[scat]

        HI ! here is the start of another story. i hope to have some feedbacks – good or not – specially from french readers . thanks all.

        ( Salut ! Voilà le début d'une nouvelle histoire. J'espère avoir quelques commentaires – bons ou mauvais ! – surtout de la part des lecteurs en français. Merci à tous.)

                               

#55131

[femfortefan]

Fantastique ton histoire!
Ton francais est impeccable et ton style d'écriture semble professionel. C'est ton gagne -pain?
En tout cas, merci beaucoup.
FFF

[scat]

merci. J'espère pouvoir la continuer bientôt.

ps: Tes dessins sont pas mal non plus!!

[Mermoz]

Toutes tes histoires sont exellentes. En plus du plaisir de les lire en francais – et en bon francais – leur trame est consistante, leurs personnages vivants. Bravo, mille mercis!

[mikazuki]

I wish I could read French :'(

Anyways, good to see you're writing. I'm sure it's a wonderful story, just like your comics are.

[scat]

I wish I could read French :'(

Anyways, good to see you're writing. I'm sure it's a wonderful story, just like your comics are.

Thanks.
there are other stories i wrote in this thread, translated by Fonk !
i hope you will like them.

(secrets, the train, ivana, new generation)

[mikazuki]

Excellent! I'll go find them 😀

[Fonk]

Here's the English language remix of Sonia. Great stuff from M. scat again!

————————–

CHAPTER 1

After the success of his last novel, Marc decided to spend a few months relaxing, much to his editor's displeasure. Sales started to drop off as people waited for the next book to be released. Had inspiration left town to shack up with another young talent seeking fame and fortune? That's what his editor liked to say, from time to time, to try and get him working again.

Gédéon Barbet was a small provincial editor, one who liked to take risks, which was almost certainly why he wasn't rich. He needed people like Marc who could bring in regular income, and so it was he who took the initiative and sent the young author to holiday in the mountains for a few weeks. To that end, he had hired a small, isolated summer cottage in the woods, the idea being that Marc could settle down to write free from everyday "obligations". Obligations that could be, depending on the circumstances, either perfume- or alcohol-related.

After a long time on the motorway, all that separated Marc from liberty was a few kilometres on a winding country road. He looked out at the sunset colouring the sky with its rays. Partially covered by clouds, it made the drops of water resting on the branches of the tall pine trees shine. Marc couldn't get his thoughts from the light coming from the sleepy star. He even forgot the fatigue of his long journey. A few moments and turns later, he arrived at the cottage.

Gusts of wind blew the snow into beautiful tiny whirlwinds, trapping the dusk light. It gave the area a magical quality, and he stopped for a moment to contemplate the valley from the terrace.

"Brrr! Are we at the North Pole or what?"

He glanced at the door. On a little plaque made of beaten copper were written the words:

"Welcome to: SILENCE"

Marc thought back to what he'd been told at the village grocer's a few moments earlier.

"The bread, the beer… that too?"

"Yes, that too!"

"That'll be seven euros thirty. Say, are you new to the area?"

"I'm staying in a cottage a little further on. 'Silence', it's called. Do you know it?"

She went pale, and quiet, rfozen on the spot. Then she handed Marc the note he had just given her.

"Keep it! Keep it and do me a favour: don't go up there! You don't know what you're dealing with. I bet they didn't tell you anything… no! Don't go!"

Marc gave a slight sigh, then turned the key in the lock to open the door. He wasn't expecting a luxurious mansion, but then again he wasn't prepared for a hunter's shack. All that was missing was the skins of a few animals pinned to the wooden walls and you would think you'd stepped into Daniel Boone's house or perhaps Davy Crockett's.

"Well, it's only for a few days."

He had been told that the cottage had all the creature comforts. It was possibly true: it all depends on what you think of as creature comforts.

"Ha! I'll have to check over everything when it's my turn to buy a place: they're all crooks in the property business!" He used the last light to unload the car and bring some wood inside. A few moments later, a fire was crackling in the lounge. Marc was sitting in front of it, curled up in a large armchair that, though made of unfashionable green velvet was undeniably very warm. He examined the room in detail.

The room was almost square. Between the stone chimney, in the centre of the room, and the front door was a solid oak table covered by a tablecloth that was too small for it and four reasonable-looking chairs. There was also the armchair he was sitting on and another, red, of the same make. A few small bits of furniture, a painting and a clock rested against the right wall while a bookcase covered nearly the entire left wall. Behind the chimney was a large bed, nestling in the space not afforded to the bookcase. On the other side, the furniture gave out in place of a work surface and a small but well-equipped kitchen. Finally, between the two, a small opening gave onto a small bathroom, protected by a translucent curtain.

With a few rugs and trinkets dotted around, the room was certainly very welcoming. It had gotten late and past time to make something to eat, but the crackling fire and the shadows dancing on the walls were too much: Marc fell asleep.

He stayed spreadeagled on the armchair right up until a small gust of fresh air came to caress his legs. First he scratched his calves then shivered a few times. He stretched and crouched down to poke the fire when he noticed something else.

"Aaaaah! Who are you? What do you want?"

There was a young woman behind him, sitting, who seemed to be studying some papers spread out on the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to frighten you," she said, looking him over from head to foot with her prettiest smile. "Really sorry!" Marc had gone white, and was still trembling.

"But… but I… I wasn't afraid!" he replied, his male pride hurt. "Not at all! I was just surprised, that's all!"

Reassured by the young woman's tone, he turned back to the fire and moved a log or two to demonstrate what he had just said.

"So will you tell me what you're doing in my house?"

"Your house?"

"Yes! Well… I'm renting it, it's the same thing!"

"Well so am I!" she said, brandishing the pieces of paper that she had been examining and which seemed to be a contract of some kind. "Only I didn't get the dates wrong. Look!" She pointed to the dates. "The 11th to the 18th! This is the 11th?"

Marc snatched the contract and unfolded the one he still had in his pocket. He saw that they were identical in every way. After a short telephone call to the agency the problem was sorted out: it was agreed that Sonia would spend two nights at "Silence" and then leave for a nearby cottage. The idea of spending two days with a stranger didn't please either party but there was no other reasonable solution.

They both brought a small meal, prepared in advance, from their bags and sat at the table. They ate facing each other without a word. Marc hadn't taken the time to look at Sonia; he used this moment of calm to do just that. She was a large blonde with blue eyes, very beautiful. Her long hair lay spread about her large shoulders… her arms were hidden by a thick…

"Oh my God!" thought Marc. "She's not wearing a jacket, it's…"

Images started to knock into each other in his head. He had just noticed that the young woman wasn't wearing a thick coat like he'd thought, but a thin black T-shirt that clung to every inch of her bust. Her shoulders were enormous and her arms seemed thicker than Marc's thighs put together. He stayed slack-jawed for so long that Sonia was amused.

"What's happening? Are you alright?"

"Er? What?" he stuttered. "Er… yes, yes, I'm fine…"

As he couldn't stop looking at her arms, she immediately understood Marc's sudden embarrassment. She burst out laughing. Then she lifted her arm and contracted her enormous biceps, saying, "Is this what's bothering you?"

She looked Marc in the eyes whilst caressing her biceps slowly, very slowly. Too slowly maybe – Marc couldn't stop himself getting an almost instantaneous erection at the sight of the enormous mass of muscle.

"Do you want to touch it?" Marc didn't reply. "Come on, don't be shy!"

She took Marc's left hand and placed it on her biceps. The hand seemed ridiculously small: not only did it not cover Sonia's arm, it didn't even cover her biceps.

"Do you like it?" she asked. Marc didn't reply; he couldn't reply. The words weren't coming out of his mouth.

"You don't have a lot to say for yourself, do you! Well, good night." She stood, stretched for a moment and did a superb double biceps pose.

"Aaaah! It does you good to rest a while. Good night."

She made sure to cast a glance at the petrified man in front of her, hypnotised by her hypertrophied muscles. He tried to make it look like he hadn't noticed but his sex gave away the interest he had in the young woman. His erection was more and more prominent: it would have been more difficult not to see it. The fabric of his jeans was still stretching. A button popped from his fly when Sonia ran a hand through her hair: it fell to the floor and rolled in a small circle in the middle of the room. The noise of the motion seemed interminable. She turned her head and pursed her lips so as not to laugh before quietly leaving to stretch out on the bed. He turned out the light and lay on one of the armchairs.

A few moments later neither had fallen asleep. As she was in the darkest corner of the room, she spied on him discreetly. He couldn't sleep. Occasionally he would press his hands together and then move them apart, as if he were trying to measure some imaginary distance. He talked to himself, or rather, mimed a conversation, which he restarted repeatedly.

"Twenty-six," she said.

"Pardon?"

"My biceps – twenty-six inches!" she said. "Good night."

He went pale at the idea that she had read his mind: he had been trying to imagine his small hands around Sonia's enormous arms. Try as he might, he could not get the idea out of his mind. He knew he would spend the whole night dreaming of her, and he would have to wait until the morning to see the real thing again. He put his hands on his knees before replying.

"Good night!"

CHAPTER 2

The sky had, after a long time, put on its black starry coat, as if to protect itself from the winter cold. The air was glacial and the forest's inhabitants had trouble setting foot outside. Nocturnal hunters paused before setting a paw on the snow or the icy ground; yet others, deeply buried in their holes, tried to sleep despite the cold. However, someone seemed to be braving the night temperature. Dead leaves cracked under the quick steps of the prowlers and the noise mixed with the sound of whispering, making it more obvious as the prowlers approached the cottage. Then suddenly silence.

Two shadows stood out at the edge of the clearing, immobile. The wind took the most fragile branches in a sinister and noisy dance around them. The large branches seemed steadfast and projected their shadows onto the two men. The smaller of the two took a step forward, but the other stopped him.

"Wait!"

"Why?"

"Wait!"

The taller – and thinner – of the two seemed to be the boss. He was standing upright, feet well planted, eyes fixed on the cottage. Only a few strands of his hair moved in the wind. He didn't even turn his head. The simple sound of his voice had stopped his associate's movements in their tracks. The wind slowly blew the clouds away from the moon and revealed his craggy face from time to time in the light – the man only seemed more frightening as a result.

The other was unremarkable: a small fat man, whose only noticeable feature was his air of stupidity. He wore a beret that the wind was constantly trying to lift from his head, obliging him to keep a hand on it.

"So? Are we going?"

"Wait! And shut up, you idiot!"

The small man sat on the ground, muttering as if to show his unhappiness, although the idea of arguing with his companion didn't seem to have crossed his mind. He put his elbows on his knees and then his head in his hands. He also seemed terrifying: he seemed the type of man who was sufficiently stupid to take any order, as unpleasant as it might be, without the slightest argument.

"Why can't we go?" he thought.

He occasionally looked at his companion as if to read the response in his face, then closed his eyes and sighed. When the boss finally decided to move forward, he tore down the path, following his beret.

"Moron!" the boss thought.

He walked alone toward the cottage and stopped in front of the door, turning the handle and pushing gently. The door opened without a sound, allowing him to take a quick look at the inside.

The room, lit by the few embers that remained in the hearth, was very dark. Marc, tucked up in one of the armchairs, slept peacefully near to the chimney. A few points of light danced around him, reflections of the rebellious sparks of the fire, giving life to the sinister shadows. Nothing else…

The nocturnal visitor gave the shadow of a diabolical smile and pushed the door, gently at first, then with more conviction. Nothing happened – the door did not move. He put his back into it, pushing with his shoulder, then pushing on different parts of the door. He tried again and again, without any more success. Then he tried to slide through the door anyway, but the task was too difficult and he left in silence. Vexed, he frowned to mark his resignation and closed the door. He walked around the outside of the cottage, quietly, looking for some way to get inside and do his misdeeds, but the thick wooden shutters had been locked from the inside: it was over. The man clenched his fists, throwing a black look at his partner, who had just rejoined him.

"We'll be back," he said to himself. "Oh yes! We'll be back."

Feeling angrier than he had in a long time, he left, striding away into the forest from which he had come. The other man, occupied with cleaning his beret, fell into step mechanically and left quietly, as if he had forgotten why he had been there in the first place.

"We're going?" he asked. "So why did we come in the first place? You know, no-one ever tells me anything!"

The tall man stopped dead, getting out a flick-knife from his pocket, which he opened with a clack. He turned round quickly, the weapon in his hand. Surprised, the smaller man tried to take a step backward, but ended up falling on his behind. His companion advanced toward him, making the blade catch the light.

"Their tyres! You're going to burst their tyres," and he threw the knife on the ground.

CHAPTER 3

Marc had had trouble sleeping, so he got up quite late. Sonia had been up for ages and was clearing away her breakfast. She turned her back to Marc, legs straight on red high-heeled shoes, hands on the table. As she was very tall it accentuated the curve of her back, making her even more sexy. Marc couldn't stop looking at her and she couldn't help but notice. Without turning her head she spoke.

"What you're looking at… do you like it?"

"Sorry?"

"What do you think about it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"My jeans! Do you like my jeans, which you are looking at?"

"Yes! Yes! They're very nice."

"It's the first time I've worn them. They look good, don't they? It's a stretchy material."

Marc wondered if she wasn't making fun of him. She started to bend her legs to show the fabric's elasticity. He only had eyes for her thigh muscles, slowly pumping up under the material. She stretched a leg out towards him.

"Come and touch the material!" she said.

As she said it, she looked at him with a little smile in the corner of her mouth and he started to think that she really was making fun of him. He would soon have the confirmation. When he put his hand on Sonia's thigh, she grabbed it and tensed the muscles of her thigh with an extraordinary vigour. Her quadriceps were clearly visible through the jeans. She slowly slid Marc's hand down the length of her thigh. He felt his fingers trace the shape of her powerful musculature. Her muscles were as hard as rock. She looked him in the eyes and asked him a question.

"Soft, isn't it?" She paused. "My T-shirt, too, is elastic! Look!"

She immediately spread her arms out wide and started to flex. The material stretched little by little. It was practically transparent when she stopped flexing her biceps.

"Obviously, I can't do a proper flex…" she added, sounding amused. "Otherwise, the whole lot goes!" She took Marc's hand and put it on her flexed biceps. "You'll see."

Even with his hand spread to its widest, he couldn't cover the muscle. Marc had the feeling he was caressing a bowling ball kept in a cotton cloth: it was soft to the touch but at the same time he could feel the muscle's incredible hardness.

"Are you ready?"

He felt his fingers spread out even more. He looked at Sonia's arms and could see the stitching of the fabric clearly. Suddenly there was a cracking: the material had ceded under the pressure of the flexing muscle. Marc felt his legs going and sat down at the table. Sonia contracted the muscles of her chest one by one. Her muscles, filled with blood, inflated one after the other, making rips appear all over her T-shirt. Once all the seams had gone, the T-shirt fell to the floor: Sonia's naked torso was revealed, showing off the most imposing musculature ever seen. She smiled at Marc, grabbed the remains of her T-shirt and went to her bed. She slowly took her jeans off, sliding them down the length of her legs, removing her shoes and then standing completely naked. She walked to the shower. Marc couldn't stop himself looking at her again and again. He could make out Sonia's powerful musculature through the shower curtain. He imagined the water whispering down her muscular body, tiny droplets wriggling down her tanned skin, cascades of water tearing down her thick abs… aaarrrghhhh!

Marc really needed a good breakfast to get his emotions back in check. He poured himself some milk and grabbed the jam jar.

"You should try the jam, it's excellent!" Sonia said from the the shower.

He tried to take the lid off the jar but it didn't move. He tried again, but nothing happened again. He took a dishcloth so as not to hurt his hand and tried his hardest, but the lid did not move at all. He heard Sonia turn the shower off and put the jar down so she wouldn't notice he hadn't been able to open it. He spread butter on his bread instead.

"So? Isn't the jam good?"

"Oh! I don't know, I just had butter."

"Well, I think it's excellent! Do you want me to make you a sandwich?" Marc went completely white. How was he going to explain that he hadn't been able to open the jar? He decided to lie.

"Excuse me. I can't – I have to go to the toilet. It's urgent!" He stood up and went straight into the bathroom.

He waited for a moment and decided to have a shower. He knew that she was there, behind the curtain. He also knew that she could see him, just as he had seen her a few moments before. He undressed quickly and took hold of the warm water tap. When he tried to turn it, it didn't move. He tried again but the tap did not want to move. He tried the cold water tap – that worked. The shower was very brief as a result. He dried himself off and dressed in the bathroom so that he would leave it clothed: he had seen Sonia's built body and didn't want to suffer the comparison.

She was sitting at the table, and smiled at him. The jam jar in one hand, she grabbed the lid in the other between her thumb and index finger, and opened it without any apparent effort. Marc shivered and went white instantly. Whilst she made herself a jam sandwich, she asked him a question.

"So, is a cold shower good for you?"

"Yes, yes!" he responded, shivering again. And he saw the little smile that she was trying to hide.

Everything became clear to Marc at that moment. She was making him look ridiculous on purpose: it was her that had deliberately closed the jam jar's lid and the hot water tap… Marc went red at the idea. He felt truly pitiful. Tears filled his eyes and he had to fight with all his strength to avoid bursting into tears. At that moment, only one word was going through his mind: why?

He pulled on the half-opened door but it wouldn't move. He tried with both hands, but it was useless: it was stuck. He tried to leave through the gap, but he got stuck.

He burst into tears.

She stood up and walked towards him. He lowered his head so as not to look at her, so she grabbed his neck and made him look at her. Then, with her free hand, she showed Marc her little finger and pushed slowly on the door which opened just as slowly while she looked him in the eyes. Only once the door was wide open did she stop looking at him. He cried, trembled, moaned.

She could see his shame, his stupefaction, his fear and his desire, all mixed together. At that thought she had the feeling she was all-powerful, which excited her instantly. Her domination of Marc aroused her senses. She shifted her grip and slowly, inexorably, lifted Marc with one hand. When they were nose to nose, he was twelve inches off the floor.

She moved her head near to his, breathing in his aftershave, making her vast chest swell with each breath. She slowly licked away the tears on Marc's cheeks, then closed her eyes and sighed longingly. She opened her eyes slowly, caressing her stomach. Her fingers pressed on her muscles, making her breathing laboured. She moaned with pleasure in one long breath: aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Each breath inflated her powerful muscles. Beads of sweat slid down her pectorals and lost themselves in her abdominals, highlighting their brilliance and volume.

She moved her hand up higher, making it disappear between her breasts. She caressed her two enormous, well-placed mammaries, backed by her powerful pectorals. She moved her hand, slick with sweat, over her chest, making her breasts glow with each bounce. Slowly she tensed her enormous pectoral muscles. They seemed to come to life – you could make out all the muscle fibres expanding, drawing in and then relaxing, forcing her fingers to follow the contours of her mighty muscles.

She pushed Marc against the wall and pushed into him to keep him there. Poor Marc, stuck between the wall and Sonia's breasts, was incapable of the slightest movement. She had let him go, but the simple contraction of her powerful pecs kept Marc crushed against the wall, legs dangling. She ran her fingers through her hair, taking a naughty pleasure in tensing her Herculean biceps right in front of the wide eyes of her prey. Then she put her hands on the wall and kissed Marc for a long time.

Suddenly she took a step back and Marc fell loudly to his knees.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me. I'm confused."

Those were the last words he heard before he fainted.

CHAPTER 4

When he came to, Marc found himself in his pyjamas, laid out on the bed. He tried to lift his head, but couldn't.

"Don't move! I'm coming!"

She came up to him, slid a hand under his shoulders and another under his knees, and lifted him to the armchair facing the chimney. She put him down carefully and sat on the floor next to him. Several minutes passed before either one decided to break the silence.

"I thought that… well, I thought… you were so nasty last night that I wanted to tease you a bit."

"Humiliate would be a better word!"

"Humiliate? No, no! I didn't want to… I'm really sorry that…"

"Don't apologise, I don't see why you should."

"Because I… I made you uncomfortable… I had no right!" She hesitated a moment, looking Marc right in the eyes. "I want you to forgive me. What can I do?"

Marc didn't reply. He went red and automatically lowered his head to hide his embarrassment.

"You don't need me to forgive you," he said. He stood and tried to leave. Sonia grabbed onto his arm and kneeled in front of him.

"I do!"

She took Marc's belt off and slid it slowly around her waist. His trousers fell to his ankles. She looked Marc in the eyes and put her index finger on his lips to tell him not to speak.

"I know that you think my muscles are sexy… especially my biceps, right?" She rolled the big leather belt around her arm then, by the simple expedient of pressing down on it with the pin of the buckle, she made a hole in the right place without the leather appearing to offer any resistance. She tied the belt. As for Marc, he was wondering what she was getting ready to do. He stood, jaw dangling, saying nothing.

She slowly turned her head until she was looking at her biceps. She smiled and started to move her forearm as slowly as possible so that Marc could see what was going on. Her biceps expanded slowly and stretched the belt little by little. Veins started to appear, filled with blood. A squealing noise: the belt was stretched tight. The hole Sonia had made was turning into an oval and small cracks were now showing in the leather.

Sonia was still smiling. She glanced at Marc, who had not moved. She unflexed and moved the belt down the length of her arm. Still looking at Marc, she unbuckled the belt and opened it out a couple of inches. Then she made a new hole and buckled the belt again. This time she held it out to Marc, presenting her arm so that he could put it in the right place. Feverishly but carefully, he slid the belt up to Sonia's biceps.

She suddenly flexed her arm, imprisoning Marc's fingers between the leather and the muscle. He tried to move his hand away, but it was in vain. As she contracted her arm, her muscles became even more protruding, more voluminous. Her enormous biceps had filled the extra space.

She relaxed and Marc moved his hand away.

"Oops!" she said, laughing. "I'll start again."

She started again, having made the belt a couple of inches wider again. This time she didn't need to make a hole: there already was one, at the size of Marc's waist. When her arm was completely flexed, the belt was still loose. She looked at her arm, keeping the belt in place. Marc, who had been having trouble just looking at her for a good few moments, felt a little relieved.

"Whoaw! It's extraordinary! I thought you were going to make the belt explode!"

"Explode the belt?" she said. "Nooo! For that, I'd have to flex my biceps." Her arm was still right in front of Marc's eyes.

"You… you… you mean that…"

"Look! You'll see… you have to turn your wrist, like that."

The muscle started to draw in on itself and expand. It became bigger and more angular. You could tell, just by looking at it, that it was becoming more and more dense, more and more hard. The belt stretched more and more as Sonia turned her wrist.

She stopped her work. The belt was at breaking point. Even though she had stopped turning her wrist, the holes in the belt were getting bigger and more obvious. The leather, still under immense pressure, continued to split with little cracking noises. She smiled at Marc and put the leather out of its misery: she turned her wrist quickly, making her biceps seem to explode and sending bits of leather to all four corners of the room.

The sight made Marc jump and Sonia burst out laughing. He stood there for a moment, stock still, arms by his sides, long globs of sperm running down his legs. She stood up and left the room, laughing.

"I hope you've forgiven me!"

[rodman]

Hi Scat & Fonk,
Just a short note to say Thank You for the English version of the Sonia story so far. Thanks, Scat for your wonderfully erotic writing. I love your characters and stories. The women are hugely muscled yet very sensual and sexy. Thanks Fonk for your translations, I also love your writings too. I hope to read more from both of you.
Rodman,  8)

[msc827]

WOW!  Thankyou Scat & Fonk!  Another great story start; can't wait to see how this developes!
The only bit of critique I offer is how Mark could take the time to make a phone call, then prepare his meal, while Sonia is doing her business in the same room, & he never notice her incredible height & size until later!  you may want to rework that sequence of events; otherwise, a wonderful start!
Thanx again…

[Author]

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