The Key To Feminine Contentment – ebook

Excerpt

Heavy Activity

It was love – or a reasonable facsimile thereof – at first sight.

Kyle Johnson was a fitness nut. Linda Skrue owned – among many other things – the local health club. Cosmic synchronicity or just dumb luck? Either way it worked out great for both of them.

Kyle rolled over, and squinted at the clock. It was the dream that woke him, of course. Big Linda again. That fucking bitch. Even in his sleep she wouldn’t put out.

He’d been trying everything he could think of to catch her eye, and nothing seemed to work. The spandex shorts. Oiling his muscles ‘til they gleamed. Bench-pressing the stack, for god’s sake! Still the few glances she tossed his way were blank, disinterested. What the hell was a guy supposed to do? He had to have her, and soon. That’s all there was to it. She was without a doubt the most captivating woman he’d ever seen.

Tall, strong, the quintessence of feminine pulchritude, Big Linda Skrue was Kyle’s ultimate dream girl.

Her hair was a golden blonde overlaid with shiny reddish highlights, and it cascaded down her back to the bra-line. As for her body, it was even more impressive than his, with every muscle sculpted to perfection. Her legs were columnar, her ass tight and bulging. Her arms and shoulders were also bulky and well defined, and they needed to be. Hanging from the front of her deep, wide chest were the biggest pair of tits Kyle had ever seen.

Oh, there were movies, of course, and she was no Wendy Whoppers. But this was real fucking life. Barely contained by a tight blue body suit, Linda’s unbelievably heavy breasts preceded her everywhere like a fleshy fanfare. As obvious and emphatic as a clarion call to arms, they commanded instant attention wherever she went. Severely lovely and stunningly statuesque, she was built like a rampaging goddess of war and she obviously knew it. She led a gaping, goggling aerobics class with a superior smirk on her face, no doubt imagining seismographs trembling all over the state.

Kyle couldn’t stand it. He went there practically every day, just to watch her bend and flex and jump and bounce, and every night he went to bed with visions of those sugarplums dancing in his head.

She was BIG Linda, twelve feet tall and with tits like medicine balls.

Towering over him, she crushed him between those mammoth mammaries and began violently twisting her shoulders. Flogging away, she buffeted his body back and forth. Struggling wildly, battered and beaten by those immensely swollen globes, he finally succeeded in wrapping his arms around one. He writhed and climbed and sought out the nipple, a stiff, pink protuberance the size of his face, he fastened himself to its tip like the greediest leech. Ah, heaven at last! He suckled and suckled and suckled and sucked. Now, where was that glorious cave between her legs? He had some spelunking to do.

Kyle slid down, through the deep canyon of Big Linda’s cleavage, across the soft, springy plane of her belly (pausing for a dip in the dank pool of her navel), and at last plunged into the jungle below. As usual, that was where he got lost.

Even trimmed that blond bush was impenetrable, a magically forbidding forest of golden foliage. He’d need a compass, at least, before venturing through there. Well, Kyle knew where to find one. He swam up, from the deepest levels of REM sleep back to the world where he kept his belongings. He realized what he was doing only when he woke in his stale, sweaty bedroom, a 6 a.m. hard-on throbbing in frustration.

Briefly Kyle lay there, and considered once again using his hand to finish up what his asshole subconscious had started. But then he changed his mind. Why not head to the club now, and get an early morning workout? With luck the place would be deserted – except for Big Linda. Then who knew? Today might be the day. Encouraged Kyle climbed out of bed, kicking his way through a discarded heap of clothes and heading for the shower.

This was a pointless thing to do, when he was about to go work out, but Kyle always wanted to look his best.

As far as he was concerned, his body wasn’t just a temple, it was a goddamned cathedral, St. Peter’s perhaps, and it deserved regular sprucing up. Besides, there was the lovely Linda to think about, and he did, soaping his genitals vigorously and marveling at how large and hard he grew. At last he restrained himself and finished bathing, then shaved, combed his hair and tucked his still half-turgid prick into a tight pair of bicycle shorts. Then he was on his way.

He rode his bike to the club, a relatively short trip and just what he needed to loosen up. As he chained it up outside, Linda’s sweet black Ferrari peeled suddenly into the parking lot – seven o’clock and all was definitely well.

They met at the door, Big Linda grumbling distractedly and hunting for the keys.

“Goddamn it, where are they? Hello, Karl. I can’t believe someone’s actually here. I don’t know why I even open this early. I am definitely not a morning person.”

Kyle flushed in chagrin, a smooth opening line dying in his throat. “M-m-morning, Linda,” he managed to stammer out. “It’s Kyle.”

“Oh. Sorry.” she grunted, sounding anything but. “I’m not awake yet. I need an hour or so in the Jacuzzi first.” She socked the key home, opening the door and flipping on the lights. “Weight room?” Kyle nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and she led the way past the desk and down the hall. Again Linda flipped on lights, revealing the beautifully equipped gym, and she waved a hand. “You know where everything is. I’m going to soak for awhile.” She turned her back on him and headed for the combination sauna/Jacuzzi next door.

Kyle sighed to himself, and headed for the bench press. Might as well work on the pecs for a while. He inclined the bench to about 60 degrees, selected a challenging amount of weight and settled in. Soon he was pumping briskly away, trying to bury his disappointment and sublimate his frustration in mindless physical exertion.

It was no use, of course. His traitor mind kept picturing her naked in the Jacuzzi: neck deep in hot, silky water, caressing herself, moaning, even pushing her hungry crotch against the powerfully spuming nozzles and screaming with shivering ecstasy. Soon he was tenting out his shorts, the tight spandex no match for the raging monster within.

Embarrassed Kyle gritted his teeth. He added more weight to the bar and attacked it again, working harder and harder, desperately trying to divert his pointless desires.

He worked it for a good thirty minutes, his hard-on raging, until he was running with sweat and pumped up like some strange kind of puffer fish: cannonball biceps, bulging delts and pecs, his throbbing groin swollen with need. It was only then that he finally noticed Big Linda, framed in the doorway and watching him. She was flushed, dripping with water from the Jacuzzi, and her light cotton robe clung lovingly to every baroque curve of her wet, luscious body.

Kyle’s breath whooshed out of him in a gasp of surprise. There was also a hot species of guilt, that she should catch him this way, obsessing on her body with an all too obvious erection. His mechanically pumping rhythm faltered, and before he could recover his arms buckled. Suddenly the bar was at his throat, and slipping down his chest toward his vulnerable crotch.

In a flash Big Linda was across the room, moving with an instinctive sureness and grace that made ballerinas look clumsy. She leaped across the weight bench, straddling it, and caught the bar in her fists. Muscles bulged, and she effortlessly lifted it back up to the supports. Panting with more than exertion, Kyle stared shamefacedly up at her, his fingers crooked loosely around the bar above his head. Linda loomed over him, hands on her hips, and scowled sternly down.

“You should have a spotter!” she snapped. Then her eyes traveled lower, checking him out, finally arriving at his impressively tented shorts. “What the fuck kind of a work-out is this?”

Mortified, Kyle looked around for a hole in the ground. His reddened face and bulging, twitching groin were answer enough, and Linda’s perfect features sneered into a mocking, contemptuous grin. “I’ll tell you what, Kyle – I’ve got a work-out for you. I’ve got a work-out you’ll never forget!”

Straddling the bench, she grabbed a pair of wrist wraps and bound Kyle’s hands tightly to the heavy barbell. Then she slowly, deliberately unbelted her robe, letting it fall open to reveal that massively built yet unbelievably lush naked body.

For a moment it was just like last night. Linda’s Olympian breasts appeared suddenly before him, seeming to dwarf him in all their herculean proportion. Gloriously full and round and impossibly heavy, they were a veritable treasure chest of flesh, outrageously opulent, proving her once and for all exceedingly worthy of the name ‘Big’ Linda. Yet in addition to being so incredibly huge, they were also excitingly unique.

Unlike most large-breasted women, Linda’s big, pinkish nipples were not flattened and spread but tight and sharp as arrowheads, pebbly and contract and bristling with ducts. Thick and puckered and turgidly erect, her aureoles stood out and all in big stiff cones, capping those mountainous mams as pointedly as in his dreams. Then, also true to Kyle’s midnight vision, they were suddenly slapping and scraping his face, as Big Linda climbed atop him, wrenched his head forward and attacked him with those gigantic tits.

Around and around, she ground those incredible nipples against his face; then paused to let him suckle a bit. Then she began thrashing away, swinging them violently back and forth: flogging him into submission with her unbelievable boobs.

Kyle Johnson was in paradise, still frantically assuring himself that truly this was not one of his dreams, that Big Linda Skrue was actually straddling his bound body and breast-beating his helpless face. For a moment or two he wasn’t wholly convinced. But then suddenly Big Linda stopped her boobilicious battering and drew back a bit. And that was where the amazing similarity between fancy and reality finally ended, and ended with a vengeance.

The forbidding bush of his dreams was nowhere to be seen. Big Linda’s crotch was shaved slick and clean, and she was suddenly peeling down his shorts to free his rampant erection. Immediately this leaped eagerly upright, a purple-headed prong of hotly throbbing flesh. Glowering with menacing intention, Big Linda moved back in close and settled herself heavily atop Kyle’s hips, pressing that burning cock flat against his belly and rubbing herself vigorously back and forth.

Her slippery center lubricated his hard length liberally, preparing them both for an unbelievably impactful joining. Meanwhile she once again wrenched his head forward, this time burying his captive face in the grand canyon of her cleavage.

There she held him, pitilessly smothering him, squirming and writhing atop Kyle’s bound, naked body, until she’d sharpened her screaming need to its most incisive edge. Then she finally rose up just enough to free his purpling face and squashed erection. The instant its hot wet hardness reached the vertical she dropped her two hundred pounds and more immediately back down, sheathing it completely.

Only Kyle’s preoccupation with oxygen prevented him from a disastrous ejaculation. Gasping for precious breath, he was still so blown away by this initial insertion – not to mention the sheer fleshy immediacy of so much demanding femininity crushing him like a behemoth beneath her – that he was fundamentally unmanned almost to the point of that most unforgivable failure. And when the actual mechanics of copulation began, it wasn’t long before Big Linda’s undisputed stature as a goddess among women and the humbling inferiority of Kyle’s essential masculinity were indeed both well and truly proven.

With the hard, narrow weight bench propping his hips firmly up and providing the perfect perch for her to balance on, Big Linda bestrode poor Kyle like a towering colossus, her giant tits bracketing his flushed, stunned face and her bare crotch socketed firmly onto the unyielding fulcrum of his achingly hard, utterly overwhelmed manhood. Locked thus together at the groin, Big Linda Skrue immediately began rocking her big, muscular body roughly back and forth, riding that unbelievably lucky impalement with furious energy and manic determination.

This beyond-vigorous onslaught was quickly unendurable. Sandwiched between the unyielding bench and Big Linda’s frenzied sexual assault, Kyle closed his eyes. Arms hanging slackly from the bar where they were bound, he tried with all his will to distract himself from the neuromuscular tsunami building in his groin. But then Big Linda began to scream, somehow upping the tempo of her fucking even more and signaling unmistakably the cresting of her own inner tempest. And with that the cause was lost, along with so much more for Kyle Johnson.

A helpless cry ripped his throat, and that inner wave swamped him, washing all awareness away in a flood of sensation. Spasms wracked him as he pumped and pumped and pumped out his stuff, aware on some level that he was damning himself but not appreciating its extent due to the ready response of Big Linda’s voracious and domineering and always insatiable womanhood. The screams she released immediately took on a sustained, piercing note, and for as long as it was productive she continued to hump and pump and plunge her heavy body powerfully back and forth. But at last, seething with anger and contempt that her customary string of several escalating, ever more ecstatic orgasms should be so cruelly denied her she ceased her efforts. She leaned back to give herself the requisite space and then smacked useless Kyle as hard as she could across the face.

Watching the big imprint of her palm redden his cheek and tears of shock and dismay spring to his eyes, feeling that so promising-looking cock shriveling into uselessness inside her, Big Linda felt a familiar sadistic thirst for vengeance stir inside her.

Useless did she call him? Perhaps not… Every man had his uses, at least as far as she and Little Keri were concerned. He had an ass and a mouth still – both fit for fucking – plenty of skin to be marked, limbs to be bound and lifelong lessons to learn… She would have to cage the cock that had failed her, of course; see that it was never used again… Yes, this one had definitely earned addition to their stable. Big Mistress Linda checked the makeshift bonds on his hands, tightening them. Off came the sash from her robe, and she used it to bind him belly and waist to the big sturdy weight bench. His ankles were secured next: lifted up, spread out wide and bound as well to the barbell above his head, presenting his lower portal for penetration. At last she climbed off poor doomed Kyle.

From a pocket of her robe she pulled out a pair of crumpled, soiled panties and a roll of athletic tape. Wadding up the former, Linda crammed these deep into his mouth and wrapped the tape around and around his head, sealing them in. Satisfied for the moment, she pocketed the tape again and sneered down at him.

“You wait right here, boy,” Big Linda ordered. “I’m going to close up the club for today and call my little lesbian lover over. Then we’ll see about you. We’ll just see what good having all those big strong muscles does you. You’ve got a long-ass day and life ahead of you big man.”

Kyle sprawled there: his sprung jaw stuffed, eyes goggling unbelievingly and his swelled cock and ego permanently deflated. Big Linda Skrue nodded to herself, turned, pulled her robe closed and strode purposefully toward the door. Kyle Johnson struggled briefly, ineffectually with his bonds; then gave up. He hadn’t the slightest idea what his foolish dreams and innate weakness had just gotten him into.