I enjoy the interest.
The way your eyes dilate dearest, they strike a harmony of continual reps of my muscle growth and the shared appreciation for how I exert. We stand facing at attention like dress shirt perverts in a city full of desirable tourist.
Your hands dance-charm their way to embrace my broad shoulders, gently, along with my forearms and I listen intently on the ooh’s and ahh’s escaping your quivering breath as you tighten and squeeze the density and circumference of my bulk.
I smile freely and bustle flex like the incredible hulk because you value the horseshoes of triceps. Your hands move inward and your glance signals for another contraction. I break a plethora of imaginary pencils in the pectorals at will while I observe the heat breed steadily in your aura.
You nicknamed me strong interaction and muscle booty while you groped my beefy thighs with your titanic palms of spring beauty, and told me you desired to feel the rocks forming as diamonds.
I stiffen the calves and pictured a hymen to your liking and I noticed the solid lump of quarters spread into multiple inches across raising the
tent of your uniform.