This content is intended for mature audiences.
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[WARNING: THIS IS A FETISH FANFICTION]
[THE FETISH INVOLVED IS EXTREME FEMALE MUSCLE]
[IF THAT'S NOT YOUR CUPPA, WALK AWAY]
A faint yet unrelenting beeping noise broke the silence. Lying face down on her big pillow, she slided her right hand over the sheets and moved the blanket aside to reach for the snooze button and press it as gently as she could. Every once in a while she happened to forget to do it carefully and the clock didn’t survive to tell the tale.
As the beeping stopped, she moved her left hand over the other side of the bed looking for her blue wife. It was empty. Liara must have woken up early to get to work today too.
“Sometimes I think she loves her research more than me. She’s not enjoying the privileges of being the boss’s wife”, Shepard thought with a smirk.
She turned around to face the ceiling while still in bed, the blanket being held in mid-air by the overdeveloped body underneath. Despite the latest technology with which her bed was manufactured, it still groaned a little under her massive weight. The bed was custom-made with premium materials from the Sol System aiming to provide the best look and durability while reminding her of what was once home. A real luxury item that only very wealthy people like Shepard could afford. But even if she didn’t mind the stylish, posh look of it, she’d had to order it because no regular bed could hope to support her weight or to be large enough for her height, and there was no way she’d make her wife sleep on the kind of stiff, hard beds krogans use.
She propped herself up just enough to lean her rippling, muscular back on the firm headboard. She stretched her arms a little. Up first, then to the sides. Her arm span and size was a sight to behold. She covered the bed’s entire width and then some. She released the stretch and gently clenched her fists to flex a little. Her already sizable muscles sprung to life as more and more blood rushed to the extensive network of thick veins enveloping her miraculous arms. Her forearms and delts kept growing and bulging and throbbing while her biceps and triceps were being flexed and unflexed. She was doing just some effortless morning routine and the heads of her biceps were already at her wrists’ height, fighting for space against ever thickening forearms and bloated, shredded shoulders. All of her upper body benefitted from flexing. She could feel her taut traps pushing right behind her head caressing her ears. Her lats widening her already tremendously imposing figure. Her pecs expanding, propping even higher her already prodigiously perky breasts whose nipples easily held the blanket high in the air like coat hangers.
She stretched her neck as much as her traps allowed and got up. And up, up she went. Fortunately the Normandy’s ceilings were very high. At 7’6” – more than half of which were legs –, she was the tallest healthy human alive, even taller than the average krogan height which is generally presumed to be 7’2” despite the krogans’ relutance to disclosure data. So it was a very rare event for the Commander not to tower over everyone in sight like an adult amongst a bunch of children, even more so with her unrivaled muscle mass.
She had a big mirror installed facing her side of the bed so that she could check herself out every day while stretching or doing some minor bodyweight warm-ups. She began to twist her waist to bring her chiseled abs up to speed. Soon after her bulging, giant wing-like lats, her upper body width dramatically decreased as rows of hyper-defined obliques drew her sight to her shredded, natural armor plate consisting of six huge cobblestones that would make actual cobblestones feel like soft pillows. Veins like snakes and tight ropes were all over them to provide the blood that made them twitch with strength and power. Shepard reached for the drawer with the pebbles she personally carved out from the toughest chunks of rock she came across during her countless field ops. It took her a bit of effort to make enough room between her abs to put a couple of pebbles there, now easily held in place by Shepard’s strong abdominal grip. Then, the test. She flexed her abs. She could see and hear the small rocks being cracked open but that wasn’t enough. She partially released her flex, one half of the pebbles fell to the floor while the other half was caged within her own marbles. This time she closed her eyes, flexed her arms and her whole upper body focusing on hardening her midriff and pump blood to her veins like crazy. She flexed until she heard a very loud ‘crack’, a noise she had come to know and love. Several ‘cracks’ followed, each fainter than the one before. She opened her eyes and released her flex. Fine sand poured out of her abs like water down a waterfall. The sheer strength of her core crushed rock like an industrial press down to immaterial grains.
Below her monster abs, an ever thickening network of pulsing veins flowed into her crotch. Her definition allowed each and every anatomy detail to be perfectly visible, like her protruding adonis belt and utterly hairless mound of Venus. She turned around a little to check her own ass out, she never tired of looking at those ripped globes of hard muscles so big they made her back look at least as curvy as her chest. But not an ounce of fat was in sight. There was no jiggle, or give. She could have easily crushed a rock between them just like she did with her abs. A child could have stood on those bulging glutes without the need to hold on to anything else.
Just as her upper body ended with a narrow waist to form an extreme case of V-shape, from there on her biology took that ‘V’ and flipped it over because her legs were such an explosion of size and power that an ‘X’ would better describe her overall shape. Even unflexed, her thighs were brimming with unbridled strength, pulsing like huge kegs filled to the brim, ready to give in to the enormous pressure. Her quad heads were easily bigger than a regular person entire leg each and many, many times stronger. Veins as big as forearms bulged all over them to bring the trucks of blood necessary to feed the hungriest, hardest limbs in the entire galaxy. Because of such monstrous size and harder-than-rock muscles, there was no gap between her thighs and it actually made walking a little bit uncomfortable. On the other hand, very few things in the galaxy could have survived being pressed by those crushing machines.
Shepard bent her knee, then the other one, and her hamstrings, despite their extreme length which usually hinders growth, pushed outwards like inflating balloons, if balloons this hard and shredded ever existed. She casually did it a few more times as her hams kept on increasing mass and bulging without any real effort on her part, until her movement was hampered by her massive calves clashing with them. Her hams, putting on size to catch up with her giant, muscular bum, couldn’t compete with the strongest foundations that had ever held a human upright. Like a smaller but equally fierce version of her thighs facing backwards, her calves sprouted from her lower legs like oversized, heart-shaped, striated mounds of densely packed power that could propel her massive figure upward and forward with unbelievable ease. She stood on tiptoes and, just as her colossal height gained a few more inches, so did her calves that were drawing even more blood from the uncountable veins that hugged them and bulged even more obscenely to show they were just warming up.
She went across the room to take a morning shower. The cabin’s bathroom might have looked like luxury for a regular sized person, especially on a warship where personal space is always tight and less decorated officers have to share common areas, but it was just unpractically small for someone her size. She had to walk sideways to fit through the door, though at least she had the shower panels removed and a shower head installed on each wall so that she could use the whole bathroom to shower. Grates ensured proper drainage and her personal cleaning staff would have made everything shine in no time anyway.
As soon as she turned the handle, streams of water graced her from all sides. It was cold, just the way she loved it. Although it’s not unusual to like a cold shower in the morning, most humans wouldn’t like being submerged in water so cold it’s barely above freezing point and might have caused a severe case of hypothermia. But Shepard was different. Amongst the many exceptionalities that allowed her unique biology to defy the limits associated not just with humans but with organic life in general, there was the ability to withstand extreme temperatures. She could feel freezing or melting matter on her skin, thus allowing her to determine a ‘preference’, but it’d be painless and harmless. So would be most things, for reasons still undergoing research within the scientific community. Her body was a powerful shield much more effective than any armor or suit, way more evolved than any organic mix of protective tissues found in any one species. Her biology had a built-in on-demand mutation system that allowed her genome to instantly adapt to whatever situation it was put up against, as if she wasn’t living ‘on’ the path of organic evolution but rather experiencing it from far above, able to land on any given point thus unlocking features several millions of years ahead of our time. Whereas common folks are mostly constrained by their physiology – though further abilities can be acquired through synthetic upgrades –, given enough gravity Shepard could have walked on the surface of an asteroid without wearing a space suit. Her body would counteract ebullism by preventing the boiling point of fluids from dropping below normal temperature; her evolved lungs would prevent air to expand and ration oxygen consumption far beyond what anyone else could do, allowing her massive form to last up to half an hour without air. Her exceptional genome would block out any harmful mutation caused by exposure to high energy photons in space, likely to give rise to cancer in regular people. Simply put, what would be certain death to most would be a walk in the park for her.
Once she had finished showering, she wrapped her hair in a towel and stepped towards her desk. A flashing diode on her holobook meant she unsurprisingly had unread messages. She looked at the screen to unlock it and skimmed through them with her eyes whose movement was being recorded by the holobook to turn pages and mark each entry as read. Despite being the most renowned personality in the galaxy, both in the military and civilian worlds, with a staff of hundreds of people from all species at her full disposal, she didn’t need a secretary to read her messages. At the speed her neural connections worked, she not only had perfect eidetic memory the existence of which was never actually proved before but she could also read about 10,000 words per minute. It’d be just impractical to have someone else read for her and slow her down.
Most messages were boring. People giving her money, people asking for money; someone somewhere wanted to award her a prize; every military organization asking for help, every civilian organization asking for sponsorship; fans sending love e-letters; private banking offers on how to invest her immeasurable wealth. Then, several detailed reports of her personal staff’s activities from all over the galaxy keeping her up to speed on all the assets and properties she owned or held an interest with. She liked to read them. Then, a recorded message from Hannah Shepard. She put in on play.
“Hello honey, it’s Mom. How’s my lovely beast doing? I know you’re invincible and all that but I hope you don’t mind me asking still. Everyone here on the Orizaba keeps asking about you, even more so now that the Reaper threat has gone. They look at me and their eyes shine, I can tell that’s because they see me more as your Mom than as myself. But that’s ok, you know I love you. I just wish you’d get in touch more often. I want you to know that I’m proud of you, honey. So proud.”
That was very nice to hear. She’d definitely get back in touch with her later. But first she had to check on her crew.
She took off the towel and shook her head so as to let her long mane of natural flame red hair loose. It was straight and soft, vibrant even. So shiny it looked like it could have burst into actual flames at any moment. Its scent was reminiscent of newly blossomed lilacs. She moved closer to the mirror, as close as her staggering bosom allowed and took a close look at her face. She was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her rosy, high cheekbones drew a figurative line to her plump, shiny lips. Her jaw was small with a soft outline, in contrast with her juggernaut of a body. Her comparatively small nose was a little tip-tilted which made it all the cuter. Her flawless bronze complexion made her face look young and healthy as any other part of her figure. Thin veins were visibly bulging on her forehead, ran behind her ears and then splitted into hundreds of indomitable chains from her neck to her traps, pecs, and everywhere else. But what would have taken one aback from her adorable face weren’t the veins, or the huge slabs of muscles surrounding it. It was her eyes. Red, like her hair. Except they were actually glowing. Burning like fire on a summer night. Like a star, dwarfing every planet in its orbit. The eyes of someone capable of unspeakable things. A fear-inducing gaze that’d make anybody weak on their knees. Then, a smile with evil outlines blossomed on her angelic face. She knew she had it all, she was perfect, unstoppable. Intelligence, wealth, beauty, brute strength. She was at the very top of them all. Everything was hers to claim.
“I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite piece of ass in the galaxy,” she jokingly said to her reflection.
She had to put something on before patrolling the Normandy. She went to her N7+ locker and browsed her warship selection handling the screen. There were mostly sexy, skimpy outfits that would look out of place anywhere but at the roughest parties on Omega. A couple of them were even gifts from Aria. Then an armor she was required to have on board, not that she had any use for it; a few tight tracksuits with armor-like embroidery she used for field ops; her commanding officer uniforms, too prone to be ripped apart by her muscles to wear comfortably; and finally her favorite casual outfit: tank top, short shorts and 3 inch heel boots, all of which black and custom-made. She confirmed her choice and heard a quick whirring before the locker opened. That top would look like a tent on anyone else but it only covered her breasts – though it still left ample cleavage out for everyone to see –, upper back and part of her midriff, leaving the last two rows of striated abs and bulging adonis belt bare. Then she managed to slide the shorts past her thighs which would be an impossible feat with any off-the-shelf garment. These shorts were made with the best stretch fabric available, they could be stretched extremely wide to be first put on, then the belt would shrink back to fit her narrow waist while the leg-covering parts of the garment were designed to be kept stretched down to almost mid-thigh, ready to make more room in case of sudden muscle growth.
Lastly, footwear. The intricate network of rope-like veins bulging and pumping all over her body ended, on her lower body, right above her ankles. Despite the giant mass of heavy muscles resting upon them, her feet looked exceptionally dainty. They were small for someone her size, the skin was soft and smooth, no creases or flaws. Her sessions of mani-pedi made sure her nails were beautiful and trimmed.
She slid her feet into the boots and closed the zipper. They covered half her ankles, leaving a bit of bare skin below her calves. She loved knee-high boots but they wouldn’t look well on her outrageously muscular gams. These boots were made of genuine black leather with laces tied all over the front side of the shoe. The heels were wide with a sizable bearing surface to grant stability, and they were made of a special alloy usually used in warships to provide a low weight, high density, high resistance material. Expensive, but it made a great job of supporting her colossal mass and making her look even taller.
Each piece of clothing she owned, including footwear and accessories, had a small N7+ logo either embroidered or engraved on it. Though much smaller than the regular N7 logo found on selected Alliance officers’ uniforms and armors, it carried special meaning and technology. Back when she had applied to the Alliance special forces her unique biology became public and came under scrutiny, causing Alliance brass to be simultaneously worried and astounded. Though she wasn’t as massive as she is now, her training results had shown a buff, invulnerable young woman, far stronger than any krogan and faster than a bullet, making the toughest traning program ever designed look like child’s play without even using biotics. By the time she had graduated from the highest level available, the 7th one, she had become a celebrity and a matter of galactic security. Her biology would have taken time to study but it was clear that her supernatural qualities were bound to multiply and grow for a long while. She couldn’t be restrained or put to sleep, and they couldn’t try to actually kill such a public figure. Since she had never shown any erratic behavior, they decided to rein her in with the aid of top military organizations from Council species. After weeks of hearings and meetings to put together the details, Shepard was presented with an offer that was a first in military history.
A new vocational code, N7+, was to be created specifically for her and for future recruits sharing similar qualities if there’ll ever be any; the Alliance would have provided clothing and accessories to her liking – or alter any existing ones – to feature a mandatory N7+ logo to be kept on display at any time; these logos would have bore a digital signature that, mixed with part of her DNA to assess her identity, would have triggered a notification on any legitimate omni-tool in the general area to notify citizens of her presence; she’d have been an Alliance employee for life, expected to undergo constant training, regular assessements and prioritize Alliance military ops over everything else; she’d also be required to acknowledge help requests from the Turian, Salarian and Asari armies. In return, she’d have collected .3% of the Alliance budget as salary plus compensation for any non-Alliance op from the corresponding army; she’d be granted personal immunity within Alliance space and promoted to Captain of an Alliance-issued vessel, the SSV Normandy, paid for by the military and manned by a crew of her choice, effective immediately.
Two years later, not only she had grown bigger, stronger and more powerful overall but she’d shown unrivaled tactical skills and a deep natural predisposition to lead. When she was in command her subordinates were eager to serve, following her orders with selflessness, dedication and focus and were actually excited to be part of her ops. No mission under her responsibility failed or suffered any casualty. She enjoyed support from every branch of the military and was key to make the case for a human seat on the Council. With such a spotless record she’d had very little trouble bullying the Alliance brass into a better deal: she’d sponsor humanity’s interests in a Council seat in exchange for the freedom to handpick ops and refuse assessments, a salary equal to .5% of the Alliance budget and the lifetime title of honorary fleet admiral which would have allowed her to be the commanding officer of every Alliance ship and fleet if she so wanted. Despite the harshness with which she had put forward her terms, she had had the Alliance publicly announce the new deal as their own initiative.
It’d worked better than expected. The Council had welcomed a human member following Shepard’s own recommendation, former Captain D.E. Anderson, who in turn recommended Shepard for the role of Spectre, the Council’s elite private army. With Shepard holding spectacular approval ratings in public polls, the Council had no choice. She was made Spectre, thus securing personal immunity all over Council space, galaxy-wide respect and another massive source of income. If she were to run for any democratically elected political role, she’d have won in an embarrassing landslide.
Soon after the Reaper threat had followed. More than ever she’d proved to be the foundation of everyone’s hopes. Not only she’d stressed the importance of acknowledging the threat and forced the military to listen but the quick, fierce decision making she’d shown while seizing control of the Alliance fleets saved countless human and alien lives. She’d also taken part in several field ops and, thanks to uncontrollable bursts of energy that made her quadruple in size and gain godlike strength, she’d managed to take down a few Reapers by herself. In her ‘enhanced’ form she could do barehanded what army fleets struggled to do.
That happened less than a year ago. She’d discovered that once the bursts of energy subdued she’d be left permanently bigger than she was before, leading to her current oversized, constantly pumped form.
She lifted an arm and kissed her biceps.
“I should go,” she said as she reached for the elevator button.