Hannah, what have you gotten yourself into?

This was the only thing I could think on the way to Michael’s apartment. The last few days flashed through my mind in a total blur, a tornado of excitement and lust and fear and awe and so many other things all colliding. All my romance novels have this cliché: “It’s so wrong, but it feels so right!” That’s just where I was now, about to turn my back on my loving parents, my boyfriend, my faith… all to prove myself in the lewdest way possible. What had happened to me?

Michael happened.

It started with the worst idea Brett had ever come up with. Brett’s my boyfriend; he’s a nice guy, cute, and from a good LDS family, which makes him Heavenly Father’s gift in my parents’ eyes. They always worried that their little tomboy daughter was never going to meet anyone, and for a time, I agreed with them. Then puberty came along and stuck me with a pair of big ol’ G-cup breasts and suddenly I could never seem to shake the gaze of one man after another.

Brett was the first who’d been able to look at my eyes instead of my chest for extended periods of time, so he was the first I felt comfortable dating. I know, I know, low bar, right? But after years of getting nothing but ogles and no sense of genuine interest in who I was as a person, it was pretty easy to fall for the guy with the boyish smile.

But back to his idea. I was a couple of years into college and had unfortunately put on some of that ‘freshman forty’ weight you always hear about. I hadn’t gained that much thank goodness, but I was still seeing some more pudge than I wanted to. Add to that the fact that I noticed some of the guys who stared at my chest lingering a lot longer than they used to and I started to get worried about my safety on and off campus.

“You should study a martial art!” Brett told me when I explained my worries. It’s no surprise really, Brett grew up on Jackie Chan movies and Japanese animation; he had a vast collection of comic books with names like “Punch to Kill!” and “Dragons of the Hidden Temple”. So it was no surprise that he thought the answer to my troubles lay in the sacred arts of ritualized bare-fisted murder.

Still, I did my best to be an obedient girlfriend, and I could see the appeal of getting a bit more creative with my exercise routine, so I started looking up classes in the area. The closest and most intriguing was one that taught something called “Kajukenbo”. I ran it by Brett and he got all excited, said it was related to the art that Ranma Saotome did.

The dojo was a converted dance studio that still had mirrors on all the walls. As I waited in the little sitting area and watched the advanced class wrap up, I marveled at the speed and power of the students, wondering if a klutzy, dorky, Mormon girl was really going to be able to keep up. But then again, I reminded myself, this was the advanced class, they wouldn’t expect me to do flips and break boards on my first day. At least I hoped not.

I was surprised by the instructor of the class, a handsome, fit man in his early fifties with a devilish goatee and a pleasant smile he used while shaking my hand. What shocked me about him was that he did not do the obligatory glance or stare at my chest when he first laid eyes on me; it’s not that I would have been mad if he did, I was used to it by now, but it was so rare to meet men who didn’t care. I’ve even caught gay guys doing it when they meet me. They say the martial arts cultivate discipline; maybe this was proof of that.

I had deliberately dressed ready for a workout and certainly caught every other man in the beginner’s class (I was the only woman this time) getting a good eyeful of my hooters in the purple lycra tank-top that was restraining them and the curve of my butt in black yoga pants. One guy in particular stared a little longer than the rest, a tall, built handsome guy with very short black hair. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t stared back a little, but I stopped the moment I realized I was doing it.

The class wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. We started with some basic calisthenics no harder than what I’d do in a typical Zumba lesson, and then it was on to some basic punches and kicks. The teacher (Sensai he asked to be called) came around and checked out our form and balance, putting our hands or legs into different positions as he saw fit. Again I admired his restraint; he didn’t treat me any differently than anyone else in the class, being respectful of my body and not being judgy about my stance. He even complimented me for making a good natural fist; apparently a lot of people start with their thumbs on the inside or other messed up stuff.

Then for the last portion of class, we moved on to some grappling. He demonstrated a few different arm-bars and wrist-locks, then broke us off into pairs to practice them. My heart fluttered a little when he linked me up with the handsome guy from before.

Michael, oh, Michael.

Michael was distracting even before I knew the most distracting thing about him. First of all, the guy is just CUT. Brett is a nice guy and cute enough, but he’s always had a bit of a paunch from a pretty serious Twinkie-addiction. It doesn’t bother me, but taking in Michael’s gorgeously full biceps, broad muscular shoulders and an occasional flash of abdominal definition made me feel just a bit gooey inside. Was I shallower than I thought? Did these things matter that much?

I did my best to put those thoughts aside as we practiced the maneuvers we were asked to work on, loving the feel of his strong body curled around mine when he was in the role of the aggressor, and mesmerized by his lithe movements and he was the one putting the locks on me. He was precise in his movements, and just so fast, it was really something.

The biggest shock of all happened when we moved to a wrist-lock that finished with the aggressor lying on the ground, one arm up between the defender’s legs so that the lock could be applied in total safety. I started, hoping he couldn’t feel the wetness that was growing between my legs (although in hindsight he might have simply thought it was sweat) as I pinned him there. But then when it was his turn my heart stopped in my throat; with my arm pinned up between his legs, I felt something that seemed impossible up between his lower thigh, barely above the knee.

What I felt pressed against my arm was pliant, with some firmness to it, somewhat malleable beneath the pressure of my skin, and strangely warm. Since there was no way it could be what I thought I felt, I chalked it up to him having something in his pocket I couldn’t quite figure out, and that he must have some pretty deep pockets.

Things got more awkward with the final move we practiced. Sensai joked that it was a good way to get acquainted with people that you didn’t know, which could not have been more true as it was a “triangle choke” which involved locking your legs around the neck of an opponent while on your back, pulling them up quite intimately against your crotch. I was pretty embarrassed locking Michael’s face right next to my sex, but he was kind and classy about it which helped some. Even worse was when it was my turn to play the attacker and I was again confronted with the odd object he seemed to be slinging in his pants, which really bunched up at his crotch.

If I didn’t know any better I’d swear it was on purpose the way he really mooshed my face against it, and I felt a couple more objects, roundish and rolling as I struggled against them to make sure his hold was tight. It was then that I began to suspect something impossible, but I buried those suspicions as deep as I could throughout the remainder of the maneuver, reminding myself that good girls did not think such things.

That got me through the rest of training without having to ask any embarrassing questions, at least.

At the end of class, we bowed out and shouted “OHSS!” (which I thought was kind of neat) and I got ready to head home. Michael came over to speak to me as I was buttoning up my coat.

“Hey, it was nice working with you tonight, Hannah.”

I blushed and spoke with the modesty I’d been raised to always use, “Oh thank you, but I know I’m not very good. You seem like you’ve done this before, are you sure you should be in the beginner class?”

He grinned, putting a hand behind his head, “Oh well, this is only my second class doing Kajukenbo, but it’s not my first martial art so I’m sure I might move up a little faster than some people. I was in the army so we did some of this stuff. If you ever want some pointers I’d be happy to work with you outside of class.”

“I don’t think I could, I’ve got a boyfriend and he might think the wrong thing.”

He shrugged, “Hey I get that, no worries, but I really did just mean to train if you could ever get your guy to understand that.”

It was then that I noticed something which made color shoot right up to the tips of my ears. The pants Michael was wearing literally didn’t have pockets at all. There was no question that thing I’d felt had been… had been a big, long, floppy, fat PENIS. My mouth felt dry and I suddenly had no control over it as I heard it say,

“I bet I can, actually. You wanna get together to spar or something tomorrow night?”

“It’s a not-date,” Michael said, before pulling out his phone to exchange numbers and give me his address.

I was in trouble.

Back at home, Brett was getting dinner on the table for us; he’s not a great chef or anything, but when it comes to guy-dishes like spaghetti or chili he tends to turn in pretty solid results.

“How was class?” he asked, maybe a bit too eagerly. I think something about the idea of butt-kicking kung-fu girls really turns him on.

“Oh, fine. But I’m going to need a lot of practice. I was thinking I might do a little extra-curricular training tomorrow if you don’t have plans for me.”

He sat with me as we dug into the meal, “Fine by me, I think the better you get at it, the more confident you’re going to feel.”

That had been easier than I thought. I decided then and there that I was going to fuck Brett that night. Not only had he cooked dinner and shown himself to be the un-jealous kind of guy I could love, but I thought maybe if I could get some satisfaction now it would make things easier on me being around Michael the next day.

It was a huge mistake.

For one thing, I couldn’t stop thinking of Michael’s huge penis! Whether it was when I was giving Brett a little mouth action (and thinking of how overwhelming it would be if he were huge) or that little sensation of when he first penetrated me and how I couldn’t even fathom what Michael would feel like at first, my mind just kept playing the touch I’d gotten, the dance and sway of the thing in his pants. My brain was more full of cock than a gay henhouse.

As for the “satisfying” part? Forget it! I’d managed to trick myself into thinking I was getting off when we’d done it in the past, but now I was so distracted I couldn’t even pretend. Brett wasn’t big, he might have even been on the small side of average, and suddenly my vag was aware of everything it had been missing. There was no way I’d be climaxing with Brett any time soon.

All this was on my mind when I put my workout clothes under a big coat and walked the six blocks or so to where Michael lived. His place was very spacious, and while I wasn’t sure what he was doing for a living, it seemed like he was definitely doing all right for himself. He’d moved furniture and even laid down mats, giving us an ideal space to use our bodies to their fullest extent.

For training, Hannah! For training!

I was pretty proud of myself; for the whole of our training time, I only spent—at most—half of it looking at the well-stuffed contents of his shorts. He clearly had on tight underwear or a jock-strap or something today because his bits weren’t swinging and swaying around the same way this time, but the bulge they were making was jaw-dropping. If Brett wore the same clothes and stuffed a couple of rolled-up socks in with it I don’t think he’d have made the same impression in the fabric.

Of course when we trained it was very distracting; I frequently found myself losing my balance or stumbling and made things worse by laughing about it until I’d snort. I hate being such a dork… but if Michael cared, he didn’t show it, his eyes often locked to my chest as it bounced this way and that. There’s no sports bra on earth truly strong enough to take on my girls! But in spite of all ogling we were both doing, we managed to behave ourselves very well. We gave and got and I even started to feel a little of that inner warrior-woman that Brett is always talking about, enjoying the sensation of controlling a little bit of what was happening as we sparred.

Finally, after a couple of hours, I had to call it quits, embarrassed by how much I was sweating and panting, but happy to see that for all his physique he was definitely feeling some of that himself, his face red, his breath quick. He gave me a high-five that was so powerful it both stung the palm of my hand and made my boobs go a little crazy with the jiggling. I blushed and he stared for just a few seconds before making himself look away.

“Good work today! I’m gonna grab a shower right quick. After that, you want a ride home?”

On the one hand, the rain that had started up outside was strong enough it would probably eliminate the need for a shower myself, but on the other, I just sorta wanted to spend more time with Michael. I looked around his modest decorations and well-filled bookshelves as I heard the water running in the bathroom, but my wanderings took me past the door which he’d left open a crack.

Hannah no, you’re not going to—are you?

I was already chiding myself for it, but it was like I moved without control, pushing that door just a tiny bit wider and peering inside, jaw dropping at what I saw. It wasn’t the water flowing over those glorious muscles, nor the simple grace with which he moved that captivated me, no, it was what was between his legs.

That COCK! It was dead limp, clear from the way it swung around, yet easily almost twice the size of Brett’s member when Brett was hard. I was mesmerized, I stared, and stared, and stared, just utterly spellbound. It wasn’t until he turned the water off that I quickly scampered back to the foyer, trying to look innocent in spite of a face that I could feel was completely scarlet.

He came out a few moments later in jeans and a tee-shirt, his bulge visible to me at all times now, the only thing I could really think about.

“Hannah? Are you okay? Did I hear you running a second ago?”

I stammered a moment, “Yeah, just a little cool-down jogging,” I lied.

He smirked at my answer; did he know the truth?

“Well, let’s get you home,” he said, grabbing his car keys and leading me out to his sporty little mustang. We drove along, my eyes forever flicking to the second gear-shift in this car, the one in his pants, but every time he looked my way I did my best to aim my head out the window. What was coming over me? Why did I keep fixating on this man’s admittedly gigantic penis?

I was so distracted, I didn’t notice when the cat darted out into the street, but Michael’s reflexes were so good he had no trouble slamming on the brakes. At the same time, his hand flew across the car to steady me, his burly arm crushed up against my big pillowy boobs. Now it was Michael’s turn to blush.

“That wasn’t me making a move, I swear!” he said.

“I know, I saw the cat too, Mike,” I said, enjoying being in the unashamed position for a change. But then I couldn’t stop my big mouth when it added, “But I might not have minded if you were.”

His eyebrows shot up and there was a fraction of a grin there that he fought under control. “Oh yeah? I thought you said you had a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I do,” I said, still not sure where my mouth was taking me, “But he’s not…” I realized what I was about to say and trailed off. There were no words to put there.

“Not what?” Michael asked as he arrived in front of our apartment, stopping the car.

“He’snothunglikeafuckinghorsethewayyouare!” I blurted out at top speed, feeling my face turn to fire as I undid the seatbelt, fidgeted awkwardly with the lock and then finally managed to free myself from the car without even saying goodbye.

Even after I stepped inside the apartment I could still hear Michael laughing his damned ass off.

Jerk. Hung, well-endowed, donkey-dicked jerk.

Well, that cat was out of the bag. This was getting carried away, and I resolved as I lay awake in bed that night that I wouldn’t go for any more private sessions with Michael; this was leading me somewhere bad.

Luckily, Michael made that an easy promise to keep for the rest of the week, not once calling or texting me to get together again. But he was there at the next class, and while we were never paired up as we had been before, we couldn’t keep our eyes off of each other the whole time. As we were wrapping up for the day, Sensai stopped before me and told me that I had shown the most impressive improvement he’d seen between a first and second lesson.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, hoping this wasn’t going where I thought.

“How did you approach your training between classes?” he asked.

“I… I practiced with Michael, actually,” I muttered, hoping somehow he wouldn’t hear me.

“Well, it’s definitely working! I insist that you train with him as often as you can between classes.”

He clapped a friendly hand to my arm and smiled before he made his way to speak with other students. Michael wasn’t far and had clearly overheard, smiling that smug little grin of his as he looked my way and arched a single eyebrow.

“Eight ‘O’cock tomorrow,” I groaned in defeat.

Michael burst out laughing, though I wasn’t sure why until he’d caught his breath enough to ask, “What did you say?”

“CLOCK! CLOCK! I SAID CLOCK GODDAMNIT!” I had shouted so loud that the whole of the class’s after-chatter died down into silence, every eye on me.

I fled just as I had the car before, face feeling as hot as a magma ghost pepper.

Why, Hannah? Why are you bringing these?

I asked myself the question as I tucked the strip of three condoms into my sports bra. I’d lifted them from Brett’s wallet. What was I doing? We weren’t going to do it, I was just going there for training at Sensai’s command, why would I need prophylactics? I didn’t wait for an answer from myself as I set out and made my way for Michael’s loft.

As we got through initial warm-ups and exercises, there was no denying that the tension was growing simply unbearable. My nipples were so stiff as I ogled his sculpted body and mind-bending bulge, and he was clearly different kinds of tumescent all through the push-ups and sit-ups and striking drills. We were both panting heavily by the time we got through the last set of punches, and it wasn’t from the effort we were putting in, you could have bottled the pheremonal lust drifting in the air at that point.

“How would you feel about making things interesting tonight?” he finally asked, his smile both smug and mischievous in a way that made me want to put those lips on my lips.

“Interesting how?” I asked.

“When we spar, if I can get the most hits I want to see you topless.” He just blurted out.

I glared, “Even if I were interested, and I’m not saying I am, that’s not fair. You’re bigger and stronger and more experienced than me; there’s no way I’ll win.”

He nodded, “Okay, how about if I can beat a spread of four-to-one? If I tag four hits for every one of yours you lose the bra for a bit before you leave.”

“Still sounds pretty one-sided. If I win I just DON’T show you the goods? What’s the point?” Why was I negotiating? All I should have said was that I was spoken for and wouldn’t be indulging in any of these games with him.

“Okay,” he said, “what do you want if you win?”

Once again, my mouth ran away without my brain’s permission and I blurted back, “I’ve brought some condoms. I want to put one on you.”

He blinked, “Well I didn’t think you’d actually wanna have s—”

“I DON’T!” I said too fast and too loud, because of course I did, “I…I just wanna see what you’d look like in one.”

He laughed then, a booming long one, “Oh okay, your concern for my dick’s fashion game is touching!”

I flushed, but put my hands up in our traditional fighting stands. “Just bring it!” I shouted, leaping right at him with a well-practiced combo aimed for his midsection.

I was amazed at how well I did. It didn’t hurt that he’d given me such a good motivation, but even then I was particularly on my game that night, reacting to things with blocks and dodges I’d have never been able to anticipate a few weeks ago, and in truth, I was cheating a little.

How? I knew he was obsessing about my big boobs, and I used and exploited that obsession at every chance I gut. Brushing them against him in the close grapples so he could really feel the hardness of those nipples, bouncing and jiggling them more than they would have naturally whenever we were squaring up for the next exchange, giving him all the show I could. From there it was easy to follow his eyes and land those hits; I know, I know, I can’t discount the possibility that he was losing on purpose, but if it was, he was putting on a very good show of really trying in spite of these massive weapons of distraction.

In the end, I triumphed, landing a combination that even startled myself, my fists and palms machine-gunning against his torso, putting me several points ahead of him as his phone alarm sounded, signifying an end to the sparring. He staggered back, rubbing his tenderized middle a little bit with an appreciative whistle.

“Not gonna lie, I was letting you get an early lead, but the plan was to catch up.” He pouted, adding, “I really wanted to see those.”

I stuck my tongue out, “Not today! When do I get my prize?”

He shrugged, and without ceremony abruptly undid his pants-lace and flopped his monstrous cock right out. I drew in a breath at the sight of it; yes I’d felt it through clothes, seen it in the shower and generally obsessed about it for days on end, but there’s something different about being allowed an uninterrupted, undistracted glance at such a piece.

“Holy moly,” I said.

“What?” He shrugged.

“You’re uh… you’re really, um… gifted.”

He took a step closer, “Yeah? I thought all penises were about the same.” The way he said it was almost a challenge, like he knew that this was the sort of lie I’d been telling myself my whole life.

I swallowed hard, “Apparently not. So uh… shall I put the condom on or do you want to?” I fished the Trojan from my bra.

He laughed, “I’ll have to be hard first for that to work.”

Right! I felt like such a dork! On the other hand, I couldn’t blame myself too much, normally penises weren’t this big when they weren’t hard, and it was like an optical illusion or something. A cocktical illusion? No! Shut up! Dork!

“Well, I mean… you know I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m not gonna… do stuff to it.” I mumbled awkwardly.

“That’s fine, I can just take you home.” He said, casually starting to stuff it back into his pants.

All too hasty I fumbled forward, “No! NO! I won fair and square!”

He was clearly fighting the urge to laugh, “Alright, so how is this gonna work?”

“I’llshowemtoyou.” I speed-mumbled at him.

“What?” he said, genuinely not understanding what I’d just said.

Abruptly I peeled the tank-top and bra up, letting my enormous pair bounce down and free; damned things have always been saggier than I might have liked, but if that bothered him he gave no sign, his pupils dilating like he wanted to somehow take more tit into his eyeholes.

“Holy moly is right!” he finally said, ogling me like a pound of ground round. His dick had taken notice too, it visibly plumped up, lengthened, and began to rise a little, slowly arching upwards despite the droop of its sheer weight.

“You have to admit, boyfriend or no, we’re a good match.” He said, giving his organ a lewd little tug, his massive balls swaying a little beneath.

“Heavenly father,” I gasped, mortified that I was using God’s name in vain at such a sinful moment. Suddenly, Michael got a great deal taller. I wasn’t sure why for a few moments until I realized that I’d sunk involuntarily to my knees, like submission to this organ was just some primal instinct I couldn’t fight.

“So you wanted to put a rubber on me?” He asked, stepping closer. I tilted my head, almost worried that the damned thing would smack me if I wasn’t careful.

I nodded, and trembling, took the set from my bra, carefully unfoiling the condom and pressing the end to his head. I paused a long moment, savoring it for some reason.

“Do you need me to help?” He finally asked, perhaps getting a bit impatient. I shook my head ‘no’ and began to roll it down, only it was really hard. His sheer girth, especially the fat flare of his head was almost impossible to work around; before I could get it down I actually had to insert fingers into the rim of the condom and grunt as I exerted real force to stretch it wide enough. Then I unrolled and unrolled, amazed to find that I ran out of condom long before I ran out of cock. The damned dick was so big that the condom barely covered over half of it.

“Wow,” I finally said, just marveling at it.

“What?” he asked, that smug grin in full effect now.

“These are just a little too long for my boyfriend; I usually keep a little extra at the tip so it will meet the base and can be unrolled all the way. What size do you usually wear?”

He chuckled, “They don’t actually make them in my size. A proper XXL gets a little further and doesn’t pinch me so tight, but if they make condoms big enough to reach my base, I’ve never found them. Mostly I just don’t usually wear them.”

“I’d never let my boyfriend bareback me,” I said. That was something I’d planned on saving for marriage, of course.

He stepped closer, that giant, wrapped cockhead touching me on the forehead right between the eyes. “I notice you said “boyfriend” and not “anyone” just now.”

“I didn’t say you were…gonna do me, either,” I said, my cunt trying to reach up through my body and strangle me just then; I was so wet I was worried he’d hear the flow of my juices, impossible though that was. My pussy wanted a taste of this thing bad! Why did my tits feel so fight? Why was my whole body apparently unaware that I was a good girl?

“This little bitchboy condom hurts. Why don’t you take it off of my big fat dick?”

“Michael!” I said, jaw dropped. He was being SO lewd, SO arrogant, SO boastful… SO fucking sexy.

The poor condom was so stretched that by the time I applied even the barest tension in the trying to remove it the thing ripped almost in half, apparently eager to be free from the big-dick pressure.

Just then, my phone began to ring. My eyes first flashed to the clock; it had been almost an hour since I usually got home! How had time gone so fast!? I retrieved the phone, and sure enough, it was Brett’s name that flashed on my screen. I looked up to Michael with wide eyes, not sure how to play this.

“Answer it,” Michael said, seeming to have some sort of plan for how to deal with this in mind.

“Hey hon,” I said, “Sorry practice is running long tonight, I’ll be home pretty soon I think.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure, you’re dinner’s gonna get cold, and—”

*SMAP!*

Michael’s plan was apparently the opposite of helpful! The hung arrogant bastard had just swatted the cheek opposite the phone with his big fat dick, the sound echoing as loud as a palm might have. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was kind of stinging and rocked my head around a little from the impact.

“What was that?” Brett asked.

My mind raced as I glared up at Michael, though he probably couldn’t even see my expression with his giant meat pillar blocking the view.

“I…dropped a… medicine ball.” I’ve always been a terrible liar.

“Oh…” Brett sounded suspicious, “Well anyway, you can take your time, I was just worried. Mwah!” he kissed into my ear.

“Muh-Wah!” I kissed back, only it was a good thing he’d just hung up because I was kissing a gigantic, sweaty ball instead of empty air like I’d planned.

“HEY!” I pulled back, now making sure Michael could see my angry expression.

“That’s not funny!” I shrieked, still tasting the strong flavor of him on my lips… it was umami, and—if I’m being totally honest—not bad.

He laughed in defiance of my words, “No? Well, it was sexy as hell.”

“I think you should take me home,” I whimpered, unable to disagree with his crass assessment.

“Okay, you should probably put your tits away then.”

I grumbled as I did exactly that, my mind a whirlwind of emotions, all tearing at one another.

“I wanna make you a deal,” he added as I fought a boob into its cup.

“What?” I asked, dreading what it could be a bit.

“It’s very simple. Let me feel you right now, just real quick. If you’re dry as you’re acting like, I’ll never tease you again, whether you choose to keep training with me or not.”

I drew in a breath, “and if I’m not?”

He smiled, clearly already knowing I wasn’t. “You have to show me how deep you can suck me before you leave.”

I could have just told him I was wet, but that horrible, sinful part of me wanted him to touch me. I drew close and pulled my yoga-pants out, shivering a little as he stroked a hand down my side, caressing his way down my stomach and right to my trimmed sex, flicking his hand either accidentally or deliberately across my clitoris as he moved.

“Well?” I asked, awaiting his obvious assessment.

“Well, my hand’s dead now. You drowned it,” he chuckled as he drew his arm back to himself, looking me dead in the eye as he licked every finger clean of my juices.

I sighed, dropping back to my knees, eyes crossing as I took the giant dick in. It was a little different looking straight down the barrel of it this way.

“Show me what you got,” he said.

I leaned in, opening so wide my jaw hurt a little and sucking him in, the thing filling my whole mouth when just the head was inside. I moved my head forward, trying to show him proper energy and enthusiasm, but I’d only gotten to just a fraction past Brett’s length before I felt my gag reflex recoil in shock, my head following suit as I fought not to throw up, gagging a second time and then coughing.

“ANGH!” I clenched a frustrated fist. Part of me wanted to climb right back on the horse—or horse-cock I suppose—but another part was afraid; that had NOT been at all comfortable.

Michael was laughing his ass off now, “Are you KIDDING me!? Is that IT!?” he wrapped his hand around his giant prong, the fingers curling just beneath where the visible line of slobber I’d left behind stopped, just a couple of inches below the end of his head.

I punched him in the thigh, hard, “well it’s really BIG! Nobody could do any better than that!”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s NOT true.”

I growled, hating how I was only getting more and more turned on by his endless bragging and arrogance.

“Put it AWAY. Brett’s gonna be worried sick!”

He tucked the thing up under his shirt and then used the waistband of his pants to keep it elevated like that; it was a weird move, but I had to admit a man his size didn’t really have an option, no way that was fitting down a pant-leg without showing way worse.

“I’d be worried too if my dick was that small.”

“Hey! Brett’s dick is…fine.” Now I was infuriated with myself. That was my defense – “…fine”? What was THAT!?

Michael’s peals of laughter echoed in my ears all the way to the car and most of the way home. But as mad as I was at him, at myself, I was still ogling him longingly, especially as he gradually softened and that fat length of soft meat fell from under the shirt, curling out the bottom, hanging over the edge of the seat like some obscene kielbasa.

“See you next week?” He asked when he’d killed the engine, watching me unbuckle.

“Why would I want to come back for more humiliation?” I asked.

He smirked, tousling my hair with unearned familiarity. “You tell me.

(To be concluded in part 2! I hope you've all enjoyed, all comments and questions welcome, especially by the e-mail available from my profile page here.)