I MEET YUKIKO´S MOTHER

[diabolodiabolo]

I MEET YUKIKO'S MOTHER

It was a cold January evening in 2026 in Cologne. Thick snowflakes fell outside the windows of the small, cozy Japanese restaurant near the cathedral. Yukiko had reserved the table—a quiet corner spot, secluded enough for an intimate family dinner, yet close enough to the window to see the illuminated cathedral shimmering through the snowstorm like a Gothic phantom. All day she had raved about her mother Akiko: "She's incredibly fit for her age, almost 60, but you'll see—she has more energy than both of us combined." From Yukiko's stories I knew Akiko was the source of her own extraordinary strength, a former professional bodybuilder from Japan who had trained her daughter from childhood. But when Akiko stepped through the door, I was not prepared.

She was a colossus—2.20 meters tall. Even in the tight restaurant she had to duck her head slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling. Her long gray hair was tied in an elegant knot, a few silver strands framing her mature but strikingly beautiful face: high cheekbones, deep knowing eyes, and a smile that was warm and inviting yet carried a hint of dominance. She wore a long black winter coat that reached her ankles, and beneath it a loose traditional garment that concealed every curve of her body. No one would have guessed that under that fabric lurked 280 kilos of pure, hypertrophic muscle mass—steroid-enhanced, decades-built power that dwarfed Yukiko's 200 kilos. She hugged Yukiko warmly, her enormous arms enveloping her daughter like a gentle vise, then turned to me. "Mark, right? Yukiko has told me so much about you." Her voice was deep and melodic, laced with a strong Japanese accent that made every word sound like an invitation. She shook my hand—her fingers completely engulfed mine, a light squeeze hinting at the immense strength she was holding back.

We sat down and the conversation flowed easily. Akiko spoke of her trip from Tokyo, of the changes in Japan since her youth, and asked me about my life in Cologne. Yukiko beamed the whole time, proud to bring us together. But Akiko studied me intensely, her eyes roaming over me as if searching for something. "Yukiko says you like strong women," she murmured casually once, sipping her sake. "Women who... have size." The words were ambiguous, and I felt my face grow warm. She smiled knowingly—she had learned from Yukiko that muscles aroused me, that I craved the kind of dominance her daughter embodied. And that turned her on; I saw it in the faint gleam in her eyes, the slight bite of her lower lip. "In Japan," she continued, "we say strength comes with age. I'm almost 60, but I feel... more vital than ever."

The food arrived—sushi, tempura, steaming miso soup—and under the table the teasing began. At first subtle: Akiko stretched her legs out "to relax," and her foot brushed mine "accidentally." But it was no ordinary foot—even through the shoe I felt the mass of her calf, diamond-shaped and hard as stone. She left it there, pressing lightly against my shin, and I felt the heat, the power. "Sorry," she whispered, but she didn't pull away. Instead she began to move it—a slow rubbing that crept up my thigh. Yukiko noticed nothing, chatting happily on, but I gasped quietly. Akiko laughed softly, her mature features glowing with amusement. "You're sensitive, Mark. Do you like that?" Her voice was so low only I could hear. Under the table she slipped off her shoe—barefoot now, her strong, muscular toes stroked across my crotch. The sole of her foot was warm, and I felt the definition of her calf muscles as she flexed—a light pressure that instantly made my cock rock-hard. Veins were probably pulsing beneath, hidden. She rubbed rhythmically, her eyes locked on mine, and it aroused her too—she breathed deeper, her cheeks flushed faintly. "Yukiko was right—you're into size. Into muscles. That... excites me a little."

Suddenly Yukiko's phone vibrated. She glanced at it, frowned. "Sorry, it's the gym manager. Some equipment emergency—I have to go sort it out. I'll be back in an hour, okay?" She kissed my cheek, hugged Akiko, and hurried out into the snow. The door closed, and suddenly we were alone at the table, candles flickering, the restaurant nearly empty.

Akiko smiled gently, but with a trace of hunger in her eyes. "Well, now it's just us. Mark, would you walk an old lady to her hotel? It's cold outside, and I don't know the way." Her hand rested on mine under the table—huge, warm, fingers thick as my wrists. She squeezed lightly, and I nodded breathlessly. We paid, and outside in the snow I helped her into her coat—an excuse to touch her shoulders, which felt like mountains under the fabric. The hotel was only a few blocks away, a small boutique place by the Rhine, and as we walked she leaned against me, her size completely overshadowing me. "You're cute when you're aroused," she whispered. "In the restaurant... that was fun."

At the hotel she held the door open. "Will you come up? For a drink? Yukiko is busy... and I'd like to get to know you better." Her tone was inviting, commanding, and I couldn't say no. We rode the elevator up—cramped, her presence filling the space—and entered her room: a spacious suite with a view of the snow-covered Rhine, a king-size bed, a minibar, and dim lighting.

Akiko poured the glasses, handed me one, and remained standing, towering over me like a statue of flesh and steel. "Sit down, Mark," she said in that deep, melodic voice that sent shivers down my spine. I sank into the armchair by the window, staring at the snowy Rhine outside, but my eyes immediately returned to her. She sipped her whisky, set the glass aside, and studied me with a smile that was half maternal, half predatory. "Yukiko told me how much you love muscles. Strength. Dominance. Let me show you what almost 60 years of training can do."

She began slowly, deliberately. First she untied the knot in her gray hair, letting it fall over her shoulders like a silver waterfall framing her broad deltoids. Then she raised her arms, stretching them upward as if reaching for the ceiling—and flexed her biceps. The fabric of her kimono-like dress immediately strained, outlining the shapes: massive, balloon-like biceps swelling high, separated by deep grooves where thick veins pulsed. She rotated her wrists, and her forearms exploded—tendons like cables, thick as ropes, standing out sharply under the skin. "Feel that?" she whispered, stepping closer. "This is power that could crush you." I nodded breathlessly, my cock already rock-hard in my pants as she held the pose, the muscles pumping, growing with every breath.

Then she turned her attention to her upper body, posing in detail as if on stage. She pulled her shoulders back, flaring her traps—they rose like mountains, connecting neck to shoulders in a massive, diamond-shaped slab. Her hands moved to the sleeves of the dress, slowly pushing them up, revealing bare arms. "Look," she murmured. She flexed her left arm, bending it, and the biceps peaked—a double summit, higher than anything Yukiko had ever shown, sculpted by decades of steroid-enhanced training. The separation between biceps and triceps was razor-sharp, and as she twisted the arm, veins rolled across like rivers. She shifted into a crab pose, hands behind her head, elbows flared—her latissimus dorsi spread like wings, so wide they darkened the room, and beneath them the serratus anterior twitched with every breath, finger-like muscles dancing.

My gaze drifted lower, to her chest. She squeezed her shoulders together, and her pectoralis major swelled—thick, square plates that pushed the dress outward. She ran a hand over one pec, pressing lightly, and the muscle danced under the fabric, separating into upper and lower fibers with a deep cleavage between them. "This turns you on, doesn't it? Seeing a woman like me... grow." Yes, it drove me insane with lust. My breathing quickened, my cock throbbed painfully, and she noticed—her eyes gleamed, her cheeks flushed faintly. She was aroused too; the teasing excited her.

She slowly untied the obi, letting the front of the dress fall open, revealing her upper body inch by inch. The fabric parted like petals, and there she was: naked from the waist up, 280 kilos of pure hypertrophic muscle in its rawest form. Her shoulders were cannonballs, deltoids divided into three distinct heads blending seamlessly into her arms. She continued posing, raising her arms into a double-biceps pose—the peaks rose even higher, her back forming a perfect V wider than the doorframe. Then a side-chest pose: she turned slightly, tensed her chest, and the pecs exploded—so thick they cast shadows, nipples hard and dark with arousal. Below, her abdomen: not a six-pack but a ten-pack, stone blocks that rippled with every flex, crisscrossed by a network of thick veins. She pumped her upper body, breath by breath, muscles swelling, turning redder, more vascular—as if she were growing just for me.

But she still wore her loose black cloth pants. She noticed my gaze drifting lower and smiled knowingly. "Not everything yet, Mark. Let's enjoy this." She stepped closer, placed one leg forward, flexed her quadriceps through the fabric—the muscle pressed against the cloth, outlining itself like a relief, four heads clearly separated. I stared, and then I saw it: in the center, between her legs, a bulge. Not subtle—a distinct, throbbing protrusion pressing against the fabric. Her enormous clitoris, perhaps hypertrophied from years of training and steroids, pulsed visibly. And below it a dark, wet spot spreading—she was soaked, aroused by my stare, by my obvious lust. "Look at that," she whispered hoarsely. "Your arousal... makes me wet. Makes me hard."

She noticed my fixed gaze, laughed softly and dominantly. "You like that? Let me show you." She spread her legs slightly, stood wide, and flexed her inner thigh muscles. Through the thin fabric I could see it: her vaginal muscles pulsing, twitching rhythmically, as if she controlled them like any other muscle. The clitoris beneath grew, became more engorged, pressing harder against the pants—a thick, veiny bulge that swelled with every throb. She placed a hand on it, pressed lightly, and demonstrated: "See how it throbs. How the muscles around it work." She flexed again, and the vaginal walls—or what I could make out through the fabric—contracted visibly, the wet spot growing larger, soaking the cloth. "This is strength, Mark. Inner strength. It wants you... but only when I say so."

I gasped, my cock aching with need, and she clearly enjoyed it—eyes half-closed, lips parted. Slowly, torturously slowly, she hooked her fingers into the waistband and drew the pants down. Inch by inch she revealed her lower body: the quads exploded free, each head defined like an anatomy model, veins like rivers running across them. Then the hamstrings, tight and thick, and the calves—diamond-shaped, so hard they looked carved. The pants fell to the floor, and there she stood completely naked: her clitoris jutting out, huge, erect, throbbing with arousal, surrounded by pulsing vaginal muscles glistening with wetness.

She now posed fully—a full-body pose, arms raised, legs spread. "Look at me," she commanded. "All of me." She pumped herself up, flexing each muscle in turn: biceps swelling; pecs dancing; abs rippling; quads exploding. With every flex she became more vascular, redder, bigger—as if growing for me. Her clitoris throbbed in rhythm, the wet sheen spreading.

Her 2.20 meters filled the room, the snow outside the window reflecting cold light onto her bare skin. She stood directly in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked slightly as she placed one massive foot beside me on the bed—her calf literally exploding into view. The calf was diamond-shaped, harder than granite, with two clearly separated heads that bulged at the slightest tension. Each head was thicker than my thigh, veined with thick blue strands pulsing as if pure adrenaline flowed through them. The skin stretched taut over it, glistening faintly with sweat and arousal.

She spread her legs wider—right in front of my face, so close I could smell her scent: warm, musky, mixed with the faint sweat of someone who had trained for decades. Her quads rose like two gigantic columns, each quad head (vastus lateralis, medialis, intermedius, rectus femoris) sharply separated, so thick and defined the grooves between them were finger-wide. Veins as thick as my little finger snaked across them, branching down to the knees. The adductors inside were like steel cables, tensing and relaxing with every breath. Her glutes—a massive, round ass of pure muscle—flexed, lifting slightly as she thrust her pelvis forward just a little.

And directly in front of my eyes, at eye level: her most intimate zone. The clitoris protruded like a small veiny cock—now fully erect, at least 9–10 cm long, thick as two of my fingers together, the glans smooth and glistening, a clear vein running along it and pulsing. The outer labia were fleshy, muscular, swollen and veiny, framing everything like a border of power. The inner labia shimmered pink, wet, and below them the vaginal muscles worked—a slow, rhythmic contracting that sent waves through the entire area. The wet spot on her pants was long gone; she had already removed them while posing, and now she stood naked, dripping with arousal.

I sat there speechless, staring up—my cock throbbed so hard in my jeans it hurt, the head pressing against the fabric, precum soaking through. My breathing came in gasps; I couldn't look away. Every muscle on her was bigger, more defined, more vascular than Yukiko's—an upgrade in every way. The sheer size, the maturity, the control... it drove me wild. My whole body vibrated, waves of pleasure rushing through me; I was seconds from coming without being touched.

Akiko noticed—saw the hard bulge, heard my gasping. She smiled deeply, her voice growing huskier. "You like it... all of it. My muscles. My size. And this..." She pointed one finger at her clitoris, which bobbed slightly with the motion. Then she took my hand—her fingers completely enveloping mine, forearm muscles pumping like steel cables—and slowly guided it between her legs.

"Touch me down there," she whispered. "Exactly the way you would touch yourself. Jerk me... like a little cock."

I obeyed, unable to resist. My fingers wrapped around her clitoris—it felt hard, warm, pulsing like a real shaft. I began to stroke it, up and down, circling the glans, exactly as I would do to myself. Akiko moaned softly, deep from her chest, her pecs rising and falling faster, veins thickening. Her clitoris swelled even more under my hand—growing to 11 cm, the vein on top standing out like a finger. She leaned forward slightly, her quads tensing, practically trapping me between her legs.

"Just like that... harder..." she gasped. Her vaginal muscles contracted visibly—the inner walls drawing together, pumping as if wanting to grip something. The wet juice ran over my fingers, dripping onto the bed. Her arousal climbed rapidly—she was slowly losing control, her mature features twisting with pleasure.

Suddenly she gripped my hand tighter, pulled it deeper—pushing two of my fingers into her vagina. Instantly everything clamped around me like a vise of pure muscle. The inner walls were incredibly strong—hypertrophied, trained over decades. They contracted rhythmically, squeezing my fingers almost painfully, as if trying to crush them. Akiko threw her head back, traps exploding, lats spreading like wings, abs tightening into a perfect ten-pack.

"I... I'm losing... control..." she moaned. Then she came—hard, wet, explosive. Her vaginal muscles pumped wildly, milking my fingers, juice squirting in hot spurts, soaking my hand, my arm, the bed. Her clitoris twitched uncontrollably in my other hand, pulsing like a heartbeat. Her whole body shuddered—pecs bouncing, biceps swelling, quads trembling with ecstasy. She let out a low, animalistic cry that echoed through the room.

As the orgasm faded she held my hand inside her a moment longer—the muscles slowly relaxing, leaving me breathless and drenched. She looked down, eyes glowing with satisfaction and fresh dominance.

"Now it's your turn, Mark," she whispered. "I'm going to milk you... until there's nothing left."

Akiko breathed heavily from her orgasm, her massive pecs rising and falling in deep, rhythmic breaths, veins pulsing thickly across the striated plates. Her clitoris still jutted out—hard, veiny, twitching slightly in the aftershocks—and between her legs it was visibly dripping: her vagina pulsed open and uncontrolled, the inner muscles contracting in slow, powerful waves that were almost audible. The juice ran in thick strands down her inner thighs, glistening on the veiny quads, and the scent of pure, mature lust filled the room.

She looked down at me, her eyes glowing with fresh hunger. "Now you," she growled softly, her voice deep and commanding, yet carrying that maternal undertone that made me even harder. Without warning she grabbed the hem of my shirt with both hands—her forearms exploding with muscle, biceps swelling into mountains, thick veins standing out like ropes. With one casual yank she tore the fabric from top to bottom as if it were paper. The shreds fell to the floor. Then my jeans: she hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled—the zipper burst open, the seams ripped. My pants flew into the corner, underwear with them. My cock sprang free, rock-hard, throbbing, the head glistening with precum, veins swollen.

I gasped, naked before her, my body trembling with arousal. Akiko laughed softly, a warm, dominant sound. "So much smaller... and yet so hard for me." She stepped closer, her quads flexing, lifting her slightly as she leaned over me. Then she straddled my lap—not fully sitting, but pressing her weight down into the mattress, her thighs clamping around my hips like a living vise. Her glutes—hard, round, muscular—pressed against my thighs, and I felt the raw power in them.

Her vagina was still pulsing—directly above my cock. The inner muscles drew together and opened again, a hypnotic play of contractions visible: the walls moved like waves, hot juice dripping onto my head, running down over my balls. The outer labia were swollen, veiny, sticking wetly together, and her clitoris—still over 10 cm hard—rubbed lightly against my shaft with every movement, leaving a glistening trail.

Akiko began to move slowly, rocking forward and back—a controlled friction, no penetration. Her wet, pulsing pussy glided over my cock, the hot, slick lips enveloping it from both sides, milking it through sheer motion. Every contraction of her vaginal muscles sent ripples through her body—her abs tightened into a perfect ten-pack, veins pulsing across them like a network of power lines. Her pecs bounced lightly in rhythm, the striations dancing, and her traps rose high like a yoke of steel.

"Feel that," she whispered, voice hoarse. "My muscles... they milk you without even letting you inside." She squeezed her quads together—a light clamp that nearly crushed my hips, but perfectly dosed to make me tremble with pleasure. My cock throbbed against her pulsing entrance, her clitoris rubbing hard along the underside of my shaft, head meeting head with every forward thrust. The wet juice made everything slippery, loud and squelching—she was almost coming again just from the rubbing, her inner muscles pumping faster, juice spurting in small bursts.

I couldn't hold it anymore. The friction, the heat, the pulsing pussy, her enormous muscles enveloping me—it exploded inside me. My first orgasm hit like a wave: I moaned loudly, my cock jerking wildly, cum shooting in hot spurts onto her stomach, her abs, mixing with her juice. Akiko laughed with satisfaction, kept rubbing—milking every drop, her clitoris throbbing against me as if demanding more.

But she didn't stop. "Not done yet," she murmured. She lifted her pelvis slightly, repositioned—the tip of my cock now touching her entrance, but she didn't let me in. Instead she rhythmically squeezed her vaginal muscles, milking me from the outside. The contractions were so strong I could feel the air between us vibrate. My cock instantly hardened again, throbbing against her pulsing opening.

She came a second time—just from the rubbing and control. Her pussy spasmed, juice squirting over my lap, quads trembling, pecs bouncing wildly. "Give me more," she commanded, rubbing faster, harder. The second orgasm built lightning-fast—I exploded again, even more violently, cum pumping in thick spurts against her clitoris, her entrance, everywhere. She literally sucked the pleasure out of me, her muscles controlling every pulse.

Akiko leaned forward, her massive pecs pressing against my chest, traps rising over me. "Good boy... give Mama everything," she whispered, continuing to rub, bringing me to the edge a third time.

Akiko paused her grinding, her pulsing pussy still hot and wet over my cock, juice dripping in slow strands, mixing with my precum. Her quads—those monstrous pillars of muscle, divided into five heads, veiny and striated down to the smallest detail—kept squeezing my hips, holding me like a vise. I couldn't move, completely under her control: her 280-kilo body, her 2.20-meter height, turned me into a doll in her hands. She could do whatever she wanted—lift me, crush me, milk me—and I loved it, obsessed with her mature dominance.

"Now I'll let you in," she whispered, voice deep and commanding. She lifted her pelvis slightly, glutes flexing like round diamonds of steel, effortlessly raising her weight. With one hand—fingers thick as my wrists, forearms pumping with veins—she gripped my cock, positioned the head directly at her entrance. Her inner vaginal muscles contracted visibly, opening invitingly, then closing again—a play of power that nearly made me come right there.

Slowly she lowered herself—taking me inside. Her pussy enveloped me like a hydraulic press: the walls incredibly tight, muscular, wet and hot. Every inner muscle fiber—hypertrophied through decades of training—pulsed around my shaft, milking it from base to tip. It felt like a living vise gripping me, controlled and relentless. Her outer labia pressed against my skin, veiny and swollen, while her clitoris—still hard and huge, 10 cm long—rubbed against my lower abdomen, throbbing in rhythm.

Akiko began to move—a slow, rhythmic up-and-down, her quads pumping with every thrust, diamond calves pressing hard against my legs. Her pecs danced before my eyes, armor plates rising and falling, deep striations veiny. Traps rose high, lats spread like wings enveloping me. Her ten-pack abs contracted with every downward stroke, veins pulsing like a web of power. She had me completely locked—arms around my shoulders, biceps swollen to over 70 cm peaks, triceps horseshoe-shaped and split. I was trapped in her muscle cage, able to do nothing but enjoy her control as she played with me like a toy.

"Don't come too soon," she warned, eyes locked on mine. She felt me nearing the edge—my cock throbbing inside her, pressure building. Her vaginal muscles reacted: exactly a millisecond before I exploded, she clamped down—the inner walls squeezed shut, blocking the channel, holding the cum back. It was painfully pleasurable, a sharp pressure that made me cry out. "Not yet," she whispered, laughing softly, pecs bouncing rhythmically. She held still, let the orgasm subside, then started again—milking me with controlled contractions, rebuilding the pressure.

The game repeated: she rode me harder, quads squeezing tighter, pussy pulsing faster, wet and slick, juice running over both of us. I reached the edge—body shaking, climax within reach. Again she clamped, inner muscles like a steel grip stopping me. "Feel my control," she said, biceps flexing as she hugged me tighter. "I decide when you come. Your body belongs to me now." The maturity in her voice, the absolute dominance—it drove me insane; I nearly begged, but she only built it higher, edging me mercilessly.

For the third time she brought me to the brink—lats spreading, overshadowing us, deltoids bulging like bowling balls. Her clitoris rubbed hard against me, throbbing as if she were close too. "Now... I allow it," she finally gasped. "Come deep inside me—give me everything."

She relaxed her muscles just enough, rode me deep and hard—and I exploded like never before. The orgasm was overwhelming: waves of pleasure crashed through me, my cock pumping in hot, endless spurts, shooting deeper into her than ever. Cum filled her, mixing with her juice, dripping out as her vaginal muscles kept milking, squeezing every drop. Akiko came with me—her pussy spasming wildly, nearly painfully gripping me, her whole body shaking: pecs dancing, abs contracting, quads trembling in ecstasy. She let out a low cry, holding me tight in her muscle embrace.

When it was over she stayed seated on me, her pussy still pulsing gently, keeping the last of my cum inside. "Good boy," she murmured, stroking my chest with a veiny hand. "That was just the beginning."

Akiko stayed seated on me a moment longer, her pulsing pussy still gently gripping me, trapping the last remnants of my cum inside. Her entire body glistened with sweat—veins thicker than ever across her pecs, rising and falling like waves of steel with each deep breath. Her quads trembled slightly from the effort, but she was far from exhausted. On the contrary: her eyes sparkled with fresh greed as she slowly slid off me, my cock slipping out with a wet squelch, coated in our mixed juices.

"Not empty yet, are you?" she murmured with that mature, knowing smile. "Mama wants more... and you're going to give it to me." Without warning she grabbed me under the armpits—biceps exploding into monstrous peaks over 70 cm, striations cracking like marble, thick veins like rivers. With effortless ease she lifted me as if I weighed nothing and laid me on my back across the bed, my head hanging slightly over the edge.

She knelt over me—her massive quads rising like columns on either side of my head, inner thigh muscles (adductors) tensing like steel cables, veiny and defined. Her ten-pack abs hung directly above my face, each block like an anvil, deeply separated, pulsing vein network. Her pecs protruded like armor plates, casting shadows over me, traps rising almost to her ears, thick and massive.

Akiko lowered her upper body, her enormous pecs pressing against my chest as her mouth approached my cock. "Watch," she whispered before taking it. Her lips—full, soft, yet backed by incredible power—closed around the head. Instantly I felt the suction: her cheek muscles tensed, tongue pressing against the underside, milking me with precise control. At the same time she took her own clitoris in her hand—still hard and veiny, 10 cm long—and began stroking it, circling firmly, while she sucked.

I gasped, my cock instantly hardening again in her mouth. She sucked rhythmically, deeply, her tongue playing with the frenulum while her pecs bounced with each head movement. Her free hand clamped onto my hip—fingers like a vise, forearms pumping with muscle—holding me still so I couldn't buck.

Again the edging: she sensed exactly when I was about to come—built the pressure, sucked harder, cheeks working like a vacuum. A millisecond before climax: she pinched the shaft with thumb and forefinger, blocking everything while her tongue kept circling. The pressure was torturously pleasurable; I moaned loudly into her abs vibrating above me. "Not yet," she murmured around my shaft, the vibrations shooting straight into my balls.

She repeated it three times: build, suck, milk, clamp. Each time I got harder, throbbed more painfully, precum flowing in streams into her mouth, which she swallowed with relish. Her own arousal rose with it—she stroked her clitoris faster, the glans glistening, veins standing out, vaginal muscles visibly contracting, juice dripping onto my chest.

On the fourth time she didn't stop. "Now... give me the rest," she commanded. She sucked deep, taking me fully into her throat, cheek muscles pumping, tongue pressing the underside. At the same time she came herself—her clitoris twitching in her hand, vaginal muscles pumping empty, juice squirting in small bursts onto me. And exactly then she allowed it: no more clamping.

I exploded—harder than ever before. My whole body convulsed, cum shooting in endless hot spurts into her mouth, more than I'd ever given. She kept sucking, milking every drop, tongue pressing rhythmically until I was empty, trembling, nearly passing out from pleasure. Akiko swallowed it all, humming with satisfaction, her pecs dancing before my eyes as she slowly released me.

She lay beside me, pulling me into her arms—massive biceps and lats enveloping me like a warm, steel cocoon. Her traps rose over my head, pecs pressing against my chest. "Well done, Mark," she whispered, stroking my cheek with a veiny hand. "You gave everything... and I took it all."

The snow kept falling outside; Yukiko would be back soon. Akiko kissed me gently on the forehead. "This stays our little secret... until next time."

[diabolodiabolo]

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