“Yo, hurry up in there! Can’t guard the fuckin’ door all night!” a loud, obnoxious voice blares from outside. As loud as it was, it barely cut over the boom of the bass that permeated the building. You take a look at the man before you, his bare, striped chest mounding with raw muscle, his pecs dripping sweat onto your own exposed bosom, the beads of saline dripping into the crevasse of your breasts.
Curtis was the hottest senior at your school. At least, in your opinion he was. Strong, masculine jaw, sharp brows, a pronounced Adam’s apple from all the testosterone swimming through his body. Who could possibly be hotter? Well, there was always Tristan Seouk, but he was taken... by a guy no less! Heh, and just a year prior he almost knocked up Cindy Walker. Curt on the other hand, the zebra boasted non-stop that he was a ‘barbarian.’ If he was lying, it was hard to tell, the guy at 19 (he was held back a year and used that time to build himself the massive temple you saw before you) was built as big as the bodybuilders in your dad’s generation, easily 300 pounds of young, overly virile mass. You often saw him in the school’s weight room, busting his ass off, lifting heavier weights that even the coaches.
If it wasn’t obvious, you were head over heels for the guy. And when he asked you, Deanna-Juliet "DJ" Shaw to be his date for prom in the middle of track and field practice, you said ‘yes’ instantly. Your girlfriends told you he was bad news, but you didn’t listen. The big hunk strolled through the field, causing a ripple of giggling from the girls’ track team. The long-distance runners squealed first, a saluki and greyhound standing tall and proud as they batted their lashes at the stallion. He passed them by, but not without giving his 24” guns a flex for them. The sprinters ‘oohed and aahed’ as he sauntered past them, a cheetah and wolfess smiling as they subtly flexed their toned leg muscles. Surely, he was there to visit Tara Thompson, the high jump queen, the gym bunny with an Instagram following. No, the musclebound stallion of a zebra came sauntering up to you, the pit-bull shotput girl in the year below his.
You wondered why he chose you over the more conventionally ‘attractive’ girls. Maybe he was into tall girls? You were 6’4”, height ran in the family, your older brothers were both even taller than you. Maybe it was, ahem, your endowment? Your older brother Lysander was a hulking red wolf, Ty was 6’6” and ripped to the core (though, sometimes he gets really thick when he’s bulking), both had baskets that left nothing to the imagination. Your rack did the same, you’ve caught the boys staring at your ample breasts. You often wore sports bras but frequently found your girls overflowing them.
However, as Curtis looms over you right at this moment, his heaving pecs brushing on top of your exposed torso, you figure out he’s into something else.
“Flex for me, babe,” he coos, his voice deep like chocolate, his eyes dancing across your frame as his pins you against the bathroom stall divider.
“Excuse me?” you blurt, your burning desire for the massive stud fizzling. Curtis chuckles and brings an arm up and brays to himself as he forces blood into his prize-worthy arm, bloating it with power as the veins dance with his massive flex.
“C’mon, girl, show me what you got,” he coos. You awkwardly bring your arm up against his, flexing your bicep. You instantly see his eyes light up and his pendulous shaft springs up against his washboard abs; your little display awakening the legend itself, 14” of wall-aching pleasure, the destroyer of the cheerleading squad and your prize. You yip as Curtis’ strong, calloused hands rub against your mounded arm muscle, a slosh of pre-seed spurting out of his length. “Hot damn, how big are your guns?”
“16 inches,” you sputter back. What can you say, aside from height and endowment, your family was also genetically disposed to getting ‘swole’ as Sandy and Ty would put it.
“Fuck, they’re bigger than most guys’,” the zebra moans. He reaches down and cups your left tit with his large hand, bending over too lash out his tongue against your nipple. You feel yourself go weak in the knees as he suckles them. His hand runs down your abs, a little padding there, but you could make out the six pack if you flexed hard. And then his fingers enter you. Your walls shudder and your hands reach up to wrap around his broad, ox-like shoulders. Your cheeks flush red as he slowly plays with your clit and within seconds your gushing. “Whoa... you squirt a lot,” he whinnies.
“How much do you weigh? What’s your bench?” he asks, idly rubbing his finger against the side of your nethers with one hand and tugging at his length with the other. You think it’s an odd question...
“180,” you reply meekly, that was more than most guys and it was a source of embarrassment. Sure it was mostly muscle, but it hurt your self-esteem when guys never asked you out because you emasculated them. “And I can bench 340 as of yesterday,” you add. You were proud of that personal best and judging from the way Curt splattered a huge ribbon of pre all over the ground, he was interested in it too.
“Fuck, Deej, you’re the hottest girl in school, you know that?” he brays lowly, his hot breath beating against your neck. You can’t help it, you begin to squirt again, a weak moan escaping your lips. Curt kisses the side of your neck moving up. At the same time, he sways his hips in a hypnotic motion, the boy clearly talented. You shudder as you feel the tip of his massive dong brush against your nethers.
“W-wait,” you blurt. “Shouldn’t we use a condom or something?”
“You’re on the pill, aren’t you?” the zebra asks. You nod sheepishly, you’d always anticipated something like this. “You’ve never done this before, have you, princess?” he coos gently. You hesitate, but nod. You feel his shaft jump, the first inch penetrating your netherlips. “S-sorry,” he whimpers. You know he’s not, you know he’s revelling in taking your virginity. “I promise, I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs softly, holding your head against his thick chest. You believe him.
He slowly pushes another inch of his giant length into you. You feel a sick sense of anticipation, mixed with the feeling of being so… full. Curt prided himself on his size, and you can feel why. You let loose a hoarse whine as he pushes deeper. “Ungh, halfway down, Deej,” he whinies. He wraps his giant 24” arms around you, and you melt into his embrace. He looks longingly into your eyes - he was your man. Gods, he made you feel like a woman!
“14… inches, babe, and you took it all!” he grunts, his eyes going half-lidded, he himself unused to this sensation. “Oh fuck, you feel so…”
“...Good in me,” you finish.
“Mmph, yeah. Squeeze those thighs, baby,” Curt moans. You comply, your muscled legs pushing your hips forward, your pelvis squeezing at his shaft. “Oh fuck, yeah! Make me feel it!” He tilts his head back and lets loose a loud, happy whinny. He pulls his hips back and then thrusts into you, pulling at your pelvis slightly, the motions smooth, slicked by the copious amounts of pre-seed he produced. He guides you, your heart fluttering at every wince of pleasure crossing his face. You both get into a rhythm, your hips gyrating against one another’s, but then he springs a surprise on you. He grabs at your wrists and winks at you, pulling you higher and then pushing your back against the metal siding and lifting you off the ground.
You tilt your head back a howl with delight, hitting your third orgasm in a row as he powerfucks you so hard the divider wall buckles slightly. He’s not far behind, the lust overflowing from his balls and into you. Backsplash of thick coltbatter oozes out of your vagina, spackles of white dotting the floor as Curt fills you and continues to do so even after you can take no more. You growl, your nails digging into his back as you kiss him, the stallion accepting your aggression, your passion to mate with him.
“So how was it?” he coos, gently swaying you as he continues to hold you up.
“I love you,” you mutter, a big grin on your face. Curt chuckles and lets you down, his big hand ruffling through your headfur. “Hey, I spent hours getting this done,” you grunt, punching his shoulder. You wipe yourself down with the crappy one-ply the convention hall had in its restrooms. Curt naughtily tosses you your panties, but not before taking a whiff. Your dress is a little ruffled, but otherwise presentable as you both slip back into your formal wear. You smile as your… ahem, boyfriend? You hope he thinks of you that way. You smile as your boyfriend leads you out the door and back into the hall.
“Fuck, finally!” a whiny voice growls. A stick-thin thylacine grabs at a ‘strongfat’ Tasmanian devil’s arm, the boys bowling their way into the restroom you had just used, the smell of Curt’s sex all over the room. “Took you long enough, meathead.”
“Shut up, Seth, I’ll have you know, you can’t rush pleasing a princess… Heh, take note, Donnie!” the big zebra snickers, shoving at the Tasmanian devil’s shoulder slightly. The big, chunky lug blushes profusely as he follows the thylacine into the bathroom, the stick-thin Tassie tiger flipping a double-bird at Curt before the door swings close.
“Hey, I gotta guard the door while these two jokers get it on, tit for tat and all,” Curt says with a devilish smile. “Why don’t you go back onto the dance floor and I’ll catch you out there when they’re done?” You nod, eating up his every word.
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