Big Cock - Sex Stories

Big Cock

She would lounge on her couch, wearing sexy clothes or sometimes not a stitch, and lie to herself about how she could be satisfied with her husband's penis. She called it a penis because that's all it was, anatomically correct, but...well, she self-snarled: It wasn't a big cock! Oh, fuck, it wasn't. Like all of womenfriends, she'd laughed at size queens and big mamas who sized a man up firstly by his packaged goods, but lately she'd been laughing on the outside and inside thinking Damn, I want that! Hard, thick, throbbing with a strong tight big cockhead that opened her up and scraped across her clit with every deep thrust. And that certainly wasn't what her husband had EVER possessed. He was a game man though and tried to compensate with larger and more life-like dildos, but they were still just a silicone hose to her. She wanted the real deal. She wanted big cock and she wanted it bad. Her fingers were wet and sticky, plunged between her pussy lips when the front door opened loudly and she heard her husband's voice. “I'm home!” “In here,” she said, annoyed at the interruption, but kept her sprawled, open-thighed position on the couch. She closed her eyes and heard him cough louder. “Um, we have company. This is Fred, two houses down.” She quickly threw a coverlet over her nakedness and glanced up. He was a thickly-muscled man, stocky and wide-shouldered, but not like a body-builder. Or at least not a recent one. Even at a glance, his grizzled beard and long hair told her ...

... he'd never see fifty again, but his high-cheekbones and slim face were rugged and unique. His steady hazel-colored eyes held hers then trailed slowly down her body with a growing smile. She couldn't believe herself, but she was actuaslly blushing under his gaze. Her face grew redder and she swallowed hard, however, when she lowered her eyes and flicked them below his belt buckle. She inhaled sharply as her eyes followed an obvious bulge along his left thigh. As she swallowed hard again, she felt her fingers unconsciously moving under the coverlet. “Fred,” she said slowly. Her husband voice started loud and trailed off. “Fred's wife died just recently and I said 'Oh, sorry for your loss' and he said 'Thanks' and, anyway, long story not so long – Fred needs to borrow a rake.” His voice faded as he walked outside to the backyard tool shed. “I hope we didn't embarrass you too much,” Fred smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “Don't let me interrupt you from whatever you were doing. I just need a rake.” She liked his voice, though she didn't know why. He pronounced every word correctly, without a regional accent, but with a different flavor to the sounds, as if using them in his own context they were became lyrical or poetic. There was a longish pause between “just need a” and “rake” and during it as if unconsciously her thumb grazed roughly over her still swollen clitoris under the coverlet. Her eyes widened when she noticed the bulge of Fred's jeans had gotten bigger, too. As ...