The Contest

Author's note: this story won't float everyone's boat. No story ever does. If you like the idea of a loving wife having a chance encounter and giving herself to multiple men this story might just be for you. If it's not, walk on by. There will be plenty of other stuff to keep you entertained.

In it our hero Milly isn't looking for trouble on her best friend's hen night -- but when she's asked to judge a contest between three massive, eager men, she discovers that size really does matter.

What begins as a filthy little game soon spirals into something much hotter, dirtier, and more reckless than Milly could ever have imagined.

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"One more round of shooters, then on to the club!" Milly shouted over the noise.

A chorus of cheers answered her.

It had already been a long afternoon -- and an even longer evening -- but the party wasn't slowing down. If anything, it was only just getting started.

After all, how often did you get to be maid of honour for your best friend? Two weeks out from the wedding, here they were: a dozen women in their late thirties and early forties, letting loose in a city far from home.

Milly had hired a minibus and driver to get them there. The first bottle of Prosecco had been popped before they'd even pulled off her drive, and the bubbles had flowed freely ever since. Now, cocktails and shooters were disappearing just as quickly.

She grabbed £50 from the communal float and made her way to the bar, heels clicking against the polished floor. She didn't mind playing drinks runner. It gave her an excuse to flirt with the young barman who'd been eyeing her all night.

Probably young enough to be her son.

She didn't care.

Milly knew exactly what she looked like -- and she knew the effect she had.

Early forties, five-seven without heels, an athletic frame that still turned heads without trying. Her breasts -- a perfect, perky 34C -- still sat high and firm on her chest, begging for attention in anything tight. Her legs were long and toned from years of gym sessions she half-pretended to hate.

Shoulder-length fair hair framed her face, softening the sharp, feline green of her eyes. Tonight, smoky makeup made them even more dangerous -- the kind of look that made younger men lose their nerve halfway through a sentence.

People often called her a MILF -- and Milly enjoyed the label more than she admitted.

She liked the idea of being the kind of woman who haunted some cocky young lad's fantasies, the kind he thought about later, hand tight around his cock, moaning her name into the dark.

Yeah, she liked that thought a lot.

She smiled inwardly as she felt the hungry glances that followed her. The outfit had definitely hit the mark.

A tiny black leather skirt, gleaming under the lights, hugged her hips. Zips and buckles traced the curves of her thighs. Her top -- a flimsy white scrap of material -- barely contained the shocking pink push-up bra underneath, and the way her firm tits strained against it was frankly obscene. Expensive black patent knee-high boots with killer stiletto heels completed the look.

Tonight's dress code for the hen do had been simple: slutty.

No angel wings. No sashes. No cheesy crap.

Just unapologetic, fuck-me energy -- and they'd all nailed it.

The first 'game' of the night had been an inspired invention: who could get off the most men before midnight. You kept your own count. Milly was currently at ten -- respectable -- but still trailing behind the bride-to-be Daniella, who was sitting pretty at eighteen.

Milly glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven.

Still almost an hour to add to her tally.

Maybe the hot young barman would help her close the gap.

She squeezed past a couple of middle-aged blokes at the bar, feeling their eyes travel hungrily over her body. She smiled to herself. Still got it, she thought.

The barman spotted her and practically jogged over.

"What can I get you, gorgeous?" he asked, with the confident smile of a man who knew exactly how good-looking he was.

One of the men next to Milly huffed loudly.

"I was here first," he muttered. "Just 'cause I ain't got tits."

"Sorry, pal," the barman replied breezily. "Be with you in a sec."

Milly shot the man a quick wink before turning back to the barman, letting her cleavage do some heavy lifting.

"Twelve Slippery Nipples, please," she said sweetly.

She thought she saw the slightest blush creep up the young man's neck as he turned to make the drinks.

Good, she thought.

Maybe he'd be thinking about this moment later, with his cock in his hand.

When he returned, setting the drinks down with a flourish, Milly handed over the notes. She leaned across the bar, pressing her tits together to deepen the valley of cleavage, and brushed a kiss against his lips -- soft, fleeting, just the tip of her tongue teasing the edge.

Then she turned, tray in hand, and strutted back to her friends.

The kiss probably wouldn't count towards her tally -- but the memory was delicious all the same.

She almost laughed as she pictured the poor lad fumbling himself raw in the staff toilets.

At the table, her friends were already standing and dancing, shrieking with delight as Milly handed out the shooters.

Another of the girls shouted that it was time to head to the club if they wanted a proper dance. That seemed to be the consensus.

"Three, two, one..." they chorused -- and then slammed the shooters back.

Milly felt the warmth spread down her throat, sweet and fiery. She gathered her bag, along with the others, and they spilled out into the cool night air.

She was about to cross the street towards the club when she glanced at her phone.

The screen lit up immediately.

Several missed calls.

"Shit," she muttered. Her mum.

For a moment, a cold worm of panic slid down her spine.

"Girls, I'll be over in a minute," she said, nodding at the nightclub across the road. "Just need to make a quick call."

"Don't be long!" someone shouted -- but they were already halfway across the street, laughing and shivering in the cold.

***

Everything was fine.

Of course it was.

It always was.

Still, Milly was glad she'd checked. There was something sobering about those flashes of fear that snapped you out of a drunken haze -- if only for a minute.

Now, with the adrenaline fading, she felt the warm buzz of alcohol again and smiled to herself.

Time to dial the night back up.

Milly adjusted her skirt, tucked her phone into her clutch, and sauntered across the road towards the club.

The neon sign above the entrance pulsed against the night: Alley Cats.

Strobe lights danced on the wet pavement, and the heavy thump of bass music thudded against her chest as she approached.

There was no sign of the other hens, but several large groups of young men loitered outside, smoking, laughing, and sizing up everyone who walked past. They must have been early twenties, Milly guessed. Maybe younger.

As she passed between them, their conversations stuttered. She caught a few low whistles, a muttered "fuck me," and more than one pair of eyes tracking her arse.

She smiled inwardly.

Still got it, she thought again.

The short flight of steps led into a small lobby, the floor sticky under her heels.

It was a throwback -- everything about the place screamed late '90s nostalgia: red walls, low lighting, the distant smell of stale beer and cheap perfume.

At the back of the lobby was a cash desk where you paid entry, guarded by two thickset doormen. Beside them hung a heavy pair of red velvet curtains, drawn closed, muffling the chaos beyond.

Milly joined the short queue behind two young men arguing with the doormen. She caught the tail end of their conversation, voices raised to compete with the muffled thud of music.

"Come on, mate," one of the lads pleaded. "We've come a long way for this. We're not gonna cause any trouble."

The younger of the two bouncers -- big, bald, and surprisingly relaxed -- pointed to a sign on the wall.

"Entrance of large single-sex groups is at management's discretion."

"No way," the bouncer said. "Close to thirty lads from two rival rugby teams? Not a chance. Find another place."

"But we're not rivals!" the second lad protested. "We're playing in the same tournament. There's no beef between us."

The older doorman -- broader, bearded, with the kind of build that suggested he could snap most people like twigs -- let out a low chuckle.

"I don't give a fuck," he said cheerfully. "Seen it too many times. It all starts fine... then someone gets a bit Billy Big Dick, and next thing you know it's fists flying and pint glasses smashing."

He grinned wolfishly.

"And trust me -- I've got the biggest dick here. No one's out-swinging me tonight."

Milly couldn't help smirking.

Charming, she thought.

Still, the two young men looked deflated. One of them half-turned, ready to admit defeat to their mates waiting outside -- but the other caught his arm, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Wait," he said. "Got an idea."

He turned back to the doormen, speaking louder now.

"You reckon you've got the biggest cock here?"

The older bouncer snorted. "Fact, mate. Not opinion."

"Alright then," the lad said, grinning. "Let's settle it. A little competition. You pick yourself -- and we each pick the lad from our team with the biggest dick. Quick check. If either of our boys beats you, we get in."

The doormen burst out laughing.

"You're fucking kidding," the bald one said.

"Nope," the lad said, grinning even wider. "Come on. Where's your balls, big man?"

The bearded bouncer -- the one who'd claimed the title -- leaned in, smiling like a man already sure of victory.

"You're on," he said. "But when you lose, you fuck off quietly. Deal?"

"Deal."

The lad turned and scanned the lobby -- and his gaze landed on Milly.

"You!" he said, pointing at her. "Miss -- would you help us out?"

Milly blinked.

Was he serious?

"We need a neutral judge," he explained, still smiling. "Just a quick visual. Choose who's biggest. That's it."

Milly hesitated.

Every instinct told her to laugh it off, make an excuse, rejoin her friends.

This was ridiculous. Probably a bad idea.

And yet...

The alcohol warmed her blood.

The outrageousness of it all sent a little electric thrill down her spine.

What a story this would make for the hens.

She cocked her head, considering.

"What exactly would I have to do?" she asked, voice amused but steady.

"Just look," the lad said. "That's all. Unless..."

He winked.

"Unless you fancy giving them a little encouragement if they get shy."

The bouncer barked a laugh.

Milly bit her lip.

Dangerous. Stupid.

... Delicious.

"Alright," she said finally. "But quick. I've got friends waiting."

The lad whooped and turned to his mate.

"You get your boy. I'll get mine. Meet back here in five."

Milly watched as they darted off towards their separate groups outside. She saw heads turning, some laughter, a few incredulous stares.

This was going to be something.

***

A few minutes later, the lads returned, each dragging along a chosen champion.

The first was a lean, bronzed guy with floppy blonde hair. He had an athletic build and a bashful smile -- though Milly caught the glint of arrogance beneath it.

The second was taller -- much taller -- easily six-five, with smooth brown skin and arms like carved stone.

Milly couldn't help but notice. Fuck, he's gorgeous, she thought.

"This is Chris," said the first captain proudly, nodding to the blonde haired guy. "Absolute monster. A thing of beauty."

"And this," said the second captain, thumbing towards the taller, darker man, "is Max. If anyone's bigger than him, fair fucks to 'em."

The bearded bouncer -- Dave, Milly caught his name from the muttered conversation -- just grinned.

"Alright," he said. "Showtime."

Dave led the way, shouldering through a side door behind the cash desk.

Milly followed, heels clicking across the worn floor.

They entered a small, dimly lit office. Black-painted walls. Low, warm filament bulbs casting a heavy golden glow. A freestanding desk in one corner, a couple of leather armchairs, and a low red sofa that had seen better days.

Stylised photos of beautiful young dancers lined the walls, the glamour of the images clashing with the seediness of the room itself.

Dave closed the door behind them with a solid thud.

Milly felt a flicker of nerves.

What the fuck was she doing?

And yet... the thrill pulsed under her skin.

The kind of reckless, lust-fuelled excitement she hadn't felt for a while.

"Right," Dave said, turning to face them. "Simple rules. You lot get your cocks out, and Milly here --"

he gave her a sideways grin --

"decides who's biggest. Straight judgment."

The three men nodded, smirking.

Milly stepped forward, lifting her chin. "Hang on," she said. "What counts as biggest? Longest? Thickest? Or both?"

Max -- the tall, gorgeous one -- flashed her a slow smile.

"I don't reckon it'll matter," he said, voice low.

Dave shrugged. "Your call, sweetheart. Judge however you like. You're the expert tonight."

Milly fought a laugh. She loved the way the control shifted -- subtly -- into her hands.

And god, she was going to enjoy it.

"Fine," she said. "Length and girth both matter. No good being long if you're skinny like a pencil. No good being thick if you're the size of my pinky. Agreed?"

No one disagreed.

"Good," Milly purred, stepping toward them. "Jeans undone. I'll take it from there."

The three men stood shoulder to shoulder. Milly circled them slowly, the soft clack of her booted heels the only sound in the room. Her short leather skirt rode high on her thighs. She could feel their eyes on her as she moved.

She started with Chris -- the athletic, cocky one.

He'd already popped his top button, and Milly leaned in, smiling up at him, fingers working the rest of his fly open. She slid his jeans down to his knees, revealing white boxers stretched tight across a promising bulge.

She exhaled softly.

Reaching out, she brushed her fingers lightly over the outline beneath the fabric. Chris shifted slightly, his cock already thickening under her touch.

Teasingly, Milly hooked her thumbs under the waistband and peeled the shorts down.

Chris's cock flopped free -- thick even while still soft, with a heavy, meaty weight to it. Circumcised, the broad head was pierced by a gleaming silver ring just beneath the frenulum.

Milly licked her lips involuntarily.

Fuck. That's fat, she thought.

She couldn't help running a finger lightly along the shaft, feeling the heft of it even before he was fully hard.

"Very nice," she murmured, letting her fingers trail away before moving to Max.

Max had already parted his jeans wide, and Milly saw the tenting in his grey boxers. He was clearly halfway there already.

She crouched in front of him, tugging his boxers down in one slow movement.

His cock sprang up -- thick at the base, long enough that it curved toward his hip. The skin was darker than the rest of him, veined and already angry-looking with blood.

Milly bit her bottom lip as it bobbed gently in front of her face.

Not quite as thick as Chris, but long -- very long.

And judging by the way he stiffened as she brushed a finger along his length, he was going to get even harder.

"Impressive," she said softly, looking up at him.

Then she turned to Dave.

The bouncer hadn't even bothered with boxers. His jeans sagged around his hips, and the heavy, swinging weight of his cock was already visible against his thigh.

Milly reached for his fly, sliding the zip down slowly.

As she peeled his jeans lower, his cock fell free -- thick, veined, and startlingly big even while still soft.

A monster.

The dark purple head hung heavily forward, framed by the smooth plane of his muscular thighs.

Milly swallowed.

Jesus.

He was still only half-erect, but already, he was longer and thicker than either of the younger men.

And he wasn't even trying yet.

She stepped back, heels clicking, and looked at the line-up.

Three impressive specimens -- but one clearly outclassing the others even at a glance.

"All big boys," she said lightly, though her throat felt dry.

Time to get a proper look.

Milly motioned Chris forward first.

He stepped closer, cock thickening visibly as she reached out. She wrapped her hand around the base -- or tried to. Her fingers barely met around the shaft.

God, the girth.

She began to stroke him slowly, feeling him grow and harden against her palm. His Prince Albert ring shifted slightly as he stiffened.

Chris's breathing quickened.

By the time he was fully hard, Milly estimated about eight inches of fat, heavy cock -- with a girth that made her mouth water.

"Very, very nice," she said, giving him a little extra squeeze before letting him go.

Next was Max.

He needed no encouragement.

His cock was already stiff, standing proud and arching slightly upwards. Milly slid her hand along his shaft, feeling the veins pulse under her palm. His foreskin rolled back with her touch, revealing the glossy pink head.

Longer than Chris, definitely -- nine inches at least -- but not quite as thick.

Still, he was beautiful. Big, firm, dripping with testosterone.

Milly looked up at him through her lashes.

"You're definitely a contender," she said, voice low.

Finally, she turned to Dave.

She could feel the air change -- a charge between them.

Dave didn't move.

He just watched her, jaw set, cock already thickening without her even touching him.

Milly reached out.

Her hand closed around his shaft -- or rather, tried to. He was so wide her fingers couldn't get close.

As she stroked him, he grew harder, heavier. The skin darkened, the massive head flaring into something obscenely large.

Milly exhaled sharply.

By the time he was fully hard, Dave was a monster -- easily ten inches long, thicker than any cock she had ever seen before.

Thick purple veins ran the length of him, and his glistening tip oozed a bead of pre-cum.

Milly stood back, heart hammering.

Her pussy throbbed with need.

There was no doubt: Dave had won. Hands down.

It wasn't even close.

The two young lads were impressive -- seriously impressive -- but Dave was something else altogether.

Still... Milly thought wickedly... maybe it wasn't just about size. Maybe it was about what you could do with it.

And suddenly, she had an idea.

***

Milly stepped back, surveying the three enormous, rock-hard cocks in front of her.

God, it was intoxicating -- the raw, primal hunger in the room.

Three men, all massive, all desperate to impress her.

She could feel her pussy throbbing, her panties soaked through.

Touching them hadn't been enough.

Looking hadn't been enough.

She wanted more.

She smiled slowly, feeling reckless and giddy with power.

"Look," she said, her voice low and teasing, "it's obvious who's the biggest."

She let her eyes roam shamelessly over Dave's monstrous cock. The two younger men followed her gaze -- both looking dejected.

"But..." Milly continued, "size isn't everything, is it?"

Dave smirked. The younger lads perked up, hope flashing across their faces.

"I think we need a bonus round," she said. "Let's call it a... performance test."

Three pairs of eyes fixed on her.

"Each of you," Milly purred, "gets two minutes to fuck me. If you cum before your time's up, you're out. No exceptions. Clear?"

Silence. Then nods.

"And we'll go in reverse order," she said. "Smallest first."

She winked wickedly at Max.

His cock gave an eager twitch.

Milly moved to the battered leather sofa, sliding onto it with a languid stretch. Her short leather skirt rode high, flashing the tops of her thighs.

She didn't bother hiding the way she reached beneath it, pushing her soaked panties aside. She slid two fingers into herself, her slickness coating them instantly.

The three men watched, transfixed, as she brought her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean.

"Come on then," she teased.

Max stepped forward, his cock bobbing proudly.

Milly grinned. She loved this -- loved the way they were staring at her like she was something holy and forbidden all at once.

"Condom," she said, tossing him one from her bag. "Not knocking anyone up tonight."

Max tore it open with shaking fingers, covering himself quickly.

Milly bent over the back of the sofa, presenting her ass to him, leather skirt hitched high.

She felt his hand -- big and strong -- on her hip, steadying her.

Then the smooth head of his cock nudged against her dripping entrance.

"Easy," she whispered. "I'm wet, but you're a lot."

He growled softly -- and pushed in.

Milly gasped as he stretched her open.

Long. Good girth, even though not as big as the others. Deliciously full.

He started slow, feeding his cock deeper with short thrusts.

Milly pushed back against him, moaning softly as he filled her. The walls of her pussy stretched tight around him, greedy.

"Fuck," Max breathed. "You feel amazing."

He gripped her hips harder and began to move, setting a steady, driving rhythm.

Milly bit her lip to stifle a cry.

It felt incredible -- the perfect balance of fullness and friction.

She ground her ass back into him, matching his thrusts, feeling the slap of his heavy balls against her bare skin.

She glanced over her shoulder -- and the sight of him behind her, face contorted with pleasure, sent another rush of heat straight to her core.

"Harder," she urged.

Max groaned and obeyed, pounding into her with sharp, deep strokes.

The leather squeaked beneath them.

The room filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Milly could feel herself getting closer -- the knot tightening in her belly -- when suddenly Max gasped.

His rhythm faltered.

"No, no," Milly gasped, realising.

But it was too late.

With a ragged cry, Max slammed deep one final time and came hard, his body shuddering against hers.

Milly laughed breathlessly as he slumped against her.

Max pulled out, breathing hard, the condom sagging heavily.

She peeled herself off the sofa, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.

"Well," Milly said, tossing him a wicked grin, "that was quick. I'm afraid you're out."

Max blushed furiously.

She strutted past him, heels clicking, and turned to face the others.

"One down," she said, licking her lips. "Who's next?"

Chris stepped forward without hesitation, his thick cock bobbing proudly in front of him.

Milly turned to him, her body still humming from Max's frantic, unfinished fuck.

She wanted more.

She wanted better.

Chris looked down at her with a cocky smile -- but there was something else in his eyes, too.

Hunger.

Milly crooked her finger at him. "Condom," she said, her voice a low purr.

Chris fumbled slightly, ripping open the wrapper and sheathing himself. His cock looked monstrous up close -- thick as her wrist, the silver glint of the piercing at his frenulum catching the low light.

Milly bent back over the arm of the sofa, presenting herself once more. Her thighs were slick with her own juices, still quivering from the near-orgasm Max had torn from her.

Chris stepped in behind her, one big hand on her hip, the other guiding his fat cock to her entrance.

The first push made her gasp -- a deep, shocked sound.

He was thick.

Milly's nails dug into the leather as Chris worked himself slowly inside her, stretching her open inch by inch.

"Fuck," she groaned. "You're massive."

Chris gave a low laugh, but there was a tremor of restraint in it.

He was trying not to blow it like Max had.

Once he was buried to the hilt, his balls pressed snugly against her soaked pussy, he paused, letting her adjust.

Milly pushed back against him, desperate for more.

"Come on," she whispered. "Make me feel it."

He pulled back -- almost all the way -- then slammed back in.

Milly cried out, the sound raw and needy.

Chris found a rhythm quickly -- deep, grinding thrusts that made her body shake with each impact.

The stretch was incredible.

Milly could feel every vein, every ridge of his cock dragging along her inner walls.

The slap of skin on skin filled the room, louder, filthier now.

Milly braced herself on the armrest and met every thrust with a roll of her hips, greedy for more.

She could feel it building fast -- the pressure inside her coiling tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter.

Chris's hands were everywhere now -- squeezing her arse, finding her tits, sliding up her spine, tangling in her hair.

He yanked her head back sharply, and the angle of his thrusts shifted, hitting a spot deep inside that made Milly scream.

"Fuck, yes!" she cried. "Right there, don't stop!"

Chris grunted and obeyed, slamming into her with relentless force.

Milly's orgasm hit her like a freight train.

Her body locked up, muscles clamping tight around Chris's thick cock.

She screamed -- long and loud -- as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her.

Chris groaned, fighting to hold on, his cock throbbing inside her.

Milly pushed back hard against him, riding out every last pulse of her climax. Her thighs shook violently from the sheer overwhelming force of it.

When she finally sagged forward, gasping for breath, Chris pulled out.

He staggered back, pulling the condom off quickly, panting heavily.

Milly turned, slumping against the sofa, her body feeling limp and slick with sweat.

She looked up at him and smiled lazily.

"That," she said, voice rough with lust, "was fucking incredible."

Chris grinned, chest heaving.

"But..." Milly added, pushing herself upright, "you're still not the biggest."

She turned her gaze to Dave.

The bouncer.

The monster.

He hadn't moved during either of the first two rounds.

He just stood there, arms folded, massive cock still throbbing, the very picture of smug, dangerous confidence.

Milly shivered.

It was his turn.

And suddenly, she wasn't sure she was ready for him.

Dave finally unfolded his arms.

Slow. Deliberate.

Like a predator who knew the prey wasn't running anywhere.

He stepped forward, his massive cock still rock-hard, dark and glistening under the low lights.

The sheer weight of it made Milly's mouth dry and her pussy clench instinctively.

He was even bigger up close.

Milly swallowed hard.

Her body still trembled from Chris's pounding, but deep inside, something hotter flared.

Fear.

Excitement.

Desperate, aching need.

She met Dave's gaze -- hard, unreadable -- and gave him a small, wicked smile.

"Condom," she said, voice barely a whisper. "And, please, take it easy. I've never had anything that big before."

Dave didn't smile back.

He just tore open a wrapper, rolled the latex down his obscene length -- and still, even with the biggest size, it looked stretched tight over him.

Milly's breath caught.

How the fuck is that going to fit?

He caught her staring and smirked -- a slow, dangerous curve of his lips -- before reaching out and grabbing her hair.

He pulled her close, forcing her to look up at him.

"You ready for this, princess?" he growled.

Milly nodded -- or tried to -- but he was already spinning her around, bending her over the arm of the sofa.

Her leather skirt flipped up, exposing her bare, glistening cunt to the room.

Dave grunted in approval.

"Fucking soaked," he muttered. "You want it bad, don't you?"

"Yes," Milly gasped, pressing back against him. "God, yes."

He lined the fat, swollen head of his cock against her slit and pushed forward.

Milly cried out as her pussy stretched, stretched and stretched around him.

It felt like being split open -- the blunt force of him breaching her entrance, forcing her body to yield.

"Fuck!" she gasped, her fingers clawing frantically at the sofa.

Dave didn't stop.

He gave her just a moment -- just enough to gasp for air -- and then he shoved deeper.

It hurt. But the burn was exquisite.

Every inch of him forced her open wider than she thought possible, filled her more completely than anyone ever had.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes from the sheer, brutal fullness.

But god, she loved it.

She needed it.

"You're so tight," Dave hissed through gritted teeth. "Fucking made for it."

He pulled back -- just an inch -- then rammed forward again, punching another groan from Milly's throat.

Each thrust drove him deeper, stretching her further, until finally -- finally -- his heavy balls slapped against her clit.

He was fully inside.

Milly sagged, overwhelmed, feeling every frantic thud of her own heartbeat pounding between her legs.

Dave gripped her hips hard, bruising her skin, and began to move.

Long, deep, merciless thrusts.

The sofa rocked beneath them with every slam of his body into hers.

Milly could do nothing but take it -- moaning, gasping, surrendering -- as he fucked her open, used her, filled her totally.

It was raw.

It was filthy.

It was perfect.

She couldn't form words anymore -- just helpless sounds, rising higher and higher as Dave picked up the pace.

He moved one hand up to her throat, wrapping his thick fingers around her neck, not squeezing hard -- just enough to remind her who was in control.

Milly's pussy clenched hard around him, milking him, desperate to pull him deeper still.

"You like that?" Dave growled, fucking her even harder.

"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes -- more -- fuck -- don't stop --"

He pulled her upright against him, his huge cock still pistoning deep inside, and bent his mouth to her ear.

"You're gonna cum for me," he whispered. "You're gonna cum with my cock splitting you open."

Milly sobbed out a broken moan.

The orgasm hit her like nothing ever had before.

She convulsed around him, her cunt spasming wildly, her vision whiting out as wave after punishing wave of pleasure tore through her.

Yet Dave didn't slow.

He fucked her through it, every brutal thrust wringing another aftershock from her shattered body.

She felt barely conscious, lost in the feral rhythm of his possession.

Dave growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through her bones.

He gripped her hair again, forced her back down over the sofa, and drove into her with frantic, punishing thrusts.

Milly felt him swell -- thickening even more inside her -- and then he roared, slamming deep one last time.

For a long moment, neither of them moved -- locked together, panting, trembling.

Milly sagged against the sofa, body still twitching from aftershocks.

Her thighs were soaked, her pussy stretched and throbbing, her throat raw from screaming.

And she had never, ever felt better.

Slowly, Dave withdrew from her, pulling out with a filthy, wet sound that made her shudder.

He ripped off the condom, tossing it aside -- and then grabbed his cock, still thick, still pulsing in his fist.

Milly turned her head just in time to see him stroking himself furiously, looming over her.

"You're not done," he growled.

Milly barely had time to process it before the first hot, heavy spurt of cum splattered across her back -- thick white streaks landing on the exposed skin between her shoulder blades and the shiny leather of her skirt.

Another, and another -- hot, heavy jets painting her completely, dripping messily down her back and arse.

Milly gasped -- shocked, filthy, thrilled -- as she felt it sliding over her, pooling in the curve where her ass met her thighs, staining her tight black leather.

Dave milked every last drop from himself with a groan of satisfaction, watching his seed drip and run over her ruined, shining outfit.

"Perfect," he muttered, voice thick with lust.

Milly fell forward, utterly spent, basking in the dirty, delicious delight.

Slowly, she pushed herself upright, cum dripping from her, her skirt clinging damply to her curves.

She turned -- a slow, proud spin -- letting them all see the sticky mess that now covered her.

As she did she caught sight of the two younger men.

Chris and Max.

They were standing a few feet away, forgotten in the frenzy of what had just happened.

Both had their cocks in their fists, jerking themselves furiously as they watched her.

Milly smirked.

Of course they couldn't help themselves.

As she watched, Chris groaned -- a low, desperate sound -- and thick white ropes of cum spurted from his cock, splashing onto the floor.

Seconds later, Max followed, panting, his load pooling messily at his feet.

Milly licked her lips, feeling the heat low in her belly all over again. The refractory period of young men, she thought.

"Good boys," she purred.

She sauntered over to them, every inch of her body humming with lazy, filthy power. She felt Dave's cum trickling down the back of her thighs.

She stood tall before the two panting, gasping young men.

"On your knees," she commanded.

They obeyed immediately, dropping in front of her, cocks still twitching.

Milly hiked up her leather skirt, revealing the sticky mess of her thighs, her pussy still glistening from her brutal fucking.

"You helped make this mess," she said sweetly. "Now you can clean it up."

Without hesitation, they leaned forward, their tongues darting out, lapping at the smeared cum sliding over her arse, the back of her thighs, the glossy leather.

Milly closed her eyes and let them.

The feel of their tongues on her spent, oversensitive flesh was electric -- sharp jolts of pleasure dancing over her skin.

She threaded her fingers through their hair, guiding them roughly.

"That's it," she whispered. "Every fucking drop. Taste what a real man's victory tastes like."

They moaned against her, lapping harder, desperate for her approval.

Dave watched from across the room, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

Milly caught his eye and grinned wickedly.

She was in complete control.

She owned this room now.

Dave might have thought his giant cock did, but it was her who had made each of them succumb.

When she finally pushed the boys away -- both of them panting, their faces shining with sweat and cum and her juices -- she straightened her skirt and adjusted her top.

She turned to the three of them -- Dave looking smug, Chris and Max utterly spent -- and smiled a slow, wicked smile.

She turned, heels clicking decisively across the floor.

At the door, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Thanks for playing," she said breezily, "it's been fun. I wish we had time for more, but I've got a party to get back to."

And with that, she strutted out, cum-smeared, gloriously filthy, triumphant -- the sharp click of her stilettoed boots echoing like a victory march as she made her way to the club's main room.