Veronica's past and present

At long last…this dinner date was getting somewhere.

Eddie, the strapping mega stud that I had picked up at my gym no more than a few hours ago, finally put his cards on the table and started actually acting like he was going to fuck my brains out. The puddle of pussy juice that was collecting in my chair was about to become a lake if this hunk of man shoved those two meaty, teasing fingers up my asshole. But that was going to be nothing compared to him plowing his steel-tempered, mule-sized cock up inside of me…his enormous balls smacking my pussy so hard that my love scum would just rain down on his bed…sweat pouring off of our world-class, hyper-sexed bodies as he fucks me senseless and makes me his cum-slut bimbo fuck toy…

But perhaps I should start from the beginning.

My name is Veronica, and I head up internet security for one of the big banks here in LA even though I’m just 24 years old. But those facts are just about the last things that anyone remembers about me, if they do at all.

I was born to Mexican parents and raised in the city. They were relatively poor, and what they didn’t bestow on me with riches they made up for with my genetics a thousand times over. Even as a child I knew I was going to grow up to be a gorgeous woman. With big brown doe eyes, a cute, pert nose, and a set of thick, luscious lips, my face was the definition of photogenic. It metamorphosed from cute to incredibly sexy when I entered my teens. Because of my features alone, and despite always being among the shortest girls in my grade, my father doted on me excessively as I was growing up because he knew I was going to be more than a little trouble when I blossomed into a young woman.
Still, I was often picked on because of my small stature. With children being as cruel as they are, I had few friends and was fairly shy as a result, so my energy was directed inward. I was a straight-A, bookish type of student, and I had a facility with computers that surpassed any of the other kids in my class. I liked all manner of things considered “geeky”: comic books, video games – all of it in the service of sparing me from the callousness of my classmates.

Puberty was, to say the least, very kind to me and a welcome relief. There was no awkward phase – not one bit. And while I had always dreamt of being tall, or even average height, the universe didn’t answer my prayers and grant me with an abnormal growth spurt; I ended up just a little over five feet tall. My body, on the other hand, filled out in a way that was beyond the stuff of dreams. I had always been petite with a tiny frame, and none of that changed as I grew older. But a pair of humungous breasts sprouted out of my chest seemingly overnight, and my modestly-sized butt gained a full, lush, round shape. Both of these assets were completely out of proportion to the rest of my body, but I soon learned that they enticed boys – and not too much later, men – to an extent that I had never experienced before to that point in my life. Everything just became much easier for me. Because of my looks and my bookish, easy-going nature, men inexplicably bent to my will, though it was (at first) completely unprovoked on my part. That was the power that my body had, but it would take a few years for me to harness the sway I held over them.

Unfortunately for my father’s sanity, an insatiable sexual appetite accompanied my newfound, sex goddess body. It’s not like I became a total slut, ready to open my legs and fuck anything with a cock that moved, but it was inevitable that I would be sexually active at a young age. I lost my virginity at 14 and had been with several partners by the time I turned 18. Those formative sexual experiences shaped my preferences for men to this day. There were three things that really got my motor running, and if a guy had the total package, then I would move heaven and earth to make sure that he fucked me silly.

A handsome face was paramount. I know – very boring, totally expected – but that primal, sexual feeling never manifests itself unless a guy has really cute features.

A tall, muscle-bound body was another prerequisite for getting in my pants. Even though I weigh just 100 lbs., I still love the feeling of being with a man who can completely overpower me. Who can throw my little fuck doll body around in the bedroom. Who has the physical stamina to fuck me all day and all night, for hours on end. Feeling a big stud’s hard chest and abdominal muscles…watching him work up a sweat in the gym or on the field…GOD, my pussy just fucking melts for a big, hard body.

And the last, but most vital, requirement to be one of my lovers was to have an enormous cock. Not just an incredibly long and thick shaft – if I can cover it with both of my hands, you’re getting a blow job at most – but a pair of balls that could churn up an ocean of cum and coat my ridiculously-sized knockers and the rest of my tiny, sexy body. Sexual stamina is equally as important as the physical kind; I’m not going to waste my time with some three-pump chump. It might seem ironic that a five-foot tall bimbo like me would crave a dick the size of her forearm, but I took a certain sense of pride in being able to handle the best that male sexuality had to offer.

In short, if a guy wanted access to my world-class body, then he had better be on the same footing that I was on.

It was no surprise that most women hated me for my body and my overt sexuality, whether they knew me as a person or not. So, really, nothing had changed from when I was a child; I was just shunned for different reasons. Even so, I adhered to a certain feminine code of honor: if there was a man who possessed all three of the qualities I desired, but he was going out with someone else, then I would lay off of him. Unless, that is, his girlfriend happened to be a catty bitch who I know talked shit about me – to my face or behind my back. Needless to say it gave me no small pleasure to steal these girls’ men from right out under their noses.

That was actually how I dated my first boyfriend, Ben, during my junior year of high school. Ben was an absolute super stud – standing at 6’3” and weighing over 200 lbs., he had the body of an Adonis, chiseled muscles in all of the right places, and an utterly magnificent face with light brown hair and big blue eyes. And because he was an all-conference player on our school’s baseball team, it was impossible for him to hide that gargantuan package in those tight pants.

Seducing Ben proved to be simple in hindsight. After the baseball team won their regional championship that season, one of the players threw a huge party at his parents’ house to celebrate the victory. Practically the entire school was invited. And there was no chance that I was going to miss this affair; I had been to every game that season – not because I liked baseball or anything, but because I was completely mesmerized by the lead pipe that Ben was lugging around in his pants. His girlfriend Lindsay repeatedly caught me staring at him, practically drooling over his massive man meat as he rounded the bases. And all of the shit that she talked about me over the course of that season came to a head that night.

I devised a new plan of attack for my seduction of the hunky ball player at this party. To that point I had been a relatively modest girl, but I was driven by such an overwhelming lust for Ben – wanting to show up Lindsay only barely registered in my thoughts – I showed up in an outfit that was completely out of character for me at the time, but would soon become my primary weapon for when I wanted to take a big-dicked stud home to fuck me.

An extraordinarily skimpy white bandeau, no more than an inch in width, was wrapped tightly around my massive melons. Its white color offered a beautiful contrast to the deep, lush tan of my torso. More importantly, my tits absolutely overflowed from the garment (if you could call it that), forming a cleavage that was probably six inches long and showcasing an obscene amount of under-boob. While the bandeau just barely covered my perpetually hard nipples, which were boring through the thin fabric, it left more than half of my dark pink areolae exposed.

The skirt I wore was…well, calling it a skirt would require more than just imagination. But it was bright pink and had a hemline that ended about an inch below my already sopping wet pussy and left the lower half of my round, toned ass cheeks bared for all of the world to see. There was no hope of being able to conceal my little pussy when I sat down, the entirety of my silky, caramel legs put on display and begging to be fondled and squeezed by a pair of strong hands. To top off my bottom, underneath the skirt I had slipped on the tightest, tiniest white lace thong I could find, which rode high up over my wide hips and produced a cock-hardening display of whale tail. The sexy little underwear had the added benefit of drawing attention to my wisp of a waist, the size of my midsection belying the manner in which my breasts and butt exploded from my body.

Completing my outfit was a pair of five-inch wedge sandals that showed off my toned legs and gave me a little boost in height, although I still wasn’t much more than average.

When I arrived at the house party and walked inside the house, all eyes turned toward me – the boys with lust and the girls with envy – and I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel like I was on a bit of a power trip. That feeling gave me the confidence to walk straight up to Ben, swaying my womanly hips exaggeratingly. And once I brushed my mouth-watering, scarcely-covered chest against one of his powerful forearms to ensure I had his attention, I leaned up to his ear and whispered something into it, and I watched his handsome countenance transform from a slight smirk to a face-consuming, toothy grin.

Of course Lindsay was standing across the room, but I never once looked directly her way, just to twist the knife a little and make her regret all of the nasty, (mostly) untrue gossip that she had been spreading about me.

And that was all it took. Before I knew it, Ben had taken me by the hand and we left the party together. He drove the both of us to a nearby hotel, where I had the most memorable sexual marathon to that point in my life. Once I closed the door to our room behind us, within seconds Ben had ripped my flimsy bandeau in two with his large hands, making my perfectly round, jutting knockers jiggle wildly. He then pinned me up against the wall, lifting me by my more than ample ass, and dove right into my chest, covering every inch of my huge tits with a thick coat of saliva. My little thong, already damp with my love juice, basically evaporated; my honey pot was geysering from Ben’s display of power and sexual desire.

After playing with my hot little body for about ten minutes, I was finally able to get my new stud’s pants off and…I was not disappointed. I was in heaven. Even though I had seen the outline of his incredibly long, thick cock on many occasions, it was nothing compared to holding it in my dainty hands. He had to have been at least ten inches long and so thick that I couldn’t possibly wrap my hands around it. And at first I thought that he and Lindsay might not have been sexually active, because his balls were the size of plums, hanging low and heavy beneath his giant shaft.
I went into a lustful frenzy to the point of nearly blacking out because the sexual pleasure was so overpowering. Ben and I fucked for hours, but it felt like minutes. I rode his huge tool with abandon, to the extent that I was worried the bed was going to break if the squeak of its coils was any indication. The young Adonis picked me up in his strong arms like I weighed nothing more than a pillow and pounded me with his massive prick, lifting and sliding my petite frame along all ten of his inches with a jack-hammer cadence, the smack of his bull balls against my juicy bubble butt resonating through the room. I sucked as much of his hefty tool as I could fit down my throat (to my recollection, maybe seven inches – I was relative inexperienced back then) and planted long, languorous kisses up and down the shaft, marveling at the warmth of its vein-corded rigidity. Ben threw me on my back on the bed, mounted my torso with his muscled body, and fucked away between my mammoth tits with such intensity that I had small bruises on the undersides of my boobs from the repeated thumping of his enormous nutsack.

What I remember most, though, was the prodigious size of Ben’s ejaculations. The well-hung stud must have jizzed inside or on me at least five times that night and morning. The first one, the result of a long, loving blowjob followed by a furious, forty-five minute fuck in which I was contorted into three or four positions, must’ve lasted at least two minutes long – rope after rope of hot, sticky sperm landing all over my forehead, cheeks, lips, neck, tits, arms, stomach…I was utterly coated from top to bottom. The feeling of his gooey load on my skin was enough to amplify the chain of orgasms that was making me convulse uncontrollably, the power of my final cum seizing me that I lay prostrate for ten minutes. All I could do was rub the stud’s veritable bucket of jizz into my tanned skin and occasionally scoop a fingerful into my lolling maw.

After our first night together, Ben and I became a couple until we graduated from high school; our fuck marathon was so hot that Lindsay became a distant memory almost immediately. What sealed the deal was when he drove me home the next morning, me in the passenger seat completely topless because my bandeau had snapped in three or four places – my colossal jugs standing proudly on my chest without a hint of sag, flecks of his spilled manliness decorating them. Ben hosed me down with his gargantuan fuck stick one more time before he dropped me off at my car, his meaty paw fondling my ample ass as I stepped out of the back seat of his vehicle. I proudly wore a fresh coat of his seed on my chest, his parting words to me that I was his “big-titty bimbo fuck toy.” When I climbed into my car, I orgasmed just from those words, and the recall of the prior evening’s events.

My night with Ben marked the first step in my transformation from a pretty, sex-hungry girl into a cum-guzzling, size-queen whore.

I’m sure you’re dying to know what the magic words were that would make a man drop his girlfriend for a night of railing a cock-crazed, hot-bodied slut. But that’s a story for later.

Over the last six years, I’ve used my sexuality to get whatever I wanted – is it any wonder how I’m the head of my department at work at the age of 24? I didn’t fuck my way up the ladder, but needless to say, I flaunted the bank’s conservative dress code; most of the time, I dressed like it was Friday night and I was out to get double-teamed by a couple of studs at a night club. Micro-mini skirts. Cleavage-bearing, transparent blouses. Sundresses that highlighted every conceivable curve of my body. I caught some flak from some of my (jealous) female managers, but when it came to the attention of some of the male higher-ups, all it took was one meeting for me to convince them of what a valuable asset I was to the company. Use your imagination, boys.

Working in such a stuffy environment was really putting a crimp in my sexual life. While I had landed a fair share of long-cocked studs in college – maybe a dozen or so, but who’s counting – I was currently in the midst of my longest dry spell, a few months since my brains had been jarred loose by a nice, big, meaty dick.

My gym was usually a great source of well-hung, muscled studs; throwing on a pair of ass-swallowing lycra booty shorts and a barely-there top and strolling through the weight room was an easy way to dig up a few prospects. It didn’t take much for me to ascertain if there were any interested men – all I had to do was get their attention with a flirtatious smile or a wink, and one look at my enormous, firm tits or succulent bubble butt would let me see if they were packing any serious heat where it mattered.

The gym wasn’t just a meat market for me though. I took pride in maintaining my sexy, curvy figure, especially my athletic, juicy ass. I spent at least an hour exercising there everyday, either on the treadmills or the bicycles, and all my hard work paid off, rewarding me with a 30GG-19-35, 100-lbs. physique.

(No, you didn’t misread those measurements. Are my tits real or fake? And my ass? I get those questions all the time – understandable given the nature of Los Angeles – but the only time I answer them is when I’m impaled on a double-digit dick.)

This past Wednesday, though, the universe answered my prayers.
I was putting in a hard workout on one of the eight bikes at the gym, about a half hour in and sweat pouring down my body. Lost in a horny, sex-drenched reverie – I was having these day dreams at hourly intervals these days – I looked up and spotted him. I’ll never forget the first time I laid my eyes on Eddie.

Staring at me in the mirror, with a smirk on his chiseled, handsome face, was an absolute mountain of a man. He appeared to be almost a foot and a half taller than I was, and the width of his torso would cast an all-enveloping shadow over my petite frame. I couldn’t help but spend a few leisurely moments scrutinizing his cute face, framed by medium-length, messy blonde hair and clear blue eyes. I returned his smile with a come-hither look of my own, my eyes checking out the rest of his hulking mass at a similarly unhurried pace. Sweat was profusely streaming out all over his lightly tanned body, highlighting the muscles that bulged all over his arms, chest, legs, and…

Holy fuck.

Pointing straight at me, testing the tensile strength of his workout shorts to the maximum, was the largest, tastiest cock I had ever laid eyes on. It shocked my system to the point where I felt a bit dizzy, my head light and desperately trying to gasp for air, having already exerted myself during my exercise routine. I don’t know how long my gaze was captured by the meaty weapon directed at me, I just know it was long enough to know that there would be no doubt on this hung stud’s part that I was giving his package more than just a once over. The two round, distinct lumps clinging to his inner thighs were unmistakably his enormous undercarriage – what appeared to be two small tennis ball-sized testes…a veritable cum factory, of which I was eager to test its output. I could no longer tell what I was looking at; my mind had wandered off, thinking about this man lifting me off my bike, pinning me up against the wall, tearing off my clothes, and having his way with me anyway he wanted.

I cut my workout short and rushed back home, digging out my biggest vibrator and going to town on my waterfall of a pussy. Dreaming about this hunk I only saw – and didn’t even talk to! – no more than forty-five minutes prior, I masturbated myself into one of the most powerful, unceasing orgasms that I had had in recent memory.

The next day I made sure that I went to the gym at the exact same time, with the express purpose of trying to catch my new crush’s eye and hopefully entice him to ask me out. To that end, I had dressed in one of my sluttier gym outfits: an itty-bitty white sports bra that – in the right light – would offer this stud a view of every inch of my massive tits, from the contour of each melon because of its form-fitting shape, to the outline and size of my areolae and nipples because of its thin material. The hip-hugging, low-riding black shorts I was sporting rode up my asscrack even more than the blue pair I had rocked the day before.

But it was all for naught. Just as I was heading into the women’s locker room, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and hesitated for just a second, briefly contemplating turning on my heels and marching straight towards him. But a small voice inside me advised that desperation would be a poor strategy in trying to hook this stunner of a lady-killer.

When I got back to my apartment, though, my drenched pussy overwhelmed my more sensible side, and I resolved to go all out to bag this horse-hung stud the next day; I just HAD to get my hands, my cunt, my asshole, and my mouth all over his dick – my well-studied eye told me that it had to be at least eleven or twelve inches long, and possibly even more! This man was easily the most promising prospect I had seen in at least the last three years. Desperation be damned.

And on Friday, the following day…well, the rest is, as they say, history. I didn’t need to chat him up with anything other than a simple introduction, and after he asked me out to dinner that same night – along with the manner in which we were shamelessly flirting and eye-fucking each other – I had little doubt that I would be bathing in Eddie’s cum before the clock struck midnight.