He Needs More

My hands are slick now, pumping faster along that endless, throbbing length, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet living room. I’m still on my knees in my red stilettos, enormous FF-cup breasts already spilling out of the pulled-down crop top, heavy and perfectly round, nipples tight and aching from the cool air and the shameless way he’s staring at them.

“Good… just like that,” he groans, hips rocking gently into my grip. “Keep talking, Mrs. Stevens. You’re doing so good.”

I bite my lip, then let the words tumble out louder, filthier, frantic to make him finish faster.

“God, your cock is so fucking huge, Dunk… so much thicker than anything I’ve ever touched. My husband’s little four-inch dick never stretched my hands like this… never made me feel this full just holding it.”

His breath catches hard, that massive shaft jerking in my palms. It’s working. I push further, voice breathy and ****.

“You like seeing these massive fake tits, don’t you? My husband paid good money for these FF-cups… wanted me to have huge, perfect trophy tits so he could show me off. But he’s never seen them bounce like they would on a cock this size…”

A deep growl rumbles from his chest, and one huge hand slides down to cup the underside of one heavy breast, lifting it slightly, testing the weight. I gasp, but I don’t stop—I can’t.

“Please… I need you to cum for me, baby. I want to watch this monster explode because of my married FF tits…”

He groans louder, and suddenly both of his massive hands are on my shoulders, gently urging me upward.

“Stand up for me, Mrs. Stevens,” he says, voice thick and strained. “Please. Take that top off completely. Let me see every inch of those huge, perfect implants while you keep telling me how much bigger I am than your husband. I’m so close… seeing all of you will push me right over the edge.”

My legs wobble in the stilettos as I rise, still stroking him with one hand because letting go feels impossible now. With the other, I grab the hem of the tiny white crop top and peel it up and off in one slow motion, letting it fall to the floor.

Now I’m standing topless in front of him—my enormous FF-cup breasts completely bare, sitting high and round on my chest, nipples hard and flushed, the sheer size of them making my ribcage look tiny by comparison. My flat, tanned stomach and gold belly piercing lead down to the skin-tight ripped jeans, red heels making my legs look endless.

I step closer, pressing those heavy, enhanced tits against his lower abs as both hands return to his throbbing shaft, pumping harder, faster.

“Look at them, Dunk… look at what my husband bought me. These massive, fake FF tits were his fantasy… but right now they’re all for you. These huge, married slut-tits are going to milk every drop out of this giant black cock…”

I squeeze tighter, twisting my wrists on every stroke, dirty words pouring out shamelessly now.

“Cum all over them if you want… cover these perfect implants while I tell you how pathetic my husband’s little dick feels compared to you…”

His head tips back, a guttural growl building in his throat, hips thrusting harder into my grip. I can feel him swelling even thicker, closer.

I know I’m giving him exactly what he wants.

And some treacherous part of me is starting to love how it feels to watch him lose control because of me.