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Size Queen


My husband Dave invited all his asshole buddies from college and their wives to our home for a pool party this summer. We wound up hosting nearly thirty couples in all. The booze bill alone was enough for us to take out a second mortgage, but we managed to have a splendid time, especially me. You see, all the men were surprisingly handsome and in shape for guys fifteen years out of college, and Dave's former roommate Larry could easily pass for Christian Bale's identical twin.

Larry and I eventually found ourselves sitting poolside together late in the evening sharing a drink. By this time the liquor had really flowed all day and into the night. Both of us were buzzed. I can't even remember what we were talking about until Larry asked me if I considered myself a size queen.

"I never heard that term applied to a woman. Isn't it kind of a gay thing?"

"Its origin may have been from the argot of the male homosexual subculture, but the term is equally applicable to a female, for obvious reasons." Larry was a psychology major now working as a pharmaceutical salesman. Dave had told me Larry was making beaucoup bucks at it.

"I don't know," I said, considering the question. "I think every woman, if she were being honest, wants her man to have a larger penis. Isn't that why all those late-night commercials advertise those silly quack supplements that claim to enlarge your penis?" Ordinarily I would have felt uncomfortable saying 'penis' to another man, but it was the drinks.

Larry took a pull on his margarita, leaned close and confided, "What if I were to tell you there's a new drug being test-marketed that does exactly that?"

"You're kidding? Really?"


"Then I think it'd be even bigger than Viagra. In a manner of speaking." I laughed, perhaps inappropriately and immoderately loud, because I drew the attention of a small group of men in the pool who started teasing me.

"Bigger than Viagra? Whoo! Larry's got a live one!" Somebody started a chorus of "Lynn and Larry sitting in a tree, F, U, C, K, I, N, G!" Luckily Dave had left to go to the can a few moments before and didn't hear them.

Larry tried to ignore them. I suggested we go inside. In the kitchen he explained further. "It's non-prescription but it won't be for long. A small investment group I'm putting together will flood the market with saturation advertising on cable and online, print ads in men's magazines, everything from Playboy and Hustler to Golf Digest and Men's Health, all touting this product. It's what we call a proprietary blend, with secret ingredients. We'll use the standard bullshit disclaimer that it's not intended to treat or cure any disease blah blah blah. The men will get the message. The ladies, too. In no time the ads will bring in orders, orders will lead to a huge word of mouth campaign because the stuff actually works! We're calling it Extra Strength Mansaurus."

Larry was getting excited in more ways than one, I could tell from the firm bulge in his swim trunks. Between sessions of gazing into his dark puppy dog eyes while we sat at the snack bar I had sneaked more than one admiring peek. He interrupted his spiel about the new drug and blurted out, "I'd love it if you'd show me your breasts, Lynn."

I don't know whether it was the margaritas or the soulful expression on Larry's face, but sitting there at the snack bar with him I gave in to temptation and peeled down the top of my skimpy two-piece, exposing my breasts.

"Awesome," he gasped. "Truly awesome. Dave is one lucky stud."

"Lucky, yes," I replied, letting him continue to stare, scarcely believing it was really me doing this. "Stud, no."

"Yeah," Larry said. "As I recall back at school, Dave wasn't exactly the pride of the shower room."

"I'll bet you were, though." I couldn't believe what I was saying but somehow in front of this gorgeous man I found myself completely incapable of holding my tongue.

"Not really. Not before Extra Strength Mansaurus. I'm not only a customer, I'm the club president."

"You mean you experimented on yourself with this drug?"

"Here's living proof," Larry said. He undid his trunks and pulled them down, letting it dangle. He was stupendously well hung, the largest I had ever seen.

"How long...I never...my word!" I stammered.

"How long? I've never measured. Why don't you try? I told you you were a size queen," Larry chuckled, gently razzing me while he stood there with his monster cock hanging out for my approbation.

"You have to give this discovery to the world," I marveled.

"Give?" Larry said pulling up his trunks while I popped my boobs back into my top. "My investors and I are going to become filthy rich overnight, guaranteed. That's one reason I accepted your invitation. I'm looking for a few additional investors to cover the start-up cost, and who better to offer this golden opportunity to than my friends from college? You and Dave included."

"What golden opportunity?" Dave asked, returning from the upstairs bathroom. He swayed a little when he walked, a sure sign he'd been overindulging in the Jose Cuervo.

"May I tell him, Larry?"

"Be my guest."

"Dave, Larry here has a little business proposition for us. He says we can get in on the ground floor of a wonderful investment opportunity in a fantastic new product."

"What is it?"

"It's a supplement that does magical things men like."

"Such as?"

I held my breath before saying, "Penis enlargement."

"She's right, Dude. We're launching it nationwide eight weeks from now and we're taking on investors."

"Does it work?" Dave asked. "I mean, aren't all those things fake as hell?"

"This one's the real deal, Neil. The genuine article."

"Prove it." Dave's drunken challenge echoed in the kitchen.

"You're on," Larry said. "Let's go poolside and make an announcement, if you guys have the balls to try it on for size. I'm sure the ladies won't mind."

The three of us went out and Larry, without embarrassment, gave his spiel to the crowd of guests. Without exception, the men were gung ho.

"How long does it take to work?"

"Only about thirty minutes," Larry answered. "You'll actually feel it grow."

"I know the feeling," Rob Cain bragged.

His fat loudmouthed wife Julie replied, "What a memory the man has!"

"How long does it last?"

Larry said, "Couple days to a week. You have to keep taking it to maintain and maximize the effect."

"How big do you get?"

Instead of answering that one, Larry did the dropped trunks thing again. This time it was the wives who oohed and ahhed. The men rushed to line up for samples after Larry's little display.

"Can you take it with alcohol?"

"No problem. There are no side effects and no warnings; all it does is make you bigger."

Every man at the party accepted two capsules from Larry and swallowed them greedily. The next few minutes were a trip, what with the guys trying not to be caught looking down at themselves every couple of seconds waiting for it to work. Embarrassed periods of quiet while the conversation lagged, everybody preoccupied. A lot of nervously told size jokes based on porn stars.

Then it started happening. Men marveled at the sudden changes in themselves. Speedos swelled to bursting, swim trunks tentpoled to startling dimensions. I'm sure I wasn't the only woman at the party to be turned on by the spectacle. Unable to take my eyes away, I don't know if it was Julie, but it sounded like her nasty voice, saying, "We should measure." Despite the source, it seemed to me like a great idea.

"Now girls," Julie said, "let's make it interesting. Instead of each of us measuring her own husband, let's draw lots to see who measures whom? Get the picture?" The wives all giggled like it was a hen party. Julie offered to make as many paper rulers as we needed.

"Better use a yardstick for mine," John Murphy laughed.

"Why don't I make the rulers, Julie?" It was Monica, Larry's gorgeous wife. "I've had a bit less to drink than you. I'll be the designated ruler-maker. Accuracy counts, you know."

Monica did find a yardstick in our closet, marking off inch and half-inch measurements on thirty strips of paper for makeshift tape measures. Someone called out, "Better hurry; I don't know how big this thing's gonna get."

I found myself volunteering to make the lotto slips, numbering two apiece from one to thirty. After handing each male guest a number from one stack, I had the women draw the matching slips from a bowl.

"Hold it up high so there's no cheating," Julie brayed.

"Isn't that what we're all planning on doing?" Monica smirked. "Cheating?"

I held the bowl aloft so no one could read the numbers until everyone had drawn a slip. Then the men lined up with their backs to the pool and each man in turn called out his number. As the host, Dave went first. He called out the number twenty-six.

Julie yelled, "Bingo!" I watched as this woman I barely knew stood before my husband with her fat face and fatter tits, then knelt while he proudly peeled down his swim trunks to reveal an engorged penis at least three-quarters larger than I remembered. "Oh, my!" Julie said with amazement. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Don't forget to measure how big around he is," Monica advised. "Thickness is important too." After a moment's hesitation, all the women laughed in bawdy agreement.

"Is somebody taking this down? Who's our recording secretary?" Julie asked.

"I'll do it," Jen Blaine offered.

"Here goes. Drum roll, please? Thirteen and I swear to God one half inches long," Julie trumpeted. Stunned exclamations from the women. "And just over seven inches around. What a specimen!"

I struggled with my feelings about another woman touching and admiring my husband's penis. But when the touching became fondling, and egged on by the crowd Julie playfully edged her face closer and closer as if about to take Dave's cock in her mouth in front of everybody, I voiced my objection.

"Hold it right there. I think this has gone far enough."

It was Dave who said, "C'mon, Lynn. Lighten up. These are our friends."

I crossed my arms and glared at him. The dirty bastard actually wanted this pig's lips wrapped around his cock. No different from any other man, overlooking the obesity and ogling the big tits.

To break the tension Jen said, "Why don't we see who's next?"

It was big-talking Rob Cain, standing next to Dave, who had number one. When nobody matched it, he looked crestfallen until I realized that in all the excitement I had forgotten to draw a number myself. There was one slip left in the bowl. I drew it. It was number one.

Feeling a need for revenge, if not one-upmanship, I took my place kneeling in front of Rob and right next to Dave and Julie. Rob obligingly slipped off his neon speedo to reveal an uncircumcised cock of truly amazing proportions staring me in the eye. I could feel everyone looking at me, especially Dave, when I cradled Rob's cock in my hands and took the measure of him. Astonished, I redid the measurement, to Rob's delight.

"Hey, no fair, she's making it grow," some man whined in jest.

"Don't stop now," Rob sighed. Not to be outdone, Julie took the head of Dave's cock in her mouth and made audible sucking sounds. Dave moaned with pleasure, his wife three feet away handling another man's penis.

"Fourteen even," I announced, gratified that Rob's was bigger than Dave's. "And eight point five circumference at the base." Dutiful Jen wrote it all down on a yellow pad.

Taking my cue from Julie I grasped and steadied the base of Rob's shaft in both hands and without preamble began sucking him. Even for an uncut cock his was nice and clean and tasted of the chlorine from the pool. The massive head of his cock pressed against my soft palate before I had him all in my mouth. Trying to remember everything I had read about deep-throat techniques on well-endowed men, I first lubricated his entire cock with my saliva. Then I took a deep breath and nose-breathed from my diaphragm, concentrated on relaxing my gag muscles, imagined that I was yawning while I depressed the back of my tongue, then plunged forward, taking the rest of him down to the hairy root. Our guests cheered.

Julie, looking flustered, tried doing the same with my Dave, but got hung up with every attempt before she had him three-quarters into her mouth. From the familiar expression on his face I could tell Dave was beginning to get frustrated and had to cum soon. Every time she withdrew Julie coughed, a sure sign she had no clue how to suppress the gag reflex. I knew Dave was too drunk or too insensitive to pick up on it, and my perceptions were proven accurate when Dave impulsively grabbed Julie by the back of her head and tried to force-fuck her in the face.

We heard a deep belch and retching sound, then a Ralph and splatter as our little Julie puked dinner and drinks all over the pool deck, down the front of her plus-size one-piece bathing suit and onto Dave's big upstanding cock. Mortified, she ran sobbing into the house. I didn't see her again all evening, although I was rather preoccupied making Rob Cain cum for company and then joining in the group action that followed.

To make a long story short, every couple at the party wound up investing anywhere from five to six figures in Larry's little venture. Maybe you're wondering why you've never seen Extra Strength Mansaurus advertised on television. That would be because a few days after the party, Larry and Monica disappeared with all the money. Interpol is still looking for them.

We did get a card postmarked Monte Carlo in Larry's handwriting, saying only, "Isn't it fascinating what the mere power of suggestion, paper rulers substituting centimeters for inches, a couple of generic ginseng capsules and the attentions of a lovely woman can do for the size of a man's endowment? It sure did wonders for mine."

Dave and I both felt so stupid we could barely speak to one another for months, but I never forgot the power of suggestion. Now and then we still get together and make it a threesome with Rob Cain. Julie is never invited.

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