[Jayne Greye]

The book is no live on smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/916673 Here is on last small segment.

Far too early to go get ready but I couldn’t think of anything else to do I was so amped up. Being unable to focus on what to do with the beautiful array of fitness women around me was kind of amazing. Duh, sit there and gawk. But my excitement about the upcoming session overwhelmed me. Finally, I was so antsy that I got up and headed up to the room. Lucky, I did, because when I hopped in the shower I discovered that I already had a slight sun burn. Two hours to a different world, I thought. Tonight, I hoped, would be a game changer.

When I arrived at the low-budget hotel I was all nerves. My nervous excitement even overcame my disgust at the level of cleanliness of the hotel. Off handedly, I worried that the place would have bedbugs, but I had to try and push that horrifying thought aside and focus on what would soon be before me, the most incredibly muscular woman I’d ever seen in person.

I knocked at the door softly. The die was cast, I was in this for real now. Whether this was prostitution or experimentation I didn’t know for sure, but I had to know my own feelings toward muscle. When the door opened, a hugely muscular woman came in to view, but somehow, I noticed her hair first. She had tight curls pulled back into pigtails, wrapped with pink bows. As I asked, she had worn a French maid outfit and in her hand, she grasped a little dust mop. Though she was French, her deeply tanned skin and light brown hair gave her the appearance of being somehow more Middle Eastern. Without either direction or introduction she began play acting. “Hello Sir,” she said in a heavy French accent. “Your room is ready cleaned especially nice for you. Do you have the money?” I handed her the four crisp $100 bills that I pulled out of my account before I left home. She took the money with the most striated forearms I’d ever seen. Cords and veins crisscrossed her thickly muscled forearms where the skin seemed so thin, it appeared her muscle would inevitably burst through. “Very good sir. Come on in, I will prepare the bed for you.” She walked over to the bed and pulled back the blanket and patted on the bed as if expecting me to come over. “Sir you’ve had such a hard day, please take off your clothes and come get in bed. I’ll take care of you,” she whispered sexily.

Somewhat sheepishly I stripped in front of her down to my underwear and climbed in the bed waiting for further instructions. She pulled the sheet over me and then said, “Sir I want to thank you for the way you’ve treated me with your raises and the nice salary. I want to show you firsthand what your money has made for me.” I ignored the difficulty she had with the English language and instead dropped my jaw in awe at her mind-blowing muscularity. She put her hands over her head and gracefully, as if she were on stage, hit a front double bicep pose which must have rivaled some male bodybuilders. Her striated pecs had a thickness I’d never seen on a woman and her biceps were abnormally short-bellied with a peak on top of another peak. An angry vein ran along the top, throbbing with the gush of blood she brought to her arms.

“Sir, all the money that you put in to taking care of me builds these and as you can see, you’ve given me a lot of money.” I nodded in amazement and it dawned on me that I hadn’t said a single word since I’d entered the room, except for maybe a couple of grunts of lust. After a solid 20 to 30 seconds of flexing she placed one of her hands on the sheets where my manhood throbbed. My erection was in full force and her arm, which was lined with veins, grabbed me. I have to say that even her capillaries appeared oversized and thrust on top of her muscles just under her skin. She smiled and said, “I can see you like my work.”

“You are magnificent,” was all I could manage to say in return.

“Would you like to see more?”

I was finally able to recover my wits enough to give her a thoughtful statement in return, “Was that a hypothetical question? Of course. Please proceed my beautiful maid.”

“I’m not sure I want to be call dat anymore,” she mused. “But we’ll talk about that later when I’m done showing you my power.” She continued to flex over and over again switching from different amazing poses, one after another. By this point I was grabbing myself. Since she hadn’t told me I couldn’t touch myself, I went to work.

By the time she finished her routine, probably 10 minutes later, pre-seminal fluid was flowing over the tip of my penis and I was ready to cum.

“Stop touching yourself sir, now,” she said now much louder. “It’s much too early for you to go. I have some things to test on you first. Get up and come over to this table.” She motioned to the rickety table across the room. “The testing is going to commencer now.”

As I was instructed, I moved across the room and sat down in the chair next to the table. She sat down and put her right hand out. Her bicep thickness and peak was simply unfathomable. I whispered softly, “How big is it?” There was a split down the middle of her bicep that I’ve never seen before on anyone. Later I found out that she tore her muscle and the way it had regrown had given her a unique split inner bicep that separated her from all others.

“Right now, I’m not at my peak. It’s just over 17 inches.”

“Only?” I responded. “Mine is only…” I said the word loud and with a tone of question “16 inches and I’ve got to be at least a foot taller than you and my bones have to be much thicker.”

“Yes sir,” she responded. Her voice was now much louder, like she was more confident, “I told you that your money was helping me put my work in. I’ve done a lot of it and it’s time to test if I’m stronger than my master.”

Everything about her was intriguing. She weighed nearly as much as I did but was at least a foot shorter than I was. The amount of dense musculature on her body left me speechless. Her French accent also was attractive and hid the true reason for her deep voice.

“Let’s do this” I said bereft of any true confidence as I put my own right arm out. “3-2-1.” We began. I was amazed that my arm didn’t hit the table top in seconds. I was giving full effort and it looked like we were nearly even. Then I looked up at her face and knew better. Grimacing, I eked out the words, haltingly, “Are you even trying?”

She laughed musically, “I want you to feel that you are doing well, before I beat you,” she responded.

“Try as hard as you can. You can see I am doing that.”

Seconds later my hand slammed on the desktop. “Oops, it looks like I’m stronger than I thought,” she said with false innocence, putting three fingers over her mouth.

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