Chapter 5: Measuring Up
Tariq sat Marie down on the edge of the unmade bed. The dark comforter was cool through her thin skirt. He stepped forward, looming over her, and his imposing stature made her look tiny, a doll propped against the vast landscape of his bed. At her eye level was the enormous bulge she had already seen straining against his trousers at the café, a promise now demanding collection.
She began to think of all the women who had been in her place, right here on this same mattress. Her mind, desperate for any anchor, wandered to images of blondes, brunettes, or redheads being fucked by the giant. Marie imagined them on all fours on the bed, or riding the penis she imagined beneath the fabric of his pants, their faces contorted in a mix of pain and ecstasy she could now, viscerally, understand.
Tariq brought her back to reality. “Look at me.” His voice was low, a vibration in the incense-thick air. When her green eyes met his dark, knowing ones, he issued the command. “Take it out.”
Marie raised her head to Tariq and understood, with a final, sinking clarity, that she couldn’t go back. The library key was in her bag, her wedding ring a cold circle on her finger, but here, in this room scented with sandalwood and his musk, none of that mattered. Her hands, which usually spent their days gently turning the pages of books, went to the worn leather of his belt. She fumbled with the buckle, the metal cool and heavy, then unzipped his fly. The sound was obscenely loud.
She began to pull down his pants, the denim scraping over his hips, revealing a pair of dark grey boxer shorts. There was no longer any doubt. Beneath the thin cotton, the shape of his enormous penis was clearly visible, a thick, weighty curve against his thigh.
“Touch it,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for question.
Marie obeyed. She ran her hand over the length of him through the fabric. Beneath her fingers, she felt its size, the heat, the solid promise of it. It was already impressive. Monumental. Nothing like her husband’s penis, a fact that struck her not with guilt, but with a terrifying, electric curiosity.
Finally, hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she pulled down his boxer shorts. They slipped down his powerful thighs, and Tariq’s penis sprang free.
Marie couldn’t help but swear. A soft, breathy “Fuck” escaped her lips.
It was enormous. Even soft, it was a substantial handful of thick, dusky flesh. It was longer than her husband’s, and, above all, much thicker, a pronounced veined weight that hung heavy between his legs. Marie was both admiring and frightened by such a member. The still-soft penis was just centimeters from her face, and she could smell him, clean and musky and utterly foreign.
Tariq watched her stare, a faint, arrogant smile on his lips. “Well? You ever seen one so big? Your husband got one this big?”
The question was crude, designed to humiliate both her and the absent man she’d promised to love. Marie remained silent for a few seconds, her gaze fixed on the flesh in front of her. She finally murmured, “No.”
“Didn’t think so.” He shifted his weight, and it swayed slightly. “Now take it in your hand. I want you to assess it. Get a good feel of what’s gonna be going in and out of your married pussy tonight.”
The vulgarity, the ownership in his words, sent a shock through her that pooled hot between her own legs. Marie, her breath shallow, reached out. She grasped Tariq’s enormous penis, her fingers curling around the shaft.
Her hand seemed tiny. Her fingers couldn’t meet her thumb. It couldn’t even encircle him.
Tariq let out a satisfied grunt. “There it is,” he chimed in, his voice dripping with knowing pleasure. “I’ve been waiting for this moment. See that? The hands of every woman I’ve ever fucked… they can never reach around my cock. Never. And they all get that same look in their eyes right about now.”
He was right. She could feel it—the fear, a cold spike in her stomach. But also the desire, a deep, throbbing ache that drowned out the fear. She wanted to see that look. She wanted to be one of those women in his memory.
Marie, driven by a need to know its full heft, grasped his penis with her other hand, cradling the heavy weight in both palms. It was still soft, but impressive nonetheless, a dormant power she had awakened and would now have to face. It began to swell and thicken under her touch, the skin tightening, the veins becoming more prominent, growing from impressive to truly monstrous before her widened eyes.
“Good,” Tariq said, his voice rough. “Now get it hard.”
Marie’s fingers tightened around him, and she began to stroke. The skin was like heated silk over unyielding stone, sliding under her palms as she worked him. She felt him swell and thicken further, a metamorphosis of flesh that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
He grew heavier in her hands, denser, the veins standing in bold relief like tributaries on a map. With a soft gasp, she realized she needed both hands just to stroke the lower half of his shaft. She quickened her pace, the sound of her palms on his skin a damp, rhythmic whisper in the quiet room.
Tariq’s breath hitched. A low, guttural groan vibrated from his chest. “Just like that,” he urged, his voice already strained. “Feel how hard you make me.”
She accelerated the movement with both hands, her small fists pumping in a frantic, determined rhythm. Tariq’s penis grew even larger, the head swelling to a furious, purpled crown that wept a bead of moisture. It seemed impossible, a brutal truth of anatomy that defied her every expectation.
Tariq began to groan as Marie continued, each sound a deep affirmation of her power and her submission. “Yeah,” he grunted. “That’s it. Work that cock. Get it nice and slick for you.”
His hand tangled in her hair, not roughly, but with a possessiveness that made her pulse jump. “Now use your tongue,” he ordered, his voice rough with hunger. “At the same time. Don’t stop your hands.”
Marie leaned forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. She placed the flat of her tongue tentatively on the enormous glans. The taste was clean, salty, profoundly intimate. She circled it, the smoothness alien against her tongue, then played with the sensitive slit while her hands never ceased their stroking.
A shiver racked Tariq’s frame. “Fuck, Marie,” he breathed. Her name on his lips in that moment felt more violating than any curse.
She traced the entire length of the shaft with her tongue, from the root to the tip, following a thick vein. The size of his penis seemed even more impressive to her up close, a landscape of muscle and sinew she was mapping with her mouth. The reality of it, its sheer scale, short-circuited any last fantasy, replacing it with a daunting, thrilling fact.
Marie continued like this for a while, alternating between playing with her tongue and her hands to stroke his penis. She lost herself in the rhythm, in the feedback loop of his groans and the tangible evidence of her effect on him. Her own arousal was a wet, persistent ache, a mirror to the slickness she worked onto his skin.
Tariq commented on what she was doing while groaning, his words punctuating the wet sounds. “You see what your pretty mouth does?” he managed, his hips giving a slight thrust into her hands. “You were made for this. To suck a real cock. To take it.”
He let his head fall back, his eyes closed in pleasure. “I’m gonna fuck that tight little married pussy of yours with this,” he promised, the words blunt and crude. “I’m gonna watch your face when you feel it splitting you open for the first time.”
His monologue continued, a filthy narrative of what was to come. “And when I’m done there,” he growled, his hand tightening in her hair, “I’m gonna turn you over. I’m gonna see that wedding ring shine in the light while I take your other hole. You understand? You’re getting all of me tonight.”
Marie whimpered around him, a sound of fear and undeniable, consuming need. The instruction was complete. Her world had narrowed to the smell of him, the taste, the impossible weight in her hands, and the dark promise in his voice.