Dunk Escalates Things

His deep voice rumbles above me as I keep stroking—slow, steady, both hands barely making a dent in covering his impossible length. My red stilettos dig into the carpet as I shift my weight on my knees, trying to stay balanced while that throbbing heat pulses against my palms.

“Mrs. Stevens…” he says, low and rough, one huge hand gently resting on the back of my head—not pushing, just there. “It… it takes a long time sometimes. Longer than this. The doctors told me extra stimulation helps cut it down. Visual stuff mostly. Seeing a really incredible female body up close… and hearing her talk dirty while she works me. Makes everything faster, easier. Less pressure on the condition.”

I freeze for a second, my glossy pink lips parting as I look up at him—way up—his dark eyes locked on mine with that same pleading, ashamed expression he wore in the grocery store.

“I know we haven’t set all the rules yet,” he continues quickly, voice soft, almost apologetic, “but neither of those things feels like crossing a real line to me. It’s still just… helping. No penetration, no real sex. Just giving my body what it needs to finish quicker so I don’t have to keep bothering you like this.”

My heart hammers. I feel the flush creeping down my neck, over the tops of my huge enhanced breasts—the ones I got purely because my husband wanted them, because I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to be the perfect, pleasing wife.

I swallow hard, my manicured fingers still wrapped around his shaft, slick now, moving almost on autopilot.

“I… I don’t know how to talk like that,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I’ve never… I’ve only ever been with my husband. Sweet, gentle things. Not… dirty.”

He gives a small, encouraging nod, thumb brushing lightly along my ponytail.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good at it. Just… try. And maybe—” His gaze drops meaningfully to my tight white crop top, the way it’s straining against my DDD implants. “Maybe pull that down a little? Let me see what your husband paid for. The doctors said seeing something that beautiful really helps speed things up.”

It’s all so reasonable in his calm, deep voice. So clinical. So necessary.

I hesitate, breathing fast, but that submissive part of me—the part that agreed to surgery just to make one man happy—stirs again. If this really will help him finish faster… if it really will keep him from cheating on my daughter… then maybe it’s not so bad.

My trembling fingers leave his cock for a moment and move to the hem of my crop top. I tug it down slowly, the thin fabric peeling away until my huge, perfectly round breasts spill out completely, nipples already hard from the cool air and the forbidden thrill I’m trying so hard to ignore.

His low groan of approval sends a shiver straight through me.

“God, those are incredible,” he breathes. “So much better than I imagined. Keep stroking me, Mrs. Stevens… and tell me how big I feel in your little married hands. Tell me what you think of a cock this size compared to the only one you’ve ever had.”

I whimper softly, wrapping both hands back around him, starting to pump again as I **** the words out—quiet, shaky, unfamiliar.

“It’s… it’s so much bigger than my husband’s. So thick… I can’t even close my fingers around it. I’ve never felt anything like this…”

His hips flex just slightly into my grip, encouraging.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Keep going. Just like that.”

And even though I know, deep down, that every concession is pulling me further in, I keep stroking.

I keep talking.

Because I’m still telling myself this is all for my daughter… and because some traitorous part of me is starting to crave the way his eyes devour me when I obey.