Trophy Wife Sizequeen

She was already cheating behind his back. I kind of like the idea of her being secretly a sizequeen and an adulterous bimbo whose only reason to having married her husband was his money. For a year or two this has been more than enough for her, but now she had started to wondered how it must feel like to actually be dating or being married to a guy who she is genuinely attracted to. And the sex with some of studs she had cheated on her naive and unaware hubby with has been almost good enough to leave her hubby for any one of them. Almost. But here comes Brad and everything changes

Vivian had stopped for a drink alone—just one, she told herself—after another charity luncheon where her husband’s money bought politeness but never passion. The hotel bar was all polished brass and shadowed corners, the kind of place where transactions happened without words. She perched on the stool, the gold lamé of her dress glinting under the low lights. The fabric clung obscenely to every exaggerated curve—her waist cinched tight, the neckline plunging deep enough to showcase the impossible swell of her augmented tits, as round and large as water melons. Every shift of her hips made the slit ride higher, revealing athletic legs, with her feet stuck in 4-inch golden platform heels to make her appear taller in her otherwise medium height of 5'4''. Platinum straight hair cascaded down her back, her puffy lips covered in expensive gloss, her perfectly manicured nails tapping the stem of her glass. She wasn’t here to blend in. Then *he* walked in. Six feet five, shoulders like slabs of granite under a suit that cost more than her last Birkin. His jawline could’ve cut glass, his thick neck taut over a knotted silk tie. But it was the bulge straining against his trousers that made her martini tremble in her grip—a obscene thickness even soft, promising something monstrous. He didn’t bother with introductions. Just slid onto the stool beside her, his cedar-and-whiskey cologne flooding her senses. “Gold’s your color,” he rumbled. “But it’d look better on my floor.” Lila bit her lip, her pulse hammering. She’d fucked athletes, playboys and porn actors who most of them knowing how to properly fuck them as she only picked the best of the best —but *this*? This was genetic lottery shit. Every inch of him radiated raw dominance, from his tree-trunk thighs to the way his fist dwarfed his bourbon glass. Her knee knocked against his, the contact electric. “Brad,” he offered, like he knew she wouldn’t care about the rest. She didn’t. His palm engulfed her thigh, callouses scraping bare skin where her dress had ridden up. No coyness tonight. Just hunger.

Brad didn’t do foreplay—not the talking kind. His hand slid higher, fingers digging into the plush yet firm meat of her thigh with the precision of a man who’d mapped every reaction a body could have. Vivian could practically smell the pheromones rolling off him—this wasn’t his first rodeo, and she sure as hell wasn’t the first prize bull he’d broken. The Rolex was a prop. The suit? Window dressing. Brad’s real résumé was written in the stretch marks on his exes’ hips and the way their voices cracked when they begged. Ex-college athlete turned private equity predator, his kind didn’t climb the corporate ladder—they fucked their way up it, leaving a trail of ruined silk sheets and blown-out pussies in their wake. His last conquest had been a 26-year-old British bimbo—some Insta-model with tits like overfilled water balloons and an ass that defied physics. She’d screamed through her 20th or so orgasm, mascara rivers cutting through her spray tan as he hammered into her from behind, her manicured nails clawing at the sheets of the shaking penthouse suite king-size bed. The cleanup crew found her passed out in a puddle of her own squirt and gallons of his cum.

write about brads second latest conquest: "Before her? Roxxie, at 35-year-old, one of the industry's most famous and hottest porn stars. She’d lasted exactly 25 minutes riding him as she was trying to show him how it was done, until she almost taped out by having one of the biggest orgasm of her life as Brad had started to fuck her too from below, slamming her up and down his cock from this laying posititon. As he had experienced two more orgasms in these few minutes, he then had flipped her onto her back and gave her the rest in an one hour long and 25 orgasms encompassing Mating Press that had left her taped out for good and the bed broken in two.

Before her? Roxxie, at 35-year-old, one of the industry's most famous and hottest porn stars. She’d lasted exactly 25 minutes riding him as she was trying to show him how it was done, until she almost taped out by having one of the biggest orgasm of her life as Brad had started to fuck her too from below, slamming her up and down his cock from this laying posititon. As he had experienced two more orgasms in these few minutes, he then had flipped her onto her back and gave her the rest in an one hour long and 25 orgasms encompassing Mating Press that had left her taped out for good and the bed broken in two.

But Brad wasnt the only one who had a long line of ex-lovers.

Vivian too had fucked around. And some of the studs had almost rivaled Brad in size. describe and compare the biggest studs she had fucked to Brad.

Vivian had ridden her share of hung studs—some so massive they could rival Brads still hidden monster and incredible body. There was Hans, a 6’8" powerlifter whose meaty nineteen-inch monster spread her wider than she thought possible, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with every brutal stroke. Then Jamal, an Afro-American streetfighter with a curve that hit her G-spot like a battering ram, leaving her gasping as he pounded her legs over his shoulders for hours.

they leave to had up the building to the hotel rooms but they are unaware that they are being followed by voyeur.

As Vivian and Brad stepped into the elevator, the doors slid shut behind them—but not before a shadowy figure slipped in just in time. The stranger kept his distance, pretending to check his phone, but his gaze kept flicking up to watch them. Brad’s hand slid possessively down Vivian’s waist, gripping the curve of her ass through her tight dress as she leaned into him, her fingers tracing the thick outline of his cock straining against his pants. The voyeur’s breath hitched as Vivian murmured, *"Can’t wait to compare you to the others again."* Brad smirked, pulling her closer until her back arched against him. The elevator dinged, but neither noticed the way the stranger lingered, watching as they stumbled down the hallway toward their room, already tangled in each other—her dress riding up, his hands rougher now, impatient. The voyeur followed silently, close enough to hear Vivian’s breathless laugh as Brad pinned her against the door, fumbling with the keycard. *"Hope you’re ready,"* he growled. The stranger’s pulse raced—he wouldn’t miss a second.

as they leave to had up the building via a massive staircase to the hotel rooms but they are unaware that they are being followed by voyeur. he follows them in close distance until they enter Brads hotel room. the voyeur stops and stays outside to eavesdrop and listen - for now at least.

The ding of the elevator never came—instead, Vivian and Brad spilled out into the grand staircase, her heels clicking against marble as his hands roamed, tugging her dress higher with every step. The voyeur matched their pace, hanging back just enough to stay unnoticed but close enough to hear their ragged breathing. Brad’s grip tightened on Vivian’s hip as they rounded the landing, his lips hot against her neck. *“Stairs were a fucking mistake,”* he muttered, grinding the rigid line of his cock against her ass. She laughed, low and throaty, arching into him as they climbed. The voyeur’s knuckles whitened around the railing, his eyes locked on the way Vivian’s dress clung to her sweat-slicked thighs. At the top, Brad fumbled with the keycard, his other hand slipping between her legs, making her gasp. The door swung open, and they barely made it inside before her dress hit the floor. Outside, the voyeur pressed against the wall, listening to the first muffled moan. He wouldn’t stay there for long.

describe what can be heard in detail. focus on sounds, especially onomatopoetic ones as well as fuck-talk and dirty talking. Vivian soon cums

**Rewritten Section:** The voyeur's pulse hammered in his ears as the first wet *squelch* cut through the door—the obscene sound of Brad’s monstrous cockhead nudging against Vivian’s stretched entrance. A ragged gasp—hers—followed by the slow, deliberate *shhhlick* of him working just the tip in, inch by impossible inch. *“Fuck, Vivian, you feel that?”* Brad’s voice was a growl, thick with strain. *“Goddamn… like you’re sucking me in.”* The bedframe groaned under their combined weight as Brad leaned forward, the *creak-creak* syncopated with Vivian’s shaky whimpers. *“S-so big—oh fuck, oh fuck—”* Her breath hitched as another inch sank into her, the wet *pop* of her cunt yielding drawing a filthy moan from both of them. The voyeur pressed his forehead to the door, imagining it—Brad’s veined 20-inch thickness disappearing into her, her thighs trembling with every unhurried thrust. A sharp *smack* echoed—Brad’s palm coming down on her ass as he snarled, *“Take it deeper. C’mon, open up for me.”* Vivian’s keening *ah! ah! ah!* hitched higher with each incremental advance, the bedsprings whining in protest as Brad finally bottomed out. A guttural *“Jesus Christ—”* burst from him, followed by the slick *glorp* of her cunt struggling to adjust around his girth. Ten agonizing minutes of this—the *shhluck* of his slow retreat, the punched-out *uhn!* from Vivian when he speared back in. The voyeur’s cock strained against his zipper as Brad’s filthy encouragement dripped into her ear: *“That’s it, milk me… fuck, look at your tight little hole swallowing me whole—”* Then—crisis. Vivian’s moans spiraled into shrieks, her *“I’m gonna—Brad, I’m g-gonna—”* cut off by the brutal *thud-thud-THUD* of the headboard as her orgasm ripped through her. The wet *squelch-squelch-SQUELCH* of Brad grinding into her convulsing cunt was obscenely loud, Vivian’s scream dissolving into sobs as she clawed at the sheets. The voyeur couldn’t take it—he bolted down the hall, snatching a keycard from a maid’s cart. The adjacent room’s lock clicked open and he lunged for the balcony, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat in his veins. Through the sheer curtains, the real show began—Brad wrenching Vivian onto her hands and knees, her ass jiggling with every brutal *SLAP!* of his hips meeting hers. The *thwack-thwack-THWACK* of skin on skin was relentless, Vivian’s *“FUCK! FUCK! HARDER!”* punctuated by the lewd *shlick-gloop* of her dripping cunt taking his full length. Brad’s growl was animalistic as he gripped her hair, yanking her head back. *“You begged for this, you filthy bitch. Take every inch—”* The voyeur’s hand was already down his pants, stroking in time with the symphony of debauchery—the bed’s violent creaks, Vivian’s wrecked sobs, the wet, sloppy music of a woman being ruined by a cock too massive to comprehend.