Jewel Montgomery’s feet hit the treadmill with a rhythmic <thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud>, the soft hum of the machine beneath her a soothing contrast to the energy of the gym. Big Body Gym was far from her usual, more sterile training spaces back in South Africa, or at the various KOLECTV HQs at which she’d been assigned, but she could feel the appeal of the place almost instantly. The gym was not fancy - rough around the edges, actually, industrial with exposed beams and cinder block walls - but the atmosphere was electric, charged with an energy that hummed through the huge open room. The space was a bustling hive, filled - Jewel noted - with women who were sculpting their bodies into powerful forms and making themselves stronger with iron.
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her stride steady, the pace and the incline on the treadmill pushing her muscles into a controlled burn. Despite what she’d told the male doctor earlier - that she didn’t really need to work out to build or maintain this physique, not after her regimen of Program - there was nonetheless something satisfying about making her body do things that most people could never hope to replicate.
Though she could, quickly, she knew, Jewel wasn’t here to get stronger. She was already as strong as she needed to be, and then some. If she really wanted to get stronger, bigger, she could just ask for another dose. But there was admittedly something cathartic about the gym, about exercise, about putting in the effort, about watching the sweat bead and drip down her arms, feeling the tension of her magnificent legs working as she powered through a run. Today, it wasn’t about building muscle or increasing her already incredible lung capacity - it was about working out the frustration that had built in her chest and left a bad taste in her mouth.
Frustration, eh? Yes, frustration that had started the moment Dr. J had been pulled away from their EHR training session earlier that day, when she’d had him in her lap and basically in her clutches. That’s what was getting under her skin.
She hadn’t been able to finish the progress of her mission, something which she’d hoped to accomplish today. Her plan had been simple: get him alone, get him talking, maybe let the chemistry between them build a little more (with the help of the cookies enhanced by a secret ingredient courtesy of Agent 0FHMA006), all while ostensibly helping him adjust to the new AegisEHR system. But that had been cut short when the Indian med assistant - Vallurupalli, was it? - whisked him away and then out of the building for who knows what. Jewel hadn't seen him again after that. Melissa Monroe had been away all afternoon, and this had been her perfect opportunity - but all she accomplished this afternoon was seeing her schedule’s worth of decrepit old senior citizens in the lame geriatrics clinic. That was not what she wanted. And Jewel Montgomery always got what she wanted, didn’t she?
“Focus, Jewel,” she muttered to herself, adjusting the speed on the treadmill upwards another two clicks. Her breath was steady, even though she could feel the heat building in her cheeks from the frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. She was good at this. She was good at playing the game of appearances. Her body was the result of two years of Program enhancement, sculpted by science instead of sweat and she didn’t need the gym to stay in shape. Today, though, it felt like a good escape. The tension between her self-control and her impatience was beginning to feel suffocating, and she knew a workout might help.
She glanced around the gym as she jogged. Most of the clientele here were women. It was obvious they had started taking inspiration from Rachel Keller, the gym’s owner and a walking advertisement for the experimental ‘Product’, for which Ms. Keller - Jewel had been told - was a test subject. Rachel, it seems, had recently become a sensation around the city, and the women who came here had followed her lead. The space was filled with remarkably fit women - most lean, many muscular but feminine too, with an undeniable aura of strength that radiated from every corner along with an unmistakable air of sisterhood. The members here didn’t just work out, Jewel mused, they transformed - likely in part due to generous help from the Keller woman’s pheromones, which probably permeated the entire place and was likely altering these women in ways that went beyond the physical. Luckily, as a Program Unit, Jewel herself would be mostly immune to their effects, as she was to Subject MM-1A’s. I’m no one’s worker bee, Jewel mused to herself.
Her thoughts then turned again to Dr. J. The strange magnetism of his - she didn’t know how else to say it, now - Vulni-ness - had been undeniable. She knew, also, he was attracted to her, but it was taking longer to break through than she’d expected. The initial success of her training session - the flirtation, the cookies she’d baked, the way he, sitting on her lap, had looked at her as she fed them to him - all of that had seemed like victories. But now? She felt like she was stuck. He’d been pulled away before she could get more out of him, and in the hands of women who might warn him against her. She hated feeling like this - like she had failed.
She pushed the treadmill’s speed up again, her thickly muscular legs pumping harder now, trying to burn off the discomfort and the nagging frustration. As she did, she noticed the shifts in the gym’s atmosphere. A few of the women in a far corner were glancing her way, their gazes lingering on her massive, powerful form. Jewel didn’t mind the attention, and at a commanding 6’6” in her trainers and with her Olympian bustline, she was generally used to it. If anything, it made her feel more at home. She had to admit to herself that she wasn’t just here to work out and blow off steam: she was also here to flex a bit, to show others how strong she was. That always seemed to make her feel better, too. In fact, she loved feeling big. She loved making others feel small.
Jewel's legs powered through the treadmill, her rhythm steady as the burn in her muscles began to settle into a satisfying ache. Her form was perfect, sleek, and powerful, the high-neck sleeveless tank top, a baby-blue that set off her light-caramel skin nicely, clinging to her torso and showing off every curve and edge of muscle. The leggings, high-waisted and black, accentuated the long lines of her legs and her enormous, sculpted rear, while the subtle cutouts along the calves gave her outfit an added edge that suited her effortlessly. The minimalism of the look made her look ready for action - sleek, functional, and commandingly superior in a way she wanted to convey.
She was in the zone, pushing the tension of the day out of her mind, but there was a slight edge to the energy of the gym. As her feet hit the treadmill's belt, she kept an eye on her surroundings, assessing everything. The hum of the equipment, the clatter of weights, the low murmur of conversations - everything was dialed up, just enough to keep her mind from drifting too far. But it wasn’t long before her focus shifted.
A pair of massive women, moving with easy confidence across the gym, caught her eye. They were a spectacle - towering, impossibly muscular, and absolutely in charge of the space they were occupying. The closer they got, the more Jewel felt the heavy pulse of attention that followed them. Their presence was magnetic, and it took her a moment to realize they were heading in her direction.
As she was approaching the end of her warm-up run, she slowed the treadmill and reduced its incline. The two women, walking across the gym toward her, were also incredibly tall - possibly almost her own height - and incredibly muscular. Every muscle on their bodies was on display, like living statues sculpted from granite, bodybuilders for sure.They were larger than any of the other women in the gym, towering over the other gym patrons - fit but not so superhuman in scale - as they passed by them.
The two women were walking in sync, their strides purposeful. Their eyes were now locked on Jewel, and she felt an undeniable wave of something - maybe recognition, maybe competition. Either way, it made her pulse quicken.
This could get interesting, Jewel thought, her breath steadying as she watched them approach, her cooldown gait now at a brisk walk.
As they neared, one of them flashed Jewel a bright smile.
“Hi there! Are you a new member?” said the woman with auburn hair, in a warm voice. She moved fluidly, her neon green leggings hugging her athletic legs, and her white sneakers gleaming.
Jewel gave her a small smile. “I am!” she answered, taking a breath as she slowed the treadmill, her large breasts shifting beneath her form-fitting tank top. ”Or, well, I’m on my free trial, yah,” she huffed, setting herself, “first week.” Her gaze shot briefly to the woman’s chest, noting the way her body had been sculpted. The volume of her physique was amplified by obvious breast implants held taut in a neon green and pink sports tank, probably 600cc’s or more, large against the defined lines of her abs. She was not young - late 30’s, maybe even early 40’s - and though her smile was wide and friendly still she was a commanding presence, and Jewel wasn’t about to underestimate her.
The other woman, a younger blonde, spoke up next, her tone friendly and direct. “That’s great, welcome to Big Body Gym!” She was slightly taller than her friend, probably nearly 200cm, with powerful arms and legs that pegged her as powerlifter. Her fair skin was dotted with freckles, and the simple black tank she wore clung to her muscular frame. “You’re absolutely killing it on the treadmill, huh?” she continued, as the two of them arrived to stand right in front of Jewel. “You’ve built quite the bod, lots of hard work,” she continued, something in her eyes sizing Jewel up, “What kind of training program are you on?”
She obviously knew something was up. Bodies like Jewel Montgomery’s did not come from just hard work.
Jewel’s lips quirked. She'd gotten that question before. "I don't really have a ‘training’ schedule, eh?" she said, letting a smile spread across her face and her accent from back home give her words a singsong lilt. She knew what was being unsaid when she added: “but I am on a Program.” The treadmill had slowed to a more gentle walk, though her breasts still jiggled under her top. “I appreciate the compliment, though, thanks!"
“I’m Melanie, by the way,” said the older, auburn-haired beauty in neon, offering her hand for a shake, “and this is Jess.”
The blonde shook Jewel’s hand as well. “Hi!”
“I’m Jewel,” she greeted in turn, “I’m sorta new in town. I just started at Far Horizons.”
“Far Horizons!” Jess exclaimed, “Cool!” Nodding, she was obviously putting things together.
The older woman nodded also. “Oh yeah for sure. I’m sure Rachel - she’s the owner here - would love to say hi, but she’s with a few of our other friends at the new Vendare Center downtown,” Melanie continued, “She’s opening a new location there, and they were going to do a demonstration as part of some, like, show.”
“That’s cool,” Jewel offered, letting her own smile widen, her expression relax as she began to gather who these girls were. Their swollen physiques and unusual height were almost certainly a result of Rachel Keller’s - the test subject and queen of the little hive here - pheromonal influence. They were likely inner circle, seeing how much more massive they were than the other gym patrons. “This looks like a great gym. I’m definitely going to enroll.” Honestly, she thought, she might not use it that much, especially once the staff workout center at FHEC came online, but it would probably be good to get a foot in here.
“We just wanted to let you know,” Jess began again, “there's a back room, if you're interested. We’ve got bigger weights in there, for, uh…”
“…bigger girls,” Melanie continued for her, her tone casual but knowing. “You might need them. We let some men in, too, if they don’t mind being...well…”
“Emasculated by women who can lift more than them?” Jewel smiled, reaching for her massive pink water bottle and taking a long draw.
“Haha exactly,” Jess laughed, dimples pocketing her fresh cheeks.
There was a twinkle of humor in Jewel’s eyes as she sucked hydration. It wasn’t lost on her that these women were just getting used to exerting female dominance - and that weights were one way they were finding to become intimidating.
Melanie stepped a little closer, her smile playful but now a bit predatory. “No pressure, of course, to try out the back room. Just thought you might be interested. We help Rachel out here, and, well, we know what it’s like when girls really want to push themselves. And maybe test their limits on…well, let’s just say it…the weaker sex.”
Jewel’s curiosity was piqued, her mind turning. She was, after all, here to unwind, vent her frustrations, maybe test her limits. And the opportunity to do that around other enhanced women, and maybe with some males, was tempting. Plus, there was something about the way these women carried themselves that felt right to her. The unspoken bond between them was clear, even if they hadn’t spoken it outright. Jewel knew they all had their enhancements, whatever they were. She didn’t need to ask. The Movement had done something for all of them, something beyond what normal training could achieve.
“I’m game, eh?” Jewel finally said, her voice rising, betraying the eagerness she felt as she hopped off the treadmill, “Lead the way.”
Jess’ grin widened, and Melanie gave her a knowing glance before nodding toward a hallway in the back of the gym. The air between them had shifted from casual to something heavier. Jewel followed them, and Melanie pulled a keycard out of her cleavage to unlock the back door. The door opened with a low creak, and Jewel stepped into a space that felt worlds apart from the bustling atmosphere she’d just left behind.
The two muscular women ushered Jewel into the back room gym. Immediately she was struck by the quiet, as the buzz of the main gym seemed to fall away. Also, there was a distinct change in the air; there were more of Rachel Keller’s pheromones back here, for sure. They must be putting the synthetics in through the HVAC, Jewel figured, similar to what’s happening at FHEC.
“Someday soon, Rachel says, we won’t have to lock this, keep this space separate,” Jess said, “but for now it’s just limited access-“
“Big Body Girls, some trainers and their private clients,” Melanie continued, “but for now, it looks like you have the place mostly to yourself. Lots of us ended up going to the thing at Vendare.”
The back room gym here was spare, functional - a no-frills space meant for one thing: serious lifting. The walls were lined with large, angled mirrors that gave the room a slightly distorted feeling, the reflections of the few pieces of equipment making it look deceptively larger. The cinderblock walls were painted a dull gray, the lighting dimmer than in the main area, casting shadows over the racks and benches that took up most of the room’s limited floor space. Overhead, fluorescent lights hung low, buzzing faintly in the silence. The scent of rubber, metal, and female sweat was stronger here, more concentrated in the air. It smelled like work, like effort, and like Rachel Keller.
The room wasn’t huge. There was just enough space for a few people to train at once without getting in one another’s way. Several squat racks and heavy-duty benches were scattered throughout, some with weights still resting on the bars. Everything was free weights - barbells, dumbbells and kettlebells of various sizes, stacked haphazardly against one wall. Some of them looked like they could have come straight out of a powerlifter’s basement, with handles thick enough to make even the most seasoned gym-goer sweat. This gym was about raw strength, not aesthetics.
Jewel stood for a moment, taking it all in. It wasn’t glamorous - it wasn’t meant to be. It was stripped down, just like her own reason for being here. The simple, industrial nature of the space seemed fitting for someone who’d been built for strength in its purest form.
“Do you want us to stay?” Jess’s voice broke through her reverie, and Jewel turned to find both women standing a few feet away, watching her intently.
Melanie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “We can stay and spot you if you’d like. Just in case you need some help. Or, you know...company.”
Jewel’s smile widened, though she shook her head. “Ah, thanks, eh. But I’m good,” she replied smoothly. “I’m just looking to blow off some steam. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.” The words left her mouth easily, but internally, she was already picturing what kind of relief a hard workout might bring her. A chance to lose herself in the sweat, to push out the nagging frustration from earlier.
Melanie’s gaze softened, as if she understood more than Jewel was letting on. She exchanged a brief glance with Jess, and there was something unspoken there - a silent agreement. Jess looked back at Jewel with a knowing look.
“We get it,” Jess said with a slow nod. “Sometimes, though, it helps to have a little something...extra to work with, you know?” Her voice was smooth, laced with something deeper now - a hint of empathy, maybe something else, but it was hard to say.
“We’ve got some things that might help,” Melanie added, with a small, almost conspiratorial smile. "But, you know, no pressure."
Jewel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, letting the words linger in the air between them. Her curiosity was piqued, but she wasn’t about to press them on it yet. After all, this was basically a private room, and she was here for her own reasons.
“Anyway,” Melanie continued, “we’ll leave you to it. Hope you get what you need out of this.”
Jess nodded and flashed her another smile. “We’ll be out front if you need us. Enjoy your workout, Jewel.”
With that, the two women turned and exited, leaving Jewel standing alone in the room. The door clicked shut softly behind them, and she was finally alone. The only sounds left were the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above and the faint clinking of weights from the main gym.
Jewel exhaled, her chest rising and falling slowly. She felt the weight of the space around her, the solitude almost like a pressure on her skin. She was alone with her thoughts now - and with the weights in the room.
She stood in front of the mirror, the cool light reflecting off the floor-to-ceiling glass, casting sharp shadows across her body. She’d been on the treadmill, but now it was time for the real workout, the weightlifting.
Grabbing a decent-sized set of dumbbells, she stood tall, adjusting her stance slightly as she bent to start shoulder presses. The muscles in her arms flexed, immediately taut and powerful, as she moved the weights upward, her eyes locked on her reflection. The dumbbells were light compared to what she could lift, but today wasn’t yet about testing limits - it was about reminding herself of who she was.
Her posture was perfect. As she pressed the weights through a set of twelve, her back straightened and her chest instinctively pushed forward, drawing attention to her bust. First set over, she set the weights back on the rack in front of her and she smiled to herself as she glanced down at her body as she stood - it was impossible not to admire it, after all.
She was made to be looked at, in many ways. Her skin, glowing a flawless caramel, looked smooth under the fluorescent lights of the gym. Her waist, narrow and impossibly tight, curving out to her hips that flared with a fullness that seemed almost exaggerated, was perfect. A 24-inch waist, an hourglass shape that was practically sculptural - she was aware herself that she was nearly the living definition of femininity, and every inch of her showed it. When she pulled her shoulders back, the deep breath pulling her chest higher, her breasts - heavy, round, and a staggeringly large 38JJ - filled her workout top to its limits. The full coverage of the tank barely contained them, straining across her chest as they sat high, proud, and defiant of gravity. She knew they could even hold their own without the industrial-grade sports bra beneath them, but that would be indecent haha. Little minds wouldn't be able to handle that.
As she posed for herself, Jewel couldn’t help but stare, her gaze traveling over her reflection with self-satisfaction. Perfect. Her chest. Her waist. Her hips. The symmetry, the proportions - it was all just…right. She was the image of physical perfection. Even the subtle tension in her legs - the muscle in her quads - felt perfect. She was built to be admired, to inspire awe in anyone who looked her way. And for all the effort she’d put into being approachable and friendly, she knew her physicality commanded attention. It always had. It was hard to imagine a world where it didn’t.
Watching herself closely, eyes locked on herself, she did another set of twelve shoulder presses.
She set the dumbbells down, catching her breath for a moment, still focused on the mirror, hands resting on her hips as she let her body relax. Her thick, glossy curls bounced gently as she tilted her head, her gaze dropping to her reflection again, admiring the way the tank top clung to her perfect form. Her face was radiant too - her high cheekbones, sharp jawline softened by the lush fullness of her lips, and those eyes - large, almond-shaped, golden-brown. They held a quiet intensity, a knowing look with which she could make anyone who met them feel just a little self-conscious, as if she could see straight through them.
With a soft sigh of satisfaction, she reached up to redo her ponytail, the motion allowing her curls to spill free for a moment, bouncing around her face like a halo. It was a move that looked effortless but was meticulously maintained, like everything else about her.
She tilted her head slightly, letting the view of herself fill her mind. She wasn’t just an enhanced woman - she knew she was the near peak of human potential. There was very little in the world that could compete with what she’d become. And as she stared at herself in the mirror, she was reminded once again that there were very few out there like her.
A soft beep interrupted her thoughts, and her attention shifted, her eyes snapping towards the door. Someone entered: a male.
Jewel continued her workout, a third set, pretending to ignore the man. He was nondescript, his outfit old and faded - a plain tee and gray shorts, beat-up trainers - ostensibly workout clothes. He didn’t seem like the type who had any real dedication to training; his posture was too lazy and poor, and his gaze too squirrely. When he walked in, he didn’t even try to hide his eyes as they lingered on her. She caught him in the mirror, his glance quickly flicking away when she looked his way, but she didn’t let it faze her.
She was used to this kind of thing, when she’d go to public gyms. Men like him - lurking, pretending not to notice, pretending to stretch or warm up when all they were really doing was waiting for an opportunity to gawk at women like her - tall, strong, busty. Pathetic.
But Jewel didn’t let it bother her. If anything, she found some amusement in it. Maybe she should show this creep exactly what he was looking for.
Deciding on a fourth set, she grabbed a heavier pair of dumbbells this time, feeling the weight in her hands as she set herself for another go at overhead presses. The motion felt smooth, controlled, but she noticed something else now - his eyes were glued to her. He wasn’t pretending anymore. As she pressed the weights upward, his gaze tracked every movement, from the flex of her shoulders to the arch of her back. His eyes, predictably, were like a moth to a flame.
When she glanced at him in the mirror again, his eyes darted away, and he fumbled with a stretching mat, pretending to focus on that instead of on her. Jewel couldn’t help but smile to herself. Typical. Men like him didn’t realize that their attention only fed into her power. She was the one controlling this situation.
She finished her set, the muscles in her arms and shoulders pumping with each press, her breath steady and controlled. But as she put the dumbbells down, something inside her shifted. She could feel the need to make her presence felt - to remind him, and herself, just how much of the power here she held.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she let her jaw tighten, her posture straightening as she squared her shoulders. She planted her hands on her hips and drew herself up to her full, impressive height, towering over the room.
For a moment, she just stood there, her muscles swelling, growing larger under the intensity of her flex. The pressure in her legs mounted, and she spread her feet apart, feeling her calves and thighs swell, her leggings stretch, straining to make room for the muscles suddenly, dramatically expanding beneath her skin.
She watched her back unfolded like a flower in bloom, her lats stretching wider, filling the space around her. She could feel the power in her back and shoulders as they swelled, her traps growing thick and pronounced. It felt like an eruption, like something deep inside her was pushing outward, refusing to stay hidden any longer. She could practically hear the air crackle with her presence. The mirror reflected the transformation - the tall, voluptuous woman in front of it was no longer just a figure of beauty. She was becoming a physical force. A six-foot-six female behemoth.
She clenched her jaw harder, pushing her muscles to their limits as she raised her arms, flexing into a double bicep pose. The grapefruit peaks of her arms strained under the pressure, thick veins emerging from beneath her soft skin like intricate roadmaps, carving paths over her bulging muscles. Sweat dotted her brow, but she didn’t care. This was power. This was her.
She couldn’t help but glance over at him once more. His eyes were wide now, his mouth agape, clearly transfixed by the sight of her body in its full glory. His posture had changed, no longer pretending to stretch but standing there, gawking like some kind of child, a weakling.
Is this what he wants to see? Jewel thought with a rush of smug humor. All my muscles?
She tightened her flex, gritting her teeth as she pressed her arms even higher, making her muscles swell to an almost terrifying degree. She stared at him directly in the mirror, challenging him without a word. He looked away almost immediately, his face flushing, but Jewel could feel the victory in the silence between them.
So typical of men, she thought, a chuckle bubbling up in her chest. The power dynamic was so clear: they stared, they gawked, and she controlled it all. Submissive, the whole lot of them.
She didn’t move away from the mirror just yet. She took another moment to bask in her own reflection, admiring how her muscles filled out her high-neck tank top, how the veins snaked subtly under her skin, the tautness of her back, and the massive swell of her shoulders. Her traps were particularly pronounced, a ridge of muscle that made her look like a modern-day warrior - larger than life.
Her smile, if she let it appear, would be wicked, but just the hint of mischief tugged at her lips. It’s time to push this moment further, eh little man?
With a slow, deliberate movement, Jewel turned away from the mirror, making sure to sway her brobdingnagian hips as she walked across the room. She could feel the eyes of the man still following her every step, but she didn't look back. She didn’t need to. She knew he couldn’t stop staring.
She made her way to the military press bench, the heavy iron equipment standing silent and imposing. There was no one else in the back room, but she knew the space would serve its purpose. She walked around the barbell, giving it a once-over before moving to the weight racks.
No reason to mess around anymore.
She loaded up the bar, placing plates on each side. The weight quickly added up, with a total of 102kg sitting heavy on the rack, a nearly unthinkable amount for most women, even most men - but for her? This will be easy. The heavy clink of the plates sliding into place echoed in the otherwise silent room, filling the space with an undeniable authority.
When she sat down, the seat felt almost comically small beneath her. Her long legs, the mass of muscle in her thighs, felt even more apparent now as she adjusted herself, ready to press the bar overhead. The position was perfect, the grip solid, and she knew just how easily she’d press this weight.
She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, admiring her own form - the massive bulk of her thighs, the thick swell of her arms, and her powerful core. She flexed her traps again, subtly, feeling the muscle swell, rippling as she did. In the mirror, it looked almost inhuman how large she’d made herself, how her body had grown. Every inch of her was sculpted from strength. She grinned at her reflection, knowing the effect it would have on the man across the room.
You ready for this, little boy? she thought with a silent laugh.
With a quick exhale, she grasped the bar and began her first set, the motion smooth and controlled. The weights felt effortless in her hands, her shoulders and arms working in perfect harmony as the bar pressed above her head, and then she lowered it down nearly to her chest. And then back up again. The sheer display of power was enough to send a ripple of tension through the room, her body shining with the early exertion, every muscle pulsing and flexing with each lift. She knew the guy was watching - how could he not be? This gym was now her personal stage.
The feeling of the bar rising, the pressure in her arms and chest and shoulders, only made her more aware of just how much she could do, how easily she could intimidate - and dominate. She wasn’t just a woman lifting weights - she was one reminding the world who was in control here.
As the set finished, she looked back in the mirror, once again locking eyes with herself. She let the weight down with a controlled clang and then leaned back, breathing deeply, her chest expanding as she let the moment settle.
It was then, finally, that the man spoke.
Surprising, she thought.
He had cleared his throat. “Um... excuse me…” His voice was soft, hesitant, barely above a whisper, like he was unsure if he had the right to even ask for her attention.
He took a cautious step toward her, eyes flicking nervously between her and the equipment. It was clear to her that he didn’t want to come off too strong, and the sight of her - this literal mountain of female muscle - was enough to intimidate him, even as he clearly wanted to get closer
Jewel didn't bother looking at him directly at first, just glancing at him in the mirror. He had taken another step, and she could feel him hovering behind where she was seated, his hesitation thick in the air.
“Yah?” she answered.
“D-do you need a spot?” he asked meekly, his voice barely audible over the faint hum of the gym lights.
Jewel paused, letting the idea hang in the air for a second, and then finally glanced at him over her shoulder. A wicked smile again tugged at the corner of her lips as she wryly thought to herself, Is that actually your pickup line, bokkie?
She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly. How old was this kortgat? Thirty? Older than her, by a bit, for sure. So skinny, though, so weak. She let the silence hang a moment longer before she spoke.
“Do I look like I need a spot?” she asked, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.
His face flushed immediately, and he stammered an apology, almost tripping over his words as he clumsily backpedaled away a single step. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
Jewel chuckled, low and amused. “It’s fine, eh?” she said with a flick of her wrist, as if brushing away his awkwardness. “Sure, you can spot me.” She gestured toward the bar. “That’ll let me do a bit more weight,” she added, making it clear that this wasn’t just some casual lift for her.
As the man hesitated, Jewel leaned back in her seat slightly and gave him a long, assessing look. “How much do you weigh?”
“Uh, about…180 pounds,” he answered after a moment, still visibly unsure but trying to steady himself.
She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slow smile. No way. As a PA with years of experience she was skilled at guessing the weight of others. He’s 75 kilos, max. Without a word at first, though, she nodded her chin over to the weight tree, about eight feet away. She did her math. “Put four more of those big ones on for me, please?”
Eager, it seemed, to be suddenly in the orbit of this impressive young woman, the man stepped to the weight rack and - with more than a little effort - pulled off a 45 pound plate. He nearly dropped it, and it took all his might to carry it to the military rack and hoist it up high enough to load it onto the bar.
“Need some help there, bokkie?” she smirked.
He shook his head, grunting as he pulled a second plate off the tree. Though it was with increasing struggle as his strength began to wane, he was finally able to get it and then two more plates onto Jewel’s bar.
She was watching him, throughout all this, aware of the implication - the unspoken power dynamics - of a man loading his own bodyweight onto a bar about to be lifted by a woman. Adding it, in fact, to what she was already lifting. She didn’t acknowledge it aloud, though. She knew he was thinking the same thing too, and knew exactly what this would mean to him.
The man stepped behind her, and up onto the short spotter’s platform, shifting nervously. Jewel took a moment to reposition herself, making sure her posture was perfect, her grip placed well. She could feel his presence behind her now, the anticipation in the air almost tangible.
"Ready?" she asked, not bothering to wait for an answer as she lifted the bar off its brackets. The weight was heavier now.
She powered, though, through the first few repetitions almost effortlessly, and didn’t break her gaze off of him in the mirror until towards the end of the set when she felt the first burn in her shoulders and chest. She’d seen it in his eyes, wide with disbelief, his mouth slightly agape - he was watching her every move like a man hypnotized, and staring at her chest as much as he was her massive shoulders and arms.
You like this, don’t you? she thought, her secret smile deepening as she dropped the bar back onto the rack.
“You’re…you’re so strong…” he marveled.
She chuckled. “Yah, I am,” she answered, plainly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Up on the spotter’s platform behind her, she could nearly see him quivering. She knew what kind of man he was. “You like that, eh?”
“Oh god yes…” he muttered, obviously already overcome.
She sat, breathed, and let her shoulders recover. She’d be ready for the next set soon, and considered having him add more plates to the bar. Instead, though, she eyed him, this average little American male, this obvious muscle-girl worshipper who’d somehow found his way to this back room of the gym. She thought of Melanie and Jess, and things were beginning to add up, why he was here. She paused, her body still steady, breathing, considering him, and then glanced up to meet his gaze. “Grab the bar,” she said, her voice firm, not a request but an order.
His brows knitted together in confusion, but he stepped forward, putting his hands onto it from behind her. “H-hold onto it?” he asked, unsure what she was planning.
Jewel didn’t wait for him to second-guess her. “Yah,” she said sternly. “Hold onto it. Wrap your arms around it. Do it now.”
He leaned forward tentatively, his hands gripping the cold metal, lowering himself and the weight of his upper body awkwardly onto the bar. “L-like this?” he asked, confused and unsure. His grip was weak at first, but he tightened it when she placed her hands on it as well, spread wider aside him and he felt the weight shift as readied to push on it.
“Raise your legs,” she instructed and then - when he did, and preparing herself for a moment - she effortlessly pushed the bar back up, lifting it with ease. All of it - including his weight on top of it.
For a moment, the entire room seemed to still. The weight on the bar - an ungodly amount for a military press, now with him holding on - was up over her head. The bar didn’t shake, or quiver. It was absolutely steady under her control, and she could feel the man above her, the awkwardness of his body wrapped against the bar as he held on for dear life.
She lowered the bar, with the man clinging to it now, down. She needed to hold it a bit further away from herself than she normally would, above her chest, to allow for his body, but she had no trouble in doing so. Her delts then flared as she pushed the bar back up again, finishing her first rep with him attached. Attached. Then it was down and up again with graceful, practiced ease, every muscle in her upper body flexing with power. It was, even with all this weight - 405 pounds of iron, and likely 165 pounds of male - only now any real effort for Jewel.
She made sure to take her time, dragging out the twelve repetitions for his benefit, letting him try to come to grips with the sheer power of her muscles. This is what you want to feel, isn’t it? Jewel thought with a smug, quiet amusement, What it’s like being just one of my weights? Helping make a strong woman even stronger?
Finally, she brought the bar down with a loud clang, placing it back into its resting position. He all but fell off it, clumsily back onto the spotter’s platform. Her big chest was rising and falling with steady, deep-filling breath. She turned her head slightly to glance at up him.
“How’d that feel?” she asked, her voice low, playful.
He looked at her, his face flushed with awe, still gripping the bar for balance as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“I-I…it was...” His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the-
Intimidating? Alarming? Terrifying? She thought, watching him struggle with his words, allowing herself a quickly wicked grin. Emasculating?
He nodded slowly, eyes wide, his voice thick with submission. “...amazing.”
Jewel couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound of it rich with self-satisfaction. So typical of men. Always so aroused, now, when awed by a woman’s power. It was a game she’d played before, a fun one, and one she knew she would win every single time. It was also beginning to serve as a very nice distraction, more release from the stresses of the day and the failure with her mark, Dr J. Indulging these urges to prove woman’s dominance, to prove her own supremacy over weak, tiny men, was cathartic.
“D-do you have any more sets?” he asked, breathless and still visibly trembling from the thrill of what had just happened.
Jewel stood up, casually stretching her arms over her head, making sure he got an even better view of her impossible proportions and the sheer scale of her size. She rolled her shoulders once, deliberately popping her traps just enough to watch his mouth go slack again.
“Nah,” she said, exhaling and shaking out her arms. When she flexed, when she pumped herself up, when she let her musculature really express itself, she was enormous. “Let’s move on, eh?”
He nodded quickly and immediately turned to the rack to start removing plates, eager to be useful. But as he began to slide the first 45-pounder off, it caught, clanked loudly, and he stumbled backward slightly from the force of it. His body was simply too light, too weak to handle the shift.
“Yoh, bokkie,” Jewel said with a gentle chuckle, stepping forward. “Here, let me help with that.”
She moved in close, her tall frame closing the distance in a heartbeat, and stood right next to him - deliberately close enough that their height difference became inescapable. Even with her weight shifted onto one hip and standing relaxed, she towered over him. His head barely reached the curve of her shoulder. She could mash his face into her breast and suffocate him right here. Patience, Jewel.
She reached forward and easily handled the plate with a single arm, sliding it off the bar without effort. The smoothness of it contrasted so starkly with his earlier struggle that he flushed all over again.
He looked up at her, eyes wide. “God, you’re strong…and so tall,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Jewel smirked. “Too tall for you, eh?” she teased, looking down at him with exaggerated concern. “Or maybe you’re just not tall enough for me?”
He laughed nervously, eyes flicking down to her legs and then back up to the twin balloons of her chest. “I mean… p-probably both…”
Jewel paused for a moment, her brow arching in curiosity. She handed the plate back to the rack with a clink and let her voice dip into something a little more thoughtful.
“Tell me something, bokkie,” she said. “Are the other women here…getting taller too?”
He blinked, looking as if he was unsure as to what he could say. But then, maybe throwing caution to the wind, he spoke. “Um… yeah, actually. The ones who come here a lot - th-the regulars? And especially the Big Body Girls, Miss Rachel’s closest friends l-like Melanie and Jess? They’re definitely growing. Like… taller, wider, stronger.” He paused for a moment. He seemed to shiver in place. “It’s wild.”
Jewel nodded slowly, her curiosity sharpening. “Even the everyday ones? The other regular members?”
“Yeah. Not as much, maybe,” he said, “but… I swear, yeah, they’re all looking a little bit bigger than they used to be.”
She looked at him, eyes narrowing with a playful gleam. “Is that because they’re growing…” she asked, the buzz of a purr deepening her voice, “or is it because you’re getting shorter?”
The man froze.
He opened his mouth to respond, then shut it, clearly caught off guard. His expression twisted into something sheepish, almost guilty.
“H-how did you know that?” he finally asked. “I mean… y-yeah. I think I am.”
Jewel tilted her head, amused. “So the more time you spend here…” she trailed off.
“…the more I shrink,” he admitted quietly, almost reverently. “Y-yeah. It’s only been, like, two inches but…yeah.”
She regarded him for a long moment, knowing more about this man every moment, and not surprised by what she was hearing. Then she leaned in slightly, her voice low, her words laced with teasing authority.
“And how much time do you spend here, hmm?”
He swallowed, obviously already ashamed as to what he was about to admit. “As much as I can.”
Jewel chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent, letting the implications hang between them. “Of course you do.”
She turned back to the bar, easily lifting another plate with a single hand, her big glutes shifting under the stretch of her leggings as she worked. She felt his eyes locked on her, drinking in her size, her strength, her presence.
She was beginning to understand exactly what kind of place this gym really was.
Jewel wiped her brow with the back of her wrist, her biceps bunching as she moved. Her gaze lingered on the man still standing there beside the bench - seeming smaller now, and definitely quieter, almost reverent. And she was starting to understand why.
She wasn’t just working out in some hardcore section of a gym. This was something else. This back room - it was like…part of a temple. And men like this one didn’t come here to train. They were here to serve, and give parts of themselves up along the way. They were here to shrink, and ogle, and feed the egos of their queens..
Without a word, she turned toward a padded bench near the mirrored wall and began setting up for her next movement: barbell hip thrusts. She rolled a thick barbell over toward the bench with one powerful arm, then added four plates to each side - 405 pounds - as easily as if she were stacking books. The man watched, wide-eyed, as she then settled down onto the floor in front of the bench, positioning her broad back against the padding.
She leaned back, her glutes resting on the mat, knees bent. The weight was across her lap, and even now she could feel the pressure of it, delicious and heavy. The perfect weight…for starters
The man took a tentative step forward. “Uh…do you want a spot for that too?”
Jewel looked up at him from her position on the floor, her back angled just enough to give him a full view of her heavy bust, rising and falling with her breath. Her lips curled, slow and knowing.
“You mean… this?” she said, arching her hips upward.
With a breathy grunt, she exploded through the movement, sending the bar upward with her hips until her thighs were parallel to the floor and her glutes clenched like mountains of steel beneath her leggings. The barbell soared. Her caramel skin glistened in the low lighting, and every sinew of her abdomen and thighs flared. She held the thrust, pausing to look at him square in the eyes while her glutes pulsed beneath the enormous weight.
“No spot needed, sweetie,” she said, almost lazily. “But, actually,” she said, a slow smirk spreading across her face, “how ‘bout you make yourself useful. Help make me stronger.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Sit,” she said simply, jerking her chin toward the bar across her hips. “C’mon. Hop on, little man. Be more weight for me again.”
He hesitated. “You mean…like, sit on it?”
She sighed, her tone dry and lightly amused. “Yah, that’s what I said.” She tapped the bar with two fingers. “Put your little tush right here. Be a good boy. Add a bit more weight.”
His eyes darted between her and the loaded barbell, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to be pranked or knighted. But Jewel just lay there waiting, one eyebrow arched, utterly unbothered, letting him decide how much he wanted to be part of whatever this was.
He stepped forward. Cautiously, awkwardly, he straddled the bar, scooting forward until he was seated squarely on the thick pad just above Jewel’s hips. His legs dangled on either side of her body, barely brushing the mat.
“Good,” Jewel said, breath steadying as she settled under the extra pressure. “Hold still.”
And then - she drove upward.
The bar surged toward the ceiling, taking him with it. He jerked slightly in surprise, hands flying to the bar to steady himself, and Jewel kept pushing, her hips rising in a powerful arc until they locked at the top.
The weight of the iron plus his full body - well over 560 pounds - was balanced easily on her pelvis. She held the position, glutes clenched, her thighs thick and trembling with force, and looked him directly in the eyes. “You comfy, bokkie?”
His breath caught. “Y-yeah,” he whispered, stunned.
Jewel smirked and slowly brought the bar back down.
Then drove up again. Again. Again. Each rep was a flex of devastating control. Her abs contracted. Her glutes fired. Her lats spread wide against the bench, and her traps flared like twin pyramids under her skin. And all the while, the man - this trembling volunteer offering himself up as little more than dumb poundage - clung to the bar like a child on a carnival ride, eyes wide in stunned silence.
“So you like it, eh?” She thrust again, glutes flaring. “You like being around women bigger than you?”
“Y-y-yes,” he said, the word falling from his mouth like a truth he couldn’t hold back, “v-very much so.”
“Good.” She raised the bar again. “Even though it’s making you smaller, thouhh, hm bokkie?”
He didn’t answer at first. She held the bar up, holding the top of the thrust with a statue’s control.
“It is makin’ you smaller, isn’t it?” she said, pressing harder. “That’s what all that time in this room’s doing.”
His voice came as a whisper. “Yes. Y-yeah,” he managed, “Pretty much every day.”
By the sixth rep, his hands were gripping the metal so tightly his knuckles had gone white. By the eighth, he was sweating more than she was.
She paused again at the top of the tenth, hips fully extended, body trembling slightly - not with fatigue, but with pleasure. And a sense of triumph, considering how quickly the world was becoming filled by men like-
“What’s your name, bokkie?” she asked. At first, she hadn’t been sure she’d wanted to know. But this was getting fun.
“Hector,” he replied.
“How’s this feel…” she asked coolly, her eyes locked on his, “…Hector?”
“I…” he swallowed. “This is… amazing.”
“Mm.” She lowered the bar with a final, satisfying clank, and let it rest on her hips, panting slightly her glutes relaxing into the mat as the man scrambled off and stumbled backward, unsteady and overwhelmed.
Jewel sat up, hair bouncing as she wiped the sweat from her brow and glanced at herself in the mirror - broad, glowing, looking like some sort of god next to this puny male. She sat bracing her weight on one hand behind her. Her curls bounced as she tilted her head, studying him like a curiosity and piecing together more of what was going on.
“Let me guess,” she said, her voice now rich and warm with mock empathy, “Melanie and Jess sent you back here.”
He hesitated. Then nodded.
She smiled. Wide. “To help me... unwind.”
He nodded again, eyes dropping.
“As a little…gift,” she added.
Another nod, this one more hesitant. Even this man had some sort of ego left. It would be thrilling to break it.
“Mmm.” Jewel’s smile deepened. She rose to stand at her full height, dusted her hands, and stepped over the barbell like it was a garden hose. She approached him slowly, her long legs closing the distance in just two strides, until she was toe-to-toe with him, towering above.
“I see what this is now,” she murmured. “You’re not a member. Not a client.”
She leaned down just enough that her bust loomed just inches from his chin. Her voice dropped to a purr.
“You’re a tool. And there are more of you, aren’t there, eh? More of Rachel’s males?”
He trembled.
“You’re here,” she continued, “to help us grow, to remind us how far above you we already are. You show us how strong we’ve become. How small you’ve gotten. And you love it, don’t you?”
The man, Hector, didn’t speak, but his breath was quick, shallow, and he gave the faintest nod.
Jewel exhaled through her nose, smug and satisfied. She looked back toward the barbell on the mat and stretched her arms overhead again, her physique looking impossibly broad in the mirror. Her traps swelled, her lats casting shadows.
Just like at Far Horizons, she thought with no small degree of satisfaction, the New World Order has already started here. This back gym wasn’t just a place where women came to lift weights. They came here to be worshiped. And to practice for the new age.
“You know, bokkie, I didn’t come here thinking I’d want to really work out work out,” she said, watching herself as she casually lowered her arms into another double-biceps pose in the mirror, “I came just to blow off some steam, eh?” She twisted her torso at the waist, admiring the ungodly perfection of her own figure, and noted how his eyes were goggling. “But I could definitely get bigger, if I started coming on the regular.”
The lighting in the gym locker room was perfect for this. She could see every individual muscle group and cut in her arms as she posed in the wall mirror. She dropped her hands to her waist, drew a deep breath, and did a lat-spread for him, back spreading like a cobra’s hood.
She heard his gasp. His eyes would have been just about level with her upper back, and she must look huge.
“How much, though, Hector? How much more of us do you want to see?” She looked back at him, over her shoulder. “How much bigger do you want us to get?”
The male knew his answer already. “We want you to get huge….” he breathed, and it was then that Jewel glanced down and saw the erection straining in Hector's thin gym shorts. “…w-we all do.”
“All of you, eh? Every guy, every one?” She chuckled again, and narrowed her eyes. If she squinted hard enough, she could start to see this guy as Dr. J. Taller, for sure, not quite as vulni, but weak in all the same ways. Her smile curled anew, picturing it.
That stirred something inside her.
“Pull down your pants,” she told him, her tone abruptly a command.
“Wh-what?” he stammered.
“I said,” she repeated, “Pull down your pants.” She reached in front of herself, to the rack lining the mirror in front of her, and lifted two immense, powerlifter-grade 180-pound dumbbells from it. “Take yourself into your hand and watch this.”
Coolly, she began to set her posture in the mirror and regarded behind herself as she saw him do exactly as he was told. He dropped his shorts, along with his boxers, to the ground, to pool at his ankles. He glanced towards the door, maybe making sure they were still alone. Without any complaint, though, he grabbed his own erection and awaited her next instruction.
One enormous dumbbell in each closed fist, she faced the mirror and prepared to begin biceps curls. His eyes, she saw, were again wide as saucers, his entire body trembling. This was a frankly stupendous amount of weight she held, and she knew he could not believe what he was seeing. Just being able to hold them, to stand there like this took an incredible amount of strength. She knew she didn’t have to say anything, that he would watch her and worship her as her biceps began to swell larger and larger, like grapefruits, like melons, veins snaking down to her forearms. She could just let him watch and he would wank himself to her right here without her having to say a word
But where’s the fun in that?
“Oh, Dr J,” she began, catching herself saying his name but not correcting anything - and in fact getting a little thrill. “Each of these dumbbells weigh more than you do,” she said, as she - somehow - curled the first one, in her right hand, to her right shoulder, “Each of these is heavier than your whole body.” She lowered the weight, and then curled the left.
He began to groan, and he began to stroke.
Her smile grew wider as her ego began to expand. She tilted her chin up and watched him, needing to pay nearly no attention to curling the iron in her hands. But she did curl them, up and down, left and right.
She loved doing this, and knowing what it did to men. How it made them feel so small, so weak. When she showed them that she could lift weights as heavy as their entire body in one hand, they quickly came to realize how insignificant they were becoming. In her presence, in the presence of a woman of the New World Order, they were changing into something utterly inferior. They were turning into the weaker sex, and Jewel Montgomery loved seeing that happen, right in front of her eyes.
She shivered, then, watching little Hector here realize that exact thing, as he was jerking himself off to her, behind her in the mirror. She pictured Dr J in his place, cock rock-hard and at the ready, doing the exact same thing. He could watch her lift weights, if that’s what he wanted. He could stroke himself off to her, mouth agape like the cretin he was. She knew how quickly her body responded to exercise, compliments of Program, and found a strange, sudden excitement in thinking that if she was here working on herself here at the gym with these massive weights, that next time she saw him she would be even bigger and stronger. That notion curled her smile and as she curled the weight of a grown man in each hand she watched her biceps flex, pumping as hard as she could to inject as much blood and pure brawn into them as possible. How much larger could she make herself tonight? Maybe the very sight of her would be enough to-
“Holy shite bokkie what happened?”
The little man was coming, great spurts of white ropy come shooting into the air behind her. That was fast.
Jewel laughed, finishing her set and putting the immense dumbbells down, with a thunderous <CLANG>, back onto the weight rack in front of herself. She turned, smirking, watching Dr J. - well, Hector - fall to his knees, cock still in hand, finishing himself up with mouth agape as he stared wide-eyed up at her.
“You know I didn’t give you permission to do that just yet, right?” she scolded, taking a step towards him to close the space, so she was now towering over his prostrate form and gazing down imperiously upon him, over the swell of her mighty bust. She liked how, as she was standing with the light behind her, he was covered in her shadow. She watched as he shivered and shook below her, still pumping himself through the waning throes of his climax. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she saw. She kept her expression stern, and saw how he groaned in response. This little cretin - unsurprisingly, given his gender - was a glutton for mistreatment at the hands of a beautiful woman, eh? Well…she could accommodate that.
And so, casually, she reached down and grabbed the front of his shirt, bunching it up in her huge hand at the collar. With a sharp tug, she lifted him partway to his feet - not quite off the ground, but enough to make him stumble and gasp, his balance tipped entirely into her hands, her strength. She wanted him to appreciate her presence and her will, to show him it was all-encompassing.
“Do you have any idea what I could do to you, eh?” she said, voice low and dangerous but tinged with the playfulness she felt, as - with the strength the work of brilliant women had given her, with the power of Program - she began to lift him off his feet, at arm's reach, with the effortless strength of one arm, slowly, until his face hovered above hers, his feet more than a foot off the ground. “There are so many ways I could end you,” she continued, with candid menace, looking up at him with curiosity. The final solution for men would be an interesting puzzle, when it came down to it. “So many ways we could…end men. End the old order for good.”
Hector’s lips parted, unsure whether to beg for mercy or whisper thanks. She saw it - that look. That delicious mix of fear and fascination. The same look she imagined would be in Dr. J’s eyes, if he ever let himself show it.
She chuckled, her tone indulgent, and smiled up at him. “You want more, don’t you?”
Hector couldn’t answer, he couldn’t even nod. All he could do was gape and gibber, looking into her eyes and pleading for both clemency and for her to destroy him. He dangled from her fist like a rag doll, and they both knew it was true, that she had the strength to break him, right here, snap his neck. Or throw him across the room, shatter his bones. There would be great pleasure, she realized, in doing it. But calmer heads must prevail so instead-
<<BAM!!>>
She’d spun - sudden and graceful — and slammed him firmly to the mirrored wall behind herself. A loud echoed as the surface behind his shoulders fractured, spidering out like ice under pressure. She locked her eyes on his, her reflection behind him fractured into hundreds and making her look even more monstrous than she was..
“That’s better,” she purred, holding him pinned at arms reach, pushing him by the collarbone to the wall, his spent member dangling helplessly between his legs, “Now I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”
She looked at him in his gibbering, watching him with interest and admiring the effect her strength, beauty and presence had on him. She cocked her head, and grunted once, consciously swelling her body with more and more power, flexing, pumping herself up, neck thickening, traps swelling, arms bloating with added muscle to really demonstrate to him what, exactly, he was dealing with. Her smile, she also knew, was just another sight to behold: it could be radiant, dazzling, almost blinding in its beauty. She made her huge eyes flash as she watched him, savoring every moment of the effect her awe-inspiring self had on his fragile male mind.
She allowed him a few moments to take it all in, letting him drink in the sight of her - start drowning in her, if that’s what he wanted. Then, with a curious tilt of her head, she blinked slowly, then asked, “How, little man, do you think this is all going to end, eh? What do you think the world will look like in a year? In ten?”
His voice cracked, barely a whisper, but she could hear the submissive euphoria in his response, even as he trembled in her grasp. He could barely speak, and what he said was unimportant. He couldn’t process anything of what he was feeling - but she understood completely his fear, his fascination, his desire to please.
Jewel’s voice softened, almost as if speaking to herself now. “How, I wonder, do you think men want their time ruling the world to end? Filled with women like me? With weak little shrunken men like you?”
He could still barely manage a whisper, but this time his words were heard, and made her smile bigger: “Y-yes, p-please…”
A low, rich laugh bubbled from Jewel’s chest, deep and powerful as her ego grew. She grinned, her smile widening as she let the sound of her amusement wash over him and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the power she felt radiating from every inch of her body. “I’m starting to like you a bit, you know,” she told him, her voice low but edged with amusement, as if she were indulging a harmless curiosity.
Jewel had, already, began to see Hector as a stand-in of sorts for her mark, Dr. J. This guy here was obviously more fixated on female muscle, while - she’d read the reports - Dr. J was a dyed-in-the-wool boob-monkey. Lucky for them, I’m a Program girl, she thought, I can accommodate them both.
As if on cue, then, Hector’s eyes drifted down from the iron tendons of her neck, down the slopes of her traps, and onto her big, buoyant chest. The sheer predictability of it made her chuckle. Men were obsessed with her breasts, fixating on them.
She knew what they saw.
Her chest was a symbol, wasn’t it? And a big one at that, eh? Something more than just a physical trait. Breasts, in all their exaggerated beauty, were symbols of mothers, nurturance, and solace. They were comfort for some, and a place of refuge for others. She’d seen the way the men she’d bedded clung to them - suddenly like children or babies. She saw how they sought warmth, how they looked to her chest for a reprieve from whatever battles they fought inside.
But today, Jewel wasn't here to offer Hector comfort.Quite the opposite.
“You like my breasts, eh bokkie?” she mused aloud, her voice low and teasing, “They always seem to be a focus, hm? When other things get scary? ” Her voice had softened slightly, maybe for the moment, but her expression was still calculating. She continued to hold him against the mirror, one hand pinning him easily to the cold, broken glass.
“You want to see them as soft, as nurturing,” she continued, her words slow, deliberate. “Something to run to when things get hard.” Gradually she was moving in closer, her face coming closer to his, her presence filling his vision, becoming an overwhelming force. “They offer so much, but they can be demanding, too.”
Slowly, her chest pressed closer to him, filling the space between them with its undeniable weight. The contrast was stark, her gigantic breasts to his thinner, weaker ribcage. The massive amount of her, the meager amount of him. What could have been a symbol of soft comfort became something entirely different. She watched his face closely as - shifting her shoulders a fraction - she let her left breast gradually press against him, make him feel the pressure build in the space between them. He was smaller, weaker, and the shift in their dynamic was palpable. His eyes, as he felt it, began to widen. And, when she removed her hand from his chest and kept him pinned to the wall using only her breast, they widened further still.
Hands now coming up to cup his face, one hand on either cheek, Jewel held him there, suspended in the air by her left breast, utterly in control. She cocked her chin and let her eyes scan the helplessness that began to seep across his expression as she began to press harder. Her own body was a living force, and she felt it deeply now - as a woman who could alter the course of a conversation, a relationship, or even a life with a mere shift in body language.
“Is this what you wanted, Dr J?” she asked him, her voice gentle and ignoring the confusion she saw in him, when she used that name and when she began to press harder still. She felt his ribcage compressing, his own lungs being squeezed by her greater size and mass. “Did you think I’d make it soft for you?” Her smile widened as she watched his face, noting the struggle in his eyes as he now tried to draw a deep breath.
He couldn’t.
“Ah-...ah---...ah---...” he began to stammer, trying to tell her that he…that he couldn’t…
“You can’t breathe, can you little man?”
His eyes went wider.
She chuckled, and pressed, her breasts molding themselves around his thin torso, squashing him into the shattered mirror. He was struggling, now, to inhale, barely able to gasp anything into even just his upper airway. Then - her face now inches away from his - she watched the fear really take hold in his eyes as she began to feel his ribs bend, and as he whined in the first piteous pangs of pain she began to get curious. How much it would take before they would start to-
<snap>
He yelped in pain, much louder this time.
About that much, I guess, eh?
“Everything okay, bokkie?” She pressed harder.
<snap> <snap> <snap-snap>
Now Hector yowled, tears of agony bursting from his eyes as he clamped them shut and threw back his head. His body was jerking, now, spasming, kicking and trying to push. His arms flailed uselessly against her but she was immovable and in fact only squashed…
<snap-snap>
…herself in closer to him, looking deeply into his face, relishing every wince and spasm of the unspeakable agony she was so easily bringing to this weak, insignificant, inferior man. The feeling was euphoric, ecstatically empowering. The sensation of being able to break a man, to utterly crush him with just her breast, ostensibly the softest part of the female body - it thrilled her and made her want to-
His face in her hands, eyes still wide, she mashed her lips onto his for a kiss.
His eyes shot open.
She saw the shift in his expression - his pupils dilated, his lips opening instinctively and allowing her larger tongue to drive itself in and fill his mouth. She felt him freeze, his flagellations of pain suddenly paralyzed as her mouth just consumed his. He couldn’t help himself, she knew. He was just another man, easily manipulated by the allure of power, and despite the mind-bending pain he melted into her kiss.
Behind it, Jewel’s lips curved into a smile. A smile that was both indulgent and cruel. She wasn’t just kissing him, she was showing him how easily she could bend him to her will. Her tongue drove in deeper, until it nearly choked him, and she could taste every ounce of fear he had for her, and for what the future held for him and his race.
She needed to taste more.
“You want this, don’t you?” she whispered, backing off the kiss and gazing deep into his watering eyes. Her words were intimate, barely audible, though they dripped with condescension. Her ego exploded huger as, with no further prompting, he nodded, unable to look away from her.
Without breaking her gaze, she closed the gap between them even further. More ribs broke, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken as his body stiffened in anticipation of what would come next. For a brief moment, Jewel allowed her lips to hover just a hair’s breadth away from his, feeling the way his breath hitched as he considered what she might break on him next. His spine? She could taste his desperation - he would relish it, any of it, torture, pain, death at the hands of an Amazon.
She could not help herself either: she kissed him again - with no gentleness, but with a purpose, a controlled, predatory act. The kiss was filled with passion - but not for him, but for the complete, utter sense of command she was feeling with this full-grown man absolutely at her mercy.
Her lips pressed firmly against his, and she could feel his body respond, surrender even further to her as she kept him pinned where she wanted him. The kiss lasted longer than either expected, Jewel moaning into it with a heady lust for power, long and loud enough to leave him feeling dizzy.
“Oh, Dr J….” she groaned into his face, as almost reflexively her hands began - around his face, able to feel the fragile bones of his cheeks and jaw at the mercy of her fingers - began to tighten. At first, he felt just a tremendous force, slowly growing, pressing into his face. The skin and soft tissues of his cheeks compressed, beginning to cause gradually more intense pain and the sense that his skull was being squeezed.
Which was now exactly what she was doing. She saw what her huge hands had started to do to his face, and she did not stop herself. So, as the hydraulic press of her superhuman hands kept closing on him, she kissed him again and felt his facial bones - maxilla, orbital bones, mandible - began first to bend, but then started to crack, and then shatter under the strength of her grip. She could hear and feel sharp cracking and popping sounds but they were all but drowned out by his screams into her kiss. The pain, she imagined, must be excruciating, and her tongue rammed its way into his throat as if wanting to taste it. His facial nerves were likely also being crushed or severed, which would cause bursts of electric-shock–like pain, followed by areas of numbness as the nerves died.
The pressure she was using was rupturing blood vessels, beginning to cause massive bleeding and swelling. Soon blood would start to fill his mouth, his nose, sinuses, and airways, making breathing difficult or impossible. Breaking his orbital bones - which were just now starting to bend - would displace his eyes, possibly rupturing his sockets, maybe causing blindness and even more extreme pain. Jewel Montomery, though, had gone beyond thinking about what she was doing just to this man. Her thoughts already had gone back to her goals, steeling herself with renewed vigor for what she would be back to tomorrow. She was, as a woman, determined to be the ruler of the FHMA geriatrics wing, and have her mark - the male, Dr J - as her little pet. Subject MM-1A could go on to become the world’s first giant superwoman and reigning god-empress of the world for all she cared, but Jewel Montogmery would accomplish her mission: Melissa Monroe would do it without him at her side.
Jewel would have her man.
When she pulled away from the broken Hector, she looked at him, her eyes wide with satisfaction. His face was a mangled, already swelling mess and due to the extreme pain, oncoming blood loss, and shock, he was hovering towards unconsciousness. She let her breast leave his chest but still held him dangling, now by just his shattered head in her hands. She cocked her head, gazed in his eyes as she watched him starting to black out, and suddenly she removed her hands, letting him crumple to the ground at her feet. She gazed down at him, and put her foot on his mangled body, pushing him further to the floor by his shoulder. His ruptured face hit the ground, and in his waning consciousness one wide, bloodshot eye looked up at her in a mixture of terror and utter reverence.
She chuckled and for just one last moment of triumph she moved her foot to his already purpling cheek. “Just you wait, little man,” she said down to him, rubbing the ball of her foot into his shattered zygomatic bone, “you’re about to get everything you ever wanted.” Then, with the authority of the merciless, she mashed his head into the concrete floor, causing an even more intense pain and making him cry out again. That, to Jewel, was inconsequential. All that mattered now was her ego.
“Thank you, Hector,” she finally said, as she saw him black out, her voice soft but dripping with the eminent vanity, conceit and hubris of a woman now ascendant over the entire male race, “I feel much better now.”
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