Throat of the Tiger

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."

I groaned. "Yes. Fuck you. Yes." I couldn't believe how much I'd begun swearing. He was bringing some demented side out of me, a side so depraved and lustful it couldn't be expressed without the ample use of four-letter words.

When I got to the door, Brett greeted me with a kiss, seeming confused a moment at that ballsack-taste probably still lingering there.

"Hey hon, come sit and eat!" he prompted. Little did he suspect I'd already eaten so much more than he had to offer tonight.

"Smells good," I said as I swept inside.

Brett squinted, "Why's your voice so raspy?"

That stupid COCK! Choking on it had given me a pretty sore throat! "I uh, um... maybe I'm coming down with something," I lied badly, fidgeting.

I was lying to the man who had just sweetly cooked me dinner!

-Hannah, what's gotten into you? Oh right, that THING.-

In some ways, Brett had never had it so good. I was so plagued by guilt that I'd begun to be unfaithful to him in earnest I was constantly overcompensating, cleaning constantly, stroking him and telling him how much I loved him, and every morning for days he was woken with a daily blowjob. I normally never suck dick which he didn't complain about, yet here I was, giving him almost angry, aggressive head.

The thing was, no matter how hard I thrust my face into his lap, no matter how deep I took his penis, even at its greatest limit it would barely tickle at my uvula, in short, I couldn't gag myself on his organ if I tried, and I was trying often. He wasn't complaining though, he had no idea I was just constantly comparing him to Michael now, peering at his glistening wang between sucks, trying to figure out how many times it could have fit into the superior man's tremendous thigh-slapper.

SUPERIOR MAN!? HANNAH YOU'RE OFFICIALLY A TERRIBLE PERSON!!

To make matters worse. Michael began to taunt me the next day. One morning he sent a picture of his giant, glorious prong at full mast, bathed in the dusty sunlight through his windows with the simple accompanying text, "wish you were here".

Later, he sent another of his huge, pendulous balls. They were SO gross-looking and somehow that just made me want them in my mouth even worse, like a big pair of succulent plums compared to the grapes Brett had on offer. You couldn't have even called them "nuts" really, no hard-shelled fruit in nature came close in size to the damned things.

But the worst was one that hurt my feelings on a level I didn't know possible. It was a video clip, starring Michael's giant cock and some pretty girl; it had a date stamp so it was from a couple of years ago, but that did nothing to lessen my sudden rage of jealousy as the little bitch fondled him, cooed about how big he was, and then sucked him into her mouth so deep I could see it make her throat bulge grotesquely. She wasn't quite all the way down, but when she grabbed and tugged his sack towards her it could at least meet her chin. She was at least three times deeper than I'd been in my one attempt.

"See?" the text that introduced the clip said.

It enraged me. It confused me. It aroused me. It obsessed me. I must have watched the short clip twenty times the first day it had been sent; I was studying it and re-studying it, trying to figure out how it could even be possible.

"Are you watching PORNO!?" Brett's voice behind me turned my spine to glass. I quickly stuck my phone in my bra, face totally red.

"It's not what it looks like!" I stammered.

"I'm listening." Brett said, his arms folded.

Heavenly Father but I wished I wasn't such a terrible liar.

"I...a...a friend sent it to me. She wanted me to uh, do her eye-liner the way the girl in the video had it. She said she hadn't seen it done that way anywhere else."

Oh it was such lame BULLSHIT. But if Brett was wise, he did an admirable job, letting the female-mystery of makeup appear to wash over him and cloud his mind.

"Oh, ok. That makes sense."

-NO IT DIDN'T, YOU'RE BEING CUCKOLDED BY A HOT HUNG MAN!-

I wanted to shout after him, but didn't of course.

In frustration I shot a text back to Michael, "Okay, fine, so she's got no gag reflex. I do. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Practice." His text back said. It had another video; the same girl getting just his head in before choking and gagging out.

Suddenly it all clicked for me; this was just another martial arts challenge, a development of my mind and throat to do something seemingly impossible. After all, if I could train my little body to break boards of wood and dodge flurries of punches, why couldn't I train it to suck a dick really deep? I had a six days to practice, and decided to make the most of it, working out ways to get myself used to what was going to happen.

Day One

Like any good training montage; it started with raw eggs, cracking a couple into a glass and trying to get them down without puking my guts out. I'd be lying if I said I was successful the first time, but over the course of the week I could do it reliably. Not only was this useful for helping me to control and understand my gag-response, but it was excellent practice in something I'd never ever done for Brett before: Swallowing. The first time one of my morning blowjobs ended with a mess in my mouth instead of all over my face or tits he put a hand to my forehead,

"Are you feeling okay?" he'd asked. I just grinned, gulped, and showed him my empty mouth with a lip-licking grin. He looked like he was in heaven after that.

Day Two

The next thing I introduced to my training regime was a little more obvious; I simply began to try getting everything I could get my hands on down my throat. It started with my toothbrush in the morning, putting the back of it down until I was gagging, trying again and again until I could hold it there for seconds at a time. Then I graduated to soda-bottles (yes yes, I know, I'm a TERRIBLE Latter-Day Saint, but then again, I was already planning to commit oral adultery, a little caffeine hardly seemed like my biggest concern at this point. My next talk with a Bishop was going to be awfully difficult as it was.) Until I could get my lips comfortable around even the fatter parts with the neck so far down my neck.

Lastly were bananas. Even these were significantly smaller than Michael both in girth and length (just how BIG was he? I measured the biggest of the bananas at 14 inches and it was STILL smaller than him by a bit I think. It defied all logical sense!) But they were such a challenge I began to worry that I'd never be able to take him as impressively as that other stupid bitch had.

Day Three

I decided I had to take whatever fear my body was facing head-on; I was still trying to learn to control my breathing at the same time I was suppressing my gag reflex, and with the way I was forced to jerk other deepthroat-training aids back it didn't give me chance to learn the timing on that kind of control, especially with my throat spasming so hard.

My solution? Precooked turkey-dogs. They were cold, they were semi-girthy, and they wouldn't do me any harm if swallowed, which was the whole point. I snuck a pack into the bathroom with me and worked on swallowing them one after another, giving time for each to move on in my system a bit before I moved to the next. Poor Brett was knocking on the door wondering what was wrong, but didn't press too hard. Of course I couldn't think of how to explain why I wasn't hungry for lunch at all, but luckily he didn't ask beyond my "I'm not hungry."