He could bench press my couch. I’d rather he bent me over and filled me up until I made a mess of it. I always thought I was straight. Then I met Vince, the muscular handyman at my new apartment complex. When I put in a repair request for my sink, I didn’t expect to spend all afternoon in the kitchen, unable to take my eyes off Vince’s flexing muscles as he worked. Nor did I expect the sight of them to leave me hungry and aching for Vince to fill me up.One afternoon of looking wasn’t enough. I needed more of him, even if I had to break something to make that happen. Vince griped about the repairs. He had no idea I spent every night hard and desperate for him.I didn’t mean to blurt out my secret. But when Vince backed me into a corner, angry over another repair job, I couldn’t help it. Now he’s in control, and I’ll do anything he tells me to. Get on my knees for him. Worship every muscle in his perfect body. And let him bend me over and pound me hard until I can’t take any more.
