Chapter 8

Hum ... hum ... hum...

As the elevator rose, he relived that conversation in his head. «Jonathan. That Jonathan fellow... » The leaflet was shaking in his hand, still at the tip of his fingers. «That wasn’t all that bad.» He smiled. How cool he would feel ... if he actually ... went out ... on a date! «I liked him. And he, I guess... » One could almost be deceived into thinking that... “He liked me.”

Ding! The doors of the elevator opened up, giving way to the blinding lights. “Ouch!” The hallway to his apartment felt brighter that day. «Everything does, to be honest.» He walked into the long, sprawling corridor, an aseptic setpiece of economical and efficient design.

Given the block’s peculiar architecture, half of that hallway got no natural light in the summer mornings, then the other half in the evenings, and none of it during winter. That day, however, as he walked along the light, he marveled at how much brighter the bright parts seemed, and how less oppressive the dark areas looked under the dead, fluorescent gleam of the artificial lights. «The seasons are so erratic.» He mused. «Time feels totally different at every hour of the day.»

They were long past summer’s peak, drawing close and fast to the windleaf months, and the memories of winter returned all the more vividly to his mind, chilling his bones long before the actual season did. «Only two seasons in this place: cold and freezing. Only difference is ... the light.» Springs and summers, the days of undying and undone sunlight, of bright-blue skies and thin-veiled clouds, of bloodshot welkins and bitter weeping trees. Light unstable, light uneven, but light no less. As for winter... «Oh!»

As. For. Winter...!

...

...

No. Better not think of it. Perhaps this was the one thing he missed from his ol’ place: the endless warmth, the lively sun, and the untiring colors of the tropics. «Beautiful weather, dreadful folks. Beautiful folks, dreadful weather.» He inserted the key into the knob, his palm getting cold with the metal. «Having the cake and eating it. Can’t I ever have both?»

Bump!

He stopped.

...

...

Just before turning the keys, he’d heard something inside. “Hmm?”

It’d sounded somewhat like the exhaust pipe of an old car very, very far away, but in a thicker, graver timbre, as if the pipe was covered by many heavy blankets of very rough cloth. “What the...?”

He kept staring at the door, wondering if that sound he’d just heard had really come from inside his place. «He did mention, that Jonathan guy, about an inspection. Or something.» Perhaps the pipes of his place were really busted?

«No.» He frowned. His heart was in no place to feel fear, his head had no space for paralysis or overthinking.

No. Not in the middle of that day, not under such a heavenly light, so bright, so beautiful, and with so many bright and beautiful people wishing him just as bright and beautiful a day. «Fuck this bullshit.»

He shook any dread off his head, turned the keys, and entered his place. Creek... The door moved very gently, and he stepped inside with uneasy feet, his soles straight, but unfirm, wanting to be tipped-and-toed as he waltzed in. «Nothing.» He scanned his place briefly. «It was nothing.» His eyes were trembling, his ears twitching. «I must have left the windows of my bedroom open again. It was just the wind, that’s all.» He tried to forget about it. He had to. «Got only one thing in my mind now.»

Only one flame in his blood.

With his crotch burning and his hips shaking, a fool in the middle of the living room, he could barely process his thoughts as he finally contemplated being back ... back ... back ... back into her arms! «Honey?» A heavy weight pulled his shoulders down and his mind low. He dared ask, dared dream. “H- ... honey?”

He ventured with gusto into his hallway, that corridor which, in days and weeks and years past, had offered nothing but bleakness and grimness to his heart. “Honey?” Light and warmth now came from the end of it. He stepped more slowly as his steps brought him closer to his bedroom. “Love?”

He turned to his left, to his bedroom door, and looked into the room that now seemed much larger, much warmer, much more loving and caring than it’d ever been before.

She lay on his bed. Her wide, muscular back was turned to the door. Waiting for him. Teasing him. Inviting him to pull her by the shoulder and turn her around so he could finally see her beautiful, lovely face again. “Oh...”

He caught himself panting. Ruffled. He was flustered, yes, but he was also ... elated. “Hey.” He muttered, his vision blinking and his sights vanishing, a wary reminder that he was not all that great, nor that he should act so lax with his health or his head still so frail. “Hey ... big one.” He walked in. Big, silly smile on his face. “It was ... a very good day today.”

He cast upon her a longing gaze, then directed his eyes, now so heavy, to his machina on the desk. «A good day. And why was it good?» He pondered, just for fancy, for he already knew the answer: «It was good because it was bereft of work.» So he walked past the damned device, calm and without haste, toward his bed.

Toward his woman. “Hey, there ... gorgeous.” He stretched one hand to her beautiful body under the sheets. “Looking peaceful.” He touched her shoulder. “Looking tight.”

He caressed her, felt the strength and hardness of her muscles, that iron-made skin, and himself growing softer, more relaxed under her touch ... yet also harder, more aroused under his hips. «This touch... »

It was magical. Only with her could he feel those things that really shouldn’t be felt. Shouldn’t because they couldn’t. Couldn’t because they were impossible. «Or perhaps ... they aren’t possible for me. They aren’t possible in my mind, for I have never experienced them. Never experienced them, so... » He pulled his hand, rubbing the tips of his fingers. «I never really got ... perspective.»

He beheld those fingertips, now devoid of warmth, the feeling of the woman a mere memory, though a memory that alone was worth all the world to him.

«I touch you... » No. Don’t think these thoughts. Say them. “I ... touch you...”

Slowly, he vocalized himself, and slower still he brought his hand closer...

... closer...

... closer and back to his woman, his love, his honeydew, his sweetening soul.

“I feel ... impossible things ... when I’m next to you.”

Fingers on her skin. Not even that. Fingers on the bedsheets that covered her skin. And still...

“You...” He pulled the sheets a little, revealing the power of her skin, of her muscles to his eyes. And his groins. “Oooh...” Every single thing in that impossible woman aroused him. “Cristo ... senhor ... senhor dos céus...” He muttered, then touched her again.

Zap! That was it. Zap! Zap! The electricity of her touch burned him! Zap! Zap! Zap! “So ... good.” He pressed his fingers, ever so gentle, a liiitle firmer, a liiitle harder on her skin, on the massive, dense, hard slabs of muscle that were her shoulders, like a solid sun, a lightless star, and felt a slight denting of her skin under his graze. A pore. A pore of her, less than that, was already worth the world, more than the whole universe to him.

His eyes levitated toward her face. It was instinctive. Inevitable. Like planets around their sun. Don’t think these thoughts. Say them. So he did: “They say atoms never touch. I think they are right. But on your skin ... in your...” He gulped. “Muscles ... these atoms are as close to touching as any atom can be. And it is awesome. It is hard! And my touch ... my...” He shivered. Head to toe. Earthquakes under the skin. “My touch can’t get enough of this awesome hardness of you!”

He took off his shirt, changed his pants. After a couple of nights with her, he’d grown comfortable enough to lay shirtless by her side. Shirtless, but not naked. His pants, his shorts, his underwear, didn’t matter: some piece of clothing still had to stay on. «I think she understands.»

He held onto his head, fondled it, and felt the veins on his fingers, throbbing on his temples, side of his skull, that soft place that never grew hard with age, always the focus of his pains, now the engine of his thoughts. He looked at his doll. She gave him confidence. If not the doll herself, then the sight of her. The sight of a beautiful, powerful woman.

A woman he could reach. A woman he shared a bed with. «Friend. A woman who is also ... a friend. Yes. This ... this is treasure enough.» He exhaled a little more forcefully, feeling so much ... more.

More of himself.

More of his surroundings.

More of anything he’d ever been allowed to feel. «How much of myself ... and my world ... was I not allowed to feel just because everybody else was always so angry? Always so fearful? Everybody always ... so full of hate ... and therefore allowing no one else to be happy, lest a stranger’s happiness revealed to them their own misery? Now... »

He inhaled deeply, and this time grew enough strength to cast a longer, more confident gaze at his surroundings, full of luster and intent, hopeful for once that in his kingdom, in that snowy empire atop the world, he would finally be safe, finally be real, finally be... «Me.»

He looked again at the doll and allowed the feelings to wash over him. Not just the feelings, but the words as well. “I look at her ... at you ... and every time you’re a little different.” Perhaps not, but that was how he saw things. «I’m just... »

...

“I’m just ... getting to know more. To see more details. Details one doesn’t see at first, not immediately, and especially not me, who’s so...”

...

...

Nasty stuff.

He was about to say nasty stuff about himself, but withheld his tongue, his thoughts, and more easily now than ever before. “You make it easier.” He said, his gaze certainly wavering, but still locked on her, focused on her love. “You make it a lot easier for me to take it easier on myself.”

This time, though, and with this new, unrepentant look, he noticed just how deep into the mattress that doll was sunk. “Your muscles are so heavy they test the, uh, frame of the bed. Perhaps the frame of the floor itself.” He thought, tapping his heels on the ground. As he put away his groceries, he opened the massive stacks of exams he’d gotten earlier. “Been to the doctor, you know.” With shame and regret, he patted his temples slightly, softly with his fingers. “The migraines. The ... head-cracking. You know ... from that day. That night when I ... hurt myself. So silly.” His eyes glittered. Perhaps tears, maybe passion. “That night I finally took you to bed.” He looked at the scans of his body. “This is me.” It felt weird seeing the bones, the nerves, the transparent and fuzzy layers of colorless skin over them. “I wonder if you aren’t just the same.”

Creek!

He turned. “Umm?” There had been a creak, he could swear. “You didn’t happen to make a noise, did you?” He laid the papers on his desk. “You ... naughty one.”

Leaning onto the bed, he pressed his hand on the mattress, gently at first, and then a little more forcefully. Creek!

“Oh.” His palm sank deep into the soft material, and a gentle creek came from its frame. “Oh. That’s it.” He touched his head, fondled his temples. “Wow.” He watched his lover. “You’re ... big.” Indeed. Never stopped surprising him just how incomprehensibly huge she was. “You’re absolutely, positively gigantic.” His hand hovered above and along her waist, waving up and down with the peaks and valleys of not only her muscles, but her intensely feminine curves: that thinner waist, those wide hips, her buxom form, her very abundant, womanly features. “How ... incredible ... you must look...”

Naked.

...

...

...

The silence went on into impossibility. «Should I lay or should I go?» He thought to himself, nothing but his shorts and his underwear adorning his ridiculously tiny and frail hips, his sad and helpless body, like a scrawny kitten out in the jungle, born just seconds before its momma abandoned it.

His eyes reposed on her body reposed on his bed, taking over it, like the river in a flood, the lake in a monsoon washing over the earth, reclaiming to the elements all that was manmade and unholy. Her gigantic form, in all its elegant shape, took over the space like a conquering empire over its helpless tribal lands, yet still, every night he lay in it, he didn’t feel constrained, nor did his space feel violated by that invasive species, that ever-expanding kingdom, for she was generous, she was kind, and he ... well... «I am scrawny. »

Tiny. Frail. Small, thin, and helpless. Like said kitten, he could fit anywhere, snuggle into every warm embrace, and be loved and adored by it forever.

So there he stayed, standing and still, seconds into infinity, the silence short of absolute thanks to the wind that was blowing from his window, whisking by his ears. «Hmm.» He looked again at his own body, his own scrawny self, and found it... «So small. So little. There’s so little in here. In me.» Really little. Little shorts in a little waist, little crotch to carry a little would you just lay down already??

He was shook. That big, powerful voice. The voice of a woman. His woman. «You... » Startled still by that voice, he kept his eyes on his gorgeous lady, who remained waiting for him, yearning for his body, begging for him to come and bring her warmth. «Foolish woman.»

Foolish? Perhaps. But only as foolish as he made her.

And so ... and so ... and so...

He laid with her.

Wooomm His body sank on the mattress, and he spread himself on it like butter, his back rested against the wall, squeezed between it and the mighty mountain of muscles that was his woman. «So ... urgh ... tight!»

Her body. His body. One body. Her hair, like the ocean surrounding a drowning man, overflowed into his face. Her face trapped him, her eyes ensnared him, and he was made to behold her how any woman like her, tall, strong, gorgeous, and imposing, demanded to be beheld. “I ... I guess...” He stammered for a while until her scent, her presence, the oppressive, inescapable aura of a battle-hardened warrior princess pried the words out of his mouth. “You ... you just...”

Her eyes, her aggressive eyes of unforgiving green embraced him, loved him, fondled his cheeks just like a good mother would, trying to spread his lips so she could plop a breast into his mouth and feed him. “You ... you...”

It took him an inordinate amount of time to say it—but it was okay, it was alright, for next to her, that impossible woman, that war goddess who could split the earth with one fist, he could take aaall the time in the world.

Their love was sincere. It needn’t be hushed. “You’re big.” He said, eventually, with his lips surrendering again, once more, to the sincerity of his soul. “You’re huge. You’re ... beautiful.” He smiled. The goddess gazed upon him with those intense, all-knowing eyes.

He laid a hand on her cheek, feeling her strong apples, fondling her smooth, impeccably lined jaw, until her lips lay between his fingers. They were full and rich, like fruits on lush greenery. “You ... you...” He gulped, trying to not repeat himself too much, keeping his lady entertained, if not impressed. “You look like ... spring. Springtime midsummer: all warmth and wealth, all bounty and happiness, and so ... full of pretty colors.”

...

...

He knew what he had to do. He had done it a couple of times before, though never with the courage that showed her, his woman, his true intent, his real devotion. “I ... I will...”

He looked into her eyes. They knew it. Just do what you have to, they told him.

And so his lips journeyed into hers...

... met the soft, warm moistness of her lands, and made them their home. His lips taking over paradise, and his body made all-heaven in the kiss. Mwah

A kiss. A kiss. «I am ... kissing ... a woman.»

A kiss. A kiss. «I am kissing ... you.»

Mwah...

He opened his eyes. He held her. Mwah... He kissed her once more, lips and eyes joined in darkness, fireworks in the mind. «A kiss ... a kiss... » Mwah ... mwah... Growing daring with time.

Not even the same person, it seemed, he who was kissing. He bit her lower lip, pulled it a little, and heard it clap back on her perfect teeth as he let it go. She was magnificent, and every evening, in the dying of the light, like a flower out of the darkness, she blossomed to him, her perfume saving him from the dark, her beauty turning less intimidating, her awesomeness becoming just a little less heavenly and a bit more ... tangible. Mortal. Flesh of his flesh. «A god made human.»

Mwah ... mwah ... mwah... He kissed her and worshiped her and loved her infinitely. «One could make a religion out of you.»

Mwah ... mwah...

...

Mwah!

Caressing her cheeks, feeling the perfect smoothness of her skin, he laid his lips upon her longer, tasting her, loving her, giving her thinning pecks before respectfully, almost dutifully sliding his tongue into her mouth. «A kiss ... her power... » He grazed her teeth, slowly prying her mouth open with his tongue to taste her. «The taste of power. Of pure, unabashed might!»

Every inch of her was power. Every millimeter of her was strength! In her arms, like a kitten wrapped around warm blankets by the fireplace of a large wooden estate in the winter, he felt utterly protected, safeguarded from the worst of storms.

Schlept ... schlept ... pop! He sucked her more intensely, feeling the saliva mix with her tongue, her insides getting fuller of him, the scents of their faces mingling as their noses danced in a slow-swirling waltz, and the deflated apples of his face were warmed by her stronger, fuller cheeks. Mwah ... mwah...

A kiss. A kiss. He wrapped his arms around her powerful waist and pulled her closer. Her breasts against his ... oh!

His member, fully hard, throbbed with thirst, rubbing against her mighty thighs as he kissed her, kissed her, kissed her cheeks, and suckled on her neck, almost uncontrollably, a baby, a lover who’d lost his mind in the damning paradise of his woman.

His hands sank into her skin, feeling her strong, iron-clad muscles beneath her clothes. Her width and weight were like a sun: every inch of her created its own heat, bringing warmth to the whole bedroom, lighting his body aflame.

Soon, his legs were wrapped around hers, his crotch gently dry-humping her jeans. Thump! Thump...! Whenever he was about to lose control, he moved back, so insecure, and vacillated, his old self letting the demons eat him whilst his heart wept in guilt. «I am not wort-! I do not des-!»

...

...

Tap

...

...

Tap, tap, tap!

Feet of iron toe-tapping on the ground. She was impatient. He could feel it through her heat, her love, her compassion easily turned into apprehension once he had crossed her line.

«What’s going on, baby? Don’t you like me?»

There was a limit, after all, for everything.

His lips continued to hug hers, drinking from her essence, and his hands kept exploring her body, if only more shyly now. He raised his head, facing her. It was as if she had lifted him by the chin, forcing him to confront her.

«Stop this.»

He nodded. «Yes, honey. I’m sor-»

«Stop being sorry.» She was stern and firm. «And stop just ... thinking! Talk to me instead!»

He stared into her, hope brimming in his eyes, and felt her hands guiding his head again to her face, his mouth to her lips once more, and he kissed them. Mwah! He kissed them so thirstily!

«You like these lips?»

«Yeah.»

«Then say it.»

«Please... »

She moved his head away, her eyes glazing. Could emeralds burn like fire? Hers did. «I’m not going to repeat myself.»

He smiled. “And you’re going to do what?” The words left his lips without him even noticing. “Walk away?”

She kept facing him. «Maybe.»

He fondled her hair, cuddling her scalp, and kissed her face several times, warming his own heart with the endless praises he laid upon her beauty. “You’re gorgeous.” He planted a kiss. “You’re so gorgeous. Beautiful. You’re so ... beautiful.”

«I know.» She smiled. «I’m hot.» Her face was like a panther about to strike. «Say it, you horny dog.»

He chuckled. «Yes, you’re hot.»

«I said say it.»

“Okay.” He spoke, looking around the bedroom and feeling embarrassed for people who weren’t there. “You are ... very hot.”

«Come on, now, say it like you mean it.»

“I mean it.”

«Then prove it. Say it loud.»

“You’re hot.”

«That’s not that hot. Say it.»

“Ah, fuck...” He looked around again. The room was empty. “You’re ho-oh-ot!”

«Louder.»

“You’re hot.”

«Again.»

“YOU’RE HOT!” He kissed her. “You’re ... hot! You’re fucking hot, you ... shredded muscle goddess!”

He slapped her ass ... and immediately pulled his hand, staggered by the pain and shocked by his own initiative.

His woman, however, laughed it off so beautifully. «That’s more like it, my little stallion.»

He felt her hand on his waist. He was the one holding her wrist, moving her hand over his skin, yet her joints were so smooth, her movements so effortless, that it was easy to forget who was moving who.

He sighed as he looked at his belly, then at hers.

«What you thinking on, stud?»

“Ha!” He grumbled. “I ain’t ... no stud.”

He moved her hand to his face, spreading her fingers and making her palm fondle his cheeks. «Yes, you are.»

“No, I’m no-”

She pulled him to her. Their eyes, almost kissing. «Yes. You. Are.» Her smile was cocky. «Are you doubting my word? You challenging me, stud?»

“No.” He chuckled. “Would never dare to.”

«Good boy.» She spanked his ass, turning lazily on her back to face the ceiling and lay her head on his shoulder. «You’re a stud, but you’re my stud.» She winked. «My little filly.»

“Mm.”

The way he looked at her made her too a little sad. «I want to be naked with you. Why don’t you want to be naked with me? That’s what I was made for, you know.»

He didn’t answer. He was, in fact, answering it, but all inside his head, and so many answers that it was all just one big, inscrutable noise.

She sighed, trying instead a different tactic. «Who are ashamed of? Just one word. Say it. Whistle it. Blurt it out. No need to overthink it.»

“Oh, big one. My whole life is overthinking.”

«Don’t be cheeky with me now.» She gave his face playful little slaps. «Come on, little filly.» She fumbled his crotch with her incredible legs. «Say it. What are you afraid of?» He looked around the room, prompting her to look too and comment on the obvious: «There is no one here. The house’s empty.»

“Yeah, but my head is full.”

«I am your head. Look at me.»

Her smile was a constellation. No man needed to yearn for the beauties of the universe when gazing upon such a face. She was a whole galaxy, and he felt like an astronaut adrift, lost in the immenseness of her love.

«Yeah, big boy, that’s right. I am awesome.» He kissed her, and she accepted his kisses, yes, but with one condition: «Say it: who are you afraid of?»

“Myself.”

«Ain’t no point being afraid of yourself, silly. My silly little filly.» She moved her hands to his pants, making him irk and shy away. «Hey, okay, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you there.» She winked. «Oh, honey. I’m going to do anything but hurt you.» She winked again. He still looked uneasy. «Do it with me, then.» Her hands rested upon her shirt. «Take off my clothes. Oh, gorgeous, you haven’t touched my naked abs all these nights! I’m burning under all this cloth, you know!»

“Well, it’s a cold country. You could use the extra hea-”

«I said ‘no cheeky.’»

“Sorry.”

«If there’s ever going to be ‘heat’ in here... » She paused, then winked. «You know.»

“I do ... love.”

«Ooh.» She squirmed. «I’m ‘love’ already?»

“Well, I guess ... mm...”

She laughed. «Just kidding, beautiful. Handsome.» And fondled his face. «But being serious now: take off my clothes. Please.»

“I ... I don’t...” The prompt, even when unaddressed, pulled his eyes back to the beauty and the giganticness of her torso, and he was struck with awe and wonder before that superhuman physique, that unholy and uncarnal and immortal being.

«How do you like this? Huh? All of this? Eh, my little horse?»

His heart jolted as his eyes basked upon her massive, sturdy form, every one of her legions of muscles stretching those clothes, testing the strength of the tight, tight, tight shirt she wore.

Born to be wild.

She was keen to catch that desirous gaze of his, muttering in her purring, buttery voice: «You are horny for me. Hopelessly horny. Horny as a stallion surrounded by countless fruitful mares. You. Are. Horny. And you want to shoot all of your horniness inside me. Admit it.»

He coughed, he gulped, he hid away, and was stripped naked before her gaze. “Don’t need to admit it. Oh ... you can see it. You can see it all over me.”

«Heaven’s grace, I can.» She bit her lips. «You thirsty fucky-boy.» She raised her legs. His sight was almost completely blocked by those two massive tree logs of maiden meat, each only less massive than her spectacular, fertile-as-the-Nile hips. «Look. Look at my legs.»

“I ... I am looking.”

And drooling. His jaw stood low, the water dripping, sizzling with desire. The woman gave the muscles of her legs a mighty flex, and her thighs swelled until nearly snapping the fabric of her jeans. «Look. At. My. Thighs.» “I ... am...” He gulped. “Looking.”

«Ain’t’em a treasure?»

“Y-yes, they ... are.”

She flexed and relaxed her thighs, hard and soft, hard and soft, on and off, wantonly displaying to him the thickness and firmness of her meatage whilst fondling her man’s hardened sex in his pants.

«You naughty pumpkin.» She sucked her lower lip, as if unable to hold back her own arousal. «You’re so hard already. Hard as a rock.» She winked. «Big as a horse.» The boy smiled and lowered his head, but this only caused her to admonish him: «Don’t you dare look away! Have you any idea of how many empires fought and fell just so they could get a touch of these two thunder goddesses?» She rubbed her hands on her legs, and her man was robbed of breath and soul.

“Oh ... yes, ma’am. No, I do not, ma’am.”

«’Ma’am?’» She brought her lips closer to his ears. «Don’t you mean... ‘mommy?’»

He laughed. “Fuck you...”

«Yes, fuck me.» She pointed at him. «You.» Then back at herself. «Fuck me.» And spread her legs wide, inviting the farmer to seed her fields. «Fuck me, dad-dy. I’m so fucking horny-eee for my dad-dy-eee!»

“No, you’re not.”

She fondled both his back and his pecker, kissing his nipples, sucking his breast, licking the whole left side of his naked pale torso. «Don’t you think I hear what you say when you’re asleep?»

“Well...” He gulped. “You shouldn’t. That’s ... private stuff.” Yet he brought his face again to her, his eyes begging for her words. “Umm ... what do I say?”

Her eyes were big and honest. It was staggering, truly, how she could go from hot to cute and cute to baby in the blink of the eye and the beat of a heart. «You call me ‘mommy.’ A lot.»

He shuddered, yet she pulled him towards her, closer, and embraced him harder. Harder... «You mumble ‘mommy, mommy’ in your sleep. And you love kissing my tits. Using them as pillows. Kissing them while you call me ‘mom-’»

“Hmm, okay, uh...” He gulped, tried to break free. “I get it.”

«It is okay, honey. It is natural. A lot of men do this, and those who don’t, wish they did. In the end, all men, all of them want to do exactly this—return to mommy—and to do or say otherwise, oh ... this is the unnatural thing, the thing to be ashamed of.» She became somewhat more serious, though not without fondling him sweeter, hugging him harder, and kissing him wetter on his thin, frail torso. «What did you just think of right now? I want you to say it.»

“What?”

«I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t like it.» She hugged him harder, almost in a threatening manner. She could squash him like a pimple, and he couldn’t deny that the thought of it made him harder. «Tell me what you’ve just thought right now. Say it.» She squeezed him. «Say it loud.»

He felt her powerful arms around his waist crushing him, threatening to splinter his spine, her muscles swelling and throbbing with the hot blood being pumped through their thick, mighty arteries. «Heavens, this woman...!» He thought, but this thought too she was quick to catch: