Awanawilona Dawn
by K.A. Moulton
Wherein a sex addict and her husband come to terms.


I had to think of something. I could not supply her epicure for sex any
longer. She demanded pleasure, one way or another, no less than 14 times a
day. At that point I had to take 9 vitamin supplements, 2 Viagra, ginseng
root, gulp 20 steamed oysters, and 13 grams of fresh salmon oil; the latter, a
wretching I would desperately subdue with a chaser of boiling-hot black
coffee, and suck on a lemon. For goodness sake I had to brush my teeth 9 times
a day then rinse with vermouth and hydrogen peroxide. She made me do such
things. Things were always as Dawn said so.

And because she said so, I had to train with her every morning and every
night. Look, I'm no athlete. I might run a 9 second 40 yard dash on a good
day. I can pull-off about twenty pushups before my head explodes, and muster 4
chin-ups without looking like a beet and falling assways. No matter how hard I
train, I can't really get into shape. My genetics are simply awful. After
being engaged for a month or so, she knew about my desire to be behaviorally
controlled and physically dominated by women. I've always gravitated toward,
though without purchase, women who can outstrength men; women who protract
jaws and draw shameless stares at their very displacement en masse; women who
walk with an ethereal armor of muscle and sinew and power. This is beautiful
to me. Some guys like toes more than others. Toes are swell, but muscles are
otherworldly.

It took 4 months for Dawn to develope obvious signs of muscle; 18 months for
them to get big, and 2 years to reach professional bodybuilding standards;
then, we got married. She was ripped like a medical illustration for the
ceremony. It was the first time I'd seen her in 6 months. This was how she
wanted it. Short of six lengthy phone calls, and twice as many emails, I had
no physical contact with her whatsoever.

She rendered the guests, and myself, almost speechless, gliding down the
aisle, her starbright smile evoking joy and quiet awe from every guest's face.
I remember my eyes momentarily straying from hers, following the veins up her
forearms as I slipped the ring onto her finger. When we danced at the
reception, no matter how hard I struggled to direct her, she privately led
through every song. Prior to the garter dance, as my close friend and
associate prudently, half-joking, lifted the wedding dress to remove her
garter, you should have seen the frozen mask of his face as her legs glistened
with more muscle than he'd probably ever seen a woman possess. He looked like
a child who peeked into the cookie jar and found toyland. I didn't mind. On
our wedding night I made love to a woman so strong, muscular, and defined; so
divinely feminine and beautiful; so intricately stitched into my every dream,
I cried tears of joy as we consummated the marriage. It should have been
embarrassing at that instant.

But dreaming had emerged with no introductions necessary. I fucked her from
behind, watching her superconvex ass bulge and striate with every thrust
applied; her back muscles knotting into each other, waxing and abiding light,
deltoids bursting; the cincture of her leg muscles occluding my own in the
missionary, savagely bucking at my body and demanding pleasure from my
thrumming cock. Dawn was a biological piston, pumping her pelvis hard and
fast, so fast that she actually blurred and strobed beyond merely human. When
upon our synchronized climax, she slowed gracefully, strained and separated
her musculature, pumped and split her biceps into dynamic, skin-thinning,
glistening spheres of oaken majesty; it was then that I swear, I saw the
illuminated column of God reach down and pull every quark of my being through
my loins. I could see the chains of galaxies reflecting in her eyes as we
declared; profoundly, in a blinding oriflamme of affection and desire, our
eternal love for one another. The climactic song of her sweet voice filled my
ears with chamber music. You would have cried, believe it.

As newlyweds our lives consisted of eating, working, and fucking, not
respectively. We fucked a lot. She began working at home, and only part-time,
so she could properly train, eventually quitting her job altogether. I had to
move my own office into the spare bedroom and stay at home to satiate her
hunger for sex. Dawn planned my diet, my workouts, my bedtimes, but my body
was utterly unresponsive. I was still flabby and weak while she grew ever
stronger, refining her beauty and power. I'm a mechanical engineer with the
good fortune of 15 years experience, working for a company who valued me
enough to allow a remote work environment. There, any given morning, I'd be
working frantically when she would glide feline into the office, warmed with
bathrobe and slippers, or leotard, or nary a stitch of clothing -her muscles
engorged with bloodflow from a recent workout, a workout that I could only
halve, practically fainting before a day's work. She allowed me a full 2
hours, uninterrupted, before stealing most of the day. For three, sometimes
four hours at a time I played the part of her fucktoy. I was entranced every
day by what lay, arose, stretched, flexed and convoluted before my eyes. I got
to know every plain, curve and nuance of her body as it further developed a
mapwork of sinew and vascularity. I recall her hand pumping my cockshaft over
her virgin belly striations; the veins coursing back to her heart from pubis
mons as an electric, living, pulsing relief sculpture, overwebbing the
eightpack of neatly symmetrical abdominal muscles. She cranked my shuddering
cock until it shot a milky scribble of come over her platelike breasts and
iron nipples. But her hand never stopped. She immediately reforged my erection
and forced it into her powerful cunt, which seemed now to possess the reflexes
of an esophagus, Kegel waves of muscle sway enveloped me until she could get
off, her entire body seeming to hypertrophy within the climax. There was never
any afterglow. The moment she finished coming, Dawn would make a picture of
herself, swelling various muscle poses, tossing her gorgeous brown mane a
certain way, or fetching me back with her moon beacon high in the air.
Sometimes she would pursue me by effortlessly walking on her hands, offering
the irrefutable pleasures of her pinkened lip blossom. These things would
happen, then they'd happen so often I had to invent excuses to my boss about
unattended work. Within three months they were happening a dozen times a day.
We were in love, but I was falling to pieces.

I decided, under press of desperation, I'd create something to keep her busy.
My job was at stake and, short of some mysterious, disgustingly wealthy
relative croaking and leaving me a fortune, my job was the only way to pay the
bills. I spent time working on a solution while I should have been sleeping,
which, in and of itself, was almost impossible. She commonly woke me every
night in the throes of stage-four sleep for a quick lay. Sometimes it took me
hours to get back to sleep. Now, for most men, brushing off the wife while she
ruined a good night's sleep was easy. Disregarding Dawn in the midst of such a
thing is like trying to coax a freight train into hopping tracks at full
throttle. She was so strong and commanding that it was unbridled rape, and
besides, once my senses thawed it was difficult to want an end to it; her
floral breath, that symphonic voice cooing my name, the velvet of her
complexion, and muscles atop muscles, making room for more muscles! Anyway,
back to the solution: I built her a sex machine.

I called the device Awanawilona, after the Pueblo god of creation. This god
was supposed to contain "everything", and happened to be both male and female.
That way at least I didn't have to absurdly compete with some other guy in the
house. Manliness can be so fragile, I know. What the hell, it might as well
have a god's name since its accomplice transcends mere mortal womanhood, eh?.
It was 220V supplied and assisted by a coil-spring regenerator cell, therefore
, assisted by Dawn herself. You may ask: why didn't she simply seek out other
lovers or use a dildo when I was, ahem, unavailable? I offer an account of the
deciding conversation:

"Darling, I can't."

"Do you mean...? Maybe you should take another viagra"

"Dawn, I take another one of those and it's off to the thrombosis suite for
me."

She didn't laugh, which was double-edged for me. "Nonsense. Now let's see what
the problem..."

"Honey I swear it's going to fall off." To which she groaned and turned over,
sighing the way wives sigh when they want their husbands to say only what they
want to hear.

"What about a toy? I can pick one up for you"

"Toys, how conventional," she made clear. More sighing followed by a kind of
serpentine fit. I felt like a failure unworthy of her. How many men in this
world could possibly empathize with my dilemma? Is there one guy in all of
sexual history that would even admit it? I had to ask her the question that
had been poisoning me for months, and one that stung my very lips to pass. I
loved her. She should never have to suffer without.

"Have you thought about another lover? I mean not like an aff..."

"Oh baby, never ever, no no no." she embraced me and ran her fingers through
my hair. "I don't want anyone else. I love you so much..." I could hear a hint
of weeping in her throat as she held me tighter. "You're so loving to say such
a thing to me. I could never love another man."

So there you have it. I tried most everything a mortal man in love could ever
do to satisfy her. It was time to invent a solution.

Awanawilona ended up looking like something between a carousel pony and a
gynecologist's chair. Its ballast lengthened from floor-to-ceiling and was
telescopic for mobility, though it took brute strength to move around. The
pole ran through an adjustable hydraulic shock absorber that held a cushioned,
gyroscopic seat with corresponding silk-lined, leather stirrups. Armrests
could be folded away, and above, craned a pair of adjustable gripform polymer
handlebars with optional velvet cuffs. Opposing the seat was the Toy Box; the
business end of Awanawilona, modulated with various-size cylindrical
apertures. Different size modules held different pleasure devices. Most of
them could move silently with a series of robotic elbows. Some had two elbows,
some had five. Some were composed of a flexpipe core with no elbows at all,
quite adept at probing and extending, or being gentle as a feather. There were
ten of them in all. One issued a standard, 6' lifelike rubber dildo, a cast of
my own, thank you very much. Another carried a heated vibrator set at 101øF,
just enough warmth to localize sexual fever. Then there was the big guy: this
thing bragged 10" long and 7" around, and could be adjusted with one of the
handlebar remotes. The smallest aperture at the top contained something I call
King Tong; literally a tong with a heat-seeking, thin anal probe on one side,
and an autonomous french tickler on the other. There were a pair of pored
suction cups on either side to attend her nipples if she wished. The Box also
contained a slot which held my favorite of the tools, a form-fitting animated
bush butterfly that resonated to music, or the sound of a voice. The entire
contraption was governed by slave and master CPUs that I commanded directly.
Oh, and because she likes it, I painted the whole thing rose, almond and
lilac. It took me 4 months to build, and by the time it was fully tested and
bugproof 2 months later, I was ready for 40 hours of emergency coma.

She was afraid at first, wouldn't even touch it. There I was finally sleeping
to heart's content having invented the one thing that might save my life, and
she was killing me at 3:37 in the morning again. Dawn was a 135 pound
exclamation point bouncing off my face and yanking the tongue from my head. I
was ready to hop on Ananawilona, throw the switch into red and do myself in
for good. Isn't it funny how everything can feel different in the morning?

Loving wife that Dawn is, she saw my ruin and got brave enough after her
morning workout to give it a try. I didn't want to wake up until her words
finally broke through the delirium. "Turn it on. I'm ready for anything." she
sang into my ear. Within 5 minutes I was drinking coffee and rubbing off sleep
at the controls. Ripped and naked, she had all fours secured for takeoff, or
take-in, as would be the case. I booted up the system silently and grabbed one
of the joysticks. At eye-level I could confidently assure her that everything
would be fine, keeping the sound of my voice within a hoarse whisper. It would
be good to start small and work up to the more complex functions. She watched
the small flanks dilate and issue the nipple cups. "Ooooh", these are cute."
She breathed deliberately, reposed with the armrests down and allowed the cups
to press over her erect nipples. Her entire chest swelled. So far, she was
smiling. I initiated the 6" dildo slowly, when she commented, "That's a nice
size, hmmm, and it looks so, ah-ha...familiar!. Put this one in my mouth. You
know how much I like to suck your cock, darling." She lubricated the faux
glans with her tongue and began effortlessly bobbing her head. I asked her to
rest her head back, I wanted to introduce the rhythmic qualities of this
device. Dawn parted lips and opened wide, receiving a regulated 3 inches nice
and slow, her neck sinews thickened as they always do, reflexively swallowing,
becoming long and dynamic. It was time for the heated vibrator to do its
thing. I could see her magical cunt glistening with real excitement, the clit
swelling that I had so well attended throughout the years. She pulled the
vibrator, advancing against my caution, removed the rubber cock from her mouth
and told me, "I want to put it in, then do your thing." The vibrator hummed
quietly, warm to the touch. Her triceps and forearms bunched, her vascular
right hand wrapped fingers around the probe, testing it to see if it could
take her powerful grip, and she relaxed. Her lower abdominal muscles braced
for insertion. Though I know every centimeter of her body so well, it never
ceases to amaze me her ability not only to control different groups of
muscles, but her deft focus on their particular subsets. For instance: she had
a two-stage flex to her biceps, the first curled into a large, pear shaped
belly, and flexed further to split into something closer to the size and shape
of a small unpeeled coconut. She looked me in the eyes, knodded her head
adorably, then pushed the 99ø vibrator into her pussy, now using both hands
and exploiting that multi-stage dynamic over her deltoids and pectoral muscles
for my enjoyment. My cock was generally useless just then, but who doesn't
enjoy looking at beauty?

By now Dawn was seeing the advantages in Awanawilona. What a spectacle. The
nipple cups sucked obediently at her chest, which were so hypertrophied as to
mimic spherical, almost pleated breasts rising and falling with heavy breath.
Feet fully mounted in the stirrups, her twin engines of ass muscle ballooned
and compressed responding to the force of an oscillating pelvis; legs locked,
surfacing featherform quadricep striations through the skin. She released the
vibrator and grabbed hold of the handlebars, rising completely off the chair,
a divine might replete in her gorgeous arms elaborated the contrast of shadow
and light, bulging a full 16-plus inches at peak circumference. Her lats
spread out like a giant, angry cobra, webbed with pink and violet and royal
blue vascularity. She beamed at me as if to speak. I pulled the dildo out of
her mouth. "Is this thing getting hot?" she asked with concern.

"That's me, honey, It's heated to one-o-one right now. Does it feel
uncomfortable?"

Notabit. Just checking. She resumed without missing more than a couple beats.
Her climax, the one thing that worried me, did not upset the ballast in the
least. I was too busy keeping careful watch on the machine to truly appreciate
the sight of her. That night I slept more soundly than a lion with a clear
conscience. We were just getting started.

She said that she'd slept with my cock in her mouth. I was darkly oblivious,
probably snoring. We had a nice breakfast after her usual workout and it was
back to Awanawilona directly. I felt invigorated with a half hardon swinging
between my legs, but she hopped on the machine all the same. Dawn must have
really pounded her muscles in the early morning. They looked monstrously
pumped for the occasion, seeming to hang upon her skeleton with profound
weight, and without the slightest trace of fatigue in her demeanor. For some
kind of twisted bragging rights I had to give her a taste of the giant 10'
dildo. Pushing that kind of tubescence into your wife, a guy has to feel oddly
powerful and a bit sinister. My cock is about 4" smaller, something she was
used to, but she took on the monster with ease. I gaped in awe at the
versatility of her vagina. I didn't just push the giant in, she accomodated,
creating an aperture inside herself by skillfully commanding her muscles to
expand. She pulled it in! I tried to be careful about the thing, but she
insisted I was being too gentle. Suddenly the giant tool was pumping in and
out of Dawn with the ease of a greased motor piston. She flexed here, relaxed
there, giggled now and then. She was toying with me. "What else have you got
in this thing?" she asked with an eager smile.

I put the monster back and conjured the butterfly. She responded by stretching
and locking all fingers together behind her neck, giggling, spreading her legs
wider, and flexing everywhere. The butterfly was cute. I made it to be cute.
Dawn likes cute, and I gave her the obscene cuteness of Dumbo the Elephant;
Trunk erect, ears poised, little yellow hat. Seriously. The Pussy Pachydong
flew into her Big Top. I uploaded A Malian drum circle into her vulva. Elbows
tight and high, she flexed to the beat. Biceps were dancing and bouncing,
first-left-then-right-then-both-one-two, just so. Oh God, she was so
beautiful. Her gyrating hips had music, ass had music, thighs, calves, and
deltoids had music. She qualified all light since the evolution of the eye.
Her lats engorged with celebration of the power of life, and, she was
laughing. I spun her on Fool in the Rain, whisked her beneath The Mephisto
Waltz, rolled her over on that Party Train. She sang out, I sang into her, we
sang Closer together.

It was time I unleashed King Tong, and squeezed a sparkly curl of lubricant
into her hand. She immediately insisted on the nipple cups, her body waiting
to just burst with ecstasy. After careful application of the joy jelly she
gave me the go-ahead, so I manned the joystick with a thumb on the trackball,
guided the probe into her ass, simultaniously fluttered the french tickler
over her clit and watched the fireworks begin. It took some skill to properly
wield King Tong, which I had practiced in the abstract during testing, but was
quite challenging in real life. Of course there was an autopilot built for
such demands, but it was more enjoyable if I could interact.

The tickler wound her up while the probe kept her down. Dawn is comfortable
with anal sex, believe me, yet she always seems less kinetic in the act. I
suppose one can feel a need to be more cautious when there's something
entering one's ass. She remained uncharacteristically silent throughout most
of our second morning course. The urge to ride like a cowgirl was stayed in
such a way, as to cause these isometric tremors throughout her powerful
carriage. I could see the focus in her closed eyes. All her muscles flexed in
unison, arms by her side, fists clenched, legs extended in the stirrups, her
feet tried to make fists, then something remarkable: Dawn laid her head over
the chairback and pushed up with her neck and back muscles, further stiffening
her entire body, balanced only at the neck and pointed feet. It was as if her
body became a waxed and polished walnut effigy supernaturally taking flesh.
Her beautiful face smiled at the ceiling, aloof. She nearly looked
comfortable! I increased tickler's speed, but the probe would not move. Whoa,
I thought, she's clenched her ass so tightly it won't pull out. I released the
joystick and sped up the tickler some more. Her body thickened all over.
"Darling?" she spoke effortlessly. I didn't answer right away. She could talk
through this. I paused to reckon, am I dreaming?

"Yes, Dawn?" I asked, watching her eyes open, then she giggled.

"I have an itch."

She had me scratch her left inner-quadricep head. I toddled my eyes over the
organic brocade of my wife, the French ticklematic attending her clit, a
hummingbird wing, and those zany nipple cups; and thought, yes, she is that
female ego of Awanawilona; she holds sway over my machine; she has become
bonecrushingly dense and unbreakable; she is the one who contains all. I
touched all over, commencing at her lower back, where a hell of a lot of her
weight was bolstered. I touched granite, I felt ivory, I caressed iron, but
surely no woman could this be who bears such profound strengths. The heads of
each muscle answered every stroke of my hand. Her eyes were closed again. "I
want you to feel how hard my muscles are right now, because as you see honey,
I'm flexing all of them, even the ones you can't see. Message them at once."
so I did, or tried. They were luxuriously fixed, working together yet
isolated. She said, "I feel so powerful, when you're finished rubbing my
muscles, I want you to get on top of me. Get on my stomach. Look at it, can
you see how hard it's become? Put your ear to my belly. I want you to hear the
blood pumping through it. Listen to my pulse. I want you to feel it shake your
balls." I removed my pajamas and climbed upon her rigid torso. There was no
reaction at first. Dawn held solid as a beam. My cock was fully erect by now.
Listening to the fugue of her blood I straddled her, not saying a thing. The
room was hauntingly silent. I could feel her heart thumping mightily, yet
quite slowly. "Your hard cock feels so delicious on my belly. Can you feel my
heart? Do you feel the blood racing through my veins?" her voice sounded so
girlish. Dawn has a very small voice. "Feel my abdomine ripple beneath your
scrotum." And there I was on a human bodyboard, riding the waves of her
fibrous catalyst. Dawn's body was completely still elsewhere. She asked if I
was ready. "Ready for wha..." my inner thighs gave way to a force spreading
both legs apart. The waves of abdominal muscle abruptly halted and began
swelling. I rose up 6 inches or more. Her arms and shoulders were growing
thicker. Her eyes shut tightly. Her face filled with color. The veins in her
neck and chest screeved into bas-relief. What was happening? Was she okay? I
sensed arbitrary spasms of fibrous flesh dancing beneath my cock and balls, a
sensation of popcorn popping. She was having an isometric orgasm! The anal
probe was ejected. Her entire body arched up and up, quaking, rattling my
teeth and bones. Her heart pounded faster and louder until it echoed off the
walls. I couldn't hang on upright and fell onto her, hugging for dear life to
a woman I can only equate, at that moment, to a screaming jet engine. "Turn
around!" she screamed. Her legs spread impossibly wide, perpendicular, mid-air
horizontal, stark naked splits. I chanced to spin round, for her body was
smooth as glass. I brushed the tickler aside and eagerly buried my face into
her tender machinery.

Hey, I thought, there is something in my ear. I had my tongue delving into
Dawn's Roses and King Tong trying to fuck my right ear. I disabled it locally
- a little safeguard I installed, but being earfucked by an anal probe didn't
make the list of potential safety issues. Worse things could happen, I
guessed. At least it didn't find my nose.

"Honey" she said calmly.

"Yes, Dear."

"Put it back"

I replaced my tongue into her. I started laughing. She didn't see what just
happened. It was a shame I had eaten breakfast. I rather enjoy eating pussy on
an empty stomach. I hungrily lapped her slick petals, while my lower lip
grazed over her clit, to tempo, upon the shear Human Force of Nature roiling
and shuddering beneath. Dawn's body hardened as if gleaming facets had been
precisely hewn into her form. Her flexing orgasm bridged wave to particle,
faith to fact, love to immortality. She was the most powerful being I had ever
felt, having an orgasm that gave meaning to the universe.

Dawn relaxed in a victory of afterglow. I climbed back onto the floor, feeling
nearly drunk from the celestial impact of her orgasm. When I could get my
knees to stop riding I returned to the control panel and secured Awanawilona.

"I have one complaint..." she whispered playfully

I kissed her before she could.