A Strong Wife (Story edit, rewrite, and addition)

[Joost]

Hello dear Richard. Would you like to make a new chapther ? I really like what you have made so far

[Joost]

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[taoschild]

Thanks for the compliment, Joost. I may get back to this story at some point but right now am working on two Romance novels with muscular women.
The first, Back to School Night: Some Lessons Can't be Taught, is likely to be released in a few months and is based on an experience I had on BTSN. The second, Like a Sister: Except when she Isn't, was spawned by an idea I read here and incorporates some things from my life.

After that give me a shout out reminder here and I'll get back to this classic.

Also, if you have the chance to read and review, Uncut Power, my latest release send me a mesage here or an email and I'll send you a free copy of Muscle For Christmas 2.

[taoschild]

Okay, since I was paged back here I started thinking about this story. Mike has to stop feeling emasculated and give in. Obviously Carol loves him, so he's going to have to get over his masculinity issues. And Carol is going to get a lot stronger and test those issues... I wrote two more short segments, and will get back to it after the two stories I'm writing right now (which are coming out great).
------
"But for right now," she said, biting her pointer finger like a naughty teen. "I need more."

Suddenly, Carol leaned back, her hands gripping my thighs, her fingers digging into the muscle. Her abdominals contracted, her obliques standing out in sharp relief as she lifted me off the bed, her strength seemingly boundless. I hung there, suspended, my cock still buried deep inside her, as she began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, sensuous grind.

"I could do this all night," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I could fuck you like this until neither of us could move. But I have other plans for you, Papa bear."

She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against my chest, her lips finding mine in a searing kiss. Her tongue invaded my mouth, claiming it as her own, as her hips continued to move, her body consuming me in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were alight with a fierce determination. "I'm going to make you come," she said, her voice a low, husky promise. "I'm going to make you come so hard you'll see stars. And then, I'm going to do it again."

She began to move faster, her body slamming against mine, like an engine with the pistons pushing faster and harder. Her muscles flexed and released with something I can only describe as raw power. Her breasts bounced, her nipples brushed against my chest, which sent jolts of pleasure through me with each impact. I could feel another orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume me.

Carol must have felt it too, because she reached between us, her fingers finding my balls, massaging them, rolling them in her hand. "Come for me, Papa bear," she commanded, her voice a low, urgent growl. "Come for your strong little wife. Now!"

The authority in her voice allowed for nothing else. With a cry, I did. My body convulsed, my cock pulsing as I emptied what little I still had left into her. She continued to move, drawing out my orgasm, her body milking me until I was spent.

But Carol was far from done. She rolled off me, her body still glistening with sweat, and began to stroke herself, her fingers moving over her clit. "Watch me, Papa bear," she said, her voice thick with desire. "Watch me come. Watch the power of it."

I did as she commanded, my gaze locked on her body, on her fingers moving between her legs. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body tensing as she approached her own release. And then, with a cry, she came, her body convulsing, her muscles clenching as she rode out her orgasm.

She gripped the sheets, her fingers digging into the fabric, her knuckles turning white as she held on for dear life. The bed shook beneath her, the headboard slamming against the wall in a staccato rhythm that matched the pulsating waves of pleasure coursing through her body.

Her breasts heaved, her nipples hard and erect, as she gasped for breath, her body wracked with the force of her release. Her hips lifted off the bed, her back arching, her body bowed like a drawn bow, ready to let loose an arrow of pure, unadulterated power.

I watched in awe and a touch of fear as Carol's power was laid bare before me. I had seen her strength before, had felt it in the way she moved, in the way she dominated me. But this was something else entirely. This was the raw power of a goddess, the power to create, to destroy, and to reshape her body to her will.

As she finally began to come down, her body relaxing, her grip on the sheets loosening, I couldn't help but think about what she could do if she chose to. With a single thought, she could tear the bed to shreds, could reduce it to little more than splinters and tattered fabric. She could snap my bones like twigs, could crush me in her embrace without even trying. She could level buildings, could move mountains, could reshape the very landscape of the world to suit her desires.

And yet, she chose to use that power to pleasure me, to bring me to heights of ecstasy I had never before imagined. She chose to use it to dominate me, to make me her willing servant, her plaything. She could destroy me, could consume me, could reduce me to nothing more than a memory. But she didn't. She chose to make me her partner, her lover, her equal.
As she finally collapsed beside me, her body spent, she looked at me with a satisfied smile.

"Not bad for a warm-up," she said, her voice still husky from her exertions. "Now, let's see how many more times we can make each other come before the sun comes up and I'm working out again."

And with that, she rolled onto her side, her body pressing against mine, her hand reaching for my already hardening cock. As she began to stroke me, I knew that I was in for a long, pleasurable night. But I also knew that I wouldn't have it any other way. This was my life now, a life dominated by a strong, powerful woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And for the first time I realized, I wouldn't have it any other way.

[taoschild]

A little more before I go back to work on what I think will be the favorite I've written, Like a Sister.
-----
In hindsight, that night wasn't just the best makeup sex I could have imagined. It was the kind that opens a door, smiles politely, and then kicks the hinges off on its way out. The next morning I woke up feeling—well—tender in places I hadn't known could feel tender. My neck and tongue were both stiff from the workload of worshipping Carol's body. All in all, I was a little embarrassed in the way you get after oversharing at a dinner party. My neck and tongue were both sore from what could only be described as enthusiastic devotion. Worship was the right word. I had behaved less like a husband and more like a man who had stumbled into a very specific religion and decided to convert on the spot.

At the time, I'd been proud—smug, even—that I'd left Carol blissed out and boneless. But daylight is an unforgiving editor. Lying there alone, I replayed the night with fresh eyes and a mild sense of panic. Had I gone too far? Would she still respect me after the way I'd all but melted at her feet? I hadn't held anything back—admiration, awe, reverence—it had all poured out unchecked. I'd gotten carried away in a way that felt exhilarating at night and suspiciously vulnerable in the morning.

I reached out, expecting to find her asleep beside me, still recovering.

She wasn't there.

My stomach dropped, which was dramatic, but that's what insecurity does—it gives everything a soundtrack. Then I heard laughter downstairs. The kids. Relief mixed with guilt. Of course she was up. Of course she was fine. I, meanwhile, was having an existential crisis before breakfast.

Downstairs, the kids were already eating. There was a bowl of fruit waiting at my usual spot—cut neatly, like someone who loved me had planned ahead. I had barely taken a bite when Carol appeared behind me, her hands settling on my shoulders with familiar authority. Her chest pressed warmly against my back, grounding and unmistakable.

"Good morning, Papa Bear," she murmured, lips brushing my ear.

Instant goosebumps. Betrayal by my own nervous system.

"Last night was amazing," she added softly, as if confirming this was not, in fact, a figment of my imagination.

She nibbled into my ear subtly so the kids didn't notice, but it set off a three alarm fire in my nervous system.

She drifted away with a sway that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing and approved of it. I watched, helplessly appreciative, as she moved around the kitchen with effortless confidence. Strength had only made her more her in so many ways. more curves, more presence, more certainty. Her perfectly round bottom stretching her shorts burned into my mind.

She fanned herself with a paper plate.

"Are you hot, Mommy?" Mary asked.

"Just a little," Carol said easily. "Mama exercised this morning. Blood's really moving."

It showed. Her cheeks were flushed, her t-shirt strained valiantly against a body that had no intention of cooperating. The sleeves were pushed high by her arms, her stomach visible where the fabric had surrendered. It took me a second to realize why the logo across her chest looked... so distressed by her bosom that I almost didn't realize it...

It was my shirt.

"Sorry," she said, catching my stare. "Laundry got away from me." A pause. A glance downward. "I think it'll... probably shrink back."

I snorted before I could stop myself. "Sure. In the wash."

She laughed, unbothered, glowing in a way I hadn't seen in years. Not since we were younger, lighter, and far less honest with ourselves.

"It looks better on you," I said. And I meant it.

She smiled like she knew exactly how much that mattered.

"Cartoons are on," she told the kids. "Your father's going to help me with something upstairs."

That phrasing, help me, should've been my first clue.

She took my hand and led me away without another word. Upstairs, the bathroom door closed, and suddenly her attention was absolute. She kissed me like she'd already decided how this was going to go.

She peeled her clothes off and told me to do the same. I was still pulling my underwear down when she threw her arms around my head and captured my lips with hers. Her foot pushed my underwear down at the same time that her tongue plunged into my mouth. My senses became completely preoccupied with the passion of her probing tongue. She had never kissed me so aggressively before. I heard myself actually whimper from the surge of unexpected desire. Her deeper groan of approval vibrated into my throat.

[taoschild]

At some point the shower was running. It was about then that I realized I wasn't directing anything anymore—and strangely, that was what made it feel easy. When she gently guided me, placing her hands on my shoulder and pushing me downard. I went to work on her breasts. She sighed softly with pleasure. Her hands massaged my shoulders but also pushed me down further. One of her hands then massaged the back of my head as my lips kissed her abdomen. I began to travel down one of the swelling cords of muscle running down her thigh, but her hand on the back of my head gently stopped me. I felt her slowly but firmly move me up and center.

I traced the lines of her body instinctively, drawn by strength and heat and familiarity. Her direction was confident but not cruel, like gravity reminding you which way is down.. When I started to wander, she repositioned me, centered me again, the way you straighten a picture frame that's gone a little crooked.

"Momma Bear needs the focused attention of that magical tongue," she said firmly.

The words should have made me nervous. Instead, something inside me settled, like a knot I hadn't known I was carrying finally loosening. I wasn't being tested. I was being trusted with her pleasure and with the certainty that I would respond in kind.

When I finally caught my breath later, she smiled like a woman entirely pleased with her morning and with me. Somehow, rather than insecure, it was starting to feel right.

As soon as my tongue darted into her, she shuddered with pleasure. "Oh lord, I think I'm addicted to this." She squealed. "I think," she said thoughtfully, "this might become a habit."

I had the distinct sense that whether or not it did was not entirely up to me. And somehow, that felt... okay.

It really was like a second honeymoon for us, only this one came with fewer illusions and far better communication. When the kids were around, Carol's affection was subtle but constant—a lingering touch, a quiet smile meant only for me, the occasional comment that sounded innocent enough unless you knew her tone. But the second we were alone all bets were off. Carol was as single minded as a teenage boy about sex. And who am I to complain?

One morning while I was shaving before work, she walked in and closed the door behind her without a word. She didn't rush. She didn't announce herself. She simply took over the space, the way she always did now. Without saying a word, she removed her top, dumped a big dollop of baby oil into hand, and reached into my pants. By the time I registered what was happening, my reflection looked just as caught off guard as I felt. In a matter of seconds, she had me nearly fainting as her fist fired like a piston up and down my suddenly turgid manhood.

She and I both watched in the mirror. I was clutching her for support and bucking with pleasure. Her forearm and biceps looked absolutely massive. Her grip was incredibly tight. Her expression was placid and amused. The only sounds were a high rhythm squishing noise and my ragged panting.

I clutched the counter for balance with one hand and her arm with the other. Her biceps ballooned under my palm. The pleasure was so intense I was only dimly aware of how solid her arm felt beneath my hand, how little effort she seemed to be using. She watched our reflection with mild curiosity, like she was checking her form rather than my reaction.

When I finally managed to protest—breathless, overstimulated—she only smiled and slowed just enough to make the point land. Seconds later I was already spent.
She kissed my cheek, washed her hands, and went back to getting ready like nothing remarkable had happened.

"Oh," she said calmly, glancing at the counter. "There are the earrings I came in here for."

Then she left me there, stunned, grinning, and completely derailed for the rest of the day.

I couldn't focus at work. My thoughts kept circling back to her ease, her confidence, the way she never asked permission—because she never needed to. It wasn't aggression. It was certainty.

And that certainty was intoxicating.

[Joost]

I had a few ideas that I would personally really enjoy seeing Richard explore in the storyline. One idea would be light-hearted family moments in which strong, muscular Carol casually — and almost unintentionally — outmatches her husband.

For example, Carol and her husband spend some time together with her friend Ellen and Ellen's husband. He has no idea how strong Carol really is, partly because she usually wears concealing clothing and partly because Ellen never thought to mention it.

By pure coincidence, they come across an abandoned fairground punching machine. Someone jokingly says, "Fun toy. Alright guys, let's see what you can do." The men give it a try first. Then, half-teasing and half-hesitant, Carol is encouraged to try as well. She gives it what she thinks is just a light, playful tap — and to everyone's shock, the needles of the machine go completely wild.

While Ellen's husband is still trying to comprehend what he just witnessed and wondering whether the machine might be broken, they stumble upon a thick rope left behind from a team tug-of-war competition earlier that day.

Carol, smiling innocently and clearly just having fun, casually suggests turning it into a small challenge. Almost as a joke, she proposes a tug-of-war: Mike and Ellen's husband on one side, and her on the other — as if she genuinely expects it to be a fair match. After the unexpected twist that left both men quite literally eating dust, Mike walks home with Carol, clearly proud of his wife. Ellen and her husband come along as well, still completely perplexed by everything that just happened and quietly replaying it in their minds.

Carol, meanwhile, is still a little pumped from the impromptu challenges. By now, the sleeves of her jacket are noticeably filled out, the fabric sitting snugly around arms that weren't nearly this obvious before.

Once they arrive home, the atmosphere is relaxed but curious. Carol suggests — half-jokingly — that maybe they should finally show Ellen and her husband a bit more of the physical side of things. Nothing serious, just something fun.

She first challenges the two men, inviting them to put on a small show together. Laughing, competitive, and slightly eager to recover some pride, they play along.

And then Carol steps in — effortlessly stealing the spotlight without ever seeming to mean to.

As for Ellen? She happily takes a few playful snapshots along the way, already imagining them as perfect additions to the scrapbook — proof of a day that none of them will be forgetting anytime soon.

[taoschild]

Thanks for your comments, Joost. I plan to add a strength section at the state fair eventually, but I'm still caught up in editing, Like a Sister: Except When She's Not (a fun romance) and the final novel in The Reluctant Domme trilogy.  You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login Here is a little more while you wait:

I came home from work one day to discover that Carol had bought more new clothes. This has become a recurring theme in our marriage—like seasonal allergies, or my quiet hope that this time the sweaters might survive the encounter.

She emerged from the bedroom already mid–fashion show.

"These sweaters are a little baggy at the belly," she said thoughtfully, tugging at the fabric, "but I think I can hem them in. They fit everywhere else though. See?"

She flexed one arm.

The peak of Mount Carol erupted into the sleeve like it had been waiting for its moment. The sweater held on bravely. Barely. Where her body used to sport only hints of definition before, now deep valleys dug between swells of fat muscle.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" she asked.

Understatement of the year. I was floored. I wasn't sure whether she meant her biceps or the sweater's elastic limit. Either way, I nodded with the kind of reverence usually reserved for natural wonders and well-executed magic tricks. I as utterly mesmerized by the drastic changes in her physique.

Next came a dress. Then another. She explained, very casually, that they'd still fit even if she got just a little bigger. She gestured to the shoulder straps, which left her arms bare in a way that felt both deliberate and dangerous. I was briefly distracted by the very generous situation happening north of the neckline, but managed a supportive hum of agreement.

"Either way," she said, smoothing the fabric, "I think I'm going to start wearing more skirts and dresses. It's just easier than cramming these monster thighs into pants."

She lifted the hem and slapped the steel-corded flesh of her upper leg like she was testing a watermelon. Twin diamond shaped, full-bellied muscles appeared on each of her legs, revealing themselves to be equal parts beautiful, powerful, and terrifying.

I looked back up and caught her smiling at me. My response had left her deeply entertained. She absolutely knew what she was doing. She always did lately. I knew I was doomed, but I no longer cared.

[taoschild]

Okay, fellas. I'm finally finished with Like a Sister and ready to continue this story. I'm going to go back to the start though, and I need a conflict near the end so I'm thinking of making this story more of a saradas suggestion one and turning it into a novel.

I have some ideas for events. #1 More strength demonstrations #2 More focus on what happens to Mike when he goes abroad - he's brought into a Muscle bar and then led into the backroom but says no because he loves Carol - but feels guilt over it - but I need a climax and would love some suggestions. I'll put up a poll but I'd rather have your comments.

[taoschild]

Kind of a bummer there are so few comments here, nowadays. Six more days to vote in the poll and I'm hoping for some suggestions.

[Zenzen]

Ideas for a climax

• A-Carol finds out about Mike's near affair and then...
• B-Carol gets sick of managing Mike's insecurity and threatens to leave him0 (0%)Carol's trainer hits on her hard, subtly dismissing Mike, Mike sees this and warns Carol but she doesn't think it's true and first and then...
• C-Carol gets the opportunity to leave as a bodybuilding ambassador on a world tour. There is a crisis at home with one of the kids and they learn they are really better together rather than competing
• D-During an argument, Mike finally says the thing he's been avoiding: "Things were simpler before." Carol refuses to go back and Mike realizes he's been grieving a version of her he never admitted losing




D is easily the strongest option.

It actually resolves the core conflict instead of just creating more drama around it. The line "things were simpler before" hits because it's honest—and a bit selfish—and Carol's refusal forces real growth instead of a reactive situation.

A and B feel more like external conflict (affair, jealousy, third party), which can work, but they've been done a lot and risk making the story about events rather than character.

C has potential, especially with the "separate vs together" theme, but it leans a bit predictable unless there's a unique twist.

D stands out because:

• It's emotionally grounded
• It addresses Mike's internal struggle directly
• It gives Carol agency without making her the "problem"

It feels like an actual climax, not just a plot escalation.

If anything, you could even combine elements—use something like B or C to trigger the argument, but land on D as the real turning point.

Curious—are you aiming more for a dramatic or introspective ending?

[taoschild]

Zenzen, thank you for the really thoughtful response. I'm learning toward D right now because I am looking for a more introspective ending which is rare in our lit, but I want to make this a fan fiction led novel so I may find ways to include the other options. Any advice on that path is appreciated.

[Zenzen]

Zenzen, thank you for the really thoughtful response. I'm learning toward D right now because I am looking for a more introspective ending which is rare in our lit, but I want to make this a fan fiction led novel so I may find ways to include the other options. Any advice on that path is appreciated.

That's a solid direction—and honestly, going introspective is what'll make it stand out.

If you want to keep D as your core ending but still use the other options, think of them as pressure points that build toward that final moment instead of competing with it.

• A (near affair) → works well as a quiet fracture. Not full drama, but something that plants doubt and forces Mike to confront his own insecurity. Keep it more emotional than physical so it feeds into D rather than hijacking the story.
• B (trainer dynamic) → great for externalizing Mike's insecurity. He sees something (real or imagined), reacts, and it creates tension—but the key is that he's not entirely reliable here. That makes his line in D hit harder because it's been building.
• C (world tour / family crisis) → this is your stakes escalator. It forces both of them to chose between independence and partnership. If handled right, it sets up the emotional exhaustion that leads into that final argument.

Then D becomes the payoff:
Not just an argument, but the moment where everything underlying finally gets said out loud.

One tip with introspective endings—don't over-resolve it. Let the realization land, let the shift be clear, but leave a little space for the reader to sit with what changes next.

If you thread it right, the story will feel layered instead of crowded—like everything was always pointing to that one line.

Curious—are you writing this mostly from Mike's POV, Carol's, or switching between both?

[taoschild]

Most of my books nowadays switch back and forth but this one is a Mike only narrative because I think he's the protagonist (has to deal with his fetish and his insecurities around it). In Like a Sister, which went live today on Amazon both characters are dealing with the guilt over a friend/sister's death so in that case I felt it was appropriate for each to share the spotlight as the protagonist (until the end).
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[taoschild]

PS Zenzen your inbox is full - feel free to message me when you clear it

[Sieming]

Just catching up on this thread, and I noticed that I hadn't voted. I added a vote for D, and then noticed that it had the fewest votes. Oh well. But I was excited to see some discussion around that choice further down the thread.

My second choice was A, and I liked Zenzen's idea about incorporating it in with D. I think it gives a more depth to Mike (not that that's been a problem), and lets him think about muscular women apart from Carol. There are some interesting places to go with that. Wondering why/if/how he sees other strong women differently.