Chapter 89: Deep Throat Lessons
Alex’s fingers, strong and sure, wrapped around the base of the orc cock where it sat mounted on the glass. The deep green silicone looked obscene under the boutique’s muted lights, a repulsive trophy. She watched Lydia, whose emerald eyes were fixed on the monstrous thing with a mixture of terror and grim determination.
“A lesson, Collier,” Alex said, her voice dropping into a low, instructional purr. She bounced on the balls of her feet, a compact bundle of dense muscle encased in black leggings and a tight tank top. The fabric strained over the round, high swells of her breasts and the defined slabs of her shoulders and biceps. Her black hair, cut in that severe, helmet-like frame, made her sharp features appear even more commanding. “Watch how a champion slurps down a fantasy dick. Take fuckin’ notes.”
Lydia’s breath hitched as Alex, without further ceremony, dropped to her knees on the plush carpet. The movement was fluid, powered by thick, powerful quadriceps that flexed beneath the lycra. Alex winked up at her, a devilish grin playing on her lips, then turned her attention to the dildo.
She didn’t hesitate. Her mouth, painted a vicious crimson, opened wide. She flicked her tongue over the lumpy, mushroom-cap head, swirling it around the bumps and nodules with a theatrical gusto. “Mmm, tastes like sin and platinum-cure silicone, you adorable bitch,” she mumbled against it, the words garbled.
Then she took it.
Her jaw unhinged with a practiced ease that made Lydia’s own throat ache in sympathy. Alex sank down, her lips stretching obscenely around the girth. The spiraling ridges disappeared between her lips, one after another, a green invasion swallowed by red. Her eyes, gleaming with defiant pleasure, locked on Lydia’s. They watered instantly, tears gathering along her lower lash line, but she didn’t stop. She pushed her head forward, her strong neck tendons cording, her traps rising into mounds of solid muscle as she worked herself deeper.
A wet, gulping sound filled the velvet-draped silence. Alex’s nose pressed flush against the heavy silicone balls at the base. She held it there, her throat working in a slow, deliberate swallow around the intrusion. The defined lines of her abdomen, visible beneath her tight top, tightened and released with her controlled breaths.
After a long, astonishing five-count, she pulled back. The dildo emerged from her mouth with a slick, sucking pop. A string of saliva bridged her lower lip to the tip for a second before snapping. She gasped, dragging in air, a few tears escaping to track through her foundation. She grinned, wild and triumphant.
“See? It’s all in the fuckin’ mindset, you magnificent rookie,” Alex husked, wiping her mouth with the back of a powerful forearm. “You don’t think ‘cock.’ You think ‘challenge.’ You think ‘victory.’ Now. Your turn, pretty girl. Kneel.”
The command thrummed through Lydia. She moved, her own body a symphony of responsive muscle. Her powerful quadriceps, thick and defined, flexed as she lowered herself to the carpet facing Alex and the mounted toy. The smooth, shaven skin of her pelvis met the cool air. Her wide hips, flowing from a slim, powerfully cinched waist, settled into a stable stance. The deep grooves of her obliques carved shadows along her sides as she adjusted her posture, the muscles in her broad back and wide shoulders shifting beneath her skin.
Alex shuffled closer on her knees, until they were almost touching. The proximity was electrifying. Lydia could smell Alex’s perfume mixed with the clean scent of her sweat.
“Hands here,” Alex instructed, guiding Lydia’s strong, capable hands—the hands of a teacher, now trembling slightly—to grip the broad silicone base. Lydia’s fingers, reinforced by powerful forearms and bulging biceps, clenched the fake balls. “It’s not gonna bite, you stunning coward. Open that beautiful mouth.”
Lydia obeyed. She tilted her head back, the line of her strong, muscled neck elongating. Her huge, gravity-defying breasts lifted with the motion, their dark pink nipples already pebbled tight against the silk of her top. She opened her mouth as wide as she could.
“Wider, you teething infant,” Alex teased, her voice a hot, encouraging whisper. “Pretend you’re trying to eat a goddamn softball.”
Lydia strained her jaw, a sharp ache immediately blooming in the hinges. She leaned forward, guiding the cold, bumpy head between her lips. The first ridge caught on her lower lip. She pushed, and the bizarre texture, the nubs and lumps, scraped over her tongue. A groan, half-pain, half-shock, vibrated in her chest.
“That’s it,” Alex crooned, her own breath coming faster. One of her hands came up to cradle the back of Lydia’s head, fingers tangling in the dark waterfall of her hair. The other hand rested on Lydia’s shoulder, feeling the hard deltoid muscle tremble. “Now take it. Fuck your own face on it, you gorgeous little slut.”
Lydia pushed forward. The invasion was immediate and brutal. The ridges, so much more pronounced than they looked, dragged against the roof of her mouth, the sides of her tongue. Her gag reflex, a raw, primal wire, screamed in alarm. She choked, a raw, ugly sound, and her eyes flew open, stinging with instant tears. Spit dripped down her chin.
“Shhh, easy, easy,” Alex murmured, her tone shifting from teasing to something akin to reverence. Her thumb stroked Lydia’s temple. “Breathe through your nose, you magnificent disaster. Just let it in. Surrender to the ugly green monster.”
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut. Tears leaked from the corners, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. She focused on the feel of Alex’s hand in her hair, an anchor. She forced her throat to relax, to open. She pushed her head down another inch. The silicone stretched her lips to a painful burn. Another inch. The pressure in her throat was a profound, strange fullness, a claiming. She gagged again, a violent convulsion that started deep in her gut and shook her entire torso. Her defined abdominal muscles clenched into a hard, rippling board.
“Good girl,” Alex breathed, her own arousal a palpable heat radiating from her small, mighty frame. “Oh, fuck, look at you. Look at those god-tier throat muscles working. Swallow it. Swallow the whole fucking fantasy.”
Swallowing was an act of will. Lydia contracted her throat around the rigid shaft, feeling every spiral ridge through the sensitive tissue. She forced her head down further. The pressure behind her nose and eyes built to a dull ache. Her vision swam with black spots. But she pushed. Inch by brutal inch, the green disappeared into her, her nose inching closer to the cold, weighted balls at the base.
Her entire body was in motion. The massive, meaty cheeks of her ass clenched and relaxed with the effort, a powerful, hypnotic rhythm. The thick cords of her hamstrings and inner thighs trembled, holding her steady. Sweat gleamed in the deep valley between her huge, bouncing breasts. Her broad shoulders and powerful chest heaved with the struggle for air.
Finally, her nose, damp with sweat and tears, pressed flush against the silicone scrotum. She was full. Profoundly, impossibly full. The head of the toy had to be lodged deep in her esophagus. She held, muscles straining, tears flowing freely now, her body a taut, quivering sculpture of effort.
Alex let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure awe. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Lydia’s ear. Her voice was thick, dripping with pride and lust. “That’s my good fucking girl. That’s my beautiful, nasty, champion cocksucker.”
Lydia held the position, the world narrowing to the stretch in her throat, the weight in her mouth, the anchor of Alex’s praise. After what felt like an eternity, Alex gently tugged her hair. “Okay, baby. Come up for air. Slowly.”
Lydia pulled back. The withdrawal was its own specific torture. Each ridge seemed to catch and tug on every sensitized millimeter of her bruised throat. It emerged, slick and shining with her saliva, with a final, wet, gasping release. She collapsed back onto her heels, dragging in huge, ragged gulps of air. She coughed, a deep, rattling sound, strings of spit hanging from her chin. Her whole face was wet, her mascara smudged into dark shadows under her eyes.
Alex didn’t give her time to recover. She surged forward, her hands cupping Lydia’s jaw, and kissed her brutally. The taste was strange—silicone, salt, her own spit. Alex’s tongue dove into her mouth, claiming the space the dildo had just vacated. Lydia moaned into the kiss, her body still vibrating from the ordeal.
When Alex broke away, both of them were panting. Alex’s eyes were dark pools of want. “Yeah,” she panted, her playful grin back but edged with something feral. “You’re ready. You’re so fucking ready for your sad neighbor’s beautiful dick.”
Lydia leaned her forehead against Alex’s, their breath mingling in the perfumed air, raw and ragged from the ordeal. She tasted the ghost of silicone and salt on Alex’s lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words scraping her bruised throat. “For everything. For not flinching.” She kissed her again, softly this time, a slow seal of gratitude on the cornerstone of her new, terrifying world.
They gathered the pieces of Lydia’s metamorphosis from the plush carpet. The Chun Li costume, a blue fantasy of silk. The severe black harness with its cunning, dual-sided attachment. The moss-green orc cock, still glistening. At the sleek black register, Alex rang them up without a word, her fingers moving with swift efficiency. The total was a staggering number that would have horrified Lydia two months ago. Now, she tapped her card without blinking, the chime of approval a sound of commitment.
“You’re a goddamn force of nature, Collier,” Alex murmured, placing the items into a large, unmarked black bag with reinforced handles. The weight of it pulled at Lydia’s arm, a tangible promise.
Lydia shifted the bag’s weight, the plastic handles cutting into her fingers. She paused at the boutique’s heavy door, the evening air from the street a cool wash on her heated skin. “Hey,” she said, turning back. Alex was already straightening a display of velvet cuffs, her small, powerful frame all business again. “You got dinner plans?”
Alex glanced over, a smirk forming. “What, you wanna go eat hot dogs and practice breathing techniques?”
“I was thinking I could pick up some Chinese,” Lydia said, ignoring the jab. “We could just… eat it. Watch something stupid. One of those rom-coms where everyone makes terrible decisions.” She shrugged, the gesture feeling strangely vulnerable. “No training. No missions. Just cardboard containers and dumb jokes.”
Alex stopped fiddling with the cuffs. She studied Lydia, the defensive smirk melting into something softer, more genuine. It reached her eyes, crinkling the corners. “Yeah,” she said, her voice losing its razor-edge. “Yeah, that sounds like exactly what I need. My place. Come over around eight. Don’t be late, or I’ll start the movie without you and spoil the third-act twist.”
The weight of the unmarked black bag felt like an anchor in her passenger seat, a secret so large it seemed to warp the suburban night around her Prius. Lydia parked outside Alex’s building, the neon glow from a window unit spelling ‘NOISE’ in curving pink script cutting through the dusk. She smoothed her hands over the soft, grey cotton of her fitted scoop-neck tee, the fabric stretching tight across the expansive shelf of her chest and the broad, powerful planes of her shoulders. Her black leggings clung to every curve and definition of her lower body, the thick, meaty swell of her quadriceps visible with each step, the fabric sinking into the deep division between her powerful hamstrings and inner thighs.
She took the stairs two at a time, the muscles in her strong, muscular legs propelling her upward with an eager, restless energy. Her huge, bouncing breasts moved with a firm, contained rhythm against her ribs. At the third-floor landing, the door was already ajar. She pushed it open.
“The fuck took you so long, you gorgeous snail?” Alex’s voice called from within the organized chaos.
The apartment was a curated riot. Concert posters layered the walls in a vibrant, peeling collage. A huge, worn leather sofa dominated the space, flanked by precarious towers of books and vinyl records. The air held the earthy scent of sandalwood beneath the tang of takeout. Alex emerged from the kitchenette, a compact monument of dense muscle poured into faded black shorts and a cropped tank. The shirt stopped high above her navel, revealing a stomach etched with hard, defined blocks of muscle that shifted as she moved. Her own breasts, high and firm, pushed against the thin grey cotton. Her black hair, that severe, beautiful helmet, was slightly mussed.
“Traffic on the 10 was a nightmare,” Lydia said, dropping the heavy bag by the door with a solid thump. Her emerald eyes scanned the room, taking in the familiar, comforting disorder. “You ordered already?”
“Damn right I did, you indecisive angel,” Alex said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The powerful slabs of her quadriceps, though shorter than Lydia’s, flexed with a dense, formidable promise. “General Tso’s, kung pao, an irresponsible amount of scallion pancakes. The essentials for cinematic blasphemy.” She jerked her head toward the television, where a menu screen for a rom-com glowed. “I already queued up the emotional terrorism. Get your beautiful, wide-ass over here.”
Lydia laughed, the sound easy and unfiltered. She walked to the sofa, her wide hips swaying, the incredibly full, round cheeks of her ass shifting against the leggings with each step. She lowered herself onto the soft leather, the material sighing under her weight, her strong, defined abs relaxing as she sank back. Alex followed, a bundle of kinetic energy, and dropped beside her, immediately folding her dense, muscled legs beneath her. Their bodies aligned, Alex’s compact strength a warm, solid line against Lydia’s longer, more sinuously powerful frame.
Alex hit play, and the movie began with a swell of saccharine music. Within minutes, she was narrating. “Oh, look, it’s the meet-cute where she spills her artisan fair-trade latte on his bespoke bullshit coat. This is the foundation of a healthy dynamic, you fragile lovestruck puppy.”
Lydia grinned, nudging Alex with her shoulder, feeling the solid muscle there. “Shut up and eat your pancake.” She opened a container, the aroma of soy and ginger filling the space between them.
They ate from the cardboard containers balanced on their laps, chopsticks clicking. Lydia found herself engrossed in the predictable plot, the simple pleasure of it a balm. Alex’s commentary was a constant, crass, and hilarious counterpoint.
“And now he’s chasing her through the rain to the airport! Because clearly a woman who boards an international flight without a conversation is a prize,” Alex barked, her mouth full. She elbowed Lydia’s ribs. “You’re actually invested in this, aren’t you? You sweet, stupid summer child.”
Lydia swallowed a bite of chicken, the sweet heat blooming on her tongue. “I like the music. And the lighting is nice.”
“The lighting?” Alex cackled, her head tilting back, the strong column of her neck cording. “You magnificent simpleton. You’re a fucking aesthetic hedonist. I bet you think murder documentaries are relaxing if they’re shot well.”
“They can be,” Lydia said, her eyes not leaving the screen where the leads were now slow-dancing under fairy lights. Her body was soft, relaxed, the powerful muscles of her back and shoulders draping like warm velvet against the couch. She felt Alex’s gaze on her profile.
“You’re heartbreakingly pretty when you’re unguarded, you know that?” Alex’s voice had lost its razor edge, becoming something quieter, more granular. “It’s fucking disgusting.”
Lydia turned her head. Alex was looking at her, not the TV. Her dark eyes held none of their usual mocking challenge, just a naked, warm appreciation. The sight stole Lydia’s breath. She leaned in slowly, giving Alex time to pull away. Alex didn’t. Their lips met, a soft press that tasted of soy sauce and sweet chili. It was a kiss without agenda, a slow exploration of closeness. Lydia’s broad, powerful hand came up to cradle Alex’s jaw, her thumb stroking the sharp line of her cheekbone. Alex sighed into her mouth, her own small, strong hands coming to rest on Lydia’s waist, feeling the incredible taper from the wide, muscular hips to the slim, hard waist.
They kissed as the movie’s orchestral score swirled around them, as the fictional couple reconciled. Lydia’s tongue traced the smooth line of Alex’s lips before dipping inside. One of Alex’s hands drifted upward, her fingertips brushing the underside of Lydia’s huge, firm breast through the soft cotton, feeling the weight, before sliding back down to grip the solid, meaty curve of her hip. The touch was electric but slow, a circuit of gentle arcing pleasure.
Lydia finally broke the kiss, resting her forehead against Alex’s. Their breath mingled, warm and shared. “The movie’s ending,” Lydia murmured, her voice husky.
“Fuck the movie,” Alex whispered back, but her tone was languid, sated. She didn’t move to escalate. Instead, she snuggled deeper into the couch, pulling Lydia with her. Lydia shifted, lying back so Alex could curl into her side, her head pillowed on the immense swell of Lydia’s chest. Alex’s hand splayed possessively over the hard, defined plane of Lydia’s stomach, the muscles there twitching gently under her palm. They watched the final, predictable embrace silently, Lydia’s powerful arm wrapped around Alex’s compact, muscular shoulders, feeling the dense traps and delts relax against her.
When the credits rolled, the room was dark save for the TV’s blue glow. Lydia’s body was a landscape of comforting heat and strength beneath Alex. She could feel the steady, slowing beat of Alex’s heart against her ribs.
“Bed?” Alex mumbled, her voice thick with impending sleep.
“Yeah.”
They untangled themselves, a slow, reluctant separation. Alex padded across the room, her muscular calves and tight ass flexing with each step. Lydia followed, the profound thickness of her thighs and hamstrings moving with a fluid, powerhouse grace. Alex’s bedroom was dominated by a large, king-sized bed heaped with black, silk sheets. Without ceremony, they stripped to their underwear. Lydia stood in simple black bikini briefs, her body a breathtaking sculpture in the dim light: the deeply grooved lines of her obliques framing the smooth, shaven expanse of her pelvis, the powerful sweep of her back tapering down to the incredible, muscular swell of her ass. Alex, in matching shorts, was a perfectly scaled-down replica of power, every muscle group defined and compact.
They slid under the cool, whispering silk. Alex immediately curled herself around Lydia again, one strong leg hooking over Lydia’s muscular thighs, an arm draped across her hard abdomen. Lydia welcomed the weight, the possessive press. She turned her head and kissed Alex’s hairline. “Goodnight, you magnificent shit-stirrer.”
Alex snorted a soft laugh against her skin. “Night, you devastatingly beautiful project.”
Sleep came quickly, a dark and dreamless blanket. There were no nightmares of courtrooms or prison bars, just the profound, solid warmth of another body, the syncopated rhythm of shared breath.
Light filtered through the single window, painting stripes across the black sheets. Lydia woke to the scent of coffee and the sizzle of butter. She blinked, the hard lines of her defined abs tightening as she stretched, her massive arms reaching over her head, making the thick cords of her biceps and triceps bulge. The other side of the bed was empty.
She found Alex in the small kitchen, a vision of concentrated efficiency. She was wearing only a long t-shirt that hung mid-thigh, showcasing the formidable, sculpted power of her legs and the round, high curve of her ass. She was flipping pancakes with a violent, precise flair.
“You’re cooking?” Lydia asked, her voice rough with sleep. She leaned against the doorway, her own formidable physique on full display in just her underwear, the morning light catching the dusting of sweat on her broad shoulders and powerful chest.
“I’m performing fucking alchemy, you ungrateful sleep-beast,” Alex said without turning. “Coffee’s behind me. Don’t spill it on my vinyl, or I’ll use your intestines as speaker wire.”
Lydia poured a mug, the rich smell blending with the vanilla from the batter. She watched the muscles in Alex’s bare arms and shoulders coil and release with each movement, the way her shortened hair stuck up in adorable, defiant spikes. It was a domestic scene, but charged with the latent energy of their combined physicality.
They ate at a small, cluttered table, knees touching. The pancakes were perfect. They talked about nothing: a song on the record player, a poster for a band Alex had seen years ago. The conversation was a lazy river, meandering and warm.
Alex finished her last bite, licking syrup from her thumb with a deliberate slowness that made Lydia’s pulse hitch. She set her fork down with a definitive click. “So. The hardware.” Her eyes, bright and mischievous again, locked onto Lydia’s. “When are you christening that beautiful, complicated harness on our favorite bitch boy? Because I’m calling unequivocal, non-negotiable seconds. I want you to ruin me with it after you break it in on him.”
The question landed in the sunny, syrup-scented air, a delicious bolt of anticipation. Lydia felt her pelvic muscles clench, a swift, hot spasm. She sipped her coffee, buying a second to let the thrill settle. Her emerald eyes held Alex’s gaze. “Are you busy Sunday night?”
A brilliant, wicked smile split Alex’s face. “Suddenly, my schedule is a vast, empty desert of availability.”
Lydia nodded. She reached for her phone where it rested beside her plate. Her powerful forearm flexed, the muscles sliding under her smooth skin. She found Jason’s contact, her thumbs hovering over the screen. She could feel Alex leaning forward, watching, her breath held.
She typed: Hey Jason. Sunday night? My place. I want to do another shoot. I’ve got some new ideas… it’ll be wilder than last time. I think you’ll like it.
She sent it. The silence in the kitchen was absolute, fraught with potential. Alex’s foot nudged hers under the table.
The response came barely thirty seconds later. Lydia. Hi. Wilder? What… what do you mean?
Lydia’s lips curved. She could see his nervous face, the calculating eyes trying to process, to maintain control. She typed back, her movements deliberate. I mean I’m going to blow your mind. Don’t worry. You just show up. Trust me.
She placed the phone back on the table, screen-up. They both stared at it, waiting. The next buzz was almost immediate.
Okay. 8pm? I… trust you.
Alex let out a low, victorious whistle. “And he’s hooked, the poor, delicious bastard.” She reached across, her fingertips tracing the deep, muscular groove that led from Lydia’s hip bone toward her core. “Sunday night. You’re gonna fuck his soul out through his ass with that silicone wonder, aren’t you?”
“Something like that,” Lydia said, her voice a low promise. She captured Alex’s wandering hand, lacing their fingers together atop the cluttered table, their combined strength a silent covenant in the morning light.