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He went slowly but it didn’t matter. As the mushroom shaped head of his cock entered me, I slapped the mirror and nearly broke it. The pain was immense. But I wanted it. I held still, frozen in place, as he fed it into me.
I huffed and puffed and took it a little deeper.
“Slowly,” I said.
“Yes, baby.”
He was probably only a fourth of the way in when my eyes teared up like I was chopping a fucking onion or something. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it. He rolled his hips from side to side and it felt like someone had poured lighter fluid all over me and tossed a match.
“I can’t,” I said as I pulled off him and crashed against the mirror. “I just can’t. I’m so sorry. I physically can’t. You’re trying to drive a train through the eye of a needle.”
His brow furrowed. He was confused.
“Your dick is too big,” I said.
“Mandy?” Ben called from somewhere in the store.
If he’d only shown up a few minutes ago I wouldn’t feel like I’d eaten a jalapeno cocktail and pissed it out.
“We can make it work,” Braden Bot said.
Make it work? Unless you plan on finger fucking me through our entire relationship, there will be no making it work.
He was so hopeful. I didn’t want to be the one to break his heart, to be that bitch, but I knew I would be.
“I need to get dressed,” I said, pulling up my panties and fishing for my bra.
He was so sweet, helping me fasten it, then pulling my dress over my shoulders.
“We’re good together,” he said. “You have to see me again.”
“Maybe I will,” I said as I reached around his neck and pulled him down so I could kiss his cheek.
Braden Bot stayed in the dressing room for a while, probably too embarrassed to come out. I felt like shit for leading him on but I’d tried to warn him. He was a good guy and he’d eventually find a good woman with a giant, hollow pussy that could handle him. There had to be some out there, right? Some genetically mutated person. Like a sex-charged member of the X-Men or something. A She-Hulk of sorts.
Ben bought his suit and we left. I went home to ice my pussy with a pack of frozen peas, swearing it was the last time I’d attempt a go at Braden Bot.
Chapter 3 – No Place Like Home
The date of the reunion rolled around quickly. As much as I dreaded the event itself, I did look forward to visiting home, not that I expected it to have changed much.
As predicted, home was pretty much the same. The video store became a Hooters and the arcade evolved into a Build-A-Bear. Build-A-Bear. What an awesome concept. Kids go into a store with empty hands and come out the proud owner of a stuffed pet they helped create and name. As Ben drove past the strip mall, I couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to have a Build-A-Man.
Not a stuffed man, although that might be a great idea too. A man who never opens his mouth. What am I thinking? He absolutely needs to open his mouth. That’s where we do the stuffing.
Imagine walking into a store and pointing at an empty shell of a man. You can choose his coat color. Is he white, black, slightly tan? How full will he be? Will he be big in the arms, big in the legs, big in the belly? Of course you’ll stick some extra stuffing in the dick area. That’s a must.
Then comes the heart. How big a heart do we choose? It’s no secret that women love to love the bad boy. We think that’s what we want. Then he treats us like shit so we finally, after years of contemplation combined with terrible taunts and magnificent makeup sex, hit the road.
Nice guys, the kind who might have a gigantic heart, usually tend to be kinda boring. Right? I hate to say it, but it’s the truth. Where a bad boy would bend you over the hood of his car, right there in the garage, and pound the hell out of you with the garage door slightly ajar, the good boy will usually expect missionary or maybe, if you’re lucky, some riding.
The bad boy will be willing to try the fucking wheelbarrow move if you ask for it and will be glad to talk dirty to you. The good boy? Maybe doggy…when he’s been drinking. Any foul language in the sack might scare the hell out of him.
Reminds me of that guy from my diary entry, the one who wanted me to suck his cock but then said he wasn’t comfortable with going down on me? Remember that? Fuck that. If a man doesn’t eat pussy, you’re gonna find that Build-A-Man in the dumpster…or the incinerator.
So I’m thinking we might need to put a mid-size heart. Something not too tiny but not big enough that we have to hear about his mama all day.
Of course, with a Build-A-Man we get to dress him too. Do you like cargo shorts and a vintage T-shirt, a suit and tie, a biker jacket, or maybe he walks around shirtless all day…or pantless too for that matter. Oh, the possibilities.
