[untergr8] The AA Sponsor Gets More Than He Bargained For | #WIP

[untergr8]

This is an erotic story that I wrote while in an AA meeting. There was a girl there who was obviously a crossfit athlete, tall and gorgeous. At one point she took off her sweater and revealed a pair of vascular biceps that gave me an instant hard on. I came home and wrote this story. I want to continue it at some point.

The AA Sponsor Gets More Than He Bargained For
by untergr8
____________________________

I.

I see a lot of drunks. I probably have been an AA sponsor to two, three hundred guys. A sponsor is an older AA who takes a newly sober drunk under his wing and shows them how to live without booze. There are about as many different flavors of sponsorship as there alcoholics, which is to say a million.

Though there are no hard and fast rules in AA, one that most of us stick with is men sponsor men and women sponsor women. Period, end of report. The reasons for this should be obvious. When an alcoholic stops drinking, they are about as vulnerable as they can be. Raw nerves, jitters, periods of alternating elation and depression. Add sex to this mixture and you have a flammable cocktail that can bring down both parties, no questions asked.

For the most part, I stuck with this unmentioned rule. For the most part. There was one exception. Tawny.

Let me preface this story by telling you that I am straight as a two by four. Never been attracted to a man in any way. But for some reason, a muscular strong woman has always been an incredible turn-on for me. I see one in public I'll be late for whatever engagement I got just to follow her down the street and watch the way her muscles move under her clothes.  A woman with veins on her biceps will give me a solid railroad spike in my pants in two seconds flat. Everybody has something, I have found over the years. Some like bondage, some secretly lust after fatties. With me, it's a muscular woman.

When I met Tawny,  I'd been sober for a couple years and was seriously working my program. I got that whole AA thing, had thrown over all my old haunts and friends for a new set, all in the rooms of AA. I was sponsoring four or five guys and was pretty busy. I hit a lot of meetings and always spoke from my heart. I got a gift like that, I hear, a knack for saying what needs to be said at the right time. People often come up to me after meetings to talk, which is why I sponsor so many. It's not ego saying that—just a gift I have, like being able to throw a ball or play guitar.

One Wednesday, I shared my experience at a meeting so crowded that only about half the people there got a chance to talk. When that happens, they just go around and everybody introduces themselves.  In AA we have what's called the "meeting after the meeting," when people can talk one on one. I got to talking with a couple old guys I know when I notice a woman standing near, listening to our gab. I stood back a little to open the circle to let her come in, and she did.

When she was standing next to me, I became instantly aware of her. I'm about five-eleven, and she must have topped me by a good four inches. She was pale and heavy, black hair and a wide face. That's not to say she wasn't pretty—she had a long neck despite the extra pounds, a wide, soft body hidden beneath an unattractive sweat suit but excellent posture, dimples when she smiled and beautiful teeth. He voice was a low and furry buzz, and I could tell she was whip-smart though she didn't say much. She told me how much she liked my approach and asked if I might sponsor her. She was forthright about asking me, which I appreciated. I started to give the patter about men not sponsoring women, but she reached her hand and grabbed my forearm.
"Please," she said, her eyes desperate. "I've tried so many times to stop. I know you can help me."
So I said yes. We arranged to meet. As I drove away, it occurred to me that her hand was so big it almost encircled my arm. I put that out of my mind.

Over the next several months we would meet once or twice a week to read through the Big Book and follow along in the process of what exactly you need to do to recover from alcoholism. I won't share any of that except to say that if you can't stop drinking and you want to, go to an AA meeting and keep going until you meet somebody who says they are recovered. Those people can help you.

When I met Tawny, it was late September. We had a long winter, and usually we met in the evenings at my place or the Alano Club downtown. Often we'd get coffee after. We mostly talked about AA, but Tawny told me a little about her life. She said she was always a natural athlete, the best on whatever team she'd been on. When she drank, she could drink all the football players under the table. She told me she'd been in jail a few times, but that's common enough in AA. Winter hung on that year, week after week of ice and chill winds.

I noticed that she was looking after me differently, and I was starting to do the same. Lingering glances. We started to see each other more often, dinner and sometimes a movie. She was doing great in her program, told me she was starting to work out and get back in shape. I tried to put that out of my mind. The first year of sobriety is delicate, and I felt it would be wrong for me to let my fetish run away with me. Besides, I never had seen her wearing anything but sweats and a jacket.

Then the day came that every AA dreads and most have experienced. Tawny didn't show up to meet me, didn't come to any of our regular meetings, didn't answer her phone. When this happens, we are instructed to let the person di what they gotta do. Sometimes you're just not done. I really cared about this one, but principles are principles.

I was awakened a few nights later at three o'clock in the morning by a pounding on my door. I got up, groggy and half-asleep. Tawny was outside on my porch. She was crying,  torn jacket and a hell of a bruise on her cheek. I opened the door and let her in. She smelled like a burning distillery, the wave of booze and smoke preceding her like a song.

She was crying, staggered toward me, arms open.

"Oh Joe," she said, slurring. "Oh Joe. I did a bad thing. I am a horrible person." She grabbed me and hugged me hard. Her arms felt like a machine, hard as stone as she lifted me clear off the ground, squeezed the air out of me. I tried to wriggle free, but she didn't seem to notice that I was there as she continued to sob. Finally I was able to gasp out her name, begged her to put me down before  I passed out.

"Oh my God, Joe! I'm so sorry," she said as she set me down. She was a mess. I saw that her large knuckles were skinned bloody. She looked down at the shoulder of her coat, almost torn off. "Jesus. My coat.  I just bought this." She started to cry again.

"Sit down, Tawny. I'll make coffee. There's an unopened bottle of water there. Drink it all while I'm in the kitchen. We'll get this sorted out."

As I made the coffee, I felt my knees go rubbery. She had lifted me high off the ground as easily as if I was a stuffed animal. I had felt enormous muscles in her arms, a tremendous—almost freakish—strength in her. My hand shook. In all out time together, I had never touched her body.  She had mentioned weightlifting and sports, but only in the context of the trouble she'd been in. I leaned against the counter and said a short prayer: God give me the strength to get through this.

When I returned with the coffee, I almost dropped the cups. She had removed the coat and I saw her torso for the first time. Her shoulders were enormous, wide and round, the muscles of her deltoids rippling and jutting beneath the skin. Her biceps when unflexed looked like flattened footballs with a pencil-thick vein running down the center, but when she bent her arms the muscle bunched and tightened, a web of smaller veins popping out. What I had thought were small boobs were actually enormous pectorals, a deeply striated cleavage similarly vascular beneath her sleeveless scoop shirt. She saw me standing there and got to her feet. I noticed her shirt had been torn across the midriff, a red weal across a set of abdominals like a chimney. I was so used to seeing muscles in the pictures it had not occurred to me that they moved like that. As she reached for the coffee, I saw the shelf of her obliques push the thing skin of her flank into geometric shapes.

My heart pounded, my cock was instantly as hard as its ever been and I could not help but stare. Her eyes went past the cup to my cock and up to my face. She gave me a drunken smile.

"Well, now," she said.

I knew I was in trouble.

She stood to her full height, towering over me. We had spent the bulk of our time sitting—either in restaurants or cars or AA meetings. I had never considered just how big she was. She stepped toward me and put her massive hands on my upper arms, bent me backward while lifting me onto my tiptoes and pressed her full mouth over mine. Even her tongue was muscular, pushing my lips apart and darting into my mouth. She tasted of liquor and smoke and blood, the smell of her soft face strong in my nostrils. Overcome, I gave in, ran my hands over her monumental body. I had never touched a body like that in my life. Every surface was taut and smooth, the iron-hard muscle undulating as she moved.
"You're so strong," I managed to moan.
She laughed. "You don't know the half of it, Joe."
With that, she lifted me entirely off the ground and held me in front of her, seemingly without effort. Her smile had a wicked edge to it, something I had never seen in the sober Tawny.  She set me down and pulled me closer to her again, closed her eyes. "Touch me," she said. 
"My God, yes. Yes," I said. I ran my hand over her chest and shoulders, solid and warm. She mover her arms and the muscles bunched and tensed, moving my fingers. I stroked her back. Her rhomboids felt like bundled steel, the edge of her lats like cabled wings, but all of it liquid and smooth until it flexed into a steely hardness. I removed the tattered shirt and began to tongue her nipples, the breast tissue soft and flexible over the ropes of hard pectoral. She put her head back and moaned, white teeth peeking from parted lips.
Her hand grabbed my wrist and pushed it down into her sweatpants, the small veins rolling against the twin of hard lower abdominal as my hand ran over the coarse pubis down to the moist cleft of her pussy, slick and wet. Her clit was a small rubbery nub that stiffened as I rubbed it. She gave a shuddering sigh and pulled me toward her, cupping her hands beneath my butt and lifting me up, kissing me deeply while she carried me into the bedroom. She dropped me on the bed and smiled again.
"I've wanted to do this," she said, her voice breaking, "since the first time I saw you."
Any thought that this was a bad idea fled my mind as I looked at her body. She didn't look like a bodybuilder—her musculature was functional, like a wrestler—but her conditioning and proportions were astounding, the thick muscle and slim bones, long limbs and narrow torso, wide hips and a large, solid ass. She reached down and unbuttoned my jeans, almost pulling me totally off the bed as she slid them off.
"Nice cock," she said as she saw my erection spring out from the undershorts. She stepped out of her sweatpants and I saw her thighs, though meaty, still had some fat on them. When she moved, the muscles pulled into their anatomical shapes.
She bent to take my cock in her hand. I noticed the bloody knuckles again, but was overcome with the immense pleasure as she squeezed it. "Hard," she said. "You like this?" she asked as she pulled it.
"Oh God yes."
She took my cock in her mouth and ran her teeth over the shaft, rounded the top and sucked, taking almost the whole thing in her mouth. I touched her shoulder. She grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand up over my head as she straddled me, slid her hot wetness over me, engulfed me as she lay across the top. She bit my neck and squeezed her pussy againstmy cock as hard as she had with her hand. I started to come.
"No you don't," she said, and grabbed my other wrist, stretching it over my head hard enough to wrench my shoulder.
"That hurts!" I said.
She only smiled. I started to struggle and she laughed. She slid off my cock and pushed her thighs up high on my chest, letting go of my wrists. I tried to move her, but it was like being pinned by a statue of living stone.
"I've always been like a freak, Joe. Like a circus strongman. Some kind of genetic thing, like a throwback."
She looked at my nightstand, saw my bedside copy of the Big Book. She grabbed my arms and wedged them one at a time beneath the hard thighs, reached for the book and took it in her hands. With the same wicked smile, she tore it neatly in half as easily if it had been a manila envelope.
"I wish you hadn't done that, Tawny," I said.
"I don't care, Joe. I don't care what you wish for. I'm going to jail anyway. I thought I'd fuck you first."
"It's a bad idea. You're gorgeous. Really. But it's a bad idea.
"I think your dick has other plans," she said. She turned her head to look down at my cock. With all my strength, I bucked and managed to flip over onto my stomach.
"Oh, really?" she said. "Ok." She sprang up from the bed, her back to the door. "I'll make you a deal. You get past me into the living room, I'll let you go. You get three tries."
She crouched like a wrestler. I faked to the left and went right, aiming to dive between her and the doorway. She caught me easily, turned me upside down and threw me with astonishing force against the bedroom wall. I slammed into it and bounced onto the bed.
"Sorry," she said. "I don't know my own strength." To tease me, she flexed her right arm, the bicep the size of a river stone. I jumped high, but she caught me again. Her hands found my ticklish spots.  "Oh ho!" she said, and tickled me remorselessly. I tried to get away, but her arms were like steel pistons and I could not move them any more than I could move the blades of a forklift.
She lifted me up onto the bed and took both wrists in one hand, slammed her body over mine. It felt like a safe dropped on me, iron hard. With her other hand, she reached for my cock, still hard despite the struggle. She flipped her leg over me and slid on, squeezing until I came and came. She let go of my wrists and turned herself around. I tried to get away, but her legs grabbed and pulled me. I was helpless.
But fool that I am, I loved it.



To be continued.

[untergr8]

LIVE NOW

Muscular Women Are Live Right Now

Join private chats instantly. Real models. Real-time interaction.

120+ models online now

Start Watching →

[slim0926]

  THAT WAS A SEXY ASS READ!! CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HOW STRONG SHE REALLY IS!!

[Jeremy Lightning]

I liked what I read here a lot! Cool to see this woman show off her strength and her control, taking what she wanted. While I'm not 100% into domination, if there is power and muscle involved there is a certain amount that I can get into, which is what this story is all about. k+!