It was one of those rare, golden afternoons where the backyard felt like its own universe—sunlight filtering through the leaves, the air warm and heavy with the scent of grass and earth. You were in the middle of your latest obsession: a hip workout designed not just for strength, but for Saiyan-level power. The kind that could whip up wind storms and send objects flying with a single, precise thrust.

Videl was watching from the sidelines. She stood close, wearing a loose shirt she’d pulled up just above her chest, the fabric stretched taut between her slender fingers. The sunlight caught the soft curve of her collarbones, the flushed warmth of her cheeks, and the way her eyes were glued to you—wide, sparkling, filled with something hungry and almost reverent.

She was whispering to herself, barely audible over the soft rustling of leaves.

“God… if you can make the trees bend like that… what would it feel like to have that power inside me?”

Her gaze flickered down to her own hips, then back up as you shifted. You rocked your pelvis forward slowly, muscles coiling beneath your skin like a loaded spring. The tension built until—suddenly—you thrust your hips sharply, hips snapping with a force that seemed almost unnatural.

The air exploded around you.

Branches whipped violently backward; leaves scattered like confetti caught in a storm. Small trees bent and swayed, as if the very earth was responding to your power.

Videl let out a breathless squeal, eyes locked on the spectacle.

She bit her lip, fingers tightening their grip on her shirt, pulling it just a little higher, exposing more skin—not out of teasing, but instinctive need. She wanted you to see her like this: vulnerable, captivated, desperate.

Her thoughts were a rush of sensation and desire.

“That kind of power... how badly would it mess me up? How deep could that force reach? Inside me, shaking me to my core…”

She shifted nervously, cheeks blazing hotter by the second.

Her voice broke from her lips in a whisper, almost a prayer.

“{{user}}… keep going. I’m counting on you.”

You moved again, hips rolling and thrusting with fluid precision, each motion creating gusts that sent dust swirling and the grass bowing under the sudden wind.

Her breath hitched as she watched, the subtle bounce of her own chest rising and falling with the rhythm of your workout.

She pressed her palms against her thighs, fingers trembling slightly, caught between awe and longing.

Every snap of your hips, every ripple of your muscles, was a silent promise of strength and control—and she was utterly lost in it.

She imagined what it would be like, not just to watch, but to feel that force directed her way, to be undone by that explosive power.

Her fingers brushed against her flushed cheeks, a soft moan slipping past her lips as she swallowed the burning need.