I looked up in amazement, directly into her smiling eyes, mocking me this time, telling me that this had been comfortable for her. I offered a resigned shrug.
“Well? Which do you want me to take off?”
“T-shirt.” She didn’t even hesitate, and as I stripped off the garment, she gazed once more, taking in my firm stomach and adequate chest. I felt a sense of pride that I had managed to retain an acceptable appearance, despite the ravages of age and my lack of recent sport. Once again, the tongue protruded, and I felt a desire to let her taste me, to feel that tongue on my body. Absurd though it seemed to me, it felt as if she was guiding me towards having sex with her.
“I’m not going to suggest another round,” she informed me, “I’ll just beat you again and again till you’re stark naked. If you like that sort of thing, of course, we could go for it. Personally, I prefer something a little more … balanced.”
I smiled at her. I’ve nothing against the whole CFNM idea — it’s always been a bit of a fantasy of mine — but I’d rather it was a bit more mutual. I was also very keen to gain sight of her body. I was wondering if losing weight had left her with loose skin on her arms and stomach and that was what she was hiding. I decided to push further.
“It’s not really very fair. I’m supposed to be researching you, but I’m the one sitting here with no shirt. You don’t have to show me, just tell me. What are you hiding under there?”
She reached down and in one smooth, graceful movement stripped off her hoodie. Initially, nothing registered beyond her broad shoulders and the glow of her skin, then I noticed her arms. They were massive. Not fat, but bulging with muscle, overlaid with veins. She wore a t-shirt, which stretched over shoulders, and swept to her breasts, which were very evident from the sharp points of her nipples. She twisted, bringing an arm across her body, and flexed a bicep.
“You’re a body-builder,” I breathed. She nodded slowly, clearly amused at my breathless response.
I had never been excited by muscular women before — although I’d never actually met one, yet my response was unmistakeable. I was transfixed by the smooth flow of her biceps and the triceps beneath. From her shoulders into her neck, her trapezius flowed in a smooth curve. It was no surprise she had beaten me so easily at arm-wrestling.
I stared until her giggle broke the spell, at which point I regained my senses. I also became aware that I was experiencing other responses. My penis was, without question, becoming hard, and although she couldn’t possibly see, I crossed my legs.
“Well,” she asked, “What d’you think?”
I should have chosen my word carefully, but instead, my mouth controlled my brain. I suppose Freud might have seen it differently — my id dominating my superego — but whatever internal struggles were going on, I spoke without thinking.
“You look incredible. It’s so beautiful. Are you like this all over?”
She grinned broadly and leaned across the table, close to my face.
“Would you like to find out?” She whispered, seductively.
I nodded, mutely, as she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and lifted it over her head. Underneath, she wore a sports bra which, if anything, made her nipples even more prominent, but this was not what I saw first.
I gazed at her wide chest, and her ridged stomach. There was no question now that I was sexually excited, and my mind was racing. Where, exactly, was this heading? Was she just teasing, or was this part of her seduction? Had losing her father really led to a preference for older men? Above all, why him? Surely she wanted the muscular men from the gym, not his scrawny little bulges.
“Can I touch?”
She smiled and leaned forward, offering her arm and shoulder. Her skin was like silk, smooth, slightly moist and slippery, as if she had applied cream, or oil. I stroked from arm to shoulder, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath and pushing gently to find how much resistance there would be. Finally, I moved up her neck, to her face and gently brushed her cheek, knowing that this could be nothing other than a romantic gesture.
Still she smiled, maybe breathing a little more heavily, and whispered:
“Would you like to see more?”
I nodded, dumbly.
She leaned right across, putting her cheek against mine.
“I will if you will.”
She sat back, slightly flushed and raised an eyebrow.
I was suddenly aware that stripping off my trousers would make my semi-erection very evident, but at that point, I simply didn’t care. I nodded dumbly as she took control.
“Let’s move over here, away from the table. No point showing our legs if the table’s in the way.”
We moved to the centre of the room, in front of the sofa, and stood facing each other.
“Tell you what,” she said, “let’s take each other’s off. It’ll be more fun that way.”
The power of speech seemed to have left me, so once again, I simply nodded.
She moved close and undid the button on my trousers, before sliding down the zip. She brushed my erection as her hand moved down and raised her head, meeting my eyes and making a sound like a small purr. I decided that meant she was satisfied with at least one of my muscles.
I grabbed the elastic of her jogging trousers, and together, we moved downwards, exposing one another’s underwear as we went. As we stepped out of our clothing, we also stepped back, gazing at one another.