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Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fiction  |  Here Comes Trouble
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Author Topic: Here Comes Trouble  (Read 3091 times)

Offline untergr8

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Here Comes Trouble
« on: December 04, 2018, 01:43:35 pm »
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.



Offline johnnylm

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Re: Here Comes Trouble
« Reply #1 on: December 04, 2018, 07:26:05 pm »
Really nice start. Well done.

Offline Jdrabbit1

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Re: Here Comes Trouble
« Reply #2 on: December 05, 2018, 01:57:27 am »
Now this seems like an interesting and unique story.  I'm looking forward to more.

Offline sgaww

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Re: Here Comes Trouble
« Reply #3 on: December 05, 2018, 12:51:36 pm »
Great start! Drunk supergirl!

Offline sgsg69

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Re: Here Comes Trouble
« Reply #4 on: December 05, 2018, 06:32:26 pm »
 Very nice start, well crafted and realistic.........please keep going..........

Offline wowser1016

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Re: Here Comes Trouble
« Reply #5 on: December 06, 2018, 07:47:56 am »
I like it!

Offline untergr8

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Here Comes Trouble Part 2
« Reply #6 on: December 06, 2018, 10:38:01 pm »
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 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. "I go to the gym at 4:30 in the morning because I am embarrassed about the weights I use. I don't want to talk about it to people. The women are the worst. They look at me like I'm a freak."

"You're pretty freaky, but in a good way. I mean, I like it."


She pulled me closer to her again, set me down and closed her eyes. “Touch me,” she said. 

I ran my hand over her chest and shoulders, solid and warm. I rested them on her  arms. My hand didn't come near to encircling them. She moved and muscles slid and flexed beneath her skin.

"Squeeze, Joe." she said.  "Hard as you can." 

I did, feeling the muscle compress like meat Then she flexed and I almost lost my grip. Her arms were as hard as a marble statue. I couldn't press at all.

"Your hands feel nice on me. Keep going."

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 hard fibers of 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 in her hard lower abdominals 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.  She pushed her hands under my ass and lifted me closer to her, the suction from her mouth like a machine.

She  dropped me onto the bed, my dick popping out of her mouth as I fell.  She grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand up over my head and straddled me, sliding her hot wetness up my leg  and engulfing as she lay across the top.  Her pussy was even tighter than her mouth. She bit my neck and squeezed her pussy against my cock even harder than 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 pop my shoulder.

“That hurts!” I said.

"You only can come after I do. That's my rule."

I started to struggle and she laughed. She slid off my cock leaped up, her thighs high on my chest. She  go of my wrists. I pushed at her massive torso 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 grabbed my right arm and wedged it beneath the hard thighs, the did the same with my left. She reached my bedside copy of the AA Big Book and 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 what you wish for, Joe. I’m going to jail anyway. I probably beat those two guys to death. One of them, anyway. Maybe I'll keep fighting. Maybe I'll go to jail. But that's not until tomorrow. Right now I am going to fuck your brains out.”

“It’s a bad idea."

"You say that now? After everything?"

"I lost my head. You're so beautiful. I really like you, too. And your body is amazing. But it's still 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 buck her back a few inches..

“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 and threw me with astonishing force against the bedroom wall. I slammed into it and bounced onto the bed.
“Sorry,” she said. "Two tries left."

This time I trie high,  but she caught me with arm and again lifted me off the ground, the bicep hard as a river stone in my chest. This time she carried me to the bed and easily pinned my arms above my head, smiling down at me. "You ticklish, baby?" He free hand pinched my side. I twitched uncontrollably.

 “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.

"Stop! Please! Stop! I'm going to pee!" I cried.

She stopped immediately, got up and walked to the door. Her back and legs were as amazing as the rest of her. She turned. "One more try."

I got up, but she ran at me and scooped me up,  lifting me again onto the bed. This time she 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 erect despite the struggle.

She flipped her leg over me and slid on, her massive hindquarters slamming into me , the suction of her pussy and power of her legs pulling me up and down. She let out a moan and began to shudder, her mouth descending on mine, tongue and lips and slick sweaty face, harder and harder until I came and came.
She let go of my wrists and ran her hands down my arms.  "We're not done, Joe. Not hardly."

Offline nyfiken

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Re: Here Comes Trouble
« Reply #7 on: December 08, 2018, 11:35:59 am »
Really good story.
Keep going:)

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Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fiction  |  Here Comes Trouble
 

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