Story includes: Husband and wife and their relationship growth as she embarks on her secret Bodybuilding journey
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Her Growing Love
Her journey…life in her diary as always…constantly entering her daily life…
Teresa stared at her reflection, her inner-monologue preaching to her like a voice from above…or one from deep inside… “I never thought I'd be here, staring at myself in the mirror of this dingy basement gym, sweat dripping down my forehead, wondering how the hell I ended up lifting weights like some kind of secret agent on a mission.”
She again turned the page, dated the entry and began writing…but now, she wasn’t documenting her daily emotions or small interesting tidbits from the day…she was writing a summary, a mini-novel if you will.
July 10th:
Twenty-nine years old, and up until thirteen months ago, just your average housewife. Five-foot-nine, a skinny 130 pounds, always wearing flowy dresses or oversized sweaters because, let's face it, I didn't have much to show off. My love Brian, the same height as me, hit run after run as those crazy ass runners always do, fit as a rail at 150 pounds.
He loves his marathons, his early morning jogs that leave him looking like a lean, fit athlete, all lean and efficient. Me? I cooked, I cleaned, I hosted brunches for our friends, played the perfect supportive wife. But inside? God, inside I was screaming for something more. Something powerful.
It started innocently enough. Or at least, that's what I tell myself in these quiet moments when doubt creeps in. I was scrolling through my phone one night while Brian snored beside me, and I stumbled on this video of a female bodybuilder. She wasn’t one of the extreme ones, the ones who look like they could bench-press a car, but she was a woman who was strong and curvy in all the right ways, but she had these muscles and thin veins rippling under her skin like she was not to be messed with.
She was talking about empowerment, about how lifting had changed her life. I paused the video, for some reason, my heart was pounding. Why couldn't that be me? I asked myself. But then immediately, my own insecurities rose to the surface and I had decided Brian wouldn't understand, he likes me soft, delicate, the way I've always been. I also thought of our friends, our family? They'd laugh or worry. "Teresa, you're fine just the way you are," my mom would probably say.
But I wasn't just fine the way I was. I wanted to feel strong, to build something for myself that no one else could touch. So, I started small. Secretly.
The next day, I told Brian I was joining a "yoga class" at the community center. It was a lie, but a harmless one.
The center had a weight room in the back that looked rarely used, especially during the day when everyone else was at work. So I slipped in there with a baggy hoodie and leggings, my heart racing like I was committing a crime…nervous and lacking confidence.
The first workout? Pretty pathetic. I could barely lift the 10-pound dumbbells for curls. My thin arms shook, my back ached, but oh, the rush. Soreness, a bit of pain…In my head, I whispered to myself, this is yours, Teresa, you can do this. No one knows. Build it slow.
Weeks turned into months. I researched online at night, after Brian went to bed. My diet became regimented, dedicated…High-protein foods, progressive overload, macros…I became obsessed. I hid protein shakes in the back of the pantry, behind the canned soups Brian never touches. I'd blend them when he was out running, chug them down like I was sneaking contraband or something. It was fun, exciting and the devious little nature of it all made adrenaline shoot through my veins.
My weight crept up: 135, then 140. Muscles started peeking through, all of a sudden it seemed I had delts rounding out, my quads were really firming up. I wore looser clothes around the house and blamed it on "winter weight" when Brian teased me gently about my appetite. "You're eating like a horse lately," he'd say with a laugh, patting my arm. I was careful not to flex ever…letting him believe I was still the soft, cute co-ed he fell in love with and married. If only he knew that arm was starting to harden under the fabric.
The secrecy fueled me. Every time I snuck out for a "yoga" session, I pushed harder. Squats, deadlifts, bench presses…I learned the forms from YouTube tutorials on my phone, earbuds in, volume low. By month three, I was already up to 145 pounds. And my legs…They were thickening and getting really hard…and powerful.
I remember the first time I tested my strength against Brian’s, subtly, of course. He was struggling to move the couch to vacuum underneath…his runner's build is great for endurance, but not for raw strength. "Here, let me help," I said casually, grabbing the other end. In my mind, I was screaming, “Watch this.” I lifted my side effortlessly, my legs and arm muscles engaging like coiled springs.
He grunted on his end, "Whoa, Teresa, you been working out?" he joked.
I laughed it off. "Must be all that yoga babe…it’s a lot more of a workout than people give it credit."
But inside…I was giddy…I was having a hard time containing my excitement…but somehow, I kept my cool and kept my little secret. Victory. I wasn’t positive, but it seemed like I was stronger than him in that moment, and he didn't even know.
It fueled me even more than I could have possibly imagined. I worked out harder and harder after that, motivated to secure in my own mind that I was stronger. I’m not even sure why it mattered to me, why I had this internal competition going on with myself that my husband wasn’t even aware of, yet he was a major participant in.
So the next couple of months became more intense as the pounds packed on…150 finally, and I really had to get creative with the hiding. My bras got tighter, my shoulders broadened and became firm and rounded. So I started shopping online for oversized blouses, claiming I wanted "comfy loungewear."
Brian didn't question it as he's always been oblivious to fashion anyway. Our sex life…It changed too, in my head at least. He'd pull me close at night, his hands on my waist, and I'd flex subtly, letting him feel the new hardness there. If you only knew, I'd think, biting my lip to hide the smile. I started fantasizing about overpowering him, pinning him down playfully, but I kept it locked away. This was my secret world.
Month six hit, and I was hooked. The gym became my sanctuary. I'd arrive early, before the after-work crowd, and lose myself in the iron. I was actually able to do Pull-ups…I had started with assisted months back, but now I could do six unassisted. My back was widening, lats flaring like wings. And my weight hit 155. I felt invincible.
Another test…One evening, Brian came home from a run, complaining about a heavy box of books he'd carried up the stairs for his office. "Damn, books are a lot heavier than I remember…Nearly killed me," he said, flopping on the couch.
I eyed the box in the corner…hmmm, maybe 50 pounds I thought. So later, when he was in the shower, I hoisted it easily, then I tried to hold it with one hand…bicep bulging under my sleeve. Wow! I thought. I could do this all day. The thrill shot through me like electricity. How much stronger was I now? I set it down quietly, heart pounding. No one could know. Not yet.
But the changes were getting harder and harder to hide. My jeans wouldn't button, my thighs were way too thick for the leggings and my ass too round and hard from all the squats. So I switched to yoga pants full-time, the stretchy kind that hid the definition...or so I thought.
However, friends noticed at our weekly coffee meetup. "Teresa, you look... different. Healthier?" Sarah said, tilting her head. I shrugged. "Yoga and just eating better, I guess." Inside, I was panicking. Don't look too close. My family was worse though, my Mom called, asking if I was okay, if Brian and I were fighting because I seemed "distracted." I laughed it off, but the guilt gnawed at me. Why was I hiding this? Because it was mine. In a life where I folded laundry and planned dinners, this was the one thing that belonged only to me.
My excuses worked and held judgement from family and friends at bay but now…another month later… 160 pounds! It was official…30 pounds of muscle from the start of my fitness journey…I was a different woman. Mirrors didn't lie anymore…veins popping on my forearms during workouts, abs starting to show when I flexed in private. I was a musclemommy and it was going to be very difficult to hide now…
But at the same time…it was irresistibly motivating and instead of backing my workouts or diet back…I decided just a couple months of increased effort and intensity…just to SEE…
I upgraded my secret gym routine: heavier weights, more sets. Deadlifts at 275 pounds, bench at 165 for sets and for reps. Brian's runs kept him lean, but I was surpassing him in every way. The tests became bolder. One night, we were play-wrestling on the bed, he initiated it, tickling me. I let him pin me at first, giggling like the old Teresa. Then, in a surge, I flipped him over, my quads locking around his waist. He laughed, surprised. "Damn, babe, you're strong tonight!"
I released him quickly, faking embarrassment. But in my head I knew…You have no idea. His 150 pounds felt light, manageable. I could crush him if I wanted. The thought excited and scared me. I bragged about the benefits of all my Yoga classes and that I was really giving me strong legs. He liked it, I saw a spark in his eye…and he complimented me for the hard work and dedication! I wasn’t completely positive, but I felt more confident now that he would enjoy a muscular me, than I ever thought before…
Diet was key now. I snuck in extra meals, chicken breasts grilled in bulk, hidden in Tupperware at the back of the fridge. Protein powder mixed into smoothies I claimed were "for energy." Brian tried one once and grimaced. "Too thick," he said. I smiled inwardly. That's the gains babe. My sleep improved too; I needed it for recovery. I'd crash early, dreaming of stages, of flexing under lights, but always alone. No audience. Just me, powerful.
Month nine: 165 pounds. I felt like a beast…posing for myself, loving my post pump look, squinting my eyes and seeing a bicep that looked like it belonged on a male bodybuilder…not me…certainly not me. But I loved it, was proud of its size…its strength…its hardness. And then I did a pose that shocked even me. I hit that most-muscular pose I had seen some girls doing on IG. BAM! My shoulders exploded, my traps jumped up massively and my neck thickened…HOLY SHIT!!!
I even scared myself…definitely not doing that pose in public…my friends, family and Brian would probably lose their shit and make me go to counseling or something…Lol…but it was awesome though…it felt…empowering!
Had to measure the arms at this point. Just 9 inches around and soft when I first started…but now…rock hard and 14 inches around, massive to me…and my biceps were peaking like baseballs. Yumm…my shoulders capped with beautiful meaty muscle and my traps were hard and rising even without flexing them.
I now avoided sleeveless tops when around anyone. At home, I'd admire myself in the bathroom mirror after showers, tracing the lines of my delts, the sweep of my quads. God I was hot. Was it weird that even looking at myself made me moist…made me want to touch myself, made me want to lick my own, firm, bulging biceps…taste the muscle, taste the perfection…
This is me now. Brian's touches felt different…his hands seemed smaller on my body, almost feeble. One afternoon, he asked me to help carry groceries. The bags were heavy, filled with his sports drinks and my hidden protein bars. He took two; I took four, two in each hand, biceps curling unconsciously.
He was slow carrying his up the stairs. I breezed past him. "Slowpoke," I teased lightly. Inside…I'm lapping you, Brian. In every way. It was exhilarating and rewarding to feel…to know I was becoming stronger than him, obviously so now to me.
But the secrecy weighed on me sometimes. Lying to everyone, to Brian, to friends and to family. "Yoga" excuses wore thin. I started saying I was "volunteering" at the Yoga center instead, making them think that teaching an occasional extra Yoga class each day was adding to the more fit look that was now clearly written on my face with sharp edges and a more muscular jawline.
But the high? Well worth it! I felt more alive than ever, electric. Workouts were now my therapy, I was completely addicted to grunting through reps, sweat pouring, muscles screaming then growing. I read forums online, anonymous accounts of women like me, transforming in the shadows. It fueled me.
Even in bed, I struggled to keep my gains a secret from Brian. If the, “I’m tired or it’s my period.” excuse wore thin, I’d pleasure him with a BJ a couple days a week and keep my bulky sweats on. Occasionally he needed more of a release, so I was always sure to be on bottom, unflexed, relaxed and simply a tight, warm spot for him to be satisfied. I made sure lights were off and the room was dark. Sure he felt me, he felt my growing mass…but unflexed, I was firm but not monstrous…especially in the lack of light. He probably sensed I was getting more and more fit…bit for now, he was still unsuspecting of the actual muscle and strength I had gained.
And with another couple of months of dedicated workouts, finally…I hit 170. It took months and months of dedication, but there I was. 40 pounds of muscle added…Buff, strong, a female bodybuilder in hiding. My measurements blew me away: chest 40 inches, waist 26, thighs 25, calves over 15…an hourglass with muscle. My legs seemed like tree trunks, calves diamond-shaped from endless calf raises. And my Arms…almost 15 inches after a major pump and curl workout.
I could curl 40-pound dumbbells for reps. Bench 185 for reps. Squat 285 for reps. Deadlift over 300. Brian…Hell, he'd struggle with half that. And the test culminated that next weekend. He wanted to rearrange the garage. There were some old weights from his college days in the corner, dusty 45-pound plates. "Help me stack these," he said, bending to lift one.
He strained, his back arching. Meanwhile, I grabbed two, one in each hand, and stacked them effortlessly. "Whoa," he muttered, his eyes wide. So I played it cool. "What? They're not that heavy…some of the equipment at the Yoga studio I have to move every night is heavier…” The look on his face was a bit of shock though…not sure he believed that lie…but I certainly toned back my lifts, gently moving and acting like I was straining whenever carrying the same type of item he had just moved.
But soon enough…of course I had to ask, “So Brian, does it bug you that I’m not such a helpless little lass now and can actually pick up a weight and help you out physically?”
“Hmm…no way babe…I think it actually turns me on a bit.” He admitted as he walked over, placed his hand around my firm waist and gave me a deep, exciting, loving kiss.
Later that night, alone in bed while he slept, I slid my long sleeve up to my shoulder and flexed my arm, watching the bicep rise. This is intoxicating power…But the secret? It was cracking. How long could I hide? Brian seemed open to my strength…part of me wanted to reveal it, to show Brian, to dominate playfully. But another part cherished the solitude. For now, I'd keep building…Stronger…Bigger.
…
Finally though, a week later, standing here in our bathroom, staring at the tiny red bikini I bought online months ago, hidden in the back of my drawer like some forbidden artifact. And for the past 11 months, I've been living a double life. Housewife by day—cooking, cleaning, smiling sweetly at Brian and our friends—secret bodybuilder by... well, whenever I could sneak away. I've gone from a skinny 130 pounds to a solid, muscular 170, all curves and power packed onto my 5'9" frame.
Brian, my sweet, oblivious husband, same height as me but a lean 150 from his running, has no idea. He's always loved the soft me, the delicate one who fits perfectly in his arms. But tonight…Tonight, I'm done hiding. My muscles are screaming to be seen, to be felt, to dominate. God, the thought sends shivers down my spine.
What if he freaks out? What if he loves it? Either way, I'm revealing everything. Right now, while he's glued to that damn ball game in the living room. My heart's pounding as I slip out of my baggy sweater and yoga pants…the camouflage I've worn for months to hide the changes. The mirror doesn't lie anymore. My shoulders are meaty and broad and capped like boulders, towering delts rounding out perfectly against my thick neck. My chest…oh God, my chest has massive pecs, firm and full, pushing against the fabric of anything I wear. My abs are finally etched like a washboard, six-pack visible even relaxed, with veins tracing down to my obliques.
My Arms…Biceps at almost 15 inches flexed, triceps with a horseshoe-shaped from endless dips. My back now wide with lats that flare like wings! And finally, my legs are my pride…quads sweeping out with thick muscle and defined…three massive muscles explode outward when I flex them. The hamstrings bow outward from behind and my calves are shaped like diamonds.
And my glutes? Round, protruding, rock solid and powerful, built from squats…It seemed like they could crush walnuts! I stared back at 170 pounds of pure, feminine muscle. I've tested my strength against Brian in secret…lifting furniture he struggled with, play-wrestling where I held back just enough. But tonight? No holding back.
I tie the bikini top, the strings straining against my thick lats as I reach back. It's tiny, barely covering my muscle-bound curves, my defined pecs fuller now from the heavy muscle underneath, my nipples hardening at the thought of his eyes on me. The bottoms ride high on my hips, accentuating the V-taper from my wide shoulders to my narrow waist. I flex in the mirror, watching my bodybuilder physique come alive.
Look at you, Teresa. You're a goddess. He's going to lose his mind. Nerves twist in my gut, but excitement overrides it. I've fantasized about this for weeks…months…showing him, overpowering him lovingly, making him feel my strength in every touch. Our sex has been good, but vanilla. Tonight, it's going to be explosive.
I want him to worship this body, to submit to its power, all while I pour my love into him.
The roar of the crowd from the TV echoes down the hall. Brian's probably slouched on the couch, beer in hand, yelling at the screen like he does every game night. Perfect! I take a deep breath, square my shoulders…feeling my traps engage…and step out.
Barefoot, silent, I quietly creep into the living room. The lights are dim…perfect, just the glow from the TV casting shadows. He's there, legs propped up, oblivious. Here we go. I position myself right in front of the screen, hands on hips, feet shoulder-width apart. The bikini feels like nothing, exposing every inch of my sculpted form.
"Babe? Move, it's the fourth quarter!" His voice is annoyed at first, eyes flicking up. Then they widen. They freeze. The remote slips from his hand, clattering to the floor. Yes, that's the reaction. I can see it all in his face…confusion, shock, arousal flickering in like a storm.
"Teresa? What the... holy shit." His stare roams over me, from my towering legs up to my abs, lingering on my chest, then my arms.
I haven't even posed yet. Time to show him what I've built. I smile inwardly, though my face stays confident, sultry. "Like what you see, Brian?" My voice is low, husky, purposely commanding, deeper than usual, but still feminine.
I raise my arms slowly, flexing into a front double biceps pose. My biceps peak high, the gorgeous little blue veins popping across my forearms. I’ve done this pose a hundred times in front of the mirror…all for this moment…for Brian! My shoulders explode outward, lats spreading like a cobra's hood. My abs tighten instinctively, the six-pack deepening into an eight-pack under the tension. He gasps, sitting up straight. "How... when... Teresa, you're... huge." The words hangs there, but not in fear—in awe.
His eyes are glued to me, his pupils dilating. I can see the tent forming in his shorts already. Good boy.
I twist slightly, transitioning to a side chest pose. Pecs flex, pushing my breasts forward, triceps sharpening. One leg forward, quad flexing…the gorgeous sweeps and teardrops visible, veins snaking down.
"13 months, Brian. Secret workouts. I wanted to surprise you." My inner voice cheers…He's hooked. Look at him squirming. He stammers, "You look... incredible. But why hide it?"
I drop the pose, stepping closer, my mass hovering over him. "Because it was mine at first. Now? It's ours." And I do it…I hit a most-muscular pose…hands clasped in front, traps erupting, every muscle in my upper body bulging into a symphony of mass and power. The bluish veins fill across my delts, my neck thickens. He leans back, his mouth agape. "Fuck, Teresa... you're huge…massive…shit…and stronger than me, aren't you?"
Oh, he has no idea. I laugh softly, the sound echoing my confidence. "Want to find out?" But before he can respond, I reach down, grabbing his wrists gently but firmly. His runner's build feels so light now…150 pounds of lean muscle, but nothing compared to my 170 of dense power. I pull him to his feet effortlessly, his body rising like a feather. He stumbles forward, chest bumping into mine…feeling the hardness of my pecs. "Whoa..."
Up close, my height matches his, but my width dwarfs him. My shoulders seem twice as broad, my arms easily thicker than his. I flex my right bicep right in his face, the peak rising to almost 15 inches. "Touch it," I command softly.
His hand trembles as he does, his fingers tracing the vein, squeezing…but it’s so hard it doesn't budge. Solid as rock. "It's... so hard. Teresa, this is insane."
“Insane? No babe…It's empowering.” I wrap my arms around him in a hug, but squeeze just enough to lift him off the ground. His feet dangle, toes brushing the carpet. He yelps in surprise, but laughs. "Put me down!"
Not yet. I hold him there, my biceps and back supporting his weight like it's nothing. This is just the beginning. "Feel that, Brian? That's what I've become. Stronger. Bigger. Better." I set him down gently, but keep my hands on his waist, my fingers digging into his sides…feeling his softness against my calloused palms and trying to inflict just a hint of pain.
His erection presses against my thigh, hot and insistent. He's loving this. The baseball game blares on behind me, forgotten. So I scoop him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his back…in a bridal carry. It’s effortless. His 150 pounds are so light to me now…like carrying groceries.
He wraps his arms around my neck instinctively, his face flushing red. "Teresa! What are you…" I silence him with a kiss, deep and possessive, my tongue dominating his. As I carry him toward the bedroom, my quads flex with each step, my heavy and full glutes powering forward, their strength unimaginable now.
My bikini bottoms shift slightly, but I don't care. This is my reveal. My dominance. Brian moans into the kiss, his hands exploring my shoulders, feeling the delts roll under his touch. "You're carrying me like I'm nothing," he whispers when we break apart. I grin. "To me, you are. But you're everything too."
I kick the bedroom door open, not even breaking stride. The bed awaits, sheets rumpled from this morning. I lower him onto it gently, but stay standing, towering over him. He props up on his elbows, staring up at my bikini-clad form. "Strip," I say, my voice commanding but laced with love.
He obeys quickly, shedding his shirt and shorts, his lean runner's body exposed. His defined abs from miles of pavement expose themselves…but no bulk…fit, but lean, skinny. But his cock stands hard, throbbing in front of me. I untie my bikini top slowly, letting it fall. My pecs spill out, fuller and perkier from the thick muscle beneath. Then the bottoms…I slowly slide them down my thick thighs, stepping out.
Naked, muscular, ready. I climb onto the bed, straddling him. My weight pins him down…170 pounds of muscle settling on his hips. Brian groans, his hands reaching for my abs, tracing the ridges. "God, Teresa... you're perfect."
“Yes, I am…worship me.” I flex my core, making the abs pop under his fingers. Then I lean down, kissing him fiercely, my breasts pressing against his chest. My hands pin his wrists above his head effortlessly, but he struggles to free them…futile against my overpowering grip. "Feel how strong I am?" I whisper against his lips.
He nods, eyes wide with lust. I release one hand, guiding his to my bicep, flexing it as he squeezes. "Squish it," I order him. He tries, but my arm doesn't move, it just hardens more.
“Good Boy!” I compliment him but assert my dominance simultaneously…
Shifting, I slide down, my mouth finding his neck, biting gently as my free hand strokes his cock. He bucks, but my thighs clamp around his legs, holding him still. Mine to control. "Teresa... please..." Begging already. I smile inwardly, moving lower, kissing his chest, then taking him in my mouth, slowly, teasing.
My jaw strong from clenching during deadlifts, I suck with power, my tongue swirling. Brian thrashes, as I glide up and down his rod, as my arms pin his hips down. Over and over and over I pleasure his gorgeous cock…letting my saliva lubricate the shaft, sucking hard on his tip…flicking it forcefully with each rep. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” I command him. He obliges immediately, I want him to feel their power as I make him feel my pleasure down below. He will love this…he will become addicted to my strength, my muscles, my size as it will be synonymous with sexual pleasure for him. He’ll encourage me to keep going, keep growing!
Brian has no escape from me. He is smart enough to enjoy it and after a solid year of letting him take control during our vanilla flavored sexual encounters…he is being systematically contained and put under my control…first physically…but eventually mentally as well. Will he like it…Hmm, at this point, I think he’ll love it…lust for it…beg for it. And I’ll oblige. I love my strength and I love this dynamic…
After minutes of sucking and stroking, I pull back, climbing up again. Now, the main event. I position myself over him, my massive quads squeezing him hard on each side, I guide his cock inside me. I’m wet and ready, my arousal from the power play soaking us both.
As I sink down, taking him fully, I flex my quads HARD around his waist. He gasps at the tightness, barely able to speak. "Fuck... you’re so strong."
I start riding him, slow at first, my massive, meaty glutes and quads driving the motion. Each thrust, I flex something new…abs tightening, pecs bouncing slightly, arms raised in a victory pose, showing off the thickness in my lats, arms and forearms as he stares up in awe, like a child discovering something new…unexpected…wonderful!
Brian reaches up, his hands small atop my massive pecs. He starts massaging them…his eyes even roll back in his head in unimaginable mental satisfaction. I pump them, flexing one, then the other, back and forth over and over again letting him feel the raw power they contain.
"Now watch." I hit a double biceps while riding harder, my pace up and down upon his cock increasing with each rep. The bed creaks under my power. He's moaning, his head thrown back. "Teresa... I'm... close."
Not yet. I slow my pace, leaning forward, my weight fully on him now. "Feel my back," I say, turning slightly.
His hands roam my lats, feeling the width. He drags his palms over the countless bumps of muscle that cover the sides, the spine and the shoulder blades…Then I flip us, effortlessly rolling so he's on top, but I keep control. Actually, I lift him again, spinning so I'm on my back, pulling him on top, my legs wrap around his waist in a body scissor. A gentle squeeze, but enough to make him feel the power.
"Thrust," I command. He does, but I control the rhythm with my legs, pulling him in deeper. I easily control his entire body now, simply with the strength in my legs. I start rag dolling him back and forth, bringing him deeper inside before pushing him back. Stroke after stroke after stroke…I am physically using Brian as my personal sex toy.
And it’s working. Bolts of pleasure fire through me like lightning across the sky! I’m getting uncontrollably hot and satisfied. And watching his thin torso dwarfed by the sheer mass of my legs is an extra turn-on I hadn’t expected. It seems like there’s more muscle in my quads than in his entire body… and the ease to which I’m moving him is proving that point true.
The intensity continually builds. I flex my entire body beneath him, muscles hardening everywhere. "You're mine, Brian. Love this strength."
He nods frantically, as I begin pounding him harder. My hips rising with glute bridges, lifting his weight plus mine off the bed slightly. Again and again and again I lift, the gratification written on both of our faces is beyond physical control…Orgasm crashes over me first—waves of pleasure, my core clenching around him like a vice.
He follows seconds later, crying out, collapsing onto my chest. I hold him there, my arms wrapped around him, cradling his spent body. Perfect. Loving dominance.
But we're not done. After catching my breath, I roll us again, me on top. "Round two." I kiss him softly, then harder, my dominance returning. This time, I carry him to the wall…lifting him mid-kiss, his legs wrapping around my waist.
Pinned against the wall, I grind against him, my quads supporting us both. He hardens again inside me. "How the FUCK are you this strong."
I don’t answer…just grin…I thrust upward, using my legs like pistons. Each movement forceful, intimidating, a clear message of who is in control now…who is the Alpha. He will either accept that fact and fold his past beliefs his past experiences into this new me, this new us…or…well, I’m sure he will.
I flex my arms around him, my biceps crushing him lovingly. Sending a firm and clear message…converting him to this new version of us more and more by the second.
Sweat slicks us completely, out bodies covered in the moisture, my muscles glistening in the dim light. After several minutes pinning him against the wall…Back to the bed.
I straddle him reverse, my back to him, flexing my lats as I ride him. He grabs my monstrous glutes, feeling them flex. "So powerful..." Yes.
I speed up, I move one hand back to pin his thigh. He loves feeling my power now…he climaxes again, it’s mutual, explosive. We continue like this, me lifting him into new positions; overhead press simulation, but sexual; cradling him while standing, him inside me; even a playful suplex onto the bed, but gentle. Each time, I exert my superiority…pinning, flexing, controlling…but with whispers of love. "I built this for us."…"Feel how much I love you."
Hours pass, our bodies entwined in a dance of power and passion. Finally, exhausted, we collapse. He's curled against me, his head on my chest, my pecs his pillow. "Teresa... that was incredible. You're…you’re amazing."
I smile, flexing my hard muscles under him. “Yes. And this is just the start.” Everything I ever dreamed and more…the perfect ending to a brand new beginning…
