Size King

by S. C. Adams

  She searched for ‘Mason Wrightwood delivery,’ and the top search result gives us the answer to our dire question. Wrightwood has only one delivery service, highly rated, and the founder named the company after himself.

  “Mason Dunn at Dunn Deliveries,” declares Emma. “You are the father!”

  26

  Mason

  I’m sitting in my recliner by the roaring fire in my open fireplace, soaking up all the warmth I can against the brisk, bitter cold.

  There is snow, so driving is going to be a major pain in the ass. It’s a Monday in mid-January, which means it will likely be slow for my business. I once again choose to work from the “office,” allowing my employees to make some money, and allowing myself to relax away from the freezing temperatures. As far as snow days go, I don’t expect it to be a hellish nightmare.

  What I don’t expect is to receive company. I seldom ever hear a knock on my door unsolicited, so whenever I do, it’s initially unnerving until I get a look at the person from a window. I can’t get a good look at my mystery knocker from the windows nearest to the front door, so I resort to the peephole.

  I am shocked to discover that my visitor is none other than Jillian, the one that got away. She looks nervous, flustered, and freezing.

  I open the door and usher her inside immediately. I take her outer layers from her, hanging them up by the door.

  “Hi, Jillian!” I say with amusement. “Were you just in the neighborhood?”

  She laughs, rubbing her palms together hoping to start a fire. “Hi, Mason.”

  “Um, what are you doing here?” I ask.

  “We need to talk,” she says sternly. “I would have called or emailed or something, but I feel like you deserve to have this conversation with me in person.”

  I have no idea what she has to tell me, and I would never have predicted my day to include Jillian being at my house. I’ve imagined her being there, but I haven’t expected it to come true.

  At first, I suspect it has something to do with her leaving the beach house in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. I quickly disregard that theory the longer I see the seriousness etched on her beautiful face.

  “How did you find out where I lived?” I ask. “I’m a private guy with little social media presence. How did you pull it off? My own friends can’t find my house after I’ve given them two sets of directions.”

  “I found your full name through Google,” she answers. “I remembered some of the stuff you mentioned about this town. I asked around a few places, and some nice young woman was kind enough to send me up here. Full disclosure—you aren’t the first house I tried. There was some trial and error.”

  “Well, you made it,” I say. “Now, we can have our personal conversation.”

  I am visibly uncomfortable. I had been left during the night without a farewell, and now, here she is blindsiding me. Had it not been for the brisk winds and freezing temperatures, I might have considered not answering the door at all. I am hesitant to let her stay for long because I get the sense that she might be a girl into games. Games or not, she looks damn good which made me glad I did answer the door and that I let her in.

  I do wish that I had an inkling of what to expect from my surprise guest.

  “Thanks for letting me in,” says Jillian. “First off, I’m going to be sort of jumping all over the place, so try to keep up, all right?”

  “I’ll do my best,” I promise.

  “I want you to understand that I’m not here for money,” she says. “I’m not here for anything, in fact. I’m not pulling any tricks. I’m not lying to you in the slightest, but I am hitting you with some major revelations. Just so you know.”

  As she explains, it slowly dawns on me. It’s clicking, and my slow brain is finally operating again, and this time, it’s in overdrive.

  “I wanted to tell you the truth because it’s the right thing to do,” says Jillian. “I’ve only known it since Saturday, so I haven’t known about it for long. I made sure that the tests were coming back correct.”

  “Just please,” I beg. “What is it, Jillian?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  I know it’s coming, but it’s still like getting hit by a boulder. I don’t even make it to the couch or my recliner—I sit on the floor, likely making her think I am going insane. I have to make sure to keep breathing evenly.

  “Okay,” I pant. “So, you’re—holy shit.”

  She looks guilty as she watches me sit and rock back and forth like a mental patient. I can’t stop shaking my head, attempting to process what I’ve just heard.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” I say.

  “I guess since I freaked out, it’s okay that you do, too,” she says.

  “Are you sure? Do you know that it’s mine?”

  “I haven’t slept with anyone else since the night we hooked up,” she tells me. “And before that night, I hadn’t slept with someone in several months. It’s yours.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to swallow. “So, what, then? You say you’re not asking for money or anything. But then, you track me down, come to my house, and say you’re pregnant, even though I wore a condom, a condom you gave me.”

  “I didn’t purposefully give you a bad condom, Mason.”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m saying you have awful, shit taste in condoms. We should sue those ineffective prick sons-of-bitches.”

  “You have every right to be mad, or upset, or confused,” she says empathetically. “I’m all three of those things. But don’t go through a messy court battle over a condom when it’s possible we broke it during our amazing sex.”

  “Hmm, I suppose I could concede to that possibility,” I say. “I don’t know anything right now. I’m in a state of shock, excuse me.”

  Even though I feel that I have the right to sit wherever I want in my home and dwell on what Jillian is telling me, I still feel inappropriate sitting in the middle of the floor while she stands there watching me, making sure I don’t hang myself or jump off the roof.

  I stand to my feet, taking a deep breath as I do so.

  “I have test results from my doctor if you wanted to see for sure.”

  “I believe you,” I say. “I guess my next question is, what do you want to do?”

  “First, I wanted you to know,” she replies. “I understand why you went to L.A. that night. You wanted to get laid. Which is fine because that’s what I wanted, too. I don’t blame you for knocking me up because the sex we had was fucking phenomenal.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I concur. “Or maybe I won’t drink to that. Apparently, when I drink, I get girls I don’t know pregnant.”

  “My point is,” she continues. “We were a fling that got out of hand. I don’t expect you to go buy a ring and propose just because I’m pregnant.”

  “Good, because I’m not going to.”

  “I’m not expecting anything from you,” she states. “You can be involved with this baby, or you don’t have to be involved at all.”

  “But what are you going to do?” I ask again. “Are you keeping it? What options are you weighing?”

  Tears begin spilling down her cheeks. “I’m not sure.”

  She breaks down crying, nearly collapsing onto the floor. I hurry over to sit beside her. I hate seeing her cry.

  I embrace her, holding her close to me while she sobs into my shoulder. I’m not sure if I’m comforting her or not, but I’m doing my best to try. Just being that close to each other is a tonic that soothes my anxiety.

  “You’ll figure it out,” I whisper. “You don’t need to know everything right this minute. Things will start making sense and get better. I promise.”

  She continues to cry, her tears soaking through my sweater. I stroke her hair, keeping a firm hand on the back of her neck.

  “You’re not alone, you know,” I tell her. “I mean, I need time to think about this, but I’m not going to ghost you. That would be totally uncool. Tell me what I need
to do to help, and I’ll do my best to be here.”

  Holding Jillian as closely as I am also sparks something between us. I’m not sure if she had ulterior motives when we started to cuddle on the floor, but I can’t help but notice that my imagination is getting away from me.

  She moans quietly a few times to herself. “Thank you. I love the way you hold me.”

  I squeeze her even harder. “Good. I love holding you in my arms.”

  She readjusts her arm so that she can caress my neck with her soft hands. I scratch her back, trying desperately to keep my hands in appropriate areas of her body. Then, we sit and hug each other for several quiet minutes, not moving or speaking. I try to quiet my racing pulse as my body responds to holding her soft curves. For a while, I suspect that she has fallen asleep in my arms—I am wrong.

  “If you really want to help me,” she says quietly. “You’ll push your big, thick cock back inside my aching walls.”

  The spark ignites to light our fire. She begins to kiss my neck, softly and sweetly at first. Then, she wets her lips to make sure she is properly tenderizing my skin as she sends shivers down my spine.

  She is experiencing emotional chaos; we both are. I debate with myself about the ethics and logistics of the decision we are about to make. Will we give in to our carnal temptations yet again? Can we suppress our animalistic urges and just be there for each other as companions or even friends? I know the answer to that.

  27

  Jillian

  Once our eyes finally meet, there is no stopping it. Any chance of building a platonic base for our union seems impossible at that moment. We have to have each other.

  We kiss, holding each one longer than the last. My body responds, relaxing into his arms. I forget about the stress from the past week, allowing myself to focus on his strong body and luscious lips. His kisses truly are sensual and forceful, and they instantly make me feel like we could get through this pregnancy together. His passion is flowing through his kisses, and his desire is making me want him bad.

  He takes us over to the couch, keeping our lips securely locked on the way. The fact that he is able to move with any sort of composure and suddenly seem not worried about the future, moments after hearing he is going to be a father, is heroic and unexpected. He is a stallion with strength and resilience.

  He starts removing my clothes layer by layer. I have both of my hands right where they want to be: gripping his dick firmly. He strips me the same way he is kissing me: slowly and sensuously. He isn’t rushing through it just to fuck me; he is being romantic.

  Once all of my top layers are gone, he uses his big, strong hands to rub my back while we make out on his couch. His assertive touch sends tingles up my spine. I feel waves of pleasure with what he is doing to my back. Mason is a master of joy and someone whose manliness is so potent that I got pregnant even while using a condom. I want to feel his come running down my throat.

  I start to remove his pants, hoping to taste his cock and try his flavor. Once he realizes my plan, the race is on. He quickly removes the rest of my clothes, and I am powerless to stop him. Before I can get to suck on his cock, he’s starting to play with my pussy. I want to take his boxers off, but his touch is too distracting and pleasing.

  After he becomes reacquainted with me, he begins to focus his energy on my moist clit. I’m not sure if it’s the element of surprise that makes me extra wet for him—I certainly didn’t think about having sex while I was driving up here—or if it’s his forcefulness. Somehow, I know I will have no control, and I decide to let go and enjoy being with him.

  He isn’t only helping me; he’s helping himself. Even if his panicking is mostly beneath the surface and manageable, I know that he has to be scared. I can’t imagine what he is thinking now that I’ve turned his world upside-down. All I know is that he is ready and able to use our bodies as a temporary distraction.

  He massages my clit differently than he had before. The circles he draws into my flesh as he rubs are getting wider, and he applies extra pressure when his fingers caress my sweet spot that he knows how to find so well. I get his boxers down to his knees, but his influence is deterring me from my mission.

  I grab onto his hand that is buried inside of me, holding it steady, preparing for my explosive finish.

  And then, he stops. He pulls his fingers from me and sticks them in his mouth. He licks his fingers until all of my juice is gone.

  “So delicious,” he says in a husky voice.

  Then, he teases me a bit with his cock. He rubs his fat, wet tip delicately onto my clit. I feel I can orgasm simply by feeling his magic stick pressing my sensitive nub. He makes it worse by rubbing his entire shaft and fat, smooth balls up and down my clit, grazing so close to my aching, wanting hole. He gets so close, and I feel him piercing my folds, but then he never quite slides all the way in.

  He is torturing me. I’m moving my hips on his cock, hoping he might accidentally slide in, or I might suction him up into me, force-feeding my hungry pussy his hot, healthy cum.

  I inadvertently begin to whimper like a dog the longer I hump him with no penetration. I need him to cool my loins, spread apart my warm walls with his powerful manhood, and to take me to another place. I want him so bad. I haven’t been able to get his thick, juicy cock out of my mind since I first had it. I lick my lips, considering going for the upper hand and putting his wet dick down my throat. It keeps rubbing against my wet cunt so temptingly.

  Finally, he pushes his huge shaft into my pussy, releasing me from my torment. It’s hard to accommodate him, but my tiny walls stretch.

  “Oh,” is my delighted cry as that enormous member penetrates inside. “Fuck.”

  He starts fucking me so hard immediately, taking my breath away with each majestic stroke. He thrusts into me so hard and so deep that I feel sudden, incredible bursts of pain.

  Rather than endure it or focus on the pain, I tighten myself around his shaft, feeling every bit of his girth. My pussy hums as his cock rubs my sweet spots, sending me to the edge of pleasure. He gives one particularly deep thrust, and then I lose it. I grab onto his shoulders, holding them for support as I convulse and have a wild orgasm, shouting loud enough to echo across much of Wrightwood. It’s all so hot; I just can’t hold myself back any longer.

  Fortunately for me, I have a partner who enjoys giving orgasms as much as receiving them. He wears his wide grin of satisfaction from getting me to come so quickly like a badge of pride.

  “I can’t believe you finished so fast,” says Mason softly.

  “I can’t believe you’re so damn good,” I say through fits of tired laughter.

  “I’m not done with you yet, missy,” he warns. “I’m going back in, and you’re going to take every inch of me again like a good girl.”

  “Oh, yes sir.”

  I do what I’m told. I lay on my back, spread my legs, and I let him return to fucking me with the intensity of a superhero. He begins slowly, giving me plenty of time to accommodate his considerable size. It takes little time for me to come again. He is so hot and manly. All I need is to feel his warm, tan skin rub against mine the way it does whenever he grinds on me.

  He still has yet to come himself, and I’m not sure if it’s intentional or not. I know that I keep attempting to hold out my orgasms for as long as I can.

  He sits on the edge of the couch, and before he can tell me what to do, I grab hold of his pulsating cock, holding it steady while I slide down on him nice and easily. Once I have him completely straddled, he surrenders to my control, and I ride him faster than he is expecting. I slide up and down his pole again and again, dripping my juices down his dick with each merciless bounce I make on his lap.

  We kiss each other, moaning loudly each time we give ourselves a moment to breathe. I continue riding him. I bounce on his fat cock until he erupts inside of me. The feeling of his hot cum shooting into me triggers my last orgasm that day.

  Although I slow down, I don’t stop riding him afte
r we both come.

  Mason and I talk in bed for hours afterward. Initially, it’s small talk that anyone can share with each other, nothing intense, confrontational, or uncomfortable. We are bound for situations like that in the future if we aren’t careful.

  Inevitably, the conversation does eventually find its way to the unborn child I have growing inside of me.

  “So, what do you want to do about this whole kid thing?” Mason asks as nonchalantly as he can.

  “I’m keeping it, if that’s what you were asking,” I reply. “I thought about it, and I don’t think I could go through with an abortion. It’s just not something for me.”

  “Fair enough,” he says. “And in terms of keeping it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to give the baby away after it’s born or raise it yourself?” he asks. “I’m no dad.”

  “Like I said, you don’t have to be involved with this child in any way,” I say. “I just felt you had the right to know that you had a child coming into the world.”

  We stay quiet for several minutes. I keep waiting for him to speak, but he is waiting for me to speak. Since I don’t know what to say, I blurt out something.

  “When did you see yourself having kids? Like, down the road? I assume not now with a strange woman you barely know.”

  “You assume correctly.” He chuckles. “I’m not sure. Really, I’ve never thought much about having kids. I was telling you the truth before. This is the most I’ve ever thought about it.”

  “Same,” I say, trying to relate, even though I’ve thought about having kids on-and-off for many years.

  “I guess it didn’t really matter when I had the kids,” says Mason. “I am waiting for the right woman to come along. I figured when I met her, everything would fall into place, and kids and the house and the pool and the family, all of that would happen naturally. But now, who knows? I’ll probably never find the right woman.”