It Matters

In sex education we were told about average sizes for a man's penis. It was pointed out that average means just that, average. They can be bigger and they can be smaller.

It's not the size that matters we were assured. It's how the man uses it.

Lying bastards. Size does matter, and I damn well know. Hells bells, take a moment to do some basic arithmetic. I'll do some for you.

Mr.A has a penis one and a half inches thick and six inches long. We'll call that about average.

Mr.B has a penis two inches thick and nine inches long. That's somewhat more than average.

But it's not a case of Mr.B being three inches longer than Mr.A. It's a case of Mr B having a penis three times the size of Mr.A. I kid you not.

Mr.A has a cock that is ten cubic inches in size, but you'll find that Mr.B has a cock that is thirty cubic inches.

It's the sort of thing that can come as a hell of a shock to a girl who is used to meeting Mr.A and his friends, especially when the meeting is entirely involuntary.

Let me tell you what happened.

A bunch of us had been swimming. After the pool closed down we naturally headed to the change rooms for a shower and then we were all heading our separate ways.

For various reasons I was late getting to the changing rooms. I was actually the last one there by quite a long shot and the others had either already gone by the time I arrived or headed out while I was still in the shower.

I dried off and came waltzing out of the shower, the towel loosely wrapped around my waist. I was heading towards the locker where I'd stored my stuff and didn't even notice the man in the room until he spoke.

"My, my," this voice said. "We have a straggler, and such a pretty one. You have splendid boobs, you know."

My reaction was automatic. I just naturally pulled the towel higher to cover my breasts while turning to see who was there. The bastard promptly pointed out my mistake.

"Oh, my," he said. "And now you're flashing your pussy at me. I see you're clean shaven. I like that in a woman. Shows off those nice sensual curves."

So I'm trying to pull the towel both up and down and finally spot this swine standing at the end of the lockers, not even pretending to be sorry for intruding and definitely giving me a thorough once over.

I wasn't scared or anything at this point. Just embarrassed and annoyed. The creep was a very average sort of man. Average height, average weight and average looks. About thirty, was my guess, neither fat nor thin but just so totally average he could market himself as the average man.

"Excuse me," I said, very politely, "but this is the women's changing room. You'll have to leave."

"I don't think so," he told me. "We seem to be the last two people here and you're very attractive you know. I think it would be quite rewarding if we entertained each other for a while."

I wasn't sure what he meant by entertaining each other but I could make a pretty good guess and I wanted none of it. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour I decided to leave the changing rooms myself. He could keep his chosen battle field and I'd head out where I could find some assistance. Before he realised what I was doing I was darting past him and out the door.

That was the theory, anyway. The practice is he moved like a bloody cat, one moment leaning against the lockers and the next holding my arm in one hand and my towel in the other. He kept hold of my arm but just tossed the towel onto the ground.

Now I was starkers and he was running his eyes over me and enjoying what he saw. He reached over with his free hand and ran it across my breasts. I gave a squeal (who wouldn't) and tried to hit him.

God, the man could move fast. He caught my hand easily and then joined both my hands together and held them behind my back, giving him a completely unencumbered view of my charms.

I have to admit the man had good taste. He really liked the look of me and his hand came wandering over me, caressing all the bit and pieces he liked. His fingers brushed across my lips (avoiding my teeth, damn him) wandered over both my breasts, taking time to pinch both nipples, down across my tummy, tickling me around the navel and then finally running over my pussy, squeezing it and cupping my mound. (That last was partly my fault. I just didn't think he'd do that and didn't close my legs fast enough.)

I wasn't taking this molestation without protest. I was quite voluble about the whole deal, demanding he let me go and get out of here and to stop touching me. Especially to STOP TOUCHING ME THERE, DAMN YOU.

If you're wondering why I wasn't screaming for help, I thought of it, believe me. I'd even taken a big breath to start screaming when he held his fist up in front of me and calmly told me that if I started to scream he would hit me and probably knock me out. Did I want that?

Quite frankly, no, I didn't. When I called him average I hadn't noticed the size of his hands. They were huge. Especially when you see one bunched up, six inches in front of your nose.

So the situation was that I was starkers, he was holding me with one hand while groping me with the other and I didn't dare scream. And I didn't even know if there was anyone around to hear me if I did scream.

He was playing with my pussy, stroking and squeezing, his fingers sneaking between my lips, spreading my slit to give him playing room and generally working at getting me worked up. I hate to have to say it but he was succeeding. He had a delicate touch and seemed to know just where to touch me to get some sort of reaction. Maybe it was the element of helplessness that was working for him but I was getting hotter and wetter faster than I'd ever done before.

He was very matter of fact about what he was going to do. I rather nervously asked him if he intended to rape me.

"Rape you? Don't be silly," he told me. "Consider it more in the line of a forced seduction. You seem hot and ready and in a few moments I'll give you a closer acquaintance with my cock. You'll enjoy it, I assure you."

In other words yes, he was going to rape me, but he considered himself to be such a great cocks-man that I'd just love his attentions.

His hand finally stopped playing with me but this was not a plus in the equation but a big minus. He was undoing his trousers and sliding them down and the next moment I was thinking "Jesus Christ! What the fucking hell is that thing?"

He whipped this bloody truncheon out of his trousers. I don't know how big the damned thing was but I assure you, it was closer to the aforementioned Mr.B than it was to Mr.A. No doubt the involuntary nature of my getting acquainted with his little toy was a factor in my assessing the size of it, but I settled on one fact damned fast. It was too damn big.

And if you think I'm swearing a bit too much, put yourself in the place of a naked young woman facing a humongous cock and not in a position to run away screaming. You'd be swearing, too.

I just looked at it and then at him.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said very quietly, and the bastard just laughed.

"Don't panic over it," he told me. "You'll find that you'll stretch more than you realise and you'll be able to accommodate it. I'll take it slowly and give you time to adjust."

He had me pick up my towel and spread it across the floor. He said it would be easier on my back. His consideration for my welfare left me feeling somewhat under-whelmed.

Next thing I know I'm lying on my back on the towel and he's hoisting my legs up and out.

"If you hold them out like this you'll find I can go deeper more easily. Once I'm inside you, you can bring them down and wrap them around me."

Oh, lucky me. I was going to be allowed to hold him inside me so he could more efficiently turn me inside out. I just lay there, a quivering mass of nerves, waiting for the assault to begin.

He didn't just pounce and possess me. He started off with his finger routine again, playing with my pussy and loosening it up. However, there came a time when he started to get down to business.

His fingers stretched my lips apart, and I mean stretched. It wasn't enough to cause pain, only a bit of discomfort and the knowledge that I was being stretched. I was looking determined elsewhere when what felt like a smooth warm tennis ball was pressed against where my lips were stretched open.

I defy anyone to look elsewhere while a tennis ball is being pushed up their vagina. No way. My head snapped down to where this bastard was pressing against me. My mind told me it wasn't really all that big, but my emotions and my pussy were squealing "Yes it is."

I gasped as I saw him slowly sinking into me and I could feel my passage stretching, being expanded in all directions. He kept his word about moving slowly and he just edged that thing into me, bit by bit. With every little push I could feel myself filling up and stretching some more, but what was really starting to annoy me was that with every little push my nerves would tingle and sit up, taking a bit more notice.

I couldn't help it. I found the invasion of that cock to be exciting. I was showing I could handle it, swelling and taking control of the whole thing. I couldn't help but feel that by the time we were finished I'd be the winner. I'd still be me but his cock would be a fraction of its current size.

I was breathing hard now, watching fascinated as he moved into me. He was already deeper than anyone had ever been and he was still descending, stirring me to life down there. I was hot and getting hotter, wet and getting wetter.

Finally he gave one last push and I could feel his balls slap against my labia. He was in and wasn't going any further and I could handle him. Maybe only just, but I was doing it, and it was exciting.

Now that he was in me things started to get more interesting. His hands closed over my breasts and played with them, stroking and massaging them, and I quite like it. He had a gentle touch and seemed to know just the right places to stimulate me.

At the same time he was starting to move inside me. I could feel him dragging slowly out and then pushing back in, but I was so wet and slippery that there was no real effort needed. When he pressed back into me I was tight and clinging, but not really resisting and he slid in, deeply and smoothly. Then he was starting to build up a respectable rhythm, pulling out and then driving home, with me humping my hips upwards to meet him.

I know. Some wowsers should say I should have just laid there while he did his thing, but the hell with that for a joke. If I'm going to be fucked than as far as I'm concerned I'm going to make the best of it that I can. I had no intention of just lying there and suffering in silence.

Actually, I have to admit I wasn't fucking in silence either. The pounding of my pussy by that truncheon of his was enormously exciting, and I was squeaking and squealing loudly as I did my best to wear it out.

He was right about another thing, too, blast him. My legs had just naturally folded over him, helping hold him inside me as he thrust hard down into me and I bucked hard up to meet him.

Why a man with his skill chose to go the way of involuntary sex is beyond me. I suspect that his victims would probably be willing to write him references. (And with a cock like that he could probably make a fortune in the porn industry.)

We carried on, him the vicious rapist, determined to grind me, his victim, into the ground. Me, the innocent victim frantically defending her honour, letting out piteous screams for mercy as he ruthlessly violated me.

Another way of looking at it would be to say that he was frantically fucking me, trying to keep up with my enthusiastic response, being half deafened by my excited cries to him to go harder and faster.

When he finally reached his climax it was like being fucked by an oil well. A gusher exploded within me and I promptly clamped down on that monster, holding it tight and rejoicing as my own climax went thundering through me.

Afterwards I just lay there, replete, while I watched him scramble for his clothes and get out of there. I was feeling a trifle smug at the way I'd been able to keep up with him, and I was also feeling vastly satisfied. The poor man had seemed most out of sorts when I asked him if that was all, because I was still good to go.