The Velvet Steel Gym

Well, you're here. Velvet Steel.

This is a far cry from the previous gym where you were a member - a typical commercial gym, with way more cycle machines and treadmills than anyone needs. The dumbbells for the "women's section" were pink, cutely shaped and far too light to be of any use.

You're trying to get strong, damn it! You don't care about looking "manly"; there's nothing "manly" about having strong, broad shoulders and sturdy thighs, about having a body that can actually do things. You never actually got into physical culture much - bodybuilders and such inhabited a world quite alien to your sensibilities - and it took the Wonder Woman movie to open your eyes. When you saw just how incredible the athletic Amazons looked, you did some more digging, and discovered a whole new vocabulary, a whole new world.

You look and feel fine, more or less: average height, typical build, and a woefully lacking fitness level thanks to a sedentary lifestyle. You knew you couldn't do much about the height, but you sure as hell could try to be fitter and stronger, and look the part too.

But you're heartily sick of the bullshit out there. Patronizing commercial gym trainers who don't treat female clients with anything approaching the same professionalism as they exhibit towards their male clientele. Silly, sexist and harmful advice emphasizing weight loss rather than strength and muscle gain. Societal attitudes that demand women be smaller, less imposing, less threatening to fragile egos.

You did the same crap as everyone else, at that overpriced commercial gym you signed up for: "toning" exercises, too much spin class and dancing and Pilates and all kinds of other things that just weren't getting you where you wanted to go. You weren't sure how to do things right, but you were sure as hell that you were doing it wrong. It was indescribably frustrating.

So you're grateful for that chance encounter with the largest, most muscular woman you had ever personally met, last week at your favorite cafe. She had such sculpted, defined shoulders showcased by her halter-top, and her thick back muscles were beautifully ridged. She reminded you of Brooke Ence, that CrossFit athlete in Wonder Woman who frankly looked far closer to the part than Gal Gadot did. She got a coffee and sat down with a laptop. You plucked up your courage and went over to befriend her, and ask her advice.

You got more than you bargained for, and you're happy about it. She was friendly, and willing to share. She laughed and agreed that it was pointless to be concerned with how narrow-minded idiots judged her - she knew she had a great physique and she took joy in it. Within the span of just a brief conversation she systematically destroyed many of the training myths that you realized you'd been -fed all this time. Out of nowhere, she looked directly into your eyes and asked you just how fit you wanted to become, and why.

You're not sure what came over you then, but you met that gaze, looked into the eyes of the most attractive woman you had ever met, and you said, "Fit enough to beat you at something. Arm wrestling... whatever. Something."

A slow, broad smile spread across her face then, and she said, "Well, that would be a little difficult, now, but in the future... who knows? One thing's for sure: if you want to get there, you're going to have to get out of that foo-foo gym of yours."

And that was when you were told about Velvet Steel.

"I'm not the strongest or most muscular there," she said. "We each try to be the very best we can be, and from time to time we challenge whomever we want. But rivalries form, you know? I've got a few going on these days. I'm on the losing end half the time. But that's part of the motivation, for me."

She'd also told you about what they did after each match. It sounded... amazing. Thrilling. You bit your lip and flushed, and felt yourself growing wet just hearing about it. The winner dominates the loser... sexually. It was nothing you'd ever heard of before, but after you'd been told, you just knew in your bones: this was what it was all about.

"You'll probably not be strong enough to compete with most of the other members, not until you get some proper training under your belt," she said then, looking at you with appraising eyes. Yet she smiled, encouragingly, and continued, "But you'll get there. Someone will help you. We might try to take each other as prizes on that mat, but we all want to help one another get stronger and better. That's the Velvet Steel way."

It sounded damn good to you.

So, now, here you are. You've just stepped through the glass double-doors, and already the sights and sounds are... overwhelming.

Over by the far wall, you see four women - two couples, it looks like, and there are two pull-up bars side by side affixed to the walls. Two of the women are hanging, performing pull-ups... while their (presumable) partners have fingers slotted into their pussies. You can't tell if their expressions of strain are from the effort of doing the pull-ups, or from the pleasure they must be feeling.

Oh, yes - they're all nude, all four of them. As you look around, you see some in more typical gym attire - sports bra, boy shorts, yoga pants. But they're in the minority. Most are topless, or nude.

And such bodies you see. There's a thick, stocky woman performing squats in a power cage by herself, with her back to you. The bar's loaded up with big plates - two 45-lb plates on each side. She's performing slow, controlled reps, going down deep, pausing at the bottom for a second or two each time, and grunting as she straightens up again.

There's a darker-skinned woman with bulging muscles all over, performing bench presses while her slimmer and leaner partner straddles her midriff. That "smaller" woman has the most defined pair of thighs you have ever seen, much more defined than your own for sure.

And by the free weights section, you see another pair - a short but reasonably well-built woman with short hair is sitting on a bench that's been adjusted for a 45-degree incline, so she's leaning back while holding a pair of dumbbells in her hands. They're serious dumbbells... black, not pink. You think they're 20lbs each, or maybe 25lbs, you can't quite see at this distance. She's performing slow bicep curls with them, both arms together, but what really catches your attention is that there's another woman whose face is buried in between her thighs. This second woman is on her knees, servicing her partner orally. As you watch, transfixed, the seated woman moans and begins to curl the dumbbells upwards, with trembling arms.

Halfway up, they stop - it looks like her thick biceps can do no more. But she doesn't give up or let go. Her partner's head bobs slightly as she licks and laps away, the slurping noises clearly audible. And then the dumbbells resume their upward journey - she appears to have gotten a second wind from somewhere, some extra strength has been fed to her aching biceps, and she finishes the rep before slumping and letting the dumbbells fall at last to the floor. Her partner sits up and wipes the back of her mouth with her hand, looking thoroughly satisfied. They smile at each other, and the kneeling helper begins massaging her partner's upper arms.

You realize you're rooted to the spot, and so wet right now that you're probably going to need a change of bottoms.

There's a woman at the receptionist counter watching you, looking slightly amused. She smiles at you when she catches your attention. "Can I help you?"