The air crackled. Sarah's gaze, dark and desperate, locked onto Mark's, a silent challenge warring with abject need in her dilated pupils. That thin line of drool glistened on her chin, a stark counterpoint to the defiant set of her jaw. Her hands, knuckles white where they gripped the thick base and heavy sac, trembled not with fear now, but with a terrifying, focused intensity. The raw scent of him, musky and primal, hung thick in the small room, mingling with the pine and vanilla of his cologne and the faint, metallic tang of her own arousal.
Mark stood frozen, rooted to the worn carpet. The shock of her assault, the slapping thwack of his own flesh against her palm and face, the choked sounds she'd made – it had short-circuited his brain. He felt like a spectator in his own body, a vessel for this impossible thing she worshipped and abused. Shame warred with a hot, unfamiliar surge of something else. Power? Control? Seeing Sarah – Sarah, who'd mocked him since junior high, reduced to a trembling, drooling mess kneeling at his feet – sent a jolt through him that had nothing to do with fear. His cock, impossibly heavy and achingly hard, pulsed in her fierce grip, a visceral reminder of the absurd reality.
Then, without a word, she moved.
It wasn't hesitant. It wasn't graceful. It was a plunge. A dive into the deep end with no thought of air.
Her head snapped forward, mouth wide, eyes squeezed shut in fierce concentration. She didn't kiss. She didn't lick. She engulfed. Or tried to.
The swollen, leaking head slammed against the back of her throat with brutal force before her lips even fully closed. A wet, choked gag ripped from her, muffled and strained against his skin. Her jaw stretched obscenely wide, tendons standing out in her neck like cables. Tears sprang instantly to her eyes, blurring the posters on his wall into colorful smudges. She could feel the thick ridge of his glans pressing hard, impossibly hard, against her soft palate, threatening to block everything. The sheer width burned the corners of her lips, stretching them to the limit.
The humiliation was instant and scalding. It burned hotter than the physical shock. This was what she'd been obsessed with? This monstrous invasion? This choking, gagging ordeal? She, Sarah, who dictated terms, who chose who and when and how, was reduced to a drooling, choking mess trying to accommodate Mark's… thing. Her stomach lurched. She tasted salt – her tears? Precum? Both? The urge to wrench herself away, to spew bile onto his carpet, was overwhelming.
But deeper still, beneath the shame and the burning stretch, a terrifying compulsion held her. It was inside her. Finally. The forbidden object of her stolen glances, fevered imaginings, and that shocking scent-induced climax. The sheer reality of it filling her mouth, stretching her throat, was a dark, undeniable thrill that tangled with the revulsion. She'd started this. She needed to finish it. To conquer it. Prove she could take it. Prove she was still in charge, even kneeling, even choking.
She forced her throat muscles to relax, a conscious, agonizing effort that felt like swallowing a fist. She managed to pull back a fraction, just enough to get the head past the tight ring of her throat, gasping in a desperate, shallow breath through her nose. Her lips strained around the incredible thickness just below the glans. Saliva pooled, overflowing, slicking his shaft, dripping onto her thighs. Her eyes, streaming, flew open, locking onto Mark's stunned face above her. Her look was pure, defiant fury mixed with desperate need.
"See?" she rasped, the word thick and garbled around him, saliva bubbling at the corners of her stretched mouth. "I... told you... I could... take it." (She'd said no such thing). Another gulp, another agonized contraction in her throat. She pushed forward again, forcing another agonizing inch past her teeth, gagging violently, tears now freely tracking through the smudged remnants of her makeup. The stretch was excruciating. She couldn't breathe. Her vision spotted.
Mark watched, transfixed. The sight of Sarah, the untouchable queen bee, reduced to this – lips stretched obscenely red, tears streaking her cheeks, eyes wide with a mix of panic and fierce determination – was beyond anything he could process. He felt her throat constricting rhythmically around the head of his cock, a hot, wet, pulsing pressure that sent shocks of pure, raw pleasure straight to his core, obliterating thought. His hips, entirely beyond his conscious control, gave a tiny, involuntary jerk forward.
It was barely a movement. A fractional thrust driven by instinct, by the overwhelming sensory overload.
For Sarah, it was catastrophic.
The sudden, unexpected pressure shoved him deeper. The thick ridge slammed past the point of no return, lodging firmly into the tight ring of her upper esophagus. It wasn't just stretching now; it was blocking. Completely.
Her eyes bulged. A sound erupted from her that wasn't human – a raw, guttural scream of pure panic and agony, muffled horrifically by the flesh filling her mouth and throat. It vibrated against his sensitive skin. Her body convulsed violently, her hands flying from his balls and shaft to claw frantically at his hips, trying to shove him back, her nails digging in hard enough to draw thin red lines. Her back arched, heels scrabbling on the carpet, the earlier burn on her knees forgotten in the suffocating terror. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream properly. Couldn't think. The world narrowed to the impossible thickness choking her, the burning agony in her jaw, the frantic hammering of her own heart, and the terrifying black spots dancing in her vision.
Mark froze, shocked out of his daze by her primal scream. "Sarah—" he choked out, panic flooding him. He instinctively tried to pull back, but her nails were embedded in his skin, her body locked in a rigid spasm of choking terror.
Her convulsion wasn't just panic. The violent clenching of her throat, the desperate, involuntary contractions, the sheer overwhelming intensity of the sensation and the suffocating pressure… it triggered something else. A second, even more powerful climax ripped through her, savage and utterly beyond her control. Her body bucked wildly against the carpet, a high-pitched, keening whine tearing from her constricted throat, muffled against him. Her inner muscles clenched in rapid, pulsing waves, drenching her sleep shorts, the ferocity of the release momentarily overriding the suffocating terror and the burning pain.
As suddenly as it seized her, the spasm subsided, leaving her limp, gasping like a fish out of water, still impaled. Her grip on his hips slackened. She was a wreck – trembling uncontrollably, tears and snot and saliva slicking her face, her lips swollen and bruised-looking around the base of his shaft, her chest heaving in pathetic, shallow hitches. She managed to wrench her head back with a final, wet pop as the head slid free of her tortured throat.
She collapsed sideways onto the carpet, curling into a fetal position, coughing violently, hacking gasps that shook her whole frame. She dragged the back of her hand across her ruined mouth, smearing tears and spit. Every swallow sent a fresh bolt of agony down her bruised throat. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing her. She'd gagged. She'd screamed. She'd come like some animal, choking on his cock. The image of her own desperation burned behind her eyelids.
Mark stumbled back a step, his own breathing ragged, staring down at the trembling figure on his floor. The sight was shocking, pitiful… and undeniably, frighteningly arousing. The memory of her convulsing scream vibrating against him was seared into his nerves. He awkwardly adjusted himself, the thick, wet length still painfully hard.
Sarah slowly, painfully, pushed herself up onto her knees again, wiping her face with the hem of her top. Her eyes, when they finally met his, were red-rimmed, puffy, and blazing with a complex fury – fury at him, fury at herself, fury at the monstrous, beautiful thing that had brought her so low. Her voice, when it came, was a shattered, raw whisper, thick with pain and venom.
"Fucking… thing," she spat, the words scraping her bruised throat. But the hatred in her eyes was undercut by something else. A dark, feverish obsession that hadn't dimmed. A terrifying determination that flickered through the tears and the pain. She glared at his cock, then back up at his face, her breath still catching in shallow hitches. She didn't get up. She just knelt there, trembling, wrecked, but her gaze locked onto him with terrifying intensity. Her hand, shaking violently, slowly rose from her side, hovering near her red, swollen lips. Her voice, barely audible, rasped out again, filled with a terrifying mixture of loathing and absolute, undeniable need.
"Just… fuck… gimme a second."
Sarah knelt there, gasping, her throat on fire, the carpet rough against her shins. Tears mixed with spit and snot on her chin. Just a fluke, her mind screamed, desperately clawing back from the edge of panic. That choking... the screaming... the fucking shaking... it was just too much, overload. Not him.
She sucked in another ragged breath, the air scraping her bruised throat. Her gaze, momentarily clouded with pain and humiliation, sharpened as it landed back on his cock. It stood impossibly thick, glistening with her saliva, pulsing with a life of its own under the dim light. That furious obsession flared hotter, burning away the shame. Mine.
"Alright, fucker," she rasped, the words raw. "My turn." She shuffled forward on her knees, ignoring the fresh sting from the carpet burns. This time, she didn't lunge. She approached with a terrifying, deliberate slowness, her eyes fixed on her target like a predator circling wounded prey. Control. I run this.
Her hand, still trembling slightly, reached out. But instead of grabbing, her fingers brushed the heated skin of his inner thigh, a feather-light touch that made him jerk. "Easy," she whispered, more to herself than to him. Just setting the pace. Calm. Slow. She leaned in, her swollen, tender lips bypassing the thick shaft entirely. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the base, right where the heavy sac met his hip bone. The scent of him – musk, sweat, her own arousal – flooded her senses.
See? Control. Just... appreciating the view, she lied internally, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her lips trailed lower, planting another slow, wet kiss on the tight skin of his scrotum, feeling the weight of his balls shift beneath her touch. She nuzzled against them, inhaling deeply. God, look at it. Just look at the fucking size. Her tongue darted out, tracing a lazy path along the thick vein snaking up the underside of his cock, avoiding the head. She kissed lower, down his other thigh, her movements achingly sensual, a stark contrast to the violent assault minutes before. This is fine. I'm just... exploring. On my terms.
She worked her way back up the other thigh, her lips grazing sensitive skin. Her breath hitched as she neared the base again. Just a taste. A slow taste. Her tongue flicked out, lapping tentatively at the thick root.
Her tongue flicked out, lapping tentatively at the thick root. Salt, musk, him – the taste exploded on her senses, raw and primal. Just cleaning up a bit, she justified silently, the lie thin and brittle. Gotta see what I'm dealing with, right? Her lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just above his balls, feeling the heavy sac shift beneath her touch. "Fucking hell, look at you," she breathed against his skin, the words barely audible, meant only for herself and the monstrous object of her fixation. Her breath hitched as the sheer size registered anew, the thick veins throbbing visibly against the flushed skin. So fucking huge. Unreal.
She kissed lower, nuzzling the tight skin of his scrotum, inhaling the concentrated scent that made her head swim. Just one more kiss. Gotta… appreciate it properly. Her lips traced a slow, wet path back up the rigid underside, avoiding the swollen head for now. It's practically art. Like a goddamn statue. A low groan escaped Mark, his hips shifting infinitesimally. It spurred her on. She kissed every straining inch she could reach without taking him in her mouth again – the thick base, the prominent veins snaking upwards, the smooth skin stretched taut. Have to. Need to feel all of it. Just tonight. Just this once. Her hand, trembling slightly, cupped his balls possessively, her thumb rubbing slow circles as she pressed open-mouthed kisses along the thick shaft. Massive. Manly. Mine. For now.
Her lips finally brushed the slick, purple head, slick with her earlier saliva and his pre-cum. The taste was sharper, saltier, addictive. A small whimper escaped her. Fuck, taste so good. Stupid cock, making me… Her tongue darted out, swirling around the sensitive rim, collecting the pearly beads welling up. She licked them greedily. Just… tasting. That's all. Can't help it. Her resolve fractured. With a desperate sigh that sounded like surrender, her mouth opened wider, not to engulf, but to slowly, sensuously, slide her lips over the bulbous head. Oh God. Oh fuck yes. Just like that. So big. So hot. Her tongue flattened against the underside, exploring the frenulum, swirling relentlessly. The taste, the heat, the sheer presence of him filling her mouth sent jolts of electricity straight to her core. Her eyes fluttered, crossing slightly as pure sensation overwhelmed thought.
She sank lower, taking him deeper than before, but slowly this time, sensuously, her lips forming a tight seal. Have to. Need it deeper. Fucking cock owns me. She established a rhythm, a slow, deliberate suck that pulled powerfully, her cheeks hollowing. Slurping sounds filled the quiet room, obscene and wet. Her free hand wandered to her own soaked shorts, fingers slipping beneath the elastic to rub frantic circles on her clit. So good. So fucking big. Making me crazy. Her head bobbed with increasing fervor, lost in the rhythm, the taste, the overwhelming fullness. Just this once. Blame him. Blame this perfect fucking dick. Another wave hit her, unexpected and savage, wracking her body as she sucked. A muffled scream vibrated around his shaft, her pussy clenching violently against her own fingers, soaking the fabric. Again! Fuck! It's doing this! His cock!
She barely registered it, consumed by the sucking trance, worshipping with her mouth, her tongue dancing and probing, her lips working sloppily, possessively. Pre-cum flooded her mouth, thick and bitter-sweet, and she swallowed it down greedily, moaning around him. Mine. Taking it all. All of him. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, seeing only the thick, veined shaft disappearing between her lips. Another orgasm tore through her, less violent but deeper, a rolling wave of heat that made her thighs quake and her sucking falter for a second before resuming with renewed hunger. Can't stop. Won't stop. So hard for me. So fucking perfect. She was drenched, trembling, utterly lost in the sucking, the slurping, the filthy worship of his cock, her mind a chaotic loop of justification, blame, and desperate, reverent praise.
Mark's hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder, fingers digging in. His voice was a strained, guttural rasp, cutting through the wet noises and her internal mantra. "Sarah... stop... fuck... I'm gonna... I'm gonna come!"
The command shattered her trance like glass. Her head snapped back, his slick cock popping wetly from her swollen, spit-slicked lips. She stared up at him, dazed, panting, his taste thick on her tongue. Reality crashed back in – the carpet burns on her knees, the ache in her jaw, the drying tear tracks, the profound, sticky wetness between her own legs. The justification loop stuttered and died. He's… about to… For a split second, pure, unadulterated panic warred with the lingering, terrifying hunger in her dilated eyes.