sleep is for the weak and i am exhausted

It really was as simple as that—a woman you’d known for over a decade now was going through the worst breakup of her life, and she needed your support. You’d offered that support without hesitation, thinking nothing of the fact that you were in the healthiest of relationships yourself. You sure as hell never would’ve imagined a conversation like that could lead to this.

“His dick was huge, too,” your friend groaned across the line. You heard a shuffling of pillows and a soft thump, and you pictured her punting one off the bed.

You were lying on your stomach in your own bed several hundred miles away, holding your phone to your ear and trying to bite back a slow-growing grin.

“Couldn’t have been that big,” you hummed.

Again, your best friend groaned as if she were in pain.

“No, I’m telling you, the guy was fucking massive, hon. Just hung like a…a goddamn horse. I’m gonna be sick.”

“You can find another monster cock someday.”

“I don’t want to, though! It was so good.”

“You know, a big dick isn’t everything.”

Now you were trailing a finger over the embroidered edge of a pillowcase, trying your hardest not to think of the man who’d just slipped out of your sheets thirty minutes prior. Right before your friend had called with her devastating news, before you had been obliged to join the I-Hate-All-Men tirade of the century, you’d been getting put through the mattress by your boyfriend—a man who didn’t lie, or cheat on you, or steal, or shatter your heart into a million pieces.

A man whose dick was considerably bigger than most.

Simon was probably already three beers deep with his buddies at the pub down the road, the same lopsided, happy-go-lucky smile on his face he always wore when you and him had just had a quickie before he left home

Suddenly, the tail-end of a sentence snapped you out of your reverie, your friend’s tone loud and a little shrill:

“—easy for you to say!”

You blinked. “Easy f—wait, what?”

“Simon Riley. Love of your life.” You could imagine the woman snapping fingers in front of your face if she had been with you then, as if to say, Ring a bell? “Don’t even try to act like he isn’t a crazy good lay. And huge.”

Your cheeks heated at the accusation. Hell, you’d probably mentioned to friends in passing that your boyfriend was an altogether generous lover, a caring man in every respect, along with a couple other vague intimations about his prowess that would leave a whole lot more to the imagination than not, but this? You hadn’t even touched on anything about his size.

Normally, you wouldn’t engage in that kind of talk—at least not to that level of detail, revealing intimate facts.

But your best friend was hurting, and it seemed like she needed something to feel better in the moment.

So, shortly, it slipped out before you could think better:

“Simon’s not even big.”

Your mouth clamped shut as soon as you said it.

Liar, every fiber of your being hissed at once.

(Shut the fuck up, I’m helping a friend out)

“No way. You’re full of shit,” she giggled.

(Well, yes)

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You swallowed hard. Already hating yourself as the silence across the line stretched on and you knew your friend expected you to elaborate, and then you did.

“Honestly, it’s pretty, um…small. And—And that’s OK! Like, nobody’s perfect. The sex with him is still so great, and if anything, it’s nice not having such a big dick to worry about, y’know? So don’t feel like dating a smaller guy is so bad. You can still have amazing sex.”

You tried to end it on a positive note—the message you meant to get across, which was that the girl could be happy with a guy of any size and she didn’t need to stay hung up on her stupid ex—but it fell flat, even to your own ears. Clearly, you’d dropped a bombshell.

“But he is just…such a big dude. You’d think—”

“No, I know, Simon’s tall,” you interrupted hastily. Wincing. “But like I was saying, you can still do a lot with an average-sized dick. Or—Or even a tiny one.”

“It’s tiny?!”

Fucking shit.

“No, no, no, not tiny! I mean, not that…tiny. He’s fine.”

Your pulse was pounding so loud in your ears you could hardly hear yourself think. Or breathe. Or lie. Or try to piece together the most incoherent string of words that came out a little something like, ‘Seriously, uh…Simon’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever dated, and um…dick size doesn’t even really matter. The big ones hurt. I mean, the guy’s not huge, but not tiny, and—’

“Well shit, lovie, how fuckin’ little are we talkin’ here?”

At the rumble of a voice by your other, phone-free ear, you nearly jumped and catapulted your device across the room. You would’ve yelped, too, had it not been for a big, broad palm clamping over your mouth. As a familiar weight and breadth and scent settled over your being—a body coming to lay on top of you from behind—your friend continued to chatter on the line, clueless.

“OK, OK, I get it. Love a guy of any size. And Simon’s not perfect—even though that fucker’s about as delectable as you can get in every other way…”

While the woman’s voice faded off into a far-distant hum rattling off Simon’s best qualities and lamenting the odds she’d ever find a man quite so wonderful, you were confronted with several of these same features at once: his wide, muscular chest blanketing the back of you entirely; his stubble tickling the cusp of your cheek as he leaned in close; his strength pinning you to the bed and only loosening the grip around your mouth a little; and of course, there was that voice again, lower—

“Too bad about my microdick, huh?” Simon chuckled.

“—and I bet he knows how to use it!” your friend went on, not hearing a word of what was going on with you.

“Hey, uh—hey, I’ve gotta go. I think I—” you started.

As soon as you did, though, you felt the pressure on your spine soar to new heights. You let out a low whine.

Simon was crushing you now.

Your friend cut in, “Yeah? You OK?”

Before you could attempt a reply, the hand that had once been covering your lips lowered to just underneath your chin; Simon squeezed your throat.

Playfully, he made clear by nipping at your earlobe.

“No need to stop on my account,” he murmured.

So, rushed and more than a little flustered now, you made up some excuse on the phone about mistakenly hearing the doorbell, and you let your friend forge on. You dropped the phone onto the bed by your pillow.

Then you turned your head, the rest of your body immobilized by the heft of your boyfriend’s weight on your back, and you finally, finally got to meet his gaze.

Behind you, Simon was smirking.

His whole demeanor betrayed amusement.

It wasn’t every day the man got to hear his dick was the size of something much smaller than it actually was, you reckoned. Still, he deserved an explanation.

“S-Si…” You tried to grit out a whisper, deflated by his weight and forced to hide your words from your friend.

Never mind the fact that your boyfriend looked, smelled, and felt just as irresistible as he had when he left home less than an hour ago. A simple, all-black ensemble fit him like a second skin and accentuated every mouthwatering ridge of his body, most visible to you in the glimpse of his bicep you caught under your chin. He was warm. Solid. Drenched in that dizzyingly potent sandalwood aftershave that you liked so much.

You’d never tapped the ‘mute’ on your phone so fast.

“Shit, Si, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean— I only said it— she’s going through a breakup right now, and I just t—”

Simon hit ‘unmute,’ followed by ‘speakerphone.’

He leaned back.

“…but what reeeally fucked me up was how he acted after. Like, couldn’t even look me in the eye, the dick…”

Your friend prattled on—back to sinking neck-deep in a story of how shitty the dating scene was and how she should’ve given up ages ago—while you flitted your gaze to your phone. You stared in awe, wondering why the fuck Simon had decided to tap those buttons in a moment like this, and questions started to bubble up.

At the same time, you heard the clink of a belt buckle.

Simon knelt behind you. He straddled your ass, and when you tried to sit up, he pressed a palm to the center of your back. He moved about it all swiftly.

Finally, the quietest, quickest hiss, ‘Si, what the fu—’

“Spit.”

That part, he said too loud. But the man didn’t seem to care much at all as he reached with his other hand and stuck his upturned palm under your face, waiting for it.

“What did you say?” your friend cut in presently.

Your face stung with embarrassment—at just the prospect of being found out by someone who had no concept of what was going on—that you forced it out:

“N-Nothing. Keep going.”

You spit in Simon’s hand like he’d told you.

Your phone couldn’t have been resting more than two or three inches from your face on the bed, and the space in general was small. There wasn’t a lot to be done by way of masking your activity, other than to simply hang up the fucking phone, but it didn’t sound like discretion and decorum and being considerate were at the top of Simon’s list of priorities right now.

Still, you felt a press of his lips against the back of your neck before he mumbled, “Remember our safewords?”

You did.

‘Yellow’ to slow down, ‘red’ to stop.

It wasn’t often you had to use the words with Simon, but from time to time, in particularly heated and impassioned moments, you appreciated the safety net.

And freeuse was something relatively new to you both—just accepting him in and letting him have his way with you at random points during your day, casually.

It didn’t make it any less tricky, or jarring, when the man next pushed inside you, bottoming out in one go.

Your sleep shorts tugged to the side, lying facedown underneath this massive, hulking man, you had only to grit your teeth and feel yourself stretched to full capacity with the shove of Simon’s bare cock in you.

“Oh, fuck,” you let out, hoarse.

“No, right? It was so gross, honestly.”

Amidst the airing of your friend’s mile-long list of grievances against her ex, your boyfriend settled his full, thick, demonstrably larger than average dick in your body until it felt like he was scraping your lungs.

You clawed the sheets and squirmed under him.

“That feel tiny to you, sweetheart?” Simon’s mouth was right next to your ear now, whispering filth while your walls stretched and squeezed to accommodate him. Warmth leaked out from where you connected.

You shook your head weakly, barely able to breathe.

It somehow made it even wilder and more maddening to have your senses deprived—Simon behind you, restricting your movements, with you obliged not to make a sound at the pleasure he was inflicting on you.

Your hips pinned to those pretty, floral-patterned sheets and your pussy made to gape in a perfectly wide ‘o’ around Simon’s whole cock, you felt helpless.

Stretched.

Protected, still.

Simon hadn’t even withdrawn to get a full stroke in, and he was already caressing your cheek with the backs of his knuckles, giving you more time to adjust to him. His tip kissed your cervix, and a heat sank in.

“Sweet dove’s still sore from earlier, yeah?” he murmured. “Didn’t think I gave her that much…”

But he did, of course.

“—couldn’t even make me cum—” your friend went on

Simon always gave you enough.

Just as your walls preemptively clenched around that slick, hard length and the man started to stir, rolling his hips against your ass in the shallowest of movements, your lips parted on a half-moan. Your chest constricted

“—it must be so much better with Simon, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, your boyfriend took a fistful of your hair.

In a murmur again, close to your ear:

“Go on, then. Don’t be impolite.”

“S-So, so good,” you rushed out. Those thrusts finally picked up, and Simon fucked you quietly into the bed. You sucked in another strangled breath, and trying your hardest not to moan, “He’s fucking…incredible.”

“I bet,” your friend laughed.

More shit-talking of men ensued.

Simon returned to his original, dominant position blanketing your body completely with his own, forearms planted on either side of your head on the bed and your phone resting inches away from you both. His cock pounded a furious pace inside you, precum and spit and your shared fluids easing the repeated slide. You gripped the sheets tighter, and Simon did the same with his ironclad hold in your hair.

Then his cock slid in higher, a little to the left, and the tip of him hit that special, tender, mind-numbing spot.

You felt the grin against the side of your face before you heard him chuckle, quiet as anything but elated.

Simon was the only guy who’d hit your G-spot before.

He hit it again. And again. And again, shaking the whole bed frame with the force of his thrusts. He kissed your neck and let your head loll back on him. While your friend chattered on, he did what he did best

“That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Gonna come f’me?”

You nodded, head bobbing against his softly.

If there were any moment for retribution, now would be it. If Simon were even the slightest bit the spiteful, insecure type, he probably would’ve taken the opportunity to make you beg for him—tell him how huge his cock was and how lucky you were to get it; how terrible it was to lie about a thing like size. It was.

But Simon didn’t, opting instead to give you pleasure. And he got plenty from you, too, you could tell by the breaths that were growing more and more ragged against your neck and the frantic stutter of his hips.

He was so big it was as if you could feel him in your throat. With every thrust that pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and with every twitch of every inch stuffed inside you, you feared you might not be able to conceal the sounds from your friend for much longer.

Your jaw unhinged on another wide-open, noiseless moan that probably made it look like you were in pain, and at the same time, your friend carried on over the phone, laughing about this loser’s goofy fucking face.

“Yellow?” Simon panted into your ear.

In other words, did you want him to slow down?

You shook your head no. Let him pelt your insides with the force of those hard, merciless thrusts and carve a path clean through your body in a way that only he ever could. He molded you to him perfectly. Tenderly.

Crescents digging into your scalp from how tightly he held you to him, you felt Simon twitch and keep beating your G-spot while you writhed under him, “You wanted a big dick, yeah? Don’t run from it now.”

It was in those words—paired with the obvious stretch and the depths your boyfriend was able to reach with his cock, how lovingly he fucked you while controlling your pleasure—that you broke. You couldn’t hold it in.

At the last possible second, Simon offered you his free hand to cover your mouth, knowing how loud you were liable to get, and you let out a muffled shriek into his palm. You grit your teeth and whimpered and kind of despised how high-pitched and needy you sounded, but you knew Simon loved it, almost as much as he adored the slippery wet noises your body and his made when he was emptying the contents of his balls into your cunt and fucking you senseless through all of it.

You finished as close as you were when you’d started, Simon’s chest glued onto your back. You both were breathing heavily, senses reeling from your highs. Simon’s cum stayed plugged in you with his thick cock holding it there, and the heat burrowed to your core.

You blinked, and you smiled contentedly at the warmth

Simon planted kisses wherever he could find bare skin for them to go, along your jaw and on your cheek and over your ear, like he always did after you two had sex.

“Wasn’t too far, was it?” he whispered. “Know I’m—”

“—big,” you giggled, barely louder than a breath after his hand had slid from your lips and cupped your face.

Then you went on, as the haze in your mind was starting to clear the slightest bit, and you remembered why you were here in the first place, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about your size, Si. I’m—”

“—going to bed!” your friend announced suddenly.

Your attention and Simon’s snapped back to the phone

With all that had been going on over the last couple minutes, you’d almost forgotten the woman was still on the line at all. She’d been talking before that, right?

“I— OK. Yeah, no, that’s fine,” you said, stupidly. Then, regaining a bit more of your composure, “I’m so sorry about everything that’s been going on with…him. You deserve so much better, and you will find better, OK?”

That sounded coherent enough.

You would call again tomorrow. Really listen and be there to offer more helpful advice than you’d done tonight—this was more about letting her vent, anyway.

So, reaching for the phone and expecting to hear your best friend chirp a quick, simple good-bye at any second, you lifted your hips back against Simon. You angled his still-hard dick inside you and pushed him deeper through the sticky warm mess he’d just coated your walls with, and you bit back a smile when he grunted. You met his eyes over your shoulder, and you felt his grip on your chin flex. His gaze sharpened.

But, before he could smirk and murmur in your ear something like, ‘Round three can be arranged if you really want it,’ your friend cut in again over the line.

Her voice rang louder, and a little lighter, too, this time.

“Goooooodniiiiiiiiiight, hon, I love you so, so much!”

“I love you, too. Night!” you answered reflexively.

Then, your friend added, as swift as anything:

“And goodnight to you, too, Simon! Glad to hear that microdick’s being put to good use, happy for you two!”