The Homeless woman ... A project!

[bigjake737]

The house was still, the silence pressing against Tom's ears as he sat in his study, the faint glow of his laptop his only anchor. Ellen was gone for the weekend, and the emptiness felt like a void waiting to be filled. The door creaked open, and there stood Maria—stripped to a black thong, her body a sculpted masterpiece of muscle and will. Months of his training—weights, Anavar, discipline—had transformed her. Her shoulders were broad and powerful, her abs a tight lattice, her thighs unyielding. She was no longer the lost woman he'd pitied; she was a tempest, and she'd come for him.
"Maria—" His voice broke, a fractured protest, as he stood, chair scraping the floor. But she was already there, her hands flashing to his shirt, ripping it off with a single, forceful yank. It fell in a heap, leaving his chest bare, his breath shallow and unsteady.
"You've been staring, Tom," she whispered, her voice a dark, silken thread winding around him. "You made me like this. Don't pretend you don't feel it." Her fingers trailed down his chest, igniting sparks, then plunged beneath the waistband of his jeans, brushing against him with brazen intent. His body jolted, a surge of heat betraying him as he hardened under her touch.
"Stop—" he choked out, but it was a plea lost in the storm of her presence. Her lips grazed his neck, warm and relentless, her breath a tease against his skin. "I'd take you apart, Tom," she murmured, her tone dripping with promise. "I'd get my hands on that cock of yours, stroke it 'til it's throbbing, then wrap my lips around it—slow at first, teasing, 'til you're begging me to suck harder. I'd make it ache so good you'd forget your own name."
His hands shook, hovering at her shoulders, caught between shoving her away and pulling her in. She was a furnace—beautiful, dangerous, alive—and he was burning. His mind clung to Ellen, to the life he'd built, but his blood sang with the raw pull of Maria's words, her touch. "Maria, no," he rasped, his voice a fraying thread, "we can't do this—"
"Why not?" She pressed closer, her muscular frame a wall of heat, her hand tightening briefly before sliding free, leaving him reeling. "You built me strong, Tom. I'd climb on you, take that dick so deep inside me, ride it 'til it's dripping, 'til you're screaming for release." Her lips hovered near his, her eyes glinting with triumph as she felt his resistance crumbling.
His breath hitched, a shuddering gasp, as his body screamed yes while his soul clawed for no. He gripped her wrist, pulling her hand away, but the motion was slow, reluctant, his gaze slipping down her form—every ridge of muscle, every curve a testament to his own making. "You're beautiful," he admitted, the words raw, spilling from a place he couldn't lock away. "Your body—it's perfect. I'll find you someone, Maria. The perfect spouse. Someone who deserves this."
She smirked, undaunted, stepping into him again, her chest brushing his bare skin. "I don't want someone else," she purred, her voice a low growl. "I'd milk you dry, Tom—lick it, suck it, fuck it 'til you're a mess under me. You'd never want her again." Her hands roamed his shoulders, nails digging in, and his knees buckled, his resolve a threadbare shield.
"No," he said, softer, his hands finding her arms, gripping the steel of her biceps as he pushed her back—just enough to breathe, to claw back control. "This would destroy us. You're worth more, Maria. I'm worth more." His voice trembled, a desperate edge cutting through. "I'll find you someone—rich, good, perfect. But it's not me."
Her eyes flashed—defiance, maybe pain—but her hands stilled, her breath hot against his face. "You're throwing away something you'll crave forever," she whispered, a final jab, though her stance softened.
He shook his head, stepping back fully, grabbing his shirt from the floor like a drowning man seizing a rope. "No," he said, firmer now, though his body still ached with her imprint. "I'd hate myself. Go to bed, Maria. This ends here."
He stumbled to the door, shutting it behind him, his chest heaving as he slumped against the wall. Her words lingered, graphic and searing, a phantom touch he couldn't shake. He feared the permanent damage was done—her body pressed against his, the heat of her skin, her hand gently caressing his member in that fleeting, forbidden moment. That memory, unfortunately, would last forever, etched into his mind like a scar he couldn't erase. Before collapsing into bed, he grabbed his phone and dialed his best friend, Jake—a rich, charismatic gym rat with a notorious fetish for muscular women. "She's ready," Tom said, voice low and urgent. "Come get her tomorrow. Maria needs to be gone by morning." He hung up, staring into the dark, praying distance would dull the ache she'd left behind.

[bigjake737]

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[bigjake737]

OOOPS  You needed the set up first.


The rain had stopped, but the air still hung heavy with dampness as Maria stood in the guest room of the sprawling suburban home. Five months ago, she'd been a shadow on the streets—unwanted, unseen—her life a cycle of scavenging and survival. Now, her calloused hands smoothed the edges of a crisp bedsheet, a task her former boss, Ellen, had taught her with patient precision. Ellen had taken her in, turned her chaos into order, and for the first time in years, Maria felt the warmth of a home. But it wasn't Ellen who occupied her thoughts tonight. It was Tom, Ellen's husband, whose quiet strength and unexpected kindness had ignited something dangerous in her.
Tom had noticed her potential early on. At forty-nine, Maria wasn't the fragile waif most pictured when they thought of the homeless. Years of walking endless miles, hauling tattered bags stuffed with her worldly possessions, had sculpted her body into something raw and powerful. Her arms were thick with sinew, her legs sturdy as oak. Tom, a former gym rat turned corporate consultant, saw it as a foundation. "You're stronger than half the guys I used to train," he'd said one day, half-joking, as he handed her a protein shake. He'd started her on a regimen—weights, squats, and, discreetly, a cycle of Anavar he'd sourced from an old friend. "Build yourself up," he'd told her. "Successful men love a woman who looks like she could take on the world."
His plan was clear: transform her into a muscular goddess, introduce her to the wealthy bachelors in their affluent neighborhood. A fresh start, a fairy tale ending. What he hadn't anticipated was how his own creation would turn against him.

[bigjake737]

The remaining story through Maria's eyes. 

First Encounter: The Kitchen
The kitchen hummed with silence as I stepped in, the thongkini's straps shifting against my skin. Tom stood at the counter, pouring coffee, his back to me. The air crackled with unspoken tension, last night's memory pulsing between us—my hands on him, his body yielding before he clawed back control. I moved closer, silent, my voice now a low, husky purr from the testosterone, dripping with seduction.
"Ellen call you?" I whispered, leaning against the counter, my bicep flexing as I reached for an apple. The thongkini's straps strained against my chest, my abs gleaming under the kitchen light. I let my words linger, soft and intimate, like a secret shared in the dark.
He turned, and his breath hitched, his eyes raking over my body—shoulders, thighs, the thongkini's daring cut. "Yeah," he said, voice tight, the coffee mug trembling. "Two months. Don't make this harder, Maria."
I smiled, slow and dangerous, stepping closer until my heat brushed him. "Harder?" I murmured, my voice a velvet caress, leaning in so my breath grazed his ear. "I think you like it hard, Tom." My fingers brushed his wrist, lingering, feeling his pulse race. I flexed my thigh, the muscle bulging under the thongkini's strap, and watched his gaze drop, helpless. "Five weeks alone with me. You ready for that?"
He gripped the counter, knuckles white. "Stop," he rasped, but his eyes betrayed him, snagging on my carved abs. "Jake's coming today. He's perfect—rich, fit, loves women like you."
I let out a low, throaty chuckle, my voice wrapping around him like smoke. "Jake?" I whispered, my hand grazing his chest, nails teasing the fabric of his shirt. "He'd break under me. But you..." I leaned closer, my lips hovering near his jaw, my voice a sultry promise. "I'd pin you down, Tom. Take you slow, make you beg. You'd forget everything but me." My thigh brushed his, the muscle unyielding, and he flinched, a low groan escaping.
"Maria—" His voice cracked, but I stepped back, leaving him reeling, my smile sharp. "Five weeks," I whispered, sauntering out, the thongkini's straps snapping against my skin. "You'll see me grow. And you'll want me."
Fourth Week: The Breaking Point
Four weeks in, I was a titan. The testosterone had amplified everything—my voice now a deep, sexy growl, my muscles swollen to new heights, my confidence a blade. Ellen was gone again, a three-day trip, and the house felt like a pressure cooker. I'd caught Tom watching me in the home gym, his eyes lingering on my deadlifts, my squats, the way the thongkini—now a staple—hugged my Herculean frame. Today, I'd push him past his limits.
I found him in the living room, flipping through a report, the late afternoon light casting shadows across his tense frame. I wore the thongkini again, its straps digging into my massive shoulders, my quads rippling with every step. My voice, low and molten, cut through the silence as I leaned against the doorway, one arm flexed above my head, the muscle bulging.
"Still working, Tom?" I purred, my voice a seductive rumble, each word deliberate, like a lover's whisper. "You should take a break. Look at what I've become." I stepped closer, slow, letting him see every inch—my lats flaring, my abs a granite grid, the thongkini's straps framing my power.
His eyes snapped up, widening, and I saw it—the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, his arousal blatant, undeniable. He shifted, trying to hide it, but I smirked, closing the distance, my voice dropping lower, a husky promise. "You can't hide that, Tom," I whispered, my breath hot against his neck as I leaned in, my hand brushing his thigh, inches from his straining jeans. "You made me like this. Don't you want to feel it?"
He groaned, his hands twitching, hovering near my hips, caught between grabbing me and pushing me away. "Maria, stop," he begged, but his voice was weak, his eyes locked on my chest, the thongkini's straps barely containing my bulk. "This is wrong. We can't—"
I pressed closer, my thigh grazing his, my muscles a wall of heat. "Wrong?" I murmured, my voice a low, intoxicating growl, lips brushing his ear. "I'd climb on you, Tom. Take that cock so deep, ride you 'til you're screaming my name. I'd make you mine—every inch, every drop." My fingers trailed up his chest, nails scraping lightly, and he shuddered, his hips shifting, his arousal pressing against my thigh.
His hands landed on my shoulders, gripping the steel of my muscles, and he leaned into me, his breath ragged, his resolve crumbling. "God, Maria," he rasped, his voice raw, "you're too much. I can't—" His fingers tightened, pulling me closer, his lips inches from mine, his body trembling with need.
Then his phone rang, shrill and jarring. Ellen's name flashed on the screen, and he froze, his eyes snapping to it. But I wasn't done. As he fumbled for the phone, I flexed both arms, my biceps peaking like mountains, and let my hand slide to the thongkini's lower strap, fingers dipping beneath to my aroused clitoris. I tugged the fabric down, exposing myself, and began to touch myself, my moans low and deliberate, echoing in the room. "Oh, Tom," I gasped, my voice a sultry growl, my hips rocking slightly as I pleasured myself, my eyes locked on his.
He answered the phone, his voice shaking. "Hey, hon," he said, turning away, but his eyes darted back to me, wide with shock and hunger. My moans grew louder, my fingers moving faster, the thongkini pulled low, my muscles gleaming as I flexed and writhed. "Yeah, everything's fine," he stammered to Ellen, his jeans straining, his arousal so pronounced it looked painful, the fabric stretched taut.
I smirked, my voice a moan-whisper. "You want this, Tom," I purred, too low for Ellen to hear, my hand still working, my body a vision of power and desire. "You're bursting for me."
He hung up, his face flushed, his breath heaving, the bulge in his jeans so tight it seemed ready to tear through. He stumbled back, gripping the couch, his eyes locked on me—my flexing arms, my exposed skin, the thongkini barely hanging on. "Get out," he choked, his voice raw, his body screaming what his words denied. "Train. Do anything. Just... go."
I pulled the thongkini back into place, my smirk sharp, my voice a lingering promise. "Sure, Tom," I murmured, my husky tone wrapping around him. "I'll grow bigger, stronger. And you'll dream of this—every moan, every inch." I sauntered out, my moans still echoing in his mind, his arousal a scar he couldn't erase.
Five weeks. I'd become a force of nature, my body a temple of power and seduction. Jake might come, but Tom's eyes were mine—every lift, every flex, every whispered taunt. Ellen's call had saved him today, but I'd seen his weakness, felt his surrender. I'd push him further, my voice a weapon, my body a trap, until he was mine. This was my game, and I was playing to win.

keep everything the same, but before he steps back and grips the couch towards the end; he starts feeling everyone of her muscles and his breathing becomes very labored.. then he continues with the "get out"

Chapter: Maria's Dominion
The morning sun pierced the guest room curtains, bathing my skin in gold as I sat on the bed, phone clutched to my ear. My body thrummed with the echo of that night—Tom's trembling hands, the heat of his chest under my fingers, the way his eyes had burned with want even as he pushed me away. I'd nearly broken him. The memory of his ragged breaths, my hand grazing his skin, coiled tight in my core. I wasn't done—not with him, not with this house, not with the empire I was forging.
"Ellen, please," I said, my voice soft, layered with a vulnerability I'd honed to perfection. "Two more months. I'm so close to standing on my own, but I need a little more time. You've given me everything—I don't want to fail you." My fingers traced the thick ridge of my quad, now massive from weeks of relentless training. I was a weapon, sculpted by Tom's hands, but I'd wield myself.
Ellen's voice was warm, clueless to the firestorm in her home. "Maria, of course. You're thriving—Tom says you're stronger every day. Don't let him rush you. Two months, no question." Her tone sharpened, protective. "I'll call him today. He's not to pressure you. You're family now."
Family. The word landed heavy, but I forced gratitude into my voice. "Thank you, Ellen. I can't tell you what this means." We hung up, and I tossed the phone aside, my pulse quickening. Two months. Five weeks of Ellen's upcoming business trip stretching before me like a warzone. I'd train harder than ever—triple my lifts, push my body past its limits, and embrace Tom's "supplements" with fervor. Anavar had chiseled me; the testosterone I'd convinced him to source had deepened my voice, hardened my edges, and fueled my growth. I'd become a goddess he couldn't resist.
I glanced at the mirror. Four weeks of brutal training had transformed me into a colossus—shoulders like granite, abs a deep lattice, thighs that could crush steel. The testosterone had thickened my frame, my biceps now rivaling Tom's old lifting days, my lats flaring like wings. The thongkini I'd bought—a black, barely-there scrap of fabric—clung to my skin, its straps cutting across my hips and chest, showcasing every bulging muscle. Today, with Ellen's taxi pulling away for her five-week trip, the house was my domain.
First Encounter: The Kitchen
The kitchen hummed with silence as I stepped in, the thongkini's straps shifting against my skin. Tom stood at the counter, pouring coffee, his back to me. The air crackled with unspoken tension, last night's memory pulsing between us—my hands on him, his body yielding before he clawed back control. I moved closer, silent, my voice now a low, husky purr from the testosterone, dripping with seduction.
"Ellen call you?" I whispered, leaning against the counter, my bicep flexing as I reached for an apple. The thongkini's straps strained against my chest, my abs gleaming under the kitchen light. I let my words linger, soft and intimate, like a secret shared in the dark.
He turned, and his breath hitched, his eyes raking over my body—shoulders, thighs, the thongkini's daring cut. "Yeah," he said, voice tight, the coffee mug trembling. "Two months. Don't make this harder, Maria."
I smiled, slow and dangerous, stepping closer until my heat brushed him. "Harder?" I murmured, my voice a velvet caress, leaning in so my breath grazed his ear. "I think you like it hard, Tom." My fingers brushed his wrist, lingering, feeling his pulse race. I flexed my thigh, the muscle bulging under the thongkini's strap, and watched his gaze drop, helpless. "Five weeks alone with me. You ready for that?"
He gripped the counter, knuckles white. "Stop," he rasped, but his eyes betrayed him, snagging on my carved abs. "Jake's coming today. He's perfect—rich, fit, loves women like you."
I let out a low, throaty chuckle, my voice wrapping around him like smoke. "Jake?" I whispered, my hand grazing his chest, nails teasing the fabric of his shirt. "He'd break under me. But you..." I leaned closer, my lips hovering near his jaw, my voice a sultry promise. "I'd pin you down, Tom. Take you slow, make you beg. You'd forget everything but me." My thigh brushed his, the muscle unyielding, and he flinched, a low groan escaping.
"Maria—" His voice cracked, but I stepped back, leaving him reeling, my smile sharp. "Five weeks," I whispered, sauntering out, the thongkini's straps snapping against my skin. "You'll see me grow. And you'll want me."
Fourth Week: The Breaking Point
Four weeks in, I was a titan. The testosterone had amplified everything—my voice now a deep, sexy growl, my muscles swollen to new heights, my confidence a blade. Ellen was gone again, a three-day trip, and the house felt like a pressure cooker. I'd caught Tom watching me in the home gym, his eyes lingering on my deadlifts, my squats, the way the thongkini—now a staple—hugged my Herculean frame. Today, I'd push him past his limits.
I found him in the living room, flipping through a report, the late afternoon light casting shadows across his tense frame. I wore the thongkini again, its straps digging into my massive shoulders, my quads rippling with every step. My voice, low and molten, cut through the silence as I leaned against the doorway, one arm flexed above my head, the muscle bulging.
"Still working, Tom?" I purred, my voice a seductive rumble, each word deliberate, like a lover's whisper. "You should take a break. Look at what I've become." I stepped closer, slow, letting him see every inch—my lats flaring, my abs a granite grid, the thongkini's straps framing my power.
His eyes snapped up, widening, and I saw it—the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, his arousal blatant, undeniable. He shifted, trying to hide it, but I smirked, closing the distance, my voice dropping lower, a husky promise. "You can't hide that, Tom," I whispered, my breath hot against his neck as I leaned in, my hand brushing his thigh, inches from his straining jeans. "You made me like this. Don't you want to feel it?"
He groaned, his hands twitching, hovering near my hips, caught between grabbing me and pushing me away. "Maria, stop," he begged, but his voice was weak, his eyes locked on my chest, the thongkini's straps barely containing my bulk. "This is wrong. We can't—"
I pressed closer, my thigh grazing his, my muscles a wall of heat. "Wrong?" I murmured, my voice a low, intoxicating growl, lips brushing his ear. "I'd climb on you, Tom. Take that cock so deep, ride you 'til you're screaming my name. I'd make you mine—every inch, every drop." My fingers trailed up his chest, nails scraping lightly, and he shuddered, his hips shifting, his arousal pressing against my thigh.
His hands landed on my shoulders, gripping the steel of my muscles, and he leaned into me, his breath ragged, his resolve crumbling. "God, Maria," he rasped, his voice raw, "you're too much. I can't—" His fingers tightened, then roamed, tracing the bulge of my biceps, the ridge of my lats, the carved lines of my abs. His breathing grew labored, heavy gasps, as he felt the power he'd built, his hands shaking with need. "You're incredible," he whispered, almost to himself, his fingers digging into my quads, his arousal straining harder against his jeans.
Then his phone rang, shrill and jarring. Ellen's name flashed on the screen, and he froze, his hands still on my thighs, his eyes snapping to the phone. I didn't stop. As he fumbled for it, I flexed both arms, my biceps peaking like mountains, and let my hand slide to the thongkini's lower strap, fingers dipping beneath to my aroused clitoris. I tugged the fabric down, exposing myself, and began to touch myself, my moans low and deliberate, echoing in the room. "Oh, Tom," I gasped, my voice a sultry growl, my hips rocking as I pleasured myself, my eyes locked on his.
He answered the phone, his voice trembling. "Hey, hon," he said, turning away, but his eyes darted back to me, wide with shock and hunger. My moans grew louder, my fingers moving faster, the thongkini pulled low, my muscles gleaming as I flexed and writhed. "Yeah, everything's fine," he stammered to Ellen, his jeans straining, his arousal so pronounced it looked ready to burst through, the fabric stretched to its limit.
I smirked, my voice a moan-whisper. "You want this, Tom," I purred, too low for Ellen to hear, my hand still working, my body a vision of power and desire. "You're breaking for me."
He hung up, his face flushed, his breath heaving, his hands twitching from where they'd felt my muscles. The bulge in his jeans was agonizingly tight, a testament to his torment. He stumbled back, gripping the couch like a lifeline, his eyes locked on me—my flexing arms, my exposed skin, the thongkini barely hanging on. "Get out," he choked, his voice raw, his body screaming what his words denied. "Train. Do anything. Just... go."
I pulled the thongkini back into place, my smirk sharp, my voice a lingering promise. "Sure, Tom," I murmured, my husky tone wrapping around him. "I'll grow bigger, stronger. And you'll dream of this—every moan, every inch." I sauntered out, my moans still echoing in his mind, his arousal a scar he couldn't erase.
Five weeks. I'd become a force of nature, my body a temple of power and seduction. Jake might come, but Tom's eyes were mine—every lift, every flex, every whispered taunt. Ellen's call had saved him today, but I'd felt his hands on me, seen his surrender. I'd push him further, my voice a weapon, my body a trap, until he was mine. This was my game, and I was playing to win.