Thundra

Thundra's body was fully exercised. Her biceps were curled, her abs were crunched, her legs were pressed and her butt was sculpted. Her magnificent body was as toned and ripped as it had ever been as she wiped the sweat from her brow. She’d just done a two-hour hyper-intensity workout, rounded off with a thousand blows to her now-destroyed punchbag, but it just couldn’t satisfy her.

For one thing, her punchbag wasn’t even a real man. That was the price she paid for visiting this behind-her-times century with its antiquated concepts of equal rights for men, not to mention its disdain for homicide. Even those few forward-thinking men she’d attracted during her time here had this strange insistence on shouting their safewords at the first opportunity. Well, apart from that one quiet guy who’d managed to remain silent throughout her strongest pounding, though finally she’d broken him, along with most of the neighborhood. It had all been a stupid terrible misunderstanding, and she blamed him for turning up in that fancy customized black leather gimp outfit of his without a word of explanation. Next time she met Black Bolt, she’d know that was the only outfit he owned. Plus she’d remember to use a ballgag.

The other reason she wasn’t satisfied was that this wasn’t the kind of workout she needed. She needed some hot Femizon action, or action of any kind. It wasn’t any coincidence that she’d surrounded herself with teams of women since she’d got here, She turned on the radio, playing that historic classical music that it always played, hoping it would take her mind off sapphic sensations. She realized that it wouldn’t help as she heard the future Femizon international anthem blaring out.

“Who run the world?” sang Beyonce.

“Girls,” joined in Thundra. It wasn’t any coincidence that she’d surrounded herself with teams of women since she’d got here, first there were the Grapplers who certainly knew how to grapple, and then there were the Lady Liberators. She remembered all those times those ladies liberated her clothes, as she peeled off her red outfit and headed toward the showers. Sadly she was all alone now, and so, just as the radio started playing Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

It was time for some finger exercises