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My true passion for bodybuilding - A story in two parts - PART I
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 12:03:56 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 1 : Mei’s Story
My name is Mei, and I’m 31 years old. If you were to meet me on the street, you’d probably notice me right away—not just because of my height, but because of the way my clothes stretch and strain against my body. I’m a bodybuilder, and I’ve been obsessed with building muscle since I was a kid. It started when I was 11, sneaking into my dad’s garage gym to lift his rusty old weights. I was tiny back then, but something about the burn in my muscles, the way it made me feel alive, hooked me instantly. I never stopped and became a fitness instructor.
By 16, I was competing. My first show was terrifying—standing onstage in nothing but a bikini, my muscles glistening under the lights, feeling both proud and exposed. But I won. And then I won again. And again. The titles piled up, but so did the stares. People would whisper when I walked by, their eyes lingering on my biceps, my quads, my shoulders. I loved my body—I loved being huge and strong—but I couldn’t shake the embarrassment of being so… noticeable.
I’m shy by nature. Always have been. In school, I’d sit in the back of the classroom, hoping no one would call on me. Now, as an adult, I still avoid crowded places. The gym is my sanctuary, where I can be myself without feeling like a spectacle. But even there, I catch people watching me, their jaws dropping as I load plates onto the barbell or rep out pull-ups like they’re nothing. I pretend not to notice, but it gets to me.
My muscles are my pride and joy. I’ve spent years sculpting them, sacrificing so much for them. I love the way they ripple when I flex, the way they make me feel invincible. But there’s a part of me that wishes I could just… blend in. Be normal. Not have people stare or make comments.
This afternoon, though, is different. I’m walking home after a good old workout. I’m wearing a loose sweater and yoga pants, trying to hide my size, but it’s no use. The fabric clings to my delts, my lats, my thighs. I feel like a giant among normal people.
I’m walking in the quiet street near my home, when someone taps my shoulder. I turn, expecting to see a friend or at least, someone who know me, but instead, it’s a guy I’ve never met. He’s tall, with a warm smile, and for a second, I’m caught off guard.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft but confident. “I couldn’t help but notice you. You look very fit...”
My cheeks flush, and I look down, suddenly hyperaware of my size. “Oh. Um, thanks. I guess.”
He laughs, a genuine sound that makes me look up again. “No, seriously. I’ve always admired women who are strong. It’s… inspiring. Do you compete?”
I nod, still feeling awkward. “Yeah. Bodybuilding. But I’m not really—”
“You’re amazing,” he cuts in, his eyes scanning my frame like he’s trying to memorize every detail. “I mean, look at those arms. Those shoulders. You must work so hard.”
I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. “It’s just what I do.”
He steps closer, his gaze intense but not creepy. “Can I ask you something? Do you ever… feel self-conscious about it? Being so strong, I mean.”
I hesitate, surprised by the question. Most people don’t get it. They just stare or make jokes. But he seems… different. “Sometimes,” I admit quietly. “It’s hard not to notice when everyone’s staring.”
He nods like he understands, then reaches out and gently touches my forearm. My breath catches at the contact—it’s been a long time since anyone’s touched me like that. “You shouldn’t be,” he says, his thumb brushing over my skin. “You’re beautiful. And strong. And… honestly, it’s kind of hot.”
My heart skips a beat, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. “Oh,” I murmur, not sure what to say.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m Alex, by the way. And if you’re not busy later, I’d love to take you out. Maybe show you how much I appreciate all that hard work.”
I blink, processing his words. A date? With me? But before I can overthink it, I hear myself saying, “Nope, I'm sorry... I'm seeing someone else...”
He sighed, not knowing that what I had just said was a lie. “Okay. No problem”, he said calmly. “Huuuh, for once I met one…”
"met one..." I repeat to myself. One what ? A bodybuilder ? As he walks away, I can’t help but asking myself if someone out there sees me—really sees me—and likes what they see and find.
I like being muscular, that's for sure, but I feel like most people look at me like a monster. Apparently, not all of them...
CHAPTER 2: The Party
I never should have come.
That’s what I’m thinking as I sit alone in the corner of the school’s empty classroom, my massive frame squeezed into a tiny chair meant for a child. The party is outside, laughter and music drifting through the open windows, but I can’t bring myself to join. Sarah, one of my fitness clients and a teacher here, had insisted I come to the end-of-year celebration. “It’ll be fun!” she’d said. “You’ll meet people!”
But here I am, feeling like a giant in a room full of kid-sized furniture, my hoodie doing little to hide the bulging muscles beneath. My skirt, which I’d thought was a safe choice, now feels ridiculous—it barely covers my thighs, which are pressed together to fit in the chair, the fabric straining against my striated quads. Veins snake across my legs like roadmaps, popping against my sun-kissed skin. Even sitting still, I feel like I’m taking up too much space.
I glance down at my thighs, the way they spill over the edges of the chair, the way my calves flex even as I try to relax. My legs are my pride and joy—years of squats, deadlifts, and lunges have turned them into pillars of strength. But right now, they just feel… huge. Out of place.
The classroom is quiet, save for the distant hum of the party. I’m alone with my thoughts, and they’re not kind. What am I doing here? I don’t belong. I’m not a teacher, not a parent, not even a social butterfly. I’m a bodybuilder, a fitness coach, someone who’s most comfortable in the gym, surrounded by weights and sweat. Not in a school, in a skirt, feeling like everyone’s staring even when they’re not.
I shift in the chair, my shoulders brushing against the tiny desk in front of me. My hoodie feels too tight, the fabric pulling across my lats and delts. I’d thought it would make me look smaller, more approachable, but it just emphasizes my size. I’m used to feeling self-conscious, but this is different. In the gym, my muscles are a source of power. Here, they’re a barrier.
A group of teachers walks past the doorway, their voices carrying into the room. I shrink further into my seat, hoping they won’t notice me. But of course, one of them does.
“Mei? Is that you?” Sarah’s voice is surprised, and I look up to see her standing in the doorway, a glass of wine in her hand. “What are you doing in here?”
I force a smile, standing up and immediately feeling the chair sigh in relief. “Oh, just… taking a break. It’s a bit loud out there.”
Sarah steps into the room, her eyes scanning my outfit. “Why are you hiding? Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone!”
I hesitate, my heart pounding. “I don’t know, Sarah. I don’t really—”
“Nonsense,” she interrupts, grabbing my arm. Her hand feels tiny against my bicep, and I flex instinctively, not meaning to, but she notices.
“Wow,” she breathes, her grip tightening. “You are bigger every day. It’s incredible.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I pull my arm away, self-conscious. “Thanks. I should probably—”
“Nope,” she says firmly, steering me toward the door. “You’re coming with me. Everyone will love you.”
I let her lead me outside, the warm evening air wrapping around me like a blanket. The party is in full swing, teachers and parents mingling, kids running around with glow sticks. I feel like a giant among them, my broad shoulders and towering height making me stand out even more than usual.
Sarah introduces me to a few people, and I mumble hellos, trying to smile without showing how uncomfortable I am. But then, something unexpected happens.
A woman approaches us, her eyes widening as she takes in my frame. “Sarah, who’s your friend?” she asks, her tone curious but not unkind.
“This is Mei,” Sarah says proudly. “She’s my fitness coach. Isn’t she amazing?”
The woman steps closer, her gaze lingering on my arms, my legs, my shoulders. “Wow,” she says, her voice low. “You’re… really something. Do you compete?”
I nod, feeling a flicker of pride despite my embarrassment. “Yeah. Bodybuilding.”
She smiles, and there’s an appreciation in her eyes that catches me off guard. “That’s incredible. I’ve always admired women who are that strong. It’s… inspiring.”
For the first time tonight, I feel a little less out of place. Maybe it’s the wine Sarah hands me, or maybe it’s the way this woman is looking at me—not like I’m a freak, but like I’m something to aspire to.
As the night goes on, I relax a little. I still feel like a giant, still wish I could shrink into the background, but there’s something comforting about being around people who don’t seem to mind my size. Maybe even admire it.
By the time I leave, I’m not sure I’ll ever be the kind of person who thrives at parties. But maybe, just maybe, I can stop feeling like I don’t belong.
Even if I’m still sitting in kid-sized chairs.
CHAPTER 3: Touch
My bedroom is dim, the curtains drawn to keep out the moonlight. I’m alone, as usual, lying on my bed, nude. The silence is comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos of my thoughts. I’ve been staring at my arm for what feels like hours, my fingers tracing the contours of my biceps. It’s a habit I can’t break—flexing, feeling the hardness of my muscles, reminding myself that they’re real.
My bicep bulges under my touch, the peak sharp and defined. I flex harder, watching the way the muscle swells, the veins popping like dark rivers beneath my skin. It’s mesmerizing, empowering, but tonight, it’s also… heavy. I’ve spent my entire life chasing this—the size, the strength, the perfection. But lately, I’ve been wondering: Is it worth it?
I let my hand drift down, my fingers brushing over my abs. Each ridge is etched with years of discipline, every line a testament to my dedication. I run my palm over them, feeling the warmth of my skin, the tightness of my core. It’s a strange mix of pride and exhaustion. I love my body, but sometimes it feels like it’s not mine—like it’s a sculpture I’ve crafted, something to be admired but not lived in.
My breath quickens as my hand moves lower, my thoughts dissolving into something primal. I’m not thinking about the stares or the whispers anymore. I’m not wondering if I’m too big, too strong, too much. Right now, I’m just… me. A woman who feels, who craves, who needs.
My fingers slip under the waistband of my underwear, my touch light at first, hesitant. But as I brush against my clit, a jolt of pleasure shoots through me, and I let out a soft moan. I’m wet already, my body responding to my own touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I prop myself up on one elbow, my other hand still exploring, still teasing. My tank top rides up, exposing my abs, my obliques, my pecs. I flex my free arm, watching the way my bicep contracts, the way my tricep bulges. It’s a turn-on, seeing my strength, feeling it. I’m not just a bodybuilder in this moment—I’m a woman, a powerful, desirable woman.
My fingers slip inside me, and I gasp, my head falling back against the pillow. I’m tight, always tight, my muscles clenching even here. I move slowly, savoring the sensation, my thumb circling my clit as I thrust my fingers in and out. My moans fill the room, soft at first, then louder, more desperate.
I flex my arm again, watching the way my muscles ripple, the way my veins stand out like cords. It’s dirty, hot, and I can’t look away. I’m strong, so strong, and yet here I am, undone by my own touch. It’s a contradiction, but it feels right.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. My body is on fire, every nerve ending alive. I’m close, so close, and I speed up, my fingers working faster, harder. My bicep is still flexed, still hard, and I squeeze it, digging my fingers into the muscle as I come apart.
My orgasm hits me like a wave, my body arching off the bed, my muscles tensing as I cry out. It’s intense, overwhelming, and for a moment, I’m weightless. My strength, my size, my doubts—they all fade away, leaving only pleasure.
When it’s over, I collapse back onto the bed, my chest heaving, my body glistening with sweat. I let my hand rest on my stomach, my fingers still trembling. My bicep is still flexed, and I relax it slowly, feeling the muscle soften beneath my touch.
I close my eyes, a small smile playing on my lips. Maybe it’s okay to be this big, this strong. Maybe it’s not just about the titles or the stares. Maybe it’s about this—the way my body feels, the way it can give me pleasure, the way it’s mine.
Sleep pulls me under, my hand still resting on my abs, my mind finally quiet. For tonight, at least, I’m enough.
CHAPTER 4: The Pump
The gym had been particularly brutal this morning. I’d pushed myself harder than usual, driven by a restlessness I couldn’t explain. Squats until my legs trembled, deadlifts until my grip failed, and curls until my biceps felt like they might burst. Now, standing in my apartment, I’m paying the price—or maybe reaping the reward.
I’m in just my underwear, my body still warm from the workout, my skin flushed and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. The pump is insane. My muscles feel swollen, stretched to their limits, every fiber screaming with life. I step in front of the full-length mirror, my breath catching at the sight of myself.
I’m bigger than I’ve ever been. My shoulders are absurdly wide, my lats flaring out like wings, my quads so massive they touch even when I stand with my feet together. My arms are the real shock, though. I flex my biceps, and they balloon up, peaks so high they cast shadows on my forearms. Veins snake across my skin, pulsing with every heartbeat, and my triceps hang heavy, striated and hard.
I’m used to being big, but this is next level. I look like a giantess, a freak of nature. My hands are lost in the thickness of my thighs, my waist nonexistent beneath the swell of my obliques. Even my calves are monstrous, bulging out of my shins like they’re trying to escape.
I can’t stop staring, even though it makes me uncomfortable. I’ve always walked the line between pride and embarrassment, but today, the scale is tipping. I’m too much. Too big, too muscular, too… everything.
I turn to the side, my triceps flexing as I pose. My back is a map of ridges and valleys, my glutes so round and full they look sculpted from stone. I’m a masterpiece of muscle, but I feel like a monster.
“What have I done?” I whisper, my voice echoing in the quiet apartment. I’ve always wanted to be bigger, stronger, better. But now that I’m here, I’m not sure I like it. I feel like I’m taking up too much space, like I’m encroaching on the world just by existing.
I let my arms fall to my sides, the pump slowly fading as my muscles relax. My breath steadies, but the unease lingers. I’m embarrassed, not just by my size, but by the way it makes me feel. Like I’ve crossed a line, like I’ve become something I can’t take back.
I step away from the mirror, my reflection blurring as I move. I’m exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Maybe it’s time to ease off, to stop chasing this relentless growth. But the thought makes me anxious. What if I’m not enough without it?
CHAPTER 5: The First Class
The sleeveless sweatshirt felt like a compromise—loose enough to feel casual, but tight enough to leave no doubt about what lay beneath. My arms were the problem, always the problem. They’d grown even more since the last time I’d worn this shirt, the fabric stretching taut over my biceps, my triceps bulging like melons. Veins spider-webbed across my skin, dark and prominent, a roadmap of my obsession.
I adjusted the strap of my gym bag, trying to ignore the way my shoulders hunched, the way my lats flared out like a V. The elevator mirror showed me back to myself—a woman who was both proud and terrified. Proud of the years of work, the sacrifices, the relentless pursuit of strength. Terrified of how it made me look, how it made others react.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal a sea of faces. I stepped out, my boots thudding against the floor, and immediately felt the weight of their stares. The communications office was bustling, people in suits and casual wear alike pausing to look at me. I kept my head down, focusing on the directions to the fitness room, but I could feel their eyes on my arms, my back, my legs.
Today was my first fitness instructor class on this scale. While I usually went to a few gyms around town, or directly to people's homes, this was the first time I found myself going to a company to coach dozens of people at once. The classes took place at lunchtime, paid for by the company to improve the well-being of its employees.
When I finally reached the room, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The space was bright, with yoga mats and dumbbells lined up against the walls. A dozen employees were already there, stretching or chatting quietly. The moment I walked in, the room went silent.
Every head turned to me, their expressions a mix of curiosity, awe, and something else I couldn’t quite place. I felt like a specimen on display, my every muscle scrutinized. My heart pounded in my chest, and I fought the urge to cross my arms, to hide.
“Hi,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I’m Mei. Thanks for coming to the class today. Let’s get started, shall we?”
I began the warm-up, leading them through dynamic stretches and light cardio. My movements were deliberate, controlled, but I could feel my muscles flexing with every gesture. My arms swung like pendulums, my quads strained against the fabric of my leggings. I was hyperaware of my size, of the way my body dominated the room.
As the class progressed, the silence gave way to grunts of effort and the occasional laugh. I demonstrated each exercise, my muscles popping with every rep. Squats made my glutes and quads bulge, push-ups showcased my triceps and shoulders, and planks turned my abs into a wall of steel. I tried to focus on the movements, on the instructions, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
When the class finally ended, everyone was sweaty and breathless, their faces flushed with exertion. I smiled, relieved it was over, and began to gather my things. Most of the employees filed out quietly, a few murmuring thanks as they passed.
But one man lingered, a tall, lean guy with glasses and a polite smile. He waited until the room was nearly empty before approaching me.
“That was… intense,” he said, his voice hesitant but sincere. “I mean, really good. Thanks.”
I looked up, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh. Um, you’re welcome. Glad you enjoyed it.”
He stepped closer, his gaze drifting to my arms. “You’re… really strong. I mean, really strong. It’s kind of inspiring.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I shrugged, self-conscious. “It’s just what I do.”
He nodded, like he understood something I didn’t. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, look at those arms.” He gestured vaguely, his eyes widening as I instinctively flexed my bicep.
“Wow,” he breathed, his voice almost reverent. “That’s… incredible.”
I froze, my heart racing. “Thanks,” I mumbled, quickly unflexing. “I should probably—”
“No, wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just… you’re so strong. And you’re not afraid to be. That’s rare.”
I blinked, processing his words. Rare. Strong. Not afraid.
He smiled, a little awkwardly. “Anyway, thanks again for the class. I’ll see you next time?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice softer now. “Next time.”
As he walked away, I stood there, my gym bag forgotten in my hand. His words replayed in my mind, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. Maybe it wasn’t just about being too big, too muscular. Maybe, for some people, it was about something more.
I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and left the room. The stares still followed me, but this time, I didn’t look away.
CHAPTER 6: The Garden
The sun was warm, filtering through the leaves of the trees in the corporate garden, casting dappled light on the grass. It was a beautiful day for an outdoor class, but as I stood at the front of the group, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. My white tank top clung to every curve of my muscles, the fabric straining over my pecs, my delts, my abs. My sports pants hugged my quads and glutes, leaving nothing to the imagination. I was a giantess among normals, my body a stark contrast to the slender frames of the employees around me.
I glanced at the group, trying to ignore the way their eyes lingered on me. Most of them were from the last class, and I recognized a few faces, including the guy with glasses—I think his name is Marc. He was standing at the back, smiling nervously as he attempted to stretch. He was adorably out of shape, his movements awkward but earnest. I caught myself watching him, the way he struggled to touch his toes, his face turning red with effort.
He looked up and caught my eye, waving shyly. I gave him a small smile and turned back to the group, clearing my throat. “Alright, everyone, let’s get started. Today, we’re focusing on full-body strength and mobility. Nothing too intense, just enough to get the blood flowing.”
As I led them through the warm-up, I couldn’t help but notice Marc again. He was trying so hard, his glasses slipping down his nose as he fumbled through the exercises. Beside him, a woman in yoga pants was effortlessly flowing through the movements, but Marc was a mess of flailing limbs and flushed cheeks. I felt a twinge of something—affection, maybe?—watching him.
At the same time, I was acutely aware of my own body. Every time I demonstrated an exercise, my muscles flexed and rippled, drawing murmurs from the group. My abs popped with each twist, my biceps bulged as I lifted my arms, and my quads strained against my pants as I squatted. I was used to being the biggest person in the room, but out here, in the open air, under the sun, it felt more pronounced.
During a set of lunges, I moved around the group to correct form. When I got to Marc, I knelt down beside him, my massive frame towering over his. “Try to keep your knee aligned with your ankle,” I said gently, placing a hand on his lower back to guide him. My palm felt enormous against his slim frame, and I pulled it away quickly, embarrassed.
He looked up at me, his face inches from my arm. “Sorry, I’m just… not very good at this,” he said, laughing nervously.
“It’s okay,” I replied, softening my voice. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. Progress takes time.”
He nodded, his smile widening. “Thanks. You’re… really good at this.”
I felt my cheeks heat up, and I stood, stepping back to give him space. “Just doing my job,” I mumbled, turning away before he could see how flustered I was.
The rest of the class went smoothly, but I found myself stealing glances at Marc, who was still struggling but refusing to give up. There was something endearing about his determination, his willingness to try despite being so out of his element. And there was something else too—the way he looked at me, like he saw more than just my muscles.
When the class ended, everyone began to disperse, thanking me as they went. Marc approached again, his face still flushed but his smile genuine.
“That was great,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’m definitely feeling it.”
“Glad to hear it,” I replied, trying to keep my tone casual.
He hesitated, then added, “You know, I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re… incredible.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I looked down, suddenly self-conscious. “Thanks. I guess.”
He laughed, a warm, easy sound. “No, really. You’re so strong, and you’re not afraid to be yourself. It’s inspiring.”
I met his gaze, feeling a strange mix of pride and vulnerability. “It’s not always easy,” I admitted quietly.
He nodded, like he understood more than I was saying. “I can imagine. But you’re handling it. And you’re helping people like me, who can barely do a lunge without falling over.”
I smiled, despite myself. “You’re doing better than you think. Keep at it.”
“I will,” he said, his smile widening. “Thanks again, Mei. See you next time?”
“Next time,” I echoed, watching as he walked away, his gait still a little unsteady but his posture a bit straighter.
As I packed up my things, I couldn’t stop thinking about Marc, about the way he’d looked at me, about the way he’d made me feel—seen, not just as a bodybuilder, but as a person. I was so much bigger than him, so much stronger, and yet he didn’t seem intimidated. He seemed… fascinated. He reminded me of Alex, the man I met on the street who seemed fascinated by my looks. Did that mean other people might find me... beautiful?
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. It was just a class, just a job. But as I walked back, I couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through my chest.
CHAPTER 7: Fantasies
The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over my bedroom. I lay in bed, my mind still foggy with sleep, but one thought kept pulling me awake: Marc. The way he’d looked at me yesterday, his gaze lingering on my muscles, his words of admiration—it had stayed with me long after the class ended.
I rolled onto my back, my tank top riding up to expose my abs. My hand drifted down, tracing the ridges of my stomach, the hardness of my obliques. I was still thinking about him, about the way he’d seemed so fascinated by my body. It was a strange feeling, being seen like that, not just as a bodybuilder, but as… something more.
I got naked and stood up in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection, my fingers moved lower. I was already wet, my body responding to the memory of his smile, his awkward but sincere compliments. I closed my eyes, letting the fantasy take over.
I imagined him standing in front of me, his small hands reaching out to touch my massive pecs. His fingers would be tiny against my chest, his palms unable to span the width of my muscles. I flexed my pecs, feeling them harden under my touch, and let out a soft moan.
In my mind, Marc's hands moved to my arms, his fingers tracing the veins that popped along my biceps. I flexed again, watching my muscles swell in the dim light, imagining his awe as he ran his hands over them. “So big,” he whispered in my fantasy, his voice full of wonder. “So strong.”
My breath quickened as I imagined him kneeling before me, his hands moving to my quads, his face level with my thighs. He’d look up at me, his eyes wide, and I’d flex my leg, the muscle bulging like a boulder. He’d press his cheek against it, his small frame dwarfed by my size.
My fingers moved faster, my clit throbbing with need. I imagined him worshipping me, his hands exploring every inch of my body, his mouth murmuring praises. “You’re incredible,” he’d say, his voice hoarse with desire. “So powerful. So beautiful.”
I arched my back, my muscles tensing as pleasure built inside me. I was so close, my body on the edge, and I let the fantasy consume me. I imagined him looking up at me, his hands on my shoulders, his face inches from mine. “Mei,” he’d say, his voice soft but intense. “You’re everything.”
With that, I came apart, my body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over me. My fingers moved frantically, my clit pulsing as I squirted, the warm liquid flowing down my thighs. I gasped, my head thrown back, my muscles flexing involuntarily as I rode out the orgasm.
When it finally subsided, I lay there, breathless and flushed, my heart still pounding. My thighs were damp, the evidence of my fantasy pooling between them. I felt a rush of embarrassment, but also something else—a strange sense of freedom.
I sat up, wiping my hand on the bedsheet, and looked at myself in the mirror. My muscles were still pumped from the orgasm, my veins standing out sharply, my skin glistening with sweat. I was huge, so huge.
I thought about Marc again, about the way he’d made me feel—desired, admired, seen. I smiled, a small, private smile, and let the fantasy linger a little longer.
CHAPTER 8: The Invitation
The class had gone well, as usual. Today the session took place in a room converted from offices due to bad weather. The employees were starting to get the hang of the routines, and even Marc seemed a little less awkward during the lunges. I’d caught him glancing at me a few times, his eyes inevitably drawn to my muscles, and I’d felt a familiar warmth spread through my chest. It was flattering, in a way I wasn’t used to.
As the group dispersed, I changed and began to pack up my things, my tank top clinging to my sweat-dampened skin. My arms were still pumped from the workout, my biceps bulging like boulders, veins tracing intricate paths across my skin. I flexed absentmindedly, watching the muscles harden, and then quickly stopped, feeling self-conscious. My forearms were particularly impressive today. As I helped many students with stretches and other exercises, I constantly worked on my forearms. They were pumped, big, and veiny.
Marc approached slowly, his small frame almost swallowed by the vastness of the office. He was shy, always shy, but today he seemed even more nervous than usual. His hands fidgeted at his sides, and his glasses slid down his nose as he looked up at me.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Great class again. You’re… really good at this.”
I smiled, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “Thanks, Marc. You’re getting better too. I can see the progress.”
He laughed, a nervous sound, and scratched the back of his neck. “Not as good as you, though. I mean...” His eyes darted to my arms, lingering on my biceps before snapping back to my face.
I shifted uncomfortably, my massive frame feeling even more imposing next to his tiny body. “It’s just years of training,” I mumbled, looking down at my feet. I knew exactly where the conversation was going. I kept repeating in my head, "Come on, go ahead, say it, say it..."
Marc cleared his throat, his gaze flicking back to my arms before meeting my eyes again. “I was thinking… maybe… would you want to grab coffee sometime? Just… to talk. If you’re free, I mean.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my cheeks burn. Finally. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. I was so much bigger, so much stronger, and yet here he was, asking me out.
“Uh… sure,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, yes. That sounds nice.”
Marc’s face lit up, a genuine smile breaking through his shyness. “Really? Okay, cool. Great. Um… thanks. I’ll… I’ll text you? I follow you on Instagram, your professional account I mean, I'll contact you there " .
“Yeah, sounds good,” I replied, my smile mirroring his.
“Okay. Cool. Thanks,” he said again, his words tumbling over each other. He took a step back, then another, before turning and walking away, his shoulders hunched slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
I watched him go, my heart still racing. Coffee with Marc. The idea replayed in my mind, and I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness I hadn’t experienced in a long time. He was so small, so shy, and yet he’d asked me out. Me, the giantess with the muscles that made people stare.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and finished packing up my things. As I walked back to the elevator, I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this was the start of something new.
CHAPTER 9: The Dinner
I stood in front of the mirror, my heart pounding as I adjusted my clothes. It was a sleek, form-fitting white shirt that hugged my curves and accentuated my muscles without being too revealing. I’d spent more time on my makeup than I ever had before, carefully applying it to soften my features while still highlighting my bone structure. My hair was pulled back, a few strands left to frame my face.
I looked… different. Elegant, almost. But it was the vulnerability of the situation that made me nervous. This wasn’t just another class or a casual coffee. This was a date—a real date—with Marc.
The restaurant was upscale, with dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. I arrived a few minutes early, my nerves making my massive frame feel even more out of place among the other diners. But when Marc walked in, his eyes lit up, and any lingering doubts I had began to fade.
“You look… amazing,” he said, his voice sincere as he took in my appearance. He was dressed sharply too, in a tailored suit that made him seem taller, more confident.
“Thanks,” I replied, feeling my cheeks warm. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He laughed, a warm, easy sound, and gestured to the table. “Shall we?”
The evening started smoothly. Marc was charming, his conversation flowing effortlessly as he talked about his work, his hobbies, and his love for old black-and-white movies. I found myself relaxing, enjoying his company more than I’d expected. He was kind, intelligent, and genuinely interested in what I had to say.
At one point, our forearms touched as we both reached for our water glasses. My hand was massive in comparison to his, my forearm thick with muscle, veins prominent even at rest. I pulled away instinctively, my cheeks flushing.
“Sorry,” Marc said quickly, his own face reddening. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I interrupted, forcing a smile. “Really.”
We both laughed nervously, our eyes meeting for a moment before we looked away. But the tension wasn’t uncomfortable—it was electric.
Later, as we discussed our favorite books, our hands found their way back to the table, closer this time. Marc’s fingers were slender, his hand small and delicate compared to mine. I felt a strange mix of self-consciousness and desire as our hands brushed again, this time intentionally.
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine, and without a word, he took my hand in his. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and I felt a jolt of warmth spread through me. My hand dwarfed his, my fingers thick and calloused from years of training, but he held on firmly, his thumb brushing the back of my hand.
I held my breath, unsure of what to say or do, but Marc’s smile was reassuring. “It’s nice to finally hold your hand,” he murmured, his voice soft. “Even if it does make mine look tiny.”
I laughed, the sound light and relieved. “Yours is perfect,” I said, squeezing his hand gently. “Just… smaller.”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
We sat there for a moment, hands clasped, the restaurant’s soft lighting casting a warm glow over us. For the first time in a long time, I felt… seen. Not just for my muscles, not just for my size, but for me.
And as I looked at Marc, his small hand cradled in mine, I realized something: this was what I’d been missing. Connection. Intimacy. Someone who appreciated all of me—every vein, every ridge, every ounce of strength—without fear or hesitation.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, shared stories, and stolen glances. When it was time to leave, Marc walked me to my car, his hand still in mine.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “This was… really special.”
“Thank you,” I replied, my heart full. “It was perfect.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a soft, tender kiss. It was brief, but it left me breathless, my muscles trembling with a different kind of strength.
As I drove home, I couldn’t stop smiling. Marc had made me feel beautiful, desired, and accepted—all at once. And for the first time, I didn’t feel like a giantess out of place.
CHAPTER 10: The Moment
Marc had just arrived, his cheerful knock on the door interrupting my post-workout stretch. I’d been drenched in sweat, my muscles burning pleasantly from the intense session, and I’d called out for him to come in while I headed straight to the shower. We were supposed to go to the theater tonight, but the way he looked at me—smiling, relaxed, and undeniably handsome—made me forget all about our plans for a moment.
I showered quickly, the hot water soothing my tired muscles. My mind kept wandering to Marc, sitting in the living room, probably scrolling through his phone or flipping through one of my fitness magazines. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted him—right now, before the shower had even washed away the evidence of my workout.
Wrapped in a towel, my hair still damp, I stepped into the living room. Marc was on the couch, his legs crossed, a book in his hand. He looked up, his face lighting up when he saw me.
“Hey,” he said, setting the book aside. “You’re done already? You were fast.”
I bit my lip, my heart pounding in my chest. I felt exposed, not just because of the towel, but because of the sudden urgency of my desire. I hadn’t planned this, but I couldn’t ignore it either.
“Marc,” I started, my voice softer than I intended. I took a step closer, my bare feet silent on the floor. “I… I want you.”
The room seemed to freeze. Marc’s smile faltered, his eyes widening as he took in my flushed face, my damp hair, and the way my muscles flexed even in this vulnerable state. I held my breath, my heart racing as I waited for his reaction.
Would he pull away? Would he be scared? Would he—
“Mei,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He stood up slowly, his small frame seeming even more delicate next to my towering height. But there was no fear in his eyes—only desire.
He took a step toward me, his hands reaching out as if to touch me but stopping just short. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentle. “I don’t want to rush you.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I was sure. More than sure. I wanted him with a desperation that made my muscles tremble.
Marc’s hands finally touched me, his fingers brushing my arms, my shoulders, my waist. His touch was light, reverent, as if he were afraid of breaking me. But I wasn’t fragile. I was strong—and I needed him to know that.
I reached out, my massive hands cupping his face, and pulled him close. Our lips met in a kiss that was hungry and tender all at once. His hands slid down my back, his fingers tracing the contours of my muscles, and I felt a rush of relief. He wasn’t scared. He was… awestruck.
I broke the kiss, my breath coming in short gasps. “I want you,” I repeated, my voice steady now. “All of you.”
My heart swelled, and I smiled, a soft, private smile. I took his hand, leading him toward the bedroom, my muscles flexing with every step. The worry that had plagued me for weeks melted away, replaced by a surging anticipation.
This was it. The moment I’d been both dreading and longing for.
I stood there, my heart pounding, my towel on the floor I waited for Marc to react. His stillness made my stomach twist with anxiety. Why is he just standing there? Is he scared? Does he think I’m too much? My mind raced with insecurities, my muscles tensing despite the post-workout fatigue.
Marc’s gaze was intense, his eyes roaming over me—not with fear, but with something else. Something I couldn’t quite decipher. His silence stretched on, and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Finally, he took a step closer, his expression softening. “Mei,” he began, his voice low and steady. “I have something to tell you. Something I’ve been wanting to say for a while.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Okay…”
He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I… I love muscular women. Like, really love them.”
My breath caught in my chest. The words hit me like a wave, both shocking and exhilarating. I felt my eyes widen, my heart skipping a beat. “You mean… like me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Marc nodded, his smile growing warmer. “Yes, like you. Exactly like you. You’re… you’re, you’re a goddess to me.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A goddess? Me? I’d spent so long feeling like a freak, like my muscles were something to hide or apologize for. And here was Marc, this kind, intelligent, beautiful man, telling me I was a goddess.
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away. “I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, my voice thick with emotion.
Marc stepped closer, his hands reaching out to take mine. His touch was gentle, his fingers small and delicate against my massive palms. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly. “I just wanted you to know. I’ve always been drawn to strength, to power. And you… you’re the embodiment of it. You’re perfect.”
I shook my head, a small laugh escaping my lips. “Perfect? I’m far from perfect, Marc. I’m huge, and awkward, and—”
He cut me off, his thumbs brushing my knuckles. “No. You’re perfect because you’re you. Your muscles, your strength —it’s all part of what makes you amazing. And I love it. I love you.”
I shivered at his touch, my nipples hardening as his words washed over me. “You mean… you’re not scared?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Marc looked up at me, his expression fierce. “Scared? Mei, I’ve dreamed of this. Of you. Your strength… it’s intoxicating.”
His confession ignited a fire in me, burning away the last of my hesitation. I dropped the towel, letting it fall to the floor, and stood before him in all my glory. My body was a masterpiece of muscle, every inch honed and defined. My pecs flexed as I breathed, my lats flaring out like wings, my thighs thick and powerful.
Marc’s eyes widened, his breath coming in short gasps. “You’re a goddess,” he murmured, reaching out to touch my pecs. His fingers pressed into the hardness of my muscles, and I flexed instinctively, feeling them swell under his touch.
“Do you like this?” I asked, my voice low and teasing. “Do you like my muscles?”
“Yes,” he groaned, his hands moving to my abs. “So much. They’re… they’re perfect.”
I smirked, stepping closer until our bodies were almost touching. “Then show me,” I challenged, my voice dripping with desire.
Marc didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down my body, worshipping every inch of me. His fingers dug into my quads, his face pressing against my thigh as he kissed the bulging muscle. “So strong,” he whispered against my skin. “So fucking strong.”
I moaned, my head falling back as his touch sent waves of pleasure through me. I was used to being in control, but with Marc, I wanted to surrender. Wanted him to take me, to claim me, to worship me like the goddess he said I was.
He stood up, his hands moving to my waist, pulling me closer. His lips crashed against mine in a kiss that was hungry and desperate. I wrapped my arms around him, lifting him effortlessly as I pressed him against the wall. His small frame felt fragile against my massive body, but his hands were anything but gentle as they explored me.
“Mei,” he gasped, breaking the kiss. “I need you. Now.”
I growled in response, my primal desire taking over. I carried him to the bedroom, my muscles flexing with every step. The bed creaked as I laid him down, my body looming over his. I was a giantess, a force of nature, and he was mine to devour.
I kissed my way down his body, my lips and tongue tracing every line of his skin. His hands tangled in my hair, his moans fueling my hunger. When I reached his pants, I ripped them open with ease, my strength on full display. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, and I smirked as I took it into my mouth.
Marc arched off the bed, his hands gripping my shoulders. “Fuck, Mei. Your mouth… it’s incredible.”
I hummed around his cock, my muscles flexing as I deepened the suction. I was in control now, my massive body a tool for his pleasure. But I wanted more. Needed more. I hadn't had sex in years, and I was literally becoming someone else, someone I didn't recognize.
I pulled away, my eyes locking with his. “Do you want me, Marc?” I asked, my voice thick with desire.
“Yes,” he panted. “Please. I need you inside me.”
I reached for the drawer, pulling out a strap-on—a toy I’d bought but never used. Tonight, it felt right. I strapped it on, the harness hugging my hips, the dildo jutting out from between my legs. I was a vision of power, my muscular body enhanced by the artificial cock.
Marc’s eyes went wide, his breath catching. “You’re… you’re unreal,” he whispered.
I climbed onto the bed, positioning myself between his legs. His hands reached out, touching the dildo, then my thighs, then my abs. “Are you ready?” I asked, my voice low and commanding.
“Yes,” he groaned. “Take me, Mei. Show me how strong you are.”
I teased him at first, the tip of the dildo pressing against his entrance, making him squirm. “Beg me,” I demanded, my voice harsh with desire.
“Please, Mei,” he whimpered. “Please fuck me. I need you.”
I thrust in, slow and deliberate, watching his face as he took every inch. His eyes rolled back, his body tensing as he adjusted to the fullness. I gave him a moment, my massive hand stroking his chest, before pulling out and slamming back in.
“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “You’re so big. So strong.”
I smirked, my muscles flexing as I began to piston into him. The bed creaked and groaned under our weight, but I didn’t care. I was lost in the sensation, in the power of my body, in the way Marc’s eyes worshipped me with every thrust.
“Do you like my muscles, Marc?” I growled, my pace quickening. “Do you like how strong I am?”
“Yes,” he cried, his hands gripping the sheets. “Yes, Mei. You’re amazing. So fucking amazing.”
I leaned down, my massive pecs pressing against his chest, my lips brushing his ear. “Then come for me,” I commanded. “Come for your goddess.”
His body tightened, his cock twitching as he exploded, his seed spilling onto his stomach. I kept thrusting, milking his orgasm, my own pleasure building to a crescendo.
“Marc,” I groaned, my voice hoarse. “I’m close.”
“Then take it,” he panted. “Take your orgasm. Take me.”
I let go, my body shaking as I came, my muscles tensing with the force of my release. The strap-on vibrated against me, adding to the intensity, and I collapsed onto him, my massive frame covering his small body.
We lay there, breathless and sweaty, our hearts pounding in unison. Marc’s hands ran up and down my back, his touch gentle and reverent.
“That was… incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.
I smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re incredible, Marc. And so am I.”
He laughed, a soft, happy sound, and pulled me closer. “We’re a pretty good team, huh?”
“The best,” I agreed, my heart full.
TO BE CONTINUED...
