshold; six foot six in spiked heels, two hundred and fifty-five pounds of sex-smothered ladymuscle; heartlessly gorgeous, strong-featured, high-cheekboned, ready to awe a potential customer in her tight dress as she steeped into view, swinging back the rich silken veil of her hair with a casual swing of that graceful strong neck. That package of pulsing female sinew and sex had a surprise in store. Me... Seven feet tall, four hundred pounds. Schwarzenegger's build. Errol Flynn's face. And a dick that would make Johnny Wadd weep. She stepped into view, full of herself, confident in her own drop-dead looks, expecting, knowing, that the guy who had harrumphed would be stunned, shocked, and thrown for a loop at the sight of the under-dressed and over-built woman pausing in the doorway... "Yes?," came a cool clear voice, full of smooth control, "what can I do for y...?" That was all she said, before her jaw came unhinged so long I thought it would hit the floor and swallow the desk I had sat upon, as I awaited her grand entrance. It looked tiny to me now, like a child's desk. Her secretary must be a real midget, huh? It didn't take me long to charm the pants off her. No case, I said, just a fan who always wanted to meet her, maybe get an interview, a few photos, over dinner perhaps? There was an uneasy look upon her sculpted face, as though she were internally debating accepting my invitation, and that, while she knew she shouldn't date another man while she wore her betrothal ring, she nonetheless really really really wanted to. Hormones set to high, cheeks red and blushing; heart beating almost visibly in her broadly-muscled chest, she said "yes." Need I tell you what happened? Dinner at a restaurant so cozy we almost had the place to ourselves; even the waiter could see that this was a woman in love; not lust. Even he could see that the perfect man had walked into her life and stolen her heart, as well as every other vital organ in her body, and that one of those organs would be getting quite a work-out very very soon. He couldn't help smiling at the thought of Love Amongst the Well-Muscled. And then? A drink at my hotel bar, a touch, a caress, a kiss that lasted until closing time, and so to bed... If there had been a waiter in our bedroom it would have gone something like this... For the lady? First, a stripping, a spanking, a spread-legged plea for impaling on an eleven-inch fire hydrant with testicles like tennis balls. Followed by insatiable cunt-pumpin' cries of ecstacy. Noisy little pussy-farts escaping, as air that had been pummeled into the neatly-trimmed orifice courtesy of the giant ram-cock sought escape. Blushing apologies from the former Flexing Detective, whose big ambition now was to be a sex slave underneath the gigantic body of the man of her dreams, who hovered over her like a 747 coming in for a landing. And lastly, the horny lady will have wet noisy orgasms full of four-letter promises of slavery, mastery, non-stop worship. A wish to remain on her back for the rest of her life with her legs wide open, her pussy dripping, crammed obscenely full with unforgiving pulsing red hardness; her chest heaving as she surrendered to a guy twice her size, who had Vici'd, Vedi'd, and Vini'd the big-muscled babe as easily as he could a flock of little bikini gals down at Everson Beach. Her hair flew in a wild spray around her, as her head jerked and writhed about, as though refusing to admit the actuality that this could be happening, even as another searing knife of pleasure tore it's way through her pussy, her ass, her innards, shocking her heart into palpitations, then setting her brain afire amidst deep grunts of self-involved pleasure from her dominating partner, whose physique made her look like an aerobics bunny who had wandered int other wrong gym. Which she loved... And to drink, madame? An easy choice... She knew what to do, and when the time came, she did it, slurping, licking and tasting as though dying of thirst, awash in her new man's semen as it ran down her strong chin, abundant big- nippled breasts, and hard-as-steel stomach. Loving every second of it, too, cleaning the Holland Tunnel Penis until the last traces and vestiges of warm ejaculate had slid down her throat. And she smiled, and worshipped the body of the man who had hit her life like a cyclone, and transformed her into a purring and obedient sex kitten with one long and wild fuck. Ursula Parkheart, her hair a wild tangled mane of nightblack, lay her head on his mile-wide shoulder, and went to sleep, in meek satisfaction, protected by her man; her lover, her protector, her.... Master? I touched the glittering piece of Tiffany Tinsel on her finger, put there on her finger by some guy who now was last year's mashed potatoes, thanks to me. It once had meant something to her, but now anymore... I wondered how she would look with that diamond in her belly button. If I decide to see her again, maybe we would find out... "Leaving?," she asked, sitting up in bed, half-away but fully-shocked that any man would leave her bed; not Ursula Parkheart's bed, not after everything she'd done for him, everything she had given him so easily... I smile, shrug. "Things to do, babe. People to see...," I explained, tucking my python into Fruit of the Looms, dressing, forgetting her before her pussy juice had time to dry on my foot-long frank. Incredulous, that's what she was. But also scared. Scared that she was the one doing the longing, the needing, the chasing. Had she ruined everything chasing a man she considered perfection? Had he fucked her for a thrill? Had she been blind? No, she hadn't. But I wasn't gonna show her my cards just yet. "I'll call," I vaguely offered, before stepping out into the hallway. She shot out of bed, grabbed the door before it had a chance to close, and leapt out into the sedate, well-carpeted hotel hallway, bare-ass naked and showing signs of recently having had the shit fucked out of her. Which she had. "Married?," she beseeched, as though desperate to figure out why I had taken to my heels, and left her a puddle of splendid ladymuscle; the still-running pussyjuice oozing out and running down her legs. As the elevator door opened, I looked back at her. "Be a good girl, 'Sallykins. Get dressed. I don't want the linen maid to see my girlfriend running around the hallways in the altogether." Girlfriend? With that word, her face melted into a beatific sloppy grin of satisfaction, and the Amazonic Bodybuilder hauled her soccer ball breasts, and Nicole-Bass-Plus physique, and disappeared behind the door to melt her little-big body in the silk of the boudoir. Me? I had other fish to fry. I stepped out into daylight, caught a cab to the right intersection. There she was, directing traffic in the island-intersection of Fifth and Main. Maria dell'Avita. Six feet of horny, hard-handed ladycop. Directing traffic and looking great. Giving orders to the passing traffic. She was a great one for giving orders and being in charge...I approached. I looked down at her from above, and nearly laughed as her mouth fell open. I had the advantage of surprise, and shock; she had never seen anybody so big and well-built before; Armani-clad. I reached down for the skirt's hemline, worn several inches above the knee; against regulation but content in it's destination, which was to fall on tan legs full of burgeoning quads and neat little calves. I tore the tight little garment from her body in one easy pull, holding the retired-skirt high above her head as she frantically, desperately tried to reach. She had never foreseen being stripped to her undies today, and so had worn only a tiny little stripper's g-string, bare butt cheeks ajiggle as she made off-balance little-girl leaps in high heels for the tattered garment that meant dignity. She would not reach it. I laughed. She over-jumped, fell against me; and amidst a symphony of enthusiastic commuters honking their approval, I spanked the haughty female over one leg, while she struggled in an arm-lock, her head sticking out from my armpit, facing her humiliation head-on with passing traffic. She must have handed out alot of speeding tickets; there was wide-spread approval for her red-bottomed disciplining, and little child-like cries escaped her between pleas for freedom. I left her rear end a round and red intersection of handslaps, testament to my easy authority over her. Besides, I could always come back tomorrow, and apologize. Flowers and a drink and then I'd fuck her silly. But only if she was very very good... The pool was empty on the hot day, except for it's one, most-frequent occupant. At the far end, in an oversized chaise lounge, was a big-bodied blonde. She was undressed-to-impress in a threadlike black bikini, her bosom overflowing, nipples only nominally covered. I walked over, took the coconut oil from her hands, and complete what she had been doing--until she had gotten a load of me. Compliantly, she lay back. Obediently, she did nothing while I separated her from her swimsuit, throwing it into the icy waters of the blue pool. Her vast body reflected the sunlight overhead, almost blinding me as I scoured her form with my eyes. Her breath came hard and fast, her cunt going wet as an open fire hydrant on the fourth of July. Her legs began spreading as she wordlessly offered her body to me, like a harem- girl who at last meets her prince, her lord, her rule, and behaves as she had been taught... When I removed my trunks a second later, she did not resist, or object in the least. She moaned aloud with the sheer pleasure of my enormous cock. I fucked her three times right there, in broad daylight, as I coaxed her body to make a symphony of sex-sounds; moans and cries and shudders and sobs, wet-slaps and slurp-spats and sounds she did not know she could make. But I taught her how, right there; taming her ferocity, turning her into a two hundred and seventy pound sex kitten, purring at my feet, anxious to please. And vaguely annoying for all her subservience. Later, as I gave her the seventh climax of the hour as we lay in her over-stuffed little-girl of a bedroom, she wept with joy. I almost laughed at her... I saw a dainty micro-mini dress; a party-doll-of-a-dress hanging in the open closet. It looked as though it would end somewhere on her hips, if it covered her ass at all. "Meet me tonight at sixth and broad," I ordered her. "And wear that dress, little lady," I ordained, pointing at the fragile lace. "Oh, but I can't!," she meekly protested, "that's for wearing around the house, and..." I silenced her with my cock. Later that night, on the corner of Sixth and Broad, there stood an amazonic little girl, in a baby-blue and virgin-white little dress, all puffed sleeves and ribbons and bows; it was high-waisted, and so called attention to the bowling ball breasts that strained to make their break for freedom from the blouse. It had no skirt to speak of, and so bared her brown thighs, making her blush, as people looked on, aglee. There was a crowd of undersized admirers surrounding her, as she scanned the horizons for her new love. I swooped in to my blonde honey, who looked like a fifth- grader who had stolen her daddy's steroids and dropped them on her Cocoa Puffs. We walked hand in hand into the restaurant, to stunned looks and gasps of awe and envy. I spent the meal planning what I would do with her in bed that night. She giggled and laughed at some of my explicit and bold suggestions, but I knew she would refuse me nothing... Suddenly, there was light everywhere; it hurt my eyes. A nurse stood over me. I could hear her chewing gum snap even before my eyes were able to unsquint and allow me to see the dubious sight for myself. When my eyes re-focused, I looked through the visor and saw her reach for my helmet and yank it off rudely, as though I had done something wrong. That was when I realized my erection was plainly visible. I began to stammer an apology when my breath was caught short by her very mini-miniskirt of a white nurse's outfit. Her legs were smooth and went on forever in silken mile after silken mile. She unstrapped me, jerked me upright with a thumb. "Ride's over pal," she said, "Want it or not?" I shook my head enthusiastically. "Pay outside." She handed the wonderful gizmo to another mini-skirted nurse, who walked out with it, up to the receiving desk, where it would await my purchase and signature of ownership... Yup. Virtual reality had given me something I could never get in real life. Ursula. Maria. Raye-Anne Hallison. All mine. In my dreams, anyway. I got up, watched her open the door. I was getting the bum's rush, alright... The short sleeves of her tunic revealed a very well- developed bicep, and I recognized her now from the Oceanside Outdoor Gym; the Sunday afternoon mecca for lovers of Ladymuscle. They'd pump up in bikinis and heels to the delighted eyes of your's truly, among others, and make my weekend worthwhile, only adding to the Monday Morning Release that I now performed in from of an audience of one, namely, Ursula Parkheart; the World's first Bodybuilding Amazon/ Consulting Private Detective/ Engaged Person. She strode out into the hall, and I followed in a stumble, the pale fluorescence humming overhead. I had to say something to her, as she stood there, shooing me to the desk. I remembered that she owned a crimson-red dental-floss-bikini with matching shoes. I knew this to be so, because she had worn them last Sunday, and driven me half mad as she lugged iron and pumped ferociously, snarling with white-white teeth exposed between painted lips. She had been magnificent... So why not try to make friends? "Uh, miss?," I ventured, timid eyes on hard ladymuscle. An eyebrow asked me what I wanted. "You work out at Oceansi..." An impatient hand went to her hip, and the rest of the words died in my throat. "Hey, get over it, Short Stuff," she cautioned, as she took down the stern bun of her red hair and shook it to life. "We got alot of people waitin', buddy. You wanna ogle Angie-cakes, show up Sunday. Dollar a flex," she added, before turning on her high heel and careening down the hall, full of superior swagger. Just before making the hard right turn at the end of the corridor, she did a quick one-eighty, and faced me... "Oh, and by the way, pal," she added, hand on hip; all bare thigh and bad attitude. A slim guy's heart rising, ever-hopeful... A leer of false sweetness came over her hard, made-up face. She eyed my Ursula-enforced bare-leggedness as the laugh she had tried to suppress escaped her compressed lips, like a tire blowing a flat. "Cute little shorts," she snickered, amidst a swirling veil of crimson ringlets. Her throaty giggles echoed as she moved down the hall, out of sight. Another woman ask her what she was laughing about, and a second later I was sure I heard her say the word, "schmo" and so conjure a string of giggles from them both. The word hung in the air, and moments later a young college student, a tall and well-muscled girl of nineteen or so, turned the corner and stopped to get a look for herself. She wore painted-on pants and a tube top under her white lab coat, and had a face full of curious mischief. I recognized her, too; and to hide my arousal, stuck a very embarrassed hand into the pockets of my shorts. The pretty girl winked and blew me a kiss from above, an amazon-in-training giving a little guy a break. She vanished from the scene, her high-heeled clicks fading from earshot... I blushed, and went to the registrar, to sign the needed forms. I didn't have much time, I realized, checking my watch. Ursula wanted me back fifteen minutes early today. Just about every day, too... "That will be seventy-five thousand dollars," the mah-jong matriarch said from behind the desk, holding out an expectant wrinkled paw. I handed her the money order, took the helmet, and left. What the heck, I thought? It was found money, wasn't it? I reminded myself to get a lot of dollar bills for Sunday afternoon, and I pictured myself slipping them into Angie-cake's little g-string as she hit a double-biceps pose, and stole my heart in the process. Maybe she'd even let me oil her down? I couldn't wait! Coming, Ursula! -- The End -- FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723