HOME | DD

Description
Simone can tell that something is wrong the moment she brings the Mask near her face. No, not wrong... Just new.

Admittedly, 'new' with the Mask of Loki has the potential for all kinds of wrong. But Simone no longer fears that. She no longer fears the rush; instead, she loves it. Loves the thrill and the power.

Power, that's the ticket. As the Mask comes closer to her face, time seems to slow down. As though the Mask has become a black hole, deforming space and time. Warping even light-- like the light bouncing off the grainy wood of the Mask is pushing back at her face.

Testing her strength to see if she is worthy.

But no-- not a black hole. Not the Mask-- not this Mask, anyway, regardless of certain bigheaded alternate universes. This Mask is a source of creative power, unlimited and unrestrained, and if it has destructive temptation...

Simone has conquered that. She's used to it. The temptation to use creation to destroy. To flood the world with so much chaos, so much change, that it's just all nullified.

Chaos, in short, become order. When everything changes and nothing can be relied upon, that's the most stifling order of them all. The ultimate temptation of the mask, and the ultimate aim of that horrible little voice.

Simone wouldn't be surprised if that was Odin, or at least Odin's fault.

But this... This is the energy of a white hole. The force flooding the universe with all the mass and energy that has been stolen from it. Radiant, furious power.

Unstoppable, uncontrollable, unimaginable power.

She hardly even notices when the mask finally touches her skin. Finally touches it... And bonds.

Everything glows. Green, yes, but not green alone. A crazy kaleidescope of colors, like fractured prisms tumbled in a jar and then shone through, not white light, but the full selection of mister Roy G. Biv.

The sensations are blinding and illuminating; deafening, and enlightening. The universe screams a chorus around Simone's mind. Angels howl and devils harmonize.

Change...

Change...

CHANGE!

Simone is used to the Mask transforming her into a massive wall of muscles. Perhaps there are some of the other "supers" of her world who are bigger. Perhaps some even that could beat her in a contest of strength...

Until she needs them to fail. And it frankly just doesn't matter, with all that the Mask can do.

But she's fine with that-- again, see the immense array of other things the Mask can do. Besides... It's nice to be able to fit in, say, her bedroom. Maybe with a little ducking.

The mask has nothing near so minimalist in store this time. "Yes... oh... oh... YES!" Simone cries out, as immense powers flood into her.

She's bigger than the biggest she's been--

Other than the She-Mask versus Gorilla-Whale thing, but, relative body size to body size, still bigger--

In mere moments. A slightly short, athletic body reaches the pinnacle of bodybuilders-- the most massive that men have ever made with an exquisitely female zing-- in seconds. Then it adds on the raw heft and mass of a weightlifter, of someone whose muscles work for a living and aren't just for show...

And keeps going. Around her spectacular core, still growing and growing and GROWING, a thick secondary layer of musculature forms. This added layer absorbs much of the fat-- that which isn't being redirected and multiplied on her bust and hind end-- that surrounds even a normal, healthy person's bod, just below the skin, and interweaves it with spectacular new musculature. That muscle, in turn, is incredibly hard and insanely tough, if not quite as flexible or directly, awe-inspiringly powerful as her primary core, but it serves to protect and enhance that basic core.

It also gives her an incredible, striated look without actually starving her. The fat and other storage parts of the body are still there-- supplemented by the incredible, chaotic power of the mask. As it wraps around her head, becoming as close and tight as a second skin, it's almost unnoticed in the sheer vastness that pumps into her.

But Simone isn't done yet. Bigger and bigger she grows. Taller and taller, too, crashing down to her knees. A lamp falls, and her hand moves so fast that it must twist or the air itself will burn. She does, and it doesn't, and the lamp is righted again.

Perhaps a bit unsteadily. Every second-- every millisecond-- is full of constant, omnipresent pumping. Flexion from every muscle in her body. Squeezing. Clenching.

GROWING!

Like a heartbeat throbbing, Simone's muscles pump in and out. But each thud grows deeper and deeper; each muscle grows bigger and bigger. Legs like treetrunks become more like bridge supports, sculpted and designed by some mad genius. Some mad heavenly genius or some hellish perfection recreating the divine. Her biceps and triceps are less like mountains and more like icebergs, great islands of swole with the tremendous peaks literally reaching the ceiling.

Her arms are flung far out to either side. Far out, but heavily bunched up. So much muscle mass is growing on her arms that they're starting to rival her legs. Or at least, they were...

Until her legs started outgrowing the bed right next to her. As strange-- er, stranger-- ripples curl and squeeze against her prodigious body, all over, she giggles, her voice booming in the early morning air. Her big booty clenches, showing off the bubblesome jiggles the stranger clenches are causing, and she kicks out her long, thick leg, the thigh half a heart-shaped awesome eruption of muscularity.

Yep. Longer than my whole bed! Whee!

Wait-- what's this? Simone, still shuddering and clenching, realizes she's actually looking through her body. She can see the muscles as they grow-- see the odd little structures growing alongside the double-layer-- and sees the heavy bone, elongating as though a balloon pumped with-- something. Some strange substance, stronger than stars and harsher than the heavens themselves.

And she can see through her tits, which is kind of important since each one isn't just bigger than her head now. They're bigger than her thighs. You could fit her entire old body wrapped up inside either one!

They balloon out, her sportsbra ludicrously following, oh-so-sensitive, their pleasure added to the maelstrom that this new, incredible transformation laces through her absolutely everything. Great, jiggling mountains that make her bicep peaks look like they're about to get participation only trophies, with thick, rich nipples that strain against the rippling sportsbra.

If Simone couldn't see through them, she'd have a real problem with people being able to hide right up close to her! But she can see through them, and around herself. All around, as though her eyes are just an expression of personality and no longer the seat of her vision.

There is no darkness behind her eyes.

As interstellar power adds to titanic size, she glories in the incredible strength and expansion the mask brings. The leg that she extended, she tucks back in, squeezing from her calves, to her hamstrings, to her quads, and all the not-so-little muscles in between. Sartorius or graceilis, she pumps them all up at once.

Simone's calves alone spread into two great rising peaks that are bigger than her whole chest used to be. Her thighs...

Are starting to get bigger than her torso is right now.

Bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger she rises again Simone She-Mask, titan, herald, and perhaps goddess of the new era. All throughout her body, swarming around every muscle, those little structures forming...

They're... four heads, there, another long strip here, and up on my bicep, it's linking end to end...

Tertiary muscles?

Yes. While secondary muscles seem to pop up in layers, whether belonging to a female-only tribe of Valkyries or come standard with metahuman forms, tertiaries are far rarer. In all the myriad multiverses that totally have nothing to do with who owns what IP, really, no ma'am, tertiary muscles are rarities indeed. The mighty L-Hunters, the fierce Giantesses and their unyielding Titans, the Trans-Omegans-- only a few have these extra structures. When the primary and secondary muscles get not only so big, but so powerful that their very mass starts to turn against itself, consort muscles develop.

Mimicking the form of the whole-- and assembling into the form of the whole-- these tertiary muscles are as much Symbolic as concrete. In the flesh, they concentrate, direct, and channel the force of the massive muscles themselves. In the symbolic, they represent muscle upon muscle upon muscle, making them great kings and queens of power.

In this case, very much a queen. An empress of enormity; a sultana of swole. The titan of tough. See how she rises.

Her arms are each nearly as big as her whole torso less the tits, and her core itself is bigger than the bed she rose from. Her neck, not so much bull-thick and bull-elephant-breaking thick, not so much corded as cabled-- bridge cabled!, bends forward for the only cause she ever will again...

Her own. She doesn't want to break her house today, after all. And she is simply too massive to fit. Stretched out and just lightly curled up so that her biceps, delts, and forearms don't squash together, she could reach from one side of her fairly comfortable master bedroom to the other. Diagonal, like she is now, she nearly amkes it anyway.

Her massive delts are asteroids, squeezing and clenching atop those impossible arms. Her biceps and triceps rise not like a shipkiller, but like entire glaciers calved off, the land too small to contain them, the sea too weak to hold them. The twining bulge of flexors and extensors, the whole lot of her forearms swells up damn near as big as her peaks.

She is immense. Her abs-- a full eightpack in the primaries, and far more with the tertiaries. Her pecs have to blossom behind breasts bigger than some bears by weight, but blossom they do, mesh and foundation both. Rippling prominence erupt like some new throneworld being forged out of stellar ejecta.

And then there's her legs. One knee ducked beneath her, shin to the floor. The other up so high her thigh and her breast slap into each other. Vast musculature that even make her arms look mildly beefy by comparison just roars into existence. With long, smooth curves both grooved and outlined by the consort muscles, her huge thighs are like solar storms, roaring across the great stars.

Her calves, monoliths; even her feet are buff.

Her somewhat boring sportsbra is gone, and so are the shorts. Instead, the Mask decided today was a day for a polka-dot bikini... but nothing eenie, weenie, or teenie about it. While revealing plenty, the huge white-on-black 'fabric' of some strange material manages to cover her multi-Z cup bust fairly well, teasing at the jiggliness beneath. The thong is considerably more daring, showing off half of her rump, but it's the same stretchy fabric that somehow survives being drawn tight over those terrifying muscles.

The full transformation only takes a seconds, but to the accelerated mind it grants Simone, it seems like centuries. Like she experienced every inch of growth personally on every square patch of skin. Laughing, she throws back her head and with the biggest smile on her face, she laughs, "AAAAOOOOOGGGGAAAA! WHOA!"

Chuckling on, she shakes her head and turns her head this way and that, sweeping her direct gaze this way and that. "That's got some kick!" she rumbles, her voice's volume stuck on "Heavy Metal Concert". "Some mega-kick!"

So it does, Simone, so it does. Her body is filled with incredible power, demanding to be let out. Hammering at her with each beat of her veins. Eventually, it's too much.

The full power of the Mask of Loki, unveiled!

She has to run. As though on invisible blocks, she tenses, wiggling her butt with one cheek just below a light and the other actually rubbing over the ceiling! Wriggle, wriggle, her glutes tensing right up.

(Hey, it's her ceiling...)

(Her world, too!)

She leaps up with a happy laugh and an undulating cry that might well resemble yet another different IP. Straight through the wall she goes, picking up speed with impossible acceleration.

Her house, of course, should be vaporized. Bed, bedroom, first floor, second, everything. Even the attached garage.

The air should burn the second she reaches those speeds. The air should burn, slammed into by utterly impenetrable flesh moving fast enough that the world doesn't so much blue shift and red but green shift, because the Mask likes a theme. The air should burn and a huge chunk of her neighborhood should be vaporizing.

But Simone, no matter what kind of a kick she's on, still has control of the Mask. Before she even launches herself, she's vibrating (rugged for HER pleasure) in place, and phases through the wall, faster than a speedster's bullet.

Wait a sec.

Do speedsters tend to shoot people? I mean... Barry Allen works for a crime lab. He could have a gun. But then Batman would cry, and there'd be the lip.

So potentially, faster than a bullet might be shot by a speedster, if they had one.

But they would be very bad speedsters if they did, and they'd make Batman cry.

Don't make Batman cry. His parents are dead! And all he has in the world is a substitute father figure, plot armor, and approximately three point four hojillion dollars.

Anyway, Simone's quite zipping, phasing through things in front of her but not not below her for some reason. Even humming through reality, she kicks up enough speed and cosmic dust to ignite a green flaming trail behind her.

But don't worry, it just makes things glow green for a while. I'm sure nobody would ever be hard by green glowing radiation associated with hulking muscles.

Eh. Anyway, she's fast.

And she's loose. At last, the full power of the Mask is hers!

---

Prev
Next

Part 2 of the commission for . I can't quite get tertiaries to show in Daz, alas, but they're there. This Mega-Mask has strength that at its height has to be measured on the Kardashev scale; she is the real freaking deal.

Description
Simone can tell that something is wrong the moment she brings the Mask near her face. No, not wrong... Just new.

Admittedly, 'new' with the Mask of Loki has the potential for all kinds of wrong. But Simone no longer fears that. She no longer fears the rush; instead, she loves it. Loves the thrill and the power.

Power, that's the ticket. As the Mask comes closer to her face, time seems to slow down. As though the Mask has become a black hole, deforming space and time. Warping even light-- like the light bouncing off the grainy wood of the Mask is pushing back at her face.

Testing her strength to see if she is worthy.

But no-- not a black hole. Not the Mask-- not this Mask, anyway, regardless of certain bigheaded alternate universes. This Mask is a source of creative power, unlimited and unrestrained, and if it has destructive temptation...

Simone has conquered that. She's used to it. The temptation to use creation to destroy. To flood the world with so much chaos, so much change, that it's just all nullified.

Chaos, in short, become order. When everything changes and nothing can be relied upon, that's the most stifling order of them all. The ultimate temptation of the mask, and the ultimate aim of that horrible little voice.

Simone wouldn't be surprised if that was Odin, or at least Odin's fault.

But this... This is the energy of a white hole. The force flooding the universe with all the mass and energy that has been stolen from it. Radiant, furious power.

Unstoppable, uncontrollable, unimaginable power.

She hardly even notices when the mask finally touches her skin. Finally touches it... And bonds.

Everything glows. Green, yes, but not green alone. A crazy kaleidescope of colors, like fractured prisms tumbled in a jar and then shone through, not white light, but the full selection of mister Roy G. Biv.

The sensations are blinding and illuminating; deafening, and enlightening. The universe screams a chorus around Simone's mind. Angels howl and devils harmonize.

Change...

Change...

CHANGE!

Simone is used to the Mask transforming her into a massive wall of muscles. Perhaps there are some of the other "supers" of her world who are bigger. Perhaps some even that could beat her in a contest of strength...

Until she needs them to fail. And it frankly just doesn't matter, with all that the Mask can do.

But she's fine with that-- again, see the immense array of other things the Mask can do. Besides... It's nice to be able to fit in, say, her bedroom. Maybe with a little ducking.

The mask has nothing near so minimalist in store this time. "Yes... oh... oh... YES!" Simone cries out, as immense powers flood into her.

She's bigger than the biggest she's been--

Other than the She-Mask versus Gorilla-Whale thing, but, relative body size to body size, still bigger--

In mere moments. A slightly short, athletic body reaches the pinnacle of bodybuilders-- the most massive that men have ever made with an exquisitely female zing-- in seconds. Then it adds on the raw heft and mass of a weightlifter, of someone whose muscles work for a living and aren't just for show...

And keeps going. Around her spectacular core, still growing and growing and GROWING, a thick secondary layer of musculature forms. This added layer absorbs much of the fat-- that which isn't being redirected and multiplied on her bust and hind end-- that surrounds even a normal, healthy person's bod, just below the skin, and interweaves it with spectacular new musculature. That muscle, in turn, is incredibly hard and insanely tough, if not quite as flexible or directly, awe-inspiringly powerful as her primary core, but it serves to protect and enhance that basic core.

It also gives her an incredible, striated look without actually starving her. The fat and other storage parts of the body are still there-- supplemented by the incredible, chaotic power of the mask. As it wraps around her head, becoming as close and tight as a second skin, it's almost unnoticed in the sheer vastness that pumps into her.

But Simone isn't done yet. Bigger and bigger she grows. Taller and taller, too, crashing down to her knees. A lamp falls, and her hand moves so fast that it must twist or the air itself will burn. She does, and it doesn't, and the lamp is righted again.

Perhaps a bit unsteadily. Every second-- every millisecond-- is full of constant, omnipresent pumping. Flexion from every muscle in her body. Squeezing. Clenching.

GROWING!

Like a heartbeat throbbing, Simone's muscles pump in and out. But each thud grows deeper and deeper; each muscle grows bigger and bigger. Legs like treetrunks become more like bridge supports, sculpted and designed by some mad genius. Some mad heavenly genius or some hellish perfection recreating the divine. Her biceps and triceps are less like mountains and more like icebergs, great islands of swole with the tremendous peaks literally reaching the ceiling.

Her arms are flung far out to either side. Far out, but heavily bunched up. So much muscle mass is growing on her arms that they're starting to rival her legs. Or at least, they were...

Until her legs started outgrowing the bed right next to her. As strange-- er, stranger-- ripples curl and squeeze against her prodigious body, all over, she giggles, her voice booming in the early morning air. Her big booty clenches, showing off the bubblesome jiggles the stranger clenches are causing, and she kicks out her long, thick leg, the thigh half a heart-shaped awesome eruption of muscularity.

Yep. Longer than my whole bed! Whee!

Wait-- what's this? Simone, still shuddering and clenching, realizes she's actually looking through her body. She can see the muscles as they grow-- see the odd little structures growing alongside the double-layer-- and sees the heavy bone, elongating as though a balloon pumped with-- something. Some strange substance, stronger than stars and harsher than the heavens themselves.

And she can see through her tits, which is kind of important since each one isn't just bigger than her head now. They're bigger than her thighs. You could fit her entire old body wrapped up inside either one!

They balloon out, her sportsbra ludicrously following, oh-so-sensitive, their pleasure added to the maelstrom that this new, incredible transformation laces through her absolutely everything. Great, jiggling mountains that make her bicep peaks look like they're about to get participation only trophies, with thick, rich nipples that strain against the rippling sportsbra.

If Simone couldn't see through them, she'd have a real problem with people being able to hide right up close to her! But she can see through them, and around herself. All around, as though her eyes are just an expression of personality and no longer the seat of her vision.

There is no darkness behind her eyes.

As interstellar power adds to titanic size, she glories in the incredible strength and expansion the mask brings. The leg that she extended, she tucks back in, squeezing from her calves, to her hamstrings, to her quads, and all the not-so-little muscles in between. Sartorius or graceilis, she pumps them all up at once.

Simone's calves alone spread into two great rising peaks that are bigger than her whole chest used to be. Her thighs...

Are starting to get bigger than her torso is right now.

Bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger she rises again Simone She-Mask, titan, herald, and perhaps goddess of the new era. All throughout her body, swarming around every muscle, those little structures forming...

They're... four heads, there, another long strip here, and up on my bicep, it's linking end to end...

Tertiary muscles?

Yes. While secondary muscles seem to pop up in layers, whether belonging to a female-only tribe of Valkyries or come standard with metahuman forms, tertiaries are far rarer. In all the myriad multiverses that totally have nothing to do with who owns what IP, really, no ma'am, tertiary muscles are rarities indeed. The mighty L-Hunters, the fierce Giantesses and their unyielding Titans, the Trans-Omegans-- only a few have these extra structures. When the primary and secondary muscles get not only so big, but so powerful that their very mass starts to turn against itself, consort muscles develop.

Mimicking the form of the whole-- and assembling into the form of the whole-- these tertiary muscles are as much Symbolic as concrete. In the flesh, they concentrate, direct, and channel the force of the massive muscles themselves. In the symbolic, they represent muscle upon muscle upon muscle, making them great kings and queens of power.

In this case, very much a queen. An empress of enormity; a sultana of swole. The titan of tough. See how she rises.

Her arms are each nearly as big as her whole torso less the tits, and her core itself is bigger than the bed she rose from. Her neck, not so much bull-thick and bull-elephant-breaking thick, not so much corded as cabled-- bridge cabled!, bends forward for the only cause she ever will again...

Her own. She doesn't want to break her house today, after all. And she is simply too massive to fit. Stretched out and just lightly curled up so that her biceps, delts, and forearms don't squash together, she could reach from one side of her fairly comfortable master bedroom to the other. Diagonal, like she is now, she nearly amkes it anyway.

Her massive delts are asteroids, squeezing and clenching atop those impossible arms. Her biceps and triceps rise not like a shipkiller, but like entire glaciers calved off, the land too small to contain them, the sea too weak to hold them. The twining bulge of flexors and extensors, the whole lot of her forearms swells up damn near as big as her peaks.

She is immense. Her abs-- a full eightpack in the primaries, and far more with the tertiaries. Her pecs have to blossom behind breasts bigger than some bears by weight, but blossom they do, mesh and foundation both. Rippling prominence erupt like some new throneworld being forged out of stellar ejecta.

And then there's her legs. One knee ducked beneath her, shin to the floor. The other up so high her thigh and her breast slap into each other. Vast musculature that even make her arms look mildly beefy by comparison just roars into existence. With long, smooth curves both grooved and outlined by the consort muscles, her huge thighs are like solar storms, roaring across the great stars.

Her calves, monoliths; even her feet are buff.

Her somewhat boring sportsbra is gone, and so are the shorts. Instead, the Mask decided today was a day for a polka-dot bikini... but nothing eenie, weenie, or teenie about it. While revealing plenty, the huge white-on-black 'fabric' of some strange material manages to cover her multi-Z cup bust fairly well, teasing at the jiggliness beneath. The thong is considerably more daring, showing off half of her rump, but it's the same stretchy fabric that somehow survives being drawn tight over those terrifying muscles.

The full transformation only takes a seconds, but to the accelerated mind it grants Simone, it seems like centuries. Like she experienced every inch of growth personally on every square patch of skin. Laughing, she throws back her head and with the biggest smile on her face, she laughs, "AAAAOOOOOGGGGAAAA! WHOA!"

Chuckling on, she shakes her head and turns her head this way and that, sweeping her direct gaze this way and that. "That's got some kick!" she rumbles, her voice's volume stuck on "Heavy Metal Concert". "Some mega-kick!"

So it does, Simone, so it does. Her body is filled with incredible power, demanding to be let out. Hammering at her with each beat of her veins. Eventually, it's too much.

The full power of the Mask of Loki, unveiled!

She has to run. As though on invisible blocks, she tenses, wiggling her butt with one cheek just below a light and the other actually rubbing over the ceiling! Wriggle, wriggle, her glutes tensing right up.

(Hey, it's her ceiling...)

(Her world, too!)

She leaps up with a happy laugh and an undulating cry that might well resemble yet another different IP. Straight through the wall she goes, picking up speed with impossible acceleration.

Her house, of course, should be vaporized. Bed, bedroom, first floor, second, everything. Even the attached garage.

The air should burn the second she reaches those speeds. The air should burn, slammed into by utterly impenetrable flesh moving fast enough that the world doesn't so much blue shift and red but green shift, because the Mask likes a theme. The air should burn and a huge chunk of her neighborhood should be vaporizing.

But Simone, no matter what kind of a kick she's on, still has control of the Mask. Before she even launches herself, she's vibrating (rugged for HER pleasure) in place, and phases through the wall, faster than a speedster's bullet.

Wait a sec.

Do speedsters tend to shoot people? I mean... Barry Allen works for a crime lab. He could have a gun. But then Batman would cry, and there'd be the lip.

So potentially, faster than a bullet might be shot by a speedster, if they had one.

But they would be very bad speedsters if they did, and they'd make Batman cry.

Don't make Batman cry. His parents are dead! And all he has in the world is a substitute father figure, plot armor, and approximately three point four hojillion dollars.

Anyway, Simone's quite zipping, phasing through things in front of her but not not below her for some reason. Even humming through reality, she kicks up enough speed and cosmic dust to ignite a green flaming trail behind her.

But don't worry, it just makes things glow green for a while. I'm sure nobody would ever be hard by green glowing radiation associated with hulking muscles.

Eh. Anyway, she's fast.

And she's loose. At last, the full power of the Mask is hers!

---

Prev
Next

Part 2 of the commission for . I can't quite get tertiaries to show in Daz, alas, but they're there. This Mega-Mask has strength that at its height has to be measured on the Kardashev scale; she is the real freaking deal.