Chapter 67: Riding the Storm
His tongue was a revelation. It wasn’t the timid flickering she’d expected from a man like him, a man who smelled of nervous salt and cheap laundry soap. It was a focused, desperate instrument, spearing into her, fucking her with a rhythm that was all hunger. Gary ate her pussy like a starved man at a feast, his large, bulbous nose buried against her smooth, shaven pelvis, his greasy gray hair brushing the powerful, defined planes of her abs.
“Oh, fuck, Gary! Just like that! Eat my fucking pussy, you ugly, beautiful bastard!” Lydia’s voice was a raw scrape, her emerald eyes wide and unseeing. The muscles in her powerful thighs and meaty ass cheeks clenched and released, rocking her wide hips against his face in a frantic, grinding tempo. Her broad back arched, the deep, curving lines of muscle along her spine standing in sharp relief as she fisted her hands in the soft sheets. Her huge, bouncing breasts heaved with every gasped command, the dark pink nipples pebbled tight.
The coil in her belly tightened, a white-hot wire pulled to its breaking point. The sensation was massive, animal, but it was happening from his mouth, his wonderful, vile mouth, and suddenly it wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted this crescendo to be his. His cock. That monstrous, beautiful thing he’d hidden in shame.
“Fuck, I’m gonna… no… not yet…”
With a violent, graceless snarl, she shoved his head back. He gasped, his jowly face gleaming wet with her, confused, his timid eyes blinking up from between her muscular thighs. She didn’t let him speak. Sitting up, the powerful cords of her neck straining, she leaned down, grabbed his face, and plunged her tongue into his mouth. She claimed it, groaning as she tasted her own tang on his lips and tongue, a primal mark of possession. She sucked his lower lip, biting gently, before pulling away, her breathing ragged.
She stood in one fluid, powerful motion, her strong, muscular legs unfolding, her quadriceps and hamstrings bunching and smoothing. She hauled his massive, sweating form up from the floor. “Stand up, baby. C’mon.”
“L-Lydia, I…” he stammered, his body trembling.
She shushed him, pulling him close, her massive biceps and triceps easily handling his weight. She nuzzled his stubbled, flabby cheek, her voice dropping to a filthy, intimate whisper. “Your tongue is so fucking good. It’s perfect. But I need to come on that giant cock. I need to feel it split me open when I scream. I want my first orgasm with you to be from you fucking me. From you taking me. Okay?”
He just stared, mesmerized by the raw need in her eyes, the sheer physical power of her broad shoulders and powerful chest hovering over him.
She turned him, her strong hands on his repellent, sweaty shoulders, and pushed. He fell back onto the bed with a soft whump, the springs crying out. She didn’t wait. With the explosive power of her muscular hips and legs, she leapt, landing on his large, soft belly, her smooth pelvis pressing down. She leaned over him, her huge, firm breasts dangling above his chest, and kissed him deeply, sucking the air from his lungs.
When she broke the kiss, she was smiling, a wild, feral thing. “You’re a virgin, right, Gary? This sweet, huge cock…” her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, making him jerk. “…it’s never been inside a woman.”
He shook his head, mute.
“It’s never been inside me,” she corrected, her voice a low purr. “And I am so fucking wet for it. I’m going to sit on it. I’m going to take it all. And I’m going to have the most insane, screaming orgasm of my life because of you. Because of this…” she gave his cock a slow stroke, “…and this…” she patted his flabby side, “…all of this sexy, beautiful body. You ready? You ready for me to take your virginity?”
He managed a frantic, vigorous nod, his multiple chins quivering.
Lydia’s smile softened, just for a second. A flicker of the kindness he knew. Then it was gone, consumed by heat. She rose up, shifting her weight onto the powerful pillars of her legs. She positioned herself over him, a goddess perched on a mountain of trembling flesh. The thick muscles of her inner thighs gleamed with sweat. She reached down between her own legs, guiding the broad, weeping head of his cock to her entrance. She held it there, just a pressure, a promise.
She looked down at him, at his repulsive, hopeful face. “Tell me you want it, Gary.”
“I… I want it. Please,” he breathed, the words cracking.
“Good.”
She lowered herself.
The broad, slick crown of him pressed against her, a blunt, impossible demand. Her body resisted, a tight, clutching ring of muscle refusing entry. A sharp gasp tore from her throat. The powerful quadriceps in her meaty thighs began to quiver immediately, cords of muscle standing out along their length as she held the deep, straining squat above him. Her wide hips locked, her strong, defined abs contracting into a hard plank.
“Fuck, you’re huge, baby. So fucking huge.” The words were a strained whisper, a mantra against the stretching burn. She breathed out, long and slow, forcing the tension from her powerful shoulders, her broad back. She willed her body to open, to accept this man, this gift he’d never given anyone. “Just relax, sweetheart. Relax for me. Let me in.”
With a final, surrendering groan, she pushed down.
The head popped past her tight threshold, an invasion so profound her emerald eyes rolled back. She froze, impaled on just that first thick inch, her entire world narrowed to the splitting fullness stretching her inner walls. A sheen of sweat bloomed across her smooth pelvis and the deeply grooved lines of her obliques. Her massive, bouncing breasts heaved with each ragged, controlled breath.
“Oh, Jesus… Gary…” Her voice was choked.
Beneath her, Gary was transfixed. His timid eyes were wide, roaming over the monumental landscape of her body now trembling with effort. The thick columns of her hamstrings and inner thighs were taut, bulging with the strain of holding position. The muscular shelf of her ass cheeks, round and heavy, was clenched tight. He watched, breathless, as the muscles in her powerful forearms corded while she braced her hands on his hairy chest for balance.
“You’re taking me,” he breathed, disbelief and awe thick in his voice.
“Trying to,” she grunted, a sharp, wet laugh escaping her. “God, you feel… monumental.” She shifted, a tiny experimental rock of her muscular hips, and cried out as the movement drove him a fraction deeper. The sensation was a shocking blend of pain and blinding pleasure, a frontier she’d never crossed. “Okay. Okay. Just… just touch me. Touch my tits, Gary. Help me.”
His hands, thick and damp, rose with a shocking hunger. They engulfed the firm, heavy weight of her breasts, his thumbs finding her dark pink nipples immediately. He didn’t just touch; he kneaded, his fingers sinking into the impossibly soft yet firm flesh, rubbing and pulling at the tightened peaks.
A jolt of electric sensation shot from her nipples straight to her overfilled core. “Yes! Just like that, you gorgeous man. Play with them. Fuck, your hands…” Her head dropped forward, her strong, muscled neck flexing. She began to move again, a torturously slow descent, half an inch of devastating thickness at a time.
Each incremental drop made the muscles across her entire form leap and shiver. Her traps, massive mounds connecting her shoulders to her neck, strained. The deep, curving muscles of her broad back rippled with the effort of control. Her wide hips worked, circling slightly as she tried to angle herself to accommodate him. The stretch was obscene, a burning, glorious ache that spoke of utter possession.
The stretch was obscene, a burning, glorious ache that spoke of utter possession. She bottomed out, a sharp, internal collision that stole her breath. Her body had accepted a staggering length of him, a deep, claiming fill that made her feel split and owned, but when she looked down, past the heaving shelf of her breasts, the truth was a cold slap.
Only about eight inches of his thick, veined shaft had disappeared inside her. The rest, a formidable five inches, stood rigid and slick below her, a taunting monument to her own physical limits. The broad head of him was a firm, demanding pressure high inside her, a frontier against her cervix, but it wasn’t enough. A hot spike of pure frustration lanced through the pleasure.
“Fuck,” she gasped, the word ripped from her. “Gary, I’m… god, I’m sorry.”
His hands stilled on her breasts. “Sorry? Lydia, it’s… it’s incredible.”
“It’s not enough.” Her voice was tight, anger now directing the heat in her blood. “You deserve all of it. Every fucking inch. And I’m just… I’m failing you.” She began to move, a deliberate, punishing rise of her powerful hips. The retreat was a slick, torturous drag, her inner muscles clutching desperately at the invading girth. The muscles in her meaty thighs and huge ass cheeks bulged, cording with the strain of the controlled lift.
She plunged back down, a hard, wet slap of her pelvis against his, taking the same eight inches in one brutal stroke. The impact jolted through her, making her huge, bouncing breasts shudder. “See?” she snarled, not at him, but at her own body. “I can’t even take my neighbor’s beautiful cock. After everything you’ve done. The meals. The kindness.”
She established a ruthless rhythm, a relentless piston drive of her wide hips. Up, the strong, defined lines of her abdominals and obliques carving deep shadows. Down, the thick masses of her quadriceps and hamstrings absorbing the impact, quivering with the sustained effort. Her inner thighs, slick with sweat, gleamed in the low light. There was no rest, no respite for her legs; the burn in her powerful muscles was a penitent fire.
“You feel that?” she demanded, her emerald eyes blazing down at him. Her broad shoulders and powerful chest were sheened in sweat, her large delts and massive biceps flexing as she braced herself. “You feel how fucking tight I am? How I’m milking just this part of you?” Each downward slam frustratingly lacked the wet, meaty sound of her ass cheeks meeting his soft thighs. “It’s not enough. I know it’s not.”
“Lydia, please… it’s…” Gary was beyond words, his repulsive face a mask of overwhelmed sensation, his large jowls trembling.
“I’m gonna make you cum anyway,” she vowed, her tone shifting from anger to a focused, filthy promise. Her clear, sharp jaw was set. “I’m gonna fucking milk this beautiful dick with what I can take. You’re gonna flood me. And tomorrow…” She drove down harder, grunting with the effort, her traps standing in thick ropes from her strong, muscled neck. “…tomorrow, I start practicing. I’ll take more. I swear to God, Gary, I’ll learn to swallow all of you.”
Her pace became frantic, a desperate, athletic rodeo on his rigid cock. Her powerful body was a symphony of straining, glistening muscle—her abs a hard, rippling plate, her back a landscape of deep, curving tension tapering to her solid hips. The deeply grooved lines of her abductors and obliques twisted and flexed with every jarring descent. She was a machine of self-imposed punishment, her frustration fueling each slam, each clenching internal spasm around the portion of him she could contain.
“You close, baby? You close?” Her words were hot, ragged pants. “I want it. I want your cum so fucking deep inside me it never leaves. Give it to me. Reward this pathetic, hungry cunt for trying. Come on, Gary. Come for me.”
She leaned forward, changing the angle, and the new depth made her cry out, a sharp, broken sound. The thick head of him ground against a place that sparked white behind her eyes. She rode that spot now, a brutal, perfect cadence, her body jiggling and straining with the violent motion. She was a masterpiece of furious, imperfect effort, and she wouldn’t stop until he shattered.
She was a masterpiece of furious, imperfect effort, and she wouldn’t stop until he shattered.
Gary’s mind was a white void of sensation, a place where a lifetime of shyness and repulsion had simply burned away. All that remained was the crushing, wet heat of her around him and the impossible vision above him. His hands, which had been clutching the sheets, rose almost without his command, drawn to the monumental geography of her legs. As she rose up, the thick cables of her quadriceps tightening into defined ridges, his palms landed on the outer slopes of her thighs. The skin was slick, hot, and beneath it, the muscle was like densely packed stone wrapped in velvet.
He could feel the raw power thrumming through her. When she plunged back down, taking him in a wet, deep slap, his fingers instinctively dug into the dense meat of her inner thighs. The muscles there were softer, trembling with strain, and he kneaded them, his thick thumbs pressing into the tense tissue. A choked, approving groan tore from Lydia’s throat. “Yeah… fuck, Gary, yes. Touch me. Feel what you’re doing to me.”
His touch became more confident, a gentle, firm massage working up from her trembling knees along the heavy contours of her hamstrings. Each time she lifted, his hands followed the retreat, squeezing the powerful globes of her ass cheeks as they lifted, feeling them clench and soften. Each time she dropped, his fingers pressed deeper into the thick, steaming heat where her legs met her body, kneading the incredible density of her. He was mapping a living, sweating statue, and the fact that it was moving for him, because of him, shattered every notion he’d ever had of himself.
“Your hands,” she panted, her rhythm becoming less frantic, more rolling, driven by his touch. “Jesus Christ, your ugly, perfect hands.” She leaned forward, her movement fluid despite the immense strain in her limbs. Her strong, defined abs folded, the deeply grooved lines of her obliques twisting sharply as she brought her upper body down to him. Her huge, bouncing breasts swayed and then pressed against his soft, sweaty chest.
She kissed him.
It wasn’t the careful peck from before. She speared her tongue into his mouth, a hot, wet invasion that tasted of her sweat and his own salt. He responded with a desperate, hungry noise, his large, bulbous nose mashed against her cheek, his tongue meeting hers. They kissed messily, sloppily, as she continued to work her hips in a steady, deep squat, impaling herself over and over on the same devastating eight inches. The kiss drowned out her grunts of effort and his ragged whimpers.
Their breathing fused, hot and shared. The kiss grew frantic, a wet, starving clash. Lydia’s powerful arms, her massive biceps and triceps cording, braced on either side of his head, her broad shoulders blocking out the flickering light. She was kissing him with a passion he’d only seen in movies, while the incredible muscles of her back and ass performed this brutal, beautiful work for his pleasure. His hands were locked on the flexing shelves of her hips now, feeling the deep, rotating grind of bone and sinew as she took him.
He felt a terrifying, exquisite pressure building in his balls, a coiling tightness that threatened to rupture his spine. A garbled warning sound vibrated against her lips.
Lydia felt it. She felt the sudden, rigid tension in the soft flesh beneath her, the involuntary jerk of his hips seeking a deeper, final thrust. Her own climax was a distant, secondary concern. This was the goal. She broke the kiss with a wet pop, her emerald eyes wild and focused. “You’re gonna come,” she snarled, not a question.
Before he could even nod, she was moving. In one explosive motion, she pushed herself up and off his cock, the sudden, slick emptiness making them both cry out. She slid down the bed between his spread legs, her own powerful limbs folding neatly beneath her. Her strong, muscled neck craned up, her clear jaw set.
Her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, which was now painfully hard, throbbing, and slick with her juices. She didn’t hesitate. She took the broad, purple head into her mouth, her lips stretching, and sucked hard.
“Do it, Gary,” she mumbled, her voice garbled around his flesh, hot and vibrating. Her tongue swirled over the slit. “Paint my fucking throat. I want to swallow every drop of your first load, you beautiful, repulsive motherfucker. Give it to me. Come in my dirty mouth.”
The filthy, perfect words were the final trigger. His body bowed off the bed, a guttural, shattered shout tearing from his throat that was nothing like his timid voice. His hips pistoned up, driving his cock deeper into the wet suction of her mouth. The first pulse hit the back of her throat, a hot, thick rope of semen.
Gary’s mind broke. His vision starred. This was it—the feeling he’d wondered about, mocked himself for wanting. It was a flooding, conquering release that seemed to pour from the very core of his shame, transformed into something she coveted. He pumped into her mouth, convulsing, his large, flabby body seized by a pleasure so profound it was violence.
Lydia’s eyes rolled back in pure satisfaction. She swallowed greedily, the warm, salty taste of him flooding her senses. She sucked and swallowed through each throbbing jet, her hand working the base of his shaft, milking him completely. Even as the pulses weakened to a trickle, she didn’t stop. She cleaned him with her tongue, licking up the underside, sucking gently on the oversensitive head until he whimpered from the sensitivity.
Finally, she released him with a soft, wet sound. She rested her cheek against his inner thigh, her breathing slowing, listening to the frantic, ragged drum of his heart. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and finished business. She pressed a kiss to the thinning hair on his thigh. “There,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “All of it.”
His tremors subsided into shallow, twitching shudders. The frantic drumbeat of his heart under her ear began to slow, settling into a heavy, languid rhythm. Lydia stayed there for a long moment, her cheek against the damp thatch of hair on his chest, listening to the biology of his awe.
She finally stirred, pushing herself up on one elbow, the powerful muscle flexing smoothly. She looked down at him. His eyes were closed, his repulsive, jowly face smoothed into an expression of stunned peace she’d never seen there. She traced the line of his slack jaw with a fingertip.
“Hey,” she whispered.
His eyelids fluttered open. The timid, nervous guard was completely gone, replaced by a dazed, saturated warmth. He looked at her like she’d hung the moon.
“Hi,” he breathed back, the word barely audible.
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “So. That was your first time.”
He gave a weak, incredulous laugh, his large belly shaking beneath her. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
“You were incredible,” she said, and she meant it. Her finger now drew a lazy circle around his flat, pink nipple. “That mouth of yours. Christ.” She leaned down, her long black hair curtaining their faces, and kissed him softly. It was a shock of gentleness after the animal hunger. “And this,” she added, her hand sliding down the soft plane of his stomach to curl loosely around his softening cock. It jerked feebly at her touch.
He flushed, a deep red blooming beneath the gray stubble on his cheeks. “Lydia, I… you’re… I can’t even…”
“Shhh.” She silenced him with another kiss, nipping his lower lip. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got frustrated with myself.” Her thumb swept over the sensitive head of him, slick with her saliva and his own spend. “I wanted all of this inside me. Every last inch. I wanted to feel you bottom out. I wanted to scream.”
She shifted, rolling to fully lie beside him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, her toned leg flung over his thick thigh. She stared into his eyes, her emerald gaze playful and intent. “I only got about eight of you in me. Did you know that?”
He blinked. “It felt… deep. It felt like everything.”
“It was everything you gave me,” she corrected, her voice a low, flirtatious murmur. “But not everything you have. That’s on me. My greedy, hungry little pussy needs to learn to open wider for you.” She brushed her lips against the stubbled skin of his chest. “I’m going to practice.”
“Practice?” he echoed, his voice raspy.
“Mmmhmm.” Her tongue darted out, tasting the salt on his skin. “I’m a quick study, Gary. And I’m very motivated. I want to take that whole beautiful, monster cock of yours. I want to feel it crammed so deep it rearranges my guts.” She kissed a path upwards, over his collarbone, to the pulse point in his neck. “I’ll show you my progress soon. Maybe next time, I’ll get nine inches. Then ten.”
The casual, filthy promise, delivered in a tone of warm affection, made him shudder anew. He turned his head and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. “Any of it. Any of it is more than I ever…”
She understood. She kissed his throat, a soft, final press of her lips. “I know.”
With a sigh that was all contentment, she disentangled herself. The cool air of the room hit her sweaty skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and the powerful curves of her shoulders and back. She stood, a magnificent, unselfconscious nude in the messy room, and began gathering her clothes from the floor where they’d been torn away.
She smiled at him, a real smile, warm and knowing. She walked over, bent down, and kissed him one last time, slow and deep. “Get some sleep, beautiful,” she whispered against his lips.
Then she was gone. His bedroom door clicked shut behind her with a definitive sound.
The night air outside his house was cool and smelled of asphalt and distant rain. As she walked back next door to her home, her body hummed with a pleasant, deep-seated fatigue. The image playing behind her eyes wasn’t of Dima, her jailed husband, or the confusing case she was embroiled in. It was the stark, vivid picture of Gary’s face in that final moment of release, the shocking transformation from shame into shattered bliss, all because of her mouth, her body, her deliberate, filthy encouragement.
No shame flickered. No regret. Just a satisfied, proprietary calm.
Her own house was dark and still. She moved through the familiar rooms, shedding her clothes again, leaving a trail to the bathroom. A quick, hot shower rinsed the smell of him and sex from her skin, but the memory was etched deeper. She pulled on a soft, oversized t-shirt and slid into her empty bed.
The sheets were cool. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her mind brilliantly, blessedly empty of turmoil. Her muscles ached pleasantly, a testament to the sustained, athletic effort of riding him. The faint, phantom sensation of fullness lingered between her legs.
She closed her eyes, and sleep took her, deep and restful and untroubled.