Chapter 70: Tongue-Tied Submission
Alex’s fingers were still buried inside her, a relentless, curling anchor as Lydia’s mouth worked over her breast. The orgasm that had been coiling in the dense muscles of Lydia’s ass and thighs suddenly snapped.
A raw, guttural shout was torn from her throat, muffled by Alex’s skin. Her entire body locked into a rigid, arching curve. Her broad back lifted off the silk, every deep, curving muscle from her shoulders to her hips standing in stark, corded relief. The huge, meaty cheeks of her ass clenched hard, a tremor rippling through the powerful hamstrings that framed her slick cunt. Her massive quadriceps trembled violently, the defined teardrop muscles above her knees going rock-solid. Inside, her pussy pulsed in rapid, desperate flutters around Alex’s thrusting fingers.
“There it is! There’s the fucking money shot!” Alex crowed to the camera, her own voice breathless with effort and delight. She worked Lydia through the climax, her fingers unrelenting until Lydia’s body finally collapsed back onto the bed with a heavy, boneless thud, her muscular legs splaying open, still quivering.
Lydia gasped for air, her defined abs rising and falling sharply. The dark pink peaks of her enormous breasts were painfully hard against the confining fuchsia fabric. A fine sheen of sweat coated the deep grooves of her obliques and the smooth, shaven plane of her pelvis above the damp pink band.
Alex slowly, sensually, withdrew her glistening fingers. She held Lydia’s gaze with a predatory smile, then deliberately turned her face to the camera lens. Her playful, trickster’s eyes sparkled with wicked intent.
“Look at this, you pathetic, lonely credit cards,” she purred, her voice bubbling with obscene enthusiasm. She raised her hand, the two fingers that had been inside Lydia now shining wet under the halo light. “This. This is the nectar of a goddess who just remembered she’s a fucking queen.”
She held the viewers’ silent attention for a beat, then slowly brought her fingers to her mouth. Her pink tongue darted out, a flash of wet pink, and she licked a long, deliberate stripe from the base of her fingers to the tips. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second in exaggerated ecstasy, then snapped open, locking onto the lens with manic glee.
“Oh, you jealous bastards,” she moaned, the sound theatrically lush. “You have no idea. She’s sweet and she’s salt and she tastes like pure, fucking power. She tastes like winning.” She sucked both fingers into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, making a loud, lewd slurping sound. When she pulled them out with a pop, she was grinning like a demon. “That’s the flavor of her desperation, you horndogs. And it’s fucking delicious.”
She then looked down at Lydia, whose emerald eyes were watching her, dark and heavy-lidded. “You hear that, my gorgeous, Hellcat? You taste like victory. Now give me more of it.”
Alex leaned down, her compact body all dense muscle and intent. She captured Lydia’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. Lydia could taste herself on Alex’s tongue—a tangy, intimate flavor that sent a fresh, hot jolt through her spent body. As they kissed, Alex’s strong hands, her own biceps and powerful forearms flexing, pressed firmly against Lydia’s broad shoulders.
She pushed, gently but with immutable certainty.
Lydia yielded, letting her strong, muscled back settle into the tangled silk. Alex followed her down, not breaking the kiss, moving atop her like a possessive blanket. She swung one densely muscled leg over Lydia’s right thigh, straddling it, before lowering her full weight.
The contact was electric and immediate. The hard, smooth muscle of Alex’s inner thigh pressed directly against Lydia’s swollen, sensitive clit, still exposed above her pink panties. At the same time, Lydia’s own right thigh—a formidable pillar of solid quadricep and hamstring—was wedged firmly against the damp blue fabric covering Alex’s shaved pussy.
Alex’s arms came down to cage Lydia’s head, her triceps bulging, the deep clefts of her shoulders and back muscles shifting with the strain of holding herself up. Their mouths fused, tongues dueling, breaths mingling in hot, shared gasps.
Lydia’s large, powerful hands immediately found the firm, rounded globes of Alex’s ass, her strong fingers digging into the muscle, kneading and spreading the cheeks through the shiny blue fabric. The feeling of all that compact, powerful flesh in her grasp was intoxicating.
Alex began to move. It started as a slow, grinding roll of her hips, the hard ridge of her pubic bone seeking friction against Lydia’s thigh. The motion forced her own muscular thigh to rub in a firm, delicious circle against Lydia’s clit.
“Oh, fuck,” Lydia groaned into the kiss, her hips bucking upwards instinctively. The dual stimulation—the pressure of Alex’s thigh on her, the feel of Alex grinding on her—reignited a fire in her gut.
“That’s it, you hungry bitch,” Alex panted against her lips, her playful tone now ragged with her own building need. Her grinding became more purposeful, a smooth, rhythmic undulation that served them both. Each forward push of Alex’s hips ground her clit against the solid muscle of Lydia’s thigh, while each downward drag pressed her thigh harder into Lydia’s aching center.
Lydia’s body was a symphony of taut, shifting musculature. Her powerful thighs flexed and relaxed, her huge ass cheeks lifting off the bed to meet Alex’s rolls. The strong, defined slabs of her abdomen clenched and released. Her broad back arched, the muscles along her spine cording beautifully. Even her massive biceps and bulging traps flexed as her hands tirelessly worked Alex’s ass, pulling her closer, guiding the rhythm.
Alex broke the kiss, throwing her head back with a choked cry. Her sleek black hair clung to her damp neck. “You feel how fucking hard I am for you, lover?” she gasped, her voice a raw, obscene scrape. She drove her thigh down with more force. “You feel this thigh? This is the thigh that’s gonna make you scream for the camera again. This is the thigh that’s gonna make you forget your own fucking name.”
She turned her face back to the lens, her expression a mask of ecstatic torment. “Look at her! Look at this magnificent, muscular fuckdoll! See how her perfect, greedy cunt is trying to eat my leg? She wants to come again. She wants to drown my thigh. Tell them, Hellcat. Tell them how bad you need it.”
“I need it like I need that fucking money,” Lydia growled, the words ripped from some raw, new place behind her sternum. Her hips pistoned upward, grinding her slick flesh against the solid muscle of Alex’s thigh with a wet, slapping rhythm. “I need your mouth, your tongue, I need you to make me forget everything but this.”
Alex’s laugh was a sharp, thrilled exhale. “Greedy. I love it.” She pushed herself up, breaking the contact, and Lydia groaned at the sudden, empty coldness. Alex knelt between Lydia’s sprawled, powerful legs, her blue panties soaked through and clinging to her shaved lips. Her eyes, glittering with performance and a darker, genuine hunger, drank in the sight of the wrecked woman before her.
She leaned forward, her hands flattening on the sweaty silk on either side of Lydia’s narrow waist. Then her mouth descended, not to Lydia’s center, but to the taught, trembling skin of her lower belly. The kiss was soft, a whisper against the defined ridges.
Lydia flinched, a gasp catching in her throat. Alex continued, planting a slow, worshipful trail of kisses down the profound groove of Lydia’s left oblique. Her lips traced the hard, curved shelf of Lydia’s hip bone, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt.
Each kiss was a brand, a claim staking out the territory of Lydia’s body. Alex moved with a slow, deliberate reverence, her mouth paying homage to the sheer physical architecture—the dense quadricep, the long, powerful line of the inner thigh where the skin was softest. Lydia’s breathing hitched, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Then Alex sat back on her heels. In one swift, efficient motion, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of the soaked fuchsia panties. “These are in the way,” she stated, and with a sharp, forceful yank, she peeled them down Lydia’s thick thighs and off her strong legs.
The cool air hit Lydia’s exposed, wet flesh. A surprised, breathy giggle escaped her—a sound of pure, unraveling reaction to the suddenness, to the absurd, forceful practicality of it. She was completely bare now, utterly open, her shaved pussy glistening under the cruel, perfect light.
She didn’t hesitate. Lydia let her muscular legs fall wider apart, the huge hamstrings and inner thigh muscles stretching, opening herself in a silent, desperate offering. She knew what came next. She craved it with a voltage that hummed in her teeth.
Alex turned her face to the camera. Her grin was wicked, conspiratorial. “Look at this buffet, you starving animals,” she purred, gesturing with a open hand toward Lydia’s splayed form. “Look at this masterpiece of desperate need. I’m about to feast on a five-star meal, and you get to watch me get fat.”
She leaned down again, her movements slow and torturous. She slid her arms under Lydia’s thighs, her own biceps and dense forearms bulging with the strain of lifting the solid weight of Lydia’s powerful legs. She wrapped them tightly, a muscular vise, locking Lydia in place.
Then Alex lowered her head. Her mouth found the sensitive skin of Lydia’s left inner thigh, just above the knee. She began with a soft, closed-mouth kiss. Then a nibble, her teeth grazing gently. Then a long, slow lick, her tongue laying a hot, wet stripe upward.
Lydia moaned, her head thrashing side to side on the pillow. “Alex…” The word was a plea, a prayer.
Alex ignored it, her strong arms holding Lydia’s trembling thighs immobile. She continued her achingly slow ascent, kissing, sucking, licking a deliberate path up the tender flesh. Each touch was a promise and a postponement. Her mouth was a brand of fire inching toward the epicenter.
“You taste like heaven here,” Alex murmured against her skin, her breath hot. “Salty and sweet. Like sin and salvation got all mixed up.” She sucked a bruising kiss into the soft skin where Lydia’s thigh met the junction of her pelvis. Lydia jolted as if electrocuted, a sharp cry tearing from her.
“Please,” Lydia begged, the word tearing from a place of raw need. Her arms were tense above her head, her powerful hands tangled in her own long black hair, pulling unconsciously. Her chest heaved, her massive breasts rising and falling rapidly, the pink fabric straining. “Please, Alex, don’t stop. Lick me. Taste me. Just fucking eat me out, I need it, I need it so bad.”
Her breathing became ragged, shallow pants. She was stroking her own face, her own scalp, her fingers twisting in her hair as if she could anchor herself to the sensation spiraling through her.
Alex’s mouth was a breath away now, hovering over the very edge of Lydia’s swollen, glistening lips. She blew a soft, cool stream of air directly onto Lydia’s exposed clit.
Lydia screamed, a raw, guttural sound of absolute torment. Her back arched violently off the bed, every muscle from her neck to her calves standing in knotted, desperate relief. “NOW! FUCK, ALEX, NOW! PUT YOUR MOUTH ON ME! EAT MY FUCKING CUNT, PLEASE!”
Alex looked up, her eyes meeting the camera’s lens over the trembling landscape of Lydia’s body. She winked. “You hear that? That’s the sound of a broke bitch who just found her religion.”
And then she leaned in, and her tongue, flat and hot and relentless, slid through Lydia’s soaked slit in one long, slow, devastating stroke.
The flat of Alex’s tongue was a brand. It traced a searing path from the bottom of Lydia’s slit all the way to the throbbing apex, gathering the pooled wetness, a deliberate, claiming first taste.
Lydia’s head slammed back into the silk, a broken sound escaping her that was half-sob, half-roar. Her hands, which had been twisted in her own hair, now flew down to clamp onto Alex’s skull, her strong fingers tunneling into the sharp, black strands. She didn’t guide; she held on, anchors in a hurricane.
“Yeah, just like that,” Alex muttered, her voice a humid vibration against Lydia’s most sensitive flesh. Then her mouth sealed over Lydia’s entire clit.
She didn’t just lick. She sucked, hard, pulling the swollen bud between her lips and applying a ruthless, rhythmic pressure. Her tongue flicked rapidly against the captured nerve bundle, a blinding, electric counterpoint. Lydia’s thighs, trapped by Alex’s vice-like arms, trembled with the strain of not crushing the smaller woman’s head. Her hips lifted off the bed in aborted, desperate jerks, met each time by the immovable force of Alex’s grip.
“Oh god, oh fuck, right there, don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” Lydia chanted, the words a ragged, pleading stream. Her awareness telescoped down to that one incendiary point of contact. The room, the camera, the ghost of the debt—it all dissolved into a white noise behind the roaring in her ears.
Alex devoured her with a single-minded, brutal efficiency. She alternated between that deep, sucking pull and broad, flat laps of her tongue that swept through Lydia’s dripping folds. She used her nose to nudge, her chin to apply pressure lower down. Every movement was expert, calculated to demolish.
“You taste even better than I promised them,” Alex moaned, pulling off for a second to speak directly into Lydia’s wet, open flesh. Her breath was a hot ghost. “You taste like a fucking lottery ticket.” Then she dove back in, her tongue plunging shallowly inside before curling upwards to lave her clit again.
The dual sensation—the fleeting penetration, the focused torment—drove Lydia towards the edge with terrifying speed. The coil in her gut tightened past the point of bearing. Her knuckles were white in Alex’s hair. Her abs were carved stone, her back a strained arch.
The climax shattered against the back of her teeth, a silent, seismic detonation that turned her vision white. Her body locked, every muscle fiber from her neck to her calves seizing in a rigid, exquisite seizure. A soundless scream stretched her lips wide.
It crested, hung, and then began to recede, leaving her trembling and hollowed out on the sodden sheets.
Alex released her, pulling back with a wet, obscene sound. She looked utterly victorious, her lips glistening, chin damp. She didn’t wipe it away. She turned her face, letting the camera capture every glistening strand.
“You see that?” she panted, her voice hoarse from effort. “You see what just happened? That wasn’t just a come. That was a fucking exorcism.” She leaned down, her mouth next to Lydia’s ear, but her words were for the microphone. “The old, scared Lydia just evaporated. All that’s left is this wet, perfect animal.”
Lydia could only gasp, the air feeling thin and useless in her lungs. Her hands fell from Alex’s hair, landing limp on the silk. The release had been catastrophic, a tidal wave that scraped her insides raw. But as the trembling in her powerhouse thighs began to subside, a new, deeper emptiness yawned beneath it. The ghost of the debt was still there, patient and cold, waiting for the sensation to fade.
Alex saw it in her eyes. The flicker of return, of reality seeping back into the bliss-blanked canvas. “Oh no you don’t,” she murmured, a sly grin spreading. “We’re not done. We’re just changing the menu.”
Before Lydia could form a thought, Alex’s strong hands were on her again. They gripped the dense muscles of her hips and flipped her onto her stomach with a startling, effortless strength.
The silk was cool against her flushed cheek. Her massive breasts were crushed beneath her, a palpable weight. The shift in perspective was dizzying. She was exposed, vulnerable in a new way. Her broad, muscular back tapered down to the pronounced dimples above her ass, which was now raised and presented—two formidable, rounded globes still clad in that damp, offending pink.
“You have an ass,” Alex announced to the camera, her voice dripping with appraising delight, “that should be insured for millions. It’s a goddamn architectural marvel. And I’ve been wanting to worship it since you walked in.”
Lydia heard the rustle of fabric. Alex was peeling off her own blue panties. The air in the room shifted, grew heavier. Then she felt the heat of Alex’s body settle over her, not fully, but kneeling between her spread, powerful thighs. Alex’s hands, calloused and sure, came to rest on the sweeping curves of Lydia’s ass. They smoothed over the shiny fabric, possessive and slow.
“This,” Alex said, her voice dropping to a intimate, filthy whisper meant for both Lydia and the mic, “is where we find out how greedy you really are.”
Lydia shuddered. Her face was turned sideways on the pillow, one emerald eye visible, watching the wall where a faded poster hung crooked. She was completely naked now, and the exposure felt more total than before. This was not a presentation. It was an offering of her backside, the strong, muscled terrain of her rear laid bare for judgment and use.
“Look at this,” Alex breathed, her voice hushed with something like reverence. Her palms smoothed over the twin mounds, feeling the powerful muscle beneath the soft skin. She traced the deep crease where ass met thigh, a line of profound shadow. “You are built like a fucking cathedral back here. And I’m a very bad pilgrim.”
Lydia’s response was a muffled groan into the silk. Her fingers clenched, grasping handfuls of black sheet. The debt was a cold stone in her stomach, but the heat spreading from Alex’s gaze was a rival fire.
Alex leaned down. Her mouth, still wet from Lydia’s cunt, touched the small of Lydia’s back, just above the rise. The kiss was soft, a shock of tenderness in the crude tableau. Then her tongue drew a slow, wet line down the center of Lydia’s spine, over the knot of vertebrae, right into the crease.
Lydia jerked. “Alex…”
“Shhh,” Alex murmured, her breath hot against the sensitive skin. “The audience is waiting. They want to see how a good girl falls apart.” Her tongue flattened, licking a broad, wet stripe from the top of the cleft to the very bottom, where the tight, hidden pucker lay clenched against the world.
The sensation was alien, intrusive, and electric. Lydia’s entire body tightened, a flinch of pure instinct. A sharp, surprised gasp tore from her. This was new. This was a line, not crossed in the frantic, procreative fucks with Dima, not even in the darkest corners of her own imagination. This was a borderland.
Alex chuckled, a low, rich sound of pleasure. “There it is. That little flinch. That’s the sound of a boundary breaking.” She didn’t retreat. She pressed closer, her nose nudging against Lydia’s asshole, her breath a deliberate, hot plume on the most private part of her. “You taste different here. Musky. Secret. Like the inside of a vault.”
Her tongue pointed, a hot, wet tip, and circled the tightly-clenched rim.
“Oh, God,” Lydia choked out. Her forehead pressed hard into the mattress. One hand released the sheet and fisted in her own hair, pulling hard at the roots. The tension was a live wire, strung from her scalp to her toes.
“Not God, baby,” Alex corrected, her voice muffled against her skin. “Just me. Just Alex. And fifty thousand people watching me lick your tight, little asshole.” Then she speared forward.
It wasn’t a full penetration. It was the firm, insistent tip of her tongue, pressing and swirling against the resistant muscle. It was a violation so precise it felt surgical. Lydia cried out, a ragged, broken noise. Her hips tried to shift away, but Alex’s strong hands clamped on her ass, spreading her wider, holding her utterly still.
“Stay,” Alex commanded, the playfulness gone, replaced by a granite certainty.
She licked again, a longer, wetter stroke that coated the pucker with saliva. Then she pressed the flat of her tongue against it, a broad, warm pressure, before pointing it and pushing. The muscle gave, infinitesimally. The sensation was a shocking blend of sharp intrusion and deep, shameful heat.
Lydia was dissolving. The careful architecture of her life—teacher, wife, innocent advocate—was crumbling under this targeted, wet assault. Her body was betraying her, the initial panic melting into a low, throbbing buzz of sensation. A treacherous warmth pooled below her stomach, a echo of the earlier orgasm that now felt like a prelude.
“You’re letting me in,” Alex moaned, her own arousal evident in the ragged edge of her voice. She fucked Lydia’s asshole with the very tip of her tongue, short, rapid jabs that made Lydia’s entire body twitch. “That’s it. That’s my greedy girl. Your perfect, ass is swallowing my tongue. Tell the nice people how it feels.”
Lydia couldn’t form words. A stream of sounds fell from her lips: gasped vowels, choked consonants. She was a animal pinned, being remade.
Alex pulled back, leaving the nerve-endings there throbbing and exposed to the cool air. Lydia heard her spit, a thick, deliberate sound. Then a warm glob of saliva landed directly on her asshole. Alex’s thumb, slick with spit, replaced her tongue.
She didn’t push in. She rubbed, slowly, circling the hypersensitive rim, smearing the wetness. The friction was maddening. It was preparation. It was a promise of something more.
“You want more?” Alex whispered, her thumb pressing just a fraction harder.
Lydia’s mind screamed a hundred things. Dima’s face. Karras’s deadline. The cold metal of the camera tripod. They all blurred into a smear of light and shadow behind the single, pounding need her body was screaming. She needed the emptiness filled. She needed the sharpness of feeling to obliterate the dread.
“Yes.” The word was a scrap of sound, torn raw.
“Yes, what?” Alex’s thumb stilled.
Lydia turned her face, her cheek grinding into the damp silk. She looked directly into the camera’s unblinking eye. Her own eyes were glazed, black with want, but beneath that was a cold, clear challenge. To the viewers. To herself.
“Fuck my ass,” she said, her voice low and wrecked and utterly certain. “Use your tongue. Make me come from it.”
Alex’s grin was a flash of pure victory in the dim light. “The lady has a taste for depravity. I fucking love it.”
She bent again. This time, there was no teasing. Her hands spread Lydia wider, thumbs digging into the firm flesh. Her mouth sealed over Lydia’s asshole, a wet, sucking kiss. Then her tongue thrust forward, not just the tip, but a thick, penetrating force.
It breached. The resistance yielded with a soft, internal pop of sensation that was neither pain nor pleasure but a shocking, full reality of invasion. Lydia shouted, her back bowing, her powerful legs kicking against the sheets.
Alex held her down, relentless. She tongue-fucked her ass in a steady, rhythmic plunging. The world narrowed to that single, impossible point of connection—the hot, wet slide of a muscle not meant for this, the gritty, obscene sound of it, the feel of Alex’s nose pressed against her perineum.
And then, a miracle of wiring and shame, the sensation began to change. The sharp intrusion bloomed into a deep, resonant pressure that radiated outward, lighting up nerves that connected directly to her clit, which throbbed, neglected and dripping, against the cool silk.
A broken, continuous moan poured from Lydia’s lips. Her hand, the one not tangled in her hair, snaked beneath her body. Her fingers found her own cunt, slippery and swollen. She didn’t rub her clit. She plunged two fingers inside herself, curling them, fucking herself in time with the thrusts of Alex’s tongue in her ass.
The synergy was catastrophic. Each inward push of Alex’s tongue was echoed by the drag of Lydia’s fingers inside her own pussy. The double penetration, one forced and one chosen, shattered the last of her conscious thought. She was a feedback loop of raw sensation, a creature made of wet noise and trembling muscle.
Alex felt the change, the way Lydia’s body began to push back against her mouth, seeking more. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue fucking deeper, faster. She reached a hand around, her fingers finding Lydia’s wrist, guiding the frantic pace of her own hand. “That’s it,” she grunted, breaking contact for a second. “Fuck yourself with my tongue in your ass. Come for the camera. Come for the money. Come because you’re a nasty, beautiful whore.”
The climax took her like a seizure. It was not a wave but a detonation, silent and blinding. Her body locked, every muscle from her jaw to her calves straining so hard she thought they might snap. Her cunt clenched violently around her own fingers. Her asshole spasmed around Alex’s invading tongue.
A soundless scream stretched her mouth wide. The world whited out, punctuated only by the wet, slapping sounds of their bodies and Alex’s encouraging, filthy curses.