Mrs. Irene (integra, part IV)

[MuscleWomanBR]

At the end of that day, therefore, Dona Irene was no longer alone. After checking if everything was securely locked - and gazing at the house with a vague melancholy - she turned on the TV with the volume a bit loud, to simulate to the neighborhood that she was watching the soap opera at six, like so many other Brazilian ladies her age. And she felt the hardening of her nipples and clitoral erection as she headed towards the guest house. There, she found Marcos crouched, his arms semi-raised by the chains and his back resting against the wall. His feet were soaked in urine, which reeked in the room.

The widow carried a wool blanket, a gallon of mineral water, and the catheter, which she inserted into the hole in the gag. And she began to speak in an almost didactic tone, with a maternal care:

Now I'm going to give you water. Plenty of water. You need to hydrate yourself. Don't worry, there's no tranquilizer this time. I know you're dying of thirst. Your lips are dry.
Marcos gulped down the water eagerly, choking and coughing a few times. The liquid leaked out of the corners of his mouth and ran down his chest, still speckled with pap. His eyes, purple and swollen, opened with difficulty. His face was dirty with coagulated blood. His muscles ached, feeling the blows of those vigorous arms that now held the heavy water jug.

Today you will sleep there, on your own piss, hanging from those chains," Dona Irene pronounced, suddenly severe. "Because I want you to learn." She made a long pause, staring at the virile instructor so weakened and humiliated. And she continued the speech, maintaining the harshness in her gaze. "You know, Marcos, until my husband died, men always told me what I was, what I could do, what I liked, what I wanted. I spent thirty-five years in this house cooking, washing, and ironing for two men who never said 'Thank you.' And I still knitted to help with the budget. Two weaklings. My husband couldn't even change a light bulb. He collapsed on that sofa to watch TV as soon as he came home from work. He had no discipline. He worked out for a week and stopped for six months. He wasn't even good in bed anymore. His dick wouldn't get up anymore. He got flabby, sloppy, and ugly. He ate only junk, like a pig. I lost my desire for him a long time ago. I went crazy when I found out that this idiot was saving money without telling me anything. He was definitely going to kick me in the ass and run away with some twenty-year-old slut!" Dona Irene rose from the stool, adjusting her robe. "Ah! But when I discovered bodybuilding!... It freed me, understand? I have always been what I am now, Marcos. Always! It's just that I couldn't be. On my parents' farm, the hardest work was mine. I was able to do with my arms and hands what any other man did. Even better. That scared them. And it gave me the greatest thrill! I liked feeling strong, having a lot of strength especially in my arms, imagining myself doing with men what they did with women, understand? Take the initiative, make the guy feel that I can do more than him, that no man scares me because I can do as much as anyone... But I had to hide. Or I'd become a spinster with a reputation for being a lesbian, stuck in a dusty and miserable piece of land in the countryside. Can you imagine what that means where I come from?" Dona Irene paused as if she really expected an answer. Marcos just looked on in absolute silence. "It wasn't any different in this house," she continued, raising her voice. "I never needed any man to fix anything! I dragged the furniture alone! I carried everything heavy! I lifted everything that those two useless men couldn't pick up! I kept this house clean! I paid for the electricity, water, phone, and internet they used to masturbate! I took care of them when they were sick!" A new pause. Her eyes shone with fury. The ex-fighter instinctively shrank his body, expecting a storm of blows. "Who is weak here?!" Another pause. "And one more thing: I want pleasure! Why can only men enjoy themselves? I can too! Actually, I knew I could, but my husband was a disaster..." Dona Irene smiled ironically and glanced at Marcos' genitals. "He had a tiny dick. Not even half the size of yours, which is soft now."

Today you will sleep there, on your own piss, hanging from those chains," Dona Irene pronounced, suddenly severe. "Because I want you to learn." She made a long pause, staring at the virile instructor so weakened and humiliated. And she continued the speech, maintaining the harshness in her gaze. "You know, Marcos, until my husband died, men always told me what I was, what I could do, what I liked, what I wanted. I spent thirty-five years in this house cooking, washing, and ironing for two men who never said 'Thank you.' And I still knitted to help with the budget. Two weaklings. My husband couldn't even change a light bulb. He collapsed on that sofa to watch TV as soon as he came home from work. He had no discipline. He worked out for a week and stopped for six months. He wasn't even good in bed anymore. His dick wouldn't get up anymore. He got flabby, sloppy, and ugly. He ate only junk, like a pig. I lost my desire for him a long time ago. I went crazy when I found out that this idiot was saving money without telling me anything. He was definitely going to kick me in the ass and run away with some twenty-year-old slut!" Dona Irene rose from the stool, adjusting her robe. "Ah! But when I discovered bodybuilding!... It freed me, understand? I have always been what I am now, Marcos. Always! It's just that I couldn't be. On my parents' farm, the hardest work was mine. I was able to do with my arms and hands what any other man did. Even better. That scared them. And it gave me the greatest thrill! I liked feeling strong, having a lot of strength especially in my arms, imagining myself doing with men what they did with women, understand? Take the initiative, make the guy feel that I can do more than him, that no man scares me because I can do as much as anyone... But I had to hide. Or I'd become a spinster with a reputation for being a lesbian, stuck in a dusty and miserable piece of land in the countryside. Can you imagine what that means where I come from?" Dona Irene paused as if she really expected an answer. Marcos just looked on in absolute silence. "It wasn't any different in this house," she continued, raising her voice. "I never needed any man to fix anything! I dragged the furniture alone! I carried everything heavy! I lifted everything that those two useless men couldn't pick up! I kept this house clean! I paid for the electricity, water, phone, and internet they used to masturbate! I took care of them when they were sick!" A new pause. Her eyes shone with fury. The ex-fighter instinctively shrank his body, expecting a storm of blows. "Who is weak here?!" Another pause. "And one more thing: I want pleasure! Why can only men enjoy themselves? I can too! Actually, I knew I could, but my husband was a disaster..." Dona Irene smiled ironically and glanced at Marcos' genitals. "He had a tiny dick. Not even half the size of yours, which is soft now."

[MuscleWomanBR]

!
The widow untied and opened her robe slightly, revealing her naked body underneath. Despite the cold, she did not let the discomfort stop her. Once again, Marcos was treated to the sight of a well-sculpted female abdomen - an unprecedented view for him on a woman approaching 60 years of age. Her defined pectoral muscles almost obscured her breasts, making her torso resemble that of an Olympic gymnast. Dona Irene licked her finger slowly, using it to part her toned thighs and lightly bend her knees. She traced the groove between her abdominal muscles until she reached the top of her vulva. With her other hand, she pressed down on the nape of her neck, arching her abdomen and accentuating its definition. Using her ring finger and index finger, she spread open her labia, allowing her middle finger to touch her clitoris. Her gaze devoured Marcos' masculine, athletic and dejected figure. Gradually, she increased the speed of her movements, pressing down with her fingers, alternately tracing larger and smaller circles, sometimes decreasing, sometimes increasing the intensity of the friction, controlling the waves of pleasure that rippled through her skin. This continued for several minutes as she controlled her climax. The movements of her hand on her clitoris became progressively stronger. Her eyes began to roll back, signaling her impending orgasm. She threw her head back and opened her mouth in increasingly loud moans. Dona Irene contracted her abdomen even more and rose onto her tiptoes, demanding even more from her muscular calves. A few seconds later, that mature and lonely woman with an athletic body let out a long and impressive orgasmic scream, while fluid gushed from her urethra and dripped down her fingers. Marcos had witnessed, for the first time, what he had only known by its English name on pornographic websites: squirting. And he responded to the scene with an equally impressive erection.

[MuscleWomanBR]

The next day, early in the morning, after running the same route that Marcos did every morning, Dona Irene entered the mini-gym with breakfast for the ex-athlete. The widow smelled freshly washed. The floral fragrance of the soap contrasted with the smell of urine that soaked the captive's feet. With his body bruised from the beating of the previous day, barely covered by a wool blanket on a cold night and tired from the predictable insomnia caused by the situation, he cast a tearful pleading look at the woman who was introducing the feeding tube into his gag.

"It's not overnight that you'll learn to obey me, Marcos," she said without looking at him, while the coach choked and coughed, drooling the porridge. "It will take time. You have a lot to learn."

As she made the man swallow a liter of that kind of soup, she gave him a look of disgust:

"You stink. You're covered in pee. What a sight! All drooling, like a senile grandpa. Who would have thought, huh? The champion took a beating from the fifty-year-old! And if I put some pictures of you on the internet, in this state? Have you ever thought about that? Pictures of me putting you in a chokehold with this steel arm. What do you think?" And she laughed, flexing her right arm challengingly. Then she removed the wool blanket that barely covered Marcos and announced, assuming the maternal tone he already knew: "Now I'm going to give you a bath, take off this dried blood, treat these wounds. I'll make you look handsome and smell good, you'll see!"

Dona Irene left the annex for half an hour, returning with a steaming bucket and an array of dressings, bath towels, and personal hygiene products. With a soft sponge, warmed in the water, she soaped up the tired body of the former fighter, who responded with visible pleasure, closing his eyes as if receiving a loving caress. The pleasant and comforting smell of the soap rose to his nostrils. The massage and hot water relaxed his muscles. For a few moments, he forgot about the captivity and smiled under the gag. It was the first time Dona Irene had touched his body and could feel the contours and solidity of that well-worked musculature that she admired so much. If it was comforting for him - he didn't react even when the sponge lingered on his buttocks and genitals - for her, it was exciting to explore every inch of that beautiful and sexy male body - her ideal of a sensual man now all hers, she thought. Then, the widow climbed onto the stool and poured hot water over Marcos, not without first applying shampoo to his thick black beard, styled in a lumberjack style. Finally, she grabbed two huge fluffy towels and started drying him off.

"I bought them especially for you, big man!" said the woman, as she carefully dried him off. Marcos felt a mix of tenderness and disgust. Then she pulled out the chair that, the previous morning, he had been tied to. "Now you rest, sitting here. There's a hole right in the middle of the seat, remember? That's where you'll pee and poop, got it? I put a laxative in the soup. It should take effect in a few hours. So spread your legs wide." Marcos obeyed, suspicious. Dona Irene passed the chair through the formidable arc of thighs that his former coach had formed, leaning the backrest against the wall behind him. Then she coated her hands with balsamic oil. "Push your butt back and stick your dick in the hole."

[MuscleWomanBR]

Once again, he did what she told him, anticipating the new torture that awaited him. 'That's it! See? Now you can pee. I'll put a bucket underneath.' Before he could change his position, however, she grabbed the captive's penis. Marcos groaned loudly, desperate, expecting a new session of testicular crushing. 'Calm down, stud,' she whispered in a warm voice. 'It's time for milking. I'm going to give you a nice, enjoyable hand job, one that not even the most experienced whore could give you.' Her calloused hands, strengthened by weightlifting, held the instructor's genitals, fully exposed in the orifice, in simultaneous movements of caressing the scrotum and stimulating the head of the still-retracted phallus. 'Relax, Marcos. I'll teach you what a well-beaten hand job is.'

Squatting before the athletic prisoner, looking up at him with a mischievous smile, Dona Irene started with light and gentle touches, exploring the sensitivity of that shrunk member, but whose monumental erection she had contemplated the night before. Without hurry, the woman gradually gained the captive's trust. Also gradually, Marcos relaxed and surrendered. With well-lubricated hands that emanated a balsamic aroma, she began to apply gentle pressure around the glans and shaft of the penis. The man groaned and eventually responded with the progressive stiffness of his phallus. Then she began to experiment with different types of stimulation, including caresses, circular touches, slides, and firmer squeezes, changing the focus of stimulation between the glans, the shaft, and the scrotum, multiplying the sensations she read on the former fighter's face. The main response, however, was in the penis, now rock hard. Dona Irene used both hands with surprising skill: the left stimulated the shaft while the other caressed the glans or massaged the scrotum, in rapid changes of technique, always attentive to Marcos' pleasure moans, who, with his accelerated breathing, found himself devouring that woman with a sensual look, asking her to continue, to intensify the movements, to take him to ecstasy. His eyes swollen from the beating the day before did not distort his pleading expression for that orgasm. A shiver ran through his body from the nape of his neck to his calves. He grunted something incomprehensible, chewing on the ball of the gag, as if trying to speak amidst the moans of pleasure. Even without understanding, Dona Irene understood: Marcos would accept anything in exchange for the climax, announced in generous streams of pre-ejaculation fluid. Immediately, she released his genitals and stood up, sentencing:

'You'll cum when I want you to.'

The man roared, with his penis erect like never before, on the threshold of orgasm, on the verge of ejaculation, experiencing an association of simultaneous and no less intense feelings than erotic excitement: anger, terror, frustration, guilt, humiliation... And at the same time, the uncontrollable desire to repeat all of it.