The Gym of Tomorrow and the Man of Yesterday (Supes story) (Patreon)

The Gym of Tomorrow and the Man of Yesterday

Written by SteeleBlazer

Superman hovered above Metropolis, cape fluttering in the wind, his sharp eyes locked on the massive building below. With its neon-lit sign, he had to admit this wasn’t the typical adventure he was used to. This building wasn’t a secret lair or a mad scientist’s lab or some arch-villain’s hideout. Not a fortress. Not a government lab. Not some exotic alien temple. No, it was a gym... the kind of place where people—normal humans—go to work out and lift weights.

Only this gym was a little different from any other...

This gym was for women.

The Iron Valkyrie Gym.

And Superman was about to find out that little difference would be a whole lot bigger than he ever thought possible.

Superman had been invited for a friendly visit and PR tour, just a casual fluff piece for The Daily Planet. No danger. No disasters. He touched down at the entrance. He had heard a lot about the gym and these women, and he thought a lot of it was overblown—just tall tales. But he was interested in finding out the truth behind the stories.

There were rumblings that there were women in the gym who were bigger and stronger than any man in the world. And while, in the age of Superman and other superpowered heroes like him, that didn’t sound so fantastic—there were actual literal rumblings that came out of, or rather from, this building.

As in actual seismic, earthshaking rumblings.

And little did Superman know, inside, he would find it quite earthshaking indeed...

In fact, he could already feel faint tremors and shaking in the ground as he approached and entered the building.

He thought he was ready for anything—him, being a hero who has saved the world countless times—but nothing he had ever experienced before could have prepared him for what he was about to experience.

This wasn't his usual call to action. There was no supervillain to thwart. No runaway train to catch. No fire to put out.

Just an invitation.

An invitation from Lois Lane, of all people. She had arranged the visit—while covering a story, she said...

And with his help, it could be the biggest story of her career!

She was waiting for him just inside, standing casually near the reception desk, arms crossed. What immediately caught his attention wasn’t the mischievous glint in her eye or the knowing smile she wore—it was her outfit.

A frumpy, baggy gray sweatsuit covered every inch of her body from ankle to wrist. Lois Lane, the always-fashionable, razor-sharp, tailored-pencil-skirted ace reporter… in that?

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Lois… is that…?”

She smiled wider. “Surprised to see me in a sweatsuit, Superman?”

“I… wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’ve not just covered the story,” she said, voice low, teasing. “I joined the gym too.”

Before he could process that, his eyes drifted—drawn not by Lois this time, but to something even more unexpected—to the woman standing just behind the counter.

A woman so wide and massive you’d have to be blind not to notice her.

She was cute—but her most distinct feature was the way her body looked like it had been cut and carved from granite. Her delts were capped like sculpted armor, her forearms dense and knotted, her chest and shoulders stretching the limits of the sleeveless top she wore. Each movement of hers made cords of muscle shift beneath her skin like tectonic plates.

She didn’t just stand there.

She loomed, in the most unassuming way—because it was only natural for a woman of her size and muscularity to loom. There was nothing she could do about that.

And it was then and there that Superman knew: all he had presumed about this gym might actually have been understated, and the tales he thought were overblown and embellished.

And Superman actually paused.

He’d visited Themyscira, the island of superpowered Amazon women, and this woman would’ve stood out even among those Amazonian beauties.

In fact, her muscularity rivaled that of Superman himself.

Something not lost on him.

He made it a point—and effort—to puff out and swell his chest and shoulders as he stepped forward to introduce himself.

“I’m Superman,” he said, laying on the charm with a slight smile. “And you must be one of the trainers here…”

The woman blinked, then blushed—her face going flush with a burst of shy energy. She shook her head quickly and took his hand in hers.

CRUNCH!

Superman flinched, surprised by the strength. The pressure was immense—more than he was expecting from the cute woman. While she might have looked like she was cut from stone, he was the Man of Steel—and yet her grip had more oomph to it than some of the supervillains’ death grips he’d squared off with.

“Oh! I—I wish,” she said with a laugh, clearly flattered. “I’m Millie and I’m just the receptionist. But one day I hope to become a trainer. I still have so much more work to do. I’m not ready… not strong enough,” said the woman whose handshake had the casual finality of a hydraulic press.

Superman flexed his hand behind his back, hoping no one would notice his discomfort—which, to a super-powered Superman such as himself, was not just discomforting, but downright disconcerting.

“Well,” he said, forcing a light chuckle, “Millie, with a handshake like that, I think you’re more than strong enough. Take it from Superman.”

Lois laughed.

The receptionist laughed.

Superman laughed too.

Only his laugh… was just a little too loud. A little too stiff...
Like his hand...

It was more bravado than humor.

“This is our trainer, Maxxine,” Lois said, beaming.

Before he could dwell on that any further, Lois turned and waved over someone else.

And if Superman thought the receptionist was huge—this woman was even bigger.

She was downright humongous.
She really lived up to her name.

The woman approached—no, a presence descended.
And again, Superman thought he felt the floor shake upon her approach.

But that could’ve just been his imagination.
Or maybe it was his knees wobbling and knocking together.

Either way, he had never—ever—imagined a woman like her.

Blonde, statuesque, and built like a living monument to muscle, the gym’s head trainer strode forward with the confidence of someone who owned her strength. And it looked like she owned not just her own strength— but a monopoly on strength as well.

She had the kind of body men both lusted after and were jealous of. Her shoulders were broader than Superman’s. Her chest bulged with power that defied logic and gravity. And despite himself, Superman couldn’t help but feel the unfamiliar sting of jealousy.

He bravely—rather than confidently—held out his hand, but he inwardly scolded himself for such a thought. He had nothing to be afraid of. After all, he was Superman. He was just... surprised. Surprised by the strength of the cute receptionist and her cut-from-stone muscles. He was being a gentleman. Being so gentle with her.

So as the trainer stepped forward, Superman readied himself. He knew he’d put more steel into his handshake this time.

Right, he thought—time to be the Man of Steel.

He gave her his most heroic smile and reached out with what he thought was a polite, moderate-strength handshake.

Crunch!

Just like before—his hand was crushed.

And just like before—he winced again.

His eyes widened—again.

There was iron in that grip.
And coming from the Man of Steel, that means something.

It caught him completely off guard. He tried not to let his discomfort show—and not much showed, but enough. And what little there was… truly was more than enough.

Especially when there should have been none.

Her handshake was a clamp, like something he’d expect from a killer, Terminator-style death robot with metallic pincer-hands—not the soft, silky-smooth, feminine hands of a beautiful buff woman.

He pulled his hand back with every ounce of dignity he could salvage.

Maxxine smiled. “Most of the girls here call me ‘Maximum.’ Or just Max for short.”

Superman, surprisingly and surreptitiously, once again put his hand behind him as he tried to stand heroic and tall and natural—and most of all, confidently—as he was flexing his hand behind his back. And it took more strength than he’d like to admit—not just to crush his hand, but for him to force a smile.

“There’s nothing short or small about you,” he said, trying to summon all his bravado.

Max giggled, and wiggled her eyebrows approvingly over his short quip.

Then, with a wide grin and a glint in her eye, she said, “Welcome to our little humble gym, Superman.”

And before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out of his mouth. “Funny… I don’t think there’s going to be anything little about this gym. Or the women in it.”

Maxxine once again laughed. Warm. Loud. Confident. “That’s cute. You’re a sweetheart.”

She reached up and slapped his shoulder—affectionately, flirty, playfully… and devastatingly. The impact rocked him. Not just physically—it shook him to his core. He tried his best to stiffen up and catch himself, to play it off, to not make it obvious that he’d been jostled. And so again, he puffed up his chest and flared out his shoulders in a show of control and an attempt to maintain his composure.

But standing there, flanked by these two titanic women—Maxxine, with a herculean physique that didn’t just put the “her” into Hercules, but would’ve made the demigod himself look weak and frail by comparison, and the receptionist, cute and carved from stone with her granite-sculpted arms and shoulders——Superman’s usual heroic presence felt just a little… smaller.

The two women laughed and giggled together.

“And as for humble,” Superman said, trying to recover, “I think humongous might be more appropriate. Especially when describing you ladies.”

This time, Maxxine didn’t just laugh—she reached forward, wrapped her arms around him, and lifted him off his feet into a hug. She gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

The kiss was sweet. The hug?

The hug was like a bear hug that would’ve made a real grizzly holler in pain.

Superman had to grit his teeth to stop himself from doing the same.

She set him down gently, and this time he blushed. Whether it was from the hug, the squeeze, or the embarrassment—probably all of the above.

Maxxine looked him up and down, eyes trailing with obvious approval, a sly little smile curling on her lips. “You’re really quite the man, aren’t you… Superman?”

Superman tried to puff up his chest again, planting his feet, straightening his posture. “That’s my name,” he said, his voice cracked slightly, as did a few joints and bones.

And all three women—Lois, Maxxine, and the receptionist—giggled.

Superman cleared his throat. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing this gym in action. And… maybe some of the weights. Maybe you can show me the weights? I’d love to see them. They must be impressive to give you ladies such an—” he hesitated, waved his hand helplessly in the air, gesturing at their powerful, muscular bodies, “—such impressive and strong figures.”

Maxxine laughed again.

“The weights didn’t give us these muscles,” she said.

And then, slowly, deliberately, she raised one arm and flexed.

Her bicep didn’t just rise—it surged. Swelling into a massive, bulging boulder, forming a dense, solid peak of hypertrophied muscular might that erupted like a volcano of sheer power on her arm, the skin pulled tight and glossy with definition. A single thick vein traced its way across the top, throbbing with the kind of vascular power that Superman could only guess at—the true strength contained from within—but he was starting to witness firsthand the actual strength that truly resided within.

“We earned every inch,” she said, tapping her flexed bicep, “with hard work.”

Millie the receptionist chimed in with a “Yeah!” and flexed both arms proudly, her own muscles hardening into thick, mountainous mounds of raw female muscle and power.

Superman blinked. Then chuckled, nervously. “And there’s… so many inches. You ladies must put in a ton of hard work.”

Maxxine smiled wide almost as wide as those brawny shoulders of hers, then she slapped his shoulder again—another one of those playful slaps that made Superman's spine jolt.

“You have no idea,” she said. “Tons and tons of hard work. Just like the tons and tons of weight we lift.”

Superman nodded. Still smiling. Still sweating.

“I’d love to get my hands on that weight,” he said. “Might be fun to get a quick little workout in. Maybe even break a sweat…”

Truth be told, he was already starting to sweat a little. He just hoped none of the women had noticed.

Maxxine laughed again. “Oh, we’ll get you sweating,” she said, looking at him—and his shiny brow—a bit closer than Superman would have liked.

She then moved in close to him, her body right next to his. He could feel her firmness from just the barest of touch, and she placed her hand on his chest—soft, tender, and sweet—and gave him a little push.

And this time, Superman was ready for her—or so he thought—and so he braced himself, determined to stand his ground…

And again, he was rocked.

Or rather—shook.
Shaken.

And his pride was equally shaken, as he couldn’t quite seem to find his footing—verbally or physically—around these women.

“I think you might be in for a big surprise,” Maxxine said. “About our weights. They might be more challenging than you think…”

“I’m always up for a challenge,” he said as he felt a little bead of sweat roll down the side of his brow.

Maxxine grinned. “Good. Because I think you’re going to be sweating more than you thought…”

Then—without warning, and fast as a bullet from a gun—and maybe just as deadly, if not more so—she slapped him on the back.

A friendly gesture. A parting tap. But for Superman—it was like being backhanded by a wrecking ball.

His knees buckled, again. He staggered forward, catching himself on the reception counter with a tiny grunt, and he hoped—being faster than a speeding bullet himself—that he had caught himself in time before any of the women would notice... especially Lois... who was watching him with her ever-observant eyes.

But she just smiled—seemingly, and luckily, unaware.

Stunned, he again straightened up. He was about to say his goodbyes to Max, but the trainer was already skipping off, casual as you please—her thick calves flexing with each bounce, bulging like skin-colored diamonds that glistened under the gym’s lights.

And Superman—for the briefest of moments—wondered if maybe those muscles of hers were just as hard as actual diamonds…

The hard truth was these women were stronger than he thought—and perhaps stronger than what he thought could ever be possible, not just for a woman, but for a human. And while he wasn’t truly stressing out about that… there was one thing that was stressing at the seams of his trunks, and the hard truth about their strength was seemingly making him hard in his own way... as if he needed things to be harder for him at the moment.

“Hold on,” Superman said.

Max stopped. All three women turned and stared at him.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Anything wrong, Superman?”

The word “wrong” seemed to hang in the air—pressing, more than it should.

Just like something else Superman couldn’t help but feel pressing more than it should… in his red trunks.

He straightened himself out—again. A problem at least one part of him didn’t have. As he tried to puff up his chest and stand tall, he felt deflated—like a balloon. And it wasn’t just physically. His ego had sprung a slow leak.

“I thought you’d be showing us around,” he said. “I really wanted to see the grand tour.”

“Oh, that,” Maxxine said, waving him off dismissively as she began to walk away again. “I think you’ll find Ms. Lane more than capable of giving you the grand tour. And it just might be grander than what you even expected,” she added, tossing a grin over her shoulder.

Lois turned toward him, grinning from ear to ear. “I hope you’re impressed, Superman.”

He opened his mouth—but then noticed her raising her hand, and she too brought it down fast. He braced himself—but really, he didn’t know why. This was Lois, after all, and he’d rescued her more times than he could remember—on an almost monthly, if not weekly, basis.

Only the slap didn’t come. Instead, her hand stopped short… and delivered a gentle tap.

His shoulder still smarted.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

Superman, at a loss for words—not just to reply to Lois, but for what had just happened—just nodded his head. And as he took a step to leave—

“Ullk!”
 A choking noise escaped his throat as he was yanked backwards by the cape.

Millie the cute receptionist—with her granite, cut-from-stone muscles—had given his cape a quick tug and yanked him back to the desk.

“Oh no, it’s not fair! Maxxine got to kiss the mighty Superman…” she said, pouting sweetly.

And with that, she pulled him in—right over the receptionist desk—and planted a kiss right on his kisser.

Superman tried to maintain control. He didn’t want to exert too much force—he didn’t want to hurt her—but he still tried to regain command of the moment. He put a hand on the desk, attempted to lean back, but she had already pulled him in. He let out a groan as he lost his struggle for control—or maybe that groan was from the metal reception desk.

And while Superman was a man who could actually fly—that’s what the kiss felt like.

Like he was flying.

And for a moment, he forgot. Forgot that she had just dragged the immovable Superman forward like it was nothing. Forgot her arms, thick with might. Forgot his hands making indents and palm prints into the metal surface of the desk. Forgot the gym. Forgot where he was. It was a short kiss. Quick. Sweet. But powerful.

Lois cleared her throat.

Superman blinked, suddenly brought back down to earth. He realized he was partially sprawled over the reception desk. He quickly straightened himself out—his back, his posture, his cape—trying his best to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Millie just giggled.

She gave his cape one last tug, yanking him backward again—just enough to catch him off guard—and planted a quick peck on his cheek.

“Bye-bye, Superman,” she said sweetly.

He recomposed himself once more. Straightened again. Smoothed the cape. Adjusted his collar.

He’d stopped runaway trains with less resistance than that tug. Maybe she wasn’t just cut from stone. Maybe she was the whole mountain.

A mountain of muscles.

Lois chuckled along with her and extended an arm, pointing the way.

Superman started walking. Lois joined him, the two of them heading toward the gym floor.

Lois turned toward him, grinning from ear to ear. “I hope you’re impressed, Superman.”

“Very impressed,” he said, once more straightening out his hair and cape in the hope that he’d finally get his mind straight as well. “Those two women were… most impressive.”

“Well, that’s putting it mildly, don’t you think?” Lois said. “But believe it or not—you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Then she slapped him on the back—playfully, affectionately…

And almost as devastatingly as one of Maxxine the trainer’s playful slaps.

Superman staggered.

His knees buckled.

He nearly dropped to a crouch.

He caught himself—barely.

His cape fluttered. His hand instinctively went to his shoulder. His pride… a little more bruised.

And Lois?

She skipped off cheerfully, unaware of what just happened...

And what had just happened? he asked himself, as he stood there, stunned, one hand nursing his shoulder.

That can’t be right, Superman thought. Must’ve just been my imagination. Just a bit weak-kneed from that kiss, is all…

He also couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t technically even stepped foot inside the gym yet—and it was already starting to make him nervous. A bit skittish. Or perhaps… squeamish.

The same way kryptonite always made him feel.

Lois looked back and smiled at him. And he couldn’t be sure—but he felt like she was eying him up and down.

Just like the other two women had.

“Shall we go?” she asked—cheerfully, expectantly, and maybe suggestively… and perhaps a bit annoyedly at his delay.

But Superman wasn’t quite certain… what, if anything, she was suggesting.

“Just be prepared to be surprised, Superman,” she added, with that grin still curling at the corner of her mouth. “Because this really is going to be a grand tour. A really grand tour. And the biggest surprises are yet to come.”

Bigger surprises? Superman thought. Bigger surprises than those two muscle monoliths I just met?

That was a really big boast from Lois. But then again… she did say this could be the biggest story of her career.

He just couldn’t help but feel that something was… off.

That much was apparent. He didn’t feel like the Superman he normally was. He just didn’t have the same super swagger he usually felt.

In truth, next to these women…

He just didn’t feel super at all.

But he shook off that thought. So what if he was manhandled by two beautiful but brutishly muscular women. He was Superman, after all. He was just being polite. Gentle. A gentleman. He didn’t want to hurt them—they were, after all, only women.

And that last slap of Lois’s—well, that was just the shock and surprise of this situation… this strange, strange situation. Lois Lane, after all, brilliant reporter that she is, will always have a knack for getting into trouble. Always the damsel in distress.

So he shouldn’t worry about that little smack…

And so, with his mind comforted and his confidence reset, he once again stood up straight, puffed out his chest, and followed Lois Lane through the doors…

…into the Iron Valkyrie Gym.

Superman stepped in first, throwing his head back, swinging his chest forward so that both his hair and his cape unfurled behind him with resplendent grandeur. He flared out his shoulders, head held high and mighty. The Mighty Superman, entering a mere gym like a king through palace gates—or so that’s how he wanted it to be.

For no sooner than when he stepped foot inside that mere gym—that’s when he was immediately hit with the impact.

BOOM!

BOOM!

KLANG!

The impact of tons and tons of weight clanging up and down, being lifted and slammed to the ground… Literal tons and tons of weight.

The floor shook—and so did Superman. The air trembled—and likewise did he feel tremors go down his spine and across his entire body. The sound—a chorus of clanking, clanging, and bone-rattling crashes—rang out around him like a battlefield of steel.

Superman’s perfect gait—his strut, his swagger—stumbled.

His legs wobbled, and his boot slipped. And thunder cracked—and he lost his footing in more ways than one—because that wasn’t thunder, but another weight being dropped and slammed into the gym floor. And this wasn’t a mere gym he was entering—just entering it proved to be quite earthshaking, both literally and figuratively, for him. He adjusted quickly, of course. He was Superman.

But the recovery wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t smooth.

And for a moment, he wasn’t sure whether the ground was trembling… or if he was.

But no. That was ridiculous. Superman didn’t tremble.

No—it had to be the gym. The gym had to be trembling.

Or rather… shaking.

And Superman had to think to himself: just what kind of weights were the women here lifting?

Almost as if she read his mind, Lois turned and answered his question.

“They had to install dampeners,” she said, “not just to keep the building from shaking apart—it’s already the strongest reinforced structure in the world. But to stop it from causing an actual earthquake.”

Superman raised an eyebrow. “You mean the floor?”

Lois shook her head. “I mean the city, Superman. The tremors from here were enough to threaten the whole block. We had to install dampeners underground. Deep underground.”

Superman’s eyes flicked down as another ripple moved beneath his boots. “Or the whole city,” he muttered.

Lois laughed.

“You’re more right than you know,” she said, still smiling.

And he shook—just slightly.

Or maybe that was just another tremor.

“Actually… we’ve had to upgrade the dampeners already. The women here just keep growing stronger. Stronger and stronger.”

She looked around like she was proud of that.

“There seems to be no limit to how strong a woman can get.”

Superman straightened. “There’s always a limit. Take it from me Lois—an actual literal Superman.”

She turned her head back toward him, but not before she raised an eyebrow, and with a small smile curling to one side, said with complete candor: “Maybe for a man.”

SLAM!

The gym shook hard.

Superman wasn’t just shook—he wobbled. He tried to stiffen and stand firm, he tried to keep his shoulders square. Unyielding. Stoic.

But he was shaken...

Shaken to his core.

Lois, of course, was unfazed. By the slam. By her words. By any of it.

He tried not to let it show. Not the wobble. Not the unease creeping up in his gut. But he'd never felt so off balance before. He almost felt like he was teetering.

Apparently, they’d loitered and tarried too long for Lois.

With a gesture, she pointed the way forward and once more started to walk—unshaken and sure—through a gym that never quite stopped quaking, where the floor rumbled beneath every step, the ground itself crashing and cresting and rolling like the tide of a sea. And as Superman joined in with her that’s how he felt, lost out at sea, and as another seismic wave buffeted the building, he stumbled once more, and hoped it wouldn’t be long before he got his sea legs under him.

He also couldn’t help but notice that Lois didn’t seem bothered by the constant jolts and rumbles and shakes and quakes... And that’s when he noticed something else—and the other shoe dropped, as it were.

Because that’s when he noticed she was in heels.

Yet she didn’t stumble. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t even flinch. Her pace was light, almost a skip. And the sound of her heels clicking against the floor was somehow sharper, clearer than all the chaos around her. What’s more—she looked like she belonged there. She was at home. And as she started pointing out all the equipment, and barbells, and dumbbells, it looked like she not only knew her way around—but also knew her stuff.

Superman blinked, watching her, not really listening as she spoke—her voice confident, and clear, and just loud enough over the metallic cacophony of the gym. Breezy, even. It was as if she’d done this tour a dozen times already. She really was in her element, while Superman—who is made of other elements than any mortal being—still felt out of place.

“And over here,” she said, waving a hand, “we’ve got incline presses loaded with metric-ton plates—custom-machined, reinforced with carbon core density to prevent stress fractures. The cable crossovers are hooked to steel chains thick enough to anchor a battleship—we swapped out the original pulleys because they couldn’t handle the recoil tension anymore.”

She kept walking, gesturing with ease, her heels clicking steadily across the trembling floor.

“Those dumbbells? Bigger than engine blocks. We had to start beveling the edges just so they wouldn’t damage the support mats. And that squat cage?” She pointed to the hulking steel structure in the corner. “It’s anchored into a suspension-grade base. Same tech they use in high-tension bridge design.”

He followed behind her, still trying to walk steady.

“And we’ve got leg press sleds the size of compact cars, squat racks reinforced with tungsten struts bolted straight into the foundation, and preacher curl benches had to be made wider to accommodate not just the heavier barbell load, but the bigger, thicker, and wider lifter... These women aren’t your average lifter, and everything here is custom designed and made to the highest standards.”

She turned and smiled at him like she’d just finished showing off her kitchen remodel.

And as impressive as this all was… all he could still think about was why is she wearing heels with that sweatsuit? he wondered. It made no sense.

But then again, none of this was making sense.

The Fortress of Solitude’s super gym—which he never even used—why should he, he’s Superman—had nothing on what stood around him now. The chrome-plated barbells and massive dumbbells, some of them—as Lois had said—were the size of car engines. But those were the small ones. Most were bigger than that. Some were as big as actual cars. And there was one that was even bigger than a city bus. It dwarfed anything in his collection.

And looking at the women lifting them—hulking, straining, barely contained behemoths of beauty—he started to question whether even those weights were too small for them. That’s how huge, how humongous, how downright hyper-muscular and hypertrophic these women were.

They had muscles on top of muscles, on top of muscles—and even more muscles on top of that. Veins that popped and pulsed and traced the entire expanse of their massive physiques, connecting their muscles like a power grid for these powerhouse, titanic titanesses.

And yet they weren’t monstrous. They weren’t brute beasts. Even if there was a brutality to their beauty.

They were still every inch women.

Just… engorged with gorgeous muscle.

And honestly, it wasn’t even right to measure them in inches. That would take too long.

You’d want to measure them by the foot.

And as the gym shook again, once more Superman lost his footing.

SLAM!

CLANG!

BOOM!

Each quake tested his balance and found him not just failing the test but stumbling, and with each impact his shoulders would slouch lower and lower.

Every time a barbell dropped, or a weight was brought to rest, the floor seemed to lurch and quake. And each time, Superman’s step grew just a bit more uncertain. His gait, once strutting, became a little wobbly. His footing less sure. He tried adjusting, steadying himself, but it was no use. The slamming was relentless. Every clang sent another tremor through the soles of his boots, up into his spine. And with slam after slam, his shoulders dropped down more and more, drooping along with his chest—his S emblem now sagging and looking a little sad, instead of being stretched wide across his proud chest.

Lois led him deeper into the gym.

And the vibrations and shaking and quaking only got stronger the farther in they went.

The deeper they moved into the building, the more it all built up—the rumbling, the force, the intensity. The closer they got to the center—the epicenter of the Iron Valkyrie Gym—the more it felt like the entire building was straining under the weight of what was happening here. And it’s a good thing this place is so built, Superman thought, otherwise it would have all come tumbling down. But he could see all the heavy-duty fortifications and bracings and reinforcement put into place.

This place was sturdily built...

Just like all the women that were lifting in it...

He scanned the weights that the women were lifting—the dumbbells, the barbells. But what he saw didn’t make sense—or rather, what he couldn’t see, or see through, didn’t make sense. The weights were too dense—far denser than anything he’d ever encountered. They weren’t made of any metal or element or substance he recognized. And he knew all the earthly ones. And quite a few alien ones, too—he was an alien, after all, with an alien fortress that he called his home.

Then he scanned the women. He couldn’t help himself—it was for science, no other reason. But the hard truth was, Superman was a man like any other. And while scanning their hardbodies, he found it a little hard...

Not just in the trunks, but because their muscles were just as impossibly dense as those dumbbells and barbells. Their bodies really were amazing—Superman had never seen the likes, and he liked what he saw—and what was even more amazing, maybe, was that their hot hardbodies were even harder—Superman caught himself—no, he thought, denser… definitely denser—than those weights.

But that didn’t make sense.

So, he had to scan more of the women—again, for science—and so he looked them up and down, head to toe—every muscular inch and curve of them. Some of them smiled at him. Some of them even returned the look—sizing him up, some even looked back and forth between him and themselves—looking down at their muscles. Some smiled and giggled, and some just waved. Normally just the sight of him would spark excitement, awe, admiration—but these women didn’t seem at all too impressed with the Man of Steel. They seemed more focused on pumping the iron—or whatever the strange material of their weights was—pumping that. Some would flex, and chuckle and laugh, others paid no attention at all and just kept right on lifting. And normally this kind of tepid welcome would have shaken the Superman—if not for the seismic shakes that these ladies were making with their workouts. He was just trying his best not to stumble.

CLANG!
BOOM!
SLAM!

Another seismic shock hit and he almost stumbled while scanning a woman. He nearly ran into Lois.

Lucky for her, he was able to catch himself—he was Superman, after all.

He hadn’t stumbled while staring at a girl since high school—back when he first started noticing that girls were built differently than boys. And thinking about that made him blush.

Just like how he was now.

And just like high school, he realized these women were built quite differently too.

He almost would have sworn they were some kind of alien, except they were on planet Earth, in the great city of Metropolis, at the Iron Valkyrie Gym. And for the fact that they waved at Lois—and Lois waved back—like she belonged here.

And all he got was a quick look-over. A small little smile. An even smaller giggle. Or just a wave.

And of course those seismic waves and tremors weren’t earthquakes that he was feeling.

It was the force of gravity on the weights they were lifting.

And their muscles were so strong, they could outmuscle gravity itself.

And it was at the center of the gym where the tremors were the strongest, and that’s because that’s where the real lifting happened.

And Superman had never seen heavier lifting in his life.

At least… not by women.

He himself being Superman knew more than a thing or two about heavy lifting, and as impressive as these weights were, and they certainly were very, very impressive, maybe even more impressive than they looked as he knew they certainly were actually heavier than they seemed. But those weights heavy or not were just seemingly tiny babbles compared to anything that he’d actually lifted.

He’d lifted actual mountains.
On more than a few occasions—even whole planets.

But he’d never lifted weights like these.

Let alone that giant dumbbell.

And surprisingly to him, it intimidated him. It loomed larger than it was in front of him—just as the women seemed to loom before him—but that just had to be the shock of the situation, no doubt stirred up by all the shockwaves these women were stirring up.

Still, there was no denying that bus-sized barbell was mighty impressive. And standing next to it was a woman just as impressive—no doubt her intent was to press and lift this impressive barbell. And normally, a woman like her would’ve been pressing her luck if she ever dared to dream she could lift something so massive.

But she was so massively muscular…
 She looked like she didn’t need luck to lift the weight.

Not when she had mighty female muscles like hers.

Superman scanned her. He couldn’t resist. And what he saw did not disappoint.

Her muscle mass was just as dense as the other women. Maybe denser. He tried to peer through it—but he couldn’t. His vision stopped cold. He couldn’t see through the tissue. It was just that dense.

And then she lifted it.

That giant dumbbell.

Both hands wrapped around the bar. With one fluid, brutal movement, she pulled it up from the floor to her chest, then from her chest to above her head. Her shoulders flared. Her biceps bulged. Her abs crunched into sharp, bricklike slabs.

She didn’t struggle.

She smiled.

And she started lifting it for reps.

And then—with one hand—she held it high.

And she waved.

At him.

Still smiling sweetly. Like she was holding a purse. Or an umbrella.

And then it happened.

All around him, all at once—every woman in the gym dropped her weight.

SLAM!
CLANG!
THOOM!

The gym shook like a rocket blast. The ground jumped. The plates crashed down like bombs.

Superman staggered. He was thrown off balance. The floor seemed to vanish from under his feet.

And just before he could fall—

Lois caught him in her arms.

This was a first for him. He was the one who generally did the catching—sometimes after she fell out of an airplane or helicopter, or got shoved off the edge of a building by a mad scientist. But it was his strong, sturdy arms that usually did the catching.

Not hers.

Surprisingly strong, sturdy arms—because after all, he wasn’t some skinny wimp. He’s Superman. And he tipped the scales at well over 300 pounds of not just rock-hard muscle, but steely, invulnerable Kryptonian muscle.

And yet, Lois had just caught him from falling... with her hands.

Effortlessly.

Steadying him and lifting him back upright onto his feet.

Unmoving—both physically and emotionally—like it wasn’t a big deal.

And that’s exactly how Superman played it off: casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he almost didn’t just stumble and fall on his face—or ass—in front of a room full of musclebound, hyper-muscular, hypertrophic bodybuilding beauties.

Lois didn’t say anything at first, she just let it all sink in for Superman, and standing there in the center of it all, with all these impossibly large weights and even more impossibly sized women, he felt like he was sinking.

Lois then simply smiled, tilted her head, and with a grand sweeping gesture, and really the gesture needed to both be grand and sweeping in order for it to include the totality of all that it contained, and simply asked, “Impressed?”

Superman didn’t answer right away.

Because he was taking it all in again.

The weights.

The women.

The sheer, impossible size of it all.

He was standing at the very center of the gym. Literally. All eyes were on him. He was used to that. He was used to being the center of attention. The biggest presence in any room.

Only now…

He didn’t feel like the biggest thing in the room.

Not even close.

Everywhere he turned, it was the same story. Dumbbells that dwarfed his super-gym’s best. Barbells that made his fortress equipment look like toys. And the women lifting them—these women had muscles that put his own to shame, their muscles were so much bigger than his, their shoulders so much wider.

He was starting to understand why all the gym’s doorways were double doors. No—extra large double doors. Extra, extra large. To make room for all the women and their extra, extra, extra large muscles.

And standing there, in the center of the room, the center of attention, his own significant, super-powered muscles felt rather insignificant at the moment… at least when compared to these women.

And so, not believing his eyes, he scanned them once again…

All of them.

Each and every inch, and there were so many, many inches, but thanks to his super vision he was able to see what most men could not see—even though you didn’t really need super vision to know just how muscular and strong these women were. It wouldn’t be hyperbole to say even a blind man could see—or rather feel—the impact from the weights these hyper huge hypertrophic hotties.

Still Superman scanned them, partly in disbelief and partly to just believe what his eyes were showing him. He scanned the entirety of the women. The weights. The dumbbells. The barbells and the rest of the heavy-duty gym equipment, that looked more like it belonged in a construction yard than a weight room.

Dense.
Denser.
Densest.

He really couldn’t believe his eyes, but his super vision didn’t lie.

The weights: impossibly dense.

The women: impossibly denser.

And if he wasn’t so dense—in the head—he might start believing that these women could be denser and stronger than him—The Man of Steel.

But, while he was humbled to take in such a sight: Every body. Every bicep. Every bar, he wasn’t ready to admit that possibility yet...

And that’s when he turned to Lois and admitted, bashfully, “I’m impressed. I’ve never seen women like this. Or weights like these.”

Lois grinned wider, and he couldn’t help but notice that her shoulders seemed to widen in a grin of their own too.

And then… it happened again.

Every woman in the room, in unison. As if on cue.

Dozens and dozens of powerful, hyper-developed female physiques tensed at once. Shoulders surged outward. Veins rose like cables across their arms. Biceps peaked. Pecs ballooned. Triceps snapped tight. Glutes clenched. Abs bricked. Delts expanded and their traps peaked. A wave of hypertrophic might rippled across the gym floor. Their muscle fibers rippling like steel springs under skin. Their muscles swelled so big, so broad, so dense, he almost couldn’t believe it—and he was seeing it with his own super-powered eyes.

Superman’s eyes went wide—wider than they’d gone the first time. Partly from disbelief that their muscles could swell even larger. But mostly because that was the only way he could take them all in. So much mass. So much beauty. So much strength.

And for a second—just a second—he blushed.

Felt sheepish.

Felt small...

But then… he remembered who he was.

He was Superman.

And yes, these women were the biggest, most muscular women he’d ever seen. Way, way, way more stronger than what they even appeared, and while they might be denser than even the impossibly dense weights they were lifting—Superman was going to show them that appearances can be deceiving.

Because he was Superman, and while his muscles might be smaller than theirs, he’d lifted entire planets. And as impressive as what this gym was—it wasn’t even close to being planet-sized. Heck, as big as it was, it wasn’t even as big as the Daily Planet building where Lois Lane and his alter ego worked.

Yes, he was Superman, and while it’s true he was shaken and surprised by these women and the weights they were lifting—at first—now he remembered who he was, and he wanted to remind all the women, and especially Lois, just who he was.

And he didn’t just want to impress them.

He wanted to impress upon them who he was. That as strong and mighty and amazing as they were—he was Superman.

And they, as incredible as they were, could never be as super as him.

They were Earthlings...

They were women...

And he was a SUPERMAN.

He took a deep breath and once more squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest.

And started to step forward. Toward the biggest barbell in the room.

The one bigger than a city bus.

And that’s when Lois put her hand on his chest.

Gently.

But firmly.

And he stopped.

Not because he couldn’t move.

But because… he didn’t move.

But again—he wasn’t just a Superman.

He was a gentleman.

And so, surprised as he was by her hand, he stopped.

And then, with a look—a look that told and reassured Lois, not that he should ever need to, that he was Superman, and that he was prepared for whatever obstacle this gym could hand him, no matter the size or weight—he was Superman, and he could handle it.

And so, he took another step forward and began on his way to the bus-sized barbell again...

Or at least, he tried to.

She kept her hand on his chest.

And he stayed put.

There was steel in her hand.

And he was the Man of Steel.

And yet—

Well...

He wasn’t really trying to get past her. Not really.

Sure, he couldn’t move her—

But not because he couldn’t move her.

He could’ve brushed her aside.

He was Superman.

But something about that hand…

He didn’t want to think about that.

He just wanted to get to that barbell and show Lois—and all the other women—just who he was.

He was Superman.

And yet…

Even on his third try to walk past Lois—

He didn’t move.

Or rather, her arm didn’t move.

And stayed firm and in place.

Holding Superman in his place...

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lois asked.

Superman looked past her—toward the bus-sized barbell gleaming in the center of the room like some unliftable mythic relic, peering around Lois like she too was some kind of unmovable object.

“To that,” he said—quietly at first.

He then shook his head and cleared his throat.

Then, with deeper resonance, more purpose and power behind the words, he said:

“Over to that barbell. I’m going to lift it.”

And his words held the regal authority and all the strength that he, as Superman, embodied. It’s just… in this cavernous room, his words didn’t contain the full might and power he expected. They weakly echoed—uncertainly—through the room.

And for all the sound and fury that the room contained, his words—to steal an adage from the Bard—signified nothing...

His proud proclamation ended meekly, sounded with the softest of echoes—

—and then a mighty laughter arose from all the women.

Including Lois.

And after her laugh—at his expense, no doubt—he once again couldn’t help but feel doubt sowing itself.

But he was determined not to let it.

Just as it seemed Lois was determined to continue the tour.

“But the tour isn’t over yet,” Lois said, tilting her head slightly, her voice light, even playful. “I still have some pretty big things to show you.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but I want to—”

“Show all us girls that you’re the mighty Superman?” she said, with the faintest smirk curling across her lips.

The gym erupted in laughter once again, and Superman couldn’t help but be red-faced as he blushed.

“We know just how strong you are, Superman,” Lois added.

And was it his imagination, or did she emphasize man?

No... he was just overthinking things.

And Lois—still smiling—added, “Besides… we’ve got some weights just for you.”

His eyes lit up. His chest swelled and puffed up—or would have, if not for her hand still resting on his chest, holding it steady, holding him in place.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice just a little too eager, trying to keep his cool.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but clear, and just the slightest bit too sweet. “None of us women lift those weights.”

“Well,” Superman said, summoning up every ounce of his bravado, the kind that normally made women swoon, “I’ll just have to lift them and show you all just how strong a Superman like me is.”

Only… that wasn’t the reaction he got.

Laughter swelled again. All around him. Filling the room with the sound of giggles that, to his ears, were almost abrasive. Not the soft, girlish giggling and swooning he expected... Sharp. Jarring. And just as rattling as the clanging and slamming of iron on steel and steel on stone.

And what shocked him the most… was Lois.

She was laughing too.

And of all the people in the world to laugh at him, he’d have least expected Lois.

But something was different about her. He couldn’t quite place it. Was it her wide... smile?

Something was off. He felt it. Almost like he could reach out and touch it.

Or perhaps… it was touching him.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t dwell on it now. Not when he felt like he was missing the punchline to a joke—because Superman never, ever, could be the joke. Or the punchline for one.

Superman glanced around again. It was a strange thing—being at the center of attention, as usual, but somehow not feeling like the center of anything at all.

Which was strange—because on his mighty shoulders, he had centered himself beneath collapsing bridges, kept buildings from toppling, held worlds from falling and spiraling off into oblivion.

Which is why they couldn’t be laughing at him.

Still...

He couldn’t help but wonder—ridiculous as it sounded—if he was the joke.

If somehow, impossibly… they were all laughing at him.

But that was impossible.

Then again… so were these women—impossibly muscular.

He looked once more to that massive barbell.

Almost leaned toward it again.

But Lois’s arm still hadn’t moved. Her hand still held him—softly but firmly—in place.

“I just really want to try,” he muttered—almost begged. “I mean… lift that barbell.”

He tried to say it deeper. Tried to puff out his chest.

But it caught.

Caught right there on her hand.

And the words caught in his chest too.

“I know,” Lois said, her tone smooth. “But we’ve interrupted these women and their workouts long enough. It’s time for us to continue the tour so they can continue theirs.”

Superman muttered under his breath. “Workouts... more like a wrecking crew.”

And Lois—along with the women—laughed and giggled again.

Several of the women flexed.

Some waved and even winked at him.

Lois added, “Besides, those weights—” she gestured toward the bus-sized barbell “—those were designed especially for us girls.”

Another round of giggles. Softer this time. Like the gym itself was chuckling now.

Superman’s lips pressed together.

And Lois lowered her hand—finally—and gestured with a subtle motion toward the far side of the room for the tour to continue.

“I think,” she said, “you’ll be more comfortable—and more impressed—with the weights we made just for you.”

“Bye-bye, Superman!” the women chorused from behind.

Some waved.

Some flexed and waved.

Others just flexed.

And all of them smiled the same knowing smirk—and Superman couldn’t help but wonder just what the big secret was... Just what did they know—that he didn’t?

Superman and Lois walked toward the back of the gym.

As they exited the lifting area, he asked, “They must be really big weights not to be in that gym. Why, I bet they’re way, way bigger than even that bus-sized barbell. Tell me—just how big are they?”

“They’re—”

BANG!
BOOM!
SLAM!

The women started lifting again, and the whole building began to shake.

Superman almost stumbled—again—but caught himself just in time.

For a second, it seemed like Lois noticed.

But she didn’t say anything. Just kept walking.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said, her heels tapping with perfect balance as the floor trembled. “Her office is just around the corner.”

They turned, exiting the gym by its extra-large double doors and stepping into the next hallway...

—and Superman slammed straight into Maxxine.

The impact sent him backward. He stumbled, arms flailing, and hit the ground with a loud thud. The hallway shook—but only slightly—but the impact still left Superman shook, more than enough to rattle his pride—if not the Man of Steel’s body.

Lois winced, rolling her eyes as Superman rolled on the floor. Maxxine didn’t even budge.

Superman scrambled to his feet. “I—I didn’t see you there,” he said quickly, offering an excuse as flimsy as his fall. “I was too busy noticing just how built this facility is.”

“I could’ve really bowled you over,” he added, striking out with yet another lame excuse, as he brushed the dust from his chest. “Good thing, thanks to my reflexes, I was able to stop myself.”

He could have added that Maxxine was just as well-built—if not more so—than the facility, but it also went without saying, as he was the one who was floored by her figure. And with the way his temples were burning, he’d really rather not have any of the women say anything about the matter. And while it was a clumsy excuse for a clumsy stumble—lucky for him, both Maxxine and Lois seemed to buy it, and let the matter drop.

Besides, he was Superman. He didn’t really want to run over Maxxine. He’d stopped actual tanks in their tracks before.

And while Maxxine might be built like a tank, she was still a woman—musclebound, with impossibly large muscles notwithstanding.

And standing—well, that was just the opposite of what Superman had been doing, as he had to pick himself up off the floor.

And Superman knew that both Lois and Maxxine had to know that too. They had to see that it was either he had fallen over, or he’d knock Maxxine over. And again, while he was a Superman—he was also a gentleman—and they just had to see that.

Just like Superman could see that Maxxine was holding something in her arms… Or rather, arm.

Maxxine was holding a set of dumbbells—new weights for the beginner students. The small weights were stacked high and cradled securely in one of her brawny arms. And despite being precariously stacked, they didn’t fall when Superman bumped into Maxxine—but once again, Superman sure did!

Superman glanced at the weights in her hands.

“You know, I’m not just a Superman,” he said, flashing his best grin. “I’m a gentleman too. I’d offer to help carry those tiny weights—”

Lois and Maxxine shared another look, each curling an eyebrow ever so coyly and slowly.

“—but a strong woman like yourself would probably be insulted if I didn’t let her carry them herself. I know you modern women love being independent and love being strong, and I know you don’t need a man’s help… even if that man is Superman. So I’ll let you carry those tiny little weights. But if you need help, don’t be afraid to ask... I’m not just a man, but Superman, and helping li—women like you is what I do.”

Maxxine smiled.

Then leaned in.

And kissed him on the cheek.

It was soft. It was sweet—and it nearly knocked him over again.

As she walked away, Superman blinked and rubbed his jaw. That sweet, soft kiss really packed a punch. It felt like he’d just been hit by a heavyweight boxer’s right cross… only that would’ve felt far, far softer. No mortal man’s punch could ever harm—or floor—him.

But Maxxine’s kiss sure did almost floor him.

Then again, she wasn’t a man—she was a woman.

“I never thought I’d see girly weights in a gym like this…” he muttered, trying to puff up his chest and square his shoulders—but they drooped right back down a second later, like they knew better.

Lois’s eyebrow—just recently returned to its proper place—climbed right back up.

“Oh?” she said. “And just what did you think you’d see in this gym?”

Superman rubbed his cheek—still pink from the kiss—then circled it slowly with his palm like he was polishing an apple.

“I didn’t think I’d see all of… of… this.”

Lois laughed.

A throat cleared.

Lois turned. “Right. Superman, let me introduce you to the woman behind all of this: Dr. Lysandra Forge.”

Standing before them was an older woman—silver-haired, statuesque, and radiating both intellect and strength. She wore a lab coat, the sleeves cut clean off—either to showcase those burly arms of hers or because sleeves over such an obscene and obsessive amount of muscle would’ve been downright impractical. The front was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sculpted and bulging bustline brimming with beauty and power. Her pecs were marbled. Her frame—feminine, full, and formidable.

“Yes,” she said, her voice smooth and powerful. “I’m the creator of all this.”

Superman straightened and was surprised that he wasn’t quite staring her square in the eye—but more squarely at the big, squared shoulders of hers.
 “It’s… very impressive,” he said sheepishly. “Same with the strength of all these women.”

She extended a hand.

Superman hesitated.

Be brave. Be firm. Be powerful. Don’t be afraid to hurt her, he told himself.

But still… there was something else he might not want to be afraid of.

He couldn’t quite name it—or maybe didn’t want to.

He took her hand.

CRUNCH!

The sound was subtle. The sensation was not.

She didn’t let go. Not right away.

“I designed the training regimen. The supplements. The weights. Every apparatus. Every program calibrated for maximal hypertrophy and strength output, I believe strength is something that is forged, not something someone is born with, and I’ve dedicated my life to forging not just my own strength, but other women’s as well,” Dr. Lysandra Forge said casually, like she hadn’t just compacted every bone in his palm.

Superman gritted his teeth. He didn’t shake his hand out—but he wanted to. He also wanted to give her a bit firmer of a handshake… but he was too much of a gentleman for that. Still, he tried tightening his grip just a bit. After all, he wasn’t just a Superman—but a gentleman—and he didn’t want to crush her hand—even if she seemed to have no qualms about returning the favor.

“I have to say,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “I’m impressed. These women are… big.”

Dr. Forge raised an eyebrow. “Just big?”

“I mean… huge. Humongous. And strong! They’re so big, the weights they lift aren’t just heavy—they’re literally earthshaking,” Superman said, attempting a light chuckle.

She didn’t laugh. Instead, her grip seemed to tighten—just slightly. Or maybe it was his imagination. Or maybe she just didn’t care for his joke. But one thing Superman knew for certain—her handshake was no joke. It had pressure. The kind of pressure that could turn coal into diamonds—something he himself had done on more than a few occasions.

However, on this occasion, his own handshake was a bit limp-wristed and lacked the typical steely grip the Man of Steel was known for. Then again, he hadn’t wanted to strong-arm an elderly woman. That wouldn’t be very heroic—even if, at the moment, he wasn’t exactly feeling heroic.

He was feeling the crushing grip of that elderly, hypertrophic muscle beauty, and to his relief she finally let go of his hand.

“Just how strong are they?” he asked, trying not to sound too rattled as he casually rubbed the back of his palm.

“We don’t use pounds here,” she said. “Or kilograms. Not even tons.”

Superman blinked… and dumbfoundedly asked what he thought was a smart question.

“If you don’t use pounds, kilograms, or even tons… then what do you use?”

Dr. Forge folded her arms—each forearm looking like a slab of sculpted steel. In fact, her whole body looked like it had been sculpted in a steel forge itself. But as Superman gave her a quick scan—with his super vision—he could tell her muscles were denser than actual steel. And he didn’t need his super vision to see the disappointment plainly across her face.

“Men always want to measure things. In inches. In pounds. How many pounds they can load onto a barbell. Numbers make them feel strong—but it’s all a pittance, and it pales before the scale of measurement we use here,” she said. “And what we do here? It’s not about mere numbers. It’s about change. Transformation. We don’t measure strength—we forge it. We shape it. We build women into something more than just strong and muscular. We build them into the supreme and superior versions of themselves.”

“Right,” Superman said, nodding slowly. “So how do you measure the big weights they’re lifting?”

Dr. Forge sighed out of exasperation, because even though he was Superman, like most men, it seemed he just didn’t get it...

“These aren’t ordinary weights. The alloys are specially engineered. Not just heavy—but dense. Ultra-dense. The kind of density where Newtonian physics begins to break down… and Einsteinian rules stop making sense. Each weight core is quantum-threaded, with gravitational matrices that exponentially compound their mass through quantum entanglement. The force they exert isn’t just local—it wants to warp space.”

Superman’s brow furrowed not fully believing or truly understanding what she was saying...

“That’s why we’ve got dampeners installed,” she continued, gesturing to the reinforced walls around them. “Not just to keep the weights’ seismic shakes from bringing down the place—but to keep them from pulling the whole planet out of alignment and orbit. Without them, lifting one of these plates could divert Earth’s tides—and a good slam or two could change the tilt of its axis.”

He blinked again. Realization was dawning. If what Dr. Forge was saying was true—and that was a big if—but then again, she did have those great big muscles… the strength of all the women here would be astronomical.

Like his.

But that was still a great big if—just like their great big humongous muscles!

Superman didn’t just question the possibility—he doubted the physics. It wasn’t just improbable. It was simply—and plainly—impossible. Or at least, it had to be… he thought to himself, or perhaps hoped and wished it to be.

It really all was… something else. And it led to many, many more questions—one of which he desperately wanted an answer to.

Preferably a simple one, too.

He just had trouble voicing it.

Her explanation had been as jarring—figuratively speaking—as any of the seismic quakes he’d felt since entering the gym. And now, just as he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around her scientific explanation, he couldn’t quite wrap his tongue around the words he wanted to say.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Closed it again.

And finally: “Okay… but how do you still measure how much each of the girls can lift?”

Dr. Forge didn’t smile.

“It’s really quite simple,” she said, her voice cool and dismissive. “Something men don’t seem to comprehend. The bigger the weight, the heavier it is.”

Superman opened his mouth, starting to say, “Yeah, but just how h—”

Dr. Forge waved him off with a flick of her hand—graceful, firm, final. Not unkind. But unmistakably done with that line of questioning.

“Enough gibberish,” she said. “If I ever tried to put those silly measurements into place, it’d just be a googolplex of nonsensical numbers and fabricated units—none with any real physical correlation. Earthly or otherwise.”

Her stance widened. Hands planted firmly on her hips.

Her shoulders rose and flared out, her traps thickening, her powerful neck tensing beneath them—seemingly framing and reinforcing her scientific treatise with striated slabs of muscle. Not that her words needed any added strength or weight behind them.

“Bigger is better, isn’t it?” she said.

She and Lois shared a grin.

Superman shut his mouth.

His shoulders slumped.

He started to rub his hand again—then stopped when he caught Lois’s eyes on him.

Was that a smirk?

No. Had to be his imagination.

But then again… was it just his imagination? Or did this elderly doctor have a handshake that echoed long after it ended?

“I need to check on the next smoothie batch,” she said. “We’ve improved the amino chain. Boosted the absorption rate. Tenfold hypertrophy gains over the last serum. Tastes better, too.”

“Sounds yummy,” Lois said.

Superman nodded. “Sounds like a… super smoothie.”

Superman’s joke landed flat with Dr. Forge, and she gave him a flat look. “Molecular Density Amino Sequence v7.3.”

Then she paused… gave Superman a once-over, her eyebrows going up and down in tandem with her eyes, and finally chuckled.

“Super Smoothie. I like it. I might just rename it in your honor.”

She reached up and pinched his cheek.

“Gnnk,” he grunted, gritting his teeth to stifle the sound.

That really hurt.

That pinch really smarted—and was almost as smart as that lengthy explanation about the weights.

He’d been shot in the face before—with guns, machine guns, lasers. With rockets. With alien artillery.

That pinch… hurt more.

And then, without another word, she turned and walked away—her calves flexing like sculpted pistons, her shoulders rolling like slabs of marble, her lab coat billowing behind her like a cape. Her footfalls not just echoing but shaking the entirety of the hallway.

Superman stood there, his own cape feeling a bit heavy and limp on his sagging shoulders — sagging lower and lower with each tremor of her parting footsteps.

Lois gestured for him to follow. She waited. But he didn’t move. He was too busy staring down the corridor after Dr. Forge, long after she was gone from sight and as the tremors from her steps faded as well.

He found himself still staring at where Dr. Forge had exited. She had a presence, that much was undeniable. A strong presence. One that seemed to fill the room even after she was gone. Or maybe that was just his hand still throbbing from the handshake. His fingers were rubbing it again—absently.

Lois gestured again, a bit sharper this time. She waited. Still no movement. Her patience was evaporating.

She began to tap her foot.
Tap.
TAP.
TAP!

The faint but unmistakable vibrations began to rhythmically pulse—each one growing stronger and stronger through the hallway floor. Like distant war drums in some far-off jungle. A subtle—or maybe not so subtle—warning.

But Superman was too distracted to notice. And why should he? Why should he notice the tremors caused by Lois’s tapping foot? Just like how could her foot create such tremors in the first place—especially in these reinforced hallways. And so, Superman didn’t notice them… if such tremors even existed.

“Come on, hero,” she said, giving his cape a sharp yank and pulling him forward. “Tour’s not over yet.”

Superman’s feet shuffled, stumbling after her as she led him down the hallway.

“Whoa—ooohhh—oh?!” he spluttered, his feet sliding awkwardly as Lois not only tugged him off balance but kept hold of his cape, dragging the Man of Steel along. His arms flailed as he tried to steady himself. After a shimmy, shake, and shuffle, he was still being led and dragged—unable to fully find his footing beneath him.

Every few strides, she’d give his cape another little yank—this way, that way—each tug throwing off his balance again. Superman did his best to right himself, to straighten out, to regain some composure. Some dignity. But he just kept getting pulled along, unable to fully stand upright.

This isn’t right.

Lois shouldn’t be able to drag him. He was Superman.
But… if he resisted, he might hurt her. And he’d never hurt Lois.
She had a knack for getting into trouble. And he had a knack for always being there to save her, and he’d always be there for her and be her Superman.

Still… matching her purposeful stride was harder than he expected. Her legs moved with power—each step pulling him forward like a locomotive that he couldn’t quite slow down.

He tried to plant his feet—only to be tugged again. Slightly off balance. Slightly off center.

That just had to be more of those lingering seismic tremors. Even if he wasn’t feeling them at the moment. They had to be there. That had to be it.

And sure enough… as they neared the door at the end of the hall, he finally did feel tremors again. Softer now. Lighter vibrations that buzzed beneath his boots. He couldn’t be sure such faint tremors could be the cause of his balance issues—but they had to be. Why else would he be off balance? he thought to himself, uncertainly.

Lois, instead of pulling on his cape once more, released his cape and pulled open one of the extra-large double doors, chivalrously holding the door open for him—something he normally would’ve done for her. But with all his stumbling and shuffling, it wasn’t just his feet that were shaken, but his mind. He simply forgot his manners—and forgot to get the door, not just as Superman, but as the gentleman he was.

Still, he took the moment to right himself, thankful for Lois’s deference… and hospitality.

Superman took a deep breath. Then, with great flourish, he adjusted his cape with a practiced flick and rehearsed flair, puffing out his chest and flaring his shoulders as wide as he could. But stepping through those extra-large double doors was more humbling, more belittling, and surprisingly more emasculating than the constant, ever-present comparison to the hyper-huge hypertrophic women in this gym.

Passing by Lois and through the extra-large double doors, he noticed Lois bite her lip, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to think — maybe she was impressed... But he'd never seen her make that face before.

That thought, however, wasn’t enough to keep both his chest and ego inflated. And so, as he entered the room, he found his posture deflating like a punctured balloon.

This was the beginner room, and the women that comprised this room looked like they’d been training intensely for years and years and years. But there was more to them than met the eye—or at least the human eye. His second glance revealed more than just fit bodies. These women weren’t merely toned — their muscles bulged and rippled with burgeoning unnatural strength and density, each rep causing deltoids to roll, biceps to peak, quads to flare. Even among the newer, smaller members — not that any of these women were small in any shape, form, or usage of the word — except in direct comparison to the other, more experienced and larger women — their muscle was beginning to bud — no, to bulge and ripple with potential, their forms swelling under tight fabric that clung to every emerging contour. Their clothes were sweaty, stretched tight and taut over their tight, taut, trimmed, and hyper-toned athletic figures, so toned that they too looked as if their bodies were chiseled and carved from stone.

But it wasn’t just their size. Or definition. Or their density — that shocked him. This was the first time he noticed just how tall these women — and really, all the women in the gym — were.

He couldn’t believe he was just noticing that now — he must be a bit dense — just like the women — not to have noticed it before. But all these women weren’t just tall, but statuesque, as they were clearly over six feet tall, many nearly as tall as him — and he was, of course, Superman. He was taller than the average man — but so were all these women. And what’s even stranger...

Stranger than a room of tall, musclebound, Amazonian women...

There appeared to be another big surprise that had escaped even his superior super vision. It wasn’t only their impressive height that struck him just then.

Lois stepped ahead of him, her powerful stride purposeful as she moved to greet the trainer and class. Superman watched her walk—and then blinked.

And that’s when it hit him like a pallet of bricks.

For this entire tour… he hadn’t been looking down at Lois—not that he ever would look down on her in anything other than the physical sense.

Normally, he looked down on her — he was Superman. At six foot six, he possessed such a super imposing stature that he was used to looking down at almost everyone—even—especially—Lois Lane. Even with her heels, he always looked down on Lois.

But not here.

Not today.

This whole tour they were face to face, eye to eye, and that just wasn’t right. Just like the weights the women at this gym were lifting, something wasn’t adding up for Superman. And he normally thought he was good with figures—but the women at this gym—let alone the weights they lifted—were all figures he just couldn’t wrap his mind around.

He glanced again at her footwear, as if double-checking for his own sanity. Those had to be some serious heels, right? That’s all it could be.

What else could it be?

Lois gestured back at him, waving for him to speed up and stop dawdling, and as he joined her side, standing surprisingly shoulder to shoulder with her, she pointed, her voice bright and confident, introducing him to the room and again he didn’t quite get his usual fanfare and reception, and that made him feel anything but super and in fact rather ordinary. And as he tried to adjust his cape and superhero outfit, he couldn’t help but feel his cape sag limply, his chest and ‘S’ emblem drooping sadly, his shoulders refusing to rise up, flare out, or square up, but instead stayed slumped and sunk.

“Ladies, this is Superman.”

The women smiled, their eyes flashing with a mixture of curiosity and something else — something playful, something hungry. The class didn’t skip a beat — they kept lifting, grunting, sweating, muscles flexing and pulsing beneath tight spandex and stretched tank tops. On the surface, this looked like any other aerobics class — but Superman knew this was anything but that. For starters, he could feel the ground rumble beneath his feet with a power that belied any earthly aerobics class. While lacking the sheer seismic scale of the main gym, these women still shook the room — more like a herd of buffalo than the skin-tight, buff, leotard-wearing aerobic beauties they were.

“And this,” Lois added, turning toward the towering redheaded trainer, “is Angie, the lead trainer and head of the Beginner’s Program.”

The redhead stood tall, leading the session with a voice that was part booming cheerleader, part battlefield commander. She wasn’t as massive as Maxxine—but still a towering presence. Her pink and blue thong leotard looked practically painted on, stretched to its absolute limit across her thick thighs, cannonball shoulders, and swelling bust. Every striation, every sinew etched and flexed as she moved, her outfit clinging like a second skin as her muscles pulsed beneath.

Lois stood slightly to the side as Superman watched Angie guide the women through their steps. They were using the same deceptively small dumbbells Maxxine had carried earlier. They still looked light—almost comically so. But Superman knew better. Looks were deceiving, and those dumbbells—just like the women who lifted them—were denser than they appeared.

Denser. Heavier. Stronger.

Despite the glistening sweat, the rippling muscles, and the grunts of exertion, these women displayed flawless form—fluid, controlled, and powerful. And yet, even these so-called beginners had muscles that would rival—or surpass—elite athletes, male or female.

Lois explained that this impressive bunch of buff brawny beauties was the beginner class. Upon joining the gym, each woman received her first Molecular Density Protein and Amino shake—helping them reshape, forge, and transform their bodies to lift the weights in this gym. “It’s a fast process,” she said with a smile.

Superman glanced over the women again, sizing them up—his super vision scanning every rippling fiber, every burgeoning bulge of muscle.

Even the smallest of these women would still be considered extremely muscular and shredded by any normal human standard.

“Just how fast?” Superman asked.

Lois’s grin widened, her eyebrow curling up along with it — that sly, signature look of hers.

“Within minutes, they’re able to lift our lightest weights,” she said.

Superman chuckled slightly. The lightest weights? He didn’t really consider lifting light weights an accomplishment. Not just for a superman like him — but for anyone.

“Lightest weights?” he said, laughing softly at his own attempt at a joke. “That can’t really be an accomplishment, can it, Lois?”

Lois gave him a look. Her grin grew wider, curling up to the side in perfect sync with her eyebrow.

“Remember — these aren’t ordinary weights,” she added sweetly.

“Yes,” Superman said, his chest puffing up ever so slightly, emboldened by his own words. “But they’re still girly weights. For girls.”

“These are our beginner weights, for the women at our gym who are beginners,” she said, firmly, her tone carrying just enough weight of its own. “It’ll take about a week or so before the women are strong enough to enter the main gym.”

Superman’s smile dropped — along with his shoulders.

Only a week? Only a week for a weak woman to transform into a musclebound Amazon capable of lifting weights heavy enough to shake this reinforced, heavy-duty gym? That truly was earthshaking news.

“Yes,” Lois added, as if reading his thoughts, “but it still takes time for the women to build up their bodies and strength to lift the truly heavy weights.”

Weights that Superman didn’t know just how heavy they truly were. Weights he couldn’t even begin to fathom... But weights that he was very, very anxious and interested in lifting. In fact, he was mildly disappointed there weren’t larger weights in here.

Just where were the weights they made specifically for him?

They had to be so big, he thought to himself, they’d take up an entire room. And the only weights in this room were small and tiny weights—albeit all were super dense and made from that unknown metal alloy of Dr. Forge’s.

Angie, the trainer, had the heaviest dumbbells in the room—ones that would look right at home in the most hardcore of powerlifting gyms. But she was flinging them around like toys. To her, they were lightweights. To Superman, however, who gave them a closer, more intense scan, he knew they too were made from the same densest metal he’d ever seen.

Then she dropped her weights.

THUD!

Superman’s knees buckled. Lois remained perfectly upright.

The other women didn’t flinch, they didn’t break their stride, they kept on lifting finishing up their set with the last few steps and reps.

Angie peppily jumped and clapped her hands. With each jump, her muscles swelled, rippled, and bulged. Veins pulsed and throbbed beneath her flushed skin.

“Great job, ladies! Time to re-rack the weights!” Angie clapped, her muscles rippling and pulsing with each enthusiastic motion.

Lois turned to Superman again and gestured toward Angie, who was toweling herself off, her skin shiny and muscles gleaming under the gym lights.

Superman thought to himself: Enough is enough. I’m Superman.
 He squared his shoulders. I’m going to shake her hand—and give her a super handshake this time. No holding back.
 He was through holding their hands… or rather, he had literally been holding their hands all tour long—but he shook that thought from his head and readied himself.

He reached out, taking Angie’s soft, slick, silky-smooth hand into his own and—

CRUNCH!

Pain surged like a lightning bolt. Superman clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening as Angie gushed brightly, “Oh my gosh, it’s really such an honor to meet you, Superman!”

Through the crushing pressure, he managed a tight smile—but inside he was screaming. Her steely grip made the Man of Steel’s own strength feel soft and pliable.

“You might not remember me,” Angie continued, oblivious to his struggle, “but you actually saved me a few months ago!”

He winced, forcing himself to nod politely.

I saved her... But who’s going to save me from her handshake, Superman thought to himself, as he once again had to put on a brave face and grin and bear another excruciating handshake.

He tried to squeeze back, but not only was the sense of pain a strange feeling for Superman—so too was the feeling of helplessness. A strange, alien feeling. Alien—like he had never come across a human—or even an alien—strong enough to do something like this to him. Not even his fellow Kryptonians.

“Yeah,” she added with a playful grin, “I sure wish I had these muscles back then. I would’ve handled those muggers myself!” She flexed her free arm as she spoke, the bicep swelling like a rising mountain, veins pulsing as the peak inflated.

Superman felt her flex as her grip tightened down even more on his trapped hand. The pressure increased with every pump.

With gritted teeth, he managed, “No doubt you’d… really manhandle them.”

Finally, she released him. He couldn’t help but flex his fingers, wiggling them to make sure they still worked, while his other hand immediately shot up to rub the throbbing ache. But he froze when Angie glanced down at his hands.

Smiling sweetly, she said, “At this gym, we don’t call it manhandling.”

Superman blinked, confused. “You… d-don’t?”

Angie and Lois giggled.

“W-what d-do you c-call it, then?” he asked, stumbling on his words.

Lois smiled wide, her eyebrow curling up with a wicked glint as she answered Superman’s question:

“Woman-handling!”

Both women burst into laughter. Before Superman could react, Angie and Lois each threw an arm around him, sandwiching him between them in a friendly group hug.

Superman knew exactly what they meant by woman-handling—because that’s exactly how it felt. That friendly hug felt anything but gentle to him.

Superman was no stranger to tight situations, and in his life and career as a crime fighter and hero, he’d been in some tight squeezes—but he’d never been in a squeeze like this, sandwiched between Angie the trainer and what some might call his main squeeze, Lois Lane. Except she was squeezing him, which didn’t make sense—as not only was he Superman, but Lois, unlike Angie and her truly massive hyper-huge muscles, didn’t have any muscles... But still, even with Superman unable to wrap his mind around that fact, Angie—with her muscles that were bigger than his own—and Lois Lane still had no problem wrapping their arms around him, pulling him in a hug that left him trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

And while he was a man who stood between converging armies and stood his ground, this playful hug was almost too much for him to bear. He felt weak in his knees—but truly, with how the Man of Steel’s physique was squished and squeezed, he felt weak all over. And hearing Lois’s and Angie’s soft giggling made him feel even weaker.

Finally, after one last hearty and hefty squeeze and a gaggle of giggles, the women broke off their hug, leaving Superman feeling more than just a bit broken and wobbly in his knees as he fought to keep his balance and stay upright.

Angie clapped her hands again, and Superman was this time buffeted by the sonic blast of air from her clap, wobbling back and forth and almost toppling over—if not for Lois’s strong and sturdy arm that pressed onto his shoulder to help steady him. He wanted to brush her arm off, because he was Superman, and he didn’t need her help to steady him or to stand upright. And yet, it wasn’t because he was a gentleman that he didn’t shrug off her hand—that would be rude. And after all, he wasn’t just a superman but a gentleman.

Giving her arms a couple of quick pumps and then a big flex—a flex big enough to capture everyone’s attention if her sonic boom of a clap hadn’t already done the trick—Angie perked up, puffed out her chest and swung out her shoulders and addressed the class one last time.

“Alright ladies, it’s time to refuel so we can rebuild and reforge our bodies with Mighty Female Muscles! It’s time for our Molecular Protein Smoothies—or as we’ve renamed them, Super Smoothies, in honor of our super guest!”

The women finished re-racking their weights, toweling off, and taking big gulps from their water bottles. They all clapped and cheered, many of them flexing and tensing their mighty female muscles like living statues of strength.

Then they turned their attention fully onto Superman, smiling and waving at Lois and him, and the rest of the class swarmed him.

And Superman once again found himself the center of attention—but this truly was a situation and a feeling he’d never felt before.

He felt... something. Shy? Small? Insecure? Maybe even insignificant. Surrounded by such big, strong women, he felt strangely intimidated—but that couldn’t be right. They were just women—stronger than most, yes—but he was Superman.

And he was tired of reminding himself of that fact, just as he was growing tired of this tour. And he was simply... tired.

Just as he was having trouble standing up straight—Lois’s hand was starting to feel awfully heavy, and unyielding, except while it was helping him with his balance, his knees were almost starting to buckle under her soft, velvety, but burdensome touch... But, that had to be a touch too much and just his imagination, thought Superman, as this whole visit has been some kind of female bodybuilding mass hypnosis hypertrophic mass of brawny bulging beefy female muscular never neverland, and he was just imagining things... After all, the tour was almost over and he’d soon get his hands on those weights they’d made just for him, and he’d prove to Lois and all these women how strong he is, and there’d be no doubt, or illusion as to just who is stronger.

Still, he couldn’t help but slouch. And when Lois gently lifted her hand from his shoulder, his shoulders sagged even more. He quickly forced his chest back up, shoulders flaring out, hoping none of the women had noticed. But the more they gathered around him, the more he slouched, and hunched, and slouched some more... Or at least that’s how it seemed to Superman, as he was in the presence of such superior superhuman muscular physiques—and all he could think of, as he was slouching, was that he himself was no slouch either with his superhero physique, but that thought only made him sink, and his muscles sag down deeper into a slouch.

“Super Smoothies… I like it. That’s cute,” one of the girls said, slapping Superman on the shoulder.

It took all his strength to stay standing.

That slap, though, was just the opening salvo, as before he knew it, he was mobbed by the buff beauties—those beautiful brutes playfully punching and slapping his back and shoulders, giggling and chatting about the renamed Super Smoothies and how they were going to make them “just so super and strong, just like him.”

Which was a humbling thought, Superman admitted—and would’ve eroded his confidence if not for the fact that every slap, every tap, every playful punch was eroding his balance and posture instead.

He shook under their strength. His knees buckled. His frame rocked. He was the Man of Steel. He’d withstood bombs, missiles, alien artillery—but the biggest bombshell was how these women were rocking him, with their perky and bombastic bombardment of playful slaps and love taps.

He didn’t know how much more congratulations he could withstand. He was shellacked. Shellshocked. Overwhelmed. He never would’ve imagined being surrounded by a bevy of buff, brutishly strong beauties could be so intimidating—but right now he’d rather face the entire Legion of Doom than endure these women.

And while he was both Superman and a gentleman, he was feeling more gentle than Super, and some of those smacks, hugs, and squeezes made him feel fragile, and the Man of Steel felt more like putty than steel in the hands of these beautiful buff beginner lifters.

Thankfully, Lois came to his rescue with a single well-timed clearing of her throat. She clapped her hands once, calling out cheerfully:

“Alright girls! Let’s not keep Superman all to yourselves—form a nice line, you’ll all get your chance to greet him. Don’t worry—he’s not going anywhere. Not yet.”

And for just a moment, Superman wasn’t entirely sure if he had been struck, shaken, and buffeted by another sonic boom—from Lois’s clap that rattled not just his ears but his entire frame, shaking his weary bones—or if his hyperactive imagination, overwhelmed by all these hyper-muscular beauties, was simply running wild again. Either way, her words still left him just as uncertain: was that a compliment… or a warning?

The women stopped, not needing a warning themselves from Lois, and quickly formed a line. One by one, these hyper-muscular beauties stepped forward to greet him, each woman’s smile just as sweet as the next—and each handshake more brutal than the last.

At first, Superman braced himself. After all, he was Superman. Surely, he could manage a few handshakes.

But as the line advanced, each grip grew stronger, firmer—tighter. Every handshake squeezed the Man of Steel just a bit more than the one before, until stars started to dance in his vision. His smile drooped and went limp just like his hand. His fingers ached. His jaw clenched.

By the midpoint of the line, it no longer felt like a polite meet-and-greet—it felt like his hand was being run through a meat grinder of hyper-muscular beauties. And his hand, with all the brutal crushing handshakes, wasn’t the only thing getting crushed—it left his ego crushed as well.

By the end, there was no hiding his discomfort—though he tried. His smile wavered, his cheeks flushed, his jaw clenched tighter and tighter. And still, he forced himself to endure it—because he was Superman, but he couldn’t believe the super painful grip these women had. However, he really couldn’t squeeze their hands back—because they were only beginners, after all.

And Superman couldn’t have known just how right he was… even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

As the women passed, one brushed her fingers across his chest. “Mmm. Hard,” she murmured, as his chest caved in slightly beneath her hand.

Another ran her palm along his arm and squeezed. “Wow. So big… and hard,” she said, as his bicep bent to her grip.

He clenched his jaw again, grinding his teeth hard.

Several traced the iconic ‘S’ symbol on his chest with their delicate, playful fingers. Only their soft touches and caresses didn’t feel so soft to him—instead they felt more like compresses, pushing down, compacting his chest beneath their hands, almost as if pressing the very steel of the Man of Steel.

They fawned over him, all while flexing, groping, and touching him, and it really started to make him feel uneasy—especially with how easily their fingers poked and pressed into his skin. He was the Man of Steel. He was bulletproof—actual bullets bounced off him and didn’t so much as leave a welt or even tickle.

And now… he was feeling not just ticklish, but squeamish under the soft, ticklish touches and prodding of the women, who somehow seemed to know exactly where he was the most squeamish—or softest—at. Only again… he wasn’t soft. He was the Man of Steel.

But with those touches from the women, he was feeling anything but steely—unless it was their velvet-like, steely, cast-iron grip he was feeling.

One of them giggled, “Flex for us, Superman.”

He hesitated, feeling strangely sheepish. Superman… sheepish. But that’s how it felt. Like he was the sheep, and these towering, musclebound beauties were the big, bad, buff wolves licking their chops.

“No, I—” he started, trying to laugh it off.

“Oh, go on. Give them a thrill,” Lois said with a wink.

He began to protest—but Lois just shot him a look. A stern, far more imposing look than any he’d ever seen her make. He knew she was formidable, but there was just something about that look that made her look downright imposing. It was a look that made Superman feel even smaller than he already felt in that moment.

So, he shut up.

And obeyed.

He sighed...

And flexed.

One of the women quickly squeezed his flexed bicep. He made sure he flexed hard—as hard as he could—and it held, but just barely.

“That’s hard,” she said, impressed despite that she had actually made a slight indent in his impervious muscle.

Another woman quickly stepped in, placing her fingers on the same peak, and squeezed harder—pressing in even deeper. “Mmm. It is hard. That’s why they call him the Man of Steel.”

This time Superman had to bite his lip to stop from squealing.

A third one took her turn, this time squeezing, crushing, and compacting his bicep nearly to the bone. He tried to flex back, but he couldn’t. And while he tried, he also couldn’t help but squirm under the pressure.

“He’s the Man of Steel, all right,” she giggled.

The women, including Lois, burst into laughter as they finally let him go, and Superman exhaled a long, relieved breath.

And then—

SMACK!

A younger girl with a bouncing ponytail didn’t just slap his butt, but she pinched his rear through his trunks.

Superman yelped.

“Oops,” she said with a dazzling smile. “I couldn’t help myself—I just had to get a feel of that super booty of yours.”

Then she flexed a bicep—which, surprisingly, was bigger than his—even though in this gym, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. But the real surprise was while Superman couldn’t help but rub his sore bottom, she simply brought that same hand—which had just smacked what she called his super booty—to her lips and blew him a playful kiss. Her hand wasn’t even sore or red—unlike his backside, which, he didn’t need his super vision to know, was nearly as red from the slap as his trunks.

She smiled and sauntered away, her hips swaying, as that kiss lingered in the air, along with the stinging sensation of the slap on his rear.

Lois leaned in. “That’s Brandi. You’ll get used to her.”

Superman nodded, trying to casually play off the spanking—but his backside still throbbed. One thing he’d never quite get used to, he thought to himself, was being mangled and manhandled—no—woman-handled, by women. It felt wrong. But… a part of him couldn’t help but think: if not right… then just right. Especially as he felt something stirring uncomfortably in the front of his trunks.

The line finally ended. The women had finished fawning over Superman, and once again, he felt like he’d just stopped an entire alien invasion.

Except this invasion was made up of impossibly strong, buff—and to him—alien, Earthly women with their beginner physiques at the Iron Valkyrie Gym, who had thoroughly invaded his personal space.

As they made their way out, several of the women turned back, waving and calling out in unison:

“Bye-bye, Superman!”

They struck playful poses, flexing their mighty muscles as a few—including Brandi—blew him exaggerated kisses.

And for a brief moment, Superman couldn’t help but imagine those kisses nearly blew him over. But that had to be just his imagination—or at least, he hoped it was.

Their giggles filled the air as they filed out, hips swaying and footsteps rumbling like a freight train.

And Superman, left standing in the middle of the room, felt himself—if not literally, then figuratively—blowing in the wind.

It was now just Lois, Angie, and himself in the room.

As Angie finished toweling off, her skin shiny and glistening, muscles rippling with every casual motion. She did one final stretch, twisting her torso with a smooth rotation that made her obliques ripple like tightly braided cables under her skin. As her shoulders bounced slightly with the motion, her chest—brimming with power—gave a subtle jiggle, the stretched pink-and-blue leotard straining at every seam as if protesting under the pressure. Her biceps swelled and bunched with every movement, thick and round like twin steel melons. Thick veins snaked across her pumped forearms, pulsing with each tiny movement, as she turned and started to bend down and reached for her big dumbbells on the floor.

Lois raised a hand. “You can leave them out, Angie.”

Superman glanced at the dumbbells. Well, they’re not the ones in the main gym, he thought. But I suppose they’ll serve as a decent warm-up.

Angie raised an eyebrow. “Planning to work out?”

Lois winked. “I might get a little one in.”

Superman blanched, his brow furrowing as he turned toward Lois. Lois? Working out here? Yeah, right… he thought skeptically.

But Lois just smiled sweetly. “But first, Superman’s going to work out. I promised him. And he’s even going to use the special weights Dr. Forge made just for him.”

Both women shared a smile—one of those shared smiles that made Superman’s chest puff up automatically… but also sent an uneasy chill crawling down his spine. That shared smile unnerved him.

Brandi was the last to leave, her massive dumbbells still resting on the gym floor. As she strutted away, each of her heavy footfalls sent tremors through the ground. And with each thudding step, Superman couldn’t help but feel his body shake in rhythm—whether it was the floor or his nerves, even he wasn’t entirely sure.

And then... the floor stopped trembling. The women were gone. But his knees were still shaking.

Lois smirked. “Ready for your workout?”

He scoffed, glancing around, searching for the big, monstrous weights he’d been expecting, then asked incredulously, “In this room?”

“Yeah. Where else would it be?”

“This is the beginner room.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Lois… I’m Superman.”

“You’re also a beginner lifter here, Super–man.” She drew out the ‘man’ with a glint in her eye.

She folded her arms. And as he looked at her, trying to give her that cocky, confident look and charm and super swagger—the look that always made her melt—only this time he noticed she didn’t swoon and wasn’t melting, but stood tall and imposing. And at further glance, that frumpy sweatshirt of hers wasn’t looking so frumpy... it was looking impossibly tight on her. It was stretched taut over her body, and her sturdy, squared shoulders. And he could see not just the faint outline and indentations of powerful pecs—not just hinted at, but pushing their thick, rectangular shapes into the straining fabric—as her thick arms and biceps pressed the seams to their limits.

No... It can’t be… he thought, staring at the thick sweatsuit stretched snugly across her figure. But it wouldn’t be much of a stretch for that to be muscle hiding beneath all that fabric.

But that’s impossible he thought...

But really, it’d be no more impossible than the rest of today.

In fact, this was a gym—and not just any ordinary gym—it’s the Iron Valkyrie Gym: a gym where women grow extraordinarily strong. And so, really, it’d be an even bigger surprise for Lois not to have used the gym to grow bigger and stronger.

But he still hoped and wished she didn’t use the gym, that she was only covering this gym for her article. But those sweats of hers seemed to be covering something even bigger than any article she could ever write.

And while he wanted answers, he resisted scanning her with his super vision, because it didn’t matter truly if she had muscles or not. And what if she had muscles—and that’s a big if, he thought and reminded himself—he's still Superman. That’s what matters. And he was going to prove that to Lois.

And the best way was to show her how strong he was. And what better way than to lift weights? Even if they are beginner weights. He’ll lift those easily, and then lift all the other weights in the gym, going up one at a time if he needed to—if that was what it would take to prove to these women that he was Superman, and that he’ll always be the strongest man in the world... No, the universe...

So, he started walking over to the dumbbells that Angie left on the floor. But before he could lift them, Lois once again cleared her throat... he decided to ignore her. I mean, the weights were right there at his feet, and as big as they looked—for weights—he’d lifted bigger. Entire planets even, he reminded himself, as he reached down—

Lois cleared her throat again.

And he decided against it. He didn’t know why, just something about the way she cleared her throat. And while he knew those weights were dense—impossibly so—he didn’t want Lois to think he was being impossibly dense and rude with her. And so, he moved over to the next biggest dumbbells which were sitting on the dumbbell rack.

“Start lighter,” Lois said.

He couldn’t help but make a sour face, but he did what was asked and moved further down the line…

“Lighter,” Lois chimed in again.

He kept walking down the rack.

“Lighter.”

This was getting to be absurd, and he couldn’t hide the frustration on his face as he was about to pick one of the last ones on the rack…

Until Lois cleared her throat and said, “Lighter,” once more—followed by a soft giggle.

He was now at the end of the dumbbell rack, and the only weights that were left were:

“But these are the girly weights,” Superman whined.

“They’re the beginner weights for the women at the gym... but... I guess if you want to call them girly weights... okay... call them that. But why don’t you just go ahead and try to pick them up?”

Lois smiled and grinned—a wide grin, almost as wide as those shoulders of hers, which he never remembered being so dang wide...

It was an odd thought, but with those wide shoulders, Lois looked more than a little imposing. But that just had to be his imagination. And while looking at those girly weights, he wasn’t so dense as to not realize that, thanks to their density, they were heavier than they looked. But he was still Superman, and he wasn’t going to let Lois, or some tiny little girly weights, intimidate him.

This was now his time—the time to show Lois, and all the women in this gym, even if it was only just him and Lois in this room right now, just what the mettle of the Man of Steel was, and just how strong a Superman could be. And if that meant starting with the lightest weights in the gym—the girly weights—so be it.

He’d lift them and prove once and for all who was stronger: Superman or the women of the Iron Valkyrie Gym.

Superman laughed—or at least he tried to—and as he puffed out his chest, he couldn’t help but gulp a little as he looked down and grabbed one of the girly dumbbells in his hand and then...

Nothing.

The weight didn’t budge. Despite his best efforts, the weight didn’t budge. His muscles bulged and swelled as he strained, and then a second hand joined the effort...

And still the weight didn’t budge.

He was Superman. He’d moved entire planets. And yet, impossible as it sounded, he couldn’t lift this weight. The sounds of the impossible task were his grunts and the grinding of his teeth. But this impossibly heavy weight, as improbably and impossibly dense as it was, was just too much for him.

But he didn’t want to be bested by these girly weights—he was Superman, and he didn’t quit or surrender so easily. He knew he could lift this weight. Because if the women from that last class could lift it so easily, then so could he. But it wasn’t easy going for Superman. It was the hardest task he’d ever faced. And using all his superpowered strength, he channeled everything he had and gave it a mighty heave. He grunted, and he gritted his teeth, as his body trembled beneath the impossibly heavy load. Sweat poured down his face, and slowly—shakily—the weight began to rise. And with the most intense, incredible effort—one that redefined what exertion and exhaustion, let alone strength, meant for him—he raised it to his chest.

But only just barely.

And just for a second.

Then he dropped it—and all his pretension about being Superman and the strongest being in the world came crashing to the floor with it. And it hit the ground with a soft, gentle thud, causing only the faintest of vibrations—ones perceptible only thanks to his heightened super senses.

Lois, grinning like a cat who ate the parakeet, strutted over to Angie’s dumbbells—and there was a thickness about her that he could no longer deny. With one smooth motion, she bent down and scooped up both weights—one in each hand—curling them with slow, steady ease. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she raised them high and smoothly transitioned into a few casual shoulder presses.

Each lift made her sweater stretch tighter. Her arms ballooned, each rep swelling her biceps even larger, rounder. Her shoulders surged with power—broad, bunched, and thick—making the fabric of her top strain to contain her. Seams twitched. Threads screamed. Her sleeves rode higher and higher as her delts and biceps swelled, swelling and swelling with every pump.

And that grin of hers only grew wider—just like her arms. Just like her shoulders. Only now, that wasn’t the grin of a cat who ate a parakeet—this was a woman who just proved herself stronger than not just a man… but a Superman.

“Are those girly weights really too heavy for the mighty Superman?” Lois teased, letting the words hang in the air—unlike the small, girly weights Superman had just dropped to the floor.

“They can’t be heavier than mine,” Superman said, pointing at the dumbbells in her hands—despite knowing full well that the weights Lois was lifting—and lifting with ease—belonged to Angie, the trainer and instructor for all the beginner lifters. Angie’s muscles easily dwarfed not just Superman’s, but all the other women in her class. And why would she be lifting lighter weights than the beginner lifters in her class? That just didn’t make any sense. But then again, none of this made any sense to Superman—not just a gym full of women being stronger than him, but Lois Lane being stronger than him.

Lois tilted her head, almost as if she was just as confused herself—but only by Superman’s words and lack of belief—especially since he now knows firsthand just how heavy even the tiniest and lightest weights in this gym were...

“You’re right—they’re not as heavy as those weights.”

Superman was about to let out a sigh of relief when she continued: “They’re heavier.”

Superman blinked. The words hit him with a weight even heavier than the ones he had just struggled to lift.

“That can’t be possible. That’s… that’s impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?” Lois asked.

“Because… you can’t be stronger than me. I’m Superman,” he said, almost pleading.

Lois just gave a little shrug—though with those shoulders of hers, even a little shrug was like a seismic shift, and there were a few audible seams that split and popped in her sweatshirt. “Hmm… well, you’re right,” she said, mock-conceding. “I should just drop it. I mean, there’s no way I could ever be stronger than Superman…”

And then she dropped the dumbbells.

The entire room shook. The floor quaked. Superman stumbled forward—literally rocked off his balance—arms flailing, legs scrambling to steady himself...

And he fell face-first right into Lois.

She caught him. Her arms wrapped around him—her powerful frame anchoring him like a pillar of granite dressed in skin-tight sweats, stretched to their limit and no longer able to hide the indentations and impressions of the steely sinews beneath. She held him firm, steadying him the way he used to steady and secure her. He could feel the strength in her hands. He could feel the strength in her body. And while a part of it made him feel safe—it also made him feel weak. And right then, he had never felt weaker in his entire life.

He looked up at her—really looked—and he still couldn’t believe it.

Even if he was seeing it with his own eyes.

“This is impossible,” he whispered. “This has to be some kind of trick. There must be Kryptonite somewhere…?!”

And Lois just laughed at his assertion—a full-bodied, chesty roar. That stretched the seams of her sweatshirt to the limit, and it was so tight and taut that the bottom of her stomach was visible. And on it were abs—etched and deeply defined—with that same carved and chiseled-from-stone look as all the women from this gym.

“Nope,” she said—and she didn’t just peel off her sweatshirt.

She ripped it off from her body.

She flexed first—biceps bulging, arms swelling with sudden girthy force, seams tightening until the fabric gave way with a sharp RRRIP. Her sleeves tore from the pressure alone, threads popping as her muscles surged outward. Then she grabbed the collar with both hands and pulled—splitting the sweatshirt down the middle and tearing it from her body like it was wrapping paper.

“Just mighty female muscles,” she said, planting her fists on her hips in a stance that unmistakably mirrored his iconic pose—only this was a funhouse mirror, and Lois’s pose, just like her muscles, was bigger. Wider. Stronger!

And lower down, the show wasn’t over. Her sweatpants clung to quads that quaked with muscular might. The fabric stretched to its limit, seams whining—until finally, with a soft tearing sound, the sides split. A flash of her bronzed skin pushed through—muscle so full, thick, and dense it barely looked real. Her calves, thick as cannonballs, ballooned below, the pantlegs stretched and split, unable to keep up or contain her muscular might—or the bowling-ball-sized bulge of her calves.

And with a sly grin, she gripped the waistband of her sweatpants, tugged, and ripped them clean off—leaving her clad in nothing but a red thong and a blue sports top, both so tight they looked more like body paint than actual clothes. Her muscles were so defined—among other, various parts of her anatomy—that it left little to nothing to Superman’s imagination.

Which, honestly, was probably a good thing—because all Superman could think about was how Lois could have ever gotten this big, and this strong. And even then, he was finding such a feat difficult to imagine—so it was lucky for him she was standing there, in the flesh and blood and almost the buff—thanks to her buffness—so he didn’t have to imagine it.

With Lois’s full muscular might on display, it didn’t just leave little doubt—because there was nothing little about her muscles—that she was made from the very same stuff as all the women in the gym. Carved from the same granite slab as all the other women… or rather, forged by Dr. Lysandra Forge herself and her Molecular Density Amino Sequence v7.3 protein smoothies, which the Doctor and the gym staff had renamed Super Smoothies in Superman's honor—although he couldn’t help but feel as if it was more of a joke than an honor, just as he couldn’t help but wish this was all just one great big joke being played on him.

But Lois’s great big muscles weren’t a joke, not at all—her muscles swelled with such size and might, not just bigger than his own, but just as big, if not even bigger, than Maxxine’s. And though she no longer had sweats to stretch, when she flexed her arms, Superman couldn’t help but feel like she was stretching the very fabric of reality itself—because never in his wildest dreams had he thought it possible for a woman—let alone Lois—to be so massively muscular… and so impossibly strong.

It made Superman feel like he wasn’t just the butt of the joke, but the joke itself, compared to these women and their superior superstrength.

Lois walked up to him, her hips swaying. She was so swole her muscles were swelling and rippling in ways he never thought possible. There was a sensuality to her raw muscularity, but she was still every inch the woman he loved—just that she had so, so many more inches than before. And she had many, many more inches of muscularity than even him and his so-called super muscles.

And then, with a sexy little shimmy that made each and every muscle fiber on her big muscular body ripple, she shifted her hips and swayed softly to one side—then swung back toward him, planting a sweet, soft, playful hip check against his own sturdy hips. But her hips proved sturdier, as her muscular bum gave him the bums rush and gently shoved him aside.

Although to Superman, that gentle shove felt more like a Mack truck slamming into his hip than Lois’s sensual hips—which she gave one last sexy shimmy and shake. Not to knock him further out of the way, but to tease him. Not just with their strength, but with sex appeal—only, of course, with the way Lois’s muscles were stacked muscle on top of muscle on top of muscle… flex appeal would be more accurate.

Lois bent down, plucked the dumbbell off the floor with ease, and gave Superman a playful scolding. “Tsk tsk,” she said, curling it a few times effortlessly as her bicep ballooned out exponentially. “If you’re going to work out at the Iron Valkyrie Gym, you’re going to have to follow our rules. Rule number one: re-rack your weights, mister Super-man.”

Then, with just her index finger, she gave the so-called girly dumbbell a few lazy pumps—like she was twirling a feather—and slid it back into place. “And rule number two,” she teased, “nothing is stronger or mightier than mighty female muscles,” she finished saying as she flexed and brought her arms down together in front of her in not just a most muscular pose, but the most muscular flex Superman ever saw in his entire life.

Superman didn’t want to be rude—honestly, he would’ve gladly re-racked that dumbbell—if he could’ve. But that girly little weight had delivered a rude awakening, as it was way, way, way too heavy for him!

And while some stubborn, cape-wearing part of him still wanted to argue—still wanted to believe that Lois and her mighty female muscles couldn’t possibly be stronger than his own—he really, really didn’t want to be rude. He was already nursing a sore hip from Lois’s playful hip check, which had delivered another kind of rude shock. And now, just as he was starting to wish he were anywhere but this gym, he realized—flying off with his cape between his legs would be the rudest exit of all.

And that wouldn’t be becoming of a Superman…

Even if Lois and all the women at this gym were seemingly becoming something even more super and superior to that of a superman.

She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with muscle-packed mischief. “But I’m being rude,” she said. “I did promise you we had weights specially designed just for you...”

Right then, almost as if on cue, Millie strutted in holding two dumbbells even smaller than the pink girly weights Superman had struggled to lift—only these were blue. The same bright, bold shade of blue as his superhero outfit.

Millie beamed, and her muscles bulged and danced as she walked up to Superman, holding his special weights as if they were weightless or just toys, and she held them up like trophies, showing them off to Superman, the small, tiny little weights that Dr. Forge created just for him.

“Here you go, Superman,” she said with a wink. “Your special weights. Hope you don’t find them too easy…”

Superman was hunched over, trying to focus and regain his confidence, to summon up all his vast super strength—which he felt had deserted him. In this gym, he felt weaker than if he were under a red sun or exposed to Kryptonite. Even his cape and spit curl hung limply.

And while he knew there wasn’t any Kryptonite or red sun rays, he couldn’t help but feel these women eclipsed him. Millie towered over him, offering him those special weights—which to him looked anything but special, but rather mocking, as they were the tiniest and smallest and lightest weights in this entire gym. He couldn’t help but think she looked even more muscular than he remembered.

She was just a receptionist, and she was so much more massive and muscular than him. Her forearms, densely corded and pulsing with powerful veins, were just as thick as his arms. And once again, he felt weak standing next to such a muscular woman.

He didn’t think it was possible to feel any wimpier, any weaker… until Millie handed him the special weights made just for him.

THUD!

The moment he took hold of them, he fell face-first into the floor.

He faceplanted with all the grace of a Saturday morning cartoon character, his limbs splaying out in every which direction, his face smacking the reinforced gym floor, making a loud thunderclap, and with such force that it shook the entire room. It was a good thing he was the Man of Steel, or he might’ve suffered a concussion—or worse. Then again… hearing Lois and Millie’s laughter echo through the gym, he wasn’t sure there was anything worse.

While his ego suffered a big dent, the floor didn’t, and so Superman didn’t have time to wallow—even if he had just hit the figurative and literal rock bottom. And so he tried to stand up as quickly as he could. But even though he was faster than a speeding bullet, it still took him far longer than he would’ve liked just to get back to his feet.

And still—there was the problem of those weights. The smallest ones in the gym. The ones made just for him. The ones made for Superman.

They weren’t just heavy and possibly even too heavy for him, but he felt their weight and burden as if it was an albotrose hanging around his neck. And he knew he had to lift those weights—he just had to... He just didn’t know if he’d actually be able too... 

Still he wasn’t some wimp.

He wasn’t some ordinary man—he was Superman!

And he wasn’t about to give up... Even if he wanted to. And right now—he really wanted to. But with Millie’s and Lois’s strong gazes locked onto him—gazes that felt even stronger than what their muscles looked like, which was saying something—only they didn’t need to say anything—and Superman knew he couldn’t give up.

They wouldn’t let him.

So, he squatted down, grabbed both dumbbells in his hands, and with a deep breath and a grunt, he began to lift. The weights shook in his hands. These were the heaviest things in his entire life that he lifted, apart from those pink girly weights that he more struggled with—than lifted. His legs trembled and felt more like jelly than steel and his arms quivered. And you’d never think by looking at him right then that he’d had lifted entire cars, city buses, trains, whole mountains, and even entire planets, as he struggled with those tiny blue little weights. Sweat began to pool along his brow, but he wasn’t just standing up, his body was straightening up.

He stood upright—slowly, shakily.

And then—he curled one arm.

“That’s one,” Millie said, counting with an encouraging smile.

He curled the other arm.

“Two,” Lois counted. “Don’t give up… you’re doing great—for a man.”

Millie laughed, then turned to Lois, “He’s not just a man…”

Lois joined her, and the two said it together, grinning wide:
 “He’s a Superman.”

And on the third rep—both women cheered and clapped, and Superman felt like he was at his limit.

But both Millie and Lois encouraged him to do one more, and so he dug down deep, and he summoned all his vast super strength—strength that had once moved entire planets—and he was able to move and curl, one last time, the small, tiny, blue dumbbell in his hand.

And that was it. That was his limit. The dumbbells shook in his grip, and his whole body trembled, and he just barely got that last curl to his chest before his arms dropped, hanging by his sides like limp noodles. But he didn’t feel defeated—he felt proud... But he didn’t feel the tiny blue weights as they fell to the floor, making a soft little thud.

Mostly he felt sore and spent, as he was completely exhausted, and it took all his remaining strength just to stand. And while he didn’t have the strength left to puff up his chest, he did lift his chin up and smile at both Millie and Lois.

And Lois had a smile just as big as his, if not bigger, because her smile was beaming—just like those biceps of hers were bulging—as she crossed her arms and winked at him, saying, “Good job, Superman. That’s the hero I know and love.”

“He lifted even more than I thought he would,” Millie said to Lois, and Lois just kept grinning and smiling as she beamed, “Never underestimate Superman.”

And Superman felt his face flush—it was already as red as his cape from the exertion—but it flushed a few shades brighter due to his embarrassment. Because while he was still proud of the weight he lifted—he couldn’t, at the same time, help but feel humbled by it—and by all the women at this gym—especially Millie and Lois, who he knew could effortlessly lift the small, tiny super weights that were made just for him... Just for Superman.

And he didn’t know if he should feel complimented or belittled by their remarks, but then again, their words weren’t even a fraction as belittling as standing next to them and their superhuman, super muscular, hypertrophic physiques.

That’s when the doors opened—and in walked Maxxine and Dr. Forge. The floor shook softly with each and every one of their steps.

Maxxine looked radiant and powerful, her muscle-packed frame stretching every seam of her workout clothes, that it had to be a miracle of modern science. And Superman couldn’t help but wonder if Dr. Forge had anything to do with that too... She’d already turned all the women here into super strong and super muscular Amazons, with seemingly no limits to their strength—so what couldn’t she do or accomplish?

“Well done,” Maxxine said, nodding at him. “You didn’t give up. You finished your set.”

With a wide grin—as wide as her traps—she slapped him heartily on the back in congratulation.

It wasn’t meant to be hard, it was meant to be playful.

But to Superman, the force sent him flipping forward in a full somersault—cape flying, limbs flailing—before he landed in a tangled heap on the reinforced gym floor. There was barely a sound. Like a feather touching down. But there was no escaping his embarrassment as he lay there on his own backside, feeling like he put the ass in embarrassment.

Lying there flat on his aforementioned ass, blinking up at the ceiling lights, he’d never felt more thoroughly knocked off his pedestal.

Dr. Forge stepped in alongside Maxxine, standing over him like she’d been forged in a great bronzed statue mold—though, of course, she had forged those impressively large and dense muscles herself, sculpted by her own super science and her super molecular smoothies. With clipboard in hand, her expression was sharp, her eyes calculating. Her silver hair shimmered, and her bare muscular arms gleamed—lustrous with power.

“You’re weaker than even my lowest conservative projected estimates,” she said, matter-of-factly, in that dry and analytical tone of hers. “Which just proves my hypothesis: even a Superman, apparently, is still weak like a man.”

All the women laughed—while Superman tried not to be sore about those words. His whole body was sore. Especially, you know what.

As the women loomed over him, they couldn’t help but flex—just as Superman couldn’t help but feel sore. But part of him—some stubborn, honest part—was truly impressed. Impressed by the women. Impressed by their strength. And most of all, impressed by Lois. Not just because she could press more weight than him, but because she looked like the biggest and strongest of them all. Bigger even than Maxxine and her maximized muscles.

“I… I can’t believe how strong all of you women are,” he said.

“Believe it,” Lois replied with a wink—and, of course, a big booming flex to follow. And all the other women followed her lead, proudly flexing and showing off their impossibly large, and even more impossibly strong, mighty female muscles.

All except Dr. Forge, who remained still—while jotting notes on her clipboard. She studied him with those same analytical eyes. Whether it was curiosity or pity, Superman couldn’t tell.

But to him—it felt a whole lot like pity.

“And us women?” Dr. Forge said calmly. “We’re only going to get stronger.”

Then, turning her attention fully on him, she added: “I could help you get stronger too. If you’d like.”

Getting stronger was never something Superman had ever really thought about. He’d always been the strongest. Not just the strongest man in the room—but in the world. In the universe.

Until now.

Now, lying on the gym floor, sore and sorely humbled, he didn’t feel so super. Everything he thought he knew about strength had changed. And he knew—for him, for Lois, for Metropolis, and maybe the entire world—things would never be the same again.

Not anymore.

He was sore. He was sweaty. His muscles strained. And his ego… even more strained.

And he wanted to be strong again. Desperately. Because even if he was still the strongest man in the room, every woman in this gym had muscles that dwarfed his. He especially wanted to be stronger than Lois.

Superman nodded eagerly. “That’d be great. Why… I bet with your training—and that molecular protein super smoothie—why, in no time, I’ll be just as strong, if not stronger than all of you!”

Dr. Forge narrowed her eyes.

“R-right, Doc?” Superman added, more pleading than asking.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Dr. Forge said, and true to her word, she didn’t laugh—but she did smirk. Just a little...

“B-but... but... but... but that can’t be p-possible,” Superman stammered, hoping and pleading.

And for all the ifs, ands, or buts, facts were facts—and he was the one lying flat on his butt in this gym built for people with superhuman strength far beyond what his Kryptonian genetics had gifted him.

Dr. Forge didn’t look up. She simply kept scribbling notes on her clipboard—precise, fluid, merciless strokes like a master sculptor. Her voice was cool, clinical, and it carved through the air, slicing away the last of Superman’s ego.

“While men seemingly have higher testosterone, and that can lead to a historical and premature biological muscular and strength advantage, the Y chromosome is inherently weaker and flawed—genetically speaking—and not as robust, durable, or strong as the superior X chromosome. And since women have two X chromosomes, the genetic advantage, once untapped and awakened, is exponentially more powerful.”

She paused only to turn a page—much as she herself had turned the genetic potential and page on the muscular supremacy of the sexes.

“Unlike men, women’s strength comes from within. And I don’t mean emotional—I mean physical. That strength was always there. Latent. Untapped. Waiting for the right trigger so that nature could not just be corrected… but perfected.”

She didn’t even glance up when she delivered the final line—which, even in her analytical tone, hit Superman like a final knockout blow. At least when it came to his ego:

“Your strength relies on the presence of a yellow sun. A woman’s does not. It’s biologically inherent in our genes—genes that are more robust than even yours, Superman. And that is precisely why women are stronger than any man... even a so-called Superman such as yourself.”

“What... I d-don’t understand what you’re s-saying…”

Dr. Forge let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, as she gave her notes on the clipboard on final tap, putting a finality in her remarks, no doubt making sure that all the x’s and t’s were cross and I's dotted.(or whatever that expression is use it there/here)

And that’s when Lois stepped in.

“What she’s saying is...” Lois said, tugging on his cape.

With an easy flick of her wrist, she yanked him off the floor like he was nothing more than a yo-yo—lucky for him she didn’t try any tricks—and set him down abruptly onto his feet.

“That—you might be Superman,” she said with a smirk, “but here? You’re just a man.”

He staggered—not just from trying to get his footing, but from the staggering revelation.

He was on shaky ground—both metaphorically and physically—as his knees wobbled and his legs felt rubbery, and the Man of Steel didn’t feel so sturdy…

And Superman didn’t feel quite so super anymore.

Not while standing in front of these four muscular women with their massive, muscular feminine physiques.

“But... but... I’m S-Superman... I’m the s-strongest man in the w-world... the w-whole universe...”

“You still are,” Lois said, smiling. “But like Dr. Forge said—you’re still just a man.
 And we’re women with molecularly altered and compounded hyper-dense, hypertrophic, hyper-huge mighty female muscles.”

Superman rubbed his head, and he couldn’t help but realize the inevitable.

“That would mean…”

Like the punchline to a cruel, ironic joke—

“YEP. All the women here are way stronger than you!”

And then Lois slapped his back.

He tumbled forward, straight into Millie.

Face first into her bosom.

It was soft. It was padded. But there was mass and density beneath it. Her bulging muscular bosom nearly knocked him out. Running into her headlights felt like running into a semi-truck.

“Even the beginner girls,” Millie said, pulling Superman into a hug—crushing her sturdy, steely chest against his as her bulging bosom and wider, brawnier torso engulfed his. Her arms wrapped around him like superpowered anacondas, squeezing tighter and tighter—so tight Superman realized he might as well kiss his days of superpowered muscular superiority goodbye. And as Millie locked lips with him, that’s precisely what he did—in his own way.

He gave in to the kiss, partly because he had no choice, and partly due to its passion. He didn’t just go limp in her arms—he melted—and simply embraced that he was now weaker than these women. And while his body was limp, there was one part of him that was just as strong as ever—and it was poking Millie in the abs.

From the way she kissed him, she either didn’t notice… or didn’t mind.

She finally set him down, and he wobbled trying to stand straight—his lips smeared with her lipstick, a smear just as much on his face as his superhero image.

“Hey, sister—what’s the big idea?” Lois asked, strolling up with hands on hips. “You trying to stake a claim?”

As Superman teetered, swaying side to side, there was only one part of him that stood up straight—and it was stretching out the front of his red trunks.

Lois cocked her head, smiled, and said, “Well, looks like he’s staking a claim of his own, doesn’t it, ladies?”

The women giggled, snickered, and tittered. None of them minded. In fact, judging by their knowing looks, they approved. And as they hungrily licked their lips—like a pack of wolves licking their chops—Superman sheepishly tried to cover himself, and his shame, with his cape. But there was nothing to be ashamed of. This was the first display of Superman that truly impressed all the women present.

Millie tried wiping the lipstick from his lips. Her hand was soft, silky, smooth—like velvet. But to the Man of Steel, it felt like a velvet glove cast in iron… no, titanium… or something far steelier than the metal—and the mettle—he was made from. And he couldn’t help but squirm under her touch.

“Are you marking your territory, sister?” Lois said. “Because I staked him out and claimed him a long time ago.”

Millie just beamed. “I can’t help it—he’s super cute. Even if he is a bit wimpy… but look at that. He’s all man.” She gave him a playful swat on the backside, making him squeal and drop his cape, once again revealing his impressive supersized manhood.

Lois looked him up and down, then zeroed in on the impressive bulge in his trunks. “That’s because he’s not just a man,” she said.

And the other women—all of them—chimed in, including Dr. Forge: “He’s Superman!”

“Besides,” Millie said with a flirty laugh, “he’s probably the only man alive who could survive a night of… you know what with us.” She giggled naughtily, and those innocent cheeks of hers blushed, as her shoulders and neck muscles swelling as her face flushed a cute shade of crimson.

Dr. Forge began to speak in her typical cool and analytical manner, “That remains to be seen. We’ll have to test that hypothesis.” But a sly, wry smile curled on her lips as she added, “And I, for one, am looking forward to testing it quite thoroughly.”

Superman gulped.

“Oh no you don’t, Doc,” Lois said, wagging a finger. “He’s mine.” Then, with a devilish smile, she added, “But… if he survives, I suppose I could share him.”

Superman had no sooner breathed a sigh of relief, than hearing Lois’s last words, once again couldn’t help but gulp. His knees trembled. His lips still tingled from Millie’s kiss, and his cheeks now matched the lipstick that hadn’t quite been wiped off. He felt like a piece of meat… but couldn’t deny he also felt oddly, helplessly and hopelessly aroused.

“So, Doc,” Lois said casually. “You might wanna start inventing some super-strong, reinforced beds for us.”

Dr. Forge let out a rare laugh—more of a chuckle, really.

“I think you’re right. And to think—after all my years as a scientist, my greatest invention might not be making all women stronger and more powerful than not just every man in the world, but even the world’s strongest and mightiest man—Superman himself. No, it just might be… a bedframe sturdy enough to survive a night of superpowered coitus.”

“Super nookie,” Lois opined.

“SUPER SNU SNU!” all the women shouted—including Dr. Forge.

They all burst into giggles and laughter. Even Dr. Forge couldn’t suppress hers.

Superman didn’t know what the rest of the night might bring… let alone what might lie in his future. Maybe a super-reinforced bed. Maybe a night of super snu snu. But what he did know was that things were never going to be the same again.

“Ladies,” Lois said with a wink, “it’s been fun. But I think me and Superman are gonna finish our workout together… one-on-one.”

All the women giggled knowingly.

Maxxine and Millie each brought a palm to their lips—their arms curling up into swollen, mountainous bicep flexes as they slowly and sensually kissed their palms—and blew him a kiss.

“Bye-bye, Superman,” they said in unison.

And that kiss—it blew away the last shreds of his superpowered pretension. He himself was blown back—right into the waiting arms of Lois Lane, and he knew that was where he belonged. He now belonged to her, just as he knew his days of catching her in his arms and rescuing her were over.

She kissed him—her lips wiping away every last trace of Millie’s lipstick stains, while her own lipstick marked him as hers. It took all his remaining strength, all his scattered, fluttering concentration just to kiss her back. And when he did, his kisses were soft. Delicate. Tiny. Tender little pecks lost in the sensual storm of her kisses.

Her kisses were powerful.

Her kisses were lusty.

They were deep and dominating—they were kisses that overwhelmed and consumed him, kisses that made him swoon in her arms, and left him weak and breathless beneath her crushing embrace.

Even as he melted in her arms, one part of him had never felt steelier. By the way she rocked and grinded his body against her own, Lois felt it too.

And while he’d failed every other test of strength that day… Superman realized there was one last test where he could redeem himself—one area where he could still prove he was worthy of the name Superman.

At least… in one small way.

Not that there was anything small about that way!

As he squirmed and writhed in her passionate grip, he couldn’t help but think:

He might be Superman… but Lois Lane and the women of the Iron Valkyrie Gym, they were a googolplex of ways stronger.

Thanks to Dr. Lysandra Forge and her earthshaking, astronomical training regimen… they weren’t just more super—but superior—and then some to Superman!

The sun has set on Superman. He’s now the Man of Yesterday.

And it’s a new dawn for Lois Lane—and all the women at the Iron Valkyrie Gym—where their strength will keep on growing stronger and stronger... and the seismic shockwaves that rock their gym will soon shake the entire world—making it quake under their muscular might!

And that night… Superman and Lois made the entire reinforced super gym quake under the power and strength of their love... But mostly Lois’s lust and muscular might!