While I'm looking for a new payment processor, you can't purchase comics on this site.
For now, the latest comics can be bought here on DeviantArt (with credit card, paypal or crypto).
In case you would like to get comics that are not there, write me at info@amazonias.net
You can still download the free comics from this site.
Sorry for the inconvenience! I hope to make this site operational soon!
This month, Amazonias, my webshop with digital about dominant and tall female bodybuidlers, is ten years old. Back when I started, I'd never thought that one day this would be my sole income. It's been quite a ride. I've experimented a lot, improved the quality of my work with every comic I made, and I'm still enjoying the work. I'm just over 50 now.
What does the future hold? Dog willing, I’m still planning to do this for quite some time. The main factors that sabotage this plan are: my health (I’ve got some back and other pains), decreasing income (putting my content online illegally: I’m looking at you). And libido, I guess. It’s bound to decline at some point, and I don’t get inspired without it. Other than that, I have lots and lots of ideas for future comics and series, probably more than I will have time for to do.
I was aware of my fetish from the early age of six - back then it translated to getting actually aroused (at that age, yes) by losing at playfights from girls. Along the way, I discovered that I was submissive, and after I saw it on tv, came the fascination with female muscle. It was my big secret for a long time (and almost none of my real life friends know about it). For a long time I suffered from this, not knowing what was “wrong” with me, but feeling different from everyone else, sometimes fearing I would go to hell. Twelve years ago I discovered that I could draw out my fantasies with software - I’m still grateful for the people at the amazonlove forum for encouraging me in my first attempts. For two years I posted there, without making any money out of it, despairing about the time I put into this - it seemed an addiction. Things changed after I went to a therapist, who told me there was nothing wrong with this. I talked to my girlfriend, and she was okay with it too. And so I started my shop.
Today I’m largely in peace with having this fetish (or obsession), and I’m grateful that I was able to do something useful with it. I don’t have children, and I’m giving a good part of the money I make to charity - and all the money I won’t spend before I die will end up there.
I’d like to thank all my customers for buying my stories. It’s thanks to you that I can do this. Also thanks to all the musclewomen out there (I don’t think they’re reading this but you never know) for the inspiration you gave me!
I went through my catalog and decided to decrease the prices of over a hundred comics. The discounts are from twenty up to seventy percent! Look especially for bundles and first chapters of series.
For instance, check out:
Muscles in the Family 1, for € 1.99
Girls that Grow 1, for € 1.99
My Girlfriend Tania 1, for € 3.99
And there's over a hunderd more. I'll let you discover them yourself...
Newer comics will drop in price later.
I hope you like this New Year's gift.
Enjoy the big girls, and keep worshipping!
Several customers have alerted me to the fact that they have problems logging in to the store. I have removed the captcha protection. As a consequence, it's possible that the system will tell you your password is not safe enough, and in that case you may have to set a new password.
If you still would run into problems, please contact me at info at amazonias dot net.
I recommend Paypal as an easy and safe option to buy comics on Amazonias, but for those unable or unwilling to paypal, here is how you can pay with credit card without having a paypal account:
At checkout, enter "complete order":
Then, click either the "Pay with a credit card" or "checkout as guest" button (either may appear) at the bottom of the next popup:
Note that the financial details you will enter, will not be shared with the merchant (i.e. Amazonias).
My amazons always beat me up when they find a mistake in a comic about them. Being controlled by an amazon is fun, until it really hurts. So I decided to try to enlist some help. I'm looking for someone who can proofread my comics before publication, correct errors, and where necessary will improve the writing.
This person should be very proficient at English (native speaker or similar by studies or experience) and have an eye for detail. Experience with proofreading or editing is obviously a plus.
This is not a paid job, but obviously all the comics you proofread, you get to read for free (before anyone else), plus you get coupons for other comics.
This would be about editing one or two comics per month (comics either by me or by other creators). Usually there's not a very tight deadline.
Applications are closed now.
"Memoirs of an amazon lover" is the preliminary title of an autobiography I'm considering writing. This is a first draft fragment from the manuscript. I'd love to hear your feedback about it! Does it speak to you? Is it recognizable? Did you have similar experiences? Do you think this could be appealing to a mainstream audience...? Any feedback appreciated, in comment or at info@amazonias.net
- “I did it!” Phil said. I had been sitting on a bench in the hallway next to the auditorium, and he had come to me, all smiles.
- “What?” I believed I knew what he was talking about and felt the dread rise up inside me, almost like a rocket.
- “I asked her out!”
Okay but still... she might have said...
- “What... did she say?” I asked, wondering if on my face he could see that I hoped the answer would be no.
- “She said yes!”
- “Oh wow!” I said, trying to fake some enthusiasm as I felt utter dispair.
His face was beaming. He was my best friend. I should have been happy for him. As it was, all of this was the reason for my little breakdown, the next morning. More about that in a minute.
This was my first year in college. I was studing English language and literature. I had come straight from a high school that was boys only. Those were the norm rather than anything else, at the time, and I had never questioned it much. But for a shy guy like me, it meant that I hardly ever got to see any girls. I had never gone out after school. I spent most of my time playing computer games, and reading. Girls were very scary. They were an alien species to me. I was afraid they’d laugh at me. Not without reason. I was very short. The shortest person in high school. And I looked very young. I’d heard people wonder what I did at high school on more than one occasion. They just couldn’t believe someone like me belonged there. I didn’t look old enough to be there.
By the time I got to college, I had never kissed a girl. Not even touched one. And so, to get closer to a girl was project number one. I wasn’t even thinking of sex. I was thinking of just kissing! That would be progress enough. Sex was actually... one of the reasons I was so shy and hesitant. I’ll come back to that. In any case, I remember that, during one of the first days at school, through a friend we ended up playing pool with a girl. A few hours later, that girl was coincidentally on my bus on my way home. She came to sit next to me and we talked. I think it was the first time in years that I was having a longish conversation with a girl who was not family. It was only after she’d gotten off the bus, a few stops before mine, that I discovered that part of my thumb was bleeding at the nail. It’d been scratching myself from sheer nervousness.
My friend Phil, he was somewhat in the same boat. Single, inexperienced, desperately looking. But neither of us were looking just anywhere: we had targets. Very concrete targets. His was Kate, a blonde that he had given a score of eight out of ten. The only woman he had identified as higher (a nine) had turned out to speak with an accent that was a turnoff to him.
My own target was Miriam, a brunette of an – at least in my eyes – unearthly beauty. I had been only temporarily disappointed upon finding out that she was doing her first year for the second time. Maybe she just hadn’t put in the effort. A more important corrolary of her redoing the year was that she was absent from a lot of courses, and I didn’t see her all that much.
Not that I did a lot when I saw her, except for secretely looking, inhaling her beauty. I was too goddamn shy. I knew how I looked. She couldn’t possibly be interested in me. Phil had given me a French song on a tape, called Le Premier Pas. It was about a guy being interested in a woman and wondering about the first step. I was that guy.
The first step. I did wonder about it. All the time. And it has to be said, I took little baby steps. I ended up talking to Miriam and I remember – very fondly – a wonderful smile that she threw at me afterward, when she saw me in the corridor, waiting for a course to start. Phil was flabbergasted at my success and said I stood a serious chance...
But in the end, I never told her. Phil, on the other hand, he’d done it. And I was miserable. It wasn’t because I was jealous, it was because I was desperate. Because of the big secret I had been carrying with me for years. No one knew about it. But that was about to change. Phil’s asking Kate out was the catalyst for that.
It had been a restless night, and I had been worrying a lot about my situation since Phil’s courageous deed. And yet I didn’t see it coming, the thing that happened at the breakfast table at home. I had gotten up later than my parents or brother. It was only my plate that was still on the table, but my mom sat opposite me when I sat down, just to keep me company for a bit. I tried to make a sandwich and suddenly felt my hands shake. The next second, I was crying.
I’ll never forget how my mom reacted: as if she could read my mind. This is almost literally how it went.
- “What is it? Do you have a problem?”
I didn’t respond to this, but right away she added: “Does it have anything to do with sex?”
I think I may have nodded slightly. Then she asked “Are you afraid of not being able to get it up?”
You have to know, we never discussed things like these. My mother was being uncharacteristically candid here. The word sex had hardly ever turned up in our conversations. But I suspected that, me being nineteen at that moment and never having talked about girls, much less taken someone home, she must have suspected I was gay. That suspicion might also have been strengthed by the fact that I was never very manly. I could have been gay, I guess, and among my friends in those years I was actually known as some sort of gay magnet. It was a bit of a running joke, based on reality. Gay men seemed attracted to me, maybe partly because I looked very young. I suppose for some of them I was exactly their type.
But I wasn’t gay. It was much worse than that, or so I thought.
- “Do you want to see a psychologist? I can make you an appointment?”
This was all going very fast! But I felt I had to get this over with. I had to go through it. I had struggled with it for many years now, and I knew that if I ever wanted a woman in my life, I needed to take some action. And it would be good, I thought, to at least talk to a professional.
- “Yes,” I said meekly.
- “If you want I can check if someone in town can see you. She’s a friend. What do you think?”
It was a small town, tiny even, and the fact that my mom had a therapist who was a friend… it was quite a coincidence. Again I said yes.
She disappeared for a bit and then told me her friend could see me that very morning. And so half an hour later, I was sitting in front of a therapist. It was the very first time in my life, and I felt that I should have done it much earlier than that, given how I struggled. This was my big secret and it weighed on me like nothing else.
Still it was hard to talk about it to the therapist. She was a young woman who seemed eager to help, but when she asked me how she could do that, I could hardly utter a word. After a few minutes of silence and stammering, I spoke.
- “It’s about… what I get excited by. S-sexually.” It almost physicallly hurt to say the s-word.
- “Okay…” She looked expectantly but it was so damn hard to proceed.
- “Could you… maybe try to guess what my issue is?”
- “Guess it? Why would you want me to do that? Is it so hard to say it?”
- “Yes, I said. “That, and also… I think that… if I see you can come up with it… that would show me that maybe it’s… less abnormal than I think.
- “You want to see if it’s something that I can spontaneously think of? That would be a relief to you, if I could?”
- “Yes.”
- “And if I can’t…?”
If she couldn’t, that would make me feel terrrible, I thought. But I wanted to risk it.
- “Can you… try?”
- “Sure. So let’s see… Do you think you’re gay?”
- “No.”
I was pretty sure of that.
- “Are you attracted to… girls much younger than you?”
- “No.” I was so relieved to be able to respond negatively to that. I think she was too. And certainly my mom would be.
- “Are you turned on by prostitutes, maybe?”
I’d never heard about people being attracted specifically by prostitutes. Weird, I thought.
- “No.”
- “Hmmm.” To my discomfort, she already seemed to be out of options. She looked at me, trying to hide her hesitation with her smile. Then she said:
- “Is this actually about the type of person, or rather about what you do with the person, or what the person does to you?”
This seemed to me to be an interesting distinction that at that moment I hadn’t given all that much thought to.
- “Ehm, it’s the second,” I said.
- “You get exciting by certain things people may do to you, or you to them?”
- “Yes.”
- “Girls?”
- “Yes, always girls.”
…
I walked home after the session. It was only two miles anway. My mom asked me how it had been. She was visibly nervous. I said that I didn’t really want to talk about it, but that if she felt like it, she could talk to the therapist. I had told the therapist I’d be fine with her telling my mom. And so my mom drove back to the therapist right away. She was too worried to just let this sit until I was ready to talk.
Half an hour or so later there was a knock at the door of my room. It was my mom.
- “I’m actually glad it’s only that,” she said.
It felt good to hear her say that, but her next words immediately countered that feeling.
- “Is this like… you want to tie girls unto a chair or something?”
I stared at her for a second, not understanding. What had she understood from her friend? Or had I not made myself clear to the therapist?
- “Ehm… no. It has nothing to do with that. Well it’s actually… it’s rather the opposite.”
- “You would like to be tied to a chair by girls?”
- “Not exactly…”
She was silent for a second, visibly wondering if she should go on asking for more details. Then apparently she decided against it.
- “Well… maybe you should stop reading those books you read?”
She was referring to Stephen King’s horror novels that I was a fan of. It was silly of her to say that but she couldn’t know that.
- “That has really nothing to do with it, mom,” I said, feeling entirely convinced that that was true.
That same day, my father took me apart and said that he had heard about my issue and had said that there was absolutely nothing to worry about. He sounded convinced and, one way or another, convincing. For a moment I wondered if this thing was inherited, and if he had it too and that that was why he could say with certainty that it wasn’t an issue. I didn’t ask.
The topic never came up again, neither with my mom nor with my dad. On the occasion when I was visibly sad or depressed, they might ask me if my “issue” had anything to do with it, but other than that, it was ignored. That was the way I wanted it.
I don’t remember how I felt that day, but I’m sure it was the beginning of a very long process of solving a problem that had started many years earlier.
It’s abnormal. That much I know. Some would think that that’s an ugly word to describe a quality, an affliction, an orientation, but honestly, that’s just what it is: ab-normal. Not according to the norm. I have no problem with that word.
Many things are abnormal though. You can be abnormally tall. Abnormally smart. You can have body parts that are functioning abnormally. You can have an abnormal fondness for chocolate.
You can also have abnormal desires. Abnormal sexual desires. How do we call these, these days? I guess it depends on the object of one’s desire. Some of those objects are ok for you to desire. Some are not. If they’re okay – if you’re a woman, for instance, who desires only sex with women – then political correctness has made sure we use terms that are not offensive. In that sense, it seems we can’t call being gay anything other than a sexual orientation. It’s the same term we’d use for being straight.
It seems that the correct term these days is paraphilia. Wikipedia describes it as the “experience of intense sexual arousal to atypical objects, situations, fantasies, behaviors, or individuals”. Former words for are sexual perversion and sexual deviation. Wikipedia also notes that “no consensus has been found for any precise border between unusual sexual interests and paraphilic ones.”
There also are paraphilic disorders. That’s when one’s fantasies, desires, urges… become problematic. Some kinds of desires, depending on the subject, are always problematic, it seems, independent of how intense they are lived.
Anyway, I’m quite okay with paraphilia. It doesn’t sound too bad at all. Do I have a praphilic disorder, though? I’ll let you be the judge of that, after reading my story.
What I had told the therapist was that I thought I was a masochist. I wasn’t especially into pain or whips or anything typical like that, but I loved to be physically controlled by women. From a very early age, this whole concept had shown up as an excitement about girls who were stronger and mostly taller and heavier as well. I don’t know exactly when this started, but I have three candidates for the first time I noticed it. I remember these three instances as moments where I was discovering the idea, which is to say, I didn’t feel actual sexual excitement in these particular cases – even though that was to come soon as well.
Candidate one might be the earliest episode. I must have been five or six. Our class of boys and girls got an initiation into judo, by a female judo teacher who was a national chamption. I was paired up with a girl heavier than me, and when we had to practise the basic ground hold in judo – hon gesa getame – she could escape my hold, but I couldn’t escape hers. That stirred something in me.
Candidate two was seeing a certain picture in a children’s book. It was a drawing of a person throwing another person – maybe it was a comic book, I’m not sure. The thing was that the thrower had long hair, and I thought was female. I remember asking my aunt the question: is this a man or a woman? I even remember asking it in a kind of childish way, to avert any possible suspicion. I guess no one else could have seen the hint of excitement behind my question – because hardly anyone is like me – but I didn’t really know that at the time. In any case, the fact that a woman would be throwing a man around felt exciting. At that moment I’m not sure I felt actual sexual excitement, but there was definitely the interest.
Candidate three is the most special memory I have. It involved a girl I would fancy, soon after. It was at a fundraising dinner – though nothing fancy at all - organized by that same school I had the judo initiation at. After the dinner, which happened at the school, us kids took to the playground. I saw other kids playing there. There were two girls who were swinging around and cradle carrying boys. I remember my fascination – especially because they were doing this to boys their age - as I stood watching, and my surprise when one of the girls asked if I wanted to have a go as well. I said yes. And she swung me around, and craddle carried me. I knew she was my age, she was in the same grade, but in another class. The next year, we’d be in the same class, and for all practical purposes, we’d have a “relationship” – platonic though it was – during several following years. Strangely though, while this relatinoship with this girl started like this, I have no other memories of experiencing this kind of excitement with this girl. It may be that I have forgotten. But it feels like something different was going on. It feels like I was subconsciously avoiding having those kinds of feelings for someone I felt romantically involved with.
- “Have you heard about what they call ‘jerking off?’
I was spending the night in my nephew’s bedroom. I must have been not older than maybe ten, and he was one year older.
- “No, what’s that?”
- “It’s, like, you move the skin of your penis, and it gives you a really nice feeling.”
I tried it, right there, right then, in the dark, under my covers.
- “Is it like… the feeling of rubbing a bag with small stones in it?”
- “Eh, no. You have to think of something that excites you while you do it. Like, a girl.”
It was my first confrontation with the idea of masturbation.
I guess my nephew was a bit too early. It would be several years before I actually took to jerking off, when other kids in my class, surprised that at the age of fourteen I still wasn’t doing it, tried to teach me. I’ll tell you about that later. First there’s more stuff to tell about an earlier age.
I told you I didn’t feel actual sexual excitement during the three episodes I wrote about, and how that changed soon after. Freud first raised the topic infant sexuality. He was talking about things like putting your fingers in your ass and stuff like that, but that’s not exactly what I’m talking about. I’m talking about actual sexual excitement from a very young age, triggered by the same stuff I would get excited by later (so not by putting my finger in my ass). There was no erection at that time – I didn’t know what an erection was – but that couldn’t spoil the fun.
One of the earliest instances I remember was when I played with a niece. She was my age – we might have been nine or ten, but she was more than a head taller. We were playing some game where she sneaked up at me. At a certain moment, I felt her forearm around my neck. When she pulled her upper body back, because she was so much taller, I felt my feet being lifted off the ground. My feet dangled in the air, and my throat almost getting strangled: I gotta tell you I was in heaven.
I remember many other exciting episodes with this and one other niece. The latter was two years younger than me, but a lot taller and heavier. I remember being lifted by them, in their arms, on their shoulders. I remember wrestling, behing held down in the water, armwrestling, them breing able to lift heavier things or to throw them further than I could. Every way and every time they demonstrated their physical superiority was for me cause for excitement.
I tried to get myself into these positions, by teasing them, challenging them. I found ways to compare my height with theirs. I invented playful scenarios where they were witches who got superstrong after drinking a certain potion and then could easily lift me.
These nieces weren’t the only girls these things happened with. Stuff happened at school as well. One early memory, when I was seven, was how I saw how the feet of several of the girls in my class were touching the ground when they sat on their classroom chairs. Me, I was too short for that: my feet were just dangling in the air. The fact they were taller than me was very exciting. I remember seeing a black girl a few years older cradle carrying a boy who apparently had done something wrong. She was bringing him to the teacher who was supervising the playground, with a bunch of younger children in tow. A friend of mine had told me she was the strongest girl in the school: she knew karate, and she was supposedly able to literally chop off someone’s head by with her bare hands. I’m not sure where my friend got that, but I believed him, even as I was thinking that a hand, no matter how fast you moved it, wasn’t all that sharp. Another example that stands out as a bit darker was when one of the older girls was trampling a boy underfoot. In my memory, the boy was crying, trying to escape her feet, while she was casually talking to a friend. Another friend, who had spent a year in the Middle East Arabia because his father had an assignment there as a diplomat, told me about a girl in his class there who was very strong and had kicked a boy into a window, which had shattered. The boy had to be taken to the hospital.
As you can tell, all these things I experienced and stories I heard stuck to my mind and I’ve never forgotten them. They were meaningful, although I have no idea if I was excited by them because there was already something inside me, or whether these anecdotes shaped me and my desires.
2020 has been the weirdest year ever, for humanity in general. Zooming in, my little business of female muscle comics has not been affected. I have been able to do my work and sell my comics like usual, fortunately. I thought I'd take the end of the year to give you a brief overview of upcoming comics, and below that you'll find two ideas that I might execute at a later stage.
Let me know in comment what you're most looking forward to!
There's quite a few comics already planned, both by me and by others. Some of the titles are preliminary. Here we go:
I've teased you a number of times with some previews of this comic series (the title is preliminary), but as of this day it is still not finished. It is now already nine chapters, and there will be at least a tenth and maybe more. I have chosen to start publishing the first chapters only when I'm entirely done with the whole series, because sometimes at a later point, I want to go back and change something in the beginning. If that earlier part has been published already, that is of course not possible. Nevertheless, as this series keeps getting longer, I think I will start with the first chapter soon, even if I'm not done.
In any case, I think it's maybe my best work so far and it will be worth the wait. The series tells the story of the sisters Hannah & Hailey, and Leon, who they call their brother but who is in fact from a different dad. Hannah and Hailey have a crush on Leon, find out about his preference for muscular women, and start on a path to become huge musclegirls.
Here are a few previews (I'm showing you only pics of the first two chapters, and am keeping how the girls look later a surprise).
This will be the final part of The Bride. Things will seriously heat up in this chapter. Personally I think that Zrinka is one of the sexiest muscle goddesses I have ever created (maybe I'll bring her back in another comic as well).
A simple simple female muscle comic of, yes, a shy girl who's afraid to approach the short guy she fancies. Of course they get together anyway.
This is a comic that's mainly growth scenes. Belynda is a tiny girl who always loses against her boyfriend. She wishes that just for one day she's bigger than him, and finds herself being able to control her height and size at will! Her boyfriend is in for a treat!
In this female muscle comic, the incredibly tall, huge and strong female bodybuilder Megan challenges the guys in her class as follows: she will date anyone who is able to kiss her on the lips. That might sound easy, but Megan will make sure that it isn't...
Caught features a huge female bodybuilder caught speeding by... a much smaller cop. He'll wish he'd never stopped her.
Throughout the year I'm sure I'll start some new series, and of course I will also continue other series like Twice your Size and Big Sister
Another story about a cop, but this time a female one, who stops a guy in traffic, and later looks him up in his home. This will be the first comic for which I wrote the script and someone else made the illustrations.
The continuation of this very juicy story. As I think you have seen, Lecter has quickly improved his skills over the few comics he's done for me so far.
A bit of a different one, with mini giantesses who are not ubermuscular, but still very fit and sexy.
The Bar Scene
Another comic featuring the huge musclegirls of Kycolv08 who brought us Muscle Romance and Bigger than the Boys.
(let me know if you're interested in any of this).
At some point I might start writing some sort of a biography. It would be my story of how as a very young kid (I was six!) I discovered I loved to be dominated and overpowered by girls, and how I later discovered female bodybuilders. I want to talk about how I struggled with this fetish (which is still a big taboo and needs people coming out about it) and how later in life I found peace with it and actually made my job of it. Interwoven in the story, I'm considering to bring information, anecdotes and data of other, similar people, and to that end I'm interested in carrying out a serious survey among my customers and followers, investigating how they experienced this fetish, how they discovered it, struggled with it etc.
I'm also considering writing an e-book about making a living by selling digital comics
I think you for your support. I want to emphasize that you're damaging me and my business when you publish my comics online or download them somewhere, rather than buying them.
I wish you the very best for a virus-free 2021!
James
I've added a little option on the check-out page for customers to add a little tip. The tip can be a percentage, or an amount in euros. Tips are very much appreciated, and they help me make more female muscle comics (this is the income that I'm living off).
Below (below the picture of the georgeous female bodybuilder) you can see a screenshot of the tip fields. If you are downloading a free comic and leave a tip, obviously you should choose "custom tip", cause a percentage of zero is zero :-)
Thank you very much! Me and the Amazons appreciate your support
James
I think paypal is an easy and safe way to pay for my female muscle comics, but for those who do not have a paypal account and do not want one, here is already one other option: you can now pay for your female muscle comics. Read below how you do it.
To do so, at the checkout screen, change the selection from Paypal to Coinpayments. Of course you need to have a cryptocurrency account somewhere, but you won't need to make a new account to pay on Amazonias. Easypeasy!
With the growing number of female muscle comics on my store, it's become more and more important for customers to find their way in the entire collection. One aspect of that is to be able to serve interesting comics for later, without buying them. Hence you can now add comics to a wishlist. Read how it works below.
When you see a product you like and want to save for later, click on the heart icon below the buy button:
You'll now see that the heart-counter top right of the page has a number next to it.
To view your saved wishlist items, click on the heart:
And that's it! You can email your wishlist to yourself or even share it on social media (though I'm suspecting few people will buy my female muscle comics for you so you may have to get them them for yourself :-)
Enjoy and keep worshipping!
