Boutique Physique Fetish 1
(Story by DTM, Artwork: Jupiter 1)

An exotically beautiful Asian Amazon with a compact gymnast's body and steel hard frame, a towering Ebony Goddess with long, lean, powerful muscles flowing all over her statuesque physique, and none other than an increasingly iconic buxom blond bombshell with the unreal beauty to match her unrivaled muscle packed body. Each of them dressed in barely-there string bikinis, which showed off virtually every inch of their super fit frames to those around watching and cheering them on, doing so at a fever pitch as they came to the end of their first initiation task, bringing them one step forward to officially joining this very select Sorority House. Their hard, fit, tight and muscle packed bodies popping, bursting and breaking apart a series of extremely durable foods items, doing so in a race against the clock, to see if they could accomplish their task in their previously discussed time limit. A task that consisted of each of these buff beauties destroying an assortment of watermelons, rock melons, apples, and other hard-skinned produce; doing so with their rock-hard bodies, in very specific ways. The crushing of apples in such muscular girl's flexing arms seemed all too common these days, which is why these girls here had to do so within their thick, pulsating pecs. Shoving the biggest, firmest, hardest looking apples their future Sisters could find into their beefy breasts, and with suddenly savage squeezes crushing them all to pieces, sending rivers of sweet tasting apple juice flowing down their rippling cleavage and into washboard abs.

Windmills 2.2
(Story: FinQ, Artwork: MadMax)

'Kiss my calves.' I did so. Worshiping the hard muscles and running my hands along her smooth, waxed shins. We repeated the process for her hamstrings and her quads. I could not get enough of her powerful legs. The large muscles and the perfect, smooth skin being the absolute quintessence of female power and my wife total superiority to me. 'Yes, we have definitely found your talent now...' She grabbed my hair and gently led me, crawling, over to the sofa, where she sat down, hiking her short skirt up as she did and pulling my face in-between her thighs. She let me get very close to her panties, before crushing my head, brining my advance to an abrupt stop. 'You want it do not you Smith. You want to lick and kiss my sweet sex. Oh God I bet you would give absolutely anything right now for me to let you kiss me there. Tell me.' 'Yes Miss Jones. I would give anything to lick and kiss your sweet pussy' 'Then beg for it.'

Happy Hormones Crip Walking 2
(Story: DTM, Artwork: Jupiter 1)

The tour far ahead of them, Amy and her mother decided to make their own way across the university. Past quiet walkways and well-manicured lawns, the tall women continued to draw attention. Amy, in particular, loved to draw more of it. Whether it was flexing her rock-hard calves walking past a group of guys, or pressing her huge melons together with her arms while she asked someone for directions, she always got her desired reaction (stares of longing for her perfectly-built body). Her favorite activity was bending over at the waist after 'accidentally' dropping her handbag, giving an unwitting guy behind her a direct view of her amazing bowling ball glutes. She would then turn her head, give her ass a playful smack and blow a kiss sure to leave an erection as the two women would continue on and laugh.

Muscle Oni (Ju Tanka) 1
(Story: Lil Guy, Artwork: ZGannero)

She was a pure monster of muscle and sex "Ass not so bad either," She Thought She lifted her robe showing massive glutes. They were buns of pure steal "Lets see if this body is just for show" She dropped down and started doing some pushed up. She got up to 500 pushed up and then even sweat. She switches to arm and did 1000 "Hmm not so bad," She Thought She grabbed the bed and lifted it up with one hand. She lifted it over her head walking around the room She found her senses were heighten. She could smell and hear better. If she concentrated, she could hear from miles away. The costume. The colors of it were orange and red. The Kimono gave people a nice view of her breast. She was deep into the Alphabet when it come to breast size. Her tits felt amazing. They were full and womanly. She flexed her pectoral making them bounce. They were large, Over G cups. They stood out in pride defying gravity. Her feet were 16 inches. Her mom had put in some sandals that she could step in easy on. She found putting on the mask changed the way she saw herself. She felt confident and powerful. The adrenaline pumping through her. She could feel the heart beating in her chest like a Thunder. She felt ALIVE.

Happy Hormones Crip Walking 1
(Story: DTM, Artwork: Jupiter 1)

Amy stepped out of the doorway, her massive, half-naked, golden tan body rippling with muscles. She was dressed in her favorite 'little schoolgirl' uniform, an outfit that left little to the imagination. Small black schoolgirl shoes adorned her feet, as white socks wrapped their way up her huge calves (barely able to cover their diamond hard shape). A way too-tight schoolgirl blouse was tied just below her chest, almost unable to contain her breasts. Her visible washboard abs, rippling with muscle, flexed as she softly breathed in and out. Around her waist was a tiny skirt that barely covered her massive tree trunk thighs. Teddy bear panties were visible underneath the skirt, starting to get slightly damp with arousal. Her face was made up to look young: rosy cheeks and a brilliant white smile. Her always-present pigtails hung from either side of her head, and bounced as she strode over to the man behind the desk.

Flexy Romance
(Story: Arnold Ziffel @arnoldziffel1, Artwork: Tan Yk @tanyk)

She was a blonde. A blonde to make blind man blink. You could almost hear the creaking of fabric strained against all the stiffening cocks. It was not just a bunch of the dudes; some of the girls got all nippily and excited around her, too. It was like she was royal, the uber-babe of all babes, and her fans were bowing before her. With a rather apologetic smile, she re-stacked her heavy textbook pile on one steel ingot of a forearm. Shoulders worthy of a fullback were exposed in her sleeveless, short-waisted hoodie. It left her taut stomach half exposed, flat as concrete and apparently just as hard. She had thickly cabled columns of bulging muscle shapes on teardrop thighs that could squeeze me into the next life, petite knees and then calves that must have been 20 inches if they did not snap the tape wrapped around them. The quintessential hottie. This could be the one I hadd been looking for. 'Are you okay, Trish?' an XXXL beef-o-saurus yelled, glaring at me like a German Shepherd on guard duty.

Windmills 2
(Story: FinQ, Artwork: MadMax)

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.

The Lipstick Detective
(Story: Arnoldziffel1, Artwork: Tan Yk)

'Greece!' Billie wasn not punching the heavy bag at the Gargoyle Gym, she was pummeling it. Punishing it, actually. speed boxing. She flurried her fists against the heavy bag, delivering a powerful jolt with each strike. She threw hooks, crosses, jabs, and uppercuts, all with precise accuracy and tremendous strength. The bag bounced wildly on its chain, hanging tough against the onslaught of punches. She grinned at Andy, then sneered at the bag like it was an enemy. Billie finished her workout with a blistering Left, Left, Right blitzkrieg that knocked it off the hanger, slamming into the nearby wall. 'Okay, all done!' The manager groaned. 'Really, Billie? Again?' After a quick shower she changed into her work clothes. She examined what she saw in the mirror: A solid 200 pounds of toned muscle packed onto a 5 foot 7 inch frame with a ghost of baby fat here and there. Pretty, pert breasts supported by a pectoral wall. Six abs the size of her fists proudly making their presence known below her peaches and cream skin. She slipped on a sleeveless shirt and flexed her right arm, a rock hard hill of muscle forming beside her big shoulder. 'Flabby bitch!' she laughed.

Concetta and Yau Nam
(Undisclosed)

Concetta is a high level, black belt practioner of the Yau Nam. Yau Nam is a little-known sexual and martial art. This is an account of one morning in her life - she first shags three men senselss, then moves on to the Yau Nam dojo and takes on two Yau Nam masters. The morning is completed when she takes on the dojo instructor, and leaves him physically and sexually drained.

Firebrand muscular women
(Story: DTM, Artwork: Jupiter 1)

Amy and Jessica take Robert Scott through the most exhaustive and exhausting sexual experience of his life. Amy's mom, Elizabeth, is the fourth participant in this sexual explosion, adding her muscles and experiece to the fray.

The Interview
(Artwork: ZGannero)

I am undefeated, she smiled, Against the other girls and guys. You wrestle guys? I inquired. Sure. Why not? It is good competition. She paused for a moment. A wry smile appeared on her face. Do you find that strange or intriguing? she asked, raising her eyebrow for emphasis.

Community College Muscle Coeds
(Undisclosed)

Amy and Jessica decide to christen the end of Community College by ravishing their professor!

Mucle Mama Pupetta
(Story: Diana the Valkyrie, Artwork: ZGannero, Original Character: cee666)

I'm six feet seven, high heels take me up to seven feet. Yes, there are advantages in being tall, but there's also drawbacks. It's nice to be able to see over the heads in a crowd, but it's not so nice banging my head on projections that assume that no-one is more than six feet. This is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because people stop and stare at me, it's a curse because that causes pedestrian traffic jams. It's a blessing that I don't need a bra, they support themselves rather well, but that leaves me with quite a lot of wobble. Think jelly on a plate. Yes, I can run, they're firm enough for that, but skipping rope? No way. It's a blessing because I can cause very strong erections just by standing still; it's a curse because my breasts are a major cause of premature ejaculations, and those ejaculations are usually in such volume that the ejaculator is incapable for further sexual activity for hours. And that, of course, is very frustrating for me. And it's a curse because people used to ask me: Are those real? Which is why I started wearing little or nothing above the waist, because then no-one asked me silly questions about my tits.

Rough sex at the gym part 2
(Story: Arnoldziffel1, Artwork: Tan Yk)

A fitness girl throws caution to the winds and makes a chalenge. Her feeble punches did nothing. Then the beating began. Punches to her face, a full nelson that almost killed her, and then her head was pounded into the ground. This was brutality expressed in anger, with a side order of brain damage.

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.

Too big
(Story: Diana the Valkyrie, Artwork: Robolord and Diana the Valkyrie)

Elaine has a problem - she's too big. Not fat, but big. Her ambition is to join the college football team. Not a "girls team", but THE team. That's how she meets Jeremy, who is much too small for the team, and both of their lives are changed. They both fall in love. Her first date with him went very well, but for her second date, she needs a really posh dress, which she doesn't have. And she can't buy one, because she's ... too big. She visits a dressmaker who takes her remarkable measurements, and gets a quote for $600. She raises the cash by challenging, and defeating, one of the football team, at wrestling. So she can pay for new new dress, and the second date with Jeremy goes well, and ends with a powerful display of what it's like for Jeremy to have sex with a girl who is ten times as strong as he is.

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.

Summer Gig: Session Wrestling
(Artwork: Legendary artist Jupiter 1)

Amy shows off her huge muscles to an admiring man.

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 illustrated, 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.