Diary of a Marriage

[MuscleWomanBR]

It was after an especially intense night. She held him with firm hands on his hips and penetrated him with such precision that he came undone with a choked moan, completely surrendered, yielding to her body as if she were the ground beneath him.

Later, lying down, sweaty and still breathless, he turned his face to her and said:
— I want you to lift me. Hold me in your lap while you fuck me.

She laughed, thinking it was a tease. But his eyes were serious. Glinting.
— I want to feel that you're strong enough to keep me in the air. That you dominate me even in this.

She was silent for a moment. Then she simply said:
— Then I'll train for it.

The next week, she doubled the weight on her squats. Added barbells to her deadlifts. Swapped simple sets for strength circuits. Started training grip, core stability, hip endurance. At the gym, people asked, "Are you competing?" She answered with a tight smile. No one needed to know.

At night, she texted him:
— Today I managed five reps with 80kg on front squats.
And he replied:
— I want to be the sixth.

The workouts changed her body. Her shoulders grew broader, her glutes firmer, her legs—already toned—now looked like pillars. But what really turned him on was what that body could do to his.

And then the day came.

She stood him up, his back to her. Held him by the arms, pressed her chest against his back, the harness already secure between her thighs.
— Trust me? — she whispered.
— Always.

She lifted him into her lap, his feet leaving the ground, his thighs spreading to take the dildo. He laughed—nervous, turned on, happy. And moaned loudly when he felt her penetrate him mid-air, holding his weight with steady arms, biceps tense, abs clenched like an anchor.

She panted in his ear:
— You're my favorite weight.
— So light when you surrender like this...
— I lift you because you give me this power.

He cried afterward. Not from pain—from pleasure. From a raw, inexplicable joy. Being lifted, taken, dominated by her wasn't humiliation. It was being loved completely. By her body, by her strength, by the words she whispered as she made him the freest man in the world.

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Pliant with pleasure, pliant with surrender. His legs weak, his face buried in the pillow, his body disarmed, not a single muscle resisting. And she loved when he got there—when he let go of all tension, and she could bend him, lift him, turn him, position him however she wanted.

That night, he already knew what to ask for. He was naked when she stepped out of the bathroom, the harness adjusted, the dildo glistening with lube. She approached and ran her fingers over his shoulders.

"I want it in your lap," he murmured.
"You'll get it. But you'll beg first."

She threw him onto the bed on his back, straddled him with her knees pressed on either side of his torso, her hands on his chest, squeezing slowly. She lowered herself, letting the dildo brush his stomach, slide between them.

He tried to kiss her, but she held his face with one hand, keeping him still.
"Who's in charge here?" she asked.
"You," he answered without hesitation.

Then she flipped him onto his stomach, mounted him from behind, and began pressing the dildo between his cheeks, slowly, not entering. He arched his back, pleading with muffled moans.

"Say you want to feel my strength."
"I do... use me. Take me."
"Whose ass is this?"
"Yours... only yours."

She entered him in one stroke. Not brutal—but deep. He let out a low cry, muffled into the sheets. And she began moving her hips with rhythm and purpose, leaning her body over him.

She grabbed his arms and lifted him slowly, still inside him. With a calculated motion, she sat back on the bed and pulled him into her lap—now he was mounted on her, back against her, like a living throne.

Her thighs held his in place, unmoving. Her abdomen supported his body. He had no ground beneath him anymore. She was the ground.

And she began moving his hips up and down with her hands, as if manipulating his entire body.
"Grind for me. That's it... just like that..."
"Feel how I own you."
"You gonna come just from my strength, love?"

He couldn't answer anymore. His breath ragged, his body spasming. She felt his sweat trickling down his skin, his complete surrender. He came with a short, broken cry, his whole body trembling on top of her.

But she wasn't done yet.

She lay on her back, pulling him with her, still inside. Now he was on top, but pliant, surrendered. And she moved her hips beneath him, thrusting upward in rhythmic strokes, as if punctuating each syllable of the phrase she whispered in his ear:

"You... are... mine."


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[MuscleWomanBR]

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[musqular6]

I winder what it would be like to be with such a dominant woman. While I love muscular women and women showing off their strength I wouldn't like to be completely dominated.

[Raffman]

This story is amazing

[MuscleWomanBR]

He lay on his stomach, arms stretched across the mattress, hands relaxed. He didn't want restraints today—he wanted to feel the weight of her body, the pure dominance of her physical presence. He wanted to be invaded, taken, felt.

She approached from behind, naked, her body sculpted by the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Defined muscles, high firm glutes, thighs like pillars. She climbed onto the bed as one entering their own territory—with silent yet purposeful steps. She adjusted the strap-on naturally as she watched him.

"I am made of real strength," she said, leaning over him, her breasts grazing his back softly. "Every drop of sweat in the gym shaped my body for this. Every pull-up, every squat set... all of it brought me to this moment."

He groaned softly, moved by her voice alone. And then he felt it: the first penetration, slow, deliberate, unyielding. His body reacted, trembling. She bent close to his ear.

"Feel that entering you? That's my power. My discipline. My pleasure in having a body that responds. That imposes. That endures."

Her hands, large and warm, slid down his back, firmly gripping his lower spine and shoulders.

"You're so... strong," he whispered, voice thick with desire. "Your arms... when they touch me, it's like every muscle is alive. Hard. Dense. Like your body is armor... and I'm your territory."

She smiled against his skin and thrust deeper, rhythmic and deliberate.

"My trapezius pins you," she said, pressing her body against him. "Feel it? It formed with every dumbbell row. Now it holds you. My lats surround you. My glutes drive into you. This is all me."

"I can feel your abs... when you move over me. They're hard. Hot. Like... forged iron. And your breath on my neck pushes me to the edge..."

She groaned deeply, savoring his words. Kissed his nape, then bit.

"Know why I train every day? To stay alive. Strong. Commander of my body. Commander of the pleasure I give you."

She thrust now with a steady cadence—brutal yet sensual. Her hands gripped his waist, guiding him.

"My body isn't just beauty. It's endurance. Power. I can lift weights... and I can lift you. I can sustain your pleasure, keep you here, surrendered. Does that frighten you?"

"No..." he panted. "It frees me. Your shoulders crush me, yet I feel weightless. Your strength invades me... and I find myself in it."

She smiled against his skin, now slick with sweat. Moisture mingled between them—hot bodies united by friction and trust.

"When you come..." she rasped, voice low and rough, "it'll be with the memory of my biceps locking you down, my thighs dominating you, my body saying: you are mine."

"I already am..." he moaned, shuddering. "Yours. From your hardness, your precision, your scent of raw strength. I've never felt more like a man... than now, being taken by a woman forged of muscle and truth."

She felt his climax nearing—body trembling, breath catching. Then, in one final deep thrust, pressing her full weight against him, she whispered:

"I am your fortress. And within me... you are safe."

And as he finally cried out, undone, she wrapped him in her arms like a warm, protective wall. Strong. Female. Whole.

Here, between thrusts and whispers, entangled bodies and unwritten roles, there was more than pleasure. There was liberation. There was truth.

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[MuscleWomanBR]

She lay on her back, legs spread, her abs defined, skin already glistening with sweat. He was thrusting into her with intensity — hips moving in a steady rhythm, hands gripping her broad shoulders with reverence. But the true power behind it all was still hers. Because she spoke. Because she *told*.

And he listened, eyes wide, mesmerized.

— *"I walked into the men's locker room after training,"* she whispered, breath shaky but controlled. *"He was in just a towel, still panting from the leg press. A beast. A bull. But when he saw me... he froze."*

She moaned softly, feeling him thrust deeper. He wanted more. He *needed* to see that scene through her words.

— *"I came closer, just wearing a sports bra and my boxer briefs clinging to my thighs. He tried to say something... but I pushed him against the cold tiles. You know what I said?"*

— *"What?"* he asked, voice rough, eyes locked on hers.

— *"Shut up. I saw how you looked at me on the leg curl. Now you're going to feel me."*

She smiled, arching her hips to welcome him deeper. He held tightly onto the hard muscle at her waist.

— *"And he..."* she continued, *"tried to resist. But when he felt my legs pinning him, when my arms pushed his shoulders back against the wall, he moaned just like you're moaning now. We fucked standing. I was the one in control. I set the pace."*

He was getting more aroused by the second. His eyes were glowing, breath ragged.

— *"He was huge, abs carved from stone. But I was the one riding. I decided how deep, how fast. And when he came... it was like he collapsed into me. He said no woman had ever taken him like that. That he never knew he could be so... dominated and happy."*

She grabbed her own breasts, teasing herself, and whispered, eyes on his:

— *"He wanted to see me again. Called me the next day. Said he dreamed about my shoulders. About the way I pinned him to the wall. Said my strength was everything he had ever looked for in a woman."*

Her husband moaned. His thrusts were more intense now, but his surrender was nearly *spiritual*.

— *"And now?"* she murmured. *"You're inside me. Fucking me. Seeing me as I am. Knowing another man also bent for me... and still, it's you who's here."*

— *"Because you're... unbelievable,"* he said, almost crying from the overwhelming pleasure. *"Your body... every part of it is like living sculpture. Hard, hot, alive. Your abs press against mine. Your arms hold me even when I'm the one inside you."*

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and whispered, slick and steady:

— *"You come because you love me strong. Because my power doesn't threaten you. It frees you."*

— *"I come because you excite me like nothing else,"* he said. *"Because the image of you taking that other man shows me how desired you are. And because after all that... you come back to me. And let me in."*

And then, overwhelmed by everything — the act, the story, the surrender — he came. A deep, shattering orgasm that made him cry out as his body collapsed on hers, soaked in sweat, trembling all over.

She received him with a victorious, tender smile. Ran her hand down his back, feeling the last pulses of pleasure. Then she whispered:

— *"You're the only man who can hear me tell that... and love me even more. That makes you more of a man than any other."*

And there, in each other's arms, spent and sated, they knew:
**Freedom lives where there is no shame.**
And the strongest kind of love grows where there is desire, truth, and shared power.
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* * *

She was behind him, powerful, her hips marking the rhythm of penetration. Her muscular, sweaty, rigid body enveloped his like a protective and dominant structure. The rhythm was steady, deep, and between moans and heavy breathing came the words—staccato, almost gasped.

Her (while driving into him firmly):
"Feel... my strength... love... each thrust... comes... from what I built... with iron... with sweat..."

Him (voice thick with emotion):
"Your body... is hot stone... is living steel... and I... open up... completely..."

Her:
"These... thighs... holding you... have squatted... heavier plates than your weight... and now... they hold you..."

Him:
"I feel... every muscle of yours... vibrating... inside... and outside me..."

She accelerates, breathing harder, hands firm on his shoulders, low moans escaping alongside her words:

Her:
"I'm... stronger... than so many men... stronger... than you... and that... excites you..."

Him:
"Excites... drives me wild... sets me free... to be taken... by you..."

Her:
"They say... a woman... shouldn't be like this... hard... dominant... but I... I want more..."

Him:
"I want you... like this... strong... hot... brutal... beautiful..."

She leans her torso forward, chest glued to his sweaty back, breasts pressing against his skin, while maintaining the rhythmic motion.

Her (whispering between moans):
"You... love me... like this? Strong? Leader? Inside you... whole?"

Him (trembling):
"Yes... I love you... like this... take me... all the way..."

Her:
"You... come... because I am... what they never expected... from a woman..."

Him:
"I come... because you are... everything... everything..."

And then he comes, his whole body spasming, arched, surrendered, while she keeps moving until her own climax, holding him like her most intimate conquest.

They collapse together. Gasping. Mingled. The silence afterward is as full as the sounds before.

Her (still panting, low voice):
"You... are mine... and I... am living... female strength..."

Him (with a broken smile and closed eyes):
"And I... have never been... so whole."

[MuscleWomanBR]

The sunlight filtered through tall trees, casting shifting shadows across the packed dirt. The car stood there, still, beneath the cool shade. Small, old, light — but still a car.

She stretched her shoulders, the fitted sports top clinging to her defined body. Her abdominal muscles tightened visibly with every deep breath. She looked at the front bumper like someone facing an intimate challenge.

"I want to test myself today. And I want you to watch," she said, a determined glow in her eyes.

He stood beside her, already hypnotized before the first move.

She crouched down. Thighs as solid as tree trunks, arms sculpted and ready, hands placed firmly under the bumper. She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. And with a low grunt of effort, she lifted the front of the car — just a few centimeters, but enough to get the wheels off the ground.

"One... two... three..." he counted, amazed.

She released, and the car landed back with a soft thud. She dropped her shoulders forward, panting, sweat already on her forehead. Smiling, breathless.

"I did it... three seconds. I'm doing it again."

She walked in slow circles, shoulders still tight, inhaling deeply to recover. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Her abs rose and fell, tight. Her arm muscles still twitching.

"Ready," she said minutes later.

Second attempt. She crouched again. Hands steady, gaze focused. More sweat, more strain. She grunted softly — and lifted again.

"Two seconds... three... almost four!" he said, his voice trembling with awe.

She fell to her knees, hands on her hips. Breathing like an athlete crossing a finish line.

"My whole body is screaming," she muttered with a twisted, exhausted smile, "But it obeys me. It serves me. It's mine."

He crouched beside her and ran his fingers along her sweaty abs.

"You're so beautiful like this. Strong to the edge of human limit. Real. This is more than desire. It's fascination."

"One more," she said, closing her eyes. "The last one."

She waited another minute. Her body already tired, but still determined. And then, for the third time, she grabbed the bumper, groaned louder, and lifted the car's front again.

Every muscle in her body bulged. The vein in her neck throbbed.

"One... two... three... and a half!" he shouted, and she released it, groaning, her knees buckling slightly on the way down.

She dropped to the ground, laughing, panting. Hair stuck to her forehead, skin damp, chest heaving with exhaustion and ecstasy. She was more alive than ever.

He knelt beside her, eyes bright. He kissed her shoulders, arms, her rising and falling, rock-hard abdomen.

"You just showed me the most erotic thing I've ever seen," he said, hoarsely. "You're a real woman. A living force. And now... I want all of that on me."

She smiled. Still breathless, but now full of new energy, she gently pushed him until he lay on the ground.

She climbed on top of him slowly, as if weighing her own strength, and kissed him with the same firmness she had lifted the car with. He ran his hands down her sweaty back, feeling every muscle vibrate beneath her skin.

"This," she said, guiding his hands to her abs, "isn't just for looks. It's power. It's center. It's the strength that lifts you, that lifted metal, that dominates the world. And now, I want you to feel it. All of it."

She led him with her hips, moving slowly and deeply, panting.

He moaned softly, forehead resting against her chest, whispering:

"I feel it. All of it. The weight, the heat, the firmness. It's like being taken by your strength."

"That's exactly what this is," she said between moans and smiles. "I lift you. I carry you. I penetrate you — with my body, with who I am."

His climax came like a wave. Triggered by her strength. His surrender. The truth of sweaty bodies on packed dirt, tangled, pulsing.

She wrapped her trembling but victorious arms around him.

And for the first time, he felt truly touched to his core — not by delicacy, but by the power of a woman who knew her own limit... and broke through it with pleasure.

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[MuscleWomanBR]

She was on top, her arms firm as they gripped his shoulders, pulling, holding with a raw, visceral strength — a strength that didn't ask permission, that took what it wanted. The muscles in her back and arms tensed with every movement, showing the power contained in her athletic, firm, and imposing body.

She pressed her mouth close to his ear, her voice low, rough, burning with fire:

— Do you have any idea what it's like to have arms that feel like a man's? Arms that lift twenty kilos like it's nothing, that hold, that break down walls? This isn't just strength, it's pure savagery. And this savagery is mine, mine alone. Right now, I'm using these arms to dominate you, to fuck you the roughest way possible — and you're fucked if you resist.

She squeezed his shoulders firmly, pulling him closer, the weight of her solid body pressing down, keeping total control. Every movement was marked by the strength of her arms and the stability of her core, which kept her steady and dominant.

He gasped, feeling his body trapped by that strength that felt both punishment and freedom.

— Your arms... — he tried to speak, his voice nearly lost — so hard, so alive... I feel trapped but wanting to get lost in that prison.

She moaned softly, squeezing a bit tighter, sweat sliding over her shining skin, the muscles of her belly contracted as she guided the rhythm with an almost savage firmness.

Suddenly, she stopped for a moment, held his face with both hands, and ordered, firm and teasing:

— Look at me. Now look at my abs — sweaty, hard, shredded. Feel this strength here, this is my armor. This belly isn't just beauty, it's pure power. I want you to know everything you feel comes from this strength, from this woman who dominates and holds you.

He fixed his gaze on that defined abdomen, the skin gleaming with sweat, muscles tightening with each breath.

— It's... it's unbelievable — he said between gasps — so strong, so alive... It drives me crazy.

She groaned, picking up the pace again, squeezing his shoulders even harder, sweat pouring down, muscles pulsing, showing her dominance and power.

— That's what drives me crazy. Having this strength that many guys will never have, and still being a woman. It's not just muscle, it's everything I am — wild, owning my body, owning your climax. I want you to feel that, to notice every hard muscle in my arms and know they're not here to play around. I command, I hold, I fuck.

She flexed her arms as if lifting an invisible weight, muscles popping under her skin, her strength palpable in every move. With a decisive motion, she pushed with all her might, marking her dominion.

He moaned, almost breathless now, eyes shining with excitement.

— I never thought being dominated like this would be so fucking good. You're brutal, wild, and I want nothing else. I want every second of this strength that destroys me and lifts me up at the same time.

She laughed, her mouth grazing his neck, the scent of sweat mixed with desire. Her hands slid over his chest, touching firmly, showing that strong body was real and present.

— So feel this — she said, hoarse voice — every fiber of these arms that crush, that hold, that don't ask for permission. I am this strength. I am this woman who doesn't bend, who doesn't surrender halfway. I want you to get lost in this strength, because this is my kingdom, and you are mine.

She lightly squeezed his neck with the same intensity she held his body, a gesture both of dominance and promise of pleasure.

He arched his body, moaning loudly, completely surrendered.

— I'm yours. Forever.

She answered, wild, eyes blazing:

— Stay there, trapped — she said — because that's how you're going to come. In my strength, in my control. And I'm going to make you scream.

Suddenly, her body trembled in a brutal orgasm, and she let out a raw, savage roar that echoed through the room, a sound of power and freedom, the peak of the strength she possessed.

Still shaking, she kept moving with full intensity, muscles contracting and relaxing in a frantic rhythm, making clear that this strength was not only physical but visceral, raw, and uncontrollable.

[MuscleWomanBR]

She entered the locker room and immediately felt the heavy air, the smell of sweat mixed with that look from him — a look that always underestimated her. He crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his face.

"You thought it was just talk, huh? Strong woman? I'm waiting to see," he challenged, voice hard and full of contempt.

She said nothing. She advanced straight ahead, gripping the waistband of his pants firmly. He tried to step back, but she pulled with brutal force, slamming him against the wall.

"Let go!" he shouted, pushing hard, chest to chest. "I won't let you do this to me!"

She felt the weight of his body trying to push back, muscles tense, raw anger. But she was ready, legs firm, arms so strong he could barely move an inch.

"You're all talk, huh?" she growled. "Let's see if you can handle my real strength!"

He punched her chest violently, as if daring her. She dodged swiftly, grabbing his wrist and crushing his arm with muscles grown hard as steel.

"Trying again, asshole?" she taunted, pulling his arm back until she heard his shoulder snap.

He screamed in pain but didn't give up. He shoved her, adrenaline pumping, pride shouting that he could never yield to a woman, no matter how strong.

She grabbed his shirt, pulled him close, holding tight, feeling his tension in every fiber.

"You think you're more of a man 'cause you boss people around with your mouth, but out here"—she knocked her fist on his chest—"strength is what counts."

He retaliated, trying to grab her neck, but she dodged, pulling his hair brutally, unbalancing him.

"Tired, huh?" she whispered with a cruel smile. "This hasn't even started."

With extreme effort, she felt her muscles burn, breathing heavy, but lifted him above her head. He struggled, desperate kicks and growls of someone refusing to lose.

"Let me go!" he yelled, fighting gravity and her body. "This is madness!"

"Madness is you thinking you're in charge here," she said, trembling, sweat dripping. "I'm the one in charge!"

She held him suspended, feeling his strength pressing against her arms, his will to resist, but her dominance was undeniable. His face twisted, anger mixed with humiliation.

Suddenly, she dropped him, slamming him hard to the floor. He staggered to rise, but she landed on top, knee on his chest, fierce gaze locked on his.

"Shut up and learn respect," she ordered, holding his face to meet her eyes. "It's not about sex, it's about strength."

He kicked and pushed, but she held firm, pressing him down with crushing force.

"I'll never bow to a woman!" he spat in her face.

She wiped the spit off with the back of her hand, laughing with contempt.

"Let's see what I do with that mouth," she said, pulling his neck with both hands, showing off the muscular arms he always ignored.

He gasped, exhausted, pride wounded but still resisting.

She yanked him hard and lifted him again, higher this time, arms trembling with effort, body burning, sweaty and powerful.

"Now see who's boss," she shouted, voice hoarse and wild.

He struggled, but fatigue won. Macho pride, hard as stone, began to crack before that overwhelming strength.

She held him until she couldn't anymore, until his body gave in completely. In the heavy silence of the locker room, only silent acknowledgment remained — no matter how much he denied it, she was stronger, and he'd have to accept it.

Suddenly, she scanned the room, eyes blazing with wild rage.

"How many bathroom stall doors are there here?" she asked, voice low and threatening.

He raised an eyebrow, half confused, half tense.

"Eight," he answered cautiously.

"I'm going to break every single one with you, asshole," she said, a cruel smile spreading. "Each will feel my strength, just like you will now."

Her eyes widened, filled with rage.

"How many bathroom stall doors are there here?" she repeated, voice dripping challenge.

"Eight," he said, tense, already sensing the threat.

She smiled cruelly.

"Then I'll break every single one with you, asshole," she warned, grabbing him by the collar.

In the first stall, she threw him against the door with such force the wood cracked loudly. He had no time to steady himself and fell face-first into the toilet, feeling the cold shock of the seat.

She followed, breathing hard, pulling him out firmly while saying:

"See? You, who always thinks you're the boss, fall like an idiot inside the bathroom. This is the strength you never wanted to admit."

He tried to stand, but she was already dragging him to the next stall.

"Second door," she said with disdain, "A real tough guy can't take the hit."

She pushed him against the door again, which gave way, and he fell into the toilet once more, cold porcelain pressing against his body.

With effort, she pulled him out, arms strong and powerful.

"Look at these arms," she said, breathless, "capable of lifting you and throwing you like a sack of sand. You think you're superior, but you're just an asshole."

In the third stall, the scene repeated: he was thrown, the door fell, he fell in the toilet. She showed no mercy, pulling him hard.

"Fourth," she warned, "to see if your stubborn head understands a real man respects a woman who knows what she's doing."

In the fifth and sixth, the same fight, the same fall, the same strength from her to pull him out.

He tried harder to resist, but macho pride was a wall she needed to break with brute force and harsh words.

"Seven," she announced, voice hoarse, "You talk a lot, but when it counts, you don't have the courage to accept who's boss here."

Finally, in the eighth stall, she threw him against the door with final fury. The wood cracked loudly and he fell into the toilet again.

She entered, grabbed his arm, and mercilessly dragged him out, throwing him on the floor.

Breathing heavily, looking into his eyes, she declared:

"Listen here, macho asshole: your alpha male strength means nothing here. The strength that counts is this"—she pointed to her tense arms—"and you'll learn to respect every muscle of this woman, who won't tolerate your ridiculous prejudice."

He lay defeated, speechless, feeling the hardness of her body and the weight of what had just happened.

She stood, dominant and firm.

"Now, and only now, you're going to start understanding what it means to be a strong woman."

[MuscleWomanBR]

She lay beside him, breathing heavy, her body still buzzing from the memory of the fight. She locked eyes with him and began, her voice rough, filled with fire.

"That idiot in the locker room thought he could grab me easy, that I'd bow my head just 'cause I'm a woman. Little did he know I carry plenty of strength," she said, holding his face with her strong hands. "I pulled him hard against the wall, I heard his bones crack. He fought back, thrashing like an angry macho, but I had the upper hand. My muscles were ready for it, just as hard as his, maybe harder. I felt every fiber of his body give way, his macho pride crumbling with him."

She squeezed his hand tight.

"When he tried to bring me down, I went further. I lifted that man — that huge man — over my head. Do you realize what that means? It's not just strength, it's raw power. And he was stunned, dominated by my strength. Machismo doesn't win against someone who refuses to lose."

She bit her lip, eyes flashing.

"I walked away sweaty, bruised, my body on fire, but with the certainty of who's really in control. I want you to feel that too," she said, placing her hand over his chest, feeling his fast heartbeat.

He, breathless, answered in a hoarse voice:

"I go crazy when you talk like that... knowing it's you, with all that strength, dominating me. I want more... I want to see how far this beast you are can go."

She smiled wildly, satisfied.

"Then hold on tight, because this woman's not playing around."
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