Sküllpt 1.01 - I am Clare

IMPORTANT - FOREWORD

Hello everyone !

My name is Clare, and SKÜLLPT tells my story. I'm (still a bit) a young woman, you might have called "normal". But that's not 100 % quite true anymore.

SKÜLLPT will tell you more about me. How I discovered my fascination with muscular bodies, how I met and embraced the world of fit and muscled bodies and how bodybuilding changed my life.

I mean, not only my body, but my whole self, to reveal my deepest spirit, desires, fantasies and libido. These are the stories of the erotic force and sexual power, sometimes obsessive, I developed as I built my own athletic and muscular body, and met those of men and women driven by similar kinks.

You may find it weird, kinky, fetish, mean, funny, ridiculous and why not... tempting.

This is why SKÜLLPT is primarily aimed at the public, both men and women, who are attracted to this type of fantasy, or are simply curious.

SKÜLLPT is intended solely for a mature, informed, and consenting adult audience. SKÜLLPT is not for minors or immature individuals. I understand my story may not be understood or accepted by everyone. If this applies to you, that's perfectly fine. But please, keep your insults to yourself and well... read other stories.

Of course, I have changed the names, locations, and dates to preserve everyone's anonymity.

To make it easier for you to read, SKÜLLPT is organized around three periods :

1- My encounter with Sküllpt, how I discovered this world.

2- My beginnings and how Sküllpt changed my life.

3- Who I am today.

Each story is labelled with two numbers. The first number indicates the main period, and the second corresponds to a specific episode, in chronological order.

It's best to read SKÜLLPT from the beginning and follow the publication order, but feel free to read as you please. Each episode is preceded by a mini-summary, and since it's possible I'm dealing with some naughty characters, the erotic level of each episode is indicated by stars :

* mild - ** medium - *** strong.

But we all know that's very subjective, right?

Happy reading,

Clare

P. S.:  The author objects to any use of the work that does not comply with the terms of this warning and to any distribution, in any form, without her prior authorization.

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1.01 - I AM CLARE*

How it all began.

I was checking my to-do list for the day when the phone rang.

-- Clare, can you come see me?

The assistant editor calling me first thing in the morning! Sounds like extra work ahead. All I had to do was grabbing something to take notes with and head to the editors offices. Less than a minute later, I was in Rob's office.

-- I'm going to need you, Clare. I know you're already busy, but you need to fill in for Paul, on the feature he's working on, for this summer's issue. He'll be away for several months and won't be able to finish it.

-- What feature?

-- I don't know the details. It's for the 'New Feminism of the 21st Century' special we're putting together for this summer. He had vaguely mentioned an article about a feminist sports center, something different and unique according to him. You'll find his file on his desk.

-- Okay, I'll take care of it. I suppose it's in addition to the work I already have and that it's due last week ? I asked, smiling.

-- How perceptive! he replied with the same smile.

Once I arrived at Paul's office, it didn't take me long to find what I was looking for : a file labeled "Special Women 21st Century" was lying on one of his trays.

I didn't have time to look at it right away. I decided to take the file home to read it leisurely later in the evening.

At the end of the day, once on the road, I thought that for a woman approaching thirty years old, I wasn't doing too badly in my work as a journalist.

Admittedly, the salary wasn't huge, but my job at Rider magazine was exactly what I needed : dynamic, involving real investigative work, poorly paid, but you could still take the time necessary for a solid investigation. A rare commodity these days! And on top of that, they gave me some pretty interesting articles to write, me, the new kid on the block.

After getting home, changing, and having dinner, once I was comfortably settled on the sofa, I picked up Paul's file. All he'd left inside was a cardboard folder with the title "SKÜLLPT" in capital letters and below it a name, Autumn Cooper, followed by a phone number and an address in the Pomona district.

Inside the folder was just a note written by Paul: "Contact Autumn for an interview." All of this gave me very little information.

Next were several large kraft envelopes of various sizes.

One of them contained photocopies of old newspaper clippings attached to a note held together with a paperclip.

I guessed they were supposed to be of Autumn Cooper. They were articles and photos taken from various fitness magazines, from several countries. They showed a tall woman with ash-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very, yet feminine, muscular physique--clearly a bodybuilder--photographed in competitions, training in a gym, on a beach, alone or with other women or men, most often fellow bodybuilders.

To say the least, this Autumn was impressive. She had massive yet slender legs, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, powerful arms, a set of incredible washboard abs, and a feminine face with a warm smile and a determined gaze.

Memories suddenly flooded back to me.

When I was younger, barely a teenager, I'd stumbled upon the bodybuilding magazines my older brother used to buy. Like most boys his age, he'd gone through a "bodybuilding" phase, supposedly to establish him as a fully and tough "real man". He'd bought magazines, workout guides, supplements, weights, until he decided that rap would be his new best future.

It didn't turn out that way either.

I remembered now, those women photographed in those magazines. Women who seemed to live year-round in bikinis, in a gym or on a beach, sporting advertising smiles and forever hairless underarms.

I especially remembered my first impressions of those overdeveloped, glistening bodies, in the throes of exertion.

A mixture of attraction and repulsion had gripped me, making me uncomfortable while simultaneously triggering a surge of desire and sensual seduction. Disturbing, contradictory feelings, in which I didn't dare recognize myself.

Then I completely forgot, or decided to forget about that episode. A few years later, I even considered joining a fitness club myself. My brother, of course, mocked me, calling me "bag of bones", "wimp"... He judged the women who dedicated themselves to it, as monsters in progress, wanting to look like men, and so on.

I hadn't pursued my project. I was far too shy back then and uncomfortable with my body, for my athletic life to extend beyond the occasional bike ride.

Our parents weren't interested in sports or exercise at all anyway. For them, it was much more important that I make good use of my intelligence by obtaining a good university degree.

Which I did.

Fitness disappeared from my life, until tonight, when these photos and this Autumn, whom I would have to contact soon, reappeared.

None of this explained why Paul had been interested in her. Women who lift weights weren't exactly unusual these days. There had to be something else.

I opened another kraft paper envelope, a bit larger. Numerous photo prints spilled onto the sofa. Some in color, others in black and white. All good quality and... surprising. These were more photos of Autumn, alone or with other bodybuilders, men, women, or both at the same time.

They showed Autumn and the others, their bodies meticulously but lightly oiled, in a large photo studio. There was a sofa, a few chairs, a pole dance bar, barbells and weight machines.

Some photos showed Autumn and the others performing exercises, pushing themselves to the limit, posing as if in a bodybuilding competition and also in all sorts of positions.

In other photos, they were touching, caressing, or kissing each other. Alone, in pairs, or in groups. Many other photos showed them having sex.

In some, Autumn was kissing a woman's genitals while another woman was penetrating her with a finger. Another photo showed a woman leaning back, legs bent, holding onto the pole bar with one hand while simultaneously caressing her sex against it. Two men were kissing and licking her legs, which they firmly held on either side of the pole.

One photo showed one of the men, one hand around his erect penis, as he ejaculated onto Autumn's generous breasts.

In others, a pretty brunette with a Louise Brooks haircut was giving oral sex to a man while another took her from behind, and Autumn masturbated while watching them. Another set showed the same lovely brunette being DP fucked by two hunks.

Suddenly, I felt, but tenfold, the feelings and impressions I had experienced as a teenager : attraction, shame, desire, embarrassment... Everything was swirling around me as I was unable to tear my eyes away from these photos.

Those naked, muscular, oiled bodies, photographed in close-up, struck me as both so brutal and so erotic. I was both shocked and drawn to what I was seeing. A wave of heat was spreading through my body, between my legs. I tried to suppress it, but to no avail. I needed to catch my breath.

The whole thing was clearly and intentionally pornographic, but each photo was meticulously taken : framing, lighting, makeup, lingerie, sometimes accessories... It was all at once raw, obscene, but never degrading or humiliating.

The women seemed to be in control, directing the session ; they seemed to be offering themselves willingly, defiantly, to the photographer's gaze.

The note attached to the file gave an address. Maps told it led to a fairly large, single-story, unremarkable warehouse that didn't look like much. Which wasn't so out of place in Pomona, this ordinary, characterless neighborhood, mostly made up of small businesses, garages, and other minor operations--nothing noteworthy.

A search for Sküllpt didn't reveal anything more. No website, no social media. I decided to call this breathtaking Amanda Cooper the next day.

I fell asleep with a strong feeling of excitement in my belly. I resisted to let my hand caress my body or further more and relieve this growing tension. I wasn't quite sure what to think. What could this possibly have to do with 21st-century feminism?

The next day at the office, I called the number on the note.

-- Hello, is this Autumn Cooper?

-- That's me.

-- My name is Clare Petersen, I'm Paul Stone's colleague at Rider magazine. You've been in contact with him, haven't you?

-- Yes. We met through mutual friends. He was supposed to contact me to arrange an interview for an article in his magazine, if I remember correctly.

-- Unfortunately, Paul won't be available for a while. I'm covering his work while he's away. Would you be willing to do the interview with me?

-- Nothing serious for Paul, I hope! I'm quite busy, but if you're free tomorrow morning at 11:00, I'll have an hour to spare.

-- That's perfect. I'll see you tomorrow at 11:00 at your office. I have the address.

-- Great. Did Paul explain a little bit about what we do?

-- No, he didn't have the chance.

-- Hmm... Never mind. It's not that important. I imagine that will be part of your questions?

-- Of course! See you tomorrow, Autumn.

-- See you tomorrow.