Stroy by 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.
Sign up to pay for just this story costing $8.00
Download this story (after you paid for it)

Original story by 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.

Original story by 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 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.

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.

Story by Diana the Valkyrie; artwork: ZGannero. Original Character courtesy 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.

Original story by 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.

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.

New story by Diana the Valkyrie, artwork by 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.

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.

Artwork by legendary artist Jupiter 1

Amy shows off her huge muscles to an admiring man.

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 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.

"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 armour - armour much heavier than an ordinary man could carry. And that steel armour, 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 children that he was holding hostage."

"That's incredibly brave," said the interviewer. "We're women," I replied. "And we're mothers. Children 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 children, 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 children."

"The shooter was in a real mess when the police went in, wasn't that excessive force?" he asked. I repeated, "There is no compromise. No negotiation. Anyone who threatens our children, 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 children 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 apologise 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 children."

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."

Story by Diana the Valkyrie, art by Tan Yk

An Amazon acquires a new victim in the gym and has hot and heavy sex with her. When the victim's boyfriend tries to interfere, he is destroyed with a single punch.

She drags her victim into the Ladies room, and gives her more sex than three women would be able to take; more than a dozen men could give.

The boyfriend, recovered, tries to intervene again, so she breaks his arm.

She takes her new girl and the boyfriend to hospital, where they hook up with a nurse that she knows, and the three women have powerful sex together while the impotent boyfriend watches from his hospital bed.

The Black Burqa part four

The patriarchy become afraid of the Black Burqa movement, which is spreading rapidly.

There's a media campaign, orchestrated by the Ministry of Truth. trying to discredit them.

So the Black Burdas raid the Ministry of Truth and help the Minister to understand the true meaning of the Quran.

Ayesha breaks one of his ribs, then squeezes him so hard that he can't breathe, and his bladder voids.

They crushed the gates of the compound into a tangle of useless steel piled in a heap, and they left a black burqa there to show what had happened.

I was just burning some toast to go with the soggy beans for Raafid's supper, when Sfiyah turned up, and she had someone with her. Who? I don't know, she was dressed head to toe in a black burqa.

"Hey," Sfiyah said. "Hey hey," I replied, "what's the timing for toast again?" She looked at what was pretty much charcoal. "About ten minutes ago," she answered, "this is Asma. She wants to be a Black Burqa."

I blinked. A what?

Apparently, my appearance at the masjid had led to some confusion, mostly because Sfiyah also wore a black burqa when she went there to douse the lights. So people already thought there were two of us, and if two, why not three?

The great thing about a burqa, is that no-one could actually see me. It was like a disguise, only better. So no-one, except me and Sfiyah, knew the secret identity of the Black Burqa. I suppose Raafid might have guessed, but he was too intimidated by me to tell anyone. It must be terrible to live with someone who, at any time, might inflict painful violence on you. I know this, because that's how I had lived for years and years.

"Who was that mysterious woman?" people were asking each other, and the guesses were all over the place. Every woman around here was wearing a niqab with a face veil; a burqa was only a small step further. Who was that masked woman?

Asma spoke. "I've been through eight years of beatings. And each time he didn't kill me, he made me stronger. And now I want to be like you, a Black Burqa. I want to help all the women who are being trodden on and treated unjustly. We women are supposed to be treated like queens; too many of us get treated like serfs."

It's Jessica's birthday!

And there's a nice surprise waiting for her - but maybe not so nice for Matty, her boyfriend.

His weak body is no match for her powerful muscles, her crushing vagina or her smothering breasts.

Jessica's friend Amy accompanied her to the Rose and Thorn, where they get into a fight with a bunch of bikers.

Sfiyah visited just now, and she was quite excited. "Ayesha, I have a task for you." Uh-oh, I thought, she wants me to bake a cake, and I'm a really rotten cook.

But that wasn't it. "You know Jawaria?" "You mean the one married to Dawud?" "That's right," said Sfiyah. "Well I was with her yesterday, and she has a big bruise on her cheek." "How did that happen?" "She said she bent over and hit it on a tap, but I don't believe that's true." "Why would she lie?" "To avoid the shame of admitting that her husband beats her. You remember, you didn't tell anyone when Raafid was beating you."

"So why is it your problem?" I asked. "It's a problem for all of us," she replied. "We are all sisters, and so we must care for each other." "Maybe he had a good reason to beat her?" I wondered. Sfiyah gave me a withering look. "Like Raafid had a good reason to beat you?" "Good point," I admitted. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"I think you should Raafid him. Do what you did to Raafid." "But that was different. He was going to marry off Maryam when she was only thirteen, and I just lost my cool at him."

Sfiyah shook her head. "That was the trigger. But the real reason was all the abuse you took over so many years. Well, now Jawaria needs your help." "Why me?"

My name is Ayesha. I am a pious Muslima, married to Raafid, my four children are Maryam, Gamali, Nasif and baby Kaadiha. I wear the veil, because I am a modest woman.

I'm not smart like my friend Sfiyah. She seems to know everything. I read my Quran, and I'm still rather ignorant, unskilled and often I don't understand what people are saying. But I'm happy.

At least, I was happy, until Raafid decided that he didn't like my cooking. To be honest, I don't blame him - cooking is one of the many skills I've never mastered. My food comes in two varieties, soggy or burned.

So for the last two years, we've been at loggerheads. First, he spoke to me and told me to improve my cooking. I asked "How?" but he didn't have an answer. Then he tried to punish me by not joining me in bed. That's supposed to be a punishment? And when neither of those worked, he started beating me.

They say that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. That seemed to be true for me - I noticed that I was thickening in the places where the blows landed. And it was hard muscle, protecting my body from Raafid's rod. He kept it hanging on a hook on the wall, and I knew that when he took it down, I was in for another beating.

We stayed talking until dusk, and then I lifted him back into the wheelchair, and set off for his apartment.

"Olga," he said. "Mmh?" I answered. "Don't look back but we're being followed," he told me. I looked back. Sure enough, two guys were keeping station on us about fifty yards back.

"Olga," he said again. "What?" "It's an ambush. There's another two guys up front, trying to hide in doorways. Leave me and run for it."

"I'm not leaving you to get beaten up. That's my job," I joked. "Olga, this is serious. Four that I've spotted, and there could be others. And I don't think they're waiting to play patty-cake. Run for your life."

No way. Plough girls aren't cowards. Gary had suffered enough at my hands, it was clearly on me to look after him. I wasn't going to leave him to the mercy of these four toughs. But I could see a way to even the odds a bit.

I did a u-turn, and ran back the way we'd come. Clearly, the thugs weren't expecting me to run towards danger, so at first, they didn't know what to do. Ten seconds later I was in front of them. I kicked one of them in the head, which is a dangerous thing to do, because I could lead to a fatality, and the other one in the groin. He folded up nicely and I smashed my two fists into the back of his head as he went down. He hit the pavement, and lay still.

By then, the other two had arrived, and I could see two more running towards me. This was good; two at a time is better than four at once. I left Gary and the two thugs I'd already handled, and met the first two before they could realise their mistake.

I'm six foot three, and my legs are a lot longer than their arms. Which is just as well, because they were both armed with baseball bats, and looked like they were ready to use them. So I used the reach of my legs to kick one of them in the side, and there was a satisfying crack as his ribs broke. The other one swung his bat at me and connected. He hit my left shoulder, and my left arm went numb. But I grabbed his bat with my right hand and jerked it towards me.

He had two choices, hold on or let go. Both choices were bad. If he let go, I would be armed and he not. So he hung on to the bat, and was jerked forward enough so that my raised knee could crash into his genitals. Strike four.

The last two arrived, out of breath, and split up. One of them went for Gary, the other one pulled a knife and threatened me with it. So I picked up thug four and threw him at thug five, which I don't think he expected, and I followed up with a broken knife arm, so he dropped his weapon. A fist to the belly took him out of action, leaving thug six, who had wisely decided to make a run for it.

Zrinka Ryovska is six foot nine and built like a bull.

She comes from Ruthenia, visits a geek, and explains to him that he is going to be a voluntary sperm donor to a million Ruthenian women.

To make this possible, Zrinka will send a bodyguard to protect him - Magda, nearly seven feet tall, her muscles hardened by twenty years of pulling an 800 pound plough through hard scrabble ground.

And Mikayla, a milkmaid, six feet four. She was able to bring a well-trained man to orgasm thirty times in a day's activity.

Amy dons her classic schoolgirl uniform and wrestles guys as a summer job.

Later backstage, the sexy teenage Amazon ravishes a man in the shower and 2 in the locker room.

Babette is a very pretty and very tall girl. At six feet seven inches, she towers above most men. But what she has in inches, she lacks in brainpower.

When she leave college, she gets a couple of low-paid jobs, until she accidentally find that she has a talent for boxing, because she has small, hard fists and a very long reach. Babette can smack a man in the head long before he can reach any part of her.

She meets Marty, who acts as her manager, and supervises her training, including building up her muscles. The story culminates with a boxing match against Victor, who gets totaly destroyed in a very short time.

Story and artwork by Diana the Valkyrie.

Ginnie tortures and torments her victim, then handcuffs him and attaches a lock to his cock and balls.

Then she rapes his mouth with her strap-on, followed by raping his ass.

She beats him with a riding crop and makes him kiss her feet.

The bill was four hours of training, four hundred dollars.

Hannah is 5'9", 125 pounds. Her strength, speed and skill is impressive, as are her 42G breasts.

Knowing that a gorgeous golden goddess like Hannah possessing what could only be described as superhuman strength made Brick\u2019s dick as hard as granite. It had the exact same effect on Gary and Johnny.

She had a figure that was the perfect balance of slender and voluptuous. She had a trim, tight waist and wide, womanly hips. Her taut, round ass was like a ripe peach that was just begging to be sampled. Her long, shapely, pleasing legs, delicate feet and ten sexy toes completed the impossibly pulchritudinous portrait.

And on top of Hannah\u2019s otherworldly beauty, there was her unreal strength. Brick knew that Hannah was easily at least twenty times stronger than he was. Exquisite artwork by Edson.

Oceanside Beach was a prime destination for high schoolers and young college students looking for sand and surf (and sometimes love) in the summer - and it was the perfect road trip for 18-year-old super muscular high school seniors Amy and Jessica.

The sun beat down on the hot parking lot, baking the asphalt and the cars slowly pulling in. As Jessica's candy apple red convertible drove into an open parking space, one would be remiss not to miss the mountains of teenage muscle (in the tiniest bikinis imaginable) settled into both the driver and passenger seats - or the giggling of these two teenagers. Indeed, the two gorgeous, 6-foot-tall Amazons nearly caused multiple accidents on the trip.

"Did you see that one truck driver? He almost veered off the road when he saw my chest!" Amy giggled in her high-pitched voice as she got out of the car.

"Well, can you blame him?" said Jessica. "Look at your top!" Jessica's eyes looked down from her best friend's gorgeous face and blond pigtails to her baby blue, way too small string bikini. The top was stretched so tight across Amy's massive chest that the string threatened to break at any moment.

The scene starts out with the two gorgeous young musclegirls giggling up a storm, both filled with unreal excitement as they get themselves ready for their first female muscle video clip. Something neither of them have ever officially tried before, yet something they would wind up doing with such ease and unreal skill (not to mention plenty of sexy, young, female muscle) that anyone watching would have thought they had been practicing this online art for many years now. Bouncing up and down on a nearby bed (which was barely large enough to support these two massively muscle packed young women, Amy and Jessica were dressed in very short, tight and revealing lingerie, as they playfully smacked one another with large pillows taken from the front of this very bed. A true "Amazon Girl Sleepover" fantasy come true, and this was only the first 15 seconds.

"Hi all, we're back, did you miss us?" Amy spoke out in a girlish tone, lowering her soft pillow down to her side, as she jumped off this barely still intact bed, with her fellow musclegirl following suit. "Well, we sure missed you" Jessica giggled out, continuing their act of little girls, which wasn't too far of a stretch, since they themselves were only 18 years old. Though you wouldn't know that from their voluptuous physiques, which displayed a level of athletic shape, size and hardness that one would think could only belong to someone several years their senior. Yet as much as their bodies gave them the appearance of womanly age and maturity, their incredibly gorgeous and youthful faces made them look almost too young to be "enjoying" such videos and photos. As for their maturity, well girls will be girls, which goes double for those with rock solid, steel hard physiques, who were more than able to take virtually anything that they wanted\u2026\u2026or in this case, ANYONE that they wanted. "We hope you liked our pictures, we worked really hard on them for you all, almost as hard as our Big, Sexy bodies, I'd say" she continued to chirp out in her little girl's voice. "

Though with such unreal physical statistics as near 17" biceps, 27" thighs, DD-cup breasts, and a full 6 feet in height, it wasn't long after she started her own personal page that people started calling her the very obvious Amazon Amy, and her OurSpace page was literally flooded with male (and even a good amount of female) admirers of young, sexy, hard, female muscle. Which eventually lead to her being introduced to a separate, very select and private grouping of young girls (ranging in age from 18 - 23) who like herself were strong, powerful super feminine hardbodies. These sexy young Amazons were always on the look-out for more girls like themselves, and in Amy they found one of the best, so it was a no-brainer in giving her an official invite to this very select group. It was in fact her idea to arrange for pictures of their various feats and conquests to be taken and downloaded onto their own pages, showing off not only to one other, but to the very select grouping of lucky male admirers of female muscle all over the world, who simply couldn't get enough of these strikingly beautiful, teenage Amazon girls. Exquisite artwork by legendary artist Jupiter 1.

The ERG sorority

We were just gossiping about guys, as one does. I suppose guys gossip about girls, or maybe they just gossip about sports. I don't know. Boys just don't seem to be rational.

Sex is the most important thing in the world, because sex leads to babies, and without babies, the human race goes extinct. Without baseball, the human race doesn't go extinct. Without football, the human race continues. And the same for basketball, cricket, soccer, golf and so on.

Something we've all noticed is that there seem to be a bunch of boys that are turned on by female muscle, but there's also a bunch that are intimidated by us to the extent that they don't even appear on our radar.

Judy said "I make money by dancing." And while she's dancing in her bikini, she shows off her thick muscles; the audience easily understands that she's stronger than any two of them. "They feel intimidated by my body, and even a bit scared. And when I suggest tips, they respond enthusiastically, with five and ten dollar bills.

Sally reminisced about a jockstrap raid she'd been on. "It was great fun. We hit the ALE frat house. There were four of us, and the boys didn't put up any resistance, because they knew that they'd be knocked flat if they tried. So we smashed down their front door - it turned out that it hadn't been locked, but smashing it down set the scene. We barged into their dorm room and rummaged through their drawers, grabbing their most intimate garments - jock straps. They were a bit smelly, but we'd brought plastic bags to put them in. Then we marched out, past the boys who were still cowering in their living room.

Policewoman

By Amazon Lover

Tim is challenged to armwrestle a policewoman; she turns out to be stronger than he is.

Terri is 5'11" tall, weighs 155 pounds of solid muscle, and her measurements are 39EE-24-36

She told him that she enjoyed his humiliation, and then suggested that the wrestle. Her body scissors crushes him easily, she pins him with her straddle. This was followed by a full nelson, a surfboard and a head scissors. tim was really wiped out! Artwork by legendary artist MadMax.

18-year old Amy Hardstone is in detention, and she seduces the teacher, Robert Scott, who is sitting in on the detention.

Why is she there? Because she got into a fight. With three guys, and gave them a severe beating, leaving them in hospital.

Amy shows Robert her huge biceps and massive thighs; flexing and breaking the desk she was sitting at. Then she mashes Robert against the blackboard with her enormous breasts, almost smothering him.

Amy both attracted and terrified the small teacher. And when he calls her a freak, she's upset, and shows it by mangling the desk. Robert tries to make a run for it, but is stopped by collision with Amy's hard body, and then she crushes him in her arms, leaving him unable to breathe.

Awesome artwork by legendary artist Jupiter 1.

Olga explains how to become a plough girl, and looks for a better-paying job.

Olga is a tall, strongly built, over-sexed blonde. Her lack of experience in Western ways, gets her into trouble, but her powerful muscles keep her safe. Her striking good looks and well-developed figure lead her into many sexual situations; her kind and gentle nature is the reason why so many men survive her lovemaking. Inspiring artwork by New York City artist Hampton.

"The plough girl" is a series of stories by Diana the Valkyrie; each week you can follow Olga's adventures.

Olga gets a new job at the KittyKat Klub, and deals with a gun man by crushing the gun with her powerful fingers.

Olga is a tall, strongly built, over-sexed blonde. Her lack of experience in Western ways, gets her into trouble, but her powerful muscles keep her safe. Her striking good looks and well-developed figure lead her into many sexual situations; her kind and gentle nature is the reason why so many men survive her lovemaking.

"The plough girl" is a series of stories by Diana the Valkyrie; each week you can follow Olga's adventures. Impressive artwork by internationl artist ZGannero.

His new stepsister, Emily, is nineteen years old, heavily muscled and six foot eight.

She immediately starts to bully him and tells him his car is in her spot. She rolls the car onto its roof. Then she kicks him in the belly and delivered a painful and humiliating spanking.

His sister Teddy tries to help by rubbing cream onto his sore arse, but she uses something that Emily gave her, which makes things much worse. Emily holds him upside down betwen her thighs, while Teddy rubs on more of the painful cream.

Several days later, Emily apologises for her behaviour, and explained that it was a testosterone thing, and she needed help to deal with it - the help being, of course, sex. But sex with a powerful muscle girl is great at first, but as the hours go by it is more painful, humiliating and embarrassing.

Then Emily started to have a sexual relationship with his sister Teddy! And then the new mom used dad as a test subject for her business. Her business was items for discipline.

Story by Diana the Valkyrie.

Olga is a plough girl - she pulls the plough for her village. They are too poor to own a horse or ox, so a plough girl does the job.

Then war hits Ukraine. She joins the fight, but there are just too many well-armed Russians. The villagers are forced to flee; Olga goes to New York.

Olga is a tall, strongly built, over-sexed blonde. Her lack of experience in Western ways, gets her into trouble, but her powerful muscles keep her safe. Her striking good looks and well-developed figure lead her into many sexual situations; her kind and gentle nature is the reason why so many men survive her lovemaking.

Exquisite artwork by Diego

"The plough girl" is a series of stories; each week you can follow Olga's adventures.

Mike measures Olga. 52 inch chest, so she explained that when she gets her sex life going again, everything will get bigger.

She goes to a club and was refused entry, after a short altercation she steps over the bouncer into the club. Inside, some guy puts his hand up her skirt, so she brought her legs together, turned to face him, he didn't move quickly enough and his arm broke.

The Olga finds a suitable dance partner; her idea of suitable means small and weak. She picked him up and took him to the dance floor, and held him close to her body as she fucked him then let him down to the floor; he was crying.

When she got home, Mike was still awake, so she told him how she got mugged on the way home, and how she punished each of the would-be muggers. Then she took Mike to bed, her sixth sex of the evening.

Next day, Olga tries to get a job. She was rejected as a waitress because of her size, she was rejected for heavy manual labour, because she's a girl, but she went back to the club and got a job there as a female bouncer.

At the end of the evening, she stops a fight betwen two guys with a fist to the belly of each of them. She picked them up, one under each arm, and threw them out of the club. Superb artwork by Dracowhip.

They call her "La Toro", because although she's female, she's built like a bull. She's six feet seven and 310 pounds, one hell of a lot of it is muscle.

She demands submission from all men, but especially from her husband, who she tortures each day with her powerful muscles.

And this is an account of one such day. One day in the life of the husband of La Toro

Don't read this if you're of a weak or nervous disposition. Try to avoid any woman who becomes inspired by La Toro. But most of all, if she does one day kill her husband by going just a bit too far - do not volunteer to be his replacement. Excellent artwork by international artist ZGannero.