Respect all, fear nun - part six
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We use 100 pound weights, because if you only use 50s, you get a very crowded bar. Hilde had four on each side, so she was pushing 800 pounds steadily up and down. And then I realised. She had meant kilograms, I did a quick calculation in my head - double it and add ten per cent, and the 450 came to - oh my giddy aunt! "Nine ninety," I told Nora, "she's topping out at 990 pounds. Not even you can do that." "Eight twenty is my current best clean and jerk," she said, "she's pushing a thousand." A thousand pounds, of course, is the hope and prayer of every St Hilda's nun. It's a nice round number - five disks on each side of the bar. Nora eyed her enviously. "I wonder what they use instead of Septadecaherbis", she mused, "and whether I can try it?" "Ask her," I grumped. Nora grabbed my rosary after compline. "We need to talk," she said, and showed me a small bottle. "What is it?" I asked, curiously. "She calls it Siebzehnkraut," Nora said. I sniffed it cautiously, it didn't smell like Septadecaherbis. "I'm going to try it," Nora announced. "Nora! You shouldn't! You don't know how it will react with you." Nora shook her head, and said "990 pounds. I'm so there." A week went by. Pray and lift, pray and lift. We were happy, the off springs were happy and the dogs were ecstatic - it doesn't take much to make a dog happy. Nora was dosing on Siebzehnkraut, and I was measuring her biceps every day. By the end of the week, she'd put on half an inch to 26 1/2, and her bench press had gone from 670 to 710. It looked like Siebzehnkraut was the real McCoy. I talked to Hilde. "Can we get more of your Siebzehnkraut?" I asked bluntly. "Ab naturlich," she smiled. "I will der mutterhaus schreiben." Well, that was easy. I thought I'd have to twist her arm a bit to get her agreement, and I was pretty sure that her arm was much too big for me to twist. And while we were waiting for the package from Germany to arrive, Hilde shared her own supplies with it.
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The Black Burqa part seven
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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.
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Windmills 2
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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. It wasn't like I used to be undisputed head of the household and all that had suddenly changed. Steph had always made more money than me and we had always made out decision together. The important stuff, like about the off springs or where to live. But I had always kind of had the final say. I guess it was just the natural pattern of things, one that we'd always followed without thinking or discussing things. But once she started regularly kicking my ass on the wrestling mats, usually before carrying me to bed and dominating me, other aspects of our lives started changing too. I mean, I had always harboured secret domination fantasies, I watched videos online and things but I never thought it would be a reality of my life. But now Steph had taken full control of our love life, quite literally, I really began to lean into it and open myself up to those parts of me I'd never allowed before. Steph for her pert helped with her renewed sexual appetite. The reality was we had never had this much sex. Not even when we were young. We were discovering a whole new life that neither of us had even realised we wanted. And it was exciting. For both of us. She thought up new ways to user her body and mine and we both delighted in playing together and indulging this new part of ourselves. It wasn't just the wrestling either. I had started to worship her. Both literally and figuratively. After one energetic bout of wrestling, Steph stood over me, then, with a curious look on her face, she put her foot on my face. I'd never had a thing for feet but within seconds, I was kissing and licking her foot and sucking on her toes, flat on my back, naked with my hard-on sticking straight up in the air. She looked down with me with a pleased look in her eyes, before she pulled her panties to the side and sat right on my face. She rocked herself to orgasm while I worked hungrily at her lips. When she came, she stood up, looked down at me and said, "What do you say?" I gazed up and her and responded, "Thank you... Mistress"
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Pain nurse - no pain, no gain part two
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A lot of people don't really understand about pain. I do, because I'm a pain nurse. Pain has two purposes. The obvious purpose is to alert you to the fact that something is wrong. If you pick up a too-hot plate, the pain is telling you to take rapid action before more damage is done. That's what everyone knows. But pain has a second purpose. The sensation of pain is transmitted from the damage site to the brain via the nervous system, and the body responds by taking actions to fix the problem, so that healing starts immediately. In part two of this series, I cover pain levels six, seven and eight.
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Pain nurse - no pain, no gain part three
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A lot of people don't really understand about pain. I do, because I'm a pain nurse. Pain has two purposes. The obvious purpose is to alert you to the fact that something is wrong. If you pick up a too-hot plate, the pain is telling you to take rapid action before more damage is done. That's what everyone knows. But pain has a second purpose. The sensation of pain is transmitted from the damage site to the brain via the nervous system, and the body responds by taking actions to fix the problem, so that healing starts immediately. In part three of this series, I cover pain levels nine and ten.
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Lysa Strata
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Lysa Strata They brought my sister Joanna to my home. They couldn't leave her at hers, she wouldn't be able to cope. Because Joanna was missing a leg. Lysa Strata decided to instigate a strike. A strike of women. No sex until the Forever War was ended.
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The tosser
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I'm a tosser. It's a fairly new sport, derived from the older game of dwarf tossing, but this is the grown-up version. Man tossing. The man is 150 pounds, that's a standard. But it turns out that quite a few men are 150 or less (if they're less, then they can be made up with some weights) and it doesn't matter how tall they are. And it turns out that quite a few men volunteer to be tossed by a big strong amazon giantess. Like me. I'm six foot nine, 290 pounds, and most of those pounds are muscle. I love man tossing, it's a great sport. Picking up a man with his crash helmet on, and launching him over the sand pit to get a longer toss than my fellow athletes - there's nothing better. I hear that next year it's going to be an Olympic sport. We all have our preferred toss-pot. Mine is little Cecil. He's quite short, and struggles to make 150, so we often have to strap a few iron disks onto him to make up the weight. We practice regularly. I also practice with a dummy weighing a fair bit more, but that's not as satisfying as flinging a live man across the sand, so whenever I can get a volunteer, I'll practice with him instead. Cecil doesn't like that, but he doesn't get to say who I toss.
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The Plough Girl squadron, part 1
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The Plough Girl squadron, part 1 Olga decides to join the New York Police Department, with a special task to clean up the streets. Back in her village, Olga was the justice system; police, prosecution, judge and punisher. And that's her role now. Discover, stop and chastise the perpetrators. And "chastise" isn't just verbal. Punishments will be physical. "Protect snd serve" is the task of the Plough Girl, and Olga recruits three other plough girls for her squadron. Four huge and powerful plough girls should be enough to handle most of New York.
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The Plough Girl Squadron, part 2
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The Plough Girl Squadron was each supposed to patrol alone, because we reckoned that one plough girl would be more than enough to deal with any situation she encountered. But to start with, I wanted to accompany them, to make sure that the exacting standards of the NYPD were being complied with. The first of the PIGS to go out, was Ludmilla, aka Milly. We made an eye-opening pair. Milly was five feet ten, which is short for a plough girl, but she made up for that with her width. She has to go through a normal two feet eight inch door sideways, otherwise her shoulders wouldn't fit. I haven't tried this experiment, but I think I'd need at least a six foot tape measure to go around her upper body, even though her boobs don't add much to her circumference.
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Tori and the nephew
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(Story: Sheila C.)
Tori is a caring auntie, who guides her nephew Mark to the adult age. Mark is doubtful about how to choose his dates, so Tori is willing to show him what should be taken into consideration. Taking him to the gym, dressed in a way that emphasizes her perfect shapely muscular sexy body, she uses a bunch of bullies to show her nephew the meaning of hot female strength. Those thugs are going to experience the wildest arousal of their lives, due to Tori's amazing use of her body and their cocky machismo. The ridiculous illusion of being stronger than women, in any case, will be a good chance for those men to learn a good lesson, while Mark will never see his aunt Tori with the same eyes again.
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