Search Results for "rod"

Boutique Physique Fetish 1
(Story by DTM, Artwork: Jupiter 1)

An exotically beautiful Asian Amazon with a compact gymnast's body and steel hard frame, a towering Ebony Goddess with long, lean, powerful muscles flowing all over her statuesque physique, and none other than an increasingly iconic buxom blond bombshell with the unreal beauty to match her unrivaled muscle packed body. Each of them dressed in barely-there string bikinis, which showed off virtually every inch of their super fit frames to those around watching and cheering them on, doing so at a fever pitch as they came to the end of their first initiation task, bringing them one step forward to officially joining this very select Sorority House. Their hard, fit, tight and muscle packed bodies popping, bursting and breaking apart a series of extremely durable foods items, doing so in a race against the clock, to see if they could accomplish their task in their previously discussed time limit. A task that consisted of each of these buff beauties destroying an assortment of watermelons, rock melons, apples, and other hard-skinned produce; doing so with their rock-hard bodies, in very specific ways. The crushing of apples in such muscular girl's flexing arms seemed all too common these days, which is why these girls here had to do so within their thick, pulsating pecs. Shoving the biggest, firmest, hardest looking apples their future Sisters could find into their beefy breasts, and with suddenly savage squeezes crushing them all to pieces, sending rivers of sweet tasting apple juice flowing down their rippling cleavage and into washboard abs.

Happy Hormones Crip Walking 1
(Story: DTM, Artwork: Jupiter 1)

Amy stepped out of the doorway, her massive, half-naked, golden tan body rippling with muscles. She was dressed in her favorite 'little schoolgirl' uniform, an outfit that left little to the imagination. Small black schoolgirl shoes adorned her feet, as white socks wrapped their way up her huge calves (barely able to cover their diamond hard shape). A way too-tight schoolgirl blouse was tied just below her chest, almost unable to contain her breasts. Her visible washboard abs, rippling with muscle, flexed as she softly breathed in and out. Around her waist was a tiny skirt that barely covered her massive tree trunk thighs. Teddy bear panties were visible underneath the skirt, starting to get slightly damp with arousal. Her face was made up to look young: rosy cheeks and a brilliant white smile. Her always-present pigtails hung from either side of her head, and bounced as she strode over to the man behind the desk.

Pizza Girl part three
(Undisclosed)

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.

The Black Burqa illustrated, part three
(Undisclosed)

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."

The Black Burqa illustrated, part one
(Undisclosed)

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.

Sam Clench: Private Eye
(Artist: Builtmore)

Directed by Sam M. Oldham. "Inspired by the classic LH-ART comic, this professional Amazon production with cartoonist and filmmaker SMO features the super-strong female detective played by Diamond of American Gladiators and her sleuth father as they solve a violent murder mystery filled with bone-crushing action and superior feats of strength. Erika Andersch dominates as the beautiful and muscular crime solver."

Pizza Girl part three
(Undisclosed)

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.

The Black Burqa part one
(Undisclosed)

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.

The Change (Part 2)
(Story: FP909)

As Sandy and Alyssa head off to the Bahamas together for a much needed holiday (allowing them to not only get closer with one another, but also plan how best to introduce Sandy's husband into the mix when they return), events back home from the assortment of fit, athletic and physically superior females from their gym take center stage, as they take heart from Alyssa's rousing speech several weeks earlier, now relishing in showing off their superior strength and firm, shapely physiques in a variety of sexily stimulating ways!

The Black Burqa part one
(Undisclosed)

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.