Power Tie: Valentine's Edition (mf musc)
by SS
Copyright SS, 2011. A little late on this one, I know. This one's my first attempt at TFing a straight guy. Enjoy.
Lou Ryota frowned: none of these ties were in his price range.
They were all beautiful, of course. Each one felt thicker and more luxurious than the last. Stripes, paisleys, medallions, checks, dots, prints—every kind he’d ever imagined, all brushing against his fingertips. Blessed with a slim figure, but characterized by a rather diminutive height, the half-Japanese IT systems manager really wanted to make the right impression. Perhaps splurging on a tie wouldn’t be out of the question? He had a feeling he wouldn’t be wearing it too often, though, particularly at his line of work.
Behind Mr. Ryota, Mr. Shaw’s huge baritone voice boomed in greeting: “Hey there! Anything I can do for ya?”
Mr. Ryota found Mr. Shaw’s exuberant demeanor a little offsetting, until he looked over one shoulder and saw the massive menstore owner approaching him: he was a giant, towering at 6’3’’ with a powerful physique that could command presence wherever he went. The perfect tailoring of his three-piece glen plaid suit emphasized his broad shoulders, nipped slightly in the waist, and rode over enormous thighs that seemed designed to grip the sides of a motorcycle. And yes, Mr. Ryota did think “biker in a suit” when he saw the fellow: Shaw’s lips were surrounded by a coppery red fu Manchu, and his cheeks were covered in stubble.
Yet the whole look—the bulging muscles, the stubble, the hairy hands, the fu Manchu—it all seemed to work somehow. Mr. Ryota couldn’t help but be intrigued. Maybe this man knew a thing or two about how to dress.
The glen plaid fabric rippled over Shaw’s tremendous biceps as he extended one of his hairy paws in greeting: “Tim Shaw.”
Mr. Ryota shook Shaw’s hand. “Lou Ryota. That’s a fine suit you’re wearing, Tim.”
Shaw’s mesh cufflinks glittered as he adjusted the notch lapel on his waistcoat. “All in a day’s work. What can I help you with?”
“Well,” Lou mused as he looked over at the ties, “I’ve got a date next week. We met each other online and wanted to reconnect—we both went to the same high school.”
Shaw’s stubbled cheeks cracked a smile, his massive pecs heaving a sigh beneath his custom shirt, tie, and waistcoat. “Highschool sweethearts, eh?”
“Well, we wish we’d been. I’m not sure how well it’ll go. But we’re going to a nice restaurant. One of those Thai-Southern-fusion cuisine kind of places. I’ll need to dress up.”
Shaw surveyed the velvet jacket, jeans, modern Cole Haan penny loafers, and slim-fitting striped shirt Mr. Ryota wore. The man seemed to know how to dress in a trendy setting, but would need some help when it came to suits and ties. “Well, if you’re willing to get more than just a tie, I’ve got some slim suits on discount.”
“Oh—I was just going to get a tie. I don’t think I’d wear a suit again anytime soon.”
“You could always wear the jacket and trousers separately, you know. But, if you’d rather wear the suit only once, you could always return it for a partial refund.” Shaw shrugged, his hulking traps making his suit’s lapels buckle.
Mr. Ryota pondered this for a moment, then nodded. Going with a full suit and tie would suggest that he’d been successful in his years since high school. And he supposed that Meagan certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea. Oh—and are these ties on sale?”
Mr. Ryota had to admit that he couldn’t quite figure out why Shaw’s stubbly chin grew from a grin to a smirk. “Yes—yes they are. 60% off. Care to take a look?”
Mr. Ryota brushed aside a gold checkered Hermes tie—yellow was not his color—and picked out a rich, handsome burgundy tie striped with dark blue and silver. “What do you think of this one?”
Shaw nodded. “Very nice tie. It’s best to be understated.”
Understated? Mr. Ryota thought. Aren’t you the one wearing a fu Manchu with a suit and tie?
As Shaw turned, Mr. Ryota saw that Shaw’s glen plaid suit trousers were stretched almost too tightly across Shaw’s massive thighs and quads. Shaw’s lats and shoulderblades likewise made the lustrous wool ride across his back, the suit jacket fitting the musclebear’s torso like a glove. This guy had to work out every single day of the week.
Shaw, on the other hand, remained nonchalant. “I think we’ll start you off with a 38 regular, and see how well that fits. And I’ll even knock off a few hundred bucks, just for you.”
As Ryota followed Shaw, his fingers relished the fine, rich weave of the silk tie he held.
***
Impressed, Meagan’s eyes lit up when she saw Lou Ryota standing at her door. “Lou!” She gave him a restrained, not too intimate half-hug—she didn’t want to send the wrong impression, after all.
She wasn’t sure where this Valentine’s date would go, but she was at least glad to meet up with an old friend. She was, however, quite sure that he seemed to have some romantic intentions for this date. She’d never seen him wear a suit before, but the grey houndstooth two-piece suit he sported this evening fit him perfectly, and his glossy black modern penny loafers came to a nice, long point that helped stretch out the visual line of his legs—which was helpful, since Lou was never a tall fellow. A white spread-collar shirt with French cuffs, sterling silver cufflinks, a white pocket square, and a nice burgundy tie suggested to her that he’d grown perhaps quite successful since his high school years. It certainly suggested to her that he’d put some serious thought into this date.
Lou had to admit that he liked his women with curves, and Meagan certainly had those. She certainly wasn’t overweight, but her figure had filled out considerably since high school, and her hips made her flounced black skirt play around her thighs in a way that was quite flirtatious, but still modest. Something about her demeanor, though, suggested that she was every bit as dorky and quirky as the girl he’d had a crush on in high school, despite the urbane sophistication of her dress and overcoat. But at the same time he had to control his nervousness. He was, after all, already sweating through his dress shirt.
Lou smiled up at her. Standing at only 5’7’’, he was always the shorter of the two. “Hey, Meagan.” A nervous, self-conscious smile bent his features as he reluctantly held out the rose and small box of chocolates he’d gotten her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Well, well! First he shows up looking like an extra off Mad Men, and now he has a rose and a box of chocolates, too. Meagan knew she’d have to be on her guard tonight, especially considering that Lou seemed as though he’d been hitting the gym.
So her smile was a bit coquettish as Lou handed her the rose and the chocolates. “Aww—thanks! And look at you—all dapper and suited up this evening! And I had no idea you’d been working out.”
“Oh?” Lou looked at his arms for a moment, and had to admit that they did seem to fill his suit sleeves a bit more than he’d remembered. “Um—thanks! I—um—guess I’ve gained a bit of weight since high school and all. And you look wonderful!”
That was clumsy. His complement sounded like an afterthought. As a few more beads of sweat slid down his sides beneath his shirt, he gulped.
The way she slipped the chocolates and the rose into her purse made Lou wonder whether giving them to her this early in the evening had been a good idea. He knew she had to suspect his more-than-Platonic intentions for this evening, but she also didn’t seem to be turning away.
So, as the two walked down the sidewalk, he thought hooking her elbow in his would be the polite thing to do. It was, after all, Valentine’s Day. And she didn’t seem to mind resting her fingertips on his arm.
He didn’t know, though, how impressed she was with the lump of muscle she found there, or how that lump of muscle seemed to be growing.
Lemongrass was the name of the restaurant, and the fragrance of its signature pad thai wafted throughout—which was good, since Lou knew he’d sweated through his deodorant by the time he and Meagan sat at the table.
But at least the conversation was flowing. Fifteen years was a long time for both of them to cover. Meagan’s artistic aspirations in high school had led her to a career in arts management—she talked animatedly about being in charge of the Asian Arts branch of her museum—while Lou had to admit that he’d abandoned his hopes for majoring in music, opting for computer science instead.
“So I see you’re going for the buff IT guy look?” Meagan teased.
“Eh? Um, sure, I guess.” Lou wasn’t sure what Meagan was talking about. He hadn’t seen the inside of a gym since high school. He also wasn’t sure why his shirt sleeves and jacket sleeves seemed so uncomfortably tight all of a sudden. And the sides of his torso likewise seemed to be chafing against the seams of his shirt.
So as the waiter took their orders—Lou asked for an appetizer of the barbeque spring rolls—their conversation moved on to relationships. And here the conversation risked becoming a bit of a pity party: Meagan tried staying with the goth punk rocker guy she’d been dating her senior year, and tried encouraging him to major in something other than philosophy, and tried dropping hints that she would’ve liked to get engaged—only to find that he’d already been cheating on her. Stunned, Lou could only offer four or five botched dates with various girls in college, including one with one of his co-workers, all to no avail.
“But that’s all behind me,” Lou remarked, sipping some chilled sake.
Meagan leaned back in her seat, swirling the sake in her wine glass—yes, this restaurant served its sake in wine glasses—secretly admiring the way Lou’s stubble seemed incredibly handsome and masculine against his crisp suit. And she swore she didn’t notice before how thick his neck had gotten, nor how his chin seemed rounded out. Perhaps he was right about gaining a bit of weight. But it was also clear that he must’ve worked out all the time. She could see his biceps bulging through the sleeves of the glen plaid suit jacket. Why did he keep insisting that he didn’t? Maybe she shouldn’t bring up that subject again.
As the pause in the conversation lengthened, Lou began to notice a certain discomfort in his nether regions. More than a discomfort, in fact—more like a keen burning sensation that seemed to be spreading from his balls to his cock. A weird, ticklish, bristling feeling began to crawl its way from his genitals, spreading beneath his underwear, then shooting down his thighs and up his belly.
And it was indeed a belly, too. Lou really should’ve gone easy on the duck teriyaki. His belly was bulging painfully against the waistband of his trousers, and his chest likewise seemed to be inflating. It was also getting very difficult to move his arms—his suit sleeves and shirt sleeves had grown so incredibly tight. And that rich burgundy tie was likewise growing tighter around his perspiring neck. He was very tempted to loosen it, but didn’t want to mess up his appearance.
Meagan, meanwhile, gazed at him very intently from across the table, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. Her mind raced back to the days when she would read manga, and secretly admire the big, furry, sumo wrestler characters she’d occasionally see on their pages (particularly in her secret collection of bara manga), and how Lou seemed to fit that model more and more by the moment, inexplicably.
Lou, meanwhile, found himself puzzled. On the one hand, he sensed that she seemed to know that this date was intended to be the first of many. On the other, Lou was quite sure that his gaffes—the chocolates, the rose, the constant and clumsy refusals that he’d ever been working out—were stiffening the odds against him exponentially. But still Meagan seemed intrigued by him.
And he was certainly still intrigued by her, particularly when he felt the toe of her high heel brush up against his ankle.
“You really should wear sheer socks,” Shaw had said to Lou during his visit the previous week. “If she decides to play a bit of footsie with you, it’ll feel better for her.” Indeed, the thick-and-thin sheers Lou wore beneath his houndstooth suit trousers made Meagan’s caress feel all the more sensual, magnifying the sensation of her hosiery against his. His cock jumped, and grew.
Those almond eyes of hers looked amazing, alluring. She was so totally flirting with him. Maybe she was willing to overlook his clumsy demeanor after all.
Or maybe she just wanted a little something extra tonight, only to dump him the next day?
But she was his friend. Surely she wouldn’t do that. And, even if that were her intention, the greater part of him didn’t seem to care. Hormones raced through his veins as his testes swelled, and his cock likewise was engorging itself, poking out of the hem of his boxers, its throbbing head encased in the silk lining of his suit trousers.
In fact, as the toe of her high heel slowly slid up his calf—and, indeed, as Meagan secretly admired how incredibly hard and muscle-knotted his calf felt beneath his sheer dress socks—Lou could feel the waistband of his boxers tightening while the boxers’ hems started retreating further and further up his thighs. The inseams of his suit trousers were straining to contain his now massive thighs while his boxers began to tighten around his cock and balls, feeling almost like a jock strap, but more tightly wound. The back of his boxers seemed to shrink away into a single cord that rode along the crack between his glutes, causing his genitals to feel both constrained and more capable of spilling loose.
Feeling quite literally cocky, thanks to the testosterone pumping through his system, Lou slipped his sheer-socked foot out of his modern penny loafer, letting his own socked toes stroke her foot, and accidentally making her high heel slip halfway off.
He mouthed a “whoops.” Her smile grew.
As Lou felt more hair bristling across his belly, his legs, his arms and biceps—and certainly more stubble on his cheeks and neck—he drew a deep, almost wistful sigh—
—and that was when two buttons of his dress shirt popped off. One bounced across their dinner plates, while the other landed squarely in Meagan’s cleavage.
Meagan gasped with surprise. Lou withdrew his foot. “Erm—sorry about that.” He could feel open air circulating behind his tie now that his dress shirt was open: bare, without an undershirt, the sweaty ridge between his bulging pecs swelled into view, the rupture covered just barely by his thick burgundy tie.
Meagan blushed. “It’s alright.” That was so incredibly hot, she thought. Clearing her throat, she took a drink of water, admiring the glimpses of Lou’s sweaty black chesthair and firm, dumb-bell sized pecs that threatened to rupture his shirt at any moment.
As Lou tried cramming his sheer-socked foot back into his loafer beneath the table, he began to notice that he was having an incredibly hard time doing so. In fact, his other foot was hurting, squeezed by the fine leather shoe, and seemed ready to burst through the leather seams.
To try to distract from his embarrassment—he was literally sweating buckets underneath his suit—he reached across the table to pour himself a bit more sake, when the underarm of his suit jacket ripped against the bottom of his massive tricep, revealing the translucent ring of sweat in his underarm.
And this, naturally, was when Meagan started noticing Lou’s incredibly masculine, sweaty odor: it cut through the thick and spicy air of the Thai restaurant, reached her nostrils and made her thoughts jump instantly to what might happen after dessert. Once more, her smile assumed a coquettish quality. Back in high school, she had never noticed how handsome and masculine Lou seemed, and certainly his new physique—she was surprised she hadn’t noticed that before, either—was helping.
As Lou’s newfound, pheromone-laced odor wafted from his ripping underarm, he began to notice his hands, which were easily three times their original size. Like massive bearpaws, they were downed in black hairs, and his knuckles and fingers seemed far bigger than the digits an IT guy would use to operate a keyboard all day. Wrists thickly corded with muscle seemed about to outgrow his French cuffs, or at least burst his cufflinks, and likewise his bulging forearms made his suit sleeves strain all the more tightly to contain his growing muscles.
Meagan also didn’t quite notice how tall Lou seemed to be. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or something, but Lou seemed to tower in his chair. She’d always remembered him being the short one, but perhaps there was some growth spurt hidden in his late teens, after the two had parted ways. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that he seemed to resemble a huge, furry sumo wrestler, with arms that could likely benchpress the weight of a piano. Regardless, her foot, with her high heel dangling off her toes, resumed its flirtation with Lou’s foot, which still had not squeezed itself into his loafer.
Lou’s cock, now swollen past ten inches, was protruding well past the odd swatch of fabric his underwear had become, and was tenting shamelessly in his trousers. She was so beautiful—and seemed perfectly willing to take this flirtation a bit further. Would he try his odds? Would he make a pass?
Something about this handsome tie seemed to fill him with confidence. And something about her demeanor suggested that maybe—just maybe—he was pushing all the right buttons.
So he leaned forward slightly, trying to ignore the groaning seams around his colossal, hairy thighs. As he nudged aside a vase of flowers in the middle of the table, he let his now huge hand rest there, hoping that she’d get the hint.
And she did. Her hand rested right beside his, and their fingertips just barely touched.
His stubbled chin cracked into a bashful smile. “Look, I don’t know where exactly this will go, but—”
“I don’t know either,” she cut in. “But I’m willing to see.”
As their fingers started to interlock, Lou felt the third button of his shirt burst: beneath his suit jacket, his lats were starting to flare out.
***
Having chocolate mousse for dessert, along with a stiff glass of plum wine, didn’t help either one of them with their hormones. She felt quite sure that his sweaty odor was about the best thing she’d smelled since—well—chocolate, and he felt quite sure that this evening would have the best possible outcome. Admittedly, so did she.
The two staggered a bit as they walked down the sidewalk, pleasantly buzzed. He held his loafers in one hand, as well as her high heels in the other, his houndstooth suit trousers stretching around his massive quads and dripping water all over the sidewalk.
Taking a little splash in one of the city fountains was his idea. He had to get those loafers off. His feet seemed to have doubled in size, and she, enchanted by his pheromone-laced odor as she was, didn’t seem altogether inclined to disagree with getting a little wet. She also didn’t seem to mind having a huge musclebear escorting her down the street this evening.
He looked like a manga character, she thought: almost cartoonishly huge, lumbering along at 6’4’’, with powerful, apelike arms threatening to rip through the sleeves of his suit at any moment, bristling fur on his pecs, which had popped three buttons of his shirt. A scruffy beard now downed his cheeks—she could’ve sworn he was clean shaven at the start of the evening, but perhaps it was just an effect of the street lights. Barefoot, with his tie loosened past the second button and his jacket straining to remain buttoned across his belly, there was something of a country bumpkin air to him, as though he were a huge farmboy on some rice patty who’d dressed up and come to the city just for her.
Embarrassed as Lou was that his jacket’s underarm had ruptured against his tricep—in fact, he was hardly aware he ever had one of those—and self-conscious that his apparently now-hirsute chest was trying to peek out between the buckling buttons of his shirt, he had to admit that things were going pretty smoothly. He felt amazingly attracted to Meagan, and she seemed to feel the same way towards him. He never knew he’d have such suaveness in him—if that term could be used to describe a huge sumo wrestler stuffed in a suit, walking down a sidewalk barefoot, the seams of his straining suit creaking with every motion.
In fact, as he approached Meagan’s apartment, he seriously entertained thoughts of inviting her to his place for the night. He so desperately wanted to take this all to its logical conclusion. She was impressed with him, and he wanted to give her even more reasons to be impressed. But, as the two approached her front steps, he knew it might be best not to push his luck. Besides, what if she felt a bit intimidated by him? He wouldn’t want to harm her.
And why on earth would he be able to harm her anyway? It wasn’t like he was a giant or something.
“Well,” she said, unlocking her door and turning towards him. “It’s been a wonderful evening, Lou.”
He handed her high heels back to her, and she slipped them on.
Looking down—he never noticed how huge and thick and furry his feet were before—he dug a toe into the ground. “Meagan, I was wondering if we should try, you know, having coffee sometime or—”
Just as she was bending back up, she pressed her lips against his, resting her hands on his scruffy cheeks. His eyes widened for a moment as she ended the kiss, drawing back away from him, and resting her hands on his broad, powerful shoulders.
Her fingertips relished the sensation of the fine houndstooth wool stretching over his hulking traps. Coquettish, flirty, and thoroughly turned on, her smile said all.
If his cock could have roared right then, it would have. Unfortunately, it had to resort to the next best thing: ravaged by his own hormones, he wrapped his burly arms around her—she felt his massive biceps cushioning her neck—as he returned her kiss with considerably more tongue.
Startled at first by his sudden lack of restraint, she was reluctant for a moment, before she let her lips fall open, leaning back into his embrace while resting one of her hands on the powerful boulders his deltoids had become, savoring his masculine, sweaty odor.
Her other hand, meanwhile, gripped his tie and slowly dragged him through her door.
***
One of Meagan’s hands blindly slammed the door shut behind her, while her other hand tried to find one of the buttons on Lou’s shirt. But, swelling with hormones, not caring about having a shirt to wear home, he found two folds of the fine white cotton, ripping it apart to reveal a barrel belly and pecs like slabs of granite, both downed with black fur. His loafers clattered to the floor alongside his scattered buttons.
He never had any idea that such a body was hiding beneath his suit: swelling in response to the effort, his biceps ripped through the seams of his jacket shoulders while his lats burst the button straining to hold his suit jacket together. His tremendous belly—a pot belly just barely concealing the powerful core beneath his lats and pecs—rolled out between the sides of his suit jacket and shirt.
Ecstatic—it was as though one of the bara manga characters of her teenage fantasies had come to life before her eyes—she started kissing and licking his powerful, bull-like neck, standing on her toes to reach him.
Meanwhile, engorged to a full eleven inches, his cock was already nearly bursting out of his trousers, and his trousers were already sagging far below his waist, weighted down by his tremendous balls, the sagging waistband revealing the twisted fabric of a sumo’s fundushi beneath his suit, with the head of his cock throbbing out, barely able to be contained.
As Meagan felt his tremendous biceps, swelling with cocky pride he struck a double flex pose—to the best of his ability, of course, unpracticed as he was—letting his burly, powerful arms shred the sleeves of his suit jacket and dress shirt, sending his cufflinks popping against the wall. His forearms were like treetrunks, thicker around even than his furry biceps.
Although every animal instinct told him to feel her up, he found it difficult to grope her. For one thing, his hands were over three times their original size. And, for another, he found himself scared that he’d end up hurting her with this newfound strength of his. Locked in his massive arms, she was gasping for air as he started to embrace her, so he loosened his grip, only to find her aggressively yanking away at his belt buckle.
His cock was jumping, throbbing, drooling precum, begging for more, particularly when she unzipped his trousers to find his balls swelling through the sweaty fundushi he wore, and the head of his cock shamelessly poking above the pouch of the fundushi, which she was starting to unwind as his trousers sank down his colossal, sweat-slicked thighs.
He had to admit that he was at least as turned on by himself as he was by Meagan, who was now starting to thrust her tongue beneath his sweaty sumo underwear. Gripping the ragged remnants of his suit sleeve, he ripped the sleeve of his jacket and shirt right off one of his arms, the materials tearing across his massive muscles like tissue paper, revealing biceps, triceps, delts, and forearms so thickly knotted and burly that his wrist watch had snapped. His every sinew was covered in a pelt of black musclebear fur. Bending his fist, and slowly flexing his elbow, he admired the swelling of his bicep the size of a medicine ball, his cock engorging itself as Meagan’s lips touched it.
To his relief, he felt the tightly corded fundushi slipping loose under Meagan’s fingertips, the traditional cloth garment simply unraveling as his enormous balls bulged out of it. His voice—now a big, chest-rumbling baritone—emitted a groan of pleasure as he leaned against the wall of her entryway, upsetting a sidetable while she charged further into his bush, pinning him against the wall.
Beneath his burgundy striped tie, which was clinging tightly to his bull-like neck, his furry belly jiggled as he chuckled, resting a huge, hairy, gentle paw on her shoulder as she continued sucking, letting his fundushi unravel and dangle out of his open trousers while his traps hulked through the shoulders of his suit jacket, his massive and ursine torso expanding in one final spurt.
His massive paws gripped his tie and started pulling it loose, the heavy silk dangling against his sweat-slicked belly. His hirsute pecs swelled out of the torn sides of his shirt, letting his fat nipples protrude into view while his lats and delts flared wide above his belly, ripping his warped shoulder seam completely apart, causing the shredded remnants of his remaining suit sleeve to ride on his biceps, too tight for him to pull away. Leaning against the wall, his massive body relaxed, abandoning itself to pleasure as his quads exploded, ripping the seams of his trousers. They had grown so large, so knotted with muscle that his trousers couldn’t fall past his knees, leaving his enormous, lightly furry feet sticking out beneath his ruined houndstooth suit trousers.
As he kissed the top of her head, his thick fingers groped the zipper on the back of her dress, slowly pulling it down, still afraid that he might hurt her, while he slipped the dress off her shoulders. Despite himself, his powerful hands snapped the back strap of her bra.
Rising from his cock, her hair slightly discomposed, she gave him a lusty smile as she gripped him by the braided waistband of his loose fundushi, dragging the enormous musclestud to the bedroom.
***
Seven times in a single night? He had no idea he’d had it in him. And he was still rock hard. All 12 inches of him.
His beefy, furry arms swelled as he squeezed her in a hug. He was getting a bit better about not overwhelming her. But she liked big hugs, she said.
Her bed sat crookedly in the middle of the room where his swaying and pumping had moved it, spent condoms littering the way. The rags of his suit lay strewn about on the floor, mingled with her black dress, one of her stockings, her discarded underwear, and her ripped bra.
He was still ready for another go, and she knew it. She could feel his raging erection prodding against her back. But both also knew that it was already 8:00 in the morning. They couldn’t stay in bed forever. And it didn’t help that she was nearly exhausted.
In his arms, she glowed, her bedsheets twisted with streaks of his drying cum. She had never met a man with such relentless constitution. Her brain thrummed over each of those seven times, feasting on the mingled images and sensations of them all. And yet, tired and horny as she was, she also felt strangely protected, at peace with her surroundings. She felt as though she’d found a guardian in this massive musclebear man lying in bed with his powerful arms around her.
As she kissed his hand, she untangled herself from her bedsheets, and he reluctantly released her after one final squeeze. His furry pecs swelled in a huge yawn as he stretched his burly arms, which easily spanned the entirety of the bed itself.
He picked up one of the wrappers from the box of chocolate truffles he’d given her, remembering how they took turns placing the truffles on one another’s bodies. She had particularly liked licking them off his pecs. Sheepishly he remarked, “I can push the bed back. Sorry about that.”
She pulled off her remaining stocking, rummaging through a drawer of her dresser for some underwear. “You don’t have to do that. I kind of like it there.” She winked.
His lightly bearded cheeks cracked a smile. The fundushi that had materialized under his suit last night was nothing more than a long strip of white—or, rather, sweatstained—cloth strewn across the floor. He had no idea how to put it back on. So he tried pulling his torn houndstooth suit trousers over his quads, the fabric straining to fit over his colossal legs.
She, meanwhile, was pulling on a pair of jeans, attempting to look decent as she relished his salty, sweaty odor, which seemed to suffuse the entire room, as well as every strand of her hair.
He didn’t bother buckling his belt. It was already a struggle zipping those suit trousers over his monstrous cock and balls, which he had to tuck in carefully beneath the tightly stretched fabric. The ripped inseams made his trouser cuffs hang around his bare feet in tatters. And there was certainly nothing he’d be able to do about his shoes, which he knew would no longer fit.
Putting on a button-down—with no bra, much to Lou’s delight—she buttoned it just enough to pass in public, but more than enough to make his cock tent immediately the moment he saw her cleavage parting the top of her shirt. Slinking over to him, she rolled up his tattered trousers, attempting at least to make him look decent while he shrugged on his now-tiny dress shirt. Noticing that he’d taken the liberty of ripping off one of his shirt sleeves before, he nonchalantly tore away the other, discarding the French cuffed sleeve on the floor.
Admiring his guns, he buttoned the seventh button of his shirt, the only one that had managed to hang on from the night before. The rest were gone, and so much the better: his pecs and belly wouldn’t have allowed him to button his shirt anyway. Draping the burgundy striped tie—the tie that seemed to have caused all of this to happen—around his bull-like neck, he let the ends of the silk dangle sensually along either side of his barrel of fat, muscle, and fur. Beneath his shirt tails, his still-erect phallus and tremendous balls weighed his waistband quite far enough down so that an onlooker would be able to see his treasure trail beneath his musclegut. It would be obvious that he wasn’t wearing underwear beneath his torn suit trousers.
Stepping back for a moment to admire him—her muscular fantasy manga bear, with a loose tie around his neck, in a sleeveless dress shirt and rolled suit trousers that now fit him more like skin-tight gym shorts, she smiled. “Didn’t you mention some menstore you went to for that suit? I think you’ll need another one.”
“Oh, Shaw’s? I’ll need a whole new wardrobe, yes.” His deep baritone purred with bravado as he added, “Unless you’d like me going to work shirtless. I can do that, just for you.”
She blushed, stepping towards him. “You know I wouldn’t mind.”
Gently he wrapped his burly arms around her waist, and she laid her head against the pillow of muscle that his massive chest had become.
END