Muscle Girl

Jonah couldn’t quite believe it yet, that image that looked back at him at the mirror. 

A man. 

Himself. 

And yet not completely a man. Not 100%.

His build belied everything else. No one could ever mistake him for something other than a man. 6 feet tall, with lats that opened like a king cobra. Pecs of marble. Shoulders that stretched every single shirt to breaking point. A small waist from which flared thighs as thick as the trunks of trees. Calves the size of grapefruits.

Jonah had kept his incongruous baseball cap on. He had asked him to keep it on. It was cap that he took to play with his buddies on Sunday. 

But his legs, his strong legs, gained through years of rigorous exercise in the gym as well as a life in sports and the military, quivered and were unsteady.

Part of it was the heels he thought. He wasn’t used to heels.  Patent leather stilettos that were as sexy looking  as they were precarious.  Heels that made his bubbled ass look even rounder, even perkier.

Part of it was the pummelling. Actually, that was the main reason for it. The pummelling in his hole. In his fuck slot. In his slut entrance… In his ass.

The names just swirled in his head.  They blended, fused, parted. They were like knives on his manhood, cutting but not destroying. they reshaped. Reshaped the ideas he had of himself, of what he wanted to be.

It was a big dick. He had had bigger, but this was fucking big. It was at least a ten inch. Coke can thick. Dark as night. Relentless. It had carved a place inside him. Opened him up. Much like the stud behind him had unceremoniously ripped a gash in the back of his lace panties to pummel into him.

The cock went deep. It touched everything, much like the voice purring in his hear touched and jumbled everything inside his head.

It was so good. It felt so good.  He could see it in his face when, by design, his fucker missed his prostate and he didn’t roll his eyes in the back of his head. Didn't zone out out of sheer pleasure.

His lips were set in a slackened, disbelieving smile. Puffy from the times his fucker would grab his clean shaved chin and roughly kissed him, rubbing him with his beard. His eyes smiled, wet and half vacant. There was no higher brain function. Just the stretching of his hole. The painful, pleasurable rawness of being taken so completely.

He slipped as his hands fell from the wall. For a moment he feared he would break his ankle on the high heels and smash his face on the glass. But he found his face inches from the mirror, the cap having prevented him from banging his head against it. His body stopped in mid-air. The strong hands of the black muscled beast behind him had held his weight aloft, effortlessly.  The ease with which he did this shocked Jonah -  because 190 pounds of muscle, even if currently clad in fishnets and lace underwear was heavy. 

One of his shoes slipped. he was now standing on the flimsy heel of the other and suspended in the air, more precarious than he had ever been in his life. Both physically and emotionally.

But Jonah didn’t have time to consider this, because his fucker - and that's what he was to him at that point, not a lover, not a fuck buddy - just reeled him back onto his fat cock with a long, slow pull.  He lobed it inside him, whispering in his ear just how hot he thought his muscle girl was.

Jonah came. He came in a long drawn out moan. His untouched, fat dick pulsed its release in the lace underwear he wore, shooting through the fabric, and blasting the glass. He looked at his face as he did it. His mouth was curved in an o of pleasure, surprise and pain.

Muscle girl.

That’s everything he craved, without even knowing it.

The End 

Post Scriptum: 

This story was written for a good friend and fellow writer/inspiration. Enjoy it ;-)