Church Muscle
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(More clips, longer clips, and nice and slow so you can savor every flex)
STORY SAMPLE
The priest sat alone in the confessional booth when he heard the squeaky hinge of the door being opened.
The wood of the confessional booth groaned as someone—someone heavy—lowered themselves onto the other seat.
He slid open the wooden screen. Then froze.
She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Beautiful. But it wasn’t her face that stole his breath.
She was enormous.
He felt a wave of heat wash over his entire body. His breath caught. His heart slammed against his ribs.
Her dress, modest by most standards, clung indecently to her frame. The way it stretched to accommodate her thick, round shoulders. The way it hugged her lats. The seams straining, being stretched to their limit.
Then she spoke.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
After a pause—long, heavy, aching—he forced himself to speak.
“What sins do you wish to confess, my child?”
He could barely make out her face, but he felt her. The heat of her. The presence. Radiating confidence. Dripping with something darker. Something… wicked.
“I’ve been having… impure thoughts,” she said.
She let the silence linger. Let it breathe. Let it curl around him.
“Fantasies… about my big… bulging… mmmmmuscles.”
The way she drew out the word—my God.
He felt himself throb. Stiffen. Grow.
“G… go on,” he said meekly.
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