Knocked Up by Brother's Best Friend

by Amy Brent

  “No shit, dickweed, and you’re a fucking idiot.”

  That one always leaves them with their mouths hanging open like the morons that they are. The women in the room look at me with admiration and the men look at me with awe. And lust. Now, I wouldn’t trade being tall for anything in the world. Allison was right. I had the power…

  Back to my nights with Alison… I’m as straight as they come (no pun intended), but I never tried to stop Allison’s long fingers from exploring the red curls and moist flesh between my legs. I never pushed her away as she pressed her lips to mine before sliding her tongue down to circle my nipples. I never resisted. I only whimpered when her fingers slid slowly, gently, inside me, or when she used her tongue on my clit to drive me over the moon.

  Again, Allison was my comfort. My friend. My teacher. When I see her today, we hug and smile, but never mention that time. She’s married to a great guy and they have three kids. Our time together will always be our treasured secret.

  Allison was my only foray into sex in high school. I never went on dates, didn’t go to any dances, never hung out at the mall like the rest of the kids. I played volleyball and studied my ass off. My parents weren’t rich. I knew if I had a prayer of going to college, it was up to me to make it happen.

  Then, my life changed with the full-ride athletic scholarship to USC. It was as if the world opened up to me. The world became a bigger more understanding place where everyone did not look at me in judgment or with disdain. I was a star athlete. Eventually, the captain of the volleyball team and an Olympic contender. My star rose high in the sky and my power kicked into overdrive. College was fucking great, and yes, I do mean that exactly as it sounds.

  I discovered that the silly high school boys had grown into silly young men whose sole purpose of being in college was chasing coed pussy. Sorry, but that’s as plain as I can make it because it’s the truth.

  The boys were there to get drunk and fucked and sucked, and if they got a degree along the way, that was great. So were most of the girls. Hard partiers, horny bitches, competing for the most cock. And that included me, although it took me until my sophomore year to do what the others had been doing for months.

  My first guy, the one to officially pop my cherry, set the bar really high for the guys to later come (another pun). His name was Pete Hamilton. He was a six-foot-six, three-hundred-pound lineman from Iowa. A big dumb, gorgeous farm kid with beautiful blue eyes and sandy blond hair and more muscles than The Rock and a smile to match. Everyone called him “The Mountain” because he was so damn big and nearly impossible to move. I took one look at him and felt myself literally melting into my panties.

  We were at a frat party. I was with my Amazon Bitches (that’s the name my BFF Suzy Orson gave to our little clique of statuesque volleyball players). We were huddled together watching the cheerleaders make fools of themselves. Giddy, silly little bitches with big tits and round asses and loose morals and low standards. They’d fuck any boy in the room, so long as he played sports for USC. And it didn’t matter which sport. They fucked the football team, the baseball team, the basketball team, the rugby team, and on down the line. They’d even fuck guys on the badminton team if there were no real men around. They’d fuck them, they just wouldn’t brag about it to their friends.

  We Amazon Bitches were far pickier and lived by a set of rules that would have shut the slutty cheerleaders down in a heartbeat. We had very strict standards and refused to deviate from them, no matter how horny we were or how drunk we got.

  They were like our commandments, and to break a commandment —and get caught— subjected you to no small amount of shit from the rest of the team.

  We would not fuck a guy who was shorter than us. The same height was fine, long as we stood eye to eye in bare feet, but even an inch shorter and the answer was no.

  We would not fuck guys who made comments about how tall we were. If a guy looked at us and said, “Damn, girl, you’re tall!” he was immediately eliminated from the potential fuck list, no matter how hot he was. That one was hard to tick to because most guys made innocent comments like that, even when they were taller. It’s just what guys did. They led with their mouths and their dicks and just hoped that someday their brain might catch up.

  We—okay this one was mostly me—would not fuck a guy unless we had feelings for him. Maybe that was why, at age twenty, the only thing I’d ever had in my cunt were my own fingers, and Allison’s fingers and tongue. And the dildo Suzy gave me as a Dirty Santa gag gift the Christmas before sophomore year. It was molded from rubber, foot-long, black, veiny, with a head the size of a golf ball and the USC logo on the side. Suzy called it Big Black.

  I loved Big Black.

  Sometimes, I still do.

  Oh, back to Pete…

  Frat party at the Delta Chi house, sophomore year…

  I was sipping warm beer from a red plastic cup when Suzy grabbed my arm and whispered urgently in my ear. “Oh, Andrea, there he is. That’s the guy I told you about. The transfer from Iowa State. That’s Pete Hamilton.”

  I licked spilt beer off my fingers and rolled my eyes at her, then looked in the direction she was pointing. Coming through the door was a giant. He was six inches taller than me, with broad shoulders and muscles that pushed against the tight black t-shirt that he wore.

  My mouth was hanging open. My tongue was hanging out. My eyes drifted down his body in slow motion. The lower half of him was as freakin’ hot as the top.

  His broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist. He was wearing a pair of jeans that fit him like a glove. I nearly choked on my beer when I saw the size of the bulge protruding down the left side of his crotch. He either had the biggest cock I had ever seen (okay, granted, I had only seen cocks in porno movies at that time) or he had been shopping for large cucumbers and was carrying one in his pants. Either way, I was suddenly dying to see it for myself.

  When our eyes met across the crowded room, just like in the movies, he smiled at me and I smiled back at him. When he started working his way through the crowd, coming my way, I took a deep breath and wondered what the hell I should do next.

  “He’s a leftie,” Suzy sighed, bumping me with a sharp elbow, pushing me toward him. She was referring to the fact that his cock was stuffed to the left of his zipper. “Think you can handle that trouser snake all by yourself or will you need help? Maybe we can do a little ménage to welcome him to USC.”

  I drained my beer and handed her the empty cup. “I think I can handle it. I’ll text if I need help.”

  “You do that,” she said with a smile. “And send me pictures!”

  She would tell me later that she had set it all up. Pete had asked about me because he had seen me at practice and needed a big woman to handle his… well… you know…

  Since I was the tallest girl on the team, and Suzy knew that I was always complaining about the lack of sex I was having, she decided to put us together. I was thankful to her my entire senior year because I spent most of it with Pete’s monster cock somehow invading my body.

  “Hi, I’m Pete,” he said, sticking out a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt.

  “I’m Andrea,” I said, trying not to gush—literally.

  We tried to make small talk for a bit, but the party was raging in full force around us. We could barely hear each other speak. He had to lean down to yell in my ear. “You wanna grab a six pack and go somewhere a little quieter?”

  It was completely out of character for me, but I did not hesitate to answer. I looked up into his blue eyes and sighed. “Yes, I think I’d really like that.”

  Fifteen minutes later we were lying beneath the stars in the back of his pickup truck, which he had driven all the way from Iowa. Thank God, he didn’t drive a Toyota Corolla or something. There was no way we could have both gotten into that back seat to have sex without breaking something.

  I learned two very important things that night as I willingly lost my virginity to Pete. One, just because I was t
all did not mean that my pussy was “big and floppy” (Pete’s words, not mine, LOL). To the contrary, given the size of Pete’s cock, which rivalled my beloved Big Black, I must say, it was a very tight squeeze at first, then my juices started to flow and things got lubed up and with one good push, he burst through my hymen, causing me to scream out loud.

  Pete was a sensitive soul. He gave me a moment to catch my breath from the pain, made sure I was all right, then started hammering me like a bull, piledriving his long, thick meat into my tight pussy until I screamed again, this time in ecstasy.

  Pete’s cock was so long that there was no way all of it could fit inside me. Sucking his cock was interesting and tested my coordination, kind of a “two hands, one mouthful” sort of thing, but I took all he could stuff in my pussy and wished I could take in more. I swear, when Pete fucked me I could feel him everywhere inside my body. My cunt, my stomach, my chest, my throat, my head. My heart beat with his every thrust. My lungs sucked air in and out in rhythm to his movements inside me. It was… amazing.

  Pete had a blanket in the truck that we spread out in the bed beneath the stars. We parked by the lake and stripped off our clothes and the fun began. As I said, is cock was two handfuls when it was fully erect. His meaty fingers probed my cunt as both my hands milked him while we kissed. I was already on fire and he was about to pop. The head of his cock swelled up like a purple water balloon about to pop. I lay down and spread my legs so he could position his cock head to my hole. It probably would have been a good idea to lose my virginity to someone half of Pete’s size, but then again, I had always loved a good challenge. I took his cock between my hands and guided him in, slowly at first, then he pushed, then the pain, then the pleasure… the incredible fucking pleasure...

  I wrapped my long legs around Pete’s narrow waist and dug my heels into his rock-hard ass to prod him along. He got up on his toes and palms and started doing pushups on top of me, driving his cock in as far as it would go, pulling it out, then back in again. I had had lots of orgasms, most of them the result of Allison’s fingers or mouth, but I had never felt like I did at that moment with Pete’s hot meat burning in my tight box, thrusting, going in deep until he hit my inner wall. It was a hot night. Sweat dripped from his face onto mine. I flicked my tongue to his.

  Hot.

  Wet.

  Juicy.

  “Fuck… I’m… fucking…” Pete squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the orgasm set fire to his balls and the hot lava started flowing from his cock deep inside my cunt.

  “Oh… fuck…” I felt my own orgasm building deep in my belly. I clutched my tits and pulled my nipples hard. I pushed my heels into Pete’s ass and forced him deeper into me. My toes curled. I howled at the moon. I came with such force that I literally gushed my juices all over Pete’s cock and balls. He repaid the act in kind. I felt the heat of his hot load inside my belly. Then, without warning, he pulled out his cock and took it in his hand and milked it, shooting long white ropes of creamy cum all over my stomach and tits. The damn thing just kept on cumming, like a firehose gushing all over me. When it was done, I was covered in Pete’s hot goo and I fucking loved it.

  I said I learned two things that night.

  One, I loved a man with a big cock.

  And two, I liked it rough and kinky.

  It would not be the last time Pete—and a number of others—would shoot their load on my tits. Or on my face. Or in my mouth.

  The rest of my senior year was like a porno movie.

  By the time I graduated, Pete and I had gone our separate ways.

  And I was a full-blown sex addict.

  And God was I having fun.

  Chapter 4: Andrea

  Okay, back to what I was saying before I got caught up in my college memories of Pete. Whew… breath… Andrea… breathe…

  What’s the worst thing about being a six-foot-tall woman?

  Forget everything I just said.

  The worst thing is…

  The big feet that come along with the tall height.

  I supposed the length of my feet had to be proportionate to my height so I didn’t tip over…

  But along with those big feet comes the need for…

  Big shoes.

  Size 12-13, to be precise.

  Have you ever tried to find a nice stiletto heel in size 12-13?

  Or even a sensible, low-heel pump?

  Or even a good tennis shoe or a simple flip-flop?

  Any kind of footwear that doesn’t look like something from The Hobbit?

  It’s virtually impossible!

  And when you do find something that looks decent and fits somewhat comfortably, they cost three or four times more than a normal size shoe costs. I mean, come on, I know there’s more to it, but seriously? Three to four times?

  Guys shoes go all the way up to like size 25 and come in every freakin’ style. But for girls, no, you’re lucky if you find anything that fits and looks halfway decent over a size 10.

  It’s like women are supposed to have these dainty little feet with pliable toes that can be squished into a narrow shoe that hurts like a mother to wear and is damn near impossible to walk in!

  Most shoes for women with big feet should come with accidental injury insurance because sooner or later, you’re going to take a tumble forward or slip and fall on your ass. Being a woman is hard enough. It’s just not fair!

  Nice shoes were something I never thought much about until I left USC with a marketing degree and discovered that if I wanted to work at nice places, I had to dress accordingly.

  Sure, I could have gone to work at some trendy startup and lived in shorts and flip flops, but that wasn’t for me. I had big plans, big dreams, and big ambitions.

  I wanted to be a rich entrepreneur someday, founder of my own line of apparel—and shoes— for women my size. And I believed in the old saying that you became the average of the five people you surrounded yourself with. I wanted to be rich and successful, so I wanted to surround myself with rich, successful people.

  That opportunity came when I was hired by Denny Chambers, one of the billionaire founders of Internet Data Systems, to be his assistant marketing director. Denny was a legendary marketer who had sold billions of dollars in software and services, a brilliant mind, and one of the richest guys in Silicon Valley. And not too hard on the eyes, if I do say so myself.

  I had met Denny initially when he came to speak to my marketing master class my senior year at school. I caught him eyeing me from the front of the room, I am sort of hard to miss, and I wanted to speak to him after class, so I made sure he saw me sitting front and center. Unfortunately, he had to dash off to speak at some tech summit in Paris, poor baby, so he didn’t have time to chat.

  He did give me his card and told me to call him after graduation in six months. He gave me a smile, not a salacious one, not like most guys, and firmly shook my hand and hurried away.

  I didn’t know if he was serious about a job or just setting me up to hit on me later, but as soon as I got my degree in hand, his number was the first one I called.

  “Hi, Denny, I don’t know if you remember me or not, but this is Andrea Nichols. We met like six months ago when you were speaking to Professor Sagan’s marketing class at USC?”

  “Uh, we met at USC?” Denny asked, clearly hesitant on the other end of the phone. He was probably used to all kind of whack jobs calling him out of the blue claiming to be an old pal or a long-lost cousin needing money. “I meet a lot of people…”

  I felt my heart sinking in my chest, along with my dreams of working at IDS. Fuck that. It was time to use what the good Lord had given me.

  “I was the six-foot-tall redhead in the front row,” I said bluntly. “I came up to you after your talk and you gave me your card and said to call you after graduation.”

  “Oh, now I remember… Andrea… yes… So sorry. I meet a lot of people and I have the attention span of a gnat. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing great,�
� I said, forcing a pleasant tone as if I didn’t have a care in the world. “I graduated last month with my Master’s in marketing. I’d like to talk to you about a job.”

  “Ah, okay, hang on a sec.” He put me on hold and my heart sank again. I knew what was happening. He was passing me off to some assistant or some Human Resources wonk who would just tell me to submit my resume on line and fuck off. Dammit, I didn’t know why, but I had much higher hopes for Denny Chambers. I prayed he didn’t turn out to be an asshole like—

  The line clicked in my ear and Denny came back with a sigh. “Okay, sorry about that, had to tell some folks waiting for me in a meeting that I’m gonna be a little late. So, I said to come talk to me about a job…”

  “Oh… well… um… yes…”

  “So, let’s see,” he said. I heard tapping on a keyboard. “I’m pulling up my calendar. How about this Friday at 9 AM? Do you know where we’re located?”

  “Um… yes… of course… duh… I mean… yes, Friday at 9 AM would be wonderful, Mr. Chambers.”

  “Denny.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Call me Denny.”

  “Oh, okay… Denny… Friday at 9 AM.”

  “Awesome sauce,” he said. “Gotta run. See you then!”

  I sat there for a moment in stunned silence with the phone at my ear, trying to slow my breathing and stop my hand from shaking, amazed at what had just happened.