Maximum Stretch

Maximum Stretch

I look up, bleary-eyed. It’s my buddy, the one with the stout, thick cock from earlier. He’s naked, his own impressive tool hard and bouncing against his thigh. He stares, awestruck, at the gaping maw of my throat, at the rivers of sauce and spit still dripping from me. Lorenzo, pulling his soft cock from my well-fucked butt, grins. “Your turn. See if you can find the bottom.” My buddy steps closer, his eyes wide with a mixture of lust and disbelief. “Holy fuck. Can I… can I try my arm?” Lorenzo nods, a dark king granting permission. “Show us what this slut can really do.” My buddy drops to his knees, lubing his hand and forearm with the copious fluids already covering me. He doesn’t hesitate. He guides his hand into my mouth, and I relax completely, offering no resistance. His knuckles slide past my lips, then his wrist. The stretch is familiar now, a welcome burn. He pushes deeper, his eyes locked on mine in a shared madness. I can feel his elbow, then his bicep. The stretch is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, a deep, burning ache that transforms into something electric, addictive. He keeps going, his entire arm sliding into me with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each inch pushing me further into a state of depraved euphoria. His shoulder finally presses against my lips, and I can’t believe it—I can’t fucking believe it—he’s shoulder-deep in my throat. My neck bulges obscenely, the skin taut and glistening with spit and lube. The perversity of it, the sheer impossibility of it, sends a jolt of pure, undiluted arousal straight to my cock, which twitches back to life despite the exhaustion coursing through my body. The room is silent except for the wet, hollow sounds of his arm working deeper into me. I can feel it, all of it—the rough texture of his forearm rubbing against the sensitive lining of my throat, the pressure of his bicep stretching me wide, the weight of his shoulder resting against my lips. It’s not just physical; it’s mental. I’m completely owned, utterly consumed. His hand is inside my stomach, his fingers brushing against the walls of my gut, and the thought alone is enough to make me shudder with a mix of fear and arousal. He starts to move his arm slightly, twisting and rotating it inside me, and the sensation is indescribable. My throat spasms around him, clenching and releasing in involuntary waves as if trying to accommodate more than it possibly can. I can feel every muscle in my body tightening, my toes curling, my hands clawing at the floor for some semblance of stability. My cock is rock hard now, throbbing violently, precum leaking in a steady stream onto the tile beneath me. “Holy fuck,” he whispers, his voice trembling with awe. “You’re taking all of me. I’m fucking your stomach. I’m inside you in a way no one else ever has been.” His eyes are wide, dark with lust and disbelief, and he’s staring at me like I’m some kind of filthy miracle. The look on his face is almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his arm buried deep in my throat. I want to say something, to tell him how much I love this, how much I need this, but all that comes out is a garbled moan around his shoulder. He chuckles low in his chest, the sound vibrating through me. “Don’t talk, slut. Just take it. Take all of me.” He pushes deeper, if that’s even possible, and I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me. My vision blurs, my body trembles, and I realize I’m on the edge of something—something huge, something unholy.