Throat of the Tiger

Day Four

I was getting better. Eggs were sluicing down with ease. Bananas were disappearing down to the stem in my gullet. I could watch myself in the mirror and see that same-throat-bulging action I was catching in the video clip Michael had sent.

But he was just SO big, and Brett wasn't giving me anything to practice with! I swore to myself that I'd never buy one; that they were for naughty girls, that it was almost like a form of idolatry, but with hot cheeks and downcast eyes I went to the local sex shop. I felt like I was being watched the whole time, and maybe I was, because God was always watching, but it still felt SO wrong to go through their selection of dildos and pick out...oh goodness, the biggest one was the closest to Michael, and I'm not even sure it measured up. The thing was a full sixteen inches long, and when I brought it to the counter my voice was barely above a whisper when I asked,

"Do you have anything bigger?"

The clerk had clearly practiced to not react to these kinds of questions, but in spite of that an eyebrow betrayed him by shooting up at my question. He fought it back down before answering, "I'm afraid not in the store. I could special you order something if you want to come back in a couple of weeks."

"No, that will be too late." I slid my forty dollars over the counter, neither making eye contact nor speaking for the rest of the transaction. He must have wondered how such a thing could be time-sensitive, but he didn't ask.

Day Five

Brett had a long shift at his job, so I had the whole place free to myself. I spread my testing objects out and went to TOWN on my poor throat, working my way up from the toothbrush and bananas, desensitizing my way through each until I was ready for the huge dildo. I could never tell Michael about this part; his ego was already almost as big as his dick and if he knew he outsized all options at a sex-shop he'd probably crushed under the weight of his pride. I worked the thing in slowly, amazed at how much more challenging it got when I was beyond the banana-mark, each inch feeling as challenging as the first ten had been.

But even though I couldn't quite reach the balls of this thing yet, I was pretty sure I'd conquered as much space as video bitch; I looked in the mirror with it down my throat at one point and thought,

-Look at YOU, you nasty slut! You're choking down more than a foot of cock!-

Even I was pretty impressed with myself, I had to admit. I started to relax a bit more regarding the challenge to come.

Day Six

The day of the training session I decided to kick things up one final notch. With all the time I could get away with Brett I worked on sucking the dildo deep, but now it wasn't just about a single deep penetration. Instead I began to MOVE it, slowly at first, tearing up and gagging violently at just how much harder it was to keep a thrusting object from making me puke but I persevered, able to conquer at least medium paced thrusts, taking giant dick like a real porn-star.

I just couldn't confess this to the Bishop; he'd have a heart attack!

-You've got this Hannah. Show Mr. Donkey-Dick who's boss.-

Mr. Donkey-Dick smiled when he found me at the door rocking a much different look than usual. I was still wearing the Yoga-pants (because hey, hot ass, right?) but instead of my training bra and pony-tail I was instead wearing a push-up bra, a low-cut scoop-top, and makeup that I'd deliberately slathered on like a real whore. I could never dress this way for Brett, but somehow it seemed right.

"Hey there, Hannah, ready to spar?"

I lowered my head a little, fixing him with the fiercest gaze I could manage, "I'm ready. Drop your fucking pants."

He looked taken aback, grinning but shocked too; who was this transformed creature before him?

-Hannah fucking Young, that's who.-

He recovered from his shock and walked into the apartment, letting me close the door behind me. The arrogant jerk would probably have been happy to keep the door wide, letting anyone who passed watch as he dropped his sweat pants and let that giant dick flop out. When his meat flopped free I flopped out a tape measure I'd brought in my pocket.

"I wanna measure you," I said.

He shrugged again, "As you please."

I dropped to my knees, pressed the "1" to his base and unrolled the measure, lips parting with horny anticipation as I flattened it for an accurate reading, gasping a bit as dead soft the thing hung all the way to the ten-inch mark.

"Wow," I said.

"Scared?" He chuckled, running a hand through my unbound hair.

I answered by dropping the measure and licking his cock, running my tongue all the way up its smooth surface, then back down again, giving him my porn-start best as I tried to get him to harden up. He moaned, throwing his head back as he fattened up a few inches longer and grew a bit thicker. I knew my tits had really done a number on him last time so I broke off from cock licking to take my top off, pushing the cups below my tits so they were naked yet supported, a perfect shelf of breast-meat for his viewing pleasure.

That got him going a bit more, especially as I resumed feasting on his meat, giving horny little slurp-sucks all up and down the sides of his shaft, finally lifting it up in both hands so I could get at those balls he'd taunted me with. The damn things were just so heavy and meaty against my lips; I did my best to kiss, lick, and suck on them until they were glistening and dripping, but I really couldn't give them a proper oral bath due to their immense size. I resolved to train more if I was going to make it work.

While I worshipped his nuts he grabbed his dick by the base and just swatted away at my face with it; I could tell he was holding back but the thing still packed a punch, smearing my face with makeup and slobber at every sharp dickslap. I wasn't sure why he loved it so much, the weight of the thing crashing into my smooth skin, or possibly the nasty sound of it echoing in the room, but whatever it was, he liked it a lot, and I felt well-pummeled by the time I'd finally surrendered his nuts and started to lick my way up his cock again.

He was almost hard now, so I stopped to just feast on his head, taking slutty lip-bites of his crown, working to get my mouth around every part of it from every angle as my tongue swept through the glans and teased at his cumslit, tasting the delicious savory salt of pre-spunk leaking out at my encouragement. When I finally pulled back a long rope of slobber and precum webbed my lips to his dick, the thick strand oozing its way downwards until I whipped down and snapped it up in mid-air, a bit of it still escaping to splash onto my naked upturned tits.

"Holy fuck!" Michael gasped, his usual smug smile replaced with a look of delight and astonishment. I'd long heard the reputation that we Mormon girls are real sluts when we finally break out of our shells, and my shell had been utterly shattered by this huge cock, so he was getting everything I had to give, and that was apparently a LOT.

He was rock hard now and I grabbed the measure, reaching for the base of his dick, but he stopped me with a gentle hand at my wrist, giving me surprisingly good martial-arts advice given the circumstances.

"Not yet. See what you can do first; you'll psych yourself out if you worry about the numbers beforehand."

I nodded slowly, arching up make his cock dance between my tits, just taunting him a little more. Of course even with my new skills and attitude I was still the klutz I'd always been and I accidentally flung his dick from a tit so that it struck me across the face one more time, knocking my glasses across the room; I giggled and snorted.

"Oops," I finally managed. He shook his head, laughing a bit as he stepped back so that he could properly aim that huge cock for my lips.

"Show me what you got," he commanded, putting some bass in his voice that made my panties positively torrential.

"I got your dick in my throat!" I boasted with confidence, slowly working him into my mouth, only pausing to suck the first part a little before I pushed on. My week of challenging myself and bludgeoning my poor gag reflex into complete submission had really paid off! When I hit the point of my first failure it was like I wasn't even sucking the world's biggest dick at all! I pushed past, a lewd *GLURK* noise that was not a gag coming out as I got him deeper.

"Oh FUCK!" Michael managed, my hands reaching up to fondle his spit-soaked orbs, churning them in my fingers firmly as I sunk inch after inch after inch into my throat. When I'd gotten him banana-deep I swiveled my eyes up, making eye contact and then WINKING as I reached up, feeling my stuffed throat, working to massage his cock with my strumming fingers where it was bulging my flesh outwards.

From the way he reacted, I think it must have looked hot, and felt good, though it was a little stupid on my part because the action made me choke hard and pull back, coughing out a big wet wad of ravaged throat-mess all over his nuts and thighs.

"Did I mention OH FUCK!?" Michael re-iterated. He apparently wasn't the wittiest creature when his giant dick was getting worshipped, but I wasn't complaining. I coughed, cleared my throat and gave his nuts a few dozen clean-up licks before re-aligning myself with his cock and plunged down once again.

This time I gained ground more quickly, regaining that foot or so I'd sucked already in seconds, working this time on swallowing deliberately, letting the spasms of my punished insides squeeze and milk at his thickness while I worked. It was in this moment I had a powerful epiphany about sucking dick; it wasn't really about fighting my body's instincts or suppressing what happened naturally. Rather, it was learning to take those involuntary reactions and tempering them to my will, using them as a tool to make the blowjob better for the lucky male I happened to be sucking.

Armed with this knowledge I did something impossibly stupid and utterly brilliant at the same time; I raked my head at a rough angle, putting maximum leverage against my gag-reflex in an instant. Unsurprisingly I gagged—so hard it might have been a full-reverse if I hadn't breathed in through my nose hard and concentrated—and I SLAMMED my way forward, my still-spasming esophagus dilating after its tight contractions, giving me the combination of space and adrenaline I needed to COMPLETELY swallow the giant dick all...the...way...to...the...balls.

"NO FUCKING WAY!" Michael cried out, making a decidedly un-masculine voice-cracked sob of pleasure. He shuddered and let out a broken breath, the sensation clearly taking him completely by surprise.

I could feel his big balls, the fat pair parked against my chin as I breathed in the smooth scent of his skin where he'd shaved his pubes down to complete smoothness. I felt them lurch and then tighten, drawing up fast and tight so that they were resting more against my lower lip than my chin. I don't know if it's possible for testicles to be surprised, but it felt somehow like they were as they began to discharge their cargo into my gut.

But Michael wasn't having that! Something about his big-dicked arrogant ego wasn't going to let me escape this encounter unmarked by his monster-cock dominance. He pulled back fast, a move almost as punishing on my throat as the work I'd done to get down, making me wretch and gag hard as his escaping love-log throbbed against my insides. I can't say if he did it on purpose to reclaim some of his sense of power or if it was just an accident, but his second blast of spunk thudded right against my gag reflex and set me into a coughing, hacking fit.

How was it SO much!? I knew his balls were a lot bigger than Brett's (and I know,

I know, prostates are what really matters,) but it still seemed impossible that any part of his anatomy could contain the sheer volume of hot, thick jizz that he'd just painted my tonsils with. I choke-swallowed once, then a second time, and even a third and that was just ONE rope of him, a painful pair of strands of his violent orgasm bursting from my nose as he kept pulling back.

I coughed hard and gasped for breath, fighting the urge to reject the high volume of man-batter he'd already pumped into me, belching grotesquely as he slapped his hand around his cock and continued to milk out more of his potent load. The third shot caught me right in the eye, half-blinding me as it sprayed around the side of my head.

A fourth took my mouth again, another few swallows barely able to keep up before he shot an even bigger fifth shot in, this time the overflow drooling down my chin to my tits in a thick sheet of white. Reluctantly I closed my mouth so I could swallow the rest, making me a helpless victim for a sixth and seventh blast that took my left cheekbone and the bridge of my nose in a storm of heat.

I turned my head and put my hands in surrender, showing him that he was too much man for me as he proved it, hosing down the hollow of my throat and then each huge tit in several spewing pints of seed. I was still whipping his load from my eyes when he re-blinded me with a fresh shot that filled both eyes this time.

I lost count of all the blasts by the time he finally finished hosing me down, but I could feel his gunk in just about every crevice my head and torso had, from my ears to my belly-button, my tits squishing out huge globs from between and underneath them every time I moved.

When he was finally done I seized my chance, grabbing the tape measure from the floor (having to shuck a big coating of sperm off so I could read the damn thing) and pressed it to his still-hard cock as he panted in apparently relief and joy.

My heart leapt when I saw the number and I'd never been so proud of myself.

I stood up then, wordlessly and sucked a big glazing of cum from my fingertips before I placed one to his lips, indicating that he should be silent. I turned, letting him enjoy the view of my ass as I stole one of his big coats from a rack and wrapped it around myself, not bothering to try putting my tits back into the ruined bra or reclaim my top.

He must have wondered what was going through my head as I left, leaving him the mystery as I walked myself home. I was glad that it wasn't raining, wanting the after-effects of the veritable cum-storm I'd just survived to last, loving the feel of his sheer maleness on my skin, and loving the way it heavily dripped.

Brett heard me coming up the hall and had opened the door just as I got to the doorstep.

"Hannah, what in the—"

I dropped the coat, letting him see the full effects, my face still a mask of Michael's thick, potent jizz, my tits caked in a bra of spunk, my makeup a ruined mess with obvious tear streaks where they'd been gag-fucked out of my eyes.

He just stared a long moment, taking it all in.

I could see it in his eyes; he was waiting for me to make up another pathetic lie, to somehow justify this mess as though I'd been hit by a truck delivering cake-frosting or accidentally forgotten to wash off a whole bottle of conditioner or something, but instead I just smiled, looking him dead in the eyes with a confidence I never knew I'd have as I gave him the only explanation that was really necessary.

"Hey there, Brett," I said, like nothing was out of place. Then I grinned my nastiest grin as I added, "I just deep-throated an 18-and-a-half-inch cock."