Married Bliss

[taoschild]

Sorry to post this here, but your inbox is full    Wanted to let you know that we donated 195.50 each to the three charities for the first month.  Also, if you want to post a little more of your story, and Eye for an Eye to go ahead.  Finally, the topic of the new book will be office romances/one night stands if you'd like to participate.  Hope you're well. I'm loving Married Bliss.

[taoschild]

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[aspect]

I hope we see more of this story soon

[sevenpeight]

Good to be back after a long break. Taoschild, thanks so much for involving me in the Stealing Muscle anthology and congratulations on raising money for some excellent causes.

Aspect, glad you're liking the story. Here's the next part!

"I can see you like it," she smiled, turning. My jaw literally dropped. The gown was open at the back, nothing from obsidian collar to obsidian belt except for massive, overstuffed, impossibly shredded back muscles. Great slabs of dense, mature muscle created a freakish geometry. From heaving lat to heaving lat was easily 6 foot wide, edge to edge. Forget the idea of getting my arms around her, I would now no longer be able to reach from one edge of her to the other with my arms outstretched to their maximum.

Between the tectonic plates of Helen's lats rose immense columns of muscular power, divided by a deep cleft of back cleavage running the length of her spine. Layers upon layers of dense muscularity caused her back to bulge at least ten inches from her skeletal frame. 

This was no longer human, it was beyond that — truly a new species, "homo muscularis" perhaps.

Great bowling ball glutes stretched the gold fabric below the belt. If my wife wanted a new diamond ring, I had no doubt that I could present her a lump of coal and the pressure that she could exert with those crushing glute boulders would turn the miserable lump into a gem of the finest quality.

I'd lost the capacity for speech, and Helen knew it. "Get up," she commanded in a rich baritone, a smile playing on her lips.

She offered her immense arm to me and I slipped my own arm into the crook of her elbow. The muscle was so deep that I was buried up to my elbow, and yet my fingers just peeped out over the corrugated enormity of her forearm. I ventured my hand up to her bicep, fondling the inner face of a massive bicep head. My jockstrap was hanging on for dear life as my cock strained at its prison. I wanted to jump my wife's arm, rub myself on it like a dog in heat. The power radiating off her was visceral.

[sevenpeight]

I experimented levering myself up, resting my weight on the moulded horizontal rock shelf of her forelimb and lifting my feet of the ground. She didn't even seem to notice the extra weight of my 220 pounds hanging off her. She strode on without pause as I floated over our front steps. She looked down at me then with a smirk - so she had noticed! I quickly lowered my feet down and started walking again. "Silly boy," she smiled, stroking my face gently with long dark stiletto nails flecked with dull gold paint. My hand returned to the hot hard boulders of her bulging upper arms, revelling in the volcanic power of her muscle cannons.

Under the portico, the chauffeur opened the door to the modified Hummer. Gleaming jet black, it had been altered to allow Helen to more comfortably fit into the expanded back seat. The military-grade vehicle was one of the few models capable of comfortably holding her substantial weight. Even this behemoth, built to carry soldiers, equipment and withstand significant obstacles and explosion, groaned under the weight of my yoked-to-the-eyeballs monster of a wife.

I climbed in after her, treated to a cornucopia of muscularity. Her dress fell between her legs, the great hulking quad heads swallowing the material. Against my better judgment, I placed a hand on one bulging quad head. I shuddered as my hand met with the volcanic heat of Helen's muscular power. My hand only covered a small patch of that immense sea of densely knit muscle fibres, a lifeboat adrift in a vast and dangerous ocean. I felt the pounding of her engorged veins, each one thicker in than my finger. I groaned in splendid agony.

My mistress took pity on me and deftly unzipped me. "Hmmm..." she mused at my unorthodox choice of underwear. The bass of her voice vibrated in my chest, causing my heart to flutter.

She manoeuvred my cock out and grasped it in her meaty hand. I was proud of my 9 inch cock. It had always pleased my wife and mistress. I was shocked now to realise how monstrous my wife had grown — her hand enveloped my member completely. She gently squeezed and fondled me in her meaty paw, the tendons and veins in her hand jumping and rippling at the slightest provocation.

Her palm and fingertips were calloused from her continuous workouts. The roughness of her hands contrasted with the gentleness of her ministrations. I held on for dear life as my eyes nearly popped out of my head at the incredible muscle bellies of Helen's forearm contorting and bulging. Helen's serpentine tongue entered my ear as my eyes rolled back in my head. I was bucking and squirming wildly as the points of her stiletto nails gently scraped their way up my shaft. I screamed as her plump lips caressed my ear. "Cum..." she intoned, rattling my rib cage with the vibrations of her deep rich voice. I jammed my foot against the chair in front of me and thrust upwards, my wife's iron girder of an arm arresting the movement. Her giant hands wrapped around my cock head and expertly caught the great geyser of cum I unleashed.

Helen scooped up the great pile of goo and wiped one hand on the other to create a single gelatinous lake. She held it out to me and I eagerly licked my salty mess off her massive hand. I savoured the rough contours of my mistress' palm, tasting her, wanting her. My cock was rock hard again. She looked me in the eye impassively as she sucked the last of the cum off her hands. Gripping the back of my head suddenly, she thrust a thick finger into my mouth. Each digit was easily as big as a cock itself, and I sucked and slurped for all I was worth, giving each monstrous finger a loving head job. She was groaning now but, her eyes half-lidded as she continued to regard me.

[sevenpeight]

But before we went any further, the Hummer came to a halt. We had reached our destination. Helen rubbed her hands together, dispersing my saliva. "Zip up my pretty boy," she commanded me, and I fumbled to get everything back in place. It was unusual, I reflected briefly, that Helen wasn't sporting a hard-on. Her clit was so big these days that when she was turned on (which she almost always was), her arousal was easily visible...

I didn't have time to dwell on it then, as I needed to get out so that Helen could too.

We exited the utility vehicle into the warm evening air. The night was electric. Almost the second Helen emerged, the whir and click of paparazzi cameras was as constant as cicada chirps. I could feel Helen bristle at it. But she wanted to go out, make a night of it. I watched as she set her jaw, muscles and tendons rippling in terrifying waves. She smiled down at me, offering again the crook of her arm, which I gladly took. I caressed the hot boulders of her great rounded biceps, feeling them close in and trap my hand between their rocky form and the unyielding hardness of her great sweeping lats.

The door to Chez Olim was opened ceremoniously and we mounted the steps. Inside, every head turned to look. There was a literal gasp from a patron. Elsewhere, a waiter ran into a chair and cutlery clattered to the floor. Mostly, there was a palpable air of shock. Unfazed, Helen strode in. With each step, a massive hunk of quad meat emerged from her gold robes, the brawny mass flowing like lava across her thigh before hardening to rock suddenly, as Helen's heel connected with the ground. A hypnotic sway of muscle snapping into unmoving rock with repeatedly surreal motion.

We were seated amongst murmurs and continuing stares. The restaurant was ostentatious and the service haughty. Outliers, people truly outside the norm, were unusual. We were seated in a relatively secluded section, but the layout was designed to allow the diners to admire (or sneer) at each other, and all eyes were on us - or more accurately on Helen.

[sevenpeight]

Sitting across the table from my wife, I was captivated by her swollen shoulders, those mutant pumpkins caked in vascularity and finished by latex-thin skin that slipped and glided over the bulging fantastical muscle she'd worked so hard to grow to monstrous proportions.

"Sir..." purred our waiter, interrupting my reverie. I smiled distractedly and took the menu he was offering. Helen ignored the proffered menu and, her eyes fixed on me, ordered for us both.

"We will have a dozen oysters to start and a bottle of the Dom. My husband will have a flank steak, medium rare with horseradish, and a strong macchiato to finish. I'll have 6 sirloin steaks, blue, and a double espresso to finish."

The waiter did a marvellous job of maintaining his composure, but then made the mistake of questioning my wife.

"Very good madam," he said silkily, "might I note that chef recommends the steak medium rare. It brings out the -"

He got no further as my mistress' arm shot out like a ballistic missile and her gargantuan fist closed around the fool's throat. Helen rose like a mountain being thrust up by tectonic forces, the waiter ascending at the end of her brawny mass of an arm till he was dangling in the air. "Did I stutter?" Helen hissed angrily, cords of muscle straining at the base of her mighty neck, veins thundering down her forehead.

The waiter's departure from unquestioning obedience was a rude shock. At home, everything and everyone was perfectly attuned to the mistress' needs and desires. There was rarely anything to displease her. Here, this obsequious man had raised her ire and unleashed her volcanic anger. The waiter gurgled as I watched in fascination and fear as my wife's fist contracted. Great roots of muscle rippled and shifted in her forearm as she applied potentially lethal pressure to the waiter. Our fellow diners were agog at the spectacle. A few had trained their cellphones on the scene and were recording it. Most were just staring openly, slack jawed at the unbelievable display.

The maître de rushed in and saved the day, and possibly his hapless underling's life. "I'm so sorry madam," he murmured, "It was terribly remiss of me not to have waited on you personally. Please do allow me to take over from Henri now."

Helen slowly shifted her searing gaze from the man suspended from her mighty limb. I imagined every heart in that restaurant pounding like a kettle drum, just like mine. She slowly lowered Henri to the ground and unclenched her powerful fist. Henri scurried away as fast as his dignity would allow, clutching his neck.

[taoschild]

Hey Seven,

I know we borrowed you for a time for the Stealing Muscle anthology, but you simply have to finish this story. (pretty please)

[AndrewWrites]

I second it! Been following this story from the start. I can't wait to see you finish it!

[sevenpeight]

Thanks guys. I got a bit bored of the story and figured others had too. Maybe I'll try give it one last push...

[AndrewWrites]

You gotta tell us why she wasn't sporting a hard-on at the restaurant...

[sevenpeight]

The maître d' took our order without offering any further "helpful suggestions" and gracefully excused himself immediately afterwards. I'd been a bit frightened by the flare of anger from Helen. I was afraid for the waiter. I was afraid about what would happen to Helen if she actually murdered the man (and reacted badly to any attempts at law enforcement). And if I'm being honest, I was a little afraid about the potential for that anger being directed at me some day. I was pretty sure that Helen's love for me would win out — that any violent impulse would be overridden by the tenderness and affection she showed for me daily, and our many years of devotion to each other. But that anger was white hot. Her power was overwhelming. Relationships, I mused, can change.

But even as these worries nagged at me, other thoughts and emotions vied for supremacy. We human beings are a bundle of contradictions. And while I harboured twinges of fear about what my wife's power and temper could unleash upon me, I was simultaneously consumed by lust for the absolute dominion she exercised over everything and everyone in her orbit, and in awe of her strength and confidence. I licked my lips despite myself and watched to see how my mistress' mood evolved.

[taoschild]

Thanks for the new tease. As always I love your ability to describe the scene and the muscles of the maiden. (BTW your inbox is full - trying to contact you for our final charity anthology) 

[sevenpeight]

Hey T, thanks for the support. I'll check my inbox too! Here's the next bit.

Bread was served and ignored. We both enjoyed the champagne. In Helen's case, the carbs supercharged her veins. My eyes were glued to the rapid proliferation of bloated weblike protuberances as they colonised the thick hulking muscles that spilled out of my wife's outmatched eveningwear. My penis once again strained at its imprisonment.

The entree came out quickly. The maître d' delivered the oysters personally. They were displayed stunningly on a bed of gem-like ice. I watched as Helen expertly separated an oyster from its shell and devoured it. I'd never performed the feat myself, and began hesitantly to prod at a mollusc with the funny little fork. My wife's gargantuan hand relieved me of both oyster and fork, worked the flesh free and then, leaning across the table with her oak tree of an arm, fed me the result.

I had my reservations before the slimy sea creature hit my tongue and those reservations were confirmed when it did. My face told the story for a split second. But registering the reaction, Helen's insuperable musculature tensed all at once. Bloated traps and shoulders hardened into craggy cliffs, veins redoubled across her enormous split biceps heads, and her forearms pulsed with foreboding power. A pounding lightning fork of a vein became more pronounced under the thin membranous skin of her forehead, etched against the skull. I quickly chewed and swallowed before the storm clouds could gather, and I registered with relief the slight relaxation of the flex, though the veins across my mistress' many peaks and troughs continued to pulsate ominously, her blood running hot.

[IAAPA]

This is so good! K+ More please!

[sevenpeight]

She leaned forward once more, her mighty forearms devouring most of the table. "Good pet," she rumbled. "Oysters are supposed to be an aphrodisiac." She chuckled, "if you can suck one of these little fuckers down, I know you can swallow anything... — and I can't wait to watch you swallowing the slimy salty goo I'm going to spew from my big hard she-cock later."

Helen was none too subtle, and a man at the table closest, obviously eves-dropping, choked on his soup and spluttered and coughed mightily. Simultaneously, my hips involuntarily bucked at the provocation and my restrained cock, stretching its cloth prison, audibly banged the table. It was unclear which reaction did the most to draw a grin from my wife, but her dark lips parted to reveal dazzlingly white teeth.

I quickly picked up my next oyster and navigated it with determination. The Cheshire grin widened. "Oooh," Helen intoned, "I do like a man who does what he's told, especially when he's told to lick up cock vomit..." She rose majestically from the table, towering over me. "I'm going to go... powder my nose," she boomed incongruously.