The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I don’t really need to describe in detail how I tit-fucked and ass-fucked my receptionist at her apartment that night. Nor how I went home, and Mira stole into my bedroom at 8:30 in the morning, wearing nothing but black fishnet stockings and some sort of 1960’s-style church-going hat, with a gauze veil.

No, what I really need to tell you about took place that Sunday evening. I need to tell you about meeting Julia, and how I reacted to her, and what she did to me.

That Sunday afternoon was sunny and hot, with billowing clouds that were the forward guard of severe thunderstorms. I did some easy yard maintenance, then paid bills. It was all normal householder stuff, that would have been accomplished already if I hadn’t been fucking around so much.

As the time for my blind date drew closer, I gave what to wear some thought. ing that Julia was an artist of some kind, it didn’t make sense to go too formal. I went with dark jeans and a peach colored polo shirt at first, but then changed the shirt to a sharper-looking black button-up. Didn’t artists often wear black? I believed so, but wasn’t really sure.

I spent half an hour brushing up on the works of famous artists, wanting to be somewhat prepared. I wasn’t a total idiot when it came to art history, but when I tried to get any sense of which art trends or artists were “hot” at the moment, I had to give up. To me, the contemporary art world appeared to be completely fragmented, with lots of attention going to identity and gender concerns, and also political issues. Superficial trends of the moment, or movements of historic and cultural significance? I had no idea.

That uncertainty could be its own intelligent-sounding conversation, though: “Tell me, Julia, is the contemporary art scene truly as fragmented as it appears to an outsider? And where would you say your work fits within this wide spectrum?” Or some such conversational gambit, if I liked her enough to even care.

The restaurant, Lucky Nami, was very familiar to me, to the point that Grace and I had a favorite table. I reserved that table and chose the seat facing the large glass windows at the front, and the glass door. I was early, and would be able to spot Julia when she arrived.

The sky had grown ominous on the drive over. There was an almost oppressive stillness to the air, although it was nice and cool inside the restaurant. I ordered a Japanese beer, and had a few sips as it just kept getting darker outside, the clouds an angry charcoal gray. Streetlights flicked on even though sunset was more than an hour away, and I had the thought that it might be weirdly entertaining to have a power outage right in the middle of a blind date, having to eat by candlelight.

And then the lightning, followed by throaty rumbles. It wasn’t raining yet, but if Julia didn’t get here in the next couple of minutes…

It wasn’t even that long before the lightning morphed into bright bolts with almost immediate thunder cracks. A few fat raindrops assaulted the windows, and in only a few seconds it became a torrential downpour, the restaurant interior glowing reassuringly bright and warm in contrast to the premature darkness and the raging elements outside.

I looked at my watch—it was a few minutes past seven. I vaguely pictured Julia leaning forward to see through her car’s windshield, with the wipers going full tilt. Or perhaps she was in an Uber, and someone else was combatting the storm. Or she had pulled over somewhere, waiting for the worst of it to end.

In the brilliance of several quick flashes of lightning, I could see a teenaged girl running past the restaurant with some sort of flat object held over her head, the poor kid already drenched. A few seconds later, some poor woman with muscle legs came into view, squatting down to wrap a chain around a bicycle, locking it to a parking sign.

I had another sip of my beer, and with the tinkle of little bells the door opened, and in came the rain-soaked bicyclist. It’s embarrassing how it took me a few seconds to realize that this was my date—my excuse is that I went a little brain-numb from instantly going dick-erect as I gawked at her astoundingly muscular legs.

Their thick shapeliness was just insane; it was like the dance splendor of Mira’s legs and the bulging muscularity of Gina’s workout legs had been blended together and then made shorter and thicker, and then infused with gallons of Popeye spinach-power. I just stared for a few seconds, aware that there was an entire woman attached to the legs, partially covered by a short blue rain jacket that dripped all over the floor. The restaurant’s hostess offered to take the jacket while handing over a small towel, that the drenched woman used to blot her face.

That’s when I got my first indication of the big breasts that must be lurking under something that had the shape of a loosely fitting sweatshirt, and the shoulders and arms that looked to be a perfect match to the incredible legs. There was also an extremely cute face in the mix, and the eyes on that face were looking straight at me.

She smiled a dimpled smile and gave a little nod, and that was the moment I fully accepted that this thicc muscular mass of gorgeous femininity was fucking Julia!

I found myself giving her a confused wave with my right hand, my left hand reaching for the glass of beer like just touching something solid might get my brain working more efficiently. My cock was transfixed; I was in a state reminiscent of when I’d seen Mira for the first time. I immediately wanted… No, it was more like a thunderbolt from the heavens illuminating a life-affirming need to fuck this woman. I knew nothing about her, but it was that simple. I needed to see that body naked, and I needed to fuck it.

Thunder cracked as she came towards me, and I gathered every bit of resolve that was inside me, making myself look at her face. It was an all-American cheerleader’s face with blue eyes and a strong chin, and if her hair weren’t so wet it would probably be a pleasing shade of golden-blonde. Her neck was noticeably strong… Fuckity-fuck-fuck, every single inch of the woman looked strong as shit, like she had borrowed muscularity from a dozen other workout women and infused her physique with all of their energy, along with some of their bulk.

And yet she wasn’t big. Grace had said she was five feet tall, which was almost like saying she was petite. Only how could you call a woman petite when it looked like she could leap over a tall building in a single bound, and then pull the building out of the ground to lift it over their head?

“Hi, I guess you’ve figured out that I’m Julia,” she said, pulling out the chair opposite from me and slipping into it. “And I know from a photo Grace sent that you’re Michael.”

I nodded and my mouth opened—stupidly, I think I was about to ask how it was that I hadn’t been able to find a single picture of her on the internet. I was saved by a particularly strong boom of thunder, that made me and everyone else in the restaurant jump. Julia craned her head and shoulders in the direction of the windows and door, and I took those few seconds to study her chest. The nylon shirt she had on was almost completely dry—no semi-transparent ogling of her tits like in a wet t-shirt fantasy. The particulars of her breasts were mostly indistinct, but it was obvious that they were large and maybe broad in some way, just like the rest of her. I also took in how sturdy her arms must be, like her biceps muscles were thicker and stronger than many women’s legs. I glanced at her fingers, and even they looked pumped.

When she turned around again I pretended to be composed, even though it was like I had a fire alarm sounding in my pants. How had Grace described this woman—like a She-Hulk who was short, something like that? I got it now, but it failed to include just how fucking cute she was, too.

Our waitress came just then and asked if we wanted appetizers, and Julia said she only wanted hot tea. As in no food.

“That’s it?” I asked. “You’re not going to order anything to eat?”

“I won’t be staying very long.”

The words broke my dick’s heart. I looked at her quizzically, and there was probably some element of crestfallen shock on my face, because she smiled sympathetically and reached out a hand to pat one of mine.

“Don’t read too much into it. I got slowed down by the storm, and I have a train to catch. The things I’d want to talk about don’t have to happen here anyway; we can do all of that later, by phone. I’m here just to get a quick sense of you, like a body chemistry thing.

Her tea came and she poured some into a small porcelain mug, then sat back with her hands reaching forward to cup its warmth. When she brought the cup to her lips and blew on it before sipping, I found myself slayed by her lips, too.

“Just so you know, Grace already gave me your number, in case I might want to follow up after meeting you in the flesh.”

I nodded, clinging to hope. “And do you think you could want to follow up?”

“Mayyybe,” she said, drawing the word out. “We have just enough time to do a lightning round of the basics. She glanced backwards, where the sky was still flashing. “Sorry, no pun intended. Anyway, you’re a therapist, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like doing that, or love it?”

“I love my work,” I said without hesitation, although that was becoming a more complicated question every day.

“I’m sure Grace told you that I teach art at the college level. Freshman drawing and design classes, although I’m basically a painter. This is only my second year of teaching, and I really do love it. The students are so open to exploration, and I also get to focus on the fundamentals.”

Two years of teaching, and freshman level students… That meant Julia was probably about twenty-six, and her students were mostly eighteen or so. I wanted to ask how they—meaning all the heterosexual males in her classes and anyone else attracted to women—could concentrate on anything at all when their teacher looked like pure sexual thiccness. Instead, I went with, “What do you paint?”

“Sorry, that’s a highly classified secret for now. The human form; I guess I can go that far. They’re large canvases, sometimes eight feet tall and ten feet across. I love painting large like that; it becomes a really physical process.”

It seemed to me that anything this woman did or didn’t do, even something as simple as brushing her teeth or putting on socks, could become a cock-hardening physical process. I tried to think of what to say next, but Julia pulled out her phone from somewhere, and from the set of her lips I knew what was coming next.

“Trains don’t wait; I have to go.”

I tried to keep my face from looking crushed. Would her bike fit in my car, giving us a little more time?

“Michael, at the risk of seeming cheap, I’m going to let you be a gentleman and pay for my tea. If we have another dinner date, that one can be on me, I promise.”

She pushed up in her chair and I started to rise, then hesitated because of my boner. No need to worry, though, as she already had her back to me and was halfway to the door.

Somebody muttered “Jesus Christ!”, and that was when I became aware that there were several other diners who couldn’t take their eyes off the woman. Her strides were quick and powerful and the restaurant hostess scurried to retrieve Julia’s rain jacket. Then she was out the door—no backward glance or good-bye wave—and it felt to me like the solidity of an entire restaurant’s structure must be softening a little, all that sexual potential no longer on the premises.

The rain was not nearly as heavy as before, and as I could I continued to watch Julia through the door. She first bent at the waist, then lowered to one knee to unlock her bicycle. I just couldn’t believe how any woman’s legs could be that massive and also shapely the way they were. When she was positioned to restore the bike’s lock into its holder, I got a good rear view for several seconds, my last glimpse of the astounding bulge and roundness of her ass. There was a blinking flash of lightning that seemed to draw pale blue lines around her form—it looked to me that if the woman pedaled as hard as she possibly could, the bike would beg for mercy before metal bent and the chain tore apart.

There was one final rain-speckled image of her straddling the bike, then she disappeared to the right. I sank back into my seat and finished off my beer, then ordered another, plus sashimi. My cock remained hard and my thoughts were all over the place, my emotional state in turmoil.

I pictured her thighs rising and falling like pistons, her calves tensing and releasing in quick succession. I had to have her, I just had to. Her behavior had been strange, to say the least—the train schedule was probably a real thing, but then why agree to meet me at all under such tight constraints? I still didn’t have her number, and that was certainly deliberate. Because she hadn’t liked what she’d seen?

“Mate, can I ask you a question?”

I looked up to see a tall guy, Australian by his accent, standing near my table with two shorter friends.

“Fire away.”

“That woman you were with, the one with… With freaking everything. Is she a friend, maybe a co-worker?”

“Or a professional wrestler?” one of the sidekicks chimed in.

“Or, like, an actual Wonder Woman,” muttered the third.

I had to smile. They were all smitten or amazed and I figured that the tall one, handsome and cocky, wanted Julia’s number or even the general vicinity where he might run into her.

“Sorry, she isn’t local. And believe it or not, she was my blind date.”

The three men exploded into laughter. The shortest one told me that I should rush out and buy a lottery ticket, but the Aussie looked more sympathetic. He said, “A pity to even meet someone like that, if you don’t land her.” A pause, and then he added, “She wasn’t even here for ten minutes, was she?”

I shrugged, and said something true for a change, that I had no idea what my chances were. Probably not good, I added.

They left, and in their wake another restaurant patron, sitting at the table right across the aisle from mine, looked at me and made an explosion sound with his mouth. That could have been a wordless description of Julia’s looks, or commentary on how our blind date had gone. Not my fault, though, when I’d been given zero chance for any other outcome.

I brooded, and I could see how my mind was doing what it could to cheer me up. I rationalized that I was landing exceptionally beautiful women right and left, and one of them, Mira, could even hold up in quality to the physical marvel who’d just sat across from me. This was true, not me b.s.—ing my way towards feeling better—Mira was just as gorgeous and physically impressive as Julia, although the particulars were very different.

I dropped thinking about that, but then an image appeared in my head where Julia picked up a bicycle and twisted the metal until she’d turned it into a pretzel with wheels.

Puny human, I heard in my mind, a phrase picked up from somewhere, most likely spoken by The Hulk. And then I had to stifle myself from laughing out loud, because I thought of Terri Thorngood and her superhero fetish. I had put it into her mind to develop her body into the kind of shape that would be in line with her fantasies, but the woman could train and lift weights for a decade and never come close to what I had just seen. The same with Gina—she was wonderfully curvy, and working with weights sure had enhanced her physique, but Julia was just on some other planet. She must exercise like crazy, but there was also the matter of genetics. She was small but also wildly big, like she fucking ate gym equipment.

For whatever reason I thought back to that troubled night when I’d fruitlessly searched the internet for a woman whose legs got to me the way that Mira’s did. Well here she was, and I could see now that my search parameters hadn’t been quite right. As far as I knew there were zero photos of Julia on the internet, but if there were, she would belong in the company of painfully sexy cross-fit babes, female athletes whose physiques were geared towards sheer strength.

Leg strength, my brain and cock chimed at the same time. I had a leg fetish, and had believed it all about shapeliness, but it was also the strength that came with all that shaping. As for my big boob thing, could Julia’s be real? Did I even care?

I sat quietly, eating my meal on autopilot. What had my head spinning was that those ten or so minutes with Julia had revealed the existence of a whole other level of lustfulness deep in my bones, or within my boner. My cock fucking WANTED, all caps.

Still reeling, I managed to pay my bill and walk to my car, taking in the damp air left by the storm. The clouds were gone in the west and the sun was low and bright, and I had to shield my eyes as I drove out of the parking lot. Stopped at a light, I replayed the sight of Julia’s legs and ass as she’d nearly fled from our table, and then the bulge of her leg muscles as outlined by flashes of lightning. My cock rocketed to hardness again and I felt nearly sick with desire.

Rather than trying to drive home in this state, I pulled into the parking lot for a chain drugstore, and I called Grace.

“So?” she answered on the second ring, her voice loud and bright on the car’s speakers.

“Grace, what have you done to me?”

“Ooo, I think I hear pain. She didn’t like you?”

“I have no idea what she thought of me. She stayed all of five minutes, just a few sips of tea and a hasty exit. She could have been miserable or anything else, and I can’t… You haven’t heard anything from her, have you?”

“Not a peep, honest. And I knew you’d go nuts for her. Or that your nuts would go nuts, whatever. She’s something else, right? Like one in a zillion. I knew you’d be attracted.”

“Attracted? I wanted to rub wasabi all over her and eat her right there on the table!”

“Weeeird, even for you. I understand, but I don’t want to picture it.”

“Grace, where did you even find someone like that?”

“You know the answer. We have the same therapist in D.C.”

“Right, right. Any idea what her issues are?”

“Sure. Every straight guy who sees her is torn between wanting get down on his knees and propose to her, or just start beating-off. I was the same way, but I had the solution of diving between Lucinda’s legs to ease the pain.”

“She’s just… I feel kind of overwhelmed somehow, like—”

“Wait, you aren’t beating off right now, are you? I could call you back if—”

“Hardly. I’m parked at a strip mall. I was driving home and started to think about Julia and… I literally felt too distracted to drive. I feel blindsided.”

“Oooo, not a blind date, but a blindsided one! We might need to trademark that.”

I laughed, but we could both hear that it was half-hearted.

“This is the first woman you’ve desired since Dee flew away, isn’t it?”

Hardly, but I didn’t correct her.

“And then Mira before that, two incredibly sexy women in a row where in the end it just couldn’t work out. You’re the therapist, not me, but with those two strike-outs after Joyce… I could see where there might be extra-pronounced feelings of desire all built up inside you, just waiting for the right woman to be projected upon. Now a dream woman like Julia is dangled in front of you—I’m not going to apologize for that—and of course you’re going to feel all hyped-up.”

“Not bad,” I said, giving her credit for reading the situation as she knew it.

“And you ask why Julia is in therapy? I was only half-kidding before. Think about it—for anyone into heart-melting smiles and fitness and boobs, she’s a fucking twenty on a scale of one to ten. So for real, just imagine how much lust must get aimed in her direction every damn day.”

“True,” I conceded.

“I was no different when I first met her. She was sitting in our therapist’s waiting room when I came out after a session, and I seriously believe my jaw dropped. She was thumbing through a People magazine, wearing tight jeans and sandals, her legs crossed. Her raised foot moved around and I have no idea how the seams at the lower part of of those jeans didn’t just rip apart. She’s… Wait, she didn’t show you her tits, did she?”

“What?”

“What I mean is, did she strip down to her t-shirt? In case you didn’t notice, her arms are fucking incredible and her tits are, well, big.”

“She had on a shapeless sweatshirt thingie the entire time. Fuck, there would have been a ruckus in the restaurant if that had come off. I take it that it did for you.”

“At my place when she met Lucinda, yes. She usually tries to keep her boobs as hidden as she can with shawls and whatnot, fuck knows why. She’s natural, I’m sure of it, and her tits… I think they’re like the rest of her, you know? They’re mighty.”

I started to groan, but choked it down and told Grace that I wanted to hear any news the moment she received any kind of communication from Julia. And though I didn’t like the wheedling tone of my voice when I asked for it, I asked for Julia’s phone number.

“Can’t do that,” my friend responded emphatically. “She made me promise.”

“I just have to wait and wonder?”

“Come on, it makes sense. The woman is like concentrated drop-dead, right? She’s probably had stalkers or fuck-knows. She went on a blind date with you, which I think was quite the unusual event for her, but when a woman looks the way she looks, the ball is obviously in her court. my nickname for her—Rule Ya? She rules, so you just have to wait. She’ll either get back to you or she won’t.”

“That’s probably why there aren’t any social media photos. What you said about stalkers.”

“I did ask her today how her art students manage to behave themselves. I mean, can you imagine having a teacher who looks like that, sidling up close to point out that you aren’t drawing a nude model’s hands correctly, or whatever? Boner City, right?”

“What did she say?”

“That it’s impossible for her to completely hide that she has vitality up the wazoo and dynamic curves—her description—but that she dresses in baggy jeans and some kind of painter’s smock when she teaches. Small mercies, right? Or huge Lord-have-mercy’s, under wraps.”

I was ready to ring off and finish the drive home, but then ed another problem from the day. “Change of subject—how are things with you and Lucinda?”

“Never better. I’m still a frequently erupting kind of woman, thanks to you.”

“So what I did with Lucinda… You’d say it has staying power?”

“Very much so. Or maybe even growing power. I can hardly believe I was free to take your call.”

What was up with Rosita, then? Grace and I spoke just a bit more, and when we rang off I thought about texting Rosita again. Instead, I closed my eyes and pictured Julia, and my cock responded anew. Fuck it, she was not around anymore and I had to wait to fuck Mira again, so I called Gina.

“Have a drink with me tonight?” I asked when she picked up.

“Sure. What are we drinking?”

“Tell the truth, I’ve got a hankering for a great big helping of you. I want you all over my face.”

I heard her breath filling the car. “Fuck, you do know how to get my motor running. But you’re also a gentleman, so you know it’s rude to drink alone.”

“I totally agree. You can have as much as you want tonight, for as long as you want.”

“My boss might be mad at me if I’m late for work in the morning.”

“Fuck your boss.”

“Promise?”

“I’m already in the car. Five minutes.”

“Let yourself in. I’ll unlock the door and… I’m already taking my clothes off.”

I pulled out of the parking lot and drove fast on damp streets, my cock doing the navigating. I felt nearly sick with lust and if I were a religious man, I would have said a prayer that went something like: “Dear Lord, please find a way to allow me to pour my voice inside of Julia Hantz, the same way it’s inside my receptionist. Because I fucking need this.”

I dreamed about Julia before awakening the next morning. In the dream she wasn’t petite at all, because she was a fucking giant, something like thirty feet tall. There was no memory of exactly what she was wearing in the dream; she wasn’t completely naked, I was pretty certain of that. I must have been standing in the vicinity of her feet, and I was looking up at her, beyond the incredibly muscular legs that were thicker than sequoia trunks, and I could only see the upper portion of her face because the volume of her twin giant breasts blocked the view of anything lower than her eyes and the bridge of her nose.

It was night and the moon was out, looking smaller than usual because she was so freaking huge. I felt hornier than I’d ever been in my life, and wondered whether it could be possible to climb her legs, and eventually find my way to her pussy. I didn’t know if she would allow that; if she wanted to she could flick me away with a shake or a brush of a giant hand, flinging me into oblivion. But what if she didn’t intervene, or even wanted me in her pussy? Big as it was, my cock would be useless there: it would be more like fucking her with an entire arm, or maybe even the whole of my body. And if the latter, would I survive it? If my head went inside her, would I be able to breathe?

I awakened making moaning sounds, and discovered that Gina was giving me a two-fisted hand-job. I came quickly, even though we’d fucked twice before falling asleep together. She told me afterwards that it had looked like I was having a sexual nightmare.

I drove home as the sun was rising, and I got myself all cleaned up and dressed for work. Once there, with Gina looking contented and sexy as hell at her receptionists desk, I tried to find the needed attitude to do my job correctly.

I couldn’t really concentrate. At first I attributed it to getting too little sleep, but it was more about being haunted by mental images of Julia’s body. The dream of her being as tall as a tree was part of that, but so were actual visual memories of the two or three seconds when I’d studied the curvature of her ass, or the way her thigh muscles and calf muscles flared out so fully and dynamically, or the way the sides of her covered breasts seemed to have no choice but to collide with her biceps muscles.

I would be listening to the concerns or progress of a given client, the meaning of their words dissolving beneath unbidden fantasies of getting Julia naked and fucking her. I kept wondering—could her naked body actually be as hardening as I imagined it to be? And most troubling, would the woman ever call me? During the night, I’d carried my phone into the bathroom every time I took a little break from reaming some part of Gina, hoping for something as simple as a Nice meeting you text. But there was nothing.

I found myself growing a little despondent. Julia was single and she could have any sexual partner she wanted, which meant the only reason she would choose for me to be at the center of her romantic world would be that I made her choose it, by hypnotizing her.

Which would never ever happen unless she called or texted, dammit. I needed . I needed to be thrown a lifeline.

I had thoughts of her rampaging in my mind all day, and it was wrong of me but I gradually let my lustful, disgruntled mood affect the way I worked with my clients. Through the immersion work I knew so much more about my clients’ sex lives than they would ever believe, and whatever their situation was, I ramped up the horniness factor with that afternoon’s clients. If they were married and had sex on a regular basis, or were in some other sexual relationship, or got their kicks at home alone with hands or fingers or toys… I didn’t go dangerously overboard with anyone; nobody was going to wear out the batteries on multiple vibrators, or go around flashing strangers. But every one of my afternoon clients would be somewhat like me for the next several days, dealing with enlarged carnal wishes.

When my last client was out the door I checked my phone again—nothing. I leaned back in my desk chair and mentally replayed every moment I’d had with Julia, from the very first instant that I saw her power legs by the flash of a lightning bolt, and on to the overall wonder of her shapeliness inside the restaurant, all wet and freaking massive and fuck-me cute. The roundness of that full, muscular ass, and her cheekbones, and the cheerleader smile with dimples…

“God help me,” I whispered, before buzzing Gina into the inner office.

She entered looking quite busty and muscular herself, in a semi-translucent button-up blouse, through which you could just make out the color and scale of her bra. Down below was a tight gray skirt, cut just high enough that you were aware of her bulging quads. I said the magic words that would almost instantly have her mouth and pussy salivating for a great big helping of Michael cock, simultaneously standing so my bonerific state was plain to see. I could detect the excited trembling of her hands as she made a show of unbuttoning her blouse and heaving her breasts up and over the bra cups. And then I was all over those tits, three fingers inside her, ultimately fucking her from behind as wobbling boobs polished my desk.

We ordered food in to the office that evening before fucking on the couch, twice. And then I followed her back to her place, where we fucked once more.

I hypnotized Gina after that, and while in that state I asked her whether her tits might grow even larger if she made a point of putting on an extra fifteen pounds of perfectly muscled weight. She didn’t know but she thought so, and that was good enough for me. I instructed her to make it her life’s mission when she wasn’t at work or fucking me, to gain more weight and muscle mass, with the aim of also bringing additional inches to her tits.

Gina’s body could never gain the muscular thickness and general va-voom that I’d witnessed in Julia—the genetics were different. But I put it into her to work at it as hard as she could, with the ingestion of my cum as her protein supplement. I knew that what I was doing had a mad scientist vibe; it was like Gina was a beautiful hawk but Julia was a fucking eagle, and I wanted Gina to try with all her might to become at least part-eagle.

Conscious again and dressed, her final words to me at the end of that night gave my temporarily satisfied cock additional solace, and hope for the future.

“Michael, if I worked at putting on even more muscle, and maybe ten additional pounds… Lots of men worship trimness, like a woman can never be too thin. But you’re different, right?

I nodded.

“How would you feel about me being a bit heavier, which might mean I’d be maybe bustier?”

I made myself look like I had to picture it for a couple of seconds. “Honestly, I’d probably want to go at you twice as hard and twice as often.”

She smiled at that, giving my groin a parting squeeze. “I’m going to replay those exact words in my head at the gym or with the straw of a protein shake in my mouth, as the ultimate motivating tool.”