Huff puff, huff puff. You can feel that sweet, sweet burn building up in your chest as you pant, sweat beading up on your forehead. The rhythmic thump of sneakers against treadmill keeps you focused, a steady drumbeat to hone your mind and dull the pain. March, soldier, march! “One more minute,” you tell yourself between heavy breaths. “Just one little minute more…”
The seconds tick by at an agonizing pace, each and every electronic digit taking an age and a half to dial up. By the time the half-hour timer finally beeps, it feels like your heart’s about to beat its way right out of your ribcage. “Thank…” Oh, the pain. Thank God or Celestia, either would do. You slow yourself down to a stop with the treadmill and take a well-earned gulp from your water bottle. The icy cool water feels like a breath of fresh air as it runs down your throat, and goodness knows you’re out of breath. What a run. It’s time for a break; you deserve it.
You grab yourself a stool by the walls and take a seat, getting a good look over the whole Ponyville Gym from your vantage point. Gym-watching is an old, favorite pastime of yours, and the view isn't bad. It’s a very small-town fitness place, not as nice as they have back on Earth, but it’s usually empty in the morning and equipped with more than enough to keep you in shape… with regular attendance, of course.
You aren’t a natural athlete - not really - but that only makes your hard-won progress all the sweeter. Everything you have now is something you’ve worked for, a careful routine of good diet and regular exercise. The eating isn’t too much trouble; Equestria has more vegetarian options than you can shake a stick at. It’s almost easy to eat like a rabbit as long as you avoid the cake. No, it’s the exercise you have to really commit to. You're proud of your discipline, where others would have faltered. Regular gym attendance, week in and week out, takes a lot of motivation to keep up.
The obvious benefits of being fitter are a plus, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have another reason. You’ve been in Equestria for a while now, been friends with the ponies here long enough to develop… perhaps a teensy, weensy little crush on one of them. There are many differences between a human and a pony, but the two of you do share certain bipedal similarities, and with it a certain appreciation for a body well-cared-for. It isn’t just healthier - a leaner, fitter, stronger build is all the more likely to catch a certain hyper-competitive rainbow-haired athlete’s eye…
But think of the devil, and she shall appear. Your eyes widen in shock as the Rainbow Dash steps in through the doors, dressed for a workout. It was understated, as all gymwear was, and made for function first, but to you it looked almost as stunning on her as a ballgown. The simple black tank top and shorts contrasted quite nicely with the brilliant blue of her fur, a shock of chromatic color swishing atop her head and swaying at her rear. The outfit hardly did anything but show off her impressive tone, form-fitting clothes the only evidence Dash needed to prove a zero-percent body-fat boast. Abs, arms, legs, the total fitness package. She was on the smaller side, as pegasi went. Petite, one might say. But years of hard work and training had left her with a body cut from marble. A Grecian ideal for you to aspire to in your own training - and a beautiful work of art besides.
She looks over the gym like it’s her own personal hunting ground, idly tugging at the white hand-towel slung around her neck. Might as well be a kid in a candy store. You feel a little weak in the knees just watching that hungry, ready look. She grins, nodding with the dignity of a general surveying her troops as she eyes treadmills, weight racks, machines. The clink of metal is music to her ears, the smell of sweat and exertion a rush of its own strange design. It’s clear just from watching her that this place, nearly as much as the sky itself, is her element.
Her grin widens still further when her raptorial gaze finally catches you. The glint in her eye is unmistakable, a hint of friendly recognition mixed with a good deal more of competitive spirit. Yes, you’re part of her domain now, too, and what sort of queen would she be if she didn’t meet with her loyal subjects every now and then?
...You really hope you're not drooling.
“Hey!” she calls, wings fluttering at her back as she races to meet you. “Never expected I would see you around here. Looking good! Not quite at my level, but…” She shoots you a wink, and it's like you're back on the treadmill all over again. “Who is, right? Since when are you a gym rat, anyway?”
“Since… a month ago,” you tell her sheepishly. Truth be told, you hadn’t expected to see Dash here, either. Natural as she looked in this environment, you can’t seem to recall actually seeing her working out before. You hadn’t been trying to avoid her - goodness knows, no - but by chance or by fate the two of you had never crossed paths at the gym before. “What are you doing here?”
“Keeping in shape!” Dash says. She laughs and gives her rock-hard abs a few thumps with a balled-up fist. Solid muscle; you can hear each and every impact. “You think I could have a body like this without working for it? Come on, it takes a lot of work to look this good when I’m on-set. Applejack’s the only other pony who takes even half as much care of her body for the show.” She rolls her shoulders forward to loosen them up, muscles rippling visibly beneath cyan fur. “Plus, I’m a pro! Training is ninety percent of everything when you want to compete.”
“Can’t slack off at all.” You nod, smiling. You’ve been working hard on your own routine, but Dash lives and breathes physical achievement. It’s all you can do to keep it up, if you want to draw her notice. You flex an arm, as much for your own reassurance as to show her your progress. It’s beginning to look pretty nice now, actually! A ball of growing bicep muscle, not nearly as defined as Dash’s, but certainly bigger - maybe even stronger. “I’ve even been hitting the weights. It’s tough work.”
“Mm, yeah.” Dash nods at your arm, giving her own chiseled bicep a thoughtful rub. You can practically feel her mentally eying you up, the gears turning in her head. After years of training and good living she’s still a size or two below you and your month’s worth of lifting. “Yeah!” She grins that manic, defiant smirk you adore. “That’s a great idea! Think I’ll do some weights of my own. Build some muscle up!”
For a moment you consider telling Dash that exercise isn’t a competition, but for more than a couple reasons the words never quite manage to leave your lips. It’d be a waste of oxygen, for one thing, and you’re still tuckered out from your run on the treadmill. The minute Dash smells a contest going on, no amount of gentle reminding or feeble insistence that it’s all just for fun will sway her from competing. She’s Rainbow Dash, and she has two modes: bragging, and winning.
And you’ve just managed to flip the switch.
“Just sit back and watch, tough guy,” she purrs, strutting over to the weight rack. Next to massive dumbbells built for farm ponies like Big Macintosh, her gymnasts' arms look doubly thin as they really are. She passes those up, walking down the aisle until she finds a pair of more reasonable twenty-pounders. Good enough for a pegasus built for speed over power, but not particularly impressive. You almost have to wonder what she could be planning - for she must be planning something - with putting on a performance like this. She grins at you, the expression on her face brimming over with confidence. “I’ll show you what a real workout looks like.”
“With a pair of twenty-pounders?” You can’t help but snort at that one. Just a little bit. You don’t mean to be mean, but you could lift those even before you put the bits down for a gym membership. You’re still a novice compared to Dash’s veteran athlete status, but she’ll have to handle a lot more than that if she wants to make your eyes pop. “Are you planning to juggle them, or something?”
That one gets a laugh out of her, too. A cool, casual chortle. Like she knows something you don't. “I guess I really do have to show you how it’s done,” she teases back. “Didn’t anypony tell you? You’re supposed to lift your weights, not juggle with ‘em.”
All fun aside, though, Dash handles her dumbbells with practiced ease, her hooves sliding into place, centering her body effortlessly. You just wish you could start your workout that instinctively. She handles the dumbbells like a second part of herself, bringing them smoothly to her toned hips in perfect form. She takes a deep breath, her wings fluttering ever so slightly as her eyes take on a tiger gleam. You have to admire her focus, at least.
In the blink of an eye, it seems almost as if Dash has flipped temperament as well as modes. Her usual fiery brashness has chilled into a sort of cool collectedness. She seems totally calm, no hype at all, as she hefts the weights, her chest rising and falling with a relaxed ease. You realize suddenly that Dash is putting on a show of weightlifting skill, not power, and suddenly her performance seems a little more impressive. She's going for reps. For a warm-up. Not just flashing up to her max early and burning out. Not like some people who definitely aren’t you. Might as well take a few mental notes while you’re watching - it couldn’t hurt to take a pointer or two on your own form.
Which is absolutely the reason you're watching every taut-hided, muscle-bulging, ripped inch of her, and not any other, lewder rationales, of course.
One arm goes up in a smooth, practiced arc, her firm bicep bulging ever so slightly larger as Dash completes her curl. The other arm rises as the first falls, and again her bicep expands in a powerful, fluid flex. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but you didn’t blink and you certainly didn’t miss it. There must be more muscle lurking in Dash’s arms than you’d thought, because you never would have guessed that anyone could have an expansion like that. A trick of the light, perhaps? Your own exhaustion? Maybe… or maybe not. You give your eyes a quick rub, hoping to find some confirmation on the next curl.
Clang! A jolt runs up your spine as Dash drops the twenty-pounders back on the rack, a more than satisfied smile painted on her face. “Ah!” She takes a deep, satisfied breath, as if she’d just done ten reps instead of one, and holds her arm up for a good look. “Nothing like curls to get the ‘ceps huge, huh?”
“Dash, you can’t be serious,” you start. “Even I know you can’t build muscle by-” Your mouth hangs mid-sentence, the oncoming lecture stopped dead as your gaze settles on Dash’s built-up bicep. It… looks nearly as big, almost as sharply defined as it had mid-curl, if not exactly. But that can’t be right, can it? Muscles expand when flexed, and Dash isn’t…
“Oh, alright, I get it.” The next breath out of your lungs isn’t quite a sigh of relief, but you’ll admit you were confused for a second there. “You can stop flexing, Dash. I know you’re not that big.”
“What’s that?” Dash’s cocky smile never fades from her face. “You think I’m flexing? Not even! I’m just giving you a chance to check out the goods. But if you want to see how big it really is…” Her muscles tighten, the tight round ball of her bicep rising still higher as her arm comes in for the full peak. It looks almost as big as yours now, and with Dash’s inherent tone it’s likely a good deal harder. Denser. Stronger. “There! Are you happy now?”
“Uh…” Well, you’re certainly something. Had you called her physique a gymnast's before? She's looking more like she plays soccer, or hoofball, or whatever it is ponies play. Your eyes widen just a little in time with Dash’s muscle. No way anything like that could be possible, could it? For all you know it might still be a temporary pump - however unlikely it is that Rainbow Dash got one from a single twenty-pound curl. The only other alternative, that somehow Dash is growing before your own two eyes, seems almost too fantastic to believe. But if that’s really what’s happening… The fabric of your gym shorts suddenly starts to feel tight, the first stirrings of an erection. It might be nothing but wishful thinking, but your body just so happens to find it a very pleasant fantasy.
Then again, you are in the land of the fantastic, aren't you?
Exercise! You should exercise to distract yourself from such problematic thoughts. It’s a good way to lower stress and blow off steam, and you’re feeling very steamy all of a sudden. Steamy and tight. “I should get a set in, too,” you tell Dash, lowering your voice gruffly. You power-walk over to the rack yourself and quickly pick out a pair of thirty-pounders. Thirty isn’t that much more impressive than twenty, but it’s your curling standard for now. You’re still improving. In a week or two, you’ll be ready to move up again.
The familiar burn feels good as you lift the weights up. Just enough to push your strength to its current limits, without threatening to damage something. “One, two, three…” You keep your breath steady, count your reps, and in due time you’ve made your way through the whole set.
“There!” You set the weights down gently, your arms pumped and energized from the exertion. It’s hard not to notice, though, that they haven’t grown at all from ten reps. Unlike Dash’s after just one. Still, you had lifted thirty, and she had only put up twenty. You feel just a little proud about that, a feeling you might have let slip onto your face for just a moment.
“Thirty already, huh? Good progress for an amateur.” Dash’s voice is teasing, but her eyebrows are furrowed as if deep in thought. “You’re right, though,” she muses, and you see the crackle of drive in her eyes again. Hot, but honestly a bit frightening now. “About what you said earlier. I gotta do better than one rep if I really want to pack on the gains. How about I move up? Think twenty’s gotten a little too light for me.”
“Um, ah, ooh, Da-” A few half-words fumble their way out of your mouth, but nothing Dash takes notice of before she picks a pair of heavy forty-pounders up from the rack. Twice as heavy as her first, and ten pounds again above your own. “Are you… sure you should be trying the forties? You looked fine with only the twenties. Twilight’s exercise books all say you should start with something you can handle and work your way up.” You're asking out of concern, of course. Concern for her, and not any concern for your pride.
“Yeah?” Dash snickers, and your face flushes. “Right. And who are you going to trust? Some dusty old books, or the best flier in Ponyville?” She stumbles briefly, the weights nearly too much for her to balance with, until her arms suddenly bulge outward with fresh muscle and she stabilizes easily. Okay, that you did see. What the hay? “There we go! See, what did I tell you?” She gives you another teasing wink as her right arm starts on a slow, powerful curl, a very healthy bicep pumping up before your eyes. “One!” Even as the forty-pounder falls gracefully back to her side, Dash’s muscles refuse to deflate. “Hey, maybe you could be this strong, too, if you spent a little less time reading exercise books and a little more time at the gym.”
You don’t have anything clever to say to that. Your jaw seems to be hanging lower still, thoughts are focused fully on Dash as she continues her workout, your eyes bulging neatly in time with her expanding figure. Curl by curl, her muscles rise higher from compact plains of blue-furred tone to the beginnings of taut, impossible cyan mountains.
“Fiiive~” Her grin grows wider and wider as you watch, as if her body is feeding off your attention. It’s a nigh-on exponential process, a snowball of pure muscle-building power. Each lift, her fiercely strong arms bulk still bigger, and the next rep follows even faster. It may have started off slow at first, but each smooth, clean pump is bringing them in quicker and quicker, until she might as well be carrying twigs for all the dumbbells seem to be slowing her down. Never mind that she’s holding eighty pounds of iron in each hand!
And it’s not just her arms that are growing. The rest of her body seems to have taken the cue, tank top stretching and creaking as her shoulders broaden and her normally modest chest pushes out on a powerful shelf of muscles. Even her legs seem to be growing in sympathy, rainbow mane inching higher up into the air as each rep makes her a teensy bit taller. You can barely take the time to blink, for fear of missing out on a single moment of muscle-building. There’s no mistaking it for fantasy this time. Not when she’s made it this obvious for you.
“Ten!” The Rainbow Dash that sets down her weights is a far cry from the pegasus who’d picked them up only minutes ago. In just one set, Dash has grown from a petite athlete into a pony powerhouse. She’s tall enough to look down on you now, and she’s one hell of a lot healthier than you in every other way that counts. In fact, she looks nearly as packed as Applejack herself - and that’s just after a set with the forties.
It should have left you gibbering, stuttering feebly that it couldn’t be possible. No pony, especially not a lean and mean pegasus, could put on muscle like this. And the muscle was only the most visually impressive part. Skin, bone, everything. It broke laws of physics, it broke laws of magic, it broke your brain just trying to think about it! And yet, you can’t help but regard her with a still, almost serene acceptance. Dash had always been a big pony living in a little package; a four-foot-six mare with a confidence worth twice her size. Growing like this just seems right, somehow. As if the universe was finally recognizing it had robbed Dash of her natural place in the order of things, and wanted to pay her back right in front of you. With interest.
...
“Hey. Hey!” Dash snaps her fingers right in front of your face, breaking you out from… whatever that had been. “You spacing out on me? How am I supposed to show off if you’re just going to sit there daydreaming?”
“Sorry,” you mumble, still unable to take your eyes off her gorgeous physique. You don’t have to pinch yourself to know it isn’t a dream. Not even the most vivid imagination could imagine pythons like those. Thick, corded muscle that put your own guns to shame and then some. “Just… thinking.”
“Well, stop thinking and start feeling.” Dash licks her lips lightly and grins at you. While she has you locked on, she holds up her arm again, considerably bigger than the last time she showed it off… hardly five minutes ago. “I want you to try squeezing down on this baby.”
Well, now you certainly don’t have to pinch yourself. Dash is giving you the once-in-a-lifetime chance to pinch her to confirm the reality of what you’re seeing. Half-trembling, you bring your fingers down around the generous peak of her bicep, a simple gentle squeeze confirming what you’d already suspected: real. More solid than you are, in fact. You don’t dare squeeze too hard, for fear of hurting Dash, but from what your fingertips report, she might as well be hiding a rock beneath her skin.
“Hey, don’t wimp out on me now!” Dash says, her pride swollen nearly as big as her 'cep. “Squeeze harder. I want you to try and put a dent in me!”
“If you insist…” you mutter. Now she’s pricked your own pride, and crazy as all this is, you aren’t about to let her look down on you like that. She isn’t quite big and buff enough to get away with that. Yet. You push down on her as hard as you can, a hint of red-blush effort creeping into your cheeks as you give her all the grip you’ve got.
Dash watches your effort with interest, her lips curling upward in amusement as she watches you struggle and strain with all your might just to push her bicep down. “C’mon,” she urges you, a breathy quality to her voice. “You can do better than that. Harder. Harder!”
And harder you give. The brief shadow of a grin passes over your face as you feel the muscle squish - just the slightest flex in what feels like the next best thing to iron. It’s over as soon as it starts, though. Hardly a second later you can feel her unstoppable bicep pushing your fingers apart, an unrelenting wave of sinew rolling in beneath her soft blue fur. Barely half a minute later, it feels like you’re trying to compress a diamond the size of a softball with nothing but your bare hands. Completely, utterly impossible.
“Mm,” Dash sighs, her mouth half-open and her eyes closed. There's a little flick of her tongue that makes you shiver and almost lose your grip. It looks nearly like she’s… enjoying this. Here you are, knuckles white from exertion, and Dash hardly seems to feel it as anything more than a stimulating new workout; the pressure from your trembling hand only boosting Dash’s already-incredible growth to new heights. “Are you still squeezing? I thought I felt you for a second there, but all I’m feeling right now is pumped!”
Beaten, you release your grasp - easy enough now that her bicep’s nearly too big to fit under one palm - and gingerly cradle your overstrained hand. You shouldn’t have tried as hard as you did. You were squeezing so hard by the end that you’re nearly afraid you tore something. And Dash couldn’t even feel you.
She cracks open an eye, a satisfied smirk on her face. “I don’t blame you for throwing in the towel,” she says, flexing still bigger until her tank top tears from trying to contain her. Hints of solid cyan muscle bulge through the extra space afforded by the rips, a surprisingly generous bust fighting for breathing room. And winning. Just another reminder that she’s growing not just here and there, but everywhere. “I guess I’m just too hot for you to handle, huh?”
She’s more right than she knows. You can practically feel yourself staining your gym shorts when you look at her, and every inch she grows, every pound more of potent pegasus taking up space only seems to make her that much more attractive. It was hard enough just having a secret crush on Dash, but now that she’s every weightlifter’s wet dream, it’s a struggle not to confess yourself right here and now.
“Yeah, you’re pretty hot stuff… I, I guess!” you add hastily. It’s such a lame attempt at nonchalance that even a pony as knuckleheaded as Rainbow Dash could tell you’re faking it. “Pretty big. F-for a pegasus.”
“Ya don’t say?” Dash flexes again, basking in your attention like a cat in the sun. There’s no hiding your interest in her, and no point in trying. Just a glance below your waist is enough to tell her everything she needs to know and then some. “Big for a pegasus, huh?” she muses. “That a challenge?”
“Uh…”
“Well” Just as a glance at your shorts is enough to make your feelings clear, so is a glance at Dash’s smile enough to show hers. She’s into you. You’re into her. The both of you are good enough friends by now, so why not? Every great athlete needs a cheerleader, and you fit the bill quite well. You’re fit (or, at least, working on it), you look nice enough, and - most importantly to Dash - you have an endless appreciation for buff rainbow pegasi.
Besides, she’s clearly enjoying the growth too much to stop now. It’d be almost cruel of you not to keep it going. You're just being a good friend, right?
“Yeah!” you nod, returning her smile. “Yeah, it’s a challenge. You’re pretty big, but I’ve seen a lot bigger just on my way here. You’re still smaller than Big Macintosh, or, or...” You rack your brains for another exemplar of the physical form, and slowly your eyes widen as the form of the pony-goddess herself coalesces in your mind. “Or Princess Celestia.”
“Ha! You think Celestia’s all that big?” Dash stretches her steel-pipe arms up into the sky, her tank top stretching ominously as it threatens to burst at the seams. “We’ll see about that.”
Now you’ve done it, for better or worse. It’s bad enough to feed Dash’s ego, which seems to swell nearly as fast as her muscles, given proper care. What sort of titaness were you unleashing on Equestria now that you’re appealing to her competitive streak again? You ponder for a moment if you should say something, but there’s no stopping Rainbow Dash once she’s set on a course. You could try, perhaps, to push her away from the weights, but the only thing your resistance is likely to manage is making her even bigger.
And honestly, why would you want to, anyway?
Dash has more important things to pay attention to than your inner turmoil; her own ascension, for one. “These tires are looking a little flat, compared to what they could be” she says, as though her arms aren’t about as thick as your legs. “Better pump ‘em up a bit if I want to pass the Princess!”
Before you can ask what she means, Dash’s all-powerful lungs suck in a great breath of air. Your hair rustles and your shorts flap in what feels like a gust of full-blown wind rushing by. You gasp in shock when the miniature hurricane she’s created finally ends, as if she’s taken up all the oxygen in the room just by breathing in. The good news, you find as the blood rushes back to your face, is that Dash has left plenty for you to breathe.
The bad news - or, perhaps, the even better news - is what Dash seems to be doing with all of that air. Her chest pushes out further than ever, her once-tight tank top in tatters from her seemingly endless expansion. For a moment, it seems as though she has trouble holding it all in, but that quickly passes as her lung capacity expands at breakneck pace. Whatever the challenge is, be it lifting weights or breathing, Dash’s body seems capable of rising to it.
She raises a thumb to her lips, winks slyly at you, and blows.
It might as well be a cartoon, for all the sense it makes. Dash’s form rises like bread in the oven, growing up and out as though she’s filling herself with dense, solid muscle instead of air. Inches come and go in no time at all, followed soon by whole feet at once with each puff of air. Before you know it, Dash is big enough to lose sight of you beneath the massive shelf of her bust. Dark blue nipples, engorged with excitement, peek out into fresh, cool air as her sports bra finally snaps.
Wings flutter excitedly at her back as they blossom at her back, majestic and feathery to match Dash’s new divine stature. The messy forest of her rainbow mane parts gently as a spiraling blue horn rises up from the top of her forehead. And, as if to cut you before you even dared wonder if it’s just for show, the horn glows with a sparkling cyan light.
“Oh.” It’s all you can say as Dash’s ascension continues in earnest. There’s hardly anything left to say. You had only ever known her as a tiny petite of a pegasus. The fiery and lovable Element of Loyalty, yes, but nothing too far out of the ordinary, otherwise. Now she’s nothing short of a massive alicorn goddess. She’s got the pegasus wings, the unicorn horn, and obviously now the earth pony strength. She’s already tripled in height, and at a conservative estimate grown a hundred times as strong.
She doesn’t just deserve your love and admiration, she deserves your worship.
“Dash…” you half-whisper as she finally finishes pumping herself up. “You look…”
“Great, huh?” Her voice has a deeper, huskier quality to it now. A smooth, sweet tone that reminds you of Princess Celestia’s honey-dipped authority. “Take it in slow, short stuff. I don’t put on a show like this for just anyone!” Dash laughs loud enough to rattle the whole gym, lifting equipment and all.
She’s done growing - for now - and seems more interested than ever in checking out her bountiful new assets. She pats her tree-thunk thighs, thicker and meatier than ever, and just bulging with power. If you had to bet, you might just say she has more muscle in the one leg than you do in total… but only if you had to bet. No sense in putting that to the test.
Her finger draws light circles around the rainbow lightning of her cutie mark, nearly bigger than your head now. It stretches and distorts ever so slightly as Dash’s hips shift. The floor rumbles and groans Dash makes her way back to the rack, surprisingly agile despite the tremendous weight behind her thundering steps. She might just weigh more than anything the gym has to offer her.
“Mm, what do you think?” she muses, bending over to get a better look at the dumbbells - and give you a better look at her power-packed booty, only just kept decent by her tail. “Fifty-pounders? Sixty? I know I’m a little bigger than I was when I tried the forties last time.”
“Sixties?” you repeat in disbelief. “Dash, the biggest they have on that rack is a hundred, and even those...” You leave the sentence hanging. It’s obvious that even the hundred-pounders are barely more than toothpicks to Dash now.
“You’re right, you’re right.” Dash nods sagely. She digs her hands in under the rack, solid steel twisting as her fingers dig in. “So, if nothing on the rack can give me a real workout, I guess I’ll just have to lift the rack!”
And lift it she does. Her divinely expansive legs tense, arms bulging as she lifts the whole thing up, her wings spread out and flapping. Countless weights rattle and clank on the rack as they all go up at once, an effortless smile on Dash’s face as she lifts more than half a ton up with no more trouble than she’d curled her first twenty-pounders. “Impressed?” she says, pulling one hand off the rack and holding the whole thing steady with the other alone. “You should be.”
“Oh, yeah,” you mouth. “I’m impressed.”
“Good!” Dash sets the rack down, gentle as a feather… or nearly so, considering how much weight it is. The sound booms throughout the whole gym. “I think that’s enough of a workout for one day, don’t you?” She strides over in the blink of an eye, scooping you up in her massive arms like a ragdoll but cradling you like her favorite teddy bear.
“Y-yeah, that’s plenty,” you say, your voice half-muffled from being buried deep in Dash’s embrace. She feels both warm and cool, soft and hard at the same time, and she smells good. Like a flower garden after a fresh rain. It’s a whole flurry of senses all at once, but it’s hard not to get the full Dash experience when she has you nestled against the pair of wobbling watermelons on her chest.
“So!” Dash grins, nuzzling you close as her massive legs return to motion once more. “Why don’t we blow this popsicle stand and have some real fun?”
