Muscle and Minds: The Power of Education - No. 186 by TheUltimateDarksider on DeviantArt
The classroom wasn’t hot by accident. Every surface — desk, wall, window — was calibrated to radiate a low, even heat. It made the girls sweat just enough. It made implants shift, swell, hang lower. And it made her—the woman standing at the front—look like a living reactor of bio-enhanced perfection.Her ribbed top hugged breasts so enormous they made the light bend. The fabric was cheap—on purpose—and the middle button strained like it was begging to snap. These weren't just big tits. They were spheres of engineered power, 5000cc or more, so overfilled the skin had a shine, and veins wrapped around the surface like tributaries mapping out pleasure and pain.She hadn’t even spoken yet.Her arms were overhead, thick with corded biceps, and every inch of her midsection was carved like a temple—each ab cube glistening, deeply grooved, twitching with casual strength. And below? A black floss-thin thong barely survived the muscular pressure of her thighs. The straps dug into her hips, accentuating how much bigger her lower body had grown from her last squat cycle.Then came the voice—deep, feminine, amused.“Breasts this big?” she purred, slowly lowering her arms. “They’re not for showing off. They’re for fighting back.”The class didn't move. They never did when she taught.She stepped forward, hips wide, thighs carving paths between the desks. Her breasts bounced—rhythmically, slowly, like trained beasts responding to her steps."Implants over 4000cc don’t bounce the same. They respond. And if they don’t?” She paused, smiled, then flexed her chest so hard the cleavage deepened by three inches. “Then you don’t deserve to have them.”Without breaking eye contact, she slapped her right tit. The echo cracked through the air. The breast surged, absorbed the hit, then rebounded—jiggling so perfectly the room went silent. No sag. No softness. Just control.She smirked. “Strike rating: 8.7.”A heavy steel ball dropped from the ceiling. Suspended by cable. 25 lbs. The class held its breath.She walked under it. Took a wide stance. Flexed everything.Thud.The metal struck her cleavage. Her implants compressed—veins bulging—then snapped back into place like pumped airbags. She never flinched.“Still intact,” she whispered. “Still lethal.”She turned and leaned forward slightly, letting the orbs rest heavy on her chest. “Breast tissue is not enough. You need density. Reactivity. Pain tolerance. Vein mapping. This…” she bounced both breasts with a subtle pec flex, “...is science.”Behind her, the chalkboard lit up:TODAY’S LESSON: TURN YOUR BREASTS INTO A COMBAT SYSTEMShe stepped back and crossed her arms—forcing the button to pop. It pinged off the wall.“I expect soreness by morning,” she said flatly. “If not, you’re too soft for this class.”
Comments (0)