That Night Her Clit Changed My World

[taoschild]

That Night is an additional short story which now comes with the re-edited novella, Torture Muscle. It is one sale right now for 20% off You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login If you read the book and post a review on Amazon, email me the review and I'll give you a coupon for a free book.
If people enjoy this, I'll post the entire first section of the story which has a complete finish.
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I never thought my life would feel incomplete. On paper, it was damn near perfect. I had a stable job as a software engineer that paid well enough for us to live comfortably in our quiet suburban neighborhood. I stayed fit with regular gym sessions. It was nothing crazy, just enough to keep my arms defined and my core tight. Most importantly, I had Sarah, the love of my life.

We met in college during a group project, and from the first awkward laugh over spilled coffee, I knew she was the one. She was warm and funny, with an effortless beauty that turned heads without trying. Slim and athletic from years of yoga and weekend runs, she had soft curves in all the right places, a smile that could light up the darkest room. She was kind and empathetic. Basically, I was the luckiest man alive.

We were married five years ago in a small ceremony surrounded by family and friends. Every day since, I've woken up grateful for her. She's my best friend, my partner in crime, and the one who makes ordinary Tuesdays feel like adventures.

But there was one private, nagging desire I kept buried deep. I wished she were more muscular. Not just toned from yoga, but built like a brick house. The kind of dense, striated muscle that commanded attention and respect. I had a fetish for female strength—sthenolagnia. I learned the term years ago after stumbling across videos of female bodybuilders. The raw power, the way their bodies could dominate, the sheer physical superiority... it lit a fire in me like nothing else.

I loved Sarah exactly as she was, but in my fantasies, I imagined her transforming, growing stronger, bigger, and capable of overpowering me. Capable and excited to enforce her authority over me.
I'd dropped hints over the years, usually wrapped in jokes to hide my fetish.

Whether I was disagreeing with her assessment that Linda Hamilton was hotter as Sarah Connor in the second movie because "there was a confidence and a force behind her— and those arms," or "Imagine if you could bench more than me one day."

She'd laugh it off, assuming it was just playful teasing, and I never pushed. Because what we had in bed was enough to satisfy that side of me. Sarah had fun pretending to be a domme—tying me up with silk scarves, pinning my wrists, whispering commands in that sultry voice while she rode me slowly and teasingly. She wasn't actually dominant by nature, but she played the role beautifully for me, and it scratched the itch just enough. I told myself it was perfect. I didn't need more.

Until that night with Becky.

The air in our living room hung thick with the scent of grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and something far more intoxicating—anticipation. I sat at the head of the dining table, my fit frame relaxed in a simple black t-shirt that hugged my chest and arms, but my mind was anything but relaxed.

Across from me, Becky dominated the conversation with the effortless confidence of someone who had sculpted her body into a living weapon. At 5'8" and carrying the kind of dense, striated muscle that only came from years of professional physique competition, she was living proof of what the human form could achieve with serious grit and likely a little chemical infusion.

Her shoulders were capped like armor plates, her arms vascular and thick even when relaxed, and her quads pressed insistently against the fabric of her casual dress with every subtle shift in her seat.
Sarah laughed at one of Becky's stories, her hand brushing lightly against Becky's thick forearm. The two women had grown incredibly close over the past year with morning coffees, evening walks, and endless chats about life, work, and training. To say I didn't have some fantasies about it would be an outright lie.

I watched them with quiet affection, genuinely happy that Sarah had found such a good friend. But tonight, as Becky described her leg workout that morning. Sarah pestered her with questions until Becky described squatting 350 pounds for reps, and deadlifting well over 400. It stirred something deep in my gut. That familiar heat coiled tight, the one I usually kept locked away.

Sthenolagnia.

My cock twitched under the table just from the casual way Becky talked about dominating the iron. My mind drifted...into an alcohol and sthenolagnic-induced daydream:

The three of us had slipped away to the dimly lit living room after dinner. Sarah stood in front of Becky, eyes wide with hungry admiration. She reached out, her fingers tracing the deep separation between Becky's pecs, then sliding reverently over the thick, striated slabs of her chest. Becky flexed slowly, making her pecs bounce and dance under Sarah's touch.

Sarah's breath hitched. "God... they're so hard," she whispered, pressing her own lean, sinewy arms against Becky's massive ones. The contrast between Sarah's wiry, vascular forearms and defined biceps rubbing desperately against Becky's 16-inch peaks was obscene. The veins on Becky's arms looked like ropes under thin skin. Sarah moaned softly as she ground her smaller, harder muscles into the bigger woman's bulk, feeling the unyielding power there.

Becky smiled. She was indulgent and dominant. Radiating confidence, she lifted one thick arm to allow Sarah to worship the hanging horseshoe of her triceps. Sarah's tongue flicked out, licking along the deep cut of the muscle before she pressed her entire body closer, rubbing her sinewy thighs against Becky's tree-trunk quads. The sound of skin and muscle sliding together filled the room alongside soft, feminine grunts mixing with the wet friction of oiled flesh.

Sarah's hands roamed greedily now, squeezing, kneading, feeling every striation. She dropped to her knees, pressing her cheek against the sweeping curve of Becky's quad, then dragged her own hardened, athletic body upward, letting her washboard abs grind against the ridged eight-pack of Becky's stomach.

Sarah was lost in it, humping her lean muscle against the bigger, denser mass like she couldn't get enough of the size, the hardness, the sheer superiority.

All of it was done knowingly to arouse me.

Becky's hand gently guided Sarah's head lower, and Sarah obeyed, licking and kissing the thick, veined muscles of Becky's inner thigh until her face was buried between those powerful legs. The worship grew frantic. Sarah rubbed her own pumped biceps and shoulders against Becky's quads and glutes, moaning louder. The overwhelming presence of Becky's muscles pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, Sarah's body tensed. Her sinewy back arched, her smaller muscles flexing hard as she came shuddering and gasping with her face still pressed against Becky's quad while her hips bucked helplessly against the bigger woman's leg. Juices slicked down her thighs as the orgasm ripped through her.

Panting, glistening with sweat, Sarah looked up at Becky with glassy, adoring eyes. She rose shakily, pressed her trembling body against the massive woman once more, and whispered hotly against Becky's thick neck:

"I want to be strong like you... so fucking strong. Strong enough to own my husband," she finished, her head whipping around to face me.

"Everything okay, babe?" The real rather than the fantasy, Sarah asked, glancing at me with a sweet smile.

[taoschild]

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[Sieming]

That was a blast. The transition from reality to fantasy was clear, but the fantasy was so vivid, that I soon questioned whether I had read it correctly. Just when I had to go back and check, it ended. Well done.

[taoschild]

Thank you, Seiming. Here's another section (not sure if the fantasy part here works as well in transition - may have to fiddle with this some)
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The fantasy dissolved as quickly as it had come, leaving me throbbing under the table. Sarah was still laughing at something Becky had said, her fingers now resting casually on Becky's forearm again, completely unaware of the filthy, muscle-drenched scene that had just played out in my head.

I shifted in my seat, trying to calm my breathing.

I forced one back. "Yeah... just thinking how lucky I am."

But inside, the daydream lingered. The image of my wife desperately rubbing her sinewy, hardening body against Becky's enormous muscles, coming from the worship, and begging to become just as strong. With Becky commanding the room with her muscles, it was hard to shake away.

In the daydream, she'd push me against the wall, her quad sliding between my legs, pressing firmly against my growing erection as she flexed her bicep for me. "Watch what Becky's teaching me," she'd murmur, voice husky. "Soon I'll be able to pin you whenever I want."

I took a long sip of wine, trying to steady myself, but my eyes kept drifting to the way Becky's biceps shifted under her skin. They were full, peaked, and vascular even at rest. The upper half of her physique was even more pronounced than her lower half. Sarah noticed my distraction and grinned across the table.

"Mike's always been into strong women in theory," she said, her voice light and teasing. "He tries to hide it, but I've noticed the pages in his fitness magazines that are dog-eared are all of the fit women."

My face heated instantly. I laughed it off, but inside my pulse raced. Becky's sharp eyes flicked to me, catching the flush creeping up my neck. She didn't say anything right away, but the corner of her mouth twitched in quiet amusement.

She knew. Of course, she knew. Women like Becky noticed everything—especially the way a man's pupils dilated when power was discussed.

Dinner stretched on, the wine flowing freely. Sarah and I could handle our alcohol better than most; years of social drinking had built a solid tolerance. Becky, who pronounced herself a lightweight, somehow matched us glass for glass. Apparently, her professional discipline extended even to social lubrication. By the time we cleared the plates, all three of us were buzzing—Becky most of all. We'd reached the stage of loose laughing and the kind of drunk where inhibitions frayed at the edges but didn't quite snap.

We had planned to play the new board game Sarah had bought, something complex with cards, tokens, and a rulebook thicker than a novel. We tried for about ten minutes, dissolving into helpless laughter as the instructions grew more and more convoluted.

"This is ridiculous," Sarah gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "We're way too drunk for strategy."

As she leaned back in her chair, still giggling, my mind drifted again. In the fantasy, the game had been abandoned long ago. Sarah and Becky were on the living room floor, playfully wrestling after one too many drinks. Sarah, now visibly stronger from months of training with Becky, was on top, her thighs clamped around Becky's waist in a tight body scissors.

Becky laughed, trying to escape, but Sarah's dense and powerful quads squeezed with controlled force until Becky tapped out, breathless and impressed. Then Sarah turned that victorious energy on me, crawling over with a predatory grin. She'd pin my wrists above my head with one hand, her newly developed biceps and shoulders flexing hard as she held me down effortlessly. Her hips would grind against mine, feeling my cock throb against the heat between her legs while she whispered hotly in my ear, "Becky says I'm getting dangerously strong... Want to find out how much I can make you beg tonight?"

The real Sarah reached over and squeezed my thigh under the table, pulling me back to the moment once again. Her touch was warm, familiar... but tonight it carried a new edge in my imagination. It was an edge of growing power, of muscles hardening under that soft skin, of a wife who was slowly, deliciously becoming the strong woman I had always secretly craved.

"Truth or Dare it is," Becky declared, her tone playful but edged with something bolder, more commanding. She stretched her powerful arms overhead, the movement making her traps and delts pop dramatically under the thin fabric of her dress. My arousal spiked again, a persistent throb I tried to ignore as we moved to the living room, settling on the floor around the coffee table with fresh drinks in hand.

[taoschild]

The game started innocently enough, laced with laughter and easy teasing. Sarah dared Becky to do ten push-ups on her knuckles. Becky knocked them out effortlessly and then kept going. Her form was perfect, back straight as a board, and the muscles in her back and shoulders rippled with controlled power. I dared Sarah to sing the national anthem in the worst British accent she could manage.

Becky dared me to chug the rest of my wine without breathing. The dares escalated slowly, first with more alcohol, and then dipping into flirtation: Sarah had to give me a lap dance for thirty seconds, her hips grinding teasingly against me while Becky watched with hooded eyes. Then I dared Becky to flex her biceps for us.

Sarah oohed dramatically, reaching out to squeeze the rock-hard peak. "Holy shit, it's like steel!" she exclaimed. "Feel it, Mike."

The idea blue-screened my brain momentarily. But then, when I rebooted, I realized how problematic that might be with my cock throbbing and my hands touching another woman whom I wanted— badly.

My mouth went completely dry.

"That's okay, I'll take your word for it, honey," I said, with little conviction and deep regret.

Marriage saved for the moment.

I had sat across from Becky, legs crossed tightly in a futile attempt to hide the growing bulge in my jeans. From her vantage point on the floor, though, it must have been obvious—the insistent outline pressing against the denim. Sarah, tipsy and focused on the game, didn't seem to notice. But Becky did. Her gaze lingered there more than once, with a spark of predatory interest flashing in her eyes.

The questions turned sexual as the night deepened, the laughter growing huskier, more charged.

"Truth," Becky said when it was her turn again. She leaned back on her hands, her thick thighs spread slightly in her seated position, the dress riding up just enough to hint at the power beneath.

Sarah grinned wickedly. "What's the hottest thing about being as strong as you are?"

Becky's smile was slow and deliberate. She flexed her right quad absentmindedly, the muscle separating into clear teardrop shapes visible even through the dress's fabric. Then her fingers splayed through her hair, causing her biceps to bulge. I followed the motion like a baby deer caught in the headlights.

"Feeling powerful. Truly powerful. Stronger than most men. Walking into a room and knowing I could pick any guy up and pin him down if I wanted. The way it makes me wet, honestly—being able to dominate physically. It's not just the muscle; it's the control. The knowledge that my body is a machine built for strength."

My cock twitched hard, swelling to a full erection now. Sarah's eyes widened slightly, her cheeks flushing deeper than the wine could account for. "Fuck, that's hot," she murmured, surprising even herself. I nodded mutely, my throat tight, heart pounding in my ears.

The game rolled on. More truths spilled out—fantasies, past hookups, secret kinks admitted with drunken boldness. It wrapped back around to Sarah, and she once again picked Becky, which was a relief to me.

This time, she asked Becky to flex her bicep and kiss it like she was trying to impress someone.

Becky didn't hesitate.

She lifted her arm slowly, almost indulgently, curling it upward as her bicep swelled into a dense, rounded peak. For a long moment, she just held the flex, letting us drink it in. Letting me devour the sight of that swollen, feminine muscle.

Then she leaned in.

Her full lips parted, soft and glistening, before they pressed against the hot, rock-hard curve of her own bicep. The contrast was obscene: plush, yielding lips worshipping unyielding muscle. She didn't just kiss it; she savored it. Her mouth moved slowly, sensually, brushing and lingering along the peak as if she were tasting her own strength, claiming it with wet, deliberate affection.

A low, involuntary sound scratched just past my lips before I bit it back so Sarah wouldn't hear it. That did little to stop the sharp and urgent heat flooding low in my belly, my cock twitching hard as I watched. My fingers dug into the couch cushion, desperate for something to hold onto while my body throbbed with need.

I saw the shift in Sarah's demeanor happen in real time. Her teasing grin faltered, her lips parting slightly, eyes locked on Becky's arm like she'd forgotten the game entirely. A flush crept up her neck, deeper than before, and she swallowed hard, as if she'd just felt something she hadn't expected to feel.

Becky pulled back slowly, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth, like she knew exactly what she'd just done to the room.

Then she broke, laughing, the sound bright and disarming, like none of it had meant anything at all.

"Okay," Becky said, settling back into place, still smiling. "My turn. Sarah—truth or dare?"

Sarah hesitated for half a second. "Truth."

Becky tilted her head, studying her. "Why me?" she asked lightly. "You've been coming after me all night. Why'd you ask about the biceps."

Sarah's shoulders slumped.

"No, don't get me wrong, I'm not mad," she insisted. "That was actually kind of fun. I'm just asking." Sarah let out a small breath, a nervous laugh slipping through. "I don't know," she said, glancing down at her glass before looking back up. "I guess I just... never really got it before."

"Got what?" Becky asked.

"The whole..." Sarah gestured vaguely, her eyes flicking—briefly, involuntarily—toward Becky's arms. "The muscle thing. Why, um, some people think it's... attractive."

Becky's smile deepened, but she didn't interrupt.

Sarah shook her head slightly, like she was recalibrating in real time. "I thought it was just, you know, impressive. Or intimidating." A beat. "But I think I understand it a little better now."

There was a brief silence after that. Not awkward. Just... full. All of us reached for our glasses at the same time and drank.

I swallowed—wine, and something else. I was very aware that whatever Sarah had just "understood," I was currently experiencing at full volume.

Then it was my turn.

[129qwer]

This is great! Are you going to release the two re-release/edits on Smashwords as well? I prefer that over amazon.

[taoschild]

Done. You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login Please leave a review if you can when you're finished. Thank you.

[taoschild]

I was so aroused by Becky's little performance that I wasn't entirely convinced I was operating heavy machinery safely. Alcohol and arousal tangled together as I forced out words.

"Becky, truth or Dare?" I said, my voice a little rough around the edges.

"Dare," she replied, locking eyes with me across the coffee table. "Seems like it's been my gig all night, so why stop now?" The air between us crackled with electricity.

I hesitated for only a second. The alcohol and the overwhelming arousal had loosened my tongue beyond caution. "Show us your clit," I said, the words tumbling out. "And... get it excited. Let us watch."

Sarah burst out laughing, half-shocked, half-delighted. "Mike! You animal. Becky, he's kidding, you don't have to do that."

But Becky didn't laugh. She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, then smirked, the challenge clearly accepted.

Fuck!

"Bold. I like it. But remember, revenge is best served cold. Your next truth or dare question isn't going to be about your favorite color, Mike."

Adrenalin shot through me. The confidence she showed disarmed me altogether.

She shifted smoothly onto her knees, hiking up her dress slowly and seductively. The movement revealed the powerful expanse of her thighs. Her quads were like carved marble, hamstrings thick and defined, veins tracing intricate pathways over the dense muscle. She wasn't wearing panties. Her pussy was already glistening with arousal, the lips full and prominent. But it was her clit that drew our stares. Enlarged noticeably from years of steroid use and intense training, it protruded like a sensitive little cock, already swollen even before she touched it.

Becky leaned back against the couch, spreading her legs wider in a display of total confidence. Her fingers found the sensitive nub, circling it with practiced precision.

"Mmm... feels good," she murmured, her voice dropping into a lower, huskier octave. Her free hand roamed over her own thigh, squeezing the dense muscle appreciatively. As she worked herself, her breathing deepened, her abs contracting visibly under the thin dress fabric. Her eyes flicked first to Sarah, then to me, but soon fluttered closed as the climbing ecstasy took hold.

I couldn't look away. Her perfectly muscled body roiled with every stroke, powerful muscles shifting and flexing under her skin as pleasure rippled through her. Her massive thighs quivered, glutes clenching against the floor, while her abs danced in tight, controlled contractions.

The clit grew harder, thicker, rising prominently under her touch. She pumped it gently between thumb and forefinger, her callused digits rolling the swollen shaft with expert precision. She milked it from base to hooded tip in slow, teasing strokes that made the rigid length throb visibly. With every pass, it seemed to grow even more, now a full inch-and-a-half of commanding, vein-laced thickness, flushed dark and slick with her juices.

Her breath hitched with every pump, eyes half-lidded in voyeuristic ecstasy as she savored the exposure. The raw thrill of it hardening her further enraptured all three of us. The rigid clit now a full inch-and-a-half of commanding thickness.

"God, yes... being watched like this... by a couple who actually gets it..." She dragged the words out, voice rough with lust, and followed it with a predatory grin, curling her lips.

Sarah watched transfixed, her own thighs pressing together tightly. I was openly staring now, my bulge impossible to hide even from my awkward angle, utterly captivated by the sight of Becky's powerful, sculpted body writhing in open pleasure. Any pretense that I wasn't completely entralled by the spectacle had long ago vanished. Luckily, Sarah was too engrossed to notice.

Becky's pace quickened, her powerful glutes flexing against the floor, her massive thighs trembling with building tension. She was getting dangerously close. She moaned low and guttural, her entire enhanced physique a symphony of muscle and raw lust. Just as she teetered on the edge, she stopped abruptly, pulling her hand away with a wicked, teasing grin.

"Not yet. Okay, my turn."

Sarah and I sat there agog. The game had crossed a line, but none of us wanted to go back. Still, transitioning from heavenly back to reality wasn't exactly easy. "My turn. Okay, Mike, truth or dare?"

[taoschild]

Fuck!

"Okay, truth." I wasn't about to do a dare from Becky after the earlier warning.

"Do you like the bodies of muscular women better than skinny ones?"

I got off easy, I thought. Sarah already knew my leanings, and she hadn't specified how muscular. I could always say later that I thought the question was just women with some definition, some power. Safe ground. I opened my mouth to answer with a diplomatic sidestep, heart still racing from the game's escalating heat.

Just as the words formed, Becky cut in smoothly, her voice low and commanding, eyes locked on mine across the coffee table. "Really muscular."

Fuck.

The room went still. Sarah's thigh tensed beside me, her fingers pausing on my knee. Becky leaned forward slightly, her thick traps rising subtly under the dress fabric, biceps shifting with vascular promise. All of it was a living reminder of the question's weight. My cock throbbed harder under the table, the directness pinning me like one of her competition presses.

"I'm not sure—I like both—" I started, voice faltering as sweat beaded on my neck. Then my eyes betrayed me, snapping to her taut biceps like a starving man to forbidden fruit. As she itched her cheek, the muscle welled up beneath her smooth skin, veins tracing delicate blue rivers over the hard curves. I couldn't look away; my pulse hammered in time with the way her bicep twitched and tightened. The power in them promised so much.

The movement was hardly fair. Rude even.

"No qualifying," Becky insisted firmly, her quad flexing absentmindedly in her seated position, the teardrop shape pressing visibly against her dress like a sensual threat. "If you had to chose—right now—would you go with the really muscular? The kind with peaks, veins, power that could crush you?"

Sarah turned to me, eyes wide but sparkling with a mix of curiosity and challenge, her hand squeezing my thigh tighter. It was half-support, half-test. The air felt thicker than before with the wine haze sharpening into raw tension. Truth now meant full exposure in front of our neighbor, and perhaps even worse, in front of Sarah. My full sthenolagnia would be on display with a confession in front of both of them. Dodge? Look weak, kill the vibe.

I swallowed hard, glancing between them—Sarah's lean, athletic warmth versus Becky's god-tier mass. "Probably," I admitted, voice rough. Beat. Then fully: "Yes. The really muscular. The power... It's intoxicating."

Sarah's breath hitched softly, but she didn't pull away. Her fingers traced higher up my thigh instead, brushing the bulge I couldn't hide. Becky smirked triumphantly, delts rounding as she stretched back.

"Knew it. Good man—honest."

She stared me down, and I folded. The woman knew me too well. It's like muscle women have a sixth sense about the men who worship them from afar. At least Sarah didn't seem too broken up about it, and if we kept drinking as we had, none of us might remember much of this in the morning.

The game reignited hotter, my confession fuel. Sarah's next dare: "Truth or Dare for you, Mike?" Her voice was husky now.

"Didn't I just go. Now you guys are teaming up on me," I whined. "Fine, dare," I said, committed.

"I dare you to spend the rest of the night in your underwear." Sarah grinned wickedly, already tugging at the hem of my shirt. "No hiding that reaction anymore."

Laughter erupted as I stood and stripped down to boxers. The moment my jeans hit the floor, it was obvious. My cock throbbed visibly against the thin fabric, rock-hard and straining, the full outline pulsing with every heartbeat. It was just about as embarrassing as possible with a thick ridge tenting obscenely, precum already darkening a wet spot at the tip. There was no subtlety left; the game had stripped me bare. Nearly, at least.

Sarah's eyes widened, then she burst out laughing, pointing playfully. "Oh my God, Mike! Look at that thing. It's practically ripping through your boxers! You're destroyed over this, aren't you?"

There was no subtlety left; the game had stripped me bare. Nearly all the way, quite literally.

Becky leaned forward. Her drunken gaze locked onto my crotch with unabashed appraisal. The predatory smirk of a woman who suddenly knows she's the alpha spread across her face.

As if that wasn't bad enough, right as her eyes locked onto the pulsing tent in my boxers, her right bicep suddenly flicked. It was clearly intentional. The sharp flex made her muscles bulge hard for a split second, peaking into a tight, glistening mound before relaxing.

My cock answered instantly, echoing the flick with a heavy, involuntary throb that made the entire shaft jerk visibly against the soaked fabric. Another thick spurt of precum leaked out, spreading the wet spot wider.

"Holy shit, Sarah. Your man's packing heat. That cock's throbbing like it's got its own heartbeat. Poor guy's about to burst from one little flex."

Heat flooded my face. I turned beet red, ears burning as both women cackled, their teasing relentless but laced with hungry approval. Sarah clapped her hands, giggling. "He's so hard right now. Look at it twitch! We broke him in like ten minutes!" Becky nodded appreciatively, eyes still locked on the pulsing bulge. "Seriously, Sarah. Congratulations. He's got a nice one. Thick, veiny, standing at attention like a good soldier. You hit the jackpot." She raised her glass in mock toast. "To lucky wives."

"Okay, okay, that's enough," I said, protesting, my voice coming out ragged.

[taoschild]

"Okay, okay, that's enough," I said quickly, my voice coming out tight with embarrassment and a kind of overwhelmed agitation I couldn't quite rein in. Granted, after my dare, I had no right to feel that way. But still...
The girls ignored me. Instead, Sarah grabbed her shot glass, still laughing, cheeks flushed with wine and mischief.

"Hell yes to jackpot cocks and muscle confessions!" They clinked shots together, downing tequila in sync while I stood there crimson-faced, cock jerking visibly under their stares, the humiliation deliciously erotic.

I sank into the chair with the exhausted resignation of a man who has become the comic relief in someone else's very confident story. The kind of man who used to have dignity in theory.

Becky tilted her head back just slightly and locked eyes with me, a knowing smirk playing on her lips like she had me completely figured out. It wasn't seductive, exactly. It was more like a lion looking at a man who'd accidentally wandered into the enclosure carrying barbecue sauce.

Meanwhile, Sarah darted into the kitchen for a towel, still cackling, leaving the two of us alone for a few dangerously charged seconds.

Becky didn't say a word. She simply stared at me like a predator sizing up prey, then rolled her powerful shoulders with a deliberate shrug. She brought the glass to her full lips and finished the last of her shot. The moment the tequila hit her throat, her biceps exploded.

Thick, vein-laced peaks erupted under her smooth skin, swelling into rock-hard, obscene mounds. Her muscle bellies were already absurdly full from the heat of the game, but now they split into razor-sharp definition, veins feeding them desperately.

I couldn't look away.

Then, with casual dominance that made my knees weak (thank God I was sitting, or my embarrassment would have hit another high-water mark), she brought her free hand up and tantalizingly rubbed the heavy swell of her pecs in slow, possessive circles. Those thick, striated slabs flexed and danced under her palm like living steel, pushing her full breasts upward as if they weighed nothing.

Meanwhile, my brain was once again blue-screening in real time. The raw power in her chest made my cock throb painfully against my pants, leaking steadily.

She grinned, eyes dropping to my obvious erection before sliding back up to my face. "See something you like?" she mouthed silently, the words clear on her lips even though no sound escaped.
Oh good. Excellent. We were doing telepathic murder now.

Her fingers continued tracing absentminded circles across her chest as if she genuinely enjoyed the feel of the muscle there. Then again, how could she not? Every shift made something flex, and every flex made my survival instincts pack a bag and leave town.

Time stretched weirdly. I forgot how blinking worked.

I wanted to worship every inch from across the room. My mouth hung open slightly while my brain tried and failed to process the fact that I was one tequila shot away from bowing at her feet and worshipping her in my wife's presence.

Then Becky smirked, reading my hunger perfectly. She crossed her arms and struck a quick, most muscular pose, and my soul briefly left my body.

Her entire upper body erupted. Her pecs thickened and hardened into dense, striated slabs that shoved her breasts upward, deep cleavage forming between the two plates of muscle. Her traps rose like mountains beside her neck, shoulders ballooning outward, and her biceps and forearms tipped the scales one step further into losing my mind territory.

I wanted to crawl to her, press my face into those flexing pecs, and worship her like the muscle goddess she was. My breathing had gone ragged, hypnotized by the raw, feminine power radiating off her. Not sexy ragged, either. More like "Victorian man witnessing electricity for the first time."

Shallow, shaky, pathetic little gasps as my cock throbbed and leaked visibly in my pants, staining the front traitorously.

Becky saw it all, and her smile turned cruel and delighted. She held the most muscular pose a moment longer, then slowly released it... only to keep playing with me.

Then she rolled her powerful shoulders back and forth, making her heavy pecs bounce and ripple. Her heavy pecs immediately started to dance for me. The thick, striated slabs of muscle swelled and relaxed in waves, pushing her full breasts up and letting them drop again in a hypnotic rhythm. She made them bounce harder, then slower, then harder again, deliberately making the deep separation between her pecs appear and disappear as the muscle flexed and released. Each pop made the striations flicker under her smooth skin like steel cables shifting beneath silk. A light sheen of sweat only made them look even more powerful and obscene.

I was mesmerized. My eyes were glued to the way those massive pecs jiggled with raw power, so dense and thick they looked like they could crush anything between them. I wanted to shove my face right into that warm, flexing valley and feel them smother me while she bounced and flexed them against my cheeks.

Then she brought her right arm up into a crowning bicep flex, turning her wrist so I could admire the peak from every angle, the sharp split, the thick feeding vein pulsing over the top. Her eyes locked onto mine as she mouthed silently:

"Want to feel how hard it is?" She paused, then her gaze dropped shamelessly to my straining, leaking cock. "Is it as hard as you?"

I was too far gone to feel embarrassed anymore. I was fully lost in the show, consequences be damned. My eyes stayed glued to her body, drinking in every flex like a man dying of thirst.

She relaxed it teasingly, only to give both pecs another slow, possessive squeeze, pushing them together and making the striations dance under her skin. She was clearly loving how utterly broken I looked.
I was so hypnotized by the sheer dominant power radiating off her muscles that I didn't even register the sound of Sarah's footsteps returning from the kitchen.

Becky did.

Sarah returned with the towel a pitcher of water, her voice cracking through my haze like a whip. "Okay, okay, that's enough!" She was half-laughing, half-scolding, but her eyes sparkled with wicked amusement as she stared at me. "Jesus, babe, close your mouth. It's your turn — stop eye-fucking Becky's muscles for two seconds."

God, please dump it on me, I thought desperately. Just tilt that pitcher and soak me. I need a fucking ice-cold shower right now or I'm going to cum in my pants like a teenager.

My face somehow got even hotter, burning past crimson and into outright inferno. I hadn't realized how openly I'd been staring. At this point, I was basically one step away from hanging a "Will Work For Flexes" sign around my neck.

Becky smirked and, because apparently humiliation was a team sport tonight, casually hit me with one last slow bicep flex.

The peak swelled obscenely high before she relaxed it again with a soft laugh.

"You'd better be nice to me, Sarah. My turn is coming up," I said, trying and failing to kill their gloating.

[taoschild]

If you have a chance please vote in the poll or leave me a comment - I'm in the home stretch of my novel

[zertus2]

I like it so far. This story seems promising, no NTR or hardcore domination, just some great muscle worship. Keep it going!

[phil123]

Great story and I hope for more.