Chapter 3: The Unveiling
Janet sank to her knees on the plush carpet, the pile soft and deep beneath her as if swallowing her whole. Her hands trembled as she reached for the button of Otis's trousers, and she could see the fabric straining, pulled taut by the weight of what waited behind it. Her mouth had gone dry, but at the same time she could feel the saliva pooling, ready, her throat already tight with anticipation.
Otis stood above her, utterly composed, his deep-set eyes watching her with that calm, predatory patience that made her feel like prey and predator all at once. He did not move to help her. He simply waited, a quiet observer to her surrender.
Her fingers worked the button free, the sound of it clicking open impossibly loud in the hushed room. The zipper came next, metal teeth parting inch by inch, and she heard his soft exhale as the pressure in his trousers eased. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs, dark grey cotton, and pulled them down.
The sheer size of him hit her like a physical blow.
His cock swung free, heavy and thick, settling against her cheek with a warm, living weight that stole her breath. It was enormous. Beyond anything she had ever seen, beyond any pornographic image she had ever allowed herself to watch in the privacy of her own home. She had measured her husband at six and a half inches, had thought herself lucky for it. This thing pressed against her face like a forearm, a slab of rigid flesh that had to be ten inches or more, and its girth felt like her two hands wrapped together could not close around it.
Eight inches thick, she thought, the number she had guessed in the bar, and now she understood she had underestimated.
The head was flushed a deep purple, swollen and angrily veined, glistening with a bead of pre-cum that caught the dim light. The shaft rose thick as her wrist and then some, veins and ridges standing out against the taut skin. It was perfect. It was monstrous. And it was hers to worship.
"Oh my God," she breathed, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Otis made no comment. He simply placed his hand on the back of her head, a light, guiding pressure, and waited.
Janet leaned forward, the weight of him resting against her cheek as she turned her head, her lips brushing along the shaft. He smelled of soap and salt, clean and masculine, and she breathed him in like oxygen. Her tongue darted out, tracing the thick vein that ran along the underside, tasting the faint salt of his skin.
A low sound rumbled in his chest, barely audible, and she felt the cock twitch against her face.
She wrapped her hand around the base, testing her grip, and her fingers did not meet. The girth was impossible, too much for her grasp, and the realization flooded her with a desperate heat. She wanted this inside her more than she had ever wanted anything. She wanted to feel it stretch her throat, her pussy, to feel it split her open and leave her ruined.
She took the head into her mouth.
It was difficult. The crown was too wide, too thick, and she had to open her jaw as far as it would go, feeling the strain in her cheeks. Her lips stretched thin around his girth, and she swirled her tongue around the head, lapping at the bead of pre-cum that had pooled there. The taste was musky, salty, male, and she moaned around him, the vibration making him pulse against her tongue.
"That's it," Otis said, his voice low and rough. "Open that throat for me."
She tried. She pushed forward, taking another inch, then another, the head pressing against the back of her mouth. Her jaw ached, her eyes watering, and she felt a strand of drool escape the corner of her lips and slide down her chin. He was so big, too big, and the thought drove her wild.
She pulled back, gasping, air rushing into her lungs as she looked up at him. His face was calm, composed, but his eyes were dark with a hunger that made her core clench. He watched her, one hand still resting on the back of her head, thumb stroking her hair with an almost tender care that contrasted savagely with the monster jutting from his hips.
"Not even close to all of it," he said, a quiet amusement threading through his voice. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you, girl."
The word girl sent a shiver down her spine. She was a grown woman, a professional, a wife, but on her knees before him she felt young, small, and utterly owned. She wanted to earn his approval. She wanted to be good enough for him.
She lowered her mouth again, taking him deeper this time, pushing past the resistance of her gag reflex as she forced herself to relax. The head slid into her throat, thick and unyielding, and she felt the stretch deep inside her. Her eyes watered, tears tracking down her cheeks, and she did not care. She held him there, her nose pressed against the coarse hair at his groin, her throat convulsing around the intrusion.
"Fuck," Otis breathed, the first real break in his composure. His hand tightened on her hair, not pulling, just holding. "That's a good mouth."
She pulled off slowly, dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft as she did, savoring the feel of every ridge and vein. A thick string of saliva connected her lips to his cock when she finally reached the tip, and she reached up with both hands, wrapping them around his girth as best she could. Still her fingers did not meet.
"I can't get my hands around you," she said, her voice husky and damp. "It's like your cock is too big for me."
"Mmm." He stroked her hair. "You'll find a way."
She leaned in again, licking along the underside of his shaft, obscene and deliberate, painting him with her spit. She took him back into her mouth, bobbing her head in a rhythm that worked for her jaw, taking him deeper each time. Saliva poured from her mouth, soaking his skin and dripping onto the carpet. She looked up at him, eyelashes wet, face flushed, and he watched her with an intensity that made her feel like the only woman in the world.
"Good girl," he said, and the praise shot straight to her cunt.
Her free hand slid down between her own legs, pressing against the seam of her trousers, but the fabric was a frustrating barrier. She pressed harder, grinding against her own fingers, desperate for some friction. Otis noticed.
He laughed, a low, warm sound. "Eager, aren't you?"
She moaned around him, pulling off just enough to answer. "I need to feel you inside me. I need you so fucking much."
"In good time." His hand moved from her hair to cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. "First, you finish what you started. Show me what that mouth of yours is really good for."
She obeyed.
She took him deep, forcing her throat to open, feeling the head push past her gag reflex and into the slick passage beyond. Her hands clutched at his hips, steadying herself, and she held him there, her eyes watering, her throat working around him. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked hard, and pulled off slowly, the friction dragging against him, making him hiss through his teeth.
She repeated the motion, taking him deeper, harder, her rhythm building as she found her stride. The sounds she made, wet and obscene, filled the room. The drool and pre-cum coated her chin, the collar of her silk blouse, and she did not care. She wanted to be filthy for him. She wanted to be his.
He let her work for long minutes, his hands occasionally stroking her hair, his hips making small, controlled thrusts that pushed him deeper into her throat. She felt him swell, grow even thicker, and knew he was close.
"I'm going to come down your throat," he told her, a statement, not a request.
She looked up at him, eyes red, face wrecked, and nodded.
He took hold of her head with both hands then, and set a pace she could not match. He pumped into her mouth, deep and relentless, his balls slapping against her chin with every thrust. She gagged, choked, tears streaming down her face, and it was the most divine thing she had ever felt.
When he came, it was with a deep, guttural groan. His cock swelled impossibly, and then the first hot, thick blast of cum hit the back of her throat. She swallowed reflexively, and he pulsed again, another eruption, then another. She kept swallowing, desperate to take every drop, her throat working around him as he emptied himself inside her.
When he finally pulled out, a trail of cum and saliva connected them, and she licked her lips, savoring the taste.
He tucked himself back into his trousers with a calm matter-of-factness, then reached down and gripped her arm, pulling her to her feet. Her knees were weak, her legs unsteady, and she swayed against him.
He studied her for a long moment, his thumb brushing the smear of saliva and cum from her chin. Then he leaned in, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
"Now," he said, turning her toward the king-sized bed across the room, "I want you to get on your hands and knees and show me that ass. Because I've got a lot more than my cock that needs you tonight."
Janet's heart slammed against her ribs, and she felt a thrill of pure, terrified excitement surge through her. She looked at the bed, then back at him, and the answer was already on her lips before she could think.
"Yes."