Chapter 2: Deepthroat Challenge in the Poolhouse
The poolhouse air was thick, stagnant, and smelled of wet concrete, mildewed towels, and the sharp, artificial tang of old sunscreen. Candy stood in the doorway, her new weight a foreign anchor, and took in the scene. Roxy was a sprawling, pale monument on the sun-bleached plaid futon, its springs issuing a low, continuous groan of protest. Her body was a study in absurd abundance. Her breasts, freed and massive, lay pooled against her ribs and belly, their sheer mass pushing her nipples upward like islands in a risen sea of flesh. Her hips spread across the cushion, wide and heavy, the soft flesh of her thighs flattening against the vinyl.
And she was staring at Candy with an expression that wasn’t shock or embarrassment, but a raw, hungry curiosity. Her eyes, green and bright, flicked from Candy’s strained bikini top down to the obvious, impossible tension in Jimmy’s swim trunks.
Jimmy stood over Roxy like a colossus admiring a prized statue. He had to hunch slightly, his newly broadened shoulders nearly touching the opposite walls of the tiny cabana. The neon “OPEN” sign bathed his skin in a sickly red glow, highlighting the insane definition of his abs, each one now the size of a brick. His swim trunks, those ridiculous pineapples, were stretched to near-transparency over a bulge that was no longer just suggestive. It was a blatant, demanding fact. It curved thickly against his thigh, the outline unmistakable and, even to Candy who knew it intimately, newly terrifying in its scale.
“Well, this is a pickle,” Roxy said, her voice a dry rasp. She made no move to cover herself. One hand lazily traced the immense curve of her own hip, as if marveling at the geography. “I’m pretty sure I’ve quadrupled in value. And I can’t move.”
“Don’t worry, Rox, I got you,” Jimmy said, puffing out his chest. The motion made the trunks strain further. A stitch near the waistband pinged loose.
“Clearly,” Roxy snorted, her eyes still on Candy. “But your girlfriend looks like she’s about to blow a gasket. And not the fun kind.” She shifted, a ponderous effort that made the futon shriek. “Candy, honey. You’re… glowing. And not in a good way. You look like a really pissed-off, really stacked peach.”
Candy stepped fully inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a click that felt final. The room shrank with the three of them in it. She could feel the heat radiating off both of them, a biological furnace of transformation. Her own body throbbed in sympathy, a deep, internal pulse that made her heavy breasts feel full and sensitive, her widened hips ache with a strange, loaded potential.
“What is happening to us?” Candy’s voice sounded small, crushed by the humid air.
“Beats me,” Jimmy said, his tone one of pure, uncomplicated joy. “But I feel amazing. Strong. Like, really strong.” He flexed an arm, and the bicep swelled, the skin tight and gleaming. It was now larger than Candy’s head. He looked down at his own trunks, his brow furrowing in a moment of rare thought. “And, uh, really backed up.”
Roxy let out a sharp, gasping laugh. “Backed up. That’s one way to put it.” Her eyes locked onto Candy’s. There was a challenge there, and a dark, shared knowledge. “So. Candy. That thing your boyfriend’s packing. The one that’s currently trying to stage a prison break from his fruit-themed containment unit.” She licked her lips. “You’ve… dealt with that before, right?”
Candy felt a flush creep up from her chest to her cheeks. “Roxy, for God’s sake…”
“I’m just asking!” Roxy said, holding up a plump hand. “Because I’m looking at it, and I’m thinking there’s no way. There is physically no way a human mouth could accommodate that. It’s geometrically improbable. But you’ve got this reputation, you know? Among the girls. The whispers. ‘Little Candy with the atomic jaw.’ So I gotta know. Is it real? Or is it just boyfriend propaganda?”
Jimmy beamed, his vacant eyes shining with pride. “She does it all the time,” he announced, as if stating the weather. “Total pro. Deepthroat queen. Isn’t that right, babe?”
The boast, delivered with such dopey sincerity, hung in the chlorinated air. Candy wanted to melt into the grimy linoleum. She was intimidated, deeply and viscerally. He was bigger now in every dimension. The man she knew, the one whose proportions, while outrageous, were at least familiar territory, was gone. Replaced by this ever-expanding parody. The thickness straining the fabric looked wider, more daunting. The length seemed to have gained inches. It was a tower of flesh, and the thought of attempting to take it now, with Roxy’s hungry eyes watching, sent a jolt of pure dread through her that somehow, embarrassingly, twisted into a thread of electric arousal.
“Jimmy,” she whispered, a warning.
But Roxy was nodding slowly, a conspiratorial grin spreading across her face. “All the time, huh?” she said, her gaze burning into Candy. “Then show me. I’m immobilized. Consider it a educational demonstration. For science.”
“Yeah, babe,” Jimmy said, his enthusiasm immediate and overwhelming. He put his hands on his hips, his stance widening. The trunks pulled tighter. “Show her how it’s done. Put her mind at ease.”
The room pressed in. The buzzing of the neon sign was the only sound. Candy looked from Jimmy’s eager, expectant face to Roxy’s challenging, openly lustful one. She was caught between them, the center of a perverse demand. Her possessiveness warred with a strange, new sense of exhibitionism that the throbbing heat in her body seemed to encourage. If she was going to be this… this exaggerated version of herself, maybe she should own it. Maybe proving she could still handle Jimmy, even now, was the only power she had left in this surreal, sliding reality.
“Fine,” she breathed, the word barely audible.
She moved towards Jimmy, her walk that new, swaying waddle. Each step emphasized the heavy swing of her backside, the soft jiggle of her thighs. She felt monstrous and powerful. She stopped in front of him, her face level with the middle of his swollen chest. He smelled of pool water, cheap sunscreen, and pure, unadulterated male musk.
Looking up into his blankly pleased face, she reached for his waistband. Her fingers, which felt small and delicate, brushed against the burning-hot skin of his lower abdomen. The waistband of the trunks was taut as a drumhead. She hooked her thumbs in it, meeting his eyes.
“These are toast anyway,” she muttered, and with a firm yank, she pulled them down.
The fabric, already defeated, gave way without a fight, slumping to his thick ankles.
Roxy inhaled sharply, a wet, choked sound.
Jimmy stood revealed, and even Candy, who had prepared herself, felt her knees go weak. It wasn’t just larger. It was a transformation to match the rest of him. Thick, heavy, and impossibly long, it jutted out from a thatch of blonde hair, a proud and ridiculous monument. The veins stood out in bold relief along its length, pulsing faintly. In the buzzing red light, it looked less like a part of a man and more like some autonomous, fleshy artifact. The sheer scale of it was humbling, and for a second, Candy just stared, the task ahead seeming not just difficult, but physically impossible.
“Holy shit,” Roxy whispered, reverence in her voice. “It’s like a third leg. A really, really happy third leg.”
Jimmy grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Told you.”
Candy pushed down the wave of intimidation. She had committed. This was her territory, her claimed skill. She dropped to her knees, the impact sending a jarring thud through her new, padded hips. The dusty, damp linoleum was cold and gritty under her knees. From this angle, the view was even more daunting. She took a steadying breath, the air tasting of chlorine and dust.
She didn’t look at Roxy. She focused on Jimmy, on the part of him she knew, or used to know. She reached out with both hands, her fingers barely able to circle the girth. The skin was hot and smooth, like stretched satin over steel. She gave him a few slow, practiced strokes, feeling the weight of him, the solid density. A bead of moisture welled at the tip. She leaned forward, her platinum hair falling around her face, and swiped her tongue across it, tasting salt and skin.
A low groan rumbled from Jimmy’s chest. “That’s my girl.”
Encouraged, she opened her mouth, leaning in further. She took the head inside, stretching her lips wide. Even this first, familiar part felt bigger, fuller, challenging the capacity of her mouth immediately. She pushed, using her hands to guide him, feeling the sensitive head press against the roof of her mouth, then farther back. Her jaw ached with the stretch. She breathed hard through her nose, the scent of him filling her senses.
She pushed deeper, employing the technique she’d mastered over time—relaxing her throat, tilting her head, swallowing at the right moment. But it was different now. The thickness was immense, a relentless pressure filling her mouth and pushing into her throat. She felt her eyes water. A strand of drool escaped her lips and dripped onto her chest, between her swollen breasts. She pushed until her nose was buried in the coarse hair at his base, until she felt the head nudging a place deep inside her that made her gag reflex clench violently.
She held it there for a three-count, the world narrowing to the sensation of overwhelming fullness in her throat, the sound of Jimmy’s ragged breathing above her, and the prickling awareness of Roxy’s stare from the futon. Then she pulled back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to his shining length.
She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her jaw felt unhinged.
For a moment, there was silence except for the buzz of the sign and the ragged sounds of their breathing.
Then Roxy let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she breathed, her voice thick with awe and something else—a raw, wanting heat. “You actually did it. You deepthroated a traffic cone. I didn’t think it was physically possible.”
“Told you,” Jimmy said again, his voice husky. He looked down at Candy with an expression of pure, adoring ownership. “She’s the best.”
Candy, still on her knees, felt a dizzying mix of triumph, humiliation, and acute arousal. The ache between her own thighs was a demanding throb, mirroring the heavy pulses she could feel in Jimmy’s flesh beneath her hands. Roxy’s admiration was a potent, dangerous drug.
Roxy’s admiration was a potent, dangerous drug. It cut through Candy’s humiliation, leaving behind a sharp, glittering edge of pride. She stayed on her knees, catching her breath, the gritty linoleum biting into her skin. Jimmy’s hand came down and ruffled her platinum hair, a gesture so condescendingly affectionate it made her teeth ache.
“See?” he said to Roxy, his voice vibrating with smug satisfaction. “No one does it like my Candy.”
“Evidently not,” Roxy murmured. Her eyes weren’t on Jimmy’s face. They were fixed, laser-focused, on where Candy’s small hands still gripped the thick, slick base. A strange tension pulled at Roxy’s expression, the brash confidence momentarily replaced by something more primal—a naked, avid want that made the humid air feel thicker. She shifted again on the groaning futon, her monumental body undulating with the effort. “Does it… feel like it used to? Or is it different now? With all the new… volume.”
Candy didn’t know how to answer that. It was different. It was everything, everywhere, all-consuming. Her throat felt raw and stretched in a new way, a phantom fullness lingering. She just gave a slight, shaky shrug, her shoulders brushing against the soft, heavy weight of her own breasts.
Jimmy solved the problem of answering by thrusting his hips forward slightly, a gentle nudge that pushed the head back against Candy’s pursed, spit-slicked lips. “Feels amazing,” he groaned. “C’mon, babe. Don’t stop now. I’m just getting warmed up.”
The command was clear. The expectation hung in the air, mingling with the neon buzz. Candy looked up at him, at his blissfully vacant smile, and felt that old, familiar dynamic snap back into place—his need, her service. But it was warped now, magnified by their changed bodies and the audience of one. Roxy’s hungry stare was a physical weight on her skin, a second pair of hands.
She leaned in again, opening her mouth. This time, the initial penetration was easier, her muscles reluctantly remembering the impossible stretch. She established a rhythm, bobbing her head, using her tongue in ways she knew he liked. The sounds were obscenely wet in the tiny room, punctuated by Jimmy’s low, gratified sighs and the rustle of Roxy moving on the futon.
“God, look at her go,” Roxy whispered, not to Jimmy, but almost to herself. It was a commentary, a narration. “She’s a natural. You can tell she’s done this a thousand times. Look at the way her throat works.”
Candy tried to block it out, to lose herself in the mechanical act, in the familiar taste and musk. But the narration was getting to her, heightening every sensation, turning a private act into a lurid performance. Heat pooled low in her belly, a deep, insistent throb that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Her own body, swollen and heavy, felt intensely alive, every brush of her inner thigh against the other, every slight sway of her breasts, a minor symphony of sensation.
Jimmy’s breathing grew more ragged. One of his huge hands settled on the back of her head, not pushing, just resting there, a warm, heavy anchor. His fingers tangled in her hair. “Yeah, just like that,” he mumbled. “So good.”
Roxy couldn’t stay still. With a grunt, she managed to heave herself onto her side, facing them, one colossal breast crushing against the futon’s arm. The movement was seismic, sending a tremor through the small structure. She propped her head on her hand, her red hair a messy cascade. Her gaze was unwavering, analytical and devouring.
“He likes it when you use your hands, too,” Roxy said suddenly, her voice conversational, as if discussing a recipe. “Twist a little on the upstroke. He’s always been a sucker for that.”
Candy froze, her mouth still full. How did Roxy know that? A cold spike of jealousy, clean and sharp, lanced through the heat. She pulled back, coughing. “What?”
Roxy had the decency to look slightly abashed, but it was buried under layers of brazen curiosity. “Please. He’s not exactly a vault, Candy. He brags. At the gym, at the bar. ‘My girl knows how to work it.’ We’ve all heard the stories.” She gestured weakly with her free hand. “Now I’m just seeing the proof. So prove it. Show me the twist.”
Jimmy chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest. “She’s not wrong, babe.”
Betrayal, hot and sour, flooded Candy’s mouth. She glared up at Jimmy, but his eyes were closed in pleasure, a slight smile on his lips. He was enjoying this. The sharing. The display. Her exclusive skill was now party gossip, and he’d been the one spreading it. The possessive knot in her chest tightened, but it tangled with a perverse urge to prove Roxy right, to demonstrate that even if the story was public, the execution was still hers alone.
With a defiance she didn’t fully understand, she redoubled her efforts. She took him deep again, her throat working convulsively, and her hands began moving in tandem, twisting firmly just as he liked, her palms cupping and rolling the heavy weight of his balls. The technique was precise, practiced, and devastatingly effective.
Jimmy’s knees actually buckled. He slapped a giant hand against the poolhouse wall for support, making the whole shack shudder. “Oh, fuck, Candy. Right there. Don’t stop.”
Roxy let out a soft, choked sound. She was biting her lower lip, her face flushed. One of her own hands had drifted down, resting on the soft, immense swell of her belly, fingers pressing lightly into the flesh. She was watching, but she was no longer just an observer. She was participating, her body mirroring a tension she couldn’t physically relieve. The distance between the futon and Jimmy’s legs seemed to agitate her, a frustrated energy radiating from her trapped, overflowing form.
“He’s close,” Roxy breathed, her voice husky. “You can tell. His legs are shaking. Look at his stomach, all tight.”
Candy could feel it. The telltale hardening, the pulse beneath her lips becoming frantic, the subtle jerk in his hips he couldn’t control. She sped up, the wet, rhythmic sounds filling the cabana. Her jaw was screaming, a bright, hot pain, but she pushed through, fueled by a competitive fury and a deep, swirling need to see this through, to claim this victory in front of the other woman.
Jimmy’s other hand joined the first on her head, his grip tightening. “Candy, I’m gonna—”
“Uh-uh, big guy,” Roxy interrupted, her tone suddenly playful, commanding. “Not yet. We just got started. You gotta make it last.” Her eyes flicked to Candy, a spark of conspiracy in them. “Right, Candy? He can’t finish yet. The girls outside haven’t even had a turn.”
The comment was a joke, probably. But it landed in the room like a live wire. Candy’s rhythm faltered. The image of Jimmy, even bigger, parading his condition back to Tiffany and Chloe, was too much. A possessive surge, dark and absolute, washed over her. No. This was hers. This moment, this insane act, was hers. Not theirs.
Jimmy groaned, a sound of pure agony. “Roxy, come on. I’m dying here.”
“Toughen up, Hercules,” Roxy shot back, but she was levering herself forward, a monumental effort. With a mighty heave, she managed to roll off the futon and onto her knees on the floor with a soft, heavy thud. She wobbled for a moment, her balance compromised by her new proportions, her breasts swaying heavily. She was now level with Candy, just a foot away, close enough that Candy could smell her perfume mingling with chlorine and sweat.
The space was impossibly cramped. The three of them filled it, a tangle of overheated, exaggerated limbs. Roxy reached out, her hand hovering near Candy’s busy ones. “Can I…?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small, the bravado gone, replaced by genuine, hungry curiosity.
Candy stared at her, breath hitching. This was the line. Letting Roxy watch was one thing. Letting her touch was a frontier. Jimmy, lost in sensation, just mumbled, “Yeah, whatever, just don’t stop.”
That decided it. Candy gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, her mouth still occupied.
Roxy’s hand, warm and slightly trembling, joined Candy’s. Her fingers were softer, her touch more tentative at first, exploring the incredible, tight fullness of Jimmy’s scrotum. Then she gained confidence, her touch mirroring Candy’s rhythm, learning the pressure. It was an intimate collaboration, their knuckles brushing, their breathing syncing. Candy watched Roxy’s face from the corner of her eye. Her expression was one of profound concentration and awe, her lips parted, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Jesus,” Roxy whispered, her fingers working. “It’s like holding a couple of ripe peaches. Heavy.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Everything about him is just… more.”
Jimmy was panting now, his head thrown back against the wall, his abdomen clenched into a rigid board of muscle. “You guys… this is…”
The spell, or whatever it was, seemed to pulse in time with them. The buzzing of the neon sign took on a deeper, more resonant frequency. Candy felt another wave of that internal heat, this one focused lower, making her clench around nothing. Her own body felt heavier still, her breasts so full they ached, the soft flesh of her belly and hips seeming to press outward against her bikini with renewed insistence. Roxy gasped beside her, her own body jiggling with a sudden, slight expansion, her already massive breasts gaining another subtle, impossible curve.
The changes were accelerating, fed by the charged, illicit energy in the room.
Jimmy was muttering, a stream of incoherent praise and pleas. His hips began a shallow, frantic thrust that Candy could no longer fully control with her mouth. She held on, letting him use her, her throat straining, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes from the effort. Roxy’s hand worked in tandem, her fingernails grazing sensitive skin.
“Okay, seriously,” Jimmy gasped, his voice strained and pleading. He cracked open his eyes, looking down at the two women at his feet. “You’re killing me. I gotta finish. We gotta get back to the pool before someone comes looking. Tiffany’s probably wondering where her chicken fight partner went.”
He said it playfully, with a dopey grin, as if concerned about social etiquette while in the midst of a transcendent, magical orgasm. The absurdity of it almost made Candy laugh, a hysterical bubble in her chest.
But the instruction was clear. He needed to finish. Now. And they were going back to the pool, to the others, to whatever this day had become.
Candy didn’t stop. She sucked harder, taking him as deep as she could, her nose buried in coarse hair, her throat fluttering wildly around the intruding thickness. She let go with one hand and reached between her own legs, pressing the heel of her palm hard against the soaked fabric of her bikini bottom, seeking a pressure, any pressure, to match the storm inside her.
Roxy, taking her cue, helped with his balls, her touch firm and knowing now, cupping and rolling, applying a perfect, insistent pressure. “Then finish, you big baby,” Roxy growled, her own breath coming in hot pants. “We’re not stopping. Candy’s not stopping. So just let it go.”
That was all it took. Jimmy’s body locked, a statue of trembling muscle. A ragged, choked shout tore from his throat, part triumph, part relief. Candy felt the first violent pulse at the back of her throat, a hot, insistent flood that she had no choice but to swallow rapidly. The sheer volume was shocking, more than ever before, a seemingly endless surge that filled her mouth and threatened to overflow. She gulped, tears streaming down her cheeks, her jaw utterly useless, held open by his relentless release.
Roxy watched, mesmerized, her hand still working gently as Jimmy shuddered through it, her eyes wide as she saw Candy’s throat working desperately. The sounds were guttural, animalistic, filling the buzzing room.
It seemed to last a minute. When the final tremor passed, Jimmy sagged against the wall, breathing like he’d run a marathon. Candy fell back onto her haunches, coughing, her mouth feeling bruised and used, the taste overwhelming. She wiped her face with a trembling hand, her whole body buzzing with spent energy and unresolved need.
Roxy slowly withdrew her hand, staring at her fingers as if they were foreign. She looked from Jimmy’s spent, still-impressive form to Candy’s wrecked, kneeling figure. A slow, ragged smile spread across her face, devoid of its usual mocking edge. It was a smile of shared complicity, of awe.
“Well,” she said, her voice hoarse. “That’s one way to spend a pool party.”
Jimmy, recovering with baffling speed, grinned down at them both. “Told you guys I needed that.” He looked at his trunks, puddled around his ankles, then at his own body, gleaming with sweat and looking even more colossal in the afterglow. “Man. I am starving. You think there’s any burgers left on the grill?”
The mundane question, dropped into the aftermath of what had just happened, was so perfectly Jimmy that Candy did laugh then, a wet, hiccupping sound that bordered on a sob. She pushed herself up, her body feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, every curve leaden and sensitive. Her bikini was a mess, her makeup was surely ruined, and her world had permanently shifted on its axis.
Outside, the sound of splashing and distant, carefree laughter floated over the fence. The normal world, or what was left of it, continued. They had to go back out there. They had to face the others, their changed bodies on full display, this secret burning between the three of them like a fever.
Jimmy bent, with some difficulty, to retrieve his ruined trunks. He couldn’t get them past his thighs. “Uh, babe? Little help?”
Candy looked at Roxy, who was still on her knees, looking ponderous and stunned. Their eyes met. No words passed, but a silent, exhausted understanding did. They were in this together, whatever this was. The pool party was over. Something else had begun.