Cl*t Obsession

[taoschild]

Wrote a short story loosely based on a story one of you guys here told me. I will finish it if there is interest and may expand it into a novella if inertia moves me that way.  If you've read Double Flex btw can you please give it a review? You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login
Thanks,
-Richard
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I'll admit it. Hell, at this point, it's impossible to hide. I'll scream it. I'm obsessed with muscular women. Not in some polite, casual way. This isn't a kink This isn't a kink I stumbled into. It's a compulsion, a fever. It's a gnawing, visceral hunger that short-circuits my brain and takes over my body. When I see thick quads bursting out of shorts, biceps like sculpted granite peaks, or delts that block out the sun, I lose myself. There's no room for pretense.

My bedroom walls don't whisper my obsession; they roar it. Posters of female muscle contest shots, gym selfies, and amateur poses so powerful they feel like a punch to the chest cover every inch.
Unlike most guys with this fixation, though, I've never buried it. I lift heavy, train religiously, and at 6'1" and 225 pounds of solid muscle, I'm not exactly someone people mess with. If they think it's weird, they usually keep that opinion to themselves.

My physique has led me to date muscle goddesses. Women with bodies so honed, so dominant, it felt like sleeping with living mythology. They bench more than most men, and fuck like apex predators. And God, their libidos are insane.

But truthfully? Relationships in that world are a battlefield of egos. You'd think mutual grind in the gym, the dieting, and the shared drug culture would build chemistry. But bodybuilding can be a narcissistic culture. It's not a duet—it's two solo acts on stage, flexing under their own spotlight.

So I tried "normals." Civilian women. Soft, pretty, safe. The relationships might have been better, but the hunger didn't go away. Instead, it grew teeth. Every date was haunted by my real desire. When the craving grew unbearable, I turned to sessions. Private, curated, filthy sessions. Muscle worship, yes. But it was more than that. They were costumed, scripted, amazing rituals that always had a happy ending.

The role I played was a submissive Tarzan. My sole duty was to serve and entertain Amazon Queens. I typically wore a homemade animal print thong. I'd usually request the Amazon wear a string bikini, most wore thongs, and backless open-toed high heels. The Muscle Queens who truly embraced the vibe showed up in animal print to match mine, grinning like lionesses ready to devour their prey. It was blissful surrender, over and over again. And it always had a happy ending.

Sadly, though, each of them ended the same way. After the thongs were untied and the heels came off, I was alone again. Empty. It was like I'd burned through a drug that only gave shorter and shorter highs. I'd chase the muscle, lose myself in their size, their strength, and their sheer physical dominance. But once it was over, I felt hollow. I'd roll over, still aching with need, but no longer sure what it was I really craved. Something was missing.

I needed something more.

And then came her.

That night....Fuck, that night was when my second obsession didn't just bloom. It erupted, quite literally And yeah, it was bigger than the first. There's no point in pretending anymore. If my obsession with muscular women was a controlled burn crackling in a hearth, this was more of a wildfire ripping through a dry forest. It was simply unstoppable and all-consuming.
It was that night that I realized that it wasn't just the size of their thighs or the density of their backs that shattered me. It was what was between their legs.

Oversized clits. Massive. Proud. Pulsing with blood and power and taboo. That was the apex. The holy grail. That tiny piece of anatomy, swollen into something indecent, obscene, and perfect, consumed my thoughts. It eclipsed muscle. It obliterated every other fixation. After that night I'd wake up from sweaty dreams about kneeling between thighs that could crush me, with a clit bigger than my tongue, demanding worship. I'd wake up hard and trembling.

That evening started so much like so many others, but she was different. Towering over me at 6'3" in four-inch heels, she was a wall of muscle and femininity, unapologetically massive and surgically beautiful. She must have weighed around 190 pounds—every ounce dense with definition. Her lats flared like wings, shoulders round as cannonballs. She carried the silhouette of an elite bodybuilder, but softened by a divine hourglass: 38DD-24-35.

When she opened the door to her Manhattan hotel suite, I froze.

"Strip," she said in a gravelly and honeyed, thick voice with a Ukrainian accent softened by years living in Canada.

I obeyed. That was simply my duty. Of course, I obeyed. That was simply my duty.

My body was already responding to her even before I knew. Before I had even seen the thing that would brand itself into my brain forever.

My hands moved on their own, trembling slightly, in the familiar ritual. This time though, I don't know maybe it was my Catholicism seeping through but it felt like a sacrament. Stripping down wasn't just expected. It was a holy obligation. Rather than clothes, I was peeling away my ego and identity and educing myself to the raw thing I was in her presence: nothing.

My cock was already mostly hard, twitching in anticipation. My pulse thundered in my ears and my nerves were lit up like a live wire. Her presence had pulled at me and bent me toward her like a gravity-bound satellite caught in orbit. And still, I didn't know the half of it. The full picture of her hadn't revealed itself yet. But when it did, when I finally saw what she carried between those thick, perfect thighs, it would hit me like a brick to the chest.

[taoschild]

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[jbeast]

Bravo! EXCELLENT! Please continue!

I'm aching to see what she does with him and that "thing" between her thickly muscled thighs. 

[taoschild]

Thank you, JD. Here is another section but rather than getting right to it I elected to write more of a slow burn:
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The room smelled like cocoa butter and danger. Her skin glowed a deep olive, the gleam from her thighs and abs impossible to ignore. Her icy blue eyes were cruelly beautiful, and they were locked onto mine. She didn't just look at me. She judged me and weighed my worth.

I melted before her, dropped to one knee, and bowed my head.

"You may look now," she said. Her fingers brushed beneath my chin and lifted it. "Mmm. Good boy. You wore the thong I told you."

"I live to please you, Goddess," I murmured.

"Then please me," she purred, dragging the word out like silk sliding off her lips.

She strutted past me, letting her whip trail along my shoulder. That faux-leather thong bikini clung to her like a second skin, barely holding back the carved perfection underneath. Her glutes flexed with each step, hypnotic, savage.

"Stand," she said, voice sharp enough to cut stone.

I obeyed, flexing as she circled me, boots clicking on marble like a countdown. Her gaze scanned me with clinical precision: chest, biceps, down to the leopard-print pouch strained near the edge of control.

Her gaze lingered over my chest, arms, then down to my barely-contained bulge in the leopard print.

"Animal," she murmured. "But tamed."

"Yes, Goddess."

She grinned and leaned close, breath hot against my ear. "Do you know what your real job is tonight?"

I swallowed hard. "To serve you, Goddess."

"No," she whispered. "To worship me."

She pressed me back against a cool marble wall. The chill was stark against the furnace of strength and sensuality emanating from her perfect form. There was electricity wherever she touched.

I watched breathlessly as her hand slid slowly down the column of her torso. She moved one hand and trailed down her chiseled core, each massive ridge of muscle more divine than the last. Each one flexed subtly under her touch. Slowly, her fingers reached the center of her core, pausing over her navel. It was a deep, sensual indentation surrounded by flawless ridges and planes. The taut skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat and cocoa butter. The scent only intensified my dizzying lust that swirled in the air.

I couldn't look away. My eyes devoured her, helpless before the awe of her physique. She was a goddess wrought from sinew and symmetry.

She looked down at me with a smirk, knowing exactly what she was doing.

"Is it too much for you?" she teased, dragging her fingertip lower, just grazing the waistband of her thong.

"No, Goddess," I said, my voice hoarse with reverence. "It's everything."

Her thumb hooked just under the waistband, playing with it, teasing the tension, and then letting it snap gently back against her hips. I could barely breathe. My vision tunneled to that one, impossible point. Time seemed to stop.

She looked down at me with that cruel, knowing smile. She knew what I was waiting for. She fed on it.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to meet her gaze. She was too perfect. I was unworthy.

Her voice rang out with a snap. "Eyes on me," she commanded in a velvet voice that felt like it was pulled over a blade.

I obeyed. What else could I do?

Then, agonizingly slow, she slipped a single finger beneath the fabric. It was like a ritual. A sacred unveiling. The drag of her fingertip against her skin was deliberate, almost meditative, and the way she peeled the thong aside made it feel like time was unraveling stitch by stitch.

And then, she revealed it. Her proud and thick clit jutted forward like the crown jewel of a war goddess, an emblem of shameless power. It was prominent, undeniable and raw. Set between powerful, sinewy thighs strong enough to crush, it was divine. It pulsed with raw, electric presence, swollen and perfect, demanding reverence with every heartbeat.

"Do you see now?" she whispered, watching the awe flood my face.

I could barely nod.

"That," she purred in a voice low and lethal, "is power made flesh." She slipped it back  beneath her flimsy thong. I nearly whimpered. My body tensed, desperate for more, but I held it in, trembling at the edges of restraint.

"Yes, goddess," I managed to murmur, the words nearly catching in my throat.

"Good. You understand. Then kneel and pay tribute." Her laugh was low and sultry, thick with amusement and intent, as she pressed me down to my knees once more.

My knees hit the floor. My palms found her thighs.

I exhaled.

[taoschild]

Her quads were massive. There was nothing soft about her, and yet every inch of her was sensual. Her legs were so thickly laden with muscle. I absolutely knew that she could break a man over her knee without blinking, or ride him until he begged for mercy, and she'd enjoy both.

And still, despite her terrifying muscularity, she was unmistakably feminine. Devastatingly so. Her icy eyes, framed by long dark lashes, bored into me with a predator's patience. Full lips curled into the barest smirk. Her breasts strained gloriously against the tight top of her bikini, her hips curved with lethal elegance, and that rich cocoa butter scent. I'll never forget how that warm, sweet aroma coated my senses like a drug.

We had discussed the scene before I arrived at her Manhattan hotel. I had fantasized about this scene when we planned it. But no amount of preparation could've prepared me for how effortlessly she became the fantasy.

She dragged her nails lightly down my chest, and the heat of her touch sent a shock through me. I froze under it, breath hitching. Suddenly, I wasn't standing in a hotel room. I was in her domain. She could've marked me with just her gaze, but this? This was branding.

She returned to the role play, although by this point, she didn't need to. She could've spoken gibberish or recited tax codes, and I would've melted just the same.

"Peeping Tom, were you?" she murmured, dragging her nails gently down my chest. "You hide in the jungle, watching your Queen bathe, thinking she wouldn't notice?"

I couldn't speak. I was lost in awe as I kneaded the powerful swell of her thighs, muscles tensing under my fingers like a coiled beast.

She made it clear that obeying was not a suggestion, but a hard and fast rule. Silence in the face of her questions was sin.

Her fingers suddenly gripped my jaw firmly.

"I asked you a question, jungle boy."

"Yes, Goddess," I whispered. "I couldn't look away..."

She smiled with wicked satisfaction. Without warning, she brought her hand down in a crisp, resounding spanking of my ass. The sting shocked me in the best way. It was firm enough to make a point and yet gentle enough to leave me aching for more.

"Then your punishment will be to worship every inch of me until I decide you're forgiven."

She sat at the edge of the bed, spread her thighs slightly, and made her massive quads swim. It was mesmerizing. Squeezing the flexing muscles felt like marble beneath sun-warmed bronze skin. And then she flexed.

Her quads swam beneath that bronze-hued skin, muscles flowing and rising with precision. The sight was overwhelming. I could barely stop myself from groaning as I watched them bunch and roll.

"Kiss them," she ordered. "Every inch."

I crawled forward, like the devoted subject I was. I started at the toe of her boot, pressing my lips reverently against the polished leather, then up the arch, the heel, the shaft. I breathed in her essence with every kiss, savoring the electric proximity of her strength.

She watched me work, eyes half-lidded with dominance and pleasure.

Then, with the most casual, imperious lift of her massive leg, she extended it toward me, offering and commanding, both at once. No words were needed.

I caught her foot gently, hands trembling slightly, and unzipped the tall boot. I peeled it away reverently. Her striated, massive calf was revealed, every sinew moving with feline grace. It was art. It was lethal.

Katka's calves had always been my holy grail. Katka had nothing on her.

"Now the other."

I obeyed instantly, hands trembling slightly as I unzipped her second boot and slid it off, revealing the raw power coiled beneath her flawless skin. She flexed subtly as I peeled away the last layer of leather.

Once both boots were off, I didn't wait for her permission.

I leaned in and began to kiss along her calves, tracing the split between muscle groups with reverent lips, feeling every twitch beneath my touch. My mouth traveled higher, over her diamond-hard tear drops, to the sacred battleground of her thighs.

God, those thighs.

Feeling their hardness again beneath my palms and soft lips made my breath hitch. Thick and striated, dense with power, pulsing with restrained violence, I knew what they could do to me.

I swallowed back a moan.

"You want me to crush you, don't you?" she asked, voice thick with teasing cruelty.

It was like she was reading my thoughts. "Yes, Goddess," I gasped, the words spilling out like a prayer.

Her fingers twisted in my hair, pulling me in closer. "Say it. Say what you want."

"I want you to break me with your thighs," I breathed. "To squeeze me until I can't breathe. To smother me in your strength."

"Mmm," she purred. "Good jungle boy. I will, when I wish to."

[taoschild]

Thought this story would draw more interest. I'll have to go back to the drawing board and recallibrate. Here's one more installment for those of you who've followed the story so far. Still waiting for my first review of Double Flex. If you finish please review it as I'm dying to hear what you folks think.
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Then, without warning, she stood. The air shifted with her movement. She reached up and untied the strings of her bikini top with a casual flick, letting it fall away. My lungs forgot how to function.

Her breasts were more like layers of armor, topped by a surgical miracle. Full, heavy, and commanding but still impossibly perky. They were underpinned with slabs of pectoral muscle that twitched subtly as she moved. Strength layered beneath softness, the kind of form that belonged on the cover of a myth, not a magazine. They rested above a wall of eight sculpted abs.

She caught my gaze, drinking in my hunger, and gave me a knowing smirk before turning to the nightstand.

"Lie back," she ordered.

I obeyed.

She straddled my waist like a queen upon a throne, the bottle in one hand, absolute control in the other. A thick stream of warm, golden oil poured down her chest, catching the light, cascading over her breasts, tracing her abs like a lover's touch. Then she began rubbing it in slowly.

I suppressed a whimper; the need to touch her was so great. Here I was, this built guy, reduced to nothing beneath her.

Every kneading motion of her hands into her flesh was a seductive and powerful performance. She worked the butter into her pecs, her shoulders, down to her massive biceps that flexed like loaded weapons. Her skin glistened perfectly. Her body shimmered like molten bronze under firelight, the scent enveloping me in a haze of lust and reverence.

"Now you rub," she said, taking my hands in hers and guiding them to her body.

This time I did moan. Then I worshipped...

With my palms, my lips, my tongue, I paid homage to every divine bulge and commanding curve from her granite traps, her deltoids etched with strength, her arms hard enough to crush, and her abs tight enough to stop breath. She groaned softly when my lips found the ridge between her obliques and the hollow of her sternum, but never lost control. This was her realm.

She leaned down, brushing her lips against my ear. "You want to taste all of me, don't you?"

"Yes, Goddess."

She grinned, slow and commanding. "Then worship harder. Show me you deserve it."

We rolled into the bed's center, the sheets damp with oil and sweat, the air heavy with heat and cocoa. It wasn't wrestling—it was a ritual. My mouth found her nipples, taut and sensitive. Her hand gripped my hair, urging me deeper. She kissed my neck with surprising tenderness, even as her thighs pinned me beneath her like steel beams. Her biceps flexed as she shifted above me, treating me like a living mat beneath her strength and sex.

Her lips grazed mine.

"Tonight," she whispered, "you belong to the jungle's Queen. And you will remember it for the rest of your life."

I already knew I would.

I soon found myself back on my knees, right where I belonged. She hadn't even spoken. She didn't have to. My body simply knew what to do.

[taoschild]

Thanks for the Karma, JD (and your message - tried to message you back but your box is full).
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Her feet were planted flat on the floor, while her upper body reclined against the bed like a lioness on her throne. Just inches from my face, her leopard skin bikini bottom clung tightly to her, the taut fabric molded to the contours of something both subtle and impossible to ignore. Behind it, something alive pulsed with authority before it was even revealed.

I can't recall if she told me to pull it down or if I moved on instinct alone. My thoughts were fogged with lust, awe, and reverence. But the moment that taut black triangle slid away, my breath caught.
Time didn't just stop, it knelt before it.

When her clitoris burst free. Gorgeous. Swollen. Demanding. It stood proud, thick, flushed, and glistening. This wasn't a simple nub of flesh. This was a shaft of power. Her body had summoned a weapon of desire, and it jutted forward with unapologetic urgency, throbbing with each heartbeat like it had its own pulse and will. The first thought that hit me, unfiltered and raw:

That's a clit?! No—no, that's a fucking cock. It wasn't, but that's how massive it was.

How could someone so lushly feminine, so devastatingly sculpted, exude this kind of sheer, brute force?  After the shock wore off, I instinctively dove in to suck it. Before I could move in, her hand caught my forehead. Just the heel of her palm, and I was stopped cold. Not harsh. Just firm. Absolute.

"That's more money," she said, in a smooth, lethal voice. The lilt of her accent curled the edges of her words into something cruelly seductive. It was maddening how easily she denied me, controlled the rhythm of my hunger. She didn't have to raise her voice. She didn't even need to move.

I scrambled. Wallet. Cash. My mind split between arousal and problem-solving. Only enough for parking.

Shit.

My eyes flew to the window. There, just beyond the garage, was a glowing ATM. It was like a beacon of salvation.

"Don't move!" I blurted, scrambling for my pants, shoes, and coat. "Leave the door unlocked!"  I added, already halfway out the door. I raced out into the cold, heart pounding, driven by a need I didn't even know how to name.

Behind me, her low, sultry, unbothered laughter followed. She was like a Goddess, amused by a mortal's desperation.

By the time I returned, breathless and cash in hand, she was still there. Unmoved. Unbothered. Exactly as I'd left her. Perfect.

She was still reclined, her pose deceptively casual, but it was anything but relaxed. Her massive glutes flexed slightly as I approached, two perfect, rounded mounds of muscle that seemed sculpted to defy reason. In the space between them glistened with heat and readiness, a single bead of moisture caught the light like a jewel. Her arousal had spread, slicking the insides of those monstrous thighs, shimmering on skin carved from desire and dominance.

The sight was staggering. God, I wanted her. I wanted it.

I dropped the cash on the dresser like tribute at an altar, tore off my clothes, and knelt before the goddess once again. Her massive thighs rested atop my shoulders, locking me into place like a sacred vice.

I leaned in slowly, my breath trembling with reverence, and let every fiber of my being flood with the heat of her body.

Then, finally, I began to suck that glorious, enormous clitoris. I swear, I have never known what it meant to worship until that moment.

The sensation was almost too much to process. As my tongue circled the thick, swollen head, I was struck by its sheer density. It was like the cap of some forbidden, engorged mushroom, perfectly ripe and impossibly sensitive. Just beneath the satin-smooth surface, a web of thick, pulsing veins traced along the crown. They rose under my ministrations, becoming alive with heat, thrumming against my tongue with every beat of her heart. I could feel them twitch under my worship, carrying that impossible hardness like a current. The texture was firm but not rigid, a yielding sort of hardness that felt surreal beneath my tongue.

When I took her fully into my mouth, the weight of her filled me, stretching my lips, brushing my soft palate, pressing with a rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo her heartbeat. It was overwhelming. Impossible. I hadn't thought it could feel so hard, so alive, but here she was, proving me wrong with every inch.

My lips sealed tightly around the base, creating a vacuum with each pull. And then it throbbed. Throbbed and became harder. The thick vein along the underside surged, pressing against the roof of my mouth as if her body itself were responding to the depths of my devotion. I felt her hips tense, the powerful muscles of her thighs clenching around my shoulders like a warning—or a promise.

A low, feral sound escaped her, somewhere between a purr and a growl. It vibrated down into me. Approval wrapped in raw, dominant power. Yet, her thighs tightened ever so slightly, reminding me who was in control.

"That's it," she whispered. "Devour your Queen. Show me what kind of animal you really are."

[taoschild]

When I slurped, a deep, wet, sucking sound resonated, pulling the slick, hot flesh deeper. The ridges along her length throbbed against my tongue, each one like a silent order I instinctively obeyed. My lips found a rhythm, applying just enough suction to draw soft gasps and growls from deep within her.

She tasted like sex and sovereignty. Earthy, powerful, and intoxicatingly salty in a way that clung to my senses like a drug.

The only intrusion from my focus was the sound of my slurping mixed with the powerful moans that shot forth from her perfect form. Her clit was a paradox of softness and undeniable strength, stretching taut against my tongue. It wasn't smooth like silk; there was an almost imperceptible texture. It was like a fine grain that shifted and swelled with each hungry suck and also like tasting the finest velvet.

My lips glided over the slick surface, tracing the subtle ridges and folds that became more pronounced with her rising excitement. I traced every contour like it was a sacred map, my lips drawn again and again to the pulsing center of her strength. It was a living, breathing landscape of pleasure for both of us. The feel was almost indescribable and utterly unique. I became utterly lost in tracing every exquisite contour with the worshipful precision of my tongue.

My tongue danced with devotion: teasing the most sensitive tip, tracing slow circles, then sweeping down the pulsing length. Every flick and stroke drew moans that filled the room and a gush of her warm and slick wetness that coated my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Her legs that quivered on my shoulders, hands that gripped the sheets like she might tear straight through them.

I felt the ripple of her pleasure in the subtle flexing and contracting of her core against my lips, a living pulse that throbbed in response to my ministrations. Her body trembled, her thighs tightened, and her voice rose to a crescendo of carnal command. My only awareness was of her sound, her scent, the sensation of power swelling against my mouth.

"Slower," she snapped, voice sharpened to a growl. "This isn't a meal. You are worshiping a goddess."
The authority in her tone sent a bolt of heat straight down my spine. Chastened, I adjusted immediately, letting my tongue trace slow, reverent circles, savoring every subtle texture of her incredible anatomy. Every shift in my pressure or pace was met with a hiss, a moan, or another command.

"Use your tongue like you mean it. Bottom to top. Again."

I obeyed without hesitation. Each long pass earned me another deep, primal breath, and her thighs locked around my shoulders with the precision of a vice—both a warning and a reward. That force, that unmistakable strength, stole the breath from my lungs. I gasped into her.

"Look at me when you suck," she demanded. "I want to see the worship in your eyes."

When I lifted my gaze, locking it with hers, I saw her watching me like a queen on her throne. Cold fire blazing in her eyes, ownership carved into every inch of her expression. That look alone stripped me bare. I didn't just feel possessed, I felt owned.

The tip, exquisitely sensitive, sent shivers through me as I lightly scraped it with my teeth, eliciting deep, guttural moans from her, but also instructions.

"Good boy," she cooed, voice turning velvet-smooth for a brief, dizzying moment. "Now take more. Deeper. No teeth."

The sensation of it swelling even larger in my mouth, growing warmer and harder with each pass, was intoxicating. Her clit throbbed harder, like a cock, with every second, veins rising along its surface like ropes of need.

It filled my mouth more fully with each suck, each stroke coaxing it to pulse hotter, thicker, stronger. I could feel the crown of it press against the roof of my mouth, slick and swollen, and my tongue lavished it like a relic, like a living altar.

She groaned—deep and sharp—and her hand moved to the back of my head.

"Deeper," she growled. "You can take it. I know you can." Between my frantic slurping and her escalating moans, our next-door neighbors must have surely heard something.

Her hands gripped my hair like iron. "Yes... just like that," she growled through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare stop. Don't you even think about it!"

I had already surrendered—mind, body, and breath. I didn't exist as a man anymore. My sole role in the world, my purpose, was singular and absolute: to please her. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

The wet, rhythmic slurping filled the room, growing louder with each second. Each sound I made was a ritual chant, a hymn of worship to the monument of strength and femininity towering over me.
She started to tremble. Her voice cracked into a guttural cry.

"Ffffff...uck! YES! YES!" she screamed, the sound primal, raw, and deafening. "You filthy little beast! DRINK ME!"

Then came the eruption.

Her legs clamped around my head with punishing strength. I welcomed it. Her entire body convulsed, arched off the bed in a violent bow, trembling with the unstoppable force of her climax. She shook with it. Trembled, like an Amazon queen finally brought to rapture.

Her release was a flood of heat, slick and potent, surging into my mouth in rhythmic pulses. The taste of the milky, runny fluid was electric. I think back now, trying to describe it, and still can't do it properly. It was rich. Metallic. Sweet and briny, intensely personal. Like the very essence of her had liquefied into something holy. I swallowed greedily, automatically, like it was the only thing keeping me alive.

Her voice rose again, nearly unhinged. "I'M NOT DONE—DON'T YOU STOP!" she bellowed, her thighs flexing even tighter around me. Her hands went to her chest, her fingers immediately rolling and pinching her tits, drawing her nipples into taut, exquisite points. Her eyes, still wide and dilated, locked onto mine, an intense hunger blazing within them as she sought the next wave. Her back arched, her entire frame trembling with aftershocks as she rode the waves of pleasure, one scream crashing into the next.

Each tremor brought a fresh surge, another jolt of her raw essence that coated my tongue and dribbled down my chin. My jaw ached, my lungs burned, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. She was in control and I was nothing but the vessel through which she emptied her storm.

Her fists tightened once more in my hair, yanking my face harder into her.

"MORE," she roared. "EVERY DROP, YOU HEAR ME? I WANT TO FEEL YOU DRAIN ME."

Her thighs crushed tighter, her core grinding against my face with desperate ferocity. Her back arched again, another violent tremor ripping through her as her body demanded more, commanded more. Her hands flew to her chest, fingers grabbing them roughly, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, drawing them into stiff, aching peaks.

I gave everything I had to her, drinking from her like the starving disciple of a living goddess, until at last her body collapsed backward, quivering and drenched, her muscles twitching involuntarily with the last echoes of release.

She was breathless, heaving, a sheen of sweat shimmering across her powerful form. Her thighs slowly relaxed, finally freeing me. I remained kneeling, panting, face glistening, eyes dazed.

She didn't speak at first. Just stared at the ceiling, victorious.

[taoschild]

Then her low, raspy voice drifted back to me like smoke curling in the aftermath of a fire. "That... was the tribute I require," she purred, her tone laced with both satisfaction and authority.

Both of us were slick with sweat, chests rising and falling in the heavy silence that followed. Her powerful chest rose and fell like thunderclouds rolling on the horizon—slow, heavy, and pulsing with restrained energy.

"Now your goddess will show her appreciation."

She crooked her finger with regal authority. It was just a simple motion but on her, that gesture was like a commandment.

I obeyed, crawling toward her, every movement instinctive. Worshipful. I lay down beside her, dazed. Her skin was hot and tight over thick muscle, and she radiated dominance like heat from a forge. Her biceps flexed subtly as she leaned toward me, shadows dancing over their impossible curves. Veins tracked like lightning along her forearms. I couldn't stop staring. She caught my glance, and the corner of her mouth curled in knowing amusement.

Her eyes flicked downward, amused. My cock was still swollen and aching. The corner of her mouth lifted.

"Poor thing," she purred, her accent thick as honey. "Still so eager... even after all that?"

I nodded, hopefully, desperate for relief, but already trained to know who was in control. My body ached, but my mind was hers.

"You've been so obedient," she whispered, voice a low caress, "and obedience must be rewarded." She leaned over me, her body pressing against mine, dense with muscle, soft in only the right places. Her lips brushed along my collarbone, lingering, teasing. Every touch was calculated, as though she were savoring me, measuring how much control she still had. Her breath warmed my skin.

"I love the way you reacted when you saw her," she murmured, dragging her fingers down my torso, pausing just shy of my navel. "Like you've never felt anything like me before."

She was right. I hadn't.

Eventually, she turned and straddled my chest, before moving into the sixty-nine position. My piece was enveloped by the warm wetness of her perfect mouth. It was as if she swallowed me whole as she began to please me with slow, maddening focus. It wasn't rough, but slow and measured. She wielded her mouth like she wielded her body, with utter mastery. It was the kind of touch that made time disappear, that made pleasure feel like surrender. She knew exactly how to draw me to the edge and how to pull back and leave me gasping, how to take her time until pleasure became submission.

My mind was blank, floating, consumed by her and it. And above me, her clit.

Majestic. Swollen. Still flushed from her earlier peak. It stood proud, glistening, throbbing with quiet power. The way it twitched slightly with each breath made my heart race all over again. I reached up, reverently, and let my fingertips brush along its slick surface. It was firm, pulsing against my touch, still flushed from release.

I played with it gently, tracing the edges with delicate circles, watching it react to even the slightest movement. My fingers twisted and rolled it, marveling at its texture, its weight. Her hips shifted subtly in response, a silent approval.

She moaned low against me, the vibration traveling down my length like a live current. The sound wasn't just arousal, it was satisfaction, control, pleasure at being pleased.

"Yes..." she breathed between strokes, her voice a velvet growl. "Touch me properly, pet. Show me you remember who owns you."

Her hips ground forward just slightly, just enough to nudge that flushed, thick shaft closer to my face. She was offering me a second chance at devotion, daring me to forget myself all over again. It was like a decree: worship me again. Forget who you are. Remember who I am.

I didn't hesitate. My tongue flicked out, tasting the heat, the slickness, the raw power still pulsing beneath the surface.

She didn't stop working me. Her lips and tongue moved with a rhythm that defied logic. Every suck, every glide down my shaft was slow torture, coaxing pleasure from me with surgical precision. I could feel the smug satisfaction in the way her throat worked, how her jaw relaxed then tightened just enough, just the right amount to keep me teetering. I could hear her hum in delight as my hips twitched upward involuntarily.

She rolled her hips with regal confidence, grinding her clit against my mouth like it was her throne and I, her seat. Each movement painted my face with her heat. Her muscles flexed around either side of my head. Her scent filled my lungs. My face, my mouth, every inch of me was hers to use.

"Deeper," she barked. "Use your tongue like a man, not a fucking boy."

I obeyed. There was no other choice. I flattened my tongue and dragged it up the length of her, then curled it around her head with reverent, focused slowness. She shuddered above me.

"You're lucky I'm letting you taste me again," she purred. "A lesser man would've passed out by now. Hell, most do."

Her praise and her phallic peace flushed my arousal to the breaking point. I felt my resolve waver. She kept hollowing her cheeks just enough to relax her throat with inhuman precision, then tighten her jaw at the exact moment that made me see stars behind closed eyes.

She felt the spike in my tension instantly, a tiny tremor that shot through my core in a last ditch effort to hold on.

She pulled back just slightly, enough to let her voice slide through, muffled but unmistakable in its fury and focus.

"Don't."

The word cut through the air like a command etched in stone. "Don't you fucking dare. Not until I say."

Suddenly, her grip changed. One hand gripped the base of my cock, squeezing hard enough to halt the flood. The other braced against my abdomen with brute force, her mouth retreating to my cock's head. Her fingers dug into the muscle like talons from a beast carved out of stone.

Her thighs clamped tighter around my skull, like a threat and a promise. She ground down against my mouth, slick and throbbing, soaking my chin in her heat. Her clit was like iron wrapped in velvet, pulsing with need and power.

"I said not until I give you permission," she growled, each syllable thick with command.

I screamed, my whole body going tight, trying to hold back the flood, but this time I was too far past the brink.

Her lips around me sent lightning bolts through my spine. And beneath it all, the feel of her riding my tongue. Those thick, powerful thighs framed my face and her shaft throbbed against my mouth like it had a pulse of its own, driving me wild. My hips trembled. My hands clenched against the muscular swell of her ass. I was holding on by a thread.

She sensed it. Of course she did.

Her lips slid off my cock with a slick, deliberate pop, just as her clit ground harder against my face. "You want to come?" she asked, panting, hips rocking harder, forcing her clit against my lips, into my tongue. "Then earn it. Make me come again first, or I'll edge you until sunrise."

But it was too late.

I let out a strangled, helpless cry against her as the orgasm ripped through me. My entire body seized as white-hot pleasure flooded through me like a current. I erupted, groaning into her slickness, face buried between her thighs, tasting her as I came hard.

She was not amused.

[phil123]

Great story. And now she shows him what she can do with  her clit.