Size Queen Wife
By Tilda Blixen
Chapter 1: Head Turners
Stiletto heels clacking, hugging a tablet computer to conceal the jiggle of her D-cup breasts, Brandee Coleman hurried down the hallway toward her office. She could feel the pale skin of her face and neck flushing with arousal. She was agitated and craved privacy.
Once safely behind her office door, she stripped off her lab coat, tossed the iPad on her desk and sighed with relief. She had made it from the locker room without seeing anyone important, anyone who might take note of her excitement, or worse, its embarrassing and inappropriate cause.
The 41-year-old registered nurse looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. The physical signs were as bad as she had feared. Her blue eyes were glassy, the pupils widely dilated. In contrast to the porcelain whiteness of the rest of her body, her upper chest and throat glowed a delicate shade of pink, a sign of sexual stimulation in Caucasian women. Oversized, blood-engorged areolas and nipples poked through her white blouse, another brazen signifier of lust. No bra material was thick enough to conceal those nipples when she was turned on.
Closing her eyes, Brandee gave them both a long hard pinch, causing such an intense jolt of pleasure to run through her body that she almost lost her balance.
Trembling, she slumped into her desk chair, propped up her legs and hiked her skirt. Her fingers pressed against her clit, swollen and firm behind her panties, which were sopping up moisture from her overwrought pussy.
Once comfortable, she permitted herself to concentrate fully on the events of the morning that had put her in such a state:
When she had walked into the locker room at 10 am, arrayed before her was the entire university football team, stripped down to their jock straps, milling around waiting there to be medically examined by her. Although she had been looking forward to this task for weeks, the actual reality of it was overwhelming, the dizzying buffet of masculinity caused the blonde nurse to catch her breath. Just being in the presence of so many physically superior young men was enough to cause arousal in a woman like Brandee. As the faculty nurse, it was her job to touch and feel and fondle every one of the them while assessing their blood pressure, heart rate and lung function. And on top of that—and this really pushed her libido over the edge—each boy had to undergo a check for hernia.
"Turn your head and cough, please."
One after another, a parade of college-aged athletes lowered their jock straps, revealing to Brandee's lascivious gaze each fresh young set of genitalia.
She could appraise variations in size, shape and skin tone, and ogle each physique up close, even appreciate distinctions in masculine pheromones. Reflecting the demographics of the student body, almost all the players were African American, with a smattering of whites and Hispanics. In terms of penis size, only a handful of the cocks fell below average, and several students were off-the-charts well endowed.
As she recalled the exams, Brandee rubbed her clit furiously, replaying her favorite ones in her fevered memory.
The first really well-hung boy, Byron Morris, was on the short side, at 5'7", only about an inch taller than Brandee. His skin was dark ebony and his body tight and compact. He had a pock-marked, sulky face and a thin goatee. When he lowered his jock strap, Brandee couldn’t restrain an audible gasp. At least seven inches long, the obscenely thick cock that flopped out hung so far leftward that the prominent ridge of its head could be seen in profile. Even soft, the dark flesh tube looked absurdly oversized in proportion to the boy's lithe body. She wondered how much bigger it would get when aroused. During the hernia check, Bryon showed no response to her gently probing fingers and seemed slightly annoyed at having to be there at all. The young man's remoteness bruised Brandee's ego, while somehow at the same time provoking her interest.
Her self-esteem recovered somewhat under the wolfish gaze of the next endowed player, Fletcher Cox, who blatantly appraised her from head to toe before hopping on the foldable exam table she had set up in the coaches’ office. Well over six feet tall, Fletcher was broad and muscular with mocha colored skin and a tightly trimmed beard. He looked somewhat like a young Lenny Kravitz, she thought. He seemed downright eager to reveal his cock, his hips thrust arrogantly forward, a knowing smile on his handsome face. The source of his pride had a wide head and tapered to a thinner base. The ball sack, darker colored than the rest of his body, sat up high and was packed with two very large balls, the size of hen's eggs. To grant access to his oversize testicles, Fletcher dutifully lifted his shaft. Normally Brandee just used her finger tips, but for this exceptional boy she hefted and rolled the whole scrotum in her dainty white hand, as if trying to guess the weight of the masculine orbs inside. As always, she found the black-to-white skin contrast spellbinding, but she was also equally drawn to the boy's appealing scent. The nurse had to fight the urge to bury her face in those balls and inhale deeply. Perhaps sensing her attraction, Fletcher tightened his fist around his cock, causing the head to swell, and the pee-slit to wink open slightly. Aware the audacious stud was about to start jerking off for her viewing pleasure, Brandee snapped out of her erotic trance, and quickly finished the exam.
Then came Bokhari something or other—an African last name she couldn't remember—who seemed built more for basketball than football. He had obsidian black skin and his polite, well spoken answers to the medical history questions were conveyed in heavily accented English. His long thin cock, with its slight inward curve, struck Brandee as elegant. Totally hairless, the skin of his cock and balls had a glossy shine. The ball sack felt silky smooth to the touch.
The biggest package of all belonged to Cedric Evans, a huge mountain of a man. The only penis she'd ever seen to rival Cedric's belonged to the porn star Shane Diesel (Brandee was a fan). Thick as a beer can, heavily veined, with a large prominently ridged head, the mammoth, milk-chocolate appendage hung straight down over testicles more fit for a rhinoceros than a 20-year-old college student. They must be the size of tennis balls! How much cum would balls like that manufacture? Enough to impregnate a dozen women, for sure. She pictured thick, ropey ribbons of hot white cum shooting from that colossal cock, enough to drench a woman's face, breasts and hair. She visualized herself kneeling reverently before this boy and worshiping his colossal penis with her mouth and hands until he erupted all over her face—an image, as she sat in her office recalling it, that nearly triggered her orgasm.
But then she stopped herself. There was one more player to add to her alpha-male fantasy roster.
E.J. Barbadora—scary looking but oddly sexy. Tall and lanky and covered in tattoos, his face projected a boyish innocence: large brown eyes and prominent front teeth with a slight overbite. But this innocence contrasted with his spiky hairdo, two earrings, and a piercing through the septum of his broad nose. His cock was incredibly wide at the base, tapering along the eight-inch stalk and then flaring out again at the bulbous head. E.J. had one of those two-tone cocks: a pink head but a nut-brown shaft. The base was so thick, Brandee had trouble getting around it to examine his testicles.
As she savored these lewd memories, Brandee took notice, not for the first time, of how the nature of her fantasies had changed as she grew older. Her younger self would have selected one of these players to be the focal point of her lust and then achieved orgasm thinking of him and only him. But lately it seemed only thoughts of group encounters could stimulate her erotic imagination: Groups of men with her—and just her, no other female rivals—at the center of attention.
In the current fantasy she pictured herself on her knees before these five players, who would form a circle around her. All would be naked from the waist down, except for shoulder pads and team jerseys. Unlike the medical exams, where she was in charge, in this scenario the boys would control her. Completely at their mercy, they would force her to take turns sucking each mouth-watering cock, all the while coaxing her on with lewd comments that became increasingly more and more degrading.
Leaning back in her office chair, she danced on the end of her finger, imagining their hands stoking those magnificent cocks, their bodies stiffening, and then, oh God, here it comes, great spurts of cum arching through the air, splattering on her face, her hair, her breasts, drenching her with all that hot young sperm.
On the verge of climax, she needed just one more element to push her over the edge. She knew what would work. It was a fantasy she often used to trigger an orgasm.
As the young athlete's sperm cascaded all over her, she imagined looking across the room at a naked figure, gagged and bound to a chair. This was her ex-husband, tied up and forced to watch his former wife gang banged by squadron of black college students. She could see his watchful gaze, the muscles under his pale white skin straining against the bonds. She could see his average-sized white phallus, fully erect, poking up from between his thighs, helpless...
That did it. She was cumming…
Just then there was a knock on her door, jolting her out of the fantasy.
"Brandee, are you in there?"
It was the voice of her boss, Karen Naylor. Brandee nearly tumbled backwards out of her chair.
"Ah. Oh. Yes, I'm…I'm here," she stammered, sitting upright. "The door is locked. I'm just finishing something..." She adjusted her skirt, rustled papers on her desk, gasped for air.
"Sorry to bother you, Brandee," she said through the door. "But could you come to my office when you get a minute? There's something we need to discuss in person."
"Yes, Karen. Be right there. Just give me a minute."
While she caught her breath, Brandee rested her head on the desk. She had been so close to cumming, but now her concentration was ruined. She promised herself a good masturbatory session with her collection of large black dildos later that night. Or better yet, maybe her current boyfriend would be available for a last-minute booty call.
When her heart stopped pounding, she stood up, stripped off the soaking wet panties and tossed them in the trash. Unlocking a desk draw, she selected a fresh pair and stepped into them. She always kept clean panties handy, for just these occasions.
Size Queen Wife
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Re: Size Queen Wife
Chapter 2: Awesome Endowment
"So, how did the baseline exams go?"
Karen Naylor, MD, Associate Dean of Clinical Research and Director of the university's Clinical Research Department, looked at the woman sitting across from her desk. She had known Brandee since just after college. Karen scrutinized with disapproval the changes in her friend/employee's appearance since the divorce. The transformation to single life showed in the heavy makeup, the sinful shade of lipstick and nail polish, and the gym-toned body. Speaking of that body, Karen wondered if Brandee was now having her lab coats custom tailored to show off those ludicrously oversized boobs of hers. And stilettos, every day? Really?
"They went pretty well," Brandee replied. "We've got a healthy team of guys there. No anomalies or outliers." She smiled faintly, as if recalling a private joke. "Lots of, shall we say, overachievers."
"Good. Wonderful news. So we can move forward into the next phase. Although I'll be listed as the study coordinator, I'm counting on you to run the day-to-day. You've got way more experience with these things, and with my heavy workload I just simply do not have the time."
There was an awkward silence. Karen was stalling. A worried look passed over the nurse's face, as her boss fiddled nervously with the diamond wedding bands on her ring finger, apparently uncertain of how to continue.
"Brandee, you know I'm very happy with your work here. All of us are. You're a terrific manager of your staff, and of course everyone agrees you're a top-notch nurse. You're very good at what you do."
"Um. Thanks." Now Brandee crossed her legs and swallowed hard.
"Brandee, Let me start by saying this. All schedule 2 drugs are registered in an electronic data base every time they are dispensed. Every time."
Brandee's eyes began welling up with tears.
Karen sighed. "You're lucky the pharmacy called me first. If Cameron had gotten wind of this he would have fired you right on the spot."
Full-on crying now, the nurse sobbed, "Oh God, Karen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You're a healthcare professional. You know how addictive opioids are, how much damage they can do. Why would you want to fool around with that stuff?" She came around the desk and offered the distraught woman a Kleenex. Like Brandee, she was blonde and blue-eyed, and in her early 40s, but she was several inches taller, with longer legs, a less majestic bust line, and a curvier hip-to-waist ratio. The other major difference was Karen's style of dress and overall manner, which leaned toward "soccer mom," while Brandee's could best be described as "cougar on the prowl."
"But that's the thing," sobbed the buxom blonde, accepting the tissue. "They weren't for me at all. They were for Tayshaun."
"Tayshaun? You mean that guy from the party?"
Karen remembered Brandee's date at the last office Christmas party, a good-looking hustler type of the kind that seemed to obsess her divorcee friend these days. Black, of course. Or rather, she corrected herself, African American. He had been well dressed and projected the confident aura of a successful salesmen. Watching the way he moved through the party, so assertive and self-assured, Karen wondered whether that swagger might result from being well endowed. She had spent the rest of the evening stealing covert glances at his crotch to see what he was "packing" down below, while simultaneously trying to concentrate on the holiday small talk going on around her. Try as she might, she could come to no firm conclusion about his size. Of course, she could have simply asked Brandee if her new boyfriend had "big one," but she was not that kind of woman. Not to mention that penis size would be a totally inappropriate topic for a supervisor to discuss with an employee. Karen flushed with embarrassment at the memory of her behavior. What if someone had noticed her gazing intently at this strange man's crotch? What if her husband had caught her?
"No, actually that was Trayvon at the party," said Brandee. "I'm not seeing him anymore." She fiddled with her smart phone and handed it to Karen. "This is Tayshaun."
The screen displayed a photo of a dark-skinned, muscular African American man no older than his late-20s wearing a tight fitting light blue T-shirt. Jesus, thought Karen, this one is even better looking than the guy at the party! Where does she find them? Was there some special app? "Black Stud Finder?" Maybe a website…actually, there probably was a website.
Sniffling but regaining composure, Brandee added, "There's more pics there if you want to look."
Despite herself, Karen could not resist scrolling forward. Next was a full body shot of Tayshaun at the gym in a sleeveless fitness shirt, curling two large barbells, his massive shoulders and biceps flexing seductively. Concealed in his spandex shorts was the unmistakable outline of a meaty penis and large testicles, clearly defined through the fabric, the shaft so long part of it snaked down his left thigh.
The next photo showed Tayshaun stretched out on a chaise lounge at what appeared to be a tropical resort, wearing nothing but a skimpy light blue Speedo and wraparound sunglasses. The Speedo was so inadequate to the task of concealing his massive genitals that the elastic around his inner thighs gaped. This shot also displayed Tayshaun's well defined pectoral and abdominal muscles, gleaming like polished mahogany under the warm sun. He looked so confident lying there, hands clasped behind his head, like an idol waiting to be worshiped, certain he deserved it.
With difficulty, Karen tore her attention away from the photos, and thrust the phone back to her employee. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Brandee, but that does not look like somebody with a substance abuse problem."
"Tayshaun? Oh, God, no. He's a health nut. The pills weren't for him. No, it was someone at his gym. Tayshaun owed him money, and the guy said he would take Oxycontin instead."
"Good Lord, Brandee," Karen moaned, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger. "How do you get yourself into these situations? Well, in any case, I am glad to hear that at least the drugs weren't for you."
She returned to her desk chair, her demeanor shifting into medical professional mode. "Did you know I did my fellowship in psychiatry? It's very common for women in controlling relationships to minimize the problem. Abuse doesn't have to be physical. It can be emotional or psychological too."
Brandee straightened up in the chair, responded in an even tone: "This is not an abusive relationship, Karen. My marriage to Dennis, that was an abusive relationship. He was a racist asshole. I was just doing Tayshaun a favor."
Karen tapped a pencil on the desk. "Would you say you had a childhood that led you to doubt your self-worth? A common characteristic among victims in unhealthy relationships is a lack of self esteem and self-worth. And when we stay in these relationships we become increasingly depressed. And then of course our self-worth plummets further. It's easy to feel trapped and hopeless. I could recommend some people you could talk to…"
Brandee let out a burst of laugher. "Karen, I appreciate your concern, but really it's not like that. We're hardly even dating seriously, really. It's just a casual thing. He's like a friend with benefits, or whatever. That's all. I made a mistake. I'm sorry."
Karen shifted back to friend mode. "It's just that I worry about you. I know the divorce was hard, and I don’t want to see you get hurt."
"Ha! Are you kidding? My divorce was the best thing that ever happened to me. Not all of us are made for marriage. We can't all have what you and Craig have, you know."
Karen paused, parsing those last words for hints of sarcasm.
"Okay. If you say everything's all right, I believe you. I'm more concerned about your wellbeing than the drug thing. We can let it go with warning this time, if I have your word it will never happen again. Just know that you can come to me if you ever need help."
After Brandee left, Karen tried to get back to her daily routine. As she methodically dealt with each item in her crowded email inbox, she could not keep her mind off those incredibly erotic images of Tayshaun. The smooth onyx skin, the muscular body, and the awe inspiring endowment kept displacing mundane work matters. She wondered how a woman could accommodate a such enormous cock. Was it painful? Or did it feel better? And if it did feel better, did it wreck the tensile strength of a vagina for normal ones like her husband's?
She doubted it. After all, the female vagina expanded significantly during childbirth and then returned to its normal size afterward. Or did it? Had her own vagina retained its full elasticity after giving birth to two daughters? It was difficult to judge. And that wasn't the kind of topic addressed in medical training.
There was a knock at her door. Her boss, Cameron Neville, Dean of the Medical School, entered, looking worried.
"Well? Progress?"
"Baselines were done this morning. We should do the first round of ingestibles next week. Everything's on track."
"And the players have all signed their consent forms. They understand they're being studied, correct? And they agree to it?"
"Yes. All right here." She patted a stack of papers on her desk.
"Good. Please just keep an eye on Brandee, Karen. We need to present data at the symposium next November. If we knock the trial out of the park, we'll be in line for the Braun grant. The board sees the two as connected. Even though I'm well aware they shouldn't be. But don’t get me started on that..."
"Got it. Will do."
Cameron sat down. "And what about her…personal behavior?"
"Are you asking me if she can keep her hands off the football players, Cameron?"
"Well, you know her better than I do."
"She's fine. Don't worry. She's the best nurse we have. And anyway, I'll be at her side the whole time."
"So, how did the baseline exams go?"
Karen Naylor, MD, Associate Dean of Clinical Research and Director of the university's Clinical Research Department, looked at the woman sitting across from her desk. She had known Brandee since just after college. Karen scrutinized with disapproval the changes in her friend/employee's appearance since the divorce. The transformation to single life showed in the heavy makeup, the sinful shade of lipstick and nail polish, and the gym-toned body. Speaking of that body, Karen wondered if Brandee was now having her lab coats custom tailored to show off those ludicrously oversized boobs of hers. And stilettos, every day? Really?
"They went pretty well," Brandee replied. "We've got a healthy team of guys there. No anomalies or outliers." She smiled faintly, as if recalling a private joke. "Lots of, shall we say, overachievers."
"Good. Wonderful news. So we can move forward into the next phase. Although I'll be listed as the study coordinator, I'm counting on you to run the day-to-day. You've got way more experience with these things, and with my heavy workload I just simply do not have the time."
There was an awkward silence. Karen was stalling. A worried look passed over the nurse's face, as her boss fiddled nervously with the diamond wedding bands on her ring finger, apparently uncertain of how to continue.
"Brandee, you know I'm very happy with your work here. All of us are. You're a terrific manager of your staff, and of course everyone agrees you're a top-notch nurse. You're very good at what you do."
"Um. Thanks." Now Brandee crossed her legs and swallowed hard.
"Brandee, Let me start by saying this. All schedule 2 drugs are registered in an electronic data base every time they are dispensed. Every time."
Brandee's eyes began welling up with tears.
Karen sighed. "You're lucky the pharmacy called me first. If Cameron had gotten wind of this he would have fired you right on the spot."
Full-on crying now, the nurse sobbed, "Oh God, Karen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You're a healthcare professional. You know how addictive opioids are, how much damage they can do. Why would you want to fool around with that stuff?" She came around the desk and offered the distraught woman a Kleenex. Like Brandee, she was blonde and blue-eyed, and in her early 40s, but she was several inches taller, with longer legs, a less majestic bust line, and a curvier hip-to-waist ratio. The other major difference was Karen's style of dress and overall manner, which leaned toward "soccer mom," while Brandee's could best be described as "cougar on the prowl."
"But that's the thing," sobbed the buxom blonde, accepting the tissue. "They weren't for me at all. They were for Tayshaun."
"Tayshaun? You mean that guy from the party?"
Karen remembered Brandee's date at the last office Christmas party, a good-looking hustler type of the kind that seemed to obsess her divorcee friend these days. Black, of course. Or rather, she corrected herself, African American. He had been well dressed and projected the confident aura of a successful salesmen. Watching the way he moved through the party, so assertive and self-assured, Karen wondered whether that swagger might result from being well endowed. She had spent the rest of the evening stealing covert glances at his crotch to see what he was "packing" down below, while simultaneously trying to concentrate on the holiday small talk going on around her. Try as she might, she could come to no firm conclusion about his size. Of course, she could have simply asked Brandee if her new boyfriend had "big one," but she was not that kind of woman. Not to mention that penis size would be a totally inappropriate topic for a supervisor to discuss with an employee. Karen flushed with embarrassment at the memory of her behavior. What if someone had noticed her gazing intently at this strange man's crotch? What if her husband had caught her?
"No, actually that was Trayvon at the party," said Brandee. "I'm not seeing him anymore." She fiddled with her smart phone and handed it to Karen. "This is Tayshaun."
The screen displayed a photo of a dark-skinned, muscular African American man no older than his late-20s wearing a tight fitting light blue T-shirt. Jesus, thought Karen, this one is even better looking than the guy at the party! Where does she find them? Was there some special app? "Black Stud Finder?" Maybe a website…actually, there probably was a website.
Sniffling but regaining composure, Brandee added, "There's more pics there if you want to look."
Despite herself, Karen could not resist scrolling forward. Next was a full body shot of Tayshaun at the gym in a sleeveless fitness shirt, curling two large barbells, his massive shoulders and biceps flexing seductively. Concealed in his spandex shorts was the unmistakable outline of a meaty penis and large testicles, clearly defined through the fabric, the shaft so long part of it snaked down his left thigh.
The next photo showed Tayshaun stretched out on a chaise lounge at what appeared to be a tropical resort, wearing nothing but a skimpy light blue Speedo and wraparound sunglasses. The Speedo was so inadequate to the task of concealing his massive genitals that the elastic around his inner thighs gaped. This shot also displayed Tayshaun's well defined pectoral and abdominal muscles, gleaming like polished mahogany under the warm sun. He looked so confident lying there, hands clasped behind his head, like an idol waiting to be worshiped, certain he deserved it.
With difficulty, Karen tore her attention away from the photos, and thrust the phone back to her employee. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Brandee, but that does not look like somebody with a substance abuse problem."
"Tayshaun? Oh, God, no. He's a health nut. The pills weren't for him. No, it was someone at his gym. Tayshaun owed him money, and the guy said he would take Oxycontin instead."
"Good Lord, Brandee," Karen moaned, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger. "How do you get yourself into these situations? Well, in any case, I am glad to hear that at least the drugs weren't for you."
She returned to her desk chair, her demeanor shifting into medical professional mode. "Did you know I did my fellowship in psychiatry? It's very common for women in controlling relationships to minimize the problem. Abuse doesn't have to be physical. It can be emotional or psychological too."
Brandee straightened up in the chair, responded in an even tone: "This is not an abusive relationship, Karen. My marriage to Dennis, that was an abusive relationship. He was a racist asshole. I was just doing Tayshaun a favor."
Karen tapped a pencil on the desk. "Would you say you had a childhood that led you to doubt your self-worth? A common characteristic among victims in unhealthy relationships is a lack of self esteem and self-worth. And when we stay in these relationships we become increasingly depressed. And then of course our self-worth plummets further. It's easy to feel trapped and hopeless. I could recommend some people you could talk to…"
Brandee let out a burst of laugher. "Karen, I appreciate your concern, but really it's not like that. We're hardly even dating seriously, really. It's just a casual thing. He's like a friend with benefits, or whatever. That's all. I made a mistake. I'm sorry."
Karen shifted back to friend mode. "It's just that I worry about you. I know the divorce was hard, and I don’t want to see you get hurt."
"Ha! Are you kidding? My divorce was the best thing that ever happened to me. Not all of us are made for marriage. We can't all have what you and Craig have, you know."
Karen paused, parsing those last words for hints of sarcasm.
"Okay. If you say everything's all right, I believe you. I'm more concerned about your wellbeing than the drug thing. We can let it go with warning this time, if I have your word it will never happen again. Just know that you can come to me if you ever need help."
After Brandee left, Karen tried to get back to her daily routine. As she methodically dealt with each item in her crowded email inbox, she could not keep her mind off those incredibly erotic images of Tayshaun. The smooth onyx skin, the muscular body, and the awe inspiring endowment kept displacing mundane work matters. She wondered how a woman could accommodate a such enormous cock. Was it painful? Or did it feel better? And if it did feel better, did it wreck the tensile strength of a vagina for normal ones like her husband's?
She doubted it. After all, the female vagina expanded significantly during childbirth and then returned to its normal size afterward. Or did it? Had her own vagina retained its full elasticity after giving birth to two daughters? It was difficult to judge. And that wasn't the kind of topic addressed in medical training.
There was a knock at her door. Her boss, Cameron Neville, Dean of the Medical School, entered, looking worried.
"Well? Progress?"
"Baselines were done this morning. We should do the first round of ingestibles next week. Everything's on track."
"And the players have all signed their consent forms. They understand they're being studied, correct? And they agree to it?"
"Yes. All right here." She patted a stack of papers on her desk.
"Good. Please just keep an eye on Brandee, Karen. We need to present data at the symposium next November. If we knock the trial out of the park, we'll be in line for the Braun grant. The board sees the two as connected. Even though I'm well aware they shouldn't be. But don’t get me started on that..."
"Got it. Will do."
Cameron sat down. "And what about her…personal behavior?"
"Are you asking me if she can keep her hands off the football players, Cameron?"
"Well, you know her better than I do."
"She's fine. Don't worry. She's the best nurse we have. And anyway, I'll be at her side the whole time."
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Re: Size Queen Wife
Thank you, afagehi7! More to come...
Re: Size Queen Wife
Very well written. Great start
Re: Size Queen Wife
Very well written. Great start
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Understanding Man
- Prepubescent
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Re: Size Queen Wife
Chapter 3
Frictionless
The following day was Saturday; Karen could sleep late. While she dozed, half-awake, she dreamed about Brandee’s boyfriend Tayshaun. He and Karen were walking on a beach, which she suddenly realized was a nude beach. She couldn't stop obsessively glancing down at that massive cock, swinging back and forth. Everyone on the beach was white except Tayshaun and they were all looking at him. Ashamed at her own nakedness, Karen was nonetheless proud to be accompanied by such a young Adonis…but she was also worried Brandee would catch them and be angry.
She woke next to her husband, Craig, and put her arm around his sleeping body, which was facing away from her. She found his morning hard-on and began to fondle it, causing him to yawn and roll over.
He took off his pajama bottoms to give her better access. She looked at his cock in the early morning light, stroking it lightly.
"Did you call to make that appointment like I asked?" she asked.
"No I did not. Will you suck it?"
"I don't want to wake the girls."
"How will sucking it do that?"
"Let's just do it. I'm already wet."
He mounted her missionary style. His cock slipped in with almost zero friction.
"Wow. You are wet. What's gotten into you?"
"I don’t know. I think I had a sexy dream."
He pumped for a while, as silently as possible to avoid waking their children. The only sound was the slushy liquid noises made by Karen's pussy.
"Oh God, I've never felt you so wet," he said. "It's like you're making splashy noises."
He rolled off her. "I can't cum like this. I can't cum quietly." But what he didn’t say was her pussy was too loose for him to cum.
Using a tissue, he wiped off her copious juices. Before Karen grabbed his cock again, she made sure it was totally dry. She hated touching her own vaginal fluids.
"I really think you should make that appointment."
"Ugh. This again. There's nothing wrong with my sperm, Karen."
"I could be an enlarged prostate or an cyst in your seminal duct. Or it could be Peyronie's disease, which can cause penile shortening. Do you want to risk a shorter penis?"
"Karen, all men experience a drop off in this area. It's just part of getting older. I'm 43. You can't expect me to shoot as much as I did in my twenties."
"A decrease in ejaculate volume could be a sign of something serious. If you're embarrassed, I can call and make the appointment for you."
"Damn it, Karen, you're a Dean. You haven't practiced medicine in years. And you're were never a urologist. This is so totally not your area of expertise."
She kept stroking, while inspecting her husband's genitals. She tried to picture what Tayshaun's cock would feel like in her hand. She probably wouldn't even be able to fit her hand around it. And load size? Probably like a bowl of creamed wheat.
"Okay, let's take another look then. Shoot it for me. Show me a healthy load. "
"What, right now?"
She picked up her cell phone from the nightstand shined the flashlight on his cock. "Yes now. Do it. Jerk it for me, hubby."
"All right," Craig said warily, and began failing away at his cock.
"Make this one as big as you can," she encouraged.
"Oh, ah. It doesn't work like that," he said, getting breathless. "Guys can't really control it. It depends on how turned on you are."
"Well, be more turned on then."
"Okay. I'll try. Could you show me your tits," he pleaded.
Still holding the cell phone, Karen took out one of her tits, tweaking the nipple until it hardened.
"Okay, here it comes," he said, between gritted teeth.
While Karen watched intently, his cock shot out one modest-sized dollop of sperm, landing near his navel, followed by two watery dribbles which trickled down the shaft onto his hand.
"You see? You used to be able to shoot up to your face. Four of five big shots," she said, adding testily, "How many times did you jerk off yesterday?"
He covered his head with a pillow. "Just once. Please Karen I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Karen turned off the flashlight and got out of bed, slapping his butt playfully. "I'll make an appointment for you later today. It's for your own good, you big baby."
Frictionless
The following day was Saturday; Karen could sleep late. While she dozed, half-awake, she dreamed about Brandee’s boyfriend Tayshaun. He and Karen were walking on a beach, which she suddenly realized was a nude beach. She couldn't stop obsessively glancing down at that massive cock, swinging back and forth. Everyone on the beach was white except Tayshaun and they were all looking at him. Ashamed at her own nakedness, Karen was nonetheless proud to be accompanied by such a young Adonis…but she was also worried Brandee would catch them and be angry.
She woke next to her husband, Craig, and put her arm around his sleeping body, which was facing away from her. She found his morning hard-on and began to fondle it, causing him to yawn and roll over.
He took off his pajama bottoms to give her better access. She looked at his cock in the early morning light, stroking it lightly.
"Did you call to make that appointment like I asked?" she asked.
"No I did not. Will you suck it?"
"I don't want to wake the girls."
"How will sucking it do that?"
"Let's just do it. I'm already wet."
He mounted her missionary style. His cock slipped in with almost zero friction.
"Wow. You are wet. What's gotten into you?"
"I don’t know. I think I had a sexy dream."
He pumped for a while, as silently as possible to avoid waking their children. The only sound was the slushy liquid noises made by Karen's pussy.
"Oh God, I've never felt you so wet," he said. "It's like you're making splashy noises."
He rolled off her. "I can't cum like this. I can't cum quietly." But what he didn’t say was her pussy was too loose for him to cum.
Using a tissue, he wiped off her copious juices. Before Karen grabbed his cock again, she made sure it was totally dry. She hated touching her own vaginal fluids.
"I really think you should make that appointment."
"Ugh. This again. There's nothing wrong with my sperm, Karen."
"I could be an enlarged prostate or an cyst in your seminal duct. Or it could be Peyronie's disease, which can cause penile shortening. Do you want to risk a shorter penis?"
"Karen, all men experience a drop off in this area. It's just part of getting older. I'm 43. You can't expect me to shoot as much as I did in my twenties."
"A decrease in ejaculate volume could be a sign of something serious. If you're embarrassed, I can call and make the appointment for you."
"Damn it, Karen, you're a Dean. You haven't practiced medicine in years. And you're were never a urologist. This is so totally not your area of expertise."
She kept stroking, while inspecting her husband's genitals. She tried to picture what Tayshaun's cock would feel like in her hand. She probably wouldn't even be able to fit her hand around it. And load size? Probably like a bowl of creamed wheat.
"Okay, let's take another look then. Shoot it for me. Show me a healthy load. "
"What, right now?"
She picked up her cell phone from the nightstand shined the flashlight on his cock. "Yes now. Do it. Jerk it for me, hubby."
"All right," Craig said warily, and began failing away at his cock.
"Make this one as big as you can," she encouraged.
"Oh, ah. It doesn't work like that," he said, getting breathless. "Guys can't really control it. It depends on how turned on you are."
"Well, be more turned on then."
"Okay. I'll try. Could you show me your tits," he pleaded.
Still holding the cell phone, Karen took out one of her tits, tweaking the nipple until it hardened.
"Okay, here it comes," he said, between gritted teeth.
While Karen watched intently, his cock shot out one modest-sized dollop of sperm, landing near his navel, followed by two watery dribbles which trickled down the shaft onto his hand.
"You see? You used to be able to shoot up to your face. Four of five big shots," she said, adding testily, "How many times did you jerk off yesterday?"
He covered his head with a pillow. "Just once. Please Karen I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Karen turned off the flashlight and got out of bed, slapping his butt playfully. "I'll make an appointment for you later today. It's for your own good, you big baby."
-
Understanding Man
- Prepubescent
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Re: Size Queen Wife
Chapter 4: Expert Touch--Karen gets a tempting spa treatment
Later that day, after dropping off her two young daughters at a birthday party, Karen found an envelope clipped to the mailbox.
It was an apology note from Brandee, along with a gift certificate for a free massage at a spa in the suburban town where Karen and Craig lived. Karen appreciated the gesture, especially that Brandee had driven all the way from her condo in the city to deliver it.
Telling Craig she'd be back in an hour or so, Karen set off on foot toward the spa. On the way, she stopped to chat with several locals. The Naylors were well known in the community, home to many upscale professionals who, like herself, worked in the nearby metropolis.
The spa was a small place on the town's main street, with a storefront window and a bell on the door. A middle-aged blonde woman stood behind the counter, and a handsome young black man sat in one of the waiting-room chairs, engrossed in his phone. His skin-tight, black t-shirt and warm-up pants identified him as a masseur.
The gift card allowed for a full-body massage, the woman told her, plus an extra 15 minutes on the body part of her choosing: scalp, back, legs, hands, or feet.
"Um, well, my feet, I guess," Karen said. She loved foot rubs and often made Craig provide them while they sat on the couch watching television. Karen had a lot of body issues: she considered her breasts too small, hips too wide, and features too plain. But she kind of liked her feet, high-arched, size 9, (proportional to her 5’10” height).
“Hi, I'm Justin," said the young man, shaking hands. His hand was almost twice the size of Karen's. She felt herself blush, her labia quivering a little when they touched. In addition to a muscular physique, his face was attractive too. He looked somewhat like a young Sean "Diddy" Combs, the famous rapper, she thought. He couldn't have been more than 25.
Leading her through French doors into a small room containing a massage table, he then left while she undressed. As she lay on her back, completely naked under a white sheet, she could overhear the woman saying she was leaving for the day, and Justin should lock up when finished. Her heart jumped as the doorbell jingled, and she realized she was alone with this incredibly hot black man nearly half her age. Alone and naked.
He returned, seemingly unaware of her anxiety, asked if she was comfortable, put on soft New Age music, and lit some candles. Starting at her scalp, he massaged her temples with his fingers and thumbs. A connoisseur of spa services, Karen could tell Justin had the expert touch, confident yet gentle. She could feel all the muscles in her body begin to relax and her pulse return to normal.
After all, this wasn’t a big deal. She was merely a client, and he was just a professional doing a job. It was silly to be nervous.
He squirted oil on his hands and worked her arms. She watched as he bent her left elbow to massage the forearm. The sight of his enormous black hands, the dark skin contrasting so vividly against her white flesh, sent an erotic jolt through her senses. Again she felt her pussy begin to react. But this time she tried to enjoy it. Why shouldn't she? Why shouldn't she take pleasure in the attentions of an attractive younger man? How was this any different than a man enjoying a lap dance at a strip club?
But the relaxation proved short lived. To her horror, she noticed that her nipples had become rock hard, visibly poking through the sheet.
This was unacceptable. It was one thing to lust secretly for some random spa employee; it was quite another for that lust to be exposed. Karen flushed with humiliation.
As if reading her mind, Justin, in a professional tone, asked: "Too cold for you in here?"
Actually, if anything, the room was stuffy, but Karen seized on the excuse, quickly answering yes, and the masseur left to turn up the heat.
Mortified, she covered her face with her hands. Consciously, Karen felt shame. But subconsciously the embarrassment triggered the secret exhibitionist inside her and inflamed her arousal. Almost against her will, her right hand traveled to her clit and rubbed vigorously. With Justin out of the room, the horny wife and mother of two experienced a mini-climax.
When he reappeared, Justin's demeanor remained professional, apparently unaware of the sexual charge in the room. Despite her heavy breathing, flushed skin, and glassy eyes, he just went back to work.
Eventually he asked her to turn over, which caused her still tumescent nipples to rub uncomfortably against the massage table leather. However, with her breasts concealed she felt less vulnerable.
Soon another line was crossed. As he leaned over to work her shoulder blades, she could feel the unmistakable bulge of his engorged penis pressed against her upper arm. As she feared (yet also hoped), the thing felt enormous. The base was hard and thick against her flesh, and from the corner of her eye she could see the long, trunk-like shaft running down his left pant leg. Even the swell of his mushroom head showed through the fabric of his warm-up pants.
Karen was horrified. A hard-on during a spa treatment was totally unacceptable. But on the other hand, she also felt a sense of accomplishment. After getting so flustered by his powerful erotic aura, she took some pride knowing her middle-aged body could still excite a handsome guy in his prime.
Justin put his lips to Karen's ear, breath caressing the nape of her neck. For a terrifying second she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he only murmured, "Should I pamper your sexy feet now?"
At the word “sexy” all pretense vanished. Karen stopped feeling nervous. She turned over, her eyes fixated on his enormous bulge as it moved with the rest of his body to the end of the table. He lifted her right foot and expertly dug his thumbs into the arch, sending waves of pleasure up her torso. He adjusted his hips forward, pressing his cock shaft against the arch of her left foot. Then he slowly gyrated his hips, creating fiction.
God, it felt so good! Having her feet massaged by big hands and an enormous cock. She closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her. Then she started moving her left foot up and down in time with his hip gyrations, becoming an active participant.
Justin slowly pulled the sheet from her body, letting it slip to the floor, exposing Karen’s body completely.
By this point Karen didn’t care. The sight and feel of his huge hard cock demolished whatever resistance she had left. She hungered to see that cock. If that meant exposing her nakedness to him—her flushed white skin, nipples engorged with lust, her drooling pussy—then so be it.
Now he moved back toward her upper body, running his oil slick hands over her breasts and stomach, tweaking her nipples and brushing her pubic hair. Justin gazed hungrily at her naked pussy.
Karen had raised herself half-up on her elbows, eyes never leaving the giant bulge in his pants, marveling that any man could be so hugely endowed.
He took her hand and placed it on his groin. The giant phallus radiated heat and power. “You can touch yourself if you want,” he said.
Mesmerized, her eyes still fixed on his package, where her hand gripped it, Karen used her free hand to press her clit with her middle finger. Her mind emptied of everything except the mental image of what that cock must look like. So massive. So virile. Right here, in the flesh, hers for the taking…
And then all at once, quicker than she expected, she came—one of the most intense climaxes of her life. She cried out, her whole body convulsed, and a thin jet of fluid leapt from pussy, soaking the massage table.
Depleted, the woman collapsed back on the cushions, aftershock tremors shooting through her body. Her legs twitched spasmodically.
Just then Justin's cell phone rang. He calmly took it from his pocket and said hello. Holding an index finger to his lips, he left the room, closing the doors behind him.
Meanwhile, Karen returned to earth. What had just happened? It was as if she had gone temporarily insane. Did she really just masturbate herself to a squirting climax in front of a total stranger? And squirting? Never in her life had she squirted.
From the outer room, she grew aware of Justin's phone conversation. He seemed to be talking to a friend, someone intimate. His voice was different. Gone were the measured diction and professional tone. Now he sounded streetwise, more “from-the-hood.”
"Nah, I can't make it tonight baby…I don't care if he’ll be home tomorrow. Anyway, just get a hotel like you did last time…Tell him you were out with your girlfriends and didn't want to drive drunk...uh-huh, yeah…Listen, I gotta go. I’m with a client."
Through the French-door curtains, Karen could see him sitting in the waiting room. She hopped off the table, inner thighs dripping with vaginal fluid, and knelt down to get a better look.
"What? Ha! Don’t be jealous, baby…." He laughed. "Yeah, she married too, just like you…She got a ring on. I’m pretty hard too. Not bad for an older MILF." He rubbed his cock through his pants. "What, right now?” He glanced at the shop entrance, got up and locked it. “All right."
Karen let out an muffled yelp as the young man lowered his pants, exposing a huge ebony shaft, nearly twice as long and thick as her husband's, maybe 8 or 9 inches long. He took a pic of it with his cell phone.
"There you go, baby. Give you something to think about tonight."
It struck Karen that this kid was some kind of gigolo who used his spa job to recruit new clients. She was just business as usual for him. Feeling degraded, she dressed quickly, her body still slick with oil and sexual juices.
He was still on the phone as she hurried toward the exit. "I'm sorry,” she sputtered. “I have to go. I have to leave now."
"Wait, Karen," the voice was professional again. "We haven't finished your massage."
"No. I'm so sorry. I can't," she called back, verging on tears as she ran out the door.
Later that day, after dropping off her two young daughters at a birthday party, Karen found an envelope clipped to the mailbox.
It was an apology note from Brandee, along with a gift certificate for a free massage at a spa in the suburban town where Karen and Craig lived. Karen appreciated the gesture, especially that Brandee had driven all the way from her condo in the city to deliver it.
Telling Craig she'd be back in an hour or so, Karen set off on foot toward the spa. On the way, she stopped to chat with several locals. The Naylors were well known in the community, home to many upscale professionals who, like herself, worked in the nearby metropolis.
The spa was a small place on the town's main street, with a storefront window and a bell on the door. A middle-aged blonde woman stood behind the counter, and a handsome young black man sat in one of the waiting-room chairs, engrossed in his phone. His skin-tight, black t-shirt and warm-up pants identified him as a masseur.
The gift card allowed for a full-body massage, the woman told her, plus an extra 15 minutes on the body part of her choosing: scalp, back, legs, hands, or feet.
"Um, well, my feet, I guess," Karen said. She loved foot rubs and often made Craig provide them while they sat on the couch watching television. Karen had a lot of body issues: she considered her breasts too small, hips too wide, and features too plain. But she kind of liked her feet, high-arched, size 9, (proportional to her 5’10” height).
“Hi, I'm Justin," said the young man, shaking hands. His hand was almost twice the size of Karen's. She felt herself blush, her labia quivering a little when they touched. In addition to a muscular physique, his face was attractive too. He looked somewhat like a young Sean "Diddy" Combs, the famous rapper, she thought. He couldn't have been more than 25.
Leading her through French doors into a small room containing a massage table, he then left while she undressed. As she lay on her back, completely naked under a white sheet, she could overhear the woman saying she was leaving for the day, and Justin should lock up when finished. Her heart jumped as the doorbell jingled, and she realized she was alone with this incredibly hot black man nearly half her age. Alone and naked.
He returned, seemingly unaware of her anxiety, asked if she was comfortable, put on soft New Age music, and lit some candles. Starting at her scalp, he massaged her temples with his fingers and thumbs. A connoisseur of spa services, Karen could tell Justin had the expert touch, confident yet gentle. She could feel all the muscles in her body begin to relax and her pulse return to normal.
After all, this wasn’t a big deal. She was merely a client, and he was just a professional doing a job. It was silly to be nervous.
He squirted oil on his hands and worked her arms. She watched as he bent her left elbow to massage the forearm. The sight of his enormous black hands, the dark skin contrasting so vividly against her white flesh, sent an erotic jolt through her senses. Again she felt her pussy begin to react. But this time she tried to enjoy it. Why shouldn't she? Why shouldn't she take pleasure in the attentions of an attractive younger man? How was this any different than a man enjoying a lap dance at a strip club?
But the relaxation proved short lived. To her horror, she noticed that her nipples had become rock hard, visibly poking through the sheet.
This was unacceptable. It was one thing to lust secretly for some random spa employee; it was quite another for that lust to be exposed. Karen flushed with humiliation.
As if reading her mind, Justin, in a professional tone, asked: "Too cold for you in here?"
Actually, if anything, the room was stuffy, but Karen seized on the excuse, quickly answering yes, and the masseur left to turn up the heat.
Mortified, she covered her face with her hands. Consciously, Karen felt shame. But subconsciously the embarrassment triggered the secret exhibitionist inside her and inflamed her arousal. Almost against her will, her right hand traveled to her clit and rubbed vigorously. With Justin out of the room, the horny wife and mother of two experienced a mini-climax.
When he reappeared, Justin's demeanor remained professional, apparently unaware of the sexual charge in the room. Despite her heavy breathing, flushed skin, and glassy eyes, he just went back to work.
Eventually he asked her to turn over, which caused her still tumescent nipples to rub uncomfortably against the massage table leather. However, with her breasts concealed she felt less vulnerable.
Soon another line was crossed. As he leaned over to work her shoulder blades, she could feel the unmistakable bulge of his engorged penis pressed against her upper arm. As she feared (yet also hoped), the thing felt enormous. The base was hard and thick against her flesh, and from the corner of her eye she could see the long, trunk-like shaft running down his left pant leg. Even the swell of his mushroom head showed through the fabric of his warm-up pants.
Karen was horrified. A hard-on during a spa treatment was totally unacceptable. But on the other hand, she also felt a sense of accomplishment. After getting so flustered by his powerful erotic aura, she took some pride knowing her middle-aged body could still excite a handsome guy in his prime.
Justin put his lips to Karen's ear, breath caressing the nape of her neck. For a terrifying second she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he only murmured, "Should I pamper your sexy feet now?"
At the word “sexy” all pretense vanished. Karen stopped feeling nervous. She turned over, her eyes fixated on his enormous bulge as it moved with the rest of his body to the end of the table. He lifted her right foot and expertly dug his thumbs into the arch, sending waves of pleasure up her torso. He adjusted his hips forward, pressing his cock shaft against the arch of her left foot. Then he slowly gyrated his hips, creating fiction.
God, it felt so good! Having her feet massaged by big hands and an enormous cock. She closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her. Then she started moving her left foot up and down in time with his hip gyrations, becoming an active participant.
Justin slowly pulled the sheet from her body, letting it slip to the floor, exposing Karen’s body completely.
By this point Karen didn’t care. The sight and feel of his huge hard cock demolished whatever resistance she had left. She hungered to see that cock. If that meant exposing her nakedness to him—her flushed white skin, nipples engorged with lust, her drooling pussy—then so be it.
Now he moved back toward her upper body, running his oil slick hands over her breasts and stomach, tweaking her nipples and brushing her pubic hair. Justin gazed hungrily at her naked pussy.
Karen had raised herself half-up on her elbows, eyes never leaving the giant bulge in his pants, marveling that any man could be so hugely endowed.
He took her hand and placed it on his groin. The giant phallus radiated heat and power. “You can touch yourself if you want,” he said.
Mesmerized, her eyes still fixed on his package, where her hand gripped it, Karen used her free hand to press her clit with her middle finger. Her mind emptied of everything except the mental image of what that cock must look like. So massive. So virile. Right here, in the flesh, hers for the taking…
And then all at once, quicker than she expected, she came—one of the most intense climaxes of her life. She cried out, her whole body convulsed, and a thin jet of fluid leapt from pussy, soaking the massage table.
Depleted, the woman collapsed back on the cushions, aftershock tremors shooting through her body. Her legs twitched spasmodically.
Just then Justin's cell phone rang. He calmly took it from his pocket and said hello. Holding an index finger to his lips, he left the room, closing the doors behind him.
Meanwhile, Karen returned to earth. What had just happened? It was as if she had gone temporarily insane. Did she really just masturbate herself to a squirting climax in front of a total stranger? And squirting? Never in her life had she squirted.
From the outer room, she grew aware of Justin's phone conversation. He seemed to be talking to a friend, someone intimate. His voice was different. Gone were the measured diction and professional tone. Now he sounded streetwise, more “from-the-hood.”
"Nah, I can't make it tonight baby…I don't care if he’ll be home tomorrow. Anyway, just get a hotel like you did last time…Tell him you were out with your girlfriends and didn't want to drive drunk...uh-huh, yeah…Listen, I gotta go. I’m with a client."
Through the French-door curtains, Karen could see him sitting in the waiting room. She hopped off the table, inner thighs dripping with vaginal fluid, and knelt down to get a better look.
"What? Ha! Don’t be jealous, baby…." He laughed. "Yeah, she married too, just like you…She got a ring on. I’m pretty hard too. Not bad for an older MILF." He rubbed his cock through his pants. "What, right now?” He glanced at the shop entrance, got up and locked it. “All right."
Karen let out an muffled yelp as the young man lowered his pants, exposing a huge ebony shaft, nearly twice as long and thick as her husband's, maybe 8 or 9 inches long. He took a pic of it with his cell phone.
"There you go, baby. Give you something to think about tonight."
It struck Karen that this kid was some kind of gigolo who used his spa job to recruit new clients. She was just business as usual for him. Feeling degraded, she dressed quickly, her body still slick with oil and sexual juices.
He was still on the phone as she hurried toward the exit. "I'm sorry,” she sputtered. “I have to go. I have to leave now."
"Wait, Karen," the voice was professional again. "We haven't finished your massage."
"No. I'm so sorry. I can't," she called back, verging on tears as she ran out the door.
-
Understanding Man
- Prepubescent
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- Joined: Thu Mar 27, 2014 6:59 pm
- Contact:
Re: Size Queen Wife
Size Queen Wife
By Tilda Blixen
Chapter 5: Hypnotic Compulsion
Brandee collects a sperm sample
Karen found Brandee on the sidelines of the football field. The sexy nurse was watching the second-string players run drills.
"Brandee, where have you been? I've been looking for you all week."
"Oh, hi, Karen. Here mostly. Working on the study. You did tell me to make it a priority."
"I need to speak with you. It's about that gift card you gave me. That masseur was totally inappropriate!"
"Ah, that must be Justin. I was hoping he'd be working. Mr. Big Hands. Isn't he just a doll?"
"He's disgusting is what he is! How could you send me to a place like that?"
"I thought I was doing you a favor. You've been so stressed lately. You deserve a break. Anyway, what happened to upset you?" She smiled knowingly.
"He rubbed his…oh it doesn't matter what he did. Just trust me, it was very unprofessional."
"Well, he's really popular, and he comes highly recommended. I don't see what the big deal is."
"The 'deal' is I'm a married woman, and I can't run around hooking up with men half my age. Who work at a massage parlor."
"Well, that's not really his full time job, but…" She seemed about say something but changed her mind. "Anyway, why not? Husbands have been doing it for centuries. Fooling with hotties half their age, I mean."
"Brandee! That's gross!"
"Gross? Gross, you say?" Brandee looked at her sympathetically, then took her hand. "Walk with me. I want to show you something."
Brandee led her across the running track toward the bleachers, saying, "Coach has been kind enough to let us use the physical therapy gym as an exam station."
She handed Karen a cell phone whose screen displayed rows of neatly organized data. "Look. The implant works great. Don't ask me how, but the wireless technology in that little edible pill transmits all the players' vitals—heart rate, body temp, respiratory rate, even blood sugar, directly to any mobile device." She looked back at Karen. "This has the potential to revolutionize fitness tracking, not to mention the research applications, which are practically limitless."
When they came to a green metal door built into the side of the stadium bleachers, Brandee said: "If these outcomes keep holding up, Braun is sure to award the university that grant. And our department will get the credit."
She opened the door. "You'll be a hero, Dr. Naylor."
Designed for injured athletes, the physical therapy room contained exercise equipment, aqua therapy baths, medical exam tables, scales, assorted physical therapy equipment, plus lockers and showers. About a dozen players were milling about the room in various stages of undress, a few completely naked.
Stunned, Karen stopped in her tracks, while behind her, Brandee locked the door from the inside. "Coach was kind enough to grant us total privacy," she said, jangling the key ring. But Karen appeared not to hear.
Nobody took much notice of their entrance, as if the presence of two fully-dressed, middle-aged white women was a commonplace thing in the players' world.
Brandee breezed over to the lockers, where one boy was dressing after showering. Viewing him from behind, they watched his broad tattooed shoulders ripple as he hung up his towel. Brandee looked at Karen and exaggeratingly pointed at him, silently miming the words "SO FUCKING HOT."
Karen followed numbly as the nurse sidled up to the young man and gently caressed his flaring lateral back muscles, trailing her fingers down to his slim waist. "E.J. has got a great 'V'—doesn't he Karen? That just drives us women crazy. Did you know that, E.J.?"
"Thanks, Nurse Coleman. Yeah, some girls tell me that."
She reached over and slowly tweaked one of his nipples. "Turn around and show my friend that great big cock of yours, E.J."
The boy turned, and the black cock that swung into view took Karen's breath away. Soft and hanging, it was still much longer than her husband's was on its stiffest day ever. Transfixed, Karen stared at the massive appendage while Brandee stood by, smugly relishing her stunned reaction.
"Tell me what you find gross about this marvelous younger man, Dr. Naylor."
Karen didn't answer but couldn't tear her gaze away from the boy's awe-inspiring cock.
"Let's get you hard for the doctor, baby," Brandee cooed, gripping the cock at its thick base and wagging it up and down. While doing so, she bent her head and tenderly kissed his dark nipple, still wet from the shower.
Karen couldn't believe what was happening. She knew she should flee immediately but couldn't. Like at the spa last week, she was in the grip of an eroticism so intense it overpowered her sense of ethics. Part of her brain knew she was a medical doctor and a high-ranking university official. Everything about this was wrong, ethically, morally and most likely legally as well. But another, more primal part of her brain commanded her to stay.
Brandee was now openly tongue kissing E.J., while continuing to jerk him off, presenting the boy's manhood for her friend's inspection, while Karen fought the urge to kneel down and pay homage to the mighty phallus.
Brandee started using both hands to stroke the cock, but there was still several inches of shaft and head left uncovered. "Look at that, Karen. Bet you can't use two hands on Craig."
Karen shook her head, astonished that somehow the cock was actually growing larger, and tried to remember who exactly this Craig was.
Brandee gazed intensely into the boy's face. "You love it when white women worship that big cock of yours, don't you? Don’t you?
E.J. just moaned.
"You love it, right?" She demanded, picking up the pace.
"Yesss," he hissed. "Love you horny bitches."
An opaque white pearl of semen had formed on the tip of his penis, which Brandee scooped up with her index finger and popped into her mouth. "Mm. Yummy."
Suddenly, she released him, her gaze lingering lovingly on E.J.'s turgid member. Brandee took Karen's hand again, leading her friend away, whispering: "I like to tease them and leave them hanging," adding, "Having access to these hotties has become a real power trip for me."
They drifted over to a player soaking in an aqua bath, his muscular torso visible above the water. Brandee said: "Fletcher here wasn't feeling well this afternoon so we thought a hot bath might help. Better now, sweetie?"
"Much better, thank you Mrs. Coleman," said Fletcher grinning broadly. He was clearly enjoying the newcomer's stunned reaction to the sexualized atmosphere and wanted to play his part. "But maybe you should, uh, I don't know, take a sperm sample just in case?"
"What a wonderful idea, Fletcher! Let's evaluate some of that young healthy sperm! Sit up here on the edge of the tub. Karen, would you be so kind as to fetch me a specimen cup from the cabinet over there?"
Numbly, Karen complied, handing Brandee the plastic receptacle as the nurse fondled another huge black cock to life in full view of the Associate Dean of Clinical Research, plus several other leering, half-dressed athletes.
Brandee spoke in a mock professorial tone: "Now Fletcher when you see and feel my little white hands stroking your big manly cock, what happens is your brain sends a chemical message to blood vessels in your penis. The arteries relax and open up and let the blood flow into spongy erectile tissues called the corpora cavernosa, which are these two oblong chambers right here, and here." She ran a manicured fingernail along the undersides of his bloated shaft.
"But at the same time, these veins close up." To illustrate she gripped the base tightly. "Trapping all that hot young blood in the erectile tissue, which creates the rock-hard dongs us gals love so much.
"Now that's just the first stage," she continued, milking the shaft while she spoke. "The second stage is of course when your huge package prepares to drop its big creamy cum load."
"Is that a technical term, Nurse Coleman?" gasped the player.
"Why yes it is, Fletcher. But I must ask you to please not speak during my lesson, unless I call upon you to do so. I'm trying to provide some ‘continuing medical education’ to Dr. Naylor here. This is my tutorial on Big Black Cocks."
"Sorry, Nurse Coleman."
"Anyway, as I was saying, the millions of sperm that swim in the big creamy cum load, are manufactured here," She hefted his nut sack, "in the testes, which you can see are beginning to retract. Just before ejaculation, the sperm travel through a tube called the vas deferens and into the prostate gland, which manufacturers the milky white part of the big creamy cum load."
She kept jerking the boy, as the cock grew harder and fatter. The head now looked dangerously inflated, like a balloon about to burst.
"Then all that delicious creams shoots through the urethra when a cock ejaculates," said Brandee. "Are you ready to cum for us now, Fletcher?"
"Arrrrggg," the boy cried, his powerful abdominal and pectoral muscles contracting. "Yeah, I’m gonna nut!"
"Karen, what's Fletcher's heart rate?"
Realizing she was still holding Karen's phone, Karen scrolled to his name and scanned his stats. "It says one hundred and sixty beats per minute," she replied in a shaky voice.
"Ooooh. Yeah, he's getting close. To make a man cum, I often find it helpful to stimulate this area right here called the frenulum." Brandee vigorously rubbed her thumb under the area at the base of his flaring mushroom head.
She dropped the professorial tone. "Watch, Karen. This kid shoots a massive load!"
"Oh shit," Fletcher cried. "Here is comes!"
"Karen, the sample cup!"
The first ropey white blast erupted from the dilated pee slit at incredible speed, sailing over the cup, clearing the edge of the tub, and landed on the floor with an audible splat. Adjusting to the load's forceful trajectory, Karen managed to catch the second blast in the plastic cup. Bringing it closer to the spewing cock head, she caught the next several heavy spurts. She gazed in disbelief at how much jism the boy produced, shot after shot nearly filled the cup. And Brandee kept right on jerking him the whole time, cooing encouragement. The rest of the room, which by now had gathered around to watch, all cheered as Brandee milked out the last drops. Toward the end, a big dollop landed Karen's left hand, partially concealing the diamond on her wedding ring.
The sight of her cum smeared wedding ring snapped her back to reality. "Brandee, I have to go now. I can't be a part of this…whatever you're doing here. And neither can you. We need to talk later."
"Come on, Karen. Stick around. You need to help me take more samples. E.J. here is ready to go," she gestured to the naked boy, who had stood behind Karen fisting his huge, angry phallus while watching Brandee milk his teammate.
"I'm sorry, Brandee. This is..you’re not..." Speechless, she gave Brandee her phone back, and snatched the keys out of her coat pocket.
E.J. stepped in front of Karen, blocking her path to the door, his giant prong nearly touching her midsection. "Are you sure, Dr. Naylor?"
Ignoring his nakedness, she looked him directly in his eyes, said, "I don't like tattoos," and walked around him.
As she hurried from the room, Karen avoided eye contact, and also tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the cooling gob of cum on her wedding-ring finger. She removed it and put it in her pocket.
Back in her office, Karen paced the floor nervously, trying to decide her next move. Brandee had clearly gone off the deep end, treating the football team as her personal reverse harem.
Her first instinct was to fire her. But that was impossible. Karen could never hire someone with Brandee’s research skills on such short notice. And even if she could it would put the Braun study in jeopardy. No, she had to figure out a way to get Brandee under control…
And get yourself under control, she thought. This wasn’t just a Brandee problem. It was a Karen problem too. Basically, she had just willingly taken part in the public jerking off of a university student—certainly a fire-able offense.
And then there was last week at the spa. Was that infidelity? No! It was temporary insanity. That masseur placed her hand on his dick without consent. And all she had done was masturbate. No law against that.
She sat at her desk and tried to calm down. Sitting, she realized her pussy juice had soaked all the way through her panties.
By Tilda Blixen
Chapter 5: Hypnotic Compulsion
Brandee collects a sperm sample
Karen found Brandee on the sidelines of the football field. The sexy nurse was watching the second-string players run drills.
"Brandee, where have you been? I've been looking for you all week."
"Oh, hi, Karen. Here mostly. Working on the study. You did tell me to make it a priority."
"I need to speak with you. It's about that gift card you gave me. That masseur was totally inappropriate!"
"Ah, that must be Justin. I was hoping he'd be working. Mr. Big Hands. Isn't he just a doll?"
"He's disgusting is what he is! How could you send me to a place like that?"
"I thought I was doing you a favor. You've been so stressed lately. You deserve a break. Anyway, what happened to upset you?" She smiled knowingly.
"He rubbed his…oh it doesn't matter what he did. Just trust me, it was very unprofessional."
"Well, he's really popular, and he comes highly recommended. I don't see what the big deal is."
"The 'deal' is I'm a married woman, and I can't run around hooking up with men half my age. Who work at a massage parlor."
"Well, that's not really his full time job, but…" She seemed about say something but changed her mind. "Anyway, why not? Husbands have been doing it for centuries. Fooling with hotties half their age, I mean."
"Brandee! That's gross!"
"Gross? Gross, you say?" Brandee looked at her sympathetically, then took her hand. "Walk with me. I want to show you something."
Brandee led her across the running track toward the bleachers, saying, "Coach has been kind enough to let us use the physical therapy gym as an exam station."
She handed Karen a cell phone whose screen displayed rows of neatly organized data. "Look. The implant works great. Don't ask me how, but the wireless technology in that little edible pill transmits all the players' vitals—heart rate, body temp, respiratory rate, even blood sugar, directly to any mobile device." She looked back at Karen. "This has the potential to revolutionize fitness tracking, not to mention the research applications, which are practically limitless."
When they came to a green metal door built into the side of the stadium bleachers, Brandee said: "If these outcomes keep holding up, Braun is sure to award the university that grant. And our department will get the credit."
She opened the door. "You'll be a hero, Dr. Naylor."
Designed for injured athletes, the physical therapy room contained exercise equipment, aqua therapy baths, medical exam tables, scales, assorted physical therapy equipment, plus lockers and showers. About a dozen players were milling about the room in various stages of undress, a few completely naked.
Stunned, Karen stopped in her tracks, while behind her, Brandee locked the door from the inside. "Coach was kind enough to grant us total privacy," she said, jangling the key ring. But Karen appeared not to hear.
Nobody took much notice of their entrance, as if the presence of two fully-dressed, middle-aged white women was a commonplace thing in the players' world.
Brandee breezed over to the lockers, where one boy was dressing after showering. Viewing him from behind, they watched his broad tattooed shoulders ripple as he hung up his towel. Brandee looked at Karen and exaggeratingly pointed at him, silently miming the words "SO FUCKING HOT."
Karen followed numbly as the nurse sidled up to the young man and gently caressed his flaring lateral back muscles, trailing her fingers down to his slim waist. "E.J. has got a great 'V'—doesn't he Karen? That just drives us women crazy. Did you know that, E.J.?"
"Thanks, Nurse Coleman. Yeah, some girls tell me that."
She reached over and slowly tweaked one of his nipples. "Turn around and show my friend that great big cock of yours, E.J."
The boy turned, and the black cock that swung into view took Karen's breath away. Soft and hanging, it was still much longer than her husband's was on its stiffest day ever. Transfixed, Karen stared at the massive appendage while Brandee stood by, smugly relishing her stunned reaction.
"Tell me what you find gross about this marvelous younger man, Dr. Naylor."
Karen didn't answer but couldn't tear her gaze away from the boy's awe-inspiring cock.
"Let's get you hard for the doctor, baby," Brandee cooed, gripping the cock at its thick base and wagging it up and down. While doing so, she bent her head and tenderly kissed his dark nipple, still wet from the shower.
Karen couldn't believe what was happening. She knew she should flee immediately but couldn't. Like at the spa last week, she was in the grip of an eroticism so intense it overpowered her sense of ethics. Part of her brain knew she was a medical doctor and a high-ranking university official. Everything about this was wrong, ethically, morally and most likely legally as well. But another, more primal part of her brain commanded her to stay.
Brandee was now openly tongue kissing E.J., while continuing to jerk him off, presenting the boy's manhood for her friend's inspection, while Karen fought the urge to kneel down and pay homage to the mighty phallus.
Brandee started using both hands to stroke the cock, but there was still several inches of shaft and head left uncovered. "Look at that, Karen. Bet you can't use two hands on Craig."
Karen shook her head, astonished that somehow the cock was actually growing larger, and tried to remember who exactly this Craig was.
Brandee gazed intensely into the boy's face. "You love it when white women worship that big cock of yours, don't you? Don’t you?
E.J. just moaned.
"You love it, right?" She demanded, picking up the pace.
"Yesss," he hissed. "Love you horny bitches."
An opaque white pearl of semen had formed on the tip of his penis, which Brandee scooped up with her index finger and popped into her mouth. "Mm. Yummy."
Suddenly, she released him, her gaze lingering lovingly on E.J.'s turgid member. Brandee took Karen's hand again, leading her friend away, whispering: "I like to tease them and leave them hanging," adding, "Having access to these hotties has become a real power trip for me."
They drifted over to a player soaking in an aqua bath, his muscular torso visible above the water. Brandee said: "Fletcher here wasn't feeling well this afternoon so we thought a hot bath might help. Better now, sweetie?"
"Much better, thank you Mrs. Coleman," said Fletcher grinning broadly. He was clearly enjoying the newcomer's stunned reaction to the sexualized atmosphere and wanted to play his part. "But maybe you should, uh, I don't know, take a sperm sample just in case?"
"What a wonderful idea, Fletcher! Let's evaluate some of that young healthy sperm! Sit up here on the edge of the tub. Karen, would you be so kind as to fetch me a specimen cup from the cabinet over there?"
Numbly, Karen complied, handing Brandee the plastic receptacle as the nurse fondled another huge black cock to life in full view of the Associate Dean of Clinical Research, plus several other leering, half-dressed athletes.
Brandee spoke in a mock professorial tone: "Now Fletcher when you see and feel my little white hands stroking your big manly cock, what happens is your brain sends a chemical message to blood vessels in your penis. The arteries relax and open up and let the blood flow into spongy erectile tissues called the corpora cavernosa, which are these two oblong chambers right here, and here." She ran a manicured fingernail along the undersides of his bloated shaft.
"But at the same time, these veins close up." To illustrate she gripped the base tightly. "Trapping all that hot young blood in the erectile tissue, which creates the rock-hard dongs us gals love so much.
"Now that's just the first stage," she continued, milking the shaft while she spoke. "The second stage is of course when your huge package prepares to drop its big creamy cum load."
"Is that a technical term, Nurse Coleman?" gasped the player.
"Why yes it is, Fletcher. But I must ask you to please not speak during my lesson, unless I call upon you to do so. I'm trying to provide some ‘continuing medical education’ to Dr. Naylor here. This is my tutorial on Big Black Cocks."
"Sorry, Nurse Coleman."
"Anyway, as I was saying, the millions of sperm that swim in the big creamy cum load, are manufactured here," She hefted his nut sack, "in the testes, which you can see are beginning to retract. Just before ejaculation, the sperm travel through a tube called the vas deferens and into the prostate gland, which manufacturers the milky white part of the big creamy cum load."
She kept jerking the boy, as the cock grew harder and fatter. The head now looked dangerously inflated, like a balloon about to burst.
"Then all that delicious creams shoots through the urethra when a cock ejaculates," said Brandee. "Are you ready to cum for us now, Fletcher?"
"Arrrrggg," the boy cried, his powerful abdominal and pectoral muscles contracting. "Yeah, I’m gonna nut!"
"Karen, what's Fletcher's heart rate?"
Realizing she was still holding Karen's phone, Karen scrolled to his name and scanned his stats. "It says one hundred and sixty beats per minute," she replied in a shaky voice.
"Ooooh. Yeah, he's getting close. To make a man cum, I often find it helpful to stimulate this area right here called the frenulum." Brandee vigorously rubbed her thumb under the area at the base of his flaring mushroom head.
She dropped the professorial tone. "Watch, Karen. This kid shoots a massive load!"
"Oh shit," Fletcher cried. "Here is comes!"
"Karen, the sample cup!"
The first ropey white blast erupted from the dilated pee slit at incredible speed, sailing over the cup, clearing the edge of the tub, and landed on the floor with an audible splat. Adjusting to the load's forceful trajectory, Karen managed to catch the second blast in the plastic cup. Bringing it closer to the spewing cock head, she caught the next several heavy spurts. She gazed in disbelief at how much jism the boy produced, shot after shot nearly filled the cup. And Brandee kept right on jerking him the whole time, cooing encouragement. The rest of the room, which by now had gathered around to watch, all cheered as Brandee milked out the last drops. Toward the end, a big dollop landed Karen's left hand, partially concealing the diamond on her wedding ring.
The sight of her cum smeared wedding ring snapped her back to reality. "Brandee, I have to go now. I can't be a part of this…whatever you're doing here. And neither can you. We need to talk later."
"Come on, Karen. Stick around. You need to help me take more samples. E.J. here is ready to go," she gestured to the naked boy, who had stood behind Karen fisting his huge, angry phallus while watching Brandee milk his teammate.
"I'm sorry, Brandee. This is..you’re not..." Speechless, she gave Brandee her phone back, and snatched the keys out of her coat pocket.
E.J. stepped in front of Karen, blocking her path to the door, his giant prong nearly touching her midsection. "Are you sure, Dr. Naylor?"
Ignoring his nakedness, she looked him directly in his eyes, said, "I don't like tattoos," and walked around him.
As she hurried from the room, Karen avoided eye contact, and also tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the cooling gob of cum on her wedding-ring finger. She removed it and put it in her pocket.
Back in her office, Karen paced the floor nervously, trying to decide her next move. Brandee had clearly gone off the deep end, treating the football team as her personal reverse harem.
Her first instinct was to fire her. But that was impossible. Karen could never hire someone with Brandee’s research skills on such short notice. And even if she could it would put the Braun study in jeopardy. No, she had to figure out a way to get Brandee under control…
And get yourself under control, she thought. This wasn’t just a Brandee problem. It was a Karen problem too. Basically, she had just willingly taken part in the public jerking off of a university student—certainly a fire-able offense.
And then there was last week at the spa. Was that infidelity? No! It was temporary insanity. That masseur placed her hand on his dick without consent. And all she had done was masturbate. No law against that.
She sat at her desk and tried to calm down. Sitting, she realized her pussy juice had soaked all the way through her panties.
-
starshapedprint
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Thu Jan 02, 2020 12:52 pm
Re: Size Queen Wife
When are we going to get Chapter 6? I need to know what happens. Does Karen start fucking the players? Do they have a full on orgy in the exam station? Does Karen's husband get to watch? Do they get the grant? Don't leave us hanging!
-
SamWarrens
- 2 Bit Whore
- Posts: 1249
- Joined: Sun Sep 11, 2016 3:07 pm
- Location: Canada
Re: Size Queen Wife
No post since October 30!
Stopped in the middle of the story!
Hope the author didn't get covid.
Please finish this story as soon as you can!
Great story.
Stopped in the middle of the story!
Hope the author didn't get covid.
Please finish this story as soon as you can!
Great story.
Great minds may think alike, but fools seldom differ.
-
Understanding Man
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Thu Mar 27, 2014 6:59 pm
- Contact:
Re: Size Queen Wife
Nope. Didn't get COVID (thank God). Just wasn't getting much feedback here last year, so I thought no one was interested. I've been posting on other sites (literotica.com and lush stories, to name two).
Anyway, here is another chapter:
Chapter 6: The Pleasure Chest
In the days that followed, Karen couldn’t shake the memory of the insanely erotic scene in the locker room among the naked football players. The volcanic image of Fletcher’s climax, rope after rope of creamy white semen spewing from that enormous black cock, kept replaying in her mind’s eye like a nonstop sizzle reel. And even during the rare occasions when she could blot it out, it was quickly replaced by that of the muscular black spa employee who had almost seduced her, or just by fantasies of one of Brandee’s smoking hot fuck buddies.
In short, she couldn’t stop thinking about black cock. Even while sleeping, she dreamt about it, tossing and turning next to her clueless white husband. Her pussy was in a constant state of drooling desire. It got so bad that on some nights she had to creep from her marital bed and masturbate in the downstairs bathroom, out of earshot from the family, straddled over the toilet. As she had at the spa, she often achieved squirting orgasms during these secret diddling sessions.
But no matter how much she masturbated, nothing could suppress the constant barrage of erotic fantasies, the endless, gut-wrenching horniness, or the gnawing feelings of frustration that came with it. It was like a hunger that fed on itself.
Finally she knew she had to take some kind of decisive action. She had to figure out a way to remain faithful to her husband yet still satisfy her relentless craving for hung black men.
So she did some research. And she formed a plan.
During workhours, on a lunchtime walk, far from the University campus, she stopped in a park and sat on a bench. Looking around to make sure no one nearby knew her, she tied on a head scarf and slipped on sunglasses. Drawing a deep breath, she stood and walked briskly toward a small shop whose sign read, "The Pleasure Chest," one of those half-underground city places.
Inside, Karen was relieved that the décor matched what her internet research had led her to expect. Clean, carpeted and tastefully lit, but still unmistakably a sex shop. The few other customers were mostly women, some men. Nobody looked like a perv or a sleazebag.
Pretending to browse through a rack of lingerie, she scanned the shop for her true objective. There it was. Past the wall display of BDSM leather gear stood a clear glass counter whose interior was lined with realistic looking dildos.
Her courage wavered. Just order one online? No, she couldn't risk Craig opening the package first. This had to be done in person.
Summoning her resolve, Dr. Karen Naylor sauntered over to the display case, trying to pretend it was a makeup counter at the local mall, ho hum, just a normal retail transaction. She immediately experienced a tiny spasm of lust at the up-close sight of at least a dozen enormous cocks lined up neatly in a row, flaunting their massive size and fierce beauty for her perusal. Here was a reverse harem of pricks, a dizzying buffet of top-shelf man-meat.
As she carefully inspected the dildos, amazed by their realism, it occurred to her that such lifelike designs—the veins, ridges, contours, even the tiny skin wrinkles—could only have been achieved by casting molds from actual human genitals. This realization sent a rush of fluid to her pussy.
First of all, the clear evidence that such gorgeous cocks actually existed in the real world, that men walking around the city today might actually be so unbelievably endowed, was intensely arousing just in and of itself. But then add to that the fact anyone off the street could purchase exact replicas of such awe-inspiring cocks, well that just magnified her lust even further. She felt dizzy. It was almost too good to be true.
Until the past few weeks, Karen had never fully appreciated the aesthetic beauty of the human penis. Since she was a young girl, she had always been attracted to good-looking males, those with square jaws, broad shoulders, narrow hips, well defined muscles, etc.—but their cocks had always been secondary, a less vital part of the equation (maybe because they were always hidden?).
But now that dynamic was reversing itself. Lately, Karen found herself drawn to a man’s cock first and foremost, with other attributes becoming secondary. Sure, many of the cocks she had seen recently were attached to extremely hot guys, but she was coming to realize that even if they had not been, she would have still lusted for them.
Was this a sign she was turning into a depraved slut?
Another observation: the racial disparity in the display case before her was unmistakable. Though all the dildos were flesh colored, only one was Caucasian. The rest were various skin tones of black or brown. Apparently for the sex-toy-buying consumer "big" went hand-in-hand with "black.” Maybe she and Brandee were not the only white women to share this kink…
Okay, time to choose. Not the white one, obviously, even though it was very long and thick, she thought, her gaze lingering on the prominent mushroom head…but, no, it must be black. For this to work, the parameters of the fantasy had to be observed.
She was also conflicted by the age-old girth vs. length question. Like most women she favored girth, seeking a cock that would provide that “overfull” feeling. Yet she worried too much thickness would stretch out her pussy so much that Craig’s much smaller dick would get lost in the widened gap. If he noticed, the looseness would be difficult to explain.
After much thought, she narrowed it down to two options: one about nine inches long, with a slight corkscrew curve along the shaft, which had a deep walnut hue. The head, however, was cinnamon red. It reminded her of E.J’s cock, the first well-endowed student-athlete Brandee had teased in the locker room.
The other was longer, maybe 10 inches, a little girthier, in a uniform shade of dark umber.
Karen settled on the bigger one, promising herself she would start a daily regimen of kegel exercises to keep her pussy snug enough for her smaller dicked hubby.
Her voice cracking with anxiety, she asked the pink-haired, nose-pierced, twenty-something girl behind the counter to examine the large black dildo.
The cashier treated her with the same bored indifference she might receive at any other retail venue. Clearly Dr. Naylor was not the first randy suburban mom to shop there.
The fake cock was heavier than she expected. Flexible and spongy to the touch, it was so thick she almost couldn't wrap her fingers all the way around it, causing a shiver of anticipation in her loins. But also a feeling of nervousness. Would her pussy be able to handle such a monster?
As it was rung up, Karen expressed shock at the hundred-dollar-plus price tag.
The cashier explained: "You’re not just paying for the toy. It’s also the brand. See," she pointed to a photo on the packaging of a handsome black man with a confident smirk on his face, "that's Mr. XL. He’s the model for that toy, and he's a porn star, so he gets a licensing fee."
She handed over the purchase in an anonymous black gift bag. "Thanks. Have a nice day."
Feeling dizzy, Karen reeled around and quickly left the sex shop, experiencing a sense of accomplishment. It had been less awkward than she feared.
Climbing the stairs to the sidewalk, her good mood vanished. For a panicked second she considered ducking back inside. But it was too late. She was busted.
Anyway, here is another chapter:
Chapter 6: The Pleasure Chest
In the days that followed, Karen couldn’t shake the memory of the insanely erotic scene in the locker room among the naked football players. The volcanic image of Fletcher’s climax, rope after rope of creamy white semen spewing from that enormous black cock, kept replaying in her mind’s eye like a nonstop sizzle reel. And even during the rare occasions when she could blot it out, it was quickly replaced by that of the muscular black spa employee who had almost seduced her, or just by fantasies of one of Brandee’s smoking hot fuck buddies.
In short, she couldn’t stop thinking about black cock. Even while sleeping, she dreamt about it, tossing and turning next to her clueless white husband. Her pussy was in a constant state of drooling desire. It got so bad that on some nights she had to creep from her marital bed and masturbate in the downstairs bathroom, out of earshot from the family, straddled over the toilet. As she had at the spa, she often achieved squirting orgasms during these secret diddling sessions.
But no matter how much she masturbated, nothing could suppress the constant barrage of erotic fantasies, the endless, gut-wrenching horniness, or the gnawing feelings of frustration that came with it. It was like a hunger that fed on itself.
Finally she knew she had to take some kind of decisive action. She had to figure out a way to remain faithful to her husband yet still satisfy her relentless craving for hung black men.
So she did some research. And she formed a plan.
During workhours, on a lunchtime walk, far from the University campus, she stopped in a park and sat on a bench. Looking around to make sure no one nearby knew her, she tied on a head scarf and slipped on sunglasses. Drawing a deep breath, she stood and walked briskly toward a small shop whose sign read, "The Pleasure Chest," one of those half-underground city places.
Inside, Karen was relieved that the décor matched what her internet research had led her to expect. Clean, carpeted and tastefully lit, but still unmistakably a sex shop. The few other customers were mostly women, some men. Nobody looked like a perv or a sleazebag.
Pretending to browse through a rack of lingerie, she scanned the shop for her true objective. There it was. Past the wall display of BDSM leather gear stood a clear glass counter whose interior was lined with realistic looking dildos.
Her courage wavered. Just order one online? No, she couldn't risk Craig opening the package first. This had to be done in person.
Summoning her resolve, Dr. Karen Naylor sauntered over to the display case, trying to pretend it was a makeup counter at the local mall, ho hum, just a normal retail transaction. She immediately experienced a tiny spasm of lust at the up-close sight of at least a dozen enormous cocks lined up neatly in a row, flaunting their massive size and fierce beauty for her perusal. Here was a reverse harem of pricks, a dizzying buffet of top-shelf man-meat.
As she carefully inspected the dildos, amazed by their realism, it occurred to her that such lifelike designs—the veins, ridges, contours, even the tiny skin wrinkles—could only have been achieved by casting molds from actual human genitals. This realization sent a rush of fluid to her pussy.
First of all, the clear evidence that such gorgeous cocks actually existed in the real world, that men walking around the city today might actually be so unbelievably endowed, was intensely arousing just in and of itself. But then add to that the fact anyone off the street could purchase exact replicas of such awe-inspiring cocks, well that just magnified her lust even further. She felt dizzy. It was almost too good to be true.
Until the past few weeks, Karen had never fully appreciated the aesthetic beauty of the human penis. Since she was a young girl, she had always been attracted to good-looking males, those with square jaws, broad shoulders, narrow hips, well defined muscles, etc.—but their cocks had always been secondary, a less vital part of the equation (maybe because they were always hidden?).
But now that dynamic was reversing itself. Lately, Karen found herself drawn to a man’s cock first and foremost, with other attributes becoming secondary. Sure, many of the cocks she had seen recently were attached to extremely hot guys, but she was coming to realize that even if they had not been, she would have still lusted for them.
Was this a sign she was turning into a depraved slut?
Another observation: the racial disparity in the display case before her was unmistakable. Though all the dildos were flesh colored, only one was Caucasian. The rest were various skin tones of black or brown. Apparently for the sex-toy-buying consumer "big" went hand-in-hand with "black.” Maybe she and Brandee were not the only white women to share this kink…
Okay, time to choose. Not the white one, obviously, even though it was very long and thick, she thought, her gaze lingering on the prominent mushroom head…but, no, it must be black. For this to work, the parameters of the fantasy had to be observed.
She was also conflicted by the age-old girth vs. length question. Like most women she favored girth, seeking a cock that would provide that “overfull” feeling. Yet she worried too much thickness would stretch out her pussy so much that Craig’s much smaller dick would get lost in the widened gap. If he noticed, the looseness would be difficult to explain.
After much thought, she narrowed it down to two options: one about nine inches long, with a slight corkscrew curve along the shaft, which had a deep walnut hue. The head, however, was cinnamon red. It reminded her of E.J’s cock, the first well-endowed student-athlete Brandee had teased in the locker room.
The other was longer, maybe 10 inches, a little girthier, in a uniform shade of dark umber.
Karen settled on the bigger one, promising herself she would start a daily regimen of kegel exercises to keep her pussy snug enough for her smaller dicked hubby.
Her voice cracking with anxiety, she asked the pink-haired, nose-pierced, twenty-something girl behind the counter to examine the large black dildo.
The cashier treated her with the same bored indifference she might receive at any other retail venue. Clearly Dr. Naylor was not the first randy suburban mom to shop there.
The fake cock was heavier than she expected. Flexible and spongy to the touch, it was so thick she almost couldn't wrap her fingers all the way around it, causing a shiver of anticipation in her loins. But also a feeling of nervousness. Would her pussy be able to handle such a monster?
As it was rung up, Karen expressed shock at the hundred-dollar-plus price tag.
The cashier explained: "You’re not just paying for the toy. It’s also the brand. See," she pointed to a photo on the packaging of a handsome black man with a confident smirk on his face, "that's Mr. XL. He’s the model for that toy, and he's a porn star, so he gets a licensing fee."
She handed over the purchase in an anonymous black gift bag. "Thanks. Have a nice day."
Feeling dizzy, Karen reeled around and quickly left the sex shop, experiencing a sense of accomplishment. It had been less awkward than she feared.
Climbing the stairs to the sidewalk, her good mood vanished. For a panicked second she considered ducking back inside. But it was too late. She was busted.
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Understanding Man
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Thu Mar 27, 2014 6:59 pm
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Re: Size Queen Wife
And another one:
Chapter 7: True What They Say
“Oh my God, Karen! Is that you?” screeched a woman’s voice.
After the dimness of the sex shop, the sun momentarily blinded Karen, but she recognized the voice: none other than Paige McFarland, a neighbor from her suburban town.
As always, Paige was dressed in the height of stay-at-home-mom fashion: dark yoga pants, expensive fleece, designer sunglasses, auburn hair caught in a pony tail. Her face gleamed with malicious delight at catching an acquaintance emerging from an adult boutique mid-workday. Karen suddenly felt ridiculous in her “disguise” beige overcoat and headscarf—it only made the transgression more obvious. The enormous black penis in the unmarked bag seemed to grow heavier.
“Oh, hi, Paige,” she replied, more calmly than she felt. “What brings you into the city?”
“Picking up Ashley from choir practice. Aren’t you a long way from the campus…?” She glanced at the bag. The big black bag.
She lifted it. “Bachelorette party for my niece. Penis-shaped candles, a couple other things. She’s just turned 23. Too young for marriage, in my opinion. But what do I know, right? I’ve only been married for 13 years!” She laughed too loudly.
Paige was attractive, intelligent, charming, and had kept the same figure she had in high school—reason enough for Karen to hate her. But on top of that her husband made so much money at some finance job that Paige didn’t have to work. Karen loathed the smugness of stay-at-home moms.
She was glad to remember the rumors that both McFarlands had been unfaithful. Other rumors said they were swingers—no one was certain.
Paige made a dismissive gesture and touched Karen’s arm. “Please. Don’t even think you owe anyone an explanation. You are a woman with her own agency. We both are,” adding, with mock irony, “Don’t let the Patriarchy shame you into behaving any way that doesn’t express the true you.” She laughed too loudly.
“Oh, I totally agree,” Karen said. God, I hate you, she thought.
“Actually I think it’s very brave of you. I’ve always wanted to go in there but never had the guts. What’s it like?”
“Really clean. Nice. But it’s just a lot of goofy kid stuff.”
The two chatted about local issues for a while, then parted.
Hurrying back to campus, cold sweat sticking to her clothes, Karen cursed her rotten luck! Once Paige ran her mouth the whole damn world would know she had been buying sex toys. How long would it take to get back to Craig? Was there any chance Paige had believed that lame excuse?
As she rushed along, Karen didn’t notice she had reached the campus. Distracted, she bumped into a student, who turned out to be Fletcher Cox, the fabulously hung football player Brandee had jerked off in the training room.
“Whoa, Dean Naylor. Where you headed in a such a hurry?”
“Sorry Fletcher. I’m, uh, not feeling well. I think I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
The good-looking young man glanced at her breasts. During the training room episode, she had been so transfixed by his muscular body, oversize equipment and copious cum load that she hadn’t noticed his handsome face.
“The other players and me, we really enjoyed your visit the other day.”
Karen flushed with embarrassment yet couldn’t resist glancing down at the boy’s crotch, where a clearly outlined penis-shaped bulge snaked down the leg of his sweat pants. A sudden current of lust sparked between the middle-aged mom and college student. She knew for certain that he wanted to sleep with her. Yes, she could go back with him to his room right now and he would totally “fuck her brains out.” Women her age really could attract young studs just like him. For all her many faults, Brandee had at least revealed that undeniable truth.
She drew closer. Finding the young man’s masculine scent utterly enthralling, she made an insane choice. She kissed him. In broad daylight, in the middle of campus, a university dean made out with a student—their mouths and tongues briefly entwined with passion.
Even an experienced lothario like Fletcher was shocked by this move. “Day-um, girl,” was all he could mutter when the kiss broke.
Karen leaned in to his ear, gently dancing her fingertips along the length of his huge cock, an act concealed by her long overcoat. She whispered: “I enjoyed it too, Fletcher. You have no idea how much.”
Then she abruptly turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, dumfounded.
She didn’t look back, just kept walking directly toward the train station, the sluicing of her pussy juice lubricating each step, the sensuous feel of his thick lips still lingering on hers.
Karen felt absurdly buoyant and free. Had she really just done that? Was this what feminists meant when they talked about being “empowered?”
But on the train a sliver of anxiety returned. Had anyone seen? No, no one was around. And anyway, one little kiss wasn’t really cheating, was it? Screw Paige McFarland. Screw anyone who makes you feel guilty about anything!
When she arrived home, the kids were still in daycare and Craig was nowhere to be found. Not having enough freelance coding work to fill his days, he often took long, boozy lunches at the local pub. For once, Karen was not annoyed by this.
Excited as a kid on Christmas morning, she threw off her coat and rushed to the bedroom with her new toy, unwrapping it and placing it on the bed. Against the innocent domestic backdrop, the flowered bed sheet, the framed family photos, it looked even bigger and more menacing than at the store. She caressed it, marveling at the realism of its design, the network of veins, the crinkled skin around the ball sack, the bulbous shape of the mushroom head. This was the way cocks were supposed to look— the perfect color, size and shape, the platonic ideal to which all other cocks aspired.
Continuing to gaze at the object of her lust, Karen undressed down to her bra and panties. She hefted the mighty phallus and pointed it at her face, looking directly into the bulbous head, extended her tongue to lick it, then planted kisses around the head. She hunched her shoulders forward, pushing her tits together. Then she slapped the heavy cock against them several times, causing ripples in the milky white flesh.
“Oh, Fletcher I love your big black c-cock,” she said out loud, stumbling over the forbidden word. “Do you like my white tits?”
She ran her fist up and down the shaft, jacking it off. “May I suck it? May I? May I suck you off, please? Don’t make me beg.”
Karen engulfed it in her mouth, ignoring the unfamiliar rubber taste. After the dildo purchase and the public kiss, she was so turned on that it may as well have been a real flesh-and-blood cock. She tried to take as much as she could into her mouth, but only less than half would fit before she choked.
Still sucking, she threw herself on the bed and began frigging her pussy over her panties. Orally worshiping the magnificent dick caused her juices to flow, soaking the material.
“Oh Fletcher I love the way your precum tastes. I never let my husband’s cum near my mouth.” She didn’t know where this dirty talk was coming from, but it was exciting her as much as the massive toy itself. “Do you want to fuck me? Do you want to fuck my pussy? This, this, this—” she almost couldn’t say it, “married pussy?”
Karen ripped off her panties and tried to work the head into her sopping cunt. As wet as she was, it was still a challenge to insert the flaring head. When it finally entered, it did so quickly, with an almost audible plop. The sudden invasion caused a mini-orgasm, and she emitted a high-pitched yelp.
Apart from childbirth, Karen’s vagina had never been so stretched. On the heels of the mini-climax, a dull pain emerged. She paused, worried she had bitten off more than she could chew.
But then she conjured a vision of Fletcher on top of her, mounting her, his sexy eyes drilling into hers, teasing her with his enormous manhood; and the pleasure began to conquer the pain. His mocha skin stretched tightly over those lean young muscles—so fresh, so forceful, seething with masculine power.
She surrendered to the young fantasy lover, giving him everything, her pussy, her mouth, her breasts, her body, her dignity, her marriage vows—and the surge of female lubrication unleashed by that surrender allowed another inch of penetration.
“Oh, Fletcher. Fuck me Fletcher. Make me yours. Make me your…slut.”
The massive black cock withdrew a little, causing a delicious scraping sensation against her clitoris, and further spreading the natural lube. Slowly the in-and-out pace increased until the pain began to fade.
All the sexual frustration of the past few weeks converged on the brute force invading her womanhood—the massage, the training room jerk-off session, those hot pics on Brandee’s cell phone, even the bitchy thrill of confronting her husband about the disappointing size of his load. All that slow building tension formed a prelude to this inevitable moment, a sexual destiny she had been denying for so long.
As the orgasm approached, she experienced a moment of vertigo, as if she were standing at the edge of an abyss and yet knew she had to jump. There was a fleeting moment of terror, as if the enormity of the sensations might be too much to endure.
And then the most explosive orgasm she had ever experienced blasted through her like a hurricane. She screamed so loud she worried the neighbors might call the police. So much fluid erupted from her vagina it soaked through the bedspread and the sheets and down into the mattress. She forgot who she was and where she was, as the whole universe constricted down into an all-consuming spasm of exquisite, almost intolerable, bodily release.
It seemed to go on for an hour, but couldn’t have lasted more than two or three minutes, she realized, as consciousness returned, and she floated back down to earth. Her rational brain slowly reasserted itself, until through the hazy, post-orgasmic glow she started to perceive three profound and undeniable new truths:
One: She had just experienced her very first “vaginal” orgasm, and it really was everything it was cracked up to be.
Two: Her life would never be the same.
Three: Size. Really. Does. Matter.
Chapter 7: True What They Say
“Oh my God, Karen! Is that you?” screeched a woman’s voice.
After the dimness of the sex shop, the sun momentarily blinded Karen, but she recognized the voice: none other than Paige McFarland, a neighbor from her suburban town.
As always, Paige was dressed in the height of stay-at-home-mom fashion: dark yoga pants, expensive fleece, designer sunglasses, auburn hair caught in a pony tail. Her face gleamed with malicious delight at catching an acquaintance emerging from an adult boutique mid-workday. Karen suddenly felt ridiculous in her “disguise” beige overcoat and headscarf—it only made the transgression more obvious. The enormous black penis in the unmarked bag seemed to grow heavier.
“Oh, hi, Paige,” she replied, more calmly than she felt. “What brings you into the city?”
“Picking up Ashley from choir practice. Aren’t you a long way from the campus…?” She glanced at the bag. The big black bag.
She lifted it. “Bachelorette party for my niece. Penis-shaped candles, a couple other things. She’s just turned 23. Too young for marriage, in my opinion. But what do I know, right? I’ve only been married for 13 years!” She laughed too loudly.
Paige was attractive, intelligent, charming, and had kept the same figure she had in high school—reason enough for Karen to hate her. But on top of that her husband made so much money at some finance job that Paige didn’t have to work. Karen loathed the smugness of stay-at-home moms.
She was glad to remember the rumors that both McFarlands had been unfaithful. Other rumors said they were swingers—no one was certain.
Paige made a dismissive gesture and touched Karen’s arm. “Please. Don’t even think you owe anyone an explanation. You are a woman with her own agency. We both are,” adding, with mock irony, “Don’t let the Patriarchy shame you into behaving any way that doesn’t express the true you.” She laughed too loudly.
“Oh, I totally agree,” Karen said. God, I hate you, she thought.
“Actually I think it’s very brave of you. I’ve always wanted to go in there but never had the guts. What’s it like?”
“Really clean. Nice. But it’s just a lot of goofy kid stuff.”
The two chatted about local issues for a while, then parted.
Hurrying back to campus, cold sweat sticking to her clothes, Karen cursed her rotten luck! Once Paige ran her mouth the whole damn world would know she had been buying sex toys. How long would it take to get back to Craig? Was there any chance Paige had believed that lame excuse?
As she rushed along, Karen didn’t notice she had reached the campus. Distracted, she bumped into a student, who turned out to be Fletcher Cox, the fabulously hung football player Brandee had jerked off in the training room.
“Whoa, Dean Naylor. Where you headed in a such a hurry?”
“Sorry Fletcher. I’m, uh, not feeling well. I think I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
The good-looking young man glanced at her breasts. During the training room episode, she had been so transfixed by his muscular body, oversize equipment and copious cum load that she hadn’t noticed his handsome face.
“The other players and me, we really enjoyed your visit the other day.”
Karen flushed with embarrassment yet couldn’t resist glancing down at the boy’s crotch, where a clearly outlined penis-shaped bulge snaked down the leg of his sweat pants. A sudden current of lust sparked between the middle-aged mom and college student. She knew for certain that he wanted to sleep with her. Yes, she could go back with him to his room right now and he would totally “fuck her brains out.” Women her age really could attract young studs just like him. For all her many faults, Brandee had at least revealed that undeniable truth.
She drew closer. Finding the young man’s masculine scent utterly enthralling, she made an insane choice. She kissed him. In broad daylight, in the middle of campus, a university dean made out with a student—their mouths and tongues briefly entwined with passion.
Even an experienced lothario like Fletcher was shocked by this move. “Day-um, girl,” was all he could mutter when the kiss broke.
Karen leaned in to his ear, gently dancing her fingertips along the length of his huge cock, an act concealed by her long overcoat. She whispered: “I enjoyed it too, Fletcher. You have no idea how much.”
Then she abruptly turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, dumfounded.
She didn’t look back, just kept walking directly toward the train station, the sluicing of her pussy juice lubricating each step, the sensuous feel of his thick lips still lingering on hers.
Karen felt absurdly buoyant and free. Had she really just done that? Was this what feminists meant when they talked about being “empowered?”
But on the train a sliver of anxiety returned. Had anyone seen? No, no one was around. And anyway, one little kiss wasn’t really cheating, was it? Screw Paige McFarland. Screw anyone who makes you feel guilty about anything!
When she arrived home, the kids were still in daycare and Craig was nowhere to be found. Not having enough freelance coding work to fill his days, he often took long, boozy lunches at the local pub. For once, Karen was not annoyed by this.
Excited as a kid on Christmas morning, she threw off her coat and rushed to the bedroom with her new toy, unwrapping it and placing it on the bed. Against the innocent domestic backdrop, the flowered bed sheet, the framed family photos, it looked even bigger and more menacing than at the store. She caressed it, marveling at the realism of its design, the network of veins, the crinkled skin around the ball sack, the bulbous shape of the mushroom head. This was the way cocks were supposed to look— the perfect color, size and shape, the platonic ideal to which all other cocks aspired.
Continuing to gaze at the object of her lust, Karen undressed down to her bra and panties. She hefted the mighty phallus and pointed it at her face, looking directly into the bulbous head, extended her tongue to lick it, then planted kisses around the head. She hunched her shoulders forward, pushing her tits together. Then she slapped the heavy cock against them several times, causing ripples in the milky white flesh.
“Oh, Fletcher I love your big black c-cock,” she said out loud, stumbling over the forbidden word. “Do you like my white tits?”
She ran her fist up and down the shaft, jacking it off. “May I suck it? May I? May I suck you off, please? Don’t make me beg.”
Karen engulfed it in her mouth, ignoring the unfamiliar rubber taste. After the dildo purchase and the public kiss, she was so turned on that it may as well have been a real flesh-and-blood cock. She tried to take as much as she could into her mouth, but only less than half would fit before she choked.
Still sucking, she threw herself on the bed and began frigging her pussy over her panties. Orally worshiping the magnificent dick caused her juices to flow, soaking the material.
“Oh Fletcher I love the way your precum tastes. I never let my husband’s cum near my mouth.” She didn’t know where this dirty talk was coming from, but it was exciting her as much as the massive toy itself. “Do you want to fuck me? Do you want to fuck my pussy? This, this, this—” she almost couldn’t say it, “married pussy?”
Karen ripped off her panties and tried to work the head into her sopping cunt. As wet as she was, it was still a challenge to insert the flaring head. When it finally entered, it did so quickly, with an almost audible plop. The sudden invasion caused a mini-orgasm, and she emitted a high-pitched yelp.
Apart from childbirth, Karen’s vagina had never been so stretched. On the heels of the mini-climax, a dull pain emerged. She paused, worried she had bitten off more than she could chew.
But then she conjured a vision of Fletcher on top of her, mounting her, his sexy eyes drilling into hers, teasing her with his enormous manhood; and the pleasure began to conquer the pain. His mocha skin stretched tightly over those lean young muscles—so fresh, so forceful, seething with masculine power.
She surrendered to the young fantasy lover, giving him everything, her pussy, her mouth, her breasts, her body, her dignity, her marriage vows—and the surge of female lubrication unleashed by that surrender allowed another inch of penetration.
“Oh, Fletcher. Fuck me Fletcher. Make me yours. Make me your…slut.”
The massive black cock withdrew a little, causing a delicious scraping sensation against her clitoris, and further spreading the natural lube. Slowly the in-and-out pace increased until the pain began to fade.
All the sexual frustration of the past few weeks converged on the brute force invading her womanhood—the massage, the training room jerk-off session, those hot pics on Brandee’s cell phone, even the bitchy thrill of confronting her husband about the disappointing size of his load. All that slow building tension formed a prelude to this inevitable moment, a sexual destiny she had been denying for so long.
As the orgasm approached, she experienced a moment of vertigo, as if she were standing at the edge of an abyss and yet knew she had to jump. There was a fleeting moment of terror, as if the enormity of the sensations might be too much to endure.
And then the most explosive orgasm she had ever experienced blasted through her like a hurricane. She screamed so loud she worried the neighbors might call the police. So much fluid erupted from her vagina it soaked through the bedspread and the sheets and down into the mattress. She forgot who she was and where she was, as the whole universe constricted down into an all-consuming spasm of exquisite, almost intolerable, bodily release.
It seemed to go on for an hour, but couldn’t have lasted more than two or three minutes, she realized, as consciousness returned, and she floated back down to earth. Her rational brain slowly reasserted itself, until through the hazy, post-orgasmic glow she started to perceive three profound and undeniable new truths:
One: She had just experienced her very first “vaginal” orgasm, and it really was everything it was cracked up to be.
Two: Her life would never be the same.
Three: Size. Really. Does. Matter.
-
SamWarrens
- 2 Bit Whore
- Posts: 1249
- Joined: Sun Sep 11, 2016 3:07 pm
- Location: Canada
Re: Size Queen Wife
Ok, now chapter 7.
Great story. Keep going.
Great story. Keep going.
Great minds may think alike, but fools seldom differ.
-
starshapedprint
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Thu Jan 02, 2020 12:52 pm
Re: Size Queen Wife
Yay, thanks for the new chapters! I can't wait to read more, I really hope Karen fucks some of those hot young football players.
Also, fyi, the fact that it is so well written is an extra turn on.
Also, fyi, the fact that it is so well written is an extra turn on.
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starshapedmark
- Virgin
- Posts: 44
- Joined: Tue Dec 31, 2019 4:04 pm
Re: Size Queen Wife
The fact that my wife is so into this story is an extra, extra turn on!starshapedprint wrote: ↑Sat Mar 20, 2021 10:58 pmYay, thanks for the new chapters! I can't wait to read more, I really hope Karen fucks some of those hot young football players.
Also, fyi, the fact that it is so well written is an extra turn on.
-
armyguyot1
- Site Admin
- Posts: 7230
- Joined: Thu Aug 12, 2010 2:25 pm
- Location: Northwest
Re: Size Queen Wife
Welcome to the forum starshapedmark.
-
Understanding Man
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Thu Mar 27, 2014 6:59 pm
- Contact:
Re: Size Queen Wife
Glad you guys are liking the story. Here is another chapter.
Although I have SQW outlined and now how it will end, I'm setting it aside for a while to work on two standalone shorter pieces which I may publish as eBooks.
Chapter 8
In the aftermath of her intense masturbation session with the new BBC dildo, Karen unexpectantly found herself feeling all the sappy emotions of a woman infatuated. The long black shaft that penetrated deep inside her married pussy had the impact of Cupid’s arrow: Her mood was buoyant and giddy, she had energy like a teenager, and she spent many hours daydreaming amorous scenarios involving her fantastically hung “lover,” even though he was only a realistic-looking, enormous, chocolate-colored sex toy.
Was it possible to have feelings for a disembodied cock? What if the cock was world class and modeled from a gorgeous, very real and very much alive young stud?
She pictured herself and the porn star on whom the toy was molded, (“Mr. XL,” according to the packaging’s photo caption), traveling to far-flung and exotic locations, making love by moonlight on a beach, exploring each other’s bodies without shame or anxiety. At posh restaurants, other women would glare, envying the prize of such a young and handsome sex partner.
Sometimes the fantasies were darker. In anonymous hotel rooms, Mr. XL would force her to wear a leather dog collar and crawl around naked, cruelly denying her his cock until she begged long and submissively enough. Or maybe he’d dress her up like a French maid to serve drinks and snacks when his friends came over to watch football. She wouldn’t be wearing panties, so the boys—all black, hot, and hung, obviously—could randomly fondle, caress, stroke and finger her ass and pussy while she performed waitress duties…the night would end in a gangbang, with Karen the center of attention. All those throbbing black cocks, pumping huge loads of creamy white jism all over her body, so much cum, covering her breasts, her hair, her face…her excited pussy vibrated to the images…
But images only, never reality. So long as the perversions stayed locked inside her head, she could forestall the Catholic guilt that had tortured her since young ebony bodies became her obsession. The married mother of two resolved to gather all her extramarital lust for big black cock and seclude it in a walled-off garden of masturbatory fantasy that would remain private to all, even her husband.
Of course cultivating, watering and tilling this garden was essential, or it might fail to keep the horny wife’s raging libido imprisoned. Mindful of this, she researched Mr. XL online, seeking real-life details to flesh out her dream lover and his magnificent prick.
Using anonymous Twitter and Instagram accounts to stalk her prey, Karen learned:
He was 27 years old, 6’2”, 225 lbs., all ebony muscle. Following service in the Air Force, he worked a corporate job, but quit after realizing he could make better money as a male stripper. He traveled the country, and sometimes the world, exposing himself to crowds of horny women. Many pics featured him surrounded by lust crazed ladies, their hands fondling his dark muscled flesh and giving him wads of cash.
Stripping led to modeling—not all of it pornographic. His Instagram included professional-grade fashion photos. He had the photogenic looks and physique of a male model.
But the massive cock, his ticket to stardom, always stole the show. The obsessed mom salivated over dick-pics that were marvels to behold, its profile from different angles, lightings and backgrounds; in various stages of arousal, from rock-hard, to semi-erect, to hanging low and relaxed, extending down past the large nut sack, a heavy scepter of dormant sexual power. That big cock was an aesthetic masterpiece, she concluded, a work of biologic art.
To compare it to the real thing, she held the massive dildo up to her phone, and found every vein and contour right in place. Even the color was pretty accurate. One series of photos showed the cock’s monstrous length and girth being measured by a young female fan with measuring tape. Just like Karen’s version, it was 11.5 inches long and 5.5 inches in diameter. When Karen diddled her clit, she silently recited those size measurements to herself; like an erogenous code, they unlocked searing orgasms.
On free porn sites, she found videos of Mr. XL fucking women of all different races, sexes, ages and body types, from amateur swingers to established porn actresses. But being jealous of these women, especially when they were middle-aged, white and blonde like herself, Karen found these videos difficult to get off to. The only ones that made her cum were of Mr. XL jacking his massive cock solo.
Karen was astonished that a stripper and porn actor could spend so much free time fucking as well. According to an interview on a site called Spades Magazine, he was a highly sought after “Bull” among so-called cuckold couples, who belonged to a subcategory of the swinging world. Bulls, or well-endowed black men, would fuck the wives of willing husbands, i.e., “cucks” who got aroused by passively standing by watching the show.
Although Karen found swingers gross, this niche intrigued her. Most bizarre—and oddly titillating—was the cuck husbands remained faithful, enjoying no reciprocal infidelity hall pass. From what she gathered, the wives usually were sexually dominant over the husbands but submissive to their Bulls.
It seemed too good to be true. The wives had the best of both worlds: a loving husband as part of a lawful, society-sanctioned relationship, and a wild, forbidden promiscuity that catered to their inner sluts.
In online interviews and podcasts, Mr. XL explained why he favored wives, saying older, married women were at their sexual peak, and thus hornier and more receptive to their erotic cravings. Also, they required less emotional entanglement. Younger, single women were often “clingy drama queens,” as he put it.
With mature women, it was all about non-stop sex.
“They’re not seeking commitment. Married women won’t stalk you. You won’t find her crying on your doorstep.”
The transgressive, boundary-crossing aspect of extramarital sex also appealed to the young lothario: “I’m a naturally dominant person in the bedroom, and it’s empowering to have a woman offer herself to me, especially when she’s beautiful and would normally be off-limits to anyone besides her husband.”
And he loved the interracial taboo, not just a black man fucking a white woman, but a black man fucking a married white woman—the age-old anxiety of the lesser endowed Caucasian race, miscegenation, losing their wives to superior black cock, righteous revenge after 400 years of oppression and subjugation.
Obviously, all single men dream of being Bulls. Who wouldn’t want unlimited, no-strings-attached sex with gorgeous married women? Well, for starters, most men couldn’t measure up to the God-given endowments of someone like Mr. XL. But even handsome well-hung single men often fail because they misread the complexity of the three-way cuckold relationship, as Mr. XL explained in one podcast:
“They think it’s about fucking the wife, and that’s it. Nothing could be further from the truth. You’ve got to make the husband part of the dynamic. In the beginning, to earn the couple’s trust, you need his trust first. Each couple has an emotional bond and a sexual bond. As a Bull, you must show you respect the emotional bond, and then slowly begin undermining the sexual one.”
Over time, the Bull’s goal is to replace the husband as the wife’s primary sex partner, for her to fixate on him sexually.
“You do this by becoming the Alpha Male in the relationship,” Mr. XL explained. “All social mammals have Alpha Males. They are the fastest, strongest and smartest males in the pack. Females are instinctively drawn to them because they have the superior genetic material. Human females are no different. If two men are in her life, a woman will instinctively become more attracted to the Alpha Male.”
Although Bulls certainly must rule the roost in the bedroom, not all of this happens during sex, he added. Alpha Male behavior occurs everywhere.
“At the start of the relationship, I interact with both the husband and the wife equally. But gradually, as time passes, I pay more attention to her and less to him. So, when meeting, I’ll place myself between the wife and husband. I sit or stand between them. I use my presence a barrier…Slowly he starts fading into the background.”
Then he moves on to asking the husband to perform small tasks, like getting drinks or parking the car. “After a while, I stop asking and start giving direct orders. I’ve seen many wives get aroused watching this progression. In her eyes you are emerging as the Alpha Male. The more passive hubby becomes, the more turned on she will be.”
It seems cruel, but on some level husbands crave this subservience: “He wants the same thing as his wife does, although he may not consciously know it. He wants to see her become an insatiable slut again, like she was before they were married, and he knows she needs someone new to do that.”
Another Bull move: getting the wife to commit sexual acts she denies hubby. For example, several wives who had refused their husbands anal sex, cum swallowing, and bisexuality with other women all did these things for Mr. XL. If the wives hesitated, all he had to do was threaten to cut off access to his dick, and they gave in.
Learning about the cuckold dynamic opened new vistas of eroticism for Karen. Though she couldn’t explain why and found it hard to admit even to herself (unless she had a glass or two of wine), the thought of Craig being forced to witness her adultery with a well-endowed black man excited her immensely.
Fucking her pussy with the huge dildo, she imagined Mr. XL, Craig and herself in a public place—a nightclub maybe—the black man’s strong arm draped possessively over her shoulder, claiming his territory. Meanwhile, Craig dutifully scurried to the bar for drinks. The stares of the other customers—some quizzical, some knowing—inflamed her passion as she ran her hand along her boyfriend’s brawny thigh. Then Karen leaned close, smelling his masculine scent, and the interracial couple tongue kissed in full view of the whole place, as Craig meekly returned with their drinks…at this point in the scenario she always came violently.
Before she had gotten much further in her research about cuckoldry and her new virtual “boyfriend”/fixation, Karen was interrupted by preparations for an important biotech conference she had to attend in Las Vegas. She considered sneaking Mr. XL into her luggage, but worried he would get confiscated by some nosy TSA agent. She resolved instead to spend her downtime in Vegas doing Kegel exercises to tighten her stretched-out pelvic floor for Craig.
***
“It’s okay, Mr. Naylor. It happens to a lot of guys, even ones my age.”
“Please don’t call me Mr. Naylor,” Craig said. “Right now I don’t want to feel any older than I already do.”
The would-be lovers were lying on the bed in the Naylors’ master bedroom, Craig on his back, staring at the ceiling, and Alex, the family’s new 20-year-old babysitter, resting her head on his chest. After this brief exchange, they lapsed back into uncomfortable silence.
Alex Kinkler had recently replaced their former babysitter, an elderly woman who retired to Florida. A petite brunette, Alex worked part-time at their daughters’ daycare center. She and Craig had struck up a flirtation during drop-offs and pickups. The lecherous husband was secretly thrilled when Karen raised no objection to allowing the attractive youngster into their home to help with the kids.
When they met, Alex found herself drawn to the older man, but not in the way as boys her own age. True, there was something poignant about his fading yet still discernable good looks, his thinning hair, and the sadness around his eyes. And she appreciated his evident lust for her. Erotic power over someone so much older and established in life was itself a turn on.
But what really attracted her to Mr. Naylor (she could never think of him as Craig) was his marriage to his wife. To the feminist college student, Karen Naylor was a role model, a successful career woman, a dean, a physician, a mother, a wife. The tall blonde was all that and good looking to boot. In her eyes, they had the perfect marriage; Karen at work in the city, Craig home caring for the children, the kind of female-centric union Alex hoped someday to have herself.
In short, she liked the Naylors as a couple.
But she never intended flirtation to blossom into actual sex. It had just been harmless fun—until the bizarre events of this afternoon, that is.
Alex had come to the house to get signatures for paperwork her father, a tax attorney, had drawn up, which would create tax breaks by diverting some of Alex’s babysitting income toward her college tuition.
To complete the paperwork, they needed Karen’s social security number. But Karen was out of town on her Vegas trip, and Craig couldn’t remember it.
After calls and texts to Karen went unreturned, he invited the sexy youngster inside while he searched.
“I know,” he said. “We keep our tax returns in a safe in our bedroom. Karen handles all that financial stuff. Help me find the key.”
They rummaged through the master bedroom, and Alex found the key in Karen’s side of the bathroom vanity.
They entered the walk-in closet that contained the safe. Craig kneeled and unlocked it. The heavy door swung open.
Right there, in full view to both of them, atop a sheaf of documents, sat a gigantic, realistic, black dildo.
Shocked into frozen silence, neither moved. After a long moment, Craig closed the door and stood. Slowly he moved from the closet over to the bed. He sat on the edge.
“I’m sorry you had to see that Alex. I had no idea that…that…item would be in there.”
His humiliated mind raced. It all made sense now. This was why their sex life was suffering. This was why her pussy was so loose and stretched out. This was why she constantly criticized his load size. His wife was cheating on him with a huge black cock!
How long had this been going on? He never went into that safe. That giant black dick could have been there a year or maybe even longer…
And was it just the fake cock? Had she progressed to cheating with a real black man? Or men?
While he was thinking all this, Alex watched him. He looked so pathetic, like a lost little boy. “It’s okay, Mr. Naylor. It’s really not something to be embarrassed about. If anything, a willingness to experiment is a sign of a healthy marriage—”
“No, you don’t understand. I’ve never seen that thing before in my life.” He covered his face with his hands.
“Oh,” she said, starting to comprehend. She sat beside him. “Poor, Mr. Naylor,” she consoled, as she rubbed his back.
A complicated mix of emotions welled up in Alex. Physically, the sight of the huge cock released a simmering flow of juice to her womanhood. But on another level, pity, amusement, and lust all mixed together to create an odd feeling of sympathy for Mr. Naylor. Clearly he wasn’t up to the task of satisfying his wife’s voracious sexual needs. That wasn’t his fault. But it wasn’t his wife’s fault either. It was just the way life was sometimes.
Anyway, it was clear to the youngster that something hot was going on in this marriage. And whatever it was she wanted to play a part. Maybe, by playing good cop to Karen’s bad, she could be the glue that held them together? An image flashed in her mind: she was on her knees eating the older woman’s pussy to prepare it for the big dildo’s entry…
Craig raised his head and looked at Alex. In his eyes she saw hurt, but also rage and lust—the eyes of someone burning to reclaim his manhood. She wanted to help. So she let him make the first move…
He leaned forward and kissed her. Hmm, she thought, not bad. As their tongues entwined, things got more passionate, and his hands explored her pert young tits. She put a hand on his crotch and felt his growing hardon.
Sliding to the floor, she unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper. The cock she pulled out was by no means lengthy—about 5 to 5.5 inches long—but it had a prominent, well-shaped crown and a decent girth. Overall, the perfect endowment for a well behaved husband. Not too small to be useless, especially for a small girl like Alex. But also not a whopper that would attract rival women or encourage infidelity.
Aroused that this very same cock had been inside Dr. Naylor’s pussy, had fathered her children, she took it into her mouth, deep throating the whole thing.
Craig couldn’t remember the last time Karen had blown him. He was in heaven.
“Oh, God, Alex, that feels so good. Please don’t stop.”
“Mm. Your cock tastes delicious, Mr. Naylor. I love sucking it.”
Just then his phone pinged. It was Karen, returning his text about the social security number.
He threw the phone to the other side of the bed, and tried to concentrate on the wonderful blowjob this young beautiful girl was giving him. But then he remembered the dildo in the closet, the enormous black marauder that had invaded his home and ruined his wife’s pussy. His confidence wilted, along with his hardon.
After trying for several minutes to suck his limp cock back to life, Alex gave up and crawled up next to him. That’s when she told him it happened to other guys too.
The words gave Craig no comfort. With bitterness, he realized why Karen had raised no objection to hiring Alex. His wife held such a low opinion of his masculinity she didn’t perceive the young woman as a threat. And now he’d gone and proved her right.
Although I have SQW outlined and now how it will end, I'm setting it aside for a while to work on two standalone shorter pieces which I may publish as eBooks.
Chapter 8
In the aftermath of her intense masturbation session with the new BBC dildo, Karen unexpectantly found herself feeling all the sappy emotions of a woman infatuated. The long black shaft that penetrated deep inside her married pussy had the impact of Cupid’s arrow: Her mood was buoyant and giddy, she had energy like a teenager, and she spent many hours daydreaming amorous scenarios involving her fantastically hung “lover,” even though he was only a realistic-looking, enormous, chocolate-colored sex toy.
Was it possible to have feelings for a disembodied cock? What if the cock was world class and modeled from a gorgeous, very real and very much alive young stud?
She pictured herself and the porn star on whom the toy was molded, (“Mr. XL,” according to the packaging’s photo caption), traveling to far-flung and exotic locations, making love by moonlight on a beach, exploring each other’s bodies without shame or anxiety. At posh restaurants, other women would glare, envying the prize of such a young and handsome sex partner.
Sometimes the fantasies were darker. In anonymous hotel rooms, Mr. XL would force her to wear a leather dog collar and crawl around naked, cruelly denying her his cock until she begged long and submissively enough. Or maybe he’d dress her up like a French maid to serve drinks and snacks when his friends came over to watch football. She wouldn’t be wearing panties, so the boys—all black, hot, and hung, obviously—could randomly fondle, caress, stroke and finger her ass and pussy while she performed waitress duties…the night would end in a gangbang, with Karen the center of attention. All those throbbing black cocks, pumping huge loads of creamy white jism all over her body, so much cum, covering her breasts, her hair, her face…her excited pussy vibrated to the images…
But images only, never reality. So long as the perversions stayed locked inside her head, she could forestall the Catholic guilt that had tortured her since young ebony bodies became her obsession. The married mother of two resolved to gather all her extramarital lust for big black cock and seclude it in a walled-off garden of masturbatory fantasy that would remain private to all, even her husband.
Of course cultivating, watering and tilling this garden was essential, or it might fail to keep the horny wife’s raging libido imprisoned. Mindful of this, she researched Mr. XL online, seeking real-life details to flesh out her dream lover and his magnificent prick.
Using anonymous Twitter and Instagram accounts to stalk her prey, Karen learned:
He was 27 years old, 6’2”, 225 lbs., all ebony muscle. Following service in the Air Force, he worked a corporate job, but quit after realizing he could make better money as a male stripper. He traveled the country, and sometimes the world, exposing himself to crowds of horny women. Many pics featured him surrounded by lust crazed ladies, their hands fondling his dark muscled flesh and giving him wads of cash.
Stripping led to modeling—not all of it pornographic. His Instagram included professional-grade fashion photos. He had the photogenic looks and physique of a male model.
But the massive cock, his ticket to stardom, always stole the show. The obsessed mom salivated over dick-pics that were marvels to behold, its profile from different angles, lightings and backgrounds; in various stages of arousal, from rock-hard, to semi-erect, to hanging low and relaxed, extending down past the large nut sack, a heavy scepter of dormant sexual power. That big cock was an aesthetic masterpiece, she concluded, a work of biologic art.
To compare it to the real thing, she held the massive dildo up to her phone, and found every vein and contour right in place. Even the color was pretty accurate. One series of photos showed the cock’s monstrous length and girth being measured by a young female fan with measuring tape. Just like Karen’s version, it was 11.5 inches long and 5.5 inches in diameter. When Karen diddled her clit, she silently recited those size measurements to herself; like an erogenous code, they unlocked searing orgasms.
On free porn sites, she found videos of Mr. XL fucking women of all different races, sexes, ages and body types, from amateur swingers to established porn actresses. But being jealous of these women, especially when they were middle-aged, white and blonde like herself, Karen found these videos difficult to get off to. The only ones that made her cum were of Mr. XL jacking his massive cock solo.
Karen was astonished that a stripper and porn actor could spend so much free time fucking as well. According to an interview on a site called Spades Magazine, he was a highly sought after “Bull” among so-called cuckold couples, who belonged to a subcategory of the swinging world. Bulls, or well-endowed black men, would fuck the wives of willing husbands, i.e., “cucks” who got aroused by passively standing by watching the show.
Although Karen found swingers gross, this niche intrigued her. Most bizarre—and oddly titillating—was the cuck husbands remained faithful, enjoying no reciprocal infidelity hall pass. From what she gathered, the wives usually were sexually dominant over the husbands but submissive to their Bulls.
It seemed too good to be true. The wives had the best of both worlds: a loving husband as part of a lawful, society-sanctioned relationship, and a wild, forbidden promiscuity that catered to their inner sluts.
In online interviews and podcasts, Mr. XL explained why he favored wives, saying older, married women were at their sexual peak, and thus hornier and more receptive to their erotic cravings. Also, they required less emotional entanglement. Younger, single women were often “clingy drama queens,” as he put it.
With mature women, it was all about non-stop sex.
“They’re not seeking commitment. Married women won’t stalk you. You won’t find her crying on your doorstep.”
The transgressive, boundary-crossing aspect of extramarital sex also appealed to the young lothario: “I’m a naturally dominant person in the bedroom, and it’s empowering to have a woman offer herself to me, especially when she’s beautiful and would normally be off-limits to anyone besides her husband.”
And he loved the interracial taboo, not just a black man fucking a white woman, but a black man fucking a married white woman—the age-old anxiety of the lesser endowed Caucasian race, miscegenation, losing their wives to superior black cock, righteous revenge after 400 years of oppression and subjugation.
Obviously, all single men dream of being Bulls. Who wouldn’t want unlimited, no-strings-attached sex with gorgeous married women? Well, for starters, most men couldn’t measure up to the God-given endowments of someone like Mr. XL. But even handsome well-hung single men often fail because they misread the complexity of the three-way cuckold relationship, as Mr. XL explained in one podcast:
“They think it’s about fucking the wife, and that’s it. Nothing could be further from the truth. You’ve got to make the husband part of the dynamic. In the beginning, to earn the couple’s trust, you need his trust first. Each couple has an emotional bond and a sexual bond. As a Bull, you must show you respect the emotional bond, and then slowly begin undermining the sexual one.”
Over time, the Bull’s goal is to replace the husband as the wife’s primary sex partner, for her to fixate on him sexually.
“You do this by becoming the Alpha Male in the relationship,” Mr. XL explained. “All social mammals have Alpha Males. They are the fastest, strongest and smartest males in the pack. Females are instinctively drawn to them because they have the superior genetic material. Human females are no different. If two men are in her life, a woman will instinctively become more attracted to the Alpha Male.”
Although Bulls certainly must rule the roost in the bedroom, not all of this happens during sex, he added. Alpha Male behavior occurs everywhere.
“At the start of the relationship, I interact with both the husband and the wife equally. But gradually, as time passes, I pay more attention to her and less to him. So, when meeting, I’ll place myself between the wife and husband. I sit or stand between them. I use my presence a barrier…Slowly he starts fading into the background.”
Then he moves on to asking the husband to perform small tasks, like getting drinks or parking the car. “After a while, I stop asking and start giving direct orders. I’ve seen many wives get aroused watching this progression. In her eyes you are emerging as the Alpha Male. The more passive hubby becomes, the more turned on she will be.”
It seems cruel, but on some level husbands crave this subservience: “He wants the same thing as his wife does, although he may not consciously know it. He wants to see her become an insatiable slut again, like she was before they were married, and he knows she needs someone new to do that.”
Another Bull move: getting the wife to commit sexual acts she denies hubby. For example, several wives who had refused their husbands anal sex, cum swallowing, and bisexuality with other women all did these things for Mr. XL. If the wives hesitated, all he had to do was threaten to cut off access to his dick, and they gave in.
Learning about the cuckold dynamic opened new vistas of eroticism for Karen. Though she couldn’t explain why and found it hard to admit even to herself (unless she had a glass or two of wine), the thought of Craig being forced to witness her adultery with a well-endowed black man excited her immensely.
Fucking her pussy with the huge dildo, she imagined Mr. XL, Craig and herself in a public place—a nightclub maybe—the black man’s strong arm draped possessively over her shoulder, claiming his territory. Meanwhile, Craig dutifully scurried to the bar for drinks. The stares of the other customers—some quizzical, some knowing—inflamed her passion as she ran her hand along her boyfriend’s brawny thigh. Then Karen leaned close, smelling his masculine scent, and the interracial couple tongue kissed in full view of the whole place, as Craig meekly returned with their drinks…at this point in the scenario she always came violently.
Before she had gotten much further in her research about cuckoldry and her new virtual “boyfriend”/fixation, Karen was interrupted by preparations for an important biotech conference she had to attend in Las Vegas. She considered sneaking Mr. XL into her luggage, but worried he would get confiscated by some nosy TSA agent. She resolved instead to spend her downtime in Vegas doing Kegel exercises to tighten her stretched-out pelvic floor for Craig.
***
“It’s okay, Mr. Naylor. It happens to a lot of guys, even ones my age.”
“Please don’t call me Mr. Naylor,” Craig said. “Right now I don’t want to feel any older than I already do.”
The would-be lovers were lying on the bed in the Naylors’ master bedroom, Craig on his back, staring at the ceiling, and Alex, the family’s new 20-year-old babysitter, resting her head on his chest. After this brief exchange, they lapsed back into uncomfortable silence.
Alex Kinkler had recently replaced their former babysitter, an elderly woman who retired to Florida. A petite brunette, Alex worked part-time at their daughters’ daycare center. She and Craig had struck up a flirtation during drop-offs and pickups. The lecherous husband was secretly thrilled when Karen raised no objection to allowing the attractive youngster into their home to help with the kids.
When they met, Alex found herself drawn to the older man, but not in the way as boys her own age. True, there was something poignant about his fading yet still discernable good looks, his thinning hair, and the sadness around his eyes. And she appreciated his evident lust for her. Erotic power over someone so much older and established in life was itself a turn on.
But what really attracted her to Mr. Naylor (she could never think of him as Craig) was his marriage to his wife. To the feminist college student, Karen Naylor was a role model, a successful career woman, a dean, a physician, a mother, a wife. The tall blonde was all that and good looking to boot. In her eyes, they had the perfect marriage; Karen at work in the city, Craig home caring for the children, the kind of female-centric union Alex hoped someday to have herself.
In short, she liked the Naylors as a couple.
But she never intended flirtation to blossom into actual sex. It had just been harmless fun—until the bizarre events of this afternoon, that is.
Alex had come to the house to get signatures for paperwork her father, a tax attorney, had drawn up, which would create tax breaks by diverting some of Alex’s babysitting income toward her college tuition.
To complete the paperwork, they needed Karen’s social security number. But Karen was out of town on her Vegas trip, and Craig couldn’t remember it.
After calls and texts to Karen went unreturned, he invited the sexy youngster inside while he searched.
“I know,” he said. “We keep our tax returns in a safe in our bedroom. Karen handles all that financial stuff. Help me find the key.”
They rummaged through the master bedroom, and Alex found the key in Karen’s side of the bathroom vanity.
They entered the walk-in closet that contained the safe. Craig kneeled and unlocked it. The heavy door swung open.
Right there, in full view to both of them, atop a sheaf of documents, sat a gigantic, realistic, black dildo.
Shocked into frozen silence, neither moved. After a long moment, Craig closed the door and stood. Slowly he moved from the closet over to the bed. He sat on the edge.
“I’m sorry you had to see that Alex. I had no idea that…that…item would be in there.”
His humiliated mind raced. It all made sense now. This was why their sex life was suffering. This was why her pussy was so loose and stretched out. This was why she constantly criticized his load size. His wife was cheating on him with a huge black cock!
How long had this been going on? He never went into that safe. That giant black dick could have been there a year or maybe even longer…
And was it just the fake cock? Had she progressed to cheating with a real black man? Or men?
While he was thinking all this, Alex watched him. He looked so pathetic, like a lost little boy. “It’s okay, Mr. Naylor. It’s really not something to be embarrassed about. If anything, a willingness to experiment is a sign of a healthy marriage—”
“No, you don’t understand. I’ve never seen that thing before in my life.” He covered his face with his hands.
“Oh,” she said, starting to comprehend. She sat beside him. “Poor, Mr. Naylor,” she consoled, as she rubbed his back.
A complicated mix of emotions welled up in Alex. Physically, the sight of the huge cock released a simmering flow of juice to her womanhood. But on another level, pity, amusement, and lust all mixed together to create an odd feeling of sympathy for Mr. Naylor. Clearly he wasn’t up to the task of satisfying his wife’s voracious sexual needs. That wasn’t his fault. But it wasn’t his wife’s fault either. It was just the way life was sometimes.
Anyway, it was clear to the youngster that something hot was going on in this marriage. And whatever it was she wanted to play a part. Maybe, by playing good cop to Karen’s bad, she could be the glue that held them together? An image flashed in her mind: she was on her knees eating the older woman’s pussy to prepare it for the big dildo’s entry…
Craig raised his head and looked at Alex. In his eyes she saw hurt, but also rage and lust—the eyes of someone burning to reclaim his manhood. She wanted to help. So she let him make the first move…
He leaned forward and kissed her. Hmm, she thought, not bad. As their tongues entwined, things got more passionate, and his hands explored her pert young tits. She put a hand on his crotch and felt his growing hardon.
Sliding to the floor, she unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper. The cock she pulled out was by no means lengthy—about 5 to 5.5 inches long—but it had a prominent, well-shaped crown and a decent girth. Overall, the perfect endowment for a well behaved husband. Not too small to be useless, especially for a small girl like Alex. But also not a whopper that would attract rival women or encourage infidelity.
Aroused that this very same cock had been inside Dr. Naylor’s pussy, had fathered her children, she took it into her mouth, deep throating the whole thing.
Craig couldn’t remember the last time Karen had blown him. He was in heaven.
“Oh, God, Alex, that feels so good. Please don’t stop.”
“Mm. Your cock tastes delicious, Mr. Naylor. I love sucking it.”
Just then his phone pinged. It was Karen, returning his text about the social security number.
He threw the phone to the other side of the bed, and tried to concentrate on the wonderful blowjob this young beautiful girl was giving him. But then he remembered the dildo in the closet, the enormous black marauder that had invaded his home and ruined his wife’s pussy. His confidence wilted, along with his hardon.
After trying for several minutes to suck his limp cock back to life, Alex gave up and crawled up next to him. That’s when she told him it happened to other guys too.
The words gave Craig no comfort. With bitterness, he realized why Karen had raised no objection to hiring Alex. His wife held such a low opinion of his masculinity she didn’t perceive the young woman as a threat. And now he’d gone and proved her right.
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Re: Size Queen Wife
And one more:
Chapter 9: Oral Fixation
Scanning the swanky casino-hotel restaurant, Karen spotted Brandee in a booth near the bar. As she moved through the tables toward her friend, the large breasted-blonde looked up and gave her boss a chilly smile.
“I was starting to worry you’d stood me up.”
“Sorry.” Karen set down her tote bag and folded her tall body into the booth. “My panel went long. Then I got cornered by a bunch of Wall Street jerks.”
“Douchbags. I hate em.”
“Pumping me for what our study will do for Braun’s stock.”
A handsome, 20-something waiter brought menus. For the medical conference, both women wore their sharpest professional attire, elegantly tailored suit jackets and skirts, with Brandee as usual showing too much leg and cleavage. But Karen had clearly put extra effort into her appearance, sporting a new blonde dye job and applying heavier-than-usual makeup. Although Brandee radiated more carnality (some would call it slutty-ness), Karen’s clean-cut looks and longer-limbed physique better fit the traditional model for hot female executive. The university dean was delighted to catch the waiter slyly checking out her legs.
“Something about you is different,” Brandee said, studying the departing youth’s slim buttocks. “Your skin is glowing.”
Karen had no intention of revealing her recent dildo purchase or its effect on her happiness. That was private, and anyway they had something important to discuss.
Brandee’s brazen sexual exploitation of the student athletes had to stop. Her lewd actions in the training room went beyond the pale. The memory of Brandee openly fondling the naked football players’ genitals haunted Karen. It was only the extreme size of all those black cocks that had shocked her into complicity, allowing a university employee to masturbate a student and collect a sperm sample in full view of the whole team. What if one of the boys had recorded it on his phone? No, this had to end. Treating students like an erotic all-you-can-eat buffet was a career-ending scandal waiting to happen.
After cocktails arrived, Karen addressed the issue: “I know your personal life has been somewhat—um, I don’t think ‘wild’ is the right word but maybe ‘unconventional’?—since the divorce. And that’s entirely your business. It’s not my place to interfere in the actions of consenting adults. But what’s been going on between you and the football team, that’s a step too far. It has to stop. It's completely inappropriate and unprofessional.”
Brandee calmly sipped her drink. “Well, you’re right about my personal life. It has been wild and unconventional. And quite frankly, Karen, I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m sowing the wild oats I didn’t get to when I was young. I’m having the best sex of my entire life. And when I’m not having it, I’m thinking about it! It’s all true what they say about us women. We really don’t reach our sexual peak until middle age. I’m like a teenage boy—constantly horny. All I wanted was to share a little part of my newfound freedom with my friend.”
Karen remained silent but understood. In fact, she felt the same way. She was always horny too.
“But I hear what you’re saying. I took it too far with those boys. It was just, like, being around all that temptation…Doing the exams, checking their vitals, watching them practice, getting all sweaty, and then showering, those gorgeous young bodies. Oh, man.” Brandee shivered. “What can I say? I gave in. It was my fault, and I’m sorry.”
“But it’s all over with now?”
“Finished. Promise.”
Karen exhaled with relief. “Thank God you understand.”
“I mean those aren’t the only big black cocks in the world, right?”
“Shh! Oh, Brandee, please!” She laughed.
“Here, let’s drink to that.” Brandee raised her glass. “Friends again?”
Karen clinked rims. “We never weren’t friends.”
After dinner and two bottles of wine on the university’s tab, it was like there had never been any tension at all between them.
“We should hang out tonight,” Brandee suggested over dessert. “You fly home tomorrow? Let’s have a girls night out. We’re in Vegas, baby!”
“I don’t know. I’ve had a long day.”
“Sounds like you need another round. Where’s that cute waiter? I’m calling an Uber right now.”
Laughing, slurring their words, clinging to each other, the pair of good-looking blondes stumbled into the hot Las Vegas evening. In the car, Brandee wouldn’t say where they were going.
“Please don’t take me to some sleazy place where cougars hit on young guys,” Karen begged.
“Oh, no. It’s better than that.”
They pulled up to a brilliantly lit building with a flat red roof and white walls. Written along its cornice: “World Famous Since 1969 PALOMINO. The only club in Vegas with fully nude dancers that serves alcohol.”
Karen groaned. “Oh, no. Not a strip club!”
Ignoring her protests, Brandee pulled her from the car, led her past the bouncers, and paid their covers. As they reeled down a dark corridor toward the sound of thumping dance music, Karen slurred, “Why would we want to watch a bunch of bimbos take their clothes off?”
“Because they’re not bimbos,” replied Brandee. “They’re mimbos.”
The two entered a large room with a bar to one side and booths and tables on the other. In the center stood a low, round stage with a stripper pole, on which a young shirtless black man wearing a baseball cap gyrated seductively.
“And they’re all black.”
The dancer on stage wore what appeared to be specially designed pants, open at the groin like cowboy chaps. Flopping around between his legs, his enormously oversized penis was encased in a white leather jock strap with a long tube affixed to the front to accommodate its massive length and girth. White frills ran along the bottom length of this strange cock tube.
A dozen other half-naked well-built black men milled about the crowd of women, all wearing variations of the same oversize jock strap, only in different colors and materials. None left anything to the imagination about their endowments—all obscenely huge.
“Oh my Lord, Brandee. What is this place?” was all Karen could murmur.
“Remember at dinner I said our football team wasn’t the only place to find huge black cock?” Brandee made a sweeping gesture. “Voila! Another target-rich environment.”
Karen feasted her eyes on the young sexy bodies on display and the mouthwatering appendages dangling between their legs. It was like the training room all over again…Except, well, at least this time they weren’t students…
Brandee led them to a table. “I’ve been to a lot of male revues in Vegas, but the Palomino is by far my favorite. Can you see why?”
“Well, you do seem to have a type,” she replied, eyes trailing one of the bobbing cocks as it passed.
“You’re saying I have jungle fever? Oh I openly admit it. And I don’t want to be cured. But I’m not the only one. I saw your face when I was jacking Fletcher’s big black dick. The glazed eyes. The blushing skin. You wanted to jump all over that fine-looking buck!”
Fletcher’s name brought back memories of their kiss on campus that day…Karen’s intoxicated mind suddenly ached to confess everything to Brandee, to bare her tumultuous sexual longings to someone who would understand. But she couldn’t do it. It was too risky.
A dancer in policeman getup approached their table, his enormous prick enclosed in navy blue velvet, studded along its length with rhinestones. The massive meat stick instantly drew the gaze of both women.
“Evening, young ladies. How’s your night going?”
Brandee reached over and hefted the cock under its base. With her other hand she wrapped a $10 bill around its girth. The edges of the bill couldn’t touch it was so thick.
“Keeps getting better, officer,” Brandee said, using the cock like a leash to pull him closer. She moved their drinks and phones to make room for the studded phallus to rest on the tabletop. “Wow. Would you look at this beauty, Karen? That must be a ten incher. Go ahead. You can touch it.”
Karen blushed deep red. “No…I probably shouldn’t.”
“Karen. Don’t insult the man. And don’t embarrass me.”
Once again, Karen’s desire rationalized its way across another ethical line. After all, it was a strip club. It’s what one does in a strip club.
“You don’t mind?” Karen heard her voice say. The dancer shook his head.
Feeling like she was dreaming, she ran her fingertips gingerly along the mammoth cock. Unlike the rubber dildo back home, warm flesh pulsed with life underneath the material.
“It’s, uh, very impressive,” was all she could think to say.
Brandee stuffed the money in the mesh net supporting his heavy balls. Then she again grasped the cock’s base, lifted it up, and let it drop on the table. The thing was so heavy it banged the surface like a gavel, rattling their drinks and cell phones. She did this several times.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Court is now in session,” Brandee joked.
“It’s not a gavel,” Karen laughed nervously. “It’s cudgel!”
Taking this clownery in stride, the stripper asked, “You ladies married?” He had noticed Karen’s ring.
“She is. I’m not,” answered Brandee, looking up and meeting his eyes for the first time.
The man did a double-take. “Hold on. Don’t I know you?”
“Maybe. I was here about a year ago.”
“Mm. You hard to forget, girl,” he said, leering at her huge tits.
Brandee giggled and continued to fondled his cock. “Yeah, now I remember. We had some fun, didn’t we?”
“You miss my big dick, baby?”
“You know it,” she said, ogling his prick and licking her lips.
Brandee got up to leave. Karen panicked. “Wait! Where are you going?”
“It’s okay. I’ll just be over there getting a couch dance.” She pointed to a row of curtained cubicles at the far end of the room.
“Maybe wifey wants to join us,” suggested the stripper, eyeing Karen lustily. “Only thing I like better than white women is married white women.”
“No, not tonight, stud. I want you all to myself,” Brandee said, clinging possessively to his muscled arm. “Just wait here, Karen. I won’t be long.” As they left, Karen heard Brandee ask him to remind her what his name was.
Alone, Karen quickly realized not only were all the dancers black, so were the customers. She’d been so mesmerized by the BBCs she’d failed to notice the crowd of middle-aged, mostly overweight, African American women shooting hostile glares at the two overdressed bougie white interlopers.
She was relieved when another dancer approached. No theme for this one; just shirtless in dark jeans and sneakers, with a silver lamé cock sheath. He was a couple inches shorter than Karen, but built like something chiseled from a slab of onyx. Against his dark skin and charcoal jeans, the giant, silver-clad dick appeared to glow luminescent. It was hard not to stare.
“It’s okay, you can look,” he said. “I like it when women look. It’s why I do this.”
Karen covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry! My friend left me and I don’t know the etiquette here.”
He sat in Brandee’s vacated chair, pulled it close and took her hands in his. “Don’t worry.” He smiled at her. “It’s just a human body. Nothing to be afraid of.”
She looked at their entwined hands, the skin contrast making her light-headed.
“Only thing you need to know is the outside world doesn’t exist here,” he said. “Inside these walls, there’s no judgement, no guilt, no fear. Just pleasure, yours and mine. But especially yours.”
He touched her knee and traced his fingers up the inside of her bare thigh, causing her pussy to slaver almost to the point of incontinence.
“Oh, my, that feels…oh, I, please don’t. Ah, I think I should…my friend just…”
With his free hand he grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the shaft roughly up and down on her calf.
“So let me guess,” he said calmly, continuing to massage her legs with his hands and cock. “In town for a convention. But you’re not in sales. No, something professional…You a lawyer?”
“D-doctor,” she stammered.
“Ooh. Love medical women. I know some freaky nurses.”
“My friend is a nurse. She’s getting a couch dance.”
“Saw you two come in. She not bad, but you’re hotter. My name’s Silva Bullet. What’s yours?
“Karen.” They shook hands.
As if it were a scarf, he draped his cock over her knee as they made small talk. Although distracted, she managed to learn his real name was Gordon Cromwell, he was 32 years old, and he was a professionally ranked boxer saving up to start his own training gym.
After another round of drinks, he asked her if she wanted a private dance. She firmly declined, but he wore down her defenses by pleading it was how the dancers made their income. Yet again, the adulterous impulse found an escape clause: buying a dance was like tipping a waiter, she thought to herself. To refuse would be unacceptably rude.
Moans and whispered voices emanated from the booths as they made their way to an empty one, where Silva Bullet drew back the curtain to reveal a plush leather coach against the back wall. He set her cell phone and drink on a small table, positioned her on the couch and closed the curtain.
Facing her, a look of intense concentration on his handsome features, his torso began undulating in time with the throbbing dance music. He moved with animal grace; clearly he wasn’t lying about being a professional athlete. He had amazing control and rhythm. She reached out and touched his abdominal muscles. They were hard as concrete.
Moving toward her, he inserted his hips between her knees, spreading them open. Supporting himself with his hands on the top of the couch, he rubbed his torso all the way from the hem of her skirt up to her chest several times. At every pass during this maneuver, she could feel his huge cock growing firmer and bigger against her body.
Gradually his dance got more aggressive. He pinned both her hands above her head and thrust that big silver-clad cock against her chest, essentially dry humping her tits. This rough behavior starkly contrasted with the soft-spoken young man she’d met just minutes before. It startled her, but she also recognized it.
It was the same unyielding erotic force she had felt with Justin the masseur: an impersonal power of nature that seemed intent on conquering her will whether she liked it or not. The very indifference to her consent amplified the already gut-wrenching lust this astonishing specimen of manhood was churning up inside her.
Now he was standing on the couch, legs straddling her body, his cock and balls jutting over her head. Grabbing a handful of her blonde hair he tilted her face upward and smacked her cheek roughly and repeatedly with his heavy cock.
“Is this what you want, huh? Is this what you came here for, Karen? You wanted that real dick, don’t you? Tell me, girl.”
Too overwhelmed with lust to answer, all she could do was whimper in the affirmative while desperately clawing at her skirt to trying to touch her pussy. Anything to relieve the unbearable tension in her loins.
“I’m gonna give it to you, girl. I’m gonna give you that real cock you been craving your whole life. You ready? Here it is now!”
With one fluid movement he stripped away the sliver cock sheath, revealing his enormous and now fully engorged black manhood.
“Oh. My. God,” was all Karen could say. Finally face to face with the object of her lust, it was the first time she’d been this close to a BBC—and it was magnificent. It had to be at least 10 inches long, very thick and stood out incredibly hard and perfectly straight.
He ran his fist up and down its long length, causing a pearl of white pre-cum to form at its tip. It looked to Karen so deliciously edible, like a magic elixir. She extended her tongue to slurp it up…
“Ah ah ah, Karen. If you want to taste the flavor, that costs extra.”
Long past any semblance of reason or morals, Karen simply asked, “How much?”
“Three hundred.”
“Oh, no, but I don’t have that much cash on me.” Panic was in her voice.
“That’s okay. We take credit cards.”
She was prepared to do anything to put that succulent young organ into her mouth. Quadruple that price would’ve been fine. Hands trembling, she gave him her MasterCard.
He left, and soon the waitress who had taken their drink orders entered with a receipt for her to sign. When she departed, Silva Bullet returned, his giant erection barely flagging.
He reclined on the couch and spread his legs, giving the white mother access to his cock; then motioned for her to kneel on the floor. Karen gladly knelt, her eyes riveted to his manhood, an expression of rapt awe on her face, and reverently took that massive pole in both hands. The feel of it was indescribable, rock hard yet throbbing with life.
The veins stood out in relief. While stroking slowly up and down, she leaned forward and looked at the huge mushroom head. Again, a drop of pre-cum formed at the tip.
“Go ahead, baby. It’s all yours now. Enjoy.”
This was it. The moment of truth from which she had been running for months, maybe longer. It had been naïve to think playing with a rubber toy dildo could preempt this inevitability. If anything it had only been throwing gasoline on a fire. Karen looked directly at her destiny, and she fully accepted it.
She started by lapping up the pre-cum, relishing the salty unfamiliar flavor. Then she licked around the bulbous head, and finally opened her mouth wide to take him between her lips. After shallowly bobbing up and down a few times, she pressed downward and forced some of the shaft into her mouth. Her lips stretched a little painfully, and her jaws opened wide.
“There you go, Karen. You’re doing good. Just make sure not to use your teeth.”
She felt proud that her oral skills were up to the task of pleasing such a remarkable stud. She kept at it for a few more minutes.
“Now lick my balls,” he told her. “Cover them with saliva.”
Obediently Karen removed her mouth from the black pole and lowered her head to the base. Taking one huge ball in her mouth, she lathered it lovingly with her tongue. Then she repeated the process on his other ball until both glistened with spit.
“You’re good at following orders,” he said. “That’s a quality I value in my women. You can touch your pussy now if you want.”
During all the passionate cock worship, Karen had all but completely forgotten her own pleasure. Keeping her mouth on the head of his cock, she shut her eyes and fumbled underneath her skirt to press her clit through her panties. The love button was tautly engorged, and after only a few moments of manipulation, she had a powerful orgasm that soaked through her panties and dribbled onto the floor around her knees. Her mouth released the cock, and she cried out in blissful agony.
“Whoa. Did you just cum?”
She was breathless. “I think so, yeah.”
“Wow. That was quick.”
“I know. Sorry.”
He laughed. “No worries, girl. I told you, that’s what we’re here for. To have a good time!”
She smiled sheepishly. “You have such a gorgeous cock. It turns me on so much. I just couldn’t help myself.” She realized that merely having his cock in her mouth excited her more than any white cock ever had in her pussy.
“This really is your first black cock, isn’t it?”
“It is. Now I just can’t believe I waited this long to try it.” She examined the large shaft. “Can I…can you, do you want to, like—?”
He smiled. “You mean can I cum?”
“Yes. I want to make you cum.”
“Well, I usually charge extra for that. But seeing this is your first time, I’ll let it slide.” He grasped his cock and gently stroked the tip across her cheek. “But you gotta promise you’ll do something for me.”
She kissed the flaring spongy head lovingly. “Anything,” she whispered.
“You’ve got to swallow it all.”
The sinful thrill of his demand knocked the breath out of her. When she was able to speak she said, “Yes, I’ll swallow all your cum.” Something she had never done, not for any boyfriend or even her husband.
With renewed vigor, she put her mouth and tongue back to work.
“Use your left hand, so I can see your wedding ring. Yeah, that’s it. How do you like that black cock. Is it bigger than hubby’s?”
She removed her mouth. “Yes. Twice as big. Maybe more.”
“Yeah. Jerk it, baby. Just like that, God, I love married women!”
Sensing the comparison was turning him on, Karen pressed it further. “No other white cock I’ve ever seen compares to this.”
He was getting closer, his voice shaking. He arched his pelvis toward her cock-sucking face. “Now you’re gonna see how a black man cums. Here you go. Here’s your reward! Arrrrrgggggggg!”
That first shot of his load was so forceful it went right down her throat without touching the insides of her mouth. The next several spurts she caught in her oral cavity before gulping them down, so she was able to taste them. It was the first time she had ever really tasted a full load of cum, and it wasn’t bad at all, she thought. A salty nutty flavor. The blasts of semen kept coming, until eventually it overflowed her capacity to drink it all and the excess spilled out onto her chin and silk blouse.
“Oh, my,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get it all down. There’s just so much!”
“Oh, shit,” he said, catching his breath, collapsing back on the couch. “Oh, shit. That’s okay, baby.” He ruffled her blonde hair. “You did good for a first timer.”
Beaming with pride and sexual afterglow, she climbed on the couch and snuggled in the arms of this marvelous man.
He used a cocktail napkin to mop up the cum on her chin and neck. All at once he was back to the polite young man she had met at the table. She was beginning to realize the aggression and bravado of these encounters were really just erotic role-play. Men like him understood women like Karen wanted to be “dominated” in a safe, judgment-free zone.
He told her to visit him if she ever made it to Vegas again and gave her a business card, saying he was available for “private shows” outside the strip club, starting at $600.
“Bring your husband if you want.”
“I don’t think he would appreciate that,” she said warily, successfully obstructing thoughts of Craig.
“You’d be surprised. Husbands can be fun.” He was stuffing his deflating but still massive cock back in the jock strap. “If they know their place.”
Not long after that, the curtain swept aside, and Brandee and the policeman stripper joined them. Brandee hustled Karen out of the booth, explaining that the “feature dancer” was about to perform. The four of them gathered at the bar as the house lights dimmed and dramatic music played. “Ladies put your hands together for tonight’s star attraction,” the DJ announced. “The world-famous, Mr. XL!!!”
A single spotlight illuminated the dancer who walked slowly and seductively onto the stage. He was well over six feet tall and movie-star handsome, with a bodybuilder’s physique. His face, head and upper torso were entirely covered with glittering gold paint, and his incredibly large, rock hard cock stood straight out before him like a magic scepter. He looked to Karen like a golden god, a dream man sent down from heaven.
It took a few moments but it finally penetrated her alcohol-dazed, lust-besotted brain: this was the man her big black dildo was modeled on! Her virtual “boyfriend”!
“I’ve seen this guy online, but never in person,” shouted Brandee over the wild applause. “I must say, I’m impressed.”
“He’s a legend in the business,” added Silva Bullet. “He travels the country hitting all the clubs.”
After Mr. XL had completed his stage set and descended to mingle with the crowd, he was mobbed by so many adoring fans that Karen and Brandee couldn’t hope to get close. So instead they lingered at the bar and ordered a round of shots for themselves and their dancers. Those tequila shots were the last thing Karen remembered before losing consciousness.
Chapter 9: Oral Fixation
Scanning the swanky casino-hotel restaurant, Karen spotted Brandee in a booth near the bar. As she moved through the tables toward her friend, the large breasted-blonde looked up and gave her boss a chilly smile.
“I was starting to worry you’d stood me up.”
“Sorry.” Karen set down her tote bag and folded her tall body into the booth. “My panel went long. Then I got cornered by a bunch of Wall Street jerks.”
“Douchbags. I hate em.”
“Pumping me for what our study will do for Braun’s stock.”
A handsome, 20-something waiter brought menus. For the medical conference, both women wore their sharpest professional attire, elegantly tailored suit jackets and skirts, with Brandee as usual showing too much leg and cleavage. But Karen had clearly put extra effort into her appearance, sporting a new blonde dye job and applying heavier-than-usual makeup. Although Brandee radiated more carnality (some would call it slutty-ness), Karen’s clean-cut looks and longer-limbed physique better fit the traditional model for hot female executive. The university dean was delighted to catch the waiter slyly checking out her legs.
“Something about you is different,” Brandee said, studying the departing youth’s slim buttocks. “Your skin is glowing.”
Karen had no intention of revealing her recent dildo purchase or its effect on her happiness. That was private, and anyway they had something important to discuss.
Brandee’s brazen sexual exploitation of the student athletes had to stop. Her lewd actions in the training room went beyond the pale. The memory of Brandee openly fondling the naked football players’ genitals haunted Karen. It was only the extreme size of all those black cocks that had shocked her into complicity, allowing a university employee to masturbate a student and collect a sperm sample in full view of the whole team. What if one of the boys had recorded it on his phone? No, this had to end. Treating students like an erotic all-you-can-eat buffet was a career-ending scandal waiting to happen.
After cocktails arrived, Karen addressed the issue: “I know your personal life has been somewhat—um, I don’t think ‘wild’ is the right word but maybe ‘unconventional’?—since the divorce. And that’s entirely your business. It’s not my place to interfere in the actions of consenting adults. But what’s been going on between you and the football team, that’s a step too far. It has to stop. It's completely inappropriate and unprofessional.”
Brandee calmly sipped her drink. “Well, you’re right about my personal life. It has been wild and unconventional. And quite frankly, Karen, I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m sowing the wild oats I didn’t get to when I was young. I’m having the best sex of my entire life. And when I’m not having it, I’m thinking about it! It’s all true what they say about us women. We really don’t reach our sexual peak until middle age. I’m like a teenage boy—constantly horny. All I wanted was to share a little part of my newfound freedom with my friend.”
Karen remained silent but understood. In fact, she felt the same way. She was always horny too.
“But I hear what you’re saying. I took it too far with those boys. It was just, like, being around all that temptation…Doing the exams, checking their vitals, watching them practice, getting all sweaty, and then showering, those gorgeous young bodies. Oh, man.” Brandee shivered. “What can I say? I gave in. It was my fault, and I’m sorry.”
“But it’s all over with now?”
“Finished. Promise.”
Karen exhaled with relief. “Thank God you understand.”
“I mean those aren’t the only big black cocks in the world, right?”
“Shh! Oh, Brandee, please!” She laughed.
“Here, let’s drink to that.” Brandee raised her glass. “Friends again?”
Karen clinked rims. “We never weren’t friends.”
After dinner and two bottles of wine on the university’s tab, it was like there had never been any tension at all between them.
“We should hang out tonight,” Brandee suggested over dessert. “You fly home tomorrow? Let’s have a girls night out. We’re in Vegas, baby!”
“I don’t know. I’ve had a long day.”
“Sounds like you need another round. Where’s that cute waiter? I’m calling an Uber right now.”
Laughing, slurring their words, clinging to each other, the pair of good-looking blondes stumbled into the hot Las Vegas evening. In the car, Brandee wouldn’t say where they were going.
“Please don’t take me to some sleazy place where cougars hit on young guys,” Karen begged.
“Oh, no. It’s better than that.”
They pulled up to a brilliantly lit building with a flat red roof and white walls. Written along its cornice: “World Famous Since 1969 PALOMINO. The only club in Vegas with fully nude dancers that serves alcohol.”
Karen groaned. “Oh, no. Not a strip club!”
Ignoring her protests, Brandee pulled her from the car, led her past the bouncers, and paid their covers. As they reeled down a dark corridor toward the sound of thumping dance music, Karen slurred, “Why would we want to watch a bunch of bimbos take their clothes off?”
“Because they’re not bimbos,” replied Brandee. “They’re mimbos.”
The two entered a large room with a bar to one side and booths and tables on the other. In the center stood a low, round stage with a stripper pole, on which a young shirtless black man wearing a baseball cap gyrated seductively.
“And they’re all black.”
The dancer on stage wore what appeared to be specially designed pants, open at the groin like cowboy chaps. Flopping around between his legs, his enormously oversized penis was encased in a white leather jock strap with a long tube affixed to the front to accommodate its massive length and girth. White frills ran along the bottom length of this strange cock tube.
A dozen other half-naked well-built black men milled about the crowd of women, all wearing variations of the same oversize jock strap, only in different colors and materials. None left anything to the imagination about their endowments—all obscenely huge.
“Oh my Lord, Brandee. What is this place?” was all Karen could murmur.
“Remember at dinner I said our football team wasn’t the only place to find huge black cock?” Brandee made a sweeping gesture. “Voila! Another target-rich environment.”
Karen feasted her eyes on the young sexy bodies on display and the mouthwatering appendages dangling between their legs. It was like the training room all over again…Except, well, at least this time they weren’t students…
Brandee led them to a table. “I’ve been to a lot of male revues in Vegas, but the Palomino is by far my favorite. Can you see why?”
“Well, you do seem to have a type,” she replied, eyes trailing one of the bobbing cocks as it passed.
“You’re saying I have jungle fever? Oh I openly admit it. And I don’t want to be cured. But I’m not the only one. I saw your face when I was jacking Fletcher’s big black dick. The glazed eyes. The blushing skin. You wanted to jump all over that fine-looking buck!”
Fletcher’s name brought back memories of their kiss on campus that day…Karen’s intoxicated mind suddenly ached to confess everything to Brandee, to bare her tumultuous sexual longings to someone who would understand. But she couldn’t do it. It was too risky.
A dancer in policeman getup approached their table, his enormous prick enclosed in navy blue velvet, studded along its length with rhinestones. The massive meat stick instantly drew the gaze of both women.
“Evening, young ladies. How’s your night going?”
Brandee reached over and hefted the cock under its base. With her other hand she wrapped a $10 bill around its girth. The edges of the bill couldn’t touch it was so thick.
“Keeps getting better, officer,” Brandee said, using the cock like a leash to pull him closer. She moved their drinks and phones to make room for the studded phallus to rest on the tabletop. “Wow. Would you look at this beauty, Karen? That must be a ten incher. Go ahead. You can touch it.”
Karen blushed deep red. “No…I probably shouldn’t.”
“Karen. Don’t insult the man. And don’t embarrass me.”
Once again, Karen’s desire rationalized its way across another ethical line. After all, it was a strip club. It’s what one does in a strip club.
“You don’t mind?” Karen heard her voice say. The dancer shook his head.
Feeling like she was dreaming, she ran her fingertips gingerly along the mammoth cock. Unlike the rubber dildo back home, warm flesh pulsed with life underneath the material.
“It’s, uh, very impressive,” was all she could think to say.
Brandee stuffed the money in the mesh net supporting his heavy balls. Then she again grasped the cock’s base, lifted it up, and let it drop on the table. The thing was so heavy it banged the surface like a gavel, rattling their drinks and cell phones. She did this several times.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Court is now in session,” Brandee joked.
“It’s not a gavel,” Karen laughed nervously. “It’s cudgel!”
Taking this clownery in stride, the stripper asked, “You ladies married?” He had noticed Karen’s ring.
“She is. I’m not,” answered Brandee, looking up and meeting his eyes for the first time.
The man did a double-take. “Hold on. Don’t I know you?”
“Maybe. I was here about a year ago.”
“Mm. You hard to forget, girl,” he said, leering at her huge tits.
Brandee giggled and continued to fondled his cock. “Yeah, now I remember. We had some fun, didn’t we?”
“You miss my big dick, baby?”
“You know it,” she said, ogling his prick and licking her lips.
Brandee got up to leave. Karen panicked. “Wait! Where are you going?”
“It’s okay. I’ll just be over there getting a couch dance.” She pointed to a row of curtained cubicles at the far end of the room.
“Maybe wifey wants to join us,” suggested the stripper, eyeing Karen lustily. “Only thing I like better than white women is married white women.”
“No, not tonight, stud. I want you all to myself,” Brandee said, clinging possessively to his muscled arm. “Just wait here, Karen. I won’t be long.” As they left, Karen heard Brandee ask him to remind her what his name was.
Alone, Karen quickly realized not only were all the dancers black, so were the customers. She’d been so mesmerized by the BBCs she’d failed to notice the crowd of middle-aged, mostly overweight, African American women shooting hostile glares at the two overdressed bougie white interlopers.
She was relieved when another dancer approached. No theme for this one; just shirtless in dark jeans and sneakers, with a silver lamé cock sheath. He was a couple inches shorter than Karen, but built like something chiseled from a slab of onyx. Against his dark skin and charcoal jeans, the giant, silver-clad dick appeared to glow luminescent. It was hard not to stare.
“It’s okay, you can look,” he said. “I like it when women look. It’s why I do this.”
Karen covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry! My friend left me and I don’t know the etiquette here.”
He sat in Brandee’s vacated chair, pulled it close and took her hands in his. “Don’t worry.” He smiled at her. “It’s just a human body. Nothing to be afraid of.”
She looked at their entwined hands, the skin contrast making her light-headed.
“Only thing you need to know is the outside world doesn’t exist here,” he said. “Inside these walls, there’s no judgement, no guilt, no fear. Just pleasure, yours and mine. But especially yours.”
He touched her knee and traced his fingers up the inside of her bare thigh, causing her pussy to slaver almost to the point of incontinence.
“Oh, my, that feels…oh, I, please don’t. Ah, I think I should…my friend just…”
With his free hand he grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed the shaft roughly up and down on her calf.
“So let me guess,” he said calmly, continuing to massage her legs with his hands and cock. “In town for a convention. But you’re not in sales. No, something professional…You a lawyer?”
“D-doctor,” she stammered.
“Ooh. Love medical women. I know some freaky nurses.”
“My friend is a nurse. She’s getting a couch dance.”
“Saw you two come in. She not bad, but you’re hotter. My name’s Silva Bullet. What’s yours?
“Karen.” They shook hands.
As if it were a scarf, he draped his cock over her knee as they made small talk. Although distracted, she managed to learn his real name was Gordon Cromwell, he was 32 years old, and he was a professionally ranked boxer saving up to start his own training gym.
After another round of drinks, he asked her if she wanted a private dance. She firmly declined, but he wore down her defenses by pleading it was how the dancers made their income. Yet again, the adulterous impulse found an escape clause: buying a dance was like tipping a waiter, she thought to herself. To refuse would be unacceptably rude.
Moans and whispered voices emanated from the booths as they made their way to an empty one, where Silva Bullet drew back the curtain to reveal a plush leather coach against the back wall. He set her cell phone and drink on a small table, positioned her on the couch and closed the curtain.
Facing her, a look of intense concentration on his handsome features, his torso began undulating in time with the throbbing dance music. He moved with animal grace; clearly he wasn’t lying about being a professional athlete. He had amazing control and rhythm. She reached out and touched his abdominal muscles. They were hard as concrete.
Moving toward her, he inserted his hips between her knees, spreading them open. Supporting himself with his hands on the top of the couch, he rubbed his torso all the way from the hem of her skirt up to her chest several times. At every pass during this maneuver, she could feel his huge cock growing firmer and bigger against her body.
Gradually his dance got more aggressive. He pinned both her hands above her head and thrust that big silver-clad cock against her chest, essentially dry humping her tits. This rough behavior starkly contrasted with the soft-spoken young man she’d met just minutes before. It startled her, but she also recognized it.
It was the same unyielding erotic force she had felt with Justin the masseur: an impersonal power of nature that seemed intent on conquering her will whether she liked it or not. The very indifference to her consent amplified the already gut-wrenching lust this astonishing specimen of manhood was churning up inside her.
Now he was standing on the couch, legs straddling her body, his cock and balls jutting over her head. Grabbing a handful of her blonde hair he tilted her face upward and smacked her cheek roughly and repeatedly with his heavy cock.
“Is this what you want, huh? Is this what you came here for, Karen? You wanted that real dick, don’t you? Tell me, girl.”
Too overwhelmed with lust to answer, all she could do was whimper in the affirmative while desperately clawing at her skirt to trying to touch her pussy. Anything to relieve the unbearable tension in her loins.
“I’m gonna give it to you, girl. I’m gonna give you that real cock you been craving your whole life. You ready? Here it is now!”
With one fluid movement he stripped away the sliver cock sheath, revealing his enormous and now fully engorged black manhood.
“Oh. My. God,” was all Karen could say. Finally face to face with the object of her lust, it was the first time she’d been this close to a BBC—and it was magnificent. It had to be at least 10 inches long, very thick and stood out incredibly hard and perfectly straight.
He ran his fist up and down its long length, causing a pearl of white pre-cum to form at its tip. It looked to Karen so deliciously edible, like a magic elixir. She extended her tongue to slurp it up…
“Ah ah ah, Karen. If you want to taste the flavor, that costs extra.”
Long past any semblance of reason or morals, Karen simply asked, “How much?”
“Three hundred.”
“Oh, no, but I don’t have that much cash on me.” Panic was in her voice.
“That’s okay. We take credit cards.”
She was prepared to do anything to put that succulent young organ into her mouth. Quadruple that price would’ve been fine. Hands trembling, she gave him her MasterCard.
He left, and soon the waitress who had taken their drink orders entered with a receipt for her to sign. When she departed, Silva Bullet returned, his giant erection barely flagging.
He reclined on the couch and spread his legs, giving the white mother access to his cock; then motioned for her to kneel on the floor. Karen gladly knelt, her eyes riveted to his manhood, an expression of rapt awe on her face, and reverently took that massive pole in both hands. The feel of it was indescribable, rock hard yet throbbing with life.
The veins stood out in relief. While stroking slowly up and down, she leaned forward and looked at the huge mushroom head. Again, a drop of pre-cum formed at the tip.
“Go ahead, baby. It’s all yours now. Enjoy.”
This was it. The moment of truth from which she had been running for months, maybe longer. It had been naïve to think playing with a rubber toy dildo could preempt this inevitability. If anything it had only been throwing gasoline on a fire. Karen looked directly at her destiny, and she fully accepted it.
She started by lapping up the pre-cum, relishing the salty unfamiliar flavor. Then she licked around the bulbous head, and finally opened her mouth wide to take him between her lips. After shallowly bobbing up and down a few times, she pressed downward and forced some of the shaft into her mouth. Her lips stretched a little painfully, and her jaws opened wide.
“There you go, Karen. You’re doing good. Just make sure not to use your teeth.”
She felt proud that her oral skills were up to the task of pleasing such a remarkable stud. She kept at it for a few more minutes.
“Now lick my balls,” he told her. “Cover them with saliva.”
Obediently Karen removed her mouth from the black pole and lowered her head to the base. Taking one huge ball in her mouth, she lathered it lovingly with her tongue. Then she repeated the process on his other ball until both glistened with spit.
“You’re good at following orders,” he said. “That’s a quality I value in my women. You can touch your pussy now if you want.”
During all the passionate cock worship, Karen had all but completely forgotten her own pleasure. Keeping her mouth on the head of his cock, she shut her eyes and fumbled underneath her skirt to press her clit through her panties. The love button was tautly engorged, and after only a few moments of manipulation, she had a powerful orgasm that soaked through her panties and dribbled onto the floor around her knees. Her mouth released the cock, and she cried out in blissful agony.
“Whoa. Did you just cum?”
She was breathless. “I think so, yeah.”
“Wow. That was quick.”
“I know. Sorry.”
He laughed. “No worries, girl. I told you, that’s what we’re here for. To have a good time!”
She smiled sheepishly. “You have such a gorgeous cock. It turns me on so much. I just couldn’t help myself.” She realized that merely having his cock in her mouth excited her more than any white cock ever had in her pussy.
“This really is your first black cock, isn’t it?”
“It is. Now I just can’t believe I waited this long to try it.” She examined the large shaft. “Can I…can you, do you want to, like—?”
He smiled. “You mean can I cum?”
“Yes. I want to make you cum.”
“Well, I usually charge extra for that. But seeing this is your first time, I’ll let it slide.” He grasped his cock and gently stroked the tip across her cheek. “But you gotta promise you’ll do something for me.”
She kissed the flaring spongy head lovingly. “Anything,” she whispered.
“You’ve got to swallow it all.”
The sinful thrill of his demand knocked the breath out of her. When she was able to speak she said, “Yes, I’ll swallow all your cum.” Something she had never done, not for any boyfriend or even her husband.
With renewed vigor, she put her mouth and tongue back to work.
“Use your left hand, so I can see your wedding ring. Yeah, that’s it. How do you like that black cock. Is it bigger than hubby’s?”
She removed her mouth. “Yes. Twice as big. Maybe more.”
“Yeah. Jerk it, baby. Just like that, God, I love married women!”
Sensing the comparison was turning him on, Karen pressed it further. “No other white cock I’ve ever seen compares to this.”
He was getting closer, his voice shaking. He arched his pelvis toward her cock-sucking face. “Now you’re gonna see how a black man cums. Here you go. Here’s your reward! Arrrrrgggggggg!”
That first shot of his load was so forceful it went right down her throat without touching the insides of her mouth. The next several spurts she caught in her oral cavity before gulping them down, so she was able to taste them. It was the first time she had ever really tasted a full load of cum, and it wasn’t bad at all, she thought. A salty nutty flavor. The blasts of semen kept coming, until eventually it overflowed her capacity to drink it all and the excess spilled out onto her chin and silk blouse.
“Oh, my,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get it all down. There’s just so much!”
“Oh, shit,” he said, catching his breath, collapsing back on the couch. “Oh, shit. That’s okay, baby.” He ruffled her blonde hair. “You did good for a first timer.”
Beaming with pride and sexual afterglow, she climbed on the couch and snuggled in the arms of this marvelous man.
He used a cocktail napkin to mop up the cum on her chin and neck. All at once he was back to the polite young man she had met at the table. She was beginning to realize the aggression and bravado of these encounters were really just erotic role-play. Men like him understood women like Karen wanted to be “dominated” in a safe, judgment-free zone.
He told her to visit him if she ever made it to Vegas again and gave her a business card, saying he was available for “private shows” outside the strip club, starting at $600.
“Bring your husband if you want.”
“I don’t think he would appreciate that,” she said warily, successfully obstructing thoughts of Craig.
“You’d be surprised. Husbands can be fun.” He was stuffing his deflating but still massive cock back in the jock strap. “If they know their place.”
Not long after that, the curtain swept aside, and Brandee and the policeman stripper joined them. Brandee hustled Karen out of the booth, explaining that the “feature dancer” was about to perform. The four of them gathered at the bar as the house lights dimmed and dramatic music played. “Ladies put your hands together for tonight’s star attraction,” the DJ announced. “The world-famous, Mr. XL!!!”
A single spotlight illuminated the dancer who walked slowly and seductively onto the stage. He was well over six feet tall and movie-star handsome, with a bodybuilder’s physique. His face, head and upper torso were entirely covered with glittering gold paint, and his incredibly large, rock hard cock stood straight out before him like a magic scepter. He looked to Karen like a golden god, a dream man sent down from heaven.
It took a few moments but it finally penetrated her alcohol-dazed, lust-besotted brain: this was the man her big black dildo was modeled on! Her virtual “boyfriend”!
“I’ve seen this guy online, but never in person,” shouted Brandee over the wild applause. “I must say, I’m impressed.”
“He’s a legend in the business,” added Silva Bullet. “He travels the country hitting all the clubs.”
After Mr. XL had completed his stage set and descended to mingle with the crowd, he was mobbed by so many adoring fans that Karen and Brandee couldn’t hope to get close. So instead they lingered at the bar and ordered a round of shots for themselves and their dancers. Those tequila shots were the last thing Karen remembered before losing consciousness.
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starshapedprint
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Thu Jan 02, 2020 12:52 pm
Re: Size Queen Wife
I hope Karen gets to fuck Mr XL, and I hope her husband is there when she does.
Looking forward to when you return to finish this story!
Looking forward to when you return to finish this story!
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SamWarrens
- 2 Bit Whore
- Posts: 1249
- Joined: Sun Sep 11, 2016 3:07 pm
- Location: Canada
Re: Size Queen Wife
Come back soon!
Can hardly wait for next chapter.
Can hardly wait for next chapter.
Great minds may think alike, but fools seldom differ.
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starshapedmark
- Virgin
- Posts: 44
- Joined: Tue Dec 31, 2019 4:04 pm
Re: Size Queen Wife
I think you've got into my wife's head Understanding Man! She plans to come back soon to tell you what I mean! 🥵
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starshapedprint
- Prepubescent
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Thu Jan 02, 2020 12:52 pm
Re: Size Queen Wife
ha ha, starshapedmark, you couldn't wait, could you?! 
Here's my story:
I often walk through the lobby of a hotel on my way to work, and one morning this week as I did so, I noticed that there was a whole team of young men in the lobby, waiting to check in to the hotel. I immediately got very excited as all I could think of was Karen and Brandee and the fun they had with a team of young men. Unfortunately, all I could do was walk through them and fantasize about it. And immediately text starshapedmark to tell him all about it and what I wished I could have done to and with them!
Here's my story:
I often walk through the lobby of a hotel on my way to work, and one morning this week as I did so, I noticed that there was a whole team of young men in the lobby, waiting to check in to the hotel. I immediately got very excited as all I could think of was Karen and Brandee and the fun they had with a team of young men. Unfortunately, all I could do was walk through them and fantasize about it. And immediately text starshapedmark to tell him all about it and what I wished I could have done to and with them!
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afagehi7
Re: Size Queen Wife
What would you have done with them?starshapedprint wrote: ↑Fri Apr 09, 2021 2:30 amha ha, starshapedmark, you couldn't wait, could you?!
Here's my story:
I often walk through the lobby of a hotel on my way to work, and one morning this week as I did so, I noticed that there was a whole team of young men in the lobby, waiting to check in to the hotel. I immediately got very excited as all I could think of was Karen and Brandee and the fun they had with a team of young men. Unfortunately, all I could do was walk through them and fantasize about it. And immediately text starshapedmark to tell him all about it and what I wished I could have done to and with them!