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LINKS
HOT LINKS     |
11/05/2026
Brandon left for Singapore this morning. Three weeks. I told myself I'd use the time to catch up on chores, maybe paint the guest bathroom. I didn't know then how utterly wrong I'd be.
Tonight, Sarah came over. We were supposed to finish a quarterly report, and I ordered Chinese takeout. She brought a bottle of cabernet—said it was from a vineyard she visited last summer. I rarely drink. Wine gives me a headache, makes me dizzy. But it was Sarah, my friend, the woman I've confided in for months now, so I had a glass. Then another.
By the second glass, the room tilted pleasantly. I was wearing my favorite terrycloth shorts—loose, comfortable, pale blue. Sarah was watching me over the rim of her own glass, her eyes darker than usual. We talked about work, about Brandon's trip, about nothing important. And then, as usual, Sarah turned the conversation to sex. She asked if Brandon still satisfied me after 35 years. I said “Yes!” and blushed. She asked about previous guys. There had not been many. Then she asked if I'd ever been with a woman. I laughed, said yes, once or twice. She smiled that slow, knowing smile.
"I have something to tell you," she said. "And I need you to promise you'll still be my friend after."
I promised. Of course I did.
She said, "I'm transgender."
I laughed out loud. Actually laughed. "You? No way. Sarah, that's—that's ridiculous. You're the most feminine woman I know. Your hips, your voice, your—everything. Come on."
She didn't laugh with me. Her expression was dead serious. "I'm not joking, Miranda. I was born male. I transitioned ten years ago."
I shook my head, still grinning. "You're pulling my leg. You have to be. You have—" I gestured vaguely at my own chest. "I mean, those are real."
"They're implants," she said quietly. "And I still have my original equipment. I never got surgery downstairs."
The grin froze on my face. "Original equipment?"
She nodded. "I have a penis. A fully functional one."
I stared at her. The wine made it hard to process. "Prove it," I heard myself say. The words came out before I could stop them. "I mean……You don’t have to……But, I don't believe you."
Sarah's lips curled into something between a challenge and a seduction. "You really want me to show you?"
"No—I mean, I just—you can't expect me to believe—"
She stood up. Stepped over to the couch here I sat. And moved directly in front of me. My knees were between her legs as she leaned towards me. Her sundress was short, floral print, with a gathered waist. She reached down and slowly, deliberately, gathered the hem in her fingers. I watched, my heart pounding, as she lifted it inch by inch. Her thighs were smooth, tanned. The hem passed her knees, her thighs, until it was bunched around her hips.
There, in a pair of black lace panties, was an unmistakable bulge. Her cock. It was as sight to behold. Long and thick, pressing against the fabric, the outline of the head clearly visible. My mouth went dry. I couldn't look away. Adrenaline hit me like a slap in the face.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"Now do you believe me?"
I wanted to say no, wanted to keep the lie alive, but my eyes were fixed on that shape. I'd seen plenty of cocks in my life—Brandon's, a few others. But,this one looked big. Really big. My hand went to my chest without thinking. I tried to regain my composure.
"Sarah... I don't... I mean, I'm flattered you told me, but—"
She stepped closer, her thighs brushing my knees. I was still sitting on the sofa. She was standing over me, that bulge at eye level.
"It's okay," she said softly. "You can touch it if you want."
I jerked back. "No! No, Sarah, I'm married. I'm not interested in your—in that. In anything. You're my friend."
"I'm still your friend." She bent down in front of me, her hands resting on my thighs. My terrycloth shorts. "But you're curious. I can see it in your eyes. Don't lie to yourself, Miranda. I've seen how you look at me sometimes."
I tried to push her hands away. "Stop. Please. Don't."
She didn't stop. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shorts, rubbing the soft cotton against my skin. I felt a shiver run through me—part fear, part something I didn't want to name.
"Your body is saying something different," she murmured. "You're breathing faster. Your cheeks are flushed. And down here—" Her hand slid between my legs, pressing against the shorts. I gasped. "You're getting wet, aren't you? I can feel it through the fabric."
"No. I'm not."
She laughed softly, a dark sound. "Liar." She pressed harder, her palm cupping my mound through the terrycloth. I could feel her warmth, the pressure. I grabbed her wrist.
"Sarah, stop. This isn't right. Brandon—"
"Brandon isn't here," she cut in, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "It's just you and me. And I've wanted this for so long, Miranda. Do you know how many nights I've touched myself thinking about you? About touching you like this?"
She leaned in and kissed my neck, just below my ear. I shivered. Her free hand came up and pulled at the waistband of my shorts, slipping inside. I felt her fingers brush my panties—thin cotton, damp already.
"Please," I whispered.
"Please what? Please stop? Or please don't stop? Be honest with yourself, Miranda. Be honest with me."
I couldn't answer. Her fingers traced the outline of my pussy through the soaked fabric, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. She felt the moisture.
"You're so wet, Miranda. Your body wants this. Let me show you what it can feel like. Let me make you feel things Brandon never could. You love your husband. Sure. But, wait until you see what I have to offer."
She pulled her hand back. I thought she was giving up. Instead, she gripped the waistband of her own panties—I watched as the fabric slid down—and then I saw it. Her cock sprang free, thick and veiny, the prominent head slick with pre-cum. It was huge. Easily nine - ten inches, maybe more. The sight of it made my stomach clench.
Sarah gripped my arms and forced me into a reclining position on the couch. She followed me down onto the cushions and pushed my knees apart.
"No," I said, but my voice was weak
She ignored me. She leaned forward, her cock pressed against the front of my shorts. Through the terrycloth, I felt the heat of it, the hardness. Then she hooked her fingers in the leg opening of my shorts and she slid her cock inside, right up against the cotton of my panties.
I gasped. Her cock was there, right there, pressing against my covered slit through the thin fabric. I could feel every ridge, every vein. The head poking at my clit. She began to rub—slow, deliberate strokes, grinding her shaft against my pussy through my panties. Pressing the fabric between my lips. The friction was maddening.
"Sarah, stop, please, I'm married—"
"Married doesn't mean dead," she countered, her voice thick with desire. "I can feel how much you want this. Your hips are moving against me. Don't fight it, Miranda. Just let go."
I stammered “….Brandon……I can’t……Married…..”
She leaned her forehead against mine. "I know. And you'll still be married tomorrow. But right now, it's just you and me. My cock feels so good, doesn't it?"
I couldn't deny it. My hips were starting to move against hers, my body betraying me. She felt it and smiled.
"Let me make you feel better. Let me fuck you."
"No."
She kept rubbing, her cock sliding over my panties, the head bumping against my clit through the wet cotton. I moaned despite myself.
“Oh yes! I’m going to fill your whole pussy. You’ll feel my heartbeat through the veins on it” Sarah cooed.
“No, Sarah…..” I sputtered.
"Yes," she whispered. "Say yes, Miranda. Let me put it inside you. I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock. I want to feel the head bumping your cervix."
"I can't. I'm not—I don't—want—" I stumbled over the words.
"You do." She pressed harder, and I felt the head of her cock snag on the edge of my panties, threatening to push through. I bucked. “You want to feel my cum blasting into your core.”
"Sarah, don't—"
She didn't listen. Her hands went to the waistband of my shorts and she tugged, hard. I tried to hold them on, but she was stronger. She wrestled them down my hips, taking my panties with them. I fought her—I really did—but she pinned my wrists over my head with one hand and yanked the fabric down to my knees with the other. Then she pulled them off entirely, leaving me naked from the waist down.
I was exposed. Legs spread, pussy glistening in the lamplight. I could feel the cool air on my wet skin. Sarah knelt between my thighs, her cock standing tall, and she looked at my swollen lips like they were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She forced my thighs further apart.
"Oh yes! That’s perfect," she breathed. "Your pussy is so beautiful, Miranda. So pink and wet. I've dreamed of this moment."
She didn't enter me. Not yet. Instead, she lowered herself and pressed the head of her cock between my pussy lips. Just pressed. Not pushing in. She held it there, the tip parting my folds, teasing my entrance. My lips were puffy and pink, I felt a gush of wetness, my own juices spilling out, coating the head. I was so slick I could feel it dripping.
"Please," I heard myself say. I didn't know if I was begging her to stop or to continue.
"Please what, Miranda?" She dragged the head up and down my slit, circling my clit, then back down to my opening. "Tell me what you want. Don't be afraid. I'll make you feel so good."
"I want you to stop. I'm married."
"You keep saying that," she murmured, her voice a low, hypnotic thrum that vibrated through my core.
"But your body is telling a different story.” She pulled her cock away from my entrance for just a moment. My chamber was just barely gaping. “Oh my! Look how it's opening for me. How it's inviting me in. Your beautiful pussy wants me inside. Wants my cum to fill you."
She placed the tip directly where my entrance was gaping and pressed a little harder, and the head began to stretch me, just the slightest bit. I gasped and clenched, my inner walls fluttering against the intrusion. I tried logic, sorta of…..
"Brandon," I whimpered, his name a shield. “Brandon told me once many years ago “If a beautiful woman ever wanted you, I’d be okay with it. I’d want you to have that experience. If someone like, say, Josephine Jobert made a move on you, babe, you'd have a pass. I'd want the details."
"Brandon said if a woman wanted me, he’d be ok with it. But, this isn't the same," I breathed, but the conviction was leaking out of me.
"Isn't it?" Sarah pushed another fraction of an inch, and my hips arched off the sofa. "I'm a woman. You think I'm beautiful. And I desperately want you. By his own rules, this counts, Miranda. This totally counts."
The logic was twisted, intoxicating. A dark, permissive loophole. My mind snagged on it, and my body, already betraying me, seized the excuse.
She pulled back, leaving me empty and aching. I whimpered at the loss. She smiled, seeing the shift in my eyes.
"Say it," she commanded, her voice dropping to that velvet register again. "Say, fuck me, Sarah. Give me what we both want. Ram that monster cock in me. Take what you want."
I shook my head, tears pricking my eyes from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all. "I can't."
"Then I'll just keep teasing you," she promised, and she did. She pressed the head against my opening again, dipping in just a fraction, then pulling out. Again and again, mock fucking me, and each time pressing a little deeper. My hips chased her, shamelessly. I was gushing now, my slickness coating her cockhead, my thighs, the sofa beneath me.
"You're so wet, Miranda. You're dripping. Your body is screaming for my cock. Just a little push is all it would take. I know you’ll love it."
"No," I whimpered, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Yes," she countered, pressing the head firmly against my entrance, the tip stretching me wide. "One word. Just say yes. It’s so open for me. I’m almost in. Let me fuck that married pussy."
I was trembling. Every fiber of my being was screaming to say yes. The memory of Brandon's permission echoed in my head, a golden ticket to this forbidden pleasure. I looked at Sarah, at the raw hunger in her eyes, and I felt my resolve crumbling into dust.
"Please," I whispered, and it wasn't a denial anymore.
"Say it," she whispered, her voice like silk against my ear, her breath hot and teasing. "Or I'll stop right here. Right now. And you'll never know what it feels like to be fucked by my huge cock."
I shook my head, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the pressure of her tip against my soaked entrance made my whole body tremble. She didn't push in—just held it there, the fat head nudging my folds, promising everything. My clit throbbed in time with my racing heart, each beat sending waves of need through my core. I looked down at the spot where her cock head touched me. Then at the enormous shaft. She saw me staring at it.
Then she stopped asking, and started telling. “You know what’s going to happen, right?”
"You're going to let me fuck you," she said, her voice low and certain, her hands gripping my hips with bruising force. "You’re going to give me your married pussy. You're going to take my whole cock inside you. Every…thick…inch."
"No," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. "I won't let you."
Sarah just laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through my chest. "Oh, but you will, Miranda. You see this body of yours? It's already surrendering. That slick heat between your legs? That's not fear. That's hunger. Your pussy is crying out for me. It wants to feel me."
"No," I gasped, trying to push back against her shoulders, but she didn't budge. Instead she rolled her hips just slightly, and the head stretched me open just a fraction more. Her words echoed in my brain. Then I felt the burn, the intrusion, the tingle starting in my belly……..NO! I thought to myself. Then, the orgasm slammed into me and I cried out as my pussy clenched, my entrance throbbed, trying to pull her inside despite my protests.
"Feel that?" she murmured triumphantly. "I made you cum without even putting it inside. That's your body telling you the truth. Your mind can lie to itself all it wants, but your pussy knows what it wants. It knows it needs to be stretched, filled, claimed. And you’re going to let me be the one who does it."
"You're delusional," I whimpered, but my hips betrayed me, tilting forward to meet her. She pressed just enough to leave the head lodged at my entrance, that slight stretch constant. I could feel every heartbeat throbbing around her, my juices coating her shaft, making it slick and ready.
"Am I?" she challenged, pressing forward just enough to make me gasp. "Then why are your hips moving toward me? Why is your pussy gripping me so tight, trying to pull me in? You're fighting a losing battle, Miranda. And deep down, you know it."
"I'm not," I insisted, though my voice trembled with uncertainty. "I don't want this."
"Liar," she whispered, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. "You want this…You want it so bad! You want me to split you open with my cock. You want me to fill you with my cum until you're dripping with it. You want to feel me for days after, every step reminding you how I fucked you."
"No," I whimpered, but the word had no conviction. It was a desperate plea to myself, not to her.
"Yes," she countered, pushing another fraction of an inch inside me. "You'll beg for my cock. You'll beg me to fill you with my sperm. You'll beg me to use your body the way it was meant to be used. And I'll make you wait until you're absolutely desperate for it."
"Please," I gasped, not sure if I was begging her to stop or continue.
"Please what?" she teased, her thumb finding my clit and circling it slowly. "Please stop? Or please fuck you until you can't remember your own name? Be honest with yourself, Miranda. For once in your life."
"I can't," I cried, tears of frustration and need leaking from the corners of my eyes.
"You can," she insisted, her voice softening just slightly. "And you will. Because this—" she pushed a little more, the head sliding further, stretching me wider—“feels too good to resist. Your tight little pussy was made for my cock."
I was panting, sweat beading on my brow. My resistance was crumbling with each millimeter she sank into me. The head was so thick, so hot, already splitting me open. I wanted to say no. I wanted to be strong. But my body was already yielding, already begging in its own way, my inner walls fluttering around her tip, trying to draw her deeper.
"I know you love Brandon," she whispered, her voice a velvet blade, sharp and soothing all at once. "And he satisfies you—I know he does. I've seen the way you soften when you talk about him, the way your body remembers his touch. But he's so far away, isn't he? Thousands of miles, a world of empty sheets and cold nights. And even if he were here… his cock is wonderful, but it isn't nearly as big as mine. He can fill you, yes—and I'm sure he does it well—but not like I can fill you. Not with this kind of depth. Not with this kind of volume."
Her words made me tremble, the truth of them cutting through my denial like a hot knife through butter. She begane moving her hips side to side, making the cock head tease my slit even more.
"Imagine my sperm swimming inside you," she continued, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper, her breath warm against my neck. "Imagine it, Miranda. Not just any sperm—mine. Millions upon millions of them, thicker and more copious than anything Brandon could ever produce. Each one a tiny soldier with one mission: to find your deepest parts, to claim you from the inside out.
They'll be swimming through your wetness—and God, you're so wet for this, aren't you?—finding every secret fold, every sensitive spot. They'll coat your walls, seep into your crevices, make themselves at home in the warm, dark heat of you. My load will be so abundant that you'll feel it dripping for hours, a constant reminder of just how thoroughly I've filled you."
"Stop," I breathed, but my voice was weak, almost a plea, my thighs pressing together as if to trap the fantasy already forming.
"Why would I stop?" she murmured, pressing her lips against my ear, her tongue tracing the shell of it. "Think about it, Miranda. Tomorrow morning, when you're getting dressed, you'll still feel them inside you. A slow, wet drip against your thigh as you pull on your panties—a reminder of exactly how much I gave you. When you're at work, sitting at your desk, they'll be swimming deeper, settling into your cervix like they belong there, because they will belong there. Brandon's loads—they're nice, I'm sure. Mine? I'll pump you so full that you'll be leaking for hours. Every twitch, every subtle ache, every slippery sensation—that's me, inside you, long after I've pulled out. That's my seed, colonizing your most intimate space, making you ache for more even when you tell yourself you don't want it."
I moaned, a sound that escaped before I could stop it, and she smiled against my skin.
"And when Brandon finally comes home," she purred, her hand sliding down my stomach, "and he slides his cock into you, they will be long gone. But, you'll be lying there thinking the way my cum is leaked out of you. Every time he fucks you from now on, there I'll be—a ghost in your womb. He'll never know, but you will what we did. But, every time you cum, you'll wonder if it's his touch or my memory that pushed you over the edge."
Her fingers traced the hard nub of my clit.
"You’ll let me give you something to carry," she whispered, her tone dropping to a husky command. "Something that will change you from the inside. This sheer, overwhelming abundance. You WILL let me inseminate you, Miranda. You’ll let me paint your walls white with my desire. You’ll let me fill you so full that you overflow, that you taste me on your own fingers when you touch yourself later. You WILL say yes. Then, you will let me claim you properly—with a load so copious you'll feel claimed for days."
Her thumb continued to circle my clit, slow and deliberate, and I bucked into her touch.
"Every time you cross your legs ……….," she said, her voice thick with certainty, "you'll remember this moment. You'll remember my cock splitting you open, my sperm flooding your tight little chamber. You'll feel me dripping down your thigh hours from now, and you'll know—you'll *know*—that Brandon never marked you like I'm about to."
I shook my head, but the motion was weak, almost pathetic.
"And the best part?" she asked, her hips pressing forward just a hair more. "You *want* it. Every fiber of your being is screaming for it. Your pussy is quivering, gushing, clenching, begging me to push all the way in. Your juices are soaking my cock, inviting me deeper. Your brain is just the last holdout, but even it's starting to see the truth. You’re giving me your married pussy. You know you want to."
"No," I whispered, but my hips rolled toward her, seeking more of that stretch.
"Yes," she breathed. "You want to feel my sperm swimming inside you for days. You want to be filled so completely that you leak when you stand up. When you kiss Brandon next, you’ll remember my cock inside you.”
Her words painted a vivid picture—my body a vessel for her seed, moving inside me, warm and alive, a constant reminder of this moment. I could almost feel it already, the imagined weight of her cum sloshing inside me, coating my walls.
"Say it," she whispered again, her voice a velvet command, her thumb circling my clit, making me jump. "Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me to fill you with my cum until it's dripping down your thighs. Tell me you want to be mine."
"No," I whispered, the last remnants of my defiance crumbling.
Sarah just smiled, knowing she had won. "Soon," she promised. "You'll say it soon. And when you do, I'll give you everything you're denying yourself. I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget you ever resisted. My young, potent, sticky sperm will flood you, a constant reminder of me owning this pussy. Every time you feel that wetness between your legs, you'll know it's me, still inside you, still claiming you."
She smiled down at me, knowing she had won. My eyes were like giant blue saucers. I glanced down at the shaft. Slick from my juices, the head nearly inside, my stretched entrance tingling. Then looked back up, into her eyes.
She held my gaze, her eyes dark with victory and desire. Then she pressed harder.
The head popped inside, the burn mixing with pleasure until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. My back arched off the sofa, a guttural moan tearing from my throat as she stretched me, filled me, claimed me.
I cried out—a broken sound, half sob, half groan. She was inside me. Just the head, but it was enough. I was stretched, invaded in the most exquisite way. She held still, letting me feel the throb of her pulse inside me.
My heart thumped with shock, panic, and ecstasy. My breath was a series of desperate pants. I managed to finally whisper one ward……”yes”….. Sarah gazed into my eyes and started to push,.
Slowly, and without breaking our eye contact, she pushed forward sliding her hardness into me with excruciating slowness. "God, you're tight," she groaned. "So fucking tight."
I had never been penetrated this deep or stretched with this much girth. It was pain and pleasure mixed: I felt every single inch as she claimed me, her thick shaft spreading me open, carving out a space inside me that had never existed. God, how is it so big? The thought flashed through my mind, a mixture of awe and disbelief. It feels like she's splitting me in half, but I never want it to stop.
My body stretched to accommodate her, a burning, pleasurable ache that brought tears to my eyes. It's so thick, so fucking thick... I can feel every ridge, every vein. When she was finally fully seated, her balls resting against my ass, she paused, letting me adjust to the overwhelming fullness. I can feel her balls against me... they're heavy, full. I can feel her pulse throbbing along her cock. She's so much bigger than anything I've ever taken.
"Okay?" she asked, her voice strained.
I could only nod, “Uh-huh!” biting my lip, my breath ragged, my hands clutching her shoulders.
She began to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against my walls, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, deep and hard. The head... it catches on my entrance each time, and then that thick shaft just pushes past, stretching me all over again. Her hips rocked in a primal rhythm, and she leaned down and pressed her forehead to mine. I can feel her breath, her heat. And between my legs, that massive thing is sliding in and out, claiming me. I could feel every inch of her huge cock moving inside me, the girth a constant, overwhelming presence.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," she groaned against my lips. "Better than I ever imagined."
My body took over like it had a mind of it’s own. I wrapped my legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, silently begging for more. More of that thick shaft, more of that stretch. She sped up, her thrusts turning sharper, wetter. The sound of her hips slapping against my thighs filled the room, a lewd percussion that drove me wild. The sound of her balls slapping against my ass, the wet sound of her huge cock plunging into me... it's all I can hear, all I can feel. I was moaning openly now, not caring who heard, lost in the sensation. Her cock feels so good, so right.
"Oh god! I'm going to cum," I whimpered, the pressure building low in my belly, an impossible tide. I'm going to cum on her huge cock.
"Cum for me, Miranda. Let me feel you. Milk my cock with that tight pussy."
She drove into me hard, hitting a spot deep inside that made my vision blur. There—right there—that impossible angle, that thick head pressing against something I didn't even know existed. My orgasm crashed over me, a tidal wave of pleasure that ripped a scream from my throat. My pussy clamped down on her cock, spasming violently, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through me. I'm clenching around her, milking her shaft, every muscle in my body on fire. She kept fucking me through it, her own breath hitching as my muscles gripped her.
"Where do you want it?" she asked, her voice raw. "Tell me where you want my cum."
"Inside, deep!" I gasped, still convulsing. "Please. I want to feel it. Fill me up."
“Fill me to the brim. I want to feel every drop!” I cried out. I wanted to be marked by her. She groaned and thrust deep, her cock swelling inside me—I can feel it thickening, ready to burst—and then she came. Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded my depths, blasting against my cervix with force that made me gasp. Oh god, so much, it's so much. I can feel it entering me, seeping into my womb, hot and heavy. Each pulse sent more, filling me, stretching me from the inside. My belly... I can feel it growing fuller, distending, a warm pressure that's both foreign and exhilarating. Her cum dripped out around her shaft, running down my ass, but she kept coming, still thrusting shallowly, pushing it deeper.
How can she have so much? It's like she's pouring herself into me, filling every corner, claiming every inch of my insides. I felt a second wave of my own orgasm building as the sensation of being so full triggered another release—a deep, shaking climax that milked her harder, my walls gripping and pulling, desperate for every last drop. She stayed inside me, softening, her forehead pressed to mine, our hearts pounding against each other's ribs.
I can feel the cum inside me, warm and thick, pooling in my deepest places. My belly feels tight, round with the gift she gave me. She was right. I’m going to beg for more!
"That was just the beginning," she whispered.
I barely made it to the guest bedroom. I pushed her onto the bed, a newfound assertiveness surging through me. Her cock was still hard, slick with both our cum—glistening, thick, impossibly long. How am I supposed to take that again? I wondered. I straddled her, looking down at her, at the woman who had just shattered my world.
This was it. The moment Brandon had jokingly given me a pass for. This sort of counts, my inner monologue screamed, and I embraced it.
I lowered myself onto her, sinking slowly, savoring the stretch as she filled me again. God, it’s so thick—I can feel every inch spreading me open, my walls struggling to accommodate. How is this even possible? I gasped as the head pushed past my entrance, that familiar burn of being stretched beyond what I thought I could handle.
“Fuck, Sarah… you’re so big,” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “I still can’t believe I’m taking all of you.”
She grinned up at me, her hands sliding to my hips. “You’re doing amazing, Miranda. Look at you—taking every inch like you were made for my cock.”
I was in control now. When I was fully seated, I began to ride her. I rolled my hips, grinding against her pubic bone, her cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with every rotation. She reached up and squeezed my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, pinching them until they were hard pebbles.
“Yeah! That’s it! Ride me, Miranda. Use my cock. Take what you need.”
“I am,” I breathed, picking up speed. “I’m fucking you, Sarah. I’m riding that monster cock and I love it.”
She laughed, low and husky. “You love it? You’re addicted to it, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I can’t get enough—I never want to stop.”
I braced my hands on her chest and fucked her, up and down, faster and faster. The sound of her thighs slapping against my ass was obscene, a symphony of our sin. I was in control, and it made me feel powerful, wanton, alive. I looked down at her—she was watching my body move, her mouth open, her eyes glazed with lust.
“Touch yourself,” she commanded.
I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm of my hips. I was already so sensitive, so close again. She thrust up into me, meeting my rhythm, driving deeper.
“Cum on my cock. Let me feel you squeeze me again. Soak me.”
“I’m close—fuck, I’m so close,” I gasped, my hips grinding harder. “Sarah, I’m going to cum—”
“Cum for me, Miranda. Let go. I want to feel you come apart.”
I came screaming, my body convulsing, my vision going white. My pussy milked her, clamping down in rhythmic pulses as pleasure consumed me. I’m going to die—this is too good—I can feel her cock twitching inside me—
At the height of my orgasm, I felt her swell inside me one more time. Oh god, she’s going to fill me again.
“I'm cumming!” she cried out, her hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, Miranda, take it!”
She thrust up into me one last time, and I felt her cum erupt inside me—a hot, powerful flood that triggered another, smaller orgasm in me. So much—it’s so much—I can feel it blasting against my cervix, hot and thick, forcing its way into my womb. Each pulse sent more, a seemingly endless stream. My belly—I can feel it distending, stretching tight with the sheer volume she’s pumping into me. I looked down and saw my stomach rounding slightly, a visible bulge from the inside.
“Holy shit, Sarah,” I panted, tears of overstimulation in my eyes. “Where are you keeping all that? You’re flooding me.”
“I told you,” she growled, still thrusting shallowly, pushing it deeper, “I’m going to fill you until you’re dripping with me for days.”
I collapsed onto her chest, both of us slick with sweat and cum, our bodies trembling in the aftermath. I could feel her softening inside me, but the cum still leaked around the seal, a warm river running down my thighs.
“Did you feel that?” I whispered, pressing her hand to my swollen belly. “I can feel it… inside me. You filled every empty space.”
She kissed my forehead. “Good. Now you’ll always remember who owns this pussy.”
I smiled, exhausted and utterly satisfied. I can’t believe I took all of that—and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
We slept like that, her cock still half-hard inside me, a possessive reminder of the night.
Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. I was making coffee, wearing only her shirt from last night. It hung to mid-thigh, smelling of her perfume and our sex.
She came up behind me, naked, her cock already hard again. She pressed it against my ass.
"Good morning," she said, kissing my shoulder.
I smiled, leaning back into her. "Good morning."
But before she took me to the kitchen, she stopped me at the doorway. Her hand caught my wrist, spinning me to face her. Her eyes were dark, hungry.
“Get on your knees.”
The command hit me like a slap. I dropped without hesitation, the tile cold against my bare knees. I looked up at her, at the cock still slick and half-hard between her legs.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me. Please—I need your cock. I need you to fill me again.”
She smiled, slow and cruel. “Beg harder.”
I clasped my hands together, my voice breaking. “Please, Sarah. I’m begging you. I’m so sore from last night but I don’t care. I need you inside me. Please, use me. Fuck me until I can’t walk. Please—I’ll do anything. Just give me your cock.”
She reached down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back. “That’s better. Now stand up.”
I rose on trembling legs. She turned me around, lifted me onto the kitchen counter. The marble was cold against my bare skin, a shock after the heat of my body. She spread my legs and pushed into me immediately—I was still wet from last night, still open, still hers.
A gasp tore from my throat. “Oh god—yes—that’s it. I’m so full, Sarah. I can feel every inch stretching me again. How do you fit? How is this even possible?”
She didn’t answer with words. She fucked me on the counter, standing up, her hands gripping my thighs, pulling me onto her with brutal, driving thrusts. I wrapped my arms around her neck humped into her.
“You’re so deep,” I whimpered against her mouth. “I can feel you hitting my cervix. It hurts so good.”
“Good. You’re going to take every drop I give you.”
She thrust harder, faster, a brutal, beautiful rhythm that made the marble counter groan beneath me. The cold burned my back, but inside I was molten. She angled her hips and drove deeper, and I felt that familiar pressure building—but she didn’t let me go over. She pulled back just before I could shatter.
“Not yet. I’m not done using you.”
I moaned in frustration, my body trembling on the edge. “Please—please let me cum—”
“No. This isn’t about you. This is about me filling you until you’re overflowing.”
Her pace became primal, slamming into me with a wet, obscene sound. Her cock swelled inside me, growing thicker, and I knew she was close.
“I’m going to cum inside you, Miranda. I’m going to pump you so full you’ll feel it for days. Do you want that?”
“Yes—yes—please—flood me—fill me up—”
“Beg for my cum.”
“I’m begging! Please, Sarah, cum inside me! Shoot your sperm deep into my womb! Cover my insides with your seed! I want to be dripping with you for a week!”
She roared, driving into me one last time, her hips pressing flush against mine. Her cock pulsed, and the first jet of cum hit my cervix like a hot bullet. Then another, and another—a relentless torrent that distended my belly from the inside. I looked down and saw the bulge forming, my stomach rounding with the sheer volume she was forcing into me. She kept cumming, her whole body shuddering, her hands bruising my hips.
“Take it,” she growled through gritted teeth. “Take all of it.”
I felt it fill my womb, felt it coat my walls, felt it leaking back around the seal of her cock even as she kept pumping. Her orgasm went on and on, an impossible flood. I whimpered, tears streaming down my face from the overwhelming fullness.
Finally, she stilled, her chest heaving. She pulled out slowly, and a torrent of white cum rushed out of me, splashing onto the marble counter and dripping down my thighs. She watched it, then took her fingers and pushed some of it back inside me.
“That’s where it belongs,” she said, her voice husky. “Now you’ll remember whose pussy this is every time you sit down.”
I lay there on the cold counter, my belly swollen, my pussy gaping and leaking, utterly spent. She hadn’t let me cum once. But as I pressed my hand to my distended stomach, I felt a twisted satisfaction.
I begged for this. I got exactly what I asked for.
We cleaned up together. She left around noon. Just before she left, Sarah turned to me at the door, her expression softening for the first time since last night. "Miranda," she said, her voice gentle, "I want you to know something. I don't want to come between you and Brandon. What you two have is special, and I would never want to destroy that." She paused, her eyes darkening again with that predatory hunger I'd come to know so well. "But I will be back for more of this pussy. Much, much more."
And now I'm writing this in my diary.
Brandon can never know.
But god help me, I'm already counting the days until she comes back.
Tonight, Sarah came over. We were supposed to finish a quarterly report, and I ordered Chinese takeout. She brought a bottle of cabernet—said it was from a vineyard she visited last summer. I rarely drink. Wine gives me a headache, makes me dizzy. But it was Sarah, my friend, the woman I've confided in for months now, so I had a glass. Then another.
By the second glass, the room tilted pleasantly. I was wearing my favorite terrycloth shorts—loose, comfortable, pale blue. Sarah was watching me over the rim of her own glass, her eyes darker than usual. We talked about work, about Brandon's trip, about nothing important. And then, as usual, Sarah turned the conversation to sex. She asked if Brandon still satisfied me after 35 years. I said “Yes!” and blushed. She asked about previous guys. There had not been many. Then she asked if I'd ever been with a woman. I laughed, said yes, once or twice. She smiled that slow, knowing smile.
"I have something to tell you," she said. "And I need you to promise you'll still be my friend after."
I promised. Of course I did.
She said, "I'm transgender."
I laughed out loud. Actually laughed. "You? No way. Sarah, that's—that's ridiculous. You're the most feminine woman I know. Your hips, your voice, your—everything. Come on."
She didn't laugh with me. Her expression was dead serious. "I'm not joking, Miranda. I was born male. I transitioned ten years ago."
I shook my head, still grinning. "You're pulling my leg. You have to be. You have—" I gestured vaguely at my own chest. "I mean, those are real."
"They're implants," she said quietly. "And I still have my original equipment. I never got surgery downstairs."
The grin froze on my face. "Original equipment?"
She nodded. "I have a penis. A fully functional one."
I stared at her. The wine made it hard to process. "Prove it," I heard myself say. The words came out before I could stop them. "I mean……You don’t have to……But, I don't believe you."
Sarah's lips curled into something between a challenge and a seduction. "You really want me to show you?"
"No—I mean, I just—you can't expect me to believe—"
She stood up. Stepped over to the couch here I sat. And moved directly in front of me. My knees were between her legs as she leaned towards me. Her sundress was short, floral print, with a gathered waist. She reached down and slowly, deliberately, gathered the hem in her fingers. I watched, my heart pounding, as she lifted it inch by inch. Her thighs were smooth, tanned. The hem passed her knees, her thighs, until it was bunched around her hips.
There, in a pair of black lace panties, was an unmistakable bulge. Her cock. It was as sight to behold. Long and thick, pressing against the fabric, the outline of the head clearly visible. My mouth went dry. I couldn't look away. Adrenaline hit me like a slap in the face.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"Now do you believe me?"
I wanted to say no, wanted to keep the lie alive, but my eyes were fixed on that shape. I'd seen plenty of cocks in my life—Brandon's, a few others. But,this one looked big. Really big. My hand went to my chest without thinking. I tried to regain my composure.
"Sarah... I don't... I mean, I'm flattered you told me, but—"
She stepped closer, her thighs brushing my knees. I was still sitting on the sofa. She was standing over me, that bulge at eye level.
"It's okay," she said softly. "You can touch it if you want."
I jerked back. "No! No, Sarah, I'm married. I'm not interested in your—in that. In anything. You're my friend."
"I'm still your friend." She bent down in front of me, her hands resting on my thighs. My terrycloth shorts. "But you're curious. I can see it in your eyes. Don't lie to yourself, Miranda. I've seen how you look at me sometimes."
I tried to push her hands away. "Stop. Please. Don't."
She didn't stop. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shorts, rubbing the soft cotton against my skin. I felt a shiver run through me—part fear, part something I didn't want to name.
"Your body is saying something different," she murmured. "You're breathing faster. Your cheeks are flushed. And down here—" Her hand slid between my legs, pressing against the shorts. I gasped. "You're getting wet, aren't you? I can feel it through the fabric."
"No. I'm not."
She laughed softly, a dark sound. "Liar." She pressed harder, her palm cupping my mound through the terrycloth. I could feel her warmth, the pressure. I grabbed her wrist.
"Sarah, stop. This isn't right. Brandon—"
"Brandon isn't here," she cut in, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "It's just you and me. And I've wanted this for so long, Miranda. Do you know how many nights I've touched myself thinking about you? About touching you like this?"
She leaned in and kissed my neck, just below my ear. I shivered. Her free hand came up and pulled at the waistband of my shorts, slipping inside. I felt her fingers brush my panties—thin cotton, damp already.
"Please," I whispered.
"Please what? Please stop? Or please don't stop? Be honest with yourself, Miranda. Be honest with me."
I couldn't answer. Her fingers traced the outline of my pussy through the soaked fabric, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. She felt the moisture.
"You're so wet, Miranda. Your body wants this. Let me show you what it can feel like. Let me make you feel things Brandon never could. You love your husband. Sure. But, wait until you see what I have to offer."
She pulled her hand back. I thought she was giving up. Instead, she gripped the waistband of her own panties—I watched as the fabric slid down—and then I saw it. Her cock sprang free, thick and veiny, the prominent head slick with pre-cum. It was huge. Easily nine - ten inches, maybe more. The sight of it made my stomach clench.
Sarah gripped my arms and forced me into a reclining position on the couch. She followed me down onto the cushions and pushed my knees apart.
"No," I said, but my voice was weak
She ignored me. She leaned forward, her cock pressed against the front of my shorts. Through the terrycloth, I felt the heat of it, the hardness. Then she hooked her fingers in the leg opening of my shorts and she slid her cock inside, right up against the cotton of my panties.
I gasped. Her cock was there, right there, pressing against my covered slit through the thin fabric. I could feel every ridge, every vein. The head poking at my clit. She began to rub—slow, deliberate strokes, grinding her shaft against my pussy through my panties. Pressing the fabric between my lips. The friction was maddening.
"Sarah, stop, please, I'm married—"
"Married doesn't mean dead," she countered, her voice thick with desire. "I can feel how much you want this. Your hips are moving against me. Don't fight it, Miranda. Just let go."
I stammered “….Brandon……I can’t……Married…..”
She leaned her forehead against mine. "I know. And you'll still be married tomorrow. But right now, it's just you and me. My cock feels so good, doesn't it?"
I couldn't deny it. My hips were starting to move against hers, my body betraying me. She felt it and smiled.
"Let me make you feel better. Let me fuck you."
"No."
She kept rubbing, her cock sliding over my panties, the head bumping against my clit through the wet cotton. I moaned despite myself.
“Oh yes! I’m going to fill your whole pussy. You’ll feel my heartbeat through the veins on it” Sarah cooed.
“No, Sarah…..” I sputtered.
"Yes," she whispered. "Say yes, Miranda. Let me put it inside you. I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock. I want to feel the head bumping your cervix."
"I can't. I'm not—I don't—want—" I stumbled over the words.
"You do." She pressed harder, and I felt the head of her cock snag on the edge of my panties, threatening to push through. I bucked. “You want to feel my cum blasting into your core.”
"Sarah, don't—"
She didn't listen. Her hands went to the waistband of my shorts and she tugged, hard. I tried to hold them on, but she was stronger. She wrestled them down my hips, taking my panties with them. I fought her—I really did—but she pinned my wrists over my head with one hand and yanked the fabric down to my knees with the other. Then she pulled them off entirely, leaving me naked from the waist down.
I was exposed. Legs spread, pussy glistening in the lamplight. I could feel the cool air on my wet skin. Sarah knelt between my thighs, her cock standing tall, and she looked at my swollen lips like they were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She forced my thighs further apart.
"Oh yes! That’s perfect," she breathed. "Your pussy is so beautiful, Miranda. So pink and wet. I've dreamed of this moment."
She didn't enter me. Not yet. Instead, she lowered herself and pressed the head of her cock between my pussy lips. Just pressed. Not pushing in. She held it there, the tip parting my folds, teasing my entrance. My lips were puffy and pink, I felt a gush of wetness, my own juices spilling out, coating the head. I was so slick I could feel it dripping.
"Please," I heard myself say. I didn't know if I was begging her to stop or to continue.
"Please what, Miranda?" She dragged the head up and down my slit, circling my clit, then back down to my opening. "Tell me what you want. Don't be afraid. I'll make you feel so good."
"I want you to stop. I'm married."
"You keep saying that," she murmured, her voice a low, hypnotic thrum that vibrated through my core.
"But your body is telling a different story.” She pulled her cock away from my entrance for just a moment. My chamber was just barely gaping. “Oh my! Look how it's opening for me. How it's inviting me in. Your beautiful pussy wants me inside. Wants my cum to fill you."
She placed the tip directly where my entrance was gaping and pressed a little harder, and the head began to stretch me, just the slightest bit. I gasped and clenched, my inner walls fluttering against the intrusion. I tried logic, sorta of…..
"Brandon," I whimpered, his name a shield. “Brandon told me once many years ago “If a beautiful woman ever wanted you, I’d be okay with it. I’d want you to have that experience. If someone like, say, Josephine Jobert made a move on you, babe, you'd have a pass. I'd want the details."
"Brandon said if a woman wanted me, he’d be ok with it. But, this isn't the same," I breathed, but the conviction was leaking out of me.
"Isn't it?" Sarah pushed another fraction of an inch, and my hips arched off the sofa. "I'm a woman. You think I'm beautiful. And I desperately want you. By his own rules, this counts, Miranda. This totally counts."
The logic was twisted, intoxicating. A dark, permissive loophole. My mind snagged on it, and my body, already betraying me, seized the excuse.
She pulled back, leaving me empty and aching. I whimpered at the loss. She smiled, seeing the shift in my eyes.
"Say it," she commanded, her voice dropping to that velvet register again. "Say, fuck me, Sarah. Give me what we both want. Ram that monster cock in me. Take what you want."
I shook my head, tears pricking my eyes from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all. "I can't."
"Then I'll just keep teasing you," she promised, and she did. She pressed the head against my opening again, dipping in just a fraction, then pulling out. Again and again, mock fucking me, and each time pressing a little deeper. My hips chased her, shamelessly. I was gushing now, my slickness coating her cockhead, my thighs, the sofa beneath me.
"You're so wet, Miranda. You're dripping. Your body is screaming for my cock. Just a little push is all it would take. I know you’ll love it."
"No," I whimpered, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Yes," she countered, pressing the head firmly against my entrance, the tip stretching me wide. "One word. Just say yes. It’s so open for me. I’m almost in. Let me fuck that married pussy."
I was trembling. Every fiber of my being was screaming to say yes. The memory of Brandon's permission echoed in my head, a golden ticket to this forbidden pleasure. I looked at Sarah, at the raw hunger in her eyes, and I felt my resolve crumbling into dust.
"Please," I whispered, and it wasn't a denial anymore.
"Say it," she whispered, her voice like silk against my ear, her breath hot and teasing. "Or I'll stop right here. Right now. And you'll never know what it feels like to be fucked by my huge cock."
I shook my head, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the pressure of her tip against my soaked entrance made my whole body tremble. She didn't push in—just held it there, the fat head nudging my folds, promising everything. My clit throbbed in time with my racing heart, each beat sending waves of need through my core. I looked down at the spot where her cock head touched me. Then at the enormous shaft. She saw me staring at it.
Then she stopped asking, and started telling. “You know what’s going to happen, right?”
"You're going to let me fuck you," she said, her voice low and certain, her hands gripping my hips with bruising force. "You’re going to give me your married pussy. You're going to take my whole cock inside you. Every…thick…inch."
"No," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. "I won't let you."
Sarah just laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through my chest. "Oh, but you will, Miranda. You see this body of yours? It's already surrendering. That slick heat between your legs? That's not fear. That's hunger. Your pussy is crying out for me. It wants to feel me."
"No," I gasped, trying to push back against her shoulders, but she didn't budge. Instead she rolled her hips just slightly, and the head stretched me open just a fraction more. Her words echoed in my brain. Then I felt the burn, the intrusion, the tingle starting in my belly……..NO! I thought to myself. Then, the orgasm slammed into me and I cried out as my pussy clenched, my entrance throbbed, trying to pull her inside despite my protests.
"Feel that?" she murmured triumphantly. "I made you cum without even putting it inside. That's your body telling you the truth. Your mind can lie to itself all it wants, but your pussy knows what it wants. It knows it needs to be stretched, filled, claimed. And you’re going to let me be the one who does it."
"You're delusional," I whimpered, but my hips betrayed me, tilting forward to meet her. She pressed just enough to leave the head lodged at my entrance, that slight stretch constant. I could feel every heartbeat throbbing around her, my juices coating her shaft, making it slick and ready.
"Am I?" she challenged, pressing forward just enough to make me gasp. "Then why are your hips moving toward me? Why is your pussy gripping me so tight, trying to pull me in? You're fighting a losing battle, Miranda. And deep down, you know it."
"I'm not," I insisted, though my voice trembled with uncertainty. "I don't want this."
"Liar," she whispered, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. "You want this…You want it so bad! You want me to split you open with my cock. You want me to fill you with my cum until you're dripping with it. You want to feel me for days after, every step reminding you how I fucked you."
"No," I whimpered, but the word had no conviction. It was a desperate plea to myself, not to her.
"Yes," she countered, pushing another fraction of an inch inside me. "You'll beg for my cock. You'll beg me to fill you with my sperm. You'll beg me to use your body the way it was meant to be used. And I'll make you wait until you're absolutely desperate for it."
"Please," I gasped, not sure if I was begging her to stop or continue.
"Please what?" she teased, her thumb finding my clit and circling it slowly. "Please stop? Or please fuck you until you can't remember your own name? Be honest with yourself, Miranda. For once in your life."
"I can't," I cried, tears of frustration and need leaking from the corners of my eyes.
"You can," she insisted, her voice softening just slightly. "And you will. Because this—" she pushed a little more, the head sliding further, stretching me wider—“feels too good to resist. Your tight little pussy was made for my cock."
I was panting, sweat beading on my brow. My resistance was crumbling with each millimeter she sank into me. The head was so thick, so hot, already splitting me open. I wanted to say no. I wanted to be strong. But my body was already yielding, already begging in its own way, my inner walls fluttering around her tip, trying to draw her deeper.
"I know you love Brandon," she whispered, her voice a velvet blade, sharp and soothing all at once. "And he satisfies you—I know he does. I've seen the way you soften when you talk about him, the way your body remembers his touch. But he's so far away, isn't he? Thousands of miles, a world of empty sheets and cold nights. And even if he were here… his cock is wonderful, but it isn't nearly as big as mine. He can fill you, yes—and I'm sure he does it well—but not like I can fill you. Not with this kind of depth. Not with this kind of volume."
Her words made me tremble, the truth of them cutting through my denial like a hot knife through butter. She begane moving her hips side to side, making the cock head tease my slit even more.
"Imagine my sperm swimming inside you," she continued, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper, her breath warm against my neck. "Imagine it, Miranda. Not just any sperm—mine. Millions upon millions of them, thicker and more copious than anything Brandon could ever produce. Each one a tiny soldier with one mission: to find your deepest parts, to claim you from the inside out.
They'll be swimming through your wetness—and God, you're so wet for this, aren't you?—finding every secret fold, every sensitive spot. They'll coat your walls, seep into your crevices, make themselves at home in the warm, dark heat of you. My load will be so abundant that you'll feel it dripping for hours, a constant reminder of just how thoroughly I've filled you."
"Stop," I breathed, but my voice was weak, almost a plea, my thighs pressing together as if to trap the fantasy already forming.
"Why would I stop?" she murmured, pressing her lips against my ear, her tongue tracing the shell of it. "Think about it, Miranda. Tomorrow morning, when you're getting dressed, you'll still feel them inside you. A slow, wet drip against your thigh as you pull on your panties—a reminder of exactly how much I gave you. When you're at work, sitting at your desk, they'll be swimming deeper, settling into your cervix like they belong there, because they will belong there. Brandon's loads—they're nice, I'm sure. Mine? I'll pump you so full that you'll be leaking for hours. Every twitch, every subtle ache, every slippery sensation—that's me, inside you, long after I've pulled out. That's my seed, colonizing your most intimate space, making you ache for more even when you tell yourself you don't want it."
I moaned, a sound that escaped before I could stop it, and she smiled against my skin.
"And when Brandon finally comes home," she purred, her hand sliding down my stomach, "and he slides his cock into you, they will be long gone. But, you'll be lying there thinking the way my cum is leaked out of you. Every time he fucks you from now on, there I'll be—a ghost in your womb. He'll never know, but you will what we did. But, every time you cum, you'll wonder if it's his touch or my memory that pushed you over the edge."
Her fingers traced the hard nub of my clit.
"You’ll let me give you something to carry," she whispered, her tone dropping to a husky command. "Something that will change you from the inside. This sheer, overwhelming abundance. You WILL let me inseminate you, Miranda. You’ll let me paint your walls white with my desire. You’ll let me fill you so full that you overflow, that you taste me on your own fingers when you touch yourself later. You WILL say yes. Then, you will let me claim you properly—with a load so copious you'll feel claimed for days."
Her thumb continued to circle my clit, slow and deliberate, and I bucked into her touch.
"Every time you cross your legs ……….," she said, her voice thick with certainty, "you'll remember this moment. You'll remember my cock splitting you open, my sperm flooding your tight little chamber. You'll feel me dripping down your thigh hours from now, and you'll know—you'll *know*—that Brandon never marked you like I'm about to."
I shook my head, but the motion was weak, almost pathetic.
"And the best part?" she asked, her hips pressing forward just a hair more. "You *want* it. Every fiber of your being is screaming for it. Your pussy is quivering, gushing, clenching, begging me to push all the way in. Your juices are soaking my cock, inviting me deeper. Your brain is just the last holdout, but even it's starting to see the truth. You’re giving me your married pussy. You know you want to."
"No," I whispered, but my hips rolled toward her, seeking more of that stretch.
"Yes," she breathed. "You want to feel my sperm swimming inside you for days. You want to be filled so completely that you leak when you stand up. When you kiss Brandon next, you’ll remember my cock inside you.”
Her words painted a vivid picture—my body a vessel for her seed, moving inside me, warm and alive, a constant reminder of this moment. I could almost feel it already, the imagined weight of her cum sloshing inside me, coating my walls.
"Say it," she whispered again, her voice a velvet command, her thumb circling my clit, making me jump. "Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me to fill you with my cum until it's dripping down your thighs. Tell me you want to be mine."
"No," I whispered, the last remnants of my defiance crumbling.
Sarah just smiled, knowing she had won. "Soon," she promised. "You'll say it soon. And when you do, I'll give you everything you're denying yourself. I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget you ever resisted. My young, potent, sticky sperm will flood you, a constant reminder of me owning this pussy. Every time you feel that wetness between your legs, you'll know it's me, still inside you, still claiming you."
She smiled down at me, knowing she had won. My eyes were like giant blue saucers. I glanced down at the shaft. Slick from my juices, the head nearly inside, my stretched entrance tingling. Then looked back up, into her eyes.
She held my gaze, her eyes dark with victory and desire. Then she pressed harder.
The head popped inside, the burn mixing with pleasure until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. My back arched off the sofa, a guttural moan tearing from my throat as she stretched me, filled me, claimed me.
I cried out—a broken sound, half sob, half groan. She was inside me. Just the head, but it was enough. I was stretched, invaded in the most exquisite way. She held still, letting me feel the throb of her pulse inside me.
My heart thumped with shock, panic, and ecstasy. My breath was a series of desperate pants. I managed to finally whisper one ward……”yes”….. Sarah gazed into my eyes and started to push,.
Slowly, and without breaking our eye contact, she pushed forward sliding her hardness into me with excruciating slowness. "God, you're tight," she groaned. "So fucking tight."
I had never been penetrated this deep or stretched with this much girth. It was pain and pleasure mixed: I felt every single inch as she claimed me, her thick shaft spreading me open, carving out a space inside me that had never existed. God, how is it so big? The thought flashed through my mind, a mixture of awe and disbelief. It feels like she's splitting me in half, but I never want it to stop.
My body stretched to accommodate her, a burning, pleasurable ache that brought tears to my eyes. It's so thick, so fucking thick... I can feel every ridge, every vein. When she was finally fully seated, her balls resting against my ass, she paused, letting me adjust to the overwhelming fullness. I can feel her balls against me... they're heavy, full. I can feel her pulse throbbing along her cock. She's so much bigger than anything I've ever taken.
"Okay?" she asked, her voice strained.
I could only nod, “Uh-huh!” biting my lip, my breath ragged, my hands clutching her shoulders.
She began to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against my walls, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, deep and hard. The head... it catches on my entrance each time, and then that thick shaft just pushes past, stretching me all over again. Her hips rocked in a primal rhythm, and she leaned down and pressed her forehead to mine. I can feel her breath, her heat. And between my legs, that massive thing is sliding in and out, claiming me. I could feel every inch of her huge cock moving inside me, the girth a constant, overwhelming presence.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," she groaned against my lips. "Better than I ever imagined."
My body took over like it had a mind of it’s own. I wrapped my legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, silently begging for more. More of that thick shaft, more of that stretch. She sped up, her thrusts turning sharper, wetter. The sound of her hips slapping against my thighs filled the room, a lewd percussion that drove me wild. The sound of her balls slapping against my ass, the wet sound of her huge cock plunging into me... it's all I can hear, all I can feel. I was moaning openly now, not caring who heard, lost in the sensation. Her cock feels so good, so right.
"Oh god! I'm going to cum," I whimpered, the pressure building low in my belly, an impossible tide. I'm going to cum on her huge cock.
"Cum for me, Miranda. Let me feel you. Milk my cock with that tight pussy."
She drove into me hard, hitting a spot deep inside that made my vision blur. There—right there—that impossible angle, that thick head pressing against something I didn't even know existed. My orgasm crashed over me, a tidal wave of pleasure that ripped a scream from my throat. My pussy clamped down on her cock, spasming violently, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through me. I'm clenching around her, milking her shaft, every muscle in my body on fire. She kept fucking me through it, her own breath hitching as my muscles gripped her.
"Where do you want it?" she asked, her voice raw. "Tell me where you want my cum."
"Inside, deep!" I gasped, still convulsing. "Please. I want to feel it. Fill me up."
“Fill me to the brim. I want to feel every drop!” I cried out. I wanted to be marked by her. She groaned and thrust deep, her cock swelling inside me—I can feel it thickening, ready to burst—and then she came. Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded my depths, blasting against my cervix with force that made me gasp. Oh god, so much, it's so much. I can feel it entering me, seeping into my womb, hot and heavy. Each pulse sent more, filling me, stretching me from the inside. My belly... I can feel it growing fuller, distending, a warm pressure that's both foreign and exhilarating. Her cum dripped out around her shaft, running down my ass, but she kept coming, still thrusting shallowly, pushing it deeper.
How can she have so much? It's like she's pouring herself into me, filling every corner, claiming every inch of my insides. I felt a second wave of my own orgasm building as the sensation of being so full triggered another release—a deep, shaking climax that milked her harder, my walls gripping and pulling, desperate for every last drop. She stayed inside me, softening, her forehead pressed to mine, our hearts pounding against each other's ribs.
I can feel the cum inside me, warm and thick, pooling in my deepest places. My belly feels tight, round with the gift she gave me. She was right. I’m going to beg for more!
"That was just the beginning," she whispered.
I barely made it to the guest bedroom. I pushed her onto the bed, a newfound assertiveness surging through me. Her cock was still hard, slick with both our cum—glistening, thick, impossibly long. How am I supposed to take that again? I wondered. I straddled her, looking down at her, at the woman who had just shattered my world.
This was it. The moment Brandon had jokingly given me a pass for. This sort of counts, my inner monologue screamed, and I embraced it.
I lowered myself onto her, sinking slowly, savoring the stretch as she filled me again. God, it’s so thick—I can feel every inch spreading me open, my walls struggling to accommodate. How is this even possible? I gasped as the head pushed past my entrance, that familiar burn of being stretched beyond what I thought I could handle.
“Fuck, Sarah… you’re so big,” I whimpered, my voice trembling. “I still can’t believe I’m taking all of you.”
She grinned up at me, her hands sliding to my hips. “You’re doing amazing, Miranda. Look at you—taking every inch like you were made for my cock.”
I was in control now. When I was fully seated, I began to ride her. I rolled my hips, grinding against her pubic bone, her cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with every rotation. She reached up and squeezed my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, pinching them until they were hard pebbles.
“Yeah! That’s it! Ride me, Miranda. Use my cock. Take what you need.”
“I am,” I breathed, picking up speed. “I’m fucking you, Sarah. I’m riding that monster cock and I love it.”
She laughed, low and husky. “You love it? You’re addicted to it, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I can’t get enough—I never want to stop.”
I braced my hands on her chest and fucked her, up and down, faster and faster. The sound of her thighs slapping against my ass was obscene, a symphony of our sin. I was in control, and it made me feel powerful, wanton, alive. I looked down at her—she was watching my body move, her mouth open, her eyes glazed with lust.
“Touch yourself,” she commanded.
I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm of my hips. I was already so sensitive, so close again. She thrust up into me, meeting my rhythm, driving deeper.
“Cum on my cock. Let me feel you squeeze me again. Soak me.”
“I’m close—fuck, I’m so close,” I gasped, my hips grinding harder. “Sarah, I’m going to cum—”
“Cum for me, Miranda. Let go. I want to feel you come apart.”
I came screaming, my body convulsing, my vision going white. My pussy milked her, clamping down in rhythmic pulses as pleasure consumed me. I’m going to die—this is too good—I can feel her cock twitching inside me—
At the height of my orgasm, I felt her swell inside me one more time. Oh god, she’s going to fill me again.
“I'm cumming!” she cried out, her hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, Miranda, take it!”
She thrust up into me one last time, and I felt her cum erupt inside me—a hot, powerful flood that triggered another, smaller orgasm in me. So much—it’s so much—I can feel it blasting against my cervix, hot and thick, forcing its way into my womb. Each pulse sent more, a seemingly endless stream. My belly—I can feel it distending, stretching tight with the sheer volume she’s pumping into me. I looked down and saw my stomach rounding slightly, a visible bulge from the inside.
“Holy shit, Sarah,” I panted, tears of overstimulation in my eyes. “Where are you keeping all that? You’re flooding me.”
“I told you,” she growled, still thrusting shallowly, pushing it deeper, “I’m going to fill you until you’re dripping with me for days.”
I collapsed onto her chest, both of us slick with sweat and cum, our bodies trembling in the aftermath. I could feel her softening inside me, but the cum still leaked around the seal, a warm river running down my thighs.
“Did you feel that?” I whispered, pressing her hand to my swollen belly. “I can feel it… inside me. You filled every empty space.”
She kissed my forehead. “Good. Now you’ll always remember who owns this pussy.”
I smiled, exhausted and utterly satisfied. I can’t believe I took all of that—and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
We slept like that, her cock still half-hard inside me, a possessive reminder of the night.
Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. I was making coffee, wearing only her shirt from last night. It hung to mid-thigh, smelling of her perfume and our sex.
She came up behind me, naked, her cock already hard again. She pressed it against my ass.
"Good morning," she said, kissing my shoulder.
I smiled, leaning back into her. "Good morning."
But before she took me to the kitchen, she stopped me at the doorway. Her hand caught my wrist, spinning me to face her. Her eyes were dark, hungry.
“Get on your knees.”
The command hit me like a slap. I dropped without hesitation, the tile cold against my bare knees. I looked up at her, at the cock still slick and half-hard between her legs.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me. Please—I need your cock. I need you to fill me again.”
She smiled, slow and cruel. “Beg harder.”
I clasped my hands together, my voice breaking. “Please, Sarah. I’m begging you. I’m so sore from last night but I don’t care. I need you inside me. Please, use me. Fuck me until I can’t walk. Please—I’ll do anything. Just give me your cock.”
She reached down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back. “That’s better. Now stand up.”
I rose on trembling legs. She turned me around, lifted me onto the kitchen counter. The marble was cold against my bare skin, a shock after the heat of my body. She spread my legs and pushed into me immediately—I was still wet from last night, still open, still hers.
A gasp tore from my throat. “Oh god—yes—that’s it. I’m so full, Sarah. I can feel every inch stretching me again. How do you fit? How is this even possible?”
She didn’t answer with words. She fucked me on the counter, standing up, her hands gripping my thighs, pulling me onto her with brutal, driving thrusts. I wrapped my arms around her neck humped into her.
“You’re so deep,” I whimpered against her mouth. “I can feel you hitting my cervix. It hurts so good.”
“Good. You’re going to take every drop I give you.”
She thrust harder, faster, a brutal, beautiful rhythm that made the marble counter groan beneath me. The cold burned my back, but inside I was molten. She angled her hips and drove deeper, and I felt that familiar pressure building—but she didn’t let me go over. She pulled back just before I could shatter.
“Not yet. I’m not done using you.”
I moaned in frustration, my body trembling on the edge. “Please—please let me cum—”
“No. This isn’t about you. This is about me filling you until you’re overflowing.”
Her pace became primal, slamming into me with a wet, obscene sound. Her cock swelled inside me, growing thicker, and I knew she was close.
“I’m going to cum inside you, Miranda. I’m going to pump you so full you’ll feel it for days. Do you want that?”
“Yes—yes—please—flood me—fill me up—”
“Beg for my cum.”
“I’m begging! Please, Sarah, cum inside me! Shoot your sperm deep into my womb! Cover my insides with your seed! I want to be dripping with you for a week!”
She roared, driving into me one last time, her hips pressing flush against mine. Her cock pulsed, and the first jet of cum hit my cervix like a hot bullet. Then another, and another—a relentless torrent that distended my belly from the inside. I looked down and saw the bulge forming, my stomach rounding with the sheer volume she was forcing into me. She kept cumming, her whole body shuddering, her hands bruising my hips.
“Take it,” she growled through gritted teeth. “Take all of it.”
I felt it fill my womb, felt it coat my walls, felt it leaking back around the seal of her cock even as she kept pumping. Her orgasm went on and on, an impossible flood. I whimpered, tears streaming down my face from the overwhelming fullness.
Finally, she stilled, her chest heaving. She pulled out slowly, and a torrent of white cum rushed out of me, splashing onto the marble counter and dripping down my thighs. She watched it, then took her fingers and pushed some of it back inside me.
“That’s where it belongs,” she said, her voice husky. “Now you’ll remember whose pussy this is every time you sit down.”
I lay there on the cold counter, my belly swollen, my pussy gaping and leaking, utterly spent. She hadn’t let me cum once. But as I pressed my hand to my distended stomach, I felt a twisted satisfaction.
I begged for this. I got exactly what I asked for.
We cleaned up together. She left around noon. Just before she left, Sarah turned to me at the door, her expression softening for the first time since last night. "Miranda," she said, her voice gentle, "I want you to know something. I don't want to come between you and Brandon. What you two have is special, and I would never want to destroy that." She paused, her eyes darkening again with that predatory hunger I'd come to know so well. "But I will be back for more of this pussy. Much, much more."
And now I'm writing this in my diary.
Brandon can never know.
But god help me, I'm already counting the days until she comes back.
Poster:
Duna
