[Jayne Greye]

Sigh – I pasted the wrong addition here – sorry if you were trying to follow it and it didn’t make sense,,, here is the correct section 2
—
I couldn’t get Felicity out of my head. Long suppressed feelings surged through me clouding my judgment and giving me a single-minded focus. My internet searches in my off-hours were strictly for muscular women. I cleared half of the floor of all other personnel and moved her desk right outside my glass office window and treated myself to an almost voyeuristic fantasy display as I watched her work. Sometimes, I have to admit, my hand would find its way beneath my pants while I watched her. When she reached up and fiddled with her hair while she was thinking, her bicep peaks bulged, radiating a sense of power that delivered electric shocks throughout my frame. Everything about her was near perfect. Tanned to perfection, she almost seemed photoshopped, to a level of beauty no human could attain. I was literally consumed by her muscles and over the months she continued to grow.

Each day after lunch she’d return drenched in sweat, causing the Lycra of her sports bra to cling to her mighty chest, pecs full D-cups of solid unyielding muscles pulse, and her back swell outward. Her dress code was entirely unacceptable for the workplace but for me with Felicity, less was more. Her workout clothes covered her muscular arms like a second skin, allowing me nearly unfettered viewing of the exquisite, jagged lines of her muscularity. Fewer clothes provided better viewing of her deeply tanned skin and the way her tendons moved under her skin, the way veins pumped blood into the thick muscle.

My long hiatus from muscular women had ended with a bang and I was hooked and sucked into the rabbit hole of arousal. When I could muster the confidence, I’d go outside and ask her a question about a client or something. Anything to be near the work of art that was her body. Everything about her from her aroma to her beefy mounds of muscle oozed sex. Raw, brutal sex. Even though I was her boss, I shook in her presence like a naughty schoolboy confronting a strict professor. My pep talks before I saw her were washed away in the aura of her power and beauty. I chalked my behavior up to the years of denial of my secret, but even as I got to know her better my paralysis in her presence seemed to grow worse. Perhaps it was because she was growing too. She announced each major accomplishment with pride, unaware of the visceral way in which it affected my body.

“My biceps have gained two inches in the past six months!” Explosions went off in my brain and I found myself wobbling on my feet.

“Really?” I gulped.

“Yeah, from sixteen to eighteen inches. I’m up with the big girls now. They’d better watch out at the Olympia this year, Felicity be a comin’ to win and she’s not going to take any prisoners,” she laughed in a throaty way. Could you take me as a prisoner? I’d go willingly.

“It certainly looks like it.” I nodded. She kneaded her bicep lovingly in a fashion that set me off. Casually, I crossed my legs to hide my growing erection. Her words alone inflamed me now, but her vibrant, powerful muscles and the way she caressed them was just too much.

Everything about her looked bigger, stronger, and even the way she moved seemed more lithe. It was as if she were becoming a superior species altogether. She’s going to smash the competition. Unfortunately, even as I was cheering her head and congratulating her in my head, somehow my thoughts would always stray. Around her I was a complete voyeur, hornier than ever, imagining what she’d be like in bed. Pushing me down, gloating over her superiority, having her way with me, and deciding on how I could best pleasure her. Riding me until she was satisfied. I’d heard stories about how female bodybuilders were VERY horny women because they had such high testosterone levels. Would she do me twice or would that be just an hors d’oeuvres for her amazing body?

One day, I touched her. I swear it was innocent, a move of practiced empathy with men and women I’d performed umpteen times over the years. In fact, it was because she was so hot that I’d avoided it up until that point. That day though, it was electric.

[Jayne Greye]

“Okay…fine.” This is probably his lifetime dream, but I don’t think he’s going to like it.. I released a deep sigh and began. “Tiffany has a guy she really likes and she’s been dating him off and on, but recently it’s been getting more serious.”

“That’s great to hear. I’m happy for her.”

“Yeah, and while she hasn’t been exactly exclusive with him, she thinks he might be ‘The One.’”

“Well, if she thinks he might be ‘The One,’ then why isn’t she exclusive? And what does this have to do with us or with you being nervous to ask me something?”

“Well, she’s taking it slow…”

“And?” His patience with my hesitation and diversions was clearly wearing thin.

“Well, that’s why I’m uncomfortable.”

His eyebrows notched together in confusion. “Huh?”

“I mean, she’s always really dominant in bed.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he snorted. “She is about as forward as they get in regular life. In bed, I can only imagine.” His eyes bugged out as he realized what he’d said. “Not that I have or will ever think about that,” he explained.

I turned and delivered a tender, unthreatening smile to soothe him. The hard part was still coming. “You’d better not,” I winked. “Anyway, she wants to date him exclusively, but she thinks he won’t like her domme instincts. The guy has kind of hinted that he likes to be the Type A in bed and well, you know, we’ve talked…”

“About you being the domme in our relationship?” He frowned. “I don’t get it.”

My couched words tried to express both regret and an apology. “Actually no, but we kind of talked about when I used to be the sub. I promise I didn’t say anything about your muscle love, only that for a long time I’d appreciated being a sub and now sometimes play the domme.”

Telling someone else about his muscle fetish or his desire for submission was a bright red line I would never cross. It was just too personal for him, but I reasoned that it wouldn’t break Jack’s trust to talk to Tiffany about my own sexual proclivities. Though I was now the domme, pure and simple, I recalled fondly my time as a submissive.

“Oh,” he snorted. “That’s fine. If you tell her it’s sometimes when it’s really always I guess that’s not too bad,” he chortled. “But what does this have to do with you? Do you need advice for her?”

“No, she wanted to practice.” The words hung in the car as if bandied back and forth by the hot air pouring out of the vents.

Finally, he responded. “With you?”

“With us,” I corrected.

“Can you be a little more specific?” He crossed his arms. Our playful banter while I danced around the topic had come to an abrupt end.

“Okay, you don’t have to do this if you want,” I said, “but, she was hoping to come up here this weekend and practice being the sub with us.”

“Wait, what? Like in a sexual fashion?”

“Yes. The idea is for her to get the complete experience. We would be her bosses the entire weekend.”

“I don’t get it. You’re okay with her having sex with us?” he asked. “What do you mean by us?”

[Jayne Greye]

interesting concept – I’ll take a look

[Jayne Greye]

Thank you Qbikk. Here is another section. The book is now available in paperback on Amazon as well.
—-
It took a few years, but eventually, we fought through the worst of the embarrassment regarding his feelings, but his revelation was hard on me as well. I felt the pressure to get bigger, and there was nobody for me to talk to about Jack’s feelings regarding muscular women. It was so intensely personal for him, and he’d entrusted his secret with me, so I held it close to the vest.

For the next few years, after we married, I maintained a rigorous workout routine, trying to build the body of his dreams. I didn’t mind lifting weights and working out — I actually found it rewarding. Initially, I made great strides and as my body changed he became more open with me, sharing his feelings about muscle. It was a gradual progression and I think as I developed, his feelings changed as well. As I grew, so did his hopes for what I might become. The line between hope and fantasy became blurred and I remembered his comment “I have a hard time shutting it off.”

We began to arm wrestle and play fight and eventually I think he realized he not only wanted a woman who looked a certain way, but who used her strength in a certain way, too. It took me a while to see this transition in his feelings, but it was laid bare that night we were sat on comfortable blankets in front of the fire and played a new card game that he’d bought entitled, Learn, Laugh, Love, Fuck.

The game elicited answers to a series of relationship questions, beginning with fun trips down memory lane before we met, and ending with the deepest sexual fantasies. At the start, each of us drew five reward cards that ranged from doing the household chores for a day to rough sex that the other partner had to perform. From my five I had selected a rather mundane card which proposed that Jack would have to plan a romantic evening out, buy an outfit for me, and do his best impression of Richard Gere from Pretty Woman.

The questions in the game were mostly a set of uncomfortable topics designed to open communication on issues and feelings not typically discussed in a relationship. Others were more akin to dares and foreplay. We had made an evening out of it incorporating whipped cream, champagne, and blackberries as the foreplay ratcheted up. Looking back, I’m convinced that Jack stacked the deck, as a number of questions he read for me were about strength or dominant behavior.

My dismal luck in moving on the board reinforced the feeling that the cards had been set up, but since I was enjoying the foreplay, stroking, and kissing mixed with a healthy dose of champagne, I didn’t complain. There was plenty of laughing and the combination of alcohol and the cards created a romantic mood which progressed as we shed our inhibitions – and our clothing. Then came the victory card he read aloud to me:

“Have your partner become the dom/domme, assert their dominance physically and verbally, and order you to pleasure them. He/She should not leave character while you become either a naughty or pliant submissive.” He looked over at me and winked. “Looks like you’re going to have to play for real tonight, Dani.”

“Jack, I don’t know. Isn’t there another card you’d like?” Face etched with disappointment, his eyes dropped to the floor. I tried to explain, “It’s just that…I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll be any good. I mean, it’s such a stretch. I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“Do you want me to show you?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“Um, yeah, and I could be the submissive for you.” I offered.

“Do you really want me to show you, Dani?” he growled menacingly.

His offer to demonstrate how to act like the dominant one both intrigued and disconcerted me. I hadn’t realized there was more to his fantasies than being with a muscular woman. I suspected there would be a certain level of muscle worship, like when he squeezed my muscles when we had sex. Now a new truth dawned on me. He wanted to be submissive in the presence of a muscular woman. Or, I should say, to me. I was already faking one thing, I didn’t know how I could do another.

He ached for me to be the dominant muscle woman of his dreams. I guess I should have been flattered but, instead, I suddenly felt even more pressure to get bigger, stronger, in order to play the part. I knew what a dominant person might do, and I wanted to be that woman. The feminist in me immediately questioned why I felt I couldn’t. Irritated with myself, I thought, maybe.

“Ye… yes,” I nodded.

Without warning, he launched into character.

“Didn’t I tell you to get stronger than me, bitch?” It was a tone I’d never heard from him and it startled me. I looked at him trying to read his face and judged it to be part of the role play, so I went along with it. It was hard to take him seriously, at least at first.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Very sorry.” Suddenly he reached behind me and a thwapp resounded in the air and intense pain flared through my butt. He’d slapped my naked ass so hard tears welled up in my eyes. I saw a brief flinch and a look of panic flash across his face before I blinked to let him know I was alright. A mixture of annoyance and resolve washed over me and I steeled myself against another strike.

“Sorry, Master.” He emphasized the second word. “Do not again forget to end each statement by saying the name of the light of your existence, ‘Master.’” I almost rolled my eyes with the silliness of his statement but stayed in character.

“Sorry, Master. I will get stronger than you soon. I promise, Master.”

“I expect you will. Now, turn over, do twenty-five pushups, and then apologize to me.” I quickly flipped over and started in. I felt his eyes boring through my naked body so I went deep, focusing on proper form.

Eight reps in he called out, disapproval ringing in his voice, “Start again. Make sure your nipples touch the floor. You will get stronger than me.”

“Sorry Master,” I grunted, beginning again and pushing deep with each rep, focusing on my nipples as they brushed across the floor. He stood, towering over me and watching me like a hawk, focusing, I was sure, on his favorite part of my body: my wide, cut back. Straining through the last few reps, my nipples stiffened as they brushed the floor, and an odd sense of arousal shot through me. I finished and got to my knees, looking up at him earnestly, waiting for the next instruction.

“Get up and stand in front of me.” I found myself oddly turned on as I followed his command, slipping easily into the role. If nothing else, the evening had been a welcome change from our usual sexual routine. He noticed my visible excitement and it seemed to give him even more confidence in his new persona.

“You will do three sets of those each day from now on until you can beat my record of sixty-three. You will get stronger than me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now tease your nipples and finger fuck yourself while I watch.” I was typically shy about such things, but I followed his bidding without hesitation. This was a whole new level of submission and it fit like a leather glove.

“Come closer,” he whispered. I inched closer and he began fondling my legs as I masturbated, intense flames of desire shooting through me. I flexed, my sweet muscles bulging under his grip, and I perceived a strong sense of approval flash across his face. The idea that I was pleasuring him while I pleasured myself brought me near the edge.

Suddenly, he commanded, “stop!” Every fiber of my being wanted to continue, but I froze, actually scared by his overwhelming authority.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, trying not to let the disappointment seep into my voice.

“You never get to cum before I do,” he hissed “Pleasure my cock.” His hard, ruddy pink, throbbing cock stood at attention. It was something that I rarely did, lacking both confidence and practice, but I slid to my knees and began to give him a blow job.

[Jayne Greye]

There is a new sci-fi fantasy coming out this summer called Awake (It’s not from me – I’ve been writing a book that is like 50 Shades of Grey for muscle called the Reluctant Domme.)

Anyway, I’ve seen the rough draft and it’s good so I’ll let you know when the author releases it.

[Jayne Greye]

Now available on Apple Books & Amazon as well: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08SKHBB34

“Um, yes Heather, you’re in good shape, but if you want to play in college, you could work on your shoulder and calf development a little more.” We had proceeded to discuss some exercises she could add to her already grueling workout routine. Admittedly, I was hot for her. Talking to her about exercises as she squeezed and pinched various muscle groups sent my pulse skyrocketing to the point where there was pounding in my ears, my breath quickened, and cock hardened. But I hadn’t said or done anything to cross the line. Or so I thought. It happened near the end of the call yet I hadn’t recorded that part of the conversation. I’d taken to shutting off the Zoom recording after class when I discussed individual problems with the “kids. That decision cost me as I had no defense against the video the family presented.”

[Jayne Greye]

Each of the three stories is now available on Smashwords and Amazon or you can purchase them in a bundle for a discount.
Christmas Rendezvous: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1060332
Christmas Gift: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1060288
Christmas Wish (my favorite): https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1060518
Muscle for Christmas bundle: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1060541

Here is a brief selection from Christmas Rendezvous. In that story a journal from a woman plays an important part so my wife wrote that part for me to give it an air of authenticity of coming from a female. If there is interest I’ll drop in a bit more

Initially, my body broke out in a furious rash of acne upon upping the dose. Truthfully, I almost stopped my protocol, but after the increase in strength and size my second week, such inclinations faded away. I tended to the increased hair growth under my arms with more frequent shaving and painstakingly treated the growing welts of acne. Soon they disappeared and though more hair grew on my arms and I found myself a bit short-tempered, but I never experienced anything close to ‘roid rage.’ A simple cost-benefit analysis clearly weighs in favor of continuing until the cycle ends.

As the swells of muscles have welled up in my pectorals the fat decreased, but I enjoy the new look more. At will, I can make my chest pop, shiver, and swell. I’ve had fun in the mirror studying and learning how to make them move in various fashions, wondering when someone would get to touch them and please me. My lats and rhomboids exploded too.

I can perform nearly endless pullups carrying weights and as I worked out my back grew reminiscent of the vascular art forms found in a Da Vinci study. My abs have both deepened and swollen larger, almost obliterating my navel. My arms almost pop through my sleeves and most shirts have become uncomfortably tight, but I still wear them – I know it’s vain and I’m a bit guilty, but I’ve put in the work so I want to show it. I’ve bought some new cap sleeve shirts that make my shoulders look so wide but the t-backs are my favorite because they show off my back and are comfortable. A girl’s gotta shop! Almost as problematic for my clothing has been my ever-growing glutes and quads. Finding jeans that fit my tiny waist with my wide hips and thighs is nearly impossible so I am forced to wear jeggings and tights that I have to peel off at day’s end. The consolation is that they show every beautifully separate muscle in my thighs, like a diagram in a textbook.

Going without sex has been harder than I expected. Sure, I like sex–a lot. And I’m not doubting my decision to focus on my transformation and school. I don’t know if it’s the gear or my response to my body but I find myself turned by my own body. I’m so busy during the day and tired when I get in bed that it’s the shower when I find myself touching myself. It starts when I soap up my chest and feel my hardness under my soft nipples.

[Jayne Greye]

Here is a little section form the introduction to the book:
She wraps herself in strength, carries herself with confidence, and works hard, strengthening her arms for the task at hand.

-Proverbs 31:16-17

Women building physical strength and muscle can be seen as the ultimate rejection of the male patriarchy. Occasionally, in the Victorian era and since, there have been women who built their bodies and were celebrated for developing ‘unwomanly strength’ such as Charmion and Vulcana. Proudly displaying their biceps alongside feats of strength before wowed audiences, these pioneers were popular, but were seen as unicorns.

Today, such women seem to be plastered across social media, showing off their hard-earned fit physiques, six-pack abs, and separation between muscles. These women are proving, with their expanding Instagram followings, that the supremely fit woman is growing in popularity. These noticeably muscular women receive varying responses from the public. Many men either belittle their muscles or fetishize them — maybe even both as most men attempt to hide their appreciation of the truly muscular woman — and while some women express appreciation for their sisters in muscle, many others appear either jealous of strong women or defensive about their own lack of fitness.

Are these women pioneers who have determined that they desire not only equality of opportunity, but physical equality? Or is their motivation to lift and develop their body just another aspect of the existing patriarchal construct where they are conforming to a subset of men’s physical desires?

If history has told us anything, it is that the ups and downs of the female body are deeply rooted in gender norms and male preferences. More and more men seem to appreciate the bodies of strong, fit women, but only ‘within reason.’ Forced to look a certain way is connected to the wider problem of trying to control their bodies and their rights. Despite this, more and more women are starting to shape their own interpretation of what is beautiful. Training, honing, building strong bodies to make themselves lithe and powerful, they flaunt their gains on social media, yet they still have a long road to go to receive acceptance or even fairness in the bodybuilding world. “The key to equality is for society to stop telling women what they should look like and allow people to live their lives as they choose.” Yet this equality won’t come easily as the social construct allows women to train, but instructs then not to train too hard and gain comparable strength. Colette Dowling, a respected author and lecturer on psychosocial issues of American women doesn’t hesitate to say men are responsible for this pressure to conform. As men lose the justification for their special privileges, they try to use their physical superiority as justification to maintain their overall dominance in society.

She writes, “women have been excluded from so much in life because of the frailty myth… First, we believed we were weak. Then we began to suspect that we weren’t but kept getting told that we were. Then we began proving that we weren’t and were mocked as men because we were strong. Women have thrown themselves over hurdle after hurdle during the course of the past century, demonstrating extraordinary physical powers and skills, and still, we’re being kept back for no reason other than we’re female.”

Since Title IX women have made great gains. Yet has the needle truly moved that much? Even in the sport of bodybuilding where the stated goal is to use physical resistance to strengthen and enlarge the muscles of the body, women are held back. The female bodybuilding category was removed from the IFBB contests in 2015 with the statement, “women were getting so muscular and so into the development of their muscles that it was not at all aspirational for other women.” The category was reinstated this year so perhaps, grudgingly, things truly are changing.

As women try to fight past gender norms, they may have a new ally advocating their right to increase their physical prowess beyond currently acceptable norms. Tens of thousands of men on the internet exult in and almost worship the muscular female body. Is this group of men who appreciate unusually muscular women significant enough to help women to push the envelope?

In the late 1800s, German psychologist Magnus Hirschfeld coined the term sthenolagnia to define a fetish which is based on ‘sexual arousal from a demonstration of extreme muscularity.’

The inclination is found among both males and females, but acceptance of the fetish both historically and in modern social circles is treated differently by each of the sexes. A closely related and sometimes overlapping fetish is cratolagnia, which is defined as the sexual arousal from the display of strength. Both of these terms are known as sexual paraphilias which means that the individuals experience intense sexual arousal to atypical things.

Both sthenolagnia and cratolagnia are not uncommon conditions for both sexes. While these fetishes are frequently accepted or even normalized for women who appreciate men, they are considered unacceptable and deviant when it is part of the personality of a male. The social construct blindly attaches uniform traits to these female muscle admirers. They are derided as “schmoes,” socially deficient pariahs fixated on female muscle to hide their own inadequacies. Further, there is a tendency for many people to assume that all female muscle admirers belong to that same subset.

There is a growing subset of men who are emerging from behind the shadows to demonstrate their appreciation of the muscular female body who don’t reflect this derogatory depiction at all. Some of these men write female muscle growth (FMG), a fantasy genre involving the abnormal muscular growth of a woman. Many of these stories upend the traditional perspective of the man as the partner in charge. These strong women employ role reversal, punishment for transgressions, and dominance in their relationships while growing exaggerated muscle which bends reality.

Other men draw these perfected women with an almost obscene amount of muscle or ‘morph pictures’ of celebrities or muscular women to impossible scale. A growing number of men discuss the most recent muscular beauties that they’ve seen in bodybuilding contests in internet chat rooms, YouTube comment sections, on Instagram, and message boards across the internet.

Why are more men becoming excited about muscular women and more women becoming serious about training their bodies and developing muscle, even to extents not considered mainstream?

[Jayne Greye]

His presence, even though he wasn’t of her kind, intrigued her. For two seasons she had labored on alone after the great wave killed the remaining people of their small village. She lived only for the moment, getting past the next obstacle… trying to survive.

After the disease that wiped out so many of her brethren and friends, families had moved farther apart. She and Thog had moved with their children, a daughter, and son, to the great stout cave, once reserved for nobility. There they had made a life together and when she dared to believe that things could return to the way they once had been, she saw the great wave. Grabbing her son with seconds to spare she positioned the two of them directly under the hole in the cavern, painstakingly dug for the smoke to depart. Thog’s instinct had been to rush out of the cave and toward the water and she watched him and her daughter perish seconds before the wave hit her and Gorsedd. As she suspected, they shot upward toward the fire hole in the cavern’s roof but Gorsedd hit the ceiling rather than shoot out the spout like a whale’s blowhole. She knew he died instantly. And with that last memory of her family, she had been alone with her tears ever since. The ever-present fire to keep the dark away had been her only companion since then, until now….until him.

His mind clouded, and he did something incredibly stupid: he bent down and laid his spear on the ground. Her eyes followed him, but her body remained motionless. The heavy spear, like a small tree held aloft by shoulders swollen with muscles so enormous they seemed almost unnatural, a caricature of a human being…something entirely different. Her entire frame was developed as such. Legs like tree trunks covered in lines of muscles like mighty rivers flowed across her thighs. Taut, powerful calves bigger than he’d ever seen, remained tensed like a great cat’s, ready to spring. Enormous abdominals heaved in and out with each of her deep breaths as her heart beat fast and she took in in the anxious moments.

The pull of fleeing was great and the opportunity to get out quickly was now presented by his gesture of peace, but her feet wouldn’t move. It was as if she was frozen in a vat of tree sap.

Open-handed he bowed beneath her, and she nodded in acceptance of the gesture, dropping her spear with respect for his submission. She would not run, but what now? As her eyes carried to the ground to seek a place to drop her spear she spied his loins. His cock was erect and throbbing, longing for her. She gave him a wan smile.

He began breathing hard, the simple smile accelerating his desires and hopes. He wanted her like none before. The feeling so sudden — so primal. He watched as she turned, bent down, and lifted an enormous gray stone that reached nearly up to his waist. Upon its top, laid out neatly, were several carvings, tools, bones, and edible roots. Even lifting the heavy object, her grace, and the fluidity of her movement was astonishing. What he had heard about her people had to be a mistake. They weren’t clumsy, oafish, and ugly… rather, their strength was controlled and graceful.

She grunted with the effort and pulled the rock up over her head but kept it steady. The strength required for such a maneuver, he knew, was that of several great men. He trembled before her. With a simple heave, she could end him, but instead, she moved the stone up to rest on her thick shoulder, took several halting steps, and placed the great rock down gently further back in the cavern. Returning to where she had been, she rolled her simple bedding out further and gestured for him to join her.

[Jayne Greye]

Here is part of the first story – they are laid out in chronological order – the first is entitled The Last Neanderthal. Let me know if you’d like me to post more…

She cursed herself for not hearing the sound earlier. Even cloaked in depression, she should have been more aware. She grabbed the long spear and stood up, looking out the cave entrance just in time to see a solitary shadowy figure emerge from below her hilltop abode. It had been years since she’d last seen one; they’d found her.

Alys stood waiting. Waiting for others, waiting to be surrounded; waiting for her long-overdue demise. But no others came. The individual walked up to her and stopped half a stone’s throw away, staring. The crimson orange setting sun cast his long shadow deep into her cave, illuminating the clothes he wore and hiding his facial features. He was clad in a fur tunic that went over his shoulders and wrapped around his waist. Despite herself, Alys felt her loins stir, attracted to this single mysterious figure. It had been so long. But she had to be careful, the swarms of human invaders that had slowly encircled her kind. They were wily and numerous. The solitary figure was probably accompanied by others. This would likely be her end unless she managed to sneak by, parry him, and beat a hasty retreat, but she couldn’t get her body to move.

Idalto walked nearer to her and froze once more. He’d grown up with nursery rhymes and tall tales about giant humans that had occupied this peninsula generations ago and had traded with his people. They were aggressive and stupid but had vast, strong bodies that kept his people away from the southern peninsula. To the north of them lived their cousins who were shorter than they, but equally strong and aggressive. Nobody had heard of either of the groups in years. Following the great flood, the fear that had kept his people off the southern shores had waned. Idalto would join the scouting party. They shouldn’t have survived… they couldn’t have. But, as luck or fate would have it, one did…

Shown by the flickering light of the cave fire, he marveled at her magnificence. She was sparsely covered, in simple loins that hid her sex but nothing more. Idalto’s brain churned as he tried to understand what stood before him. She was a full half foot taller than him and everything about her seemed broad and burly. Flaming red, wild curly locks of hair cascaded down her back and framed her long face that seemed to thrust forward. She had heavy eyebrows, and a wide nose and mouth. Her broad, powerful shoulder held up an eight-foot wooden spear topped by a stone head as if it weighed nothing. She appeared defensive rather than threatening, which soothed Idalto because, woman or not, her physique suggested she would make quick work of him in a fight.

“Idalto…no hurt you.” He finally said trying to bridge any language divide by tapping his chest softly, shaking his head, and then pointing to her before lowering his spear.

“Alys,” she said, bringing her left arm in to tap her chest. Powerful pectoral muscles held her firm, bountiful breasts aloft as the brief movement highlighted her broad back and densely muscular arms. She took a deep breath and thrust her chest out further. Idalto’s marveling reached an even greater crescendo. It appeared to be an almost instinctive, primal response to the threat he posed. But his gaze was far from threatening. His pitch-black eyes glittered softly in the firelight as they tracked to the dark and swollen nipples which topped her muscular chest. Like two ripe berries waiting to be plucked, he longed to taste their sweetness. His manhood hardened and throbbed. It wouldn’t be long before she noticed.

[Author]

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