Doug for Dessert

Marianne lounged comfortably on the couch, a half-full glass of wine in her hand. A more conventional man might have called her luxuriant frame "zaftig," but even in her early 40's she was a beauty and perfectly at ease in her body, moving with a languid grace. It was difficult for me to stop staring at her perfectly rounded, plump thighs, which her short, pale white dress seemed ideally suited to display. A man with less self-control than I might have been tempted, but she was my wife Rose's dear friend for many years, and tried to respect that. Still, my thoughts leaned toward the carnal as we sat in the living room in silence as Rose toiled in the kitchen, putting the final touches on the evening meal.

As if she noticed my gaze, Marianne gave me a wicked smirk over the lip of the wine glass. I smiled back, somewhat ill at ease.

"So where is this friend of yours, professor?" she asked dryly, taking a sip.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 8:30, but this was Doug we were talking about. I had known him for many years, and never known him to be especially on time, regardless of the circumstances.

I had opened my mouth and was about to reply when Rose burst into the room, drying her hands on her apron. My darling wife was still lovely in a classical, retro kind of way, hearkening back to an era when women with hourglass figures were considered the apex of beauty. She even had the same sort of hair you'd see on Marilyn Monroe in her glory days. Rose shot her friend a whimsical look.

"Doug Priaps comes when he feels like it," Rose said with a grin. "And never before."

The two women shared a laugh as Rose joined Marianne on the couch, and I couldn't help but wonder if I shouldn't invite Marianne to the naturist club we belonged to. Although it was only February, I found myself yearing to be down the Shore every morning, free of all clothes and worries. Marianne was one of Rose's few friends who didn't partake in the naturist lifestyle, and I wasn't even sure if she was aware how big a part of our life it was.

There was a loud knock at the door. Doug stood silent on the porch in the cold, his expression, as usual, hidden behind a ridiculously loud pair of wrap-around sun glasses. With his slicked-back black hair and saturnine features, he might have been some obvious movie villain, but the tasteful black suit he wore redeemed him somewhat. I hastily ushered him inside. He remained silent, his hands thrust into his pockets, and stood on the edge of the living room, looking down at the seated women.

"So you must be Doug," Marianne said, putting down her wine glass and swinging her legs to the ground. Though concealed by the glasses, I could almost feel Doug staring her up and down, feasting on the glorious sight of her lily-white thighs.

Marianne shook Doug's hand. Rose greeted him with a wink and gave him a peck on the cheek, and formal introductions were made. After some small talk about the chill in the air, we all sat around the table and Rose served the food, a delightful meal of roast duck and asparagus.

Doug was mostly quiet, though over the course of the meal he began to open up and give more than one-word responses to Rose and Marianne's questions. I had known Doug now for many years from the naturist club, and knew he was not a man given to conversation. Still, he seemed in a more somber mood than usual that evening. I chalked it up to the fact that he had recently broken up with a truly insatiable woman who he'd been with for some years, Angela, a former Penthouse model who he'd found cheating on him with a cabana boy from the club. It's not that Doug was the life of the party, but his sullen moods had increased in the times I'd seen him since that awful discovery. Truth be told, we had invited him and Marianne over to dinner that night in hopes of getting the two to hit it off--always a prickly proposition to begin with. Marianne was voluble as ever, and Doug had gradually began to come out of his shell, until finally they were carrying on a proper conversation, just the two of them. Rose looked over at me, pleased, then got up to clear the table for dessert.

Marianne poured herself another glass of wine. "Doug, you seem a little young to be associating with these geezers," she said, "No offense, Rose." Rose leaned back in the chair and smiled. "How did you all get to know each other?"

Rose and I looked at each other. After a moment, I gave a shrug and said, "We all belong to the same naturist club. Down the Shore."

"Naturist club?" Rose swirled the wine in her glass. "Oh, a guy I used to know used to be into that--it was some kind of bird-spotting group in Upstate New York."

"No," Rose said with a giggle. "Not a naturalist club. A naturist club--where one goes about au naturel."

"No!" Marianne said, putting her glass on the table. "You don't mean..."

Rose nodded and stood, raising her arms. Her breasts jiggled under her blouse. "What, you have a problem with me putting this bod on display?" Despite her years, Rose was still a knockout.

"Rose, there's no question you'd be gorgeous in the buff," Marianne said, "And it's obvious that Doug is hiding a strapping build under that black suit of his. But, pardon me for saying so, Harry, but I just can't picture you without your Panama hat."

Rose groaned and rolled her eyes. I reached up and lifted my singular affectation from my head. "Oh, the hat stays on, even though Rose hates it," I said, "But that's about the only thing."

Marianne laughed. "Well well...all these years, you think you know a couple. I didn't know you guys were so adventurous. How long did you plan on keeping me in the dark about your lifestyle?"

"Some people just don't get it," Rose said, "so we figured we'd break you in gently."

Marianne ran one hand through her luxuriant auburn hair. "Hmm," she said, "When I used to live in New Brunswick, I do recall making a few trips to the Gunnison beach, the nude beach they have down on Sandy Hook..."

"That's a wonderful place," I said, "and we go there every now and again. But our club is a kind of private resort, with limited membership. It's a little south of Belmar but before Point Pleasant. It's got a clubhouse, tennis courts, private beach access, hiking trails...and beautiful houses you can rent for the entire summer. We're probably going to rent one again this year."

"You should come," said Doug. "You'd enjoy it."

Marianne looked at him with a sly glance. "I just might. Sounds like paradise."

"It is," Rose said. "You'd love it. Doug is a big celebrity down there. And I do mean BIG."

Rose laughed and sipped her wine, and I gave her a caustic glance. She was intimately familiar with Doug's prodigious proportions from our time at the club, and it occasionally gave me twinges of jealousy.

"Despite my youthful looks, I'm not some blushing virgin, Rose," Marianne said, tossing back the remains of her glass. "I'm sure Doug's manhood is as impressive as the rest of him."

"Even more so," Rose said, getting to her feet and heading to the kitchen. She returned with dessert: An oversized canoli cake. She placed it in the middle of the table.

"What is that?" Marianne said. "It's enormous!"

"It's a canoli cake," Rose said, "Or a canoli the size of the cake. And it is big, though I can think of a few cream-filled tubes that would dwarf it...right, Doug?"

Doug said nothing, looking at the two women. A subdued smirk danced around the edges of his mouth, but otherwise his expression was unflinching.

"Oh dear," said Marianne. "What's with all the sex talk tonight?"

"Must be the wine," I offered.

"Sorry, my dear," Rose said to her. "All this talk about nudism has got my mind in the gutter, and that usually involves visions of Doug's apparatus."

"Harry, doesn't this make you a little jealous?" Marianne said, reaching for the wine.

"I've gotten used to it," I said.

"And Doug, isn't it a little weird to have a friend who so...familiar with your anatomy?" Marianne asked him wickedly.

Doug said nothing.

"Believe me, darling," Rose said, "The majority of the women at our club are overly familiar with Doug's anatomy, and with good reason."

"Hmmph," Marianne said, looking Doug up and down. "I'm not unacquainted with the...peculiar attractions of the male form, but I've seen..."

Rose arched her eyebrows and leaned on the table. "Not like this, you haven't."

Marianne looked at Rose, then at Doug, and finally at me. "Well, Doug, I guess I'll just have to wait until I get an invite to your club this summer to judge for myself whether Rose is building it up or not."

"Oh, we're all adults here," Rose said, pouring herself another glass of wine. "Doug, why don't you show us."

Doug didn't move.

"Here? Now?" Marianne said with a grin. "Do you think that's wise? I mean, Harry's right here and all...you're apt to make him a little upset."

"Harry?" Rose said, taking a swig of wine. "Harry's as used to seeing Doug's horse cock as anybody else. Go ahead, Doug, whip it out."

Doug's eyebrows raised, one at a time, behind his sunglasses. I smirked and shrugged. "As Rose said, we're all adults here. And most of us are nudists, to boot."

Marianne laughed heartily. "All right, then," she said. "I'm game, so long as Doug isn't bashful about it. Don't want to put him on the spot. He has big expectations to measure up to, the way Rose tells it."

"Let's see it, Doug," Rose urged.

Doug raised his hands in faux exasperation and stood up. WIth the ease of long practice, he quickly and quietly pulled down his black trousers. He wasn't wearing any underwear underneath. His prick tumbled out onto the table with a loud THWACK.

Marianne's eyes grew wide. For a moment all the air went out of the room as we stared at Doug's exposed member. Even for one so inured to male nakedness as I, Doug's penis was a wonder to behold, and I was once again struck by how truly massive it was.

You could be forgiven for thinking that Doug had just produced a sizable bass from his pants. It was absolutely enormous, splayed out on the table, stretching well across the place where Doug's plate setting had been. It was dark, a shade darker than Doug's own bronze skin, and the long lips of his urethra seemed to pucker obscenely up at us. He was circumcised, but in its flaccid state the great folds of skin had curled up around the penis head. Protruding from an untamed tangle of thick black public hair, it was riddled with thick, bulging veins and corded like a rope made flesh. In the presence of this unprecedented slab of manhood, my own modest phallus seemed to shrivel back underneath my pudenda.

We sat there staring at the cock. Marianne got pale as she contemplated it. "Good lord," she said. "Is this a joke?" She turned to us helplessly. "Is that thing real?"

"Real and fully functional," Rose said with a grin. "I told you. Doug has a tremendous gift. And he's good about sharing it."

The women stared at it hungrily, but remained silent.

"That is truly an amazing cock," Marianne finally blurted out. "I have never seen anything that big."

Doug reached down to pulled up his trousers, but from across the table Rose raised a hand. "Tut tut," she said. "Are you going to prevent us from admiring that precious thing, Doug? Why don't you just ditch the rest of your clothes, instead."

Doug obliged her. As he turned away from the table, his dick slid off and thudded against his thigh, then dangled wildly back and forth as he removed the rest of his vestments. He was built like a Greek god. Rose and Marianne both murmured their approval as they studied his rugged physique.

Doug stood there, bare except for the sunglasses. He was a prime specimen, with a barrel chest and sculpted arms and legs. His pecs gleamed as if he'd just been oiled, his nipples slightly erect, perhaps due to the February cold seeping in somewhere through the house. But the most telling feature of all was still his giant prick, which hung nearly to his knees. It was as thick as my wrist, and his testicles resembled two large oranges, weighing down his sack so that he could hardly close his legs.

Marianne let out a slow whistle. "If I saw that thing down the street, I'd run the other way."

"Funny," Rose said, throwing an arm back over the chair, "a lot of women down at the club do the exact opposite."

They looked at each other, then returned to ogling Doug's cock. Rose stood up and said, "Hey Doug, let's see that thing move. Dance around a bit."

With a single swish of his hips, Doug caused the penis to whip up and over. Marianne clapped with delight. Doug repeated the move, sending the dick swinging up the other way, and kept it going like an airplane propeller.

"He's trying to hypnotize us with his prick," Marianne said.

"Works for me," Rose said as she took a sip from her glass.

Finally Doug's member ceased whirling, and he bucked his hips so that his prick shot directly up. It slapped against his stomach, its purplish head striking his solar plexus.

"Bravo," Rose said, "an inspiring performance."

Marianne turned to me. "So does it get distracting, walking around the club with Doug while he's wielding that thing?"

I smiled. "It's not so bad. The ladies certainly pay attention. The guys, of course, pretend not to notice--at least most of them."

"Well, it certainly is mesmerizing," Marianne said, turning her attention back to Doug's member. Suddenly her mouth formed a perfect "O." I followed her gaze, and saw that Doug's prick had begun to stiffen. It lurched left and then right, like a balloon being slowly filled with air. At last it was fully erect, its cockhead seeming to glow red and pointing straight at Marianne's pursed lips.

"Uh oh," said Rose, "Now you've made it angry."

Doug's face betrayed no emotion, but he put his hands on his hips, as if to emphasize his humungous erection. It looked like he was carrying a club between his legs. The flaps of skin surrounded the cockhead had pulled back, showing off the massive, round knob at the end. It was the size of a large apple and about the same color. His urethra seemed to open ominously. Doug seemed completely at ease. Arousal seemed to be his natural state.

Marianne took another sip of wine. "Magnificent," she said, "but I'm not sure how I'd feel, being on the receiving end of that monstrosity." Doug's cock seemed to bounce up and down in reply, its head turning an even brighter shade of red.

"Poor Doug," Rose said, clucking her tongue. "How will you ever get your pants back on now? Marianne, you can't leave him like that, you know."

Marianne almost spit out her wine. "Me?" she said, pointing at the glowering cock. "Surely you jest. We've only just met."

"I've seen Doug do some interesting things with women who he's just met," I said.

Rose picked up the bottle of wine and walked over besides Doug. She held it up next to Doug's dick. The penis was easily longer than the bottle, and as wide in some parts. "Marianne, don't tell me you're afraid of this little old thing?"

Marianne waved a finger at her. "Rose, it looks dangerous."

Rose looked at Doug's unchanging face, then back down at his cock. She turned to me briefly, as if she was going to ask me something, then handed me the wine bottle. I looked at her, sighed, and then nodded. It was not the first time I'd seen Rose so enchanted by Doug's phallus.

She placed her right hand underneath the head of Doug's cock. Her small white fingers could barely begin to encircle the thing. She began to play with the thick folds of skin beneath the head. Doug's prick jumped as if it'd been touched by electricity.

"It's so soft right under here," Rose cooed. "Come and feel, Marianne. Doug won't mind."

Marianne finished her glass and wiped her chin with her forearm. She looked at me. "Is this a typical dinner date for you guys?" I gave her a grin, and she stood up.

Marianne walked over to where Doug stood with Rose on the edge of the dining room. With Rose on his right hand and Marianne on his left, the naked Doug seemed to be part of some kind of ancient erotic painting, a naked man encompassed by two angelic women. She placed her hand next to Rose's.

"You're right, dear. The skin down there is amazingly soft," she said to Rose.

"I think Doug keeps it well lubricated," Rose said. "Or rather, has other people keeping it lubricated for him."

"I still can't believe this thing is real," Marianne said, now using both her hands now to feel up and down the length of Doug's shaft. "How do women...I mean, I don't know where to begin."

"With your mouth, dear," Rose said. She turned to me. "Would you mind...?"

I poured myself some wine. "Not at all."

She kneeled before Doug's swaying cock, one hand tightly holding to the base of his prick.

Marianne gave me a startled backward glance; as much as she was, like Rose, utterly in thrall to Doug's pulsating organ, she seemed bewildered by the sudden rush of events, and perhaps at my acquiescence. Several times I had witnessed Rose become absolutely enraptured at the site of Doug's prick, yet, being an open-minded individual and seeing my wife in the throes of passion, I couldn't help but allow her to occasionally partake of it. Part of me perhaps even enjoyed it.

Rose reached up and took Marianne by the hand. She drew her friend down beside her.

I suddenly realized I was perspiring, and lifted my Panama hat to wipe away the sweat. The sight of these two, beautiful buxom women crouched beneath Doug's drawn sword and staring up at it worshipfully had aroused even me. I found my own meager penis stiff against my pants, and rubbed it with my thumb through the fabric.

Doug looked down at the women expectantly. He swiveled his hips so that each woman was alternately staring down the barrel of his cock, first Rose, then Marianne, then back to Rose.

Rose had not let go of his shaft, and with her other hand she cupped Doug's tremendous balls, one at a time, as if she were weighing them. She ran her left hand along the entirety of the phallus, pushing the skin back ever farther from the cockhead; by now, Doug was so aroused it had turned the color of a bruise.

Rose opened her mouth and tried to cram the tip in, but she could barely fit her mouth around the very end of it. I could see the muscles in her jaws flex as she tried to accommodate Doug's size. Finally, as if by some miracle, the entire head had passed her lips. She began to suck. Marianne watched, stunned. I noticed her armpits were damp with sweat.

Through it all, Doug stayed cool and unflinching. He tousled Rose's hair gently as she sucked away, her cheeks bulging and jaw straining with the effort. Rose used her hands together, wring the cock from base to head. The only noise was a warm, wet slurping.

As if compelled by some magic, Marianne now began to fondle Doug's huge balls, running her hands through the thick mat of hair that covered them. Doug placed his hands on his buttocks and arched his back, thrusting his prick deeper into Rose's delicate mouth.

After a few minutes, Rose released Doug's cock, wiping her lips with her sleeve. "It's never easy," she said wearily to Marianne. "Doug is always a challenge. But it's worth it. Care to try?"

Marianne made no reply but to reach up and grab Doug's cock with both hands. She pulled it toward her mouth. Rose touched her friend's shoulders tenderly.

Marianne paused and looked up at Doug for a moment. "I just want you to know...this isn't how I usually am when I first meet a guy. But this thing..." She gave Doug's dork a few quick tugs. "Doug, what can I say? You're a special case."

Doug looked down at her with the usual sly smirk.

Marianne turned back to Doug's dick, throbbing in her hands. Without hesitation, she placed the engorged head into her mouth and proceeded to swallow the entire head, including some of the copious flaps of skin beyond it. I was astonished: whereas Rose had to struggle to get that monster cock even partly into her mouth, Marianne handled it with ease. Doug let out an almost-inaudible grunt as Marianne guzzled away.