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Pizza Girl part three
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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.

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Pizza Girl part two
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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.

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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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Pizza Girl part one
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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.

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The Black Burqa part six
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"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 armor - armor much heavier than an ordinary man could carry. And that steel armor, 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 off springs that he was holding hostage." "That's incredibly brave," said the interviewer. "We're women," I replied. "And we're mothers. off springs 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 off springs, 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 off springs." "The shooter was in a real mess when the police went in, wasn't that excessive?" he asked. I repeated, "There is no compromise. No negotiation. Anyone who threatens our off springs, 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 off springs 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 apologies 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 off springs."

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Respect all, fear nun - part six
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Respect all, fear nun - part six 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 offsprings 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 five
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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."

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Respect all, fear nun - part five
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Respect all, fear nun - part five It was the terce prayer hour. We were all three of us in the gym; the off springs were outside playing with their dogs. I was lying on my back, doing reps with 500, when I noticed a crack in the ceiling that looked like a jagged bolt of stylized lightning. When I finished my set, I showed it to Nora and Mandy. My eyes followed the crack, and the wall was also cracked. "That looks bad," said Mandy. "Is the building falling down?" asked Nora. "I think we should treat the building a lot more gently until further notice," I suggested. "So no more dropping the weights to the floor; lower them gently." "And we should pray," said Nora. "Of course," I said, "but we should also get a good surveyor, to tell us whether this is nothing, or very bad. Roger stood, transfixed. He'd never seen a nun doing bench presses before, he's never seen a woman with 26 inch biceps before and he'd never seen a St Hilda's nun except me, and I was covered head to toe in my habit. He just stood there, paralysed with a mixture of respect and fear. He was imagining what Nora could do to a man once he was helpless in those huge arms. And I thought, Gotcha! I prophesy a discount.

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The Black Burqa part four
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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.

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Respect all, fear nun - part four
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Respect all, fear nun - part four We learn about nuns and candles, and the part they play in the life of a nun. Fiona dreams about Satan, and does a deal with the devil; the off springs of the orphanage will all get Xboxes in return for Fiona's soul. Fiona now thinks she's infested by Satan, so Sam does an exorcism for her, which involves some very heavy sex. But the Xboxes have already started to appear in the hands of the off spring. Where could they have come from? Then Fiona realizes. If it was all just a dream, then it didn't matter. And if it wasn't a dream, Satan was lying to her; it's what he does.

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The Black Burqa part three
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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."

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Respect all, fear nun - part three
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By Diana the Valkyrie The Westingfield Baptist Church I thought that things were going well. We'd avoided the possible defunding, we'd avoided being closed down on hygiene grounds, and the future looked rosy. Hah! We'd even managed to get an increase in funding, on account of Oakfield Developments repenting of their sins, and the world looked golden. Hah! The off springs at the orphanage were happy, we three nuns were happy (they even named a brand of tobacco after us), and the dogs, as ever, were happy. Happiness bloomed all over. And, for the third time, hah! Satan had not finished throwing his tribulations at us. The first sign that something was going wrong, was when I heard chanting coming from the road outside the orphanage. I listened hard. It sounded like "Stop the nonsense". I had to google that, and what I found was totally shocking. I called a staff meeting; me, Mandy and Nora. And I explained to them what nonsense is, and they were as shocked as I was. "I have to ask," I said, "but are either of you ...?" "Certainly not!" and "No way!" were the answers, followed by "I'm surprised you even thought you needed to ask!" "Well, I said. "Nuns have been known to ..." "To what," said Nora. I looked hard at Mandy. "What?" she said. "Candles," I said. She blushed.

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Octavia part one
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I'm six feet tall in my bare feet, and two hundred pounds of hard muscle; I can bench three times my weight. And I don't hide my light under a bushel. Everything is on display, and a lot of guys like that. My impressive body drives men crazy, and crazy men do crazy things. And I encourage the crazy. My hobby is to find men who are nutty as fruitcake, or if they aren't, I push them that way. And when they're one squawk short of a cuckoo, I take a trophy and dump them. Would you like to hear about some of the absurd things I've done; or rather, the crazy things that men do with a bit of encouragement from a woman with massive muscles?

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The Black Burqa part two
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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?"

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Respect all, fear nun - part two
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Respect all, fear nun - part two An inspector calls The letter confirming that the defunding had been rescinded, duly arrived. No surprise - Justin Graham had sworn on a bible that this would be done, and that's binding. But our celebrations were short-lived. That letter was swiftly followed by another, telling us that we were going to be inspected. If that sounded ominous, it's because it was. Not because we were doing anything wrong, but because today's America is a place where officials like the mayor make use of official systems to get what they personally want. Yes, that is corruption, but this is how it is now. We were in his way. He wanted the orphans to be in his privately run, for-profit, orphan machine - and the sisters of St Hilda wanted the orphans to have the best experiences growing up, that we could give them. I told Nancy, the Mother Superior. "Deal with it," she said, not unkindly. "I have great confidence in you, Fiona, and I'll pray for you." Prayer is good, of course, but I wanted more. "Could I borrow one of the novices?" I asked. "What for?" asked the Mother Superior. "When the inspectors call, I want to shadow them, to make sure they don't make up stuff about us. So I need the extra pair of hands. Could I borrow Daisy?" "You mean, Sister Vache?" "Yes." "OK, that's fine, you can have her for two weeks." She was called Sister Vache for a reason. And her nickname was Daisy for the same reason - a cow's udders can hold six gallons of milk, and a cow's teats are about two inches long. Daisy wasn't anywhere near that big - but nicknames don't have to be accurate.

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The Black Burqa part one
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My name is Ayesha. I am a pious Muslima, married to Raafid, my four off springs 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. 15 minutes.

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Respect all, fear nun - part one
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I run an orphanage, but it's very different from the usual orphanages. I'm Fiona, a nun on loan from St Hilda. You'll remember St Hilda's, the convent with the motto "Nil bonum sine passione", which means "No pain, no gain" and denotes the way we use Septadecaherbis and heavy iron to build massive muscles. The ingredients for the seventeen herbs and spices of Septadecaherbis are, of course, a secret. For a St Hilda's nun, I'm less than the average size - my arms are only 21 inches. My best friend Mandy is 24, Nora is 26. But 21 is usually enough. Mandy says that "biceps aren't everything", and proves it by showing her enormous thighs. I don't have huge thighs, but I do have a useful brain. Anyway, back to the orphanage. Apart from the fact that it's run by nuns seconded from St Hilda, we're very focused towards the off springs. It's bad enough that they're orphans, and don't know the love that only parents can give. We do our best for them, but there's a limit to how much love three nuns can give to 24 off springs. It's not that we lack love. It's that there simply isn't enough time in each day to give them what they'd get from a family, from parents. But here's my clever idea. Dogs. As well as 24 off springs, we have 24 dogs. Dogs will give unlimited love, unconditional love, and will be constantly available playmates. Plus, each off spring has to care for his or her dog, so they learn how to give as well as take. (18 minutes)

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Cuddling With Your Crushing Cutie
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When your beautiful, buff girlfriend sneakily joins you inside your sleeping bag during a friend-filled cabin holiday, you are clearly in Heaven! Her firm, solid, shapely body cuddling super snugly into you, her soft, sensual voice whispering erotically into your nearby ears! Clearly your cock throbs at such thoughts (which she can more than tell, it now being tightly inside her), though when her snuggling form gets tighter around yours, lusting arousal turns to fearful concern! Her words continue to coo breathily into you, as she reveals her recent discovery about your cheating ways - big mistake to do so to a girl who can deadlift your car! Her enveloping hold around you becomes more crushing, even her constrictive "inner most" muscles squooshing your entrapped shaft, as she decides to use you as her sexual plaything this night, for her pleasure only, nothing but punishing pain for you - and if your cries of agony wake up the friends sleeping around you, then it will get so much worse for You! JuicyPeach works her Super Sensual magic here, her whisper-like tone making this A MUST for female muscle and ASMR lovers alike! (17 1/2 minutes)

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Doubt Her Strength, And Pay The Price
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Telling your fit, athletic college girlfriend that her assorted sporting activities are "girlie" and nothing compared to real manly sports, is just asking for a beating - something she is more than willing and able to provide you! Bigger as you are, her ultra firm and powerful physique easily handles you, crushing you inside her full, full breasts, shapely legs and solid arms, all while telling you that in addition to sports, she's also a professional dominatrix! Tales of how she handles men such as you with ease, and not just her, but also any girl from her cheerleading and gymnastics squads as well! Girls such as she, who are completely superior to most any man, who Enjoy the feeling of putting foolish, macho men like you in their places! Doubt the power of such females, and pay a punishing price! The Super Sensual JuicyPeach lends her voice here, as always, speaking just to YOU! (12 1/2 minutes)

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Superhero Down
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Imagine being a legendary hero, who even with all of your skills and abilities, have been easily captured by the Power of a Villainous Amazon! You awaken from your unconsciousness, trapped in a steel hard cage, as the sexy (yet vicious) muscle packed varlet goads and teases your vastly inferior form, your peak human male physique utterly useless compared to her superhuman female form! She soon enters your cage to join you, effortlessly bending the metal bars to do so, as she begins to use her beautiful, buff body to knock you senseless, doing so in a sexily teasing manner, a fitting punishment for thwarting her latest evil scheme! She then bursts from her outfit and decides to break you to pieces, while getting her own sexual thrill from your destruction! Erotic audio Legend JuicyPeach works her magic on this sexy story, as always, putting YOU in the action! (15 1/2 minutes)

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