Chapter 2: Worship Through Muscle
Heat radiated from my core, beading the oil on my stomach where Anya’s hot breath hitched. Her mouth moved in a desperate, sloppy rhythm across my abs, her tongue tracing the grooves between the rock-hard slabs of muscle. Her immense, soft breasts weighed heavy and warm on my thighs, spilling over my legs like overfilled cushions. I watched the veins in her throat pulse. A tremor ran through her, the kind that started deep in her gut and vibrated up through those massive, sensitive mounds. Her trembling fingers, slick with her own sweat, finally dared to brush the thickening root of my cock.
My response was immediate, instinctual. I flexed my pectorals hard, the powerful contraction sweeping inward. Her face, wet with tears and saliva, was instantly pinned, crushed between the sweaty, oiled walls of my chest.
A muffled, choked sound escaped her. Not pain, exactly. Overload. The drones hummed closer, lenses focusing on the single tear that traced a clean line through the shine on her cheek. I held the pressure, savoring the tight struggle of her breath against my skin. I relaxed, just an inch. She gasped, gulping air, her lips parted against me. "You think that’s yours to touch when you want?" I said, my voice a low vibration she felt through her pinned jaw. She tried to shake her head, a weak motion stifled by my muscles. Her hands, instead of retreating, now pressed flat against my ribs as if seeking stability. Or surrender. I released her completely.
She slumped back, her enormous breasts swaying heavily with the motion. Her eyes, wide and dark, were fixed on my cock, now fully awake and curving up against my stomach, already glistening. The terrace was silent, every woman watching the contest they knew she’d already lost.
"You want it?" I asked, the question hanging in the humid air. Her throat worked. A sharp nod.
"Beg for it."
She swallowed. Her whisper was raw. "Please." It wasn't enough.
"Louder. Let them hear who you belong to." Her breasts heaved as she drew a shattered breath.
"Please, Magnus!" Her voice cracked, ringing out across the terrace. A soft, collective sigh rose from the loungers. I shifted my weight, the hydraulic whine of the lounger the only other sound. I didn't touch her. I just watched her drown in the need she’d tried to control. Her own hands came up, cupping the unbearable weight of her breasts, offering them. A final, silent plea.
"Come here," I said.
“Come here,” I said.
She moved on instinct, a clumsy crawl forward on the hot lounger, her breasts dragging with a soft friction against the synthetic fabric. The moisture from earlier still slicked the inside of her thighs. I let her approach, let her feel the radiant heat from my body and the intimidating, silent presence of my cock. Her gaze was fixed on it, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “That’s it,” I murmured, my voice a low pull. “All of you.”
When she was close enough for her breath to ghost over the tip, I flexed. My pectorals contracted, a swift, powerful vise of muscle and oiled skin. I trapped her between my giant pecs.
Her gasp was muffled, swallowed whole by the sudden, intimate darkness and pressure. Her world became the scent of my sweat, the heat of my skin, the rhythmic, thunderous drum of my heartbeat against her ear. She went perfectly still, encased.
She went perfectly still, encased. For three full heartbeats, she didn't move. Then the pink tip of her tongue emerged, tentative, tasting the salt-damp skin of my left pectoral.
A jolt went through her body.
She began to lick.
The flat of her tongue dragged in long, desperate strokes from the hard swell of my muscle up to the rigid nub of my nipple. The motion was hungry, subservient, a wordless apology and worship all at once. Each lick drew a muffled whimper from her sealed lips, vibrations I felt deep in my core. Her breasts shifted heavily on the lounger beneath her. The scent of her own rampant arousal mixed with the oil and sweat. I relaxed my pectorals a fraction, a controlled release, granting her more room to work, a cruelty disguised as mercy.
"Slow," I commanded.She obeyed. Her licking became more focused, swirling around the areola now, each pass servile and deep. I could feel the flat, wet heat of her tongue etching a path across my skin. Her hands, previously limp at her sides, crept up. One small palm pressed flat against my ribcage for balance. The other, shaking with a kind of awed terror, stroked the granite curve of my bicep.
I flexed again, tightening the trap for a single second. She gasped, her tongue faltering. I released. Her worship resumed instantly, more frantic, the licking now punctuated by little sucking kisses against my skin. The combination of her trapped heat and the slick, rhythmic motion was a direct command to my own body. My cock, resting against my stomach, gave a thick, unmistakable pulse. A fat bead of pre-cum welled at the tip, capturing the light. She saw it. Her movements dissolved into a pure, humming vibration of need. The rhythm was gone, replaced by a frantic, lapping desperation.
She saw it. Her movements dissolved into a pure, humming vibration of need. The rhythm was gone, replaced by a frantic, lapping desperation.
The rhythm was gone, replaced by a frantic, lapping desperation. “Open,” I commanded, my voice cutting through her muffled sounds. My left hand slid down the trembling slope of her stomach, past the damp waistband of her briefs. Her whole body stiffened, a silent protest. I found her wet heat, my fingers pushing into her with a single, relentless motion. She convulsed around me, a sharp cry muffled by my chest. I curled my fingers inside her, pressing up against a spongy, trembling wall. Her hips jerked, an involuntary, clumsy grind against my hand.
I controlled the movement, my palm anchoring her, my fingers setting a slow, deep rhythm. “Suck,” I growled. She took my cock into her mouth with a choked sob, the head stretching her lips wide. I pushed her down, feeling her throat spasm. Her breasts heaved against my legs, a heavy, warm tide. Every curl of my fingers inside her made her mouth go slack, then desperate, her suction deepening in ragged sync with my touch. Tears and saliva slicked my skin. I owned every twitch, every gasp, every shuddering inch of her. Her eyes rolled back, seeing nothing, feeling everything I gave her. A low, continuous moan vibrated around my shaft. She was just a body now, a perfect instrument.