
I had made a huge mistake.
My phone buzzed on my porch with a fresh round of drama. Alerts bearing phrases like “reckless immaturity,” “thought with your dick,” and “make amends” spilled across the screen. Humboldt Park was a symphony of car horns and Puerto Rican music in the wet evening air, and yet the DMs of my disintegrating writers group seemed louder somehow.
My fling with my younger friend and coauthor was all fun and orgasms until I hit the exit. Meg had not taken the news well, and left the writers group. The writers group had not taken her exit well. I had not taken their takes well. How was I supposed to know that my actions would have consequences?
But as a consolation, Cyrus was still coming over.
A few months prior, Cyrus joined my writers group for help with his screenwriting hobby. I’d known him for years, and he followed my second divorce rebound with interest. One day, he announced he was getting back on all the dating apps, inspired by my unhinged sluttery. Within a week, he was fucking a new woman every day. Then he moved onto a threesome with a married couple, the gateway drug to bisexual hedonism. The next day, he texted me that he’d fucked the husband as well as the wife, and needed to think about his life.
What can I say? My bisexual wizardry knew no bounds.
His SUV rolled to a stop at the curb, and Cyrus swung his massive legs onto the street. He’d swept through the needy bottoms of Tinder like a freight train, and the glow up showed. He walked with a cocky swagger, and wore a god damned cowboy hat. His barrel chest strained against his half-buttoned shirt, and my mouth watered at the thought of what awaited me underneath.
“Welcome to my new place,” I said with a smirk and a flourish. My second divorce apartment awaited us behind me, an ancient shotgun unit in Humboldt Park. “Sorry about all the drama,” I added as my phone buzzed yet again.
Cyrus chuckled. “I turned off my alerts,” he said. Then I was in his arms, my breath taken away as I was the one swept up for a change. He was as tall as I was, and bulkier by half, his massive arms claiming me with his uncompromising strength. His beard brushed my face alongside his confident lips, reassuring, claiming.
God, he was amazing.
I led us up the steps and into my apartment, barely able to contain my excitement. The new place was divorce austerity at its finest: bare hardwood with a smattering of furniture from my old life (though not Karen’s precious creme couch). A show we’d agreed to pretend to watch was paused on the television, ignored as we tumbled onto the sofa.
He tossed his cowboy hat on my desk as I opened his shirt, kissing my way down his neck and chest. He was built like a brick wall, muscles pumped up at the gym rippling under my hands and lips. Thank godlessness his bisexual tastes had awoken: it was a shame and a crime to leave his gorgeous body to women alone.
Cyrus’ powerful hands slid under my clothes as I worked, claiming me with reassured confidence. I was putty in his arms, his willing toy to touch and guide and move. He rumbled with pleasure as I nuzzled my face into his abs, tasting his delicious sweat and savoring his desire for more, always more.
I slid to my knees as he opened his pants. My breath caught as his enormous cock swung free of his boxers. So that was how everyone else felt when they saw me: Cyrus was huge, bigger than me in every way. I caressed his rigid shaft in wonder, trailing my fingers down, my long fingers seeming ordinary against his might.
He laid a hand on my shoulder as I tasted his bulging head, reassuring and firm. He was thick and uncompromising, filling my mouth, his grunts echoing in my ears as I worked my way down. My tongue rolled down his shaft, lapping him slowly, lovingly. I could barely fit him down my throat, straining to stay relaxed and open. When my lips finally reached his ballsack I could only hold on instead of thrusting, my gurgles muffled by his sheer size.
I had finally met my match with Cyrus’ cock. I worked him carefully, swirling my tongue around him with deep, lavish strokes. His machinelike thighs squirmed around me as I bobbed, worshiping his head with fluttering kisses in between desperate, strained slurps. His balls slid through my fingers, twitching with my caresses, his body lurching in tandem with his rising groans.
“I…want…to fuck you,” Cyrus panted.
With an inhaled gasp, I pulled off of his shaft. He peeled off my clothes as I pulled him deeper into the apartment, his hunger escaping from him in low growls as his hands ran over my body. Nervous anticipation raced through me, my fingers trailing on his rigid cock.
A Costco mattress lay flat on the hardwood in my bedroom: the giant divorce king would never have fit in my new, smaller quarters. I stacked pillows on the edge of the mattress while Cyrus tore open a condom and slicked himself up. My heart thundered in my ears as I draped myself over the pillows, spreading wide for him. Would I even be able to handle him?
“Go slow,” I whispered as he moved in behind me. His slick, cool finger pushed into my asshole gently, filling me, stretching me. I bit my lip as I felt his cock slide through my ass cheeks, at his rumble of anticipation as he squirted more lube onto his girth.
Cyrus’ massive head pushed into me with relentless, unceasing pressure. I groaned as he worked his massive cock into me, finger by finger. Each moment pushed me to the brink, filled me beyond anything I’d thought possible. Yet he kept going somehow, splitting me up the middle with his unbearable, wonderful power.
“You’re…tight,” Cyrus grunted as he thrust.
“You’re fucking huge,” I gasped back at him. His chuckle rippled through my body, shook inside my core. I forced my hands to relax in the sheets, pushed my breath in and out, melting into him, giving way before him.
When he finally settled against my back I let out a gasping, triumphant whoop. He laid one massive hand on my back, and took hold of my hip with his other. Each thrust sent a lightning bolt of pressure through me, shuddering in my thighs and twitching in my cock. He was a machine of power inside me, claiming all of me for his own, working me into his gargantuan pleasure.
I grasped my cock underneath us as Cyrus worked. He lifted my body with his pumps, and his strokes bled into mine, sending pleasure racing through me with every motion. I bounced between him and the mattress, bucking into him, with him. The dark room fell away before his grunts, his rising thrusts. I was flattened before him, pressed into his body, melted into his desire and pushed beyond my limits.
I screamed into the mattress as my cock exploded. I emptied before Cyrus’ hammering cock, tore apart from his relentless power. Cum spurted through my fingers, soaking the pillows beneath me in clenching, relentless waves. Each pump of his cock drove another peal of pleasure out of me, wringing me out until my throat burned and my entire body ached.
Cyrus flew into a frenzy as I gasped out the last of my orgasm. He clutched my hips with iron fists, plunging into me with abandon. His legs shook around me as he drove harder, faster, his groans turned into hungry, angry cries. His shaft battered me within, a fist of uncompromising pleasure, taking all that I was and giving all that he could.
An enormous roar tore out of his throat as he drove me into the mattress. I cried out as I felt his cock burst, beating out his pleasure inside of me with massive spurts. He gripped me with terrifying strength, holding me down as he emptied into me over and over. I trembled before his lust, filled with his massive, unending release.
“...fuck!” we both gasped at once when Cyrus finally pulled out of me. We burst out laughing as we fell onto the mattress together, interspersed with groans as we found each other’s spent shafts, caressing and stroking. He lay back as I rested my head on his chest, letting out a happy sigh.
“I think I have to kill the writers group,” I mumbled into his chest.
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he said with a chuckle.
That was hot as fuck! 🥵