As a promo girl for Monster Energy, I have heard it all. Every joke, every jab, every reference no matter how veiled. There’s always That Guy who can’t help himself and tries to make an awkward pass at me. Or just wants to trick me into thinking about his cock.
It’s fine. It’s the job–bring my best “fuck me” energy to a young male audience and push the brand.
Most people I meet are super chill, thankful for a free can of cold Monster or a cool piece of branded swag. I enjoy hanging with them–at concerts, festivals, competitions–and generally appreciate the freedom of this kind of gig.
The attention is nice too; though you have to balance being friendly and fuckable with being completely unattainable. Leaning into my masc energy pushes away the weaker ones, but the persistent ones need something more direct.
“Got something bigger than this can of Monster?” I challenge, as if that’s a minimum to earn my continued attention. The directness usually flusters them, sending boys scattering away; others accept the can, acting like they’ll prove it, but they usually disappear.
There was one though. He played a different game, and he fucking won.
I fucking won.
When I issued my challenge, it wasn’t to him–that guy skulked off–but he was close enough to hear. He picked up a can, turned it over in his hand, tilting his head to see it from all angles. Then he leaned over the counter and whispered to me, “Is there a prize or something?”
I hit him with the full treatment–a fierce side-eye, cocked eyebrow, finished with a dismissive eyeroll and sigh. But he didn’t move. Barely even reacted, except for a playful little smile.
It wasn’t pushy. It was inviting. And, complemented by his edgy look and boyish charm, it tickled something in me and short-circuited my brain out of the Promo Girl character I played. I snorted and muttered something under my breath that had no business being heard. “Maybe a spot in my DMs.”
And then he turned and walked away.
I didn’t think much of it. I went back to work.
Engage the fans. Hand out the last of my swag. Pack up. Leave.
Once home and showered, I posted my pictures from the event to all my Promo Girl socials. Likes and hearts and follows aren’t worth much, but more of them means more invites to events. Bigger events, bigger checks to throw at my ballooning monthly expenses.
I was about to log out when I saw a new message: Just me tryna earn that spot in your DMs
I braced myself for the inevitable picture, but… there wasn’t one.
We exchanged a few casual messages over the next few days, nothing particularly notable other than how normal he seemed. Smart-ish, capable of holding up his end of the chat, not creepy; ok, so, not “normal”–he was solidly above my average.
I may have swiped through his pics, a quick red-flag-check before directing him to my real Insta, before chatting a few more days and asking him to hang out. I don’t meet a lot of men like him–a hazard of the gig and my general lifestyle–so I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and this mirage of a man to evaporate.
It didn’t over coffee. Or our impromptu dinner. Or on our walk afterward.
It was getting dark, so I asked him to walk me home; I knew I wanted those few more minutes with him and hoped he’d keep proving himself all the way past my front door.
Up the stairs. Through the living room and past my roommate and his friends as they flashed me looks of sass and awe. Into my room.
I jumped onto his skinny frame before even shutting the door.
He stumbled back, knocking it closed with a thud. My thighs squeezed his hips, arms around his shoulders, his hands planted themselves on my ass. I kissed him with all the aggression of a horny 20-something who hasn’t fucked in too long (and had a search history littered with entries like “how much vibrator use is too much”).
Since our first few messages, I had forgotten all about the initial challenge. It didn’t matter. Big cock or not, I didn’t care. It wasn’t what got him a date or an invitation back to my place. Only now, with my legs wrapped around his waist, the crotch of my jeans pressed to his, did it seem relevant.
It was impossible to ignore now.
It felt enormous, irresponsibly large for the tiny frame under all my curves. If either of us had any intent with it, it would take a lot of warming up for me to get there. I hopped off him and flopped backward onto the bed, half-reclining in the most alluring way I could, my chunky boots dangling off the side.
“Want me to turn the lights down?” he asked, still standing at the door.
“Fuck no. I like to see what I’m getting. And you will definitely want to see too. Help me get these off?”
He kneeled next to my bed to free my hips from my painted-on cut-offs with surprising ease. My fingers combed through his tastefully-ruffled hair, his lips pecking softly over my knees. His breath billowed heat between my thighs, teasing at the skimpy cotton of my thong. Over-eager, I twisted my fingers in the neck of his shirt and tugged him closer, drawing his lips up my thigh.
“Don’t be shy. She doesn’t bite; she’s a constrictor.”
“Constrictors bite too.” Any other time, I’d probably adore such pedantry. Not now.
“Well, she doesn’t… and she wants to meet you.” I tried not to sound too bratty, but my mind was singular in focus. I brought you here, to my room, pounced on you immediately and tried to inhale you. Now I’m sitting in my underwear on my bed–dear god, boy, what more must I do?
Ahhh… that conversation. “I got a standard panel 3 months ago–all negative. Two partners since–negative tests–we used protection. I’ve got an IUD so no worries there, if it comes to that.”
Oh, there it is. His face showed his relief, acceptance. His nose brushed me through my thong, his lips grazing me softly through breath-dampened fabric.
“Hold up, hun… your turn.” I wasn’t normally a stickler until much further into things, but fair is fair and better to get it all out now.
“Um. A year ago maybe. Negative.” His expression turned shy. “No partners since.”
“Let’s see about changing that then,” I said. As I reached down to pull my underwear aside, his hand met my collarbone, an invitation to lie back, to let him strip my thong and revel in the sight of my bare pussy.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, sounding taken-aback. “Very sexy.”
“Mmhmm. And she tastes even better–” The words had barely left me when I finally felt him. His lips pressed to me, nibbling down my lips, tongue shyly sliding between them trying to find the bottom of the valley. I moaned my encouragement, it’s not as if it didn’t feel nice; he was just more timid than I was used to, than I expected for his type, and it takes a bit to work to get through fat lips like mine (but it’s worth it).
When his tongue finally reached my hidey little clit, I purred. “Mmmm, fuck yes…” His tongue lapped me in slow strokes, my grip on his hair screaming “harder, so much harder” until he caught on, then keeping him there as I gasped and panted.
His enthusiasm was superb. His moans hummed through me and stoked my own. I was already breathless when his fingers teased me open. Two felt like a perfect little stretch, a shallow pressure that most men skip hastily past on their way to depth; but I suspected I’d need three, even four to get me ready for a cock that felt so big.
I wanted to cum first, of course, which I usually only did one particular way (with partners, at least). “Mind if I flip over for a bit? I promise you’ll like the view.”
He only hummed in response, sending me unexpectedly over the edge, whimpering as my legs closed around his shoulders and my hips chased more pressure from his tongue. “Oh fuck… ok…” I capitulated, legs shaking in anticipation. His lips curled around my clit, sucking as his tongue circled lightly.
I felt like I could explode. And when his tongue flattened and pressed, I did. My fingers tightened in his hair, toes twisting behind his back. My throat squeaked. Chirped. Then spilled a raw groan as my muscles relented.
“Well… damn,” I said, recovering my breath.
“Now you can,” he said, sitting back with a wry smile. “What’s your pleasure?”
The question froze me for a second. It wasn’t only my euphorically-scrambled state; I wasn’t sure a guy had ever asked that question, or at least not that way. I wasn’t even sure what to answer. I bought time with a moaning sigh as I stretched my arms over my head and playfully batted his shoulders with my heels.
“Lick and press, but don’t poke. And more fingering; two to start but add more as you can. I’ll say if it’s too much.”
“Works for me,” he said, hooking my leg and turning me over. “You have a great ass.”
“I know, right?” I bragged, chest sliding flat (as much as possible with these tits) over the bed and arching my back until my ass was high. “Told you.” I wiggled my hips for extra sass and he chuffed back.
His hands spread my fat cheeks wide. That particular sort of stretch always gives me tingles. Light ass-play is such a guilty pleasure of mine, one that rarely gets indulged; it feels extra vulnerable and I’m prone to overthinking. It feels like a relationship thing, not an impromptu hook-up with a guy you just met. But his sort of slow sensuality is exactly how I like to be touched there.
His tongue started at my lips, pressed together tight by my thighs, sliding higher, between my cheeks, over my puckered hole, not stopping until he reached the curve of my back. Fuck, it was nice. His still-wet fingers sunk back into me, pressing down on my g-spot, and his tongue swooped over my asshole with flat, hard insistence.
His tongue was gentle and slow; his fingers, meanwhile, worked faster and pleasantly firm. Two, then three, their tips pounding against my spot, made squelches as gluttonous moans erupted from my throat. A fourth finger was poised between my lips, teasing, warning. “Yesss, more…” I hissed softly into the sheets.
I felt my ass stretching under the heaviness of his tongue’s pressure, too flat to penetrate, but enough to scramble my senses as all four fingers pushed my cunt to its blissful limit. It felt like those first deep breaths after a long night of the heaviest sleep–everything moving back into place.
I shook with another orgasm, all nerve endings firing, tingling; from earlobes to nipples, toes to tailbone–every inch of me felt buzzy and warm.
Catching my breath, I flopped onto my side. He tried to follow, but my palm landed on his t-shirt to interrupt. “You should get naked for me.”
“You first,” he shot back.
“It never takes this long to get my tits out. Usually, that’s like the first thing.” I tucked my hand in the bottom hem, pulled it tight and lifted, sending it into the void between my nightstand and closet. As my fingers pinched the clasp, I added mockingly, “Sure you’re ready?”
“Ooooh,” he said, sucking air. “Yeah, wow.”
“And I’m a slut for titty-play too, just… so you know.”
He took off his tee, casting it to the floor, revealing a body that was more lean than skinny. A gnarly scar traced his ribs, nearly disappearing in their curve and his pale skin. His chest carried a black barbell in one nipple and an angular black fist on the opposite side. A bright medley of colors spilled off his shoulders and threatened his neckline. My type to a fault.
“Like what?” he asked casually, kicking off his shoes.
“Grabbing, sucking, pinching. Clamps are fun, and I really love–”
Denim fell to the floor. Then his cotton boxer briefs. And finally, the truth was revealed.
It wasn’t the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen–aesthetics are tricky at such a scale–but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t truly, truly huge. Thick and heavy-looking, hanging outward from his pelvis, probably well past his toes. Not since my first dick ever have I felt so unprepared. And just like then, I was eager for the challenge.
“Love…?” he prompted.
Dazed, staring, I said, “Maybe not that just yet. But I’m intrigued.”
“No, you said that you love–nevermind.” He laughed, standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with his warm dark eyes. “So… what’s your pleasure?”
“You and that question,” I reminded myself to widen my gaze and take it all in. “If I asked you to come fuck me, does that count?”
He hesitated, explaining he was unprepared, not having thought our date would go this far–his way of apologizing that he hadn’t brought a condom, and presuming I wouldn’t have one that fit.
“Is that a dealbreaker for you?” I asked, still trying to decide my own answer. My nightstand had options, but… I don’t know–fuck it. “If you wanna have me… have me.”
It’s an incredible thing how a dick can react before a face. I watch the negotiation, already knowing which side is going to win and counting the seconds until it does.
One… Two… Thr–
“Ok,” he said–too flatly for my comfort–but he’s only a beat behind. “Yeah, I’m down. I’ll just pull ou–”
My head was already dismissing that idea. “Oh, no. If you’re going to fuck me raw, you’re gonna fill me. That’s like, the best part. Second best–whatever–I like it all.” I motion him closer, taking his monster in both hands, the remaining length stirring equal parts excitement and trepidation. There’s a nervousness in his gait I needed to soothe. “And I want you to give it aaaaall to li’l ol’ me…”
“Your dirty talk is…”
“Weak compared to my other skills,” I purred with my lips grazing the tip of his dick. They slid wet down the side, a low-stakes test of my jaw flexibility, with my tongue pressing him from between them. “And. I. Have. Maaaany,” I said on exaggerated breaths. He let out a shivering exhale, his body finding ground through my touch.
My fingers squeezed him, unable to quite circle the base, bringing veins bulging to the surface and turning his head a rosier shade. It looked good in my hand, almost familiar–a thick white monster that made my olive fingers look almost delicate by comparison, their sparkling black nails laid down its back like a row of scales.
Stroking him in my hands, my lips still teasing his head, I looked up at him. “I think you’re almost as ready as I am.”
I reclined back onto the bed, my knees around his thighs, sliding my legs up and down the backs of his, twisting a nipple between two fingers while my other hand beckoned him to pounce.
He leaned down and crawled onto the bed, onto me, my legs wrapping tighter, fingers losing themselves again in his messy hair. His cock dragged along my thigh as he kissed me. It threatened at my lips and I reached down to part them.He carefully pressed forward, our hips closing, meeting.
I was fuller than I’d ever been–more than with that big-dicked-douchebag I dated for too long, more than that silicon werewolf cock I bought on a whim, or the evil-looking dragon cock I bought months later–and then I got fuller. I couldn’t think; I could only try to relax and just feel.
And he let me.
His fingers stroked my cheek as I sipped my breaths, feeling like his cock was big enough to stop my lungs from filling any further. “You feel amazing,” he said.
Finally, a smile crept over my face. A deeper breath. I lost myself in the sparkle of his eyes again. “You do too, it’s just… so much, but… in the best of ways.” I sounded like I was swooning–and maybe I was–whatever he had done to me, whatever he was doing was working hard on me.
“Ready for the rest?” he asked. My stomach would have dropped, if it had anywhere to go. “Kidding…” he chuckled. “I think that’s probably it for you.”
“We could try… Oh fuck,” I whimpered as his hips flexed. “Oh… do that again…” His hips pressed harder, staying there rather than backing out. “Oh my fuck…” I swear I felt him in my chest.
His gentle, short strokes made my head swim. I didn’t know how much more I could take, how much more he had to give, and I feared actually getting fucked this deep, stretched in all dimensions. I craved more of the not-quite-pain–satisfying and promising the unknown. As long as it was from him.
The whirlwind of the evening had swept me.
His chest pressed tight to mine, his lips nibbling my hot ears. I loved that I didn’t have to tell him to go easy. Easy was just his way, and–for once–it was plenty for me. It felt perfect (if a bit much). He was reading my moans, my writhing, my breaths; adjusting his angle and depth and speed.
If his cock felt great, the connection felt better. It wasn’t about a sweaty, hot orgasm anymore–a feeling swelled in my chest that I hadn’t felt in way-too-fucking-long. Can’t be. Couldn’t be. I’m just emotionally vulnerable from loneliness and too much bad history. I’m stupid and drunk on monster cock.
Hot tension welled inside me, my walls clenching frantically, stifled by his unrelenting girth. He felt it too, his pace building, urgency seeping into his muscles and coming out in his strokes. I was in freefall. Out of control, drowning in dopamine and sensory overwhelm. Too much. Not enough. More more fucking more.
“I’m close,” he strained.
“Give me everything,” my subconscious begged out loud. “Fucking filllllll meeeeeeeee…” I moaned, exasperated, as he did just that; I felt him pulse. Spurt. A new level of fullness that sent me reeling. Hotter. Fuller. Moaning. Tears pushed from between clenched lids, zig-zagging down my face as I shook.
His hips kept rolling, his lean frame collapsing over my curves. “You were incredible,” he whispered. His breath hitching on my neck. Fuller. Wetter. Hotter. Tighter. Gasping.
I only said, “Thank you,” my usual snark remaining lost in the chaos. “That was… something else entirely.”
We stayed there, his body draped over mine, humming together. Cooling. Convalescing.
“Thirsty?”
He nodded and settled next to me, his eyes roaming over me with a bit of awe (if I may).
“Hang on,” I said, bouncing out of bed and across my room, returning with a coy smile and two cans of white Monster. He cracked his and took a healthy gulp, sitting up on his heels.
“I just have to know,” I said before opening mine. I curled up below him, holding the can alongside his cock and pressing my lips to the tip.
He tried to argue. “I’m not exactly at my best here.”
“You’ve still got it beat with plenty to spare, now hush.” I held out my phone to snap a few lurid shots. It wasn’t something I’d normally do, but I had to see the comparison–his cock with the can and my body for perspective. Click
I wanted to see how impressed with myself I should be–click–how obscene it all was–click–how messy and fucked-out I looked after feeling cute all evening. Click
“Well, I guess that’s that,” he said before rolling off the bed. “Got your trophy…”
“Oh… no, no no. It’s not that at all,” I said, catching him by the wrist. “I was only curious. Wanted to see us–look at this and tell me we don’t look sexy. Your cum looks like it’s gushing out of me. God, look at my tits. Your cock. It’s all so hot.”
His expression agreed, but his body still leaned toward the exit.
“I’m faaaaaar from done with you. By the way.” I looked up at him with big eyes, hoping he’d see my sincerity.
“Really?” he sounded surprised.
“That ok?”
“Yeah, of course.” He smiled, turning ever-so-slightly back toward me. “I’d love to see you again. Whenever,” he added casually, reaching for his clothes.
“Why wait?” I beckoned him back with a finger and my sultriest effect. “One can is never enough for a thirsty gal like me…”
When I woke up, I threw on some clothes–a cut-off logo tank, my booty shorts from the night before, the studded leather choker and cuff I inadvertently still had on, and my faithful beanie–and hopped downstairs to the cafe where my roommate works.
He batted his eyes at me insistently from across the counter. “Spill it, girl.”
I could feel myself blushing, taking solace in the cover of my melanin. “What? Nothing to spill.” If he only he knew I was in fact spilling–still–and wondering when the last of it would finally slip out from my depths.
“Mmhmm. I know what I heard.” He fiddled with the knobs and levers on the espresso machine. “Out with it.”
Truthfully, I was eager to tell him, though this wasn’t really the place. “You have no idea.”
“I have a lot of ideas. Some new ones today.” His eyes stared right through me. “…thanks to YOU.”
Snickering, I fished my phone out of my pocket. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, so…” I held up my phone, the picture I took the night before.
He recoiled, shocked, with wide eyes. “That… wow… that… explains a few things. Most of all, that big goofy grin and the way you floated in here. I’m not even touching those starry eyes.”
Dropping my head, bashful, I shrugged it off. I didn’t think it was so obvious, but if anyone knew how to read me, it was him. Truthfully, it felt nice to wear my happiness, letting the warmth wash over me every time I thought about my night.
“Seeing him again then?”
“In a few,” I said with a smirk. “He’s still sleeping. Thought I’d grab us some breakfast.”
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