As someone who is inordinately proud of even the tiniest hint of muscle on my own body, I love knowing that one day I might get to shag a man with a muscle kink. Today’s guest blogger met such a man, and had a super fun and sexy time with him. In today’s anonymous post, she’s here to tell you about sex with someone who has a muscle kink, and how sometimes even sex which doesn’t immediately press your buttons can be a fun and playful way to spend your time…
Fun with a guy who had a muscle kink
I don’t usually tell my friends this anecdote when we talk about our sex lives. If I do, it’s a vague one about this guy who loved classical music and who was into that thing with the muscles. It’s not a story about how fulfilling someone’s desires was liberating to me, nor about gaining confidence or becoming more accepting of my body: it’s about keeping an open, horny mind when being confronted with a new kink. A muscle kink.
We were on the same course and I was attracted to him since he first introduced himself to me, when he offered me a cigarette and a coffee after the seminar. This was followed by many encounters that turned into many drinks, until finally I invited myself to his place.
We’d been all over each other the whole afternoon: talking, kissing, groping, talking, kissing again, and finally rolling on the bed trying to undress each other without having to stop kissing. I felt his cock hardening through our clothes – rubbing and grinding at my thigh. I knew that my cunt was getting friendly – slippery and waiting to be unwrapped, fingered, licked, and ultimately fucked.
“I have this… fetish,” he said. I knew what a fetish was, but also that people often used this word as a synonym for kink. Kink is something fun, like wanting to fuck in the woods, or use handcuffs. So I started guessing, impatiently, just wanting to keep going. He had told me before that he identified as switch, preferring mental games over physical pain. There was a leather whip, and soft ropes (mostly paisley ties as it turned out later), and lithographies of naked demons performing oral sex on each other in his apartment. These were by no means intimidating to me. But his kink wasn’t related to any of that.
“It’s… you know, I’ve felt your arms before, earlier, when I was giving you the massage. You have really nice… muscles.”
“I’d like you to show them off to me. Pose for me.”
I didn’t know how to respond. It was – of course – a surprise. I had never heard about a man being into a woman’s muscles. I felt the throbbing between my legs, and imagined I would have a hard time not fucking him.
So I decided to give it a try. I asked:
He told me about some Madonna videos from the 80s or 90s that I had never seen. Then instructed me on how to sit on him – make my bi, tri, whatever-ceps pop at him, how to flex my upper breast muscles so my tits would dance, maybe gag him a little with my calves if I felt like it.
Obviously motivated, I now really wanted to show off my strength. He wanted to feel how much stronger I could be, so I crushed him. If I – rather tall and curvy – was hesitant to use my body weight on top of someone before, I was now glad I had this extra force. He wants to see flesh moving under my skin? He can have that, I have plenty; let’s start with my biceps, which used to intimidate the boys from rowing club back in my early teens.
Then I was holding his arms down with my knees, managing to move my breasts with my elbows touching behind my back. Stretching my spine from the tailbone up to the neck, letting him see how well I can control every inch of my upper body. I pulled my knees up on his shoulders and pushed him further down, presenting my cunt while keeping it just out of reach. He moaned, groaned, the little use he could make of his mouth and hands was all focused on nibbling, stroking, licking and biting me in sensitive places he could get hold of.
Eventually, I came: loudly. Of course: this was hot. Hotter than so many things I had done before.
Yet I didn’t love it. I tried again on several occasions, introducing other ways we could play with each other, but muscles had to be the recurring element each time for him. Our fling ended after a couple more fucks, which were always refreshing and thrilling, but also uneasy: playing along with the muscle woman fantasy, I kept thinking about how to choreograph my movements, and I suck at choreography.
I admired how frankly he spoke out clearly about his wishes – this just wasn’t one I shared. Turns out not all sex comes as naturally as breathing.