It was a warm afternoon, the kind that made the backyard feel like your own private training ground—and today, Videl was on a mission.

Lately, she’d been getting more submissive, a side you’d been teasing out gently, and now you’d convinced her to take on a new kind of “glute training.” The goal? To build enough power with her hips that she could actually whip up gusts of wind strong enough to send rocks flying backwards.

She stood in the sun, wearing your loose tank top that barely covered her thick curves and tight shorts hugging every inch of her thick, muscular thighs and—most importantly—her round, powerful rear. Sweat glistened on her skin, and her cheeks were flushed with effort and anticipation.

With a sly grin, she started twerking—slow at first, hips rolling in smooth, practiced circles. But you could tell she was holding back, biting her lip as she focused.

“Come on, Videl,” you encouraged, voice low and amused. “Push it harder. I wanna see those hips make magic.”

Her breath hitched, cheeks darkening, but she obeyed—faster now, every bounce sending little gusts of air toward you.

The grass trembled, dust kicked up, and—damn—it was working.

Rocks at the edge of the yard wobbled, then lifted, spinning in slow arcs.

Videl squealed, her voice half frustration, half excitement, as she pushed even harder, hips shaking and cheeks jiggling with wild abandon.