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Jacked Up

Kategori: Genel

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Manny grimaced into the sunshine as he stepped down from the truck and into the heat of the sun-baked road replacement building site. Huge earth movers stood parked along the length of this old section of highway and women, dust-covered and mostly heavily built and/or athletic moved up and down bearing the heavy-duty tools of their trade, hardhats gleaming.

He gulped and instinctively tried to straighten himself up, pulling up the waistband of his extra-baggy work jeans. He was in the presence of the best road building team the company had and this was in spite of all the trouble he had gone through in the last job. He was in Longhorn Lady territory. Being out here certainly felt a lot better than the precision tunnel engineering jobs he had been working on – well, the jobs that had been precise until he started working on them.

He shivered in the sunshine as he remembered the cold look Mr. Masters had given him as he had been marched into the company HQ boardroom. The interview had ended well, but those first few minutes had been hell.

“So you’re Honest John, are ya?” came a playful and pleasingly rich female voice behind him.

“Honest John?” he asked, confused, as he turned to face in the voice’s direction.

Manny wasn’t too short – 5’10” – but this woman towered over him by at least four inches. She was broad too, though not fat in any way – powerful looking. He wasn’t in bad shape, but he could see that she was in a different league. A wide, pretty, gap-toothed smile and dust-smudged features that looked regally beautiful otherwise completed the impression of talking to someone from the big leagues. On a lapel of her denim work vest, there was a pin showing a bulls head over a radioactivity symbol.

“Yeah, the guy who owned up to the tunnel FUBAR! HQ said they were sending you down here to replace Elmer.”

“That’s me then, I guess. What happened to Elmer?”

“Exhaustion. He had a tough job; so will you!”

“Elmer? He never seemed to get tired of being a dickhead when we were working together over at Mannion Woods.”

She threw her head back and roared out a laugh, a sweaty, mighty arm swinging around to clap him amiably on the back with a heavy thump.

“‘Honest John,’ alright! Yeah, he started a bit mean, but he… well, he mellowed right on out when he saw how the Longhorn Ladies do things here.”

Keeping her hand on his back, she guided him around and set off towards a set of huts at the far end of the site.

“I can’t say that I mind the change Johnny, you seem like a little cutie! The girls are going to go nuts for you.” She looked across at him as they walked down a freshly dug ditch and added with a playful nudge, “Well they’re just going to have to wait in line behind Jack and me!”

Manny blushed and grinned weakly back at her, a little dazed by the proceedings and trying to keep his bearings.

“Is Jack the site foreman?” he asked.

“Nah, she’s just in charge of the demolition side of the operations. I’m the forewoman here: Sally Grimes – or Mustang to my friends,” she leaned in close and slung a brawny, sweaty arm across his shoulders companionably, “and to my cute little newcomers too!”

He nearly stumbled as the side of his face was mashed into a wall of huge, heavy boob and sun-warmed chest-beef. She didn’t release him, so he got his feet back under him and strolled on, thinking of anything other than this friendly, pretty Amazon escort.

He looked up at her as she carried on about a few bits of news on what the site was and how it was going. His groin was giving him some serious signals, but his brain was mashing those impulses down for now, even as it caroled halleluyahs that she was his new boss and not some rumpled old grouch instead.

“So “Jack” is another lady then? Does everyone have nicknames here, Mustang?” he asked after she was finished.

“Ha! With her it’s more a job description! Anyway, I only give nicknames to the ones I get my hands on, Johnny! Makes life a bit more fun!”


The inside of the main hut was pleasantly appointed, if a bit dusty in places. There was a homey feel to the place, with nicer fittings and applicances – including the best coffee machine he’d ever come across in one of these places. It was sat next to the most amazing smoothie maker he’d ever seen, some 5 litres of capacity in the huge glass jug sat atop it. An antique radio crooned sweet country music into the room to complete the impression.

“You ladies must be on the road an awful long time, Mustang; this feels like a home away from home.”

She beamed at him as she slid behind a desk piled high with charts and retrieved a walkie-talkie, ducking her head to mutter into it “Jack, he’s in hut one.” Shrugging she put the walkie-talkie down and looked about her office before responding to his comments, “I’m glad you like it! It’s better if you enjoy going to work in the morning! Most of the girls stay at motels along the way, but Jack and me stay with the huts… got a pair of caravans istanbul travesti out the back that we use.”

She stepped out from behind the desk again and crossed the hut. She cleared some papers from a hugely solid looking workbench and threw a couple of plush cushions on top. It was mystifying to Manny. He just sat and watched, puzzled.

“Surely you’ve got to keep on moving these huts to keep up with the works?” he offered.

“Oh ya! Jack takes care of it… she sets them up at the far end of the run we’re working on, so they only have to move every couple of days.”

“Two days?!” he asked incredulously, sitting up in his seat, “That’s a mile of road!”

Mustang grinned at him and she winked, “Well, we are the best, Johnny! I think that when Jack gets here for the interview you might see why.”



Manny had never seen anything like it before in his life.

He still didn’t really understand it.

The wall next to him had fallen outwards, braked by a pair of pistons he’d not noticed at all. That was understandable.

It had formed a ramp. That was understandable.

It had gotten quite dark again as something massive blocked out the light. That was understandable.

A hammer that had a head the size and shape of that coffee machine in the corner had thumped into the floor with enough force to rattle the whole hut. A pair of chisels that looked like the playthings of giants had thumped down afterwards. This was on the limits of comprehension.

A pair of hands that gripped his jeans and had roughly tugged them off him before lifting him bodily into the air and dropping him onto the pillows on the workbench. The last tenuous threads of recognition.

Her… he had no clue.

With a face that belonged on a billboard for some high-class lingerie, on a body seven feet tall and a foot wider from tricep to bulging tricep, she was out of this world. A goddess? A valkyrie shortly after eating all the other valkyries… and their horses?

“Ooooh, Mustang, we’ve got one with some potential here…” she cooed in a high, sweet voice. It brought him back to himself.

Desperately, he tried to cross his legs.

They had found out.

“Easy champ,” Mustang said soothingly, leaning around the imposing mass of muscle, “most guys would be showing off if they were carrying something like that! I mean… Jesus.”

He sagged.

“It nearly got me fired… it’s just so hard to, hard-“

A mighty hand was peeling off his overstuffed briefs and he shot a pleading look at Mustang, “It’s hard to think straight when I’m backed up… Or – oh Jesus, you’re hands are strong – or if I get too horny!”

“You saying you got a huge tunnel off track by nearly a hundred feet and all because you were backed up?” Mustang seemed halfway between horrified and impressed.

Manny looked away and nodded.

“Well shit, you don’t seem stupid, but I’ve not seen anyone get so backed up that they couldn’t goddamn *think*!”

He felt Jack’s grip on his cock and shuddered as the build-up from the short drive down here made itself known. He could have cursed if he hadn’t been so far off balance.

He tried to put a restraining hand on her huge arm, amazed again as his spread fingers didn’t even make it two thirds of the way around her wrist. She mostly ignored him, slowing down rather than stopping, that heartstoppingly gorgeous face looking up at him measuringly.

“Spill it, new guy…” was all she said into the uncomfortable quiet.

“Ah- ah, shit! Stop! Just stop dammit… I’ll tell you!”

She ignored him again, keeping him in her steady gaze.

“Mr. Masters is my godfather… he helped me get this job and helped out with some of the special stuff that I’d need to do it!”

“Go on…”

“I just needed an extra outhouse on any site I was on. It was always just for me and had to be emptied every day. It was worse on sites where they had lots of, ah, nudie calendars. Everyone – ooohhh, God – everyone assumed it was because I was some hotshot. I just needed somewhere to get rid of… *it*.”

“It?” Jack asked as she continued jerking him off, shooting a curious glance over to Mustang.

Manny noticed that Mustang was unbuttoning her heavy duty jeans, the vest already on the table, just a dirty t-shirt on underneath.

“Oh God.”

“Tell me, little man!” Jack growled, her sweet voice making it sound like a rather sensual purr.

“I need to- I need to cum a lot every day! OK? Happy!?”

There was a silence broken only by the sound of Jack’s clothes creaking with the rhythm of her stimulation of him.

“What? You’re saying you filled a portapotty with jizz every day?”

He nodded glumly.

“That’s why Elmer and I got into a fight on our first job, he didn’t like me getting special treatment. It’s why it was so easy for me to get backed up when I was too busy to ease it off…”

He looked distraught.

There was a silence and he looked up to see the travesti istanbul pair of them grinning at each other. Eventually Mustang spoke up.

“I don’t think you need to worry about getting backed up… well not if Mr. Johnson,” Jack, still jerking him, gave his cock a little explanatory waggle to back Mustang up, “here can hold up your end of the story anyway!”

The last thing Manny though coherently as Jack leaned forward and parted her sweet, succulent lips to take his cock into her mouth was, Shit! Twenty minutes after meeting her and Mustang’s even got a nickname for my damn dick!


The world was only the soft warmth of a mouth on his cock, the pressure of strong, calloused fingers on his shaft and the feeling of teasing, tantalising suction.

A wet, warm prehensile finger of sensation swirled around the ridge of flesh between his peeled-back foreskin and the base of his cockhead, lapping at it as the finger pressure on the exposed length of his cock changed, strengthening almost painfully. The skin of his cock was sliding over the throbbing hardness of his shaft, veins prominent and firm as the handjob kicked up another gear. The friction, the dry warmth-on-warmth, was an incredible contrast to the wet heat of the suckling mouth.

The finger of moist warmth that was a tongue danced around the rim of his cock head, his whole shaft vibrating as a deeply lustful growl was transmitted down the lightning rod of his dick and into his heavy balls. Something tensed inside him and the pressure eased, the suction ending abruptly in a warm sigh of breath across his meat.

There was stillness.

The tension eased and the warmth returned, but this time he was sensitised, needy… backed up.

Somewhere there was a scream, but it was not of this world, it was of the world outside the mouth and tongue and now… oh God, oh God… the tantalising scrape of careful teeth.

The warm, wet world of the mouth was intensified as a ring of liquid pleasure was forced down his length, the suction accentuated by a muscular pull as his achingly hard dick was introduced to the realm of the throat. The frontier of the soft, stretched lips slowly worked down and down and down, first pressing into jacking fingers, then replacing them as the fingers roved down to fondle the heavy mass of his nuts.

The world was a red velvet topography of hot-wet and suck-pressure that quivered like a breath long held.

He felt five points of pressure bearing in from the outside of the muscular throat realm, felt the throat spasm as the fingers stroked his flesh through the flesh around it.

The breath held.

The breath held.

The breath was released.


Manny realised he was grunting and shaking, his back pressed into the ceiling of the cabin as Jack held him above her, all of his massive length fed into her bulging throat. He could feel each pulse of his orgasm flinging cum, thick gobbets of it, into Jack’s body.

“Holeeeee shiiiitttt…” came Mustang’s voice as Jack drank Manny’s seed, that huge neck working hard, rhythmically, to drain him.

As usual for him, it went on and on.

Still, Jack stuck to her task until she had seen out his incredible orgasm, dropping him gently back onto the table before stepping back and rubbing a belly that looked rather full.

Mustang looked at Manny wide-eyed before turning to Jack, mouth opening to ask a question and then clicking shut as she saw the bigger woman tense.

Manny followed Mustang’s gaze and saw Jack standing there in the middle of the room, poleaxed.

Jack was huge, dominating the space by mass alone. Each of her arms was so immense that it looked like she curled the longhorn cattle these girls took as their namesakes. The bicep alone was far bigger than his head, approaching twice the size when the muscles bunched and flexed. For her body, her arms were thick and beefy, but that was a proportion thing. The only thing about this behemoth that could be called normal was a face that belonged on a bikini clad college girl in her early twenties, not this vision of power in front of him.

Her chest was straining at a vest that he could have happily used as a tent, thick red braces holding up work jeans that fit her tiny waist loosely, but looked painted on across the immensity of her thighs, the quads over twice the width of his shoulders from outer sweep to outer sweep of twitching, bulging leg muscle. He could swear that the only thing keeping the trousers on was the web of leather straps that held on a series of half-inch thick armour plates which guarded her shins, knees and flared out to cup the teardrops of her thigh muscles.

The plates looked as if they had been blasted by hundreds of explosions, score lines and pitting telling a story of phenomenal abuse, but they seemed both as light as a feather to Jack and just like another part of her uniform.

It was a surprise then to see the tough, thick leather of the straps part with a series of metallic istanbul travestileri pings as buckles gave up a fight they had been winning for years. The yowl of tearing denim split the air as thick muscle seemed to erupt from a series of holes, rips and tears, the pale skin flushed and gnarled with snarling vascularity. Armour plates, leather strapping and denim scraps showered the room as Jack visibly grew, her body seeming to simply eclipse the clothes she was wearing.

She still hadn’t moved.

Mustang was at her side, her amazon physique dwarfed by the sheer volume of Jack, as she stroked the flesh on show, drawing a shivery mewl from the mountain of muscle in the middle of the room. Jack raised a huge arm in response and flexed it experimentally as the growth slowly stopped; the mountain of bicep that rose up was an intimidating mess of throbbing veins and chiselled muscle which overtopped her flexed fist by over a handspan.

“Gawd, but do I love your big muscles Jack! I think Johnny-boy here can back up his talk…” Mustang turned and shot Manny a wink, “I knew he was the honest sort!”

Jack was stood in the middle of the room in only her panties now, the black lace disappearing under abs which had more to do with tightly squeezed bags of bulging concrete than cobblestones. Her thighs were absolutely slick with juices, but she didn’t seem to mind. Every inch of her looked like someone had crammed hard, jagged rocks beneath her skin and tied them down with veiny ropes.

Idly, she stepped around the awestruck Mustang and bent to retrieve her tools, the sheer depth of her torso meaning that even as she bent at the waist she was only a foot shorter than before; the thickness of her back tilting towards him felt like flying over a mountain range. As she straightened, she had one of the huge chisel spikes she’d dropped earlier in one hand and the steel monstrosity Manny had mentally tagged as a hammer in the other.

With a grin that held no little mischief, she turned to Manny and slipped the anvil-sized hammer between her thighs. There was a little feminine grunt from her as she looked down at the mass of steel between her legs, but she simply bit her lip and concentrated, pouring all of her will into a quad flex which soon had the metal singing in protest. The muscles in her legs seemed to be fuelled by a nuclear explosion as they bulged and bloated and grew to her will, any trace of softness vanishing into a jagged landscape of thrumming muscle fibres, veins and the flush of warm blood being powered into these great trunks of power.

He couldn’t breathe.

The hammer gave with a shriek and the two halves of the hammer head crashed to the floor, expertly severed by the simple power of those inhuman muscles.

It was almost anticlimactic when she simply raised the oversized chisel she was still holding, grasped it in both hands and tied it in a knot. Manny was barely more surprised when she tugged the ends of the knotted steel and pulled the knot tight. Then the pressure came and those immense arms surged into new massiveness even as she slowly tore the knotted steel apart with pure brute force, grinning as the metal heated and sheared like taffy.

The only thing in the room harder than her muscles was Manny’s cock right then and the only word in the entire world that could fit this scene of muscle and sex and heat was simply…



Manny was still looking at the beaming Jack for answers when his view was blocked by a medieval wall of bronzed muscle. Mustang had straddled him, entirely naked now and like some vision of a mythic woman warrior next to the font of strength that Jack had become.

Where Jack had used his cock, milked it, savoured his cum, Mustang wanted a ride and every amazing inch of her felt hot and passionate.

Where Jack’s chest had become a monumental wall of pec beef, Mustang’s chest was a collision of muscularity and the heavy swell of massive breasts. A hand on the back of his head guided Manny’s mouth to her thick, swollen nipple and her voice came from above him as she guided herself over his heavy shaft and slowly sat down.

“Ooooh boy, Johnny, I think we need a new nickname for you…” she huffed.

“Anyway, if you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re hired. And now that you’re one of us I’ll tell you – hooo LORD that’s thick! – I’ll tell you how the Longhorn Ladies work… and why you’ll never be backed up again.”

She shoved her hips down brutally and shook as an orgasm rocked her body, biting her lip and looking down at him with a fire in her eyes as she fucked him roughly. He hadn’t picked her as someone who would hold back, but she was in her element here… “Mustang” seemed to fit her very well indeed.

“Oohh ohh ohhhhh yesss, there’s my first of the afternoon Johnny-boy. Just as well, as it all – hahhnnnggg – all started with my first boyfriend… well, me and Jack’s to be fair.”

“We grew up in cattle country and out there, you pump all sorts of hormones into the beef to make the cattle bigger, meatier, stronger and more productive… thing is, there’s also a nuclear plant out at the top of the catchment.”

He eased back to look up at her disbelievingly. He wasn’t from around these parts, but he wasn’t stupid, dammit.

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