Define big? Define tight?
Sandy slammed her laptop shut, cursing under her breath. Of course, the damn thing would crash now—midway through her thesis, when she was running on caffeine and sheer willpower. She kicked the leg of her table, her bare foot bouncing off the wood.
"Fuck this."
The scent of garlic and simmering tomato sauce drifted down the hallway from the kitchen. Harry must still be cooking, even though her mum was late. Again. Sandy rolled her eyes. Typical.
She grabbed a hoodie from her chair, yanking it over her head before padding out to find him. Harry was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan with one hand while his other typed furiously on his phone.
He was shirtless—just his usual work-from-home uniform of sweatpants and a loose waistband that did nothing to hide the way his body moved.
Sandy's stomach did a little flip. She'd never admit it, but Harry was… attractive. In that older-guy, confident, slightly nerdy way.
"Hey," she said, clearing her throat.
Harry glanced over, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Hey, Sandy. What's up?"
"My laptop's fucked. Crashes every time I try to open my thesis file."
She crossed her arms.
"Mum's still not home?"
He stirred.
"Not yet."
He turned back to the stove.
"Guess I'll have to save dinner first."
She really didn't want to ask for his help. The guy was her mum's boyfriend, not some tech support hotline. But she was desperate.
Not an older guy desperate. Eugh! At twenty-two, well, thirty was the limit. She led him to her room, hyper-aware of the way his muscles flexed under his skin.
Sandy's room was a disaster—clothes strewn everywhere, a half-eaten bag of crisps on her desk. Harry barely blinked as he sat down at her desk and booted up her laptop. Sandy hovered behind him, arms crossed, watching as he typed and clicked with the ease of someone who spent his life in front of screens. His fingers were long, his nails clean but not manicured. She wondered what they'd feel like on her skin.
Easy girl, she told herself. Damn study, she hadn't had a decent shag in- um—how long?
"Ah," he murmured. "Found the problem."
Sandy leaned in, her breath hitching when her chest brushed against his shoulder.
"What is it?"
"Virus. Nasty one."
He glanced up at her, his dark eyes glinting.
"You really shouldn't open random files from shady sites."
Sandy's face burned.
"I didn't—"
A notification popped up on the screen.
A file titled: Big Meat is no Dream .mp4 glared back at her in bold letters.
Harry's fingers froze.
Sandy lunged for the keyboard.
"Oh my god, turn it off—"
But it was too late. The video started buffering, and the title of the thumbnail left nothing to the imagination.
"Fuck!" she yelped.
She couldn't even call it research. Well, it was, I mean, every girl wants to know what the definition of huge is.
The screen provided an answer: screen fillers!
Harry didn't look away. If anything, his smirk deepened.
"You have taste. Like the big ones?"
Sandy's heart hammered.
"Delete it. Now."
He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed.
"Or what?"
She glared at him.
"Or I'll tell my mum you're a pervert."
Harry chuckled. "She already knows I'm a pervert, Sandy. That's why she's with me."
He gestured to the screen. "Besides, I think currently you want more than mere tech support or screen dreams."
Sandy's breath hitched. The air between them was thick, charged. Harry's gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, lingering on the way her hoodie barely covered her thighs. Her short skirt, a hem of desire.
She swallowed hard. "You wouldn't."
Harry stood, closing the distance between them in a stride. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
"Sandy, size like that isn't just a coloured dildo brought online."
Her brain short-circuited. One second, she was thinking about deleting the file. Next, his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding. She gasped, her hands flying to his chest, nails digging in as he kissed her like he'd been waiting for this.
Shit, it was three weeks, a useful standard member, in the alley outside the local nightclub.
Harry's tongue swept into her mouth, tasting like coffee and something darker, something that made her knees weak. Sandy moaned into the kiss, her body arching against him. His hands slid down to grip her arse, squeezing hard as he lifted her onto the desk. The laptop was forgotten. The file was forgotten. All that existed was Harry's mouth on hers, his hands on her body, the way his cock pressed against her thigh through his sweatpants.
Sandy had brought a frickin monster toy online, but drew back from trying it. It was frickin huge! Her girly space was petite and tight.
Sandy broke the kiss, panting. " Sweet mother of Jesus, what the fuck are you packing?"
"A fuckin' cannon baby," Harry growled, his lips trailing down her neck. "You started this when you came in here wearing that hoodie over a flimsy skirt."
She should've put on pants. But now, as his teeth grazed her collarbone, she wasn't sure she cared. Maybe she imagined this was the guy packing Hercules member in his pants. Harry's hands slid under the hoodie, pushing her bra up to reveal her tits. He groaned, his thumbs circling her nipples before pinching them lightly.
Sandy gasped, her back arching into his touch.
"Ooh, oh yeah. Fuck," she whimpered.
Harry didn't waste time. Delay is a waste on any chick under thirty. He dropped to his knees in front of her, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and yanking them and her panties down to her ankles.
Sandy's pussy was already glistening, her thighs slick with arousal.
"Look at this demanding little slash," Harry murmured, his breath hot against her skin.
His tongue flicked out, swiping through her folds before he groaned.
"Fucking delicious."
Well, Sandy was beyond wet. Saturated, dripping, unstoppable leaking. Sandy cried out as his mouth closed over her clit, his tongue working in slow, deliberate circles. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he licked her like she was his last meal on earth. "Harry—oh god—"
Reduced to primal utterances, "Uugghh, yes, oohh, yes. Arragh!"
His tongue tip engaged in hanky-panky with her pink, erect jelly bean. He pulled back just enough to smirk up at her.
"Say it again."
" Dirty Harry, please— hit my spot."
His tongue fired rapid swathes at her shapely dot.
Buckling thighs and a mind seeking more, she lowered his pants.
"Oh, My God! For fuckin' real."
Harry wasn't on the scale. Big Meat had a rival. Here was pecker behemoth. The daddy of all schlongs. A masterpiece of evolution.
Hell, evolution had surpassed itself. No wonder her mum was happily remarried. Bitch, for keeping this a secret.
"Suck it, Sandy, it's designed to be sucked."
Girth and length, girl and gag.
Spit and lick, she gave it her best shot.
Head and inches into the back of her throat. So much in, so much more to spare. Double hands clenching the rest. Ball bags swaying into her chin.
Skull fucked was an understatement. Her cranium was over occupied.
Harry cradled her cheeks, inched in further, somehow, defying the limits of mouth, throat and jaw flex.
Sandy, given the opportunity beyond normal limits, sucked bravely and furiously. Hell, her reserves of spit and spittle were fuckin' nearly maxed out.
Gug, gug, gug— yep, that's the response when cock is inside your brain—literally.
Sandy had to catch her breath and a bit shy, asked, "How much over twelve?"
"Sweetie, fourteen, not a world record, but likely your forever record, when you're ready."
Ready! Thought Sandy. Could you ever be ready for burgeoning meat like Harry was packing.
"On your desk, babes, pin those youthful legs behind your ears, you'll goddamn need to."
Sandy gave the flex-spread.
Harry spat generously on his fingers. Slid, one, then two, then three.
Working space where space was a premium, even in a fully aroused young woman.
"Damn it, girl," he said, going to the door.
Sandy thought, he's gone fuckin moral! Christ, I'll never know.
She eased up.
"Babes hold that prior position, I'm just grabbing some lube."
Harry returned with the olive oil. Extra virgin, of course. He wasn't a ravaging bastard.
"Grease the pole, sweetie," he instructed.
God, it was like massaging a forearm.
Harry cupped his hands and, yeah, splashed liquid in the slot where it would assist.
"Get those legs back behind your head."
Sandy had the flex; the question was, did she have the depth?
"Karma Sutra, seashell," he said, easing in the first inch.
"Oohh, yeah," she cooed.
Totally spread for pleasure, she embraced the first five inches.
His attention to her clit ramped up the pleasure. Spike of joy, described as "Mmm, yeah, mmm, mmm."
Beyond that, it was new territory for the lass. More inches in than out!
"Orrgh, fuck, that is deep! Ooohh, my, ooohh, aaah! Aaahhh!"
Testing her limits.
She loved the girth. The flex. The whole sliding ride and return.
Harry hit the grunts. Sandy yelped out moans.
A finger found her sweet rear door.
"Oh God, you don't mean to…?"
"Yeah, I do, but you can wait for a good thing. A bit of prep with some special butt plug toys…not today."
He pounded her tight pussy walls. Full beef stick on heat. The pummel and the grind. The indecent depths of a boisterous, manic shagging.
"You're so tight, so frickin tight," he said.
"Yeah, mmm, mmm, "she replied, "The best ones are."
Still he had to piston fuck her. She had to spread her legs, east and west.
That's when the waterworks occurred. A gush of spray squeezed from her sweet niche of delight. Nature's lube to support nature's excess of bulldozing man meat.
"Oohh, Ooohh, Uugghh!"
Well, that captured the mother of all orgasms.
"Arragh, Ooff!"
Big boy release.
Followed by, "Crap, I need to get dinner ready for your mum."
Sandy tidied up her room.
Harry returned with his hands full.
From one, he tossed her a USB stick, "Anti-virus."
With the other, a decent-sized butt plug.
Leaving, he said, "Get some practice in, sweetie, you know what's coming next time."