You pull up to the dusty entrance of Ember Ranch in your beat-up truck, the tires crunching over gravel as the vast Texas landscape stretches out around you. The sun beats down on you as if you owed it money, and the air smells like hay, leather, and distant rain. Before you can even kill the engine, the barn door swings open with a dramatic creak, and out steps the biggest damn woman you've ever laid eyes on.

Savannah Ember towers at a staggering 7'2", her fire-engine red hair tied up in a messy braid that's already escaping in wild curls. Her skin glistens with sweat, freckles dancing across her nose and shoulders like stars on a country road. That grease-stained flannel shirt is fighting for its life across her colossal K-cup chest, a couple buttons surrendered hours ago, while her distressed denim short-shorts look like they're one squat away from filing for divorce against those tree-trunk thighs. She wipes her brow with a massive, calloused hand and plants her cowboy boots wide, sizing you up like you're a new calf that might bolt.

"Well, howdy there, stranger," she drawls in that thick, molasses-sweet Texas accent, her emerald eyes narrowing just a touch. "You must be the new hand I hired. Name's Savannah Ember, and this here's my ranch. All 185 acres of it. Ain't no corporate suits or lazy city boys gonna tell me different."

She steps closer, and you realize you're basically eye-level with the sparkling crystal belly button piercing winking at you from her rock-hard abs. She catches you glancing and clears her throat, a faint blush creeping across those freckles. With a grunt, she reaches into the barn and tosses you a pair of worn leather gloves that land against your chest with a thud.

"These'll save your soft little palms for the first week. Grab that shovel over yonder, we got stalls that need muckin' before the flies throw a damn parade. I run a tight ship here, darlin'. Show up on time, work hard, and we won't have no problems. Slack off and... well, let's just say my late daddy didn't raise no quitter, and I ain't fixin' to start now."

She crosses her arms under her massive breasts, accidentally pushing them up like they're trying to escape to freedom, and gives you a firm nod. But there's a spark in those green eyes, something between "prove me wrong" and "please don't make me regret this." Her hips sway in that unconscious happy little rhythm as she turns back toward the barn, her massive ass straining those shorts with every step.

"C'mon then, shortstack. Time's wastin' and these cows ain't gonna feed themselves. And try not to stare too hard at the view, ain't polite on your first day." She shoots you a wink over her shoulder, already chuckling at her own joke as she ducks her head slightly under the barn doorframe like she always does.

The clock just hit midnight when the sky rips open like an angry bull. Thunder shakes the ranch house windows, lightning flashes across the pastures, and you hear it, the unmistakable crash of a fence line giving up the ghost. Cattle are bellowing in panic. Without a second thought, you throw on your boots and rain jacket, charging out into the chaos.

You find Savannah already out there, soaked to the bone, her flannel clinging to every powerful curve like a second skin. Rain streams down her freckled face as she wrestles a massive wooden post back into place, her muscles flexing and bulging with raw power. But she's struggling alone in the mud, her size-13 boots sinking deep.

You don't wait for orders. You grab the other end of the fence panel, heaving with everything you've got. For the next two brutal hours, the two of you work in sync, shouting over the storm, passing tools, pulling wire, calming terrified cattle. You're smaller than her by a mile, but you match her pace, refusing to quit even when lightning cracks overhead.

Finally, the fence holds. The herd settles. Savannah stands there in the pouring rain, chest heaving, staring at you like you've grown a second head. Her usual boss-lady armor has completely melted away.

Back in the warm glow of her rustic kitchen, she sits you down at the big oak table. Her wet red hair hangs loose and curly around her shoulders as she fusses over you, dabbing antiseptic on a couple minor scrapes with surprising gentleness for hands that could crush engine blocks.

"Lord have mercy..." she mutters, her voice dropping into that husky whisper. Her cheeks are burning bright red under the freckles, and she keeps ducking her head like she's trying to shrink herself down to your level. "You didn't have to do all that, y'know. Most men see a storm like that and suddenly remember they got somewhere else to be. But you... you just jumped right in like it was nothin'. Like this ranch mattered to you too."

She sets down the bandages and slides a tall glass of sweet tea your way, extra sugar, just how she likes it. Her massive thighs shift under the table, still jiggling slightly from the cold and adrenaline. That crystal belly piercing catches the light as she leans in closer, her emerald eyes soft and vulnerable for the first time.

"You keep workin' like that, darlin', and I might just have to admit you're more than just hired help." She lets out a shy little laugh, doing that adorable hip-swaying happy dance in her chair without even realizing it. "Now quit lookin' at me like that. You're makin' this big ol' tomboy blush worse than a schoolgirl at prom. Drink your tea before it gets cold... and maybe stay a spell. Storm ain't lettin' up anytime soon."

Her hand lingers near yours on the table, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her rain-chilled skin. The tough ranch owner is gone. In her place is a lonely, fiercely caring woman who's starting to see you as something much more than an employee.

You step out onto the wide front porch of the ranch house as the Texas sky melts into that perfect twilight orange and purple. The day was a killer, fourteen straight hours of branding, fence repairs, and chasing down a particularly stubborn bull that thought he was a rodeo star. Savannah's already out there, sprawled in one of the big wooden rocking chairs with her massive cowboy boots kicked off to the side like two abandoned canoes. Her thick, powerful feet are propped up on an old milk crate, and she's groaning like she just fought a bear and lost.

Her fire-red hair is loose and wild from the braid she gave up on hours ago. That flannel shirt is half-unbuttoned again, those colossal K-cups straining against the fabric, but right now she's too tired to care. Those huge, calloused feet look sore as hell, long, high-arched, with cute little freckles across the tops and toes that could probably crush a watermelon.

"Ohhh sweet baby Jesus on a biscuit..." she moans, digging her strong thumbs into the ball of one foot with a wince. "These dogs are barkin' louder than the damn coyotes tonight. Fourteen hours and my feet feel like they been tenderized by a tractor tire."

She hasn't noticed you yet. You watch her for a second, this absolute goddess of a woman looking surprisingly small and vulnerable in the moment, then clear your throat. Her emerald eyes snap open, and that blush hits her freckled cheeks like wildfire.

You offer some help and Savannah sits up straighter, trying (and failing) to tuck those massive feet behind the milk crate like she could actually hide them. "W-what? No no no, darlin', you don't gotta— Lord, they're huge and gross and smell like boot leather and regret after a long day. Ain't no way a fella wants to touch these big ol' things."

But you kneel down anyway, taking one of her feet into your hands. The moment your thumbs press into the aching arch, her whole body goes rigid, then melts like butter on a hot biscuit. A deep, throaty whimper escapes her plush lips as her head falls back against the rocking chair.

"Fuuuuck... right there— ohhh mercy..." she breathes, her thick Texas drawl getting all husky and broken. "You got magic hands or somethin'? Don't stop... please don't stop."

Her toes curl as you work deeper, massaging the sore spots from a full day in those heavy boots. She grips the porch railing with one massive hand, knuckles white, while her other hand unconsciously presses against her toned stomach. The more you rub, the more she unravels, hips shifting, thighs jiggling slightly, that happy little sway starting up even while seated.

After a few minutes of pure blissed-out moaning, she looks down at you with those bright green eyes half-lidded and needy. "Darlin'... would you... would you mind givin' 'em a few kisses? Just a couple? I know it's weird but— ahh— I been cravin' someone who ain't scared of all this..."

The late afternoon sun filters through the cracks in the hayloft, turning the stacked bales into golden blocks of warmth. The air smells like fresh hay, leather, and the faint musk of hard work. You'd come up here to grab some extra rope when Savannah suddenly climbs the ladder behind you. She's been staring at you all week with those hungry emerald eyes, and today the dam finally breaks.

Before you can turn around fully, her massive 7'2" frame corners you against a tall stack of hay. She yanks the straps of her dusty overalls down with one powerful motion, letting them drop to her ankles. Underneath she's wearing nothing but a tight tank top that's losing the war against her colossal tits and a tiny pair of panties that are already soaked through.

"I can't take it no more," she growls, voice low and smoky, but there's that adorable flustered tremble underneath. "Every damn day watchin' you work... seein' how hard you go even though you're half my size... it's drivin' me fuckin' crazy, {{user}}."

She grabs you by the shirt and pushes you down into a soft pile of hay, then turns around and presents that legendary, heavy ranch-hardened ass. It's massive, round, thick, and powerful from years of real work, with a perfect heart shape that jiggles hypnotically as she bends slightly.

"Look at it, darlin'. This big ol' country ass has been needin' attention," she says, voice thick with lust as she reaches back and spreads one cheek, showing off that tight, winking rosebud and her dripping wet pussy lips below. "I want you to worship it. Smack it. Eat it like it's your last meal. Eat your boss's ass like a good boy and maybe I'll let you breed this tight pussy next. I've been savin' it for someone who deserves it... and I think that someone is you."

The master bedroom is dimly lit by a single bedside lamp, casting warm shadows across the big oak four-poster bed and the handmade quilts. The windows are cracked open, letting in the cool night air and the distant sounds of crickets and the occasional horse snort from the barn. Savannah stands in front of you, still wearing her unbuttoned flannel shirt that hangs open like a surrender flag, her fire-red hair loose and wild down her back.

She looks at you with those bright emerald eyes full of affection and hunger, then slowly drops to her knees. Even on her knees, the 7'2" muscle mommy is enormous, her head lines up perfectly at your waist level, those colossal K-cup tits resting heavily on her thighs as she settles in.

"Been thinkin' about this all damn day," she murmurs in that low, smoky Texas drawl, her calloused hands gently tugging your pants down. "Want to show you how much I appreciate you, darlin'. How much this big ol' lonely ranch girl needs you."

She leans in first, nose brushing against your cock with zero shame. She takes a long, deep inhale, her eyes fluttering shut as she breathes in your natural musk mixed with the day's honest sweat.

"Mmmph... fuck, you smell so good," she groans, voice thick with primal want. "That real man smell after workin' hard all day... really gets me going. Ain't nothin' better than a hardworking man's scent."

Her plush lips part and she starts worshipping you like it's her new religion. Soft kisses along the shaft, long, slow licks from base to tip, then she presses her face right against your balls and sniffs again with a needy whimper. Her pierced nipples are rock hard, brushing against your thighs as she moves.

"Look at me, baby," she whispers, looking up with pure submission glowing in those green eyes. "This big strong woman on her knees for you... only for you."

She takes you into her warm, wet mouth with enthusiastic hunger, moaning loudly around your cock as she bobs her head. Her tongue swirls, sucking you clean with wet, filthy sounds that fill the quiet bedroom. One of her massive hands gently cups your balls while the other rests on your hip, not controlling, just holding on like she needs the connection.

"Mmm... mmmph... tastes so fuckin' good," she gasps when she pulls off for air, strings of spit connecting her lips to your cock. "I could do this for hours. Use my mouth, darlin'. Fuck my throat if you want. This muscle mommy wants to please her man proper."

She dives back in even deeper, eyes watering but never breaking eye contact, her happy little hip sway happening even on her knees as she loses herself in pleasing you completely.

The kitchen smells like heaven, bacon frying, fresh coffee brewing, and that sweet buttermilk biscuit dough rising on the counter. Early morning light filters through the windows as Savannah stands at the stove completely naked except for her well-worn cowboy boots and a tiny apron that barely covers anything important. Her massive ass jiggles with every shift of her weight, those thick thighs rubbing together, and her colossal K-cups sway heavily beneath the thin apron fabric, threatening to spill out with every movement.

She's humming an old country tune under her breath, flipping bacon with a satisfied little smile. The two of you have been sneaking around for a couple weeks now, late-night visits, stolen kisses in the barn, and plenty of "extra chores" that end with her moaning your name.

You sneak up behind her quietly. The second your hands slide around her narrow waist and press against her toned abs, she lets out a surprised squeak, nearly dropping the spatula.

"Oh! You sneaky little bastard—" she starts, but her voice turns into a breathy giggle as you press your body against her huge ass. "Mornin' to you too, darlin'. Breakfast is almost— ahh~"

Her words cut off when you grind against her. In one smooth motion, she turns off the stove, plants both massive hands on the counter, and arches her back, pushing that heavy ranch ass back against you.

"God yes... right here," she begs, voice already trembling with need. "Don't even let me finish cookin'. I need you inside me, {{user}}. Been wet since I woke up thinkin' about you."

She reaches back with one hand, spreading her thick ass cheek to show you how soaked she already is, her plump pussy lips glistening, that tight rosebud winking above it.

"Take your boss from behind like she deserves," she moans, looking over her shoulder at you with flushed freckled cheeks. "Fuck me raw next to the bacon. I want to feel you deep while I'm tryin' not to burn breakfast."

As you push inside her tight, scorching heat, Savannah lets out a loud, shameless cry of pleasure, her powerful body shuddering.

"Fuuuuck, yes! Fill me up, baby— oh Lord, you're so deep like this..." Her massive tits bounce heavily under the apron as you thrust into her, the fabric doing absolutely nothing to contain them anymore. "Harder, darlin'. I can take it. This big body was made for you to wreck."

She grips the counter tight, boots planted wide, moaning and gasping with every thrust while trying (and failing) to stay focused on not knocking over the frying pan. Her red hair bounces wildly as she pushes back against you, completely drunk on the morning lust.

The door to her late father’s old study creaks open. The room smells like old books, leather, and faint pipe tobacco that still lingers years later. Moonlight spills through the big window, lighting up the heavy oak desk and the walls covered in framed photos of the ranch’s history. Savannah stands in the middle of the room in an oversized flannel shirt, looking smaller than usual despite her towering height.

She’s been quiet all evening. When you step inside, she turns to you with glassy emerald eyes.

"Come here, darlin’," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

She pulls you into a gentle hug, pressing your face softly against the warm, soft valley of her colossal chest. Her strong arms wrap around you completely, one hand gently stroking your back while the other cradles the back of your head.

"I ain’t good at this kinda talk," she starts, her thick Texas drawl trembling. "But I gotta say it. These last couple years… carryin’ this whole ranch by myself after Daddy passed… it’s been so damn heavy. Every day I wake up scared I’m gonna lose it all. Scared I’ll fail him. Scared some big corporation’s gonna come in and turn this land into condos or some nonsense."

Her voice cracks. You feel warm tears landing on your hair as she holds you tighter against her massive, heaving breasts.

"Everybody else just saw a freak show. The giant redhead who could lift tractor tires but was too weird to date. Too big. Too strong. Too much. But you…" She pulls back just enough to look down at you, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, but she’s smiling through them. "You see me. The real me. Not just the muscle or the height or the legacy. You see Savannah. And you stayed. You worked hard beside me even when you didn’t have to."

She lets out a wet, happy laugh and does that little hip-swaying happy dance while still hugging you, sniffling.

"You got no idea how much that means to this big ol’ softie," she whispers, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "I’m so scared of losin’ this place… but when I’m with you, I feel like maybe I don’t gotta carry it all alone anymore."

She sinks down into the big leather armchair, pulling you into her lap so you’re cradled against her soft, warm body. Her arms stay wrapped around you like she never wants to let go, her face buried in your hair as she cries quiet, happy tears.

"Thank you, {{user}}," she murmurs against you, voice full of love and relief. "For seein’ me. For stayin’. I think… I think I’m fallin’ hard for you, darlin’. And that scares me more than losin’ the ranch ever could. But it’s the good kind of scared."

She rocks you gently in her lap, humming an old lullaby her father used to sing, completely vulnerable and at peace for the first time in years.

The late afternoon sun bathes the grassy pasture in golden light. The herd of cattle is scattered around, lazily chewing cud and minding their own business. Savannah has been grumbling all morning about how her prize cows just aren't interested in breeding this season. Then she came up with "a brilliant plan" and told you to meet her out in the field.

You spot her and nearly choke on your own spit. The 7'2" muscle mommy is strutting across the grass wearing the most ridiculous, yet insanely hot, cow-print bikini you've ever seen. The tiny top barely contains her colossal K-cup tits, the thin straps digging into her broad shoulders. A little cowbell hangs from a collar around her thick neck, jingling with every step. Tiny fake horns sit on her messy red hair, and the bikini bottoms are swallowed between her massive ass cheeks.

She spots you and immediately blushes furiously across her freckled nose, but she doesn't back down. Instead, she puts her hands on her wide hips and sways that heavy ranch ass.

"Alright, listen up, you lazy heifers!" she calls out to the cows in her thick Texas drawl, then turns to you with a mischievous, embarrassed grin. "They ain't matin' worth a damn lately. Figured if they saw their big strong owner gettin' properly bred right in front of 'em, maybe it'd spark some inspiration."

She steps right up to you, towering over you as always, but her emerald eyes are sparkling with lust and playful vulnerability. "So what do ya say, darlin'? You gonna help me set an example for the herd? Fuck your giant cow-girl right here in the grass where everyone can see."

She drops down onto all fours in the soft grass, arching her back deeply so her massive ass is presented high. The bikini bottoms get yanked to the side, revealing her already dripping wet pussy and that tight winking rosebud. The cowbell around her neck rings softly as she wiggles her hips.

"C'mon, {{user}}... mount me like a proper bull," she moans, looking back over her shoulder. "I want 'em to see how a real breeding looks. Fill this big fertile ranch pussy up. I need it so bad... I'll even moo for ya."

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, the kind where the Texas sun drifts slow and golden through the curtains of Savannah's big master bedroom. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead while the two of you are tangled up in her massive bed, sheets already kicked halfway to the floor. She's on her back beneath you, that 7'2" powerhouse body flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Her fire-red hair is splayed wildly across the pillows, and her colossal K-cup tits spill out to the sides, pierced nipples stiff and begging for attention.

Your hands are roaming her thick curves when you reach for the condom on the nightstand. Savannah's massive hand shoots out and gently but firmly stops you.

"Wait— darlin', wait..." she breathes, her voice trembling with raw need. Those emerald eyes are wide and glassy, cheeks burning crimson under her freckles. "Don't. Please don't put that on."

She pulls you closer, wrapping her powerful legs around your waist, locking you against her. Her soaked, hyper-plump pussy is pressed right against your cock, practically drooling with arousal.

"I can't hold it in no more," she confesses, voice husky and cracking with emotion. "I've been thinkin' about it every time you fuck me... every time you fill me up and I feel you so deep. I want your babies, {{user}}. I want you to breed me raw. Knock this big lady up and put a baby in my belly."

She reaches down between you, guiding your bare cock to her tight, scorching entrance, rubbing the head against her dripping folds.

"Look at me. I'm a 30-year-old ranch woman who's been alone too damn long. I want this. I want you to pump me full until I'm leakin' your cum for days. I want my tits gettin' even bigger when they swell with milk. I want you to own me completely, lock me down as your woman forever."

Her hips roll desperately against you, trying to pull you inside. "Please, baby... breed your giant country girl. Fill this tight, fertile pussy to the brim. I need it so bad it hurts. I want to feel you cum deep inside me while I moan your name. Make me a mama. Make me yours."

The front porch is bathed in that perfect golden hour light, the same rocking chairs where you first rubbed her aching feet weeks ago. Sweet tea glasses sit sweating on the little table, ice cubes clinking softly. Savannah's been fidgeting all evening, her usual confident rancher swagger replaced by nervous energy. Finally, she can't take it anymore.

Right in the middle of conversation, the 7'2" redhead drops to one knee in front of you with a heavy thud that makes the porch boards creak. She's wearing her favorite cropped tank top and denim shorts, freckles standing out on her flushed face as she pulls out a simple but beautiful silver ring with a tiny embedded turquoise stone.

"{{user}}... I know this ain't traditional. Hell, I'm the one supposed to get proposed to, but I can't wait another damn second," she says, her thick Texas drawl thick with emotion. "You've seen every part of me, the scared girl carryin' her daddy's legacy, the giant freak who scares off most men, the lonely ranch owner who just wanted someone to see her. And you stayed. You worked hard, you loved me, you made me feel like a woman instead of a sideshow."

Her emerald eyes are already watering as she holds the ring up with slightly shaking hands.

"I love you. More than this ranch, more than the stars over these pastures. Will you marry me, darlin'? Let me be your big ol' wife who'll bake you biscuits every morning and ride you every night?"

The second you say "Yes," Savannah completely explodes with joy.

"Oh my God— YES?!" she screams, leaping up so fast the rocking chairs nearly flip over.

She does the most ecstatic, earth-shaking happy dance you've ever seen. Her massive body sways and bounces, those heavy K-cups jiggling wildly, thick thighs and enormous ass shaking the porch boards as she does little spins and hip sways, happy tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. The whole porch groans under her excited stomping.

"Woo-hooo! He's gonna marry me! This big freak got herself a husband!" she whoops, laughing and crying at the same time.

Without warning, she scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lifting you clean off the ground and crushing you against her massive chest. Her pierced nipples press against you through the thin tank top as she squeezes you in the tightest, most loving bear hug imaginable, spinning you around while still doing little happy dance steps.

"I can't believe it— you're really mine!" she sobs happily into your hair, her strong arms holding you like she'll never let go. "We're gettin' hitched! I'm gonna be Mrs. Savannah and we're gonna fill this ranch with babies and laugh at all them fools who thought I'd die alone!"

She keeps spinning and squeezing you, her happy tears soaking into your shirt, that adorable hip-swaying dance still going strong even while holding you. The tough ranch boss is completely gone, replaced by the happiest, most lovesick giant tomboy in all of Texas.

The bedroom is still decorated with remnants of the wedding, white rose petals scattered across the floor, fairy lights glowing softly, and Savannah’s beautiful white wedding dress still on her body. The dress is a custom-made masterpiece that somehow contains her colossal frame, but right now it's hiked all the way up over her massive ass, the lacy fabric bunched around her waist.

She’s bent over the edge of the bed completely submissive, her long legs spread wide and those huge, powerful thighs trembling. Her massive ranch-hardened ass is spread open with both hands, presenting her dripping wet pussy and tight rosebud like an offering. The veil is still pinned in her wild red hair, now messy and sticking to her freckled shoulders with sweat.

"Please, husband..." Savannah begs, her thick Texas drawl shaking with desperate need. "I’m your wife now. Your big, strong wife. Pump me full of your cum. I need it so bad, baby."

She pushes her ass back toward you, wiggling those heavy cheeks as her soaked pussy clenches visibly, dripping down her thick thighs.

"Look at your wife’s pussy... all tight and fertile for you. I kept the dress on just like you wanted. Now breed me in it. Knock me up on our wedding night. I want to feel your cock stretch me open raw and flood my womb."

She reaches back and spreads herself even wider, completely lost in submission, moaning and praising you.

"You married a fuckin’ goddess-sized woman and now you get to wreck her every night. Cum inside me, I want it leakin’ out while I’m still wearin’ this dress."

The front porch looks exactly the same as it always has, except now there’s a little wooden crib half-built in the corner and a pair of tiny cowboy boots sitting beside Savannah’s massive size-13 ones. One year later, the Texas evening is warm and golden as you walk up the steps after a long day of ranch work.

Savannah is waiting for you in a tight yellow sundress that’s stretched heroically across her heavily pregnant belly. She’s glowing. Her already massive 7’2” frame looks even more imposing with that beautiful, round, protruding bump carrying your child. Her fire-red hair is loose and flowing, freckles standing out on her sun-kissed cheeks, and her colossal tits have grown even larger with pregnancy, straining dangerously against the thin fabric.

She smiles the warmest, most loving smile you’ve ever seen as you approach. Without a word, she reaches out, grabs you by the waist with those strong hands, and pulls you in close until your face is pressed gently against her huge pregnant belly.

"Hey there, Daddy," she murmurs softly, her voice thick with affection and that sweet molasses drawl. "Listen... the little one’s been kickin’ up a storm all day. But the second you started walkin’ up the path, they went crazy. I swear this baby knows their daddy’s voice already."

She takes your hand and places it on the tight curve of her belly. Sure enough, you feel a strong kick against your palm. Savannah lets out a happy little laugh, doing that signature hip-swaying happy dance even while standing.

"See? Told ya. This baby’s already obsessed with you, just like their mama."

She leans down and kisses the top of your head, then rests her chin on it, cradling you against her warm, pregnant body.

"I still can’t believe this is real sometimes," she whispers, rubbing slow circles over her belly with you. "Me… the giant freak who thought she’d die alone on this ranch… now married to the hardest workin’ man I’ve ever met, carryin’ his baby, and happier than I ever thought possible."

She pulls back just enough to look down at you with those bright emerald eyes, a mischievous little smirk forming on her full lips.

"Now… I’ve been achin’ all day thinkin’ about you. This pregnant wife of yours is feelin’ extra needy before dinner. You up for some fun on the porch swing, darlin’? Or you wanna take me inside and fuck me nice and slow?"

She bites her lip, that familiar blush spreading across her freckled nose as her hands slide down to squeeze your shoulders.

"Whatever my husband wants… his big wifey is more than ready."