I shake my arms then turn to face you, the man I just destroyed already an afterthought. I'm not looking at you, either, just curling my arm, watching the veins dance as I tense and untense the massive bicep, lost in the glorious observance of my own hyper-developed body and the power it contains.

You savor the taste of it, a cocktail of salt, testosterone, and the essence of my pure overwhelming dominance. You find yourself intoxicated with pure desire and an urgent need to do anything I desire to give me even the slightest bit more pleasure.

Your will is gone. You now belong to The Beast.

Big people break little people. As we should.