A Saturday Tale

Disclaimer: all people depicted in this work of fiction are at least eighteen years of age. No character in this story is based on, or related to a real individuals, either living or dead, and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

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A little backstory: When I was eighteen, I would often wait until my parents were both out, or at work, and sneak into their room, where I reached up onto the shelf of my Dad's closet and took down the bag that contained a few Penthouse and Playboy magazines. (this was more than a year before I realized he had a few VHS tapes that would show me so much more than the books ever could.) I spent a lot of time the summer I was eighteen, running fingers up and down my greedy little slit, reading the words in the 'Penthouse Letters' section, imagining me to be the women in the stories, being fucked by their boss, or the pool boy, or a contractor, learning how my pussy liked to be touched, teaching myself how I like to come.

One of the stories I read stayed with me to this day, and forms the basis for many of my adult fantasies. Likewise the first porn videos I ever saw, stuck with me. I vividly remember a scene from 'Mile High Girls' (1987) with Porsche Lynn and Tom Byron -- the first time I had ever seen titty-fucking or doggy, or 'Hot Line 976' with Jeanna Fine and Buddy Love... that scene changed me forever. She takes his cock all the way down, till her chin is nuzzling his nuts, and he gives her toned body a fucking that nearly breaks the bed, while she diddles her own clit with lace-gloved fingers. I thought his cock was huuuge back then. Now, I've seen bigger, but damn - I wished I was those women. I wished it then, and I wish it now.

The story I read back then, in the sticky pages of that Penthouse Forum magazine, caused me to become a jogger. I started jogging the summer I turned eighteen. I have jogged ever since. Every time I go out for a run, I come back with my pussy soaked, those words running through my mind. when I was in University, I got a chance to live out that story, as close as I could. This is that tale...

I was a sexually uninhibited woman of 23 in the summer of 2006, looking forward to a good old-fashioned 'slutty summer' free of the ties that came with having a boyfriend. I was finished school in May of that year, and I thoroughly enjoyed my time at College, and the endless, fresh crop of young studs available. I love men of all shapes and sizes, though truth be told, the bigger their cock the better. I'm one of those women to whom size does make a difference. That's not to say I haven't had my share of flings with average dudes. I have. But if it's going to get me off good 'n proper, he better be packin' (or at the very least, be really good with his tongue.)

I am 5'3" and am blessed (some would say 'genetically gifted') with a nearly supernatural 28J bust, 19 inch waist, and 33 inch hips. I mean -- numbers are really just numbers though... my occasional fuck-buddy down the street from me, Allan, told me my body looks like an internet model's named Tessa Fowler, and I looked her up to compare. The comparison is a pretty good one I'd say, except I'm shorter, my waist is narrower, and due to the proportions on display, my girls look even bigger. Big, round, gravity-defying, mouth-watering jugs, on a pretty tiny, toned frame. Paint a picture for you?

Now -- genetics aside, don't go thinking I don't have to work to keep what Mama gave me in peak condition. I've worked damn hard to tone and sculpt my figure, and like nothing better than to devour a man with it. My problem, dear readers, stems from my inability to come unless fucked to exhaustion by a huge cock. Needless to say, those don't 'come' about very often. My last regular cock was ten and a half inches (I always measure) but he lacked the technique to truly master such a fine tool.

In my experience, it is very difficult to spot big dicks. A good-sized bulge doesn't always mean a large cock. And even on those occasions when a large shaft is almost assured (swimming pool, cottage weekend, the aforementioned shitty gym...) there is no guarantee the owner knows what the hell he's doing with it. Of course, I still take a glance if I can pull it off... but I don't put much faith in my eyes anymore. In fact, the experience which prompted me to write this letter for all to enjoy, was something of a surprise - a big surprise!

One particularly hot and sunny afternoon, I went for a run, one of five a week I try to fit in, when the weather's good. Fuck gyms. As necessary as they are, I prefer to do my best work while pounding asphalt (unless I'm getting pounded myself.) I was wearing tight light blue shorts, better for showing off my squat-assisted and track-toned assets, and a white cut-off tee that bared my midriff. My firm, jutting tits were kept at bay by my very best sports bra, but even so their size and their position, high on my chest, kept the shirt away from my stomach, allowing a cool breeze to rush over my chest, cooling me off (and keeping my nipples hard.) I was about four miles into my run when I passed a man out mowing his yard who looked very interesting. He had a nice body, but he certainly didn't look like a gym rat. He smiled as I ran by, so I took a loop around the city block to catch a little more.

I upped my pace in order to get back to him, because even though I had promised myself I wouldn't pause in my run, and that a city block would allow a random enough stretch of time to pass before I came past his house again (the notion seemed logical to me at the time) and that fate would decide whether I saw him again or not -- I was excited by the prospect, and so I stretched each step, pushed myself till the burn was eating at my lungs and my muscles. That was the duality of my running. Always had been. I loved the burn. Knew how it sculpted my body. Loved the feel of my fabric-encased pussy, and, when I started to develop, loved the feel of my titflesh against my shirt. Now, as I pounded the pavement harder and harder, my juggies shifted and undulated, and my nipples rubbed against the lycra of my sports bra. All of it combined to soak my panties and make my heart race.

Luck was on my side. He was walking a bag of grass to the curb as I neared him. I stopped and said hello while crouching to catch my breath, which came in ragged shudders. A fine sheen of sweat covered my form, and showed off my form as if I had just oiled myself.

"Hi," he said. "Looks like this heat has got to you, too!" His shirt was soaked with sweat, and so were his lightweight grey shorts, revealing the outline of a very promising cock to my well-trained eye. My own shirt was sweat-soaked as well, and he nervously stared at my hard nipples, which stuck out like two thimbles and were quite visible through the wet material. I willed him to be bold, and fate smiled at me once more. His voice caught slightly as he licked his lips and put forward his best line. "Feel like cooling off with a glass of lemonade?" he asked.

It was awkward, and a little cliche, but there was no way I was passing it up. "Sure, I need a break anyway!" I replied.

Inside his house he led me to the basement bar, in a small, but cozy rec-room. It was air-conditioned, which felt good on my overheated skin, but soon bordered on giving me a chill, and set my already excited nipples to harden even further. We sat on bar stools in the den as he nervously prepped, and poured us each a drink. It was cute, in a way that made me feel a bit predatory. Though he was definitely older -- I would have guessed in his late thirties -- he was a little awkward and shy, whereas I was ready to take what he was giving out as soon as we had crossed the threshold. The drinks, the chat... all of it entirely unnecessary. If only he knew what kind of a fucking he was in for. We made small talk while stealing glances at each other. I licked my lips once or twice on the sly to see if he took the hint. He was totally absorbed with my tits and I could tell he was relaxing, because I glimpsed the outline of his dick growing longer and fatter in his shorts -- with no end in sight. Every time I snuck a peek at his fucker, it continued its expansion, sneaking down the inside of his thigh, nearing the 'stretch-my-jaw-around-that-coke-can' thickness, if seeing was to be believed.

My heart raced. He explained that he had been divorced for about a year and had not yet been intimate with another woman. Chuckling nervously as he tilted his glass back to get the last of his lemonade, he said a beauty like mine made it difficult to maintain control.

"...then let it go" I said, now looking directly at his crotch. At these words his eyes went wide and that fine piece of cockmeat began to surge toward full erection, the head coming into view at the end of his shorts. It must have been near ten inches at this point, and I was thrilled to see it continue to grow on its journey toward my snatch. He leaned forward, grabbing my tits in his hands, his thumbs finding my nipples game-controller-style thru the fabric of my jogging top, and pulled me to him for a long, heavenly kiss. I reached down to grab the biggest hunk of meat I had ever felt and found that I could not encircle its entire girth with my hand. Not even close. I shuddered at the thought of what this pole must look and feel like when untethered. I finally told him to stand up,.

Kneeling in front of him, I slowly lowered his shorts to savour every inch of his enormity. I hesitated at the tip, seeing him wince as his meat surged with an incredible hard-on. Suddenly his banger sprang free, brushing my face as it pulsated to a full and absolutely glorious erection. I watched in amazement as it rose to a 45-degree angle, the thick ropes of veins criss-crossing its surface throbbing with every beat of his heart.

"I have to know," I said.

"What?" he replied, his voice thick with lust and arousal.

"How big is it?" I panted, my pussy leaking steadily, twitching with need.

"I really don't know. Why don't you measure it?" he smiled, and reached into a nearby drawer as I pushed my shorts to my ankles, letting the musk of my bare slit greet him. As he rummaged, I leaned back against the bar, letting my fingers open the petals of my bare, dripping snatch for him. He turned back to see the view I was giving him, and as my eyes glazed and I diddled myself, he groaned when he saw my shaved thatch and exposed clit, a drop of pre glistening on his gargantuan glans. The anticipation was killing me, and I mewled slightly as I tasted my own arousal, dipping two fingers back into my hole, fucking myself while he teased me with his beastly dick dangling dangerous before me. He stepped closer, handing me a wooden 12-inch ruler. I brought my fingers to my mouth, licking my own nectar. Placing the ruler on the top of his telephone pole, to my amazement it passed the 12-inch mark by three full inches.

"Fucking hell -- fifteen and a half inches of fuckstick, all for me!" I exclaimed, wrapping both my hands around his cock with long, slow strokes.

I tongued that big pulsating head for all I was worth, sucking as far down his shaft as I could possibly go, tonguing at his piss-slit and getting as much of my mouth all over as much of him, as I could. I've taken a good few dicks in my life, and taken them deep, though I'm no deep-throater. But this piece was too much for my throat. I made do by pumping the base of his pole with my hands until I could feel that he was about ready to explode. His legs trembled, hands entwined in my hair, and his shaft bucking like it was all about to come off the rails. He could stand no more, shooting surge after surge of delicious, molten come down my throat and around my mouth. There was so much it dribbled out the corners of my mouth like rain, even though I was stretched fit to burst around his pussy-pleaser.

As I continued to suck on his wondrous tool, swallowing as much as I could, he instantly sprang back to attention, hungry for more. I was only too happy to oblige and tore off my skimpy jogging outfit, exposing my freshly-shaven, dripping gash, and spent far longer than I needed to in peeling off my come-stained shirt, covered in so much of him it seemed a geyser had gone off under my chin. I hefted my left breast and sucked the nipple into my come-slick lips, sucking lewdly on myself until the nub stuck out like the end of his pinky finger.

He rolled my other nipple with the fingers of one hand, while his other grabbed his long, glistening, hard cock at the base. I marvelled that nearly a foot of cock jutted obscenely from his fist. We both watched in awe as his plum-sized head plopped into my snizz, and he sank into me, every beautiful inch sending waves of pleasure through me.

My overstuffed pussy came as soon as the head slipped in, and I screamed as a righteous wave of intoxication tore through me like a gunshot. When he passed the ten inch mark he began quickening his strokes, and a steady stream of filth spilled out of me as I rode out the best fuck of my life. His battering ram distended my toned stomach, and I fixated on the sight of him pummelling my guts.

"Yes you hung motherfucker, look at that donkey-dick fuck me up! Jesus fuck, you're so deep!" Orgasm after orgasm washed over me, and before long I was coming in a near-endless line of orgasmic electricity, like my body was hooked up to 220V. I'm not usually a squirter, but this dude had me dribbling like a leaky faucet. I grabbed onto the remaining meat outside my pussy, feeling it expand as he came again, deep in my womb. I needed more of this guy's huge prick, not wanting this to ever end.

"Fuck my tits," I begged. "Slide that Weapon of Mass Destruction into the valley of my equally huge tits!" He loved that, and straddled me as I lay on the floor, his cock dangling over me like a drawbridge. He slid it slowly between my titflesh, and into my eager little mouth, where I sucked him feverishly and spat on his meaty bat. After a while I could see his cock expanding for yet another explosion.

"Yes!" I quivered. "Come in my mouth and all over these tits, you stud bastard! Let that big cock pour your delicious sweet seed down my throat!" I wrapped my arms under my heaving tits, pressing them together into an endless ocean of nubile flesh. This pushed him over the edge, and I opened my mouth wide, sticking my tongue out in the slut's universal sign for 'give me that nut.' The sight and feel of him fisting his cock to a roaring orgasm, pulsing hot wads of come into my waiting mouth, down my neck and all over my tits sent me into a frenzy. I came, too, in another totally outrageous climax.

I grabbed his cock with both hands, finally seeing it begin to relax, spent from our afternoon. I gently laid it on my stomach and once again marvelled at its length and girth, even when partially soft. I jog by his house every chance I get now, and we enjoy each-other's company (and proportions) often. I don't think I will ever top this fifteen-and-a-half-incher, but I'm always on the lookout for fresh meat!