Chapter 4: Clara reclines against the headboard, one hand tangled in Sporty's hair as he eats her out, the other scrolling through dick pics on her phone. 'Mmm, that's a seven,' she moans, grinding against his face. 'Javier last Tuesday? Solid nine. You've got work to do.' She shoves his head deeper between her thighs, his nose buried in her wetness as she matches swipes to the rhythm of his tongue.
The metallic taste of her clung to his tongue as he watched her scroll, his jaw aching from the effort. “This one says he’s eight inches,” she mused, her thumb hovering over a shirtless profile. “But you can always subtract an inch, right?” Her laughter was a low vibration against his cheek. She shifted her hips, grinding against his face with a possessiveness that left him breathless. “Your tongue’s a solid eight, though. Consistent.” The phone clattered onto the nightstand as her hands fisted in his hair, forcing him deeper. “Don’t get lazy now, I’m close,” she commanded, her back arching off the sheets. He obeyed, tracing frantic patterns until her whole body tightened and a choked gasp escaped her lips.
Collapsing back, she pushed his head away with a limp hand. “Water. Get me water.” He stumbled to the kitchen, his own need a painful throb between his legs. Returning, he found her propped against the pillows, the sheer canopy casting dappled shadows across her satisfied smile. She drank deeply, then eyed his erection with clinical interest. “You’re still all worked up from that rating system, aren’t you?” Before he could answer, a sharp buzz echoed from the intercom. She didn’t seem surprised. “That’ll be him,” she said, swinging her legs out of bed. “The eight-inch claim. Guess we’ll see if he’s a liar.” She pressed the button without a word, then turned to Sporty, her eyes gleaming. “You can stay. But you don’t get to participate this time. You just watch.” A knock at the door sealed his sentence.
She opened the door and the man from last night filled the frame, his smile a sharp, confident slash. "You called," he said, his voice a low rumble as his eyes roamed over her naked body. Clara just stepped back, a silent invitation into her perfumed sanctuary.
Sporty moved to the worn armchair in the corner, its fabric scratching against his bare legs. He watched the stranger kiss her, a deep, possessive claim that made his own hands curl into fists. The man’s jeans were already open, and he guided Clara’s hand inside without breaking the kiss.
He didn’t lie. His cock was eight inches and as thick as a man’s forearm, a heavy, veined weight that made Sporty’s own seem almost modest. Clara made a sound, a low hum of approval as her fingers wrapped around the girth. "Let's see if you learned anything about finesse," she whispered, pushing him toward the bed.
He tumbled onto the mattress, his thick cock slapping against his stomach, and she climbed over him with a predator’s grace. She guided him to her entrance, lowering herself onto the tip with a sharp, focused breath. A strained gasp escaped her as the broad head stretched her, but she couldn’t take more. “Fuck, no, stop,” she grunted, pushing herself off him, her body rejecting the intrusion. “It’s too much, you’re just too fucking thick.” She tried again on her hands and knees, arching her back to present herself differently. He pressed forward from behind, but she cried out and scrambled away, her skin flushed with frustration. “God damn it, I can’t get it in,” she panted, glaring at his imposing erection. She glanced over at Sporty, a dark, practical knowledge in her eyes. “My ass is still loose from your dick earlier,” she stated, her voice husky and raw. She turned back to the man, her decision made. “Forget my pussy. Just take my ass instead.” She got back on all fours, reaching back to spread herself open for him. He spat into his palm, slicking his shaft with a crude, wet sound before pressing the fat head against her other hole. He pushed in, and she let out a guttural moan as her body yielded, accepting the immense girth that her vagina could not.f
A long, shuddering groan tore from her throat as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. “Oh god, yes, just like that,” she panted, her voice strained and breathy. She pushed back against him, her body adjusting to the brutal stretch. “Fuck, you’re so deep,” she moaned, her knuckles white where they gripped the sheets. She began to move, a slow, rolling grind of her hips that made him curse. “Your ass is so fucking tight, Clara,” he grunted, his hands digging into her waist.
She suddenly pushed him off, turning over with a predatory gleam in her eyes. “My turn on top,” she breathed, climbing astride him and guiding him back inside. She rode him with a fierce, demanding rhythm, her large breasts swaying with each thrust. “Don’t you dare slow down,” she commanded, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. For ten relentless minutes, he pistoned into her from below, his stamina unwavering, the wet, slapping sounds echoing off the walls. “Harder, you bastard, make me feel it in my throat,” she screamed, her orgasm crashing over her in convulsing waves.
Without a word, he flipped her onto the floor, the cool wood a shock against her heated skin. He drove into her again, her body jolting with each powerful thrust. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growled into her ear, his pace becoming animalistic and raw.
He slammed into her with a force that knocked the air from her lungs, each thrust a brutal claim on her body. "You take every inch, you filthy slut," he grunted, his voice ragged against her ear. Clara’s screams escalated, raw and unfiltered, as he stretched her asshole wider than she thought possible.
From the armchair, Sporty watched, his hand moving in a frantic rhythm over his own cock. Her pain-laced pleasure was a dark fuel, her cries synchronizing with his rough strokes. He remembered her casual rating, his "solid eight" tongue, now utterly irrelevant against this violent possession.
"God, yes, tear me apart!" she shrieked, her body buckling under the assault. The man’s hips were a relentless piston, his balls slapping against her bruised flesh with a wet, punishing sound. Sporty’s climax built, a tight coil in his gut, fed by the obscene sight of her complete surrender.
He came with a choked groan, his release streaking across the chair as Clara’s scream peaked into a shattered wail. The man finally stilled, buried deep inside her, his own groan echoing in the sudden quiet. Clara collapsed onto the floorboards, breathing in ragged, sobbing gasps. She turned her head, her glazed eyes finding Sporty’s, a faint, unreadable smile touching her swollen lips.