Married Bliss

[sevenpeight]

Thanks! I appreciate the support!

"Come here," she boomed one evening as I walked into the living room. She was sitting on the sofa, the colossal pillars of her legs spread wide, thrusting her formidable she-meat into a flesh light. I scrambled to my knees in front of her, rapidly becoming erect as I prepared to give her a blowjob. But Helen leaned forward and snatched me up by my belt. Her vein-caked hands grasped my shorts and tore them apart like so much tissue paper, ripping my leather belt asunder in the process, as though it was made of play dough. She flipped me over like a pancake, her monster arms and pecs flaring and flexing. I landed on my hands and knees on the floor and gasped as I felt my wife enter me from behind and begin to thrust like a savage bull. Her clit had grown to record-beating proportions, now resembling a small cock, and I felt every inch of it entering me.

She had been watching porn on the TV before I came in, and I was now treated to a 120" screen displaying Mistress Treasure brutalising a man as my wife pounded me doggy style. It was sensory overload.

Helen's strong hands gripped my hips firmly, leaving big bruises. Her muscular pelvis pulverised my outmatched thighs and arse. She buried the thick girth of her girl cock in me as her climax built.

Mistress Treasure was punching her hapless victim on the TV. Helen's grip tightened as she groaned and squirted her cum all over my legs. My heart was pounding in my ears and I was rock hard. Helen leaned forward. "Cum!" her deep bass voice rang in my years. My whole body spasmed as I spilt my seed on the ground in spurt after hot spurt.

My wife had made me orgasm without any physical stimulus of my cock at all. It heralded the beginning of a new level of training in my role as Helen's sex slave. Within weeks, Helen ensured that I would always cum on command and, more importantly, that I would not cum before that command — no matter how turned on I was.

[sevenpeight]

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[Del4]

Thank you so much, I have long fantasised about this.

[seldom]

You just keep cranking up the intensity on this story! Incredibly hot!

[WapWap]

I just read this straight through from the beginning. 

This is one seriously fun read.

[sevenpeight]

Thanks again everyone. Here's the next part.

Ever since the kids had moved out, Helen was permanently naked when at home. As part of my training, I was now also naked as a matter of course. Helen had taken me to her beauty salon and had me waxed from neck to toe. The staff were enthralled but, clearly intimidated by Helen, asked no questions and worked quickly and in silence. Helen inspected every inch of me when they were done. There was a literal sigh of relief from the room when she grunted her approval.

For her pleasure, I had to ensure I was fully erect at all times while naked. With that much quivering muscle mere metres away, maintaining an erection was an easy feat. My balls ached for release constantly. My cockhead throbbed purple and blue, often seeping a trail of slick precum. And in those golden moments when my muscle mistress intoned the order to release, my brain would overload with endorphins, melting down, as I ejaculated great volumes of pent-up jism.

Beyond the sexcapades, other things had also changed around the place. Before we became empty-nesters, I thought we had an impressive array of weights. But after the kids vacated the house, the weights multiplied. Helen's heavy-duty gym equipment had long ago spilled out of the garage. Smith Machine, incline bench, squat rack, cables and pulleys, hammer strength machine, and countless other assorted mass-monster contraptions were strewn around the backyard. Now, more eccentric devices began to colonise the living room and guest room. Complicated training stations for muscle isolation training, apparently state of the art and ordered online at significant expense.

And in those parts of the house that were not dedicated to the big machines, free weights and other muscle-building miscellany littered every surface — dumbbells, barbells, ankle weights, wrist weights, resistance bands, thigh-master, ab-roller, handgrips — you name it, Helen had it or had broken it.

[sevenpeight]

By the way, if you like this story, consider buying the book of short stories put together by TaosChild: You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login

It includes one by me. It's the only place you'll find it. The funds from your purchase go directly to Red Cross, UNICEF, & the Rainforest Trust.

The book includes stories from some great authors: 009Eli, stmercy2020, Roy Ellison, IBP, Kittyelfie, Seldom, TaosChild and TaosChild's wife!

[muscleaddict80]

Awesome story. Have just read right through and love the escalation and growth - so incredibly hot.

[sevenpeight]

Thanks for the ongoing support!

I was constantly stubbing my toes on dumbbells dropped willy-nilly wherever Helen had finished a set. I struggled to tidy these up, often needing two hands to lift custom-made 100 kilo dumbbells constructed from tungsten, a metal with more than double the density of the usual steel or iron used for gym weights. Even with two hands, I could only half-pull, half-drag them out of the way. These are dumbbells that Helen would lift in gruelling 100 rep sets, roaring with the effort, dripping with sweat, firehose veins crisscrossing her vast musclescapes.

Helen once found me straining to drag one of these immovable implements from where it had been discarded, in front of the fridge. She let out a gravelly chuckle and lifted me together with the weight and hauled us into the garage, taking the weight from me and putting it back on the solid tungsten weight rack. "If you're going to keep doing your duties, I need you to toughen up," she declared.

Over the next months, I was put through the wringer, emerging fitter, harder and bigger than I'd ever been. When I was out on my own, I'd get admiring looks. Women far younger than me would flirt with me overtly to a degree I'd never experienced before. But in my own house, I knew what a truly impressive physique was and I knew that, beside it, mine was like a mouse to a tigress.

[sevenpeight]

Helen, for her part, rarely left the house now. Even before the kids left home, she had successfully climbed to the top of the corporate ladder and then started to be appointed to boards. With seven figure incomes having rolled in for several years, she had begun investing in shares, real estate, bonds, futures. Like everything she did, she invested aggressively. And it paid off. She didn't need to work. A vast family office ran her finances to her exacting standards. Few of her minions had ever been in her presence, but fear of her loomed large. There were whispered stories of what happened when one displeased her. Mixed with tales of her immense physical power and prowess, the psychological threat that attended any failure was excruciating and it delivered results.

Some of her profits went into upgrading the house. Neighbours were bought out and the house doubled its footprint while being completely remodelled.

Everything was state of the art, automated, voice controlled and futuristic. The ground floor had a foyer and lounge, a large kitchen, laundry and a cinema room. Apart from that, it was a vast open gym space. Concrete, metal and glass. Brutalist in its aesthetic but tasteful (and expensive). Mirrors were a constant through every space. Whenever Helen was working out her beastly body, her reflection was staring back at her, goading her to go hard, push further, tempting her with deeper striations, fatter veins, denser muscle, higher peaks.

Upstairs she had kept and expanded the kids' bedrooms for the brief periods they might come home. Our own bedroom was transformed. In the centre of the room was a four-poster bed. Rather than curtains or netting or anything frilly between the posts, there were pull-up bars. Like her custom-made dumbbells, the whole frame was made of tungsten to withstand Helen's formidable mass. I'd often wake to her throaty grunts and open my eyes to find my wife's 5 foot-wide back being hauled repeatedly soaring up to the bar. A myriad of thick roiling muscles reconfigured themselves over and over in mesmerising, hypnotic, patterns as lats flared, traps strained, triceps exploded and delts jostled for space. In the weak light of early morning, Helen's vast bulk would throw weird shifting shadows around the room as she moved.

[sevenpeight]

As the sun's light penetrated the room and the fog cleared from my mind, the mechanics of her back would resolve. At the bottom of a rep, her enormous, demented shoulders would be bunched together bulbous peaks smashing into each other like tectonic plates on the verge of birthing mountains. Then, as she began to rise, meaty lats would billow out. Dense musculature 12 inches deep unfurling, riddled by veins feeding their immense expansion. Delts would quickly join the chorus of muscle, instantly adding several inches of intimidating depth riven by exclamations of manifold striations. As Helen approached the bar, heavy hanging triceps would harden into diabolical density, each nobbled and etched section of muscle highlighted in glorious detail. Above them, mountainous biceps surged skywards, each muscle head peaked and laced with vascularity. The sheer cliffs between the heads ran with rivers of sweat. As her chin summited the bar the great ranges of her traps swelled with tremendous mass.

Each crescendo of muscular growth was followed by a chorus of muscular definition as each muscle was contracted into hyper definition, Helen's glutes joining the movement to become diamond-hard sculptures of brutalist musculature.

I'd allow myself a few frantic strokes as Helen finished her workout, knowing she'd mount me as she finished her set, settling onto me with only a fraction of her weight and still knocking the air out of me, the hydraulic power of her evilly bloated hamstrings and maniacally defined quads powering her up and down with increasing frenzy, throbbing veins colonising the vast multifaceted cliffs until her muscular euphoria broke like a dam threatening to wash me away and allowing me to release my seed into her. By this time, the sun would be streaming in, framing the great statuesque bulk of my wife like some Neolithic monument silhouetted at the zenith of a frenzied Solstice ceremony. My hands roaming across this megalith, I was in an ecstasy. What a way to wake up.

[sevenpeight]

She had incorporated me into her workouts as well. Early on in her journey as a bodybuilder, she had tried lifting me for fun. She told me to cross my arms and legs and stay as stiff as I could. In that configuration, she could curl my original 70 Kg easily enough, but the unevenness of weight distribution made it awkward for her to maintain good form. As she progressed, she benched me too. But now a few lifts for fun was not enough.

"Get into your suit" she would command in her gravelly bass when she wanted to make use of my now 100 Kg. I would quickly climb into the harness she had had designed for me. It was odd. The upper section comprised a black latex slingshot mankini with a wide leather dog collar together with leather sleeves and straps like a straitjacket. A leather garter belt connected this section to chaps and ankle chains.

It allowed Helen to lock my arms and legs firmly in place behind me, slide a barbell through the loop created by my limbs and then use the dead weight of my body to get a pump.

When she used me like that to do standing curls, my cock and balls would stand to full attention, bobbing up and down with the rest of me in the mirror as my Herculean wife's whole body got bigger and harder. Her arms would swell to magnificent proportions, each vein-encrusted head of her biceps proudly jutting out with power, heavy triceps exploding with depth, adding several more inches of gnarled muscle to her arms.

After curling me like that for an hour without pause, Helen would finish with a set of one-armed curls, alternating each arm. She would extract the barbell and, while I was still trussed up in my harness, grasp the loop of my legs and arms in one meaty fist and do 100 curls per arm. After her already-gruelling barbell session, this last step was tortuous. Nightmare veins strained and pulsed down her forehead and spittle flew from her ragged mouth as she screamed with each rep. The whole time, her eyes were glued to her transfigured reflection.

[sevenpeight]

She'd be spent after that, her muscles pumped to freaky peaks, and she'd drop me heavily to the ground as she shook out one arm at a time. I would pull on the failsafe in my sleeves, work myself loose and mix Helen her post-workout shake. Taking it from me, she'd chug it down, skulling a litre of the thick goop before tossing the cup aside.

Renewed mere minutes later, her body flooded with steroids, creatine, HGH and various other performance enhancers, Helen's libido would take over. She would be horny from watching her own tremendous roid-fuelled body reach peak conditioning.

There was no need for ceremony or foreplay. She'd stick a finger in my anus, hoist me up in her mega-arms and insert me into her.

The walls of her vagina kneaded and massaged my cock, pulsing, tightening, fluttering, rolling, like a live thing having paroxysms. Between moments of fleeting pain when the whole brawny tunnel contracted, I was in heaven — my manhood was flooded by sensations that no man had ever felt, a muscular symphony playing over my most sensitive nerve centres, bathing me with pleasure.

My hands would roam the vast alien landscapes of her biceps and triceps, each muscle agglomeration the size of a grown man. I'd feel the slick skin slipping over the great fibrous tissue, hard and dense beneath the surface. My hands would fumble at the great circumferences of those beastly limbs, grasping mere fractions at a time.

My mouth urgently suckled at my wife's gigantic pecs, roaming the thick plates of armour, my tongue diving into the deep crevice between them. I sucked on her big hard nipples, dragging my teeth over then and causing her to moan in a deep rumble of satisfaction.

As she pumped me in and out of her muscular sex, she slowed down as my cock head rubbed up and down the underside of her monster clit, sending tingles of excitement through me and making Helen throw her head back with lingering pleasure. As she worked my cock back into her, she sped up, ramming me deep into her. Her pecs exploded outwards with as her biceps inflated to ridiculous proportions, cocooning me in pulsing throbbing muscle.

My muscle goddess of a wife controlled every facet of the lovemaking act. I was left to focus on one essential task — controlling my orgasm. It built in my loins, filling my vas deferns as blood engorged my cock to a fat angry purple.

Finally she would close her free hand around my neck, squeezing the airway at just the right moment to make me swoon as she growled with her own impending ecstasy. She'd order me to cum, holding me inside her as her finger probed my prostate and her mighty vaginal muscles milked my cock like a hydraulic pump on overdrive. She'd grunt and groan with satisfaction as  the waves of her orgasm broke upon me, her clit throbbing against my midsection. Our juices would churn together inside her.

When her pleasure subsided, she'd drop me on the bed and climb on top of me, lowering her sopping labia on to my mouth. I would watch in awe and fascination as she flexed her pelvic muscles and the jaws of her sex yawned open, unleashing a torrent of juices into my mouth. Gripping the concrete pillars of her quads to avoid being washed away, I'd gulp down as much as I could of the torrid mix. By the end of it I would be full and my member would be back at full mast as my wife and mistress demanded.

[WapWap]

I want more of this story like Helen wants more muscles!  Great job!

[sevenpeight]

The fact that Helen had just flexed her vagina open and closed was testament to the fact that she trained every muscle in her body. And I'm not talking about doing her kegels. I discovered her special exercise for this particular muscle group a few years earlier when I was helping her to juice. We were in the bedroom and I'd just emptied the syringe into her cock-shaming clit. The familiar burn had passed through her body and I was packing the kit away when something dark caught my eye.

"Is there... something... in there?" I asked hesitantly. Helen grinned and climbed up on the bed. She thrust her razor-sharp hips forward, fists resting at ease on her thick, overdeveloped adonis belt. At first, I was captivated by the incredible flaring of the giant cobra hood of her lats and traps. But my eyes were soon drawn downwards.

Her grin widened as, for the first time, I watched her labia lips part without any manual intervention. It was like watching a tiger snarl. My heart raced. She grunted slightly and tightened her core, her abs erupting into chiseled cinder blocks. Slowly, something strange was being extruded from inside her. I watched in horrified fascination. I could tell it wasn't a sex toy. But what it was, I couldn't figure out. Then with a sudden acceleration, the object slipped from my wife and splatted on to the bed between my legs. It was a hand-grip. My eyes widened. Helen boomed with laughter. She took a few steps up the bed so she was closer to my face and then, bending slightly at the knees, she rapidly opened and snapped shut her vaginal muscles several times, her labia lips smacking together lewdly. My tortured cock was straining so hard it might have torn itself off my body if the display had continued.

Helen, sensing my desperation and taking pity, gave the order. I sprayed a gusher of jism over her legs, glutes, the bed and myself. My wife was pleased. She had me lick her clean before I pleasured her with my tongue. She showed admirable restraint, only trapping my tongue a handful of times and only once drawing it into her to the point she threatened to literally loosen my tongue (to my great alarm).

[seldom]

That muscle pussy is so intense, and you write it so vividly! You are truly the master of insane bodies pushed past the point of any humanity. What a couple! I love how much they both love it.