Marilyn Mon-Swole Hammers the Hammer! (Short Story) (Patreon)

Marilyn Mon-Swole Hammers the Hammer!

Written By SteeleBlazer

The crowd was electric, and the air was abuzz with anticipation and frenzy. It was a sold out arena, standing room only, and the crowd was pressed in shoulder to shoulder for what would be the wrestling event of the year… Maybe even possibly of all time. Tonight’s main event is something straight out of the movies, and no one could ever see it coming, it’s the glitzy and glamorous silver screen starlet Marilyn Mon-Swole verses the World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion The Hammer!

And as the world famous silver screen star made her way down to the ring clad in an oversized robe, the audience’s eyes were all upon her. She’s used to everyone’s eyes being on her, she loves it, and despite the rumors and rumblings that surrounded the lead up this match, most in the crowd still can’t believe this could be really be happening.

What lead up to this electric crowd and this electric atmosphere was a simple radio broadcast, sent out on the electric airways. While doing promotional work for her recent movie, and announcing her recent name change. Marilyn Mon-Swole, when asked of her next challenge, remarked how she’d love to challenge the World Wrestling Heavyweight champion.

The interviewer laughed at what certainly had to be a playful jest. But, Marilyn reassured him she was being serious. And she was being serious, because just days prior, she herself had been called out by the mysterious champion wrestler the Hammer. He called her muscles, “FAKE” in an interview and ripped up one of her recent newspaper articles showing off her phenomenal transformation of her pumped up powerhouse physique.

A physique that was every bit as powerful as she was pretty. And since she is known as one of the most beautiful women in the entire world, if not the most beautiful, then her muscular physique is perhaps the most muscular physique in the entire world as well. Not just for a woman, but also compared to men as well. She’s not just pretty, or pretty muscular, she’s the prettiest and most muscular woman in the entire world. Just look at all those pictures of her in the newspaper and judge for yourself.

When the radio reporter asked her again what was her next great big challenge, Marilyn Mon-Swole repeated that she was challenging the Hammer to a wrestling match for the World Heavyweight Championship Title.

Then she said to the radio reporter, “You know he said my muscles were fake and not real… Which is funny, because I always heard that wrestling was fake… I guess this challenge is a way for the both of us to find out just who is fake, and just who is real.”

“Those muscles look awfully real to me,” The radio reporter said and Marilyn Mon-Swole just giggled and thanked him and then said to him, “Why don’t you go on and feel them and see how they feel,” and thankfully it was only a radio interview for no one except Marilyn got to see how the radio reporter blushed.

But, he did take Marilyn’s advice and he felt those muscles of hers, and he remarked live on air, “They’re hard, hard as diamonds.”

To which Marilyn quipped, “Well, you know I’ve always said diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but as you can see I’ve made some new friends, and they’re called dumbbells!”

“Well, I for think only a dumbbell could ever doubt these muscles of yours. They sure feel real to me, really big, and really, really hard. I really would hate to be in Hammer’s boots right now, because if he could see let alone feel those muscles of yours he’d be surely shaking in them.”

“Well, that’s because he is a great big dumbbell, but thanks to these Mighty Female Muscles of mine, he’s not too heavy for me to lift. And that’s just what I’m going to do with him, lift him like the dumbbell that he is for the entire world to see,” Marilyn told the interviewer and the entire world listening.

That radio broadcast and its radio waves caused shockwaves throughout the entire world, and were especially strongly felt in the wide world of wrestling and all its ardent fanatical fans and followers. And while it is not known if the Hammer was listening at the time of the broadcast, there is no doubt that he heard her challenge loud and clear.

The Hammer, however, was unimpressed. He was never known for his eloquence or polite decorum and something about what Marilyn Mon-Swole said or did struck a nerve in him. Maybe it was the muscular pose she struck on the front page of all the newspaper while she issued her challenge. Maybe there was something about those great big muscles of hers and how they seemed to mock and belittle him, or maybe it was she was taking up all the space in the newspaper and not leaving any for himself and his alleged victories. He scoffed at the notion of a woman being able to defeat him in the ring, just as he scoffed at the idea of her muscles being real, and he raged and shouted and mocked Mon-Swole's muscles as being fake, nothing more than Hollywood magic. And he had many other choice words that would make many a chaste woman clutch her pearls and run away in fear.

But, Marilyn Mon-Swole was not afraid and she didn’t run away in fear, she also is more of a fan of diamonds than pearls. And we all know that diamonds are formed under pressure. She stood firm and didn’t back down, and so the Hammer had little choice, but to accept Marilyn’s challenge. And now he stood in the ring pumping up his muscles, as he pumped up the crowd. His wild eyes focused on Marilyn as she walked down into the ring. He couldn’t believe she actually showed up. He thought this match was a joke, an insult to his manliness, and he never actually believed she would show up.

But, she did and while she was wearing that robe of hers, he couldn’t wait for her to take it off and show the crowd and the entire world what girly muscles looked like. Little did he know that both he and Marilyn were eagerly anticipating the same thing, and that anticipation would be the only thing they would share on this night. He was certain there was no comparison between the two of them, he was a man and she was a mere woman. He was the World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion and she was a fake Hollywood actor.

As Marilyn Mon-Swole stepped into the wrestling ring, she went to the center of that squared circle and with a smooth motion slipped out of her rope and unveiled her muscular body and let the robe drop to the canvas. The Hammer’s jaw dropped in shock, and the crowd went wild. In the bright ring lights Marilyn’s gorgeously engorged muscular physique shimmered and sparkled just like her sequin leotard, and her muscles coated with oil glistened and shone like diamonds.

The Hammer was right there was no comparison between their two physiques, for while he was a big muscular man, Marilyn’s muscles were without equal, they weren’t just big for a girl, or even just plain big, they were massive and they were mammoth. And they easily dwarfed those of The Hammer’s. A point that was further illustrated as she brought her arms up together in explosive double bicep flex.

Explosive not just because her mountainous bicep peaks erupted out of her arms bulging to near impossible size, but because all the press photographers flashbulbs went off at that very moment in an explosive symphony that would forever record the moment of her flex, and The Hammer’s expression. The only thing that bulged out more than Marilyn’s biceps were The Hammer’s eyes as he looked on in abject disbelief that a woman could be as muscular as her.

Marilyn wasn’t done flexing, she kept on pumping up her arms and the crowd with various flexes and poses, and she even mixed in blowing kisses to some of her fans in the audience. The audience roared with approval, and Marilyn took delight and her time in milking their reaction. She kept on hitting pose after pose showing off her gorgeously engorged muscular physique, doing flexes and poses that were a mix of beauty and power, of strength and glamour, of muscles and sex appeal. She was equal part beefcake and pinup beauty and she posed with a feminine grace that made men lust after her, and a primal raw muscular power that made those same men envious and jealous.

There was no Hollywood magic or trickery on display here, only the hard work and dedication and the resulting hardbody of that woman. Sure, there was glitz and there was glamour on display, but there was also rock-hard raw primal muscle too. Like most silver screen stars, Marilyn Mon-Swole was larger than life, and no star burned brighter than her star, and tonight she shined especially bright. Just like no man could ever hope to measure up or compare to her and those Mighty Female Muscles of hers. She gave the crowd one last flex, and one last kiss, and then she turned her attention back to the Hammer who was stewing in his corner of the ring.

The Hammer, stared at her incredulously. "You think you can take me?" he sneered. "I'm the hardest man in the ring."

But Marilyn just smiled. "A hard man is good to beat," she quipped, winking at the crowd. "But, what can a man know about being hard, you look weak and… LIMP!"

The bell rang, its sound echoing through the hall like a herald of an epic battle. The Hammer, a brute of a man, his confidence etched into every fiber of his being, charged towards Marilyn. He was a giant among men, the reigning World’s Wrestling Heavyweight Champion for the last three years, and he had a reputation as unyielding as iron. But tonight, he faced not just any opponent. He faced a legend in her own right. A legend that was only growing, just like her magnificent muscles that she sported on her peerless physique.

He lunged towards Marilyn; his eyes set on proving his might. He locked arms with her, his muscles bulging and straining in the effort to overpower her. But Marilyn stood unyielding, a smirk playing on her lips. With an effortless twist, she spun The Hammer around and sent him crashing into the ropes.

Rebounding off the ropes, The Hammer collided with Marilyn's brawny chest and fell to the mat, stunned. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of sounds - boos, laughter, cheers - a symphony of the spectacle they were witnessing.

Marilyn flexed her massive, sculpted muscles, drawing wolf whistles and cheers from the crowd. Her biceps were like mountains, her legs like tree trunks, and as she flexed that mountain peak rose up into the air astonishing the crowd with the sheer scope of her muscularity. She was a vision of strength, her physique a challenge to the very notion of fragility often associated with femininity.

The Hammer, his pride bruised more than his body, clambered to his feet. "You got lucky!" he spat out, his face a mask of anger and disbelief.

Marilyn laughed, a sound rich and confident. "Luck?" she retorted, flexing her muscles again, each muscle swelling and brimming with untold strength. "This is all raw power, darling."

Enraged, The Hammer rushed in again and engaged her once more, his arms attempting to drive her back. Their arms locked in a powerful grip, muscles bulging and veins prominent. The Hammer, with a sneer of determination, pushed with all his might, trying to overpower the muscular marvel before him. But Marilyn stood firm, an unmovable force. Her muscles rippled with raw power, a stark contrast to The Hammer’s straining efforts.

He was a big man, a man’s man, and he was used to easily overpowering and overwhelming his opponents with his strength and power. He wasn’t known for his skill or finesse, that’s why he’s called The Hammer, but it was he who found himself overpowered, his arms forced to his sides as if they were nothing more than twigs against solid oak trunks. Down to his knees, he went, then sprawled on the mat as Marilyn effortlessly tossed him aside.

She then walked over him, a foot planted firmly on his chest, as she strutted to the corner of the ring. She flexed, waved, and blew kisses to the roaring crowd, her muscles glistening, her presence unapologetically commanding. She was both every inch the silver screen starlet and muscle goddess, and she showed off every single inch of her muscles as she gave the crowd great big booming flexes. The crowd would boom and erupt right with her each and every flex; they were in awe of her beauty and strength.

But The Hammer, driven by fury and wounded pride, surged to his feet and lunged at Marilyn from behind, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. "Got ya now, bitch!" he growled into her ear.

Yet, Marilyn's expression did not betray fear or concern. Instead, there was a hint of a smirk, a knowing glint in her eyes. The crowd leaned in, breaths held, awaiting her response.

The Hammer, his arms wrapped around Marilyn, attempted to crush her in his embrace. But Marilyn, with a confident smirk, quipped back, "I ain't called a hardbody for nothing." His face twisted into a snarl, he growled, "Shut up, you big fat bitch!"

Frustrated, The Hammer tried to lift her off her feet, but Marilyn, grounding herself with the poise of a seasoned pro, proved immovable. Try and try he tried, his efforts to lift her were in vain. She wasn’t just heavier than she looked, she knew how hunker down and resist him, and once more Marilyn Mon-Swole thanks to those prodigious muscles of hers became an immovable object. She was an unliftable boulder of pure feminine muscle. And laughter rose up from the crowd as he proved unable to lift her.

Marilyn, with a deep breath, expanded her chest and flared out her shoulders. Her muscles swelled, and as her chest expanded, her muscular frame pressed out against his grip, forcing his arms to pop open from the sheer force of her expanding muscles.

Seizing the moment, Marilyn grabbed his wrist and, with a balletic spin, twisted his arm, driving him to his knees. Towering over him, she scolded, "There's no fat here, only rock-hard muscle." Her arm flexed powerfully, the muscles bulging and dwarfing even The Hammer’s formidable arms. His face contorted with a look of pure hatred, the sight of her muscularity a stark affront to his masculinity.

"It's impossible for a woman to be stronger than a man," he spat out bitterly.

Marilyn, with a sardonic smile, retorted, "Well, so far, I've proven to be stronger than you, but then again, you're not much of a man, are you?" As he opened his mouth to respond, she twisted his wrist, shutting him up and silencing any of the myriad of profanities he was going to call her. "I'll teach you some manners and a lesson in gender politics. Nothing is mightier than mighty female muscles, least of all puny pathetic manly muscles."

Once more he tried to shout and curse at her, and she once again proved what a strong-armed disciplinarian she was, as she again twisted his arm, with that strong arm of hers. With ease she twisted it in ways it was never meant to twist, bone grinded against bone, and The Hammer gritted his teeth from the pain. He struggled, and bucked, but he could not free himself from the wrenching painful hold. Marilyn gave him a smile and playfully raised and wiggled her eyebrows and then once more wrenched and twisted his arm and threw him face down onto the mat.

Strutting around him, she worked up the crowd, and also worked up The Hammer’s rage and frustration as she teasingly said to him in that pouty little voice of hers, “You know if you were nicer, you could be kissing these muscles instead of the canvas.” And she gave her biceps each a kiss, lingering slowly on the last one giving it a hard firm squeeze and slow soft sensual kiss, "Trust me, my muscles taste better," she assured.

Enraged, The Hammer rose with a roar, throwing a punch straight at her stomach. But his fist bounced off her abs, as the steely sinews of her abdominals absorbed the blow. The crowd gasped in shock, but Marilyn just laughed.

"That tickled," she said.

Undeterred, he continued to strike her, each punch proving futile against her iron abdominals. Punch after punch The Hammer continued to hammer at her abs, each punch proving futile against her dense muscular wall. The arena fell silent, watching in disbelief, until she raised her arms in a triumphant double bicep flex, and Marilyn incited a roar of applause from the crowd. Furious, The Hammer swung a powerful haymaker at her head, which she caught effortlessly.

"Don't you dare mess up my hair or my makeup," she giggled, her grip tightening around his fist. The Hammer, in desperation, threw another punch, which she caught just as easily. "What did I say about my money maker? And that’s my good side too, but now, you've really gotten on my bad side," she chided.

"Shut up, you bitch," he managed through gritted teeth.

"You're so angry, maybe a hug will make you feel better," Marilyn teased, releasing his hands and scooping him up in a bear hug. She lifted The Hammer off his feet, squeezing him with her powerful arms. His own arms were caught and pinned beneath hers, his body being crushed in her embrace. With every squeeze, the crowd roared, reveling in the spectacle of Marilyn's overwhelming strength and dominance.

The Hammer, now trapped and pinned beneath her powerful arms, was helplessly squeezed as the crowd cheered for Marilyn with each constricting embrace. Marilyn's muscular arms squeezed and crushed The Hammer in that relentless bear hug, her sinews sleek and sweaty, swelling and rippling with each and every powerful constriction. Between each bone-crushing embrace, she taunted him, her voice echoing through the arena. "Still think these muscles are fake?" she sneered, tightening her grip. "Still think a woman can't be bigger and stronger than ya?"

The Hammer, trapped in the vice-like hold of Marilyn's bear hug, his own sturdy muscular chest collapsing under the pressure of her iron bosom, and he could only grunt and groan in response. Each time he attempted to speak, Marilyn's crushing embrace forced the air from his lungs, rendering his words into helpless gasps, which of course Marilyn thought was a marked improvement on his rude and uncouth behavior.

Parading around the ring, Marilyn showcased her physical superiority, the crowd hooting and hollering with every step. The Hammer, trapped in her brutalizing hold, was a picture of desperation. Which was fitting as flashbulbs from press photographers illuminated the scene, capturing the spectacle and would no doubt be gracing the sports sections of papers across the country. Yes, with The Hammer’s rib-cage being relentlessly compressed by Marilyn's rock-hard muscles, The Hammer was the one who found himself trapped between The Hammer and the anvil, with Marilyn Mon-Swole and her mammoth muscles being the anvil. You could say he was indeed in a tight spot, both literally and figuratively.

The Hammer though was slimy, slimy in both morals and now in physicality as both his and Marilyn’s sweat mingled squeeze after squeeze. He did not yield easily, as it always harder than you think to crush a slime ball like The Hammer, they always seem to just slip out beneath your foot.

Slimeball that he is, he wasn’t above cheating, and it certainly wasn’t beneath him to resort to dirty tricks. He resorted to a truly dirty trick, he spat in Marilyn's face. Unfazed, Marilyn used one arm to wipe away the spit while maintaining her iron grip on him. However, the slimy slimeball seizing the moment, was able to slither his arm free, and yanked and pulled at Marilyn's lustrous hair, drawing a chorus of boos from the crowd.

But The Hammer didn’t care, and he kept on pulling on her hair as it was the only advantage and hold, he’d been able to get on Marilyn the whole match. The crowd erupted in more and more boos, hurling trash and popcorn into the ring in disapproval. Disregarding the boos and even telling the audience to shut up, he dragged Marilyn by her hair all the way to corner of the ring, and that is when he slammed her face into the turnbuckle, not just once, but twice!

The Hammer, emboldened, attempted a third slam, but Marilyn held strong. Her back muscles tensed, a magnificent display of sinewy strength. Her muscular back braced against the force, each muscle standing out in bold relief. Still, he tried over and over, again and again to slam that pretty face of hers into the turnbuckle, but Marilyn’s body was like iron and unyielding, and she straightened herself up, and she turned to face him.

The Hammer, surprised by her resilience, chopped at her chest with a loud thunderous slap, a truly vicious chop that would have sent any man careening back into the turnbuckle... Only Marilyn Mon-Swole isn’t a man and so she stood firm and unyielding and unmoving... Unmoving except for her bouncy bosom, which muscular as it was still bobbed up and down as her breasts jiggled from the concussive force of the blow.

Stunned, he paused, his eyes fixating on the mesmerizing motion, for The Hammer was man, and muscular as she was Marilyn Mon-Swole was still a woman, only way, way more woman than he’d ever seen or thought possible. And as he watched her big bulging beefy muscular bosom bouncing, undulating up and down while she stood there hand-on-hips giving him that stern haughty look of hers, he couldn’t help but fall in love with her. The crowd erupted in wolf whistles and cheers, captivated by the sight of Marilyn's formidable chest and muscle cleavage. It was hypnotic and to see in motion was a thing of pure and utter beauty.

But for a man like The Hammer love was always fleeting and full of one-night stands, and this love affair was over in mere seconds. He saw that look of Marilyn’s and he knew he was in trouble if he didn’t act fast. So, he unleashed a series of punches onto Marilyn, each pummeling blow would have felled even the toughest of men... But once again Marilyn wasn’t a man, and The Hammer unaccustomed to fighting the like of her wound up battering her boobs with his devastating punches.

The crowd cheered and whistled, and The Hammer kept on hammering Marilyn Mon-Swole's breasts, and she took body blow after body blow as if her boobs were punching bags. Marilyn giggled, her hands still firmly on her hips as she weathered punch after punch from The Hammer. Her body was hardened like iron, but also soft and silky smooth where a woman should be, and those punches to Marilyn felt more like love taps. They tingled and they felt rather nice and pleasant, still she wasn’t in the mood for romance, and besides a fella ought to take a lady out to dinner first, before he got so fresh and handsy with her.

That’s fine, she has hands too and she knew just how to use them and so she reared back and unleashed a slap that sent The Hammer spinning a full circle. Not content with just one, she delivered a backhanded slap, sending him reeling once more for a full circle in the opposite direction.

She then grabbed him by his hair, chiding him for his earlier actions, "I told you not to mess with my hair!" With a show of dominance, she paraded him around a bit before spinning him around and whipping him across the ring into the opposite corner's turnbuckle.

Standing center ring Marilyn then took a moment to preen herself in the middle of the squared circle, fixing her hair to the cheers of the fans. With one hand on her hip, she sashayed in a sexy shimmy, and she brought her hand up to mouth and gave it a slow sultry kiss, flexing her bicep good and hard, making it swell up large and thick, and then she blew the kiss into the crowd. Blowing up the arena in cheers, as it thundered and erupted in shrieks of delight, and flashbulbs flashing.

In the midst of this, The Hammer, ever cunning and relentless, climbed the turnbuckle. Poised on the top rope, he readied himself for his signature move, the deadly Hammer Drop, a last-ditch effort to reclaim his fading dominance.

The air in the arena was thick with anticipation as The Hammer launched himself off the top rope, his body a missile aimed straight at Marilyn Mon-Swole. But in a breathtaking display of strength and agility, Marilyn caught him mid-air. She stood firm, an unmovable brick wall against which The Hammer’s efforts proved futile.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Marilyn, with remarkable ease, positioned The Hammer upside down, his face locked between her titanic thighs. Then, with a leap that showcased her powerful legs, she drove his head down hard onto the mat with a vicious piledriver, truly hammering The Hammer into the ring.

Rising to her feet, Marilyn, while not particularly tall, stood immensely tall in stature and muscularity. She shook her hair from side to side, each strand shimmering like golden threads under the arena lights. Standing there, she struck a pose of sultry triumph, allowing the crowd to feast their eyes on her muscular glory.

"Looks like I hammered The Hammer!" she declared triumphantly, flexing slowly and confidently and proudly as she basked in the adulation of the crowd.

Slowly, deliberately, she extended one leg, each movement a showcase of her muscular artistry. Her leg was a marvel of muscularity, great big engorged gams, titanic thighs rippling with striations, a testament to her unparalleled strength. With a calculated, slow, deliberate motion, she nudged The Hammer over onto his back with her foot.

Stepping forward, she placed a leg on The Hammer’s chest. The referee began to count, but in a surprising move, she lifted her foot off just as the referee was about to count to three. The crowd went silent, hushed with anticipation, and Marilyn wagged a finger at them for them to be patient. After a quick adjustment of her hair and outfit, she turned to the press, positioning her foot once more on The Hammer’s chest. This time, she flashed a big dazzling smile and an even bigger flex, and she instructed the referee to count slowly, wanting to savor her impending victory.

As the referee counted, "1... 2... 3," the crowd joined in, and at the count of three, the arena exploded into cheers. Press photographers' flashes lit up the ring like lightning as Marilyn flexed mightily, her arms a spectacle of rippling muscles, veins throbbing like rivers of power. Her chest swelled, her bosom bulging under the glittering sequins, her body a vision of sweat-slicked triumph.

She was the victor!

And with having hammered The Hammer, the fragility of femininity shattered and so too was man’s reign as the stronger of the sexes, along with The Hammer’s reign of World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion.

Lost in the moment, Marilyn was about to receive the World Wrestling Heavyweight Championship Belt when The Hammer, coming to his senses, snatched it away from the referee. But before he could run away and abscond with the title belt Marilyn grabbed him, and in a display of overwhelming power, lifted him high above her head in a gorilla press.

"Get your slimy hands off my belt," she commanded. The Hammer overpowered and outmuscled, and manhandled by this gorgeously engorged muscular woman, dropped the belt.

Marilyn then brought the hammer down on The Hammer, slamming his body hard against her broad brawny muscular shoulders and transitioned her hold into the dreaded torture rack. She pulled and stretched his broken body against her wide, massive, meaty muscles, her shoulders becoming a device of medieval agony. She stretched The Hammer across her colossal form, crushing and breaking him with her mammoth, magnificent muscles. Repeatedly racking him over her shoulders until he cried that he could take no more... And it was then that she pressed him high above her head once more, demanding his admission of her might.

“Who’s stronger?” Marilyn asked him.

“No, I’ll never say it,” The Hammer defiantly stated.

“Fine with me darling,” Marilyn told him, and she once again slammed his battered body against her brawny shoulders. Breaking his body and the last remnants of his defiance...

“Alright, alright, I’ll say it!” The Hammer squealed.

Marilyn once again pressed the big broken man’s body high above her head, and that is when she told him to, “Say it!”

Finally, The Hammer conceded, "You're mightier... You're stronger... I'm weaker... I'm pathetic, I'm nothing..."

Marilyn, with a victorious smile, proclaimed, "Yes you are nothing, and nothing, and I mean nothing, is mightier than Mighty Female Muscles. I'm Marilyn Mon-Swole, the strongest woman in the world, and you're just a silly tool!" With that final declaration, she slammed The Hammer down to the mat, hammering him down for the last time.

Marilyn Mon-Swole stood center ring holding her championship belt, towering over the crumpled form of the defeated male champion, she was the embodiment of female strength and power, as the crowd roared their approval, celebrating her as the new World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion. In the electric atmosphere of the arena, the spectacle the crowd witnessed was nothing short of legendary, Marilyn Mon-Swole stood triumphant in the ring, not just a victory for herself, but for all womankind. She just proved to the world that women were no longer the weaker sex, and that Mighty Female Muscles are the mightiest of all muscles. Her sequin leotard glittered under the lights, and her muscles slick with sweat shone and sparkled along with the sequins, each sparkle a testament to her transformation from Hollywood's darling to the world's mightiest muscle goddess.

In the aftermath of the monumental wrestling match, Marilyn's locker room had transformed into a bustling hub of journalistic fervor. A throng of eager and excited reporters each armed with cameras and notepads, were crowded inside, their voices a low murmur of anticipation. They were all waiting for the new World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion, Marilyn Mon-Swole, to emerge.

The steam from the shower room billowed out, adding a misty veil to the already charged atmosphere. Soft, melodious singing wafted through the steam, creating an almost ethereal ambiance. The reporters quieted, captivated by the gentle, harmonious voice that contrasted sharply with the brutalizing power Marilyn had just displayed in the ring.

As the steam slowly dissipated, Marilyn stepped out from the shower room. The moment seemed to pause, all eyes fixated on her. Wrapped in a towel that was valiantly attempting to contain her muscular, statuesque form, she walked with a grace that belied her powerful physique. Her hair was wrapped in another towel, droplets of water trickling down her defined muscles, making them glisten under the locker room lights.

Continuing her song, Marilyn's voice was clear and confident, her rendition of one of her most famous tunes given a unique twist that celebrated her muscular strength:

"Muscles are a girl's best friend,  
 Stronger than diamonds, on that, you can depend.  
 They lift me up, make me stand tall,  
 In the ring or against a wall.

Hard as diamonds, they never bend,  
 These muscles of mine, they set the trend.  
 Glistening, shining, with every flex,  
 They're my beauty, my strength, my very best friend.

Lifting weights, feeling the burn,  
 With every rep, new gains I earn.  
 Diamonds might sparkle, but muscles gleam,  
 In the light of victory, they truly beam.”

Her voice trailed off as she finished her song, the last note hanging in the air, a perfect finale to her lyrical homage to strength and empowerment. The reporters stood in silent awe, struck by the juxtaposition of her melodic voice and her imposing physical presence, of course further juxtaposed by her incredible beauty, this was a moment captured in time, a blend of feminine allure and raw, unbridled and unmatched and seemingly unconquerable power.

She was a vision of strength and grace, wrapped in that towel that was clearly struggling and failing to contain the sheer magnitude of her muscular physique. It was a towel tasked with an impossible task, attempting to cover her more than ample feminine charms and her massive muscularity. Marilyn, however, wasn’t bothered by it nor was she bothered by the throng of eager, excited reporters crowding her locker room. Their eyes were riveted on her, each journalist yearning for a statement, a photo, or simply a closer glimpse of the beauty who had brutalized the big brute, The Hammer. Amid the flashing bulbs and the eager chatter, her smile flashed brighter, unfaltering in the face of their overwhelming attention.

Reaching her locker, the World Wrestling Championship belt lay resplendent on the bench, a symbol of her recent, hard-fought victory. Her sequined leotard lay discarded on the floor, a remnant of the battle now past.

“What are you all doing here in my locker room? I mean, what's the big idea? This isn’t very gentlemanly…” she teased, her smile beaming.

"We're reporters, not gentlemen, ma'am," one of them replied.

Marilyn chuckled. "And I'm not such a delicate little lady," she retorted, holding the towel closed while flexing her sleek, slick arm, and droplets of water flew off as her bicep bulged in powerful explosion of muscular might, the towel struggled to contain her muscular form swelled out and strained and seemingly almost lost its battle to contain all of Marilyn’s bodacious bodily bulk.

One reporter cautiously asked if she wanted them to leave, and there were grumblings amidst the mass before Marilyn shook her head no.

"No need, but let me just make a quick adjustment," she told them.

She turned her back to them, her back was as wide as a door and water droplets still beaded and dripped off its silky sinewy surface, letting the towel slip down to tie it around her waist. The wet towel clung to her chiseled glutes, showcasing every feminine and muscular curve of her spectacular assets.

She reached down, still facing away, and grabbed the championship belt, fastening it around her chest instead of her waist. Turning around, she declared, "I think I can manage a room full of reporters. Just remember, I am the World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion." She laughed and struck a double bicep flex, causing a flurry of camera flashes.

The belt, fastened across her breasts, squeezed her muscular bosom tightly pressing hard against her wet, soft, glistening skin, and the golden embossed belt sparkling made for an incredible sight. Marilyn's abs shone like hardened jewels embedded onto her taut stomach, the wet towel clinging to her waist, and those still wet sleek slick shapely muscular legs of hers sparkled with a sensuality that dripped of lust as well as water droplets.

"How does it feel to be the champ?" a reporter asked.

"It feels good, it really does! I think this belt might just be my new favorite accessory. I just hope it'll go with my outfits," Marilyn joked, eliciting laughter from the men in the room.

Another reporter asked if she had anything to say. "Yeah, this goes to the girls out there. Don't let men belittle you. Remember, you are strong and have the strength to be whatever you want to be," she began.

"That's very beautiful—" a reporter started, but Marilyn continued, "And all you men better listen up and remember that us girls aren't going to be pushed around anymore. This is the dawning of female empowerment, and soon all women are going to be empowered with Mighty Female Muscles, just like me." She flexed and winked.

"We can certainly hope so," a reporter quipped, earning stink eyes from his colleagues but a smile from Marilyn, making him blush.

Asked by another reporter if she still thought wrestling was fake, Marilyn laughed, "I'll be the bigger person and admit when I'm wrong. Seeing as with these massive muscles of mine, of course, I am the bigger person! And no, wrestling isn’t fake, but you might want to ask The Hammer... once he wakes up... if he still thinks my muscles are fake. Why, just look at these... They're hard as diamonds, feel them!"

The blushing reporter felt her muscles, exclaiming, "Boy o' boy, they certainly ain’t no Fugazzis!"

Shocked, Marilyn slapped him, "I beg your pardon..."

The room erupted in laughter as he hurriedly explained, "Sorry, ma'am, no offense intended.”

She wasn’t really outraged, but she couldn’t have someone calling her muscles Fugazzis... Whatever that meant, and it was clear that Marilyn didn’t know what it meant either.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" She asked him, her voice light and soft but the way her massive hardbody loomed over him, she went from breathtakingly beautiful to breathtakingly intimidating.

The reporter, now thoroughly flustered, replied, "No, ma'am,” once again...

“Well, then you shouldn't be calling a lady a fu... fug... gaz... whatchacallit! It's not polite!" She reprimanded him, poking him squarely in the chest with her finger.

He hastened to clarify, his face beat red and his voice a mix of earnestness and embarrassment, "It's not that kind of 'F' word, ma'am. Fugazzi means fake..."

Realization dawned on Marilyn's face, and her feigned shock transformed into a genuine, warm smile. She reached out, pinching the reporter's cheek affectionately. Leaning in, she planted a gentle kiss where she had slapped him, her gesture playful yet kind. "No, they're certainly not," she agreed with a chuckle. "Just like that's right, there's nothing fake about my muscles and about the way I hammered The Hammer!"

The reporters laughed, and Marilyn giggled, flexing once more, and she was in such a good mood that she even let that red-faced reporter kiss her flexed muscle. And while he may not kiss his mother with that mouth of his, you can bet your bottom dollar he kissed that gorgeously engorged bicep of hers. And that is how Marilyn Mon-Swole the silver screen starlet became the World Wrestling Heavyweight Champion.