The Last Three Inches

[from the compilation Go Big or Go Home: A Collection of Plus-Sized Erotica]

*

My husband Trey likes to say that the best things come in small packages. He has to say that when I'm around, but I'm pretty sure he means it. Most of the time.

My name is Ali. I'm barely five feet tall, and I am the eager and willing love sock for a very large man. Large in many ways, especially in certain areas. Luckily for me, he loves my red pigtails and predilection for tiny skirts and leather boots. And the fact that I talk about sex pretty much all the time in front of everybody. A groupie gone legit, just barely. Trey played bass in a band that was signed for a while, until he decided to open a coffeehouse with me a few years ago. We're very happy. I think.

You see, there is something that's been bothering me, pretty much since the first time we...you know, hooked up backstage for meat & greet. While I am totally convinced of his lust for my hot little bod (short but curvy as hell, lest you get the wrong picture), there are three things which, no matter how I try, I cannot seem to master.

Those three things are inches. The last three inches. I've tried, I swear, but the physics are against me. There is only so much capacity up in there where the ginger snap magic comes from, and no amount of tender persuasion from my very careful and understanding lover seems to coax any more give out of mama's little squeeze box.

That's been the case for the five years we've been married, and for the two years we dated beforehand. I get that it's not a dealbreaker. But I tell you what, if I was him, it would bother me anyway.

I do what I can. I always make a big show out of licking around the base of his cock, the part that will never know the warmth of my insides. "Poor lonely three inches," I purr, feasting upon his delicate flesh before he lifts me up and impales me on top of his raging flagpole.

It isn't that he doesn't thrill to see my eyes bulge when he stretches my walls to their limit, bringing me to shuddering climaxes, his hands holding me aloft by my thighs as he fucks me up in the air in the middle of the kitchen. But I always come multiple times before he ever does. I can't not come, with him in total control over my helpless horny body. Yet he's kinda hard to get off. If we go for too long, and I'm spent and sore, I end up working him over with lotion between my tits, which he has a kinky thing for. And it isn't that he doesn't love to pump himself against my bodacious chest—through which I can slide all of his inches easily—and come all over my glasses, which he insists I wear when we fuck. Like I said, kinky.

But I do catch a note of sincerity sometimes when he jokes about his useless three inches.

It would bother me, too.

The problem had been banging around inside my head as our fifth anniversary approached. There had to be something I could do. And mulling over recent lunch dates with my old friend Kacy, a very delicate question began to form in my mind. Actually, it was a very dirty question. But delicate, because she had finally divorced the meathead we'd been waiting for her to kick out since she took him in, for reasons known only to her.

Kacy's one of my best friends in the world. And she is super hot. We spent a lot of time together in the groupie trenches looking like some sort of cartoon buddy pair. She's blonde, more than a foot taller than me, and has the kind of thick, fleshy curves that a man could get lost in. Or a girl, I have cause to know. We experimented a bit on occasion. While enjoyable, we did discover that our places on the gay/straight spectrum were both at around 20/80% (maybe more 30/70% for her, but who's keeping score), so we resolved to spend our efforts helping each other score dick from then on.

Not that she needed my help. Walking into our favorite Chinese joint for lunch, I saw two men's gazes dart past my tender vittles to stare at hers, clad today in black jeans and a thin white tank top. She never cares about the attention, unless she's on the prowl. Which on that day was something I needed to find out.

Our conversations are usually about 50/50. Meaning 50 percent other things, and 50 percent sex. Some people think that's weird, but then, I think sex is the greatest thing in the world, so why wouldn't I want to talk about it? However, lately her own thoughts on the topic were a bit dark, overshadowed by her divorce. Sex had started to feel like a burden to her, and that killed me.

"The thing is," she said, shaking her head. "He wasn't even that cute. Or nice. I don't know why I put up with his bullshit for so long."

I patted her arm gently. I knew her self-image had taken a hit from her ex's constant negging. She honestly believed she was obese, owing to that pesky ten pounds that Carl invented to keep her on the ropes. But as I, and the two dudes in the restaurant, and pretty much everyone else on the planet knew, there was not an ounce anywhere on her that wasn't exactly where it needed to be. It pained me to see her doubt it.

"Honey, the important thing is that you're out now," I said, trying to fortify her broken confidence. "This is the best possible time to cut loose and have some fun. Shake that love thing around."

Kacy frowned, stirring her wonton soup absently. "With who? I've been stuck in that hellhole for two years, and everyone's moved on. Or gotten married. I feel like I've moved past the point in my life where I want to go lay some rando at a club."

Anxiety gripped my tiny hummingbird heart. This was where it could go wrong. In my zeal to fill both of our needs, I could easily piss her off, or worse, badger her into doing something she didn't want to. But I trusted our long friendship enough to give it a try, even if I got shot down in flames.

"There's something I've been thinking about," I ventured, drawing in a slow breath.

She side-eyed me curiously. Kacy knew me pretty well, and I'm not often shy to speak. "What is it?" she asked, softly.

"You know about my problem with the three inches, right?" I said, the corners of my mouth drooping sadly.

She couldn't help chuckling a little. "Oh god, Ali, not again..."

"I know, I know, he loves me so much, he overlooks it."

"He's crazy about you, sweetie," she insisted. "Way crazier than Carl ever was for me."

"Ugh," I said, shaking my head.

"Sorry," Kacy put in. "I know, just because something's not the worst thing ever, doesn't mean it isn't a problem."

"Exactly," I said, grateful as always that she understood.

"Did he say something?" she asked.

"Not really," I said, which was mostly true. "It's more what he's not saying."

Kacy looked at me skeptically. "Trey is not gonna leave you over that, girl. You are hot property, and he knows it."

"I know, but..." I said, trying desperately to get to my point. "What if I could give him a present?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Like what?"

I shrugged. "I dunno...a big booty ho?"

"Oh my god, Ali," Kacy cut in, beside herself. "You do not want to bring that kind of thing into your house."

"No, I don't," I admitted, waiting a moment to see if she might connect the dots. "It would have to be someone special...someone we know?"

A beat, then the shock of recognition flooded Kacy's big brown eyes. She actually seemed embarrassed.

"Ali...sweetie..." she said, falteringly.

"I know it's probably too soon, but I wanted to put it out there," I answered, careful to dampen any anger I may have stirred up. "No pressure."

"It's very..." she said, still distracted by the audacity of the offer. "I just...wait, am I the big booty ho?"

"No, no, no!" I fumbled. "That was a joke, I swear..."

Kacy frowned at me. Her eyes were distant, half perturbed and half something else. There might be hope yet.

"You would LOVE it," I blurted out, almost covering my own mouth before the words were out.

"Ali!" she snapped, flustered.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I said, burying my gaze deep within my miso soup. "So how's the salon doing?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Kacy rattled off a few tales about her goofy customers. Many of them were regulars at my coffeehouse, since our shops were in the same neighborhood. We finished the meal laughing, as if my dumb ass hadn't said anything outrageous at all. I was kind of glad to have the wild notion shot down, truthfully. My brain needs a weighted vest every now & then to keep it from floating away.

Later that evening, I was cleaning up at the shop, and my phone rang. It was Kacy.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked, breathing a little heavily from moving tables.

"So..." she said, uncomfortably. I held my breath, worried that she might be mad about earlier. "Exactly how big are we talking here?"

My heart leapt. Which is crazy. I, Ali Flynn, get excited when my best friend wants to fuck my husband. Nobody ever said groupies had their heads on straight.

I ducked into the storeroom and gave her the scoop, as graphically as possible. She stayed unusually quiet the whole time I described the greatness that is Trey's penis. Generally our sex talks were loud and boisterous, but that day Kacy kept a hushed and detached tone in her voice as I tried to talk up my man's size, tempering it with praise for his careful skills. It wasn't like I hadn't talked about it before, but my pitch had to be strong this time, since I was selling the goods.

We both had experience with a variety of sizes & shapes. But Trey's was the most majestic and masterfully wielded that I'd ever come upon...pun intended. Kacy might have had some to rival it, I didn't know for sure. I knew she hadn't seen this one in particular, since I'd hogged it ever since we first hit the band up. I tried to make her mental picture of the offer shine with my words.

"Look," I said, when half an hour later, nothing she said sounded like a yes. "If I can take it, there's no way it's gonna be a problem for you."

"Yeah, but you can't take all of it," she reminded me.

"It's just three inches," I said, exasperated. I realized I was starting to badger her, which I'd promised not to do. If it went badly, I wouldn't ever forgive myself for talking her into it.

"Never mind," I sighed at last. "It was just a thought, and I don't..."

"No, no, I'm doing it," Kacy said, a wicked grin creeping into her voice.

"Wait, what?" She was fucking with me, had to be.

"I knew I was in the minute you brought it up," she admitted. "I've just...never done the whole third wheel thing with married people before, and I needed to talk it out. If it were anyone else..."

"It'll be GREAT!!" I shouted, probably too loudly. Our apartment was right above the shop, and I didn't want Trey to hear, in case he'd gotten home early.

"I mean..." she said, hesitating. "Assuming he wants me."

"Kacy," I said, in disbelief. "Everyone wants you."

She sighed. "Not everyone."

"Okay, maybe not gay men. But everyone else. I mean, I did."

"Right," she said, sarcastically. "Ali Flynn, who jumps on anything that moves. That's a good yardstick."

This is why you ended up with Carl, I thought. But I kept it upbeat.

"Look, I'll ask tonight," I promised.

"You'll what?"

"Careful like, so he doesn't know what I'm asking," I assured her. "I'm closing up now. Keep an eye on your phone."

I hung up and did a quick finish cleaning up the store. Trey had spent the day helping a buddy at the studio, and would be home soon. One thing small chicks are good at are ambushes, and I had a good one for him.

In our apartment, the coat closet is right next to the front door. My husband has an OCD streak, and he can't pass that closet without opening it to deposit his hoodie. I took up position inside the closet, resting my zaftig little derriere on a short stool we kept around for shoe shining and the like. I didn't have to wait long. As soon as I heard the key scrape in the lock, I undid a couple of buttons on my shirt, and prepared to strike. The closet door opened.

Trey let out a little shout as I leapt at him from the darkness, pushing him back into an armchair. Some instinct—and experience with my craziness—kept him from attacking me as a burglar, and -soon he was laughing while he ran his hands through my hair. I went straight for his belly, kissing the tender skin sensuously as I worked his fly open. He did not protest in the slightest, and within moments the growing stem of his magnificent tree was sliding between my lips. He let out a satisfied sigh, and let me drive the bus.

Once I had him at maximum hardness, I popped the rest of my pearl snaps open—I had removed my bra already—and reached for the lotion I always kept in the side table. I have big tits for a short girl, and into these I drove him, bending my head down to suck his tip when it rose up into my steaming mouth. He was still as I worked him, but gradually his chimp instincts kicked in, and he began to thrust against the soft skin between my marvelous ta-ta's. I felt his O-train arriving at the station, and reached out with both hands to grip him. When he began to vocalize, I twisted each hand in a different direction along his shaft, and drove his pulsing purple dome as far into my diminutive throat as I could. With a sharp cry, he shot my moaning face full of his salty burden. It was a lot, and I kept my lips closed to make sure that not a drop escaped.

As the afterglow set in, and my man's essence had been thoroughly swallowed, I pulled him out and rested my head upon his belly. My hand absently stroked those lonely three inches.

"And good evening to you," he said at last, breathlessly, his fingers combing through my disheveled red tresses, gently but with a bit of pressure. Whether he was aware of it or not, I liked how he always pressed me into him any time we touched, even if we weren't fucking. Kacy was right. He loved me. But now my mind was alive with fantasies.

"To what do I owe the honor?" he asked, curious about my silence. I was a cuddler, but usually a talkative one. I had to say it.

"So, you like Kacy, right?" I ventured.

He seemed perplexed. "Of course. She's cool."

"But I mean..." I said, gingerly. "You'd throw one in there, wouldn't you?"

I felt his hand stop amidst my ruffled mane.

"Wait, what?" he asked, a bit on guard now.

"I'm just...she's having some self-esteem problems."

"That's because of Carl," he said, in the exasperated tone we all used when the villain's name was mentioned.

"Obviously," I agreed. "Anyway, I thought I'd take a poll. Just so she knows."

"You want to know if I'd have sex with Kacy?"

"Yeah, like...if I said it was okay."

He paused. "This feels like a trap."

"No, no," I said quickly, twisting my eyes up from his crotch to meet his wondering gaze. "It is TOTALLY not a trap. I'm not that kind of bitch. I'm just saying, if I were a straight guy, and my wife said it was okay to bang Kacy Emerick, I would fuck the shit out of her."

Trey cleared his throat. "Okay, yes," he said, matter-of-factly. "If you gave me a pass, I would. Anyone would."

I nodded my head, placing a delicate kiss on the base of his cock. "That's what I keep telling her. She'll be glad to hear it."

From above, I felt him shrug. "Sure thing. Hey, umm...not to be ungrateful, but I do need to make some dinner."

"Right!" I said, patting his deflating dong affectionately in parting. With effort, I took my hands off of his smoking body and did up my shirt. "I need to make a phone call," I said, and stole off to the bedroom. Once alone, I fired off a quick text to the lucky winner.

YOU'RE IN, I typed, hitting Send with the greatest of glee.

≈≈≈≈≈

For the next two weeks, Kacy and I had lunch almost every day. We tried to talk about other things, but always ended up running through possible scenarios for the big show. Ideas were hatched and tossed out as overblown, or anemic, or just not right. Now that she'd committed, Kacy was very enthusiastic, but deferential, since I had all the inside info. I could tell she was still worried that Trey might turn her down, which I knew was ridiculous, but I had to tread carefully. She was still reeling from the divorce, and her ego was delicate.

At last, with only a day to spare, we came up with a plan. I gave her a key to the apartment and told her to sneak in while Trey & I were at dinner. She was to wait in the bedroom until I gave a signal. I still wasn't entirely sure what the signal was, but I figured she'd know it when she heard it.

All through dinner, I had to keep from guzzling way too much wine to quiet my nerves. Trey was in good spirits, a little tipsy but not blasted. That was good. He knew I would jump him when we got home, so he wasn't going to ruin his chances. The restaurant was a short walk away from our place, and as we made our way through the post-dinner drinking crowd massing on the sidewalk, it was everything I could do not to shout at the fresh-faced club kids, "HEY! WE'RE ABOUT TO MENAGE WITH A SUPERHOTTIE! SUCK IT, HATERS!" But I didn't, instead squeezing his hand in matrimonial propriety as my mind tried desperately not to eat itself alive.

Walking up the stairs, he gave my ass a pat. Trey was already primed, which suited me fine. The more his lower head did the thinking, the better everything would go. Bracing myself, I unlocked the door. Stepping in, I froze for a moment. A faint waft of Kacy's perfume lingered in the entryway. I wondered if he noticed, but within seconds he was up against my back, reaching down and around to squeeze my titties as I nudged the door shut with my foot.

Part of me cursed my timing. He was ready to give me a damned good drubbing, and here I was breaking off a piece for someone else's pleasure. But then I remembered his lonely three inches, and my will returned. Twisting around in his arms, I gave him the full width of my sultry hazel eyes.

"I have something to show you," I said, grabbing his hand and attempting to move towards the bedroom.

"I'll bet you do," he said, pulling me back, smoothly but firmly. "Maybe I've got something to show you, too."

I blushed. Our foreplay talk was usually a private matter, but I knew Kacy was listening. I felt stupid. Shyness? Now? Get the fuck over it, Flynn.

"It's in the bedroom," I said salaciously, pulling him with all the heft my teeny frame could muster. He budged, but only just.

"The only thing I want to see is right here," Trey said, one hand rising to stroke my cheek. Oh god, I thought. The whole thing could come apart if we surprise him at this point. And he was so horny; I could feel his erection pressing into my belly through his straining pants. I didn't know what to do.

It was then that we heard the clack of heels against the hardwood floor. As one, my husband and I jumped, throwing our eyes wildly in the direction of the sound.

And there she was. The most spectacular anniversary present anyone could ever give.

Kacy was a knockout even in her casual clothes. But in that form-hugging white skirt, blouse open to reveal the jiggling wonderland of her breasts, and black choker around her long, lightly tanned neck, her body nearly singed my eyebrows off. If I hadn't invited her myself, I would probably have clawed her eyes out for getting near my man. I stood slackjawed in awe.

Trey was the first to gain his composure. "Uh, hey Kace," he said, in something approaching his normal tone. "Sorry, I didn't know you were here."

Like Dr. Frankenstein, I stared in terror as my creation cocked her head without speaking, turning those big brown eyes to mine in a look of significant expectation. Whatever fear she'd had was banished, and she exuded an intimidating amount of confidence. I wished fervently that I could say the same.

There was nothing for it. Leaping back to take them both within the sweep of my outstretched arms, I looked at Trey and squealed, "Happy anniversary!"