Allie - Extended Video (Patreon)

I can’t get enough of this—of the way I look, the way I feel, the way the world responds to me now. I’ve built this body to be powerful, every inch of me sculpted with purpose, strength, and presence. My clothes? They don’t come off the rack anymore. Every shirt, every pair of jeans, every jacket is custom-made, tailored to wrap around the thick muscle I’ve worked so hard to build. And my bikinis? Those are a whole different story.

A bikini that would hang loose, almost oversized, on any other girl looks like it’s barely there on me. The top stretches tight across my chest, hugging the strength of my pecs and shoulders. It strains over the curves I’ve built, like it’s trying to hold back the power I radiate. The straps dig into my skin, almost like they’re clinging on for dear life, just trying to keep up with my frame. And the bottoms? They hug my hips, my thighs, my ass—each piece cut to emphasize the muscle that makes me who I am. On me, a bikini is like a second skin, revealing every hard-earned curve, every line of definition.

When I walk into the pool area, I can feel the attention, the stares. Men go silent, their jaws dropping as they take in the sight of me, towering over them, radiating strength they can only dream of. My muscles don’t just make them look ordinary—they make them look tiny. My legs alone dwarf theirs, thick and powerful enough that I could probably wrap one thigh around their waists and still have room to spare. They can’t help but look at me, at how the tiny bikini clings to every powerful inch of my body, as if the fabric itself is in awe. They know they could never hope to match me, and that thrill runs through me like electricity.

Women glance at me, too—some in admiration, others in disbelief, maybe even jealousy. The ones who used to hold all the attention now find themselves in the background, completely overshadowed by my presence. I’m not just bigger and stronger than they are; I’m on a whole different level. And they know it. Even if they don’t want to admit it, they can feel my dominance when I walk by, my shadow casting over them, reminding them who truly commands the room.

I can see the effect I have on men when I step closer, towering over them, giving them a slight smirk that sends a chill down their spine. They’re powerless in front of me, reduced to nothing more than awestruck spectators, and they know they’d do anything I asked without question. Just one look, one flex, and they’d be on their knees, worshipping the body I’ve built. I don’t have to say a word; my presence alone demands it.

Sometimes, I make them carry my things, watch as they stumble, struggling with bags or weights that would be nothing to me. It’s almost cute—the way they try to keep up, to prove themselves, knowing full well they’ll never match my strength. And the women? They’ve learned to step aside, their confidence crumbling under my gaze. They see my physique, my power, and realize that I am something they’ll never achieve, a goddess in a world that’s now too small to contain me.

I see it in their eyes, too—attraction mingling with that same awe and intimidation. Some of the women seem as entranced by me as the men, their glances lingering longer than they should, an admiring hunger in their eyes. They can’t believe muscles this big, this powerful, exist on anyone, let alone a woman who makes every man in the room look not just average, but tiny. They’re drawn to me, caught between admiration and an unspoken desire, sensing something in me that’s beyond anything they’ve ever seen before. They’re captivated by my strength, my dominance, and the knowledge that I’m bigger, more powerful, more irresistible than anyone else.

I’ve worked for this, for every ounce of strength, every muscle, every powerful curve. And now, I live in a world where they have no choice but to worship me. Men, women—it doesn’t matter. They’re all captivated, and I am the one they bow to.

So watch this video and please yourself to my perfection. I own your orgasms now.. They are all for me!