Happily ever after Martin Kane A lesbian romance. --- Author's note: Anyone wishing to contact me may do so via the DtV messageboard for Readers & Writers. I invite anyone to send any comments, good or bad, should they wish to. I'm always interested in what others think of my little tales. Copyright is mine. I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this tale elsewhere, but please seek permission first. Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters merely the products of an overwrought imagination I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far, you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway. --- It begins, as a good romance tale should, with the understated assurance of a happy ending. And this is a romance, not a love story, for though they are more classical and consequential, they lead to inevitable tragedy. So we begin with our warranty of happiness, though in this case, the narrative turns out to run counter-intuitively and thus our assurance reads: ‘and they both lived happily ever after.’ That’s not entirely true though, for the life-long partnership of any beloved couple always has moments of trial and torment. But as we skim the surface of their lives, we concern ourselves only with the general overview and not the specific moments that would perhaps blot an otherwise perfect landscape. And the sea of their lives and love is a torrent only because of the intensity of passion, and not through anguish. Joy overwhelms suffering, and though the bad shit goes down from time to time, as it inevitably must, human spirit holds its head high and we see that life is truly good. So, ostensibly, they lived happily ever after. A long and fulfilling existence in the company of the devoted. The wedding was a grand affair, both parties having long since rejected conventional or organised religions, they celebrated instead their union to one another. A castle was hired and no expense spared. They each wore a dress of plush design, one of blazing scarlet and the other of purple, each one cut to appreciate the individual attributes of either woman. One dress was cut low across the bustline - a fearless décolletage; the other was sleeveless. They were a pretty picture for the photographer, two brides for the price of one. Cathy’s powerful physique somehow complimented the exquisite femininity of her gown, her bulging musculature adding curves to the design that most women could never dream of. Vicki’s more traditional femininity was complimented to the extreme, and she had her long hair flowing down her back like a river. It had taken years to grow it such, for this specific occasion, and was dyed to pitch. They ate and drank well. They became high on the company of beloved friends and family, on the power of the event, on their love for one another. Each feeling dream-like, they jetted off to foreign lands for a honeymoon in the sun. And their first night of matrimony, they spent as they had the first night they were betrothed, gaining friction burns and pumping sweat into furniture fabric. And on that previous night, when they had each, independently, first made that unspoken, unconscious decision, to be with this woman forever after, it had also been the first night they had ever met. At Vicki’s home, a luxurious studio apartment that had awed her Cathy from the moment she first stepped across the threshold. ‘Look at that view!’ she exclaimed. ‘Jesus, I can see the club from here.’ She was genuinely impressed. She still lived with her parents and their home was neither expensive nor offered a view. And in that decadent luxury, bathed in rich lighting and sipping cognac, they’d continued their mutual seduction. Vicki had paused before pouring the muscular young girl a drink. ‘Your parents probably wouldn’t approve,’ she remarked. ‘They probably wouldn’t approve of me going home with some strange woman who picked me up at a club either,’ Cathy retorted. Vicki raised an eyebrow and poured. ‘How old are you?’ Vicki had asked, later that night. It was a response to Cathy’s insistence that she was a grownup. ‘Seventeen.’ ‘Jesus,’ Vicki sighed and not just because of Cathy’s exploring hands. ‘I’m nearly twice your age.’ ‘You’re hardly menopausal,’ Cathy told her, moving her mouth down so that her lips could replicate the motion of her excited fingers. ‘And you’re in great shape.’ ‘Not bad for an old girl?’ Vicki joked, then gasped as Cathy tongue joined her manipulations. In the stoned heat of exhaustion from continuous hours of intense love, Cathy had looked across at the sleeping girl, her muscles looking so soft in repose, like a huge, smooth cuddly-toy. She couldn’t sleep and instead, happily spent the few remaining hours until full daybreak, watching this amazing young woman rest. She felt awe, she felt amorous, she felt compassion and love. She wanted to protect her as child and to worship her as a goddess. She wanted to hug her and to fuck her. She wanted to spend every remaining moment of her life with her. She wanted to kiss her. Slow, soft tenderness that never ended. Lips that never parted. Hands that never ceased. And in that sleepy half-consciousness she saw a gorgeous red gown, flowing like a fairytale princess. She dreamt herself as a child, full of wonder and joy - hair long and as black as a raven. It was at this point that she decided, though not yet realising, that she would not cut her hair again until the wedding, where her flowing locks were as thick and lush as they’d ever been. Then Cathy was awake and asking what she was looking at. Her playful reproach became fervid and carnal. Romantic thoughts became lustful and they rolled towards one another to replay the events of the night. A reclining armchair had folded back to full horizontal position under their combined weight as Vicki climbed atop the pretty blonde. Even holding herself above the girl, her substantial bosom still brushed Cathy’s flatter but broader chest. Vicki spilt out, her ridiculously low neckline no longer adequately secure once Cathy found the zip at the garment’s side and slid it open. ‘It’s funny,’ Vicki remarked, slipping the jet-black wig of vampish hair off and tossed it carelessly aside. Cathy cooed and stroked the short shaved head that had been hidden beneath. ‘What?’ ‘It’s just that because of my size and my height, I’m always used to being the dominant one.’ ‘Well, you are on top,’ Cathy remarked. ‘Yes I am,’ Vicki agreed, wriggling deliciously. She lowered her body to drop a slow kiss onto the girl’s over-greased lips. The action crushed her bare breasts against Cathy’s broad torso, spreading the resisting mass of flesh like two balloons of soft lead. ‘But what I mean is that I’m always thought of as the big girl, even though I’m not big like you are. Fat rather than muscle.’ ‘You’re not fat,’ Cathy told her. She proved the fact by curving her hand to the natural curve of Vicki’s midriff. Though not flat or hard as was her own, it was certainly not distended or swollen. ‘No but I am large, proportionally.’ ‘I wouldn’t say that either,’ Cathy grinned, moving her hand from the small, waspish waist up to cup around one of the enormous and un- proportionally large breasts. ‘But you,’ Vicki continued regardless, only stuttering slightly as Cathy’s fingers shot a bolt of electric pleasure though to her spine with a precise easing of her fingers. ‘You’re only an inch shorter than me, and I’m just about six foot. But you’re built of solid muscle.’ ‘What? You mean this?’ And saying this, she brought forth one arm, flexing it in an obnoxious display of mammoth biceps. Vicki stared, mouth agape and heart in her throat. ‘Take off your belt,’ she said. ‘Why?’ ‘I want to prove to you that you’re not fat.’ Vicki shrugged, leaned back and unhooked her belt. She suddenly realised what Cathy was intending and shuddered with delight. ‘No way,’ she hissed, awed. ‘You do it,’ Cathy prompted. Cathy still had her arm out, flexed. The biceps muscle stood up, hard and huge. Vicki wrapped the belt carefully around the peak at its fullest, taking every opportunity to stroke and squeeze the huge hump. ‘It’s actually the triceps that create the size, the mass,’ Cathy explained while the older woman slowly secured the belt in place. ‘But it’s the biceps that give it that lovely peak.’ ‘OK,’ Vicki announced. ‘That’s how tight it is around my waist.’ She slid her hand into the tiny gap left between the belt and Cathy’s hard muscle. ‘Jesus, I can just about fit two fingers in there. That’s it. You’re huge!’ ‘I said you weren’t fat.’ Cathy relaxed the arm, creating more space inside the loop, then flexed again, pumping the biceps up to fill the belt. ‘Careful. I don’t want to break your fingers.’ ‘That is amazing,’ Vicki cooed. She removed the belt but kept stoking the bulging muscle, getting more and more turned on. ‘You’re amazing. You make me feel feminine. I like feeling feminine.’ ‘These are feminine,’ Cathy insisted, lifting up Vicki’s breasts. ‘They’re the ultimate symbol of femininity in our society.’ ‘I know that, I just mean delicate and petite. Which I’m neither. My tits are like me, they’re big and brash, they’re loud and always want to be the centre of attention. But I’m six foot and run the risk of knocking people over if I turn around too fast.’ ‘OK. If you’re the dominant one, show me,’ Cathy prompted. ‘And how am I supposed to do that? You’re only about a hundred times stronger than me.’ But despite her protest she grinned and began to comply, grasping Cathy’s wrists and forcing them down and behind her back. The upper arms bulged obscenely as she did this, swelling and flexing as though they had a life of their own. Vicki shuddered with awe and amazement, not to mention dumb lust, but she focused on the job at hand. She took the belt and used it to secure Cathy’s wrists together, bound at the small of her back. Then she pressed the girl down so she lay on her shoulders, her magnificent triceps bulging hugely from beneath her back. Cathy lay and took this, as though she couldn’t have ripped free at any moment if she chose to. Vicki took the tiny rag of a top that contained the girl’s modesty. It was ragged at the bottom, fashionably torn to expose the rippling musculature of her hard belly. She found a suitable tear and followed it through, ripping the top apart, up the middle. She wore no bra beneath, hardly needed to. Her breasts were reduced to a bare minimum by strict diet and training, her only cleavage offered by pectoral muscles. Vicki slid the girl’s jeans off, equally awed by the thick thighs beneath. Muscle lay on muscle. She couldn’t even begin to image how powerful those legs must be. She smothered the girl in vicious kisses, her lips and tongue tracing patterns of lust over her naked flesh. Hands worked flesh, amazed at how little yield the skin offered. Manipulating a muscled body proved to be an art in itself, there being nothing to grab, everything was so hard and smooth. It reminded her of picking up a bar of soap in the bath. Which in turn made her think of bathing with this girl. Though that was an act they didn’t perpetrate that night, it was one they tried many, many times in the lifetime that followed. They did however make similar forays with massage oil, Vicki rolling her greased hands over those bulbous muscles, sparking exquisite sensations in nerves Cathy had never even discovered before. Sitting astride her tied lover, Vicki eased herself up, using the advantage of her great height to tower over willing prisoner. She smothered her with first one breasts alone, nipple to mouth and the rest of the malleable flesh crushed into her face, and then, both together, trapping her whole head in the cavernous gap between. She continued her torture, the girl in her grip now breathless, though that had more to do lust than the torment. She tilted the girl’s head back, touching the parted lips with cruel tenderness. She stoked the lush lips, feeling the used lipstick, over-applied, now coming off. She ran her finger’s inside the mouth, caressing the gums and probing between the teeth. Then she thrust down, penetrating down to the throat, pausing just short of the gag reflex, but making her spasm nonetheless. Her other hand began playing now, running down the front of her body to make its lazy way down between her thighs. Her hands began probing alternately, the tongue taking its turns. And then the heat was gushing, and their mouths were locked. One hand deep at work inside her sex, the other took a hard grasp around the bulging triceps muscles extended beneath her body. Then Vicki swapped again, wanting to stifle Cathy’s orgasmic grunts as they began to punctuate their rhythm. So she moved position without ceasing her delving, taking the girl’s head between her breasts again. Cathy squirmed and bucked, being dragged helplessly into ecstatic oblivion, barely aware of anything save the body inside her, moving like a perfect part of her - completing her. Vicki saw no cause to untie the girl, instead, forcing her sticky fingers into her mouth, making her taste the juices of her body, before adding her own tongue to the mix. And then they were kissing again. Tongue tied and enraptured. Vicki’s hands found the triceps again, gripping claws into those huge, hard bunches. Her groin ground into Cathy’s thigh, twisting in happy heat. Vicki moved higher, laying her legs either side of the girl’s chest, having to spread wide to encompass the broad expanse. Then she changed her mind and moved her legs up and around so her thighs sat either side of Cathy’s head. Her hands retook their grip on the thick muscles of her arms, fingers biting down as Cathy positioned her face and began some teasing, preliminary tracing with her tongue. Eventually Cathy decided she’d been submissive for long enough. She eased her back up a little and ripped her arms apart with no apparent effort. ‘I hope that belt wasn’t expensive,’ Cathy told her, sitting up. Vicki took up her position on her lap. ‘I can buy another one tomorrow, I own you a new top too.’ ‘I’ve got school tomorrow.’ Vicki laughed, half shocked. ‘School? Jesus.’ ‘I am in the sixth form.’ Vicki moved with the slightly stoned detachment of one who is slightly stoned. She was high on adrenaline and alcohol and loved up to her eyeballs. Amphetamines pumped lust into every cell of her body and she lay herself across Cathy, wanting to maximise their physical contact. Vicki’s slim arms lay over Cathy’s over-pumped ones; their fingers laced together. They kissed. Breasts smothered breasts, shoulders failed to touch shoulders. The stomach pressed against rolling abs. Thighs parted to happily entangle together. They lay cheek to cheek, tender and unhurried. Vicki felt her body being lifted and dropped with Cathy’s breathing. She felt the girl’s heartbeat, strong and low. They kissed, long and slow. Then, with incredible deliberation and ease, Cathy raised her body in a slow and controlled motion. She scooped an arm below Vicki’s buttocks, lifting her. Legs wrapped around the muscular waist, holding her securely. Cathy lifted the woman as though she were a child, and carried her to the bedroom. ‘You may be a big girl,’ she told her. ‘But I think I can handle you.’ Over the ensuing years they spent together, Cathy tried on many occasions to get her partner to try weight training, insisting that an expansive build such as hers was designed to pump. Despite her love of bodybuilding as a spectator sport, Vicki’s forays into the gym were exclusively to tone and trim. The eye candy on display was always an added bonus of course. But she’d only truly discovered her delight in the perfect female form at a nightclub a fair distance from her apartment. She gone there with friends, unselfconsciously brazen in a top that barely covered her majestic bosom, and set eyes on a girl almost half her age, dancing with unabashed abandon. She was young and pretty, blonde hair flying in a golden haze. Her arms were thick with hugely developed muscles, her biceps like cannonballs. ‘Shit!’ she murmured in awed lust. One of her friends had followed her line of sight and balked. ‘You’re kidding, right? All those muscles? I thought you liked women.’ ‘I do! She’s gorgeous. I love athletes, but I’ve never seen anything like her.’ ‘I never knew you were into that sort of thing.’ ‘Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.’ ‘And have you?’ ‘No, but looking at her I’m wondering why not.’ ‘Thank you, I’ll pass. Anyway, she’s a little young for you, isn’t she?’ Vicki proved her maturity and years by poking her tongue out at her friend. Then she headed onto the dance-floor. And so she had approached the girl, who’d seen her and smiled. Smiled in a way that was somehow knowing and coy at the same time. They’d danced together and so had begun a beautiful friendship.