The first time I took that thick cock, it split me open so wide I thought I'd scream. I was twenty-two, drunk on cheap wine at a friend's party, and he was the quiet guy in the corner with the bulge that wouldn't quit. We ended up in the spare bedroom, door barely shut, and he pulled it out like he knew exactly what it did to girls. Heavy, veined, already half-hard and bigger than anything I'd seen in porn. "You sure?" he asked, but I was already on my knees, mouth stretching around the head, spit dripping down my chin as I tried to take even half of it.
I gagged hard, eyes watering, but the way it pulsed against my tongue made my pussy clench. He grabbed my hair and fed it deeper, telling me to relax, to breathe through my nose while that fat shaft pushed toward my throat. By the time he hauled me up and bent me over the bed, I was soaked. The first push inside felt impossible. My cunt lips spread obscenely around him, burning as he inched forward, every ridge and vein dragging against my walls. I clawed the sheets and begged him to go slow, but he just laughed low and kept pressing, filling me until I felt his balls slap my ass and I was stuffed full, stretched tight like a glove two sizes too small.
He fucked me like he owned the space inside me. Long, deliberate strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, each one punching a moan out of my chest. My pussy made wet, filthy sounds around him, cream coating his shaft every time he withdrew. I came twice before he flipped me onto my back, legs pinned to my shoulders, and drove in even deeper. The angle let him grind against my cervix with every thrust, pain and pleasure blurring until I squirted around his cock, soaking the mattress. He didn't stop. He just kept pounding, sweat dripping onto my tits, until he pulled out and painted my stomach and tits with thick ropes of cum.
After that night I started swapping stories with my friends. We got together every couple weeks, wine flowing, and the talk always turned filthy. Sarah went next. She met a guy at the gym whose dick was even thicker, curved upward so it nailed her G-spot every time. She described riding him reverse cowgirl, how her ass cheeks spread and her pussy lips gripped that monster while she bounced, juices running down his balls. "I came so hard I almost blacked out," she said, laughing. "He had to hold me up because my legs gave out."
Then came Maya, who got wrecked by a one-night stand with a cock so long she swore she could feel it in her stomach. She told us how he made her watch in the mirror while he took her from behind, her belly showing a faint bulge every time he bottomed out. She came screaming, pussy fluttering and clenching around him until he flooded her. We all shifted in our seats, wet and restless, trading details like currency.
My own second time with that same guy was even dirtier.
He showed up at my apartment unannounced, bent me over the kitchen counter, and fucked me raw while I tried to keep quiet. Neighbors probably heard the slap of his hips and my broken moans anyway. He pulled my hair, called me his greedy little slut, and made me beg for every inch. When he finally let me come, it was with three fingers on my clit and that huge cock pulsing deep inside, pumping me full until cum leaked out around his shaft.
We kept sharing. More girls, more stories. Each one ended with the same raw hunger: the stretch, the fullness, the way a big cock made everything else disappear except the wet slide and the deep, relentless pounding. None of us wanted gentle. We wanted wrecked, used, and left dripping. And every time the stories circled back, someone always asked for the next filthy detail, voices low and thighs pressed tight, already planning who would take that kind of cock next.
