The Biggest Dick

Great, we're out of here, thought Dave. Wait, what? Couple number two? Dave tried to parse out the words, his mind suddenly clouded. That meant him and Brenda! They'd been selected! This was really happening! He was barely even aware of Rocky's voice as he affected to consult the other couple (still mic'd and amped of course): "Amy, Chas, that was a bold choice! Dave here looks like a guy who's been around." Then the emcee turned to mug some more for the crowd, "What do you think folks? Who is the manliest? The meatiest? Who is packing the most firepower down there? Is it Chas? Is it Dave? Let's find out!"

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As soon as the cameras cut off an assistant bustled over and handed them another check, for $20,000. Absently Dave stowed it in his pocket. The other couples wandered off, and the production crew began prepping the stage for the main event. A warm-up comic kept the crowd aroused with some deeply uninspired chants. This horny mob couldn't care less about his lack of wit. WHIP IT OUT! Dave and Brenda milled around, following the directions of the coordinators. PUMP IT UP! Dave wished he'd read the contestant information more carefully, but he recalled the basic outlines of the trial to come. STICK IT IN! Both men would strip off. Then each would have ten minutes to reach full extension, with the aid of their spouse. BALLS TO THE WALL! Finally, official measurements would be made of each contestant, with the longer cock claiming the victory. FILL HER UP!

Abruptly the decibel level dropped a bit, the recording-lights came back on, and it was time to begin. Why the hell did I want to get on stage and flap my dick around? Dave cursed himself. Anyone who knew him would have seen that his face was had turned a couple of shades redder than usual. His jaw muscles worked slightly. But it was too late to do anything about it now. Everything he cared most instinctively about, everything his most primitive self desired—at this moment, all these things were riding solely on the size of his cock.

Dave stepped up onto the platform. Affecting coolness, he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it from his shoulders, and stripped off his tee. Next he slipped off his loafers and socks, unzipped his khakis and dropped them around his ankles. He hesitated a barely perceptible moment, and then—prodding himself: just get it over with—yanked down his boxers and stepped out of them. There he stood, basking in the lights, chilled in this pit of his stomach, wearing nothing but a forced smile. Dave had promised himself to get in shape over the last three months, but there had just never seemed enough time to get to the gym. Still, he had a nice, proportional, reasonably toned physique—bit of a 'dad bod' perhaps, but a quality one. And, at the thought of thousands of women across the world admiring him (especially his best assets), his cock began to prick up, and confidence with it.

As he looked over at Chas, the feeling intensified. Yes, the man was tall, but lanky, stringy, with a sunken chest and pimples. Low testosterone. One never knew for sure until the dick was erect, of course, but a distinct feeling of triumph had begun to crystalize in Dave's mind, and his mouth began to salivate.

Once both contestants were fully revealed, a screen was raised between them, so that they couldn't get any 'unfair advantage' by watching the erotic ministrations of the competing wife. Of course all the shenanigans were filmed in close-up, from multiple angles, for the audience monitors and the viewing public at home.

Although she had been quiet and withdrawn through all the hubbub, Brenda did understand what she had to do now, and she got down to business. Brenda didn't love giving blow-jobs at the best of times, let alone in front of a studio audience. Dave's dick was just such a big mouthful that it was hard not to gag on it. Still, at home, she was willing to get down on her knees and 'worship the idol' (as he put it) from time to time, and had become quite competent at it over the years.

During the preceding days, she and Dave had (haltingly, elliptically) plotted their strategy for this part of the contest. They'd already refrained from sex for over two weeks, to ensure Dave's hard-on would be at its best. It went without saying that he needed to avoid blowing his load now—that would be an automatic loss. Still, Dave didn't envision this being a problem under the circumstances. No, the key would be the pacing: making sure they built up slowly, and peaked at exactly the ten-minute mark.

Brenda took a sidelong glance at the game clock from time to time as she milked and kneaded and coaxed and willed Dave's member toward its full glory. She was clearly trying to pretend there was no crowd, no cameras, no satellites beaming images of her husband's dick in her mouth all around the world. And he had to admit, her steely, mechanical focus on the task at hand was flat-out impressive.

She began by licking Dave's balls and nuzzling his groin. She gave the tip a kiss with slightly parted lips, and then began moving her tongue smoothly along his shaft, from base to tip. For the first couple of minutes Dave found it hard to match her concentration, what with the lights, Rocky's corny encouragements, the yells and jeers from the crowd, and the sheer strangeness of it all. He was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be able to get it up.

Still, with an effort of will, he was able to close his eyes and erect mental barriers to keep the distractions at bay. He focused his attention on the feel of Brenda's lips on his skin, the rhythmic darts of tongue and neck that pricked up the hairs on his neck. He looked down and watched as she sucked in as much of him as she could, stroked the shaft with a confident regularity, and bobbed her head, ever faster and more assertively. For a minute, horny as he was, he almost lost control and loosed a stream of cum in Brenda's mouth. God this was sexy! But then he got ahold of himself, and concentrated on keeping the maximum level of arousal as they headed into the final seconds.

The bell chimed. Brenda disengaged (a thread of saliva trailing from her lips to his glans) and looked away, while the buxom, scantily clad 'umpire' jiggled over for the official assessment of his rod. She took a state-of-the-art laser measurement and wrote something on the card. Peeking over her shoulder, Dave read 7 7/8. He felt deflated. Would it be enough?

-----

The wait that followed wasn't long, but it was excruciating. Dave mind wandered to the people watching at home, maybe a few weeks from now. Surely they'd be sitting through a dense block of commercials cut into the tape at this point. As the ads for vegetable peelers and eczema cremes droned on, they'd speculate lightly, idly, fleetingly, about which of these two losers would be humiliated after the break... and about which wife would get fucked...

Then Rocky had both cards in his hands and Dave snapped back to the present. The emcee stretched the moment out as long as he could, but there wasn't much more to be said at this point. "Well, folks, that was an exciting round of action. Brenda, Amy, I have to say, you both really went all-out for the team. Didn't they folks? Didn't they? Let's give them a hand! (scattered applause, hoots, wolf-whistles)..." He lowered his voice and adopted a more sympathetic tone. "It's really a shame... truly a shame... that now, one of you two lovely ladies, has to... lose... I mean that from my heart... But," brightening up, "that's the game, and we've all gotta play by the rules!" Dave looked over at Brenda, standing a couple of feet to his right, and saw her staring defiantly out and slightly up into the crowd, a fixed expression on her face.

"Now, what do you think?! It's about time to see those results, isn't it?! How about it people? Do you want to find out whose meat is the most? (cheers, stamping of feet). I know I do. Let's see which of these boys came up short, and which is the man who can truly claim to be THE BIGGEST DICK!" With a theatrical flourish, Rocky gave an ostentatious stare at the cards. "Dave, here, clocked in just shy of eight inches, at a mighty 7 7/8! Wow, that is a really nice rod you've got Dave. It's got some heft to it!" He gave a fake-confidential turn to the audience: "I'll be honest, my wife wishes I was hung like that!" Then back to the couples, "What do you think Chas, think you can top that?" Chas' adam's-apple gave a visible gulp. "The lovely Delilah here measured Chas with scientific precision, and the number she came up with... was... 7 1/2 inches! Ooh, ouch Chas! But congratulations to you, Dave, you are officially THE BIGGEST DICK!"

Dave felt Brenda relax, her shoulders slumping slightly by his side. He tried unsuccessfully to conceal a smirk as he glanced over at the other couple. Chas' was trying to be stoic, but his upper lip quivered and his back bowed, further accentuating his hollow chest. Amy's mouth fell ever so slightly open, and her already pale skin became visibly whiter. Dave's half-flaccid member began to rev up again at the thought of what was to come.

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The coordinator walked over and handed Dave a check for $30,000. He had nowhere to stow it, so he handed it to Brenda. Her slacks had no pockets, so she just kept it crumpled in her hand. Jeez, Dave thought to himself, we've won over $50,000—like a year's salary almost—and I honestly couldn't care less. No, it's all been for this moment—to prove my manhood, to possess someone new... someone forbidden... He hoped Brenda was happy that they'd already earned more than a year at Stanford.

Dave never had asked the producers if he really had to go through with fucking the woman after he won, and Brenda had never brought it up again. Maybe, he told himself, we'd have to return the check if I'm not able to seal the deal with Amy. Surely the gameshow wants to see some action. Of course, he didn't know that that was true—and (if he was capable of being honest with himself) he didn't care. Anyway, Brenda hadn't read the rulebook, so he could always tell her that was the case.

Once more, the rhythm of the television production had its own logic. Dave found himself standing around, quite literally, with his dick in his hand, while the sets were again rearranged and transformed. No one bothered to drape a robe around him—it simply wasn't that kind of show. Brenda was supposed to remain onstage, but she edged toward the perimeter of the contestant area, while continuing to stare off into space. Chas and Amy fidgeted in the opposite corner, looking down at the floor and shifting their weight anxiously. In the middle of the stage, Dave watched, nonplussed, as a bizarre contraption of straps, metal rods, and pads was wheeled out. It looked as if a g-force simulator had made a love child with a weight-machine.

A technician hustled over and handed Dave a sort of joystick, or game controller. Damn, he thought, I really should have read that game information packet! Rocky must have noted his blank look. Sidling next to him, the emcee whispered conspiratorially in his ear: "don't worry, man, the tolerances are all carefully set. There's no way you can hurt her."

While Dave was still wondering what the hell that meant, filming resumed. "Amy, Amy, Amy... My sweet, sweet Amy!" Rocky piped up. She twitched and looked up at the host, glassy eyed. "Girl, you've been around this rodeo before, and you know what comes next. It's time to let Dave see just exactly what he has won!" Even if Dave hadn't been looking, he could have detected Rocky's lopsided, leering grin just from the timbre of his voice.

Amy stumbled slightly as she followed Delilah's directions and moved toward the center platform, at the focal point of the spotlights. As he watched her traverse the stage, Dave wondered if Amy had anticipated needing to take off this outfit, or whether she had been confident that Chas' dick would save her. Was this green dress the attire of someone expecting to be stripped bare, or of someone confident in remaining veiled and in control. He didn't know. But he could not wait to see that dress fall to the floor. He felt more alive than ever before in his life.

There was no raunchy music, no pole or curtains, no fans or scarves, no drumroll, no drunk businessmen with dollars in their hands. It was just a woman, standing alone on a platform in a relentless glare of light, with the eyes of hundreds of people, thousands of viewers, tensed to devoir every inch of her body. The precise mechanics, at this point, were all up to her—she could take as long as she wanted, she could follow any sequence she wanted. The producers didn't care, since they could always cut the tape later. The more angst, the better, as far as they were concerned. Whatever happened, it would end the same way: a woman, standing alone at the center of attention, naked and defenseless, for anyone and everyone to see.

As she stood on the platform, weighed down by the gaze of a thousand eager eyeballs, Amy continued to fidget. She twiddled indecisively with the upper button of her dress. She stepped out of her shoes, knocking one on its side in the process. (Her pearly feet were delicate, Dave noted.) And there she remained, in her bare feet, just... standing there. "You're doing fine Amy!," Rocky's booming voice sliced raggedly through the stifling atmosphere. "Go ahead and take your time. You can strip it off at whatever pace you like." Amy cringed slightly, her head shying down and away from the emcee, and she looked like she wanted to crawl out of the circle of light.

Then she took a shallow breath, set her mouth, and made what peace she could with the situation. Hands shaking ever so slightly, she began, slowly and systematically, to unbutton the front of the dress. Gradually the front vee'd open, and Dave craned to see beneath, to the pale, smooth sweep of her sternum, and the hints of sheen from a dark, silk bra. Then she pulled first one arm and then the other from the sleeves, and with a swish the dress fell to the floor.

Dave liked the clean, elegant lines of Amy's lingerie—she was wearing a pair of french-cut panties to match the bra. The contrast of wine-dark silk against her pale skin pleased him. Hungrily he took in the subtle but enchanting curves of her chest, and the ever-so-slight swelling of pubic bone beneath her panties that just beckoned for a cupped hand. Truth was, she didn't really need to have a bra on at all. But Dave liked the modesty and attention to detail that Amy's choices revealed. And maybe her nipples were sensitive.

He had only a minute to enjoy the view, however, because Amy was now fully committed. With practiced hands she reached back and unhooked the bra, showcasing the willowy curve of her arms. That done, the bra slid easily to the ground. With a quick motion, the panties followed, and there she was, standing there, unclothed and supremely vulnerable. Dave swallowed hard.

Even as his eyes bugged at the sight before him, his attention was momentarily distracted by a movement off to his right. Glancing sidelong he saw that Brenda's distant stare had wavered, transformed into a frank, direct gaze which was clearly recording Amy's naked form in fine detail. Brenda looked away again soon enough, but anyone watching would have seen that she had felt compelled to appraise the woman that her husband was about to penetrate, however much she might have preferred not to. Whether this inspection stirred up any emotions remained unclear—the neutral mask had quickly settled back over Brenda's face.

Dave, at any rate, was oblivious to such nuances, for he had returned almost immediately to savoring his conquest. The brief moments that followed seemed to last an hour, and remained etched in his memory to his dying day. And no wonder! This wasn't some porn video or VR simulacrum. It wasn't a tawdry lunch-hour fling, or a purchased and defiled hooker. No, by God, this was a real woman, a beautiful, desirable woman, an unavailable woman... and now, his woman. And there was not a damn thing she could do about it—she was his whether she liked it or not.

His eyes lapped up the delicate curve of her shoulders and clavicle, covered before by the pads and quarter-sleeves of her dress. He delighted in her breasts—small and dainty, a nice change from Brenda's more ample bosom. One might argue Amy's tits didn't offer a lot to grab onto, he supposed, yet he tingled and throbbed with the irresistible magnetic attraction they exerted on his hands. And the nipples were perfect, a rosy pink, half-dollar size, with delicate little nubs poking discernably skyward. Amy's twin beauties had never nursed any babies, that was clear.

Looking back later (and, to be candid, Dave did record the show, and for years continued to jerk off while watching this part) Amy's midriff could have used a little conditioning. Her torso didn't pinch in nearly as distinctly as Brenda's—a result, no doubt, of the seriousness with which his wife exercised and watched her weight. In time, Amy might even run a bit tubby around the middle. In that moment, however, Dave was blind to such details. Instead, his eyes travelled unerringly downward, until they landed squarely on Amy's delightful little pussy.

Her adorable pubic mound, nestled between slightly jutting hipbones, was even more lovely shed of its silken wrapper. Dave knew modern sensibilities tended to prefer the bald look, but he remained a fan of a bit of hair. He had no interest in a wild-woman, of course, but a generous tuft down there made him feel like he was with a real woman. Amy, he saw, had left a nice, trimmed strip—a strip that beckoned invitingly to the split of her labia—while neatly shaving the rest. Perfect, Dave thought with a sigh. Even better, although her legs were squeezed tight together, and her hips were slender, the curve of Amy's thighs left a gap at her crotch, allowing a ray of light to peek through and highlight the outer folds of her pussy, where the tip of her clit poked playfully out. Just seeing that gap, one naturally wanted to wedge one's hands into it and start prying it open. God I want to get inside her!, Dave thought.

-----

Dave's dick stuck straight out now, veering slightly left as it always did. It was as hard as a rock, and he could see it twitching in time with the blood rushing in his ears. "Whooooah, baby girl!" Rocky crooned into his mic, "you are one smoking hot mama! Mother Mary, I love those perky little tits... Wait now! Hooooooooold on just a minute! Did I just see that? I say folks, did I see that? Amy—did I just make your nipples hard?" Amy gaze was slightly downward and to the side again. She was evidently aiming for serene, but the result was closer to glum. The ends of her lips turned down slightly and quivered. Her nipples had already been hard, ever since she had shrugged off her bra and revealed her tits to... well, to everyone.

Rock rambled on. "What do you think folks? I don't know when we last had a woman up here whose little girls stood at attention like that... And then there's that pussy of yours, ooh, that's one sweet little package. Jeez, Chas, I bet you like to get in there whenever you can..." Chas remained in the corner, his dick hanging limp, and he didn't bother to acknowledge the host's jibe. Rocky didn't care, and he turned back to the winner. "Damn, Dave, I can see you're ready to go anyway. You are one lucky man—don't tell my wife, but I have to admit I'm more than a little jealous of you right now!" At this, Dave glanced toward Brenda again, but she was still affecting disinterest, and mostly seemed focused on remaining steady until it was all over.

"OK Amy, now it's time for the main event. It's time for Dave to take his winnings. Get it, TAKE his winnings! And by that I mean, TAKE whatever the goddamn hell he wants!" Actually, this wasn't strictly true. Although he had only skimmed the rules, Dave had managed to ascertain that the woman was not required to concede either oral or anal sex. He wasn't quite sure why—logistical issues maybe, or legal. Nor, of course, could any serious pain or injury be inflicted; Dave wasn't into that kind of stuff anyway.