Substitute Teacher
(Undisclosed)

The substitute teacher is teaching the class about human anatomy, and how it all works. She uses her own magnificent body to grab their attention, and to illustrate the lesson. Jane can lift and roll a small car, and she shows the class her massive biceps, and amazing quads, and talks about crushing coconuts and men. Imaginative story by Diana the Valkyrie.

The Plough Girl Squadron, part six
(Undisclosed)

The Plough Girl Squadron moves to Chicago, and creates an interrogation room. Milly breaks the fingers of a small-time drug deaer, one at a time, He screams rather loudly, so Milly squeezes a rubber ball into his mouth. After breaking enough fingers, the drug dealer decides to name his boss, so the Plough Girls put him into their "zoo", and they started to plan the raid on the boss's house. The plan was simple. They filled an oil drum with 350 pounds of gasoline, and Olga threw it into a winddow; this was followed by a gasoline-soaked rag on fire. The girls captured the six guys who ran out of the house, and took them back to the interrogation room. The Plough Girls used an combination of intimidation and sex, to turn the guys into puppets

The plough girl squadron, part five
(Undisclosed)

The Plough Girl Squadron moves to Chicago, and creates an interrogation room. Milly breaks the fingers of a small-time drug deaer, one at a time, He screams rather loudly, so Milly squeezes a rubber ball into his mouth. After breaking enough fingers, the drug dealer decides to name his boss, so the Plough Girls put him into their "zoo", and they started to plan the raid on the boss's house. The plan was simple. They filled an oil drum with 350 pounds of gasoline, and Olga threw it into a winddow; this was followed by a gasoline-soaked rag on fire. The girls captured the six guys who ran out of the house, and took them back to the interrogation room. The Plough Girls used an combination of intimidation and sex, to turn the guys into puppets

The Plough Girl Squadron, part four
(Undisclosed)

The Plough Girl Squadron moves to Chicago, and creates an interrogation room. Milly breaks the fingers of a small-time drug deaer, one at a time, He screams rather loudly, so Milly squeezes a rubber ball into his mouth. After breaking enough fingers, the drug dealer decides to name his boss, so the Plough Girls put him into their "zoo", and they started to plan the raid on the boss's house. The plan was simple. They filled an oil drum with 350 pounds of gasoline, and Olga threw it into a winddow; this was followed by a gasoline-soaked rag on fire. The girls captured the six guys who ran out of the house, and took them back to the interrogation room. The Plough Girls used an combination of intimidation and sex, to turn the guys into puppets

The Plough Girl Squadron, part 3
(Undisclosed)

The Plough Girl Squadron moves to Chicago, and creates an interrogation room. Milly breaks the fingers of a small-time drug deaer, one at a time, He screams rather loudly, so Milly squeezes a rubber ball into his mouth. After breaking enough fingers, the drug dealer decides to name his boss, so the Plough Girls put him into their "zoo", and they started to plan the raid on the boss's house. The plan was simple. They filled an oil drum with 350 pounds of gasoline, and Olga threw it into a winddow; this was followed by a gasoline-soaked rag on fire. The girls captured the six guys who ran out of the house, and took them back to the interrogation room. The Plough Girls used an combination of intimidation and sex, to turn the guys into puppets

The Plough Girl Squadron, part 2
(Undisclosed)

The Plough Girl Squadron moves to Chicago, and creates an interrogation room. Milly breaks the fingers of a small-time drug deaer, one at a time, He screams rather loudly, so Milly squeezes a rubber ball into his mouth. After breaking enough fingers, the drug dealer decides to name his boss, so the Plough Girls put him into their "zoo", and they started to plan the raid on the boss's house. The plan was simple. They filled an oil drum with 350 pounds of gasoline, and Olga threw it into a winddow; this was followed by a gasoline-soaked rag on fire. The girls captured the six guys who ran out of the house, and took them back to the interrogation room. The Plough Girls used an combination of intimidation and sex, to turn the guys into puppets

The Plough Girl Squadron, part 1
(Undisclosed)

The Plough Girl Squadron moves to Chicago, and creates an interrogation room. Milly breaks the fingers of a small-time drug deaer, one at a time, He screams rather loudly, so Milly squeezes a rubber ball into his mouth. After breaking enough fingers, the drug dealer decides to name his boss, so the Plough Girls put him into their "zoo", and they started to plan the raid on the boss's house. The plan was simple. They filled an oil drum with 350 pounds of gasoline, and Olga threw it into a winddow; this was followed by a gasoline-soaked rag on fire. The girls captured the six guys who ran out of the house, and took them back to the interrogation room. The Plough Girls used an combination of intimidation and sex, to turn the guys into puppets

The tosser
(Undisclosed)

I'm a tosser. It's a fairly new sport, derived from the older game of dwarf tossing, but this is the grown-up version. Man tossing. The man is 150 pounds, that's a standard. But it turns out that quite a few men are 150 or less (if they're less, then they can be made up with some weights) and it doesn't matter how tall they are. And it turns out that quite a few men volunteer to be tossed by a big strong amazon giantess. Like me. I'm six foot nine, 290 pounds, and most of those pounds are muscle. I love man tossing, it's a great sport. Picking up a man with his crash helmet on, and launching him over the sand pit to get a longer toss than my fellow athletes - there's nothing better. I hear that next year it's going to be an Olympic sport. We all have our preferred toss-pot. Mine is little Cecil. He's quite short, and struggles to make 150, so we often have to strap a few iron disks onto him to make up the weight. We practice regularly. I also practice with a dummy weighing a fair bit more, but that's not as satisfying as flinging a live man across the sand, so whenever I can get a volunteer, I'll practice with him instead. Cecil doesn't like that, but he doesn't get to say who I toss.

Lysa Strata
(Undisclosed)

Lysa Strata They brought my sister Joanna to my home. They couldn't leave her at hers, she wouldn't be able to cope. Because Joanna was missing a leg. Lysa Strata decided to instigate a strike. A strike of women. No sex until the Forever War was ended.

Pain nurse - no pain, no gain part three
(Undisclosed)

A lot of people don't really understand about pain. I do, because I'm a pain nurse. Pain has two purposes. The obvious purpose is to alert you to the fact that something is wrong. If you pick up a too-hot plate, the pain is telling you to take rapid action before more damage is done. That's what everyone knows. But pain has a second purpose. The sensation of pain is transmitted from the damage site to the brain via the nervous system, and the body responds by taking actions to fix the problem, so that healing starts immediately. In part three of this series, I cover pain levels nine and ten.

Pain nurse part tw0
(Undisclosed)

A lot of people don't really understand about pain. I do, because I'm a pain nurse. Pain has two purposes. The obvious purpose is to alert you to the fact that something is wrong. If you pick up a too-hot plate, the pain is telling you to take rapid action before more damage is done. That's what everyone knows. But pain has a second purpose. The sensation of pain is transmitted from the damage site to the brain via the nervous system, and the body responds by taking actions to fix the problem, so that healing starts immediately. In part three of this series, I cover pain levels nine and ten.

Pain nurse part one
(Undisclosed)

A lot of people don't really understand about pain. I do, because I'm a pain nurse. Pain has two purposes. The obvious purpose is to alert you to the fact that something is wrong. If you pick up a too-hot plate, the pain is telling you to take rapid action before more damage is done. That's what everyone knows. But pain has a second purpose. The sensation of pain is transmitted from the damage site to the brain via the nervous system, and the body responds by taking actions to fix the problem, so that healing starts immediately. But sometimes, the pain sensation is inadequate, or is "referred". A referred pain is when you feel pain in the wrong place. For example, if you have a heart problem, you can't feel pain in your heart - the pain is felt in your left arm, elbow and shoulder. That's when the pain nurse comes in. If the pain is insufficient or referred, my job is to boost the pain. I have a number of different techniques that I can use, but rather than give a textbook exposition, I'll describe some case studies (the patient's names are, of course, anonymised). If you want a textbook, I'd suggest Wall & Melzack's "Textbook of Pain", available from many online bookshops.

Windmills 2
(Undisclosed)

Following that first day, when Steph showed me her new, gym toned body, and demonstrated her superior physical power, things began to change in our marriage. It wasn't just the dynamic of our sex lives either, the whole nature of our relationship changed. I don't think it was the fact she could (and did) now take full control in bed - it was the fact I loved it. This was something quite different and fed into the dynamics of life together outside the bedroom. It wasn't like I used to be undisputed head of the household and all that had suddenly changed. Steph had always made more money than me and we had always made out decision together. The important stuff, like about the household or where to live. But I had always kind of had the final say. I guess it was just the natural pattern of things, one that we'd always followed without thinking or discussing things. But once she started regularly kicking my ass on the wrestling mats, usually before carrying me to bed and dominating me, other aspects of our lives started changing too. I mean, I had always harboured secret domination fantasies, I watched videos online and things but I never thought it would be a reality of my life. But now Steph had taken full control of our love life, quite literally, I really began to lean into it and open myself up to those parts of me I'd never allowed before. Steph for her pert helped with her renewed sexual appetite. The reality was we had never had this much sex. Not even when we were young. We were discovering a whole new life that neither of us had even realised we wanted. And it was exciting. For both of us. She thought up new ways to user her body and mine and we both delighted in playing together and indulging this new part of ourselves. It wasn't just the wrestling either. I had started to worship her. Both literally and figuratively. After one energetic bout of wrestling, Steph stood over me, then, with a curious look on her face, she put her foot on my face. I'd never had a thing for feet but within seconds, I was kissing and licking her foot and sucking on her toes, flat on my back, naked with my hard-on sticking straight up in the air. She looked down with me with a pleased look in her eyes, before she pulled her panties to the side and sat right on my face. She rocked herself to orgasm while I worked hungrily at her lips. When she came, she stood up, looked down at me and said, "What do you say?" I gazed up and her and responded, "Thank you... Mistress"

Pizza Girl part three
(Undisclosed)

Today I was attacked again - the guy wanted the money I was carrying. He was waving a knife around, but it was a dinner knife and he looked really stupid with it. "OK, OK," I said, "My life isn't worth the cash I'm carrying, it's on the bicycle, I'll just get it." But also on the bicycle was my hockey stick, and that's a yard long. I unclipped it, and swung at his head, as one does. He ducked, of course, but I caught him a good one on the shoulder. He yelled "Bitch" and came at me with the knife, but I got him on the left ear with the second swipe of my stick, and he staggered. Why a hockey stick, you might be wondering. Because a baseball bat looks like a weapon, but a hockey stick looks like sports equipment. Which it is, and I've had plenty of practice with it. So he was still coming at me with his cutlery, so after I'd bounced my hockey stick off his left ear, I did a follow through, spun round and smashed my weapon into his right ear. Now he was dazed, but he still had his knife, so I lined up carefully and whacked his right hand, cracking his knuckles and causing him to drop the blade. Now he was disarmed, I suppose I could have just got on the pizza bike and rode off, but my blood was up and I wasn't going to stop now. The standard strike with a hockey stick is, of course, to the shins, followed by an "Oops, sorry about that!". So I took careful aim, raised the stick and brought it down as hard as I could. There was a satisfying "Crack!" and I knew that my assailant was finished. So I put my hockey stick back on its bracket, got on the pizza bike and rode off into the sunset. Or I would have, but it was night time so I rode off into the moonlight.

Pizza Girl part two
(Undisclosed)

Revenge is a dish best served brass monkeys, unlike pizza. So, the next time I see Eric, I use my Pizzagirl power to step on the pedals and catch up with him. I silently approach from behind, and blast him with my compressed air powered horn, sounding at 130 decibels just like a 56 ton 18 wheel truck mere inches behind him. He was suitably startled, swerved, wobbled, wobbled some more and went down, making a very satisfactory scrunching sound as he hit the deck. "Good morning, Eric," I called out merrily as I sailed past. Karma soon caught up with me - it started raining. Cats and dogs. So I reacted the way I always do - I got wet. But the pizza was safely tucked away in my insulated pannier, and I was able to deliver it, still hot. I stood there looking like a drowned kitten while the customer fetched some bread, which wetness I believe contributed to the handsome tip he gave me. Another contribution might have been the way that my wet shirt clung to my thrupenny bits. I'll take whatever I can get, except getting stiffed.

The Black Burqa part seven
(Undisclosed)

The Black Burqas have attracted the notice of the patriarchy. I know this because they sent a man dressed in a black burqa with the intention of signing up. So they found a short guy, got him to talk in a squeaky voice and to walk without stamping his feet. He lasted about five minutes. He wasn't even able to lift 100 kilograms, so we ripped off his burqa and checked his genitals. Busted! Some of the sisters were all for punishing him severely and sending him on his way, a few wanted to kill him, but Sfiyah came up with a very clever idea. "We can keep him, and use him to feed misleading information back to his bosses." "Never," he said, "I won't betray my brothers." "Then you're no use to us," said Sfiyah, "give him to Basma, she'll play with him for a while and then kill him." Basma lifted her face veil, showed her teeth in a chilling grin, and licked her lips. Then she pulled out her tiny, but very sharp, knife. "What do you want me to do?" asked the terrified man. "Give him to me," I said, "I'll look after him, and if he resists, Basma, you can have him." Basma really hates men, and enjoys hurting them; long term. He'd probably lose his sanity after a few weeks. But I'd take care of him, and he'd be great as a double agent. So I took him home. Raafid wanted to know who she was, and why she was in his home? "Your home?" I asked. "Your home," he amended. "And mind your own business, this is Black Burqa business." Raafid shut up. He knew his place, and definitely didn't want a couple of Black Burqas on his case. And for obvious reasons, he thought that the person in this particular black burqa was a woman. "What's your name," I asked my fearful captive. "Abdullah," he replied. "So now you're also my slave," I told him. "And you will continue to wear your burqa and pose as a woman." Abdullah swallowed and nodded. I interrogated him about his mission, and how he was to report back to his superiors. As we talked, I held his hand, squeezing very gently by with the implied threat that I could crush it like a toothpaste tube. And I reminded him about Basma, and her tiny, but very sharp, knife. So he told me everything, and he was too terror-stricken to make up any lies.

Pizza Girl part one
(Undisclosed)

Yes. I deliver pizza. Because someone has to, and I need a job. With the economy how it is post-Brexit (I still don't understand how we got conned into that) well-paying jobs are as rare as hen's teeth. So I'm a pizza delivery girl. And I'm Pizzagirl because a weird accident happened with the pizza microwave plus pineapple plus anchovies, which should normally never come in contact, let alone on top of pizza. Superman came from Krypton, Batman came from Gotham City, Wonder Woman came from Themyscira. I come from Neasden in London. Superman has superpowers because he's Kryptonese, Batman because he spends a lot of money on gadgets, Wonder Woman because she's an Amazon. Me? See above - the accident. Superman, Batman and WW all have secret identities, so when the accident happened, I realised I needed one. Because superheroes don't get paid. Can you imagine? Superman swoops down and saves a falling woman and then invoices her for $600. Wonder Woman worked part time at Taco Whiz and takes home minimum wage. No chance. So for my secret identity, I put on a pair of plain glass spectacles, because apparently that's all you need. But to be totally sure of secrecy, I also wore my hair in a ponytail instead of the falling locks that Pizzagirl wears.

The Black Burqa part six
(Undisclosed)

"Those high powered rifles can go straight through even Kevlar" he told me. "Yes," I agreed. Actually, I was surprised that no-one had guessed that we'd kitted out our women with steel plate armor - armor much heavier than an ordinary man could carry. And that steel armor, weighing about a hundred pounds would deflect an AR-15 round. We knew this, because we'd tested it. "But what if the shooter had gone for a head shot?" That was certainly a possibility, but gun training was to aim for the Centre mass, because a head is a much smaller target. "If he'd gone for a head shot, it would certainly have been "Goodnight Gracie", but we sent in three Black Burqas, and even if one was killed, it would be a good trade for the lives of the thirty off springs that he was holding hostage." "That's incredibly brave," said the interviewer. "We're women," I replied. "And we're mothers. off springs are the purpose of our existence. You'd need to be a mother yourself to understand, but here's a simple way to put it. The female of the species is more deadly than the male." I continued. "Men talk. Men negotiate. Men compromise, and while that is appropriate for many purposes, when it comes to off springs, there is no doubt, no hesitation and no compromise. Our Black Burqas had one and only one purpose. If the police had tried to stop them, they would have been swept aside. If one had been shot then the other two would have continued to rescue those off springs." "The shooter was in a real mess when the police went in, wasn't that excessive?" he asked. I repeated, "There is no compromise. No negotiation. Anyone who threatens our off springs, gets the immediate white-hot fury of the female of the species. In this case, what happened exactly was, a punch to the belly to incapacitate him and double him up, a knee lifted to meet the face coming down and break the nose and teeth, and a double-fist rabbit punch to knock him out and lay him flat on the ground. And when a Black Burqa delivers that triple whammy, the recipient is knocked cold for the next several hours. And if it's delivered too hard and the guy dies, then we're not going to weep for him, he threatened our off springs with death." "And if in the course of taking down an active shooter with a gun, he gets injured, then I'm not going to apologies to him. Even if he loses a few fingers when the gun is seized and is unable to fire a gun in future, then that's just a consequence of his decision to pick up a gun and kill our off springs."

Respect all, fear nun - part six
(Undisclosed)

Respect all, fear nun - part six We use 100 pound weights, because if you only use 50s, you get a very crowded bar. Hilde had four on each side, so she was pushing 800 pounds steadily up and down. And then I realised. She had meant kilograms, I did a quick calculation in my head - double it and add ten per cent, and the 450 came to - oh my giddy aunt! "Nine ninety," I told Nora, "she's topping out at 990 pounds. Not even you can do that." "Eight twenty is my current best clean and jerk," she said, "she's pushing a thousand." A thousand pounds, of course, is the hope and prayer of every St Hilda's nun. It's a nice round number - five disks on each side of the bar. Nora eyed her enviously. "I wonder what they use instead of Septadecaherbis", she mused, "and whether I can try it?" "Ask her," I grumped. Nora grabbed my rosary after compline. "We need to talk," she said, and showed me a small bottle. "What is it?" I asked, curiously. "She calls it Siebzehnkraut," Nora said. I sniffed it cautiously, it didn't smell like Septadecaherbis. "I'm going to try it," Nora announced. "Nora! You shouldn't! You don't know how it will react with you." Nora shook her head, and said "990 pounds. I'm so there." A week went by. Pray and lift, pray and lift. We were happy, the offsprings were happy and the dogs were ecstatic - it doesn't take much to make a dog happy. Nora was dosing on Siebzehnkraut, and I was measuring her biceps every day. By the end of the week, she'd put on half an inch to 26 1/2, and her bench press had gone from 670 to 710. It looked like Siebzehnkraut was the real McCoy. I talked to Hilde. "Can we get more of your Siebzehnkraut?" I asked bluntly. "Ab naturlich," she smiled. "I will der mutterhaus schreiben." Well, that was easy. I thought I'd have to twist her arm a bit to get her agreement, and I was pretty sure that her arm was much too big for me to twist. And while we were waiting for the package from Germany to arrive, Hilde shared her own supplies with it.

The Black Burqa part five
(Undisclosed)

The Black Burqas go worldwide The problem was this. Even the most muscular Black Burqa, like Naamah, looked like any other woman in a burqa; that was the whole purpose of the garment. And no-one could tell who was wearing a black burqa as a fashion statement, and who was one of the muscle queens that could terrorise any man unlucky enough to find himself embraced by her thighs. But then something unusual happened. The Black Burqas have a web site, so that people can contact us and apply to be an official Black Burqa. We won't take just anyone who applies. You have to be able to bench press 300 kilograms, which neatly eliminates all men, as well as all women who don't have the musculature that every Black Burqa should have. This is prominently stated on the blackburqas.com web site. Of course, that web site is banned in most countries. I stood at the "incoming" area at the airport wearing my best black burqa. I noticed that men edged away from me nervously, but the women seemed to like being nearby. I didn't have to wait long before the flight from Chicago disgorged its passengers, and Phillida was obvious, because she was the only woman getting off that flight wearing a dark blue burqa. I stepped forward. "Phillida Watkins, I presume?" and we both laughed. "Coffee first," I said, and we went to the ridiculously over-priced airport coffee shop. "Your husband allows you out without a guardian?" she asked. I snorted. "Raafid allows me to do whatever I tell him to allow, He's tasted the crushing grip of my thighs, and he doesn't want to ever feel that again. But," I continued, "tell me about you."