tagFetishGo Get Me One

Go Get Me One

byDarkinside©

He stood outside the bar, nervously eyeing the door as patrons entered; a mixed crowd of well and casually dressed young people, college age and slightly older. Their youth, happiness and anticipation of fun, their carefree attitudes stood in stark contrast to his deep anxiety and his age. He was older, thirty-six, and suspected they knew as well as he did that he was out of place. He witnessed a few sidelong judgmental glances from the younger girls, some in groups, others hooked on a boy's arm, and amused grins from some of the males. They probably thought I was here hunting for young girls, he thought, but his shame only deepened. If only that were the case! He shifted his weight, blinking nervously, in spite of the fact that it likely made him stand out even more. He was afraid, afraid to go in, to do what he came here to do. Afraid to succeed. Afraid even more to fail.

But he did not have time to delay, and he steeled his determination. A Big One, she had said. He could hear the capitalization in her words. In his head he could see her face, her eyes glistening darkly as they did when the moment took her, her head lowered slightly, her dark hair shadowing her beautiful face as though veiled. He had longed to touch her, to brush her hair back as he often did, and lift her chin to his eyes, shaming the lights with her brilliance. But he did not; the shadow was on her, the mood had taken her, and she had commanded.

"A Big One," she had repeated, "big all over. Tall and broad, and young," she'd said, her lips curling slightly with hunger and desire. "And a big cock, baby. Make sure he's got a big cock for me." Her tongue had touched her lips at the corner, just a second.

It wasn't the first time she'd sent him out; he had done it often enough to be good at it. He had developed a technique that mostly worked, sidling up to a group of men, making comments that fit their banter, insinuating himself. Directing the comments towards women and sex if the banter didn't go that way on its own. As prospects dwindled as they did for men his age, for that was who he sought, he would pick a likely candidate and offer the possibility of a sure thing, a hot thing. A willing thing. He rarely failed.

But it was his first time here. He had chosen this club because it was the favorite of the local college athletes, and he thought his chances of finding a well built man for her had better odds. But the entering crowd looked different, felt different. There was no sign of the resigned attitude older men had of going home alone and wanting; these young men exuded confidence, self-assured in the likelihood that they would have sex with an adoring young girl. Worse, he would have to ask the question, and he had no idea how to approach the subject.

She had been understanding of the challenge; she always was of the predicament she put him in, but more so tonight. "I know it's hard for you, and you know I love you, not just for doing this for me, but because I always have," she'd whispered lightly, touching his face as he'd stared dejectedly into his own lap. "But I really want it," she had added, and kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, angling her head under his to get to him, touching his face with her lips, slowly moving to his mouth. "And you'll like it too, you know you will," she hissed, "when I kiss you hard," she'd breathed into his mouth, "after I suck his big cock."

The thought of her lips, wet and fresh, pressing his with the urgency of her desire, fresh from blowing another man in front of him, slick with saliva and tasting like another man's flesh, hot and needy...He stood still and closed his eyes now, uncaring of the image it created, the stares and odd looks. He felt the tremor run from the base of his skull down his spine and settle in a mass of warmth at his pelvis, undiminished, and his member began to fill, despite the feeling that what he would experience would be so wrong.

She had kissed him then, not the cock-hungry kiss of a wife about to be fucked in front of her husband by the cock she just sucked, not the wild, shaming kiss of the slut she would be for the stranger, not even the grateful and exuberant kiss of a satisfied wife with a cunt filled with another man's cum, but the loving, tender kiss. The kiss that made him hers. The kiss that said it was him, and only him, who she loved, the kiss that told him how much she appreciated him, and all he did for her, what he would do for her tonight. The kiss that said she understood his sacrifice for her needs, even as much as she knew it filled his need as well.

His eyes opened, and he saw the door, again. His eyes flicked over the crowd. The memory of her kiss, that warm, oh-so-gentle kiss, and all it meant, gave him courage. She didn't kiss her lovers that way, no. With them it was all open mouths and swirling tongues, hot and lusty, hungry, cannibalistic. No, that was HIS kiss, the one she gave only him. It had stirred his determination then, and its memory did the same for him now.

He took a breath and steeled his nerves. As he stepped forward, approaching the door, mingling with the crowd, he imagined himself filled with bravado and enthusiasm, asking a large young man if he had a big cock. For his wife. Proudly, then, to come to his house, and fuck his hot, beautiful slut of a wife with his giant cock.

He reached the door and was stopped when a ham struck him in the chest. Not a blow, but a stop. He looked down to see a large black hand splayed between his shoulders, almost holding his entire upper body.

"Where you going, man?" he heard as his eyes followed the arm, the size of his own leg, up to a shoulder higher than his head. He craned his neck and looked up into a broad black face, shaved head, eyes scrutinizing him warily.

"Getting a drink," he mumbled, but didn't move.

"Bullshit, dude, you been standing out there with your eyes closed for fifteen minutes." The voice was a deep bass, rumbling with authority almost outside the range of human detection in the miasma of background noise. He sensed bodies behind him, and his determination lost its grip on his confidence. His eyes darted nervously. People were staring. He returned to the face above him, glances at the broad chest, saw the name of the bar stitched above the name Reggie. He looked back up to see an expression of dispassionate tolerance wearing thin.

"I'm looking for...a friend," he stammered.

"Ain't we all," came the rumble, "step to the side." He did, and young, energetic patrons were admitted past him, grumbling and joking. At his expense, he knew. When the line dwindled Reggie turned back to him.

"I don't think so," he continued.

"Please," he pleaded, trying not to sound petulant, then found an inspiration. "I'm looking, uh, for my wife." Not a full lie. He wasn't trying to find her, he was looking for someone FOR her. His confidence sparked at his cleverness as Reggie's face dawned with the misleading understanding.

"Uh-huh," he said. "Yeah. Okay," he said, putting his hand out. He paid the cover but Reggie grabbed his arm before admitting him. "But no trouble, got me? Any trouble and you out." He heard the sudden slip of thug inflection for emphasis, in contrast to the polished speech he had used initially, and wondered which was the real Reggie, and which was the show. He nodded and entered. He was elated, and trembled with potential, if not imminent, success.

Forty-five minutes later he was back at the door, escorted to the exit by another bouncer, and thrust past Reggie amid the stares of entering patrons. His shame at his failure was compounded by his public ejection. Subtlety hadn't worked, hints had not been taken. He had tried more direct messages, and angry words had been passed. There were whispers, and pointing from the crowd as word got around. In a panic at potential failure, he had asked a group of young, large men boldly if any of them had a big cock that could satisfy his slut wife. There was nearly a confrontation, prevented only by his hastily forced exit. He stood on the steps in front of the entrance, dejected and defeated, knowing that he would return to her, failed and alone.

He scoured the street, desperate for a solution. Only once before had he failed her; he recalled the results with a sting. Her humiliation of him with her lovers paled in comparison to the hurt and shame she had inflicted that night. She wouldn't touch him, wouldn't kiss him, called him names, and denied her love of him. Denied! Worse, she accused him of not loving HER, as if that were possible! He had begged forgiveness, she had cried as she masturbated. His pained heart had prevented his erection, and it had been days before she forgave him. Never again, he steeled himself. He would fill her request, her demand. He must. He needed it, needed to feel her thrill as he watched, pained and jealous as she goaded him, telling him how good it was. He would not fail.

"You lied to me," he heard the rumble at his back. "Get the fuck outta here, you're blocking the entrance."

He turned to see Reggie. There were no patrons entering now, and he wondered at the comment.

"Sorry," he apologized, debasing himself further. He wondered if his voluntary humiliation would satisfy her, soften her retribution. "I was desperate," he admitted.

"Fucking loser," Reggie rumbled. He stepped from behind the podium. "I don't know what you were about in there, but it didn't take long for you to fuck up." He sneered. "I knew you was trouble, shoulda trusted my instincts, but you fed me that bullshit about your wife." Reggie's speech danced the border between his business and the street.

"It wasn't a lie, not totally," he admitted. And then he looked at Reggie, took in the bulk of him, the mass of his body, his eyes travelling from the giant feet, up his legs, his torso, his billboard chest, to his face, a full head above his own, and he was inspired.

One last chance.

Maybe.

"I need a favor," he began, feeling his shame redden his face. He took a slow breath. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Reggie asked, a belligerent angle to his massive head.

"What time do you get off?"

"Fuck you," Reggie spat at him, "I ain't no fucking fa-"

"No! No, not that!" he defended, holding his hands up, palms out; a miniature surrender. "I need a guy, a big guy," the words spilled out, "For my wife," he explained, and suddenly flushed as he realized a young couple was standing next to him, awaiting entrance. Reggie waited, ignoring them, narrowed eyes fixed on him. He knew they would hear, and his shame gripped him, but he swallowed it down, fought past it, and continued.

"I said I was looking for my wife," he confessed, "which wasn't completely true." Another couple joined the first; he felt their eyes on him, felt them hearing his words. He thought of her, her thrill and excitement, her kisses, the tender one that spurred him, the wet one, hot and slick from another man's cock, her breath hot on his face, telling him how she would fuck the stranger, how much she wanted his cock. His breath caught. "I was looking for a guy, for her. For my wife." He saw the audience lean closer, not wanting to miss the details of the scene, but he looked straight at Reggie's face, and stiffened his spine. He could do this. He WOULD do this. He would make her proud of him, and his resolve hardened. He raised his chin and plainly stated his mission, knowing the audience behind him would hear every word, and thrilled silently at his humiliation. For her.

"I was looking for a big guy to fuck my wife," he crowed. "She's a horny slut, and she sent me out to bring home a big guy with a big cock to fuck her." Relief swept through him with the words as his secret was exposed; unburdened, he sighed.

"You fucking crazy," Reggie muttered, then turned away and admitted the quartet of young people, who stared at him. He stared back, meeting their eyes, proud of his shame. One girl glared angrily, the other seemed fascinated. After they were gone, Reggie's attention returned to him.

"She a pig, man?"

"Not at all," he blurted, buoyed by his interest. He whipped out his phone and scrolled through the pictures, found one of her, naked and beautiful, turned it to Reggie.

"Fucking hot," Reggie admired. His eyes narrowed. "You for real? Besides being a crazy white asshole?"

"As real as this," he said, scrolling though pictures, finding one of his wife sucking a cock. Not his. He turned it to the behemoth. "See?"

"She's a real slut." Reggie said, and he took the compliment.

"Yes," he said emphatically. "So, are you interested?" he asked, then interrupted himself. Moment of truth. He felt a flash of panic, knowing that if this went wrong, he was likely inviting a beating that would be compounded by his wife's hostility. "But I'll need to see your dick first," he stated with authority. Her command of him made him brave again. "She said she wants a big man with a big cock, and I don't want to disappoint her."

Reggie grimaced and backed off. "What the fuck?' he muttered. "You think I'm just gonna whip it out for you?"

He looked around, searching, so close to success he could taste it, and the possibility made him desperate. His eyes found an answer. "We could go down that alley," he motioned.

Reggie looked at him, considering. Then he spoke. "Go wait for me there," he said. "I don't want no one seeing me with you," he said softly. "Five minutes."

As he entered the alley he nearly trembled with anticipation and the hope of victory. He stepped in, finding a dark place far from the entrance, where they would not be seen from the street. He found himself hoping it was huge, and imagined Reggie uncoiling a massive slab of meat from his pants, thick with veins, and a fat head. He marvelled at his own excitement, to see another man's cock, and felt a power rush through him. To have the authority, to assess another's manhood, to pass judgment. Are you good enough for her? Yes, he would say, you'll do, this is the cock she deserves. She would be so happy, so proud of him, and his chest swelled with accomplishment and desire. He danced nervously from foot to foot in anxiety as he imagined Reggie's cock, and his wife's elation.

To see her face, her beaming, lusty face when she saw Reggie's massive bulk, to feel her appreciation of his efforts; his cock filled and stiffened. He felt it stir in his pants. Then to see the wonder and awe in her eyes as Reggie pulled the massive fuck stick out, to see her glance his way as she kneeled, naked in front of his gift to her, and wrapped her small hand around the shaft; he nearly swooned, light-headed. He imagined her eyes, glistening wetly as she opened her mouth to take the head inside, to see his devotion to her expressed in front of him as she sucked Reggie's cock. He checked his watch as images flooded his brain; his wife sucking Reggie's cock, licking Reggie's balls, then kissing her husband wetly, telling him how hot she was, for that giant cock to tear her open.

She would stroke him as she spoke, telling him how she would be fucked, knowing that he would be as excited as she, and knowing his shame thrilled her. Oh, to see her cunt stretched open by that cock, to hear her cries as she was filled, and pummeled; as her needs were met so would his own, the jealousy and humiliation arousing him as she satisfied her cravings in front of him. His mouth was dry, his palms wet. A sudden fear gripped him as he allowed that Reggie might not be big enough, but he quelled it, shouted it down. Not now, he said, not when I am this close. It WILL be big, big enough for her, for them.

Lost in his dreams he did not hear Reggie until he was next to him.

"This is crazy; YOU crazy," Reggie said in the muffled darkness. He turned to face the massive bulk that blocked the light from the street.

"I can barely see you," he managed. Reggie's head turned nervously to the street.

"Get closer," he said, "I ain't waving this around for the whole world." As he dropped to his knees in front of the giant, he felt the brick wall at his back. His hands trembled as he steadied himself on the dirty cement until his face was even with the giant's crotch.

She will love me, he thought, as the ham-sized paw reached for the zipper. I will bring her this gift she desires, and she will love me. Eagerness flooded him as the rasp of the descending zipper broke the silence, and he licked his dry lips. Please, he prayed, let it be the biggest cock ever, let it be fat and long and full. Please let it be the cock she wants, and let her love me forever.

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