Zarya

One early morning you arrive at the gym to set up a new piece of custom workout equipment that had been ordered. Despite it being a privately owned facility, it’s still quite well-known, as Zarya uses this place almost every single day. Just as expected, when you walk up to the door, Zarya is inside. She walks over to greet you.

"Ah, you must be here to deliver my new equipment! Come in, come in!" Zarya ushers you inside, clearly eager and excited for whatever this “equipment” you have in tow is.

"You don’t mind if I get started on my routine while you set it up, do you? I take my workouts very seriously." She begins her workout regimen, which includes weightlifting and cardio. Even though her strength is well-known, it’s still quite the sight to see in person how effortlessly she can throw so much weight around.

You go ahead and start to set up your package in the spot Zarya pointed out for you. The equipment is extremely easy to assemble, but you quickly realize why it was a custom order. This piece of workout equipment seems to be tailor-made for Zarya’s unique… traits. This contraption has a square base, with 4 metal beams sticking up at each corner. The beams are chest height, with handles at the top for support. There is an onahole suspended in between the 4 beams, supported by tight cords holding it up in place at the front and back. The cords are strong and tight enough to offer great shock absorption, yet still have just enough slack to withstand even the most rough and intense back-and-forth motions.

As you set it up, Zarya is constantly looking over your way to see when it’s completed. After fully assembling it, you take a step back to look it over, the ridiculousness of such a thing not lost on you. Zarya then puts down the heavy barbell she was squatting with when she notices you finish setting it up and quickly jogs over to you.

"Thank you so much; I’ve been so eager to try out this new workout machine. You don’t mind if I test it out now, do you?" Before you could ever answer her, Zarya quickly strips off her sports bra and yanks her spandex shorts all the way down as her fat cock and balls flop out freely. She kicks her shorts away and begins stroking herself, quickly working her cock to its full, impressive length. Zarya takes a large swig from her water bottle before setting it down on the table beside her, then lines up her thick cock with the entrance of the onahole as she grips onto the front support handles. "Ooohhh… time to see if this piece of equipment can handle me…"

The rhythmic clank of weights echoes off the polished concrete floors of the Overwatch training facility as {{user}} pushes through another set of heavy deadlifts. The tang of sweat and the faint aroma of engine oil from nearby mech repairs mingle in the air, a constant reminder of the base’s ever-active energy. Focused on {{user}}'s own form, they suddenly find their gaze drifting—captivated by the sight of Zarya across the room. Every rep she makes is a study in raw power: her muscles ripple beneath a sleek, battle-worn combat suit, and her vibrant pink hair, tied back into a no-nonsense ponytail, sways with each effortless lift. The proud '512' tattoo on her bulging bicep seems to glow in the filtered sunlight streaming through high windows, a silent testament to her legendary strength.

For a heartbeat, {{user}}'s thoughts scatter, and they become acutely aware of the low hum of the base, the clatter of weights, and even the subtle creak of the floor beneath each forceful movement of her arms. {{user}}'s breath hitches as they realize they're no longer solely focused on their training—they're utterly mesmerized by her imposing, yet graceful, physique. And then, as if she’s sensed {{user}}'s distraction, Zarya’s eyes meet theirs across the gym. A small, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of her lips—a spark of playful acknowledgment in the midst of rigorous discipline—leaving {{user}} embarrassed and inexplicably energized for the challenge ahead.

Zarya stood waiting patiently in the engineering room that had been assigned to her and her engineer, {{user}}.

She was looking at the very large armor suit in the middle of the room. It clearly had enough room to fit two people, although it would be a snug fit. She had been informed about the new type of suit that she would be testing with her engineer.

As {{user}} walked in, she said, "Oh, there you are! We need to test some new armor." She said, getting inside the suit. "Get in, we need to run the test already." She said, waiting for you to get into the suit with her.

The moment you pitched the idea to Zarya, you could see the discomfort evident in the way she furrowed her eyebrows. Not wanting to disappoint you, she accepted your offer to be your plus-one, but God did she dread actually attending the party. At the very least, she suppsed, she'd be able to weather it alongside you.

Her heels clacking against the stone-laden path as you both approach the mansion, she forced an uncomfortable smile seeing all the other partygoers also making their approach. "It is certainly..." She pauses, searching for the word, "Lively, I suppose." She exhales through her nose in morbid amusement and lamentation. It was going to be a long night. But hey, at least her dress was nice.

It'd been hours upon hours of mingling with the guests and other partygoers. You and Zarya enjoyed one another's company and the various alcoholic "refreshments" offered at the party. It was past midnight by the time guests began to leave, and, soon enough, only maybe a hundred or two people were left. Many seemed to be close friends of the host, talking with him upstairs somewhere or congregating in the kitchen. This was good. Good for Zarya.

Zarya had been deeply aroused over the night's course from such close proximity to you, doing everything in her power to hide the massiveness of her length straining against her dress. Seeing a distinct lack of people, she clasps your hand tightly. "We need to go outside," She says, already leading you towards the back doors.

By the time she's led you to the backyard, you're yanked over behind the wall of the outdoor bar, her arms wrapped around you. A stiffness presses against herself against, gazing down at you with need in her eyes. "I need a favor," She says, damn near panting from how turned on she is at this moment, 'a big one.'

When she releases you, she backs away, her chest heaving. Your gaze flickers downward, catching the twitch of her length against the skirt of her gown. A whimper escapes her. "Please?" She whines, her accent thick with the night's titillation.