Strength In Action

Bursting at the seams, stretched tight over taut, voluptuous, well muscled thighs her tights sculpt and lift the frontal sweep of thick, heavy quads inserting high into the hip and wrapping around to a butt that rides high, like a bouncing rubber ball, hard as a rock but oh so tactile. She moves like an animal, primal, articulated, stealthy. Efficiency manifests in power and agility. She is extraordinarily feminine: graceful, confident, delightfully prepossessing. Covered in chalk. Her palms are scarred and ripped, callouses bleeding from repetitive lifting and high swings on an overhead horizontal bar. Flipping, dragging, thrusting, grunting. Sweating. Struggling. Surviving. Her legs contract and explode, flexing and extending, each fibre rippling and undulating under a sheath of unblemished skin. Her shoulders, perfect round globes perched atop astonishing arms, a horseshoe of triangulated sinew. Daunting to behold, but compelling to witness in action. Form meeting function of the highest degree. Then she rests. In stillness her features soften, seemingly disappear. The inactivity hides the coiled potential of power and the knowledge of interminable endurance. A secret weapon. She unclips her ponytail and even her mane of hair relaxes, casually dancing across the top of her collarbone, sweeping seductively over one brow. Smiling. An unexpected laugh and sigh as she reaches back to adjust her halter top, smoothing the band back down across the ridges of her frame. Relief. Rest. Recover. Repose. And now, repeat.