Twice My Size, Twice My Age Ch. 02

All characters are 18+, consenting, and fully on board for this ride.

No luck with Bent by Steele yet, but don't lose hope.

======

I woke up tangled in sheets that smelled like lavender and sin, brain foggy like I'd been hit by a very polite truck. Rosie's scent was everywhere--earthy, heavy, a little blacksmith, a little sex goddess. My body ached in that good way, like it had been worshipped and wrecked and maybe gently sanded.

All I could remember was Rosie cradling me in her strong arms, taking me to bed. I was naked as the day I was born, and the only explanation was that my she-bear blacksmith undressed me. I pictured that image, and it sprinkled a nice warm dust of good vibes into my gut that spread to the tips of my toes.

Did you take a good look, my big blacksmith?

Did it make you hard again?

I stretched lazily, fingers brushing the cotton, and glanced at the clock.

Shit. Back to reality.

Late for work.

Then my phone rang.

"Lance's office," I muttered, voice scratchy. "He's not awake before 10 a. m.--can I take a message?"

"Hey babes?" A sweet voice, soft and sugary--like a little girl half my age, though Kate was almost a year older than me.

It had been three months since we'd talked, four since we broke up.

"Hey."

"Word is you're back in town," she said.

"Yeah."

"No heads-up? Not even a text, Lancelot?"

Lancelot. That was the name she used when we were together, usually followed by something she wanted.

"I thought you only called when you needed a ride, an alibi, or someone to emotionally ruin."

"Someone pissed in your cereal this morning?"

I sniffed loudly. "Oh, nope, I got upgraded. From doormat to emotionally unavailable. Look, Kate, I'm late for work. We'll catch up later." I hung up before she could say anything else. It still tingled deep inside. The feelings. The shame. The fact that I chased her for three months after she dumped me--even though I saw her making out with Brian Martin on campus.

I sprang up, threw on my jeans and a white T-shirt.

The mirror showed a flushed, wild-eyed version of me--hair mussed, but a spark in my gaze that was new. Alive.

I brushed my teeth in a rush, splashed cold water on my face, and snatched my laptop bag, heart racing as I went downstairs.

From the kitchen came the rhythmic clink of a whisk against a bowl, and I paused in the doorway. Rosie stood there, her frame towering over the counter, broad shoulders rolling as she stirred pancake batter. An apron strained across her massive chest--her big tits and belly stretching the fabric. It was half-muscular, half-femme in a domestic scene that smote me like an arrow of raw want. Her red hair was tousled in its bun, her weathered face focused. She looked gentle. Serene.

I wanted to thank her for last night, to say something--but the words stuck.

Instead, I crossed the room in quick strides, grabbed her shirt collar with both hands. Her massive frame bent toward me, broad shoulders curving, and our lips crashed together--not wild, but deliberate, like a match striking flint.

She was fifty shades of exciting.

Something new.

Something big.

Rosie.

I didn't dive in. I tilted my head, lips parting just enough to tease. Then I brushed hers with a whisper of contact. Her lips were warm, full. They tasted a little of her blacksmith's life. I lingered there, barely touching.

She giggled like a schoolgirl.

I let the anticipation build. My breath hitched, and I felt her exhale. My tongue flicked out, light as a feather, tracing the curve of her lower lip, tasting sweetness.

She stiffened--just for a second--then lunged, capturing my lower lip between her teeth.

Gotcha.

Her eyes widened as she suddenly realized how bold that was. She let go.

"You runnin' off on me, Rosie-Bear?" I smiled. "Come on. Take another shot. I promise I'll whimper this time."

She lunged and caught my lip again.

I whimpered.

She laughed but still held my lip. Her tongue started painting patterns on the smooth surface.

Big, calloused hands--strong enough to bend iron--settled on my hips. Her fingers dug into my bottom. Possessive. Slow.

My tongue darted out again, a quick, teasing lick along her upper lip this time. She groaned--a low rumble in her throat--and her fingers tightened on my butt. Her hand moved now, curling, gripping one cheek through the denim. My body pressed against hers, my chest brushing the swell of her apron-covered tits.

One hand left my butt and started a journey to the front. Fingers bold, touching my buckle.

Then she pulled back. "Your phone is ringing."

"Fuck that." I tried to lunge again, but she pushed me away.

"Hello?"

"What's wrong with you, Lance?"

"Kate, I told you I'm late for work. I'll catch you later."

"You've been chasing me for months," she said, her voice dipping--just a hint of breathiness now. "And now you're all cold and short and... hard to get. Finally learned how to play the game, huh?" She gave a soft, throaty laugh. "God help me, Lance--it kind of turns me on."

"Kate, I'll--"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Maybe I am." I gave a worried look toward Rosie, who pretended not to be interested--but looked anything but. "And it's none of your business."

"Bullshit! You're not dating anyone."

"Why do you care, Kate?"

"Chill, it was just a question. Jayden said you're not back in the dating game."

"None of his fucking business either."

"He told me you're renting a room on Bellows Creek Drive. Up on the hill?"

"Yeah, so?"

"With Rosie Sharks?" She started laughing.

"What the hell's so funny?"

"You know what people say about her."

"Yeah, well, people know jack shit. A lot of people told me you were a nice girl who doesn't play games. I'm late for work--I'll catch you later." I hung up.

"So...?" I turned to Rosie. "Where were we?"

She was stirring the pancake batter again. "You were late for work."

My shoulders sagged. "Yeah."

"Not that it's my business." She tried to sound nonchalant, but she blinked too much--which gave away some anxiety. "Was that your girlfriend?"

"It is your business, Rosie. And she's an ex."

"It's none of my business."

Did she think so little of herself--or did I mean close to nothing?

Her body said the opposite. She cared. She wanted to know.

"It is your business. And she's an ex. She thinks she can just hit me up and I'll drop everything to run over like a good little puppy. Like I used to."

"Will you?"

I shook my head. "Not playing fetch anymore."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"You and me--it's none of her business."

"No. Why didn't you tell her you're not seeing anyone?"

Women's minds will always be a mystery to me. "We're not together together... but something kicked off last night on that couch. And I don't think it's one of those things we just forget. And it is your business, Rosie--because you matter to me, even if you say you don't. You know you do."

She simply stood there like a big rock.

"And when I'm back home tonight, we'll pick up where we left off."

Finally a smile broke through and the good fuzzy feeling returned. "I'll be waiting, kid."

I snatched a piece of toast from the counter and bolted out the door. The drive to work was a blur, my beat-up Toyota rattling over potholes. My brain was buzzing like a fucking hornet nest.

Am I dating Rosie Sharks?

Shit. I think I'm into her. I want her.

Nope--Spice Girls vibe. I really, really wanna.

Even her kiss was a rush I couldn't shake, a high that lingered in my bones. My not-so-mighty sword gave a hopeful twitch in my jeans just thinking about it. At work, I tried to focus, hunched over my desk, tapping code. Rosie was all over my brain like a song I couldn't shut off. At some point, Mikey asked if I was in love, and I stammered so hard denying it, I probably gave him the opposite impression--judging by that damn raccoon smile of his.

Around noon, my phone buzzed, vibrating against my thigh. A text: --Is steak okay for dinner?--

I grinned, thumbs flying over the screen. --Is that how you sexted in the '30s? Smoke signals next? Maybe a telegram--'Steak STOP. Boner imminent STOP.'?--

My phone rang seconds later, shrill in the quiet office.

"Yello?" I answered.

"Very funny, kid," Rosie said--voice warm, with that hint of gravel scratching through. "I'm not 110, you know. And what's this sexting crap? Some techy nonsense?"

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. "You're missing out, big gal. Let me show you--teach the old dog a sexy trick."

I puckered my lips, snapped a selfie--boyish face flushed--and sent it with:

--This is the PG-13 version. Wanna unlock the rest?--

Twenty minutes later, she texted back:

--I like this sexting. Send more--gimme something good, kid--

Me and the big gal? We were cooking with Gen Z spices. Well--I was. She was making an effort, bless her blunt, sexy heart.

And I wanted to kiss her for it. Not necessarily on the lips.

My cock stirred in my jeans.

I sucked my finger slow, lips wet and glossy, and snapped another pic--cheeks hollowed, eyes half-lidded--sending it with:

--Just getting warmed up. Wanna see what the tongue's doing next?--

She typed back, the 'writing' icon blinking forever. I think I could've written War and Peace in the time it took her to ping back an answer. But I liked her clumsy attempt.

--Maybe tonight you'll suck on my finger.--

I smirked, thumbs dancing, fingers quick.

--Play your cards right, and I'll suck a lot more'n that.--

I bit my lip, imagining her face when she got it. I waited. And waited. And waited some more while she typed--thinking I was about to get a page-long answer--then:

--That's a lotta mouth. I'm not sure I'm... um. Nevermind.--

I laughed so loud people around me turned to see what the fun was about. I had to duck into the restroom and sit on the toilet.

I texted: --That was the anti-climax of the century, Rosie.--

She answered:

--I think I'm going to lie down.--

--Thinking of my lips?--

--Idiot.--

--Thinking of my idiot lips?--

--Yeah.--

--Where do you imagine them, Rosie?--

--Jesus, Lance.--

--Tell me where you want 'em--and that's exactly where they'll land tonight. No GPS required.--

The typing icon blinked. Then stopped. Then blinked again.

She texted:

--You decide.--

Oh no you don't, I thought, grinning.

-Nope. That's not how this works, Rosie. You imagine it. I make it real. That's the deal. Now don't chicken out on me.- Send.

She wrote:

--I am chickening out.--

--Tell me where you want my lips sucking, Rosie. No guts, no glory.-- I was too into it to stop. --You can hint if you're too embarrassed to write it.--

The typing icon blinked. Blinked some more. And then--nothing. Then suddenly, a single icon appeared. And my heart beat was like a magician act's drumroll.

A sausage.

A single, plain, beautiful sausage.

I pictured her face right now--Rosie was probably so red she could serve as an industrial-grade heat lamp in a Siberian barn. I have a policy against masturbating in public restrooms, but fuck--that little dagger of mine was damn near poking a hole through my underwear.

I texted:

--It's eggplants nowadays, but I got you loud and clear. Washing my mouth, doing lip exercises.--

--Jesus, Lance.--

I texted:

--Running drills on my tongue, stretching it like it's training for the Olympics.--

--You're killing me.--

--Sipping tea to keep the throat warm. Wouldn't want to cramp mid-session, Rosie.--

--Stop!--

--Really?--

--No.--

--Licked a popsicle till it snapped. Might need sturdier practice tools.--

Nothing came back for ten minutes. Then she called.

"Did you die or something?" I asked.

"Just had a..." Rosie was breathless, voice wrecked.

"A what?"

"I had to... Sorry?"

"To what?" Then it hit me. "Did you give yourself a handshake on my behalf?"

There was a pause. Then, softly: "Shut up. And no." She whispered it.

I'd never heard so much yes in a no.

======

When I got home, the house smelled of sizzling steak--rich, savory, mouthwatering. Rosie stood in the kitchen, back to me, flipping a slab in a cast-iron skillet, her forearms flexing under a flowery dress that threw me for a loop. No jeans, no faded T-shirt--just this soft, yellow thing with daisies splashed across it. The dress hugged her girth but floated loose around her thick legs. The apron tied over it strained against her big tits, and her red hair was swept back, clean and neat.

She looked up, green eyes locking onto mine, sharp and warm. "Dinner's almost ready," she said, voice low.

I dropped my bag, jaw slack, crossing to her slow. "Holy shit, Rosie, what's this? Little House on the Prairie cosplay?"

She smirked, flipping the steak with a flick of her wrist. "Thought I'd class it up for once, kid."

"Never would have guessed you own anything that doesn't come with forge smoke and hammer grease baked in? Color me stunned--where's my grumpy blacksmith?"

"Still here," she fired back, pointing the spatula at me, eyes glinting. "Just scrubbed up for dinner. Don't get used to it--I ain't your prom date."

"I like it."

She gave a satisfied growl.

"That sounded like my redhead she-bear."

She curtsied like a maid in some Bridgerton extra trying to get a tip.

"So, steak?"

She nodded.

"Damn shame," I said, voice dropping sultry, then gave her a wink. "I'm craving something more... sausage-shaped than steak tonight."

"Lance, I..."

"What?"

She covered her face with both hands.

I ran over laughing like a fool in love tripping over his own shoelaces -- and hugged her from behind, dress and apron and everything that is Rosie. She was breathing hard, but as soon as my arms wrapped around her, she began to laugh as well.

"You know I'm only teasing, Rosie. I'm..." Then I noticed she was standing too far from the counter, because she had a severe case of... Rosie. The front of her dress looked like a goddamn teepee. Impressive. But that could only mean one thing...

"There's something wrong with your dress--I think it's broken." I snorted. Then I straightened up and saluted. "Lance Corporal Lance, keyboard grunt third class. Requesting permission to inspect the anomaly, sir."

She didn't answer--just went back to making dinner.

I crouched down, gently grabbed the hem of her dress and slowly pulled it up. She was barefoot, her strong legs revealed inch by inch--pale, freckled, solid as stone, and warm to the touch. I inhaled, she smelled like soap and iron and something faintly sweet. I kissed one knee, then the other. Her skin was slightly rough from a life that didn't do soft--but clean and so, so hers.

"Everything looks perfectly normal here, sir," I said.

She growled above me, then giggled like a ten-year-old who'd just seen a fart on TikTok.

I lifted the dress a little more and gave a short laugh, then an impressed whistle. This was such a bold move for her. It made me want to run outside and scream from the hilltop so every pinheaded bigot in this town would know: Rosie Sharks thinks I'm hot. She wants me.

Instead, I used my most somber voice and said, "Sir, I think I know what the problem is, sir!"

"Problem?" she said sweetly from somewhere above.

"I mean, the tent in your dress, sir. I think dresses don't operate that way. I think I see what the problem is."

"What is it?"

"You forgot to put on underwear, sir," I said.

"Oh."

"Yep. Don't feel embarrassed about it, sir. Happens to me all the time."

"I sure hope it doesn't, Lance."

"Don't kill the vibe, Rosie-Bear--I mean, sir. If this was a simple case, I'd suggest a new pair. But I'm afraid it's too late for that. You're suffering from a severe case of..." I cleared my throat for dramatic effect. "Phallosaurus Gigantum. There is only one known cure for Phallosaurus Gigantum."

"I, yeah, ah... And--" Her voice broke.

"You okay there, Rosie?"

"Not really."

"Turn around slowly, sir, and step over to the counter. Hold this for me, please." I handed her the hem of her dress.

She turned, slow and trembling, holding the fabric at hip level.

Her giant cock was pointing at the ceiling--harder than I'd ever seen it. A single clear drop formed at the tip. I licked my lips.

I stayed on my knees. In position. In awe.

She wasn't looking at me--her red face aimed at the ceiling, the door, the TV. Anywhere but down.

"Rosie," I said softly, reverently. "Look at me."

Her breath hitched.

"I want you to watch me when I do this," I said softly.

She closed her eyes tight. Opened them again. Finally, looked down.

There it was--that raw desire that made me dream about her even when I was awake. It was so tangible I could taste it, and I never wanted anything else.

My fingers trembled as I slid my hands up her thighs, feeling her warmth. She gripped the counter, knuckles whitening, letting me lead.

I grinned, touching the tip of her cock. The size, like always, stole my breath--ten inches of uncut flesh, veined and heavy. Her red tip glistened with pre-cum. The dress' fabric floated soft around her hips, whispering femininity. Her erection screamed power, unyielding and fierce. It was Rosie in a single glance: steel forged in a floral heart. My blacksmith lady who could hammer iron and blush at a compliment.

I leaned in and inhaled deeply. Now, look--I know cocks don't usually smell good. My ex made me shower with surgical precision down there. But Rosie? I shit you not--she smelled like lavender and roses.

"Wow," I said, looking up at her. "You smell so good."

"Surprised I smell like a woman?" she asked, quiet but steady.

"Nah. Just impressed. My ex smelled like a fish market half the time--barely a woman compared to you. You're ten times more, Rosie."

She arched a brow, smirking faintly, her blush deepening. "You saying I'm fat?"

My hands gripped her, small against her girth. "Saying I like every inch of you. Every damn bit."

Her laugh was soft--a husky rumble. Her massive frame relaxed as I leaned in.

Okay. So. How does one go about sucking cock?

Because I can safely say I have zero clue.

Kate never did it--not even once. I used to joke I could die of starvation waiting for a blowjob. She didn't get the punchline.

And now here I was, face-to-cock with a woman ten times more man than I'd ever be, a hundred times more woman than Kate, and I had no idea if I was supposed to start with a kiss, a lick, or a TED Talk.

"Umm... I'm gonna suck it..." My hand stroked down the base.

She nodded, blushing, smiling, raw want in her eyes.

I found the hot, sticky abundance of her huge scrotum, squeezed, felt her big testicles roll in my grip, one slipping out, its weight pressing against the inside of my thumb. With my left hand, I ran my palm over the muscles of her stomach, using a knuckle to prop up her long shaft. Our eyes met, and I hefted her cock and rested it on my cheek. It crossed the corner of my mouth, along the side of my nose, the end bowing to rest its chin in the cup of my eye.

I took a deep breath.

The head, its ripe edges gleaming, was outrageously large. I gave it a tiny, experimental lick.

And that was it. That was all it took.

I wanted this so bad it ached. I tongued the glans, bathing it with the flat of my tongue, then teasing the slit with the tip, angling my head to lick down the underside.

Rosie groaned, low and rough.

I smiled up, grabbed her arm, and kissed her palm gently. "Yo, Rosie, get those paws in my hair." I guided her hand to my head. Her strong fingers threaded through my hair.

The head of her cock stretched my jaw as I opened wide. A click sounded in my left ear, and with just a shallow mouthful, my teeth grazed her skin. She was too big to take deep. I did what I could. My grip stroked, rising high to gather the wet from my mouth, swirling my head and bobbing gently. My tongue worked, flattening against the swollen, swooping curve of her cock head.

My hand stroked in rhythm as I sucked. I'd hallow out my cheeks, sucking like a fucking Hoover. Up to my mouth, gathering saliva, stroking down, every fifth time dipping low to cup her heavy testicles. The more I sucked, the tighter her scrotum drew, two large balls hugging close to the wide base of her massive cock. She grunted, her hips twitching, hands fisted tight in my hair. Another win.

I pulled off.

She'd been staring the whole time, obedient like a kid, half amazed, half shocked, and loving the hell outta this.

My tongue swirled around the swollen head, lapping at the slit where pre-cum beaded. It was smooth, warm, velvet over steel. I moaned softly, just so she'd know I was loving it too. God, I'm hooked on this. I slid down, lips stretching around her girth. My hands gripped the base, fingers tangling in her clean pubic hair, her heat warming my palms as I found a slow rhythm, bobbing my head, sucking gently at first.

Suddenly, she let go of the counter and cupped the back of my head--not pushing me down or forcing her massive cock deeper. She guided me until my ear pressed against her hard stomach. I could hear her heartbeat, feel her pulse against my tongue.

We stayed like that for a minute--or an eternity.

Then I leaned backward, tongue extended, and she drew back her hips, the weight of her manhood sliding across my face, my tongue eager to meet the head.

"Is it good, Rosie?"

"I've never felt anything like this," she said, holding my ears, caressing my cheekbones with her thumbs.

I was dying to blow her mind. To give myself up to her.

Her hand returned to the back of my head, and I swallowed the head--bolder, more confident. Too large to suck properly, I focused on the head, narrowing my lips, delivering tight bursts of suction. One hand slid to her bottom--big, soft, yet hard like the rest of her. I pulled her closer.

She resisted.

I pulled again, and she got the message. Slowly, moaning, she gave an experimental thrust.

We moved in unison now--her hips thrusting, my neck and head bobbing. Spit overflowed, running down my chin and neck. When she leaked in my mouth, I swallowed. My slim body tightened like a bow, her cock an arrow sliding back and forth in the notch of my mouth. I wanted her to come. Wanted to be the one to ignite that explosion of liquid pleasure.

My fist around that thick shaft, following the motion of my mouth. Up and down. Up and down. A fucking symphony of sucking and stroking.

It went on for minutes, my tongue shaping around her big cock, striving to please her, snorting for breath.

"Fuck, Lance, you're gonna wreck me," she rasped, voice thick with awe, her huge hands hovering, then settling in my hair again, tugging lightly. Her pleasure--deep, needy moans--mixed with the wet, sloppy sounds of my mouth, echoing in the kitchen.

I took her deeper, tongue tracing a pulsing vein.

Holy shit, I'm actually pulling this off.

Looking up, tears in my eyes, I gave her the most loving, worshipful look I could muster. There wasn't a shred of pretense in it. It was how I felt.

She returned an amazed smile, biting her lower lip so hard I thought she might draw blood.

I knelt there, dwarfed by her towering mass--her thick thighs framing me, the flowery dress bunched around her hips--as I sucked.

I sped up.

Lips slid slickly, saliva mixing with pre-cum. The taste sharpened--tangy, rich--and I savored it. I hollowed my cheeks, tuning into her amazed gasps like a man trying to dial an old radio to his favorite station. My hands stroked what I couldn't reach.

"Oh my god, Lance," she groaned, hips shifting faintly, the dress swaying with her bulk. "You're fuckin' good, kid--too damn hot." Her voice cracked, raw and desperate, stoking the fire in my gut. She gently pushed me.

I lunged back at it like a junkie.

"I'm gonna come. Pull off or I'll pop in your mouth."

My frame trembled, cock aching in my jeans, the friction unbearable as I pressed my thighs together.

I pulled back, licking the head slow and teasing, drawing a shuddering "Fuck" from her. Her moans grew louder, shaking her frame. The kitchen smelled of steak, and arousal.

I worked her, hands slick with spit and pre-cum, sliding faster, the wet sound bouncing off the tiles.

I took her deep again, gagging faintly as she hit my throat, eyes watering.

"Goddamn, Lance, you're killing me here," she panted, voice breaking, one hand tugging my hair tighter. Her other hand braced on the counter. "This... is... amazing." The praise hit hard, and I moaned around her, the vibration pulling a growl from her chest.

I pushed harder, lips stretched wide, jaw aching. The sloppy noise filled the room. I flicked my tongue under the foreskin, teasing the ridge, and her hips jerked.

"Pull off, I'm coming." She pushed me gently.

Her moans turned to roars--"Lance, fuck, I'm--" and she came, a guttural roar shaking her frame. I lunged and sucked her in hard, tongue lapping, cheeks hollowed, closing around the massive head like a velvet vise, slapping her hands away when she tried to push me.

The first wave hit--hot, thick, rich--flooding my tongue. It overwhelmed me, spilling past my lips as I took it all. Pulse after pulse followed, coating my throat, dripping down my chin, soaking my shirt. The taste was potent--warm, tangy. I swallowed greedily, the rest smearing my face. I kept sucking slowly long after her volcano stopped pulsing.

Her legs shook, and she nearly buckled.

I pulled back, panting, lips swollen and slick. My chest heaved under my damp shirt, like I'd run a marathon. Rosie stared down, chest rising and falling, her bulk trembling. Her beautiful green eyes were wide with shock and desire.

"Holy fuck, Lance, what was that?" she gasped, voice wrecked, hands shaky as she braced herself.

"Round two's gonna blow your socks off," I teased, wiping my chin with a shaky hand, grinning up at her. "Let's eat--then I'm taking you apart again."

"Maybe clean up a little first?"

"Good thinking, sir." I stood and grabbed her hand.

"What?"

"You need cleaning too, sir. Come with me, sir. But I get to wash your cock and balls and tits, 'kay?"

She shook her head, then burst out laughing and followed me.

By the time we got out of the shower--pruny, starving, and dangerously close to developing shampoo trauma--a solid hour had passed. On the bright side, she admitted her cock, balls, ass, and tits were clean enough to get certified by the FDA.

======

The birds outside were tweeting like it was their goddamn job, yanking me out of sleep like unpaid interns on Red Bull. I stretched across the cool sheets, my skin brushing the fabric as I blinked awake. Rosie lay beside me, naked, her massive frame swallowing the bed--a hulking presence softened by sleep. Her face was slack, red hair spilling loose in the morning light. The sight stirred a quiet ache in my chest--something tender. I watched her broad chest rise and fall and thought happy thoughts.

Saturday. No work. Just us.

I shifted closer, tracing her arm, her skin warm under my fingers. She stirred, sharp green eyes cracking open. She looked confused at first then a faint grin tugged her lips. "Morning, kid," she rumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

I rolled closer, grinning, my knee nudging her thick leg. "Morning, big bad Rosie. You planning to eat me for breakfast or just sit on me again? Or maybe it's too early for sex-talk for an old lady like you?"

Rosie snorted, propping up on an elbow, red hair a wild mess. "Old lady, huh? Keep talkin', kid--I'll show you who's exhausted when I kick your scrawny ass outta this bed."

"You're like a hundred pounds blanket with attitude--and tits."

"Last time I weighed a hundred pounds, I was maybe three years old."

"Still--bet I could take you. Wrestle you down right now." I smirked. "I've been training... specifically in fantasy wrestling with dominant redheads."

Her eyes narrowed, a wicked glint sparking as she smirked. "Oh, you little shit. You're on."

Before I could blink, she lunged--her massive frame moving fast, hands grabbing my wrists. I yelped, giggling like a damn fool. I thrashed with all my might as she flipped me onto my back, pinning me to the mattress. My legs kicked, arms strained, but she was a fucking wall--way too powerful, her weight crushing me in the best way. Her cock brushed my belly, thick and half-hard from sleep. I hissed, nearly forgetting I was supposed to be fighting.

"Talk big for someone trapped under all this. Wanna bite, little man?" she growled, straddling my hips, her big tits bouncing with every laugh. "You're squirming like a worm, Lance--where's that big talk now?"

I bucked under her, giggling harder, my chest heaving. "Cheater! You're--fuck--you're like a goddamn tank!" I twisted, putting every ounce of strength into it, but she didn't budge--just laughed, a deep, throaty sound that shook her frame. Her hips caged mine, heavy and warm, her skin against mine electric.

Then something clicked. Our eyes locked--hers green and fierce, mine wide and wild--and the air shifted, thick with tension. I surged up, crashing my lips into hers like my mouth was starved and she was everything it ever wanted. Our teeth clashed, tongues tangled, messy and hot. Her grip softened, hands sliding to my shoulders as she kissed back, just as hungry.

A sharp car horn shattered the quiet.

Rosie flinched, then groaned and flopped onto her back, one arm draped over her eyes. She rolled off the bed and took a peek out the window. "It's for you."

I blinked. "What?"

Another honk.

Rosie shrugged. "Pretty rude, actually. Some kids in a blue Honda Civic."

Shit. I knew who drove that car.

I scrambled off the bed, half-tripping over my jeans from the night before. I grabbed a wrinkled tee and shoved my legs into the pair. My hair looked like I'd been electrocuted, and my shirt smelled vaguely like last night's sex and steak grease, but I ran to the window anyway.

Down the hill, parked crooked and still honking, was a too-familiar little car. Kate's. And in the passenger seat: Mikey, a. k. a. "Toad" Carlson--mutual friend, childhood partner in crime.

By the time I got to the porch, Kate and Mikey were already out of the car. Mikey looked up at the house like it was a crime scene. He was with me the night we painted these walls with childhood cruelty.

Kate was wearing a strappy red sundress that showed off more cleavage than confidence. She did her usual provocative strut--wedge heels clicking, legs shaved for maximum impact. The whole look screamed: "I didn't dress up. You just remembered I'm hot."

One of those too-cute smiles curled on her face--the kind that made me itch.

I stepped out, closed the door behind me, and forced a grin.

"Hey?"

Kate tilted her head. "Invite us in?"

"It's not really my house. I rent a room upstairs."

Mikey gave me an awkward wave. "Hey, man. She kinda... insisted."

"I bet she did." I nodded toward the porch table. "You can sit, but don't expect tea service."

Kate's eyes flicked toward the door behind me. "So this is where you've been staying?" she asked, lowering her voice. Still smiling. "With the freak?"

"Hey! Don't call her that. She's actually very nice."

Mikey winked. "Is she literally camping with a sniper trained on you through the window right now? Blink once for yes, twice for 'free me, you cowards.'"

I grabbed a lemon from the bowl on the porch table and chucked it at his chest. "Asshole."

Mikey caught it one-handed, laughing. "I knew it! You're so dead."

Kate flicked her hair. I used to smile when she did that--now I felt like reaching for scissors. "You look good, Mr. Not Returning My Calls."

I shrugged. "Thanks. You look sharp as always, Kate. My bad for the radio silence, life got hectic."

"It's fine." She gave one of her fake smiles I knew so well. "Honestly, I kinda had it coming after..."

I shrugged again like I didn't care one bit and it was all dead and buried. I can play the game just as well.

"You look good, Lance. Yeah, you look... leveled. More grown-up."

"Well, I was kind of a mess for a while after you took a dump on my heart, but I'm much better now. Thanks for asking."

Mikey looked like he just woke up in the wrong party. "Hey, maybe use that room of yours to have this conversation, guys? I'll just walk back home."

"Nah, stay," I said. "There's nothing really to hash."

"I was a mess too back then, Lancelot. You know I had too much shit going on," Kate said.

"I figured Brian Martin sorted out that mess for you."

She waved a hand like she was batting away a fly. "That jerk?"

I loved the fact that the guy she was all over once she dumped me turned out to be that jerk. Not my finest hour, but fuck it. She dragged me through so much shit, it took me three months to scrape it off.

"You and Brian Martin?" Mikey stared at her, surprised. "You dumped bro for that douche?"

"I didn't." She looked defensive. "And I brought you here to be a natural observer. A peacemaker, Mikey. Act like one."

"Oh," I said, leaning back, arms crossed. "So this is a whole operation, huh? Get Kate and Lance Back Together Again?"

Mikey looked embarrassed as fuck. "We did talk last night. At the Wasp."

"We?"

"The old gang, I mean--what's left of it. Jayden and Ray and Samantha Parker. And Kate and Grace O'Malley. And we said, like, how cool would it be if some things went back to the way they were in high school. I mean, you and Kate were always like two peas in a pod. I mean..." He shrugged. "And Kate said you wouldn't even return her calls. And I was like, that's a shame, want me to talk to him? And she was like--"

"Yeah, I know what she was like," I said. "Been there."

"When we were back in school, everyone knew the sky is blue, and Lance and Kate were endgame."

"I used to think that too," I snorted. "Until Kate started acting like Brian was the GOAT."

Mikey turned to Kate, frowning. "Bruh, I had no clue you were messin' with that dumpster fire Brian Martin. You know he's lowkey hustling that blue crystal now? I can't believe you dumped my man here for that shitshow."

"I'm not messing with anyone," Kate snapped. Her face reddened, one leg bouncing. "I was a mess when me and Lance broke up."

"We didn't broke up, you dumped me," I said.

She paused. Then, softer: "And you know, I keep thinking... maybe I let something good slip."

Three months ago...

Shit, even a month ago, I would've killed to hear those words. Hell, I begged her to--if not take me back, at least leave the door cracked open.

Just say there's, like, ten percent we'll be a thing again, Kate.

She told me all ten percent were mine to carry, and she was sorry, but she couldn't give me even one percent. Said it wouldn't be fair to either of us.

Rosie chose that moment to step onto the porch--barefoot and towering. She wore a black sundress splashed with daisies, arms bare, hair pulled up in that messy bun. She carried a tray with three tall glasses of iced tea and a plate of cookies like it was Sunday afternoon at a Baptist church.

"Hope you're thirsty," she said. "It's hot out today."

Mikey's jaw actually dropped.

Kate blinked, lips parted, then quickly shut them again like something had flown in.

Mikey was the first to recover. "Thank you, Mrs. Sharks."

"It's Rosie." She tried not to be her usual growly self. It was an honest effort--but she still sounded half pissed.

To my relief, Mikey was his usual oblivious self. "Thanks, Rosie. I had a landlord back in the city when I was in uni. She charged me by the square of toilet paper, she made me Venmo her for extra napkins." He took a cookie. "God forbid if I ever touched her fridge."

Rosie blinked, clearly unsure whether that was a compliment. But Mikey just smiled and took a sip of tea like he was about to ask her for a second glass.

Rosie set the tray down on the porch table. She wasn't used to having guests. Or serving food. Or being around anyone but herself. Her fingers tensed just a little too hard on the edge of the tray, and the whole thing tilted--then slipped.

It all crashed.

Glasses shattered against the wood. Iced tea sprayed like a busted pipe, soaking the table, the cookies, Mikey's jeans, and Kate's heels. A shard of glass spun off and landed with a thud in the grass.

Rosie stood frozen, fists clenched at her sides, face redder than her hair.

"Shit," she muttered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"It's okay," I said quickly, already crouching. "It's okay, Rosie. It's just tea. No casualties."

"I--" she started, but bit it back. Her eyes flicked to Kate and Mikey. She looked like she wanted the porch to open up and swallow her whole.

Kate gave a little squeak and stepped back. "Ugh, I just got these shoes."

"I'm so sorry." Rosie ducked her head as she picked up the pieces.

I gave Kate a venomous stare. I hated that Rosie was acting like the help in her own damn house. She quickly tossed the shards into the bin and stepped back inside without another word.

"Jesus," Kate muttered, shuddering. "What a fucking weirdo. Aren't you a scared to sleep here?"

"She's not a weirdo," I said, standing. My palms clenched.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Kate wasn't even trying to lower her voice. "Did you see the way she looked at you? Like she was sizing you up for dinner. Seriously, Lance, I'd bail today if I were you. My dad still rents those one-bedroom pads on the farm, remember? I could probably get you one for free."

"I live here now, Kate."

"You're just being stubborn." She crossed her arms. "Look, I'm not trying to get you to move in with us or anything. I'm just... worried. That's Rosie Sharks. Giant chick. Pervy creep. Monster dick." She started singing the dirty playground rhyme we used to chant like it was gospel.

I told Rosie I never sang it. That was a lie. I learned it from my older brother and taught it to everyone I knew.

"Tell him, Mikey," she said.

Mikey shrugged. "Tell him what? She looked nice."

That earned him a slap to the back of the head. "She used to work on our farm. People said she's a futanari."

"She is a futanari," I said.

"Dude, that's beyond messed up." Kate snapped her head side to side--fast, firm. A hard no. As if she was talking to a crazy person. "And you live in the same house with her?" She turned to Mikey. "Come on, tell him he's gross."

Mikey shrugged again. "So she's a futanari. So fucking what? Some people are. It's not a big deal, Kate."

I could've kissed him. Mikey, who used to eat his own boogers and call every girl in gym class "lesbo" for beating him at dodgeball, was now the most decent person here. You think you know a guy--and then he goes outside our little pond, and three years later... I could just kiss him.

"She looks nice, Kate. It's just some iced tea on your shoes. Take a damn breath and quit the soap opera act."

"Okay, stay here. I'm gonna check if she's okay," I said, and ran inside before Kate could say anything nasty.

Rosie was in her bedroom, wrapping a bandage around her thumb--her massive frame silent and sure--but I could read the signs.

I hugged her tight from behind, laid my head against her back, listening to that powerful heartbeat. "You okay?"

"Just a scratch, Lance. I'm a blacksmith. You know how many times I've been torn?"

"I wasn't talking about your hand."

"She seems nice, that ex of yours."

"Really?"

"No. She thinks futanari are gross. She thinks I'm a gross giant pervert."

"Shit! You heard her?!"

"I don't blame her. I used to think I was gross. Still do, most days."

My heart ached so much I thought it might fall off my chest. I kissed her bandaged hand gently, then jumped on the bed so I'd be eye-level with her, and pulled her in for a deep kiss. She barely kissed me back.

"But she seemed cute, that ex of yours. In a sexy 22-year-old way. She's really pretty, and she owns it. And she obviously wants you back, Lance."

"Who gives a fuck?"

"I think you should." She nodded. A big tear formed at the corner of one green eye and slowly trailed down her cheek. "I think you should give a fuck, Lance. Because this," she pointed at herself, then at me, "this doesn't make any sense on any level."

"Who determines what makes sense, for God's sake? Who makes the rules? Tell me where that guy lives--I wanna hit him with a shovel. Seriously. Some stupid 23-year-old bitch... Fuck, I look at her now and I have no clue what brainworm made me stick with her for four damn years. She talks shit and one insult and the giant iron girl melts?"

Her callused hand brushed my cheek. "The giant iron girl used to live alone on top of a hill. And then one day, a crazy kid came to live with her. And for a moment, she forgot who she was. I lived my perfect tiny life until you came and ruined it, Lance."

I shrugged. "I lived my shitty tiny life too, Rosie. Until you came along. And now nothing is tiny or shitty anymore."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You made me forget who I am for a minute, Lance. And Kate... Kate just reminded me. I'm not falling apart--I'm just booting back to factory settings. It hurts a little. But I'll live."

"You're doing no such goddamn thing, Rosie." I grabbed her hand and kissed it again. "We're going outside and--and..." I trailed off, because I hadn't actually thought beyond going outside. What the hell was I gonna tell Kate?

"We're gonna go outside and do what, Lance?" She placed her hands gently on my hips and lowered me back to the floor. "Tell her you're having sex with that giant dick-having freak up the hill? Tell her what--that we're together? We're not together, Lance. We just had a little sex. It's not a relationship. And it never will be. There will never be a point where you stand up and admit it to anyone--especially to people you care about--that you're with a forty-seven-year-old lump of futanari."

I stared at her in complete shock.

Trying to form coherent thoughts. Trying to turn those into well-formed sentences. With reason. With conviction. With anything. But for the first time in twenty-two years, words failed me.

Because she was so goddamn right. That point would never come.

I would never climb out of the fucking futanari closet I barely noticed walking into, and tell everyone:

Hey, I suck cock now!

I'm bent over for a woman twice my age and twice my size--and I love every fucking minute of it.

Fucking. No. Way.

Rosie brought me back to the ground from that eye-opening, cruel realization by caressing my cheek. "It was wonderful while it lasted, Lance. And I can't thank you enough."

She was mourning our relationship before it even started, and it broke my heart. I couldn't breathe.

"We both knew what this is. We're adults. Like I told you--different worlds." She nodded with the sadness of a thousand smiths.

I nodded too, wiping the wetness from the corner of my eye. Funny--I hadn't even noticed I was crying. "At least come back out with me, Rosie."

"What for?"

"It's your house. Nobody gets to treat you like that in your own damn house. It's not fair."

"Grow up, Lancelot."

"And don't call me that," I snapped. "I hated when she called me that."

======

Five minutes later, Rosie and I were back on the porch, sitting around the table. Rosie was unlike herself. She was laughing with Mikey, throwing jokes like horseshoes with no target. She brought us beers after double-checking we were all of age. Mikey was swiftly getting on board the Smith Team.

"Fuck me, Lance, your landlord is the GOAT," he said, mouth full of cake she'd served. "You got another spare room in your house, Rosie?"

"The second toilet. Bit small. You mind sleeping next to the plunger and whatever's alive under the sink?"

Kate smirked. She hadn't touched the cake or the beer.

"Man, you're a funny gal, Rosie. You know, that place of yours--it was kinda legendary when we were kids. We made up some crazy shit about it because..." Mikey scratched his head, trying to remember why we even picked on her in the first place, then shrugged. "I dunno. Kids, I guess."

"It was probably me," she said quietly. "Not the house."

He looked her up and down, smiling. "Well, you do look like... I mean, for a kid... I mean, you look like--"

"Like the 'before' photo of something," she said.

Mikey laughed wholeheartedly. Me? I couldn't stand her self-deprecating humor.

"Nah," he shook his head. "I meant you look like a running back someone painted with too much zeal. Lowkey, that might've been a bit spooky for a kid. But you're super sweet. People in this shitty town are just too damn stupid to mind their own business."

"You don't have to live here, Mikey," Kate sniffed, taking offense on behalf of the town we grew up in. "We were voted third place in Western Pennsylvania's Most Charming Rural Traffic Plan."

"Meh." Mikey took another sip of beer. "You ever notice how many roundabouts we've got, Kate? It's like the town's being honest with people visiting: Are you sure? Are you really sure? Still sure?"

Rosie laughed at that--really laughed.

"Yeah, if I'd known you were such a good hostess, I'd have visited Lance sooner," Mikey said, high-fiving Rosie, then raising a slice of cake. "Rosie, you are one big, funny gal."

She blew him an air kiss.

"A funny gal," Mikey added, getting poetic the way he did after one too many, "with a big heart."

"And a massive dick," Kate said.

The words hit like a gunshot.

She blushed when all of us turned to her in horror. Rosie paled. I wanted to choke the life out of Kate's delicate little neck in that moment.

"What...?" Kate stammered. "It's not like it's a fucking secret, right? You're a futanari, aren't you? Everyone knows that. So you've got a big dick too."

"Your mom's been talking, Kate?" I said, smiling like a wolf.

Mikey roared with laughter, nearly choking on his cake. "Brutal, Lance. Fucking brutal. K. O."

Kate's face twisted like she didn't get why she was the villain. "It's like, you didn't take offense or anything?" she asked, blinking at Rosie.

"God forbid," Rosie said, her smile tight, not reaching her eyes. "I'm too old to get offended. He made me like I am, by the way--God, that is--so any complaints you have about my anatomy, you can forward them to him."

"No complaints. It's perfectly cool by me." Kate's voice was syrupy sweet. Then she said: "Didn't you used to work on our farm, Rosie?"

Rosie's smile vanished like someone flipped a switch.

"I remember," Kate went on. "You and your husband--Tom, right? You were both of my dad's hands?" She made hands sound like a slur.

"I'm surprised you remember," Rosie said softly. "That was almost fifteen years ago."

"Oh, I do. There was that big scandal."

Rosie froze.

"Something with a boy?"

My beloved blacksmith's green eyes flashed, and I suddenly realized just how angry she was. "There was no scandal. And no boy," she said, her voice low but razor-sharp. "Just a shitty divorce. My ex-husband gave me a parting gift--said I raped one of the young hands on the farm. I got arrested. Thrown in jail for a week over a damn fairytale."

It wasn't just the story--it was her anger and her hurt that hit me like a sledgehammer. "What happened, Rosie?" I asked quietly.

"Nothing, really." She shrugged. "The police searched for the guy for a week. Tom told them I might have murdered him and dumped his body somewhere in the backwoods past Raccoon Creek. A week later, he turned up safe at his aunt's place. Turns out he'd been in Atlantic City, blowing through money he'd earned bagging feed. He had no clue what they were talking about."

She shrugged, offering a weak, apologetic smile.

"I never even had a conversation with him--definitely never touched the guy. The police were pissed when they realized they'd been played, but Tom had already vanished. Vanishing was always his specialty." She gave another faint smile.

Me? I wanted to cry.

She took a sip of her beer--small, like her throat barely trusted it. Her hand trembled just enough to catch the light. "I was out of jail, but the damage was done. I became the pariah. That weird lady on the hill you kids loved to make fun of."

I wanted to hug her--just to show I cared.

But I didn't move. Didn't say a word. I couldn't. Not while her fingers were wrapped tight around that bottle like it might vanish if she let go.

Kate was having none of it. She crossed her legs and picked at an invisible thread on her dress. "Well... people don't just make things like that up, do they?" Her tone was casual. Almost bored.

I swear I never would've guessed I dated a girl from ISIS. But there she was--blowing up lives with a bored little shrug.

"No smoke without fire, right?" Kate kept twisting the knife.

"You know, Kate..." I closed my eyes and nodded like a wise sage. "You're right. People don't just make things like that up." I let it hang. Then added:

"Take me, for instance. Remember when you called the other day and asked if I'm seeing anyone? And I said maybe, and that it's none of your business? I wasn't making shit up." I thumbed toward Rosie. "I am dating someone. Her."

"What?" Kate blinked, then smiled like she'd just heard the world's unfunniest joke. "Are you fucking stupid? That's not funny."

Mikey stared at me, grinning. Rosie--my sweet Rosie Bear--was frozen, eyes big as plates.

I stood up. Leaned in. And kissed her.

Not fast. Not uncertain. Just a soft, sure kiss that lingered long enough to tell anyone watching that this wasn't a stunt or a pity gesture or a dare.

This was mine.

When I pulled back, I looked straight at Kate.

"Sorry I didn't say anything earlier. It's kinda new, you know? But it's out now. Me and Rosie--we're a thing."

Kate stood like she'd been slapped. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Why? Because I moved on? I did. So should you." I took a breath, then laid it down: "I wouldn't have taken you back if I was single and you were the last girl in town. But I'm not single. I'm with Rosie. And you've done nothing but insult her from the moment you showed up--even though she offered you nothing but grace." I pointed toward the driveway. "So I suggest you fuck off back the way you came. Rosie's too kind to kick you out--but I'm really tired of hearing the poison leaking out of your hole."

Kate grabbed Mikey by the arm and stormed toward the car, her heels clicking like gunshots. She didn't look back.

But Mikey did.

He paused at the door, turned to us--Rosie still stunned, me still standing--and gave us both two big, beautiful thumbs up.

Then he smiled.

And followed her.

======

"Are you out of your childish mind, Lance?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm sane--and owning it. Like an adult. Owning us."

We stood in the kitchen--me, a little dizzy, a little scared at what I'd just done.

But also so, so proud.

Rosie was just scared.

"What if Kate goes to the police?" she said.

"And tells them what? That you raped and buried me in the backwoods past Raccoon Creek?" I stepped closer. "I'll tell them I beg to differ. I'm twenty-two, Rosie. An adult. And this is the first time I've felt like I'm not pretending to be one. You're letting fear do the talking "

"You're... you're crazy. You're a crazy kid. This is crazy. You can't do shit like that!"

"I just did." I stepped forward again and pushed her. It obviously had zero effect. She was built like a tank. "You don't just drop that on someone and ghost them," I snapped. "You don't get to give me something so, so--so amazing--and just take it away because you're scared. You're not allowed to, Rosie-Bear. I won't let you." I shoved her again, harder this time. She didn't budge an inch. But my voice cracked. "I'm not done with you. We're not done. We barely even started."

"Lance..."

"I had a perfect morning an hour ago. Before Kate ruined it. And it's Saturday. And I'm getting naked and going back to bed." I looked her dead in the eye. "You coming?"

She didn't answer. Just stepped forward, grabbed my wrist, and led me.

Back to bed.

It didn't take long to get naked, but I couldn't reclaim the naughty, playful vibe we'd had that morning.

I didn't want to.

Things suddenly felt heavier. Realer. And I owned it--because it made me feel things I'd never felt before.

Rosie, for the first time, initiated.

She kissed me again and again--tenderly, hungrily--with the passion of someone reclaiming something they hadn't realized they'd lost.

At one point, I pulled back, breathless, staring into her eyes, my heart slamming against my ribs.

"Fuck, Rosie," I whispered, voice raw--every emotion I'd ever felt for her spilling out in those two words.

Her gaze held mine--green, burning--but then a tear slipped free, catching the light as it rolled down her cheek.

I frowned, brushing it away with my thumb. Confused, but gentle. "Hey... what's wrong?"

She swallowed hard and looked away, her massive frame somehow shrinking under the weight of it. "I'm forty-seven, Lance. And I never..." Her voice cracked. The rest trailed off as she shook her head, and let out a breath like she'd been holding it for years.

"I feel like an idiot," she said.

I shifted closer, cupping her face in my hands. My thumbs stroked her cheeks, holding her steady. "Rosie, you're amazing," I said, voice firm, eyes locked on hers. "You're awesome--fuck, you're the best damn thing I ever stumbled into."

She blinked. Another tear fell.

But a small, shaky smile tugged at her lips. She nodded--slowly--like she was letting it sink in.

"I wanna spoil you, Rosie."

"You already do."

I guided her to roll over, her massive body shifting onto her stomach, big tits pressing into the mattress. Straddling her lower back, my thighs framed her hips, and I leaned in, lips brushing the nape of her neck, tasting her as I kissed down her spine--slow, deliberate, feeling her shiver.

"Feels good," she mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow, shoulders hunching slightly.

I grinned, hands roaming her sides, sliding lower to kiss the small of her back, tongue flicking out--warm. She tensed, breath hitching, and I murmured, "Relax, big gal." My hands parted her thick cheeks, exposing her tight ring.

I paused, heart pounding, then pressed a soft kiss to her rim, tasting musk and heat, earthy and raw.

Rosie gasped, a sharp sound, her frame jolting. "Kid--what--"

"Shh," I soothed, lips brushing her again, kissing slowly. "You're done calling the shots today. Vetoed." I nibbled gently, teeth grazing the edge, teasing with tiny bites that drew a shaky groan from her chest. My tongue followed, flat and wet, lapping at the muscle, the musky scent hitting me hard--sweat, heat, pure Rosie--as I licked her ass. Me, pure me, eager and sloppy.

"Kid?"

I raised my head. "It's called rimming. Stop thinking, just feel."

"Fuck," she rasped, hips shifting as I dove in and pressed harder, tongue wiggling past the resistance. Then I slipped inside her chute--hot, tight, bitter. I thrust slowly, curling my tongue, spit dripping down her crack.

Her moans grew louder--"Lance, shit"--raw and unrestrained.

My hands gripped her cheeks, spreading her wider, tongue plunging deeper, drawing a high, needy whimper I'd never heard from her before.

"You like that?" I murmured, voice husky, lips slick as I kissed her rim again.

"Yeah--fuck, yeah," she panted, thighs trembling. "What the hell are you doing down there, kid? Never felt this."

I dove back in, tongue thrusting hard, moaning against her. The vibration ripped another growl from her chest. Spit soaked her, the air thick with musk and sweat as she bucked--"Lance, fuck, I'm--" a shuddering moan tearing free, her rim pulsing around my tongue in a raw, primal release. I licked her through it, kissing soft and slow, hands smoothing her sides as she shook like a leaf.

She snorted, a rough laugh shaking her frame as we curled together, my body slotting against her bulk. My cheek mashed into her chest, her heartbeat pounding under my ear. Her thick arm slung over me, rugged hand grazing my back.

"You're a goddamn menace, kid," she said, voice dripping with mock accusation. "I oughta charge you extra rent for that shit."

"Me? Nah," I fired back, nipping her shoulder. "I'm the tenant who pays in tongue. Better tip me, you cheap old bat."

"Tip you?" she growled, smirking as her fingers dug into my side, just shy of tickling. "I'll tip you outta this bed if you keep running that mouth."

"Promises, promises," I teased, grinding against her thigh for a second before flopping back, grinning. "Face it, Rosie--you're hooked. I'm your new drug. Admit it--you're gonna beg for round two."

"Beg?" she scoffed, swatting my hand away. "Kid, I don't beg--I take. You're the one drooling down there like it's your last meal. You're a handful, kid. Too much for most."

"Me?" I grinned, propping up on my elbow, poking her side. "You're the damn wildfire here. Poor Tom-- can't even imagine the chaos he dealt with, trying to handle you in your wild 20s. Major yikes. Probably couldn't walk straight. Jesus Christ."

Her laugh died quick. Her eyes flicked away, a shadow crossing her face as her fingers flexed against my back.

"Tom never touched me, Lance."

"What?" I froze, grin fading, my hand still on her hip.

"He never did," she muttered, voice low and clipped, staring at the ceiling like it held answers.

"You mean your husband?" I asked, softer now, thumb brushing her skin--light and careful.

She nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah. I was barely eighteen. Stuck in some batshit Mormon sect--fundamentalist nuts, out in the boonies. Placement marriage crap. My pop couldn't stand me--too big, too weird, futanari and all. Figured no one'd take me, so he paid off the leader to pawn me off on Tom. Ex-con, face all burnt and twisted, drunk half the time. Guess we were both the leftovers nobody wanted."

"Christ, Rosie," I breathed, sliding my hand up her arm and squeezing gently, a knot forming in my chest. "That's fucked."

"Wasn't my choice," she said, voice rough like gravel, green eyes distant. "Tom took the cash, hauled us outta that hellhole eventually, but he wouldn't come near me. Slept anywhere but our bed--couch, shed, whatever. Called me 'pig-freak,' 'mule-dick'--real charming shit."

I shifted closer, lips brushing her shoulder soft and slow, heart thudding. "Not once? He didn't even try?"

"Nah," she rasped, a bitter twist in her tone. "But I wasn't a damn statue, Lance. Had fire in me--needs I couldn't bury. So I started paying for it. Young guys, like you. Tight asses. Cash under the table. Kept it on the down-low till Tom barged in one night--caught me with some kid riding me. He lost it, stormed out, and... Well, you already know what he did next," she growled, her hand fisting the sheet. "It took me forever to get back on my feet. To start this business just so I could pay the bills. After Tom, I quit the hookers--couldn't handle the stares. Been flying solo ever since."

"Fuck, Rosie," I whispered, voice breaking as I cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "That's not your fault--none of it. Tom was a gutless prick. And your dad was worse. You didn't deserve that shit."

She met my gaze, green eyes raw and unguarded, a flicker of something soft breaking through. "Feels like it stuck anyway. Like I'm still some mistake no one wanted."

"No way," I said, firm and sure, leaning in to kiss her--slow, deep, pouring everything into it, my hand sliding up to cradle her neck. "You're not that, Rosie. You're fucking incredible--then and now."

My heart thudded, a pang hitting me for her pain, her years of rejection. I slid my hands to her face, kissing her fiercely, lips claiming hers. She groaned, pulling me into her, chest crushing against mine. I broke the kiss, panting, forehead pressed to hers. "I want you to fuck me," I whispered, voice trembling. "Brought lube with those oils last week--hid it in my sack. I'm ready now."

Rosie's breath hitched, eyes darkening with hunger, but doubt flickered. "I'd love that, kid," she rasped, hand stroking my back, "but I'm too big--ten inches, thick. It'd wreck you."

"Please," I begged, hips grinding against her lap, feeling her cock stir--massive, insistent. "I need it. Been dreaming of you filling me."

She groaned, my pleas breaking her. "Alright, but slow. You say stop, we stop."

I nodded, scrambling for the lube--a vial of slick, herbal oil I'd hidden in my room, too scared to admit what I wanted. I lay on my stomach across the bed, ass up, legs spread, heart pounding.

Rosie was already hard again, her ten inches, uncut, glistening with pre-cum. She poured lube into her palm and circled my hole with one thick finger, pressing in slowly.

I gasped, the burn sharp but thrilling, my body softening as she worked me--deep. She hit something that made me moan. She added a second finger, then a third.

"Fuck!" I winced.

"Want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare, Rosie."

She stretched me with those big, callused fingers I loved so much. The wet squelch was loud in my ears as I panted, "More," pushing back.

"Ready?" she rasped, lining up, her thick head nudging my rim.

I nodded--"Do it"--and she pushed, the pressure searing, my hole resisting her girth.

"Fuck!" I cried, pain lancing through, hands clawing the sheets.

"Too tight," she grunted, thighs trembling, holding still. "Gonna hurt you--I'm stopping."

"No!" I begged, pushing back despite the agony, tears pricking my eyes. "I can take it!"

She growled, pushing, the stretch brutal, my body shuddering. "Fuck, Lance, you're tearing," she panted, freezing. "Stopping now." She pulled out slowly, her cock slipping free with a wet pop, leaving me aching.

"Damn it!" I snarled, rolling over, hands grabbing her thighs. "I wanted it!" I buried my face in her groin, sucking her heavy balls--one, then the other--tongue swirling through her reddish pubes, tasting the heat.

"Goddamn, kid," she groaned, hands tangling in my hair, her massive cock twitching above me. I licked up the shaft, taking her deep, sucking hard, spit dripping as her gut quivered, moans ragged--"Fuck, yeah." My hands stroked her base, fast and slick, and she roared, cum flooding my mouth--hot, thick, spilling past my lips, dripping down my neck. I swallowed everytihng, licking my fingers clean.

"Fuckin' hell," she panted, chest heaving, pulling me into her lap. "You're something else."

I grinned, cheek pressed to her chest, heart pounding. "Next time, you'll fuck me proper. Promise."

She chuckled, thick arm wrapping around my waist, musk enveloping me. "Yeah, kid. Next time."

======

Almost a week later, Rosie's confession still gnawed at me like a stubborn knot. I'd tasted her--her body, her sweat, her tears. I'd felt her hulking mass trembling under my hands. But more than that, I'd seen straight into the deepest well of her pain. We'd shared something so intimate it carved a bond between us I couldn't shake.

And I didn't want to.

Mikey called and said Kate hadn't shown up to their usual get-together, and no one was exactly mourning the absence.

Then Ma rang--her voice tight over the crackling line. Pa's back had gone out again. My two older brothers bailed with some half-assed excuse.

They needed me back at the store.

For a second I panicked, thinking Kate had spilled the beans and the whole damn family knew. I wasn't ready for that talk. Not even close.

But it wasn't that. Just life calling.

And look--I'm a bit of a jerk, a little nuts, and way too lazy--but family is family. You show up.

My folks lived five hours out from Rosie's place. I cursed under my breath, stuffed a week's worth of clothes into my sack, and told Rosie I'd be off work and gone 'til Monday. My cheeks were burning like I'd just admitted I still sleep with the lights on.

She didn't flinch. Just nodded and said, "Funny timing. I'm leaving tomorrow, too."

I blinked. "Yeah?"

"Medieval Fair outside Harrisburg, I'll be there till Saturday." she said, rubbing her thumb across the edge of the kitchen counter. "I sell swords. Real ones. My kind. Handmade, folded steel, leather grips. Not that cheap Ren Faire crap." She gave a little smirk. "People pay a fortune to feel like a knight."

"You'll sell out in minutes."

"I usually do."

She didn't say it, but I could tell she was glad we'd both be gone. Not apart, just... paused. A weird kind of grace period. We didn't talk about that part. Not yet.

When she saw me with my backpack slung over one shoulder, her green eyes shadowed--but all she said was, "Take care, kid," brushing my arm with her hand. Then, like a little girl changing her mind, she rushed after me and kissed me on the doorstep--slow and full, like a lover kissing a soldier off to war. Yeah, it was dramatic. But damn, it gave me such a buzz I carried it all the way to my folks' place.

Thank God for small favors. My mom didn't know a thing about my new relationship. This wasn't some intervention trap to save me from myself.

The downside? The store was its usual dusty clutter of shelves and barrels, and I spent my days hefting sacks. I'd hated it as a kid, swearing I'd grow up to work behind a desk. I still hated it now--my frame aching, my mind drifting to Rosie. Her broad chest. That gravelly voice.

Horny little me thought a lot about that giant cock I couldn't have yet.

Nights found me sprawled on my childhood bed, phone glowing as I scrolled under the thin quilt. I devoured articles and forums--how to relax for anal, best lubes for big dicks.

Breathe deep, push out, take it slow.

One post swore by an oil-based lube--silky, long-lasting, a velvet glide for tight holes. I ordered it the next morning from Pa's old computer, heart pounding as I typed the address.

Alone in the dark, I'd lie awake, fingers tracing my stomach, imagining her hands, her scent, practicing deep breaths and gentle pushes. My cock hardened every time at the thought of her stretching me.

Second night, my phone buzzed--Rosie's name lighting the screen. I answered, voice soft, "Hey, big gal." Her gravelly grunt came through, rough and warm, and I grinned, leaning back on the lumpy pillow. "Miss me yet?"

A pause, then a flustered huff. "Yeah, kid--damn it, I do. Too quiet without you yapping."

I chuckled, heat rising. "Aw, you're sweet when you're flustered. Missing me that bad, huh? Want a little something to tide you over?" Before she could answer, I kicked off the quilt, shimmied out of my boxers, and snapped a pic--my bare ass. Taut in the dim light, curved just right. I sent it, heart racing.

Silence. Then a choked, "Fuck, Lance--what're you doing to me?"

"Giving you something to dream about," I teased.

"You're a devil, kid. Yeah, I like it--too damn much. Can't stop looking."

We talked about the fair--how she was killing it. Said she already had enough custom sword orders to keep her working through December 2100. We talked like intimate friends, laughing about stupid stuff, teasing each other between real things.

I realized we had a thing now. Like our private meme: "I think dresses don't operate that way, sir." It became the punchline for everything.

When she overcooked pasta until it squeaked between her teeth: "I think noodles don't operate that way, sir."

When she sent me a blurry pic trying to look sultry but ended up looking like a confused traffic cone: "I think thirst traps don't operate that way, sir."

It never failed to crack us up.

Whether she liked it or not--hell, whether I liked it or not--we were becoming a couple.

Friday night, I wrapped up at the store early--Pa's back had eased, Ma was shooing me off like I was crowding her knitting circle. I hit the road, my stupid Toyota coughing up hills and threatening to give up the ghost every time I passed fifty.

But she made it. Just.

As I climbed the final stretch up to the hill, tires crunching the gravel I used to dread, something shifted.

That house--Rosie's house--the one we called "the ogre's lair" as kids, the monster mansion where we dared each other to knock and run... it didn't look like that anymore.

The straight fence, the porch, the windows we swore had eyes? All of it looked... smaller. Softer. Like the big bad wolf took off the costume and now it was just someone's home. My someone.

Rosie wasn't back from the fair yet, and the house felt incomplete without her. Hollow. I went up to my room... and then, after a little mulling, I headed downstairs to hers.

I unpacked into her closet. I'd already conquered one of her shelves last week--today I claimed another.

Another sign.

After a quick shower, I collapsed wrapped in a towel onto the big bed that still smelled like Rosie and drifted off fast into dreamland, full of anvils and throaty laughter.

Rain tapped the bedroom window. I was still half-asleep when a blood-curdling scream yanked me straight out of dreamland.

Rosie stood in the doorway, wielding a massive pan like a battle axe. "What the fuck, Lance? I thought I was getting mugged! I nearly pissed myself. Shit--I almost left a dent in your skull the size of Nevada."

"So we're in that part of the relationship now, huh?" I nodded solemnly. "Screw vanilla sex, let's go full Marquis de Sade. Cool. Cool cool cool. Oh, and by the way--spanking doesn't operate that way, sir."

She started laughing, color blooming back into her cheeks. "You said you'd be back by Monday."

"Couldn't wait. But I can always head back to my folks for a few more days... if you want me to."

"I wanna see you try." And she pounced--my She-Bear. All laughter, muscle, and kisses.

"Wait a fucking second!" I pushed a hand against her chest. "What the hell, Rosie-Bear? Your hair?"

Rosie's hair--usually fiery red with streaks of gray, always stuffed into a messy bun--carried the heat of her smithy. Thick, coarse, frizzy from forge smoke and sweat. It had probably never seen a real haircut in decades, just scorched ends and soot.

Now? Now it blazed like a shampoo commercial. Vibrant red. No silver. Freshly dyed, freshly styled. Like a phoenix had snuck into her bedroom and set her head on fire--in the best way.

"You like it?" She gave me a live runway show, tilting her head side to side, duckface in full effect. "The amazing world of chemistry." She smirked, running a hand through her glossy locks.

"Fuck yeah," I said, leaning in to kiss her--soft, warm, my lips brushing her rough ones. "You're lucky I didn't hump your leg."

She laughed, a throaty rumble, and peeled the towel off me like she was unwrapping a present. "I've got another surprise. You'll see--later."

"Keeping secrets, huh? Better be good," I pulled her close. "I missed you. I really did."

She nodded. "I missed you too, kid. A whole damn lot."

"I want to try again," I said quietly.

"What?"

"What we tried last week..."

Her breath caught, green eyes burning with hunger. "Lance, we tried. You were hurting. I'm too damn big. Your little body can't take it."

"No! No, no, no," I pleaded, fingers tugging her flannel shirt, digging into flesh. "I've practiced--breathing, pushing out. Bought lube that's perfect--silky, slick, made for this. Please, Rosie, I've been dreaming of you ripping me open. I'll beg--please."

She groaned, a deep rumble shaking her chest, hand rubbing her weathered face. "Fuck, kid--you don't know what you're asking."

"Please," I begged, pressing against her side, hands cupping her cheeks. "I'll make it work--slow as you want. I thought about it all week." My voice cracked, desperate. "I'll do the dishes for a whole week. Fuck it, the whole goddamn month."

"A month?" She squinted, closing one eye.

"And wash your car."

"Such good arguments."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Alright, kid," she rasped, voice thick, "but slow--you say stop..."

I grinned, heart racing, and slid off the bed to grab the lube from my sack. It felt like silk, if oil can be described as silk. Cool in my palm. I jumped back on the bed like Tarzan, thumping my pale chest like a gorilla.

"Fuck!"

"What?"

"I just smeared this shit all over my chest," I laughed.

"Anal sex doesn't operate that way, sir."

My body naked, my small cock jutting hard, tense with anticipation.

"Goddamn," she rasped, green eyes roaming me as I reached for her flannel, undressing her with care--unbuttoning each snap. My fingers brushed her breasts, skin warm under my touch as I slid the shirt off.

"Rosie-Bear," I said.

"What?" she growled.

"I really missed you." I tugged her pants next, the zipper rasping loud. My breath hitched as I hooked my fingers in her boxers' waistband, pulling slowly--her cock sprang out.

Ten inches of uncut flesh, thick. A hammer about to weld me into something else.

The bulbous head was red and dripping, veins pulsing through a trimmed patch of pubic hair.

Wait, what?

Someone's garden got professionally landscaped.

The bush, like her hair, looked like Martha Stewart had hit it with garden shears and a label maker. No longer wild and free, but a vivid red heart, waxed clean around it, the letters "L+R" carved into the center. I froze, awestruck, the surprise hitting me like a punch.

"Fuck, Rosie," I whispered, voice shaking. I stared for five whole seconds, then burst into laughter. "R+L--that's for Randy and Lewd, yeah? No, wait--Raring and Loaded, cocked and ready to go!"

"It's Rosie and Lance, you twit."

"No shit," I smirked, leaning closer.

"Cheeky little imp," she grumbled.

"I love it." I reached out, wiggling her cock with a playful nudge and brushing her balls. "You felt these weren't enough, huh? Thought, 'Lance needs some extra visual effects down here to keep him hooked.'"

"Surprise number two, kid. Brazilian and all."

"Goddamn, you're... shit!" I said, handing her the lube, lying on my stomach across the bed, legs spread, ass up. "Start with your fingers," I murmured.

Rosie shifted, hands shaking as she poured lube into her rugged palm, slicking her fingers. "Relax, kid," she growled. One rough digit circled my taut hole, teasing like a cat with a laser pointer addiction. I breathed deep, pushing out like I'd read, and she pressed in--slow. Hot, so hot, the stretch burning as my ring gave. A whimper spilled from my lips, my hands gripping the quilt. The wet squelch of lube mixed with her ragged breaths.

My lover blacksmith could work her hands like no one else, and she worked me--deep, curling, grazing something inside that made me moan.

"Fuck, Rosie," I gasped, body trembling as she added a second finger, then a third, stretching me wide, the burn easing into heat, my thighs quivering, slick with sweat and lube. "More--your cock--please."

She groaned, hands gripping my hips, digging into my skin. My frame trembled on the bed, stomach pressed to the quilt, legs spread wide, my ass up and vulnerable.

The cool air brushed my exposed rim. Rosie shifted behind me, her mass looming, the mattress creaking under her weight. She poured the silky, oil-based lube into her palm and slicked her massive cock. I felt her dripping on my back, my body buzzing with anticipation.

"Slow, Lance," she rasped, voice low and wrecked, thick with need.

She lined up, fingers guiding her cock, the heat of her pressing against my stretched hole. She was huge, unyielding, a wall of slick, burning pressure against my taut sphincter. I breathed deep, slow, like I'd practiced all week at my folks' place.

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. I ordered my body to relax, which of course had the opposite effect. My hands clenched the quilt, fingers digging into the worn fabric. My knuckles whitened as I pushed back, a nudge against her massive head, urging her on.

She pushed forward, slow, so slow, the stretch starting as a faint pressure, then blooming into something immense. It was a searing burn that made my breath catch, my frame tensing despite my efforts.

"Fuck!" I cried, pain lancing through me as the thick, bulbous head nudged my elastic entrance. The pressure against the tight ring of muscle tested its limits. My sphincter resisted, the son of a bitch, just like last time. New silky lube or not, this was fucking hard, and we hadn't even begun to fuck.

The taut band quivered under the assault, stretching wider, the lube slicking the way but doing little to dull the raw, fiery ache.

Rosie's thighs trembled behind me, her hands tightening on my hips. I felt a drop of her sweat hit between my shoulder blades, hot, sliding down my spine as she grunted, "You're so fucking tight."

The head burrowed, pushing harder, but the slickness made it slip at first, sliding off my rim, smearing lube across my ass.

I growled in frustration, sounding a lot like Rosie. "Shit!"

"Want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare."

"Lance, chill," she muttered, her hand fumbling as she gripped her cock again, repositioning it. This time the swollen tip found purchase, hot and insistent.

I breathed slower, deeper, picturing myself opening, soft, willing. I'm a flower, a goddamn morning glory, and she's the sun. My body trembled, sweat beading on my brow as I pushed back, willing my sphincter to yield, to bloom for her. "You're amazing," I gasped.

My hands clenched tighter, nails biting into the quilt. "Thought of this all week, ain't backing out now, Rosie, please."

She groaned, chest heaving, more sweat splattering my back. The scent of her--sweat, lube--flooded my nose, thick and intoxicating. She pushed again, steady, relentless, the fat crown pressing harder. The elastic ring of my sphincter stretched, thinning, the muscle quivering as it fought to hold, then began to give.

The burn intensified, a white-hot ache radiating from my rim, my frame shuddering, my thighs tensing. I kept breathing, deep, ragged, pushing out. Want and pain battled.

"Fuck, Lance," she panted, fingers bruising my hips as she held me steady.

I whimpered.

"Don't stop," I begged, tears pricking my cheeks as I pushed back harder, my ass grinding against her. "You're fucking perfect, keep going, please!"

"Too tight," she grunted, thighs trembling harder.

And suddenly, it happened.

The elastic entrance quivered, stretched to breaking. The muscle taut around the thickest part of her head, then, sudden, sharp, like a pin popping a balloon, it gave. The sphincter opened fully, snapping around her cock with a slick, wet pop.

Bang. She was in me.

The thick knob slipped beyond, locking inside, the elastic ring clamping tight behind it, hugging the massive head with a fierce, loving grip.

The pain was immense, burning. I bit my lip hard to stop myself from shouting. If I let the pain out, she'd panic. No way was she chickening out again. I breathed slowly through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, thinking happy thoughts.

"Lance, you alive?" she rasped, her frame tense behind me.

I had to pretend for her. I wanted her inside me too much, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "Cherry popped!" I gasped, a laugh bubbling through the pain. "You popped my cherry, Rosie, fuck!" The burn eased slightly, the head lodged past my rim, a hot, heavy presence stretching me inside. My walls pulsed around it, the lube easing the raw ache into something deeper, fuller.

Rosie laughed, a rough, hearty boom shaking her gut, her hand rubbing my back, smearing sweat and lube. It was soothing. "Goddamn, kid," she rasped. "You're something else, took me like a champ." She paused, holding still, her massive cock trembling inside me. Her fingers stroked my hips, giving me time to adjust, to breathe.

The pain lessened, fading to a dull, throbbing ache, the fullness taking over.

I felt stretched like a yoga mat in a beginners' class full of overachievers, but I also felt good, like this was truly me. All the fears about what others might think were gone.

My frame relaxed into the quilt. I shifted, testing the feel, her massive cock lodged just past my rim, the thick knob a pulsing presence inside me. My walls gave it a loving hug, adjusting slowly.

"Feels... fuck, Rosie, better now," I murmured. "Keep going, want more, you're so good." My hands unclenched. "If I'd known it was this good, I'd never have tried dickless girls. Fuck, you're ruining me already."

Rosie's hand rested on my hip, steadying me, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. "You sure you're good, Lance? This looks painful, I--"

"Shh..." I cut her off, my frame still trembling from the stretch. "I don't know how it looks, but I know how it feels, and it feels awesome. Come to think of it, I don't need to guess how it looks." I twisted, arm stretching to the bedside table, snagging my phone from where I'd left it earlier. "Hold still, big gal, and say cheese," I said, shifting my weight to angle my ass higher as I pointed the camera back, aiming blind at where her cock pierced me.

"What the hell are you doing, kid?" Rosie rasped, her thighs tensing against mine, but she didn't move, her massive cock still locked inside, stretching me raw.

"Cherry pop moment, gotta immortalize it," I grinned, snapping the pic, a quick flash lighting the room. I pulled the phone back, fingers swiping to check the shot, and fuck.

Messy, wild, and fucking perfect. Her thick, glistening ten-inch cock, the swollen tip buried just past my rim, my taut ring stretched tight around it, a pink, elastic band hugging her girth, slick with lube that gleamed in the light. The red heart of pubes with "L+R" framed it bold and proud.

The contrast was stark--my pale ass against her trimmed, fiery patch, her veiny, massive shaft disappearing into me like a lewd magic trick. "Look at that," I said, turning the screen to her, then tapping to send it. "For you, when I'm out of town, something to stare at when you need me. Cherry pop of Lance, by the awesome, beautiful, big Rosie-Bear."

I felt her peering at the pic over my shoulder.

"Fuck, Rosie, you've branded me with this beast." My body trembled with the words, the fullness throbbing inside me. It felt so damn right, and I laughed, soft and needy.

Rosie burst out laughing, jiggling against my ass, her hand slapping my butt. "You're a fucking devil, Lance," she growled. Then she rubbed my spine, soothing me. "Shit, kid, you'll kill me."

"Worth it," I grinned, setting the phone aside. I rocked back faintly, urging her on. "Feels better now, less pain, more... fuck, it's good. Keep going, Rosie, want all of you."

She patted my ass. "First you settle, then we'll see how much more you can take." Her fingers traced my hips, tender, her massive cock still inside. The thick knob was a steady, pulsing weight. I melted.

"Go, Rosie."

My she-bear growled, hands bruising my hips, pushing again, another inch. My hole stretched around her, a white-hot ring of fire.

"Fuck, Lance," she panted, "you're so tight." Her chest heaved, a hot flush blooming across her skin, and I bit my lip to avoid whimpering.

"More," I begged, face pressed to the quilt, trembling. "Don't stop, give me all of it, please!" The rain tapped the window, a steady rhythm matching my gasps, and my Rosie pushed. Slow, relentless, inch by inch, the thick shaft sliding deeper, stretching me raw. The velvet glide of oil hummed loud in the quiet room. Each inch seared as my ass yielded grudgingly, like a vending machine after the third kick.

"Goddamn, kid," she moaned, legs quivering as she sank deeper--three inches, four, the stretch unbearable yet intoxicating. My slim frame rocked with each push, my hands tearing at the quilt.

"Feels so fucking good, you're taking me, fuck." Her fingers dug into my hips, bruising, and I spurred her on. "Yes, Rosie, more, don't stop, fill me up!" My body glistened with heat, the pain fading into a hot, pulsing fullness.

"Steelers style, baby--take it to the end zone!"

Five inches, six, halfway now, the girth splitting me, my hole clenching, then relaxing. Wet hum of flesh against flesh. Her thighs trembled against mine.

"Almost there," I panted, pushing back, my ass grinding, the burn a dull roar, pleasure threading through it. My small cock was so hard beneath me, I was scared it'd burst. "Keep going, I can take it, fuck, I need it!"

Her moans grew louder, shaking her frame--skin, pre-cum, her raw arousal--as she pushed. Seven inches, eight, each millimeter a slow, torturous slide. My walls stretched and yielded, the heat of her scorching me inside.

She groaned, chest heaving as she hit nine inches, the base so close, her trimmed pubic hair brushing my ass. "Feels so tight, so fucking good."

I whimpered, body shuddering, pleasure surging as I pushed back, urging her on. "All of it, Rosie, give it all, please!" And she did, a final slow thrust, the full length sinking in after God knows how many minutes of begging, moaning, and pushing. The wet hum faded as she bottomed out, her balls pressed tight to my ass, her massive cock locked inside me, hot and pulsing.

"Goddamn, yes," I gasped, stretched beyond reason, the fullness overwhelming, hot, heavy. She owned me in that moment like never before.

"Lay on me, Rosie."

"What?"

"Please, want you on top."

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? I'll crush you, kid, I'm heavy as hell."

"No, please," I begged, hands reaching back, tugging her hips. "Want you enveloping me, your weight, need it."

"I..." She groaned, lowering slow, leaning on her hands, her chest brushing my back, but I shook my head. "No hands, all of you, crush me, Rosie, I want it so bad."

"Fuck, Lance," she rasped, relenting, her frame sinking down, her gut pressing my back. Her arms caged me, her bulk enveloped my body, squashing me into the mattress. Her tits pressed into my shoulders, her thighs trapping mine.

The weight was immense, hot, like I was in the goddamn Brazilian rainforest.

I loved every second of it.

I moaned, my frame pinned, enveloped entirely, the pressure a delicious crush, her giant cock buried deep, pulsing in my bowels.

"Feels... fuck," I panted, "your cock's so deep, like it's part of me now. I love it, Rosie. Can't move, don't wanna. Wish this could last forever, you inside me, on me, all around me, fuck, it's perfect."

My hands clawed the quilt, my small cock trapped beneath, leaking.

Pure bliss.

"Goddamn, kid," she growled, chest rumbling against my back, her breath hot on my neck. "You're so tight, feels like heaven, fucking unreal."

"Fuck me," I begged, my frame trembling under her mass. "Slow, please, make it last, I want you forever."

She groaned, hands gripping my shoulders, and started, slow, so slow. A gentle pull back, an inch sliding out, a symphony of slick oil and skin. Then a push in, deep and deliberate, her massive cock stretching me again, the fat crown dragging my walls.

"Fuck, yes," I moaned, her gut sliding against my back, her thighs flexing.

She fucked me, each thrust a slow, torturous glide, my body rocking beneath her, pinned, owned.

"Like that?" she rasped, fingers digging into my shoulders, her chest heaving, her tits pressing harder into me

I whimpered. "Yes, Rosie, slow, fuck, it's so good,"

The pain a dull memory now, pleasure surging with each thrust. She filled me, she emptied me and I moaned like a slut.

She kept it slow, minutes stretching into an hour, each thrust deep, deliberate. Her bulk pressed me down, enveloping me, her breath ragged, moans rumbling through her frame.

"So fucking good," she panted, her cock pulsing inside me, hot and heavy. The pleasure building, a slow burn that consumed me. Us. My small cock against the quilt was torture, and I came first, sudden, hard. Like a kazoo in a funeral procession--wrong, loud, unstoppable. My cum soaked the bed, as my body shuddered under her weight.

"Fuck, Lance," she groaned, feeling me clench, and sped up, just a fraction, thrusting deeper, her balls slapping my ass.

She came with a roar, a she-bear in a passionate explosion. I felt her blowing up, pulsing. One, two, three, four, endless. Cum flooding my bowels, hot, thick, spilling deep as she ground into me, crushing my back, her arms trembling.

I felt her spurting like a hose, painting my insides, stuffing my already full rear even tighter. I'd be leaking her seed all week. Her shaft throbbed, balls twitching and pressing against me as she came, grunting hard.

We lay there, panting, her bulk heavy, her cock softening inside me. She rolled off real slow, pulling out with a wet pop, leaving me empty, aching for her cock to claim another piece.

I turned, crawling into her arms, my lips kissing her pretty face, slow, desperate, tasting salt and skin. "Thank you," I whispered, tears pricking my cheeks. "Rosie, that was amazing. So good, best thing I ever. You're so big, so perfect."

She chuckled, hand stroking my back, green eyes soft. "You're a crazy kid, Lance."

I nodded and kissed her deep.

======

My body still tingled from the sex.

The raw memory of her cock stretching me, popping my cherry.

Fuck--I took my phone and stared at the picture of my cherry-popping for like the hundredth time.

It wasn't just the sex--though it was fucking unreal--it was her. All her. This gruff, awesome giant who made me feel alive, electric, like I'd been lit from the inside out.

I needed to thank her. Not just for last night, but for being her. For the way she flipped my world upside down just by existing.

Two weeks back, a chat at the software company where I code stuck in my brain like a burr. Dave, a lanky dev with a geek streak, had leaned over his desk during lunch and said, "Dad's gear manager for the Pittsburgh Steelers--got two VIP seats for next Saturday against the Ravens. Front row, fifty-yard line. $1,200 each."

I'm Steelers through and through, but twelve hundred bucks? Nope. Two of those tickets cost more than my car. A dream too big for my broke-ass wallet.

"Offer's open if you change your mind," he'd said.

Two weeks ago, it was a no.

Now, with Rosie's heat still on my skin, it felt like fate.

I grabbed my phone, fingers shaky, pacing the farmhouse kitchen while Rosie dozed.

"Bro," I said when Dave picked up, voice low. "Them Steelers tickets--still good?"

My heart thumped. Brow sweating. Please, say yes.

"Yeah, man," Dave said. Keys tapping. "Dad's got 'em. Twelve hundred a pop, cash."

"Make it two for two grand and I'm in."

"Deal. But come now."

"Done." I grinned, buzzing like a live wire. "Be there in thirty--cheers."

I turned as Rosie shuffled in, towel wrapped around her big body, water dripping from her freshly dyed hair.

"Gotta grab some stuff," I said, brushing her thick arm as I snagged my jacket. "Back soon."

Dave's apartment was a tech cave--screens glowing, air thick with stale coffee--and I knocked at noon sharp, two grand--half my savings--stuffed in my pocket.

"Spoiling someone?" he smirked, handing over the tickets, glossy and gold with that Steelers logo.

I grinned, cheeks burning. "Awesomest gal I know. Worth every damn cent."

======

Sunday morning, I kissed her awake--soft, warm, my lips brushing hers.

"Morning," I murmured, grinning as she stirred, blinking open.

"Kid--what the fuck?" she grunted, voice thick with sleep.

I straddled her lap, grinning like an idiot, and held up the tickets.

"Steelers vs. Ravens. Tonight. Front row. Fifty-yard line." I leaned in. "My treat, 'cause you're so fucking awesome, Rosie. For how you make me feel."

Her eyes bulged. She snatched the tickets like they might vanish. A grin cracked across her face--rare, real, pure joy.

"Jesus Christ, Lance--Pittsburgh? Front row? Against the Ravens?" She clapped my shoulder so hard I nearly toppled off her. "You're nuts, kid. I ain't seen 'em live since 2002. Thought I'd croak before this."

"You're worth it," I said, softer now, fingers sliding over her big tits like I owned the place. "You, being you--gruff, massive, hot as sin, and somehow still sweet as pie--you make me feel like my whole damn insides got set to fireworks. So yeah... I had to do something insane and wallet-stupid. That's how I roll."

She growled, yanking me into a bear hug that nearly folded me in half. My lungs? Gone. My heart? Full.

We piled into her F-150, its engine roaring like a beast as she tore down the driveway. Pittsburgh was three hours away.

Rosie rambled the whole time--gruff tales of Steelers glory, bar fights over bad calls, the time she punched a guy for calling Troy Polamalu "overrated." Her hands were alive on the wheel, forearms flexing with every shift.

"Yo, Rosie-Bear, I wanna hear the story about that guy."

"What guy?"

"You know, the guy who gave you a blowjob while you were driving to a Steelers game."

"What on earth are you talking about?" She wasn't too quick, my she-bear, and a bit too naïve, but I loved even that about her.

I slapped my forehead. "Ah, shit! I sometimes get ahead of myself. Too much sci-fi shit with time travel." I was on it--fingers unzipping her fly, tugging her boxers down. "Tell me that story when we head back."

"Lance, you--fuck--" she rasped, and I grinned, leaning down, my lips brushing the bulbous head, tasting salt and musk.

I took her in--slow, wet, my mouth stretching, sucking softly, tongue lapping the glans.

A low moan rumbled from her chest. Her hands gripped the wheel, knuckles whitening, sweat beading on her brow as I worked. I licked her balls--slow, deliberate sucks, the red pubes prickling my tongue, musky and raw.

"Fucking hell--Lance--" she groaned.

I grinned, diving back, lips kissing the tip, sucking gently, teasing the glans with soft swirls, then nipping tiny bites along the shaft--careful. Every graze made her twitch.

"Goddamn--you're a wonder," she moaned, voice breaking, hands gripping harder, the truck swerving faintly as her thick cock pulsed, pre-cum sharp on my tongue.

I licked her balls again, sucking one, then the other, earthy taste flooding me.

The truck slowed, headlights red ahead, stopping at a light.

A convertible rolled up--I heard a lady: "Hey, big gal--Heinz Field?"

Rosie stuttered, "Uh--straight on--three miles--"

I didn't stop, wickedly nibbling the shaft, tiny bites, sucking the frenulum softly.

"Fuck--kid--" she hissed, hands fumbling, knuckles flexing as the lady said, "Thanks!" and peeled off, the light turning green.

"Mamamama..." I murmured, sucking the tip.

"What?"

I raised my head. "If I choke, tell my mom I died doing what I loved." My hands

stroked her thighs, skin warm under my palms.

She groaned--"You're fucking heaven".

I'm a fucking tease. I started edging her. Licked her balls slowly, then tiny bites up the shaft, savoring. The truck hit a bump, and she moaned, "Jesus--perfect--" hands steadying.

I pulled up, grinning wickedly. "I dub thee, Sir Fuck-a-Lot."

"What?" she rasped, brow creasing. "Me?"

"No, your cock," I said, kissing the tip. "It's got a personality of its own--fuck, it's probably got a zip code. This ain't a blowjob, it's community service. That monster needs a name."

She laughed, a throaty burst shaking her gut. "Crazy kid."

"Nah, not Sir Fuck-a-Lot, too geeky. Crimson Hammer? El Monstro? Nope, too racist. Captain Big Thunder? Nope--just Big Thunder. Yep." I kissed the tip of Big Thunder, Deadpool style. "Sending another pic to your growing collection, wait 'til you see this one. Fire!" I smirked, then swallowed Big Thunder deep, like it was chocolate cake.

I grabbed my phone, snapping a pic--my lips 'round her, glistening, eyes glinting, "L+R" in that red heart bold.

I sucked deep, my throat gagging, then pulled up, teasing 'til she roared, "Enough--fuck--" shaking. I dove back, sucking hard, quivering as she blew--hot, thick cum, one squirt, two, three, four, five, spilling over my chin. A sticky mess dripping.

I gulped, licking my lips. "Yummy, yummy--Rosie's cream--delicious," I said, wiping the rest, licking my fingers, drying Big Thunder with my shirt, kissing it--once, twice, thrice. "Love you, Big Thunder," I said, tucking it lovingly back with a peck, grinning up.

"Blessed, ain't I?" she panted, voice wrecked, steadying the wheel. "You're an angel--blessed me good."

I settled close, hand on her knee, both buzzing as she drove on. We hit Heinz Field--lights blazing, crowd roaring--front row, fifty-yard line, turf close, smelling sweat and dirt. Rosie was electric, green eyes on the Steelers smashing the Ravens, a last-second touchdown winning it. She roared, yanking me into a hard hug, arms crushing me. "Fucking win--and this? For me being me? What's next, kid?"

I grinned, coy, lips at her ear. "Wait and see, big gal."

She growled, "Gonna fuck you all night--'til you can't walk for a week--mark my words." Her hand squeezed my shoulder, eyes burning.

"I'll hold you to it," I said softly, meeting her gaze, smiling. I felt it--something special, found in her, this night, us.

THE END