Actually It Does

Marissa's boyfriend, Tony, and Dave had been friends since childhood, and, despite Dave having become outrageously successful in the IT business, they still were—to a degree. Marissa had always thought Dave was a bit of a jerk, but she put up with him for Tony's sake. And the feelings were mutual. Nonetheless, a few months earlier Dave had managed to get Tony and Marissa a super-deal on a two-week stay in the same condo complex on the small tropical island of Santa Katerina where he was taking his annual two to three-month tropical vacation. They were thrilled.

But, as these things are wont to do, it had gone by exceedingly quickly, and now Tony, and Marissa were nearing the end of their two-week stay. Sitting around after dinner in a busy open-air eatery-cum-bar, having drinks with Dave and Doreen, a beautiful young local girl he seemed to have picked up, they were all getting a little tipsy, as the conversation deked and wove, becoming increasingly earnest and intense.

Inevitably the topic turned to sex, and they ended up debating the veracity in the claim that 'size matters'. Dave argued for the premise. Marissa pooh-poohed the idea—although, really, she had no idea. All of her actual experience had been with pretty average-sized penises, probably more on the smallish side than not—and most of that in missionary position! Still, for the sake of the debate, she repeated something she had once read: "It's the skill of the operator that's important: size doesn't really matter," she proclaimed.

Tony had stayed surprisingly neutral the whole time—ineffectively moderating what had become an argument between Dave and Marissa. Doreen had, up until that point, stayed out of the discussion, just listening with an amused grin. So it was a surprise when she announced softly in her Caribbean lilt, "Actually it does."

"Yesss! Listen to someone who knows," Dave advised, quietly, but with a harshness running in the background—a touch of arrogant confidence in his voice.

After a long moment of silence, Marissa went on, basically dismissing the local girl's comment as mere support from Dave's corner. "You couldn't possibly know," she stated self-assuredly, "being as how all your experience comes from the wrong end of a cock of any size." She paused, with a satisfied grin, before continuing. "In my experience," Marissa began, looking pointedly at Dave, then glancing rather sheepishly at Tony. "Okay, my admittedly limited experience—the size of the cock hasn't mattered at all!"

"Hmmmphh," Dave snorted disdainfully, "You just haven't ever experienced the right equipment! You've probably never actually seen a REAL prick!" Shocked, Marissa looked over at Tony, who stayed oddly indifferent to this vaguely disguised insult. Dave suddenly shuffled in his seat, unzipped, and exposed his "still flaccid schlong" right there and then, just behind the table cloth, below the edge of the table. Blessed with a big prick and very little scruples, Dave tugged at Marissa's sleeve. "Here, Darling," he whispered, "have a look at a man-sized dick!"

His date just smiled and chuckled as Marissa pulled free of his grasp, hissing, "Put that away, for Chrissakes!"

Still, catching a brief look at the monster lurking there, Marissa had difficulty hiding her surprise. Re-gathering her composure, she declared—trying to assure Tony—"Tony has always been more than enough for me." Truth was, however, that while she had seen Dave in bathing suit before, she had never fully appreciated his size. Dave went on, teasing her as he tucked himself back in. "I could prove you wrong easily enough."

Marissa retorted, "You wish!" then, speaking like a school teacher to a naughty student, "Behave yourself. In front of your own date no less!" The question was not resolved, and, shortly afterwards they all retired, agreeing to disagree.

-- x --

The next day was rather slow and groggy to start, their size discussion, all but forgotten by Tony and Marissa, still niggled at Dave. Trying to make the most of their last few days, Tony had gone off on a surfing lesson. So, late in the morning, Dave wandered, uninvited, into Marissa and Tony's suite—the door being ajar.

"Hi!" he said brightly, announcing himself as he closed the door softly behind him. Entering the room from the foyer, he spied Marissa leaning low over the balcony railing. His growing dislike for Tony's girlfriend, flared. "She's really not right for Tony," he said to himself—not for the first time. "And maybe I need to show him that!" He was still seething over their argument the previous night. Not so much her stand—although that was bad enough—but the fact that she wouldn't concede!

"Shhh," Marissa breathed over shoulder, not really surprised to see Dave, "Look at this." Concentrating and focused, she was peering through binoculars, her long golden-blonde hair clipped into a rather hap-hazard bun at the back of her head.

"Actually, in a word," Dave thought, considering, for a moment, the sight before him, "she's really quite... what?... voluptuous. Yeah." At about five-five, she was built for comfort, not for speed. That was not to say she wasn't very attractive. Even Dave had to admit she was beguiling. Even if her round, pillowy sweater-puppies were, perhaps, slightly oversized, she was, nonetheless, quintessentially, and literally, pleasantly plump.

Over her shoulder Dave saw that she was watching another couple have sex on a balcony two floors below. Marissa giggled, watching intently and obviously titillated. Dave watched, too, for a bit. The guy was pounding his partner. The woman was writing and gasping, trying, with limited success, to stifle her apparently extreme arousal. The previous evening's debate arose once more in Dave's memory. It wasn't that he had lost the argument, more that he couldn't stand not winning the argument, any argument, in fact.

"I could prove it to her—right now," he mused, an evil grin alighting on his lips. Quietly he adjusted his position, moving in closer behind her, and surreptitiously fishing out his dick. He stroked it a few times, until it began to get it hard, then lubricated it with spit.

Planning his next move quickly and carefully, his member stiffening in anticipation, he reached swiftly under Marissa's short sundress, and peremptorily yanked her panty gusset aside. "Damp!" he noted. "Her voyeurism is really turning her on, the little tart!" Before she could react, holding her firmly against rail, he started to bull his way in. Marissa struggled a bit, hissing at him to stop, not, at first, fully aware of what was happening

Dave was pleased: he had played it right, guessing that any initial protests would be stifled by her desire not to let her voyeurism to be discovered. Letting her binoculars drop to their strap, she squirmed. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "Stop it! You can't do this! Stop!" she protested, getting increasingly louder; but it really only lasted moments. Dave's initial penetration was hard and fast, slipping smoothly and forcefully into her pussy. She was surprisingly moist—naturally lubricated; more than a little turned on from the watching—way more than she would have liked to admit.

He could feel her warm, moist cunt gripping him tight around his member, punctuated by random spasms. Marissa could feel her labia stretching tightly around him, as he stuffed her with more girth than she'd ever experienced—not that that was saying much, as she was basically not very far removed from virginity. Marissa continued to try to twist away, her hissed complaints increasing, getting louder. "No! Stop!"

Dave just ignored her, holding her hips motionless, he suddenly gave a firm, hard thrust, and pushed himself all the way in. And in that instant, her "No, no, nos" magically became a passionate, lustful, and uncontrolled chorus of "Oh, oh, ohs!" as his cockhead bumped heretofore untouched places within her womb. Sparks jumped up her spine to flash behind her eyes, obscuring her awareness of everything except the multi-coloured explosion that seemed to fill her entire being. The other couple, down below, looked up and met Marissa's eyes just as her face contorted in sudden orgasm.

What was happening to her? Her breath caught in her throat, only to be pushed violently out, as, mercilessly, Dave began a steady pounding. The earthshattering climax was still reverberating within her when a second detonation occurred, consuming her genitals and crackling over her complete body, then flaring, again and again. She had never had so many orgasms, each so incredibly strong, piling up within and about her, totally overwhelming her senses.

Eventually Dave drew her off the railing, stepping back into the balcony doorway. As he held her up by her hips, Marissa dangled limply from her waist, her arms reaching out to grasp the doorframe for support. Dave's thrusting slowed to an almost leisurely pace, but Marissa continued cumming, repeatedly, as each stroke smashed against the back of her womb, bumping her cervix; until, with a final violent thrust, Dave came, scalding Marissa's innards with his copious issue.

After the final jolt, he pulled out, unceremoniously dropping his hands from her hips, and letting her slide down door frame to drop in a faint to the floor. Lying on the sill, as she slowly returned to earth, Marissa was absolutely amazed at the unbelievable intensity of her climaxes. All she could do was marvel. "Ohmygod! How did you do that? I've never cum so hard in my life!" That he had begun without her consent, and proceeded against her wishes, were meaningless details which vanished beneath the flood of carnal satisfaction that washed over her.

Sex, for Marissa, had suddenly taken on a new meaning. Her previous experiences paled to nothingness in comparison. She had never realized that sex could be so enjoyable—delightful, thrilling—she would like to think satisfying, but she was not satisfied. She wanted more, right then, right away! Up to that point sex had been fun, it had been pleasant; but she never could figure out what all the fuss was about.

Now, she'd suddenly found out, it could be really way more than simply enjoyable—it could be hyper-sensuous, astronomically arousing! And she wanted to have more of that feeling. Yes, she definitely wanted to be overwhelmed by that tsunami of sensation, again.

Her climaxes had so overshadowed anything she'd had previously that all she could think about was experiencing that again. It was as if the swollen, searing cockhead pushing against her cervix, his pulsing plum seating firmly against her cervical sphincter, had thrown a switch!

Marissa just couldn't believe that what she'd taken before as good sex was in reality so pallid. She felt like she'd been gypped up to that point. A sudden wave of anger—anger at Tony—washed across her mind, as she lethargically raised herself up to grab Dave and attempt to suck him back to full erection. But his drooping, dripping monster was, as yet, reluctant to jump back to attention.

Kneeling on the door sill in front of him, Marissa pulled her head back and took his now twitching tool fully in both hands, stroking insistently as she looked up through her eyelashes, and asked, "Can he go again?" Well, he could, and moving back to the unmade bed, he did. Dave roughly pulled at her arms and swung her onto her back, tearing away her sundress and shredding the remains of her panties.

Dave was almost brutal, as he squeezed and twisted Marissa's boobs, pinching and stretching her nipples, as he slammed his rigidity into her. Pulling all the way back, it was like he was taking a run at it, as he rammed himself in, again and again, mashing their pubes together, bruising her inflamed pussy-lips. Marissa cared little about that, nor the bruises and blemishes he was leaving on her tits. She cared only about the mind-blowing heights he was carrying her to, repeatedly. She had, without being aware of it, already succumbed to what had instantly become an addiction.

Eventually, when Dave could no longer get up, an enervated Marissa showered and retired to bed, letting Dave find his own way out. When Tony returned mid-afternoon, to find her asleep, she told him she was feeling sick. And she was, sort of. Was it some sort of withdrawal symptoms, already? Whatever, any guilt was completely diluted by the desire to do it again.

-- x --

Marissa managed to secure Dave's complete attention once more on their last full day. When Tony went to confirm their departure details, she marched down the hall to Dave's room. The moment her pounding on the door was answered, she dropped to her knees, her feet still in the corridor, and grabbed his waistband, pulling his sleeping member roughly out into the open. He watched her with apparent indifference; still, as he got hard he lifted her roughly and spun her around into his room, hands against the bureau. Fucking her doggie-style, he pounded her rear frenetically, until he came, pumping volumes of semen into her cunt. Then he brusquely pulled out and wiped himself on the flouncy skirting of her sundress, almost daring her to complain.

Back in her own room, panting, flushed, and flustered, Marissa was ostensibly sorting her clothing and packing her bag with her back to him, when Tony returned. She had beat him back to the room by mere minutes. "Well," Tony announced, "I suppose the time has come: time to clean up and head home." Pulling out his own bag, he began gathering his belongings, oblivious of the tension wracking Marissa's body. "But it's been a slice, eh?"

Marissa felt like screaming, "Will you just shut the fuck up! Can't you see I've got other things to worry about?!" However, she simply muttered, without turning from her task, "Yeah, quite the slice, all right."

Later, Dave joined them for a final dinner, during which Marissa said little. They returned to finish packing, and, going to bed relatively early, Tony made love to Marissa. "Geez!" he said, as he went down on her. She froze for an instant. "You're incredibly wet down here!" She relaxed slightly when he went on, "It must be the setting that gets you so aroused." And, as if to prove his point, however erroneous, she felt herself quiver through a small climax. it was, she realized, like a very small-scale model of what she now knew to be a real orgasm. None the wiser, Tony pulled up and stabbed between her legs, pumping furiously and frantically, like a rabbit, until he spewed into her.

Marissa feigned her response. "He hasn't even noticed that I'm not really participating," she silently observed, "not really present."

The very last morning, their bags lined up at the door, they found themselves, after breakfast, at sixes and sevens, until Dave arrived with a sharp rap, and barged in, talking a mile a minute. "Hey, Tone," he jabbered, "have you picked up your duty-free booze yet? You know, that little place just outside the gates of the resort is the best place to get it. Go on! Get out of here! You've got lots of time! Mars and I will watch the bags." Marissa, stared at Dave, bewildered, then looked at Tony. Did he notice that Dave had just taken the liberty of giving her a new nickname? Mars!? No had ever called her that before. "What does that mean?" she pondered.

Tony slowly nodded, "Yeah. I guess that's a good idea. Yeah." He looked over at Marissa. "You want me to get you something?"

Marissa nodded, stunned. "Sure. I guess." She sputtered a bit before adding, "How 'bout a bottle of Kahlua?"

"Okay. See you in a bit." Tony turned and left as if he'd been dismissed.

"That was mean," Marissa hissed, pulling at Dave's clothing before the door had fully closed.

She had him out of his shorts and into her mouth almost instantaneously. In a curious turn of events, while he fucked her face, Dave began to heap verbal abuse on her. "Look at you, groveling. You pathetic slut!" Shocked initially, Marissa noticed that Dave's already rampant cock twitched and grew even more with each insult.

"If it turns him on to trash-talk me," Marissa decided, "then fine." So, she accepted it, not at face-value, but as deliberate stimulation. And, oddly enough, in that light, she began to find it arousing, herself.

He'd come in her mouth surprisingly quickly, but Marissa didn't pull off or let up. Despite a bit of coughing and sputtering, she'd swallowed his whole ejaculation. And staying on him, she'd brought him back to full erection—rather smoothly and rapidly Marissa was pleased to note.

Abruptly pulling out of her mouth, Dave spun her around and began unceremoniously pounding her from behind. While he did that, he announced, in his ragged panting voice, "You don't deserve an upstanding guy like Tony!"

"That's an odd thing to say," Marissa thought, in a small, lucid corner of her mind, "considering you're the one fucking your best friend's girl!" But, once again, her rational thoughts were soon obliterated by the waves of orgasmic sensation washing through her.

For all the commotion, it really was, necessarily, a true quickie; allowing barely enough time even for that. Dave had just zipped up when Tony returned. His copious donation of cum began to drip down Marissa's inner thighs as it thinned out, distracting her as she tried to participate in the inane chatter of her boyfriend.

Marissa didn't understand, and, therefore, couldn't accept that Dave was playing her. Nevertheless, in his mind, he was trying to punish her for not being the kind of woman he thought Tony deserved. However illogically, Dave seemed willing to sacrifice or, at least seriously damage his friendship with Tony in order to what...? expose Marissa?

Still blissfully unaware of the hanky-panky, Tony remarked on Marissa's demeanour—dazed and glassy-eyed, distant and aloof. "Are you on something?" he asked, puzzled.

"Too much sun," she muttered, the real reason flashing once more across her mind. She was worried that she'd lost it. It was all she could think of! Suddenly obsessed, she found it difficult to behave normally.

In a sudden epiphany, Marissa came to a realization. "I just can't leave! Not now! Not yet!" A small part of her consciousness still knew that her perception of the situation was seriously impaired, because, when she wasn't blinded by post-orgasmic haze, her awareness was obscured by the ripples of anticipation—contaminated by the excitement of her new and novel heights of arousal. So, at that very moment, she made a life-changing choice. She chose to break up with Tony rather than miss out on fabulous sex she had discovered with Dave. In a hastily whispered confab, she asked Dave if she could stay on with him.

He shrugged, then nodded, somewhat non-committal. Marissa failed to notice that he was less than enthralled with the idea, but Dave had had a notion that, the damage already having been done, there was an opportunity for vengeance somewhere there—vengeance for what? On that he wasn't exactly clear. However irrationally, in his mind, Dave was not so much betraying a friend as proving to Tony what an unsuitable choice Marissa was.

-- x --

Tony was busying himself with their bags, muttering about it being time to get going, when Marissa declared loudly, "Hang on now. I've got something important to say." She waited a beat before announcing, to Dave's knowing smirk and Tony's complete shock, "I've decided, Tony, that I'm not going home yet."

"Wha...?"

"No, I'm staying here with Dave." Marissa, stood, hands on her hips, glancing first at Dave, who acknowledged her with a subtle nod, then turning to Tony. "I'm sorry, Tone, you'll have to go on alone." Tony was flabbergasted. By the time he realized it was not a joke, Marissa, had rolled her bags out of the room, down the hall, and into Dave's suite. Tony couldn't immediately understand what had just happened, or why his erstwhile friend would treat him this way.