The Giant Dong Blues

by SBrooks

Copyright© 2018 by SBrooks

Humor Sex Story: A little twist on he big dick trope.

Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Cheating   White Male   White Female   Oriental Male   .

This is a little twist on a common Loving Wives trope, as will soon be apparent! Thanks to Todd172 for Beta reading, and I can never thank my Sweet Inspiration blackrandl1958 enough for her advice and of course her editing.

What a miserable day, I thought as I made my way home. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Dan Johnson had made a nearly fatal mistake on the Adams contract, he couldn’t seem to keep his leering eyes off of my boobs.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of the “girls,” and I pretty much expect them to draw a certain amount of attention, and I really don’t mind as long as the guy is at least a LITTLE discreet. However, Dan was acting like a 16-year-old seeing his first Playboy centerfold. Christ, he’s 30-years-old, surely he’s seen his fair share of boobs by now.

I finally got everything squared away but was running late, and the last thing I wanted to think about was cooking. I called my husband, had him order Chinese and I picked it up on the way home.

Unfortunately, I had left one adolescent male at work only to find another at home. I had no sooner filled my plate and started to eat than Joe started in.

“We have a new associate at work, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off of my package,” he said with a smirk.

God, not this again, I thought. Joe does have an impressive cock, if such things matter to you. I’ve never measured it, but according to Joe, it’s around 7 ½ inches soft and 10 or 11 when hard. Joe seems to think that this makes him God’s Gift to Women, and that he doesn’t have to do anything but whip it out and any woman will fall adoringly at his feet.

“Did you report her, or tell her to keep her eyes on her own business?”

“What? Why would I do that? It’s not like I can hide ‘Little Joe,’ it’s only natural for people, especially women, to look.”

“Whatever,” I said, and went back to my food.

“What’s the matter?” Joe said, “You jealous or something?”

I snorted. “Jealous? Why should I be jealous?”

“Because you get to play with this every night!” Joe said, grabbing his crotch. “Even the black dudes at the gym are impressed.”

“Be still my heart,” I said as I got up. I scraped the remainders of my dinner into the garbage, put the dishes into the dishwasher, and went to see what was on the boob tube.

“I never heard any complaints when you were after me all through school!” he yelled at me from the kitchen.

It’s true. Back in college, like many other coeds who didn’t know any better, I had a serious case of “big cock fever.” The problem was, the reality never lived up to the fantasy. In my naivete, I thought it was my own inexperience, and just lay there and gritted my teeth while he pounded my poor pussy with that monster until he came. He never noticed that I hadn’t come as he rolled off me with his self-satisfied smirk.

“Wow! That was great, eh, Babe?” he’d say.

I had long learned to smile and nod; his pouting if I ever expressed any dissatisfaction was more tedious than his love-making. It seemed that no matter how gently I tried to show him how there was more to making love than pounding my pussy with “Little Joe,” it always ended in a fight or a break up.

We were off-and-on all through school, and Joe seemed to take a special delight in parading his latest conquest in front of me, especially if I was between boyfriends at the time.

Midway through our senior year we were going through one of our “on” periods, and as graduation approached, Joe put on a full-court press culminating in a proposal the night of our Senior Prom.

I still don’t know why I accepted Joe’s proposal. Maybe it was inertia, maybe it was his charm (he could turn it on when he wanted to), and good looks.

In any case, I did, and there we were, me getting ready to stream the new season of Orange is the New Black, and Joe still stuck with his adolescent fixation on his big cock.

I was just getting ready to press “Play” when Joe came down dressed only in the boxers that let the head of his cock stick out of the leg.

“I know what you need to get out of your funk,” he said, stroking his cock through his boxers, making the head poke out a little further.

“Oh? Just what would that be?” I asked. Even though I knew what the answer would be.

He thought I was joking and laughed.

“You need a little, or should I say a lot, of loving from ‘Little Joe,’” he said, again stroking his cock.

I swear, as much as he liked playing with that cock I wondered if he might be gay, or at least bi!

Sighing, I turned off the TV and went up to the bathroom to get myself ready.

In the past I would have done a quick pit sniff, but I soon learned that Joe was so into jamming his cock in me that he couldn’t have cared less.

I squirted about half a bottle of lube up my pussy to make things as comfortable as possible, then played with the girls a bit to get warmed up, before going into the bedroom where Joe was standing on the other side of the bed with a shit-eating grin, his cock swinging side-to-side. One thing I’ve noticed, it might have been long, but it wasn’t exactly hard as steel, which given how he liked to just ram it up my pussy was probably a good thing.

His eyes lit up at the lube dripping from my pussy.

“All excited for me, hey, Babe?”

I shrugged my shoulders and lay on the bed, spreading my legs.

He climbed on top of me, gave me a couple of peremptory kisses and mauled my breasts, completely destroying the warm feeling I had induced in the bathroom.

Joe positioned himself between my legs and aimed “Little Joe” at my center. Even without the obvious lube, I knew that oral sex from Joe wasn’t going to happen. He was convinced that just the sight of his cock would get any woman dripping.

As much as I tried to prepare myself, I could never really be ready for when he would just jam his cock into my pussy with one painful stroke. I lived in fear that he would tear my cervix. Fortunately, he was so turned on that he never noticed my hands pushing against his hips to limit his penetration.

As usual, he finished with no concern for my orgasm, and as he recovered, wanted me to suck him back to hardness.

I don’t mind sucking cock, in fact I probably enjoy it at least as much as most girls. That doesn’t mean that I appreciate a slimy cock shoved in my face!

Joe was insistent, though, and soon was kneeling over me with his cock aimed at my mouth. Reluctantly I opened my mouth and started to tentatively lick the head, actually enjoying the taste of our mixed juices.

All too soon, Joe began trying to force his cock into my mouth, and as usual I decided to just go along with it, hoping to get it over with.

Joe had other ideas though. He had always been after me to deep throat him, but I always insisted that he was simply too big. So far, that had satisfied his ego, but for some reason he decided to force the issue this time. He started to just shove his cock further into my mouth until he was nearly in my throat, and he still had several inches outside my mouth!

I tried to push him away, but he was simply too strong, and was soon pushing his cock into my throat, triggering my gag reflex. My frenzied actions failed to dissuade him and he pushed even deeper.

Before either of us could do anything about it, I felt the contents of my stomach rising and I vomited all over both of us. That finally got him to move off me, and I nearly pushed him off the bed as I rushed to the bathroom to finish throwing up and clean myself up.

I was still upset and came out of the bathroom screaming like a banshee.

“Get out! Get out! Get out of here!” I screamed, throwing anything that wasn’t fastened down at him. Ducking, he grabbed what he could and fled the bedroom. It wasn’t until I heard the front door close that I began to calm down.

I sat on a clean edge of the bed, put my head in my hands and had a good cry. I changed the bed linens, washed my face, got dressed, and started to wonder what I was going to do to fix the disaster that my life and marriage had become.

A couple of hours later, as I was starting Episode Three of Orange is the New Black, Joe came quietly in the front door.

“I’m sorry, Babe,” he said, “I guess I got carried away. ‘Little Joe’ sometimes seems to have a mind of his own.”

God, now he’s talking about his cock in the third person!

I just shrugged my shoulders and went back to the program as he came over to give me a shoulder massage.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll make it up to you.”

I paused the show.

“Whatever,” I said, and restarted the program.

He absent-mindedly rubbed my shoulders for a couple more minutes before heading upstairs.

Even though he completely ruined my mood I finished the episode, turned off the TV and went to bed.

Just as I got into bed, Joe came into the room stark naked with his dick swinging between his legs.

“Ready for a little make up sex?” he asked, playing with his cock again.

“I’m really not in the mood, Joe.”

“How can you not be in the mood for a session with ‘Little Joe’?”

“I’m just not, okay?” I said and pulled the blanket over my head and turned my back to him.

There was a momentary silence.

“You know, there are plenty of hot babes who’d be begging for a taste of this,” he said, and I could picture him shaking his cock at me.

Getting no response from me, I could hear him getting dressed and stomping down the stairs. I heard the front door close and his car leave, and didn’t know if I was relieved, sad or angry. I didn’t think that he would cheat on me, but I wasn’t sure that I really cared.

A couple of hours later I pretended to be asleep as Joe crawled into bed. For what it’s worth, I couldn’t smell any strange perfume.

Things were a bit chilly for a couple of days, then returned to something more or less normal, but we were both sort of walking on egg shells. We made love, or had sex, about as much as we used to, but the same passion just wasn’t there. He was obviously holding back, afraid of another outburst, and I wasn’t exactly a ball of fire in the bedroom either.

I tried to talk to him a couple of times, to try to get him to see that there was more to sex, that the way he did it was at best uncomfortable, sometimes painful. It did no good; he was still stuck in that frat boy mindset, that all that you needed for good sex was a big cock and a big set of tits.

One day, I had just got my iced coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts, when I turned and ran smack dab into someone, spilling my drink all over.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the Asian man behind me said, “Let me by you a new one.”

“No, that’s all right,” I said, “It was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Nonsense! I was obviously standing too close behind you. I really must insist.”

I hesitated as I gave him a once-over. He wasn’t the stereotypical little Asian guy with big glasses. He was a couple of inches taller than me, actually quite good looking, so I accepted, told him how I liked my coffee and grabbed a seat.

He came back with our coffees and a couple of blueberry muffins.

“I took the liberty of getting you a muffin, I hope you don’t mind?”

“It looks delicious, but I’m trying to watch my weight...”

“I’ve been watching your weight, and you have nothing to worry about,” he said with a sly wink.

I’m amazed that my blush didn’t set off the fire alarm, but I composed myself and held out my hand.

“I suppose I should introduce myself. Lucy, Mrs. Lucy Donaldson.” I wasn’t sure why I made it a point to say, “Mrs.” Was I anticipating something?

“I’m John, John Takashima,” he said. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, he said, “My parents were very big on assimilation. I’m surprised they didn’t change the family name to ‘Smith’!”

I chuckled, and he had interpreted my look correctly, I was puzzled by his first name.

We finished our muffins, and as we got up to go, we exchanged contact information. At the time I wondered why. I couldn’t see any reason why we would stay in touch, and despite our problems, I certainly couldn’t imagine cheating on Joe.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised when I got the call from John inviting me to lunch.

“I promise not to spill anything on you,” he said, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

I accepted his invitation, and had a delightful time. He was a perfect gentleman, never gave a hint that he expected anything other than a pleasant lunch between two acquaintances.

We talked about many things; the most interesting was when he spoke about his grandparents’ time in the internment camps during World War Two. I was ashamed to admit to only having a passing knowledge of that time, and was amazed at his lack of bitterness.

“I’ll admit to some anger when my parents and grandparents first told me about it,” he said, “but the experience only made them more determined to be good Americans, to make sure that if a similar situation presented itself, that there could be no doubt where their loyalties lay.”

I was touched; I wondered if I could be so noble if my family had been treated that way.

We had lunch several more times, as much as two or three times a week, and I found myself being drawn to John, not in a romantic way, at least I didn’t think so, but just as a good friend.

Meanwhile, at home, things were plodding along. We were getting along well enough, no blow-ups or anything, and having sex on a regular basis, but that’s all that it was.

While I had a lot of experience with a lackluster sex life, it was a new experience for Joe, who couldn’t get his head around the fact that he wasn’t the Love God that he was sure that he was. He was spending more evenings with his buddies down at the sports bar, and frankly, I was just as glad.

John and I were finishing lunch when my cell phone rang.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi, Honey, it’s me,” Joe said. Apparently forgetting that his name displayed on the phone.

“Yes, Joe, what’s going on?”

“I was wondering if you’d mind if I had dinner out with the guys, then hung out for a while?”

“Sure, Joe, no problem, have fun.”

“Thanks, Honey, see you later.”


As I hung up, I realized that neither of us had said, “I love you.”

Before I had time to worry about that, John spoke up.

“What was that all about,” he asked.

“Oh, that was just my husband Joe. He’s going to be eating out tonight with his buddies.”

“Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!” I said.

“Why not? I don’t know about you, but all I have to look forward to is a frozen dinner, or maybe order in a pizza, and my house plants aren’t very good dinner companions,” he said with that wry grin that I found so charming.

I ignored the little warning bells in the back of my brain and agreed to meet him for dinner. It really wasn’t significantly different from our lunches except for a cocktail before dinner, and a couple of glasses of wine that gave me a pleasant buzz.

John walked me to my car and gave me a chaste hug, pressing his cheek to mine before getting into his car and driving off. I touched my cheek where we had touched, then gave myself a shake. Get ahold of yourself, you’re a married woman, I said to myself, before making my own way home with damp panties.

Joe was still out when I got home, and I stripped out of my clothes and got in the shower. Before I even realized it, my fingers were playing with my pussy, and I soon shuddered with my orgasm. I probably should have been ashamed that I was picturing John in my mind, but I couldn’t remember feeling so turned on.

As time went by, my relationship with Joe just limped along. Neither one of us seemed to have the energy or desire to put in the work needed to get us back on an even keel. My sister suggested marriage counseling, but that went over like a lead balloon.

“Marriage counseling?” Joe nearly hit the ceiling, “Why the fuck do we need marriage counseling?”

“We’re drifting apart, Joe,” I cried. “If we don’t do something soon, I don’t know if we’re going to make it!”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen! A lot of marriages go through dry spells. Things are bound to get better eventually.”

At the same time, my lunches and dinners with John were getting more intimate, we were sharing stories of our lives, little jokes, but never quite crossing the line.

Our good-byes had progressed to cheek kisses when Joe and I had our argument about counseling. John could tell that I was down and tried to draw it out of me at lunch, but I refused to talk about it.

At dinner he tried again, and I was weakening, but I didn’t want to talk about it in a public place. When we got to my car, John got more insistent, and took both of my hands in his.

“Lucy, I know something is troubling you deeply, and I want to help, but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

I stood there for what felt like hours, although it was only moments, when I came to a decision.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll talk, but not out here, let’s get in the car.”

In the car John once more took my hands in his as I poured my heart out over my troubled marriage. I didn’t tell him about my growing feelings for him, but either he sensed them, or had his own feelings, maybe both, and he silenced me by leaning over the console and kissing me full on the lips.

I was momentarily shocked, but was soon returning the kiss, opening my mouth to let his tongue in and dueling it with my own. When he released one of my hands to stroke my breasts I knew that I had to put a stop to this, but I simply couldn’t.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I was turning the key in the ignition.

“Address,” I panted.

“What?” John said.

“Address, what’s your address, we’re not doing this here.”

“1706 East Main St.” he said as I threw the car into gear and burned rubber leaving the parking lot.

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