Your Chad is a stud, and you’re a ditz

You stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom twenty minutes before Chad is due home and decide the outfit looks better than you expected.

The pink tank top stretches tight across your breasts; the glittery Barbie-style script that spells Bimbo sparkles every time you breathe. The thin silver necklace with the slut charm sits cool against your throat. The lavender mini-skirt is so short you can feel cool air on the undersides of your ass cheeks; the little white tag that says Anal love instead of a size brushes your skin whenever you move. Under the skirt the bikini-cut pink panties hug you snugly; across the front in the same soft lavender script the words must be at least 8” long to enjoy this ride are impossible to ignore. Soft pink knee-high toe socks complete the look; when you lift one foot you can read kinky bitch printed on the sole.

You turn left, then right, watching the skirt flare. A low, pleasant tingle has been building between your legs since the moment you pulled the last sock on. Your nipples are already stiff against the thin pink fabric. You feel open and a little empty in a way that is new but not unwelcome. You tell yourself it is just the sexy clothes putting you in a playful mood. Nothing more.

When Chad’s key turns in the lock you are already waiting in the living room, heart beating a little faster than usual.

He stops dead in the doorway. His eyes drag over every piece of the outfit. You give him a slightly nervous smile.

“Okay, don’t laugh. I know it’s over the top, but I tried everything on and… I don’t know, it just felt kind of hot? Like Halloween but sexier. What do you think?”

“You look fucking unreal,” he says, voice already rough.

You step closer on the soft socked feet, reach down, and cup the growing bulge in his jeans. Even through the denim you can feel the heavy, thick shape of him—nine and a half inches long and nearly seven inches around when he is fully hard, a fact that still makes your knees weak six months into the marriage. He hardens rapidly under your palm, the thick ridge of the head already trying to push past his waistband.

“Mmm. Someone’s happy to see the outfit.” You give him a playful squeeze, then glance down at the slogan printed across your own panties and smile. “These say the ride needs at least eight inches. Lucky for me my husband is packing nine-and-a-half.”

Chad’s eyes darken. He reaches for you, but you drop to your knees first, pop his button and zipper, and free the heavy cock the clothes suddenly make you crave even more than usual. It swings out thick and already half-hard, the dark head shiny. You wrap both hands around it and still can’t cover the full length. The measuring slogan on your pink panties feels like a personal challenge that he is about to destroy.

You take him into your mouth. The stretch of your lips around the thick girth makes you moan. Chad grows fully hard against your tongue—nine and a half inches of heavy, veiny cock that forces your jaw wide and bumps the back of your throat when you try to take him deeper. Spit runs down your chin and onto the glittery Bimbo lettering. The slut necklace swings and taps against his balls. Your soft pink socks brace against the floor as you worship the cock the outfit keeps telling you is exactly what a bimbo needs.

After several long, messy minutes you pull off with a wet pop and look up, lips swollen, eyes already glassy.

“I need it in my pussy now. And then in my butt. The tag says Anal love and I can feel it tingling back there. Please, Chad? Please fuck the bimbo with that massive cock?”

He hauls you up, spins you around, and bends you over the arm of the couch. The short lavender skirt flips up easily. He drags the pink panties—must be at least 8” long to enjoy this ride—to the side and pushes the thick head of his cock into your cunt in one slow, relentless thrust. The stretch is intense. You are soaked and blazing hot, yet he still has to work every thick inch inside you until his hips finally meet your ass. Both of you groan.

“Fuck—yes—so fucking big—fill the bimbo—use the slut—”

He sets a hard, steady pace, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. Every thrust makes the glittery Bimbo lettering sparkle. The slut necklace swings. The soft pink socks flex against the floor. The thick girth drags against every sensitive spot inside you. You come the first time within minutes, cunt clamping down hard around the massive shaft while you babble the words printed on your own body. He does not stop. He fucks you through a second orgasm, then a third, until your legs are shaking and your toes are curling inside the kinky bitch socks.

When he finally pulls out you are dripping and open. He presses the slick, fist-thick head against your tighter hole and pushes. The Anal love tag on the skirt brushes your skin as the fat cock forces its way into your ass inch by thick inch. You go up on your toes, mouth open in a silent scream of pure stretch, then start pushing back onto him with desperate little rolls of your hips once he is fully buried.

“Yes—yes—fill the kinky bitch’s butt—make the bimbo take every inch—”

Chad fucks your ass like he owns it. The combination of the brutal size, the ridiculous pink-and-lavender outfit, and the way you keep calling yourself every filthy name printed on the clothes drives both of you higher. You come again from the anal alone, a deep, full-body orgasm that makes your vision white out. He follows seconds later, burying himself to the root and flooding your guts with thick, heavy ropes of cum. There is so much of it that it immediately begins to leak out around his cock and run down your thighs in long white streaks.

He stays locked against you for several long breaths, then pulls out